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HARD LABOR
Chapter Nine
On the edge of the Cold Creek Farm estate, was a barn that had been converted into a sumptuous guest residence.
Fern followed the Judge and Tamara through the front door into a reception hall, leading to a large open-plan living space.
The Judge beamed at both of them.
“Here we are. Home sweet home. This is where I stay when I’m off court duty for a few days. Let me show you both round.”
Fern exchanged mystified glances with Tamara. This man was treating them like he was a real estate agent showing around prospective purchasers. Fern was still dressed ridiculously in her own wedding outfit while Tamara was in a yellow chiffon dress with a floral print like a girlfriend dressed up for a visit to her future in-laws.
They followed him through to a well-equipped kitchen, past a cloakroom, then down a corridor to a master bedroom with ensuite bathroom, and then two smaller single bedrooms. There were locks and bolts outside the bedroom doors. Finally, he showed them a large closet between the two smaller bedrooms.
“Ta-dah !” he said.
Fern could hardly believe her eyes. Inside there were racks and racks of clothes; and shelves of accessories, wigs, jewellery and props. It was like she imagined a theatre’s makeup department would be.
“For our … games.” He beamed. “Every outfit and prop you could wish for.”
They walked back through to the kitchen.
“So, a few house rules.”
Fern nodded. Tamara did likewise. Neither had dared to speak.
He took Fern’s left hand, and Tamara’s right, and raised them up to his fleshy lips.
“I am not like my daughter.” He said. “Or Steele. I am not into all that S&M stuff. Not unless it’s deserved, anyway.” He winked. “I am just a normal man, with normal … needs. And I will stick by the terms of our competition. You will both cater to my desires. The one who does that … shall we say, better ? … will win.”
He dropped their hands.
“But the one who does that worse, will lose.”
He looked at each of them in turn. Fern held his gaze.
“Do you understand that, dear ?”
“Y … yes.” She stammered. “Yes, Sir.”
“And you, Tamara ?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Excellent. There can only be one winner. The other one will serve decades in this dreadful place.” He smiled. “Yes, this should be a really enjoyable few days.”
His face leaned towards them until Fern could smell the spice on his breath.
“Who knows ? You both may even get to enjoy it as well.”
*** *** ***
Carrie tickled the backs of the four naked slaves with her lash.
She was taking an afternoon ride around the estate in her pony-cart, pulled by two strong males and a couple of overweight females. They were going uphill at a decent lick, along the ridge, with an uninterrupted view over many acres.
Not that her ‘ponies’ could really enjoy the view.
“Whoa !” she called, cracking her whip, yanking the reins.
She let them rest, heaving and panting. The men were the lead pair, the women following, their faces tethered near the muscled backsides of the men.
One of the women suddenly vomited over the back of the male in front. They really were unfit. Mind you, they’d been cheap as a result.
She curled the lash skilfully under the woman’s armpit, flicking her plump breast with the tip. The woman howled and hopped from one foot to the other. She was 43 years old, 5’4” tall, 30lbs overweight with F-cup tits. But a few weeks of harsh training and diet would get her back in reasonable shape.
Carrie laughed and threw her head back, enjoying the breeze. She cracked her whip and set off again through the nettle fields to the summit.
“Gidyap !”
*** *** ***
Steele dragged Derek’s head up by his ear.
“Hi there mate, feeling peckish ?”
Several hours had passed. Steele had enjoyed his own fine, hearty lunch with Carrie, leaving Derek’s endless torment to continue in Jaz’s tired but relentless fingers. He noticed that in the meantime a large slick of pre-cum had collected under Derek’s body from the almost constant teasing, as she stroked his shaft, scrotum and drooling slit until he gasped and bucked helplessly. Then she would stroke his body a while, before repeating the cycle.
Steele stared into Derek’s glazed, faraway pupils.
“Hungry ?”
Derek barely nodded his head. But his sunken eyes said yes. He looked haggard and unshaven.
