The Bonded Servant

THE BONDED SERVANT

Chapter 3: In Servitude to Perverts

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 was locked in my cage by my father. This was my new bed and my new life, in the stinking kitchen caged like a dog. Well, I could not call that hateful man my father, a sicko who tased me, made me eat like a dog on the floor and rented me out as a servant (little does he know he was pimping me out). He has become an evil monster. Here I was a straight twenty year old protecting my brother from being abused as queer and I am condemned to bonded servitude. As if being gay is some horrible, sick thing. It's not gays who are sick these days, just abused by religious fanatics who forgot that God is about love and have lost their moral bearings.

It must have been about midnight after a day of horrors, everything quiet. I lay cooped up in fetal position when I heard my brother's voice. "Benjie, I came in to check on you. Are you okay?" That was a pretty stupid question given where I was. I told him that life was shit and I am terrified for tomorrow.

He wanted to know what happened and I told him about how I was turned into a slutty cocksucker. He looked both horrified and fascinated, eyes wide. He wanted to know everything. Did you get it all in? What did it feel like to suck a hard cock? Did he face fuck you? Did he cum in your mouth? "Holy shit, and you swallowed?"

He seemed a bit too enthusiastic and when I looked at him, his dick was rising hard in his underwear. "Fuck you James, I thought I was going to die. The bastard was choking me, I couldn't breathe and felt like throwing up. He even made me thank him. "

"What did you say?"

"I just needed to please him, so I just blurted out what I imagine he wanted: Thank you Sir for letting me suck your beautiful cock and feeding me your manly sperm."

Even hearing myself say these words made me sick to my stomach. But I noticed that James' cock was now standing at full attention, hard and straight, in his boxers. What the fuck!

"Well, at least you got through the day and are safe. I love you Benjie and am so sorry this happened to you."

"It happened because you were looking at fucking gay porn." James pulled back, a look first of guilt, then a mixture of hostility and distance.

"I didn't tell you to take the heat. You did that on your own. I am grateful, but don't dump it all on me. You made your own choice." I was too angry to answer, I tried as best I could to turn over and look the other way as James tiptoed back to sleep. He didn't even apologize.

The next morning was the same misery. My former father came down, unlocked my cage and I knelt before him with my head bowed. "Please Master, may I say something." He barked a yes. I begged him to not send me out of the house, I told him that I was physically abused (of course, I did not mention the sexual assault which he would blame on me, the gay seducer) and how cruel that awful man was. My father just gave what could only be described as an evil grin.

"Sounds to me just what a filthy faggot deserves. You're lucky that he didn't tase you." I saw the gun in his hand.

So the next days passed in blurs of unwanted touching, cum, display, and fake gratitude for being a cumdump. Do I need to tell you my stories? You can imagine them or, hopefully, perhaps you can't. It would be better if you don't have these images in your mind.

I was beaten down by my former father each morning. He would spout some humiliating words, he would play with the taser, laugh at the perverted outfit he made me wear and make me eat from the dog bowl. I would serve breakfast for him, my mother and brother. James clearly was getting used to his role as my Master, ordering me to fill up his juice glass or complaining that the toast was too dark. My father would smack me for being too slow or too stupid or too insolent. My mother would not look, just staring at her plate, but James watched the whole time. What could be going on in my kid brother's head?

And with that, after serving breakfast and cleaning up, dressed in that ridiculous gay outfit my father chose for me, we were off to a new place for me to work.

We took the elevator to an apartment and the door opened. A young professional looking guy welcomed my father in. I of course dropped to my knees, head bowed. They walked a few feet away and conferred. I saw the taser handed over and my father left with the words, "Don't worry, he is all yours, treat that faggot servant like I would." And he laughed.

When the door closed, the man called me over in a calm and light hearted voice. Maybe this guy is thankfully different. I started to get up and, in that same quiet voice, he told me to crawl over. My stomach dropped. This was not going well. When I got close, he began to pet my head as if I were his dog. "There, nice boy, good boy. Lick my hand like a good puppy." Was this guy sick? Why are people treating me like a docile animal, a pet to be stroked? Panic. Am I about to get killed?"

I licked his hand as he stroked my head and back with the other. "You are such an obedient puppy and so good looking." And he pulled my face into his crotch as he petted me, just like one would do with one's favorite puppy. Would a dog notice that his master was sporting the hard cock I was feeling? There wasn't even a pretense of doing house work. He told me to follow him, me crawling behind like a dumb animal as he walked in front of me. We went into the bathroom and he told me to strip. Again, I had the fleeting idea to just run for my life, but I knew this would lead to a worse fate. I stripped.

"Nice body, boy. You look great. Go kneel in the shower." I followed his command, He told me to look up and unzipped his fly, pulling out his cock.

"I bet my puppy is thirsty, aren't you. Let me give you a drink. Open up your pretty muzzle." And with that, he began to piss on me, a golden stream of piss on my hair and face, dripping on my eyes and into my mouth and nostrils. I retched, spitting, sobbing, but he was not bothered. He continued quietly, encouraging me to drink, telling me how sexy I looked. He continued pissing until he emptied his bladder and then, in that same quiet voice, told me to lick his cock clean and to keep going.

