Disclaimer: By entering this site you agree that you are 18 years of age or older, and that the content of this site is legal in your country or jurisdiction.
Warning: This erotic fiction contains sexual experiences between fictional males. If this is not your thing, leave now. Furthermore, any similarity to any person, place or thing living or dead is merely coincidental.
There is no safe sex in this story because it is fiction. Remember: In real life, play as safe as possible preferably no exchange of bodily fluids.
My stories are copyrighted and are not available for use under any condition. Please forward all comments to douglas.marx.4@gmail.com.
Support nifty.org. We have all shot our loads reading Nifty. Show appreciation at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. Thank you. Enjoy.
Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd
Please check out my other Nifty.org stories, which can be found by clicking "Authors" in the header, then click "Prolific Authors" - scroll down to "Douglas Marx" or at http://www.nifty.org/nifty/frauthors.html and scroll to "Douglas Marx". Thank you.
Born – Chapter Fifteen
"Oh God, Dad. This is too much. Can I get back with you on this? You've given me so much information. I think we are even now, don't you?"
"Yes, son. We are even. Would you please fuck me tonight, son?" He said it was such an air of desperation that it was hard to stomach. He was so far down the chain of slavedom. I was obviously a superior slave to his lowly status. "Your Mom is not expecting me home. She figured that I probably dropped you off and went to do whatever it is I do. She doesn't care if I don't come home at night. In fact, since you left, she has come to expect it and actually enjoy me being gone. Please son. I want to present my cunt to you as part of my change. I'm sure you can understand."
I understood, but it was still hard to comprehend making love and fucking my Dad, let alone seeing him naked. I hadn't seen him naked since I was a little boy. He always had clothes on. He never took his shirt off. Why was that? He was like Ward Cleaver dressed from the moment he came down the stairs. Reluctantly I said, "Ok, fag. Let's go." Where did that come from?
Dad left the car in the parking lot and we walked back to my apartment. I went to the bathroom immediately as I had to pee after the couple of cokes during the conversation. When I came out, Dad was naked and on his knees with his hands behind his head and his eyes lowered. Oh my God. Could I do this? I felt that this was going to be an act of bumping pussies. Then, I remembered in my many Nifty stories that sometimes slaves have to top other slaves. Plus, I'm nothing if not a keen observer of life and ten-odd months of being a slave for Mr. Brown did teach me a number of things.
"Get up off your knees and take my clothes off fag." Dad got up off his knees never once looking at me in the eyes. He unbuttoned my shirt. My dick started to get hard. Dad's was so hard it was a reddish-purple and dripping pre-cum all over the carpet.
He pulled my shirt off my shoulders and down my arms throwing it on the bed. "Did I say you could treat my clothes that way, asshole? Fold everything neatly and put it away piece by piece. I will stand here while you proceed with your petty existence." I was kinda getting into this.
Dad pulled my t-shirt over my head. He paused for a second looking at my hairless chest and huge nipples. "You like what you see, faggot. Maybe you will get to taste them. But, you better stay focused on what is important now."
"Yes, Sir."
Next he got on his knees and took each shoe and sock off. What was left was this big bulge in the front of my khakis. He unbuckled the belt, unzipped the zipper, pulled them down and I stepped out of them. Dad did not hesitate for a moment to continue on with my underwear. I would have thought there would have been a moment of contemplation at this step, but Dad went for it. There I was naked, hard in front of my father acting as his superior being. Could life get any stranger?
When Dad finished putting away all my clothes, he came back in front of me dropping to his knees, head bowed to the floor. That's when I noticed why I had never seen him naked. His back was scarred beyond recognition. He had been severely beaten over the years. There were some remaining red marks from whenever his latest foray had been with his current master.
"Do you like being beaten, faggot?"
"Yes, Sir. The whip has been my greatest friend. The whip has taught me that I am an object to be used by humans."
I left him groveling while I walked over to a chair to sit down. "Come here, boy." Dad crawled over like a lost puppy needing affection. "Lick my feet, boy. Clean them good." I'm sure they smelled after a long evening. Dad devoured my feet. I let him go at it for a good ten minutes lying back in the chair stroking my dick contemplating the event unfolding in front of me. Dad did look incredibly sexy down at my feet. The scars on his back were a sign of a true slave. He kept his ass high in the air, which is proper. He wanted my dick in there so bad. I thought I could be a whore, but I have never come close to the level of his desire.
