The Labourer

THE LABOURER by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 20

I got through the week somehow. The first time I went to the religions class was probably the worst, as the professor started by saying "Let's all say a prayer of thanks to our saviour for bringing us here...." I wanted to scream "Rubbish! Prayers are just bullshit!", but remembered that this guy had to give me an "A" at some point. It was hard, too, when I saw other guys going off to the gym and to the track, and the pool - my father had told me that I was strictly forbidden to use these facilities, as every spare moment was to be spent working. Not that I'd have had much chance, I think: the Coach saw me standing around one day, looked at my physique, and rushed up to ask why I hadn't been to the football trials. Then he saw my tattoo, and muttered "Oh, you're the slave. Pity! But the other guys wouldn't want to play with you... The showers, you know."

The guys seemed to sneer at me in class, and at break times, but somehow I always found myself surrounded by loads of women, who seemed to want either to "mother" me, or to reach out and touch my hard body. It was ironic, I suppose, that after all those years of frantically chasing women, now that I was no longer interested they flocked to me! If only I'd known that women seemed to find "slaves" irresistible, either because they thought they could order me around, or because I was "dangerous", or both.

The only bright spot was that my father relented a bit about walking to college - he bought me some running shoes, shorts and a singlet, and instead of walking the five miles, I could run there, with my "proper" clothes in a rucksack on my back. But I had a bit of trouble in the showers, then, as some of the guys who'd been for an early morning swim objected to having to shower with a slave. Fortunately the guy in charge of the physical education facility was there, and saw me standing there, naked, wondering what to do. "Fuck off, you guys!", he told the swimmers. "This facility is for all students registered at the college, and whether he's a slave or not, he has the right to use it. If you don't like it, get out of the showers yourselves."

He grinned at me and went on "Mind you, I can see why you're all worried - the slave here is a fantastic example of a man. He makes you all feel pretty inadequate, I suppose." Then he turned to me and went on "Why don't you come in and use the gym, big boy?"

"Uh, thanks, sir, but my owner has forbidden it... And I haven't got any stuff."

"Well there's always the lost property - I've got a whole lot of jock straps, shorts, and stuff that gets left behind - if you don't mind wearing other people's kit, you could take your pick. And I'll give you a locker...."

I debated for a moment, as I knew the penalties for disobeying my father. But, on the other hand, what the eye doesn't see, as they say.... And I wouldn't have to ask him for any money to buy stuff. And he ought to be glad that I was going to keep myself in good shape.... So I said "Thank you, sir, can I come along after my second class this morning?"

Well, I soon found out why he had made the offer - it wasn't just a question of me sorting through the kit and choosing the pieces I liked: he wanted to stand there and watch me as I tried it all on in his tiny office. I suppose it was a real thrill for him to have a big naked guy standing there so he could feast his eyes on me, and, frankly, I didn't much care - I was getting what I wanted, after all.

I got through the week somehow - I'd run home, shower, and start studying, then would sit down promptly at seven for "dinner" with my father, after which he sent me to my room to study again. Actually, once you get he hand of it, it's not all that bad - the self discipline in sitting there and working away is not all that different from the self discipline you need to keep working away physically on a site. And then on Friday night I waited outside the college until Rooney's truck came by and picked me up.

It felt fantastic to be sitting there surrounded by my buddies again as we sped out towards the barracks, and even though they'd all had a really hard day, we were able to chat and talk about things. They'd kept my old bed for me, too, and I was wondering which of the guys I was going to fuck, when Joe threw himself at me! Before I could stop him, his arms were around me, and he was almost hurting me as he thrust his hips so hard against mine in his eagerness to rub his dick against me. Even in the very short period since Mister Rooney had put him in with the general servants working physically, he'd really changed: I could see his previous boyish muscles becoming harder and more taught. He seemed to be an inch or so taller, too, and his face looked stronger, more mature. This was no longer a sixteen year old "boy", but a real man, on the cusp of beginning that exciting journey that would give him the hard, lean desirable body that only prolonged physical effort and a good diet can bring.

He almost pushed me down onto my bed, and before I could stop him, was in there beside me, is legs wrapped around mine. He went to kiss me, but when I turned my head away as I'm not a great one for that, his head went down ,and he started to nip and suck at my nips, which made me almost convulse with laughter and squirm and wriggle to get away from his insistent hungriness. I could feel his dick stabbing at my belly, and mine had reacted as you'd expect, and after a week when all I'd been able to do was to jerk off, I was almost desperate for sex.

