This story is an original work. It should not be reposted or reproduced in whole or in part without the author's consent. Copyright 2020 by Jeff Hamby. All rights reserved.
Warning: This story contains sexual acts between adult males and/or females. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relationship to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
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Brandon's Boots
Chapter 11
It was a horrible night. Travis made certain of that. After he finally allowed me to release all of the piss in my ass, the relief was so overwhelming I almost passed out for a second. I sat there on the bucket as the cramps finally passed, looking at myself in the large bathroom mirror. Josh and Travis were still laughing, making comments about how pathetic I was. They were right. I knew they were right. What could be more pathetic than being raped by these two, being given a piss enema by a young skater punk, then made to grovel and beg for permission to release it? All for one reason: their amusement. I suffered endless humiliation and abuse because they thought it was fun, not to mention funny. That's what I'd become: a toy for their entertainment, and a beast of burden for their chores. No. Not "become". I didn't just "become" all these things. They did them to me. They made me into this...pathetic thing...I'd turned into, one step at a time, through their bullying and their abuse. And also, I was forced to admit, through my own complicity and cowardice. They couldn't have done all this to a real man. I knew that now. They were able to do it to me because, deep down, I really was a coward. A bitch. A pussy. They saw it; they knew it. Even when I couldn't, or wouldn't, admit it to myself. And they had exploited it, developed it, even trained that part of me - that weak, inner bitch -- until it was fully on the surface for the world to see, until I was fully that and nothing else. Brandon and Travis, with help from Josh, were tearing away the facade of personality I'd created over the years, tearing me down to my basic inner essence. And at that core level, the center of my being, there was nothing to be found but inferiority, weakness, and subservience.
They already knew it. Now, I knew it, too. And it was a terrifying reality to have to face. But as I sat there on that bucket, staring at what I'd become, looking at my tormentors laughing at me, I felt something inside me break - finally, irretrievably. The last shred of my dignity was gone, and I knew it was gone forever.
I finally climbed off the bucket. I felt completely empty inside -- hollow, both literally, after releasing all the pressure from Travis's piss and the large plug; and psychologically, from the mindfuck of having to watch myself in the mirror and confront what I now was, of having to see, for the first time, not only my abuse, but my willing submission and obedience to it. I got down on the floor and crawled over to Travis. I knew what needed to be done, what he would expect. I began kissing his dirty skater shoes, thanking him for allowing me to use the bucket to relieve myself. Without being told, I then crawled over to Josh and starting kissing his work boots, repeating the process. Travis was still recording, documenting my debasement.
After I'd been kissing and licking his dirty work boots for a couple of minutes, Josh finally spoke up. "All right, faggot, we need to get this office cleaned up. Get fucking busy. We got a lot to do tonight, and I don't want to be here forever."
"Yes, Sir," I replied. I stood up and began gathering the cleaning equipment I'd used to scrub the bathroom. Then Travis spoke up, his voice sending chills down my spine.
"What about this bucket, shit stain? Can't leave it here in the middle of this nice clean bathroom."
"No, Sir, sorry, Sir," I responded, keeping my eyes on the ground, trying not to antagonize him in any way. I picked up the bucket of piss and moved to one of the stalls to dump it. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, faggot! What the fuck do you think you're doing? I know you don't think you're just going to waste my piss?"
I glanced over at him. He had a serious look on his face, almost angry. I'd seen that look before, and it always resulted in a lot of pain for me. I knew better than to defy him at this point, especially when he had that look.
I looked down into the bucket. The bottom of it was covered with Travis's urine. The urine which he'd pissed up my ass after they both fucked me. It was dark yellow, and clouded with their mingled cum. The stench was awful. With a sigh, I dropped to my knees, then turned the bucket up to my lips. The piss was going cold, which made it that much worse, the taste a mixture of old urine, cum, and ass. I thought I would gag before I got it down just from the smell alone, but somehow, I swallowed it, then showed the empty bucket to Travis for his approval.
Travis and Josh both started laughing. Travis said he'd never seen anyone as disgusting as me in his life, and Josh agreed. Even his previous fags hadn't been this low, Josh said. My face was burning from the utter humiliation of it all.
"Well, faggot? You gonna thank me for preparing that tasty drink for you, or do you need me to teach you some more manners?" Travis asked, waving his wire hanger in my direction.
I crawled over and kissed his shoes again, thanking him profusely for my drink of his piss and their mingled cum. He seemed satisfied with that, and finally turned off his phone, ordering me to get busy cleaning the office.
Josh and Travis left me alone for a while, going outside to smoke some weed while I cleaned the entire place, doing both Josh's tasks and my own. Travis kept my clothes, though, which meant I had to clean the place nude, which made me feel even more like a slave. I worked as quickly as I could, not wanting to provoke either of them further.
