“Tell me again, Julio,” Uncle Rick’s voice was thick with anticipation as he pointed at my brother. “Are you ready to submit and become a stud? Ready to be used just like him?” His eyes gleamed with a twisted pride as they shifted to Chris, who was now hunched over, still shivering from his release. “Ready to be turned into a mindless hole, to be used in any way I see fit?”
The joy in his voice was sickening, as if the sight of my brother’s broken state was something to celebrate. He looked at Chris with an almost paternal satisfaction, as if he had successfully molded him into the perfect toy.
“No, Uncle, I can’t,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. My voice was steady, resolute. “I can’t.”
Uncle Rick’s expression didn’t waver. Instead, he nodded slowly, a hint of satisfaction creeping into his eyes. “Good, Julio. It takes strength to recognize when you can’t meet expectations. It’s hard to admit failure,” he said, his tone laced with an unsettling approval.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the spot beside Chris. I obeyed, lowering myself onto the floor next to my brother. Chris wasn’t panting anymore, but the look of shame on his face was unmistakable. His eyes were downcast, a mixture of exhaustion and something else I couldn’t quite place. I turned to him, forcing a smile, and winked. For a brief moment, his face brightened, a flicker of understanding passing between us. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice slow and sluggish, as if the words were struggling to break free.
Uncle Rick’s phone rang, interrupting the silence. He answered it with a casual tone, his eyes never leaving us. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, his voice dripping with false warmth. “Say hello to the little señorita for me. She certainly raised some fine studs,” he added, the word “studs” rolling off his tongue with a mocking tone.
He glanced at Chris, who remained hunched over, the shame still evident on his face. “Yes, Chris had some truck problems,” Rick continued into the phone. “No problem, though. The shop said Tuesday, and he should be ready to head back home.” His eyes flicked to me, a cold smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Julio’s a fine sculpted sportsman, a fine student. He should bounce right back, no problem.”
There was more chatter on the other end of the line, but I couldn’t make out the words. I kept my eyes on Chris, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched slightly as if fighting an invisible force.
“Well, they just went out in my car for some pizza,” Rick continued, his voice carrying that same sinister undertone. “But I’ll tell them to call you on Monday after you two are home from work.” He chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down my spine. “You know, I treat them as if they’re mine anyway,” he added with a sinister laugh. “Okay, you too. Take care.”
Rick ended the call and turned to face us, his demeanor shifting from the casual warmth he had feigned on the phone to the cold, calculating presence I had come to expect. “There, it’s settled,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “You two will go home on Tuesday, unless the truck has some other problem. You know how mechanical issues can pop up unexpectedly.” His smile widened, the meaning behind his words clear.
Matt emerged from the shower, fully dressed, his demeanor a stark contrast to the primal force he had been just moments before. He looked almost radiant, even joyful, as if the acts he had just committed had filled him with a renewed sense of life. "Man, it's good to be alive," he said with a broad smile, his voice carrying an unsettling lightness. "But I need to head out. Anthony will be bitching if I miss his senior football game," he added with a casual laugh. "Kids, they grow up so fast."
As he approached us, he leaned down, his hand gripping Chris’s shoulder, pulling him up onto his knees with ease. "I can't wait to open you up again, boy," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation. Without hesitation, he forced Chris’s mouth open, letting a thick glob of saliva drop from his lips into my brother’s waiting mouth. Chris swallowed automatically, his actions mechanical, as if he was no longer in control of his own body.
Uncle Rick watched the scene unfold, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The pride he took in what was happening was evident in the way he observed Chris, like a craftsman admiring his work.
But inside me, a fire was building.
“Ill be back to see you off Tuesday morning” mat said “to make sure you even want to go home” he said.
My uncle’s voice sliced through the heavy air like a blade. “Julio, get your brother to the guest bedroom,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Since you’ve decided not to continue your training, you’ll be expected to perform house duties, and you’ll sleep on the living room couch.”
