Date: Thu, 2 Jun 2005 23:45:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Labourer, Part 22

THE LABOURER  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 22

At one point I had thought I'd got my life pretty much
the way I wanted it.  Sure, my apartment was not in
the best part of town, and there were always one hell
of a lot of unwashed plates and stuff, and a few piles
of laundry to do.  And my car wasn't all that great,
but it got me around. But I'd had no worries - I went
off to work most days (there was no career, so if I
wanted a day off at the races, or something, I just
took it), and I got paid at the end of the week.
There was enough cunt to keep me amused, but I had to
work at it a bit, sweet talking it in bars and so on.
All in all, compared to guys stressed out with
mortgages, a wife and kids, a high-pressure job,
debts, and such like, I think I had it pretty good.
Well, at least it was the life I'd chosen for myself.
  Then I'd had that stupid idea to drive myself harder
and harder, trusting Rob to hold my indenture, as I
knew it was only as a servant that I could be made to
really experience the total physical satisfaction of
working until you're completely, utterly exhausted.
What a disaster that had turned into.

Now my life seemed to be spinning out of control, and
there was absolutely nothing I could do about it,
nothing at all.  When I say "out of control", I mean
"out of my control", I suppose.  None of the things
that were happening to me were total disasters in
themselves, but they all affected me, and I was
powerless to do anything about them.

Item:  I had to lie there at night and listen to my
father fucking Joe.  It was terrible at first, but
over the next two or three weeks, Joe seemed to adapt
to it.  He no longer begged to come into my bed, no
longer even seemed to want me to have any sort of sex
with him.  I'd come home from college and he'd be
working away in the yard, and would continue doing so
until my father allowed him to stop.  He'd eat his
dinner with me and my father, then, when  I was sent
away to work in my room, he'd be allowed to watch TV.
It almost sickened me to see him standing close to my
father as he sat at the dining table after the meal,
and observe my father's hand sliding up under the
short tunic that was all Joe was allowed to wear in
the house so that he could "assess how the work today
has affected the development of the muscles".

Item:  My father watched me like a hawk.  I had to be
unfailingly polite and quick to obey him. Any failure,
however slight, and a mark went on the sheet hung
conveniently in the hall.  And when five marks were
accumulated, I'd be put on the punishment horse and
caned.  After the initial harsh caning from my father
these were never as bad - eight strokes, generally,
four on each butt cheek.  But the sheer humiliation of
having to strip naked as my father watched, then bend
over the horse with my ass exposed and my dick and
balls swinging there between my thighs made it far,
far worse.  Joe was always made to stand and watch,
too, and afterwards, as I stood there, my dick
sporting the wood I always got when  I was caned, I'd
see his, too, lifting the hem of his tunic.  I
couldn't help remembering how my father had got
excited the first time he'd caned me when he had been
naked, and now I watched the front of his pants on
these occasions, seeing the bulge there of his dick
straining to get out.

Item:  I had to work, and work, at my classes and
assignments.  Anything less than an "A" and I was on
the horse.  The worst part was having to pretend to be
enthusiastic and interested in the religious lessons
my father had selected as being "character building"
for me.  I hated the sanctimonious piety of the other
students, the way that something was taken as a fact
because it was in the bible or koran or whatever - I
mean to say, surely they could see that you can't walk
on water, or rise from the dead, or that you can't run
a modern society based on ideas that must have been
stupid even centuries ago?  And yet if it was written
there, then there could be no argument, no discussion,
and the strangest theories were built up on that
preposterously stupid base.

