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This is the second story submission of tongue-in-cheek writer Dummers, who tends to stick to Victorian age Cfnm themes and somewhat harsh scenarios. Feel free to leave some comments about what you think of the story and definitely submit any and all stories that you've written yourself!
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One Sunday morning in September 1865, Lord Tarquin Allcock could be found in his office. Lord Allcock's 'close friend and confidante' (or should we say 'toady'?), Mr Ralph Nuttsford was also there. Lord Allcock was the owner of the Knobb End Cotton Mill in Lancashire. Mr Nuttsford was its General Manager.
Admirable, you may say, that these two industrialists were at work, even on the Day of Rest. This was surely the spirit that made the British Empire great!
Well maybe so, but Knobb End Mill wasn't exactly a great place to work. Knobb End Mill was the only big employer in the little Pennine town of Assle. And Lord Allcock used this monopoly position to pay the lowest wages in Lancashire. The work was hard and sometimes dangerous. The hours were long. The workforce (mainly local women) were brutalised by the management.
Lord Allcock was nothing but a harsh, greedy bully. Mr Nuttsford wasn't quite as bad. But he was weak and easily led by Lord Allcock. And he'd certainly done nothing to restrain the wicked Lord.
Anyway, what were these two rotters doing at the office on a Sunday? Well, nothing, it appeared. They were both sat there, as if waiting for an appointment.
They were both beautifully turned out, from their glossy heads and whiskers, down to the tips of their gleaming black boots. Youngish and with regular features, yet there was still something not quite right about them. Lord Allcock's face was cruel and selfish. Mr Nuttford's pleasant but weak.
Lord Allcock took out his watch, a magnificent gold hunter. "Five minutes to ten. He'll be here soon."
Mr Nuttsford sighed. "I'm not looking forward to this," he said.
"Do you think I am, you fool?" snapped his Lordship, clearly in a cross mood. "But we've got no choice. If only I'd not played that damned jack...." He went off into a self-pitying grumble.
You see, Lord Allcock was a gambler. In fact, he was addicted. He'd lost last night, and the night before that. He'd been losing money for years. Despite his posh appearance, he was broke.
"But I can't understand why this strange man owns the mill," whined Mr Nuttsford. "The bank have got the mortgage, surely."
"Oh, do shut up, Nuttsford," growled Lord Allcock. This comment of his partner's had clearly hit a nerve.
Because, readers, the Knobb End Mill was mortgaged up to the hilt, thanks to its owner's extravagance. But Lord Allcock was such a horrible, haughty man that he hadn't appreciated one of the Golden Rules of Debt. Which is: Be Nice To Your Creditors.
Lord Allcock's last meeting about the mortgage with Mr Wilson, the manager of the West Pennine Bank, had been a PR disaster. Mr Wilson was a kindly bank manager, who tried to help local businesses. Because he gave respect, he expected it back. For example, Mr Wilson was used to borrowers coming to see him in his cosy office at the Bank. So he didn't take kindly to being summoned to Knobb End Mill, when Lord Allcock flew into a rage about an overdraft letter.
And being kept standing to attention through out the meeting had done nothing for Mr Wilson's temper. "Who is it that owes the money here?" he wondered. It was clear from looking at the books that the mortgage was nothing but a bad debt. So his first action on returning to the Bank had been to factor the mortgage off to somebody else - anybody else!
Eventually somebody had nibbled - a merchant called 'K. Roberts', who conducted the deal entirely by post. This 'Mr Roberts' appeared to be a businessman with a wide range of cotton interests in America and Southern Africa. In his letters, he mentioned having his roots in Assle, but to have spent the last few years overseas. Mr Wilson couldn't remember any local businessmen called Roberts, but he didn't really care. He was just so glad to dump one of the worst customers the West Pennine Bank had ever had.
So exit Mr Wilson from our little tale. (He therefore has the distinction of being the only man in this story who doesn't get to lose his clothes! How thankfully he scurries back to his cosy little office at the Bank!)
Anyway, back at t'Mill, Lord Allcock and Mr Nuttsford were speculating about the change of ownership. And why had they been called into the office on a Sunday morning? The clock struck 10, and there was the sound of carriage wheels.
Mr Nuttsford hurried to the front steps of the Mill, to welcome the new owner. Lord Allcock stayed behind his big desk. To show who was boss, he pretended to be deep in his paperwork. The door opened, and he looked up languidly. What he saw nearly made his monocle fall out!
Ralph had shown in two people - neither one was at all what Lord Allcock had expected. He was confronted by a beautiful woman, maybe mid-thirties, very elegantly dressed. She was accompanied by a very large, very smart negro.
Being a pretty bigoted man, Lord Allcock's first thoughts were: "you're definitely the wrong colour, my fellow!" He reached for his bell, to order the negro's removal. But then he thought: (1) "there are no servants in today"; followed by (2) "this black chappy must be 'Mr K Roberts' - oh God!" So he sat there, at a complete loss. Ralph mimed to him to get up, and the good Lord was kind enough to rise from his seat.
"Your Lordship, this is Miss Kate Roberts, our new proprietor," said Ralph, rubbing his hands obsequiously. Miss Roberts started to speak, and the two men were startled to hear her broad Lancashire accent.
"I'll doubt whether you'll remember me," she said, "but I worked at t'mill fifteen years when I'd left school. I then emigrated to America and prospered out there."
They chatted a little about American mills. Miss Roberts certainly seemed to understand the cotton business well. Then she asked: "What's that list of names on your wall, Lord Allcock?"
Ralph Nuttsford said: "Those are employees whom we've been forced to flog...err...'discipline' this week."
