THE VILLEIN OF THE PIECE A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Note to readers: I have lost the creative urge to write, and since June, when I last looked at "Reluctant Gladiator", have not put pen to paper, to use the old metaphor. This distresses me a little, not only because I know I have a large readership who enjoy my stories, but primarily because a lot of this creativity is to do with "me" and who I am. Whilst clearing up my PC I came across a nearly-completed first chapter of a story I started some years ago, and in an attempt to begin writing again I forced myself to complete it - well, the opening part at least. So here it is - I must warn readers that this is far from being a "vintage Pete Brown" with a long, developing plot line.
Pete
THE VILLEIN OF THE PIECE
We didn't have a lot of money as I was growing up. No, that's not right - we actually didn't have any money at all, really, as dad was a villein on our master's estate. So although we were well housed and my brothers and sisters and I had good serviceable clothes and we always had enough to eat, there just wasn't any free money at all.
Those of you who mostly live in the megalopolises probably don't fully understand how the system works out here in the country: after the endlessly slow recovery from the Great Crash there just wasn't enough machinery and oil and stuff to go back to working the countryside as it had been, with huge machines crawling over hundreds of hectares. Land prices really dropped and some of the richest men managed to buy up huge estates, and then had to find a way of working them to grow the food that was still needed, and as various models were tried and failed in some way, they were mostly found to be wanting: too many people and too much time had to be involved in administering wages and stuff like that for the large numbers of people who were now needed to work the land once more. So the old "capitalist" system had to be junked, but history had already told us that authoritarian and communist-like regimes were ultimately unsuccessful.
It's not clear who ultimately pointed out that the system in use across a lot of Europe in the Middle Ages had many advantages for the mess the country was in. So we ended up with roughly the same system - a small number of exceedingly rich landowners at the top; a much-reduced "middle class" of professionals such as lawyers and doctors and the like (not so many of all of these were needed as before, as crime and stuff was dramatically reduced); and some skilled artisans like carpenters and blacksmiths who now made much of the stuff locally that had formerly been produced in the old wasteful factories - using mostly hand labour, and avoiding a whole lot of transport costs of course, it was so much more ecologically sound. Below them, but still free men, were guys like my dad who was a villein to the owner of the land on which our little house stood - in exchange for the use of the house and the few hectares of "garden" which mom and dad (and us kids!) could tend to grow our own food, dad owed the landowner three days a week of work on the estate lands. The savings in this system may not seem obvious until you realise that dad was highly motivated to work very hard in those three days each week - if he didn't, our whole family would be thrown out of our house as we had no formal title or lease or anything: as a villein, dad occupied it at the owner's pleasure, it's as simple as that. And of course without wages and stuff there was no need for an army of administrators and such like, so the whole thing is quite efficient. And "our" piece of land was large enough for mom and dad to grow enough vegetables to feed us all, and to keep chickens, geese, goats and even a cow, to provide us with eggs, milk and meat.
Dad was a free man, though: he could vote in the local elections for the sheriff, and for the beadle who administered the workhouse where the unemployed were housed. And, of course, he was free to give up the house and land if he wanted, and to move to another one if he could find it. But, of course, there's the difficulty - what landowner in his right mind would take on a villein who had left his previous station? Only a very few villeins ever moved - you needed to win the lottery or something - and so dad was really "tied" to where we were, and to giving his three days a week to the owner. Still, it was better than being a slave - we had those in our state, as did many others, as it had been decided that keeping criminals in jail was completely unproductive and it was much better to use them as slaves for all the jobs in the quarries, mines, and such like where there was really no possibility of getting villeins to do it, and where paying free men would simply be much, much too expensive.
Still, as I said, we had a good life. Mom made really great food from the garden and the produce of our livestock, we had a warm, dry house (although it was a bit small for my two brothers and two sisters and me), and our landowner had a really good reputation for the enlightened management of his estate - for example when dad broke his arm in an accident he paid for the doctor to fix it up so dad could resume work once it had healed, and whilst he was incapacitated, he allowed mom to work in the big house to replace dad's three days of labour (although she had to do four days each week, as she was a woman and only capable of light work around the place). The owner also paid for the village school that all us kids went to - it was considered good that we could master basic reading and do simple sums as this would be helpful in our work, and when I left and went to work alongside dad when I was eleven, I reckon I'd got pretty good at it.
I guess everything would have been OK if I hadn't discovered sex! Well, I say "discovered" - living on a farm with all those animals (and in a very small house with mom and dad, and dad was an energetic, virile man), there was not a lot I didn't know about it. And once my voice broke and I matured, there was no stopping me. I could sometimes hear mom and dad whispering about "how I'd grown up" after they'd been together before they slept, and I know dad was planning to talk to the landowner to ask him for another hectare on our plot so that I could work it with him (and maybe do one day a week as a villein myself) until I was "properly" a man at twenty-one when I could hope to take on my own place.
