For a change, this story is based on a real-life experience. I've embroidered it quite a bit but the basis and main thrust (!) of the story is real. There will be at least one more part, I think.
I hope you enjoy it - do please let me know you like it, and if you have feedback or ideas for future writing - mattspank74@gmail.com. Feedback and suggestions always gratefully received.
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I'd visited Master Jon four times before. He lived in Birmingham and I was in London, and my previous visits had all been on a Sunday; catching the train from Euston around 8am to get to his flat for 10:30 and then being released in time to get the 19:00 train back, so I got home about 22:00. This time was going to be different, however. He said that he had a few friends coming round for dinner and he wanted me there to serve them all.
I have to admit that thinking about this got my willy twitching - being exposed and serving a group of men whom I didn't know was turning me on already and it was still a fortnight away!
I was told to report to Sir's flat at 18:00 on the Saturday evening, that I'd be staying overnight for the first time and would then spend the Sunday doing my usual duties and would be released at my normal time on the Sunday evening. So, not only was I going to be serving a group of strangers, I would be labouring afterwards.
I suppose I ought to tell you a bit more about me and what the hell is going on here! Sorry...
My name is Danny and I am thirty four years old and I'm the HR Manager for a small private sixth form college in London. I'm five foot ten tall (that's 178cm), in decent shape but neither toned nor muscly (I always just think I have an average body, not fat, not thin, not built, not out of shape). I have blond hair and am quite hairy - legs, arms, chest, bum are all hairy and I currently have untrimmed, natural pubes but I do shave my balls. My skin is pale and doesn't tan - I only have to look at a picture of the sun and I burn, so I slap on the factor 50 and stay pale and interesting (!).
I'm a sub, but a very particular kind. I'm not into leather or rubber, or pup play or any of that. I am a domestic slave. My usual scene' is to report to a man's flat or house and strip naked, maybe I'll be collared, maybe I'll have clamps attached to my nipples, maybe I'll be gagged, but I only serve naked - it's probably my only really hard rule'. Then I am happiest being set to work cleaning the man's place. I have been trained to clean to a five star hotel standard.
Some men just let me get on with it. Some men like to put me over their knee when I arrive and get my bottom red and sore before putting me to work. Some men like to interrupt me as I work to use my mouth as their urinal. Some men will punish me severely for any poor performance - bending me over and caning my bare bottom, or applying the tawse to my hands or, in the case of one man I see occasionally, applying the cane to the soles of my feet which he will have tied to a chair.
Usually, I will serve for several hours. I prefer to have longer sessions and to really get into the slave mindset. And it's not just cleaning. I might do Sir's ironing. I might handwash his underwear. I might be used as a footstool while he relaxes in front of the TV. I might kneel beside his chair holding his wine or an ashtray or a cup of coffee. I might be under his desk while he works, gently sucking on his cock and balls. I might be under a rim chair, licking and probing his hole with my tongue while he relaxes or chats on the phone or plays games. I might be on my knees worshipping his sweaty feet. I might, very occasionally, be bent over and fucked, although oral service is more common. In that case, I might well be sent away with his cum on my face or in my hair.
Weird as it may sound, but I find being naked and in service relaxing and refreshing. In contrast to work where I have to make decisions all the time and have to lead and inspire others, being in service every decision is made for me - all I have to do is obey!
I see two men regularly - Master André every Thursday after work, reporting at 17:30 and being released at 22:30 and Master Kevin on the second Sunday of every month between 10:30 and 19:00. Master André is a big bear of a man, in his mid fifties, who always enjoys spanking my bottom and making me squeal when he fucks me with his thick cock. Master Kevin, in contrast, is only 26 and, apart from putting me over his knee when I arrive and spanking me with his surprisingly hard hand and his hairbrush until my bottom is glowing and very sore, tends to leave me to get on with cleaning his place - he shares a house with three other postgraduate students and I clean the whole place for them. They don't know who it is that cleans for them or that it is being done naked, but I guess they're just pleased that they don't have to do it! If Master Kevin is pleased with my work, he will allow me to suck him off before I leave. I've been seeing Master André for three years and Master Kevin for just over two.
