John Bull by Purplebootsgywr (mm mc)

John Bull (mm mc)

by Purplebootsgywr

A special commissioned story for a GCMCS Group member

Part One

"I feel really, really stupid."

Nigel walked up to his new manservant/houseboy with a stern look on his face. "What are we forgetting?"

The houseboy's eyes went up to the ceiling as he searched his thoughts to find what he had neglected. A second or two later, he squinted his eyes in realization, and hurriedly spat out, "Oh! Right, right! 'Sir', I forgot the 'sir', didn't I?" Straightening his back and shoulders, he tried again. "I feel really stupid like this, sir." His eyebrows raised and eyes widened slightly in a questioning look at his new master. That better?

Nigel strode up to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Try, "Sir, with respect, might my attire be a bit fanciful, sir?"

The boy looked at Nigel with a you've-got-to-be-kidding expression, but Nigel nodded, indicating that he should proceed. Clearing his throat, he repeated, "Sir, with respect, might my attire be a bit fanciful, sir?"

"That sounds better", Nigel said, taking a step away from his boy and looking him over. "And to answer your question, your livery may seem a bit overstated in the beginning, but you'll get used to it." Describing John's new attire as overstated was understating it, to be sure. John was dressed in an old-fashioned British ensemble, complete with dark waistcoat and tails, snug buttoned vest with multiple shining metal buttons, and a crisp white dress shirt and large bow tie. Below the vest he had on extremely tight white pants tucked into tall black riding boots with fold-over top cuffs. Atop John's head was a black top hat which still held the scent of newness from the milliner's. Nigel added, "This is a proper household and in order for your experience here to be what your father intended, you will be required to dress accordingly, John Bull."

"You gonna call me by my full name all the time?"

Nigel shot him a look. John straightened himself again, looking forward with impassive face and focused eyes. "Sir, begging your pardon, will you be addressing me by my full name from now on, sir?" John was a quick study. Nigel nodded approvingly.

"Yes, John Bull, it adds to the air of formality and reinforces your new station. Besides, we have another John on staff at the stables and it helps to identify each of you specifically." Nigel stared at John, obviously wanted something from him, but leaving poor John uncertain of exactly what. But Nigel was done prompting. He wanted John to be on his guard from here on and conduct himself as such.

John stared. Then, groping for something to say, tried, "Um...okay? Uh, sir?" Nigel cleared his throat menacingly. John stood once again at attention, his mind racing for the proper response, and thought of his own former household. Quickly, he said, "Very good, sir!", with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm.

Nigel let it pass. "Well done, John Bull. We'll make a proper servant of you, yet."

Being a proper servant was not exactly on the top of John Bull's 'to do' list, but it was something he was forced to endure nonetheless. Two days ago, he was lounging by the poolside of one of his family's summer homes, and today he was forcibly clad in a hot costume and made to bow and scrape before people who were, for all intents and purposes, his peers, if not always, as John tended to think, his equals.

John Bull was a strapping lad of 24. He had completed his studies at college, which took longer than the norm, due to John's tendency to wander from major to major, and how easily he was distracted from his class work. John was being groomed to take his place in the family's long-standing firm, something for which he had less than no interest. And now he was being subjected to the ritual humiliation that both of his older brothers had endured, and his father before them. It was something that John's father swore by as a means of understanding class, societal position, and gaining a respectful dose of humility.

Both of John's brothers Ian and Liam had endured two summer's worth of the torture, dutiful sons that they were. John had dodged the task skillfully by traveling during the summer breaks in college terms under the pretense of advancing his studies. So he hopped from Italy to France to Spain as his interests flitted from Renaissance art history to culinary arts to matador training. But the stalling was over, and it was time for John to suck it up and join the ranks of the underprivileged.

His father's demands were simple. Spend at least one full summer in the role of servant. After years and years of being waited on in his own and others' homes, John was to lower himself to the station of serving class and all that it entails. Last week, John was the wealthy young man about town in the latest Armani fashions. Today, he'd have to help his master dress himself if he was told to. What fun.

And John was more than a little uncomfortable with his new master, anyway. Nigel was certainly no older than John, though he carried himself with greater maturity and presence. John had expected to be cow-towing to an aged crone in his late 60s or 70s, not humbling himself before somebody his own age. It made him even more uncomfortable than his ridiculous servant's costume.

"You're not very good at this, are you, John Bull?", Nigel asked, as if reading John's thought.

John swallowed, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. "With respect, sir, no I dare say I'm not." John mused a moment. 'I dare say.' That was a nice touch.

Nigel picked up on it and smiled. "Well, you seem to be picking things up rather quickly, John Bull." He stepped close to John, who did his best to remain at attention. "I'll let you in on a little secret", Nigel smirked. And in a conspiratorial whisper, added, "You're not the first one to go through this little ritual. I've had to do it, to."

John's composure broke at that. "No shit?!" Nigel tilted his head, frowning. John corrected himself. "Er, Sir, surely you jest, sir." A pause. "Um...do you?"

Nigel grinned despite himself. "My father's idea. He had gotten out of it, himself, but somehow thought that I shouldn't be so lucky. Six months as a personal manservant to one of the most odious old toads you've ever encountered." John bit his lip, holding back a laugh.

"So, John Bull", Nigel went on, "how would you care to join me in a spot of tea before you begin your sentence in your own personal servant's hell? I can even give you a few pointers."

John Bull smiled brightly. "Oh, yes sir! Indubitably, sir!"

Nigel winced. "Don't bury yourself in the part."

John gulped. "Sorry."

In the study, John nervously poured the tea and brought the cup and saucer to his young master. "Er, your tea, sir."

Nigel nodded slowly. "Not bad, not bad, John Bull. Remember to always serve from the right. But don't speak unless while serving food or drink unless you've been addressed directly. The average man can see it's his tea, you don't need to announce it."