I jerked him off so that I had a good load of his cum to lube and stretch his hole with - after all, I wanted this to be a fun fuck for me, as I had waited all week for it, then even though he protested slightly, made him go on his hands and knees so that I could "dog" him - I always think that's the best way of fucking a guy when you're really desperately, urgently in need of it. I could hardly manage more than about six or seven thrusts at him before I was powerless to stop my balls exploding a huge load of cum right into him, and then I stayed in him as I pushed him down flat onto the bed and lay there with my arms around him, laughing quietly as I was so glad to be back where I was surrounded by real buddies. What a contrast between Joe, and those stuck-up kids at college, who mostly cold-shouldered me or were casually rude.

And Joe liked it, too: he was smiling and pressing himself close to me, as if he wanted me to stay in him for ever. We just lay in each others arms for what seemed like hours, not really speaking, but occasionally stroking each other, or playing with our bodies as it was just so good to have a man next to me again.

I fucked him again then, properly - his ankles around his neck so that I could really get into him, and "playing" his body to maximise the satisfaction for both of us as I watched the emotions playing over his face as I worked away. And, of course, after than I "spooned" into his back and put my arm around him, luxuriating in the warmth of another guy's body next to mine as we prepared to sleep. And it was good to have that nice crack for my dick to press into, too - it's one of the pleasures of lying like that next to a guy, don't you agree? I'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel the skin of a man pressed into mine - and it was only a week since I'd had to rely on jerking off and sleeping alone!

It was bloody hard on Saturday, though: I couldn't believe that after only a week away, a week when I had been running and working out a bit anyway, I could have lost some of the ability to really work., I began to realise that you need to use every muscle every day - "use it or lose it" certainly seems to hold. Consequently the tawse fell on me quite a lot, and they had to start to cane me seriously just after the short lunch break to make me keep up my work rate.

I really was exhausted by the time we got back to the barracks, and would have settled for just lying beside Joe and just fucking him slowly. But as we finished showering, Ryan, one of the overseers, said "a message from Mister Rooney for you, Steve: his agreement with your owner requires you to fuck one of the other guys tonight - not Joe! You're to help Craig out."

As he said this, a smile broke out on his face, and he went on "And I bet there's a queue of them waiting for you, too - you were a good stud here, and they've missed you!"

"Sir, I'm tired..."

"No excuses, Steve! It's your owner and Mister Rooney, remember? So get stuck in, boy..."

Well, of course, however tired you are, once you actually get your dick up against a nice ass, it sorts of falls away, doesn't it? I took Ted first, then, about midnight, when he'd gone back to his own bed and I was lying there awake, I got out of bed, found Mex, and fucked him.

So that was my pattern for the next few weeks - academic study and a bit of exercise during the week, and a lot of hard work - and some good fucking - every weekend. Then, the fifth weekend, when I got to the barracks, there was no Joe! I'd got used to having him throw himself at me, and when I first arrived I just assumed he was out on another site. But when all the guys were back, and there was still no Joe, I thought that perhaps Mister Rooney had taken him for a special job or something. I noticed all the other guys looking a bit sheepish and worried, and finally it was Craig who came up to me.

I'd never really recovered my relationship with Craig after he'd fucked me, and although we were no longer "enemies", we weren't "proper buddies", either. I was therefore very surprised when Craig put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. "Steve...", he sounded so hesitant. "Steve... The other guys want me to tell you...."

"Tell me what?"

"About Joe, Steve. They're all scared, as they think you'll do something stupid, and you'll kill the messenger or something. So keep calm, Steve..."

I felt my panic rising "What is it? Has he had an accident on a site...?"

"No, Steve. Mister Rooney has sold him. We were all set to go out to the site this morning, when Mister Rooney came out and took Joe off the truck, and we saw him getting into a big limo with an old guy. He's sold, Steve..."

"Where? Why...?"

"Look, we don't know. And we won't. And it wouldn't make any difference, anyway. Look, I know you liked him a lot, Steve, but you've just got to understand that he's gone, gone for good. You'll probably never see him again.... Even if you knew who his new owner was, there's nothing you could do about it..."

