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Mr Stryker led me back to our sleeping cell in the mower shed about twenty minutes later, and I lay there on the mattress in absolute misery, waiting for dad to come back. When he did, he just lay down beside me and rested there, as if he was deliberately trying to keep away from me. The silence was dreadful, and finally I could stand it no longer. “Dad, I’m sorry….”
He just lay there, saying nothing. “Look, dad, I’m sorry… I didn’t want to do it…. It’s not my fault….”
Still dad lay there, totally silent and immobile, and I felt terrible. I turned away from him, but on the narrow mattress that was all we were allowed my butt brushed against his thigh. I loved the feel of his skin, but still dad didn’t react. I just lay there on my side, and the misery overcame me: I’d been torn from my life, from all my buddies at school, my girlfriend…. And made a slave. And then they’d made my dad fuck me, and now I’d been tricked into fucking him. I just couldn’t help it, I felt so sorry for myself, that I felt my stomach clenching and my lungs start to shudder as I desperately tried to stop myself from crying. Look, I know it’s not the sort of thing that a man ought to do, but I was only sixteen.
Dad stirred next to me, and then it was as if thing were going to be OK again – be spooned his body up against mine and his big strong arm snaked over me and his hand rested on my belly. His face was pressed into my neck, and his warm breath was comforting. “It’s OK, Steve…. I know, I understand.”
“But dad, they made me fuck you…”
“I know, Steve. They made me fuck you, too. Remember?”
“But you’re cross, dad. And it wasn’t my fault….”
“Oh Steve, I’m sorry…. It’s not your fault. Of course it isn’t! It’s mine… I got you enslaved, and then it’s this terrible system, that turns men into animals. It’s not right, Steve – taking men and making them into studs, and then using them for sex, making them fuck each other for the amusement of other men….”
“But dad, you used to say it was a good thing… It got the drug pushers and the rapists and the murderers off the streets…. “
“Sure, Steve. But not guys who just did little things, like be a bit elastic with the truth about their taxes! And I never knew that they treated slaves like beasts, making them go naked, playing with their dicks, watching them fuck: we’re just like animals, Steve. No, worse than that – most owners treat their pets better than they treat their slaves.”
I didn’t know who I felt more sorry for – dad, for having been fucked, or myself for being made to be here as a miserable slave. But when we then rolled together and I moved my hand to get comfortable and felt dad’s legs, I saw there was a problem. “Dad – you’re bleeding, or something….”
Dad’s hand rested on mine, felt the liquid on his leg, and muttered “No, Steve, it’s not blood. It’s cum.”
“But dad, I didn’t produce that much…. All your leg’s wet…. It was my second shooting, and I only produced a bit of cum, I’m sure….”
“Steve, you just don’t understand, do you? What do you think the men in that room did after you’d gone? Well, I’ll tell you – some of them came and fucked me as I lay there strapped to that studding bench. They just dropped their pants, and rammed it home into me.”
“Dad, they couldn’t have….”
“Steve, we’re slaves, remember? And free men can do what they like with a slave, with his owner’s approval. Mr Hawthorne had laid on an evening of entertainment for them – first us both studding those nigga bitches, and then having you fuck me. So they expected to continue to be amused, and some of them didn’t like having hard-ons with no relief possible, so with Hawthorne’s approval, they came and fucked me.”
“But dad, guys don’t do things like that… They looked like respectable men, rich friends of Mr Hawthorne….”
“Steve, try and get it into your head, will you? Respectable men like that, pillars of the local community, wouldn’t dream of fucking other men. They’ve all got wives and kids and their position in society to consider. But we’re not men, Steve, we’re slaves, remember? And different rules apply to slaves – if a man wants to stick his dick up a slave’s ass, particularly a slave’s ass that’s already well lubricated, and lying there open for him, then he can.”
I hesitated a moment, and then asked, haltingly “And is that what’s going to happen to me, dad?”
