THE LABOURER by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 22
At one point I had thought I'd got my life pretty much the way I wanted it. Sure, my apartment was not in the best part of town, and there were always one hell of a lot of unwashed plates and stuff, and a few piles of laundry to do. And my car wasn't all that great, but it got me around. But I'd had no worries - I went off to work most days (there was no career, so if I wanted a day off at the races, or something, I just took it), and I got paid at the end of the week. There was enough cunt to keep me amused, but I had to work at it a bit, sweet talking it in bars and so on. All in all, compared to guys stressed out with mortgages, a wife and kids, a high-pressure job, debts, and such like, I think I had it pretty good. Well, at least it was the life I'd chosen for myself.
Then I'd had that stupid idea to drive myself harder and harder, trusting Rob to hold my indenture, as I knew it was only as a servant that I could be made to really experience the total physical satisfaction of working until you're completely, utterly exhausted. What a disaster that had turned into.
Now my life seemed to be spinning out of control, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it, nothing at all. When I say "out of control", I mean "out of my control", I suppose. None of the things that were happening to me were total disasters in themselves, but they all affected me, and I was powerless to do anything about them.
Item: I had to lie there at night and listen to my father fucking Joe. It was terrible at first, but over the next two or three weeks, Joe seemed to adapt to it. He no longer begged to come into my bed, no longer even seemed to want me to have any sort of sex with him. I'd come home from college and he'd be working away in the yard, and would continue doing so until my father allowed him to stop. He'd eat his dinner with me and my father, then, when I was sent away to work in my room, he'd be allowed to watch TV. It almost sickened me to see him standing close to my father as he sat at the dining table after the meal, and observe my father's hand sliding up under the short tunic that was all Joe was allowed to wear in the house so that he could "assess how the work today has affected the development of the muscles".
Item: My father watched me like a hawk. I had to be unfailingly polite and quick to obey him. Any failure, however slight, and a mark went on the sheet hung conveniently in the hall. And when five marks were accumulated, I'd be put on the punishment horse and caned. After the initial harsh caning from my father these were never as bad - eight strokes, generally, four on each butt cheek. But the sheer humiliation of having to strip naked as my father watched, then bend over the horse with my ass exposed and my dick and balls swinging there between my thighs made it far, far worse. Joe was always made to stand and watch, too, and afterwards, as I stood there, my dick sporting the wood I always got when I was caned, I'd see his, too, lifting the hem of his tunic. I couldn't help remembering how my father had got excited the first time he'd caned me when he had been naked, and now I watched the front of his pants on these occasions, seeing the bulge there of his dick straining to get out.
Item: I had to work, and work, at my classes and assignments. Anything less than an "A" and I was on the horse. The worst part was having to pretend to be enthusiastic and interested in the religious lessons my father had selected as being "character building" for me. I hated the sanctimonious piety of the other students, the way that something was taken as a fact because it was in the bible or koran or whatever - I mean to say, surely they could see that you can't walk on water, or rise from the dead, or that you can't run a modern society based on ideas that must have been stupid even centuries ago? And yet if it was written there, then there could be no argument, no discussion, and the strangest theories were built up on that preposterously stupid base.
Item: A lot of girls at college trailed around after me, telling me how sad it was that I was a slave - well, I knew that better than them! And the boldest were always trying to take me off into quiet corners and wanting me to fondle them, or kiss them, or something. In desperation I thought I could get it to stop by actually going all the way with one of them - perhaps she'd spread the word that I had a big, strong dick and used it for my own pleasure, not hers, and then it would all stop. I got her naked, but then found she no longer excited me at all - I couldn't bear the thought of touching her breasts after I'd been used to the strong, vibrant tits and pecs of Craig. And the thought of pushing my dick into her slit was now something that I found so terrible that my erection, that hadn't been all that strong in the first place, collapsed totally. And this from the guy who was known as one of the town's prime chasers of pussy! The worse thing was it didn't turn them off - they now felt "sorry" for me, the word spread, and it was assumed that being a slave had made me impotent!
