Category: Uncategorized

It started out as some harmless fun. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to try and hook up regularly, because I was usually stuck at the office late at night, and would go in early for conference calls with Asian clients, but chat was easy. I could do it from home, no pressure, and if someone got creepy, it was much easier to just close a chat window than kick someone out of your house–or worse, try to extricate yourself from their place.

And there’s a certain freedom to it, too. I mean…well, it’s hard to explain. Out in the world, I’m Marvin Hammens, high powered accountant. But on the internet, I could be whatever handle I chose. I could be anyone. I would lie. Tell guys that I’m married, that I hate my wife, that I fuck around with guys behind her back and tell her about it later. Or I find these young guys, these chasers, and I tell them I’m a daddy, smoke a cigar for them, rub my gut, watch them cum at the sight of me. I mean, I’m not…bad looking, but the way some of those guys look at you. It’s better, and cheaper, than that free gym membership I never use.

I settled into a few personas. That first one, the married guy–that handle is MarriedandHateIt–I’d play him in the garage, shirt unbuttoned, drinking a beer and smoking a cigar, telling guys about the crazy shit I do behind my wife’s back. The daddy, he stays in my suits in my study, sometimes I wear glasses too, telling all the cubs and boys out in the world how much they mean to me. On the weekends, I’ll occasionally let it out, play a bit of a rough daddy, dumb down a bit, find a few other lonely saps for a wank session. It was fun, getting these guys to see me as something different, even just for a little while.

I do still go out on occasion, and it was one of those occasions that everything was ruined for me. There’s a bear group that meets at a leather bear bar downtown that I usually try to go to every month, and this particular time, it happened to line up with the local leather night. I didn’t own a single piece of leather, and so I stuck out like a sore thumb–which isn’t to say I wasn’t having a good time, of course, but I took a smoke break on my own, sometime after one or two in the morning, and there’s this alley between the bar and the next building, and I noticed some smoke hanging over the entrance. Curious, I walked over, looked down, and saw this guy, clad head to toe in leather, sunglasses on in the middle of the night, and yet…and yet, it worked, under the yellow halogens in the alley. There was someone else there too, a younger guy, skimpy leather outfit, a collar on, shivering a bit in the night air, and the leather guy just strutted over, shoved the cub up against the brick and started making out with him.

I watched the entire scene unfold–it couldn’t have lasted more than six or seven minutes. They kissed, the leather man turned the cub around yanked down his leather shorts and probed his ass with a few spit lubed fingers, before he got out his cock and worked that in next. But it wasn’t the sex that I was looking at–it was the top, the guy in the leather, there was something so…authentic in him, in what he did, in how he handled himself…The guys in leather I’d seen, well, they were never quite the real article. The kind who take you home with them, and the first thing you notice is the complete works of Jane Austen on the shelf, you know? They were as fake as the guys I played on chat. But he–he was real. This was no persona, or if it was, it was so complete that no seam showed. This man existed only at night. He fucked in alleys. He smoked cigars. He made cums shot their loads against alley walls and then watched them lick it up without him even ordering them to do so.

I was obsessed. I never met him, because he left down the opposite end of the alley, and I was too terrified to follow him. I bought leather gear. I shaved off my beard, and left myself with a shit imitation of a copstache. I watched videos, I went to bars, I tried to find that space within myself, that persona, but it didn’t exist in me. It wasn’t me. The leather was always just a costume–a good costume. A costume a lot of guys liked, both through a chat window and across the bar, but I could no longer shake the sensation that all of us were merely trading masks across rooms, no one showing their hand, but I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to find him. He has to exist, I can’t have imagined him. I have to find him, and ask him how he does it. How is he even real? How is it that he can be real, and all I can be is fake?

Commission: Bubba’s New Pup

Commissioned by Anonymous

Officer Nate Jensen climbed out of his patrol car, hefted his belt up, and heaved a sigh. At least the beat up truck had pulled over–half the time, these crazy rednecks would just hit the gas pedal harder, and make him chase them down. Usually they were high out of their mind on meth too–with gun racks hanging in the window. What a terrible fucking job–he’d always wanted to be a police officer, but if he could go back and tell his high school self that it would mean long night shifts sitting on the side of the road dealing with dumb, drugged out, aggressive rednecks, then maybe he’d have pursued something else. Still, no gun rack in this one that he could see–and hopefully the guy was just drunk.

