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My mom called my dad for the first time in 20 years. She was getting married. She needed the apartment for her new family so i had to get out.

My dad lived in the same city, I go to school in the same city.

My dad said fine.

That's the most he's ever given me.

I'd barely met him twice in my life. My mom never talked about him except to say it was a mistake. I don't think she meant just him.

I showed up with two bags. My dad opened the door, looked at me, and stepped aside.

"Basement."

That was it. He went back down the hall and I stood in the doorway holding my bags.

Cole, my half brother, was on the couch. He looked up when I walked in. Nineteen years old and already built like our father. He looked at me for a few seconds with a smirk on his face.

He turned back to the TV.

I took my bags to the basement and slept the night.

I heard movement upstairs early. When I came up, my dad was by the front door with two suitcases. He didn't look over. Cole was there and they said something to each other low and brief and then my dad left.

I went to the kitchen and made eggs. I fixed my plate and turned to clean the pan before eating. Cole came in; boxers, cap, phone in hand. He didn't say anything. He looked at the plate, pulled a stool out at the counter, sat down and started eating.

He ate without looking up from his phone. I stood by the sink.

When he was done he pushed the plate toward the edge of the counter.

"Six eggs. Scrambled soft. Every morning."

He left the room.

I washed his plate and made myself another breakfast.

I was still eating when Cole came back through, fully dressed, keys in hand, cap pulled low. He didn't slow down.

"I'll be back by dinner. Laundry, cleaning, cooking. Better be done."

He was out the door before I could say anything.

I sat there for a second. My heart was going fast. I had a hard-on by the time I stood up.

I started with the laundry. Went room to room pulling hampers. Cole's first, then whatever my dad had left. I didn't touch my own until the machine was already running. While it cycled I went through the house. Surfaces, floors, bathroom.

I folded the laundry and left Cole's pile on his bed. Started on the dinner. Chicken and pasta.

He walked in, looked around once, said nothing, and went to shower.

He came out he was in sweats, hair damp, phone already back in his hand and took a seat. I plated his food and set it in front of him.

"Seasoning's off, fix it next time."

He ate. I stood by the counter and after a moment I pulled out the stool next to him and started to sit.

He looked at me.

"Faggots don't sit with men."

I stood by the counter the whole time he ate. Hands at my sides. When he was done he pushed the plate toward me without looking up and went to his room.

I washed everything and ate standing at the sink.

It was the end of August. No classes for another three weeks. Nowhere to be.

The routine set itself. Six eggs every morning, scrambled soft. His laundry before mine. Surfaces wiped, floors done, dinner ready by the time he walked in.

Faggot had become my name.

Mid-week he came back from the gym. Tank top, shorts, still damp. He walked through to the kitchen and I was at the sink. I don't know how long I was looking. Long enough. He caught it.

He set his bag down slowly.

I didn't move in time.

He punched me across the face.

"Don't." he said.

From then on I looked at the floor whenever he was in the same room.

It was a Saturday evening. Dad was still gone.

I came up from the basement and Cole was already in the recliner. Jeans, cap, no shirt. Both feet up on the arms, bare soles facing out. TV running.

"Come here."

I crossed the room and stood in front of him and waited.

He nodded once toward the floor.

I got down.

"You faggot freaks love man's feet, no?"

He flexed his toes.

I started with his right foot. I didn't need to be told how. I pressed my mouth to the sole and felt the warmth of it, the weight when he let it rest against my face. His skin was dry, clean. I worked slowly; heel, arch, the ball of his foot. My hands around his ankle to hold it steady.

Cole watched TV.

I moved to his toes. Took them one at a time. I was on my hands and knees on his living room floor doing this and he was watching something on the TV and the house was completely quiet except for that.

I kept going. Left foot and repeated all the steps again. I don't know how long it went on.

At some point he looked down.

He pressed his foot into my face and kicked me over.

"Pathetic little faggot."

I stayed where I was.

Eventually he stood up. He stepped over me without looking down and went down the hall to his room.

