THE LABOURER by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 29
My father recommended his lawyer to me, the one who had fought my case up to the supreme court, and he found time to see me that morning. It seemed funny to be driving again, rather than sitting in the back of an open truck, and I'd had to borrow money from my dad for the parking garage and such like. We had a free and frank discussion, and he advised me to lodge a claim against Rob and Riker, Morgan and Swaine for the loss of dignity and human rights during the time I was no longer indentured and was being treated as a slave.
"With the customary tripling of the damages to make them punitive, you ought to be a reasonably wealthy young man", he told me. "And matters are coming to a head - once news of the withdrawal of their licence became known, the creditors circled and there is already a bankruptcy proceedings under way. Still, your rank high in the list of creditors, second only to the government's taxes, so you will almost certainly get one hundred cents on the dollar."
I left his office feeling reasonably happy, but when I went to the stores to buy new clothes, I started to have problems: firstly, I had to pay cash, as I did not yet have my credit cards restored, and that caused a few raised eyebrows as the designer shops I favoured found it hard to cope with that. And of course when I stripped off to try stuff on, the sales assistants at once saw my tanned, body with the whip and cane marks still on it, and as they looked closer, noticed the tattoo on the back of my neck. I was actually refused service in one place, as they simply didn't believe I was not a slave! "In any case", the manager told me, "Even if what you say is true, we choose not to serve customers here with tattoos: we are a gentlemen's establishment, and our customers are not the sort of men who would disfigure their bodies willingly."
That night I explained to my father what had gone on, and he just shrugged. "You could have laser surgery and have it mostly removed, I guess", he suggested.
"No, dad, I won't! I hate prejudice, and most of the slaves I know are one hell of a lot finer than some of the free men around. I'll keep it, and fight it out."
"Oh Steven, that's so typical of you - always squaring up for a fight! Still, that's what makes you a man, I suppose. Now, tell me, what are your plans for Craig, though? He's been working away like a proper slave all day, but you can't keep him at that - there just isn't enough work to do around here."
"I don't know, dad. And I'm worried - it is important to keep him working hard, as he'll get bored otherwise. And when he's bored, he'll get into mischief - and he does have that criminal record of petty crime... I'd hate that to happen to him again."
"You're right - and you need to be careful, too - as the owner of a slave, you're now responsible for his actions! It's a big potential liability, and if Craig does something stupid like rob a store, or even rape a jogger, the courts will hold you to be at fault as much as him."
I wandered out of the house, thinking about this, and found Craig working away, clearing a blocked drain at the back of the garage block. He was on his hands and knees, and the tunic had fallen forward so his butt was delightfully exposed, and I was rewarded with glimpses of his dick and balls swinging between his thighs as he worked away. I considered dropping my pants and throwing myself on him and fucking him again, as the sight of his big body like that was so enticing, but thought better of it as we had not yet fully resolved the forced fuck of the night before. Instead, I called to him, and he got to his feet, his smile broadening into a big grin as he saw me.
I rushed up to him and threw my arms around him, in spite of the fact that his tunic was soaked in sweat and it might spoil my new clothes. His smell was simply intoxicating - that male scent that only comes for ma man who's been doing hard manual labour all day - and as I kissed him, big beads of his sweat wiped across my face and I tasted the salty tang of him on my lips. One advantage of having a guy work in just a tunic is that as you hug him and kiss him you can fondle his dick and feel his butt so much more easily, and I naturally did this as we carried on hugging.
Then I pulled away. "Hey, you've really been working - I can see the difference the moment I came around the house. Well done - you've really been slaving away." I hadn't meant to use that term - it's just a figure of speech, isn't it?
"Yes, sir.."
"Craig, we're buddies, remember? I'm Steve.."
He looked awkward for a moment, then said quietly "Look, Steve, it's hard for me. One minute you say we're buddies, the next minute you're reminding me that you own me, that I'm your personal property, your slave. Then you fuck me on a horse, just as you would a slave..."
"No, that's not true, I...."
"No, hear me out, please. I reckon it will be easier for us both if outside the bedroom you treat me as a slave - when I'm working, that sort of stuff. But when we're alone together at night, we're buddies. That way it's easy enough to know who's in charge. Otherwise we'll just both be confused."
