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.
The Rest of Year One
When we started back to school that fall, I was a junior and Keith was in eighth. Keith continued to get packages in the mail, things he was ordering to outfit his basement gym: a pullup bar, rings, additional weights for the bench press. He assigned me the job of installing the equipment and then testing it by hanging from it to make sure the bolts were well anchored in the overhead beams. He enjoyed the sight of me hanging there wearing only my tight jock. He would order me to hang by my knees from the pullup bar while he did his reps. Or by my ankles from the rings. He'd also make me suck his cock while inverted.
Through the internet, Keith discovered mailorder houses that had more exotic equipment. Soon there were chains and a leather sling hanging from the ceiling, and there were ankle and wrist restraints affixed at different locations on the wall. Keith's slave spent many long hours locked in these manacles.
My jock after three months' constant wear, often in chlorinated water, was beginning to look pretty tired. Keith knew he had to do something before my offensive organ made a reappearance. He ordered me two things, a black leather g string, and a cock cage. The leather must have been made for a female to wear, someone who had zero package. Under the new regimen, I wore the cock cage in the shower, in bed, and whenever else Keith ordered. Otherwise I wore my leather. Come next summer, he promised, I would be given a new firm jock for swimming.
Keith ordered me to shave my legs like a good bitch, and then he took over and shaved off all my body hair, pits, ass, pubes. I was as pink as the day I was born.
He told Mom that he felt bad spending so much money on his gym equipment. He said he wanted to earn it by doing more around the house. Soon I was washing the cars, mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, cleaning the windows, washing the laundry, all in addition to the chores I was doing already for both of us.
One night my parents were out, visiting friends, and Keith had a girl over. Of course this was against the rules but he knew I wouldn't rat on him. I made myself scarce while they settled down on the couch and started petting. But I could hear the bimbo groaning and sighing. After a while, I heard Keith say, "Hey, you wanta see something neat?"
"Sure, Honey. What?"
"Bitch, get in here!" I had been summoned. I meekly entered the room. The girl was dumbfounded. She saw that she was in the arms of a real man, someone that even his older brother respected. "OK, Bitch, take off your clothes." Of course, I obeyed. While the bimbo stared and giggled, I doffed my shirt and undershirt, revealing my smooth shaved torso. Then my shoes and socks, and then lowered my jeans. "Now watch this, Sweetie." I slowly took off my tighty whities and revealed my black leather g. Her jaw dropped. I was probably flatter than she was. "Now bring us a beer, bitch." Of course, that was also against the rules, but I took my bare ass into the kitchen and got a cold Bud out of the fridge. I popped the top and handed it to him. He took a swig and then had her take one. I had to stand there while she drank and he fondled her breasts. "Hey, Bitch, go get your cage." The girl looked at Keith quizzically, while I dutifully went to my dresser and brought back the cock cage and handed it to him.
She was very curious now. She looked at it carefully, examined it all over. "How does it work?"
Keith told her to pull my leather g off, then he showed her how to encase my cock in the cage. She was amazed. Keith then ordered me to stand in the corner and be quiet. He began stripping off her blouse and then reaching up her skirt. He reached in his pocket to retrieve the condom I had put there earlier. In a short while, he was fucking her pussy. >From her style, I knew she'd been down this road before, and often. She didn't mind one bit that a subservient toad was standing in the corner, watching, his cock locked in a steel cage.
When Keith blew his wad, and they both settled down, he called me over and ordered me to felch his mancream out of her twat.
My birthday came in January. I once loved it when I had a birthday, because for the next seven months I'd be four years older than Keith instead of three. But shit, what difference did it really mean? I might as well have been three years younger than Keith, for he lorded over me.
But now that I turned 16, Keith insisted I sign up for driver ed and get my learner's permit. He wanted to have his own personal chauffeur in the house.
One Sunday the next spring, Keith told me I had to bake a cake for him. I had no clue why. "What's the occasion, Boss?"