John bristled a little at the remark, but kept his mouth shut. After setting a small B&B plate of tea biscuits on the table beside Nigel, he stood by awaiting further instructions. Nigel smelled the aroma of the tea and closed his eyes to savor it. He glanced at the selection of biscuits and took one. gesturing with it, he said, "And now, John Bull, for what will be the last time for a long time, I invite you to join me for tea."

John smiled and helped himself to a cup, taking a seat across from the young master.

"Looking forward to your adventure in forced servitude, John?", Nigel asked.

"Not really." John went to sip his tea, then stopped himself. "Not really, SIR."

Nigel waved his correction away. "This one time, we can be less formal. How's the tea?"

John took a sip and was delighted at the richness of the flavor. It actually made him lightheaded for a moment. This was a blend that even his privileged background had not exposed him to. "It's excellent", he said. "I'm a bit of a tea snob and this really is pretty tasty. Where'd you get it?"

Nigel smiled. "Special blend. I have it imported." He took a sip of the tea himself, again closing his eyes to savor it, letting out a small "ahh" as he finished swallowing. John watched him admiringly. Damn, he must really like his tea. Nigel eyed John for a moment, then said, "You keep yourself in rather decent shape, John. Do you work out?"

John shrugged. "Not all that often. But I swim like a fish and I run a lot. Keeps me trim, I guess."

Nigel smirked, letting slip a tiny chortle of laughter. John wondered what that meant, but let it pass. "We do have exercise facilities and a pool to which you can avail yourself when you're not working", Nigel told him.

"Yeah, I saw the big pool out back and the gymnasium when I got the grand tour", John beamed. "Can't wait to get at those."

Nigel peered over the brim of his teacup and said, "Well, in your new station, you won't be allowed to go near those unless in a serving capacity. You can use the small exercise room in the basement and the indoor pool, however."

John thought for a minute. What indoor pool? "Oh, you mean the one downstairs, with all the columns and statuary? That's an impressive bit of work, too. I'd still enjoy--"

"No", Nigel stopped him. "There's another one down the corridor, to the left. Much smaller. Simple concrete floor. It's about half or a third the size. I forget. You get to use that one."

"Oh. I see. Right." John drank his tea in bigger gulps, if only to keep himself from saying something he'd regret. This felt like being busted to private 4th class after having living life as a brigadier general. One with a stupid costume.

"--general.", Nigel said. John started a bit, having only caught the last bit of what Nigel was saying. What, could he read his mind or something? His puzzled expression prompted Nigel to repeat himself. "How about a few pointers about the job in general, then?", Nigel suggested. John nodded, setting aside his empty cup.

"First of all, when in the presence of your master, stay focused. Be attentive to his needs." He stressed the word focused, clarifying that zoning out as John just had was unacceptable. "And a lot of the times, your master will request or demand things that seem to make no sense whatever. Just do it anyway. It'll all make sense in the long run, and employers aren't used to explaining themselves to the help."

"The help?", John repeated, scrunching his nose.

"That's what you are now, John. Just the help. Get used to it." John didn't think he'd ever get used to it, but he nodded all the same. "Now, your master will most likely--"

John interrupted him. "I'm sorry, but do I have to think of you as my master? It makes me feel like I'm your slave or something."

"To some less educated parties, that's precisely what you are. A very well paid (well, in most cases, not yours), well dressed slave, but a slave nonetheless. You may address me as either "Sir" or "Master Nigel", whichever the situation calls for. All other men are "sirs", the ladies are "my lady", but I and I alone am to be considered your master. You with me so far?" Nigel nodded, more slowly this time, the weight of what he was about to be put through finally settling fully on his shoulders. He'd like nothing more than to just get up and leave right now, but to do so would ensure that his father would cut him off. Permanently. So for the foreseeable future, John was stuck with being an overdressed slaveboy.

Nigel ran the ins and outs of serving by John for well over and hour. John was a servant. Unquestioning, obedient. Nigel was the master, Nigel was the sir. The longer John listened, the more relaxed and accepting he became. There was a warmth building within him, most likely from the cozy room, his heavy attire, definitely compounded by the hot tea, that made him feel a bit more subservient and docile. He was still none too happy with the present state of affairs, but his resistance to the idea was not as aggressive as it was earlier. At least not consciously.

John would have few rights or privileges. He got up and went whenever his master did, was at his beck and call at all hours and for any tasks, regardless how trivial. John recalled his fraternity days when a senior frat brother woke him at 3 o'clock in the morning to walk all the way across campus from the dorms to the frat house to fluff the guy's pillow. Any words of complaint or disrespect brought dire consequences. It was gonna be like that.

But this Nigel guy had been through the same thing as John was going to. His old man sent him into servant land for humility's sake or as a rite of passage or whatever the reasoning was. The more John listened, the more he figured that if anyone would go easy on him and be the most tolerant of his ignorance of a servant's life, it would be Nigel. He was lucky he wound up here.

"That just about covers all I can think to tell you, John", Nigel said. He waved his hands in an upward motion. "On your feet."

Sluggishly, John stood up, his head spinning for a second or two, his brow warm. He must have been sitting to long. He straightened his coat and as Nigel indicated the top hat on a nearby footstool, John picked it up and returned it to his head. "Your life as my servant begins now, John Bull", Nigel announced.

John took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He extended a hand to his new master. "Hey, well, thanks a lot for everything. The run- through, the tea and all, I really apprecia--"

"I do not shake hands with the those beneath me!", Nigel snapped, making John jump. "John Bull, I am quite finished here. Clear away these dishes and report to Mrs. Flemming in the kitchen for your appointed afternoon tasks." He produced a pocket watch from his breast pocket and glanced at it. "It would seem you're already more than 90 minutes late in attending to them. I assure you that will not be tolerated again."

John began to splutter. "What the--? But I was talking to you! You were telling me all about the--!" Nigel halted John's protests with a look that would stop a train. John swallowed hard, holding in his outrage. Then, steadily, with forced evenness, John said, "No sir, Master Nigel. I'll see to it that it won't happen again."

"See to it that it doesn't, John Bull." With that, Nigel waved him away.