"This WEEK?!" cried Miss Roberts. "But it's a very long list!"
"No room for prima donnas at the Knob End Mill", said Lord Allcock smugly.
Miss Roberts went to the wall and studied the list. Then she gasped: "Cousin Grace?" She rounded on the two men. "Grace Roberts is on this list! She's my cousin!"
The atmosphere suddenly got much less friendly!
Miss Roberts turned to her companion, who gave her a bag. She put it on the table, and took out a ledger.
"Well let's get down to brass tacks," she said angrily. "Who does the accounts here?"
"I do", said Ralph.
"And you sign them, your lordship? Well gentlemen, I've got unwelcome news for you. There's a £20,000 shortfall in the books here. That represents money which should have been paid in taxes to the British Exchequer. You're both going to jail!"
The two men gaped at her. Their faces went grey.
"What can we do?" shrieked Ralph. "Surely there's some alternative?"
Miss Kate Roberts smiled a little (not a nice smile), and said: "well, yes, there might be an alternative. What do you say, your Lordship?"
"Please, I'll do anything to avoid jail", said Lord Tarquin Allcock. And let it be put on record, readers, that this was the first time in living memory that Lord Allcock had ever said anything to a young woman that was both courteous and sincere.
"Very well," said Kate. "This could be a profitable business. I've certainly made mills like this succeed in America. So I could be persuaded to absorb the loss, pay off the taxes, and let you two start with a clean slate. But you'll need to do something in return. I worked for several years, learning the trade, both at Knobb End Mill and and in American cotton mills. You two need to get your hands dirty. You need a bit more factory floor knowledge, before I can think of you as suitable managers."
"There is one option available to you. Which is to join the mill's workforce for a while. We need a couple of labourers. You can start now!"
They had no choice!
The dejected men followed Kate into the factory grounds. It was a warm, bright morning.
The factory sprawled over a huge swathe of Pennine moorland. The only part of the grounds Tarquin and Ralph were familiar with was the neat gravel path leading from the ornate front gates to their offices. The front of the factory was attractively landscaped. But to the sides and back of the factory there were acres of tussocky grass, stony ground and bare earth. There were outhouses and abandoned machinery. This was the side of the mill that the visiting dignitaries never saw. It was not appealing!
The men's hearts sank when they saw that they wouldn't be alone. Although it was a Sunday, six of the workforce had turned out. Probably the six people Tarquin and Ralph least wanted to see!
There were Edith Jones and Emily Carr, who'd recently had their wages docked for trying to start a union. There was Grace Roberts, who Tarquin had had flogged for insolence. And there were Susan Fletcher, Molly O'Hara and Jean Platt, who Tarquin and Ralph had been busily giving 'attention' to recently. Susan, Molly and Jean had all been 'promoted' to waitress duties in the Managers' Restaurant. There they'd had to endure a daily routine of bottom-pinching, groping and rude suggestions.
The six women weren't dressed for work. They were all in their Sunday best, with parasols, hats and gloves. Clearly they'd come to a place of entertainment, rather than a place of work. And Tarquin and Ralph could guess who would be the entertainment!
"Right, everybody", said Kate. "I'm not sure that we all know each other, so let's make some formal introductions and set the scene. The Knobb End Mill is under new ownership today. As a result, Lord Allcock and Mr Nuttsford have been relieved of their duties, with thanks for services rendered. To show his Lordship and Mr Nuttsford what I think of them, I've offered them the posts of apprentice navvies at the Mill. And I'm delighted to say that they've accepted! Their new duties begin with immediate effect!" [Cheers! Applause!]
"Now, gentlemen, may I introduce you to Mrs Jones, Mrs Carr, Miss Roberts, Miss Fletcher, Miss O'Hara and Miss Platt. These ladies are newly-appointed senior managers at the Mill. Please take your orders from them."
Tarquin nodded curtly at the six smiling women. But Kate glared at him and said "Manners!" So Tarquin took off his top hat, and swept it to the ground in a courtly bow to each woman. Ralph followed suit.
That left the vast African gentleman with Kate, who nobody knew. Kate said "may I introduce Mr Wesley Yobo, from West Africa? Wesley is my butler. Wesley is new to our shores, so let's treat him with every courtesy."
"I would just like to make one thing clear," said Kate, smiling at Wesley. "Wesley comes from a tribe where 'homosexuality' is quite common - that is men loving men, and women loving women. Wesley has occasionally practised homosexuality in his native land. But, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Wesley is aware that homosexuality is against the law of England, although it's no longer a capital offence."
[NB: Capital punishment for homosexuality was abolished in England in 1861. Although most working people thought that was fair enough, not everyone was in favour of this relaxation in the law. Tarquin had been quite disgusted by the change, and had lobbied for capital punishment to stay]
"So as far as we are all concerned, our guest Wesley is not homosexual. And if he occasionally seems to exhibit homosexual tendencies, it is purely a reflex action. It is nothing we need to bother ourselves about. Agreed?"
The ladies nodded and smiled. There were a few sniggers! Wesley Yobo winked at Tarquin and Ralph - who felt very uneasy!
"So, gentlemen, I hope you're feeling keen and fit." (They weren't.) "You have a long, hard day ahead of you."
The men's first task was to move some bricks. There was a big heap by the factory gates, which were needed for building a latrine on the other side of the factory. Tarquin and Ralph took off their top hats, coats and cravats, and started loading the bricks into wheelbarrows.
This was hard, sweaty work. The bricks were heavy. The ground was very potholed and bumpy. The men struggled with the wheelbarrows (which were the biggest and most unwieldy Kate had been able to find - naughty girl!)
