The taboo of desire between siblings in BDSM and the case of the biblical Joseph.

The following posts continue the previous ones, which concern a younger brother who is sexually exploited by his older brother.

This is one of the taboos of the heteronormative world that homosexuals need not respect: sexual desire between brothers.

This is especially true when such desire involves BDSM—since humiliating, abusing, masturbating, performing oral sex on, or fucking one’s own brother happens far more frequently than our moralistic, "traditional" families might imagine.

Many brothers experience their sexual initiation at the hands, in the mouths, or within the orifices of their own siblings.

This phenomenon is ancient; the Bible itself contains the story of Joseph (Genesis 37), who was sold into slavery by his brothers. He is the spoiled youngest son, the favorite of his father,  Jacob (did his father also have a sexual interest in him? Was Joseph the most virile and heterosexual of the sons, or was it the exact opposite?).

His father sends him to find his brothers, who are tending flocks in a remote area. His eleven envious brothers—who loathe him—strip off his clothes and decide to kill him. 

The Bible doesn’t mention it, but throughout history, shepherds in various parts of the world have been known to engage in sexual acts with their sheep—and with one another. Does anyone truly believe these brothers simply decided to kill the youngest, whom they despised?

I truly believe that they raped him—violently—and then, shaken by what had happened, feeling both guilt and fear of the consequences, they threw him into a hole—naked and covered in semen—while they took time to think and discuss what to do next, including whether they would have to kill him to prevent him from telling their father what had been done.

Then, when a caravan passes by, they decide to sell the young man into slavery.

Doesn’t my version make more sense? Doesn’t it seem more realistic, truthful, and consistent with human nature?

Here are some images illustrating this biblical passage; they often depict Joseph as younger than he actually would have been—he was likely around 17 or 18 years old when he was sold. In my youth, I often masturbated while fantasizing about being him.

I worked with Grok on some of the images to make them appear more realistic and consistent with what likely transpired between these siblings. 

Did they turn out better? More faithful and interesting—wouldn't you agree?

A bitch’s happy Sunday.

Some people can’t live without drugs or alcohol; my addiction is something else. I have a shitty job, no friends, and no contact with my family—I’m just a dirty, masochistic faggot.

I spend the miserable pittance I earn on weed—weed I don’t even smoke.

There are some guys in the dirty, run-down neighborhood where I live who know exactly how to get my weed. On the only day I don’t work—Sunday—I head to a vacant lot to meet them.

I don’t know their names, and they don’t know mine; they just call me "Bitch."

When they arrive, I offer up my wrists for them to tie, and then they gag me. They rip off my clothes and take the weed from my pockets.

They spend the whole Sunday there, drinking and smoking, chatting among themselves, talking shit, and busting each other’s balls.

I’m nothing more than a dirty, aging faggot—tied up and naked—whom they use all day long. They beat me, kick me, punch me, and slap me. They piss on me—piss on my face and into my mouth.

I suck their cocks; some of them get a kick out of making me choke and gag by ramming their cocks deep into my throat.

Their cocks are big, thick, and filthy, but I suck them with devotion and professional skill. My only food on Sundays is their sperm.

The gag makes it clear that I am not to say a word; I am merely an object for them to use. I cry and moan in desperation when the pain becomes nearly unbearable. The gag, along with my bound wrists and feet, ensures their amusement.

They notice my cock, hard with arousal from all the pain and humiliation. They know what a bitch I am; they know how to make me tremble with lust and pleasure, but they also know how to keep me right on the edge—without letting me cum. They shove things—dildos and old plugs—into my ass. Some of them, to my delight, even fuck me with brutality and contempt while they talk.

They tie off my balls and the base of my hard cock—so tight that I can’t reach climax.

They bring quince branches and whips to lash me with. They bring pliers to pinch my nipples, my cock, and my balls. They put out their cigarettes by burning the parts they pinch with their pliers.

I usually arrive at the lot before lunchtime—on an empty stomach, so I don’t feel the urge to vomit—having already performed an enema, my pockets stuffed with their weed.

They arrive gradually throughout the day, each on their own schedule. They take turns, gathering in varying numbers around the naked, bound "bitch" lying there on the filthy ground.

This is the happiest day of my week. I spend all the other days waiting to be in this place, serving as their entertainment and their bitch.

My brother knows what a nasty slut I am.

 My brother knows the slutty bitch I am. When we're camping with his friends, I hardly eat or drink a thing; I have to swallow so much of their cum and piss that I'm never really hungry. None of them ever jerk themselves off; I'm the one who has to suck every cock that gets hard at the campsite. The only cum I don't drink is what goes straight into my ass or what they spill while jerking off as I'm being tortured.

Sometimes he gets distracted talking or drinking beer with some of his friends and doesn't even notice the atrocities and barbaric acts the others are committing against me. I can't say he doesn't torture me cruelly himself, but when he's the one using me—or when he's watching what they're doing to me—I feel safer. After all, I'm his bitch; he won't let them do anything I couldn't handle, or anything that would leave me crippled.

I had been hanging by my wrists for ages, getting violently whipped across my back and chest—just the way I like it—and the guy whipping me kept saying, "You piece of shit, if you cum, I'll cut your cock off."

When I came for the second time, the guy tied my hard cock and balls up tight and went to his tent to get some scissors, saying, "I warned you, slut—I'm gonna cut your junk off!"

Suddenly, I felt dizzy; the world around me went dark and started spinning. I froze; I couldn't moan, think, or say a word.

That's when my brother appeared, picked up the whip from the ground, and said to his friend, "Honey, feel free to whip that cock and those balls until they burst, but don't cut them off. I like seeing this pig's cock hard. His cock shows just how much it loves the pain!"

In that moment, I realized just how well he knew and loved me. When the guy started whipping my cock, I came two more times.

My brother's friends thought they were being creative when it came to cruelty.

My brother's friends had a lot of drinking and little conversation at the annual camps. They told the same jokes and stories every year and played the same pranks and dirty tricks on each other.

Even the cruel things they did to me were the same. Rapes, beatings with whips, belts and sticks, forcing me to drink urine and semen, violent slaps to my face, kicks and punches all over my body. Even when one of them seemed to have a new idea, they repeated the same "new ideas" from previous years.

They put me on anthills to see if the ants would bite my penis and testicles, if they would enter my orifices, enter and bite my anus and penis. And I knew they really did enter and bite, because in previous years they had already left my penis severely injured with their bites.

They had new ideas for burning me with cigarettes, cigars, or with the tips of barbecue skewers pulled directly from the embers on my nipples and the glans of my penis.

I knew that my screams and moans wouldn't be heard by anyone who cared or worried about me; not even my brother showed any restraint or mercy. On the contrary, he was one of those who most encouraged the brutal violence.

When the camp ended, I would go home and straight to the doctor to treat the most serious injuries. But I knew that when my brother called me the following year, I would be hoping he would invite me again!

When my older brother gathered his friends for camping trips, he always took me with him.

My older brother quickly realized who I was, the masochistic slut I was born to be, and he knew how to use and treat me the way I wanted to be treated. He made me his little slave, humiliated and beat me at school, and taught me to suck his dick and swallow his piss and cum while we were still teenagers.

At school camps, he would take me to the woods to fuck me and offer my services and holes to all his classmates. I tried hard to please him, to do everything he wanted, and I loved being used and pimped like a bitch by him.

My lust, my obedience, and above all, my hard cock showed him and everyone else that I was horny and happy being abused by them.

He went to college, graduated, got married, and has a structured life and family, with children and a successful career.

I distanced myself from my family, I have no contact with my parents or relatives, I don't have many friends, and, like a stupid, gay bum, I isolated myself, having few friends.

I'm a shitty gas station attendant, single, who hooks up using apps and is looking, without much success, for richer, dominant men to support me.

Every year, he gathers his friends for a "wife-free" camp, and he takes me along to be their whore. For three or four days, I do all the manual labor. I set up the tents, prepared the meals, washed all the dishes, and cleaned up the mess, working like a slave to the group, naked the whole time. During those days, I couldn't open my mouth, say anything; I just listened, obeyed, and accepted all the cruelty and nasty jokes. I get slapped, punched, spat on, and kicked. I'm treated like the piece of shit I am, which I like.

Sometimes they tie me to an iron bar and have fun whipping me for long hours, laughing and drinking excitedly. They love telling old stories and the same jokes every year while they beat me, cruelly tearing and hurting my ass and back.

They really despise me; to them, I'm just a fucking faggot, dirty piece of meat. I can moan, cry, beg, and they simply don't care about my pleas or suffering. I love being there so much, in that role and place, that I even come a few times, and they don't even notice that.

When the beatings are over, many of them fuck me and fill my throat and my ass with their dirty penises. They cruelly bite my nipples, put out their cigarettes on my breasts and my dick.

At night, I end up in their tents, covered in sperm, piss, blood, and spit, sleeping embraced by one of them. Happy as can be, doing my best to make sure they put me in the same situation the following year. And grateful to have the best brother in the world!!

No one imagined how perverted he was.

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My Uncle's Bitch, Part 2.

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