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 Orso, Crockshucker, Elvis, Larry, Alex and Jacob for all the feedback, and especially to Seraph, whose story idea was used in this installment.
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 11
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. Every day seemed worse than the one before. But the day I was told that I'd be staying with my stepbrothers was completely miserable.
There was a ray of light coming in from a four-inch hole in the wall between the back seat and the trunk. That was the 'slave vent', I realized. I could hear the four of them talking. I heard Christopher turn on the car, as the radio blasted music and then the car lurched down the driveway and out to the street.
As I sat naked in the trunk of my stepbrothers' car, I wondered if my life could get any worse. The floor of the trunk was hard. I shivered as I lay on the floor of the trunk. It clearly wasn't designed for a human being to lay down in it, with awkward angles everywhere. The floor was hard plastic, with a thin layer of carpet over that. The roof of the trunk was too low to sit up, so I could only lay there, shifting my position when it became too uncomfortable. The suitcases and bits of trash shifted around when the vehicle turned. An aluminum can rolled up against my leg several times until I crushed it to prevent it from rolling around.
The only break in the darkness was the 'slave vent'. I could hear my stepbrothers and their girlfriends talking as Christopher drove. I could hear the music from the radio. But mostly, I heard the sounds of the car, since my head was resting against the bottom of the vehicle. The vibrating of the floor was particularly annoying. I couldn't lay my head anywhere without my head shaking, like a demented game of "Johnny Jet". Well, extra demented.
I shivered in the dark. I felt so alone.
I heard Daniel speaking to me through the vent. "How you doing back there, Icky Ricky?"
"Sir, I'm very cold," I said. "May I please sit up front?" I already knew what the answer would be, but I had to try.
"Sorry, Icky. No can do! But here, I'll warm up the trunk for you."
The light from the vent went dark, as Daniel placed something against the vent. I couldn't see what it was.
A foul stench began filling the trunk as I heard the passengers burst into laughter. Daniel was farting up against the 'slave vent'.
"Oh, that's disgusting!" I heard one of the women say.
"He loves it! Don't you, Icky Ricky?" Daniel taunted me.
"Sir, no Sir," I replied, trying to keep some small shred of my dignity. Quietly, I wept in the darkness. I hated these creeps. But even more, I hated myself for agreeing to this hellish contract. How could I have ever been so stupid?! I felt like the proverbial Cinderella, treated like shit by a cruel stepfamily who only kept me around for labor. But Cinderella had a fairy Godmother; I didn't have jack. I had a good cry where no one could see me, and tried to rest.
I don't know how much time had passed, but it seemed like hours. I still couldn't find a comfortable position, and I felt a little carsick. I was supremely grateful, then, when the car began slowing down.
"Shit! It's a cop," I heard someone (Christopher?) say, beyond the vent.
"Pull over," Daniel said.
I felt the car pulling over onto the side of the highway, gravel under the tires now.
A long pause. Then a voice.
"Y'all were going a little fast, there sir. May I please see yoah license and registration?"
I couldn't see what was going on, and could only guess that the police officer had been given the documents.
"Well... I'll let you off with just a warning," I heard the officer say. "Just the four of y'all in the vehicle?"
"Yeah, that's it," Christopher said. "Just us four. Oh, and Icky Ricky in the trunk."
The officer said something that I didn't catch. But I got the gist when the the door of the trunk popped open.
After so long in the dark, the light outside was blinding. I could see only the silhouette of the policeman as he peered in at me.
"You Icky Ricky, boah?"
It took me a second to figure out that 'boah' meant 'boy'.
"Answer me, boah," the officer demanded. He had a strong Southern accent and a firm, no-nonsense tone. He looked stern, although it was hard to tell; he was wearing those mirrored sunglasses that made it impossible to see his eyes. All I could tell was that he was a large, darkly-tanned man in a black police uniform.
"Yes... Sir," I mumbled, embarrassed to be naked in front of this policeman. "But my name's actually Richard..."
"Step on out, here, boah," the officer ordered. "Step on out."
I slowly, awkwardly crawled out of the trunk, trying to figure out how to do so without falling down. I stumbled as my bare feet hit the gravel. It was cold outside, the wind whipping around my naked body. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light. We were on the shoulder of a busy highway, cars whizzing past us.
