Pet for MAGA 2: The Dinner Party

As I had been taught, I crawled into the living room where Tom and Sarah were having a drink and watching television.  It was a new program -- one that Tom had approved -- about a nuclear family led by Tim Allen and their comically stupid slave.  It was called The Tomlinsons and the Libtard.  No Liberals were allowed to be shown on television unless it was a news story about them being deported or locked up or if they were being used for comic effect.  

I kneeled up on my haunches as I was trained to do, awaiting instructions.  The Bradleys went about their business as if I wasn't there.  I watched the antic of The Tomlinsons on TV as they humiliated and berated their libtard neighbor.  This was set in the past when libtards were still allowed to own real estate and have places on their own; before the camps and the re-education. 

Near the end of the show the doorbell rang at the Bradleys.  They waited a moment before Sarah finally yelled, "Get the door, shit for brains!  Don't make our guests wait!" 

I scurried out of the room, wishing I could crawl faster.  When I opened the door I found seven people on the stoop.  Well, four people and three other slaves.  I would learn through the course of the evening that I was looking at The Frietags and The Greenes along with their slaves.  

Charles Frietag was a tall, clean-shaven middle-aged man with broad chest and a jaunty attitude. His wife, Amanda, was not beautiful but the word "handsome" would describe her well.  She had beautiful blue eyes, a long nose, and a shapely figure. Her platinum blonde hair was tied back in a red, white, and blue ribbon. She wore a rather severe tight blue dress with tiny white flowers from the Ivanka Collection.  Their slave was at heel next to them and appeared to be a trans man.  I would have to listen for what the Frietag's called their slave as it was up to the owner to decide what kind of pronouns or names their property would have.  The slave wore a t-shirt that read "Fuck My Feelings" and a pair of cut-off jeans that tried to emphasize the slave's physicality. 

Jonathan Greene was an average height with a buzz cut wearing a polo shirt and jeans.  He sported a pin on his label that denoted his rank within the Patriot network. His wife, Darla, was a small woman with delicate features.  She had the required shoulder-length hair though hers was brunette rather than blonde. She briefly made eye contact with me before looking back at her shoes like a good Tradwife.  At either of their sides were two black women wearing only string bikinis and crawling shoes (knee pads).  In my mind they were black women, I still couldn't say the word they had drilled into me at REC29. 

As four of these people were my superiors I was not allowed to speak to them until spoken to so I gestured for them to please come in.  I barely had before Charles had already moved to do so, not caring about the slave that opened the door. "Hey, Tommy Boy!" he bellowed into the house, barging past me. 

The rest of the group quickly followed, the two couples trailed by their slaves. 

The six Winners gathered in the living room while we four slaves waited by the entrance.  I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone though the trans man seemed to want to tell me something, working to catch my attention.  Being put in feminine clothes seemed as off to me as having me dressed up as a Freedom maid, just another humiliation from the Winners. 

Fortunately for everyone involved, Sarah's role as a Tradwife precluded me from cooking dinner.  She had it all prepared and ready for serving at precisely 7PM.  It was up to me and my fellow slaves to serve the dishes.  For this, we were allowed to stand and walk on two legs.  They ate in the dining room, the men on one side of the table, the women on the other.  

"Is it all right if my pickaninnies get under the table?" asked Darla.  

"Of course!" said Sarah, with a note of excitement in her voice.

Before they started eating, the six Winners all paused to say grace.  "We thank you Lord," intoned Tom, "for the gift of this meal and for the gift of Traditional American Values which once again lead this land.  We thank you, Lord, for thy bounty and for thy gift of President Trump and all the righteousness that reign o'er our blessed country, the greatest country on Earth.  Amen."

"Amen," the rest of the Winners intoned.  I started ladling soup into bowls while the trans man placed napkins on the Winners' laps.  

Along with the food there came the conversation: the women talking with one another and the men doing the same, as if an invisible line divided the table.

"I see you finally opted for your first slave," Charles said to Tom.  "Did you get it from REC29? Looks like a fucking little faggot cuck."

"Good eye. You can never tell with the freaks," said Tom. "Girls will be boys and boys will be girls It was once a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world, right?"

