Date: Mon, 19 Dec 2011 12:55:02 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Villein Of The Piece

THE VILLEIN OF THE PIECE
A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

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

Note to readers: I have lost the creative urge to write, and since June,
when I last looked at "Reluctant Gladiator", have not put pen to paper, to
use the old metaphor.  This distresses me a little, not only because I know
I have a large readership who enjoy my stories, but primarily because a lot
of this creativity is to do with "me" and who I am.  Whilst clearing up my
PC I came across a nearly-completed first chapter of a story I started some
years ago, and in an attempt to begin writing again I forced myself to
complete it - well, the opening part at least.  So here it is - I must warn
readers that this is far from being a "vintage Pete Brown" with a long,
developing plot line.

Pete

THE VILLEIN OF THE PIECE

We didn't have a lot of money as I was growing up.  No, that's not right -
we actually didn't have any money at all, really, as dad was a villein on
our master's estate.  So although we were well housed and my brothers and
sisters and I had good serviceable clothes and we always had enough to eat,
there just wasn't any free money at all.

Those of you who mostly live in the megalopolises probably don't fully
understand how the system works out here in the country: after the
endlessly slow recovery from the Great Crash there just wasn't enough
machinery and oil and stuff to go back to working the countryside as it had
been, with huge machines crawling over hundreds of hectares.  Land prices
really dropped and some of the richest men managed to buy up huge estates,
and then had to find a way of working them to grow the food that was still
needed, and as various models were tried and failed in some way, they were
mostly found to be wanting: too many people and too much time had to be
involved in administering wages and stuff like that for the large numbers
of people who were now needed to work the land once more.  So the old
"capitalist" system had to be junked, but history had already told us that
authoritarian and communist-like regimes were ultimately unsuccessful.

It's not clear who ultimately pointed out that the system in use across a
lot of Europe in the Middle Ages had many advantages for the mess the
country was in.  So we ended up with roughly the same system - a small
number of exceedingly rich landowners at the top; a much-reduced "middle
class" of professionals such as lawyers and doctors and the like (not so
many of all of these were needed as before, as crime and stuff was
dramatically reduced); and some skilled artisans like carpenters and
blacksmiths who now made much of the stuff locally that had formerly been
produced in the old wasteful factories - using mostly hand labour, and
avoiding a whole lot of transport costs of course, it was so much more
ecologically sound.  Below them, but still free men, were guys like my dad
who was a villein to the owner of the land on which our little house stood
- in exchange for the use of the house and the few hectares of "garden"
which mom and dad (and us kids!) could tend to grow our own food, dad owed
the landowner three days a week of work on the estate lands.  The savings
in this system may not seem obvious until you realise that dad was highly
motivated to work very hard in those three days each week - if he didn't,
our whole family would be thrown out of our house as we had no formal title
or lease or anything: as a villein, dad occupied it at the owner's
pleasure, it's as simple as that.  And of course without wages and stuff
there was no need for an army of administrators and such like, so the whole
thing is quite efficient.  And "our" piece of land was large enough for mom
and dad to grow enough vegetables to feed us all, and to keep chickens,
geese, goats and even a cow, to provide us with eggs, milk and meat.

Dad was a free man, though: he could vote in the local elections for the
sheriff, and for the beadle who administered the workhouse where the
unemployed were housed.  And, of course, he was free to give up the house
and land if he wanted, and to move to another one if he could find it.
But, of course, there's the difficulty - what landowner in his right mind
would take on a villein who had left his previous station?  Only a very few
villeins ever moved - you needed to win the lottery or something - and so
dad was really "tied" to where we were, and to giving his three days a week
to the owner.  Still, it was better than being a slave - we had those in
our state, as did many others, as it had been decided that keeping
criminals in jail was completely unproductive and it was much better to use
them as slaves for all the jobs in the quarries, mines, and such like where
there was really no possibility of getting villeins to do it, and where
paying free men would simply be much, much too expensive.

Still, as I said, we had a good life.  Mom made really great food from the
garden and the produce of our livestock, we had a warm, dry house (although
it was a bit small for my two brothers and two sisters and me), and our
landowner had a really good reputation for the enlightened management of
his estate - for example when dad broke his arm in an accident he paid for
the doctor to fix it up so dad could resume work once it had healed, and
whilst he was incapacitated, he allowed mom to work in the big house to
replace dad's three days of labour (although she had to do four days each
week, as she was a woman and only capable of light work around the place).
The owner also paid for the village school that all us kids went to - it
was considered good that we could master basic reading and do simple sums
as this would be helpful in our work, and when I left and went to work
alongside dad when I was eleven, I reckon I'd got pretty good at it.

I guess everything would have been OK if I hadn't discovered sex!  Well, I
say "discovered" - living on a farm with all those animals (and in a very
small house with mom and dad, and dad was an energetic, virile man), there
was not a lot I didn't know about it.  And once my voice broke and I
matured, there was no stopping me.  I could sometimes hear mom and dad
whispering about "how I'd grown up" after they'd been together before they
slept, and I know dad was planning to talk to the landowner to ask him for
another hectare on our plot so that I could work it with him (and maybe do
one day a week as a villein myself) until I was "properly" a man at
twenty-one when I could hope to take on my own place.

