Click here to see all published chapters
Dad seemed to cheer up a bit, although I still remained angry, when Amos and Andy clustered around us and really exclaimed over our snout rings – they seemed to have the same words as Mr Charles had been using, and they explained to dad and me that they’d heard Mr Charles and his father discussing these things as Mr Charles had been excited having read an article about the new fashion in some magazine or other. They also kept playfully stroking my cinched dick and balls now, telling me how much better I looked after I was ‘skinned. “You’re just like all of us now, Steve”, Amos told me. “All us slaves here on Manderleigh are ‘skinned, and it must be good not to be the odd man out any longer.”
Well, it wasn’t! I hated it, I hated being always on display: guys who have never had a ‘skin just can’t understand what it’s like to suddenly have the entire world looking at the most private part of you. I mean, unless I chose to, in “normal” life another guy never got to see my dick head – at the showers in school, for example, it always remained decently covered as if I wanted to wash my dick head I always turned towards the wall and away from my class mates. To have Mr Hawthorne have the power to be able to order me to lose such a vital part of myself really brought home to me how my life had now irrevocable altered. But most of all I hated being erect almost as soon as they touched me, so sensitive had my dick become. And I realised what dad had had to put up with all these years when they started to prepare our bodies – instead of just being able to do a really simple scrape over my balls and a few snips to generally shorten and neaten the small patch of pubic hair I was allowed, they now had a much more difficult job as they had to keep moving the rings slightly to get a the skin underneath, shaving a very small area, and then starting to move the rings again. Not only did it take a lot longer, but it was arousing, very arousing! Dad saw what was happening, and was of course used to it. “Careful, Steve”, he called out cheerily, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Don’t let these two make you cum! Remember, we’re supposed to be studding tonight, and even a young guy like you won’t perform at his best if he’s only cum a couple of hours before.”
“I don’t care!”, I snapped back “They should have thought of that before they did this to me….”
“Oh Steve, don’t start all that again. Just accept that you’re a slave, son. It will be easier for you, you know. If you just accept that they own you, own you totally, and control everything you do, it will be a lot easier for you. You’ll wear yourself out, son, always arguing and stuff – and it’s making you unhappy.”
Damned right it was making me unhappy! But there wasn’t any point in arguing with dad about it, as he seemed to have accepted that he was a slave, and that his life would never change. So I just stood there as quietly as I could whilst I was prepared by the two niggas for the night’s ‘fun’, ‘fun’ that would further humiliate me.
It was Mr Charles himself who came to inspect us to make sure that Amos and Andy had done their work properly, and to blindfold us and cuff us, as was usual (and as I’ve told you about before). There was a difference now, though: instead of cuffing our wrists and then pulling them as high up our backs as possible with a chain to our collars, he had a new method of doing it: Amos and Andy were told to fasten special leather collars around our necks, on top of our normal salve collars, and these collars had cuffs kind of “built in”. The new collars fastened with a small buckle at the front, our wrists were put in the cuffs behind our necks, and that was it. Although there were only small buckles holding our wrists to the collars, and holding the collars closed, we were unable to reach them and so were totally powerless. And there’s something truly awful about standing there, knowing that someone can do what he likes to your body now and you will be unable to fight back.
“These new arm immobilisers are part of the new methods I’m employing”, Charles told us. “With your arms right up around your necks now, everyone can see your names properly, so if we have competition to see who can do it fastest, it will be easier for them to cheer their favourite.”
There was another innovation, too – as I watched, Charles put tiny goggles around dad’s head, the black plastic covers just fitting into his eye sockets and covering his eyes. “Much better than the traditional blindfold”, he said. “You slaves still won’t be able to see the bitches, but the audience will be able to get a better look at your face as you fuck away. And now… the real piece de resistance….”
If you’ve ever been to a studding recently you’ll know the reason why we had the snout rings installed – Charles had a stick, about two feet long with a clip at the end of it, and he reached out and fastened the clip through dad’s snout ring. Dad stood there, helpless, the stick hanging down across his body, the end almost touching his dick. “You know, they’re right!”, Charles said to Amos and Andy. “It was all right leading the slave into stud by his dick, but this way of controlling him is so much more hygienic afterwards – I hated getting my hands covered in the mating juices as he needed to be led away.” His tone changed, and he went on “Right, Steve, now for you….”
