Date: Fri, 23 Dec 2005 10:40:43 -0500
From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: Transformation pt 5

Copyright 2005 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without
the author's permission.

Please note: the twelve parts of this story depict sex between males,
between minors and between adults and minors. They depict oral, anal and
vaginal sex as well as incest, rape, sadomasochism and transvestitism. If
any of these offend you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or
you are under the age of 18, read no further.

All names, characters, locations and incidents in this story are
fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.

As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments
about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank
you.

The Rest of Year One

When we started back to school that fall, I was a junior and Keith was in
eighth. Keith continued to get packages in the mail, things he was ordering
to outfit his basement gym: a pullup bar, rings, additional weights for the
bench press. He assigned me the job of installing the equipment and then
testing it by hanging from it to make sure the bolts were well anchored in
the overhead beams. He enjoyed the sight of me hanging there wearing only
my tight jock. He would order me to hang by my knees from the pullup bar
while he did his reps. Or by my ankles from the rings. He'd also make me
suck his cock while inverted.

Through the internet, Keith discovered mailorder houses that had more
exotic equipment.  Soon there were chains and a leather sling hanging from
the ceiling, and there were ankle and wrist restraints affixed at different
locations on the wall. Keith's slave spent many long hours locked in these
manacles.

My jock after three months' constant wear, often in chlorinated water, was
beginning to look pretty tired. Keith knew he had to do something before my
offensive organ made a reappearance. He ordered me two things, a black
leather g string, and a cock cage. The leather must have been made for a
female to wear, someone who had zero package.  Under the new regimen, I
wore the cock cage in the shower, in bed, and whenever else Keith
ordered. Otherwise I wore my leather. Come next summer, he promised, I
would be given a new firm jock for swimming.

Keith ordered me to shave my legs like a good bitch, and then he took over
and shaved off all my body hair, pits, ass, pubes. I was as pink as the day
I was born.

He told Mom that he felt bad spending so much money on his gym
equipment. He said he wanted to earn it by doing more around the
house. Soon I was washing the cars, mowing the lawn, weeding the garden,
cleaning the windows, washing the laundry, all in addition to the chores I
was doing already for both of us.

One night my parents were out, visiting friends, and Keith had a girl
over. Of course this was against the rules but he knew I wouldn't rat on
him. I made myself scarce while they settled down on the couch and started
petting. But I could hear the bimbo groaning and sighing. After a while, I
heard Keith say, "Hey, you wanta see something neat?"

"Sure, Honey. What?"

"Bitch, get in here!" I had been summoned. I meekly entered the room. The
girl was dumbfounded. She saw that she was in the arms of a real man,
someone that even his older brother respected. "OK, Bitch, take off your
clothes." Of course, I obeyed. While the bimbo stared and giggled, I doffed
my shirt and undershirt, revealing my smooth shaved torso. Then my shoes
and socks, and then lowered my jeans. "Now watch this, Sweetie." I slowly
took off my tighty whities and revealed my black leather g. Her jaw
dropped. I was probably flatter than she was. "Now bring us a beer, bitch."
Of course, that was also against the rules, but I took my bare ass into the
kitchen and got a cold Bud out of the fridge. I popped the top and handed
it to him. He took a swig and then had her take one. I had to stand there
while she drank and he fondled her breasts. "Hey, Bitch, go get your cage."
The girl looked at Keith quizzically, while I dutifully went to my dresser
and brought back the cock cage and handed it to him.

She was very curious now. She looked at it carefully, examined it all
over. "How does it work?"

Keith told her to pull my leather g off, then he showed her how to encase
my cock in the cage. She was amazed. Keith then ordered me to stand in the
corner and be quiet. He began stripping off her blouse and then reaching up
her skirt. He reached in his pocket to retrieve the condom I had put there
earlier. In a short while, he was fucking her pussy.  >From her style, I
knew she'd been down this road before, and often. She didn't mind one bit
that a subservient toad was standing in the corner, watching, his cock
locked in a steel cage.

When Keith blew his wad, and they both settled down, he called me over and
ordered me to felch his mancream out of her twat.

My birthday came in January. I once loved it when I had a birthday, because
for the next seven months I'd be four years older than Keith instead of
three. But shit, what difference did it really mean? I might as well have
been three years younger than Keith, for he lorded over me.

But now that I turned 16, Keith insisted I sign up for driver ed and get my
learner's permit.  He wanted to have his own personal chauffeur in the
house.

