Taking My Place

For a little while, at least, the house is more-or-less silent. Mom and Dad are satiated, the twins have been attended to, and all that remains is to await our guests. A light knock on the open door solicits my attention, and I find Juno standing there.

“Hey, faggot,” Juno greets me, “Our friends will be arriving soon. Mom wants you to be under the table, already, when our friends arrive, since you're ... you know.” I nod in understanding, and collect my new notebook and pen, following her out.

I hand them both to Juno, then kneel down and quietly crawl underneath the dinner table. When I turn around, my little sister holds them out to me. I smile up at her appreciatively, as I take them, and she puts her foot on my face and pushes.

I close my eyes and turn my head, obediently scooting backwards under the table, and out of sight. Someone would have to actively try to see me, now, to be able to look at me, at all, much less to make eye contact with me in any kind of way.

On the upside, it means I can prepare, and try to think academically about my upcoming meal. I decide to start with the obvious, opening the notebook on the floor. I lay down, and I start to write while I wait for everyone to sit for dinner.

Given I can't think of anything else, I close the notebook and return to an obedient kneel to wait. I position the notebook at the end of the under-table, opposite of Dad's seat, where nobody's likely to step on it, as I don't know protocol for that.

I hear the sound of the doorbell, before I can crawl out to ask a question, and so I remain under the table. I listen, silently, to the sound of the voices and footsteps entering the house. Two boys, one girl, eighteen, about the same age as the twins.

Names uttered, and I assume I'll be able to tell them apart, or one of the twins signal, somehow. It feels a little bit awkward to know I will know their cocks before I know their faces. There's nothing for it, though. I'm forbidden to leave the table.

“So, where's your new faggot?” a pretty lilt filters through the air.

“He is already under the table, our meat and cream are his dinner,” Mom answers, “You needn't worry about him. He isn't inclined to distract us from our dinner. You shouldn't hear a word or a moan out of him at the dinner table, I assure you.”

“Oh!” the girl replies, “Okay! So are we on time, or do we have a little while? Should we go sit down immediately?”

“Come on, Julia,” Juno says, “I'll go sit with you and ensure you have a proper introduction to our household's new slut.” The sound of footsteps, then one pair stops.

“Oh, wait. Let me take my shoes and socks off,” Julia says, and I watch her bare her feet, her slender legs covered in fair, warm skin. Juno's feet approach, and one of the chairs at the far end from Dad's pulls out, providing Julia a place to sit.

“Remember, free your cock, either before you sit down or as soon as you're seated,” Juno reminds Julia. I watch Julia's feet approach the table, and then hear the sound of a button as it clicks open. A zipper follows and then Julia's legs manoeuvre.

She slides down into the seat, and her beautiful, thick cock descends into view. As she scoots her chair in, she sets her foot on the notebook and I breathe in the scent of her. “Oh! I think I stepped on something, but it doesn't feel like it's the fag.”

“I'll check,” Juno says, then bends and looks under the table, making eye contact and then pointing at the notebook under Julia's right foot, “Lick her foot, faggot.” My cheeks warm to pink, but I lower myself, dropping my eyes to Julia's soft feet.

I lean down, licking the foot that's on the notebook. Julia's muscles flex and tense, but she doesn't say anything, not to me, as my tongue slides along one side. “Why is your faggot licking my feet?”

“While he's under the table, he's forbidden from making unwanted sounds,” Juno replies, “The faggot needs you to move your foot for him. You stepped on something he needs.” Juno hums thoughtfully, and I lick her foot again in supplication.

Her foot moves, and I slide the notebook out of her way, then kiss her foot quietly and gently guide her foot onto the floor. I lift my head, focusing my eyes on her cock, hanging limp for the moment, but she's nevertheless impressive in her size.

“Is the fag allowed to start eating dinner as soon as any serving has reached the table?” Julia asks, “My cock is not being serviced right now, so ... I assume everyone has to be at the table before he's allowed to start eating his dinner, I guess?”

“Yea,” Juno replies, pulling her own chair out, on the other side from Julia, and one chair in. She doesn't sit down straight across from Julia, but she does take her seat. A moment later, Enzo walks in, and sits across from Juno, right beside Julia.

I watch silently as Enzo and Juno unbutton and unzip, once seated, and slide their shorts down enough to let their cocks out for me. The aromatic scent of musk in the under-table air becomes thick and warm, and I breathe in, slow and deep.

“Where should we sit?” comes one of the new male voices.

“Hiro, you sit across from Julia,” Juno answers, “Enrique, you can sit on the other side of me. Mom usually sits in the seat on the other side.” A moment later, I watch two pairs of legs circle around the table, and hear buttons and, then, zippers.

“Hiro, careful not to ... !” Julia starts, before Hiro sits down, stepping on the notebook, himself. I sigh, embarrassed, and I take a deep breath.

“What?” he asks, “Hey, I think I stepped on something?”

“You stepped on something the faggot needs while he's down there! You should move your ...” Julia starts to object.

“No,” Enzo interjects, “The faggot knows how to ask. Don't show him any consideration whatsoever. Don't even give him acknowledgement. Hiro, don't lift your foot until he licks it. Licking your foot is how he tells you he needs you to move it.”

I breathe slow, lowering myself down again, gently licking the foot now on my notebook. Hiro doesn't move his foot right away, and I quietly lick his foot again. Twice more, I slide my tongue along his foot, waiting to gain access to my notebook.

“Is he licking your foot?” Enzo asks.

“Yes,” Hiro replies, “Okay, just wanted to make sure I'm supposed to move my foot when your fag licks it and not, like, let him lick my foot a few more times to earn it, or something. Guess that's why you wanted us barefoot at the dinner table.”

“Mm-Hmm,” Enzo replies, and Hiro moves his foot. I pull my notebook free, then kiss his foot appreciatively, guiding him back down gently to the floor. A moment later, Dad arrives at the table and sits down, freeing his cock once he's seated.

I position my notebook so that it is out of the way of everyone's feet, and then inhale the thick, warm musk colouring the air. I look around, six of the seven cocks for my evening meal, all collected, all ready for my attention to be lavished upon.

I listen and watch Mom's legs as she moves around, walking about the kitchen, mostly invisible because of all the bodies. There's an opening, like a gateway, at the far end of the table from Dad. My way out from under the table, once I'm done.

Through the opening, I can see Mom at the stove, collecting the needed dishware and getting everything ready. We have always eaten as a family, and that doesn't change just because I'm now only ever under the table, not seated at the table.

My stomach aches with hunger, but doesn't rumble, as I force myself to wait, knowing I have no choice. I don't need their plates fixed before I can eat, but I am not allowed to start my dinner until theirs is, at minimum, physically on the table.