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 6
You'd think I'd have spent the next six weeks trying to find a way out. Yeah, of course you'd think that. But you'd be wrong.
All I could think about was obeying Their instructions. Cashing out my life. Telling friends I was hiking around the world and that I'd contact them in a couple of years. I figured that no matter what else I could have done, authorities would find me and I'd end up in prison. Here, I knew Lord Zachary and Master Thomas didn't love me, probably didn't care for me at all, but would at least care about me. A little. Maybe.
And at least this was a hell I knew, with Men I knew. Or at least knew a little. Men I lusted after and truly wanted to serve. The alternative was terrifying. So there really wasn't any alternative at all, just the tearing down of a life as a man, as a "who", to create a life as a fag, as a "what."
It was a 24/7 nightmare. I contacted a real estate agent to get my place sold within weeks. Talk about a "highly motivated seller." If I'd have been allowed to wait, I probably could have gotten thousands of dollars more. It wasn't my problem. I was doing as I was instructed. I sold stock and cashed out my retirement plans, putting everything into my checking account.
I was an emotional mess. Broken-down, high-strung, totally stressed. When it was time to crawl into Their home, I was just sobbing. I crawled, wet-faced and sniffling, into Their kitchen. They were both there, wide awake, eating breakfast, like any ordinary day.
"Mornin', fag. Zach'll make you some breakfast." Lord Zachary got out a dog bowl and poured in some Gravy Train. I didn't know anybody still made that stuff. The awful stench of the dog kibble was overwhelming as soon as He tore open the bag.
I figured I'd be able to chew it down. But then it occurred to me. Gravy Train. Gravy. Lord Zachary read my mind. "Yep. Now's the best part. Makin' the gravy for you. We got our own secret recipe, fag." Master Thomas stood up, grinning wide. The two of Them lowered the crotches of Their jeans and aimed Their pricks into the dog bowl.
Instant gravy. "Nice and hot this way, fag. Isn't that nice of us?"
"Thank You, Master Thomas. Thank You, Lord Zachary."
"Chow down, fag. Busy day. And just think, fag. Today's the first day of the rest of your fucking life! Isn't that great?"
"Yes, Sir, Lord Zachary. Thank You." The breakfast was just as repugnant as you can imagine. Two full bladders of pungent morning piss. Vile dog food. It was hard to swallow down without throwing up into the bowl. Without sobbing at the thought that this was now my new life. Every day like this one, for as long as I lived.
"Lick it clean, faggot. That's all the cleaning that bowl's ever going to get."
"Yes, Master Thomas. Thank You for breakfast." And then, quickly covering my mistake, "Thank You, Lord Zachary, for breakfast, too."
"Go check out your suite, fag. I'm calling it `head'-quarters, since, well, you'll see."
"Yeah, fag. Zach's quite an electrical whiz -- and handy with electronic media, too. After all, he edited that fine film you saw last time you were here. Didn't he do a great job?"
"Yes, Master Thomas, he did. Thank you, Lord Zachary, for your hard work on the video of me."
I crawled to my "suite." A hole at crotch height had been drilled out and covered. Of course. A glory hole. Where either of Them could get head. "Head" quarters. Clever fucks, these Men. I opened the door and sighed. Well, more like a gasp. A sad, desperate gasp.
There was every kind of cleaning tool imaginable in there: mops, vacuum, squeegees, stacks of different kinds of cleansers, a few buckets, stacks of paper towels. There was no place were a man, or even a fag, could stretch out. Instead, in front of the door, was a short stool, with a giant dildo affixed to it.
I would be sitting here, impaled on a horse-cock, while the Men of the house relaxed and slept.
"Go ahead, fag. Take off your clothes, put them on the empty shelf, and sit down. Relax."
Thankfully, the last thing I did before I left what had been my house (the new owner was moving in that Monday) had been to clean myself out. So it would have been simply a matter of stretching myself over this thick deep inhuman penis. "Fags love cock, from what we've heard. ANY cock. ALL cock. We found a place that makes these fake cocks just for fags like you. Horses, walruses, even elephants. That was the smallest they had, `The Pony'. We'll upgrade you as you go along, fag."
