My Life as My Father's Slave Ch. 04

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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A few more days passed, during which my father incorporated the new rituals into our daily life. When we were in the living room watching TV, he no longer allowed me to sit, not even on the floor. I had to be massaging and licking his feet, or else just with them squashing my face, lying on the floor. My father seemed to have liked that position and would sometimes tell me, laughing, that he would never have thought my face would make such a comfortable footrest. Damn how funny that was to me. Two days after I put on the chastity device, my father let me take it off to wash myself. You can't imagine how humiliating it was to wash in front of my father, watching me so I wouldn't think of touching myself while washing my genitals. I felt again like a child who needs to be supervised in everything. There were no more problems with the insertion, because I quickly learned to put it on by myself. Of course, it was still up to my father to open and close the lock with the key. He was the guardian of my pleasure, just as he was now the master of my whole life.

And, of course, my father again used my mouth to unload his balls. He quickly became very fond of it and soon felt no shame in doing so. He liked it so much that some days he would order me to do it up to three times. I confess that this was the only part of my slavery that I enjoyed. Being able to service that incredible cock that had given me life drove me crazy.

The hardest part, however, was swallowing his piss. Now he never used the bathroom when he was home. He would just call me, stand up and point to the floor in front of him. Then he would unzip his fly and put his cock to my lips, signaling me not to suck. Soon I became an expert and he no longer needed to go slow. I could swallow all of his piss in one go without a drop escaping. Of course, I never got used to it. I still found it absolutely disgusting.

One of those afternoons something very disturbing happened to me. My father came home from work in his car and I saw him take a couple of cardboard boxes out of the car and put them in the garage. As soon as I could get away for a while, I went to see what they were, intrigued. One of them was quite large and sealed, so I couldn't see what it contained. Obviously, I didn't dare open it without my father's permission. The other, much smaller, on the other hand, was open and what I saw in it made my blood run cold in my veins. There were several objects, some I recognized, others I didn't, among them candles, straps, a paddle racket and, what disturbed me the most, two whips. That had to be a bad dream, it couldn't be that my father had bought those things to hurt me! But if not... why would he want that? As soon as I was with him, I asked him for permission to speak:

-Master, excuse me... what are those things in the garage?

He immediately noticed my agitation and hastened to reassure me:

-Don't worry. They are things Bill told me to get, but I have no intention of using them. They're just going to be there for the inspector to see.

I was immensely relieved, but I still asked:

-What about the big box, what's in it?

My father then reddened and seemed to hesitate. At last he said to me:

-That box is none of your business... for the moment - I froze, not knowing what to think. My father had never said anything like that to me before. We had absolute trust and shared everything. But it was clear that my father was not going to talk about it, and in fact, he immediately told me in an impatient tone:

-Come on, slave! Don't you have things to do?

I obeyed his order and went off to my chores, while dark thoughts overwhelmed my soul....

Three days later Bill stopped by again to supervise my training process. He was quite pleased with the new elements we had incorporated and, of course, used my services again, this time not only to attend to his feet and give him oral pleasure, but also to deposit all his bitter piss in my mouth. However, he did not seem entirely happy and, at one point, he said to my father in a low voice, although I could hear him:

-I would like to talk to you in private...

My father immediately ordered me to go to the garage and not to return until further notice. So I did, but what they didn't know was that there was a vent in the garage, through which the voices of whoever was in the living room, where they were, filtered through perfectly. So I was able to hear the whole conversation they had. When I arrived and stood by the vent, Bill was saying:

-Everything is fine, you have made a lot of progress, but there is something still escaping. There is a lot of complicity between you and it is perfectly perceptible. If I can feel it, how can a person trained to detect such things not feel it?

I was surprised to hear this, to tell the truth, because at that point I thought that the complicity between my father and I that he was talking about no longer existed, or at least had been reduced to a minimum. But I suppose it was perceived differently by a stranger.

-And what can be done? -my father asked, concerned. Bill thought for a while and said:

-You have to break him, you have to make him collapse. He's probably going to hate you for it, but you have to do it...

-I don't want my son to hate me! -My father exclaimed in exasperation-, This has gone far enough!

-That's another important point, Mason. You need to work on that too. You can't go on seeing him as your son. He's your slave now, he's come to that status because he's a faggot and that's his place in life.

-His place in life! How can you say that? Is this not very unfair to him? I thought you agreed with me that all this is inhuman nonsense.

You can't imagine how glad I was to have my father's defense in those moments. I was so proud of him and so lucky to have him by my side! Bill, however, was not deterred:

-Man, it's true that at first the enslavement thing seemed a little harsh to me. But that doesn't mean that I don't still consider faggots a burden on society.

My father was silent for a few moments. I guess his expression of disbelief must have been tremendous, hearing his friend talk like that. Bill defended himself:

-Yes, this seems very harsh, but what do you want me to say? We heterosexuals do a service to society, we bring children into the world, we raise them, we make useful men and women out of them... What do faggots do? They just do their own filth...

-Man, apart from not having children, they do many other things for society...