"Oh, for sure," Charles agreed.  "Just look at that thing my wife wanted.  Undoing all the damage that stupid bitch did to her body has been ridiculous.  We're giving her estrogen every morning and she's set to go in to have breast implants next month.  That stupid cunt cut off her own tits because she thought she was a dude."

"What does her pussy taste like?" Jonathan interjected. 

"I have no idea," Charles said.  "I don't ever do that to anyone, not even Amanda.  You know, 'Lick the hole and you lick the pole' and all that."

"Ah, I was just curious as I hear those things have a weird taste because of all the testosterone flowing in their veins."

"I wouldn't know," said Charles, shutting down this topic of conversation. 

On the other side of the table, the Tradwives were enjoying their next course while the two black girls were also enjoying theirs.  I could tell by the looks of bliss on their faces that Sarah and Darla were being serviced down below.  This left Amanda without much in the way of good dinner conversation. 

As we went to go refill the Coors of the men, the trans man and I were both in the kitchen at the same time. 

"You must be new," the slave said. 

I nodded, knowing the prohibition from slaves talking to one another.

"It's okay, they can't hear us," the slave said.

I shook my head, still remembering the shocks of the cattle prods at REC29 to correct our behavior.

"Well, if you want talk to me, I'm still going to talk to you," the slave said.  "They're going to collar you tonight.  And then they will want a show.  If they tell you to fuck me, I want you to fuck my ass. Do you understand?"

I didn't but I nodded anyway. 

"Good.  Those assholes are trying to turn me into a girl.  I mean a real girl, not like you," she sneered.  "They get their kicks emasculating men and feminizing women.  They can all go suck my dick," the slave spat before leaving to refill the men's beers. 

I followed with the main course, fried chicken and waffles. By this time, the two black slaves had moved to the men's side of the table leaving the woman more free to talk. 

"I heard they sent the last boat to Africa today," Darla said, pouring syrup on her waffles. 

"About damn time," replied Sarah.

"I don't know what you'd do without your pickaninnies," Amanda laughed. 

"They fall under the quota," said Darla, "So I don't have to worry."

"I don't think I could take pickaninnies in my house," said Sarah. "Full time, of course.  I mean, they smell something awful no matter how much you scrub them."

"And they're messy as hell," added Darla.  "But Jonathan loves having them around the house.  He gets the biggest kick out of coming home from work and whipping them no matter what they've done.  He loves when they scream, 'Massa, please! We just dumb n-----, we don't know no better.'  When he's done with them they just cry and cry and it's music to my ears.  It's what we should have done with them years ago but race traitors just kept us from doing it."

A loud electronic squawk came from the living room, signally 30 minutes until Trumpdates started. 

"Do you think we'll have time for dessert?" asked Amanda, still working on her chicken.

"Yes, I think so," said Sarah.  "If not, we can have it afterwards during the big ceremony."

"Oh, are you collaring your sissy faggot tonight?" Darla asked. 

"Yes!  I have the cutest little pink collar for him," Sarah said. "It's one of the new ones with all of the advanced Starlink features. I'm so excited to try it out."

"Oh, I've heard about those," said Amanda. "I really think it would help with that creature Charles picked out.  It's been so hard breaking her of her habits.  That little dyke still think she's a boy and it's driving me crazy.  She's the most headstrong cunt I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.  I can only imagine how terrible she was in the Before Times."

"She looks like she was born to suck dick but forgot how to do it," Darla laughed. 

"Trust me, Charles gives her plenty of practice.  But what he really likes to do is remind her that she has a pussy and give her a good stuffing every night." 

"How well do you have this one trained?" Darla asked, indicating me.

"Fresh from the factory," Sarah said.  "We're guaranteed that it does exactly as told. I can tell you that it eats ass like a champ."

"So it hasn't sucked Tom's dick yet?" Darla wondered aloud.

"No, but we can change that," Sarah laughed.   "Did either one of  your n-----s get Tom off?" she asked Amanda.

"No, just Charles and Jonathan," replied Amanda.

"Great!" Sarah said.  "Get under the table and suck my husband's big MAGA cock, you fucking faggot," she commanded. 

