THE BONDED SERVANT

Chapter 7: My End is in Sight

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.

I woke up as usual these past months, climbed out of my cage and made breakfast for the family – well, the three of them. I am not included in the family. My breakfast was on the floor in the dog bowl, waiting for me to lap it up like the animal my former father forced me to become. He comes in, his ebullient self, clearly happy to see me kneeling on the floor, head bowed in submission. He does not even brandish the taser as he did months ago. No need. I am a docile beast of burden. My mother, as always, does not look at me, her face blank.

My brother James, of course, is not at the table. “Go wake up my son. Tell him breakfast is ready. I do not understand why he always is late.” Yes, his only son. He and my catatonic mother have made me an orphan. My obtuse former father has no idea why James does not come down without my waking him each morning. I do, of course. Each morning since he blackmailed me into sucking his cock, my brother who has made me his cumdump doesn’t show up for breakfast without being woken up. “Woken up” is a euphemism for his morning orgasm.

I climb the stairs, open and close his door, drop on my knees as my former brother swings his legs over the side of his bed and sits there. I need no instructions. I steal his morning woody out of his boxers and begin to lick. These days, he likes me to suck his balls as well. I comply, unasked. As I swallow his cock, he pats my head as if I were his favorite pet dog, owner to servant, Master to slave. He does not move his hips, no need for him to say or do a thing. He yawns, I suck.

Precum flows generously into my mouth, lubricating his oversized cock, as he lazily lets me do all the work. I am used to this, pleasuring the brother I once so loved and protected, feeling his hard dick slide down my throat. It is strange to say this, probably perverse, but given my loneliness, torn from my girlfriend Paula, from my college buddies, exiled from my family, so alone in the world, the daily ritual of fellating my brother’s dick offers some comfort. Yes, it is humiliating for me, his older brother, to be on my knees giving him a great blowjob, but there still remains at least a shred of relationship. Okay, I guess this really must sound fucked up, but if you get a sense of how pathetic I am and how fucked up my life is, grasping for any semblance of connection kind of makes sense. Kind of.

Suddenly, he pulls his big, hard dick out of my mouth, slaps my face a few times, and tells me to follow him to the bathroom. As I get up, he reminds me that I should crawl behind him just as our old dog would do. He laughs and pats my head as he walks. I have no idea what is going on.

In the bathroom, James tells me to strip and get in the shower on my knees. I am confused. I of course showered early so that I could be ready for the day. What could his plan be? Kick me? Spit on me? Why suddenly breaking the pattern, the ritual we shared, sick as I guess it must seem to you?

His penis is now only partially erect. I follow his command and am naked, on my knees, his dick a few inches from my face. I assume the posture for sucking.

“Bitch (does he have to call me, his older brother, bitch?), I have had this cool fantasy for a long time. Open your mouth.” And with that, he takes his penis in his hand and aims it right at me. My kid brother lets loose a stream of golden piss. I shut my mouth and eyes tight as his urine hits my lips.

“Servant, I ordered you to open your mouth,” he demands. What am I to do? I have no will of my own anymore and like an obedient pet, I follow commands. So I open my mouth, I swallow, I gag, I retch, I vomit some mix of piss and phlegm. My kid brother is smiling broadly as he continues to urinate on my hair, on my torso, on my pathetic, flaccid, once manly, shriveled dick. And then, still dripping urine but soft, he puts his dick into my mouth.

My former father bangs on the door, demanding to know what is taking us so long. James yells out that he has a sore muscle that needs a good massage, the servant is doing a great job helping him out and that he will “come” soon. He laughs at his hilarious joke. My former father tells James to hurry as breakfast is waiting.

I suck him skillfully, doing all the work. He is laughing, “Watching you is something else, your head bounces like one of those funny bobble head dolls.” Then, he grabs my head and smashes his body against me, smothers me in his pubes, choking me, his big cock stuck firmly in my throat. I can’t breathe. Even after these months of being abused by so many men and I know I won’t die, the panic of not getting air still grips me. I struggle to get him off, fondling his balls, tickling his taint, even circling his asshole (he loves that). He is in no rush, pleasuring himself in watching me struggle, calling me cumslut, cocksucker, and mainly his pathetic bitch. He gets off calling me every filthy name, but he has long stopped calling me by my name, Benjie. No one does.

“Come on faggot, where is your hardon? You must be loving this. Oh, too bad, all you have is a shriveled clit for a dick and a hot pink pussy,” my former brother taunts me as he fucks my face. Once I was known as a stud strutting on campus, nice pecs, hard body and a thick, eight incher that made my girlfriend moan and other girls- and probably some guys – jealous. But that seems so long ago, another world. My mind is back on the job at hand, getting James to rocket his cum down my throat. My finger enters his asshole and massages his prostate. “Right there, bitch, fuck me with your finger” my closeted gay former brother barks.

My finger up his arse, my throat massaging him, my little brother with his big cock – well, my former brother, now my tormentor – grunts as he shoots his copious, gelatinous cum down my throat. My cheeks fill, I slobber on his cum and my phlegm. I feel dizzy, I swallow, but I save a bit for show, my tongue hanging out of my mouth, covered with his slimy sperm, dripping down my chest, falling on my flaccid penis. He beams at me with a satisfied smirk and allows me to swallow. The show is over.

He pats my head again as I kneel, submissively. “Wow, bitch, this was so cool. You are the best and you look perfect. Made my day.” Am I supposed to be proud, the receptacle of my kid brother’s piss and sperm? “But really, asshole, you stink of urine and cum. You need to have better hygiene” and he sprays me down with cold water as he laughs. I try to get water in my mouth as he sprays me, desperate to get rid of the taste of urine mixed with semen.

“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.