Mom and dad kept me on a pretty tight leash, though, and with all the work I had to do around the place I didn't meet a lot of folks outside the family. Mostly it was our neighbours, and we mostly only saw them at church on Sundays, and then the families guarded their daughters to keep the maturing lads like me well away! So I didn't actually get to fuck - a woman, that is, rather than my own fingers - until I was fifteen. But once I'd started, there was no stopping me: it was like a drug. So however tired I was after my day's toil I'd wait until the whole house was asleep then creep out and run the miles across the fields to one or other of the neighbours in the hope that one of the girls would be as horny for it as I was.
I got quite a reputation as a stud - not only did I get lots of practice, but, even though I say so myself, I was quite handsome. I had a tall, well-made body just like dad's, I was well muscled from all the work I did and had a lot of power and strength in my body from the good food and exercise, and the girls always told me I had a kind of "cute smile" . But actually I think they really liked my dick - properly in proportion to the rest of me. Or was it that they liked the fact that I knew how to use it, and was pretty skilled at really giving them almost as much pleasure as I got myself?
It was just before my seventeenth birthday and I was working away on our vegetable patch - dad was away doing his mandatory three days on the owner's land, and I'd said I'd get the vegetable plot dug over for mom. Being a hot day I'd taken my shirt off (you can't afford to wear out stuff when you don't need to, can you?) and I always try to avoid making work for mom if I can so if I didn't sweat into it I could wear it for a third or fourth day. I was kind of enjoying the sensation of the breeze on my hot skin and the way it kept me a bit cool, and I could feel those little trickles of sweat running from my pits down over my ribs and making the waistband of my jeans all wet. I was in that rhythm of working when you kind of turn off, and was deep in my thoughts (actually thinking about Lisa who had agreed to meet me that night, and my dick as rock hard against my clothes as I let my mind run over what we'd do together!), when I was startled by a voice - a female voice.
"Are you Steve, then, the son of the villein Masters?"
I looked around and there was this vision of loveliness (or, actually, someone whose body was shrieking 'sex') - a girl - no, woman, I reckon, like no other. She was slight and dressed in pale colours, and carried a parasol to keep her face out of the sun. I wasn't used to seeing women with pale, fair skin, and in light clothes, as all our neighbours were deeply tanned, as was I, and always wore clothes of dark, heavy cotton to avoid showing the dirt.
"Yes, I'm Steve Masters", I managed to reply. "And who are you, then?"
I knew, of course, as I'd seen her sitting with her father n the font pew at church on Sundays - she was the owner's daughter, Arabella they say her name was.
"Never you mind who I am. It's you I'm interested in. All the maids at the house say you've got quite a reputation with the ladies.... you know what pleases a woman....."
I gave her a broad grin - no, a big, wide open smile, really. I felt my dick straining even harder at my jeans, and I managed to say "Oh, do they? Well, I never argue with a lady...."
She took a couple of steps towards me, and reached out with one of her slim, white hands to touch me gently just at the base of my neck. Then, as time seemed to stand still, her finger moved down ever so slowly, and ever so gently - it was almost as if a butterfly was moving over me, it was so light - to brush against my left nipple. I couldn't help myself - my nip was as rock hard as my dick was now, and I think she sensed my excitement as she allowed her finger to ever so gently tease the light hairs around my aureole.
"Mmmmm, Steve....", she whispered, and before I could do or say anything her other hand reached out and almost with the speed of a snake grabbed at my crotch! The contrast between the gentle, ladylike approach to my nip and the way she held my rigid dick through the thin fabric of my jeans was so surprising that I didn't react for a moment. And she laughed, a high-pitched happy laugh. "I can see what the girls mean...", she added as her fingers gripped my dick.
"No, please....", I stammered. I mean, it's not right, is it? A woman shouldn't be doing that to a guy, not being "forward" like that! It's up to the man to make all the moves, isn't it? But before I could get any more words out, she'd put her lips against mine, moved her finger from my nip to around my neck as if to hold me (I could easily have pulled away, of course, as I was very powerful... but I suppose I didn't want to), and her tongue was thrusting into my mouth.
It was all totally new to me! You could say she seduced me, although that suggests I was totally inexperienced. But actually, I suppose I was inexperienced in her ways - I was used to having to cajole and persuade a girl to let me fuck her, was used to making all the running. I was totally unprepared for the blatant way her hands ran all over my muscles, the way she almost tore my jeans off (and laughed when she saw I had no underwear, and at the way my dick burst free and was almost parallel to my muscled belly, I was so aroused). Then she carried on with that tinkling laugh as she pointed out the contrast between my stark white butt and the deep brown of my belly and my back - I was too amazed to join in, and, actually, as she grabbed my dick and balls and began to slide my 'skin up and down, I was a bit scared: this wasn't meant to be the way you had sex!
