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HARD LABOR
Chapter Eight
Derek cleared his throat.
Thirty two hours had passed. He had spent two nights and a whole day locked in an underground cell; dark, damp, without water or food, with no toilet, nor even a bucket, alone. Alone with his thoughts. Thinking about what had happened to him and Fern. And what the future held for them.
Now he was standing, totally nude except for the infernal pink bracelets, still wet after a cold shower, dripping on a Persian carpet in front of Steele’s massive partner’s desk.
The desk looked antique, dark mahogany, set on a raised dais so that Derek had to look up at Steele, even though he was on his feet, while his former friend was sitting down at his desk reading.
Steele seemed not to notice Derek standing there. He continued flicking through papers, a cup of steaming coffee on his desk.
A bronze clock on the mantelpiece behind Steele chimed 10 o’clock.
On the tenth stroke, Steele finally raised his head and looked up.
“Dork ? Hi ! Phew, you’re looking a bit rough, mate.”
Derek stared at him in amazement. “All thanks to you.” He mumbled.
Steele grinned unpleasantly. “Don’t be fucking insolent, Dork.”
Derek bit his tongue. Then he stifled a sob and wiped his eye.
“I don’t particularly want to hurt you.” Steele said. “Not badly. But I do require absolute obedience at all times. From both of you. You and Fern. Got that ?”
Derek couldn’t bring himself to respond. He just dry-swallowed, staring upwards in silent rage.
He watched Steele casually pushed his chair back to stand up. Steele turned his back briefly and picked something out of a tall, oriental vase. Then he turned back to face Derek.
He was holding a cane. Derek felt a shiver tremble up his spine. It was a long, yellowed, crook-handled bamboo.
“Recognise it ?” Steele asked. “It’s the exact same one that hung in the head’s study when you and I were both at school. A relic from our distant past. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to use it on us, because in our day corporal punishment had been banned.”
Derek couldn’t breathe. He wanted to fight, he wanted to beg, he wanted to cry, he wanted to die. Anything but stand here and be humiliated like this.
Slowly, Steele descended from the dais and pointed the tip of the cane at a wooden construction in the window bay. It was like a sturdy trestle bench mounted on a low stage, overlooking the lawn.
“I must warn you, mate, that any disobedience by you will be severely punished. But it won’t be you who pays for your own mistakes. No, it will be your darling Fern who is punished. And, in turn, you’ll be punished for her mistakes. That’s how the system works here. Any insolence from you today will cause Fern’s ass to burn in hell tomorrow. Meanwhile, your caning today will be for all her stupid naughtiness yesterday, while you were locked up downstairs.”
Steele smiled and shrugged in a ‘simple as that’ gesture.
“Now go and bend over that.” He said.
Somehow, Derek forced himself to stagger a dozen paces over to the wooden stage. He stepped onto it and laid his hands onto the trestle bar. He looked longingly at the manicured green grass outside, the blue sky, trees rustling in the breeze. Freedom.
So near, yet so far.
“Bend over. And Hurry.”
He leaned his waist against the hard wood and bent over fully until his fingers touched the dais floor. He heard a rustling and felt his ankles being fastened into steel shackles, his legs roughly pulled wide apart. Next Steele’s obviously practiced fingers inserted Derek’s hands through steel loops that were fastened to the trestle legs. After a moment, the ratchets were tightened.
He tested his strength against the bonds and realised he could barely move a muscle. He was bent over and spread out like a folded starfish.
A strong hand casually pushed against his buttock as Steele eased himself up to his feet. Derek froze as a finger brushed nonchalantly over his defenceless anal rim.
“Ha.” There was a chuckle. Steele had evidently noted his reaction. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, my friend.”
There was a drawn out silence, just the two men breathing.
“You were both anal virgins weren’t you ? You and Fern ? Answer me.”
“Y … es.”
He felt a sharp, painful slap on his bottom.
“Yes, Sir.” Steele snapped.
“Yes … Sir.” Derek echoed.
“Well, Fern isn’t one … any longer. And nor will you be soon.”
Derek tugged helplessly at his chains making Steele laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’m not into men. It won’t be me who fucks your ass. I only do women there. But we’ve got several male guards who are homosexual. And I always thought you were well suited to playing a gay queen. After a bit of promiscuous experimentation, we’ll choose a nice husband for you to settle down with.”
