Liam continues his training with Michael.
Bed and Breakfast
Part Four – Training with Michael
When we got back to the villa, Jon was pretty out of it. On the ride back from the barn house he’d hardly said a word and I found myself having to tell him to do most things. Most of the time he’d do what I told him, but then he’d stand around just staring into space and I found myself losing my patience with him. I even had to tell him to take off his clothes before stepping into the shower.
Once we hopped into the shower together, I realized I needed to pee. I got Jon back down on his knees and emptied my bladder into his mouth again. He happily lapped it up, but I noticed a pleading look in his blue eyes as he looked up at me. It made me want to wave my dick around so that the piss streamed down his whole face.
When I was done, he stood up and said, “Thank you Master Liam.”
I would’ve kissed him right there and then if I didn’t find the thought of having urine in one’s mouth so disgusting.
I told him to dry off and get dressed in his tuxedo. He was to wait for Michael to arrive.
As I watched my partner get dressed in front of the mirror, I couldn’t help but get turned on. Instead of going up to fondle him though, I found myself drawn to my own tuxedo. Standing next to him, I slowly and methodically started to put on my own outfit.
When Jon (Was that really his name? I was having trouble remembering) was done, he just stood there very still, arms at his sides, looking straight at the mirror. I wanted to go up and touch my life-sized Ken doll, but I knew I had to finish dressing first.
As soon as I slipped on my jacket, I paused to admire my own reflection. I had to admit, I did have a well proportioned body and the tuxedo showed off my broad shoulders and lean waist. It helped that I had hardly any body fat, except for a little ‘baby’ fat on the cheeks that I’d never been able to work off. I had also swept most of my brown hair across my forehead just above my blue eyes, which made me look younger. I had also never really thought about it, but my face was definitely what you would call ‘pretty’ or ‘boyish’.
For a second, part of me wanted to jump the person in the mirror. But then I looked over at Jon and remembered how much I wanted to touch him. I turned to him and lightly ran a hand over his butt. As my hand moved across the fabric of the trousers, my fingers found an almost invisible slit running vertically between the two butt cheeks.
I inserted my fingers into the slit and quickly found my partner’s hole.
Without a second thought, I freed my fully erect dick from my pants and rammed it into his ass.
He started to open his mouth, as if to protest.
“Quiet,” I commanded him, before placing my right hand over his mouth.
It was the best feeling in the world, staring at the mirror, looking at the two of us dressed so smartly in our tuxedoes. All the while I was raping my partner’s ass while tears started to flow down the sides of his face. But it was alright—he/it was my personal plaything. He/It belonged to me.
I came quickly in his/its ass. As the orgasm settled, I pulled out of him/it. The thought entered my mind that it was I who usually bottomed for Jon (Again, was that his name? It just didn’t sound right).
“Slave,” I said. It seemed to the most appropriate thing to call him/it. “Clean me up with your tongue.”
Obediently, the slave turned around, knelt down, and wrapped his/its mouth around my softening penis.
“Well done, Master Liam,” I heard a voice say. “Master Jerome will be very pleased with your progress.”
I turned around and saw Michael standing at the entrance to the wardrobe. This time he had on a black swallow-tail dress coat over a white waistcoat a white wing collar shirt. A white bowtie around his neck and a black top hat on his head completed the ‘evening’ look. He looked hot in his formal attire.
He wasn’t alone. Standing next to him was a massive Indian guy. He was almost a head taller than Michael and his arms and shoulders were impossibly huge. He wore aviator sunglass, a black wife beater that was clearly too tight for his bulging pecs, and tight blue jeans that barely concealed his massive package. He looked just this Bollywood actor I’d seen in a movie about two guys who pretend to be gay. I think his name was John Abraham. But there was something else that was familiar about him...
“Boys, I want you two to stand up and face the mirror again,” Michael commanded.
We instantly obeyed, my cock still hanging out from my tuxedo pants.
“Master Jerome wants you to know that preparations for your party are almost complete.”
“What party?” I found I could still speak, although my gaze was focused on my own body.
“The wedding party, Master Liam. Your wedding party. Master Jerome’s been making preparations since before your arrival.”
My head was filled with questions, but all I could manage was, “We are indebted to Master Jerome.”
“As you should be. Now Sam over here and your husband will be sorting out the food and wine tonight.”
