The need to obey

By Musiker 
8 parts
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• Latest update: 9 November. Next update: 23 November. (Submissions welcome.)

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Part 1

I approached the bouncer timidly. There was no reason for me to be nervous, but I’m always a wreck until I find a master. I don’t like doing things of my own accord, it feels like I’m being bad. I want to obey. I am a good boy.

I stood at the bottom of the three concrete steps leading to the club entrance so I wouldn’t scare him too much. I guessed from the few furtive glances I had allowed myself that the bouncer was maybe six foot two, and very muscular. Still, despite the fact that he was at the top of the steps and I was standing on the ground, our eyes were at the same height. I refused to look at his face, though. A good boy keeps his gaze cast down when addressing his betters.

“M-May I c-come in, sir?” I stammered. “My m-master said I-I sh-should wait f-for him i—i-inside.” The lie made me sick to my stomach. Lying is bad. But I needed to look for a master, and my best chances were in a place like this. I didn’t even know if the lie was necessary; maybe he would have let me in if I had simply asked for permission. I so rarely go anywhere without a master to tell me what to do that I just don’t know what the rules are.

I kept my eyes on the bouncer’s feet as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was probably wondering what he would do if I started to cause problems inside. Or maybe he was wondering what he could possibly do to stop me from coming in.

“Sure, dude, whatever,” he grunted.

“Thank you, sir.” I bobbed my head in respect. Then I climbed the three steps. The bouncer had to scrunch himself at the very edge of the stoop to make room for me. I tried my best to not get in his personal space, but my shoulders are really, really wide and my back muscles make my arms stick way out. I turned sideways to squeeze through the doorway. First my right arm, then down with the shoulder and head, then kind of shuffle sideways until my left arm was inside. What was I going to do when I couldn’t get through doors any more?

Once inside, I stepped away from the door as soon as I could; I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone by blocking the entrance. I looked around the large main room with relief. There were people talking and eating and drinking and walking around, but I only cared about who was here, rather than what they were doing. This place would have lots of masters by the end of the night. Masters often look like regular people, but slaves like me are easier to spot. It was early, but already I saw several guys wearing leashes; one of them had on a pup mask. I knew from experience it would be a mistake to talk to those guys. Though I felt a kinship with them, I would make them feel too uncomfortable. I tried to ignore my loneliness as I scanned the room for a hallway that looked like it would have a restroom at the end. Seeing one, I hitched up the backpack that was too small for my back and headed over to it.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, so there was no one else inside the restroom. As quickly as I could, I ripped off my plain white t-shirt. I might have gotten it off without ruining it, but it would have taken forever and I wanted to display myself to potential masters as soon as possible. I did take a moment to pause and look at my bare chest in the mirror. Written permanently across my enormous pecs were two words: “Slave Boy”. My name. I was so proud of that tattoo. One of my favorite masters, Master Ruben, had gotten that done for me. I smiled fondly and mentally thanked him again for that gift.

I stuffed the now-tattered t-shirt into the backpack and took out a stringer tank top I had prepared that I hoped would attract a master. I didn’t need it to show off my muscles—the t-shirt had been practically bursting—but stringers are just easier to get on and off. I put the shirt over my head and stretched it down over my pecs. It dug into my armpits a bit, but I would be fine. Hopefully my new master would give me permission to go shirtless.

I looked at the front of my shirt, on which I had written “Yes Sir Thank You Sir” in Sharpie. The back said, “Hard Worker Good Boy”. I sincerely hoped that would get my point across. I reached into the backpack again and fished out a chain-style dog collar. Hanging from it was a single key. I put it around my neck with some relief. I had to do everything in exactly the right order, or I would screw it all up.

Knowing this would be my last chance to do so for a long time, I hefted my grapefruit size balls up to make sure they were snugly secure in their special jock strap. Next, I pulled a pair of handcuffs and a zip tie out of the backpack, letting it fall to the ground. I felt guilty for leaving the backpack for someone else to pick up, but when I was done here it would be very difficult to pick up. Maybe whoever found it would want to keep it. I tugged down the waistband of my sweatpants to reveal the first few inches of my chastity cage where it reached over the top of my jock strap. I didn’t even need to be locked up to keep from using my penis. It was just so large, reaching exactly down to my knee, that if I allowed myself to get an erection, I would pass out. The chastity cage prevented that.

I laced the zip tie through my cage and around the chain part of the handcuffs, then tightened it until the cuffs were firmly attached. I refused to wonder what I would do if this didn’t work. I just had to want a master badly enough, and one would come to me. I couldn’t stand another night without someone to tell me what to do.

I pulled my sweatpants back up, thinking gratefully about whoever had invented them. Without sweatpants, I would have had to stop going out in public years ago; how would I ever have found new masters then?

Now I had just the two open cuffs sticking out of my waistband. I slipped my left wrist into one and closed it tightly with my right hand. Now came the tricky part, but one of my former masters, Master Joe, had particularly enjoyed watching me render myself helpless in just this way, so I had practice. I put my right wrist into the remaining cuff. Then I wriggled the cuff and my body around until it was wedged between my abs and my right thigh. It took a moment, but soon my hands were essentially cuffed to my dick.

I really hoped this would make me look suitable to be claimed. I needed to seem harmless yet useable. I knew that eventually I would find someone to own me, but the time between masters was always a painful one. I’m a good boy. I need someone to obey.

I squeezed myself out of the restroom and shuffled into the club. I needed to be here early because I needed a table. I picked the smallest one I could find, off the the side, so that the back of my shirt would be legible to passersby. I gently nudged one of the chairs to the side with my foot so I could kneel at the table. This would ensure that if a prospective owner sat down, my head would still be lower than his. Kneeling with cuffed hands and oversized genitals was another tricky task, but again, this was a skill I had practiced more times than I could remember. I managed to position myself without bruising my knees or landing on my dick or squashing my balls too badly, and settled down to wait.

There was a server several tables away. I wished he would come over and sell me a beer. He glanced disinterestedly around the room, his gaze passing across me where I knelt, rather than sat. Then he looked back at me with a startled expression. He had suddenly realized I was much larger than he had expected any patron to be. He sauntered over to the table I was at. I don’t know how or why, but whenever I really need something while I search for a master, I usually get it. Maybe it’s just that I’m so grateful.

“Well hello, big boy,” he smiled. I didn’t like his smile, but I needed his help. “What can I get you?”

“Thank you for coming, sir,” I stated humbly. I held my hands as high as I could so he could see they couldn’t move much. “There’s some money in my pocket, sir. Could you please reach in, take out a 20, bring me a beer, and keep the change, sir?”

He stood there for a moment with one eyebrow raised.

“Are you shitting me?”

“No, sir. Please, sir?”

“Oh my God,” he sighed. He reached into my pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “Dude! There’s like, fucking $500 in here! What if I decided to take all of it?”

“I hope you won’t, sir,” I begged, bowing my head. “But I really need the beer, please, sir.”

“You are seriously messed up.” He took a 20 and shoved the rest of the money back into my pocket. A few minutes later he brought the beer. This time he got a good look at my shirt and paused to read both sides.

“You really are fucked up,” he smirked.

“Yes, sir. Would you please put the beer by the other chair, sir?”

“Your master coming to meet you?” He put the beer across the table from me.

“I very much hope so, sir. Thank you again, sir.”

The server shook his head and hurried off. He stayed well away for the rest of the evening.

I took a deep breath, settling myself for a long wait. My new master might not come for another six hours. He might not come at all tonight. No, I couldn’t think that, my new master would come for me. I waited patiently. Good boys are patient.

A part of me was aware that people were walking past, doing double-takes at my size, commenting on my kneeling position, chortling over the messages on my shirt. They didn’t really matter to me. I was busy “feeling” for my new master.

A couple times, I felt the little tug inside my gut that signaled someone who could be a master was looking at me or thinking about me. One man tugged at me for a full minute, but moved on after that. I wondered if this was what it was like to go fishing. I had only ever gone on one fishing trip, and my master forbade me from touching his reel or tackle or anything. I was there to clean the fish after master caught them. But I heard him and his friend talking about it, and fishing did sort of sound like what I was doing here. Except when I’m fishing for a master, the bait is me.

I just waited. The music got louder and louder. It made me anxious. To distract myself, I repeated my Good Boy Rules in my head. Good boys obey. Good boys work hard. Good boys don’t whine. Good boys do what is required. Good boys anticipate their masters’ needs, but get permission before they act. Good boys show deference and respect. And on, and on. There are many, many rules.

It was about one in the morning, and I was starting to worry that maybe tonight wasn’t my night when someone showed some serious interest. I felt a strong tug as a man approached me from behind.

“‘Harrrd worker…gooooood boy’,” slurred the man standing behind me. “Hey! Are you? Are you a good boy, boy?” A boot nudged me in the small of my back. “Whoa, what the fuck, you’re kneeling? Fuck, I thought you were in a chair, you’re fuckin’ huge.” The man walked around to stand by the chair opposite me. He read the front of my shirt out loud.

“‘Yes sir, thank you sir.’ Hey, you didn’t answer my question. Answer me.”

A command! I felt a jolt of relief and exultation. I could obey! It had only been three days since I had a master, but that was already such a long time to go without obeying!

“I try to be a good boy, sir. I really, really try all the time, sir,” I assured him. The tug became a steady pull.

“You wanna be a good boy for me?”

“I would be deeply honored, sir.” To further drive the point home, I bowed my head as low as I could. It wasn’t very low, because I couldn’t get all my bulky muscles to move out of each others’ way. But good boys always try their best anyway.

“Whose is that?” He nodded to the beer that was still sitting on the table.

“It’s yours, sir, if you’d like it.”

The man sat down heavily in the chair and put his boots up on the table. He had on jeans and a long-sleeve, bright orange t-shirt. It looked like he had come here from work, probably in construction. But his jeans weren’t very dirty, so maybe a foreman or something? Or maybe he did inside things like electric stuff. He picked up the glass of beer, took a sip, made a horrible face, and spit it out. Some of it sprayed on me but I didn’t flinch. Good boys don’t whine.

“This shit’s warm! And flat!”

I was horrified. My masters either forbid me from drinking alcohol, or order me to drink a whole lot at once because they think it’s funny to see me drunk. I know very little about drinking, but it should have occurred to me that the beer would go flat! I should have kept refreshing it as the night wore on. I mean, the server never came back, but a good boy would have figured out a way to get another beer. This was all my fault!

“I’m so terribly sorry, sir! Please, sir, I-I have some m-money, I-I can b-buy you a new one!”

The man gave me a look that was part contempt, part disbelief, and part drunken sleepiness. He set the beer back on the table.

“Nah, I’ve had too much anyway. Tell you what, boy, you can make it up to me by cleaning my boots.”

Another command, and a chance to redeem myself! I scrambled to obey as quickly as I could with my hands cuffed at waist level. I had just opened my mouth to start licking when he slid his feet sideways off the table, gently kicking my nose as they went. I knew not to look the man in the face because it would have seemed like a challenge to his right to to do as he liked. Still, I could tell he was watching to see how I’d react.

I simply followed his boots to the floor. It was awkward, given how bulky my muscles are, and I tipped forward. I couldn’t stop myself with my hands bound, but I did manage to land on my left shoulder instead of my face. It hurt, but I am a good boy and I don’t complain. I landed about a foot away from my target so I had to wriggle my body forward until I could get my face next to his right boot. I knew I had to be very careful because if I hit the tabletop or pushed the table out of carelessness, that beer could tip over and spill on the man. That would be unforgivable, considering that he was so generously offering me this chance to obey.

I started licking the outside of his boot with long strokes of the tongue. Despite the awkward position, this was a skill I had practiced thousands of times. I was immensely grateful that he only had loose, dry dust on his boots and not caked-on mud. My tongue sometimes hurts real bad after cleaning dried mud. I finished cleaning the outside side of his boot and needed to reposition myself. I squeezed my powerful abs and pressed as much as I could with my left elbow and barely managed to get myself into a doubled-over kneeling position. I shuffled on my knees until I had gotten my head between his feet.

The man decided to cross his legs at that moment. He lifted his left foot to his right knee, kicking me on the side of my head. I was expecting that. By now I could tell this was my try-out and the man I hoped would become my master was testing me to see if I was truly a good boy, or just boasting. Every single master I’ve ever had has tested me, and I’m proud to say I have never failed a test. Not once. They always see what a good boy I am.

I finished cleaning his right boot, including the back part behind his heel, which a less experienced slave might have missed. Now I needed the man’s other foot, but it was up on his knee.

“May I please clean your other boot, sir?”

“I’m waiting, boy,” he smirked. He didn’t move his foot. I scooted myself out from under the table, grateful to have more room, and hitched my body up to match the height of the man’s knee. I began to lick the toe of his left boot, then all along the arch all the way to the heel. He graciously allowed me to rest my head on his leg while I worked on the back of the boot’s heel. That was a good sign that he would be an especially loving master. Finally, I leaned down so I could reach the outside edge of the boot, currently on the underside of his foot. Again very graciously, he moved his foot slightly so I could get to the last little bit. I was very proud of my thoroughness.

I retreated a few inches and again bowed my head, hoping for another command I could obey.

“May I do anything else for you, please, sir?” I didn’t get a response. I dared to look up into the man’s face. He had the appearance of a man in a trance.

This also happens with every single new master. At some point he will sort of freeze and just stare into my eyes for a long time. I don’t know why it happens, but then he snaps out of his reverie, he asks me some questions, then takes me home to consummate our bond. After a very long pause he blinked quickly and sat up a little straighter. I took that as my cue to avert my gaze back downward.

“Why’s a big boy like you wanna be a slave, anyway? Shouldn’t you be the one telling men to lick your boots?”

“I would never do that, sir!” I stated. The idea of people obeying me was appalling. I obeyed. “I’m a good boy, and good boys obey.”

“Huh. What’s your name, boy?”

“Slave Boy, sir.”

“No, like, your real name.”

“Slave Boy is the only name I’ve ever had, sir. I even have a tattoo, see, sir?” I proudly straightened up so he could read my chest. The man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward so he could move the straps of my stringer tank out of the way. With a slight smile he hooked first one side, then the other, under my nipples; the bulging shape of my pecs kept the straps in place.

He looked at my chest for a long, long moment. I wasn’t sure if he just read slowly or if he was appreciating the hard mounds of muscle the words were inked onto. Either way, I was honored to let him look as long as he liked. If I was to be his property, he ought to have a chance to examine me thoroughly first.

“So. My fucking ass hole of a ‘buddy’ ditched me for a hook-up. I’m gonna call an Uber. You ready to come home with me?”

“Yes, please, sir. I have some money for the fare, sir. I’d be honored if you would accept it. It’s in my pocket, here.” I waddled on my knees until the correct pocket was close enough that he could reach into it without getting out of his chair. With a smirk, he reached into the pocket and found the wad of money.

“Holy mother of fuck, how much is this?” he exclaimed.

“Hopefully, it’s $1,180, sir, unless the server took more than he was supposed to for the beer.” The server had assumed the bills were all 20’s, but some were 100’s. “It’s for you, sir. For my upkeep. My last master gave it to me when he couldn’t keep me anymore.”

Technically, my former master had given me permission to withdraw it from his account. He said he wouldn’t be needing it anymore anyway, so I might as well put some use to it. I wanted badly for my future master to have it.

The man agitatedly took a breath to say something, but then suddenly paused. I peeked up and saw he’d gotten a sort of a glassy look in his eyes. Our gazes locked on one another and he stared into my eyes again for a long while. I really wanted for him to just accept the money and not worry about it. He looked vaguely down at the money in his hand.

“Yeah, okay. Your upkeep. That… that makes sense.” He pocketed the large pile of bills. I was relieved someone more responsible than me would be taking care of the money. I hate money. The man messed with his phone for a bit, then stood up.

“All right boy, get up.” I stood. His head tilted back as mine rose higher and higher. “Shit, you really are big.”

I’ve noticed, when you’re slightly larger than someone and they say you’re big, it’s a compliment. When you’re much, much larger and they say you’re big, it’s not. I didn’t know if I should thank him, but decided it would be safer in this case not to. Instead I stood there awkwardly, twisting my hands back and forth in their cuffs. The man looked down at them.

“So what’s with the cuffs, anyway? That some kinda fetish you got?”

“It’s your pleasure that is important, sir, not mine. The cuffs are there so people will know I’m harmless. People sometimes are… a-afraid of me.” I looked to the side in shame. I was a good boy. I couldn’t help my size. I hated when people looked at me with fear on their faces.

“Hey,” he patted my butt. “I ain’t gonna be scared of you. I can see you’re a good boy.”

“Thank you, sir!” I gasped. Now, that was a compliment! The best ever! I desperately wanted this man to be my master. He gave me a kind little smile, like he felt sorry for me.

“Why do I feel like I’m taking home a seven-and-a-half foot tall puppy?” he mumbled, then reached up to the key hung around my neck. “So, is this for the cuffs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Want me to take them off?”

“I would be very, very grateful for that kindness, sir. I swear to you, I won’t run away.”

“Ha! Sonny boy, you just gave me $1,200. I know you ain’t goin’ nowhere without me. Well, you’d better bend over or I ain’t gonna get that key off of you.”

I happily doubled over so he could reach the key. After fiddling with it for a few seconds, he undid it from the dog collar. I stood back up so he could reach my handcuffs. He unlocked one side, then the other.

“Thank you very much, sir.” I shook my hands gently, leaving the cuffs to hang out of my sweatpants.

“What did you hook these to, anyway?” The man grasped the front of my waistband and pulled straight out so he could see. He gasped when he saw my chastity cage, the handcuffs now clacking against it, and leaned down for a better look. “What the fuck?“ He let my waistband go with a snap and placed a hand directly on my crotch where my dick curved downward. His eyes grew wider and wider as his hand continued patting my caged penis lower and lower where it descended along my left leg. When he finally reached the end, right at my knee, his face was just at the height of my scrotum. He put his other hand on my balls then used both hands so he could scoop under them and sort of heft them upward. Two larger-than-softball-sized bulges moved up and down inside the sweatpants. The man suddenly looked up into my eyes. He was too quick, and I wasn’t able to avert my gaze in time.

“That’s all you? You’re not stuffing or something?” he questioned.

“Those are really my genitals, sir.” I was getting anxious. I hated this moment, when a new master discovered the size of my privates. I always worried they wouldn’t like me because of them. I fervently wished he would be okay with them.

“You put silicone in them, or what?”

“N-N-No, sir, they…they j-just grew.” I desperately wanted him to not worry about my genitals. I was a bottom, anyway, they didn’t matter. I wanted him to like my ass and my mouth, not my dick and balls. “Please, please, please let him like my privates,” I thought frantically. He spent some more time feeling my balls through the sweatpants: he hefted them up and down, reached his hand as far behind them as he could, squeezed each one just hard enough so that they ached slightly.

“Un-fucking-believable,” the man muttered to himself. I was deeply relieved that his tone wasn’t disgusted or jealous. Then he addressed me again. “You are a bottom, right?”

“Y-Yes, sir. I couldn’t use my penis even if I wanted to, sir.” He roared with laughter when I said that.

“No, I guess there ain’t a bun anywhere big enough to hold that weiner, eh?” he guffawed at top volume, patting my cock cage through the leg of my sweats. The last remaining patrons in the bar all turned and stared. I saw them and blushed in shame. “Hey.” He stood up, reached his hand all the way up to my cheek and turned my face back toward his. “Don’t you worry about them, I’m here. I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart.”

I felt such intense joy when he said that tears came to my eyes. He had put his finger right on why I was so desperate to find a master. When I was owned, I was safe. He would protect me, just as I would serve him.

“Thank you, sir, thank you so much.”

“Let’s go.” He patted my cheek and led the way to the exit. Encountering the doorway, he looked first at it, then at me, then back with much amusement on his face. “You know what? You go first. I want to watch this.” He stepped back with a chuckle.

I approached the doorway and reversed the cumbersome process of entering. First my left arm, then down with the shoulder and head, then kind of shuffle sideways until my right arm was outside. I hurried down the steps to give the bouncer space while my soon-to-be master sauntered out.

“What, are you telling me you’rehis master?” the bouncer chuckled. Instantly I felt a surge of red-hot rage. How dare he disrespect this wonderful, kind man, how dare he? In two steps I was at the base of the stoop with my nose touching his.

“You do not disrespect this man!” I screamed, spittle flying into the bouncer’s eyes. When I raise my voice it is like a lightning strike. I am not boasting, one of my former masters said that about me often. The bouncer flinched away from me. He was an idiot. I would never have flinched.

“Oh fuck, sorry, man, sorry. Have a good night, sir,” the idiot babbled.

“You do not speak to me, I am nothing. You will address this man with respect and apologize properly.” I saw out of the corner of my eye that my soon-to-be master’s face was white and his eyes were wide.

“Y-yeah, yeah, um. Yeah.” The idiot turned and addressed my future master with proper respect. There was a puddle on the concrete at his feet and a dark spot all the way down his jeans. “I…uh, uh…I apologize for my rudeness, sir. I-I-I hope you can forg-give me. Please? Sir? Um, please, h-have a good night, sir. Thank you. Sir.”

I took some deep breaths to settle myself and stepped away from the idiot. I cast my gaze at my feet. I saw the wonderful man’s feet come up toe-to-toe with mine. His face looked up into mine and he put a hand gently on my chest.

“You good?” he murmured. For some reason he looked worried about me. I didn’t understand; he was the one who had been wronged.

“Yes, sir,” I beamed down at him. “Thank you for your concern, sir.” He gave me a mystified look for a brief second.

“Well, let’s go then, sweetheart.”

Part 2

The wonderful man walked along the alley we were in toward a bigger street where there were many cars. I followed.

“This ain’t exactly a luxury resort, but I’m still surprised they’ve got that guy out here on the door,” he was telling me. “Must be filling in or something. Their regular bouncers are much more professional.”

I didn’t respond. Good boys only speak when it’s clearly necessary, or when asked a direct question. Masters often tell me lots and lots of things because they want an ear to hear their words. Their ears don’t need my words.

Inside me, Master Reuben and several of my other former masters were telling me they thought I should say something about how rude the bouncer was, but I shushed them.

“Looks like our Uber’s here,” the nice man continued, as we stepped onto the sidewalk of the big street. “Of course it’s a Prius, I guess an F-350 was too much to hope for.”

On the ride to the man’s house I earned several bruises and a scrape on my bald head from shoving myself into the back seat too quickly. Fortunately, the driver didn’t object when I laid myself down diagonally across the entire back seat. All three of us were silent for the entire trip. I think the driver was quiet because he was afraid of me; he kept nervously looking at me in the rear-view mirror. I’m not sure what the kind man was thinking about, but other than munching on a couple of protein bars, he seemed to be thinking hard. He occasionally turned to gaze at me over his shoulder for long moments. His expression was a mixture of calculation and puzzlement.

I peeked at his face enough to gather more detail than I had been able to see in the club. I guessed he was in his 30’s. His hair was a rich, dark brown, cut in a short, clipper-cut style. In contrast, he had a long, generous handlebar mustache and bushy eyebrows. His face was very square, with a wide jaw and wide cheekbones, which gave him a very solid, confident appearance. On the other hand, his cheeks were youthfully rosy and there were deep laugh lines around his eyes, making me feel like he probably smiled easily.

That “tug” in my gut that had turned into a strong pull when the man sat down was feeling very, very strange. For the first time I could remember after so many years and so many masters, I was feeling a pull in both directions. Half the time, it felt like my gut was pulling on the man, then half the time he was pulling on my gut like normal. I found this back-and-forth sensation to be deeply disturbing. I did not think my gut had any right to pull on the man, but I could not tell my gut to stop it. I could only hope he was not feeling it. That would surely make him think I was a bad boy.

