From the time I had the ability to understand spoken language I was a slave. I had two older brothers that would use me for their own personal slave. They needed the channel changed I was changing. I was the remote til I was about 8 and we got a cable box at which point I was used only for powering on the tv. If they needed a drink or a snack or a scapegoat I was their go to guy. I didn't even mind until I was old enough to realize that they weren't doing this because they liked me but because they were lazy.
This went on until I was about 10 years old. Now I had a younger sister that I would have loved to use a slave but convincing her to do anything was harder than actually doing it. She had her own powers and those powers were an earsplitting scream and temper tantrums that could last months. However I did have a younger brother who was getting to the point were he not only could understand what we told him, he felt he needed to be accepted. If it wasn't for that need to be liked and accepted by his older brothers then Steve or Dweeb as we called him probably would have never been so willing to fetch and clean and sacrifice just so his older brother wouldn't punch him in the arm. I was seven years older than Steve and despite my years of being threatened and beaten by my own brothers I never once thought that Steve didn't deserved to be given titty twisters if he wouldn't bring me Doritos. Having a slave was glorious. Poor Steve though. He was the baby. The youngest child of five and he never had a little servant to threaten violence upon if his orders weren't followed. Where are his reparations?
Posts
