Date: Wed, 7 Sep 2005 12:17:49 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 7

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

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

Part  7

Dad very slowly withdrew his hand from my dick, as if
he wanted to pretend not to have touched it.  Then he
whispered "You awake, son?"

"Yes, dad."

"Try to sleep, Steve.  It's really hard work here, and
if you're going to be working with me, you'll need all
your energy, and every bit of sleep you can get."

It was all very well to say that, I thought, but it's
not that easy to sleep in a small confined space like
that.  I was used to my own bed, used to being able to
toss and turn, and to roll over to another side
whenever I wanted to.  And now dad was pressed up
close to me, and I couldn't move about at all, and
certainly couldn't roll over - to do so would be to
push my hard dick into him.  And to make matters
worse, the insistent nudging of dad's dick as it lay
along my ass crack was very disturbing, as was the
feel of dad's skin pressed close to mine, and the way
that I could feel his breath on my shoulders as he
breathed in and out.  I'd never spent the night in the
same bed as another man before, especially not my own
dad, and especially when we were both bare-assed
naked.

A few minutes later, when it was clear from the way I
was still moving around that I wasn't asleep, dad said
to me quietly "Look, Steve, I know it's going to be
difficult for us - I don't suppose they'll find us
anywhere else to live, as the slave responsible for
the grounds around the house always sleeps in here.
So we're going to have to get used to being together
like this at night.  I expect it will take a couple of
weeks - after all people do get used to sleeping
together, you know:  married couples do it all the
time.  And I bet you spent the night with one of your
girl friends, didn't you?"

"Actually no, dad.  I always had to be home at night
for your eleven o'clock curfew, remember?  And you
never went  away, so I never spent the whole night
with a girl."

"But you did sleep with your girl friends, didn't you,
Steve?  'Sleep' in the sense of having sex.  You did
fuck them, didn't you, son?"

"Dad, what kind of question is that...."

"Well, Steve, I just wondered... I mean was that the
first time you'd had sex with another person, earlier
tonight?"

"No, dad.  I've fucked my way around my girl friends.
But that was the first time I'd ever had sex with a
guy - two if you count yourself!  And it wasn't like
having sex at all - it was just being raped, having a
dick stuffed up my ass..."

"There's no need to be crude, Steve!  Look, son, you
may have to get used to a lot more of that, especially
if Mr Hawthorne really likes you.  He may take you as
a bed boy, and fuck you every weekend when he's down
here."

"Dad, you can't be serious..."

"Look, Steve, things have changed.  I never thought
I'd be a slave, never thought that twenty niggas would
fuck me, day after day, as I worked the fields stark
naked.  But they did.  And the sooner you learn to
accept your new life, the easier it will be for you.
Now try and get to sleep, and don't worry about it..."

"I wasn't not sleeping because I was worried, dad....
I couldn't sleep because... Because, well, you
know.... I had a hard-on, and normally I'd have jerked
off..."

"So jerk off, son.  Don't mind me."

"Dad, I can't jerk off with you watching..."

"I'll keep my eyes shut!  Come on, Steve... Look, it's
important you get your sleep.  You're a growing boy
still, who's going to be worked hard, very hard,
physically.  And if you can't sleep because you're all
boned up, then you've got to do something about it."

"Hey, dad, it isn't that you're watching that I worry
about - it's pretty dark in here. But, well, you know,
you'd hear it.  And lying close together like this,
you'd feel me doing it..."

"Look, Steve, I've told you, I don't care.  And anyway
it's nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about
really.  One hundred percent of the adult males, free
man or slave, jerk off, you know.  We all do it, it's
perfectly natural.  And young guys like you need to do
it a lot more often than I do!  So get beating that
dick of yours, so we can both get to sleep."

