Kink Fiction

Chapter 23

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As these things go, the next few weeks were unusually busy for me:  the annual stock holders’ meeting was looming and I needed to hold a meeting of the heads of our global operations, then the next weekend there was the huge charity ball in aid of the American Society For the Prevention Of Cruelty To Slaves, which that year the bank was sponsoring and so I was hosting the top table, and gave the key after dinner speech, and then Miles invited Tony and me up to his folks’ place at Newport for the ocean racing – their “cottage” was even bigger than Manderleigh, and I hadn’t previously appreciated just how wealthy Miles was!  I tackled him about this as we lay in bed on the Sunday morning – Tony was snoring away, but Miles and I were in that pleasantly drowsy state after a night of sport.

I asked him why he was working a the bank as there was evidently so much money in the family and he smiled in that sexy way he has and said “Oh, well, you know, Steve, my father is a corporate lawyer, and his father before him… It’s a sort of a family tradition.  And dad won’t give me a penny – he says that after he paid for my schooling, and Harvard, I need to make my own way.  I’ll get it one day, of course, but until then I have to work for a living.  That’s what he did….”

He stroked my dick and smiled again “You see, Steve, we’re  just the same – we both followed our fathers into their work!”   I pinched his nip hard, and we both fell about with laughter at the incongruity of it all, which woke Tony….

Anyway, I digress, and it was a month before I next flew down to Manderleigh, and it was only then on  a Saturday morning as on the Friday evening I had to remain in New York for a major meeting.  As the limo swept along the drive into Manderleigh I noticed dad, the Mexican and the slave I assumed to be Chas toiling away – Stryker had evidently decided another acre or so was about right for the addition to the pleasure grounds, and all three were working away clearing it of roots and stones – they were a splendid sight, even though the sun was not shining and rain was spotting down.  I remembered how I hated working in the rain when I was a slave as your bare hide stings as the drops hit it, and you get chilled very quickly even in our climate.  Still, at Manderleigh work continued in spite of the weather, and at least without clothes there was nothing to chafe the skin as you toiled away.

I wouldn’t normally have bothered to fly down in the morning like this but Stryker had told my diary secretary that a small but select party of neighbours had asked if they could come over for a studding that afternoon, and I wanted to create a good impression in the neighbourhood, as you know.  Even so, it was perhaps a waste of time, and I sat at my desk in the study with some impatience as Stryker went through everything that had been happening whilst I was away.  Finally, when he’d finished, I said “And my plan for Joe, and Chas?  I noticed the new addition to the pleasure grounds…..”

“All as you ordered, of course, sir.”

“Well get Chas in here now – if this studding is as important as you say this afternoon, I need to assure myself that all is satisfactory.”

It’s one of the minor irritations of being a CEO of a huge company, or the owner of somewhere like Manderleigh, that “protocols” are followed by your staff.  I’d have been perfectly happy to have had Chas dragged to the study windows so that his work was not too much affected, but just as in the same way that no one at the bank can explain anything to me without an elaborate multimedia presentation being put together hastily, so the overseers at Manderleigh would not present a slave to me without first having him cleaned out, showered and lightly oiled.  It was some time therefore before he appeared before me, but the difference in the month was astonishing:  I suspected that to have put on so much muscle they’d given him steroids as well as working him very hard indeed, but he did look very good with the deep tan he’d acquired.  And there appeared to have been a change in his attitude, too, as he stood there at “slave rest” properly, with his head bowed and hands neatly clasped behind his back.  Or, perhaps, it was the thought of Stryker close by, his hand resting on the end of the punishment cane that hung as ever from his belt.

I got up and went over to Chas, and as an owner does naturally began to inspect him.  As for all slaves who are kept entirely naked, his skin temperature appeared to be a little on the high side as I allowed my finger tips to stray across his belly, and there were agreeable signs of ridges of hard muscle forming under the taut skin.   I was glad I’d decided to allow him to keep most of his body hair as the dark blond of the treasure trail under my fingers made an agreeable contrast to the tan of his skin, as it straggled upwards to his nicely inverted navel, and then went on higher to blossom into the neat thatch that seemed to emphasise his pecs with their dark, pronounced aureoles.  I let my fingers play over his nipples, which erected and elicited a small shift in his stance, and at once Stryker called out “Steady!”, and I sensed Chas’ body tense slightly as if the sound of Stryker’s voice held some terror for him.

