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 7
Some unknown and unknowable time afterwards, I needed to use the toilet. Both my bowels and my bladder were full, so I opened the door to my cell and started to rise from the stool and horsecock.
"What the fuck? Zach, did you call for the fag?"
"No, Dad, why?"
"Seems it thought somebody did. Fag, did you hear somebody call your name?"
"No, Master Thomas. I have to use the bathroom..."
"That IS your bathroom, fag. See those buckets behind you?"
"Yes, Master Thomas."
"Put one of them to use. While we're out later, you can dump it in the backyard. Far corner so We don't have to smell you. Now get back where you belong."
"Yes, Master Thomas. Master Thomas, Sir, should I clean out my hole afterwards?"
"While we're out. Hose in the backyard. Be thorough. And that gallon jug at your feet? That's water so you don't get thirsty, fag. Although we'll help with that sometimes, too."
"Yes, Master Thomas, Sir. Thank you for Your instruction, Master Thomas." I closed the door and emptied myself into the bucket, then crouched, legs weak and agonized but still unable to swallow the full depth of "the Pony," stuck with my own stench until I heard Them both leave.
"Bye, fag." I heard Them both call out.
I opened the door and found a note on the floor.
"Fag, while we are out it is time to earn your keep by cleaning our home. Note that the bathrooms are locked. These are only to be cleaned in our presence. It can use the hose in the backyard to clean itself out.
"Note that the pantry and refrigerator are locked as well. Only our leftovers on the table may be devoured. Fags also eat special meals for which they pay. That will be discussed later.
"Now get to work. Keep our home fucking spotless. Floors gleaming. Laundry washed, folded, put away. Furniture dusted.
"We're not saying when we're coming home. The minute the door opens, scurry back into your suite. Anything left unfinished will be cause for punishment. Remember, we enjoy watching a fag suffer."
OK. I pulled out the supplies and went to work. I started upstairs in Their bedrooms, getting Their dirty laundry off the floor and out of Their closets. I ran downstairs to get the first laundry load started, then climbed back upstairs to strip down Their beds. Then I brought those linens downstairs and went into the kitchen to clean up after Their breakfast. All that was left on Their plates was the congealed goo of dried-up sunny-side-up eggs. I licked them off before filling up the dishwasher and turning it on. I dusted the furniture downstairs. It was then time to move the first laundry load into the dryer and start a new one up with Their sheets and towels. Then on to my knees to scrub Their floors clean. I'd finished the kitchen floor when the dryer went off. I grabbed the clothes and folded them.
I worked like the slave I was to Them for hours. This wasn't just doing chores; this was an act of worship and fear. I needed to keep these Men happy or else I'd be kicked out of Their home with nothing and be sent off to jail. The garage opened for Their car as I finished unloading the dishwasher. The laundry was complete, the place was clean. I hadn't any time to clean myself off or out, or to empty the bucket out in the backyard. I sprinted back into my cage, closed the door, and once again tongue-lubed and lowered myself onto the maddening horse cock, watching the programming before me. I noticed additional photos of slaves scrubbing floors, dusting furniture, in domestic service to Men. Maybe they'd been there before and I hadn't noticed them. It was entirely possible. But I couldn't be sure.
"Fag, get out here." I couldn't tell if I fucked up or if Lord Zachary just wanted service. I lifted myself off the horse cock and crawled out to the family room where They were both seated and relaxed. "Dad and I want to talk to you about how we intend to instruct and feed our fag..."
"Yeah, fag. See, we don't want to have to go into some long detailed discussion about how we want to be serviced every night. So, in general, let's keep it simple. Three little words that every fag loves to hear. Know what those three little words are, fag?"
I shook my head, not wanting to bite into the joke I was being fed. "No, Master Thomas. What are the three little words every fag loves to hear, Sir?"
"Suck. Lick. Nurse. Don't you love those three little words, fag?"
I nodded in shame. "Yes, Master Thomas, I do, Sir."
"OK. Then learn what they fucking mean. Now when one of us says `Suck,' that means just what it says. Whatever part of our body is in front of those faggot lips, we want sucked. If we say it while you're still in your suite, well, then we want a blowjob. Simple enough, fag?"