Dad just lay there then, still pressed close to me -
well, he didn't have any choice really, as there was
nowhere else to lie.   I gently stroked my dick,
pushing the 'skin back, and by fiddling with the
little triangle just underneath my dick head I managed
to get really hard as rock, and I worked away, not so
much really going at it hard, but gently teasing my
dick into action.  It wasn't as good as jerking off
properly in private, of course, as you can't beat the
whole sensation, the movement, the noise,... Jerking
off's  a whole lot of things together, where the sum
is greater than the parts.  Well, that's what I think.

I tried to minimise the movements of my body as I shot
my load, but I think dad must have known what was
happening - you can't be that close to another man and
not have him realise what's going on.  And as I lay
there, I knew I had another problem:  my palm was full
of my cum, which normally I'd have caught on some
toilet tissue, or even yesterday's underwear.  But as
we'd been locked in totally naked,  these options
weren't open to me.  I didn't want to let it spill on
to the mattress, either, as it looked as if dad and I
would be sleeping on it every night and it would be
pretty disgusting if it got crusted with my dried cum,
so what could I do?  I knew some guys eat their cum,
but I'd never done that and I wasn't about to start
now, so I lay there kind of worrying about it, and
afraid that if I drifted off to sleep it would leak
out from my hand and make the mattress dirty.
Finally, it seemed there was only one thing to do - I
rubbed my hand up and down my thighs, spreading the
cum out and feeling it sticking to my hairs, then lay
very still as I waited for it to dry.  I knew there'd
be some traces of it on my skin in the morning, but I
hoped dad wouldn't notice.  But the problem was of
course that the warmth of my body accelerated the
evaporation rate, and from under the cover of the
single blanket that lay over us both that unmistakable
smell of cum drifted up.  If I could smell it, dad
must be a able to, as well.  But he didn't say
anything, and at last I drifted into sleep.

It was Stryker who woke us up the next morning.  Dad
and I usually have to rely on an alarm clock as we
both work hard, and sleep in if we're not woken.  So
we both came awake when there was a loud banging on
the bars of our enclosure by Stryker with the butt end
of his whip.  We were both so startled that we leapt
to our feet, the blanket falling away, and it was only
then that I realised I'd got my normal morning
hard-on.  I started to blush, then saw that dad, too,
was massively erect.  Stryker looked at us, and just
commented "You too really are alike, aren't you?" And
then, turning to dad, said "Show him where to shower,
then cut across for breakfast quickly as I want you
both out finishing off the vegetable patch.  He can
work with you today, and as you've now got help, I
expect it all to be finished - perfectly.  Do you
understand?"

"Yes, boss", dad said resignedly, then, as Stryker
unlocked our enclosure and walked off, dad showed me
where our "bathroom" was - in another corner of the
shed thing, just a shower tray set into the floor with
a shower head above it, next to a lavatory bowl.

"You can go first, son", dad told me "The water tends
to warm up a bit where it's been standing in the
pipes, otherwise it can be pretty cold.  But you look
as if a cold shower would do you good..."  That was
typical of the "old" dad, always ready with a little
joke.

"You look as if you need one more than me, dad", I
told him back, nodding down at his erection as I
spoke.  Well, I mean, of we were gong to have to sleep
together like that every night, I suppose we'd better
get used to seeing each other like that.  At home I
think I've told you we didn't make a big thing about
nakedness, but never the less, there are some things
you don't do in front of your old man, and having an
erection used to be one of them!

As I showered dad had to sit there and crap, and he
was right - by the time he got to go under the shower,
it was cold!  There were two pairs of the slave shorts
lying there, and we dressed, and I fumbled around to
get my dick positioned as best I could so that when I
did bone up during the day, as I knew I would, as I
always did, I'd have a chance to stop it just poking
out through the fly.  I felt sorry for dad, as that
ring they'd put around his dick and balls made him a
bit erect already, and as he's well hung to start
with, his shorts looked almost on the point of
exposing him anyway.

