Date: Sun, 20 Jun 2021 10:05:41 +0000 From: whipped Subject: "Bro, Dad Owns You" chapters 4-7 This is a work of fiction. All characters in it are over eighteen and you must be over eighteen to read it. It takes place in an alternative world where slavery is legal. Never do anything like this in real life or anything non-consensual. This is fiction that takes place in a different world. In this world, we should all respect each other in real life and do our best not to harm or hurt each other. If you enjoy this or other stories, consider donating to Nifty. Also, feedback is important. The stories I finish are usually due to feedback. Nobody on Nifty gets paid to write those stories so the only way we know if a story is enjoyed is if readers let us know. Bro, Dad Owns You. Part 4 Terry fucked me three more times that night. I know girls say the first time is the hardest and most painful, but for me that wasn't true. Every time he fucked me, he had to get meaner and rougher in order to get off and it lasted longer and longer. The last time, he fell asleep on top of me. His body smelled like sweat and sex and cigar smoke and I couldn't move. I laid there suffocating under him, crying, his drool running down my cheek, his belly crushing me, until I finally fell asleep. And then the alarm went off. I panicked. I had to get my dad breakfast and make coffee. I had to start my chores. I wiggled and pulled at the side of the bed. Finally, I was able to move his arm off me and get up. But I could barely walk. I stumbled towards my closet and slipped on clothes before moving to the kitchen as fast as I could. It was minutes before dad expected breakfast. I made the coffee and then made my father a quick breakfast burrito with the salsa he liked. I threw some hash browns in an air fryer and then put it all together and practically ran to serve it. His door was already open. I took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't notice I was a minute late with the meal. I was part hoping he would either see me and save me or just ignore the evidence of what had happened to me. I gingerly half limped to the desk he was sitting at and placed the tray with the food on it, before walking away. But he stopped me. He said, "Come back here. Now." I turned around and faced him. My legs wobbled and my ass hurt and felt raw, but I made my way back to him as best I could. He touched my face and then used his hands to turn me around. He lifted my shirt and rubbed my shoulders before almost fondling the bruises Terry had left all over my body. Then he said, in that deep voice I used to love as a kid, "I know this isn't the life you expected. I am going to give you a modicum of leeway because of that and because you were raised as family." He sighed then and I tensed up. I half expected him to reach for a whip or a belt. But he didn't. He gripped my face instead and said, "But you're a slave now and a pretty enough whore for most men. However, you walk in here again smelling like a slut, I'll have you flogged bloody. And tell Terry I expect more discretion than that ruckus last night." And then he turned away from me and began eating. I made it to the kitchen and half collapsed into a chair, catching my breath, before turning to the day's chores. Part 5 I was surprised at noon by my grandfather's arrival at the front door. We had always been close. He wasn't from my dad's side of the family, where most of the wealth came from, but was my mom's dad. I wanted to hug him and start crying, but I was too scared. I just looked at him and said, "Please come in, master." I could see the shock in his eyes when he saw me. I had taken a shower and was wearing my old basketball uniform, but the collar made it clear what I was. So did the bruises on my face and the busted lip. Had he not known? He finally spoke and said, "Please take me to Terry, Jeremy." I nodded and led him to my room. Unlike me, he looked the same. 5'11, 220 pounds, a small beard, salt and pepper hair. Terry still hadn't gotten out of bed or gotten dressed. He was in his underwear watching movies on my old laptop and eating lunch when we arrived. He pointed to the floor when we walked in and I immediately dropped to the position he liked me to wait in. On my knees with my body bent, face touching the ground, hands to my sides. I could feel my shirt rise up and was ashamed for a minute that my granddad might see the whip marks. I couldn't understand everything they were saying because Terry never turned off the laptop, but the next thing I knew I was leaving with my grandfather. Was this some sort of escape? Reprieve? What was happening? Grandpa I had tried to buy Jeremy, to free him, when his father told me what he was planning. But I just didn't have the money. A boy like him was easily worth over a million dollars and some had gone at auction for ten times that. My entire retirement was less than ten million, I couldn't spent that much of it on any slave. Not even if the slave was my favorite grandson. But the least I could do was still treat him for his birthday. I arranged with his father to pick him up and take him