Date: Fri, 17 Jun 2005 02:24:00 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Labourer, Part 31

THE LABOURER  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 31

Karen and I had a proper meeting to finalise things.
She demanded a contract, which was no problem, and no
surprise, really.  And then we fixed the wedding date
so that she would be at her most fertile that night.
I must say it amused me when I went down to breakfast
to find my father reading the local paper with a look
of utter astonishment on his face.  There, splattered
over the front page, was a picture of me and one of
Karen, with the headline shrieking "Society Heiress
And Industrial Baron To Wed" and then it burbled on
about it being "the" event of the season, that we were
"very much in love", that society was already
scrabbling to get invites to the wedding, and a lot of
stuff about my father's company and my meteoric rise
to the top.  We had of course bribed the paper - no,
that's the wrong word - I had visited the editor,
pointed out that I had a substantial holding in the
company, and told him quite bluntly that any mention
of my slavery, or Karen's father's bankruptcy, would
"not be interesting to the readers.  And an editor who
produced a paper that was of no interest to readers
should expect a short career..."  None of them
mentioned the best bit of all though - the fact that I
asked Rooney to show them to Rob, so that he could see
that I'd even taken Karen from him.


Steve was serving us as usual, and he caught sight of
the front page and almost dropped the chafing disk
with my father's breakfast sizzling in it.

"Steve...", he almost wailed.

"Shut the fuck up, slave!  How dare you speak when you
haven't been given permission", I raged, and then,
when  I saw Craig utterly crumble, I burst out into
uproarious laughter.  "Fooled you!", I gasped, almost
helpless with laughter.

He looked at me, still hurt, and I said "Oh Craig, the
look on your face... It  was worth all the expense of
this wedding!  Come on, don't go to Rooney's today.
And instead of us being slaves together, we'll be free
men together, real buddies, just for a change.  Even
though this wedding is a sham, I need a groomsman, you
know... And a guy's best buddy has to do it.  We'll
need to go and get you a proper morning suit, as you
can hardly hand me my ring wearing a tunic like
that.... Half the women, and most of the men, in the
audience wouldn't be looking at Karen and me as they
tried to get a glimpse of your dick!"

I explained to him then that it was just a formality,
and that Karen and I would never live together -  we'd
live in the same house, with the kids, but even now a
new wing was being built for Craig and me.  And the
rest of the day was fun, too, as we went on the
shopping spree to end all shopping sprees, buying sexy
new underwear for Craig and some casual clothes, so
that he could pull them on in the men's room and thus
look "respectable" to go off to get measured for a
morning suit, and an expensive casual suit to wear at
the reception.

As we lay in bed that night, still sniggering and
laughing at the attitude of some of the shop
assistants when they'd  seen Craig's body with its
crop of marks and bruises, he suddenly went serious on
me.  "You're mad, you know that, don't you?  It will
never work."

"Of course it will, Karen and the kids in one wing,
and us in another.  And her parents in them middle
part, I guess.  The fucking place is big enough
already, it's costing me a fortune, and our wing will
be a zillion miles away from them..."

"No, stupid!  I mean the wedding:  you can't have me
as your groomsman.... Folk would know.  And they'd
see my tattoo - they've got used to seeing yours, but
if they see me standing there with you, with the same
tattoo, they'll guess..."

"Look, Craig, folk only know what they're told.  The
paper is saying you're an old college buddy who's
moved away to Hawaii - that will explain your tan and
why you've not been seen around - who just flies in
for the ceremony.  And we'll get you a long, blond wig
to hang down at the back - the 'surfer dude' look -
that all fits in.  Mind you, we'd better keep you away
from Rooney's for a couple of weeks beforehand, as we
need all those cane marks to clear up:  if you see a
nice young guy at the reception who you fancy, and
decide to fuck him, it wouldn't look good if you were
all covered in slave punishment marks."

