Date: Wed, 22 Feb 2012 10:27:07 -0800 (PST) From: Vincent Vincent Subject: The House Fag, Chapter 21 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 2012 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The House Fag, Chapter 21 It had become obvious after so much time that auburn-haired Cindy, whom Master Thomas had been dating, was becoming someone special to Him. She often spent the night. I had learned that Master Thomas had spent his long vacation with her on a world-wide cruise. I knew they day would come when things would change in His home. I didn't know that this would be that day. Master Thomas had been out during the day; I spent that time dutifully cleaning His home, washing His and Lord Zachary's clothes from Their vacation, and cleaning myself out in case I was to be fucked. When Master Thomas returned home, I entered my suite and watched my programming. Not long afterward, I was summoned. "Fag, get the fuck out here." I pulled myself off of the Stallion, pulled on the hood, and crawled to Master Thomas, my God. I crawled to where I heard Him, at His recliner, and humbly greeted the Man who determined my life. "Thank You, Master Thomas, for allowing me to be with You this evening. How can a stupid faggot give You pleasure, Sir?" He silently answered with 2 unlit cigars dragged up my chest and neck. Two cigars? It was going to be a wonderfully long night. My fagdick already began drooling in anticipation. Previously, there had only been one cigar on any given evening. I had no idea what event was causing this night to be so different, whether there was cause for celebration or if Master Thomas had had an exceptionally bad day. He didn't say. I was His slobbering suckhole and His ashtray for the first cigar, spending hours worshipping His idolized prick from between His legs, raising My head when ordered to absorb His ash on my faggot tongue. I had swallowed the stub of His first cigar as He tossed it in my stupid mouth, and figured I would discard the second in the same way. But Master Thomas had other plans. "I want that ashtray closer by for My final cigar from this box. So climb on top of Me and ride My fuckstick, fag." This was an unexpected pleasure; I'd always been passively fucked, never allowed to actively ride either of my Owners' cocks. I climbed atop Master Thomas on His recliner from between His legs and used one hand to aim His magnificent Cock into my faghole. I impaled myself on His mammoth dick and slid myself down, moaning in pleasure. I instinctively starting squeezing and pulsing my gut muscles around His mammoth dick, doing everything I could to be His perfect fagpussy. "Now keep that mouth open while I finish this last cigar. I have something I want to discuss while you use your fagcunt to pull that load from my balls." "Yes, Master Thomas, Sir?" "While on vacation with Cindy, I proposed and it's official. We're getting married, fag. Isn't that great?" "Congratulations, Master Thomas, Sir. Your pathetic fag wishes both of you all the best." This was sincere. I was glad for Him. Cindy was a beautiful, intelligent, graceful woman, very much His equal. The two of them made an outstanding couple. "And it's all because of you, fag. Don't you feel proud?" "Yes, Master Thomas. Anything Your stupid fag slave can do to make You happy is an honor, Sir." "You probably don't know this, but she has a daughter, three years younger than Zach. So we've decided to each sell our homes and buy a place for the four of us, fag. Oh, yeah, fag, massage My prick with your fagcunt, just like that." "Yes, Master Thomas, Sir." "There's no good place for a fag in that equation, so I decided to include you as a feature in this home to sell. I knew from the beginning, fag, that there'd be an end to My use for you. So I introduced you to the Firehouse. First as their asswipe and cocksucker, then as their depraved urinal, and finally as a live-in faggot whore for them to try out. So I put you and the house out for bids amongst the men. As a package. You'll be getting a new Master soon, fag. We signed the contracts today. He moves in two weeks from now." I wasn't told who my owner was; I guess it didn't matter. "Thank You, Sir, for taking care of me, Master Thomas. That was nicer than you had to be to a stupid fag like me." I was tearing up inside the hood, both from sadness and this real sign of His generosity in making sure I had a home. Even if it was just an after effect of making Him money. In fact, I actually felt kind of proud that I had some monetary value to Him and the Firemen. "It's as it should be, fag. No problem at all. He's been given the video of you and Zach, so his power over you will be just as complete as Mine is. If you ever disappoint him in any way, whatever he wants, off to the slammer you go. Have I made Myself clear?" "Yes, Sir, Master Thomas, Sir. He will be