"But he was special..." I was almost panicking, getting angry now.

"Steve, calm down. There's nothing you can do about it. You knew that Mister Rooney had put us in with us guys to toughen him up, start to turn him from a 'boy' into a 'man' - well, I guess he was far enough advanced so that Mister Rooney could get a good price for his contract..."

"It's so fucking unfair! Joe was only a kid..."

"Steve, calm down! You know that 'fair' isn't something that applies to indentured servants - especially not to guys like us, permanents, slaves. And that's what Joe was too, remember? We were all made slaves at the same time. And that's what owners do to slaves, Steve - they sell them when they can see there's a profit in it. Mister Rooney sold you to your father, didn't he? Well, I guess someone made him a good offer for Joe, and he accepted it: it's just a business, Steve. Rooney buys us, works us for a profit, then sells us if he wants to. That's the system, Steve - you can't buck it."

My whole body was tense. I was desperate to get physical release somehow. If Craig's arm hadn't been around me I know I'd have gone off and done something stupid - thrown some of the furniture around, smashed something...

"Come on, Steve", Craig said again. "Now calm down. Don't risk it, Steve - Mister Rooney will have you on that flogging frame again as quick as quick if you do anything stupid. It's not worth it, Steve... We all know you liked Joe, liked him a lot, and you'll miss him. But it won't help, if you give Mister Rooney an excuse for really hurting you again."

I carried on standing there. What was I supposed to do? I felt impotent, useless, frustrated... This was the difference between being a slave, and being a free man, able to do things in my own life. If I was free, I could trace Joe, maybe even buy him... But now he was lost to me for ever: I had no money, no means of getting any, and, of course, no time to do anything, no ability to move around. I was a pathetic, helpless, slave, who just had to take this fucking unfairness, this iniquity. Then after anger came despair, and I could almost feel myself crumbling. I wanted to cry for my loss, but I couldn't do that, could I, with all the other guys watching me? I mean, men just don't cry in front of other men.

It was Craig who resolved the problem for me. Gently, he led me over to his bed and pushed me down on to it, then slid his body alongside mine, and pulled the blanket over us. With one arm around me, holding me, comforting me, he gently stroked my head and back with the other hand. I could feel his hot breath on my chest, as it used to be, and as we almost instinctively rubbed our legs together so that our erect dicks got settled comfortably between our bodies, he whispered "There, Steve... It will pass. All losses pass, you know. It will take time..."

"But Joe was so young..."

"Sure. A lot of young kids are being made servants these days. And Joe didn't have a very good life before he came here. Mister Rooney's a good owner, really - he's firm, as we all know, but fair: he only caned Joe when he'd done something wrong, not for pleasure. And Joe made a lot of friends here, got a lot of experience,.... And he met you, Steve."

"Yes, but..."

"No 'buts'. He was much better off here than with a stepfather who was arbitrarily beating him up, or living on the streets... And he learned a lot from you, Steve, a lot about how one guy can take care of another, love another, even..."

"But I didn't love Joe, Craig. I was just being kind..."

"Sure, Steve. And that's what he needed - someone who was strong, and caring, to be kind to him. Even if he never meets another guy like you, he'll remember his time here, and you, for the rest of his life. And even if you didn't love him, he loved you, you know... He was heartbroken when your father bought you and took you away. Worse even than you are about his leaving... He lived for the weekends now."

"No! I just thought he wanted to fuck,.."

"Of course he did, you idiot! That's what guys who love each other do: they want to possess each other totally and completely... Joe threw himself at you as he wanted all of you, wanted to not just talk to you, to have you around him, but to have your dick up him, have the taste of you in his mouth, the smell of you in his nostrils... He really loved you, Steve. But that's no good for a slave. There's a famous story, you know, called 'You can't be friends with a slave', but that underestimates it. I think they should have another saying that's 'Never love a slave': as you've got no control, you never know when it's going to be snatched away from you. Joe didn't know that, and it will be hard for him - but he's young, he'll get over it. How many women did you 'love' when you were his age?"

Actually, none, I thought. I just liked fucking. But as he said this, Craig pulled me even closer to him, then his lips were against mine. I was so surprised that I opened my mouth, and soon we were kissing, passionately. He pulled away after a few minutes, and we lay close together, panting slightly. "You are an idiot sometimes, you know, Steve!", he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think Joe is the only one who loves you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Steve, think about it! We were pretty close, before.... Before, well, you know...."