“I expect so, Steve. But Mr Hawthorne must have other plans in mind for you at least at first, otherwise he wouldn’t have had Stryker take you out of the room. Most of those men would probably have preferred to fuck a young, almost virginal asshole like yours, than mine! After all, they’ll all own a lot of big buck niggas to work in their grounds, or their factories, and they’re probably used to taking strong, muscular asses…. But a young white guy like you – well, it’s the fantasy of a lot of men to be able to fuck their sons, or at least to be able to pretend that they’re thirty years younger, by fucking someone young who they can think of as a kind of surrogate buddy!”
“But dad, I don’t want to take dick…. It was OK with you, but not a load of other men like that. Some of them were really gross and fat, and some of them were really old, a lot older than you, dad….”
“There’s nothing I can do about it, Steve. And nothing you can do about it, either. If Mr Hawthorne chooses to let his friends fuck you, you’ve just got to take it…”
“No! I’ll fight….”
“Steve, look, listen to your dad for a moment, will you? I know you’ve got a bit of a temper, as you take after me, but you’ve got to learn to accept the inevitable. You’re a slave now, and if Mr Hawthorne orders you to lie down and be fucked by some of his friends, you’d better do so. Otherwise he’ll have you punished…”
“I don’t care…”
“You will, Steve! You’ve been spanked, and we get tawsed when we’re working. But I’ve seen a slave being formally whipped, by a whip master, on the whipping frame. You don’t want that to happen to you… But even if Mr Hawthorne doesn’t order that, as it would destroy your value to have your back and butt torn to shreds, he can send you to spend the night in the nigga sheds… And I’ve told you what that did to me. So please, Steve… I don’t want to see you hurt…. Just learn to accept that there are new rules now, and that everything is different for a slave.”
“No, Steve. I don’t want to hear any more. You need to learn that there are things you can’t change, and that there is one hell of a lot more of them now than when you were free. Now, get to sleep, will you? We’ve got a long day tomorrow, as it’s grass cutting day again.”
With that, dad kind of pushed me over on my side and spooned up against me, put his arm over me, and settled down to sleep. It wasn’t that easy for me, however – although I’d fucked twice already that night, I was still hard and somehow the thought of sex with all those men was turning me on. So I tossed and turned as I tried to drift off, and this of course meant that dad’s dick was kind of massaged by my butt, and that made it even more difficult as it was kind of exciting. But I must have drifted off eventually, as dad woke me up when I was deep down in sleep the next morning, and for a few moments I thought it was school days again, and I was late for the school bus!
But no, it was off out to cut the grass again, and it was tough: there had been rain, so the fucking stuff had grown a lot since our last cut, and that made it much more work, and the wet grass stuck all over our bodies, and the humidity made us sweat like pigs as we toiled away. I was in a foul mood most of the time as I was bored, tired and kind of aching all over, and I was glad when we finally finished and could shower and get properly clean. As dad and I were pulling on our shorts, Mr Stryker came up and told me to cut across to the house and see Amos and Andy, as they needed to clean me out properly, as Mr Hawthorne wanted me that night.
“No…”, I started to say, but dad slapped me, hard, on the butt! “Remember what I said, Steve! Now, just think, will you? You were always telling me how fucking bright you were, so use your brain, and remember what I said!”
I stood there for a moment, seeing dad’s hard body with the ring thing around his balls and dick making him semi-erect, and knew that if he could take it, then so could I. I realised I didn’t have any real choices – at least if I went with Mr Hawthorne’s friends, some of them might be tempted to buy me off him as a special toy or something…. And the alternative was, anyway, pretty dire – I could see Stryker almost enjoying taking me off to the nigga sheds!
Amos and Andy were already naked when I got to the preparation room, and fell on me with obvioius enjoyment as we all stood there getting properly clean. They seemed to delight in running their hands over my body, and kept telling me how great it was to have a young guy with nice muscles, rather than a big stud like my dad, to play with. They even turned the enema bit into a kind of game, with one of them standing behind me and putting is arms around me to rub my swollen belly as the water forced its way in to me – and as he did this, he rubbed his nips against my back, and let his dick slide over my butt really sensuously.
