Date: Thu, 9 Jun 2005 07:52:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Labourer, Part 26

THE LABOURER  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 26

I got through Thanksgiving dinner somehow.  We're not
a religious family and so we don't say prayers or
anything, but after everyone had sat down, my father
had opened champagne, and I had gone around the table
filling everyone's glasses (even the children,
customarily, got a tiny drop in their glasses), we
usually all toasted and then sat silent for a minute
"counting our blessings" as the family called it.    I
looked down the table at this set of happy, prosperous
people, and stood there against the wall, feeling
really out of it with my head bowed and feeling
ridiculously exposed with my tunic barely concealing
my nakedness.

As I went out to collect the first of the dishes from
Mrs Sheffield, I heard my father say to Amy, Mike's
youngest, "So, tell me, Amy, you're the youngest here
- what have you got to be thankful for?"

"I'm glad I'm not a slave like Steve, grandfather",
she piped.  "I'd hate to have to show all my body to
everyone else!"

The whole family roared with laughter, and I noticed
that Joe joined in, the bastard.  And all I could do
was blush furiously as I went into the kitchen.

Still, as I said, I got through it somehow, and
breakfast the next morning again.  And, of course, as
I stripped off in "my" bedroom that night the two boys
had been laughing and giggling at me, and were
whispering to each other how they'd never be "nailed"
and how "they'd hate to have mommy pushing something
up their thing-ies".

I hadn't slept well, though, just in the sleeping bag
on the hard floor, and wasn't in a particularly good
mood that day.  The wives announced that they wanted
to go off to the mall for the start of the sales, and
my father offered to drive them as, he said, it would
be good to give Mike and Bill a bit of time alone, to
"bond" again, as they didn't see each other all that
often.

They sat in the den watching re-runs of the game, and
drinking, of course.  I was kept pretty busy running
backwards and forwards to the kitchen for fresh
bottles.  My father called them at around noon to say
that he and the women and the kids had decided to eat
out, and as Mrs Sheffield was not coming in until that
evening, they ordered me to go out and make them a
sandwich.    "Oh, and be sure not to get any of that
pubic hair of yours in it", Bill called out, with Mike
joining in, almost helpless with laughter as they
added "Not that you've got much left, as we can all
see if you move too quickly."

I pulled cheese, dill pickles, roast beef, mustard and
mayonnaise all together into two giant sandwiches -
the saliva running down my throat as I did it, as the
smell was so intoxicating to a guy who now only was
fed chow bars (and surreptitiously ate little bits of
it that fell off as I sliced the cheese and cut the
beef).  I really was pissed off at the way my brothers
were treating me, and the way they'd just joked about
how I had to go around nearly naked, and I remembered
what waiters were reputed to do to customers who were
surly:  I lifted up the top slice of bread of each
sandwich, sucked my mouth to fill it with saliva, and
let a long drool fall on to "garnish" the filling
properly!  Then, putting the top back on, I proudly
carried them back into the den and watched my brothers
fall on them as if they hadn't eaten for days.

Mike saw me watching them, and  to my surprise and
amazement suddenly said "Steve, you look as if you'd
like some of this  - the way you're watching us it's
as if they don't feed you:  but that can't be true, as
you're in stunning shape.  I've never seen your body
looking fitter and more buff"  Still, would you like
some cheese, or beef?"

I nodded, hardly able to believe it, and he told me to
kneel in between them as they sat together on the
couch.  Mike tore a small morsel of cheese out of is
sandwich, tossed it in the air, and shouted "Catch!".

I went to grab it as it fell, and he snapped "No
hands!  Catch it in your mouth.", then turning to Bill
went on "Do you remember this game in the frat?  How
we made the pledges try to catch bits of candy, and
then, if they couldn't to crawl around the floor
picking them up?"

Bill laughingly agreed, and Mike said "So OK,
Steve.... Catch it in your mouth, and if not, you
crawl and get it, OK?"

Furious and humiliated, but remembering what my father
had said about acting like a "proper" slave", I just
mumbled "Yes, sir."

"Wait a minute, though, Mike!".  Bill could hardly
speak now as he was laughing so much.  "Didn't the
pledges have to strip off - it was so funny to see all
those guys crawling around in their boxers and
briefs."