He went around the driver’s side of the cab. The window was already rolled down, and sitting there with a shit eating, slightly toothless grin was a hefty bubba, hairy chest, mullet, and a ragged wifebeater. But what caught his attention most was this strange smell. It was dank, like pot, but even then, that wasn’t quite right. Some other kind of drug? He looked the driver in the eyes, but his pupils looked normal. What in the hell was it? “I…Could I get your license and registration please?”

“Sure thing, officer,” the man drawled, and leaned over to the glove box. Nate tried to keep an eye out for a weapon that might appear from nowhere, but that stink was still on his mind. Where was it coming from? He was taking deeper breaths through his nose now, trying to pinpoint what it was. He realized that the redneck was holding the paper and card out to him to take–had he really just zoned out? “Ya’ll right? Ya look tired, sir. Long shift?”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Just…just tired is all,” Nate said, and took the paper and license without looking at them. “Sir, I…uh…I can’t help but notice that there’s a strange smell in the cab of your truck. Have you been using drugs tonight?”

The redneck laughed, “Nuh uh boy! That’s jus’ me is all. I’m one stinky dude, right? I fuckin’ love it though–my pits ‘r so fuckin’ ripe, ya wanna sniff ‘em?” He hefted his arms up over his head, showing off his thick bush under his arms, and a unavoidable wave of the odor  washed over Nate at the window. The license and paper tumbled from his hand, his jaw dropped open, tongue out, panting a bit heavily. “Yeah, that’s a good boy, come on, lean in here ‘n take a good sniff a mah pits.”

He tried to stop himself, he tried to scream. He leaned his hands on the sill of the window and pushed his head in, sniffing deeply, tongue out. Fuck, it smelled so fucking rank, how could anyone smell so fucking disgusting? The bubba grabbed the back of the officer’s head and pulled him in, pressing his nose into his pit, and Nate felt his body shake uncontrollably. It took him a moment to realize he’d just shot a load into the front of his uniform pants, but he couldn’t do anything about that, he had to smell, and lick, and lick and lick it all up like a good boy, a good boy, yeah…He was grinding his wet crotch against the side of the truck, humping it, eyes vacant, tongue running it’s way through the hairs. The bubba reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a leather dog collar, and with one hand, draped it across the back of Nate’s neck. He felt it there and tried to pull away, but his body wouldn’t respond. The bubba took his time, drawing the collar together tight against Nate’s neck, and when it fastened shut, his body started sliding backwards, his legs collapsing under him, until he landed on his ass and back on the side of the road.

He had to get up. He had to get back to his car, or radio for help, but his legs weren’t cooperating. He tried to stand up, but didn’t quite know how to make his body work like that. It felt so much more natural to just stay on his hands and knees, and he tried to crawl towards his car, but the bubba stepped out of the truck with a leather leash, bent down, and clipped it to the collar around his neck.

Master, a voice said in his head, and he looked back at the heavyset redneck leering down at him, and that was the word that kept repeating in his head. Master master he’s my master obey master follow master obey obey follow serve obey… He tried to shake the thoughts out, tried to push back, but it felt like they were coming from inside his head, from some deep part of his own mind that he’d never noticed was there. He tried to shout, tried to call for help, tried to do anything, but what came out of his mouth instead was a series of barks and yelps and whimpers that he would have mistaken for a stray dog, if he hadn’t heard them come out of his own mouth.

“What do ya say, Copper? Should we head on home?” Master said.

Copper? Who was Copper? He tried to piece things together, and realized he was Copper. But he hadn’t always been Copper, right? He’d had a real name, a human name, he’d been…

Master tugged on the leash, and Copper crawled after him, around the back of the truck. He helped him up into the bed, where he saw a large animal crate with the door open. “Go on Copper, git in there boy.”

He whimpered, but did as Master commanded. Bubba leaned in, shut the door behind him, and latched it. “That’s a very good boy–yer gonna git a real nice present when we git home, Copper. Hmm…actually, how about I give ya somethin’ now? We’re a hour and a half away after all, ya’ll need somethin’ tah occupy yerself with til then. I wouldn’ want ya tryin’ tah git out a there, after all.”

