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 Seraph, Alan, Mike, Em, Wayne, Keith, Sanchez, Cub, Roberto, Wicked, David, and Donna. Special thanks to Dean for an idea I used in this chapter.
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 15
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.
The following morning, I was incredibly stiff and sore, as you might imagine. I laid in bed the whole morning, and did not get up until noon. I did not attempt to do my chores or wait on the masters of the house. I just couldn't physically make myself move, and mentally, I had reached a low ebb. My body was covered in bruises from elbow to elbow, and from my knees to the back of my head.
I was sore, I was tired, and I was angry. But more than anything, I felt beaten down. I felt like what little fight I had left in me had vanished, beaten away by bullies. I was quite depressed. It just seemed like things were getting worse and worse. Like there was no hope.
And yet, a part of me acknowledged that I had signed up for this treatment. I had legally obligated myself to allow them to do whatever they wanted to me. I wasn't a Free Man anymore. I was property. And I had signed the contract myself.
Saturday night was horrible. My body had recovered quite a bit, but my mind still dwelled on the treatment I had received. That night, Jake and my mother had apparently decided to go out, Christopher had gone to visit friends, and I was left at home with Daniel and Mindy.
When I heard Daniel bellowing for me to come out to the jacuzzi, I knew I was in trouble. Daniel enjoyed making an example of me in front of Mindy, and I was pretty sure that's what he had in mind yet again.
"Ick, there you are," my step-brother said. "Get your pansy ass over here. I wanna talk to you."
Reluctantly, I approached the jacuzzi. I could see they were frolicking in the hot tub. As I walked over, Mindy, who was topless, started to cover herself up with a towel.
"Mindy, dear, don't bother covering yourself up," Daniel said. "Icky Ricky here is a total faggot. Isn't that right, boy?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, obediently. I knew better than to contradict either of my stepbrothers. It just made them meaner. It just made things worse.
"Icky Ricky's not interested in looking at your tits, and the only way he'd be interested in your snatch is if someone shit in it," he said.
"That's disgusting!" Mindy said.
"I agree!" Daniel said. "But that's what fags like. They like packing fudge."
"No, YOU'RE disgusting!" she said, slapping his arm. Yet despite her disgust, she was still sitting next to him.
"Icky Ricky's only interested in big dicks. He spent years checking out hot guys in the gym, peeping on them, and then jacking off in the showers. Ain't that right, fudgepacker?"
"Yes, Sir," I lied, feeling like a total loser.
"He loves hot guys," Daniel goaded further. "I hear he loves sucking cock, too. Christopher says Icky Ricky here has sucked the cocks of every member of Zeta Omicron. That true, buttmunch?"
"Yes, Sir," I admitted. "Everyone's but yours."
Then Daniel stood up in the hot tub; he was naked. He stepped out of the jacuzzi, then came around to the side of the tub, as water cascaded down his legs. He leaned up against the edge of the hot tub.
"Mindy's too pure to service me," he said. "She says it's too gross to put a dick in her mouth. But I know YOU want my bone in your mouth. Don't you, asswipe?"
"Yes, Sir," I admitted. It was embarrassing, but it was true.
"I heard fags give really good head." Daniel said. "I heard it's because they love the taste of jizz. Why don't you come over here and show me if what they say is true?"
I was embarrassed by my step-brother's words, but I couldn't deny, messed up as it was, that I did want his dick. Slowly, I walked up to my stepbrother, and then I sank to my knees.
Daniel wrapped one hand around the back of my head, while he pushed my mouth open with the other. His penis, still wet from the jacuzzi, started getting hard as he rubbed my face on his cockshaft.
"Feel that cock, boy?" he said. "That's a real man's cock, not that pathetic clit little between your legs."
As his cock hardened further, he rubbed his big 8-inch prick all over my face.
I stuck out my tongue and began licking Daniel's big cockshaft, as Mindy watched from inside the jacuzzi. I saw her from the corner of my eye, as she changed positions in the hot tub. She was moving so she could get a better view.
"Lick the head, too, bitch," Daniel demanded, as he pulled my head upwards, towards the head of his cock.
"Mmmm... that feels pretty fuckin' good," Daniel groaned. "Lick that head. Lick it like it's a lollipop. That's it. Mmmmmm... fuck!"
I licked his cock from his balls to the head, and then back down again, licking every square inch of his man-shaft. I ran my tongue up and down, coating his big prick in my saliva. I licked his piss slit, running my tongue along his pee hole, lapping up his pre-cum with my tongue. I licked around his big mushroom head, and then ran my tongue back down his cockshaft.
Then he pulled my face back up to the head of his penis.
"Time to suck, boy," he said. "Better show me a real good time."
I formed my lips into an 'O' shape and pushed the head of his prick between my lips.
"Fuck your drudge's mouth-hole, Dan," Mindy encouraged. "Make him gag on your tool."
Daniel needed no encouragement; he was already pushing inch after inch of his fuckstick into my mouth. When he hit my throat, he kept pushing.
My gag reflex kicked in as he pushed his big Free Man's prick into my throat. I tried to back off, but he was having none of that.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he snapped. "Don't you back out on me now, faggot. We haven't even started."
He wrapped his right hand around the back of my neck, and pushed my head further onto his cockshaft. My face was impaled by his giant bone. I kept gagging, as my untrained throat tried to dislodge a huge object. My eyes filled with tears as my throat convulsed.
"That's it, bitch," Daniel laughed. "Keep gagging. Feels real good on my cock."
