Date: Mon, 5 Feb 2007 06:17:45 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Young Stud, Part 18

YOUNG  STUD

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Eighteen


All four of us had a "council of war" later, as Jeff
said that we ought all to have a say in how we were
going to do this.  I thought this was going a bit far
as, after all, I did at least look like a free man
(and had money, and credit cards and stuff like that),
whereas Miguel and Juan were unmistakably slaves, with
their huge brands on their cheeks.  "It's not good for
them, Jeff", I tried to tell him.  "They ought to
continue to think of themselves as slaves, as then
they'll act like slaves more completely.  If you start
letting them make decisions, and argue with us, then
sooner or later they'll slip up and do something in
public that will tell an alert Southerner that the two
of them are not 'real' slaves."

"You worry too much, Steve!", he snapped back.
"Believe me, a group of guys who have helped make the
decisions always execute the project better.  If we're
going to have any chance of finding this Pedro and
freeing him, we're going to all of us act together and
give it everything we have."

Well, I suppose Jeff did know about groups of guys
working together in dangerous conditions, so I let him
have his way.  We sat and made a plan, but I did
insist that whatever else happened, Miguel and Juan
had to remain as slaves and act like it, to Jeff and
me - after all, the SP wouldn't really be looking for
two handsome, wealthy "free" men going around with a
couple of personal slaves, would they?  Such a thing
was after all not unusual.  Juan didn't seem to mind
all that much, as long as he was near Jeff, but Miguel
seemed a bit reluctant at first and said that he'd
agreed to be my slave to help me find Juan, but now
there must be some other way of dealing with it whilst
we searched for Pedro.  Actually there were some
advantages, as I've told you earlier, of having a
couple of slaves:  all that stuff like carrying the
bags, and so on;  and of course in restaurants it was
much cheaper as whilst Jeff and me had expensive
steak, I could order meat loaf for them.   When Miguel
complained about this, I soon got him to understand
how lucky he was by ordering him slave chow the next
time we stopped to eat.

I went out later and bough Jeff a wardrobe of the
elegantly stylish casual clothes that I'd been wearing
- I was able to try most of them on as we're not so
dissimilar in size, and then once we'd decided that
he'd have to have a shaved head, as his "mane"
couldn't easily be turned into any other style, we
were off.  I thought it best to get as far away from
the scene of the theft of Brad's property as possible,
so we headed off on the Interstate, stopping
mid-afternoon at one of the more upmarket motel chains
- after all, if the SP are looking for thieves, it's
perhaps less likely that they're staying at an
expensive place, isn't it?  It was good, as I've said
to have Juan and Miguel as our slaves:  all of a
sudden all the tedious business of getting the cases
out of the car, and hanging up our clothes, taking the
dirty ones to the laundry room, arranging our
toiletries in the bathroom - all that stuff you tend
not to do for yourself for a one-night stay - were now
done by the two brothers.

Miguel remembered that he'd been sold at an auction
house in Memphis, so we headed for there after a good
dinner and a night which was hardly devoted to
sleeping:  Juan wanted to sleep in the bed with Jeff
and me, but I kicked him out and made him share with
his brother, of course, as I wanted Jeff all to
myself.  And Jeff and I, well, you know, we were two
horny guys, and Jeff hadn't had proper sex for a long,
long time.....

This isn't meant to be a travel saga, so I won't tell
you about all the little incidents on our journey, but
there was one time at least when I had to cuff Juan
about the ears when we were  stopped for a break on
the Interstate and he told me that he didn't like the
donut I'd selected for him!  I saw raised eyebrows
from an elderly matron at the next table, and so to
maintain our deception I reached across and slapped
him hard, commanding him to eat up and be thankful
that I'd bought him one at all.  I saw the woman
nodding in approval, and felt safe once again.

It turned out not to be so hard as we'd thought to
find Pedro:  most of the staff a the dealers were
themselves slaves, and we sent in Miguel to mingle
with them as they left work at night to walk back to
the dealer's staff slave quarters which were a few
blocks away.  I'd told him what I expected of him, and
there was some resistance at first - he didn't like my
idea of him romancing one or more of the
administrators, getting inside her pants, and
basically fucking the information out of her!