The tiny goggles fitted into my eye sockets and I was blinded., and then I felt the vile rod being attached to my snout ring. He let it fall, as he had for dad, and it rubbed up and down my naked body, falling into the deep cleft between my pecs, and with the end rubbing up and down my belly. We stood there in silence for a bit, and then I felt the stick being lifted, and a gentle tug made me walk forward. I hated it! Look, it’s bad enough being led off to a studding session by your dick, but at least with your handler’s hand holding you there you’re relatively “secure” as he has to be close to you, and he can’t help knowing from the small movements in your body if you’re OK. But being led by the nose, at the end of a long stick, means that all this feedback is eliminated, and Charles almost dragged dad and me along, simply not caring about the pain that the snout rings caused to our noses.
We knew at once from the sounds of voices and laughter that Mr Hawthorne had a big gathering that evening, and there was a round of applause as we were led in. We stood there, knowing that their eyes would be studying us intently, until Mr Hawthorne called for silence by tapping a knife on his glass, and then said “Gentlemen, you’re going to take part in an experiment this evening. There’s money riding on it, as my son and I have a bet. Although we have two studs in front of you this evening – Joe and Steve – there’s only a single nigga bitch to be covered, and it’s going to be your votes that determine which of these handsome studs will do it.”
“What bet?”, someone called out.
“I can’t tell you the exact terms, as it might prejudice your voting!”, I heard Mr Hawthorne say. “But suffice it to say that my son and I wagered on whether a little project he was pursuing would be successful. Now, before you choose, would you like to inspect each stud?”
There were cries of “yes”, and before long, I was being handled and fondled, as the half-drunk guests, their breaths stinking of whiskey and cigar smoke, pressed themselves close to me and did all those things that, if they had done them to a man rather than to a slave, would probably have been illegal! And when, some minutes later they voted (when my dick was almost at the point of shooting in spite of all my efforts to remain calm), it was ten to one in favour of me being used.
On those few occasions over the years when I’d been studded, I’d got used to feeling the hands on my hips as I was guided and “presented”, as they called it, to the bitch. I’d never liked it, of course, as I’d kind of lost any lingering traces of enjoying sex with bitches. So in some ways being “cinched” helped – there was no need to stimulate my dick before introducing me into her. And after the ritual slap on my butt – a slap now administered on my brand – I could just do the business quickly and efficiently. In fact, when I’d cum, and was lying there bent forward as the practice demanded to give my semen a chance to “swim” up her, they said, I noticed that I was hardly breathing hard and it was really only the sweat from her that was making our bodies slide together.
When I was finally allowed to pull out, Mr Hawthorne didn’t even ask if they wanted to see dad in action, too, Instead, he told the audience that his son had a new surprise for them, and the next moment dad and me were guided to stand close together and our snout rings were coupled together by what must have been a couple of links of chain. We were so close that our bodies were touching all along their length, and my juice-slimed dick slipped easily over dad’s as we both stood there. Still, at least our hands were released from the collars – I was glad of that, as the blood circulation is a bit constricted in that position, and I’d been like that for some time now.
“Right, gentlemen: for your further pleasure, both of these studs are available for use by any of you who need a little relief.”, Mr Hawthorne intoned. “As you can see, joined together like this, they’re completely harmless and totally biddable. If you wish to use them, simply instruct the other one to lie on his back on the table, then you will have full and free access to the one you chose..”
There was a lot of laughter and shouting from the assembled men, and various amongst them seemed to be “dared” to fuck us. There was talk of betting, then a “pool” where everyone threw in a fifty, the total being given to the man who agreed to strip off in front of his friends, and even more raucous laughter as someone suggested that he didn’t want to seethe dick of someone else in action, as it was bad enough having to watch it in the showers at the gym. Finally, there seemed to be general agreement that a “Scott” would do it, as he was a real horny guy, and then the debate turned to which of us it would be that he’d take.
>From the feel of Scott’s hands on my butt, and the rough way he pushed my ass apart so he could thrust at my hole with a finger, I guessed he was a young, impatient guy who, now that he was excited, just wanted to get in and get fucking. I felt the gasp of breath from dad as he evidently did the same to him, and then he was back to me again – he seemed to have stripped off, except for some shorts, as I could feel them against my bare butt as he pushed his body up against my back, then made kind of “humping” gestures, much to the amusement of everyone else. The same must have happened to dad, as the noise redoubled, and finally everything went quiet.
“Come on, Scott”, someone called out. “Make your mind up! Don’t keep us waiting all night.”
