Dad And Me by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 32 - EPILOGUE
Note from the author: "Dad and Me" is about the relationship between Steve and Joe, and with Joe's death, the story concluded. But so many readers have written to ask me "what happened next", that I contacted Steve and asked him if he could possibly spare the time in his incredibly busy schedule to give me one more interview so that we might tidy up a few loose ends. Here are my notes, transcribed from the shorthand, of that interview which took place in the bank's executive suite.
Pete: Thank you for your time, sir. You certainly have a fine view from up here, right over the city..."
Steve: Yes. But time is money. Now, you asked if I'd mind telling you a little more of my life. It was meant to be only the early years, before I really got the bank into shape, and we did, as I think I hinted, start to reap the rich rewards of my wise long term strategy. But I can perhaps fill in a few gaps for you.
I was of course devastated by Joe's death, and my inability to have made closure with him. Had Jeff not been waiting in the office, I do not know how I'd have made it to the car, and the jet. It was as if I was sleep walking, or going trough a long tunnel with the world outside. Jeff just sat there, quietly and patiently by the side of me, never asking, never demanding, just being there for me. Although he and I had not discussed it in detail, he'd seen the "M" on my butt after we became lovers, and his intelligence had enabled him to piece together most of the story of my life. So he knew how close I had been to dad - well, few sons spend so much time ,so intimately close to their fathers, do they? Especially not when they're sixteen, and have their own friends, their own interests: dad and I had grown closer in these years, rather than further apart, as so many fathers and sons do.
When we got to Manderleigh it was pretty tough - "carry on as usual" meant, for Stryker, carrying on treating Joe as a slave as he always had done (even though he knew the whole story). You will remember that he was always concerned about the effect on the rest of the slaves about treating some of them differently. So he'd had Joe taken to the cold store where we kept the produce awaiting shipment. There he was, lying next to a couple of niggas who had also died that week, waiting for the carrier to come. It seems that we sell the bodies of slaves to a fertiliser manufacturer, or something. All three of them had been stripped of their collars, and in Joe's case, the cinch ring and snout ring, as Stryker explained that at the factory the bodies go straight into the grinders or something. It made me fele almost uneasy to see the paler colour skin around dad's neck where the collar had come off, and the small weals there that even the best fitting collar tends to cause.
There was that tiny trace of a smile on dad's face, though, and Stryker, seeing my faint distress, assured me that dad hadn't suffered: one moment he was studding away, then he shouted his big customary "Yes....", as he shot his load, and the next moment he slumped forward, dead. "I think, sir, that he died as he'd have wanted to."
"Yes, Stryker - he was very proud of being a real stud. And what a way to go."
"Sir, I realise I might have made an error - do you want your father buried properly? We could take him out of here, to a funeral home..."
"No, Stryker. He was a slave, and he knew it. And I knew it. I've said my goodbyes now, let's go, and leave him for the fertiliser factory. Who knows, he might end up nurturing the lawns here as he did for so many years. Bodies are only pieces of dead meat, after all: Joe is gone, except in our memories, and it's senseless to mourn over the husk that used to contain the man."
Stryker continued to look faintly embarrassed as if trying to make up his mind about something, then blurted out "Sir, I've kept this - I thought you might like a momento of your father." And there, in his palm, was dad's snout ring, that ring that I had had to push out of the way so many times as we'd been together on that thin mattress in the mower shed, and had wanted to kiss. It was that which made me break down finally, I think - I'd been maintaining an icy self control now, but this poignant souvenir, this thing that meant so much to dad, and which I had hated when I had had to wear one, broke through the barriers I'd erected. I broke down, sobbing gently, and it was the loving embrace of Jeff that comforted me.
Pete: Forgive me for asking, but are you still together with Jeff?
Steve: Yes, of course! He did go on to do some part-time study, found he liked it, and ended up by getting a masters in the psychology of sport. He's remained in academia - well, mostly part time, as we have a busy life - and consults widely on things like the training of Olympic teams for maximum performance.
I'll let you into a secret: the USA is doing so spectacularly well these days, in spite of all the Chinese hoards who sweep the board otherwise, as a result of Jeff's insights into the way to get that "extra ten percent". His training methods are, some think, novel - but they work particularly for the team sports, where any one member can easily be punished (no, perhaps that's the wrong word) if the whole team fails to turn in the results. It's not so far removed from the concept we use on the coffles.
