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 Roberto, Donna, Vision, Seraph, Sean, Mike, Larry, Em, Dean, Neal, Nhoc, Achtung, Chuck, J.J., and Alan.
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 18
"Now we need a pacifier," Mr. Gundarson said, as he stood up and then whipped his dick out of his pants. Then, to my surprise, he pushed his cock into my open mouth. "Suck on this, boy. I bet it will make you forget that pain."
Above me, I heard my stepfather ask, "Tom, what on earth are you doing?"
"Just giving the boy something to keep his mind occupied," Mr. Gundarson answered.
"Tom, I'm not sure I approve of Dick sucking a man's penis," my stepfather said. "It seems really... homo."
"Oh, I assure you, Jake, nothing could be further from the truth," Mr. Gundarson said. "I'm actually using a technique that's recommended by the Mississippi State Board of Indentured Servitude. It doesn't have anything to do with homosexuality."
"What do you mean?" Jake asked.
"I mean when I stick my prick down a servant's throat, it's not because I'm attracted to men. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm straight as an arrow, as my wife will assure you. It's because I know that, in doing so, I am dominating the bitch. I'm showing him who's in charge. By me doing this, he knows exactly who the Free Man is, and who the loser servant is."
"I guess that makes some sense," Jake allowed.
"As I said, this technique is used all over Mississippi... all over the South, actually. We used it in Biloxi; I'm sure they use it in Greenville, too. I bet your oldest son, Adam, as a Slave Trainer down there, uses slaves the same way I'm using Dick, here. It doesn't mean your son's a homo; it just means he's doing his job: proving to those loser recruits that he's in charge, and forcing the contract laborer to do his will. It's just another form of training."
"I guess I hadn't thought of it that way," Jake replied.
"And with that Glass Slipper on him, it's not as though Dick can enjoy himself, or even get a hard-on," Mr. Gundarson pointed out. "So your quite justified concerns about Dick 'enjoying' himself are allayed."
"I see," Jake said.
"Jake, let me show you how to break in a servant, Mississippi style," Mr. Gundarson said, smiling. "I'll show you how to teach your bitch manners and train him how to actually serve a Free Man."
"Alright, Tom," Jake said, shaking his head, a wry grin on his face. "Work your magic."
With my stepfather granting him permission, Mr. Gundarson now grabbed the sides of my head and slowly pushed his cock into my esophagus, impaling my throat on his 9-inch boner.
"Mmmm... fuck..." he said, slowly pushing himself in to the hilt, until my lips touched his curly pubic hair at the base of his cock. "This bitch has one tight faggot throat."
Mr. Gundarson's cock was long, but it wasn't incredibly thick. I found myself able to breathe okay, despite my face being impaled on his prick.
"Alright, Dick Head, get to work," he ordered. "Suck me off, boy!"
I began my oral ministrations of Mr. Gundarson's long prick, running my tongue up and down the bottom of his cockshaft as he pulled in and out of my throat. When the head of his cock would pull back into my mouth, I applied suction and ran my tongue along the bottom of his mushroom head. Then, he'd push his prick back into my throat. Back and forth he went, into my throat and then back out. He did this for several minutes.
Then Mr. Gundarson pulled his prick out of my mouth completely. His cock shaft and head were shiny, covered with my saliva and throat juices. He said to me, "You want this, Dickhead?"
"Yes, Sir," I admitted. I know it sounds fucked up, but I really did want his cock. I wanted to taste his semen. I wanted to be used by this man.
"Beg me, bitch," he demanded.
"Please, Sir, may I have your dick back in my throat?" I begged. "I really need to have your cock back in my mouth. I want to taste your semen, Sir."
"You disgust me," Mr. Gundarson snarled. "I shouldn't even let you put my prick in your mouth-pussy. But since I'm a generous guy, I'll let you suck me off. But before I do, I want you to lick my balls, boy. Go on."
I leaned forward and began licking his ballsack, starting at the bottom and working my way up. After having sucked off every member of Zeta Omicron at least once, and my stepbrothers and Ofjoseph several times, I had gradually become quite proficient at every aspect of giving head, including teabagging. I sucked both of Mr. Gundarson's balls into my mouth, licking his nuts and kneading them with my lips.
