Date: Fri, 26 Jan 2007 23:24:04 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Young Stud, Part Fourteen

YOUNG  STUD

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Fourteen


We drove to Miami, dad and me not speaking all that
much.  He got used to me walking a pace behind him, as
slaves do, and he started to get amused at ordering
things for me to eat in restaurants by deliberately
choosing things that he said were "good for me" but
which he knew I never usually ate.  So instead of big
juicy steaks, I got broiled salmon with broccoli, and
stuff like that.

He didn't like it at night, though:  he couldn't get
used to me walking around the room totally naked when
I'd taken off my shorts and T to wash them.  I wasn't
embarrassed particularly as I was used to having the
boss see me like that.  He particularly disliked it
when, as soon as the lights were out, I began to jerk
off.  The first night he sort of tolerated it, but the
following morning, when I was doing it again prior to
getting up, he called out "Stephen - are you doing
what I think you're doing?"

I stopped stroking myself, and answered "Yes, sir.
The boss always wanted Jeff and me to empty ourselves
if we weren't studding, as he didn't want us to be
walking around erect all the time - it's very obvious
in these slave shorts."

"Well I don't like you doing it.  So stop."

"Sir, please.... I was almost there.... Can't I
finish..."

"Stephen, this is a most unsuitable conversation for a
man to be having with his grown son.  I am not going
to discuss it with you.  I've told you to stop, so
stop!"

My dick was rock hard and leaking precum I was so
close to it at that point, and I knew I'd be in
trouble all day if I didn't shoot.   So I got out  of
bed and went into the bathroom, and I couldn't help
but see dad's eyes following my dick as it bobbed up
and down as I crossed the room.  I turned on the
shower and then I have to confess that I disobeyed
dad, and simply jerked off standing there under the
running water.  I think he knew that I'd done it,
though, as the shower took much longer than usual.
Still, there's a difference between "knowing"
something and actually seeing it done, isn't there - I
mean, everyone knows their sons jerk off, but fathers
and sons don't talk about it, do they?

Although there was a lot of stuff in the papers about
slave smuggling ,when we got to Miami it was
impossible to find anyone who really knew anything.
Dad decided to drive on down the Keys as it seemed to
him to make more sense to have illegal ships from the
closest point to Cuba, and we ended up in Key West of
course.  Dad decided to spend a lot of time hanging
around the waterfront and in bars, talking to the
locals, and said that it wasn't a good idea for me to
accompany him as he didn't want to look like an owner
with a slave who was on the lookout for a passage out.
 He suggested I stay in the hotel and use the pool and
the gym, but when I tried, I found they were reserved
for free men and that slaves were not allowed.  I
suppose I was out of the habit of watching TV as the
news wasn't all that interesting and the rest of the
stuff looked banal, so I decided to go for a walk -
after all, this might be the last time I was ever
there as if dad did succeed in getting me out, I'd
never come back to the South again.

I didn't have any money so I couldn't do much:  dad
thought that if I had money to spend it might look
suspicious as slaves did not usually have any  - I'd
have liked to see Hemingway's house, but that was off
limits.  And there's not a whole lot else to do except
mooch around and look in the store windows with their
tacky souvenirs.  I soon got hot and sweaty and really
wanted a drink, and when I saw a man and a guy who was
obviously a slave go into one of the many bars, I
followed in the hope of getting the bartender to get
me a  glass of water.  To my surprise, there were a
lot of slaves in there - really nice looking guys, in
their twenties and thirties.  I stopped for a moment
to let my eyes get used to the dim interior, and at
once a free man sitting in one of the booths called
out "You, boy... The one whose just come in... Get
your ass over here."

Well I could hardly disobey a free man, and I was kind
of hoping he might buy me a drink, so I went over.  He
looked me up and down, then casually, as if it was the
most normal thing in the world, reached out and felt
the front of my shorts!  I almost instinctively jerked
backwards away from him, and he growled "Steady,
boy.... You don't think I'm going to buy without
sampling the goods, do you?  And I reckon you're
pretty well packed..."

