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 Bert, Matthew S, Tom, Vision, Peter, Dutch, Calvin, Blog, David, Drew, Larry, Mitchell, Pak-Kei, Dick, Joe, Em, PT, John, Wayne, Brian S, Thor, Sean, Mike 08, MastersHeadSlave, Chris, and anyone I'm forgetting. Special thanks to Thor, who composed large portions of this chapter. Thank you all.
For those of you who have been asking about the roots of this story, some parts of this twisted tale, mostly in the beginning, are autobiographical in nature, including 'JohnnyJet', the authoritarian head of household (the author's uncle), strictdiscipline 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 29 of 32
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.
It was the night before I was to return to Witt Farms. My emotions were mixed. I would finally be free of the Head house of sadists. Not that life on the Witt Farm was a bed of roses. But at least Master Witt had not exploited my sexuality. It was extremely hard physical labor and severe punishment, but I was not made to be a whore.
I was scrubbing the kitchen floor with my toothbrush. My whole body ached from last night's cruel beating after the day at the golf course, but I didn't dare stop, for even a moment. Master Adam was watching me like a hawk as I scrubbed.
Back and forth I went with the toothbrush, getting into every nook and cranny. Occasionally, if my pace slackened, Adam would tell me to work faster. And then I would. I didn't want to make him angry.
The toothbrush was starting to lose its bristles. I wondered if it would be alright to ask for a new one, then thought better of it. Better to just keep my mouth shut. What did it matter to them if I was scrubbing with a toothbrush that has no bristles?
Then I heard Master Jake in the study, on the phone with Master Witt.
"Hey George, this is Jake Head. I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to know if there was any way that you could come to a small party at my house tomorrow around noon. Tomorrow is Dick's last day here and I wanted to throw a small going-away party for the boy. Nothing fancy, just a nice, intimate farewell party. Also, I wanted you to meet my son Adam before he leaves. He works as a slave trainer down in Mississippi, and he's also written a book on training contract laborers to maximize their worth to their owners."
"You know, Jake, that sounds fine," Master Witt replied. "I have to drop my wife off at the airport around 11:00 tomorrow. I would love to meet your son and join the party."
After Jake hung up the phone, he shouted for Adam to come into the study.
"Son, I'm planning a little farewell party for Dick tomorrow. You'll have a chance to show your expertise off in front of his owner, George Witt. It will start around noon, so be thinking about what we can do to have some fun with Dick before he leaves us again. What have you got Dick doing now?"
"He's scrubbing the kitchen floor with a small toothbrush. Stupid bitch knows if he misses a spot there will be hell to pay. I swear, Dad, he fucks up on purpose."
"Well, have him mow the back yard before he does his afternoon chores. And I need him to run to the store. We still have that big rock in the back yard that has to be removed, but I want you to be able to show Witt your skills in motivating Dick, so we'll leave that for tomorrow. I know Witt thought I would slack off on the boy this week and I want to show him otherwise."
"That's important to you, Dad." It was a statement.
"It is, Adam. I'm seen as a leader in this community," Jake said. "It's important that my word can be trusted by the rest of the community. I promised George Witt that I wouldn't spoil the boy during his visits here, and I'm determined to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Will I have a chance to use my other training tools on Dick tomorrow?" asked Adam.
"Oh, of course, Whatever you need, Adam. I want Witt to see the hidden assets that Dick is capable of. We will give Dicky-boy a day to remember. Thank God your mother isn't returning until Monday."
Then they walked into the kitchen, where I was still scrubbing.
"Dick, I need you to run down to the store," Master Jake said.
As he stood there, I was struck once more by how handsome my Stepmaster was. His tousled golden hair, his mesmerising blue eyes. His face was chiseled and defined, with a strong jaw. His features seemed molded from granite. Even fully clothed, Jake was an impressive sight. His clothes couldn't hide his muscular frame. His pecs were huge and well-defined. From his wide lats to his powerful arms, he was sculpted like a Greek god.
