Dinner is Served

A few weeks after our introductory encounter, my Dom/switch friend, “Rick,” and I met again. This time, he’d asked his boyfriend about my serving both of them, and his response was “Well, could he make and serve us dinner? It seems selfish but it’s kind of what I want.” Done deal!

So I was to be the houseboy for the evening. The boyfriend works late on Saturday evenings, so I came over early soon as I was done with my own tasks for that day. Just like last time, I went inside the front door and immediately stripped to my jock strap. My collar was waiting for me, so I put it on and went to find Sir.

He was in his office, working. I knelt before him as he took out his cock and I greeted him with a deep, long suck all while he continued to work. I tried to swallow his cock, getting it as deep in my throat as I could. I guess it worked, because he stopped working after not too long. He trussed up my cock and balls in a tight little cock ring that pushed my balls out and turned ’em scarlet, then led me to the kitchen.

Dishes piled high in the sink and on the stove, we had quite a bit of time before the boyfriend was coming home. So he gave me an apron (my ass left bare) and set me to work cleaning while he planned the dinner menu.

I don’t really enjoy doing dishes. No one does. But I’m not very good at it either. I make a mess while cleaning up a mess. I feel like I get everything wet and I waste a lot of water. But obviously that’s not really the point. It should be obvious to anyone reading this that the point of service, and the entire ethos of being a boy, is to set aside our own preferences to serve. So as I’m standing there, barely covered doing menial work, I considered why I still wanted to be standing there doing stuff I really didn’t enjoy. If I don’t enjoy it, and its not even my house, what’s the point?

I was balancing competing notions of boredom with the work itself, and the pride I was feeling while in service. Yes, all the maxims and cliches about service and boyhood apply, but cerebrally understanding it and actually experiencing the shunting of oneself are different. Washing Dishes is boring. Taking Pride in work for Sir is fulfilling. That means I’ll do what I’m told, happily and without reservation, if I know it makes Sir happy or turns him on; if it means I’ll hear “good boy.”


Once the dishes were clean and I was preparing them to cook the meal, we had a little free time. So with head and hands on the counter he bent me over, and started to whack me on the ass. I tend to have a high tolerance for things, and in fact have only ever called “yellow” as a safe word once, because I want to see where my limits truly are, and then stretch them further. He knows this, and I think he was trying to drive me to the edge.

The stinging thwack after thwack came close to my tolerance by the end of it, especially with my sore and painful balls bouncing against me with each lunge of his hand. I cringed and tried to dance away, I grunted and groaned and winced. The worst was when the beating left my butt and went to the back of my thighs or even my inner thigh – the areas that don’t get that kind of abuse too often – the soft, virgin, sensitive skin. Had he kept going I might have begged for a break, but I don’t know if I’d have called a color. In any case, it didn’t last long and it was back to preparing dinner.

I’m a pretty good cook and I enjoyed that portion naturally. I love to create a meal and I love to serve it at a table. I’ve tried making kale chips a number of times, an this time was the best ever and since. But that’s beside the point. We moved on to one of my favorite tasks: table service.

Their dining room is separate from their kitchen, which meant I could easily stay out of their way while I watched for what they needed and cleaned up (again). Rick had thought about having me eat with or near them, but I don’t tend to eat much when in service anyway – my stomach is usually too full of butterflies and my mind too distracted to want to eat. So I simply served. They basically ignored me. I was furniture, not a guest. I was the help. I didn’t need or even want acknowledgement. And it was good. My only regret was that I didn’t realize the door between the two rooms actually shut. I felt I was being pretty loud in cleaning the dishes and didn’t want to disturb their dinner. Next time, that door will be shut, and they can have a proper quiet meal without some annoying boy making a ruckus.

In Storage

After dinner was cleaned up I was led to a spare bedroom, down the hall from the living room but close enough to hear a signal, which was important since I was about to be tied up and left there for a while. Hands and feet bound to each other, and to my balls, and gagged with a ball gag, I was left naked on a bed with a bell if I panicked. Sir went to watch Saturday Night Live with his boyfriend. He occasionally checked on me, but for the most part I was left to ponder my situation.

I tried not to get too overly analytical about it. I could hear the TV and regarded my situation of not being worthy to watch it with them, even relegated to the floor or the corner. I was now in storage. Stowed until needed. An appliance.

Two things were happening at this stage. One, my balls were cold. Not overly cold, but they were tied up and it wasn’t warm in the room, and I’d been naked for hours at this point, so it was natural to be cold. But what I don’t really know yet is when cold is a problem. When is cold just being cold, and when is an indication of something is numb. I don’t know, especially for my balls, so at some point Sir loosened them a bit, which made me worry a little bit less. I’ll figure that out some day. Just requires more rope.

The second thing was that Sir came to check on me several times. And every time he did, he tantalized me a little bit more. With all that goes on in my brain it’s hard to dive into an experience where I want nothing more than to serve a man and feel frustration at that denial. In other words, I get teased and poked and prodded, but don’t always feel the sexual frustration that drives many subs when they’re in service. But with Sir constantly coming in to touch and kiss me through my gag, biting on my lip and tweaking my nipples, by the end I wanted him badly. I longed for him when he wasn’t there and whimpered when he left the room.

After the show was done he returned, and had his way with me. He loosed the ropes enough so he could get access to my ass, and he fucked me. It was wonderful. To finally be of use again, to be used again.

He let me cum, I don’t remember how now, and eventually I cleaned up and went home. It’s been a while now since this night, and I’m hoping to see him again soon and push ourselves a little further.

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