I was embarrassed to be standing naked on the highway, especially in front of a police officer.
"You a servant, boah?"
"Yes, Sir," I muttered.
"Speak up, boah," he ordered. "I asked if yoah a servant."
"Yes, Sir," I repeated.
"This yoah beer can, boah?" he asked, pulling the crushed aluminum can out of the trunk.
"No, Sir," I said.
"You sure, boah?" he interrogated. "I can lift fingerprints off this if I have to."
"I haven't been drinking, Sir!" I insisted.
"You drunk, boah?" the officer asked.
"No, Sir," I answered.
"Then why the fuck are you staggering and mumbling?" he questioned. "Answer me, BOAH!"
"Sir, I'm just... dizzy from being in the trunk," I stammered. "It's been hours. And I'm cold."
"The correct way for a contract laborer to address an Officer of the Law is 'Honorable Officer'," he said. "Are you aware, boah, that it's illegal for a servant to drink alcohol in the state of Wisconsin?"
"Sir... honorable officer..." I corrected myself, "I haven't been drinking. I swear!"
"Then you won't mind taking a full field sobriety test," he said.
He took his flashlight and shined it into my eyes. Then he made me walk thirty steps along the white painted strip on the side of the road. He made me hold out my arms as I walked, going fast when he said 'go fast' and going slow when he said 'go slow'. On the way back to the car, he had me walk backwards the whole way.
Then he had me stand on one leg for a full minute. I could hardly do these things because I was disoriented, cold, and scared. And I was humiliated to be standing on the side of the road, completely naked, as cars honked and people hooted out their windows.
Standing in front of the car, I could see my stepbrothers laughing at me through the window.
"Honorable officer, I swear I'm not drunk," I said again. "I don't drink at all!"
"I'll be the judge of that," he said. "Alright, boah. Let's see you duck-walk."
"But, Sir," I said, "Please..."
"Boah, don't MAKE me take you downtown," the police officer threatened. "Do you know what happens to contract laborers who go to jail?"
I didn't have a real choice, I could see. Back when I was still a Free Man, I had heard the stories of servants in jail; how they were considered the lowest of the low among the inmates. How they were treated like they were lower than dirt. How they were used.
"Don't test me, boah," he continued. "Now you squat down and get goin'."
To my chagrin, the police officer made me squat down, put my hands under my armpits, and waddle thirty feet down the road, walking like I was a duck. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. The worst part was coming back, duck-walking all the way; I could see my stepbrothers howling with laughter as they sat in their car watching.
"Let's see that again, boah," the officer said. "This time, flap yoah arms."
Wishing I was dead, I flapped my arms as I waddled thirty feet down the side of the highway, and then back.
As I was waddling back, I saw a second police officer step out of the patrol car and walk up to where the first officer was standing.
"What seems to be the problem, Miller?" the second officer asked the first. "You giving this boy a hard time?"
"Suspect's wobbly and reported dizziness," the first officer, Officer Miller presumably, replied. "Found a beer can next to where he way laying. I suspect the boah's drunk. I'm about to book him on suspicion of public intox of a contract laborer."
"You been drinking, boy?" the second officer asked me, looking in my eyes. "Stand up, lad. Oh, your eyes do look bloodshot." He looked concerned. His name tag identified him as Captain Greene.
"Honorable Officer, Sir, I've just... I haven't been drinking, Sir," I insisted.
"Alright, boy," Officer Greene said. "What's your name, lad?"
"It's Richard, Honorable Officer," I said.
"Richard. That's a fine name, lad," he smiled. He had kindly eyes. "You look like a good boy, Richard."
A few weeks ago, I would have bristled at being called 'a good boy'. I was a man! Or had been. But this policeman, at least, seemed genuinely respectful.
"Richard, I'd prefer not to have to take you downtown," he said. "It's not a place for lads like you."
"Thank you, Sir," I replied.
"Now, Richard, let's try a different type of field sobriety test, okay? This'll prove your guilt or innocence." He patted me kindly on the back of my shoulders as he moved behind me.
"Yes, Sir," I agreed, eager to prove my innocence.
"Alright, now. Face Officer Miller, boy. Look right at him. Concentrate on his tie. You concentrating?"