He wore a serious expression. His mouth had drawn into a hard line across his face.
"Yes Master," I said, rising from the floor.
"I want you to get a pound of butter, a half a dozen cucumbers, a couple of cans of tuna, six steaks, and four cans of dog food."
"Master, let me write this down," I said, walking over to the table to write down the list.
"No, Dick," Master Jake said. "Don't write anything down. The only thing I want you reading is the Good Book. Just memorize the list. Repeat it back to me so I know you have it right."
"You want..."
It was so hard to concentrate with Master Adam standing there, intimidating me.
"You want... a half a pound of butter, a dozen cucumbers... a couple of cans of tuna... six steaks... and four cans of dog food."
"No, Dick. I want you to get a pound of butter and a half a dozen cucumbers, not a half a pound of butter and a dozen cucumbers. Dick, why don't you ever listen?"
"I'm sorry, Master," I said.
"Dick, when you fail to listen, you fail in your service. Proverbs states, 'Cease to hear instruction, and you will stray from the words of knowledge,'" Jake said with a frown.
"Yes, Master," I said, my eyes cast downward respectfully. "Sorry Master."
"Dad, the bitch needs more than just a lecture," Adam said. "You need to put the fear of God into him."
Jake nodded. "Dick, I want you to assume position 42 over that chair."
I trembled as I slowly bent down over the back of the kitchen chair. My body already ached, and now I would be punished further.
"This hurts me more than it will hurt you," Master Jake said, as I heard him take off his belt.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
The blows landed across my bare ass and legs. They stung badly, but there were only a dozen or so of them.
"Dick, tell me again the groceries that you're going to pick up."
"Master, you want... a pound of butter... a half a dozen cucumbers, a couple of cans of tuna... six steaks, and... and... four cans of dog food."
"That's right, boy. Now Dick, I want you to put on this apron and go to the store, and get those groceries. Understood?"
"Yes Master."
"And don't dawdle, Dick. I need you back by eleven so you can make lunch."
"Yes Master."
"When they ask for payment, give them account number 417-2828, understood?"
"Account 417-2828. Yes Master."
"Good boy," Master Jake smiled. "Now get going. Idle hands are sinner's hands."
"Yes Master."
I donned the brown work apron and left the house. I began jogging down to the store. It was embarrassing to be wearing nothing but an apron outside, with my entire (now reddened) backside exposed, but I hadn't dared to protest, especially with Adam standing there.
When I got to the grocery store, I went to the back entrance. The employee at the back door made me tuck a folded brown paper bag under the back of the apron string so that my 'servant ass' was covered. I was grateful for the coverage, meagre though it was.
I grabbed a cart and shopped quickly, showing deference and humility whenever I came near a Free Man or Free Woman: letting them go first, bowing my head respectfully, and looking down obediently. I saw a few other contract laborers shopping for their Masters, but I didn't dare to speak to any of them.
I thought about Ofjoseph. How I missed him! Having one friend had made things a little more tolerable. Just a little. I wondered what had happened to him. Had he escaped servitude? Or did he end up in a hard labor camp? Then I reminded myself that an idle mind is the devil's playground, and I'd better keep focused on the task at hand.
The first servant I passsed in the store was dressed in a brown apron, like me. But from the backside, I could see he was wearing white undershorts. He didn't need a brown paper bag to cover his rear end.
The second laborer I saw was wearing a gray chauffeur's jacket and a matching cap. His legs were bare, but the jacket at least covered his crotch. I wished I was allowed to wear a uniform, like I had been in the past. That bellhop uniform wasn't so bad, in retrospect. How stupid I had been to fight wearing that uniform!
The third servant I saw was wearing no clothes at all. He had three paper bags, roughly taped together, covering his midsection.
"There but for the grace of God go I," I thought to myself. I felt grateful to Master Jake for at least allowing me an apron.
I double-checked to make sure I had all of the items, and then went to the servants' lane at the front of the store. There was only one lane for contract laborers to use, and it was very long.