Steele laughed and nodded to Jaz. She brought forward a wooden stool with a bowl on it. The stool was the right height for Derek’s hanging head.
“Eat up.”
In the bowl was a lumpy brown stew that gave off a strong, rancid odour.
“Eat !” Steele pushed down hard on Derek’s head.
He crouched down on one knee so he could study Derek’s face.
Cautiously, Derek stuck out his tongue to sip at the putrid meat.
“Get the cane !” Steele ordered Jaz.
Derek realised the stew was tepid and he sucked up a small mouthful.
Steele watched him taste, almost choke, and prepare to spit it out.
“Don’t you dare waste any ! Eat that all up !”
With a grimace, Derek somehow managed to hawk back the taster.
“Good lad. Now another mouthful. Bigger.”
Steele smiled as Derek slurped up a large hunk of the gristly, tough meat. He waited until Derek’s mouth was full and chewing.
“Were you fond of your dog by the way ? Titus, wasn’t he called ?”
Derek spat out the remains, turning his head, eyes bulging in anger. “No !?”
Steele burst out laughing, slapping Derek hard on his sore butt.
“Only a joke ! Don’t worry. Titus is safe and sound. Now, hurry up and finish your lovely lunch. I’ll get Jaz to lash you again.”
*** *** ***
Fern perched on the toilet to pee.
There was no lock but it wouldn’t take her a moment.
However, just as she’d started, the door opened and the judge stood there, dressed in just a dark blue, silk dressing gown.
“Now now, dear. I’m afraid there are no closed doors in my house.”
She couldn’t stop her flow. Urine hissed noisily into the pan.
He walked over and sat perched on the rim of the bathtub opposite her.
“You must always ask me whenever you want to use the toilet.” She saw him peering down between her legs. “I love to watch young ladies.”
She nodded slowly, a rash of embarrassment mottling her skin.
“In fact, it will be an important part of our competition. Which one of you entertains me most in little ways like this.”
Finally, her flow ceased.
“Anything else ?” he enquired.
She shook her head, wondering if he meant what she thought he did.
“Let’s see you wipe yourself then.”
She reached for the toilet roll, just as Tamara appeared in the doorway.
“Hey.” He said, staying her arm. “Tamara, over here ! Come and wipe Fern’s pussy dry for her.”
Fern had to force herself to obey. She screwed her eyes shut in shame as Tamara leaned down with a piece of tissue and padded the golden droplets dry. When she opened her eyes there was a hint of a smirk on Tamara’s face.
“Mmm.” He said approvingly, getting to his feet.
Fern watched in horror as he opened his dressing gown.
“Now, my dears.” He said to her. “Both of you hold my dick while I piss.”
She watched as Tamara immediately stuck out her hand and curled her slim fingers round his thickening tip. Then, realising he was waiting, she tentatively put out her own hand and gripped his shaft gently behind Tamara’s fingers.
She was finally forced to confront the Judge’s nakedness. She tried to ignore the pendulous gut that hung like a sack from his chest down to his pubic hair, spilling over his genitals. In truth, he looked like he was pregnant. His skin itself was pale and slack, with a thin layering of fine hairs and then a thick clump of coarse hair from his belly button down to his inner thighs. His testicles dangled obscenely between his legs.
“Aaammm …” he exhaled.
She felt a twitch and the pulse against her fingertips as his dark urine flowed from his bladder, out through his urethra. Again, her eyes caught Tamara’s. Both women exchanged looks.
And Fern realised with utmost clarity what Tamara’s cold expression said.
It said I’ll beat you. Whatever it takes.
I will beat you.
*** *** ***
Steele always took a tour of his factory in the afternoon.
‘Cold Creek Foodstuffs’ was his favourite part of their business. It specialised in the manufacturing and canning of food for slaves. As usual at this time of day, several trucks were parked at the loading bay, being stacked with cans for distribution.
He was reminded of that old saying; ‘where there’s muck, there’s brass’. While many people prefer glamorous, high profile businesses, Steele knew that there was good money – brass – to be made in a dull, mucky industry like manufacturing food for slaves. So long as it was cheap, sufficient and it kept them alive, owners would buy it.
