The following story is an erotic fantasy story meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. It involves depictions of sex. If this subject matter offends, then stop reading this page now.
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Cinderfella, part 9
The doorbell rang again. I hurried over to answer it. I plastered that stupid servant smile on my face, hating myself for doing so.
"Welcome to the Head residence," I said, reciting my spiel. "Please, come in. May I take your coats?"
It was a family, with several children. As they handed their coats to me, I heard the youngest child ask, "Why is that man not wearing no pants, Mommy?"
"That's not a man, Timmy," she replied. "That's an indentured servant. They usually don't wear pants."
The party passed me, as the next group reached the threshold. This was a group of young men. Several were wearing maroon lettermen's jackets.
"Is this the Head house?" one of the handsome, dark-haired men asked me.
"Yes, Sir," I said.
"We're here for Chris' party," he said.
"May I take your coats?" I asked.
"Are you fuckin' retarded?" the guy asked, looking at me like I was crazy to ask. "NO ONE touches these jackets. Least of all some fuckin' queer-ass houseboy."
"Sorry, Sir," I said, caught off guard by his sudden mercurial anger.
"You got THAT right," he said, as he shoved past me. As he did so, I started to drop the previous party's coats. I managed to catch myself, but I did drop one jacket on the floor.
As I bent to pick it up, Jake seemed to appear from nowhere. He grabbed me by my ear and frog-marched me over to the coat closet.
"Dick, what the HELL are you doing?" he snarled, his face just inches from mine. "Can't you do anything right?"
"I'm sorry, Sir," I whispered. "But that guy shoved me, and--"
"Are you blaming a Free Man for your incompetence?" he spat. He was still holding on to my ear, twisting it painfully, his face red with anger. "You should know better than to touch a Letterman's jacket."
"I didn't touch it," I protested. "I swear!"
"Don't lie to me, Dick," he said, slapping my face. "I saw you touch his jacket when he pushed past you."
"But I didn't mean to!" I cried.
He slapped me across the face again, and then a third time. Hard.
"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, blinking back tears.
"Ten demerits," he said. "Five for disrespecting my guests, and five for the lie. 'Thou shalt not lie', Dick. Now go into the kitchen and finish the catering."
He let go of my ear and shoved my head towards the kitchen.
As I fled to the kitchen, I heard Mr. Christiansen say, "Problem with your servant, Jake?"
"I've got it handled, Tom," Jake replied.
"You spoil him," Mr. Christiansen said. "That boy simply lacks discipline. Nothing a good horsewhipping wouldn't solve. Brings a boy in line, right quick."
I shuddered at his cruel words as I entered the kitchen.
I finished the food preparations as quickly as possible, still trembling. I tried to keep my mind on the task at hand, like the Good Book says, but my mind kept flashing back to the image of Jake's face, flush with anger, and Mr. Christiansen's advice about whipping me. Would Jake ever do that to me? The mere thought of such a cruel punishment made me tremble like a leaf, and it made my stomach very upset.
As I checked the slowly browning goose in the oven, I saw Jake lead several guests into the living room and turn on the TV. To my horror, I saw him pop in the Blu-Ray disc of my DCI video; the one where I had reluctantly disrobed for the camera.
I was humiliated as I watched myself on the big-screen TV.
"Hi. I'm Richard Johnson," I watched myself say on the TV screen. "I'm eighteen years old and a senior at Tubman High School." To my surprise, the music that was playing in the background sounded like sleazy dating video music. That hadn't been playing when I shot the video!
The 'video me' looked coquettishly at the camera as I stood there talking about my interests. I was shirtless. "I like hiking and working out," I said.
There was a close-up of me licking my lips, as I said, "I'm not wearing any underwear."
The camera panned out to reveal that I was fully naked. I stood there flexing my biceps and pecs for the camera, unashamed at my complete nudity. Then I flexed my abs.
The camera panned across my naked body in slow motion as the sleazy date music continued to play in the background.
This was followed by another close-up shot as I said, "I hope we can meet soon."
Then a shot of me winking at the camera, as the video faded out.
The video had obviously been heavily edited. I was very sure that I hadn't licked my lips when I had explained to the guy at DCI that I wasn't wearing any underwear. And most of the video, I recalled, had been shot when I was still wearing pants, but you couldn't tell that from the video. It looked like I had done the entire video shoot naked.
"The boy appears to have been under the impression that he'd be performing sexual favors to earn his keep," the Judge said to Jake.
"Indeed," I heard my stepfather say. "The boy is, unfortunately, quite a homo. A big part of the reason I accepted the servitude dowry was so I could try to save him. But Dick is just... so rebellious."
