Date: Mon, 9 Jan 2006 03:54:59 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Someone Has To Do It, Part Eight

Someone Has To Do It

By Pete Brown        petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


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


Part  8

After breakfast we went out to start work seriously.
I was put to digging in the vegetable garden, and I
suppose Ian was right - although I was cool to start
with, as I worked I warmed up and by midmorning I
hardly noticed it at all.  Mind you, it was fucking
boring - there was nothing to look at, as the
vegetable plot was away from the house and well
hidden, and no one to talk to, as Ian was off
somewhere else.  I kept thinking about stopping, but
actually I kind of revelled in the hard work - since I
left the army I'd never really pushed myself all that
much:  sure, I had to do a lot of exercise and running
and stuff when I was training the servants, but it was
all well within my abilities.  Here I was doing
something different - real physical labour - and I
needed to "apply" myself to keep at it.

When Ian came to fetch me at lunchtime I was really
glad of a break, and we went to the potting shed where
he'd already started fire in the stove, and we sat
there  companionably together with a mug of tea each.

"How do you bear it, Ian?", I asked.

"What do you mean, Steve?"

"Well, the boredom - I never saw a soul, or spoke to
anyone all morning..."

"I like that.  If you'd grown up in a council flat
where there was no getting away from people, then
lived in a tiny place with a cow of a wife and a
screaming kid....  You'd be glad of peace and quiet.
I like it here, anyway - it's interesting, growing
things, and now I don't have to service the mistress
and master, it's a pretty OK kind of job.   And with
you to help with Marco and Pavel..."

"Look, about that...  You know I don't really like
fucking blokes..."

He laughed, and slapped his hand on my bare back.
"Well you could have fooled me, Steve, mate, seeing
you going at young Pavel last night.  If that wasn't
enjoying it.... Well, you could have fooled me!"

I sat silent for a few moments, and we listened to the
crackling of the wood in the stove.  "Look, Ian, I was
just frustrated, and pissed off....  Having to service
the mistress.  A man shouldn't have to do things like
that."

"Steve, you're an indentured servant.  You have to do
as you're told, or they can punish you.  Anyway, if
that's what she wants, someone has to do it.... And I
don't suppose the master does - he's a real hard case.
 When he gets back, you need to watch out, as he's a
dab hand with the cane."

"...and that stripping at the pool this morning...."

"Hey, did you want to get your jeans wet?  Anyway,
what have you got to be ashamed of?  You've got the
best body of all of us I reckon.  And the biggest
cock."

"Well what was all that about when she looked at me?
You saw something too, didn't you?  What the fuck was
it, Ian?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about..."

"Ian.... Tell me!"

"Oh quit worrying!  It's nothing, really.  And it's
time to get back to work...."

I grabbed him, but he just stood there, impassive, and
I knew that if  I wasn't prepared to beat it out of
him, he wasn't going to say.  So I started back to the
digging, which is surprisingly hard, actually, as you
can't just dig:  as you turn over each fork full you
have to bend down to pull out all the large weeds and
stuff.  And even though this vegetable plot had been
in use for years, there were still large stones in it
which Ian had said had to be removed.    I was glad
when a couple of hours later Ian came up, therefore,
and told me to get over to the house.

Parked in the service yard at the back when we got
there was a van, proclaiming on its side that it was
"Weybridge Groomers", and in smaller letters
underneath, "Preparation and grooming Of Servants In
Your Own Home".

"What the fuck's this, Ian?"

"Oh it comes every two weeks.  They trim our hair as
they like us cleanly cropped, make sure our nails are
neatly clipped, all kinds of stuff like that...."

They'd just finished the maids when we went in, and
the two men who were clearly the operatives said "Hi,
Ian", and I knew they must be free men as he said
"Hello, sir.", and then turning to point at me,  "And
this is a new bloke that was only bought a couple of
days ago..."

"Oh yes, we know all about him.  Finch telephoned the
office earlier.  What's your name, boy?"

Even though they were only in their early twenties and
much younger than me, I was getting used to being
called  referred to as "boy" by now.

