by Danny Tyran
My father looked at my body covered with scars. “I don’t know, sir, if I could submit myself to that degree.”
“You must call me ‘Master’. And submission begins with the willingness to submit. Will you at least try, Michel?” My master gently stroked my father’s neck with his thumb.
“Yes, s... Master.” My father had difficulty pronouncing the last word.
“Good! All right. Now kneel before Jerry and asks him if he wants to forgive you.”
After gazing at my master and at Jerry in turn, Dad hesitated a moment. Then he knelt before Jerry and looked up at him. “I regret my actions, sir. I won’t do it again. Will you forgive me?”
It was so obvious that every word burned his mouth.
Jerry, who surely understood the effort their utterance cost him, accepted his apology, but not without a warning. “Don’t you dare try it again; otherwise you will pay dearly for your mistake. Stand up!”
We all returned upstairs for Jerry’s game. He picked up a few items from the basement along with a pair of clamps and a leather strap. He attached clamps to my nipples and tied his strap around my scrotum, saying, “A small handicap to even the odds. Outside. Now.”
My father paused at the door, reluctant to go out naked. He looked around and discovered that the backyard was surrounded by a high wooden fence. It was improbable that neighbors would be able to see us, so he complied with the orders.
Jerry took us to the pool, where he threw in several rubber coated metal rings which sank to the bottom. Their curved edges allowed us to grab them easily, even in the deepest section. Other plastic rings, dented for a better grip, were already floating on the surface.
My master sat on a lounge chair with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for the game to begin.
“Dive in and bring me all these rings, using just your mouth. Your head must not come out of the water unless it is to put a ring on the pool deck or to give it to me. And I will be watching you the whole time. You have three minutes to bring me everything. The one who brings me the most will be entitled to this….” He placed one hand on his cock. “And the other will get this.” He pointed to a bamboo rod. “And no cheating, Max, or Michel will still get the cane. If you don’t meet the deadline, you will do it all again until you succeed. I don’t care if you drown before you get there. Go ahead.”
I dove in. I already had the first ring in the mouth before I heard my father’s splash when he finally decided to take the plunge. He had never been a good diver, and it had probably been ages since he last swam. Besides, Jerry’s dick wouldn’t have seemed a motivating reward. Jerry was right to give me a handicap. But I was afraid it would not be enough.
I dropped the first ring at Jerry’s feet, took a deep breath and headed back to the bottom of the pool, returning with two more before my father fetched one. When I brought back my third ring, I saw he was gasping for breath when he placed his ring in front of Jerry, who ordered him back down without delay.
There were a dozen rings in all. I brought back eight: five were at the bottom of the pool and three were floating on the surface. My father almost drowned before he retrieved the final one, well outside the required time frame. I told myself that during the next run, maybe I’d be able to bring all the rings back to the deck in the required time. Anyway, it was clear that my father wouldn’t be able to win. Then I remembered Rémi, the boy I had watched while he nearly drowned at the third beach. Today, it was my turn to save my father.
“Give him time to catch his breath, Jerry,” my master ordered.
“Thank you, Master,” I said.
I was grateful to my master for sparing my father, who would never be able to do it if they didn’t give him a small break. When my father’s breathing returned to normal, Jerry scattered the rings around the pool and ordered us to start again.
I put everything I had into the task. My father tried to do better too, but his tiredness didn’t help. I brought back nine: six off the bottom and three from the surface. Jerry had made the game more difficult by scattering the rings far and wide, making us swim farther to get them. When I returned with the last ring, Jerry showed me the clock: three minutes twenty seconds. It was better than the first time, but we were still too slow.
Jerry ordered a new start. I took a deep breath and dove in. This time, I picked up three rings before returning to the edge to give them to Jerry. This way, I saved both time and energy. My father had still not retrieved one, and he already looked exhausted. I did the same again. Three was the maximum I could clench together between my teeth. So I brought them like that, except for the last trip where I returned with only one.
All in all, my score was ten. My father hung onto the edge of the pool, trying to catch his breath. Jerry didn’t show me the clock this time. “Michel, you really didn’t make much effort at all. Max had to bring back nearly everything. You can do better than that.”
I was sure I had completed the task in the allotted time, but Jerry wanted more.
“Another race, Sir?” I asked, giving him a cheeky smile to let him know that I knew he was cheating with the time limit.
“Don’t fuck with me, Max, or you’ll regret it.” He was angry, vexed because I had showed that I hadn’t fallen for his tricks.
“Excuse me, Sir. I wasn’t trying to provoke you. I am ‘playing the game,’ that’s all.”
My master called out, “Don’t push it, Max. Remember what you are and behave accordingly. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master.” He was right. I shouldn’t play games with a master and risk spoiling his fun. I should have kept quiet. Especially since speaking out could create as many problems for my father as for me. “I was wrong to act as I did, Sir. Please, forgive me.”
Jerry grunted, “Yeah yeah.”
