Master Gnome or a Gee's Progress

Gnome hailed a cab going uptown, wiping his nose at the same time with his latest eviction notice.

As the Gnome got in, he noticed the driver staring at him speculatively in the mirror. Gnome took little notice of this, his mind on his latest graphic novel.

Suddenly, the cabbie spoke up in a somewhat grotesque southern accent.

"Hey, you know a guy called Magnus?"

"Mmh? Magnus?" Gnome shook his fat head, and bent to look at the driver.

"I know you, you're called the Gnome"

Ah yes. Mother scrawled that on my birth certificate before nose-diving off the Central West End Obstetrics roof onto the traffic congested area where Skimpole Avenue met Buttermilk Boulevard...Was it my oddly shaped head that made her-

Reverie interrupted. "You, um go to a group called the Tawse Society? I know you do."

Gnome shifted in the back seat.

Ah yes, the Tawse group.

The Gnome had gone to a few meetings of this BDSM group that was advertised in a local free weekly. When he'd realized the attendees were your basic normal types, or even a little geekier than normal...

Kind of like a bad Sci-Fi convention?

Gnome had been grossly disappointed. he'd hoped it would be more of the grist of his masturbatory mill, tall, mocking high chested beauties stalking around on high heel, but it wasn't.

They had "Win A Paddle" raffles and that kind of thing. Ugh.

The few vaguely attractive people at Tawse were quite cliquish, and had their own "only hottie" parties. So it was like high school...que sera sera.

Why couldn't it have been like it would've on a TV show? Everyone gorgeous, except Gnome.

Fascinating, of course that even the most grotesque gatherings, pervert groups, 12 Step programs, even grief counseling, always had the "cool table" people. Oh well.

Gnome had been court-ordered to a lot of weird shit, and it was always this way, but the Tawse Society was even stranger.

The women who looked as if they'd be vaguely dominant, the ones who headed up "Ageplay" committees and that kind of thing were often submissives.

Gnome was beginning to realize, just before he quit Tawse, that there were men who got off on submitting to women...

And women who got off on submitting to women, women who got off on submitting to men and women who liked dominating women...

And men who liked dominating women...but there were few women who were sexually enthralled by dominating men.

It almost seemed as if the few women who were "dominant" were so homely that the only reason they did it was to entrap a submissive husband, or any man at all.

So Gnome had given up the Tawse Society, preferring to onanise at home.

But this driver, an ex-Tawse, apparently couldn't shut up about it. He looked like John-Boy Walton after a nuclear explosion.

Since Gnome actually didn't have the fare for the ride anyway, he thought he might as well be magnanimous.

"Ah, yes. I'm the Gnome. I've seen you at the Tawse Society, good to see you again, old bean."

Gnome had actually seen the guy once at one of the uh, expos. Big demonstration with selling leather crap. He'd seen this cabbie, he realized...

The John-Boy had put his wrists and neck into a colonial stock and the sales person had locked it, and then forgotten about John-Boy Walton and wandered off to talk to some leather clad waitresses.

"Y'all don't go to the Tawse anymore, uh, Gnome?"

"No. It's-it wasn't much fun really I think I had one interesting back and forth with a girl who dressed like Wednesday Addams, but it's not my thing."

The driver was full of mea culpas.

"Yeah, they mostly ignored me there too. Especially that Magnus guy. He's a big shot there, you know."

"Oh, Magnus, the military guy. Kind of chunky. Yes, I've noticed he gets his ass kissed a lot. At one of the parties, some chick asked him to run a knife over her nipples."

The driver sighed. "Right. Don't no one want to hang out afterwards with me, especially Magnus. I called him an asshole, real loud in the parking lot, but he didn't hear me."

The driver coughed. "I was payin' a Mistress to spank me and keep me in a chastity belt for a while. I even paid for two male hustlers so she could order me to suck them off, but then I said to her, I said 'Gail, I want a real relationship' but she was all about the-"

"Yes, women can be very mercenary, I know it's hard."

"My name is Neville Norbert Blenkinsopp? And I know, you're Gnome."

I hate making involuntary friends, the Gnome thought. But again, he wouldn't be paying the fare, and it might as well be a diplomatic situation.

"Yes, Neville, I've had the same experience. I've never met someone who could be a potential partner at the Tawse Society, though I did meet a pair of sister-in-laws who offered to get together with me and do a caning."

"Sister-in-laws?"

"Yup, they told their husbands that they were going to Al-Anon meetings. One of them, Marcia, wanted to meet me in a house she was selling, and spank me, but I dropped the ball."

"So are you a dominant or submissive mostly, Gnome?"

"I met a fat girl at Match.com and she told ME she liked being spanked and tied up, but she didn't go to any groups. I did like giving her over the knee whippings with a wooden paddle she bought me."

"Really?"

"Yes, I'd spank her and then twist her clit reaching under her legs as she was over my knee...she'd cum and then she'd blow me."

"Damn."

"Yes. I was attaching clothespins to her nipples, and all that. It was the only way she could get off, but unfortunately she was more attracted to Masters who are employed."

The Gnome realized that he hadn't even given Neville an address to be driven to, and now couldn't remember why he'd gotten in the taxi in the first place.

"Yeah, I wish I could just be someone's bitch."

Gnome now sat up a bit. "Is it a girl you want, Neville, to dominate you like before?"