Pete: And what has been the biggest change in your life from those days? When the first part of the story ended, you were in power in the bank, owner of Manderleigh, and you've just told me that having discovered Jeff, you're still together....
Steve: Undoubtedly my son! I had unresolved issues with my father, as you will have read, and knew that the only way to truly rid myself of these was by demonstrating that I could do better with a son of my own. It was difficult - having been forced to stud for all those years, I really couldn't bring myself to go with a woman, even after the most expensive consultations with psychiatric councillors. Both Jeff and I thought it best for the child to be conceived in a "proper" union between a man and a woman, not in a test tube, and this seemed to involve insuperable difficulties because of my natural reluctance to perform that distasteful act again.
Pete: If it's not prying, can you explain further?
Steve: It is prying, but in allowing you to write the first part of my story, I feel I have exposed myself so much that a little more is of no consequence. We had two problems: locating a suitable bitch to impregnate, and then the actual impregnation itself. If the law was different, the obvious way to resolve the first point would be to go into the market and buy, albeit at a scandalous price, a whitey bitch. But of course her progeny would be slaves, so that was out. It was Miles who devised the plan: we searched the bank's personnel files for a suitable mother. She had to be intelligent, fit, and single, and there were other desirable secondary requirements, too - for example, we wanted a "go getter" who would be interested in advancement. Having located such a person, a junior VP, very much a rising star in corporate marketing, we found the second part easy: it turns out that she was so bored by the constant procession of "nice" men propositioning her at the office that for relaxation she liked "rough" men - blue collars, or even, it was whispered, slaves on occasion. It was thus easy for Jeff to meet her, and with his body and rather rough and ready ways learned in the forces, to seduce her. She always insisted on being fucked with a condom, something Jeff detests of course as he obviously likes proper skin to skin contact, but this worked to our advantage.
I jerked off into a condom, in which we made a small hole, sitting in the limo outside her apartment, and Jeff put this in his pocket and went straight up and began to make passionate love to her. At the appropriate moment, he slipped a condom on himself, and then slid the one with my cum on over that, and entered her. It was thus my seed that fertilised her - and she didn't realise this until too late. She made the mistake, as she was so busy, of consulting our in-house medical team, and Miles, now responsible for all "none business" activities in the bank quietly suggested to our chief medical officer that he should "overlook" this pregnancy until it was too late. By the time she consulted outside opinion, it was too far gone, and as you probably know, our stupid abortion laws, brought on by those crazy "right to lifers", make the attempt to even procure an abortion a matter attracting slavery.
Tony is not still our ace marketeer for nothing, and he soon managed to convince her that bearing the child and handing him over for adoption was a career-enhancing move, one that would also leave her a wealthy woman!
Jeff and I began to bring up our son, and some months later, lying in bed together, I said to Jeff that it was time he found a woman and had a son too. He shook his head, saying that he'd done enough, as he felt like a slave stud going through all that business with the VP! But as you are aware, I know how to manipulate Jeff, and we did indeed do it all again, although this time it was simpler as Jeff could simply "doctor" the condom himself. After all, as I explained to him, I was an only child, and I loved Joe deeply. But a boy needs to grow up with siblings and friends. "Look at you and me, Jeff", I told him. "I want little Joe to grow up with a true loyal friend and servant, as you are to me. Your son can be to little Joe just as you are to me." But I'd prefer not to say more on this subject as I want little Joe and young Jeff to have as normal an upbringing s possible, given that little Joe is the heir to one of the largest fortunes in world history. We keep them well out of public sight, and they're growing up at Manderleigh as I do believe that the gentle southern way of life is more likely to turn them into proper gentlemen - the country air, and wholesome food grown on the estate, are exactly what boys need and it's good training for them to be exposed to slaves from an early age, so they grow up with that innate knowledge of how to own and control a huge herd.
Pete: And Stryker?
Steve: Oh, absolutely invaluable still. He runs the place, and I couldn't do without him. And he's there "in loco parentis" for Jeff and me as we can only be there on the weekends - he's got a bit of a soft heart really, except where slaves are concerned, so he's good for the boys when they want a bedtime story and such, that you don't really want to entrust to slaves.
Mind you, I couldn't risk a man who was so unsure of his own sexuality that he needed those plastic "enhancers" to be near impressionable young boys, and when I told him this, he agreed to a course of counselling that resolved the issue for him. He still looks faintly ridiculous of course with that tiny dick and his muscled body - well, what man wouldn't? - but when we're all around the pool now, swimming naked, he no longer cares. And I suppose we've got used to seeing it.