Dad led me over to the main house then, and we went
down the stairs into the servants' quarters.  We ate
with the house slaves, it seemed, and there was a bare
dining room with a few chairs around a plain scrubbed
table.  Dad sat down, and one of the nigga girls at
once bought us big bowls of grits topped with fruit,
and tall glasses of water.  Dad tucked into his
hungrily, but I don't like grits much and just picked
the fruit out of mine.

"Eat it all up, Steve", dad said as he watched me.
"And hurry up - there's a lot to do, and we need to
get started."

"But dad, you know I don't like grits...."

"Steve, you've got to eat it all,  They have to tell
Mr Stryker if you don't, and then he'll punish you: a
slave has to eat all the food he's provided with to
keep his strength up so he can work the hardest
possible for his owner.  So come on, it's not that
bad..."

I spooned the rest of the stuff down, but as I did, I
noticed that the girl nigga kept almost rubbing
herself up against dad as he sat there trying to
ignore her, hunching himself over his bowl.  She
smiled at him, and said in a terribly teasing way "You
want another helping, big boy?  You've got to keep
your strength up, as you know Mr Stryker wants you BIG
and strong...."

She kept emphasising the word "big", and I couldn't
understand why, but dad hardly replied, and it was as
if he was pretending not to notice her at all.  When
she next approached him, dad got up and called for me
to follow him, and we left, very abruptly, I think.

"What's going on, dad?  You and that nigga seemed to
have something between you..."

"Hey, mind your own business, OK?"  I was a bit
shocked, as dad was usually fairly patient with me
even though he could be brusque, even rude, to others.
 I wondered if I'd better carry on and make a joke
about it and see if I could get him to tell me
more.... And then it occurred to me that maybe he had
been fucking the nigga, and didn't want me to know!
As I've told you, dad did go out on the town
occasionally, and it wouldn't have surprised me if he
hadn't found a convenient woman to fuck here, if he
could. But then, why would she have been going on
about Stryker? Dad strode off, though, and I thought
that perhaps I'd better let it lie, at least for the
time being.  But I filed it away, thinking that dad
always seemed to manage to end up with things worked
out to suit himself, so perhaps I could find a
girlfriend, too - although I realised it would
probably have to be a nigga.

There was a large vegetable plot in the grounds as
apparently all the stuff for the table was grown on
site, and there were two niggas  whose full time
occupation it was to weed, water, plant and harvest
the crops.  But when there was a major piece of work
to do, they were too busy and so dad had been drafted
in, and he was engaged in turning over the area that
had grown potatoes and corn until they were harvested,
and getting the land ready for re-planting.   Dad
explained to me that it was like the old days in the
early twentieth century, when labour was plentiful and
cheap, and only the best methods were employed in the
big houses to get the best crops:  it was called
"double digging", and you dug a trench one spade deep
across the end of the area, transporting the material
to the other end of the plot.  Then in that trench you
dug down another spade depth, again taking the spoil
away, and then began to dig along the next row,
filling in the second spade depth in the first row
with the soil removed, which gave you room to dig down
another spade depth in that row.... And so you went on
until you reached the end of the plot ,where the spoil
you'd first removed was waiting to be filled back in.
As you went along, all the stones and roots had to be
removed, and at the same time you dug in compost to
add fertility.

There was a huge area to be done, and dad just started
in there with his spade.  My job was to pick out the
stones and roots into a barrow, and cart them away,
and with another barrow I had to run to the compost
heap, dig into it to fill m barrow, then trundle it
back so that dad always had enough for the trench he
was working in.  Although it was still early morning,
the sun was already hot, and after only a few minutes
of working, both dad and I were soon covered in sweat,
and my shorts felt positively damp.  The work was made
harder by the fact that we didn't have boots, and it
was tough on the soles of our feet to have to drive
the spade home all the time:  I found it difficult in
the compost heap, and so when dad had to break the
hard-packed sod, it must have been doubly difficult
for him.