And we did have sex! She fucked me, yes, that's what she did. I had to lie there on my back as she sat astride me, "riding" me and using my hard dick to pleasure herself. Well, it was pretty dammed good for me too, I suppose, although I like to be more in control and I really prefer what dad told me was the "proper" way for a guy to fuck a woman, in the so-called "missionary" position - I don't know why it's called that. And she was annoyed, actually, because I was so aroused that I shot my load long before she was ready to climax and she carried on "riding" me even though I was crying out as my dick is really sensitive once I've cum.
She got off me, and used my jeans to dry between her thighs as I lay there watching, too stunned to do or say anything. She hadn't really undressed, and she just smoothed down her dress and turned to walk away. "Be here tomorrow", she snapped. "You're very acceptable, for a country boy."
As I lay there with the sun beating down on my naked body if it was almost as if I'd had a totally erotic dream (the kind where I used to wake up and find the bed soaked in cum where I'd shot, before I realised that young guys needed to jerk off before going to sleep! The first couple of times I think mom and dad laughed about it when mom found the hard patches as she did the laundry, but dad soon put me right as he said it wasn't fair on mom to have the extra work needed to wash the stains out). Still, there was work to do, and I pulled my jeans on (having held them up to my face first to breathe in that special scent of a woman that was now all over them), and got on with it. Dad laughed at dinner that night as he said I was so quiet it was almost as if the cat had got my tongue - and that made me squirm a bit as I sat there, actually, as I remembered Arabella's hot tongue forcing itself into me!
She fucked me the next day, and the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, which was Sunday - she instructed me to be in the apple orchard near the big house in the middle of the afternoon as she wanted "something to pass the boring Sunday afternoon with". It almost made me late for evening service at the church, and dad glared at me when I stumbled in, and mom looked very disapproving as she brushed a few stray pieces of grass off my jacket (Arabella hadn't allowed me to take it off, as she thought it would be funny to see me bare only from the waist down, with my Sunday best shirt, tie and jacket on top!).
Well, I don't know what her long-term plan was. We never talked about stuff like that. She was just using me as something for her pleasure, and my needs were of no interest. And she clearly thought that there was no use in talking to me, as she didn't think I'd have anything interesting to say. Still, the sex was good, I suppose - although I hated not being able to do all the stuff I usually did with girls, and I hate not really being in control.
It seemed to go on for weeks - and I knew mom and dad were worried about me - even on my seventeenth birthday when my brothers and sisters and mom and dad were all seated for my special birthday dinner, I was kind of late as Arabella had been using me. And all through dinner I could hardly join in with all the family jokes and - for one thing, this kind of continual sex was tiring me out. And for another, my mind was so full of it that the normal "family" things seemed somehow trivial.
The blow fell a couple of weeks later. As usual Arabella had been ravaging my body that afternoon, using me as if I was a mere plaything. But when I got home I knew something was probably very wrong as I had never seen dad to be so angry-looking before.
"What the fuck have you been doing, Steve?", he demanded. "The land agent came by saying the master wanted to see you, and said that you and me and mom are to go over to the Big House as soon as you got back, and we've been waiting.... I don't know where you get to these days - I hope you've been doing nothing wrong...."
"No, dad....", I muttered, but even to me it didn't sound wholly convincing.
"...But you'd better have a bath first", he continued. "You can't go there all covered in sweat and grime like you are now. So I had to get the big tin bath in, and mom ladled buckets of hot water from the copper into it so I could sit there and scrub myself clean - dad used the water after me as we always did on bath nights, but my brothers weren't home yet and so I knew mom would have to heat more water later for them. They do say that in the olden days there used to be permanent baths, and everyone used to have one individually. But in our house all the men always used the water sequentially, and all the girls did with another lot. Of course as I got older and my body hair started to grow I was allowed to keep my underpants on so mom wouldn't be embarrassed, and so afterwards I hopped around with a big towel wrapped around me, taking off the wet ones and pulling on clean fresh ones that mom held out for me, whilst dad quickly scrubbed himself clean (He was naked of course as he had nothing to conceal from mom, and as usual I noticed how alike we were - both tall and muscular, and really the only difference was that dad was much "bigger built" than me as his body was matured by more years of hard toil than mine. But I knew I'd look just like him one day - although, I mused, even now I reckoned my dick was bigger than his).
Dad insisted I wore my Sunday best shirt, and my jacket and trousers, rather than jeans, and he dressed up, too. "It will be a good opportunity to talk about the extra land, Steve,", he said. "You're almost a man now, and it's time you started to take some proper responsibility. If you could get a nice bit of land to work as I do, and put in your days in on the estate, you'd be well set-up if you wanted to marry."
"Hey, dad, not so fast! Marry? I'm only seventeen..."
