Commissioned by Anonymous
It was late in the evening, the midsummer sun still setting through the west side windows of the abbey, and Mr. Rudolph Windsor was downstairs in the servant’s mess, finally getting a chance to eat dinner. The abbey’s guests had already eaten, their needs attended to, giving him a moment to sit quietly, and try to remember his old name. Today he believed that it had begun with the letter “H”. Perhaps Hal? Or had that been a character on a TV show? The abbey had no television, and even then, Rudolph’s mind had been made to forget much of what the outside world contained, beyond the abbey grounds. But a name–it seemed so simple, and yet it was gone. Perhaps Henry, or Harry. Those were both nice names, at least.
Another servant came in, an older gentleman named Mr. Livingston. Rudolph had no idea how long he had been a servant of the house, only that he had been working here long enough to forget the truth of things entirely, or to at least pretend forgetfulness. “Good evening Mr. Windsor,” the older gentleman said, beaming at the sourer face of his fellow servant, “The master certainly has found a nice crop of guests for the summer, eh chap?”
Mr. Windsor didn’t reply. He hated speaking, and did it as rarely as he could. His voice–it wasn’t his anymore.
Mr. Livingston was unfazzed–he’d seen many men come into service at the house in his years here–it wouldn’t be long before Windsor was a cheery old chap like the rest of them. “Is that all you’re eating?” he said, looking at the small salad in front of Mr. Windsor, “Do be careful, or you might start wasting away.”
“Wasting away is the goal,” Mr. Windsor said, “I’d very much like to try and rid myself of some of this belly–I don’t particularly enjoy being this rotund, to be honest.” His sentence faded away as he spoke–nothing came out of his mouth right anymore; he was always so polite now. What he’d wanted to say was something more like:
“Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard! I may be trapped in some old fat body, but fuck you if you think I’m not going to try to lose some of this fucking disgusting gut and be slightly less disgusting to look at in the mirror!”
“Oh goodness, I don’t think Master Fitzroy would be very keen on the idea of any of us losing weight. You know he’s very particular on how us servants present ourselves.” Mr. Livingston loomed over him, his own gut, restrained by his livery, mere inches from Mr. Windsor’s face. “I won’t make any mention of it, for your own sake. You are still relatively new here after all, but do keep yourself fed. I won’t have anyone starving themselves around here for no good reason.”
“No good reason?” Mr. Windsor said, “I do believe, sir, that there are numerous good reasons for why we should do whatever we can against Master Fitzroy. I don’t particularly care whether I make him upset or not. What could he possibly do to me which is worse than what he has already done to me? To all of us?”
Mr. Livingston didn’t move, and said nothing. The disapproval was palpable. “I should go tell him what you’ve said, Mr. Windsor. You would be sent to edification immediately.”
“So then go tell him, after…after who he brought here, as a guest…” Mr. Windsor stuttered–his proper tongue unable to twist what he wanted to say into anything dignified, and so remained twisted tight. A bell rang on the wall, signalling that one of the guest rooms had requested service.
Mr. Livingston, checked the bell. “It would appear that a guest on the third floor would like service. One of your guests, I do believe, Mr. Windsor. Room number 307?”
Room 307. Of course, it would be that one. “Yes, that is indeed my room. I’ll go attend to him.”
“Well, do try to find some positivity along the way–then again, that dour face of yours is only making your nose glow brighter, and it isn’t even Christmas season. So at least that can cheer everyone else up.” Mr. Windsor scowled. The bulbous ruddy nose was another one of the master’s jokes at his expense–and it didn’t help that whenever he drank it would burn a deep red. The fact that this body shook if it didn’t get enough alcohol didn’t much help matters–he alleviated the worst of it by carrying a flask in his vest, but that insured his rose was red almost all the time. When he’d give his full name to a guest, they generally replied with a snicker.
He hefted himself up out of his chair, straightened his vest and coat, but before mounting the back stairs to the third floor, he took a moment to examine himself in the mirror, making sure he was well groomed. He had some crumbs in his thick bushy mustache–he pulled a comb from his pocket and ran it through the hairs, and then examined the rest of his face, and sighed. Jowls. His fat red nose. Wrinkles. The ridiculous glasses he had to wear, now that he could barely see anything without them. The uniform grey hair, which he was compelled to groom into a comb-over. It did nothing to hide his baldness, and in fact accentuated it. He scanned his eyes down the front of his servant’s livery, mentally checking that everything was still in place. He’d never worn so much as a suit before all of this happened, but now he felt absolutely naked in anything less than his starched uniform. He heaved a sigh, watching his jowls shake and his mustache flutter, and then started up the stairs of the abbey to the third floor.
