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 © 2011
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The House Fag, Chapter 5
It was that weekend that I grasped the depth and permanency of Their control over me. My phone rang at 3:30 Sunday morning. "Now." That was all that was said. That was all that was needed to be said.
I rolled out of bed and sprinted barefoot to Their home. The side door was wide open, as was the door from the garage to Their kitchen. I humbly crawled in and found Them in the family room, right where I'd left Them the night prior to the piss-infused dinner at the Italian place.
I was surprised to see big smiles on both Their faces. I figured maybe young Lord Zachary had just been pissed off that first night, and maybe He was really as cordial as His Dad.
Master Thomas spoke to me. "Sit here on the floor between Us. We've got something really cool to show you on TV." I crawled over and sat where instructed, turning to face the wide-screen up on the wall. Lord Zachary giggled and pressed a button on the remote. There, on the screen, was me, wearing what I wore earlier that week.
"Please, Lord Zachary, lower your shorts so I can please and entertain you?" Oh Jesus. I'm watching myself beg a teenage boy, an underage minor, to sexually pleasure him. My breath caught.
Both Men chuckled. "Wait, fag. It gets so much better."
On screen, I humbly crawled to the asshole I was allowed to tongue. The camera shot was close up, so there's just my face worshipping a hole. Could have been anybody's.
Subtly, the camera started pulling back. If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't even realize it., but by about the time I moved from Lord Zachary's sweet hole to His juicy cock, His 15-year-old face was in frame. Crisp and crystal clear. As was mine, piggishly swallowing His meat.
"Didn't realize you were being filmed, did you?" Lord Zachary was taunting me yet again. I couldn't speak. I knew what deep shit I was in. "Gosh, I wonder what would happen if this got sent to the police? What do you think, Dad? You know about these things."
"I don't think it would take more than a couple of hours before this fag was arrested. And not more than a month before it was locked away in prison. But, son, think of how much dick it could service there. I'm sure the guys would be real generous. I hear they just love fuckin' child molesters, Zach." More laughter as my throat tightened.
Master Thomas reached over and grabbed my head, twisting it to face Him. "As I see it, fag, you got two choices. Either you become their prisoner, or you become ours. We'll probably be a little nicer. Not break so many bones. Let you live longer. Little shit like that." All with that killer smile, so innocent, so sweet, turning His threat into a fucking invitation.
"Thank You, Master Thomas," I sobbed.
"Yeah, I know. It was damn nice of us to film you and push you where you were too chicken-shit to go on your own. Damn fucking nice of us. You're going to spend the rest of your goddamn life showing us gratitude for our generosity. Isn't that great?"
“Yes, Master Thomas. Thank You for pushing me. Thank You for allowing me to spend . . . the rest of my life," I said, choking on the phrase, "thanking You for Your generosity."
"Hey, shithead. Aren't you forgetting somebody here?"
"Yes, Lord Zachary. I'm so very sorry. Thank You for allowing me to worship You on film and creating this . . . wonderful . . . situation for me."
Master Thomas spoke. "Zach, pull the fag around the back of my recliner here and show it what we've done." Lord Zachary grabbed the back of my neck and yanked me to the back of Master's recliner. The seams in the leather over the back of the lower portion had been pulled off on either side, leaving a mere flap of leather; lifting that flap revealed that much of the stuffing inside had been replaced with a pillow. He pulled out the pillow and twisted me around, pushing me in so my head was up, facing the butt of whomever might be seated on the recliner.
I then discovered why I was there, finding a small hole in the leather so my mouth could service the hole of whomever was reclining. "If you please us well enough, we might consider some kind of bench for you to lie on while you're in here. But don't get your hopes up, fag. We like you to suffer."
And suffer I would. It was absolutely impossible to find any kind of comfort in this position. I was in a modified kneel, leaning way back to slide into the chair. I couldn't reach anything with my arms when slid this far back inside, so my upper back was doing all the work to keep my tongue deep inside somebody's hole. My lower back was already tender from the extreme backward angle of my tilt. And my knees and calves were bearing my weight against the cold hard tile of the floor.
I stuck out my tongue and worshipped the hole atop of me. After a few minutes, Master Thomas got up, pushing my body forward as the recliner altered. Somebody sat down, pulling the recliner and me back out. I had no idea if it was Master Thomas, Lord Zachary, or some unseen guest. The hole was barely enough for my mouth, so I had no visual clues. All I knew was there was an asshole pushing against my tongue. I went back to work. Awhile later, there was another switch. And then yet another. I heard laughter as my tongue went back to work yet again. Tears were running down my cheeks from the agony of the stress position, but I knew better than to offer any complaint. These Men, well, this Man and His Son, held my life in Their hands, and yet, I was hard and drooling inside my cock cage the entire time. I never got into rimming before, but somehow these Men made my tongue want to dance inside Their tasty asses, worshipping Them in ways I never
could have imagined.
Master Thomas was speaking beside me. "Follow me, fag."
I pulled myself out from the recliner, thanking Lord Zachary for allowing me to feast on His hole, and crept just behind Master Thomas' heels, wondering what they tasted like. Then I was wondering about the thoughts inside my head. ("Fuck, what kind of perverted fagbitch are you? You just got fucking blackmailed into no-escape enslavement, just endured hours of back-breaking agony, and you're wondering about the taste of your Captor's feet? You fucking deserve this shit. . . . Yes, I really do.") I was led to a small closet underneath the stairwell to the upper floor.
"This is slave quarters. Cleaning supplies will be kept here. Mops, brooms, buckets, cleansers, and the cleaner. The fag."
It was going to be a very cramped space. But then again, how much space does a fag need?
"Cleaning happens when both of us are out of the house. As soon as either of us come home, scurry back in here and close the door. Stay here until one of us calls for service or to be entertained. Understood?"
"Yes, Master Thomas."
"Great. Now get the fuck back to your pig sty. You have exactly 6 weeks to divest yourself of all your possessions. Sell everything. That includes retirement accounts. Liquidate every asset. Put the cash in your checking account. If there's anyone stupid enough to give a rat's ass about you, give some excuse why they'll never hear from you again. Then, 6 weeks from this moment, 6AM, bring nothing but your checkbook and what you're wearing right now, along with a pair of sneakers, and crawl into your new home." He made a grand sweeping gesture into the closet, grinning His warm and welcoming smile from ear to ear. "Now get out of our house. It's starting to smell like fag in here."