"Yes, Sir," I said.
"And Officer Miller, you look at Richard's face, alright? Check for signs of sobriety."
Officer Miller nodded.
"You still concentrating on that tie, boy?"
"Yes, Sir," I said.
"Good," he said, as his knee suddenly came up hard between my legs, slamming into my groin.
I doubled over in pain, groaning, as Officer Greene said, "There now. If he'd been drinking, he probably wouldn't have felt that, Miller."
"Sir," I squeaked as I cupped my testicles, "why'd you do that?"
"I'm sorry about that, boy," Officer Green said, patting my shoulders gently. "I just had to see if you felt that. A man who's been drinking doesn't feel a lot of pain, you see. I think that clearly demonstrated that you're sober."
"I'm not convinced, Greene," Officer Miller said. "I think the boah's feigning the pain."
"Well, let's try it a second time, then," Officer Greene said, as he pulled me upright. "Come on, Richard. Stand up straight. Spread your legs just a bit more. That's a good lad. You ready?"
"No, Sir," I said. "Please... I... haven't been drinking!"
"The suspect's being uncooperative, Greene," Officer Miller said. "I say we book him."
"Come, on, boy. Let's get this over with," the man behind me said.
"Don't do this, Sir," I said.
"Come on, lad," Officer Greene urged. "It'll be over before you know it. We just have to prove that you really feel the pain."
"I feel it!" I insisted.
"Let us be the judge of that, boah," Officer Miller said.
"Come on, Richard. Be a good lad," his partner said. "Almost done. Spread your legs a bit more. I gotta get my knee up there. That's it."
Reluctantly, I braced myself for another blow to the groin.
"Alright, boy. Look at Officer Miller's tie. Concentrate on it. You ready, boy?"
I nodded my head.
SLAM! Officer Greene brought his knee up into my crotch for the second time, powering hard into my already sore nuts. I dropped to my knees as pain rocketed upward through my body, radiating from my now swelling balls. Somewhere in the distance, someone was honking a horn, but I barely noticed, so great was the pain.
"Alright, Miller. What did you think? Surely the expression on the boy's face convinced you."
"Actually, I missed it," Officer Miller said. "Those college kids honked their car horn just now, and I ended up looking over at them."
"Well, let's give it another try, then," Officer Greene said. "Come on, boy. Get up. That's it. Last one, I promise."
I slowly rose from my knees, as I heard howls of laughter from the car, pain still radiating from my swollen testicles.
Officer Greene guided me into position. "Let's get those legs spread out a bit more, Richard. That's it. That a boy. A little wider. Little more. Bit more. That's good."
I stood there, practically doing the splits now, as Officer Green stood behind me, helping me stay balanced by holding me up by my shoulders. I physically couldn't spread my legs any wider. I felt so exposed.
"Last one, boy. You ready?"
With great reluctance, I nodded.
"Say the words, Richard," Officer Greene said.
"...I'm ready, Sir," I said.
But Officer Greene didn't knee me in the groin. Instead, from the front, Officer Miller suddenly kicked me as hard as possible in the balls, power driving his booted foot into my unprotected crotch. As his foot made contact with my balls, I felt them explode with pain as nausea immediately overwhelmed me.
The blow sent me reeling up and backwards, and only Officer Greene holding me by my shoulders kept me upright.
"What do you think, Miller?" he asked, as I fell to the ground, grabbing my crotch as I lay in the fetal position, whimpering as I tried not to vomit.
"Yeah, he definitely felt that," Miller said. "You should have seen his eyes, Greene. Nearly popped out of his head." He laughed.
I lay in the gravel for a while, tears streaming down my face, as I cupped my swollen nutsack. I laid there until Officer Greene helped me to my feet. "There, now, lad," he said. "It wasn't so bad; come on, Richard. Get up, boy."
He helped me back to the car; as I limped past the driver's window, still holding my crotch, I heard them laughing in the car. I didn't even look at them.
Officer Greene helped me into the trunk, and, with a last admonishment to "be a good boy", closed the door of the trunk. Soon we were pulling away.
After just a few minutes, I felt the car pull into a driveway. My new 'home' for the next two weeks.
To be continued...