THE LABOURER by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 31
Karen and I had a proper meeting to finalise things. She demanded a contract, which was no problem, and no surprise, really. And then we fixed the wedding date so that she would be at her most fertile that night. I must say it amused me when I went down to breakfast to find my father reading the local paper with a look of utter astonishment on his face. There, splattered over the front page, was a picture of me and one of Karen, with the headline shrieking "Society Heiress And Industrial Baron To Wed" and then it burbled on about it being "the" event of the season, that we were "very much in love", that society was already scrabbling to get invites to the wedding, and a lot of stuff about my father's company and my meteoric rise to the top. We had of course bribed the paper - no, that's the wrong word - I had visited the editor, pointed out that I had a substantial holding in the company, and told him quite bluntly that any mention of my slavery, or Karen's father's bankruptcy, would "not be interesting to the readers. And an editor who produced a paper that was of no interest to readers should expect a short career..." None of them mentioned the best bit of all though - the fact that I asked Rooney to show them to Rob, so that he could see that I'd even taken Karen from him.
Steve was serving us as usual, and he caught sight of the front page and almost dropped the chafing disk with my father's breakfast sizzling in it.
"Steve...", he almost wailed.
"Shut the fuck up, slave! How dare you speak when you haven't been given permission", I raged, and then, when I saw Craig utterly crumble, I burst out into uproarious laughter. "Fooled you!", I gasped, almost helpless with laughter.
He looked at me, still hurt, and I said "Oh Craig, the look on your face... It was worth all the expense of this wedding! Come on, don't go to Rooney's today. And instead of us being slaves together, we'll be free men together, real buddies, just for a change. Even though this wedding is a sham, I need a groomsman, you know... And a guy's best buddy has to do it. We'll need to go and get you a proper morning suit, as you can hardly hand me my ring wearing a tunic like that.... Half the women, and most of the men, in the audience wouldn't be looking at Karen and me as they tried to get a glimpse of your dick!"
I explained to him then that it was just a formality, and that Karen and I would never live together - we'd live in the same house, with the kids, but even now a new wing was being built for Craig and me. And the rest of the day was fun, too, as we went on the shopping spree to end all shopping sprees, buying sexy new underwear for Craig and some casual clothes, so that he could pull them on in the men's room and thus look "respectable" to go off to get measured for a morning suit, and an expensive casual suit to wear at the reception.
As we lay in bed that night, still sniggering and laughing at the attitude of some of the shop assistants when they'd seen Craig's body with its crop of marks and bruises, he suddenly went serious on me. "You're mad, you know that, don't you? It will never work."
"Of course it will, Karen and the kids in one wing, and us in another. And her parents in them middle part, I guess. The fucking place is big enough already, it's costing me a fortune, and our wing will be a zillion miles away from them..."
"No, stupid! I mean the wedding: you can't have me as your groomsman.... Folk would know. And they'd see my tattoo - they've got used to seeing yours, but if they see me standing there with you, with the same tattoo, they'll guess..."
"Look, Craig, folk only know what they're told. The paper is saying you're an old college buddy who's moved away to Hawaii - that will explain your tan and why you've not been seen around - who just flies in for the ceremony. And we'll get you a long, blond wig to hang down at the back - the 'surfer dude' look - that all fits in. Mind you, we'd better keep you away from Rooney's for a couple of weeks beforehand, as we need all those cane marks to clear up: if you see a nice young guy at the reception who you fancy, and decide to fuck him, it wouldn't look good if you were all covered in slave punishment marks."
And so it was. The wedding of the year. The local cathedral for the ceremony. The marquees on the lawn of Karen's house. Five hundred guests. A world famous pop group for the dancing. Hundreds of security guards to keep out the curious. Three million dollars worth of diamonds around Karen's throat as she glided up the aisle in her half a million dollar dress.... And afterwards, the pictures in "Hello" and "OK", saturation cover in the papers: we were the bride and groom of the year, and everyone always wrote, too, about the stunningly handsome groomsman, who had chartered a private plane to fly across from Hawaii. Craig quite liked that - the "stunningly handsome" bit, and kept reading it out to me as he preened himself in front of a mirror.
"Ah yes", I commented wryly. "But they didn't see your best bits.... That morning suit kept them all safely in check!"
