Silk House Pt. 03

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. I've had parts three and four written ever since I wrote the first two, but haven't gotten around to editing them. Sorry about that. After the fourth chapter, however, I'm not sure I'll be continuing the story.

*****

In the coming months, the new year passed us by, and the spring semester for our roommates allegedly came and left in the blink of an eye. Toby and I both found ourselves busy with work, and while there was a newfound connection between us, it was hard to find the time to nurture that connection. We almost never made contact at home, instead reducing ourselves to covert looks of desire. Toby would make a point to frustrate me by constantly wandering around the house shirtless after a long day of labor, then stripping down to a pair of especially tight boxer briefs when night fell.

Typical of winter: night came earlier and earlier, so I found myself gazing at the outline of Toby's cock for longer periods of time. Of course, sometimes we would find a weekend free together, and Doherty only liked us to visit him as a pair. He never touched us or donned spandex with us, as if he'd retired from it all, but his voyeuristic fascinations were constant and forthright. The first night Toby left me alone in those irremovable heels and heavy collar, the most I did was lounge around for the older man, posing and playing with myself. He would drop something on the floor and instruct me to pick it up right in front of him.

In the following "get-togethers," however, Toby and I existed on an even playing field, without the karmic comeuppances that originally motivated us. Doherty never demanded anything of us when we came over, but he would occasionally give us suggestions on our way out the door again. Toby was getting subtly bigger by the week, his muscular frame hardening, and Doherty would give him tips on bulking and such. Told him what muscles he should focus on next, and which ones he should let relax. Doherty wasn't a fitness instructor by any means, but it was apparent he had a good eye for proportions. It was why I'd thirsted after Toby even more intensely than before: the way his pecs began to grow to the shape of soccer balls, how his abs went from subtly cut to thick and well-defined. On the rare occasions that our roommates weren't around, he'd let me grab his chest and explore as I wanted.

With me, however, Doherty wanted to keep me toned. He said some of my better qualities were my lack of broad shoulders and my smaller feet—they were apparently a good starting point for manipulating silhouettes, he explained. While he dressed up Toby in ways that excellently showed off his new masculine form, I was fixated on the androgynous to feminine. At the end of the spring semester Doherty even dared to put me in a half-corset, and showed me how to safely tuck.

"Do you want me to be a girl?" I asked at the time, and he pulled his mouth to the side, fidgeting with the laces of the corset over the white unitard I was wearing.

"It's not my personal cup of tea," he said lightly. "I like you feminine, and I like you whimpering. But consider my tastes... subtractive, not additive, if you understand. Don't expect me to dress you with a breastplate anytime soon." At this I nodded, and he took the last of the laces and unexpected pulled tight at my waist, giving me an hourglass shape. Last thing he said was, "Don't expect all men to be like this."

It left me wondering if there'd be more men, but he didn't speak of it any further.

At the end of the semester, the situation with our roommates wasn't so easily resolved. Two were graduating like Toby and I had already done, but they were moving away immediately. The fifth was moving to an apartment to live alone. Toby and I couldn't pay the rent for a five-man house by ourselves, but we didn't know where else to go. Living in a college town meant just about every apartment complex was full up and booked for another year. We were being ousted.

In the last week of that semester, we still had a month left on our lease, and the two who were graduating left immediately after their finals without much fanfare or goodbye. They were like ghosts. The last roommate would be moving away in the final week before our lease was up, and with more opportunities to find ourselves alone in the house, Toby and I could barely keep our hands off each other.

We had sex, in a way that was much more private and personal than Doherty's big romps; the first time we were quiet to avoid suspicion from our remaining roommate. The second time, however, was unabashedly louder than before. He'd found us kissing in the bathroom a day earlier and we decided to give up on keeping our relationship a secret. Toby, with his improved and muscular body, didn't hold back when carrying me around the room bouncing me on his cock. It was a bit like a roller coaster.

When it came to five days left on the lease, we watched our final roommate leave the house without a single word, probably very annoyed by our antics. It was a shame that Toby and I didn't know what we were doing with ourselves in the next coming days, because the idea of separating felt... wrong. Toby had loose plans to return to his family a state over and I had the same with mine. We were still watching our roommate drive down the road with a packed van when Doherty stepped out of his front door. Toby and I turned our head to him in unison.