By the time I was done, it was late, but we still had a bar to clean. It was a new account for Josh, one we'd never cleaned before - a sports bar. Travis made me ride in the bed of the truck with the rest of the equipment, as usual, but this time I was completely nude except for my collar and chastity cage. Thank God it was dark enough no one could see me huddled in the bed of the truck like that.
The bar had just closed when we arrived. Josh pulled around to the back, and ordered me to unload the cleaning equipment while he and Travis went inside. I was very self-conscious about being out in public naked, especially in such a well-lit parking lot, but at least I was behind the building.
About the time I finished unloading, Travis came back out and snapped my leash on to my collar, then attached the other end to his belt, leading me inside the bar. We walked into a back room, filled with kegs and boxes of beer and liquor. Off to one side was a small office, where I saw Josh standing, talking to someone.
Talking to someone? Oh, shit, someone else was going to see me like this! You would have thought by now I would be used to it, but I wasn't. My stomach turned upside down every time I thought about a "normal" person seeing me in my degraded state. Travis led me over to the office, then pointed to the floor. I knelt next to him, dreading what might happen next. I lowered my head and stared at the floor, wishing I could disappear into it.
"Here ya go, Scott. This is the faggot we were telling you about," Travis said to someone in the office. I heard someone get up and walk towards me. A very large pair of men's dress shoes stopped in front of me. I didn't dare look up, but I could tell the man in front of me was a big man, both from the feel of his presence and the size of his feet. He walked around me, evidently looking me over like I was a piece of meat. At that point, I suppose that's exactly what I was. Meat on a leash.
"Not much to look at," Scott said. His voice was very deep, and he sounded older than Josh and Travis.
"Nah," Josh replied, "but very obedient. That's the main thing. And not bad as a cum dump. Or a toilet."
All three of them laughed. Scott was standing behind me. He reached down and grabbed the ring at the back of my collar and lifted me to my feet, then directed me over to a stack of liquor cases. The boxes were about waist high. He bent me over the boxes, and I felt a large hand prying my ass cheeks apart.
"Which hole do you guys recommend?" Scott asked.
"Both are decent," Josh responded. "Start with his mouth. It's probably a little fresher at least. We both cored out his ass earlier tonight."
Scott walked around in front of me, and I got my first look at him. He was a big man, a bodybuilder from the looks of it, or at least someone that worked out a lot. I was right -- he was older than the other two, probably early or mid-30s, with a short black beard and dark hair. His polo shirt was tight across his chest, really showing off his muscles; he had a lot of them to show off. His chest was heavily developed, his pecs big enough to really stretch his shirt. I could see dark chest hair poking up out of the front of his shirt. His arms were so thick I was surprised he didn't rip through his sleeves! Bulging biceps and triceps made his upper arms so thick I was sure there was no way I could get both my hands around them. This man was massive, from head to toe.
He unzipped his dress slacks and pulled out his cock. I'd hoped it would at least be normal sized, unlike the rest of him. No such luck. It was long and thick, with a foreskin which completely covered his cock head. He grabbed my face in his big hand and squeezed on my cheeks, then shoved his cock in my mouth when I opened it.
Obviously, he'd been working all night. His cock was sweaty, and as he pulled me into his groin, I could smell the strong odor of his crotch. He began feeding me his cock, which started growing in my mouth, until it became a sizable club, almost as big as Brandon's; thicker, but not as long. Scott pulled his cock out of my mouth and skinned back his foreskin, then ordered me to stick out my tongue. Once I did, he pulled his foreskin over it, trapping my tongue under it, making me lick all around his head of his cock. He plowed my throat for a few minutes, then pulled out and walked behind me. Without a word, he shoved his cock in my ass and began fucking me. He was rough, pounding his hips into me each time he rammed his cock home. Soon, I felt him shoot his cum deep inside me, using me like a cum dump, just as Josh had described me. When he was done, he walked back around to my head, presenting me with his cock to clean. "Yeah, not bad," Scott observed to the other two. "Worth keeping. Cheap labor, too."
Josh said, "You got that right. And unlike other employees, if he doesn't move fast enough, I beat his ass!" They all laughed. Travis walked over to where I was still bent over the liquor boxes, and whacked my ass a few times with the wire hanger, just to emphasize the point. I screamed, but he told me to shut up and get busy cleaning.
While the men sat in the office and chatted, I cleaned up the bar. It was a lot of work, especially having to do it all myself. I worked as quickly as I could, but after about two hours, when the men wandered out to check on my progress, Josh wasn't pleased.
