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Dad very slowly withdrew his hand from my dick, as if he wanted to pretend not to have touched it. Then he whispered “You awake, son?”
“Try to sleep, Steve. It’s really hard work here, and if you’re going to be working with me, you’ll need all your energy, and every bit of sleep you can get.”
It was all very well to say that, I thought, but it’s not that easy to sleep in a small confined space like that. I was used to my own bed, used to being able to toss and turn, and to roll over to another side whenever I wanted to. And now dad was pressed up close to me, and I couldn’t move about at all, and certainly couldn’t roll over – to do so would be to push my hard dick into him. And to make matters worse, the insistent nudging of dad’s dick as it lay along my ass crack was very disturbing, as was the feel of dad’s skin pressed close to mine, and the way that I could feel his breath on my shoulders as he breathed in and out. I’d never spent the night in the same bed as another man before, especially not my own dad, and especially when we were both bare-assed naked.
A few minutes later, when it was clear from the way I was still moving around that I wasn’t asleep, dad said to me quietly “Look, Steve, I know it’s going to be difficult for us – I don’t suppose they’ll find us anywhere else to live, as the slave responsible for the grounds around the house always sleeps in here. So we’re going to have to get used to being together like this at night. I expect it will take a couple of weeks – after all people do get used to sleeping together, you know: married couples do it all the time. And I bet you spent the night with one of your girl friends, didn’t you?”
“Actually no, dad. I always had to be home at night for your eleven o’clock curfew, remember? And you never went away, so I never spent the whole night with a girl.”
“But you did sleep with your girl friends, didn’t you, Steve? ‘Sleep’ in the sense of having sex. You did fuck them, didn’t you, son?”
“Dad, what kind of question is that….”
“Well, Steve, I just wondered… I mean was that the first time you’d had sex with another person, earlier tonight?”
“No, dad. I’ve fucked my way around my girl friends. But that was the first time I’d ever had sex with a guy – two if you count yourself! And it wasn’t like having sex at all – it was just being raped, having a dick stuffed up my ass…”
“There’s no need to be crude, Steve! Look, son, you may have to get used to a lot more of that, especially if Mr Hawthorne really likes you. He may take you as a bed boy, and fuck you every weekend when he’s down here.”
“Dad, you can’t be serious…”
“Look, Steve, things have changed. I never thought I’d be a slave, never thought that twenty niggas would fuck me, day after day, as I worked the fields stark naked. But they did. And the sooner you learn to accept your new life, the easier it will be for you. Now try and get to sleep, and don’t worry about it…”
“I wasn’t not sleeping because I was worried, dad…. I couldn’t sleep because… Because, well, you know…. I had a hard-on, and normally I’d have jerked off…”
“So jerk off, son. Don’t mind me.”
“Dad, I can’t jerk off with you watching…”
“I’ll keep my eyes shut! Come on, Steve… Look, it’s important you get your sleep. You’re a growing boy still, who’s going to be worked hard, very hard, physically. And if you can’t sleep because you’re all boned up, then you’ve got to do something about it.”
“Hey, dad, it isn’t that you’re watching that I worry about – it’s pretty dark in here. But, well, you know, you’d hear it. And lying close together like this, you’d feel me doing it…”
“Look, Steve, I’ve told you, I don’t care. And anyway it’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about really. One hundred percent of the adult males, free man or slave, jerk off, you know. We all do it, it’s perfectly natural. And young guys like you need to do it a lot more often than I do! So get beating that dick of yours, so we can both get to sleep.” Dad just lay there then, still pressed close to me – well, he didn’t have any choice really, as there was nowhere else to lie. I gently stroked my dick, pushing the ‘skin back, and by fiddling with the little triangle just underneath my dick head I managed to get really hard as rock, and I worked away, not so much really going at it hard, but gently teasing my dick into action. It wasn’t as good as jerking off properly in private, of course, as you can’t beat the whole sensation, the movement, the noise,… Jerking off’s a whole lot of things together, where the sum is greater than the parts. Well, that’s what I think.
