Young Stud

YOUNG STUD

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Eighteen

All four of us had a "council of war" later, as Jeff said that we ought all to have a say in how we were going to do this. I thought this was going a bit far as, after all, I did at least look like a free man (and had money, and credit cards and stuff like that), whereas Miguel and Juan were unmistakably slaves, with their huge brands on their cheeks. "It's not good for them, Jeff", I tried to tell him. "They ought to continue to think of themselves as slaves, as then they'll act like slaves more completely. If you start letting them make decisions, and argue with us, then sooner or later they'll slip up and do something in public that will tell an alert Southerner that the two of them are not 'real' slaves."

"You worry too much, Steve!", he snapped back. "Believe me, a group of guys who have helped make the decisions always execute the project better. If we're going to have any chance of finding this Pedro and freeing him, we're going to all of us act together and give it everything we have."

Well, I suppose Jeff did know about groups of guys working together in dangerous conditions, so I let him have his way. We sat and made a plan, but I did insist that whatever else happened, Miguel and Juan had to remain as slaves and act like it, to Jeff and me - after all, the SP wouldn't really be looking for two handsome, wealthy "free" men going around with a couple of personal slaves, would they? Such a thing was after all not unusual. Juan didn't seem to mind all that much, as long as he was near Jeff, but Miguel seemed a bit reluctant at first and said that he'd agreed to be my slave to help me find Juan, but now there must be some other way of dealing with it whilst we searched for Pedro. Actually there were some advantages, as I've told you earlier, of having a couple of slaves: all that stuff like carrying the bags, and so on; and of course in restaurants it was much cheaper as whilst Jeff and me had expensive steak, I could order meat loaf for them. When Miguel complained about this, I soon got him to understand how lucky he was by ordering him slave chow the next time we stopped to eat.

I went out later and bough Jeff a wardrobe of the elegantly stylish casual clothes that I'd been wearing - I was able to try most of them on as we're not so dissimilar in size, and then once we'd decided that he'd have to have a shaved head, as his "mane" couldn't easily be turned into any other style, we were off. I thought it best to get as far away from the scene of the theft of Brad's property as possible, so we headed off on the Interstate, stopping mid-afternoon at one of the more upmarket motel chains - after all, if the SP are looking for thieves, it's perhaps less likely that they're staying at an expensive place, isn't it? It was good, as I've said to have Juan and Miguel as our slaves: all of a sudden all the tedious business of getting the cases out of the car, and hanging up our clothes, taking the dirty ones to the laundry room, arranging our toiletries in the bathroom - all that stuff you tend not to do for yourself for a one-night stay - were now done by the two brothers.

Miguel remembered that he'd been sold at an auction house in Memphis, so we headed for there after a good dinner and a night which was hardly devoted to sleeping: Juan wanted to sleep in the bed with Jeff and me, but I kicked him out and made him share with his brother, of course, as I wanted Jeff all to myself. And Jeff and I, well, you know, we were two horny guys, and Jeff hadn't had proper sex for a long, long time.....

This isn't meant to be a travel saga, so I won't tell you about all the little incidents on our journey, but there was one time at least when I had to cuff Juan about the ears when we were stopped for a break on the Interstate and he told me that he didn't like the donut I'd selected for him! I saw raised eyebrows from an elderly matron at the next table, and so to maintain our deception I reached across and slapped him hard, commanding him to eat up and be thankful that I'd bought him one at all. I saw the woman nodding in approval, and felt safe once again.

It turned out not to be so hard as we'd thought to find Pedro: most of the staff a the dealers were themselves slaves, and we sent in Miguel to mingle with them as they left work at night to walk back to the dealer's staff slave quarters which were a few blocks away. I'd told him what I expected of him, and there was some resistance at first - he didn't like my idea of him romancing one or more of the administrators, getting inside her pants, and basically fucking the information out of her!

"Please, senor Steve", he pleaded. "I am a man. A man does not have to have sex with a woman - a woman who might be old, or ugly... A man has sex because he sees a woman he likes, a woman who turns him on, who he needs to fuck...."

"I don't want to hear any of this, Miguel. What you say is probably true for a man, but you're a slave, remember? You do what I tell you. And I don't feel any sympathy for you anyway: after all, when Jeff and I were studding, we had to fuck lots of women we didn't want to, and certainly didn't fancy. Just think of it as one more thing that a slave has to do, when ordered by his owner."

"But I am not a slave, senor Jeff...."

"For our purposes you are, Miguel. And you were a slave, and you know how to obey your owner. Now fucking do it, if you want to see Pedro again - I've agreed to stay on and help, but if you're not going to play your full part in the project....."

