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“Evening, cunt. Where’s your owner?” I contained an irritated expression as I stood in the doorway; men don’t like it when a faggot frowns unless it’s cute, and I didn’t know these men well enough to say if they’d think it’d be cute or not. Instead I replied “It’s Connie, sir, if you please, and my master is in his office. Who may I say is calling?” My master had in fact been waiting for these two assholes for almost 20 minutes. I hoped for their sake they had a good excuse. The two men fairly towered over me, as indeed most men do. The one who had spoken was a black alsatian, full of the easy confidence that came with a life where he had never been told no by anyone he couldn’t overrule or overpower anyway. Beside him was a cheetah, with fur a little paler than usual for that species – but that just made his spots and patterns stand out all the more, so it wasn’t exactly unattractive. The alsatian leered down at me, clearly not listening to a word I said. That was all well and good most of the time, but he was at least supposed to be here on business and I could hardly bring him in if all he did was eyefuck me. I could go outside and get that any time I liked. After a long moment the cheetah nudged his side; it didn’t seem to have any effect. “Gentlemen, please”, I said, a little more firmly, “Who may I say is calling?” “Belroy Hobbson”, replied the alsatian before clapping his hand on the cheetah’s shoulder, “’n this is Keaton Weatherill. Whyn’t you go introduce us, cunt? Like a good suck-retary?” I didn’t bother to contain an eye-roll. Lord spare me from jerks who thought they were clever. “Weatherall”, said the cheetah. His voice was lovely, and I found myself hoping my master might let him fuck my mouth as a signing-on bonus. I am of course ever-devoted to my owner, which means equal levels of devotion to whoever he might lend me to. “And it’s Connie, sir. Come in, and I will show you to the secretary.” I bowed and stepped back – no matter how rude they are, a certain level of deference is always expected from a fag to a real man – and then lead them further into the office complex. I put a little more sashay in my walk than usual, just to get Belroy’s hopes up that he might get a piece of me. “Nice place, eh cunt?” I no longer hoped they had a good excuse for their lateness. “Sir, please, I really must ask you to call me Connie.” It had been Connor, before my master had claimed me. Faggots don’t get boy names, though, so it’s been Connie ever since. It wasn’t just for my own benefit that I was trying to insist on my name, but if the alsatian wouldn’t learn the easy way then he wouldn’t be the first to learn the hard way instead. No matter my other concerns, the alsatian was right. It was a nice place, a floor of office space for running one of the city’s most successful casinos with its attendant hotel, gentlemen’s club, dungeon and other amenities – the most successful of the independents. My master has never desired to be part of someone else’s company, and he has fiercely maintained that independence every time the conglomerates have tried to buy him out. The Old Ash is a name people can count on, or at least one they think they can. In our line of business, that’s much the same thing. I made my way to my master’s lobby, where a gorgeous sissy fox was seated behind a desk. He was a domestic bitch, just like me, though his cover story was a little sturdier whenever we were in respectable company. Not that it really matters, of course – when a real man walks into a room with two femboys on his arm, everyone knows what we’re there for. “Evening, Connie” he greeted me, as he shuffled some loose printouts into a bright blue folder. The extra emphasis on the time let me know master and I weren’t the only ones irritated at having to wait. The use of physical documents emphasised his commitment to our master’s privacy (paper can’t be hacked) and master’s willingness to spend money to get what he wants. Or at least, that’s what it does for visitors with more brains than the two muscleheads behind me. “Good evening, Fifi. Would you be a dear and announce the belated arrival of our newest… persuaders?” “Of course. You go and prepare some refreshments, there’s a good girl.” At work, Fifi (FKA Finn) holds rank over me. At home, I hold rank over him. We both enjoy being smug little shits about it. Master enjoys watching us preen and snipe, and he enjoys taking us over his knee and spanking us whenever we push it over the line. Truly, ours is a marriage made in heaven. I prepared five drinks swiftly; three cups of tea for the men and two sparkly pink lemonade concoctions for us