I moved around to his back, and lifted his arms up so that I could have an uninterrupted view – he stood there with his arms splayed out, not daring to move. They’d done an excellent job on the tattooing as both the huge “Chas” and his SIN  had good, sharp edges and were very clearly defined.  There was no trace of fat on him, and, if anything, the characters seemed to emphasise the classic male inverted “V” of his wide shoulders tapering down to his butt.   When I clasped the mound of his ass cheeks to feel the power in his musculature all was not well, though:  there was a disagreeable sensation there, rather than the solid, warm muscle one expects.

Stryker saw my look of displeasure, and said casually “Don’t worry, sir:  you’re  just feeling the internal scarring and bruising from where he had to be caned rather a lot in his first couple of weeks – he’s making excellent progress, as I’m sure you’ll agree, and over time those hard lines will disappear, especially if we focus more of the training on him putting on even more power there in the butt and thighs.”

“Quite so, Stryker.  All that caning – did he object to taking dick?”

“Oh no, sir.  I didn’t order that, as I thought that you might prefer to take his cherry, sir!  I ordered Joe and the Mexican to leave his ass alone – they had to content themselves with fucking his throat, and of course Amos and Andy were well aware that the only thing that was to go up there was the enema tube….”

Stryker had placed me in a bit of an invidious position now – he’d been right, I suppose, to reserve Chas for me to be able to do that symbolic first fucking, but we now had guests coming to see him stud, guests who might themselves choose to fuck Chas when he’d performed.  We all know that when an owner first takes a virgin slave there can be a lot of noise and that some slaves even break training and attempt to resist, and it would hardly be good news for the name of Manderleigh if Chas were not to perform “properly” this afternoon.  In the circumstances therefore I felt obliged to fuck him now, and I suppose it’s partially a reaction to my time as a slave that I hate being put into a position where I “have” to do something. Nevertheless, I felt that the duties of a good host to this afternoon’s guests demanded it, and so I told Stryker to tell the slaves to bring a fucking horse in.

You may be surprised to know that there wasn’t a fucking horse – or a punishment horse, as some call it – in the study, but Mr Hawthorne’s house slaves were impeccably well trained and properly broken and he never needed to carry out punishments in the house: it was usually niggas on the plantation who were in trouble, and these were of course dealt with over in the barns. And as I’ve told you, he preferred to lie there sprawled on a couch as the slave he’d chosen to give him pleasure “rode” him.  I’d never got around to altering the basic layout of the room, so now I had to wait a Stryker went to the door and issued orders for a horse to be fetched.

In the meantime I returned to Chas, and was almost gratified to see his body trembling faintly – whether this was at the thought of what was about to happen to him, or the strain of holding his arms out, is hard to judge, but in any event the tension provided that little extra “something” to his appearance.  His dick was semi-erect as it jutted out, the steel cinch ring glinting faintly in the morning light from the large windows, and I reached down and examined it.  They’d done an excellent job on ‘skinning him, as there was no trace of excess skin on the shaft as it hung there, and when I stroked him to a full erection, it wasn’t impeded at all by them having taken too much:  I suppose it’s all the practice he gets, as all the plantation niggas are ‘skinned, that makes it relatively easy for our veterinarian to judge it exactly.  I was pleased too to observe that, rather like mine, his dick head was roughly the same diameter as the shaft, with the thick flange at its base just flaring out sufficiently:  I do hate it, don’t you, when a dick head is too small for the shaft, or where it overhangs to such an extent that it overbalances the look of the thing?

He was still sensitive about a man grasping his balls and I could sense his desire to pull away from me as I felt them through the smooth warmth of his sac, and I was pleased to see that he must be ready for studding as there was a jewel-like drop of pre-cum oozing from his piss slit after even these few seconds of stimulation.  All in all, I thought Stryker had done an excellent job in these weeks, and told him so.