And so it was.  The wedding of the year.  The local
cathedral for the ceremony.  The marquees on the lawn
of  Karen's house.  Five hundred guests.  A world
famous pop group for the dancing.  Hundreds of
security guards to keep out the curious.  Three
million dollars worth of diamonds around Karen's
throat  as she glided up the aisle in her half a
million dollar dress.... And afterwards, the pictures
in "Hello" and  "OK", saturation cover in the papers:
we were the bride and groom of the year, and everyone
always wrote, too, about the stunningly handsome
groomsman, who had chartered a private plane to fly
across from Hawaii.  Craig quite liked that - the
"stunningly handsome" bit, and kept reading it out to
me as he preened himself in front of a mirror.

"Ah yes", I commented wryly.  "But they didn't see
your best bits.... That morning suit kept them all
safely in check!"

That night, though, as the dancing continued in the
marquees, Karen and I disappeared "to get ready for
the honeymoon", the Master Of Ceremonies announced.
I went up into Karen's suite, with Craig, and we all
stood there.

"Satisfied?", I asked her.  "I think we've
successfully re-launched you as the queen of local
society.... Now, Karen, the payment."

She nodded, and said "OK then, you two, strip!"

Craig looked at me, and for the first time ever, I saw
him flushing with embarrassment. "Oh come on, Craig!
She's seen us naked before - don't you remember,
crawling around the pool, doing the terrace?  Yo used
to whisper to me that you hoped she liked looking at
your asshole, as you deliberately spread your legs to
try to embarrass her!"

As I said this I started to unbutton his shirt - that
was sexy, actually, as usually I just ripped off his
tunic - then when we were both naked I kissed him
deeply, embracing him and running my hands all over
his back and his butt, as we liked doing.  I tickled
his dick, and ground my hips against his until I felt
him going erect.  "OK, buddy.... We want more kids.
You can go first...."

He froze, and looked at me almost in panic.  I turned
around and Karen had stripped too, and was standing
there with her hands on her hips, a look of impatience
on her face.  "Come on, boys!", she demanded.  "This
is the best party there will be this year, and I'm
missing it.  Just come over here, and do the business,
will you?"  As she spoke she moved to the big
silk-covered bed, lay on her back, and raised one leg
languidly into the air.

"Go on, Craig", I said, lightly slapping him on the
butt to encourage him. "Get stuck in!  This party is
costing plenty, and I want to enjoy it, too."

"No, Steve... I can't!"

"Sure you can - look at your dick..."

He came up to me and whispered "Steve, I can't... I
don't know what to do... I've never been with a
woman...."

"Its just like fucking a guy, Craig, but go in from
the front..."

"No, Steve - you do it.  Or let me coat your dick with
my cum, like we did Rob's last time..."

That wasn't what  I wanted, was it?  I wanted him to
fuck her "properly", to make sure his swimmers got off
to a good start.  Karen had asked me how I was going
to ensure that it was his cum that fertilised her, not
mine, and I'd worked out how to do it - all I had to
do was put my plan into action a little earlier.

"OK, Craig.  I tell you what - I'll fuck her first,
and you watch, and learn!  And the moment I've done,
you leap in and do the same.  OK, buddy?"

He nodded, still looking unsure.  I turned and walked
towards Karen, playing with my dick.  If  I ever tire
of being a businessman, I reckon I could go into
acting, as I managed to slide one of the "nails" into
my dick as I moved those few steps, without Craig
being aware of it.  The pain was excruciating, but I
bore it stoically.

Fucking's a bit like riding a bicycle, really, I
suppose.  Once you've learned how to do it, you never
forget, and so I had no problem in mounting Karen.
And in line with my "acting skills", I think I did a
pretty good job of faking  my cumming, and pulled out
of her.

I walked back towards Craig, hiding the tip of my dick
with my hand so that he wouldn't see the head of the
nail, kissed him again, and said "OK, she's all warmed
up.  You've seen how a real skilful master does it,
now use your body...."