I thought for a moment, and although I never really credited Craig with much common sense, I could see that what he was saying was a good idea. "OK, then. So you're a slave now, then?"
"Yes, sir." He dropped into the subservient position, but I saw him smiling as he did so. "But let me remind you, sir, that later on we'll be buddies. And as buddies we have some unfinished business form last night. Last night I was confused, and let you fuck me as a slave. Tonight, as buddies, you'd better have that ass of yours ready to get reamed..... Sir."
I didn't exactly remember him "letting" me fuck him, but I smiled too. "Well slave, get your ass into the house and get showered. You stink like a slave now, and I don't want to have that body wrapped around me smelling like that.... Run along - and I do mean run - as I'm getting horny. And I want to see that body of yours in motion...."
Well, for the next few days it was fun. It worked, and we had no more quarrels - I had to let him fuck me that first night, of course, and after that we settled back into our old nightly routine of mostly just fooling around: but now there was that added spice, as some sort of barrier had been broken and we knew that each of us could fuck the other when we wanted to. But after a bout a week of our new life together, things got difficult.
I had more than enough to do - seeing the lawyers, opening a bank account, getting a new driver's licence and a passport, shopping, going to the showrooms and test driving a few cars... After so long "out of the world" it was actually quite tiring for me, and at night all I wanted to do was just to relax, then lie there in Craig's arms. But there just wasn't enough work to do on our property for a tough, hard working guy like Craig: the pool sparkled, the windows shone, the grass was manicured, the cars gleamed under their coats of wax, but basically there just wasn't enough for him to do. He was bored, and a bored slave is a problem for his owner, as I soon found out as Craig was always bursting with energy and wanted to "play", rather than just relax.
A vacation seemed like a good idea, and I spent a day picking out a great place on St Thomas for a week away, but then I found that the airlines wouldn't fly a slave out of the country, and even if we went by boat, Craig would have to be locked in a transit cage for the duration of the voyage. That wouldn't be too bad, I suppose, but when I called to change my reservation and said it was a double room as I was bringing my slave, the exclusive place told me rather haughtily that they had free men to serve their guests, and that slaves and pets were not allowed on the premises! So that was that - I thought of going somewhere in the USA, but the thrill of taking Craig somewhere exotic had now gone, and I dropped the idea.
I bought a comprehensive "professional" set of workout equipment that we put in the garage, and had Craig work out on it - that was quite good, as it was something we could do together in the evenings and it helped to keep me fit, but I soon realised that I was condemning Craig to be rather like a hamster running futilely on a wheel when I gave him a big schedule of reps in the mornings as I set out on my business, making him stay in that garage all day. So in the third week, after I'd thought about it for a long time, I hired him out to Rooney.
The truck came and picked him up every morning, and delivered him back every evening, and this seemed a great solution form every point of view: Craig was kept fully occupied, his body stayed in great shape, he was as exhausted as I was at night so was happy just to sit quietly, then fool around a bit in bed before sleeping; and, of course, Rooney paid me rent for him! Mind you, there were a few snags - if he'd been caned or tawsed particularly hard during the day he'd moan and cry out if I pressed myself against him too hard in bed: that wasn't a problem when I'd been a slave, too, as our skins were both tender, but now I found having to remember to be gentle with Craig sometimes was just the tiniest bit irksome. I kept telling him that if he wasn't such a lazy fucker he wouldn't be caned so often and it would be easier for me.
My father organised a "welcome back" party for the family, and it took a lot of persuasion for my brothers and their wives to clear space in their diaries to fly in simultaneously for the weekend. The first evening my brothers were strangely subdued, and the conversation around the dinner table did not really flow. Craig had been kept back from Rooney's that day so that he was not too tired and could act as a waiter, although he didn't like it one little bit, even though I'd bought him a new tunic for the occasion, one that came almost half way down his thighs so that he actually wasn't exposed at all! When my sisters in law left dad, me and my brothers at the table and dad passed around the port, Bill even went so far as to put his hand up the back of the tunic and caressed Craig's butt, and it was only that I threw Craig a strong warning glance across the room that he was prevented from actually grabbing hold of Bill's arm and stopping him.