The only thing that seemed to have been omitted was the branding – his ass cheek, other than the caning ridges, was still clear.  I asked Stryker about this, and there was a simple explanation: “I wasn’t sure what you wanted the slave for, sir”, he told me crisply and without hesitation. “If your plans are to sell him, then of course branding him would substantially reduce the value – most owners don’t object to the slave’s name tattooed onto his back, but a brand is impossible to remove.  So I decided to wait until you arrived – it didn’t seem worthwhile bothering you in New York, sir, as I know you must have more pressing matters to deal with all the time….  And, sir, I was also unsure about whether you’d want to do it yourself – some owners feel that a slave always has more respect for the man who pushes the branding iron in to sear his ownership mark into the slave’s hide…”

I must say I hadn’t thought of that, but remembering the absolute agony when my own butt was incised, I could see that it might be true.  And the thought of seeing the smoke rising from Chas’s flesh was somehow arousing – my dick was almost painful as it strained to break out of my pants!

“Excellent, Stryker, you think of everything. Schedule it for after dinner this evening – I’ll do it personally, as you suggest, as a walk over to the nigga sheds for a little sport will be  and agreeable diversion.”

Chas gave an audible moan as I spoke, and at once Stryker brought the cane down hard, very hard, onto the front of Chas’s thighs, causing him to scream and break his stance.  “Back!”, Stryker roared, “Or you’ll get more.  How dare you make a noise, or move, when your owner is speaking!”.    His tone changed instantly and he went on “Sorry about that, sir, but in these early stages the slave needs punishing immediately for even the slightest infraction – a quick stroke at the time drums the error of his ways into his skull much more readily than a prolonged caning later.”

I remembered how exquisitely painful a cane stroke across the front of the thighs was, as I’d had many of them myself, and knew that Chas would be “remembering” that lesson pretty well.  But Stryker went on “I had to do it, sir, in spite of this afternoon – still, at least the marks will be invisible most of the time as he’ll be bent over the bitch…”

At that moment the waiters dragged in the horse, an antique model in dark mahogany with a red leather padded bar for the slave’s body.  It looked faintly out of place compared with the modern desk and rather minimalist couches that I’d chosen when I replaced Mr Hawthorne’s choices.

“On his belly or on his back, sir?”, Stryker enquired.

“Oh, on his belly for the first time – it makes it so much easier to tie him down.”

He led Chas over to the horse, and I could tell from the body language that Chas was dreading it and had it not been for the ever present threat of the cane and the firm hold that Stryker had on his neck, he might have objected.  Stryker positioned Chas at the end of the horse and pushed him down so that he was lying on it.  Two swift movements secured his ankles in the leg restraints on the horse’s rear legs, and Stryker then went to the front, and in turn pulled each of Chas’ arms down to enable him to tighten the wrist restraints at the base of the front legs.

“Are you going to take him ‘buckaroo’, sir?  Or shall I tighten the belly strap to hold him absolutely tight down onto the bar?”  I smiled.  “Oh I think this one is definitely a mover, Stryker!  Especially for the first time.  I like a lively response from a slave, so I’ll do it ‘buckaroo’.”

“Shall I withdraw, sir, to give you some privacy?”

“Heavens, no!  A man doesn’t need privacy to fuck a slave!  And it’s not as if you haven’t seen me in action many, many times before….”

We both laughed at this little reference to our previous history, and as I undid my belt and took my pants off, Stryker busied himself with the adjusting wheels to position Chas’ ass at the most comfortable height for me.

It is of course one of the problems of having a slave cinched that when he’s strapped to a horse and his legs are spread ready for fucking, you don’t get to see that agreeable sight of his balls swinging loosely between his thighs.  But I suppose it’s a small price to pay, and I have to tell you that the prospect of fucking Chas was anyway so exciting that I think that I might have shot there and then if the spectacle had been any more erotic than it was!