Because my type of slavery works better when a rapport and trust has built up, I don't tend to do many one-offs. I do have a few men whom I see occasionally - like Master Jon. There's also Masters Dennis and Lucio, a married couple who live in Brighton and whom I have visited for a weekend of service twice a year each year for the past six years. A weekend in April and a weekend in November see me travelling down to the south coast after work on a Friday and heading back on Sunday evening. They have a house with a secluded garden, so I usually spend some of the April weekend working naked in the garden.
Anyway, back to Master Jon and his friends.
I made sure to get a train that got me to New Street in good time to then get to Master Jon's apartment. He has a three bedroom apartment in a modern block of luxury flats in the Jewellery Quarter, about twenty five minutes' walk from New Street station. As always when in service, I had my control implements in my bag - my lockable collar and padlock, bit gag, O-ring gag, ball gag, two sets of nipple clamps (one rubber covered adjustable pair and a very harsh pair of metal crocodile clamps) and a butt plug. If I was serving in London, I would usually also have my cleaning kit with me - sprays, cloths, etc., but Master Jon doesn't expect me to bring that with me on the train. Also, as usual, I had travelled in the bare minimum of clothing. As it was a warm summer day, I was only wearing a plain white t-shirt and my brown overalls, the legs of which I have cut down and hemmed so that they have shorts instead of long trousers. No underwear. On my feet were a pair of sandals. Two items of clothing and footwear is all a slave needs, whenever possible. Master André doesn't even allow the t-shirt in the summer months and I do feel very exposed as I get the tube from my place to his wearing just my dungarees and sandals and nothing else!
I got to Master Jon's a few minutes before six and he buzzed me in. His flat is on the seventh floor and I walked up the stairs - lifts are for men, not slaves. His apartment door was, as usual, on the latch, so I let myself in, closed the door behind me, undressed quickly, folding my clothes neatly and putting my sandals on top of them, and knelt in his hallway, hands on head, nose and knees against the front door, with my bag beside me.
I never know how long I am going to have to wait when I report for service. Master Kevin once left me in his hallway for almost an hour while he finished a call with one of his friends who was on a research trip in the States. This time I only had to wait a few minutes before I heard the living room door open and Sir told me to stand and face him. Master Jon is ten months younger than me. He's some kind of high-powered lawyer, although I don't know the details of what he does. He's taller than me at just over 6' and clearly works out. Not that I have seen him naked, of course. I've seen his genitals when swallowing his piss or when licking his balls or sucking his cock. I've seen his feet as I have spent plenty of time licking and worshipping them. I've also worshipped his arsehole, but I've not seen it - he always blindfolds me if I am to serve under the rim seat or he is going to sit on my face.
Sir is usually wearing sweats and a t-shirt when I visit. This time he was in a pair of dark blue jeans, a smart shirt and a waistcoat. He looked very handsome and the more fitted clothing showed off his body.
He put the collar around my neck and locked the padlock, and squeezed my nipples hard before applying the harsh metal clamps, making me hiss as they bit into my tender flesh. Unusually, he didn't gag me.
"Right, boy, follow me, " he said, as he always does.
Keeping my hands on my head, I followed him into his living room where classical music was playing softly from his expensive speaker system. His apartment is a duplex - you come into the hallway off which is a shower room and toilet and a large storage cupboard which also has the boiler in it. The other door leads into the lower level which is one large, open-plan living-cum-dining-cum-kitchen space with windows all along the side opposite the door and a balcony the length of the room - the most nerve-wracking thing I have had to do is to scrub that balcony. Even though it's seven storeys up, I still feel extremely exposed out there on my hands and knees, stark naked. In one corner is a set of stairs which lead up to the bedrooms, one of which has an en suite shower room, and the main bathroom.
The first thing I saw as I entered the living area was something of a surprise - in the kitchen area was another naked slave. Well, I assumed he was another slave - he was collared like I was and a similar chain dangled on his chest from what appeared to be identically harsh metal nipple clamps, although the chain between his clamps was gold, not steel like mine. He was a huge contrast to me, however. He was taller than Master Jon, probably 6'3", with a lithe and defined body (he even had a six pack I realised when we got closer). Apart from his eyebrows, he was completely hairless. And he was black. Hopefully it doesn't sound inappropriate for me to say he was really black - like one of those African tribesmen that the awful Leni Riefenstahl photographed. He was beautiful - there was no other way to describe him and I felt pudgy, short, pale and ordinary in contrast.
