A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 9
Somehow, hearing about the story they’d concocted made me feel better about – or should I say “reconciled” to – my life. I knew now that my uncle would never free me, and could never again acknowledge me as his nephew, having “killed me off” with those fucking oysters!
I was therefore now fully and properly a slave, and to survive as a slave without getting bull-whipped or worse, you had to buckle down and obey, and work. Actually, I suppose, it’s not all that bad: I had always enjoyed using my body, and now I could revel in its power and strength. And a slave doesn’t worry all that much, you know – you’re pretty sure your meals are going to come regularly, as they want to keep your strength up. They may whip you and cane you, but they’re not going to really damage your body as they want you to be able to work, and, anyway, with the increasing shortages of criminals and so on, the price of slaves is going up and up so you are a valuable commodity. As Blackie and I worked away I sometimes wondered if I hadn’t been dealt a reasonable hand in life – if I’d gone on being a free man and had gone north, as I’d planned, I’d have become a lawyer or a banker or something ,then it would just have been stress, stress, stress. And if I’d done as my uncle asked, I’d have been in charge of the plantation, then it would have been dealing with Straughan, worrying about the finances, keeping up appearances…..
As it was, all I had to do was obey orders, and the rest took care of itself. People often forget that as a slave, all responsibility for your actions is no longer your own, it’s your owner’s. So there was no need to be concerned about appearing naked, for example – that was my owner’s decision. And of course I had Blackie – I’d never have known the complete joy of spending every minute of every day with such a perfect guy. We were closer than lovers – we worked together, shit and showered together, slept together, fucked each other, fucked other slaves together… It was almost perfect.
My only problem was Marie-Louise, who still seemed intent on punishing me for my “crime” of “deserting” her. As her pregnancy advanced, and she needed to be ferried between her house, my uncle’s, and the hospital for her ante-natal checks, she started to ask my uncle if she could use his landau, with Blackie and me pulling. Then, every time, after she’d dismounted she’d come and touch me – sometimes resting her long scarlet-tipped fingers on a pec, sometimes just caressing my butt, and sometimes even feeling my dick and balls: it was all so totally humiliating, to have this woman who I’d known socially using my body like this. She always wore black, to remind all the local studs that she was a widow, and she always claimed that she had no intention of “re-marrying” as she revered the memory of her dead husband too much!
Blackie was almost jealous of these attentions, and as we lay together at night he’d tell me how lucky I was to have a woman touching my body like this, and kept asking me why it was that the mistress only touched me, and not him! “I’d love to feel a woman just occasionally, Steve”, he told me. “You’re great, buddy, but there’s something I’d like to remember about my previous life, before I came here…. I don’t want to go back to have to have sex with women, of course, but the softness of a woman’s hand on my dick… It would certainly make a change from those calloused hands of yours!”
Still, apart from that, life wasn’t all bad, and I even got to see my sons soon after they were born, as Marie-Louise took them home from the hospital in the landau with Blackie and me proudly pulling it. Yes, I did say sons – she had twin boys, who were promptly called Jon and Jed, in honour of their father and grandfather. That night was really tough for me – Blackie quite rightly thought we should be excited at having heirs to the place, but couldn’t understand my elation and why I was so much more enthusiastic about it then even he was. I couldn’t tell him, could I, that a man always wants sons, and now I had them: after all, he thought that I’d had sons long ago, and ought to have been missing them following my enslavement. Later, though, reaction took over, and as he was fucking me Blackie suddenly stopped, and hugged me. I could see he was very upset, and for a moment thought that I might have inadvertently done something stupid like cry out about “my babies” in my passion. But no, he whispered to me “Steve, you’re the only guy I could say this to – all the other slaves on the estate think I’m the big, tough, top. But you’re different, Steve, I can tell you anything….” I hugged him back, “Yes, of course, Blackie….”
“Steve – seeing those babies today… It breaks my heart. I remember my sons… I wonder where they are now? I’ve missed seeing them growing up, Steve. Boys need a father’s guidance, and although their mother’s very good, I sometimes wake up at night worrying that they’ll go wrong somewhere without me there to advise them. Oh, Steve, why do you think she never tried to buy me? I’m sure she’d have had the money, and our owner would certainly have sold, as you know how he likes to make a profit on slaves…”
He broke off as he started to give small sobs – those catches of breath that men do when they don’t want to break down completely. And I found myself doing the same, not only in sympathy for Blackie, but because I was remembering how it was me that had deprived him of that glorious chance to really mould and cherish his sons.
