THE LABOURER by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 4
Rob managed to get another "night off" that week and he and I met Mike on Thursday. Rob and Mike talked business, and Mike agreed to lease my contract from Rob if I was determined to go ahead and do this. Then we discussed the length of indenture, and Rob explained that the courts wouldn't grant it for a period of less than five years, and they didn't want "thrill seekers" and the like just doing it for a few months to live out their fantasies.
"So you'll have to live your fantasy for five years, Steve", he told me, almost resignedly. I didn't care, of course - all I wanted to do was to get on with it, and get to working hard.
"There's one other thing, Steve", Mike cut in. "Even though you're going into this voluntarily, I won't treat you any different from all the other guys..."
"I wouldn't want you to, that's the whole point, I need to be 'encouraged' to work..."
"Of course! There's no other way of doing it on the site - an overseer like Sean could hardly 'encourage' the other servants and let you work away at your own pace, could he? And I understand that is what you want. No, I'm thinking of all the other things - we're drinking friends, and all that will have to stop - I can't bring you out to a bar for an evening, as it would make all my other servants jealous. And you'd have to wear the uniforms, and live in the barracks, and..."
I cut across him before he could finish. "Oh sure, of course. Look, I'm expecting to be so tired every night that there's no way I can keep a place of my own, and it will be a relief not to have to shop, or wash stuff...."
"Are you sure, Steve, that you can adapt to being a servant of someone you know? There's a lot to it, you know... I have complete control of you..."
"No problem, Mike. And, anyway, if there is, you can soon beat it out of me, can't you?"
We all laughed, as I was kind of joking. But now I look back on it, I can sort of remember Mike giving a little shrug as if to say "well, I did warn him."
I was glad that Rob and Mike seemed to get on well together, as I thought it would ease any potential problems there might be in the system, and we all left the bar as friends. Rob said that I should call him the next evening as he'd make some enquiries at work and get the process kicked off, and I fell asleep that night really happy, for the first time in a long time.
All day at work I was seething with impatience, and that evening I picked up the phone. It was Karen who answered, and she was as frosty as usual. Mike came on the line eventually, and seemed to be guarding his words. Yes, he had arranged things, and a court date was set for ten days time. I'd need to be ready to get on with my new life immediately, so could I have done everything I needed to by then?
"What sort of thing, Rob?"
"Well, give up the lease on your place, send all your stuff to store, sell your bike, all that kind of thing."
"Could you store my stuff for me?"
He seemed to hesitate. "Yes, I'd like to. But it's difficult...."
"Why, you've got lots of space in that new house of yours.... I've only got a couple of crates of stuff, I reckon. There won't be much point in keeping most of my clothes and things like that, as in five years time it will all look out of date, and I don't have that much anyway - you know I don't bother about fashion...
So it's only a couple of crates of stuff like CDs, a few books, some papers and photos, my camera, iPod... What's the problem?"
"No, I guess you're right, Steve.... It shouldn't be a problem. It's just, you know, the mess.... Karen won't like it, but it's my house too and we'll find some space in the garage."
"Will you keep my bike for me? I've only just finished paying for it, and second hand ones don't fetch anything..."
"Well, I don't know.... That's a big thing to store...."
"Oh, come on, Rob! Who's in charge there? Are you a man, or what?"
"Oh, OK, I suppose so, then."
We talked on for a bit, and with some reluctance Rob agreed to come over in his car on Sunday and pick up my crates of stuff, then I could drive to his house the following Friday on my bike, and we could both go on to the court from there. For the rest of the week I couldn't wait to get back to my place form work, as I sorted out all my clothes and junked most of them, and took some to the thrift shop, leaving just enough to last until the following week. I piled all my books and CDs and stuff I wanted to keep neatly into two packing crates, and by Sunday I was ready.
Rob came over and we carried the crates into his car. I went with him to help unload, and Karen stood around, almost glaring at me. I tried to be my usual polite self to her, but she had her usual offhand manner and said something like "she didn't like Rob consorting with criminals. But at least I'd be away for some time."