"Nice slave you've got there, Steve", Bill remarked casually as we drank another glass of port. "I suppose your experience has given you quite an eye for picking out a good piece of man flesh."
"Yes", Mike added. "I'd like my dick down the throat of that one. I brought my training collar and the cuffs with me, shall I go and fetch them, and we could have a bit of sport right now..."
My mind flashed back to the way I'd felt as my brother's dick raped my throat, and for a moment I was very tempted - the idea of having Craig helpless, on his knees, as I pulled him down onto my dick was very appealing. I mean, it wouldn't be breaking our agreement, as we weren't alone in the bedroom an so I could use him just as a slave... But my father rather spoiled it as he said "Now you boys, I want none of that tonight, not with your wives in the house! I'm not really in favour of these old habits of separating men from women, so let's go and join them for coffee."
Even so, I was really aroused by the thought of it, and when Craig started to suck at my dick that night, I put my hands around his head and pushed him further down that he liked. He began to splutter, and when I held him firm, he had to really exert himself to get up. "Hey, Steve... What's that all about?", he asked, wiping his eyes that had started to run as my dick had almost made him gag.
"Oh, nothing... Just something I thought about, that's all." I smiled, but decided that I'd make sure Mike left that collar and those cuffs behind when he went back to New York - this is a game I'd like to teach Craig to play, even if I had to coerce his participation a little! Well, I mean, you can't go with the same guy every night and not want to do new things, can you?
The next morning I decided Craig should stay home as I might need some diversion from my brothers and sisters in law during the day, and after breakfast I mooched around a bit, watching Craig work, then calling him away to go and work out with me in the garage. We ended with a five mile run around the local roads, and when we got back, found that my brothers had gone off somewhere with dad, and my sisters in law were sitting around the pool. One job Joe still had was to clean the pool every morning, and Craig and I stood there watching his tanned, slender body as he ran the sweeper up and down. My sisters in law were evidently enjoying the spectacle, too, as Joe's dick was being compared with the pool guy who did the pool in Bel Air!
It was a hot morning, and Craig was sweating after the run, so I told him he could jump in and cool off. Without a moment's hesitation he dropped his shorts (yes, I allowed him shorts when we went running), ran the length of the pool, his dick flying up and down as he did so, and executed a perfect dive from the far end, to thrash down the full length back towards me. My sisters in law changed their conversation from discussing Joe's dick to talking about Craig, as they'd wondered whether his dick was on the same heroic scale as the rest of him, and one confided in the other that it was a pity that he wasn't made to wear a "proper" servant's tunic, so that they'd already have seen him.
The water looked so inviting, that I went and sat next to my sisters in law and took off my running shoes, then pulled my T over my head, and dropped my shorts to go and join Craig. Both women instantly started to laugh, and to protest - all though not all that seriously, I thought. "Hey, Steve.... That's hardly proper in front of your sisters in law..."
"Well it was OK when you were last here, Thanksgiving a few years ago... You liked to get a good look at me then, and I haven't changed. Well, I may have lost a little muscle tone... But not where it matters most.... I remember you said that I was hung just like Mike and Bill..."
"Yes, but you were a slave then. It was OK for you to be naked as a slave, but you're our brother in law again... Put that dick of yours away, and go and put some Speedos on. Or better still, some decent swim shorts, that will keep that thing concealed!" Both women laughed again, but it was another one of those conversations where I didn't really know if they ere serious or not - were they joking about slaves and free men, or did it really matter?
The only remaining scenes from this time concern Rob. His indenture was processed rapidly by the courts, as these matters are always expedited: there's none of those endless delays, adjournments, depositions, and appeals you get in a lot of cases - with indenture it's mostly clear cut, open and shut, no appeal. So it was only a couple of weeks later that I was reading the paper and saw that the next public auction of indentured servants was to take place the following Wednesday.
The auction was being held at City Hall, and by now I had my new BMW coupe so it was easy to drop in and see what kind of price Rob fetched. The servant in the parking garage seemed impressed to be parking my new machine, and I patted his rather pleasing butt as he took my keys off me, and went up in the elevator to the public exhibition space.