"Shut up, bitch. You don't ask questions. You just do what I fuckin tell you." I baked a delicious devil's food cake with pink butter frosting. It was a masterpiece. We brought it down to the basement. I put the cake on the bench press, took all my clothes off, and Keith locked my cock up in its cage. Then he ordered me to lay across his lap and swatted my bare ass 12 times. "Happy Anniversary, Bitch!"
One whole year had passed since that day he caught me with Dad's Hustler mag. One year of servitude to my little brother. One year of being the person I was meant to be. I was so touched that Keith remembered the date, and so ashamed that I had not. That realization, ^Ö not the whacks on my ass, ^Ö was what made my eyes well up in tears.
"From now on, bitch, you will not call me Boss." I turned my wet eyes up toward him like a bewildered puppy. "From now on, you say Sir. You got that?"
"Yes, Boss." The words tumbled out automatically, and Keith again swatted my ass. "I'm sorry, Buh . . . Sir! I'm sorry Sir." This was going to take getting used to.
Keith allowed me to stand up again and asked me where his plate and fork were. I mumbled, "Upstairs, Sir."
"Well, bitch, go the fuck get them! And a knife." I reached for my pants but Keith planted his foot down on them and glared.
"Yes, Sir. I'll get them, Sir."
I went up the stairs and prayed the kitchen would be empty. It was. I grabbed a plate, fork and cake knife. Momentarily, I considered bringing two plates and two forks, but my mind could not conceive of Keith allowing me to eat like a human being in his presence.
I ran back downstairs and proceeded to slice a manly sized piece of cake for my brother and serve it to him. "Your cake, Sir." I knew I'd have to keep using his new title as often as possible to get my tongue used to it.
Keith took a couple bites, and smiled. Inwardly, I smiled also. I was satisfying him in several ways.
"Go get a candle, bitch." I thought it was a little late for that, since the cake was already cut, but I went over to his storage chest. In the previous year, Keith had begun to stage gothic scenes in the basement, which often involved black candles, so he kept a supply on hand. For instance, wearing only my cock cage, I would be hung by my wrists from the ceiling beam, with each of my feet tied to a cement block. He would place the blocks about four feet apart. Then he would take seven black candles, ceremoniously light and position them. One would be placed in each of my hands and after a while the wax would drip down on my head. One would go on each foot, gripped by my big toe. One would be shoved up my ass and then lit. Keith would hold one while he walked around me and teasingly hold it near my sweaty face, and the seventh candle would be positioned on the floor right under my balls. All the while, dark organ music would be playing.
But this was a birthday party, not a gothic ritual. I brought Keith a black candle and he told me to bend over and hold my ankles. He rammed the candle in my upturned ass and lit it. I had become a candle stand, a mere piece of furniture. I stayed that way while Keith leisurely ate his piece of cake. He licked the fork clean. He licked every crumb off his plate. Finally, he removed the candle and allowed me to stand.
"Would you like some, bitch?"
"Yes, Sir, if you please, Sir."
"Certainly, bitch. I wish to be a kind Master. Cut yourself a piece of cake the same size. I'll even let you use my plate. Here, let me wash it for you." With that, Keith deposited a huge load of spit on the plate and handed it to me. I cut my piece and put it on top of his catarrh. I wasn't sure whether to place it on the floor or on the bench press so I just held it and waited for instructions. "Put it on the chair, bitch." I did. "Now kneel down with your hands behind your back." I did, picturing myself eating it dog-style off the plate. But I waited. I hadn't been told I could eat it yet. Slowly, Keith took off his shoes, and then his pants. Slowly, he took off his underwear and then came over and sat on the chair, ^Ö sat on my cake. "Now look at the mess you made, bitch. Lick that off my ass." Keith stood up again, bent over and I buried my face between his chocolate-cake-pink-icing-covered buttocks. For the first time, the enormous silliness of the whole scene hit me. As I licked his asshole, I started giggling. Then he started giggling. I licked and licked and we both laughed and laughed. I had accepted my station in life. I was a turd and this was where I belonged, in Keith's rear end. Happily, I licked every bit of it clean.