WARNING: this story contains incest, pure homophobia, forced domination and slavery, violence and other elements that may be disturbing to those who do not like this kind of thing. If this is your case, I advise against reading it
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A few more days passed, during which my father incorporated the new rituals into our daily life. When we were in the living room watching TV, he no longer allowed me to sit, not even on the floor. I had to be massaging and licking his feet, or else just with them squashing my face, lying on the floor. My father seemed to have liked that position and would sometimes tell me, laughing, that he would never have thought my face would make such a comfortable footrest. Damn how funny that was to me. Two days after I put on the chastity device, my father let me take it off to wash myself. You can't imagine how humiliating it was to wash in front of my father, watching me so I wouldn't think of touching myself while washing my genitals. I felt again like a child who needs to be supervised in everything. There were no more problems with the insertion, because I quickly learned to put it on by myself. Of course, it was still up to my father to open and close the lock with the key. He was the guardian of my pleasure, just as he was now the master of my whole life.
And, of course, my father again used my mouth to unload his balls. He quickly became very fond of it and soon felt no shame in doing so. He liked it so much that some days he would order me to do it up to three times. I confess that this was the only part of my slavery that I enjoyed. Being able to service that incredible cock that had given me life drove me crazy.
The hardest part, however, was swallowing his piss. Now he never used the bathroom when he was home. He would just call me, stand up and point to the floor in front of him. Then he would unzip his fly and put his cock to my lips, signaling me not to suck. Soon I became an expert and he no longer needed to go slow. I could swallow all of his piss in one go without a drop escaping. Of course, I never got used to it. I still found it absolutely disgusting.
One of those afternoons something very disturbing happened to me. My father came home from work in his car and I saw him take a couple of cardboard boxes out of the car and put them in the garage. As soon as I could get away for a while, I went to see what they were, intrigued. One of them was quite large and sealed, so I couldn't see what it contained. Obviously, I didn't dare open it without my father's permission. The other, much smaller, on the other hand, was open and what I saw in it made my blood run cold in my veins. There were several objects, some I recognized, others I didn't, among them candles, straps, a paddle racket and, what disturbed me the most, two whips. That had to be a bad dream, it couldn't be that my father had bought those things to hurt me! But if not... why would he want that? As soon as I was with him, I asked him for permission to speak:
-Master, excuse me... what are those things in the garage?
He immediately noticed my agitation and hastened to reassure me:
-Don't worry. They are things Bill told me to get, but I have no intention of using them. They're just going to be there for the inspector to see.
I was immensely relieved, but I still asked:
-What about the big box, what's in it?
My father then reddened and seemed to hesitate. At last he said to me:
-That box is none of your business... for the moment - I froze, not knowing what to think. My father had never said anything like that to me before. We had absolute trust and shared everything. But it was clear that my father was not going to talk about it, and in fact, he immediately told me in an impatient tone:
-Come on, slave! Don't you have things to do?
I obeyed his order and went off to my chores, while dark thoughts overwhelmed my soul....
Three days later Bill stopped by again to supervise my training process. He was quite pleased with the new elements we had incorporated and, of course, used my services again, this time not only to attend to his feet and give him oral pleasure, but also to deposit all his bitter piss in my mouth. However, he did not seem entirely happy and, at one point, he said to my father in a low voice, although I could hear him:
-I would like to talk to you in private...
My father immediately ordered me to go to the garage and not to return until further notice. So I did, but what they didn't know was that there was a vent in the garage, through which the voices of whoever was in the living room, where they were, filtered through perfectly. So I was able to hear the whole conversation they had. When I arrived and stood by the vent, Bill was saying:
-Everything is fine, you have made a lot of progress, but there is something still escaping. There is a lot of complicity between you and it is perfectly perceptible. If I can feel it, how can a person trained to detect such things not feel it?
I was surprised to hear this, to tell the truth, because at that point I thought that the complicity between my father and I that he was talking about no longer existed, or at least had been reduced to a minimum. But I suppose it was perceived differently by a stranger.
-And what can be done? -my father asked, concerned. Bill thought for a while and said:
-You have to break him, you have to make him collapse. He's probably going to hate you for it, but you have to do it...
-I don't want my son to hate me! -My father exclaimed in exasperation-, This has gone far enough!
-That's another important point, Mason. You need to work on that too. You can't go on seeing him as your son. He's your slave now, he's come to that status because he's a faggot and that's his place in life.
-His place in life! How can you say that? Is this not very unfair to him? I thought you agreed with me that all this is inhuman nonsense.
You can't imagine how glad I was to have my father's defense in those moments. I was so proud of him and so lucky to have him by my side! Bill, however, was not deterred:
-Man, it's true that at first the enslavement thing seemed a little harsh to me. But that doesn't mean that I don't still consider faggots a burden on society.
My father was silent for a few moments. I guess his expression of disbelief must have been tremendous, hearing his friend talk like that. Bill defended himself:
-Yes, this seems very harsh, but what do you want me to say? We heterosexuals do a service to society, we bring children into the world, we raise them, we make useful men and women out of them... What do faggots do? They just do their own filth...
-Man, apart from not having children, they do many other things for society...