"Shit, that feels real fuckin' good," Mr. Gundarson moaned. "You really know how to show your betters a good time. This ain't your first sausage fest, is it, boy?"
I wondered how upset my stepfather would be, hearing those words, as I fearfully shook my head no. "Mmm-mmm," I admitted, my mouth full of scrotum.
"Dick, have you been whoring around behind my back?!" Jake exclaimed. His grip around my nutsack tightened, and I whimpered in pain. My lips clamped down on Mr. Gundarson's ballsack, and he let out a long moan of pleasure.
"Mmmm, boy, that sure feels good. Now be a good bitch and get your mouth back on my dick," he ordered.
I obeyed Mr. Gundarson's command, pulling his hairy balls out of my mouth and kissing my way up his cockshaft to the throbbing head of his prick. He pushed his dick back between my lips, and jammed himself back into my throat.
"Alright, Jake," he said. "Now, every time I push in, squeeze Dick's balls... hard."
"And every time you pull out?" Jake asked.
"Squeeze extra hard," Mr. Gundarson said. I shivered, knowing that this was going to be awful.
With that, Mr. Gundarson pushed his big prick deep into my throat. All the way to the hilt. As his belly came in contact with my lips, I felt my stepfather's grip tighten on my balls. I felt him squeeze them in his vice-like grip. The pain was intense, and I found myself involuntarily tightening my lips on Mr. Gundarson's shaft. This ilicited another moan of pleasure from the man who was fucking my face.
"Awwww, shit," he growled. "That's it, fuck-face. Press your homo lips on my prick. That feels real good, bitch."
Then Mr. Gundarson slowly began pulling out of my mouth. As the head of his cock reached my lips, Jake squeezed my balls extra hard, causing me to tighten my lips even further. The pain was almost unbearable. Sweat was already beading on my forehead.
Back in Mr. Gundarson went, shoving his beefstick back into my tight throat, and as he did so, Jake clamped down on my balls again. Then he pulled back out, and Jake both squeezed AND twisted my ballsack this time. Tears leaked down my cheeks as I trembled from the pain.
"That's it, Jake," Mr. Gundarson said. "Way to be creative! Show your punk step-drudge who's in charge!" He lifted the front his polo shirt up over his head, so that his chest was uncovered and his shirt wasn't in the way. Then he slammed his shaft back into my throat.
In and out Mr. Gundarson went, over and over, as Jake pushed me to the limits of my endurance, goaded on by Mr. Gundarson, who encouraged my stepfather with comments like, "Mash those fuckers, Jake! Make him sing falsetto! Fuck, that feels so good on my prick!"
Mr. Gundarson built up the speed as he fucked my face and throat. It was hard, now, for me to even tell which pain was worse: in or out. They both hurt like a motherfucker. The pain spread from my balls into my penis, and then slowly up into my belly.
"Aw, fuck!" Mr. Gundarson yelled. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum! Shit! Shit!"
"I'm cumming! EAT MY LOAD, YOU FUCKIN' CUM DUMPSTER!" Mr. Gundarson shouted, as he began blasting load after load of creamy cum into my mouth. To my surprise, it tasted AWFUL. I mean, absolutely terrible. Bitter. At the same time, Jake clamped down on my balls so hard that I almost started to pass out. Tears streamed down my cheeks as Mr. Gundarson continued to ejaculate into my mouth.
"Swallow my spooge, bitch!" Mr. Gundarson exclaimed, as he continued unloading his gross-tasting cum into my mouth.
Dutifully, I swallowed, but I didn't really want to. The taste was very bad. I'd never had bad-tasting cum in my mouth before.
"Don't act like you don't like my cum, faggot," he said. "I know you do. I ate some asparagus the other night, just so I could give you a 'special treat' today."
I swallowed the rest of his foul-tasting load, and then cleaned his prick with my tongue. Jake then released his vice-like grip on my nuts as he pulled his hand out of the back of my undershorts.
