The following story is an erotic fantasy story meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. It involves depictions of sex. If this subject matter offends, then stop reading this page now.
This story is a work of fiction and is not intended to depict any living person, although some elements are autobiographical in nature. Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do so. The author does not condone the actions in this story.
This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. The author would appreciate your comments, pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions. My thanks to everyone for the feedback, story ideas, and nice comments, including PT, Tom, Larry, Seraph, Tim, Michael Z, Sean, Alan H, Alan D, Dutch, Mike, Drew, Thor, Wayne, Tank, Vision, Matthew S, and anyone I'm forgetting. Story ideas are always appreciated, and I use them whenever possible.
For those of you who have been asking about the roots of this story, some parts of this twisted tale are autobiographical in nature, including 'Johnny Jet', the authoritarian head of household (the author's uncle), strict discipline and familial Bible teachings, Chem lab, the unsympathetic teacher, gym class, Daniel and Christopher, abject poverty, Midwestern life, and the flaky mother.
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Cinderfella, Chapter 28
[Author's note: this chapter is much more graphic than usual. Viewer discretion is advised. Skip this chapter as needed.]
My stepfather pissed in my mouth, right there on the patio of the restaurant, as my stepbrothers and other patrons watched and laughed. It was humiliating. It was degrading. I felt lower than low. I was nothing more than a human toilet.
And although I hated my horrible step-family for what they had done to me, I also hated myself. I burned with hatred for myself, for being so stupid. How could I have signed that horrible indenturement contract? It was all my fault that I was in the position I was in. I deserved this. I deserved to be used and treated like the idiot toilet I am.
I flashed back to the moment I had signed that contract, as Master Gunderson warned me that my duties might not be pleasant. And as Master Jake slapped me for the very first time, there in the courtroom, in front of the Judge, and my mother, and the entire court. I hated them all. I hated the world. But most of all, I hated myself, for being the stupid, moronic fuck-up that I was. If only I had served the Heads better, I wouldn't be in this position. Master Jake would have loved me almost like his own son. I wouldn't have to be disciplined. I wouldn't need to be punished. I wouldn't be serving the Heads as their human urinal.
I thought all of these these things as my stepfather urinated in my mouth, and I drank his foul piss.
We spent several more hours at the golf club, the Heads answering questions for several guests who asked about their indentured servant, and as they demonstrated the various uses of a servant. I fetched them all teas and beers, and wine for Master Jake, remnants of their cum still drying on my face. It was humiliating, but I knew I deserved it, and so much more.
Later, a waiter brought out pasta salad and steaks, and the Heads and their country club friends ate them on the patio while I stood and watched, semen still congealing on my stupid servant face. Master Jake reminded me of my diet. My stomach rumbled, but I knew better than to complain. Master Adam drank a ton of beers. They all did, actually, but especially Adam.
Eventually, as afternoon turned to evening, it was time to go home. After I loaded up the golf bag, Master Jake kindly allowed me to get into the trunk. I felt very grateful to be allowed back into the car. It almost felt like a treat to be allowed back in the trunk.
The car drove down the street, but abruptly stopped about midway to the Head mansion.
Adam opened the trunk. I was surprised, rubbing my eyes and looking up at my handsome, horrible stepbrother. His eyes were bloodshot. His face was pale. He didn't look well at all. I averted my gaze, knowing better than to ever look him in the eyes.
And that's when it happened.
"...Urgh. Urgh. Urgh," he gurgled, throwing up into the trunk. Sprays of his vomit got all over the place, including on Jake's golf club bag and some on my hands and arms. I recoiled, but there was nowhere in the trunk to move to, to get away. He puked a fourth time, vomit spraying at me.
After the fourth vomit, he recovered, spitting gobs of saliva and vomit into the trunk.
"Drank way too much," he murmured, belching. "Clean this mess up, bitch."
"M-m-master, how can I?"
"Lick it up."
He was drunk. He couldn't actually be serious. Could he?
"Please, Master. I... I can't do that..."
"Better get to work," he ordered, slamming the trunk lid closed. Soon thereafter, I felt the car moving again.
The stench in the slammed-closed trunk was soon overwhelming, as I, now partially covered in the vile and stinking remains of Master Adam's thrown up meal, contemplated how I could possibly eat my horrible stepbrother's vomit.
I just couldn't do it. I tried several times, but I couldn't bring myself to actually eat vomit.
How could he expect me to do that? No way. No fucking way!
