Dad And Me by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 25
Stryker ushered dad into the room, and he looked just as magnificent physically as he always had. The lamps caught the sheen on his skin (they'd oiled him of course, knowing he was to meet his owner), but from the way he was standing I could tell that this wasn't really the dad I'd known from when I was a kid - he was standing with his head bowed, completely servile. I suppose I shouldn't complain - after all, that's what you want a slave to be, isn't it? But this was my dad, for fuck's sake.
I motioned for Stryker to leave us alone, and once the door had clicked shut with that expensive heavy sound that only solid oak doors make, we were alone. Once before it had all gone wrong, when dad and I had just looked at each other, just after I was confirmed as a free man, and I was determined that this time I'd get it right. Words aren't enough in circumstances like these, are they? So I got up, threw my arms around him, and said simply "Dad!"
His muscles were so hard against my body, and at first it was difficult to make proper contact as dad just stood there, impassively, and with his hands neatly clasped behind his back it was difficult for me to embrace him. It was almost farcical - even though I'm a big guy, I do have limits to the length of my arms, and I couldn't wrap myself around dad with his arms like that. I carried on trying, though, pushing my head down to rest it on him beneath his neck and above his pecs, and I just stood there. Then, as my nose filled with the masculine scent of him, I put my head down further and began to suck at and tease his left nip. I felt dad getting really turned on by this - it must be a family trait, to have some sort of direct connection between the nip and the dick - and he was stabbing at me as I stood there so close to him. Then the ice began to break, and he gave a soft moan as I continued, and I felt the tension in his arms as he fought with himself to remain there in the proper position of "slave rest".
I stopped for a moment and pushed my arms between his and his body, so that he was almost forced to unclasp his hands, and then, to my joy, he threw his arms around me and gave me one of those great bear hugs he'd done as a child.
"OH, dad...", I whispered, and I heard him reply, at first very hesitantly "Steve.... Master..... Oh, Steve.... Oh Steve, come here, son....."
Look, I don't care what they say in all the newspapers and everything about it being OK for men to cry - I don't. But, I have to tell you, it was hard as we stood there in each others arms like that. I carried on pressing my face into his tough, hot skin ( working naked in the sun all the time makes it very leathery), but now my hands were racing up and down his back, feeling the muscle and enjoying the hard knobs of his spine as they stood out. And as they worked lower, I thrilled as my finger tips first went into the top of his butt crack - that lovely enticing place right at the base of the spine, from where dad's big, powerful butt cheeks were flaring. It's funny, isn't it, but the moment your finger first slides down there it's almost so much warmer than the rest of the body? And somehow it's always faintly moist - I suppose that's because the sweat runs down the back and ends up there, and can't easily evaporate. I'd forgotten what it was like to feel such a perfect body - don't get me wrong, I loved sex with Tony and Miles, but their bodies were just not like Dad's. Miles was thin and kind of skinny, whereas Tony was larger, but lacked the muscle tone of dad. Dad was just perfect - or was it that he was the standard by which I evaluated other men's bodies, having learned all about the joys of man to man contact there? And so by definition he was "perfect" as far as I was concerned?
Dad's hugging of me had loosened my shirt and it had ridden up out of my pants, and I now felt his hands on my bare skin: hands that were tough and calloused, covered in pads of tough skin from constantly using tools as he worked. And dad, being dad, didn't waste time - his big middle finger was teasing me, too, as I slid down the first little bit of my butt crack.
We changed position slightly so that our heads were side by side, and one of his hands started to stroke my head and turn it towards him. "Steve....", he whispered, and I went to kiss him. But it wasn't like it used to be - as my lips pressed towards his, I was stopped: that awful snout ring hanging down over his upper lip felt vile: it was cold and alien against my lips, and there was the usual trickle of mucus that made dad's mouth kind of slimy. I remembered how my own nose had run almost constantly when Charles had had a snout ring put into me, and I knew dad couldn't help it as it was the irritation of the septum that made it happen. But all the same it was a bit distasteful, and I didn't like it all that much.
Still, we did kiss, but it wasn't as long, or as deep, as I remembered we used to when we were lying on the mattress in the mower shed at night, and I was disappointed. Or perhaps the reality can never quite match the imagination's remembrance of these things, especially not when I had been anticipating it for so long.
