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Dad and Me (6)

These days the old customs have almost entirely died out, I suspect, and even in those times they were fading.  An owner of many field niggas like Mr Hawthorne never bothered to assert his ownership rights over them, leaving it to Stryker, or some of the junior overseers and guards, if they so chose. But for house servants and “fancies” like me, he thought that it was important to maintain standards and keep alive some of “the old ways and traditions of the South” that had been much more prevalent years before.  Therefore he liked to fuck the new slaves who were to serve around him, whether male or female, as a way of confirming to them that they were totally under his control and in his power.

The loss of virginity, whether vaginal or anal, is something that most people thing ought to be bestowed freely, to a lover, which is why human societies have probably view rape as such a heinous crime (after all, it’s not all that important really – it’s not as if you leave the victim permanently damaged, as if you’d snapped a leg off or anything;  But many societies award punishments for it that are at least commensurate with something serious, like murder). But for slaves, there’s no choice:  your owner demonstrates to you very clearly and forcibly that he now has total control over you and your body, and that control extends to him taking his pleasure of you.  I suppose I was aware of this, as the odd times I’d watched slave dramas on TV there was usually a scene where the owner forced the beautiful young slave girl to have sex – it was even rumoured that some of these scenes were not “acted”, but that slaves were bought in for the purpose specially.   So if I’d thought about it, I’d have known what was coming next:  Mr Hawthorne had ordered me onto the horse not for punishment, but so that my ass would be conveniently positioned for him to fuck me.

Dad knew what was coming, though, as when Mr Hawthorne said quietly “Joe, let’s make this as easy as possible for Steve – take the container of his cum and use it to properly lubricate and stretch him, ready for me”, he looked almost panic stricken, and said quietly “No, master, please don’t make me do this….”

I saw Mr Hawthorne nod at Stryker, and the next instant my world exploded into pain again as Stryker brought the cane whistling down to once more stripe across my butt.  I couldn’t help it – the searing intensity of the sensation and the sheer unexpectedness of it caused me to cry out, and I felt my body buck violently on the horse.

“Now Joe,”, Mr Hawthorne continued quietly, “You heard Mr Stryker explain to you how in future any bad behaviour on your part would result in Steve being punished.  Do you want us to continue caning him until you do as your are ordered?  Do you want to see your son scream in agony like that – and, as you will know, the longer the caning continues, the worse it gets as already beaten muscles receive a second dose.  And My Stryker might even have to continue down the back of young Steve’s thighs…. Do you remember the special pain that causes, Joe?  Now you know you have no choice in the end, as both you and Steve are slaves, and as his owner, I am going to take Steve’s virginity sooner or later.  You can save him an awful lot of pain and suffering by accepting the situation, and obeying your orders.  Now, do as I said, and go and properly lubricate and stretch Steve, and there will be no more need of this beating.”

I could see dad almost trembling with worry and rage, but somehow I also sensed that he knew he was utterly defeated.   He came towards me and stood near my butt, and ran his finger gently, oh so gently, along the painful stripe that ran along it.  “I’m sorry, Steve”, he whispered, “But it’s in your own best interests, son…. I’ve got to do this, to save you from being hurt even more.”

I felt the warmth and gentle pressure of one of dad’s big hands resting at the base of my spine, just at the top of my butt crack, and then a finger from his other hand starting to pry my butt cheeks apart, very gently.  I stopped breathing for a moment, hardly daring to believe what he was doing to me, and then, as the pressure of his finger got stronger and he touched my asshole, I couldn’t help it – “No, dad, please don’t…”, I called out in a low voice.

“Shh…, Steve…. It’s in your own interests, son”, he almost whispered in reply, and I felt his finger starting to push, gently but firmly, up into me.  I shuffled my feet, tried to clamp my asshole closed, but it was no use – somehow the combination of his strong finger and the psychological effect of his other hand pressing me down onto the horse took away my will to resist.  I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t scream, I just had to lie there and feel dad’s big long finger enter fully in to me, until the warmth and sweat of the palm of his hand was against my butt.

“There, son”, he whispered.  “Not so bad, was it… Now hang in there….”

He pulled his finger out and looking back over my shoulder I saw him rolling it in the ashtray containing my cum.  When he then resumed poking his finger up into me, it was much easier as I could feel it slide in, and dad then moved it in and out a few times, almost as if experimenting with doing this to me.  It actually felt good, and without me even thinking about it, my body relaxed, and I might even have made a low moan of satisfaction.

Dad’s hand, still on the small of my back, must have detected this, as he said again “Hang in there, Steve…. One more now….”