Some tiny shred of dignity asserted itself inside me. I wouldn't do it. "Dignity"! What a joke! I was laying in the trunk of a car, naked and covered in vomit. Some "dignity"!
I did the best I could to scrape my arms and hands off, using the carpet on the floor of the trunk as a kind of towel. I would just need to reason with him. He couldn't really expect me to eat his puke.
When the car stopped again, and the trunk was opened, I climbed out into the garage.
"What is this shit? I told you to clean this fuckin' mess up," Adam snapped at me, grabbing my by my neck. I smelled both beer and vomit on his breath.
"Master, please! I'll just grab the garden hose, and clean it up," I said, meekly.
"NO! I TOLD you to clean it up with your mouth, didn't I?"
"Yes Master. But please don't make me eat your vomit," I babbled. "I'll do anything..."
"You are some fuckin' piece of work," Adam growled. "Do you believe this shit?"
My stepfather approached.
"Adam, what seems to be the problem?"
"I told this piece of shit to clean up the trunk and your golf bag, but he refuses."
Jake examined the trunk.
Then he took me by the shoulder, lifting my chin so I was looking him in the eyes. "Dick, is this true? Are you disobeying orders again?"
"Master, please," I said. "I'll clean it up, I promise. I'll use the garden hose. But Master Adam wants me to use my mouth to clean up the vomit... I can't do that, Master. Please don't make me. Please."
"Dick, boy, do I need to remind you? When you refuse an order, you violate the terms of your contract," Jake said. "I know that when you voluntarily signed up for this program, you were told that it would be almost like military service. But it's not even that hard. Think about it this way: If Adam were your commanding officer, he could order you to walk into a landmine field, and you'd have to do it. You'd have to walk into a field full of landmines. You could be ordered to your death, Dick. This isn't nearly as bad as that, now is it?"
"No, Master, but..."
"No buts, young man. I know it's not pleasant, but we all have things we don't like to do. The Bible states: 'Servants, obey your earthly masters with deep respect and fear.' Now you clean up that mess just the way Adam told you to clean it up."
"Master, please, I can't do it..."
"Dick, I don't want to hear any excuses," Jake said, his voice hardening. "You get cracking."
I slowly realized it was a lost cause. He was never going to side with me against his own son. He was never going to treat me with any sort of mercy or compassion. My pleas would always fall on deaf ears. I was never going to win an argument with him.
I silently screamed to God, but he doesn't hear the prayers of servants. He only hears Free Men. I hated God.
Slowly, I turned around, facing the trunk and my worst nightmare.
Readers, forgive me for what I did next. It wasn't my decision. It was out of my hands.
I leaned down into the trunk and began... eating my stepbrother's vomit.
It was terrible. As bad as I had expected. Worse, actually. Much worse. As I used my hands to scoop a little of the vomit into my mouth, I could taste the foul bile and other stomach juices. I could also taste, to my dismay, what the food had been, before it was vomit. Beer, and pasta salad, and meat, and even Adam's eggs from breakfast. The eggs I had made him. And pieces from an apple that he had eaten.
I ate the chunks of vomit. I swallowed puke.
I struggled to keep it down, retching and gagging on it. But I knew that puking it back up would only create more of a mess for me to "clean up".
As I ate Master Adam's vomit, he stood nearby, watching me eat his puke as he taunted me.
"That's it, bitch. Shovel my puke into your faggot mouth," he gloated, cold contempt in his deep baritone voice. "Eat that spew. Swallow the meal I retched up just for you. You like that upchuck, don't you? Don't you, bitch? You like eating the vomit of a Free Man. Admit it, bitch."
"Yes Master," I said, automatically.
I scooped more puke into my mouth, trying to ignore his cruel words. But they slowly sank in as I swallowed the chunks.
It took ages to clean up the disgusting mess, but Master Adam didn't stop mocking me for even a minute. Once I had the big stuff eaten, he had me lean down and lap up the now-drying juices from Master Jake's golf bag and the trunk of the car. I did my best to lick everything clean, especially Jake's golf bag. I knew if there were stains on the bag, there would be hell to pay.
When I was at last done, Master Adam took me outside and hosed me off with the garden hose. Then he brought me back into the garage. I asked for a drink, to wash out the horrid taste of bile in my mouth, but he told me no.
"Now we have to decide the bitch's punishment," he said.
"Masters, I did as you commanded," I protested.