When we reached our destination I literally crawled out and closed the door with care so it wouldn’t slam. I knelt in the kind man’s driveway as the Uber-that-was-actually-a-Prius pulled out. I could smell ocean and heard waves surprisingly close by, but couldn’t see anything in the dark. Two of my former masters were very impressed with the neighborhood. Master James was debating with Master David about the likely value of the kind man’s property. Master David was skeptical that a construction worker could afford a place like this.

The kind man stood next to me with his hand on my shoulder until the Prius was gone. Then…he changed. Without growing physically, his demeanor seemed to grow enormous. I saw it in the way he breathed and held his head and stood taller. But most significantly, I felt it in my gut. I can’t describe it properly, but it felt like he had been hiding or dimming down his commanding presence until now, and it was swelling to the surface now that it was just me nearby. His kindness didn’t go away, but in an instant he felt regal to me as well. All my former masters were impressed or intrigued. They knew this man was going to give them a show.

I tried not to make a noise, but a little gasp escaped my mouth. My eyes grew huge as I watched and felt his not-physical-transformation. Without looking directly at me, a tiny smile crinkled one corner of his mouth and he stroked my bald head once.

“Follow,” he ordered, snapping his fingers. He marched off toward the house, showing me that he had absolute confidence I would obey. I stood eagerly. This man understood me! If all went as I hoped it would, this man was going to use me the way I had always longed to be used. I was so excited I could hardly keep from dancing along behind him.

We entered his house, and I was delighted to notice he had a very large front door that my colossal bulk fit through easily. His house was quite large. The majority of my masters had apartments or modest one-bedroom houses. This was not a mansion but it was astonishingly large. I wondered if the man had a family or roommates.

We passed a set of stairs and stepped into his living room where he fiddled for a moment with one of a number of dimmer switches. Track lighting on the ceiling softly lit one area of the room; the rest of the room could be seen, but dimly. I counted four expensive-looking leather couches arranged in a sort of semi-circle around the largest television I had seen in my life. There were a number of tables that held sculptures of various kinds; two enormous, expertly woven rugs on the hardwood floor; and pictures and paintings in a variety of sizes on the walls. The general impression of the room was that its owner was a collector of fine arts and crafts. The man snapped his fingers again. He spoke in a calm, quiet tone and gestured toward the couch he had illuminated.

“Slave Boy. Clothes off. Knees, couch. Arms, back of couch. Ass low. Then stay.” I was elated. Crystal clear commands, given firmly but without malice. I scrambled out of my sweat pants, jock strap, and tank top, folding them neatly with quick, efficient flicks of the wrist. Unsure where else to put them, I set them carefully on the floor near the wall. The handcuffs I had used earlier clacked against my cock cage with each movement of my naked body. I had never had a chance to cut the zip tie, but I could tell now was not the time to ask the man for some scissors.

I folded my massive, seven-and-a-half foot tall body over the couch and knelt on the cushion, leaning my upper body cautiously over the back. I worried that the couch would tip over, but it seemed to either be extremely heavy or bolted to the ground because it didn’t budge, even when I gave it a tentative push. Resting my arms on the back of the couch, I let my ass project slightly off the front of the couch and spread my knees very wide so my ass would be as low as possible. I felt my balls dangle on the leather. I hadn’t been told to do so, but I also extended my back to make a pleasing curve for the man to look at. Good boys sometimes have to anticipate a master’s needs.

Pushing my balls out of the way, I also took the liberty of draping my cock off the edge of the cushion, in the event that I came while the man was fucking me. I would get his permission first, of course, but it would be easier to clean the cum off of the hardwood floor later. If I was going to be burdened with the world’s most humiliatingly long dick, I should at least be able to aim it where it would make less of a mess.

The man had left the room while I prepared myself for him. But I had been told to stay, so I stayed. I did not call out for him or turn my head to look for him. A good boy only obeys patiently, and I am a good boy.

I think the silence was about fifteen minutes. It was long enough for my leg muscles to begin to ache. Then, out of complete stillness, I felt the man’s hand rub the small of my back. At the same time, he spoke in a gentle, praising tone.

“Good boy. You are patient and obedient. I can tell you like being a good boy, don’t you?”

“Very much, sir. It is the most important thing in the whole world to me, sir.”

“It shows.” I felt his hand begin to spread to my sides where my muscles go very far outward like wings. “And you like to obey, don’t you? Perhaps you even feel like when you have no commands to obey, you can’t be truly happy?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly right!” The man chuckled at my surprised tone. His hips were between my legs. I could feel that he was naked too. He reached down and hefted my balls a couple times.

“Sweetheart, you don’t know it yet, but we both struck the jackpot tonight.” He fondled my balls for a moment longer, then put both hands on my ass and addressed me in that same firm-but-kind tone.

“Slave Boy. I’m going to enter you. You need to prepare yourself, because I have reasons to believe that when I do, it will be a much more intense experience than you’ve ever had. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, this might be very intense, and I should prepare myself. Thank you, sir.” His statement was puzzling, but if a good boy is confused, he must simply accept what is told to him at face value. I wondered if he just meant that he had a very large penis, but it didn’t sound like he meant it that way.

“Lift your ass three inches.” I did. “Good boy.” He pressed his penis just the tiniest bit into my hole. His penis was lubricated, so his comment about intensity wasn’t referring to bareback sex. I did note to myself that he was quite thick in the cock. That made me happy. He would soon be my master, and he would likely fuck me with his thick penis all the time. Good boys are allowed to enjoy getting fucked, as long as they understand that their master’s pleasure is what really matters. Maybe that’s what he meant about jackpots.

He inserted himself very slowly into me. His caution wasn’t necessary. I had had thirty-nine masters, and most had made a habit of pushing fast and hard on the very first thrust. But I was honored that he was treating me with such care. I felt like this man was going to be the best master ever.

He also had a surprisingly long penis, because he entered me for a very long time. I was just at the point of wondering if he would like me to moan a lot or remain silent when I felt my muscles lock up. I was frozen rigid and couldn’t move. The man had frozen, too. I could feel his hands gripping the sides of my ass, hard enough they would probably leave bruises. I was very frightened; even breathing was difficult. After a moment I began to tremble all over. All of the masters were silent, too; that was unnerving because they never all shut up at once.

The trembling grew worse. Within half a minute I was shaking violently. I got really terrified. A high-pitched noise started to come out of my throat. Despite my fear, I was humiliated. The fact that I couldn’t stop my voice from whining was terribly embarrassing. I worried he would think I wasn’t a good boy after all.

The man’s penis was growing thicker and longer inside of me. It began to hurt. I felt his hands come back to life and grip different parts of my back and butt. He could move again, but I could tell he was trying to pull out of me and failing. My whining sound grew louder. He began to growl as if in frustration; it was a very different voice than the voice he had used to speak to me.

He was growing taller now. He stopped straining to pull out of my butt and grabbed me around the middle with hands that were now larger than mine. He started to thrust into me, hard enough to move my heavily muscled body. His penis was now so big that it really, really hurt when he did that. His thrusts were coming almost frantically quickly, like he was desperate to cum. He was thrusting down into me instead of up because he was so tall. A trickle of something wet was running down my legs; based on the pain I was feeling and the fact that neither of us had cum, I guessed it was blood.

I could feel his balls pressing against the insides of my thighs, as if he had placed one of those giant exercise balls between my legs. My knees would be lifted off the couch soon because he was growing so much. I am ashamed to admit that if I could have, I would have been screaming hysterically by now. I am a good boy, but I guess I am not that good.

Finally, he roared like a lion and I felt his cum explode inside of me. It was like having my guts filled with flame and electricity and lava. I was cumming too and much to my consternation, my stupid, ridiculous sideshow of a dick was squirting cum on the sofa. The man had lifted me high enough that my cock had slipped back onto the cushion. Leather is easier to clean cum off of than fabric, but leather sofas have all these creases and wrinkles for cum to get trapped in. I would likely be cleaning until well past dawn. And I would be in trouble for not asking for permission to cum. Maybe I would be forgiven, since I had been unable to move my mouth.

The man leaned over me. He must have been colossal, but before I could turn to look, he ordered me not to move.

“Remain perfectly still and silent.” His voice rumbled in my gut like thunder. I nodded once. With a feeling of intense relief, I realized this man was now my master. He had consummated the bond. Knowing that helped me settle my nerves a lot and I relaxed.

A strange voice spoke up from somewhere behind me; it sounded as if the person were standing in the doorway.

“Um…boss?” His voice held surprise but not utter shock at the two enormous giants copulating on the living room couch. Whoever he was, he was definitely an adult, for which I was glad.

“Go to bed, Miguel. We’ll talk tomorrow,” the colossal man rumbled again.

“Yes sir.” Bare feet padded away.

“Now, little one, I’m going to try to make this as easy on you as I can.” His enormous bass voice seemed to cradle me. Despite the frightening episode I had just endured, I immediately felt protected and safe. “I think I understand what you are, probably more than any master ever has. Probably more than you do, actually. We’ll talk about all that later, but I need to concentrate. Again, remain perfectly still and silent.”

I remained perfectly still and silent. I had liked when he called me “little one”. I hate being big, except when my strength helps me serve my master, or when I can intimidate someone who has mistreated my master, like that idiot at the club. I felt Master’s body shrinking gradually. I carefully lowered my ass as he became shorter. I needed to adjust my arms forward on the back of the couch and I worried about what that meant. I also felt my balls taking up more room on the cushion than they had before, and I definitely knew what that meant. Why was I growing so soon?

The searing pain of his enormous penis inside me turned to a sullen ache, then suddenly his penis slipped right out of me, along with a surprising gush of cum. Normally, cum never leaks out of me. He spoke in his normal voice.

“Oh little one, I’m so sorry. You must hurt like hell.” He was rubbing his hands on my back, as if trying to comfort me. His efforts only made me feel awkward. Masters shouldn’t comfort me, that just wasn’t how this was supposed to work. “I have some cream that should at least help the pain. Stay.” I didn’t tell him that probably wouldn’t be necessary. I was remaining silent.

Master walked out of the room, leaving me to wonder at what had happened. My former masters were all babbling at each other and at me. I rarely do this, but I was completely out of patience and told them to shut up. They ignored me. I had to threaten to put them in the Quiet Room before they would settle down. Suddenly I felt Master’s finger spreading something soothing inside my anus; then I felt a soft towel wiping my legs and ass crack. All of that made me feel horribly awkward and guilty, though a small part of me was secretly enjoyed the kind treatment.

“Stand and turn around,” he ordered quietly. I stood and faced him. I was dismayed to discover the difference in our heights had increased. I knew I had grown, but he seemed to have shrunk beyond his original height as well. Master sighed as he clearly realized the same thing. “I did what I could to keep you from growing, but the pull was just too strong to completely resist.” I understood immediately what he meant. It’s what so often happens when a master fucks me, though not usually this quickly or soon: I suck the size out of him. I sank to my knees, being careful of my newly enlarged balls. Sure enough, Master’s balls were quite small, which probably meant I had taken some of his size there as well.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” I groveled. “I don’t know why it happens, and it’s never happened so much at once!”

“Slave Boy. Stand.” This time the command was much firmer, with steel inside it. I stood up like a jack-in-the-box pops up. I couldn’t stop a tear from running down my face. The size-taking shouldn’t have started already! This must mean I was going to grow more than ever before and what was I going to do?

Master lifted a beach towel from a pile of towels on a nearby table—he must have brought those while I was waiting for him to fuck me. He unfolded it and laid it on the hardwood floor in front of one of the other couches. Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the towel.

“Sit.” With extra care for my privates and still-sore anus, I sat on the towel with my face toward the couch and folded my legs. My balls took up all the space inside my legs and stuck up pretty high as well; I draped my caged dick over my balls and ankles. Master sat on the couch before me.

“So, let’s do some proper introductions. You’ll be calling me ‘Master’, of course, but in the event you need to refer to me in the third person, you may refer to me as ‘Master Mondo’. It’s short for ‘Armando’ but I despise that name, and if you hear someone call me that, you have my permission to beat the shit out of them.” His eyes twinkled when he said that. I giggled.

“And your name is Slave Boy, is it?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I replied. What a joy it was to call someone Master again!

“We’re going to have to come up with a nickname. There are eight other men who live here and they all have nicknames, so you need one too. Got any suggestions?”

I remembered how happy I felt when he called me ‘little one”. I almost asked for that as a nickname, but good boys gratefully accept what is given to them. Good boys never make demands.

“Anything will be fine, sir.”

“Slave Boy,” Master stated slowly, “tell me what nickname you were thinking just now.” If he had phrased it differently, maybe I could have wriggled out of confessing. But it was a direct command, and I had to obey.

“Little One, sir,” I mumbled. Remembering that good boys answer clearly when asked a question, I spoke up. “I mean… sir… I really liked when you called me ‘little one’ a while ago. I hate being big. I should be little, sir, because then I could serve and obey without being so… attention-getting.” He gave the softest smile any master has ever given me. He seemed to understand exactly what I meant.

“I’ll take that into consideration, and let you know what I decide.”

“Thank you for your kindness, sir,” I whispered.

“I think I know what happens between you and your masters, boy. I have… certain effects on those I command as well. I understand the process somewhat because I’ve had opportunities you haven’t. I can’t completely stop it, but I can control it. Well… most of the time.” His last comment sounded rueful.

“This time,” he continued, “you took me by surprise. I knew there would be a compound effect, but it was much more powerful than I expected. I tried to interrupt it but in the end I realized I would just have to ride it out.” Some of what he was saying made sense, while the rest left me confused. “So, I’m afraid you’re an inch taller, and… these got bigger.” He leaned way forward and caressed my hairless ball sac. It felt quite pleasant, but I still worried my balls would disgust him. It turned out I didn’t need to worry.

“Stand,” he ordered. I did. “Feet spread. Stay,” he said firmly. He knelt down in front of me so he could heft my testicles up and down. Each was now bigger than a grapefruit, but elongated. He continued in a more meditative tone. “These are magnificent. Did you know that? You have a magnificent set of balls right here. I can tell they’re natural, because they don’t have that inflated look that siliconed balls get. How often do you shave?”

“Oh, I don’t shave, sir. I lost all my hair from all over my body many years ago. The master I had back then, Master Stephen, said I caught a disease, sir. Alo… alopia?”

“Alopecia,” he corrected with a smile. “But you don’t exactly catch alopecia. Not like a virus.”

I guessed this would be news to Master Stephen. Master Stephen liked to know things, but didn’t put much value in knowing correct things. Maybe I would ask him about it later.

“Incredible,” Master mused, stroking my balls again, almost lovingly. “As you can see, I have a bit of a fetish. Your balls and I are going to spend a lot of time together.” He sat back on the couch and snapped his fingers at the towel. “Sit.” I obeyed. “So, this Master Stephen. Where is he now? Why are you not serving him today?” Now Master was giving me a penetrating look. He already knew, or guessed, so even if I wanted to lie, I knew it wouldn’t work.

“He… He’s in here, sir,” I admitted, patting myself on the chest. “And in here.” I pointed to my forehead.

“But you don’t mean that he’s in your memories.”

“No, sir, he lives inside me, though he can move around outside my body as long as he doesn’t stray too far. You already know that I… absorb my master’s body over time. That’s why I’ve grown so huge, sir. Eventually, his body shrinks away completely, and when that happens, I invite him to stay in me. Then he lives in and around me and watches my life. And sometimes my former masters help me with their knowledge and experience. Like, Master William was a metal worker, so he taught me how to make my cock cage. Master Gregory owned a textile factory and knows all about sewing, so he showed me how to make the special jock straps I wear. And Master Reuben was familiar with this area, so he helped me get to that club where you found me.”

“Do they always stay? Every single one?”

I paused, terrified. Did he know what I had done to Master Viktor? How could he? It happened so many decades ago, I couldn’t even remember how long it had been. If Master Mondo found out, would he hate me? Would he kick me out? It had been a terrible thing to do, but Master Viktor had been a truly terrible person. Surely Master Mondo would understand. Still, I couldn’t bring up the courage to confess entirely.

“There was one master, sir. I didn’t invite him in.” My voice was hard and angry. I couldn’t help it. “I’m just a slave, sir, but that is one decision that is within my power.”

“Actually, you are not ‘just’ a slave, and you are not simply obedient. You are Obedience. You’re made of it, just as I’m made of Command. Well, Command and a few other things…” he muttered. Master caressed my face once, which cheered me up immediately. “I’m happy I found you; we’re uniquely suited to one another.

“You and I are what are called spirit hosts. A spirit is like an elemental, only rather than being made up of a physical element, spirits are made up of…well, spiritual things. There are spirits of Wisdom, of Greed, of Charity, of Lust, and on and on. I am host to a number of spirits, several of which are spirits of Command, but I host other kinds as well.

“Spirits live in a host as a way to interact with our physical world, and will influence their host’s personality and actions. In return, they feed their host life force from various sources, and for the most part, attempt to ‘improve’ their host, though they see improvement from a very particular perspective.”

“Like my former masters, sir?”

“Well… I’m not quite sure about them. There’s a lot about you I don’t understand yet, and your former masters are kind of a puzzle to me. What I do know is that you are host to at least a few spirits of Obedience; given how intensely you embody Obedience, I suspect you’re host to many. They don’t just cause you to want to obey, they’ve rewired you so that you need to obey. And in return, they feed you quite a lot of life force, some of which is taken directly from your master.

“You know, it’s been many hours since you cuffed yourself in that club. You hungry?” he asked. There was shrewdness on his face, like he knew my answer already.

“No thank you, sir, I don’t need to eat, now that I have you.”

“You feed off of my life force.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I honestly d-don’t mean to.”

“No worries. The other eight men who live here do eat a lot of food, but they also each get a tiny bit of my life force whenever they obey one of my commands. Since they’re all my employees, that happens quite a bit. All that extra nourishment has turned them into some pretty big boys over the years. Not as big as you, but they’re quite a sight when they’re all together.

“Because some of my life force is constantly being diverted to my boys, I have to eat like a maniac all day long. Among other things, that’s one way I keep from being absorbed by them. Do you know how to cook?”

“Yes, sir, if it’s not boasting too much, I am a very good cook.”

“Then you will make good friends with all of my boys, and I am already very glad to have you. Not that the sex wasn’t good, because you’ve got a real nice hole.”

“Thank you, sir,” I blushed. Master had said so many nice things to me tonight!

“You up to making me a snack? You’ve been through a lot, but I’m fucking starving.”

“Of course, sir! I can’t wait! Where is the kitchen, please?”

The kitchen looked more like a restaurant kitchen than what you typically find in a house. It was a ranch-style kitchen, meaning there was a big family-size dinner table at one end with nine chairs. Master Alexander observed that the table and chairs were clearly made by a master craftsman, and not the poor-quality mass-produced pieces one typically found nowadays. I silently acknowledged his delighted observation, and he went over to ooh and ahh over the quality of the sideboard. A few other masters wandered over to join him out of curiosity, or nostalgia.

At the business end of the room there was an actual walk-in refrigerator, and a separate walk-in freezer, two enormous commercial-size ovens, a range top with six burners, and a griddle and a grill. My eyes got very, very big. I was going to get to cook in here? Master saw my awestruck face.

“Whenever my boys aren’t out on a job with me,” Master explained, “they put their skills to practice on our home. This whole place has been remodeled more times than I can remember. We took out the family room and home office to expand the kitchen, but it was absolutely worth it. Tomorrow you can go out and look at the back yard. It’s pretty damn nice.

“Why don’t you make me a couple of ham and cheese omelets? If you make them big, that should get me through until the boys wake up.” He looked at his phone. “Dawn will be in a little over an hour, and the boys will be up an hour after that. I’m going to catch some z’s in the living room. Bring my snack to me when it’s ready.”

“Yes, sir!” I marched into culinary heaven. Every single item in every single cabinet was neatly placed; every square inch of every surface was sparklingly clean. The pantry was enormous and tightly organized, and had not one speck of dust in it. It took me almost no time to find everything I needed, despite the fact that I had never worked in this room before. The refrigerator was also well-organized and packed with food. I had never seen so many eggs at once outside of a market. While the omelets were cooking I took the liberty of snipping the zip tie holding the handcuffs to my cock cage with some kitchen shears. Not knowing what else to do with the handcuffs, I set them on a counter that was as far from the cooking areas as I could find.

I plated the omelets together on one plate and set the snack on a T.V. tray with a fork and napkin and a glass of orange juice. I hoped Master would approve that I anticipated the need for a beverage. I carried the tray out to the living room and set it down near where Master was dozing. I cleared my throat and Master instantly opened his eyes. He sat up and I set the tray in front of him.

“Good boy, this smells excellent.” Taking enormous bites, Master ate one of the four-egg omelets in less than a minute. He gulped down half the juice, then snapped his fingers to the side of the T.V. tray. “Come.”

I stood next to the tray. Master ate his second omelet with one hand while fondling one of my balls with the other. “Fuck, I’m gonna get horny again,” he muttered. “Thank you, Little One. Go back to the kitchen and wash your dishes. Put them away exactly as you found them. Then report back to me.”

I smiled all over my face as I was washing up. Master had said so many kind things in just a few words. He had said I was a good boy and praised the food I cooked. He had implied that my balls made him horny. He had thanked me. And he had called me “Little One” as if he’d always planned to call me that in the first place. I liked the name Slave Boy, but Little One felt so much nicer.

I sternly reminded myself that this was only the first night, and that I must not get used to so much kindness. If I wasn’t careful, I would come to expect such posh treatment, and good boys didn’t expect anything but commands from their masters.

Once the kitchen was just as pristine as I had found it, I returned to Master.

“Shall I clean up the mess on the couch, Master?” I inquired.

“No, just put a towel over it. I’m beat, and I want you to come sleep in my room when I sleep. You will clean the couch tomorrow—that’s only a few hours anyway. Get your things and follow,” he ordered with a finger snap. I grabbed my balls to keep them from swinging around; ran to the kitchen for my handcuffs; scurried back to pick up my clothing; and followed him into the entry hall, up the stairs, and from there to the farthest door on the left. This room boasted a double door, so I could walk through it without sidling, though I did have to duck my head. Master shut the double doors behind me.

In contrast to the magnificent kitchen, or the artistically-decorated front room, Master’s bedroom would best be described as plain and homey. It was smaller than a master bedroom would be in this large of a house. If I had wondered whether Master had a spouse or significant other, it was becoming more and more clear that he didn’t. The bed was king-size, but rather than having a bedside table on each side, there was nothing on one side, and a mini-refrigerator on the other—evidence that Master really did need to eat constantly. On top of the refrigerator was a single reading lamp and a digital alarm clock. There was a wide, low chest of drawers under the window. Along the wall opposite the door, there was a closet with mirrored sliding doors.

The hardwood floor was covered with several woven rugs in a plainer style than the gigantic masterpieces in the living room. Master Gregory assured me that, despite their simple appearance, he recognized signs that these rugs were nevertheless created by a master weaver. According to him, one of the rugs in the living room alone was worth many thousands of dollars. He continued to enthuse about the floor covering, but I tuned him out after that.

“Little One. Fetch two blankets from the top shelf in the closet. Spread one blanket on the rug at the foot of my bed. That’s where you will sleep from now on, unless you are given other instructions. Actually, I should ask, do you require sleep?”

“Yes sir. But now that I have you, sir, I will only require an hour or two per night.”