Item: A lot of the other guys at College were really hostile to me. Their ringleader was Trent, big football hero, track star, and first class pain in the butt. He was always finding opportunities to sneer at me as I was a slave, always trying to provoke me into retaliation. I knew that if there was trouble they'd blame it all on me, and would suspend me, or worse. And then my father would punish me in some way that was too awful to contemplate. So I had to bottle my natural desire to push his teeth down his throat - or my dick up his ass - and I was often seething with frustration and anger at his almost endless goading of me.
Item: I was used as a sexual plaything by the head of Physical Education. He actually liked jerking guys off and fingering their butts, and it was so much easier to do it to me than to the football players that he'd seduced before. Under threat of telling my father that I used the gym and pool, I had to report to him once a day so that he could jerk away at my dick whilst fingering my prostate. Actually, I suppose it wasn't all that bad - I quite enjoyed it mostly. But I had no choice: I had to go, had to strip for him, and had to allow his hands to paw all over my body.
Item: Rob, who had so cruelly betrayed me, was now doing even better than before as a hot shot lawyer. He kept appearing in the local paper as news of being made a senior partner came out, then the "society christening of the season as he and his lovely wife Karen celebrated the birth of their first son with a champagne reception for two hundred guests at their lovely mansion home." Well, I knew why he had been promoted - his father in law was senior partner. And that was his reward for siring the son by that bitch - a reward that Craig and I sought to have had as it was our cum that went into her.
It seemed that every day I just went through a huge variety of emotions and frustrations. The only relief was on the weekends, when all these cares and difficulties could be put behind me as I slaved away at Rooney's contracts. It was tough, sure - tougher than when I'd been there full time as I just couldn't exercise enough during the week to keep my body hard enough to do everything that was required. So I was tawsed and caned unmercifully by the overseers, and ended up totally exhausted, too tired even to sit upright in the back of the truck on the way back to the barracks. But amazingly a shower seemed to start reviving me, and then the fun began! I've told you that Craig and I were together again after the trauma I experienced when I thought Joe had been sold, so "together" that we'd fucked each other! Well, after that we didn't do it again - both of us was too proud, too strong, too demanding to "top" that if we even thought about it, we started quarrelling. And, remember, part of the deal between Mister Rooney and my father was that I would "assist" by fucking some of the other guys to keep them happy.
Craig and I therefore evolved a system: after the showers, we'd pick a guy each and fuck them, usually whilst we watched each other and joked about our prowess at it! Then, our duty done, we'd spend the rest of the evening before sleep overtook us just enjoying each others company. Our bodies pressed close, arms and legs entwined and writhing about, we'd whisper, kiss, suck, tease, tickle and generally enjoy each other as only strong, confident men can, men so sure of themselves that they don't mind appearing to be almost childish as they play with each other. And then we'd sleep, that wonderful sleep that's so comforting as if you stir in the night your partner's body automatically adjusts itself to you, that sleep where you feel an inner comfort from having another man's body pressed close to yours, that sleep where your partner's warm breath on your skin gives you erotic dreams.
I kept asking myself, though, whether the two fantastic nights with Craig were worth all the other stress and hassle. But then, what could I do about it? If I tried to run away I'd be found soon enough and brought back. I didn't think my father would have me whipped as Mister Rooney had, but, on the other hand, he'd threatened to sell me back to Mister Rooney, and Rooney certainly would have no compunction about ordering another whipping: and somewhere deep in my brain there was a little voice that screamed "no! anything but that", which always made me back away from the big, dramatic decisions.
The weeks seemed to slip by as I floundered around with all these things going on in my life, and then it was the break, and I had a period when most of my problems were resolved: during the "vacation" times my father had agreed with Mister Rooney that I'd work there full time, except for the weekends: we had assignments to do, as you'd expect, and my father decided that five days tough, manual labour followed by two days of intense academic work would be the right mix. So my time was totally reversed, and now I had the joy of Craig's body five nights in a row (and, of course, the chance to use my dick five times on the other servants). At a stroke, a whole lot of my problems went away, at least temporarily: the girls, Trent, the forced wanking.... But there was still Joe.
I'd be sitting in my room studying, and could see Joe working away in the grounds, or cleaning and polishing my father's cars, or doing any of the other things with which he was tasked. The weather was fairly warm, so he wore only standard servants' work shorts, and I got interesting glimpses of his torso as he worked away - it was really distracting. My father had gone off to the country club for golf one Saturday, and I had been sitting there working away for some time, and was really stuck. I needed to clear my head, so I got up and went out into the yard, and just sat there watching Joe for a bit.
