Finally I found some interested in buying my slave. The ninth and final post in the series.

 

I searched deep internet sites that I could sell my faggot. I found two or three more organized sites for auctioning or selling people. I studied the rules and logic of each site just in search of the highest value I didn't care about any other question.

I posted several videos of my brother being whipped and neutered to pique the interest of buyers and show the seriousness of the offer. We made several home videos of our slut being severely whipped to prove its slave status.

The castrated fag really achieved better prices, for being white and young (19 years old), I found some interested in buying it. The buyer who made the best offer said that he was doing business on behalf of a wealthy businessman from abroad, and that we would never again have contact or news of the boy who had been sold.

A cousin of ours, who was a lawyer, helped my father and I solve all the legal aspects to prepare for the disappearance of the youngest son. He signed several documents and powers of attorney waiving inheritance and subsidiary rights. I was now the only heir of the family, he no longer had any right to anything.

Since castration he remained very depressed, silent, emotional and weeping. However, more than ever, he has become completely submissive, passive and obedient, as someone who comes to understand his role and insignificance. He accepted every order, every humiliation and beating without complaining about anything.

One night while I was dealing with aspects of the business with the potential buyer over the web, my brother asked.

- Are you really going to sell me?

- Yes, why?

- May I know who are going to buy me? Where I go? What does the buyer intend to do with me?

I looked at him and said calmly and seriously.

- No faggot, you won't know any of this. Come here, on your knees.

He knelt before me. I put my dick in his mouth and he started doing the blowjob like I taught him to do when he was almost a kid.

So I spoke softly and calmly into his ear.

- Simone, you are not a boy, you are not even people, and you are just my shit animal.

He was surprised because I hadn't spoken his name Simone for many years, I just said "faggot".

- Simone, I don't care what they will do to you. If you're going to be a whore in a filthy whorehouse, if they're going to put an apple in your mouth and roast you for a dinner of exotic foods, if they're going to take you apart and sell your organs for donation. I don't care, and neither daddy nor mommy do. My mom didn't even want to come and say goodbye to this shitty. You're mine, you're my fucking fag, I do with you what I want, I decide everything and you just accept. You fucking worm, isn't that what you are? Isn't that what you want?

He continued sucking until I came, drank all the cum and wiped the cock head with his tongue like I taught.

Then with his head down and crying he said.

- Thank you, my beloved brother.

Hearing his answer, I slapped him so hard in the face that I knocked him to the ground. I picked up a heavy leather belt that I liked to wear on these occasions and gave it a violent, bloody, long belt spanking. He lay on all fours on the floor, silently weeping while, with the leather belt, I drew blood from his thighs, back and ass. I hit a lot, mercilessly, until I got tired. Then I had him clean all the blood from the floor and walls.

I knew that spanking hurt me more than the whore, because I knew it would be the last.

The next morning, on a very cold day with some snow on the streets, I drove our car with the fag covered in blankets, chained and naked in the backseat. My father went with us taking the folder with the documents of the youngest son.

At an interchange in Casello Gropello Cairoli - Pavia Sud, from the Dei Giovi highway to Genoa, we stopped our car next to a rental vehicle parked at the agreed place. A man in a cap, sunglasses, and a mask got out of the car, opened the trunk, and handed us an envelope with the money.

My father handed my brother, shivering from the cold and with the wounds from the beating still bleeding, and the envelope with all his documents. The man pushed my fag into the trunk, closed the door, and left without a word.

We never heard from my slave again.

I remember that when I took him by the current, before he got into our car, he still smiled at me and repeated.

- Thank you for everything, my beloved brother.

This is the ninth and last post in the series I made together with my dear Italian friend: https://theitalianslave.bdsmlr.com/. This fantasy is ours, but it relates to the life he should have.