THE LABOURER by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 21
....so what the fuck was I supposed to do? I certainly wasn't going to take sloppy seconds, especially when it was my father's cum! Even as I thought this, I could smell it on my fingers, and it was somehow disgusting - this was, after all, the semen that had given rise to me! Don't get me wrong - I've got nothing to object to about the smell of cum and having it on my fingers normally - I've had lots of experience - but it was the association with my father that was really almost making me puke. I thought about getting up and going to wash in the bathroom, but then I'd have to go past the sobbing body of Joe, lying on the bedroom floor. Best to let him get over it, I thought.
Look, you may think I was cruel, but it was best for him wasn't it, really? He was a slave, after all, and there were probably going to be much worse things happening to him than a little forcible fucking as he went through life. And it can't have been all that bad anyway - he was used to taking dick, all the guys at Rooney's had been through him lots of times, and I don't suppose that my father was so very different from the others - I mean, I'm pretty well hung as you know, and my father can't have been all that much bigger than me! And the more I thought about it, the more I realised it was perhaps a good thing - the sooner he forgot all this "love" crap, especially for me, the better.
But then another thought struck me - did I believe my father? All this stuff about it being "cost effective" to buy Joe to cut the grass and do the yard work..... Hadn't I heard Mister Rooney telling Rob that young men like Joe fetched premium prices? If my father had really wanted a servant for those jobs, he could almost certainly have bought a short-term indenture for an ordinary middle-aged guy for a lot less. Then I had it: it was deliberate! He was continuing to punish me for disobeying him all those years ago. He'd talked to Rooney who had told him that Joe and I were "together", and my father had thought his would be a new, subtle way of carrying on my punishment - he'd fuck my lover!
I threw of the covers, leapt out of bed, and stomped across the hall to my father's room. I threw open the door, and stood there, looking down at him as he lay in bed. Only then did I remember that I was naked, and I began to feel foolish.
"Steven, what's the problem?", my father asked calmly, pulling himself half out of bed so that his torso was exposed, and plumping the pillow behind him to make himself comfortable. As I looked at him, I saw a subtly altered version of myself, the self I would become. His chest hair was now flecked with grey and white, and he had not the superb muscle tone that I had, but nevertheless he was big, and strong-looking, without a trace of fat.
"You fucked Joe!", I almost screamed at him.
"Steven, calm yourself. Begin by standing in the subservient position, as we have discussed. And then remember what I said about respect...."
"Fuck you! You fucked Joe....", I shouted.
"Last chance, Steven. Calm yourself, show respect..."
I calmed a little, and began "You fucked Joe.... Sir."
"So?"
"But you were married, you and my mother... Me and my brothers...."
"Steven, I think it is highly inappropriate for you to be discussing my relationships. Inappropriate both as my son, and as a slave that I own. However let me say that I revere your mother's memory, I think of her every single day, and there's absolutely no way that I would consider ever sleeping with another woman...."
He scratched under his pit, casually, as if he was perfectly relaxed, and with his other hand adjusted his dick under the sheets. He went on "But I'm a man, Steven, a man still in his prime. I'm only in my mid fifties, still strong and vigorous, and like all men, I have urges, Steven. As you do, you more than most, as I understand it."
"So I decided to do something about it - better to have a nice, reliable, satisfying source of sexual relief here at home, than having to make the occasional foray to some sordid bar. When I saw Joe at Rooney's, and heard he was being groomed for sale as a sexual plaything, it seemed the ideal opportunity: I trust Rooney to give me a good deal, he assured me that Joe was fully experienced and more than happy to have almost endless sex. And, I understand, he comes highly recommended: with all those other servants at Rooney's to choose from, you yourself have often elected to sleep with Joe...."
"But sir, you're my father, you don't like men, it's not right...."