One Sunday the next spring, Keith told me I had to bake a cake for him. I
had no clue why.  "What's the occasion, Boss?"

"Shut up, bitch. You don't ask questions. You just do what I fuckin tell
you." I baked a delicious devil's food cake with pink butter frosting. It
was a masterpiece. We brought it down to the basement. I put the cake on
the bench press, took all my clothes off, and Keith locked my cock up in
its cage. Then he ordered me to lay across his lap and swatted my bare ass
12 times. "Happy Anniversary, Bitch!"

One whole year had passed since that day he caught me with Dad's Hustler
mag. One year of servitude to my little brother. One year of being the
person I was meant to be. I was so touched that Keith remembered the date,
and so ashamed that I had not. That realization, ^Ö not the whacks on my
ass, ^Ö was what made my eyes well up in tears.

"From now on, bitch, you will not call me Boss." I turned my wet eyes up
toward him like a bewildered puppy. "From now on, you say Sir. You got
that?"

"Yes, Boss." The words tumbled out automatically, and Keith again swatted
my ass. "I'm sorry, Buh . . . Sir! I'm sorry Sir." This was going to take
getting used to.

Keith allowed me to stand up again and asked me where his plate and fork
were. I mumbled, "Upstairs, Sir."

"Well, bitch, go the fuck get them! And a knife." I reached for my pants
but Keith planted his foot down on them and glared.

"Yes, Sir. I'll get them, Sir."

I went up the stairs and prayed the kitchen would be empty. It was. I
grabbed a plate, fork and cake knife. Momentarily, I considered bringing
two plates and two forks, but my mind could not conceive of Keith allowing
me to eat like a human being in his presence.

I ran back downstairs and proceeded to slice a manly sized piece of cake
for my brother and serve it to him. "Your cake, Sir." I knew I'd have to
keep using his new title as often as possible to get my tongue used to it.

Keith took a couple bites, and smiled. Inwardly, I smiled also. I was
satisfying him in several ways.

"Go get a candle, bitch." I thought it was a little late for that, since
the cake was already cut, but I went over to his storage chest. In the
previous year, Keith had begun to stage gothic scenes in the basement,
which often involved black candles, so he kept a supply on hand.  For
instance, wearing only my cock cage, I would be hung by my wrists from the
ceiling beam, with each of my feet tied to a cement block. He would place
the blocks about four feet apart. Then he would take seven black candles,
ceremoniously light and position them. One would be placed in each of my
hands and after a while the wax would drip down on my head. One would go on
each foot, gripped by my big toe. One would be shoved up my ass and then
lit. Keith would hold one while he walked around me and teasingly hold it
near my sweaty face, and the seventh candle would be positioned on the
floor right under my balls. All the while, dark organ music would be
playing.

But this was a birthday party, not a gothic ritual. I brought Keith a black
candle and he told me to bend over and hold my ankles. He rammed the candle
in my upturned ass and lit it.  I had become a candle stand, a mere piece
of furniture. I stayed that way while Keith leisurely ate his piece of
cake. He licked the fork clean. He licked every crumb off his plate.
Finally, he removed the candle and allowed me to stand.

"Would you like some, bitch?"

"Yes, Sir, if you please, Sir."

"Certainly, bitch. I wish to be a kind Master. Cut yourself a piece of cake
the same size. I'll even let you use my plate. Here, let me wash it for
you." With that, Keith deposited a huge load of spit on the plate and
handed it to me. I cut my piece and put it on top of his catarrh.  I wasn't
sure whether to place it on the floor or on the bench press so I just held
it and waited for instructions. "Put it on the chair, bitch." I did. "Now
kneel down with your hands behind your back." I did, picturing myself
eating it dog-style off the plate. But I waited. I hadn't been told I could
eat it yet. Slowly, Keith took off his shoes, and then his pants.  Slowly,
he took off his underwear and then came over and sat on the chair, ^Ö sat
on my cake. "Now look at the mess you made, bitch. Lick that off my ass."
Keith stood up again, bent over and I buried my face between his
chocolate-cake-pink-icing-covered buttocks.  For the first time, the
enormous silliness of the whole scene hit me. As I licked his asshole, I
started giggling. Then he started giggling. I licked and licked and we both
laughed and laughed. I had accepted my station in life. I was a turd and
this was where I belonged, in Keith's rear end. Happily, I licked every bit
of it clean.