It's obviously important not to have to waste a lot of time in examining unsuitable servants, so it was the practice now to display them nearly naked: both men and women were lined up in the large cool room wearing only a small kilt around their waists for modesty (many parents did after all bring their children to these inspection days, if they were looking for nannies or other domestic servants). It wasn't so bad for the men, but the way that their hands were cuffed behind their backs and then the cuffed wrists were hiked high up and attached to their collars with short chains did tend to make it more comfortable to stand with the chest out and shoulders back, which tended to give great prominence to the breasts. I bought a catalogue in case there happened to be anything that took my particular interest, and saw that each servant had his or her auction number written in large black "magic marker" letters on the belly, and these cross referenced neatly to the information in the catalogue.
For each servant you got the age, degree of education, length of indenture, height, weight, chest, waist, and hip measurements, and for the men, the length of dick both flaccid and erect. A few brief lines also gave the nature of the crime for which they had been indentured, presumably because you would not wish to employ a sex fiend as a domestic servant, for example. If you didn't wish to attend the auction, you could simply leave a maximum bid in a box on the page of the catalogue, and hand the catalogue back to one of the auctioneer's servants who would bid on your behalf.
I looked at some of the stock available, and several of the more muscular, well-toned men were potentially interesting. Regrettably, though, many of them were spoiled by intrusive tattoos on the arms and bodies, and when I accessed the catalogue I saw that these men were often there because of persistent minor offences in gangs as kids, or for drug related crimes - it must be the habit of these people to tattoo themselves as some sort of "badge". Most of the men were in their late teens or early twenties, as the system had by now mostly eliminated older criminals from society - justice was now swift and certain, and older, wiser heads knew it was simply not sensible to continue committing crimes, or failing to pay parking fines, or whatever. It was therefore unusual to see an older man on display, and it was only when I stopped to take a closer look that I realised an older guy in front of me was Rob!
They'd cropped his long hair that used to flop so seemingly artlessly across his forehead, giving him a perpetual boyish look - although that was a triumph of his hairdresser's skill with cutting, mostly. But the real reason I did not instantly recognise him was that his one eye was almost closed with a big bruise around it, and his nose seemed to be all puffed up and swollen, as were his lips. The marks of a severe caning were all over his chest and even the front of his thighs - he must have been most disobedient, and required severe taming, I guessed. I stood there staring at him, hardly believing my own eyes for a moment, as in addition to these obvious marks of a severe beating, he was so clearly out of shape: I remember him of course as a jock like me, and then, later, at Rooney's, I could see that his waist was thickening and he was starting to grow a little pot belly. But now he looked positively fat, his pecs starting to look more like breasts, and there was a layer of flab around his middle. His one good eye swivelled towards me, and he gasped "Steve.... Help me.... Please.... Get me out of here.... Please, Steve."
I looked at the number of his belly and in the catalogue saw he was indentured for ten years. It described him as college educated, and his crimes were described as "non violent transgressions of the civil codes relating to the exercise of a professional's duty to his clients".
Look, I couldn't resist it: I reached up under his kilt, and felt for his balls - he'd been shaved, as I expected, and the low-hanging pair that I remembered felt agreeably silky and warm in my hand. Rob moaned "No.... Please.... " as I handled him, and one of the auctioneer's salesmen, seeing my interest, rushed over and without even asking me, whipped off Rob's kilt - it was attached with Velcro, and came away quite easily as the salesman tugged at it. Standing naked he didn't look quite so out of shape, but he was not in good overall condition, I thought.
"A very nice specimen, if I may say so, sir...", the man began his spiel. "As you can see, very well hung. A little on the fat side, perhaps, but a few weeks of starving him, some rigorous exercise..."
"But perhaps he's not easy to tame... Those marks on him..."
"Oh yes. Some of the guards at the auction house just wanted to play with him, but he objected very violently and so he suffered some minor damage. But nothing that in a week or so won't cure naturally - no bones were broken, and I'm sure that when they caned him they didn't do any permanent damage and there will be no permanent marking."
