G-String Butlers, Inc. Ch. 01

I had lost my previous job, and my new job paid about half what I'd been earning. That's not what makes this story unique. I'm just one of a few million Americans who are in the same boat. What makes this story somewhat unique is what I ended up doing about it.

It all started as I was sitting in front of my computer looking for a part-time job to supplement my meager income. I had hit a few job sites and was working on a list of places where I might apply. Then, as I so often do when I'm practicing avoidance, I began surfing the porn sites and thinking about what story I would write next for the Literotica website.

It may have been a confluence of ideas, a moment of serendipity, or a touch of insanity. Whatever it was that caused me to do it, I soon had a pile of brand new business cards that I had made. They read:

G-STRING BUTLERS, INC.

Ready to Serve Your Every Need

Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx after 5pm
Email: wannabyour@xxx.com

It had been one of my recurring fantasies – being someone's servant. Instead of writing about it, I decided, why not try to make it come true?

Over the next two weeks, I started handing out business cards. I thought of it as my marketing strategy. Every evening after I got off work, I would go to a different bar. I would strike up a conversation with someone. Then, by way of introducing myself, I would hand them a business card.

The business cards proved to be great icebreakers. Frequently, I'd get a laugh. Then the person would ask about the business. I would tell them that I was the owner; that I had three employees. Then I would make up stories about some of the jobs we had done. The stories would be outrageous of course, and they would elicit all sorts of reactions. But I invariably would have the listener's undivided attention.

What started out as a difficult marketing plan, (I'm not a natural when it comes to small talk) soon became great fun. I would find myself dreaming up all sorts of stories about the services G-String had provided, and then I would embellish the tales based on what I guessed the listener's interests might be. I would also find a way to include two facts about my business: first, that there was almost no type of service my company wouldn't provide, and second, that we were trustworthy servants and never revealed the names of our clients.

I was having a good time handing out these cards, but truthfully I never really expected to get any business. If I had been marketing a topless female cleaning service, it might have been one thing. But who's going to trust a man who wears g-strings?

Then, one day, I arrived home to find an email waiting for me:

Daniel,

I'm having a get-together later this week and may have need of your services. If you are available, could you stop by this Thursday about 7pm? We can make arrangements at that time.

Directions to my home are attached.

Sincerely,

Elizabeth Greenberg

I remembered having met Elizabeth at a very upscale cocktail bar. She was a slim and attractive woman, probably in her early 50's, and had seemed very reserved when I spoke to her about my business. I wasted no time emailing her back.

Ms Greenberg,

Thank you for thinking of me. I'd be delighted to meet with you on Thursday evening. I will be there promptly at 7.

Sincerely,

Daniel Hockaday

I arrived at Ms Greenberg's home precisely at 7 and she answered the door in a loose fitting, gray pantsuit. "Daniel. Come in," She said, leading me through an expansive, granite-tiled hallway into her living room. It was a large room, tastefully decorated in hues of green and brown. The periphery was dotted with a number of antiques and expensive looking works of art, and the floor was covered with a beige pile carpet that felt comfortably soft and thick. A fireplace dominated one end of the room, fronted by a grouping of sofas and chairs. Seated on one of the sofas was a well-dressed woman of about my own age.

"This is Mrs. Aldridge," Ms Greenberg said. The woman held my outstretched hand without getting up and looked into my eyes with an inquisitive gaze.

"Mr. Hockaday. Mrs. Greenberg has told me about you. Tell me about this business of yours," she said, releasing my hand.

"There's not much to tell, really," I said. "I do as my client wishes. I try to anticipate their needs. My job is to serve their needs and to make them feel as relaxed and comfortable as possible."

"And tell me about your uniform. You call your business G-String Butlers?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am. I'd be happy to show you if you like."

"You brought your uniform with you? Very well. There's a bathroom just down the hall," she said, pointing the way.

As I made my way to the bathroom, I couldn't help but think how quickly the roles in this household had been defined. These women were above me, and I was to be treated as their servant. That was all there was to it.

I stepped into the bathroom and my heart seemed to be racing. I couldn't quite believe what I was doing. I began removing the three-piece suit I was wearing, leaving on only my g-string and socks. Then I put back on the suit vest and my shoes, took a deep breath, and returned to the living room.

The conversation stopped as I entered the room. Mrs. Aldridge and Mrs. Greenberg looked at me appraisingly.

"Very nice," Mrs. Aldridge finally said. "Would you be so good as to refill my glass, Daniel?" She asked me this in spite of the fact that both the wine bottle and the glass stood on the table right in front of her.

"Yes ma'am," I said like a proper servant. I walked over and filled her glass to just the right height, giving the bottle a twist as I finished pouring to insure that it wouldn't drip.

"Would you care for some more, ma'am?" I asked Mrs. Greenberg.

"No thank you, Daniel."

"Do you do anything your clients tell you to do?" Mrs. Aldridge asked.

"Yes ma'am."

"If I were to tell you to lay down on the floor so I could piss in your face, would you do it?"

It was said to shock me, but I gave no sign that it was anything but a normal question.

"Yes ma'am," I said.

"Well Elizabeth?" Mrs. Aldridge said, looking inquiringly at Mrs. Greenberg.

"I think he'll do very nicely," Mrs. Greenberg replied, looking me up and down.

"Come here, Daniel," Mrs. Aldridge said. "Turn around," she ordered when I was standing in front of her.

I did as she asked, and felt her hands moving lightly over my ass cheeks.

"Turn and face me," she said

I did, and she pulled down the front of my g-string exposing my now growing cock and balls.

"Yes, he'll do very nicely indeed," she said, stroking my cock gently until it stood straight up. She then pulled my g-string back up leaving my cock sticking out of the top. "You may get dressed," she said, releasing me.

When I returned to the living room, it was Mrs. Greenberg who spoke. "I believe our business here is concluded," she said. "You can start at noon on Saturday. Our bridge club meets at one. You will be paid fifty dollars an hour, and I will include the time you've spent here today."

I expressed my thanks and said a deferential goodbye to each of the women. Then I was led to the door.

"Holy shit!" I said under my breath once I was outside. I had been standing naked before two women, and had virtually agreed to be their slave! "Holy shit!" I repeated as I started my car. Already I was thinking about what might happen on Saturday. As for the money they'd be paying me – well, that just seemed incidental.