"You love me, Craig?"

"Sure... But it's hard, Steve.... Hard, as we're too alike! We both want to be on top, be in control... One of us wants to be the stronger.... I'm not used to that, Steve... I always like to be in charge..."

"Me too!"

We lay in silence for a moment, then we both started to laugh. "Oh Craig, we are idiots! Look, you wanted to fuck me, and I wanted to fuck you... And we managed to get it so wrong....."

"So what are we going to do about it? I know, get on your back, Steve, and I'll pick up where I left off..."

"No way! Why don't you open your legs, and let me slide my dick in... I'm panting for it, have been all week.... Come on, Craig - you've had lots of fucking all week, and I've only had my hand..."

We laughed again, then Craig's mood abruptly changed. "Look, Steve - you're doing the same thing again. Just like Joe. Getting a guy to love you..."

"I didn't get him to love me... I just aced naturally.

He did all the loving... But this time, it's different, Craig - I think I love you, too... It's not like Joe, who I just liked. From the first moment I've always thought differently about you..."

"No, Steve. Be realistic. It isn't different. We're both slaves, remember? And we have no real control. Your father has taken you away already, and we don't know what he'll do with you after college. And Mister Rooney could sell my contract at any time - just as Joe has been taken away, so you could come next week and find me not here. Let's not risk it, Steve - we've grown a bit apart, so let's not grow back together - it will hurt too much when we totally lose each other..."

I knew Craig was right, really. But there's no logic about love, is there? I just kissed him this time, hard. And when we stopped for air, muttered "Well, if we're going to be torn apart at some point by this slave thing, there's not much time to lose, is there...?"

It's a secret! I'm not going to tell you who fucked who first. We seemed to spend hours just enjoying each others bodies, playing with each other as lovers do, kissing, licking, teasing, biting.... And we did fuck And it was good sex, very good sex. Believe me, I'm a connoisseur.

It was really tough on Sunday night to say goodbye to Craig as the truck dropped me off at the end of our drive - I didn't know, after all, if he'd be there at Rooney's the next weekend. I trudged up the drive as the truck drove away, and I looked a real sight - my state of dejection only served to make me bowed as I shambles along, and I was absolutely filthy - we'd been laying cement all that day, and the stuff was splattered all over my work shorts, polo and boots - and me.

At the back door of the house my father was waiting, and he looked at me. "Fall into the cement, did you, Steve?"

"Sir, no, sir. But it was tough today...."

"Well you can't come in like that! That muck will go all over the house and the cleaning contractors only came in on Friday. Strip off....."

I did as I was told, and stood there naked in front of him. My father fetched the hose and brush used for cleaning the cars, and then proceeded to use it to clean the cement off me, just as if he was cleaning the car! I think it was lucky that the cold water had the effect of making my dick shrivel up, as when he used the brush on my pubes I'd otherwise have got an erection. But when he finished, he came and looked at me again, and I felt his hand running over my butt. I suppose I'd really stopped worrying about things like that now.

"These are new cane marks, aren't they? I can feel them quite distinctly, and see them..."

"Sir, yes, sir. It was hard work today, and they really had to cut into us for the last hour, to keep us working away."

He bent closer to me, looked at my neck, and commented "But these marks here, on your neck.... They aren't from a cane or whip. I'd have said they were love bites, Steve! What have you been up to?"

I felt myself blushing, as I still didn't like to tell my father that it wasn't just fucking that I did with men. He seemed to smile, then said "Well get up into your room, then, and change. I don't want you to be late for dinner, as I expect you've got a lot of preparation to do for tomorrow."

I hated my father seeing me nude like this, hated his feeling my body, and hated the thought that as I walked away from him he'd be seeing my dick bobbing up and down in the air, then be watching all the muscles in my butt and legs as I climbed the stairs. I hated him knowing that I'd had sex, too. It wasn't right for a father to see his fully-grown son like this, even if it was a bit different, as he actually "owned" me. But what was I supposed to do? He held all the cards - he could sell me back to Mister Rooney, for example, and Rooney would have no compunction about having me whipped again. I didn't dare risk that. I didn't think my own father would order me to be whipped, but I now wasn't sure - and, in any case, I didn't want to find out.