There was a  new, tight sensation, and  I wanted to writhe around and murmur with both a slight discomfort and a deep feeling of pleasure, as dad was now putting two fingers up in to me.  And then, as he must be stretching his fingers apart, I couldn’t help myself: I did give a low moan, as the feeling of having my asshole stretched so gently and carefully was actually very sensual.

Dad pulled out again, wet his fingers once more with my cum, and returned to my ass.  I have to say it was not so much fun when he pushed a third finger up me, and now when he spread them apart, I knew my hole was being stretched to what must be its limits.  At one level it was uncomfortable, at another it was hurting and I wanted him to stop, but at another, I didn’t want him to stop – I know it  sounds odd when you see it written, but when a man is working on your asshole, there is that very odd mixture of enjoyment and concern, isn’t there?

Dad pulled out of me completely then, and went and assumed the “slave rest” position, his head submissively bowed, in front of Mr Hawthorne.

“Excellent, Joe.  Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Can I trust you to just stand and watch as I take Steve’s cherry?  Or shall I order you out of the room for safety?”

It was clear that Mr Hawthorne was musing to himself and was not expecting a reply from dad, as he went on “Now Joe, you need to remember the rules here, and be sensible:  I’m going to do what an owner has a right to do to a new slave, and you know that, as I did it to you when you first came here.    I’ve decided you should stay and watch, as you and Steve have got to become familiar with each other and remember that you’re now slaves, rather than just a father and son. If you interrupt, if you interfere, if you even say anything, I will not have the slightest hesitation in ordering a punishment caning both for you, and for Steve.  I will accept no bad behaviour of any kind from you, is that understood?”

Even I was a little surprised when dad whispered “Yes, master.”

“Good!”, Mr Hawthorne responded, getting to his feet.

Stryker, lounging there, sprawled on his chair, looked at Mr Hawthorne and asked “Do you want me to withdraw, sir?  I can remain outside, so that if there’s trouble with either of the slaves, I can be in here in an instant….”

“Oh no, Stryker!  Stay and watch, if you like.  I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

I watched as Mr Hawthorne got to his feet then came around behind me.  There was a rustling and a  “clunk” which I knew must be his pants falling to the ground and his belt buckle hitting it, and then I felt his warmth against my thighs as  I stood there.  The next moment his hands were resting on my butt, his fingers to the sides and his thumbs in my ass crack as he gently pried my butt cheeks apart, and then there was that feeling, that almost indescribable sensation as his dick began to nudge its way in.  I almost smiled as the tip of his dick ran up and down my ass crack as there was an odd mixture of tickling and pleasure coming to my brain, but then it was undeniably there – I could feel it resting against my pucker.

Mr Hawthorne leaned forward slightly, the pressure on my butt increasing as he took some of his weight on his hands, and he spoke quietly, almost whispering, as if it was only me who should hear “Right, Steve… Here goes…. For your first real experience as a man, and as my slave…. Now it may hurt at first… But I’m not a gratuitously cruel owner, and if it seems too much for you, I’ll stop…”

With that he pushed forward and I felt the inexorable pressure of his dick head trying to get into me.  I didn’t exactly know what to do, and I suppose by reflex tried to hold my ass shut, and Mr Hawthorne pushed forward with more force.  “Relax, Steve…. Pretend you’re going to take a crap and push outwards… It will be easier for you…” He told me, again in that calm, controlled tone.

Well I did, and to my surprise, his dick head slipped into me quite easily then – well, I know now of course that with dad’s stretching and the lubrication of my own cum, that was to be expected.  I gave a gasp of surprise –  a nice surprise, not a nasty one – and Mr Hawthorne slowly and gently, very slowly and very gently, continued to press into me until I could feel his pubic hair resting against my butt, and the front of his thighs pressed right up against me.  He’d taken his hands off my butt and now rested them on my shoulders, not exactly digging his fingers into my muscles exactly, but exerting pressure so that I knew he was there, on top of me, skewering me with his dick and controlling my body totally.

“OK, Steve?”

“Yes, master”, was all I could whisper.

He began to fuck me then, pulling out very slowly, and sliding back in again, and the combination of the way that my body was responding to his dick and the feeling of his skin pressed against mine was fantastic – I couldn’t help it, I found myself making little groaning noises of pure pleasure, and whispering “Yes, yes, yes…” In time to the gently rhythm of his movements.