He came over after a time, and I caught that intoxicating scent of male sweat from the sheen of it glistening all over his skin. "Hey, Steve, you could come and help me, you know - if you pushed the barrow whilst I cut the grass I'd get it done twice as fast."
I thought about all the work I had to do, but it was a great day, and I felt like some exercise so I shrugged, and went back into the house and stripped down to shorts myself. Then we worked away together, him driving the mower, and me carting away all the trimmings. It got hotter and hotter and I too was soon sweating even though the work was not very hard, and it did indeed not take all that long. I then went and pulled on some Speedos, and did ten quick lengths in the pool, then stretched out on one of the recliners to dry in the sun. Joe wasn't finished, though, as he needed to clean the pool, and as I watched he pushed off his shorts and started to work - I don't know how the practice started, but as you probably know it's now almost universal that servants always clean the pool stripped totally naked: even if you have a service in, if they employ servants, the poor guys have to strip at every house they call at. I watched his body, his dick bobbing up and down as he bent and stretched, pulling the sweeper across under the water, and I couldn't help but notice how he had continued to develop: he definitely was no longer a kid, but a really great-looking, lithe, muscular young man, a guy in his prime. I felt my dick stirring in the Speedos as I watched his muscles glide and slide over his lean frame as he worked, and his skin was made all the more interesting as he was lightly tanned all over from his work every day on the pool. He hadn't been caned for a long time, either, so there were no disfiguring stripes on his butt, which thrust almost proudly up from his long-muscled thighs.
When he'd finished he came over and looked down at me, still sweating away. The scent of him, his sheer maleness, was almost totally overpowering and my dick was no longer just half-hard, but was now pushing firmly against the thin silky material of the Speedos (I can never understand why guys swim in big baggy costumes if they've got a halfway reasonable body - they drag in the water and slow you down. And, anyway, a guy with a good body has a kind of responsibility to let other men see it, don't you think?).
"Take a break, Joe. My father always spends a long time at the Club..."
"It's OK for you, Steve. He really doesn't know how much work you do. But I've got a list of things, and if they're not done right, and not all finished, he gets mad..."
"Oh come off it! He doesn't get angry at you really.
He's too interested in fucking you, and wants you nice and cheerful for him to play with...."
"No, Steve.. It's not that I worry about. But, you know, he's nice to me. He only canes me when I've been really bad, or really haven't worked hard enough.
He is fair, as he said he would be. And I like to play fair with him..."
"Play fair! For fuck's sake, Joe, you're a slave. He keeps you as a slave. He makes you work He makes you take his dick..."
Joe looked hesitant. Looked somehow worried about what he was going to say. Then he began, hesitantly "Look, Steve, I know he's your dad as well as our owner. But he's good to me. Better than Mister Rooney ever was. Better than my step dad was...." He stopped, and then went on "and better than you were, Steve."
"What?"
Joe looked really uncomfortable. He kind of hovered around, and one hand half covered his dick and balls, as if my looking at them made him somehow embarrassed.
"Steve, I liked you, liked you a lot. And you fucked me, fucked me a lot. I though you cared for me, Steve. But you really only like Craig, don't you? You only fucked me just like you fucked all the other guys. You didn't care about me at all, and all you wanted was to use me, like a lot of the other guys did, as I was so young."
"No, Joe...". I was astonished he could be so wrong. "When I found that Mister Rooney had sold you, I felt awful..."
"...so awful that you went with Craig straight away. And when you found I was here, you didn't care at all.
You kicked me out of bed..."
"...because my dad had just fucked you!"
"...which wouldn't have mattered at all if you really cared for me, Steve. He fucked me forcibly, you know that. All I wanted was you, Steve. You should have taken me and held me and comforted me, and instead of that you kicked me out of bed."
I felt myself getting frustrated by Joe's attitude. He was almost blaming me for what was going on, rather than my father. And when I get frustrated, I start to get angry.
"Joe, you always liked me fucking you. So shut up about it, will you? Sure I did it, as I fucked a lot of guys. That's what I do."
"No, Steve. It was special for me. And you made me think it was special for you..."
"I did not!"
"You did!"