As it turned out, it wasn't as bad for Miguel as he'd imagined. One of the bitches who kept the records was a high-breasted nigga of about his own age, and after he'd chatted to her in the streets for a couple of nights, he was invited into her cubicle in the slave quarters - and then it only took another day for Miguel to get her to go into the files and find out the name and address of the man who bought Pedro.

I thought that honesty might be the best policy in this case, and went to see the owner, taking Miguel and Juan with me (both clad only in small, clinging slave shorts). As we sat on the veranda of his residence, I explained to he owner that I had come into possession of these two brothers, and he agreed with me that they were very alike. "And then", I continued, "I heard there was a third. Now everyone knows that there's a premium for brothers - it's a pity they aren't twins as then I'd really be in the money. But three slaves who are all recognisably brothers - well, the price for a set of three would be substantially higher than for a pair, and a single, don't you agree?"

The man's eyes glinted and he clapped his hands to summon a slave to bring me another mint julep, as he said "I can see that although you're a Northerner, judging by your accent, you've properly embraced out Southern ways. A gentleman down here is always interested in making money - some think of us as idle and indolent, but we like a profit as much as the next man. And buying and selling slaves, taking something of less value and turning it into something of a higher value, is a most worthwhile thing to do. "

He watched as I sipped at my drink, obviously hoping that I'd become less of a fierce negotiator as the alcohol worked into me. "So what do you propose, sir?"

We then negotiated - hard! And finally I agreed to pay him a very high price for Pedro, a price which took approximately half of the notional increase in value that I'd achieve from having a triplet of slaves who were so closely related. The only remaining difficulty was that Pedro had to be located - it seemed that the man had a large agricultural holding, and that Pedro was merely one of the field hands who worked coffled out on the demesne. His overseer had to be called, records had to be searched to find out where Pedro had gone to in the vast enterprise, and meanwhile Juan and Miguel had to stand there submissively at "slave rest" as the man described his ownership philosophy to me.

"You see, sir, I don't believe in making a fuss of the niggas I use to work the fields. They're all very much the same, and interchangeable - weeding, hoeing, planting, picking: any one of them can do any of it, provided they're properly supervised and 'directed' with the tawse. So we don't bother with names or anything like that - we count them in to the slave barns in the evening, and we count them out again in the morning and attach them to their coffle chains, and that's it - no ones cares what they're called, or if they're doing the same work as the day before, or whatever: it doesn't matter. They're just slaves, cogs in the machine that keeps this place running and me wealthy, They're totally interchangeable, really, and provided we don't lose any of them, who cares about differentiating between individuals?"

I nodded, seeing once again how inhumanly even an evidently cultured man like this could treat slaves. "We'll probably have to wait until they return from the fields this evening to locate the slave in question", he added. "As they stream into the barns, we could go down there and watch, if you'd be interested. It's probably the quickest way, rather than having to ask all the overseers if they have a slave working for them today who looks like your two - you know how hard it is to describe a nigga accurately, as they're basically all so much the same."

I nodded again, and the man went on "So whilst we wait, let us have another drink. And perhaps a little entertainment? Your two brothers really are quite interesting, and perhaps you could have them perform for us, to while away the time?"

Juan and Miguel both looked absolutely furious when I called out to them to strip off their shorts, and at some point during the afternoon I thought they might actually rebel - something that would have been a disaster for our plan. The owner told me he thought it would be "amusing" if he and I each directed the actions of one of the two slaves, and for us to see how we could instruct them to "interact", as he called it, with each other. Well I've told you how Miguel had told me about how the brothers variously preferred to top and to bottom, but now they had absolutely no choice in the matter: we ordered them to jerk off a little, then to suck each others dicks and balls, and then to sixty nine, and finally to fuck.

It was actually quite exciting, - not as good as having sex yourself, of course, but a close-run thing to have the two lithe young men performing in front of us, following our instructions. Having them so under our control, and making them do things they might not normally have done, was almost as much of a turn-on as the sex itself. And the man was inventive, I'll say that for him: He issued very precise instructions for the way that Miguel's leg was to bend, the angle he was to arch his back at, the speed he wanted him to use as he fucked his brother, and so on. Afterwards, fuelled by a copious supply of mint juleps, he and I sat there really very amused by what had gone on, and actually quite aroused. So then we ordered the two slaves to come and relieve our tensions in the approved manner - one slave kneeling between the legs of each us, taking our dicks out, then sucking at us as we relaxed in the calm of the late afternoon.