"Oh Steven, you really are even more mixed up than I thought when you went off on your harebrained scheme to 'use your body'. As I recall it, at that time you'd spent all your youth chasing - and taking - women. You used to laugh at 'queers' as you called them, and say they weren't proper men. Now you are, Rooney says, a dominant, aggressive, top who fucks every ass that's in front of him, to put not too finer point on it. And you dare to stand there and tell me that it's not right! What's not right about it? Liking men? - you do! Fucking them? - you do! Or the fact that you can't come to terms with the fact that I'm your father, and I'm a man like you are, or, rather, more of a man than you are? It's me who's made a success in life, me who can afford to buy you, not the other way around."
"Fuck you! You hurt Joe, you...."
"I only gave him a couple of mild slaps - he didn't want to have sex with me, and that's not right for a slave. It was in his own best interest to learn that I am always to be obeyed, in everything. He needs to learn the lesson that you've failed to learn, Steven, that you obey your father in all things, that you show respect, that...."
"Fuck you! That's Joe, a...."
"Enough! You've gone too far. You've exhausted all my patience." As he said this, my father threw the bedclothes aside and swung his feet to the floor. I hadn't seen him naked before, and now the similarities between us were even more apparent - the same long, fat dick, the same low-hanging balls, except that his were mostly concealed by his big patch of greying pubic hair, whereas mine were of course more visible as I was kept partially shorn and trimmed.
He reached up and gripped the back of my neck in his strong hands. We were so close I could almost feel the heat of his body. To my astonishment I found myself obeying his tactile commands, almost as I had when he'd dragged me off my brothers when we were fighting. He pushed me back across the hall and into my bedroom, and over to the punishment horse, where he pushed down so that I was lying across it. He bent down, his dick almost touching the floor, and snapped the wrist and ankle restraints shut, then shouted at Joe, who had got up from the floor and was now standing there looking at us almost in disbelief, to hand him the longest punishment cane available.
This caning was more terrible than anything I had ever experienced before. It wasn't just the fact that it was a long, thin cane that caused unbelievable stinging as it slashed across my bare rump. Or that my father simply didn't stop - again and again and again it fell across my butt, thighs ,calves, and shoulders, until my whole body was on fire. Or that it as my father again punishing me when I was completely naked. No, it was the sight of my father's dick boning up as he continued to thrash me, the thought of my father getting a sexual charge from punishing his son. And, of course, Joe was watching, watching both of us.
When he'd finished, when the frenzy had finally abated, my father stood there, his eyes blazing, a bright red colour suffusing his whole body, and his erection still raging. He looked at Joe, and said "You need to learn, too, Joe! I will not have you cause trouble in this house! Get on the horse!"
Joe bent down to undo the wrist restraints that were still holding me down, but my father snapped "No time for that. Lie on Steve..."
The heat of Joe's body pressing onto my battered back and butt was almost more than I could bare, and I cried out as he lowered himself onto me. Then as my father began to beat Joe, this time slowly, methodically and calmly, as if he was planning where every stroke was to go, I felt Joe's dick forcing its way between my ass cheeks. Look, I'm not blaming him - he couldn't help it: as I knew from my own painful erection as my dick thrust against the frame of the horse, a beating does that to you. Fortunately my father must have been tired, though, as Joe "only" got about twelve strokes, and then my father told him to get up.
"You both need a lesson, a further lesson", my father said. "You both need to remember that I'm in charge here, I'm the one that gives the orders, and you both obey. Steven, I think you're caught in some sort of trap of your own sexuality, and you need to be broken of it if I am to make real progress with you. And as you seem to have spent so much time fucking Joe here, and as you object so violently to me fucking him, I think there is some agenda that you do not fully understand. So as you are on the horse, and powerless, let me take your lesson a little further."
