#masterofthehouse

Author note: Thank you to every person who has sent me awesome comments about this story. Thanks for reading, liking and sharing if you have. Hope you enjoy the final part. I’ll be back soon with new posts.

Previously: Trust fund heir Max was given the title of Master of Northwood Manor estate. He is served by strange butler, Giles, and servant, Nicholas. The local football team were transformed into servants. A party, intended to deliver a big announcement to the town, was planned.

Read part one, part two, part three, part four and part five.

Master of the House (part 6 of 6)

9pm - The Party

This was it, Max thought. The big announcement. Three-piece tuxedo on, he looked at a sea of suited men and women in flowing dresses.

His new team of servants were at every vantage point of the ballroom. Every young guy holding something to be of use, like a platter of canapés or flutes of champagne.

Nicholas was behind him. His uncle, his companion, the leaders of the community were all watching. It was time.

‘Good evening all,’ Max said into the microphone, his voice booming.

‘Thank you for coming.’

He breathed. He began his prepared speech.

‘For too long, Northwood Manor has been in the wrong hands. It is time to rectify decades of insult. It is time the mansion returns to its rightful owners. Would the true heir join me now?’

2pm - Before The Party

Knocking, almost frantic knocking, woke Max from a hangover slumber. Blurry-eyed, he peered out from his silk sheets. Daylight burned. He didn’t feel sick, but he did have a terrible headache. He couldn’t remember anything.

‘Nicholas…Nicholas come in,’ Max groggily said.

But the brown-haired boy who entered was not Nicholas. It was another boy. Smiling from ear to ear, he had classically handsome good looks. Dressed up in his bow tie and waistcoat, he looked like the very image of a servant.

‘You’re not…you’re not Nicholas,’ Max said, still waking up.

‘No, Sir,’ he said. ‘I’m Servant Boy Number 4, Sir. I serve the Master of Northwood Manor. Is there anything I can do to serve you, Sir?’

Max fingered through his hair, eyes blinking.

‘What’s your actual name? It can’t just be “Servant Boy”.’

‘Call me anything you wish, Sir,’ the boy replied. ‘Boy, servant, slave, fag, footman, anything!’

‘But come on,’ Max said, his shirtless body showing out of the covers. ‘Your real name.’

‘It’s, it’s-uh,’ the boy struggled to remember. ‘It’s Oliver, Sir.’

‘Finally,’ Max said. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Now why are you in my room?’

His cock began to stiffen.

‘Mr Giles instructed me to attend to your needs, Sir,’ the servant boy said. ‘Is there anything I can do to serve you, Sir?’

‘And where is Nicholas, boy?’ Max demanded.

‘The head servant is occupied, Master. I am very happy to serve you in any way you wish, Sir,’ the boy said, his chin low and resting on the taut bowtie at his neck.

‘Fine,’ Max said. ‘If you’re so eager to obey, you’ll have no problem obeying any command. Is that right, boy?’

‘Yes, Sir! I’m happy to obey any command, Master! Please let me obey you,’ the servant responded.

‘Ok, then,’ Max said. ‘Lower your trousers and pants to your knees. Present yourself over the side of the bed. I’m going to fuck you.’

It was like his mind had clouded. Any shred of a thought of a woman never even occurred to him. He was once a womanizing playboy. But now, now he only thought of himself as Master. He had an obedient servant boy. And he wanted to cum inside his boy.

Out of bed, naked, he watched as he saw the new boy named Oliver gingerly drop his tight black trousers and bend over.

His cock hard, it pointed straight at the young boy’s untouched hole.

‘S-Sir!’ he softly cried.

‘Oh,’ Max said. ‘Don’t say I’m not a good Master, boy.’

Getting down on his knees, he attacked the tight arse with his tongue. Lapping at it like a parched dog with a bowl of water, he savored the smell of the beautiful boy’s bum. Spitting, he worked a manicured finger inside. He felt soft, sensual flesh. He couldn’t wait to fuck it loose.

Happy with his work, Max stood once again and slowly worked his cock inside. The servant clung to the silk duvet covers, his waistcoat rising up his back as he breathed heavily.

Kindness was over. He wanted to fuck, and to cum. Wetting his member with his spit, he slowly began thrusting. And soon he went faster. Deeper.

‘Make a noise, boy,’ Max said. ‘Look at me.’

The servant, dressed up to the nines, looked. The two caught each other’s eyes.

