Date: Thu, 27 Oct 2011 04:30:55 -0700 (PDT) From: Vincent Vincent Subject: The House Fag, Chapter 4 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 The House Fag, Chapter 4 The following afternoon, Master Thomas called and told me to meet Him and His son for dinner at an Italian restaurant in town. I arrived on time and waited 40 minutes for Their arrival. As They came in the door, I walked to the bar and ordered a beer for Master Thomas and a coke for Lord Zachary, bringing them back to Their table as They sat down. I knew better than to order anything for myself; I would be getting plenty to drink as the evening went on. They sat down and continued talking between Themselves about Their day at work and at school, about the neighbors, about things They were watching on TV. My job was merely to be there and keep their drinks full and to be there for Their amusement. The waiter came to take Their orders. They each had a pasta dish and ordered nothing for the fag sitting at Their table. It was as if I didn't even exist. I was to sit and observe as They discussed Their day and enjoyed Their meals. And I did. Without complaint. Frankly, I had nothing to complain about. My attention-starved fag-dick, still getting used to its cage, was dripping with hunger as I sat there staring at these two incredibly hot Men. I thought about the night before, how I was used, how I was laughed at. I hated to admit it, but I wanted more. And here I was, being insulted, humiliated, demeaned by the simple act of these incredible Men being completely oblivious to my very existence as I quietly served Them. I was filled with this new sensation of feeling both belittled and respectful. Respectful because I felt the nearly tangible superiority of these Men. I felt lowly, plain, insignificant, unimportant in comparison. And, I had to admit it, mixed in with all that, I was aroused. Well, to be precise, my cock was as hard as it could possibly be in that damn cock cage. I was, honestly, a hopeless mess. Even more so each time one of Them got up to use the men's room and came back with a newly-filled can slid in front of me without thought or comment. Filling me up with used beer and used cola. I was at the point that I eagerly waited Their return to the table with a refill of Their delicious piss. I couldn't believe how turned-on I was by this behavior, this emotional cruelty. What did these Men do to me? And how? Once the Men (well, the Man and His Son) finished Their meals, the waiter came to take away the few bites that were left on their plates. Master Thomas stopped him. "No, that's ok. We're not quite done yet. Is there a sharing charge here if we let somebody have what's left?" The waiter shook his head. "Great. Then it can have some as well." Master Thomas used His fork to scrape His spaghetti in with the remaining bites of the lasagna that had been served in a large bowl to Lord Zachary. I started to reach for the bowl when Lord Zachary deftly stabbed my arm with His fork. "Not so fast, fag. This place serves decent pasta, but I think a fag will find it's a little lacking. What do you think, dad?" Master Thomas gave one of His best smiles ever. "Zach, I see what you mean. Yes, you're right. The sauce here isn't quite spiced right. Especially not for a fag." He got up and went to the men's room, taking His beer can with him. Lord Zachary was right behind Him, but before He left He turned around and faced me. "If there's a single goddamn bite missing from My bowl, don't think We won't notice. We're not idiots like you, fag." I had no reason not to believe Him. After all, I had moments ago been wondering how brilliantly they brought me to this place of simultaneous shame and arousal. So I humbly waited. They returned with Their cans of now-used beer and soda. They sat down, placing the cans in front of me. "Here, fag. These will help spice up that pasta just the way fags like it." I started to reach for one of the cans, but Lord Zachary held His fork as a weapon. "Impatient little fag, isn't he, dad? Didn't anyone ever teach this little asswipe how to ask politely?" Oh, Jesus, how could I have been so fucking rude and stupid? I couldn't believe I'd just been so uncivilized toward such real Men. I kept acting like a fucking moron. What was wrong with me? Didn't I even know how to ask politely for something? How to ask politely for The piss of my Superiors? Seriously. That's how well They worked Themselves into my fucking head. I knew what they were doing to me. And I felt all the more stupid and inferior because of it. I didn't just want these Men controlling me; I practically begged Them for it. Hell, the night before I did beg for it from Lord Zachary. I felt ashamed