About two years ago, my youngest brother managed to make our family understand that he didn't want to be a man, a son like me, or part of the family. He is a creepy and inferior fag bastard who doesn't want to be treated with respect or humanity. My dad and I started beating and fucking the slut regularly. My mother started to have someone to do all the housework and be used as her sex toy. It started being naked all the time and being treated with the contempt and violence it always dreamed of. I believe that he was happy being the bitch and slave of the whole family.
But I don't know when or why our parents decided to get rid of him at some point.
My mother began to comment from time to time to my father and grandmother how she would like to stick it in the brick oven and roast it like a fag piglet. Talking about this idea excited the fag a lot, but certainly, it thought it was just small talk, a joke, or sexual fantasy with no possibility of becoming a reality. His hard cock and spilling pre cum made it evident that the proposal always turned him on.
One Sunday afternoon, when I was fucking it violently in the garage, I told him that Mom asked me to buy a wooden plank to support the steel roasting pan to put him in the oven.
The faggot seemed shocked; I realized that the stupid bitch still hadn't fully understood that those plans were actual. I grabbed him by the hair and slapped him violently in the face. "That's what you want, isn't it, stupid faggot? It's your biggest dream, to be roasted like a slut pig, isn't it?"
He just looked at me and, without blinking, replied, "Absolutely, sir!"
I slapped him once more, laughed, and showed him the board there, leaning against the garage wall. I joke, "So, you can be happy, bitch. The whole family is already invited to eat "with you" next week!"
The following Wednesday, my parents put the stupid animal on a rigid preparatory fast until next Sunday; he endured several squirt enemas until its intestines were utterly tidy. The idea was to clean and season it simultaneously; the pig couldn't eat anything and only drank the cheap wine my mother used in the kitchen. The queer was too weak and drunk to work on the second day of fasting, so I handcuffed him to a pillar on the house's porch, near the brick oven. My mother asked our cousin and me to shave all the hair from the fag piglet. We use a razor blade to remove all of its body hair; it got hairless, pubic hair and eyebrows. He accepted and facilitated our work resigned. The animal wasn't pretty, but it became even more repulsive after being shaved, looking like a disgusting pig or a creepy worm.
While doing this task, I explained to my cousin that everything was planned to put the slut in the oven still alive. Recipes for roasting larger, whole animals always demand slaughter and for the animal to be gutted and cleaned before entering the oven. After the task, we joked that we were starting to stuff the pig with cum and raped it for the last time.
The real stuffing started on Sunday morning, it was hungry and thirsty, dizzy, and almost unconscious when my mother and aunt came with a saucepan full of a very heavy and spiced soup.
It was basically onions, garlic, spices, lots of pepper, and salt, in other words, strong spices floating in oils. The taste was unbearable, they had to close his nose and forcefully shove the entire contents down its throat through a funnel.
It choked, vomited, and bear that bunch of spices going down burning its throat, through his eyes and nose.
That beautiful Sunday was hot and sunny. The family arrived early; my grandparents, uncles, and cousins adore family gatherings. My aunt and grandmother arrived especially early to help my mother prepare our special roast.
I confess that even after these years with my ex-brother transformed into a disgusting queer slut, I was still surprised at how normal the whole family treated this fact.
All the men in the family, always so kind, polite and affectionate, treated the fag with violence and, aggression. At our parties, I had seen each of them, at some point, give violent punches, kicks, slaps and rape the fag. It was expected that after meals, one of the "drunk" drag the fag to the garage to rape and be sucked. I remember one time my cousins and I watched my father, grandfather, and uncle viciously beat and fuck my ex-brother together while the women tidied up the kitchen!
That's why, for everything that has become "normal", I wasn't surprised by the naturalness and even the happiness of everyone in burning that uncomfortable problem in the oven!
The slut was weak, hungry, and dehydrated after two whole days tied. Being forced to swallow all the spice in the morning weakened him even more. I released the manacle from the pillar and helped the fag up, weak and very discouraged, onto the steel roasting pan.
It climbed onto the baking sheet and accepted being positioned as the women wanted. They tied his arms and legs with thin cotton cords and began to fill the pan with potatoes, onions, and vegetables.
All recognized my mother as the best and most skilled cook in the family; she commanded her mother and sister at work.
My grandmother arranged slices of lemon and brushed the animal with a thick, golden paste of mustard and honey; my aunt threw chopped pepper, cheese, and garlic over the leather-covered in the spice paste.
My mother shoved large amounts of large pieces of onion and whole garlic up its ass, pushing all the contents hard inside. She even stuck her entire hand into the roast's anus to fill with more stuffing into his intestines. Then, when not even an olive pit could fit in the animal's asshole, she took the penis and began to stuff chestnuts and other spices in grains through the urethra with great skill and force until the penis was completely swollen.
When it was well stuffed, she pulled the foreskin off and tied the end so that nothing would escape while it baked.
I was delighted to watch and photograph her working, and I could see the face of pain, pleasure, and suffering that the fag did, feeling his anus and penis being stuffed. It must have been in a trance; it remained motionless, silent, and resigned; the bitch didn't seem to think or feel anything.
His eyes were very red and watery, but after having so much lemon, salt, and pepper running all over his body, they had to be irritated anyway.
The family men were taking care of lighting the oven, putting the beers in the fridges, and talking about the results of yesterday's football. My grandmother and aunt had this for the kitchen to take care of the side dishes. At that moment, I was the only one watching what my mother was doing. She looked absorbed, focused on the preparation, but she knew I was there, watching and photographing.
Then, with the same skill, she tied a string very tight at the base of the scrotum and quickly cut the leather of the bag, pulled out the testicles, and cut the channels that held them. Then she stuffed his testicles with almonds and chestnuts, smiling.
"I know there will be people wanting to eat these parts; I guarantee it will be tastier that way!"
I believe the fag was no longer feeling anything. He didn't even realize what our mother did.
Then she went to the other side of the tray and placed his testicles next to her son's face so he could see. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear.
"Honey, I did everything exactly as you asked, as we agreed!"
When my father and uncle put the animal into the oven, it didn't make a whimper, and I didn't see anyone shed any tears.
The roast was delicious. The meat was tender and tasty, and the skin was crispy. When they cut the roast apart, its pieces really looked like any other pig. I saw my cousins playing and laughing as they ate its penises and balls, as my mother had predicted. I loved the pieces of ribs and thighs, and my dad ate pieces of the breast and arm.
What little remains were given to the dogs; the bones were crushed, burned, and distributed in the garden.
We never talked about him again, we burned his photos, but sometimes, we commented on how delicious "the roast" that Sunday was at suppers.
No one ever reported the disappearance of my "brother". The documentation he renounced all rights and inheritances was already signed and registered years ago.
That Sunday lunch was a celebration of collective happiness for ending the problem of having an embarrassing fag bitch in our family.