“You have had quite a long day, and I hadn’t planned to own a slave when I woke up this morning. I know you’re dying to serve, but I’m only going to have a limited amount of work for you tomorrow. You are to sleep as long as you can, and I mean it. When you wake, if the boys and I are still home, do not leave this room until we are gone. I will introduce you to them this evening when we get home. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Sleep as long as I can, don’t leave the room until you leave the house.”

“Can you read?” He handed me a pillow.

“Yes, sir. And write, sir. And thank you, sir.” I accepted the pillow with a little bow.

“I will leave you a list of chores on the fridge. Have them all complete before 5:30 p.m.”

“5:30 p.m., yes sir.”

“Lie down. Silence.”

I spread the first blanket on the rug, leaving a corner of the rug exposed so Master Gregory could examine it in detail while I slept. I lay down on the blanket and arranged the other blanket over my naked body.

I had to ruthlessly force down a delighted giggle. I had a master again! And his commands were so clear and no-nonsense! I was sorry there wouldn’t be much for me to do tomorrow, but it had sounded like Master would be giving me more work in the future, and for that I was grateful. I closed my eyes and slept.

Part 3

I woke up not quite an hour and a half after I went to sleep, completely refreshed. When I have a master to feed me commands, I normally only need an hour or two per day. I sat up and quickly but silently folded the blanket that had been covering my naked body while I slept, then the one that I had spread on the floor at the foot of Master’s bed to sleep on. Despite the fact that I am over seven and a half feet tall and outrageously overstuffed with muscle, I am also quite good at moving with efficiency and silence. Good boys must be able to serve their masters without distracting or disturbing them, and I am a good boy.

I put the blankets neatly away and was trying to figure out where the pillow should go when Master Mondo’s alarm clock began to play soft and gentle piano music. I was delighted. Some of my masters have used alarm sounds that ranged from gratingly unpleasant to downright frightening. Soothing piano was a treat.

The instant the first notes lilted out of Master Mondo’s clock, his eyes popped open and he immediately looked at me where I stood, uncertainly clutching the pillow he had loaned me.

“Place the pillow on the head of my bed with the others, Little One.” Different masters’ commands feel different to me. Some masters give orders that feel like concrete to me: hard, heavy, cold. Others’ commands feel like a dead rosebush: spiky, sullen, brittle. On the other hand, some are like steel beams: strong and secure, but uncompromisingly rigid as well. But for me, the best masters’ commands are like a hardwood floor: immovable, yet just the tiniest bit flexible; somehow both soothingly cool and nurturingly warm at the same time. Master Mondo’s commands were exactly like that. I glowed inside as I obeyed.

Master was laying on his back with only a sheet on, and I noticed he had morning wood. I knew a slave’s duty in this case, but it made me nervous because of what had happened last night. I worried desperately that I would grow even more. But a good boy puts his master’s needs before his own.

“M-Master?”

“Yes, Little One.”

“Um, m-m-may I help you with y-y-y-your, um, uh, e-e-erection, sir? A q-quick b-blow job, perhaps? Um, many masters find it gets the day off to a, uh, nice start, sir.”

“Good boy, Little One, that’s an excellent suggestion. Yes, you will blow me.” He removed the sheet, revealing his penis. My mouth was watering already. It was a beautiful penis. Master was maybe only five foot seven, and his testicles were tiny thanks to my sucking some of his size away last night. But his penis was nice and large; thank goodness it wasn’t as huge as it had been last night during the fucking Master had given me! I figured it was ten inches long and six inches around, circumsized, with a gloriously swollen mushroom head crowning it, and cable-like veins running majestically along its length.

Master was lying closer to the far side of the bed, so I walked around, rather than clamber about on his bed as if I belonged there. I leaned over his crotch and began to lick the mushroom head first, then quickly proceeded down his shaft. Master occasionally uttered little grunts of pleasure, but otherwise lay still and let me do my work.

I have had a few masters who were wine connoisseurs. They would talk about what kind of grapes the wine was made from, and where and when they were grown just by tasting and smelling the wine. Semen is a bit like that for me. I can learn much about my master’s personality from the taste and feel of his cum in my mouth. As my tongue traveled over every square inch of Master Mondo’s beautiful manhood, I tasted his semen from the night before. It had a robust flavor that was a lot more salty and a little more sweet than most masters’ semen. It matched his personality: pleasant, but strong and utterly confident. I could just barely detect my own sweat on his penis; since my body doesn’t make shit, that was all of myself I could detect on him.

Once I had gotten to every part of Master’s pole, I relaxed my throat and swallowed him all the way. It was nice to have a penis thick enough to really fill my throat, and what made the moment even more enjoyable was that the only sound or movement Master was making was deep, calm breaths.

When a master just relaxes and lets me pleasure him, the blow job becomes very meditative for me. The even rhythm of pumping up and down, and the conscious relaxation of keeping my throat open and my tongue flexible, and the deep breathing I need to maintain whenever my master’s manhood isn’t blocking my airway is actually a lot like meditation. Master Tomas taught me that, long, long ago.

Please understand, I also enjoy when a master orders me to open wide so he can face-fuck me; that just has an entirely different feeling of excitement and submission. Still, this meditative way of doing a blow job was delightful for first thing in the morning.

I was listening for cues from Master, since he wasn’t giving me verbal directions. His breathing was getting faster, so I gradually built up my pace. When he began to arch his back, I held my breath and really got moving. Soon, I was rewarded with a flood of lovely-tasting cum, as he pressed his hand on my basketball-sized shoulder and sort of panted slightly. When it was fresh, his semen had a liveliness to it; it was almost fizzy. Tasting and feeling it as it slid down my throat made me imagine that I heard a fond chuckle. In my mind’s eye I saw that tender smile Master had given me the night before. I could almost feel a few gentle caresses on my head, like I was being petted.

“So, Little One, how was that? I think I managed to keep things more under control.”

“It was a treat, sir. If I may, sir, your cum tastes wonderful.”

“Really?” He smiled, as if indulging a child’s imagination. “It doesn’t just taste like cum?”

“Not at all, sir. Every master has a unique flavor.”

“So what do I taste like?” he grinned. I thought for a bit, searching for a single word.

“Kindness, sir.”

His face got surprise all over it and his eyes got wide, as if I had guessed some huge secret just by luck.

“My cum tastes like… kindness.” He didn’t seem angry, but it worried me nonetheless.

“I hope I haven’t offended you, sir. Please forgive me,” I groveled. Or, tried to compress my massive body into a grovel, anyway.

“Don’t worry, Little One. Stand.” I did. “You just surprised me. You are… well, you’re shockingly perceptive.”

Without explaining further, he got out of the bed. I stepped aside and averted my gaze. Many masters are quite comfortable having me see their privates during sex, but don’t want me to look at them when they’re nude at any other time. I didn’t bow. Master Mondo seemed to prefer a minimum amount of obeisance.

He stepped through a doorway into a modest little bathroom and closed the door. I heard the sound of a shower turning on, and all the little noises I typically expected to hear from a man preparing for his day. With no other instructions other than not to leave the bedroom, I sat on the floor where I hoped I would be out of the way and practiced my Good Boy rules.

Master came out from the bathroom and got dressed. He put on a long-sleeve T-shirt similar to the one I had seen him wearing last night, only this one was lime green instead of orange. I got a good look at the back and it said “Redemption Contractors”. Between those two words was a cartoony picture of a group of muscular men all wearing giant grins and holding various construction tools.

“Those are my boys.” There was tremendous pride on Master’s face as he looked at me over his shoulder so that I could still see the back of his shirt. “Each one is holding something that represents his specialty. They’re the finest group of men the world has ever seen. I can’t wait for them to meet you. They are going to adore you, I swear it.

“By the way, one of your standing orders will be to have dinner ready at 5:30 every evening. But listen: my boys and I eat a lot, and we always try to have leftovers in the fridge to snack on. You’re going to need to cook as if you’re serving about 36 to 40 people. I’m sure you’re up to the job given enough warning, but do you think you’ll be able to manage that for tonight?”

I tried to recall the food I had seen while preparing Master’s omelets the night before. There was a pile of packages in butcher’s paper that were labeled as tri-tips. And I had definitely seen sacks of potatoes, carrots, and onions in the pantry. I was pretty sure there was enough asparagus that I could roast; if not, there were heads of lettuce that would make a nice salad.

“Would the boys like roast beef with roasted potatoes and asparagus, sir? The leftover meat is good shredded for sandwiches, or just reheated with the gravy and potatoes in the microwave.”

“I’ll say it again, Little One,” Master grinned, “you are going to be incredibly popular around here. So yes, you will prepare roast beef, potatoes, and vegetables for dinner tonight, to be served at 5:30. I’ll leave a list of additional chores on the refrigerator. You are to consider each task as a command.”

So many commands to obey! And the chance to cook again in that gorgeous kitchen! If I truly was made of Obedience, then Master was giving me a feast—and he had said he “wouldn’t have much” for me to do? Some masters left me to molder without anything to do all day; most just gave me single, broad commands like “clean up around here”. It was terribly dull and lonely when my master went off to work and only left me with one command. They so rarely understood that each command was precious to me. I was starting to feel overwhelmed with his generosity.

“Thank you, sir.” My voice cracked and a tear rolled down my cheek. Master stretched up to catch the tear on his finger and gave me a gentle smile.

“Don’t forget, Little One, I get just as much joy from having my orders followed as you do from following them. It took me weeks to train each of my boys, but I could trust you to obey quickly and precisely before we were even bonded. I’m having as much fun as you are.”

“Yes, sir,” I beamed.

“I’m running a little late. Remember, wait until we’re gone before you come out. I want the boys to meet you when we’re not rushing off to work.”

As Master slipped out and shut the doors behind him, I wondered how I would know when they had left. Fortunately, the window looked out over the driveway. I kept watch, and about half an hour later, three vehicles pulled out, all bearing the name “Redemption Contractors” on their sides. One large pickup turned left out of the driveway, while another pickup and a large passenger van went to the right. Looking toward the horizon, I saw a wedge of ocean between the lush foliage and palm trees that grew above and around widely spaced homes.

Master David and Master James renewed their debate from the night before about how construction workers could afford to live in such a posh neighborhood. I pointed out to them that there was a difference between a single construction worker paying the mortgage and a contracting company where all the employees pitched in, but both of them brushed my argument aside. In case you’re wondering if it’s fun having thirty-eight opinionated ghosts-or-whatever living in and around your body… no.

The very first thing I did was read Master’s list of chores on the refrigerator:

  • Remember to clean the couch from last night. Cleaning supplies are in the small closet near the front door.
  • Thoroughly explore the entire house and back yard. Touch nothing, unless it is necessary to do so.
  • This house has 7 bedrooms: 5 upstairs, 1 at the back of the house downstairs, and 1 off the kitchen (converted garage). Collect all dirty laundry from the hampers, one room at a time.
  • Wash each room’s dirty laundry separately in washing machine in basement.
  • Use dryer in basement to dry clothes.
  • Neatly fold each room’s laundry, still keeping each room’s laundry separate.
  • Place folded laundry in the room from which it came, on the foot of the bed. Do not open drawers or closets to put laundry away.
  • Prepare dinner, as discussed.

Cleaning the couch was a simpler task than I had feared, thanks to the fact that most of the mess had dribbled down the front of the couch onto the hardwood floor, and none had reached under or between the cushions. I was relieved to finish that chore quickly.

I wanted to make sure there would be enough food for tonight’s dinner, and also do a food inventory so I would be able to plan the next few dinners as well. I suspected that, if these boys ate as much as Master had indicated, they must replenish their food stocks several times a week. Even the enormous capacity of that incredible kitchen couldn’t hold a week’s worth of food for such astonishingly hungry men.

I did have all the foods I would need to make the dinner I had been assigned. I also wanted to make a dessert, and found all the ingredients on hand to make three different kinds of cookies whose recipes I knew by heart. Master seemed like the kind of master who wouldn’t mind if I took a little initiative, and it sounded like his boys would probably enjoy a treat as well. It seemed like a nice little gesture to tell them thank you for sharing their home with me.

For just a moment, I paused when a terrible thought occurred to me. I would eventually be absorbing Master, and that meant I would be taking him away from them. Guilt stabbed at my gut. Normally, my master is single and lives alone, and when I absorb him and he comes to live in me, there is hardly anyone around to miss him. I consoled myself with the thought that Master Mondo seemed to understand whatever process caused me to absorb my masters. Maybe he would be able to resist, to keep the inevitable from happening. I clung to that hope.

I went downstairs in search of the laundry and discovered that there was an enormous basement with a fascinating assortment of furnishings. There were a treadmill and a couple of easy chairs facing a big-screen TV, a large table with nine comfortable-looking chairs surrounded by many bookshelves holding more board games than I even knew existed, several easels and a large array of artist’s painting supplies, and the largest home weight lifting gym I had ever seen. Except for where there were mirrors for the gym or bookshelves, the walls held a wide variety of breathtakingly beautiful artwork. There were photographs, paintings, tile mosaics, wood carvings, even metalwork sculptures. The hardwood floors were covered everywhere with more of the exquisitely woven rugs that Master Gregory was so fond of.

There were also a commercial size washer and dryer, with eight large laundry baskets, labeled in black marker with some very peculiar titles. “Speedy”. “Mouth”. “Bedrock/Paul”. “Boss”. “Stitches”. “Ox/Sven”. “Tripod”. “Other”. It took me a few moments, but I eventually recalled that Master had said every man in the house had a nickname, so these must be Master’s Boys’ names, except for “Boss”, which would be Master’s name.

If I was going to do seven loads of laundry today, I figured I’d better get started. I picked up the basket marked “Boss” and headed to Master’s bedroom. My laundry also needed a wash, and my heavy balls were getting very uncomfortable without the support of my jock strap. I decided to do his laundry first, and to throw my jock, sweats, and tank top in at the same time. Master didn’t seem the type to object if my laundry touched his. I started those clothes washing, then went back upstairs to gather the rest.

As I collected the other rooms’ laundry, I also explored, as Master had ordered. Each bedroom was neatly organized and quite clean. Even the bathrooms were sparklingly clean, with not one razor or toothbrush left out. Clearly these men were neat, which was a big relief. I assumed that cleaning duties would fall to me, now that I was here, and this house had five bathrooms. That was a lot of scrubbing, but it would help if the men who used them were tidy.

The more I explored the house, the more I came to suspect that the awe-inspiring artwork and craftwork I saw literally everywhere was all created by its inhabitants. Each room in the house was like an art gallery, and each bedroom was packed with books and tools, all meticulously organized, that pertained to one or two particular forms of art or craft. Many of my former masters were thrilled with all the beauty, or at least impressed with the skill in their creation; I felt a bewildering mix of awe, delight, and anxiety that I might break something. Master Alexander pointed out to me that even the hardwood flooring was a work of art; each room had a subtly unique pattern in the way the planks were laid and in the variations of color and texture. Master Brian observed that he had not found one single display case in the house; everything was out where it could be touched and handled. And dusted, I thought.

Perhaps the most fascinating bedroom was the one that had once been the house’s attached garage. It was quite large for a single bedroom; much to Master Gregory’s delight, there were three looms, including one enormous loom large enough that it could have been used to create the giant rugs upstairs. There were also two different sewing machines, including one that looked heavy-duty enough to make my special jock straps. Although it was clear there were many projects in progress, everything was quite neatly organized. The walls had floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with plastic boxes filled with fabric. Master Herman, the first master I had ever invited to live in me, noted that even his notoriously hard-to-please Grandmother Mary would have approved of the craftsmanship of the quilt on the bed.

My former masters can stray a certain distance from me, and I was noticing them wandering off in all directions like a herd of three-year-olds. They typically stayed close, but this house seemed to be a pirate’s cave of treasures to them. I didn’t mind; they would return when I got too far away, and would chatter to one another about the wonders they had discovered. There was one thing that all the masters could agree on: the men who lived here were not “mere” construction workers, they were craftsmen and artists of the highest quality. The mystery deepened when I went out to see the back yard.

The very first thing I noticed about it was its size. This neighborhood must be very old and very rich to have such a large plot of land, so near to the ocean. Masters David and James didn’t need to tell me that properties near the ocean tended to be tiny. But this house was set on about two acres of land, making the back yard seem to go on forever.

The second thing I noticed was that trees, tall shrubs, and fencing had been carefully arranged so that no part of the backyard was visible from any part of the neighboring properties. Clearly, Master Mondo and his boys valued privacy. There was a covered carport large enough for the three vehicles I had seen leaving that morning, with a long paved driveway that led through a sturdy wooden gate to the front of the house.

Finally, I really looked at what was in the back yard, and was amazed. There were not one, but two enormous grills, plus a third thing that could have been a grill, but looked too oddly shaped to be one. I couldn’t tell much about them, because they were all carefully covered, but based on their size, I could easily grill enough steaks or burgers and hot dogs for the boys, as well as maybe corn-on-the-cob or baked potatoes. I almost did a dance—more culinary fun for me, I hoped! There was also an enormous, fantastically-shaped pool with not one but two spas attached and a pair of breathtaking waterfalls that flowed cheerfully down into the pool.

There were three wrought iron tables on the patio, each with three chairs to match and a large umbrella for shade; the metalwork was beautifully intricate. One set had a theme of winding ivy leaves, one had ocean waves and fish, and the third had birds and swooshes that reminded me of the wind. Nine Adirondack chairs were spread around the pool as well. Elsewhere was a lush, grassy lawn bordered by a rose garden and several other flower gardens, all exploding with color. The two large outbuildings I saw were beautifully built, with brightly-colored tile mosaics on their sides. Even the smallest details had been made beautiful: the tile along the sides of the pool, the designs and textures etched into the cement paving, the hand-crafted wooden window boxes with masses of flowers cascading exuberantly out of them.

I lost quite a few former masters who wanted to explore the back yard; I enjoyed a momentary relief from their commentary as I returned inside to bustle around the kitchen. I could only feel Masters Herman, Oscar, and Zachary watching me as I worked, which made sense. They were the three of my former masters most interested in cooking and baking.

The day flew by. I split my time between the laundry and cooking; I could have accomplished more, but Master Mondo had been clear that I was to touch nothing except what I needed for that day’s tasks. After I had made the cookie doughs and left them to chill and my laundry was finished, I showered and put my jock strap and sweat pants back on. I didn’t bother with the tank top. I don’t like wearing shirts, and decided to put mine on just before Master and his boys got home. In between tasks throughout the day, I often found myself gazing wonderingly at some compelling piece of artwork or little detail of craftsmanship I hadn’t noticed before. By 5:10, all the laundry was folded and placed on beds, all the parts of dinner were ready or nearly so, and the table was set.

And I was a nervous wreck. Worries had begun to occur to me all day long, and had piled up to overwhelm me: would Master’s boys accept me? Would they resent me? They hadn’t been consulted about my being included in their household; what if they were jealous for Master’s attention? What if they asked Master to send me away? What if Master asked me to serve them, but they fought over how to use me? What if, what if, what if?

I was pacing around the kitchen, fiddling unnecessarily with the table settings, when I saw through the back window that all three vehicles were parking in the back yard’s carport. I stood nervously by the refrigerator as nine men wearing the colorful long-sleeved T-shirts that seemed to be their uniform lined up at the back door. A babble of voices drifted in through the window as they executed what was clearly a daily homecoming ritual. Each paused just outside the kitchen’s sliding glass door to stomp the dirt off his boots, remove them, and set them just outside the door; then the man would proceed inside and around the dinner table to make room for the next. They were quite efficient about it, and as they gathered in a group around the dinner table to wait for the rest, their conversation turned to the subject of dinner.

“Holy cow, it smells so good!”

“Oh man, am I ready to eat.”

“Starving.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, roast beef is my favorite.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times already!”

“Well, it is.”

“Holy mother-of-fuck, it smells good in here!”

“Mouth!”

“Sorry, Boss.”

“Hey guys, the table’s already set! I told you he would set it. Sven, you owe me five bucks.”

“All right, boys.”

That was Master talking, now that everyone was inside. He didn’t have to raise his voice, but instantly there was silence and all nine men were looking at me. And I was looking at the handsomest, sexiest, most muscular group of men I had ever seen. I don’t often think about my own sexuality, as my master’s pleasure is always more important. But confronted with these men, each a different aspect of masculine perfection, I felt my cock pressing on the confines of its cage. With a blush, I realized I was longing to see them with their shirts off. If I hadn’t been wearing my cock cage I would have started to get an erection, all the blood in my body would have rushed to my dick, and I literally would have swooned from the sight of all the sexy men before me. I was suddenly twenty times more nervous than before, and realized with horror that I had forgotten to put on my tank top.

“Little One,” Master addressed me with a twinkle in his eye, “Join us in the back yard for just a moment before you serve dinner.” He gestured with his hand, waiting for me to obey. I walked anxiously outside, followed by all the men. “Stand right over here, Little One. The boys and I are going to welcome you to the family. Just stay put and don’t move.”

I stood wringing my hands as the other men surrounded me. Almost ritualistically, each patted me on the back or the shoulder and softly murmured, “Welcome, brother.” Then, when all had finished, they suddenly grabbed me and lifted me up. In a blink of an eye, I was lying flat on my back, supported by nine pairs of amazingly strong hands. I was not used to being picked up, given that I was dramatically heavier than any other human being I had ever met, and was feeling somewhat terrified. But good boys don’t scream when they’re being tossed around by a gang of strange men, at least not when their master is helping with the tossing. Much to my dismay, there was more.

They began to chant slowly, bouncing me up and down with each syllable, and bouncing me higher whenever there was a louder syllable.

“Sha- ma- RAH! … Sha- ma- RAH!” they chanted. Then, apparently on cue, they began to chant much faster.

“Welcome, welcome, Little BRO-ther,

Welcome, welcome, Little BRO-ther,

Welcome BRO-ther,

Welcome BRO-ther,

SHA!

MA!

RAAAAAAAH!”

On “MA”, they dipped me quite low; I gasped in alarm, thinking they were dropping me. On “RAH”, they actually did toss me several feet into the air. I managed to confine my reaction to a soft whimper, which I hoped they didn’t hear. They caught me safely and returned me to my feet as smooth as could be. It was only after I was securely on the ground that I could think clearly enough to realize that “little brother” had been referring to me. I liked being called that, just not while I was being flung into the air. They all stood there looking up at me.

“Thank you,” I managed to whisper. They all chuckled, and I was pummeled by several brotherly slaps on my bare back.

“All right boys, go sit down. Let’s not let your little brother’s hard work go to waste. Little One, serve dinner.”

With that, everyone trooped inside and I got to work. Serving the boys was fun. I handed serving dishes to one or another, and they passed them around family-style. They smiled and were polite to me, but very serious about eating. Not a word was spoken other than requests for more or thank-yous. But they kept telling me with their faces and little grunts of pleasure that they were liking my food quite a lot, and I began to glow from all the wordless praise.

I hadn’t found any alcohol or soft drinks in the house, so I assumed the boys drank milk with dinner. I brought out a gallon jug of whole milk and held it before Master like a sommelier with a wine bottle. Without pausing his chewing, he nodded and pointed around the table, so I filled each glass, then returned to the refrigerator for a second jug on the suspicion that the first would be far from sufficient. When I returned to the table, all nine glasses were being held high, and all nine faces were turned to me.

“Thank you, Little One, for this outstanding dinner.”

“Thank you, Little Brother!” the boys chorused, then they all drank and returned to frantically shoveling more food into their mouths. Their eagerness to eat was even more gratifying than the toast had been.

When I saw them begin to slow down, I cleared some of the serving dishes and fetched the enormous tray of cookies I had prepared. On one side were peanut butter cookies, on the other were oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and in the center were frosted sugar cookies. Most of the sugar cookies were completely frosted, but I had written one letter on each of eight cookies to spell out “T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U”. As I carried the tray to the table there was a roar of approval.