It could have gone on for hours as far as I was concerned, but suddenly his action changed:  e started to pull out much more quickly, then slammed forward so that there was a distinct “slap” noise as his skin collided with my butt.  This was much less fun for me as I wasn’t sure whether what I was feeling was the most intense pleasure I’d ever had in my entire life, or pure pain.  My little low moans and quiet cries of “yes, yes, yes” changed to be more ones of “Uhhh… YES” wit h each thrust, but then suddenly it all stopped.

Mr Hawthorne relaxed his grip on my shoulders, and sagged forward to lie against me – I could feel the smoothness of the silk of his shirt along my sweating back.  “There, Steve, you’re properly my slave now.  I have taken your cherry, Steve.  I have followed that long tradition of slave owners in asserting their rights to use a slave for their satisfaction and enjoyment.”

I could feel him pulling back then, and his dick sliding out of me, and he stood upright.  I looked around, and saw his dick, still semi-erect, poking out from under the tails of his shirt as he stood there, and then Stryker snapped “Joe!  Don’t just stand there – help your owner.  Clean him up!”

It almost defied belief – dad looked really grim, as if he hated having to obey, but without a murmur he knelt in front of Mr Hawthorne, put his arm around his bare butt to steady him, then leant forward and begin to lap at the slimy dick with his tongue.  It seemed to go on for ages, as dad knelt there lapping and licking at Mr Hawthorne’s pubes and dick, until Mr Hawthorne reached down and pushed dad’s head back, away from him.  “Good boy, Joe.  I’m pleased with you, slave, as you are truly beginning to understand the power that we have over you.  Now think very carefully about everything you’ve been told about punishment, as I don’t want you to do anything foolish and spoil this excellent performance.”

Dad knelt there, listening, as Mr Hawthorne pulled up his pants and buckled his belt, then went on “There’s another part of the tradition of an owner taking a slave’s cherry, and that’s the bit you’re going to do now…. In olden times, especially when the owner had just taken the virginity of a young female, it wasn’t thought right that it should stop there, as if she became pregnant, it clearly would be the owner’s child and that would cause potential complications.  So the master’s fucking was always followed by a second one, from a slave, so that the parenthood of any progeny would always be questionable.  I like to uphold those old traditions, and you will remember that after I had taken your cherry, I had one of the nigga servants go up you – not that you could be pregnant, of course, but perhaps the tradition carried on as there would be no chance of a slave collecting his owner’s cum and using it to artificially fertilise another nigga.  I like these old traditions, Joe, and so now that Steve’s lost his cherry, he needs a second good fucking to properly clear out my cum….  Go to it, Joe!  I want to see that ass of yours really thrusting away as you pump your seed up into young Steve.”

“NO!”, dad shouted as he got to his feet, and stood there, no longer completely submissive, with his fists clenched by his side as if his body was preparing to fight. “No, master.  Don’t make me do it!  It’s not right! He’s my son…”

“Yes, Joe.  He’s your son, but you’re also both slaves.  Anything I order you to do is ‘right’. It will reinforce for both of you that life has changed totally for you.  Now, start to fuck him….”

Dad just stood there, and at a nod from Mr Hawthorne, Stryker at once got to his feet, too, and stood next to me, his punishment cane in the air.

“Don’t try and stop Mr Stryker”, Mr Hawthorne warned dad. “Remember, laying hands on a free man will result in a public whipping.”

Once more the cane slashed down, and once more I screamed as it slammed into my flesh.  Stryker gave me two strokes this time, before Mr Hawthorne signalled him to stop.  “Are you going to allow Steve to suffer because of your stubbornness, Joe?” He asked calmly. “Or are you going to be a good slave, and obey orders?”

Stryker had the cane raised again, but dad whispered “Yes, master.”

I saw Mr Hawthorne smile, but Stryker seemed disappointed at being made to stop the beating.  Dad came to where Mr Hawthorne had been standing just a few minutes before, and he sounded almost as if he was on the verge of tears as he said to me in a very low voice “I’m sorry, son.  I’m sorry, but I’ve got to do this.  I can’t allow them to keep caning you, son. Hang in there… I’ll be as gentle as I can, and it will soon be over…”

I felt dad’s hands on my butt then, and the heat of his dick as he positioned himself at my hole.  He pressed forward, and my mind was in a whirl… I remembered to push outward, and  I could feel dad’s dick enter me, but it was somehow different.  This was my dad, my dad’s dick now forcing its way into my ass, the dick that had produced me sixteen years ago.  I was full of the physical sensation of it, the delightful warmth and sheer sexiness of a man’s dick inside me, but at the same time it seemed somehow wrong, that it should be dad that was having to do this to me.