After what seemed like an eternity, Daniel pulled his cockshaft out of my throat. I gratefully sucked in air, but before I knew it, he was insistently pushing back into my throat.
"Fuck it," Mindy demanded. "Fuck that drudge's throat hard."
Daniel pushed his fuckstick even further down my throat, causing me to gag again. Tears were rolling down my cheeks.
"Shove it in, Dan. All the way. Make him puke."
Daniel pulled back out of my throat and then pushed back in. This time, he went for all the way in, forcing himself into my throat until my mouth reached his pubes. With his hand still wrapped around the back of my head, he held me in place for a long time, until my gag reflex started to diminish.
"Start tongueing my shaft, buttmunch," Daniel demanded. "I wanna feel your cocksucking tongue on every inch of my anaconda."
I licked and sucked on his shaft, as he slowly pulled back out of my throat. When he had backed out of my throat completely, he would shove his meatstick back in, giving me only only a moment to inhale or exhale.
"Tighten those lips, cocksuck," Daniel demanded. I obediently tightened my lips around his wang.
He pushed in and out for a while, developing a slow and steady rhythm as he slowly fucked my throat.
Then he had an idea.
I felt him grab my ears. "What do you say we play some 'Johnny Jet'? You'd like that, wouldn't you, Icky Ricky? Of course you would. You loved that game."
His fingers tightened like vices as he twisted my ears downwards, forcing me to swallow his prick by pulling my ears painfully forward.
Tears rolled down my cheeks again as I swallowed his kielbasa. When my nose brushed his golden pubes, he'd pull my ears backwards, pulling my head back off his cock. Then he'd repeat the process. He had a good, firm grip on my jug-head ears, pushing me up and down his fuckstick. Nearby, I heard Mindy moaning, as she pleasured herself in the jacuzzi while watching her boyfriend throatfuck me.
"Aw, fuck," Daniel moaned. "You fags sure know how to suck cock. But then, you had a lot of practice, sucking off every member of Zeta Omicron. Well, NOW you've sucked off every member of Zeta Omicron."
He started pulling my ears more insistently, rutting in my throat as I continued to lick his sausage. His prick was like a piston, driving into my esophagus. Over and over, he hammered my throat with his tool, plunging in and out, in and out. It seemed to go on forever.
"Mmmm.... feels real fuckin' good, bitch," he panted. "Real fuckin' good."
Then he went for the 'machine gun' part of 'Johnny Jet'; my vision blurred as he vibrated my head quickly, making it impossible for me to do anything but endure the treatment until he decided to stop.
"Oh, fuck. I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" Daniel hissed, as I felt him beginning to blow his wad in my throat.
"Drink my cum, faggot slut!" he demanded, as he shot his load in my throat. "Aw, fuck! Mmmm!!!"
"Shit! Holy fuck!" my stepbrother exclaimed, as he continued to ejaculate in my throat.
"Mmmm.... yeah," he panted, his chest heaving as he began pulling his prick out of my throat. "Don't forget to clean me up, bitch."
I cleaned him up, licking every bit of semen from his big tool, and then he dismissed me. I got one last glance at Mindy, as she lay low in the hot tub, still pleasuring herself, and then I walked back inside and downstairs, my dick still rock-hard in my undershorts. Despite the degradation and the humiliation -- or perhaps because of it -- I had been totally turned on.
I wondered what that made me. Was I really a faggot cockslut, as so many people had recently claimed?
Early the next morning, Sunday, along about 5, I got up quietly, dressed silently, and went out to the curb. I had spent several hours tossing and turning on my narrow cot, in part worried about the discovery I had made about myself, and in part because I was wondering how my first real meeting with Ofjoseph would go. We had agreed to meet early in the morning, before dawn. He was so muscular and handsome; I really wanted to make a good impression on him.
As I approached the curb, I saw him squatting down next to the driveway. Just as on Friday evening, he was naked, save for his servant collar. I wondered how he kept warm in February walking around like that. Then again, he probably had as much choice in clothing as I did: none.
As I walked up, he stood. He was so tall that it was a little intimidating.
"Hi," I said, not knowing what else to say.
"Hi Richard," he replied. "Thanks for meeting me here."
"It's kind of cold out here," I said, crossing my arms across my chest because I was quite cold.
"We can go inside the garage," he said, nodding towards the house at which he served. "Just for a little while. We'll need to keep our voices down, but Master and Mistress Van Camp sleep very soundly."
"I... I don't think I'm allowed," I said. "My stepfather wouldn't appreciate me wandering off his property."
"If you're caught, just tell them you were borrowing a cup of sugar from the servant next door," Ofjoseph said. "I'll give you a cup of it when you leave."
I paused for a moment, weighing the consequences. Then I nodded, hoping I was making the right choice. It could get me into a lot of hot water. But I needed to talk with someone like me: someone who was a servant. I followed Ofjoseph into his master's garage.
We talked, albeit quietly. Mostly of simple things: he showed me the garage, where Mr. and Mrs. Van Camp kept the weight equipment that Ofjoseph used to keep so physically fit. Ofjoseph told me that Mrs. Van Camp likes her men "built like a brick shithouse". He told me he worked out in the garage seven days a week.
Up close, Ofjoseph was just as physically impressive as he was when I first saw him in the driveway. The only thing that marred his physical perfection were some scars along his back and shoulders. I didn't ask about them.
He showed me their car, an expensive Bimmer. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Van Camp's car.