I tried to minimise the movements of my body as I shot my load, but I think dad must have known what was happening – you can’t be that close to another man and not have him realise what’s going on. And as I lay there, I knew I had another problem: my palm was full of my cum, which normally I’d have caught on some toilet tissue, or even yesterday’s underwear. But as we’d been locked in totally naked, these options weren’t open to me. I didn’t want to let it spill on to the mattress, either, as it looked as if dad and I would be sleeping on it every night and it would be pretty disgusting if it got crusted with my dried cum, so what could I do? I knew some guys eat their cum, but I’d never done that and I wasn’t about to start now, so I lay there kind of worrying about it, and afraid that if I drifted off to sleep it would leak out from my hand and make the mattress dirty. Finally, it seemed there was only one thing to do – I rubbed my hand up and down my thighs, spreading the cum out and feeling it sticking to my hairs, then lay very still as I waited for it to dry. I knew there’d be some traces of it on my skin in the morning, but I hoped dad wouldn’t notice. But the problem was of course that the warmth of my body accelerated the evaporation rate, and from under the cover of the single blanket that lay over us both that unmistakable smell of cum drifted up. If I could smell it, dad must be a able to, as well. But he didn’t say anything, and at last I drifted into sleep.
It was Stryker who woke us up the next morning. Dad and I usually have to rely on an alarm clock as we both work hard, and sleep in if we’re not woken. So we both came awake when there was a loud banging on the bars of our enclosure by Stryker with the butt end of his whip. We were both so startled that we leapt to our feet, the blanket falling away, and it was only then that I realised I’d got my normal morning hard-on. I started to blush, then saw that dad, too, was massively erect. Stryker looked at us, and just commented “You too really are alike, aren’t you?” And then, turning to dad, said “Show him where to shower, then cut across for breakfast quickly as I want you both out finishing off the vegetable patch. He can work with you today, and as you’ve now got help, I expect it all to be finished – perfectly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, boss”, dad said resignedly, then, as Stryker unlocked our enclosure and walked off, dad showed me where our “bathroom” was – in another corner of the shed thing, just a shower tray set into the floor with a shower head above it, next to a lavatory bowl.
“You can go first, son”, dad told me “The water tends to warm up a bit where it’s been standing in the pipes, otherwise it can be pretty cold. But you look as if a cold shower would do you good…” That was typical of the “old” dad, always ready with a little joke.
“You look as if you need one more than me, dad”, I told him back, nodding down at his erection as I spoke. Well, I mean, of we were gong to have to sleep together like that every night, I suppose we’d better get used to seeing each other like that. At home I think I’ve told you we didn’t make a big thing about nakedness, but never the less, there are some things you don’t do in front of your old man, and having an erection used to be one of them!
As I showered dad had to sit there and crap, and he was right – by the time he got to go under the shower, it was cold! There were two pairs of the slave shorts lying there, and we dressed, and I fumbled around to get my dick positioned as best I could so that when I did bone up during the day, as I knew I would, as I always did, I’d have a chance to stop it just poking out through the fly. I felt sorry for dad, as that ring they’d put around his dick and balls made him a bit erect already, and as he’s well hung to start with, his shorts looked almost on the point of exposing him anyway.
Dad led me over to the main house then, and we went down the stairs into the servants’ quarters. We ate with the house slaves, it seemed, and there was a bare dining room with a few chairs around a plain scrubbed table. Dad sat down, and one of the nigga girls at once bought us big bowls of grits topped with fruit, and tall glasses of water. Dad tucked into his hungrily, but I don’t like grits much and just picked the fruit out of mine.
“Eat it all up, Steve”, dad said as he watched me. “And hurry up – there’s a lot to do, and we need to get started.”
“But dad, you know I don’t like grits….”
“Steve, you’ve got to eat it all, They have to tell Mr Stryker if you don’t, and then he’ll punish you: a slave has to eat all the food he’s provided with to keep his strength up so he can work the hardest possible for his owner. So come on, it’s not that bad…”
I spooned the rest of the stuff down, but as I did, I noticed that the girl nigga kept almost rubbing herself up against dad as he sat there trying to ignore her, hunching himself over his bowl. She smiled at him, and said in a terribly teasing way “You want another helping, big boy? You’ve got to keep your strength up, as you know Mr Stryker wants you BIG and strong….”
She kept emphasising the word “big”, and I couldn’t understand why, but dad hardly replied, and it was as if he was pretending not to notice her at all. When she next approached him, dad got up and called for me to follow him, and we left, very abruptly, I think.