I was really cross now, having the kid blame me for things that were not my fault. It was probably the heat, or maybe the frustration of my college work, but I felt somehow angry. I grabbed his arm and almost yelled "Look, you little fucker, you need to learn that men, real men, men like me, need sex. Actually I didn't particularly want to fuck you, as I didn't much like the idea of fucking kids; it was you who was always throwing himself on to me, always wanting to kiss and stuff."
"Well that's OK, then!", he replied, sounding as if he was getting as angry as I was. "Now I know! So I won't feel guilty any more."
"What the fuck have you got to feel guilty about?"
"About liking your dad, Steve. I thought I was cheating on you. I thought you liked me, and you'd be cross if you found out I really like your dad. He's kind..."
"Joe, what the fuck is this crap? 'Liking my dad', and 'kind'? He's not kind - he treats you just like a slave, he fucks you, he canes you, he slaps you around..."
Joe was rushing his words out now, in some sort of passion. "No, Steve, he's not like that. When he fucks me, he's gentle and wants me to enjoy it, too. He only slapped me that first time as I was still thinking about you and tried to resist him - he's never done it again. And sure, I'm a slave, and I expect to work hard, and if I don't, it's right that he punishes me. But he never just canes me for fun, Steve. He likes me, he really does. He cares for me.
And when we're together, I feel safe. He looks after me, Steve. That's more than anyone has ever done before... Not my step-dad, not any of the guys at Rooney's, not you, Steve.... I really like him, Steve, and he likes me. And I'm never going to get fucked by you again, not now I know you really don't care about me. I was only doing it to please you, and now I don't have to. I've got some one to fuck with, someone who really cares...."
Look, I'm not used to this! I was always in demand, it was always the other guys who wanted me to fuck them. I wasn't used to having some young guy say he no longer wanted to fuck with me. Especially not as he wanted to fuck my dad instead. I was really angry now, and almost shouted "See if I care! But don't come whining back to me when you need a really good fuck, from a hard, tough guy. My father hasn't had the practice I've had, and he's getting old and flabby!"
"You can be sure of that, Steve! I'd rather have sex with someone who cares about me, than have you just fucking me to please yourself."
That really pissed me off. He was rejecting me in favour of my dad. All my life my dad had been winning over me - he'd always won at those stupid games we had as a kid, he showed me how effortlessly clever he was when I was stuck with homework assignments, he boasted about his big, powerful job and sneered at my wanting just to work as a a labourer... And now he was going to get Joe's ass, too - the only bit of sex I had a chance of getting during the week. Something inside me snapped. He wasn't going to win this time, he wasn't going to have Joe telling people that he was better at fucking than I was! As Joe started to tremble with what amounted to near panic, I pushed him down onto the lounger, and as he started to struggle, it only inflamed me. I saw his naked body thrashing around, and my dick was now painfully hard against the Speedos: his muscular butt was there waiting to be taken, so whilst I held him down with my one hand I managed to push the Speedos below my knees with the other. His whole body was glistening in the sun from his sweat, and I roughly kicked his legs apart and stabbed at his ass with my dick.
He began to scream "No, please, Steve, please don't....", but somehow this excited me even more. And once my dick found his hole, and I pushed hard to break in, there was nothing that was going to stop me.
The last time I'd fucked Joe he really had not been so well developed like this - not so hard, not so much like a real man. I needed to control this young guy, to show him that I was in charge, and I sank my dick in as far and as hard as I could, hearing his cries of protests turn almost to squeals of pain. He carried on thrashing around underneath me as best he could, and even reached around with his hands and tried to scratch and tear at me as I fucked him. He was making so much noise that I almost smashed his head down into the cushion of the lounger to shut him up.
It was an epic fuck. So much better than just having a guy lie there and take it easily. You need to feel that you've totally won sometimes, been the victor in a real battle. The trouble is that it's so exciting, so exhilarating, so goddamned erotic that you can't keep it up: those primitive urges get you, and you shoot, all too soon.
I lay on top of him, utterly exhausted. I could feel his body heaving under mine as he tried to recover, too. Somehow I needed to continue to be in charge, I needed to know that he accepted me as his victor. "So, that's better than being fucked by my dad, isn't it?", I demanded. "My nice young body compared to his. And I know how to use my dick, don't I, as I've had lots of practice...?"