"I'm not, Karen... A lot of indentured servants are there instead of going to jail, but I'm doing it because I want to", to which she retorted that she didn't like Rob consorting with lunatics, then!
The rest of the week sped by - I kept on working right up until the Thursday, as I thought I might as well keep the wages in the bank until I was free again, and on Friday morning I drove over to Rob's place, early. It was sad to say goodbye to my bike, and when Rob saw how I was dressed - my usual crumpled T, jeans, and a top, he looked a bit concerned. "We are going to court, Steve, you know that don't you...."
"Yes, but I've got rid of the rest of my stuff, and I never had many fancy clothes anyway..."
"Well I hope the judge doesn't give me too much trouble, as they like people to respect the dignity of the place! Now, have you got your bank details, and that form I gave you?"
I had - a long legal document Rob had sent to me earlier, that he said would make it easier to look after my money, and that was it.
It seemed funny, somehow, driving downtown through the morning traffic - it was later than I usually travelled, and I saw a lot of commuters and folk who were usually not on the road when I went off to the site, and then we parked at the court house, and went in. Rob evidently knew his way around, then we sat together in a court room listening whilst a very crusty old judge cleared away the overnight arrests and all that sort of stuff. Then the clerk called out "Docket 70932022 - Steve Masters, indenture."
Rob and I went and stood in front of the judge, who scanned through the papers in front of him. "Are you Steve Masters?", he asked me.
"Yes, your honour."
"Do you know what you are agreeing to, young man? The life of an indentured servant is hard, you know. It's usually for criminals, as part of their punishment. You are under the complete control of your indenture holder, he can..."
"Yes, yes....", I cut in, seething with impatience to be done and on with my new life.
"Young man, you will have a lot of problems if you carry on like that! I was about to warn you..."
"It's OK, your honour, I've talked...."
He actually banged his gavel to shut me up, then said to Rob "Are you representing this man?"
"Yes, your honour. And I apologise for his behaviour.
He's headstrong, and he's keen to start his new life...."
"And does he understand all that it entails? Have you told him that he must serve out his period of indenture, that his indenture holder controls the work he does ,where he lives ,what he wears, every detail of his life?"
"I know all that", I cut in again.
The judge looked really pissed off, and said simply "So be it. Steve Masters, indenture for ten years..."
"No!", I said. "I agreed five."
The judge crossed something out in the papers he had, looked at me, and said simply "Young man, you come before this court looking as if you've just got out of bed. You did not even bother to put on presentable clothes. You have not listened to what I said, and have had no respect for the authority of this court. I have decided to make your period of indenture ten years, and that's final."
I was a bit shocked, as I'd thought that five years would let me re-think my life, as I'd be thirty then. But now I was looking at thirty five, and I wasn't sure. "No, I've changed my mind...."
"Too late!", the judge snapped. "I have signed the indenture papers, and that's final. Next case!". He banged his gavel, and that seemed to be that.
"No, please, your honour...", I started.
"Who is the indenture holder for this servant?", he asked.
"I am, your honour", Rob said.
"Well get your servant out of my court! I'd advise you to punish him hard, immediately, to get him used to his new life. Or would you like me to order the bailiff to take him down to the cells and do it?"
"That won't be necessary, your honour...", Rob said, bowing slightly, then hissed at me "Come on, you idiot!".
We left the court room and I pleaded "Rob, ten years.. It's not what we agreed. Can't you get it changed?"
"I haven't got time now, Steve. It will mean resubmitting all the papers, asking the court to approve a change.... It's not a problem really - I can always free you of the indenture after five years, you know. So let's leave it, shall we? You really are stupid to annoy a judge like that - it's lucky he didn't decide to transfer your indenture to the state, and then you'd have been as badly off as if you'd been convicted."
I shrugged, as after all Rob was my oldest buddy, and I trusted him. "Oh, anything you say, then. Let's get out of here..."
"No, we have to get you entered into the system first.
I'll hand you over to the guys who do it, then I have some business downtown, and I'll be back to collect you later to take you out to Mike's."