of my inferiority, and inferior because of my shame. It fed on itself with each passing moment in the presence of such handsome, masculine, virile Men. "Please, Lord Zachary, I'm sorry for being so fucking insolent to You. Would You please allow this dumbfuck fag to season the pasta with Your delicious piss?" He snorted His enjoyment. "Fuck, fag, you go deep, huh? Almost as deep as you swallowed My cock last night." He said this a little louder than he should have; people at nearby tables looked up. My shame became this huge weight pressing me into the seat of the booth. "Please, Lord Zachary, would it be ok to pour some of Your piss into these scraps of food so I can enjoy them, Sir?" "And what about My piss, fag? You too good for My piss?" Master Thomas flashed his award-winning smile as if He were playing a fun game. Which, I guess, He was. "No, Master Thomas, god no. Please, Master Thomas, Sir, please would You allow this moronic cocksucker to use Your mouth-watering piss to add some flavor to the pasta You were generous enough to allow me to eat?" Master Thomas chuckled, shaking His head in disbelief. "Tell ya' what, fag. Take the two cans and pour them both in. Make a broth of our combined piss. Do it now, while they're still warm, fag. I hear it tastes better that way." What He said made sense. So I took a can in each hand and slowly poured Their piss over my dinner. I don't know if the stench made it to other tables, but I did notice a couple of people wondering what the fuck I was doing. "Keep pouring, fag. Make a nice broth for the pasta. Let it mix right in the sauce." I kept slowly pouring, making my dinner acrid with urine. Finally the two cans were empty. Fortunately, they hadn't been completely filled. As it was, the bowl was piss-filled to the brim. I took my fork and started to wrap Master Thomas' spaghetti around it. "Look, Dad. It's trying to eat like a person. Using a fork and everything. Here, fag, let me take that away from you. You might hurt somebody with that." Lord Zachary took away my fork with the rest of my utensils and even my napkin. I was now forced to pull the strands of spaghetti out of the plate using my hand. Then I was forced to pull apart the lasagna and hand feed myself, dripping with piss-enriched sauce. I was making a huge mess. I felt ridiculous. Barbaric. Unclean. Something to be laughed at. Someone to be made fun of. And Master Thomas and Lord Zachary were having quite a few laughs at my expense that night. Nearby patrons were shaking their head. I couldn't hear the words being whispered across the neighboring tables. That's probably just as well. I'd finished the leftovers in the bowl. Lord Zachary's scowl silently instructed me to use my hands to keep up the mess I'd made on the table. I wiped the dregs of pissed-in sauce onto my left palm but now needed to clean my hands. There was only one way that was going to happen. I sucked the pissy tomato sauce from my palm and fingers. "Look, Dad, we were right. It fucking loves it!" "Of course it does, Zach. It loves anything that comes from Our dicks." There was no option but to nod at the validity of the statement, cringing from the stark and brutal truth. "But, Pop, it's not fair for the hired help to have to wash up all that piss that's still in the bowl, is it? They don't deserve that, do they?" Master Thomas looked thoughtful. "Of course not, son. That's why the fag is going to put the bowl to its lips and swig it all down." I cringed yet again. There was no fucking way around this. No way to be subtle about it, either. I was going to look like some low-life moron and take this bowl to my lips and chug it empty in front of a room fool of people. I nearly choked from the sob that hurdled out of me as if it was ashamed to be inside me. I knew just how it felt. I was ashamed to be inside me, some stupid, ugly dickwhore reduced to chugging piss in a public place with families nearby. I don't think my face could have been any redder if the tomato sauce had already been on it. I felt afire from the embarrassment of this public display. I practically poured the bowl down my throat to make this ordeal pass as quickly as possible. When I finally finished, the Men got up, chuckling. "We gotta get going, fag. Thanks. We had a lot of fun tonight." As they left, I heard Lord Zachary say he was "almost finished" and that "everything would be ready for the weekend." As I paid the check (the waiter seemed very anxious for me to get the hell out of there), I wondered how much of those weekend plans involved me. It ended up to be far far more than I could ever have imagined. I didn't realize that this would be one of the last times I'd ever be seen out in public again.