Cherry Ch. 08: Family in Danger

Chapter 8: Forced to Catfish my Brother

or "Family in Danger"

After Daddy's guests left, I was left with cleaning up. Empty wine bottles lined the table along with plates, forks, knives, food scraps. Luckily, none of the wine spilled directly on Daddy's expensive dark-wood furniture or flooring. I knew that I would be the one tasked with cleaning anything expensive. The crimson table liner was ruined, but this was more easily replaced. Though in Daddy's income bracket, nothing was irreplaceable.

Already humiliated by my servitude, the wobble in my step and the soreness in my throat poured salt on my wounded ego. Before the guests left, I had been repeatedly been fucked in the ass and face. My skin-tight cocktail dress from the party already inhibited my movement, so I simply pulled the dress up above my ass cheeks to allow for as much movement as possible. An observer would have laughed hysterically at the sight of my bare, reddened ass jiggling around and my pathetic, shriveled cock bouncing around as I wobbled back and forth between the kitchen and dining hall carrying dishes.

By the time I finished cleaning up after the late-night party, it was nearly 4 am. Thankfully, Daddy had adjusted my programming before he went to bed to allow me to sleep in. Not that he cared about my well-being for its own sake; Daddy had made it clear that he didn't find it cute when a girl had bags under her eyes. And as far as he is concerned, being fuckable is my primary reason for being. Cleaning up after him is the second reason.

As I finished washing dishes, my mind wandered to pleasant memories of Thanksgiving with my family. I knew better than to hope to see them again--my cognitive programming would step in and punish me if my thoughts veered close to considering escape. But I frequently found respite in the pleasantness of the past.

I thought of my family back in British Columbia. My father, the accountant. My mother, the elementary school teacher. And my younger brother, who was studying to eventually become a business attorney. My Master was a powerful lawyer, and I wondered if their paths would ever cross. I prayed that they wouldn't. Though my younger brother was only nineteen, so there were several years before such a chance would even arise.

After I finished cleaning, I walked through the dining area and kitchen once more to inspect my work. If Daddy saw one thing out of place, the punishment would be severe. I observed internally that the fear of disappointing Daddy has fostered OCD-like symptoms, where I would look and relook at the same spot numerous times before I was convinced that it contained no blemishes.

After several hours of cleaning and spot-checking, I finally gathered up the courage to call it a night and go to bed. I was asleep before my head touched my pillow.

When I woke up, I could see through my window that the sun was already high in the sky. Anxiety built up beneath my chest. I didn't make Daddy's breakfast. When I got out of bed, I saw a note on the dresser. This was a familiar way for Daddy to give me commands without waking me up. I was grateful that he at least allowed me a respite during my hours of sleep.

Knowing better than to keep Daddy waiting, I quickly scurried to the note. "There is a problem. Get yourself dressed and put together, and meet me in my study. Skip your workout. And skip breakfast."

At the opening sentence, the anxiety in my gut doubled. At the same time, I was morose that I wouldn't be eating breakfast again. All I had eaten in the last twenty-four hours were several loads of semen from five different men. And despite the ridiculous things I'd told the men while in "slut mode," I couldn't live on that.

Despite the cocktail of emotions swirling around in me, I quickly showered, put on my makeup, and got dressed. Daddy hadn't chosen an outfit for me today, so I went with black yoga pants and a blouse for simplicity. Daddy typically didn't like me walking around barefoot, so I chose black slippers. I hoped that he wouldn't be angry that I chose more comfortable attire today. Though Daddy tended to slap my ass more when I wore yoga pants than most other outfits, so I suspected that he'd still enjoy the show.

When I arrived at Daddy's study, he didn't even look up from his laptop. "We have a problem," Daddy snapped. I inferred from the two large empty water glasses on his desk that he was still hungover from the wine the night before. "Shortly after you moved in, I called a guy who called a guy who staged your death. But some of your relatives aren't buying it."

I caught my breath; I couldn't allow myself to hold out hope. I couldn't let myself fantasize about escape.

"Specifically," Daddy continued, "someone named Kyle is poking around the city and asking about you." My eyes widened and my heart raced. "Who is Kyle?" Daddy asked.

