So, I thought I'd try something a bit different for a change. This is, sadly, complete fantasy...
I hope you enjoy it -- I have plans for more chapters but am always up for ideas and suggestions. If you like it, or have ideas, do let me know - mattspank74@gmail.com.
And please do support Nifty if you can, what would we do without it?
Unless you have had an introduction, it is highly unlikely that you would either a) know anything about Anstey's or b) notice it if you walked past. Found in one of the smaller streets in the famous St. James's area of London, near Pall Mall, if you did notice the discreet brass plaque on the gate post, you would almost certainly assume that it was one of the less prestigious gentlemen's clubs of which there are many close by. To a certain extent you would be right. Anstey's is a gentlemen's club, or at least, only men are able to be members or guests. And it is certainly exclusive, in some ways even more exclusive than many of the more famous clubs that have their homes in St. James's.
Anstey's, though, is very different. Founded in 1910, it takes its name from the author of an early example of the `body swap' story. Published in 1882, Vice Versa by F. Anstey (actually Thomas Anstey Guthrie) concerns a father and son who, due to wishes from a magic stone, end up not quite in each other's bodies, but the man becomes the boy and, as the title has it vice versa. The founders of Anstey's were not interested in the body-swapping, or whatever actually happens in the book, but they were interested in things being topsy-turvy.
Let's assume that you not only find Anstey's but that you are invited into its exclusive portals. What can you expect to find there?
Well, the founding principle of Anstey's is that things are done differently. The underlings and the underdogs get to be in charge. The bosses and the jocks get to serve. That's how it has always been at Anstey's. Its three founders were basically what would be called nerds or geeks nowadays. Homosexual, more or less, but not fashionable, not particularly handsome and not exactly the spirits of the Edwardian age. The one thing that they had was money. They bought the property and set about recruiting.
There are two classes of membership -- the Unders and the Overs. Membership as an Under is open to Men who know that they are dominant and demanding, but whom society has decided are underlings or underdogs. Geeks, nerds, swots, the last to be picked at games, the junior member of staff who can't get a break, the younger son of a younger son who is overlooked, the musical and the dramatic. At Anstey's they get to be in charge. And they pay a nominal fee each year for the privilege which is subsided in part by the founders' bequest. The Overs are a very different group. Masters of the Universe, city boys, highly paid managers, owners of all sorts of business, the odd member of parliament and a couple of Lords, jocks, a few professional sportsmen, landed gentry. They pay a fee much more akin to that which they might pay at any of the other gentlemen's clubs round the corner.
So, you're about to cross the threshold into Anstey's. Let's assume you're a guest of a member, an Under. There's no liveried doorman, just that anonymous black door at the top of a short flight of steps. The member enters that day's code into the pin pad at the entrance -- members get a text each morning with that day's code. The door clicks open, and he leads the way in. You're now in the inner vestibule. In days gone by, there would now be a servant to greet you, but now there is just a hallway with some very expensive art works on display. On one side of the hallway is a small hatch and a rail. He takes a hanger from the rail and puts his coat and bag onto it, taking the tag which is attached off it. He motions you to do the same. He then put his phone and ipad on the hatch. You don't have a tablet, but you put your phone with his. Your friend has already told you that no personal electronic devices are allowed in the club. If you need to work or use the web, a laptop or ipad will be provided for you. As you watch, the rail with your coats on moves and they disappear from view and two more empty hangers with tags take their place.