I didn't know what to do then. I really hadn't worked this through very well, as somehow in my mind the scene always faded out once dad and I had made physical contact. It's just as well I always prepared better for all the board meetings at the bank I had to go to! I was a little flustered, therefore, and loosened my grip on dad, and by reflex he did the same to me. I took a step back and took a look at him "Dad, you're looking great....."
"It's the life, Steve. But you'd know that...."
God, this was going to be tough! I backed away slightly, towards the couch, but dad just stood there!
Still, at least he wasn't at "slave rest". I sat down, and said "Come on, dad...."
He took a pace or two towards me, but began, haltingly "A slave isn't allowed on the furniture, Steve...."
"For fuck's sake, dad! I own this place! I can do what I like with the fucking couch!"
It's never wise to lose your cool in circumstances like this, is it? Dad just stared at me, and said slowly "Yes, Steve, you own the couch. And I guess you own me, too."
"Well, yes...."
He smiled at me, sensing his unease, I think. As you know dad and I were both strong personalities - well, dad was, until that bastard Hawthorne ordered him to be "broken" - and we always did these sort of mind game things when we jockeyed and manoeuvred, each trying to get the upper hand. Dad definitely knew he'd scored a winning hit there.
"Look, dad, this slave thing... Well, let's not make it a barrier between us...."
"Oh fuck me, Steve! Are you totally stupid? Have you completely lost it somewhere? How can it not be a barrier between us? I'm a slave, you're a free man, and what's worse, you're my owner! You're sitting there in your fancy city clothes, and I'm bare-assed naked - well apart form all these rings and the collar...."
"But that's the way it is - slaves here at Manderleigh, the ones working outdoors, at least, always work naked. You know that...." As I said this, I tried to move on, as it was getting us nowhere. I put my arm around dad's shoulders as he sat there, stiff and awkward, and pulled him towards me so that I could kiss him again. But I still found the little drool of snot trickling out just a bit repulsive, and so there was no pleasure in it. I hung in there, though, and with my other hand reached down and stroked dad's dick: it was just as I remembered it, rock hard, but with that lovely silky feel that dicks have. And they'd shaved his balls recently, too, as when I began to cup them and feel them, they were soft as silk in my palm.
Dad took an active part in it now, as one of his big hands snaked around my head and he held me tight to him, so that we couldn't stop kissing., his tongue forced itself into my mouth, and in spite of the awkwardness of the snout ring, we managed to get our mouths almost at right angles to each other so we could have that really deep, deep tongue play that's so exciting. I continued to stroke his dick, and could feel the first signs of pre-cum beginning to flow, as it got wonderfully slippery in my fist. Dad in turn started to grope at my crotch, but as I was still wearing my pants and my boxers, he couldn't get far - although I was hard, too, and I knew that my boxers would be getting slimed with my own pre-cum.
We broke off, and dad pulled me to my feet, and before I could do or say anything he'd undone my belt and pants, and almost brutally pushed them and my boxers to the floor. We fell back onto the couch and he began kissing me again, but now, with free access to me, his hands were stroking and caressing me just as I had been with him: once again, we were both playing to see who was going to be on top.
"Oh, Steve, I've missed you....", he whispered.
"Me too, dad", I replied, not really knowing what else to say. And it was actually true, too: I had missed dad, I suppose.
We carried on kissing and caressing, but it became clear that as in so many interactions like this between two guys, we needed to end up fucking. You'll remember that when I was a kid dad had always fucked me, and then there was that famous time when as I grew older and stronger and more powerful, we'd fought and I'd finally overpowered him and for the first time I'd rammed my dick up his ass. After that, as I don't really like taking dick, I'd always fucked him. I wasn't concerned now, as he was a slave, and owners always get to decide who does what to who, don't they?
So when we stood up again and dad told me to kick my pants and boxers off my feet as I looked ridiculous, I willingly did, and began to wonder where I'd take dad - have him lie across the back of the couch, or perhaps kneel on all fours...
"You're getting fat, Steve", he said, and slapped my butt playfully.
"No I'm not, I'm in good shape for a guy of my age, I can tell you..."
With one arm around my waist kind of controlling me, dad reached down and took a big pinch of flesh off my belly between his thumb and forefinger. "What's this then?"
I gasped, as it hurt. "Stop that, dad, it hurts!"
"Do it to me, then...."
He stood there waiting, and I tried to get a good amount of flesh off his belly, but of course it was rock slid, and I only succeeded in getting a tiny amount in my hand. "See, Steve! That's how a man's belly should be."