bois. Most men would probably prefer coffee for a business meeting like this, but my master prefers tea and so tea it shall be. I don’t call him master because he doesn’t get what he wants, you know. I stepped back in to find Belroy looming over Fifi and grinning lasciviously, to my total and utter lack of surprise. Keaton, to his credit, was off to one side not getting involved, clearly a little irritated at his companion’s behaviour. I started to get an idea of why they might have been late, if one half of their little duo couldn’t see a fag without wanting to fuck him. It’s what we’re for, of course, but food is for eating and you don’t stop to stare at every café or fast food joint you see on the street. I had timed it perfectly. Just as I walked back into the room, my master called us all in. I trailed behind the group and when the two men had sat down and Fifi was lounging against master’s desk coquettishly, I began distributing drinks. First my master, then the two men – a blue cup for Belroy and a green one for Keaton – and then lastly me and Fifi. My master nodded a greeting from behind his desk. He didn’t bother standing to greet them. He was a powerfully built boar, with dark brown fur and a short crop of bristles atop his head. His tusks gleamed menacingly in the half-light of his office, in a way that never failed to set my little clitty twitching in its cage. “Evening, boys”, he rumbled, “What kept you?” “He did”, replied Keaton with a nod at Belroy, “I had to keep dragging him away from every two-bit slut we saw on the way here.” In this part of town, that’s a lot of sluts. “I woulda’ thought a guy who keeps two domestic cumdumps would understand”, complained the alsatian, “What are you doing having a mincing little faggot like that answer the door if you don’t want guys looking? Little slut mouthed off to me about what name he preferred too. It’d never happen if I owned him.” Fifi and I shared an incredulous glance at the way this big tough macho man was tattling to the teacher. We sipped our lemonades as judgementally as we could without interrupting master. This was not the first time we had put on this kind of performance, and we were aware that we were not the stars. My master sighed from deep within his chest and asked “If Connie was just another hole to dump my seed into, why would I have bothered marrying him?” I blushed. Master says the most romantic things sometimes. He continued, “I keep him around because I like him. Same for Fifi. Looking is one thing, but if this hadn’t been a business meeting you’d have raped one of them. Both, probably, if you had the energy for it.” Belroy rolled his eyes. “Oh what, like raping a faggot is some horrible crime all of a sudden?” “Of course not, but taking another man’s property is.” Belroy riled himself up to try to object, but then the drug I’d poured into his tea kicked in. He slumped back bonelessly into his chair Keaton looked nervously at his own cup and then set it down gingerly. He’d already won a few points just by contrast with his asshole friend, but putting 2 and 2 together like that was beyond some meatheads, so that was another mark in his favour. One time, a prospective hire who had been drugged had managed to power through it and stay not just awake but actually lucid throughout his interview. My master was so impressed that he gave the man another chance, and he’s been a loyal enforcer ever since. There was also the time a guy zonked out before even touching his tea because the pep pills he’d been taking for the past three days straight finally wore off, but I didn’t really count that one way or the other. “Don’t worry, yours is clean”, said my master. He always tells people that, and he’s always perfectly honest, but somehow nobody wants to keep drinking their tea after they’ve seen someone else get taken out by it. I try not to let it get to me. “Why did you drug him?” asked the cheetah. He was wary, but didn’t seem to actually be frightened, “Did he owe you money? Like, as a customer, I mean.” My master shook his head, “No, it’s mostly because he was a fuckin’ prick.” He stood and stepped around the desk, his aura of command filling the space in all the ways his impressive bulk didn’t already. He hauled the dozing alsatian over his desk, ass towards him and head towards Keaton, “I don’t always play it that way, but the fact is when I’m trying to hire muscle I end up with… well, guys like him. Loudmouths, don’t know how to take no for an answer, think they’re God’s gift to bitches. Now you, you seem to have two braincells to rub together and enough manners not to immediately piss off the guy you’re tryin’ to get to hire you, so you get to stay