It was shaping up to be a stressful day for Paul. The eighteen year old had spent the morning on his family's private golf course and most of the afternoon getting acquainted with his new private masseur only to enter the west kitchen for a snack and be blatantly disrespected by Alphonse, the uncouth new pool cleaner, causing him a level of stress he was not accustomed to. And now, he would have to devote his precious time to teaching this foolish man a lesson.
Alphonse was clearly from a migrant family -- It was in the sunburn on his sweaty back and the keen definition of his top-heavy musculature. Two pumped-up arms and a heaving chest led to a tiny V shaped waist. The hunch of his shoulders, earned by a life of hauling heavy objects and cowering from violent brothers, gave him the look of a big scruffy ape with swinging arms and suspicious brown eyes. He would be in his twenties. A foot taller than Paul, with curly black locks and a permanent sheen of sweat on his distrusting face. He'd been running an errand for Paul's father, moving some garden sculptures when his employer's young son crossed through the west patio and noticed his family's brutish new servant at work.
Paul had wandered up behind Al while he was in a squatting position, grunting to heave a large ivory eagle, his glutes ready to rip through the strained denim of his work jeans. The waif-like boy had smiled to himself, feeling loose and relaxed after his massage, and taken the opportunity to slip his two dainty white hands into the yard boy's back pockets. He had giggled at the way those two bulging melons felt through the thin layer of worn denim and was about to sneak a finger behind the servant's belt when Alphonse stood bolt upright and snapped around, looking in horror at his molestor. "Man, what are you thinking doing that! No way, man, none of that shit." As he shook his repulsion off with an angry spasm of his immense body, as if he'd been contaminated by the gay boy's touch, Paul noticed with a little interest that he had a thick Spanish accent.
But Paul didn't notice much else after that. Paul was mad. The old yard boy had always gritted his teeth and bared it when Paul had opted to caress his behind, or run a palm over his cheek. None of the staff, nor any of the teachers or acquaintances Paul had ever been driven to in his father's limousine, had ever dared deny any request or impulse of the important young boy's whims. This new yard boy may aswell have given Paul his first black eye, his rude manner taking the young society prince by very unpleasant surprise.
The following steps were carried out simply, and as they were, Paul's hurt feelings healed in small increments. First he informed his father's chief social secretary of what had transpired, then watched as a cluster of guards were organised to march into the garden and seize the offensive young yard boy. Paul trailed behind as the worst servant his father had ever employed was bound at every limb and dragged, screaming silently through a throat full of rag, to a secured room on the east wing of the house. In the interrogation-style room, the choked man was stripped of his dirty jeans by a group of burly, black-suited guards who chained him face-down and brought out a whip the length of his entire body. Each time the whip landed on the man's cotton-clad butt, a resounding clap echoed throughout the large room and a strangled howl of agony could barely be heard dying in the man's stuffed mouth. Although he was tied flat to the ground, his body shuddered as bold red welts built up on his thick, hairy thighs and thin, dark stripes seeped through his grey underwear, all over his plump ass cheeks.
