Young Stud

YOUNG STUD

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Fourteen

We drove to Miami, dad and me not speaking all that much. He got used to me walking a pace behind him, as slaves do, and he started to get amused at ordering things for me to eat in restaurants by deliberately choosing things that he said were "good for me" but which he knew I never usually ate. So instead of big juicy steaks, I got broiled salmon with broccoli, and stuff like that.

He didn't like it at night, though: he couldn't get used to me walking around the room totally naked when I'd taken off my shorts and T to wash them. I wasn't embarrassed particularly as I was used to having the boss see me like that. He particularly disliked it when, as soon as the lights were out, I began to jerk off. The first night he sort of tolerated it, but the following morning, when I was doing it again prior to getting up, he called out "Stephen - are you doing what I think you're doing?"

I stopped stroking myself, and answered "Yes, sir. The boss always wanted Jeff and me to empty ourselves if we weren't studding, as he didn't want us to be walking around erect all the time - it's very obvious in these slave shorts."

"Well I don't like you doing it. So stop."

"Sir, please.... I was almost there.... Can't I finish..."

"Stephen, this is a most unsuitable conversation for a man to be having with his grown son. I am not going to discuss it with you. I've told you to stop, so stop!"

My dick was rock hard and leaking precum I was so close to it at that point, and I knew I'd be in trouble all day if I didn't shoot. So I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, and I couldn't help but see dad's eyes following my dick as it bobbed up and down as I crossed the room. I turned on the shower and then I have to confess that I disobeyed dad, and simply jerked off standing there under the running water. I think he knew that I'd done it, though, as the shower took much longer than usual. Still, there's a difference between "knowing" something and actually seeing it done, isn't there - I mean, everyone knows their sons jerk off, but fathers and sons don't talk about it, do they?

Although there was a lot of stuff in the papers about slave smuggling ,when we got to Miami it was impossible to find anyone who really knew anything. Dad decided to drive on down the Keys as it seemed to him to make more sense to have illegal ships from the closest point to Cuba, and we ended up in Key West of course. Dad decided to spend a lot of time hanging around the waterfront and in bars, talking to the locals, and said that it wasn't a good idea for me to accompany him as he didn't want to look like an owner with a slave who was on the lookout for a passage out.

He suggested I stay in the hotel and use the pool and the gym, but when I tried, I found they were reserved for free men and that slaves were not allowed. I suppose I was out of the habit of watching TV as the news wasn't all that interesting and the rest of the stuff looked banal, so I decided to go for a walk - after all, this might be the last time I was ever there as if dad did succeed in getting me out, I'd never come back to the South again.

I didn't have any money so I couldn't do much: dad thought that if I had money to spend it might look suspicious as slaves did not usually have any - I'd have liked to see Hemingway's house, but that was off limits. And there's not a whole lot else to do except mooch around and look in the store windows with their tacky souvenirs. I soon got hot and sweaty and really wanted a drink, and when I saw a man and a guy who was obviously a slave go into one of the many bars, I followed in the hope of getting the bartender to get me a glass of water. To my surprise, there were a lot of slaves in there - really nice looking guys, in their twenties and thirties. I stopped for a moment to let my eyes get used to the dim interior, and at once a free man sitting in one of the booths called out "You, boy... The one whose just come in... Get your ass over here."

Well I could hardly disobey a free man, and I was kind of hoping he might buy me a drink, so I went over. He looked me up and down, then casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, reached out and felt the front of my shorts! I almost instinctively jerked backwards away from him, and he growled "Steady, boy.... You don't think I'm going to buy without sampling the goods, do you? And I reckon you're pretty well packed..."

I wondered what the fuck he meant but he beckoned me forward. By this time some of the other slaves and free men had turned to look, and didn't want to make a scene because of dad's rather dodgy ownership of me - if there was trouble and the SP were called, it might all come out. So I had to stand there as he now reached in through the open fly of my slave shorts and felt my dick and balls.

"Nice! How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty one, sir."

"A bit young for this, aren't you?"

I didn't know what to say, so I mumbled "My owner thinks it's OK, sir."

"Strip off that T and let me take a look at your belly and tits."

I did so, not daring to disobey, and now sensing all the other men and slaves in the place turning to take a closer look at me. "Very nice, very nice indeed", he muttered. "You're well put together, boy."

"Thank you, sir."

I looked at him and he wasn't a bad looking guy himself - early forties, I'd guess, but used to hard work. "How much does your owner want, boy?"

"I don't know, sir...."

"Don't play around with me, boy! I've heard that before. Even though I'm a tourist I've been here ten days already and I've got to know all the tricks you hookers play."