all conscious and awake like a good boy.” “Wait… is this because he wouldn’t call your bitch by his real name?” “Oh well done!” exclaimed my master sincerely, “You have no idea how many guys never pick up on that. And yes, that was part of it. I don’t run a fuckstop, Keaton. I run an establishment with a little bit of class to it. A little… Connie, what’s that word you like?” “Decorum, master.” Fifi bumped my hip with his in a congratulatory way. “Decorum, thank you. So while I can tolerate the customers being a little impolite about the waitresses and service bois, the rest of the staff are to refer to them by name. Sets a good example, capisce?” “Yes, sir!” “There, see, good manners will get you far in life. In your case, it’ll get you a uniform and a contract from the Old Ash casino.” Keaton’s eyes widened “So- so I’m still?” “Of course!” grinned my master, “It’s not your fault your friend’s a loudmouth prick. And, to celebrate your new career, why don’t we enjoy this pup?” He yanked down the alsatian’s pants and underwear with one hand just in time for him to start waking up. Before he could recover his strength, Fifi and I tied him down to the convenient anchor points built into the desk, using the stout rope he keeps in his bottom drawer. Our master is a practical man. “Fifi, lube me up. Connie, get in there.” Fifi smirked at me like he’d gotten the better task, as if the chance to get my tongue deep in a real man’s asshole isn’t a prize all on its own. Master rested one hand on my head as I got into position, his fingers playing over the metal caps that fit on where my antlers would grow in if I wasn’t a sissy little faggot. I prised the alsatian’s surprisingly round and firm cheeks apart and took an appreciative whiff of his musk. I love the smell of a man’s ass. I love the taste too, and with that in mind I leaned forward to acquaint my muzzle with his previously untouched tailhole. I started by pressing gentle kisses and laps around his ass, to help him get accustomed to the idea that things were going to be happening back there. Even the lightest of touches provoked a vocal reaction from my soon-to-be sister in servitude, and above me I could hear both my master and Keaton chuckle at the bitch’s reaction. It could take some adjusting for guys to get used to that, but he’d have plenty of opportunity to get used to the situation. Once he stopped resisting that gentle treatment, I started giving him something to complain about. I ground my tongue around his rim before driving it into his ass, probably the first person to ever put anything up there. He groaned in anguish, the strength of his masculinity rendered suddenly fragile when it was challenged in a way he’d never expected. The fact was I was goddamn good at giving rimjobs, and he was enough of an idiot to think getting rimmed was gay. I mean obviously it was gay on account of we were both guys, but he thought it was the bad kind of gay. The actually gay kind of gay, the kind that’s reserved for fags like me and Fifi and not studs like him. Master’s grip on my head tightened and he yanked me out of the alsatian’s warm, increasingly sloppy hole. I whined at having my feast taken away from me and he shoved me off to the side with a similarly pouty Fifi. No fair taking a sissy’s treat away just when he’s enjoying it. Master grunted as he thrust into the alsatian, his saliva-slicked cock forcing its way into that delectable ass and violating it in a way my tongue never could. Belroy struggled desparately below him, trying to fight through the restraints, the lingering effects of the drug, and the pain of having his asshole blasted open by my master’s not inconsiderable cock. It was a losing battle. The sound of master’s hips impacting Belroy’s ass filled the room, the dog whimpering every time his new owner reached new depths inside him, every time he thought he was getting fucked as hard as he could and then master proved him wrong again. Keaton shifted slightly to relieve the tent in his pants. My master spoke as he kept fucking, his voice mostly holding steady despite the exertion, “Keaton, my boy, I am not unaware that I ask a lot of my staff. So, to reward the men for all the sterling work they do maintaining my establishment and keeping it all safe and secure, I give them certain rewards. You will be aware that the pay is very reasonable for the work required, but there’s more than that. When a prospect doesn’t work out as an enforcer, he can always find work as a stress-relief installation in the mens’ break room.” Fifi ran a hand down Keaton’s chest and whispered “Pour encourager les autres”. I was pretty sure the cheetah didn’t know what it meant, but a