“Cookies!” they shouted, as if they were a crowd of little boys and not huge, brawny men. I stood next to the table holding the cookie tray, smiling shyly at them.

“I… uh, I b-baked these to s-say th-thank you for, for sharing your h-h-home with me. I am truly, truly grateful for y-your kindness and h-hospitality.” I set the tray on the table and was surprised to find myself suddenly surrounded by heavily-muscled men waiting their turn to give me hugs. The tallest of them could fit under my chin, yet I felt like I was being engulfed by them. The last man to hug me put a meaty hand on my bulky shoulder. He was Latino with surprisingly green eyes and a ponytail that reached down to his shoulder blades. I recognized from his voice that he must be the one that had walked in on Master and me last night.

“Little brother, this was a wonderful gesture, and believe me, you can bake cookies for us any time you want,”—that got a hearty laugh from everyone—”but it’s really important for you to know how thrilled we are that you’ve joined our family.” Quiet rumbles of agreement came from all around.

“Plus, you’re fuckin’ hot!“ called out another one of the boys, the tallest and most muscular of the eight. “Look at all that sexy!” He was an African-American man with a shaved head, a heavy brow, and a lantern jaw; but despite his powerful features, his expression and body language were so infectiously cheerful I couldn’t keep from smiling bashfully in return. Everyone else at the table nodded and chuckled while I blushed.

“Do we get to make love to him, boss?” That was a white man built like a brick wall with very long, dark-blond hair hanging in a braid down his back and a long, braided beard that draped over his bulging chest all the way down to the abs I wished I could see.

A clean-shaven Latino man, with a leaner bodybuilder’s frame but with a chubby, boyish face and a hint of deep burgundy dyed into his fashionably-styled hair chimed in: “Pleeeeeeeeeeease?”

“What do you think, Little One?” questioned Master Mondo. “Sex with me is part of our bond, I’m thinking, but would you enjoy spending some time with each of the boys as well?” I looked around wonderingly at the eight impossibly sexy men, then back at Master. My eager expression must have said it all because they chuckled again. “That looks like a yes to me,” Master teased, his eyes twinkling. Addressing the boys, Master said, “I’ll make a free-time roster for ‘Time with Little One’. When it’s your turn with him, you can have him help you with chores, with your projects, make love, or… bake cookies; it’ll be up to you.

“I know I already explained this to most of you, but I’m saying it again. He needs commands to obey, and you may give him commands so long as they don’t conflict with mine, but he is nevertheless to be treated well. In the case of sex, that means anything that might hurt, or cause him distress, requires his permission and a safe word. If you have even the tiniest of doubts, ask him first. You’re all good boys, so I’m not worried, but just so we’re clear, if I find that one of you has been treating him badly there will be Hell to pay. Is that clear?”

“Yes, boss,” replied all eight boys solemnly.

“Very good. Eat your dessert, then.” They all sat down again and proceeded to demolish the mound of cookies. This time, there was more conversation with many flattering comments. I hardly heard them. Many of my masters had shared me or loaned me out for sex with people they knew. I had even acted as a prostitute from time to time when my master needed money. I am a good boy, and good boys do what needs to be done for their masters. But none of my other masters had ever been quite so protective of me, and hearing Master’s orders to that effect made me get a lump in my throat.

And! I was going to give sex to the sexiest hunks on earth! My heart was beating very fast with excitement. I fought off the temptation to skip as I went to fetch yet another gallon of milk.

Part 4

That night, Master Mondo took me to his bedroom promptly at 9:30. He insisted that 10:00 p.m. was lights out for the whole house, and I saw that none of the boys seemed likely to argue—even Mouth, who seemed to enjoy arguing just for its own sake.

While Master brushed his teeth and readied himself for sleep, I tidied his room—I secretly think he was messier than he normally would have been, just so he could order me to clean up after him. Little kindnesses like that seemed to be a part of who he was, just as being a good boy was part of who I was.

When he emerged from the bathroom, his bedroom was spotless, his bed was turned down, and I was kneeling at the foot of his bed, ready for any other commands he might be willing to give me. I was thrilled at the approving look he gave me.

“Good boy, Little One,” he crooned, stroking my bald head and running his thumb gently along my cheek. I beamed up at him. “Did you see what a sensation you were with my boys? I haven’t seen all eight of them that excited in a very long time. Not that I blame them.

“Now, then, up.” He patted the bed. I climbed gingerly onto Master’s bed. I had a long, unfortunate history of breaking chairs and beds, due to my extreme weight. I was relieved to find that it didn’t even creak. “Lie on your back, diagonally across the bed, with your head in the corner up there. Dick off to the side. Knees up and spread. Lie still.”

I did as I was commanded, draping my 28-inch-soft, caged cock over my right hip. I expected Master to enter me, but instead he laid himself on his back with his head between my legs and scootched himself right up to my crotch.

“Fuck, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he murmured to himself. He reached up and lifted my heavy balls, then scooted himself so that he could lay them on top of his face. When he gently let go, they settled into a squashed shape that completely covered him from forehead to chin. His bushy moustache tickled!

It was not something any other master had done, but it felt quite pleasant. He began to lick and kiss and suck on my balls, while also kneading them with his hands. He slid the wrinkly skin all around on his face and delicately massaged my enormous testicles. That felt delightful. I began to breathe harder. My dick was pressing against the confines of its cage.

“Little One. I’m going to try an experiment. If it works, you’re in for a pleasant surprise, so prepare yourself.”

“Yes, Master.” I wanted to giggle when he talked into my balls, but his command worried me intensely. Last night had not been pleasant, even if I did orgasm from the experience.

“Little One, turn your balls into an erogenous zone so that you will cum when they’re manipulated.” What an odd command! I lay there wondering how I could possibly obey him. He continued to knead and massage and lick and kiss my scrotum.

But then, to my amazement, I started to get an increasingly intense feeling of pleasure that was both bizarrely unfamiliar and easily recognizable: if Master continued, I really was going to cum!

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh Master! Oh my gosh, it’s working! Uhhh, ohhhhhh! Oh gosh, please please please don’t stop, sir! I’ve never felt like this in my life, ah ahhh! Oh, sir!

“Mmmmm, yeah, good boy. Go ahead and enjoy this. You deserve a treat after that delicious dinner.” Every word he spoke into my balls made me squirm in ecstasy. “Little One. Grow your balls much bigger.”

I was so overwhelmed by the erotic feelings Master was giving me, I didn’t really comprehend what he said. It’s a good thing, because I would have been extremely alarmed. But when I looked down along my body and could see my balls over my colossal chest muscles, I felt a mix of alarm, horror, and fascination. My testicles were the size of a pair of basketballs! The only thing that kept me from going into a proper panic was the fact that I was very close to orgasming. Simply the fact that they were so massive and heavy was adding intensely to the pleasure.

“Uhhh! Uh, uh, uh, Master-please-may-I-cum, please please please sir!“ I begged at maximum volume.

“Little One, make this the most intense orgasm of your life. Now, cum.”

I screamed and screamed because it really was the most intense orgasm I had ever felt. I grabbed the sheet in my fists and lifted my butt off the bed and my whole body shook violently. I felt my balls sliding and bouncing around on Master’s face; he moaned with pleasure, causing me to cum even harder. Master Mondo’s moaning was getting quite loud, too.

My cum was oozing all over Master’s bed. My super-long penis never squirts like a normal man’s penis; instead, it drools the cum out. I also felt wetness on my shin, which I took to mean Master had masturbated on me. My screams turned to gasps, then my gasps turned into a long sigh.

From outside Master’s closed door came the sound of applause and hooting.

Go to bed!“ Master hollered. “Damn eavesdroppers,” he said in a more normal voice.

“Yes, Boss!” the boys all sang out together. I heard footsteps and chuckling fade away as the boys went to their rooms. I also just barely heard one of them comment, “Damn, that was hot.”

“Thank you so much, sir!” I panted.

“You’re welcome, boy.” Master sat up, carefully setting my balls down so he wouldn’t hurt them. I could feel a very large area of the mattress where they sagged heavily, the two testicles competing with each other for space. They also pressed against my ass and both thighs, even though my legs were spread as wide as possible.

I sat up with sadness filling me. Of course Master could do what he liked with me. I was his property, after all. I would just have to learn to manage with a pair of basketballs hanging from my crotch. I didn’t want Master to see any dismay on my face, but I guess I didn’t hide my feelings well enough.

“Little One, look at me.” I did. He gave me a kindly smile. “It’s temporary, sweetheart. Your spirits would make sure you’re back to your usual self within a day, even if I wasn’t planning to set you to rights. I want you to know, you fulfilled a lifelong fantasy of mine tonight. You might just be the best good boy ever, boy.” That kind of praise would have gotten me out of the worst of moods. I smiled a little. He stroked my obscenely enormous testicles. Both of his hands couldn’t come close to covering even one. “Fuck, these are magnificent! Stand up. I want to see how they hang.”

I stood, barely holding on to my ball sac with both hands, then gently easing it down until it was hanging freely. Gravity pulled the balls into a much more elongated shape, and they hung down to knee level, right next to the tip of my cock. I wasn’t sure I could make a jock strap that could contain them without them flopping and blobbing all over the place. I fervently hoped my condition truly was temporary.

“Well, boy, you’d better change those sheets.” He gave me an impish glance. “There’s clean sheets in the closet, and you already know where the hamper is. Just wipe yourself down with the dirty sheets—there’s still some clean areas on them.”

“Very good, Master.” I removed the dirty sheets, noticing with relief that Master had a mattress protector so I wouldn’t have to try to get the cum out of his mattress. I wiped Master’s cum off my leg with the top sheet, which wasn’t really dirty at all. The fitted sheet was soaked.

I walked to Master’s bathroom, shivering and whimpering with every step. My balls were torturously over-sensitive, like a normal man’s penis right after he cums, and they were so heavy! I didn’t try very hard to smother my vocalizations, because I got the feeling that Master was deliberately indulging in a bit of harmless sadism. I let my discomfort show so he could enjoy it. I tried waddling with a sumo-like stance, so my balls wouldn’t bounce against my legs.

“Ah-ah-ahh,” Master chastised. “Stand up straight like a good boy.”

“Yes sir,” I winced. I walked tall to the closet, making little grunts of discomfort the whole distance. I was actually kicking myself in the balls, as my knees knocked into them with every step. I couldn’t figure out if the sensation was pleasurable or not, but it was almost cripplingly intense. I glanced at Master with an agonized look. I could tell he was enjoying the show.

I had to lean extra far over to put the sheets on the bed, because otherwise I would definitely crush my basketball-size testicles between my ridiculously over-muscled thighs and the mattress. After quite a bit of grimacing and grunting, I managed to get Master’s bed neatly made and turned down. I faced him to ask for another command, but he spoke first.

“You have been such a good boy tonight,” Master praised. With a wicked look on his face, he stepped up to me and pressed his body against my balls.

“Thank you sir,” I squeezed through gritted teeth.

“Little One. Shrink your balls back to normal size.” I felt considerably better with their lighter weight and smaller size, though Master still had not made them normally sensitive. He looked in my eyes with a devilish expression and grabbed my only-grapefruit-size balls.

“Orgasm again, just like before.”

I crumpled to my knees, spasming with another body-wracking orgasm. My screams of pleasure were just as loud as before, as semen flowed sluggishly from my dick onto the hardwood floor. I fell forward onto both hands and knees as I continued to shake and yell. I felt faint and pressed my forehead to the floor to keep from passing out. My dick was swelling painfully against its cage, desperate for the freedom I never allowed it.

Finally, the last erotic tremor passed through me and I was able to catch my breath.

“Thank you for my two orgasms, Master,” I gasped raggedly. “I’m so grateful, sir.” I’m not sure how he looked when I said that. I was too exhausted to lift my head up, though I hoped Master would assume I was simply groveling.

“Little One. Become just as you were before we came in this room tonight.” My balls instantly felt less sensitive, though they ached from the abuse they had suffered.

“Thank you for that, also, sir. I’m so pleased I could help you live one of your fantasies.”

“Good boy. Lick the floor clean, then prepare for sleep.” He slipped into bed and read a book while I licked my cum off the floorboards.

Once that task was complete, I fetched two blankets and spread them on the floor, just like the night before. I picked up a pillow from the pile on Master’s bed, but didn’t lay down quite yet.

“Master, may I ask a question please?”

“Ask, Little One.”

“How did you change my balls like that?”

“It was a theory.” He put his book face-down on his chest, leaving it open so he wouldn’t lose his place. “But I was fairly confident it was correct. I had been sensing that you had more spirits in you than just Obedience spirits, and given how large you are, I guessed that you also had a Transformation spirit. Probably more than one. Come to think of it, I’d bet any money that you have at least one Lust spirit too. Sometime soon you and I are going to do some meditation and I’m going to really take a close look at all your spirits.

“Anyway, I was correct. So I theorized that your Obedience spirits would get your other spirits to cooperate, so that you could obey a command for you to grow and sensitize your balls. But spirits typically only work in concert for a finite period of time, so even if I had decided to leave you with those gorgeously huge balls, your spirits would eventually tire of the game. I’m sorry to say, that probably means we won’t be able to make permanent changes to you by commanding you to do so.”

“We, Master?” Surely he wasn’t suggesting I would give myself commands! That would be shockingly improper.

“There’s no reason the boys couldn’t command you to transform too. As far as your Obedience spirits are concerned, a command is a command.”

Oh! That brought some interesting possibilities to mind. Tomorrow would begin my rotation of one-on-one time with my new brothers. My mind spun, imagining how they might choose to transform me. As long as any changes they made could be undone, it sounded like a lot of fun.

“Oh, and Master? May I please use the weights in the basement? I will likely wake up around midnight, and since I won’t be able to sleep after that, I’d be deeply grateful if I could get a nice workout done. After that, I thought I could start prepping some dough so I could bake pastries for your breakfast.”

“You know you don’t need to lift to keep your muscles big, right? Your spirits do that no matter what.”

“Yes, sir, I’m… keenly aware of that. But lifting weights is just very relaxing for me. I promise I’ll be very quiet. Please, sir?”

“Yes, of course, Little One. After your workout, you are to begin preparing breakfast for me and my boys.” He made it a command so that making breakfast would count as obeying. I beamed at his kindness.

“Thank you, sir! And, Master? Thank you for taking me in and allowing me to serve you and the boys, sir.” Master looked at me fondly for a moment before answering.

“You’re welcome, boy. Now, it’s after lights-out. Lie down. Silence.”

I obeyed.

Part 5

My first week with Master Mondo and his boys felt like paradise for me. Not only did Master give me copious commands to obey, but when I wasn’t giving sex to Master or doing the chores he ordered, I got to spend time one-on-one with each of the boys. He had one of those Bingo tumblers with the balls inside, and each ball had one of the boys’ nicknames on it. He drew up a schedule and assigned each of them “Little Brother Time” randomly.

The first brother I served was Bedrock. (All the boys insisted that I call them my brothers.) His turn came after dinner, since it had been a work day. His name was actually Pablo, but all the boys had nicknames, which was why Master had nicknamed me Little One, even though my real name is Slave Boy.

Bedrock looked very intimidating at first glance, with his colossal muscles and the tattoos on his arms and his shaved head and the thick black goatee that hid his lips so you couldn’t see if he was smiling. But his dark brown eyes were amazingly expressive, and he could communicate volumes with just his eyes. And those eyes did a lot of smiling.

When I entered the bedroom he shared with another brother named Paul, he didn’t waste a second. Master had already suggested to my brothers that they could command me to transform, and Bedrock had clearly planned how he wanted to use me.

“Get naked and sit down here on the floor, Little Brother.” He gestured to an area of the hardwood floor where he had removed the rug so we wouldn’t get it messy. I stripped off my sweats and jock strap and sat down cross-legged like a child, draping my cock in its cage over my thigh. I noticed there were two closets with mirrored sliding doors, which gave me a perfect view of my whole body.

“Gain 100 pounds of fat,” he commanded. At first, I just sat there staring at myself in the mirror. But soon I felt myself swelling with fat all over my body. I stared at the mirror in fascination as my face plumped up until I didn’t even recognize myself. I was forced to adjust my sitting position as blubber filled my ass cheeks.

My whole body fattened up so that I couldn’t clearly see the shapes of my muscles. I just looked bulky instead of muscular. But wow, did I look bulky! I was one big mountain of meat sitting on the floor. As my fattening completed, I was surprised to notice that I wasn’t nearly as fat as I thought I would be with 100 pounds added. I realized that 100 extra pounds on a seven-and-a-half-foot frame isn’t as impressive as it would be on a normal man. To my surprise, I was actually disappointed. But Bedrock had more up his sleeve.

“Gain another 150 pounds of fat, all in your gut.”

Oh, wow! Now I was impressed. My stomach quickly ballooned outward, growing huge and perfectly round like the biggest beach ball in the world. I started to laugh, which made my belly bounce merrily up and down. I put my hands on my tummy and patted and slapped and stroked it all around its enormous girth. It was so solid! My newly flabby thighs and man-boobs jiggled, but my gut felt like it was just too firmly packed to budge. The skin on my belly was so tightly stretched that it was shiny, like the skin on my bald head. I felt like I had a whole other person sitting in my lap. I don’t know why I thought it was all so funny, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

Bedrock got into the fun too, stooping down to play my belly like a bongo drum. That set me off on even more hysterical laughter. I looked joyfully into his eyes. They were smiling so much they were scrunched into slits. He wasn’t making any sound, but I knew this was his way of laughing.

He stood up straight again, still giving me that warm eye-smile.

“Stand up,” he ordered. There was humor in his voice.

I was both relieved and apprehensive about that command. My oversized balls were getting tired of being crushed under the weight of my colossal stomach, but I could already tell that the simple act of standing up was going to be much harder, thanks to my newly acquired blubber. I struggled to lift my ponderous body into a standing position. I told myself it was only 250 extra pounds—I can squat more than 600 pounds—but somehow this was just really hard.

Finally I was upright, and I discovered immediately that I was really, really wide. My elbows never touch my sides because my muscles are just too large, but now I found that I had to hold my arms twice as far out to the sides. My stomach sagged down so that it was resting against my thighs, but it was still astonishingly firm and perfectly round. I tried to put my hands under my gut, but found that there were places underneath there that I couldn’t reach. I stared and stared at myself in the mirror, stroking the top and sides of my huge ball gut, realizing that my stomach now weighed more than some adults did.

“Put another 50 pounds on your gut.”

I swelled even more. At 200 pounds, now my belly really did weigh more than many whole people. I tried to touch my belly button, but now I couldn’t because it was too far for me to reach.

Bedrock ordered me to lay down on my back and pulled off his pants, revealing that he was very hard. Easing myself down to the ground was quite a challenge, but I managed it, slowly and step by step. I sort of sat down and toppled to the side before rolling onto my back. I felt like a beached whale. While I was wallowing on the floor Bedrock grabbed a bottle of lube, applied some to his penis, and positioned himself to enter me.

At first I had thought Bedrock got his nickname from the fact that he was very calm under pressure, and never talked unless he had a very good reason. And those things about him were true. But actually, he got his nickname because he “rocked the bed” during sex—meaning, he was wild. He used all the rest of our time for sex, and it was a raucous, adrenaline-filled two hours.

He shouted his appreciation loudly enough that no one in the house—perhaps the whole neighborhood—could possibly mistake what was going on. His thrusts were powerful and fast, causing my fatty thighs and ass to jiggle crazily. I even felt the shockwaves from his powerful lovemaking as the fat around my neck and face shook. His massive muscles rippled and tensed and bulged under dark caramel skin shiny with sweat.

I was a foot taller than him, and far, far, far heavier too, but he would pound me for a while in one position, then heave my fleshy legs up or roll my gigantic body over into another position like I weighed nothing at all. I felt like a beach ball in the ocean, tumbled by huge waves. I never felt unsafe, just at the mercy of forces much greater than me. I was thrilled.

If Bedrock was fucking me in missionary position, I would obsessively run my hands all around my colossal globe of a belly, gazing up at what I could see of him around that enormous ball of flesh. If he rolled me over to fuck me animal style, I would delight to the feeling of my gut pressing into the smooth floor and against my thighs and my elbows, fighting them all for space; my gut seemed to be winning the battle.

In between his several orgasms—I’m pretty sure we went four rounds—he would pause to rest and recharge, stroking my colossal stomach or sitting on top of it like he was astride a horse. He told me about himself and his work and his brothers in a soft, almost shy voice, and his hands were gentle and intimate. It was an odd contrast to his deafening screams and wild pounding.

“I like having you like this,” he explained quietly during one break. “It’s a nice change not to feel like my partner’s going to fly across the room just because I thrusted too hard. Plus, you just look fuckin’ amazing,” he added in almost a whisper. There was that eye-smile again.

During another break I asked if he and the other boys had made the wonderful pieces of art all over the house.

“We’re all artists in one way or another,” he explained. He was running his finger around and around my cavernous belly button. It tickled, and I would occasionally chuckle, though the laughs were more like earthquakes. “Did you know Stitches made all of our rugs and all the quilts on our beds? And Tripod actually took all the photographs that are on the walls. In fact, every single thing in this house other than the T.V. and the appliances was made by one of us.”

He continued proudly that Sven was a masterful violinist and guitarist, and Ox could draw or paint anything so realistically that you had to touch it to be sure it wasn’t real. I asked Bedrock what sort of art he made, and he somewhat shyly admitted that he was responsible for the metal sculptures and metalwork furniture I had seen in the yard and around the house. When I told him how awe-struck I was at the beauty of those pieces, he just smiled at me with his eyes and rolled me onto my hands and knees. He was ready for another round.

I was having so much fun being enormously fat that I asked Bedrock not to return me to my normal shape. I wanted to see what everyday life was like with a fat body and a 200-pound gut. I asked him to help me get into my jock strap, because I couldn’t reach down to my crotch. But it simply wouldn’t go on me. My legs and ass were too fat. But Bedrock assured me I looked amazing naked, and with a twinkle in his eye, draped my jock and sweats over my stomach and challenged me to see if I could get all the way to the kitchen without them falling off. I lumbered ponderously downstairs, but Bedrock’s challenge was way too easy. My belly was like an enormous shelf, and my clothes didn’t even slip an inch.

I had an hour to finish washing dishes and tidying the kitchen before my next appointment with one of my brothers, and I thought it would be really fun to try to do my chores while hefting my massive fat around the kitchen. I set my clothes aside and got to work.

It actually wasn’t that fun. I quickly got a backache, and I couldn’t reach anything unless I stood sideways to the counter. I was tall enough that my gut was at the perfect height to extend over the counter, and at first I thought that if I just rested my gut there, I could get work done. But my colossal stomach kept shoving things all over the place with my slightest move.

When I turned to the side and my belly swept six pots and pans off the counter and sent them flying across the kitchen floor, I got another reality check: bending down and picking things up was a long, torturous process. I realized that being this hugely fat was fun during sex, but definitely had its down sides. It took me the entire hour to do 20 minutes of work, and I was huffing and puffing, just from taking a few steps here and there!

And yet… I couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to be even fatter. I imagined having a belly button so huge that Bedrock could fuck it. I pictured myself lying on the living room floor with several of my brothers resting on and against me, like I was one of the couches. I smiled over the thought of what would happen if Bedrock gave me a 300-pound belly and ordered me to jump in the pool.