worshipped just as You are, Master Thomas, Sir." "You're in charge of packing everything up here, faggot, for the movers in 10 days. There are boxes in the garage. I expect everything to be reverently packaged. Boxes clearly marked. Got it?" "Yes, Master Thomas. I will have everything ready for the movers, Sir." "And while they're here, if they want to use the head-quarters to drain their balls or their bladder?" "I will be hungry to service them, Sir, of course. And the movers who move in the new Master's things as well, Sir." "Excellent, fag. Now, I'm going to have a little bit of fun before I finish off this last stogie. Bring your stupid ugly face down close to mine, fag." I was sitting atop of Him, so I put my weight on my hands on either side of His head and lowered my head to be closer to His. The intimacy of the moment was enough to make my stupid dick throb embarrassingly. "You will only breathe My air, fag, and nothing else until I say otherwise. Exhale now, fag." I emptied my lungs out for Him. He then used His left hand to close my faggot nose and covered my mouth with His. I was shocked, wondering if He was about to kiss me. I gasped, and as I did, He exhaled His smoke into my mouth. He tapped my nose, and I understood, breathing His smoke into my lungs. He emptied His smoke into me. He pulled away from my mouth and I exhaled while He took another drag from His final cigar. I held my breath, lungs emptied, until He was ready to expel His smoke into me again. He then once again covered my dumbfuck mouth with His and bellowed His smoke deep into my lungs. I could feel His dick throb up my fuckhole and He started to match my rhythm on His cock with more insistent thrusts into my guts. This cycle repeated until I was lightheaded, disoriented from the lack of oxygen. And continued even further until I was clearly close to blacking out. I pushed up and down against His meat faster and faster, nearly insane with pleasure and need. I don't know how I was able to show such control, not breathing until He allowed it; I can only suggest that He is that good a trainer. The incredible intimacy of that moment, having Him fill not only my holes, but even My lungs with what was His, made me completely His puppet. Finally He allowed me to breathe normally. While still trying to catch my breath, his commands continued. "Stick out your fagwipe of a tongue for Me, fag." I did, and He extinguished His cigar by pressing it, hard and full, against the middle of my tongue. I cried my anguish to him but made no attempt to pull back from His use of me. After all, that's what I was there for. He shouted incoherently as His fuckpole sprayed His powerful seed inside His fagslave. For the first time ever in my useless life, I felt fucking complete. Like I'd accomplished something worth accomplishing. It was a high unlike any other. I was simultaneously infused with His cum, smoke, and with the infliction of His pain. His torture and intimacy had completely filled what was once my soul. Although I had been often beaten while sucking Master Thomas' cock, to pleasure Him by screaming all over His fuckstick, and lately beaten just because He felt like it, only now did I become a complete addict to agony. I wanted, hell, I NEEDED to hurt for Him. And He fucking knew it. Probably because He had trained me that way. "Nice. Now, fag, I want you to repeat what I'm about to say, from your perspective, so that it's crystal clear to both of us." "Yes, Master Thomas, Sir," I whispered, still in the throes of the mental orgasm. The fag-prick was drooling so hard, it must have looked like a woman's orgasm. A bitch's orgasm, I guess it was. "You don't deserve to see us, Zach or me, ever again." "I don't deserve to see you or Lord Zachary ever again, Master Thomas, Sir." This hurt more than I expected. After all, I'd been away from Him, kept by the Firemen, for what seemed to be at least a month, and hadn't been allowed to see Him for many months prior, commanded to be faceless and blinded in His presence. "You don't deserve to smell our sweat ever again." "I don't deserve to smell You, Master Thomas, or your son, Lord Zachary, ever again, Sir." I didn't like where this was going, but I knew there was no choice for an ignorant fagslave like me. After all, He'd still be at the firehouse. I was sure I'd be used by the firehouse men sometime in the future. Right? He eased Himself out of my fuckhole by flexing His knees. "You don't deserve to taste us. Not our cum. Not our piss. Not even our crap. Ever again." Oh, God, no. I had only just now starting to slide down from this unbelievably intimate high with Master Thomas, and here He was ripping it out of my grasp for the rest of my insignificant little fag life. "I don't deserve to ever taste anything that comes from You or Lord Zachary ever again, Master Thomas, Sir." I could hear