Look, you can get used to anything. And at least I had my dad there to guide me and give me advice. I soon forgot being embarrassed about wearing at most a set of slave shorts and after three weeks of doing the pool every morning stark naked, and the grass cutting for several hours just with the tiny loin cloth, my body generally started to colour up nicely.
It wasn’t so bad being a slave, I suppose: the house niggas joked with us, and the work, although hard, wasn’t stressful. I no longer had to worry about getting good grades or anything, and as long as I worked physically hard, that was all there was to it. It was pretty boring, though: we weren’t allowed books or newspapers or TV or anything, and at first it was hard to be so isolated and not to know what was going on in the world. But soon I began to realise that my “world” was just the Manderleigh Plantation, and, indeed, even smaller than that: just the house and pleasure grounds of the Plantation, as we were not allowed to go out into the fields where the coffled niggas worked. And once I accepted this, I began to see things I wouldn’t have seen before – the sly looks exchanged between the house niggas who were always plotting and scheming to fuck each other, the way that the plants grew, how I could tell the mood Mr Stryker was in by the way he held his body when he approached me…. Once I realised that this was all there was to my life now, it actually became very interesting indeed.
I could see why dad slept so soundly at night, too – firstly, he was physically exhausted as he tried to do some of my work in addition to his own, so that Mr Stryker wouldn’t beat me. But most of all he was completely unworried – he’d always been thinking about money before: did we have enough for the bills, was my college fund building fast enough, would the car break down and need costly repairs….? And he was getting regular sex, too – about twice a week he was taken away for studding, and I guess for a man of his age that was pretty good going as he’d have found it hard to find that many casual fucks in our old life!
It was tough for me, though, as now all the sex I got was jerking myself off at night, as always trying not to disturb dad too much as I did so! At a time when I’d have been really making it with my girl friends, I was restricted to fucking my hand. Well, I suppose it’s not so bad, as a lot of young guys only ever get to jerk off until they’re older, but then they do so watching a video, or stuff from the internet, and all I had was my imagination.
One morning there was something different, though, as we breakfasted: it seems that Mr Hawthorne had come back from a business tour of the Far East, and was expected to fly down from New York later that day for the weekend. Mr Stryker had given all the house slaves orders to make the place especially clean and tidy, and dad and me were told to really get the grass cut, the pool sparkling, and everything in absolutely perfect condition as our owner was expected to have some guests with him and he deserved to be able to show them Manderleigh at its absolute best.
Dad and I really did work – I suppose we had a certain pride in what we did – and by evening the whole place had never looked better. Dad and I were showering, when Amos (or Andy) poked his head around the door and told us to get over to the main house, as they had to prepare us. I heard dad say “No….”, but Amos (or Andy) just muttered “Mr Stryker’s orders, Joe….”
Still wet, we didn’t even bother to pull our shorts on as we jogged over to the house through the twilight, and Amos (or Andy, I still hadn’t had time to ask) led us off into a slave shower. The other one was there, too, and they at once stripped off and turned the water on. Dad stood there, tight lipped, as both niggas soaped us down and then knelt to shave our sacs and trim our pubes, but then he put his arm around me and said quietly “Look, Steve, I’m sorry about this…. But just hang in there, OK? It’s not all that bad, and some folk pay good money to have this done….”
Well, some folk may pay to be given enemas, but I wouldn’t! Dad knew what was coming, and just knelt there on his knees and elbows as Amos inserted the tube up his ass and started the water flowing. I hated it – that feeling of utter violation as a guy pushes the cold, shiny metal up through your sphincter, and then that totally unnatural feeling as water flows in to your guts, instead of out! And, of course, I absolutely wasn’t prepared for the feeling of total, unbelievable fullness as we stood there with our bellies swollen out from us almost as if we were pregnant – both dad and I had lovely flat, hard bodies ,after all. And the almost explosive way your body finally expels it all took me completely by surprise: I just had to crouch there, almost helplessly, as the vile stream of dark water just poured out of my ass – I was totally unable to stop it, once it started.
Amos and Andy gave us four “flushings” until they were satisfied – I saw Andy pry dad’s butt apart and actually stick his nose right up to his asshole before pronouncing dad “ready”. And then he did the same to me, slapping my butt affectionately afterwards, and telling me how the smell of a young guy’s ass, freshly cleaned, was one of the best in the world. Dad and I had to stand there then as they rubbed us down with slave oil – you know, the special oil they sell to make your skin kind of glow with a light sheen, without leaving it sticky or greasy to the touch. I only realised what was going on when, after we’d been given fresh, crisp “formal” shorts, the two niggas got a whole lot of leather stuff out and came up to us.