"Clive!" Master Jon called, "come over here."
The beautiful slave came over from the kitchen to where Master Jon and I were standing in the middle of the room.
"Shake hands, boys," Master Jon said. We did so - it felt weird doing so in our naked states. I was glad to see that I wasn't the only one getting aroused, though - although it had been soft when I entered, by the time we shook hands Clive's willy was fully erect like mine.
"Clive is my regular slave," Sir said, "Danny visits from time to time."
Clive smiled at me and I smiled back.
"You boys are going to become very well acquainted this evening, so you may as well hug," Master Jon said.
Even more awkwardly, we put our arms around each other and hugged, our hard willies pressing together and the hug pushing the clamps into our nipples eliciting winces from us both.
Sir separated us and had us standing facing each other, hands on head, about a metre apart. He walked around us, comparing his two slaves. He said that he had wanted a contrast for his guests. Clive and I were very different in many ways - he tall and lithe, me shorter and stockier; he hairless, me hairy with a full bush of pubes. Something which surprised me was the difference in our genitals. He had large, heavy, low-hanging balls below a relatively short, stubby circumcised erect willy. I have smallish, tight balls below a longer, but similarly thick, uncut willy (I should say that I was taught soon after I began serving that Men have cocks and slaves have willies). Clive also had much larger and more erect nipples compared to my small, pink ones.
"For this evening's purposes, you," and here he slapped Clive's hard willy, "will be called slave, and you," and he slapped my hard willy, making it bounce, "will be boy."
When Sir had inspected us both, including having us stand side by side, bent over, reaching back to spread our cheeks to expose our holes for his probing fingers, Clive was sent back to the kitchen while Sir took me over his knee and spanked me until my bottom was red hot and, I assumed, bright red, and I was yelping and squirming. Master Jon insists on boys displaying a properly red bottom as part of their uniform. Being spanked over a man's knee is always humiliating, but to have it done with this other slave present was both humiliating and arousing. When Sir was satisfied with the colour of my bottom, he sent me to lay the dining table in the window for seven people, and Clive was put over his knee instead. Clive was soon whimpering and yelping just like I had been and my willy was rock hard as I saw him wriggling around as Master Jon's hand landed on his unprotected bottom. I'd not seen a black guy with a spanked bottom before - I had assumed it wouldn't show very much but, whilst it was still nothing like as red as mine, it was obvious that Clive had been spanked and his bottom did show a red glow.
When we'd both been spanked, we were put to work getting everything ready for Sir's guests. I was sent to clean the toilet off the hall, while Clive got everything ready in the dining area and cleaned up as Sir got the food ready. Sir had said that he guests had been invited for 19.30 - everything was ready by 19:10, so Master Jon put some music on, sat down with a beer and Clive and I were put on our knees in front of him working on a foot each, our thighs and feet touching as we sucked and licked at Sir's feet and toes..
When the buzzer went, Sir went to the hallway and buzzed whoever was there into the building. We were told to greet them when they reached the apartment, take their coats and show them into the living area.
It was only a few moments before the flat doorbell rang - the guests had obviously been whisked up in the lift.
Clive and I walked to the door - he opened it, greeted the men and stood back to let them in. Two men entered. Clearly a couple from their bearing and manner, they were older than Master Jon - I would have guessed in their 60s. One was even taller than Clive and very distinguished looking with what can only be described as a `mane' of white hair, swept back and touching his collar. He was in what I could tell was a bespoke three-piece suit in a tweedy type of material, a plain, light blue shirt with exquisite silver cufflinks, a darker blue paisley design tie and had beautiful black oxford shoes. We soon discovered that this was Master Jolyon and his very posh drawl matched both his name and his clothing. His partner was shorter, more or less the same height as me. He had a shaved head and a short, grizzled beard and moustache, expertly defined and trimmed. He was also wearing a suit, but his was the colour of very dark red wine. His was only a jacket and trousers and he wore no tie with his pink and white striped shirt. He was wearing dark brown brogues. This was Master Kent and, when he spoke, he revealed his ancestry in one of the southern States of the US.