Dad was a s gentle as he could be, but his dick was longer, and thicker, than Mr Hawthorne’s.  I winced and even gave little yelps of pain as he pushed in and then stood there, his firm muscles hard up against my own, and then as he started to rock backwards and forwards, I began to pant and almost shout as the feelings flooded through me.  It seemed to go on, and on – he must have fucked me for at least five minutes until I felt his whole body tense, and the small guttural noises he’d been making became a great cry of “Jesus fucking Christ…. yes…..”, and it was over.

He stood still for a few instants, then slowly slid out of me.  He went and stood in front of Mr Hawthorne and Stryker, cum dripping from his dick still, and with his head submissively down.

“Good, Joe.  That wasn’t so bad, was it?  Now, I think that’s enough for today…. ” Mr Hawthorne said encouragingly.  Then, changing his tone, he asked “Have you decided where the boy will sleep, Stryker?”

“Yes, sir.  I thought it would be good for them to live together, as they’re going to work together. They are a father and son, after all, and I expect they’re used to sharing quarters.  The pen for the ground maintenance slave is not all that big, but they can both fit in as they’re so close…”

“Quite so, Stryker.  Would you mind taking them there now then, please, as I have some urgent e-mails to attend to and calls to make as he Far East markets are opening soon?”

“Yes, sir”, Stryker replied, then beckoned to dad and me to follow him as he started to leave the room.

As I got up from off he horse my butt really hurt again from the strokes I’d received, and I winced and knew I had a pained expression.  And as I walked across the room, there was an unpleasant sensation from my ass – it felt kind of hot, and sore, and painful, these feelings coming through even over the dull, throbbing ache from my butt.

Stryker led us out of the house and across the yard at the back – it felt really odd to be walking along, like that, totally naked, but dad didn’t  seem to care, so I just followed his example.  We went into a wooden shack – well, almost a barn – and inside were lined up mowing machines, saws, and tools of all kinds.  On the back wall was a barred enclosure, and dad went in.

Stryker motioned for me to follow, then closed the door and locked it.  “You know I don’t usually keep you locked up, Joe”, he said, “You know you can’t escape with that obedience collar on you.  But today’s events have been a bit unusual, and I think it’s better to remove any temptation from you both.  Now, sleep tight!”

He strode out, and I looked at dad, and he looked at me.  The barred enclosure was bare except for a small mattress on the floor, with a single blanket lying on top of it.  “Welcome to your new home, son”, dad said, trying to make a joke of it. He reached out and put his arms around me, and I did the same to him in a dad and son hug – except, of course, that as we were naked I could feel my dick rubbing against his.  “Steve, I never thought I’d see you again…. I’m sorry, son… Sorry for having got us enslaved in the first place…. And then sorry I had to fuck you… But I had no choice, as you’ll find out….”

“Dad, I never thought I’d see you again… Don’t worry about me, I’m tough, dad, I’ll survive. But what’s happened to you… “

“You mean the tattoos, the cock ring…”

“No, dad… You’re different… You didn’t argue when they told you to fuck me. You didn’t tell them to fuck off, tell them it was wrong…. You just did it….”

Dad sank down to sit on the edge of the mattress, and gestured for me to sit beside him.  “Look, Steve, things have changed.  I am a slave, and you’re a slave.  And there’s no point in arguing – they hold all the cards – they can punish you, deprive you of food, keep you chained up….. You know how it feels to be caned – can you imagine what whipping’s like?”

“But dad, you always told me to stand up for what’s right, and never mind the consequences…”

Dad put his big strong arm around my shoulders, and pulled me close to him.  “Look, Steve, that may be the ideal, for free men, but it’s different for slaves….”

“Dad, you fucked me!”

“Listen, son, if that’s the worst that happens to you as a slave, count yourself lucky.  Now let’s just try to move on, shall we…”

“No, dad!  It wasn’t right.  You should have refused, or argued… You’ve changed, dad, you’re not like the dad who would argue with the cops about a speeding ticket, who balled out the neighbours when they made too much noise when I was studying….”

“Listen, Steve, let me tell you what happened to me. After Mr Hawthorne fucked me – and it was the first time for me, too, just as it was for you – they decided that I needed to be ‘broken’.  So they took me off and made me work in a field coffle for six weeks.  You haven’t been up close to them yet, but here on Manderleigh they have twenty niggas in a coffle, and all of them are stark naked – they don’t even give then a tiny shred of clothing to cover themselves, as it’s an unnecessary cost, they say, and it’s too much trouble to arrange laundry and so on.  You have a big, heavy iron collar welded on to you, and that’s attached by four feet of chain to the guy next to you, and that’s it:  a nigga in a coffle isn’t a man any more, he’s just one element of a machine designed to work, and work you do!”