I knew they'd really complain later that evening, of course, but I wasn't going to put up with too much of it - I mean, it's not as if they'd been told to do things that they didn't normally do, was it? And where 's the harm in a couple of young guys using each other sexually to entertain other people? And it was especially stupid of them to even think of complaining

to Jeff and me about it - after all, what had Jeff and I been doing for so long when we were studding for the boss?

It was pretty dispiriting trying to locate Pedro, though: the way the slaves were treated on that demesne was in some ways awful. Sure, they had a barn to sleep in, and they seemed reasonably well fed, and there were not a lot of lash marks on them. But they'd taken away their individual humanity: the overseers brought the coffles back from the fields, and at the door of the barn they were detached from the chain, and simply herded inside. They didn't need to have a roll-call or anything - indeed, as the owner had said, they didn't bother with names, or even numbers, for the individual slaves (none of them was branded or tattooed. Or, rather, such brands and tattoos as were visible seem to have been from previous owners as there was no consistency in it at all). It was sufficient that a coffle of twenty had twenty slaves on it when it came back, and that was all the "accounting" they had to do. Needless to say they were all totally devoid of even a scrap of clothing, as they were considered just to be "beasts" and it was not necessary to give them even that tiny scrap to help them in the modesty that might differentiate them from animals.

The owner and I stood there watching his property march past us, and it was I suppose quite interesting - there was a big variety of slaves, all colours from jet black to light coffee, and all heights and ages, too (although I suspect none was more than fifty). He didn't bother to differentiate between men and women, either, so a couple of bucks might find themselves with a bitch sandwiched between them on the coffle. I questioned this, and the owner just shrugged. "So when they've worked together all day, perhaps one of the bucks fucks her that night - so what? If I'm lucky she gets knocked up and then there's a pup on the way who can be sold. I suppose it isn't nice sometimes - you know how women are, with all that monthly stuff: personally I wouldn't want to be next to one of them on the coffle when she was dripping everywhere, but they're only slaves, after all, so it doesn't really matter."

I almost failed to spot Pedro as he trudged past us. He was bent and weary from his toil all day, and in the press of bodies his was not all that easy to identify, and I think it was fortunate that he looked up as he came past me, and I was able to spot the big "S" on his face.

The owner ordered the overseers to cut him out of the herd, and they drove him towards us with a couple of well-placed tawse strokes to his butt. It was surprising how alike the brothers were - although I thought perhaps Pedro's features were a little coarser than those of his brothers. The owner and I shook hands on our transaction, and I handed him a cheque for the amount we'd agreed. I asked about transfer of title and certificate of ownership, but he just shrugged. "We don't bother with all that record keeping here - the nigga's clearly a slave, and what more is needed if there's ever a question of his status?"

So there we were - Jeff and I up front, and now the three brothers together in the back seat. After they'd all jabbered away in Spanish for a bit, I told them I only wanted to hear English in future. Then when Miguel asked if we could stop and buy Pedro some clothes, I told him no - I wanted to move on as far as possible, and didn't want to waste time - and, after all, what the fuck did it matter? Pedro was, after all, used to being kept nude.

Before we'd set out on this mission I'd made some enquiries about the tracking chip system, and knew that it would just not be possible to drive Juan, Pedro and Jeff over the border to the North. And so I'd determined that as dad had got me out via a smuggler in Florida, this was probably the way to go now. This time, though, it was considerably easier: dad had taken a lot of time to locate a skipper willing to use his boat to take us, but now all Jeff and I had to do was hang around the waterfront bars, eyeing the sailors up and down. We soon found a couple of guys who wanted to fuck - well, you know what sailors are like - and from then on it was easy as the "grapevine" worked to get us in contact with all sorts of other guys.

Once we were in Cuba, though, our problems were far from over. Of course I had the chips removed from Jeff, Juan and Pedro, but what then? I suppose we could have spent months pleading with the US authorities to recognise that Jeff was a US citizen and thus entitled to a passport to enable him to fly to the North. But what about our three slaves, as I'd got used to thinking of them? They were now, I suppose, Mexican citizens again, and after the mass migrations of the late twentieth and early parts of this century, the doors were definitely now closed to further influxes of Mexicans to the USA.

Personally, I thought the three brothers could simply stay in Mexico, but Jeff was insistent that we were "a team" and that you didn't simply abandon team members like that (I wasn't suggesting abandonment - I was going to give them all a few new dollars to start a new life).