"What the fuck, bitch? Why aren't you done? Do I have to come out here and supervise you all the damn time, you lazy cunt?" I was mopping the floor behind the bar, one of the rougher jobs, since bar floors always get sticky from spills, despite the mats they use. As I was trying my best to apologize, Josh took off his belt.
"Apparently, if I want this shit done tonight, I'm gonna have to take care of it myself. Now, get that mop moving, faggot."
I started mopping again, only to have Josh bring his belt down on my ass, hard.
"Faster, you lazy bitch! Move it!" he ordered harshly, hitting me again. I cried out, but mopped faster. He continued to stand over me, occasionally hitting me with his belt. He was indiscriminate with where he struck -- sometimes on my ass, sometimes my back, sometimes my legs. It was painful, and I could feel welts rising up from anywhere his belt landed.
Scott and Travis were watching this and cheering him on for a bit, then decided to participate as well. Before long, they were taking turns striking me while I worked, driving me to constantly work faster. I thought Travis's wire hanger was the worst, until the first time Scott hit me. He was wearing a thin leather dress belt, which he was using with the full force of his huge arms. I screamed each time Travis struck me with the hanger; the thin metal always felt like it was literally slicing into my skin. But Scott's belt, swung with so much power, almost knocked me down with pain from the impact. Soon, my body was covered with welts -- wide marks from Josh's belt; smaller lines but bigger welts from Scott's; and a series of thin hatchings, deep red and purplish, from Travis's hanger. It was brutal. They continued while I cleaned the rest of the bar, "driving" me like a piece of livestock. No amount of begging worked to pacify them. My tears meant nothing to them. And I did cry, both from the pain and the humiliation, not to mention my feeling of utter powerlessness.
Finally, the front of the bar was clean and the trash taken out. All that was left was the bathrooms. The men began taking turns "driving" me. When I headed for the restrooms, Scott was behind me with his belt. Apparently, he enjoyed precision, and started making a game of trying to hit me in specific places with his belt, even making bets with the others. As I headed for the men's room, Scott was consistently whipping me on the tops of my thighs, right below my ass. Each blow was agonizing, but very effective at getting me to move. Anything to get away from his belt!
Bar restrooms are the worst, especially the men's room. The offices we clean aren't that bad, probably because there aren't a bunch of drunks in and out all night doing their business. This place, though... Apparently, it had been a very busy night due to the game on TV. The bathroom was awful. No paper towels, toilet paper out, and a mess everywhere. It reeked of piss. All those guys, the actual jocks and the jock wannabes, getting tanked up on beer and liquor, riled up by the game, then stumbling into the men's room to relieve themselves half-drunk didn't make for a lot of accuracy in aim, to say the least. The urinals were particularly nasty, with visible pools of piss on the tile under all three. I sat my scrub bucket down and was about to start scrubbing out the urinals when Travis and Josh burst into the restroom. Just as they did, Scott hit me full force with his belt, right in my left calf. The sudden, intense pain made me collapse to the floor, much to the delight of my three tormentors. They all started laughing as Travis walked over and put his foot on my head.
"Look at this nasty bathroom, faggot. It's disgusting," Travis observed, grinding his shoe into my face. "There's piss everywhere. Guess you'd better get it cleaned up, huh?"
"Yes, Sir, immediately, Sir," I replied into the bottom of his shoe. The tile floor was cold against the side of my face, the tread of his Vans forming an imprint on the other.
"Just imagine all those men coming in here and pissing all night long. Too bad they didn't have a faggot urinal like you to use instead of those porcelain ones, ain't it, bitch?" he said, grinding my face into the floor harder.
I grunted, "Yes, Sir."
"Since you weren't here to service all those guys, I guess you better clean up their piss now, shit stain. With your tongue. Get busy, fuckhole," Travis ordered, finally removing his foot from my face.
I crawled forward to the nearest urinal. I could see the puddle of stale piss on the floor, piss from God-knows how many strangers, men like Travis, or Josh, or Scott. The stench of it was terrible as my face got close to it, and I found myself gagging at the thought of cleaning it up with my tongue. That's when Travis brought his hanger down right in the crack of my ass, striking me right on my tender and very sore hole. I screamed, and collapse right into the puddle of piss. All three men started howling with laughter, congratulating Travis on such an amazing hit.
I slowly pulled myself back to my knees, stale urine dripping off my face. Resigned to my fate, I began to lick the nasty tile, coating my tongue with the cold, intermingled piss of multiple strangers, all of them men better than me; men who came here to enjoy themselves, party with some friends, watch a game and have a few drinks. Not like me, some degraded thing, owned and controlled by men half his age, made to perform the most disgusting tasks imaginable.