“The young one’s cute, of course”, Scott replied. “But I see butts like his every day at the gym. I can fuck that any time I want to. But the older one – Joe – well, he’s different. For one thing, he’s not as tight as the young one, and for another, I like to take an older guy…” There were more cheers from the others as he said this, and even one catcall of “you can take me anytime…”
“…so I’ll take Joe”. Hands reached out and guided us backwards, and I felt the edge of the dining table against my ass. I was kind of pushed down onto my back, with dad lying on top of me, our noses lined together by our snout rings. His body was hot, sweaty and heavy on top of mine, and we wriggled, as best we could, to get comfortable – dad did his best, I’m sure, to take as much of his weight as he could on his own feet as he stood there bent over me, but it was still hard to breathe.
Dad’s breath was coming in big gasps and it was hot against m face. “Sorry, Steve…”, he whispered, and then he gave a great cry and I felt a searing pain in my nose: they must have done something to dad to cause him to react like that, and he’d jerked forward, putting terrible pressure on our snout rings As dad started to gasp and moan and his whole body crushed and slid over mine, I realised that the Scott guy must be fucking dad – he’d evidently not bothered to enter gently and slowly, and had just thrust his way in. And now he wasn’t doing an elegant job of it, making sure that dad enjoyed it as much as he did: no, this was more like an animal rutting, where the male is only concerned to reach climax and pump his seed up into the bitch as fast and as far as possible.
I could tell dad must be hurting terribly as he’s not a guy to complain and he’d normally take a fucking almost silently. But now his breath was coming in short spurts, each one accompanied by a grunting sound from deep inside him as he desperately tried to stop himself from screaming. I did my best to help, wrapping my arms around his sweaty body to help hold him steady and stop him from sliding around on top of me – if he’d done that, both of our noses would have been torn apart.
Mercifully, it didn’t go on for long, as above the cheers of the watching men I heard Scott shout “Jesus fucking Christ… I’m cumming….” and then dad stopped moaning. The weight on me was very bad now, and I guessed that Scott must be slumped across dad’s back, resting as he pushed out the last of his cum, and in turn this weight was pressing down on me. I wanted to push them off, wanted to be able to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t – there was no way I could move dad off when our snout rings were joined. I felt shut in, unable to see, hardly able to breathe, and very hot from both the heat of the room and the animal warmth of dad’s body all over mine. I was stifled, and almost began to panic – well, I controlled it but my body started to do “panic” things, and that only made it worse: my own temperature rose, I tried to draw bigger and deeper breaths, to no avail, and sweat was pouring off me. And then I felt something else, something I’d not felt before: as well as all the sweat dripping off dad onto me, there was something different. Something was landing on my face, gently, and almost cool: dad must be crying, and the tears were falling down where I could feel them.
We were allowed to stand up as Scott evidently pulled out of dad, and we heard a lot of laughter as he tried to dress in front of his buddies. Mr Hawthorne offered us again to the men, and all we could do was stand there and listen as they tried to persuade one of the guys to fuck me, or, when he refused, to “show them how to fuck Joe, but properly this time, not like Scott”. More laughter, as we just stood there, waiting.
Dad put his arms around me, and I did the same to him as it was easier to stand there kind of embracing, and there were hoots of derision from some of the watching men, as they thought we were just making sexual poses to try to attract them! Far from it – there’s nothing either of us wanted less, than to be used again that night, and our embrace was more one of mutual comfort, as we consoled each other with having been used so cruelly by Mr Hawthorne and his friends. As our bodies touched we each made soothing noises – I don’t know which of us was trying to comfort the other more, and inevitably our hands slid a bit up and down each others backs, as we reacted to the wonderful sensation of male skin; or perhaps it was more than that, with a father and son desperate to tell the other that he was there for him.
They kept us there for hours. Well, probably not more than a couple of hours, as the drinking and carousing went on, and all the time dad and me worried that their thoughts might turn to sex again, and we’d be used once more. I suppose we needn’t have worried all that much, though, as we could hear the serving slaves filling and re-filling glasses almost constantly, and it must soon have been apparent that none of them would be in any state to fuck anyone! Finally, it was Scott who suggested that he had to leave as he said “Mary-Lou and I have been trying for a kid for some time, as I think a lot of you know, and it’s a good time of the month: I need to get back and give it to her….”
Hoots of derision greeted this, as they said that he’d wasted himself on dad, but he claimed he was just “warming up” ready for “the real thing”. He left, to more shouts and cheers, and then the rest of the party broke up rather quickly as these things generally do once one person has decided to call it a night. Dad and me were just left standing there, almost as if they’d forgotten about us, and we just enjoyed each others company for a bit, not saying anything, just holding each other in that wonderfully comforting embrace, and feeling our dicks rise and fall as they reacted to the sensation of another body pressing against them.