But the fantasy I kept coming back to again and again was lying face-down with a stomach so enormous that my arms and legs couldn’t reach the ground. I would tilt back and forth on my belly, waving my useless arms and legs around helplessly while Master and my brothers fucked me at both ends. They would be standing up on stepstools or something to fuck me because my mouth and ass would be so high off the ground.

I was lost in that delicious dream when Master walked into the kitchen and did a double take at my huge girth.

“Well! Look at my chubby cubby slave!” He approached me and gave my tummy a few shakes, then did the bongo drum thing just like Bedrock had. I giggled. “Mmm, that’s hot. Who had you last? Did you have fun, boy?”

“Bedrock, sir. And oh, Master, I had so much fun! I liked it so much that I asked him to leave me like this. But I think I’m glad I don’t have to be like this all the time, sir. Could…could you please make me normal, sir?”

“Little One. Lose all the fat Bedrock told you to gain.” I quickly shrunk back to my normal self. I was suddenly so much lighter, I felt like I was floating.

“Thank you, sir. I’m going to go to Stitches now—unless there’s anything you want of me?”

“Just let me tell you something before you go. I made a special time for Stitches because he has a lot of really bad nightmares. Like, genuinely horrifying ones. Some bad people did some truly—” intense anger flashed across Master’s face for a fraction of a second. “—some truly barbaric things to his family when he was a child. He’s had other things happen too, that have made his life pretty damn rough.

“He’s had the nightmares ever since. They wake him up all night long and he has a hard time getting back to sleep. I scheduled you right before bedtime with the idea that you could stay with him and keep him company all night, if that’s something that he thinks might help. So don’t worry about coming to my room tonight, okay? If you’re not there when I wake up, I’ll know where you are.”

What I inferred from Master’s comments was that he really, really wanted this to help Stitches. I could feel the deep concern hidden behind his mild tone.

“Very good, Master. Maybe I can help him, since I hardly sleep at all.” Master patted my arm.

“Thank you, Little One.”

I got back into my sweats and proceeded to Stitches’ room, which was converted from what used to be the attached four-car garage. It now made sense to me why his room was here, and why he had no roommate. If he cried out in the night, he wouldn’t wake anyone else.

Stitches’ real name was Charles, and he was the resident electrician for Master’s contracting company. I learned later, however, that he had gone to medical school and got a doctor’s degree as a surgeon, but that was a long time ago and hospitals at the time wouldn’t hire an African American surgeon like him. So he went to be a medic in the military. In fact, all the boys had met Master when he commanded their unit in the army. Stitches was six foot three, and powerfully built like he had been a serious weightlifter for many, many years. In any house but this one, he would be impossible to not notice.

Here, he was a bit smaller than average, which appeared to be exactly what he wanted. Unlike Bedrock’s strong-but-silent personality, Stitches seemed to be soft-spoken because he just preferred not to draw attention to himself. There was absolutely nothing flashy about him, from his conservative haircut and clean-shaven face to his habit of standing at the edge of any group. When I got to his room, he was even dressed in drab gray lounge pants and a worn-out white t-shirt.

But! His weaving and sewing were a very different story. He showed me some works he had made that were neatly stored in plastic tubs and stacked on shelves all around his room. Each one he showed me was more spectacularly beautiful than last.

“These ones I keep here are more art pieces than rugs and blankets,” he explained. I was helping him unfold a quilt that was far too large even for a king-size bed. “I’ve always loved the colors on this one. They just sing to me.” I could see why. At one corner the small triangular panels were mostly emerald and turquoise; gradually, marching diagonally across the quilt, the panels incorporated more deep, vibrant blues. Then, continuing toward the far corner, the sapphires and royal blues began to mingle with amethyst and eggplant-colored triangles, until at the far corner, the quilt was entirely made of purples. The colors were bright and intense, and up close the pattern was very busy, yet the overall effect from a distance was deeply soothing. Master Gregory was babbling rapturously, and many of my former masters were quite exuberant in their appreciation of such beauty.

“Stitches!” I breathed. “This is the most…wow…well, stunning quilt I’ve ever seen! How big is it?”

“It’s 12 feet square.” His face wore a pleased little smile at my praise. The more I looked at that quilt, the more I fell in love with it. I have never, ever been an acquisitive person, but I desperately wanted to have it. I wondered if it would be a bad-boy thing to ask if I could have it. Probably, I thought.

“I wish I could look at it every single day.”

“I did think about using it as a wall hanging, but there isn’t any wall space large enough. Besides…” he hesitated and looked at me, as if he wasn’t sure if he could trust me. I tried to look as trustworthy as possible. After a moment, he seemed to come to a difficult decision.

“I’ve never told anyone this. When I was a little boy, I had”—he glanced at me again—”an imaginary friend. He was a 20-foot-tall giant named Gently. He would hold me in his arms when a nightmare woke me up, and I would always be safe with him. And I could tell him anything at all, from fantasy stories I made up to things that I had thought about during the day, and he would always listen and he never, ever laughed at me or told me to stop talking nonsense.”

I got an image in my mind of a lonely young boy whose imagination and intelligence weren’t appreciated. I gave him a little smile, inviting him to continue.

“And, I… this quilt… I made it for Gently. Even though it would really just be a lap quilt for him.” He chuckled. “Because I still always dream of meeting him some day. It’s ridiculous, but…” he trailed off. His face was covered with embarrassment.

“Stitches? I could be your Gently. If…if you’d like. You can command me to be 20 feet tall and I could hold you in my arms and I would love to hear your stories, every single one, and I would never, ever laugh at you.” He looked tempted. “Please, Stitches?”

“Well, if you’re going to be my Gently, then you’ll have to call me Charlie Boy. Gently always called me that. Deal?”

“Yes, Charlie Boy. Deal.”

He looked at me, as if he’d never really looked properly at me before. “Grow and become my Gently. Grow until you’re 20 feet tall, but do it slowly so you don’t smash my looms.”

His room was extremely spacious for a single bedroom, but Stitches—Charlie Boy—had two sewing machines and three looms, which took up most of the space. One loom was large enough to make the enormous rugs in the living room.

I hurriedly took off my clothes and, for the first time since coming to Master’s house, removed my cock cage. I didn’t even have a clear idea of what being 20 feet tall would be like, but I knew nothing was going to fit.

After disrobing, I noticed that I could already see a little higher on Charlie’s shelves. I had started out at seven foot seven, but now I was topping eight feet. I had to shift my feet, as I was growing wider in proportion to my height.

But more amazingly, a memory came into my mind. In the memory, I had been looking down on the floor of a wooded area, trying to find something. A little boy was crying and I urgently needed to find him. Nothing in the world was more important. I had been following the sounds of sobbing and finally had found him, lying at the base of a sycamore. I had moved the upper branches to the side as I knelt down by the tiny little human boy.

“Hello,” I had rumbled in a deep bass voice, “my name is Gently. What’s wrong?”

There was more to the memory, but I was distracted by a realization. Charlie Boy hadn’t just ordered me to grow, he had also commanded me to become his Gently! I guessed that my spirits must be pulling imaginings from his mind and creating memories in mine so I could actually be the Gently he’d known all his life.

It took about 10 minutes for my head to reach the ceiling. Charlie said that meant I was 10 feet tall. I knelt down as carefully as I could, but my muscles were growing in proportion to my height. I was wider than I was used to and bumped into one of the looms. It wasn’t damaged, but just to be safe we moved everything over against the far wall. By the time we finished, my head was almost hitting the ceiling again. I sat down on my bottom and gingerly leaned my back against a shelving unit. I hoped Bedrock had made it sturdy!

The entire time my mind was filling with memories, making me quite distracted. Charlie Boy really had needed a friend; he had lived a lonely childhood. I remembered that he had been crying when we first met because he had hugged a friend of his named Hank and a couple of older bullies taunted him for “liking boys”. Hank, recognizing that he would be their next victim if he didn’t do something about it, had punched Charlie and said he hated him. Charlie had only been five years old—certainly not old enough to understand that his gesture could be interpreted as anything romantic or sexual. My heart began to ache for him.

I was reaching my full 20-foot height. Even seated, there wasn’t enough clearance for my colossal body, so I switched to being on my hands and knees. If I could have stood up, Charlie would have been literally knee-high to me. With me on my hands and knees, he only needed to stoop a bit to stand beneath the arch formed by my gigantic body. He did just that, then gleefully reached up to run his hands all around my abs and chest. I laughed heartily; my voice really was the deepest bass voice I had ever heard.

“That tickles, Charlie Boy! Stand over here by my head so I can take a gander at you.” I hadn’t used the word “gander” in my entire life—it seemed that Gently had a different mode of speech than me as Little One. How odd to think of myself as this completely separate person!

But Charlie stayed underneath me. Wondering what he was doing, I pressed my chin to my chest so I could take a peek. He was standing next to my soft penis, looking and looking at it. My Willy was exactly as tall as he was, and each of my gonads was bigger than his head.

“You’d best not tickle me there, friend, or I’ll swoon right on top of you,” I chuckled.

“Gently, make your genitals smaller, like, a normal size but in proportion to your height.”

Well, now, maybe I’m the only man that would ever feel happy at having his privates shrunk to less than a quarter of their usual size, but I was mighty pleased. In fact, I would say I was elated.

Now my Willy was still soft, but only the size of Charlie’s mighty upper arm. And my two balls put together were just about the size of his head. That was a much more proper size for a giant. Once he was able to get a look at the results of his command, Charlie finally did come out from under me, with a bounce in his step I hadn’t seen in donkey’s years. He stood in front of my face and grinned from ear to ear. How could I not smile back at such joy?

“It’s grand to see you like this, Charlie Boy. Let me take a look at your handiwork here.” I settled my rear end down on my feet and hunched down for a closer look. I used one hand to keep myself propped up while I fiddled with my privates with the other. “What a fine gift, Charlie! And what a kind man you’ve grown into.” I tilted my head and examined my friend closely. “Why, I remember when you was small enough that I could hide you in my pocket! ‘Course, I ain’t got no pockets today, now, do I?”

“Aww, Gently, you don’t actually remember that.”

“I do though, Charlie, honest to Pete. I remember all the splendid stories about those grand adventures you made up. You recall my favorite story? It was the one about the kind giant who found the puppies in the dried-up well and he was the only one who could save them because of his long, long arm, and he took them home and fed them chicken pie every single day so they’d grow up big and strong, and they grew into giant-size dogs and lived with him forever after. Only, you told it much better than me. I asked you to tell me that story over and over, d’you remember?”

Charlie was looking at me with a wondrous look on his face.

“How…how?

“You made me Gently, remember? You said, ‘Grow and become my Gently’, so here I am.”

Charlie gazed at me like he was seeing the sun after he’d thought it would never come up again. Then, he leapt forward and hugged me fiercely around my arm. ‘Course, my arm was real thick with muscle, even for a giant, so he didn’t get his arms all the way ‘round. But I swear, no one ever had a finer hug than that one I got from Charlie that night.

“I want to hold you real bad, Charlie Boy, but I guess I better lay down here first, lest I poke a hole in your ceiling.”

I lay myself down on the floor of my good friend’s bedroom. I surely was glad his room was so wide, so I could stretch my legs out all the way. Charlie was clambering up onto my chest before I’d even got myself settled. Oh my, was he a manly specimen now, showing off his strength and flexing those muscles! He laid himself down on his stomach with his brawny arms by my chin and his bare feet by my navel.

“Now, Charlie, how ‘bout you tell me a story? You was always a genius storyteller, inventing new ones all the time.”

“Before I do, Gently… is… is Little One still in there somewhere? I didn’t, like, get rid of him, surely?”

“I’m here, sir.” I spoke in Gently’s bass rumble and Little One’s style, though with Gently so much in my mind, I had to concentrate. “I haven’t gone away, it’s just that I’m also Gently right now. And if I may, sir, I’m very glad. I like being Gently.”

I did a sort of mental switch-over back to Gently style.

“There now, that’s what makes you such a tremendously kind person, Charlie. You care about every living soul you ever met. So how’s ‘bout that story, then?”

“Oh, I gotta think a minute, Gently. I haven’t done this in many, many years.”

“Well, you just take your time, then, and lay your head down. I ain’t going nowhere tonight, your Boss said I was all yours ‘til morning.”

Charlie sighed and turned on his side, cradled in the valley between my chest muscles. I put a hand over him as a sort of blanket.

I wasn’t that surprised to hear him snoring within moments. I knew from Gently’s memories that Charlie—now Stitches—had not had a good night’s sleep in maybe his entire life. Now that I was here with him, I reckoned nothing was going to stop me from making a change for him. But somehow I knew that the work I was about to do would require me to sleep too. I rested my head down and closed my eyes.


When I opened my eyes I found myself standing in a fog. It was so thick I couldn’t even see my own feet. I was dressed in my customary outfit of a red checked shirt and gray overalls. I could feel the earth under my bare feet, even if I couldn’t see it. It felt like wet sand, so I guessed I was maybe by a lake. I couldn’t hear ocean waves or the rushing of a river.

I wanted to just stand there a minute and enjoy the feeling of my normal-sized privates hanging there inside my overalls, but I knew I needed to find Charlie Boy. I was getting that feeling Little One would get when his master might need some protecting. I listened hard and after a while heard voices. At the same time the fog cleared in one direction and I could see shadowy forms in a group. I strode toward them. My long legs got me there real quick.

There was Charlie. He was just a little boy here, and looked mighty upset, and I knew he’d been crying. He had been backed against the edge of the lake by some evil-looking critters. The beasts were chasing him along the shore, and I knew it would be just a matter of time before he would be trapped against some rock or other thing. Their mouths held double the number of teeth they had any right to have, sharp and tilted forwards so their snarling lips wouldn’t close all the way. They reached toward Charlie with seven-clawed hands that dripped poisonous drops that left the ground smelling foul where they fell. Their legs didn’t move too well because they were half-melded to enormous, snake-like tails. That seemed to be the only thing keeping Charlie safe from the monsters, the fact that he could move quicker than them.

Since they couldn’t reach him, they were speaking to Charlie. They spoke with the voices of people he had loved, but their words had no love in them. They accused, they mocked, they twisted every kindness ever spoken to Charlie into vicious attacks. They were tearing down my Charlie. My Charlie Boy!

How dare they? How dare they?

I was filled with the same rage Little One had felt when that idiot bouncer had mocked Mondo, only far, far worse. I stepped on the tail of one of the beasts. It squirmed in alarm, but the others only looked on with scorn on their faces.

You leave my Charlie Boy alone! He ain’t done nothing to deserve that kind of treatment, never in his whole life!“ My voice boomed across the lake like thunder, but these beasts weren’t no idiot bouncers. They stood their ground, all but the one I was stepping on, who was thrashing around painfully on the ground.

“You again?” drawled the largest monster. “We know you. You are nothing but a dream made up by this coward.” Its venomous claw pointed first at me, then at Charlie. “You may leave or watch, but you are nothing.” The other beasts jeered. It turned away from me. That was a mighty big mistake.

I grabbed that thing with one hand around its scaly waist. Then I used my other hand to grab its torso and ripped it in half. I threw the pieces far, far out into the lake—so far we hardly heard the splash where it sank. Now the other monsters took note. I had no words that could hold all of my rage. I crouched down over their heads and roared like a lion. They all tried to scatter, but their leg-tails just couldn’t move them away fast enough.

One after another, I grabbed them and dispatched them. I crushed them under my feet. I kicked their bodies miles into the lake. I showed them no mercy, ‘cause what mercy had they showed my Charlie Boy in all these years? The last one was the one I had first stepped on. I bent down and grabbed it, thinking to throw it into the lake. It was making a thin, whining sound, and seemed to be saying something over and over. It had shrunk considerably, and now mostly resembled a little boy.

“I’m sorry. Charlie, I’m sorry.” When Charlie heard that voice, he looked up from where he was huddled on the sand.

“Gently! That’s Hank! Put him down please?” I knelt on one knee and set the thing down on the ground. When I pulled my hand away he was no longer a monster, he was entirely Hank.

“Charlie! I can’t believe it’s you! I’m sorry, Charlie, I’m so sorry for punching you and saying I hated you. I never meant to be so awful to you, but you know those boys! They were so mean and they would have beat me up sooner or later, you know they would.”

“Yeah, I know, Hank. They did beat me up sooner or later.”

“I know. I think about that moment all the time, Charlie, and I wish I could do it over again and if I could, I would’ve stood with you instead of turning on you.”

Things in dreams have a way of suddenly changing into other things, have you ever noticed that? Suddenly the little boy Hank was replaced by an old man.

“I just want you to know, Charles, I’ve regretted that day my entire life. I’ve never forgiven myself. Who knows if they would have left you alone if I had stood up to them? But at least you wouldn’t have stood alone. I truly am sorry.”

Charlie Boy looked up at my face. I knew him well enough to know how uncertain he was, and that he wanted my opinion. He’d suffered far worse in his life than that punch from Hank, but it was still a betrayal that had gnawed at his soul. Maybe because he’d been so young and hadn’t put up the walls that grown-ups use to protect themselves.

“Anger’s a mighty heavy burden to carry around, Charlie Boy. It’s time you set it down.”

Charlie looked from me to the old man.

“Thank you for telling me that, Henry,” my friend told him softly. “I forgive you. You were only a frightened little boy, after all.”

The old man Henry smiled and became little Hank again. Then, still smiling, he faded into the fog.

“I’m mighty proud of you, Charlie. Why don’t we make the rest of this dream a nice, sweet dream? Look over there, the fog’s lifting over by that great big oak, and I bet we’ll see the sunrise. Let’s go.” I picked him up in my arms and walked over to the oak. When we arrived we recognized it as one of Charlie’s favorite trees from childhood. Just like when he was little, I lifted him up to the highest branch I could reach, and we enjoyed the sunrise together. We didn’t say much. We were just enjoying each other’s company.


I opened my eyes to find myself still lying on my back. Charlie Boy had somehow turned over in his sleep, but he was still snug as a bug in a rug, nestled between the mounds of muscle on my chest. Let me tell you, when I heard a little snore coming from him, I thought that was beautiful music indeed. How long had it been since he’d slept through a dream like he’d started to have?

Compared to a lot of Charlie’s nightmares, that one had been tame. But I took no small pride that I had chased it away so my friend could sleep in peace. I looked forward to defeating more nightmares for Charlie, and with luck, they’d stay away. I think Charlie wasn’t ready to confront the really awful ones yet, but I hoped he would soon.

The door to Charlie’s room slowly, silently swung open. Mondo put his head in, and jumped just a bit when he saw my giant form lying there. Then he saw Charlie snoozing away on my chest. The smile that came to his face was truly glorious to see.

Then Mondo looked back at me with a recognition that he wasn’t looking at just a bigger version of his Little One. I was looking him straight in the eyes instead of submissively averting my gaze. He crept in as silent as an ant to where my head lay on its side. He wasn’t even as tall as my head.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” I mouthed, half as loud as a whisper. Little One might be a slave, but Charlie’s friend Gently would never, ever be one. Nevertheless, this great man still deserved respect. “My name’s Gently. I’m a friend of Charlie’s.”

“Little One?”

“I’m here too, Master,” I whispered as Little One. He understood that sort of thing, so I didn’t say nothing else, for fear of waking my friend.

Mondo stepped back and peered up to where Charlie was sleeping. Then he leaned towards me again. He whispered so softly I barely heard him.

“Thank you, Gently. Would you come every night for Sti—for Charles? I can live without my slave during the night.”

I smiled at him and nodded ever so slightly.

“Little One’ll have breakfast ready tomorrow,” I assured him.

Mondo took two steps to reach my shoulder and patted it with a tiny hand. Then he took himself out as silently as he entered.

Charlie slept for a couple more hours, then woke with a gentle sigh. He sat up on my chest and we chatted a while about old times. I hadn’t really been there, but I remembered, and we both talked like I had been an invisible eavesdropper his whole life. When he started to yawn again I got an idea.

“Hey, Charlie Boy? How’s ‘bout we go out in the back yard and I can lean up against something and hold you in my arms like when you was a little boy? It’s a fine night tonight. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

“Yeah, Gently, I love that idea.”

So Charlie shrunk me down, and he bundled up a bit and I grabbed my quilt—the one he’d made for me and that I’d taken such a liking to. And just so he’d know I was still his Gently, I grabbed his hand and we went outside holding hands.

I sat on the ground with my back to one of the big trees that kept the yard all private from peeping Toms. And Charlie grew me back up again and I put that beauteous quilt over my lap and I picked him up in my arms and cradled him like a babe.

He slept in my arms like that and I looked up at the stars and down at Charlie and my quilt and I listened to the ocean and knew that I was the most fortunate man in the world.

Part 6

Author’s Note: Beware, there’s straight sex later in this chapter. If that doesn’t float your boat, please skip to the dialogue near the end of the chapter so you can share in Mouth’s outrage!


When the first stars began to fade from the sky, I reluctantly woke Charlie. His tiny face smiled up into my gigantic face so beautifully, I had to swallow hard lest I get choked up.

“I gotta make breakfast, Charlie Boy. But your Boss told me to come back and be with you every night from now on. So how’s ‘bout you shrink me down so we can start our day?”

“You really can come back, Gently? I get to see you again?”

“Honest to Pete, Charlie Boy.” I set him down as gentle as you please and he told me to become his Little Brother again. I was sorry to see that meant my elephant’s trunk of a dick returned, along with my grapefruit-sized balls.

Stitches gave me a bittersweet look and I turned to lead the way back inside the house. But something was distracting me, and after a few slow steps I stopped again.

“Are you all right, Little?”

“I thought he would, like, disappear or something, but he’s still here.”

“You mean Gently? He’s inside you like one of your former masters?”

“Well… no, it’s different though. Here, you can talk to him!”

I did the exact same mental switch-over that I had done last night to go between speaking as Little One and speaking as Gently.

“Guess what, Charlie? I didn’t go nowhere when I changed back to being Little One! That means you can talk to me whenever you like!” It was mighty peculiar to be talking like Gently, but using Little’s voice. It was so darned high-pitched!

Charlie leapt forward and gave me another one of those hugs I’m so fond of, only this time he got more of me in his powerful arms. I reckon I’d trade anything in the world for just one of those hugs.

“All right now, Charlie Boy, I’m gonna get myself indoors. It’s a mite chilly out, and here I am in my birthday suit.”

Stitches helped me fold that wonderful quilt and stored it safely in his bedroom. I dressed and caged my cock, then headed to the kitchen while Stitches went to take a shower. He worked quickly, though, and came to keep me company while I cooked breakfast and packed Master’s and the boys’ lunches in the large coolers they used as lunch boxes. He talked with me about a typical day working with the contracting company and asked me all Master Gregory, who so loved Stitches’ work. I hadn’t known him very long, so I wasn’t entirely sure, but he seemed quite a bit more chatty than normal.

When Master Mondo and the other boys came to the breakfast table, I could tell they were noticing a difference in Stitches’ behavior. They all seemed pleasantly bemused, and allowed him to dominate the conversation.

Before everyone went off to work, Master pulled me aside.

“Someone had a good night’s sleep, didn’t he?”

“Definitely, Master! I’m so glad I got to spend the night with him. I chased his nightmare away and made him feel safe, and sir, I don’t think he’s felt that secure in a very long time, and it was because of me!”

“You should feel proud. And I’m absolutely delighted. Here’s your list of commands for today, and don’t forget Sven’s got you for after dinner.”

“Thank you, Master.” I bowed low to him.


Sven’s real name was Willard, but the boys called him Sven because he looked like a Viking with his dark blond hair and pale blue eyes. He really embraced that Viking image by growing out his hair and beard and wearing them in long, complicated braids.

