The Houseboys Tale

This story is a twist on Margaret Atwood's 'The Handmaid's Tale'. In this universe, the rare fertile women instead become the Wives, encouraged to procreate with their husbands, the Commanders. Young men and infertile women (houseboys and housegirls) take the place of the Handmaids in Atwood's story, allowing the Commanders to satisfy their baser urges without distracting them from the important task of fathering more children with the Wives.

Please be aware that this story therefore features scenes of non-consensual M/m and F/m intercourse. Thank you.

The sun had barely begun its ascent when Matti, the houseboy, entered the dining room with a tray of freshly prepared breakfast. The air was thick with the weight of duty and subservience, an invisible shackle that Matti had learned to wear without complaint.

The master of the house, and therefore under the laws of the new society Matti's owner, Commander Roark, a man of imposing stature with a stern face etched by years of authority, sat at the head of the table. His Wife, Evelyn, delicate and cold, sat opposite him, her presence a reminder of unyielding expectations.

"Good morning, Commander. Good morning, Ma'am," Matti said softly, placing the tray on the table with practiced precision.

The Commander grunted in acknowledgment, eyes not leaving the morning paper. Evelyn, however, scrutinised Matti's every movement.

"You're late," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Matti flinched imperceptibly. "I apologise, Ma'am. It won't happen again."

"It had better not," she replied, her gaze cold and unyielding. "I won't tolerate incompetence."

Matti bowed his head, feeling the weight of her disdain. He quickly set the table, making sure everything was perfect. The Commander's coffee was poured just the way he liked it, strong and black, while Evelyn's tea steeped to the precise shade of golden brown.

As Matti turned to leave, Commander Roark finally looked up. "Wait," he commanded.

Matti froze, heart pounding. "Yes, Commander?"

"Remember, the garden needs tending today. The roses are beginning to wilt," Roark said, his voice heavy with implied threat.

"Yes, Commander. I'll take care of it immediately," Matti replied, nodding.

"You'd better," Evelyn added, her eyes narrowing. "We wouldn't want our home to look unkempt, now, would we?"

Matti nodded once more and retreated quickly, the tension following him like a shadow. The unspoken understanding was clear: failure was not an option.

The afternoon sun beat down on Matti as he worked in the garden, sweat trickling down his forehead, several hours now spent at labour in the early summer heat. He carefully pruned the rose bushes, making sure each cut was precise. The garden was Evelyn's pride and joy, and he had learned in the few days since his arrival that any mistake here could cost him dearly.

Evelyn approached silently; her footsteps masked by the soft grass. She stood behind Matti, watching him with a critical eye.

"Those roses were a gift from the Commander," she said, her voice soft but laced with menace. "I hope you understand their importance."

Matti straightened up, turning to face her. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm being very careful."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "Careful isn't enough. They must be perfect."

Matti swallowed hard. "I understand, Ma'am. I'll make sure they're perfect."

Evelyn stepped closer, her gaze piercing. "See that you do. Or I'll ensure the Commander knows just how careless you can be."

Matti nodded, lowering his eyes. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you for reminding me."

Evelyn turned and walked away, leaving Matti with a sense of impending doom. He returned to his work, hands trembling slightly. In this world, even the smallest misstep could lead to severe consequences, and Matti knew he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. The garden, outwardly a place of beauty and tranquillity, had become another battleground where his survival depended on unwavering diligence and constant vigilance.

"Oh, and one more thing" his Mistress called out over her shoulder, almost as if an afterthought. "We will be performing the ceremony tonight".

The sky was tinged with the colours of dusk when Matti knocked softly on the study door. He waited for the gruff acknowledgment from within before entering.

Commander Roark sat behind his mahogany desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Papers were strewn across the surface, plans and strategies for maintaining control over their society.

"Come in, boy," the Commander ordered without looking up.

Matti stepped forward, the familiar fear gripping his chest. "You requested me, Commander?"

Roark took a slow sip of his whiskey, finally raising his eyes to meet Matti's, leaning back in his chair. "The Mistress of the House mentioned you were inattentive this morning. Explain yourself."

Matti's heart sank. "I was... I was delayed in the kitchen, Commander. I assure you it won't happen again."