When I finally got to the front of the line, the clerk rang me up, and then I gave him the account number: 417-2828.
He keyed the number in, and the machine beeped and chirped.
"It says that account doesn't exist, boy," the cashier said with a scowl.
"Sir, I'm sure it's 417-2828," I said.
He keyed it in again, but he got the same error message.
"Nope. No good. Do you have another account, boy?"
"Sir, I... No... I..."
"What are you trying to pull, boy? You trying to get free food?"
"Please, good sir, I'm not trying to pull anything," I stammered. "This is the account I was given... I..."
I must have given the wrong account number. But no: 417-2828 was definitely the number that Jake had given me. I was sure of it.
"Please, Sir, I'm sure that's the right number. If you could call my Master..."
He picked up a phone connected to the store's intercom system. "Security, please come to the servants' register. Security to Register Z."
It was so embarrassing. Everyone was watching me. I could feel their eyes on me as the sales clerk told the security guard that I was "shoplifting". Then the security guard grabbed me, twisted my arm behind my back, and hauled me to the Manager's office in the back of the store. I heard the indignant, angry whispers of the shoppers, and I felt ashamed.
The security guard brought me to the Manager's office.
"Sir, another fuckin' drudge caught shoplifting," the security guard said, as he pushed me to the floor in front of the Manager's desk.
"Third one this week," the Manager said. "Shame, really. Instead of buckling down and working, these cunts think they can cheat the system."
Then he turned to me and said, "We prosecute all shoplifters, boy."
"Please, Sir," I grovelled, "It's just a mistake. If you could call my Master, he can give you the right account number..."
"That's not how we do things around here, boy," the Manager said, as he stood up and walked around his desk.
"I'm afraid you leave me with no choice but to call the police. Do you know what happens, boy, to drudges taken by the police?"
Oh God. Not that. My mind flashed back to the last time I had encountered the police, when I was forced to walk like a duck up and down the highway. Then my balls had been tenderized to 'prove' that I wasn't drunk. And if they took me to jail, I'd probably never get out. Bad things happened to contract laborers in jail, they said. Worse than outside jail, apparently.
"Please, Sir, don't call the police," I babbled. "I'm so sorry. It's just a misunderstanding. I'll do anything."
"Anything?" the Manager said, unzipping his trousers.
"I...I don't understand..."
"You did say anything," he reminded me, as he pulled his hardening dick out of his suit pants.
I fellated him, and then I fellated the security guard for good measure. Then the security officer escorted me back up to the front counter, handed me my bag, and then escorted me out the back door of the store.
As I got outside and walked across the windy parking lot, two older women noticed me. Then they approached me. The ladies had kindly looks on their faces.
The one lady had a careworn face and sad eyes. Eyes full of pity.
"Poor boy!" she exclaimed, looking at my bruised face and chest. "They don't treat you very well at home, do they?"
"I... I am treated very well, Exalted Ma'am," I said. "I am only disciplined when it's compleyely necessary." It was a lie, but I couldn't trust this woman. I didn't know her at all. Still, she had the kindest eyes.
"What's your name, boy?" she asked.
"Dick Head, Ma'am," I replied.
She handed me a business card.
"If you change your mind, Dick, go to this address," she said. "If you need help, we can help you."
With that, they went inside the store.
I read the business card. It said:
GoDMoTHeR 814 Sauthoff Road, Madison, WI
There was no phone number or other information on the card. But I was pretty sure that Sauthoff Road was less than a mile from my house.
When I got home, there was hell to pay for being 25 minutes late. After a long lecture, Jake asked Adam to use a riding crop on my butt, and teach me a lesson in punctuality. Adam was happy to oblige his father. More than happy, actually.
Any hour of the day that Adam was not around was a true blessing. He was relentless in his torment of me. Not that Christopher and Daniel were much better. But Adam delighted in making me suffer, and also knew a thousand ways to make that happen.