"Doherty, sir!" Toby said, and walked over to the man with an outstretched hand, myself following suit. Doherty shook his hand and appreciatively rubbed Toby's arm with the other.

"You boys okay?" he asked. I guess we looked a little bit downtrodden. Toby explained our situation in the matter of a minute and Doherty followed along effortlessly. He scoffed. "Why, Toby, Charlie, you could've asked me!"

"Pardon, sir?" I manage.

"Well, if you need a place to stay, I always have plenty of guest rooms and space to store your things. I don't mean to press myself on you two, but if it's living in this town that you want, I can always help out."

It was hardly a question. In the last few days of our lease, Toby and I made a mad dash to pack all our things and clean up, having previously resigned ourselves to moping and making a mess instead. We regretted our inaction, but Doherty would occasionally drop by and offer to take us out for a meal, something fast and filling, so that lifted our spirits. When we first started moving our essentials over to Doherty's place, he offered me the very room I slept in on the first night we housesat, which I accepted graciously. Toby got a room just down the hall, next door.

So we were moved in.

I plop my last moving box on the bed, then open it, making note of the toiletries and leftover books packed inside. I stare at it for a moment and then compare it to the unwrinkled green blanket it's sitting upon, trying to connect the two different worlds. my world, aligned with our adventures at Doherty's house. It's a headfuck, but it isn't unmanageable. I hear Toby walking down the hall and, before I know it, he's in my doorway. He's shirtless, and this time I know it's for no reason.

"Are you hot or something?" I ask.

"Very," he teases. How corny! I take the nearest pillow and I throw it at him, but he catches it easily, tosses it back. He leans his body against the open frame of the doorway, one elbow propped against it and touching the wall overhead. There's a peculiar silence while I unpack.

"What is it?" I ask, and he looks briefly at the ground and then back to me.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" he asks seriously. I have to admit, it all seems too good to be true, and I admit as much to him. "Right? I like the guy and all, but I hardly know if we're as close as he thinks."

"It kinda makes me wonder if he wants something out of us."

"It's our money. He's a gold digger!" Toby jokes, lightening the mood. He enters the room finally and I turn to him, letting him rein me into his grasp. He wraps his hand round my back, pulls me into his chest. We're face to face, and his clean-smelling breath is soft against my skin. "But I imagine we'll be alright," he whispers, and then he kisses me. I suppose, for a while, we will be.

Doherty tells us later that he likes making dinner, but he'll hardly do it. "Pick what you want out of the fridge, boys. I need to tend to some paperwork," he says to us in the living room, and leaves up the stairs for his office. Toby looks at me. He's thankfully dressed now, or I'd be drooling all over the floor.

"Doherty still does work?" he asks in a low tone, and I raise my eyebrows.

"I guess he has to stay wealthy some way," I respond.

"He did say he had a few businesses," Toby remembers.

"And he doesn't look like he wants to retire any time soon."

"I'd sure he'd love to retire. He'd buy us and we'd become his perfect house staff, pleasuring him 'til his death bed. I'm sure we'd be dressed in gear twenty-four-seven if he had his way."

"And that'd be bad?" I pose.

"It would definitely have its perks."

In that way, the world, for a while, did continue on without issue. Doherty wanted us to keep the majority of the money we made at work to ourselves, asking only for a cursory small amount to contribute to the rent. We felt a bit like pets, but we were making money, so we shrugged it off. In the beginning he would ask us only every now and then if we'd like to "play," and most of the time we agreed happily. Toby essentially topped out when it came to muscle-building, however, halting his progress before going too deep into bodybuilder territory. But it was obvious he was very strong, and his wardrobe was getting a bit uncomfortably small. His pecs were perfectly round, and hard, squeezable. Shoulders, broad. Thighs, like steel. Arms—oh, the arms, they were more than okay, and then his back, and ass. Doherty made sure Toby's ass was round and plump as always.

Of course, I stayed toned as well, if only getting more so. I got a lot of tips from Toby on the subject of a healthy diet. One day, while talking about the subject, I watch the way his muscles move under his shirt, how it rises a bit more than usual, so I grab at the fabric of his sleeve.

