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 © 2012
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The House Fag, Chapter 15
The next weeks were excruciating. Master Thomas and Lord Zachary were both very busy and had no real use for a fag. I was simply Their invisible servant, cleaning up after Them, taking care of all the chores They were too good to bother with. On the evenings either of Them were home, I was not summoned; They had more important things to do. I was completely and utterly alone and isolated, only the Stallion and the programming screen as companions.
One afternoon, Lord Zachary called for His fag to come out. He positioned me, nose to His crotch, and kept me there while He chatted on the phone with His friends for what seemed like hours. All I could do was sniff and drool uncontrollably. Once He made plans for the evening, I was kicked away. I crept back to my cell, fagdick dripping, hungry for any attention. I would have begged for His merciless kicks to the groin if I didn't already know He had other plans.
Then one evening Master Thomas was home with the woman His faggot wingman helped Him pick up months before, Cindy. He cooked dinner for the two of them. They chatted, laughed, enjoyed themselves together while His fag was kept in its cell, watching the eternal brainwashing of fags in service to Men.
In all honesty, the Men and fags on the screen were like silent friends to me: although only visible for fractions of a second, they were the closest things to companions I had. As each flickered on the screen, I simultaneously thought "hello" and "good bye”, a kind of fag "aloha" or "shalom” to each image. The frustration of never being able to truly drink in any of the flashing photos was beyond maddening; I tried to repaint the images in my head, trying to fill in the details my brain was too slow to process. But before I could finish, other hot scenes of Men and fags in service to Them had come and gone. Another opportunity missed to revel in the image before me. There were so many images available in Lord Thomas’ database that by the time I recognized an image from before, it was gone once again.
After what seemed like a month, perhaps weeks longer, Master Thomas called His fag out of its suite. “Sniff my sweaty pit, fag." It had apparently been a brutally hot day outside, and Master Thomas' body heat was noticeable from a foot away. I knew He'd been outside for a few hours; perhaps He had been doing yard work. I approached Him at His recliner, found His fragrant pit, and deeply inhaled. I thought about the first afternoon I found Him, doing yard work then as well. I recalled Him lifting His arm to wave goodbye and my mouth-watering response to seeing His beautiful blond pit. I moaned, aching to lick His delicious sweat. He chuckled, pushing His pit even closer to my nose, daring Me not to lick it. He then settled into His lounge chair and clicked on the wide-screen TV with the remote.
"Look toward the TV and remove the hood, fag. I have something from the guys at the station they wanted you to see. Don’t even try to look back at me, fag." I slid off the hood, facing the wall, trying not to rest my faggot eyes on Master Thomas' incredibly handsome and furry torso and legs. I noticed two empty wine bottles displayed on the screen, one of which was also in real life about a foot in front of me on the floor. It looked like a dark, heavy Chardonnay.
The video appeared to be filmed in a fire house. I guessed this was where Master Thomas worked. After a moment a man in fire gear approached one of the empty bottles, unleashed His fly, and pissed inside.
I moaned in delight while looking at the bottle in front of me and licked my lips in hope and anticipation. Master Thomas chuckled, "just watch, fag."
In separate takes, Fireman after Fireman emptied His bladder into one of the two bottles. Some unbuttoned or unzipped Themselves completely, generously allowing me to stare hungrily at Their cocks, balls, and pubes. A couple had Their shirts either unbuttoned or completely off, making me drool and moan in response. I couldn't believe how incredibly hungry I was for these strangers, my obvious Superiors. “Oh, thank You so much," I whimpered.
"Who are you thanking, fag?" Master Thomas asked.
"Sir, Master Thomas, Sir, I don't know. Thank You, Sir, for allowing Your stupid fag to see this. And thanks to all Your Friends for Their generosity, Sir. This means so much, Sir, that They thought of me this way."
“Well, fag, they were downright impressed with the butt-washing and cock-sucking they all received. So they thought this might be appreciated."
“Oh, God, Sir, Master Thomas, it is! So fucking much, Master Thomas, Sir."
All the while, the two bottles were being filled with Fireman piss. Once the two were filled, a time-lapse shot was set up, speeding up two or three days. The two bottles of piss stood out in the sun-filled room, evaporating the water, concentrating the piss, until they were both half full. Then the two were poured together into the bottle now inches away from my feet. The video ended and I stared at that bottle, still inhaling Master Thomas' beautiful armpit, so fucking hungry for anything, anything, anything. . . .
“Pick up the bottle, fag. Uncork it. Sniff it."
I obeyed. The scent of concentrated piss, as expected, made my stupid fagdick throb and every nerve in my pathetic body explode in desire. Master Thomas saw me shiver. “Out loud, fag."
“Oh, God, I need this piss so fucking badly. Please, Sir, PLEASE, Master Thomas, Sir, please allow Your perverted fag to drink in Your Friends' delicious Fireman piss, Please, Sir?"
“On one condition, fag."
“Yes, Master Thomas, Sir?”
"This bottle of vintage piss is not to be slowly savored. That’s too good for a fag like you. Instead, chug it down, fag. Don't stop until it's completely emptied down your fucking gut. NOW, fag. Show me your fucking depravity."
I never before felt so completely enslaved. Not so much by Master Thomas, or by His Friends, but by my own fucked-up perversions. I needed Their piss inside me so fucking badly. I instantly held the bottle upside down, pouring it down my pathetic mouth and gulping it as fast as I could. When the bottle was empty, I tried catching my breath while thanking Master Thomas for such a delicious treat, savoring the dregs still caressing my faggot tongue.
“They're going to fucking love this,” He laughed. “Oh, fag, did I forget to mention? Yeah, I probably did. The camera has been on. This is all being recorded for their enjoyment when I get back to the station on Thursday.”
I stared at the screen, where I now knew the camera had been when I was first recorded so long ago, and spoke to the Men of the firehouse. "Oh, God, Sirs, You have no idea how grateful I am for all You've done here for me. This means so much, Sirs. Thank You all so very much, Sirs. Please, Sirs, I will gladly drink all the piss you allow me. . . ."
"That's enough, fag. Put the hood back on and get back to sniffing My rank armpit."
Always eager to please Master Thomas, I quickly replaced the hood and again deeply inhaled, sucking His savory sweat inside My nose. I was consciously aware of the molecules of His evaporated sweat making contact with the inside of my nose, becoming enveloped by me and nourishing my flesh. Master Thomas kept me there for what could have been hours, my hunger multiplying by the minute, before instructing me to return to my cell. I sadly obeyed, drooling both physically and psychologically for some opportunity to taste and be fed by Master Thomas, Lord Zachary, or the Men of the firehouse. I was nothing but Their parasite. A pathetic little worm desperate to be fed by Them in whatever way They might allow.
I mounted the Stallion, feeling frustratingly filled without fulfillment, and continued my faggot brain's rewiring from the images on the screen. I found myself instinctively envying each faggot I briefly glimpsed who was granted the opportunity to worship Men. To be used by Men. To service Men however They desired. My enslavement was growing by leaps and bounds.