YOUNG STUD
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Fifteen
For the next few days whilst dad was sorting out the paperwork of getting me back to the USA and whilst I was still officially "recovering" in the hospital, Miguel and I "fooled around". I'd never really had a sex partner of my own age - Jeff was of course older, and Juan was much younger. Come to that, I'd never really had a buddy as close as Miguel (except Jeff). He wanted to fuck me, but I was bigger and stronger than him and once we started rolling around in bed, he soon found that he had no choice: I definitely like fucking, as you know, and all I wanted the whole time was to keep burying my dick in his ass and fucking and fucking. Interestingly he never adjusted to it, and was still scrabbling his fingers in the bed and crying out just as much the last time I fucked him as the first time.
After a good fucking, though, he'd half-lie on me and we'd talk - and I began to know the loneliness that only children experience, even though they might not know it. Listening to him talking about growing up with Juan and Pedro made me so envious (especially when he and Pedro had got around to fucking). Somehow the time just seemed to slip by, and I was very worried that he was neglecting the other patients. He seemed to work part-time, though, and so I gave him some of the new dollars I'd earned "whoring" - I suppose that might have made him think he was selling himself to me, especially as all I wanted to do was ream his ass like that.
Funnily enough it was relatively easy to leave when the time came - I didn't feel the same way about Miguel as I had for Juan, and although I'd enjoyed our time together, I knew that there would be other guys who would give me as much satisfaction in bed. And he, too, wasn't particularly upset - he seemed so much more concerned about finding Juan and Pedro, and it was almost as if he was using me, as he thought I knew something that I wasn't telling.
We flew to Mexico, and from there to Boston, and then drove home - although not to the home I'd grown up in.
Once mom and dad broke up he sold our house and had moved to a splendid new apartment right in the centre of town, so he could walk to work ("The other partners can use the chauffeur now, Steve", he told me. "They think I'm looking after them, but now they have to work in the back of the car on the way to the office, just as I used to"). We had masses of space - a vast living room, a dining room, den, TV room, a study, and three huge bedrooms, each with a private bath. What's more, there was a swimming pool and a gym in the basement that was shared with all the residents, but most of them were older, like dad, and didn't use them much - it was almost like having my own facilities.
I was lonely as all my high school buddies were away at college, and when I went out in the evening to bars, I couldn't really bring home a guy I fancied as I knew dad would object - and he was always waiting up for me and wanted to know where I'd been if I got back much after ten. So my chances of going home with a guy were almost zero, too. My sex life was almost zero therefore, and I was back to jerking off, just like some school kid, and really missed studding and those nights with Jeff.
Dad insisted I went back to college, and it was terrible. I was older than the other guys as I had to start again having missed two years, and although it's rumoured that college life is just pure unadulterated sex, I can tell you it isn't! The girls all wanted "dating" whereas all I wanted to do was to fuck, and there seemed no way that I could just take one casually and both of us have a bit of fun. And it was even worse with the guys - they were all terrified of becoming known as fags, and so you couldn't even compliment a guy on a nice butt, or a good body, when we were changing for the rugger team or gym sessions. I did find some guys who weren't worried, though, and I went back with some of them to their dorm rooms - it was pretty gross though, as they all wanted me to wear a condom. Well, it was sort of exciting to lie there and demand that the guy roll it on to me - I think that shows where the power lies, to make a guy put a condom on your dick. But then as soon as I'd got them on their knees, I'd quickly slip it off before fucking them - I mean, I like sex, proper sex, where you can feel the heat and the slickness of a guy's ass really gripping your dick, and you just don't get that with a condom. Afterwards, even when I knew I'd given them a really good fucking, one they'd probably never experienced before, most of them were pretty upset when they saw my dick covered in their shit and realised what I'd done. Still, as you know, I'm a big, powerful guy so that couldn't protest too much - and it was only rarely that I had to slap one of them around a bit to shut him up..
