Date: Wed, 1 Jun 2005 12:29:03 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Labourer, Part 21

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