I returned to my cot in the basement around 10:30 PM. Although my buns had been "warmed up" four times today, the rest of my body was slowly recovering from yesterday's terrible beating. My aching balls were less swollen, my abs felt less painful, and the bruises on my face were healing.
Adam had left late that evening and had not returned. I drifted off into a deep sleep. I was exhausted, and slept the sleep of the dead, at least for a few hours.
Suddenly the light and a swift kick to my cot brought me back into the hell in which I lived.
Adam towered over me. So powerful. So menacing. His gray eyes bore into me like lasers. I didn't dare look up at him, but I knew he was in peak physical shape, as I felt his hand grip me by the neck and pull me off the cot, pulling me to the floor.
"Asswipe, you still have a task to do," Adam growled. "Because of you my boots got dirty tonight. Clean them and place them outside of my room by morning, bitch."
He tossed his boots at me; they appeared to be covered in mud and shit.
"How, Master? I don't have any cleaning supplies down here."
"You've got your toothbrush and your slimy faggot tongue," he replied. "Haven't you ever heard of a spit shine? Oh... and get your urinal mouth over here to drain my lizard. I don't think I can make it upstairs in time. Saul really knows how to party and I drank way too much."
I moved across the floor quickly as I knew what Adam was capable of, even when he was sober. In his drunken state anything could happen.
I swallowed his repulsive amber piss and then thanked him when he pounded his big, meaty prick on my nose to clean the last few drops of piss.
"Clean those boots good, boy, or there will be hell to pay... which would a shame on your big day," Adam threatened. Then he staggered upstairs.
I woke before the morning light. I already knew that Master Adam would find some fault in my work on his boots this morning, even after I tried very hard to make them look perfect.
As I started the preparations for breakfast, Master Jake entered the kitchen. He approached me and put his hands on my shoulders.
"I'm very sad that you are leaving us today, Dick. I'm so glad you've had the opportunity to train with Adam this week. You need to give Adam a big 'thank you' before you leave today for all the work he's put in to help you enhance your service skills. I've asked Witt to come early today so he can witness first-hand your improvement. I want you to perform all tasks that Adam has come up with for today's party."
"Yes Master," I replied as I poured Jake's first cup of coffee. I knew any protest would just land me in hot water again. Better to just accept it. Better to just go with the flow.
"After breakfast, Dick, I want you to fix some finger food that you will serve mid-afternoon. As befitting your station, I will expect you to keep our drinks refreshed during the party. After you finish fixing the food, I want you to go shave your body totally, clean it both inside and out, and oil your body with the perfumed oil I left on the cot in the basement. Report to me at 11:30. Witt should be here around 12:00."
Jake left the kitchen. I started to think about what I needed for finger foods and began gathering items from the pantry.
"Get you fucking ass up here, drudge!" Adam shouted from one of the upstairs bedrooms.
As I entered Adam's room, I could see that Adam was sitting on the throne in his bathroom with one of his newly polished boots in his hand. "What is this fuckin' shit?" Adam shouted as he threw the boot at me.
"You fucked up shithead. Now come here. Get OVER here. Kneel down in front of me and take my cock in your mouth."
As I was forced to swallow his stinking yellow piss, Master Adam took his morning shit. The combination of taste and smell was horrendous. As both actions subsided, Adam suddenly stood up and turned with his ass facing me.
Oh God. No. Please. No. Please don't let this be happening.
But I already knew God wouldn't hear my prayers. God hates fags. And that is what I am. I deserved this treatment, I knew. Why else would God punish me like this?
"Clean me with your tongue, slut."
I could see brown clumps of shit hanging onto the hairs surrounding Master Adam's shitter. I wanted to vomit.
"Now, damnit," he commanded, as he grabbed my head and forced it into his asscrack. He moved his ass so my face soon came into contact with his stinkhole.
"Lick it clean, bitch. Get your tongue inside my bunghole, faggot. Wiggle that homo tongue all over. That's it. That-a-bitch. Oh shit, I think I'm in love."