Master undid his belt and dropped his jeans. Underneath, he was wearing a jockstrap, which he took off too. Copper saw that Master had one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen, hanging there under his hefty gut, with a thick foreskin. Copper whined more, Master pulled his jeans back on commando, unlatched the door, and tossed the grey and yellow jock into the carrier with his new pup. He could smell it. It smelled foul, like piss and cum and sweat, and still he pressed his nose into it, licking at the fabric, trying to get as much of his master’s sent in and on him as he could, his cock hard and throbbing in his uniform pants. He didn’t even notice Master latch the door closed again, but suddenly they were moving, abandoning the patrol car on the side of the road.

It was a long, cold ride back to Master’s home. Shivering, Copper tried to avoid the jockstrap as best he could, but his nose kept being drawn back to it over and over again. His sense of smell…every time he smelled the jock, he could distinguish more and more from the grimy fabric. Master had shot in it recently, he could sense the fresh cum slowly drying into the old stale smell of the rest. He’d pissed in it recently too, and the bottom of the pouch, slightly brown, smelt of Master’s asscrack, and he found that particularly fascinating. His cock remained rock hard the entire time, and would occasionally shoot a load into his pants, which were growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite figure out why he even had clothes on–wasn’t he supposed to be naked? He was glad for them, kind of. It would have been very cold without them in the carrier, but still, pups like him weren’t supposed to wear clothes; clothes were only for masters.

His head, something was happening to his mind. It felt like, as his senses grew keener, he was slowly losing his sense of self, as a human, as a person. The worst part was that he couldn’t even tell when it was happening. As soon as something was gone, wiped from his mind or memory, he could only vaguely sense that it had been there at all. As terrified as he was to know where Master was taking him, when he felt the truck slow down and turn off onto a gravel road, he was eager just to get away from the jock, to try and get his head on straight, to try and figure out what he could do for master–no, no that wasn’t right, was it? He had to get away from him, he had to try and run, right? He didn’t know why he wanted to run though. Master wasn’t a bad man, Master was good, Master was very good, and he would be a bad boy, a bad dog if he ran away, Master would be so worried!

He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening to him, it couldn’t. The truck came to a stop, and Copper saw Master get out of the cab and lumber around to the back of the truck. “How’s mah new pup doin’? Ya’ll right in there?”

Copper whined. Master undid the latch on the door, and he stumbled out on his hands and knees, reached the gate of the truck and tumbled out onto the dusty ground.

“Careful Copper–Ya ain’t used tah bein’ a pup yet, but ya’ll git the hang a it soon as we git rid a all that bad man in yer head.”

Bad man in his head? That made a surprising amount of sense to him for some reason. He did have a man in his head, but he was a pup, he was Copper, Master’s pup, right? He wasn’t a man at all. Another voice pushed back, told him he was being deceived, but Master wouldn’t deceive him, right? He rolled up onto his hands and knees Master running his hand down his back, petting him, letting him know he was being a very good boy. Copper was panting. Copper was happy. He could smell his master, he could smell him right there next to him, and smelling him made him happy, made him feel safe. Master hooked the leash back to his pup’s collar, and lead him over to a single level, rather ramshackle looking farmhouse.

Inside, Copper was assaulted by a massive number of smells. Master, he could smell master everywhere, but also smoke, and also…also other pups. Other pups like him. One…two other pups. He looked around, and then up at master, whining a bit. “Yeah, don’ worry, Buddy ‘n Rover ‘r out back, in the dog run. Ya’ll meet ‘em in a bit–I’m sure they’ll take a likin’ tah ya. First though, we gotta git rid a that bad man fer good. First, let’s git them clothes off ya…”

From his belt, Master pulled a buck knife and he started cutting off the constricting uniform from Copper’s body. He felt so much better with only his collar on! Copper couldn’t believe it, and he gave a full body shake when everything was off him. He felt more like a real pup already. He panted up at Master, trying to show him how happy he was, and Master gave him a scratch on the back of his neck.

“That’s a real good boy–yer gonna be a easy one, ain’t ya?” He pushed on Copper’s side, and he sensed what Master wanted, and rolled over onto his back. Master gave him a belly rub, and Copper panted happily. “Looks like yer comin’ along nice–ya already got yerself a bright red puppy cock.”

Curious, Copper lifted his head and saw that something had happened to his crotch–where his human cock and balls had been, he now saw a fleshy sheath running up his belly, and as Master scratched around it, a bright red head suddenly poked out, a cock unlike any he’d seen on his body before. “Glad tah see my jockstink worked it’s magic on ya–but ya still got a little ways tah go before I can trust ya out back wit’ the other boys. How ‘bout ya git a taste a master’s meat, eh Copper?”