"It had better not," Roark said, his tone dangerous. "Disrespect to my Wife is disrespect to me. Remember your place."

Matti nodded vigorously. "Yes, Commander. I understand."

Roark gazed deep into Matti's eyes now, the hint of a smirk crossing the dangerous features.

"Your Mistress informed you we will be performing the ceremony tonight? Your first time, I'm certain it will be memorable."

A deep blush coloured Matti's face as he tensed, his voice not much more than a whisper, "Yes, Commander."

"Good. Now get out of my sight."

Matti bowed and exited the study, closing the door quietly behind him. He could feel the weight of the Commander's words pressing down on him, an ever-present reminder of his station in life.

Matti's small, bare bedroom was a stark contrast to the opulence of the rest of the house. The walls were unadorned, the furniture minimal—a single bed, a small dresser, and a simple chair. The only light came from a small lamp on the bedside table, casting a dim glow that barely illuminated the room. He sat on the edge of his bed, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and resignation. The air felt thick, suffused with the weight of the inevitable.

A soft knock on the door shattered the heavy silence. Before Matti could respond, the door creaked open and the maid, Clara, stepped inside. She was a woman in her mid-thirties, her face set in a mask of professional detachment. Her uniform was crisp and immaculate, a stark reminder of the rigid hierarchy within the household.

"It's time," she said simply, her voice devoid of emotion.

Matti nodded; his throat too tight to speak. He rose from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. Clara stepped aside, allowing him to pass through the door before following closely behind him. The corridor outside his room was dimly lit, the soft carpeting muffling their footsteps as they made their way towards the larger, more opulent part of the house.

They reached a small antechamber adjacent to the Commander and Wife's bedroom. It was here that the final preparations were made. Clara motioned for Matti to stand under the brighter light in the centre of the room, her expression still unreadable. "Lift your tunic above your waist, and stand still," she instructed, and he complied, his body tense with anticipation.

Clara circled him slowly, her eyes scrutinizing every inch of his body. She knelt to inspect him more closely, her hands moving with practiced precision as she checked that he was shaved smooth around his genitals and between his buttocks. She ran her fingers over his skin, ensuring there was not a single hair to be found. The process was methodical and impersonal, each touch a reminder of the control exerted by others over his body.

When she finished her inspection, Clara retrieved a bottle of lubricant from a nearby cabinet. Without a word, she applied the lubricant to her fingers, then delved between his buttocks to do the same to Matti's virginal opening.

"Part your feet a little and lean forward."

He gasped as a lubed digit pressed inside of him, quickly followed by a second. Her movements were efficient and clinical, ensuring he was thoroughly prepared for what was to come.

"You're ready," Clara said, her tone flat and unemotional, no trace of the pity she felt for the boy inwardly.

She led him to the doorway of the Commander and Mrs Roark's bedroom, the grandeur of the room a stark contrast to his own austere quarters. The bed, large and imposing, dominated the space. The dim lighting created an atmosphere of cold detachment, the oversized furnishings casting long, eerie shadows on the walls.

"Kneel here, eyes down, and wait," Clara instructed, positioning him just inside the doorway.

Matti knelt, his heart racing, his eyes fixed on the floor. The door opened and he could hear the faint sounds of movement from within the bedroom, the soft rustling of fabric, the creak of the bed. The anticipation was almost unbearable, each second stretching into an eternity.

He remained there, knees pressed into the plush carpet, his body tense and trembling. The ceremony was about to begin, and he was once again a silent participant in the dark, oppressive ritual that would come to define his existence in this household.

The bed, the central piece of the ceremony, loomed large and foreboding out of the corner of Matti's eye. It was dressed in stark white linens, a cruel irony given the ritual's dark nature.

The Commander stood by the door, his authoritative presence filling the room. He was a man of middle age, his face chiselled with the harsh lines of power and control. His uniform, pristine and sharp, was a testament to the military regime he served. The Wife, a picture of regal composure, stood beside him. Her eyes, devoid of warmth, betrayed a deep-seated resentment that simmered beneath her calm exterior. She wore a long, modest dress that spoke of propriety and tradition, yet her role in what was to come revealed a twisted deviation from those very values.