“Dad…”, I began.
“Shhh!” Dad sounded quite stern. “Keep quiet, Steve. You know we’re not allowed to talk when we’re on duty.”
“Dad, that was disgusting, fucking you on top of me…”
“Shut up, Steve!”. Dad sounded really urgent now. “We’re not allowed to speak, and we’re not allowed to criticise our owners, you know that!”
“Fuck that, dad, what they did was wrong…”
Dad’s last words were followed by a very hard slap across my naked butt, as Charles’ voice thundered “Listen to your daddy, you miserable slave! He’s right, you’re not allowed to speak on duty, and how dare you criticise us….”
Evidently Charles had come back in to the room and I hadn’t heard him, as he was soon fiddling with our snout rings, and a moment later dad and I were no longer joined. We stood there, and I reached up to undo the blinkers that were still preventing me from seeing anything.
Another slap on the butt – harder, if that’s possible, as Charles snapped “Wait! If I want you to see, I’ll take the blinkers off. Otherwise you just wait – I thought that having you ‘skinned and tattooed and branded would remind you that you’re a slave, Steve, but you seem just as uppity as ever. I’m beginning to think that I really need to convince my old man to call in the public whip master and make an example of you! He’s refused to do so up until now, but you’re probably the worst behaved slave we have, and I think you need a lesson – a harsh lesson – in proper slave decorum.”
I stood there, my fists clenching impotently at my side as my body “knew” it ought to take a swipe at that arrogant bastard, but my brain told me otherwise and all I could do was clench and unclench my fists in suppressed rage. Still, after a minute or so Charles did remove the goggle things ,and I stood there, blinking my eyes as they got used to the light again.
“You, Joe, come with me!”, Charles said. “I liked the way Master Scott rode you tonight, and I want a bit of relief myself after all this drink, if I’m ever going to sleep.”
“Please, sir, Master Charles… Take me….”, I cut in. “Dad’s been fucked once tonight, and Master Scott wasn’t gentle with him…. Take me instead, please, sir.”
“Shut the fuck up, Steve! How dare you even suggest that. You’re a slave, and slaves don’t speak to their owners without permission. But for your information, fun though it would be for me to pound your ass tonight, it will have to wait as my father has asked for you. And, anyway, I’m looking forward to hearing Joe cry out as I fuck him – Scott did, as you say, give him a hard time and I expect he’s sore, if not bleeding slightly. I always enjoy the way a slave bucks when he’s in that state and another man’s dick enters him.”
As he said this, Charles put his hand on dad’s neck in a gesture of total dominance and control, and dad bowed his head in submission. I was really angry now, but before I could say or do anything, Charles snapped “Cut along to my father’s suite – you know where it is, as you’ve been there often enough before, slave boy.”
I saw dad looking at me with that same pleading, imploring look he’d given me before when he meant “do as you’re told, and don’t be an idiot.” So what could I do? I just shrugged slightly, and turned and went out into the corridor, then along to the door of that quiet, calm study I’d been into so many times before. I stood there, and knocked, then waited several minutes before I heard Mr Hawthorne telling me I could enter.
The firelight gleamed on my sweaty skin as I stood there as I had so many times before, and Mr Hawthorne signalled me to approach his customary place where he sat on the couch as he usually didl. Mr Hawthorne’s eyes raked my body, then told me to turn around, and then to turn back again. He gave a great sigh, then said, as if to himself, but also kind of to me, “Well, at least Charles was right about one thing – once he made you look like a proper slave, they didn’t hesitate to choose you to stud the bitch tonight, rather than Joe. The only problem is that he’s made you look so much like a slave that I don’t think I like the effect very much – I preferred you when you were a nice, clean-limbed fresh-skinned whitey, who could have been my son, almost, if my son ever exercised or worked properly!”
I knew what was expected of me, from so many previous sessions in this room, and at a small gesture from him I dropped to my knees in front of him and began to nudge the front of his pants with my nose, encouraging him to erect. It was funny, though, as he was usually ready, but after a couple of moments when nothing had happened, I thought it best to move on: as I always did I gently pulled down his zip, then reached in to take hold of his dick and ease it out into the air. This was usually a bit tricky as Mr Hawthorne would be semi-erect and I didn’t want to hurt him as I had to bend it to get it out (well, you know how it is: the fly opening of boxers and pants never lines up properly, and it needs a careful hand to fish the dick out!). Then I’d gently kiss the tip, and he’d be as solid as a rock, just as hard as a guy half his age.
