I think he was the happiest of all of us. Second part.

My father used to say that when he and his brothers went out with the herds of goats to take them to the pastures to eat, it was enough for them to go far enough away from the house so that the adults wouldn't see them anymore because that queer brother would already take off all his clothes. He put the collar around his neck as if he were one of the goats in the herd.

When he started to do that, the other kids joked around, treating him with mockery and meanness as if he were a goat, and he accepted the jokes without complaining, walking around on all fours and naked the whole time.

But the goats of the herd were also used by the older boys for juvenile sex. The bigger boys fucked the goats and gave them their penises to lick. It was they who discovered the most effective uses for the goat brother. Soon he knew how every boy in the village liked to be blown, and they all knew every crease in his asshole. For years, the village's favorite goat was a secret only for adults, as all the boys and young men knew very well how to use this particular goat.

I let him spend the night there, tied up, sweating the better to absorb all the spices and sauces.

He found me on the internet years ago, asking me to do this to him. 

He said that he was a submissive and masochistic faggot. He dreamed of being roasted like a piglet and served to rich and sadistic men who would enjoy his suffering and submission, eating his flesh with satisfaction and contempt. At first, I thought it would be just another wanker faggot fantasizing to masturbate. Due to his insistence, I realized that this was precisely what he ardently and really wanted.

Since I am a famous and experienced barbecuer and specialist in preparing pigs and large hunted animals on the grill or in the oven, I gave him the conditions and the price I would charge for baking him when he found someone who would make his fantasy come true. He contacted me months ago, delighted to have found a group of wealthy Germans who would rent a farm in the interior of Portugal for a month, and wanted him to be served at the group's last lunch.

When I received my advance payment, I traveled by train to Lisbon and by UBER to the address given to the south of Coimbra.

I stayed ten days at the beautiful and sophisticated farm before we started preparing the tender fag. In those days of vacation and rest, I saw the naked pig restless, working all the time to please all the ten men staying there. I soon understood that four of them were the Germans paying all the expenses, including mine. It was an uneducated, noisy, fat, and drunk group who treated everyone with truculence and did not speak or understand a word of Portuguese. The other men were all relatives of the fagot, two brothers older than him, an uncle, and three cousins who owned the farm.

The cunt slut worked around the clock, always naked and on a leash, to serve and please them all, serving meals and cocktails, tidying up rooms, giving blowjobs, and getting fucked by everyone, especially the Germans. All men treated the slaved fag with brutality and contempt, but the Germans were incredibly violent and cruel, giving brutal slaps, kicks, punches, and beatings with sticks and whips.

Two days before dinner, the fag was handed over to me to start the preparations. I made him vomit many times and did a violent and complete stomach and intestinal lavage, removing everything solid in his digestive system. I began stuffing it through the throat and the anus with spices and cooked vegetables. I kept him in a very hot corner of the kitchen, next to the oven, very hot indeed, almost a sauna, to open up all his pores, and I rubbed peppers, oil, and salt all over his skin.

In this preparation process, his eyes were irritated by the salt, pepper, and oils; his throat burned with the peppers and spices; I had to put the gag sealing the top outlet so he wouldn't vomit. It took nearly ten hours of prep before your belly was stuffed with all the vegetables I shoved up your ass.

The process was cruel; he felt nausea, burning, thirst, hunger and pain from having his anus broken into by more than five kilos of fruits and vegetables. The worst part for him was that after stuffing it, I had to sew his anus so no filling would spill out. The pain of the stitching must have been immense; he was sweating, moaning, and shaking with pain. He could barely breathe and couldn't vomit because he had the gag on.

The Germans and the faggot's relatives accompanied part of the process, laughing and taking photos of his extreme suffering. His relatives, especially his uncle, seemed buoyed by the money earned and relieved to be rid of this family problem.

Still, only I noticed that the faggot had several erections during the painful process, and I saw that he was crying with grief and lust when he came the third time without no one touching his dick.