John quickly gathered the tea servings and exited toward the kitchen. He gave one last glance at his new master who was now gazing out the window at the far end of the cavernous room. "Yeah, I'll make sure it never happens again, asshole", John muttered under his breath.

From more than thirty feet away, face still to the paneled glass, Nigel responded, "I'm fairly certain we covered that you are only to address me as "sir" or "Master Nigel", John Bull."

Thrown by Nigel's feat of rabbit-like hearing, John could only answer, "Yes, sir! Of course sir, Master Nigel!", as he hurried out the door.

The following week and a half were a living hell for John. He was run ragged with tasks ranging from constant servitude to menial chores. Any traces of the friendly benevolence Nigel demonstrated in the study over tea were long gone. He seemed almost to enjoy--no, not almost, completely enjoy--ordering John around and pushing him to the limits of his patience yet forcing him to maintain an air of courtesy. Through it all, John had to remain pleasant and obedient, even when he wanted to knock Nigel's block off.

John brought Nigel meals, laid out his clothes, shined his shoes, washed his cars (plural), vacuumed the rugs, dusted the furniture (all forty-seven rooms of it), and even stood nearby Nigel's easy chair and pushed the buttons on his TV remote. John was fitted with three different livery uniforms. One was always on his back, the other being cleaned, the last on emergency standby. It was hot, stiff, and he always felt ludicrous wearing it. When sent on errands outside, John had to wear the top hat. This definitely made him an object of ridicule to passersby, particularly since Nigel had a penchant to send John out on tasks that were usually within a five or six block radius, and thus "far too close to bother taking the car".

As bad as the day to day work of servant for Master Nigel was, John found that life amongst his "fellow staff members" even worse. John had hoped to find some degree of companionship and support from the other servants; the maids, the cooks, the grooms. He was wrong. In English society, class is everything, and there is no shortage of snobbery at any level of class. The serving staff looked upon John as an intruder, and a presumptuous one at that. He was merely a phony, a poseur, come to play briefly at being part of a lower class before flying off to live a life of luxury. Few spoke to him at all, and those who did made sneering remarks. After the first week, John gave up on trying to be civil to any of them and did his best to ignore them. It was no easy task.

The head of staff was Mrs. Flemming, who openly despised John Bull from the moment she laid eyes on him. Mrs. Flemming had violently red hair, a head the precise shape of a stewpot and was a big as a walk-in closet. She made it clear that behind the staff doors, she was in charge and would brook no defiance.

"You'll get no preferential treatment around 'ere, John Bull", she seethed.

"I wasn't expecting any", John lied, hoping that was just what he'd get.

"And did I ask you to speak just now?", she squealed. "You'll speak when you're spoken to, and even then it best be the likes of "Yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am", do I make myself clear, you?"

John wanted nothing more than to respond by thwacking the old biddy across her gourd with one or her monstrous sauce pans, but knew that would have to wait until after his inheritance was assured. He forced a smile, bowed his head slightly and said, "Yes, ma'am."

"And wipe that idiot grin off'a ya face, you look like a fool. If ya need an expression, I'll tell you what it should be. Now off with you."

Then again, maybe the iron skillet would be a better choice.

By that day's end, John couldn't decide if he was more exhausted or humiliated. He returned to his cell (it was too small to be called a room or a chamber so he used the monastic term for it) and once there flopped down on the feculent cot he used for a bed. He kicked off his boots and contemplated the walk next door to his changing room, where his uniforms had more plush accommodations than he did. He had time enough for about four hours sleep before he had to rise and anticipate his master's every need upon waking.

There was a knock at John's door, jarring him from his daze. He scrambled like a schoolboy trying to extinguish a pilfered cigarette, yanking back on his boots and smoothing out his jacket. He stood at attention and spoke to the door. "Come in, please."

The door opened slowly to reveal an adorable serving girl of perhaps a year or two John's junior. She had beautiful eyes and carried a tea service for one. "Mister Bull? Might I come in, sir?"

John felt his shoulders relax a bit and let out a sigh of relief it wasn't one of his many taskmasters. "Sure, sure, come on in, if you can find room. And you can just call me John when I'm in here and I'm not kissing ass."

The girl giggled. "Oh, sir. You're funny." Her laugh was adorable as she was.

"I'd offer you a chair, but I don't have any", John said. He sat on the bed and scooted over to the end, patting the mattress for her to join him. She did, her practiced hands still holding the tray perfectly straight and still. "Whatever it is I can do for you, honey, you better make it quick before whoever ordered that tea gets pissed if it takes too long or arrives cold."

"Oh no, sir. I mean, John. The tea's for you."

John's eyes lit up, but he was a bit confused. "For me? Who sent it?"

"Oh, nobody sent me with it, John. Nobody knows I'm 'ere. But earlier today during tea time, I saw you eyeing the teapot and I thought maybe you might like a cup before retiring. You ever had some of the master's special blend?"

"Yeah, once. It's great stuff. Here, let me." John took the tray from the girl and stretched his leg over to the wobbly bedside table dragged it over with his foot. John set the now clattering tray (he was less experienced than the girl to put it mildly) on the table and began to pour. "Man, this is just what I need. Thanks, sweetie." Taking up the cup, John drank it gratefully, feeling the warmth and the fine flavor spill down his throat and seep into his tummy. After closing his eyes and taking in the experience, he poured himself a second cup and sipped it more slowly. Then he noticed the girl sitting and watching him intently. "You only brought one cup. Sure you don't want some?"

She shook her head vigorously. "Oh no, thankyew, I was never much for tea."

"Which one are you again?", John asked.

"Melanie."

John eyed her suspiciously. "I appreciate the tea, Melanie, but what's in it for you? Why are you doing this? Why be nice to me when everyone else seems to want to treat me like a sack of shit?"

She actually blushed at his crass statement. "I don't want nothing, really, sir. I just--it's just that I--"

"Just what?"

She looked at the floor. "It's just that I know what it's like to be the new servant and to be treated as dirt by the rest of the 'ousehold. I've been the new girl for gon' on five year now. So when you showed up, all the 'ostility moved over and settled down on you. First I was 'appy that it was you and not me anymore--" she paused.