Still, I had some chance to take part in my sons upbringing – a very small one, admittedly. I was there outside the church for the christening, attended by all the finest families locally, and where I heard that Marie-Louise gave a little speech praising her dead husband, and saying how she would forever wear black widow’s weeds in his memory. Well, black they might be, but widow’s weeds, hardly: she was always taking little trips to Paris “to see my dress maker” as she said, and returning with boxes and boxes from the couturiers on the Faubourg St Honore.
I even got a chance to actually touch my sons sometimes – one particular incident that stands out in my mind is when Marie-Louise had taken the boys, now aged four, for a picnic. She was sitting under the shade of one of the huge oaks that border the meadow by the swimming hole, and Jed and Jon were running around playing together. But they got fractious and cross in the humid heat, and needed “amusement”. I heard Marie-Louise telling them the should play “horsey”, then her clear voice rang out, telling Blackie and me to come over, and get on our hands and knees. Little Jed rode me, and Jon rode Blackie – they sat astride our backs and we had to “race” around the field on our hands and knees. It was fun, I suppose – but that night I was really uncomfortable as my ribs were all bruised where Jed had constantly kicked at me with the heels of his shoes, to “help you go faster, Steve”, he’d kept shouting. It seemed that he was learning young about the way to operate slaves!
Later, when the boys must have been about twelve, and they were allowed to take us out by themselves if their mother or my uncle or their grandparents did not want the landau, they’d taken us down to that very same spot where they’d played “horsey” for about a year until they tired of it. It was stiflingly, oppressively hot, but they did allow Blackie and me to stand under the shade of one of the oaks. We watched, not keeping our heads totally bent as we should have, as the boys stripped off their shorts and Ts and pulled on swimmers. Then I head Jon say “This is fucking stupid – look at the ponies, how cool they look with nothing on… Come on….” He pulled off his swimmers, and ran naked across the grass to execute a perfect dive into the cool water of the swimming hole, closely followed by his brother. Afterwards, they lay on the grass, drying in the sun, and we could see the white stripe across their otherwise tanned bodies as they lay there. Across the clear air it was perfectly easy to hear what they were saying, and Jed turned to his brother and asked “You don’t think we’re freaks, do you, bro? This hair growing on our balls….”
“No, of course not! It’s natural. You weren’t listening in school and at church, when they told us god caused this to happen at our age, to show that we were turning into proper Christians.” I was truly appalled at the way that our education system was degrading, hearing how those fucking Christians had subverted it even more than when I was at school, when they’d first started teaching that creationist theology rubbish in stead of proper Darwinian evolutionary theory.
Jed got up and came over to us. My son cupped my balls in his hand, and felt around. Then I felt his fingers slide over my dick, and even though I was as embarrassed and humiliated as hell, I couldn’t stop getting an erection. He did the same thing to Blackie, then went back to Jon.
“Well, I think they’re lying – the ponies are men, and they don’t have hair on their balls…..”
“You are an idiot, Jed! Of course they don’t – they’re slaves! Slaves aren’t Christians, so god doesn’t give them hair there.”
“They go erect though, Jon… Like we do….”
“Well of course they do. They’re animals, after all, even though they’re not proper men. You’ve seen how all the real horses, and the bull, and that big porker on the pig farm all get erect… All male animals do.”
“And do they cum, Jon, like you and me?”
“Of course! Come here…” Blackie and I watched as the two young lads started to stroke each other, until they both shot. They lay there, laughing and giggling to each other, and I marvelled at this scene of innocence. I’d always had to keep my own jerking off secret from my dad, but these boys were totally uninhibited in front of me. And then the thought struck me – no, they’d be just as embarrassed in front of their grandfather, and probably their father, if they had one – they just didn’t mind doing it in front of us, as we weren’t really “there” as far as they were concerned – they were so used to having slaves around that we just didn’t count at all. They were as private, they believed, in front of slaves as they would have been in their own bedroom. I hated the thought that my sons now just regarded slaves as objects, but growing up rich and privileged in the south, I suppose it was inevitable. Still, I envied them one thing – how incredible it must be to have a twin brother, and to be able to share everything with him. I’d come to recognise the unbelievable feelings that being so close to Blackie brought me, and for them, it would be even better – they wouldn’t waste the first years of their lives discovering what the love of one man for another could bring.
They lay still, recovering from their exertions, then Jon said “Hey, Jed, remember how we used to play ‘horsey’ with Steve and Blackie? Want to play again…. I bet I’m still the better rider…”
“No, it’s too hot. I don’t want their hot sweaty backs under my ass.”
“Well I can think of another game….”, then his voice changed, and he called out “You slaves, get over here.”