“What’s going on, dad? You and that nigga seemed to have something between you…”
“Hey, mind your own business, OK?” I was a bit shocked, as dad was usually fairly patient with me even though he could be brusque, even rude, to others. I wondered if I’d better carry on and make a joke about it and see if I could get him to tell me more…. And then it occurred to me that maybe he had been fucking the nigga, and didn’t want me to know! As I’ve told you, dad did go out on the town occasionally, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if he hadn’t found a convenient woman to fuck here, if he could. But then, why would she have been going on about Stryker? Dad strode off, though, and I thought that perhaps I’d better let it lie, at least for the time being. But I filed it away, thinking that dad always seemed to manage to end up with things worked out to suit himself, so perhaps I could find a girlfriend, too – although I realised it would probably have to be a nigga.
There was a large vegetable plot in the grounds as apparently all the stuff for the table was grown on site, and there were two niggas whose full time occupation it was to weed, water, plant and harvest the crops. But when there was a major piece of work to do, they were too busy and so dad had been drafted in, and he was engaged in turning over the area that had grown potatoes and corn until they were harvested, and getting the land ready for re-planting. Dad explained to me that it was like the old days in the early twentieth century, when labour was plentiful and cheap, and only the best methods were employed in the big houses to get the best crops: it was called “double digging”, and you dug a trench one spade deep across the end of the area, transporting the material to the other end of the plot. Then in that trench you dug down another spade depth, again taking the spoil away, and then began to dig along the next row, filling in the second spade depth in the first row with the soil removed, which gave you room to dig down another spade depth in that row…. And so you went on until you reached the end of the plot ,where the spoil you’d first removed was waiting to be filled back in. As you went along, all the stones and roots had to be removed, and at the same time you dug in compost to add fertility.
There was a huge area to be done, and dad just started in there with his spade. My job was to pick out the stones and roots into a barrow, and cart them away, and with another barrow I had to run to the compost heap, dig into it to fill m barrow, then trundle it back so that dad always had enough for the trench he was working in. Although it was still early morning, the sun was already hot, and after only a few minutes of working, both dad and I were soon covered in sweat, and my shorts felt positively damp. The work was made harder by the fact that we didn’t have boots, and it was tough on the soles of our feet to have to drive the spade home all the time: I found it difficult in the compost heap, and so when dad had to break the hard-packed sod, it must have been doubly difficult for him.
I was used to working with, and for, dad, as I used to help him out on his weekend projects for the rich folk – those projects that had landed us in this mess. But here it was different – dad just worked and worked, and never took a break, never stopped to pass the time of day with me, and seemed really cross if I was even the slightest bit slow in delivering another barrow full of compost for him. I noticed that the two nigga gardeners, too, just worked and worked, and they too never came over to chat with us, or even to each other. By midmorning therefore I was really hot – the sun had come out with a vengeance and he sweat was flying off me – and totally bored with having no one to talk to as I worked. And I was getting tired, as there’s a limit to how much you can do without even the smallest break.
I’d just delivered yet another barrow of compost to dad and was standing there, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my arm, to try and keep it out of my eyes, when there was a “crack” and a stinging pain across my shoulders. I yelped with the pain and sheer surprise of it, and spun around to see Stryker standing there with his tawse swinging in his hand. My back was really smarting, and he looked at me. “You’re not permitted to stop work, boy”, he snapped. “Didn’t your daddy tell you that we like the slaves here to give good value to their owner, and they need to keep working? Now, get on with it unless you’d like to feel the tawse again.”
Dad had stopped as Stryker said this, and looked as if he might be about to say something. Stryker saw him, and lashed out at dad with the tawse, too, bringing it down really hard right across where the “Joe” was tattooed across his broad shoulders. I felt sure I saw dad mutter “fucker”, but he instantly went back to turning yet another spadeful of the soil. Stryker watched us for a few minutes, and then strode off.
“Keep at it, Steve”, dad almost whispered at me as I bent down to remove some stones from where he was working a few minutes later. “Don’t give Stryker an excuse for lashing you with the tawse! If you get five or more lashes in a day, he gives you the same number again when you come in at night… He’s a mean bastard, and the only way to avoid it is just to keep working.”
I wondered why dad put up with it, as he had a fiery temper, as I’ve told you, and I would have expected him to argue even if it meant punishment. But when the sun was high in the sky Stryker came past and said we could have our lunch break. It was really good to get out of the sun under the shade of a big oak tree, and one of the nigga servants from the house came out with big pitchers of water for us, although no food was produced.
“We only get fed morning and evening, Steve”, dad explained. “That’s why you need to eat all the breakfast. It’s tough at first, I know, but you get used to it.”