Tonight was different, though – when I did extricate it, his dick lay there against the material of his pants all limp and lifeless. I kissed it, licked it gently, then bent and sucked it into my mouth, all the time making the kind of appreciative “Mmmmm.” noises some guys like when you’re playing with their dicks. Try as I would, no amount of sucking and teasing a his piss slit with my tongue seemed to make any difference, and after a few minutes he pushed my head away, and I continued to kneel there in front of him as he sat on the couch and watched him tuck his dick away and zipped himself up.
“Don’t worry, Master…”, I started. “A lot of guys get occasional failures. I’ve even been known to have them myself. Well, I mean, sometimes it takes me a long time to get hard… It’s only temporary, I’m sure… You’ll be OK tomorrow, these things come and go…. Especially as you get older….” Even as I said this I kind of knew it was wrong – you really shouldn’t comment about a guy’s inability to get an erection, should you?
“Oh Steve, as ever, you’re blaming someone else! It’s not my problem, Steve, it’s yours.”
I listened in astonishment. How the fuck could the fact that this old guy couldn’t get it stiff possibly be my problem?
“Yes”, he went on, “You’re so much like a slave that everyone else chooses you, but I no longer find you exciting. I think that snout ring is particularly repulsive – the thought of you having that thing anywhere near my body is such a turn off. You’ve turned into something more resembling some sort of fetish object, than a desirable, fuckable piece of ass. I think you’d better get out, before you make me retch.”
I wanted to argue with him, point out that it wasn’t “my” problem at all! Who the fuck had ordered all this stuff to be done to me? Who’d decided that I should have a snout ring? But I knew I was on dangerous ground.
“Please, master… Let me try again…. “
“Steve, I think my son’s right about you. You are so dammed uppity that only a good whipping can really cure it – I’ve held off as I liked your body looking like a free man’s, but now you’re so disfigured anyway, perhaps a few permanent scars from a dammed good bull whipping will remind you constantly of your place here. How dare you argue with me – get out, as you were instructed.”
“That’s so unfair….”
“Get out, now. Get out before I call Stryker and have you caged ready for whipping. I don’t want to see your disgusting body in here again.”
I went to say something else, but knew it was no good. A slave could never be right, could he? I strode to the door, my whole body posture screaming anger, tore it open, and slammed it behind me. Only when I was standing there in the corridor, trembling with rage, did it occur to me that this was an unwise way to have left Mr Hawthorne – he did hold the power of life and death over me, after all. Well, not death exactly – he’d have to apply to the Courts if he wanted to terminate me, but short of that, he could do almost anything else – cane me, order a public whipping, or, of course, sell me. As I thought of this I began to shake a little as my reactions cooled and the sweat evaporated from my naked skin: what if he were to send me off for auction tomorrow: I’d never see dad again!
By the time I’d got back to the mower shed I felt pretty desperate, and wanted to tell dad all about it and say goodbye, in case I was taken the next day. But dad wasn’t there, and when he did appear, some time later, he was in no mood to speak. By the light of the moon filtering in through the windows, I could see angry red lines all down his back, across his butt, and down his thighs. He was walking kind of funnily, too, and he lay himself down very gingerly on our mattress, on his belly.
“Dad… What’s happened? Are you OK?”
“Nothing that won’t fix itself, son. There’s no permanent damage, no broken bones, just a lot of temporary pain. That bastard Charles didn’t want to fuck me, he wanted to beat me.”
“But why, dad?”
“I don’t know, Steve. I never did anything to annoy him, I never disobeyed, I never was uppity, not like you…”
“Look, dad, that’s the problem with being a slave. They can do what they like to you, and there doesn’t have to be a reason. We all know you work hard, and you’re loyal, and everything, but if Charles chooses to beat you, there’s nothing you can do about it. That’s what’s so fucking unfair.”
Dad just lay there, moaning quietly. I think he knew I was right, but he’d been going on for so long about being a slave and having to obey, that he just couldn’t admit it. Not to me, not to anyone else. Personally, I thought Charles had beaten dad because his own father had taken me off for fun and games – not that we’d had any – rather than taking his own son. Charles was punishing me for something his father did, by punishing my father. It was such a complicated world. I just lay there, and wished everything could be simple.
To be continued …
Click here to see all published chapters