“No, guys…”, dad said, almost pleading. “It’s OK for me, but he’s still a kid….”
“Hey, Joe, he’s no kid. He’s sixteen. And, anyway, what do you expect us to do about it? It’s Mr Stryker’s orders.”
I thought dad was going to burst out in fury, but then I saw his shoulders kind of droop, as they had sometimes before when he realised that what was going to happen was inevitable. We both just stood there as first they buckled collars around our necks, and then gently, so as not to hurt us, guided our hands behind our backs, cuffed them, and then pushed them as high a they could up our backs so that the cuffs could be fastened to the collars. It was only when they approached us again with blindfolds that I realised what was going on – we were both being prepared for studding! I stood there, the scent of the soft leather filling my nostrils, and could feel my dick tenting the front of my shorts as I thought about what was going to happen to me. Amos and Andy led dad and me on into the house, not, as I had expected, out across the yard to the studding barn. Their touch was light on my shoulders as I shuffled along the passageways of the big house, and it seemed somehow solemn, and that caused my voce to lower and I whispered “Where are we going?”
“Don’t you worry, Steve”, Amos or Andy whispered back. “Master Hawthorne has a big party of friends here tonight, and you are going to be the after dinner entertainment – two of them arrived with bitches for studding, and you and your daddy are going to ‘perform’ for them once coffee has been served.”
“Steve, I’m sorry….”, I heard dad whisper then. “I didn’t want this to happen to you….”
“Hey, dad, it’s OK – it’s not as if I haven’t fucked before….”
We were halted then outside what must be a set of doors, as I could heard vaguely the chink of china and the muffled sounds of male voices, occasionally bursting into raucous laughter as if some particularly disgusting joke had just been told. Then I heard the door opening, and Stryker’s voice saying “You niggas can go back to your normal duties… Now, come on you two, in here…..”
The smell of food, and overpoweringly that of cigar smoke, assailed me. Mr Stryker put my hand up onto dad’s shoulder, and then dad moved on in to the room, with me following. I had no idea how many there were in there, but it just felt like a lot – I felt sure that there must be at least ten, and possibly as many as sixteen of Master Hawthorne’s guests gathered there.
The laughter and talk continued, and then there was a tapping sound of a spoon against a glass to signal attention, and the hubbub died away. “Friends”, I heard Master Hawthorne say, “For your entertainment this evening we have a little treat after dinner: some of you, I know, have made use of the services of my white buck, Joe, for studding your niggas. But this is the first public outing for my newest buck who will be at stud, Steve. You may notice the remarkable similarities between Joe and Steve, and that’s because they are father and son – if you had any reason to doubt whether Joe’s splendid physical characteristics would breed true, then Steve here is living proof that they can – just look at them, gentlemen, so alike: the younger one is of course not yet fully muscled up, but you can see the same deep chest for lots of lung power, the long limbs so important when you need really hard work from a slave, and the tight, firm butt carried high like that – again, symptomatic of the power and strength there, but also holding out the prospect of a lot of delight if you choose to use the slave sexually. Altogether a most pleasing package, as I always say, and well worth the stud fee. If you’re looking to breed a lighter tone into your slaves, then either of these fine studs would give you superb genes to work with. And even though their eyes are covered, as we like to follow the old traditions here and not allow them to see the bitches they’re going to cover, you can, I believe, also determine one other thing: they’re both handsome devils, so it’s a good opportunity to make something attractive from your general run of the mill nigga stock: as I said, it seems that Joe’s genes breed through, as Steve here amply demonstrates.”
“Let’s have a proper look at them”, a voice called out. “You keep telling us that these are handsome studs, and from what I can see so far, you’re right!”. There was a vague chorus of “yes” and “quite so” and “fucking true” from others in the room, but the first voice continued “But we all know that the true test of a stud is the dick – I like my slaves to be well hung and to have a good, long, thick dick, and I’m always worried that breeding white blood into the niggas will lessen that – most of my niggas have the proper characteristics and are big down there, and I don’t want to mess with that….”
“Fucking right!”, and “I agree” came muttered from the room, and there was some general laughter. “I don’t think you gentlemen need worry on that score”, I heard Master Hawthorne say. And then, in a different tone, “Stryker, please be so good as to reveal them.”
