The following story is an erotic fantasy story meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. It involves depictions of sex. If this subject matter offends, then stop reading this page now.
This story is a work of fiction and is not intended to depict any living person. Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do so. The author does not condone the actions in this story.
This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. The author would appreciate your comments, pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions. My thanks to Robert, Larry, Donna, Em, Dan, Alan, Elvis, Dean, and Roberto.
I guess I write slowly. For those of you impatiently waiting for me to write more, you're welcome to check out "The Ultimate Muscle Hunk Challenge", a 23-part story in "Athletics" that I wrote last year, which may help pass the time. It's not the same type of story, but some of you may like it.
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Cinderfella, part 14
It was the year 2030 when the repeal of the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution changed my life. Diminishing incomes meant my mother was no longer able to pay the bills, and I had willingly signed a contract indenturing myself to my new stepfather, a man named Jake Head. Jake was a total jerk, as were his sons, and I hated every moment living in his house. But even worse was staying with his sons at college.
The trip back to my stepfather's house was miserable, in part because the trunk was so much more cramped. Three suitcases and a cosmetic bag left very little room in the trunk for me, and the wig I was wearing had grown unbearably uncomfortable. My legs, too, were cramped.
As we pulled into the driveway, I breathed a sigh of relief. Anything was better than staying in this dark, claustrophobic trunk. Or so I thought at the time.
As Daniel opened the lid of the trunk, I saw him smirk. I must have been quite a sight. I didn't, however, have much time to reflect on how I appeared. They would want me to take their luggage in right away.
I crawled out of the trunk, stumbling as I did so. I was getting better at getting out of the trunk, but it was almost impossible to do so without falling while wearing 3-inch stilletos.
As Daniel, Mindy, and Christopher walked inside, I made two trips to the car; the first to bring in my stepbrothers' suitcases, the second for Mindy's luggage.
As I brought in the second load, my stepfather came out of his study. He warmly greeted his sons and Mindy, shaking his boys' hands. Then he turned to me.
"Dick, what on earth are you wearing?" he asked. He looked puzzled. "Oh, Lord, not the homo thing again."
"It's just a prank, Dad," Daniel said. "We just dressed him up like that for the fraternity initiation last night."
"Oh," Jake said. "How did it go, son?"
"I got in!" Daniel exclaimed. "I'm officially a Zeta!"
"Congratulations, Daniel!" Jake said, as he patted his son on the shoulder. "I'm so proud of you. You're a third generation Zeta, son. I'm so proud of you... both of you," he added, turning to Christopher.
"Yeah, way to go, bro," Christopher said, as he high-fived his brother. "I know it was a lot of work, but you're in, now!"
"We should celebrate," Mindy suggested.
"Good idea, Mindy," my stepfather agreed, smiling over at her. "I'm pretty sure there's some crab in the freezer. We'll have surf and turf. Sound good?"
Everyone agreed that was a really good idea.
"Alright, Dick, go get cleaned up so you can get dinner ready," Jake ordered.
I shuffled over to the basement stairs slowly, trying not to stumble in the high heeled shoes I was wearing.
"And don't dawdle, Dick," Jake added. "I want dinner on the table by 6:00."
I went downstairs to clean myself up as quickly as possible, pulling off the hateful pumps that I had been forced to wear since yesterday, and flinging them into the linen closet. Then I grabbed my Friday underclothes, and headed up to the greenhouse.
A quick glance in the looking-glass in the greenhouse bathroom showed me what a wreck I was: skewed blond wig, slutty eyeshadow, and about a hundred layers of now-smeared lipstick. I pulled off the embarrassing bra and panties I'd been forced to wear, then pulled off the wig, and finally hosed myself off in the back of the greenhouse. I shaved my head, pits, and pubes, donned my servant garb, and then steeled myself to go to the kitchen, where, I suspected, fresh new humiliations waited for me.
When I came into the kitchen, Daniel and Christopher were in the middle of regaling Jake and Mindy with the story of last night's fraternity initiation. Daniel had just gotten to the part where the fraternity brothers had made me bend over for the paddling.
"You should have seen Dick's eyes when he saw the size of that paddle!" Daniel laughed. "It looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head!"
Everyone laughed.
"But that wasn't the funniest part," he continued. "That was when he got the first swat... and realized it was an electric paddle!"