Without a second's hesitation, I went to my knees and crawled under the huge oak table. As I moved between the legs on either side, I felt Jonathan give me a good kick in the side.  

"I don't know why you went with a faggot slave," he told Tom. 

I went to my Master's lap and began undoing his belt and pants.

"If you haven't had you cock sucked by a faggot, you don't know what you're missing," Tom said, his cock already hard in my hands.  "Plus, there's something so satisfying about fucking a libtard in the ass.  I read a meme once that said, 'All liberals are just holes to be conquered by alpha Republican daddies.' and I couldn't agree more."

I gulped and began licking the head of his massive member. It put my tiny cock to shame and my cheeks burned as I took him into my mouth, feeling him getting even harder as he talked with Jonathan.

"We tried to find this one's wife so we could use her too and I could cuck him properly but she's missing, probably fucked off to some godforsaken land," Tom said, his voice starting to change as he became more aroused.  "Oh, fuck, this is good.  If you want another blowjob later, you definitely need to try this shit."

"Hard pass," Jonathan told Tom as I tried taking all of Tom's cock into my mouth, feeling it tickle the back of my throat.  At REC29 we had taken lots down our throat, training our gag reflex to never ruin the fun.  They would occasionally use fucking machines on either end of us as we went for hours with rubber cocks fucking us relentlessly.  Sometimes the guards would take a pass at us, making sure we were learning correctly.  The biggest guard, Billy, used to love to remove the fucking machine from my ass and take his turn before his shift ended.  He used to cum so much that the fucking machine looked like it was churning butter after he'd put it back inside me for another few hours.

I heard the plates being switched out as dessert was served.  I kept sucking, bobbing my head and swirling my tongue over Tom's balls.  He grabbed on to the back of my head and held me down.  I panicked a bit but tried to keep a clear head as my tongue kept lashing around his balls and my throat kept swallowing, massaging the head of his massive dick. He began pumping into my mouth, fucking my throat hard.  My eyes began watering and I could feel my nose starting to run.  I couldn't keep the panic out of me and I started to whimper. 

"That noise is like music to me," he said, letting me pull back enough to breathe again.  Almost immediately he pulled my head back down. I felt his balls tightening under my chin as I struggled to suck. "Here comes your dinner, faggot," he grunted before unleashing a torrent of cum into my waiting throat. I swallowed and swallowed, trying to make sure I didn't miss a drop of his valuable MAGA seed.

He released me just as the ten minute warning for Trumpdates went off.  "Clean me off, bitch," Tom told me as he finished his dessert.  

Pet for MAGA

I saw friends lives being threatened. They were being told that they didn't have any right to exist.  I saw the economy tank and all of my retirement savings disappear.  I saw changes happening so fast that I couldn't keep up.  I can't even tell you the order of events that led me to Re-Education Camp 29 which got the nickname of "Sissy School".  

MAGA had always been about eliminating so-called feminine traits from men and butch traits from women.  I always present as very masculine but someone or something ratted me out. I ended up in solitary confinement in REC29. I was set for recycling and in solitary I was completely immobilized with Tomi Lahren videos playing nonstop; telling me my new place in this MAGA world.  Despite all of this, I was still in denial about my fate. Even when my owners came to pick me up, I still couldn't believe it was real. 

Sarah and Tom Bradley weren't just a power couple but Tom was the new CEO of the Chicago branch of the Warriors of Liberty and in charge of creating good Christian programming for the Midwest.  As part of the New States Rights movement, national broadcasts had gone off the air except for the Nightly "Trumpdates" where Stephen Miller gave a two our update about our Dear Leader's daily successes.  This important job of creating new proper MAGA programming kept Tom very busy but also necessitated a lot of care and service and, as their new servant, I was expected to provide it.  

The Bradleys had put off their state-assigned servant selection until most of the bugs had been worked out of the system.  Being a good Christian couple, they specifically wanted an atheist to serve them.  They also asked for someone without any tattoos, which was a tall ask in 2027.  But, I had never been touched by a needle. 