Mom and dad kept me on a pretty tight leash, though, and with all the work
I had to do around the place I didn't meet a lot of folks outside the
family.  Mostly it was our neighbours, and we mostly only saw them at
church on Sundays, and then the families guarded their daughters to keep
the maturing lads like me well away!  So I didn't actually get to fuck - a
woman, that is, rather than my own fingers - until I was fifteen.  But once
I'd started, there was no stopping me: it was like a drug.  So however
tired I was after my day's toil I'd wait until the whole house was asleep
then creep out and run the miles across the fields to one or other of the
neighbours in the hope that one of the girls would be as horny for it as I
was.

I got quite a reputation as a stud - not only did I get lots of practice,
but, even though I say so myself, I was quite handsome.  I had a tall,
well-made body just like dad's, I was well muscled from all the work I did
and had a lot of power and strength in my body from the good food and
exercise, and the girls always told me I had a kind of "cute smile" .  But
actually I think they really liked my dick - properly in proportion to the
rest of me.  Or was it that they liked the fact that I knew how to use it,
and was pretty skilled at really giving them almost as much pleasure as I
got myself?

It was just before my seventeenth birthday and I was working away on our
vegetable patch - dad was away doing his mandatory three days on the
owner's land, and I'd said I'd get the vegetable plot dug over for mom.
Being a hot day I'd taken my shirt off (you can't afford to wear out stuff
when you don't need to, can you?) and I always try to avoid making work for
mom if I can so if I didn't sweat into it I could wear it for a third or
fourth day. I was kind of enjoying the sensation of the breeze on my hot
skin and the way it kept me a bit cool, and I could feel those little
trickles of sweat running from my pits down over my ribs and making the
waistband of my jeans all wet.  I was in that rhythm of working when you
kind of turn off, and was deep in my thoughts (actually thinking about Lisa
who had agreed to meet me that night, and my dick as rock hard against my
clothes as I let my mind run over what we'd do together!), when I was
startled by a voice - a female voice.

"Are you Steve, then, the son of the villein Masters?"

I looked around and there was this vision of loveliness (or, actually,
someone whose body was shrieking 'sex') - a girl - no, woman, I reckon,
like no other.  She was slight and dressed in pale colours, and carried a
parasol to keep her face out of the sun.  I wasn't used to seeing women
with pale, fair skin, and in light clothes, as all our neighbours were
deeply tanned, as was I, and always wore clothes of dark, heavy cotton to
avoid showing the dirt.

"Yes, I'm Steve Masters", I managed to reply.  "And who are you, then?"

I knew, of course, as I'd seen her sitting with her father n the font pew
at church on Sundays - she was the owner's daughter, Arabella they say her
name was.

"Never you mind who I am.  It's you I'm interested in.  All the maids at
the house say you've got quite a reputation with the ladies.... you know
what pleases a woman....."

I gave her a broad grin - no, a big, wide open smile, really.  I felt my
dick straining even harder at my jeans, and I managed to say "Oh, do they?
Well, I never argue with a lady...."

She took a couple of steps towards me, and reached out with one of her
slim, white hands to touch me gently just at the base of my neck.  Then, as
time seemed to stand still, her finger moved down ever so slowly, and ever
so gently - it was almost as if a butterfly was moving over me, it was so
light - to brush against my left nipple.  I couldn't help myself - my nip
was as rock hard as my dick was now, and I think she sensed my excitement
as she allowed her finger to ever so gently tease the light hairs around my
aureole.

"Mmmmm, Steve....", she whispered, and before I could do or say anything
her other hand reached out and almost with the speed of a snake grabbed at
my crotch!  The contrast between the gentle, ladylike approach to my nip
and the way she held my rigid dick through the thin fabric of my jeans was
so surprising that I didn't react for a moment.  And she laughed, a
high-pitched happy laugh.  "I can see what the girls mean...", she added as
her fingers gripped my dick.

"No, please....", I stammered.  I mean, it's not right, is it?  A woman
shouldn't be doing that to a guy, not being "forward" like that!  It's up
to the man to make all the moves, isn't it?  But before I could get any
more words out, she'd put her lips against mine, moved her finger from my
nip to around my neck as if to hold me (I could easily have pulled away, of
course, as I was very powerful... but I suppose I didn't want to), and her
tongue was thrusting into my mouth.

It was all totally new to me!  You could say she seduced me, although that
suggests I was totally inexperienced.  But actually, I suppose I was
inexperienced in her ways - I was used to having to cajole and persuade a
girl to let me fuck her, was used to making all the running.  I was totally
unprepared for the blatant way her hands ran all over my muscles, the way
she almost tore my jeans off (and laughed when she saw I had no underwear,
and at the way my dick burst free and was almost parallel to my muscled
belly, I was so aroused).  Then she carried on with that tinkling laugh as
she pointed out the contrast between my stark white butt and the deep brown
of my belly and my back - I was too amazed to join in, and, actually, as
she grabbed my dick and balls and began to slide my 'skin up and down, I
was a bit scared: this wasn't meant to be the way you had sex!