I nodded, swallowing the defiance rising in my throat. I reached down and helped Chris to his feet, his legs wobbling as though they might give out at any moment. Supporting his weight, I guided him to the guest bedroom, his body sagging against mine with every step. Once inside, I carefully lowered him onto the bed, his legs giving way as he collapsed onto the mattress. He avoided my gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point, as if he were trying to escape the reality of what had just happened.
I began to remove the harness from his body, my hands trembling as I undid each buckle and strap. The leather had left angry red marks on his skin, stark reminders of the control that had been exerted over him. His neck bore the darkened imprints of where Uncle Rick had restricted his breathing, manipulating him. I couldn’t ignore the sight of his hole, no longer gaping but still red and slightly puffy from the relentless assault.
“Listen, Chris,” I said quietly, careful not to raise my voice. The last thing I wanted was for Uncle Rick or Matt to overhear. “I’m getting us out of here, I promise.” I made sure my words were steady, even though my heart was pounding in my chest.
Chris finally looked up at me, his eyes clouded with exhaustion and something else—resignation, maybe, or fear. He seemed too drained to fully process what I was saying, and I couldn’t blame him. The ordeal he’d just been through had taken everything out of him, leaving him hollow and distant. Yet I forced a smile and winked at my brother, our bond unspoken but unbreakable. This was our secret language, a silent promise that we would get through this together. As Chris surrendered to the unnatural heaviness pulling him into sleep, he managed a faint, weary wink back. Even in his weakened state, he understood. We were still in this together.
As I cleaned my brother, the room’s unsettling details became impossible to ignore—the moist wipes and personal cleaning supplies tucked away in drawers, the straps attached to the bedposts, and the various pieces of sexual paraphernalia hidden under the bed. Each item painted a disturbing picture, one that made my stomach turn as I considered how many other “studs” Uncle Rick and Matt had broken in this very room, in this house. I forced it down, focusing on the task at hand.
I wiped my brother clean with a care that felt almost foreign in this place, ensuring there was no trace of the night’s horrors left on his skin or face. He needed this—some small measure of peace, even if only for a moment, a chance to be free from the degradation he had endured.
As I moved to close the closet door, a faint sound reached my ears. I froze, listening intently. The noise was coming from the vent near the edge of the bed. My heart raced as I dropped to my knees, pressing my ear closer to the vent, trying to catch every word. Chris lay sprawled on the bed, his body relaxed in sleep, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. I noticed his cock beginning to rise, likely stirred by some unconscious thought or dream. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at my lips as I remembered something my dad had said to me not long before we came to Uncle Rick’s house: “I was young once, and the strangest things would set me off.
But there was no time to dwell on memories. My focus needed to be sharp. My brother’s body, once a symbol of strength and heroism to me, now lay vulnerable, stripped of its former glory. He had always been my hero, but now, in this moment of weakness, it was my turn to be strong for him. I wasn’t going to waste this chance.
Pressing my ear closer to the vent, I strained to make out the conversation happening on the other side.
“That was amazing, did you see how easily Chris turned into a stud for us?” Matt’s voice carried an unsettling calm, as if he had no fear of being overheard.
“Yes, the poppers were laced,” Uncle Rick replied, his tone matter-of-fact, almost casual about the twisted manipulation they had inflicted. “And luck of the draw, it was Chris.”
My heart skipped a beat as I pressed my ear closer, every word slicing through me. Uncle Rick’s voice darkened with lust as he continued, “Honestly, I was hoping it would be Julio.”
The implication made my blood run cold. The thought of Uncle Rick eyeing me with the same twisted desire he had for Chris sent a surge of revulsion through me. Matt, clearly intrigued, added, “It’s not too late, Rick.”
But Uncle Rick cut him off, his tone firm. “No, Julio will turn, but not by force. He’ll stay because he won’t want to leave his brother behind.”