The men weren't helped in their efforts by having to constantly steer the barrows round the ladies, who kept 'accidentally' blocking their path. It was a real obstacle race. The sun beat down. Tarquin and Ralph were totally out of their element in this hard, physical world.
Oh dear! The men's smart trousers and boots became torn, battered and coated with brick dust. Very unwisely, Tarquin complained. "Yes, they are ruined, aren't they?" said Kate. "What a shame! You'd better take them off!"
Tarquin and Ralph protested, but what could they do? They reluctantly took off their footwear and trousers. Standing in their shirts and long johns, they were dismayed to see Wesley gathering up their trousers and boots, and throwing them on the furnace.
Picking their way barefoot over the stony ground, the men toiled on. Unloading the sharp, heavy bricks played havoc with their fine silk shirts, which were soon torn to ribbons. So off the shirts had to come.
Now clad only in their underwear, an awful suspicion started to dawn on Tarquin and Ralph!! The women began to pay even more attention! Wesley winked at them!
The sun approached noon. It became very hot. Soon Tarquin and Ralph found their long woollen underwear becoming damp with sweat. Backwards and forwards they stumbled, growing stickier and grubbier. The women fanned themselves under their parasols, and expressed 'concern' and 'sympathy' for the state of the men's clothing.
Finally came the words the men had been dreading!
"Gentlemen", said Kate, "you're perspiring. I suggest that you remove your vests!"
Again the reluctant strippers protested. And again they were overruled. So they had to peel off their vests, and were now bare-chested. It wasn't a particularly magnificent sight. The men had quite unimpressive, white, skinny torsos. Still, the looks of fury and humiliation on their faces were priceless!
To draw out the fun, Kate let them do one more circuit with the wheelbarrows.
By this time, the men's long woollen pants were dripping with sweat, and stained with dust and dirt. They were riding up the men's arse cracks and clinging stickily to their private parts. Not very hygienic!
It was clear to any right-thinking person that the pants just had to go. The women started dropping hints to that effect. "Maybe you'd feel more comfortable with your pants off, your Lordship?" "Mr Nuttsford, sir, don't you feel very hot and sticky with your underwear on?" And so on and so forth.
Tarquin and Ralph grimly ignored these hints. It was strange to see how attached the two dandies had become to such filthy garments! Now that their pants were the only things between them and utter humiliation.
Kate looked up at the sky and saw a few clouds starting to appear. Maybe this hot, sticky weather wouldn't last much longer? That could make for an interesting afternoon. At any rate, it was probably time for the next stage of the fun.
Kate clapped her hands. "Gentlemen, stop!" Her friends smiled broadly. Tarquin and Ralph didn't!
"Gentlemen, those sticky rags you're wearing are quite revolting. Please remove them! NOW!!"
Tarquin and Ralph pleaded with her, but Kate was very firm! So the men slowly, reluctantly peeled off their final garments.
Wesley looked enquiringly at Kate. She nodded, and the butler ceremoniously fed the underwear to the furnace. Tarquin and Ralph were holding their hands over their privates, and were crouched against the brick heap. This was (temporarily!) giving them cover, but it meant they were in no position to stop the burning. As they saw the last of their garments disappearing, they quaked to their very arse bones.
The men were now in a state of Nature. Stark bollock naked. A hghly satisfactory state of affairs!
The women tried to look serious and businesslike, but they couldn't help the occasional titter. Tarquin and Ralph continued to huddle against the bricks.
Kate seized the initiative. "Right, gentlemen, back to your wheelbarrows!"
Tarquin and Ralph had to straighten up. They hobbled to their barrows, clutching their private parts. The women fell in behind them! With six pairs of eyes on their white, wobbly bottoms, Tarquin and Ralph reached the barrows.
"But we've finished moving the bricks!" whined Tarquin.
"Not quite, Lord Allcock," said Kate. "Hold the barrows ready please!"
So the two naked men were forced to stand behind each wheelbarrow, holding the handles. The sole point of this, of course, was to get Tarquin and Ralph into full view - holding the handles; arms by their sides; and cocks out ready for inspection. The ladies gathered round to look at the two fuming nudes.
The general feeling among the women was that it was only a moderately sexy sight.
Now in principle, the ladies had no problem with naked men. Victorian working women weren't as prim as we're led to believe. You didn't see anything like enough bare male flesh in the Knobb End Mill. So if your male co-workers really wished to fling off their clothes and frolic in the nude, that was very much to be encouraged!
In fact, that might be an idea worth exploring for the next staff picnic.... There were a few good-looking lads in the Machine Room who might be willing. Especially if this new owner (who did seem to have a refreshing attitude!) could see her way clear to slipping the boys an extra guinea. Several of the ladies drifted off into a nice day dream at this point...Joe McIntyre, the apprentice engineer, wearing nothing but a smile as he poured out the tea......or maybe young Michael Kelly wrestling nude with his fit friend Steve Wentworth..... Nice!
But, getting back to the here and now, what of Lord Allcock and Mr Nuttsford? Well, now that their bosses were on full nude parade, the women studied them intently. They weren't exactly Greek Gods!
If you were being kind, you could describe their physiques as 'boyish'. Both men were in their thirties. Their years of soft living hadn't yet shown through, by way of big bellies, man bosoms, etc. They were still slim and human-shaped.
Tarquin was tall, over six feet, and skinny. Ralph was shorter and stubbier. They both looked OK from the waist down - long, lean thighs and firm, juicy bums. But a bit scrawny about the chest and arms. Some hard labour would be very beneficial! And they would be getting plenty of that today.