"In my time they had to be totally naked.  But I guess
you came along when the new rules were introduced
about the humane treatment of pledges", Mike replied.
"There was a lot of discussion about what was and what
was not acceptable in hazing, and I think I was the
last year that was allowed to make them do it nude."

"Still, that shouldn't stop us now...", he went on.
"Strip off, Steve.  You've got a nice body, and we
want to see it."

For the next fifteen minutes I had to crawl around the
den in front of the half-drunk men as they tossed me
little scraps of cheese, beef and pickle.  They
laughed as they saw my balls swinging beneath my ass,
and when they tired of the game, I had to kneel in
front of them on all fours as they kicked off their
loafers and used my back as a rest for their sweaty
feet - I could feel the moisture on me through the
wool of their socks.

"Fuck me, but those were good times when we were at
school inn that frat", Mike went on.  "And fucking
Steve threw it all in dad's face.  And we'd have been
able to get him into the same frat, too.   And look at
him now - a slave."

"Yes, what do you think's going to happen to him?"

"You mean when dad dies?"

I listened with sudden interest.  Mike went on "Dad
talked to me about it, as he's been to his lawyers and
re-done his will.  Slaves can't own property or
anything, so it was no good dad leaving anything to
Steve any more.  He's told me that he was going to
split everything between you and me equally, instead
of three ways, but then was advised that for tax
planning purposes it would be better to leave
something for our kids, into a trust.  So Steve's
share is going into a family trust, for the benefit of
our kids, and we're the effective trustees, so between
us we'll control all his estate anyway."

"Sounds great to me.  I expect dad has it all sorted
out properly - the tax implications of fucking it up
are horrendous.  Mind you, I'm surprised he didn't ask
me - I do a lot of family settlements, tax avoidance
stuff...."

"Yes, but it's easier this way, not to involve you so
there's no suspicion of unfairness or anything.  It's
not that I don't trust you, little brother, but when
it comes to money...."  Mike laughed as he said this,
and they clinked their beer bottles together
cheerfully.

"Well, you should know, about money, Mike!  All those
interesting, I think is the right word, deals you
do...."  They laughed again, and clinked their bottles
again.

"Still", Bill went on, "It is interesting in one
sense.... If dad doesn't sell Steve first, we'll get
to be his owners."  Both men laughed now, Bill  banged
his socked feet up and down on my bare back, and
called out "So how do you like that, Steve?  You'll be
the property of your brothers.  All those times when
you were a kid and you wouldn't do simple things for
us like fetching us a soda from the fridge, and in a
few years time you'll be our slave and have to do
everything we want.  Absolutely everything!"

Both men laughed even louder now, clinking their beer
bottles together, as they were clearly more drunk that
I'd thought..  Then Mike said "Hey, bro, why don't we
try him out?  As he's going to belong to us anyway, we
could start practising at training our brother.  He
was a real pain in the butt as a kid, a right little
cocksucker.  How about we show him what the real
world's like for a slave, and give him a real pain in
the butt.  Or maybe even have him be a real cock
sucker....?"

"Get up, Steve! On your knees.", Mike commanded, and I
knelt there in front of them, looking at them angrily.
 I just realised I'd become millions of dollars poorer
- dad was a pretty big man financially, and I'd just
heard what had happened to my share.

"Hey, Mike, that's a great idea...", Bill chipped in.
"My wife's got this servant that she made me buy her,
as she said every one in Bel Air now has one, and he
spends half his life in her pussy, so much so that
when I get home she isn't interested.  So I have to
make do with a girl at the office, and that makes all
the other servants there jealous.... But she gives
good head, and I've found it's better in the middle of
the day as you don't get so sweaty... So shall we have
Steve here demonstrate his powers?  From what dad was
saying last night he's seriously into guys now... Who
would have thought, that Steve the stud would have
turned into Steve the fag?"

"Aw Bill, I'm not sure - he is still our brother...."

"I think we ought to stop even thinking like that,
much less talking about it.  If some fancy lawyer
heard us referring to him as our brother, it might
weaken any case that might be brought in a family
court about dad's will.... Even though, legally, he is
a slave, the courts might rule that as a sibling he
still has some rights.  It's better to treat him like
the slave his is."

