Date: Thu, 26 Jan 2012 01:27:51 -0800 (PST) From: Vincent Vincent <not_your_typical_master@yahoo.com> Subject: The House Fag, Chapter 17 After many weeks of sexual frustration, Master Thomas' fagslave was finally called out to perform sexual service. "Kiss my fucking ass, fag, while I enjoy the game." It applied its hood, crawled of its cell, and climbed inside the recliner so as to make love to the asshole it had finally been allowed to service. Master Thomas' asshole was delicious, addictive, heaven. No fagslave could possibly have a taste of His asshole without wanting to keep making love to it forever. I whorishly moaned my appreciation to Him; He responded by squirming and pushing His ass against my faggot tongue, inviting me to dig ever deeper. Master Thomas' asshole was a temple where His fagslave gratefully worshipped. After a comfortable period (well, comfortable for Him at least; there was never any thought of providing for a fagslave's comfort within that painful device), Lord Zachary was heard coming into the family room. "Get out here, fag. I want a blowjob." Uh-oh. My faggot mind was racing. To please Lord Zachary, I need to stop pleasuring Master Thomas. If I remained here worshipping Master Thomas, Lord Zachary will be thoroughly pissed off. "A slave cannot serve two Masters." Yes, Jesus, you got that one right. What the fuck to do? "Get the fuck out here, fagbitch. RIGHT FUCKING NOW." "Stay where you are, cuntface. My hole isn't done with you yet." I quickly noticed that neither was yelling at the other. This fight wasn't between Them. No, They were ganging up on me. On Their pathetic cocksucker, creating the ultimate no-win situation. Fuck. "I'm too stupid to know what to do here. Oh, God, Oh, God . . . . Please, Master, Please, Lord, what do I do?" "Suck my cock, shithead." "Keep kissing my ass, faggot. If you know what's good for you." "If your faggot lips aren't on My cock in 20 seconds, I'm going to push the rest of you inside that tiny fucking recliner seat, seal it up, and leave you there. You can spend the rest of your sorry life begging for table scraps from the seat of Dad's recliner." He's just kidding. Isn't He? "You pull that tongue out of my shithole, faggot, and I'll walk right over to the police station and give them a video I'm sure they'll find entertaining." My fucking life is over. I screamed like a madman up Master Thomas' asshole. "Please, no, Sirs. Please. Please? Please don't do this to Your stupid fagslave. Please?" No response. I was frantic. I decided to take each of Them at Their word. Given a choice between the two, I'd rather be locked up here, unbearably (impossibly?) cramped in Their recliner, than to be sent off to jail and never serve Them again. Accomplish the impossible or face the unbearable. No win. At least not for me, some stupid inconsequential fagslave. Lord Zachary yanked me out of the recliner by my faggot legs. I'd never felt him seem so angry. "So, shithead, you'd rather eat my old man's shithole than suck my delicious cock?" "No, Sir, Lord Zachary, I . . . ." "So you'd rather suck my boy's cock than service my incredible ass? Is that what you're telling us?" "No, Sir, Master Thomas. I'd rather . . . ." "You think either of us care what a dumbfuck fagslave would 'rather', you fucking cunt?" "No, Sir. I need . . . ." "What the fuck YOU need, shithead, is a hard punch across your insolent faggot face." "Yes, Sir." "WHAT??" "I'm sorry I disappointed You, Lord Zachary." I turned my head to look toward an equally unhappy Master, though with the hood I couldn't look Him in the face. "I know I disappointed You, too, Master Thomas. I beg You, both of You, to take out all Your anger and frustration on my sorry face and pathetic body. That's what it's here for, Sirs. Please. I beg You." Yeah, I never saw it coming either. But it made perfect fucking sense. Maybe They had been fucking some sense in my stupid faggot head. The tension immediately softened in the room. Apparently They liked what I had to say. Master Thomas spoke. "Get your chair out of your suite, fag, and bring it here." I quickly obeyed, working carefully around the furniture I knew the location of, but couldn't see. "Sit. Get nice and comfy." Well, I could accomplish the first. I decided to minimize any display of the agony "getting nice and comfy" would entail as I rested my faggot ass on