His smile in His voice. "And, fag, you don't deserve to touch us, to even breathe the same air as us, ever again, do you?" "No, Sir, Master Thomas, Sir. I don't deserve to breathe Your air, to touch You, to be anywhere near You, or Lord Thomas, ever again." He pushed me onto the floor where I laid helpless, emptied in ways I'd never imagined. There was this overwhelming sense of nothingness. Belittled into nothingness. I had seen myself as His, as Theirs. So, if not His, if not Theirs, then . . . ? "And, you don't deserve to feel me or Zach inside you ever again, do you, fag?" Of course. Make me cry. You love it when I cry. "No, Sir, Master Thomas. I don't deserve to ever feel You inside either of my stupid faggot holes, Sir. Neither You nor Lord Zachary. Never ever again, Sir." "That's a good little fag. Zach's already left this morning and I'll be leaving tonight. We're staying at Cindy's, so there'll be no distractions from your new chore of packing up our home. There's also a couple of pens and some note paper on the kitchen table. Use them to write down your life story for your new owner, fag. I've given him my point of view, but he'll probably want to know how a stupid fag thinks it became a complete slave to me and my son from its own point of view, such as it is." "Yes, Sir, Master Thomas, Sir. I'll try to explain as best I can, Sir." "And one last thing. You don't deserve to ever hear our voices ever again, do you, fag?" "No, Sir, Master Thomas, Sir. I don't deserve and don't expect to ever hear either of You speak to me ever again, Sir. I don't deserve the pleasure of Your voice, Master Thomas, Sir. I'm just a dumbfuck fag, Sir." I'm sure He saw me heave as I crawled, a sobbing mess, into my cell. I removed my hood to find a single, static image on the video screen. IT WAS A PLEASURE USING YOU, FAG I bawled like a stupid child, so taken aback by this powerful validation that I physically shook. After a few minutes, as Master Thomas gathered up a few things and drove off, wordlessly leaving His fag behind, the programming restarted, with a small though significant change. It started with a few images repeated over and over again, with similar phrases to before: I LOVE MY MASTER I LOVE MY LORD I LOVE MY GOD (instead of GODS) But now, instead of Master Thomas and Lord Zachary, there were just the briefest of glimpses of one Man's Cock. An unknown Cock of an unknown Man. I would never see Master Thomas or Lord Zachary again, not even in the images of my programming. This Cock was now to be my God, what I would now worship more deeply and intimately than anyone or anything. I was now officially a cock-worshipping fag. One that completely understood the truth of this world: fags need Men, but Men do not need faggots. Fags exist completely, totally, helplessly at the cold, cruel mercy of Men, desperate to worship Them and Their Cocks by any means available to them. Which is where I am, what I am, and where You are, who You are, now, Sir. You have bought Master Thomas' home. I am merely an appliance in the house, as much a part of it as the oven in the kitchen. I am Yours to use however You wish. Maybe You'll allow Me the honor of seeing You; Maybe You won't as be repulsed at the sight of an ugly fagslave as Master Thomas and Lord Zachary were. But, most likely, You will. Maybe You wish Your fag to serve a Master whom it will never see, never know except by the taste of Your Cock. Or Your Asshole. Or whatever part of Your flesh or discharges You are generous enough to allow Your fag to savor. I already drool at the hope of being able to see Your prick, Sir, instead of merely glimpsing it through the program. My fagdick pulses when I contemplate the opportunity of draining it of any fluid you are generous enough to allow me to savor. I know that few of the Firemen had much desire to use my fagholes, so I suspect my life here will be spent in a constant hunger for Your meat, kept eternally desperate for a taste of You. This is not what I desire, Sir, but it is never about me or what I enjoy. It is always and only about You and what You enjoy, Sir. I am Yours to use in any way You desire, Sir. You set the rules; I will gratefully obey them. You state Your whims, I will eagerly fulfill them. You program my mind with the screen that I stare at within my "suite", your "Head-quarters". I watch and learn. You take Your pleasure from my use. I gain fulfillment from Your pleasure. Train me to worship You, Sir, as You wish to be worshipped. Enjoy Your fag, Sir, and Your fag will enjoy Your use and abuse. As Your fag has been trained. Thank You, Sir. Thank You so much. So very, very much. Your house fag =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= And thank you all so very, very much, Men and fags, for the feedback, both positive and negative. It was a pleasure sharing this story with you. Vincent