Date: Sat, 26 Jun 2004 12:25:33 -0400
From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: Master Bottoms 1

Disclaimer: Do not continue reading if you are not 18 years old or you are
offended by portrayals of male to male sex or the laws in your state or
county forbid this type of material.

Copyright 2004 by the author. Do not reproduce or distribute this story
without the author's permission.

Names, characters, locations and incidents are fictional. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

The Master Bottoms

----------- Day One -----------

We were both thoroughly spent. Each of us had finally blown his last load -
a gigantic one -and now we were just lying on the bed, head to hip,
recuperating. It was the most fantastic 69 I had enjoyed since arriving in
the city. Tom had a huge cock, almost as long as mine and actually a little
fatter. When I had him in my mouth, it was a challenge to keep from
gagging, but the payoff was worth it, as time after time my face was
drenched with his jizm, yet after each eruption he went right back to
fucking my mouth. Of course, I was doing the same to him. In my mind, it
was a challenge to see if I could match him blow for blow and yes, I
succeeded.

I had met Tom on the street - Locust Street. He was over six feet, very
well built, with curly red hair. He looked a couple years older than my
23. I knew he wasn't a rent-boy, but it seemed obvious to me that he was
cruising, so I made small talk with him and in no time was escorting him
into my hotel room. It was also evident that he was a top, like me, and
that I wasn't going to get any ass that afternoon, but it was still a
tremendously satisfying session.

"Whew, Tom, you are one talented cocksucker."

"Thanks, Fred, you ain't so fuckin bad yourself."

"I sure would like to find some ass though." I probably sounded like I was
hinting that he might be willing to let me fuck him, but I knew he
wouldn't. "I've been here in Philly a month now, and I'm getting
desperate."

"There are plenty of pieces out there walking the streets, Fred."

"The trouble is, Tom, I haven't found a job yet; and my finances are
getting pretty low. For now, I've got to watch my pennies." It was a cheap
hotel, but if I didn't get a paycheck soon, I'd even have to forego this
fleabag, and I didn't relish the idea of sleeping on a park bench.

Tom sat up. "Actually, maybe we could both do each other a favor, if you're
willing. I'm in town today scouting for new recruits. The country club
where I work is expanding its work force and I think you are just the kind
of employee they're looking for."

This I found hard to believe, since aside from my manly endowment and
prowess, Tom knew nothing about me. But I was sure as hell interested in
anything he had to offer.

"The job doesn't pay much in wages, at least at entry level, but you get
free room and board, and a uniform. The hours are long, the work is
exhausting, and there would be a two week probation period, but I frankly
don't see any reason you couldn't perform your functions well."

Those words, "free room and board," sounded delicious to me, and I decided
to jump at the chance before the opportunity passed. "When do I start?"

"Pack up your stuff, get showered and dressed, and settle your bill with
the front desk. I'll come back in two hours to pick you up and take you to
the Club." Tom handed me his business card, and quickly slipped on his
clothes, gave me a quick kiss on the lips and headed out the door before I
could even think.

"Wow!" I said to myself, "A job. A real fuckin' job." I read his card, "Tom
McDonald, Recruitment Manager, The Master Bottoms," and then the address
and phone number. I wondered about the name of the club; sounded like a
character from Dickens or one of Shakespeare's comedies. I had lots of
other questions, but I did exactly as he said - I packed up my few
belongings, showered and dressed, settled my bill, and was standing on the
curb well before the two hours were up.

I began to harbor fretful thoughts that this mysterious Tom might leave me
hanging, but just then he drove up, reached over and opened the passenger
door. I smiled a wide grin, threw my duffle into his back seat and sat down
beside him. "Is it very far away?" I asked.

"About 45 minutes north of the city."

I started hammering him with the questions I had asked myself in the
shower.

"What's my room like?"

"It's pretty sparse. A dormitory really. You'll be sharing quarters with
about two dozen other employees. Including me." I smiled at that idea,
thinking of how we had spent the afternoon. "But you won't spend a lot of
time there. You're going to be working awfully hard, and when you finally
get back to your room, you probably won't have strength to do anything
except sack out."