Blackie and I were made to kneel in front of the boys, and Jon chose me, and Jed chose Blackie. Then Jon ordered us to jerk off! “I bet you Steve will shoot first”, he told his brother. “In fact, I bet you a five…”
Blackie and I looked at each other almost in shock. It would b terrible for Blackie, I knew, to have to do this as he was used to topping the house slaves who were not all that much older than these two. But for me it was infinitely worse, to be ordered to masturbate in front of my sons, and for a bet, too. Still, what could we do? When they saw us hesitating, Jon snapped “Get fucking wanking, slaves, unless you want me to report you to Straughan when we get back…” So as the two young lads watched, their own dicks rising with excitement as Blackie and I brought ourselves to erection and then to climax, as we just had do as ordered.
That swimming hole was also the scene of the third most vivid memories of that time. The boys” were now men, having celebrated their sixteenth birthday the previous evening with a huge party for all kids from their school – there had been a huge marquee on the lawn, a rock band playing, and a lot of illicit drinking. We’d heard it all from the stables, and some of the guests had even crept in to find some quiet place to fuck, or to throw up!
That morning, much later, when they’d finally got out of their beds, looking totally wasted, they ordered the carriage for Blackie and me to take them to the swimming hole again, as they wanted to keep out of the way of the adults who were not too pleased with the way that the party for “young ladies and gentlemen” had gone. They were fully mature now, and I could see the amazing similarities between them and me at their age – the same slim but defined musculature, the handsome faces, big dicks and low-hanging balls, the dark blond hair, bleached white on their legs and arms, but shading to darker around their pubes….
They swam in a desultory way for a few minutes, then threw themselves on the grass. “Do you remember, Jon, all that crap about god giving us pubic hair…”
“Sure, bro. Just like all the crap in church. All that walking on the water, virgin births, rising from the dead… All fairy stories!”
“Sure, Jon, of course. But it’s good for the slaves to think there’ll be a better life after this, even though no sensible person would believe it. But do you remember when we were kids how we got Blackie and Steve to jerk off that time? We’d seen our own cum, but we were totally awed by the volumes those two guys shot! And now we’re getting to be old, like them..”
“Don’t be fucking stupid, Jed! Steve must be almost forty, and Blackie’s older… I heard Straughan going through the slave records the other day. We’ve got a long way to go yet, before we’re really old, like them.”
“Still, Jon, we’re men now – have been since yesterday. It’s all legal now!”
“You mean fucking? So what? We’ve been fucking each other for three years.”
“Yes, Jon – but we can fuck other guys now, and they can’t lock us up – or enslave us!”
“So shall we celebrate… Roll over, and get your legs in the air, little bro – and I’ll take my privileges now for coming out first when we were born…”
“No, Jon. I want to celebrate by fucking a real man, a real hard ass… Let’s give ourselves a birthday treat….”
“You mean go back and get a couple of the house boys? Or are you thinking of some of those big niggas in the fields, all strong long thighs, and big bubble butts… Forget it – It’s too hot, I just want to stay here.”
“No, Jon – let’s fuck the pony slaves! We’ve watched those butts of theirs long enough… Every time we take them out we see those asses. And do you remember how we used to ride them when we played ‘horsey’? Well, let’s try riding them properly now, as a master can ride the ass of a slave….”
Jon gave a great shout of “Yes!”, then called for Blackie and me to go over to them.
Look, I really don’t want to write about this. It was awful for both of us – I saw Blackie almost crying as instead of using the young house slaves hard, as he did, Jed now pounded him in what Blackie regarded as a complete reversal of “the natural order”. And I was completely mortified as my own son knelt between my thighs and looked down at me as his dick forced its way into my ass. But I had to hang in there, didn’t I? I mean, apart form the fact that I was gagged and didn’t speak, if I’d held out, as it was so wrong, the truth might have come out, and my sons’ lives would be ruined – they’d never be able to look their friends in the face again, as they’d always be taunted as being the sons of a slave.
My uncle died when the boys were twenty, and the trust fund, set up all those years ago, resulted in them becoming owners of the plantation a year later. They were at college – a “proper” southern one, where the values of society were properly understood, as their mother said – and one day, when we got back as Marie-Louise had used us to go into town for a lunch with some of her lady friends, still all in black, still a widow, the two young men bounded down the steps to greet her on her return. As usual, Marie-Louise had stopped to touch my dick, and Jon called out “Oh mom, don’t! That’s so out…”
“What do you mean, Jon? These are still the finest ponies in the area. And with the price of slaves going higher all the time, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to buy better…”
“Yes, mom, but they’re so ‘out’, so totally ‘yesterday’. We can’t take them anywhere, as our friends are all laughing at us.”
