A Fag Slave to my Uncle Pt. 01

I laid on the front step, drenched in urine, as I waited for the red car to pull into the driveway ahead of me. I had no clothes on, except for a thin pink skirt that couldn’t have been longer than two inches, but still covered my pathetically tiny penis. Tucked into the skirt’s elastic band were three $100 bills. I had just finished with my third client for the day, and I was waiting for my Master to pick me up so I could go to my fourth session.

This third client had been particularly sadistic. I suppose I should start at the beginning. My Master had told me that since the client was only a two mile walk from my house he wouldn’t waste the gas money, and that I should go on foot. So I had set off thirty minutes early, wearing nothing but the metal collar around my neck, embossed with the word “fag”, two-inch stilettos, my two-inch skirt, my huge septum piercing (which was designed to be attachable to a leash), the belly button piercing with an attached inch-wide metal plaque reading “Fairy”, and tiny hearts attached to each of the barbells running through my nipples, the right one reading “cum”, and the left reading “slut”.

As if it wasn’t hard enough to walk in stilettos, my Master had secured cuffs in place on each of my ankles, and the chain running between them was no more than a foot. I also was wearing handcuffs that were attached by a foot-long chain to my collar. In another world, my neighbors would all be intensely disgusted to see not only a gay boy but a gay brown boy walking down the street, even more so dressed in this get-up. I lived in a mainly 65+ community, with mainly white neighbors.

The only reason that they didn’t pay any mind was because most of them were my clients. Most of the men were closeted and in denial, and loved fucking young boys, and their wives turned as much of a blind eye as they could, even if just to ‘keep their man happy’.

The craziest thing was that this neighborhood was unusually large, housing almost 6,000 residents over three different ‘sectors’ of the neighborhood. Everyone who lived here knew these sectors. The neighborhood was basically the shape of a giant circle, more or less, and the three sectors were the outermost ring, the middle ring, and the innermost ring.

The innermost (where I lived with my Master) was home to about 3,000 residents; almost all of them, save for me and my Master, white and old. Most of them were married couples except a few widows.

The middle ring housed about 1,000 people, and was, for the most part, housing for families with middle-aged parents (late 30s to early 60s) and their kids. These were the typical white families you picture when you think of America, or watch American movies.

More often than not (as I knew from the maybe 30 times a month I would go to a session in this sector) the entire family would be well aware of the typical manner the father carried himself around with; toxically masculine and proud of it, and they would act (shockingly so) as if it was normal for a father to be spending money to fuck a barely legal fag and then returning to a family dinner (as I hobbled out of the house, his cum leaking out of my ass), playing board games with the kids, making love to his wife, going to bed, and then waking up to repeat it.

The outer ring was home to the barely over 18 college students that attended the university nearby. Coincidentally, that was the university I was supposed to attend according to my Master, so I could whore myself out to college kids to rake in more money, but he decided that I would be more profitable if I were to stay at home, and he would be able to maintain control of me more easily.

A car horn’s stringy BEEP brought me out of my day dream, as I looked up and saw my Master sitting in the car that had pulled up in the driveway. My Master was looking at me with fiery eyes. It was clear that he was annoyed, as he should be. I was supposed to, in the same way I had come to the client’s house, walk back home afterwards (again, save gas). The problem was what had happened during the session.

I had reached the door of the house after hobbling down the streets, shivering in the bristling 30ish degree late-fall Georgia air. The man was already waiting on the doorstep outside. He looked to be around 40; a typical middle-sector resident. I saw what I assumed was his wife walking down the street with their two toddlers. Clearly he had ushered her out of the house as quickly as he could. I walked up the steps to the front door, maintaining eye contact with his shoes the entire time.

My Master had always told me to remember to show obedience and submission to the men I was serving. After all, I was just the whore they were paying to abuse. He grabbed me around the neck as I reached the doorway, his humongous and calloused hands fully around my throat, and yanked me inside.

“Listen to me you fucking pillow-biter. We have two hours, after that my wife and kids will be back, and I wanna nut at least three times, so you better do what I fucking say and make me fucking happy.” he spat at me.

With his saliva dripping down my face, I choked out a response “Yes sir.”