I could tell it wasn't going to work, though, and I'd never complete college I reckoned. But much as I talked about it to dad, he wouldn't relent and told me that if I didn't like it, I'd better get a job. Well, faced with a challenge like that, there's only one thing a man can do, isn't there? There's not a whole lot of work in our town for unqualified people, and I just didn't see myself filling shelves at the market, or frying hamburgers! But once I realised that there are jobs in construction where they value muscle, it was OK: I deliberately chose the sort of stuff where they couldn't get machines in because of space or zoning or something, and happily spent my days unloading trucks, digging trenches, barrowing cement, and all the other stuff like that. It meant I could give up most of the time in the gym as my body started to acquire proper "natural" muscle, that you really can only get from hard manual labour. I began to understand why Jeff's body had been different from mine - his strong, sinewy muscles were from all that work in the marines, not from pounding machines in the gym.
There was another advantage of working construction, too - although a lot of the guys were terrified of being found out, there were a lot who, like me, liked a good hard fuck with another strong man. No one spoke about it and they all had the glamour mags and the other stuff to read at break times with all those disgusting big-titted bitches. They all bragged about how many women they'd had, too - although I decided to keep quiet, as they might think I was boasting if I said how many bitches I'd shagged in the last couple of years. But once I saw the signs - the way another guy would take a glance at my butt as I bent over, or sneak a peak at my belly if I pulled my shirt over my head, or keep glancing at the bulge in the front of my jeans as I worked away - it was usually easy to suggest going for a drink on the way home and then, in the bar, after a lot of general fencing around, finally agree to go off and have some fun. I met some really nice guys that way, although I had to be a lot more careful with my condom caper as some of them were more than capable of flattening me!
In spite of the fact that I was much more cheerful working construction, dad didn't like it: he thought all his partners at the law firm were laughing at him behind his back as his son was a labourer and theirs were at Harvard and places like that. He kept on and on at me to go back to college, but I just refused. We might have gone on and on arguing until he surprised me by telling me that an old lady, my godmother (who I'd never really known properly as she'd moved to California when I was a kid) had died, and that she'd left me twenty thousand new dollars in her will.
"Now, Stephen, we'll need to invest that", he went on.
"I'll get some details of funds for you, and...."
"No, dad! I'm going to use it to go and find Jeff."
"You can't go back to the South, Stephen! Look what happened when you were there last time. And now you're still marked as a slave, it would be criminally foolish. I can't spare all the money it cost to rescue you again, you know."
"I don't care, dad. Sure it's risky - but it's worth the risk, to find Jeff."
"And what then?"
"You got me out, dad.... I'll do the same for Jeff."
"Stephen, this is foolish! You risk being re-enslaved. You might never find him. If you do, you might not be able to get him out. And if you do, what then?"
"Well then we'll settle down together...."
"And what makes you think he feels the same way about you as you do about him?"
"I don't think he does, dad. But he needs someone to look out for him..."
"He's a grown man, why can't he look after himself?"
"He can, dad... He's not stupid... But he's used to life in the marines, with someone telling him what to do...." I saw dad looking exasperated, and knew how to end the conversation. So I added "But in any case, he's a great fuck, and I'll risk a lot to have his ass again."
Dad looked totally disgusted, and said that he supposed that now I was a grown man I could make my own decisions.
Once the money was in my bank account, I went down to New York to see the boss. I suppose I hadn't thought about it much, as when I arrived at reception of their office tower near Wall Street, the snooty receptionist brushed me off and said that the managing partner saw no-one, and she emphasised no-one, without a prior appointment. I threw myself about a bit, and ultimately one of the boss's assistants came down to give me the same message. Finally I said to her "Please tell him that it's Steve... Steve who spent two years with him."
"You were an associate of his?"
"In a kind of way. Please just tell him it's Steve, Steve Masters, and I just need five minutes of his time."
The receptionist was still giving me withering looks as if to say she knew I was wasting my time, when her phone rang. She listened, then beckoned for me to go over. "I'm so sorry, Mr Masters. There's a message from the executive suite to say that our managing partner sends his apologies, butt he has unbreakable engagements this morning, and so can't see you until three this afternoon - he has cleared his diary, and hopes that you understand." Clearly she thought I must be some sort of power in the land to have had that effect, especially as, in contrast to all the "suits" scurrying backwards and forwards, I was in jeans, work boots, and a rough work jacket that I was comfortable wearing on site.