Copper rolled back onto his hands and knees, and Master dropped his jeans. letting his massive cock flop out. Copper pushed his nose against the head, and then ran his tongue up into Master’s foreskin, tasting the cheese he’d smelled on the pouch of the jock, feeling his puppy cock push completely out of his sheath. Master told him to open up, and he started thrusting the cock down Copper’s throat, and as he did, he could feel his face warping and contorting, his mouth pushing out into a muzzle, his tongue growing longer, teeth sharpening into fangs which he was careful to keep away from his master’s delicate flesh. The bad man in his head was horrified, but he was powerless. The only man Copper listened to was Master, he was the only man that mattered. Master tensed up after a few minutes and fed his new pup a load of cum. Huffing and panting, he pulled his cock free of his pup’s mouth, looked down at Copper and frowned. “Hmm…not quite done yet. I got a idea though. How’d ya like a taste a Master’s ass, Copper? That make ya a happy pup?”

He went over to the couch and bent over the side, Copper came up behind him and started licking at Master’s filthy crack, shoving his new nose against the hole, shivering with pleasure. Unable to stop himself, he reared up, trying to grapple the sides of his master and started grinding his cock against his leg, humping him, licking Master’s ass from his snout, eyes glazing over. He could feel the bad man dying away now, Master was all he needed to think about, didn’t even need to think. Just a pup, a dumb obedient pup. With a howl, he shot a load of his new pup cum across the side of the couch, and then dismounted from Master, hoping he hadn’t done a bad thing. He’d just been such a horny pup.

Master hefted himself up, and laughed. “Ya sure got spirit, I’ll give ya that. But yer at the bottom of the pack right now, Copper. Still, I’ll let Buddy and Rover break that intah ya tahnight. Come on.”

Not at all sure what Master was talking about, he walked after Master through the house. His legs felt strange–his hindquarters were nearly all dog, and he felt a tail wagging along behind him. His forelegs still looked mostly human, except for that his hands had become paws. Still, he wasn’t a real dog–just a pup. Out in the backyard, he saw a fenced area, and two sets of eyes staring at them in the early morning light. Master opened the gate and pushed Copper in, and he found himself faced with two massive pups. Master obviously liked his pups to work out–while their hindquarters were sleek, their upper bodies bulged with muscle, and both of them started snarling. Copper snarled back, but the first smacked him with a paw. He tried to fight, but in a matter of moments he was pinned to the ground as the first pup, Buddy, mounted him, and when he’d cum up Copper ass, the second pup took his turn. Master watched the show, seeing the strong will in Copper’s eyes fade away. By the time Rover had finished, Copper was a new dog–deferential, eager to please, and subservient to the rest of the pack.

Satisfied with his new addition, Master headed inside, letting the three dogs get to know each other better in the dog run. He’d start training Copper up in a few days, after he’d recovered physically and his new pup’s personality had had time to settle in. Still, he had no doubts that Copper would be as good a pup as all the rest–and after he’d sold off Buddy and Rover to good homes looking for a kinky gay pup–Copper could have his turn as an alpha, and show future pups the ropes too.

Commission: The Secrets of Fitzroy Abbey (Part 2)

Commissioned by Anonymous

It had been a whole week now–should he count himself lucky? Surely it could have been worse, right? Then why did it feel like he was sitting here, just waiting for the Master Fitzroy’s other perfectly shined shoe to drop? Mr. Windsor mopped up the gravy on the plate with a hunk of bread, and then got up from the table. He was still hungry, but the cooks had given him a sour look when he’d gone in for a third helping. Why the kitchen was still so busy at this time of evening was a bit of a mystery to him, but he was thankful for the extra food all the same. His gut was pleading for food all the time now, and he no longer had the willpower to resist the temptation to eat every chance he got. Mr. Livingston, however, had looked absolutely delighted when he’d seen Mr. Windsor’s plate piled high with food. He’d been an especially smug twat all week, ever since the master had sentenced Mr. Windsor to another round of edification, but if all Mr. Windsor had to deal with was an insatiable hunger, he would count himself lucky. He’d been especially on guard with himself all week, desperately trying to check himself and his actions, searching for anything new about himself that the Master had intended him to not notice. Still, he was almost certain he had forgotten something important…but what?