When I went looking for Sven for his time with me, I met him walking to his bedroom from the shower, totally nude and drying his beard with a towel. I had already learned that these men all had sex with one another on a regular basis, and so had no hesitation about being seen naked. Half the time they could be found walking about or lounging around wearing only an erection. It was lovely to go about seeing handsomeness and sexiness wherever I went, but also extremely distracting.

I was still in the habit of wearing sweatpants unless I was being fucked, because they kept my knee-length, caged penis from swinging around too vigorously, but I was delighted that I could get out of wearing a shirt. It was embarrassing to have my ridiculously bulging muscles on display, but those muscles just make shirts very uncomfortable. And I kind of liked showing off my tattoo.

Sven guided me into the bedroom he shared with Ox, the very large and hugely muscled African American man who had called me sexy at that first dinner. Sven sat me down on his bed in front of a laptop. He showed me several videos about braiding hair, then sat down on the bed with me and told me to braid his hair for him, while he braided his beard. I had never braided hair before, and Sven’s freshly-washed hair hung all the way down to his generously muscled buttocks, but I sternly reminded myself that I was a good boy, and a good boy always tries his best.

I made mistakes several times and had to start over, but Sven was extremely patient with my fumbling. Ox came in after about a half hour wearing just some boxer briefs and showed me some tricks to keep the strands where they belonged, and once I got the hang of it, he sat down to watch.

“Why haven’t you done it yet, man?” Ox questioned Sven. “I thought you were excited.”

“Yeah, I am,” Sven replied. “But he’s never braided before and I didn’t want to distract him.”

I didn’t know what it was that Sven hadn’t done, but I must confess that I was distracted anyway. One of the reasons I kept getting his hair tangled was because my attention kept wandering to the powerful curves and deep valleys of his back muscles, and his very sexy rear end. Finishing the braid was especially trying because his hair hung right in front of his bottom—a glorious backdrop to be sure, but very distracting! I blushed and blushed the whole time I was working.

I was very proud when I had finished. Ox showed me how to tie Sven’s hair off so it wouldn’t come undone, and patted me on my massive shoulder.

“All right, Sven. He’s done and I’m ready for a show. Come on, man!”

Sven turned around. His beard’s braid was tighter and neater-looking, but I supposed that was only to be expected, given that he had more experience. He grinned at me.

“We’ve been wondering what you’d look like with hair, Little Brother. Grow your beard out until it hangs down to your waist. And make it red.”

Instantly I felt itchy on my face. I rubbed my hands around my cheeks and chin and felt stubble, which blossomed into a beard and moustache. I could just barely see my moustache sprouting out of my upper lip, and sure enough, it was the bright coppery color of red hair. I hadn’t had hair of any kind in such a long time, I wasn’t entirely sure exactly what color it had been—some kind of brown, I thought. But this was definitely a different color.

My beard was about two inches long when Sven and Ox started trading comments.

“That looks so crazy, growing fast like that,” Sven laughed.

“He looks like a real badass now,” Ox replied.

“Eh, he looks weird without eyebrows. Little, grow a pair of really bushy eyebrows.”

My beard wasn’t itchy anymore, but now a stripe of skin above my eyes began to itch, just for a moment. Then a pair of eyebrows practically burst out of my skin. It all felt so strange, and sort of creepy. I had lived so long with perfectly smooth skin, that having hairs all over, shifting and tugging ever so slightly on long-dormant follicles, felt very unsettling.

“Whoa, Little, you’ve got the thickest eyebrows I’ve seen in my life!” Ox said, patting me on the back.

“I like ‘em,” added Sven, as if he was surprised. “Here, take a look.” He grabbed a hand mirror from one of Ox’s drawers and handed it to me.

I didn’t recognize the man I saw. I liked it, though. My red beard was quite striking; it was covering most of my chest as it grew wildly in all directions, and it was surprisingly soft. It hid my mouth like Bedrock’s beard hid his. I practiced smiling with my eyes a few times in the mirror, just to see if I could be as expressive as he could be. Then I wiggled my thick eyebrows for the fun of it.

“I’m liking this look. You should leave him bald,” suggested Ox.

“No way, man! Little, grow an incredibly thick mane of hair on your head, and don’t stop ‘til it’s down to your ankles. Stand up so your hair can’t cheat.”

I stood up as a familiar itching feeling attacked my scalp. It was so intense that I made a little distressed grunt and rubbed my hands all over on top of my head to try to get some relief. Within a minute I felt first sandpaper, then stubble, then real, honest-to-goodness hair.

This entire time, my former masters had been having a field day. Some were laughing at how funny I looked with my inch-thick eyebrows. Some teased me over my discomfort at the itching and tickling. Opinions about my wild red beard ranged widely, but were all expressed emphatically. Master Stephen in particular thought I looked disgusting. But most of them liked seeing my head hair grow in, if for no other reason, because it was fascinating to see it grow an inch per second.

Within 20 seconds, I had a dense red curtain that I had to push back over my shoulders. After 45 seconds my hair was tickling my ass. It was well over a minute before it finally stopped growing. My hair was swinging against my lower calves. That meant it was a bit longer than seven feet.

“Oh man, that’s hot,” Sven declared.

“It’s a look.” Ox was trying to be polite.

“Well, of course I’m not finished yet,” Sven retorted with exaggerated patience. “Little, grow all your body hair out. Make it red, a really thick pelt.”

Suddenly I was hirsute. I had arm hair, chest hair, back hair, armpit hair, crotch hair, leg hair, all of it copper-red, and all of it densely packed. I’m pretty sure Master Stephen was trying to figure out how to gag without a throat. My other masters were vigorously debating whether I was uglier like this, or handsomer. Tuning them all out was giving me a headache.

“So, what do you think, Little?”

My masters were so cacophonous, I didn’t even know who had said that. I addressed the mirror so they wouldn’t see my confusion.

“I look like an orange haystack, sir.”

Ox and Sven both laughed, but also took pity on me. They helped me brush my hair and beard a bit and got some elastic loop things to put around my hair so I would have a ponytail in back and a beard ponytail in front. Apparently my hair was much fuller than they had expected. Sven kept commenting about how my ponytail was as thick as his powerful wrist.

I was a lot less sad about my appearance once they were done. My masters couldn’t stop laughing over the image of three colossally muscular men doing each other’s hair in the bedroom like teenage girls at a slumber party. Have I mentioned that hosting 38 opinionated ghosts-or-whatever can be severely annoying?

I cheered up when Sven and Ox shared me after that. They had me get into animal-style position at the edge of their king-size bed and Sven climbed onto the bed behind me while Ox stood with his cock in front of my face. I always enjoyed getting spit roasted, but my hair gave them a chance to put a new twist on the sex.

Sven grabbed hold of my seven-foot-long hair and tugged like he would on a horse’s reins, then whipped my ass with my own ponytail. My head tilted back and I gasped in surprise. Ox objected to my face being yanked out of position; he grabbed my thick beard and pulled downward so he could get his penis into my mouth. The entire time they were using me, they played tug-of-war with my head.

It was the first time in my life I had ever had any hair long enough to be pulled, and now I had it all over. I couldn’t believe how erotic it was.

Over time, I came to learn that Ox and Sven were the closest thing to a couple in this house, and they enjoyed bickering and mock-fighting over things. And although both men enthusiastically engaged in sex with their brothers, they consistently returned to one another’s arms…and asses. They also frequently shared me when they had Little Brother Time, and especially liked to pretend they were fighting over me.


When Sven’s time was up, I asked if I could keep my hair. I wanted to see what Stitches thought about it. Once again wearing my trusty jock strap and sweatpants, I trotted downstairs to his room.

He laughed and laughed at first, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was more like a what-have-you-gotten-yourself-into laugh. I grinned down at him, smiling as hard as I could with my eyes so he’d know I didn’t mind.

“Can you sit down with me for a minute, or do you have work to do?” he asked, still chuckling. I stepped up close to him and spoke as Gently.

“Aww dang, Charlie Boy, I gotta finish my chores in the kitchen. But I’ll be done in a flash and then I’m all yours.”

“Can you keep the hair? It’s very appropriate for a giant.”

“For you, Charlie Boy, anything.”

I stayed being Gently while I worked, since only Charlie was there, keeping me company. As thoroughly as I had enjoyed my time with Sven and Ox, I had been looking forward to being Gently all day. After that, it was pretty much lights out, so we retired to Charlie’s room.

I lay on his floor and he grew me to my giant size and shrank my Willy and my jewels. I had taken off my clothes and cage, but forgot about my hair ties, which quickly stretched and broke. Charlie assured me that I looked more like a proper giant with my beard fluffed out. My hair was definitely going to be a problem, though, so he looked up how to tie long hair into a shape he called a “man bun” on his computer. He showed me a video that I had to watch about 15 times to understand. But I now had 19 feet of hair, and in the end Charlie Boy had to order my hair to just shorten itself. I was disappointed that I had failed with the man bun, but at least my hair wouldn’t strangle me in the night.

At long last I was lying on my back and Charlie Boy was snuggled into my beard, declaring it to be the finest bed he’d ever lain in. Soon, we were both asleep. I helped him through two nightmares, but otherwise he dreamed peacefully while I gazed fondly on him for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Charlie shrunk me down and we decided he’d best order me to lose my hair, lest I possibly lose it gradually during the day and wind up dropping it all over the house. He spread an old bedsheet out on the floor and when he told my hair to fall out, it weren’t no problem at all to clean up.

I didn’t even notice until Master and the boys were gone that practically my entire body, from the top of my head to the top of my feet, felt like sandpaper. Stubble! I had no idea what to make of that, but in the end, I decided it just wasn’t worth no consternation.


The next brother I got to spend time with was nicknamed Speedy, though his real name was Miguel. His bedroom was downstairs, which was why he had walked in on Master and me the night I first came to live here. He thoroughly enjoyed jogging through the neighborhood or on the treadmill in the basement, and like all the boys, he was quite muscular, though not as massive as Ox or Sven.

He was Latino like Bedrock, but his skin and hair—he wore his hair in a long ponytail—were a lighter brown and he had surprisingly bright, green eyes. He explained that his grandmother was Irish, and jokingly said that he also got his temper from her. But he didn’t have a temper at all—he was an extremely patient, tolerant man.

Speedy was astonishingly easy to talk to, and had lots of questions about my life and my former masters. When he mentioned that his hobby was woodworking, Masters Alexander and Frank pestered me until I asked if he had made the beautiful wood furniture and laid the exquisite hardwood floors. Speedy smiled and said mostly yes, but the other boys had helped lay the flooring. After that, nothing would satisfy my former masters until I had asked Speedy to let us see his workshop.

“How could I possibly refuse both Masters Frank and Alexander?” he grinned.

There were two large outbuildings in the back yard. As Speedy walked outside with me into the warm summer evening, he pointed to one and explained that it served as Bedrock’s metal workshop and a combination ceramics workshop and gardening shed for Paul. Paul’s kiln and Bedrock’s welding didn’t mix well with Speedy’s sawdust, so he was taking me to the other building, which housed his wood workshop and a jewelry making workshop used by Mouth.

While Masters Frank and Alexander went on ahead to enjoy Speedy’s workbench and Masters Kelly and Jonathan hurried inside to investigate Mouth’s jeweler’s bench, I had to struggle to get my massive frame into the smaller-than-normal doorway. I badly scraped my bare chest and bumped my head and painfully squashed my obscenely huge balls between my enormous thighs in the process. It was both painful and humiliating. Speedy was impossibly handsome and graceful and perfect, and my already horrible, clunky body was making me look even clumsier and uglier.

To make matters worse, my mind kept drifting to how badly I wanted Speedy to fuck me, and that made me feel guilty because good boys shouldn’t be so concerned with their own wishes. The part of me that spoke like Gently wondered why being horny was such a bad thing, if no one was harmed none. I couldn’t think of an answer to that.

I must have had confusion all over my face when I finally wrenched my oversized body inside because Speedy seemed to want to distract me from my humiliation. He murmured reassuring things to me and pulled my face down towards his so he could give me a kiss.

“I’d like to try something with you, but I’m going to check with you first, because it’s…it’s weird.” He paused uncertainly. “Could I…can I turn you into a girl? It’s weird, I know, and you know what? Nev—”

“I reckon there’s nothing wrong with that,” I interrupted. Where had that come from? I said “reckon”, and… I never, ever interrupt, good boys don’t interrupt, they just don’t!

But I realized Speedy had been on the verge of changing his mind and maybe he needed to be interrupted. As disturbing as it was that I had been rude, maybe it was what Speedy needed. He gave me a relieved look, but I could tell he was going to require just a little more encouragement.

“It’ll be fun. You know how embarrassed I am about this stupid thing anyway.” I grabbed my cock cage through my sweats. “Come on, now you’ve got me curious. I want to know what it’s like.” I stepped forward and bent down to whisper in his ear. “Make me a woman.” Where was all this assertiveness coming from?

He asked me to strip off my sweatpants and uncage myself. He took off the running shorts that had been his entire outfit. Then he took my hand gently in his and towed me to Mouth’s side of the workshop where there was no sawdust.

“Little. Shrink your body to, um… five foot…” He paused to consider. “To five foot eight. Lose most of your muscle size, but still be muscular for a lady—I like a strong woman. Lose the stubble and the tattoo. Grow nice, big breasts. Grow your hair so it’s down to the middle of your back. Trade your male parts for female parts. Be a woman.”

With each command, my body obeyed. Growing breasts was odd, but delightful. I couldn’t not squeeze and bounce them with my hands, and it was…well, I liked them. The strangest moment was when my balls shrank until there was just smooth skin, then my searching fingers felt a hole from and deepen into a vagina. My penis shrank and shrank until it was just a clitoris inside my labia. (I didn’t know those words at the time; I asked Stitches about lady parts later because he was a doctor.) I was fascinated and wanted to keep exploring my new anatomy, but I got self-conscious about it with Speedy watching.

I had to trust that I was muscular for a lady; I felt like I was tiny, compared to my normal hulking massiveness. I examined my delicate hands, then used one of those hands to brush a lock of hair behind my ear. I was going to have to get used to hair getting in my way if my brothers kept ordering it to grow.

When he had said, “Be a woman”, I had expected to undergo a world-rocking transformation in my psyche. And I did feel different, but not nearly as dramatically as I thought. I had spent most of my entire life strictly in the company of men. My masters were all gay, with a handful of bisexuals mixed in. I’m embarrassed to admit, I had come to think of women as an alien species.

“Oh, f…um, wow!” Speedy breathed. “Not to sound like a bad RomCom, but you seriously look beautiful.” I looked up into his face—looking up at someone was an unusual experience—and saw how astonished he was at my beauty. He was looking intently down into my eyes.

“Thank you,” I smiled. “But Speedy, aren’t you gay?”

“Bisexual,” he answered. “And don’t get me wrong, I really like making love with my brothers. But I also like straight sex, and I don’t get many opportunities to make love to a beautiful woman.” There was that word “beautiful” again. It was strange but exciting to be called that.

He put his arms around my slender waist, and I responded by reaching up and putting my arms around his neck. I had seen women do that, and it didn’t feel wrong, so I hoped it was a womanly thing to do. I felt really odd, like, warmth and coolness simultaneously spreading through my insides. I got kind of breathless.

“Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask. Even if I’m a woman, I still have to obey.” My voice was higher than I was used to, a smooth alto that I kind of liked the sound of.

“Whether I’m with a man or a woman, I like to feel like I’m a gentleman.”

“Oh…then yes, I’d really like you to kiss me.”

We kissed for several long, sensual minutes. He moved one hand up and down my arm, while the other hand rested at the back of my head. I was getting goosebumps.

He leaned his head to the side and kissed me on the neck. His hand moved from my arm to my back, caressing me slowly up and down. I began to thoroughly enjoy this tender treatment. A good boy is supposed to either do all the work, like giving a blow job, or keep still and get used. But I wasn’t a boy, and here I was with this gentleman. It was a very new experience to feel like I was someone special who got to enjoy herself in this way.

His hands made their way gradually to my hips and butt. I sighed happily and moved my own hands to his chest. Speedy pulled me closer. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed and protected, and I realized that the feeling was actually erotic.

I also noticed that all but a couple of my former masters had found other places to be. Watching straight sex was definitely not their thing, apparently. I thought that was a nice treat for me. Maybe I should ask to be a woman sometimes, just to get some peace and quiet.

Speedy straightened up and put his hand on the side of my face. I looked up into his eyes. He was looking at me again as if there were nothing else in the world he cared about at that moment but me. He brushed a lock of my hair back, then stroked my cheek. It made me tingle in funny ways to have someone touch me so delicately. I couldn’t remember anyone ever treating me like this. I wanted it to go on forever.

And contrary to his nickname, Speedy seemed perfectly content for things to progress slowly. His penis occasionally brushed up against me, so I could tell that he was very hard, but he never gave the slightest hint of urgency. In fact, he seemed to be waiting for me to indicate that I was ready for the next step.

I decided I actually was ready. I ran my hands from the base of his neck down over his bulging chest and over the hard mounds of his abs. Then I moved to sit down on the floor but he grabbed my hands.

“Oh, wait please! Let me get a blanket.” He opened a nearby cabinet and pulled out a gorgeously woven throw blanket with a majestic picture of a flock of cranes or herons in flight. The birds were grey silhouettes with a blazing background of a rust and orange sunset. It could only be Stitches’ work.

Speedy spread the blanket on the floor and gallantly offered me his hand. I took it and lowered myself to the ground. He followed me down, and I expected him to initiate intercourse, but instead he began a thorough exploration of my newly feminine body with his lips and tongue. He kissed his way up my stomach to my breasts, then across both of them. Having completed that journey, he placed his lips over my left nipple and ran his tongue all the way around my areola, then just touched his tongue to my nipple.

That sent a promisingly thrilling jolt through my nerves, but he withdrew from there and returned to kissing my left breast. Then he came back to my nipple and gave it the tiniest possible nibble. I inhaled sharply, startled at the powerfully erotic effect. He bit a little harder. I gasped. He bit on that nipple and pinched my right nipple at the same time. I moaned and asked him to keep going.

As a male sex slave, I have had my nipples stimulated and abused in a variety of delightful and excruciating ways. But there was simply no comparison to the thrill that went through my body with Speedy’s teeth and fingers tugging on my female nipples. I was very, very, very horny by now.

I felt a trickle at my crotch. Spreading my legs and reaching my hand down, I felt that my crotch was wet all over. I looked up at Speedy in alarm, thinking I had peed on myself, but he reassured me.

“Girls get wet when they’re aroused. It’s basically lube, like pre-cum happens on guys.” Another way I was ignorant about women. I wanted him to use the lube I had made, and I wanted it desperately.

“Will you…could you…please?” I really wanted to do things right and be a good partner for Speedy, but I didn’t know how a girl would ask to be penetrated. I just knew that my need was beyond urgent. He smiled warmly.

“If you’re ready.”

“Yes. Oh God, please!”

“I’m just going to check…” He put his dick just at my labia and paused, pressing forward a tiny fraction of an inch at a time. “Okay, it seems that your spirits didn’t make you a virgin.” I wasn’t sure why that mattered, but it apparently meant he could finally enter me.

He slowly pressed himself inside me, then paused there, taking a moment to nibble on my right nipple. Then he pulled slowly out and slowly pushed in again. Gradually, he picked up speed, then slowed down again. Occasionally he paused to run his hands along my cheek or caress my breasts. And though he often tilted his head back or closed his eyes in bliss, he always looked back into my eyes. I felt like he was checking on me, making sure I was enjoying myself, and his care and concern added a whole extra layer of joy to the immense physical pleasure I was experiencing.

In some ways, pleasure is pleasure. The sexual pleasure I felt as a woman wasn’t better or worse, but was significantly different. If I thought back a very long time I could kind of remember what it was like to have my cock inside another person. That had been nothing like this. Having Speedy inside my vagina was a tiny bit like having a dick in my ass, in that he was filling an empty space in my body and giving me pleasure.

But. This was sending electricity all over my body. I had thought receiving anal sex was more of a whole-body sensation than giving it, but as a woman having vaginal sex, I realized a whole new level of whole-body. Later I would ponder whether sex felt better as a woman or a man, and conclude they were just different and both wonderful. But at that moment the question was just a distraction to be set aside.

Then Speedy did the thing that I didn’t even know I wanted. He took his thumb and, while thrusting inside me at the same time, circled it around and back and forth on my clitoris. I gasped loudly and pleaded for him to keep going.

My orgasm rose and rose, then finally exploded throughout my body. My whole body clenched and I couldn’t breathe and I trembled all over. I saw stars. I didn’t even remember reaching up to him, but I was clutching his broad, manly back with my thin, athletic, womanly arms.

When my orgasm faded, I laid back so Speedy could finish. He pumped faster, then abruptly pulled out with a grunt and came into his hand.

“You should have come inside me,” I told him. I would be a man again within a day, so pregnancy certainly wasn’t a concern.

“On the first date?” he smiled. “I like to feel like a gentleman, remember?” He grabbed a cloth from a nearby cabinet and cleaned off his hand, then laid down next to me on the blanket. We both let out happy sighs together. “Thank you,” he said, tilting himself on his side so he could see my face.

“Is that another gentlemanly thing? Saying ‘thank you’?”

“It’s a Speedy thing, at least. Thank you for the sex, and thank you for being adventurous enough to let me turn you into a beautiful woman.” He was running one finger along the contour of my breast, making me feel pleasantly shivery. “I was going to chicken out, but I’m really glad you talked me into it.” I leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Well, thank you kindly for the sex, and for the grand, womanly adventure. You made me feel real special.” I noticed myself slipping into Gently speech again, though I couldn’t tell if Speedy noticed a difference. Gently’s wording felt very strange in my feminine voice; I was used to speaking his phraseology in the rumbling bass of a 20-foot-tall male giant.

The door to the workshop opened and Mouth entered. After one look at us, he dramatically averted his eyes and held out a hand as if to ward off evil.

“Ugh, Speedy where did she come from? Oh my God. Couldn’t you put a tie on the door or something?”

“I don’t own any ties, Mouth. And you’re being rude to this nice lady. Tell her you’re sorry,” Speedy told him. Mouth glared at Speedy, but his expression was honestly apologetic when he looked at me.

“He’s right. I’m sor—” Mouth froze, his eyes big as plates. Somehow he recognized me. “Little Brother?

“I reckon it’s Little Sister at the moment,” I smiled.

Speedy! Oh my God! Why would you go and do…that…to such a gorgeous hunk of man?” He addressed Speedy again, but gestured toward me in exasperation. “Ugh, it’s sacrilege! Next time, get a room when you want to do…that!

“We did get a room,” I retorted. “Yours!” With a couple more ugh’s thrown in for good measure, Mouth fled.


After a lovely half hour longer, it was time to do my nightly chores. Speedy ordered me to become my normal self, but I didn’t return to the normal I expected. I was noticeably taller and thicker—Speedy even asked if I was bigger. I might have thought we were just imagining that I was extra big because I had been a dainty woman moments before, but my hair and beard couldn’t be explained away like a bit of stubble could. They were both about an inch long, and coppery red. Not only that, but when I put my dick back in its cage, it was obviously about five inches shorter.

I was baffled as I wrenched my even larger body through the workshop door. I kept thinking, “This ain’t right” over and over. Then I had an epiphany: my default, normal body and mind were slowly turning into Gently. I reckoned my spirits felt I was needed more as Gently than as Slave Boy.

My head began to spin: Slave Boy, Little One, Little Brother, and Gently were all me. I wasn’t deluded, I knew all those identities were me and not separate people; I knew each identity had his function and purpose; but I was starting to have trouble figuring out which one was really me, not just a role I played.