He threw the rings at random into the water, giving an angry gesture. Jerry had changed a lot, too, since he started working here. At first, he was hesitant to ask me the smallest thing. It was I who always offered him my services when I thought I could be useful to him or make him happy. But, when given the opportunity, we learn fast how to give orders and expect every command to be carried out implicitly. Now, Jerry’s inventions were almost worthy of Jean’s twisted games, and he could be just as vicious as the other bodyguard when he was angry.
He ordered us to start again. I was a bit tired and my completion time suffered, but I still managed to bring back ten rings to the pool edge. My father, following my example, brought back the other two together.
“Enough, Jerry,” my master ordered.
Jerry seemed frustrated, deprived of the pursuit of his game.
My father tried to climb out of the pool, but I had to help him.
Master Teka called out, “Michel, do you think you put everything you had into what you were asked to do?”
“I... I thought... I didn’t think I should... But I was tired.”
“Yes, in the end, but at the beginning? And what didn’t you think?”
“I thought it was just a game, S... Master. I didn’t know I had to act as if my life depended on it.” My father sounded bitter.
“If Jerry had decided to make you play, say… poker loser, and if it was Max getting punished because of your slowness, would you have done better?”
My father looked at me, then turned to face our master. “Please, don’t punish Max in my place, he doesn’t deserve that.” My father was concerned that our master might pursue the idea of punishing one for the other. He didn’t want to see me suffer because of him.
“I don’t think I allowed you to speak to make requests. If you think Max doesn’t deserve to be punished, do you think you deserve it?” My master stared at my father, who was standing not far from him, head down, without answering. “Present yourself,” he ordered.
I explained the stance to my father. He adopted the position and waited for the blows.
Jerry approached. My master nodded and Jerry started to hit my father. The guard had probably
had time to regain his composure, so he didn’t hit too hard. But dad, for whom all this was new, had trouble coping with his punishment. He moved his ass away, trying to escape the rod, without much success.
After receiving twelve strokes, which Jerry felt he owed him, I told Dad he should thank Jerry and our master for the lesson he received, say how he regretted his mistake and how he intended to correct his behavior, and that he also had to kiss their feet and wait for permission to get up.
“Thank you for helping me to understand my son,” he said when he was on his knees before our master. “I hadn’t realized that nothing here is just a game, but a way to learn to give ourselves fully in everything we do and to everybody whom we do it for. I regret my mistake. I won’t do it again.” He bent and kissed our master’s feet, one after the other.
My father had done everything required, and with such dignity! When he kneeled up, our master put his hand on my father’s nape and pulled his face against his belly, almost right next to his cock.
I saw my father tensing a little. While all this was happening, I applied myself to fulfilling Jerry’s fantasies. He began to groan with pleasure. My father watched me giving a blowjob while our master gently stroked his head.
“That’s fine, Michel. You learn fast, but you haven’t much time to understand. So you must try to put all your heart, all your willingness and courage in what you’re doing, without further delay.”
“Yes, Master.”
Jerry screamed when he ejaculated. I pulled myself off his cock and licked it a little to clean it. Then I gave a small peck on his dick before tucking it back into his pants.
“Your son has a real talent for that, Michel,” Jerry said, out of breath.
My father blushed. I wasn’t sure if this was due to his own position, nose against our master’s belly, or to Jerry’s comment about my talent at sucking dicks. But when, on our master’s order, my father stood up and turned around, I saw that his cock was hardening. I thanked Jerry for my “reward” and for the praise about my talents.
“You’re welcome, my lovely little whore,” he answered, which made my father blush even more.
Our master, after removing my thong and clips ordered us to go back to our slave duties. It was time to start the meal preparation. I assumed that I had to cook for four people. My father helped me. He coped quite well in a kitchen. I only had to give him minimal instruction. We teamed up like a ballet, choreographed and in perfect synchronization, each doing what he had to do when he had to.
As we passed each other in the middle of the kitchen, my father asked me for permission to speak. I smiled at him and allowed it.
“I’m happy to be here with you, Max. Your mother and I miss you, you know.”
“Yes. I miss you too. And I’m glad you’re here. How are you coping so far?” I asked, pointing to the living room.
He lowered his head, perhaps to hide his embarrassment, then raised it and smiled. “This is not what I thought. I don’t know what to think. I don’t even know how to interpret what I am feeling. I... I don’t know anymore.”
“Good. I think that is the first step toward understanding that you question what you believed about it all, even if you aren’t comfortable yet with what is happening here and how you feel. But don’t forget, Dad: we are what we are. Why should we play a role? Why should we reject our real emotions or feelings? Why do we betray ourselves? And I don’t see why a man’s hand can’t give us as much pleasure as a woman’s. A caress remains a caress, whatever the sex of the person who gives it.”
“When I imagined you here, I envisioned you all the time doing... well, you know.”
“Fucking?”
He nodded shyly. I smiled to myself. “It happens, as you noticed. It’s part of my job as a slave. But we aren’t only doing that; we need to eat, sleep and everything else, like everyone else.”
“He called you a whore.”
