He came hard, shooting down my throat, coating my tonsils, gelatinous gobs, filling my mouth. I still choked - will I ever get used to slimy cum? He told me not to swallow it all. I was filled with his sperm as he told me to swirl the cum in my mouth. A pretty disgusting mouth wash. I was dazed, feeling sick, repelled by the texture and taste. I did what he wanted. I even thanked him for giving me the honor of sucking his cock. He patted my head again.
"Such a good puppy. Now, wash yourself and clean up the apartment. Stay naked of course." And with that, he went into his study and closed the door. I wanted to run naked into traffic. I wanted to jump out the window of the apartment. I could take a knife and stab myself hari-kari like. But I did none of those things. Not only was I a cock sucking cum dump, I was a chicken shit coward. My ego, my identity as a man, was ebbing. I was nothing, a piece of scum.
As the day progressed, he would come out to slap my butt as I walked by or call me over to fondle my dick. Yes, I would get hard and he would laugh at me like one would laugh at any zoo animal's boner and then then he would slap my dick until it faded into a hanging piece of dead meat even as I kept on telling myself that I am a man, I am a man. I would blush with shame and humiliation.
I did have the chance to glance at the newspaper laying on the coffee table while he was in his study working. My eyes caught an article that the police were investigating the escape of a number of gay bonded servants, young men who had been indentured to their Masters. There were no leads although the investigation was ongoing. There was suspicion of some type of assistance, a network that was providing shelter and escape. And in the opinion section, an article condemning the oppression of gays. So at least there was debate. I felt my spirits lift thinking that there were still courageous people in the world. Could I still find courage in me?
I was pulled back to my reality, scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees. I could hear him approaching. He stood over me, telling me what a pretty ass I have as he inserted his finger, rubbing my prostate. Each time he wiggled his finger, I would drip some precum. He seemed to love seeing me jerk even as he made me lick the slime off the tile, laughed at me some more, watching me lap the floor like a dog.
Just before my father was supposed to arrive, he had me suck him off again, patting my head as I bobbed up and down. He rubbed my butt cheeks gently, caressing each one as he rotated nearer and nearer to my hole. I felt him probing as I sucked. I jolted, but he held my head steady. He was pushing in, laughing as I chubbed up slightly. It did not matter. Thankfully, I had tuned out, my mind no longer there. I was back at school, fondling Paula, getting hard thinking of fucking her. Wait! No, not hard for him! I tried to block getting an erection.
He slipped his finger inside even deeper, swirling it around. Not hard or rough, just pressing inside of me and I really felt that twinge of electricity in my dick. Okay, I know about prostate massage, I thought, but please, not here. No! Don't get hard.
As always, he spoke quietly: "Looks to me like my pet loves when I rub her pussy." Did he say pussy? Did he say her? I am a six foot hunk of a man. I sucked harder, hoping this would end. As he came in my mouth, he pushed his finger deeper and he moaned. So did I, to my shame. I was dripping all over the floor. Maybe this is who I really am, the pussy my father believes I am. Now I hate that word with all my heart.
But I knew my role and swirled his disgusting cum and stuck out my tongue. "Such a good puppy" as he rubbed my scalp. Then I licked the floor clean of the unwanted cum that had dribbled out of me. That was me, a humiliated cumslut with a pussy, whored out to whoever would pay my former dad the big bucks.
I thanked him profusely, on my knees of course with my head bowed, for the honor he had given me this day to be of service. I must be a convincing liar because when my father inquired whether I did a satisfactory job, the man again patted my head and said that I was as obedient as a well-trained dog. They both laughed and my father signaled for me to get up and leave.
Again that night, James came to check in. He wanted to hear the story and, being so lonely and frightened, telling him everything between sobs allowed me some emotional release. At least James still talked to me like I was a human being and not a bonded servant, a slave, a dumb beast. But I quickly realized that he clearly was not there to comfort me. As I have noticed now when I tell him my stories, he does not even try to hide his erection and the wetness where the tip hits the material. He rubs his big cock right in front of me and I hear a slight moan. My kid brother is getting off on my suffering. I turn away and he tiptoes back upstairs to the room we once shared. As he leaves, I can hear the slap slap as he starts to jerk off. He doesn't even care that I hear it.
I of course can't even think of masturbating or touching, God help me, my pussy.
As I was falling asleep, exhausted, in my cage, I thought of the article I read in the newspaper. Out there somewhere were good people, people with courage. I need to sustain hope, be brave. But when I awoke, I realized that I had not dreamt of escape. My nightmares, those horrible dreams that left me crying in my sleep, were now the living reality of my new life as a bonded servant.