Travis made me lick the floor under each of the urinals. When he was satisfied, he made me lick the insides of the urinals, too. Thankfully, these didn't have any of those big sanitary cakes in them, or he probably would have made me lick those, too. I couldn't help but think about all the guys that spit in the urinal while they were pissing. I'm sure I was getting plenty of that in my mouth as well. At one point, it got so nasty, I began to gag and choke. I thought I was going to throw up for sure. Scott came behind me and brought his belt down on my back, hard.
"If you vomit in my urinal, bitch, you're going to lick that up, too," he threatened. That was enough to make me choke it back down. No way would I have been able to manage that.
I tried to block it all from my mind, the entire disgusting thing. When I finally finished tongue-polishing each of the urinals, all three men took a turn pissing down my throat. By then, it was getting late, and I think their desire to finish took precedence over their enjoyment in abusing me. They allowed me to finish cleaning the rest of the restroom normally, though at least one of them was behind me at all times, administering pain if they thought I slowed down for even a second, or if I wasn't cleaning at the pace they wanted.
By the time I was allowed to crawl into the bed of Josh's truck for the ride home, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I had thought I was becoming used to the cruelty, but one night with Travis had proven me wrong. He always found new ways to degrade me and make me feel more disgusted about what I'd become. I wanted nothing more than to avoid him at all costs.
When we pulled into the apartment complex, Travis finally threw me my shorts and allowed me to put them on before he snapped on my leash and led me to the apartment. Josh drove off, which meant Travis was apparently staying the night - not a good sign for me.
Sleeping was hell. I had so many welts on my body, there was no position I could get into that was comfortable. The ones Scott left were the worst; he hit so hard, the belt left deep bruises on my back, ass and legs. My ass felt like it was torn to pieces, both from the crisscrossing of welts the three men left and their brutal abuse of my hole.
The next day began sooner than I wanted, with my alarm going off in the early afternoon, Brandon's normal time to wake. I gave him his usual blowjob, then he fed me his morning piss. I headed to the kitchen to make him his breakfast, only to remember that Travis was asleep on the couch.
I tiptoed into the kitchen and made Brandon's breakfast as quietly as possible, in order to avoid waking Travis. I knew that as soon as he was awake the abuse would start. Brandon, however, had no qualms about waking him up. He came strutting into the living room naked and turned on the TV, the same as every day. Travis stirred almost immediately, and the two started talking. Travis called out a breakfast order, so I fixed him something as well.
When I served the men their food, Travis ordered me over so he could piss down my throat. His morning piss was horrible, even worse than Brandon's. It had a bitter taste to it that was distinct to Travis, an acrid flavor I despised as much as I despised him.
When he finished eating, Brandon found something on TV he wanted to watch, while Travis decided he wanted his ass eaten. He made me lie on the floor, then straddled my head and sat down on my face, his balls resting against my chin. I began licking out his sweaty, musty asshole, trying to get my tongue inside deeply enough that he'd be pleased and not hurt me. Of course, that wasn't good enough for Travis. He started twisting my nipples, pinching them hard, in an effort to see just what would make me squeal. When he tired of that, he reached forward and grabbed my balls, which were an easy target. The chastity cage pulled them forward into a nice tight package, which he loved to abuse. He began squeezing my nuts individually, alternating between crushing them and slapping them, making me scream into his ass. Apparently, he loved that sensation, because he kept it up for a while, using my balls as a way to let me know I when he wanted my tongue deeper in his ass.
Then, without warning, his asshole opened and he let out a massive fart, right into my mouth. It was disgusting, and I immediately started to choke and gag. Despite Travis's legs locked over my ears, I could hear him and Brandon cackling with laughter over my predicament.
"Suck all that up, faggot. I don't wanna have to smell that nasty shit," Brandon ordered me. I thought I would throw up, but Travis smacked my balls again, so I inhaled and worked my tongue in his ass, despite my disgust.
I heard Brandon say something, and then Travis got up. Brandon came and sat on my face then, grabbing my balls from Travis as I began licking the sweat from Brandon's asshole. Suddenly, Brandon cut a nasty fart right into my mouth, letting out a contented sigh as he did it. As bad as smelling someone else's farts are, its nothing compared to having someone fart in your mouth. The smell was overwhelming, filling my nostrils, mouth and lungs. I thought I would surely throw up then, but Brandon sat down even harder on my face. I couldn't move my head at all, except to stick my tongue in his ass. I knew if I threw up, I'd probably choke to death. I had no choice but to swallow his nasty gas and continue to worship his sweaty asshole until he was satisfied.
Both men must have enjoyed my tongue in their asses, since they decided to fuck me. Brandon got up and ordered me to sit on his cock, facing him. Sitting on his cock was always hard, since it's so huge. Once it was lined up with my hole, Brandon grabbed my hips and forced me down on it, using gravity to help drive me down and send his cock deep inside me. As he was ramming me, Travis walked over and made me suck on his growing prick.