Yes, he was His older brother and by all rights should’ve been idolized by his younger Brother - but we are who we are and though he is older, he was born a faggot and his younger Brother was born to be a Man.

The laws of nature and the birthright of Man are inviolable and a faggot will always end up serving, worshipping, and obeying Man - even if that Man is his younger Brother.

I carried the groceries up and let myself in. I've had the code to this place since he moved in, and the key to the one before it. Sunday is when I come.

I put everything away where it belongs. Washed the fruit and veg, wiped down the counter, made a note of what was running low for next week.

He was still asleep.

We were roommates in college. He was on the rugby team. The room was always a mess and at some point it became mine to deal with. The dorm, the shared kitchen, the errands. Ten years ago.

I started on the cooking first as I had a full week worth of meals to prepare. I had the stove going before I touched anything else.

Started cleaning the living room while the first pot came to a boil. Surfaces, the shelf above the TV, the windows. Floor. Back to the kitchen, I checked the heat, stirred, started chopping the veggies. Seasoned, adjusted, set a timer.

He came out of the bedroom around ten. I heard his footsteps going to the bathroom.

He showered for around thirty minutes. When he came out he had a towel around his waist and didn't look at me. Opened the fridge, stood there for a moment, closed it. Pulled on a shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. He'd always been big. Chest, shoulders, arms. I kept my eyes on the counter.

He picked up his keys and left. The door closed and the flat went quiet.

I went to the bedroom. Stripped the bed, fresh sheets on, straightened, floor, surfaces. The bathroom after. Toilet bowl, the rim, the tank. Sink, taps, mirror. The tiles. His products wiped down and put back in order. His towels in the wash, fresh ones folded on the rail.

The laundry ran while I cooked. I went back and forth, checking temperatures, adjusting heat, portioning into containers, stacking them by the day. Hoovered the bedroom, the hallway, the living room again once it was fully dry. Mopped after. Went back to the kitchen to start the next batch.

He'd figured it out in college. Third or fourth month in. He came back from training, dropped on the couch, feet up on the table like he always did. I was folding the laundry while eyeing his feet. He clocked it. Things got different after.

It started with the dorm. The cleaning, the errands. After graduation we lived together for another year. Then he moved for work. Different city, different flat. I thought that would be it. He texted me two weeks later with his new address. Sundays became standard.

The food was done by early evening. Boxed by meal, stacked in the fridge, labeled by day. I scrubbed the hob, the oven, inside the microwave. Cleaned the sink, dried every surface. Dishes washed and put away. Bin out, new bag in. I went through the flat once more. Checked the bathroom, straightened the bedroom doorway.

I was wiping down the kitchen counter when I heard his key in the door.

He came in and dropped his jacket on the hook. Went to the fridge, opened it, looked at the containers stacked by day. Stood there for a moment. Closed it. He moved to the living room without saying anything.

I finished the counter. Rinsed the cloth, wrung it out, folded it over the tap. Took a breath.

Then I went to him.

He was in the armchair, arms crossed, one leg resting over the other. He didn't look up.

I lowered myself to my knees.

"Done, Master."

He didn't move for a moment.

Then he shifted his leg and extended his foot toward me. Sole forward. His feet were huge. Wide at the ball, dry at the heel, the arch deep. Long toes, the second stretching just past the first.

I put out my tongue.

Heel to toe. One slow lick. The skin was warm and dry. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. His leg stayed exactly where it was.

Then he pulled back.

He reached for his phone. I stayed on my knees for a moment, then stood. Picked up my bag from the hallway. Let myself out.

On that day, their Father had baked them a cake and told them they would need to finish the cake together. He said there was a key baked into the cake and that whoever found the key would receive a special gift.

Both brothers attacked the cake with glee - excited to find the key that would unlock a special gift. Within minutes, one of the brothers shouted victoriously - holding up the cake-covered key triumphantly.

As their Father clapped His congratulations, the other brother, soured by disappointment, mustered His own grumbling congrats. Father placed His hand on the winning brother and, together with his Brother, led the winner down the stairs to the basement - stopping in front of a locked door.