I wondered what the fuck he meant but he beckoned me
forward.  By this time some of the other slaves and
free men had turned to look, and  didn't want to make
a scene because of dad's rather dodgy ownership of me
- if there was trouble and the SP were called, it
might all come out.  So I had to stand there as he now
reached in through the open fly of my slave shorts and
felt my dick and balls.

"Nice!  How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty one, sir."

"A bit young for this, aren't you?"

I didn't know what to say, so I mumbled "My owner
thinks it's OK, sir."

"Strip off that T and let me take a look at your belly
and tits."

I did so, not daring to disobey, and now sensing all
the other men and slaves in the place turning to take
a closer look at me.  "Very nice, very nice indeed",
he muttered.  "You're well put together, boy."

"Thank you, sir."

I looked at him and he wasn't a bad looking guy
himself - early forties, I'd guess, but used to hard
work.  "How much does your owner want, boy?"

"I don't know, sir...."

"Don't play around with me, boy!  I've heard that
before.  Even though I'm a tourist I've been here ten
days already and I've got to know all the tricks you
hookers play."

"Sir, this is my first time, honestly....."  I was
really getting worried now, as the realisation dawned
on me that this was some sort of pick-up place where
men could hire slaves, slaves who were presumably sent
their by their owners.  So I stumbled on "My owner
just told me to amuse myself all day and to be sure to
come back with enough to buy dinner..."

He continued to stare at my belly, then said "A
good-looking hunk like you... You get used, don't you?
 You know what it's about?"

"Oh yes, sir."

He got to his feet, and told me to follow him.  We
crossed the bar with the other guys and slaves now
looking at us with renewed interest, and he handed the
bartender a bill of some kind, I didn't see how much,
and was handed a key in return.  I don't know why I
didn't run out of the place - I could surely have
disappeared before the SP arrived.  But somehow his
cool confidence excited me, and, anyway, I was really
missing sex.  He must have done this before as he led
me to a door, then up some stairs, and used the key to
open one of a number of similar-looking doors.  Inside
it was clean and bright - a big double bed and a
shower room, that was all:   no TV or anything.

He threw himself on the bed on his back, and said in a
not unfriendly tone "OK, boy - let's see what I've
bought - strip off."

"Sir, please...."

"Boy, get those clothes off! If you come into a
pick-up joint you must expect to get naked for the
customers.  Now, do as I say, or else...."  He pointed
to a red button by the bed, that said simply "Summon
SP".

I pulled my T off and dropped my shorts.  He smiled.
"Very, very nice.  Now, get over here, boy...."

He was pointing at the crotch of his jeans, and, as I
had done so many times before with the boss, I went
and knelt by the side of the bed and gingerly opened
his fly.  He was wearing cotton briefs, and, under his
watchful gaze, I pulled them down a little to release
his dick - which sprang to attention immediately.  He
wasn't cut, and I felt a tingle of excitement go
through me as I remembered how good it had been to
jerk off before the boss had ordered me to be
'skinned.  At that time of course I'd has no real
experience of another man with a 'skin, and so I
wondered what it was going to be like.

It was pretty gross at first!  He pointed at his dick
and I knew he wanted me to suck it, so I bent over and
began to lick and lap at it, and then to tease his
'skin back so I could work on his dark, moist dick
head.  But underneath his 'skin there was trapped piss
and pre-cum, and I almost gagged at the smell and the
taste - not at all the gorgeous taste of sweat I was
used to with Jeff.

I sucked away industriously, though, feeling the guys
hands push my head down every now and then to
emphasise he was in control of this.  And then he let
me off it, looked at me, and said "Have you been
fucked, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you like being fucked, boy?"

"It's OK, sir, but I prefer to fuck...."

"That's rare in a slave!  Most slaves are trained to
give their owners their ass..."

I nodded, and, now looking at me intently, he said
"And you have fucked ass?  This isn't just a come-on?"

"Yes, sir.  I have fucked ass  -  a lot."

He could see my dick getting rock hard as I thought
about this, and the next moment he was standing by the
side of the bed.  "Help me get these off, boy....", he
told me, gesturing at his shirt and jeans, so I stood,
and began to undo his buttons.