When I got to their house I was impressed by its immensity.   As part of the underclass, I had only been able to afford a small one-bedroom apartment.  As part of the Winning Class, the Bradleys had a palatial estate.  I wondered how I would be able to manage cleaning their place.  After the Great Brown Purge, anyone who looked even the slightest Latino was shipped out of the country.  The lucky ones made it to other countries while some died in Alcatraz or any the prisons that were once military bases.  After the USA-Russia Pact, there was no need for a US military as we're now under the protection of Friend Putin. 

In order to provide the help to the Winning Class, the underclass was jailed, re-trained, and allowed to serve the Winners (as they liked to be called).  I had been outfitted with a chip in my brain, courtesy of Friend Elon which guaranteed that I couldn't abandon my post and that I would be the best I could be for the Bradleys or any of their friends. 

The Bradleys lived in a gated community where the guard wore the same drab  REC29 uniform I wore.  Sarah took the opportunity on entering the subdivision to berate the guard, verbally insulting him with glee. I wondered when she would do the same to me. 

When I arrived at the Bradley place in Sarah's CyberTruck, still in my chains, it was Sarah who opened the door to find me.   I don't know if I gasped but I may have.  She was the perfect example of a true Aryan woman.  She stood at 5' 8" in her white high heeled shoes.  Her long legs wore flesh-colored pantyhose under her knee-length red skirt.  She wore a low-cut blue blouse and completed the look with the requisite red MAGA hat that the Winning Class always wore with pride. 

"Oh, look at you," she chided, seeing me for the first time.  "I thought we were supposed to be getting a prime slave.  I don't know what you are."

She turned on her heel and walked back into the house, leaving me wondering if I should follow her.  I decided that I should do just that and rushed inside to find her waiting at the foot of the double staircase leading up to their bedrooms.  She signaled for me to follow her to a small door to the right of the stairs.  "These are the servant quarters," she said.  "You will be allowed to sleep here when you're not needed elsewhere.  You will need to be up and working every morning at 5AM unless told otherwise.  For now, go in and shower and get changed.  Your uniform is laid out on your bed."

I wasn't sure what a uniform as servant to the Winning Class would look like but it wasn't what I was expecting.  I found laid out on the small cot a pair of stockings, a short back skirt, and a black blouse.  There was also an apron and a pair of ankle shackles that connected to a similar pair of wrist shackles.  I wasn't sure if this was to keep me from running away or to show me their power over me.  Because, the slow realization was creeping up my spine leaving me with a hot and cold sensation along my back.  I belonged to these people.  This wasn't any kind of temporary situation.  This was now my life and it was all legal and above board according to Constitution 2.0. 

There was a pounding on the door.  "Are you ready yet, libtard?" I heard Sarah bellow.  Before I could answer, she opened the door and came in.  "Silly me, I forget that I don't need to be polite," she laughed stepping in and coming over to me. 

"Oh, this is nice," she said, pulling at my blouse.  "Look at the fucking liberal pussy all dressed up like he should be in a fucking dress. I've heard stories about you beta bitches and I'm excited to see how true they are."  She lifted up the hem of my skit and straightened one of my stockings.

"Tell me what you think about me," she commanded. 

"Oh, Miss, you ae just so beautiful.  I am so honored to be yours," I said, finding myself bowing in little bows and staring down at my feet.  

"How can you say I'm beautiful when you're not even looking at me?" she asked.  "Look at me.  Look at my body.  I work out five days a week; burpees and Zumba.  Look at this butt," she commanded, turning around.  "Tell me this isn't the best butt you've ever seen." 

"It is a wonderful butt, Miss," I said, looking at how good it looked under her skirt.  

"That isn't good enough," she said.  She bent over and pulled her skirt up, giving me a better look. "Get down behind me and kiss this ass," she commanded. 

I got down on my knees behind her.  I leaned close and began kissing her ass over the pantyhose.  I planted little kisses on her perfect behind.

"That isn't good enough," she said before pulling down her pantyhose and underwear, baring her ass to me. "Kiss it better... in fact, French kiss it.  I hear you libtards like to eat ass.   It's time to eat mine."