In stark contrast, the houseboy Matti knelt, his posture one of submissive obedience. He was young, barely an adult, with a lithe, almost delicate frame. His head was bowed, eyes fixed on the floor as if seeking solace in its unyielding surface. Clad in a simple, plain, white cotton tunic, he was the embodiment of servitude, a living testament to the loss of personal freedom.

Evelyn moved first, her steps measured and deliberate. Slipping off her shoes, she took her place on the bed, reclining against the pillows, hitching her dress up above her knees, her legs parting almost teasingly as she settled into position. Her eyes never left Matti as she gestured for him to join her. He obeyed silently, blushing as he slipped the tunic from his shoulders and hung it carefully, crawling onto the bed with the grace of a well-trained pet. As he lay back, his head in her lap, his body trembled with a mixture of fear and resignation, the bed's chill seeping into his skin. Although this was his first posting, and Matti had not yet been made to submit to the ceremony, he knew what was to come, the primary purpose in this new world of young males like him, and women who lacked the good fortune to be either fertile or unattractive.

Evelyn reached out, her hands surprisingly gentle as they guided him into position. He lay on his back, naked, legs parted, the vulnerability of his stance starkly evident. She cradled his head in her lap, her fingers threading through his hair in a mockery of tenderness. Her touch was clinical, detached, a stark contrast to the intimacy of their positions.

The Commander watched, his eyes dark and unreadable. Having removed his jacket, he moved to the foot of the bed, his hands already working at the fastenings of his trousers. The sound of the zipper slicing through the silence was sharp, almost jarring. He approached the bed, his movements purposeful, and positioned himself between the houseboy's legs.

"Lift your knees," Roark barked, his voice gruff, eyeing Matti with undisguised interest as he finished unbuttoning and lowered his trousers, already erect, hand smearing a sheen of baby oil on to his engorged member.

Evelyn's hold tightened, her fingers digging into the boy's scalp as she held him steady. The Commander's hands gripped the houseboy's hips, his touch rough and possessive. Matti was suddenly aware of how exposed, vulnerable he was, his tiny opening, the commander looked so large, surely he wouldn't fit, panic forgetting his training, tensing instead as he felt the older man press his lubricated tip against his opening.

"Relax your hole," the older man growled, not waiting to see if his command would be obeyed as without further preamble, he entered Matti, the suddenness of the act eliciting an intake of breath from the houseboy and a sharp cry. Discomfort etched across his face, but he made no further sound save a soft whimper, the years of conditioning and training for this moment suppressing any outward sign of distress.

The Commander's thrusts were rhythmic, mechanical, each movement a reminder of the power he wielded. The Wife's eyes remained fixed on the boy's face, her expression one of cold calculation. She whispered soft, soothing words of praise, a grotesque parody of comfort, as Commander Roark continued his assault. Her fingers stroked his cheek, her touch a stark contrast to the brutality he endured.

The room filled with the sounds of their union: the Commander's laboured breathing, the creak of the bed, the soft, gasping whimpers that Matti could no longer suppress. Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity of torment and submission.

"Get used to this boy, this is your only purpose now."

Behind him, Matti was vaguely aware of Evelyn's breathing becoming faster, more shallow, her grip tighter.

"Harder, deeper" the Wife said, her voice a mix of excitement and cruelty. Matti knew in that instant he would get no sympathy from her; she resented the lust her husband had for him.

When it was over, the Commander withdrew, his movements brisk and detached. He pulled up and adjusted his trousers, his demeanour unchanged, as if the ritual had been no more than a necessary duty. The Wife released the houseboy, her touch lingering for a moment longer before she too withdrew, her role in the ceremony complete.

Matti lay still, his body a canvas of submission and degradation. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind retreating into itself as he sought refuge from the reality of his existence. The Commander and the Wife left the room, their departure as silent as their entrance leaving Matti alone, naked and splayed on the crisp white linen, any sense of shame long since gone, an aching from between his buttocks. Tentatively, gingerly he reached down to his opening, his finger coming away sticky as his master's seed began to seep from the swollen entrance.