Despite his kindness, I couldn't help but feel awkward as this man stood beside me, completely naked. My eyes kept traveling over his sculpted, muscular body: past his giant python arms, across his slab-like pecs, down his shredded 8-pack, and beyond, to his impressive cock. I kept averting my eyes as we talked, but there was nowhere my eyes could rest that didn't seem lustful. Even his eyes seemed to ooze testosterone.
Suddenly, Ofjoseph said to me, "I can tell you like me, Richard."
"How?" I asked.
He gestured towards the growing bulge in my undershorts, and I blushed red.
"Don't worry about it," he smiled. "It's cool."
He was the first person I'd met since December who hadn't made me feel like a total freak for being gay. My stepfather, my stepbrothers, the assholes at the fraternity, Mr. Christiansen; they'd all treated me like shit for being a "homo" or a "slut". It actually felt weird to have someone be cool about it again. Like decent human kindness was 'abnormal'.
"Yes, I like you, Ofjoseph. Do you... like me?" I ventured, suddenly cursing myself for asking. What if he laughed in my face?
"A little," he said. "Mostly, I'm just horny."
I didn't know what to say.
"Richard," he asked me, "would you... help me out?"
"Help you out?"
"Help me... with my horniness," he explained.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, I'll help you out."
He held out his hand. I took it, and he pulled me close to him. I felt flimsy next to him. Inadequate. As he looked into my eyes, I slowly lowered myself to my knees.
He towered over me, so powerful, so big. And yet, he did not abuse me as others had. He did not order me around. He didn't force me to do anything, and I admired him for that.
I kissed the head of his cock, as it slowly rose to full mast. I kissed it passionately, making love to his manhood. He stroked my head gently, touching me softly on my head, my ears, my neck. He whispered kind, soft words to me. A tear trickled down my cheek as I heard those gentle words.
His seed was sweet, like sugar.
Afterwards, I think he was about to reciprocate; he put his hand on the waistband of my undershorts, but I pulled back.
"I... I can't," I said.
"Why not?" Ofjoseph asked.
"I promised my stepfather and mother I would... keep clean," I said, knowing I sounded like an idiot. But Ofjoseph didn't push it.
Shortly thereafter, I snuck back to my stepfather's house, a cup of sugar in my hand in case I needed an alibi. As I left the Van Camps' garage, Ofjoseph whispered, "Don't let the bastards grind you down, Richard."
I needed those words.
Later that morning, after breakfast and church, my stepfather made a surprise announcement: that the Head family was going to a portrait studio to get a family photo.
"I think it's high time we got a nice photo of this good-looking family," he said, reaching out to grasp Mom's hand. "I want to show you all off to the world. Christian, with his State Wrestling championship; Daniel, with his Zeta Omicron membership, and my beautiful bride, Marsha, with a wonderful baby on the way. We are all truly blessed by God Himself."
Mom smiled at him, as he put his hand on her belly. They kissed.
"Now, let's all put on our Sunday finest, hop in the car, and get a nice family picture," he said.
"Jake, dear," Mom said. "Richard's going to be in the photo, too, isn't he?"
"Oh, of course, Marsha," Jake said. "He's a member of this family, too. I love him like he was one of my own sons. I can't imagine getting a family photo without your son in it. Our son in it."
He turned to me, where I was rinsing dishes in the sink.
"As soon as you're finished with the dishes, Dick, go on downstairs and put on your uniform."
"Sir," I said, trying to sound as respectful as possible, "I don't want to wear that dorky uniform. Please don't make me have my photo taken in it."
"But, Dick, you look so handsome in it," Jake said. "Your mother even said so. Besides, what else would you wear?"
"Sir... couldn't I wear... normal clothing?" I asked.
"Now, Dick, you know you can't wear a Free Man's clothes," Jake said reproachfully. "It simply isn't legal in Wisconsin. Free Men wear Free Men's clothes, and the indentured wear indentured clothes. It's how the caste system works, boy. Don't ask me to break the law! Especially in front of a camera!"
"Then don't ask me to be in a family photo!" I snapped.
"Dick, do I need to remind you to speak to your parents respectfully?" my stepfather admonished me. "'Honor thy father and mother', the Bible tells us. You're about to earn yourself several demerits, young man."
"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, terrified of earning ANY demerits after the awful experience on Friday. "I apologize. I just... Please... I'd prefer not to be in any photos, dressed like a servant."
"But Dick, you ARE a servant," Jake said, looking me in the eyes as he grasped my shoulders. "And you will be a servant for the next seven years. It would be a lie to pretend that this era of your life doesn't exist, wouldn't it? And a lie is sinful in God's eyes. A lie is sin, boy. And sinners go to Hell."
"You must embrace your new life, Dick," he continued. "Rejoice in it, even. Because it's what Jesus planned for you. Are we just supposed to not have any pictures of you for the next... almost-a-decade? No. You need to be in the family photo, boy."
"Please, Sir," I begged. "Don't make me do this. It's just... so shameful."
"Shameful? There's nothing shameful about serving honorably, Dick," Jake said. "It's only when you FAIL to serve that you should feel ashamed."
"Sir, please," I begged. "I hate looking like this, being like this. My bald head. My clothes... I don't want anyone to see me as a servant."
"Jake," my mom chimed in, "He really doesn't want to do the family photo right now. Couldn't he pass on it? Just this once?"
My stepfather sighed.