There’s something special about that moment when an owner first lets his dick brush against the butt of a slave, and this is of course vastly enhanced when you know that the slave is a virgin and that you will be showing him your complete control of his body by being the first to use his ass for pleasure.  And in this case, for me, it was doubly exciting:  you know I like to give dick, but this was, I think, the first time I’d been in this position of totally dominating and controlling another man like this.  I was, in a sense, ‘losing my virginity’ when it came to exerting my ownership of a slave in this way.

I spread Chas’ butt apart, noticing the contrast between the dark tan of his skin and the pale flesh deep in his crack where the sunlight never penetrated.  The slaves had done their preparation well and as I allowed a finger to trail along down there I could sense not even the faintest trace of stubble from his shaving, and when I touched the wrinkled skin of his pucker, his whole body shook,  and he moaned “No….”.    I remembered that dad had told me it was “traditional” not to punish a slave for making a noise when he was already strapped on a horse so I let this break in Chas’ training pass, and was faintly amused to see him vainly trying to shuffle his legs to try to close his butt as I pushed my finger into his sphincter, which resisted strongly.

“He’s very tight, Stryker!”, I commented. “And dry – the slave oil has been absorbed down here.”

“Or those slaves in the baths didn’t loosen him and lube him properly!  I’ll have them punished.”

Stryker came over and his own finger probed where mine was, making Chas struggle and moan even more.  “You can’t fuck him like this, sir, it will be painful….  For you, sir, that is…..  He’s too dry.   I’m sorry, sir….  This was unexpected, and they  just got it wrong….”

I felt sorry for Stryker, as he seemed to take this failure personally, and the next moment he dropped to his knees and reached underneath Chas, between his thighs, and began to wank him, vigorously.  Chas began to wriggle and squirm, only calming down and standing more or less still when Stryker gave him two giant slaps with his big hands on his butt, and then Chas gave a great shout of “Oh…….”, and Stryker scrambled to his feet.

He’d neatly “milked” Chas, and he now stood there, one hand full of cum, and he quickly, thoroughly, and quite roughly, I thought,  used it lubricate Chas properly, plunging his stubby finger over and over into Chas’ hole, and making him moan and cry out almost incessantly.  Finally Stryker cleaned his hands in Chas’ hair, and said “That should be OK now, sir. It’s the best and most natural lubricant, after all…..”

It was a good fuck – at least for me.  Not only was Chas’ hole nicely tight, but he thrashed around a lot, even though he knew he was totally unable to escape, and that added to the excitement.  As did his constant shouting and cursing – not  just the screams of pain as I lost my temper with him and began to pound him long and hard, but the cries of despair, the begging and pleading for me to stop, and the epithets that he rained down on me all added to the excitement and atmosphere.  I began to see why rapists really enjoy what they do.

Afterwards I wiped my dick clean on his hair to emphasise to him that I could use him any way I wanted, then I decided to keep him there on the horse as I made a few phone calls – it reinforced to him, I knew, how his life had changed:  there was I, making money, commanding the world wide empire that was the bank, and there he was:  a lowly slave, who had been used by his owner and was now helpless as he felt the cum trickle out from his hole and slide down the inside of his thighs.

I had decided to make the studding that afternoon something of an “occasion” as several of the neighbours were coming, so they were greeted by glasses of chilled champagne on arrival.  I made a little speech saying how I intended to continue the tradition started by Mr Hawthorne of providing good quality whiteys for stud, and everyone applauded politely.    They did so again when I had Stryker bring in dad and Chas, and I explained the new procedure to them:  all the bitches would be studded by both men in future, as we wanted to make sure that their chances of being “covered” the first time were increased (or so I said!).

Dad and Chas were standing next to each other, their hands cuffed to neck collars as usual, and the tiny “blinders” cutting  out their vision, and as I had commanded Chas has additionally been gagged with a tongue depressor that kept his airways open but which made his attempts at speech come out simply as inarticulate gurgles.  Dad just stood there relaxed, exuding confidence, but Chas seemed really twitchy and ill at ease.  I thought back to my own experiences in the studding barn and remembered how it felt to be there naked, blind and helpless, hearing the talk and laughter from the others, and knowing that soon I was going to be performing one of the most intimate things that a man can do, in public.  Dad liked it, I knew, but I almost felt some sympathy for Chas as he stood there.

