A story written by Pete Brown. (Chapter 5 of 17  –> here you find the other chapters of the story).


Another box in the shower area held neatly folded Ts and shorts, and when our bodies had dried (there were no towels provided) we pulled them on.


“Hey, guys… This Kit… Well, it’s a bit…. Small, isn’t it?”


Both Marc and Jason just shrugged.  “You get used to it”, I was told.


Barefooted, we all then went on in to the building.  There was a big Kind of “common room” for all us indentured servants, with a table to eat off with two benches running along side, and a couple of couches. A TV was fixed to the wall, but it wasn’t on. A short corridor from the common room gave on to the office where I’d been “interviewed” that morning, then the external door, then three rooms.  On one side of the corridor there was a very small room with a single bed in it (“The Boss sleeps here”), I was told,  next to it was a larger one with three single beds (“Ours”), and across the corridor a larger room with a row of six bunKs, double height (“For the twelve indoor servants”).


We trooped bacK into the common room, and the other servants started to arrive. LiKe us , they were all in the brief Ts and shorts, but they were all much younger – I’d guess they were all in their late teens. I was introduced to them all, but Marc said “Don’t bother with the names. They turn over quite often, and they’re basically all aliKe. We don’t mix with them much, and they mostly ignore us.”


Well, I could see what he meant about them all being basically aliKe – they were all of that medium height, medium build, healthy looKing stocK that’s typical of swimmers and college tracK athletes. None of them was particularly well muscled, but they’d all got firm biceps, as guys who worK out develop as they approach twenty, short hair, and firm, trim bodies.


“They do all the stuff in the house, poor guys!”, Jason told me. “If you thinK we’ve got it bad, bear in mind our employer only sees our worK occasionally, only checKs the inventory in the store about once a month, and has to spy on us with a telescope to see if we’re talKing to each other, or not running between worK assignments. But in the house they’re under his direct observation all the time – he’s watching for a specK of dust anywhere, that everything is polished and shining, his newspaper folded just so, his drinKs served on this special tray, with the swizzle sticK at this angle, the table laid just so, the flower vases placed exactly…. One of them told me about it once – there are literally hundreds of things they have to remember, and if any of it’s wrong, they’re punished.”


I went to sit down on one of the couches, but Marc pulled me up. “That’s where the Boss sits! Don’t piss him off by daring to sit there, or next time he punishes you…”


The Boss came in at that point and sat down at the table, and we joined him. Some of the indoor servants sat down, too, and then another one arrived carrying a huge Kettle of something.  The boss ladled it out onto plates, and we all ate – I was ravenous, as I hadn’t eaten all day, and the stew, of whatever it was ,was delicious. We all got fruit afterwards, and the Boss rolled an orange across the table to me.


“ThanKs, Boss, but I don’t eat oranges”, I said conversationally. “I’ll sKip this tonight.”


He stood up, and the room went silent. “You don’t get to choose, boy! Our employer provides healthy, nourishing food to Keep us all in peaK condition. And you fucKing well eat it, or I’ll personally shove it down your throat. Now, get stucK in.”


I looKed at the orange, which I hate, and at the Boss, standing there in his tiny shorts, and obviously very cross. I wondered if I could taKe him on in a fight and have any chance of getting out of it without a beating, and doubted it, even though I’m physically very powerful.


“Please, boss, couldn’t I have something else… I hate oranges. And I could swap with one of the others…”


“Boy, eat that orange now, or I will stuff it, peel and all, down your fucKing throat. I decide who gets what here, and tonight, it’s an orange for you. You’re a fucKing servant, boy, and servants do as they’re told.”


With trembling fingers I peeled it, tooK one segment, and put it in my mouth and almost choKed – I hate the stuff so much. The Boss continued to stare at me as , slowly, segment by segment, I forced the hated thing down. Surely my life wasn’t going to be controlled liKe this all the time, was it?


After dinner it seemed to be the habit to watch the TV.  Us three outdoor servants and such of the indoor ones who were not on duty in the main house all sat around with the Boss in the middle, and he had the remote. I soon discovered that we watched the programmes the Boss wanted to watch, and no other – I was going to asK if we could see a movie when we ere all sitting there bored at some documentary about some fucKing birds that were all extinct, or something, but the moment I went to open my mouth, I realised I’d done the wrong thing, and shut up.


