A gay story: The Bonded Servant – Chapter 8: My Descent Into Hell
Perhaps you don’t see it coming or argue with friends that “it can’t happen here.” But darker things have occurred in history. Freedoms fall away and hatred and bigotries rise. This story, inspired by Thomas Lodge’s excellent The Attendant series, brings us to the year 2030 when very religious extremists have taken over the government and courts of many states. In many ways, America is becoming like many other countries in the world where being gay is a sin and even a crime.
Today, just days before my 21st birthday and the threat of lifetime enslavement by my former family, it seems I have two jobs. One will be this morning at 8 and the second later in the afternoon. My father, who I no longer can call my father, will pick me up at one after I have served lunch and take me to the second job, collecting my wages which will be taken from me and put into James’ college fund. He is pretty elated, renting me out double in one day. Pretty sick, my suffering will underwrite the brother whose life I saved.
It seems that “Job” for bonded servants is a euphemism in our town for being pimped out to horny men who are thrilled to have an obedient subhuman pink triangle faggot to do with what they want. I have been introduced to whips and handcuffs, electric shock nipple clamps and objects I do not even know rammed up my butt – which the men tend to call my pussy. All this somehow continues below the radar in this Bible-thumping city.
How did this happen? I wanted to protect my kid brother from being enslaved as a dangerous pervert, for in our state, homosexuality is punishable by prison or, if you are “lucky,” someone will take you in as a bonded servant. I know that years ago, slavery was abolished and homosexuality was no longer punishable with prison, but that now seems long ago, a brief moment when the world seemed to be more civilized. Our state has brought us back to a time of religious zealotry when gay was worse than murder.
In my case, my father made me his bonded servant, which kept me out of prison, and now I serve him and my tuned-out mother as well as my sadistic kid brother who uses me as a cum dump. I loved him and protected him – that’s why I am enslaved rather than my brother who is the gay one in the family – and yet it seems he always resented me, even hated me. I still cannot believe that, but after he pissed in my mouth and eyes, laughing the whole time, and made me crawl behind him like an animal, any connection I imagined we still had evaporated. That truly broke my heart as I am completely abandoned in the world.
My now former father thinks that I clean and scrub and do laundry in people’s houses when, in fact, he is unknowingly pimping me out to perverts. Or. maybe it is not so unknowing anymore. But could a father really subject his flesh and blood to such humiliating suffering?
I am six feet, a once upon a time college stud who now spends his days being sprayed with cum and piss. Yes, our morally upright, church loving, patriotic town brands gay men with the pink triangle of shame and a transmitter locator embedded in their arms. I guess in the minds of our good citizens, if you turn your cheek the other way and don’t look, fucking and sexually abusing a gay bonded servant does not count as homosexuality. If you tried this abusive crap on a woman, you would be hauled off to prison, if not lynched. But we who are branded are no longer seen as human, so anything goes for these God-fearing people! Try to make sense of that one.
That is my life, even though I must be the straightest bonded servant in town. But it will soon be over. I am turning 21 when I either agree to be a bonded servant for life – a euphemism for slavery -or get thrown into the street to be arrested for vagrancy and indecency. I have decided to take a third path, one of my own choosing. I will be brave and strong enough to end the hell into which I have been tossed.
In the back seat of the car (I am not allowed in front or to drive as that would infer that I am a real man), listening as always to my former father’s invective, my brain is dulled. His words no longer bother me, they flow over and are gone. I have heard him describe me with hatred for months and his words mean nothing since my ego and sense of self have long vanished.
We arrive at a building site with hard hat laborers hauling material into an unfinished building. My father checks the address, confirming that I really was hired to work at a construction site. He sticks his head out the window and yells out to the man who seems to be in charge: “I am here to deliver your bonded servant, where is he supposed to work?”
“You can drop him off here and I will show him where the job is.” My father is dubious and demands to be paid upfront. He offers the taser, but the boss says “No need.” Money changes hands, my father is satisfied, and he drives off. Leaving me alone in the yard among hard looking men. I feel confused, anxious, maybe even panicked, but after all I have endured, what worse could happen?
The boss comes over as I go down on my knees, head bowed, dressed in my embarrassing outfit of black tee shit, pink bow tie and black biker pants. Oh, and of course the pink triangle. “Faggot” he spits out, “Follow me. Your work is inside.” I walk behind him and see the men stop, some staring, some smirking, some eyeing me from head to toe. Inside, in an unfinished back room, there is some furniture – a table with building plans, some chairs, bookshelves with ledgers, a computer set up, and a cheap bed and mattress. Nothing here really to clean.
The man roughly growls and tells me to strip and lie down flat on the bed. The panic in me rises. Still, I can handle this. I guess the boss needs some relief. I slowly undress. I am no longer embarrassed. Yes, my body still has the jock look with hard pecs and a penis large even when flaccid, but that is of no interest to the man as he rubs his bulge. I know the look.
“You are a fucking faggot” spitting the first word of my description to be clear, “and you know what fucking faggots do, they get fucked.” Lying on the bed naked except for my stupid pink bow tie, I watch the boss unzip his fly. I look around and see that a number of the men have come into the room. I feel sick, I am alone, unprotected, defenseless.
The boss orders me on my knees and whips out his uncut cock. Well trained these past months, I know what to do, I am licking, kissing, drinking up the precum, slurping on his balls. He slaps me and orders me to suck. It is easy for me now as he drives his steel hard cock into my mouth and I massage his meat with my throat muscles. I can do this. I am well qualified. Shame has been fucked out of me. I am performing before an audience. Confirming for all to see that I am nothing but a cock whore.
There is no foreplay here or even any words. My head is held tight as the boss cums hard down my throat. As always, I stick my tongue out to show him, but he slaps my face. “that is disgusting, just swallow, you idiot.” And I gulp down the slime, head bowed. I thank him as I am always told to do, but he just pushes me down on my back.