A bell rang. It struck Mr. Windsor with a pang of deja vu. He could remember…he could almost recall…

“Room 205–is that one of yours, Mr. Windsor?”

He started, and looked up into the face of another servant, Mr. Hooker. He had been here longer than Mr. Windsor, but not so long that he had forgotten himself entirely like Mr. Livingston. From their casual dealings, he seemed to be a firm pragmatist about their situation here. “N–No. I do believe Mr. Williams is assisting that guest.”

Mr. Hooker sighed, “He’s probably sobbing in his room. I’ll go fetch him.”

Mr. Williams was slightly newer than them both, and still spent much of his personal time lamenting his new position. While everyone regarded him with a bit of pity, they all hoped he would resign himself soon. His weeping tended to keep the men in the rooms next to him up at night.

Alone in the room, Mr. Windsor considered actually licking his plate clean, but besides feeling it might be a bit humiliating if someone walked in, it also seemed to be outside the bounds of his required decorum. He hefted himself up to return the plate to the kitchen for washing, when Mr. Livingston poked his head in.

“I thought I’d find you in here, stuffing yourself,” he said, with a rather cruel grin, “The Master of the House requests your presence in the dining room, immediately.”

Apparently, this snide tone was the sound of the other shoe. His heart thumping loudly in his ears, his nose reddening, he stood up and made his way to the main floor of the abbey, and saw that evening had well and truly passed into twilight. The rest of the guests were in their rooms or out on the grounds, enjoying themselves and each other as the master wished, but Master Fitzroy was not among them. He was standing in the dining room, with a stocky, heavy gutted, fat faced cook from the kitchen, someone Mr. Windsor didn’t recognize. He hadn’t heard that anyone new was joining the staff yet this summer–what was going on, and what did it have to do with him?

“Welcome Mr. Windsor,” Master Fitzroy said, “Would you kindly take a seat at the table? At the head there is fine, don’t be shy.”

He settled himself down into the chair usually reserved for the master himself, carefully, and stammered, “I–I’m not sure I know what is going on, sir.”

“Oh, I know you do not, yet. I simply wanted to take this chance to personally re-introduce you to our newest member of the kitchen crew. His name is Mr. Bartholomew Marsden, but you were previously acquainted with him as the guest in room 307.”

Memories flashed back across his mind, memories the master had locked away from him for an entire week. How could he have forgotten them? How could he have forgotten…forgotten…his name, what had Mr. Marsden’s name been? Bar…Bart? No, that was the Master’s name for him! Not Bart, something…something else. Something else! He’d heard his old name too, but it was gone, they were both gone now.

“Following our discussion that evening, I called on Mr. Marsden, and suggested kindly that he forget all about what he had seen, but he proved…reluctant. In fact, he seemed determined to rescue you from service here, long before I planned on retiring you. After all, I don’t think you have learned your lesson quite yet, Rudolph. Regardless, Mr. Marsden became rather belligerent. I decided to bring him on as a temporary staff member–although, depending on his temperament, he could very well obtain a long term position like yourself…but we’ve already discussed that in detail, haven’t we, Mr. Marsden?”

“Yes…Yes sir…” the cook said, when the master stared at him. His puffy cheeks burned red, and he looked at the ground.

“Just so you are aware of our terms, Mr. Windsor, I have brought on Mr. Marsden as your private chef. You see, we have only a short six months until Christmas, and I realized that you would make an excellent Santa Claus to entertain my guests–but with your finicky eating, I doubted you would be able to obtain the girth needed for such a role. Mr. Marsden will be assisting you–and if he can fatten you up such that you are the heaviest man on staff by Christmas, then I have promised to terminate his employment here, and send him home in his original body, none the wiser. However, should he fail…well, he will be employed here for significantly longer.”

Mr. Windsor saw his friend gulp, and look away, his triple chin jiggling slightly.

“Now, as you may or may not know, it is Mr. Parker, the head chef, who is currently the largest servant here, weighing in at 42 stone, or just shy of 600 pounds! So, Mr. Marsden certainly has a lot of work to do…as do you, Mr. Windsor.”

“I…I think this situation is rather manipulative, sir,” Mr. Windsor said, in the kindest tone his tongue could force out, “I sincerely resent this, and suggest that, perhaps, you simply consider allowing us to go free, together.”

“Oh, Mr. Windsor, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Well, then I simply will have to refuse to eat.”