Pete: I guess that only leaves Chas. What's happened to him?
Steve: Jeff and I had a number of disagreements about Chas - Jeff is still so "soft" on the issue of slavery, you know. And I suppose I ought to be grateful to Chas for being a comfort to Joe after I'd been freed. To me, though, it's quite clear: Chas committed a crime - drug crime. We need to protect our society by ensuring that it's crystal clear that any involvement in drugs, any involvement at all, by the richest or the poorest, will result in enslavement. I'd be failing in my civic duty if I released Chas - it would be tantamount to condoning drugs! Jeff says I ought to be grateful to Mr Hawthorne, and "pay it back" by releasing Chas, but of course that's impossible, as I've explained - and, in any event, as I keep saying to Jeff, what have I really got to thank Hawthorne for? Even when it was clear that I wasn't a slave, and he took me to New York, he treated me like one! I keep asking Jeff to compare how I treated him with how Hawthorne treated me, but he keeps muttering about loincloths and foreskins and such like... Sometimes, he had no sense of humour!
Jeff countered by asking me to think about how Joe must have liked having Chas there once I was gone, and, indeed, we did order Chas to be brought in and I questioned him about my father. He seemed genuinely upset about Joe's death, perhaps more than I now was, having had that cathartic release when I'd finally seen his body. "Master", he almost sobbed, "He was like a second father to me. You know how I lost my own father, and then was enslaved, and Joe was so good to me, so kind - he understood what it was to lose someone close to you, master. He said that I'd lost my father , and he'd lost his son..."
A stab of what was almost like pure jealousy went through me. It wasn't enough that Chas had had everything, when I was a slave - power, money, and freedom. Even when enslaved he'd had more than I'd had as a free man - I may have got the money and freedom and power, but had "lost" dad, and he'd got him.
My anger blazed, and I felt like having him whipped for taking from me the thing I now knew I most valued, Joe. But he went on speaking, as if lost, somehow. "I loved him, master, as he was so kind to me, kinder to me than my own father ever was. My father never had time for me, and we were never close. But Joe and I had that: time. Time together, every night, in the mower shed. And we were close, master, as close as two men can be."
"Did he fuck you?"
"Yes, master, of course. I was terrified when I was first enslaved as I had never been fucked by a man, but Joe was so gentle, so understanding, and that first night spent so much time reassuring me, that I came to love having him in me, master. And when I ached from the work as my muscles were not strong, and the tawse had stung and stung, Joe would caress and massage me... But I came to know that I was always second best, master - at night, sometimes, if he was half asleep he'd forget, and murmur 'Steve, Steve', as our bodies pressed together. It made me sad, master, as I always knew I was only a substitute for you and it was you who Joe really wanted."
It was good to know that Chas had been a comfort for my father, and I felt even more guilty now that I'd wasted all that time when I could have been with Joe again properly. But there is no point in worrying about what might have been, is there? You have to move on.
Somehow it didn't seem right to keep Chas around the place, knowing he'd been so intimate with my father, and fortunately there was a neat resolution to the problem: you remember I told you about the senator's aunt? Well, she is one formidable lady, and when she and the senator's mother and the senator visited me in New York, I found her eyeing young Billy in a very predatory manner when he and his "father", Tony, came to dinner. It seems she likes young men, as it "keeps her juices running", as she so charmingly puts it. I did some very good business as a result of my friendship with the senator, and felt I owed he and his family a substantial debt of gratitude - and these things are important in the south, as you probably understand. So that Christmas I gave Chas to the aunt, or, rather, had him gift wrapped and sent around "on permanent loan" as it would be improper to make such expensive gifts to members of the senator's family. So now he studs her, and according to the gossip in the slave quarters, he's in use almost every night. And of course you see him trotting along behind her in tiny shorts when she attends garden parties and other social functions, carrying her handbag, umbrella, engagement diary, and all the other things that a fashionable lady requires.
Pete: That only leaves....
Steve: I'm sorry, but my screen is reminding me that my next meeting is already overdue. I think you have the outline of a good story there, don't you? Please though do remember to continue to use the pseudonyms we agreed on, as we have today, as I would prefer some of these intimate details not to be associated directly with me. And I certainly don't want hordes of sightseers to descent on the "real" Manderleigh to see where these events took place!
THE END Pete Brown. London, France and Ireland. August-October 2005.