"Sounds like a real fuckin' workhouse!"

"Yes, you could say that." This time Tom was smiling.

"Any perks you haven't told me about?"

"Well, actually, yes. You're never going to be at a loss for a beautiful
ass to fuck while you work for The Master Bottoms."

My jaw fell open. This job is a dream come true. I began to see other
possible meanings in the club's name. After a long silence, I finally
asked, "The Master Bottoms. Isn't that a bit of an oxymoron?"

"It's a common misconception, Fred. A lot of gay guys equate the master
role with the top role. The Master Bottoms is an exclusive club for
bottoms. To belong, you have to have an exceptional ass. I mean these guys,
all thirty of them, are bootylicious. But they are totally in control. They
call the shots. You and I are hired to be their tops. They use us as they
see fit. They call us slave tops. You're going to have to get a whole new
mind set, Fred. But believe me, it's worth it."

"You say I'm going to have my pick of thirty fantastic bums!"

"No, you see, you still have it backwards, Fred. The members have their
pick of cocks. But don't worry, whatever member selects you will have an
ass you only dreamed about until now."

Tom pulled through the front gate and drove up a long winding road through
the woods. Then the woods opened up into a wide green expanse of lawn. We
passed an 18 hole golf course on the right and tennis courts and an Olympic
sized swimming pool on the left. The club itself was a huge georgian manor
house. We drove past the front door and parked around back by the
`servants' entrance.'

"Welcome to your new digs, Fred." I grabbed my duffle and followed him
inside. The dormitory room was indeed sparse. A couple dozen army cots,
each with a foot locker. At one end was a weight bench and a
storeroom/wardrobe. At the other end was a men's room. It had no door but a
communal urinal, a row of six toilets without partitions, a row of sinks
and mirrors and a large shower room like I had in high school. Tom reached
into a supply closet and grabbed a small package. "Here's the uniform I
promised." I grabbed hold of this tiny parcel and ripped it open. A dog
collar, a leather harness, and a leather codpiece.

"That's it??"

"When you have duties outdoors, you'll be issued shoes and, depending on
the weather and the requirements of the job, either jeans, chaps, shorts,
or an outfit like mine. Whatever clothes you need are in the storeroom."
Tom, his recruiting duties now completed, took off his street clothes and
threw them in a common laundry hamper. Totally bare, he went to his foot
locker and got his own uniform to wear. It was identical to mine with two
exceptions. First, each element of my uniform had the number 37 clearly
printed in red numerals on a white circle. Tom's all had the number
14. "Get used to your number, Fred. The members will never call you by
name. They will either refer to you as number 37, or they will use some
insulting slur. Remember, we are their slave tops." The other distinction
was that my codpiece had a large P basted on it indicating my probationary
status for the first two weeks. You better hurry if you don't want to miss
supper. It starts in ten minutes, promptly.

I quickly doffed my clothes, threw them and my duffle into my footlocker,
and put on my uniform. I took a quick piss, washed up and went down the
hall to find the kitchen.

All the slave tops were assembled at the servants' table. There were 23 of
us altogether. I introduced myself but quickly realized they were all out
of the habit of using their names around the house. It was much easier to
call each other by our numbers. They were all dressed in gear identical to
mine. The numbers had been assigned randomly. There are fifty uniforms
altogether and when an employee leaves, his uniform will be recycled by
some new probationer. Two other slaves had the probationary P. Number 26
had only a week to go before he was off probation, and number 17 had just
started the day before me. All the guys seemed very happy as they chowed
down on their food. They kept telling me what a great place this was to
work in. They checked out my package as I checked out theirs. The slave
tops were definitely all well endowed. That was the prime requirement for
this position. The food was simple, but ample. Apparently, it is important
to the members to keep their slaves well fed and healthy. Number 4, a young
blond, and 11, a black stud, had prepared the meal for their brother
slaves, and another four were at work fixing the members' meal.

