Chapter One

A push of a button and in response the door to my office quietly opens. A tall, mostly nude male servant enters with a pot of coffee. The morning is young and he knows what I need. I smile with licentious smugness. He may interpret my look as being polite gratitude, but actually it is his brief attire, which causes my reaction. A wide and stiff leather collar partially immobilizes his head, restricting his gaze to straight-ahead at me. A leather chest harness serves to hold his shoulders back and thrust forward his pierced nipples where a pair of baubles dangle from two inch rings. A specially designed crotch piece restrains his well shaven scrotum and projects his mammoth plums forward, causing them to bounce off his thighs with each step. His penis, long and flaccid, but beginning to engorge, is pierced by a standard Prince Albert ring and secured upwards to a narrow belt around his waist. I know that the unseen part of his crotch piece, holding in place a sizable butt plug, provides my server with quite the stimulating prostatic thrill with each step he takes.

I cannot help but admire my work. The Spa’s uniform for male servants is my design, highlighting to the observer the sensitive parts and transmitting with each of the servant’s movements reminders of his own subservience. And it is functional, inhibiting fellatio and intercourse with the female servants, unless the waist belt is unlocked and such antics are supervised.

How to address this servant slips my mind. There are so many, and they come and go with their one-year tours. Although one would think that his lengthy penis would impress me enough to recall his name, all the males at the Spa are selected for their size. This phallus is nicely shaped, but is otherwise unremarkable compared to the dozens of sizable organs displayed by the servants of the Spa.

While he pours, my right hand reaches out and caresses the soft hairless scrotal flesh. The loose supporting strap below, pushing the testicles outward, allows for examination and play. His penis stirs and I cannot help smiling again. The shiny engraved disk hanging from his right nipple indicates that his name is Matthew. Inscribed beneath that is the number ‘9’ indicating the shaft, which is humbly beginning to salute me, can rise to nine inches. A similar disk on his left nipple tells me he is masturbated on Thursdays. So tomorrow, unless of course a guest intervenes, a member of the professional staff will bring him to climax in a most humili