Having taken their coats - a tailored overcoat from Master Jolyon and a Barbour jacket from Master Kent - and hung them in the hall cupboard, Clive knelt and kissed their feet and said,
"Good evening, Sirs."
When he was back on his feet, I knelt and greeted them similarly.
Master Jolyon took hold of my genitals in a tight grip at the root of my willy with one hand and did the same with Clive's in the other and led us into Master Jon's living room by our boy parts.
"Jon, you old bugger, how are you?" Master Jolyon asked as he let go of our willies and enfolded Sir in a tight hug, "It's always lovely to see young Clive, but who is the new boy?" he asked.
"Jolyon, you dirty perv you," Master Jon replied, "That's Danny, he comes up from London to work for me from time to time and I thought you and the rest of the gang would enjoy the contrast between him and Clive."
"I certainly do, Jon," Master Kent said, "You know just how to please us - gorgeous young Clive for me and a nice pale blond lad for the old man!"
I blushed as I stood with my hands on my head beside Clive, both our willies fully hard as they discussed us as if we weren't there.
"Who else is coming, then?" Master Jolyon asked.
"Alex and Steve, Zain and Dhruv and Gerrard," Master Jon said, leading the two men to sit down.
"Slave, a red wine for Jolyon and a Bud for Kent. And you can mix me another martini, boy."
Clive and I went to the kitchen, him pouring drinks for the guests, me taking the vodka out of the freezer and making Sir a dry Martini as he had taught me to do. Having delivered the drinks to the men, Clive was told to remove Kent's shoes and I Jolyon's. We'd just done so when the buzzer went again and we were sent to put their shoes in the hallway and answer the door again.
The new arrivals when the doorbell went were another couple. This time they were young - late twenties at the oldest, I reckoned. One was almost a middle-eastern and younger version of Master Jolyon - slightly shorter, but the same mane of hair - glossy brown this time - the same refined features - albeit darker skinned - and a similarly expensive suit and shoes. This was Master Zain. His partner was similarly slim, but much shorter - only about five foot six, I reckoned. Indian, with dark eyes, short and spiky black hair, and dressed in a pair of dark chinos, a green shirt with a button-down collar, what appeared to be a cashmere sweater in a bright, emerald green and pristine, box-fresh Blue Converse hightops. Master Dhruv.
After we'd taken their coats we knelt to kiss their feet, but Master Zain stopped us and told us to remove their footwear and socks and kiss their bare feet. Clive tended to Master Dhruv and I to Master Zain, kneeling with our willies still proudly upstanding as we bared their feet and kissed them reverently.
"Don't get up," Master Dhruv said, "Crawl in and introduce us."
Clive led the way and I crawled behind with his still glowing bottom directly in front of me and, even though we hadn't rehearsed he said,
"Master Zain, Sirs,"
And I completed the introductions,
"And Master Dhruv, Sirs."
"Slave, a lime and soda for Zain and a gimlet for Dhruv," Sir commanded and Clive hurried to the kitchen.
The men greeted the newcomers and, when they were seated Master Kent just pointed at his feet and I knelt and gently removed his socks. I looked up at him and he nodded and I started worshipping his feet. They were slightly sweaty but clean and I was busy working on his left foot when the buzzer went again. I wasn't sure whether I should respond, but Master Jon told me to stay where I was and sent Clive to welcome the next guests.
When he came back in, he was with a single man. He was probably in his mid-forties, although it was hard to tell. He was about my height but basically round - he didn't look fat, just solid. He had a good head of tow-coloured hair and a thick beard and bushy moustache, both gingery in colour. Not that dissimilar to my own colouring. He looked like he had walked straight out of a Victorian Christmas card and should have been on a horse with a pack of hounds! Master Jolyon jumped up and gave him a massive hug - this was Master Gerrard.
"Whisky, old boy?" Master Jon asked him.
"Of course, what else does a civilised man drink?" Master Gerrard responded. He, of all the men so far, was still wearing his shoes and socks - I learnt during the evening that foot worship was just not his thing at all and also that he was Master Jolyon's ex and now best friend.
Clive brought him the drink and then knelt beside me, removed Master Jolyon's socks and began working on his large and slender feet with his tongue. Our bodies touched as we worked on the older couple's feet and I enjoyed the unusual feeling of another naked slave's warmth beside me as I served. Clive was so handsome and clearly as eager a slave as I was.