"And that's one way to use the Control Shorts," Mr. Gundarson said.
"I'll take seven pairs," my stepfather said.
"Great," Mr. Gundarson replied. "Now who's up next to use Dick's fairy mouth? Charlie?"
"Ahem. Well," Mr. Davidson stammered. "I'm Dick's therapist. I'm not sure it would be entirely appropriate for me to engage in sexual relations with my patient."
"What about you, Jake?" Mr. Gundarson asked.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I should, Tom," Jake said. "My Christian beliefs aside, I have a really big penis. Dick would probably choke on it."
"Well, I respect your religion, Jake, but if it's just a matter of worrying about Dick, I can assure you he'll be fine. I've had dozens of drudges serve me, and they all adapted pretty quickly. It doesn't matter if Dick chokes on your prick at first. Just remove your cock, slap him on the back, and then start again. If he pukes, just make him clean the floor and start again. You can even wrap your hands around the front of his neck, and you'll actually feel your dick inside his throat. It's a pretty amazing feeling. It's better than pussy."
Then, to my surprise, Jake agreed. "Alright. I'll go next," he said.
I couldn't believe my ears. The man who had lectured me constantly for the past two months on the sins of homosexual lust was now going to have his own step-son pleasure him orally?! The man who had made me read verse after verse in the Bible that condemned man-to-man acts was now going to partake in those same perversions!?
"Marsha's been pretty frigid in bed, lately, what with the pregnancy and all," he explained to Mr. Davidson and Mr. Gundarson. "A man has needs, after all."
My stepfather started to stand upright, but the hard-on in his pants kept him from standing up straight. I could see he had a huge bulge in his dockers. Enormous.
"Get down on your knees, boy," Mr. Gundarson ordered. "Your Stepfather's about to christen you."
I lowered myself to my knees as my stepfather approached me. He took off his wedding ring and set it on the end table. Then he started unbuttoning his dress shirt, starting at his collar.
"Dick, I want you to understand that I don't approve of homosexuality," he said, looking down at me. "My views haven't changed. This is about my need for release, nothing more than that. If your mother was putting out right now, I wouldn't need your services."
"Sir... Isn't this adultery?" I asked. "Isn't it a sin?"
"A man can't commit adultery except by sleeping with a married woman, Dick," Jake said. "The Bible is clear: unlike a woman, a man may have as many wives, concubines, and lovers as he wants, so long as he keeps the bloodlines pure; King Solomon had 700 wives and 300 concubines, and he was considered wise. Do you understand, Dick?
"Yes, Sir," I said.
He pulled off his shirt, revealing his hunky, muscle-bound torso. His big, beefy pecs; bowling-ball shoulders; 8-pack abs; and thick, corded neck looked like they were sculpted from granite. His arms were pythons, the veins on his guns almost popping out from inside the skin. I had seen Jake shirtless before, but never while faced with the prospect of servicing him! I actually felt faint.
He unfastened his belt, and then unbuttoned the fly on his dockers. "Unzip me," he ordered.
Slowly, I reached out my hand to do as he commanded.
"No, boy," he said. "That's not acceptable. Use your mouth."
"I... I don't understand, Sir," I said.
"I mean use your teeth to pull down my zipper," he demanded.
Awkwardly, I tried to pull his zipper down with my teeth. It was more difficult than I had expected. The tab was quite small, and kept escaping my teeth. It took me a dozen tries to get the zipper all the way down. I could already smell my stepfather's musky crotch.
Then Jake grabbed the sides of his pants and pulled them down, slowly revealing his pelvic region, still clad in his blue boxers. I could see the gigantic bulge in his boxers, and started to feel pretty apprehensive. It looked huge!
"Now pull my shorts down, Dick," he ordered.
I grabbed the waistband of his undershorts and pulled them down. Slowly, Jake's 11-inch dong came into view. I call it a dong because the words 'dick' or 'prick' or 'penis' do not adequately describe my stepfather's massive tool. His giant boner sprung up and slapped my chin as I pulled his undershorts down below the head of his huge babymaker. And it wasn't just long, either: the shaft of his mighty schlong looked to be about 5 inches in circumference.