"Sir, this is my first time, honestly....." I was really getting worried now, as the realisation dawned on me that this was some sort of pick-up place where men could hire slaves, slaves who were presumably sent their by their owners. So I stumbled on "My owner just told me to amuse myself all day and to be sure to come back with enough to buy dinner..."

He continued to stare at my belly, then said "A good-looking hunk like you... You get used, don't you?

You know what it's about?"

"Oh yes, sir."

He got to his feet, and told me to follow him. We crossed the bar with the other guys and slaves now looking at us with renewed interest, and he handed the bartender a bill of some kind, I didn't see how much, and was handed a key in return. I don't know why I didn't run out of the place - I could surely have disappeared before the SP arrived. But somehow his cool confidence excited me, and, anyway, I was really missing sex. He must have done this before as he led me to a door, then up some stairs, and used the key to open one of a number of similar-looking doors. Inside it was clean and bright - a big double bed and a shower room, that was all: no TV or anything.

He threw himself on the bed on his back, and said in a not unfriendly tone "OK, boy - let's see what I've bought - strip off."

"Sir, please...."

"Boy, get those clothes off! If you come into a pick-up joint you must expect to get naked for the customers. Now, do as I say, or else...." He pointed to a red button by the bed, that said simply "Summon SP".

I pulled my T off and dropped my shorts. He smiled. "Very, very nice. Now, get over here, boy...."

He was pointing at the crotch of his jeans, and, as I had done so many times before with the boss, I went and knelt by the side of the bed and gingerly opened his fly. He was wearing cotton briefs, and, under his watchful gaze, I pulled them down a little to release his dick - which sprang to attention immediately. He wasn't cut, and I felt a tingle of excitement go through me as I remembered how good it had been to jerk off before the boss had ordered me to be 'skinned. At that time of course I'd has no real experience of another man with a 'skin, and so I wondered what it was going to be like.

It was pretty gross at first! He pointed at his dick and I knew he wanted me to suck it, so I bent over and began to lick and lap at it, and then to tease his 'skin back so I could work on his dark, moist dick head. But underneath his 'skin there was trapped piss and pre-cum, and I almost gagged at the smell and the taste - not at all the gorgeous taste of sweat I was used to with Jeff.

I sucked away industriously, though, feeling the guys hands push my head down every now and then to emphasise he was in control of this. And then he let me off it, looked at me, and said "Have you been fucked, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you like being fucked, boy?"

"It's OK, sir, but I prefer to fuck...."

"That's rare in a slave! Most slaves are trained to give their owners their ass..."

I nodded, and, now looking at me intently, he said "And you have fucked ass? This isn't just a come-on?"

"Yes, sir. I have fucked ass - a lot."

He could see my dick getting rock hard as I thought about this, and the next moment he was standing by the side of the bed. "Help me get these off, boy....", he told me, gesturing at his shirt and jeans, so I stood, and began to undo his buttons.

Once his shirt was open and I was pushing it off his shoulders, I just couldn't resist it - he had big, dark aureoles around his nips, and as they became exposed I leaned forward and sucked at them, just catching them between my teeth to add extra excitement. I felt a shudder run through his body, and he moaned audibly.

Once he was totally naked I bent down and sucked his dick a bit more, then, realising that he seemed to need me to take the lead, I pushed him back on the bed and, continuing to play with his nips with one hand, I started to jerk him off wit the other.

"No, I want to be fucked....", he started to say, so I pinched his nip hard, causing him to stop abruptly, and said calmly but authoritatively "I'm going to fuck you. Fuck you hard. You're going to have my big dick night up your ass.... But first I'm going to lube you, as I hate a dry fuck...."

He cried out a lot as I fucked him, even though I'd spent a lot of time stretching him. As I've said, for an older guy he was in good shape, and somehow it was especially thrilling to have him under my control - I took him on his back, pushing very hard on his ankles to get his feet right back and his legs really wide apart. Like that, I could watch his face change as I varied the speed and depth of my fucking, and I wanted it to go on and on as I realised how exciting it was to have a man like this, a free man, begging and pleading with me as I worked away. But all too soon I felt myself starting to cum, so I pulled out and carried on kneeling there between his legs as I quickly stroked my dick three or four last times so I could spray his belly and chest with my ejaculate.