Derek stifled a sob as he felt the tip of the cane sawing up and down the cleft of his buttocks while Steele’s words tormented him.
“Wh … why ?” he sobbed, unable to control his tears any longer.
Steele sighed, cruelly mimicking Derek’s wail. “Why ?” he mock-sobbed in a high pitched whine. “For fun, my friend. You can’t imagine how bored I get. We have slaves to do everything; cook and clean, pour us drinks, wipe our fucking asses. Even my business is run by my staff and slaves. So, you’re my fun, just some amusement, an experiment. You and that little cunt you call a wife, Fern.”
“Please …”
“Oh, shut up ! I hate that ‘Please’ shit. If you’re going to beg, at least do it properly.”
Derek sucked in air, trying to clear his head. He felt weak from having been given no food; parched from lack of any fluid.
“Tell me. Look, I … I’ll beg any way you want. I’ll grovel at your damned feet. Just spare us, dammit.”
“You sound as pathetic as your missus did before I corn-holed her. Damn, she was a tight assed bitch. I took my time, you know. I held off for over half an hour before I shot my juice into her guts. And afterwards she grovelled at my feet, just as you’re offering to do now. So I figure you’ll do the same. You’ll beg me after I’ve thrashed you, even more convincingly than before.”
Derek sensed Steele stepping back a couple of paces, heard the cane being raised.
“Tell you what, let’s continue our chat after I’ve given you your first twenty strokes. Those few I gave you the other night were just little taps.”
Derek shook his head. “N … no …look …”
There was a deep whoosh of displaced air. He only seemed to hear the loud, shrill crack of the cane on his flesh after he’d already felt the searing blow across his bottom. The pain travelled faster than sound.
He gasped for air, his dry mouth suddenly producing a speck of drool. “Uhhh.”
Then he sensed the cane being raised again.
*** *** ***
In a room down the corridor, the sounds of the thrashing were clearly audible; the rhythmic splat of wood on skin, the random grunts and moans.
Carrie sipped her tea quietly, glancing at her newspaper.
Fern was down on her hands and knees vigorously polishing the wooden floor with just a toothbrush. She was dressed incongruously in her white wedding dress, with all the trimmings; veil, white lace stockings, ballet pumps. It was the very same outfit she had married in, precious possessions stored safely in a box, and all now belonging to Carrie and Steele. Her face was focused on the shining timber floor, polishing up occasional tears that dripped from her eyes.
Carrie pretended to ignore her. Both women knew who was being thrashed and by whom. The sounds were like sweet music to Carrie’s ears.
The double doors opened and a plump, black lady appeared. Her name was Sharon and she was the housekeeper of Carrie and Steele’s home.
“His honor is here, Ma’am.”
Carrie smiled as her father limped into the room. He was dressed in his court robes, carrying his silver tipped walking stick. His corpulent body was egg shaped; a barrel of a body rocking from side to side on stumpy legs.
“Hi Dad.”
“Hello, my dear.”
Carrie patted the cushion for him to sit down next to her.
“Coffee, Dad ? Or a sherry ?”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “I think a coffee at this hour.” He turned to the housekeeper. “Please, Sharon.”
The black lady nodded and her own huge bottom wobbled as she walked out of the room.
The Judge dropped into the plump sofa with a sigh.
“You’re early.” Carrie said.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t take me very long to sentence wicked sinners.”
“Speaking of whom,” she replied, “recognise that one ?”
He peered over his spectacles at the woman in the wedding dress polishing the floor.
“Should I ?”
“Two days ago you sentenced her to fifty years, hard labour.”
“Did I ?” His piggy eyes twinkled mischievously. “Fully deserved !”
At that moment, there was an extra loud thwack and moan of pain from the room down the hall.
Carrie grinned at her father’s raised eyebrow. “And, in fact, that’s the sound of Steele giving her husband a fully deserved thrashing.”
“Is it indeed ?”
He pointed his stubby finger at Carrie. “Yes, I remember now. Young couple. You rented them under the Convict Lease Scheme. She was …,” his eyes roved towards Fern with renewed interest, “… quite a looker.”
Carrie’s voice hardened as she spoke to Fern. “Stand up !”
Fern scrambled up onto one knee then stood, holding the toothbrush.