"You really do need a new wardrobe," I say. Toby regards his with a laugh.

"I think I'm gonna head to the mall soon. Donate a few shirts and pants to the local shelter. I have no need for them anymore," he says, and that's when Doherty approaches us from the next room. We're sitting in his living room casually watching TV at dinner time. But his stance is far from casual, his hands crossed behind his back. He regards us both, and we silence ourselves.

"Sir?" I ask. We hardly call him Doherty to his face anymore. He smiles at me and turns to Toby.

"You were talking about needed a new wardrobe?" he asks, and Toby deliberately lights himself up, then re-tells the part about donating his stuff. Doherty pauses. "What if I told you that didn't have to be necessary?"

"What, buying new clothes?" Toby repeats, but Doherty just nods ambiguously.

"Follow me," he says curtly, then turns away and heads for the stairs.

I think I understand what Doherty's suggesting, and Toby does too, but neither of us speaks. Instead, we just follow. We head up the stairs and follow the older man down the hall to his office. Shelves upon shelves of leather books line the walls, with a single window on the far end of the room lighting it all up. Doherty walks around his desk and sits down in front of few printed documents, then gestures for us to take seats on the opposite side like this is an interview.

We're wary, but we comply. Doherty interlaces his fingers and puts his elbows on the desk, then leans his chin into the net of his hands.

"What if I told you, Toby, and you as well, Charles, that I could buy all your new clothes for you?" he asks, but we don't immediately respond. "What if I told you I could take care of everything for you—buy you things, entertain you, pay for your meals. I could offer both of you a monthly stipend right now that would be sufficient in replacing your current laboring in the workplace," he explains. The catch doesn't even need to be explained: the wardrobe, new or familiar, would be only made of spandex.

"You'd have us—sorry sir, but you'd just having us live in your home, lounging about, wearing only lycra? Is that realistic?"

"Dear boy, it's entirely realistic," he says, and then pauses, regards us. "Oh don't worry, you won't be in those zentais all day. Consider what you'll wear to be... diversified. Most of it, I promise you, very comfortable."

"This seems a bit committed..." Toby says, drifting off. Doherty pointedly unlaces his hands and touches two sheets of paper in front of him, dutifully rotating them for us to read. From a cursory observation, I see that they're contracts. Toby says the word out loud like it's poisonous.

"Boys, I happen to run a very successful, very lucrative business in the trade of pleasure, and not always so lewdly as I'm sure you're imagining," he starts. I hate to admit it, but I can't agree with Toby's immediate standoffishness. The idea of wearing spandex all the time has been an unreachable, unrealistic fantasy for me. Without knowing much, I'm already interested in what's being offered. "What you boys would be doing, if you signed this contract, would be very similar to the work the men in my employ do, and the contract is next to identical. The document in front of you is very legal and, I'm sure you'd be glad to know, very humane."

"And we'd be getting paid for it all?" I ask. Doherty nods his head, pleased.

"Boys like you don't come around often, but on the night that I left for my doctor's appointment, I took a chance on you two. In the broader picture, it was definitely a risk of exposure, and a very unorthodox practice on my end. But like me, there are men out there who will pay hefty amounts of cash to have others play doll for them, regardless of whether that doll is very masculine or very feminine."

"But we'd be yours?" I ask.

"For a while."

"That's absurd," Toby says. If he's incredulous, it's definitely a mixed feeling, because there's not a lot of force behind his voice.

"Do you have plans, Toby? To go somewhere? A stable job, a steady income outside of manual labor?" Doherty asks, and he pauses, an air of sympathy returning to him. "My boy, what I'm giving you isn't a demand. It's an option. This contract, if you'll look, covers only a month." I look at Toby with a pleading look, knowing that we're probably a package deal, but he's just staring at the paper with a look of consternation.

"It's a month, Toby," I say, and that's when he returns my gaze. "What hurt could a month do?"

"If at the end of the month you're not pleased with the work, I'll supply you with a regular wardrobe and let you stay another month, obligation-free, to figure out your future way in the world," Doherty explains.

"A month," Toby repeats, less negative. Without a word, Doherty slides over two pens to us, the question ultimately raised. I take my mine immediately, Toby following my actions a bit more cautiously. I wait for him to mark his pen to the paper for me to mimic, and then it's all finished. We're signed.