When I did get in later that afternoon the boss came around his desk to greet me, indicated we should go over to the couches in one corner of the vast office, then said quietly to his assistant "No calls, no interruptions of any kind, until I'm finished."
"Yes, sir", she said, although she clearly thought this was unusual.
"I never expected to see you again, Steve. What brings you here.... down from... New Hampshire, wasn't it?"
"Yes, boss. Look, to cut a long story short, I'm lost. I can't go back to my old life. I can't go through college - too much has happened. I'm a mature guy, you know that.... And dad and me are arguing about everything. And I've inherited this bit of money, and I've decided to go and find Jeff, and buy him...."
"You're mad! If you go back South, you'll be re-enslaved."
I pointed to my jaw line. "See, no SIN tattoo. And the chip has been removed."
"Roll your sleeve up, boy!"
As ever, the boss was sharp. "Yes, well, that is a bit of a problem. But I can wear long-sleeved shirts."
"And when you strip off, for sex? What about your butt?"
"I can go without sex for a few days.... Look, boss, please help me: I've tried searching all the information on the 'net, but it seems there's not much relating to the movement of slaves. I found something that says Jeff was registered to you, and that you sold him. But the trail stops there...."
"Yes, there's no requirement to register the purchase of a slave. So I suppose the man I sold Jeff - and that young Mexican, whose name I can't now recall - never bothered. If they ran away, he'd report their loss and give the SP their SINs then."
I must confess I was a bit shocked that the boss only thought about Juan as "that young Mexican" and couldn't remember his name, but I suppose that's how you get about your property after a time.
"So you see, boss, I was hoping you could tell me the name and address of the guy who bought Jeff..."
"Steve, I genuinely don't think it's a good idea. I don't think you should. You'll only go down there and get re-enslaved - and they do some pretty drastic things to escaped slaves, you know: you certainly would be gelded.... No, I'm not going to tell you what you would like to know. Headstrong young men need to be protected from themselves."
"Boss, please...."
"NO, Steve. It's too risky. Go home to your father. Settle down. Put all this behind you. You were always a bit wild as my slave, but I thought you had adapted to my discipline. Now, go home, and obey your father."
We were sitting on the couch side by side, and now I slipped to the floor, on my knees. I rested my hands lightly on the boss's knees, as he had used to enjoy. "Please, boss....", I repeated.
I saw the boss looking at me, and he was clearly affected. But not by my pleas, probably - no it was clear that he was remembering the satisfaction of owning slaves like Jeff and me, and of the things we did for him. Lowering my head in submission, I leaned forward and gently pulled down the zip of his expensive suit, and then tenderly reached inside for his dick - not difficult to do, as it was ramrod hard, and once I had shown it the way through his fly, it stuck out proudly. I moved further forward, and now lowered my head more, not just in submission, but to take his dick between my lips, as he had used to like Jeff and me to do in the old days.
It didn't seem to take long to bring the boss to climax and I swallowed his seed hungrily, then continued to slather his dick with my tongue as he moaned feebly. I wondered how long it had been since he had last enjoyed a man's mouth around him. Finally, though, I though I'd wrung the last drop of juice out of him and rocked back onto my heels, and smiled.
He ruffled my hair gently, as he had often done. "Oh, Steve... I'd forgotten the pleasures of owning a slave! In spite of all my junior partners and associates and assistants here, I never get anything like that here at the office." He looked a bit wistful and continued "Or anywhere else, for that matter - as managing partner of this firm, I can hardly go and pick up a man from a bar, can I? Or use an escort? Think of the scandal."
"Think of the scandal, boss, if it was known that you were a stud master during your 'sabbatical time', I think they called it in Newsweek."
"You're trying to blackmail me, Steve...." He didn't say it in a shocked or annoyed tone, and there was a slight smile on his face.
"No, boss. But think of the advantages of having someone like me perpetually in your debt.... And Jeff, too.... And remember how you used to like it when we both worked on you? Two tongues simultaneously...."