"Yes, Steve, but I know how I was at your age - these years are really difficult for a young guy: your body knows it's time for you to get wed, but the law doesn't allow it for another year... but there's always temptation around and the sooner you can marry, the better."
I flushed a bit as dad was saying this, as of course I had already succumbed to the "temptation" many times! Surely dad would know that, as he'd been a young guy once, too. But perhaps things were different when he was growing up.
"I reckon some good hard work getting a piece of land into shape will take your mind off the women for a bit", dad went on, "...and when we do come to pick a girl for you, we'll have the pick of the crop to choose from if you have a nice bit of land, and the makings of a house...."
I muttered something in agreement, as I didn't want to upset dad. But no way was he going to choose a wife for me! I reckon dad thought that wives had to be big and strong to help on the land, whereas after Arabella I could see that there were other things that were important, too, like a big appetite for sex, and a nice, lithe body that I could play with.
Soon we were all ready, in spite of all mom's fussing around at dad and me to make sure we were "a credit to us all". And she had put on her Sunday best church dress, too. We walked up the immaculate drive at the Big House, but when dad knocked at the double doors, we were told to go around the back to the "common people's entrance". We were shown into a rather bare waiting room, and just sat there for some time. Mom and dad seemed rather overawed by the place, but my curiosity was getting the better of me as I wanted to know what kind of place Arabella lived in.
The land agent - Mr Straughan - came in after a time and said that the master would see us now, and he led us out of the bare waiting room, along what was evidently a corridor used by the house servants, and through a door into the entrance hall of the house proper. Mom and dad and me all looked in awe at the huge wooden staircase that went up in a vast sweep to the upper floors, and at the statues and paintings. Straughan knocked at one of the heavy oak doors, and then opened it and ushered us in.
I'd seen the master before, of course - not only riding around the countryside on his horse, or in one of the carriages with his wife and daughters, but especially on Sundays when he led his family up the aisle at our church and into the front pew specially reserved for them. Obviously I'd never spoken to him, although I knew mom and dad had as it was the custom at Christmas for them both, along with all the other villeins, to take a basket of the fruit from our trees up to the big house to present to the master as a "thank you" for his letting them continue to use the house and land.
We'd been found out, of course - it seems that Arabella had had to use her mother's lady's maid one day to help her dress when her own was sick, and this maid had no loyalty to Arabella, only to her mother, and was very concerned when she'd found stains on Arabella's undergarments and had at once reported them to her mistress. Arabella had then confessed that she had been having sex with one of the local men, and it hadn't taken her father long to discover that it was me.
"Masters", the land owner began, looking sternly at dad and not even giving us any welcome. "I have called you here to give you notice to quit. I want you off my land tomorrow." He looked at Straughan and added "Make a list of recommendations for which of the local men can take on that plat and the house, so we can get it tenanted immediately after they leave."
"Please, sir.... why..... I've always worked hard..... And there's my wife, and the little ones....."
"Not so little, Masters! That son of yours has been rampaging around the place just as if he is some sort of prize bull. I have investigated and found that he has been impregnating many of the local girls.... and now.... now.... he has even had the audacity to force my daughter into the most vile sexual acts. I'm not prepared to have this sort of disgraceful behaviour on my land... I cannot and will not tolerate any risks to my daughter! And such behaviour can only have been learned from a dissolute and corrupt home: you have other sons, I know, and I suppose they will be in the same mould as this one. So away with you, away with you all..."
"Sir, you must have that wrong", dad began. "Steve is a good lad - he works hard..."
"Oh please, sir....", mom cut in, "Please don't turn us out. We have nowhere to go... and my other sons and daughters......"
"You should have thought of that, madam, before allowing your eldest son here to rampage around the countryside impregnating the local girls...."
I stood there, not knowing what to do, or what to say. Dad grabbed hold of me then and shouted "Steve, is this true....?"
I tried to pull away from him but even though I'm powerful and strong as I've told you, I was still no match for dad. His fingers dug into my biceps and the many more years of hard toil he'd done really showed, as there was no way I could break free. I tried, though, and we had a slight tussle as we stood there.
"See!", the land owner snapped "He is out of control! Even you can't properly restrain and discipline him, Masters! He's like a wild beast, and that's the way he has been acting.... My daughter was ravaged by him, and she was so afraid of him that she did not dare tell us...."
"No, please, sir, my son is not like that....", dad shouted.
"Are you accusing my daughter of lying, Masters? When we discovered that your son had been impregnating her she was trembling with fear.... she said how he.... No, I can't, I won't go on. It's too disgusting! A big, strong man like your son - I can imagine he could be vicious-looking to a poor innocent girl - ravaging my daughter.... You're lucky I am allowing you to leave - I'm not certain that it wouldn't be better to have the constable arrest him for rape, have him tried, and then have him castrated to protect other young women!"