"He just needs the fear of God put into him," Mr. Christiansen said, as the Judge agreed. "The boy's had time to adjust, now. I think it's time you show him the whip."
"Well, I promised Marsha I'd keep the punishments humane," Jake said, shaking his head slowly. "She'd probably be pretty upset if I used a whip on the boy."
"No need to use a whip," one of the handsome, well-dressed men sitting on the couch said. "I just use a cane on my Offred's backside. He hates it, but it helps keeps him in line. Always works like a charm." He laughed.
"A cane is fine for minor discipline issues, Fred," the Judge said. "But in my experience, a good horsewhipping is what will keep a servant obedient for quite a while. In fact, it virtually eliminates the need for any corporal punishment for several months. And a servant who doesn't need punished for several months is a happy servant. It's actually MORE humane than beating him daily. I always advise contract-holders who come into my courtroom to keep their servants happy by keeping a good whip on hand, and using it judiciously, and frequently."
"I hadn't thought about it like that, Judge Ramsey," Jake said.
"Please, Jake, call me Andrew," the Judge said.
"Alright, then, Andrew. I'm just concerned about my wife," Jake said. "I'm not sure she'd see it the same way."
"Let us talk with her, then," Judge Ramsey said. "I've got fifteen years of experience on the bench, and a few words from me might help convince her that that's what your boy needs. Cigar?"
Judge Ramsey passed out cigars as the men lit them up and began smoking.
I returned to work, frightened by the words of these men.
After I had served dinner, Jake had me serve drinks at the bar. I did the best I could, but I had never tended bar before. I could tell my stepfather wasn't pleased with me from the expression on his face, but he didn't assign me any additional demerits for the mistakes I made, thank God.
When I went to go back to the dining room to bus the table, Mr. Christiansen grabbed me around the waist and pulled me back against the bar. "Here, boy," he said. "Where you going so fast? I wanna talk to you."
I could smell the scotch on his breath.
"Sir, I'm sorry," I said. "I have to clean up the dining room."
"Oh, that can wait, I think," he said. "Let's talk, Dick." I felt his hand on my thigh.
"Your legs are so smooth, boy. Do you shave your legs, Dick?"
"No, Sir," I said.
"So your lack of hair on your legs is natural, then?" he pressed.
"Yes, Sir," I said.
He slid his hand up further, underneath my dorky dress jacket, running his lecherous hand up my thigh.
"This natural, too, boy?" he asked, as he cupped my balls. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"No, Sir," I said. "I have to keep my pubic hairs shaved. But Sir, I--"
"Feels real smooth, boy," he observed, as he ran his hands over my testicles, then my penis. He rubbed my cock up and down as he winked at me. "Your Master keeps you nice and smooth, the way a servant-boy SHOULD be kept."
I was humiliated to be felt up by Mr. Christiansen around so many people, right there at the bar. But I knew I couldn't make a scene. I was trembling, now, as he felt me up. My penis involuntarily began to stiffen as he fondled me brazenly, oblivious guests all around us at the bar.
"You make my Free Man dick hard, boy, wearing that slutty uniform," he whispered in my ear. "Are you a slut, boy?"
"...Nnnno, Sir," I said, trying to retain my composure. I was frightened by this man. He was so intense.
"Don't lie to me, boy," Mr. Christiansen said, his handsome face just inches from mine. "I saw you in that sleazy video, showing off your servile body to the camera. You're a total slut, aren't you?"
"Nnno, Sir," I protested.
"Don't contradict me, boy," he whispered angrily in my ear, as he pawed at my penis and balls with one hand, while grabbing my butt with the other. He seemed to have four hands, and they were everywhere. "I know what you crave, slut. And I'm going to give it to you."
He pushed me up against the bar, bending me over the counter, and sending one of the beer glasses flying in the process. The back of my fancy dress jacket rode up, revealing my butt-cheeks as Mr. Christiansen spooned up behind me. My thoughts were confused and conflicted: I was humiliated to be bent over like this in front of dozens of people. I was incredibly angry at Mr. Christiansen. I was scared. And yet, a part of me wanted this. A part of me wanted to please Mr. Christiansen. He was so handsome, so in charge. It sounds twisted, but somehow, I wanted this man to like me. I wanted him to use me, if that's what he wanted.
Mr. Christiansen pushed my arms up behind my back, pinning me down to the bar. I felt his hardness against my backside as he whispered profanities in my ear, telling me I was a "fucking cockslut", telling me he knew I wanted his dick inside me. His words embarrassed and upset me, but... and I'm ashamed to admit this... he wasn't altogether wrong.