"Steve, sir."

"Right, Steve.  Strip off, and let's start."

I looked at Ian, but he was nodding, and began to take
off his jeans, so I did the same.

"Right, Steve, the normal procedure it for us to trim
your hair to keep it smart, and then we wax you to
make you look nice and neat, and smooth.  Have you
ever had a waxing?"

"NO, sir!"

"Don't sound so alarmed, boy!  It doesn't hurt really,
and it's much better than shaving to keep your balls
and such like  pleasant for your owners.  All the
males here get it - part of the standard service - we
call it the 'sac and crack' as your owners like your
balls and arse nice and clean and smooth.  Now, just
lie down...."

Actually, it didn't hurt that much, as I'd been shaved
there for the auction and so there was only kind of
stubble to get rid of.  Apart from the humiliation of
having these two blokes handling my balls, and then
making me hold my legs up and back and apart so they
could get at the sensitive bit from my balls to my
arse hole, and then having to bend over and pull my
bum apart so they could do the rest, it wasn't all
that bad!  I yelped a bit as they pulled off the
strips, and that made Ian laugh as he called out "I
thought you were a real tough bloke, Steve....", but
when his turn came, immediately afterward, I noticed
he did the same!

They inspected our finger nails and toe nails then,
and used clippers to shorten them - I hadn't had
anyone cut my nails since I was a kid, and it seemed
really odd, and then, as we went to pull our jeans on,
one of the blokes said casually "Not you, Steve...
You're not finished yet.  Stand up on this stool...."

It was more of a small table, actually, and I did as I
was told and they got out the hairdressing scissors
again and started to snip away at my pubes.

"Hey..."

"Quiet, boy!  Finch says your mistress wants most of
this cut away - you're lucky you're not like that cook
here who gets waxed all over!  Now, hold still..."

I could see my already short pubes falling to the
floor - I used to have a real thick bush, but most of
it had gone before the auction.  And now at least as
much again was being removed, so that just around my
cock and above, it looked a bit like my head - cropped
really short.  But then I had to lie down on a table,
and the wax came out again, but this time all over my
pecs!  And when that was torn off,  I did scream.

"OK, Steve, calm down!  It's worse the first time.
You'll hardly notice next time around", one of the
blokes said kind of reassuringly.  Then, turning to
his mate as he ran his hand down my belly, he said
casually "...and the treasure trail too?"

"They didn't say.  But let's just trim it a bit, as
he's very wiry - we can always take it right off next
time if they want it done, and he does look a bit
funny with more hair on his belly than on his pubes or
his pecs!"

When they'd finished they showed me how I looked in
the mirror - I was totally different without my nice
thatch of hair on my pecs, and my cock looked even
bigger with almost no pubes at all.  I saw Ian
looking, and rounded on him.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Yes, Steve.  I saw the mistress looking at you this
morning, and I knew it was grooming day.  So it didn't
take much to put tow and two together and reckon she'd
have you waxed - she likes to 'see' a servant, she
says, as he works, and she thinks that men look a
whole lot better when you can see all their muscles
moving."

He smiled at me and went on, "And you know, Steve,  I
think she's right - I hadn't realised what lovely big
dark aureoles you had before - all that hair on your
chest hid them!"

Well, we had to go back to work after that, and I now
really felt strange as I hadn't realised just how much
my chest hair protected me!  Without it my nips felt
so exposed, and as I worked away I kept feeling them
going all pointy and hard.

Finch told me to get "properly clean" again that
evening, and I stood there looking at myself in the
mirror as I pulled on clean jeans - I actually had
more stubble on my chin than I did on my chest now,
and my cock looked even bigger jutting out from its
forlorn shorn patch of what remained of my pubes.  He
told me to get a move on though, as I mustn't keep the
misters waiting, and once more led me up through the
house to her bedroom.

This time I had to stand there as her long fingers
with their bright scarlet nails raked all over my
chest, lingering on my nips, and tracing the small
valley between my pecs and between them and my belly.
Then she stroked my treasure trail, musing to herself
as she did so as to whether she'd order that off on
the next grooming day.  All the time this was going on
I had to stand there with my hands neatly clasped
behind my head - which, incidentally, showed my pecs
off to their best advantage - and then she said "Good,
Steve.  I like to 'see'  a man, and without all that
ugly hair on you I can get a much better appreciation
of your muscle.  Now, let's see how they got on lower
down.... Off with those jeans, boy."

It's really vile being told to strip naked by a woman,
but what choice did I have?  That fucking controller
was around her neck, and I was totally powerless.  I
wanted to turn away - that's funny, isn't it?  Even
though you know that she's going to look at you and
you won't be able to cover yourself, somehow it's
better to be facing away when you fumble with the
buttons on your fly and then slide your jeans down
over your bum and thighs;  and I think a bloke looks
really undignified hopping around from leg to leg as
you get them off over your feet in turn, as all your
cock and balls fly around so.

"Hands back behind your head!", she snapped, and I
obeyed, but fortunately she didn't reach out to touch
me - she just stood there, looking at me.  "That cock
of yours was a monster, even before I could see it
properly!", she went on.  "Did you fuck a lot of
women, Steve?  Did that big cock of yours get a lot of
action?"

Well, this was more like it!  It sounded as if she was
building up to real sex this time.  "Enough, ma'am."

"And did you please the ladies, Steve?"

"I never had any complaints...."

"I'm glad to hear it.  But you won't be using it on
any women around here:  Finch has told you, hasn't he,
that you are absolutely forbidden to touch the maids?"

"Yes, ma'am.... But I thought....."

"Thought what, Steve?  You're her to work, not to
think, remember!"

"Well, ma'am, I thought you might have bought me
for.... For yourself...."

She gave a shrill laugh.  "I did.  And you performed
satisfactorily yesterday, and with my training, no
doubt you'll improve.  All I need is a man who isn't
repulsive to look at and who's got a nice flexible
tongue -  you must know that I've used all the male
servants already?"

"Yes, ma'am...."

"But I also have to think of my husband, as he needs a
little sexual stimulation when I'm away on business
trips, as I frequently am.... And he said he wanted a
bit of muscle this time, someone with a nicely muscled
rear end..... So when I saw you there on display at
the dealer's, you seemed a good choice."

She saw me looking in incredulity.  "Oh you
working-class men!  You're so parochial, so
inhibited.... You don't think I want my husband
playing around with the maids, or, even worse, my
friends, do you?  So isn't it natural to provide him
with a bit of relief when I'm away?  Still, no matter
- I don't really care what you think, as I've bought
your indenture, and you'll do as you're told now.  And
whilst I have to rely on your collar to make you
perform, I think you'll find my husband is a little
more direct - he favours the cane for disobedient or
uncooperative servants, and I'm told he's an expert at
it.  Anyway.... I have work to do tonight, and I don't
have all that much time.  So let's get started."

She went and reclined on the bed, and indicated with
an imperious flick of her finger that I should, as I
had the night before, get down on my knees between her
legs.

"Hands behind your back, Steve!  And keep them there,
remember.... Now, let's see that tongue of yours...."

I felt myself starting to blush with embarrassment,
but she then pushed my head away so she was looking at
me directly in the eyes.  "I told you yesterday to
empty yourself before you came in here, didn't I?"

"Yes, ma'am, but I thought...."

"No 'buts', Steve!  Did you empty yourself?"

"No, ma'am, I though we'd be having sex...."

"Well you'd better do it now, then!  I don't want your
disgusting slime on the carpet again."

I went to get to my feet, and she snapped "What are
you doing now?"

"Going to the bathroom, ma'am.... You said...."

"Idiot!  I want to see you do it.  Kneel there, and
get on with it."

"No, ma'am, please don't make me do that.... It's not
right to make a man do that in front of a woman...."