It was the Boss who told us all to go to bed, and it was still quite early – no later than ten. Jason and Marc and me went into our room, and I saw the indoor servants going to theirs.


“Which is mine?”, I asKed, pointing at the three beds. “Doesn’t matter”, Marc told me. “They’re all the same.” “Yes, but the sheets… Where did you sleep last night?”

“They get changed every day”, Jason added. “There’s not really enough worK for all those indoor guys, so the same standards apply here as in the main house – nothing is ever used more than once.”


I watched as the two guys stripped off and neatly folded their Ts and shorts, and then those had to be placed “just so” precisely lined up, exactly in the centre of the bed, on the floor at it s end.  They stood there watching me as I folded, then re-folded my stuff, then tried to line it up. I felt fucKing stupid, I’ll tell you, crouching there, my dicK swinging between my thighs, a big tough bloKe liKe me trying to get the stuff lined up to the nearest millimetre.


The two guys crouched alongside me, and Kept telling me how important it was that I got it right. “If the employer, or the Boss, comes in and finds it not exactly right, you’ll be punished”, they insisted. FucKing hell – three strong guys, constantly worried about little things liKe this.


We all lay in our beds, and the lights went out. “Hey, Steve…. Just one more thing….”, Jason whispered “No talKing after lights out. But for Christ saKe, don’t jerK yourself off. Any semen on the sheets, and you’ll be in deep shit.”


My dicK was really hard, as I hadn’t jerKed off for a couple of nights at the centre as I was worried about the auction, and I’d been planning to really go at it when I’d earlier seen that we were in separate beds. I mean, they might hear me doing it, but that doesn’t matter , does it? When you’re sharing a room with other guys, it’s OK to jerK yourself off as long as you do it discretely – you wouldn’t lie there and do it publicly, but once the lights are out and you’ve got a sheet over you, well, that’s different, isn’t it? All men jerK off, after all, so what’s the problem. But now Jason had given me this warning, what the fucK was I going to do?


I really needed relief, and yet I Knew that however careful I was, some of my spunK was going to slip out of my hand – well, I mean, it always does, doesn’t it? Especially if you always produce a lot, liKe me. Perhaps I could just lie there and tough it out – I’d need to find out tomorrow what the other guys did – but how could I asK them?  Perhaps I could go out to the lavatory, and do it there… Yes, that’s it, that’s what I would do.


I lay there for about half an hour until the Kind of loud breathing and little whiffles and snores all guys maKe when they’re asleep came from Marc and Jason, then I slid out of bed, my feet feeling cold on the stone floor. I thought about pulling my T and shorts on, but then, how would I ever get them lined up again? So I had to creep along the corridor starK naKed, until I found the door to the communal lavatories.


There was a small light burning  in there, but another problem, too:  there was a  long trough for a urinal, but the lavatories themselves, four of them, were just lined up along one wall with no cubicles or anything. If I sat there and started to jerK off, and anyone came in, they’d see me instantly.  Oh, what the fucK, I thought,  and settled down on to the nearest lavatory, and leaned bacK – the wall was cold to my naKed bacK. I started to jerK myself off, loving the sensation as my hand stroKed up and down my dicK and I slipped my ‘sKin on and off my dicK head. It didn’t taKe me long, and I grabbed at a bit of toilet tissue to catch my cum, flushed it all away, washed my hands, and made my way bacK to the bedroom.


I slept liKe a log. In fact, I only woKe up when there was a great slap on my naKed ass! I struggled awaKe, blinKed my eyes, and saw Marc and Jason standing, heads bowed, hands behind their bacKs, at the end of their beds. The sheet had been stripped off me, and the Boss had slapped my naKed ass, and was now standing over me.


“I’ll let it go this time”, he said, “But watch your buddies, and do as they do – this is how you start the day, every day.”


“And you two”, he continued, “You’d better start looKing out for your buddy.  You should have woKen him if he was sleeping on.  If there’s any more of this, you’ll all be punished. OK?”


“Yes, Boss, yes”, they chorused.


“Right. I’ll taKe it that this morning’s inspection is completed OK, this once. Now, get dressed, and along to breaKfast.”


Well, the dressing wasn’t so bad, but in the communal lavatories there were several of the indoor servants already. I was dying for a crap, but hated doing it in public. But what choice did I have?  As fast as one guy left, another one arrived.  So I just had to squat there and do it as best I could.  But I hated it, and resolved to try to “go” in some private place in future, and try to hold myself in the rest of the time. I mean, pissing in public is one thing, isn’t it – but crapping’s something a guy needs to do in private.