"Dick, you refused repeatedly to do as you were ordered," Jake said. "Luke 12:47 states, 'The servant will be severely punished, for though he knew his duty, he refused to do it.'"
Then he turned to my stepbrothers. "Christopher, go get the spreader bar. We need to follow the example in Chapter Eleven of Adam's book, and show Dick the error of his ways."
Adam took up a position behind me, putting me into a full nelson, his arms wrapped around mine and curled back behind my neck. Christopher returned with the spreader bar, and my legs were fastened at the knees to that diabolical device.
"Dad, you need to demonstrate to this bitch, once and for all, who is in charge in this household," Adam said. "Remember what the Bible says about servants: 'When a Free Man strikes a servant so hard that the servant dies, the Master shall be punished. If, however, the drudge survives for a day or two, the Master is not to be punished.' The Bible tells us where the limits of discipline are: don't be afraid to approach those limits, Dad. Don't worry about loosening a tooth or cracking a rib. This punishment is for Dickhead's own good."
"The wise words of Exodus," Master Jake said, nodding. "I had forgotten that passage. Thank you, Adam, for that reminder."
Master Jake then pulled off his skin-tight polo shirt, revealing his massive, muscular torso: his rippled abs, powerful pecs, and massive, sinewed arms. Then he bent down to where he was inches from my face. "Dick, I punish you to save you from Satan. Always remember that, boy."
He stepped back to where he was about arm's length away from me. And then he slapped me, hard, across the face. And then backhanded me for good measure. He slapped me repeatedly across the face. The hard slaps soon turned into solid chops. And then those chops turned into hammer blows with his fists, his big, meaty fists connecting with my jaw, nose, ears and cheeks.
"That's it, Dad," Christopher goaded. "Harder! Show that bitch who's boss!"
"Jesus, Dad!" Daniel said. "You really know how to box!"
"Second-place trophy in bare-knuckle boxing, back in college," Jake smiled proudly, as he continued to deck me in the face. BAM! His next blow caught me right in the ear. If Master Adam hadn't been holding me in a headlock, I would have fallen over.
"You had enough yet, boy?"
"Yes Master," I moaned.
Then Adam whispered in my ear.
"I mean... No, Master," I said, repeating what I was told to say. "I don't deserve such a small punishment. Please, Master, hit me in the gut, so that I may learn."
"Alright, Dick," Jake said with a shake of his head. "If that's what you want..."
Instead of resuming punching me in the face, Jake turned his punches to my abdomen, pummeling my abs. I flexed my muscled abs as hard as I could, but it was difficult to withstand the barrage of blows that my stepfather rained down on my midsection.
"How's that, Dick? That what you deserve?"
I groaned.
"Speak UP, Dick!!" Jake bellowed as he packed ten rapid-fire punches to my hard gut and then a half a dozen punches on my pecs. The skin on my chest was turning red from all of the pummeling.
Jake reached out to my pecs and grabbed my nipples and pulled and twisted them. I screeched as he twisted my nips.
"My belly... oh please..." I groaned, as Adam whispered in my ear.
"Had enough, Dick?"
"No Master, I said. "I don't... ugh... I don't... deserve for you to stop. Please, Master, tenderize my abs."
"As you wish!" Jake said, as he started a new volley of blows on my chest and abs, quickly turning them a bright red as he hammered the muscles of my chest with his bare fists. I became his punching bag, as he hammered my upper body over and over. Bam! Bam! Bam!
By now both Jake and I were drenched in sweat. His bare torso was shiny, slickened with perspiration, and the muscles on his chest and arms glistened as he flexed them with every blow to my torso. Despite my pain, my dick soon grew hard watching this hot man pummel me.
"This sick fuck is getting off on this shit," Christopher said, disgusted.
Jake then took off his leather belt, wrapped it a few times around his hand, and then lashed out with it. It landed hard across the front of my legs. My face crumpled into a grimace. The second blow seemed even harder, and then the third. The leg-whipping was faster in the beginning, then, by the time I started shaking and screaming, it became slow and more determined. Then, without warning, the blows rained down, mercilessly overlapping the previous marks. I bucked and thrashed, but Master Adam held me in place as Jake thrashed my servant legs and Christopher and Daniel called out encouragement and advice to their father.
"Don't forget the back side, Dad!"
"You missed a spot on his calf!"