I wanted to keep it a secret. I wanted to shut my mouth. I didn't want to tell this asshole anything about my former life or the people I cared about. My reconditioning kicked in, and I had no choice but to obey. "Yes Daddy, Kyle was my brother." Why did I instinctively use the word, "was"? Had I fallen so far that I didn't consider these people to be my family? Had Daddy changed me this profoundly?

Daddy sat back in his chair, contemplative. "We need to take care of this," he said matter-of-factly. Daddy looked at me, "how can we take care of this?"

In the months I've lived in Daddy--i.e., in the months that Daddy has owned and enslaved me--he has never asked for my opinion or to have an idea about something. I stammered like an idiot for several moments.

"I don't have all day," Daddy interjected, "I'm going to take care of this one way or the other. I can call someone to make Kyle disappear. But that's unnecessarily expensive and comes with its own risks. And I don't like risk. You know your brother, and I assume that you don't want me to handle this situation on my first instinct. So I'm allowing you the opportunity to give me a better idea. But I have a lot to do today, so if you have nothing, then I'm going to make the call."

I stammered for a moment more, but blurted out, "sho-show him a body!"

Daddy put his thumb and forefinger to the top of his nose, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "Paying someone to obtain a body and convince your brother that it's you would be even more expensive. And would involve even more risk, you fucking moron."

My penis twitched at the insult. I hated that Daddy talking down to me like that made me so horny.

"I-I c-could send him a letter addressed from overseas telling him that I moved away and never want to see him or my family again!" I was getting desperate.

Daddy squinted at me, confused. "I've already paid to fake your death--unconvincing as my vendor may have been--and we don't want to give them the hope to keep looking for you. Clearly, I didn't rob the world of a brilliant mind when I repurposed you as a love slave." My little erection was straining against my yoga pants at the insult.

The pitch of my voice was nearly at a shriek as I desperately threw out ideas to save my brother. "Somebody could catfish him! Yeah, catfish him! He's always on dating apps, somebody could lure him back to Canada so he forgets about me!"

Daddy leaned back in his chair, contemplating what I suggested. "Half of your plan is stupid," he spoke staring past me, as if thinking aloud, "I could use this as an opportunity though. Catfishing the bastard wouldn't get him to stop looking for you, but a set of sisters would carry more than double the price than a single love slave if I ever sold you."

No. No no no no no. Daddy was thinking of kidnapping Kyle and giving him the same cognitive conditioning as me. This was worse than his original plan. I'm particularly afraid of dying, but to someone free-spirited like Kyle, this would be a fate worse than death.

Typically, my programming wouldn't allow me to beg or contradict Daddy in any way. But his prior command to come up with ideas apparently allowed me some leeway in this.

"Please, Daddy, I don't know if that's a good idea. I think that if you just don't do anything, he'll get bored and go away eventually. Please don't catfish him. Please don't take him. That was a bad idea. I had a stupid idea because I'm a stupid slut. You're so smart, Daddy, you can come up with a better idea than killing Kyle or capturing him. Please, Daddy!"

I was on my knees at this point with my hands together, a classic caricature of a beggar. "Please, Daddy, I'll do anything! You're so smart and I'm so dumb! Please don't do this!"

Daddy snapped from his contemplation and stared at me with a fierce expression. He snapped, "what was that?"

My hands and voice trembled in fear. I barely managed to get out, "I said that you're so smart and I'm so dumb, Daddy!"

"No, you fucking moron, before that. You said 'I'll do anything.' Isn't that what you said?"

When Daddy's usual velvety, controlled voice falters into a growl, and when he starts using profanity, I know to be afraid. I know that he only drops the charismatic pretense, even in front of his little fuck doll, when he's seething with anger.

"I'm so sorry, D-daddy!" I managed to stammer, "I won't say that again."

Daddy stood from his desk and walked toward me. Each step was slow and controlled. My breathing hastened to hear hyperventilation. Still on my knees, my hands fell forward with my palms on the ground. I looked as if I was prostrating myself before an angry god. And as far as my reconditioning was concerned, this is exactly what I was doing.

When Daddy's feet were inches away from my palms, he squatted down to look at me closer. "Look at me," he flatly commanded. My shoulders shrugged together and my head still pointed down in frightened submission, my eyes looked up to meet his.

"You are in no position to bargain with me," Daddy's voice was back to its controlled, resonant velvet. It often reminded me of a late-night radio host, but with a deeper reverb. "A moment ago, you tried to change my behavior, change my decision, by offering to 'do anything.'" Daddy reached his hand down to my chin and lifted it so my face was inches from his. "You don't influence me. I influence you."

