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Some sort of strange thrill ran through me as I heard those words. Look, dad and I had never been particularly prudish around the place – we were two guys living together, and if I was in the shower and he wanted to pee, he just came into the bathroom and did it. And if he was having a rare lie-in on a Saturday or Sunday when he wasn’t working, I’d take him a coffee in bed and if it was hot and the sheet was barely covering him, so what? There was never anything sexual of course, and we didn’t go out of our way to expose ourselves to each other; but we didn’t make a fetish of covering ourselves either. So I was used to seeing dad naked, and of having him see me naked, but this situation was different: Mr Hawthorne and Mr Stryker were going to look at us both, and were going t compare us! I felt my dick stirring and fought desperately to think of something completely unsexual, like calculus, but the more I tried to ignore it, almost the worse it seemed to get. I didn’t know why I was excited like this – at one level it was thrilling to have these two men about to compare me to dad, but at another level, I could also feel the blood rushing to my shoulders and head as I started to blush, knowing that it was humiliating and embarrassing to be used like this.
I was kind of expecting dad to protest and refuse to strip. He had a pretty fiery temper and hated to be ordered around – in fact, if he hadn’t been such a hard worker I think he’d have got fired from his job several times for telling the foreman to piss off when he ordered dad to do something, rather than asking him. But to my surprise, still keeping his head bent, he moved his hands to the front to undo the drawstring holding his shorts up, dropped them to the floor, stepped out of them and bent to pick them up. He folded them neatly, then still holding them in his hand, put his hands back behind his back and resumed the “slave rest” position.
I half turned to him, hardly believing what I’d seen as dad had done this. For one thing, the big band of pure white around his middle had gone: dad wad snow the same deep, dark tan all over. And for another, his dick seemed to be even bigger than ever. As I stared at it, I saw at once that, like me, his balls had been shaved and his pubes reduced and trimmed; but what really seemed to make the difference was that at the base of his dick and balls there was another “collar” just as we both wore around our necks: it seemed to fit snugly in there, nestling in the remains of dad’s thick wiry pubes, and I understood why he looked so massive. Like most guys my age I’d looked a lot of things up on the Internet, even though I had no intention of using the myself, so I knew that some guys liked to wear cock rings that both thrust their dicks forward a bit, and which prolonged their erections. I remembered reading that one advantage was said to be that it took a lot longer for an erection to subside as the cock ring trapped the blood in your dick, so I guessed that this was what was happening to dad – not only was his dick thrust forward a bit, but it was perhaps a quarter erect.
“Steve, shrug those shorts!”. Mr Stryker’s harsh words, delivered in a menacing tone, brought me out from my thoughts. I looked at dad to see what to do, but he just stood there with his head still submissively bowed. So what could I do? I fumbled with the drawstring on my shorts, and as I had seen dad do, dropped them, picked them up, folded them, and stood there.
“Oh yes, Stryker, I can see it now!”, I heard Mr Hawthorne say. “They really are alike, aren’t they? Same nice big aureoles, same general bone structure and musculature: once Steve gets down to some serious work I’m sure he’ll get those attractive stomach ridges that the father has. And it’s fortunate that both of them have neatly-turned navels, as I do so hate it when a man’s navel seems to writhe out from his belly.”
“Young Steve’s well hung, too – that’ a very desirable trait we can point out to or clients that seems to breed true from the father! I always prefer men with balls that hang freely behind their dicks, as theirs do. But what about the rear view?” His tone changed from one of amused interest when he had been talking to Mr Stryker, and he said now in one that was clearly a command and one which he expected to be obeyed, “Turn around, both of you, and hands to your fronts then so I can see your backsides properly.”
I almost gasped as I saw dad turn, as there was one other big change to his body that they’d done: there, right across his shoulders, stretching almost from one side to the other, was tattooed “JOE”. Some smaller characters underneath, which I couldn’t quite make out, were numbers – and then I guessed they’d put dad’s SIN there, on the small of his back. There also seemed to be something on his butt, but he turned too quickly for me to see it.
