"You will call him Sir," the woman said; for herself she offered no title. She was the big, brassy type that dominated through confrontation, versus Sir's silent strength that required your immediate compliance. "You will bring what I tell you, when I tell you, and ensure that no one interrupts us," she added with a snap of her menu.

The woman placed the order for the entire meal, including dessert, and gave me a multitude of instructions on how each portion should be prepared, and when it should be presented. I was used to our client's eccentric demands, but I had never been addressed in such a condescending tone; I burned to tell her how she should fuck herself, and how often it should be done, but bit my tongue and grimaced acquiescence.

The restaurant buzzed with comments about Sir's presence, but no one dared approach the table—any one so much as looking in their direction was cut down by her razor-edged glare. She'd poised herself on the aisle like a wall, while the gentleman she doggedly protected remained in the shadows of the deep booth, his silver hair a shining swirl of reflected light.

The pair ate in determined silence, moving from appetizers to dessert without another comment. The woman paid the tab in large bills, left a generous tip, then escorted Sir to the door like a football tackle, knocking people out of the way.

They returned every night for three months, and she gave me the same warnings, ordered the exact same meal, and always ate in silence. The nights I was off they left without a word. Javier, my manger, tried to coerce me into working a seven-day shift, because when Sir walked out many people followed his non-verbal rejection. I gave Javier a rejection of my own.

One night after settling the bill, Sir stopped me with a wave of his hand. I stood at attention, ready for his command, but he shook his head, no. He leaned forward and stared at me with such intensity that the restaurant disappeared and only we two remained. His steel-blue eyes measured my dimensions beyond the physical, evaluating me like an adversary. I rose up to meet his inspection, and his thin lips curled into a smile.

He broke eye contact and tapped his female companion with his long fingers; she produced a stark-white business card and ordered me to arrive at the inscribed address immediately following my shift. Sir nodded in a way that I understood it would be to our mutual benefit if I did not delay. Then the two of them exited the restaurant, the woman brushing people out of their path with her impressive figure.

I held the card in my trembling hand and memorized the address before slipping it into my pocket. After work I'd be tired and ripe with sweat, but I did not want to risk being late by going home to shower and change. Instead I washed up in Javier's private bathroom, much to his annoyance, then jumped into my street clothes and caught a cab uptown.

The doorman of Sir's elegant building greeted me by name as if he'd known me for years, even went so far as to address me as mister when he called upstairs to announce me. He directed me to a wood-paneled elevator the size of my apartment, and pressed the PH button before the doors sealed me in.

The elevator opened into a modernist foyer where the big woman waited impatiently. She grabbed my arm and hauled me through the apartment, speaking so quickly that I could only catch the rhythm of her voice, rather than the actual words. The buxom redhead deposited me in a dimly lit library and told me to stand in front of the leather chair in the center of the room, "And don't move a muscle," she commanded with a challenging smirk. She turned and left abruptly.

I stood as directed for no other reason then to show that bitch that I could stand still until the walls crumbled around me just to wipe that smirk off her plump face. After five minutes I was less sure of myself, and after fifteen I got the feeling that they were playing a trick on me. I was about to walk out when I noticed Sir's silver head emerging from a dark corner; he must have been watching me the entire time without my ever being aware of him, and the thought chilled and excited me.

He approached me leisurely, studying me like a sculpture—but rather than insulted by his objectification, I felt truly admired. He sat in the leather chair and looked not at me, nor through me, but somehow beyond me into the future.

Sir's suit was perfect in its liquid-night color, and it contoured itself so perfectly to his body that he all but disappeared into the dark chair, leaving his head and hands to float against the backdrop of his clothing. I stood rigidly, an itch running across my skin to move, to jump, to scream, but I held it together under his distracted scrutiny.