He came over and was standing behind me. I felt his hand on my inflamed butt - above the clamouring of all my nerve endings from the beating, his hand felt hot and added additional depth to my suffering. I could feel his fingers prying my cheeks apart, then he said casually "You look very tight, Steve, rather as you were when you were a tiny child and we had real problems getting a thermometer into you when you were ill. Not at all like Joe here, who seems much looser and more used to taking dick... Tell me, Steve, have you been fucked recently?"
I almost screamed "No!" at him. Having my father feel my butt and look at my hole was the ultimate indignity - I mean, it's OK when you're a baby, I guess, but I was a grown man.
The cane crashed down again, and I screamed at the sheer unexpectedness of it.
"No, sir...", I muttered.
"Right. So, Joe - mount him. Fuck Steven. I want to see him shout and cry as you fuck him, just as you did a few minutes ago when I entered you."
"No, sir, please don't make me do this...", Joe cried, in alarm. And I screamed "No! Dad, don't do this to me.... Not with you watching..."
The cane crashed down on my battered rump again, and my father snapped "I've told you, Steven, to show respect. One more word from you and I will gag you. And I will make you go to college tomorrow wearing a gag and a sign around your neck saying that you have been silenced for insolence."
"Now, Joe", he continued. "Mount Steve. And fuck him. Fuck him hard."
"No, please sir, don't make me do that....". Joe's voice was trembling with fear.
My father's cane crashed down onto my butt six more times, and the pain was now so intense that in spite of myself, I couldn't stop crying out as I was seriously hurting.
"Joe, you will do as I say. Every time you refuse me, I will cane Steven even harder. Now, mount him."
Joe came over towards me, and I could see tears running down his cheeks. His dick was rock solid, though. "Steve, I'm sorry... But it's for your own good....", he whispered. "I can't bear to see you being hurt like this."
And then, of course, I felt his dick at my ass. Or did I? Did I imagine it? My whole body was in such agony, especially all the areas around my butt, that I doubt that I really felt Joe's dick pushing into me. I did remember his body pushing against mine, and that was bad enough. But his actual dick, his dick forcing its way past my sphincter, I'm no longer sure. I do remember, though, that as he was trying to insert himself as slowly and gently as he could, to avoid hurting me if that was possible, my father struck out at his butt with the cane. The sheer unexpectedness of the blow thrust him forward into me, causing me to scream once more.
When it was all over, my father walked back to his own room, leaving Joe to undo the restraints and free me from the horse. I gingerly got to my feet, every fibre of me feeling as if it was scalded and burned. I could see the bright red marks of the thin cane that my father had wielded so viciously striping Joe's ass, and I knew that the whole of my own back must look the same. Joe just stood there, and muttered "I'm sorry, Steve...."
I put my arms around him, careful to avoid his butt, and said "It's OK, Joe... You just did what you had to. You'd only have been punished yourself..."
"But I wanted to make him stop hurting you, Steve...."
As he said this, Joe flung his arms around me, and I shouted out with the pain as his hands touched my bare back. At once he jumped back, almost sobbing "I'm sorry, Steve....."
"It's OK, Joe. You didn't think... It's OK. Here, come here...." I opened my arms again, and he came and stood against me, pushing his dick, slimed with his cum, into mine. I was still completely erect, and sensing this, Joey dropped to his knees and took my dick gently in his mouth. I couldn't be bothered to stop him, and just murmured "If you grab hold of my butt to steady yourself, Joe, I'll kill you!". That seemed to break the terrible air of dread and gloom hovering over us: as Joe looked up at me, my dick almost right down his throat, I could see his eyes were now smiling. He sucked me sensuously, carefully, treating my dick as if it was the most important thing
in the world, and willingly impaled himself right on it so that his nose was buried in my pubic hair. I stood there, my enjoyment of his attentions only slightly diminished by the sensation of his cum trickling down between my thighs as it leaked from my ass.