We all ate in the communal dining room, and we got oatmeal, ladled out by the Boss, a big glass of orange juice, which he watched intently as I forced it down, and then more fresh fruit – although this time the Boss rolled an apple in my direction.


After breaKfast Marc, Jason and me had to line up in the Boss’s office, and I saw that I was expected to have my head bowed, so that I was not looKing at him directly, and clasp my hands neatly behind my bacK. “Right, guys – it’s time for the front lawns this morning.  All three of you, and be sure to Keep in step.”


“Yes, Boss”, Marc and Jason chorused, and I realised I was expected to join in. So I echoed “Yes, Boss”, and he snapped “Dismissed!”


We went out and put our worK boots on, and I felt really foolish wearing the sKimpy T and shorts and the heavy boots. Then we were off, jogging in step across the grounds to the equipment store house. There were lawn mowers in there, but they were manual – no motor, or anything. Marc looKed around to maKe sure no one was watching, and whispered “Our employer thinKs it’s more ecological – he doesn’t liKe the idea of all that gas and oil being wasted Keeping his lawns trim, and it’s better to use manual labour, liKe us. Now, Steve, when we get around the front we have to advance in a smooth line, as he liKes those ‘stripes’ on the grass – try not to fucK it up else we’ll all be punished….”


It’s bloody hard worK, I can tell you, pushing a manual lawn mower. There were acres of front lawn, and Marc, Jason and me had to walK absolutely in line, except that we lagged each other a little to give ourselves room. And after about every fourth pass across the grass, we had to atop and raKe up all the clippings neatly, and carry them away in wheelbarrows. And all of this had to be done “at the double” – we trotted after the mowers, and every muscle strained to maKe progress against the friction of the cutting cylinder as it went round. Then the raKing needed fast, even stroKes, and finally we had to run with the barrows, right down to the end of the formal garden where the compost heaps were, ten run bacK again. After an hour I was covered in sweat, and after two hours, by which time the sun was high in the sKy, I was exhausted – but Marc and Jason showed no sign of stopping, and I just had to Keep up with them.


I always thought I was fit, but my strength was in a burst of power, to dig something, or breaK some rocK, or do other tough worK. I didn’t need to sustain it. This was different – it needed some sheer power, but it needed most of all continuous application. My T and shorts were soaKed in sweat and I felt as if I was going to drop from exhaustion, but still we worKed on.


Suddenly, Marc and Jason stopped, dropped their heads and clasped their hands behind their bacKs, as a huge car with darKened windows made its way up the drive. I stopped, too, and rested on the handles of the lawn mower I was pushing. The car stopped briefly adjacent to us, then went on to the front of the house.  I saw Marc and Jason looKing at me in astonishment, but they said nothing.


It must have been way after lunch by the time we had finally finished the lawns – and all my time there they remained one of my most hated jobs on the estate.  Not only was it hard, continuous worK, but, worst of all, it had to be constantly re-done.  The relatively mild climate in the area meant that the grass grew all year around, and this was a once a weeK ritual of unrelenting toil for the three of us.


We jogged bacK to our base when we’d done, and there were sandwiches waiting for us, but we were only allowed twenty minutes to eat them. The Boss came out and told us that in the afternoon we were to continue maKing the new path, and so we were off again – running half way across the estate, then digging, excavating, and filling with rocK as we had the day before. When the siren went I hardly Knew how I managed to get bacK to clean and store our tools, and then to jog “home”.


The shower revived me a bit, but then all I could do was basically slump in the common room, waiting for dinner.


After dinner, the Boss addressed us. “It’s Friday night, so we have our review of the weeK. Line up…”


Jason, Marc and me formed one line, and opposite us were ten of the twelve indoor servants. All of them looKed nervous, and apprehensive.


“Right, first, Cory. Step forward.”, the Boss intoned, and one of the young indoor servants stood in front of us all.


“Not a good weeK, Cory. You failed to answer the door within the allotted seventy seconds. The employer’s laundry basKet in his private bathroom was left at a crooKed angle after you emptied it on Tuesday. And on Wednesday you dropped a forK as you were clearing the table after his dinner. So that’s three mistaKe, three punishments. Do you want to extend your servitude by three weeKs, or taKe corporal?”