“I’m sure they’re not, Jed. Most young men at college would be pleased to have one pony these days, let alone a matched pair like this.”
“No, mom, they’re laughing at us as these are so old fashioned and so totally last decade. ‘Modern Slave Owner’ says that the only ‘respectable’ pony these days, the only pony a gentleman would want to be seen driving, should be gelded, and stubbed.”
“What on earth’s that?
“Stubbing, mom… Don’t you know anything about anything, except clothes?” Jon smiled as he said this, paying his mother a huge, affectionate compliment. “Stubbing – they simply slice the slave’s dick off at about half an inch from the body. After all, without his balls he doesn’t need it for shooting! And he can still piss properly and everything, as you know that’s all controlled by the bladder muscles – they just neaten up the end of the urethra…. There’s no mess or anything. And the AMSPCS has said it isn’t cruel at all – in fact, they say that concerned slave owners ought to have it done to slaves who have to work nude, as it’s kinder to the slaves not to have to have their balls and dicks flopping around everywhere…”
“Your mother knows more about anatomy, and about slaves’ dicks than you might imagine, boys”, Marie-Louise responded, laughing. “I’ll talk to your grandfather, and to Mr Straughan, about it… They are valuable property, remember, and I don’t want to affect their asset value.”
“Sure, mom, but I called the veterinarian and he can do the gelding and stubbing on Friday…. And, strictly speaking, there two ponies do belong to us now, after grandfather’s trust….”
Marie-Louise now felt my dick again, as she sill sometimes did, then, giving me a look that said unmistakably “I’ve paid you back at last, bastard”. She said to her sons “You’re right. You’re men now. You must make up your own minds, run your own lives. I’ve longed to go back and live in Paris, and I think the time has come for your mother to bow out a little, and give you both the freedom to live as you wish. I’m going to book tickets for next week….”
She turned and went into the house, and Blackie and I stood there, completely horror stuck. That night in our stall, two of the waiters were unlucky enough to come for a fucking, and were probably surprised at the ferocity with which both Blackie and I pounded them. Afterwards, Blackie whispered to me “Was that the last time, do you think? Should we lock that away in our brains as the last time we get to use our dicks, and shoot cum? Oh, Steve… This stubbing… We’re going to look stupid!”
“Come on, Blackie, there’s only one thing to do now…. You remember that slave at church last Sunday who was starting to tell us about the Underground Railway, how there were men and women down here who risked imprisonment to help slaves escape to the north… That’s what we’ve got to do, Blackie…. Let’s make a run for it.”
“But Steve… If we’re caught….”
“If we’re caught, they’d whip us. And geld us, and stub us. So apart form the whipping, what have we got to lose?”
We kissed, sealing our fate, and went out of the stable into the dark night. The moon
ATTENTION ATTENTION ATTENTION
The copy of Microsoft Content Manager installed on this system has determined that you are reading a document deemed illegal by order of the department Of Homeland Security.
Under the successive expanded powers granted to the Department Of Homeland Security, all PCs must regularly scan the contents of their drives and report any use of prohibited or proscribed material when they next connect to the web. The Director Of Homeland Security has determined that the book “Enslaved”, by Congressman Steve Masters, is seditious as it encourages slaves to believe that escape is possible. And it further weakens the security of the United States by implying that free men might be taken as slaves. In his determination, the Director said “If a free man might be taken as a a slave, then, by implication, a terrorist might really be innocent and be judged a terrorist just because he looked like one. Such thinking is detrimental to the security of the country and Congressman Masters’ book is therefore proscribed.”
Subsidiary determination: This document might be part of the congressional record. Congressman Masters read the whole of his book into the record following its initial banning. However the Department Of Homeland Security deemed that even such a public record might be prejudicial to the interests of our country, and ordered that the record be locked and sealed as citizens had no need to see it.
Whilst Congressman Masters is pursuing a case through the courts, arguing that the story of his rise from slavery to being the elected representative of the people of New Hampshire could not be anything other than inspirational and motivational for youth of our country, the Department’s determination stands.
You are therefore in breach of the amended Homeland Security Act, and the penalties for this are: Residents of southern states: A period of Indentured Service (slavery) of not more than five, and not less than three years.
Residents of northern states are subject to the same penalties, but can optionally elect to buy their own period of Indentured Service for a price to be determined by the courts but which will not be less than twenty percent of their current net asset value (including the value of any houses they may own).
Your PC’s universal ID has been noted and logged now. As the registered owner of this PC you are required to report to the local office of the Department Of Homeland Security for sentencing and appearance before the courts for sentencing. Failure to make such an appearance will result in an automatic doubling of the above penalties.
– The end –
Click here to see all published chapters