Copyright 2005 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
Please note: the twelve parts of this story depict sex between males, between minors and between adults and minors. They depict oral, anal and vaginal sex as well as incest, rape, sadomasochism and transvestitism. If any of these offend you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.
All names, characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
Spring, Year 1
I was a sophomore in high school at the time, Keith was starting junior high, which put us in the same building. He had become a real jock. When he graduated sixth grade, Mom and Dad gave him a bench press (when I graduated three years before, we all went out to Appleby's). Every day, Keith worked out in the basement and had rippling abs to show for it. Me, I was a wuss, short, nervous, underdeveloped in every way. And like most adolescents, I was trying to work out what my role was in this world.
The day it all started was a Saturday. Keith was out in the driveway shooting hoops with his buddies. I was alone on my bed, with my pants off and my tighty whities down around my ankles, slowly turning the pages of Dad's latest copy of "Hustler." I had discovered his secret stash about two months before this, and felt wonderfully dirty as I studied each filthy picture. All those guys with their huge cocks fucking the daylights out of all those bimbos. I was lying there, jacking off and putting myself into each picture. But for some reason, it was easier for me to imagine myself as the bimbo instead of the hunk.
I was so lost in the thrill of the moment, I didn't realize the noise in the driveway had stopped. All of a sudden, the bedroom door burst open and there stood Keith, in his shorts and gym shoes, wiping the sweat off his chest with his tshirt. He immediately saw what I was doing and slammed the door behind him.
"Whoa, Fran-sess! I see you stole Dad's skin mag!"
"I - I - just borrowed it."
"Oh, yeah, well, let's go bring it back to Dad right now, OK. He's watching the Nascar races in the living room. C'mon."
"Please, Keith, don't. Don't make me do that." My eyes were full of tears, my young voice was cracking, my hands were shaking. "Please, I'll do anything. Please, Keith." Here I was, begging for mercy from my little brother.
"Hmmm, anything?" He started stroking his chin like he was weighing the possibilities contained in that one delicious word. I nodded nervously. "OK, for one week, you're going to pick up my clothes, prickhead." Mom was always getting on Keith's case for leaving his clothes all over. He worked out so hard and got so sweaty, that he went through several changes a day, and whenever he took them off, he just let them lie wherever they dropped. He didn't care that poor Mom had to bend over and get them, like she was his slave. "And you can start right now." Keith threw his sweaty tshirt on the floor where it joined a dozen or so other items. I jumped off the bed, grabbed my briefs and started pulling them up. "No, take them off, prickhead. You do this job naked, loser." I turned scarlet but of course obeyed. I picked up my briefs, his tshirt, and all the various clothes scattered about our room. Keith kicked off his gym shoes and told me to bend down and take off his stinky socks. I did. By now I was hugging a huge armload of perspiration-filled clothes. He then slipped off his shorts and his jockstrap. The former he put on top of my pile and the latter he put on my head so the stained mesh was over my face. He grabbed some clean clothes from his dresser and slipped them on. "What you waiting for, prickhead? Put them in the hamper." I glanced through the strap on his jock at my jeans on the bed. "No, no, you go like that." I gulped. Slowly I turned the doorknob, trying desperately not to drop any of my smelly load. I glanced out into the hall and saw the coast was clear. I ran down to the hamper, threw everything in, including my head covering, and ran back to our room. Of course, Keith had shut the door and was holding it closed.
"Hey, c'mon, Keith," I whispered. "Don't do this. I did what you said. C'mon, I'm scared." The door opened slightly. Keith looked at me through the crack, with a sickly grin.
"Who's your boss, prickhead?"
"You are, now open the door."
"What did you say?" He was really milking this moment.
"Damnit, I said you are the Boss, Keith, now let me in." He swung the door open and I rushed in and closed it myself.
"You know Mom and Dad don't want you swearing, prickhead." He grabbed my hair. "What do you say?"
"I'm sorry."
"You bet you're sorry. You're the sorriest piece of shit that was ever in this house." Keith pulled me over his lap and spanked my bare ass. "You can expect a spanking every time you use a swear word, you got that?" I nodded. "Now get some clothes on. I can't stand the sight of your puny little body." I ran to my dresser and got some clothes on quick. "Now, remember, all week. No clothes on the floor. Got it?"
"Yes," I replied, and then without thinking I added, "Boss."
Keith smiled and walked out.
As soon as I could, I returned the magazine to Dad's hiding place. All that week, Keith's clothes magically appeared in the hamper. One night at dinner, Mom remarked how happy she was that Keith was finally picking up his clothes. I opened my mouth and was about to say something, but Keith gave me such a glare I shut it again and ate my peas.