Then I heard Jake ask, "Tom, what are you doing?"
Tom quickly pulled himself off of me.
"Look at the mess the boy made," Mr. Christiansen said, gesturing to the broken glass on the counter. "He got scotch on my jacket. I was punishing him for his ineptitude."
It was a lie, but it was a lie my stepfather easily believed: that I was inept and needed to be punished. In his mind, I couldn't do anything right. I was a perpetual fuck-up in need of constant correction.
"I'm so sorry, Tom," I heard Jake say. "Rest assured, the boy will be punished after the party."
"Why wait?" Mr. Christiansen suggested. "We can do it right now."
"I suppose I could go get the paddle..." Jake said.
"Nevermind that," Mr. Christiansen said. "I'll just use my belt."
I heard Mr. Christiansen removing his belt as my stepfather's midsection came into my view. He had walked back behind the counter, and now stood in front of me.
"Dick, I want you to take your punishment like a man," he said. "No crying out. I don't want you to disturb my guests. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir," I mumbled, hoping that I could avoid creating a spectacle and somehow please this man.
As Mr. Christiansen laid into me with his belt, I tried to hold in my cries of pain. I tried to 'be a man', the way I was ordered to be. But his belt stung quite badly, and even early on, I couldn't help letting out several yelps. Jake held my head down against the countertop, muffling the sound of my hollering, but I knew I was causing a scene.
Several onlookers had gathered around the bar, judging from the comments I heard.
"That's it, Mr. Christiansen. Really let Icky Ricky have it!" I heard one of my stepbrothers say. "Don't forget to do his legs."
Mr. Christiansen obliged, strapping me hard against my legs; first the right, then the left. Then the right, followed by another to the right. I wasn't expecting one to the right again, and nearly lifted myself off the table when I jerked upright.
"Wow, look at that drudge buck!" someone observed.
Indeed, if I hadn't been pinned to the countertop, and my face hadn't been held down to the counter, I would have bucked up off the bar. But my stepfather held my head firmly against the counter, calmly reciting Bible verses to me in a patient yet condescending tone.
WHAP!
"Heed the words of Hebrews 12:11, Dick." Jake said. "'For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained'."
WHAP!
"Listen to the wise words of Proverbs, boy," Jake commanded. "13:4: 'The soul of the sluggard gets nothing, while the soul of the diligent is richly supplied'."
WHAP!
"Disgrace comes to he who ignores instruction, but whoever heeds rebuke is honored."
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
When it was finally through, I was allowed up off the countertop. I tried to dry my tears surreptitiously, but quite a crowd had gathered around me by this time. Then Jake grabbed me and led me by my ears to the closet door.
"Boy, kneel down in front of that door," he commanded.
When I had done so, he said, "Now I want you to put that doorknob in your mouth."
I hesitated because I didn't understand what he meant.
"Wrap your mouth around the doorknob, Dick," he snapped impatiently.
It was awkward, and hard to do because even kneeling down, I had to bend forward a bit to get my mouth level with the knob, but I managed at last to get my mouth around the doorknob. The metallic taste was quite unpleasant.
"Dick, I want you to stay here in 'Time Out' for a half an hour," my stepfather said. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut during your punishment, but now you're going to learn. Keep that doorknob in your mouth at all times and think about what you've done. Think about the words of Proverbs: 'Whoever silences his words has knowledge.'"
I obediently kept that fucking doorknob in my mouth for a half an hour, my jaw aching by the end; my jaw muscles were nearly as sore as my backside. While I knelt there stupidly, party guests milled around me, paying little heed to the servant being punished. By the time I was allowed to get up, at around 9 PM, many of the guests were ready to leave, and I had to give them their coats.
Judge Ramsey, Mrs. Ramsey, and my mother were laughing as they came out of the hallway, the two ladies arm in arm.
"Marsha, you have a simply lovely home," Mrs. Ramsey was saying. "I do hope we can do lunch soon."
"I'd love that, Mary," Mom said. "How about next week?"
"Sounds wonderful," Mrs. Ramsey laughed. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"And Marsha, dear, don't forget what we told you about how to keep your staff happy," she continued.
"I'll think about it," Mom said.
"Our coats, boy," Judge Ramsey said to me brusquely.
I hustled to get them their coats.
One by one, the groups of guests (and their servants) filed out of the house. College jocks, businessmen, and politicians exited. Finally, everyone had left. As Mom, Jake, and Christopher headed sleepily upstairs for bed, I began the clean-up. It took me most of the night.
To be continued...