“Jerry likes to talk raunchy. Saying that kind of thing excites him. Don’t take it the wrong way, Dad. If he talks to me like that, it’s because he likes me. He loves what I do to him. It’s his way of telling me. I like that.”
“You like to be called a whore?”
He was confused, that was evident.
“It depends on who says it and why he says it. When Jerry talks to me like that, I like it a lot. I even find it a little bit exciting.”
My father shook his head, as if trying to get rid of ideas that were too disturbing for him. “Why do you have all these scars?”
“That’s enough discussion for now. We have work to do.”
“But...”
“Silence,” I ordered calmly, pointing to the table where he had begun whipping eggs.
He took a deep breath and followed my direction. He wasn’t accustomed to receiving orders from his son. “Tonight, if you sleep in the same room as me, I’ll explain when we’re lying down.”
He nodded his acceptance.
We finished preparing the meal and together served my master and Jerry. My master seemed satisfied with my father’s contribution. I was too. At my master’s request, I put on some music. While we were eating, Jerry had another of his great ideas. It was probably my upbeat choice of music that inspired him.
“Have you ever danced for your father, Max?”
“No, Sir, I don’t think I have,” I replied in a small voice.
“Would you like to dance for him?”
I placed my plate on the tray and assumed the starting position for the dance. When I began, my father gawked at me. But after a few steps, he looked away. My dance had apparently destroyed his appetite. He stared at his plate instead.
My master said, “Watch what your son is willing to do for our pleasure, Michel.”
Dad shook his head in a gesture of denial.
Jerry stood and pulled his hair to force him to look up, shouting, “Look at him. Go on, look!”
But my father kept his eyes lowered. I continued my dance, waiting for permission to stop.
“Michel. Humility is one of the basic qualities of a slave. I taught this dance to Max because I knew he would feel humbled whenever he was told to perform it. But he learned to dance with pleasure and now he does it very well. Would you like him to teach it to you? How about dancing for us, Michel?”
I saw in my father’s eyes, when he raised them to look at our master, that it was too much for him; if my master persisted in asking him to dance, he would leave.
“What do you think is best, Michel? What your conscience dictates you to do? To leave and forget what you tried to learn here? To forget Max and the understanding you began to get of the life he is leading? Can’t you even watch your son performing this dance? Or better still, why not try to understand even more by dancing with him?”
Jerry released my father’s hair. Dad lowered his head again and hunched his shoulders, like someone trying to withdraw inside himself, to escape from a world which he had trouble living in.
“Once again, it’s time to choose, Michel: leave or stay. But if you stay, dance with him or at least watch him dancing.”
After dropping his fork on his plate, my father stood up. I didn’t know if he was about to leave or come and dance with me, because he was trembling so much. He walked toward me and put his hand on my arm. I stopped for a moment. I thought he was about to kiss me goodbye before leaving. Then, without even looking at me, he said, “Show me how.”
I described the basic moves to him and told him what was important: a wide seesaw movement of the pelvis, back and forth during the first part of the dance, and from right to left while walking. I told him that he must also stop for a moment to offer his cock for everyone to see while he bent over backward and to present his ass while bending forward.
He listened to me with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, watching my demonstration. He was already covered in sweat, and he hadn’t even taken a single step.
I understood his discomfort perfectly. “The first time my master asked me to pe
rform this dance, I started to cry when he finished explaining what I had to do. I was so ashamed at the thought of doing that. I couldn’t imagine that I would ever find the courage to do even one of these steps. But I managed. This is not so bad, Dad. Today, I see it as a tribal dance of love or an offering to a god of procreation. I’m trying to do it as well as I can because it’s important to me to satisfy my god.” I smiled at my master and my father.
After starting the music again, I returned to my father’s side. “Do it with me.” I began dancing and he followed, staring at me, not for fear of forgetting the moves, I was sure, but because it saved him from watching the other men. We did it only once in one direction and once in the other before our master called out for us to stop. “Max, you did a good job. Michel, come here.”
My father obeyed and, at our master’s request, knelt at his feet.
Our master caressed my father’s cheek. To my big surprise, Dad turned his head and kissed the palm of our master’s hand. With a curved finger under my father’s chin, our master gently forced him to raise his head until my father was looking into his eyes.
“That was good, Michel. You’ve done extremely well. You have a lot of guts. But that comes as no surprise. Max must have inherited your courage.”
Then my master, whose hand was resting on my father’s cheek, inserted a finger in his mouth. I saw a shiver run along my father’s dorsal spine. Despite this, he began sucking our master’s thumb. Never, ever, could I have imagined such a thing happening, and so quickly. But my master must have understood that I wasn’t who I was without a reason: I had to get that urge from somebody.
We resumed eating our meal. After the main course, Dad and I cleared the table. I put on some music again. Most of the time, my master let me choose. He had given me books on jazz, blues and classical music to read. I had developed a taste for some composers. He seldom rejected my choice, but when he did, I just asked him what he preferred to listen to. It never occurred to me to say, “But I wanted to listen to that!” He was the master and could choose whatever appealed to him, whenever he liked.