“Oh? Will you?” the master said, chuckling, “I’ve heard about your new appetite, Mr. Windsor. You seem to be rather insatiable. But you must realize how cruel you sound, to Mr. Marsden here. After all, if you don’t cooperate, he, too, will be employed here for the foreseeable future. Would you really consign him to such a fate, simply because you still have lessons to learn and reparations to make? You may be a fool, but you are not vicious, though you like to believe you are, like many fools.”

His bluff had been called, and he knew it. He remained silent.

“As I was saying, you both have quite a bit of work to do, and I am nothing, if not a fair sport. Mr. Marsden has been given the assistance of the entire kitchen staff for your first meal tonight, and I must say, they have prepared quite the feast for you. I’m confident that, by the end of the night, you will be happily stuffed.” The master plucked a bell off the table and rang it. The wait staff entered, bearing platters of food, easily enough to feed eight or ten guests. “And don’t think about leaving anything behind, Mr. Windsor–that would be so wasteful! Mr. Marsden will be on hand to ensure you finish every bite–including dessert, right Mr. Marsden?”

The fat man nodded, and the master took his leave of the dining room. The meal lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Mr. Windsor would stuff himself, but eventually resist, and stop. Mr. Marsden would begin feeding and encouraging him, telling him that if he escaped, he could bring help. Of course, they both knew that if he were retired, he would have no memory of his time as a cook in the master’s service, but it was enough of a hope to keep Mr. Windsor eating for another hour, and then another. Much to his horror, he realized that as he grew fuller and fuller, he was also becoming rather aroused. He enjoyed the sensation of a full belly, and in the midst of dinner, with a loud groan, he realized that he had cum for the first time in months, right into the crotch of his livery. It became clear that Mr. Marsden was enjoying his role as well, and while neither of them could remove their clothing, he would grind up against Mr. Windsor’s side until he too came, multiple times over the course of the meal.

Finally, they finished dessert, both of them exhausted. Mr. Marsden had to help Mr. Windsor up from the chair, and down to their private quarters, where they discovered they would be sharing a double room–the doubles were reserved for those pairs of servants who the master hoped would share a special relationship. Inside, Mr. Marsden helped Mr. Windsor undress, and then stripped off his own chef whites. Unable to even think of sleep so soon after such a meal, Mr. Windsor instead gawked at himself in the mirror, his old flabby body, his taut, bloated and stuffed gut. He was already over 300 pounds–how would he look with three hundred pounds more? He would need a new livery. He would have rolls of fat, rolls hanging off of rolls. He would…he would be so…so…sexy.

Yes, sexy. Yes, he could picture himself, stuffed into a suit slightly too small, the seams stretching a bit, the confinement, the knowledge that he was so large that the tailor had to make a uniform specifically for him. The guests would gawk, but…but he would want them to. He would be swine, and yet revel in it. And at Christmas–at Christmas! He would have a beautiful red velvet suit. Master found grow him a fabulous, snow white beard. Jolly, he would be so jolly, yes he would. He rubbed his belly, feeling his cock grow hard again. On one of the beds, Mr Marsden sat, feeling his own gut, covered with grey hairs, watching his old lover caress himself, feeling his own short, stubby cock grow hard as well. Mr. Marsden crossed the room, got down on his knees, and began massaging Mr. Windsor’s huge gut, heaving it up so he could find the small, two inch cock beneath and suck on it, working his own cock as he did, until they both came one final time. Finally exhausted, they climbed into their respective beds, both creaking under their weight, and dreamed of feedings to come, praying that they wouldn’t enjoy them as much as they secretly sensed they would.

Commission: The Secrets of Fitzroy Abbey (Part 1)

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 

batdonald2longus(.)tumblr(.)com This is the guy I was talking about, he started a story called The Pier but never finished it, I think he also submitted some stories to you too. Do you know why he disappeared, or if he ever wrote an ending to the story?

Oh yeah. He submitted a couple of stories to me last year, but I haven’t heard from him at all, and I don’t think I’ve seen “The Pier” finished anywhere. Sorry I can’t be of any help.

Where do you go to read stories? Currently I check NCMC and MCStories, but I would love to know more places for other posts (aside from your Tumblr, which is awesome as well).

I have a few writers I check on occasion on tumblr, but none have a regular update schedule like mine, and none have been updating recently. Other than that, I usually check NCMC and MCstories, as well as CYOC. That said, I don’t read many stories these days–I spend most of my time writing.