He went to walk towards her, but to my horror  I saw
his dick wilt.  He stood there by the side of the bed,
and said almost plaintively "Steve....."

Some aspects of that evening in hindsight remind me of
a farce!  I had to almost hobble to the bathroom to
get the nail out of me, it was hurting so much.  Then
I had to go and kiss Craig, stroke him, and almost
jerk him off to the point of cumming, before guiding
his dick into Karen!  Still, as I saw his powerful
body pumping up and down as I had seen it do so many
times at Rooney's, I was excited.  I owned this
glorious piece of man flesh, he was mine, in every
sense of the word!  And as I thought this, and I saw
Craig's body arch upwards as he shot his load, my
tortured balls, denied the opportunity of emptying
inside Karen by the nail, erupted.  I couldn't help
it, it wasn't deliberate, and Craig didn't mind : but
Karen was furious about having a big streak of my cum
all over her body, and the bed!  Poor Craig got a lot
of joshing and ribbing, too, when he went back to
Rooney's the next day:  running at right angles across
the normal marks of the cane were the big scratches
that Karen's nails had made down his back, as she
clutched at him in her passion.

After that, I have to say that I thought I had it
made.  Craig and I lived a wonderful life in the West
Wing of the mansion and we had access when we wanted
it to the two - shortly three, and then four, boys.  I
rejoiced that two were Craig's, as I had again to
repeat the subterfuge with the nail (Craig will
probably never know how I suffered for him).  Karen
was happy, even though it cost me a fortune every
month when the bills came in.  My father was happy, as
he had Joe, and was truly  delighted at the way I had
now taken an active part in the business, something
he'd never hoped for in his wildest dreams.  Craig was
happy as during the week he toiled away as a slave at
Rooney's, and at weekends he bossed me around to keep
me trim.  And, I suppose, Joe was happy:  he simply
adored my father, and it wasn't a question of an owner
fucking a slave any longer, but of a younger guy
sincerely and deeply loving an older man (as often
happens, I understand). It all seemed idyllic.  The
best of all possible outcomes.

The Greeks had a word for it, I believe.  When men are
doing so well, the gods intervene and upset things.
So when the plane carrying my father on another  of
his "goodwill" trips fell out of the sky, I was deeply
and terribly upset.  In those few brief years of my
"true adulthood" I'd grown to love and respect him,
and for the way that, in spite of everything, he'd
never given up on me.  I was only the man I was
because of his determination that I would succeed.
Thank goodness that at least I had Craig - I don't
know how I would have got through the next few days
otherwise.

Our lawyers handed me an envelope in his familiar
writing.  I just said "Steve" on the outside, and they
told me that my father had written it some years ago,
lodging instructions that it was to be handed to me as
soon as possible after his death, and certainly before
the reading of the will.

My fingers were shaking as I tore the envelope open
and unfolded the single sheet inside it.  I could
hardly get to the end of the page as my eyes filled
with tears, and even now, I can recite those words
form memory, and I have to be careful to be alone if I
think about them as it is not good for a captain of
industry to be seen to be crying.

	"Steve...

	There's something special about a man's last born.
It's his last shot at immortality.  And youngest sons
are often dearest to their parents.  You are to me,
Steve.  Even though I loved all my sons, I loved you
the most. It was hard work, but you got there in the
end.  But even in those black days when you were
rebelling against everything, and against me, of
course, I still loved you.  We never know how long we
have on this earth, and I hope that in the intervening
time before you get to read this you will have gained
the wisdom to see that I never gave up on you, never
ceased to care for you.  A man can't say that to his
son, of course, especially when that son has grown up
and had taken his proper place in the world:  so often
as I watched you at the office, or saw you working
out, or observed you playing with your sons, or
noticed how Craig looks at  you and you look at him, I
wanted to shout out "Yes, world.  This is my son.
This is  Steve. Isn't he fantastic? "

	But enough of that, we need to address practical
matters.  It has always been assumed that I would
leave my holdings in the business to Mike, Bill and
you equally.  But you will shortly find that you are
the sole inheritor, Steve.  They don't need the money,
of course, but that's not the point - they will be
upset, very upset, if I know my sons!  So I am giving
you time to decide what to do.   It's pointless trying
to run things from beyond the grave, but let me
suggest that a man needs family, Steve - not just his
own sons, but the love of his brothers too.  Act
sensibly.