-I'm not saying they don't, but in any case, it doesn't hurt that they take care of us and make life easier for real men. I see it as completely logical. As much as it pains you to hear this, they are inferior beings...

-Inferior? How can you say such a thing?

-Come on, Mason -Bill continued, condescending-. You've seen your son kneel in front of a man, eat his cock and swallow his jizz like his life depended on it, enjoying it like the dirtiest of whores. Don't tell me that's not the most pathetic thing you've ever seen, because I'm sure you see it that way too. If I saw my son do something like that, I'd never want to hear from him again in my life! Come on, Mason, be honest with me and tell me that you haven't thought about it!

-Well, I don't deny that it hasn't been easy for me and that I'm a little confused about all of this -my father replied after a while of silence. The fact that he seemed to flinch took my breath away.

-It's not just that. He even gets off on licking a guy's stinky feet, for fuck's sake... And he swallows a man's piss without complaining...

-He only does that because I forced him... -my father shyly replied.

-You forced him, you forced him... Any man who was forced to do that, would destroy with one blow the one who tried to do it. If your son didn't do it, it's because he's a pussy, a faggot...

-It's not his fault. He was born that way... -my father tried to argue.

-I'm not sure they're born that way. I think they become totally perverted at some point. But, in any case, in our society we need strong, determined men, who can protect our women and children, not pussies like this one...

My father fell silent then, to my desolation. Bill pressed on:

-Mason, honestly, wouldn't you have preferred to have a normal son, who would have given you grandchildren and of whom you could be really proud? Tell me the truth!

-Yes, I suppose I would -my father admitted, defeated. Bill then changed his tone slightly and continued:

-Listen, Mason, I don't mean to break you. I couldn't love a child of mine if he behave that way, but I understand that you do. What I want is for you to stop feeling guilty about using him for your comfort and pleasure. I want you to be clear that you have given him life, that you have raised him, that you have sacrificed yourself for his well-being... and that the least he can do is to reciprocate by treating you as what you are: a being superior to him and deserving of adoration on his part. You deserve him to serve you and be your slave! The sooner you both come to terms with your status in this relationship, the sooner you can be happy.

-Bill, I... -my father started to say, but Bill interrupted him:

-Let's drop the subject, shall we? Just promise me you'll think about it -and, without letting my father say more, he quickly changed the subject: -Now we have to think what to do about your son. Tell me, does he still have any friends who are free? Do you have any other family?

-Yes, he still has some friends, I think.

-Well, let's have a beer and I'll tell you what we're going to do. We'll have to plan it thoroughly...

Then, to my desolation, they went to the kitchen and I couldn't hear them anymore. I didn't get to hear anything else until I heard the street door close and my father came to get me. The whole conversation had thrown me completely off. I didn't like Bill, but I never thought he had such harsh homophobia in him. And his speech was so intense and passionate that it made me feel guilty for being gay, for even being born. And if it had had that effect on me, what would it not have done to a convinced heterosexual like my father, no matter how gay-friendly he was? I myself had seen how he had been speechless in front of him. Besides, I knew that Bill would have many more opportunities, at work and at post-work drinks, to continue to talk to my father on the subject.

I had to counter those words, any way I could. But how would I do it without my father finding out that I had been listening? I knew that if he found out about it, he would be very angry....

That night my father was at dinner when I asked him for permission to speak and he granted it:

-Master, you... you... love me, don't you? -I asked timidly.

-What kind of question is that? -he replied-. You know perfectly well that I do.

-It's just... it's just... maybe you would have preferred to have a child, you know, straight... -I tried not to let him know that I knew the question Bill had asked. I don't know if I succeeded, but he then said to me:

-That's not something you should be worried about -that wasn't the answer I was expecting, really. But my father continued, taking me by the arm and sitting me back on his leg, like a child: -Listen, I know this is very hard for you, and it's hard for me too. I have to warn you that it may get even harder for you in the next few days. But I want you to never forget that I'm doing everything for your own good and that you are the most important thing in the world to me, understand?

His words comforted me enormously, but at the same time they terrified me. What was going to happen in the next few days? I wanted to keep talking, but he gave me an affectionate pat inviting me to get up and told me bluntly, clearly returning to his role of master:

-Well, that's enough. I don't want to hear another word.

I could not probe any further. What I did do, after washing up the dinner dishes, was to ask my father for permission to go to the garage to finish something, before serving as a footrest in the living room. I had to know what that huge box was! The uncertainty was killing me.

When I arrived, I had taken a box cutter and I thought that if I tore a little bit of a corner, I could see what was inside without being noticed. So I did and opened a small hole. What I saw was astounding. It was bars, it was a cage! I recoiled in fright when a noise startled me. My father was looking at me with a stern expression from the garage door.

-So this is what you had come for -he said very seriously-. I already imagined something like this because of the oddity of your request.

-Master, I'm sorry... I... I...

He cut me off with a gesture and said:

-I don't know why you insist on disobeying me. The truth is that I am completely fed up with this attitude of yours. I will think of a suitable punishment for this. But now... -he said with what seemed to me to be a semi-sadistic smile-, since you have opened it, I don't think there will be any inconvenience if we release it.