I pulled apart her asscheeks and put my tongue against he beautiful puckered rosebud.  The bleached blonde also bleached her asshole.  My tongue pushed past her sphincter until it went deep inside her.  "Oh fuck," she growled as I began tongue-fucking her.  "That's good.  You're a good little pussy boy," she moaned.   "This is what it means to serve a MAGA Goddess, bitch."

I continued feasting on her ass. The smell of her womanly musk filled my nostrils and I felt myself getting aroused. I wasn't sure if this was allowed or not but my body couldn't help reacting. I wanted to rub up against her leg, hump her like a dog, but I knew this isn't for me, that I was there to serve her. 

"Say the words," she told me. "Say the fourteen words into my ass."  I immediately went into the 14 Words that had been drilled into my head during my stay at REC29, the 14 words that now began the New Declaration of Independence.  "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children," I said into her ass as I continued to lick her there.

"I see that our new property is working out well," I heard a man say from somewhere behind me.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "He's a real dirty beta bitch."  

"How do you.... use him?" the voice said. 

"Any way you want, honey. Anything you desire.  He won't say no.  He can't say no."

She let out another long moan as I continued tongue fucking her tight asshole.

"How was work?" she asked between moans. 

"It was good.  All of the Fox gear that was liberated after the purge is in top order.  I've just been busy casting the new sitcom that will play before the nightly Trumpdates.  I've got Kevin Sorbo as the father and Stacey Dash as the maid.  I'm just working on finding the right kid roles.  There are a pair of Miss Universe contestants that may end up playing the twins."

"Shit, babe, that little cuck is going to town.  It's one thing to serve a MAGA Princess," he said, "But I want to see how libtards react when they see a real man."

She pushed me away from her ass, my tongue reluctantly leaving her.  I kneeled back on my heels only to see Tom Bradley standing next to her.  He was dressed in loafers, khaki pants, and a blue oxford.  He stood at over six feet tall and I could tell he was very well built before he even started to unbutton his shirt.  

"As a good Christian man, homosexuality is a sin.  But that's a relationship between two men.  You may have been a man once but you gave that up when the Woke Mind Virus robbed you of your manhood.  There's scientific proof that liberals have statistically smaller pricks, to the point where you're not even classified as men anymore.  You're just a beta bitch put on this earth to serve your superiors like Sarah and me."  He began to undo his belt but left his pants on.

"Get up on your feet and bend over your cot," he commanded.   I did as he said. 

Before I felt the blow I heard the singing of his belt whizzing through the air.  The crack of the leather of his belt against the material of my skirt was surprisingly loud.  Tears began welling in my eyes immediately.  This was no play, this was Tom teaching me my place.  After five heavy blows, Sarah stepped in and lifted up my short skirt and pulled down my panties, leaving my ass exposed. 

A flurry of blows landed on my bare skin, setting my flesh on fire.

"Have you sucked cock before, bitch?" Tom asked as he continued whipping me. 

"Yes, sir," I had to admit.

Sarah started laughing at me while Tom was condescended to me. 

"I knew it.  All you liberal cucks are the same.  You're a bunch of cocksucking faggots.  Did you get fucked before?"

"Yes, sir," I barely croaked, trying to contain my crying.

"Such a faggot slut," he said. "No wonder we won.  MAGA doesn't allow that.  We are proper Christians and the Moral Majority.  Your kind was too concerned about pronouns and fake climate change.  Our kind are the winners of the world.  The true Masters of this planet.  And it's only right that you be under our heels now."  He rained down blows with every other word of his tirade. 

Soon I was a crying mess.  This seemed to really make Tom and Sarah happy.  

"This is first step to taking the red pill," Sarah whispered into my ear as I sobbed. 

Sarah threw a towel at me and told me that I had an hour to get cleaned up before I would be required to serve them dinner. 

I showered again, feeling the hot burn from the welts on mu behind scream as the water hit them. After I dried myself off, I returned to tiny bedroom where I found fresh clothes on the cot and something very special. 

On the middle of my thin pillow I found a golden buttplug.  Turning it over, I saw that it was capped with a red jewel with white lettering of "M" on the base.  I swallowed hard before pushing it inside of myself with a loud grunt. 

I put on a new pair of panties and another maid outfit before heading out to find what the evening held...