It seemed to take ages.
Then Master Adam stood upright and grabbed his boot.
"When a Free Man tells you to clean his boots, he wants them cleaned, bitch. A lesson you'd best remember," he growled as he entered the shower stall.
"Oh... and don't clean your face until you finish your kitchen duty. I want to see your shitty face as I enjoy my breakfast this morning. I'm sure Chris and Daniel will enjoy it as well."
I made breakfast with smears of shit on my face. It was so humiliating, especially as Daniel, Christopher and Adam came into the kitchen.
"Holy fuck!" Christopher exclaimed. "Is that shit on Knob's face? Dude, that is so sickening, even for a homo faggot."
"No need to buy T.P. anymore, bros," Adam laughed. "Fag-boy here is providing a new service. Ain't that right, bitch?"
"Yes Master," I answered, automatically, as I served them their bacon and eggs.
Master Jake was drawn back to the kitchen by the raucous laughter of his sons.
"Good morning, boys," he said. "What's going on?"
"Look at what Dick has been up to already this morning, Dad," commented Christopher.
I was facing away from Jake.
"Dick what have you done?" Jake asked me.
"Nothing, Master."
"Turn around and face me when you answer me, boy."
I turned slowly and kept my eyes to the floor.
"What the hell is on your face, Dick? Are those brown smears... what I think they are?"
Christopher and Daniel were laughing so hard they almost fell off their stools.
"Boy, you are not going to be shitfaced in my kitchen," Jake snapped, as he grabbed me by the ear and frog-marched me out of the kitchen. He quickly took me out to the bathroom in the greenhouse, and then he pushed my head into the toilet bowl.
He held my head in the toilet water as he lectured me. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was furious. He pushed my head under the water again, then flushed it several times.
Then he allowed me to lift my head up. I sputtered has he lectured me some more.
"Dick, how many times have I told you that you need to look sharp, boy?" Jake lectured. "As a servant of this household, you represent this family. When you fail to clean youself, you bring disgrace to my home."
"Master, please!" I gasped. "Adam made me..."
"Oh, Dick, don't make up stories," Master Jake said, disappointment in his voice. "Now clean up like I told you earlier. I want you looking sharp when Master Witt arrives."
I knelt by the front door in anticipation of the arrival of Master Witt. I had been coached by Jake in his study as to what I needed to say. As the doorbell rang, I rose to answer it.
"Welcome Master," I said. "It is wonderful to see you."
Then I quickly knelt and kissed the rough work boots that Master Witt always wore.
Jake and Adam came into the foyer and greeted their guest. Handshakes all around.
"George, I want you to meet my oldest son, Adam," Jake said with a warm smile. "Adam's been very impressed with the massive physical improvement that you have accomplished with the boy. As I told you on the phone Adam here works in Mississippi as a slave trainer."
"Pleased to meet you, Mister Witt," Adam said, respectfully.
"A pleasure to meet you, Adam," Master Witt said. "And please, call me George. Everyone does. I heard you've been a major asset to MSI. Big company down there."
"Thanks, George. I'm really proud of what I accomplished at MSI: 22% increase in shareholder profits, 6% reduction in overhead. But what I'm most proud of is my new book, 'To Train Up a Bitch'."
"Several major CEOs have already endorsed the book, George," Jake said with some pride in his voice. "They're already calling my boy a wunderkind."
"Adam, I look forward to seeing some of your work today," Master Witt said. "If you could increase my farm's profits by any amount, I'd be pretty fuckin' happy."
"George would you like something to drink?" Master Jake inquired. "How about a Jack on the rocks to get this party started?"
Master Witt nodded.
"Dick, bring us three Jacks on the rocks and be quick about it."
"Let's go into to the parlor and shoot the shit a bit. Christopher and Daniel should be down shortly."