And we did have sex! She fucked me, yes, that's what she did.  I had to lie
there on my back as she sat astride me, "riding" me and using my hard dick
to pleasure herself.  Well, it was pretty dammed good for me too, I
suppose, although I like to be more in control and I really prefer what dad
told me was the "proper" way for a guy to fuck a woman, in the so-called
"missionary" position - I don't know why it's called that.  And she was
annoyed, actually, because I was so aroused that I shot my load long before
she was ready to climax and she carried on "riding" me even though I was
crying out as my dick is really sensitive once I've cum.

She got off me, and used my jeans to dry between her thighs as I lay there
watching, too stunned to do or say anything.  She hadn't really undressed,
and she just smoothed down her dress and turned to walk away.  "Be here
tomorrow", she snapped.  "You're very acceptable, for a country boy."

As I lay there with the sun beating down on my naked body if it was almost
as if I'd had a totally erotic dream (the kind where I used to wake up and
find the bed soaked in cum where I'd shot, before I realised that young
guys needed to jerk off before going to sleep!  The first couple of times I
think mom and dad laughed about it when mom found the hard patches as she
did the laundry, but dad soon put me right as he said it wasn't fair on mom
to have the extra work needed to wash the stains out).  Still, there was
work to do, and I pulled my jeans on (having held them up to my face first
to breathe in that special scent of a woman that was now all over them),
and got on with it.  Dad laughed at dinner that night as he said I was so
quiet it was almost as if the cat had got my tongue - and that made me
squirm a bit as I sat there, actually, as I remembered Arabella's hot
tongue forcing itself into me!

She fucked me the next day, and the next day, and the day after that, and
the day after that, which was Sunday - she instructed me to be in the apple
orchard near the big house in the middle of the afternoon as she wanted
"something to pass the boring Sunday afternoon with".  It almost made me
late for evening service at the church, and dad glared at me when I
stumbled in, and mom looked very disapproving as she brushed a few stray
pieces of grass off my jacket (Arabella hadn't allowed me to take it off,
as she thought it would be funny to see me bare only from the waist down,
with my Sunday best shirt, tie and jacket on top!).

Well, I don't know what her long-term plan was.  We never talked about
stuff like that.  She was just using me as something for her pleasure, and
my needs were of no interest.  And she clearly thought that there was no
use in talking to me, as she didn't think I'd have anything interesting to
say.  Still, the sex was good, I suppose - although I hated not being able
to do all the stuff I usually did with girls, and I hate not really being
in control.

It seemed to go on for weeks - and I knew mom and dad were worried about me
- even on my seventeenth birthday when my brothers and sisters and mom and
dad were all seated for my special birthday dinner, I was kind of late as
Arabella had been using me.  And all through dinner I could hardly join in
with all the family jokes and - for one thing, this kind of continual sex
was tiring me out.  And for another, my mind was so full of it that the
normal "family" things seemed somehow trivial.

The blow fell a couple of weeks later.  As usual Arabella had been ravaging
my body that afternoon, using me as if I was a mere plaything. But when I
got home I knew something was probably very wrong as I had never seen dad
to be so angry-looking before.

"What the fuck have you been doing, Steve?", he demanded.  "The land agent
came by saying the master wanted to see you, and said that you and me and
mom are to go over to the Big House as soon as you got back, and we've been
waiting.... I don't know where you get to these days - I hope you've been
doing nothing wrong...."

"No, dad....", I muttered, but even to me it didn't sound wholly
convincing.

"...But you'd better have a bath first", he continued.  "You can't go there
all covered in sweat and grime like you are now.  So I had to get the big
tin bath in, and mom ladled buckets of hot water from the copper into it so
I could sit there and scrub myself clean - dad used the water after me as
we always did on bath nights, but my brothers weren't home yet and so I
knew mom would have to heat more water later for them.  They do say that in
the olden days there used to be permanent baths, and everyone used to have
one individually.  But in our house all the men always used the water
sequentially, and all the girls did with another lot.  Of course as I got
older and my body hair started to grow I was allowed to keep my underpants
on so mom wouldn't be embarrassed, and so afterwards I hopped around with a
big towel wrapped around me, taking off the wet ones and pulling on clean
fresh ones that mom held out for me, whilst dad quickly scrubbed himself
clean (He was naked of course as he had nothing to conceal from mom, and as
usual I noticed how alike we were - both tall and muscular, and really the
only difference was that dad was much "bigger built" than me as his body
was matured by more years of hard toil than mine.  But I knew I'd look just
like him one day - although, I mused, even now I reckoned my dick was
bigger than his).

Dad insisted I wore my Sunday best shirt, and my jacket and trousers,
rather than jeans, and he dressed up, too.  "It will be a good opportunity
to talk about the extra land, Steve,", he said.  "You're almost a man now,
and it's time you started to take some proper responsibility.  If you could
get a nice bit of land to work as I do, and put in your days in on the
estate, you'd be well set-up if you wanted to marry."