There was a change in my bedroom - in addition to my bed and desk and bookcase, and the new punishment horse, there was now another of the narrow hard beds, against the far wall. I went into the bathroom and saw that the towels had been used, too, but there was no time to waste so I dried myself quickly, pulled on clean chinos and a shirt, and made my way down to the dining room.

Mrs Sheffield didn't work on Sunday, and my father usually produced a salad or something that had been left in the fridge for him by her. But tonight, he sat at the head of the table, and then the kitchen door opened, and Joe came in! He was carrying a tray with my father's meal, and a chow bar for me, and I almost gasped in astonishment, as did he.

"Ah, Steve, this is another addition to the household", my father said. "I was talking to Rooney - he's becoming quite an invaluable friend - and telling him what a terrible job the contractors who look after the grounds are doing. Actually, I was hoping to interest him in taking on the contract, but he wants to remain supplying labour-only to other companies. Anyway, he asked me how much I was paying, and then, when we thought about it, I saw that I could have an indentured servant, full time, doing the work for far less money. Even though this servant was expensive, money is cheap at the moment and if I look at the servicing costs of the capital employed, it's far less that I have to pay the contractors. And, of course, I've got a valuable asset here - as he grows and matures, he'll increase in value; and his costs are fixed: a few pairs of shorts, and so on, whereas the contractors' bills have been rising steadily for years...."

I didn't like the way that my father was talking about Joe like this, just considering him as an "asset", something merely to be evaluated financially, but my father was going on "Anyway, I expect you two know each other, as you were both at Rooney's..."

"Yes, sir!", we both said, almost in unison.

"Good. Well then, Steve, I will expect you to exert some authority over Joe here, not because you're my son: I want it clearly understood that you are both slaves here. But because you are older and more mature than him. Hopefully, by setting him a good example and by assisting me in his management and education, it will also be a valuable lesson for you about the way things should be done. Joe will work almost full time in the grounds - we have a lot of grass to cut all the time, the pool to be cleaned and maintained, and so on. And of course he can clean the cars - I want them always bright and sparkling; and he can wash the windows and clean the paintwork of the house, sweep the drive.... I want this place to be impeccable. Is that clear, Joe?"

"Sir, yes, sir." Joe looked as if he was going to take off, he sounded so happy.

"Well that's all clear then. But finally, Joe, you should remember that although I will be a fair owner, I will also expect total obedience, and a lot of hard work: you look in good shape, and I expect no slacking at all. I will not hesitate to use the tawse, and the cane, if you fail to act properly and responsibly. Mister Rooney has sent a collection of canes with you, and I will not hesitate to use them. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"...and that goes for you, too, Steve! I do not want you to think that because there's another slave in the house I will be any less vigilant in ensuring you work properly at the tasks set for you. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

After dinner my father retired to the den to watch TV, and Joe almost threw himself at me. It was kind of embarrassing, really - I was in my shirt and chinos, and he was wearing something that was almost a throwback to the T that Mister Rooney had him wear when I'd first seen him: my father seemed to have bought him a uniform that consisted of a long-ish polo shirt, but with no collar or sleeves, and the arm holes deeply cut away. It was slashed up the sides to way above the waist, and only just long enough to reach down to just below the tip of his dick. When he was standing up he was perfectly decent, but if he ever had to sit down, he'd be humiliatingly exposed. It was in a dark burgundy red, with the edges piped in white, and through the deep "V" of the neck (which stretched almost as far down as his navel), I glimpsed his familiar pale skin. He was barefoot, and the whole outfit seemed designed to make him look somehow sexy and enticing, as you almost felt that one swift tug at the neck and he'd be entirely naked.

"Steve!", he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around me, an act which caused the hem of the tunic thing to rise, exposing his butt.

"Joe... Hey, this is odd."

"It's fantastic, Steve. I only came this morning, and your father, my new owner, showed me our room, and the grounds, and stuff. It will be hard work for me, but it will be great to be living here with you, Steve."

He started to kiss me, but at that moment we head the door of the den open. At once Joe stood in the subservient position, and I just stood there as my father snapped "Steve - why aren't you up in your room, working, as I told you? Standing around in the hallways doesn't get the work done! Now get up there at once, unless you want a demerit mark. And you, Joe, come in here, into the den...."