"Ooh, ouch!" Jake said. "Wouldn't that really hurt someone?"
"Nah, it's perfectly safe, Dad," Christopher said. "It's pretty low voltage. Mike, the head of our chapterhouse, told me that he got it from a garage sale at an old Masonic lodge there in Milwaukee. Apparently, those guys loved to prank one another at initiations, back in the day."
"So, anyway," Daniel continued, "there was Dick, wearing that goofy bra and wig, bent over with his girlie panties down around his ankles, getting quite a shocking surprise at that first swing. It was hilarious!"
My stepfather shook his head, as he smiled wryly. "Reminds me of my own college hazing days," he said. "There was a guy we called Timmy the Turd. We razzed him quite a bit. Good times."
I noticed neither of my stepbrothers mentioned the end of the initiation, where I had had to suck the dicks of each member of the fraternity. I was pretty sure Jake would not approve of such behavior. And yet, that part I hadn't minded so much.
Now my stepfather noticed me standing there. "Dick," he said. "Don't just stand there. I told you: I want dinner on the table by six."
"Good help is so hard to find these days," Mindy observed, rolling her eyes as I hurried to prepare dinner.
"Sir, where is my mother?" I asked, as I donned an apron. I had seen no sign of her. "Will she be eating tonight?"
"Your mother is in Green Bay, visiting your Aunt Irene, Dick," Jake said. "She'll be home late tonight. She's got important news for you."
I wondered what the news was.
I served dinner by 6 o'clock, grilling the steaks and steaming the crab. I made Mindy's Caesar salad just how she wanted it. Everything was on the dining room table when my stepfather sat down; I had placed lobster forks on the table, just in case they needed them. I tried to think of everything.
As I filled their plates with food, Jake said, "Everything smells really good." It was the first time I had ever received any kind of compliment from him, and I was flabbergasted for a moment.
"...Thank you, Sir," I said.
"Where are the crab crackers?" Mindy asked.
"Crab crackers...?" I asked. I had never heard of crab crackers before.
"Yes, crab crackers," she said, looking at me like I was stupid. "We can't eat crab without crab crackers."
"So sorry, Miss," I said. "I'll go get them."
I wandered into the kitchen, wondering why anyone would eat crackers with their crab. Then again, I had never eaten crab before. I searched the cupboards, but I didn't find any boxes of crab crackers. The closest I could find was a box of oyster crackers, which I took into the dining room.
"I'm sorry, Miss," I said apologetically. "I couldn't find any crab crackers. But I did find some oyster crackers. Will this be acceptable?"
"Is this a joke?" Mindy asked. She turned to Daniel. "Is your drudge really this stupid? We need crab crackers and he gives us... crackers?"
My stepfather rose from his seat and walked to where I was standing.
"Dick, can I see you in the kitchen, please?" he said, grabbing me by my ear and hauling me into the other room.
"You've got some nerve, embarrassing the family like that in front of Mindy Van Lanningham," he said, his handsome face red with anger. "Don't you know who her father is?"
"...Senator Van Lanningham?" I guessed, after a moment.
"That's right," he snapped. "One of the most powerful men in Wisconsin. And you pull your lame joke in front of her like that. Shame on you!"
He slapped me across the face. Hard.
"A servant shows respect to his superiors," he lectured me.
"But Sir," I protested, lifting my hand to my reddening cheek, "it wasn't a joke. I'm sorry I served the wrong crackers! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry, Sir!"
Jake marched me over to the silverware drawer, and told me to open it, which I did. He pointed to a row of silver utensils that looked like nutcrackers.
"Those are crab crackers," he said. "I don't know what's worse: the thought that you're too fucking dumb to know what a crab cracker is, or the idea that you're fucking stupid enough to joke like that in front of a U.S. senator's daughter. Either way, you've shown how much of an idiot you are."
"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, my eyes welling with tears. "I didn't know!"
"Which is it, Dick?" he asked me. "Are you too stupid to know what a crab cracker is, or are you too stupid to know better than to joke around like that with the daughter of a senator?"
"The first one," I admitted.
"Say it," he demanded.
"I... I'm too stupid to know what a crab cracker is, Sir," I said, blushing in shame.