"Oh, alright. Since your mother agrees, Dick, you don't have to be in the family photo if you don't want to. I'm saddened, truly saddened, Dick, that you still don't want to be a member of this family, but I guess I shouldn't force you to take a photo with us. But I DO want you to at least come down with us to the photography studio. I've given Mr. Guernsey the rest of the day off, and I won't have you unsupervised in the house. Seeing as how you're already dressed, finish the dishes and then meet us at the car."
Relieved that I had at least avoided one humiliation, I thanked my stepfather for allowing me to not be in the picture. I was dreading going out in public again in my tank top and undershorts, but anything was better than being photographed in a 'family photo', dressed as a freak servant. I finished the dishes quickly.
When we arrived at the photography studio, it was a little awkward for me to be walking behind my family, in their Sunday finest, while I was wearing my dorky servant clothes, but I told myself it wasn't so bad: I had won a small battle, retaining a tiny shred of my dignity by pleading with my mother and stepfather for one small thing. And it WAS a small thing, but it was SOMETHING. A tiny victory. It gave me hope. Ofjoseph's advice, the phrase "Don't let the bastards grind you down", floated in my head. It was good advice.
As we went inside, the salesman greeted my mother and stepfather at the counter. He advised them of the package deals, and then took my stepfamily over to the photography area.
"Dick, be a good boy and kneel down here," Jake said, gesturing to the tiled floor in front of me. "If you change your mind and want to be in the photo, just raise your hand."
I obediently knelt down on the cold floor as Jake walked over and joined the family as they took their places in front of the camera. The photographer rearranged them several times, until he was happy with the shot.
"Such a photogenic family," he said. And although I hated them, it was impossible to deny: Jake, with his model face and stern demeanor, was the epitome of manhood. Mom, with her freshly highlighted hair and glowing skin, was his perfect mate. My stepbrothers, with their hot bodies and cocky attitudes, exuded confidence. The Head family, like a Norman Rockwell family, smiled as the camera began clicking.
I felt like such a loser, kneeling there on the floor as my stepfamily and my mother had their photos taken. A small part of me wanted to be there, standing with them in the photos, but the bigger part of me refused to be embarrassed by having my photo taken in my undershorts.
After what seemed like a long time, the photographer at last finished. Mom went off to use the restroom as the photographer started to shut off the studio lighting.
"Oh, wait," Jake said to him. "Would it be possible to get a few photos of my step-servant?"
"Oh, yeah," the photographer said. "No problem. We often do them last anyway."
Jake gestured for me to come over. "Come on, boy. Let's get a photo of you."
"But Sir," I protested, "you told me I didn't have to have my photo taken."
"No Dick," Jake said. "That's not what I said. I wish you would start listening, boy. I said you didn't have to be in the family photo. And you don't. But I do insist you come over here and have some individual photos taken."
"Please, Sir," I begged. "Don't make me do this."
"Come on, Dick," Jake demanded. "Stop wasting this man's precious time with your bellyaching. It's not gonna hurt you to have your picture taken."
"Please, Sir," I began again. "I..."
"Dick, do I have to issue you demerits, or are you going to be a good boy?" Jake snapped.
Reluctantly, slowly, I got up and walked over to where Jake and the photographer stood.
"We have some lovely contract laborer poses," the photographer said to my stepfather. "I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results. Now let's get your boy back on his knees to start off. We'll try the 'faithful servant' pose first."
The next fifteen to twenty minutes were hell. But by the time Mom got back from the bathroom, we were already up at the counter, paying for the photography service.
For the rest of the week, I was really upset. I felt like my stepfather had deliberately tricked me into going to the photo studio, and I dreaded to see what the finished photos would look like. It just felt like whatever I did, I couldn't get away from my horrible servant life. Even Ofjoseph's kind advice, "Don't let the bastards grind you down", somehow rang hollow. How could you not let them grind you down, when everything in life was sandpaper?
When I saw the photos of me, displayed proudly in three picture frames below the family photo, I nearly died of humiliation. I couldn't believe I looked like that. Every photo had me with some goofball expression on my face, as I knelt in front of Jake.
My mom noticed how despondent I was, and talked Jake into calling a family counselor. He made an appointment for us on Friday afternoon, and he asked my stepbrothers to be there, too.
"But, Dad, we have class," Daniel said, over the videophone. "We can't just drop everything because our goofy step-servant is sad."
"Daniel, it's important," Jake said. "Even though Dick is just a servant, he's a member of this family."
"Jesus Fucking Christ, Dad," Christopher said. "We just got back to Milwaukee and now you want us to come back again? If you make us drive two hours so we can pat Knob's shoulder and sing Kumbaya, I'm gonna be seriously frickin' ticked off at him."
"Christopher... the Bible teaches us to follow the Golden Rule. Dick is at a very difficult juncture in his life right now, and your support of him would really be appreciated. It might even help save him from eternal damnation."
"Oh, alright," Christopher agreed. "But I'm really pissed off. I had plans for this weekend!"
The family counselor came out to the house around 11 AM that Friday. When the doorbell rang, I answered it. The man introduced himself as Charles Davidson.
"Sir, please come inside," I said, leading him into the family room, where Mom, Jake, Christopher and Daniel were already sitting.
"You must be Dr. Davidson," Jake said, rising from the couch to shake the man's hand.
"Please, call me Charlie," he replied. "And I'm not a doctor; that's a psychiatrist. I'm merely a psychologist."
"Alright, Charlie," my stepfather said. "Thanks for coming out."
"Of course, of course," Charlie said. "I understand you've got one unhappy young man here, who's stuck in a rather confusing situation; we'll see if we can't work through some of his issues today."
