My Life as My Father's Slave Ch. 03

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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Around 5 p.m. Bill showed up at the house. Before we opened the door for him, my father instructed me:

-Remember that a slave is always obliged to carry out any command a superior gives him, unless his Master tells him otherwise. And now you are inferior to any free man. Besides, you must always greet a superior by kissing his feet...

My father opened the door and I immediately prostrated myself and kissed Bill's sneakers. He was a slightly younger man than my father, equally tall and stout, and his body exuded virility. He was dressed casually, in a T-shirt and jeans. My father also dressed similarly.

-Well, well... very good, you have him well trained so far -said Bill smiling and patting me on the head. I stood up happily and they went to sit on the couch, while my father ordered me to serve them some snacks and drinks. I did so and remained standing next to them, attentive to anything they might need, while they chatted casually. My father explained the training I had been undergoing the last few days and they talked about it. You can't imagine how insignificant I felt while those two men were talking about me, as if I wasn't in front of them. From time to time Bill looked at me, until at one point he suddenly ordered me:

-Slave, my feet are very tired, why don't you take my shoes off and give me a good massage.

My father was a bit surprised, with a "I never thought of that" look on his face. For my part, I hurried to kneel down in front of Bill and barefoot him. I wanted to do things right at all costs. Soon I had those feet, big and beautiful, in my hands. Their smell, though not very strong, reached my nose and I couldn't help but become intoxicated with it. I loved a man's feet so much! I began to massage them with all my heart.

-Ummmm -Bill moaned with pleasure-. What a pleasure... Be sure to give them little kisses...

I did, of course, but besides that I licked them with fruition, I had a huge foot fetish and I was in heaven at that moment! Bill noticed, but at the time he didn't say anything. After a while he asked my father if he wanted a massage too, to which my father agreed, intrigued. He'd probably never had one before. I went over to my dad's bare feet and went wildly licking and kissing my dad's big, smelly, wonderful feet. This time they both noticed and Bill laughed:

-Look how he licks your feet, he seems to love it, hahaha... Of course these faggots are perverts, hahaha...

His words wounded me like daggers. My father glared at him and Bill was quick to say:

-Okay, okay... I shouldn't have said that... I'm sorry. We'll respect your little boy....

Calmer, I went back to my work. Without being able to help it my hand went to my crotch, I was so aroused to serve those great men! Bill noticed and touched my father's hand, where he knew the chip was located, giving me a sharp shock on the collar. In pain I fell to the floor as Bill reproached my father:

-Really? Is this the training you have given him? -And turning to me: -Never, NEVER, dare to touch yourself in front of your master, what were you thinking? -He turned to my father again: -In fact, a slave has no right to sexual pleasure whatsoever. I guess you haven't put a chastity device on him yet, have you?

-No, no, I haven't... -my father admitted, guilt in his voice.

-We'll have to put one on him... -and again he turned to me and ordered: -Go on with what you were doing!

Stunned and overwhelmed I returned to my father's feet, with considerably less enthusiasm this time. At one point, Bill ordered me to lie face up on the floor and told my father to put both feet on my face, saying that this was a position that would put us both, master and slave, in our proper place. My father obeyed and I was crushed by his huge feet. He had no qualms about throwing all their weight on me. Good thing he was sitting down. They continued to talk casually, ignoring me as I tried to breathe with my face completely squashed under my father's feet. Bill then commented to him:

-The collar discharge is fine, but when the inspector is here, I would recommend for corrections something a little more... involved, more personal.

-What do you mean? -my father asked.

-Well... -Bill hesitated a bit-, a good smack in the face, or other things we'll see.

My father couldn't help a look of utter horror on his face, though he immediately tried to hide it. I suppose the one I must have had in my face was no less, even if they couldn't see it. They continued the talk, and soon after, Bill asked my father, a little embarrassed:

-Have you used him yet for...well, you know...

-Well, no -my father said flatly. He knew what Bill was talking about-. I don't understand how, when homosexual practices are completely forbidden, this is allowed and praised.