After the signing, we finish the night in relative peace and quiet. Toby doesn't say much, and while I don't think he regrets his decision, I'm positive he's still mulling it over. I'm right, of course. When we go to be and I see him the next morning, his spirits are considerably lifted.

"You're okay, then?" I ask, and standing in my doorway, he nods. I need him to be playful, to be coy, or else this won't be any fun. I raise my eyebrows and give him a funny, incredulous look.

"We signed a fucking contract!" I say, and he laughs, then he brings me into a tender kiss.

That afternoon, after we call and nervously quit our jobs, we start making the switch of wardrobes. We've picked up every inch of clothing we own in the house and they're all collected in separate black garbage bags in the living room, but Doherty's promised he won't throw mine away, seeing as they still fit. Already naked, we look at ourselves and try to grasp at what our future might have in store for us, but it's a bit heady.

"You'll be interested to know that I was already prepared for you answers," Doherty explains to us. "Of course, I couldn't be sure you'd agree to my terms, but I'm a man who enjoys instant gratification. I had full wardrobes sent to this address days ago, regardless of the contract." He picks up the trash bags and temporarily moves them into the sparsely-used dining room, then crosses in the opposite direction to his room. There's a confusing noise from the other side of his door that I can't identify.

"Do you need help, sir?" Toby asks.

"No, no, everything is just fine," Doherty assures, and then I see him backing out of his bedroom with a dolly in tow, two very larges boxes stacked and being dragged to us. The noise had been the whiny squeak of wheels.

"That's going to be our wardrobe?" Toby asks. The top one is labeled with his name and the bottom one with mine. Getting up, and with surprisingly little effort, Toby takes his very large box off the dolly and places it on the ground next to the coffee table.

"You'll find all types of spandex in there. Many compression tops and leggings, long sleeve, short-sleeve, for warm and cold weather. Plenty of Spanx for you, Charles—" I blush at my mention "—and a couple for you, too." Toby opens the top of the box and sees that it's filled to the brim with clothing in a variety of colors, most in comfortably muted shades but a few bright pieces. "An everyday wardrobe ought to at least appear a touch utilitarian," Doherty comments.

"This is a bit overwhelming," I say.

"It shouldn't be! You've seen my basement, dear boy. You'll still have fully access to those clothes, by the way, if you want to wear them. Or, rather, if I force you to put them on."

"You've never been a big fan of force, Doherty," Toby points out. Doherty gives him a look as he unloads my box from the dolly.

"Once I have my contracts, I am. You boys belong to me now, at least for the next thirty days. You'll be wearing what I like. This:" he says, gesturing at the boxes, "it's all for the time in between, for your own personal sake. But most of your days you'll be my entertainment."

"And these?" Toby asks, reaching into his box. I try to peek over the rim of the box from where I'm sitting.

"Silk sheets, silk pillowcases. I see how you two enjoy them so much, almost as much me. You'll put them on your beds tonight and if I happen to see them removed without reason, there will be consequences."

"Yes sir," I say.

"Impressed?" he asks, but I don't find reason to respond. "That's charming." He leans down and opens my box for me, then passes me a long-sleeve maroon compression top along with a matching pair of footed leggings. I don't waste time slipping on the shiny new clothes, first the bottoms and then the top. Toby takes his cue and finds the same outfit but in a dark navy blue, dons it in a heartbeat. The clothes stick particularly well to his body—so well that they even show off the cut of his abs, which wasn't so easily accomplished before. His nipples, too, are hard and evidently poking through the material. Doherty glances between both of us.

"I want you to play," he says. "Right now. And afterwards, do please take these boxes to your room. I'm not a fan of clutter."

With that, he leaves. Turning to me with an excited look, Toby steps around the table and crawls on top of me. I lay on my back against the leather couch to accept him, but the hulking figure turns me over with a forceful want. This grooming that Doherty's done so far, of me as the submissive type and Toby as the dominant, has been remarkably successful. Toby takes what he wants and I'm there to please. Case in point: his raging, trapped cock humps my shiny ass with reckless abandon, and when he leans down and wraps his arm around my neck for good measure, I can tell that he'll enjoy this month.