This is the latest chapter of my fantasy topsy-turvy club. In a detour from the narrative so far, and after several requests, this is told from the point of view of one of the Overs who serve at Anstey's
I hope you enjoy it Ð 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 (https://donate.nifty.org/). What would we do without it?Ê
When I'm working, out and about with my buddies, or at home with family, no-one would have an inkling as to how I spend two evenings and most of the daytime over the weekend.
If you weren't a member, it is highly unlikely you'd ever have heard of Anstey's. And even if you had, I very much doubt you would think I'm the sort of guy to be a member of a fusty old club in London's St James's district. I mean, a 6' 6" tall black guy, fashionably pierced and tatted is hardly what members of the Carlton are used to.
I was admitted to Anstey's about a month after my twenty-fourth birthday. I'd been chatting with a guy online about my interest in being humbled and serving other men. To both our slight embarrassment, he turned out to be one of my former Professors at College, but our shared interest overcame that pretty quickly. Prof D taught Physics at College and was at least thirty years older than me. When we had gotten to know each other well, he told me about the club that he belonged to in London. He didn't tell me all the details, but enough to whet my appetite. When my basketball team did a tour of Europe, he arranged to be in London when we were and took me along as a guest to Anstey's. Prof D, despite now being a big name in his field, is an Under - he joined when in his early thirties as a penniless postdoc. I knew from the moment I sat down with him in the Lounge that I shouldn't be there enjoying the hospitality, I needed to be serving my betters. I watched the Overs working naked, I used a cute urinal, probably five years older than me, and saw the Prof put a naked Over of about his own age across his knee and make him squirm and yelp as he spanked him. When he was done, he told me the now red-bottomed and snivelling naked man was the CEO of a major corporation!
I told Prof D that I needed what I had seen the Overs enduring. He introduced me to the then General Manager and I was allowed to do a trial shift later that week. I couldn't control my willy and had to be drained in the Den by the Prof before he put me over his knee and lit up my bottom until it was flaming red and I was gasping and yelping. I took my first buggering that afternoon, initiated into anal by the General Manager while Prof D and a few others watched. I have never felt so humiliated, embarrassed and yet fulfilled as I did that day - laying over the Buggery Bench being pounded mercilessly by a man's thick cock for the first time, my buttocks sore and red from my spanking, my willy soft and shrunken following its draining, in a fusty looking club, a world away from my normal life of shining on the basketball court and being adored and respected by the fans. I was still being watched, but it was completely different. Normally, I was the centre of attention because of my skill and prowess. Here I was just a very tall, naked piece of meat that they were enjoying watching being speared and railed by a much (much) older man.
When I was admitted to Anstey's, I was playing basketball professionally for the Texas Legends, but at 26, like so many others before and since, I tore my ACL and that was my sports career done. Luckily, I was still a decent-looking guy and became the face of a well-known sportswear brand for a few years. And when that looked like coming to an end, shortly after my thirtieth birthday, being a member of Anstey's paid off, as another member asked me if I'd thought about moving to the UK permanently. I jumped at the chance. The Over in question was an executive for a TV productionm company and he got me a gig as a pundit on a British show all about US sports. I've been doing that ever since - Monday, Wednesday and Sunday evenings. It's a damn good job, well paid, seems stable, I'm popular with the viewers and it leaves me plenty of time to go to Anstey's. And I think, at thirty nine, I am still a decent looking guy!
As an Under, you will be used to seeing me around the club, but you won't know the routine.
I want to preface what I'm going to write now by making it clear that, although the vast majority of my romantic and sexual relationships have been with women, I am bi. I'm not out publicly, but my close friends know. And one of the benefits of Anstey's is that everyone is so discreet.
If a `regular' member of the public were to stumble upon Anstey's, it would be the front door on St. James's Walk they would see, the one that you're used to using. I've only once used that door, on my first visit with Prof D when he introduced me to Anstey's. If you were to go to the end of St James's Walk, you'd come to a black gate next to the last house in the road. Using the pin pad to open it, if you go through that and follow the path round, you'd find yourself walking along the back of the houses, parallel to the road. Eventually, you'd reach a bright gloss red gate. Use the pin pad again and you'd find yourself in a dingy semi-outdoor corridor.
This is how I, and all the other Overs, enter Anstey's. The gate swings shut and, from a receptacle hanging on the back of it, I take a black bag. These are not unlike the shopping bags you get at Ikea, except they zip shut. All along one side of the corridor are rows of lockers. Each Over has his own locker, so I walk up to mine and quickly strip naked in front of it, putting my clothes, shoes and mobile into the black bag as I do. I put the black bag into the locker and unplug my Anstey band from its charger inside. Fastening it around my wrist, I shut the door and it locks automatically. It won't open for at least four hours unless a Manager releases it. Fully naked now, I walk down the rest of the corridor towards a short set of stone steps leading to a black door.
Behind me, I hear other Overs arriving for their shifts. I don't pass anyone coming off shift, as we all overlap for an hour to make sure that the Unders have service at all times. The black door has a face recognition system which allows me entry, and I step into Anstey's proper.