Once they were satisfied that I was really clean inside, we all of us used the slave oil to give our skins a nice gloss, and it’s not true that it’s not slippery – you’re probably used to seeing the slaves when it’s been massaged in and is lying there as a dull sheen, but when you’re applying it, three nude guys covered in it can have quite a fun time rubbing themselves all over each other! Amos and Andy thought that the hairs on my spoiled the effect, and got to wondering whether Mr Hawthorne might order me to be totally shaved – I hadn’t realised that this is how they had to keep themselves as a lot of niggas are naturally pretty smooth, but they told me that when he’d bought them, Mr Hawthorne hadn’t liked the kind of tight, wiry curled hair that niggas have on their chests and so they had to keep themselves smooth. Mind you, I didn’t particularly like the last bit: they made me bend over and grip my ankles, and one of them used some thicker stuff to slick the inside of my ass!
I really protested about this, but Amos just looked at me. “Steve, it’s just Mr Hawthorne tonight, and I expect he’s going to fuck you. He’s not very good at lubing and stretching slaves before he starts, so it’s best if we do this to you now – even a small dick like his can hurt, you know…”
“A small dick?”
Both of them laughed. “Yes, even for a whitey, he’s a bit undersized. I expect that’s why he likes fucking young guys, like you, rather than big studs like your daddy…. He doesn’t like to see the comparison between him and a big guy…. And it’s why he doesn’t often have niggas in to fuck, either…. As you know, we’re all big….”
As he said this, both Amos and Andy grasped their dicks and waved them around obscenely, and we all three laughed, but suddenly they stopped, as if they were really afraid and quickly finished towelling me with a soft towel to really buff up my skin – I heard sounds in the corridor outside, and Mr Stryker was there to take me in to Mr Hawthorne. I wondered what Stryker did to Amos and Andy that could make them so terrified of him, but obviously couldn’t ask, so I just had to stand there, hopping from one foot to another, as they gave me a pair of “formal” slave shorts: crisp and starched, not like the usual thin cotton things dad and I wore when we were working.
Mr Stryker led me through the house and knocked politely before a large heavy door, listening for the call to enter. Inside it looked like Mr Hawthorne’s study: a big desk with a PC and a phone on it, bookshelves lining the walls, some containing filing boxes, but mostly leather-bound books, and two comfortable-looking couches flanking the fireplace.
“Thank you, Stryker – that will be all”, Mr Hawthorne said as Stryker stood there, as if waiting to say something.
“Are you sure, sir? The slave is inexperienced….”
“I can always press the panic button, Stryker. And even though he’s inexperienced, I think I detected the signs in him that he’s gong to enjoy this. I’m not too worried as he knows that we have his father, too, and any wrong actions on his part and his daddy will be lashed.” He changed his tone, looked at me, and went on “That’s right, isn’t it, Steve? You are going to behave, aren’t you? You wouldn’t want me to have to order your daddy to be punished, would you, boy?”
I swallowed, and muttered “No, sir.”
“Right, then, Stryker, I think you can leave us now. But Steve, I’m your owner, remember? So you always call me ‘master’.”
As Stryker left the room, still looking rather reluctant, I think, Mr Hawthorne motioned towards the couch where he was sitting. “Come and sit here, Steve.”
I went and sat down at the far end of the couch, but he smiled at me and said quietly “No, Steve, right here, next to me. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
Well I was, but a guy never admits that, does he? So I muttered “No, master”, and shuffled along. My Hawthorne then put his arm around my shoulders and pulled my body close to his. I felt the warmth of his arm (he was wearing a short sleeved shirt) against me, and caught the almost intoxicating smell of his citrus cologne as I was so close to him. His fingers began, very gently, to stroke my nipple – no one had ever done this before, and I suppose I was surprised to find that my nip went hard and erect as he did this.
