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?]