Molly The Maid Boy

The frustrated sigh of his master was signal enough. Lying on the bed, his fine silk pants unwrapped, the young master was clearly in need of a helping hand. In the corner of the dark room, the bare-chested maid boy had waited all night to fulfill his duty. His black lace skirt was wrinkled, the fabric stiff like a ballet dancer's. The skirt's style was in harmony with his neck-long, curly hair. His fishnet panties exposed his every curve and shape; his meat was packed neat and tight. He straightened his white-black striped kneesocks, crawled from his straw cradle and silently slithered his way towards the bed. The maid stopped at the bed and reached his hand under it. He grabbed a bottle of lotion and wet his hands. Master's legs hang outside the bed. The maid sat himself between those legs, his posture refined to the finest detail: his tush lied on his legs, his back stood straight, shoulders were balanced. His master was young, even younger than him. Youth provided great stamina for the master, befitting for a modern-day nobleman. However, even nobles tired eventually. The boy maid rubbed his palms together and begun the massage.

"What the hell..? Oh, it's you, Molly. I got so sore training those towel boys today. The new meat doesn't know shit about proper servitude. They're completely unlike you, Molly; absolute shitters."

"Oh, Molly isn't worthy of master's praise."

"You can call me by my name. I permit it, just for today."

"Thank you, master Broil."

"Good, you didn't even drop the master. I trained you well, didn't I?"

"Molly cherishes those memories dearly. Master Broil was generous with his time with me."

"Shh, don't spoil it. Once was enough."

"Ah, sorry master."

The maid boy peeled down the young man's foreskin and begun a slow, methodical jerking motion. Soft touches, nothing extreme, just the way master always liked it after a difficult day.

"Yeah, you were time well spent. Ugh... fucking hell, they got me so angry. I felt like demoting them into toilets, I was... so close to doing it. I mean, how much can a guy scream because of one tiny needle in his dick? Can you imagine that? I had to actually strap them into poles... and slap them! I had to slap them for minutes, until their faces felt more pain than their dicks!"

"Disgraceful. Molly can think of no better word than worthless," the maid commented while putting the finishing touches to the lubrication.

The boy maid was careful not to squeeze too hard from the base of the rod; therein lied the danger spot. Molly's scar of learning was hidden under powder and rouge. Master Broil Rumpström was a sensitive man, the maid had learned. The master was only in his late teens, but strong like a grown man. His shaved head and bony features reminded the maid of an army sergeant. Even with the bare minimum exercise Broil did every day, his six-pack was carved like on an antique Roman statue. Molly had thought to himself many times that Broil must have had the finest genetic makeup – most likely a result of the expensive treatments the Rumpström family received from their private doctors. Had Molly known the figures, he would've fainted envisaging the copious amounts of money that the Rumpströms sunk into importing doctors from Earth.

Master Broil's sausage was now fully sauced up. The maid's palms slid up and down, rubbing, caressing, jerking – but the master was barely even stiff. Molly was sweating, his forehead was hot. Bad things would happen, should he fail to finish his duty. The maid stretched his neck forward to try and gobble the dick up, but the Rumpström noticed.

"What do you think you're doing? I don't want your filthy mouth-pussy on me - just keep pumping, put some wrist on it or something," Broil commanded.

"Oh, but... you always want me to..." Molly stuttered.

"Seriously, you think I forgot last week´s theme party? You're damaged goods now, be fucking grateful I even keep you around. Your soiled rape-pussy is never ever touching me again, okay? Keep stroking now, it's getting kinda nice."

The young man's scepter was quivering, his veins pulsing. The maid boy's hand could barely wrap around it anymore. He opened his mouth wide, tongue out, keeping his distance. Broil sighed.

"I feel kind of guilty. Those towel boys forced my hand today, fucking limp dicks. You know what they forced me to do?" Broil asked.

"Master said he trained them. Molly is sure the boys received the best possible instructions on how to act more proper," Molly replied.

"I don't hit them because I like their screaming. I just want them to perform, so they can reap at least some joy out of their miserable little lives."

"From what Molly hears, sounds like those boys would make better cattle than servants."

"Yeah, you're right. They're not even pretty yet either. It's like the hormones aren't working at all. That's why I injected into their cocks, you know? I'm trying to help, but it's almost like they don't get it. Hmm... but you get it, Molly, you get it, uh, sooo well..."

"Molly is sorry for master... It's not his fault. Some are born cattle, that's just how it is. Master is both creative and generous to help thos- ohh!"

A jet of white, salty spunk erupted from Broil's man slit. The pervasive taste of fresh, hot egg white caressed the tongue. The maid's mouth received the monster's share of the load, but runaway droplets ruined his mascara and rouge. His lips were re-painted in a translucent tone. The master's kingly rod kept pumping nectar – if Molly had been allowed to wrap his lips around the rod, it would've been no problem drying up the little rivers. The flustered boy hurried to scoop up every drop he could with his fingers. His master waited, not saying a word until the maid's duty was done. Molly slurped his fingers and looked up at his master - Broil gave him a nod.

"Good job, girl. I honestly have no idea why you chose to become a maid instead of a towel boy. You would make such a perfect cum dumpster. Did you not want to be one?" Broil asked.

"Mmahtel als ah dif- hahd huehtion... Olly ill hah hu hingh," the maid replied.

"What did you just say to me?"

The young man raised his upper body on the bed, staring at his maid with an expression of disbelief. A deep, ominous line had appeared on Rumpström's forehead.