Dad relaxed his grip for a moment and I managed to shake myself free. I stood there, trembling with rage about what had been said (and actually a bit scared, having heard the word castration). "It wasn't like that!", I shouted. "I never raped anyone! I've got no need to force myself onto anyone - they're willing enough.... "
"...you forced my daughter!"
"NO! No, I didn't! She forced herself on me! She made me go with her, she....."
"Silence! I will not have you speak in that disgusting way about my daughter. She has been properly brought up, and there's no way that she would even consider having sex with a villein's son, or, indeed, with anyone before marriage. She is a sweet, delicate girl, just eighteen, and how dare you suggest that she could force a huge, rough man like you to do anything against your will."
"Well she did! She's sex mad. Desperate for it. Many times I was so tired I didn't want to do it, and she insisted, she...."
"Steve, shut up!", dad snarled. "How dare you say things like that in our master's house...."
"NO, dad! It's not right! She made me do it...."
The next moment I was sprawled on the floor, my head spinning. Dad had lashed out at me, punching me in the guts and then slapping at my head as I doubled over. "Shut up, Steve!", he snapped. "I won't have you disobeying me, you know that...."
"Well done, Masters. That's what he needs - the young need firm discipline. It's a pity you didn't thrash him more as he was growing up, so he learned how to behave properly. You wouldn't then find yourself homeless."
As I pulled myself up into a sitting position, still a bit dazed from dad's blow, I could see mom looking horrified, and scared. She never normally spoke when men were talking, but now she stammered "Please, master... Steve was always a good lad. His father rarely had to punish him.... But this last year he seems to have changed.... I'm sure he didn't mean any harm...."
"That's irrelevant, madam!", our master said in his harsh tone. "The fact remains that he ravished my daughter, and I'm not prepared to tolerate having a wild animal like that around the place. But I'm a generous man - I won't insist you leave tomorrow: I will give you until the end of the week to make alternative arrangements."
"Please, master...", dad was standing there with his head bowed now, wringing his hands together. I felt sorry for him - no, I was ashamed for him, a big strong man like that having to beg and plead. "There's no other work... We'll never find another place.... We've served you well here for years, always giving you our tithe promptly.... My wife and children will be a charge on the parish as we'll be destitute...."
"Hmmm.... You're right. I'll end up paying for the upkeep of your brats, I suppose, as I'm the biggest contributor to the parish poor relief fund. And you have looked after my land well. I'll reconsider, and let you stay...."
"Oh thank you, sir....", mom cried out, almost weeping.
"...but that brute must go. I won't have him around here, lusting after my daughter."
"But master, he's only seventeen.... He won't be able to get an indenture or anything until he's eighteen.... He'll starve, be destitute...."
"Silence, Masters! I've already been absurdly generous in allowing you and your family to stay."
I managed to pull myself to my feet, and was going to try to say something when the door opened and our master's son came in. He didn't live on the manor as he was away at school, one of those fancy places where the kids stay except during vacations. But folk in the village said that when he was growing up he had been callously indifferent to the goings on around him and was only interested in having his own way about things. He stood there for a moment, taking in the scene, then turned and said "So, that's Arabella's stud, is it, father? Have you put them out as you said you would? The villeins need a lesson occasionally, to show them all that we keep good order here. It will make the whole village think, and realise how much they're dependent on us."
"I've decided to allow Masters and his wife and children stay. They pay their tithes regularly, and if I put them out they'll be a charge on the parish - which means me. But the son has to go."
"Oh please, master, no....", mom wailed again. "Steve's a good boy really. He's got nowhere to go...."
"Madam, I've told you that I'm not prepared to tolerate him on my land! Either he goes, or all of you go. And that's an end to it."
"It's OK, mom", I said, managing to form my words now. "I can't let you and dad and the kids be punished for what I did. I'll manage, somehow..."
The owner's son stared at me. "How old is he, father?", he asked. "Is he still under the control of his father, one of our villeins?"
I didn't like being spoken about like that. I mean, if he wanted to know how old I was, he should have asked me, shouldn't he? It's as if he didn't think of me as a person. "I'm seventeen", I said, angrily.
The son stared at me, seemingly surprised that I had spoken. "You're big, for a seventeen year old. Let me see more of you - unclothe."
"What?"
"Are you stupid? I know intelligence is not normally something that villeins need, but surely you understand simple English? I told you to unclothe, which means to strip, to get naked. I want to inspect that body of yours further, to see if you're potentially suitable for my purposes."
"No way! You've no right to tell me to do something like that..."
