Date: Thu, 3 Nov 2011 06:03:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: Vincent Vincent <not_your_typical_master@yahoo.com>
Subject: The House Fag, Chapter 5
First, the basics. This is, once again, a work of FICTION. Real-life
considerations will take a back seat to erotic pleasure and story-telling;
this slave, these Masters do not exist. Wanna change that? Or just wanna
share comments/praise/criticism? Fine: Not_your_Typical_Master@yahoo.com
Copyright © 2011
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The House Fag, Chapter 5
It was that weekend that I grasped the depth and permanency of Their
control over me. My phone rang at 3:30 Sunday morning. "Now." That was
all that was said. That was all that was needed to be said.
I rolled out of bed and sprinted barefoot to Their home. The side door was
wide open, as was the door from the garage to Their kitchen. I humbly
crawled in and found Them in the family room, right where I'd left Them the
night prior to the piss-infused dinner at the Italian place.
I was surprised to see big smiles on both Their faces. I figured maybe
young Lord Zachary had just been pissed off that first night, and maybe He
was really as cordial as His Dad.
Master Thomas spoke to me. "Sit here on the floor between Us. We've got
something really cool to show you on TV." I crawled over and sat where
instructed, turning to face the wide-screen up on the wall. Lord Zachary
giggled and pressed a button on the remote. There, on the screen, was me,
wearing what I wore earlier that week.
"Please, Lord Zachary, lower your shorts so I can please and entertain
you?" Oh Jesus. I'm watching myself beg a teenage boy, an underage minor,
to sexually pleasure him. My breath caught.
Both Men chuckled. "Wait, fag. It gets so much better."
On screen, I humbly crawled to the asshole I was allowed to tongue. The
camera shot was close up, so there's just my face worshipping a hole.
Could have been anybody's.
Subtly, the camera started pulling back. If you weren't looking for it,
you wouldn't even realize it., but by about the time I moved from Lord
Zachary's sweet hole to His juicy cock, His 15-year-old face was in frame.
Crisp and crystal clear. As was mine, piggishly swallowing His meat.
"Didn't realize you were being filmed, did you?" Lord Zachary was taunting
me yet again. I couldn't speak. I knew what deep shit I was in. "Gosh, I
wonder what would happen if this got sent to the police? What do you
think, Dad? You know about these things."
"I don't think it would take more than a couple of hours before this fag
was arrested. And not more than a month before it was locked away in
prison. But, son, think of how much dick it could service there. I'm sure
the guys would be real generous. I hear they just love fuckin' child
molesters, Zach." More laughter as my throat tightened.
Master Thomas reached over and grabbed my head, twisting it to face Him.
"As I see it, fag, you got two choices. Either you become their prisoner,
or you become ours. We'll probably be a little nicer. Not break so many
bones. Let you live longer. Little shit like that." All with that killer
smile, so innocent, so sweet, turning His threat into a fucking invitation.
"Thank You, Master Thomas," I sobbed.
"Yeah, I know. It was damn nice of us to film you and push you where you
were too chicken-shit to go on your own. Damn fucking nice of us. You're
going to spend the rest of your goddamn life showing us gratitude for our
generosity. Isn't that great?"
“Yes, Master Thomas. Thank You for pushing me. Thank You for
allowing me to spend . . . the rest of my life," I said, choking on the
phrase, "thanking You for Your generosity."
"Hey, shithead. Aren't you forgetting somebody here?"
"Yes, Lord Zachary. I'm so very sorry. Thank You for allowing me to
worship You on film and creating this . . . wonderful . . . situation for
me."
Master Thomas spoke. "Zach, pull the fag around the back of my recliner
here and show it what we've done." Lord Zachary grabbed the back of my
neck and yanked me to the back of Master's recliner. The seams in the
leather over the back of the lower portion had been pulled off on either
side, leaving a mere flap of leather; lifting that flap revealed that much
of the stuffing inside had been replaced with a pillow. He pulled out the
pillow and twisted me around, pushing me in so my head was up, facing the
butt of whomever might be seated on the recliner.
I then discovered why I was there, finding a small hole in the leather so
my mouth could service the hole of whomever was reclining. "If you please
us well enough, we might consider some kind of bench for you to lie on
while you're in here. But don't get your hopes up, fag. We like you to
suffer."
And suffer I would. It was absolutely impossible to find any kind of
comfort in this position. I was in a modified kneel, leaning way back to
slide into the chair. I couldn't reach anything with my arms when slid
this far back inside, so my upper back was doing all the work to keep my
tongue deep inside somebody's hole. My lower back was already tender from
the extreme backward angle of my tilt. And my knees and calves were
bearing my weight against the cold hard tile of the floor.
I stuck out my tongue and worshipped the hole atop of me. After a few
minutes, Master Thomas got up, pushing my body forward as the recliner
altered. Somebody sat down, pulling the recliner and me back out. I had
no idea if it was Master Thomas, Lord Zachary, or some unseen guest. The
hole was barely enough for my mouth, so I had no visual clues. All I knew
was there was an asshole pushing against my tongue. I went back to work.
Awhile later, there was another switch. And then yet another. I heard
laughter as my tongue went back to work yet again. Tears were running down
my cheeks from the agony of the stress position, but I knew better than to
offer any complaint. These Men, well, this Man and His Son, held my life
in Their hands, and yet, I was hard and drooling inside my cock cage the
entire time. I never got into rimming before, but somehow these Men made
my tongue want to dance inside Their tasty asses, worshipping Them in ways
I never
could have imagined.
Master Thomas was speaking beside me. "Follow me, fag."
I pulled myself out from the recliner, thanking Lord Zachary for allowing
me to feast on His hole, and crept just behind Master Thomas' heels,
wondering what they tasted like. Then I was wondering about the thoughts
inside my head. ("Fuck, what kind of perverted fagbitch are you? You just
got fucking blackmailed into no-escape enslavement, just endured hours of
back-breaking agony, and you're wondering about the taste of your Captor's
feet? You fucking deserve this shit. . . . Yes, I really do.") I was
led to a small closet underneath the stairwell to the upper floor.
"This is slave quarters. Cleaning supplies will be kept here. Mops,
brooms, buckets, cleansers, and the cleaner. The fag."
It was going to be a very cramped space. But then again, how much space
does a fag need?
"Cleaning happens when both of us are out of the house. As soon as either
of us come home, scurry back in here and close the door. Stay here until
one of us calls for service or to be entertained. Understood?"
"Yes, Master Thomas."
"Great. Now get the fuck back to your pig sty. You have exactly 6 weeks
to divest yourself of all your possessions. Sell everything. That
includes retirement accounts. Liquidate every asset. Put the cash in your
checking account. If there's anyone stupid enough to give a rat's ass
about you, give some excuse why they'll never hear from you again. Then, 6
weeks from this moment, 6AM, bring nothing but your checkbook and what
you're wearing right now, along with a pair of sneakers, and crawl into
your new home." He made a grand sweeping gesture into the closet, grinning
His warm and welcoming smile from ear to ear. "Now get out of our house.
It's starting to smell like fag in here."