tagFetishThe Housemaid Ch. 08

The Housemaid Ch. 08


Alex felt John Crawford's capitulation both physically and mentally as he moved his fingers inside the tight hole of the man's big, yoked body. It was time then. Alex withdrew his fingers gently, and met Annabel's eyes to signal that she should stop licking him. John was thicker and heavier than Alex, but Alex was considerably taller. Deprived of his anchoring fingers, John leaned back, eyes closed into Alex, resting his head on his collarbone. Arm hooked loosely around his neck, Alex put his other arm around John's hairy, nearly-flat belly. Securing him, petting him. "Go get the birching stool from the closet and put it before the fire, Annabel," Alex ordered. She got up from her knees at their feet and quickly headed for the antechamber where his clothes were kept, and where his stool and birch rod resided.

Placing it near the fireplace for warmth, but not too near, as John and Alex would warm quickly from the exertion. When everything looked settled, Alex bent his head every so slightly to whisper into John's ear. "I know you John. You think you've been bad all your life, haven't you? I wager you think you were born bad, just a bad perverted seed."

John whimpered to hear it said aloud. Alex continued, "I know you like men, John. I know you long for a cock in your arse. I know you like pain, John. I know you long to be punished."

This time, John made no noise at all. He just opened his dark eyes, and met Alex's blue gaze. Alex held it, thinking about what a gift Annabel had known to give him, a man who longed to be a fag, but had no notion of how to become one. A man whom he could mold into his perfect servant: valet, fag, lover, willing receptacle for so many desires. Alex stroked John's hairy torso and held the big man's fearful, longing gaze until John's eyes became glassy. He blinked, and a tear slid down the crease of his left eye.

"That's right, John. You've been taken in hand now. All those things you've feared about yourself -- that's what I want from you. If you're a bad seed, then I'm worse. I long to see the globes of that ass red welted red from my cane. I long to put my prick deep in that dark hole of yours and churn up your guts. I want you to give it all up to me. All your pain. All your pleasure. All your labor. I want to own it, own you. I'm your master. And after tonight, you'll know once and for all that if you are a pervert -- and you are John, you're a bloody big pervert -- then you are this way because it serves me best."

John blinked again, and two more tears dripped from his wide eyes. Alex slowly released his tight grip pushed John to stand on his own, setting his hands to guide him, one on his shoulder and the other on the small of his back, to lead his servant to his place on the stool.

Annabel had heard the young master's speech from her place on her knees by the fire and the stool, and she understood immediately. This was no longer a game of any kind. This was training. And a small, smug part of her was proud she had chosen so well for the young master; she had found him a man to fulfill his dominance not just for an evening or for a lark, but for a relationship. John would belong to her young master for a long time. Longer than she would most likely. Annabel pushed that thought away. They were coming toward her. The young master placed John on the stool, arranging him so that his chest rested on the back of the stool, knees on the seat, and his rump was high in the air. Annabel's eyes widened. It was an arresting sight -- like a mare displayed for a stallion.

Once John was properly arranged, the young master Alexis rested his hand on the small of his back -- calming and possessing him all at once. "Stand and come here, Annabel." She obeyed. "Place your hands on his shoulders and rub them -- relax him. Rub him down well, like a horse who deserves a good scratch." Annabel smiled -- men and horses were what she knew well. She proceeded to the massage, digging her small fingers into the large muscles of his shoulders. The young master walked over to the sideboard, but instead of picking up the whisky decanter, he picked up a strand of large glass beads. Each bead was about an inch in diameter, all different colors. It looked like a pretty necklace, but it didn't fasten together, just remained a long strand. As the young master brought them over, Annabel wondered what on earth they were for if not a necklace.

The Italians were devious creatures, Alex thought as he fingered the beads, walking back over to the fire. He'd visited a school chum on Lake Como the summer before, and had bought these devilish things after seeing them used in a whorehouse in the Veneto. Venetians and their glass. Only the best. Annabel was working John's muscles diligently, and the big body seemed pliant. Time to shock them. "John. Annabel." His voice cracked out sharply, like the birching to come. Both of them started and looked up at him wide eyed. He held up the long strand of garishly colored glass balls. "These beads are from Italy," he said slowly. "They are for your anus," he said clearly, and John's mouth went slack. "I'm going to oil your tender hole up, and then place as many beads as you can take into your ass."

Alex paused for effect, enjoying the hungry look on John's face. Annabel looked shocked to her very core. She'd enjoy watching. "Then, once you're all full, I'm going to birch you. You get one stroke, and then you get once ball removed for your ass." John whimper moaned. Alex wasn't sure which. John probably wasn't either. "So the more balls you can take, the more strokes you get. The more pain you get. But also the more pleasure." Alex smirked at John. "Doesn't that sound like a fun game, my perfect little servant?" John made the same whimpering moan, and Alex smirked again.

"I thought so. I want you to say 'Yes, Master,' so I know you agree. Then Annabel will gag you with your own cravat so when you scream, you won't wake the house. What do you say, John?"

A pause. Then a hoarse, "Yes, Master."

Alex smiled broadly at Annabel across John's back. "Good. Let's begin then."

Alex rubbed a bit of oil on his fingers. "Come here Annabel, I want you to hold him open for me. Count aloud as fill him." Her hands skimmed over John's body and then gripped his ass firmly, opening the taut globes to display his hole. It was a brown little star, and Alex took his oily fingers and began massaging it. It bloomed to let him in, displaying a perfect ring of pink. Alex used the opportunity to place a bead at his gate, and then slowly pushed it in. There was a little grunt, and a bit of resistance, but John wanted it inside him, and pushed out to let it in.

"One," Annabel breathed and she was transfixed. More oil, more beads, slowly, slowly. The fire cracked and popped, and both he and Annabel watched mesmerized as John accepted ten beads into his hole. Alex stopped at ten -- he didn't want to birch him more times than that on the first go round. And that ass was full now. It would be a gorgeous ride.

John Crawford had no idea what to say, couldn't even say yes anymore, but his master seemed to know both the questions and the answers, thank god. Never an eloquent sort of man to begin with, John knew that his words had failed him. They'd failed him long before the master had pulled out those beads. And now? Now that he was full of them, ten glass beads in his ass? He was just a mass of sensation now. He felt red? That wasn't a feeling. John surrendered both his body and his language, and just let himself become the animal he was.

He was so full. Crack! Pain, real pain, red pain, blossomed on John's ass. Pain he hadn't felt since he was a boy, filled with guilt and shame. John yelled through his gag. A tug, then a pop. Release, pleasurable release. Back and forth, the crack of the birch, and the pop of the glass bead from his hole. His cock. Oh, his cock. He wanted it touched. John writhed and lifted his ass. For more blows, to allow someone to touch his cock, for anything. Please, please, he begged. But his begging was muffled by the gag.

"Put your ass back down on that stool," his master ordered, his voice cracking like a whip, like the birch in his hand. John obeyed, grinding his hips into the air below. A touch. Oh, sweet mercy, his sweet housemaid had a hold of his cock. She didn't stroke it, just held it in her firm grip. He ground into her hand, and she squeezed tighter. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt good. Another crack. Another pop. How many was that? Did he even know how to count? It seemed to last forever. It would stop too soon. Red haze. Crack again, and another pop. And the grip on his cock tightened more, and there it was. He went over, pleasure and pain together. Another crack and pop while he spurted, and there were no more cracks, just two more quick pops from his ass, as his balls and ass emptied together.

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