Well, having my back to Mr Hawthorne and Mr Stryker was better than having my dick exposed to them, I suppose. But then they had a lively discussion about the degree of tapering of our bodies from our shoulders to our waists, whether the ratio of our body length to our leg length was the same, and whether my butt was more, or less, of a “bubble” than dad’s! It was totally humiliating to hear two men discuss us like this, but all the time dad just stood there, not even trembling with rage as I might have expected him to.
“Face us again”, Mr Stryker called, and I did as dad did and turned once more.
“I’d like to take a closer look at the boy’s dick, Stryker”, Mr Hawthorne said. “Come over here, Steve.”
Dad was still standing there, looking down and motionless, and I didn’t know what else to do so I took a couple of steps towards the two men. “Interesting”, Mr Hawthorne observed. “You’d have thought that the father would have had him cut at birth, like most boys. Especially as he’s cut himself, so there’s no family tradition of allowing males to keep their ‘skins.”
“Shall I schedule him for a visit to the veterinarian?”, Mr Stryker asked.
“No, let’s wait and see how he gets on.”
“But if we’re going to stud him, sir… The clients prefer a ‘skinned stud, as it’s somehow sleeker and more hygienic looking. I think a lot of the ladies don’t like to see the ‘skin drawing back as we insert him into the mare…”
“Quite so, Stryker. But once we have him ‘skinned, there’s no reversing it. So let’s not be too hasty… But I would like to see the head now.”
As Mr Hawthorne said this, Mr Stryker leaned towards him and whispered something in is ear. Mr Hawthorne nodded, and I heard him say “I suppose you’re right – the sooner we start getting them used to each other, the better. We may as well begin as we intend to go on.”
“Joe, present and display Steve’s dick for your owner!”, Mr Stryker called out. I heard dad mutter something behind me, and Mr Stryker now sounded angry as he replied “Joe, you know that the automatic result of failing to obey is punishment. Now, we want to see you present and display Steve’s dick – so do it!”
This time I heard dad say quietly but quite distinctly “No, please don’t make me do that… It’s not right…”
Mr Stryker was very angry now. “How dare you! How can anything that your owner wants you to do not be ‘right’?”. He turned to Mr Hawthorne and said “I’m afraid that this slave is more stubborn than I thought. He seemed to be properly broken, but evidently not. I can try punishing him, but I doubt that it will work.”
“Try it any way, Stryker. The slave needs to know that he will receive an immediate punishment for any failure to obey, even if we subsequently have to do more to emphasise the point to him.”
“One last chance, Joe. Either do as you were told, or fetch the punishment horse over so that Mr Hawthorne can see you get your stripes…”
As I stood there and watched, dad went to the far corner of the room and came back half carrying ,half sliding across the polished floor a punishment horse – like all the furniture in the room it looked to be an antique, probably left over from the first time we had slaves in our country, I suppose. I watched dad’s muscles strain as he pulled the heavy thing in front of the two men as they sat there, and then, with a little shrug which I suppose showed his defiance of them, and which I knew they would think was insolence in a slave, he lay down on the leather top and stretched his body out so that his arms were by the front legs. Still showing his contempt for them, he grasped the handles on the bottom of the front legs, as if to say “I can take it – you don’t need to tie me down.”
I’d never really seen dad’s ass like this before – the horse was slightly angled away from me, so his muscular butt was almost full on to me as he stood there with his feet planted on the ground. As I watched he made himself as comfortable as he could by spreading his ankles a little wider so that his belly was flat down on the horse, and of course as he did so I saw his balls sac swinging between his thighs, and got just a glimpse of his dick handing in front of it. I could see now, quite clearly, that the thing that I’d caught a glimpse of on dad’s butt was a big, stylised “M”, like the one at the front of the “Manderleigh” sign on the gates to the estate.