Dad was a handsome man still at forty-two. He had kept himself in good shape probably because of his Mistress and Master more than any other reason. He had an office job so he must have found time to go to a gym between raising a family, being married, working and being a slave. He obviously had a busy life. There was no hair on his body either. I had noticed that Dad had no hair on his arms or legs growing up. I never gave it much thought other than I assumed he just was a hairless man. When I saw there was no hair under his arms or pubic hair, it was obvious his body had received the same fate mine had a year ago from Mr. Brown. His ass cheeks were nice and round. I assume he worked extra hard on those at the gym to please the Doms in his life.
"Get up here and suck my cock, faggot." I barely got the words out and Dad's mouth was all the way down my cock. Jesus, this felt good. Mr. Brown had enjoyed sucking my cock just because he liked man cream spurting from dicks. I got used to that even though I was the bottom. "Good boy. Suck your son's cock, faggot. That's it. Take care of me. Oh yeah, boy. You are one good queer cocksucker. Only a whore like you can take a man's cock down its throat. My Dad is a cocksucking faggot. My Dad is such a whore that he even will suck his bottom/sub son. My Dad is the lowest on the totem pole of queers. That's right Dad. Queers. Your dominatrix knew deep down in your heart that you really belonged to men. That your job in life is to serve men. That you have always been a cocksucking faggot, even though you didn't know it. Fucking fag whore. Fucking queer. Suck my cock asshole. Suck it good."
"Do you want my cock in your cunt, faggot?"
"Yes, Sir." Dad enthusiastically said, but the words were all mumbles because he never took his mouth off my cock. He raised his ass even higher indicating the intense desire to be fucked.
"Then, get off my cock, crawl over the side of the bed, put your torso on the bed face down."
"But, Sir; I want to look into your eyes." Dad begged.
I slapped his face so hard that he fell to the floor crying. I'm sure that for him the experience was similar to the gay bar where hr was turned over to his current Master. "You said that this moment is where you become an `it'. Where, the fuck, do you get off asking anything; let alone what position your body is in to get fucked? Do you want this Dad? Do you really want to become an it? That question makes me wonder. That question makes me think you are not ready."
"Oh, Sir. Please. I won't fuck up like that again. I promise. I'm still learning. Please." Dad pleaded.
"Shut the fuck up, faggot. I'm going to go for a walk and cool off while you think about what your place in life is." I pulled on some jeans, a t-shirt and sandals and went out the door of my apartment leaving my Dad naked and crying on the floor.
I was actually glad we were taking this little break. I needed to cool off a minute. This was heavy stuff. I was symbolically about to turn my Dad into an "it". My emotions were running high. I wanted to whip him badly, but my little apartment would allow for such a display and noise. Dad was going to be an it; there was no question. The marks on his body proved that he was a far better sub than I ever thought I could be. He also had a lot more experience. Dad was ready to become an object. I knew he had just fucked up a little on that request. Who wouldn't rather look at his son in the eyes when receiving the son's cock for the first time? I wanted to look at his eyes too; however, I knew it was best that he only feel the insertion in his cunt; that he only feel his transition to being an object. By feeling, instead of observing with the eyes, his conversion would be more memorable and complete in the long run.
I had to leave because my anger was swelling again. Where was this anger coming from? Did I feel deceived by my father? Did I feel deceived by my mother? Obviously. They had pretended to be something they weren't; regardless of knowing that they thought they were doing it for me. My anger likewise was coming from the fact that I had spent my entire puberty bating to Nifty and SM porn on the Internet only to find out that right in my own house, it was going on. Only to find out that my Dad was better at it than I was. Only to find out that he had the mentality that clearly based on my experience with Mr. Brown, I was not capable of. However, the anger served me well because I believe it was how I was able to switch into being a sub/Top for this evening. If there ever was a moment where Shakespeare was right it was now. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
SMBD is one of the highest forms of theatrics. Maybe my upset was that I thought I would never have to play the lead. I could be the understudy forever.
I walked for an hour, then knew it was time to return. I entered the apartment. Dad was in the position. I kicked off my sandals, pulled off my shirt, dropped my jeans to my thighs and stuck my dick straight into the bitches' vagina with no lube. I knew I didn't have to lube because its cunt would be so moist and hot. it felt the head of my cock with the huge PA slam open the sphincter. Oh my God. What an incredible feeling! its cunt was on fire. Once my cock was all the way inside, I raised my torso to appraise my prize. Here was my former Dad. Here was his beautiful, yet beaten body. I embraced the scars realizing the courage there was to become his true self.
