FOURTEEN
Now, in the brothel, 53yo . . .
It's a good thing I like to read because most of the time I had nothing to do during the day but sit around with the others, most of whom are women ages 20-40. A couple of them started talking to me about their problems because I could easily be a type of Uncle to them—not a Daddy, not sexual, they know I'm gay, but emotionally. And it was good. I got to like a couple of them real well.
As for the guys "on staff," they were youngish, well built eye candy for me as well as for the customers—I mean clients--. Often they were on display and guys my age would be around drooling over them. I drooled a bit myself, of course, but they weren't the least bit interested in me.
They had to service guys like me all the time so I was just another horny old fag to them. I realized that so I mostly kept my distance and sat around talking to the girls who wanted advice from some kind of uncle—that's that is was: they saw me as a friendly uncle. That makes much more sense.
Of course, I was never on display in the lounge when customers were there. They felt I'd bring down the property values! They kept me hidden, but the clients were told I was available for the taking. In addition to that there were a few who turned out to be my "regulars," several guys older than me who could still see me as a "boy."
Once in a while I'd service a young stud who just wanted a blow job because I was cheaper than the others. As hot as this could be, guys like that would often fuck the hell out of my mouth and my face would be covered with tears and snot by the time they shot their young babymakers down my ravaged throat.
The worst thing was that the breath control guy started coming around almost every week and I never completely got used to it. He never spoke to me about it or asked it is was okay. He just bend me over, pulled his scarf around my neck (they made him use that because it wouldn't mark up my throat), jammed his not-too-large dick up my ass and start in on his routine.
I must say that he always seemed to know when I `d reached my limit and was about to pass out. Of course, I got more experienced at going for gradually longer periods of time with my breath cut off and that pleased him and he'd rate my performance with a high score. Yes, I was rated. No, I never found out how this worked out or what my ratings were.
He seemed to like fucking me hard and rough while I was recovering from being choked and was trying to stabilize my breath again. I don't know what was more humiliating about it all—the choking, the fucking, or the fact that he never spoke a single word to me all the times he came and used me. I was just a thing for him to toy with. To tell the truth, I actually felt sorry for the guy. I finally realized that his life was a lot more lonely and awful than mine.
Then there was Harvey. 22 years old. Twink. Blond haired and smooth slender body. He really wanted a Daddy and that Daddy was me. I'd baby him and toy with him. He loved to make out with me, which obviously was a treat for me as well. He liked to pretend he was falling in love with me—at least I think he was pretending. The best thing of all was that I'd get to fuck him gently and that's something I hardly ever got to do. I learned all the things to say that helped him enter deeply into the fantasy love affair we were having. I had to be very careful not to let myself develop any real feelings for him because that would have turned into a nightmare.
One day Harvey just stopped coming around. I never got to find out what happened to him. I actually hope he ended up meeting someone who could make his fantasy come true for real for him. I must admit that I missed his visits.
As the weeks went by and I found myself settling in. After all, there wasn't a single thing I needed to be concerned about—real life things, I mean. My job had always been stressful. Now there was no stress at all. Okay, sure, some of the "episodes" I had were damned unpleasant and even a little disgusting, but most of them were just plain boring. What I disliked the most were the scenes when the "client" never spoke to me but just indicated what he expected from me.
The few really kinky scenes I ended up in were enough to satisfy my own inner desires to be treated as the slave I still hope I could become for one Master some day. This brothel slave shit, no, that wasn't it for me, even though sometimes I was actually able to get to subspace for some Alpha type guy. It had to be something steady and permanent. More and more, maybe even because of what I was going through now, I kept wishing someone would come and want to set something permanent up. Then it happened.
As it turned out, they (I never really found out who "they" was) were always recording the scenes that took place here and apparently had posted some of them to porn sites. Inevitably, someone had gotten a good look at me and knew who I was. Someone who would remember me from my high school and college days.
And he came here for me. He's doing very well in life. He came and made arrangements to have an entire evening with me. This seldom happened, and I was actually surprised, because like I'd said before, most of the "clients" would just get dressed and leave without a word. I could count on my one hand the number of tricks I turned that involved affection or caring. Few wanted to stay with me after they'd had the orgasm they paid for.
So anyway, this special client requested that I be dressed when he came to me, and that the lights be kept low. Nothing unusual about that; some clients weren't interested in seeing me. But this time when the door opened, and I realized who it was, I almost fainted from shock. Instead, I fell to the ground, fully dressed, and wrapped my arms around his legs and began sobbing.
@@@ back then,. . .
As if things weren't weird enough with my father pimping me out, calling me faggot all the time, and gradually making more and more demands of my free time, he also started renting me out as a houseboy and some of the men I went to serve that way insisted I be naked. Some of those men weren't the kindest of all and I was getting smacked around and punished quite often when they pretended to be dissatisfied with the way I cleaned their houses. Needless to say, they also took whatever sexual liberties they wanted with me before, after and sometimes even during the time I was working for them.