"Please, senor Steve", he pleaded.  "I am a man.  A
man does not have to have sex with a woman - a woman
who might be old, or ugly... A man has sex because he
sees a woman he likes, a woman who turns him on, who
he needs to fuck...."

"I don't want to hear any of this, Miguel.  What you
say is probably true for a man, but you're a slave,
remember?  You do what I tell you. And I don't feel
any sympathy for you anyway:  after all, when Jeff and
I were studding, we had to fuck lots of women we
didn't want to, and certainly didn't fancy.  Just
think of it as one more thing that a slave has to do,
when ordered by his owner."

"But I am not a slave, senor Jeff...."

"For our purposes you are, Miguel.  And you were a
slave, and you know how to obey your owner.  Now
fucking do it, if you want to see Pedro again - I've
agreed to stay on and help, but if you're not going to
play your full part in the project....."

As it turned out, it wasn't as bad for Miguel as he'd
imagined.  One of the bitches who kept the records was
a high-breasted nigga of about his own age, and after
he'd chatted to her in the streets for a couple of
nights, he was invited into her cubicle in the slave
quarters - and then it only took another day for
Miguel to get her to go into the files and find out
the name and address of the man who bought Pedro.

I thought that honesty might be the best policy in
this case, and went to see the owner, taking Miguel
and Juan with me (both clad only in small, clinging
slave shorts).  As we sat on the veranda of his
residence, I explained to he owner that I had come
into possession of these two brothers, and he agreed
with me that they were very alike.  "And then",  I
continued, "I heard there was a third.  Now everyone
knows that there's a premium for brothers - it's a
pity they aren't twins as then I'd really be in the
money.  But three slaves who are all recognisably
brothers - well, the price for a set of three would be
substantially higher than for a pair, and a single,
don't you agree?"

The man's eyes glinted and he clapped his hands to
summon a slave to bring me another mint julep, as he
said "I can see that although you're a Northerner,
judging by your accent, you've properly embraced out
Southern ways.  A gentleman down here is always
interested in making money - some think of us as idle
and indolent, but we like a profit as much as the next
man.  And buying and selling slaves, taking something
of less value and turning it into something of a
higher value, is a most worthwhile thing to do. "

He watched as I sipped at my drink, obviously hoping
that I'd become less of a fierce negotiator as the
alcohol worked into me.  "So what do you propose,
sir?"

We then negotiated - hard!  And finally I agreed to
pay him a very high price for Pedro, a price which
took approximately half of the notional increase in
value that I'd achieve from having a triplet of slaves
who were so closely related.    The only remaining
difficulty was that Pedro had to be located - it
seemed that the man had a large agricultural holding,
and that Pedro was merely one of the field hands who
worked coffled out on the demesne.  His overseer had
to be called, records had to be searched to find out
where Pedro had gone to in the vast enterprise, and
meanwhile Juan and Miguel had to stand there
submissively at "slave rest" as the man described his
ownership philosophy to me.

"You see, sir, I don't believe in making a fuss of the
niggas I use to work the fields.  They're all very
much the same, and interchangeable -  weeding, hoeing,
planting, picking:  any one of them can do any of it,
provided they're properly supervised and 'directed'
with the tawse.  So we don't bother with names or
anything like that - we count them in to the slave
barns in the evening, and we count them out again in
the morning and attach them to their coffle chains,
and that's it - no ones cares what they're called, or
if they're doing the same work as the day before, or
whatever:  it doesn't matter.  They're just slaves,
cogs in the machine that keeps this place running and
me wealthy,  They're totally  interchangeable, really,
and provided we don't lose any of them, who cares
about differentiating between individuals?"

I nodded, seeing once again how inhumanly even an
evidently cultured man like this could treat slaves.
"We'll probably have to wait until they return from
the fields this evening to locate the slave in
question", he added.  "As they stream into the barns,
we could go down there and watch, if you'd be
interested.  It's probably the quickest way, rather
than having to ask all the overseers if they have a
slave working for them today who looks like your two -
you know how hard it is to describe a nigga
accurately, as they're basically all so much the
same."

