Royal Voluntary Service — Chapter 1
Balancing the five takeaway food containers in his left arm, Simon carefully slammed shut the boot of his car. “Must remember to bring a bag next time”, he thought to himself. This was his first time delivering food for the Royal Voluntary Service, and this house was his last stop of the day.
As he made his way up the path to the front door, he reflected on how he had got to this point. Starting his first year of uni in 2021 wasn’t ideal, but he knew that the old people on the estate had been having an even worse time with Covid. When he got the message from the RVS asking for volunteers he jumped at the chance. His parents had just bought him his first car after he had passed his test in the summer, and he thought this would be a great way to do some good deeds to pay back their generosity.
He rang the doorbell, and shortly the door was opened by a portly older gentleman who gave him a big smile. “Och, you must be from the RVS. Come in, please come in”, the old man warmly gestured inside.
Simon made his way inside and set the meal containers down on what he assumed was the dining table. “John”, his host said to him, extending his hand. Simon was hesitant, the RVS guidance advised no physical contact. But he had taken a test this morning and knew he was negative. He grasped John’s hand and shook it, and said “Simon, nice to meet you”.
“Och, the pleasure’s all mine. Will you not stay for a cup of tea?". Again, Simon hesitated. It was his last call of the day wasn’t it? What could it hurt? He nodded, “Sounds great, thanks”.
“I’ll just take these out to chest freezer in the garage. I’ll be back in a minute with your tea”, John said cheerily. Taking the food containers he made his way out through the back door of the kitchen.
Simon idly looked around the room as he waited. It was a standard old person’s living room—slightly musty, dated decor, a glass-fronted cabinet containing plates and mugs (is it called a Welsh dresser, thought Simon). Suddenly, Simon was snapped out of his momentary reverie by a loud new message alert sound emanating from a laptop sitting on the dining table. He smiled, why do old people insist on keeping those annoying notification sounds enabled, when anyone under the age of 30 immediately turns them off? His parents were the same way.
However, when he glanced over at the laptop screen, he frowned in confusion. Skype was running in the background, and a preview of the new message was showing in the corner. Its contents certainly caught his attention:
“MY CUNT, MY COCK, MY NIPPL...”
He fervently glanced out of the living room window towards the rear garden. John was still making his way slowly out to the garage. Simon couldn’t resist seeing the rest of this message, and quickly clicked open the Skype chat. What he saw made his mouth hang open in amazement.
“MY CUNT, MY COCK, MY NIPPLES AND MY MOUTH ARE YOURS TO TRAIN. I AM YOUR PROPERTY THIS DAY AND ALWAYS, TO DO WITH AS YOU SEE FIT”
Eager to see what provoked such a message he scrolled up to see what John had sent to...whoever this person was. John’s message was short and to the point.
“Good Boy. Now repeat the oath, and send me the photos”.
Clearly this message all in capitals was “the oath”, whatever that meant, but where were the...
Suddenly, four photo files flooded the chat box. Simon’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates looking at them. Again, he checked the window. No sign of John, but he couldn’t have long left before he came back now.
The first image file was of a young man, about Simon’s age. A bit more lean perhaps, with a tuft of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He was looking deeply, directly into the camera. His face, which filled most of the frame, was clearly in a state of arousal, with red flushed cheeks and a desperate, wanton look on his face. His mouth was open as wide as it could go, with his tongue hanging down, a fleck of drool hanging from the very tip, heavily sagging and just about to break off. Further down, his torso could be seen disappearing into semi-darkness down to a hairless pubic area. The lad’s fully erect penis protruded obscenely upwards towards the camera.
Quickly scrolling down to the next image, Simon was even more taken aback. This photograph must have been taken with a timer, as in this shot the boy was facing away from the camera, kneeling with his head touching the floor in front of him. His curved spine drew the eye down to his milky white buttocks, which he was pulling outwardly apart with his hands, lewdly exposing his puckered anus. This must have been taking some effort, as his fingers were digging deeply into the soft fleshy orbs of his arsecheeks. On his lumbar region, in black marker pen, the words DADDY’S HOLE were crudely daubed in all caps, with an arrow pointing down to his orifice.
“Sugar?", came a call from the kitchen.
Simon hurriedly minimized the chat window.
“What?”
“D’you take sugar in your tea Simon?", asked John, poking his head through into the living room.
“Uh...no, no sugar thanks”, Simon replied, trying to disguise how flustered he was.
The two of them sat down in comfy armchairs in the living room and chatted as they each drank a cup of tea. However, Simon couldn’t hold a conversation with all the things running through his head at that moment. He just nodded, and grunted assent whenever it seemed appropriate. Just who was this guy?? I mean, it was really none of his business, but was this normal? Did all old people live such bizarre, and frankly exciting, sex lives? As John continued to chat pleasantly, Simon had to admit he was becoming strangely drawn to him. Like he exuded a quiet authority behind the friendliness. An authority that never needed to come to the front, as people would just naturally do whatever he said...
“Well, it’s been very nice having some company Simon”, said John in a tone that suggested things might be wrapping up, “It gets awfully lonely for us older people you know, especially at this time of year”.