Once his shirt was open and I was pushing it off his
shoulders, I just couldn't resist it - he had big,
dark aureoles around his nips, and as they became
exposed I leaned forward and sucked at them, just
catching them between my teeth to add extra
excitement.  I felt a shudder run through his body,
and he moaned audibly.

Once he was totally naked I bent down and sucked his
dick a bit more, then, realising that he seemed to
need me to take the lead, I pushed him back on the bed
and, continuing to play with his nips with one hand, I
started to jerk  him off wit the other.

"No, I want to be fucked....", he started to say, so I
pinched his nip hard, causing him to stop abruptly,
and said calmly but authoritatively "I'm going to fuck
you.  Fuck you hard.  You're going to have my big dick
night up your ass.... But first I'm going to lube you,
as I hate a dry fuck...."

He cried out a lot as I fucked him, even though I'd
spent a lot of time stretching him.  As I've said, for
an older guy he was in good shape, and somehow it was
especially  thrilling to have him under my control - I
took him on his back, pushing very hard on his ankles
to get his feet right back and his legs really wide
apart.  Like that, I could watch his face change as I
varied the speed and depth of my fucking, and I wanted
it to go on and on as I realised how exciting it was
to have a man like this, a free man, begging and
pleading with me as I worked away.  But all too soon I
felt myself starting to cum, so I pulled out and
carried on kneeling there between his legs as I
quickly stroked my dick three or four last times so I
could spray his belly and chest with my ejaculate.

The bastard wasn't "clean" though, so instead of being
able to lie on him and enjoy those special moments
after sex, I had to get up and go and wash my dick.
He was still lying there when I'd done, so I lay
beside him and idly ran my fingers up and down his
body, spreading my cum all over him.  I held my
cum-soaked fingers under his nose so he could smell my
scent properly, then, as he went to say something,
pressed my fingers into his mouth.  He almost gagged
and tried to sit up and stop me, but I was too strong
for him, and throwing my body half over his to hold
him down, I carried on scooping up my cum and feeding
it to him.  I could tell he felt utterly humiliated by
this, and somehow it made my intense enjoyment of the
fucking even better.  Even though he was a free man an
older than me, it was me who was making him do these
things to add to my enjoyment and satisfaction.

Finally, though, I just lay half on him, and to my
surprise he put his hands around my head and pulled me
close to him.  "That was good, boy...."

I sort of shrugged.  "Fucking great....", he added,
unnecessarily.  "As I said, you don't get many slaves
who can give a good fuck."

He swung of the bed then and went into the shower, and
I heard him call me to join him.  I expected he wanted
me to soap him, as Jeff and I did, but when I was
standing beside him under the water he put his hands
on my shoulders and forced me to my knees - well, I
say "forced", as it was really him using his hands to
direct me down as I was so much stronger than he was.
But I thought I'd better do as he wanted as I was now
really worried about the possibility of him calling
the SP if I did not obey.  I knelt there, looking up
at him, and to my utter astonishment he carried on
pressing on my shoulders to hold me as he let fly with
a stream of piss. I tried to move, to get my head out
of the way, but he help me and snapped "Stay still,
boy....  Stay there, and take my piss...."  It was hot
on my head and the smell as it trickled down my face
and over my body was vile.  He stood there, laughing
as he saw my very real discomfort, and only let me go
when he'd shaken the last few drops from his dick.

The water was still running as we stood there, and
looking at me he said "Your turn...."

"Sir?"

"Piss on me, boy."

He didn't seem inclined to kneel, so I pissed against
his thigh and them, when it seemed as if that was what
he enjoyed, I rotated him a bit so my piss could hit
him at the top of his ass crack and trickle down
between his buttocks.

He liked it when I towelled him dry, especially when I
knelt in front of him, my own body still wet and
shining, and dried his thighs and legs, and then, ever
so gently, dabbed at his dick and balls.   I looked up
at him and saw him smiling with pleasure, and used my
tongue to finish off his dick, teasing back his 'skin
to make sure it was spotlessly clean under there, and
hearing him moan with satisfaction as I did so.

