In a world where gay men have been stripped away of their basic human rights through the "Attendant" status, Peter becomes a slave in his own household. Soon, his step-father and younger brother learn to take their roles of "Masters" very seriously.
This is a dark, authoritarian, dystopian fiction. It includes numerous elements of non-consensual BDSM, dom/sub practises and sex, including slavery, and rape, as well as incestuous relationships. The story does not, in any way, reflect the views or political opinions of the author.
If you know me through the "My First Year in College" story, this one will be very different both in tone and subject matter. You have been warned!
All characters are above 18 years old.
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The Attendant.
Chapter 6: The Commander's nephew
I guess I am the living proof that one can get used to anything. By the end of my first week back at home, I had developed a routine.
I would wake up before dawn so I could eat privately. I would then use the toilets and shower. I would shave my pubes clean if need be. Still very early, I would prepare the breakfast for my brother and my step-father. I would kneel down upon their arrival and would greet them with their appropriate denominations: "Sir" and "Owner".
During the week days, they would leave for work or for school and I would take care of the house chores. I would work out a few hours a day and, when I would dare to, I would jerk-off in my father's bed over his Playboy magazines.
There were 12 of them, I paced myself to enjoy them thoroughly, one sexy magazine at a time. We could clearly differentiate the ones I had opened to the ones I had not touched yet which were still very neat. I guessed that my step-father was treating them like beautiful treasures. That meant he probably knew what I was doing but he never commented on it.
In the evening, I would prepare and serve dinner and, it had become a habit, would massage my step-father's bare feet. Often, he would get an erection, and the more we kept doing it, the less efforts he was putting in hiding his big cock under his robe.
I had troubles justifying why this particular task was necessary to keep our charade going but I did not want to seem ungrateful. I had noticed that money was tighter than ever before and I knew it was because my return had cost a fortune to my step-father.
I would remain naked at all time except when I would exceptionally go out.
Although the house did feel like a prison, going out was even worse. I hated them all: those who pitied me and those who abused me.
I had learnt to accept my step-father dominance. He was under a lot of pressure at work and he had made a lot of sacrifices to ensure that I would come back home. Sure, the foot massage was a bit much but I had gotten used to it and I understood why we needed to keep playing our parts. Also, it was somewhat more bearable to be given orders by a charismatic and naturally dominant father.
My main worry was my brother. After being unease at first, I thought he was starting to enjoy his role of "Master" a bit too much. He would grunt if his toast were not perfectly cooked or if his bed were not perfectly made.
At this point, I could not help but resenting him. Often, I would think that this was all because of him. He was the fag of the house after all! He was the one who put me and the whole family in this mess, just because he could not help himself from watching gay porn! And not once, he had admitted to his sins to my dad. Not once, he had admitted them to me.
My brother could deny all he wanted; his looks could not fool me. Often, he would stare at my dick, at my ass. He was more and more obvious about it. Once, I could swear that he dropped the tv remote at his feet just so I could bend over and pick it up for him.
When I was in a good day, but those were becoming rare, I could reason myself that Martin never asked for me to take the blame for his crime. And I could remind myself that actually, there was no crime at all. No matter what, this enslavement was unjustified, gay or not, him or me, it would be the same unfairness. I was simply doing what big brothers should do to protect their siblings. I was fulfilling the promise made to my dying mother.
I also convinced myself that my younger brother needed to practice consistently in order to commit to his "master" role. I, too, felt like a real servant, and at times, I forgot this was all play pretend. It was not surprising that my brother would get lost in his role as well.
Maybe ten days after I had been back at the house, Martin suggested that two of his mates from his swimming team come home after training. In our life before, it was not unusual we had some friends over but this had not happened since I had become an Attendant.
Our father was reluctant to the idea. On one hand, we needed to show off what a good and obedient Attendant I was, but on the other hand, he would not be there to supervise and one of the guys, Mark Johnson, was the nephew of a high-ranked Commander. We could not mess this up.
This name rang a bell and I knew I had already met him a couple of times but everything from my life before was sort of a blur.
"Dad, they are getting suspicious on why they cannot come home anymore. It's like we're hiding something!"
My brother was smart playing on our step-father's biggest fear that people maybe thinking he was too lax with his former-son Attendant.
He accepted that the two guys come over, giving me a harsh warning:
"Do not mess this up Attendant, you see how things are going now? We are in a good place. It's entirely up to you to make sure this stays that way. Be on your best behaviour. Obey. That Mark kid better returns to his home, impressed by how disciplined you were!"
I was not such in a "good place" myself but I guess this was still better than actual prison and I knew things could get far worse elsewhere. I thought of the Attendant I had seen seriously bruised and mutilated at the store. I nodded yes to my step-father's instructions, as if I had any say in the matter.
"And you know, this is not only about the three of us anymore. President Ganderson is reconsidering the Attendant Law. There are strong lobbies at play."
Lobbies were fighting against this atrocious law? Finally! I thought. But as often, my sudden hope was very short lived:
"There are strong lobbies to pass a new Law which would deny every single right left to the Attendants, it would make their values go way up and the States definitely need the money."
How much more right could they take away from us? My brother asked the question for me:
"What more could they want? The lobbies?"
"Let's say that some people are ready to buy the Attendants for way more money if they were absolutely free to do whatever they wanted with them, without any consequences."
"But they can already do whatever they want? I mean, we can do whatever we want with it."
I hated that phrase. My brother was fully aware of his legal power over me.
"In theory, we are not supposed to torture or kill our Attendant, without a cause."
A stone fell into my stomach. I did not know what was the most chilling: the casual tone of my step-father, the fact that he said "in theory", or the fact that he may consider as normal to torture me if there were "a cause". I thought of the metal box in our garage.
"One of the arguments of these guys, despite the money, is that the Law as it is, is unsustainable. Attendants always seem to rebel and refuse orders, and things often turn out messy. General Schneider himself suggested that I, that we, could be the example of the benefits of the current Attendant's status. If I want to have any shot at pushing back on the harsher laws, I need to show that, in my own life, the Code as it stands now, is sufficient to keep my own Attendant under control"
"I imagine that would help your political career greatly..." I said sombrely. "Owner."
"Yes. It would also help your life! As well as the lives of all your fellow Attendants!"
Again, the conversation ended as if I was the crazy unreasonable one. I knew better then; I should have kept my mouth shut and thanked my step-father politely for his efforts to maintain any sort of dignity for me and my "fellow Attendants".
I felt relieved when my brother and father left the house. I went training to sweat my feelings away and ended up jerking off in the shower afterwards. It felt good releasing my sperm on the shower wall. Was masturbation the only remaining pleasure I had in my life?
That day, I had to go to the store again.
Walking to the centre of the town in my grey apron was still something I needed to get accustomed to. My feet hurt and my shame hurt even more. I passed through the house where a bunch of guys had bullied me the week before.