out to eat and to the country club. His dad had agreed, only after I promised to take him to his slave orientation and intake. I'm not a fool. I knew the club would see the collar and find the whole thing questionable or scandalous. But I would dress him first and maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Jeremy Ken, grandpa's driver, didn't hesitate to open the door for me. For a second, I had such hope. But then grandpa said: You don't have to call me master in private, boy, especially today. Today is a celebration of your birthday. Your father is letting me take you out in return for taking you in to finish up your slave intake. We'll have a good time. I just nodded. And waited in the quiet car until we arrived at Overture. I couldn't help, but start shaking. Overture was the most famous slave dealership and modifier in the world. They were the elite of elite and promised to give owners whatever they wanted. You heard stories of slaves going in men and coming out women or going in with one face and coming out with another. They even did human animal transformations, making slaves look like cats or pulling or altering their teeths to make them look like fangs or so slaves just had gums. I could barely hear grandpa repeating for me to get out before Ken grabbed me by the collar, less polite this time, and dragged me into the building. The next hours would change the rest of my life. They began by taking me through a giant door labeled, "Processing." A guard cut my clothes off me and pushed me into a line full of other slaves. They came in all types. Old men, young women, guys my age, my dad's age. Fit, healthy, skinny, fat. All naked and collared and waiting for their turn in line. It seemed like hours passed, but it was probably only a few minutes. I was trying to cover my junk with my hands without drawing attention to myself. Then a man with a clipboard looked at me and said, "Jeremy Corgin?" I nodded and then said, "Yes, master." He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to a side door. I was taken to a fat man in a suit sitting at one of those old wooden desks. The man looked at some papers in front of him and then said: "Your master can call you whatever he wants and you will respond to that name when others use it as well. As far as the state is concerned, however, Jeremy William Corgin is dead. You are now Human Livestock 374398 or HL 374398. Repeat your chattel designation, slave. I said, "HL 374398, master." He looked at a guy not much older than me to his right and said, "Black ring, permanent depilatory, GPS, shock collar, left inner thigh. Nipples, tongue. Slave cut. Five lashes. Twenty minutes dep tank." The teenager nodded and gestured with his head to the door. Grandpa I watched the boy vanish into processing and was then led to the observatory. Part of me wanted to be anywhere else. But I wasn't some rabble rousing abolitionist. The least I could do was watch the boy meet his fate and support the system. They started by leading him in the room naked. I hadn't seen him naked since he was a toddler. His dick looked about average, but he was really very fit for a teenager of his background. Most of the boys I knew his age with family wealth had given in to temptations and had at least a little belly. Not him. I upped my estimate of his sell price immediately. The next thing I noticed was the way he was moving his body. I hadn't imagined X would ever have allowed him to be used as a body slave, but there was no mistaking that limp. The boy had been fucked and fondled and whipped. It had to have been Terry. That was why he was lounging half-naked in the boy's room. And then I became caught up in the actual processing. The boy was first cuffed to a type of cross/wheel. The part he was cuffed to was padded and shaped like a cross, but that was surrounded by a circle so the cross could be spun in any direction and then locked in place. They started with the cream. I knew that had to be coming, nobody liked hairy slaves anymore, but it was still difficult to watch. They slathered the cream all over his face, neck, chest, back, ass, balls, thighs, everywhere. The only place they left alone was the hair on his head and his eyebrows. Then they waited. I knew he was lucky the cream was fast acting, but he didn't. I could tell when it began to burn the hair off his body. He screamed the entire fifteen minutes. He didn't stop when the cream was washed off him, either. He just started crying inbetween. They didn't wait for him to stop before continuing. They flipped his body horizontal. One man, a built man in his thirties or so, gripped his thigh, twisted it, and branded Jeremy with his slave id. Another man gripped his ear at the lobe and used a dermal punch on it. He cauterized the hole with what looked like a car cigarette lighter. After the ear was rinsed off with the antibiotic, a part of me was shocked to see the 00 gauge permanent plug the man had inserted was black. At this point, I could tell Jeremy was in shock. The tears had stopped and his eyes had just went blank. The man who had branded him implanted a GPS at the small