Brandon's massive pole inside me was pressing hard against my prostate, making my dick strain against the spikes lining the chastity cage. My balls felt swollen from both men squeezing and beating them. Still, it had been nearly a month since I'd cum, since the cage had been off and I'd been able to get fully erect. I was desperate for relief, for the chance to shoot my load, even if it meant pain as a result. That cage, however, completely prevented it. I couldn't touch my dick, I could only look down at it, imprisoned and tortured, completely under Brandon's control. He'd called himself my owner at one point, and I realized it was true, in every sense of the word.
"Yo, dude," Travis said, sawing his cock in and out of my throat, "I got a sick idea! You're gonna love this one! Let's do the faggot like we did Heather! That would be funny as shit!"
"Fuck, man, you think we can?" Brandon asked dubiously. "Is that, like, even possible?"
"Sure, it is," Travis replied. "You just gotta be determined enough, that's all." They both laughed.
Brandon stopped thrusting into my ass. He slapped my balls. "Ride it on your own, cunt," he ordered me. I began to force myself up and down on his huge prick, trying my best to make him feel good, while also trying to give myself the pleasure I was so desperate for, hoping that, if his cock hit my prostate just right, I'd shoot despite the cage. I was blind from need at that point, my balls throbbing and aching from a combination of the abuse and all that unspent semen. I was so blinded by my lust, I wasn't paying attention to what these two bullies were doing. I should have been, though.
Travis told Brandon he was ready, and pulled out of my mouth. Brandon reached up and grabbed both my nipples and pinched them, then pulled me down on top of him, almost like an embrace. He held me tight against him, using my nipples as handles to make sure I couldn't move. He was a lot stronger than me, and he was pinching them hard, sending a mixture of pain and pleasure throughout my body.
That's when I felt Travis behind me. I felt his big cock pressing against my ass. I went cold with terror. There was no way, I thought, no way he could be planning on fucking me. My hole was already filled to capacity with Brandon's cock. Travis wasn't as thick as Brandon, but slightly longer, and his cock was more than enough to stretch and torment me when he fucked me. The idea that he thought he was going to be able to get his cock in me when Brandon's was already in me was ludicrous. It would rip me in half!
But that was exactly what he intended to do. I felt the bulbous head of his cock pushing against my asshole, right up against the shaft of Brandon's pole. I began to yell and protest, until Brandon released one of my nipples and grabbed something from the couch which he shoved in my mouth. It was one of Travis's nasty socks. I could tell immediately from the taste. It muffled my screams as Brandon went back to using my tits to hold me in place.
Travis was relentless. At first, he was just applying pressure against my hole, pressure there was no way I could accommodate, as stuffed as I already was. But then, slowly, very slowly, I felt my hole stretch as the big mushroom head of his cock began to slide in. The pain was off the charts. It felt like my ass was being ripped apart. It was as bad as the massive butt plug Travis had used on me, but somehow worse, both because it was happening so slowly and relentlessly, and because I was already stretched beyond my limit.
Imagine having someone shove something the size of a lemon in your ass. Then, once it's deep inside you, painfully lodged, image they then shove a golf ball up your ass as well. That's what this felt like. When Travis' knob finally popped inside me, I think I lost consciousness for a moment. It was Travis smacking the welts on my ass with his hand that finally brought me back around. The pain was radiating out from my hole as he slowly slid his cock the rest of the way inside me. Soon, I had his swollen cock head lodged deep in my guts, just inside my second sphincter, right next to Brandon's. A baseball bat would have hurt less, I'm sure.
"Told ya, dude," was all Travis said. "Ready?"
Brandon nodded, pinching my nipples harder, rubbing my tender tits between his rough thumbs and fingers. At that moment, I felt both of the men begin to slowly pull their cocks out of me, completely reaming out my hole in ways I never dreamed possible; stretching it, bruising it, punching me deep inside and nearly ripping me apart. They withdrew until both their cocks were just inside my anal ring, then proceeded to thrust back into me slowly. They continued this coordinated effort, fucking me with both their cocks, boring deep inside me. It was more pain than I ever imagined I could stand, and also humiliated me to my core. I was just a hole to these two, not even a person. I was a cock sleeve, a toy that could use or abuse or damage if they chose, and they both knew it. I had no control over this double rape, the dual penetration which was turning me inside out.