His eyes were smiling now, and before I realised it he'd put one leg behind mine, and pushed me backwards - he was still holding me so I didn't fall, but I was off balance and couldn't prevent myself from going down onto the floor, followed by dad, who kissed me again and stroked my dick some more. Then to my astonishment I heard him say "I guess they don't lube you, do they, Steve? So perhaps I'd better jerk you off - I don't like having to fuck a dry ass..."
"Hey, no, I don't take dick, dad..."
"Oh yes you do, Steve! You always did as a kid, and then you did again when you lost condition...."
"NO, dad..."
But it was no use - dad was pawing at me, and I tried to throw him off, but couldn't. We started to wrestle and fight - once more, trying to land punches on each other but not with the serious intention of doing permanent harm, I suppose. But it was no good - I was out of condition, and was just no match for dad's superb condition. Before I knew it, dad was sitting astride me, his knees pressing my biceps into the floor. I could feel his hot, moist ass on my chest, and I was helpless - there was just no way that I could move, with dad's weight pressing down on me like that.
He rose up slightly, so that his dick and balls were right above my head. "Right, Steve, since you don't want me to jerk you off and lube you, this is your only chance... Get my dick good and slathered with spit, boy, as that's the only lubrication I'm going to use...."
"No, dad...", I started, and was going to remind him that he was a slave, and he'd better obey, when my mouth was filled with his dick head. He sat there, holding his dick at its base, by the cinch ring, and slowly and carefully stuffed an inch or so into my mouth. I mumbled, and started to gag, and dad pulled back and out of me.
"No...", I began again, and now I saw dad grinning as he pushed back into me, this time not stopping until it touched the back of my throat and I began to choke and gag and almost vomit. I knew I was thrashing my legs and body around, but it was no use - I was completely helpless.
Dad pulled out of me again, and I could see his dick now not only covered in my saliva, but with a sheen of mucus all over it. He laughed , and when he saw I was about to speak, he swung his dick from side to side, striking my cheeks with it. "Come on, boy! You remember your dad's dick, don't you? You used to like this when you were a kid, Steve.... What's changed?"
I went to tell him that what had changed was that I was no longer a slave, and was his owner, but as I opened my mouth, the big, hard, warm slimy thing rammed into me again. He then rocked up and down a bit, as if he was actually fucking my face, and I could feel his cinched balls slapping against my chin as he did so.
At last he pulled out totally, and sank back onto my chest, and now I really could feel his sweaty asshole right against me (it's always just that bit hotter, isn't it?). I was gasping and choking too much to be able to say anything, and before I could do anything, dad nimbly got off me, flipped me over onto my front, hooked one arm under my belly and hauled my ass in the air. I wanted to scream "No!", but I couldn't. It wasn't so much that I was still choking, but that I was somehow caught up in the drama of it all - feeling dad's body against mine again, the eroticism of having a big powerful guy taking charge of me, and of course the memory of that last time, when he'd done exactly the same thing.
So he fucked me. And it hurt. And I squealed, just like some men do, however careful you are wit h them - but with justification, in my case! Dad just thrust away, long and hard, never seeming to care about what was happening to me. And then I heard him cry "Oh fuck..., yes....." and his body slammed into me one more time and stayed there.
Gradually he let me down onto the floor, and leaned forward over me. I felt the massive weight of his body on my back, and it made it almost hard to breathe. His strong thighs, were sort of intertwined with me, and his head was right up at the nape of my neck. I could feel his heart racing and his chest heaving as he gulped in air, and the warmth of his breath on my skin was somehow at once both reassuring and sensual.
He seemed to be laughing, softly, and in it I heard him whispering quietly so that only us two could hear (although there was of course no one else present, it's more intimate like that, isn't it?) "Oh Steve, that was great, son.... I have missed you.... You're a great fuck, boy...."
I felt tears rolling down my face, not so much from the hurt, but because I remembered how it used to be when it was just us two. And also, I suppose, because I now knew that I had a terrible, terrible problem - I mean, how was dad going to be a slave again, now that he'd done this to me, his owner?
We lay there for what seemed like hours, but was probably only five or six minutes, then dad pulled out of me and got to his feet. He reached down and took hold of my hand, and pulled me to my feet.
"Steve, I'm covered in your shit...", he joked. "That's one advantage of always fucking slaves, you know: you can suck a dick fresh from an ass as it's only just got cum and sweat on it! Now, I need to get clean, and we probably need to wipe your ass as what's trickling down your thighs looks a bit brown!"