I nodded again, and the man went on "So whilst we
wait, let us have another drink.  And perhaps a little
entertainment?  Your two brothers really are quite
interesting, and perhaps you could have them perform
for us, to while away the time?"

Juan and Miguel both looked absolutely furious when I
called out to them to strip off their shorts, and at
some point during the afternoon I thought they might
actually rebel - something that would have been a
disaster for our plan.  The owner told me he thought
it would be "amusing" if he and I each directed the
actions of one of the two slaves, and for us to see
how we could instruct them to "interact", as he called
it, with each other.  Well I've told you how Miguel
had told me about how the brothers variously preferred
to top and to bottom, but now they had absolutely no
choice in the matter:  we ordered them to jerk off a
little, then to suck each others dicks and balls, and
then to sixty nine, and finally to fuck.

It was actually quite exciting, - not as good as
having sex yourself, of course, but a close-run thing
to have the two lithe young men performing in front of
us, following our instructions.  Having them so under
our control, and making them do things they might not
normally have done, was almost as much of a turn-on as
the sex itself.   And the man was inventive, I'll say
that for him:  He issued very precise instructions for
the way that Miguel's leg was to bend, the angle he
was to arch his back at, the speed he wanted him to
use as he fucked his brother, and so on.  Afterwards,
fuelled by a copious supply of mint juleps, he and I
sat there really very amused by what had gone on, and
actually quite aroused.  So then we ordered the two
slaves to come and relieve our tensions in the
approved manner - one slave kneeling between the legs
of each us, taking our dicks out, then sucking at us
as we relaxed in the calm of the late afternoon.

I knew they'd really complain later that evening, of
course, but I wasn't going to put up with too much of
it - I mean, it's not as if they'd  been told to do
things that they didn't normally do, was it?  And
where 's the harm in a couple of young guys using each
other sexually to entertain other people?  And it was
especially stupid of them to even think of complaining
 to Jeff and me about it - after all, what had Jeff
and I been doing for so long when we were studding for
the boss?

It was pretty dispiriting trying to locate Pedro,
though:  the way the slaves were treated on that
demesne was in some ways awful.  Sure, they had a barn
to sleep in, and they seemed reasonably well fed, and
there were not a lot of lash marks on them.  But
they'd taken away their individual humanity:  the
overseers brought the coffles back from the fields,
and at the door of the barn they were detached from
the chain, and simply herded inside.  They didn't need
to have a roll-call or anything  - indeed, as the
owner had said, they didn't bother with names, or even
numbers, for the individual slaves (none of them was
branded or tattooed.  Or, rather, such brands and
tattoos as were visible seem to have been from
previous owners as there was no consistency in it at
all).  It was sufficient that a coffle of twenty had
twenty slaves on it when it came back, and that was
all the "accounting" they had to do.  Needless to say
they were all totally devoid of even a scrap of
clothing, as they were considered just to be "beasts"
and it was not necessary to give them even that tiny
scrap to help them in the modesty that might
differentiate them from animals.

The owner and I stood there watching his property
march past us, and it was I suppose quite interesting
- there was a big variety of slaves, all colours from
jet black to light coffee, and all heights and ages,
too (although  I suspect none was more than fifty).
He didn't bother to differentiate between men and
women, either, so a couple of bucks might find
themselves with a bitch sandwiched between them on the
coffle.  I questioned this, and the owner just
shrugged.  "So when they've worked together all day,
perhaps one of the bucks fucks her that night - so
what?  If I'm lucky she gets knocked up and then
there's a pup on the way who can be sold.  I suppose
it isn't nice sometimes - you know how women are, with
all that monthly stuff:  personally I wouldn't want to
be next to one of them on the coffle when she was
dripping everywhere, but they're only slaves, after
all, so it doesn't really matter."

I almost failed to spot Pedro as he trudged past us.
He was bent and weary from his toil all day, and in
the press of bodies his was not all that easy to
identify, and I think it was fortunate that he looked
up as he came past me, and I was able to spot the big
"S" on his face.