The bastard wasn't "clean" though, so instead of being able to lie on him and enjoy those special moments after sex, I had to get up and go and wash my dick. He was still lying there when I'd done, so I lay beside him and idly ran my fingers up and down his body, spreading my cum all over him. I held my cum-soaked fingers under his nose so he could smell my scent properly, then, as he went to say something, pressed my fingers into his mouth. He almost gagged and tried to sit up and stop me, but I was too strong for him, and throwing my body half over his to hold him down, I carried on scooping up my cum and feeding it to him. I could tell he felt utterly humiliated by this, and somehow it made my intense enjoyment of the fucking even better. Even though he was a free man an older than me, it was me who was making him do these things to add to my enjoyment and satisfaction.

Finally, though, I just lay half on him, and to my surprise he put his hands around my head and pulled me close to him. "That was good, boy...."

I sort of shrugged. "Fucking great....", he added, unnecessarily. "As I said, you don't get many slaves who can give a good fuck."

He swung of the bed then and went into the shower, and I heard him call me to join him. I expected he wanted me to soap him, as Jeff and I did, but when I was standing beside him under the water he put his hands on my shoulders and forced me to my knees - well, I say "forced", as it was really him using his hands to direct me down as I was so much stronger than he was. But I thought I'd better do as he wanted as I was now really worried about the possibility of him calling the SP if I did not obey. I knelt there, looking up at him, and to my utter astonishment he carried on pressing on my shoulders to hold me as he let fly with a stream of piss. I tried to move, to get my head out of the way, but he help me and snapped "Stay still, boy.... Stay there, and take my piss...." It was hot on my head and the smell as it trickled down my face and over my body was vile. He stood there, laughing as he saw my very real discomfort, and only let me go when he'd shaken the last few drops from his dick.

The water was still running as we stood there, and looking at me he said "Your turn...."

"Sir?"

"Piss on me, boy."

He didn't seem inclined to kneel, so I pissed against his thigh and them, when it seemed as if that was what he enjoyed, I rotated him a bit so my piss could hit him at the top of his ass crack and trickle down between his buttocks.

He liked it when I towelled him dry, especially when I knelt in front of him, my own body still wet and shining, and dried his thighs and legs, and then, ever so gently, dabbed at his dick and balls. I looked up at him and saw him smiling with pleasure, and used my tongue to finish off his dick, teasing back his 'skin to make sure it was spotlessly clean under there, and hearing him moan with satisfaction as I did so.

We dressed together - well, it hardly took me any time, and so once he had his briefs on I pulled his almost naked body close to me, cupped his dick in my hands through the fabric, pulled his head towards mine and kissed him deeply. His mouth opened and I thrust my tongue in and carried on fondling his dick, then teasing his nips, as I gave his mouth a good tongue fucking. When I finally broke off he was panting with excitement, and seemed reluctant to finish dressing.

"You're good, boy!"

"Thank you, sir..."

He pulled out his bill fold and gave me twenty new dollars, then, seeing me looking at it, added a five to it.

"What's the matter?" He demanded as he saw me staring at the notes. "Not enough for you?"

"I don't know, sir. I've never been paid to fuck before."

He looked at me, saw I was serious, and a smile went across his face. "So I'm your first customer, am I? Well, well.... Your owner's going to do well with you, Steve... It is Steve, isn't it, as it says across your back?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Steve, a whore boy like you ought to make a lot of money for your owner. As I said, you're good - I came down here for sex, and you're way and above the best I've had all week."

I didn't know what to say, as I'd never thought of myself as a prostitute before, but the twenty five new dollars seemed good - I'd enjoyed myself too, and it looked s if I could be paid for having good time! And when we went back down to the bar and he bought me a beer and told some of the other men that I was a fantastic whore, in some strange way I felt proud of being good at something. It was odd, though - or perhaps it wasn't: before we'd gone up stairs he'd treated me like a slave, and now he was buying me a beer just as if I was a free man, like him. It's funny how fucking changes people!

I decided not to tell dad about the money, and hid it at the bottom of his suitcase. And for the next two days as dad continued to ask around for smugglers, I went back to the bar and picked up OK looking guys and fucked them. So what if they called me a whore? It was they who were paying, and me who was enjoying it.

Dad did eventually find a skipper of a small fishing boat, and I understand he had to pay a lot to get the guy to agree to take us to Cuba. Even then it wasn't simple as slaves were definitely not allowed in the harbour area - there was a big sign warning that chip detection was active and that an owner who allowed a slave to be in the "no go" zone would be fined and have the slave forfeit to the State. So late at night I had to slip into the sea and swim out to the boat - pretty scary, actually, even though I am a strong swimmer, as he moored a long way off shore, and I knew I couldn't make it back if I hadn't found them. The skipper hauled me over the side when I was almost at the limit of exhaustion, and I lay there, naked, too weak to move at first. I sat there wrapped in a blanket then, with dad's arm around my shoulders as he was almost crying with relief that I was safe.