"Hey, dad, not so fast! Marry?  I'm only seventeen..."

"Yes, Steve, but I know how I was at your age - these years are really
difficult for a young guy: your body knows it's time for you to get wed,
but the law doesn't allow it for another year...  but there's always
temptation around and the sooner you can marry, the better."

I flushed a bit as dad was saying this, as of course I had already
succumbed to the "temptation" many times!  Surely dad would know that, as
he'd been a young guy once, too.  But perhaps things were different when he
was growing up.

"I reckon some good hard work getting a piece of land into shape will take
your mind off the women for a bit", dad went on, "...and when we do come to
pick a girl for you, we'll have the pick of the crop to choose from if you
have a nice bit of land, and the makings of a house...."

I muttered something in agreement, as I didn't want to upset dad.  But no
way was he going to choose a wife for me!  I reckon dad thought that wives
had to be big and strong to help on the land, whereas after Arabella I
could see that there were other things that were important, too, like a big
appetite for sex, and a nice, lithe body that I could play with.

Soon we were all ready, in spite of all mom's fussing around at dad and me
to make sure we were "a credit to us all". And she had put on her Sunday
best church dress, too.  We walked up the immaculate drive at the Big
House, but when dad knocked at the double doors, we were told to go around
the back to the "common people's entrance".  We were shown into a rather
bare waiting room, and just sat there for some time.  Mom and dad seemed
rather overawed by the place, but my curiosity was getting the better of me
as I wanted to know what kind of place Arabella lived in.

The land agent - Mr Straughan - came in after a time and said that the
master would see us now, and he led us out of the bare waiting room, along
what was evidently a corridor used by the house servants, and through a
door into the entrance hall of the house proper.  Mom and dad and me all
looked in awe at the huge wooden staircase that went up in a vast sweep to
the upper floors, and at the statues and paintings.  Straughan knocked at
one of the heavy oak doors, and then opened it and ushered us in.

I'd seen the master before, of course - not only riding around the
countryside on his horse, or in one of the carriages with his wife and
daughters, but especially on Sundays when he led his family up the aisle at
our church and into the front pew specially reserved for them.  Obviously
I'd never spoken to him, although I knew mom and dad had as it was the
custom at Christmas for them both, along with all the other villeins, to
take a basket of the fruit from our trees up to the big house to present to
the master as a "thank you" for his letting them continue to use the house
and land.

We'd been found out, of course - it seems that Arabella had had to use her
mother's lady's maid one day to help her dress when her own was sick, and
this maid had no loyalty to Arabella, only to her mother, and was very
concerned when she'd found stains on Arabella's undergarments and had at
once reported them to her mistress.  Arabella had then confessed that she
had been having sex with one of the local men, and it hadn't taken her
father long to discover that it was me.

"Masters", the land owner began, looking sternly at dad and not even giving
us any welcome.  "I have called you here to give you notice to quit.  I
want you off my land tomorrow."  He looked at Straughan and added "Make a
list of recommendations for which of the local men can take on that plat
and the house, so we can get it tenanted immediately after they leave."

"Please, sir.... why..... I've always worked hard..... And there's my wife,
and the little ones....."

"Not so little, Masters!  That son of yours has been rampaging around the
place just as if he is some sort of prize bull.  I have investigated and
found that he has been impregnating many of the local girls.... and
now.... now.... he has even had the audacity to force my daughter into the
most vile sexual acts.  I'm not prepared to have this sort of disgraceful
behaviour on my land...  I cannot and will not tolerate any risks to my
daughter!  And such behaviour can only have been learned from a dissolute
and corrupt home: you have other sons, I know, and I suppose they will be
in the same mould as this one.  So away with you, away with you all..."

"Sir, you must have that wrong", dad began.  "Steve is a good lad - he
works hard..."

"Oh please, sir....", mom cut in, "Please don't turn us out.  We have
nowhere to go... and my other sons and daughters......"

"You should have thought of that, madam, before allowing your eldest son
here to rampage around the countryside impregnating the local girls...."

I stood there, not knowing what to do, or what to say.  Dad grabbed hold of
me then and shouted "Steve, is this true....?"

I tried to pull away from him but even though I'm powerful and strong as
I've told you, I was still no match for dad.  His fingers dug into my
biceps and the many more years of hard toil he'd done really showed, as
there was no way I could break free.  I tried, though, and we had a slight
tussle as we stood there.

"See!", the land owner snapped "He is out of control!  Even you can't
properly restrain and discipline him, Masters!  He's like a wild beast, and
that's the way he has been acting.... My daughter was ravaged by him, and
she was so afraid of him that she did not dare tell us...."

"No, please, sir, my son is not like that....", dad shouted.

"Are you accusing my daughter of lying, Masters?  When we discovered that
your son had been impregnating her she was trembling with fear.... she said
how he.... No, I can't, I won't go on.  It's too disgusting!  A big, strong
man like your son - I can imagine he could be vicious-looking to a poor
innocent girl - ravaging my daughter....  You're lucky I am allowing you to
leave - I'm not certain that it wouldn't be better to have the constable
arrest him for rape, have him tried, and then have him castrated to protect
other young women!"