Item:  A lot of girls at college trailed around after
me, telling me how sad it was that I was a slave -
well, I knew that better than them!  And the boldest
were always trying to take me off into quiet corners
and wanting me to fondle them, or kiss them, or
something.  In desperation I thought I could get it to
stop by actually going all the way with one of them -
perhaps she'd spread the word that I had a big, strong
dick and used it for my own pleasure, not hers, and
then it would all stop.  I got her naked, but then
found she no longer excited me at all - I couldn't
bear the thought of touching her breasts after I'd
been used to the strong, vibrant tits and pecs of
Craig.  And the thought of pushing my dick into her
slit was now something that I found so terrible that
my erection, that hadn't been all that strong in the
first place, collapsed totally.  And this from the guy
who was known as one of the town's prime chasers of
pussy!  The worse thing was it didn't turn them off -
they now felt "sorry" for me, the word spread, and it
was assumed that being a slave had made me impotent!

Item:  A lot of the other guys at College were really
hostile to me.  Their ringleader was Trent, big
football hero, track star, and first class pain in the
butt.  He was always finding opportunities to sneer at
me as I was a slave, always trying to  provoke me into
retaliation.  I knew that if there was trouble they'd
blame it all on me, and would suspend me, or worse.
And then my father would punish me in some way that
was too awful to contemplate.  So I had to bottle my
natural desire to push his teeth down his throat - or
my dick up his ass - and I was often seething with
frustration and anger at his almost endless goading of
me.

Item:  I was used as a sexual plaything by the head of
Physical Education.  He actually liked jerking guys
off and fingering their butts, and it was so much
easier to do it to me than to the football players
that he'd seduced before.  Under threat of telling my
father that I used the gym and pool, I had to report
to him once a day so that he could jerk away at my
dick whilst fingering my prostate.  Actually,  I
suppose it wasn't all that bad - I quite enjoyed it
mostly.  But I had no choice:  I had to go, had to
strip for him, and had to allow his hands to paw all
over my body.

Item:  Rob, who had so cruelly betrayed me, was now
doing even better than before as  a hot shot lawyer.
He kept appearing in the local paper as news of being
made a senior partner came out, then the "society
christening of the season as he and his lovely wife
Karen celebrated the birth of their first son with a
champagne reception for two hundred guests at their
lovely mansion home."  Well,  I knew why he had been
promoted - his father in law was senior partner.  And
that was his reward for siring the son by that bitch -
a reward that Craig and I sought to have had as it was
our cum that went into her.

It seemed that every day I just went through a huge
variety of emotions and frustrations.  The only relief
was on the weekends, when all these cares and
difficulties could be put behind me as I slaved away
at Rooney's contracts.  It was tough, sure - tougher
than when I'd been there full time as I just couldn't
exercise enough during the week to keep my body hard
enough to do everything that was required.  So I was
tawsed and caned unmercifully by the overseers, and
ended up totally exhausted, too tired even to sit
upright in the back of the truck on the way back to
the barracks.  But amazingly a shower seemed to start
reviving me, and then the fun began!  I've told you
that Craig and I were together again after the trauma
I experienced when I thought Joe had been sold, so
"together" that we'd fucked each other!  Well, after
that we didn't do it again - both of us was too proud,
too strong, too demanding to "top" that if we even
thought about it, we started quarrelling.  And,
remember, part of the deal between Mister Rooney and
my father was that I would "assist" by fucking some of
the other guys to keep them happy.

Craig and I therefore evolved a system:  after the
showers, we'd pick a guy each and fuck them, usually
whilst we watched each other and joked about our
prowess at it!  Then, our duty done, we'd spend the
rest of the evening before sleep overtook us just
enjoying each others company. Our bodies pressed
close, arms and legs entwined and writhing about, we'd
whisper, kiss, suck, tease, tickle and generally enjoy
each other as only strong, confident men can, men so
sure of themselves that they don't mind appearing to
be almost childish as they play with each other.   And
then we'd sleep, that wonderful sleep that's so
comforting as if you stir in the night your partner's
body automatically adjusts itself to you, that sleep
where you feel an inner comfort from having another
man's body pressed close to yours, that sleep where
your partner's warm breath on your skin gives you
erotic dreams.