"Dick, I want you to blow me, boy," he commanded.
I was incredibly nervous because I had never had something in my mouth that was that big. Sure, the doorknob in the foyer that my stepfather occasionally made me wrap my mouth around was bigger in circumference, but it certainly wasn't almost a foot long!
"Go on, boy," Jake urged. "Put my bayonet into your mouth."
Slowly, I leaned forward, licking my lips before I made contact with his big dong. I kissed the head of his giant hard-on with my mouth partially open. I pressed my tongue into his big wang, delivering a series of French kisses up his cockshaft, from the area where his dong reached his low-hanging balls, all the way up to his big mushroom head.
I licked the head of his big tool like a lollipop, pushing my tongue along the groove of his piss slit; then I opened wide to accept his babymaker into my servant mouth.
He pushed his dong into my mouth roughly. It was a jawbreaker, and feeling the size, I pulled my mouth back off it. I was scared of this python.
"Sir," I said, "it's too big."
"Nonsense, Dick," my stepfather said. "It's only five inches around. Just put it back into your mouth."
"Sir, I can't handle it," I said.
"Boy, do I have to issue you demerits?" he threatened.
"No, Sir," I said. Obediently, I opened my mouth as wide as possible, and he again began pushing his donkey dong into my mouth.
"Tongue it, boy," he ordered, and I began licking and sucking on the head of his jawbreaker.
"Mmmmm.... that's it," he moaned. "That feels real good, Dick."
I sucked on the head of his anaconda for a good long while, slobbering over the head of his big snake. Every once in a while, I had to pull back off it in order to give my jaw a rest. But Jake's hands wrapped around the back of my neck, pushing me more and more insistently back onto his cock each time, and he started pushing his dong up against the opening of my throat. I kept trying to back off, knowing I couldn't handle what he was forcing me to do.
"Mmmfff,,, Fir... Fooo fig," I mumbled, my mouth full of Jake's piston.
"It's not too big, Dick," Jake insisted. But as he pushed in again, and I gagged and wretched, it seemed clear that there was no way he was going to be able to fuck my throat. He was just too big.
"Jake, you just need a better angle to fuck from," Mr. Gundarson observed. "Let's take him over to the table."
Jake lifted me up, then, and carried me over to the dining room table. He pushed me down roughly onto the table, and spun me around so that my head was off the edge of the tabletop. My natural reaction was to lift my head up, but Mr. Gundarson pushed my forehead back, forcing my head down below the edge of the table.
"Now you've got full access to the whore's throat," Mr. Gundarson said.
Jake wasted no time, pushing his big jackhammer back into my mouth, and then pushing insistently at the back of my throat with his giant tool. It actually started sliding into my throat, and before I knew it, I had several inches of big man-cock buried in my throat. Gradually, my stepfather started thrusting into me, fucking my throat with his Longfellow.
Then, grasping the sides of my servant collar in his fists, he began pulling my neck and head up and down his shaft as he buried himself in my throat. I couldn't breathe, except between thrusts, and he was skullfucking me so hard that the back of my head kept banging into the edge of the wooden table.
As Jake rutted like a wild animal in my mouth and throat, I briefly wondered what I would be doing right then if I hadn't signed the Indenturement Contract. I wouldn't have been skullfucked, that's for certain. But then, that was the point: I HAD signed the contract.
Jake rutted my face faster and faster, and soon began shooting his dickwad into my throat. I couldn't tell how much there was, but it seemed like a lot. Afterwards, I cleaned him up, licking his dong as he pulled out of my mouth and throat.
Afterwards, I was a little shaky on my feet, and after four hours of sex, I really had to pee.
"Sir, please, permission to use the bathroom," I said.
"Dick, not now," Jake said. "You can go later, when we're through with your therapy session. Mr. Davidson and Mr. Gundarson charge by the hour; you can wait."
"Sir, I really can't wait," I said imploringly. "Please, Sir. I have to go."