Number 35 got up as we were finishing our meal and read off the evening's
assignments. I was to wait on table apparently. 35 is the Administrative
Director. He is responsible for making sure the house runs smoothly. He
gives out all the assignments. I was reminded of a character in the novel,
Up the Down Staircase, who was the Administrative Assistant. Since he wrote
"Adm. Ass." after his name on all his voluminous memos, everyone in the
school referred to him as Admiral Ass. Of course, in this house, `ass' is
never used as a pejorative term. So the house, both members and staff, had
come to shorten 35's title to "Admiral Dick."

Number 26 took me in tow after supper and explained I had to brush my teeth
and get groomed for the evening meal. I would be serving the members. I
followed him and eight other tops up the stairs and together we set the
members' table in the formal dining room. We were told there would be
fifteen members at dinner that night. Wearing only our scanty uniforms, we
set fifteen place settings, and got the sideboard prepared. When all that
was ready, I turned and couldn't believe what I saw. Number 22 had taken
off his codpiece, and was jerking away on his huge manmeat. When it was
fully erect, he got up on the table and laid down, his pole pointing to the
ceiling. "He's tonight's centerpiece," 26 explained to me. "He has to keep
himself erect without blowing his wad throughout dinner."

A minute later, the members began arriving. Tom, er, 14 was right. Even
though they were dressed in tuxes, I could see on each member, his black
pants were tightly caressing an awesome pair of buttocks. It made my dick
stiffen inside my codpiece, a fact not lost on the members who, of course,
were studying the new employee's package. The meal progressed through seven
courses. I followed 26's lead and learned to hand each member his food and
remove his spent dishes. Often as I bent over either to present or
retrieve, I would feel my cock or balls fondled. I was already being
used. And it felt good.

After dessert, the members retired to the parlor for their cigars. As the
last one left the dining room, he turned to the Admiral and read off the
numbers he had written on his pad: 3, 12, 16, 27,14 (Tom), and of course
the three probationers, 17, 26, 37. He left the room. Poor number 22 rose
from the center of the table, grabbed a napkin to use as a cum rag, and sat
on one of the members' chairs. He had gotten a raging hardon laying
there. Each time, his dick seemed to go the slightest bit limp, one member
or another had reached over and massaged it back to its full height. So now
he was ready to explode and he did just that, laying back and covering his
chest in creamy manmilk. The other tops seemed to sympathize with him, many
of them probably having served centerpiece duty before, knowing how
difficult it is to hold one's load for so long.

The slaves on the list who had heard their numbers gathered at the door,
while those not chosen began cleaning up the table. Admiral Dick went to
fetch a couple of the numbers who had not been in attendance at supper but
whose presence was now required. 12 was one of the chefs. And 16 was in the
process of cleaning out a member's car, so the Admiral had to appoint
another slave to relieve him.

When all eight of the chosen were together, 35 led us down the hall to the
parlor. The members had begun to get comfortable. Tux jackets and ties were
coming off. The air was filling with cigar smoke. A game of poker had
started and the pool table was being racked. One member was playing
Gershwin tunes on the Steinway. One or two had gotten down to their
skivvies. Seeing those bodacious buns in their tight whities, I again felt
my male member throb. "What do we do?" I whispered to 26.

"Whatever they ask you."

And it didn't take long. As the new kid on the block, I was of course
attracting a lot of attention. Members were groping my codpiece and nodding
appreciatively. A couple members now had their lovely asses uncovered and
they told me to rim them. I knelt and did as I was told. Hell, this was my
dessert for the evening. Two sweet assholes to lick and chew on. After a
few minutes, they patted my head to dismiss me and began calling on the
services of two other slave tops.

I wasn't idle for long though. "37," I heard. The pianist had stopped
playing (in the middle of Embraceable You) and was calling me over. He had
his tux off and his tie was loosened. He had pitch black hair, and eyes
even darker. He was clean shaven with a square jaw and full lips. He looked
about thirty. His open shirt revealed a dark warm tan.