She laughed, a mean, scornful laugh.  "So, Steve,
you've never had to really show a lady your virility?
You were so busy fucking, I suppose.  And judging from
your performance yesterday, I'd say that that's all
you did as you were not all that expert at foreplay.
So now we'll make up for it - all those women in your
past who just had that cock of yours thrust into them
will never know what they might be missing.  But
you're right, too - a man shouldn't be made to do
things like that:  he ought to do them willingly.  It
doesn't matter, though - you're not a man really any
longer, are you?  You've had your foreskin removed,
your sperm can't father babies any longer after the
vasectomy, and I've had your hair all nicely removed
and trimmed, to please me.... You're a servant, Steve,
not a real man any longer.  And servants obey.  So
unless you'd like to feel that collar of yours.....
Get started!"

I felt myself seething with anger, and I don't know
whether it was that or the shame and humiliation of
what I was about to have to do that caused me to start
to blush bright red.  But I knew I had no choice, and
reached down and took hold of my cock, and began to
tease it with long, slow strokes, to get it erect.  It
was hot in the room, and her perfume and the smell
from her body all combined to make me feel very
uncomfortable, and even before I had a good rhythm
going, I knew I was breaking out in sweat all over.

"My, what an effort!", she chided.  "A big strong man
like you, and you can't even do a little thing like
that without getting all hot and bothered..... Oh, and
Steve, do remember to catch your disgusting slime when
you spew it out - the purpose is to avoid staining the
carpet, remember?"

I felt absolutely desperate now, as I brought my other
hand up to do as she said.  But my efforts were having
some effect, as it got a bit easier as my cock started
to get lubricated from the pre-cum that I must be
producing.  And then, of course, as I worked away, I
felt my balls contract, and I thrust my head back as
my spunk pumped out.    I held myself there as a
couple of final spurts came out, and then kind of
snapped back to normal - the room came back into
focus, and I realised she was still watching me.

I was breathing hard, the sweat was dripping off me
now, and I could feel a little vein in my temple
throbbing as it always does when I'm upset.

"Show me!".  Her voice was at once commanding, and
harsh.

"Ma'am..?"

"Show me!  Show me what all that effort produced!"

Almost trembling with rage I raised my hand, so she
could see the milky white deposit in my palm.

"Typical male!  So much effort for so little result."

I wanted to tell her that it was a good, big load, in
fact, especially as I'd fucked the night before, but
before I could speak, she said  "Get rid of it ,
then..... We don't want it falling on the floor, do
we?"

When she saw me looking in astonishment, she snapped
"Are all big men like you thick mentally as well as
physically?  I told you to get rid of your semen -
that's simple enough, isn't it?  Just lick it off your
hand, and then get down and get started on what I
bought you for!"

I could hardly believe my ears.  I mean, I know every
bloke tries eating his own cum once,  normally when
you've just started wanking and you get to wonder what
it tastes like!  But to make me eat it there, now, in
front of her..."

She must have seen the look of panic in my eyes, as
she muttered "Oh, very well then, you men are funny
about things like that, I know!  You don't mind women
having to take those disgusting cocks into their
mouths, but the moment you're told to do the same
thing to yourself.... You can just rub it over
yourself, if you like, instead... Do anything, as long
as it doesn't drip on to the carpet.  And be quick
about it, before I activate your collar...."

It was as if the world was in slow motion.  I raised
my hand slowly, almost experimentally, towards my now
bare, smooth chest, and rubbed my palm across it.  It
felt all slimy and slithery as my cum spread over my
skin, and as my hand touched my nips, I could feel
them go hard under me.  The scent of cum, mixed with
my sweat, assailed my nose as I spread it out all over
my chest, and all the time I knew I was bright red
with the embarrassment and shame of it - shame
worsened by the way she was almost laughing as she
watched me.

And then, of course, I had to start pleasing her, and
as on the previous night, she rested her feet on my
shoulders, as if to control me even further.

When she decided she'd had enough and told me to
leave, I desperately wanted to shower again, to get
myself clean, rid my skin of all the sweat and drying
cum over me.  But as I went up to our floor, Finch saw
me about to go into the bathroom and stopped me.
"Straight to bed, Steve - I don't want the noise of
running water disturbing the household now!"