"Fine," he said, sighing. "But hurry up. I'm not paying 38 bucks per hour to have you literally piss away my money."
"Thank you, Sir," I said, about to scamper down the hall to the privy in the greenhouse, the only bathroom in the house that I was allowed to use.
"Hold on, Dick. I'll go with you. I've gotta take a mean piss myself," Mr. Gundarson said. Then he accompanied me down the hallway and into the greenhouse. To my surprise, when I went into the privy, he immediately followed me into the room.
"Sir, I need to pee," I said.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "We're both men, here. Want to cross streams?"
"Sir... I have to... pee sitting down," I said, embarrassed to admit to this man that I had to sit while urinating.
"What? Why the fuck do you have to piss like a woman?""
"Sir, it's because of my Glass Slipper," I said. "It just has a drainage hole in the bottom. It makes a big mess if I stand up."
"Seriously?" Mr. Gundarson asked. "So you're one of those sitzpinklers?" He burst into laughter.
"Yes, Sir," I admitted. "Sir, I really have to go." I was practically dancing now, because I had to pee so bad.
"In a minute, in a minute," Mr. Gundarson said. "You know, Dick, you're very lucky to have such a kind yet firm master," he said.
"I know, Sir," I said, lying through my teeth. I knew that any other answer would result in punishment.
"And this iron collar looks really good on your neck," Mr. Gundarson said, as he pulled at one of the D-rings on the side of my collar. "I hope wearing it has taught you a little bit about humility."
"It has, Sir," I said, trying to sound extra humble.
Mr. Gundarson moved to where he was standing directly in front of me. I lowered my eyes, unable to look this man in the face.
"What have you learned, boy?" he asked.
"I've learned... my place, Sir," I mumbled.
"And what is your place, boy?" he pressed.
"It's... below Free Men, Sir," I said. "Serving Free Men."
"That's right, boy. I knew from the moment you came into my office that you'd end up signing that servitude contract, Dick," he said. "Some guys just have that submissive streak in them. They WANT to be used. They NEED to serve. I knew you needed to serve a Master. I could tell you were ready, Dick. You don't deserve to be a Free Man. Do you?"
"No, Sir," I admitted.
"Say it," he demanded.
"Sir, if you will give me just a minute to use the toilet, I'll gladly say whatever you want me to say."
"No, Dick. Tell me. Then you can take a piss."
"I... I don't deserve to be a Free Man," I said, feeling like a total loser for admitting it. But it was true.
"Why?" he asked.
"I... I don't know," I said.
"Yes you do," he insisted. "Why don't you deserve to be a Free Man?"
"Because I'm a submissive servant," I mumbled.
"A submissive faggot servant," he corrected.
"Yes, Sir," I said reluctantly.
"Say it," he ordered.
"A submissive faggot servant," I repeated.
"No. Say the whole sentence," he demanded.
"I... I don't deserve to be a Free Man because I'm a submissive faggot servant," I mumbled, hating this man.
"Again."
"I don't deserve to be a Free Man because I'm a submissive faggot servant," I repeated.
"Again."
"I don't deserve to be a Free Man because I'm a submissive faggot servant," I said for the third time.
"That's right, boy," Mr. Gundarson said, with a smile. "Now, why don't you get down on your hands and knees and clean my shoes with your tongue? Go on."
"Sir, please, I... I beg you to let me pee," I said, desperately. I couldn't hold out much longer.
"Clean my shoes, then we'll talk," he demanded.
I stood there for a moment before slowly dropping down to my hands and knees. I couldn't believe this man was forcing me to lick his shoes clean when he knew I had to pee. But he was.
It wasn't the first time I had had to clean someone's shoes clean with my tongue; my stepbrother Christopher had made me lick his fine patent leather shoes clean on New Year's Day. But this felt even worse. This man, who I barely knew, just waltzed into my home, demanding that I lick his shoes. If I had had any balls, I would have punched him.
Instead, I began licking his shoes. I tried to clean fast, but unfortunately, it took a long time; Mr. Gundarson's shoes were pretty dirty, with a lot of sludge from the street still on his shoes. The taste was almost unbearable. And I felt like a total fool.