As I stood beside beside the piano bench, he pulled my codpiece down to my
knees and began blowing my cock with those luscious lips. I was
exhilarated. I had no control over the situation. Yet I had every
confidence in his ability to control. In fact, I welcomed the fact that the
control had been taken from me. I felt a new freedom. As my cock grew, I
watched as 16 was whisked off to a corner by another member. An older
gentleman with salt and pepper hair, he took 16's cock out of his codpiece
and massaged it. 16 smiled, but did nothing else. He allowed the member to
control his erection, and I took my clue and did the same. I was a slave
top. My cock was being used for this bottom's pleasure. I simply closed my
eyes. When my cock was fully erect, throbbing and oozing rivers of precum,
my master bottom stood up and ordered me to lie down. I lay on the piano
bench, my bare ass pressed on the leather that had been warmed by his
beautiful buns. He immediately dropped trou, turned those amazing buns
toward me, pulled them apart with his hands and settled down in my lap, my
wet pole penetrating his tight hole easily and fully.

He determined the pace, riding my cock energetically, and repeatedly
squeezing his sphincter about my shaft. Finally, he sat down hard, held his
breath and my cum filled his rectal cavity. I had never before had my
ejaculation determined by someone else. As a top, I had always controlled
when and for how long my cock would use an ass. But now it was the ass that
was using my cock. And it felt great.

The member stood up and headed off to where 12 was finishing another
fuck. Immediately another bare assed member took his place on my cock. This
one sat facing me, grabbing my shoulders with both hands. Mid 30s, brown
hair and mustache, about 5'11" and extremely fit. As I fucked his ass, he
planted his mouth on mine and french kissed me hard. His stache reeked of
cigar smoke, but I concentrated my mind on the business at hand. This was
one of my employers, and I was determined to prove I knew my job. When I
deposited my load in his ass, he too stood up but didn't walk
away. Instead, he moved up and sat on my face. "Lick your cum back out of
my ass, dickface," he ordered. Just as my tongue began probing his wet
hole, I felt a third ass descend on my cock. A different voice ordered me
to fuck him. Then when I was trying to satisfy both these men, someone took
my hand and pushed two of my fingers into his hole. And second later still
another member did the same with my other hand. Here I was, a top being
gang banged by four bottoms. All of them were shouting to me to go deeper,
with tongue, cock and fingers. And all four holes were writhing around my
different appendages. I began to wonder if someone else was about to push
my foot up his ass; I was running out of pokers. But then the one on my ass
squeezed hard and moaned as I got off still another load of jizz. That
seemed to satisfy all four gentlemen and they took their asses off to other
corners of the parlor and other slaves.

One after another, that evening, my pole was inserted into a line of
members, of master bottoms. I didn't think I could keep blowing load after
load like that. But these guys really were masters. They how to control
their slave tops, their slave dicks.

Numbers 3, 12, 16, all of the other tops were being passed from bottom to
bottom as well. Some were sitting in chairs, but others were fucking their
masters in the doggy position, and one was fucking them mish style on the
pool table. Some tops saw more action, but I think I was probably the
busiest, since all these asses had to get their taste of the new
meat. Gradually, as the tops began to wear down, which was inevitable, they
were dismissed. Pool balls and cues, and a variety of dildos were pressed
into service to satisfy these insatiable bottoms. I was very proud that I
was one of the last tops to leave the room. I could hold my own with the
best of them.

When I got downstairs to my cot, I saw that Tom was indeed right once
again. I was exhausted. But looking around, I only saw the seven other tops
who had been in the parlor with me. Even 22, the centerpiece was
missing. "Where are the others?" I asked number 3, the young jock who slept
in the cot beside mine.

"They're waiting in the members' bedrooms. You don't think the masters are
done yet, do you?" He smiled.

[Why did 37 have to forego vacuuming in order to go swimming? How does 37
come to grips with the role reversal at the club? What special assignment
does the President give 37? Find out in the next episode?]