I kept asking myself, though, whether the two
fantastic nights with Craig were worth all the other
stress and hassle.  But then, what could I do about
it?  If I tried to run away I'd be found soon enough
and brought back.  I didn't think my father would have
me whipped as Mister Rooney had, but, on the other
hand, he'd threatened to sell me back to Mister
Rooney, and Rooney certainly would have no compunction
about ordering another whipping:  and somewhere deep
in my brain there was a little voice that screamed
"no!  anything but that", which always made me back
away from the big, dramatic decisions.

The weeks seemed to slip by as I floundered around
with all these things going on in my life, and then it
was the break, and I had a period when most of my
problems were resolved:  during the  "vacation" times
my father had agreed with Mister Rooney that I'd work
there full time, except for the weekends:  we had
assignments to do, as you'd expect, and my father
decided that five days tough, manual labour followed
by two days of intense academic work would be the
right mix.  So my time was totally reversed, and now I
had the joy of Craig's body five nights in a row (and,
of course, the chance to use my dick five times on the
other servants).  At a stroke, a whole lot of my
problems went away, at least temporarily:  the girls,
Trent, the forced wanking....  But there was still
Joe.

I'd be sitting in my room studying, and could see Joe
working away in the grounds, or cleaning and polishing
my father's cars, or doing any of the other things
with which he was tasked.  The weather was fairly
warm, so he wore only standard servants' work shorts,
and I got interesting glimpses of his torso as he
worked away - it was really distracting.  My father
had gone off to the country club for golf one
Saturday, and I had been sitting there working away
for some time, and was really stuck.  I needed to
clear my head, so I got up and went out into the yard,
and just sat there watching Joe for a bit.

He came over after a time, and I caught that
intoxicating scent of male sweat from the sheen of it
glistening all over his skin.  "Hey, Steve, you could
come and help me, you know - if you pushed the barrow
whilst I cut the grass I'd get it done twice as fast."

I thought about all the work I had to do, but it was a
great day, and I felt like some exercise so I
shrugged, and went back into the house and stripped
down to shorts myself.   Then we worked away together,
him driving the mower, and me carting away all the
trimmings.  It got hotter and hotter and I too was
soon sweating even though the work was not very hard,
and it did indeed not take all that long.  I then went
and pulled on some Speedos, and did ten quick lengths
in the pool, then stretched out on one of the
recliners to dry in the sun.  Joe wasn't finished,
though, as he needed to clean the pool, and as I
watched he pushed off his shorts and started to work -
I don't know how the practice started, but as you
probably know it's now almost universal that servants
always clean the pool stripped totally naked:  even if
you have a service in, if they employ servants, the
poor guys have to strip at every house they call at.
I watched his body, his dick bobbing up and down as he
bent and stretched, pulling the sweeper across under
the water, and I couldn't help but notice how he had
continued to develop:  he definitely was no longer a
kid, but a really great-looking, lithe, muscular young
man, a guy in his prime.  I felt my dick stirring in
the Speedos as I watched his muscles glide and slide
over his lean frame as he worked, and his skin was
made all the more interesting as he was lightly tanned
all over from his work every day on the pool.  He
hadn't been caned for a long time, either, so there
were no disfiguring stripes on his butt, which thrust
almost proudly up from his long-muscled thighs.

When he'd finished he came over and looked down at me,
still sweating away.  The scent of him, his sheer
maleness, was almost totally overpowering and my dick
was no longer just half-hard, but was now pushing
firmly against the thin silky material of the Speedos
(I can never understand why guys swim in big baggy
costumes if they've got a halfway reasonable body -
they drag in the water and slow you down.  And,
anyway, a guy with a good body has a kind of
responsibility to let other men see it, don't you
think?).

"Take a break, Joe.  My father always spends a long
time at the Club..."

"It's OK for you, Steve.  He really doesn't know how
much work you do.  But I've got a list of things, and
if they're not done right, and not all finished, he
gets mad..."

"Oh come off it!   He doesn't get angry at you really.
 He's too interested in fucking you, and wants you
nice and cheerful for him to play with...."