As they thrust harder, the men lost synch, their cocks no in unison. While I first thought this was better, and I wasn't stretched quite so much, it turned out to be a new form of torture. Now I had a giant cock head in me at two different points, Brandon's deep inside me, while Travis's was at the entrance to my ass, straining both my sphincters at the same time. I was screaming into Travis's sweaty sock but they didn't stop, didn't even slow down. They continued their double violation, like two pistons going back and forth at the core of my being, rearranging my insides to suit their needs.
Finally, I felt Brandon shoot deep inside me, which made Travis cum as well. If there was anything worse than having these two massive cocks inside me, it was having them pulled out. Both of them pulled out at the same time, expanding my ass further, coring me out, taking me to a new, final level of pain.
I was trying to catch my breath when Brandon put his hand on my chest and shoved me back, then reached up and slapped me. "Well, cunt?" he demanded. I knew what he wanted, and climbed off of him. I began cleaning off his cock. Travis shoved his cock right up against my face, so I alternated licking both of them. As I was finishing, Travis reached down and grabbed my nipples, which were bruised and swollen from where Brandon used them to hold me down. Travis pulled me to my feet by my sore tits, causing me to gasp from the sudden pain. They were sensitive to begin with, but Brandon had rubbed them positively raw!
"Heh...these make decent little faggot handles," he sniggered, twisting and pinching my tits and making me squeal. "Might have to make better use of these in the future. Now, what do you say, fuckhole?" He abruptly released his hold on my nipples, and I fell to the floor. I immediately began kissing his bare feet.
"Thank you, Sir, for your cum and for fucking my ass, Sir!" Then I turned to Brandon and started repeating my thanks to him, slobbering over his feet in an effort to make both of them feel appreciated and properly respected so they wouldn't find some new, crueler way to abuse me.
My asshole felt like they'd destroyed it, like it was dilated so wide Brandon could have shoved one of his big feet up my ass with no problem. I was sure they'd damaged me for good. While the stretching hadn't lasted as long as when Travis forced the giant plug up my ass, their two cocks had spread my tender hole even more than that evil piece of rubber. The added assault of their combined pounding left me weak, my hole gaping, my mauled nipples throbbing and aching.
But that wasn't the worst thing that night. Not by a long shot.
The worst thing happened a few hours later, right before Brandon had to get ready for work. He had me on all fours in front of him, using me as a foot stool. I think he liked the power of treating me like a piece of furniture, resting his feet on my back, or sometimes my face. Anyway, I was crouched there, his feet resting on my back, while he and Travis were talking. Ordinarily, I just zoned out, managing to find some better place in my head for my thoughts. It was one of the coping mechanisms I'd developed, allowing me to retreat from the misery that was my daily life as Brandon's slave. This time, however, something they said brought me to full attention.
"Yeah, that's cool," Brandon was saying, "we can probably get everything packed up and moved out of here by this weekend. Not much here, anyway. I think one of those small trucks should be about right, along with mine. Get everything in one load."
"Cool, Jesse said he can help, too," Travis replied. "I'll grab some boxes tonight." Travis stood up and walked behind me. "Gonna be awesome having you at my place, dude. Not to mention having the fag to keep the place clean." I felt his foot move between my legs, then he brought his foot up into my caged dick and balls. Not hard enough to make me fall over in pain, but hard enough to hurt, hard to make me cry out. He and Brandon both laughed, then Travis finally left.
I was in pain, but more than that, in shock about what I'd heard. Apparently, Brandon had decided we were moving in with Travis. Or rather, he was moving in with Travis, and taking me along with him, the same way you'd take a dog you owned. And that's how much say I'd gotten into the matter, too. Like a dog, my opinion wasn't even considered.
My brain started processing what all this meant, even as Brandon was watching TV with his feet on my back. This meant we'd be around Travis all the time. It meant he would have almost constant access to me, for whatever tortures or evil games he wanted to play at any given time. Brandon was bad, but around Travis his worst instincts and behaviors were amplified. Plus, Travis lived in a double-wide trailer, a two bedroom. If I were lucky, I might continue to sleep on the floor next to Brandon's bed -- and that was a big if. More likely, knowing Travis, he'd insist on keeping me in that dog cage in his living room.
That's when I finally realized I'd reached my breaking point. I had to act, had to stop this from going any further. If Travis were around all the time, my life would get exponentially worse, and considering how bad it was already, I couldn't imagine -- or rather, I didn't dare imagine -- what that would entail.
This situation had to end. I made up my mind. I'd do what had to be done.
When the time came for Brandon to get ready for work, I followed my usual routine, bathing him, drying and dressing him, acting like an obedient servant. If anything, I was extra obedient, hoping he wouldn't be able to look at me and see what I was planning. I was sure my planned defiance was written all over my face, and that he would spot it as soon as he looked at me. Brandon, however, seemed oblivious, and headed out to work as soon as he had his uniform on.