‘Please. Please. Oh god, oh god I’m getting fucked,’ Oliver’s eyes widened, and then panicked. ‘You’ve got to help me and my team, man! We’re not servants, we’re footballers!!’

Max stopped. His cock wet, he left the young man’s hole. Dumbfounded.

‘Please! Do something man!’

There was a knock on the door, and it opened.

‘Master,’ Nicholas said, smiling, dressed in his bowtie and waistcoat in an identical uniform to Oliver. ‘Oh, I see you are already making very good use of the new servant boys.’

Max could still say nothing. What was happening?

‘You!’ Oliver cried. Unable to get up from the bed, but his face wide awake and aware. ‘I know you…right? We went to school together, right? Help me, man!’

‘Oh no,’ Nicholas said. ‘It appears Giles’ training has not been as comprehensive as usual. We’ll have to fix that.’

The gardener-turned-servant went over to the bed, Oliver’s eyes wide and flustered.

‘Boy, who do you serve?’ Nicholas demanded.

‘The Master,’ Oliver softly said.

‘Boy, who do you obey?’ Nicholas also added.

‘The Master,’ Oliver said, slightly louder.

‘Boy, do you promise to serve the Master and do anything he demands?’ Nicholas continued.

‘Yes, I promise to serve the Master and do anything he demands.’ Oliver, now a mind-wiped servant boy once again, said.

‘Good,’ Nicholas said. ‘Master, please continue pleasuring yourself with the boy. I will watch to ensure he does not disobey you once again.’

Max’s cock was still hard, and wet. Oliver’s hands went to his arse, widening his hole. With only a small pause, Max fucked the servant boy. Neither spoke as they rutted, other than soft moans. And Nicholas watched the entire thing, a simple smile on his face.

6pm - The Special Guest Arrives

Max’s mind was mush. After Oliver was removed from his room by Nicholas, he was left stunned. It was like every part of his being was trying to solve a difficult maths problem.  Everything felt disconnected, like he was waiting to be told what to do or even how to act. He must’ve sat there on the edge of the bed, naked and cock soft, for hours.

The front doorbell rang, echoing its gong throughout the manor.

It was then he flicked to reality, like a television on static switching back to normal service. Get up. Get dressed. Be presentable. Be the Master of Northwood Manor.

Even from his room, he could hear Giles welcome the guests with his booming voice. Max swiftly went to his closet and started picking out his nearest suit and tie, shrugging it on as quickly as possible.

Giles knocked.

‘Master Grantham?’ the butler peered round the bedroom door. ‘Two very special guests are here to meet you before the event this evening.’

‘Yes,’ Max said, as he tightened his necktie. ‘Of course. Please announce me.’

Giles, as he had done so many times before, pronounced: ‘‘Announcing Master Maximilian Grantham, the new Master of Northwood Manor!’

Max walked down the stairs, surveying his guests. Uncle Max! His namesake. He was with a man he didn’t recognise. Both in tuxedos, ready for this night’s soiree. His uncle was still as dashingly handsome as ever, a classic Hollywood silver fox. His companion looked away, sighing at the portraits that decorated the halls.

‘Uncle!’ Max said, ‘welcome back! I’m so happy you were able to make it this evening.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ his uncle replied. ‘Please, let me welcome my companion. He is Patrick Collier, a property developer himself. I live with him at his estate.’

Max remembered his manners, although the man before him looked slimy. His hair was thick with grease, pulled back. His face looked crooked, his smile like a snake, his lean figure towering over Max.

‘Charmed,’ he said. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.’

‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ Patrick responded.

Giles broke up the introductions, and suggested a small drink before the party began.

Retiring into a nearby lounge, filled with lush furnishings and dark red curtains, the three men sat on three plush chairs. Giles, ever the server, went behind a bar to fetch and pour the spirits. While the rest of the house was older, Edwardian, the lounge had the feel of a 1920s speakeasy bar. Except, of course, they were the only guests.

Patrick removed a large cigar from his jacket pocket, and began to smoke almost provokingly in Max’s face. His uncle was quiet.

‘Now Giles,’ Patrick said. ‘Do we need to speak in private or…?’

‘Oh Mr Collier, you can speak very freely. Master Grantham is under control,’ Giles responded from behind the bar.

‘Remain still Max. Watch Mr Collier.’

Max’s back stiffened, his mouth trapped shut. His mind clouded.

‘Oh really?’ Patrick replied. ‘If that’s the case, then…position four.’

Max’s uncle lept off from his seat and went to his hands and knees. Patrick smoked away as he used the older man as a footstool.

‘So have you used him as a cocksucker yet?’ Patrick continued. ‘Bet he sucks better than this useless piece of shit. This one’s got nice soft lips.’

Giles responded: ‘No, Mr Collier. Sad to say, you’ll have to get in line…’

8pm - Getting Dressed

Max stared at himself in the bedroom mirror, shirtless. He wore his tuxedo trousers, the black sheer socks, and the patent leather shoes. He was happy to be dressed up like a Ken doll by Nicholas, who buttoned every button and ensured everything was neatly ironed and fitted.

Everything that had happened to him trickled through his mind since he first got to Northwood Manor. He couldn’t help but think how strange it was that Delia, a trusted maid for decades, ‘forgot’ she stole cutlery. Or the disappearance of Cliff, who he had strange memories of being tied up in a basement begging to get fucked. Or Nicholas, the gardener turned eager obedient servant boy. Or Oliver, the servant he fucked earlier. Or, oh god, his uncle? But what about himself? He arrived a philandering hedonistic straight playboy, and now look at him. Confused, having sex with men, and he lived his life in suits and tuxedos. And he couldn’t forget those days, every day, licking his own cum off the mirror.

He shuddered. He tried to explain it all using reason, or science, but no. He couldn’t explain it all away anymore. He had to put it all together. He had to…

‘Nicholas?’ Max said.

‘Yes, Sir?’ the servant responded.

‘I need to leave. I-I need to get out of here.’

‘But, Sir, the party. Your guests are already arriving, Sir.’

Max moaned his frustration. His head hurt, trying to pull all the strings together in one. But he had to use his strength. Fight.

‘C-come with me, Nicholas. We can find a way to fix the two of us together,’ he said.

‘Oh silly Max,’ Nicholas smiled. ‘Why don’t you just stop fighting the inevitable?’

Max didn’t get it. He was in shock. He had never heard the blond boy use his name.

‘Nick? Nicholas? What do you mean?’ he said.

‘So stupid,’ Nicholas said. ‘I always knew Granthams were idiots but I never knew you were this stupid. It just made my job easier.’

‘You?’ Max responded. ‘You did this all?’

‘Oh god no,’ Nicholas responded. ‘Giles has a lot of talent for mind control. It’s his eyes, you see. Catch one look and he enters into your mind like it’s sweets ready for taking. He can enter your dreams and inch by inch he’ll make you into what you ought to be.’

Max was transfixed, stuck, his eyes staring at the mirror. Nicholas too, looked in the mirror at him.

‘Sure he might have taught me a few tricks. But he was in my family’s employ the entire time.’

Max said: ‘I don’t…get why you would want to do this to me.’

‘You’re a Grantham,’ Nicholas said. ‘Granthams stole this manor from the Colliers. Colliers were born in Northwood. You just took it from us a century and a half ago. What did we become? We had nothing. We watched, toiling as servants and butlers, as we saw our beloved home become desecrated. And what’s worse, the portraits of my ancestors still line the halls. So yes, of course you deserve it.’

‘But why?’ Max stopped. He should have put it together. The same shining blond head of hair on Nicholas’ head matched the men and women in the portraits perfectly.

‘Why spend every day sucking me off? I…trusted you.’

‘You didn’t get all the pleasure,’ Nicholas smiled, bearing his teeth.

‘Oh-ok,’ Max said, his nerves showing. ‘Have the manor. Just please let me go. Let me leave. I just…want to leave. God I haven’t left this place in so long, have I? Let me go. I won’t bother you anymore. I promise.’

Nicholas stopped.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sign the manor to me, the rightful heir Nicholas Collier, and we’ll see about your freedom.’

‘Deal,’ Max responded.

9pm - The Party

‘Good evening all,’ Max said into the microphone, his voice booming.

‘Thank you for coming.’

He breathed. He began his prepared speech.

‘For too long, Northwood Manor has been in the wrong hands. It is time to rectify decades of insult. It is time the mansion returns to its rightful owners. Would the true heir join me now?’

Nicholas, still in his servant uniform, waved to the smattering of confused applause from the audience.

Max said: ‘Research has revealed the Granthams are the unfair owners of this manor. As the Collier family built this manor, and owned it for centuries, will you Nicholas Collier please take over as Master of this house?’

Patrick, who looked on as his uncle stood behind him with a bowed head, couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘I’d be very happy to,’ Nicholas said into the microphone. Away from the mic, he added ‘boy’.