I grunted a lot. I moaned a lot. I refrained from talking and spewing the typical "oh yeah you fucking fag cunt whore" dialog. Dad knew what he was. I did not need to elaborate. I wanted it to feel this moment more than be caught up in passion. This was not about passion. This was about total surrender. This was the final act of Dad becoming an it. No words were necessary.
I unloaded my seed collapsing on my prey. I reached under to Dad's dick to see if he had cum. He had not. He knew better, even with his cock rubbing hardily against the mattress.
I pulled out with the same emotion of fucking a whore; none. I started to walk into the bathroom to take a shower saying, "When I'm done, dry me off."
The shower was finished. Opening the curtain Dad was on his knees holding the towel with his forearms. "Dry me." Dad got up and patted me thoroughly. "Thank you. I'm going to bed. You can sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. When I awake in the morning, have my clothes laid out and take me to breakfast." I paid no any further attention to the faggot. He was not my concern anymore. I needed to rest.
Upon awakening, my clothes were laid out. Dad had showered and put the same clothes on from last night. He was on his knees on the floor waiting. I got up. Peed. Put my clothes on. "Come on, faggot. Feed me." We walked out of the apartment down to the local diner. We didn't say anything to each other during the entire meal.
Finally, I broke the silence. "I have decided to still call you Dad. Rightfully, I should now call you it', but that is difficult in public. I'm going to call you whatever I want in private. You have permission to speak, but do not call me son' or Jim'; only Sir'.
"Sir. Thank you."
"So do you feel that last night accomplished the goal for you?"
"Yes, Sir. I am ready to be sold. Thank you for doing that to me, Sir."
"You're welcome, Dad. Tell me what the logistics are for the auction." I asked.
"Sir, my Master will meet you outside the building. I've written the address down on this card. This will happen four weeks from today. Will you be able to get a Saturday off?"
"With this much notice, I'm sure it will be fine." I assured.
"Please be there at 10 AM. Master will be standing at the door. He will know who you are. We should not see each other again, Sir. As much as I would like to have more sex with you, it is important that I maintain as normal a life as possible, so that when I am kidnapped, the event looks as if it was an accident."
When Dad said that, I realized that this was really happening; that my Dad was selling himself into slavery; that I would never see him again after the auction. I started to cry. "Sir, I understand your upset. It is natural to be sad; but remember, this has been eighteen years in the making. I know what I am doing."
"Yes, Dad. I know. I know all too well the decisions that need to be made regarding becoming a slave." We stood up. I hugged him. I told him that I wanted to walk out of the restaurant alone and asked that he remain until he knew I had returned to my apartment.
Wow. I had just gotten to know my father better in the last twelve hours, than probably my entire life and now he was going away. I cried most of the morning until it was time to get ready and go to work. I was so grateful I had to work today because I had no time to think once I got on the line.
Dad did call me the day he retired from his job. I congratulated him telling him that I would see him in a couple of weeks. I wish he hadn't called because I cried again for a while.
Mom called two days after the scheduled kidnapping occurred. She asked if I had heard from my father. I said that I had not spoken with him since the day he retired. She said she had just called the police and they were on their way over to question her. I asked if I should come. She said that it was not necessary. Dad was correct. I don't think she was very upset that he was missing.
Two days later, I'm walking to the little store for some food and there on the headlines "Retired Executive Disappears". The subtitle: "Suspected Kidnapping". I bought the paper. Reading the story the paper didn't exaggerate this time. There was no need. Dad's car was found at a rest area of a scenic overlook. All his clothes, his billfold and car keys were left in the car. There were no fingerprints; only footprints by the driver's door. The police suspect he was held up at gunpoint because there was no sign of struggle. (There was no sign of struggle because it was faked. Dad told me that they wanted to take him naked and that all his valuables would be with the car.) The police were waiting for a ransom note. (There would never be one.) The author also talked about my aggrieved mother. Now that was an embellishment.