I worked away, and it got to be bedtime and still Joe had not appeared. I showered again, cleaned my teeth and got into bed, relishing he though that at least tonight I wouldn't have to jerk off as Joe would be sure to throw himself into my bed as soon as he came up and I could give him a decent fucking. But then I heard my father coming up the stairs, the general sounds of doors closing and so on, and then the unmistakable sounds of sex!

Look, our house is quite old - it was built in about 1910 and it's wood, mostly. So the walls are thin, and there's no weight to make them properly soundproof. My brothers and I would often lie awake at night listening to the muffled sounds from our parents' bedroom - I now know that my father's lovemaking is what might be described as "forceful", and my mother had a terrible job to keep silent as she knew we were all listening. There were much the same sounds now - the muted squeaking of the bed, and little cries and noises of sex. Then it all went absolutely silent, and suddenly I heard distinct slapping noises, very loud, sharp cracks, followed by louder cries, almost of distress. Then the muted squeaking began again, until finally I heard my father's muffled tone shouting "Fucking Mary and all the virgins..... Fuck......!", and then silence again, except for what might be muffled sobbing noises.

So that's what was keeping my father, I thought - he'd got some prostitute or other to come by. But then, I hadn't heard a car in the drive.... And them, with a sickening realisation, I knew what had happened: my father had been fucking Joe!

I wanted to throw off the covers and storm across the hall and confront him. But you don't, do you? You don't break into a parent's bedroom, whatever they're doing. And I was at a double disadvantage as a slave.

I was terribly worried - why had Joe been crying like that, and the slapping, what was all that about? My fists were clenching with impotent fury, and my heart was racing as I lay there. I got out of bed and paced up and down, my dick ramrod hard, for some reason. Then I got back in and lay there again, straining me ears for further clues.

Finally, I heard my father's bedroom door open and close, and the next minute Joe was pushing his way into bed with me. "Joe....", I whispered.

"It's OK, Steve...."

"Joe, are you all right..."

He put his arms around me and pulled himself close to me, pushing his head down into my neck and shoulders. He was almost crying, trying not to. "Steve, take care of me....", he whispered. "Please, Steve.... Fuck me, show me you love me, Steve."

"Joe, what happened, what's the matter...?"

"Steve, fuck me.... Please.... Show me you love me, Steve....." He was definitely almost sobbing now, and I tried in vain to comfort him, but all he did was to keep going on and on "Fuck me... Show me you still love me...."

I felt dreadful, as I'd never really "loved" Joe, not in the way he loved me. If anything, it was Craig I really loved. So what the fuck was I supposed to do? "Shhh..... Easy, Joe.... Of course I love you....", I lied. It seemed the best thing to do, and it's easy enough to say - folks do it all the time.

"So fuck me, Steve. Fuck me, like you used to do at Mister Rooney's....."

Actually, in spite of the emotional strain of all this "love" stuff and the snivelling and crying, the presence of Joe's body pressed close to mine was having the expected result and my dick was rock hard. It was almost painful, actually, pressed in-between us. And what would be the harm in fucking him? It would calm him, I needed sexual relief, and we'd done it lots of times before. So I whispered "yes....", and thought I ought to gently stretch him a bit to make it easy for him. I reached down, moved his legs apart a little and slid my finger towards his hole... And felt something warm and slimy there. I moved a bit more, gently nudging the tip of my finger in to him, and he moaned in pleasure: it was remarkably easy... And then the realisation struck me: he was all stretched like this as he'd already been fucked, and what I could feel was my father's semen trickling out of him!

My erection vanished instantly, I screamed "Fucking hell! No way!", and roughly pushed Joe out of the bed.

He lay there on the floor, tears now streaming down his face. "I knew you wouldn't love me after our new master fucked me, Steve!"

"Joe, you can't come into my bed when my dad's just fucked you...."

"But I love you, Steve. I want your dick, not his. He forced me, Steve. And when I tried to stop him, he hit me... Look...." Joe pointed to his face, and I could see two bright red hand-prints on his cheeks. "Please, Steve, I didn't want to do it, Steve. I want you, Steve....", he carried on, sobbing almost uncontrollably now.

I felt terrible as I turned my back on him and pulled the blanket up over me. But what the fuck was I supposed to do?

End Of Part 20