I was used to working with, and for, dad, as I used to
help him out on his weekend projects for the rich folk
- those projects that had landed us in this mess.  But
here it was different - dad just worked  and worked,
and never took a break, never stopped to pass the time
of day with me, and seemed really cross if I was even
the slightest bit slow in delivering another barrow
full of compost for him.  I noticed that the two nigga
gardeners, too, just worked and worked, and they too
never came over to chat with us, or even to each
other.  By midmorning therefore I was really hot - the
sun had come out with a vengeance and he sweat was
flying off me - and totally bored with having no one
to talk to as I worked.  And  I was getting tired, as
there's a limit to how much you can do without even
the smallest break.

I'd just delivered yet another barrow of compost to
dad and was standing there, wiping the sweat off my
brow with the back of my arm, to try and keep it out
of my eyes, when there was a "crack" and a stinging
pain across my shoulders.  I yelped with the pain and
sheer surprise of it, and spun around to see Stryker
standing there with his tawse swinging in his hand.
My back was really smarting, and he looked at me.
"You're not permitted to stop work, boy", he snapped.
"Didn't your daddy tell you that we like the slaves
here to give good value to their owner, and they need
to keep working?  Now, get on with it unless you'd
like to feel the tawse again."

Dad had stopped as Stryker said this, and looked as if
he might be about to say something.  Stryker saw him,
and lashed out at dad with the tawse, too, bringing it
down really hard right across where the "Joe" was
tattooed across his broad shoulders.  I felt sure I
saw dad mutter "fucker", but he instantly went back to
turning yet another spadeful of the soil.  Stryker
watched us for a few minutes, and then strode off.

"Keep at it, Steve", dad almost whispered at me as I
bent down to remove some stones from where he was
working a few minutes later.  "Don't give Stryker an
excuse for lashing you with the tawse!  If you get
five or more lashes in a day, he gives you the same
number again when you come in at night... He's a mean
bastard, and the only way to avoid it is just to keep
working."

I wondered why dad put up with it, as he had a fiery
temper, as I've told you, and I would have expected
him to argue even if it meant punishment.  But when
the sun was high in the sky Stryker came past and said
we could have our lunch break.  It was really good to
get out of the sun under the shade of a big oak tree,
and one of the nigga servants from the house came out
with big pitchers of water for us, although no food
was produced.

"We only get fed morning and evening, Steve", dad
explained. "That's why you need to eat all the
breakfast.  It's tough at first, I know, but you get
used to it."

"Dad... It seems to me there's a lot you are getting
used to.... When we were at home, you never let people
do you down like this..."

"I've told you, Steve, it's different when you're a
slave...."

"But dad, even as a slave, you deserve some
respect...."

Dad sighed, got to his feet and motioned for me to
follow him.  We jogged across the lawns to the low
picket fence that separated the gardens of the house
from the rest of the plantation, and as we approached
it, I began to feel a tingling in my neck.  Dad
stopped, ran his finger around his own collar, and
said "OK, this is far enough - that fence marks the
boundary for you and me, as we're 'fancies', kept here
in the gardens:  if you go any closer, this fucking
collar will really start to hurt.   But I wanted you
to see this...."

He gestured, and on the other side of the fence we
could see a coffle of niggas working away at digging
the soil, just as dad had been earlier.  They were
really big niggas - all at least as tall as dad - and
they were heavily muscled:  as they worked away,
swinging their digging tools in unison, their bodies
shone under the sun and made it very obvious that
these were tough, strong men.  The chains joining
their heavy iron collars rattled and clanked, and
there was an overseer walking up and down behind them
with a tawse, which, even as we watched, he used
several times on the backs and butts of the guys as
they toiled away.