Dad relaxed his grip for a moment and I managed to shake myself free.  I
stood there, trembling with rage about what had been said (and actually a
bit scared, having heard the word castration).  "It wasn't like that!", I
shouted.  "I never raped anyone!  I've got no need to force myself onto
anyone - they're willing enough.... "

"...you forced my daughter!"

"NO!  No, I didn't!  She forced herself on me! She made me go with her,
she....."

"Silence!  I will not have you speak in that disgusting way about my
daughter.  She has been properly brought up, and there's no way that she
would even consider having sex with a villein's son, or, indeed, with
anyone before marriage.  She is a sweet, delicate girl, just eighteen, and
how dare you suggest that she could force a huge, rough man like you to do
anything against your will."

"Well she did!  She's sex mad.  Desperate for it.  Many times I was so
tired I didn't want to do it, and she insisted, she...."

"Steve, shut up!", dad snarled.  "How dare you say things like that in our
master's house...."

"NO, dad!  It's not right!  She made me do it...."

The next moment I was sprawled on the floor, my head spinning.  Dad had
lashed out at me, punching me in the guts and then slapping at my head as I
doubled over.  "Shut up, Steve!", he snapped.  "I won't have you disobeying
me, you know that...."

"Well done, Masters.  That's what he needs - the young need firm
discipline.  It's a pity you didn't thrash him more as he was growing up,
so he learned how to behave properly.  You wouldn't then find yourself
homeless."

As I pulled myself up into a sitting position, still a bit dazed from dad's
blow, I could see mom looking horrified, and scared.  She never normally
spoke when men were talking, but now she stammered "Please, master...
Steve was always a good lad. His father rarely had to punish him.... But
this last year he seems to have changed.... I'm sure he didn't mean any
harm...."

"That's irrelevant, madam!", our master said in his harsh tone.  "The fact
remains that he ravished my daughter, and I'm not prepared to tolerate
having a wild animal like that around the place.  But I'm a generous man -
I won't insist you leave tomorrow: I will give you until the end of the
week to make alternative arrangements."

"Please, master...", dad was standing there with his head bowed now,
wringing his hands together.  I felt sorry for him - no, I was ashamed for
him, a big strong man like that having to beg and plead.  "There's no other
work... We'll never find another place.... We've served you well here for
years, always giving you our tithe promptly.... My wife and children will
be a charge on the parish as we'll be destitute...."

"Hmmm.... You're right.  I'll end up paying for the upkeep of your brats, I
suppose, as I'm the biggest contributor to the parish poor relief fund.
And you have looked after my land well.  I'll reconsider, and let you
stay...."

"Oh thank you, sir....", mom cried out, almost weeping.

"...but that brute must go.  I won't have him around here, lusting after my
daughter."

"But master, he's only seventeen.... He won't be able to get an indenture
or anything until he's eighteen.... He'll starve, be destitute...."

"Silence, Masters!  I've already been absurdly generous in allowing you and
your family to stay."

I managed to pull myself to my feet, and was going to try to say something
when the door opened and our master's son came in.  He didn't live on the
manor as he was away at school, one of those fancy places where the kids
stay except during vacations. But folk in the village said that when he was
growing up he had been callously indifferent to the goings on around him
and was only interested in having his own way about things.  He stood there
for a moment, taking in the scene, then turned and said "So, that's
Arabella's stud, is it, father? Have you put them out as you said you
would?  The villeins need a lesson occasionally, to show them all that we
keep good order here.  It will make the whole village think, and realise
how much they're dependent on us."

"I've decided to allow Masters and his wife and children stay.  They pay
their tithes regularly, and if I put them out they'll be a charge on the
parish - which means me.  But the son has to go."

"Oh please, master, no....", mom wailed again.  "Steve's a good boy really.
He's got nowhere to go...."

"Madam, I've told you that I'm not prepared to tolerate him on my land!
Either he goes, or all of you go.  And that's an end to it."

"It's OK, mom", I said, managing to form my words now.  "I can't let you
and dad and the kids be punished for what I did.  I'll manage, somehow..."

The owner's son stared at me.  "How old is he, father?", he asked.  "Is he
still under the control of his father, one of our villeins?"

I didn't like being spoken about like that.  I mean, if he wanted to know
how old I was, he should have asked me, shouldn't he?  It's as if he didn't
think of me as a person.  "I'm seventeen", I said, angrily.

The son stared at me, seemingly surprised that I had spoken.  "You're big,
for a seventeen year old.  Let me see more of you - unclothe."

"What?"

"Are you stupid?  I know intelligence is not normally something that
villeins need, but surely you understand simple English?  I told you to
unclothe, which means to strip, to get naked.  I want to inspect that body
of yours further, to see if you're potentially suitable for my purposes."

"No way!  You've no right to tell me to do something like that..."