"No, Steve.. It's not that I worry about.  But, you
know, he's nice to me.  He only canes me when I've
been really bad, or really haven't worked hard enough.
  He is fair, as he said he would be.  And I like to
play fair with him..."

"Play fair!  For fuck's sake, Joe, you're a slave.  He
keeps you as a slave.  He makes you work  He makes you
take his dick..."

Joe looked hesitant.  Looked somehow worried about
what he was going to say.  Then he began, hesitantly
"Look, Steve, I know he's your dad as well as our
owner.  But he's good to me.  Better than Mister
Rooney ever was.  Better than my step dad was...."  He
stopped, and then went on  "and better than you were,
Steve."

"What?"

Joe looked really uncomfortable.  He kind of hovered
around, and one hand half covered his dick and balls,
as if my looking at them made him somehow embarrassed.
 "Steve, I liked you, liked you a lot.  And you fucked
me, fucked me a lot.  I though you cared for me,
Steve.  But you really only like Craig, don't you?
You only fucked me just like you fucked all the other
guys.  You didn't care about me at all, and all you
wanted was to use me, like a lot of the other guys
did, as I was so young."

"No, Joe...".  I was astonished he could be so wrong.
"When I found that Mister Rooney had sold you, I felt
awful..."

"...so awful that you went with Craig straight away.
And when you found I was here, you didn't care at all.
 You kicked me out of bed..."

"...because my dad had just fucked you!"

"...which wouldn't have mattered at all if you really
cared for me, Steve.  He fucked me forcibly, you know
that.  All I wanted was you, Steve.  You should have
taken me and held me and comforted me, and instead of
that you kicked me out of bed."

I felt myself getting frustrated by Joe's attitude.
He was almost blaming me for what was going on, rather
than my father.  And when I get frustrated, I start to
get angry.

"Joe, you always liked me fucking you.  So shut up
about it, will you?  Sure I did it, as I fucked a lot
of guys.  That's what I do."

"No, Steve.  It was special for me.  And you made me
think it was special for you..."

"I did not!"

"You did!"

I was really cross now, having the kid blame me for
things that were not my fault.  It was probably the
heat, or maybe the frustration of my college work, but
I felt somehow angry.  I grabbed his arm and almost
yelled "Look, you little fucker, you need to learn
that men, real men, men like me, need sex. Actually I
didn't particularly want to fuck you, as I didn't much
like the idea of fucking kids;  it was you who was
always throwing himself on to me, always wanting to
kiss and stuff."

"Well that's OK, then!", he replied, sounding as if he
was getting as angry as I was.  "Now I know!  So I
won't feel guilty any more."

"What the fuck have you got to feel guilty about?"

"About liking your dad, Steve.  I thought I was
cheating on you.  I thought you liked me, and you'd be
cross if you found out I really like your dad.  He's
kind..."

"Joe, what the fuck is this crap?  'Liking my dad',
and 'kind'?   He's not kind - he treats you just like
a slave, he fucks you, he canes you, he slaps you
around..."

Joe was rushing his words out now, in some sort of
passion.  "No, Steve, he's not like that.  When he
fucks me, he's gentle and wants me to enjoy it, too.
He only slapped me that first time as I was still
thinking about you and tried to resist him - he's
never done it again.  And sure, I'm a slave, and I
expect to work hard, and if I don't, it's right that
he punishes me.  But he never just canes me for fun,
Steve.  He likes me, he really does.  He cares for me.
 And when we're together, I feel safe.  He looks after
me, Steve.  That's more than anyone has ever done
before... Not my step-dad, not any of the guys at
Rooney's, not you, Steve....   I really like him,
Steve, and he likes me.  And I'm never going to get
fucked by you again, not now I know you really don't
care about me.  I was only doing it to please you, and
now I don't have to.  I've got some one to fuck with,
someone who really cares...."