Is the world filled with sick perverts? Has everyone gone mad? I cleaned off the piss and sucked as he got hard. He never raised his voice except for some soft moans. I did all the work. He was not forceful. But I wanted this to end so I sucked harder, using my tongue, taking him into my throat, choking and slobbering, tears streaming. I was gaining an unwanted expertise. His moans increased. I suppose I should feel proud - does a pet have such feelings?

He came hard, shooting down my throat, coating my tonsils, gelatinous gobs, filling my mouth. I still choked - will I ever get used to slimy cum? He told me not to swallow it all. I was filled with his sperm as he told me to swirl the cum in my mouth. A pretty disgusting mouth wash. I was dazed, feeling sick, repelled by the texture and taste. I did what he wanted. I even thanked him for giving me the honor of sucking his cock. He patted my head again.

"Such a good puppy. Now, wash yourself and clean up the apartment. Stay naked of course." And with that, he went into his study and closed the door. I wanted to run naked into traffic. I wanted to jump out the window of the apartment. I could take a knife and stab myself hari-kari like. But I did none of those things. Not only was I a cock sucking cum dump, I was a chicken shit coward. My ego, my identity as a man, was ebbing. I was nothing, a piece of scum.

As the day progressed, he would come out to slap my butt as I walked by or call me over to fondle my dick. Yes, I would get hard and he would laugh at me like one would laugh at any zoo animal's boner and then then he would slap my dick until it faded into a hanging piece of dead meat even as I kept on telling myself that I am a man, I am a man. I would blush with shame and humiliation.

I did have the chance to glance at the newspaper laying on the coffee table while he was in his study working. My eyes caught an article that the police were investigating the escape of a number of gay bonded servants, young men who had been indentured to their Masters. There were no leads although the investigation was ongoing. There was suspicion of some type of assistance, a network that was providing shelter and escape. And in the opinion section, an article condemning the oppression of gays. So at least there was debate. I felt my spirits lift thinking that there were still courageous people in the world. Could I still find courage in me?

I was pulled back to my reality, scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees. I could hear him approaching. He stood over me, telling me what a pretty ass I have as he inserted his finger, rubbing my prostate. Each time he wiggled his finger, I would drip some precum. He seemed to love seeing me jerk even as he made me lick the slime off the tile, laughed at me some more, watching me lap the floor like a dog.

Just before my father was supposed to arrive, he had me suck him off again, patting my head as I bobbed up and down. He rubbed my butt cheeks gently, caressing each one as he rotated nearer and nearer to my hole. I felt him probing as I sucked. I jolted, but he held my head steady. He was pushing in, laughing as I chubbed up slightly. It did not matter. Thankfully, I had tuned out, my mind no longer there. I was back at school, fondling Paula, getting hard thinking of fucking her. Wait! No, not hard for him! I tried to block getting an erection.

He slipped his finger inside even deeper, swirling it around. Not hard or rough, just pressing inside of me and I really felt that twinge of electricity in my dick. Okay, I know about prostate massage, I thought, but please, not here. No! Don't get hard.

As always, he spoke quietly: "Looks to me like my pet loves when I rub her pussy." Did he say pussy? Did he say her? I am a six foot hunk of a man. I sucked harder, hoping this would end. As he came in my mouth, he pushed his finger deeper and he moaned. So did I, to my shame. I was dripping all over the floor. Maybe this is who I really am, the pussy my father believes I am. Now I hate that word with all my heart.

But I knew my role and swirled his disgusting cum and stuck out my tongue. "Such a good puppy" as he rubbed my scalp. Then I licked the floor clean of the unwanted cum that had dribbled out of me. That was me, a humiliated cumslut with a pussy, whored out to whoever would pay my former dad the big bucks.

I thanked him profusely, on my knees of course with my head bowed, for the honor he had given me this day to be of service. I must be a convincing liar because when my father inquired whether I did a satisfactory job, the man again patted my head and said that I was as obedient as a well-trained dog. They both laughed and my father signaled for me to get up and leave.

Again that night, James came to check in. He wanted to hear the story and, being so lonely and frightened, telling him everything between sobs allowed me some emotional release. At least James still talked to me like I was a human being and not a bonded servant, a slave, a dumb beast. But I quickly realized that he clearly was not there to comfort me. As I have noticed now when I tell him my stories, he does not even try to hide his erection and the wetness where the tip hits the material. He rubs his big cock right in front of me and I hear a slight moan. My kid brother is getting off on my suffering. I turn away and he tiptoes back upstairs to the room we once shared. As he leaves, I can hear the slap slap as he starts to jerk off. He doesn't even care that I hear it.

I of course can't even think of masturbating or touching, God help me, my pussy.

As I was falling asleep, exhausted, in my cage, I thought of the article I read in the newspaper. Out there somewhere were good people, people with courage. I need to sustain hope, be brave. But when I awoke, I realized that I had not dreamt of escape. My nightmares, those horrible dreams that left me crying in my sleep, were now the living reality of my new life as a bonded servant.