On a more positive note, both men were blessed with really eye-catching private parts. (No longer very private, of course!) Ralph's balls had a string bag look to them - they hung low and rocketed about in their pouch. Tarquin's bollocks were big and his scrotum much tighter, so there was a real sense of bulge there. Most of the women owed Tarquin one. So they looked at Tarquin's swollen nuts and thought "I'll land a good whack on you there, my lord, before the day's out!"
And turning to the interesting topic of penis, both the men... errr .... measured up. Long, pale-pink and tender-looking cocks exposed to the light.
Wesley looked Tarquin up and down, smiled and cleared his throat. Tarquin started to go red. Wesley said, conversationally: "I see you're left-handed, my lord."
"How did you know?" spluttered Tarquin. (Hard to keep your self-possession with the lower classes, when you're butt-naked. And they're much bigger than you, taking the piss and fully dressed.)
"Well your member hangs to the left, doesn't it?" said Wesley. "When you're pulling at your plonker, you see....Now Mr Nuttsford on the other hand...."
Screams of laughter from the women! And furious blushing from the two nude laughingstocks.
Kate was enjoying this banter as much as anyone. But she also wanted to get some work out of her two unwilling new recruits.
"Look!" said Kate, and she waved at Wesley who'd gone over by the gates. He waved back, and pointed to something in his hand. "There's still at least one brick to move. Off you go and get it!"
"What, both of us?"
"Yes," replied Kate, "you can have a race! I'll think of a prize! Now, on your marks!"
The men were forced to bend over their barrows, with their white bottoms quivering.
Grace brushed some imaginary dust off Tarquin's trembling bare backside. Molly did the same to Ralph's bum.
And with a hearty slap on the buttocks, they sent the men off. Tarquin and Ralph stumbled along starkers, pushing their barrows. The nude navvies couldn't go fast with the huge heavy wheelbarrows, so the women skipped merrily alongside.
The men had been toiling all morning with the wheelbarrows, but this was the first time they'd had the 'pleasure' of working in the buff. The women took every opportunity to rub in the fact that the men had nothing on.
For example, the women developed the 'encouraging' habit of saying something bracing like "Cheer up, your Lordship!" and accompanying it with a hearty slap on the bottom. Multiplying these occasional bottom slaps by six (each of the mill women all wanting to be 'encouraging'!), meant that the men's buttocks started to go a lovely shade of pink!
Then there were the less-than-helpful comments. For example:-
"I do think Miss Roberts was a little hasty in destroying all your clothes, gentlemen. She's used to hot climates, you see, and I don't think she realises how the weather can change on these exposed, windy moors. (Oh dear, that cloud looks a bit threatening! (hee! hee!) I'm glad I brought my coat and umbrella, aren't you, Grace!!)"
"I don't know what she meant by a 'prize' for the winner, do you, Molly?" "No, Edith, it's not as if we can offer them a rag of clothing or anything. Maybe the loser will have to suck the winner's cock. (Sorry, only joking, your Lordship - didn't know you were listening!!)"
Tarquin and Ralph staggered along, with their cheeks burning. (Both face and backside cheeks.) They got to the gates, and for what it's worth, Ralph had won. Kate hadn't arrived yet, so the mill women thought up a 'prize' while they were waiting for the next orders.
Ralph's 'prize' was to stand inside the factory gates. This protected the nude General Manager from the view of any passing traffic.
But the loser, Lord Allcock, was forced to stand in the middle of the road passing the factory gates. The women kindly allowed him to wear his top hat! Sunday best!
Fortunately it was a lonely moorland road on a Sunday, so was very quiet. As the minutes ticked by, though, the risk of discovery grew. Tarquin remembered that the local landowners would often drive out this way on a fine Sunday afternoon. His mood changed from "very depressed" to PANIC!"
The agitated nude man hopped from foot to foot, scanning the road desperately for sight of carriages or pedestrians. He could see for nearly a mile in one direction, as the road ran straight over the moor. But there was a blind turning the other way, as the road twisted round a high hedge. Tarquin really became quite stressed! He darted backwards and forwards, with his cock flopping to and fro. He plucked obsessively at his crotch, twisting his pubic hairs round and round his fingers.
Grace was thoroughly enjoying Tarquin's frantic naked plight. But then she saw the chance to have even more fun with him! Feigning pity for her poor bare-assed boss, Grace said: "I'll look out for you, your Lordship!" She went over to Tarquin and 'soothed' him by letting her hand trail down his back. Grace stroked Tarquin's bottom and gave his cock a reassuring squeeze. Then she strolled down the road, to look round the corner.
Tarquin calmed down a little. His buttocks stopped trembling. His balls loosened a bit.
But suddenly Grace called out "A carriage!"
The gates of the mill were bolted, with five smiling faces peeping through the bars. What was the deranged nude man to do?
Tarquin threw himself at the hedge and hurdled it. His top hat fell off (what a shame - he'd been looking smart!) There was a shriek, as his balls just failed to clear the spiky top of the hedge. Then a splash!
"Oh dear!" they said. "He's forgotten about that ditch."
Grace called out brightly: "False alarm, your Lorship! Err...your Lordship?"
The women rushed through a gate in the hedge, and crowded to the edge of the ditch. The former owner of Knobb End Mill was hauling himself out. His skinny white body was sprawled over the muddy bank.
Tarquin was OK. Or rather, as 'OK' as you can be if you're naked, cold, wet, muddy, with prickles in your bum, your balls throbbing painfully and with six of your worst enemies laughing themselves silly at your plight.