Max caught Nicholas’ eyes, his face sunken.

‘Give me your tuxedo jacket,’ Nicholas continued to whisper. Max whisked it off, quickly, not wanting to anger him any further. The man he once thought was his servant, stood there, in his tuxedo jacket.

And Max looked at himself. He remembered what he felt like when he looked in the mirror. With the jacket, he was a master, and without, he was a servant boy. Prince to pauper. Upstairs to downstairs.

He stood straighter. Firmer. And then put his hands behind his back.

‘Bow,’ Nicholas said. It was only after a moment that Max realised he had said it into the mic.

‘Bow, boy. Do it.’

He did. Max bowed deeply in front of the young blond man who stood before the stares of the crowd.

‘On your knees, boy,’ he added. People in the crowd murmured. What was happening?

Max did it. He bowed his head. He knew he’d been beaten.

‘Kiss my shoes, boy,’ Nicholas said, and he didn’t even have to wait before Max reluctantly started lapping at his new Master’s feet.

Nicholas whispered: ‘Did you really think I’d let you go? No boy, you’re going to be my servant, my cocksucker, and my fuck toy. Your days of freedom are over. You’re going to be my good, obedient boy, aren’t you?’

Max kept kissing, caressing, lapping at his feet. He didn’t know what would happen if he disobeyed, and he didn’t want to find out.

‘Yes, Master,’ he said.

Nicholas again faced the crowd.

Previously: Trust fund heir Max was given the keys to Northwood Manor, a dilapidated estate. A small staff was instructed to help him as he worked on the house to earn his way back into the good graces of the family. There is the strange butler, Giles, the local chef, Cliff, and a loyal maid named Delia who was  fired after decades of service. The rough but attractive young gardener, Nick, has been transformed into a servant.

Read part one.

Master of the House (Part 2 of 6)

How could you best describe the feeling of being the subject of worship? Mouth on cock, the licking, the sucking, it drove Max wild. Being enveloped in the lips of a warm mouth. Pleasing, moaning, the tension building. Heavy breaths. Up and down, with gentle licks on the bottom of his dick. His soft hand rested on the head as waves of pleasure flooded his body. Dick wet, he pulses down and his hips rise to pick up the pace. And he feels the waves crash and simmer through his skin and almost out through his toes. Caressing the face, he feels stubble. Max doesn’t care. He wants it so badly. He wants it. He wants.

The door knocked three times, stirring him awake.

His eyes flicked open as he faced the day. It was another sex dream. Another dream with no payoff. Enough was enough, he thought as he tugged at his hard cock through his pajamas. Once again, Max had woken up drenched with sweat.

The door knocked three times once more.

‘Good morning, Master!’ Nicholas chimed from outside the door. ‘Breakfast is served.’

‘Come in!’ Max said.

Trying to hide in the sheets of the bed, his cock rock hard burning for attention. For the past week, the blond gardener-turned-servant boy had been delivering his morning meal. Every time as Max longed to get a morning wank in to try and relieve himself from the stress, he’d be woken up and interrupted. It was starting to get frustrating. He needed to cum, badly.

‘That’s all, Nicholas,’ Max said. ‘

‘But Sir, normally I’m here to pour your coffee and juice Sir,’ the young servant said. ‘Do you need me to assist you in any other way Sir?’

Max wondered, considered. He couldn’t help but gaze at the young sun-kissed lad all scrubbed up and dressed up in a uniform. The black bowtie indicating his service. The waistcoat hugging his virile, muscled frame. The luscious full lips that pursed a little. His puppy dog eyes.

‘Yes,...’ Max said, slightly sitting up in bed. His cock still as hard as anything.

‘Get on your knees.’

******

Giles was in his butler’s study, preparing for the day. The work was going excellently. Books were in order, chores were complete, and companies had been chosen to begin the work in the east wing of the manor. Surveying his desk, he cast his eye over his things. Simple, really. He didn’t need much. A fountain pen given to him from Max’s uncle, a pocket-watch on a silver chain, cufflinks, and numerous papers detailing the history and blueprint of the house.

Without a maid, he considered whether it was necessary to bring in extra help. Perhaps one of the lads from the nearby village could be a good opportunity. Take a young guy just turned 21 from a life of rugby or football, dallying with drunken fumblings in the park and gift to him a life of elegance, formality and service. He always loved seeing a boy try on a bow tie the first time, not knowing it would be the last time he would want to wear anything else.