"Yes, Sir, Master Thomas. Very simple, Sir."
Lord Zachary continued His father's explanation. "Then there's lick. You know what it means to lick, don't you, fag?"
"Yes, Sir, Lord Zachary. If you say `Lick,' I am to lick whatever part of Your body is given to me."
"Exactly, fag. Balls. Feet. Pecs. Pits. Whatever the fuck we want. And don't get confused and SUCK my cock when I only want it LICKED. Same with my asshole. Don't get carried away, fag. You'll only piss me off. And you seriously don't want to piss me off."
"And then there's `Nurse,' fag," Master Thomas explained. "That means a soft gentle sucking, not with the goal of making us cum, just to make our cocks feel good. A kind of worship for fags like you."
Lord Zachary sneered in His superiority, "Yes, it will probably drive you fucking crazy, nursing cock all night without a chance of being fed. I'm going to fucking love that." Yes, he was right, it probably would. But I had no choice in the matter and would have to accept what They commanded of Me. "Look at it this way, fag: at least it will make you all the more eager for your next meal."
"That's right, Zach. You see, fag, we're not talking about leftovers from our plates that we'll let you eat after we've left for the day or while we're asleep. Um, by the way, fag, God help you if you wake either of us up. But no, We're talking about those special meals that fags need so fucking badly."
I looked up at Him, waiting. He gave me 10 bank-wrapped stacks of fifty, one-dollar bills. "Go get your checkbook and write me a check for $500." I complied with His command. He exchanged that for the cash.
"Every time a fag gets nourished by our piss, it's $5. That includes meals like this morning's breakfast. Every time it swallows our delicious cum, it's $10. And every time one of us allows its tongue up our holes, it's a dollar a minute. Now, this is entirely optional. If it doesn't want to be nourished by us, it doesn't have to pay for the honor. Am I understood?"
I nodded. OK, so the money goes out as I want. That's pretty generous.
Lord Zachary smirked. "Look, Dad. It thinks it understands."
"It will, son, it will. Fag, go kneel in front of the glass door to the back patio."
I did. They got up from Their seats and went outside to the patio, passing me and closing the door behind Them. I quizzically looked at Them through the sliding glass door, trying to understand. They chuckled at each other, undid the flies of Their jeans, and started jacking off in front of me.
Oh my fucking god. I knelt there and moaned. Cried. Drooled. I was so fucking hungry for Their beautiful, massive cocks. They weren't taking Their time; this was clearly to teach Their fag the fucking point. Lord Zachary threw His head back and splashed four volleys of cum onto the sliding door.
I couldn't help myself. I sprinted to the glass and tried to suck and lick it up from my side. I knew there was no point. I didn't matter. It was fucking instinct, just like closing your eyes when something is thrown toward your face. I couldn't NOT try to suck up His cum. While I was licking the wrong side of the door like an imbecile, Master Thomas sprayed the door with His load. Six more jets of delicious seed taunting me, dripping down the glass as I tried to scoop them up from the wrong side.
But They weren't done. Dicks still in hand, They now added the chasers of Their piss. All over the glass door. I was incoherently moaning in frustration. Lord Zachary approached and cracked the door open. "If you want to tongue this mess up, fag, it's . . . let's see . . . 2 cum loads and 2 piss loads . . . that's how much, fag?"
"Thirty dollars, Lord Zachary."
"Oh, and breakfast this morning. So what's the total now?"
"Forty dollars, Lord Zachary. Forty dollars."
"Yeah, that's right. Pay up and we'll open the door."
I sprinted to the stacks of money and grabbed a single stack of fifty, pulling 10 off the top to keep for later. I needed, I so fucking desperately needed, to get on the other side of that door. I scurried back and thrust the money at Lord Zachary.
"Have fun, fag." I crossed out onto the patio and moaned and whimpered as I sucked down Their dripping cum and piss. "Understand now, fag?" God, yes, I most certainly did. I had no fucking choice. Any time They wanted anything, it was going to happen.
I was completely and totally Their slave. And I would be paying Them for the privilege.