I was lucky. The timing couldn't have been better. This was my one day of the week I didn't have to work for Josh, so I had a little time to myself. The problem, of course, what that I didn't have access to any resources. Brandon had my car keys on his key ring, along with the keys to my chastity cage and the padlock on my collar. I had no money, since whatever I earned was given directly to Brandon. I didn't even know where my wallet was. I hadn't seen it in ages. No doubt Brandon had that under lock and key as well. Worst of all, Brandon kept all my clothes locked up in his footlocker in the bedroom. I didn't even have any tools to use to pry the lock off.
I was desperate to get away, to assert my independence, to do whatever it took to free myself so I wouldn't end up living with Travis, which was my worst nightmare. The most horrific things which had happened to me had either been at his hands or at his instigation. Living with him was the worst-case scenario, by far.
Finally, in desperation, I did the only thing I could: I called the rental office and gave them some story about my keys being stolen. I demanded they send someone to change the locks immediately. It took some talking, but they finally agreed. I searched the apartment, hoping to find a spare key so I could finally remove my slave collar and the chastity cage that I despised so much, but never located one. I was stuck wearing both. I did manage to find a pair of boxer briefs I was able to wear so that I wasn't completely naked when the maintenance man arrived to change the locks, but that did little to keep him from staring at me, of course. There was nothing I could do to hide the thick slave posture collar padlocked around my neck, and the shorts didn't hide the bulge from the chastity cage; in fact, the padlock was clearly visible through the fabric. I was humiliated to be seen like that, especially since the guy replacing the locks looked at me like I was some sort of freak. I suppose I was by this point, but I was so desperate I didn't care.
After the locks were changed, I moved the couch, sliding it over to block the front door. I wasn't taking any chances on Brandon kicking in the door and beating my ass when he discovered what I'd done. I was making a break, but it wouldn't be easy. He was going to be furious, of course. Standing up to him was the one thing I'd been unable to do so far, and look at all it had cost me! Now was the time, if ever, to show him who was boss, to get away from him and Travis and Josh for good, no matter what it took.
It wasn't as bad as I expected, actually.
When he came home in the early morning hours, Brandon was furious when he discovered his key didn't work. He pounded on the door, demanding to be let in, even threatening to kick my ass if I didn't open up, but I was resolute. Resolute...but cowering. I literally huddled in the corner, praying he didn't try to force his way in. Finally, one of the neighbors had enough of the noise. Woken by Brandon's pounding on the door, the guy across the hall yelled he was calling the cops. Brandon left immediately, burning rubber in the parking lot as he roared off.
I hoped that was the end of it, at least for a while.
I spent the next day in the apartment, alone, trying to restore my sanity and regain some portion of my humanity. I'd have given anything to be able to remove my collar and chastity cage. They were constant reminders of everything that Brandon had made me do, all the things I'd done, first out of fear, then, later, out of my need to obey. I was disgusted with myself and how far I'd fallen, and shocked at the amount of training...no, brainwashing, Brandon had done. There was no other way to explain it. That first day alone, I tried to get some sleep, looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again for the first time in ages. But, as I lay there in the bed, the sheets smelling of Brandon's sweat, it felt somehow...wrong. I tossed and turned, trying to get some rest, but I couldn't. Finally, I did what I'd been resisting for over an hour: I laid down on the floor next to the bed in my usual place, my head resting on a pile of Brandon's dirty clothes.
And I immediately fell fast asleep.
I knew Brandon would be back; he had to get his clothes and belongings, if nothing else. I tried to work out some sort of a plan, but every time I thought about confronting him, my insides turned to water. I didn't know what would happen when he did return, but I knew he would, and soon.
I stayed in the apartment, trying to figure out what to do. It took a day before there was another knock on the door. I knew it would be Brandon or Travis, but I was wrong.
It was the mailman delivering a letter for me. Certified mail. Return receipt required. I signed for the package, a large legal-sized envelope, trying not to notice the look on the mailman's face as he stared at my slave collar.
I opened the envelope. It was a letter from an attorney, with a thumb drive enclosed. It was the same attorney my ex-wife had used when she divorced me. The letter was short and succinct.
"Dear Mr. Anderson,
"This is to inform you that my client, Kayla Anderson, is unilaterally terminating all visitation rights with your minor children effective immediately. Ms. Anderson has come into possession of material which indicates you are not a fit parent. Furthermore, Ms. Anderson hereby restricts you from any contact with her or the children in any form.
"Should you choose to contest this modification of the divorce decree, we will be required to submit the enclosed files to the court as evidence.
"Please note that evidence entered in court becomes a matter of public record, available to anyone."
There was more, but I stopped reading. I was in shock. It took a moment before I thought to look at what was on the thumb drive.