It was a while before the buzzer went again, by which time I was working on Master Zain's bronze feet and Clive was still working hard on Master Jolyon's.
"Go and let our last guests in, boys," Master Jon said, and we got to our feet and headed to the door for the last time.
The couple that we let in was a complete contrast to all those who had arrived up to then. I had assumed that all Sir's guests were other tops, so it was a bit of a shock when one of the couple stripped naked as soon as he got through the door, and knelt in front of what I guessed was his owner and removed his shoes and socks while I took the man's coat and hung it up. The now naked third slave kissed his Master's feet, then Clive knelt and did the same and I followed suit. The man was the only one who had brought a bag and from it he took a thick metal collar which he locked around his slave's neck, a set of clamps like Clive and I were wearing, which he applied to his boy's nipples, and a leash which he clipped to a ring on the front to the collar.
This slave was older than me, probably early fifties, but in very good shape. He was built like a middleweight boxer, solid muscle. His willy was locked into a small metal chastity cage and this was further secured by a ring at the end which was obviously in the place that a Prince Albert piercing would be. His balls were weighted down and stretched by a thick metal ball weight and when he turned around I could see that he was also fitted with a metal butt plug.
His owner was a young man, probably only about twenty two or twenty three and, in complete contrast to the other men present, was dressed smartly but cheaply. He looked like what I guessed he probably was - a chav who had put on a suit for a special occasion. Even with the suit he was wearing Nike trainers and white gym socks, and he had a plain white shirt without a tie under the jacket.
He strode into the living room without paying Clive or I much heed - indeed, we looked at each other as he walked out and Clive was clearly wondering the same things as I was, which was where on earth did Master Jon meet someone like that?!
"Alex," Master Jon said as he led his naked slave like a dog to the other men, "I told you there was no need for you to dress up!"
"Yeah, I know," said the last man to arrive, "But I knew all you posh arseholes would be in your finery and I don't wanna stick out like some pikey sore thumb!"
Master Alex's voice was pure Birmingham - almost comically so. He sat down next to Gerrard and his slave got on all fours in front of him and Master Alex rested his feet on the older slave's naked back. After a quick glance between them, Gerrard put his brown suede shoes on the slave's back as well.
"Are you drinking tonight, Alex?" Sir asked him.
"I'll have a beer with dinner, but nothing else. I gotta drive, haven't I?"
"Couldn't your slave drive you?" Master Zain asked.
"I'm not letting him sit on my leather seats, Zain mate! He travels in the boot and is grateful for it. Aren't you, cunt?"
"Yes Master Alex, Sir," said the slave - his accent was much more like Jolyon's than Alex's and after the evening, Master Jon told me that he had used to be Gerrard's best friend and a particularly harsh dom top but that he had met Master Alex about eighteen months before and had fallen completely under his spell and was now the lowliest slave of Sir's acquaintance.
Clive and I were scurrying around topping up drinks and handing round nibbles. Master Jon went to the kitchen to put the finishing touches to dinner and I was set back to work on Master Zain's feet. I looked up and saw that Clive was on his knees in front of Master Gerrard, clearly gulping down the older man's piss. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Master Gerrard took his cock out of Clive's mouth, shook the last drops of urine off over the slave's face and zipped himself up.
"Thank you for allowing this slave to drink your piss, Master Gerrard, Sir," Clive said - exactly as I had been trained to do after performing urinal service.
"Actually, I need to go too," Master Alex said, "You got a bowl for me, Jonny?"
I was called over my Master Jon and handed a large metal dog bowl which I was told to take over to Master Alex. He took his cock out of his flies and filled the bowl with his yellow piss and then put it down on the floor beside him.
"That'll do for the cunt while we have our dinner," he said.
Clive and I were called back into the kitchen by Master JOn and given our instructions. We were to act like footmen, in effect - pulling out chairs for the men to sit and then serving the food and drink. When not in use, we were to stand with our backs against the window, hands neatly behind our backs, chests out smartly. Master Alex's slave, however, knelt beside his Owner throughout the meal and held his glass for him. Partway through the meal, Master Alex gave him permission to drink and the slave lapped up his Master's now cold piss from the dogbowl.