"Go on", John urged her.

"--but then I felt maybe I kind of owed you something, for taking my place and making my lot just a teensy bit easier. 'Sides, you're...you're kind of cute." John grinned at that. "Drink up now, sir, I best get all this back afore it's missed." John swigged back the last of his tea and handed the cup to the serving girl. their fingers touched briefly and his eyes met hers with nothing more than genuine gratitude.

"Thanks, kid."

Melanie retrieved the tray and blushed, this time with admiration, and made he way tot he door. Slipping out, she whispered, "See you tomorrow night then, John."

John lay back on his cot, warmed by the tea, feeling a bit lightheaded, but no longer feeling as if he were completely alone in this place.

Melanie's nightly visits became part of John's routine. He was worked hard and treated cruelly each day, but would return to his room to be followed shortly thereafter by Melanie and her magnificent tea. He was dying to do something he liked to do, and was particularly eager to swim again. He was going through what he called an aquatic withdrawal. It was especially difficult earlier that week when he was forced to stand out on the hot deck as Master Nigel lounged in the grand pool. Dressed in full livery, John had to remain on hand with a towel over his arm and iced drinks at the ready, sweating profusely under his heavy jacket as Master Nigel splashed about in the sparkling, crystal-blue pool.

One morning as John made his way down the hall with a tray of sandwiches for his master, he caught his reflection in an ornately-framed mirror. He stopped, caught off-guard by his own reflection. John's complexion was always clear and even, but not anymore. His face seemed to be in a constant state of blush. At first, John didn't even recognize the face as his. His cheeks were so ruddy and nose so pink that he almost looked to be someone else. He passed the reddening complexion off as a result of stress, repressed anger, exhaustion, or a combination of the three. "I have so got to get some workout time in", he said.

The next afternoon, he had his chance. Master Nigel was going into the city, and after seeing him to his car, John stood nearby waiting eagerly for his spoiled rotten controller to drive out of sight.

The car began to pull away and begin it's roll down the expansive circle drive, and John's heart jumped for joy to be rid of the demanding bastard if only for an hour or two. Then the car slowed it's descent down the driveway and stopped. The passenger's window rolled down and Nigel called out. "Oh, John Bull?"

"Ah, shit", thought John. "Now he's got some fucking menial tasks for me to perform until he gets back. Never a moment's peace." He hastened tot he car and answered, "Yes, Master Nigel? What can I do for you, sir?"

"John Bull, I intend to be away from the house until well into the evening. Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off."

John was flabbergasted. It was hard to conceive that a former young man of leisure could be made so happy be the prospect of a few hours of playtime. "Really, sir?"

Nigel stared reproachfully at his servant. "Unless of course you'd prefer I assign you something with which to occupy yourself."

"No, sir! Thank-you, sir! Have a pleasant afternoon, sir!" Before John was even done groveling, Nigel rolled up his window and waved the driver on. The giddy John stood sentinel until they hit the end of the driveway and then bolted into the house. He could swim at last!

John walked the hallway with a spring in his step for the first time since...well, for the first time. His elaborate livery hung up for the day for cleaning, he was dressed only in a loose-fitting gray tanktop, baggy electric blue shorts atop his bikini trunks and flip- flops. With a towel flung jauntily over his shoulder, he made his way toward the servant's gym and pool to get in a much-needed, tension-relieving workout.

He met Mrs. Flemming coming the other way. She was pushing a cart overflowing with silver dishes and candle holders, among other things, all in varying stages of tarnish. Her eyes met John's and lit with an indignant flame.

"What is the meaning of this, John Bull?! You are OUT of uniform! This is wholly inappropriate and highly disrespectful! Disrespectful of your master, disrespectful of this household, and disrespectful of me! I am responsible for your conduct in Master Nigel's absence! How do you think this--this outrageous behavior reflects upon me?? I have brought you this silver to polish. You will get BACK into your livery this INstant and retrieve your gloves from the kitchen immediately or by heaven, you'll face my wrath!" The hold tirade came tumbling out of her carpet bag-sized mouth like a vomitous torrent, in one breath. You'd think she might have rehearsed it. "If you think just because Master Nigel is not present your action will go unobserved, you are SADly mistaken. Why, when the master hears of this, he'll--"

"Master Nigel", John interrupted, "gave me the day off." It was actually just for the afternoon, but the old gasbag didn't need to know that. "I am on my way to the gym and the pool--" Mrs. Flemming's veins bulged from her temple as she raised a condemning finger to forbid it. John anticipated her knee-jerk reaction, adding quickly, "--the servant's gym and pool, to work on keeping myself fit to serve the REAL head of our household."

John stared the toadish woman down, and she seethed at him, searching for the proper comeback to keep John in his place. John didn't let her think of it. "Of course, if you feel that you have the authority to contradict our dear lord and master and put me to work with your own petty little chores, I'm sure he'd be deLIGHTed to hear your explanation of why you elected to undermine his direct orders. Ma'am."

Mrs. Flemming ground her teeth so fiercely that John could hear them sanding down from where he stood, several feet away. After a few moments, she said through those still-gritted teeth, "Be off with yourself, then, John Bull." John started down the hall again, but Mrs. Flemming extended a beefy arm to halt him. Before he could protest, her other arm shot out and struck one of the wooded panels to her left, which depressed under her meaty fist.

A sliding panel opened to reveal a slender doorway into a dingy, poorly-lit hall. "Take the servant's hallway when yer off-hours. Master's orders or no, I'll not have ye walking the halls of this fine home in that state o' dress." She eyed him spitefully. "Or undress, in your case." John peered into the dank hallway and looked down it's dusty length. bare bulbs glowed at intermittent intervals down to a darkened end. "Last doorway on your right", Mrs. Flemming growled. "Down three flights, take another left then an immediate right. The silver will be waiting for your majesty after your day of frolic."