The owner ordered the overseers to cut him out of the
herd, and they drove him towards us with a couple of
well-placed tawse strokes to his butt.  It was
surprising how alike the brothers were - although I
thought perhaps Pedro's features were a little coarser
than those of his brothers.   The owner and I shook
hands on our transaction, and I handed him a cheque
for the amount we'd agreed.  I asked about transfer of
title and certificate of ownership, but he just
shrugged.  "We don't bother with all that record
keeping here - the nigga's clearly a slave, and what
more is needed if there's ever a question of his
status?"

So there we were - Jeff and I up front, and now the
three brothers together in the back seat.  After
they'd all jabbered away in Spanish for a bit, I told
them I only wanted to hear English in future.  Then
when Miguel asked if we could stop and buy Pedro some
clothes, I told him no - I wanted to move on as far as
possible, and didn't want to waste time - and, after
all, what the fuck did it matter?  Pedro was, after
all, used to being kept nude.

Before we'd set out on this mission I'd made some
enquiries about the tracking chip system, and knew
that it would just not be possible to drive Juan,
Pedro and Jeff over the border to the North.  And so
I'd determined that as dad had got me out via a
smuggler in Florida, this was probably the way to go
now.  This time, though, it was considerably easier:
dad had taken a lot of time to locate a skipper
willing to use his boat to take us,  but now all Jeff
and I had to do was hang around the waterfront bars,
eyeing the sailors up and down.  We soon found a
couple of guys who wanted to fuck - well, you know
what sailors are like - and from then on it was easy
as the "grapevine" worked to get us in contact with
all sorts of other guys.

Once we were in Cuba, though, our problems were far
from over.  Of course I had the chips removed from
Jeff, Juan and Pedro, but what then?  I suppose we
could have spent months pleading with the US
authorities to recognise that Jeff was a US citizen
and thus entitled to a passport to enable him to fly
to the North.  But what about our three slaves, as I'd
got used to thinking of them?  They were now, I
suppose, Mexican citizens again, and after the mass
migrations of the late twentieth and early parts of
this century, the doors were definitely now closed to
further influxes of Mexicans to the USA.

Personally, I thought the three brothers could simply
stay in Mexico, but Jeff was insistent that we were "a
team" and that you didn't simply abandon team members
like that (I wasn't suggesting abandonment - I was
going to give them all a few new dollars to start a
new life).

There is a way of getting illegal immigrants in, of
course..... Although when I submitted the draft of
this novel to the official censor in the Department Of
Homeland Security, I received a restraining order
forbidding the publication of the parts of my story
where I detailed how we all five ended up back in
Manchester.

Dad was delighted to see me, and to a lesser extent
Jeff, but was very concerned about the three brothers
as technically they were illegal aliens, and he was a
respected lawyer!  We had a lot of "discussion" on
this point, and  I could see things from dad's
perspective that it was undesirable for them to
continue to live in the apartment - which seemed a bit
cramped with dad in his suite, Jeff and me in the
guest suite and the three of them sleeping in the
living room.  Jeff of course suggested they bunk in
with us, but I wanted him all to myself.  "And, Jeff",
I went on, "three kids of their age - they'll be
sucking and fucking all night:  the noise...."

"You are unobservant sometimes, Steve", he told me.
"Haven't you noticed how when it comes to sex, Pedro
is totally in charge?  He fucks one or other of them,
and that's it - once he's done, it's all over for the
night.  He likes Juan and Miguel to keep 'fresh', as
he call it, for him."

"But Miguel's the oldest....."

"Yes, Steve, but it seems that Pedro first had sex
with Miguel, and then when Juan came along, he had sex
with him.  Pedro's always the one in charge in these
matters - I suppose that's why he's a bit more 'beefy'
than the other two:  a man who has power sexually
often has that little extra bit of muscle...."

"Well it's not true for us, is it?  You're the beefy
one, as you call it, and I....."

Well the conversation stopped at that point as Jeff
decided to show me who really was in charge in bed -
but, as I've told you, I now had a "secret weapon" as
all I had to do was get a finger through one of his
tit rings, and he was more or less in my power.