I went directly to the wet bar in the parlor, dropped in some ice, and poured the Jack in the glasses. But I almost dropped one of the glasses when I saw the painting above the mantelpiece. It wasn't the photo from last year. It was a new family picture. A painting. One that hurt me to the core.
The painting was of the Head family. They were all dressed in formalwear. Mom, looking happy and radiant, in a beautiful black gown; the Head men in tuxedos. Mom was holding a baby in her arms. Master Jake held her hand. They both looked so proud. So happy. Around and behind them were arrayed my so-called step-brothers: Adam with his steely gray eyes; Christopher in his tux, with his shirt halfway unbuttoned, as usual; Daniel, his hair cut super-short; and a fourth man I didn't recognize.
They looked so happy. Jake and my mother in love. So much love in that picture. They were a family. A very successful, rich family.
"Your wife's quite the beauty, Jake," Master Witt said. "You are one lucky son of a bitch."
"Don't I know it," Jake said with a wry grin.
"And who are these other handsome boys?"
"The little one is our infant son, Richard," Jake said. "He'll be turning one year old soon. You've already met Adam, Christopher, and Daniel. The other boy is my second-oldest son, Benjamin. He's a Psychology student down in Georgia."
"Fine-looking family, Head," Master Witt said. "Fine family."
"Dick, what's taking so long with the drinks?" Master Jake said.
"Sorry Master Jake," I said, rushing to serve them their drinks.
"Go get changed, Dick," Jake snapped, as I handed the Free Men their drinks.
I went down to the basement and returned wearing the maid's apron that Jake had layed out, which covered my front but which left my rear end exposed.
I served the three men booze and was instructed to stand facing the corner until they called for me.
Adam cleared his throat. "George, I want to talk with you about the three areas of laborer training: strength, humility, and the willingness to serve a Master totally. We were very impressed with your ability to build this bitch's body, and we made sure that the slug did not slack off this week. But I feel, though, that you may not have discovered other areas where the bitch can be useful to you. His disgusting homosexuality is actually an asset that you shouldn't ignore."
"I have never thought of that, Adam," Master Witt said. "I'm not sure I could even go there."
"I understand, George," Master Jake responded. "My strong moral beliefs kept me at a distance, too, but Tom Gundarson and Adam have both worked in the industry, and they've taught me that using a servant can be a tool to totally break the servant's resistance. It's a standard training technique in the Deep South."
"Also," Jake continued, "my marriage to Marsha is a sacred part of my life, and I have certain needs that would soil our marriage if I asked her to comply. A truly compliant servant can provide an outlet that keeps a man's body healthy. Just some food for thought, George."
"I think I need another drink on that thought," George replied, as he downed the glass of Jack.
"Three more, bitch," Adam snapped at me.
I hurried over to the bar and made the men more drinks, then, when Christopher arrived, I made him a Bloody Mary.
The conversation turned to college activities, Witt Farms business, and life in Mississippi, which Master Adam made sound glorious, with all sorts of magnolia trees, and Spanish moss, and the mint julips, and the slaves happily singing in the fields on the plantations. He talked about what a care-free existence the slaves have, not having to worry about paying bills or real-world pressures, unlike Free Men.
As Adam spoke, Christopher sat down on the sofa. He ripped open a pillow, and scattered the feathers all over the floor.
"Christopher, you're making a mess," Jake said.
"Don't worry, Dad. The servant will clean it up."
Everyone laughed.
After cleaning up the feather mess, I served the men multiple rounds of drinks, and when Daniel at last came downstairs, Jake said, "Let's start the party, boys. Take Dick out to the yard and get him set up. We will be out in a few minutes."
Adam stepped in front of me and slowly ripped the maid's apron off of me, grabbing the sides and ripping it downward until it was laying in shreds at my feet.
"Let's go, bitch," he growled. "We need to show your Master what you are truly capable of."
With that, he attached a metal leash to my iron collar. Christopher grabbed one arm, Daniel took the other, and then they dragged me into the back yard.
To be continued...