I realized what they were referring to and shuddered. Bill replied:

-Because that's not really a sexual practice. It's just a master using his slave to let off steam and for his pleasure -my father looked at him with an incredulous expression. So much so, that Bill was forced to add-, Well...yes...I know it may not make a lot of sense, but it is. And you know it's an important part of the training manual.

-Yes, but I was going to ignore that. In my case, besides, I think it's really immoral. He's my son, for God's sake!

-Well, you can't ignore it. Not if you don't want the inspector to get suspicious.

My father hung his head in sorrow and they were silent for a while. Finally, Bill said:

-Well, if you like, I can break the ice and then you go on -and, without further ado, he got up and ordered me: -Slave, take out my cock and start sucking. Be sure to give me pleasure, and be careful, if I feel your teeth, I'll pull them out. Come on!

I stayed for a moment motionless and stunned, with the bulging package of his jeans in front of my face. I hadn't expected this at all. Seeing that I didn't obey immediately, Bill turned to my father expectantly. My father, who was quite overcome by the situation, understood what was being asked of him and clicked the chip, giving me a not too strong shock on the collar. Bill replied:

-Okay, but better... what I told you.

I shivered, waiting for what would come next. My father, looking absolutely horrified, raised his big hand and hit me in the face. The blow was so weak and so ridiculous that it astonished even me. Bill's look of utter reproach was so expressive that my father could not but overcome himself and tried again. And this time he gave me such a slap with his huge hand that it turned my face upside down. I looked at him, unable to believe it, and saw that his lips soundlessly mouthed the word "Sorry". That comforted me a little, but not enough. I could not, however, stop to think about it too much. Bill pressed me:

-What are you waiting for, do you want me to give you another smack?

I hastily unbuttoned his fly and carefully pulled out his cock. It was still flaccid, but it was a good size. The unmistakable smell of a man's crotch flooded my nostrils and my reason clouded. I no longer remembered where I was or who I was. At that moment all that mattered was giving pleasure to that magnificent manhood. I began to suck gently while my tongue played with his glans. I closed my eyes in ecstasy as I felt that divine cock grow and grow until it filled my mouth with its splendid hardness. I began to swallow it thoroughly and immediately felt Bill's hand on the back of my neck pushing it further into me.

-Ummmmmmmm... yes... God... -he moaned with pleasure-, keep going faggot... keep going....

He began to fuck my mouth wildly, but I had a lot of practice and I held on well, giving him maximum pleasure with my lips and tongue. It didn't take long to feel his spasms and, with a guttural cry, he filled my mouth with his cum. I was going to pull away, but he grabbed the back of my neck.

-Don't even think about spitting, faggot. You swallow it all.

So I did, feeling the sticky liquid go down my throat. Bill let go my head and collapsed on the couch.

-Aaaaah, this is heaven! -he exclaimed. However, he didn't get to relax much. He immediately ordered me: -It's your Master's turn. Come on!

My father, who had watched the whole scene before between horror and fascination, no longer had the courage to refuse and stood up. I saw myself again with another beautiful fly in jeans in my face. I looked up at my father's face, but he avoided my gaze. He looked very embarrassed, but at the same time determined to do his part, so I didn't hesitate any longer and pulled out of his confinement that wonderful cock that had given me life. It was thicker than Bill's and it was already half-erect. Had he been turned on by what he had seen and so was he already more inclined to let himself be done? I didn't know and didn't care. In a second I was already working him with my mouth, again in the pure ecstasy of worshipping the manhood of a macho man like my father. It also immediately got rock hard with my expertise sucking. And my father went crazy:

-Oooooooh, yes...fuck...fuck...God...

Along with my arousal, I felt so proud to be bringing this huge pleasure to my father that I think I cum without even touching myself. Good thing they didn't notice. My father ended up fucking my mouth, albeit, more gently, without using his hand on the back of my neck, and a few minutes later, the semen he had created me was spilling in great spurts into my mouth. So copiously that it leaked out of the corners of my lips. I had never seen anything like it. How long had my father gone without cumming? Of course, I swallowed with delight every last drop of that divine delicacy. When it was over, my father collapsed on the couch, just as his coworker had done.