"But boss..."

"No 'buts', Steve!  Straight to bed!"

I pushed open the door of our room very gingerly,
hoping against hope that the other blokes would
already be in bed, but the moment my face appeared
that fucking Marco shouted "My turn tonight, Steve!"

I was just so exhausted by the day's work and the
total humiliation I'd jus gone through and all I
wanted to do was just pull the sheet over my head and
try to blot out the world.  But the fucker went on and
on... "Come on, Steve!  You've been shorn and waxed
like a woman, but I'm still a real man... Come and
remind yourself what real men's bodies feel like,
Steve...."  He wasn't being nasty, I think, it was
just his feeble attempt at being humorous, but even
so, I didn't think it very amusing.  And I
particularly didn't think it very funny when, as I lay
there, he suddenly bounded over to my bed, stripped
the sheet off, leapt astride me, grabbed my cock and
started to lower his ass down on to it.

"Come on, Steve, you fucked Pavel, and it's my turn...
I'll ride you, big boy...."

I lashed out at him, and he was so startled, as I
think he did think this was just a romp, that he fell
of f the bed, and I couldn't control myself - I leapt
on him, and began to pound him.  It was Ian who had to
pull me off him, with Pavel's help.  "You stupid
fucker, Steve!  If Marco turns up to take the mistress
to the station tomorrow morning with a black eye,
we'll all be punished...", he screamed.  And that made
me calm down, I think, as Ian and Pavel grabbed my
arms and held me, straining and sweating.  Marco
slowly got to his feet, and then, before they could
stop him, punched me right in the gut!

My breath went out of me with a big "whoosh", and I'd
have gone down if they hadn't been holding me.
"Bastard!", Marco hissed.

"Calm it, I said", Ian snapped again.  And as I
strained to break away, "Calm it, Steve!  You deserved
that - Marco was only having a bit of fun, and you
attacked him..."

He sniffed the air, suddenly suspicious, and sniffed
again. "You're covered in cum!  Is the master back,
then?"

"No."

"So who've you been with....?"

I was blushing all over now as all three blokes ran
their fingers over my chest, and then sniffed at them
suspiciously.   And then, of course, I had to blurt
out the whole humiliating story - not that they had
any sympathy for me, as they were almost helpless with
laughter as I told them the full horror of it.

Ian looked at me and shook his head slowly.  "You
really are an innocent, aren't you, Steve?  Come on,
there's no need to be so touchy - we're all lads
together here, and what's a bit of cum between mates?"

"Yes, but..."

"Hey, Steve, if that's the worse you have to do here,
I'll be surprised!  The master can be a right bastard,
if he wants to.  And it won't be your cum you'll be
massaging into your muscles - it will be his,
trickling all down your face and into your gob."

I just sat there on the edge of my bed, silent.

"Haven't you ever eaten cum, on that training of
yours?"

"No!  I told you - it was just fucking....."

Of course the others heard me and Ian, and started to
ask what this training was, and I had to tell them.
Pavel looked kind of shocked, but Marco slapped my
shoulder cheerily.  "Hey, Steve, so you're really good
at it then... That will make a change from Ian, here -
a bloke with a bigger cock, and who knows how to use
it properly....  Are you sure you can't give me a
demonstration tonight?"

I joined in their laughter.  "No, Marco.  I don't want
to go off half-cock, so to speak!  I'm really tired,
and I've shot my load for tonight.  Us older blokes
can only do it once a night, you know... Not like you
young Italian stallions...."

Well it was kind of all right after that, and we all
climbed into our own beds - although it was hard to
sleep at first, as I listened to the slap, slap, slap
of fists on cocks as Ian, Pavel and Marco all wanked
themselves.

All the next morning  I was worried, though, about
having to perform for our mistress again that night,
and to make matters worse, it began to spit with rain
and by the time Ian called me into the potting shed
for a mug of tea, I was cold and miserable.  As we
stood in front of the stove warming our hands, Ian
started to pull his jeans off, and told me to do the
same.