“What can I do?” I asked.
“You will be the entertainment.”
“That’s good.” It felt good to be of some use at my own wedding party. “What do I have to do?”
“Among other things, you and your husband will have to stand next to each other dressed in your tuxedoes while the guests take turns fucking you.”
“Sounds good.” But in my head, something didn’t feel quite right.
“In fact, Master Liam, I think it’s time you learnt what you really are.”
“What?”
“Master Liam, you are now only ‘Master Liam’ when you and your husband are alone. You will continue to treat him like a slave and use him as a receptacle for your bodily fluids. You will be increasingly turned on by your own reflection whenever your husband is around.”
He continued, “However, at all other times, you are a cock-hungry slave. Your name is ‘Slave Liam’ and you will respond promptly when others address you as ‘Slave Liam’. You are Master Jerome’s property. You will be whatever he wants you to be. Please repeat this back to me.”
“I am Master Jerome’s property. I will be whatever he wants me to be.” I said the words, but I wasn’t sure if I believed them.
“Good. Right now you and your husband are Master Jerome’s sex dolls.”
“Wait just a sec—”
“Slave Liam!” I was caught off guard by the commanding tone of his voice. “Are you or are you not Master’s Jerome’s property?”
Automatically, I replied, “I am Master Jerome’s property.”
“And are you or are you not whatever he wants you to be?”
“I am whatever he wants me to be.”
“Right now he says you are his sex doll. So what are you?”
“I am Master Jerome’s sex doll.”
“What are you?”
“I am Master Jerome’s sex doll.”
“You exist for the pleasure of real men.”
This wasn’t making sense. “But I’m—”
“You exist for the pleasure of real men,” he interrupted. “Say it.”
“I exist for the pleasure of real men.”
“Are you a real man?”
I thought for a moment. “No.”
“What are you?”
“I’m Master Jerome’s sex doll.”
“And can sex dolls move on their own?”
I thought again. “No,” I replied, remaining perfectly still, except for my mouth.
“Can sex dolls talk?”
I thought again. ‘No’ was going to be my response but I realized I shouldn’t be speaking.
Satisfied with my lack of response, Michael walked over to me and made a few slight adjustments to my doll body until I looked just like my husband (What was his name?) had looked this morning: arms to the side, legs shoulder-width apart. But instead of leaving my mouth slightly open, Michael used his fingers to push the edge of my mouth up so that I was smiling a big cheesy grin. He then did the same thing to my husband / the doll standing next to me.
“Perfect. Now you two look like you could be on top of a wedding cake. Sam!” Michael yelled at the hulk of a man he had left standing at the door. Pointing at the doll next to me, he said, “Take this one back with you to the wine cellar to continue preparations for tomorrow’s party.”
Wordlessly, Sam the muscle man walked over to my husband / doll, wrapped one arm around his torso and lifted him up effortlessly. He then walked out of the room carrying him under his arm, as if he was carrying a mannequin.
Once they were gone, Michael continued speaking to me.
“Now Slave Liam, you are a sex doll. You exist to be used so that other men can get off. You cannot move, but you will be aware of everything that is happening to you. You will stay erect at all times, but you will not be able to cum. You are a sex doll.”
If I could’ve spoken or moved, I would’ve signaled my agreement.
“While you may not feel sexual pleasure, you will feel happy in the knowledge that you are serving Master Jerome as a sex doll.”
In the mirror, I could see Michael unzip his pants and take out his already erect cock. I then felt his hand on my butt. It didn’t take long for him to find the vertical slit, just like the one I had discovered in my husband’s pants. I felt his fingers going in and caressing the entrance to my hole. They felt a little cold to the touch, and wet.
Soon two fingers had made their way inside. Then three. Then four.
In one swift move, he pulled all his fingers out and plunged his hard dick into my lubricated hole. I would have gasped if I was a real man.
“Oohhh, so tight. Yeah ... yeah ... fuck yeah ...” Michael started to moan. He had positioned his head just next to mine so he could see himself fucking me. Both of us were fully clothed in our respective tuxedoes and I could see my own erect cock poking out from my tuxedo pants.
With every thrust, I felt even more powerless seeing my tuxedoed body being taken from behind by the hot Asian man. I loved feeling powerless. I was just a sex doll. This was what I existed for.