In the stillness that followed, the houseboy remained, a silent witness to the horrors of a world where power and submission intertwined in the most perverse of ceremonies.

Matti wasn't called the next night, but he was for two nights running thereafter, then once every two or three days. Every time the same, the brusque manner of both the Commander and his wife. Her silently resentful, he driven by pure lust.

----

Life settled into a rhythm after that, designed to oppress and crush any remaining independent spirit Matti may have possessed. Little changed, until one day Evelyn travelled out of town to visit her sister for a month. The Ceremony was expressly forbidden to occur without the presence of both Wife and Commander, and so Matti enjoyed for the first time in a long time unbroken, restful sleep, worn out from his labours but untroubled by the cruelties and lusts of his Master.

One evening, as the autumnal nights were beginning to shorten the days, when Evelyn had been gone for just over a week, Clara disturbed Matti at work to inform him he was required by Commander Roark in his study. The Commander's office was an imposing space, filled with dark wood and heavy furnishings that spoke of authority and power. The room was lit by a single desk lamp, casting a pool of light over the polished mahogany desk at its centre. The air was thick with the scent of leather and paper, a stark contrast to the sterile cleanliness of the rest of the house.

Matti stood just inside the door, his head bowed, and his hands clasped in front of him. He knew better than to speak or even to raise his eyes without permission. The silence was heavy, charged with unspoken commands and the weight of expectation.

The Commander, seated behind his desk, looked up from the papers he was reviewing. His eyes lingered on Matti, a slow, assessing gaze that sent a shiver down the boy's spine. The Commander's expression was unreadable, a mask of calm authority that betrayed nothing of his intentions.

"Come here," he said, his voice low and commanding.

Matti obeyed immediately, crossing the room with careful, measured steps. He stopped a few feet from the desk, his head still bowed, waiting for the next instruction.

"Remove your clothes," the Commander ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

With trembling hands, Matti did as he was told. He stripped off his shirt and trousers. His underwear followed, and he stood naked and vulnerable in the pool of light, the cool air raising goosebumps on his skin.

The Commander rose from his chair, moving around the desk to stand in front of Matti. The older man reached out, cupping Matti between his legs, firmly, not enough to elicit pain, but causing Matti to freeze in shock. His gaze boring into Matti's, Roark caressed the boy's soft, hairless sac. He teased further back, a finger grazing Matti's opening, causing the younger male to gasp.

Wordlessly, he placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, guiding him towards the desk. Matti complied without resistance, knowing the futility of any objection, unsure of what was transpiring. The Commander's grip was firm but not painful, a reminder of the power dynamics at play.

"Lie back on the desk," the Commander instructed, "with your backside at the edge."

Matti's mouth dropped open, his voice low. "It's forbidden."

"Nothing is forbidden to me."

Matti climbed nervously onto the desk, the cool wood pressing against his bare skin. He lay back, his legs dangling off the edge, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He could feel the Commander's gaze roaming over his body, the intensity of it making him shiver.

The Commander positioned himself between Matti's legs, his hands spreading them wide. He leaned over the boy, his breath warm against Matti's skin. With a practiced ease, he undid his trousers, freeing his erection. He spat into his hand and ran a fist up and down his length briefly, but did not bother with any further preparation; the ritual was familiar, and any discomfort Matti felt was of no consequence.

As the Commander pressed against Matti's entrance, he spoke, his voice a low, possessive growl. "Good girl," he murmured, his words dripping with twisted endearment. "You're such a good girl for me."

Matti's breath hitched at the words, a mix of humiliation and unwanted arousal coursing through him. The Commander pushed forward, entering him with a single, brutal thrust. Matti's back arched off the desk, a gasp escaping his lips as pain and pleasure intertwined.

"That's it," the Commander continued, his tone patronizing and cruel. "Take it like a good girl. Your pussy feels so tight around me."

The use of feminine terminology only heightened Matti's sense of degradation. Matti was a submissive, inherently and not just by circumstance, but he'd never felt anything less than masculine. He bit his lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape, his body trembling with the effort. The Commander's thrusts were slower, deeper than before during the Ceremonies, each one sending jolts of sensation through Matti's body.