The son turned to his father and said casually "Really, father, I think
you're taking a big risk in allowing the whole of this Masters family to
stay on the estate.  He may have paid his tithes and so on in the past, but
if the man and his wife have raised a son who does not respect authority
and refuses perfectly reasonable requests from us, then I think you should
reconsider.  Once a rebellious attitude like that takes hold it will spread
to the other villeins.... And then what?  It seems to me you'd do better to
stick with your original decision, and turn them off our land.  And the
sooner the better - I think you're wrong to tolerate them here for another
week."

Our master looked at dad.  "I think my son's perhaps correct, Masters.
Your son seems to have a rebellious nature..."

"I'm sure Steve didn't mean anything by it, sir", dad stammered.  "It's
just that it's a bit unusual...."

"Nonsense, Masters!  Don't I have you examined by the estate physician
every year to ensure you're healthy and able to continue to work my land?
I assume the physician inspects your body thoroughly, and my son is only
making a similar request.  It does seem to me that you may not be fit to
work my land in future as you clearly have raised a rebellious son who has
not properly understood the way that a villein should respect his master's
orders...."

"I'm sure Steve didn't mean any harm, sir...  He's a good boy really, as
his mother says...."  Dad looked so uncomfortable as he said this, standing
there sort of wringing his hands.

I could see where all this was leading, and I hated the thought that my
family would de turned off the land - we didn't have any possessions or any
money or anything, well, not much, as we worked our master's land and paid
him most of the profits we made for the privilege.  Our cottage was his,
and almost all the furniture in it, and almost the only things we owned
were our clothes, and most of them mom knitted or sewed from the materials
she bought from the meagre money left over after we'd paid our master his
tithes for the land and cottage.  If we were turned out we'd be totally
destitute, and I knew dad would never be able to get another place as no
master would take him on if he had been turned off by another master.

There was only one thing I could do.  I took off my jacket that mom had
spent so many hours sewing, and began to unbutton my shirt.  "I'm sorry,
sir", I told the son, looking him straight in the eye. "I misunderstood."

Mom, dad and the two men watched as I took off my shirt (lovingly cut down
from dad's old one, and re-sewn by mom so that it looked almost new), then
pulled my knitted undershirt off over my head.  Seeing them all still
silent, I bent down to untie the laces of my boots, and in the way that you
do at times like that I noticed a small detail - in spite of mom and dad
making me scrub all the mud off them and polish them once we knew we were
coming up to the manor house, there was a tiny speck of clay lurking around
one of the eye holes.  I took off my boots and then stood there in my
socks. Mom had given me a freshly-knitted paid to wear as she thought we
were coming to a 'special occasion' instead of keeping them for me as a
Thanksgiving present, and I was therefore spared the embarrassment of
having to reveal my usual ones which of course were darned many times, all
over.

There was nothing left for me to do then as everyone was still watching me,
so I unbuckled my belt (dad had made it for me for my last birthday,
tanning the hide himself when we'd been given a quarter of one of our
master's cows that had died), then undid the buttons on my fly and pushed
my trousers down.  I stood there and folded them neatly, as I'd learned at
home that you treat your 'best' clothes with respect, and then waited there
in my socks and briefs.  At least I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of -
my briefs were thin and worn being dad's 'cast-offs' as everything had to
be handed down in the family, but mom's incredible hard work with the
pumice stone, scrubbing brush and washboard meant they were clean and
unstained.  It also occurred to me that I ought to be proud of my body -
long hours helping dad in the fields meant that I was lean and trim, and
there's of course no chance of fat living the life we do.  I knew from when
we changed for games at the village school that all of us villeins' kids
looked a whole lot better than the weedy specimens who were the sons of the
tradesmen and shopkeepers.

The son came and stood closer to me, then ran his finger down my chest, and
across my belly.  I flinched slightly as it tickled the hairs in my
treasure trail a bit, and as he teased it around my navel.  "Good muscle
tone here", he told his father.  "And no obvious blemishes. I think he will
do, do very well, for what we were discussing earlier."

"No, James, I do not agree with you.  I do not think he will 'do'.  Not at
all.  I said you must of course have a servant at college, but a gentleman
needs a servant who understands the finer things in life - you're at a my
old fraternity, the most prestigious on campus, and your servant needs to
keep your clothes immaculate.... A villein's son like this can have no
conception of how to arrange your cravat for the day, of starching your
collars and tying your bow tie with your dinner jacket, and...."

"But, father, you are not properly considering the 'look' of the boy.  When
he is dressed in the fraternity's livery he will be an outstanding
specimen, far better looking than most of those we saw when we visited the
campus last month.  He will reflect well on me, as I will be seen as a
gentlemen of taste and discernement, and a credit to the fraternity...."

"You have forgotten that there are young ladies on the campus, James.  It
is irresponsible to introduce someone like this with his animal lusts..."

"And, father, when we discussed sex on campus, you told me how important it
was that I did not inadvertently make a binding liaison with one of those
ladies, who might only be after my fortune, and that one of the advantages
of your old fraternity was their traditions... Especially those relating to
my frat brothers and the way things were conducted in the house.... It
seems to me that this Steve will be a real asset, and will help me be
popular from the outset....  And I'm sure we can control him properly so
that he isn't a risk to any young ladies....  And didn't you tell me anyway
that one of the highlights of the week for the frat brothers was the
Saturday night sex show put on by the servants? This Steve comes already
trained for that, and there won't be any embarrassment about him not
knowing what to do.... And he's good looking, so as he fucks the
prostitutes...."  He stopped in mid sentence as his father held up a hand
to silence him.