Inside the door is the Overs' washroom. We are all required to clean ourselves inside and out before starting our duties. I stand under one of the shower heads and cold water immediately gushes down. Using the plain, unscented soap, I wash quickly. The cold shower stops and I take the douching nozzle from below it. Applying a little lube to the nozzle and to my anus from a dispenser by the soap, I push the nozzle into my hole and press the button on the end. Warm water fills me. I remove the nozzle, empty myself and repeat until the water from inside me runs clear. I then rinse myself quickly again under the cold shower, before taking a rough towel from the stack across the room and quickly, but thoroughly, drying myself. Other Overs are now in the washroom, all following the same steps that I've just followed. We don't speak - once we're on Anstey's premises, Overs don't speak except in very specific circumstances.
Once I'm dry, I log into my Anstey band. It flashes up my initial duty. The General Manager will have allocated duties to each Over on shift. With the exception of urinal duty, which lasts an hour without interruption, and lobby plinth duty, which lasts a whole four hour shift, any Over can be summoned for personal service when not otherwise in use. Initial duties would be urinal, lobby plinth, lounge, den or library, with dining room and bar at mealtimes and evenings. Or one could be assigned to a cleaning duty - bedrooms on a day shift and downstairs on a night shift. I'm clocking on for the 4-8 shift, so the dining room has closed and the bar won't open until 6.
My Anstey band has flashed up `DEN'. I sort of expected this - I've not been on Den duty for a while. I open the door from the washroom and quickly cross the main lobby, glancing up at the five Overs on the plinths. The General Manager has surpassed himself today in providing variety on display - one plinth has a very young man with a very large erect willy, next to him is an elderly Over with a tiny mushroom one (one way in which our place is reinforced at Anstey's is that all Overs have willies and bottoms. Only Unders have cocks and asses). Both have bright red faces - the General Manager has clearly given them both viagra to keep them hard and I know how humiliating that can be. Then there is a real jock with his willy locked in a metal cage. Next to him is a very hairy, stocky Over, who is bent over displaying his hole and beside him, similarly displayed, is a skinny, hairless Over.
I open the Den door, enter and take up my proper place kneeling beside the door with my hands behind my back awaiting the call for use. The Den's windows are permanently covered by dark red blinds and there are lamps all around the room. On one side of the window, an Over probably around my age is bent over a desk whilst a much older Under is caning his exposed buttocks. The Over is yelping and thanking the Under for each stroke. Watching from the other side of the window bay is an Under with rather an unkempt look - unbrushed hair, not quite shaved face, slightly shabbily dressed and probably much the same age as the man delivering the thrashing. Unusually, he is naked from the waist down, but this is because he is sitting on a rim seat with an Over's face buried between his bare buttocks. He has his feet resting on the Over's erect willy while he watches his friend's cane work and chats.
Two other Overs are on duty in the room. One, whom I know outside Anstey's, is another TV presenter for the same channel that I work for. He's in his early fifties and you'd probably recognise him from when reads the news in a suit and tie in his day job. He's currently naked, as all us Overs always are, with his willy locked into a small plastic chastity device. Being plastic means that he is not just locked up in the club, he is wearing that 24/7. His caged willy is bouncing about as he does star jumps between two Unders who are chatting away with glasses of red wine and largely ignoring him. I'm pretty sure that last time I saw him at the club he wasn't completely shaved smooth from the neck down - I wonder what he did to derserve caging and shaving?
The second Over is one of our younger colleagues. I know him by sight from the club, and we served beside each other as urinals on my last visit - like me he got very hard every time one of the Unders emptied his bladder down his throat. You can't hide what turns you on as an Over, but woe betide you if you display an erect willy in the wrong part of the club. This lad is in his late twenties and I believe he is something in the City'. He's definitely got that posh English boy' look and the accent to go with it, as I heard every time he thanked an Under for allowing him to drink his piss. He's bent over one of what the club still calls its `buggery benches'. As so often at Anstey's, and as with my star-jumping and increasingly sweaty colleague, the two Unders using him are ignoring him while they do. If you just saw them from the waist up, you would see two men having a pleasant chat. Below the waist, however, both of them have their cocks out of their flies.
The Buggery Benches were designed by a very eminent former member who was an engineer. They are set up so that the Unders can, if they wish, do as little work as necessary, even when using an Over sexually. Each bench has a padded top which slides back and forth along grooves in the bench itself. The Over lays over this and puts his feet into the openings for them on each side, ensuring his legs are spread and his hole easily available. He then grabs hold of a pair of handles at the other end which he will use to pull himself back and forth on the runners. That way, if an Under wishes to bugger an Over, he need not expend any effort beyond that first thrust into the Over's hole. After that, the Over, in effect, buggers himself. And, as in this case, his mouth can be used by another Over at the same time. I watch for a moment as the Over moves himself back and forth on the bench, now burying a stiff cock in his hole, now burying his face in the pubes of the Under he is sucking. I recognise both the Unders and feel sorry for the boy they are using - they are renowned for having two of the largest cocks in the club. I can see that the Over is struggling to truly swallow the cock in his mouth - as I watch, the Under buggering him moves forward slightly to ensure that he is properly impaled at both ends and the Over gags and splutters. The Under buggering him tuts, withdraws completely and takes up a wooden paddle which hangs from the bench. While the Over continues to struggle to swallow his friend's member, the second man soundly paddles the Over's buttocks for a few moments before plunging his own cock back deep into the helpless servant.