When I opened up the thumb drive, I was stunned.
The first thing I saw was a copy of an email sent to my ex, from an anonymous email address. The email told her she might want to know some of the things I'd been up to lately, and included a link to a website. There were also a ton of files on it, some of them pictures, but most of them videos. I clicked on one, and my worst fears came true: there I was, my face plainly visible, standing in my living room with Brandon's boots hanging from my balls as I slowly swung them back and forth. Another: my face in the center of the camera shot, mouth open, as Travis pissed in my mouth for the first time. Only his cock was visible, so he couldn't be identified. Another: me, strapped face-up over the top of the dog kennel in Travis's trailer, as man after man took turns using my mouth and ass, writing their names on my body after they were done. Again, I was plainly recognizable, the men using me shown only from the neck down.
I didn't want to, but I had to click on the link in the email, had to see what was on the website. When it opened, it was a bare bones site, but that was all it needed to be: there was my faculty picture from when I worked at the school, obviously taken straight from one of the yearbooks. There was my full name and a picture of my driver's license -- Travis or Brandon must have taken a photo of it at some point. And then the photos. And then the videos. I had no idea they'd made so many of me being used, so many records of my degradation.
I watched them all. I couldn't stop myself. And when I was done, I went back and watched them all again.
Emotions cascaded over me as I watched. The images and videos were in order, from oldest to the most recent, allowing me to watch my own transformation, from being forced and beaten into submission in the older ones, to a willing, obedient, even proactive participant in the more recent ones. At the time, it had all seemed abusive. Traumatic. Devastating to me, mentally and physically, every step of the way. But watching it now, observing it from the outside for the first time, I saw my own complicity in everything that had occurred. I saw my own voluntary participation in my degradation, in each step of my transformation from a decent, upstanding man into some type of owned property, mostly useful as a cum dump and urinal. It was right there on the screen for anyone to see, in full color and undeniable.
As I sat there watching my own degradation, one thing became clear: my dick was as rigid as it could get, throbbing inside its cage, as if it were eager for the torture the tiny spikes inflicted, their cutting pain the only stimulation it was able to receive. The more I watched myself used, beaten, and humiliated, the harder it pressed against the spikes and sides of the cage, the more my balls ached and throbbed with months of pent-up cum. The loss of contact with my family, especially my sons, tore me apart. The idea that Kayla, her lawyer, and no telling who else, had seen what I'd become, that they'd discovered the depths I'd sunk to, filled me with despair, but also a certain sense of numbness, as if the worst had finally happened, and there was nothing more that could go wrong. I'd reached my nadir, with no further I could possibly fall.
Brandon and Travis had done this to me -- created the website and exposed me to my family and the world. This was my payback for rebelling, for changing the locks. Strangely, it had never occurred to me they'd do something like this. I suppose I'd been too caught up in the terror of the moment to ever contemplate what they might do in the future.
As I sat there, the emotions washing over me, my dick still aching in its plastic prison, I was forced to admit the truth to myself: they were right. All of them. Kayla was right -- I wasn't fit to be a parent, or to be around my kids. Travis, Brandon, Jesse, and Josh were right -- I wasn't a man, I was nothing more than a cum dump, a fuckhole, a urinal, a footrest; something to be used and abused by better, stronger, more dominant men. Why else would I have submitted to such treatment? More than just submitted -- why else would I have become a willing and active participant in my own abuse?
Why else would I be sitting here, in the lowest moment of my life, with a raging erection, an erection which was causing intense pain, which, instead of causing it to deflate, was only making it harder?
I cried. I cried for a long while, facing that ugly truth, sitting there, no idea what to do or how to move forward. Just completely, utterly broken inside. Exactly the way Travis and Brandon had planned, no doubt.
About the time I'd cried myself out, there was a knock at the door. I ignored it, until it became more insistent. Finally, I got up and walked to the door and looked through the peephole.
It was Brandon and Travis.
I knew what they wanted. I knew what would happen if I let them in, what the long-term consequences would be for me, for my life. I knew, in that moment, just how painful it was going to get, both now and in the future.
I didn't even debate. Not for a second.
I opened the door and let them in.
The End
"Brandon's Boots" is now available as a Kindle e-book on Amazon. It includes new material not published here on Nifty. If you've enjoyed this story, please consider leaving me an Amazon review of the book at: https://www.amazon.com/Brandons-Boots-Straight-Dominance-Submission-ebook/dp/B08WLMBXGC/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=brandon%27s+boots&qid=1613702438&sr=8-1
Thanks to all those who have written to me about this story. I'm glad you liked it. Your feedback means a great deal to me. You can reach me at jeffhamby1025@gmail.com