I couldn’t believe this – these innocent little errors, and he was having three weeKs added to his time as a servant.                   If he carried on liKe this, he’d never be free, as he was adding three weeKs for only one weeK’s worK.


“Please, Boss, I elect for corporal.”


What the fucK was that, I wondered. Cory went and stood against the wall, head bowed, and the Boss read out the next name. All in all, seven of the indoor servants had mistaKes, and five of them elected “corporal” and went and stood by Cory against the wall.


“Now, outdoor servants”, Boss said.  “Steve…. Step forward.”


I went and stood in front of him, and he said “Yesterday, when the employer stopped his car, you were not properly respectful and leaned on your mower, rather than bowing. Today you spoKe to Jason as you jogged across the estate – the employer saw you through his telescope. That’s two punishments. But worst of all, you were caught on camera in the lavatories on Thursday night jerKing off. Such a serious offence merits three punishments in itself. Th at’s a total of five punishments – five weeKs on to your sentence.”


“But Boss, I didn’t Know.. I’m sorry…. LooK, it’s my first weeK…. I didn’t mean it…”


“Silence! Ignorance of the rules is no defence. And you did Know about some of these things – surely you Know that all servants are meant to be respectful to their employers all the time?

And both Jason and Cory told you about the ‘silence’ rule.  So the punishment stands.”


Oh, fucK, I thought. Less than a weeK here, and five weeKs on my sentence. I’d never get free at this rate.


“Please, Boss, can I elect for this ‘corporal’?” “Yes.  It’s in your contract.  But are you sure?”

“Does it avoid an increase in my sentence, Boss, because, if so, I want to do it.” I could see Jason and Cory Kind of shaKing their heads at me, but I ignored it. “Very well, line up with the others.”

I went and joined the line of young indoor servants against the wall, and Boss went and sat down on the couch, and called Cory over to him.


“Right, young Cory. Three punishments. You Know the form… Prepare!”


I watched in fascinated horror as the guy dropped his shorts and his slim, youthful body was revealed. He went and lay across the Boss’s lap, face down, and the Boss picKed up a leather paddle and started to spanK him! It seemed that three punishments translated to twelve stroKes of the leather paddle, and after the first three, Cory was crying out each time the paddle strucK – cries that became louder and louder as the punishment went on.


After the twelfth stroKe, the Boss almost pushed him off his lap, and Cory lay in a heap on the floor at his feet. “Try harder to be a good servant this weeK, Cory”, the Boss intoned. Th e poor lad looKed so pathetic sprawled there, his bony body almost seeming to highlight his dicK. He scrambled to his feet, and ,as we all watched, pulled his shorts bacK on.


“Next”, he went on.  “Right, only one punishment.  Come on lad…”


The young guy standing there seemed reluctant to drop his shorts, and the Boss said “You’re only maKing it harder for yourself, you Know – you elected to taKe the corporal punishment option, and if you don’t do it soon, I’ll add to it for failure to obey orders.”


The young guy seemed to be trembling as he let his shorts fall, then lowered himself on to the Boss’s massive thighs. And this time the Boss didn’t use the paddle, but admi nistered four resounding slaps on the guy’s naKed ass with the palm of his hand.


The line inched forward, and ultimately it was my turn to stand there in front of the Boss.


“So, Steve, in trouble already. It’s rare that one of you outdoor guys elects for corporal – I thinK you thinK you’re too big and tough to taKe a proper spanKing. But I can assure you that you will remember this, and it will be a powerful incentive to do better next weeK. Now, five punishments, wasn’t it – that’s twenty stroKes. Drop those shorts!”


Well, what could I do? I’d heard the threat earlier to increase the punishment if there was delay, so I pushed the shorts down finally and stood there in just my T, feeling somehow very vulnerable with my dicK and balls on public display liKe this.

“Over my Knee”, the Boss commanded, and I felt utterly humiliated as I went up to him on the couch and spread myself out. I could feel my dicK Kind of nestling in the cracK between his massive thighs, and then he moved, and they opened, and my dicK hung straight down between them.  The next moment he moved again, and I was trapped:   I could feel the hot warmth of his thighs gripping my dicK, and I could no longer move.


I don’t suppose my ass was tougher than those of the young guys, but I was determined not to appear weaK in front of the watching men. As he administered the first four stroKes with the leather paddle, I Kept stoically silent, even though the stinging pain went right through me – no one had ever done anything liKe this to me before, and I thinK it was the mixture of the actu al physical hurt itself coupled with the utter humiliation of being a big, tough guy getting spanKed across another man’s lap that really got to me.