“Because you’re chained together they know you can’t escape, so they only need minimal guards. But you’re told how much of the field you’ve got to hoe, or of the cotton to pick, and how much time you’ve got to do it.  The field guards they do have just walk around with whip things – tawses they call them – with several strands, and if they think you’re not working, they lash out at you:  your back, your butt, even your chest – and believe me, a tawse striking your nips really hurts.  But the worse thing is that the whole coffle is considered to blame, so it doesn’t matter which one of you they tawse:  it could be the nigga next to you that isn’t pulling his weight, but it’s you who gets the tawse.”

“Then at night, in the nigga sheds, you can’t get away from your coffle as you’re still chained.  And the only recreation there is,  is fucking.  The niggas fuck for fun, and they fuck to punish guys who they think haven’t worked hard enough.  And if they get a “whitey”, they fuck him to pay him back for being a whitey who’s one of the race that’s enslaved the niggas – even though he’s a slave, as they are.  So every night I had endless dicks fucking me, up the ass and down the throat, and they liked to slap me around a bit, too, to “tenderise” me, they said.  It was worse as because I’m a big guy, I was chained into the ‘heavy duty’ coffle they kept for really tough jobs; and all the niggas in that coffle are big  guys – not just with tough, powerful bodies, but with thick, long dicks…. The guards never came into the nigga sheds at night, and if I staggered out the next morning bruised, with cum streaming out of my asshole, they didn’t care:  coffled niggas need to sort things out amongst themselves, they said.”

I thought dad was about to cry as he told me his story, as the words kind of tumbled out, a little disjointed as evidently it was strongly emotional for dad.  His voice got lower and lower as he said “You know I’m a strong, tough guy, Steve.  But when there are twenty big buck niggas chained to you, there’s nothing you can do about it – you just have to take it.  My life was a hell – working all day without a shred of clothing, the tawsing, and then the fucking… And there was nothing I could do about it, no way of escape because of the chains.  And it was no good complaining to the guards – they didn’t care, and just tawsed me some more, for wasting their time.”

“It went on, and on.  I lost track of the days.  I hated the days, with the heat, the flies, the hard work, and the tawse.  And I hated the nights even more, as my coffle mates continued to stick their dicks up my ass and down my throat.”    Dad went silent for a moment, and I could feel his body tense against mine.  “I broke, Steve.  I was a strong, tough, confident guy, but I broke.  One day I just couldn’t stop crying, and they made me work away all day with tears streaming down my face.  But the niggas didn’t care, and that night they still fucked me, over and over….”

“When they finally let me off the coffle and brought me here, to work in the grounds, as a “fancy”, I was so grateful.  They said that if I cause any trouble, they’ll send me back, and next time I’ll remain a coffle slave for the rest of my life – not that that would be very long, the way the niggas treat a whitey.   So I have to obey, Steve.  And so do you:  I can’t bear the thought of what those big buck niggas would do to a young guy like you, who doesn’t even have my strength to try to resist them.”

Dad choked into silence then, and we just sat there.

“Dad, look, we’re slaves, right?  They can do with us what they like.  So we have to learn to live with it..?”

“Yes, Steve.  But it’s hard… Some of the things a slave has to do….”

Dad sounded so weary, but he still held me to him “But don’t worry about it – I think Mr Hawthorne likes you, and providing we behave, he might be lenient… Now, we’d better try and sleep – it’s tough, even working on the grounds, and we have to be up at dawn.”

The mattress was only a small one, and there was no other room in the barred enclosure we’d been locked in.  As we lay down, even though we’d tried, there was just no way that dad and I could avoid touching each other.  And it can go chilly at night, too, and with only the one small, thin blanket to cover us both, I found that when I woke up in the middle of the night, we were pressed close together.  Dad was “spooned” up behind me, his arm thrown almost protectively across my body, and his hand resting on the flat of my belly.  He was restless in his sleep, and was muttering things occasionally as we lay there, and then, of course, I felt his dick starting to bone up as all guys’ dicks do during the night when they’re dreaming.  Somehow it felt comforting as it nestled in the crack in my butt, and I almost wriggled as I tried to make dad as comfortable as possible.  It must have woken him from a really deep sleep, though, as his hand moved down, and I realised to my horror that he’d touched my own erection.   

To be continued …

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