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 20
"Hey, whose turn is it to clean the john? It's startin' to get a little nasty in there."
"Didn't Tom say his fag loves to clean toilets?"
I didn't remember Him ever saying that. I don't remember ever saying that. Maybe He told Them about that awful day at the theater with Lord Zachary. Or maybe He told Them that His fag tongue-scrubs His bathroom clean.
It didn't matter. I was about to be given a new job. And, to be honest, I didn't mind. I was grateful to have ANY use to my Superiors. Without any of the Firemen ordering me to, I crawled into Their bathroom and went to work, using my otherwise useless faggot tongue to scrub down Their toilet and the floor.
"I guess it does, Frank. Cool."
I had been trained to remove my hood for cleaning the inside of the bowl, so I could get my head deep into the water without damaging the leather. I wondered which would be worse, automatically doing so and risk offending the Firemen, asking permission and risk disturbing Them, or keeping it on and risk annoying Master Thomas by needing a new hood. I decided to accept the risk of punishment, but minimize it by first cleaning the rim and outside of the john, then removing the hood to quickly inspect my work before diving into the bowl.
As cock-crazed as I was by this point, even the most vile of acts held significant sexual tension. I thought back upon all those delicious Firemen holes I had been fortunate enough to taste and the savory Firemen piss I was allowed to chug down. Those memories transformed an otherwise boring or disgusting chore into an act of worship. As I licked the seat clean, I thought of the Fireman who allowed me to squint at His flesh while He fucked a woman and beat my faggot face. I drooled at the thought of my squalid tongue licking away at where His magnificent ass had been.
I lifted the seat and feasted on the rim of the bowl, rubbing my tongue to scrub away the dried puddles of piss these Firemen had been so kind to leave for me. I was practically humping the john in frustrated lust.
"Jesus, fag, keep it down in there, would'ya?" I hadn't realized my moans were so loud. I burned in embarrassment from my disgusting depravity.
Once the rim was finished, I slowly cleaned the inside of the rim and the higher portions of the bowl, wiping back and forth until the entire surface was smooth. I finally removed the hood and stuck my face into the bowl, carefully sucking every inch of it clean. While deep in the bowl, I heard a Fireman enter. "I don't need to squat, fag, so I'll just drain it here." He pissed on the back of my neck and into the bowl. I wanted to see who He was, what He looked like, but knew that would be inappropriate and disrespectful. I kept my head down in the water and sucked up His watered-down urine, moaning My gratitude to Him.
"You're welcome, fag. By the way, we all just decided that you should stay here. These are your new quarters." Of course, Sir. How appropriate for a scummy fag to live in the toilet of its Superiors. As I lifted up my repugnant face from the bowl, I felt two dozen boots flung into the room for me to clean. I rubbed my face against my arm to dry it off, reapplied the hood, and went back to work, cleaning and shining boots, and scrubbing the john and the floor of the bathroom. I finally felt useful to these incredible Men.
After the floor had been cleaned and I was meticulously spit-shining Their boots, one of the Firemen came into the room and closed the door. "I gotta take a crap, fag. Here. Drain my piss outta my cock while I dump."
I must have grinned from ear to ear. "Yeah, fag, I thought so. Just put my fucking dick in your fucking mouth." I did, and relaxed so as to open up my throat while closing my windpipe, creating an open tube for Him to pour down His dirty piss.
I don't know if I can describe the experience. It was something very primal and raw. I'd been used as a urinal countless times, but this circumstance transformed the act from sexual into something merely utilitarian. It was beyond demeaning. Yet, it was also so incredibly intimate, being used by a Man, an unseeable, unknowable, beautiful Man, in such a personal way. My dumbfuck fag cock pushed against every edge of its cage and I felt like I was a barely tethered explosion millimeters away from release. My body shivered as I felt His flow down my faggot throat as His turds dropped into the bowl. I think even He felt the transformation inside me as He whispered "Jesus" while pissing inside me.
I stayed in place, motionless, after His flow subsided, holding my breath out of respect for His cock. He pushed me away onto the floor at His feet, while He continued to dump into the toilet. "Aw, fuck. Looks like we're out of toilet paper, fag.
I started to crawl toward where I'd found the cabinet. "I'll get some for You, Sir."
"Don't bother, fag." He reached over and grabbed the top of my head. "Looks like we have some right here. Organic toilet paper, at that." He chuckled cruelly at His own joke. I was His joke. A new purpose for a filthy fag to have to a real Man.