"That's it, boy. Clean my fucking shoes," he said.
I used my tongue to clean the dirty area around his laces, as I squirmed.
"Dick, I'm really glad I was the man who helped changed your life," Mr. Gundarson said. "Without me, you would have landed in debtor's prison, and would have become some prisoner's bitch. Now you're able to enjoy this carefree servant lifestyle."
"The best part, Dick, is that I got a $5,000 commission from negotiating your contract," he bragged. "That $5,000 got added to the debt on your contract. It kind of amuses me that it's a debt that you'll have to pay off. The Maserati in your Step-Master's driveway is something you helped pay, for, Dick. That commission was the down payment. Isn't that cool? Don't forget the heel," he reminded me.
As I licked the heel of his shoes, it happened. I started peeing in my underpants. I just couldn't hold it in any longer, and my bladder released its load, as urine dripped out of my Glass Slipper and started soaking my undershorts.
"Dick, are you pissing in your shorts?!" Mr. Gundarson asked.
"Sir, I tried to tell you I really had to go," I said miserably, as piss drenched my shorts, and then the floor under me. As I finished peeing. I already knew what was coming next.
"Dick, you seriously couldn't hold it in for one more minute?" Mr. Gundarson said, scorn in his voice.
"No, Sir," I said.
"Well, clean it up."
I started to get up, but Mr. Gundarson said, "No, Dick. Don't bother getting up. Clean it up the way a 'submissive faggot servant' cleans up a spill. With your tongue."
"Please, Sir..." I began.
"Get to work," he snapped.
I slumped down to lick the floor, hoping he would change his mind. But of course he did not.
Afterwards, Mr. Gundarson escorted me back to the parlor, where Mr. Davidson and my stepfather had remained. To my chagrin, they had been joined by Christopher and Daniel, and Chris' friend Doug, the college wrestling jock with the Letterman's jacket.
My undershorts were still obviously soaked with pee, and I was embarrassed to be seen this way.
"Dick, what took you so long?" Jake asked, looking cross. "I thought I told you to be quick."
"Dick had a little accident," Mr. Gundarson announced. "He didn't quite make it to the toilet."
"Jesus Fucking Christ, Dick," Jake sighed, disappointment in his voice. "What are you, a baby? You can't hold it in for five minutes? Every time I think you're finally growing up and learning responsibility, you pull some ridiculous stunt like this. And in front of guests, no less."
"Sir," I began.
"Shut it!" Jake snapped. "I'm sick of your excuses!"
"Don't worry, Jake," Mr. Gundarson said, "I had Dick clean up the mess he made in the bathroom."
"Tom, thank you. I appreciate you handling the situation. But that's not the point. It's like Dick is purposely pulling this shit. And in his brand new Control Shorts, no less."
Jake walked up to me and slapped my face five times.
"Dick, I'm issuing you twenty demerits."
I hung my head in shame. My left cheek and ear stung like hell.
"You know, working off those demerits will give us the perfect opportunity to test out some of the other devices I brought," Mr. Gundarson said. "Jake, would you mind if we tested out some new gear? Then you can decide if you like it or not."
"Yeah, that sounds okay," Jake said.
"Can we watch?" Christopher asked. "I'd like to see Dick finally get his comeuppance."
"With your father's permission, I don't see why not," Mr. Davidson said. "It will be educational, I think."
Jake nodded in approval, and Mr. Gundarson suggested that the demerits be worked off in the back yard. Everyone agreed that that was an excellent idea. (Well, almost everyone).
Christopher and Doug each grabbed a side of my collar and half-guided, half-hauled me out to the patio.
"Come on, Knob," Christopher said. "Keep up, boy! No idling!"
"I can't wait to see this loser finally knocked down a peg or two," Doug said. "It's about damn time." He jerked down on his side of my collar, and I almost accidentally touched his Letterman's jacket as I involuntarily lurched toward him. thankfully, I caught myself at the last second.