Kate had now turned up, so they led Tarquin back into the grounds. "Been having a frolic?" Kate smiled. Her miserable naked captive was beyond words. He and Ralph stood there unhappily, waiting for the next orders. The women (getting ever more familiar) made personal remarks about their 'masters' nude bodies.
"Who won the race?" Kate asked.
"Well done, Ralph! As a reward, you don't have to wheel your barrow back. Tarquin can give you a ride!"
So Ralph clambered into Tarquin's barrow. He had to kneel up in the barrow, holding the brick above his head as if it were a trophy.
Ralph felt a complete plonker doing this. But his feelings were nothing, compared with Tarquin's! This was now a very heavy load for Tarquin. He grunted and sweated and strained. Perspiration matted his pubic hair. The muscles bulged (a bit) on his thin white arms and shoulders. To the women's amusement, he farted noisily. Purple in the face, he toiled on in his nude, sweaty hell.
A friendly dog came running along and nuzzled Tarquin's arse. The women started to get more free with him, and Molly began to play a game of "give your boss a very unwelcome erection!" Her wicked fingers caused havoc! Tarquin's cock stiffened most embarrassingly. Everyone commented on how his pink knob end peeped shyly out of its foreskin.
And Tarquin's mood was not helped by the sight of Ralph's bare white arse, wobbling about in front of him. Especially when the women started to suggest that he was getting turned on by Mr Nuttsford's flirty backside. "Look, Jean, Allcock's got a stiffy and wants to fuck Nuttsford up the arse! Ugh, the dirty bugger" and so on and so forth.
The latrine building came in sight. At last! But then, just as things were looking up a tiny bit, two small events reminded Tarquin of his abject naked plight. The sun went briefly behind the clouds and a playful little cold breeze ruffled the hairs round his arse. It sent a chill, all the way up his very exposed back passage. The women had been right - the weather was changing for the worse. Then the dog returned, and licked his balls - very sloppily! Screams of laughter from those silly jeering women.
Lord Tarquin Allcock saw red. And like the bully he was, he lashed out at his fellow sufferer. The only ally he had - his helpless nude companion, Ralph.
"That's the end of the ride!" he shrilled, and tipped the barrow up. Poor Ralph sprawled out on the ground, arse over tit. Ralph pulled himself up to all fours, facing away from Tarquin with his bottom sticking up. Tarquin relieved his feelings by booting Ralph up the arse. Unfortunately, while making this great gesture, Tarquin stubbed his toe on a big stone. So his screams of agony were as loud as Ralph's!
Ralph clambered to his feet, rubbing his poor bruised botty. Then, as he realised what had happened, he too saw red! The worm had finally turned! The two angry nudes squared up! Fight! Fight! A bare-bottomed, bare-kuckle FIGHT!
Unfortunately, the effect was more comical than thrilling. It's hard for the best of us to look imposing with no clothes on. And these two weren't really built like warriors.
In any case, they'd picked a rather stony patch of ground, so they were having to mince around, slowly and deliberately, with much wincing and foot-rubbing and bum-wiggling.
"Boys, boys!" laughed Kate, "don't be so aggressive! Wesley, break it up!"
When Wesley had stopped laughing, he stepped in and restored order. Wesley did this by the simple expedient of 'inadvertantly' treading on the men's toes, and then grabbing each of them by an ear. In this way, the bold bad cage-fighters were brought howling into line. Wesley brought them before Kate and the mill women - squirming, squealing, red-faced and bare-assed.
"On dear!" chuckled Kate. "We'll have to keep you two apart! Tarquin, you stand over there, you naughty boy. Ralph, it's lunchtime, so put this on and serve Molly, Susan and Jean."
She gave Ralph a dinky little lacey maid's cap, and pointed to a picnic table. Molly, Jean and Susan were sat there, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. Ralph looked at them and they looked back. Everyone knew the score!
Ralph had been led on by Tarquin, it's true. But he'd behaved quite badly with the three women when they'd been waiting at table in the Managers' Restaurant. Now the boot was on the other foot!
The three women beckoned to Ralph: "I say, waiter!" Ralph's balls shrunk into their scrotum. The nude waiter tottered forward. When he was within range, Susan casually reached out to him. Grabbing Ralph's cock, she yanked him towards the table. Ralph squealed, as his bollocks hit the edge of the table top. And so the meal began!
Molly, Jean and Susan proved very demanding customers! They drove their poor bare-bottomed waiter to distraction. His cock had the most terrible liberties taken with it. Thanks to the women's ministrations, Ralph found himself prancing around in the nude with a huge embarrassing boner. His bottom was pinched black and blue. The women were messy eaters, and were constantly flicking food at him. They asked him the most intrusive questions about his love life. ("And who would you like to fuck if only you could, you dirty bugger?")
In short, what they did to him wasn't so very different from what he'd been doing to them when they were on waitress duty in the Managers' Restaurant.
Finally, the ordeal was over. And as a 'tip', Ralph was ordered to bend over the table. Molly ceremonially stuck the table display (a tulip) up his arse. Thank you, my man, we'll dine here again!
The butler turned to Tarquin, who'd been looking on in alarm. Wesley frowned at Lord Allcock.
"Mr Nuttsford has been a silly guy, but I hear you've been worse. You've been leading him on, haven't you? You and me need to have a little talk."
The huge African menaced the pale, naked, trembling English lord. He grabbed Tarquin's penis very firmly, and led him off, yelping, by the cock. Susan, Molly and Jean looked on curiously. They couldn't hear what was being said, but they saw Wesley slowly, deliberately get hold of Tarquin's testicles. The butler gently cupped Tarquin's bollocks in his hands, as he talked to Tarquin. Tarquin was certainly paying attention!