“Ah, Steve, you like this, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer, as it didn’t seem necessary, and Mr Hawthorne began to roll my distended nipple between his thumb and forefinger. This was almost hurting me, but hurting in a way I’d never known before – I almost wanted the pain, as it was doing something else to me, causing me the most amazing sensations right through my body. I felt my dick straining against the starched fabric of my shorts, and then, like a prisoner breaking free, it sprang through the open fly and stuck up as I sat there (like all the shorts worn by slaves on the place, there were no zippers or buttons, just an overlapping fly). The dark tan of it contrasted with the snowy whiteness of the shorts, and as he continued to toy with my nip, Mr Hawthorne’s other hand crept across and began to stroke my dick. My whole body almost shivered, so exquisite were the twin sensations of his long fingers playing with my nip and with my dick, and when he nudged my ‘skin back and let the tip of his finger nail scrape across my piss slit, I couldn’t help it: a low moan escaped from me, and I squirmed slightly, involuntarily, as I shuffled on the couch to get more comfortable.
“Ah, Steve, like a lot of young men you like attention being paid to your body… Has anyone ever done this to you before?”
As he spoke, Mr Hawthorne’s hand moved right down my shaft and delved in through the open fly of my shorts. I felt his fingers cupping my balls, and he gave them a little squeeze – not enough to really hurt, but enough to make another gasp escape from my lips – again, was it pain, or was it pleasure? He carried on stroking my balls and dick, put his head close, then pressed his lips to mine. My nose was assailed by the light lemony fragrance of his cologne now, subtly overlaying his general manly smell, and I felt his tongue probing at me. I wasn’t sure I liked it, as he was so old, (well, old in relation to me), but he squeezed my balls again, oh so gently, and allowed his thumb and finger to really press my nip, and as I gave a sigh of pleasure his tongue slipped in and began to ravish the inside of my mouth. Still holding my nip and dick, he pushed my head back into the high back of the couch with his, and began to forcefully kiss me, his tongue constantly beating against mine, with just an occasional break so that he could gently bite at my lower lip before starting again.
I heard myself moaning with the sheer physical sensation of all of this, and knew that pre-cum was pouring out of my dick as Mr Hawthorne’s stroking seemed to get slicker and even more sensual. I couldn’t help myself – I felt my balls begin to jerk, and he next moment cum was fountaining out of me, shooting upwards to hit my belly as I half sprawled there almost underneath Mr Hawthorne by now.
He stopped kissing me, sat upright, and brought his hand, covered in my cum, up towards my face. “Look at what you’ve done to me, Steve! I think you’d better do something about cleaning this up”, he said in that quiet tone that brooked no argument. And as he said this, his hand moved towards my mouth, and I smelt that unmistakable smell of cum.
“No, please, master… I don’t like it….”
“Nonsense, Steve! What young man hasn’t tried eating his own cum?”
“Me, sir! I don’t like the smell!”
“Nonsense… Now, I want that strong tongue of yours to lick me clean… Its good practice for you, anyway….”
His fingers were right up to me now, and I just knew he had me completely in his power: not only were dad and me his slaves, and I was worried that he might order dad to be hurt if I didn’t obey him, but his fingers were still gripping my tit and this somehow seemed to give him an immediate physical mastery of me. Tentatively I let my tongue snake out and touch the white slime on his fingers, and was surprised – there was almost no taste at all! All those years when Id thought cum must taste vile, and now I found it just slightly sweet, slightly salt. In fact, the biggest sensation was the taste of Mr Hawthorne himself: the citrus smell of the soap on his hands. As he held his hand there, I began to lick his fingers, one by one, and then as I got started and realised there was something sensual about sucking at him like that, my own hand went and gently held his wrist so that I could make a better job of it.
After a time, Mr Hawthorne pulled gently away from me. “Very good, Steve. You liked that, didn’t you?”
I blushed as I murmured “Yes, master”.
“I think you’re going to be a very good slave, Steve, when I’ve trained you a little more. So let’s move on a bit. Get rid of those stupid shorts, and come close to me again.”
I raised my butt up slightly from the couch and pushed at the shorts to get them down, then sank back down, feeling the coarse wool against my bare skin as I did so. Mr Hawthorne now put one arm right around my neck and shoulders and pulled me to him and began to kiss me passionately again, whilst his other hand roamed down my back, then pulled my butt up slightly so that he was stroking my thigh. I moaned in pleasure, yes, that’s what it was – I was actually enjoying the feeling of this man stroking my body like that. I could have let him do it for ever, but he suddenly stopped, pushed me gently away, and said “On your knees, Steve, in front of me.”