Room 307 was the summer home of the last person Mr. Windsor had ever expected to see here, and the last person he had ever wanted to see him like this. Tanner Marcus–the young man who had broken up with him the year before, back when he’d had that other name (Huck? Harvey?) and that other body, and that other life he could barely remember. And now Tanner was here, in room 307, just another young man for the master to toy with all summer long, and all Mr. Windsor could do was watch–and wait on him hand and foot. He knocked on the door, and after a moment, a deep voice shouted for him to enter. It wasn’t Tanner’s voice, however–it was Master Fitzroy.
Mr. Windsor opened the door and stepped inside, finding Tanner bent over the side of the bed, Master Fitzroy behind him, his hairy gut hefted up onto the small of the younger man’s back, his cock buried deep in his hole. “Good evening Mr. Windsor,” Master Fitzroy said, he huffed and puffed a moment, “I am sorry, I had hoped to be finished by the time you came in–please give us a moment. Mr. Marcus and I became rather close over dinner, and he invited me to his room, isn’t that right Tanner?”
“Oh yes, Master Fitzroy, I…I invited you here to plow my hole good, sir.”
“Would…would you like me to wait in the hall, sir?” Mr. Windsor asked.
“Oh, no need–I’d rather you watched this. Closely.”
“Y–Yes sir…” Mr. Windsor said.
Contrary to what Master Fitzroy had said, he was nowhere near finished–he continued fucking for a good fifteen minutes, encouraging Tanner to moan louder and louder, and narrate what it felt like to be fucked by a real gentleman. Unable to look away, Mr. Windsor stared at the scene. It was not the first time he had walked in on Master Fitzroy having his way with one of his guests, but that did not make this any easier to digest. Worse was the fact that, despite all that had happened, he was still very attracted to Tanner–and yet, this old, worthless body given to him by the master couldn’t even get hard, not that it would have mattered. His two inch button cock wouldn’t even be able to get into an ass if he were allowed to try. Master Fitzroy preferred his servants celibate–he didn’t want any of them spoiling his guests after all.
Tanner was moaning louder, the older man behind him thrusting faster, and with a loud groan, the master finally came deep inside Tanner’s ass with several violent shudders. When he was certain that he was finished, he removed himself and stepped back from Tanner’s behind. “Mr. Marcus, while Mr. Windsor helps me dress, would you be so kind as to jack off for me? I’d like to see you cum before I leave. Mr. Windsor, if you would please.”
He began gathering up Master Fitzroy’s clothes, which had been scattered about the room, and helping him put his suit back on. Several pieces were rather wrinkled, and Mr. Windsor did his best to smooth them out as he did. Tanner was on his back on the bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, jacking wildly–he was so close, but he had to wait until permission had been granted. Once he was fully dressed, Fitzroy allowed him to cum, and Tanner shot his load up onto his smooth body and face, back arched. Mr. Windsor had never seen him so…thrilled. Was he angry? Sad? Did it even matter? There was nothing he could do, so what did it even matter how he felt?
“That was quite a pleasure, Mr. Tanner–I’m thrilled you’ll be staying here for a few weeks, I’d love to spend some more time with you.”
“Oh thank you, Master,” Tanner said, “I’m…I’d love that…that too…”
“Mr. Windsor, perhaps would you kindly help Mr. Marcus clean himself up, and get into bed for the night? I seem to have fucked his brains out for the moment,” Master Fitzroy said, and excused himself from the suite.