Suddenly, I found myself sprawling on the floor at the Boss’s feet – he’d just pushed me off his lap.


“It’s not good for you, Steve – you need to experience the real pain of a corporal punishment. And this paddle just isn’t doing it for you.  So… Bend over the arm of the couch.”


I got to my feet, and could feel all the eyes in the room watching my dicK, and my ass which I felt sure was already turning red from the four paddle stroKes. I bent over the arm of the couch, and felt utterly self conscious as I Knew that all the men could see my dicK and balls hanging down there, through my thighs. I saw the Boss get up, then heard a Kind of “swish” noise and the next moment my world exploded into pain as the thin cane he was now using cut across my naKed ass.


I couldn’t help it. The sheer shocK of it, coupled with the unbelievable stinging pain I was experiencing, cause me to cry out, very loud. And before that scream stopped, another blow of the cane had landed on me.


By about stroKe ten I’d ceased to cry out – my throat was numb from the sheer volume of noise I’d been maKing, and now all I could maKe were inarticulate gurgling sounds.                           And some time after that I thinK I passed out briefly, as the next thing I really remembered was the Boss standing next to my head as I lay there. I felt his hand running over my ass, and was vaguely disgusted that a man would do something liKe that.


“So, Steve.  Nicely warmed up.  Let that be a lesson to you about the way we do ‘corporal’ here – that big, tough ass of yours will in future always get caned.  That paddle is too light weight for you – it’s OK for the young guys with tender arses, all sKin and bone, but that muscle you’re carrying needs caning to bring home to you the seriousness of what you’re doing. Do you understand?”


“Boss, yes, boss.”


“Right. As a further part of your punishment, lie here whilst your fellow servants inspect the cane marKs. It will do them good to Know that there’s more in store for them if they persist in misbehaving.”


So I had to lie there as the indoor guys, and then Jason and Marc, filed past me. The Boss made each of them rub his hands over my ass so they could feel the heat being generated from my beating, and sometimes to trace individual cane marKs across my white sKin.


When we were in bed that night, before “lights out”, I asKed Marc and Jason why they didn’t warn me about “corporal”.


“LooK, Steve”, Jason said, “We did try – you saw us shaKing our heads. The Boss is always very tough on us outdoor guys – he thinKs that because we’re muscled and strong he can be really severe with us.  You saw most of those indoor guys – not yet twenty, most of them, and they’re not properly developed and so a paddle, or even the Boss’s hand, is enough.”


“And why didn’t you tell me about jerKing off…?”


“Hey”, Marc joined in, “Stop trying to blame us. We told you not to get semen on your sheets. Who’d have thought that you’d have gone off and done it in public?”


“It’s not in public – it was the middle of the night, in the bathroom…”


“Steve, don’t you realise yet that the employer watches us all the time? There are cameras all over the place. He’s a control freaK, and he has all these rules and requirements just to see if we’re going to fucK up. And, when we do, then it’s punishment time. But this jerKing off one’s serious – he liKes all the guys here to be constantly ‘on the edge’, always thinKing about sex, but never able to have it. So if he sees you even touching your dicK too much, you’ll be punished. And I thinK you got off lightly, actually, with only an extra three punishments for going the whole way…”


The lights went off then, and Knowing of the rule against talKing after lights out, I wasn’t surprised when Marc stopped in mid sentence. My dicK was rocK hard, though, and I desperately needed relief.  What was I supposed to do?  I lay there and fretted and worried, and my dicK was so hard it almost hurt. I tried turning over, and caught my dicK on the sheets, and that almost made it worse.


I did sleep eventually, of course – even with a raging hard-on you do, after all the hard physical labour we’d done that day. But I woKe early in the morning, and it was still there. At least I didn’t get punished for sleeping on that day, as I was ready to leap out of bed as soon as it was time. I stood there, my dicK rigid, and would have been even more embarrassed than I actually was if Marc and Jason weren’t in the same state. “You’ll get used to it”, Jason told me, pointing at our dicKs.


Well, what can I tell you – I survived the next two or three days without getting any punishments, as Jason and Marc risKed themselves by whispering to me what to do, and what not to do. And on the fourth day, when it was hot and we’d stripped off our Ts as they were soaKed with sweat from our efforts, I even remembered to stand respectfully when the employer’s large blacK car drove slowly past us. Perhaps I was getting the hang of this stuff, after all.


That night, after dinner, the Boss called me over and I stood in front of him as he sat there on the couch. “TaKe off your T, Steve.”


I just stopped myself from saying “Why?”, and meeKly did as I was told.


“Hey, I’m sorry – I can see the problem. It’s my fault, really, so I’ll go easy on the punishment this weeK. Get along to the bathroom, and shave.”


“Boss, what?  Sorry, but I don’t understand…”


“Our employer doesn’t liKe guys with hairy chests, and I simply forgot when I inspected you on arrival.  When he saw you worKing today he was pretty upset at that thatch all over you, and he phoned me from the car to order you to be punished. As I said, it’s my fault as much as yours – I noticed it when you arrived, and it just slipped my mind to get you to do it. So get along to the bathroom, and shave all that fur off you – and whilst you’re at it, as the weather’s getting warm, you’d better trim your pubes, too.”


“No way, boss! You can’t maKe me shave my body! It’s natural. Some guys are hairy, some are smooth, and I’m one of the hairy ones.”


“Steve, our employer liKes to be able to ‘see’ a guy’s muscles, and he thinKs that the hair spo ils his view.  So it’s got to come off, you’ve got no choice.”


“No. I won’t do it. I thinK it’s totally unreasonable.” “So why did you agree to it, then?”

“What?  I never agreed….”


“Standard clause seventeen of the indenture contract, Steve. You signed up for it. ‘The employer has the right to require the servant to Keep his hair neatly trimmed at all times.’ It’s in there as employers liKe their servants to looK respectable at all times, and they don’t want long-haired scruffy looKing guys around the place.”


“Yes, but that’s my hair, on my head.  And I’ve always had that really short anyway.”


“Where does it say ‘on your head’, Steve? Read the contract! The employer has the right to have your hair neatly trimmed, and for your chest hair ‘neat’ here means ‘totally disappeared’. Now, fucKing well get to the bathroom and shave that pelt off, and, whilst you’re at it, off your belly as well.  And reduce the amount of your pubic hair – Marc and Jason will show you.”


I’d noticed that Marc and Jason didn’t have much pubic hair, actually, but I’d Kind of thought it was natural – some guys do, and some guys don’t, after all. The actual shaving wasn’t so bad, I suppose – Marc and Jason are nice guys, after all, and sympathised.


“It’s not really loss of your manhood, you Know, Steve”, Marc told me. “I did a psychology class before I was indentured, and they say a lot of guys identify their sexuality with their body hair. But you can be a tough, virile guy with a smooth chest and trimmed pubes, just as much as with all this that you’ve got.  Don’t let it get to you, buddy.”


It felt really odd with a smooth chest, and when we went bacK to the TV room the Boss told me to strip off my T again and ran his hand over me to feel it. He stopped for a moment, his hand resting on my left pec, and I felt his palm warm against my now-exposed nipple. “That feels good, doesn’t it, boy?”


“Boss, please….”


He laughed, and let me go, and I sat there for the rest of the evening as he flicKed channels, and then settled on some crap about the life of some pathetic film star who’d overdosed on drugs. Some people just don’t Know when they’re lucKy – they should try living in this place, I thought.


I was caned – but not as hard as before – the next Friday as I again elected not to further lengthen my sentence.  I can’t remember what it is I had, or had not, done.  And as I Knelt there, naKed in front of him waiting for the cane, the Boss whispered, so that only I could hear, that he was going to be lenient on me and not really thrash the cane as hard as he could because it was partially his fault about the shaving. Big fucKing deal!


On Saturday, though, disaster strucK – we’d been worKing hard all day, really hard, and I was dog tired when we went to bed. I’d got used to having a constantly aching dicK and throbbing balls by now, and Kind of went to sleep. I had a fantastic dream – one of my old girl friends figured in it, and in that crazy mixed-up way that things happen in dreams, I found myself fucKing her in front of all the guys in the common room – I gave the young lads a lecture, I remembered, about the right way to fucK a woman so you get maximum sensation from your dicK. But as I went to get up on Sunday morning, I realised my dream had been too realistic- I’d had a spontaneous emission and I was almost sticKing to the sheets, which were themselves stiff with my dried semen.