Without saying a word he allowed me to release the posture, and I exhaled and relaxed. With a nod and a wave of his hand he instructed me to disrobe, and I undressed awkwardly. I was not ashamed of baring my body to him, but I was uncertain how the situation was developing; if it had been exclusively sexual, I would have felt in control, but my nudity exposed my need of him. My breath quickened as I stepped out of my shorts and stood before the immaculately dressed gentleman, a naïve Adam to his Lord.

Sir rose from his chair and approached me with a quiet contemplation. He brushed my skin with his long fingers, warming me to his touch, then placed his strong hands on my body and guided me through a series of postures; first on toe like a ballerina, slowly down onto my hands and knees, then prostrate on the carpet. He rolled me over onto my back, and I looked up between the towers of his legs into his attentive eyes. He nodded down at me, a wicked grin visiting his face, then snapped his fingers and disappeared from the room as if he'd never been in it.

I kept my position until I heard footsteps return. It was the big woman. Her words rushed out like frenzied dogs, and they jumped upon each other until the whole of her speech was a cacophony of sound. She ordered me to get dressed, which I did slowly, half-expecting Sir to emerge from the shadows and call me back. She rushed me out of the room, pushed a card into my sweaty palm and told me to arrive a noon tomorrow. Then she shoved me into the elevator.

My head rumbled with her chatter, but my body echoed his touch; I felt his fingers molding my flesh, sculpting the raw materials of my limbs into more than what they'd found. I was too distracted to sleep and spent the early morning hours in the gym, toning up for my next appointment. I fantasized about our pas de duex, of Sir's powerful hands arranging me like his naked doll, and had to force down the erection that pulled out in front of my shorts before finishing my set. My own hands felt alien, juvenile in their clumsiness; I craved his experienced touch.

I arrived more than two hours early and paced the small park that huddled beneath the monolithic stone structure. I kept my eyes on the sturdy doors and watched a variety of men arrive and disappear inside; I was uncertain of their purpose, or what lie inside, but forced myself to wait until noon exactly before approaching the doors. A statuesque man admitted me to the dark within, and I entered an immense room which was medieval in its sparse appointments. I wandered into the center of the great hall and stared into the shadowed upper reaches, awed like a tourist.

The woman appeared and ushered me into an antechamber where a dozen naked men stood silently. She stood over me like a vengeful Olympian until I shed my clothes, then shoved them into a bag pre-labeled with my name and tossed it into the corner with the others.

The twelve other men ranged in age and race, but each had a distinctive beauty. They all stood perfectly still, so silent that you could barely hear them breathing. They didn't joke around in their discomfort of non-sexual nudity, like at the gym, nor did they check each other out, but stood at attention with the bemused expression of the recently converted.

The woman clapped her huge hands together and demanded our attention. "Some of you are new here, and may be unprepared for tonight's event." Some of the men laughed, but were immediately silenced by her glare. "You will do what is expected of you, no questions. Sir expects your compliance or he never would have chosen you."

Thirteen older men entered the room and paired off with each one of us. They wore white smocks like barbers, and that appeared to be their employment for they proceeded to shave us, removing not only hair from our bodies, balls and ass, but also eyebrows, beards and even the hair on our heads. I pushed my barber away when he tried scalp me with a pair of clippers, and I was rapped in the side of the head with his bony knuckles in reply.

Denuded, we were showered and massaged with fragrant oils until our skin took on the reflective surface of marble. We were lined up for inspection, and Sir and his female counterpart nodded at each of us in turn, approving the transformation that had been wrought upon us.

They marched us out into the great hall, where pedestals had been set up in a large semi-circle, with one knee-height platform at the center. Sir selected each man in turn and positioned him on a pedestal, molding the man's body until he found it acceptable. The poses were classic porn, but the men's hairlessness gave them an innocent, almost eerie quality. I fought a mixture of arousal and discomfort as I watched Sir recreate the twelve men as flesh statues.