That night, though, as the dancing continued in the marquees, Karen and I disappeared "to get ready for the honeymoon", the Master Of Ceremonies announced. I went up into Karen's suite, with Craig, and we all stood there.
"Satisfied?", I asked her. "I think we've successfully re-launched you as the queen of local society.... Now, Karen, the payment."
She nodded, and said "OK then, you two, strip!"
Craig looked at me, and for the first time ever, I saw him flushing with embarrassment. "Oh come on, Craig! She's seen us naked before - don't you remember, crawling around the pool, doing the terrace? Yo used to whisper to me that you hoped she liked looking at your asshole, as you deliberately spread your legs to try to embarrass her!"
As I said this I started to unbutton his shirt - that was sexy, actually, as usually I just ripped off his tunic - then when we were both naked I kissed him deeply, embracing him and running my hands all over his back and his butt, as we liked doing. I tickled his dick, and ground my hips against his until I felt him going erect. "OK, buddy.... We want more kids. You can go first...."
He froze, and looked at me almost in panic. I turned around and Karen had stripped too, and was standing there with her hands on her hips, a look of impatience on her face. "Come on, boys!", she demanded. "This is the best party there will be this year, and I'm missing it. Just come over here, and do the business, will you?" As she spoke she moved to the big silk-covered bed, lay on her back, and raised one leg languidly into the air.
"Go on, Craig", I said, lightly slapping him on the butt to encourage him. "Get stuck in! This party is costing plenty, and I want to enjoy it, too."
"No, Steve... I can't!"
"Sure you can - look at your dick..."
He came up to me and whispered "Steve, I can't... I don't know what to do... I've never been with a woman...."
"Its just like fucking a guy, Craig, but go in from the front..."
"No, Steve - you do it. Or let me coat your dick with my cum, like we did Rob's last time..."
That wasn't what I wanted, was it? I wanted him to fuck her "properly", to make sure his swimmers got off to a good start. Karen had asked me how I was going to ensure that it was his cum that fertilised her, not mine, and I'd worked out how to do it - all I had to do was put my plan into action a little earlier.
"OK, Craig. I tell you what - I'll fuck her first, and you watch, and learn! And the moment I've done, you leap in and do the same. OK, buddy?"
He nodded, still looking unsure. I turned and walked towards Karen, playing with my dick. If I ever tire of being a businessman, I reckon I could go into acting, as I managed to slide one of the "nails" into my dick as I moved those few steps, without Craig being aware of it. The pain was excruciating, but I bore it stoically.
Fucking's a bit like riding a bicycle, really, I suppose. Once you've learned how to do it, you never forget, and so I had no problem in mounting Karen. And in line with my "acting skills", I think I did a pretty good job of faking my cumming, and pulled out of her.
I walked back towards Craig, hiding the tip of my dick with my hand so that he wouldn't see the head of the nail, kissed him again, and said "OK, she's all warmed up. You've seen how a real skilful master does it, now use your body...."
He went to walk towards her, but to my horror I saw his dick wilt. He stood there by the side of the bed, and said almost plaintively "Steve....."
Some aspects of that evening in hindsight remind me of a farce! I had to almost hobble to the bathroom to get the nail out of me, it was hurting so much. Then I had to go and kiss Craig, stroke him, and almost jerk him off to the point of cumming, before guiding his dick into Karen! Still, as I saw his powerful body pumping up and down as I had seen it do so many times at Rooney's, I was excited. I owned this glorious piece of man flesh, he was mine, in every sense of the word! And as I thought this, and I saw Craig's body arch upwards as he shot his load, my tortured balls, denied the opportunity of emptying inside Karen by the nail, erupted. I couldn't help it, it wasn't deliberate, and Craig didn't mind : but Karen was furious about having a big streak of my cum all over her body, and the bed! Poor Craig got a lot of joshing and ribbing, too, when he went back to Rooney's the next day: running at right angles across the normal marks of the cane were the big scratches that Karen's nails had made down his back, as she clutched at him in her passion.