Neither the winning brother or the losing Brother had ever seen what was behind the locked door and they could barely contain their excitement and anticipation as their Father told the keyholder to unlock the door.

Hands shaking with excitement, he inserted the key and twisted it - hearing a pleasing click as the deadbolt was released. He then twisted the knob and struggled to pull open the heavy steel door. The room was dark and cold. It smelled of cleaning chemicals. The winning brother felt blindly for a light switch as all three entered the room.

Then, he heard the door close behind them. The harsh fluorescent lights clicked to life and revealed a concrete room that had once served as the boiler room.

The winning brother stared confused.

His Father cleared His throat and, looking directly at the winning brother said, “strip off your clothes, son.”

The winning brother looked more confused but his Father’s tone compelled him to comply. As he began to undress, his Father explained that his prize was “contained in these four walls” and was the greatest gift He could ever give to one of His sons. “It is the gift of service, of obedience, and the opportunity to bring pleasure to those he loves most.”

Standing cold and naked, the winning brother asked “what’s happening? What’s happening to me?”

His Father motioned to His other Son to lead His brother to the boiler doors. There, on the floor, were two sets of shackles and a metal collar. “Place this on your brother, Son…help him redeem his birthday gift.”

The Brother was equally confused, but understood that now wasn’t the time to question His Father. He kneeled down and attached the shackles to His brother’s ankles and then moved on to shackle his wrists. “Behind his back!” His Father barked as the other Brother pulled his wrists together behind his back.

As the shackles were locked, the winning brother began to sob, “I don’t understand, what did I do?”

As his Father placed the collar around his neck, He replied, “you won! Don’t you understand? It was your fate…I left it to fate to decide each of your gifts today. You found the key and unlocked the door to the gift of service. Your brother , on the other hand, didn’t find the key, so his gift is the gift of dominion. His gift is his inheritance. Your gift is your burden.” He finished locking the collar and then calmly attached the chain that was anchored to the wall. “I know you don’t feel it now, but there is no greater gift than the opportunity to serve others - especially those who love you. Your brother will have a life filled with struggles - find a job, earn a living, contend with fear and disappointments - you’ll have none of that. Your world will be limited to these four walls; your only duty will be to serve, worship, and obey me and your brother - to bring us pleasure and joy that can be so difficult to find in the real world. Hell, I know you think this is a punishment, but your brother and I are the ones facing the punishing reality of modern existence. Do you understand?”

He didn’t and weeped loudly as his Father and Brother looked on.

His Father motioned for his Brother to come to His side. “You need to stop your crying now, son.” He slapped him hard across the face. He cried more loudly and his Father shook His head with disapproval. “Don’t be an ingrate! Accept your purpose and place!” He shouted, slapping him again before standing up, “Kick him in the nuts”, He said to His Son, “and keep kicking him in the nuts until he obeys.”

He didn’t want to, but He did as He was told. After 4 or 5 direct kicks, he stopped crying and instead glared angrily at both his Brother and Father.

His Father exhaled, “Good. Now here’s the deal. You behave and do your duty and you’ll be provided for. You’ll have hot food and fresh water. But you throw tantrums and all you’ll get is stale bread and piss. Your brother and I will visit whenever we please and you’ll do as you’re told. If I want a foot massage, you’ll give me the best damned foot massage you’re capable of; if you’re brother has some laundry he needs folded, you’ll fold like a pro and thank him for the opportunity to serve him…you get it?”

He was upset and scared, but he nodded his compliance.

Then Father turned to his Brother, “the sooner you accept your position of dominance over your brother and see him as an object for your pleasure, the easier it will be on us all. I know you are probably confused too, but you need to embrace your power just as he needs to embrace his subservience. You understand?”

He nodded asking, “what should I do with him?”

His Father nodded, “here, watch me” He said turning to his other son, “get on your knees boy and look up at me.” As he complied, his Brother watched as His Father pulled out His penis. “Open your mouth” He barked. His brother opened his mouth, his lower lip trembling, and watched as his Father began to piss into his brother’s mouth.