Well, I didn't know what to think.  My mind started to race through all
kinds of exciting possibilities.  I was thrilled at the prospect of going
away - I never thought I'd leave the village, and if I thought about my
future at all I kind of imagined that one day I'd get my own piece of land,
or perhaps have to wait to take over dad's plot when he got too feeble to
work it.  The prospect of seeing some of those places they wrote about in
the newspaper was so exciting.... And yet, what was all this stuff about
Saturday night?  Still, it couldn't be all that bad, could it?

I snapped back to the current reality as our master murmured "Oh very well
then, James.  You may be right.  And if it doesn't work out, you can always
hire a servant after the first week or so, although all the best ones will
have been spoken for by then and it will be second best.  But a man needs
to learn to make decisions, and take the consequences, so if you are
determined to take this villein with you, so be it.  It solves the problem
of what to do with him here, anyway.  But be certain, be very certain, that
he is what you want."

"Thank you, father, and, as ever, you give me good advice."  He looked at
me again, and added calmly "I told you to unclothe.  And you still have
those ridiculous briefs on.  Are you stupid, or just wilfully disobedient?
Take them off, so I can verify that you're satisfactory."

Look, I've been naked with dad lots of times, but I've told you that when I
have a bath in the cottage now I keep my underpants on - I have ever since
I started to grow hair 'down there' and it was no longer right for mom to
see me naked.  And now I was being told to remove them with her looking at
me, as well as these three other men.

"Please, no....", I stammered.

"Do as you're told, Steve!", dad snapped.  "Stop being so obstinate -
you've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"But dad...."

Dad took a step towards me, and before I realised quite what was happening,
yanked my threadbare briefs down.  Instinctively I covered my dick and
balls with my hands, and I could feel blood rushing up to my face and knew
my throat and cheeks were turning bright red with embarrassment.  Dad
pulled my hands away - but at least he half turned me around so I was no
longer facing mom directly.

"Steve's a good lad, master, as I've said.  But he's a bit
shy... Especially with his mother here...."

"But evidently not shy in front of women in general, judging from his
reputation", the son remarked.  "Now, Steve, put your hands on your head so
I can get a proper look at you all over."

I could see that protesting wasn't going to get me anywhere, so I did as he
said.  He moved towards me, and this time his finger didn't just run down
my chest and across by belly.  First, he fingered my left nipple - I'm
really sensitive here, and I couldn't help but take a step backwards.  I
then felt his hand in the small of my back, just above my butt - It wasn't
enough to stop me moving if I'd really wanted to, of course, as I'm a
strong guy, but somehow the psychological pressure of it made me stand
still "Easy.....", he murmured close to my ear.  "There's nothing to be
afraid of...."

"I'm not afraid...."  The next moment I kind of wish I hadn't said that, as
with his one hand still behind me - I could feel it warm and slightly moist
against my skin, or was it my skin that was moist from the sweat that had
broken out all over me?  - his finger moved down again across my chest and
belly, but now didn't stop.  He teased it around in my pubes a bit and he
told me in such a low voice that I'm sure the others couldn't hear "A nice
strong thatch here - that's OK for a country boy like you, but it will be
better when I smarten you up a little."

I couldn't imagine what he meant, but I'd stopped thinking about it as his
hand alighted on my dick, and he positioned it so that my dick was lying in
his palm.  He began to stroke the top with his thumb, all the time keeping
me immobile with the constant, firm pressure of his other hand on my back.

Look, it's not as if I haven't had my dick held before - I mean, a young
guy like me jerks off all the time, as we all do.  And once I started going
with women I used to like them stroking it and 'teasing' me a bit to make
it even harder.  But I'd never had another guy touch me there before -
well, except for the physician at our yearly medical checks, and he did it
to dad then, too, so I knew it was OK.  All us lads at school used to laugh
at the thought of holding another guy's dick - one of us said once that
some guys in the city liked to do this all the time and even jerked each
other off, and he wanted to try, but we thought he was mad and threw him
into the village pond to 'cool him down' a bit.  But now here was this guy
James doing it to me, and to my horror I realised I was responding - yes, I
know it's only natural for your dick to start to go hard as it's played
with, but I hated the thought of it doing so now, with dad and my master
and Straughan watching.

What can you do, though?  The more you think about it, the worse it gets.
As his thumb worked away I could feel my lengthening and hardening dick
slide over his palm, and soon he closed his fingers around me totally and
began to gently jerk me off!  He stopped after a few strokes, though, and
as I looked down I saw my dick lying there in his palm as his thumb now
stroked at me again to cause my 'skin to slide back.  My dick head was now
exposed, dark and shiny with pre-cum, and to my horror I saw a little bead
of pre-cum hanging out of my piss slit.