Tanner was lolling and groaning on the bed; Mr. Windsor went into the adjoining bathroom to start filling the tub, and then returned to help him up. He had indeed been fucked out of his mind–Tanner could barely stand unassisted, meaning Mr. Windsor had to carry-drag him into the bathroom and heave him into the tub. By the end of it, he was nearly as wet, and had smears of the master’s cum across the front and side of his suitcoat and vest. He helped Tanner wash himself, neither of them saying anything, and slowly the guest returned to a quasi-awareness. He couldn’t quite remember what had just happened, but was equally certain that it was nothing to worry about, and Mr. Windsor assured him that was certainly the case. And then, Mr. Windsor leaned over to get the bar of soap which had dropped to the floor, and Tanner saw the end of a dark birthmark snaking it’s way up past the collar of Mr. Windsor’s neck, to the base of his ear–the exact same birthmark he’d seen on the side of Teddy’s face countless times, Teddy who he’d broken up with the year before, Teddy who had gone on a winter vacation for Christmas and disappeared without a trace.
Mr. Windsor got the bar of soap and went to return it to Tanner’s hands, only to be greeted by a face of shock. “Is…is something the matter? Mr. Marcus?”
“T–Ted? Is…is that you?”
His name? Is that what it was? How had Tanner even recognized him?
“Your…your birthmark, I know that birthmark, you’re Ted, what the fuck happened to you? What’s going on here?”
He stammered. He couldn’t tell him the truth–the Master’s programming had made certain of that. How could he tell him what had happened? What kind of danger he was in? “N–No, I’m afraid…I think you must have mistaken me for…for a younger lover,” he said, managing to slip in a sign that he knew what was happening, and he saw that Tanner had understood him loud and clear. But why was he standing up? Why was he leaving the room? Master Fitzroy, he was going to see Master Fitzroy, he was going to have to tell him what just happened, he’d broken the rules, he’d broken the rules, and he had to be punished.
Tanner was trying to get out of the bath, but his body still wasn’t fully cooperating. “God damn it, Ted? Where are you going? Don’t go! Let me help you!”
“I’m sorry to excuse myself sir, but I must go report my indiscretion to the master of the house. I’d…I’d suggest you forget about what I said as soon as you are able, for your own sake,” Mr. Windsor managed to say as he left the suite, and he hoped Tanner would take his advice. His legs took him back to the servant stairs, continuing up to the top floor of the abbey, where the master’s apartment took up the entire top floor. He found Fitzroy speaking with Mr. Livingston in his study–they grew quiet as he entered.
“I apologize for interrupting, sir, but I had to come immediately in order to report a personal indiscretion. Mr. Marcus recognized me while I was bathing him, and rather than lie, I confirmed his suspicion that I am in fact…am…I…” Mr. Windsor stammered. His name, he’d just heard it? Tanner had said it, it had been…been…how could he have forgotten it so quickly?
“Please excuse us, Mr. Livingston. I believe I need to have a delicate discussion with Mr. Windsor.”
Mr. Livingston bowed, and excused himself. He wouldn’t look Mr. Windsor in the eye as he passed, and he realized his fellow servant must have been reporting to the master on his scant eating habits and earlier outbursts. Master Fitzroy sighed, and crossed his hands over one knee, staring at Mr. Windsor through his spectacles. “What am I going to do with you, Mr. Windsor? You certainly aren’t the most stubborn servant I’ve taken on, but you do seem bound and determined to become the most irritating.”
“My apologies, sir.”
“It does put quite the kink in my plans as well. You, me, and Mr. Marcus were going to have such fun over the next several weeks. I was confident that by the time he left, you would have given up this silly resistance of yours. Now, I suppose, we will have to try something else.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “No matter, I have an idea. Report to the dungeon for edification every night until further notice. You’re excused.”
Mr. Windsor bowed out of the room, a knot in his gut. Edification–a kind word for the extreme brainwashing and hypnosis programs the master of the house employed to keep his guests and servants under control. He’d hoped to toe the line, manipulate his situation as best he could to avoid further hypnosis, but now what? He’d overplayed his hand. Who knew what Master Fitzroy would instill in his mind now? His hands were shaking, he paused at the top of the stairs to guzzle down as much whiskey as he could swallow, and then took the stairs all the way to the basement dungeon–the only space in the abbey which had kept pace with the modern world, it seemed. A riot of wires and screens, he saw a number of guests and servants were already reclining in chairs, helmets over their ears and eyes, zoned out for the night. The servants on staff were expecting him–with few words, they directed him to a chaise of his own, and put the helmet over his head. A flash of light from the helmet burned into his retinas, and everything was gone.
To Be Continued
Bracken's Corner 