But no, he must be patient. Giles couldn’t wait to see Northwood Manor alive with activity again. A house full of servants working together for one purpose: to care for a Master’s every need.

But Max, and the rest of the house, still needed some work.

******

‘I’m sorry, no, Nicholas get up please. I’m sorry,’ Max stammered, flying to the ensuite bathroom.

‘Master, is everything okay?’ Nicholas said, still kneeling in front of the bed.

Max had come so close, so close, to fucking the blond boy’s face. Those lips were calling to his cock. Running cold water in the basin, he splashed his face to wake him back up to reality.

But no, he couldn’t. He was straight. He liked women. This couldn’t, no wouldn’t, work.

‘Please leave Nicholas, go about your chores!’ Max cried.

‘Yes Master, whatever you say,’ Nicholas said from outside the door. ‘Following your morning run, Sir, it is in the schedule for me to measure you for a new suit. Is that still suitable, Sir?’

‘Yes boy, no, wait, yes Nicholas, that will be fine!’

But it wasn’t. Max worked up a sweat, fast, as he paced around the estate. Trying to gain a wind in the summer sun, his muscles glistened, but he couldn’t get Nicholas’ lips out of his head. The guy, all dressed up in a black bow tie, on his knees in his bedroom.

And every time he passed the main entrance of the manor, Nicholas was there. He didn’t move once. He stood there, like a statue, in his uniform. In his right hand a silver plate with cold towels, and his left hand behind his back.

Even though he tried to think of the various women he had bedded over the years, he couldn’t. He couldn’t help but think of the pleasure he could feel, the relief, the need.

Max kept running faster.

*********  

Cliff had been a cook for a long time now, and he couldn’t help but think this was probably his easiest gig aside from the loss of his beloved beard. He’d never really been one to work well with others, so going solo was fine. It was one guy he was cooking for, and the dude seemed like pretty relaxed with a wide taste in food. Having been a personal chef now for quite a long time, he had to get used to individual palettes.

Some will request the foie gras and the caviar available for guests, of course, but some also just as easily crave a meatball sub.

Max’s uncle, Maximilian himself, loved his sausages.

Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen was brand new. Easy to clean and maintain, and capable of making dishes for a whole wedding’s worth of people. He supposed a big house like this would end up being converted into a hotel or something.

He only made three special meals a day for the boss. For him and Nick, it was a diet of chicken, veg and brown rice as ordered by Giles. He had no idea how Giles was getting his meals, as he never came down for them and ate alone in his study.

It meant he was getting a little bored, and would go on walks through the labyrinth of rooms and see what he could find. Cliff loved history, and was a son of the nearby village. It was actually an honour to work at Northwood Manor. He still remembered riding his bike up to the locked gates as a kid, and wondering what kind of people lived there.

Built as a present from the king, the manor was given to the Colliers who owned it for centuries. About 150 years ago, it was sold to the Granthams – Max’s family. It was not a surprise. Back in the day there used to be many manors like this one that had an army of butlers, valets, footmen, servants, maids, chauffeurs, and cooks. But as times changed, the upper class shrank, and life continued.

The Granthams were a grandfather clock in a world of iPhones, ticking along to keep on with tradition no matter what.

Ever since they bought the place, even through two world wars, a Grantham had always stayed as Master of the house.

Cliff had returned to his favourite room, the library, and poured over musty tome after musty tome. While it may look like gibberish, it revealed hints at decades of scandal, betrayal, intrigue, and family mystery. He wondered whether he could compile something and gift it to Max, perhaps make him see how fascinating it all is.

As he drew back another volume, and he flicked through, something seemed a little unusual. A letter. Not from decades ago, it was clearly written on modern paper. Why was it tucked inside a tome of family records?

Hidden inside the envelope, addressed to no one, seemed to be a note written in careful but quick handwriting. Cliff wondered whether it belonged to Max’s uncle.

Hesitating, he drew the letter out from the envelope. Unfolding it, his eyes scattered across the page. Widening, Cliff couldn’t believe what he just read.

‘What have you found Clifford?’ a voice from the darkness said.

The creaking library door slammed shut.

******

Max was trying his hardest to think of something else, anything else.

He and Nicholas were back in his bedroom, and his servant was going through a rack of suits in a variety of cuts and fabrics that had just arrived. It had been recommended by Giles if he was to be meeting with contractors, he could hardly do it in a polo and jeans. Most of the suits on the rack looked vintage to Max, with many choices of wool blends and double-breasted jackets.

He’d had to find something that looked the most fashionable.