Mr Stryker reached under the horse and took a cane out of the tool store there, and flexed it between his hands. He made a couple of strokes through the air with it, and I could hear the hiss it made as Mr Stryker used his powerful body to drive it hard. He looked at Mr Hawthorne, who nodded, then raised the cane again, but this time the swish was followed by a sharp “crack” as it landed on dad’s butt. Dad gave a loud grunt, and I saw his whole body jerk forward on the horse – it seemed to be completely involuntary, something his reflexes had done, without dad being able to stop it.
I watched in horror as a red line appeared right across dad’s tanned butt, but before I could do anything, Mr Stryker raised the cane and bought it down again, to leave a second red line parallel to the first. This time dad shouted – no, screamed – as the cane hit him. “Stop it!”, I shouted “You’re hurting my dad…”, and as Mr Stryker raised the cane for another blow, I tried to stop him, grasping his wrist as he held it in the air just before starting the stroke.
Stryker was a big, powerful guy and I had no real hope of preventing him hitting dad again, but I just had to do something. He just kept his arm in the air as I futilely tried to pull it down and wrestle the cane from his grasp. Then suddenly I was lying on the floor, my ears ringing and my head spinning: Stryker had just hit me about the head, very hard, with his other hand.
“No!”, dad shouted, and half raised himself off the horse. “Please, sir, please Mr Stryker, don’t hurt Steve…. He doesn’t understand….”
“This is what your obduracy and stubbornness has done, slave!”, Stryker told him, ignoring me and standing there looking down at dad who was now almost cowering as he lay on the horse. “The normal penalty for laying hands violently on a master is a public whipping, and that’s what I should order for young Steve here. But I am going to be lenient, just this once, as it is his first day here. And, of course, that young skin of his would probably not recover from a real whipping, and that would damage Mr Hawthorne’s investment. So I will give him just six strokes on the cane…..” He turned to me and went on “But understand this – if you ever, and I mean ever, lay hands on a master again, then there will be no mercy. You will be tied to the whipping post and flogged to within an inch of your life.”
“Please, sir, please Mr Stryker”, dad almost gasped out. “Please don’t even do that. He didn’t understand, he didn’t know…. Six strokes on a young guy like that is too harsh…”
“Nonsense. He has to learn. And like when you’re training a puppy, a little physical punishment really brings the lesson home.”
“Sir, please, no. Please, Mr Stryker, it was all my fault. If I’d obeyed you, Steve wouldn’t have seen me getting punished, and he wouldn’t have tried to stop you…. Give me the punishment instead, sir, please…”
Stryker stood there, looking down at dad. “Very well. And you…”, he went on, turning to me as I still lay there, half dazed. “Do you understand what your dad is doing for you? So just sty out of this, and keep quiet, otherwise I’ll double the punishment!”
He turned away, not expecting me to reply, and I had to watch as six more times the cane came down on dad’s butt, each time eliciting a scream from him, and leaving behind a thin, vicious-looking red line across his muscles. When Stryker had finished and he told dad to get up, it was clearly very painful as dad got to his feet.
“On the horse, Steve”, Stryker then rapped.
“No!”, dad shouted. “Please, sir, you said I could take his punishment… You agreed…..”
“I don’t bargain with slaves! I have given you most of the punishment that he deserves, but he also needs to have some knowledge of what lies in store for disobedient slaves. And it would also do him goo to know what you have gone through for him. Now, no more argument, or I might decide to punish you both, even more….”
Stryker turned to me and said calmly “On the horse, boy. You saw how your father rode it – now get down, and take up the position.”
I knew that if I hesitated dad would do something stupid and get into even more trouble, so I stepped across and lay down on the leather top, a leather top now really wet with dad’s sweat. As he’d done, I gripped the handles on the front legs, and pulled my body taught, then spread my legs to get as comfortable as I could be. I remembered how I’d seen dad’s balls swinging free in this position, and knew that all three men must now be seeing me in the same way, and I felt blood rushing to my face as I started to blush.
I heard the swish of the cane through the air, and the next moment my world exploded into pain, a pain more intense than anything that I’d ever known before. I couldn’t help it – I screamed as something hot and fiery shot through my butt, blotting out all other thoughts from my consciousness as my brain tried to understand what had happened to me, and make some sense from the sharp, fiery sensations of agony that were flooding into it.