Out on the patio, the Free Men frog-marched me out to a post in the center of the terrace. The brick was cold on my feet, but it was luckily an otherwise unseasonably warm day for February. While Mr. Gundarson introduced himself to Christopher, Daniel, and Doug, shaking their hands, Mr. Davidson led me over to the post and told me to get into position #2.
Obediently, I raised my arms above my head. Mr. Davidson stepped up onto a cinder block next to the post. Then he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. He secured the cuffs to a rusty hook at the top of the post and then pushed my wrists into the cuffs.
As he closed the handcuffs, he looked me in the eye and said to me, "I know this seems harsh, Dick, but this discipline will help you finally accept your new life. You're a good boy; you just need your rough edges smoothed out a bit. This will help you." He patted me on the shoulder.
Then Mr. Gundarson pulled off my Control Shorts and asked Jake to remove my Glass Slipper, which he did. I began trembling because I suspected this was going to be bad. Possibly very bad. The air felt quite cold on my penis.
Mr. Gundarson opened his briefcase and pulled out a metal rod with two holes on the ends. He fastened this to my ankles, and used a screw in the middle of the metal bar to adjust the length of the spreader bar.
"These are called bilboes, sometimes incorrectly called hobbles," he explained to the others. "They were invented in Spain during the Inquisition, I believe. These will keep Dick's legs spread wide while we do our work."
"Neat!" Christopher said. "I've heard that device is called a spreader bar. Is that the same thing?"
"Yes, Chris," Mr. Gundarson said. "It's the same thing."
"How wide does it go?" Daniel asked.
"Oh, this one only expands to 28 inches," Mr. Gundarson replied. "They come in all sizes, but this should be fine for our purposes today."
"Can you go a little wider with that thing?" Christopher asked. "Maybe adjust it to the full 28 inches? If my dad's going to purchase this piece of equipment, I'm sure he'll want to see its full features."
"Smart lad," Mr. Gundarson said with a wink, bending back down to expand the spreader bar to its full length. My legs were now spread so wide that I had to stand on my tiptoes, hanging from the hook in the post like a slab of beef.
"Dick's really put on quite a bit of muscle in the last month," Mr. Davidson observed, sliding his hand up my left bicep. "I don't remember his biceps looking quite this developed."
"Yeah, he's been really good about his workouts," Jake allowed. "I just wish he was that meticulous about his chores."
"Has Dick been skipping chores?" Mr. Davidson asked my stepfather, looking concerned.
"Well, it's just small things," Jake explained. "He dusted the mantlepiece this morning, and he even remembered to clean the family photo. But he missed the picture frame below it; the picture frame of him that I had taken at the photo studio. And it's not the first time he's missed dusting that picture frame. It's like he doesn't want to clean it. But when I have guests over, I need to know that my house is clean and dust-free."
"I'd say it sounds like your drudge has developed what we in the profession call a 'psychological block'. I recommend that you impress on Dick the importance of cleaning that particular picture frame by having him clean it daily using an unusual cleaning method of your choice. Say, using only a feather duster, or something like that. After a month of doing it the new way, he'll always remember to keep it clean."
"That makes sense," Jake said.
"Anyway, getting back to Dick's punishment for urinating in his new Control Shorts, I think you'll agree by the end of this demonstration that Tom has brought in some really good tools that will definitely help Dick."
"First one up is a good one," Mr. Gundarson said. "It's been used by governments for decades for interrogation purposes, but I think you'll find that it works just as well for corporal punishment."
He pulled a long piece of rubber hose out of his briefcase, and handed it to Jake.
"This is for Dick's genitals only. It's meant for more delicate areas, and doesn't generally break the skin, although I'm told it's quite painful. Go on, Jake," he urged. "Go to town on Dick's dick. You've forced him to exercise his body; now make him exercise his lungs so we can build up that chest!"
Jake stepped forward, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Dick, are you ready to receive your punishment?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, contritely.
To be continued...
Readers: What device would you most like to see used on Dick after the rubber hose? And those of you who have pleaded for various endings for Dick may be satisfied with Chapter 20... or not!