We dressed together - well, it hardly took me any
time, and so once he had his briefs on I pulled his
almost naked body close to me, cupped his dick in my
hands through the fabric, pulled his head towards mine
and kissed him deeply.  His mouth opened and I thrust
my tongue in and carried on fondling his dick, then
teasing his nips, as I gave his mouth a good tongue
fucking.  When I finally broke off he was panting with
excitement, and seemed reluctant to finish dressing.

"You're good, boy!"

"Thank you, sir..."

He pulled out his bill fold and gave me twenty new
dollars, then, seeing me looking at it, added a five
to it.

"What's the matter?" He demanded as he saw me staring
at the notes.  "Not enough for you?"

"I don't know, sir.  I've never been paid to fuck
before."

He looked at me, saw I was serious, and a smile went
across his face.  "So I'm your first customer, am I?
Well, well.... Your owner's going to do well with you,
Steve... It is Steve, isn't it, as it says across your
back?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Steve, a whore boy like you ought to make a lot
of money for your owner.  As I said, you're good - I
came down here for sex, and you're way and above the
best I've had all week."

I didn't know what to say, as I'd never  thought of
myself as a prostitute before, but the twenty five new
dollars seemed good - I'd enjoyed myself too, and it
looked s if I could be paid for having  good time!
And when we went back down to the bar and he bought me
a beer and told some of the other men that I was a
fantastic whore, in some strange way I felt proud of
being good at something.   It was odd, though -  or
perhaps it wasn't:  before we'd gone up stairs he'd
treated me like a slave, and now he was buying me a
beer just as if I was a free man, like him.  It's
funny how fucking changes people!

I decided not to tell dad about the money, and hid it
at the bottom of his suitcase.  And for the next two
days as dad continued to ask around for smugglers, I
went back to the bar and picked up OK looking guys and
fucked them.  So what if they called me a whore?  It
was they who were paying, and me who was enjoying it.

Dad did eventually find a skipper of a small fishing
boat, and I understand he had to pay a lot to get the
guy to agree to take us to Cuba.  Even then it wasn't
simple as slaves were definitely not allowed in the
harbour area - there was a big sign warning that chip
detection was active and that an owner who allowed a
slave to be in the "no go" zone would be fined and
have the slave forfeit to the State.  So late at night
I had to slip into the sea and swim out to the boat -
pretty scary, actually, even though I am a strong
swimmer, as he moored a long way off shore, and I knew
I couldn't make it back if I hadn't found them.  The
skipper hauled me over the side when I was almost at
the limit of exhaustion, and I lay there, naked, too
weak to move at first. I sat there wrapped in a
blanket then, with dad's arm around my shoulders as he
was almost crying with relief that I was safe.

I'll write a whole story about that voyage one day -
how we had to slip past the Coastguard and almost got
caught, and then the way that the Cubans searched the
boat and I had to hide under a packing crate as the
skipper, with practised ease, bribed them to ignore
it.   But finally, dressed in one of the skipper's Ts
(which was much too small for me and left my belly
exposed) and an old pair of ragged shorts, we were
ashore.  The small hotel dad found didn't seem to
think it al all odd that this elegantly dressed older
man should be taking a scruffy-looking young guy like
me to his room, and the man at the desk even smiled at
dad and wished the senor a "busy and exciting
afternoon".

When we were inside with the door locked, dad seemed
really angry.  "Steve, he thought I was bringing you
up here for sex...."

"Well, sir, a lot of men do like younger guys,
especially good-looking ones like me....  I expect
there's a lot of prostitution around here."

"Prostitution?  Does he think I'd use a prostitute?
And that my son looks like a whore?"

"Sir, don't get so excited..."   I was feeling very
embarrassed now, remembering what I'd been doing in
the Keys, and I wondered how on earth I'd ever explain
the money to dad.

"You can cut it out now, Stephen:  I'm your father,
and you can go back to calling me 'dad ' from now
on...", he said.  "Still,  I expect there are all
kinds of strange things go on here that wouldn't
happen at home."