After that, I have to say that I thought I had it made. Craig and I lived a wonderful life in the West Wing of the mansion and we had access when we wanted it to the two - shortly three, and then four, boys. I rejoiced that two were Craig's, as I had again to repeat the subterfuge with the nail (Craig will probably never know how I suffered for him). Karen was happy, even though it cost me a fortune every month when the bills came in. My father was happy, as he had Joe, and was truly delighted at the way I had now taken an active part in the business, something he'd never hoped for in his wildest dreams. Craig was happy as during the week he toiled away as a slave at Rooney's, and at weekends he bossed me around to keep me trim. And, I suppose, Joe was happy: he simply adored my father, and it wasn't a question of an owner fucking a slave any longer, but of a younger guy sincerely and deeply loving an older man (as often happens, I understand). It all seemed idyllic. The best of all possible outcomes.
The Greeks had a word for it, I believe. When men are doing so well, the gods intervene and upset things. So when the plane carrying my father on another of his "goodwill" trips fell out of the sky, I was deeply and terribly upset. In those few brief years of my "true adulthood" I'd grown to love and respect him, and for the way that, in spite of everything, he'd never given up on me. I was only the man I was because of his determination that I would succeed. Thank goodness that at least I had Craig - I don't know how I would have got through the next few days otherwise.
Our lawyers handed me an envelope in his familiar writing. I just said "Steve" on the outside, and they told me that my father had written it some years ago, lodging instructions that it was to be handed to me as soon as possible after his death, and certainly before the reading of the will.
My fingers were shaking as I tore the envelope open and unfolded the single sheet inside it. I could hardly get to the end of the page as my eyes filled with tears, and even now, I can recite those words form memory, and I have to be careful to be alone if I think about them as it is not good for a captain of industry to be seen to be crying.
"Steve...
There's something special about a man's last born. It's his last shot at immortality. And youngest sons are often dearest to their parents. You are to me, Steve. Even though I loved all my sons, I loved you the most. It was hard work, but you got there in the end. But even in those black days when you were rebelling against everything, and against me, of course, I still loved you. We never know how long we have on this earth, and I hope that in the intervening time before you get to read this you will have gained the wisdom to see that I never gave up on you, never ceased to care for you. A man can't say that to his son, of course, especially when that son has grown up and had taken his proper place in the world: so often as I watched you at the office, or saw you working out, or observed you playing with your sons, or noticed how Craig looks at you and you look at him, I wanted to shout out "Yes, world. This is my son. This is Steve. Isn't he fantastic? "
But enough of that, we need to address practical matters. It has always been assumed that I would leave my holdings in the business to Mike, Bill and you equally. But you will shortly find that you are the sole inheritor, Steve. They don't need the money, of course, but that's not the point - they will be upset, very upset, if I know my sons! So I am giving you time to decide what to do. It's pointless trying to run things from beyond the grave, but let me suggest that a man needs family, Steve - not just his own sons, but the love of his brothers too. Act sensibly.
I am also leaving you my most precious and treasured possession - Joe. I once told you that I was only using Joe as a diversion, that a man has urges, that he needs to satisfy. But that was long ago, and although I don't love Joe as I love my sons, I have the deepest, deepest regard for him. If it were possible I'd have given him his freedom long ago, but as you know only too well there is no provision for that in law, and so like the rest of my estate, the ownership of Joe falls to you. There's still a headstrong, rebellious streak buried somewhere deep down inside you, Steve - yes, I know you that well, know that deep down, underneath that face you show to the world, there's still something of that sixteen year old who shrieked defiance at the world. I won't tell you therefore what to do with Joe - not only would it be presumptuous, but it would be counter productive: if someone tells Steve to do something, he still has a strong tendency to do anything but that. I'll just remind you, though, that I loved Joe, and he loved me. Think of how you feel about Craig and how Craig feels about you, and then do the right thing by Joe. I trust you enough now to know that whatever you decide to do, it will be good.
We never got to say goodbye properly, son. We'll never meet again. It's only now I wish I could believe in that ju-ju in the sky like the Christians do, in the vain hope that one day in some Valhalla we'd meet again, but that's all childish foolishness, and we're both men. Think of me sometimes, and live your life as you know you must.
Dad"
Well the potential crisis with my brothers was easily resolved, but I was glad of the time to make proper plans. Even before the funeral, as soon as they flew in, I called them and their wives together and told them about dad's will. As he had anticipated, they began to bluster and complain, but I silenced them. "Look, guys, you both have your own careers. You don't play any part in the business, and I do. So at one level, it's fair. And my lawyers tell me that the will is watertight, even for someone like you, Bill."