I'll write a whole story about that voyage one day - how we had to slip past the Coastguard and almost got caught, and then the way that the Cubans searched the boat and I had to hide under a packing crate as the skipper, with practised ease, bribed them to ignore it. But finally, dressed in one of the skipper's Ts (which was much too small for me and left my belly exposed) and an old pair of ragged shorts, we were ashore. The small hotel dad found didn't seem to think it al all odd that this elegantly dressed older man should be taking a scruffy-looking young guy like me to his room, and the man at the desk even smiled at dad and wished the senor a "busy and exciting afternoon".

When we were inside with the door locked, dad seemed really angry. "Steve, he thought I was bringing you up here for sex...."

"Well, sir, a lot of men do like younger guys, especially good-looking ones like me.... I expect there's a lot of prostitution around here."

"Prostitution? Does he think I'd use a prostitute? And that my son looks like a whore?"

"Sir, don't get so excited..." I was feeling very embarrassed now, remembering what I'd been doing in the Keys, and I wondered how on earth I'd ever explain the money to dad.

"You can cut it out now, Stephen: I'm your father, and you can go back to calling me 'dad ' from now on...", he said. "Still, I expect there are all kinds of strange things go on here that wouldn't happen at home."

I nodded, and dad calmed down, although when he took me into a clothes store to get me some new stuff, the assistants all told him how lucky he was to have such a handsome companion, and they never asked me what I thought about the clothes - referring always to dad, and asking him if he liked me in the various shirts, shorts and pants. They even got him to decide on what kind of underwear he wanted to see me in!

That night at dinner it was really strange - I hadn't worn long pants since I was enslaved, and the fabric clinging to my calves felt really odd. And I just sat there, too, when the waitress presented the menu, as I was so used to having someone else choose my meal for me. Clearly there was going to be a lot to get used to in adjusting to being free man again, and when we were back in our room, dad now told me off for walking around naked before bed and suggested that like most free guys I should go back to wearing boxer shorts at night. "Oh, and Steve...", he added, sounding embarrassed. "Most sons don't jerk off when their fathers are in the next bed."

I'd kind of imagined that we'd fly home the next day, but dad explained that it was still illegal for US citizens to have visited Cuba, so we'd have to go via Mexico. Fortunately my passport was still valid, so he didn't think we'd have a problem getting back to in to the US, but then he added "However we're staying here for a bit - we need to get those tattoos seen to, and that chip taken out of you. I'm told they're experts at that here, and, anyway, it will be a lot cheaper: you're a ruinously expensive son to have, do you know that? All the money I had to pay for you... And medical insurance won't pay for things like removing tattoos."

We went to see a specialist - a specialist? In what, I wondered. But it turned out he was indeed a specialist in "freeing" slaves, as dad's efforts to get me there were not all that unusual. In his consulting room I stripped off - the guy seemed to think it was normal for dad to be sitting there watching - then he ran his hands lightly over my butt.

"The brand is too deep for us to do anything. It will be with him for the rest of his life", he told dad, ignoring me totally. "So the only solution is to wear long swimming shorts to the beach, and for him not to show his butt to his lovers - still, a stud like him will presumably always be on top, so providing there are no mirrors on the ceiling...." Dad looked really embarrassed!

He examined my huge tattoo of my SIN on the inside of my forearm and his comment was that "It is very large.

And the skin there is very sensitive. It is possible to burn out the tattoo and do a skin graft to cover the site, but over such a large area it will be difficult, and painful, and the new skin will not match the rest of him. My advice is to leave it - it will fade somewhat over the years, and tattoos on the arms are not unknown. If he is shy about them, he could wear long sleeves...." But when he looked at the smaller version on my jaw line, there seemed to be better news.

Looking at dad, he said "I can understand that you would not want your companion to be tattooed there as it makes him look rough and not suitable as a consort for a gentleman.... But the area is much smaller, and the skin is harder and renewed more often there. We can burn it out, give him a skin graft, and it will be almost undetectable: he has dark hair anyway, so 'five o'clock shadow' will help to hide it."

"And the chip?", dad asked, clearly getting rattled at the assumption that he was my lover.

"No problem at all. It was inserted with a long, sharp probe, and it can be removed in much the same way using specially adapted surgical tongs. There will be a small scar on his back - that's where they usually put the chip - but nothing noticeable except to a lover who is taking a very close interest in his flesh.... He will be in some discomfort for a few days, that's all."