"Look, Steve, that's a coffle.  Those guys work like
that all the time. You think we've got it bad?  Well,
how would you like to be coffled like that?  And
that's what Stryker will do, if he thinks he's not
getting enough work out of us.  And look at those
guys' dicks - I know there are a lot of jokes about
the size of a nigga's dick, but take a look at them -
they're on the same scale as the rest of their bodies,
aren't they?  Now think what happened to me, and would
happen to you, if you were added to that coffle - what
do you think they do with those big dicks back at the
nigga shed at night?  Believe me, Steve, I've been
there - and I'll do anything to avoid being sent
back."

As I watched, I noticed that the niggas never faltered
in their rhythmic pounding with the digging tools, and
their eyes seemed to be dull and not interested at all
in the world around them.  Dad saw me watching them,
and went on "You see they've had all their
individuality flogged out of them.  They've got no
hope, nothing to look forward to, just endless,
endless repetitive toil like this in the coffle.
Working and fucking, that's all they do.  At least you
and I still have some freedom - we do different work,
go into the house for meals, stuff like that.  It
isn't much, I know, but it's better than the coffle!"

I went to argue with him about freedom and your
integrity as a man being more important than just
having a "better" life, all that stuff they teach you
in civics at school, but dad was already striding off,
back to the vegetable plot.

We worked away again, but in mid-afternoon Stryker
came by and snapped at dad "Amos and Andy are waiting
to clean you up - there's a bitch in heat on a
neighbouring plantation, and they've decided to have
her studded.  Get over there and get ready."

For a moment, dad's eyes blazed and I thought it was
going to be the "old" dad, the dad who would tell
anyone to fuck off if they were annoying him or
telling him to do something stupid.  But it was only
for an instant, and he muttered "Yes, boss", and
jogged off towards the house.

"You, Steve, collect up the tools, clean them properly
and put them in your shed.  And then, as it's your
first day, you can rest - it's hard, until your
muscles get used to it, to have to work constantly for
such long periods."

I nodded, and he slashed at me with the tawse,
striking me across the chest and causing me to leap
away in surprise.  "Always acknowledge a master,
Steve.  And especially when I've been kind to you -
you're probably the only slave on this entire
plantation who won't be working this afternoon."

"Thank you, boss", I muttered, and Stryker walked off.
 I picked up the shovels and things we'd been using,
and wheeled them in the barrow back towards our shed.
There was a tap outside, and I cleaned them thoroughly
- dad was anyway always keen on this, and always
insisted we clean our tools at the end of every day -
then took them inside and found neat spaces marked out
for them on the walls.  I went and lay on the mattress
in our enclosure then and could easily have drifted
off to sleep, but I was curious about the place and
how it operated, so hauled myself to my feet and went
outside again.

I was hanging around near the house, when the young
black guy I'd seen yesterday came up.  "Hi, Amos", I
said.

He grinned.  "No, I'm Andy, his younger brother.
Well, there's only eleven months in it, as mom was a
bit impatient!  But we're so alike most people can't
tell one from the other - especially now we've been
prepared to look like twins."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, look at me - no hair on the head (or anywhere
on my body at all).  We were alike, but clean shaven
all over and exercised so we built up our muscles the
same, most whiteys can't tell us apart.  You couldn't,
and most of the whiteys who come here hardly give us a
second glance anyway.  But what are you doing anyway -
us slaves are all meant to be working..."

"Stryker said I could have time off, as it's my first
day.  But what about you?"

"I've just finished getting your dad ready for
studding.  Amos and me are bath slaves, amongst other
things."

"Getting my dad ready?"

"Sure.... He was all sweaty, and the folk who come to
see don't want that.  And he needed shaving, and
cleaning up generally....  And we're in charge of
dressing him, as well...."

"Dressing?"

"Oh, you probably haven't been to a studding, have
you?"

"No."

"Want to come and see your dad?  I can sneak you
in..."