Fortunately for Steele, he was able to make a nice profit, even though the price per can was very low. The secret was in the recipe !
The factory was alive with the sound of conveyor belts; the clank of metal, the hiss of pistons, the shouts of humans. People worked in four production lines. They were nearing the end of their daily, gruelling 16 hours shift.
Steele sat in the boardroom on the mezzanine floor and perused the exhausted workforce through the viewing window.
There were 64 slaves, plus a handful of guards.
Most of the slaves were male but there were a dozen or so females. He watched the human production lines rapidly spooning and cramming mounds of offal into open cans.
The cans then travelled along a belt to the huge auto-claves that sterilised the putrid meat, rendering the bacteria, spores and fungi harmless.
In the final stage, tasteless powdered nutrients, vitamins and a gloopy, gelatinous preservative sauce were all added.
Finally, the cans were lidded and hermetically sealed.
The slaves slapped the famous ‘CCF’ labels on the cans along with the “best within 10 years” date stickers and loaded them onto large pallets.
The four teams of sixteen worked manically to meet their daily quotas. But they were kept in the dark as to how they were doing. Each week, the teams were summoned to meet Steele in the boardroom and their scores were revealed. The three teams that had filled, sealed and loaded the highest quantity of cans were given a little treat. The losing team stayed behind with Steele in the boardroom.
He then selected a member of the week’s losing team to be “fired”.
And today was ‘Boardroom Day’.
*** *** ***
Carrie’s father wallowed in the centre of the double bed like a beached whale.
He was ugly, 55 years old and weighed 250 lbs.
And yet he had two gorgeous young ladies perched on the bed either side of him. He smiled down at Tamara first, and then across at Fern, winking at them.
“Do you like what you see ?”
He studied their expressions carefully. Tamara made a better attempt but the obvious gulp, the wide-eyed gawp gave her away. As for Fern, it was quite evident that the little slut did not like what she saw.
He scowled at them both.
“You fucking bitches. Just because you are less than half my age you think you’re too good for me, huh ?”
He pushed them both away and pointed at Tamara.
“You ! Get undressed.”
Then he turned to Fern’s shocked face.
“And you, you stuck up cunt ! Hurry up and strip too.”
He watched Tamara struggling with her dress.
“How old is your father ?” he asked her.
“He’d dead, Sir. He’d be … 49, I think Sir.
“And you think just because men like me are older than your father, we look at you like our daughters ? Well, we don’t. We look at you like the sluts you are.”
Fern was struggling with the clip at the back of her white dress. He gestured at the topless Tamara to help her out. Tamara’s tits were high and perky.
“You may look at me and see just an old guy. But I look at you and I see tits and cunt and I want to fuck you.”
Fern was pulling off her wedding dress. He immediately saw her boobs were big and full, larger and more pendulous than Tamara’s.
A few years back, before the collapse of social order and the reintroduction of slavery, he’d been just another middle-aged man, forced to watch cock teasing sluts sashaying around in tight tops and short skirts, looking through him as if he didn’t exist. Oh sure, the bitches glanced at and flirted with much younger men their own age, ready to dance and fuck after just a burger and coke, but once a poor guy had hit forty, put on a few pounds, and turned grey or bald, they considered themselves too good for him.
Well, nowadays was like a movie sequel; ‘the old guy strikes back !’
Now he could have his pick of tight assed young ladies, force them to do exactly what he wanted. Oh yes, they sure noticed him now; his jowls and his gut, his baldhead, spectacles and bad leg. He didn’t have to diet or exercise, or give a shit what he looked or smelt like, or heck, even buy them a hotdog. Now, it was he who was too good for them.
“Stand to attention. Tits out, legs apart !”
He stared at their nakedness, feasting his eyes on their youthful beauty.