Wesley's voice got louder and sterner. Tarquin's face went stark white. Great blotches of sweat formed on his face. His buttocks twitched convulsively.
Wesley dropped to a kneeling position. Tarquin had to do the same! Tarquin put his hands together beseechingly. The women were fascinated by the sight of their cruel, proud master, so suddenly become a grovelling nude wretch. Tarquin's teeth were chattering; his knees were knocking and his fleshy white bum was all goose-pimply. He begged for mercy.
Wesley finished his lecture and glared at Tarquin. They heard him say "or else!" He gave Tarquin's balls a firm squeeze, and stalked away. How Tarquin gasped! His eyes watered, and he rolled around on the grass in agony.
Then, ever-practical, Kate bustled up, and said: "Gentlemen! Work to do!"
She was a little bemused to find the two men acting so strangely. Ralph was standing there in a complete stupor, with his erect penis slowly subsiding and a tulip sticking out of his arse. And Tarquin was stretched out on the ground, his chest heaving up and down, and his eyes shut.
"What's going on here?" asked Kate. "Is Lord Allcock having a rest? And what's up with Mr Nuttsford? This is serious! They should be digging the latrine. Wesley, give me the water jugs."
And she dashed the contents of one jug in Ralph's face, and emptied the other over Tarquin's head. That brought them round nicely.
Wesley handed them each a massive shovel (the biggest and heaviest available). Kate pointed to the half-finished trench for the latrine, and gave them a concise, one-word instruction: "DIG!"
So the naked men had to clamber down into the muddy trench and start digging the latrine. Tarquin and Ralph slipped and stumbled about in the mud. They hopped and winced over the sharp stones in the trench. Their nude bodies looked very white and exposed against the black mud and the dark skies.
They clearly weren't used to hard labour, and could hardly lift the big shovels. Ralph dropped his shovel on his toes - ouch! He slammed the shovel upright in the dirt and, squealing with pain, tried to massage his poor tootsies. In order to do this properly, of course, you really need to sit down. But Ralph didn't have anywhere to put his tender, bare bottom. The floor of the trench was too squelchy and lower-class and smelly for the exquisite Nuttsford arse!
So poor Ralph blundered about, holding his toes, and doing an undignified kind of bawling, nude hopscotch. The women found this thoroughly enjoyable, for three reasons:-
(1) It annoyed Tarquin!
(2) Everyone was getting an excellent view of Ralph's cock and balls. They bounced up and down, in full helpless view;
(3) Ralph's shovel was slowly tipping over from its upright position. The naked and flustered men had forgotten about the shovel, but it was about to play a part in their adventure....
Kate had the best view of the shovel. She'd actually been getting a quiet and very satisfying eyefull of Tarquin's rear. Because of his easy life sitting on his butt, Tarquin's arse was probably the meatiest part of his body. Tarquin laboured away, bent over his shovel. This got his bare backside flexing, wobbling, waggling and generally sticking out. "Quite a pleasant sight!" thought Kate to herself. She couldn't help but notice Tarquin's balls, dangling between his thighs.
Thinking of what a cruel master Tarquin had been, Kate got quite worked up. "Ooh, if only I had a nice whippy cane!" she said to herself, mentally taking aim at Tarquin's bulging scrotum. But then she thought "no, don't bring yourself down to his level." And then she looked at the shovel! As it started to tip over just behind Tarquin, she thought "that might do the trick for me!"
Allowing for wind direction, height of the shovel and angle of descent, the heavy iron handle of the shovel should strike a blow for oppressed women everywhere on its way down. The nude and unaware Tarquin moved back an inch or two. He was heaving away at a stubborn sod of earth. He crouched down. His legs were wide apart and straining, knees bent, bottom out.
The shovel gathered momentum on its way down. It had been going to whistle past Tarquin's bum cheeks. But now that he'd moved back an inch, the handle was going to clip the part of his body which was sticking out the most - his scrotum!
And WHACK! The iron handle hit Tarquin a crunching blow in the knackers! He plunged forward into the side of the trench and got a face full of mud! Ralph lost his balance too and fell on his face. Two white bottoms waggled up helplessly at the laughing women. The unwilling nudists clambered to their feet and carried on.
The women gathered at the side of the trench and encouraged Tarquin and Ralph. This was good fun, although the unhappy naked men didn't seem to find it helpful. Anyway, they toiled away.
Then Kate looked up at the sky. "Oh dear! It looks like rain!" she said cheerfully. And sure enough, a few big drops started to fall.
You'll be glad to hear that the ladies weren't too bothered by the wet weather, as they had their umbrellas. But Tarquin and Ralph weren't so fortunate. They had no protection at all, as the rain came down on their bare skin.
"It's raining!" groaned Tarquin. "We can't work like this - WE'VE GOT NO CLOTHES ON!!" He and Ralph flung down their shovels. Huffy, weren't they!
The women looked down at the petulant nude men. Tarquin and Ralph had straightened up and were standing before them in a feeble, full-frontal little rage. How crossly their cocks and balls were dangling! The rain was plastering their hair to their heads. Their thin legs were dappled with mud.
"Very well, gentlemen," laughed Kate. "Climb out." ("Right!" she thought. "You can do an honest day's work and we don't interfere with you (too much!). Or you can throw a little tantrum about the weather, and face the consequences. "No time for prima donnas at the Knobb End Mill!" Weren't those your words, Lord Allcock?")
Tarquin scrambled up the side of the trench. Nobody helped him. It was muddy and slippery, and the black mud left big stains on his chest and thighs. Tarquin knelt on all fours at the edge of the trench. Panting hard, with his balls hanging sadly down between his legs. The rain came down on his head, back and arse. Diddums!