There was some sort of fumbling at my waist, then my shorts were simply pulled down, and I was curtly ordered to lift my feet so they could be moved away totally. I knew all the men in the room must be looking at me as I now stood there collared and cuffed, utterly helpless, and in response my dick started to erect. I could hear appreciative murmurs from the audience, and then Master Hawthorne said “We’re all friends here, so there’s no need to stand on ceremony – feel free to examine the studs in whatever way you wish….”
I stood there, totally defenceless, wondering what was going to happen next, and then the first hand touched my bare skin. Someone was examining me, as I’d seen them examining dad before, running their hands from my shoulders right down my back, and then cupping my ass in their hands and digging their fingers in to the muscles, as if trying to determine the power in them. It got wore after that – the hands started to paw at me all over, and I do mean all over. Well, I suppose that if you’re interested in using a white guy to stud with your niggas and worried about their dick size, then you’re going to want to feel the stud’s dick: but this wasn’t a simple examination of my tackle – no, this was much more overtly sexual. There was a hand on my butt, kind of steadying me and preventing me from backing away, and I was being stroked to full erection and my ‘skin teased back.
I heard the men exclaiming about how well hung both dad and me were, and then someone else called out “Steady on there! Look at the way the boy’s leaking…. We don’t want him to shoot yet, as we want him to stud!”. I was blushing furiously as I knew that pre-cum must be flowing freely out of my dick as a result of the stimulation, and it was almost more than I could bear to be used so humiliatingly in this way. They must have been doing the same to dad, too, and then my nose was filled with that familiar ammoniacal smell as a moist finger was smeared along my upper lip. “Is that you, or your daddy, boy?” someone called out, but it was clearly a rhetorical question as the laughter that rocked the room made any reply from me unnecessary.
A hand gripped my hard dick and guided me forward, and I knew from the faint scent of his sweat that I got and from the “presence” of another body right in front of me that they had steered dad and me together. I felt dad’s hairy pubes touch my exposed dick head, and almost shot my load there and then, as someone said “There, I told you – the boy’s dick is just a fraction longer than the father’s – see, his is touching the older one’s skin, but there’s no contact from the father on the son!”
More raucous laughter, and then the hand that had been guiding me did something different – my dick was squeezed against dad’s, so they were both lying alongside, and I felt his moist warmth all along the whole length of me. “Shall I stroke them off, together like this, and see who cums first?” A voice asked, to be met with a chorus of “no”, and “stop playing with the slaves” and “let’s get them fucking, and see who cums first then!”.
To much more shouting and general hilarity, the hand gripped my dick again and I was led across the room, then told to wait. I could hear them bringing up dad, and we had evidently been positioned at the open legs of the bitches who were secured on studding frames, and Mr Stryker called out “Can I have someone to assist me then, please, if you gentlemen want a contest? I need someone to guide one of the slaves into his bitch whilst I do the other one, then, when they’re properly positioned, we’ll give them the traditional slap on the rump to get them started, and see who cums first.”
“I will”, someone called out, and then the hand was gripping my dick again and pulling me forward. My thighs brushed against naked skin, soft naked female skin, and I almost convulsed and shot as my dick made contact with the bitch. Firm but insistent pressure on my butt pushed me forward until my dick was buried in her, and then Stryker called out “Ready?”, and when there was an answer of “OK”, a hard slap on my butt caused me to start forward and thrust myself right in.
Well, once I’d started, it all seemed pretty natural. I mean, it wasn’t all that much fun, as I like to fondle their tits and so on as I fuck them. But once you’re inside a woman it’s as if your body knows what do, almost automatically, and you can’t stop it, can you? I felt myself thrusting away and it almost didn’t matter all that much that my hands were bound behind my neck as I just did it from the hips, thrusting myself in and out. I suppose it occurred to me that there was a whole lot of guys watching my thighs and butt at work, but once I’d got going, it didn’t matter at all, so intense was the sensation of actually fucking. But I was only sixteen, and you all probably remember how you were at that age – a few thrusts, and I shot my load deep into her. I could hear dad still pounding away next to me, and from the shouts and cries I heard it seemed that the audience had been betting on us, and the winners were already claiming their prizes.
I went to pull out, but a hand on my butt held me there inside her, and I heard Mr Stryker say “No, Steve, stay in! You can lean forward if you like, but keep well inside her until I tell you to come out – we want to keep your little swimmers bottled up and don’t want them to leak out yet…. So as gently as I could I leaned forward, pressing my body against the nigga bitch under me, and feeling the silky smoothness of her sweat-drenched body against mine. She murmured seductively, and half wriggled her hips as if to try to suck me even further into her, and at the same time I heard dad give a stifled cry, and knew he must have cum.