The first bitch was brought in and secured, and Stryker led dad over to her and gave him the ritual slap on his butt to signal to him to start, and I enjoyed once again watching dad’s superb muscled butt driving his dick in and out of her as she moaned in ecstasy.  When he’d finished, it was Chas’ turn, and I motioned to Stryker to stand aside to let me conduct it.

I stood there and stroked him to a full erection, just as he had once done to me, then whispered “easy, boy” as I grasped his dick and led him over to the bitch. He must have been able to smell her scent, and dad’s leaking cum, as he began to protest and struggle – so utterly futile:   no one could understand what he was saying;  and helpless as he was and being led by the dick, there was no way he could avoid doing what we intended.  I positioned him at her cunt, but he tried to shy away as soon as I let go of his dick, and it made me very angry as he was spoiling he performance for my guests.  I stopped and made a little speech apologising to them, explaining that this was his first time as a stud and he was perhaps a little nervous, then took firm hold of his dick and pulled him forward once more.    I was ready for him this time, though, and the moment he tried to pull back I slashed at his butt with Stryker’s punishment cane, this time not even considering pulling the blow or holding back in any way whatsoever.  He shot forward into the bitch, at the same time screaming out as best he could through the gag, and the watchers were rewarded not only by seeing him begin to fuck, but by the bright red line that formed across his butt where the cane had struck.

It almost made me jealous after that when we rested dad and him to see them sitting there together against the wall, so companionably close,  just as we had done, but I had to attend to my guests and circulated, making polite conversation about the state of the crops and so on, as plantation owners do (especially those who had been briefed by Stryker as I didn’t really know anything at all about agriculture!).  The house slaves, in fetchingly brief tunics that gave tantalising glimpses of their bodies as they moved amongst the guests, served more champagne, and tea in my finest bone china cups for the ladies, accompanied by petits fours and tiny cocktail delicacies.

Dad was of course superb as he fucked the second bitch, and I don’t know whether he had said something to Chas as they’d sat there, but he seemed so much better behaved this time, and made a creditable performance (or perhaps it was the thought of the cane again – it can’t have been comfortable for him to have to sit against that wall with the cane mark across his butt!).  As he finished and Stryker had pushed him down so that he was lying on the bitch as we always did to “give the swimmers a chance”, one of my guests approached me.

“Mr Masters, sir”, he began, and I saw a very handsome looking sixteen or seventeen year old looking at me, giving me a bright smile.  “Thank you for this afternoon, sir.  It’s the first studding I’ve attended, other than those at home, of course, when dad puts the black studs to the bitches.  It was very good – I enjoyed seeing both those whiteys in action, sir.”

I nodded, and he went on “I understand that sometimes the gentlemen can use a stud, sir, after he’s performed…. Would it be possible…. Could I….?”

“You want to fuck one of the studs, do you?”

“Yes, please, sir.  I’ve had niggas at home of course, but I’ve never been with a whitey…. And they do say that it’s really special to take a slave when he’s just studded….    I’ve asked my parents, and they don’t mind – they say it’s all part of growing up….”

“Well I surely don’t mind.  But won’t you be embarrassed at having to strip in front of all these people, and your mom and dad…?”

“Oh no, sir.  Mom will take the ladies off for a turn around your magnificent gardens, sir. And I’ve got nothing to be ashamed about in front of the men – I’m on the football team at school, and I knew I’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about as I’ve got a good body…”

“So do you want to fuck the older one, or the one whose  just performed?”

“I really like the idea of fucking the old guy – Joe, sir – as he’s got such a magnificent body.  But they do say it’s really special when the stud’s still inside the bitch…  Perhaps I could come back another day and fuck Joe, but today I’d like to take Chas.”