They started to complain again immediately, but I quickly went on "However a father should treat his sons equally, and so I am in effect re-writing the will, and each of you will get one third of the value of the holdings in the Company. I will not be subject to control or criticism by you, however, and I will not risk being outvoted by a combination of you two. Consequently when I sign over a third of the stock to each of you, you will at the same time irrevocably give me your proxy to vote that stock in whatever way I choose, for as long as I live. You have all the value, you can leave it to your kids, spend all the dividends.... But I retain control."
There was some minor arguing then, but we all shook on it, and although I could never quite forgive them for fucking my throat, we remain as close as brothers who have busy lives ever can be.
It was Joe who was my real concern. He'd loved me at one time, and now I owned him, my father's most precious possession. In the intervening years we'd been, well, "polite", "civil", I don't know what you'd say, really. I thought my father was foolish to treat him as he had: "You can't be friends with a slave", as they say, let alone be long-time lovers like that, and now it was up to me to pick up the pieces and try to put Joe back together again. Well, it was different for Craig and me, I mean.... Actually, what do I mean? I saw my fathers' dilemma in a flash, and I started to sweat at the thought of what might happen to Craig if I was killed.
I interviewed Joe in my study, and he looked terrible - he'd been crying a lot, and now he looked absolutely terrified about what might happen to him. He stood there in his fine clothes, and I said quietly "Joe, you're a slave. And I'm your new owner. My father left you to me in his will. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Steve."
"Joe, you're my slave. Have you forgotten everything you learned at Mister Rooney's?"
He fell into the subservient position, and mumbled "Sorry, sir."
"Take off those clothes, Joe. They're hardly suitable for a slave!", I said quietly, and watched as tearfully he undid the fine cotton short and pulled it off, slipped out of his expensive hand-tooled leather loafers, and pulled his socks off, then dropped his expensive pants to the floor. He stood in front of me in those ridiculously expensive Swiss cotton briefs my father brought him back from trips.
"Joe, when I said 'take off those clothes', I meant all of them!"
He was almost crying now as he pushed the briefs over his still slim hips, and stepped out of them. Look, you may think I was being harsh, but it was for Joe's own good: he was a slave, and I couldn't change that, and the sooner he learned to start thinking like one again, the easier it would be for him.
"Come here", I commanded, and when he was standing by the side of me, still subserviently posed, I reached out and felt his balls, then stroked his dick to erection.
"I remember this dick, Joe. Do you remember how you wanted me to play with it when we were in bed?"
"Yes, sir."
I swivelled my chair around, and pulled him down so that he was sitting in my lap - I'm still a lot bigger than him, even though he was long since a proper man. I put one arm around his hips, and pulled him towards me with my other arm around his shoulders. He was trembling all through him, and I kissed him.
"There, Joe. I know you're hurting You miss my father even more than I do, if that's possible."
He nodded.
"Don't worry, Joe. I'm not going to punish you for anything that might have happened in the past. The past is the past, and we can't change it. We need to remember it, and learn to live better from having experienced it. But remorse, and revenge, are a waste of time."
"Are you going to sell me, sir?", he asked.
I slapped my hand hard across his rump as he sat there in my lap. "You always were an idiot, Joe! Of course I'm not going to sell you! You and Craig and me went through enslavement together... You're part of my life. And you were a very important part of my father's life. So the choice is yours - you can do what you want: I will give you almost unlimited money, and within the limits of what slaves can do, you can travel, enjoy yourself.... It will have to be in the USA, of course, as slaves can't have passports.... And we can buy you an apartment...."
"Please, sir, don't send me away..."
"I'm not sending you away, Joe. I'm giving you as much freedom as I can, within the law. Most guys would give their right arms for enough money and leisure to do what they wanted..."
"Sir, no! Please don't send me away, don't make me leave here..."
"Hey, Joe, let's stop the 'sir' stuff, shall we? You know how Craig and I are - I'm only 'sir' when Craig is working as a slave."
"Steve, please... Don't send me away."
"OK, you can live here, that's no problem, if that's what you want to do."
"And can I still see the grandchildren, Steve? My old master loved them, and I do, too..."
I smiled and knew I had the answer! Having been enslaved so early, I realised that Joe could never live even an approximation of a "free" life. After comforting him some more, I told him quietly that he'd have to get used to living as a slave again, and told him to go and dress in a tunic - but that he could wear the long one as a mark of respect for my father's memory.