Reluctantly he tucked is dick away and zipped up, and went to his desk. I went and sat opposite him as he typed some stuff on his laptop. "This is so secret even my secretary does not have access - records of my dealings in that special time in the South, that I'm keeping for when I write my memoirs....", he told me.
He pulled one of those yellow legal pads towards him and scrawled some stuff on it. "Here you are then.. The name and address of the buyer of Jeff and the Mexican kid. I think he was going to give them to his son as an eighteenth birthday present - or a going to college present, or something like that. He planned to send them to a trainers as his son had always wanted a pony, as I recall."
"A pony? Jeff?"
"Why not, Steve? Think about it - Jeff had long legs, strong thighs, a broad chest so lots of lung capacity... He'd be a credit to any owner, pulling his trap. And the Mexican was going to become a groom or something, so the son wouldn't have to bother with feeding him or washing him or trimming his pubes or anything like that."
"But ponies are always niggas..."
"Not always, Steve. And this man was very wealthy, very wealthy indeed: I expect he wanted his son to cut a dash at college, turning up not only with his own pony, but with a whitey at that."
"But Jeff would hate it..."
"So what? He's a slave, and it's not for slaves to like or dislike anything...."
"....and he couldn't take the discipline. I'm worried, boss...."
"I think you'll find that pony training is rather specialised: they learn discipline, Steve. Or, rather, it's beaten into them. And then there are some things you might not have noticed: ponies are always manacled to their traps, it's kind of traditional. So once locked to it, he can't escape or anything like that, or even evade pulling t trap properly: an owner's whip would see to that."
I nodded "Fuck me, Jeff will be in real trouble..."
"Well I wish you luck. But I remain concerned that you might be joining Jeff, or have some other dreadful role when you are caught and re-enslaved...."
"I've got to do it, boss. I've got to save Jeff."
"You two always were so close, especially latterly. As I said, I wish you luck. IF you make it back, come and see me again. I might even employ you and Jeff... You have certain talents...."
With that he rose to his feet and shook hands with me - it did feel strange to be treated like an equal by the boss, I must say - and showed me out.
Back at home I started to plan my trip, but first I thought I'd cheer Miguel up by letting him know I was going to search for Jeff and his brother. To my surprise, my screen flashed almost immediately with messages saying he wanted to go with me.
Messaging backwards and forwards isn't all that satisfactory, so we arranged for me to call a public phone that evening, and at the other end was Miguel. "Please, senor Steve, let me come with you....", he started immediately.
I told him about the risk, but he cut in "I can help you minimise that, senor Steve. I am still a slave - I have the chip still in me. And the brand mark on my face. I can accompany you as your slave - the Southerners are always suspicious of Northerners and will look closely at you, but if they see you own a slave yourself, they will think you are 'one of them' and will be less suspicious. Take me as your slave, please, senor Steve."
Well the idea did have its merits, and, anyway, having someone like Miguel to fuck would help relieve the inevitable tensions. So I arranged to send him some money to fly to Acapulco, and a few days later joined him there having flown down myself after another blazing row with dad.
There's a special "slave zone" around Acapulco as you probably know - most Southerners holidaying there don't like to be without their personal slaves, and the economy needs their trade so much that the Mexicans decreed that the Southern laws relating to slave ownership should operate there. It's a bit lax, though, as you'd expect from anything in Mexico, and it was easy enough for Manual to slip over the border of the zone to meet me ( well they're probably not expecting slaves to try to get in, are they? ).
I had to wear long swim shorts at the pool at my hotel of course, but I decided that I should emphasise that I was a slave owner by having Miguel always at my side by the pool and have him rub more sun cream into me whenever I came out of the water - as a slave he wasn't allowed in, of course, because of concerns about slaves deliberately pissing in the water. He hated it as I made him wear a "minimum string" as he tended to me - with all his pubes shaved off, I fitted him with a tiny G-string, exposing his bare ass totally, and leaving little to the imagination as far as the size and shape of his dick was concerned because of the thin fabric. A lot of slaves around the pool were in tiny Speedos, and some in jockstraps, but Miguel's costume was the briefest and most revealing of all.