of his neck. Then they removed his state provided collar and replaced it with one of those high tech ones that pair with your phone. They can shock a slave senseless and be triggered for fun, punishment, or even just when it leaves a designates area. I took a sip of my wine and waited for what was next. A young lady came out of seemingly nowhere. She swung his body upright and then mounted the platform behind him. He was still, his eyes dead, and she took that opportunity to separate his hair. The side with the piercing she shaved to the scalp. The other side she cut above the ear, as required by law, but then she styled it and did some weird things with a razor and scissors. It gave the boys hair a sort of weird texture. She twisted it and sliced off more, then sprayed something in it, pieced it with her fingers, nodded to herself, and left. The built man came back then. He grabbed the boy's left nipple and used a smaller gun to drive a hole through it. He repeated the process on the right nipple. Then he gripped Jeremy's tongue and used almost like a whole puncher on it. After that, he inserted little bars into the holes he has created. I couldn't see them from here, but I knew Overture well enough to know they would have his HL number on them and be locked in place. And then it was the main event. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn't. A few prospective Overture clients had wandered in and were commenting on how handsome my new slave was. I smiled, sipped wine, and made myself watch through the one way mirror. Jeremy My skin felt raw and blistered. The cream had melted my hair off and my skin was soft as a baby's skin. But to me, it burned. All over. My ear where it had been punched and burned was throbbing and my stomach was roiling. I felt like I was going to throw up. The burn on my thigh was a different kind of fire. I almost didn't feel the needle tracing the brand with ink to make sure it was permanent. I felt the needles putting the barcode under it. And then everything stopped. I heard whispering and some sort of discussion and then I was being taken off the wheel. I collapsed to the floor and was lifted and half carried to the other side of the room. This time, I was facing the door I came in and not the giant glass mirror. I felt my hands being tied with rope of some kind. It started lifting me up until I was on my tiptoes. I barely had time to hear that whistling sound before my back exploded in pain. I passed out before the second lash. Grandpa The couple next to me cheered as Jeremy's body thrashed and convulsed from the whip. Even if he hadn't been my grandson, I would have found their excitement distasteful. Slavery might be necessary for the economy and prudent, but we weren't barbarians. When he was hauled away to the deprivation tank, the one way mirror turned into a screen showing him in his isolation. The soundtrack he was hearing played over the speakers as well. After the initial shock when he didn't reply, he began repeating the recorded message. He repeated it for twenty minutes. Over and over he said: I am HL 374398, slave of David Corgin, human chattel, an object. Jeremy William Corgin is dead. I exist only to please my master. My body, my mind, my heart, my soul, all exist only to please him. If he wishes, I will die for him. I will never be free or human again. I have no rights. I must kneel before all free men and call them master. I will obey or be punished. I deserve all punishment given. I am HL 374398, slave of David Corgin.... It was disgusting the way the couple was acting during this last segment of processing. At one point, the woman was actually fondling the man's obviously hard cock. As she started to fellate him as he watched the boy, I decided it was time go and wait for the boy in receiving. Part 6 Grandpa What came out of Overture was not Jeremy. All illusions of this being a normal day or normal relationship were shattered when he came through the receiving door. His clothes had been cut off during his intake and been replaced with overture branded spandex slave shorts. He was wearing no shirt and the fresh whip marks were incredibly red and visible. So were the tongue and nipple piercings. The burns from the cream had faded, but the brand and tattoos were vivid and visible to anyone who looked. His hair was also in a typical slave cut. Fancier than most, what with the styling and texture, but no free boy would ever shave his head or cut it above his ears. And then there was the collar and the ear plug. The black ear plug. Ruining any plans I may have had for his future. Even the GPS mark was visible. The country club would not like this. Jeremy I got in the car, but we didn't speak. Overture had covered me in healing cream and given me a shot of antibiotics to ensure I didn't get an infection. But part of me was broken. When we got to the country club, there was a bit of a fuss. My grandfather insisted I be allowed to eat with him and enter through the guest door. He lost that battle. I was taken to the slave entrance and then led to a side room where my grandfather had been seated. I could