As he said this, Bill pulled the zipper of his pants
down, shuffled a bit to get comfortable on the couch,
fished around inside his fly,  and brought his dick
out.  His wife was right, actually - we are all alike
in this respect, that we've all got long, thick dicks.
 And, like I used to be, Bill's head was covered by a
thick, meaty 'skin.  Dad once told us that he didn't
believe in having part of a man cut off, and so unlike
almost all of our contemporaries at school we'd
remained whole:  guys used to look at us oddly in the
showers sometimes, and it was only when I went on a
vacation to Europe that I realised that it wasn't
"normal" to 'skin guys routinely at birth.

"Get down on it, boy", Bill rapped.

"I don't suck dick!", I snapped back.

"Fucking slave, do as you're told!  Now,  I want a
real nice blow job, lots of feeling, lots of
sensation... And no spilling of the cum..."

"I told you I don't suck dick!"  Well, that's not
quite true, of course.  But it's no use saying "I only
suck my lover's dick" at times like that, is it?

"You know, Steve, I thought Dad's methods were taming
you!".  Bill's tone was kind of unpleasant now, but he
was smiling at Mike as he spoke.  "But they don't seem
to go very deep,  Perhaps you don't know, but a slave
doesn't refuse an order from a free man - especially
not from the sons of his owner, sons who are going to
become his owner one day!   And all that respectful
stuff you were shooting yesterday... All the 'sirs'
and 'ma'ams' seems to have vanished, too.  Now, get
down on my dick, or get ready to be punished..."

Well, I didn't care, did I?  After all, I could take
the cane, even though I was a bit apprehensive about
exactly how much it would hurt.  There were two of
them, they were still big, powerful guys, and they
both seemed to have servants at home. So they were
presumably used to punishing them."

"No!", I yelled.

Bill got to his feet, his dick lopping loosely out of
his fly, and fumbled in his pocket.  He got out his
keys, fiddled for a moment, and then I was writhing on
the floor, my limbs all cramped, by body twitching
uncontrollably.  I wanted to cry out, to scream with
the pain, but my jaws seemed to be almost locked shut
and all I could do was make incoherent squeals of
agony.  Bill stood there watching me for a minute or
two, then as I fought to get under control, he showed
his key ring to Mike.  There, next to the electronic
thing that powered up his BMW was another similar one.

"Seen one of these?" He asked conversationally.  "A
new import from Japan.  Have they reached the East
Coast yet?  It packs all the power of a standard slave
prod into something you can carry around conveniently
in case your servants need disciplining:  and those
little cunning yellow chaps have even combined it with
some sort of tazer technology, so you don't even have
to touch him.  Only fifty bucks, and good for twenty
zaps... Although one or two is usually enough for even
the worst behaved servant, I find."

He looked down at me lying there, and went on "So,
Steve, one down, nineteen to go.... Now, are you going
to be a good, obedient slave, or do you want to try
for a few more shots?"

Look, I know you're all going to think I'm a real
wimp, but if you haven't been prodded, you don't
really know what it's like and you shouldn't judge.
When I was first a servant, I could take two or three
prods, but now I knew it just wasn't worth it:  for
one thing, the second and third ones were always
worse, as the nerves were are already sensitive and
the effect seemed to be sort of cumulative.  And for
another, perhaps I'd learned that real lesson of
slavedom:  the slave can't win!  The owner always has
another prod, or another whip, or can call the
whipmaster, or the slave police... There's just no
percentage in bugging the system.

Wearily, I managed to pull myself to my knees, and
bowed my head.  "Good..." Bill muttered, as he sank
back in to the couch, and I shuffled forward so that I
could rest my hands on his knees to steady myself, and
bent my lips towards his dick.

It's not that easy to give an uncut guy real pleasure
until he 'skins back, is it?  I mean, you can lick at
the shaft and at the 'skin, but until you can get at
the dick head and that little pleasure triangle
underneath, it's hard work.  Of course once your
tongue can start to play with the piss slit, and you
can nibble at the flange of the head, it gets a lot
easier, and I had my work cut out initially to arouse
Bill enough so that I got full access to him.   There
was the usual slightly acid, slightly off-colour taste
to his dick head as however careful you are there's
always a bit of stuff under your 'skin, but after I'd
controlled my reaction, it wasn't all that different
form playing with Craig, and Bill was soon moaning and
groaning and starting to thrust his hips up and down
to meet my mouth as I worked away.  His hands were
caressing my head almost in ecstasy, and then I got
the first taste of his cum - that initial tang of
salt, that tells you that the balls are about to fire.


As soon as my mouth was full of his bland cum, I
carried on sucking for a few moments, until his cries
of pleasure turned to one of discomfort, then pulled
off him, and knelt there looking at him.

"Pretty good!", he finally said, giving my head a
patronising stroke.  Then "So, Mike, your turn..."

"I thought you guys out in the West Coast were into
real raunchy sex!", my other brother chuckled.  That
looked like pretty vanilla stuff to me - a typical ten
dollar blow.  I prefer to do something a bit more
vigorous if I'm not having cunt or ass.  But I'm not
sure Steve here is up to it... Wait on...."

I knelt there, with Bill stroking my head as if  I was
some sort of animal, until Mike reappeared.  "I'd got
these as a sort of joke 'hostess gift' for dad", he
said.  "After he kept e-mailing me about how good this
Joe was, I thought he needed some toys to spice things
up a bit, in case he got bored.  Here...."  He tossed
me something. "Hands behind your back, and fasten your
wrists in these."

"These" were leather wrist restraints.  I knelt there,
looking at them, and Mike went on "Do as you're told,
Steve.  I don't want to have to hurt you, but  I will
be obeyed.   Now cuff your hands behind your back,
now, or another dollar will go to the Japs and their
little gadget...."

Feeling utterly miserable I fumbled around, and felt
the things click shut behind me.  It's funny, isn't it
- before I was naked, kneeling there, afraid of the
zapper thing.  And now, in addition, I felt totally
and utterly vulnerable.  Before, they might have
really hurt me with the zapper.  But now they had even
more power and control over me, as whatever they chose
to do, I was almost powerless to resist.

Mike leaned forward and fastened a collar around my
throat - a black leather collar, that seemed to have
handles hanging down from the sides of it.  He
tightened the buckle so that I could still breathe
properly, and murmured "Not cutting into your skin, is
it?  We need room to work...."

"No" was all I could say, and at once Mike slapped me
across the face, hard.  I was unable to stop it, and
the force of the blow almost knocked me totally off
balance.  It was so totally unexpected, and my face
was stinging, and my ears were ringing, after it.

"Steve, you've forgotten your manners!  Now, try
again."

Still smarting from the pain, but not wanting to show
it, I muttered "No, sir."

"That's better!   Now, I don't think I can trust
you... No, I know I can't trust you. So open wide... "

I knelt there, wondering what he was going on about.
Another hard slap, this to the other side of my face.
I was reeling now, and Mike snapped "I said 'open
wide.  Open your mouth, you young fucker....  This is
all about sucking dick, isn't it?"

I did so, knowing I was powerless, and he pushed
something in.  As I said, you learn as a slave that at
some point resistance is futile.  I could taste the
same expensive soap on his fingers that I remembered
him using when he first came home on vacation from
college.  When his fingers me out, I soft of champed
down to see what was in my mouth -  I didn't think it
was something to eat, but you never know.  To my
surprise, found I couldn't close my mouth at all -
there was some sort of wedge between my back teeth
that slipped over them and which I couldn't dislodge
with my tongue.

Mike stood up and slipped his pants down and then
right off.  "A man needs to be able to move around a
bit for this", he said to Bill, who was watching with
interest as his brother's pale blue cotton boxer
shorts followed.  He took two steps towards me,
reached down, and pushed my head into his pubes - his
wiry hair scratched at my skin, and as my ground his
hips around a bit, his dick and balls were pushed
successively over my forehead, eyes, nose, and chin.
My nostrils filled with the maleness of him - the
faint smell of dried piss, but above all that special
scent that is only in and around a guy's pubes.

"There", he said, I'm not sure whether to me or to
Bill.  "Now he's got my scent.  You need to give a
slave the scent of you, to start to excite you."

As he was saying this, he held my chin in one hand,
and with the other gripping the root of his dick, he
started to swing it at me, so that it fell across
first one of my cheeks and then the other, making a
gentle "slap", "slap" sound:  hitting as it did my
already stinging cheeks, his heavy dick was actually
moderately painful, and I tried to say so, but could
only get inarticulate gargling noises out of my mouth.

"A bit of dick whipping conditions a guy, too", he
went on.  "It shows him you're really in control.  And
it makes you go hard!"  He was almost laughing as he
said this, and, indeed, his dick was now a solid shaft
of muscle, and he easily 'skinned himself back so that
his moist dick head was right in front of my nose.
Once again I had that incredible male scent, but this
time almost overwhelmed by that special smell of dick
- a mixture of piss and pre-cum - and I couldn't help
but see that he was already leaking a tiny droplet, as
it hung there on his piss slit.

"Right, Steve.  I like to take a man orally, but none
of this licking and sucking.... A slave's throat is
there to be fucked, and that's what I'm going to do.
 Now the handles on the collar are to help me pull you
right down onto my dick - a lot of strong guys like
you are very reluctant to do it, and just pulling your
hair, especially when it's cropped like yours, is
unnecessarily difficult.  But with the handles, with
your jaws wedged open, and with your hands cuffed
behind you, I think I can have a pretty good time,
although I'm not so sure about you...."

As he finished speaking, and with Bill now watching in
sheer fascination, he leaned forward, pushing his dick
into my mouth.  At first it was OK, but as he moved
forward the thick shaft began to fill my mouth and I
tried to pull back - and at once was stopped as Mike's
hands were now holding firmly ono the handles on my
collar.  He pushed forward again, and now it touched
the back of my throat, and at once I began to retch...
But it had no effect:  it didn't matter what I did, I
couldn't pull away, I couldn't shake my head free as
his dick was already so deep in my, and I couldn't
bite down on his dick because of the wedge.  He eased
off a moment, and I knelt there, coughing and
spluttering, tears beginning to stream down my face as
they do when those gag reactions have been triggered
so violently.

"That was just the taster, as you might say,
Steve...", he remarked evilly. "Next time, I'm going
right down the throat..."

As he said this, he pushed forward again, I started to
gag, but now it was worse, far, far worse, as he
pushed on so that his dick began to slide down my
gullet.  I  was panicking now- no, my body was
panicking, quite automatically - as my throat was
filled with dick and I could no longer breathe.  I was
shaking my head violently, trying futilely to get my
arms free of their restraints so I could tear at his,
and began to throw my body around in an effort to get
free.

He pulled out again, and now I was heaving and
coughing and choking and  almost vomiting.  My breath
was coming in great gasps, snot was cascading down my
nose and tears down my face.

"So, Steve... Even though you're a fag now, you've
never had a proper man really throat fuck you!", he
said with relish.  "Well, here goes again..."

He plunged into me once more, thrusting his dick right
down my throat almost without stopping.  All the same
things happened, but now he was easing himself in and
out, almost as if he was fucking me.  I had to get
away.  I had to escape.  My body knew it was dying,
and was prepared to do anything to get free.  The
violence of my reactions made me lose my balance, ad
it was only Mike's strong hands holding on to the
handles on my collar that kept me in him.  As I lay
there now, he sank to his knees, following me down,
and when he did withdraw, I really was retching now.
His dick, as I saw it waving in front of me, was now
covered in a thick layer of my mucus.  I wanted to beg
him, to plead with him, to implore him to stop.  I
wanted to offer him my ass, anything, as long as he'd
let me live.  But  I couldn't get any words out - not
only was the gag thing still keeping my jaws apart,
but the choking had affected me so that I could hardly
scream.

He reached behind him and picked up something else -
waving it in the air I saw it was a long, wide, semi-
stiff paddle made of thick leather.  "OK, Steve, back
on my dick..."

I managed to mutter "No...", as I lay there, gasping
and panting.  "Back on my dick, boy!"  he commanded
again, then brought the paddle crashing down on my
butt as  I lay there, causing me to buck and writhe
with the new pain.  "OK, boy, back on my dick, back on
your owner's dick...", he said, and without giving me
any choice in it, he slapped the paddle very hard on
my butt again, the plunged in and began fucking me
once more.

I was dimly aware of Bill watching in amazement all
this time, as my brother, now almost crouching over
me, heaved and hauled at my collar to keep his dick
rammed deep down my throat as my body writhed and
thrashed around on the floor in front of him, and as
he flailed at me with the heavy paddle.  The sounds of
his passion, the slap of the paddle, and my
inarticulate screams, shouts and cries must have made
a very erotic spectacle, as  I saw Bill starting to
sport an erection as Mike continued to rape my throat.