That night he really argued about it with me and started to demand that I allow him at least a jockstrap the next day as he was so embarrassed. "Listen, Miguel, it's so they all look at you, and then they know I'm a hard master as I make you humiliate yourself like that. It diverts suspicion form me."
"But senor Jeff, I hate it...."
"Look, Miguel, I've decided, and that's all there is to it."
"No., I will not wear it."
I shrugged, and smiled to end the argument, as it was dinner time. But the next morning Miguel stood there obstinately in his G-string, then pulled a set of slave shorts on over it. "See, senor Steve, I am still sexy."
"But not as sexy as when your ass is bare, Miguel."
"No, I will not wear that string by itself...."
"Miguel, may I remind you that you're supposed to be my slave, and what I say goes?"
"Fuck you, senor Jeff, I am not wearing it."
I grabbed his arm, much to his surprise, and holding him relatively immobile pulled down his slave shorts with my other hand.
"No, I will not wear it....", he shouted. Now you know I'm big and strong, and there was no way he could stop what I did next - I grabbed at the string, and ripped it off him.
"Right, Miguel. Here's a lesson for you. Never argue with me, or you might get what you were arguing for...
You don't want to wear the string, so you will not." As I said this, I began to move towards the door, dragging Miguel with me. As I got to it and opened it, he began to realise what I intended.
"NO! Senor Steve, please, no... Please do not make me go out totally naked...."
"Yes, Miguel! I think you will be even more of an interest as you massage me today that you were yesterday."
And so he was! It was not at all usual to see a totally naked slave at that hotel (although it was not illegal of course, as an owner is not required to dress a a slave, and there's no suggestion that a nude slave is in any way an affront to public decency as a nude man would be). So all eyes were watching him as he rubbed sun cream into my skin - especially when the excitement of massaging my pecs and belly was too much for him and he began to bone up!
Within a couple of days I had a small circle of guys who all asked to "borrow" Miguel for massage, and I was a well-accepted part of the pool-side life. Miguel didn't like it at all, though - especially when some of the guys lay there with a towel draped discretely over their middles whilst Miguel knelt between their legs and sucked their dicks. He complained bitterly to me the first night after it had first happened, and I just shrugged. "Miguel, you're a slave, right? You agreed to come back to look for Juan, so what's the problem? Anyway, most of the guys around the pool have pretty nice cocks, I should think."
I got to be so much accepted, and most of the guys were so pleased to be allowed to use Miguel (as they said, it was good to get a proper blow job, rather than having to beg their girlfriends to do it), that when I explained to one of them that I was having problems with my car, he offered to drive us across the border on his way home as it was much easier to hire one there that would be up to the normal standard. Consequently at the border the guards saw two real "southern boys" and a slave, and it looked all perfectly normal. I was back in the South!
For the first day or so I was almost constantly terrified that someone would call out "escaped slave!" as I went past, the SP would be called, I'd be stripped, and my brand and SIN tattoo would reveal all. But I began to realise that appearances were everything: I had casually elegant, expensive clothes and during my time at home I'd allowed my hair to grow a little longer so I no longer had a "slave crop" but respectable short hair as anyone who was clearly some sort of athlete would have. I looked every inch the southern gentleman, and the effect was completed by Miguel, who trotted along obediently two paces behind me. Obviously I made him wear traditional slave costume as I had done for so long, and the tight white shorts did, I think enhance his nice firm butt, and, if anything, his darker skin and hairy body set off well the T (although I decided that his hairy arms were so attractive that he should have a T without arms, cut loose and short, so that a strip of his hairy belly was also exposed).
It is, I realise, a great convenience to have a slave!
I didn't have to carry my own bag in from the hire car to our motel room, or pack the next morning, or anything like that. And of course I was never frustrated sexually as I could fuck him whenever I felt like it (usually before sleeping, and first thing in the morning: I find that's a great way to get rid of your morning hard-on). Miguel had at first resented all this, so I had to emphasise to him that it was important that he acted like a slave at all times to maintain our cover: consequently he was required to call me "master" even when we were in bed, and it was of course unseemly for him even to think about fucking me. I also required him to use the enema kit as I hated my dick covered in my shit.