"I guess I don't know how this works," Jake said.
"Well, we'll just sit and talk; it'll be very informal," Charlie said. "I'll make some recommendations as we go along, and by the end, everyone should feel a bit better. The important part is making this young man feel that he's supported and loved by his family, and reduce tensions between everyone in this family, if possible. I'm not here to judge anyone; I just give advice. I've been a family psychologist for ten years, so I think the advice I give is pretty good, but it will be up to you all as a family whether you take that advice."
"We'll take turns talking as we go around the room," he continued. "It's important that no one interrupts the person who's talking. Now, Dad, go ahead and tell me about the dysfunction you see in the family. Feel free to get anything off your chest that's been bothering you."
"Well, where to start?" Jake asked. "I feel like... I feel like I've opened my home to Marsha and Dick, with this Indenturement Dowry, but only Marsha appreciates what I've done for them. I love Dick like one of my own sons, but Dick is rebellious and is constantly messing up. He takes no pride in his work. He acts like he doesn't want to be a member of this family; he even refused to be in the family photo. That really hurt me."
"But from my perspective," my stepfather continued, "the worst thing is Dick's homosexuality. He is constantly getting erections when he's disciplined, which is embarrassing to the whole family. And he cries and whines over the smallest things, like most homos do. He just won't man up. I'd just like to see Dick become a real man one of these days."
"Jake, is it possible you're being too hard on the boy?" Charlie asked. "After all, he's newly indentured, and he might just need a little more time to adjust to his new life."
"Well, I thought for sure he would adjust by now," Jake said.
"Well, I think he just needs more time," Charlie said. "And now that Dick knows that you're disappointed in him, maybe, for his part, he can try a little harder. Anyway, let's hear from someone else in the family now."
He looked down at his clipboard. "Let's hear from Daniel now. Which one of you boys is Daniel?"
Daniel cleared his throat. "I'm Daniel," he said. "I'm Icky Ricky's step-brother. He---"
"Wait. Who is 'Icky Ricky'?" Charlie interjected.
"That's our nickname for Dick," Daniel explained. "We've called him that ever since high school."
"Hmmm... It doesn't seem quite nice," Charlie said.
"Well, I guess not," Daniel admitted. "But he brings out the worst in me, I guess. He's always moping around, acting like a fuckin' martyr. He was the same way in high school. Refused to have any fun. Always accused us guys of bullying him, when really, we just wanted to be his friends."
I couldn't believe Daniel would lie like that. Actually, I could, but I was taken aback by how big a whopper he could tell. Those assholes NEVER would have been friends with me, no matter how I would have acted!
"I guess I'm just saddened that he's taken a little good-natured ribbing so seriously," Daniel finished.
'Good-natured ribbing'!? I wanted to scream.
Charlie nodded his head. "It sounds like, from what you're saying, Dick always took things a little too seriously."
"Exactly," Daniel agreed.
"But, Daniel, now that Dick's a contract laborer, and his freedoms are restricted, you need to understand that any small slight feels like a major insult," Charlie said. "An offhand joke, no matter how small, feels magnified into an insult because the contract laborer already feels like a lesser person."
"I never thought of it like that," Daniel said.
"Alright, now let's hear from your brother," Charlie said, looking down at his clipboard again. "Christopher, you're up."
"I really don't even want to be here," Christopher said. He was slouched back on the couch with his arms folded over his chest. "I think this is a complete waste of time. Dad should just thrash Knob until he gets over this stupid hang-up."
"Knob is Dick?" Charlie seemed confused.
"Yeah, it's what we started calling him at college," Christopher said. "Just a nickname. Anyway, I've heard that indentured servants don't stop being sulky until you beat the sulkiness out of them."
"Well, that's certainly one philosophy," Charlie said. "It's even the philosophy favored by a majority of labor experts, even though there are a whole range of methodologies. But I digress. We're just talking about feelings right now. There are no right or wrong answers, here."
"And now," Charlie continued, "let's hear from the person who has been most deeply affected by this new family dynamic: the person who has had to make so many sacrifices: Mom, let's hear from you."
"Me?" Mom asked. "I think my son has made more sacrifices than I have."
"well, Dick has made a few rather obvious sacrifices," Charlie said. "But often, in these dowry marriages, the person most deeply affected is the wife: she's constantly put in the middle, unable to please either side completely in disputes. She'll feel guilt for her children's contracts, perhaps even needlessly blaming herself at times."
"I DO feel guilty," Mom replied. "And I do blame myself. I didn't want things to be this way. And I do feel put in the middle during disputes. Like I'm the rope in tug-of-war."
"Marsha, you can't blame yourself," Charlie said. "This is a contract that your son willingly signed. He agreed to the terms and conditions, and he knew what he was getting into. As far as being put in the middle, you've got to remove yourself from the equation. Let these guys handle their problems between themselves. Don't become involved."
"But what if Richard needs me?" Mom asked.
"Richard... is Dick?"
"Yes," Marsha said. "What if he needs me to help him?"
"Marsha, in my opinion, the last thing a grown man needs is him 'mommy' fighting his battles for him," Charlie said. "By coddling your son, you're really just emasculating him."
Mom looked like she was on the verge of tears. "I didn't realize that," she said.
"Of course you didn't," Charlie said. "But now that you do, you can take steps to avoid getting into that habit in the first place. Have the men work it out amongst themselves. Don't jump in to defend either side. Stop being that rope in the tug-of-war game."
"I'll try to do that," Mom said.