I nodded, and dad calmed down, although when he took
me into a clothes store to get me some new stuff, the
assistants all told him how lucky he was to have such
a handsome companion, and they never asked me what I
thought about the clothes - referring always to dad,
and asking him if he liked me in the various shirts,
shorts and pants.  They even got him to decide on what
kind of underwear he wanted to see me in!

That night at dinner it was really strange - I hadn't
worn long pants since I was enslaved, and the fabric
clinging to my calves felt really odd.  And I just sat
there, too, when the waitress presented the menu, as I
was so used to having someone else choose my meal for
me.   Clearly there was going to be a lot to get used
to in adjusting to being  free man again, and when we
were back in our room, dad now told me off for walking
around naked before bed and suggested that like most
free guys I should go back to wearing boxer shorts at
night.  "Oh, and Steve...", he added, sounding
embarrassed.  "Most sons don't jerk off when their
fathers are in the next bed."

I'd kind of imagined that we'd fly home the next day,
but dad explained that it was still illegal for US
citizens to have visited Cuba, so we'd have to go via
Mexico.  Fortunately my passport was still valid, so
he didn't think we'd have a problem getting back to in
to the US, but then he added "However we're staying
here for a bit - we need to get those tattoos seen to,
and that chip taken out of you.  I'm told they're
experts at that here, and, anyway, it will be a lot
cheaper:  you're a ruinously expensive son to have, do
you know that?  All the money I had to pay for you...
And medical insurance won't pay for things like
removing tattoos."

We went to see a specialist - a specialist?  In what,
I wondered.  But it turned out he was indeed a
specialist in "freeing" slaves, as dad's efforts to
get me there were not all that unusual.  In his
consulting room I stripped off - the guy seemed to
think it was normal for dad to be sitting there
watching - then he ran his hands lightly over my butt.
 "The brand is too deep for us to do anything.  It
will be with him for the rest of his life", he told
dad, ignoring me totally.  "So the only solution is to
wear long swimming shorts to the beach, and for him
not to show his butt to his lovers - still, a stud
like him will presumably always be on top, so
providing there are no mirrors on the ceiling...."
Dad looked really embarrassed!

He examined my huge tattoo of my SIN on the inside of
my forearm and his comment was that "It is very large.
 And the skin there is very sensitive.  It is possible
to burn out the tattoo and do a skin graft to cover
the site, but over such a large area it will be
difficult, and painful, and the new skin will not
match the rest of him.  My advice is to leave it - it
will fade somewhat over the years, and tattoos on the
arms are not unknown.  If he is shy about them, he
could wear long sleeves...."  But when he looked at
the smaller version on my jaw line, there seemed to be
better news.

Looking at dad, he said "I can understand that you
would not want your companion to be tattooed there as
it makes him look rough and not suitable as a consort
for a gentleman.... But the area is much smaller, and
the skin is harder and renewed more often there.  We
can burn it out, give him a skin graft, and it will be
almost undetectable: he has dark hair anyway, so 'five
o'clock shadow' will help to hide it."

"And the chip?", dad asked, clearly getting rattled at
the assumption that he was my lover.

"No problem at all.  It was inserted with a long,
sharp probe, and it can be removed in much the same
way using specially adapted surgical tongs.  There
will be a small scar on his back - that's where they
usually put the chip - but nothing noticeable except
to a lover who is taking a very close interest in his
flesh....  He will be in some discomfort for a few
days, that's all."

I couldn't help blurting out "My dick... Can you do
anything about that?  They 'skinned me..."

He took my dick in his hand and stroked me to
erection, as dad watched in amazement.  "They did an
excellent job.  No scarring on the shaft.   And you
experience no discomfort at all, no feeling that you
could erect more if there was more flesh on your
penis?"

"No."

"As I said, an excellent job:  they gauged it
perfectly, so there's no loose skin when he is erect,
and it is not preventing his member from displaying to
its full.  But there is nothing that can be done....
Sometimes, with men with smaller penises, and where
there is still some surplus flesh from an ill-judged
circumcision, it is possible to reconstruct a foreskin
of sorts.  But for this boy, no.  But that's not a
problem for you, is it, senor?"

His question was addressed to dad, not to me, and dad,
now clearly deeply embarrassed, muttered "Of course
it's not a problem or me!"  No one seemed to care what
I thought.