Look, I'm not used to this!  I was always in demand,
it was always the other guys who wanted me to fuck
them.  I wasn't used to having some young guy say he
no longer wanted to fuck with me.  Especially not as
he wanted to fuck my dad instead.  I was really angry
now, and almost shouted "See if I care!  But don't
come whining back to me when you need a really good
fuck, from a hard, tough guy.  My father hasn't had
the practice I've had, and he's getting old and
flabby!"

"You can be sure of that, Steve!  I'd rather have sex
with someone who cares about me, than have you just
fucking me to please yourself."

That really pissed me off.  He was rejecting me in
favour of my dad.  All my life my dad had been winning
over me - he'd always won at those stupid games we had
as a kid, he showed me how effortlessly clever he was
when I was stuck with homework assignments, he boasted
about his big, powerful job and sneered at my wanting
just to work as a a labourer... And now he was going
to get Joe's ass, too - the only bit of sex I had a
chance of getting during the week.
Something inside me snapped.  He wasn't going to win
this time, he wasn't going to have Joe telling people
that he was better at fucking than I was!  As Joe
started to tremble with what amounted to near panic, I
pushed him down onto the lounger, and as he started to
struggle, it only inflamed me.  I saw his naked body
thrashing around, and my dick was now painfully hard
against the Speedos:  his muscular butt was there
waiting to be taken, so whilst I held him down with my
one hand I managed to push the Speedos below my knees
with the other.  His whole body was glistening in the
sun from his sweat, and I roughly kicked his legs
apart and stabbed at his ass with my dick.

He began to scream "No, please,  Steve,  please
don't....", but somehow this excited me even more.
And once my dick found his hole, and I pushed hard to
break in, there was nothing that was going to stop me.
 The last time I'd fucked Joe he really had not been
so well developed like this - not so hard, not so much
like a real man.  I needed to control this young guy,
to show him that I was in charge, and I sank my dick
in as far and as hard as  I could,  hearing his cries
of protests turn almost to squeals of pain.  He
carried on thrashing around underneath me as best he
could, and even reached around with his hands and
tried to scratch and tear at me as I fucked him.  He
was making so much noise that I almost smashed his
head down into the cushion of the lounger to shut him
up.

It was an epic fuck.  So much better than just having
a guy lie there and take it easily.  You need to feel
that you've totally won sometimes, been the victor in
a real battle.  The trouble is that it's so exciting,
so exhilarating, so goddamned erotic that you can't
keep it up:  those primitive urges get you, and you
shoot, all too soon.

I lay on top of him, utterly exhausted.  I could feel
his body heaving under mine as he tried to recover,
too.  Somehow I needed to continue to be in charge, I
needed to know that he accepted me as his victor.
"So, that's better than being fucked by my dad, isn't
it?", I demanded.  "My nice young body compared to
his.  And I know how to use my dick, don't I, as I've
had lots of practice...?"

He just lay there under me, panting and sweating,
trying to recover.  "Well?", I demanded.  "Answer
me...."

He lay there still and silent, and in what was almost
a fury, I stood up and slapped his butt, hard.  And
when there's all the power of my arm behind it, that's
really hard, and really painful.  I winced at the
stinging in the palm of my hand, so I knew he must
have felt it, too.  "Answer me, you little fucker....
That was the best fuck you've had, wasn't it?"

He still lay there, and I dragged him to his feet, my
fingers bruising his biceps as I was so violent.
"Answer me!", I snapped again, and when he still stood
there, sullen and silent, this time it was his face
that received the force of my slapping.

"Please, Steve, please stop... You're hurting....", he
snivelled.

"So answer me!  Was that or was it not a good fuck?
Better than you get from my dad?"

"What do you want me to say?  If I tell you the truth,
you'll be madder, and hit me again...."

I hit him again, two blows, one to each cheek.  "Tell
me the truth, you little fucker..."

He gave a resigned sigh, then blurted out "OK, then!
No, it wasn't!  It might have been great for you, but
it hurt me.  And I didn't enjoy it.  You didn't do any
of the things your dad does.  You didn't hold me.  You
didn't stretch me or lube me or play with me or tease
me.  You just fucked me.  And I hated it.  And I never
want to be with you again, Steve.  You're not nearly
as good as your dad."