Stryker came over, grabbed my arm, and pulled me to my feet. He held me there, close to his body which I could see was breathing hard form his exertion, and he hissed “That was just one stroke, Steve. Your father took six for you, plus the two for disobeying me initially. Can you imagine now how he is hurting, the pain he is suffering?”
He stepped away, and looked at dad and me as he went on “Understand this – if you disobey me from now on, Joe, in even the slightest respect, I will not bother to punish you. Instead, I will give the punishment that you deserve to Steve: somehow, I think that this will have a more pronounced effect on your behaviour. Slaves like you who think they are tough believe they can take the cane almost indefinitely, but I suspect you will not want to see your son suffering on your behalf.”
He turned to me, and said “Now, Steve, over and stand in front of Mr Hawthorne, and let’s pick up where we left off.”
I just knew that if I didn’t do as he said he’d probably cane dad again, so I took a couple of paces towards my owner. The fiery heat from the cane stroke did at least seem to be subsiding into a dull, all-over ache in my butt, and I deliberately tried to stop thinking about it at all. I set my face into an impassive mask, as I didn’t want Mr Hawthorne, or Stryker, to know how much I was hurting. Or, actually, how angry I was at what they’d done to dad.
“Right, Joe, now get down behind him, and display him nicely for your owner”, I heard Stryker say. “And you, Steve, assume ‘slave display’.”
I felt the warmth of dad’s body as he knelt behind me, then slowly and carefully his arms curled around me and I felt him put my dick onto the palm of his right hand. I desperately wanted to let me hands go from behind my neck and reach down and stop him, but didn’t dare as I knew Stryker would resume caning us both – it was awful for me and I’d only had one stroke, and I just couldn’t put dad through more after he’d taken six for me already. Dad now started stroking my dick with the tips of his fingers of his left hand, and as much as I wanted to, I just couldn’t help starting to bone up.
At one level it as hateful – they shouldn’t make a man and his son do things like this together. But at another level I knew I was finding it totally erotic – the feel of dad’s hands on my dick, the warmth of his body as he leaned against my butt and thighs, the occasional scrape of the stubble on his chin against my flesh as he moved, and the feeling of his warm, moist breath as he breathed in and out. My bone was rock solid now, and dad stopped stroking me, still leaving my dick on his palm.
“Show me the head”, Mr Hawthorne said softly, as if not wanting to disturb the charged atmosphere.
I felt dad’s body press close to mine as he leaned forward and slightly around me so that he could see what he was doing, and then he began to gently squeeze the tip of my dick to make the head pop out from my ‘skin. As it appeared, he used his thumb to gently push the ‘skin back, and I couldn’t help moaning faintly when that wonderful sensation of my ‘skin sliding over my dick head came to me. I knew that it would be all shining and moist as I’d have been leaking pre-cum, and this seemed to please Mr Hawthorne.
“Excellent!”, he said to Stryker. “Just like the father – a nice, good size, very pronounced flange around the outside, and a good, dark colour. They really are alike, aren’t they? If anyone doubts that the father’s genes will breed true, we’ll only have to show them Steve here to clinch the sale!”
“I wonder if he’s like his father in terms of volume?”, Stryker replied. “Shall we find out?”
Mr Hawthorne nodded, and Stryker rapped out “Joe, make him climax, but be sure you catch it all.” He leaned forward and handed a glass ashtray to dad, who let go of my dick for a moment to take it in his right hand. Then, now leaning in to me so that I really felt the warmth of his body, and starting to breathe hard so that I was very aware of his moist breath against my skin, dad started to jerk me off.