"Quite so, sir.  I see all sorts in here, and it is
always surprising to me that so many men want their
foreskins restored, even when, as with this boy, his
penis is of exceptional strength and beauty.  You are
a lucky man, senor, to have such a boy.  He must be a
delight..."

Dad was flushing bright red now.  "Quite so.  But can
we discuss when this can be done - the tattoo, and the
removal of the chip?"

"But tomorrow, of course, sir, if you are paying in
new dollars.  And if you are paying in cash...."

I was told not to eat breakfast the following morning,
and we went to a small private clinic.  None of it
hurt - at the time - and there was no need for a
general anaesthetic.  But I can't say that seeing the
laser burn the tattoo ink out of me, and having the
acrid fumes everywhere, was pleasant.  I hardly felt
the tweezers probing around under my shoulder blade,
although as he showed me the small silver thing still
covered in my blood, the surgeon warned me I'd have
muscular pain for several days where the ligaments and
such had all been disturbed.    I assumed I'd be
leaving with dad, back to the hotel, but they wanted
me to stay overnight to ensure the skin graft over my
tattoo was kept perfectly sterile.

As I was so restless as I lay there in bed they gave
me a sedative to calm me and stop me unnecessarily
disturbing the wounds, and I drifted into a semi-sleep
in my bed, the sheet pulled up only to my waist as it
was relatively hot in there.  Then I had one of those
experiences where I knew I must be dreaming, but where
it all seems frighteningly real - a young guy came in
to change the water in the carafe on my side table,
and I called out "Juan... How did you get here...."

The young man seemed shocked and almost dropped his
water pitcher.  He came over to me "Senor, I am not
Juan.... I am Miguel...  I had a brother once...."

I came fully awake, and saw that the man standing
there was indeed not Juan - he bore such a resemblance
to him, though, even down to the large "S" brand on
his cheek, spoiling his otherwise rugged masculine
handsomeness.  I guessed that Juan would look just
like Miguel in a few years (unless some brute of an
owner did some further disfigurement to him).

"Please, senor, have you seen Juan... Is he OK?"

I began to get angry.  "You are his older brother, the
one who fucked him...."

"Only a bit, senor...  It was Pedro.... We are three
brothers... I mostly fucked Pedro, and he in turn,
when Juan was old enough, fucked Juan.... But of
course we all loved each other, as brothers should,
and I did occasionally enjoy Juan... But it was not
forced, senor - Juan loved his older brothers, loved
us paying attention to him... We were only doing what
we all enjoyed as brothers.... But please, sir...
Where is he?  We were all enslaved together but then
we were sold separately, and I have not seen Juan and
Pedro since..."

"And why are you here?"

"Because I escaped, senor.  I was taken by my owner to
Florida on vacation.  I ran away, and gave myself to
one of the fishermen in exchange for a passage
here....  But it is hard, senor - I do not earn much,
and the doctor says that even if I had the money, he
could do nothing for my brand." As he said this he
fingered his face slowly, as if he was used to tracing
the mark of his slavedom.  "...so senor I am staying
here.  There is no work in Mexico, especially for one
disfigured as I am.  But please, senor, tell me about
Juan."

We sat there talking for a couple of hours - he came
back when his shift finished. And when I told him
about Juan and Jeff being taken off to be sold again,
we were both close to tears.  "I will never see Juan,
or Pedro, again, senor, I know it...."

"Look, Miguel, there's always hope.  I am going to
find Jeff, I must.  And when I do I'm sure Juan will
still be with him...."

Somehow as we sat together in the twilight he moved
close to me and sat on my bed.  I saw him looking at
my tanned skin, contrasted with the white sheet, and
sat up in bed - the sheet falling further down my
belly as I did so it was at the line of my trimmed
pubes.  I could see him looking at the outline of my
dick and legs under the thin fabric.  Instinctively I
put my arm around him to comfort him.  He was so
astonishingly like Juan that I felt my dick begin to
stir, in spite of the sedative, when I remembered how
I had fucked Juan that last day.

End Of Part Fourteen