He just lay there under me, panting and sweating, trying to recover. "Well?", I demanded. "Answer me...."
He lay there still and silent, and in what was almost a fury, I stood up and slapped his butt, hard. And when there's all the power of my arm behind it, that's really hard, and really painful. I winced at the stinging in the palm of my hand, so I knew he must have felt it, too. "Answer me, you little fucker.... That was the best fuck you've had, wasn't it?"
He still lay there, and I dragged him to his feet, my fingers bruising his biceps as I was so violent. "Answer me!", I snapped again, and when he still stood there, sullen and silent, this time it was his face that received the force of my slapping.
"Please, Steve, please stop... You're hurting....", he snivelled.
"So answer me! Was that or was it not a good fuck? Better than you get from my dad?"
"What do you want me to say? If I tell you the truth, you'll be madder, and hit me again...."
I hit him again, two blows, one to each cheek. "Tell me the truth, you little fucker..."
He gave a resigned sigh, then blurted out "OK, then! No, it wasn't! It might have been great for you, but it hurt me. And I didn't enjoy it. You didn't do any of the things your dad does. You didn't hold me. You didn't stretch me or lube me or play with me or tease me. You just fucked me. And I hated it. And I never want to be with you again, Steve. You're not nearly as good as your dad."
As he said this, he cowered, expecting me to strike him again. But I was devastated: his words had really struck home. I let go of his arm, and sat down on the lounger, my head in my hands. Joe just stood there, snivelling quietly, as I must have really hurt him with my blows.
I don't know how long we'd have gone on just like that, but my father came around the corner and into the pool area and looked at us both there, both naked.
We hadn't heard his car draw up as we'd been so busy quarrelling.
"Steve, Joe... What's been going on here?", he demanded.
I got to my feet, and stood there feeling really ashamed - not because I was naked, or even because it must have been obvious from the cum still leaking from my dick that I'd been fucking. No, my anger, which always blows up quickly, had just as quickly evaporated and now I was sorry for the way I'd just fucked Joe. I just hung my head and remained silent, as my father again demanded of us what had been going on.
"Joe, answer me!", he said again, and Joe looked down at the floor, too, shuffled his feet, and mumbled "Nothing, sir. I just need to finish the pool...."
"Joe, you're lying to me! How dare you! Now, tell me the truth, and tell me now, what's been going on here?"
Joe dared to give me a glance, a look that said he knew he was doing wrong, and muttered again "Nothing, sir. I just stopped to speak to Steve ut I shouldn't have and I'll get back to doing the pool now..."
My father grabbed him by the arm, as I had done, and Joe winced. My father looked at the marks of my fingers in Joe's biceps, then turned him around and saw my big angry hand prints standing out red on his butt. Turning him back he gently reached up and ran his fingers lightly over Joe's cheeks, causing Joe to flinch slightly. Then finally he reached down, gently pushed Joe's legs apart, and moved a finger around his ass.
"You've been fucked, haven't you?"
Joe still didn't answer, and my father continued "I don't mind, as long as it didn't interfere with your work. But there's something else here.... All these marks on you! Steve hit you, didn't he? He hit you, and then he fucked you! Is that right?"
Joe still didn't answer, and just stood there, head bowed. My father turned on me, shouting "Steven, get showered, and get into my study! Now! And don't bother to dress!"
There was nothing I could say, was there? I turned and walked back into the house, quickly showered, and went downstairs. I was in for a terrible punishment, I knew. He'd told me to be naked as he was not going to waste any time at all having me strip: I expected to be immediately bent over the desk, and then there'd be another of those awful canings, with my back, butt and thighs all getting it. And somehow, although I was dreading it, I knew I deserved it. It wasn't right, what I'd done to Joe.
My father was sitting behind his desk when I went in, and I stood in front of him, head bowed, hands clasped behind my back. At least I didn't feel like having an erection!
"Steven, I am extremely disappointed", my father began, in a quiet, controlled voice. "I thought you were improving, that some of that silly wildness in you was being tamed. You are doing well at college, Rooney tells me he has no complaints about your work and your conduct at the weekends, and I had therefore imagined that we were set fair on the road to turning you from a wilful, disobedient, immature wastrel, into a sensible, mature man. But now I come home and find your animal side has reasserted itself: left alone, unsupervised for less than a day, and you've reverted to being stupid, childish oaf, who is so totally ruled by what his penis wants to do that he hits a weaker man and forces him to submit to a brutal fucking!"