I really had no idea what he was talking about really,
but as I was "exploring" the place, thought I might as
well go along.  He led the way, and as we walked along
he told me that he wasn't really called Andy, and his
brother wasn't really Amos - it was some kind of joke,
it seems, that made sense to Mr Hawthorne and older
guys like that, as his real name had been Leroy, but
that he and his brother had been re-named when Mr
Hawthorne bought them.  It made me think, that did -
not only could you own a man, but you could even take
his name away from him and decided on a whim to call
him something else.  This slave thing was a whole lot
more, once you got in to it, than just owning a
worker!

We approached a tall barn-like structure and Andy put
his finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet.  We
went around it, and sneaked, very carefully, up an
open fire escape at the rear, then very cautiously in
through a door that gave onto a catwalk stretching
around the inside of the place.  We were above the
suspended ceiling lights that were lighting up the
floor below, and there was Stryker talking to another
guy who, like Stryker, looked as if he was a bit of a
local redneck.  This second man was holding onto a
chain that was attached to the collar of a young nigga
girl who was just dressed in a simple one-piece slave
shift.

As I watched, the two men shook hands as if concluding
a deal, and the second man then simply ordered the
nigga to strip.  My dick sprang into life as I saw her
firm young breasts and the rest of her all exposed,
and Stryker even ran his hands coarsely over her,
clearly enjoying feeling her young firm flesh - or was
it that he enjoyed humiliating her?

The guy with the chain led her over to a table, and
ordered her to lie on her back, with her ass
overhanging one end of it.  Stryker went over to the
door, and came back, leading dad!

I say leading dad, because like the young nigga, dad
had a chain attached to his collar by which Stryker
was guiding him:  he needed to, as dad was blindfolded
- there was a leather blindfold running over his eyes
and around his head, knotted at the side.  He was
cuffed, too - his hands were high up his back, with
another short length of chain joining them to his
collar, and I could tell from the awkward way he was
walking that he was trying to strike some compromise
between not having his hands painfully high, and
choking from having his neck pulled backwards.

Just as Stryker had run his hands all over the nigga
girl, so the second man now ran his hands over dad,
stroking his pecs, feeling his biceps as they strained
there, and even stooping down to run his hands up and
down dad's big muscular thighs.  I couldn't hear what
they were saying, but Stryker then undid the
drawstring holding dad's slave shorts up and pushed
them down to the ground.  Both men nodded and almost
laughed as they looked at dad's dick and balls, held
up for display by the cock ring, and the second man
reached down and stroked dad's dick, which initially
caused dad to jerk back in surprise.

The men exchanged a few more words and then shook
hands again, then Stryker reached down for dad's dick,
jerked at it so that dad became fully erect, then used
dad's dick as a kind of handle to guide him over to
where the nigga girl was lying on the table.

Stryker positioned dad between her legs, then went
around behind dad, put his hands on dad's hips, and
guided him forward.  I did hear dad moan as his dick
touched the nigga's body, and then Stryker reached
around him to actually position dad's dick so that he
was just inside her!

There was a sharp "slap" sound as Stryker hit dad's
naked butt with his bare palm, and that caused dad to
shoot forward and up into the nigga, and then,
initially guided by Stryker's hands, again on dad's
hips, dad began to fuck her.  Stryker soon stopped
guiding dad as his basic instincts took over, and I
watched in fascinated horror as dad's powerful butt
and thighs pushed his body backwards and forwards in
and out of her.  I could see dad building to a climax
- his stokes got longer and harder, and sweat was
flowing all over his back and butt, and then suddenly
he stopped - his hips went forward and his back arched
backward as if he wanted to bury his dick deep in her
cunt, and I just knew that he'd shot his cum deep up
inside her.

He went to pull out after a few moments, but Stryker
put his hand on dads butt to restrain him, keeping him
buried in the nigga, presumably as dad's cum still
flowed out.

I realised that I too was covered in sweat, and I'd
almost stopped breathing.  I'd just seen my dad fuck a
woman.  And then Andy whispered to me "your daddy's
made another little half brother for you, man!"

End Of Part 7