I nodded my assent, smiling at the thought of how Chas would hate this, and watched as the ladies unhurriedly left.  The boy didn’t take his shirt off, but dropped his pants and briefs as he stood behind Chas, and I remembered how I used to hate it when I heard that characteristic “clunk” of a belt buckle hitting the ground when I was being made to stud, as it signalled to me that I was about to be used.  The boy had a good long dick, perhaps somewhat on the thin side, and with the impatience of youth he wasted no time in ramming it hard up Chas, who was of course completely unable to stop him.    I didn’t enjoy the spectacle of the boy’s colt-like butt as he thrust away as much as I had seeing the mature muscles of dad and Chas, but he did have a certain youthful vigour that added a little freshness to the scene;  but again, with the freshness of youth, he finished very quickly – although he stood there, inside Chad, for what seemed like a long time as I imagined his “aftershocks” continued to pump out.

When the guests had gone I returned to the studding barn with Stryker, and he undid the “blinders” from both men, although he left their hands cuffed to their collars.  “This one needs a good thrashing, sir”, he told me, grabbing Chas by the dick and pulling him over to one of the studding benches.  “That was a disgraceful performance, and his backside needs striping….”

As he was speaking, he pushed Chas face down on the bench, and pulled two of the fastening straps over his upper and lower back to secure him.  He reached for his cane, but I stopped him.  “No, Stryker…. But now we have him here, there is one more thing we need to do to make him a proper slave at Manderleigh…. Rather than waste my time this evening, we can do it now… Fetch the electric branding iron.”

Chas began to scream and shout through his gag, and dad looked a bit shocked, but Stryker went over to a cupboard and got out the apparatus.  Look, I know it’s traditional to use a charcoal brazier and a metal iron that you heat up as the slave watches, and when we brand a new batch of niggas we always do it this way: there’s a certain value in tradition, and, in any case, the anticipation as the slave watches the iron change from black to red to white in the charcoal, before it is brought over to his flesh, probably makes a lasting impression on him.  But it is a lot of trouble, and like a barbecue, you have to start it a long time before you need it!

The electric iron is so much less fuss, and it was up to heat only a couple of minutes after Stryker plugged the cord into the outlet.  As you probably know, it’s really important when branding salves that they remain absolutely immobile when the iron is pushed through the outer layers of their skin, otherwise the brand is never properly crisp and the edges, which anyway tend to soften and blur as the skin heals, are even worse. We brand the niggas in as special jig which clamps down over their waists and thighs to keep them perfectly still, and I was concerned that the two straps holding Chas to the studding frame were  just not up to it, so I climbed up and sat astride him, facing away from his head, so that his butt was sticking out between my thighs.  I could clamp my thighs firmly together – I was still very strong from all those years of labour – to hold him steady, and in any case his ability to buck and rear was severely limited by the sheer weight of me pressing down on his lower back.

Mind you, it’s not a good position to brand a slave from – it’s hard to get the brand properly positioned high on his butt and slightly to the side.  And when the metal touches the skin and the smoke pours up, you’re right on top of it and it’s really rather unpleasant!

Anyone would think I was an unnecessarily harsh and cruel owner to have branded Chas like this, but I judged it better to get him to fully accept that he was now always going to be a slave at Manderleigh as soon as possible, as it would be kinder to him in the end.   In any case, we never use anaesthetics on slaves when we brand them – part of the process is to get them to feel the searing pain of the brand as a means of emphasising to them that their owner has total power and control over their bodies now.

When the worst of his cries had subsided I told Stryker to untie him and to release both men from their neck cuffs.  “Look after him, Joe”, I said. “Neither of you has to work again today, but he’s got to be ready for a full day tomorrow –  so make sure he drinks a lot of water, and doesn’t mess with the scar that will form.”

“Yes, master”, dad said, perfectly properly.

“Oh, and Joe…. I’ve taken his cherry, and as you probably heard, he was fucked by one of the guests this afternoon.  So there’s no reason for you to hold off now –  just be a bit gentle with him for the next few days, as he’ll be really sore!”

To be continued …

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