"Will it take long?"
"I don't know, Steve. But it doesn't matter - I've got appointments all morning, and I'll be back at lunch time..."
"Hey, Rob, I want to get started..."
"Look, Steve, this is a serious business, you know! You'd better get used to thinking about what your indenture holder wants, not what you want. I've told you I'm busy this morning. There's a lot of stuff they need to get through with you, and when they've finished, you can wait! My time's valuable, and yours isn't, now."
He led me down into the basement of the courthouse, showed the papers to a clerk, and said he'd be back later to collect me. The clerk called over two court officials - bailiffs in some sort of uniform that looked a bit like as if they were guards, as they had guns at their waists, and other stuff like that. I suppose they were used to keeping order amongst the criminals.
The clerk said to me "Are you Steve Masters, and are you voluntarily entering into this period of indentured servitude?"
"Yes, and in my case it's entirely voluntary, I...."
"I don't give a fuck, buddy. If you're stupid enough to do it, that's all I need to hear. Now, are you under any coercion or duress?"
"No."
He looked a the two bailiffs and said "You two both heard him, right? So sign here, and here, as witness to the fact that he's doing this of his own free will, and that he has stated that he is not under duress."
"Is this all necessary?", I asked.
The clerk squinted at me. "Are you sure you know what you're letting yourself in for?"
"Of course."
"Well these orders are not very usual, as being an indentures servant is not very pleasant. It's a serious business, and the state does not want you coming along whining after a few days saying it was all a mistake. Or that you only did it because they'd got your sister held as a hostage, or something. So we do this final check, just to make sure."
He read on through the papers, then said "Oh, and you're doing the ten year stretch! Well, that IS unusual!"
"Why?"
"Oh, you know, different rules for long-term servants, that sort of thing. Still, it's all in the papers ,even has the judge's signature on it. Right, that's it - when I stamp this with the official stamp, you're am indentured servant for the next ten years."
He put the papers in some sort of press and pulled a handle, then said simply "OK, boys, take him away and process him."
The guards beckoned me to follow them, and we went into a small office. "Right, buddy - hands on the table...."
I did as he said, and one of the guards did that thing where they rolled all my fingers in ink and took my fingerprints, just like on TV. Then they got one of those cotton bud things and took a saliva sample "for the DNA", sealing into a little tube. And then I had to stand against the wall as they used a camera to take "mug hots", first full face, and then from the side, whilst I held up a rack in which they arranged numbers on tiles.
"That's the standard facials, with your ISN", he said.
"ISN?"
"Indentured Servant Number - that's how you are in the files now. We'll add in your fingerprints and your DNA analysis, and then you're easily identifiable if you try to escape from your indenture holder."
"I won't be doing that - I want to work for him..."
Both men laughed. "Look, I don't think you really understand all of this, bud! You'll be amazed how many indentured servants try to run every year, but these days it's relatively easy to track them down as when you try to get a job or something as your Social Security number will tie back to this, and you'll be arrested and returned to your indenture holder.... And he has the power to punish you, you know."
"Yes, the cane, the tawse..."
"And don't forget the bull whip", one of the guards chortled. "We get to do that, as indenture holders like a professional touch. If you really disobey, or if you escape, they can have you bull whipped. And a few strokes of that and you'll never do it again! You seem a feisty sort of a young guy, so I expect we'll see you back here soon...."
Both men laughed a bit, and one then said "OK, so strip, and let's finish this."
"Strip?"
"Yes. Take off your clothes. We need to finish the photographs."
"What?"
"Come on, get those clothes off! A good looking guy like you ought to have nothing to be ashamed of. We need full body photographs for your file."
"Why?"
"Hey, stop asking questions. Indentured servants just do as they're told. And if you don't start showing proper respect, we'll punish you - we're empowered to do that, you know!"
"Look, I only..."
One of the guards unhooked a little instrument off his belt - a bit bigger than a pen - and showed it to me. "This is a prod, boy! An adaptation of the thing they use on farms to herd cattle and pigs. If I just touch this to your skin, you'll get a very unpleasant and painful shock. Now, do as you were told..."