I liked myself a lot when I was Gently. I was brave and caring and things just didn’t rattle me none. And I made Charlie Boy happy. I was just going to have to work out how to get my chores done when I grew to 20 feet tall. I would have to ask Master Mondo soon if he might be able to work out a solution to my dilemma. I was pretty sure I was taller than eight feet now.

One thing I knew for sure: Charlie would smile all the time if I wound up being Gently forever. My heart truly rejoiced at that thought.

Part 7

Charlie Boy definitely noticed the differences in my appearance when I went to see him at lights out time. But while I’d spent my entire life looking like I was supposed to look, Charlie had seen me looking different almost every time I came to visit, so he never even raised an eyebrow at my hair and added size. We slipped into the back yard again with my wonderful quilt and some extra blankets, he ordered me to completely become his Gently, and we passed another grand night there. Part of the time he slept in my lap so I could sleep and help him conquer another nightmare—a truly horrifying one, that took a lot of beating before it surrendered. The rest of the time I held him in my arms and watched over him as the moon passed overhead.

All the others noticed my hair while I was serving them omelets the next morning, but again, it wasn’t that strange to them, since they all knew how very changeable I was. I did whisper to Master that no one had commanded me to be like this, and he promised with a small frown that he would think about why my body might be behaving this way. He also assured me that he knew I had no control over what was happening to me, but I felt guilty nevertheless. Good boys only obey, and this felt like I was being bad, because no one had told me to be this way.

That day at work was apparently gruelling for my family. It was Friday, and I never understood the entire story, but for some reason a very rich client had demanded that a massive portion of their job must be completed before the weekend, even though they had originally been fine with the boys doing the work next week. Meanwhile, a client Master and my brothers liked very much had been promised a lot of work would be done, and my family didn’t want to disappoint them. So they all spent the day busily shuttling between two job sites, eating their enormous lunches in tiny bits so they could skip their midday break, and worked very late into the evening. They drug themselves home, sweaty and miserable, in groups of two or three; Paul, who came home first with Ox and Mouth, handed me a note from Master:

“Little One,

Sorry for the late notice, but we’re delayed. Feed these boys their dinner and put the rest in the fridge. Since we can’t do Family Fuck Friday tonight, Paul has asked to have his Little One time now instead of tomorrow morning. So give Paul his time as soon as he’s ready, and if you’re not busy when the rest of us get home, you can reheat our dinner.

Master Mondo”

I hadn’t the faintest notion what Family Fuck Friday meant, but I am a good boy and knew this wasn’t the time to ask questions. I was grateful that I had made tacos for that night’s dinner. The meat was still tasty when reheated, and the boys could easily serve themselves if they needed. Paul was broad-chested and brawny, and very, very strong, but his day’s work had been far heavier than an average man could possibly have accomplished, and he barely had the energy to sit up at the dinner table. I fed him and the others, put the food in the refrigerator, then followed Paul upstairs.

All of my brothers were larger than average men, but Paul Bunyan (his real name was Anthony), at six foot ten, was tied with Ox for tallest. He wore his flowing brown hair at shoulder length and had a very long, thick, bushy beard. He even dressed like a lumberjack for Halloween each year, though normally he preferred to wear short shorts and t-shirts with funny gay pictures or slogans on them when he was out in public. When I laughed at one of his shirts once, he chuckled and said he didn’t want anyone mistaking him for any damn straight boy. At home he usually just hung around in his brightly colored underwear, except when he felt like going nude or when he needed to be covered for a job he was doing, like pulling thorny weeds.

He created the tile mosaics I had seen all over the back yard. He also did most of the gardening. His personality was easygoing and cheerful, which I thought matched his bright, joyous flower displays that made the front and back yards so lovely.

He took me to the bedroom he shared with Bedrock and told me to give him a full-body massage—something I am quite good at, if it’s not boasting too much to say. Many years before, Master Tomas had even hired a masseur to teach me how to give professional-quality massages. But just as I was about to start, Paul interrupted me.

“Hey, you know what? Grow another pair of arms just like the ones you’ve got. I bet you’ll be able to give the best massage in history.”

My torso stretched upwards and I grew about eight inches taller. I could feel new ribs forming inside my chest, behind a whole new pair of pectoral muscles. I even discovered I had two new nipples. Then a pair of hard, fleshy nubs began to grow below my armpits, rapidly developing into an extra pair of arms.

When they finished growing, I tried moving them. At first, I could only move my new arms exactly in concert with my old arms. But I concentrated very hard on my lower right arm, and after a long moment I managed to wiggle the fingers on that hand while my upper right hand remained still. Paul and I both laughed with delight at my success.

Once I had the knack for it, I turned my attention to my lower left hand and didn’t require nearly as much effort to get it to move on its own. I was so delighted that I clapped my lower hands together, then proceeded to clap my two pairs of hands alternately, giving myself a round of applause. I tried clapping my two right hands with each other and my two left hands with each other, but that was a bit awkward. I smiled at Paul and asked if there was any kind of massage oil handy. He gave me a wry look.

“In this over-sexed house?” he chuckled. “Of course! Bedrock and I probably have at least three different kinds, just in this room.” He reached into his bedside table and selected one of the two bottles I saw in the drawer, then handed it to me. I opened the bottle with my upper hands and poured a healthy dose into each of my lower hands. I closed and set aside the bottle, then thoroughly greased all four of my hands. Paul yawned mightily.

“Start with my feet and work your way up to my shoulders, and if I’m asleep before you finish, just lay here with me in case I wake up,” he ordered. I began by rubbing his left foot with my lower pair of hands while my upper pair worked on his left calf. Then I moved on to his right side. He was snoring before I was able to proceed to his mighty thighs. He and Bedrock each had a queen size bed, but I could easily see there was no way I would fit on the bed next to him, especially with my increased height and extra body parts, so I ended up lying on the floor at the foot of his bed.

He snored for about an hour, then stirred and sat up. He turned himself sideways and leaned against the wall, with his feet sticking off the side of the bed just a bit. He flexed his extremely thick, bulging leg muscles and patted the bed next to him. I knew that was a silent command for me to sit next to him, but I hesitated with worry on my face. I had a history of breaking beds and chairs with my enormous weight, and Paul was surely quite heavy himself. Paul guessed what I was thinking and laughed.

“Bedrock built this bedframe from scratch to handle two extra-large men fucking each other’s brains out. If it breaks, none of us will ever let him live it down. Come here and sit by me.”

“Yes, brother,” I said as I climbed gingerly onto the bed and seated myself next to him. I laid my lower hands on the bed next to my awful, over-muscled legs and folded my upper pair of hands in my lap. “It’s just that I break beds so easily, especially if someone is fucking me. May I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I wish I was small. Or at least…normal. I mean, it’s fun having all of you boys changing me like you have, because I know it’s not forever. But I’m supposed to be a slave, and I want to be a good boy. Discreet, unimportant. Being big like I am feels like I’m trying to show off, or…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you.” I spoke softly. It wasn’t really a good-boy sort of thing to be complaining, but I had felt that way my entire life.

The Gently part of me thought about Charlie Boy and how much I liked to make him feel safe. I couldn’t do that as well if I was small now, could I? Paul put a hand on my thigh. As beefy as his hand was, my disgustingly thick leg still dwarfed it.

“I know you kind of feel like a freak. But hey, at least you found a house full of freaks to take you in,” he said cheerfully. I was shocked to hear him say that. I mean, my brothers were all handsome and talented and artistic and muscular and beautiful! They weren’t ugly or monstrous or awkward like me, each and every one was his own category of perfection. Paul saw the look on my face and grinned widely. “How old do you think I am, Little?”

I do not like that question! You are supposed to guess the wrong answer, so if you are right you disappoint the person, but if you guess much too young, it’s bad because you’re not trying, and if you guess older than the person’s real age, that’s really, really bad. I hoped he would just tell me without making me answer, but instead he sat there grinning sideways and up at me.

“Um…” I looked at his face and hair. No gray hairs, only the tiniest little smile wrinkles on his face… He looked between 25 and 35. “You’re…26?”

“I’m 95,” he replied gleefully. “I was born in 1924.” When he said that, my eyes got very big, though I’m not sure he realized the real reason for my reaction. He flexed a gorgeously swelling bicep. “Not bad for an old man, eh? All of us boys were born in the 20’s, except Stitches—he’s already 101. Your master—my boss—is…gosh, probably much older. I’m guessing Boss hasn’t told you our unbelievable story, has he?”

“No, brother.” Charlie was over 100? Gently had been given all those memories, but I realized they were almost all from Charlie’s childhood; once he had grown into an adult, he had only let me visit him a small handful of times, apparently with many, many years in between each visit.

“Well, why don’t you finish my massage and I’ll tell you?” he asked. I slid off the bed so he could lie down, then got to work. I used my upper hands to massage his butt muscles and my lower hands to knead his hamstrings. “We were supposed to be real-life Captain Americas—oh! God, that feels good—only instead of enhancing us through science, Boss was supposed to enhance us through spiritual means. He was supposed to convince all the right kinds of spirits to use us as hosts; we weren’t spirit hosts back then, but Boss selected us because we each had some kind of quality that he believed gave us potential to become spirit hosts. He didn’t think it was a good idea to actually try the experiment—spirits don’t think like humans, and unexpected things tend to happen when they’re around. Plus, he’d never tried it, it was just a theory of his. But the military was gearing up for World War II and they were experimenting with all kinds of new and unlikely—and often stupid—ideas to get an edge over the Nazis.

“Long story short, someone higher-ranking and not very bright appealed to Boss’s patriotism—everyone was crazy about supporting the war effort, including Boss—and he reluctantly agreed. The idea was that Boss would appeal to certain spirits to enhance our bodies and minds, and as you can see, it did work on us.”

“Definitely, sir,” I murmured. I was especially appreciating Paul’s rear end at that moment. I decided I’d better move on. “May I come up on the bed so I can work on your back, brother?”

“Of course.” I straddled his waist, carefully arranging my balls inside my sweat pants with my lower left hand. Then I began to massage his lower back with all four hands, eliciting a groan of appreciation from Paul. Then he continued his story.

“What Boss was worried about—and what came to pass—was that more spirits than he wanted got in on the action. He made one attempt to warn the higher brass that those other spirits were nearby and likely to be a problem but they ordered him to continue. Turned out, we all became hosts to spirits of Growth, Strength, Creativity, Perseverance, some other random ones, and…Lust. Apparently, there were shitloads of Sex spirits around. Not surprising, given that we were on a military base with a couple thousand young, horny men with mostly no outlet to their sexual energy. The Lust spirits were drawn to them like moths to a flame.

“Well…an orgy broke out, and after a while even some guys nearby who weren’t supposed to be involved got…well…excited to explore our new bodies with us. All of us except Boss and Mouth were straight going into that room that day, but the spirits seemed to think that, since there were no women around, then we’d damn well better learn to appreciate man sex. Speedy and Sven turned bisexual; the rest of us are now as gay as they come. Not that them being bi matters, none of us has tried seriously to find sex outside of our family in decades.”

I moved to Paul’s upper back. My top hands kneaded the thick mounds of muscle on either side of his neck, while I used the knuckles of my lower hands to dig deep into the tissue near his shoulder blades. He paused for a couple minutes to moan in relief before proceeding.

“So yeah, we just went from a bunch of recruits sitting in folding chairs who didn’t know each other very well to a bunch of guys whose uniforms were suddenly ripping off of their enormous, muscular bodies to a single, writhing, mindless mass of naked butt-fucking and cock-sucking. We literally couldn’t think about anything else, and since Boss had asked for us to be left alone so we could meditate and Boss could do his shaman thing, we were fucking like our lives depended on it for almost three solid hours before anyone came to look for us. And like I said, the first few guys who came in got…affected, I guess you’d say, and they tore off their uniforms and got to fucking and sucking and bending over as well. It wasn’t until a bunch of officers let us have it with the fire hose that we could think clearly enough to separate and exert some self-control. Oh my God, we were so chafed.” He chuckled at that memory.

“Did you get in trouble?” I asked.

“Public gay sex in the military? In the 1940’s? You could say that. They wanted to court-martial every last one of us. They were so disgusted and angry, that if they could have, they probably would have had us executed or something. But Boss had changed during his experiment too. He had opened himself up to acquiring some more spirits as well. Where most of our changes were physical, Boss’s changes weren’t visible. But boy, were they noticeable. Since he seemed to be in charge, he had attracted a platoon of spirits of Command, and to our amazement, he commanded every single officer on that base to pretend the whole thing never happened, even though they outranked him. And it worked. We were honorably discharged.

“Not only that, but Boss blackmailed the top brass into giving us each a large sum of hush money to settle back into civilian life. He did it by showing them a press release he wrote detailing a certain military experiment that had turned good, red-blooded American recruits into sex-crazed homosexuals. And he was going to name names, right up the chain of command, if they didn’t obey him. Ever since then, when we’ve needed some big money, like when we bought this house…” (I had to struggle not to roll my eyes as Masters David and James exclaimed at the solution to their real estate mystery.) “…or when we started up the contracting business, Boss writes up a new press release and commands the top brass to give us what we need and we get more hush money.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…uh…brother, why work at all? You could just live off the hush money, couldn’t you?” I was finding it harder to call my brothers “sir”, but I couldn’t not use some sort of respectful term. I slid my upper hands outward to soothe Paul’s massive arm muscles while my lower hands massaged the wondrously broad muscles just under his armpits.

“Well, Little…” he sighed. “We did ‘retire’ for a while. But it got boring, and we realized we were turning into people we didn’t like. Lazy. Selfish. Entitled. And as we started to realize we weren’t aging, it occurred to us that we might live very, very long lives. Before our transformation, Boss was mostly host to spirits of Kindness and Wisdom…”

“Oh!” I gasped, “that’s why he tastes like kindness!” Paul paused in puzzlement, then continued.

“Well anyway, he really cares about us like we’re his sons, and he feels responsible for changing our lives so dramatically without our consent. The more he saw what we were turning into, the more determined he got to keep us from becoming savages. Over the years, Boss’s wisdom, plus our seemingly eternal youth, have given us all a very different view of what life is about. We’ve come to realize that humans were made for work, even though most people spend their lives longing to be done with it. We need the focus, and the challenge, and even the comfort of the routine.

“The contracting business is perfect for us, because we do half of our jobs for charities and low-income families, and we charge them tiny fees, or else we do the work for free. Sometimes we offer our services in exchange for whatever they can give. Once we gutted and rebuilt an entire house for this elderly lady in exchange for a custom-made leather jock strap for each of us. She figured out that we were all gay, and she made the jocks from scrap material that she saved up from her work. We all thought her eyelids were going to fall off from all the winking she did. Most of us still have those jocks she made.” Paul chuckled fondly as he recounted that memory.

“We make up the difference with jobs for rich and ultra-rich people, and hike up their fees as much as we can. And working in those over-the-top posh houses and seeing those entitled, dissatisfied rich people making each other miserable reminds us we don’t want to be like them, even though we absolutely could. Thank you, Little, that was amazing. Let’s sit up on the bed again.”

“Could I ask, why do you all live here with Master?” We returned to our side-by-side positions on his bed.

“We have to. The spirits we host are only halfway within us. It’s more or less what Boss had worried about in the first place: we weren’t really proper spirit hosts, so they’re also still partly attached to Boss, which means we’re attached too. There were originally eleven of us in Project Shaman, as they called it. One died accidentally, many many years ago. One…committed suicide, rather than live life as a gay man.” Paul shook his head sadly. “The nine of us who remained did try to live apart from Boss after we got discharged from the army, but being separated from him grew more and more painful. One of us—we all called him Dozer—said he couldn’t stand to be around us any more and moved to another city without telling us where. We never heard from him again, but Boss says Dozer’s spirits are still connecting him to Dozer, so he’s still alive, and maybe we’ll see him again someday.”

“So, you’re all sort of trapped with Master?” I asked. Paul looked at me with a startled smile.

“You know, we honestly don’t think of it as being trapped. These are just the cards we’ve been dealt. This is a good life we live, and Boss feels like a father to us all. And the fact that we’re all perpetually horny means we need to be able to fuck each other any time we want, no questions asked. We understand each other’s needs and…I don’t know, I guess that’s the best explanation I can give you.” Paul glanced at the clock. “And my time was up a while ago. Go on down and finish your chores, Little Brother. Why don’t you see if washing dishes with four hands goes twice as fast?”

“But sir, I didn’t ever give you any sex!” I was upset with myself that I hadn’t offered before this. He smiled and stretched up to kiss me on the cheek.

“I don’t top very often, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t bottom for you,” he said, resting his hand on my cock in its cage, which ran the entire length of my thigh inside the leg of my sweats. “But the massage was fantastic, and thank you for listening to a tired old man’s rambling stories, youngster.” He winked at me and I hefted my huge, four-armed body off the bed and lumbered downstairs. I didn’t tell him I was older than him. I didn’t want to take the wind out of his sails.


Washing dishes was really, really fun with four hands. After a bit of awkwardness, I discovered that the most efficient way was to scrub something with my top two hands and rinse it with my lower two while I reached for another dish with my upper hands. It took a bit of extra planning and a whole lot of concentration, but like I said, it was fun!

When Charlie finally got home and I went to his room to become Gently for the night, we decided to stay inside because it was too chilly out. But Charlie Boy had a grand time with me as a four-armed Gently. He had me hold my four hands together in a square and practiced balancing with one hand or one foot on each of my palms. We laughed until our sides hurt.

When it was time to sleep, I laid my 21-foot-tall body (remember, those extra shoulders made me taller) along his floor and he climbed on top of me. When I was Gently, my beard spread wildly across my entire chest and Charlie said he loved how soft it felt. He snuggled down into my beard like it was a blanket, with his feet toward my chin. His feet were very cold, so I breathed on them to warm them up while Charlie gazed at me with a gratifying look of joy on his face.

After that, he laid himself down on his side between my chest muscles and closed his eyes. I folded my lower hands across my stomach while I gently stroked his back with my upper right thumb until he drifted to sleep.


The next day, Charlie returned me to “normal”, which still felt strange to me because of all the hair I now had. It was a Saturday, and I had sessions with two of my brothers, one right after lunch, and one after dinner. Ox had me after lunch, so once I had cleaned the kitchen, I headed up to his room.

When I approached Ox and Sven’s bedroom, I could hear the sound of violin music coming from inside. It sounded achingly mournful, with just a kernel of hope woven into the melody. I wished I could stand there and bask in its beauty until it ended. Many of my masters urged me to do just that, especially Masters George and Zane, who had been musicians. But good boys are prompt, and I didn’t want to be late for Ox’s session.

I knocked on the door and the music stopped mid-phrase. Sven’s voice called out a command for me to come in. I opened the door to find Sven, completely nude, standing next to a music stand, holding his violin in one hand and his bow in the other. I wondered if I would ever get used to being confronted with thrillingly glorious, muscular nakedness in every room I entered. My huge balls tingled every time I looked at one of my brothers, and they were everywhere!

“Hi, Little,” Sven greeted me with the cheerfulness of an experienced artist who can evoke intense emotions without getting overwhelmed by them. “Ox is in his studio and wants you to go to him. You know where that is, right?”

His thick, powerful hand was holding the bow so delicately and elegantly. I realized I was staring and looked down at my own brutish, clumsy hands that had never created anything beautiful, hanging stupidly at the end of chunky, too-thick forearms. I hid my hands behind my back in shame and stammered out my thanks.

I reached the bottom of the basement stairs and paused to gaze in awe at Ox’s form. He was nude, his dark brown skin rippling over truly enormous, wondrous muscles. Ox was six foot ten, just like Paul; but where Paul was muscular enough to shock any normal human being, Ox was huge enough to amaze a professional bodybuilder.

“Little! Come on over here, buddy!” he shouted. I gladly walked across the basement to him. Every time Ox spoke to me, a shy smile would spread across my face. I had never heard him say one word that wasn’t bursting with joy. “I want you to see some charcoal drawings I’ve been working on! Here, take a look!” His studio had surprisingly large windows, considering that it was in the basement, but they let in lots of light for him to work by. He towed me a little closer to those windows.

He held out the hugest spiral-bound notebook I had ever seen and flipped through the pages, occasionally stopping to show me his incredible artwork. There was a colored pencil landscape of a lonely beach at night, another colored pencil portrait of Sven in brightly-colored swim trunks playing his guitar by the pool, and a very striking and intimate black-and-white charcoal portrait that was an extreme close-up of Master’s face. Ox had somehow captured both his steel-like will and his sparkling good cheer all in a single image.

“Tell me what you think. I’ve been working on this one for a few days now.” He flipped to a page he seemed to especially want me to see. It held the beginnings of an astonishingly realistic picture of an extremely muscular man’s torso. He hadn’t started on the person’s face yet, but it must have been one of my brothers. It could have been Sven or Bedrock, but surely either of them would have his beard hanging down in front of his chest. I knew it probably wasn’t Stitches or Mouth—their beauty was more of the powerfully athletic kind, and the figure in the picture was very thickly muscled. On top of that, the skin of the model in the picture was definitely too light to belong to either of them. I decided it was maybe Tripod or Paul, since they both shaved their bodies and the figure in the picture was smooth-skinned.

In any case, it was an incredible work of art, even half-finished as it was. I discovered I was holding my breath in my wonderment.

“Ohhhhhh,” I exhaled. “It’s glorious!” The figure’s chest muscles pressed firmly against its biceps and its round, broad shoulders boasted deep valleys that proudly emphasized their massiveness. The hands were holding some object wider than the figure’s lean but solid and sensuous waist; the weight of whatever it was made the arm muscles flex powerfully. Ox had not drawn in the object yet, however. Bedrock had been right about Ox’s artistic skills. I almost believed that if I stroked the paper I would feel those rippling cobblestone abs.

“That is one sexy body, ain’t it, brother?” Ox murmured.

“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered in awe. I had an oddly powerful feeling of recognition when I looked at it, but I found it impossible to guess the identity of the model. “Well, handsome, I guess, but that counts as beauty, doesn’t it, sir?”

“Sure does, Little.” He was giving me a strange look that I didn’t understand. I thought he might tell me who the figure was, but he closed the notebook before I could ask. “You ready to do some obeying, brother? Want to be a good boy for me?”

“Yes, please!” My face got joy all over it. “Being a good boy is my favorite thing, brother!”

“All right cutie pie,” he laughed, “get those sweats off yesterday and lose all your hair. You better get ready to give me some loving. My muscles are lonely and you’re gonna give them the worship they so richly deserve.” Another man saying that would have sounded arrogant, but Ox was always so full of good humor, I had to smile at his remark.

He let me obey so much! First, he ordered me to vacuum up all the hair that fell off of me. Then he towed me over to the gym area, which had a giant mirror, and commanded me to kiss or stroke or nuzzle against every single muscle on his body, so I would be able to obey and obey and obey. And he kept calling me good boy over and over. I got to rub my cheek against his colossal biceps and lick his delicious armpits and he even told me to nibble on his nipples. Then I got an idea that I couldn’t keep to myself. Good boys speak up only if it’s truly needful, but I felt that this moment qualified.

“Sir—uh, brother? I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just had an idea that might make this more fun for you. Last night Paul commanded me to have four arms during Little One time, and I was thinking…well, I might be able to worship you better if I was like that again.”

“What a good boy you are being today!” Ox congratulated. “Little, grow another set of arms like you did for Paul.” More quickly than the night before, I grew a bit taller and had four ridiculously oversized arms projecting from my humiliatingly enormous body. I hadn’t noticed last night, maybe because I hadn’t really been looking in any mirrors, but doubling the number of arms I had also increased the awfulness of my enormous size. My arms seemed to jostle against each other, and no matter how I held them, I looked like I was showing them off like a bodybuilder. Good boys are not show-offs. It was a relief when Ox ordered me to start running my four hands all over his body. On him, enormous muscles were so appropriate and handsome!