	I am also leaving you my most precious and treasured
possession - Joe.  I once told you that I was only
using Joe as a diversion, that a man has urges, that
he needs to satisfy.  But that was long ago, and
although I don't love Joe as I love my sons, I have
the deepest, deepest regard for him.   If it were
possible I'd have given him his freedom long ago, but
as you know only too well there is no provision for
that in law, and so like the rest of my estate, the
ownership of Joe falls to you. There's still a
headstrong, rebellious streak buried somewhere deep
down inside you, Steve - yes, I know you that well,
know that deep down, underneath that face you show to
the world, there's still something of that sixteen
year old who shrieked defiance at the world.  I won't
tell you therefore what to do with Joe - not only
would it be presumptuous, but it would be counter
productive:  if someone tells Steve to do something,
he still has a strong tendency to do anything but
that.  I'll just remind you, though, that I loved Joe,
and he loved me.  Think of how you feel about Craig
and how Craig feels about you, and then do the right
thing by Joe.  I trust you enough now to know that
whatever you decide to do, it will be good.

	We never got to say goodbye properly, son.  We'll
never meet again.  It's only now I wish I could
believe in that ju-ju in the sky like the Christians
do,  in the vain hope that one day in some Valhalla
we'd meet again, but that's all childish foolishness,
and we're both men.  Think of me sometimes, and live
your life as you know you must.

Dad"


Well the potential crisis with my brothers was easily
resolved, but I was glad of the time to make proper
plans.  Even before the funeral, as soon as they flew
in, I called them and their wives together and told
them about dad's will.  As he had anticipated, they
began to bluster and complain, but  I silenced them.
"Look, guys, you both have your own careers.  You
don't play any part in the business, and I do.  So at
one level, it's fair.  And my lawyers tell me that the
will is watertight, even for someone like you, Bill."

They started to complain again immediately, but  I
quickly went on "However a father should treat his
sons equally, and so I am in effect re-writing the
will, and each of you will get one third of the value
of the holdings in the Company.  I will not be subject
to control or criticism by you, however, and I will
not risk being outvoted by a combination of you two.
Consequently when I sign over a third of the stock to
each of you, you will at the same time irrevocably
give me your proxy to vote that stock in whatever way
I choose, for as long as I live.  You have all the
value, you can leave it to your kids, spend all the
dividends.... But I retain control."

There was some minor arguing then, but we all shook on
it, and although I could never quite forgive them for
fucking my throat, we remain as close as brothers who
have busy lives ever can be.

It was Joe who was my real concern.  He'd loved me at
one time, and now I owned him, my father's most
precious possession.  In the intervening years we'd
been, well, "polite", "civil", I don't know what you'd
say, really.  I thought my father was foolish to treat
him as he had:  "You can't be friends with a slave",
as they say, let alone be long-time lovers like that,
and now it was up to me to pick up the pieces and try
to put Joe back together again.  Well, it was
different for Craig and me, I mean.... Actually, what
do I mean?  I saw my fathers' dilemma in a flash, and
I started to sweat at the thought of what might happen
to Craig if I was killed.

 I interviewed Joe in my study, and he looked terrible
- he'd been crying a lot, and now he looked absolutely
terrified about what might happen to him.  He stood
there in his fine clothes, and I said quietly "Joe,
you're a slave.  And I'm your new owner.  My father
left you to me in his will. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Steve."