I let him spend the night there, tied up, sweating the better to absorb all the spices and sauces. I went to the corner of the kitchen a few times to see if something was leaking, and what was dripping the most was the sperm from his dick.

I can only say that everyone praised the meat served at lunch the next day.

I think he was the happiest of all of us.

Our village was poor; the region was just sand and stone, and it wasn't easy to plant anything. Life was uncompromising and straightforward. The little water in the area was scarce and very controlled. Summers were hot and dry, winters very cold. Most of the days were consumed carrying water for the houses and livestock. Our mules had to do this painful and heavy work as the slopes were very steep. In addition to mules, we raised a few cows, goats, and chickens. The shepherding of the goats was the lightest task and involved the youngest children.

My father used to say that at this stage of childhood, when he was so young, he and his brothers stayed with the others taking care of the goats; one of his brothers, our uncle, had already asked to be among the goats; he liked to be naked and be treated like one of the animals. The boys who worked with the goats started their sex lives by fucking these animals; my father used to say that our uncle was treated, beaten, and fucked as if he were one of the goats. One day, our grandfather saw the other boys abusing him, and he was naked, on all fours, with a collar on and bleating like one of the goats in the herd.

My father says their father squatted next to the youngest, pulling him by the collar and asking: Are you a fag goat? The boy, without blinking, replied to his father: Yes, I am a fag goat.

My grandfather pulled the leash until he lifted the naked kid off the ground, spat in his face, and threw him on the hard ground, saying: From now on, this fag shit is not a boy anymore; he is one of the village animals, you always keep him on a leash, ok? You can hit, kick, fuck, do whatever you want with this slut goat.

So, since childhood, this uncle of mine was treated by the whole family and everyone in our village like one of our animals. My grandfather never again let him wear clothes or walk without a collar and harness like other mules. The tin bells that we tied to the animals to locate them were tied to his balls, and wherever he walked, he made that noise that mules, cows, and some goats made when walking along the steep and uneven trails in our region.

My sisters, brothers, neighbors, and friends used to lead the animals in transporting water and supplies up the hill. Any one of us drove any of the animals, we knew each of them, and we learned how to make them march in rhythm, even in the most challenging passages, using sticks and whips to motivate them. 

Our life was rough; we worked hard, didn't treat any animals with kindness, and were stiff and scratchy in dealing with them. But I tell you that my uncle was the one who was treated with the most violence and cruelty by everyone. When my father led his brother up the hill, he whipped so violently that the animal arrived at our house with its back dripping with blood. Our grandmother, one of the village's gentlest women, beat her son with such sadism that I was amazed at how her old arm cut such deep wounds into the animal's thighs.

I believe it was hard daily work that made him the strongest of all we had. The robust and hairy body, dirty with earth and sand, covered with wounds and scars, with fleas and ticks, stank like the other animals, circulated without rest or embarrassment all day up and down the hill. All day, we listened to the shouts of command from those driving him, mingled with its moans, the cracking of sticks and whips, and the ringing of bells between its legs.

At night, like all the other men in the village, I would go to the stables to rape or be sucked by the filthy animal.

None of us in the village felt any pity for the slut animal, as we all knew it was like that because it wanted to be like that. I could see that it took absolute pleasure when it was whipped, fucked, or worked hard, naked all day. I saw him sucking the guys' dicks with such care and enthusiasm that none of our women felt when putting those dirty, pissed, and sweat-smelling dicks in their mouths. When we fucked him, we could do it brutally and forcefully, one after the other, as it never complained. Sometimes, during rapes, his cock got so hard it felt like he would come at any moment. Sometimes, revolted by our animal's lust and pleasure, I would kick his colossal cock, and he would moan and ejaculate with desire.

We all took out our frustrations, revolt, and dissatisfaction with life on him. Seeing him covered in sores and bruises, blood and sperm from all of us, we felt superior - we were fucked up, shitty, but he was the most miserable and despised of all! And yet, I think he was the happiest of all of us.