Your friend enters the code into the into a second pin pad and the door ahead of you swings open. You enter the main lobby of the club. A circular space with a grand staircase to one side and a number of doors leading off it. There are signs above a number of them: The Lounge, the Library, the Den, the Dining Room and the Bar. Apart from the Den, all the doors stand open. Your friend leads you into the lounge. And now you see, for the first time, just how different Anstey's is. The lounge is a large, high-ceilinged and airy room, with a high bay window overlooking the club's garden. Around the room are a mix of comfortable armchairs, wing chairs and sofas. Some are in small groups around a table, others are standing solo. The walls are covered in an eclectic mix of art, from medieval religious through eighteenth and nineteenth century masters right through to the most modern. All originals, all worth a small fortune. It's not packed, but probably just under half of the chairs and sofas are occupied. You look around and see a mix of men -- from late teens right through to a very venerable elderly man sitting beside the fireplace engrossed in the Guardian. A number look up as you come in and several nod or smile in acknowledgement of your friend, and a couple look at you with either interest or some faint distrust. Some of the men are chatting quietly to friends, others are reading, a couple have iPads. All the men sitting in the room are Unders.
But there are also Overs in the room -- probably as many as there are Unders relaxing. The Overs, like the Unders, are a range of ages. The youngest is probably mid-twenties, slightly older than the youngest of the Unders and the oldest is almost certainly as old as the gentleman by the fireplace.
Overs don't come in through the front door like you did. They have their own entrance at the side of the building. Your friend had told you it would be something of a surprise, but it's more than that. The Overs come in through their own door because the rule at Anstey's is that Overs must be naked at all times in the club. Where you and your friend had hung up your coats and checked in your devices, Overs on arrival undress completely and put their clothes and belongings into their locker.
All the Overs in the Lounge are naked in accordance with the rules. None of them are using the chairs and sofas, as the rules also stipulate. Your friend leads you to a pair of seats by the window and you look around as you sit. As you watch, a tall man in his thirties enters the lounge from another door. An Over, he is carrying a tray with tea pot, cup and saucer, sugar and a small plate of biscuits. He crosses the room and kneels beside the elderly gentleman, putting the tray onto the table beside him. The old man ignores him as he pours tea and adds milk and sugar. He picks up the cup and saucer and holds it. Eventually, the old man takes the cup, leaving the Over with the saucer, and sips. The younger man has a very fashionable hairstyle and a toned body. He looks like he is more used to wearing a Savile Row suit and John Lobb shoes, rather than being completely naked and on his knees.
You look at the other Overs. There are several on all fours in front of Unders who are resting their feet on their backs instead of using a footstool. In the far corner of the room from where you are sitting, a very skinny, blond-haired, bespectacled Under of around twenty five is sitting reading the newspaper. His feet are bare, his trainers and socks neatly placed beside the imposing wing chair he is occupying. An Over in his mid-forties is on his knees in front of the younger man, licking, massaging and worshipping his bare feet and sucking his toes.
You start slightly when you look at the pair of seats on the other side of the window from where you and your friend are sitting and see an Over kneeling between two Unders holding a tray on which are two glasses of wine and a bottle. He's basically acting as a naked human table. The reason you start is that you recognise him -- he's a very well-known rugby player who, only a few days before, had been representing his country in the Six Nations. As you look around, you see two other faces you recognise. One you know personally -- a maths professor from your university course -- a geeky, mousey man with terrible fashion sense. He's sitting chatting with another academic-looking man, again with an Over acting as a table between them, holding a tray with coffee and cake. You recognise him too, he's a regular on one of the big soaps.
One thing that you notice is that the Overs have a range of sizes and body shapes. When your friend had first told you about Anstey's, he'd told you that the Overs were always naked. After all, that's how you'd become friends after meeting online and chatting. But you'd sort of had porn-inflected visions of bronzed hunks with big swinging dicks walking around the club. And it's true, there are a few of those, or at least, the real-life equivalents. The Over serving tea to the elderly man by the fire has a really good body and is handsome - his dick is nothing to write home about, though. But the Overs are, generally, normal men and come in a range of shapes and sizes. Anstey's doesn't have any requirements for looks or age. The only membership stipulations are that Overs must in some way be normally `superior' outside the walls of the club and need to be taken down a few pegs and the Unders need to in some way be excluded, overlooked or judged by society and want to assert some control. In many ways, it is really self-selecting -- the membership committee doesn't make too many enquiries -- if someone is recommended for membership and wants to join as an Over and can pay the fee and abide by the rules, then they're in. Unders get a bit more vetting -- the club doesn't want to be full of wankers and voyeurs, it wants men who will truly appreciate the benefits of membership.
