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 Keith, David, Em, Seraph, Mike, Donna, Robert, roberto, Dean, Chuck. Special thanks to Alan for an idea I used in the last chapter, but for which I neglected to credit him.
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 16
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.
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 of the chastity device from him. I made my decision. With a deepbreath, 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.
"Good boy," Jake said, patting my bare shoulder.
I felt strange, wearing this glass tube that was locked onto my penis. It felt both heavy and tight. It weighted my penis down, which was an odd feeling.
"Now, Jake, you'll have to take the Glass Slipper off of Dick on a regular basis so he can shower," Mr. Davidson said.
"That shouldn't be a problem," Jake replied, as he fastened the key to a golden chain that he put around his neck.
"Alright, then. And here's a copy of the Wisconsin State Guide Book on Servant Care. It may give you further ideas on how to keep Dick here both happy and healthy."
Mr. Davidson reached into his briefcase and handed Jake a booklet.
"Ah!" Jake said. "I bet this will come in quite handy."
"It's really useful," Mr. Davidson advised. "It covers everything from the 100 Standard Servant Positions to things like servant dental care and alternative discipline methods. I know many Masters who swear by it."
"Thanks, Charlie," Jake said.
"My pleasure," Mr. Davidson replied. "The important thing here is that Dick starts to feel better about himself and who he is. And, in my opinion, the only way that will happen is with a little firm guidance, a bit of 'tough love', and a strict commitment to an exercise regimen."
The two men shook hands, and then Mr. Davidson reached over to shake hands with Christopher and Daniel.
"Daniel, Christopher, it was a pleasure meeting you both," he said.
"Thanks for all the advice, Charlie," Daniel said, as he shook Mr. Davidson's hand. "It's good to know that Icky's... I mean, Dick's, faggot hard-ons will stop. That was so gross."
Charlie laughed. "Well, that problem's a thing of the past, now," he said. "That Glass Slipper will keep Dick chaste and erection-free, and he'll be more focused on serving your family the way he's supposed to."
As Christopher and Mr. Davidson shook hands, my older stepbrother said, "I still say the little drudge just needs a good thrashing."
"Well, I wouldn't take that entirely off the table," Mr. Davidson said. "Chapter Three in the Servant Guide discusses how to proceed if that's the route you want to take. But I'll come back here in February for our next counseling session and make sure everything's going well."
'Next' counseling session?! One was bad enough!
Then he turned to me.
"Dick," he said, "I hope this counseling session was helpful to you. I know sometimes their methods seem harsh, but it's clear you have a family who love you and respect you, and only want what's best for you."
"Thank you, Sir," I said. "I know they care about me." It was a lie, but the truth would only get me in trouble.
"I'm glad you understand that, Dick," he said. "Over the next six months, as we go through each therapy session, I promise you'll gradually feel better and better about your new life."
Six months of this!? I wanted to scream!
"I'll see you all next month," Mr. Davidson said. "And I promise I'll bring in additional tools to help Dick overcome his hang-ups."
With that, Mr. Davidson turned to the door and left. I watched him get into the white van in the driveway, the side of the vehicle marked with a big DCI logo.
As I closed the front door, I heard Christopher and Daniel laughing.
Christopher walked over to me, a huge smirk on his handsome face. "Let me see that Glass Slipper," he said.
I put my hands protectively over my crotch, not knowing what he planned to do.
"Come on, Knob. Put your hands down," he said, knocking my hands away from my crotch. "I just want to see what you'll be wearing for the next seven years. Jesus, that thing looks small."
Daniel stepped forward now, adding, "I can't believe a Size Zero fits you. Your cock must be puny."
Christopher grabbed the Glass Slipper and lifted the bottom part up. He held my glass-encased penis between his fingers.
"I always knew you had a tiny prick," he said. "I just didn't know it was THIS small. In fact, it's more like a clit than a real man's dick. Can you feel my fingers on your clit, Knob?"
"No, Sir," I mumbled, humiliated by their cruel words.
"Good," he said. "I'm really glad you can no longer touch yourself. You're a total pervert. If you had only behaved and kept yourself chaste, this never would have happened. But you just had to be a homo, didn't you?"
"Yes, Sir," I mumbled.
"Boys, leave Dick alone," my stepfather said. "He's still got afternoon chores to do, and a late lunch to make."
Grateful for any excuse to remove myself from this situation, I ducked around Christopher. But when I bent over to put on my undershorts, Jake said, "That won't be necessary, boy. We're all men, here. Just go get lunch ready. No time to waste; I'm famished."
I prepared them lunch and served them the meal while wearing just the horrible Glass Slipper. It was so embarrassing to be serving my step-family lunch while naked, wearing only that obscene chastity device. My face flushed red as I set the table, and then brought out their food, soup and sandwiches, completely naked. Even the Glass Slipper didn't afford me any privacy, since it was clear. I felt like I was on complete display.