"Uhh? Wah hih holly hay?" Molly uttered, keeping his mouth open, so master could watch him, like he often did.

"Bitch, are you seriously talking back at me - with fucking food in your mouth?" Broil asked.

"Ah, ah, hohhy, hohhy, huck - glump - M-Molly is very humbly and deeply sorry. Please punish him like the slut that she is!" the maid pleaded, little tears running down his cheeks.

"Did I say you can swallow?"

"Ohhh, umm, ah – sorry! Molly sorry! Please wash his sin away with punishment!!"

Rumpström got up and slapped the maid with his backhand. The snap was quick and hard, it left a hot mark on the cheek.

"I did not need this. Today was hard on me. It was very, very hard. You bitching at me was the last thing I needed. I don't... I don't even know what to... Do you want to be cattle?! Is that it?!"

"N-no."

"You wanna rot in a factory drinking cum until you die?!"

"N-no."

"Oh, you think I won't do it, because... you asked me to? Huh, I see how it is. You're demoted."

The crying maid boy peeped up at his enraged master. One could assume Broil Rumpström's anger was only theatrical - they would be wrong. Molly had been a maid in the mansion for two years only. In that time he had undergone a total re-engineering of his personality - Broil was born here.

"I'm never calling you by your name again... beginning from tomorrow, neither will anyone else in this house. You are my personal toilet now. Now, get your panties down. It's time for your injection," Broil said, standing up.

There was not a word Molly could say anymore - one mistake was enough. Two years of eating hormones, giving massages, doing chores, attending parties, managing everything pixel perfectly - none of it mattered. The ex-maid bent over on the floor and pulled down his panties. For a whole minute he just lied there like a rock, his ass up in the air, waiting for punishment. When he heard Broil walk up to him, his ass stiffened in anticipation. Master wasted no time; something cold, metallic and long slid inside the ex-maid's hole. The insertion was accompanied by a slap to the butt cheeks. Every bit of resistance that Molly's hole gave warranted another slap. The hits were softer than they should have; the lack of pain made Molly feel anxious.

Broil explained nothing of what he was doing. Molly knew the Rumpström's had technology. Whatever it was he was being inserted with, it probably wasn't just a dildo. The toy had an unyielding texture, but the deeper it reached and the more his master stirred, the better it felt. Suddenly the stick reached a spot which felt unlike any other. The ex-maid fought to control his tongue, but a slobbering, unladylike growl still escaped his throat.

"You creak, toilet. Why is that?" Broil asked.

"N-n-no," Molly replied.

"Really. Your lips say no, but your body says yes. It's fine, that's your prostate you're feeling. You would be malfunctional not to enjoy being touched there."

Before Molly's mind could fathom it, he ejaculated. There was no sense of climax, yet trickles of semen shot out - he felt the slushy warmth on his knees. The feeling of pressure was followed by a stinging sensation. The stick in his ass was pulled out unceremoniously.

"Well done, dog. Sit," Broil said and slapped the boy's crack.

The toilet waited until Rumpström had sat on the bed again. Then it sat up slowly, resuming service posture. Its master sat on the bed, leering down at it.

"Don't look at me," Broil said.

The toilet shut its holes, embracing darkness.

"You are a dog in training now. You're no longer a maid, but a human toilet. I'll speak with mother tomorrow and officialize your demotion. Tomorrow you join me and help train those towel boys. You will remain their day-to-day relief until their period of transition is done. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. I don't have time to train both towels and toilets separately. This is your fault that I have to improvise. Now, dance for me, dog."

"D-dance...eeaahh?! W-w-w-hat is thiiiis?!" Molly yelled, as orgasm after orgasm rocked his small body.

No foreplay, no warming up, not even an erection, yet Molly came harder than he ever had in his life. A relentless stream of semen flowed from his tiny penis, like a water tap left running. Climax after climax he came, his body breaking into a sunny day's sweat, jaw hanging open and a broken, incomprehensible bellowing filling every corner of the room. Tears mixed with sweat, semen with piss; the demoted maid boy sat helplessly in his own little puddle of secretions which kept expanding its diameter. The taste of Broil's spunk rose up in Molly's throat and back on his tongue. It was an excruciating, thought-devouring orgasm, like the feeling that precedes heart failure from drug overdose. His concept of time dissipated – the boy thought he felt the breath-taking embrace of death, but it wasn't the biological end of his life that he experienced. His rank had defined his duties for two years, his new one would remake them. His name was erased now, replaced by whatever profane wording his master enjoyed uttering. He had but one obligation in his life anymore: To ingest semen and have his stomach bile process it. Whatever else he would be put through was only extra.

The human toilet fell on its side, curled into an apathetic fetal position, like a wingless bug to be stomped on. Echoes of a dead boy's orgasms were still tingling on every square inch of its surface. Its head and dick throbbed equally and its eyesight was filled with illusonary fireflies.

"Remote-controlled nano-probes," Broil explained, "that's what you're feeling. They're tiny vibrators, embedded into the most sensitive spot in your body. With the probes and this switch in my hand, I have total control over your orgasms. Your body will derive pleasure from whatever I choose fit for you."

The toilet was rooted in its puddle. Its mind was blank, muscles numb. It tried to speak, but out came only a weak little gust. Master Broil walked up to the fetus, looking down at the newly born.

"You were a mediocre maid. You'll make a better toilet... the best I've ever sat on," Broil Rumpström said.