"Meanwhile, I've got to say I'm not at all surprised that your son's so upset and confused. Four different family members call him four different names. In the past hour, I've heard the boy called Dick, Knob, Icky Ricky, and Richard. No wonder he's confused!"
"I'd like to offer a suggestion," Charlie continued. "I'd like this family to decide on just one name for this young man. One name that everyone in the family will always call him."
"Well, Richard is his Christian name," Mom pointed out. "It's the name his father and I gave him when he was born."
"Yeah, but that was his name as a Free Man," Charlie said. "I don't reccommend using that name while he's an indentured servant. He's not a Free Man anymore, and the name 'Richard' is pretty highfalutin. It's a painful reminder for him that although he has a fancy name, he's just a servant. Better for him to assume a less fancy name for the duration of his servitude."
"What about just using 'Icky Ricky'?" Daniel suggested. "It's been his nickname for years."
"I think that name could be construed as a little mean," Charlie said. "Although I'm sure you don't mean it that way, Daniel. I think that either 'Dick' or 'Knob' would be better choices."
"I just can't imagine calling my son 'Knob'," Mom said.
"Alright, then. 'Dick' it is?" Charlie concluded.
"I suppose..." Mom said, and then my stepfather and stepbrothers also agreed to call me Dick.
"Alright, It's official. From now on, we'll all call this young man 'Dick'," Charlie said.
"Charlie, Sir," I said. "Please, I don't really--"
"Dick, we're not really on a reciprocal first-name basis. You need to call me Mr. Davidson," he said sternly.
"Oh my goodness!" Mom said, looking down at her watch. "I'm going to be late for my hair appointment. I didn't realize this family meeting was going to last this long. I guess I'd better call and reschedule my perm."
"No need to reschedule, Marsha," Charlie said. "We'll probably be done in a little while, anyway. Why don't you go to your appointment, and we'll finish up here?"
"Oh, I guess I could... alright," Mom decided, as she got up, kissed me on the head, and then kissed Jake. "I'll see you all soon."
She turned to Charlie and said, "Thank you for all your advice, Charlie. I think your advice will really help... Dick."
"It was a pleasure meeting you, ma'am," Charlie said, as Mom rushed out the door to her hair appointment.
"Alright, now, Dick, let's talk about why you didn't want to be in the family photo," Mr. Davidson said.
"I just... didn't want to be photographed with my bald head, Mr. Davidson," I said. "My ears stick out even more. And I didn't want to be photographed wearing goofy servant clothes."
"But you ended up being photographed anyway," Mr. Davidson pointed out. "I see your photo up there on the mantle, just below your family's photo. In other words, your protests were for nothing, isn't that right, Dick?"
"...Yes, Sir," I quietly admitted.
"Dick, I see this all the time," he continued. "The indenturee thinks if he protests long and hard enough, that he'll get his way. But what happens is that that only makes the Master MORE determined to have his will obeyed. And in the end, the Master WILL get his way: the law, and society, are both on his side."
"You just can't win, Dick," Mr. Davidson said. "It's really for your own good to just obey the commands you're given from the very beginning. Stop fighting back. Cease rebelling. Become the submissive servant you truly are."
"Deep inside you, Dick, I know you have the willpower to become a good servant. And when you do, all these conflicts will go away. Understand?"
"...Yes, Sir," I said, reluctantly.
"Now, we've got to talk about Dick's body issues," Mr. Davidson said. "I was a sports psychologist for several years, before joining DCI Family Counseling, and I think Dick's low self-esteem is caused, in part, by his lack of diet and exercise. If he was to eat right, train his body, and develop his muscles, he'd be much happier and healthier. And you'd have a servant capable of pulling his own weight. I highly reccommend you start getting Dick muscled up."
"But doesn't it cost quite a bit of money in food to keep up a servant's muscles like that?" Jake asked.
"It does," Mr. Davidson admitted. "But attractive, athletic-looking servants are in, now; all the upper crust families are getting them these days. Big is in. The bigger, the better. No one wants a skinny, pasty houseboy anymore. In fact, I just saw your neighbor's drudge on my way in, a while ago: biggest toiler I've seen in a long time!"
"I don't know," Jake said, unconvinced. "I've heard those muscle-servants end up costing more than they're worth."
"Nah. A well-built, muscled-out male servant can lift larger loads, endure heavier work, and can take more gruelling punishment than a thinner lad. Plus, you can use them for hard field labor, if you need to."
"I guess that makes sense," Jake said, nodding.
"Let's get Dick's shirt off so I can see what we're working with," Mr. Davidson said, as he grabbed the bottom of my tank top and then pulled it up and over my head.
"Dick, go ahead and flex your biceps for me," Mr. Davidson said, as he moved behind me.
"Sir, I..."
"Dick, what did we just talk about?" Mr. Davidson lectured. "Stop arguing and just do as you're told."
Awkwardly, I flexed my biceps; Mr. Davidson stood behind me and squeezed them. I felt so weird, standing in only my undershorts, with this near-stranger feeling my arms.
"No, flex harder, Dick," he said. "This time, really flex hard, okay? I need to get a good judge of your overall muscularity. That's it."
"His biceps are pretty weak, but with a little bit of work, Jake, we can turn Dick's arms here into big pythons," Mr. Davidson said. "and really build up his bis and tris. This will improve Dick's self-esteem, and he'll be both happier and healthier."
"Alright, now, Dick, I want you to bring your arms down and flex your pectoral muscles."