"So, Dad," Daniel said, as he read the Servant Manual, "It says here that there are a hundred different contract laborer positions that a servant should be trained to assume. It also says that if a servant like Icky Ricky goes out in public, most Free Men will expect him to already know all of those positions. He could even get in trouble for not knowing them."
"I didn't know that," Jake said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "It sounds to me like we better start training Dick in how to assume those positions, straight away."
"Says here that #1 is 'standing at attention'," Daniel said. "'The servant's hands are folded together neatly behind his head'," he read.
"Go on, Dick," Jake said, turning to me. "Assume the position."
I raised my hands and slowly linked them together behind my head.
"Spread your legs a bit more, Icky," Daniel said. "The manual says the drudge's feet should be 'shoulder width apart'. That's better."
"Let me see that book," Christopher said, pulling it out of Daniel's hand. "Hmmm... #2 is interesting. 'Drudge stands with hands raised, as if he's surrendering to law enforcement'."
"Assume the position, Icky," Daniel ordered.
I knew better than to argue. I slowly raised my hands in the air.
"Knob looks like like he did that day when he was almost arrested by those cops," Christopher laughed. "That was hilarious!"
"He was almost arrested?! When did this happen?" Jake demanded.
"Yeah... Didn't Knob tell you?" Christopher said. "When we were going to Milwaukee, the cops detained him for public intoxication."
"He wasn't really drunk, Dad," Daniel said. "They only found one can of beer on him."
Jake slowly rose from the table, his face turning red with anger. He shook his head as he looked at me. "Is that true, boy? Were you detained by the police for being drunk in public?"
"Sir, I wasn't drunk," I said, trying to explain. "The police officers found an empty can, but it wasn't mine, I swear."
Jake slowly walked over to me. He looked so angry. Like a hawk looks at its prey. Like he was looking through me, instead of at me. I'd never seen him so furious.
"Don't you lie, boy!" Jake said, as he backhanded me.
I struggled to maintain my balance, lowering my arms.
"Get your hands back up in the air!" my stepfather ordered. Frightened, I complied.
"I give you a good home, pay off your debts, treat you like a member of my own family, and this is how you repay me? By disgracing my household and getting in trouble with the law?!"
"Sir, please," I said, "I hadn't been drinking. I swear!"
"He stumbled all over the road, Dad," Christopher said. "He was unsteady on his feet. They were about to take him downtown and book him."
"Dick, is that true?" Jake said, a muscle in his cheek twitching. His eyes were wide; his teeth clenched. "Answer me, boy!"
"Yes, Sir, but--" I began, but he slapped me again.
"Shut the fuck up," he snapped. "I can't believe you, Dick. I've worked so hard to build up this family's reputation in our community. I've scrimped and saved to give my family what they deserve. And you would have destroyed our reputation over a lousy can of beer?"
I could see that protesting my innocence was getting me absolutely nowhere, so I changed tactics. Dropping to my knees, I begged my stepfather for forgiveness.
"Sir, I'm so very sorry for the horrible sin I've committed, against you and against my entire family," I said. "I didn't realize how my stupid stunt would affect the family. I beg your forgiveness, Sir, and the forgiveness of my brothers, who I've also wronged. Sir, please forgive the mistake of a stupid servant who sinned. I'm a sinner, I know I messed up, but I'm ready to repent. Please, Sir."
"Stand up, Dick," Jake said, sternly.
Slowly, I obeyed, not knowing what to expect.
"Dick, I expect better of you than this," he lectured. "I'm truly disappointed in you, boy. Of all the mischief you could have gotten into... You know you could have earned yourself a one-way trip to jail?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, trying to sound contrite.
"I'm glad you've recognized your sin, Dick," he continued. "But the sin runs deep through you, boy. I'm not certain you can be saved. But I'm willing to try. Deuteronomy 21:20 tells of a drunkard son who brings shame to his family. He's stubborn and rebellious. Sound familiar?"
"Yes, Sir," I said. "It sounds like me. But, Sir, please... I ask for forgiveness."
"I forgive you, Dick," my stepfather said. "But that does not absolve your sin. Only through discipline will you see the Will of the Lord."
He walked over to the dining room table and then came back, carrying the bowl of tomato soup I had made him. Then he did something that I really, truly did not expect: he overturned the bowl of soup on my head! Luckily, by now, the soup was cold. Still, it was quite a shock.
I heard Christopher snicker as the tomato soup poured down my face and neck, then dripped down my back and chest. Rivulets of russet-colored soup ran past my horrible chastity tube and then down my legs.
"Dick, I want you to stand here until this soup dries," Jake said sternly. "While you're waiting for it to dry, I want you to think about what you've done, and decide on your own punishment. Then you will clean up your mess and go to bed without supper. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, miserably.
I was left in the dining room alone, to ponder my own punishment. I stood there, with my hands raised in the air, tomato soup dripping down my body, the stupid bowl still on my head. A tear trickled down my cheek. How had I managed to get myself into this mess? And would I ever get out of Hell?
To be continued...