A sick realization began to dawn on me. They were playing a long game, one that went far beyond just breaking Chris—they wanted to break me too. And they were confident they could do it, not through brute force, but by manipulating the bond I shared with my brother.
“You really think you can get Chris to stay?” Matt asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
“Yes,” Uncle Rick replied with disturbing confidence. “A few more hits, along with a few drinks, and he won’t want to go anywhere. It’s psychology.”
My stomach twisted as the full weight of their plan settled over me, each word I overheard leaving me more horrified. My hand instinctively reached for Chris, but instead, I accidentally knocked a chain off the dresser. The sharp clatter filled the room, freezing me in place. It’s over, I thought, a wave of dread crashing over me. They’ll know I’ve heard everything.
“Go,” was all I could manage to whisper, thinking this might be the end for us.
Before I could gather my thoughts, the door creaked open, and Uncle Rick and Matt stepped inside. Panic gripped me, but I forced myself to act. Without a second thought, I grabbed Chris’s cock, pretending to rub it over my lips as though I were discovering something new.
“What’s going on…?” Uncle Rick's voice was low, questioning.
I hummed, trying to sound innocent, as if I were lost in some naive exploration. Their gazes locked onto me, a mix of surprise and sick satisfaction flickering in their eyes.
“Good, Julio,” Matt said, his tone heavy with lust. The concern that had initially crossed his face was quickly replaced by something far darker.
“I’m glad you’re discovering and exploring your brother,” Uncle Rick added, his eyes gleaming with a twisted pride.
Fuck you both, I thought with venom, though I kept my face a mask of submission. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.
I turned away from them, exposing my muscular, round ass, letting my movements suggest that I was falling into their game, my body a tool in their sick fantasies. I had to sell it, had to make them believe I was surrendering to their twisted desires. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my face neutral, letting them see what they wanted to see—submission.
“Let’s give them some space,” Uncle Rick said, his voice barely containing his excitement. The anticipation in his tone was unmistakable, almost gleeful. “After you're done, your place is on the couch,” he declared.
As they turned to leave, I heard him murmur to Matt, “See? I told you.”
Their footsteps receded, leaving me alone with Chris. My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline coursing through me as I realized I had bought us some time. Not much, but enough to start formulating a plan. I looked down at Chris, his body still in a daze, his mind clouded by the drugs they’d forced into him.
Hang on, Chris, I thought, brushing my hand gently over his forehead. I’m going to get us out of this, no matter what it takes.
The next day, I was sent out to get some groceries at the gas station. Uncle Rick had given me a list of items for a small gathering he was planning. Driving the truck, I tried to clear my mind, focusing on the task at hand and the plan I was slowly piecing together to get Chris and me out of this nightmare. But my thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Hey there, Julio!” I turned to see Anthony, Matt’s son, grinning at me. His voice was warm and familiar, pulling me back to a time when things were simpler, before everything had gotten so twisted.
“Anthony, hey!” I said, forcing a smile as we hugged. Anthony had his father’s dirty red hair and pale skin, but unlike Matt, he was slim, more like me. It struck me as odd for a football player, but I kept that thought to myself.
“Man, it’s been so long,” Anthony said, and I agreed, making small talk, trying to keep things light.
“You should have seen me at the game,” he said, his voice filled with the easy confidence I remembered from before.
“Was it that good?” I asked, smiling, trying to match his energy.
“Hell nah, we lost 5 to 0,” he laughed, “but my dad bugging out at the stands with Mom was priceless. I think he threw his soda can onto the field at one point.” We both broke out laughing, the image of Matt losing his cool over a high school football game somehow both funny and unsettling.
I had to play it cool. My brother and I were priorities, and the last thing I needed was for Anthony to say anything negative that could give Matt a reason to take it out on Chris.
“Oh man,” I said, recovering from our shared laughter. “Is he okay?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
Anthony shrugged. “No, and I’m okay with it. He can be so controlling at times,” he said, his voice lowering as if he was sharing a secret with an old friend. “He wants me married and gone. Honestly, I don’t know how Mom puts up with him,” he added, his expression thoughtful.
“Yeah, dads can be like that sometimes,” I offered, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “He just wants what’s best for you.”
Anthony shook his head, lost in thought. “I mean, Dad is a man’s man, but I swear he wants to control me. He even wanted me to join the church and preach like Grandpa.”
I smiled, trying to offer some comfort. “Don’t be too hard on him. He just wants you to be a man’s man too.”
Anthony grinned, the tension between us easing. “Well, what else does he want? I already knocked up Sheila, and my kid is due any day now.” He let the words hang in the air, his grin turning mischievous. “Too late to be gay,” he joked, playfully boxing me on the shoulder, a reminder that despite everything, he still saw himself as a man’s man, just like his dad wanted.
I chuckled along with him, but inside, I was struggling to keep the unease at bay. This brief moment of normalcy felt fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. Anthony’s carefree attitude was a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my mind, but I had to keep up the facade, at least until I could figure out my next move.
“Hey, hey!” I said, firing back some playful punches, trying to keep the mood light. “Give me your number. It was nice to see you again. Maybe we can hang out sometime, yeah? Just like old times.”
Anthony grinned, clearly pleased by the suggestion. “Yeah, that’d be great, man. Just like old times.” He pulled out his phone and we exchanged numbers, a small gesture that felt both normal and surreal given everything else going on in my life.
As he walked away, I felt a pang of guilt. This was all an act, a way to keep things from spiraling further out of control.
“If you fail to serve our guests, there will be consequences,” Uncle Rick warned, his voice low and menacing as he pointed to the large paddle mounted on his bedroom wall. The sight of it sent a chill down my spine. “Start cleaning!” he yelled, and Chris and I immediately obeyed. It struck me as strange how quickly we had adapted to this new reality, where walking around the house naked had become disturbingly normal.
Chris still hadn’t fully returned to himself, the remnants of the previous night’s ordeal lingering in his eyes. Uncle was having some friends over, and Chris and I were expected to serve them, our roles reduced to mere entertainment.
I glanced at Chris as we moved around the house, cleaning under Uncle Rick's watchful eye. The collar around his neck was tight, the thick metal ring barely giving his strong neck muscles room to expand as he turned his head. It was a constant reminder of his subjugation.
As we worked, Uncle Rick made sure we weren’t “wasting time walking,” his eyes always on us, ensuring we didn’t get too close to each other. I knew it wasn’t just about efficiency; he wanted to keep us apart. The silence between Chris and I was heavy, filled with unspoken words and shared shame. He barely spoke to me, and when he did, it was in passing, his voice flat and distant.
I was sent to clean the backyard while Chris stayed behind. The yard was small, but the deck made it feel more spacious, with just enough room for about six people to fit comfortably. As I worked, I couldn’t help but notice how well-covered the area was. Rick had been right—the tall fence and thick bushes provided perfect privacy. We couldn’t see out, and no one could see in. How convenient, I thought bitterly. But it wasn’t just about the fence; the nearby houses were sprawled out, spaced far enough apart that even if someone wanted to look, they wouldn’t see anything.
After about fifteen minutes of hard labor, I was filthy, sweat clinging to my skin as I walked back inside. I was wiping my hands on my shorts when I heard it—a low, guttural moan echoing through the house.
“Aaaaaahhhhgg,” Chris’s voice, filled with a mix of pain and something else, something darker. My heart sank as I heard the creaking of the bed upstairs. Without thinking, I followed the sound, each step feeling heavier as I approached the source.
When I reached the doorway, the sight that met my eyes made my stomach turn. Uncle Rick was behind Chris, his body pressed close as he drove forward with force. Chris was bent over the bed, his face flushed red, sweat glistening on his skin. Uncle Rick had one hand gripping the back of Chris’s neck, forcing his head down, while the other hand worked Chris's body in a way that made my blood run cold.
“MMMMMMMM,” my brother moaned, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Uncle Rick was methodical in his movements, every thrust calculated, every twist of his hand designed to break Chris down even further.
From the doorway, I could see my uncle's muscular back and ass, his body a testament to countless hours spent in the gym. He was a gym rat through and through, every inch of his physique sculpted with precision. No part of him had been neglected in his training—each muscle was defined, each movement controlled and purposeful.
"That's it, Chris. I'm so proud of you," he whispered, his voice carrying a twisted sense of pride. "You're going to love living here, Chris. I know it." His words dripped with manipulation, his intent clear as he continued to mold Chris into something else, something unrecognizable.
Uncle Rick positioned himself fully over Chris, his muscular body pressing down as he began to thrust with deliberate force. The muscles in his ass and back flexed with each powerful movement, a testament to his relentless control. He was methodical, each plunge calculated to drive Chris deeper into submission.
"Uncle can take care of you like this, from now on, if you stay," he whispered, his voice filled with a sickening mix of authority and coaxing.
Chris, beneath him, was unraveling, his moans growing louder as he succumbed to the physical onslaught. His body was reacting on its own, caught in the intense rhythm Rick had set. The pleasure mixed with a helplessness that made the scene even more disturbing. I watched in silence, my heart pounding, knowing that every word and every thrust was designed to pull Chris further away from who he used to be.
The room reverberated with the intense, rhythmic sound of Rick's relentless thrusts. "Slap, slap, slap, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP," each slap of skin against skin growing more forceful, more brutal. Rick’s balls slapped hard against Chris with every deep, punishing dive, the impact echoing through the room like a twisted metronome.
Rick leaned over Chris, his breath hot and heavy, his voice laced with a sick satisfaction. "Do you love your uncle, Chris?" he asked, his tone demanding submission.
Without waiting for a reply, Rick's hands shot forward, his fingers digging into the sides of Chris’s mouth, pulling back as if he were yanking the reins of a horse. Chris’s face contorted under the pressure, his grunts turning into a garbled mess of pain and surrender. "Yes," he managed to grunt,
Rick’s pace intensified, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more punishing with each passing second. The bed creaked under the force, the sound mingling with Chris’s ragged breaths and Rick’s grunts. “That’s how I want you, Chris,” Rick growled, his voice filled with a sick pleasure. “Obedient.”
Rick’s hand slid down Chris’s body, lingering over the harness marks that you could barely see now on his skin, a twisted reminder of the control he exerted. “Now, jerk off,” Rick commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “Jerk off as I finish in your muscled ass.”
Chris’s hand moved mechanically, as if driven by some deep-seated need to obey. His body trembled under Rick’s relentless assault, his mind caught between pleasure and pain, submission and despair.
Rick’s thrusts grew even more intense, his grip on Chris tightening as he neared his own release. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of their bodies colliding. Chris’s hand worked feverishly, his body now fully surrendered to Rick’s twisted demands, as he tried to meet the command forced upon him.
Surprisingly, they both came at the same time, the bed shaking under the intensity of their actions, creaking as if it might break apart at any moment. Chris grunted hard, his entire body tensing as he was pushed to his limit, while Rick yelled obscenities at him,” thats a good fucken stud” “squeal for me bitch” “uncle knows best” his voice thick with raw, animalistic pleasure as he came in my brothers ass.
Unceremoniously, my uncle pulled out comments later, leaving Chris sprawled out on the bed. I quickly retreated behind the door, my heart racing as I feared Uncle Rick might walk out and catch me standing there. From my hiding spot, I could hear the water running as the shower started, followed by the sound of the tub being filled. I dared to glance back inside the room and saw my brother slowly dragging himself from a flat position to all fours, his body heavy with fatigue.
Cum dripped from his abused hole, sliding down his thick balls and pooling on the towel beneath him. The sight was gut-wrenching. “Get in here, Chris. I need you clean and presentable for the party,” Uncle Rick's voice called out from the bathroom, his tone authoritative and dismissive. My brother followed and closed the door behind them.
I quickly went to work, determined to uncover whatever I could that might help us. Near the edge of the bed, I found the familiar popper bottle with its attached double nose barrel. I picked it up, inspecting it closely, and noticed something unusual—white powder dusted the very tips of the holes. My stomach churned. These bastards,Chris I realized, was forced into this state of compliance and confusion.
As I scanned the room, I couldn’t help but notice the clutter around the bed—at least three more poppers scattered haphazardly on the nightstand and under the bed. My mind raced with questions. How long had they been at this? How many others had been in this position, drugged and manipulated until they were nothing more than obedient toys? The thought was sickening, but I forced it down, knowing I needed to stay focused.
I turned my attention to Uncle Rick’s bedside table, hoping to find something more that could give me an edge. I pulled open the top drawer, the contents inside a disorganized mess. Among the clutter, something caught my eye—a small, flat makeup container. At first glance, it seemed completely out of place amidst the other items, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. I picked it up and carefully opened it. My heart skipped a beat when I saw what was inside—a stash of white powder. This was no ordinary makeup; it was something far more sinister.
I placed it back, careful not to disturb anything else that might give away my snooping. I continued to search, and that’s when I noticed our phones abd duplicates of the poppers, collars, and other tools of their trade, including some tiny white pills in a small plastic container, all neatly tucked away. It was clear that Uncle Rick wouldn’t notice if some of them went missing.
“Chris, get into the tub. I need you clean—thoroughly clean—for the party.”
I closed the drawer quickly, my heart pounding in my chest.
I went downstairs and showered, letting the hot water pound against my back, trying to wash away the filth clinging to my skin. Afterward, I pushed through a full-body workout, each rep sharpening my resolve. My muscles burned, tightening with every movement my body a lean, powerful tool.
When Uncle Rick finally called me to the living room, Chris was already there, standing silently in a leather jockstrap that clung to his body like a second skin. The way it fit him was both humiliating and undeniably perfect, accentuating every muscle, displaying him as something to be admired, owned, and used.
As our eyes locked, I silently screamed in my head, "Hold on, brother!" The intensity of my thoughts bore into him, desperate for him to understand. I forced a wink, a small, subtle gesture that I hoped would carry the weight of my resolve. For a brief moment, I saw his eyes flicker, a faint spark of recognition, as if deep down, some part of him was still fighting.
"This is yours," Uncle Rick said, handing me a pink sling. The fabric was minimal, just enough to cover what needed to be covered, but he wasn’t finished. He handed me a white cock ring, its purpose clear—no matter how hard I got, the fabric would stretch, showcasing my arousal without fully exposing me.
"Turn around, Chris," Uncle Rick commanded. Chris obeyed instantly, his movements mechanical, as if every ounce of resistance had been drained from him. Uncle Rick pulled out a marker and, with careful, bold strokes, wrote "SLAVE" just above Chris’s ass crack.
"Now you, Julio," Uncle Rick’s voice cut through the room, leaving no room for argument. I had no choice but to comply. I turned around, feeling the cool air against my exposed skin as I braced myself. The marker touched me, its ink seeping into my skin, as Uncle Rick wrote the word "ORAL" just above my ass. The letters were precise, neat, a mockery of the control he believed he had over me.
"There, that should keep you virginal," he said, his voice dripping with derision. "If you decide to explore," he added with a twisted smile, "that will be up to you." The implication was clear—he thought I would break, that I would give in to the perversions he had forced on Chris, that I would eventually become just like him.
"This is going to be an amazing party. I can’t wait for you to meet my friends," Uncle Rick said, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he looked at us with pride. "This will be a party to remember," he added, stretching his arms wide as if embracing something only he could see. His head leaned back, a broad smile spreading across his face, full of overwhelming joy. The sight of him, so lost in his own twisted pleasure.
I could not help but be afraid of what would happen tomorrow, but I was ready to fight.