Friday came and I was excited. My sentence was almost over. I had performed my week's penance for my wicked foray into adult literature. I guess Keith saw my anticipation and realized he had to do something. He couldn't lose this subservient thing he had created. "Hey, Toady, tomorrow you won't just pick up my clothes, but also start making my bed."
"But - but - the week is over."
"You know, I think Linda might be interested in what you do with her picture. I think I'll call her up and tell her."
"Damn you, Keith."
"Oh, swearing again. You better learn to control that. Come here." He pulled down my pants, paddled my ass and then just walked away.
I had had a crush on Linda since third grade. Her family's Christmas card was one with a photo of Mom and Dad and the kids and the dog all gathered around a studio Christmas tree because of course the picture was taken in October. Before Mom threw out the cards, I had taken the photo and carefully cut Linda's face out. I kept it in my wallet and at night, sometimes I'd wake up and take the picture out and look at it while jacking. Keith must have seen me doing it and just saved that bit of knowledge for the right moment. And the moment had arrived. He cashed in his winning ticket.
I began making Keith's bed as well as picking up his clothes. I set his weights up for him each morning and then ran his shower so the water was warm when he stepped in. When he went off to school, his backpack was ready with his books, his lunch, and whatever equipment he needed for after-school practice. I was his valet, but the term he used for it was prickhead.
I guess I had loser written on my forehead, because at school there were three bullies who had begun shaking me down for money. Each day I gave them five bucks, which meant I wasn't eating much for lunch. I was actually contemplating suicide at that point. I saw no way out. I thought to myself, won't they be sorry at my funeral. Even Keith will be crying and telling me how he didn't mean to humiliate me so.
But one day, the three bullies had me cornered by my locker and I had just handed over the fin when Keith came around the corner. He grabbed the hair of the kid who held my money and told him to give it back. He did.
"Now get out of here, and if I ever see you with my brother again, I'll tie your balls to the flagpole." All three turned to go, but Keith made the other two stay. He turned to one of them and said, "Give my brother back his money."
"But, he already . . ." Keith interrupted him by grabbing the kid's package and squeezing hard.
"Did you hear what I said?" Keith didn't release him until he reached in his pocket and pulled out another five and handed it to me. "That's right, now scram."
"Now you," Keith said to the last bully, "give him his money."
"But," that's all he said. With one hand he covered his privates and with the other took out his wallet. "All's I got is a twenty."
"Fine," Keith handed me the twenty and the kid ran.
"How long they been shaking you down, prickhead?"
"About a month."
"Shit, prickhead, why didn't you tell me?"
"You don't care. You're just the same as them. You treat me like a loser."
"Well, fuck, you are a loser. But look, you're my toady. You do whatever I tell you. No one else. You don't obey anyone but me, you got that?" I nodded. "Anyone gives you any trouble, you tell me, you hear? You're under my cunt-trol."
"Yes, Boss."
There was that word. I could picture Keith saying that word that way before but I couldn't remember when or where. I kept thinking of it all through my classes, wondering what he meant, "cunt-trol."
But from that moment on, I no longer thought about killing myself. I felt somehow that my little brother, nasty as he was, was protecting me. My life now actually had a purpose, which was to keep him happy.
My list of assignments grew longer and longer. I was now doing all the chores Mom and Dad had given Keith as well as my own. I was taking out the garbage cans, loading the dishwasher, feeding Spike, our dog, and, of course, cleaning up the dogshit in the yard. Keith would come home from after-school practice and inspect the yard. If he found a turd I had missed, I had to pick it up with my bare hands. As thorough as I was, he often did find a pile I'd missed. I swear I think he trained Spike to poop again after I cleaned the yard.
Keith was starting to hang out at the mall to meet girls. Before he left home, I laid out a clean outfit for him, and even began ironing his clothes. He always made me sniff his armpits and his breath before he went out. I did so submissively, but in actuality, I loved having this intimate contact with his godlike body. Also I had to make sure he had a condom in his wallet.
Keith knew I was snowed with all the extra work, but he didn't want Mom and Dad to get suspicious, so he also insisted I keep my grades up. Every time I had a test, I had to show him the grade before I showed Mom and Dad. If he thought I should have done better, he spanked my bare ass. My report card improved and that made Mom happy. She was also pleased that both her boys were doing all their chores without nagging. Keith never gave me any credit for doing his, and I never opened my mouth.