I still don't know whether it was the shock of dad being in control again, or what, but I sort of mumbled about going to a bathroom, and with dad resting his arm across my shoulders and kind of gripping the back of my neck with his big hand, indicating the control he probably felt, we went out of the study. One of the house slaves was standing there and looked astonished to see the two of us naked like that - but he was a good slave, and stood there at "slave rest", presumably knowing that if I wanted anything, I'd command him. But I didn't, and we sort of went up the stairs, and along the wide bedroom corridor.
As he saw us approaching, the house slave who's usually up there stood aside and respectfully opened the door to my suite for us, and closed it behind us when we were inside. Dad looked around, and said jokingly "Well, this is a step up from the mower shed,
Steve!".
We went into the bathroom, and I saw dad looking at the huge bath tub. He was like a big kid, really - he fiddled with the elaborate temperature controls to get it filling, then went over to the hand basin and stood there casually washing his dick. He came back over to me, who was still almost mesmerised, pulled me half around, and before I knew it he'd raised his thigh into the air, bent me over it, and pushed my butt cheeks apart and was wiping it with toilet tissue. He let me go, showed me the soft white stuff covered in my cum and shit, and dropped it into the lavatory bowl. Wiping the other guy's ass when you've fucked him is something you do when you know the guy well and you've fucked a lot, I always think, but this was more like dad doing it to a very young kid - did he know he was subtly attempting to exert control over me by taking me back to my childhood, I found myself wondering?
"There, nice and clean! Now, are you ready for a bath...."
"No, I don't want one..."
"Steve, you're just like you were when you were a kid!
Do you remember what I used to do with you then when you didn't want to get into the tub?"
Laughing, dad almost scooped me off my feet again, and threw me into the warm, scented water! There was almost a tidal wave that swept over the marble tiles, and engulfed dad, and he now seemed almost weak with the fun of it all. He climbed in to the big tub, pushing and shoving at me so that I was sitting between his knees, and he wrapped his arms around me once more, and pulled me back to press against his chest. I could feel his cinched dick pressing against my butt, and he began to nuzzle at my shoulders and nibble at my earlobes. I started to relax, and actually enjoy it - it was a long time since I'd been in a tub with another guy, especially one with such a sexy body as dad!
"Steve, Steve....", he kept muttering, and then one hand strayed down my body, and began to stroke my dick. I couldn't help it - it was just so fucking amazing: the water, the scent of the bath stuff, the feel of dad's body against mine, his hand on my dick.... My head went back as I moaned in pleasure, and dad pout his forward and kissed at me again - we couldn't go deep, because of the angle, but it just seemed to be the right thing to do.
He carried on stroking me, and before I knew it I felt my balls tighten, and I shot a huge load of cum - most of it into the water, but some onto dad's knee which was sticking up out of the water like some strange island.
Dad laughed out loud now. "Jesus Christ, Steve - that's disgusting, cumming in the bath! Still, at least I'm not going to tell you the old joke tat starts 'You know how cum floats....?'..... But I think we'd better get out, as I can feel my skin all wrinkling up."
He got to his feet and stood there on the soaking wet bathroom floor, his big bronzed body streaming with water. He pulled me to my feet, and I reached for a towel, but he stopped me, and propelled me across the roam and out into my bedroom. I knew we were leaving wet trails across the carpet - carpet that had cost me a lot of bucks - but somehow I didn't care. He pulled back the covers of my bed, almost threw us both down, then pulled them up again, right over our heads, so we were kind of cocooned in a dark, warm, wet space. One part of me knew that the silk sheets were probably being ruined, but another knew that I didn't care.
We began kissing and stroking each other, and having tour wet bodies sliding over each other, hot and sweet-smelling from the bath, wrapped up in this little secret place, was utterly fantastic.
Look, I'm not going to write pages and pages telling you just how amazing that night was. No part of each others bodies was unexplored. He fucked me at least twice more, and I didn't care. And I fucked him, too.
It's so rare that two guys can use each other like this and take pleasure from it.... And I count myself lucky.
I woke with the dawn, as the slaves evidently hadn't disturbed us and had not come in to draw the drapes, and lay there for a few moments remembering all the delights of the night. I reached out for dad, and my arm scrabbled frantically across the bed - which was empty apart from me. I thought at first that he'd just gone to the bathroom, but when he didn't reappear, I got to my feet. And then I saw him, standing at the window, looking out and down at the pleasure gardens and the vast expanse of bright green grass.