John stepped in and felt the breeze as Mrs. Flemming slammed the panel shut behind him. He was so going to enjoy being rich again in another six weeks so he could make that bitch's life a living hell.

John found the gym easily enough, though it felt like he was making his way through ancient catacombs to get there. The gym was a lot like his room. Small, cramped, dingy. there were a few free weights lying around, cobwebbed from disuse. The only real working equipment was a lat machine that badly needed dusting. Broken weights lay strewn about the corners of the room, along with old and crusty headbands and a pair of tennis shoes from circa 1976. John decided to start with a dip in the pool, instead.

The pool wasn't much better. In an adjoining room, there was a swimming pool no bigger than a suburban backyard pool, with barely two feet of ledge around it of bare concrete. A small patio (if that word applies) a four extra feet of concrete was at the end nearest the doorway. Doorway was the applicable word in that case, as neither the pool nor the weight room had actual doors that could be closed.

John squatted down and stared at the water, which was the color of pine needles. He dipped his fingers in the water and pulled them right back out. The water felt almost viscous, like it was rife with algae. "Perfect", John grumbled. He noticed a hose at one corner of the room. He'd have to clean out his own damn pool, and on his first- -and for all he knew, only--day off. John did some searching around these lower levels and found a janitor's closet and returned with a large bucket, cleanser, a long-poled scrub brush, and a jug of chlorine solution. He looked into the water again, trying to locate the drain plug. After some stirring with the long scrubber, he finally found it near the far left corner.

There was a formidable latch on it that appeared to be locked tight and rusted shut. John had no way to get it open from above water, which was apparent after several jabs with the scrubber. He couldn't get any closer, either. Oversized, rusted screws which stuck from the side of the pool's deep end. John could only assume these were the remnants of what was once the sole ladder in or out. He was going to have to dive in and pull the drain cap off by hand.

John kicked off his flip-flops and dipped his toes in the water. Again, like stepping into a pool of watered-down Kayro syrup. John paused, considering abandoning the whole endeavor and just going back upstairs to lay low from Mrs. Flemming and her tray of silver.

But no, this was his first break from this hellish "character- building" exercise of his father's and he wasn't going to waste it cowering in his cracker box room from the moving land mass that was the head serving wench. John shucked off his tanktop and shorts, crossed himself, and jumped feet first into the pool.

It was like plunging into Jell-o. John felt the water cling to his skin and ooze around him like an otherworldly germ culture. His eyes were frozen open. The water was freezing, on top of everything else. But visibility was so bad that all he could see was a few feet in front of him, and that was a murky green haze. His feet touched bottom and he squatted down, which wasn't easy with the slimy resistance the water offered, and thrust himself upward again. He ascended slowly, and halfway up he actually stopped, the thick waters congealing around him. John flapped his arms wildly and finally broke through the surface. He gasped and spat, and made his way clumsily to the pool's edge. Gasping the slick concrete with one hand, John frantically wiped his face with the other.

He was feeling lightheaded again. He must have been away from swimming for too long and the shock of the cold, filthy water was too much a shock to his system. The pores of John's skin felt as if the thick water was seeping in making a home inside him. His cheeks and nose felt unusually warm. "That's it, everybody out of the pool", he spluttered, spitting out more of the foul liquid.

But John could not gain any handhold on the pools edge. It was too slippery, too slimy. He pulled himself up only to have his palms slide out form underneath him and send him back into the waters, twice he was dunked back in over his head. Now his scalp was tingling. After a final attempt that almost cracked his chin against the concrete, John realized the only way he was getting out of here was to walk out from the deep end to the shallow end and then up over the edge once it dried.

Doing his best to edge his way along, John moved himself to the far end where he knew the drain to be. Bracing himself, he dove down to locate the sealed drain. It took three dives to find it, seven more to get the damn thing off. John floated atop the gelatinous water as the level slowly lowered and circled the drain. By then, his head was spinning as much as the exiting water and his skin felt beyond funky. As he lay on the disgusting bottom of the empty pool, John resolved to clean up the mucky pool rapidly and get in at least one good set of laps. He would not surrender his day off so easily.

And hour and a half later, with arms aching from scrubbing, John used the hose to refill the pool and added the proper formula of chlorine. He also hosed himself off a time or two to get rid of the ooze on his skin. It didn't help much. But the much-anticipated dip in the tiny pool did.

John had found the heating controls (in the next room) and brought the temperature up to a livable level and dove in. The water didn't seem all that much clearer, as some genius had painted the interior pool walls a deep green, but the water felt cleaner. It was still pretty tacky, but nothing like it was when he started. John did several series of laps before finally giving in to fatigue.

John pulled himself out of the pool sometime after dinner hour, feeling oddly refreshed despite the slimy feeling on his skin. He knew he would use the pool as his haven, and steal way here every chance he could get. In the middle of the night, if he had to.

Heading back to his room by way of the dingy servant's hallway, John exited where he had entered and made straight for his room. He once again caught his reflection in the hall mirror. His face was even redder than before, if that were possible, and now his skin seemed to have taken on a pasty appearance. "Damn", John wondered, "what the hell was in that water, anyway?"

"But I want the STRAWberry cupcake! I don't WANT the blueberry ones!! GET it for me, NOWWWW!! MOOOOOMMM!!!"

John didn't think there was a worse female in the world than Mrs. Flemming. He was wrong. The insufferable, shrieking hellion masterfully disguised as a pigtailed little girl was Master Nigel's niece. She, and her entire clan, was visiting along with Nigel's sister. The whole unsavory entourage acted more like white trash than the social elite, and the wailing brat was the worst of the lot. She was a spoiled rich kid who was used to getting everything she wanted and made sure the world knew about it when she didn't. The girl began yanking on the tails of John's jacket, nearly causing him to upend his serving tray on the floor.

"Nigel, what kind of a household are you keeping, boy?", his sister chided, supported by the approving grunts and dismissive head-shakes of her unwieldy husband and eldest son.

Nigel bristled at the implication and turned to John. "What is the problem, John Bull. Can't you even handle the needs of a toddler?" Guffaws from hubby and son.