There was no question of Joe sleeping with me that night - we were both too sore. I lay there on my belly, just hurting, and thinking of the terrible things that had happened to me. I slept through the alarm again, but as he stripped the blanket off me and saw my naked body now striped like a tiger, my father must have taken pity on me as he shook me awake, rather than using the tawse, and told me curtly to get ready and go down to breakfast. He did the same to Joe, but it took us a long time - showering was very painful, and it got worse and worse as I had to pull on the white briefs, tight shirt and chinos.
My father gestured at me to sit down when I entered the dining room, but when he saw me looking so rueful, said "Painful, Steven? Well, let that be a lesson to you! Respect and obey, and we won't have to do that again. You may stand if you wish."
"Please, sir...", I began. "Please don't do that again...."
"Steven, it would be more impressive if you had said "I'm sorry, sir, please don't do that again....' I don't think you have a shred of remorse for your atrocious behaviour last night. And I will certainly punish you again if you ever misbehave as you did. You don't seem to realise, Steven, that you are being punished for your own sake: you have to learn to obey, to be a dutiful slave, so that you can be a dutiful son. You owe your owner respect and obedience, as you owed those to your father. And when you have learned them, we can move on. Until then, you will be punished, and, if I see fit, fucked: and not just by Joe, either: you are my slave, remember, and a slave owner has certain rights..."
"Sir, you can't fuck me, sir..."
"'Can't', Steve? 'Can't?' An owner can do whatever he likes to his slave. I fucked Joe last night, and I'll fuck him again tonight, and the night after, and the night after that. And I give you fair warning, here and now, that if there's ever such a display of disobedience form you again, I will have you strapped to that horse, beaten, and fucked. Do I make myself clear?"
"Sir, yes, sir", I said, seething with rage inside.
"Good! Now, I'm not a vengeful kind of person, as I'm sure you know. You look very uncomfortable indeed in those clothes - you may change into shorts and a polo for classes today - it is warm, and I believe the college allows that sloppy, casual dress?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Very well then, and hurry: I suspect you don't wish to run, and if you are late for classes it might affect your grades!"
I was at first thankful to be able to get out of the tight clothes, but as I dressed in the shorts, I realised they were the usual high-cut servants' shorts, not the longer style favoured by free men. As I glanced in the mirror I could see the red lines of the cane clearly over my lower thighs and calves. I wet to change back into my chinos, but my father appeared at the door of my room, saying "Hurry up! As I said, you'll otherwise be late..."
"Sir, yes, sir, I'll just..."
"Steven, as ever, you are arguing! It's a simple enough order, to hurry up, and you want to stand there arguing about it.... Now get down stairs and get out of the house, NOW!"
Well, what could I do? I felt so ashamed as I walked along that I thought of cutting classes completely for the day and risking dropping a grade. Then I remembered what my father had said about receiving regular reports on my progress, and I just knew they'd report my absence, that would mean more rows, more punishments. So there was nothing for it but to continue on to college, where, as they noticed the bright strikes across me, quite a crowd gathered.
Most of the guys were jeering and laughing at the "Fucking slave, who's been given a beating... Probably well deserved, too." But, as usual, one or two of the girls seemed to have really concerned looks on their faces, and at break time they came and asked me if there was anything they could do. It was all pretty humiliating, though, especially as I had to ask the professors if I could stand at the back, rather than sit, and, of course, being as a lot of them hated the idea of teaching servants, they added to my discomfort by asking in a loud voice "why?", and of course I had to tell them.
At lunchtime I slipped away and went to the physical education building, hoping to find somewhere to hide away from the curious stares of my fellow students. The guy in charge saw me, said that he'd missed seeing me swimming that morning, then, when he caught sight of my legs, gave a low whistle. "Man, that must hurt!
Your owner give you a good hiding, did he?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, you probably deserved it! But it's still painful, I'll bet."
"Sir, yes, very."
"Go into one of the treatment rooms, Steve, and strip off and lie on one of the massage tables, and I'll be there in a minute."
I looked at him quizzically, but he motioned down the corridor, and just said "Go, boy."
