NEVER THE GOLDEN SON
By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo dot com)
This is an adult story. If it's illegal to read where you're located or if you are not legal age to read this, please go away now. This is a gay slave fiction story, set in a society where handsome young men can be indentured and sold for "personal services" as sex slaves. If that doesn't appeal to you, why are you on this website?
Please support nifty.org. Honestly, this story exists because I knew I could post it on Nifty.
I was never the golden son, never the favorite child. In fact, between me and my three brothers I can safely say I was in fourth place for my father's affection.
It seems that Dad had a childhood sweetheart, Emily, as pretty and patrician and blond as Dad himself. But he and Emily had a fight and Dad ended up having a wild weekend with a dark-haired voluptuous beauty -- my mom. Being an honorable man he married my mom when he found out she was pregnant. But when I was a few months old, my mom ran off (the details here are not clear, but it appears that she ran off with her own brother) leaving me with the man who had given me his family name.
Freed from his forced marriage, Dad reunited with Emily and settled down for a happy marriage. That would explain why I was so different from my three younger brothers. They all had fair skin and blond to reddish hair, while I had dark hair and darker features. They were smooth while I was always prematurely hairy. They were all sports champs with trim hard bodies, well-muscled and athletic, while I've always been big-boned, heavy-set and never went out for sports. All three of my younger brothers were also popular while I was never sociable.
But Emily, Dad's second wife, almost treated me as if I were her own son. That was better than Dad ever did. I would hear him boast about Jordan, who was four years younger than me, and he'd talk proudly about the twins who were two years younger than Jordan. But if any of his friends asked about me, he would mumble something about how he hoped I would improve. After Emily died I felt even more isolated in that family. And after being kicked out of both the University and the Community College (not to mention two different programs at trade school) I pretty much gave up on putting any effort into life.
I had read enough accounts of family enslavements to figure out where this was headed. Although Dad was wealthy he was always taking loans to expand his business, so I figured the time would come when I would get indentured. As a slave I would be forced to work hard and lose weight and exercise. So, since that was in my future, why not spend my time now sleeping late, eating junk food, drinking beer and watching webcasts all day?
I suppose I still had some instinct for self-preservation. One time Jordan walked in on me having sex with a slaveboy. You may think that's no big deal. Surely free men all get their dicks sucked by slaveboys, and most use slaveboy butts as well. But Jordan walked in on me sucking the dick of a slaveboy -- no self-respecting free man would ever service a slaveboy's cock.
I found myself begging my handsome younger brother to keep his mouth shut. Well, what choice did I have? Even though we live in more enlightened times, my father was of the old-fashioned school that believes gay boys should be enslaved. Why was I so intimate with a slaveboy? Honestly, I was never the kind of hot guy who could attract other hot guys. This slaveboy was a hunky young athlete. Sure I enjoyed using his mouth and his ass, but I also was hot to worship his hard young body and suck his dick. I suppose if my younger brother had caught me with the slaveboy's dick up my ass he would have really gone berserk.
When my younger brother Jordan walked in on my cocksucking he gasped and then made wretching sounds. "This is too disgusting," he shuddered. I finally got him to keep my secret when he decided he didn't want to upset our Dad. I knew that Jordan assumed I would eventually be enslaved anyway. As nice and friendly as everyone thought Jordan was, he had made comments over the years about my future as a slave. I also knew that the secret of my homosexuality was something he would now hold over my head.
I should admit here that my sexual fantasies took on a twist when years earlier, during one of his nasty tirades putting me down, Jordan had snapped, "Dad doesn't even believe you're really his son. Dad believes that your slutty mom got knocked up by her own brother." Hmmm, that was the first time I had considered a person could have sex with their own brother. Jordan was undoubtedly the hottest boy all through school and the twins were always damn cute. From that day forward all three of my younger brothers entered my jerk off fantasies -- not that I expected any chance to do anything about those fantasies.
It was a Sunday morning when Dad called us into his sitting room. As all four of us stood in front of the bookcases, Dad's lawyer and a slave cop came into the room and shut the door behind them. I glanced to the side and saw a smirk on Jordan's face. The redheaded young jock figured he would soon be rid of me. I figured the same. Much as I may have expected this, my stomach was turning over with terrors about the pain of a slave prod and the humiliation of being led out of the house naked and chained.
Our Dad started talking to the four of us but I didn't hear a word. My eyes darted from my Dad to his lawyer to the slave cop. My mind was screaming, Oh get this over with already! Then my Dad reached a conclusion and said, "And that's why I will have to place Jordan under a five-year contract for enslave,,, errrr, I mean for indenture."
"WHA-A-AT?" Jordan screamed so loud it shook the house.
The slave cop was on top of Jordan in no time and had touched the electric prod to the back of the boy's neck. Before my handsome younger brother could fall to the ground, the slave cop was holding him from behind. "A slave only speaks when spoken to, boy. And a slave addresses all free men as Sir or Master."
"Please," Dad tried to sound calm. "That won't be necessary. The boy is just a little shocked by the news. Go easy on him."