"Sir, the girl is insisting on strawberry cupcakes. Chef Hobson didn't prepare any! I can't give her what we don't hav--"

"Then find a suitable replacement to mollify her or go bake the damn cupcakes yourself! Must I think of everything?" Husband and son reverted to shaking their heads in disgust. So hard to get good help these days.

The sister scratched the back of her neck and gazed at the ceiling molding. "Honestly, Nigel, if you can't even properly train your insolent butler, I can't imagine how daddy can consider you to take more responsibility with the family fortune, dear."

The brat shrieked again, and through some bizarre loophole in the laws of science, did not shatter every glass in the room. "MUHH- HOOOMMMMM!! He won't SERVE me!! Make him SERVE me!! He's a SERvant! Make the mean, dumb man SERRRRVVEE!!" The girl had shifted to kicking John in the shins.

"You heard the child, Nigel", the sister leered.

"John Bull!", Nigel spat. "Do SOMEthing, for God's sake. I will not be made a fool of in my own home."

John snapped. "I'm not making you a fool, dammit!! All that's being made is a god-FUCKING-awful racket by this bloody freakin' mating call for a car alarm! Will you SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY, you little SHIT!!!!"

The girl made an "eep"-ing noise as she drew in her lips and bit them hard. She then ran screeching from the room, arms flailing. The husband and son sat mutely and the sister threw her head back with a nasty, "Well!"

Master Nigel's stare bored lasers into John's forehead.

John's body shook from rage and humiliation, his fingers clutching the handle of the teapot nearly hard enough to break it. He knew without question that he was going down for his outburst. He clenched his teeth, forced a smile, and said, "More tea, anyone?"

"It would appear", Master Nigel pronounced, "that our dear John Bull needs a serious lesson in remembering his place around here." He paced back and forth in the tiny room that had been assigned to John. John himself stood at attention while trying to look sufficiently doleful.

The hulking form of Mrs. Flemming filled the doorway, her gargantuan arms crossed over her chest as she stood guard. "Yes, Master Nigel, it would appear so indeed."

"Lookit", John began, "I'm just not used to this is al--"

"SILENCE!", Nigel shouted.

"Speak when spoken to, you!", Mrs. Flemming hissed.

Nigel put his face right up to John's. "You will learn your place, John Bull, I promise you that. Insolence, disobedience will not be tolerated." Nigel's unblinking eyes locked with John's. He whispered menacingly, "Do you understand me, John Bull?"

John took a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME??!!!", Nigel raged.

"Yes, Master Nigel sir! I do understand, sir!"

Nigel produced a sheet of paper and handed it to John. "This is your new oath. Your reminder, your daily prayer. You will learn it, you will recite it, you read it--aloud--every morning when you rise, every noon, every evening before you retire. Each time, Mrs. Flemming will be on hand to see to it that you do so. Read."

John looked at the words written on the page in Nigel's own hand. He swallowed. "Sir, if I could just apologize--"

"READ!!"

John read. "I am John Bull. I am nothing more than a servant to my master. My only desire is to serve him, my only need is to satisfy him. I am of a lower class and will respect my betters. I must obey those above me and I will obey them with gratitude and without question or hesitation. I am proud to wear my fine livery and nothing else to remind me of my station and my privilege to serve. I am only John Bull, and this is all that I am."

Nigel nodded his approval. "I leave him in your capable hands, Mrs. Flemming." He departed the room without another word to John.

"Alright then, Mr. Bull", Mrs. Flemming said, a wicked smile spreading across her face, "I think a repetition or two of your new oath is in order. To make sure it's getting into that thick head of yours. Go on, then."

John sighed, then began again. "I am John Bull--"

"100 times."

John stopped. "What?"

Mrs. Flemming's smile vanished. "You heard me, boy. Repeat it 100 times. I'll keep count."

"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me--!", John protested.

"TWO hundred!", Mrs. Flemming said.

John began to argue, but she silenced him with a look. He swallowed, and lifted the paper to his eyes again. He knew he was stuck. "I am John Bull. I am nothing more than a servant to my master. My only desire is--"

Some time later, after what john was sure was closer to 300 repetitions of the oath (Mrs. Fleming had lost count twice and made John back up, just to be on the safe side), the evil giantess exited with a promise that increased chores would await John in the morning. John collapsed on his cot, his head spinning and heart stuck in his throat. He had to get the hell out of here. A soft rap at the door made him start, but the door opened a bit to reveal Melanie with a tea serving.

"Thought you might like a cupper. Rough day, John?"

John fell back on the bed. "You have no idea."

And so it went for weeks. John rose to the glaring face of the odious Mrs. Flemming, recited his degrading oath and was put to work in his hated costume uniform. Break for lunch, report to the kitchen, recite the oath in front of not only Mrs. Flemming but a snickering cooking staff and anyone else who happened to be present. Work some more degrading tasks while sucking up to the boss, then retire to his tiny room where Mrs. Flemming waited to hear the oath, speak any threats she cared to deliver, and then prepare for more of the same the next morning.

If not for Melanie's secret nightly tea visits, John thought he would go insane. His workout schedule had deteriorated to nothing. His skin was pale, flabby, pasty, and his face ruddy. Each time John caught his reflection in the mirror, he saw what he was being molded into and it both angered and frightened him. He was fearful that, even though he was nearing the end of his agonizing two-month sentence, he could very well snap at any moment. He was spot on with that prediction.

It was lunch the following day when John entered the kitchen to find not only Mrs. Flemming, but what looked for all the world to be the entire cooking, housekeeping, and stewarding staff crowding about.

"What the bloody hell...", John muttered at the throng of employees all crammed into the expansive space that seemed smaller for all the occupants.

Mrs. Flemming turned to see John. "I was wondering when the hell you were going to see fit to show up for your reinforcement training." That was the term she applied to John's oath repetition. "Get over here and get on with it." She gestured to the center of the kitchen's cooking islands, and at her barked command, the other servants bustling about exchanged whispers, grins, and crowded around to watch John's humiliation.