"Hey, dad, come back to bed...."
He turned, slowly. His head was bowed. "If master commands it...."
"Cut all that crap, dad...."
"No, son. I'm a slave, and you're my owner."
"Dad, last night...."
"No, Steve. Last night was something special. But it won't work, Steve... Master."
"Don't be so fucking stupid...."
"No, Steve. You're not thinking properly. You were always impetuous."
"Dad, I can set you free..."
"No, you can't. Once a slave, always a slave, you know that. And I did do what they convicted me for, you know that. There's no way out."
"Dad, you can live here. In the house. You might be a slave technically, but..."
"It wouldn't work, Steve. They all know I'm a slave. They've all watched me in the studding barn. They wouldn't know how to treat me. It would be bad for discipline on the whole plantation - I'm sure Mr Stryker would tell you that."
I had to agree, as Stryker had had a conversation something like that with me once, I remembered.
"But dad, you can't carry on as a slave..."
"Steve, I can. It's not a bad life. I get fed, I work, I've got Chas and Juan to fuck, I stud, I don't have any worries..."
"But you're a slave, dad!"
"Yes, Steve. And a fit, healthy one. A man with a body he can be proud of. One not stressed out, as you seem to be. One who's in great shape, not with a layer of fat in a paunch...."
I went to say more, but dad bend his head, spread his legs, and clasped his hands behind him in "slave rest".
I didn't know what to do. I threw some clothes on and went down to the study, and called Stryker in and explained things to him. He listened intently, and said "I think you were unwise, sir. Unwise to start what you started last night. Joe was perfectly content, and everything was going well here. I don't know if we can recover from this."
"What do you mean?"
"There are two things, sir - Joe, and the other slaves. Let's take Joe first - there have been enough studies now to show that when a slave is properly 'broken' - as Joe was - and accepts his status - as Joe does - then the chances of him ever becoming 'free' again are small. He expects his food to arrive at regular times. He expects his life to be arranged for him. And he becomes incapable of doing these things for himself. No, Joe is a slave, and the kindest thing for you to do is to keep him as such - if you try to treat Joe as a free man, or even make life better for him here, he'll start to suffer from stress as he can't handle it. And if you don't work him hard, he'll lose that fantastic body he's so proud of. And you've told me yourself that he likes studding, and sees it as what makes him a 'man' - in the world of the free, he couldn't do that, could he?"
Look, I argued a bit, but Stryker just coming back with "Studies show...." And "Psychologists now know...." And a whole lot of other stuff like that. As I've told you, he was a really good head overseer, and I guess he'd really read up on all of this. But then he suddenly said "But I don't think you've thought of the effects on the other slaves, sir."
"How so?"
"Well, the whole of slavery is really predicated on the assumption that once you're a slave, that's it! You can't just let Joe be 'free', or even treat him radically differently, without fermenting unrest and even revolt in the other slaves. And it was very unwise of you to indulge in all of that sex last night, sir.... As it is, I've had to have the house slaves rounded up and gagged, ready to send off to auction tomorrow - so service will be disrupted today, sir, I'm afraid."
"What on earth for?"
"Sir, they were watching and spying as Joe fucked you when you were calling out 'Stop' and 'No' and stuff: I heard them telling each other about it. So they're tainted, sir: they've seen a slave disobey his owner, and then the owner took no corrective action. I'm going to sell them before the news spreads to a wider circle - if the niggas began to think they could even dare disobey.... We have hundreds of them, sir, and only five overseers!"
"Oh no, Stryker. You're going too far. You're not going to do any of that."
He looked at me, long and hard. "Sir, I've run this place for Mr Hawthorne, and now for you, sir, and run it well. But if you don't let me run it properly, I don't want to run it at all - I don't want to become known as the overseer who was so out of control that a slave revolt broke out."
"You can't be serious, Stryker."
"Never more, sir."
Was he bluffing? I don't know. But, frankly, I wasn't inclined to find out - I didn't want a whole lot of dissent and strife, and finding a new overseer, one who knew Manderleigh so well, would be extremely tedious.
"Very well, Stryker. Sell the slaves... Do whatever you want."
"And Joe, sir? I'm afraid he needs to be disciplined..."
"You go too far, Stryker! Don't push it. I can hardly order my own father to be sent off to the public whip master."
Stryker looked at me. "I suppose you're right, sir. And it would tend to destroy his value - when the flesh on the back and the butt is all torn up and permanently scarred it's not a pleasant sight, and we'd have to take him out of the studding barn..."