We can’t have been left there for more than five minutes, although it felt like longer, knowing that dad and me were being watched, and then Mr Stryker was telling me to stand up straight, and pull out. I stood there, and brushed against dad and that was somehow reassuring – no matter what I might just have had to do, somehow it didn’t seem to matter as much having dad next to me, being made to do the same thing.
“Shall I take them back to the slave quarters, Mr Hawthorne?” I heard Stryker ask, and the reply was “No, take them out into the corridor and let them rest – we haven’t finished with them in here yet. But keep them ready for studding again so don’t release their cuffs or anything – we’ll just let their juices recover so they’ll be read for another bout.”
It must have not been all that pleasant for Mr Stryker to have to lead me out of the room by my dick as I could tell by the feel of his fingers on me that I was covered in my own cum and her juices, but I guess it’s part of the job of being an overseer to have to do things like that on occasion. He pushed me back against the wall, and said “Well done, Steve. Was that your first time?”
“No, boss, I’ve fucked before….”
“I mean was that your first time in public?”
“Of course!”
“Well, I think Mr Hawthorne was really pleased with your performance. Now, slide down the wall and sit quietly whilst I fetch Joe.”
I did as he said, feeling the wood cool against my bare butt, and soon dad was settled there too, next to me. Our arms kind of entangled with each other as they were still cuffed to our collars, and I leaned a bit against dad, enjoying the comfort of his body against mine.
“Are you OK, son?” dad asked – we’d started whispering, as we didn’t know whether we were allowed to speak or not.
“Sure, dad. And are you OK, too?”
“Oh yes, I’ve done it lots of times before. But I hate the thought hat they made you do it in public like that….”
“Dad, it’s no worse for me, than it was for you…”
“Yes it is, Steve. It’s my fault I’m a slave and having to do stuff like this for their enjoyment, but you’re only a young guy and shouldn’t be a slave at all. And you shouldn’t have to perform for a lot of men like that – you ought to be out with your friends….”
“Dad, please don’t… It doesn’t help. Look, you keep telling me that we are slaves and we have to do as they tell us. And didn’t you tell me the first time I had to wear that stupid loincloth that it didn’t matter what we wore, or even if we were totally naked, as it was no longer our decision? You told me that an owner takes total responsibility for the slaves he owns, so it’s not a problem for me, is it, having to fuck publicly? If Mr Hawthorne wants me to do it, I just have to… That’s what you said.”
“Yes, Steve. But it’s not right, somehow. You ought to be out there, enjoying life….”
“Hey, dad, a fuck’s a fuck, after all! Once I got going it was pretty exciting…. But it doesn’t matter, anyway: I’d rather be here, close to you, doing the things you’re doing, two men together, than out with a lot of other young guys just hanging around the malls and stuff.”
“Steve, that’s a nice thing to say. I never had much time to spend with you before as I had to work so hard and at weekends and all, and it’s good to be close, but I didn’t want it to be like this. If things had gone right, you’d have gone to college, got a good job, and might have ended up owning slaves yourself. You could have bought yourself some nigga bitches for when you wanted to fuck, and not be forced to do it like that in front of all those guys….”
“Dad, don’t torture yourself! You did your best, and I’m not blaming you, honest….”
Dad pushed himself against me, as if to reassure me with his body, and then we just sat there in a special companionable closeness that you don’t often get, waiting and wondering what was going to happen next. We could still hear the faint noises coming through the heavy doors, and if anything, the laughter and shouting got louder, and went on for longer. After some time, the door opened and Mr Stryker’s voice boomed out from in front of us “OK, Joe… On your feet…. You’re needed again….”
“Leave my dad”, I called out. “Take me instead, boss….”
“Shut the fuck up, slave! How dare you interfere. Your turn will come.”, he rapped back, and then in a different tone, “Come on, Joe, before I pull your dick off – follow me properly, as you normally do.”
I heard dad’s naked feet slapping on the bare wood as he was led off, then the door closing, then more laughter and shouting as I guessed dad was being studded again. It fell silent after a bit, until the door opened once more, there were footsteps, then Mr Stryker told me to get to my feet. I struggled up the wall – it’s hard, with your hands cuffed behind your neck – and he led me back into the room where there was a sort of expectant hush now from the assembled men. He’d not dragged me in by my dick, but had guided me with one of his strong hands on my shoulder, and butt, but now he reached down and started to stroke me into a full erection gain.
“Are you OK, Steve? Ready to fuck again? You young guys usually recover pretty quickly!”
“Yes, boss, I guess so….”