The son turned to his father and said casually "Really, father, I think you're taking a big risk in allowing the whole of this Masters family to stay on the estate. He may have paid his tithes and so on in the past, but if the man and his wife have raised a son who does not respect authority and refuses perfectly reasonable requests from us, then I think you should reconsider. Once a rebellious attitude like that takes hold it will spread to the other villeins.... And then what? It seems to me you'd do better to stick with your original decision, and turn them off our land. And the sooner the better - I think you're wrong to tolerate them here for another week."
Our master looked at dad. "I think my son's perhaps correct, Masters. Your son seems to have a rebellious nature..."
"I'm sure Steve didn't mean anything by it, sir", dad stammered. "It's just that it's a bit unusual...."
"Nonsense, Masters! Don't I have you examined by the estate physician every year to ensure you're healthy and able to continue to work my land? I assume the physician inspects your body thoroughly, and my son is only making a similar request. It does seem to me that you may not be fit to work my land in future as you clearly have raised a rebellious son who has not properly understood the way that a villein should respect his master's orders...."
"I'm sure Steve didn't mean any harm, sir... He's a good boy really, as his mother says...." Dad looked so uncomfortable as he said this, standing there sort of wringing his hands.
I could see where all this was leading, and I hated the thought that my family would de turned off the land - we didn't have any possessions or any money or anything, well, not much, as we worked our master's land and paid him most of the profits we made for the privilege. Our cottage was his, and almost all the furniture in it, and almost the only things we owned were our clothes, and most of them mom knitted or sewed from the materials she bought from the meagre money left over after we'd paid our master his tithes for the land and cottage. If we were turned out we'd be totally destitute, and I knew dad would never be able to get another place as no master would take him on if he had been turned off by another master.
There was only one thing I could do. I took off my jacket that mom had spent so many hours sewing, and began to unbutton my shirt. "I'm sorry, sir", I told the son, looking him straight in the eye. "I misunderstood."
Mom, dad and the two men watched as I took off my shirt (lovingly cut down from dad's old one, and re-sewn by mom so that it looked almost new), then pulled my knitted undershirt off over my head. Seeing them all still silent, I bent down to untie the laces of my boots, and in the way that you do at times like that I noticed a small detail - in spite of mom and dad making me scrub all the mud off them and polish them once we knew we were coming up to the manor house, there was a tiny speck of clay lurking around one of the eye holes. I took off my boots and then stood there in my socks. Mom had given me a freshly-knitted paid to wear as she thought we were coming to a 'special occasion' instead of keeping them for me as a Thanksgiving present, and I was therefore spared the embarrassment of having to reveal my usual ones which of course were darned many times, all over.
There was nothing left for me to do then as everyone was still watching me, so I unbuckled my belt (dad had made it for me for my last birthday, tanning the hide himself when we'd been given a quarter of one of our master's cows that had died), then undid the buttons on my fly and pushed my trousers down. I stood there and folded them neatly, as I'd learned at home that you treat your 'best' clothes with respect, and then waited there in my socks and briefs. At least I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of - my briefs were thin and worn being dad's 'cast-offs' as everything had to be handed down in the family, but mom's incredible hard work with the pumice stone, scrubbing brush and washboard meant they were clean and unstained. It also occurred to me that I ought to be proud of my body - long hours helping dad in the fields meant that I was lean and trim, and there's of course no chance of fat living the life we do. I knew from when we changed for games at the village school that all of us villeins' kids looked a whole lot better than the weedy specimens who were the sons of the tradesmen and shopkeepers.
The son came and stood closer to me, then ran his finger down my chest, and across my belly. I flinched slightly as it tickled the hairs in my treasure trail a bit, and as he teased it around my navel. "Good muscle tone here", he told his father. "And no obvious blemishes. I think he will do, do very well, for what we were discussing earlier."
"No, James, I do not agree with you. I do not think he will 'do'. Not at all. I said you must of course have a servant at college, but a gentleman needs a servant who understands the finer things in life - you're at a my old fraternity, the most prestigious on campus, and your servant needs to keep your clothes immaculate.... A villein's son like this can have no conception of how to arrange your cravat for the day, of starching your collars and tying your bow tie with your dinner jacket, and...."
"But, father, you are not properly considering the 'look' of the boy. When he is dressed in the fraternity's livery he will be an outstanding specimen, far better looking than most of those we saw when we visited the campus last month. He will reflect well on me, as I will be seen as a gentlemen of taste and discernement, and a credit to the fraternity...."
"You have forgotten that there are young ladies on the campus, James. It is irresponsible to introduce someone like this with his animal lusts..."
"And, father, when we discussed sex on campus, you told me how important it was that I did not inadvertently make a binding liaison with one of those ladies, who might only be after my fortune, and that one of the advantages of your old fraternity was their traditions... Especially those relating to my frat brothers and the way things were conducted in the house.... It seems to me that this Steve will be a real asset, and will help me be popular from the outset.... And I'm sure we can control him properly so that he isn't a risk to any young ladies.... And didn't you tell me anyway that one of the highlights of the week for the frat brothers was the Saturday night sex show put on by the servants? This Steve comes already trained for that, and there won't be any embarrassment about him not knowing what to do.... And he's good looking, so as he fucks the prostitutes...." He stopped in mid sentence as his father held up a hand to silence him.
