“No way, bitch. Savor the flavor of your kid brother’s delicious sperm. You earned it. Glad you know your place in the world, looking up finally to your kid brother.” I am looking up, tears of bewilderment that the brother I saved could treat me this way.
He beams with pride as he orders me to dry off, get dressed and to get my ass downstair. “Oh, I mean your pussy. Isn’t that what all the guys who fuck you call it? You better hurry, because your pussy looks so inviting” as he pretends to stroke his cock and then swats me and sticks his finger in my butt. I jump and rush to dry off and get my clothes on. He laughs.
I am six feet tall; I was the jock in college, proud of my body and my cock. Now, I am nothing but a cum dump with a pussy. That says it all.
I reach for the door and start to leave. “What do you say, cocksucker, to your kid brother?” I thank him for allowing me the honor to drink his piss and swallow his sperm. I am not even blushing or feeling stupid. I suppose at this point in my life, being told that I am a great cocksucker is the only praise I will ever get.
And with this, the last thread of relationship, the ludicrous way I tried to believe that my kid brother and I had at least a feeble connection, evaporated. I sobbed with the spiraling pain and loss that came with that realization.
Composing myself, I return to the kitchen, kneeling with head bowed, the taste of my brother’s sperm still in my mouth. “Well, speak up.” “Master, he will be down in a moment.” My parents return to their breakfast. My mother does not even look up.
My brother saunters down, big smirk on his face as he again pats my head in front of my former parents before sitting down, just like he used to do to our dog before it died. That’s me, a pet replacement, but so much better. I provide him a pet with benefits, an obedient animal who sucks his dick and swallows his piss and cum when called upon.
My former father leans back and speaks: “Well, James, this has been almost four months of ease for the family. We have a clean house and beautiful garden and you have a college fund in the bank.”
“Thanks so much dad for looking out for me. What a great idea to rent out our bonded servant. Servant, what do you think about the past months?” My former brother smirks as he looks at me, savoring the humiliation. Who is this person, the brother who idolized me, the boy I protected his whole life? How could he have become so evil?
I am silent. “Servant, my son told you to speak.” My former father is smirking as well. He slaps my head as I am kneeling next to him. My mother, as always, these months, stares at her plate in silence. Not a word, not a gesture of love, not even a sympathetic glance. I wonder what abuse she has experienced.
“I am honored that my work maintaining the house pleases you all and that my efforts will provide college for my Master. Thank you for allowing me to serve you.”
I am pitiful, aren’t I? A coward. If I spoke up, maybe if I attacked them, my father would tase me until I stopped breathing. But I don’t have it in me to resist. I don’t even have it in me to imagine resisting.
My father smiles broadly. “Your birthday is soon. I think we will all celebrate your turning 21. You will have the honor – even the right – to indenture yourself as our slave, uhm, I mean bonded servant, for the rest of your life.” He chuckles, “Unless of course you would prefer prison. They would sew that pretty pink triangle on your prison outfit. No doubt they would love to have you. Perverts make the perfect inmate; everyone would be happy. You would get all the disgusting sick sex you probably long for.”
And with that, he spit on my face. James laughs. My mother blank, never taking her eyes off her plate, silent. I did not try to wipe the spit even as it trickled down my face. As for prison, well, I already have all the gay sex I never longed for.
My head is bowed in submission, but I know exactly what to say. “Yes Master, I will be your servant for the rest of my life.”
I could have said short life, maybe a few days, a week at most. And then my life will be over. Will they feel any guilt? Will they mourn me? Will anyone mourn me? I need to bolster that little speck of courage left in me to finally get this over with.
“Very good, servant. Now clean up and get ready to go to your next job.”
As always, I am dressed in my ridiculous gay outfit of my father’s perverted mind: Black tee shirt with the pink triangle, a pink collar and bow tie, and black biker shorts. I finished cleaning up breakfast as my brother leaves for school and my mother for work. My father will drop me off at my next hellish job to be mauled once again.
As my brother leaves, he calls out: “Servant, when you get home from work, prepare snacks for me, Billy and Mickey. They are so excited to come visit again.”
My father responds, “James, I am delighted you have such wonderful friends. And they seem to love coming to the house.” My brother laughs. We both know why. What 18-year-old wouldn’t want to get the best blowjob in the world once again while humiliating the older, pathetic object you once looked up to. I wince and swallow hard, thinking of Mickey’s humungous cock jammed down my throat.
But I have sucked more cocks these past months, been fed piss to drink, been fucked relentlessly by more hard dicks, and who knows what else jammed into my rectum, regularly debased and humiliated. I am a pro. Ready for duty, I meekly follow my former father and sit, inferior as I am, in the back seat of the car. Only a real man is allowed up front. My father checks the GPS and takes off to the next job, the next place where surely I will once again be abused.
Another day in my life.
Of course, I would love your comments and thoughts. More important, as you watch and listen to those who threaten us, demeaning us for being gay (whether out or closeted as I am), I hope that you take the story seriously. I wrote this story to remind us that we take for granted, we can lose if we do not fight.