But first, he was going to get measured by Nicholas. The servant boy would often absent-mindedly tighten his black bow tie or straighten his waistcoat. Max still couldn’t believe the transformation. When he was a gardener, he was foul-mouthed and had no manners. What had happened to him?

‘It is likely best if we begin the measurements with you in your undergarments, Master,’ Nicholas said, peering over the list of what he needed to write down.

Max nodded, sighing a little. Of course. Shrugging off the polo shirt and unbuttoning the jeans, he willed his mind to think of his old Latin teacher as he stood in his boxers. He kept trying to tell himself a, he was straight, and b, think of someone he couldn’t get a boner from. Why wasn’t it working?

But even Max could see Nicholas’ smile as he unveiled his tight abs and muscles won through sport and swimming. He was proud of his body, he had every right to be. He loved showing it off.

‘Hmm,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s probably best if I measure with you while you’re wearing socks and suspenders as well, Sir. Let me put them on for you.’

With a flourish, Nicholas was back on his knees in front of Max. With a gesture, the young man in uniform had ushered up the sheerest luxurious socks up to the near top of Max’s calves.

Max tried to stop himself from looking at this man with his sun-kissed skin work to buckle the sock to his leg with the suspender. It was a will that tortured Max, trying to control his body, as he almost shook from the anguish.

‘How does that feel, Master?’ Nicholas queried, looking up at him from below.

‘Good!’ Max said. ‘Thank you!’

Hiking up his black trousers to stand, the transformed servant went to the table to fetch the measuring tape.

‘Could you hold your arms up, Master?’ the boy softly said, almost as a whisper. He stroked Max’s back muscles, his arms and softly touched his wrists to take the measurement. Behind him, Max could feel the hands move to take his length. And then, the hands moved around him, embracing him, to measure the waist.

‘Are you ready for me to do the in-seam, Master?’ Nicholas said.

‘Y-yes,’ Max gulped.

And with those warmed hands underneath the soft cotton of the glove, they moved upwards. Heat travelled up towards Max’s crotch. This was it. He had lost.

‘Oh Master, wow,’ Nicholas said, his face directly in front of Max’s bulging cock in his boxers. He licked his lips. He stared at his Sir, eyes sparkling.

‘You know, Sir, I am happy to serve you in any way you want.’

Max couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t a fag. He wasn’t a nancy boy. He wasn’t like this! But he couldn’t help it, he wanted it. He needed it. He had to feel a mouth on his cock.

‘P-please,’ Max said. ‘Please serve me.’

Max’s cock charged to full attention in the cool air as Nicholas released it from its cotton prison. Warm breath tickled the bulging, fiery head slick with need. And with a single, triumphant lick, Max surrendered.

And like that, Nicholas swallowed Max’s length to the very end. It was worship. The licking, the sucking, it was everything Max needed. A hand rested on his blond locks as his knees almost buckled from the pleasure. Heat enveloped his body as the sounds of sucking. Involuntarily he moaned deep as he felt his hips meet head. His dick wet, he felt his body clench and release as the boy drove him wild. This felt like everything. He feared it was a dream. But it wasn’t. His body tingled like fireworks and exploded into Nicholas’ eager, waiting mouth. Shots of salty hot seed was sucked down the throat. It was a pleasure that Max had never felt before, and knew immediately he would have to feel again.

Nicholas tried to catch his breath. And once again, absent-mindedly fixed his bow tie so it was straight and to attention.

‘Was that good for you, Master?’ he asked, looking up.

‘Yes boy. Yes, it was very good boy,’ Max smiled in relief, his hand still stroking his servant’s head.

‘This will be one of your duties, now. Every morning when I wake up. Also, whenever I want it. Got it boy?’

‘Yes Master!’ Nicholas said. ‘I am happy to be of service, Sir.’

‘Good boy,’ Max said, as he stood a little taller. ‘Now it is time you dress me in one of these suits. I have important matters to attend to.’

As the servant that just sucked his cock buttoned his shirt, and tied a tie around his neck, Max couldn’t help but think he could get used to this. What was wrong with playing the Master? That’s what he was, after all. That’s what he had learned. Some men are servants, submissive and eager to please. And some men are Masters, and had servants to please them.

Almost fully dressed, he saw Nicholas in that uniform of his. The bow tie so tight. His expression so innocent. It was easy for him to unzip and release his hardening cock once again.

‘Boy, those matters can wait,’ Max said, as he tightened the tie at his neck. ‘First of all, serve me again.’