THE BONDED SERVANT
Chapter 4: Boy Toy of the Party
Perhaps you don't see it coming or argue with friends that "it can't happen here." But darker things have occurred in history. Freedoms fall away and hatred and bigotries rise. This story, inspired by Thomas Lodge's excellent The Attendant series, brings us to the year 2030 when very religious extremists have taken over the government and courts of many states. In many ways, America is becoming like many other countries in the world where being gay is a sin and even a crime.
Was it possible that another week of torture could get even worse? It had been over a month since being hired out as a bonded servant with my pink gay triangle clearly on my chest, which really meant being sold each day into sexual servitude (should I laugh that my puritanical religious father unknowingly has become a pimp?). I felt like the world had gone crazy, filled with self-hating, homophobic perverts and Bible- thumping self righteous bigots.
My (former) dad stayed just as cruel each morning. No begging or pleading could shake him from sending me out as a bonded servant, the pink triangle on my ridiculous outfit to "clean house." Since I was branded a disgusting faggot by the Government and by my father, I obviously was fair game. Even a grimace from me would bring out the taser as a threat and I would feel the reflex panic as if I were being electrocuted. I kept my head bowed.
In this upside down world, the unimaginable had become normal. Why not get a few sadistic orgasms from the servant as he cleans your house. My life was hell and I woke each morning filled with fear and self-loathing. I had become a whored-out cum dump.
I prepared breakfast and set the table for three. As usual these past many weeks, there was no place for me at the family table. Instead, I am forced to eat out of the dog dish and without silverware, on the floor, lapping food like a common beast of labor. My mother still has a face like a mask, her eyes dead. She seldom speaks anymore, certainly not to me.
My brother James, the one I saved, looks at me with pity as he comes down for breakfast and then sits at the table, regaling to father his accomplishments and plans for the day. My father, who seldom had positive words for anyone, congratulated James on his successes, making a point of praising "my only son." I no longer existed, I was nothing, lower than an animal. I did not even try to beg my father to spare me from another hell in some pervert's house.
Dishes cleaned, the kitchen neat and tidy, I started to walk like the zombie I had become toward the door.
"Today will be different, "my former father explained as I dropped obediently to my knees, head bowed in submission. "You will stay at home and do a thorough cleaning, laundry, yard, everything. You have been hired this evening as a server for what must be a special party because they are paying me quite a lot of money."
I saw my brother's ears perk up and he looked at me as if going to a party would be fun. I knew better. Since I am (probably the straightest) a gay bonded servant, a party could never be fun in this state with the Government demonizing me and all those they called faggots as subhuman. But I sighed and got to work.
The day was hot and I worked hard to finish all my chores. In the afternoon, I showered to get ready and let my hands roam over my taut body down to my cock until it reached its full eight inch erection. Blocking the horrors of the past weeks, I saw myself surrounded by beautiful college coeds, naked and hungry for me. I licked their tits and shoved my cock into their pussies, one after another, and then they all sucked me until I shot in their mouths and hair and eyes and..... just as I in fact creamed the wall of the shower with my copious jizz, the image of me on my knees being face plastered with cum by a dozen men made me retch. No, I need to have hope, to remain strong with the courage to find a way to escape like the young gay men I secretly read about in the newspaper. But at this moment, the image of me on my knees broke my heart.
Evening came and once again I dressed in my ridiculous faggot costume with the pink triangle shouting to the world that I was, according to the Government, a sick subhuman. I sat down in the back seat and listened to my former father spit out his invective about my disgusting, sinful perversions that besmirched his sacred home. I tried to block the sounds, but hearing my dad say these things about me sucked out my soul. And he was right. Straight pussy-loving as I was, I had become, against my will, a pimped out cocksucking slut sold to the highest bidder, good for nothing else than satisfying some man's darkest, perverse fantasies.
The mansion was magnificent. We drove up the long driveway as my father explained that he could not accompany me, that I better be on flawless behavior because the client did not want the taser, and all the money and any tips were to be brought directly to him. As if I could hide something in my tight biker shorts with no pockets. I touched the bump on my arm, a painful reminder that even if I wanted to escape, the locator transmitter would track me down.
The butler greeted me at the door and gave me the once-over look, a smirk on his face, and told me to follow him.
We walked through the marbled entry to the library where a silver haired, attractive man in a tuxedo looked me over and nodded. "You will be fine. Let's get rid of your outfit as you are over dressed." He told the butler to hand me a thong as I stripped off my other clothes. They both eyed my cock, a very large shower that still could grow even longer and thicker. By now, I am used to having my body on display for some horny guy's pleasure. No shame anymore. The thong was too small to even fully hide my soft dick and balls. I gave him a questioning look which he dismissed with a smile. The butler rubbed oil on my hard pecs and ripped abs. Once upon a time, I was proud of my hot body, noticing how the coeds - and not a few guys - caressed my body with their eyes. That seemed so long ago.
"You look perfect. Your job is to say yes and thank you to any request. For that, we are paying you well (right, paying me!).
I was led into the salon where a few dozen elegantly dressed men were drinking and conversing as one would expect of a high-end cocktail party. I noticed that there were two other servers, both clad in thongs, who looked a lot like me. Hard, taut bodies. Candy to the eyes. Except they seemed happy in their roles, not awkward as I obviously was. They were flirting, sometimes wiggling their asses, sometimes seeming to press their bodies slightly into the guests, laughing and smiling. They would even kiss each other to the pleasure of the guests. I stood like a confused statue until the butler handed me a tray of drinks and told me to move my ass.
As I walked around trying to serve, men looked me up and down, commenting to each other as they viewed my obvious bulging thong. Some would pat my butt as I walked by, a few gave it a sharp slap, the more adventurous pinched my nipples or even fondled my dick. It was then that I realized I was not a server, a waiter for hire. My stomach lurched and I thought I would vomit. I was meant to be a party favor who could only say "Yes" and "Thank you."