Clive and I were kept fairly busy, getting drinks, clearing plates and serving the next course. As I often find when in service, once the mundane and more domestic elements take over my willy wilts and it was clearly the same for Clive - we were both more or less soft during the meal.
Between the main course and the dessert most of the men seemed to need to empty their bladders, and Clive and I got bellies full of piss. I knelt for Master Zain and Master Kent. Clive drank Master Jolyon's piss as well as Master Gerrard's again and Master Dhruv's. Master Alex pissed again into the dogbowl for his slave.
Once all the men's bladders had been emptied, Master Jon said that there was to be an `intercourse' entertainment.
Master Alex stood up and pulled his slave to his feet by the leash. Pulling his chair out from the table, the slave was bent over the back of it, his bottom presented. Master Alex kicked his legs apart so that his balls dangled free between his legs and the metal buttplug was clearly visible.
Master Jon handed Master Alex a borstal cane - I've only had that once from Master Jon when I smashed a plate and I can tell you that it really hurts! It's a very deep dull pain that aches after the initial thudding pain when it lands on your bare bottom.
The men all gathered around and Clive and I could see from our waiting positions against the window. Before he began the caning, Master Alex grasped the base of the metal plug and pulled it out of the slave's hole, eliciting a groan from him as the thick bulb stretched him as it was withdrawn. Master Alex handed the plug carefully to Master Gerrard, who told his former best friend to open his mouth and stuffed the plug into the slave's mouth. As the slave sucked on the plug which had just been removed from his arsehole, Master Alex whipped the air with the cane to gauge its weight and heft, before he placed it against the slave's buttocks. I was surprised to see that the slave already had tears running down his face, and Master Jon afterwards told me that this was the first time that he had been used in front of all his former friends in this way and the slave's humiliation was extreme and complete.
Raising the cane high, Master Alex brought it swiftly down onto the slave's white buttocks with a flick of his wrist and the slave yelped through the plug as the thud of the cane sounded out. An angry red line appeared as Master Alex raised the cane again and brought it down again on his slave's vulnerable bottom.
The observers commented favourably on Master Alex's technique as parallel lines were added inexorably across the slave's bottom. Each stroke forced a groan or a yelp out of the slave, especially when Master Alex laid a particularly vicious stroke on the crease where the buttock and thigh meet, which also drew a lot of comment and praise from the other men watching. By the time that Master Alex had delivered thirty strokes, the slave's bottom was a red, bruised and welted mess and it must have been in agony. Master Alex stood back and said,
"It's all yours, Gerrard, mate."
Master Gerrard grinned broadly, unzipped his fly and took out his cock. I'd seen it soft when Clive drank his piss, but now it was rock hard. It was really thick - I thought I had a thick willy when erect, but his was even thicker and about as long as mine. Without applying any extra lube, Master Gerrard lined his cock up to the slave's hole and pushed all the way to the hilt in one slow but deliberate movement. The slave whimpered as his former friend's meat invaded him and the tears, which had been flowing throughout the thrashing, became almost sobs as this formerly proud and demanding dom was reduced to a naked, caged, thrashed slave who was now being fucked hard by the man who had previously been his best friend. What probably made it worse was that, clearly deliberately, the men acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. They drank, chatted and barely paid any attention to the slave being roughly pounded. Master Gerrard spent most of the time he was buggering his ex-best friend discussing rugby with Master Dhruv.
Master Gerrard fucked hard but it didn't take him that long to throw his head back and almost bellow as he seeded the slave. Pushing his cock back all the way into the slave, he told Clive to bring him another whisky, which he drank before finally withdrawing his cock and having Clive kneel before him to clean it off with his mouth before putting it away and zipping up his flies.
Master Alex pulled the plug out of his slave's mouth and roughly shoved it back into his abused hole, making the slave groan loudly. He was then pulled upright by his owner and led to the corner of the room farthest from the table where he knelt with his nose against the window and his arms folded neatly behind his back.
Still chatting, the men moved back to the table and Clive and I were back at work topping up drinks and then serving the dessert to the men, while the older slave snivelled and whimpered in the corner with his striped and bruised buttocks on full display.