"Easy on him, Mr. Smith?" the slave cop snarled. "The bank does not approve of sham indentures. And any in-family enslavements are automatically suspect and watched by authorities. If this merchandise is going to be collateral on your loan, the bank must be satisfied that you are adding proper value to the boy."
Dad's eyes were darting frantically. Then he found the words he needed for the situation. "I give the slave boy permission to speak... and remember to address your master in correct form, Jordan."
"Da... S-sir," Jordan began. "W-why me? I always figured Melvin would be...?"
My father glanced quickly at me and then back to Jordan. He mumbled almost under his breath, "The bank would not accept your older brother as collateral. The size of the loan was too large and they valued him... well they didn't value him high enough to cover the amount of the loan."
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing so loud and so hard that I nearly fell to the floor. My father admonished me that I was acting inappropriately. But I couldn't stop laughing. I lifted myself up onto the big leather sofa, something I had never done before without my father's express permission. But, hell, what was he gonna do? Enslave me?
My life of being overweight and lazy, poor personal hygiene, lousy grades, a surly attitude, and being kicked out of two colleges had finally paid off. I was saved from enslavement because laying around the house for most of the past few years and eating mainly chips and beer had made me so worthless. I stopped laughing but I couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear.
That's when I really got a chance to look at the slave cop. He was tall, with broad shoulders, thick black hair and chiseled features. And I realized I knew him. Officer Slater had been in my high school class. He was captain of the football team, a champion wrestler and one of the most popular boys on campus -- exactly the sort of guy that would end up being a Slave Cop.
I had jerked off to the memory of Slater in his wrestling singlet, and jerked off to the photo of him shirtless in our yearbook. But seeing him in the tight black uniform of the Slave Force, his powerful thighs and narrow waist, was the most erotic site of all.
"Will you strip, boy?" Slater snarled at Jordan. "Or will I have to use the knife."
"Please, Jordan," Dad intoned. "Do it with dignity."
"Sir," Slater snapped. "You have to stop speaking to this creature as though he were still a free boy."
The slave cop looked formidable in the uniform, the way his muscled body filled out the clinging black fabric. Sgt. Slater was the first person I ever heard speak to my younger brother in a disrespectful way. The black-haired stud did not fawn on Jordan or acknowledge how smart and handsome he was. Sgt. Slater was treating Jordan like a slaveboy and in so doing he had quickly become my favorite person in the world.
Meanwhile Jordan was slowly peeling off his undershirt and placing it on top of his neatly folded shirt. He slid his pants down his strong legs and wasted time folding them. Then he looked from the slave cop to our father.
Dad cleared his throat and said, "Look, this is only an in-family indenture. We're going to be keeping Jordan here in the house with us. Is it really necessary for him to remove his briefs before being paraded in front of..."
Damn, I wonder if that old man would have asked the same question if it had been me stripping for the slave cop? Sgt. Slater interrupted my Dad to say, "Mr. Smith, there are proper ways of doing things. Now, I've already made note that you seem reluctant to treat the boy like a proper slave. Please don't interfere further with proper procedure." He spit every time he used the word "proper," now making him the first person I ever heard disrespect my father.
Jordan was shivering in his white briefs. I had seen my brother in swimsuits and had caught quick glimpses of him in his underpants. But the last time I'd caught sight of him naked was before either of us was in high school. So I felt like this strip show was just for my entertainment.
My brother peeled down his briefs and stepped out of them. Our father looked down at the carpet as if embarrassed. The twins were staring at the scene, their eyes wide. I stared right at the crack of Jordan's perfectly smooth and round ass as he bent over to pick up the briefs and put them with his other discarded clothes.
Then Sgt. Slater efficiently snapped a temporary slave collar around Jordan's neck. He grabbed each of my brother's wrists and pulled them up and around so he could hook them to the D-ring in the back of the new slave's collar. Then, as the lawyer read off the pronouncement of indenture, the tall slave cop pressed a device that pricked Jordan's skin under his right armpit. Everyone knew that was the slave's GPS tracking device.
"It would be good if one family member accompanies us on the slave transport." My father started to stand up, but Sgt. Slater turned to me and said, "It would be best for you to come along and help your brother through this process." He turned back to my father and said, "You can meet us there." Then he calmly grabbed the back of Jordan's new slave collar and led him out the front door of the house.
A crowd always gathers when a shiny black slave transport is parked in front of a house. It was as if an alarm had gone out to the entire neighborhood. Kids had stopped ballgames to bike over to our block and see the action. There was an audible gasp when Jordan was pushed out the front door naked and collared. I heard a howl of "Oh no, not Jordan!" from my brother's current girlfriend.
I saw people whispering to each other. Then one spoke in a loud voices: "Why are they enslaving that nice, good-looking son when they have that fat tub of lard over there?" The old woman was pointing at me, as if anyone in the crowd didn't already get her meaning. I just grinned back at her.
Then I smiled to myself. Say what you want. I was still a free boy and Jordan was on his way to becoming a slaveboy. I didn't know at that time that circumstances would work out so that my younger brother would end up being my property.
END OF CHAPTER ONE