“OK, Steve…. It’s the same as before. I’m going to position you, and then I want you to fuck away, really hard and vigorously, just like you did before…”
Using my erect dick as a handle he pulled me gently forward, then ‘skinned me back and nudged me gently forward again until I felt warm, moist skin against the tip of my dick. “It’s a bit different this time, Steve”, he told me, reassuringly. “You need to force your way in as this studding isn’t been done voluntarily…”
His big hot hands were on my butt now, pushing me forward, and it was hard to make my dick go up her – was this what it was like to take a virgin, I wondered for a moment? Had they got me taking the cherry of some young nigga bitch who hadn’t been with a guy before? The thought of taking a bitch’s virginity really excited me, and my dick was almost painful as it strained away, and I surged forward with new vigour, to be rewarded with one of the tightest grips on my dick that I’d ever felt.
“You’re in – now fuck, boy”, My Stryker whispered, and I started to thrust myself in and out, taking really long strokes as it was somehow really sensual. Mind you, she didn’t seem to be enjoying it – I could hear muffled groans and shouts as I carried on fucking, and from the way the body under me was moving, almost writhing, I supposed that this really was a first, really was being done against her will. Still, she’d better learn, I thought: if I had to stud like this, she’d just have to learn to take it, as that’s what slaves do.
Somehow the thought of fucking involuntarily was a real turn-on: I knew I was near to cumming, and my strokes got longer and harder. I suppose I might have noticed that the skin I was slamming in to wasn’t as smooth and silky as the first bitch, but all that was swept away as I felt my balls begin to contract, and I really thrust right hard inside her in one great final push to get my dick buried right to the hilt. I heard myself give a shout of triumph as I finally shot my load, and stood there, heart racing, lungs sucking in air, and sweat streaming off me. I no longer cared that all the watching men would have seen my body performing this most intimate act – all that mattered was that I had fucked, and that’s what men are supposed to do.
Mr Stryker’s voice again came to me “OK, Steve, relax. Stay inside, but you can rest forwards”. I leaned forward, eager to feel the caress of a woman’s skin on me, but there was something wrong… It wasn’t soft and silky: there was a forest of harsh, wiry hair. I heard the men around me all begin to laugh uproariously, and then the blindfold was pulled off my eyes – and there underneath me, lying strapped down to the studding bench with his legs pulled right up and back so that I had had access to his ass, was dad. They’d gagged him so that he couldn’t make a warning sound, and now I saw his eyes darting backwards and forwards as they looked at me, and he make desperate mumbling noises through the gag.
I jerked backwards, pulling my deflating dick out of dad’s ass, and the laughs of all the watching men got even louder. “Bastards!”, I started to shout, and Mr Stryker went to slap me to silence me. I grabbed hold of his wrist to stop him, he looked at Mr Hawthorne who gave him a nod of approval, and Mr Stryker roared “Right, slave! I warned you about daring to stop a master when he was punishing you. Now you’re going to get a real whipping….”
“No, Stryker”, Mr Hawthorne said quietly. “Not the whip. I want to keep his skin unblemished for the time being. But I think these gentlemen would like to see that muscular young butt that has just given us so much pleasure getting a little punishment…. You may use a strap on him.”
Before I could do anything to resist, Mr Stryker pushed me down so that I was again lying along dad’s body, then, as he held me pressed down with one of his hands on my neck, he began to beat me with what seemed to be a leather belt. Dad was going frantic underneath me, but there was nothing he could do to help as he was still strapped down. He was trying to break free, but al he succeeded in doing was to make our bodies slip and slide over each other. As the strap repeatedly hit my tender flesh, I couldn’t help it – I screamed and screamed as it really hurt me. Somewhere in all this turmoil and confusion of my senses I could see all the watching men leaning forward, as if they were eager to see my butt being punished, and this somehow made it worse: I was a man, and another man has no right to beat another like that. And no man wants his dad to see him being beaten, either.
Stryker must have given me at least ten strokes of the strap before he stopped, and I just lay there, feeling the stinging and terrible throbbing pain from my butt. He pulled me upright, dragging on the chain joining my cuffs to my collar so that I almost choked, then led me around the room so that all of the men in turn could rub their hands over my battered ass and feel the heat radiating from it. I’d never been so humiliated, as I felt just like a young kid who’d been spanked by his dad, and I had a real job in preventing tears from breaking out. Fortunately, though, after a circuit of the room, Stryker opened the doors and literally threw me out into the corridor, where I collapsed in a sprawled tangle on the floor – and now I did feel tears streaming down me, but they were tears of humiliation, and rage, not caused by the physical pain.
To be continued …