-God, I've never felt anything like this before -said my father, still panting-. It was incredible! -he added-, I could get used to this...

I thought my father must have never been blown by my mother, or she wasn't very good at it. I was very pleased to have given him so much pleasure. Bill replied:

-Yeah, the good thing about faggots is that they come with this ability already from the birth, hahaha...

And this time, to my dismay, my father did not reproach him in any way for the insult. He just smiled. The two men buttoned up their pants again and Bill ordered me to keep working his feet. Meanwhile, they continued to talk. Again I was shocked when I heard my father's coworker say:

-You should piss in his mouth...

-That's not in the training manual -my father said harshly.

-I know, man, but it's also a common practice of masters with slaves. It would be a good point to show the inspector.

My father thought for a while and looked at me. He was still quite embarrassed about what had happened, but I gave him a friendly look back and I think he relaxed a little. Finally, Bill announced that he was leaving, that he would be back another evening to continue watching our progress. My father thanked him for his help and walked him to the door. When he returned, I was standing in the living room waiting for him, not quite sure what to say. He still felt very uncomfortable and, avoiding my gaze, stammered, forgetting our roles again:

-Son, I... I...

-Don't worry, Dad... Master... -I corrected myself-. We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to -I reassured him.

He thanked me with a smile and ordered me to prepare dinner. As he sat back down on the couch, I heard him mutter to himself:

-Fuck, I really loved that...

And I didn't know whether to rejoice or be frightened...

The next morning I was in for an unpleasant surprise. When I woke up my father, as I did every day, he told me to accompany him to the bathroom. I was surprised, because we had not done the ritual of bathing him again, and he usually ordered me to go and prepare breakfast after waking him up. I thought about whether he would want me to bathe him again and couldn't stop my heart from starting to beat very fast, thinking about the experience. However, he walked over to the toilet and stood still for a moment, looking at me. Feeling myself dying, I understood right away what he wanted, but I didn't want to take any notice. I just stood there looking at him. He then simply said:

-Would you be able to swallow it?

-No, please, please... Master, don't make me do that -I begged, revealing clearly that I knew what he was talking about.

He put on an impatient expression, sometimes he had a bad awakening and that morning he seemed to be in quite a bad mood. Maybe the feeling of guilt from the night before was making him aggressive? I had seen that kind of reaction many times. He then said to me:

-Come on, you know we have to do it. We have to impress the inspector. Don't make it harder, please.

Again I shook my head, looking pleading. His impatience turned to exasperation:

-Fuck, you have to obey. We can't go on like this forever. You know I do everything for your sake. I told you I'd be tolerant, but I'm starting to get tired, you know?

It seemed very unfair to me, I had tried my best to fulfill my duties and he seemed to take into account only the very few occasions in which I had shown some rebellion. I was going to answer him, but then I felt a slight shake of the necklace, clearly as a warning, and I realized that my father was not going to excuse me from that nor was he going to let me reply any more. My eyes filled with tears. I didn't want to confess to him that I had sometimes, in my sexual relations, played with pee. But I had never liked it and had been unable to swallow it. Now my father was directly asking me to swallow it and, moreover, the first urine of the morning, which was especially disgusting.

Seeing my tears he seemed to take pity on me a little and said, more warmly:

-I don't want to have to hit you, or punish you. You know that, don't you?

-Yes, Master.

-But you also know that I will if I have to -he continued in the same soft tone-, don't you?

Another slight shake of the collar accompanied those words. Defeated, I merely dropped to my knees. He smirked, pulled his cock out of his pajamas and pointed it at my mouth. It had a strong smell, after a night in bed.

-Close your lips around it, don't let anything slip out, but don't suck, understand? I'm going to go slowly, until you get used to swallowing -he instructed me calmly.

So I did and soon I had his cock between my lips. It didn't take long for a few drops to come out, which soon turned into a powerful stream that filled my mouth. His very strong taste, incredibly nauseating, hurt my taste buds. I thought I was going to vomit, but I made a tremendous effort to avoid it, fearing my father's reaction.