“Swallow it!” He commanded before turning His head to address His other Son, “see, I needed to take a piss and “presto”, your brother is now a urinal.” He watched as his brother gulped down their Father’s fresh piss. His Father continued, “right, come over and stand where I was standing…” He did as He was told and stood standing in front of His kneeling brother. His Father said, “alright, now pull down your shorts and tell him to suck your dick.” Both brothers turned to look at their Father in disbelief. “Do it, dammit, you need to stop thinking of him as your brother. He’s an object, a tool, for you to do with as you please. Now tell him to suck your dick!”

He turned back to face His brother and said meekly, “suck my dick…please?”

His brother hesitated momentarily, but quickly took his Brother’s cock I to his mouth and began to suck on it. His dick was soft as it entered his mouth but, as he continued to suck, he felt his Brother’s cock thicken and lengthen - growing hard and filling his mouth and throat. As he continued to tongue and suck he heard His Brother moan with pleasure and, to his surprise, felt his own dick growing erect.

Could their Father be right? Was this life of servitude actually a gift? There was an elegant simplicity to such an existence. In this new life, his Brother and Father tell him what They want, he does what They want, and all are fulfilled. They get what They want and he gets the satisfaction of knowing that his service has made them happy.

It was still very new, but it was clicking in his head.

His musings were interrupted by his Brother’s sudden ejaculation and a flood of warm, thick cum filling his mouth.

It tasted sweet and, as he looked up at the ecstasy on his Brother’s face, he swallowed and instantly orgasmed - hands-free - depositing a puddle of his cum on the concrete floor.

“Wait, did you actually enjoy that?” his Brother asked as He noticed the strands of pearl white jizz dripping from his dick.

“I mean, I liked that You liked it, if that makes sense?” he replied.

His Brother nodded, “yeah, I guess. I mean, it did feel really good.” Both brothers laughed awkwardly.

“Alright, glad you boys are figuring it out, but I have other shit to do. Make sure you have him clean up the mess he made on the floor - the protein will be good for him - and then join me upstairs.” With that, Father left and the brothers were alone together for the first time since sharing the birthday cake.

“You okay?” He asked, kneeling down. “I’m not really sure, but I’m gonna do my best to make Father happy - I mean, it’s kinda crazy, but I did really feel happy when I saw how much you were enjoying it. And maybe He knows what He’s talking about. Anyway, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

His Brother nodded, “I guess not. But I promise I’ll come visit you as often as I can. You’re still my brother…well, I guess not anymore, but you know what I mean…”

He nodded, the sobering realization hitting him as his Brother continued, “now I’m gonna need you to clean up the load you dropped…I guess you can use your mouth. And just lick it up?”

With that, He patted his head and stood up - observing as he struggled to lean forward without the use of his arms - and watched as he slurped up his ejaculate from the cold floor.

“Good job, fag.”

One of His favorite things to do was take His empty pint glass and stand at the entrance to the toilets and asking Folks if They would be willing to donate Their piss to “this thirsty faggot”

One Man after another would fill up the pint glass again and again, and once full, He’d command me to empty the pint down my throat. I’d down 3 or 4 easily over the course of an hour. Then, at some point, I’d want to take a piss (after all, I’d been drinking large volumes of liquid). It was at this point when His cruelty would meld with my humiliation.

He’d order me to take off my socks - the socks I’d been wearing all night, without sneakers, walking on the dirty bar and bathroom floors - and hold them up to show me and anyone else who was watching how dirty and grubby they’d become. They were always brown or black on the soles and He’d stuff each one in the pint glass with a theatrical flourish before instructing me to fill the glass.

So I’d stand there, in front of everyone, pull out my penis, and proceed to piss into the glass. I’d piss the piss of all the Men whose piss I had already imbibed, and then I would be told to drink Their piss all over again - only now distilled through my kidneys and steeped in the dirt of the bar and toilets.

I’d choke it all down and, once drained, be permitted to put on my socks again - only now soaked in piss.