Well, what had I got to lose? I went in, pulled off my shirt and shorts, and lay there naked on my belly on the soft cool leather. The guy came in, whistled again, and exclaimed "Jesus fucking Christ! You have been give a going over. What did you do? Fuk your owner's daughter, or something?"
"No, sir, nothing like that. It was just that I criticised my owner..."
"You really are one dumb fuck, Steve! And I'd never have guessed it, looking at your class marks. Don't you know that servants never criticise, never complain, are always respectful...."
"Yes, sir. But it's hard."
"Harder than getting beaten up? Anyway, let's see if I can help. This is analgesic cream, a pretty powerful one, that I use on the football players when they've strained themselves...."
As he spoke he started to lightly massage my shoulders and it began to feel better. The sharp, spike edges of the pain disappeared, and I just had a solid, dull ache. It carried on working as his gentle fingers made their way down my back, then up my calves and thighs, until finally he was soothing my butt. I almost fell asleep with his gentle ministrations, but then something different happened - he started gently, oh so gently, to push a finger down between my butt cheeks!
At first I could hardly believe it, and did nothing, but as his finger tip started to scratch at the sensitive membrane around my hole - a membrane sore and throbbing after it had been fucked dry by Joe the night before - I said, as calmly as I could, "Please sir, no..."
"Oh don't be silly, Steve...."
"No, please, sir. Please don't...."
"Hey, Steve, just behave, will you? I do this to a lot of the football players, and if it's good enough for them free men, it's good enough for you, a fucking slave!"
"Sir, please don't. I don't like guys interfering with me, sir..."
"Listen you fucking slave - I've been nice to you. I've stood up for you and let you use the facilities here when all the others wanted you kept out. I've found you kit to wear so you could exercise, and use the pool. And now I'm taking away the pain from that beating you took. And you're still ungrateful, and won't even let me have a little pleasure...."
"Sir, please, so...."
"Yes, Steve! You'll fucking obey, or I'll call your owner and tell him you've been disobeying him all these weeks and using the gym and pool... Now, open your legs, boy."
Oh shit! What was I supposed to do? If my father found out I'd been deceiving him, especially after last night's punishment, he'd surely make good on his threat to personally fuck me! I began to realise the problems of being a slave - I had no free will, I had no freedom of choice, I was at the mercy of free men all the time. And even when one seemed nice and helpful, he'd only been doing it as he wanted sex. Still, the ointment was soothing, and I consciously relaxed and his finger slid into me: I suppose there was some good in this as it stopped the dreadful hot throbbing that I'd been suffering there ever since Joe's dick thrust in and out.
He seemed to be enjoying it, just fingering me, and I suppose it was OK. I lay there and really relaxed, and I heard him again. "You're just like all the football players, Steve! You complain at first, but once you start to get a proper massage, you all relax... Now, how's this....."
A wave of pure pleasure shot through me. I almost rose up off the leather table as my dick went rock hard. "Never had your prostate tickled before, then?", he asked conversationally, and all I could do was mutter "No, sir."
Of course it didn't stop there - he made me lie on my side then, and as he continued to fiddle at my prostate, he used his other hand to jerk me off. I was grunting and groaning from the sheer pleasure of it all, and as I shot, I left a really huge streak of cum all the way up the leather of the table. He was smiling when he'd done: "That's like all the big football players, too - they've never had a really good massage and a proper jerking off!"
He slapped my butt - which was now just almost playfully sore - and said "Back tomorrow, Steve. Same time."
"No, sir, I'm sure I'll be OK, the pain will have gone..."
"Who cares? You'll be back here tomorrow, and on other day I choose, as I like a good hard dick in my hands. And it's easier with a slave, a mature guy like you. Some of those football players are real babies, and I'm always scared they'll tell their parents. Still ,there's no risk of you telling your parents, eh?"
"No, sir", I said, meaning it!
End Of Part 21