He nodded his head slowly in approval, then turned his eyes to Carrie.
“Who is she ?”
“An ex of Steele’s.”
He raised an interested eyebrow. At that moment, Sharon returned carrying a tray. They were silent while she placed a cup on the side table and poured his coffee from a jug.
Carrie realised the sounds of the caning had finally ceased. The air was at last still, silent.
“I see.” Her father said, once Sharon had closed the doors behind her. He turned his head to peer over his spectacles at Fern. “Raise your veil.”
Fern’s trembling fingers lifted the lace from in front of her face. Her eyes were sunken, red-rimmed, with dark patches below.
“Good. Now turn round dear. Show me.” He twirled his index finger in tiny circles.
Fern slowly turned her back and then carried on round until she was facing him again.
“Delicious.” He pronounced, as if she were a fine wine he was tasting. “I expect that your fifty year sentence was a bit of a shock, my dear ?”
Carrie frowned at Fern’s quivering lower lip.
“Answer him.”
“Yes … S … Sir.”
“I know that you are innocent. And I know that even if you were guilty, you should only have received a few months suspended sentence, at most.” He smiled, lifting his coffee cup, taking a loud slurp of the hot drink. “But I had the power to sentence you to fifty years and only I …” he paused before repeating the words, “… only I … have the power to reduce that sentence.”
Carrie stared deep into Fern’s glistening blue eyes, trying to read them.
Fern nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
A long silence followed.
Eventually, Carrie broke the tension.
“Hey ! I have an idea.”
*** *** ***
Steele signed a couple of papers and made a few phone calls. He glanced at the top of a pile of books he was reading; the lurid cover showed a woman fastened under a mechanical machine and the title ‘New World Order’.
From his desk, he could see Derek’s glowing backside, like a living, motionless sculpture in front of the window. The twenty strokes had not broken the skin but they’d caused a fine series of fresh red welts, rising from his mottled skin. Derek was still clenching and unclenching his buttocks trying to disperse the smarting pain.
Steele laced his fingers behind his head and sat back in his chair.
Moments later, a guard arrived, knocking on the ajar door.
“Enter.”
His last phone call he’d made had been to summon Jaz and Jella. Two guards escorted the new Asian-origin slaves into his study. He nodded to the guards.
“Leave us but wait outside.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Steele stared at the two matching girls. Both were similar, dusky maidens, with olive skin, nubile bodies and refined features. But Jaz was taller by an inch and better endowed by one cup size. Jella glanced at him, then averted her eyes in abject fear. They were wearing green silken robes knotted round their waists and chests.
“Come.” He barked, kicking his legs back. “Here.”
It never ceased to amaze him how easily people can be trained, when they have no choice, no recourse, no rights. Both girls moved as quickly as if red hot coals had been applied to their feet.
He grinned at Jaz. She had taken the lead, Jella hovered just behind her shoulder. She had already spent over 24 hours locked into the base of his toilet and yet he’d never even spoken to, touched or barely acknowledged her existence.
“Introduce me to your sister.” He said, with a meaningfully downwards look.
Jaz’s nimble, elegant fingers reached for Steele’s zipper and lowered it. Her doe eyes glanced at him for approval and then she eased down the front of his underpants, releasing his swelling erection. He raised his hips so that she could tug his jeans down.
She whispered in her sister’s ear.
Jella immediately lowered her head and kissed his dick ‘hallo’ on its throbbing vein.
“Get under my desk.”
He shook his head. It was strange. For no good reason, he could like one person, and despise another, even if they were almost identical. He’d decided in favour of Jaz, and against Jella, the moment he’d first set eyes on the two sisters. It was like an interview, where the moment a candidate entered the room, he instinctively knew he wouldn’t hire that person.
“She’d better do a good job.” He muttered threateningly to Jaz.
“She will, Sir, I’m sure of it.”
He shrugged noncommittally as Jella slid her lips tenderly over his crown. She had a red bindi on her forehead like her sister, and the same dark eyelashes.
“You see that male in the window ?”
Jaz turned her head. “Yes, Sir.”
“I want you to go and give him ten more strokes with that cane.”
Her brown eyes widened in shock. “Y … yes, Sir.”
“Then …” he smiled, raising his head up towards hers.
She leaned down so he could whisper into her ear.