“Dad… It seems to me there’s a lot you are getting used to…. When we were at home, you never let people do you down like this…”
“I’ve told you, Steve, it’s different when you’re a slave….”
“But dad, even as a slave, you deserve some respect….”
Dad sighed, got to his feet and motioned for me to follow him. We jogged across the lawns to the low picket fence that separated the gardens of the house from the rest of the plantation, and as we approached it, I began to feel a tingling in my neck. Dad stopped, ran his finger around his own collar, and said “OK, this is far enough – that fence marks the boundary for you and me, as we’re ‘fancies’, kept here in the gardens: if you go any closer, this fucking collar will really start to hurt. But I wanted you to see this….”
He gestured, and on the other side of the fence we could see a coffle of niggas working away at digging the soil, just as dad had been earlier. They were really big niggas – all at least as tall as dad – and they were heavily muscled: as they worked away, swinging their digging tools in unison, their bodies shone under the sun and made it very obvious that these were tough, strong men. The chains joining their heavy iron collars rattled and clanked, and there was an overseer walking up and down behind them with a tawse, which, even as we watched, he used several times on the backs and butts of the guys as they toiled away.
“Look, Steve, that’s a coffle. Those guys work like that all the time. You think we’ve got it bad? Well, how would you like to be coffled like that? And that’s what Stryker will do, if he thinks he’s not getting enough work out of us. And look at those guys’ dicks – I know there are a lot of jokes about the size of a nigga’s dick, but take a look at them – they’re on the same scale as the rest of their bodies, aren’t they? Now think what happened to me, and would happen to you, if you were added to that coffle – what do you think they do with those big dicks back at the nigga shed at night? Believe me, Steve, I’ve been there – and I’ll do anything to avoid being sent back.”
As I watched, I noticed that the niggas never faltered in their rhythmic pounding with the digging tools, and their eyes seemed to be dull and not interested at all in the world around them. Dad saw me watching them, and went on “You see they’ve had all their individuality flogged out of them. They’ve got no hope, nothing to look forward to, just endless, endless repetitive toil like this in the coffle. Working and fucking, that’s all they do. At least you and I still have some freedom – we do different work, go into the house for meals, stuff like that. It isn’t much, I know, but it’s better than the coffle!”
I went to argue with him about freedom and your integrity as a man being more important than just having a “better” life, all that stuff they teach you in civics at school, but dad was already striding off, back to the vegetable plot.
We worked away again, but in mid-afternoon Stryker came by and snapped at dad “Amos and Andy are waiting to clean you up – there’s a bitch in heat on a neighbouring plantation, and they’ve decided to have her studded. Get over there and get ready.”
For a moment, dad’s eyes blazed and I thought it was going to be the “old” dad, the dad who would tell anyone to fuck off if they were annoying him or telling him to do something stupid. But it was only for an instant, and he muttered “Yes, boss”, and jogged off towards the house.
“You, Steve, collect up the tools, clean them properly and put them in your shed. And then, as it’s your first day, you can rest – it’s hard, until your muscles get used to it, to have to work constantly for such long periods.”
I nodded, and he slashed at me with the tawse, striking me across the chest and causing me to leap away in surprise. “Always acknowledge a master, Steve. And especially when I’ve been kind to you – you’re probably the only slave on this entire plantation who won’t be working this afternoon.”
“Thank you, boss”, I muttered, and Stryker walked off. I picked up the shovels and things we’d been using, and wheeled them in the barrow back towards our shed. There was a tap outside, and I cleaned them thoroughly – dad was anyway always keen on this, and always insisted we clean our tools at the end of every day – then took them inside and found neat spaces marked out for them on the walls. I went and lay on the mattress in our enclosure then and could easily have drifted off to sleep, but I was curious about the place and how it operated, so hauled myself to my feet and went outside again.
I was hanging around near the house, when the young black guy I’d seen yesterday came up. “Hi, Amos”, I said.
He grinned. “No, I’m Andy, his younger brother. Well, there’s only eleven months in it, as mom was a bit impatient! But we’re so alike most people can’t tell one from the other – especially now we’ve been prepared to look like twins.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, look at me – no hair on the head (or anywhere on my body at all). We were alike, but clean shaven all over and exercised so we built up our muscles the same, most whiteys can’t tell us apart. You couldn’t, and most of the whiteys who come here hardly give us a second glance anyway. But what are you doing anyway – us slaves are all meant to be working…”
“Stryker said I could have time off, as it’s my first day. But what about you?”