I watched as Michael brought his arms around my doll arms so that his hands could get to my doll chest. I could feel his hands start to play with my hard doll pecs and my erect doll nipples under the fabric of my dress shirt.
“You’re just a sex doll ... You exist ... for the pleasure ... of real men,” Michael said as he fucked me slowly. I could see sweat forming on his brow.
As his thrusts grew stronger and more frequent, he drew his arms around my body in a bear hug and tightened his grip to keep my doll body in place as he pounded my doll ass.
“Ahhh... Ahhh... Ahhh...” It wasn’t long before I felt Michael’s dick release wave after wave of cum into me.
Part of me felt happy to be used like that.
After Michael pulled out of me, he disappeared from the room. I was left there to stare at myself in the mirror. I started to lose track of time. When he finally returned, he was holding a large black butt plug in his hand. He carefully inserted it through the slit in my pants and up my cum-filled ass.
Once the plug was in place, he stepped to the side. Addressing my reflection, he said, “Slave Liam, you are a human again.”
Suddenly, the pain of having something so large up my butt hit me. I wanted to scream but Michael commanded me to be still and be quiet. Clenching my teeth, I could feel hot tears welling up in my eyes.
When the pain from the butt plug and my tears began to subside, I still couldn’t move or speak, but I remembered where and who I was. The pain must have jolted me back to my senses.
Seeing that I had stopped crying, Michael said to me, “You may speak now.”
“You fucker!” I yelled. All this was starting to feel strangely familiar. “What have you done to me? I’m not someone’s toy! And I’m not a slave! Let me go! I came here with my husband. This is supposed to be our honeymoon!”
Smiling to himself, he asked me, “Alright. But tell me first, what is your husband’s name?”
I stared at him, puzzled.
“You just said you came here on your honeymoon. So what is your husband’s name?”
Jake? James? Jon? Jacob? I just couldn’t remember.
“I ... I ... I don’t know,” I said, defeated.
“And what’s your name?”
“Master Liam!” I exclaimed immediately. But even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew something was wrong.
“You think so?” Michael pulled out a wallet from his jacket pocket. I recognized it as mine. I had given it to him for safekeeping that morning. “Let’s take a look at your driver’s license. Tell me, who is the person in the photograph?”
He dangled the wallet with the license in it, in front of my face. I looked at the photograph, then back at my reflection. It was the same person.
“It’s me,” I replied.
“And what is the name on the license?”
I studied it for a second, but couldn’t quite make out the funny squiggles.
“Oh I forgot, Master Jerome decided to make you illiterate. Don’t worry, he might give you back your ability to reads if he finds it necessary.”
Looking back at the license, Michael said, “Now this reads R-O-S-S. Ross. I’m not going to bother with your last name—it’s too long and it’ll just confuse you more. But do you see my point?”
I thought hard. Nothing made sense. I was a writer! How could I be illiterate? And how did I not know my husband’s name? How did I not even know my real name? I was sure it was Liam...
There was only one logical conclusion.
“Master Jerome controls my mind.”
Michael looked pleased. “Excellent. And he wants you to know that he controls your body as well. This butt plug is to help you get ready for your wedding party, Slave Liam. There’ll be many guests who will want to play with you. All of them will want to use you. You will need to be able to serve them.”
The word ‘SERVE’ filled my head. God, that sounded so hot. “I look forward to serving them,” I said, wishing I could take a bow at that moment.
“But first of all, you live to serve Master Jerome.”
“I live to serve Master Jerome,” I repeated.
“You live to serve Master Jerome.”
“I live to serve Master Jerome.”
“Good. Now here are your final instructions for tonight...”
I found myself zoning out again. When I came to, Michael was gone but I found myself still standing in front of the mirror in my tuxedo. My penis was tucked back in my pants.
I could see that my right arm had been placed in front of me and bent at an angle, making it look like it was meant to be holding a shield. My left arm was in the same position, a mirror image of my right arm. Over my frozen left arm was slung a tailcoat, while a black top hat hung from my right ear.
I couldn’t move or speak, but one thought repeated itself in my mind. “I am Master’s Jerome’s coat rack ... I am Master Jerome’s coat rack ... I am Master Jerome’s coat rack ...”
It felt good to be one of Master’s Jerome’s possessions.