“N-no problem John, happy to come round for a chat anytime. Anyway, my next delivery is schedule for Tuesday, so I guess I’ll see you then”.
“Aye, the meals will keep me going until then, don’t you worry”, John smiled and patted Simon on the back as he walked out of the front door back to his car.
Closing the car door behind him, Simon looked back one last time to see John waving from the doorway. He meekly waved back, frowned, then shook his head and started the ignition. What a first day!
Later that evening, Simon was lying on his bed messing about on his phone when a text message alert buzzed it to life. An actual text message? Not a whatsapp message? Who still sends those? he thought to himself.
Opening the message, it was brief and straight to the point.
“Is that Simon? This is John. I got your number from the RVS”
Simon’s heart raced. Got his number from the RVS? Was that even allowed? What about data protection, GDPR and all that? Well, it clearly didn’t matter, as it seemed like John had got his number from them somehow. What did he want though?
“Yes, this is Simon”, he replied simply.
A minute went by. Why am I so nervous? thought Simon, it’s probably nothing serious.
A new message came through. Again, short and to the point.
“Did you read my Skype messages?”
Oh God! He knows, thought Simon. But how?
Simon paced the room, his mind spinning. Just deny it, he thought.
“Skype messages? No, I don’t know what you’re talking about”.
The replies came quickly now.
“Don’t lie to me boy” / “You may not think us oldies are tech savvy, but I could see those messages had already been read before I read them myself” / “You were the only other person in the house all day”.
Simon’s mouth was dry as sandpaper. He’d been caught. Another message.
“So I ask you again: Did. You. Read. My. Skype. Messages?”
The punctuation, the caps, the tone. Simon felt utterly dominated. Time to own up.
“Ok, yes, I’m sorry. I did read those messages while you were in the garage”.
A small delay this time. Simon could still feel his hear beating in his chest. Then, buzzzzzz.
“Good boy. See, doesn’t it feel good to tell the truth?”
Simon exhaled. He had to admit, it did feel good to confess to John. In fact, it felt really good.
“Yes Sir”, he replied (“Sir”?? Where had that come from?)
“Alright, See You Next Tuesday boy”.
Simon read this last message a couple of times. What, was that it? He wasn’t going to ask what he’d seen? They weren’t going to discuss “the oath”, or the pictures of that poor lad? In a way he was relieved. Maybe they could just sweep this under the carpet and move on.
He lay back on his bed, before looking at the message one last time. “See you next Tuesday, boy”? It was true that his next scheduled delivery was on Tuesday, but he couldn’t help but think that John had just subtly called him a “cunt boy”. He shook his head. Nah, he was probably reading too much into it.
Pulling up to John’s house, Simon paused for a minute before turning off the ignition. All week he had been back and forth, one minute eagerly awaiting this visit, another minute feeling dread in the pit of his stomach. Well, it’s here now, he thought, so let’s get on with it. He retrieved the food containers from the boot of his car. Once again, this was the last stop of the day.
When he got to the door, he saw that it was already slightly ajar. He furrowed his brow. Things were already off to an unorthodox start. However, he quickly came to his senses: this could mean John was in trouble. He pushed the front door fully open and, closing the door behind him, stepped into the living room. The scene that met his eyes was beyond his wildest imagination.
John was sat in one of the comfy wingback armchairs of the living room with his feet up. However, his feet were not resting on a footstool, but instead on the back of a young man with black hair. The young man was crouched on all fours, and completely naked. Looking closer, Simon could see that the young man was blindfolded and gagged, and was wearing a large pair of wireless over-ear headphones, that looked like ear defenders. Clothes pegs hung mercilessly from each of the young man’s nipples, and in his groin region his penis was encased in a pink plastic cock cage. A gem-covered buttplug handle protruded from his arsehole, buzzing gently as it vibrated.
A second young man leant over the side of one of the arms of the chair. Simon recognized him immediately as the boy from the Skype messages that he has seen last week, the blonde one. This boy was similarly blindfolded and wearing similar headphones to the first boy, but he wasn’t gagged. That’s because his mouth was enveloped around John’s erect cock, which was at full-mast sticking out of his unbuckled trousers. The boy’s head bobbed up and down as he serviced John, who was gently guiding the back of his head with one hand, and intermittently tousling his blonde hair. This lad, too, was cock-caged with a similar pink cage to the first.
A third, and final, young man was positioned behind blondie. This one, a brown-haired lad, was enthusiastically tonguing the arsehole of Blondie. Again, blindfolded and wearing headphones, this boy had his penis firmly encased in a pink cock-cage. Instead of a buttplug, however, John was using the index finger of his other hand to finger fuck this boys arsehole rhythmically in time to the bobbing of Blondie on his penis.
Assaulted with the sheer wanton sexual decadence of the scene in front of him, Simon did well not to immediately drop all of the meal trays he was holding. But he was stunned into silence, his mouth slightly agape.
“Good to see you boy”, grinned John, “Could you be a dear and go pop those in the chest freezer? I’ll only be a minute, then I’ll be right with you”.