Look, no one had ever done that to me before. I’d never joined in any of the circle jerks that occasionally went on in the changing rooms at school. And I’d been so intent on getting my dick up my girlfriends that I’d never wasted time trying to get them to do it to me. So as dad’s fingers started to slide up and down my shaft, this was the first time I’d ever felt another hand trying to do that to me. And as you all probably know, there’s just no way that another guy can jerk you off as well as you can do yourself – well, I mean, he doesn’t have the feedback so that he can get the speed, or the stroke length, or anything, “just right”, does he? And it was worse for dad, trying to do it from behind me, and even more difficult as he really didn’t understand what to do with my ‘skin. It’s understandable, I suppose – he’d never known the pleasure of sliding your ‘skin on and off your dick head as you jerk off, and just tried to do me by stroking my shaft as if my ‘skin was non-existent. Now I know that most cut guys are like that, and if I still had the opportunity, I’d give them a little lesson in the use of the ‘skin in jerking, before they started!
Still, having dad jerking at my dick and our naked bodies pressed close, as the two men watched, was somehow so erotic that it really didn’t matter that dad’s technique was rubbish! My dick was so hard it was almost throbbing with sensation, and as dad’s fingers moved up and down, I just knew I would cum very quickly indeed. I began to moan with the pleasure and the excitement – I couldn’t help it – and I felt my balls start to contract as they got ready to pump cum out of me. I moaned aloud again, and then it happened – that wonderful, indescribable feeling as your dick shoots and makes those involuntary jerkings as all the muscles work together to force as much cum out as possible. Dad had been expecting it, though, as just at the last possible moment he stopped stroking me and forced my dick down, and held it there as the “after shocks” ran through my body.
I could feel my butt sliding against dad’s skin as we were both covered in sweat now, and we remained like that, dad kneeling behind me, holding down my dick so that it pointed into the ashtray he was holding, for what seemed like ages but was probably only a minute at most.
Stryker broke the silence that was other wise only punctuated by my rasping breaths. “Bring it here”, he said to dad, and I felt dad get to this feet and then hand the ashtray containing my cum to Stryker.
Dad came and stood by the side of me now, but avoided looking at me. He assumed the “slave display” position at my side, and we both stood there watching, as Stryker dipped his thumb and forefinger into my creamy cum that was lying in the bottom of the crystal ashtray.
“Excellent colour, very high viscosity, and a large volume”, he remarked to Mr Hawthorne. “When did you last cum, Steve?”
I blushed as I wasn’t used to being asked questions like that, and muttered “This morning, boss.”
“In that case this is a very good quantity indeed”, Stryker went on. “I know young men are at their most fertile at sixteen, but this is excellent! When we stud him the clients will believe he’s really doing a good job at filling the mares – assuming he’s fertile, that is.”
“Oh, yes, send a sample off for testing”, Mr Hawthorne remarked. “We need to be able to certify that he’s not shooting blanks.”
“Are you going to perform the traditional ‘new slave’ ceremony now, sir?” Stryker then asked.
“I suppose that now is as good a time as any, Stryker. We’ve got the slave, we’ve got the lubricant already, and watching the canings, and his father bringing him to climax like that, has made me really ready for some real excitement. Yes, now is a good time.”
“Shall I send the father away, sir? And would you prefer me to retire so you can do it in private?”
“No, Stryker. I think that we might use the father to assist – he and the son have got to get used to appearing together as we might want double studdings, so the sooner they lose their inhibitions the better. And you’d better stay, too, in case the father – or the son – need a little more discipline. You know I’m not shy about things like this anyway – an owner does what he has to, after all.”
“On the horse again, Steve!” Stryker now commanded me.
“No, please, sir, don’t cane him again…. Cane me….”, dad said.
“Silence! If you speak again, Joe, I will cane Steve as a punishment for you. Now ,Steve, on the horse!”
Resignedly I went and lay there again, as although I didn’t want the cane myself, I didn’t want it for dad, either, and I knew that if I didn’t obey, that’s what would happen.
“Right, Joe, you can help.” Stryker’s tone was light, almost as if he was amused at what was about to happen. “This is Steve’s first time, I would think. A young man like him will be really tight – and we want him to enjoy it as much as is possible in the circumstances. So take his cum, and really lubricate and stretch him, ready for Mr Hawthorne.”
I lay there, shuffled my feet to get as comfortable as possible on the horse, and wondered what the fuck was going to happen next.
To be continued …
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