"Is he a virgin?"
"Well sir, that's impossible to warrant, I'm afraid. Men these days.... You know.... But you are of course most welcome to inspect him."
As he said this he handed me a rubber glove from his pocket, and Rob watched, horrified, as I pulled it on.
He went to speak, and at once the salesman prodded him with a prod that must have been set at very low power, as Rob only doubled up and groaned, rather than being felled to the floor by it.
"Turn around and bend over!", the salesman ordered him, resting the tip of the prod against Rob's naked skin. Looking pleadingly at me, Rob did so, as he saw I remained impassive.
"Once again, sir, I think you'll see that the over-large buttocks are merely a layer of fat....", the salesman added, and I nodded. He helped me prise Rob's butt cheeks apart as he stood there, bent over, and I thrust a finger none too gently up Rob's ass, causing him to grunt and try to take a step forward to escape. This merely resulted in the salesman giving him another painful prod.
"What do you think, sir?", the salesman asked me as I peeled the glove off and dropped it into a litter bin.
"Very tight. If he has been fucked, it isn't recent", I replied. "Tell me, is he fertile? I've got a woman servant who ought to be bred."
"He's sired two children, sir. But, strangely, when we were doing the pre-sale tests, his sperm count is way down. But it can only be a temporary thing - as I said, the kids..."
I smiled inwardly, knowing Rob would be hearing this, and knowing he would be remembering how his two boys were fathered.
Whilst he was still bent double I walked away, and heard Rob call out "Please, Steve, don't abandon me....", before he screamed as the salesman now used his prod on slightly higher power to control him.
I kept myself concealed at the actual auction as I didn't want to give Rob any hope - he would feel completely destroyed if he did not see my face in the audience, I knew. But as he was brought up onto the stage and stood there looking ill at ease under the lights, I hid behind a pillar to call out "Before I bid, let's see him shoot!".
Several other potential customers shouted out their agreement, as it wasn't all that usual to have an older guy on the block, and it had been a slow morning and a little amusement was in order. The auctioneer therefore pulled away Rob's kilt, so that he was again entirely naked, and he was of course unable to even try to shield himself from the audience's gaze with his hands still tightly cuffed in the small of his back. At a nod from the auctioneer a young servant (clad himself only in one of the tiny kilts) came on, knelt in front of Rob, and began to jerk him off.
It was amusing to see Rob utterly humiliated like this, especially as he couldn't help groaning as the young servant finally brought him to climax, and then he had to stand there with his last few drools of cum hanging down from his dick as the bidding began.
I'd made sure that the bid I'd submitted via one of the servants was sufficient to cover anything that was likely to arise from the floor, and so Rob did not see that it was me who now owned his contract, and did not yet know that it was me who had arranged for him to be shipped off to Rooney's Contracts to be put to work.
Well pleased with my morning so far, I next went to visit Karen. Following the near bankruptcy of her father and the indenture of Rob, she was in very much reduced circumstances - her own trust fund could barely afford the six bedroom four and a half bath house in one of the executive suburbs, and when she answered the door herself (a far cry from the days when servants were everywhere), she at first looked annoyed to see me.
"What do you want?". The hostility was clear in her voice.
"To see my sons", I answered boldly, and was rewarded by a look that flashed across her face that told me she had been no completely innocent dupe to the way that Rob had impregnated her. She invited me in then, and as we sat in her elegant living room, I wasted no time in putting my proposition to her.
"We both know, of course, that I could get a court to order a DNA test and we could then easily determine whether the boys are mine, Craig's, or one of each. What it would certainly reveal to the world is that they are not Rob's, and that you were impregnated by slaves. I assume you don't want that, as I assume it's not the sort of thing that the 'ladies who lunch' do! But tell me, Karen, why did you ever go along with it, and not just abort them when you discovered you were pregnant? Rob must have tricked you initially...."
"My father wanted heirs, and was always complaining and threatening to reduce my allowance. I suspected Rob was incapable - he was fun in bed, but I got hints about his infertility, and, indeed, when the boys were born I had the tests done and knew he wasn't the father. But my father was happy... So who cares?"