see the guests peering through wondering what was going on. I felt overwhelmed and automatically asked, "May I be excused?" He nodded. And I ran to the bathroom. The bathroom was full. A line for urinals and stalls. That usually only happened during golf tournaments. I stood at the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. I truly looked like a slave for the first time. Not a boy in a collar, not a game, a real slave. Human property. HL 374398. The words from the tank repeated in my head. Then I heard voices. One said, "Hurry the fuck up or we will never get the Reinhold account, Ted." And another said, "This will go faster if you just use the slave." And I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Abby Wilson's dad. I had dated her for a while and he had actually been really cool about it. I started to say hello and remind him he knew me. But he didn't say hi. He said, "On your knees, against the wall, mouth up and open. Don't spill it or ruin my pants, either." My brain still wasn't computing all this, but I knelt against the wall facing him with my mouth open. And he unzipped his pants. I looked up at him. He was probably in his late forties and muscular with a business cut. He was just a typical fit dad. His cock was soft and about five inches. My face had never been this close to a real dick before. I found myself staring. Then it slapped on my tongue and he said, "Lock your lips around the head and swallow, don't suck." And then it happened. His dick jumped up in my mouth and pee started pouring into it. I was in shock and the first shot of his bitter piss poured out of my mouth onto my chest. He stopped the flow and said, very firmly, "Swallow it." I whispered, "Yes, master." And I did. And when he was done, another man stepped up. This one was older and thin. Then a young guy. Then a fat older man. He joked about how the urinals in his country had bigger tits. I knelt in the bathroom floor, chest wet, swallowing pee, man after man, until my stomach sloshed with it and I wanted to vomit. At some point, someone must have mentioned me to a manager or staff. I was taken back to my grandfather, reeking of urine and wet. He had me sit down and the manager apologized and said I had been mistaken for one of their slave staff. My grandfather assured him there was no need to apologize and that mistakes happen. And then they offered to have me cleaned before we left. My grandfather happily accepted. Part 7 Jeremy The car ride home was even quieter. I hadn't been able to eat for obvious reasons and the only clothes they had had for me were their slave uniforms. They were basically just a jockstrap with the club logo on it, as all club slaves were young and fit and part of the attraction for members. I don't know who was more uncomfortable, me or or my grandfather. And then he spoke. He looked at me and said, "Terry fucked you, didn't he? And your dad let him?" I nodded. Then he said, as if in shock, "And all those men.. they put their dicks in your mouth...you let them piss in your mouth...you drank their piss." I wanted to explain what being a slave was like and how scared I was, but I just nodded. He almost whispered, "So the earplug is real...you have a black ear plug..." I didn't know what it meant, but I nodded to that too. Then he told Ken to pull over. Grandpa Up until the incident at the club, even after the branding and the whipping and the mantra in the tank, I had been trying to pretend he was still my grandson. I had thought maybe I could free him or find a nice temporary contract for him. That maybe I could even leave some of my estate to him or have it buy him and free him. I had felt pity for him and hope. But all that was over. I looked at him now the way I looked at slaves. He was handsome. Young. Tight skin. Smooth. I liked slaves with bruises or whip marks because it showed their place and that maybe they weren't entirely broken. And I thought about Terry fucking him. Terry being the one who took his slave ass for the first time. Terry hitting him or using the whip or breaking him. And my dick started to harden. I reached my hand out to his face and I felt him tense for a minute and it somehow made me harder. His face was thinner and more angular, but he looked so much like his grandmother it made me ache. I missed her everyday. I told him, "On your knees, slave." I watched as he knelt in the floorboard in front of me. Then I sighed, missing my grandson, and pulled the slaveboy's head down to my crotch. Jeremy The second my grandfather's car drove away, I spat his cum out on the driveway. He hadn't been cruel like Terry. He hadn't whipped me like dad. But he had shown me this was real. He had gripped my head and made me suck his smelly old man cock deep over and over, gagging and choking, until his bitter cum flooded my mouth. Then he had pulled up his pants, told Ken to take me home, and got out of the car. I don't even know where he went. But I knew I wouldn't be getting any help from him anymore. I looked at the door and thought about running away. But I had a GPS tracker and nobody would ever mistake me for free again.