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, although some elements are autobiographical in nature. 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 everyone for the feedback, story ideas, and nice comments, including Larry, Thor, Brian, Peter, Joe, Vision, Drew, Daniel, and Mike. Story ideas are always appreciated, and I use them whenever possible.
For those of you who have been asking about the roots of this story, some parts of this twisted tale are autobiographical in nature, including 'Johnny Jet', the authoritarian head of household (the author's uncle), strict discipline and familial Bible teachings, Chem lab, the unsympathetic teacher, gym class, Daniel and Christopher, abject poverty, Midwestern life, and the flaky mother.
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Cinderfella, part 26
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 living in his house. Every day seemed worse than the one before. Then, to my surprise, my life became even worse when Jake sold my contract to Mr. George Witt, a man who treated me like a farm animal, and who even leased me back to Mr. Head. But things got even worse for me when Jake's son Adam, who worked for many years as a slaver in Mississippi, came for a visit.
"Wow! That was impressive," Jake said. "You really got Dick to move, Adam."
"Way to go, big brother!" Christopher said, patting Adam on the shoulder. "You really made that bitch move!"
"That's nothing," Adam said to them. "Wait 'til we get to the really BIG rocks! You won't believe what a bitch can do, once it's given a little encouragement."
I pulled boulders around the yard long into the night.
The next morning, I could barely get out of bed. I ached. Oh, how I ached. My back, shoulders, and buttocks were covered in welts. My neck, which had been arched back and held in place for hours, was so stiff that I couldn't move it. My whole mouth, inside and out, was sore and chafed after having a horse's bit in it for so many hours. My legs were sore from straining with the heavy loads. My arms screamed from being shackled to that monstrous yoke. I barely had the willpower to breathe. But I knew I had better get breakfast made, or there would be hell to pay.
I limped upstairs and into the kitchen and went through the motions of making breakfast. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away. I wanted to crumple onto the floor in a ball. Instead, I poached eggs for my Stepmaster and his sons. And when they came down for breakfast, I was as subserviant as possible.
Over breakfast, Christopher suggested that the Heads should go out to the Worthington Country Club for a round of golf.
"Oh, I don't know, Chris," Jake said. "It's such a warm day. I don't want to spend too much time in the sun. Besides, the club charges quite a bit for caddy service..."
"Dad, it's pretty shaded over there," Adam said. "Besides, we can have your bitch be the caddy."
God, why does he hate me so much?!
"Dick? But he doesn't even have a caddy outfit."
"We could have him wear a green smock over his bellhop uniform," Christopher helpfully suggested.
"That's a pretty good idea, Chris," Jake said. "Alright, that sounds like a plan. Dick, go get your bellhop uniform on, and then get my golf bag loaded up into the trunk. Chop chop, boy."
I hurried to dress in my stupid bellhop outfit, and then loaded my Stepmaster's golf club bag into the left-hand side of the trunk of the car, leaving room for myself. I knew I wouldn't be allowed to ride in the vehicle itself.
When I went back inside, Daniel tossed a green smock at me. I put it on over my bellhop outfit, as instructed. I must have looked so stupid.
Then we went out to get in the car. As I went to get into the trunk, I heard Adam protest.
"Woah, woah, woah. Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, bitch?" He grabbed me by my already sore neck (ow!) and spun me around. He looked angry. I dropped my gaze to his feet, knowing better than to look him in the eyes. Looking him in the eyes made him angry. Well, even more angry than usual.
Even though I couldn't see his eyes, I felt them piercing me. I felt like prey.
"I... I'm sorry, Master," I stammered. "I... I... I..."
"I, I, I," he mocked, his face inches from mine. "You gonna finish that sentence, retard?"
"...I thought I was supposed to get in the trunk, Master," I said. "I'm so sorry for assuming."
"You know what happens when you assume, bitch? It makes an ass out of you," he smirked.
"You guys don't seriously allow your bitch to ride in your car, do you?" he asked, turning to Jake, Daniel and Christopher.
"Just in the trunk," Daniel said. "Not in the car itself. Why, Adam?"
"You should never let your bitch ride in a car. It makes them fat and lazy, just like this piece of shit. Make it run alongside the vehicle, like the dog that it is. That'll give it a bit of a workout, and save on gas money."
Jake nodded, as Adam shut the trunk. "I suppose that makes sense," he said.
"Don't dawdle, bitch," Adam said, slapping my cheek playfully. "Keep up with the car."
I couldn't believe they were going to make me run alongside the car. But as the Jag backed down the driveway, I knew I'd have to keep up. I groaned inwardly. Not this morning, of all mornings! Not after last night. God, please let him be joking. But I already knew he wasn't. Master Adam hated me. He truly despised me. If only I were a better servant!
The first part of the trip wasn't so bad. Even though I was barefoot, I was able to keep up fairly easily because Jake drove fairly slowly. My cock and balls bounced around in what must have been an amusing way, only partially hidden under my stupid bellhop outfit and the stupid green smock. I heard my stepbrothers in the car, howling with laughter as I ran to keep up with the car. My face burned with shame as I ran down the street, my cock and balls bouncing as I ran. My tackle bouncing around was uncomfortable, but not unbearably so. But my back, shoulders, legs and arms ached, and every running step reminded me that my body had already been pushed to its absolute limits (and beyond) just a few hours earlier.
It was a lot harder to keep up with the car when we got to the main road, where the speed limit increased. By the time we got to the turn-off on River Road, I was seriously behind. I just couldn't keep up with a vehicle, and my body hadn't had a chance to fully rest; I had a stitch in my side, and I was out of breath. My entire body still ached from last night's grueling ordeal... I lurched along as fast as I could, but I figured I must have been five minutes behind them when I reached the white gates of Worthington Country Club. I limped along the driveway and ran through the gates, down the path across the wide, carefully manicured lawns. In a panic, I searched for the Jag in the parking lot. Eventually, I found it. The trunk was open, so I rushed over and pulled out Jake's golf bag, then dashed inside.
The attendant at the front door started yelling at me. "Boy, what's wrong with you!? Can't you read? Servants have to use the rear entrance!" He slapped me in the face repeatedly and then pushed me back outside. I had to go around the building to the rear entrance. Of course, I had to FIND the stupid rear entrance first.
By the time I got to the golfing pavillion, I knew I was in hot water.
"You're ten minutes late, bitch," Christopher said, shaking his head as he tapped his watch. "What took you so fucking long?"
"I'm sorry, Masters. Truly I am. I just couldn't keep up --"
"Save your pathetic excuses for someone who gives a shit," Adam growled, getting in my face again. "Why are you such a fuck up, Dickhead?"
"I'm sorry, Master," I babbled.
"No! Answer me! Why are you such a fuck up?" Master Adam growled, his handsome, angry Free Man face just inches from mine.
"...I'm... I'm a fuck-up because I'm a pathetic homo servant," I said meekly and automatically. I knew, by now, what to say. And although I knew it was somewhat unfair of them to make me run all the way to the country club while they rode in the car, I also knew that the words I was saying were true: I really was a pathetic homo servant.
Master Adam wasn't satisfied with my answer, and made me call myself more names: a retarded, ignorant, foolish cocksucker that didn't deserve his kind Masters. Then he made me say it again, replacing the word 'his' with 'its'. After I said this ten times, I was allowed to apologize for wasting their precious time with my foolish dawdling. It was deeply humiliating, mostly because he made me grovel on the ground while I repeated the words over and over, until it sunk into my thick servant skull.
Only then was I allowed to stand up again.
"Dick, I thought we talked about this before," Jake said, putting his hand on my shoulder, and squeezing it firmly. "When you dawdle, you disobey the will of the Lord. Proverbs 19:15 says, 'An idle servant will suffer hunger.' And Second Thessalonians 3:6 says, 'If anyone is not willing to work, let him not eat'. The Bible says that servants who are lazy or slow must pay the penalty for their sins. Those who idle and waste the precious time of others don't deserve to eat alongside those who work hard. That means there will be no dinner for you tonight. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Master," I said.
"I mean it, Dick," Jake continued. "No dinner tonight. No tasting the food to see if it's done. And no eating leftover scraps from the table when we're done eating, either. Any leftovers go straight into the trash, understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"In fact, if your rebellious behavior continues, we may have to talk about putting you on a diet for the rest of your visit. I emailed your mother a picture that I took of you last night, and she barely recognized you. You've put on a lot of weight, boy. Gluttony is unbecoming in servants."
"Yes, Master. Sorry Master," I said.
"Your mother said she didn't like seeing all that weight on you, boy," Jake continued. "She was quite upset."
"I'm sorry, Master," I said again.
"'Sorry' doesn't solve the problem, Dick," Jake said in a peevish tone. He lectured me for a good fifteen minutes on the evils of gluttony. I apologized profusely, but every time I spoke, it just seemed to make him more angry. I finally shut my stupid retard mouth and let Master Jake do all the talking. We eventually agreed that, starting tomorrow, I would be going on something called the 'Jackman Diet': nothing but egg whites for breakfast, no carbs at all, and high protein. That would melt the fat off my body and get my weight down to an acceptable level. I was also to drink no liquids. This would also reduce my bodyfat to below 6%, where it should properly be.
After that, I was allowed to caddy for the Heads on 18 holes of golf. At first, the morning was cool, so the first few holes weren't so bad, and despite my aches and pains from yesterday's labors, I managed okay. But then the day became really hot, and I struggled to run around, carrying that heavy bag of golf clubs behind the golf cart. I learned an important lesson the hard way on the 8th green, when I fell too far behind and Master Adam was forced to use the 9 iron on my balls. I knew I deserved it, and was ashamed.
Afterwards, my Masters were lounging about on the patio chairs of the country club's restaurant, discussing the day, as the waiter got them drinks. For a long time, they ignored me, and I was grateful for the respite. But I knew it wouldn't last.
Then Master Adam turned to me and said, "Bitch, take that pathetic homo costume off."
Did he really want me naked in public? Here on the patio? In front of people? A quick glance around showed me that there were four or five occupied tables in the restaurant. Everyone would see me naked.
But I knew better than to protest. Reluctantly, I took off the green smock, and then pulled the bellhop uniform up over my head, folding it neatly and setting it on one of the patio chairs. Then I took off the cap and set it aside as well. Now I was standing naked on the patio of the country club. I knew all the guests at the country club could see me. I blushed a crimson red.
Master Adam said, "It's time for a lesson in humility, bitch. Take off my shoes."
I knelt down and obeyed his command. After 18 holes of golf, his feet smelled very ripe.
"Now the socks, bitch."
I took his socks off as well.
He put his foot up on the patio coffee table.
"My feet really stink after all that exertion. Lick my foot clean, bitch!" he barked.
Slowly I bent down and began licking his foot, as he barked orders, commanding me to "really get between the toes" and "don't forget the soles". He made me lick all the way up to his ankles. When he was satisfied that I had cleaned his left foot well enough, he made me do his right foot, too.
Then he pulled off his polo shirt, and made me lick out his armpits as well.
Then he pulled his cock and balls out of his fly. "Go ahead and clean my package, too, faggot," he growled.
I squatted between his spread legs and licked him until he grew hard. Then he pushed his big prick between my lips and I serviced him. He deep-throated me, making me take his giant babymaker all the way into my throat.
I gave him a long, slow blow-job, as he insulted me, calling me a "fag, queen, poof, pansy, and a fruit". Not content with that, he continued hurling insult after insult at me. I was a fairy, a pantywaist, a dicklicker, a shitpacker, a pervert, an ass pirate, a creep, a cock-slut, a pantywaist, a jism jockey, a moron, and a cum dumpster.
Eventually, Master Adam's insults turned to groans of pleasure as he approached climax. And when he at last came, he pulled out of my throat and jizzed all over my stupid servant face.
To be continued...
What should happen next? Should Dick finally be given his freedom?