“I’ve just finished getting your dad ready for studding. Amos and me are bath slaves, amongst other things.”
“Getting my dad ready?”
“Sure…. He was all sweaty, and the folk who come to see don’t want that. And he needed shaving, and cleaning up generally…. And we’re in charge of dressing him, as well….”
“Oh, you probably haven’t been to a studding, have you?”
“Want to come and see your dad? I can sneak you in…”
I really had no idea what he was talking about really, but as I was “exploring” the place, thought I might as well go along. He led the way, and as we walked along he told me that he wasn’t really called Andy, and his brother wasn’t really Amos – it was some kind of joke, it seems, that made sense to Mr Hawthorne and older guys like that, as his real name had been Leroy, but that he and his brother had been re-named when Mr Hawthorne bought them. It made me think, that did – not only could you own a man, but you could even take his name away from him and decided on a whim to call him something else. This slave thing was a whole lot more, once you got in to it, than just owning a worker!
We approached a tall barn-like structure and Andy put his finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. We went around it, and sneaked, very carefully, up an open fire escape at the rear, then very cautiously in through a door that gave onto a catwalk stretching around the inside of the place. We were above the suspended ceiling lights that were lighting up the floor below, and there was Stryker talking to another guy who, like Stryker, looked as if he was a bit of a local redneck. This second man was holding onto a chain that was attached to the collar of a young nigga girl who was just dressed in a simple one-piece slave shift.
As I watched, the two men shook hands as if concluding a deal, and the second man then simply ordered the nigga to strip. My dick sprang into life as I saw her firm young breasts and the rest of her all exposed, and Stryker even ran his hands coarsely over her, clearly enjoying feeling her young firm flesh – or was it that he enjoyed humiliating her?
The guy with the chain led her over to a table, and ordered her to lie on her back, with her ass overhanging one end of it. Stryker went over to the door, and came back, leading dad!
I say leading dad, because like the young nigga, dad had a chain attached to his collar by which Stryker was guiding him: he needed to, as dad was blindfolded – there was a leather blindfold running over his eyes and around his head, knotted at the side. He was cuffed, too – his hands were high up his back, with another short length of chain joining them to his collar, and I could tell from the awkward way he was walking that he was trying to strike some compromise between not having his hands painfully high, and choking from having his neck pulled backwards.
Just as Stryker had run his hands all over the nigga girl, so the second man now ran his hands over dad, stroking his pecs, feeling his biceps as they strained there, and even stooping down to run his hands up and down dad’s big muscular thighs. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Stryker then undid the drawstring holding dad’s slave shorts up and pushed them down to the ground. Both men nodded and almost laughed as they looked at dad’s dick and balls, held up for display by the cock ring, and the second man reached down and stroked dad’s dick, which initially caused dad to jerk back in surprise.
The men exchanged a few more words and then shook hands again, then Stryker reached down for dad’s dick, jerked at it so that dad became fully erect, then used dad’s dick as a kind of handle to guide him over to where the nigga girl was lying on the table.
Stryker positioned dad between her legs, then went around behind dad, put his hands on dad’s hips, and guided him forward. I did hear dad moan as his dick touched the nigga’s body, and then Stryker reached around him to actually position dad’s dick so that he was just inside her!
There was a sharp “slap” sound as Stryker hit dad’s naked butt with his bare palm, and that caused dad to shoot forward and up into the nigga, and then, initially guided by Stryker’s hands, again on dad’s hips, dad began to fuck her. Stryker soon stopped guiding dad as his basic instincts took over, and I watched in fascinated horror as dad’s powerful butt and thighs pushed his body backwards and forwards in and out of her. I could see dad building to a climax – his stokes got longer and harder, and sweat was flowing all over his back and butt, and then suddenly he stopped – his hips went forward and his back arched backward as if he wanted to bury his dick deep in her cunt, and I just knew that he’d shot his cum deep up inside her.
He went to pull out after a few moments, but Stryker put his hand on dads butt to restrain him, keeping him buried in the nigga, presumably as dad’s cum still flowed out.
I realised that I too was covered in sweat, and I’d almost stopped breathing. I’d just seen my dad fuck a woman. And then Andy whispered to me “your daddy’s made another little half brother for you, man!”
To be continued …
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