"Well, they've got a good genetic inheritance anyway - you're pretty good looking, Craig and I are certainly real men, and although Craig was never educated, he's no slouch mentally either. But it's important they're properly brought up, and I will in future play a more active role now that Rob's not around - boys need a father..."
"No you will not! I'm not having you and that slave around here..."
"I think you will, Karen. Rumour has it that you're a little strapped for cash - isn't that Mercedes in the drive over a year old, rather than being this year's model? I'd expect to contribute towards the boys' upkeep, of course.... Contribute lavishly, indeed, to make sure they grow up in proper style...."
She nodded slowly, a smile forming on her bright scarlet lips. "We should have an agreement, Steve. A proper agreement. With you agreeing to pay a fixed sum monthly, plus additional payments for new cars and so on, all inflation adjusted, of course..."
"Quite. I have one here, anticipating that we might have a meeting of minds...."
She read the agreement that I'd had my lawyers draw up with the kind of intense scrutiny that only the daughter of a lawyer would bring to it. Then at the end we had a small skirmish about the starting amount per month, and as I had anticipated, I gave her twenty five percent more - she felt she'd won, but I had of course started at twenty five percent below the sum I was prepared to pay. Finally, as she screwed the top back on her gold fountain pen after we had both signed, she sat back and looked at me and asked "But why do I have to divorce Rob, as it says in there? A lady needs a husband, to ward off the predatory men... But perhaps you no longer understand that..?"
"Oh I do, Karen! I do remember the effort it was to chase women - but as you yourself know, a wedding band is no hindrance, it's just the outward show. I always found married women a push over! Still, I need you to divorce Rob as it's part of my plan for him."
She shrugged, said "I'll see my lawyer tomorrow, and send you the bill, of course...."
"That won't be necessary. My own lawyers have drawn up your petition to the Courts....". This time she signed the document almost without reading it - so typical of Karen, as no money was involved.
This was turning into a busy day, as I drove back to my lawyers with Karen's divorce petition. They assured me that it would go through "on the nod" as there was no financial settlement to argue over, and it was almost the norm for ten year indentures to end in divorce, and the courts were broadly sympathetic to the free party, and that, furthermore, they had a judge lined up that very afternoon - she'd agreed to expedite the case, in exchange for a substantial donation to her favourite charity (which just happened to be the political party in which she had ambitions!).
I was in court the following morning to hear for myself the details of Rob's permanent indenture hearing, or enslavement as we might as well call it! He had no right to be heard himself, of course, as an indentured servant. And unlike the time when I had appeared in that very same Court, there was no longer even any need for the servant to be brought in - it was deemed to be unnecessarily wasteful of the indenture owner's asset, as the servant himself could play no part in the proceedings, and so the rules had been changed about a year before. There was a young newly-graduated lawyer, still wet behind the ears, appointed to represent the servant's rights, and he began "Your honour, we move that this permanent indenture order be quashed. The servant has been sentenced to ten years indenture for his crimes, and that is sufficient."
My lawyer, confident and elegant in his expensive clothes, rose to his feet. "If it please the Court... We contend that the servant Rob should be permanently indentured in his own best interests. The Court can order this, as the indenture period is ten years."
"How can it be in his best interests? " the young guy whined, clearly irritating the judge with his interruption. "He has a wife and family to go back to. And in such cases the precedent is to keep the family together."
"Your honour", my guy cut in, "This is untrue. The servant is divorced, with custody of the children being given solely to the mother, with no visitation rights." He handed the judge a copy of the divorce decree, the judge gave it a cursory scan, nodded, and my guy went on "Consequently we contend that at the end of the ten year indenture period the servant Rob would be without family or friends, without money, and destitute. There is a high probability that he would therefore re-offend, and be a danger to society, resulting in a further period of indenture. It would be in his best interests to be permanently indentured to his current owner from the outset, so that he could be reconciled to his new status in life from the start, and would not have the misery of a period of uncertainty when he was in his early forties."
The young lawyer went to interrupt, but the judge banged her gavel and said "So ordered. The indenture period is increased to life. Next case!".
I wondered how much the donation to her favourite charity had cost me!
End Of Part 29