Thinking I’d misheard him, I hesitated, and he said again, firmly this time “On your knees, Steve! Kneel in front of me, here, between my legs.”
I half slid off the couch and kind of crawled along a bit. I felt really foolish kneeling there in front of him, totally naked, and even though I’d just cum, my dick arched upwards again for some reason. I looked up into his face, which was smiling slightly, but couldn’t help noticing that he was suffering as I had earlier – his dick was tenting the front of his immaculately cut fine wool slacks, but there was no escape for it as there had been for mine. As I watched, he pulled down his zipper, then reached into his fly to release his dick. It sprang to attention as it was released, but there wasn’t all that much of it, as Amos and Andy had said – well, not compared to dad’s, or theirs… or even mine! It was shorter and thinner than all of us.
“Suck it, Steve”, he said in that same quiet tone of command.
“Please, master…. No….”
“Yes, Steve. Come on, you can do it…. You sucked my fingers a moment ago…. Just put your head down, and kiss my dick gently first, then start to suck at it….”
I leaned forward slightly, and moved my head down. I didn’t want to do it, but I was worried about what he might do to dad and me. As I got closer to his dick, I smelt that same faint lemony smell of his soap, but now it was overlaid with the faint smell of piss, and that other scent that I now know shrieks “male”, that special scent you only find in a guy’s pubic area. I thought I would gag at first as I let my lips touch his dick head, but once I realised how wonderfully soft and warm it was, it was as if my fear evaporated. I liked at it experimentally, then, gingerly at first, but then with increasing confidence, I opened my mouth and let the head slide in through my parted lips.
I bobbed my head up and down gently, not daring to take all his dick in as I felt it might choke me, and heard Mr Hawthorne start to give the same kind of soft moans that I had been making just a few minutes earlier. Then, as I continued, I felt his strong hands guide me – one on my bare shoulder, and the other on the top of my head: he pushed me gently, but firmly, in a way that brooked no resistance, right down, so that his whole dick was in my mouth and my nose was buried in the soft fabric of his slacks.
He guided me up and down then, and at first I didn’t realise I had to keep my lips closed but my teeth apart – I guess we all know how painful it can be if a guy accidentally catches the soft skin of your dick with the edge of a tooth, and when I did this, Mr Hawthorne’s attitude changed abruptly! He pushed my head back, and slapped my face hard – very hard. “Keep your teeth out of the way – don’t you know anything?”, he demanded. But before I could reply, or even make any protest, he pushed me back down on his dick, this time not nearly so gently.
As my head bobbed up and down, he started to raise himself up and down on the sofa to meet me, and his moans and cries became louder. I tasted something salty in my mouth, and then he gave a great cry of “Sweet Jesus…..”, and pushed my head right down into his lap one last time. I felt the warm slime of his cum fill my mouth and wanted to take my head away, but his hands held me there as he stopped moaning and then said “Good boy, Steve… Now, as you come up off me, be sure none of my cum leaks out: these are expensive pants, and if there are any cum stains on them, I’ll thrash you.”
I knelt there before him, swallowing and licking my lips to clear my mouth of his fluids, and he pointed down at his rapidly detumescing dick. “Clean me up properly, Steve – get down there and lick me clean!”, he said, quietly again now, and there seemed to be nothing to do but to obey him: I pushed my head down and using a hand to hold his dick, suckled at it to clean off any vestiges of cum, and then tucked it gently in through his fly and into his boxers.
Mr Hawthorne hardly bothered with me then – he just got to his feet, leaving me kneeling there naked, and strode out. I wondered what to do, but then Amos and Andy peeped around the door, and seeing that Mr Hawthorne had left, came over to me. Laughing at each other and at their boldness at daring to sit on the furniture, the flopped down, side by side on the couch in front of me. “Now Steve, now you’ve learned how to do it, how about sucking our nigga dicks?”, Andy asked, and both men broke out into raucous laughter.
To be continued …
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