"Joe, you're my slave.  Have you forgotten everything
you learned at Mister Rooney's?"

He fell into the subservient position, and mumbled
"Sorry, sir."

"Take off those clothes, Joe.  They're hardly suitable
for a slave!", I said quietly, and watched as
tearfully he undid the fine cotton short and pulled it
off, slipped out of his expensive hand-tooled leather
loafers, and pulled his socks off, then dropped his
expensive pants to the floor.  He stood in front of me
in those ridiculously expensive Swiss cotton briefs my
father brought him back from trips.

"Joe, when  I said 'take off those clothes', I meant
all of them!"

He was almost crying now as he pushed the briefs over
his still slim hips, and stepped out of them.  Look,
you may think I was being harsh, but it was for Joe's
own good:  he was a slave, and I couldn't change that,
and the sooner he learned to start thinking like one
again, the  easier it would be for him.

"Come here", I commanded, and when he was standing by
the side of me, still subserviently posed, I reached
out and felt his balls, then stroked his dick to
erection.

"I remember this dick, Joe.  Do you remember how you
wanted me to play with it when we were in bed?"

"Yes, sir."

I swivelled my chair around, and pulled him down so
that he was sitting in my lap - I'm still a lot bigger
than him, even though he was long since a proper man.
I put one arm around his hips, and pulled him towards
me with my other arm around his shoulders.  He was
trembling all through him, and I kissed him.

"There, Joe.  I know you're hurting  You miss my
father even more than I do, if that's possible."

He nodded.

"Don't worry, Joe.  I'm not going to punish you for
anything that might have happened in the past.  The
past is the past, and we can't change it.  We need to
remember it, and learn to live better from having
experienced it.  But remorse, and revenge, are a waste
of time."

"Are you going to sell me, sir?", he asked.

I slapped my hand hard across his rump as he sat there
in my lap.  "You always were an idiot, Joe!  Of course
I'm not going to sell you!  You and Craig and me went
through enslavement together... You're part of my
life.  And you were a very important part of my
father's life.  So the choice is yours - you can do
what you want:  I will give you almost unlimited
money, and within the limits of what slaves can do,
you can travel, enjoy yourself.... It will have to be
in the USA, of course, as slaves can't have
passports.... And we can buy you an apartment...."

"Please, sir, don't send me away..."

"I'm not sending you away, Joe.  I'm giving you as
much freedom as I can, within the law.  Most guys
would give their right arms for enough money and
leisure to do what they wanted..."

"Sir, no!  Please don't send me away, don't make me
leave here..."

"Hey, Joe, let's stop the 'sir' stuff, shall we?  You
know how Craig and I are - I'm only 'sir' when Craig
is working as a slave."

"Steve, please... Don't send me away."

"OK, you can live here, that's no problem, if that's
what you want to do."

"And can I still see the grandchildren,  Steve?  My
old master loved them, and I do, too..."

I smiled and knew I had the answer!   Having been
enslaved so early, I realised that Joe could never
live even an approximation of a "free" life.  After
comforting him some more, I told him quietly that he'd
have to get used to living as a slave again, and told
him to go and dress in a tunic - but that he could
wear the long one as a mark of respect for my father's
memory.

A couple of days later I took Joe to see Karen, and as
he stood there, actually looking quite handsome now:
he'd always been a good looking kid, and now that he
was fully mature I could see that, had things been
different, he could easily have been one of those
"suburban" men you see everywhere in their neat
clothes and neat houses, going to the market, taking
the kids to soccer.... Working out so that he had a
hard, trim body...

"I'm going to let you use Joe, Karen", I told her.
"Neither Craig nor I, nor you I guess, have got time
to do all the stuff that growing kids need - shuttling
them around to and from school, to the library, taking
them to soccer... And then there's teaching them to
swim, to keep in shape..."

"Oh no, Steve.  The fashion is to hire a  servant
girl, someone with a good education but who fell on
hard times..."