I stepped back in horror as he took the box cutter from my hand and finished opening the box. The hideous object was exposed. It was an animal cage, about four feet high and large enough to hold a large dog. I looked at him with a questioning expression. He simply said to me:

-I already told you that when the inspector came you would not be able to sleep in your room and that we would have to find another solution for you. Well... this is the solution that Bill and I have found most suitable. I didn't plan to use it until it was necessary, but since you've taken it out, well... it won't hurt to get used to it. Besides, it will serve as a punishment for your indiscretion and disobedience.

He took the cage in his strong arms, it didn't seem to weigh much, however, and carried it into the living room, followed by me. There he left it in a secluded corner.

-Well, from now on you'll sleep here -he said coldly-. You'll be under lock and key, so we'll have to change the morning ritual. From now on I'll be the one waking you up, okay?

He was saying such a dreadful thing so naturally, that it had me completely speechless. However, I didn't dare say anything, I was already too afraid to question his orders. The terror on my face must, however, have been such that my father took a little pity and said to me, changing to a more affectionate tone:

-It will be just until the inspector leaves, take it easy...

I was not the least bit reassured by this, and he noticed it. Deciding to soften it up a bit, he went to a closet and took a small gym mat that was there. He opened the cage and put it inside on the floor, saying to me:

-This will make it a little more comfortable. But I'll have to take it away when the inspector is here.

And without further ado he returned to the couch and ordered me to massage his feet. I did so, glancing from time to time at the cage, aghast, until my father decided it was time to go to bed. He got up and went to the cage. He opened the cage door and simply motioned for me to come in. Completely dejected I got down on all fours to get inside and once inside I felt so claustrophobic I thought I was going to have a panic attack. I fought with all my might not to let it happen, I didn't want to give my father the impression of being a pussy again, but I was there, unable to stand upright, like a penned animal and I didn't know what to do. My father said to me softly:

-Lie down and try to sleep.

So I did. The cage was wide, but its length only allowed me to lie down in a fetal position. On the other hand, the mattress my father had placed was quite thin, not comfortable at all, but I supposed it was better than lying directly on the floor of the cage and I was grateful for it. As soon as I was lying down my father locked the lock of my newfound prison, said goodnight and left the room, turning off the lights and leaving me in the most terrifying of situations...

That day, when he came back home from work, my father smilingly announced to me:

-I've invited your friends Liam and Jake to come and meet you. It's been a long time since you've seen each other, hasn't it? -he asked jovially.

-Yes... Master -I answered, not sharing his enthusiasm at all. I knew there was something fishy going on. I remembered Bill had asked my father about my friends. What were they up to?

-Well, that's great. You'll see how much fun you'll have -my father said cheerfully.

I was tremendously worried. Liam and Jake had been friends of mine since childhood, we had gone to school together and had always got on very well. However, since my arrest we had only chatted for the few days it had taken my father to curtail my freedom, and I hadn't been able to find out what they really thought about it all. I had never told them that I was gay, although I had taken it for granted that they knew, and in those chats in the first few days they had just asked me about my new situation, without - it seemed to me - any real interest in my welfare. So I didn't know what was to become of that visit.

There was a knock at the door and I went to open it. Both of them appeared on the threshold, looking hesitant and uncomfortable. That discomfort increased even more when they saw me dressed only in my collar and loincloth, apart from being completely bald, of course. They hadn't met me since before my arrest. After a few moments of uncertainty, Liam said shyly:

-Hello, Ethan...

At that moment my father appeared from behind me and said in my ear:

-How do slaves greet their superiors?

I couldn't believe my father would ask me that. But it was clearly an order, so I prostrated myself and kissed my friends' shoes. Liam looked just as uncomfortable as before, but Jake smiled and said:

-Wow, this is really strong...

My dad greeted them cheerfully and invited them in. Once we all arrived in the living room, my father said:

-Well boys, I'll leave you alone for a while to talk about your stuff.

And he went to his room. After another awkward moment, my two friends started talking in a rush. Liam was interested in my well-being, but Jake especially wanted to know all the details of my arrest and my life as a slave. He seemed especially interested in the subject. I obviously didn't feel like telling him many of the things my condition was forcing me to do, and I responded rather evasively. Soon after, however, I managed to steer the conversation towards our childhood, the things we did together and the experiences we had shared, and in a while we were having a pleasant chat among friends, which made me relax and even forget, for a few minutes, my real situation. It didn't last long, because soon my father appeared.

-Well, well, how are you doing? -he said with the same joviality-. I'm sure you'd like to have a drink. Let's go to the sofa.

The three of them sat down. I was about to do the same, but an expressive look from my father stopped me, as he ordered me:

-Bring us the snacks and drinks you have prepared, slave.

My friends were obviously shocked to hear my father call me "slave", but he immediately started chatting with them, taking an interest in their life, their studies... My father was a very good conversationalist and, although he and my friends had not met much together, they connected immediately. In the meantime, I brought them their snacks and drinks and stood there, next to the sofa. I didn't dare sit down, of course. Noticing that, Liam asked: