Open that cunt for me, like that with both hands, crouch down, like a bitch, on all fours...

He had brought another whore again. I was waiting for the whores to leave so I could get up. He was always wearing that flannel bathrobe with checks, half-closed, showing his hairy belly and gray chest.

"Look, I was thinking about you. Make me a couple of eggs. The whore has left me hungry."

I was his stepson. My mother had left a long time ago with her boss, "forgetting" about her son in that house. My stepfather never missed an opportunity to remind me of it.

"I suppose you've been jerking off listening to me fuck the whore. She was good, the damn thing. She was one of the expensive ones."

I made him the eggs. I usually kept quiet not to provoke him, although sometimes that wasn't enough.

"Damn, what a mess of eggs, they're full of fat, faggot."

He finished the eggs and got up. He grabbed me by the hair.

"Next time, see if you can do better, damn it. Since you live at my expense, do things well when I ask you to."

A couple of weeks later, I had arranged to meet some friends for a few beers. The night wore on and I arrived home in the early morning hours. I opened the door, trying not to make noise. There was a light on in the kitchen.

"Where have you been?"

"With some friends."

"You know what your obligation is. Today I didn't have dinner. I'm fed up with supporting lazy people. Let's go, to your room."

"Get undressed and lie down on the bed."

"But..."

The slap sent me to the floor.

I got undressed and lay down.

"You're a shit, just like your mother. Your job is to obey if you want to live in this house. Did you hear me?"

The belt strikes started to fall mercilessly. I heard him gasping after the 20th strike.

"That's the last time, you're in this house to serve me. It's your way of paying the rent, damn it. And you know it."

It wasn't the first time. Everything started shortly after my mother left. I suppose at first it was resentment, but later it was clear that he enjoyed it. Every day his outbursts, the beatings, and the abuse became more frequent.

"Now go and make me dinner, come on."

I got up, I could barely walk, but I knew that if I didn't want more beatings, I had to obey.

He followed me to the kitchen. He liked to watch me serve him. He sat down to wait while I cooked. As quickly as I could, and being careful not to burn myself, I prepared a steak with potatoes for him. While the potatoes were frying, I felt his gaze. I had long since realized that he got off on seeing my bruises, he liked to see me naked and marked by his blows. It had been a long time since he started to rub his package with delight on those occasions. At first, he did it almost unconsciously, but he had long since stopped pretending to hide his lust. He liked to rub it wi...