He saved me for last, perhaps because I was his most recent acquisition, and brought me to the low pedestal at the center. I knelt upon it, at his silent request, and then bent over on all fours. Sir spread my legs and raised my chin so that I looked straight out where I could see the other men frozen into position. Then his forming hands were gone, and the darkness of the hall seemed to double with his absence.

Behind me the doors exploded inward, admitting a tide of hilarity and guests, catcalls and gossip, drinks and half-dressed waiters hoisting trays of hors d'oeuvres. Guests approached me with nervous laughter, but they moved closer, intrigued, until their fingers found my flesh. A fat man with a fatter cigar stroked my neck like a cat, while an older woman pinched my ass like a melon. Someone behind me ran their hands over the shaved contours of my ass and balls, then slipped a finger lubed with my body oil into me.

I knew I could not move, though it was nearly impossible with their frantic caresses. True to my experience with Sir, I held my position as if set in stone. Unseen hands toyed with my cock, ass, nipples and toes, but I refused to give in to their distractions; I knew that Sir watched me, and I would not disappoint him.

The crowd swirled in smoke and drinks and new faces and hands emerged from the dark to poke and prod and massage my body. Tongues lapped at the scented oil of my skin, fingertips darted into crevices, tickled down to hairless places, until my body was charged with their energy and hummed like an engine.

The party reached a crescendo, and then a sudden hush eclipsed the noise; everyone turned to look up into the massive dark. I could just make out the silver halo of Sir in his midnight suit and he hovered over the crowd on a catwalk, like he was floating on air.

Sir nodded down at each of one of the men, deflecting the crowd's attention back to the floor. He opened his mouth and in a warm, reedy voice announced, "Ladies and Gentleman," and paused in a silence that rang with expectation, "I give you the 'Last Supper'." With his pronouncement a stroke of light as soft as a painter's brush fell on each of the male statues, including a golden light that blinded me to Sir's presence.

The crowd erupted in a riot of applause; it went on forever, each wave drowning out the previous, until the party exhausted itself in earnest appreciation. The mob calmed itself by this chaos, and gradually broke down into smaller groups and flowed out through the huge doors until no one, save the naked men, remained.

None of us moved until Sir himself led us down from our pedestals. My body shook once the pose was released, but it throbbed with the multitude of hands that had touched me. We all wobbled back to the antechamber where we'd lost our hair, and the big woman lined us up, military style, each man an arm's length from his neighbor.

She pronounced the event a success, all of Sir's doing, and babbled like a child about the achievement, the party, and the future write-ups, with no mention of us at all. He added nothing, only stood next to her, as still as a statue himself. Once she had exhausted her adulations, Sir held up his hand and called for silence.

We stood before him, naked canvases anticipating his artistic touch. He looked at each of us in turn, carefully evaluating each man, then pulled me to the side. Sir and I watched the other men dress and the then he motioned for me to follow him.

We climbed the stairs into the dark sky of the great hall, and stepped out onto a floor that appeared to levitate us, as it was made of some type of Plexiglas. I watched the men depart, and has happy to see the big woman leave with them. Then the lights went out beneath our feet, one by one, like a village going to sleep.

Sir's valet emerged to disrobe him, revealing his lithe, silvered body, which was as hairless as he had made mine. He embraced me, holding me so tightly against his body that it felt like he was absorbing my flesh into his own. My cock swelled against him, but he pulled away with a soft kiss on my neck.

He crossed the room to a large bed, and motioned towards the human-sized case at its foot. The interior of the case was the cushioned outline of a man, like the dough left over from the cookie-cutter, and Sir smoothed me into it like a precious vase. The cushions supported me from all sides, and though I was standing, I was buoyed in their comfort. He kissed my cheek and then climbed into bed where he stared at me, his recent acquisition, until his eyes began to close. I drifted off with dreams of Sir's hands upon me, shaping me into a more artistic form, for his next exhibition.

 

©2003 Sean Meriwether - Contributor's Bio