"Sir...", I began.
"Silence! Don't say anything! I've had a total silence from Joe about this, and I've had to piece together what happened from seeing the marks of your hands on his body, and seeing how badly inflamed his ass is: that's not how he looks after a normal bout of sex."
"Well, you'd know...."
"Are you trying to be insolent? But yes, Steven, I do know. I know that Joe is a delightful young man, eager to please, ready to serve, eager to obey. A young man who, in spite of all the disadvantages of his upbringing, is a delight to have around, and who is keen to show his gratitude to me in every way possible. My own son, though, who has already thrown away every advantage that we gave him, is wilful, disobedient, and seems determined to go out of his way to be unkind and unpleasant."
"Hey, it's..."
"Silence! Don't argue with me! You always did that when you were a rebellious teenager, hoping to shift the blame for some senseless act you'd committed by arguing about it. Well it never worked then, Steven, although you were so wrapped up in yourself that you couldn't see it. And it certainly won't work now. There's no point in making excuses, or even explanations. I can see what went on here, and it was wrong. And I am going to punish you for it, punish you severely."
"Look, ....."
"If you say one more word, Steven, I will gag you. That's what happens to argumentative slaves, you know.
And you'll wear the gag to college. Before you say one more word, calm down and think about that! And I will have respect - not only have you dared to interrupt me, but you have failed to use the proper form of address."
I drew in my breath to say something, then thought better of it. I knew that it was unwise to test my father - I'd seen a guy gagged sometimes at Rooney's, and I had enough problems at college already without the thought of going there with a big rubber dick thing down my throat.
"The question is, Steven, what punishment would be appropriate? Last time, I caned you, but that does not seem to have had a lasting effect. What you did is so serious that by rights I suppose I should have you flogged by the public whipmaster, but I am a compassionate man, and Rooney has warned me that such a thing, coming after the flogging you already had, might unhinge your mind. I have therefore decided that in order to bring home to you the need for respect, for obedience, and to atone to Joe somewhat for the hurt you have done him, that you will work as a domestic servant here in your spare time."
He stared at me for a few long moments, and went on "Joe is largely uneducated, but I have decided that as he is clever his value will be enhanced by a little education, and so I am sending him on a part-time remedial course designed to bring him up to high school graduation standard. That means he will have less time for work on the grounds and the pool, and much less time to help Mrs Sheffield in the kitchen with the serving of our meals. You will therefore help out with those tasks - I expect you to maintain straight 'As' at college, and you will still go off to work at Rooney's on the weekends. But in addition you will now help out here, too, so you will have to work even harder and more diligently in order to fit in all these demands on you."
As he was speaking, I began to cheer up. At least I was going to avoid a caning! But as my father's next words came out, I felt enraged. "As you will be working as a domestic servant here, you will of course wear the uniform I chose for Joe. That will emphasise your status..."
He tossed something across the desk, and said "This is how you will dress the moment you come back form College. You will serve dinner to Joe and me, generally clear up, and on occasion help Joe with his assignments. Now, put it on."
It was one of the hateful polo-like tunics that Joe had been wearing. I slipped it over my head and stretched it down over my body, but how ever hard I pulled at the hem, the head of my dick was still peeking out below it. And I knew that if I moved rapidly, or even sat down, I would be humiliatingly exposed as the wide slashes up the side afforded me almost no modesty.
"Get along to the dining room and set the table for dinner", he continued, looking at me as I started to flush red. "Joe and I will dine together from now on.
You will serve us, and will eat yours alone, afterwards."
I turned to walk away, and he barked "and Steven.... One more thing.... You will bow to Joe and me when you have received an order! Yes, Joe is going to control you as well as me. And you will show proper respect by calling us both 'sir', and by bowing. Now, let me see you do it..."
"Sir, yes, sir", I managed to get out, furious, but helpless to do anything about it. And as I bent from the waist to bow, I felt the hem of the material of my tunic sliding over my butt. Somehow, being exposed like this was even worse than being totally nude.
End Of Part 22