Ralph was shorter and couldn't get out of the trench. Wesley laughed, and called down: "Let me help you, sir!" Ralph held up his arm. The butler grabbed hold of Ralph's hand with his own huge right hand and pulled. Up Ralph came. Just as Ralph was teetering on the edge of the trench, Wesley playfully grabbed Ralph's penis with his left hand! He also leant forwards, forcing Ralph back.
So poor Ralph tottered on the edge of the trench, only keeping his balance because Wesley was holding his hand and his cock. The women screamed with laughter. "Hold on tight, Wesley!" they called. He did!
Ralph's cock began to stiffen. Wesley started to move his hand up and down, just to get a better grip you understand. Crimson with embarrassment, Ralph started to pant a little. The women screamed with laughter.
Wesley's hand moved quicker still, till it was just a blur. Ralph started to shake. His legs wobbled and his bare bum clenched. Ralph went cross-eyed and his balls bounced frantically in their sack. Ralph panted harder and harder. The women screeched. Then, with a mighty convulsion, Ralph orgasmed.
Wesley had seen it ... errr ....coming. At the crucial moment, he had skilfully flipped Ralph out of the trench and on to the ground. Ralph lay there in the rain, with semen dribbling from his cock. His eyes were closed - who knows what happy little world he was in?
Then Ralph came to, as the rain cascaded into his face, and on to his chest, belly and pubes. Ralph unhappily joined his nude companion. The two naked men were marshalled by the ladies, as if for roll call. Chins up! Chests out! Buttocks perked! Attention!
Tarquin and Ralph stood there miserably in the pouring rain. It was really bucketing down now. Dry under their umbrellas, the ladies chatted brightly and walked around the shivering naked men. "Oh dear!" said Grace. "You've got goosebumps on your poor little bottoms!"
"What a shame!" said Kate. "Let's get you warm and dry."
Tarquin and Ralph brightened up a little at that. But they should have known better!
"Yes, a bit of exercise will warm you up nicely" said Kate. "Over there, gentlemen. At the double! And she pointed them to a ruined barn nearby. At least the building had a roof, so the men stumbled off as fast as they could. Their penises swung from side to side and their testicles bounced up and down.
The barn wasn't ideal shelter, though. Not if you were naked, trembling, drenched and desperate. The walls were open to the elements. The floor was wet and mucky. The men shuffled and shivered.
"Bit draughty, isn't it!" said Kate brightly. The women turned up the collars of their warm coats. Tarquin and Ralph hugged themselves miserably. Ralph stood on one leg, and whimpered. He looked like an unhappy, plucked crane. Edith was starting to feel sorry for Ralph, so she tried to encourage him. She gave Ralph a smile and slapped him heartily on his bare buttocks. This didn't seem to cheer Ralph up.
"So, let's get the blood coursing", said Kate. "A hundred press ups each!"
"But the floor's filthy!" wailed Tarquin.
"Yes, what a shame!" said Kate, stifling a yawn. "Look, that little bit's quite clean and dry, and so's that bit over there. You can stretch out, with your feet there and your hands there."
So the men got down on the floor and did the press ups. In doing so, they were each forming a bridge over a huge smelly patch of muck. (A present for them left by an incontinent cow.) When Tarquin and Ralph pressed up, they were fine. But when they pressed down, their penises dangled very close to the muck. Ticklish situation!
Still, Tarquin and Ralph laboured away at their press ups. The women watched the wicked factory owners at their nude exercise. This would do the men's weedy bodies no end of good. Up and down, up and down, pumped the clenched white bottoms.
Emily and Edith sauntered towards the men's feet. Because they were out of the rain, they'd rolled up their umbrellas. They were playfully holding the umbrellas upside down and were swinging them like golf clubs. As they reached the men's feet, Edith and Emily stopped their game of 'golf', and leant on their umbrellas. Quite 'accidentally' Edith's umbrella handle was now hooked underneath Tarquin's ankle. And guess what? Yes, Emily's was under Ralph's ankle. Hold it right there!
In the meantime, how were our poor naked suckers doing? Well the unfamiliar exercise was certainly warming up Tarquin and Ralph. But in every other respect they were having a bad time! Their arms were aching; they were purple in the face; their limbs were like jelly. They were completely bare-assed in front of the mill girls they'd once bullied. They felt vulnerable and ridiculous. Surely things couldn't get any worse! Or could they??!!
Emily winked at Edith! Edith winked back! They put their fingers to their lips, and mimed to the other women. All the women caught on, and positioned themselves for a better view. Silence fell, broken only by the panting and wheezing of the two naked stooges.
Very delicately, Edith and Emily braced their umbrella handles. 1....2....3! And they tugged the umbrellas away! SPLASH!! SPLOSH!! OWWW!!! It was really very gratifying!
Tarquin and Ralph's legs shot out from underneath them. They sprawled full length into the muck.
As they lay there, the cow shit slowly splurted up between their toes, their legs, their fingers and their arse cracks.
Tarquin and Ralph slowly heaved themselves to their feet. They did look like strange two-tone creatures. From behind: white, wobble-bottomed, naked men. From the front: they were largely brown and sticky. Yuk!
"Oh dear" said Kate, when she'd stopped laughing. "You are in a mess! It's just as well (hee! hee!) that you've got nothing on! Let's clean you up."
And the wretched pair were led to one of the outhouses. It was an old conservatory, which had been converted into an industrial washing room. Iron pipes in the ceiling and floor carried water to high pressure fountains and sprinklers.
"In you go!" said Kate.