"No, just anybody, really."

Carefully, Gnome responded. "I'd love to get ahold of a naughty boy, even make him suck my dick." Gnome was somewhat uncomfortable about this idea, but he found himself aroused by this hick cabbie.

Neville almost stopped the cab. "Really? You want to punish me too? I live about four blocks from here."

Neville's house was a bit vulgar, the Gnome thought. There was one of those velvet bullfighter posters on the wall.

But it was a house. And Gnome was going to be transient soon. The Gnome's Seinfeld-ish friends loved him, and didn't mind small loans, or even picking up the restaurant check, but were evasive about putting him up.

"So you own a house, but you drive a cab?"

"I used to live here with my mother, and she left it to me." Neville said. "I was s'posed to go to computer school, but it um-"

"I was supposed to finish elementary school, but after you figure out the letters and numbers, it was fairly tedious." The Gnome wiped his brow at the memory.

They stood in the living room awkwardly, and then Neville went to the closet and brought out a short whip, about two and a half feet long.

"Mama used this on us when I forgot the dishes. I told her that twenty-six was too old to get a lickin' but she would whip me till I run off into the kitchen to do the job."

"That's terrible. Very abusive" Gnome said, his cock growing in his pants.

Neville handed the whip to Gnome. "It's called a quirt. One of Mama's boyfriends told her it would keep me in line."

Neville paused. "My brother and sister moved out fast, they hated the corporal punishment, but of course Mama is old fashioned. So I lived here till Mama died and left me the house."

"Wow.

"My daddy is more modern than Momma. He got ah, um, gender re-assignment and is a lounge singer called Shebelle now, over in Vegas."

"Neville, you are a stand-up tragedian. Let's see that quirt."

The Gnome fingered the short whip. "This place doesn't look like you clean it too much, Neville."

"No, sir."

Sir?

Neville hung his head. "I just watch a lot of porn and drive my cab, and cash my trust fund checks. I really need some firm guidance."

Gnome began a fervent belief in a Higher Power. "Well, it's shameful how cluttered this place is." Of course the Gnome's apartment would make this place resemble an operating theater, but never mind.

"Neville" Gnome's voice shook a bit, as Neville physically could have easily kicked his ass "This room is a disgrace. Take down your-your breeches."

Perhaps I went too far. I'm five-four and he's about seven feet tall.

Neville looked down at the Gnome silently, and the Gnome wondered if he was going to be murdered. Murdered in a perv accident, like David Carradine.

Or Bob Crane from "Hogan's Heroe's" I'll die like them-oh wait, he's unsnapping his jeans.

The Gnome became excited, watching Neville undress, but wondered if he was turning gay. Here, he was pulling his pants down, and then Neville gave Gnome a desperate look.

"Don't make me take down my underpants too, sir."

The Gnome climbed on Neville's coffee table and slapped the cabbie's face.

"Don't you talk back to me, boy. Take down those tightie-whities. I wish the neighborhood girls were here to see what a bad boy you are."

Damn, listen to all that coming out of my mouth, the Gnome thought.

He still may kill me. Could Drew Carey play me on "America's Most Wanted"?

Neville bit his lip and reluctantly pulled down his underpants. And oh wow, Neville Norbert Blenkinsopp's dick bounced around. It had probably been hard since he was in the cab.

"I ought to cut that filthy thing off, I know what you do with it all day." Gnome said, in mock outrage.

"Yes, sir." Neville turned bright red and stared at the floor.

"You could be cleaning this apartment up, making your Master-"

"-You're my Daddy"

Who the hell's in charge here? Ah yes, the trust-fund checks.

"You could be making your daddy proud, but you are a worthless little cur."

Neville's lower lip began trembling.

Shit, I don't want him to have a nervous breakdown. But his cock is still really hard. Oh, shit, he's touching it.

"Take your filthy hands off your wee-wee. Bend over the arm of the couch!"

The Gnome hopped off the coffee table and cracked the quirt authoritatively.

"Y-yes sir." Neville bent over the arm of the couch as directed, and now the Gnome was staring at Neville's pale, pimply ass.

Gnome lifted the quirt and swung it lightly across Neville's bottom.

"Sir, you can hit harder, I deserve it."

"You most certainly do!"

The Gnome used the quirt on Neville's buttocks until his arm was tired, and Neville was sobbing. Inspired, the Gnome instructed Neville to spin and place his penis on the arm of the couch.

"I'll cure you of this disgusting masturbation habit!"

It amazed the Gnome that Neville didn't even jump when the quirt landed on his hard cock the first time. It almost made it even more erect, and that was wild.

Neville took ten whacks on his penis before he began crying harder, and then Master Gnome ordered him to drop to his knees, and rub himself.

Neville was terribly drawn to the fat little man he'd picked up in his cab, and he wanted to suck his new Master's dick very badly. Gail, his paid Mistress had run many a strap-on in Neville's mouth, and then she'd had him suck off the hustlers.

"Sir, will you allow me to service you before I masturbate to orgasm?"

Finally, the Gnome nodded assent, and although he had a disappointingly small penis, and not very clean, Neville took it in his mouth and sucked until the Gnome shot off.

Then, the Gnome pulled up his pants and took the quirt and whipped poor Neville, chasing him into the bathroom, and made Neville dunk his head in the toilet several times while masturbating himself...

It was a glorious evening!