My viewing of this humiliating scene is interrupted by a buzz on my wrist. I look down and see that I have been summoned for foot service in the Lounge. I acknowledge the call, which means that no one else can call me until I am released, get up and head through the service door which takes me through the back corridor into the Lounge - it's only from the washroom that Overs will use the Lobby unless accompanied by an Under. The Anstey band gives me the location where I am required, but until I get there I have no idea who it is I will be serving. Overs have to serve all Unders as and when needed. The only time we have a choice is whether we agree to serve in a private room and, if we do, what we agree to do there. In the public rooms, anything within the rules goes.
The location on my band was in the window of the Lounge. My heart sank slightly but my willy twitched as I approached. I know the Under who had just summoned me, because I introduced him to the club. He's only twenty three and works as a runner on my show. At work, he does my bidding - fetching coffee, printing stuff, making sure I have what I need to do my job. Here at Anstey's, I do his bidding. Except, of course, I am naked and he is in charge. But this is the point of Anstey's. For guys like me who get to be the big man in the outside world to give up our clothing and choices and to be humbled and used. I know he will expect me to greet him, even though we Overs don't generally speak. He's clearly been using the club gym - he's in his shorts and a T and looks sweaty and hot.
"Good afternoon, Sir",
I say as I kneel in front of him. I'm fighting hard not to let my willy stiffen. His slight smirk as he looks down at it doesn't help - he knows how much it turns me on as well as humiliates me to be used by him like this. Especially as we've been talking online a lot recently. He's the only Under that I have contact with outside the club and we've been discussing the possibility of taking that further. But for now, I just try to concentrate on my task. I know what he wants without his having to tell me. I untie and slip off both of his trainers and then pull off the trainer socks he's been wearing. I'm pretty sure he went for a run before he used the gym - I can smell the sweat on him.
As I pull off the second sock, another Over comes across with a pint of cold beer, which he takes without a word and downs a large swallow. I put the socks inside his trainers and get down into worship position, making sure that my knees are spread and my toes are together. This is standard foot worship position - it ensures that my willy and balls are visible dangling between my legs and anyone passing can get an unobstructed view of my hole. Sir's feet really are rank, and I am going to struggle not to display an unauthorised erection. It doesn't take long for me to completely lose myself in his feet. They are sweaty and have sock fluff between the toes. I begin by sniffing and licking the right sole, lapping at it as I breathe in his scent. I can feel my willy stirring, but I don't care anymore. I slobber over each toe, getting my tongue into the gaps between. I don't know how long he keeps me working on his feet. He certainly has more than one beer and is joined by another Under with whom he has a long conversation. After a while, another Over joins me on his knees and gets to work on Sir's friend's feet. Periodically, our feet or hips touch as we move from foot to foot, but I am lost in the taste and smell of Sir. My willy has stiffened slightly, but this is my normality at Anstey's so it wilts again.
Until, that is, Sir tells me to kneel up. I reluctantly leave the now clean and fresh feet I have been working on and, slightly stiffly from having been bent forward for so long, I straighten up and put my hands behind my back. Sir returns to his conversation, but begins to bounce my balls gently with his foot. There's nothing I can do now, there's no way I can stop it. In normal life, I am pretty proud of what I might there call my dick. I'm no slouch when soft, but when my willy is hard I have a large thick tool. And when I am in private, that's cool and guys love it. But I know that my willy is not supposed to be getting hard here in the Lounge. It's really humiliating and embarrassing as Sir ignores the fact that his foot is causing my willy to thicken and lengthen and straighten. I can now see the Over beside me out of the corner of my eye. He's one of the older members, probably late 60s, and he is slobbering all over the feet of a very geeky looking guy who is probably in his late twenties. That contrast and the fact that the older Over, unlike me, is clearly not enjoying his task makes it worse, and before long my willy is at full mast. But the two Unders carry on their conversation as if oblivious to the fact that there is a 6'6" black guy kneeling naked before them with his fully erect willy wagging as one of them continues to gently bounce his balls. It's worse that no-one in the Lounge is paying any attention to me. I am acutely aware that I am breaking the rules, displaying a stonking erection in the Lounge, yet around me are Unders enjoying afternoon tea or a glass of wine or a beer, reading the paper, chatting with friends.
Eventually, the bouncing of my balls stops, replaced by the Under putting his foot on my hard willy, pressing it down and watching it slap back against my belly.
"What do we have here?" He asks.
"It is my hard willy, Sir, I am deeply sorry, Sir"
"And what happens to Overs who display unauthorised stiffies in the Lounge?"
"They need to be punished, Sir'
A small drop of precum is now glistening at the tip of my boner, as he apologises to his friend for my poor behaviour. He stands and takes a firm hold of my left ear and pulls me to my feet. I can't stand properly, as he is hold my ear at his elbow level.
"Come along then, let's deal with you properly," he says, and leads me painfully by the ear back to the Den.