I lowered my arms and attempted to flex my chest muscles, with less than stellar results. Mr. Davidson surprised me by reaching under my arms and squeezing both of my pecs as I flexed.
"No, don't stop flexing, Dick," Mr. Davidson said when I stopped. "Flex your pecs again, boy. I need to tell how much work we'll have in front of us."
I flexed the muscles of my chest again, as Mr. Davidson squeezed my tits like melons. He ran his hands across my chest, kneading the flesh of my pectoral muscles.
"Flex again, Dick," Mr. Davidson said. "Keep your pecs flexed until I tell you to stop."
As I reluctantly flexed my chest muscles again, he rubbed my pecs with both hands and then pinched my nipples. "These are going to need a lot of work," he observed.
His hands moved lower now, as he touched my stomach, and said, "Go ahead now and flex your abdominal muscles, Dick. Let me feel your six-pack."
I flexed the muscles of my stomach, as he traced his fingers downward, along the ridges of muscle.
"See if you can flex your lowermost abs, too," Mr. Davidson said. He slid his hand down to below my navel, his fingers resting just above the waistband of my undershorts.
I flexed my lower abs, as he pushed his fingers slowly down into my undershorts, his hand now sliding low into my briefs. His fingers were now resting at the place where my penis joined my body.
"Alright, Dick," Mr. Davidson said. "See if you can flex all the way down here. Give it a try."
I tried to flex the muscles where my abdomen and penis joined, but it was difficult to concentrate. My dick was stirring in my shorts. It only got worse when Mr. Davidson pushed his hand even lower, his index and ring fingers now touching both sides of my penis.
"Flex all the way down here, now, Dick," he said. "All the way down to where your abdominal muscles attach to your pubic bone."
I tried, but I was boning up, having this handsome man's hand down inside my shorts as he touched my privates in a very public way.
My stepfather noticed the growing bulge in my undershorts, and said, "Dick is starting to get erect again," he said. "You see my problem, Charlie. Dick is always getting an erection at the most inappropriate times."
"I've actually got a couple of suggestions on how to stop that from happening," Mr. Davidson replied. "Give me a few more minutes with this and I'll show you what I recommend to fix that problem."
"Meanwhile, let's get these shorts off," he added, as he pulled my undershorts down around my ankles. My boner sprang up as he yanked my briefs down. I was not expecting to be naked in front of my stepfather and step-brothers, and it was embarrassing to be standing erect like that in front of them. My face burned red as I stood there naked and hard in front of my step-family. This was so humiliating.
"As far as the abdominals go," Mr. Davidson continued, running his hands slowly up from my pubic bone up to my sternum, and then back down again. "what we want to develop at first is a well-defined ridge down the center of Dick's abdominal cavity. I recommend a rigorous exercise routine: crunches and sit-ups every single day."
"Now let's take a look at your gluteals, Dick," Mr. Davidson said. "Those are the muscles in your butt. Go ahead and see if you can flex them. That's it."
I flexed the muscles of my rear end, as from behind, Mr. Davidson cupped my buns in his hands. He then pushed my torso forward so that I was bending forward, as he kneaded the muscles of my ass with his hands. As he groped my butt, my dick, already erect, became rock-hard. Pre-cum started drooling from my piss slit. I felt Mr. Davidson's crotch rubbing up against my bare ass as he squeezed my butt cheeks.
After what seemed a long time, Mr. Davidson had me stand up straight again. Then he said to me, "Okay, Dick. Now go ahead and tilt your head back so you're looking up at the ceiling. That's it. Alright, now see if you can flex the muscles in your neck."
I tried to flex the muscles in my neck while holding my head in that position. Mr. Davidson gave me pointers as he felt the sides and front of my neck with his fingers.
"I'd like to see Dick's neck get developed quite a bit more," he said to my stepfather. "Right now, it's too slender; asthetically, it should be quite a bit bulkier. Personally, I'd like to see Dick with a big, strong bull-neck. Maybe 18 inches around to start with. Really muscle him up. What do you think?"
"I suppose it's worth a try," Jake said.
"I suggest shoulder shrugs, in combination with using a neck harness twice a week," Mr. Davidson recommended.
"After Dick starts developing his upper body, we'll work on his lower body," he continued.
"Meanwhile, let's talk about those erections that Dick's been getting," Mr. Davidson said, as he grabbed my hard-on in his fist. "Dick, your stepfather says you're enjoying the punishments a bit too much. Is that true, buddy?"
I was too embarrassed to reply.
"I can see you do bone up pretty easily," Mr. Davidson said.
"Every time he's spanked, he gets hard," Jake said. "It's like he enjoys it. "
"Well, Dick IS gay," Mr. Davidson said. "He may actually enjoy being manhandled by a Free Man."
"But it's just unacceptable," Jake said. "This is a Christian household. No one wants to see that. And to think: he's probably also touching himself..."
Mr. Davidson nodded. "I understand. I've got the perfect solution."
He bent down and opened his briefcase, pulling out what looked like a pair of thick black undershorts.
"What is it?" Jake asked him.
"This is a male chastity thong. It will prevent Dick from touching himself. The material in the front is made of rubber. Let's have Dick try it on, and I'll show you how it works."
"Go on, Dick," Jake said. "Try it on, boy."
I took the rubber shorts from Mr. Davidson reluctantly and put them on. The thong felt strange; the rubber felt cool on my penis, and my erection was pressed up against my abdomen uncomfotably. The waistband seemed quite tight; it was uncomfortable.