"What's with all these people--?", John began.

"Master Nigel is hosting an exclusive dinner this evening, John Bull, and it requires the utmost preparation. Something you would do well to acclimate yourself to. Well, let's get on with it, then. We don't have all day."

John looked at the throng of servants leaning forward, eager faces grinning and eyes staring with unspoken malice at John. This was clearly the anticipated highlight of their day. "Do I have to cite the oath right here? Can't we go out into the hall, or--"

"YOU will do your recitation WHEN I say and WHERE I say, John Bull, you impudent little popinjay! And I say you will say your oath HERE-- !", and she jabbed a finger at the floor in front of her, "--and NOW!! Now MOVE!!" The other servants all laughed and exchanged gleeful looks. A few even applauded, all of which the usually order- obsessive Mrs. Flemming pretended not to notice.

John shuffled forward and stood before her. "Make it quick", she snapped. "Some of us have work to do which we actually take seriously."

John let out a deep breath and gave it his all, keeping his pace brisk. . "I am John Bull. I am nothing more than a servant to my master. My only desire is to serve him, my only need is to satisfy him. I am of a lower class and will respect my betters. I must obey those above me and I will obey them with gratitude and without question or hesitation. I am proud to wear my fine livery and nothing else to remind me of my station and my privilege to serve. I am only John Bull, and this is all that I am."

The servants could scarcely contain themselves, as the room echoed with poorly-muffled snickers and guffaws. One servant banged his palm against the countertop in delight. John Began to back out of the room when Mrs. Flemming stopped him. "Again."

John stood frozen for a moment, processing what she'd just said. "Excuse me--?"

"Say it again. And I will NOT excuse you, John Bull. Say it again and do so with conviction. The way you sped through that was so fast, you might well have been a tobacco auctioneer. God only knows what you spat out. Say it...again."

"But you TOLD me to make it quick!" John turned to the other servants for support, realizing his mistake even as he opened his mouth. "You all heard her! She said to make it quick and I did--!"

Mrs. Flemming put her nose almost up to John's. "I will brook no defiance from the likes of you, John Bull! Repeat your oath again. In fact, you will stand here and do so until such a time as I bid you to stop. Do I make myself clear??"

"B-but Master Nigel wants me to report to his study right after this...I, I should probably be there now--"

"Then you will have yourself a little problem in explaining your dreadful tardiness to your master then, won't you? Should he ask me about the delay, I will simply tell him the truth that you refused to cooperate and were indignantly resistant to reciting your oath as ordered. Something the rest of our trusted staff will no doubt be happy to verify they witnessed." The rest of the room responded with nodding heads and happy agreement. It was Let's Screw Over John Day apparently, and John had never received the announcement.

John tried to hold back his fury, his face reddening worse than it already was, and he began again. . "I am John Bull. I am nothing more than--" Several of the staff began to laugh. John swallowed, trying to continue where he left off. " My only desire is to serve him, my only need is to satisfy--" Several of the maids lost it and snickered and snorted into their aprons, and gripped one another's shoulder's for support. "I am of a lower class and will respect my betters." By this time, most of the stewards had dropped whatever pots, pans, or other paraphernalia they were cleaning and howled with delight. John's was ready to burst. "I must obey those above me--" It was now almost impossible to hear John over the cacophony. "--and I will obey them with gratitude and without question--" Mrs. Flemming stood before him, arms crossed, eyes commanding. She nodded for him to go on. "I am proud to wear my fine livery and nothing else--" The room was a chaotic din of derisive laughter. And John had had enough.

"FUCK YOU!!!" The crush of servants finally shut up. "That is IT! Fuck the whole goddamn bleeding bunch of you! And especially you, you insidious fat COW!" He jabbed an angry finger at Mrs. Flemming, whose eyes widened. "You know what, I have tried my best to suck it up and LOWER myself to the level of you bigoted chattel, but I am through with it! And I'm through with you lot of obnoxious fuckers!!"

The entire staff stood frozen by John's tirade. Their victim had turned on them and each person who had in turn treated him like garbage had the audacity to look surprised.

"This is day fifty-nine of my insufferable internment here! Fifty- NINE!! You know what that means, you lowlife pieces of shit? DO you?? Everyone in my family who's been put through this servant role- playing idiocy did so for no more than two months! So after tomorrow, I am bloody well fucking OUT of here, mates! Gone! Vapor!" He moved up to the blimplike Mrs. Flemming. "And you, you expansive whore, and the rest of your godforsaken herd, will be subjected to me being a class well ABOVE you as I reclaim my station." He turned to address the group. "Isn't that what you've all been pounding into my head all this time that I've been busting my ass? Huh. isn't it?! Classes aren't meant to intermingle. Ohhhhh, no! Well, I get the picture, you sodding bastards." John marched to the door. "And I am SO looking forward to treating every goddamn one of you like the filthy gobs of rat's shit you've proven that you are. Go straight to hell!"

John slammed the door with a force that echoed through much of the house. Two months. He was almost out free, after two ungodly months.

"Two YEARS? You can't possibly be serious, dad! What do you mean I have to be a servant for two years?!"

John was on the phone with his father. This is what Nigel had summoned him to the study for. To be hit with the news that John's stay with Master Nigel was being extended. Considerably.

"Dad, dad listen to me! Liam and Ian only went through this for two months! You and Uncle Lee didn't even go more than a couple months! Why are you doing this to me??"

John's father answered John in jovial, cheerful tones. John's father was almost always jovial and cheerful. It was rather annoying. Nigel stood nearby, listening in to the one-sided conversation, able to piece together what was being said on the other end of the line with ease. He grinned broadly.

"Dad, you never told me about this. I had no way to prepare myself for--I just, I--just now, I said--why are you doing this? I've been here two whole months! I've learned humility, I swear to God!"

"Not from where I'm standing", Nigel mumbled deliberately loud enough for John to hear.