To Simon, it seemed like an absurd thing to agree to, given the circumstances, but his brain was fried. He couldn’t think of anything else to do so he just nodded dumbly and headed out to the garage.
As he opened the chest freezer, the blast of cold air brought him back to his senses. What the hell was going on here? Clearly, John had set this up to coincide with his visit but how, and why? This was all getting a bit too much for Simon. He’d signed up to help old, lonely people in his neighbourhood, but this was ridiculous! He steeled himself. Ok, just walk back in there, say goodbye and get back on your way.
However, when he returned to the living room, the words just wouldn’t come. He was mesmerized, by the rhythmic pumping, the lewdness, John’s impressively sized cock and (apparent) sexual stamina. It was a captivating scene. And he had so many questions, how had this all come about? He could maybe understand one boy, but three?? This was basically a hareem! How had he done it??
As this last thought was making its way across Simon’s mind, John seemed to be coming to the vinegar strokes. He closed his eyes, threw his head back in ecstasy, and snorted through his nose. Blondie gagged, indicating that he was attempting to swallow John’s load in real-time. The bobbing slowed, then came to a stop. John ruffled Blondie’s hair and patted him on the head. This seemed to be some sort of signal, as Blondie immediately knelt and touched his head to the floor next to the chair. He continued to have his arsehole aggressively licked by boy number three, until John laid a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed, apparently indicating to the brown-haired lad that he too could stop. John rose from the chair and pulled his trousers back up.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting, I’ll just be one more minute here. Sit down if you like”, John smiled at Simon, as if nothing untoward were happening in the living room.
Opening a dresser, John removed a leather strap with a short wooden handle.
“You’ve probably ne’er seen one of these before huh?", John said, still beaming a grin, “It’s called a tawse, and the teachers would use these all the time when I was a wee’n.”
Taking position behind Blondie and brown-hair, he drew back the whip, muttering to himself.
“Ne’er should have stopped using it if you ask me...”
CRACK!! CRACK!!
He struck the boys across the buttocks with a frightening snap of his wrist. The sharp sound startled Simon, who continued to watch, gobsmacked.
“Thank you Sir!!", each boy replied, their voices overlapping. They were semi-shouting, probably on account of not being able to hear themselves through the noise-cancelling headphones.
CRACK!! CRACK!!
Another pair of whippings, another shout of thank you from each boy. They winced, but steeled themselves again after each strike. It seemed that brown-hair had more experience with this than Blondie. The tawse left a bright red mark on the buttocks and lower back of each boy.
This process repeated several more times, as Simon felt himself becoming hypnotized by the movement of the whip, the crack, the shouts of gratitude. Simon lost count of the number of strikes, but eventually, John brought the proceedings to a close. Grabbing each boy under the chin, he kissed each one on the lips, including the footstool boy, to indicate that they could remove their respective headgear.
“There we go. Now...", John walked over to where Simon was sitting. As John suddenly towered over him, he suddenly felt very meek and vulnerable. There was no smile on John’s face now, no warmth. Only that earlier sense of authority. He simply said...
“Strip”.
Simon’s body seemed to move by itself, as he started unbuttoning his shirt. Once it was fully undone, he rose from the chair, unbuckled his pants and pulled them down, and fully removed his shirt. However, when he was finally down to just his underpants and socks, he momentarily came to his senses. Why was he stripping off in this old man’s living room? Didn’t he just come to deliver some meals? What was he doing?
John seemed to sense the hesitation, and seized the moment. Turning to his three boys, he instructed them coldly:
“Cage him”.
Simon’s eyes widened as the three young men swiftly walked over to him. Brown-hair quickly put him in a half-nelson. Black-hair pulled his underpants down over his weakly kicking legs. Finally, Blondie walked over with the familiar pink cock-cage.
They struggled briefly to fit the cage. Unfortunately, the whole scenario had made Simon fully erect. John returned from the kitchen with a bag of ice, smiling.
“Ach, I would have been worried if ye didnae get a hard on, to be honest. Happens to all my boys”.
Pressing the back of ice to his groin, Simon flinched with the cold. But it did the trick, and soon enough Simon was fully encased in the tiny pink cock-cage.
Blondie turned to John and handed him the key. Taking a necklace out from behind his shirt, John added Simon’s key to the other three. Simon started putting his clothes back on. He didn’t know what else to do, really.
“I think you’ve all earned a reward today”, he said to his other three boys.
Unlocking each of their cages in turn, the boys lined up. Each immediately snapped to an “at ease” military stance, their hands grasped behind their backs.
Going down the line, John wanked each boy off to completion, while looking them deeply in the eye. None of the boys lasted more than a minute, each spunking a prodigious load down onto the linoleum of the kitchen floor. The boys, clearly well-trained, each immediately leapt down on all fours to lap up their respective loads. Tugging his shirt back on, Simon thought, how long had these boys been caged?
“I know you’ll have a lot of questions for me, boy. But those can wait for now. I always find that the best initiation is just to keep you caged for a week. You’ll be surprised how it makes you more receptive to...new ideas”.
Ushering Simon out of the front door and back into his car, John patted the roof of Simon’s car and smiled.
“See You Next Tuesday, Boy”.