Tamara was a perfect 10. Her skin was a golden hue, like honey. She had long legs, a flat belly and pert breasts. She was tall but coltish, with a waist that made you wonder exactly where she was going to fit his cock inside her. He gloated from her shaved mound up into her nervous eyes.
Fern was good. Very good. But not a 10. She’d have to work very hard to win against Tamara’s perfection. She was shorter, curvier, with feminine hips and the kind of plump breasts that danced amusingly under a crop. Her face showed she’d been given a thorough working over these past couple of days, but he liked her mouth, with its full lips and white teeth, and imagined it doing all sorts of things, not just the obvious ones either. There were hickeys on her neck and tits, scratches and bruises, but nothing to put him off.
Again, he wallowed in her shame, from her plucked, hairless cunt up to her sunken blue eyes.
“Come.” He instructed Tamara, curling his finger.
She knelt by the side of the bed, very contritely, and then slowly moved her lips up, until her chin was lightly resting on his bloated belly. She looked at him.
“Sir.” She kissed his skin. “You’re right. I am sorry for not recognising the beauty of older men until now. But I hope you will let me make it up to you over the next few days. Or as long as you like. It would be an honour for me to make love to you in any way you wish.”
He chortled with glee. This one was going to be good. He yanked Tamara’s head back by her hair and pointed her eyes at his dick.
“Prove it. Suck on that !”
He sighed as her warm, wet lips engulfed him as best she could.
Then he looked coldly at Fern.
“Right, my dear. Bad news and good news. The bad news is that you’re nowhere near as attractive to me as Tamara. Get that into your thick skull right now.”
He smiled at her shocked expression hearing his brutal observation. She blushed with indignity.
“That means she’ll get the nice jobs and you’ll get the shitty ones. But the good news is that you could still win. Just. If … she disappoints me and if … you work extra hard, then you have a chance. Deal ?”
He watched her throat dry-swallow. “Y … yes, Sir.”
“Mmm …”. He settled back enjoying Tamara’s young tongue slurping his shaft. He was rock hard now, without the need for medicinal assistance. Nubile flesh proved as effective as any drug.
“Come here.”
Fern walked to him and leaned over.
He reached out to her boobs, first the left, then the right, and bounced them in his palm. She bit her lip and winced.
“You see that paddle ?”
She turned her head. He was looking at a circular wooden board with a handle. It resembled a table tennis bat.
“Fetch it.”
He watched her, admiring her bottom as she turned her back.
“Okay. Now stand here, and use the paddle to smack your own tits.”
Her blue eyes sparked and then she screwed them shut.
“Hurry. Feet apart. Now, smack your left tit hard.”
He studied her carefully. She lifted the bat and then cracked it across the side of her boob, making a nice splat sound. Her face contorted in pain.
“Again.” He chuckled. “Much harder !”
Biting her lip, she raised it up and smacked it down against the meaty centre of her tit, making it jiggle and turn red.
“Lovely.” He said. “Tell me, how does that feel ?”
“It h … hurts, Sir.” She stammered.
“Excellent. Later, we must ask Tamara to thrash your jugs with a bamboo.” He leaned down, easing Tamara’s hair from her face. “You’d like that my dear, wouldn’t you ? Or would you prefer to be beaten yourself ?”
“Nnghgm …” the cocksucker replied, indicating she’d prefer to be the one wielding the cane.
He nodded approvingly, turning back to Fern.
“Sensible girl. Okay, now another one. Even harder.”
Tears trickled from Fern’s eyes as she obeyed him.
“Now, lean down.”
He reached up and admired the heat emanating from her left tit. He tugged on her right nipple, causing her to whimper.
“Look. Your other jug is all pale compared with it. Let’s swap over. Smack your right one now, nice and hard.”
Her trembling fingers switched the paddle into her other hand. She swung, making a shrill crack as wood landed on flesh.
His loins were stirring and he could feel an orgasm building. He sighed contentedly, wondering whether to shoot in Tamara’s mouth, or whether he should stall, and maybe try something else.
Decisions ! Decisions !
End of Chapter Nine
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