Well, I didn't know what to think. My mind started to race through all kinds of exciting possibilities. I was thrilled at the prospect of going away - I never thought I'd leave the village, and if I thought about my future at all I kind of imagined that one day I'd get my own piece of land, or perhaps have to wait to take over dad's plot when he got too feeble to work it. The prospect of seeing some of those places they wrote about in the newspaper was so exciting.... And yet, what was all this stuff about Saturday night? Still, it couldn't be all that bad, could it?
I snapped back to the current reality as our master murmured "Oh very well then, James. You may be right. And if it doesn't work out, you can always hire a servant after the first week or so, although all the best ones will have been spoken for by then and it will be second best. But a man needs to learn to make decisions, and take the consequences, so if you are determined to take this villein with you, so be it. It solves the problem of what to do with him here, anyway. But be certain, be very certain, that he is what you want."
"Thank you, father, and, as ever, you give me good advice." He looked at me again, and added calmly "I told you to unclothe. And you still have those ridiculous briefs on. Are you stupid, or just wilfully disobedient? Take them off, so I can verify that you're satisfactory."
Look, I've been naked with dad lots of times, but I've told you that when I have a bath in the cottage now I keep my underpants on - I have ever since I started to grow hair 'down there' and it was no longer right for mom to see me naked. And now I was being told to remove them with her looking at me, as well as these three other men.
"Please, no....", I stammered.
"Do as you're told, Steve!", dad snapped. "Stop being so obstinate - you've got nothing to be ashamed of."
"But dad...."
Dad took a step towards me, and before I realised quite what was happening, yanked my threadbare briefs down. Instinctively I covered my dick and balls with my hands, and I could feel blood rushing up to my face and knew my throat and cheeks were turning bright red with embarrassment. Dad pulled my hands away - but at least he half turned me around so I was no longer facing mom directly.
"Steve's a good lad, master, as I've said. But he's a bit shy... Especially with his mother here...."
"But evidently not shy in front of women in general, judging from his reputation", the son remarked. "Now, Steve, put your hands on your head so I can get a proper look at you all over."
I could see that protesting wasn't going to get me anywhere, so I did as he said. He moved towards me, and this time his finger didn't just run down my chest and across by belly. First, he fingered my left nipple - I'm really sensitive here, and I couldn't help but take a step backwards. I then felt his hand in the small of my back, just above my butt - It wasn't enough to stop me moving if I'd really wanted to, of course, as I'm a strong guy, but somehow the psychological pressure of it made me stand still "Easy.....", he murmured close to my ear. "There's nothing to be afraid of...."
"I'm not afraid...." The next moment I kind of wish I hadn't said that, as with his one hand still behind me - I could feel it warm and slightly moist against my skin, or was it my skin that was moist from the sweat that had broken out all over me? - his finger moved down again across my chest and belly, but now didn't stop. He teased it around in my pubes a bit and he told me in such a low voice that I'm sure the others couldn't hear "A nice strong thatch here - that's OK for a country boy like you, but it will be better when I smarten you up a little."
I couldn't imagine what he meant, but I'd stopped thinking about it as his hand alighted on my dick, and he positioned it so that my dick was lying in his palm. He began to stroke the top with his thumb, all the time keeping me immobile with the constant, firm pressure of his other hand on my back.
Look, it's not as if I haven't had my dick held before - I mean, a young guy like me jerks off all the time, as we all do. And once I started going with women I used to like them stroking it and 'teasing' me a bit to make it even harder. But I'd never had another guy touch me there before - well, except for the physician at our yearly medical checks, and he did it to dad then, too, so I knew it was OK. All us lads at school used to laugh at the thought of holding another guy's dick - one of us said once that some guys in the city liked to do this all the time and even jerked each other off, and he wanted to try, but we thought he was mad and threw him into the village pond to 'cool him down' a bit. But now here was this guy James doing it to me, and to my horror I realised I was responding - yes, I know it's only natural for your dick to start to go hard as it's played with, but I hated the thought of it doing so now, with dad and my master and Straughan watching.
What can you do, though? The more you think about it, the worse it gets. As his thumb worked away I could feel my lengthening and hardening dick slide over his palm, and soon he closed his fingers around me totally and began to gently jerk me off! He stopped after a few strokes, though, and as I looked down I saw my dick lying there in his palm as his thumb now stroked at me again to cause my 'skin to slide back. My dick head was now exposed, dark and shiny with pre-cum, and to my horror I saw a little bead of pre-cum hanging out of my piss slit.