She gave them each an encouraging slap on the bum. Tarquin and Ralph stumbled into the conservatory. They stood there apprehensively. The women peeped in through the huge windows at the muddy naked men. The ladies waved and smiled, but they didn't get much back from their scowling nude 'masters'.
There had been quite a fight to get control of the shower, but Grace Roberts had won. Grace well remembered the flogging she'd had from Tarquin for 'insolence'. She was looking forward to settling the score!
Kate beckoned the men to come closer to the window. There was now only a foot or two between the women and the naked men. They were separated by just the pane of glass. This gave the women an excellent close-up view. What wasn't so clear, though, was that Kate had brought the men to a point where they straddled the fountains!
The women waited impatiently for the showers to come on. It had been jolly good fun watching Tarquin and Ralph belly flop into the cow poo. But the muck was covering up the 'finer points' of the men's anatomy. So the women were eager for it to be washed off. And they also sensed that Kate had cooked up something very amusing for their 'bosses'.
Tarquin and Ralph sensed that too! As they looked into the laughing eyes of the mill women, their scrotums puckered with fear.
"Ready, gentlemen?" called out Kate. "Please forgive us if we have any trouble with the controls. We're only simple women (hee! hee!) and not used to mechanical things!"
This was completely untrue! She and Grace knew exactly what they were doing.
"Right, gentlemen, now for a refreshing shower!"
The ladies put their hands together, as if for applause. The men put their bum cheeks together, as if for an apprehensive little fart.
Kate nodded to Grace, who smiled back and threw a switch. This worked the fountains. Suddenly high-pressure jets of water shot into the air. Quite spectacular. Especially as one was directly underneath Tarquin's privates, and another under Ralph's! A direct hit on each pair of tender, unsuspecting bollocks! OUCH! and OUCH! again. It was like getting whacked in the balls with an iron bar.
That really brought tears to the eyes! How the two nude men hopped and bellowed! They clawed frantically at their balls. They went into a high-stepping, naked jig.
Grace threw another switch. This got all the overhead showers going. Now that was fun! Because Grace had 'accidentally' locked the temperature on Very Cold, and the water pressure on High.
Tarquin and Ralph had no escape from the freezing cold avalanche of water. How they screamed - the prima donnas! The naked men stumbled, fell, wallowed and floundered on the floor. The women barely knew where to look. One moment a wet and very slappable backside was in the air; the next moment, an outraged posh face splurting out water. It was a great spectacle of furious upper-class nudity.
Grace turned off the fountains. She slowly eased the showers' temperature and water pressure. Within a couple of minutes, it was more like a normal shower room. Tarquin and Ralph staggered to their feet and became more warm and comfy. Then came the piece de resistance!
The door opened and Wesley walked in. He was wearing only a towel round his waist. Wesley hung up the towel, with his back to Tarquin and Ralph. Wesley went under the shower in a far corner of the wash room. Tarquin and Ralph looked uneasily at his vast, dark, muscular, naked rear.
Then Wesley turned round and winked at Tarquin and Ralph. Their knees knocked together and they shrieked! For Wesley was sporting the most enormous erection! He stroked it suggestively and walked slowly towards the two terrified nude men. Wesley's intentions were very clear!
Tarquin and Ralph flung themselves against the glass window, begging the women to let them out. They sobbed and grovelled and cringed. The women looked down at the pitiful, pleading nudes. "Go on, Miss, before they wet themselves!" said Edith. So Kate opened the door, and the naked men rocketed out. In their panic, their cocks were swinging wildly to and fro.
Kate handed a shovel to Tarquin and to Ralph. Without a word, the demented nude men snatched the shovels and tore over to the latrine trench. They leapt in, bottoms all a-wobble, and started digging furiously. The rain had stopped, and conditions were fine for naked manual labour. (Not that I've done any, dear reader, but I could be persuaded!) Our bare-assed heroes dug and dug as if their lives depended on it. And maybe they did feel that they'd escaped a fate worse than death?
Anyway, the sun got lower in the sky, and the day finally came to an end. The two sweaty men were forced to stand to attention for one final nude parade.
Tarquin and Ralph grudgingly admitted to themselves that they'd never felt fitter. They were developing a nice all-over sun tan, and their bodies had become harder.
"Well done, gentlemen," said Kate. "You'll never forget what you've learned today, will you? Now, may I point out that you've got no clothes?" (Actually, Tarquin and Ralph knew that already!) "You can hardly walk ten miles home in your birthday suits! But you can stay here tonight free of charge. You can sleep in the wash room." (Kate didn't mention that she'd arranged for the showers to be given a 'surprise' test in the middle of the night!)
"In view of your hard work, the Mill can offer you a garment each for tomorrow's work. Mr Nuttsford, you're on duty in the canteen, so here's an apron for you."
She handed Ralph a lacy little waitress apron, which he put on eagerly. At least it covered his front (even if it did leave his backside totally wide open).
Tarquin looked at her hopefully. "Where's mine?" he asked. Then his face fell and his buttocks drooped. All Kate had for him was a pair of shoes!
"You'll be working outdoors, so these will protect your feet" she said, as if she was doing him a big favour!
Tarquin knelt down and pout them on. What choice did he have?
"As well as that, " Kate laughed, "they'll help you run."
"What do I want to run for?" snarled the frustrated nude aristocrat. His scrotum was tight with rage, ands his cock was looking angry and exposed. Kate looked him up and down coolly. Under her appraising stare, Tarquin felt utterly mortified.
"Well, Wesley likes the look of you!" she said. "And I think he wants to chase you round and round the grounds." And she whistled to Wesley.
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Posted by ATCFNM at 8:27 PM