There is a way of getting illegal immigrants in, of course..... Although when I submitted the draft of this novel to the official censor in the Department Of Homeland Security, I received a restraining order forbidding the publication of the parts of my story where I detailed how we all five ended up back in Manchester.

Dad was delighted to see me, and to a lesser extent Jeff, but was very concerned about the three brothers as technically they were illegal aliens, and he was a respected lawyer! We had a lot of "discussion" on this point, and I could see things from dad's perspective that it was undesirable for them to continue to live in the apartment - which seemed a bit cramped with dad in his suite, Jeff and me in the guest suite and the three of them sleeping in the living room. Jeff of course suggested they bunk in with us, but I wanted him all to myself. "And, Jeff", I went on, "three kids of their age - they'll be sucking and fucking all night: the noise...."

"You are unobservant sometimes, Steve", he told me. "Haven't you noticed how when it comes to sex, Pedro is totally in charge? He fucks one or other of them, and that's it - once he's done, it's all over for the night. He likes Juan and Miguel to keep 'fresh', as he call it, for him."

"But Miguel's the oldest....."

"Yes, Steve, but it seems that Pedro first had sex with Miguel, and then when Juan came along, he had sex with him. Pedro's always the one in charge in these matters - I suppose that's why he's a bit more 'beefy' than the other two: a man who has power sexually often has that little extra bit of muscle...."

"Well it's not true for us, is it? You're the beefy one, as you call it, and I....."

Well the conversation stopped at that point as Jeff decided to show me who really was in charge in bed - but, as I've told you, I now had a "secret weapon" as all I had to do was get a finger through one of his tit rings, and he was more or less in my power.

Things could have drifted on, I suppose, but I got bored - dad wanted me to go back to college again, but there was no way I was going to do that. Jeff and I ran, and worked out, and stuff like that, but it wasn't enough.

I still thought of the boss very much as someone I could turn to - I know I had dad, but, as I said, like a lot of sons I was always arguing with him in a way that I never even thought of doing with the boss. So I called him and fixed to go and see hi in New York, and explained the problem over dinner.

"The trouble is, Steve, that you're a clever, intelligent guy. But without a good record at college, there really aren't any openings for you. Your only hope is to find some business venture where you can be your own boss, run things for yourself. Unless you're prepared to put the time in at college, all the professions are closed to you, most large corporations won't employ you initially in a management trainee role...."

"But that's crap! I'd make a good lawyer, or executive, or...."

"Yes, Steve, but you'll never get the first foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, so you'll never get the change to demonstrate your competence or abilities...."

"And there's another thing, boss.... The atmosphere in Manchester is stifling me. It's so provincial. And it's not good for dad, having a son around who's got four other guys living with him.... His reputation, you know...."

The boss sat back in his chair. "You know, Steve, one solution might be for you to come to New York It's easier to be an entrepreneur here.... There's no 'stiffing atmosphere'.... It's easy enough for you to keep in touch with your dad, and less change of quarrelling at a distance...."

"But boss I could never afford it - apartment rent, all that sort of stuff...."

To cut a long story short, we all moved in with the boss - his huge apartment overlooking the park easily accommodated us, especially as in exchange for our rent, he insisted that Jeff and I should occupy a bed in his room. And then, of course, it seemed almost churlish not to agree to kneel beside his bed, as we had done so often in the past, and minister to his dick before sleep. Mind you, we insisted on being allowed to fuck each other and wouldn't let him forbid us to have sex with each other.

The three brothers occupied the guest suite, and as there was only one large bed in there, and as there were no complaints form them, Jeff and I assumed that they'd reverted to their usual mode of operation and had worked out their own arrangements for sex.

The real problem came with work - without papers, the three brothers could hardly work at all. The stiff regulation that had been brought in earlier in the century had made even those traditional jobs for illegals, like waiting table, or working in fast food joints, impossible. And it was as dad had warned me - even as a citizen, it was tough in New York without qualifications. The consequence was that all five of us sat around a lot, and I realised my money was running out - although it was somehow OK to have "free rent" from the boss, we could hardly expect him to feed and clothe us all as well, could we?

Jeff seemed to take our life of enforced idleness particularly hard - he was always a lot more "physical" and active than the rest of us, and he seemed to spend a lot of time pacing around the apartment in frustration, and using the resident's gym. He surprised us all one day, though, by disappearing in the morning and when he came back in the evening he was almost the "old" Jeff - sitting there contentedly, with that small smile on his face. He then told us that he'd got a job - a job that suited him down to the ground as it was working construction on one of the big projects in the city.

"But you're capable of better than that, Jeff...."