By the end, I was screeching and bucking so hard that even big Master Adam could barely hold me down. I was frenzied, wide eyed, as Master Jake approached me. Without his belt on, I could see his trousers were riding low on his muscled, sweaty frame. They were riding so low that I could see his pubes.
"Dick, have you had enough yet?"
Adam whispered in my ear.
"Oh God. Not that," I pleaded.
"Not what, Dick?" Jake asked.
Master Adam repeated the order insistently.
"Master, please... bash my balls," I said. "I disobeyed your commands. I deserve to have my balls tenderized, too."
"You want it, Dick? You've got it," Jake said with a wry grin as he pulled back his arm and WHAM! Jake powered his giant fist into an uppercut into my balls. The intense pain made me try to double up, and I almost did despite Adam behind me, restraining me. My legs were held apart by the spreader bar. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my eyes clenched shut, and my cock throbbing. I tried to squeeze my legs together to protect my nuts, trying to pull my arms down to block the blows that I knew were coming to my most sensitive body parts, as my stepfather drew back for another swing.
Pow! Pow! Pow! POW! POW!! Five rapid-fire, full-power uppercuts into my aching balls. I was howling as Jake power-thrust 10 more quick hard pops into my groin. My cock was dripping, and I was shaking as Jake drew back for 10 more pounds.
I could only groan as the hard blows continued to bludgeon my gonads.
"My nuts... oh god.. DAMN my nuts my NUTS!" I kept groaning as Daniel took Jake's place in front of me.
"You ready for Round Two, Dickhead?" Daniel bellowed in my face. He had pulled off his shirt and his trousers, and stood before me in his boxers.
"...my nuts..." I moaned, miserably.
"Answer me, Dick," he yelled.
I nodded my head, the most I could bring myself to do.
"Say the words, Dick," he commanded.
"...Please.... Master... Punish me... Punch me in the nuts. I... deserve it."
Before I had finished the sentence, Daniel swung his fist into my unprotected, swelling balls. Then ten more, right! left! right! left! Hard punches to my nuts.
I was howling like an idiot. My cock was rock-hard and purple, the piss-slit distended obscenely, a string of clear pre-cum dangling from my cock.
Daniel then started an especially heavy volley of hard punches into my gonads, which were now swelling and turning purple. My abs and pecs and legs and face were now covered with newly-forming bruises and welts. The pain was unbearable, indescribable. It felt like my entire body was on fire.
At some point, Christopher took Daniel's position, and Round Three began.
He grabbed my swollen balls, and started squeezing with one hand, pounding as hard as he could with his other fist.
I screamed in a crazed high-pitched voice.
"That's it, Christopher," Jake encouraged his son. "Make Dick sing falsetto."
Christopher then stretched my swollen balls down into the sac and began flailing away with his other fist, grinding his big fist into my tenderized ballsack.
"How's that feel, faggot?" he screamed in my bruised, bloodied face.
I moaned.
He started another volley, seemingly bent on destroying my nuts. He then got a strong grip on my cockhead, yanking it hard upwards to get even better shots at my red and swollen balls. Fist after fist devastated my gonads. Then Christopher exchanged his fists for his knee, as he began slamming his knee into my balls, kneeing me repeatedly in the crotch, pulverizing my nuts as I babbled incoherently.
Changing tactics, Christopher took hold of my huevos, one in each hand, and closed his fists around my man-melons, squeezing tight and crushing them something fierce, then twisting them, and then repeating that motion over and over again, like he was rhythmically juicing my swollen balls. The harder he squeezed, the more I groaned and writhed. Then he pressed deep and hard with his thumbs.
My muffled cries and bellows of pain meant nothing to them. Pain radiated up from my groin into my already tenderized belly.
As Christopher continued squeezing and twisting my balls, Jake stepped forward once more. He pulled back his fist, and then punched my dick head mercilessly a dozen times as his cruel son continued to squeeze and manhandle my nuts. Bam! Bam! Bam! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Nausea swept over me as they took turns pounding on my nuts and cock, over and over. Eventually, I couldn't hold out any longer, and I vomited all over my chest and down my abs.
My puke dripped down my muscles and began to pool at my feet.
It was only then that Master Adam released me from the full nelson.
"Clean it up, bitch," Adam ordered.
I crumpled to the floor and licked up my double-vomit gratefully.
"I think Dick's finally learned his lesson," Christopher said with a laugh, as I lapped up my puke.
To be continued...
Voting continues to see if Dick will at last be given his freedom. Your vote will be counted, and the majority will determine the outcome!