He tightened his grip on my neck, choking me even harder, and pulled me into the bedroom. He threw me down on the beige-brown sheets, and grabbed the nylon cord protruding from my asshole and tied to my collar. He pulled it mercilessly and I felt the easter-egg shaped metal container pop out of my boipussy.

Though I didn’t remember him, he was clearly a prior customer, because he knew exactly where my Master put the hand and ankle cuff keys. He unlocked my ankle cuffs, and threw them to the side. Then he moved on to my hands and unlocked them, tossing them aside similarly. He then grabbed my ankles and pulled me down the bed until my feet were both on the floor and my torso was suspended just above the mattress. He spit, presumably on his cock, and I felt the slight tap as he brought the tip of his cock to kiss the puckered ass in front of him.

I glanced back and felt a shiver go down my spine. His cock must have been at least ten inches long. He pushed in and I groaned slightly, feeling my pussy try furiously to grow to accommodate the object it wrapped around.

“That’s it faggot; take the whole thing”, he said as he proceeded to push the rest in. He slid it in and out for the next ten-ish minutes, increasing his speed as my pussy juice provided lube. Finally, I felt his seed explode in me. One, two, three, four, five, six, then seven strings of it spurting deep into my bowels.

“Come on bitch take my seed get pregnant bitch,” he said as he pulled out. Without wasting so much as a minute he whipped me around, and shoved his cock all the way down my throat. I immediately started using the techniques I had been trained on for so long by my Master, sucking on his cock, playing with it with my tongue, and trying my best to swallow, massaging the length of it that sat in my throat. After two minutes of consistently applying these three skills, he came a second time, this time four spurts.

He pulled out abruptly, not like the other guys I usually serviced, with their post-nut high. He dragged me by my hair for a few yards, as I stumbled and struggled to get to my feet. Finally he gave me a moment of sympathy and I scrambled up to my feet, but he resumed dragging me as soon as he had stopped. He led me through their living room and kitchen and down the basement stairs. As soon as we entered the basement I saw what his plan was for me now.

A wooden baseball bat was laid on the floor in the corner of the room, next to a whip. The whip wasn’t one that was clearly made for kinky people though. This one was a real whip with nails sticking out of the first few segments. Hanging from the ceiling was a chain with handcuffs attached to them at the end. The chain was hung on a pulley which was visibly wired to a switch on the wall next to the bat and whip. He dragged me to the center of the room and closed the handcuffs on my wrist, securing me in place. He then walked to the corner of the room and picked up the whip.

“It’s fucking pansies like you that disgust me. You make our society weak and horrible. Now you’ll pay,” he said as he unwound the whip.

He drew his arm back, and then let the whip fly. It struck me on the right ass cheek, and I felt the nails rip through my skin. I glanced back, and the wounds were bright red with blood. He drew his arm back once more, and repeated it. Again and again and again until my ass was raw and red. Then he put the whip down and reached for a container sitting on a side table set against the wall. He opened it and I saw the pink crystals inside of it glisten in the electric tube lighting illuminating the basement. Pink salt. He grabbed a handful and walked up to me.

“Now faggot, feel the pain,” he said, as he rubbed it into my ass.

The pain was excruciating, but I had been trained to accept even higher levels of it, and my tears rolled down my face silently.

He, clearly unsatisfied that I had not made a sound, dusted off his hands, and went back to the corner. He grabbed the baseball bat and came to stand in front of me. Slowly, he positioned it next to my leg, as if he was queuing up for a golf swing. He raised it above his head and as I realized what he was doing, swung it down. It connected with my leg and my body rattled, wracked with pain.

Over and over he smacked my legs, until they were bruised and swollen in some places. Finally, he put the bat down in the corner, and let me out of the handcuffs. I collapsed to the ground, my legs unable to hold my body up.

“Get the fuck out my house,” he said as he threw my handcuffs and ankle cuffs at my feet.

He walked up the basement stairs, leaving me sitting in a pile on the floor. His cum slowly leaked out of my red and swollen ass and my face was covered in a mix of saliva and his seed. I gathered up the things he had thrown down and started making myself up. I locked my ankle and handcuffs in place, and pulled my skirt back down. I tried to stand up, but as soon as I attempted to put pressure on my legs, I fell flat on the floor. I reached out my hand to pull myself along, and started crawling towards the steps. I crawled up them and through the house to the front door.