“FucKing hell, Steve!”, Jason said, as soon as he saw my bed as he got up himself. “You’re in for the big one, buddy. JerKing off in bed.. .we told you…”


LooK, I hated explaining things liKe this, hated even mentioning it. “No, Jason. It just happened…”


“Steve had a wet dream!”, Marc shouted, almost laughing. “I haven’t had one of those since I learned to jerK off.”


I was so angry now: as well as the humiliation of having shot overnight, they were laughing at me. “If you’re so fucKing clever, Marc, how do you get by? You looK liKe a man, but you can’t be a man if you don’t shoot sometimes… And if you don’t jerK off, you must be some sort of eunuch…”


“Steady on, Steve”, Jason said. “It’s a problem in the summer, sure. But not at the moment. LooK, you should have asKed us. We’ve found that if we arrange our dicKs under our shorts so that the head is rubbing against the waistband – you wait until you’re hard, then Kind of push it up rather than let it push out –  then as we worK away you get a lot of stimulation.  So if you are going to shoot spontaneously, you do it then. And no one ever checKs the dirty shorts for semen, and you can wash the dried cum out of your pubes as soon as you get bacK here anyway.”


“And you two guys have been worKing away, your dicKs hard, and shooting off into your shorts?”


“Yes. We’d seen you hard all the time, of course, and assumed you Knew.”


I got twenty stroKes of the cane for the bed sheet the next Friday, and a lot of the young indoor guys were sniggering as they looKed at my dicK and imagined it shooting away, out of control. I’d managed to avoid another incident, though, as on the Wednesday I had indeed shot into my shorts as we trotted up and down the lawns cutting the grass – the semen tricKled down my thigh because the shorts legs were so wide and short, but you couldn’t tell as my body was generally so covered in sweat and it Kind of merged in. Jason noticed, though, and he told Marc that night, and we all generally laughed about it – they stood there in the shower and watched as I tried to wash all the stringy bits of dried cum out of my pubes.


I supposed it was going to be all right – the worK was hard, but I didn’t mind that.  The food was good, although I had no choice, and the Boss made me eat oranges whenever they were on the menu. And now I’d cracKed the jerKing off thing, I thought I’d be avoiding punishments and life would get better. I should have Known better.


Marc, Jason and me were in the woods putting in even more of the hated new path (the distances to barrow the spoil and the new chippings got longer and longer the more of it we did), when the Boss jogged up. I’ll say this for him – for an old guy, he was in good shape. I’d noticed that he worKed out a lot, and, liKe us, always ran everywhere.


“Right, guys”, he told us. “Summer uniform time. I forgot to tell you before you set off this morning.”


We were already stripped down to our tiny shorts as the day was hot and our Ts were

sweat-soaKed, and now I saw Jason and Marc push them down over their hips, and step out of them. Even with the big worK boots we had on, you could do that as the cut of the legs was so wide.


“Come on, Steve”, the boss said. I’ll taKe all this stuff bacK to the house with me. “Do you mean we have to worK naKed?”

“No, Steve. You worK in your boots. Our employer Knows that there’s a lot of risK to you with stuff falling and crushing toes and so on.”


“You can’t be serious! Just naKed sKin, and big boots?”


“Steve, you’re heading for a punishment. Now, be a good boy, shug those shorts, and let me get on. Jason and Marc have seen you naKed lots of times, and so have I, so what’s the problem?”


“Men don’t worK naKed. It’s not right. That’s the problem.”


“It’s just as well it’s a lovely morning, Steve, and I’m in a good mood. I’m going to give you one more chance to avoid a punishment – you’re right, men don’t worK naKed, but servants can do if their employer orders it.  Now, strip!”


I Knew there was no way of avoiding it, so I pushed my shorts down. Somehow, being naKed out of doors seemed wrong, different. A man shouldn’t be made to do this. And having my heavy leather worK boots on somehow made it even worse.


“ThanKs, Steve…. Now, you guys, worK on…”


“Boss, just tell me one thing, how do you justify this?”


“Oh, Steve, haven’t you learned anything yet? It’s all in your contract – the employer has the right to specify suitable uniform and worK wear for indentured servants. And here, for outdoor servants, the summer uniform and worK wear is bare sKin.”


[columns] [span3]


Pete Brown – the interview with the author



Allways read the contract (all chapters)



Overview Pete Brown stories



Kinky Art by Theo Blaze