A couple of days later I took Joe to see Karen, and as he stood there, actually looking quite handsome now: he'd always been a good looking kid, and now that he was fully mature I could see that, had things been different, he could easily have been one of those "suburban" men you see everywhere in their neat clothes and neat houses, going to the market, taking the kids to soccer.... Working out so that he had a hard, trim body...
"I'm going to let you use Joe, Karen", I told her. "Neither Craig nor I, nor you I guess, have got time to do all the stuff that growing kids need - shuttling them around to and from school, to the library, taking them to soccer... And then there's teaching them to swim, to keep in shape..."
"Oh no, Steve. The fashion is to hire a servant girl, someone with a good education but who fell on hard times..."
"Karen, you know I've never given a fuck for fashion! And if you buy a servant girl's contract, you'll have to pay for it yourself! So use Joe - he likes the kids and they're used to him. And growing boys need a male role model, you know that. And who could be better than Joe? He's got nice manners, a good body... And when he's not doing things with them, he can work on the grounds, do the pool...."
A smile started to spread over Karen's face. "You're right there, Steve - I used to enjoy watching him clean the pool.... It will be a temptation to me, of course, having such a desirable chunk of man living in such intimate contact...."
"Well, he needs strong, firm control, Karen. He thought he had me to control him, then of course my father gave him the authority figure he needed. I don't doubt that you can do it for a young guy like that, as you're very forceful.... But here...... Be careful....."
I smiled as I casually tossed her a "nail". I knew Joe was going to have some interesting times!
MASTADON PICTURES CORPORATION
MEMORANDUM
From the desk of Walter G Hughes, Executive Assistant to the President. To: Frank H Cordrey, Producer designate, "Labourer"
Before he left for Cannes to collect the lifetime achievement award for services to motion pictures, something which Mr Brown justly deserves for the studio, as I am sure we will all agree, he signed off on the tentative plan to produce "The Labourer" which he discussed with you when he appointed you as Executive Producer.
My Brown is keen to capture the market which undoubtedly exists to appeal to the more mature audience which is tired of "teen comedies", "boy meets girl love affairs", and "spy thrillers". The time is right once again for "science fantasy", and Mastadon, he asked me to remind you, does not have enormous resources to spend on elaborate sets and animated models: The Labourer is therefore positioned to scoop the pool and produce record profits provided we act quickly, combining as it does proper drama, well formed characters, and a strong element of escapist fantasy, without the need to incur enormous expense. Set as it is in a "near future" America, it can all be made most easily set in a few of those large colonial mansions which can be hired for a song throughout the south. Mr Brown also asked me to remind you that he gave strict orders relating to the casting of the film: you are explicitly not to hire "names" and instead find "beautiful young hopefuls" who are prepared to work in the nude and near-nude. It is also likely that for some of the mature roles, like Rooney and Mr Masters senior, "character actors" used to medium scale fees might be enticed to work for substantially lower sums as they will be constantly exposed to the sight of the beautiful young men; and furthermore, as we do not wish to have to employ half of Hollywood's make-up artists, it is likely that many of the canings and whippings will be done "for real" - not only will this enhance the feeling of reality that makes the plot so chilling, but ought to attract even larger audiences drawn to the prospect of seeing something which is widely available on the Internet but only infrequently seen in main-line cinema. It also means that the actors playing the slaves need not be so accomplished, as they will not need to fake most of the pain they are supposed to be suffering.
As a later stage, Mr Brown suggests that part of the advance publicity for the film can be "placed" so-called "candid" interviews with some of the players, where we might suggest that they had been unaware of what was in store for them and that the scenes where they attempt to break free of "the horse" as they are caned were in fact not consensual. However it is imperative that the actors' contracts allow for this, as Mr Brown does not want the studio sued for "pain and suffering".
As he is keen to get this film on the studio floor in less than two months, time is of the essence and so Mr Brown dictated the above treatment that sets out the major situations, plot lines and defines the key characters. Please engage our in-house writers to re-work this as a shooting script before Mr Brown's return next Monday. A meeting to progress this exciting project is scheduled on that day at two p.m. in Mr Brown's office in the executive building.
Cordially Walter G Hughes
THE END Pete Brown, April/May 2005. London, Bourg St Maurice, Paris.