Your friend picks up a small device that looks like a cross between an old-fashioned mobile phone and a remote control from the table, presses a button and then sits back and the two of you start to chat. A few moments later, what is clearly the service door to the lounge opens and another naked Over comes in carrying a tray with coffee and cake. He's about forty, short, stocky and hairy. He walks over to where you are sitting and kneels between you and your friend holding the tray like the other Overs in the room.
You drink coffee, eat cake and chat with your friend. A few other Unders come over and greet your friend and one pulls up a chair and joins you. He's a Physics professor at one of the London universities and the three of you chat for a while until you realise you need to use the toilet -- too much coffee! Your friend tells you to go back into the lobby and go through the green door.
You leave the Lounge and as you cross the lobby you meet two Unders coming out of the Den with an Over walking between them. As they pass you, you see that the Over has a set of clear and obviously freshly applied cane stripes on his bare backside. You knew that corporal punishment was delivered at Anstey's and you're not shocked, but your cock stiffens in your pants.
You push open the green door and walk down a short corridor. There's no need, of course, for a Ladies toilet, since women are not permitted in Anstey's. There is a disabled toilet on your left and then a door with a sign saying Gentleman Unders' in fancy script. You push open the door and get another slight shock. You're in Victorian looking toilet. Down one wall are four large, old-fashioned sinks with mirrors above them. Opposite these are three cubicles. Beside the door you've just come through kneels an Over beside a stack of fluffy white hand towels. Along the wall opposite the door, below a window overlooking the garden, kneel four Overs. They have their hand behind their backs and eyes downcast. Above them is a sign, in the same lettering as on the door, saying Urinals'. You weren't quite expecting this! You've stopped briefly, and another Under comes in as you move down the room. He nods to you, as men do in public toilets everywhere, strides down to the end, stands in front of the Over kneeling furthest form the door, unzips his fly and takes out his cock. The Over moves his head forward, takes the cock into his mouth and the Under starts to piss. By this time, you're at the `urinals' yourself. You choose the Over next but one to the one already in use -- he looks like a real jock, muscled, tanned and with a crewcut. You unzip and take out your cock like the chap next to you. The jock copies his fellow urinal, a man in his fifties with a bit of a paunch, but very smooth and with short dark hair, taking your cock gently between his lips. Whilst you've used a sub as a urinal before, you've never done it with someone else watching and definitely not in this situation. The other Under looks over to you and smiles,
"I guess you're a visitor! Us old hands don't tend to get pee shy nowadays."
You smile and your piss starts to flow at last. The jock keeps his lips softly closed around your cock and swallows your piss easily. You can keep up a steady flow and he doesn't spill a drop. The chap next to you finishes up and the Over swallows one last time and then brings his hands from behind his back, puts the man's cock back in his trousers and zips up his fly and says,
"Thank you, Sir, for your piss."
This is the first time you've heard an Over speak, you realise. He has a very cultured, upper- class accent and you wonder what profession he is a leader in, or what high powered life he normally leads. As if he'd read your mind, the Under who is now washing his hands in one of the large sinks says,
"Very senior private heart surgeon, that one. And yours is an overseas member -- works for daddy's big lumber company in Canada."
The Over who was kneeling by the door walks across to the chap with a fresh towel and gently dries his outstretched hands.
"Nice to meet you, young man," the chap says as he leaves, "I hope you enjoy your visit and maybe we'll see you on the prospective members list soon."
You finish pissing and the jock does as his fellow had done, puts your cock away and zips up your fly before thanking you for your piss in a soft Canadian accent. You wash your hands and the towel Over dries your hands for you.
You head back to the Lounge and rejoin your friend.
"So, now you're finally visiting Anstey's, I suppose I'd better tell you a bit more about how this all works," your friend says, "especially if you might be thinking of applying for membership at some point."