The spurt stopped dead in its tracks when it had almost completely filled my mouth and my father succinctly ordered:

-Swallow!

Dying of disgust and indignity, I swallowed the disgusting liquid. I could not believe that my adored father was pissing in my mouth and, even less, with that coldness, which was unknown to me. All the embarrassment and discomfort of the night before seemed to have vanished. As soon as I swallowed, the filthy stream started up again and the operation was repeated several times. It seemed that my father's pissing would never end! In one of those I could no longer contain myself and I vomited loudly, staining the floor, the toilet and my father. He turned away with infinite disgust and said, angrily, breaking my heart:

-Fuck... you can't stand anything! In the end Bill is going to be right....

And taking off his stained pajamas and throwing them in my face, he headed for the shower, at the same time shouting at me:

-You better have all that mess cleaned up when I get out of the shower!

I hurriedly started to clean it all up, while tears of helplessness rolled down my cheeks. I feared my father would punish me if everything wasn't to his liking when he finished showering. With a terrible jolt my mind realized that, for the first time in my life, I was afraid of my dear father...

And what had he meant by "Bill is going to be right in the end"? Right about what? At that moment I realized that, apart from what I had heard them talk about the day before, the two of them had been talking about me and our situation for some time, probably at work or over beers afterwards.

A while later, my father was having breakfast, while reading the newspaper. He had taken to reading while eating to replace the conversation he used to have with me, which he now did not consider appropriate in our current situation. I remained standing beside him, as always, attentive to anything he might need. I was feeling at that moment so bad about what had happened in the bathroom that my legs almost failed me. I think my father, now calmer, noticed this, because at one point he moved his hand towards me, I suppose to give me a caress. Still, despite his own rules, sometimes he could not contain himself and did things like that. Without knowing why, when I saw his hand, I jumped back and pulled away fearfully. My face must have been so expressive that my father became alarmed:

-Hey, hey!... I'm not going to hurt you, calm down, are you afraid of me? -he said with a panicked expression on his face.

I just lowered my head, and he added, contrite:

-Please, Ethan -at these moments he used to forget the protocol he had imposed us -, I don't want you to be afraid of me. You know I would never hurt you, son! - and taking me by the arm and leading me to him, he made me sit on his leg, like when I was a child, and continued: -Listen, I know I got very angry before and it wasn't right how I yelled at you, I'm really sorry...

I felt a great relief, it seemed that he was my father again, however, what he said next created a new uneasiness in me:

-But you make me angry with your attitude. You know that this is not easy for you or for me, but there is no choice but to do it. And it seems that you insist on making it very difficult for me. I don't want to hurt you, you know I don't, so please don't make me angry ever again, okay? I don't want to have to punish you...

Those seemingly comforting words, but which deep down were an obvious threat, finished sinking me and tears came to my eyes. He saw it and I thought he would be moved, but instead he said to me softly, but with clear impatience in his deep, manly voice:

-Come on Ethan! Don't be a crybaby. I need you to be strong, I need you to be a man. I want to be proud of you...

And giving me a light pat on the back, he made me get up and ordered me to wash the breakfast dishes, while he left to get dressed and go to work. I stayed there, swallowing my tears and wondering where this madness would lead us to.

The afternoon brought another unpleasant surprise. When my father came home from work and took off his uniform, he called me from the bathroom. I was vacuuming the living room floor. I left the chore and, as I approached him, I saw that he was taking a strange object out of a small box. I had no idea what it was. I looked at him questioningly.

-It's a chastity cage -he informed me-. It's put on slaves so they can't get erections or masturbate....

-Master, is this really... is this really necessary? -I said in horror. I was still a tremendously sexual person and my only relief was my nocturnal masturbations, for which I had never asked my father's permission, by the way, since I could do them clandestinely. Now I was going to be deprived of that minimum relief too?

-Yes, it is -he replied very seriously-. It's normal for slaves and we need you to wear it for the inspector to check.