"I think I'd better stop there, father", he said in an amused tone. "Young Steve here seems to be OK, as we might expect from his reputation. And we don't want a mess all over the floor, do we? Now, only one more thing....."
His hand reached down, and now he was cupping my balls in his palm. "All's OK here, too", he told his father. "Nice and low-hanging. He'll put on a good show."
He slapped my ass then. "You're OK, Steve. We need to tidy you up a bit, but very satisfactory."
"Don't you want to inspect the anus?" Our master asked him.
"Oh no, with his reactions already I'm sure no-one has ever played down there."
"Very well then. If you're sure....?" The son nodded, and our master continued "Well then, Masters, take your wife home to your other children. You can leave Steve here, as my son will be going to college next week and until then he may as well start to take up his duties."
Dad nodded, and I went to pull my underpants on. "No, leave those!", master James told me sharply. "You will need proper clothes where we're going." He turned to dad and added "Take all this with you, as I expect you villeins hand it down through the family."
Mom picked up my clothes where I'd neatly folded and stacked them, and dad bent down to pick up my boots and underpants. He tried to hand them to me, but master James pushed his hand away, adding "He'll need better than those threadbare things".
And that was sort of that - except mom and dad obviously wanted to say goodbye to me, as did I to them. But how do you do that to your parents when you're naked and are standing there with an erection? I sort of leaned forward and mom pecked me on the cheek briefly, her eyes filled with tears as she stumbled out "Take care of yourself, Steve, and don't forget us..." Dad wanted a proper hug, though, and we threw our arms around each other - my dick was scraping against the coarse wool of his jacket, but we held each other as dad whispered "Don't worry, Steve - you're a man now, and this may be the best thing for you. Do as you're told.... And.... And take care."
I was torn between wanting to cry as I said goodbye to mom and dad, being all excited about the prospect of leaving the village, and being acutely embarrassed at standing there in the nude, although mercifully my erection subsided.
"You'd better go up to dress for dinner", my master now told James. "And take that Steve with you. He can dine with us tonight as the sooner he learns proper table manners the better - you don't want to be a laughing stock at the fraternity if you have an oaf as a servant who doesn't know which knife and fork to use. And you'd better find him some clothes - it's rather distracting seeing such a well set-up man like him standing there naked."
"Sure, dad", master James said. "Follow me, Steve."
It seemed so strange to be walking across the room, then out into the hall and up the wide staircase totally naked: I could feel my dick bouncing up and down and tried to cover it with my hands, but that was even more awkward as I had to kind of stoop forward, and, anyway, even though I've got big hands, I am well hung, as you might say, and there's no way of keeping my dick and balls totally covered with them. So I just gave in to nature, and padded after master James, as naked as the day I was born. And perhaps that's some sort of sign - I was entering a totally new life, sort of being re-born, as you might say.
THE END
And there this short tale of Steve ends. When I initially wrote half of it I had intended a long "fraternity" story, a genre I had not attempted before. In the future world in which the story is set the old traditions of "hazing" have been revived, strongly. Privileged students like James do not take part personally, of course: their servants, like Steve, serve as proxies, and much humiliation awaits our hero.
Furthermore, because of the very strong state-enforced "moral" pressure on ladies and gentlemen to remain virgins until marriage, none of the sexual freedom which is so much part of a college education today is available to James. Denied physical relief themselves, not surprisingly, therefore, he and his frat brothers wish to experience it vicariously: even with ultra-high-definition video and surround sound, electronic delivery can always be bettered by live performances, so every Saturday night Steve and his fellow servants "perform" in the frat house with hired-in prostitutes.
Steve goes through an interesting cycle of emotion as regards this: initially he is ashamed and acutely embarrassed as the watching men cheer him on; then, briefly, he becomes proud of his prowess, and starts to pity the men who cannot fuck as he does. Needless to say, of course, one of the prime roles of a servant in these times is to satisfy his master, and after we have heard of the initial shame felt by Steve as James takes his cherry and then regularly fucks him, Steve begins to realise that this relationship between two men is far superior to the fleeting sexual interactions with the women. His Saturday night performances then become hateful to him, and, ultimately, he does of course suffer the ultimate humiliation of being unable to get erect.
I had not resolved what happens to Steve and James. At some point the heady atmosphere of 'freedom' compared to his life a a villein gets to Steve, and he takes - forcefully - James' cherry. Steve is bigger and stronger, and has no problem in doing this, but then wonders what will happen to him. Nevertheless he is convinced that his role is to remain "on top".
The story is called "The villein of the piece" rather than simply "Villein" as at some point there was going to be a philosophical discussion of the morality of things - was Steve right to rape James, in retaliation for the humiliation heaped on him? The play on words with "the villAIN of the piece" would then come into play.
Pete Brown. Stockholm and London. 2009. Then November and December 2011.