"This model is called the 'Stallion Guard'," Mr Davidson explained. "It's made of thick rubber, so it's not possible for Dick to pleasure himself through the material. As you can see, there is a hasp at the front that can be held closed with a small padlock, so you decide when it comes off. The waist is narrow, to prevent anything from getting inside, and anything getting out."
"And this device would prevent Dick from getting an erection?" my stepfather asked.
"Well, not exactly," Mr. Davidson admitted. "He could still get an erection; it would just be sort of uncomfortable for him, and you wouldn't see his penis tenting out his shorts. His dick would be sort of smashed up against the inside of the rubber thong."
"Well, what I really want is something that would stop him from getting an erection in the first place," Jake said. "Dick walks around in his shorts, and his mother doesn't need to see that sort of thing."
"Well, I do have a different type of chastity device," Mr. Davidson said. "Let me see here..." He began digging around in his briefcase again.
"This one is quite nice," he said, holding up a second chastity device. "Let's have Dick try it on. Dick, take off the 'Stallion Guard'."
I took off the 'Stallion Guard' and obediently held still as Mr. Davidson fastened the new device to my cock. It was a strange-looking device made of steel. It took a while to get it on, as my erection slowly subsided. Once it was on, it looked like my penis was in a cage. The metal bars of the cage felt cold on my dick.
"This is called 'The Hellbender'," Mr. Davidson said. "Its features include stainless steel bars and a curved, downward-pointing cage, rendering erections impossible."
"But Dick can still touch himself between the bars," Jake pointed out. "Don't you have anything that prevents erections AND doesn't allow the servant to touch himself?"
"Well... I do have ONE other chastity device," Mr. Davidson said. "It's fairly new, and it hasn't really caught on yet."
He rummaged around in his briefcase until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out what looked like a short, clear plastic tube. "This one is called the 'Glass Slipper'; it's an unusual design. Let me show you how it works, Jake."
He reached down and grabbed my penis in one hand, while he pushed the 'Glass Slipper' onto my prick with the other; my dick was forced down into the clear tube.
"This is an all-fiberglass design, and it promises to be one of our more popular models, once word spreads," Mr. Davidson said. "The design of this unit makes it impossible for the contract laborer to achieve an erection or even touch himself. The fiberglass makes sure nothing can be felt, and the small size prevents erections. This is a Size 2, and it looks a bit big on Dick, so he may need a smaller size, but you get the idea."
"Wow," Christopher said. "That thing makes it impossible for Dick to throw a bone?"
"Absolutely," Mr. Davidson said. "Our tests indicate the 'Glass Slipper' is 100% erection-proof. He'd have to become a Sitzpinkler, of course."
"What's a Sitzpinkler?" Daniel asked.
"It's a man who only pees sitting down," Mr. Davidson explained. "The 'Glass slipper' has a small hole down here at the bottom that allows piss to drain out, but it makes quite a mess if the drudge is standing up, so he's obligated to sit while peeing, or he's got quite a mess to clean up."
"Charlie, I'm sold," Jake said, reaching out to shake Mr. Davidson's hand. As they shook, Mr. Davidson said, "Now, the trick is getting the sizing right. Let's get that Size 2 off Dick, and get him into a smaller size."
He took the 'Glass Slipper' off my dick, and then started rummaging in his briefcase again.
"Hmmm... can't seem to find a Size 1..." he muttered. "Ah! Here's a Size 0; that'll work."
He turned around and began putting the smaller "Glass Slipper' on my penis. But it didn't fit; my penis just couldn't be squeezed into the fiberglass tube.
"It's too small for even Dick's tiny weiner," Christopher laughed.
"No such thing as 'too small' when it comes to masturbation prevention," Mr. Davidson said, taking a little bottle of lube out of his pocket. "I'll just grease up Dick's dick like so..." he rubbed some of the lube onto my penis.
"And now some lubrication on the 'Glass Slipper'..." he demonstrated.
"And now Dick's penis should slide in, just like magic."
With one hand, he held the chastity device, while with his other hand he attempted to push my penis into it. It wasn't exactly magic, but my penis did eventually slide down into the clear fiberglass tube, my dick smashed against the inside of the tube.
"Sir, it feels really tight," I said. "Can I please have a larger size?"
"Nonsense, boy. I already told you: there's no such thing as 'too tight', only 'too loose'. Besides, as long as you keep pure thoughts in that servant head of yours, you have nothing to worry about."
"What happens if Dick has impure thoughts?" Daniel asked.
"Oh, he might feel a little tightening, but not much," Mr. Davidson replied. "Now, we fasten the 'Glass Slipper' with this titanium chain that goes behind Dick's ballsack and back around the front..." he demonstrated.
"And then this little padlock keeps honest servants honest."
Mr. Davidson handed the golden padlock to my stepfather. "As Dick's step-master, you should do the honors, Jake."
But instead of fastening the padlock, Jake handed the padlock to me.
"Dick, I want you to lock your chastity device," he said, as he lifted my chin up to look into my eyes. "I want you to make the decision to give up your sinful, lustful, homosexual behavior and at last become a normal, productive member of society."
I looked up at my stepfather. He looked back at me expectantly; I could see the serious expression on his handsome, stern face.
Slowly, I took the padlock from him. I made my decision. With a deep breath, I reached down to my crotch, hooked the padlock into the hasp and chain, and locked myself into the 'Glass Slipper'.
"Now hand me the key, boy," Jake ordered.
I reached out and placed the key in my step-master's hand.
To be continued...