I couldn't help blurting out "My dick... Can you do anything about that? They 'skinned me..."

He took my dick in his hand and stroked me to erection, as dad watched in amazement. "They did an excellent job. No scarring on the shaft. And you experience no discomfort at all, no feeling that you could erect more if there was more flesh on your penis?"

"No."

"As I said, an excellent job: they gauged it perfectly, so there's no loose skin when he is erect, and it is not preventing his member from displaying to its full. But there is nothing that can be done.... Sometimes, with men with smaller penises, and where there is still some surplus flesh from an ill-judged circumcision, it is possible to reconstruct a foreskin of sorts. But for this boy, no. But that's not a problem for you, is it, senor?"

His question was addressed to dad, not to me, and dad, now clearly deeply embarrassed, muttered "Of course it's not a problem or me!" No one seemed to care what I thought.

"Quite so, sir. I see all sorts in here, and it is always surprising to me that so many men want their foreskins restored, even when, as with this boy, his penis is of exceptional strength and beauty. You are a lucky man, senor, to have such a boy. He must be a delight..."

Dad was flushing bright red now. "Quite so. But can we discuss when this can be done - the tattoo, and the removal of the chip?"

"But tomorrow, of course, sir, if you are paying in new dollars. And if you are paying in cash...."

I was told not to eat breakfast the following morning, and we went to a small private clinic. None of it hurt - at the time - and there was no need for a general anaesthetic. But I can't say that seeing the laser burn the tattoo ink out of me, and having the acrid fumes everywhere, was pleasant. I hardly felt the tweezers probing around under my shoulder blade, although as he showed me the small silver thing still covered in my blood, the surgeon warned me I'd have muscular pain for several days where the ligaments and such had all been disturbed. I assumed I'd be leaving with dad, back to the hotel, but they wanted me to stay overnight to ensure the skin graft over my tattoo was kept perfectly sterile.

As I was so restless as I lay there in bed they gave me a sedative to calm me and stop me unnecessarily disturbing the wounds, and I drifted into a semi-sleep in my bed, the sheet pulled up only to my waist as it was relatively hot in there. Then I had one of those experiences where I knew I must be dreaming, but where it all seems frighteningly real - a young guy came in to change the water in the carafe on my side table, and I called out "Juan... How did you get here...."

The young man seemed shocked and almost dropped his water pitcher. He came over to me "Senor, I am not Juan.... I am Miguel... I had a brother once...."

I came fully awake, and saw that the man standing there was indeed not Juan - he bore such a resemblance to him, though, even down to the large "S" brand on his cheek, spoiling his otherwise rugged masculine handsomeness. I guessed that Juan would look just like Miguel in a few years (unless some brute of an owner did some further disfigurement to him).

"Please, senor, have you seen Juan... Is he OK?"

I began to get angry. "You are his older brother, the one who fucked him...."

"Only a bit, senor... It was Pedro.... We are three brothers... I mostly fucked Pedro, and he in turn, when Juan was old enough, fucked Juan.... But of course we all loved each other, as brothers should, and I did occasionally enjoy Juan... But it was not forced, senor - Juan loved his older brothers, loved us paying attention to him... We were only doing what we all enjoyed as brothers.... But please, sir... Where is he? We were all enslaved together but then we were sold separately, and I have not seen Juan and Pedro since..."

"And why are you here?"

"Because I escaped, senor. I was taken by my owner to Florida on vacation. I ran away, and gave myself to one of the fishermen in exchange for a passage here.... But it is hard, senor - I do not earn much, and the doctor says that even if I had the money, he could do nothing for my brand." As he said this he fingered his face slowly, as if he was used to tracing the mark of his slavedom. "...so senor I am staying here. There is no work in Mexico, especially for one disfigured as I am. But please, senor, tell me about Juan."

We sat there talking for a couple of hours - he came back when his shift finished. And when I told him about Juan and Jeff being taken off to be sold again, we were both close to tears. "I will never see Juan, or Pedro, again, senor, I know it...."

"Look, Miguel, there's always hope. I am going to find Jeff, I must. And when I do I'm sure Juan will still be with him...."

Somehow as we sat together in the twilight he moved close to me and sat on my bed. I saw him looking at my tanned skin, contrasted with the white sheet, and sat up in bed - the sheet falling further down my belly as I did so it was at the line of my trimmed pubes. I could see him looking at the outline of my dick and legs under the thin fabric. Instinctively I put my arm around him to comfort him. He was so astonishingly like Juan that I felt my dick begin to stir, in spite of the sedative, when I remembered how I had fucked Juan that last day.

End Of Part Fourteen