He gave her an instruction.
*** *** ***
Fern stared at her competition.
Tamara was one of those women whose looks were only part of the story. As well as her classical bone structure and sensuous curves, she exuded a feminine, almost feline, grace that Fern was immediately in awe of.
So, evidently, was the Judge.
“Ooh, darling.” He cooed. “But Tamara’s your favourite !”
Carrie blew a kiss at her father. Fern realised that even his own daughter didn’t actually want to kiss the old slug in the flesh.
“No matter.” Carrie trilled. “It’s up to you.”
The Judge leered.
“Young ladies.” He address Fern and Tamara. “The deal is simple. One of you might win some time off her sentence. Perform well enough and you could even win your freedom. The loser ?” he shrugged. “Let’s just say that the loser will serve her full sentence. Or maybe even have her sentence extended !”
Fern couldn’t help but glance nervously across at Tamara.
“Remind me.” The Judge asked Carrie. “How long has Tamara got ?”
“Nineteen years and eleven months left to run.”
“Mmm.” His hideous frown slowly cracked into an ugly smile. “That’s quite an incentive, isn’t it dear ? Instead you could be walking free in a few days time.”
Tamara’s stunning features twitched. She tried but failed to hide her excitement.
“I would imagine she’d do pretty much anything to win.” Carrie smiled.
Fern felt Tamara stiffening alongside her. She didn’t quite know whether to feel empathy or animosity towards her opponent.
“And her ?”
All eyes turned to Fern.
“Fifty years to run. And her husband too.” Carrie mused.
The judge winked at Fern.
“I think we should give her some real encouragement.” He said. “She’ll need it if she’s to beat Tamara, who’s an infinitely superior physical specimen.”
“I agree.”
“In which case, I will make things very interesting. If you win, young lady, I will convert your sentence to what it should have been. Six months suspended.”
Even Carrie uttered a gasp of surprise, almost mouthing ‘dad ?’
Fern couldn’t breathe. Her head spun in absolute shock.
The old man seemed delighted with their reaction. “Yes, and I’ll even allow that husband of yours to benefit too. You’ll both be set free.” He raised a finger. “But only if … you win.”
*** *** ***
Derek felt like he was drunk. His head spun and his shrivelled penis hung down. There was a slimy puddle of drool below his face where he’d dribbled saliva.
And yet, slowly, he responded to the girl’s insistent fingers, while she reached under him, as if she were a milkmaid and he were a cow. He could smell her natural scent, like cinnamon and fresh sweat, and feel her fear too.
Like him, she was only doing what she’d been ordered to do.
Seemingly far away, he could occasionally make out Steele’s voice; words, and impatient groans, cursing the poor other girl who was obviously servicing him.
Derek slowly hardened, in spite of everything. He felt her fingertips sliding over his crown, probing the first drops of pre-cum to assist her ministrations. Her nail trailed teasingly up the sensitive underside of his erection, making him twitch.
He heard her sigh of relief, sensed that even in these terrible circumstances, some small primeval, feminine instinct made her pleased with her power.
Her fingers left him and then gently cupped his scrotum, weighing his balls as if they were ingredients in a recipe. He was hairless and it felt strange, different. He realised with a twinge that Fern had never fondled him quite like this.
Next, her gentle hands were on his bottom. He felt her thumbs opening him up. He felt embarrassed. It had been days since he washed and now some stranger was letting the air into his backside. Yet her fingertips returned, teasing his anal rim, gently applying pressure to his prostate.
And then he gasped as he felt her wet tongue snake along his cleft, just as her hand returned to milking his shaft, in a teasing up-down motion.
And for the first time, he groaned in pleasure. Not pleasure, but animal response. He immediately cursed himself silently. Sick, sick, sick ! He was tied down, bottom smarting from a humiliating caning, his wife probably suffering who-knew-what at that very moment, and some unknown girl could get him erect.
Worst of all, again, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
End of Chapter Eight
Author’s Note
I apologise to everybody for the strange lay-out and color changes you see when you select the ‘whole story’ option to read. As I hope you realise, this is completely outside of my control. I always publish in black & white, Times New Roman font, and only very occasionally use italics for emphasis or ‘internalised thought’. If you select the individual chapters one at a time, you should experience a lay-out similar to that I originally intended. Apologies, Velvetglove
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