"Karen, you know I've never given a fuck for fashion!
And if you buy a servant girl's contract, you'll have
to pay for it yourself!  So use Joe - he likes the
kids and they're used to him.   And growing boys need
a male role model, you know that.  And who could be
better than Joe?  He's got nice manners, a good
body...  And when he's not doing things with them, he
can work on the grounds, do the pool...."

A smile started to spread over Karen's face.  "You're
right there, Steve - I used to enjoy watching him
clean the pool....  It will be a temptation to me, of
course, having such a desirable chunk of man living
in such intimate contact...."

"Well, he needs strong, firm control, Karen.  He
thought he had me to control him, then of course my
father gave him the authority figure he needed.  I
don't doubt that you can do it for a young guy like
that, as you're very forceful.... But here...... Be
careful....."

I  smiled as I casually tossed her a "nail".  I knew
Joe was going to have some interesting times!

______________________________________

			MASTADON PICTURES CORPORATION
					MEMORANDUM

>From the desk of Walter G Hughes, Executive Assistant
to the President.
To:  Frank H Cordrey, Producer designate, "Labourer"

Before he left for Cannes to collect the lifetime
achievement award for services to motion pictures,
something which Mr Brown justly deserves for the
studio, as I am sure we will all agree, he signed off
on the tentative plan to produce "The Labourer" which
he discussed with you when he appointed you as
Executive Producer.

My Brown is keen to capture the market which
undoubtedly exists to appeal to the more mature
audience which is tired of "teen comedies", "boy meets
girl love affairs", and "spy thrillers".   The time is
right once again for "science fantasy", and Mastadon,
he asked me to remind you, does not have enormous
resources to spend on elaborate sets and animated
models:  The Labourer is therefore positioned to scoop
the pool and produce record profits provided we act
quickly, combining as it does proper drama, well
formed characters, and a strong element of escapist
fantasy, without the need to incur enormous expense.
Set as it is in a "near future" America, it can all be
made most easily set in a few of those large colonial
mansions which can be hired for a song throughout the
south.  Mr Brown also asked me to remind you that he
gave strict orders relating to the casting of the
film:  you are explicitly not to hire "names" and
instead find "beautiful young hopefuls" who are
prepared to work in the nude and near-nude.  It is
also likely that for some of the mature roles, like
Rooney and  Mr Masters senior, "character actors" used
to medium scale fees might be enticed to work for
substantially lower sums as they will be constantly
exposed to the sight of the beautiful young men; and
furthermore, as we do not wish to have to employ half
of Hollywood's make-up artists, it is likely that many
of the canings and whippings will be done "for real" -
not only will this enhance the feeling of reality that
makes the plot so chilling, but ought to attract even
larger audiences drawn to the prospect of seeing
something which is widely available on the Internet
but only infrequently seen in main-line cinema.  It
also means that the actors playing the slaves need not
be so accomplished, as they will not need to fake most
of the pain they are supposed to be suffering.

As a later stage, Mr Brown suggests that part of the
advance publicity for the film can be "placed"
so-called "candid" interviews with some of the
players, where we might suggest that they had been
unaware of what was in store for them and that the
scenes where they attempt to break free of "the horse"
as they are caned were in fact not consensual.
However it is imperative that the actors' contracts
allow for this, as Mr Brown does not want the studio
sued for "pain and suffering".

As he is keen to get this film on the studio floor in
less than two months, time is of the essence and so Mr
Brown dictated the above treatment that sets out the
major situations, plot lines and defines the key
characters.  Please engage our in-house writers to
re-work this as a shooting script before Mr Brown's
return next Monday.  A meeting to progress this
exciting project is scheduled on that day at two p.m.
in Mr Brown's office in the executive building.

Cordially
Walter G Hughes

THE END
Pete Brown,  April/May 2005.  London, Bourg St
Maurice, Paris.