Things could have drifted on, I suppose, but I got
bored - dad wanted me to go back to college again, but
there was no way I was going to do that.  Jeff and I
ran, and worked out, and stuff like that, but it
wasn't enough.

I still thought of the boss very much as someone I
could turn to - I know I had dad, but, as  I said,
like a lot of sons I was always arguing with him in a
way that I never even thought of doing with the boss.
So I called him and fixed to go and see hi in New
York, and explained the problem over dinner.

"The trouble is, Steve, that you're a clever,
intelligent guy.  But without a good record at
college, there really aren't any openings for you.
Your only hope is to find some business venture where
you can be your own boss, run things for yourself.
Unless you're prepared to put the time in at college,
all the professions are closed to you, most large
corporations won't employ you initially in a
management trainee role...."

"But that's crap!  I'd make a good lawyer, or
executive, or...."

"Yes, Steve, but you'll never get the first foot on
the bottom rung of the ladder, so you'll never get the
change to demonstrate your competence or
abilities...."

"And there's another thing, boss.... The atmosphere in
Manchester is stifling me.  It's so provincial.  And
it's not good for dad, having a son around who's got
four other guys living with him.... His reputation,
you know...."

The boss sat back in his chair.  "You know, Steve, one
solution might be for you to come to New York  It's
easier to be an entrepreneur here.... There's no
'stiffing atmosphere'.... It's easy enough for you to
keep in touch with your dad, and less change of
quarrelling at a distance...."

"But boss I could never afford it - apartment rent,
all that sort of stuff...."

To cut a long story short, we all moved in with the
boss - his huge apartment overlooking the park easily
accommodated us, especially as in exchange for our
rent, he insisted that Jeff and I should occupy a bed
in his room.  And then, of course, it seemed almost
churlish not to agree to kneel beside his bed, as we
had done so often in the past, and minister to his
dick before sleep.  Mind you, we insisted on being
allowed to fuck each other and wouldn't let him forbid
us to have sex with each other.

The three brothers occupied the guest suite, and as
there was only one large bed in there, and as there
were no complaints form them, Jeff and I assumed that
they'd reverted to their usual mode of operation and
had worked out their own arrangements for sex.

The real problem came with work - without papers, the
three brothers could hardly work at all.  The stiff
regulation that had been brought in earlier in the
century had made even those traditional jobs for
illegals, like waiting table, or working in fast food
joints, impossible.  And it was as dad had warned me -
even as a citizen, it was tough in New York without
qualifications. The consequence was that all five of
us sat around a lot, and I realised my money was
running out - although it was somehow OK to have "free
rent" from the boss, we could hardly expect him to
feed and clothe us all as well, could we?

Jeff seemed to take our life of enforced idleness
particularly hard - he was always a lot more
"physical" and active than the rest of us, and he
seemed to spend a lot of time pacing around the
apartment in frustration, and using the resident's
gym.  He surprised us all one day, though, by
disappearing in the morning and when he came back in
the evening he was almost the "old" Jeff - sitting
there contentedly, with that small smile on his face.
He then told us that he'd got a job - a job that
suited him down to the ground as it was working
construction on one of the big projects in the city.

"But you're capable of better than that, Jeff...."

"Steve, you can't get a job, can you?  Not even though
you graduated High School.  And this one suits me - it
lets me work my body, and there's no responsibility:
when I get home here in the evening, that's it, my
time's my own.  I don't have any preparation to do for
tomorrow, nothing to worry about...."

"You mean it's just like being a slave...."

"...except that the foreman can't whip me, Steve!", he
added, in a tone that said the conversation was over.

Of course having Jeff at work all day only made
matters worse for me - not only had I got no-one to
talk to or work out with or anything (the three
brothers were just not as good as Jeff, and although
they liked to keep fit, I could easily out-run them
and so on).   I don't know what I'd have done if the
best ideas I'd ever had hadn't struck me one day.