"I think the rain's passed over", so we can dry them
out now and they'll probably be OK for the rest of the
day", he said so casually, as if stripping like that
was perfectly natural.  Still, I didn't want to look
like a wimp, so I did the same.  We sat there on the
little bench made of a plank supported on a few house
bricks, and Ian moved right up close so our bare
thighs and hips were together.

"Hey, Ian...."

"Oh, come on, Steve, it's only skin!  Look, mate, I'm
surprised at you - that job you used to have, and
you're worried about a bit of bare flesh?  It helps to
get you warmed up, being close like this..."

He was right, I suppose, but as a trainer I decided
who did what, and now it was Ian almost forcing
himself on me.

"Look, Ian, I'm not into men....."

"Neither am I, Steve!  And at least I've got two
nippers to prove it..."

I felt myself starting to bristle with anger.   "What
do you mean?"

"Oh, come off it, mate!  Look, you were in the army,
you're still single at your age, you never married....
 There's all this talk of fucking women, but what you
actually did all day was fuck blokes!  And then you
don't really like women, it seems to me.... The way
you talk about our mistress..."

"But she's making me do this stuff, humiliating me,
she...."

"That's all crap, Steve!  A cunt is a cunt.  And you
wouldn't say she's 'making' you do it, if you were a
real bloke, a bloke who really likes women!  You'd
have been in there like a shot."

"No... Honest.... I like women...."

"Look, Steve, you're like a lot of blokes.  I reckon
in the army and everything all your mates went on and
on about fucking birds, so you did it just to conform,
so you could join in all the barrack room banter.  But
you didn't like it enough to get one in the family
way, so you could marry her and have it away every
night....  No, I reckon that if one of your mates had
ever come on strong to you, you'd have been wanking
away together like a couple of teenagers."

"No..."

"Well, it doesn't matter, anyway.  But I think I'm
right.  I saw the way you fucked Pavel - that wasn't a
bloke who didn't like fucking arse, that was someone
enjoying it...."

"No.  I told you - my job - someone had to do it...."

"And did they have to do it with their face showing
how much they were enjoying it?  Come on, Steve, cut
the crap!  You can tell me..."

"No..."

"Yes, Steve.  I can tell."  He lowered his voice, and
put his arm around my shoulders and pulled us really
close together.  I could feel a little trickle of
sweat starting to run down from my pits, across my
ribs, as I was under some sort of tension.  His male
scent assaulted my nose.  "Look, mate, it  was just
like that for me, growing up in Bermondsey - you
couldn't tell your mates you fancied them, that you'd
like to feel their cocks, hold their bodies.... I've
been there, so I know."

"But you were married, and had a girlfriend, and kids
by them both..."

"I told you, Steve... It's just like a lot of blokes
do.  Even in these enlightened times everyone
'expects' a bloke to shag women, and not other blokes.
 I tell you, Steve, if I could have my time over
again, things would be different, I can tell you..."

I tried to lighten the conversation bit, as this was
getting too deep for me.  "Oh come on, Ian. Look, I
can understand you fucking Pavel and Marco as there's
not much else to do in the evening. I mean, well,
they're nice young blokes, and they've got nice
bodies.  But, honestly, not me, OK?"

"I mean it, Steve.  That's why this place isn't so
bad, you know - Pavel, Marco, and now you..."

"Hey, Ian, I told you, I don't...."

"I think you do, Steve, but let's not force it.
There's no need to hurry, as we've got lots of
time.... And not much else to do, after all...."

"For a minute, I thought it sounded as if you like it
here..."

"I do, Steve!  Look, I've got enough food, the work
isn't that hard, they look after us well - when I had
the toothache last year, I was straight in to see a
dentist:  you try getting that done on the National
Health in Bermondsey - and there's endless sex,
without having to try for it.  And there's no nagging
women saying I've got to do this or that for the
nippers, no bloke down at the Social saying he's going
to stop my payments if I don't get a job, no debt
collectors always calling because we haven't made the
payments on something or the other.  And it's
interesting, too.  I like growing things.  And I like
the countryside."