the seat of the stool, impaling myself on the monster Stallion cock. I heard my Owners on either side of me beginning to itemize Their disappointments in Their fagslave. "This is for not sucking my cock when told just now." Oof. A hard jab into the right side of my face, just above the lower jaw. "This is for pulling that faggot tongue out of my asshole." Fuck. I was punched right in the guts. Hard. My organs rearranged themselves around Master Thomas' fist. He chuckled his delight; in my mind I could see that incredible smile on His face as He discovered a new way to enjoy His fag. "This is for being such an ungrateful faggot, not jumping at the chance to pleasure my cock." A hard kick into my swollen faggot nuts. "This is for not thanking Me for the last punch." A second assault on my innards. I thanked Master Thomas for His lesson. And on it went. Each Man finding some situation, some obvious, others obscure, where I had failed to meet Their expectations. Showing me just how sorry a fagslave I really was. And me, pathetically thanking Them for every example of my utter uselessness. Dirty dishes put away from the dishwasher without checking. Being sloppy in making a bed. Leaving specks behind when tongue-scrubbing Their toilets. Gagging on one of Their cocks. Not properly folding Their clothes. Leaving drops of piss behind when being used as Their urinal. And on and on and on. . . . The physical assault combined with this psychological rape was terrifying. I recognized that in the eyes of These Men, I was a complete and total fuckup. Worthless. Unable to do anything to Their measure of "right". And They were correct. Every thing They mentioned was true. This was beyond belittling; this was ripping my psyche into shreds. A thorough emotional destruction. "So, you shithead faggot, got anything to say?" Lord Zachary's hate-infused interrogation burned my psyche into embers of fear and ineptitude. "Sirs, PLEASE, it is so fucking sorry. It didn't realize it had fucked up so much. Sirs, thank You both for not just kicking it out and sending it to jail. It needs You both so fucking much. Please, Sirs, it will work extra hard from now on to make sure everything either of You desire is done to Your exacting standards, Sirs. Please, Sirs . . . ." I just broke into a sobbing fit at that point. "Yes, faggot?" "Please continue to correct Your faggot, Sirs, whenever it's fucked something up. It wants, no, it NEEDS, to please you both so fucking badly. Please, Sirs, please? The only thing this asswipe cocksucker lives for is Your pleasure. Please allow it to pleasure You, Sirs, as perfectly as possible." "And what if I just want to punch a faggot for the hell of it?" "Oh, God, yes, PLEASE, Lord Zachary. Punch Your faggot any time You wish, Sir, for absolutely no reason at all except that You can, Sir." "And, what, I'm not worthy to punch you, too, faghole?" "Oh, NO, PLEASE, Master Thomas, please please punch Your stupid faghole any time You want to, any way You want to, for any reason You want to. Please, I beg You to punch me, Master Thomas, Sir. Just summon me out here, punch my guts, and order me back in my suite, Master Thomas, Sir. Please, Sir, anything you desire, Sir! Anything that makes You happy. I need You to be happy, Sir, so fucking badly . . . ." My reward for this surrender? Two simultaneous wallops into my sorry guts. I croaked out my gratitude while trying to relax the abdominal muscles that just knotted up, pushing my innards against the unyielding Stallion inside me. "Get the fuck back in your suite, faggot. We'll call you out here if we want anything. Even if just to smash your faggot face in." "Yes, Sir, Lord Zachary. Thank You, Master Thomas." I unseated my sorry self from the stool and slowly half-carried, half-dragged it back into my cell. I closed the door as I slid the Stallion back unbearably deep inside me and watched my programming, now paying special attention to the flashing images of fags being beaten by Men. Whipped. Punched. Kicked. I'd seen many of these images before, but only now did they hold this deeper level of meaning. Fucking geniuses. These Men were fucking geniuses. Slowly and carefully, artfully crafting Their perfect slave. I was totally dumbstruck and in awe of These Men. Oh, and Jesus, suck it. A slave can serve two Masters. Just give Them what they fucking want. No matter what.