pretty femboy whispering French in your ear can really only have one effect on a man. “Sir?” asked the cheetah. “Give his mouth a try, Keaton. You’ll be the first one, but not the last.” That was all the encouragement he needed. Keaton yanked his pants down with alarming force and moved up to take Belroy’s throat. The alsatian opened his mouth to object, like an idiot, and I leaned over to jam a ring gag in it. I winked up at Keaton as I did so, I still wouldn’t mind that cheetah claiming a piece of me. Keaton stepped forward and pushed me to the side with one great hand even more roughly than master had; I was so horny in the moment that even that just made me want him to claim me even more. If I was to be an accessory to a man, what a man! “You two girls, why don’t you have a little fun of your own?” asked master, “The wand’s in the drawer, you know what to do.” We each groaned in anticipation and shimmied out of our skirts and panties. Clad in nothing below the waist save high heels, thigh highs and our shiny silver cages and plugs, we prepared to make love the only way bitchbois like us deserve. I opened master’s desk drawer and reached past a handgun and a hard drive containing blackmail material on all his employees to pick out my real prize, a wand vibrator with a bright pink head. I passed it to Fifi – we were still at the office, after all, and everything we did was part of a work function. Fifi put it on setting 4 and then, with a nervous glance over at master, up to 5. It goes to 10, but anything higher than 6 is for rewards and 10 itself is only for overstimulation – either as a punishment, or because master likes the noises we make. We shuffled closer together and let our cages meet over the buzzing head of the wand. Instantly, the vibrations started running through me with that delicious combination of pleasure and yearning. I could see in Fifi’s eyes that he was enjoying it as much as me, and we clung to each other as we ground and humped the wonderful torture device. I leaned over to kiss him, partly to give the men a show and partly because he was just so beautiful in that moment. What can I say, I love my wife. I moaned into Fifi’s mouth as I watched the trio at the desk. The contrast was staggering. There, three powerful men – one gorgeous even in defeat – one of the victors lean and athletic and my master powerfully built and with a delightful belly and bulk to him. Here, two sissy faggots in cock cages frotting a vibrator and shuddering in humiliated ecstasy. Proof, if proof were needed, that there really are two different kinds of guy in the world. I stopped having the excess brainpower to ponder such things as Fifi hugged me tighter and shifted his humping into high gear. I matched him, and with a final glance at master, we both squirted our weak, watery seed out of our cages. We came up for air and mewled breathy sighs as the wand kept going. Each of us sidled just a little away from it to catch our breath, in case master allowed us a second round. “That’s your lot”, he growled as if he’d read my mind, “You can edge if you want, but no more cumming unless I’m doing it to you.” As he said this he kept plugging away at the alsatian’s ass without missing a stroke. Without saying a word, Fifi and I both decided the sight was hot enough to be worth edging to. We resumed bumping cages together as if we’d never stopped, and Fifi mewled in my ear breathlessly just as Keaton hunched over his former friend and slammed his cock home one last time. The alsatian’s muffled, wordless protests grew more urgent as his mouth was flooded with a real man’s cum for the first of what would likely be many, many times yet to pass. Master kept plugging away for a little longer, just long enough to rub it in that he had lasted longer, before furnishing his latest bitchboy’s ass with a generous portion of seed. Belroy started crying on the desk, knowing in his heart that even if he somehow escaped being made a stress-relief toy for the other men, he could never be un-raped. He could never go back to being a man who didn’t know what it felt like to be fucked against his will by two superior specimens. He could never again be an alpha. The sound of his sobs got master ready to go again, and he started pounding the dog’s ass with a low, sinister chuckle. He leaned down and whispered in his onahole’s ear, “Welcome to the rest of your life, faggot.” Maybe, if we were very lucky, master would be in a good enough mood to let us finish again after he did. If nothing else, we’d at least get to clean out the alsatian’s tailhole once he was done with it. Nobody ever said the signing-on bonus only had to be for the new employee, after all.