"This isn't the countryside, Ian, it's fucking
Weybridge."

"Well if you were brought up in Bermondsey, it would
be like countryside!"

"But we're not free... We can't leave here...."

"Steve, it's probably harder for you, as you must have
travelled a a lot in the army - bases in the UK,
overseas postings...."  I nodded, and he went on
"Well, other than going to West Ham, I hardly ever
went anywhere.  Not even up West much.  Couldn't
afford it, could I, with the fucking fares so high?
So being here, surrounded by the greenery, with lots
of good food and lots of good sex.... Well, it's
fucking paradise, isn't it, mate?  And, anyway, how
free was I before?   Cooped up in that little Council
box, no money, nagging bitch and her mom and her
brothers always on to me...."

I hardly thought that being little better than a
slave, forced into degrading sex with my owner, in
some Surrey suburb was "paradise", but Ian sounded so
serious, and I suppose it's all a case of what you're
used to, so I said nothing, and we sat there for a bit
in companionable silence.

When we'd drunk out tea, though, and were pulling our
still slightly damp, but warm, jeans back on, Ian
slapped me on the back.  "Good news for you, though,
Steve!  Marco took the mistress off to Heathrow this
morning - transatlantic bit of Terminal Five, so
she'll be gone for a couple of days at least.  That
should give that tongue of yours a rest.  Mind you,
you won't have any excuse tonight now.... That Marco's
a real randy bugger..."

"What about the master, though?  You said he'll use me
as well..."

"Oh, him?  He's away with the kids, as it's half term.
 But he's harmless, really - he likes to fuck, of
course, as most blokes do if given the chance.
Sometimes your throat, but usually your arse.
Providing you just go along with what he wants, and
don't even attempt to argue, you'll be OK.  But he can
be really vicious with the cane....  Have you ever
been caned?"

"No.  I used to do it, though - to the trainees, if I
had problems..."

"Well you've got a new experience to look forward to,
then -  I expect the master will cane you at least
once, to start with, as he says a new servant needs to
know what will happen to him if he doesn't obey, and
obey instantly, in future.  It will let you know what
all those poor trainees experienced from you."

"Yes, but I only did it when they weren't obeying...
It wasn't sadistic, or anything - just necessary, to
teach them.... Someone had to do it..."

"I expect that's what the master feels, Steve!
Anyway, come on....  It's Rubbish day, and we've got
to put the bins out...."

This was a ritual I got to learn, and it was almost my
only experience of "the outside world" - we had to
push the eight huge wheelie bins from around by the
kitchen door down the drive, almost to the road - Ian
pointed out a line on the drive and said we mustn't
cross it or our collars would activate - and line them
up neatly.  Then, in what I learned was a rare break
from regular work, we were allowed to wait for the
rubbish men to come and empty them, as the master and
mistress didn't like the bins left there as it
"lowered the tone" of the neighbourhood.  As we stood
there, Ian opened each bin in turn and rummaged in it,
and I remembered him saying how this was the source of
the tea bags for our mugs of tea.  It was a bit of a
treasure trove in other ways, too:  I got a copy of
the week's Economist, so at least I'd have something
to read, if I ever got a chance in that bedroom.

"Ian", I said to him, "It's a bit much, isn't it,
having to rummage around in the waste for used tea
bags?  Couldn't they just give us stuff for our break?
 I mean, it's only beggars and people like that who
have to do this."

"Well they might, I suppose.  But then someone might
ask why we're having a break at all!  Best to stick
with the system, Steve.... For all its faults, it
works, at least."

We heard the rattling and clanking of the rubbish
lorry then as it made its way along the road towards
us, but couldn't see it as we couldn't cross the line
to the road, and the surrounding shrubbery hid it from
view.  It was servants, of course, who collected the
Wheelies, as you'd expect:  two of them, on long
chains attached to the back of the lorry running to
belts around their waists.  They called to us and
chatted as we stood there - but not for long, as they
had to work hard to empty our Wheelies before the
lorry dragged them off to the next mansion.

End Of Part Eight