My little brother, my pet! Eighth and final part.

When we got married, I practically handed my pet over to Daisy; after all, it took over all the tasks in the house, and she was the one who commanded and supervised it.

In the first month, she put heavy iron rings on all his extremities, on the ears, nipples, and on the head of the cock. She drilled the holes and welded the irons without anesthetizing; she showed how to deal with the animal without pity or mercy. It was also a way to facilitate the control of the dog. She pulled it by the rings, hooked one call to another to immobilize it, or padlocked the rings to leave it trapped in some place or railing.

She didn't mind that I fucked him occasionally or that my fag gave me blowjobs before bed.

After Luis, our first child, was born, she was irritable, and one day she decided to cut a finger off his hand to punish him for burning our dinner. He cried a lot and seemed very sad, looking in dismay at where his finger had been torn off. The following year, Thelma, our second daughter, was born.

During those years, Daisy and I worked so much at the veterinary clinic that Charlie practically raised my children; fed them, bathed them, gave them their medicine, and put them to sleep. Daisy was the one who set the tasks; she was the one who punished him for every failure. Before Luis was five years old, my little brother only had his thumbs whole; the other fingers had already been cut off in full or in part. I was happy and excited to see how she punished him and her sadism and pleasure. She was a skilled and experienced veterinary surgeon; she would call Charlie to the table, and he would obey, crying and trembling with fear; she would take the enslaved faggot's hand and cut off a phalanx of the finger using chicken boning shears, then deftly and quickly sew up the end and seared with a hot knife. Then, to humiliate it, she would feed the cut part to Buddy, our dog.

On a typical day, with the children at school, while we had lunch, she said:

- My beloved, I decided to cut off the dog's dick; I don't like to see it hard and ejaculating with the kids at home.

I nodded in agreement with my wife and continued eating.

Charlie stopped serving us our meal and knelt at my feet, crying with his hands protecting his dick. I held him by the collar ring and spoke calmly.

- You shit fagot, stop making a scene, get the scissors, and I'll cut your dick off right now.

He dropped to the floor at my feet, shaking and crying in the fetal position. He hadn't said anything in years; I didn't even remember it could speak or its voice.

- For God's sake, my brother doesn't cut my dick off. I beg you!

Daisy and I were so irritated by that reaction that we ditched our lunch, carried the fagot to the car, put it in the trunk, and drove to our clinic. There, we anesthetized and tied the fagot to the surgical table and performed two more complex surgeries, the penectomy and the extraction of the vocal cords. After two days, when he was finally fully awake, we fed the severed penis to Buddy in front of him.

Weeks later, I called him to be punished, and while I was cruelly crushing its nipples with pliers, I saw the sperm flow from the hole where there used to be a dick. I whispered in its ear:

- Bitch, the pain was never a punishment for shit like you, and the only punishment is to cut your pieces and feed them to Buddy. I still haven't cut your balls off just to show your cum and pleasure in being treated like a pervert shitty bitch.

Over the years, as the children grew up, Daisy cut off the faggot's last fingers and thumbs, putting him back as a backyard animal. Without his thumbs, he could no longer hold even a broom.

Finally, one day while watching a football game with my old college friends at home, we cut his balls off just for fun.

In the photo above, you can see our family together, Thelma, twenty; Luis, twenty-one; Daisy, myself; Terry, my great-nephew, Jack's grandson, my older brother. Buddy had died a few years earlier.

As you can see, the shitty fagot was in deplorable condition. It had his ass so raped and enlarged that I couldn't hold the shit any longer. His ears were hideous, plucked off years ago, his nipples were misshapen, and the heavy hoops dangled like ridiculous earrings. There were few teeth left in his mouth, and it drooled all the time because blowjobs and harnesses had displaced his jaw; it couldn't chew his food without making a mess.

Beating and whipping were entertainment that occupied all members of the family. I remember when Luís, when he was five, asked for a cattle prod to torture our creepy pet. When Terry came to visit, it was he who spent whole afternoons perfecting his mastery of the long and short whips on the slut faggot tied to the backyard tree.

Terry enjoyed whipping and was a master of long and heavy bullwhips. Two weeks after this photo, he invited some friends from high school to have fun with him and show off his skills. The kids were so excited that when they left, they forgot the shit beast on the tree unconscious, not realizing it was bleeding from all his wounds.

When we got home at night, seeing the animal's state, Daisy and I thought it best to shoot down and bury it in the backyard next to Buddy. I can say that the family knew how to respect nature and the wishes of this fagot; he had a happy life, and he lived the way he wanted to live his whole life!