I sat there for a long time then, wondering what to do about dad. And without the full complement of house slaves, it took ages for my breakfast to come, and then it was not served properly. What a fuck up, I thought - perhaps Stryker really was right. As I sat musing, I looked out of the windows and there was dad, and Chas, and that Mexican - Juan, dad called him, I think - toiling up and down, the sun glinting off their sweating bodies as they pulled the heavy mower. Dad looked happy enough.... Perhaps I could just postpone a real decision, in case things changed.
Who knows, in another year or so, dad might tire of studding, and then I could review the thing again. Yes, that seemed sensible.
I rang for a slave to refill my coffee cup, and it was extremely annoying that it took so long!
Later that day, in the afternoon, Stryker told me that there were a couple of neighbours who wanted to stud one of their nigga bitches, and although we didn't usually do this on a Sunday unless there was a special party, I shrugged and said "why not?" I strolled along to the studding barn but gestured to Stryker that he was just to get on with it as usual and not announce me to the guests, and went up to the balcony where I'd first seen it done all those years ago. Dad stood there, proud and ready, as usual, and I could see that he did enjoy it, really enjoy it. But not so Chas - although he now performed satisfactorily, his heart just wasn't in it: Stryker didn't have to cane him to get him to begin, once he'd been "introduced" into the bitch, but I thought that the traditional open-handed slap across the butt to signal to the slave to begin was especially hard!
Afterwards, when the guests had gone, I remained there and then called Stryker over and mentioned my concerns to him.
"Yes, he performs now, but he hasn't accepted truly that he's a slave, and a whitey stud slave at that. It's lucky we have your dad... Joe, sir - to keep him under firm control most of the time, and it's only at times like this, when they're both blindfolded, that Chas knows that Joe isn't on the case. I've seen Joe really lay into Chas if he has detected improper attitudes for a slave, and that's just what's needed - as I've told you, we only have a very few overseers here, and we can't watch everything, all the time."
"So he doesn't like studding?"
"Oh no, he likes it enough! I guess that before he was enslaved he used to fuck women, and the occasional guy, of course. So that's not the problem. It's more that he doesn't accept that he's got to do it to order, in public, as studs do."
I smiled to myself. I remembered how Chas - Charles as he then was - had had that fucking awful snout ring put in me, saying that this is what marked me out as a stud! And I'd experienced last night, of course, the one in dad's nose and that had prompted me to remember just how irritating it was. I asked Stryker if we needed a veterinarian for snouting, and he shrugged and said "Well, no It's easy enough to do. We've got the pliers that punches the hole through the septum, and it's easy enough to close the ring up and super glue it closed. We only really have the veterinarian to give them anaesthetic - we used to do that ourselves, but there's a new law on the humane treatment of livestock and slaves that says that only the qualified can now give injections."
"So call him out...."
"Sir, the expense! Saturday night! He'll charge a huge call-out fee, and double or triple the hourly rate...."
"Yes, thank you, Stryker, for looking after my interests as usual. But I do want it done - I think that with a proper stud's snout ring, Chas might accept his role better. It looks as if it's always going to be expensive, then, as I can only get here on the weekends...."
"Unless we do it without anaesthetic, sir. There's only a momentary pain, I'm told."
I winced as I remembered how this "momentary" pain had gone on and on, when Chas had ordered it done to me.
"Oh, in that case, carry on...", I said casually.
Stryker was his usual efficient self, and two more of the burly overseers were soon gripping Chas tightly They held him up against the work bench in the mechanic's shop on the estate, then used the big vice to grip his head firmly. Stryker was very careful not to crush the skull - although I think Chas' ears were hurting somewhat, judging from his screams - and then told his men to be most careful to hold Chas' body still as e didn't want him thrashing around and risking damage to his neck as his head was held rigidly.
Chas screamed, as you'd expect, when they punched the hole through his septum, but I think it was unnecessary for him to keep screaming and whining as they threaded the snout ring through and clued the ends together. And when they released him and he stood in front of me, bowed and cowed, his chest covered in the blood and mucus that was still streaming form his nose, I do think he could have tried to be more of a man, and not some whining coward.
All in all, I suppose, it was a successful weekend: I'd finally made some sort of "closure" with Chas for the way he'd treated me; and resolving my issues with my father was , at least, started even if the conclusion was postponed, with Stryker's assurances that I was doing the right thing.
End Of Part Twenty Five