I guess He was pleased with the service provided, because word seemed to get out that the fag had yet another purpose for the Firemen to whom it was in service. I was renamed by most of the Firemen: Asswipe. Buttlick. Turdsuck. Shitbreath. Surprisingly enough, these names didn't bother me in the least. In fact, I was honored to finally have a way that these Awesome Men would and could use me. It felt so appropriate to be used by these Men in whatever filthy ways They felt were useful. I spent countless days and nights sucking Firemen boots clean, scrubbing Their toilet after each use, and as urinal and toilet paper for the Firemen as they desired. One of the Firemen, the one who took out His aggression on me while He fucked His woman, decided to just dump His crap in my faggot mouth and let me enjoy His used food. And, on occasion, one of the Men would put one of my holes to use as something to quickly fuck out a load. But that was an extremely rare and treasured event. I was too disgusting a perverted fag for most of Them to have any desire to put Their beautiful cocks in either of my fagholes. This kept me absolutely insatiable to serve Them and fulfill whatever whim caught Their fancy.
Late one night, while most of the shift was asleep, one of the Firemen entered the bathroom. He didn't say a word to me but pushed my stupid head to the floor, raising my ass up in offering to His wonderful cock. He silently slid His massive prick up my hole and as it kept going deeper and deeper, I finally recognized Master Thomas had returned. I shivered as I whispered, "Oh, God, Sir, Oh, God, Master Thomas, Oh God, Sir. . . . " over and over again. It was an indescribable sensation having this Man back inside His fag. I'd never before experienced a homecoming to a Cock, but this was exactly what was happening. Master Thomas' Cock was home to me.
He was, of course, brutal. Once He took His time with that first stroke, giving His fag the opportunity to recognize Him, His following strokes were fast, cruel, and ruthless. He was actively hunting to find ways to make His fuck as painful as possible. It was just what I needed. I cried in a delirium of agony, fear, and desire. I felt finally broken in as His possession.
At the end of His shift, Master Thomas wrapped a chain around His fagbitch's neck and led it out the door to His Mustang, where it crawled into the trunk for the ride home. As I was crawling down the hall, I heard some of the Firemen chuckle about a "bidding war". I should have paid closer attention, but as some dumbfuck fag, my place was merely to obey.
Once home, Master Thomas applied a harness to His faggot's face. The harness was centered around a ring which was slid into His faggot's mouth, holding its jaws open. A set of straps wrapped around its ugly head, holding the ring in place. A second set of straps wrapped around Master Thomas' hips, holding His faggot's head in place, mouth wrapped around His meat. I was essentially bound against and around His magnificent cock for the day.
This act, impossible when I first attempted servicing His cock, was still difficult to achieve. I heaved and gagged against His prick all day long, unable to relax my stupid throat for long. I was helpless but to move with Him, head at His crotch, crawling backwards as He walked around His home. Several times I found it necessary to use my throat to massage and jack His erect prick as I had been trained, but now unable to move my head at all, it was an exhausting task to empty His balls. He never said a word to me all day long -- I was merely there as an appliance to pleasure and empty His prick. Once in a while I was led outside, where I gratefully emptied my bladder on to the grass while He emptied His into my throat.
That evening, Lord Zachary came in with meals for the two of them. Nobody said a word to or paid any attention to the faggot appliance locked against Master Thomas' cock as They sat, enjoying their meals. There was no need. Why spoil a faggot with that kind of undeserved attention?
It was a brutal experience, but it was wonderful. I felt so bonded with Him, so much a part of Him. It was as if I was merely an extension of Him, like there was no line separating His cock and His slave surrounding it. I never felt closer to Him. So much so, I actually regretted it when He silently unlocked the harness and pushed His faggot back against the wall before going up to bed that night. I crawled into my suite aching to be used like that again soon.
No sooner did I finally get fully impaled by the Stallion (after so much time, I had to retrain my faghole to relax and accommodate it), did the cover over the glory hole open and Lord Zachary's cock slid through, demanding service. I moaned whorishly as I made love to the erection of the Boy who owned me, thanking Him for all He had done, with His Father, to make this day possible. After He shot his delicious load down my faggot throat, He stood there to empty His bladder as well. Once I finished swallowing His piss, He said "Goodnight, fag" and closed the cover.
I would find out the next day that this would be the last I would see or hear of Lord Zachary.