He really objected, though, when I decided it would be easier for him to think of himself as a slave if he was collared. It's not as if I required him to have one of those heavy iron things that field workers wear - I bought a relatively thin, smooth, shiny stainless steel one. When I gave it to him that evening in our motel room and told him to put it around his neck so that I cold break the seal that released the glue to fix it permanently, he actually refused!
"Look, Miguel, it will make it easier for yo to act as amy slave", I reasoned.
"Senor Steve, please... It will make me feel like I am no longer a man", he protested.
"That's the idea! You're a slave, and you need to act like one. You're not a man now! Now, put the fucking thing on, before I make you. And didn't I tell you to refer to me as 'master' and not 'senor Steve'?"
He looked at me and said simply "No. Fuck you, Steve!"
Well, even if he hadn't been my slave, I don't take that from anyone. I grabbed him, threw him over my knee as I sat on the edge of the bed, yanked down his shorts, and began to spank his butt. I'm powerful and strong and I've got hard hands, and Miguel's skinny butt resounded with the slaps as my blows landed. He began to shout in anger, but that soon turned to sobs of pain, and finally a long, continuous wail as I continued to beat him. Finally, I pushed him off onto the floor, and he lay at me feet, tears streaming down his face. Interestingly, his dick was rampantly erect, and so, I realised was mine. So I pointed at my fly, and ordered him to service me.
Afterwards, as he knelt there between my legs licking his tongue around his mouth to get rid of the last traces of my cum, I rubbed my fingers through his hair tenderly, as the boss had so often done to me. "I'm sorry, Miguel, but you've got to learn to think and act like a slave. And a slave who abuses his master, or who does not obey orders, gets punished. It's as simple as that. And it's for your own good, you know... The more slave-like you are, the less chance there is of us arousing suspicion and getting caught, and the more chance there is of us finding Juan."
He nodded, and I snapped "So put the fucking collar on, boy!"
He did so, but very hesitantly, and I broke the seal and the glue held it permanently. This simple act made me feel even more powerful and in control than before, and I could now understand why buying and owning another man is such a powerful turn-on for so many guys.
The boss had given me the address of Jeff and Juan's buyer, and it turned out to be one of those huge colonial-style mansions near Baton Rouge. I called at the house, deciding to improvise, but the slave who answered the door said that the master was on vacation in Europe. I enquired after his son, professing to be an old school friend, and was told that young master Brad was at college, in New Orleans. "Did he take his pony with him" I asked, "When we last spoke he was just about to get it as a present, and he promised to take me for a spin."
"Oh yes, sir", the slave replied. "Master Brad has used the pony every day since the master gave it to him, and would not have gone off to college without it."
The man looked sad as he spoke, and I looked at him questioningly. "And...?"
"Nothing, sir, it's not my place to say."
"Out with it, or I'll report you to your master, for dumb insolence"
"Oh sir, it's just that, well, the pony was really nice when he arrived, with his groom: all us slaves here looked forward to having two new guys around: especially a big handsome guy like the pony. But then.... Well, Master Brad sent him off for pony training, and when he came back, well he was no longer
a slave, sir..."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Sir, there are many masters here with ponies - slaves who work as ponies, that is. But after his training Master Brad's pony wasn't like that: he wasn't like a slave any more, sir, a slave who could be with us in the slave quarters...."
"What do you mean?", I repeated.
"Please, sir, I've said too much..." The slave looked so nervous now, that I decided to let it drop. After all, if I made too much fuss, it might voice his suspicions about a caller to his master. So I turned and left.
I decided not to tell Miguel about this conversation, which, frankly, I didn't really understand. How could Jeff be a pony and "not like a slave"? I thought about it a lot, but there didn't seem to be answer, and so we set off for New Orleans. Although Miguel was impatient and wanted to proceed immediately, I decided on caution: I rented a house for three months, a quiet, suburban house where the householders in the neighbourhood had at most one or two slaves. Then I bought myself some additional clothes, "college clothes", as you might say, and set out to find this Brad guy and my buddy Jeff, who was a pony, but not a slave.
End Of Part Fifteen