Daddy continued his monologue, "Do you remember classic sentence structuring from elementary school? 'Subject--Verb--Object'? I am the subject here. You are the object. When I speak, then as far as you are concerned, the words coming out of my mouth are the only reality that matter to you. And you cannot bargain with me, because you have nothing to bargain with. I own you. If I wanted you to do 'anything,' I would simply tell you to do anything. I've demonstrated, time and time again, that I can make you do, say, believe, or perceive anything that I want. As far as you're concerned, I'm God."

Daddy's voice got deeper and his expression darker, "If I told you to slam your head against my desk until you lost consciousness, you would do it without question. If I told you to walk outside and step in front of a bus, you would do it. If I told you that this house was a spaceship that had blasted into orbit, then you would panic if I tried to open a window, because that would be your reality."

My heaving had stopped, as I could not breathe through my fear at the angry, asshole god who was glaring into my eyes. Perceiving my terror, and having had his catharsis, Daddy's face and voice softened.

"Cherry, I'm not offended when you beg. Annoyed, but not offended. I am offended when you try to bargain. Let this sink in: you can bargain with me to the same extent as a fleshlight in a nightstand can bargain with its owner. You have no agency here."

I could feel my Master's words set in. I could feel the changes in my brain chemistry. Daddy's words established the beginning and end of my reality. Even if I didn't like what he had to say, my reality was whatever Daddy described it to be.

Daddy leaned forward and kissed me. He then pointed down at my tenting yoga pants, "Know that I never order you to get those. I love how much this turns you on."

My breathing relaxed, as Daddy's devious grin suggested that he was less cross. Daddy stood up from his squatting position, and I could see a bulge in his slacks at my eye level. Daddy reached his hand down to caress my cheek. As his hand moved toward the back of my head, his fingers intertwined themselves in my hair. He pulled my head toward his groin.

"Take care of this, Cherry," Daddy said as he pulled my face toward his cock. Without hesitation, I hungrily unbuckled his slacks and pulled down his zipper. I released his cock from his underwear and went to work, kissing up and down the shaft.

At a meta-level, I observed that wasn't under orders to show such hungry enthusiasm. This was genuine. Even if I was being forced to be here, I am still a sub. I am still a bottom. As Daddy has demonstrated, time and time again, that is who I naturally am at my core.

My own little dick was pulsating as I hungrily took as much of Daddy's shaft as I could. I worried about the consequences of cumming if I became too excited servicing Daddy's big cock. Daddy would occasionally let me come when I was being fucked, but usually only in my own bed. And he tasked me with regularly changing my sheets.

My uncommanded enthusiasm was not lost on Daddy. He softly caressed the side of my face, "I knew when I first met you that you were a sub at heart. That, in your core, you needed to be owned by a more dominant man. And here you are getting hard sucking my cock and being humiliated." I looked up submissively from my revelry.

"After you swallow my load, you may cum." Daddy was so generous.

"Fank 'oo, Fir!" was all I could manage in my gratitude. Shortly, I felt Daddy's massive member pulsing between my inflated lips, and his warm, thick love filling my throat. I leaned my head back and opened my mouth to show that I had it all in my mouth, swallowed, then opened it again to show that I got it all. The instant the last of Daddy's love went down my throat, I convulsed in ecstasy. I could tell that my cum was barely a dribble in my panties--after the hormones and conditioning I was subjected to, I doubted that I'd ever have the "gumption" left to father any children.

"Now clean that up and then come back here. You have work to do this afternoon."

I placed my palms together with my arms pointed straight down in my trained, submissive fashion. I looked up at Daddy. "Yes, Daddy," I cooed.

After I was cleaned and had returned, Daddy pulled a burner phone from a desk drawer and handed it to me. "There's a dating app on this. Take some sexy photos. You've been trained how. Then track down Kyle and send him a flirtatious message. Be sexy, but don't go over the top. Make it believable. And you are to do nothing else on that phone except catfish Kyle. If you don't succeed," Daddy looked me square in the eye, "Daddy will be EXTREMELY disappointed."

Dread filled my gut at that last remark. "Y-yes, Daddy!" My teeth chattered as I got the words out.