My body knew it was going to die, deprived of oxygen
and unable to control itself.  But Mike evidently knew
what he was doing, as periodically, for just long
enough, I could take deep drafts of air - but these
somehow only served to make the retching and
spluttering worse.  It seemed to go on for hours, but
in practice it can only have been minutes, as Mike was
totally unable to hold out.  He finally let me go, and
I dropped to lie flat on the floor, my chest heaving
as I continued to almost vomit, great fits of coughing
punctuating everything, and with me unable to stop
myself making pathetic cries and howls in-between.
Snot was continuing to pour out of my nose, tears to
stream down my cheeks, and now I was covered in sweat,
too:  it had broken out all over me, and was running
in foul-smelling rivulets down my ribs from my pits.

"There!", Mike said triumphantly.  "There's another
lesson from your elder brother, Bill.  That's  the way
to use a guy's mouth and throat."

"A-fucking-mazing!", Bill added, "I must get myself
one of those training collars!"

"...or a servant with long hair", Mike added
helpfully.  "It's about the only argument I know for
not keeping a servant's hair neatly cropped, like
Steve's is.  With long hair you can get a good grip,
and the servant is a lot less likely to struggle as
it's just too painful.  But don't forget to get a jaw
wedge - even when a servant has done it a few times,
you can't trust him:  there's something almost
automatic that can  take over sometimes that causes
him to bite down in agony, or ecstasy.... And you
don't want to get your dick bitten off!"

"Right on, brother.  I'll send away for one as I've
got a certain reputation to maintain and I can't be
seen going into one of the sex shops in the area."

"How about you have this one?", Mike replied.
"Knowing dad, he's probably got one already to use
with that cute young guy.  I'll send him some wine, or
something, and you can keep this one - you're staying
on tomorrow, aren't you?  If we can get rid of the
women again, you could try it out and I can give you a
few tips."

"You think dad really is giving it to that young guy?"

"Not only think so, know so.  He does talk to me
occasionally as I'm the eldest, and he's confided that
he really misses mom, and that here's no way he'd take
another woman.  But he's got urges, just like us: and
why do you think he bought a nice-looking young guy
like that?  At that age a servant with a relatively
slim body must be quite easy to control in bed, and
you know dad - he always likes to be in control, it's
a family trait.  So I'd think that Joe gets the
insides fucked out of him most nights.  But perhaps
Steve can tell us... Or perhaps Steve has special
knowledge about Joe...  Come on, Steve - spill the
beans:  does Joe take dick, or give it?"

I lay there, silent.  There was a great "slap", and I
screamed as the paddle crashed across my shoulders
now.  "Speak up, Steve.  Does Joe take dick   Indeed,
have you dicked him, fag?"

What was the point?  They'd just beat me until I
answered, and so I just mubmled "Yes, sir."

"Hey", Bill said, jokingly, I think.  "I'll have to
mention this to some of the folk I know who are always
looking for creative ideas for movies.  A dad and a
son both dicking the same slave... That should get all
the old guys in the audience really turned on."

"Yes, especially as the young slave seems to prefer
the older guy, as he doesn't even seem to make eye
contact with Steve.  That's a real turn on for the
guys in the audience with real spending power:  an
older guy who so turns on a young slave that the young
slave would rather be fucked by him that by a big,
hung, handsome muscle stud!"

Both of them started to laugh, as they bent over me to
undo my restraints.  I winced as the collar was taken
off, as the violence of my struggles had cased it to
almost cut me, and bruise my neck severely even though
it was thick and seemed to be padded.  And, of course,
I knew my butt and back would be glowing bright red
with the paddle marks.

"Mike, won't dad be cross when he sees what you've
done to Steve?  Look at these marks on him..."

"No, not a chance.  He never looks at Steve's face,
only keeps his eyes down looking to see if Steve is
going to flash his dick again.  And his back and butt
are covered by that tunic, unless for some reason he
has to strip tonight.  In any case, I can always tell
dad that we were training Steve to be a better, more
obedient slave - that should go down well.

End Of Part 26