"Dick, I don't know what to do with you," Jake said to me. "Every time I think you're finally improving, you take two steps backward. Go take those crab crackers in and apologize to Mindy for your stupidity."
"Yes, Sir," I said, as I grabbed four crab crackers from the drawer.
"And, Dick?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"I'm issuing you thirty demerits for this stunt," he said.
I cringed at the thought. Thirty demerits was 150 swats of the paddle or belt.
Later that evening, Mom came home. I was so glad to see her; it had been a really tough two weeks. I was washing the dinner plates when she came up to hug me.
"Mom, I really missed you," I said quietly.
"I missed you, too, Richard," she said. "Did you have a fun trip to Milwaukee? I heard you got to stay at the university, in a really nice fraternity. Christopher e-mailed to tell us that you were 'shocked' at what a great time you had up there."
"I WAS shocked. Mom, it was..." I said.
"I'm so glad it was fun," she said. "I was so worried about you, Richard. I'm glad things are getting better for you. I just knew they would! You just needed time to adjust, that's all. Everyone told me it would just take some time: Mary Ramsey and her husband, Andrew; the women at the country club; Reverend Thorne and his wife. They were all right. I'm so relieved!"
"Honey, I have some really good news," she continued. "I'm pregnant!"
I just stood there for a moment, stunned.
Mom was talking about how happy our family would be, now that we'd all be united by the baby, but I wasn't really paying attention. All I could think about was that Mom was never going to leave Jake now. She was really, truly on board with this whole indentured servitude thing.
I felt like I had suddenly lost my mother. And yet, there she was, chatting merrily about how great everything was going to be.
"Marsha!" I heard my stepfather call. "Honey, I need you."
"Coming!" she called, then turned back to me. "Oh, Richard. I'm so glad things are working out after all."
She kissed me on the cheek and then left the kitchen.
I stood there, alone, in the kitchen.
Finally, I went back to washing the dishes, and then I took out the trash. Saturdays were garbage days, so I had to take the cans to the curb so that the garbage truck would take the trash in the morning. It was cold outside, with a bit of snow already falling to the ground. I'd have to make the trip to the street quick, or I'd get really cold.
As I wheeled the can down the driveway towards the curb, I saw someone else on the other side of the picket fence hauling bags of trash to the can that was already at the curb on his side of the fence.
He was handsome. He was huge. He was completely naked.
The man in front of me was a muscle god. He looked like a professional bodybuilder, with sculpted, chiseled muscles everywhere. I gawked at him walking to the curb in front of me, almost wheeling the trash can into the fence, distracted by this huge hunk of man. From the back, I could see his wide, muscular back, tapering to a narrow waist. I could see his striated glutes and the backs of his big, muscular thighs.
As I reached the curb, we were only a few feet apart. He turned and saw me. I noticed he was wearing an iron collar, much like mine. He was a contract laborer, just like me. He had beautiful green eyes.
"What's your name?" he asked me, his voice a deep bass.
"Richard," I said. "What's yours?"
"Ofjoseph," he replied.
"Of...?"
"Ofjoseph," he repeated. He looked down as he began tying the trash bags closed.
"Best go inside, Richard," he said. "Too cold out to be standing around."
"I'd like to... talk," I said. I had never had a chance to speak with a fellow servant before.
"Not now," he said. "It's not allowed. Too many eyes right now. Come back here at six on Sunday morning."
I nodded. He went inside. I watched him walking, my dick rock hard in my undershorts.
I had to stand outside on the porch for a while, before I could go inside. I didn't want anyone to see me erect.
When I came back inside, Jake was waiting for me. He had gotten ready for bed, and was wearing just a pair of boxer briefs. The boxer briefs accentuated his big package.
"Time to work off those demerits, boy," he said. "Let's walk out to the woodshed."
Reluctantly, I went with him out to the woodshed.
Behind the house, across from the greenhouse but further out, there was a small, detached building, painted gray. This was the woodshed.
As I walked in, my stepfather ordered me to strip. He turned on the dim bulb that hung suspended from the ceiling, and pulled a dusty wooden sawhorse over from the corner into the middle of the shed.
"Hand me that razor strop, boy," he said, gesturing to the wall, where a tan, belt-like object hung from a nail in the wall. It was flexible, like a belt, but as I took it down, I could feel it was heavier.