When it was time to worship his leg muscles, I sat down at his feet and wrapped one of my left arms around his right leg, while my other left arm reached up to his sinewy butt. I was entranced by the little ridges in his leg muscles that constantly moved and rippled as he shifted his weight back and forth, and used my right arms to trace along the glorious, bulging veins on his unbelievably thick thigh. I was inhaling the musky fragrance from his crotch when he paused his string of commands.

“Oh! Little, hold on just like that, don’t move.” He reached his arm to a nearby bench and picked up a digital camera. He must have planned before I arrived to take our picture. He was looking in the mirror, and reflexively, I looked too. “Come on, smile like you were before. Think about how much fun you’ve been having, adoring my quads.” I smiled shyly into the mirror. “Yeah, good boy.” He snapped several pictures of me joyously clinging to his leg. I admitted to myself privately that the blissful look on my face almost made me not ugly.

“You’re not going to draw that, are you, brother?”

“‘Course I am, boy,” he grinned, setting the camera aside. “You’re gonna see yourself through my eyes. But never mind that, my calf is getting jealous that you haven’t paid it the attention it deserves. You better kiss every inch, now, or it’ll pine…Yeah, just like that…now come on, you don’t need all four of those arms to hold you up, get two of them up here on my hamstrings…yeah…can you reach my ass while your face is all the way down there?…Oh yeah, that’s nice…you’re such a good boy, ain’t you?…Yeah. Now do the other leg here…

“How are you at push-ups, boy? Get your bottom arms busy doing push-ups…yeah, good boy…now, you get those top arms up here by my hips while those are working…good boy…here are my feet, I want you to take turns kissing the left one then the right one each time you do a push-up…count them out, now, and don’t stop counting…good…only 50 more to go, boy, so do them quick sharp. Sven’s expecting us upstairs in about 10 minutes and you’re going to worship both of us with those four arms of yours, then you’re gonna give Sven some more worship while my dick pays your sexy ass the attention it deserves.”

It was a lovely afternoon. Exhausting, but truly, truly lovely.

Part 8

That evening I went from the largest of my brothers to the smallest. Which is to say that he was only somewhat larger than an average man. Mouth was “only” six foot two, and muscular enough that in a gym filled with mere mortals he would inspire envy in every man’s heart.

I think it’s fair to say that Mouth had an outrageous personality. Anything he cared about, he was passionate about; anything else was irrelevant to him—including many social conventions. Predictably, his mouth got him in lots of trouble, especially with Master. That was why everyone called him Mouth instead of his real name, which was Santiago.

My other brothers could easily pass as straight if they wanted to; even Paul wasn’t obviously gay in his work clothes. But Mouth… well, I wasn’t very tuned to this sort of thing, but even I could see at a glance that he moved and acted like the stereotypical gay guy. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy playing the role of effeminate fairy, as a contrast to his macho-looking body shape. Besides that, though, he was also charming and clever and had a sly, cutting sense of humor.

His medium-short hair was dyed with just a hint of burgundy, and he kept it beautifully and fashionably styled at all times—quite a challenge, he assured me, for someone who installed shower heads and sprinkler systems all day.

“You know that fabulous toolbelt I wear?” He once confided to me. (It was made of pink leather, and he had studded it all over with fake jewels.) “Most of the pouches have my hair emergency supplies. And a heat gun is just a jumped-up hair dryer, after all.”

When he admitted me to his bedroom—his was one of the smaller upstairs rooms, but that meant he didn’t need to share it—he yanked me inside with considerable strength. He was wearing a lavender g-string and a tank top of a deeper purple that clung to his firm chest. The shape of his tantalizing nipples—and a pair of nipple rings—showed through the thin fabric.

He closed the door behind me and leaned against it with a dramatic sigh.

Finally!“ he gasped. “It’s about fucking time!”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, brother, am I late?”

“No, silly!” He slapped me lightly on the arm. “I’ve been absolutely dying to get my hands on you in private, and what happens? Boss draws my name seventh. Seventh! Oh my God it’s been torture get those sweats off and come here I need to feel those muscles.” He tended to talk with all his words crowding together, only pausing for breath when he absolutely couldn’t avoid it.

With me in just my jock strap, Mouth showed me how to pose like a bodybuilder, moving my arms and legs and body around as if I were a mannequin and ordering me to flex my oversized muscles. I couldn’t refuse a command, but it was very disconcerting to be showing off on purpose.

Once I got the hang of it, he lounged on his bed, playing with his nipples while I posed and flexed for him. He would call out commands for how he wanted me to pose and I would robotically flex my muscles in whatever position he demanded. Then, all of a sudden, the part of me that thought in Gently’s voice grew impatient with my worrying. I sternly told myself that obeying should be fun if it didn’t do no harm, so just enjoy the flexing. I started to have fun after that, and flexed more confidently.

“Aww look, there’s that sweet, shy smile,” Mouth said. He jumped off his bed and stood on tiptoes so he could pat me on the cheek. “You are such a heartbreaker look at that handsome face.” My smile went away.

“Oh… but… I-I’m not handsome, sir.”

“Oh bullshit you look fabulous when you smile and I’ve already told you you’re a gorgeous hunk of man.” He wrapped both hands around my upper arm and squeezed. I grimaced. Words like “gorgeous” were for important people, not me. Mouth gasped in excitement as he seemed to suddenly remember something.

“You can model my jewelry! I can pierce you all over just by telling you oh my God this is so fucking cool! Little Brother. When I put my fingers on a certain place on your body and say the word ‘pierce’, pierce yourself between my fingers so I can put jewelry through it.”

For the next hour, Mouth would pinch me in various parts of my body and say “pierce” and a hole would appear in my skin for him to insert a metal ring or rod or other shape into. It didn’t hurt at all, and it was actually fun to feel all the jewelry things all over my face and ears. I had metal in my ears and eyebrows and lips. Mouth had to stick his finger and thumb in my nostrils three times to pierce my nose twice and to give me what he called a “septum piercing”, but he didn’t seem to mind. I even enjoyed the nipple rings he put into me.

Predictably, my former masters differed in their opinions. My earlier masters thought it was ridiculous for a man, even a slave, to wear earrings, let alone wear jewelry in some of the body parts Mouth was studding and bejeweling. The more recently a master had owned me, the more likely he was to approve of my piercings.

“Oh my God this is so much fun you have no idea! I can even stretch out your piercings like you’ve been training them for years! Stretch this piercing right here.” He pinched my right earlobe. “Stretch it bigger. Bigger. Keep growing it until I say ‘stop’.”

I felt my earlobe brushing against my shoulder. Then it was resting on my shoulder. Then it was so long it dangled down in front of my chest. I could now see that it was a loop of pink flesh that reminded me slightly of a thick worm. Mouth told it to stop growing and rushed to his closet to rummage in a box he dug up.

“Oh my God this is so much fun! I made these stretchers just for the hell of it but I never thought I’d find someone who could wear them oh oh oh my God!” He proudly held up a pair of metal oval-shaped hoops that looked to be about a foot long and maybe six to eight inches wide. He fiddled with my bizarrely worm-like earlobe, trying to fit one of the hoops inside it.

“Stretch it just a little more. Yeah good stop.”

He stepped back. I now had a foot-long earlobe with a giant hoop inside it dangling against my chest. It tickled whenever I moved my head or took a deep breath.

“Now make your other ear the same.” My other earlobe soon had a matching hoop stretching it down to my chest. On an impulse, he told me to take out the barbells that were threaded through my nipples and handed me some very thick, heavy rings to insert instead. The weight on my nipples felt good. Then he took a thick chain and hooked it between my two nipple rings. Even slight movements like taking a deep breath felt so good, my penis began to expand and press on the sides of its cage.

“Mouth? Would you kindly make my dick more… normal size?” I felt my Gently side coming out again. Little One would never have even asked. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have jewelry down there, but I’m getting kinda… excited and if I let my Willy out of its cage at this size, I’ll swoon for sure.”

“Willy?” Mouth scoffed. “Swoon? Did we just go back to the 1890s or something? The last person who said ‘swoon’ in my presence was my grandmother. And let me tell you, that was a long time ago!”

“I know, brother. Paul told me how old you boys are.” So that also explained why Gently had such a different mode of speech. He wasn’t just from another region, he was from another time! “Why do you all talk so modern, if you’re all over 90 years old?”

“Because we all look like we’re in our 20s. How seriously would anyone take a twenty-something who talked like a ninety-something? We don’t want to get stared at every time we open our mouths, so we literally practice the current slang and style. And if we catch each other using old-fashioned speech, we tease each other mercilessly. Would you believe about a month ago, Sven actually said ‘Daddy-O‘?” He snorted loudly. “Oh my God, we did not stop mocking him for a week.

“So!” he yelled, startling me as he abruptly changed the subject back to my penis. “How can I deny your… Willy… the joy of my fabulous jewelry? Little Brother, make your dick ‘only’ a foot long.” My Willy shrank down to a more reasonable size, though it was still large. Mouth explained his plans while I uncaged myself.

“Let’s start with a Prince Albert. Then—oh my God, you are going to have such a fucking awesome Jacob’s ladder!” Within about 15 minutes, there was a bent barbell poking through the head of my dick, and ten straight barbells marching down the underside. All had very fat balls of metal at each end.

Then he moved on to my colossal gonads, inserting six thick captive bead rings into the skin along the midline between my two balls. He also put a large ring in what he called a “guiche” piercing, which was in that sensitive area between my balls and my butt hole. That one felt mighty pleasant, I can assure you.

“Oh my God I could go on all day like this but fuck me now.”

“Oh… um, what?” I stammered. His sudden change in direction had startled me. I hadn’t fucked anybody in… well, decades, at least. My Willy hadn’t been useable for so long that Mouth might as well have asked me to flap my arms and fly away.

But my Willy knew exactly what to do, now that it was of a proper size. I looked down joyfully to see my first woody in more years than I could remember. I reached down and felt the underside of my penis. The row of metal bars running the length of my dick made it feel ridged, like a washboard. I said as much to Mouth.

“Well, the inside of my ass sure is dirty. Why don’t you put some ‘soap’ on that washboard and get to scrubbing?” He handed me a bottle of lube, turned around, and bent over, leaning his arms on his bed.

I was feeling a powerful and bewildering mix of emotions as I lubed up my metal-studded, erect penis. Naturally, it was mighty exciting and caused me great joy to anticipate fucking another person. But I also felt great trepidation; for a long moment I panicked, worrying that I might have forgotten how. It was a silly thing, I know, but it truly had been a very, very long time.

I was almost two feet taller than Mouth today, having grown a bit of height at the same time as my hair and beard grew out. That made it necessary for me to squat down low to fit myself into his hole. After a couple failed attempts, I wound up grasping Mouth by the hips and lifting him up. After a bit of shifting and leaning and repositioning—and a lot of swearing on Mouth’s part—we worked ourselves into a position where I could thrust into him and he could push back against me.

“Fuck! Put me down, you fucking beast!” Mouth laughed.

The Little One in me wanted to immediately obey and apologize. But the Gently in me could tell he was just fooling. In fact, the Gently in me understood that Mouth would have more fun if I fooled a bit too.

“Me Fucking-Beast! Raaaaa! Me fuck you haaarrrrd!” Mouth shrieked and giggled. I slid my Willy into his taint, but I did it nice and easy, because I didn’t know if my jewelry would somehow catch on his hole. But I was real well-lubed, and though I felt all those metal balls as each one bumped its way inside him, they didn’t cause no problems.

“Oh-my-God! You feel amazing, oh-my-fucking-God!” Mouth screamed. I pushed myself all the way in, then leaned forward until my mammoth pecs were pressing against his lower back. My stretched-out earlobes rested on his upper back; when I shifted around, the chain connecting my nipples tugged on them thrillingly.

“Now me God-of-Fucking?” I rumbled in the deepest voice I could. “Me fuck me worshipper good, so me worshipper bring me lots more worshippers.” Dang, was I having fun!

“Ohhhh my God, I will build you a temple of gold if you just start pumping!” How could I not listen to my worshipper’s prayer? I started pumping.

Pretending to be Mouth’s Fucking God was sure fun, but after a short while I started to ponder the fact that I was actually topping. Me, topping! And I wanted to see myself. (Yet again I saw that I was becoming more and more like Gently—Little One wouldn’t even consider such a thing.)

I grabbed Mouth around the middle with him still impaled on my “sword” and turned to face the full-length standing mirror in the corner. I bent my legs like I was in the middle of a weight lifting squat. Mouth, like the experienced bottom he was, automatically spread his legs over mine to help hold his weight up. I bounced him up and down on my lap as I looked at our reflection in the mirror.

I looked at my face, with all that jewelry. Three rings in each eyebrow. Three rings in the top cartilage of each ear. Those foot-long stretchers. A very thick septum ring. A stud with some kind of large, sparkly gem on the outside of each nostril. A delicate little ring through my top lip on the right side. A row of five fat iron-colored balls sticking through my lower lip. Interestingly, Mouth hadn’t pierced my tongue. Maybe he had intended to, but just got too horny to delay the fucking I was now giving him. I couldn’t see my nipple rings in the mirror, but I surely felt them each time Mouth’s back rubbed against their chain!

After a while of that, my legs began to tire. I waddled us over to Mouth’s bed and lay myself down on it. My earlobes flopped heavily to either side. Mouth repositioned himself so he could see my metal-studded face and rode my dick until we both came. Then he sat there on my Willy and fiddled with the chain that connected my nipples.

“You’re hard to figure out, you know that? First you come off as this timid, mousy giant, then you start doing all that Fucking God bullshit… which was totally a blast, by the way, but… which are you really? Aggressive or submissive?”

“I… don’t know, Mouth. My whole life I’ve been the submissive type, but ever since coming to live with Master and you boys, I’ve been getting braver. More assertive, I reckon. It’s mighty scary, to be honest. I never seem to know what’s going to come out of my mouth, or how I’m going to react to something.”

“Scary? Ohhhhhh honey, don’t be scared.” He stroked my oversized arm. The sympathetic look in his eyes told me he knew what I was feeling. Thinking on what Paul had said about their history, I realized that everyone in this family had experienced a major personality change in the past, so Mouth would understand, in a way. “I like this new you. You’re fun, you know? Don’t get me wrong, you were a sweetheart that first night, with the ‘thank you’ cookies and all, and totally sexy. But… no offense, but you weren’t very interesting. No personality.” He put his hand on my chest. “Tonight you just felt more like a person, and it would be a tragedy for that to go away.” His tone was so kind, a tiny tear formed in the corner of my eye.

“That’s right kind of you, Mouth. Thank you.”

“You know,” Mouth reflected, scrutinizing my face, “I absolutely love this look on you. Except the stretchers, I got carried away with those. But what do you think? Would you like to keep some of the rest of it?” Mouth dismounted from me and put on his g-string, then sat next to me on his bed. I sat up, arranging my earlobes to hang in front of my chest again.

I leaned sideways so I could see myself in one of Mouth’s mirrors. He noticed and fetched me a hand mirror. I looked at myself and decided that I wasn’t fond of wearing quite so much jewelry. But I pictured myself with maybe just one eyebrow ring and a couple of regular-size earrings, and thought I might enjoy that look. And the genital piercings and nipple rings had made sex a real barrel of monkeys. But then I remembered it wasn’t up to me anyhow.

“I’d have to ask Master for permission. My body still belongs to him, of course.” Saying that felt strange. For the first time in my life, thinking of myself as property didn’t feel… completely… right. I couldn’t imagine trying to live life without commands to obey, but given that Charlie was old enough that he must have grown up knowing people who had lived under slavery—the bad kind, the kind that should never have been allowed—I realized that living in a house where there was a slave, even a willing slave, must be very upsetting to him. Just thinking that dismayed me. I wanted to make Charlie happy.

“You know, Little Brother, Boss would never kick you out, but he can’t continue to be your owner. How can you even like being a slave? I mean, you seem to like it… ?”

“I always have. Being owned means being safe. It means having a home and commands to obey. When I’m between masters it’s frightful. The world doesn’t make sense and I make lots of mistakes.” Mouth laughed at that, but not unkindly.

“Everybody screws up, sweetie, and the world doesn’t truly make sense to anyone. Now that you’re here with us as your family, it might be time to grow beyond your role as slave. Because you know who else takes care of you and helps you not screw up? Family.”

I thought for a long minute about what he said. I gathered my courage and uttered something out loud that I never would have dared to say a few days before. It wasn’t actually that daring now that I look back on it, but at the time my heart raced and I sweated as I spoke.

“I think I definitely want to have some piercings someday. But for today, could we please take them out?”

“Sure, hon. Let’s start with those stretchers. They’re really not doing it for me anyway.”


I thought a lot about what Mouth said that evening as I finished my daily chores. His sympathy for my predicament was quite liberating. I think that moment was when I accepted that some day—not quite yet, but some day soon—I would just be Gently, and no one else. And I would rejoice, because though I needed to obey, I wanted to make Charlie happy.

As I was washing dishes and thinking all this over, I gradually realized I was bending farther and farther down to reach the sink. Then I noticed my beard had grown back in, spreading wildly all about in front of me and reaching down almost to my navel. I was putting some casseroles away in their cabinet under the kitchen counter when I felt my hair fall forward over my shoulders, hanging down the front of my chest. I carefully settled the casseroles, lest I break one, then stood up and swept my hair behind my head. I felt it tickling my skin along maybe half of my back.

Tilting my head upward, I noticed the ten-foot ceiling was only about eight inches above my face. It was mighty upsetting to realize I had officially grown almost two feet in a week. My only consolation was that most of that height had not been stolen from Boss—er, Master. It hadn’t been stolen from Master.

I finished putting away the dishes, then went to Ox and Sven’s room to borrow some more hair ties. Sven answered, craning his head way back to see my face. He invited me in and I squeezed my humiliatingly colossal body through his doorway. Just as I had worried that first night at the club, I was less than an inch away from not fitting through any doors ever again.

I sat on the floor so he could reach my head and Sven helped me tie my hair into a ponytail, then asked if I wanted to do the same with my beard. I declined, bashfully explaining that Charlie liked my beard all wild. Sven’s face lit up when he saw how deeply I was blushing.

“Are you sweet on him?”

“Um… oh, … I don’t know,” I dithered. His smile grew sly.

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. And always feel free to come by for more hair ties, I’ve got a million.”

I stammered out my thanks and stood to face his doorway. It was just too much. I struggled to hold back tears as I dreaded the process of extracting myself from his bedroom. I felt a hand on my shoulder blade—at only six foot six, Sven couldn’t reach the top of my mountainous shoulder.

“Little Brother. Shrink down to seven feet tall.” I shrank. I gratefully threw my arms around Sven and hugged him fiercely; this time, the tears flowed.

“Thank you, brother,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry for crying like this, but I don’t know why I keep growing and I never know what’s happening to me.”

Sven held me and shooshed me gently. I sniffed a few more times, then drew a long, shuddering breath.

“Always remember, there are nine men in this house who care a lot about you. Any of us can command you to shrink, so even if you grow and grow, there shouldn’t ever be a time when you can’t be smaller. In fact, would you like to be even smaller? I could make you three feet tall, you know.”

Three feet tall! One week ago I would have leapt in joy to hear such an offer. Even now, I was sorely tempted. But I was going to see Charlie next, and he liked me to be giant size. And when I was with him, I enjoyed being his protective, giant Genty. I realized that although a week ago I would have given anything for the chance to be tiny, now I actually didn’t want to be. I had been overwhelmed by my unexplained changes and the difficulty of getting through doors, but now that I had calmed down, I reckoned seven feet was fine.

Though maybe it would make a fun evening, being half as tall as my brothers…

“I’m right as rain now, brother. Thank you ever so much.”

“Then let me share something with you.” Sven looked up into my eyes. “I’ve known Stitches for seventy-odd years. He’s never, ever been as happy as he’s been with you around. If you’re thinking about taking your friendship to a deeper level, I think he would welcome that.”

My heart raced at that.


“What am I gonna do, Charlie Boy?” I fretted. “I love being Gently, but I don’t want to disappoint B- uh, Master.”

“Who says you’re going to disappoint him?” he asked. I was giant size, with a proper-sized Willy and gonads; I was lying on Charlie’s bedroom floor, my favorite place in all the world. He was sitting on my chest, wiggling his toes in my beard. The feeling was delightful, and was beginning to make my loins tingle.

“Your Boss took me in on the understanding that he was getting a slave, not a gigantic boarder who can’t pay rent.”

“Actually, he took you in because he recognized a good man in need of a home and healing.” Charlie shifted into a taller sitting position and idly played with my left nipple; his hand couldn’t reach all the way around. Behind him, my Willy began to rise up. “We talked quite a lot this afternoon. He wasn’t entirely truthful with you that night he brought you home. He didn’t just happen to be there at the club with a friend, he had come alone and he was looking for you.” He turned his handsome face to give me a considered look. “Actually, a lot like Gently came looking for me when I was five.” We gazed fondly at one another for a moment before he continued.

“He knew you needed him. But he also knew you might not come home with him if you thought he was anything other than just another Master. He didn’t want to spook you. As for the ‘paying rent’ part, you are doing work for the family, remember. We’ve never eaten as royally as we did this week, and everyone has enjoyed the break from doing chores. If it helps, think of yourself as a live-in butler. Just know that none of us sees you that way.” He looked upon me with a wistful demeanor. “Least of all, me.”

My heart squeezed at that. So did other parts of me. I thought about my conversations with Mouth and Sven.

“Charlie Boy? Y-You and Gently—me, you know, we grew up together, didn’t we? When we met that day by the sycamore, you had invented me, and that means I was just as young and naive as you. But, well, we’re both men now, ain’t we?” Charlie was giving me a very grown-up look as I spoke. Even if I was so nervous that I barely knew what I was saying, he knew very well where I was going. “And you are so grand and handsome now, all grown up. A-And we got needs. Man needs, a-and… could we… ?”

“We’ve both already had sex today. At least, I know I have.”

“Well, m- me too. But I don’t just want sex. I want… love. You know?” Charlie didn’t say nothing, he just gave me the sweetest smile I had ever, ever been given. “Would you shrink me down, Charlie Boy? I want to make love with you so much.”

“Gently, shrink down to seven feet tall.”

I shrunk. Charlie didn’t climb down off of me; when I was done shrinking, he was sitting on my gut, his knees on the ground on each side of me. I reached up one hand and tenderly stroked his cheek. Recalling that my beard was bushy and hid my mouth like Bedrock’s beard did, I smiled through my eyes with all the warmth I could muster.

We made love long and slow, sometimes with pauses when we just looked and looked with wonder into each other’s eyes. Sometimes Charlie was on top and sometimes I was, and we both came a couple of times, but no matter what, our eyes always came back together. I had never felt such joy in my life. Even obeying wasn’t this glorious.

Around midnight, we were lying in each other’s arms on Charlie’s floor—we were both quite brawny, and didn’t quite fit on his twin-size bed—when a grave concern occurred to me.

“Charlie Boy?”

“Hmm?” he sighed.

“Will you mind if I still have sex with the others?”

“No. I certainly plan to. This house just has different rules than any other, and we’re all over-sexed.” He ran his dark brown finger across the worry lines on my pale forehead. “So no, I won’t mind, as long as you save your best lovemaking for me.”

“I only love you, Charlie.”

“And I love you, Gently. Always come back to me, okay?”

“Always.”


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