"Thank You, Master Thomas." I grunted, looking for some lube so I could try to impale myself on this beast.
"Something wrong, fag?"
"Master Thomas, Sir, there doesn't appear to be any lubricant here, Sir."
"Of course there isn't. A talented fag like you shouldn't need any. I'm sure your fagmouth can lube up a dick until your ass starts sliming up enough to lube a cock as well."
"Of course, Master Thomas, Sir. Thank you, Sir." I slobbered all over the latex head, looking like some depraved idiot. Once I got it as wet as I could, I tried to work the monster up my guts. I finally got my hole wrapped around its head, but there was no fucking way I was ever going to get It deep enough to sit down. It was at least a foot long.
"Jesus, fag, haven't you trained your fuckhole to take big cocks yet?"
"Not this big, Lord Zachary."
"Good thing we haven't fucked you yet, then, huh. Wouldn't want your fag blood on our beautiful pricks."
"No, Lord Zachary. Thank You for helping train my useless hole."
"By the way, fag. Now and in the future, close that fucking door. Don't distract us from planning or relaxing or whatever it is we're doing. Close it now."
"Yes, Master Thomas." I closed the door. Instantly, the light went out and a TV screen in the corner, barely a foot away from my face, turned on. It was playing a video. Well, I don't know how to describe it. A program. Not as in a TV show. As in a way to program me. A series of still photographs, each filling the entire screen, of some fag servicing a Man. Sucking dick. Drinking piss. Kissing ass. Getting fucked. Licking feet. Often bound. Sometimes getting whipped or punished in some way. Then there were photos of god-like Men. Pecs. Cocks. Balls. Asses. Armpits. Feet. Faces. Men pissing into slaves. Men pissing onto floors. Men cumming on fag faces. Men fucking fags. Men sitting on fag-tongues. Each image flashed for a fraction of a second, barely more than the blink of an eye. There wasn't enough time to get more than the briefest of glances, making it possible to only get a suggestion
of what was there. Which made me stare even harder at the screen, trying to take it all in. It was, literally, a hypnotic presentation.
And, mixed in occasionally with the images, were stark, bold words, programming me ever deeper into submission, mere flashes on the screen dissolving into my brain:
I THIRST FOR PISS
I WORSHIP ASSHOLES
I NEED TO OBEY
I EXIST TO SERVE
I CRAVE COCK
I HUNGE FOR A MAN'S RIPE ASS
I BEG TO BE RAPED
PLEASE RAPE ME
I AM A FACELESS BRAINLESS SLAVE
I AM A FACELESS BRAINLESS WHORE
I AM NOTHING
I DON'T DESERVE TO CUM
MY JOB IS TO GIVE MEN PLEASURE
And on, and on, and on. I'm sure the program repeated at some point, but I could never tell. Maybe it was programmed to display images randomly. I cannot say. With nothing else to see in the black closet, there was nothing to distract me from my programming. All I could do was stare, throb, and want. So I stared. I throbbed. I leaked. I found myself rubbing against the monster up my pathetic ass, sliding it up and down against my prostate. I was still nowhere near the base, but I knew it would eventually have to happen.
The bastards. They were making my hunger for and submission to Them deepen with every second. How long could I possibly stand this before I went completely insane with need?
I have no idea how many minutes or hours it was before the cover over the glory hole slid open and a Cock presented itself in the dark. I moaned, twisting myself on the horse up my ass, and opened my drooling mouth wide to provide It pleasure. I glued my lips to the door as this God-like Prick rammed itself in and out of my throat. I EXIST TO SERVE. PLEASE RAPE ME. I CRAVE COCK. I couldn't help but to begin sucking so hard I was trying to literally pull the load out of this Cock. After a few minutes, I moaned my gratitude in swallowing a Man's delicious seed, still sliding up and down against the inhuman invader up my ass, my own cock mad with hunger, imprisoned in its plastic cage.
"Jesus, guys, you weren't kidding. That is one great hole." As the cover over the hole slid shut, I sobbed my shame into the nothingness surrounding me and stared into the screen illustrating my new life.