"Sir," I said respectfully, "Please don't hit me with this thing."
"Dick, need I remind you yet again that you signed up to serve?" Jake said.
"Sir, why do you want to hit me like this?" I asked.
"I don't WANT to hit you, Dick," my stepfather explained to me in that condescending tone he got when he lectured me. "It's for your own good. You know this. You must be punished for your sins, and corrected when you've done wrong. Now, I won't brook any more nonsense this evening. Put your hands on that sawhorse, boy."
Doing so required me to bend down slightly.
"Let me know when you're ready, Dick," Jake said.
Would I EVER be ready for this?!
And yet, I knew I had to GET ready. His patience would wear thin quickly.
"I'm ready, Sir," I said, hating myself for saying the words.
"Don't forget to count them, boy," he said. "And say, 'Thank you, may I have another?'"
"Yes, Sir," I said, miserably.
WHAP! The first blow landed on my bare buttocks. As I had suspected, the leather strop was considerably more painful than either the paddle or the belt.
"One, Sir," I grunted, adding, "Thank you, may I have another?"
WHAP! The second blow, like the first, landed on my buttocks.
"Two, Sir," I said. "Thank you, may I have another?"
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The third swing hit just my right buttock, as did the fourth and fifth. But the sixth through tenth struck my left buttock.
I dutifully called out each one, and thanked my stepfather for each swing of the strop, asking for additional punishment.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The 11th through the 16th went back to striking both buttocks; the 17th through the 22nd alternated between the left one and the right one. 23, though, caught me by surprise when it struck my shoulder blade.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! 24 through 34 landed on my back; 35 through 45 across my shoulders.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! From there, Jake moved down to the backs of my thighs for 45 through 55. These were particularly painful, and I screamed after every swing.
"Don't buck, boy," Jake said. "Hold still. Take your punishment like a man."
I did my best, but it wasn't easy, and tears were leaking down my cheeks at this point.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! 56 through 68 revisited my buttocks, while 69 through 74 hit my calves. #75 caught me totally off-guard, hitting me in the back of the head.
"Alright, Dick," Jake said to me. "I don't think there's a square inch on your backside left to hit. You can let go of the sawhorse now."
With great relief, I released my grip on the wooden sawhorse. I had been grasping the sawhorse so tightly that even in the dim light, I could see the areas where my fingernails had dug into the wood. I noticed I was covered in sweat, despite the coldness in the woodshed. To my chagrin, I had an intense hard-on.
Gingerly, I turned around to face my stepfather. He, too, was drenched in sweat, his powerful arms slick with perspiration, his face, neck, and chest soaked and shiny; beads of sweat rolled down his 8-pack abs. His boxer briefs were soaked with perspiration, clinging to his body.
"Sir, am I done for the night?" I asked.
"No, Dick," he replied. "We're only at 75, remember? I'll do your front side now."
My heart sank at those awful words.
"Sir, please..." I began.
"Go ahead and put your hands on top of your head, Dick," he interrupted. "And spread your legs so I can get your inner thighs."
"But Sir..." I begged.
"Not another word, Dick," he said, sternly. "Assume the position."
Reluctantly, I slowly complied.
I had thought the backside was painful, but it was nothing compared to the thrashing I got on my front side. He used the leather strop first on my chest, striking from my pecs down to a few inches below my belly button. Then he did my thighs, making sure he got the sensitive inner parts.
"Alright, boy," he said. "Now spread your arms out to the side so I can get your shoulders."
He struck my shoulders and arms, covering everything between my elbows and my neck with strokes from the leather strop.
At 149, he stopped.
"Just one left, boy," he said, as he paused, then swung his arm down, bringing the razor strop down hard across my erect penis.
"AAUGH!" I cried, collapsing to the ground, as I clutched my stinging dick. I sobbed silently on the floor for a while. I hated this man!!!
"All done, boy," he said. "Now, Dick, I want you to go to bed and think long and hard about how you can better serve this family in the future. Because you must learn to serve, and serve correctly. I love you, boy, but I won't tolerate stupidity."
I got up off the dusty floor, and gingerly bent down to grab my underclothes, then limped back to the house, and had a quiet cry in the dark. I slept poorly that night; I wasn't able to find any position that wasn't painful.
To be continued...