I called Mom upon reading the paper. I asked if I should come out. She said that she was fine. She matter-of-factly asked if I wanted Dad's car. The police were complete with it having dusted for evidence and it was sitting in the compound lot. I told her no. I had no use for a car. She said she just wanted to offer it before she called the dealer to go pick it up and sell it for her. My God, she was taking this just a little too well. Then, she announced that she was going to take a vacation for a month in Europe to relieve the stress of the experience. I then got mad at her telling her she was acting too casual about this. She didn't react nor did she apologize. She wouldn't discuss it. She simply said that she was leaving on Saturday and would call when she got back.
Interestingly enough Saturday was the date of the auction. I thought that was quite ironic that Mom was leaving the country the day Dad was leaving too.
Saturday came. I dressed very subdued in a dark shirt and jeans. I wore a baseball hat and sunglasses that were designed not to show my eyes, yet allowed for clear vision indoors. I took the bus even though I wanted to take a cab. This area was not the best in town being in a warehouse district. I felt that taking a cab would be a traceable act so I opted for my standard mode of transport. Mom was probably already over Nova Scotia by now for all she cared.
There was a very handsome man about forty years old standing by the door of the address Dad had gave me. "Are you, Jim?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, I want to warn you that this place can be shocking. Try to keep a straight, emotionless face throughout the time you are in here. Your Dad is one of many. We will not know exactly what time he will be on the stage. I will be with you the entire time and will drive you back to your apartment afterwards." Dad's Master explained. He never introduced himself by name.
"Ok, Sir." We entered the door. The Master presented tickets for both of us indicating that we were here for the event. We were escorted to a sitting area facing a platform. There were several sets of chains hanging from the ceiling. We could see bolted rings attached to the floor. Over to one side was a podium with a microphone. There were probably fifty people in the audience. Most all had sunglasses on similarly dressed to myself as to not attract attention.
The lights went up. The emcee came to the stage. "Welcome everyone. We have a fine crop of slaves to be auctioned off today. Over a hundred men and women from all walks of life. Most are young and will need work controlling; however, we have some experienced slave among our ranks. Ones with good life skills that can be a great asset to your household or business. Shall we begin?"
Two incredibly large, strong hunks of man beef walked the first contestant out onto the stage. These men were huge bodybuilder types. Extremely intimating and not to be messed with. The first slave could not have been more than a day over eighteen. He was completely shaved including his head and eyebrows. His body was oiled to reflect well in the light. His arms were handcuffed behind his back so that we could easily see his cock, which would get hard, then soften, then get hard again. There were tears streaming down his face.
"Our first offering today is just over eighteen. We can't say where he comes from but you can see he is healthy and strong. The slave has been in our possession for over a week. He seems relatively tame causing us little trouble. I'm sure he will adapt well to whatever environment is presented. He is a beautiful specimen so I would certainly suggest using his physical aspects to the fullest while he is still young. Notice how hard his cock gets when I say that. He should be good for a few years of fun." The emcee said with a smirk.
"Shall we start the bidding off at $10,000? $10,000. Do I hear $20,000? $20,000. Do I hear $30,000?" The audience was silent. "How about $22,000? $22,000. Anyone for $23,000? $23,000. How about $25,000? Anyone for $25,000? $25,000. Anymore?" The bidding paused. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a fine young man. He will serve you well. Remember, owning a slave is so much less expensive in the long run than having employees." The auctioneer could not get the audience to budge. "25,000 going once. $25,000 going twice. Sold $25,000 to number 45. Will you see the cashier, Sir. Thank you."
This went on for some time. Seeing these naked men and women up on stage in chains made my dick strain in my jeans. Some of the objects were stunningly handsome and muscular. Others were rather homely. Bidding was fierce over a so-called virgin. I had my doubts, but the action was incredible to watch.
"And, now Ladies and Gentlemen, here is one of our finest offerings of the evening; a retired business executive. This slave would be good for entertainment as his body is still in excellent shape. He is a trained slave from both a dominatrix and a male master. He is voluntarily selling himself into slavery. Now this is the type of slave everyone should have. There will be no obedience problems. He is here by choice. This slave also loves pain as you can see by his backside he is well-versed in the whip. (The handlers turned Dad around to show the audience Dad's scarred back.)
"Now we are going to show you just how amazing this piece is for the lucky winner. Guards, hook his arms to the chains above and his legs to the floor bolts. We have a little demonstration for you today. I think this will give everyone a thrill before we break for lunch."
Your thoughts and feelings on this story are extremely appreciated.
Please send any comments to: douglas.marx.4@gmail.com