"I think I'd better stop there, father", he said in an amused tone.  "Young
Steve here seems to be OK, as we might expect from his reputation.  And we
don't want a mess all over the floor, do we?  Now, only one more
thing....."

His hand reached down, and now he was cupping my balls in his palm.  "All's
OK here, too", he told his father.  "Nice and low-hanging.  He'll put on a
good show."

He slapped my ass then.  "You're OK, Steve.  We need to tidy you up a bit,
but very satisfactory."

"Don't you want to inspect the anus?" Our master asked him.

"Oh no, with his reactions already I'm sure no-one has ever played down
there."

"Very well then.  If you're sure....?"  The son nodded, and our master
continued "Well then, Masters, take your wife home to your other children.
You can leave Steve here, as my son will be going to college next week and
until then he may as well start to take up his duties."

Dad nodded, and I went to pull my underpants on.  "No, leave those!",
master James told me sharply.  "You will need proper clothes where we're
going."  He turned to dad and added "Take all this with you, as I expect
you villeins hand it down through the family."

Mom picked up my clothes where I'd neatly folded and stacked them, and dad
bent down to pick up my boots and underpants.  He tried to hand them to me,
but master James pushed his hand away, adding "He'll need better than those
threadbare things".

And that was sort of that - except mom and dad obviously wanted to say
goodbye to me, as did I to them.  But how do you do that to your parents
when you're naked and are standing there with an erection?  I sort of
leaned forward and mom pecked me on the cheek briefly, her eyes filled with
tears as she stumbled out "Take care of yourself, Steve, and don't forget
us..."  Dad wanted a proper hug, though, and we threw our arms around each
other - my dick was scraping against the coarse wool of his jacket, but we
held each other as dad whispered "Don't worry, Steve - you're a man now,
and this may be the best thing for you.  Do as you're told.... And.... And
take care."

I was torn between wanting to cry as I said goodbye to mom and dad, being
all excited about the prospect of leaving the village, and being acutely
embarrassed at standing there in the nude, although mercifully my erection
subsided.

"You'd better go up to dress for dinner", my master now told James.  "And
take that Steve with you.  He can dine with us tonight as the sooner he
learns proper table manners the better - you don't want to be a laughing
stock at the fraternity if you have an oaf as a servant who doesn't know
which knife and fork to use.  And you'd better find him some clothes - it's
rather distracting seeing such a well set-up man like him standing there
naked."

"Sure, dad", master James said.  "Follow me, Steve."

It seemed so strange to be walking across the room, then out into the hall
and up the wide staircase totally naked: I could feel my dick bouncing up
and down and tried to cover it with my hands, but that was even more
awkward as I had to kind of stoop forward, and, anyway, even though I've
got big hands, I am well hung, as you might say, and there's no way of
keeping my dick and balls totally covered with them.  So I just gave in to
nature, and padded after master James, as naked as the day I was born.  And
perhaps that's some sort of sign - I was entering a totally new life, sort
of being re-born, as you might say.

THE END


And there this short tale of Steve ends.  When I initially wrote half of it
I had intended a long "fraternity" story, a genre I had not attempted
before.  In the future world in which the story is set the old traditions
of "hazing" have been revived, strongly.  Privileged students like James do
not take part personally, of course: their servants, like Steve, serve as
proxies, and much humiliation awaits our hero.

Furthermore, because of the very strong state-enforced "moral" pressure on
ladies and gentlemen to remain virgins until marriage, none of the sexual
freedom which is so much part of a college education today is available to
James.  Denied physical relief themselves, not surprisingly, therefore, he
and his frat brothers wish to experience it vicariously: even with
ultra-high-definition video and surround sound, electronic delivery can
always be bettered by live performances, so every Saturday night Steve and
his fellow servants "perform" in the frat house with hired-in prostitutes.

Steve goes through an interesting cycle of emotion as regards this:
initially he is ashamed and acutely embarrassed as the watching men cheer
him on; then, briefly, he becomes proud of his prowess, and starts to pity
the men who cannot fuck as he does.  Needless to say, of course, one of the
prime roles of a servant in these times is to satisfy his master, and after
we have heard of the initial shame felt by Steve as James takes his cherry
and then regularly fucks him, Steve begins to realise that this
relationship between two men is far superior to the fleeting sexual
interactions with the women.  His Saturday night performances then become
hateful to him, and, ultimately, he does of course suffer the ultimate
humiliation of being unable to get erect.

I had not resolved what happens to Steve and James.  At some point the
heady atmosphere of 'freedom' compared to his life a a villein gets to
Steve, and he takes - forcefully - James' cherry.  Steve is bigger and
stronger, and has no problem in doing this, but then wonders what will
happen to him.  Nevertheless he is convinced that his role is to remain "on
top".

The story is called "The villein of the piece" rather than simply "Villein"
as at some point there was going to be a philosophical discussion of the
morality of things - was Steve right to rape James, in retaliation for the
humiliation heaped on him?  The play on words with "the villAIN of the
piece" would then come into play.

Pete Brown.
Stockholm and London.  2009.  Then November and December 2011.