"Steve, you can't get a job, can you? Not even though you graduated High School. And this one suits me - it lets me work my body, and there's no responsibility: when I get home here in the evening, that's it, my time's my own. I don't have any preparation to do for tomorrow, nothing to worry about...."

"You mean it's just like being a slave...."

"...except that the foreman can't whip me, Steve!", he added, in a tone that said the conversation was over.

Of course having Jeff at work all day only made matters worse for me - not only had I got no-one to talk to or work out with or anything (the three brothers were just not as good as Jeff, and although they liked to keep fit, I could easily out-run them and so on). I don't know what I'd have done if the best ideas I'd ever had hadn't struck me one day.

I was so bored that I'd rented a DVD and was sitting watching it, stroking my dick, as I watched the guys fuck away. At the end I noticed that the studios were in the city, and I almost gave a great shout as the realisation struck me! I threw on my coat and raced around there, only to be a bit disappointed: it was in a really seedy part, and it really didn't look like the sort of place that would really inspire creativity. Nevertheless I went in and asked to speak to the guy in charge.

One day I'll write the full story of how I got to where I am today. How I went from an unemployed ex-slave to one of the biggest movie producers in the country. It was hard at first, as I had to start at the bottom, literally: it turned out that the guy in charge was short of one of the leads in his latest epic, and when he saw me standing in front of him he thought I'd come for the job. So I stripped and showed him my body, he asked me if I had a problem with fucking in front of other people, and of course I said no, and he agreed to give me a trial.

There are not a lot of porn actors who can top or bottom, or who are equally happy to be in gay or bi- films - well, not happy, exactly, but as you know I'm used to performing as a stud. So I soon got a reputation as being extremely versatile, and easy to direct as of course I do like sex and it's kind of fun to be getting paid for it as well. I made a particular point of talking to all the technicians in between actual filming, and soon had a list of contacts.

The boss was reluctant at first to let me use the apartment for making a movie - my first - but I explained that we wouldn't interfere with the other residents. It was made on a shoestring and I gave my technical contacts a share of the action. And I had a ready-made cast: you may, of course, have seen "Troika" as it was so exceptionally well-received when it hit the market - the sight of three lithe young men, all so nearly alike, cavorting around and so evidently enjoying each other was a real turn-on for many men. And when a big, handsome hunk came in and began to fuck them, one after the other, it only added to the excitement.

It was hard to follow that, of course. But I spotted a gap in the market: so many porn films are simply boring records of two or more guys sucking and fucking; and I think the viewer wants more - a real plot, some proper dialogue, action that takes place in the real world as well as in the bedroom.... And in the North, of course, there's a real interest in slavery, an interest that regular TV shows simply doesn't satisfy. I think a lot of Northerners would secretly like to go to the South and actually own a slave, and have him under their complete domination and control. So I began to think about making movies about slavery, showing how an owner could use his slaves to satisfy all his desires, whatever they were.

The sense of the total inability of the slave to prevent his owner using his body in whatever way the owner wanted, coupled with some powerful scenes of the owner enslaving a male in all the traditional ways - the forced stripping, the shaving of the pubes, the branding, and of course the ritual near-rape of the cherry taking, would all feature largely in the production.

As well as my core "team" of the three brothers and Jeff, it wasn't hard to find guys who could take part in my planned movies. The real problem was the plot - I thought about it for ages, and even tried writing a script myself, although as even I could tell, somehow it didn't jump off the page to make the world of slaves in the South seem "real" in the way that we had all experienced. I then found the incredible set of slave stories by Pete Brown, and one night Jeff and I lay in bed reading them and marvelling at how our erections raged and throbbed as we imagined ourselves in the role of the hapless slaves - Jeff laughed and said it was particularly easy for me to identify with them as all the heroes were called Steve!

The rest is history, of course - I doubt that there's one of you who has not bought or rented one of my epics. It's made me a rich man - a very rich man. But all that's for a second volume of my autobiography, if I ever find time to write it. I've asked Pete - with whom I've become good friends as well as a respected colleague - if he'd consider ghost-writing my story for me, but he just laughed. "You keep me busy churning out plots for your movies, Steve. How do you think I'd ever find time to write your so-called 'autobiography' as well? "

"Oh, come on, Pete... Just a couple of extra hours a day...."

"Steve, I think you're getting corrupted by all this slavery stuff... You're not REALLY a slave driver, you know, in spite of your tendencies to use those brothers and Jeff a little - shall we say - harshly?" was the only answer he gave me.

THE END Pete Brown, London, France and Dublin, December 2006/January 2007.