As he said this, he cowered, expecting me to strike
him again.  But I was devastated:  his words had
really struck home.  I let go of his arm, and sat down
on the lounger, my head in my hands.  Joe just stood
there, snivelling quietly, as I must have really hurt
him with my blows.

I don't know how long we'd have gone on just like
that, but my father came around the corner and into
the pool area and looked at us both there, both naked.
 We hadn't heard his car draw up as we'd been so busy
quarrelling.

"Steve, Joe... What's been going on here?", he
demanded.

I got to my feet, and stood there feeling really
ashamed - not because I was naked, or even because it
must have been obvious from the cum still leaking from
my dick that I'd been fucking.  No, my anger, which
always blows up quickly, had just as quickly
evaporated and now I was sorry for the way I'd just
fucked Joe.  I just hung my head and remained silent,
as my father again demanded of us what had been going
on.

"Joe, answer me!", he said again, and Joe looked down
at the floor, too, shuffled his feet, and mumbled
"Nothing, sir.  I just need to finish the pool...."

"Joe, you're lying to me!  How dare you!  Now, tell me
the truth, and tell me now, what's been going on
here?"

Joe dared to give me a glance, a look that said he
knew he was doing wrong, and muttered again "Nothing,
sir.  I just stopped to speak to Steve ut I shouldn't
have and I'll get back to doing the pool now..."

My father grabbed him by the arm, as I had done, and
Joe winced.  My father looked at the marks of my
fingers in Joe's biceps, then turned him around and
saw my big angry hand prints standing out red on his
butt.  Turning him back he gently reached up and ran
his fingers lightly over Joe's cheeks, causing Joe to
flinch slightly.  Then finally he reached down, gently
pushed Joe's legs apart, and moved a finger around his
ass.

"You've been fucked, haven't you?"

Joe still didn't answer, and my father continued "I
don't mind, as long as it didn't interfere with your
work.  But there's something else here.... All these
marks on you!  Steve hit you, didn't he?  He hit you,
and then he fucked you!  Is that right?"

Joe still didn't answer, and just stood there, head
bowed.  My father turned on me, shouting "Steven, get
showered, and get into my study!  Now!  And don't
bother to dress!"

There was nothing I could say, was there?  I turned
and walked back into the house, quickly showered, and
went downstairs.  I was in for a terrible punishment,
I knew.  He'd told me to be naked as he was not going
to waste any time at all having me strip:  I expected
to be immediately bent over the desk, and then there'd
be another of those awful canings, with my back, butt
and thighs all getting it.  And somehow, although I
was dreading it, I knew I deserved it.  It wasn't
right, what I'd done to Joe.

My father was sitting behind his desk when I went in,
and I stood in front of him, head bowed, hands clasped
behind my back.  At least I didn't feel like having an
erection!

"Steven, I am extremely disappointed", my father
began, in a quiet, controlled voice.  "I thought you
were improving, that some of that silly wildness in
you was being tamed.  You are doing well at college,
Rooney tells me he has no complaints about your work
and your conduct at the weekends, and I had therefore
imagined that we were set fair on the road to turning
you from a wilful, disobedient, immature wastrel, into
a sensible, mature man.  But now I come home and find
your animal side has reasserted itself:  left alone,
unsupervised for less than a day, and you've reverted
to being  stupid, childish oaf, who is so totally
ruled by what his penis wants to do that he hits a
weaker man and forces him to submit to a brutal
fucking!"

"Sir...", I began.

"Silence!  Don't say anything!  I've had a total
silence from Joe about this, and I've had to piece
together what happened from seeing the marks of your
hands on his body, and seeing how badly inflamed his
ass is:  that's not how he looks after a normal bout
of sex."

"Well, you'd know...."