"Good girl," Daddy looked pleased. I calmed down as if he'd permitted me to relax. "Now get to it. I expect an update by this afternoon."

I didn't want to do this. But I had no choice. And for some reason, after Daddy's monologue earlier that day, I felt somehow fulfilled by doing what Daddy told me to do. Even if betraying my family made me feel wretched to my core, the asshole was right: I am a submissive at heart. And every day, I feel less ashamed to be my master's property. What was he turning me into?

I took several photos for the dating app. Daddy's private investigator had apparently discovered which app Kyle preferred to use. The most "normal" clothing I had at my disposal were yoga outfits--everything else was some kind of fetish lingerie, and Daddy would be angry if I got myself banned from the app on my first try. So I photographed myself in slutty poses in various colors of yoga pants and crop-tops.

I set my profile's privacy settings such that nobody could see or contact me unless I contacted them first, and searched for Kyle. I quickly found him. My eyes watered as I saw photos of him for the first time in months. "Hey, Handsome!" My first message needed to be perfect; I would only get one shot at saving Kyle's life, "I saw that you're new to the area and I wanted to reach out! Tell me about yourself!" Send.

Less than a minute later, the thirsty bastard responded. "Hi there! LOVE ur pics! So sexy. Wut u up to?"

I loved Kyle, but he wasn't the brightest bulb. And I now understood why he had such trouble talking to women.

"I'm glad you like them, big guy ;-)! I'm just talking to a hot guy my age. Are you doing anything tonight?" I hated myself for what I was doing. And I was ashamed, both for my betrayal, and because it took me all of five minutes to set up a hookup with my own brother. He thought that he'd be getting pussy tonight. In reality, my Master would probably drug him and haul him off to be reconditioned.

I told Daddy that I'd matched with Kyle and that we'd already hit it off. "Don't give him this address," Daddy instructed, "tell him to meet you at a local park." Daddy handed me a slip of paper with an address. "Once he's agreed to that, you will return the phone and go back to your chores."

I wanted to ask Daddy what he planned to do or if would get to see Kyle, but Daddy hadn't permitted me to speak, so all I could do was ineffectively move my lips. Daddy laughed, "I must say, seeing you vainly flap your lips gets me every time. What's up?"

"Daddy, will I get to see Kyle? What's going to happen to him?"

"Not for a while. And that's not your business." Daddy looked contemplative. "Although, I'd love to see your face when you find out. Edgar will be taking care of Kyle. You remember Edgar, right?"

I looked down at my feet, defeated. "Yes, Daddy."

I would never forget Edgar. And I didn't want to think about what that old pervert would do to Kyle.

"Edgar is a close friend of mine. He's been an associate since long before I did work for Orgos. He helped me 'take care of' my ex-wife when I caught her snooping around some files. We didn't have the reconditioning program back then, so Edgar had to psychologically break her the old-fashioned way. It started with some surgical modifications to make her resemble a sex doll. Then some more modifications around her ankles and joints to make her incapable of running away. Then a system of torture and rewards--a good shock collar can work wonders on a bitch--to break her down into something more pliable."

I feared what a sadistic asshole like Edgar would do to Kyle.

Two weeks later, my fears came to fruition. I was sucking Daddy off under his desk when I heard a ring at the door.

"Ah, I have a surprise for you, Cherry!" Daddy pushed my head away and buckled his pants. "We'll finish this later. Put on a cute dress, fix your makeup, and meet me by the front door."

Minutes later, I was back in my full dress and makeup, prancing into the main hall. I knew better than to be excited about Daddy's "surprise," but my programming forced me to look like an ecstatic bimbo. My merlot-colored, skintight dress added to the effect. The hormones and exercises were working wonders on my body. My body fat (what little I had) was almost completely distributed around my ass and hips, and my rigorous training kept everything firm and upright. Crimson lipstick accented my augmented lips; my face was becoming rounder at the edges and more feminine with the hormone treatment.

When I arrived at the entrance hall, my eyes widened, my mouth fell ajar, and I stopped in my tracks.

Edgar was standing in the hall talking to Daddy. His arm was wrapped possessively around Kyle's waist. Though it didn't look exactly like Kyle. He was wearing expertly applied makeup. His hair was dyed blonde and styled into a smart little bob. He was wearing a plaid, baby-blue button-down tied around his chest to expose his midriff and daisy duke jean shorts that barely covered his ass cheeks.