More than once I was ordered to wash their kitchen or bathroom floors on my hands and knees and this sight of me that way turned them on so much that I'd end up getting fucked and the floors never finished getting cleaned. And then when they allowed me to get dressed and drive home, Sir (Dad) had something lined up for the evenings as well. This began happening because I flunked out of school second semester of my junior year. I simply had no time to get any work done and Sir didn't give a shit any longer.
My father (or maybe I should say "owner") never touched me sexually. He never raised a hand to me—he had others to do that for him. But after his friend Sal made me display my naked body to him and show him the evidence of the thrashing I'd just received, he decided he wanted me to be naked all the time. And that was that. It didn't matter who was visiting—he was a local politician and had many friends and supporters who often hung around.
I mostly tried to keep to myself, and it the truth be told, my unusual and mostly unnatural existence was firmly forming in me the submissive mentality that would be mine ever since. Certainly, at 20 years of age, I had no sense of any bigger picture, but I must say that I never wanted to resist what was happening and, in fact, there were many times I willingly surrendered to the grooming that was taking place.
I was really upset when Sir demanded that I be naked at home. Shit. I'd go to where he sent me to do chores for his friends and acquaintances during the day. Many times they too wanted me to be naked. I was often regarded as nothing more than a slave, which suited me fine. I didn't even resent the work. In fact, somewhere along the way I learned that by surrendering and doing what was asked of me, I found a strange kind of peace and satisfaction.
I hated being naked at home, especially when Sir had guests. Usually, however, he didn't invent ways for me to have to parade myself around them. More often than not, someone who did get to see me that way would decide to make use of me "downstairs."
I seldom had any time to spend with Clarence. I never forgot what he had offered me but I didn't really take it seriously at the time. When finally my father realized that I'd been seeing him on the side when I didn't have any other assignments, he had pressure put on Clarence's Dad and I was told that I could never see him again.
Eventually Clarence's family moved away and that was the end of what had been such a wonderful "friendship"—if I could all it that. I was heartbroken and showed it until my father eventually threatened me with another "visit" from Sal—the fat bully spanker. I promised Sir that I would find a way to get over my disappointment without having to go over Sal's lap a third time.
Oh, I forgot to mention about the second time, the time my father had arranged with Sal. By then the "naked" rule had been put into place, so when my father's four buddies showed up they had ample opportunity to look me over. I knew them all. I'd been in their houses with their sons who were my friends. Sir demanded that I serve them drinks and snacks and this was probably the time I realized for once and for all that this is the kind of existence I wanted to live—a naked servant to superior men. Of course this was also the worst time of all, thinking they'd tell their sons—my school friends--that I had become a faggot slave. One of them actually set it up to come fuck me on his own. Obviously, we're no longer buddies any more. Now he despises me and is really rough with me when he uses me.
I knew what was coming that night. One of my classmates had gotten some pot and knew I was in for a rough time so he gave me a couple joints. I smoked them before the "festivities" began so I was good and high by the time Sal showed up.
He was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room while Sir and the other Dads were sitting around in a circle around him. Sir summoned me and I walked into the room with my hard dick sticking out. The humiliation and the fear got to me and I realized in my pot-infused mind that this was the ideal situation for a submissive faggot like me. I laid over his lap with my dick rubbing on his fat thigh. As soon as he began spanking me I was determined to take everything he could dish out without giving him or my father's friends the satisfaction of hearing me beg for mercy or cry or sob.
My resolve quickly gave way after about 20 blows and panic sent in. That was the end of my composure. I cried and begged and screamed myself hoarse and this time I did end up bleeding. Finally it all stopped. The only satisfaction I got out of the entire affair was that I ended up cumming on Sal's pants, and when he stopped beating me and made me stand, my softened cock was dripping. As quickly as I could, I rushed out of the room and spent the night on my stomach. The worst night of my life. So far anyway.
The men all got a good show. I don't know what happened after that—whether or not any of them decided to make use of Sal's services for their own sons. By that point I was pretty much out of things and just kept making my way through what seemed like a nightmare at times that was occasionally interrupted by a session with someone who paid for me that I actually enjoyed.
Eventually I escaped the entire horror of it all. More about that soon. @@@
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Here are the other stories I have posted, with the dates where you can find them:
The first five should be read in order:
The Alex Chronicles 9/25/2022 Sweet Subjugation 1/15/2023 Brandon's Bosses 4/3/2023 Brandon's Brothers 5/19/2023 Total Subjugation 5/25/2023
These stories are stand-alone
Tommy Loves His Sub 8/17/2023 Training Toby 12/31/2023 Breaking Me In 03/10/2024