"You can't...."
I screamed, as the guard just reached out a little and touched the thing to the back of my hand. It was just like getting a powerful electric shock, and my whole arm was tingling and I shook it up and down in the air, almost in disbelief.
"Want more, boy?", he asked.
"No..."
"No, sir!", he corrected. "You'd better start showing us some respect here, as an indentured servant does to free men."
"Sir, are you allowed to punish me like that?"
"Yes, boy! Court officials and other approved handlers of social servants are allowed to use the humane prod. That was only at quarter power, as we usually need to demonstrate to you new guys that the rules have changed for them. Of course, they're just common criminals usually, but the rules are the same for you as a 'ten year' man."
"Sir, what do you mean?"
"For indentures greater than five years there is a wider range of punishments available. Remember, this is replacing prison for most guys, so a longer prison term kind of warrants harsher punishments if the servant misbehaves. Up to five years an indenture holder can only use the cane and tawse. Above that, the prod, whip, bull whip, and the other stuff for long term control through pain - thumb screws, ball manacles, drilling the teeth to expose the nerves... Some indenture holders can be really inventive."
I shuddered inwardly, and was glad that Mike wasn't like that! But I didn't have time to think about it for long, as the guard said again "Now strip, boy - we need you naked."
It wasn't a particular problem for me, as I've told you that I'm kind of proud of my body and in the changing room at the gym and stuff I never bothered to conceal myself. But when there are two other guys there in uniform, and you're nude, it does feel a bit strange. And it feels even stranger when they're ordering you around: I had to stand against a white wall ruled out in a grid of squares, first with my hands by my side, face on, then turn around so my back was to the camera, then around to the front again, only with my hands up in the air and my legs apart so my body was like a big "X", then the same from the back, then to the side.... It seemed to go on and on, and the two guards were evidently enjoying it. They started to comment about my butt, and my dick, and how I was a "good looking piece of meat".
"So is your indenture holder in the sex trade then, boy? Is he going to sell that ass of yours?"
"NO!"
I screamed, as one of them touched his prod to my bare butt, and had to jump up and down as the ache was so bad all down the nerves in my legs. They laughed as they saw me flailing around, and I felt my dick flying about, out of control.
"Remember what we said about being polite and respectful, boy!", the guard said. "And don't be so sure about the sex trade - a lot of good looking well-hung young studs like you do get their contracts bought for the sex trade, you know..."
"No, sir. My best buddy owns my contract, and he's going to lease me to a construction company, as I'm a construction worker...."
"And this construction boss, he's taken a fancy to your butt, has he? He's going to fuck you...?"
"No, sir. He's a friend, too. He's not like that."
Both men chuckled. "You know, son", the older one said, "I've heard a lot of stories like that. Don't you know that being an indentured servant means you have no status, no power? And what does one man do to another man who's powerless? And how does an indenture owner show his power over his servants? I'll tell you, son: he uses them sexually. That's the way one man has always shown his power and domination over another, since the world began. I wouldn't be surprised if this friend of yours has his dick up your ass, or at least down your throat, very soon! I know I would.... Now, why don't you bend down and show us what we're both going to miss?"
"What?"
"Bend over, spread your cheeks, and let us see your ass, boy! Or shall we get mister prod to help you?"
Standing there naked, with both men armed with those prods, I felt terribly vulnerable. Blushing with embarrassment and almost shaking with impotent fury, I bend over and did as they said, and both men laughed. "Yes, that looks like a virgin to me", one said to the other, "at least for now...."
It wasn't right, was it? I mean, if you're in a position of power and responsibility you shouldn't use it to humiliate others. But what choice did I have? I began to wish that Rob would turn up and get me out of there, back to the real world. I just stood there, until the guards said "OK, boy, stand up! Now, over here, so we can ink you."
"Sir, ink me?"
"Yes. All indentured servants have their ISN tattooed under their arms. Come on - the new automatic tattooer doesn't take a minute, and it doesn't hurt - much."
End Of Part 4