I was so bored that I'd rented a DVD and was sitting
watching it, stroking my dick, as I watched the guys
fuck away.  At the end I noticed that the studios were
in the city, and I almost gave a great shout as the
realisation struck me!  I threw on my coat and raced
around there, only to be a bit disappointed:  it was
in a really seedy part, and it really didn't look like
the sort of place that would really inspire
creativity.  Nevertheless I went in and asked to speak
to the guy in charge.

One day I'll write the full story of how I got to
where I am today.  How I went from an unemployed
ex-slave to one of the biggest movie producers in the
country.  It was hard at first, as I had to start at
the bottom, literally:  it turned out that the guy in
charge was short of one of the leads in his latest
epic, and when he saw me standing in front of him he
thought I'd come for the job.  So I stripped and
showed him my body, he asked me if I had a problem
with fucking in front of other people, and of course I
said no, and he agreed to give me a trial.

There are not a lot of porn actors who can top or
bottom, or who are equally happy to be in gay or bi-
films - well, not happy, exactly, but as you know I'm
used to performing as a stud.  So I soon got a
reputation as being extremely versatile, and easy to
direct as of course I do like sex and it's kind of fun
to be getting paid for it as well.  I made a
particular point of talking to all the technicians in
between actual filming, and soon had a list of
contacts.

The boss was reluctant at first to let me use the
apartment for making a movie - my first - but I
explained that we wouldn't interfere with the other
residents.  It was made on a shoestring and I gave my
technical contacts a share of the action. And I had a
ready-made cast:  you may, of course, have seen
"Troika" as it was so exceptionally well-received when
it hit the market - the sight of three lithe young
men, all so nearly alike, cavorting around and so
evidently enjoying each other was a real turn-on for
many men.  And when a big, handsome hunk came in and
began to fuck them, one after the other, it only added
to the excitement.

It was hard to follow that, of course.  But I spotted
a gap in the market:  so many porn films are simply
boring records of two or more guys sucking and
fucking;  and I think the viewer wants more - a real
plot, some proper dialogue, action that takes place in
the real world as well as in the bedroom....   And in
the North, of course, there's a real interest in
slavery, an interest that regular TV shows simply
doesn't satisfy.  I think a lot of Northerners would
secretly like to go to the South and actually own a
slave, and have him under their complete domination
and control.  So I began to think about making movies
about slavery, showing how an owner could use his
slaves to satisfy all his desires, whatever they were.
 The sense of the total inability of the slave to
prevent his owner using his body in whatever way the
owner wanted, coupled with some powerful scenes of the
owner enslaving a male in all the traditional ways -
the forced stripping, the shaving of the pubes, the
branding, and of course the ritual near-rape of the
cherry taking, would all feature largely in the
production.

As well as my core "team" of the three brothers and
Jeff, it wasn't hard to find guys who could take part
in my planned movies.  The real problem was the plot -
I thought about it for ages, and even tried writing a
script myself, although as even I could tell, somehow
it didn't jump off the page to make the world of
slaves in the South seem "real" in the way that we had
all experienced.  I then found the incredible set of
slave stories by Pete Brown, and one night Jeff and I
lay in bed reading them and marvelling at how our
erections raged and throbbed as we imagined ourselves
in the role of the hapless slaves - Jeff laughed and
said it was particularly easy for me to identify with
them as all the heroes were called Steve!

The rest is history, of course - I doubt that there's
one of you who has not bought or rented one of my
epics.  It's made me a rich man - a very rich man.
But all that's for a second volume of my
autobiography, if I ever find time to write it.  I've
asked Pete - with whom I've become good friends as
well as a respected colleague - if he'd consider
ghost-writing my story for me, but he just laughed.
"You keep me busy churning out plots for your movies,
Steve.  How do you think I'd ever find time to write
your so-called 'autobiography' as well? "

"Oh, come on, Pete... Just a couple of extra hours a
day...."

"Steve, I think you're getting corrupted by all this
slavery stuff... You're not REALLY a slave driver, you
know, in spite of your tendencies to use those
brothers and Jeff a little - shall we say - harshly?"
was the only answer he gave me.

THE END
Pete Brown, London, France and Dublin,  December
2006/January 2007.