"Are you trying to be insolent?  But yes, Steven, I do
know.  I know that Joe is a delightful young man,
eager to please, ready to serve, eager to obey.  A
young man who, in spite of all the disadvantages of
his upbringing, is a delight to have around, and who
is keen to show his gratitude to me in every way
possible.  My own son, though, who has already thrown
away every advantage that we gave him, is wilful,
disobedient, and seems determined to go out of his way
to be unkind and unpleasant."

"Hey, it's..."

"Silence!  Don't argue with me!  You always did that
when you were a rebellious teenager, hoping to shift
the blame for some senseless act you'd committed by
arguing about it.  Well it never worked then, Steven,
although you were so wrapped up in yourself that you
couldn't see it.  And it certainly won't work now.
There's no point in making excuses, or even
explanations.  I can see what went on here, and it was
wrong.  And I am going to punish you for it, punish
you severely."

"Look, ....."

"If you say one more word, Steven, I will gag you.
That's what happens to argumentative slaves, you know.
 And you'll wear the gag to college.  Before you say
one more word, calm down and think about that!  And  I
will have respect - not only have you dared to
interrupt me, but you have failed to use the proper
form of address."

I drew in my breath to say something, then thought
better of it.  I knew that it was unwise to test my
father - I'd seen a guy gagged sometimes at Rooney's,
and I had enough problems at college already without
the thought of going there with a big rubber dick
thing down my throat.

"The question is, Steven, what punishment would be
appropriate?  Last time, I caned you, but that does
not seem to have had a lasting effect.  What you did
is so serious that by rights I suppose I should have
you flogged by the public whipmaster, but I am a
compassionate man, and Rooney has warned me that such
a thing, coming after the flogging you already had,
might unhinge your mind.  I have therefore decided
that in order to bring home to you the need for
respect, for obedience, and to atone to Joe somewhat
for the hurt you have done him, that you will work as
a domestic servant here in your spare time."

He stared at me for a few long moments, and went on
"Joe is largely uneducated, but I have decided that as
he is clever his value will be enhanced by a little
education, and so I am sending him on a part-time
remedial course designed to bring him up to high
school graduation standard.  That means he will have
less time for work on the grounds and the pool, and
much less time to help Mrs Sheffield in the kitchen
with the serving of our meals.  You will therefore
help out with those tasks - I expect you to maintain
straight 'As' at college, and you will still go off
to work at Rooney's on the weekends.  But in addition
you will now help out here, too, so you will have to
work even harder and more diligently in order to fit
in all these demands on you."

As he was speaking,  I began to cheer up.  At least I
was going to avoid a caning!  But as my father's next
words came out, I felt enraged.  "As you will be
working as a domestic servant here, you will of course
wear the uniform I chose for Joe.  That will emphasise
your status..."

He tossed something across the desk, and said "This is
how you will dress the moment you come back form
College.  You will serve dinner to Joe and me,
generally clear up, and on occasion help Joe with his
assignments.  Now, put it on."

It was one of the hateful polo-like tunics that Joe
had been wearing.  I slipped it over my head and
stretched it down over my body, but how ever hard I
pulled at the hem, the head of my dick was still
peeking out below it.  And I knew that if I moved
rapidly, or even sat down, I would be humiliatingly
exposed as the wide slashes up the side afforded me
almost no modesty.

"Get along  to the dining room and set the table for
dinner", he continued, looking at me as  I started to
flush red.  "Joe and I will dine together from now on.
 You will serve us, and will eat yours alone,
afterwards."

I turned to walk away, and he barked "and Steven....
One more thing.... You will bow to Joe and me when you
have received an order!  Yes, Joe is going to control
you as well as me.  And you will show proper respect
by calling us both 'sir', and by bowing.  Now, let me
see you do it..."

"Sir, yes, sir", I managed to get out, furious, but
helpless to do anything about it.  And as I bent from
the waist to bow, I felt the hem of the material of my
tunic  sliding over my butt.  Somehow, being exposed
like this was even worse than being totally nude.

End Of Part 22