John shot him a look. "Dad, please--what made you think I needed this? I've done everything you asked, why would you--recommended it? Who recommended I stay here for two more years?? Who outside the family even knows I'm going through this?" John was silent then. The only sound that could be heard was the happy muffled voice of John's father explaining his valuable source. John slowly looked over at Nigel, who was wearing the most spiteful smirk john had ever seen. He nodded to John, indicating that he was the guilty party.

So Nigel had talked him into it. That was another of the father's flaws. He was easily persuaded as well as always cheerful. And he cheerfully assured John that two years of daily servitude would do him good and be for the best.

"Dad...c'mon, please...you can't, you just can't..." John considered leveling one of his famous threats of running away, cutting himself off from the family, but by this time his father new the threat was empty and that John could not survive long without his inheritance. John felt his eyes grow moist. He looked down at his uniform and realized that this was all he'd be wearing for the next 24 months.

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand, dad. I stick it out or I'm cut off. Yeah, I'm sure you think it is for the best. I'm glad you think I can do it. Goodbye, dad." John hung up the phone and felt certain that the clunk of the receiver was as loud as a thunderclap. He buried his head in his hands and took very deep breaths. After a moment of two of silence--which to his credit, Nigel allowed him to have--John stood up, straightened his back, and retrieved his hat from the side table.

"Will there be anything else, Master Nigel?", he said with forced calm.

"No, that will be all for now, John Bull."

"Then I shall see to the preparations for this evening's party, if I may, sir."

"Very good, John Bull. You may."

John strode out of the room tall and proud, looking every bit like a man who did not feel he had just been condemned to a slow and painful death.

Master Nigel's soiree was a great success, due in no small part to John's constant vigilance in serving and doing his utmost to anticipate each guest's every need. Glasses were filled before they were a smidge past half empty, plates offering the next courses were slipped covertly in and their predecessors cleared and spirited away. Ashtrays were capped and replaced the second a butt was extinguished. John's diligence could not be credited merely to sucking up to the boss, but to avoiding the kitchen as much as possible, and the jeers and icy stares of the rest of the staff.

By 9pm, the party had retired to the drawing room, where Master Nigel regaled his guests with humorous stories. John stood nearby, out of sight and at the ready to leap to whatever task may be requested of him. He was about to get a most unexpected request.

"Oh, enough of all this", snorted a slender woman with mountainous hair piled high atop her head. "Nigel darling, you must engage us with a display of your mesmeric skills. You really must, you know."

A portly gentlemen with a bushy gray moustache took a smoldering cigar from his mouth. "What's this then? Mesmeric skills? Nigel, you don't mean to tell us you're a hypnotist, do you, lad?"

Nigel pretended to blush with modesty and was thoroughly unconvincing. "Welll...I do dabble a bit with hypnosis."

A redheaded woman wearing pearls squealed with delight. "Don't just tell us about it, Nigel. Give us a demonstration! Show us how you can enthrall a subject and bend him to your will." Her companion, a wispy man with slicked-back hair let out a truncated guffaw of amusement around the stem of his merchamp.

"I do suppose that as your host I am obligated to divert you", Nigel grinned, doing little to conceal the fact that this was precisely what he had been aching to do all evening. "We need a subject, first of all", Nigel announced. The group had varied reactions to this announcement. The men mostly busied themselves with their smoking apparatus, trying to avoid eye contact with Nigel. One older woman all in blue found herself suddenly fascinated by her glass of sherry. Seeing someone hypnotized was apparently far more appealing than being put under yourself.

The woman with the mile-high hairdo sat up tall. "Oh, do me, Nigel dear!" Nigel raised one eyebrow and smiled, but his eyes broadcast that he would prefer to avoid doing this young lady in any sense of the word.

"Actually, I have a better idea", Nigel said. Turning to the corner of the room, he said in an unnecessarily loud voice. "John Bull, would you be good enough to come here, my man?"

John said nothing, but his eyes sharpened their focus on his master and he could feel his heart beating harder in his chest. He did not like where this was going.

Nigel bent his index finger inward and spoke with a slight edge in his voice. "John Bull. Come. Here."

At Nigel's' words, John had instantly gone form invisible servant to object of everyone's attention. All eyes in the room turned expectantly to the man in the livery uniform who had been entirely unnoticed only moments before. Stiffly, John walked over to his master and stood at attention.

"Sir?"

"You needn't say 'sir' as if you hadn't every idea what we'd been discussing, John Bull." This garnered a few titters from the ladies. "We have need of a willing subject for my hypnosis demonstration, and you shall be that willing subject." Nigel snapped his fingers and gestured to a high-backed chair, which one of the grinning guests brought over instantly.

"Master Nigel", John whispered, "with all due respect sir, might I suggest that another and better subject be found among your dinner guests--"

Nigel put his lips almost against John's ear. "You are my servant, John Bull, and that is all you are. Need I order that you recite your oath more frequently each day? You will submit your will to me completely and will do so cheerfully. Now get in the goddamn chair, John Bull. I will not be embarrassed by your performance again." Then, stepping back, Nigel indicated the chair and with a bright smile announced to the group, "If you'd be so good as to take this seat, John Bull."

John swallowed. He was stuck. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

Nigel hovered over John, describing to his captivated guests what he was about to put his lowly manservant through. Those in attendance watched with wide-eyed anticipation, feeling as if all bets were off. Rather than one of them, Nigel had chosen one of his own serving staff, which indicated to everyone that he could humiliate the man of lower class with impunity. That's what he was there for after all, wasn't he?

John squirmed a bit in his seat, but tried to make it look as if he were just getting comfortable. he wasn't so concerned about what Nigel would do to him while in a trance state. The truth was, that while at college, John had volunteered eagerly for a hypnosis demonstration in one of his Psych classes by a visiting psychologist. It didn't take. The doctor could relax John, but beyond that, he couldn't get him to go under. He had all the other student volunteers forgetting their own names, recalling childhood experiences from as far back as infancy, and all the other standard tricks, but not so with John. he simply wasn't very receptive to hypnosis. And back then he was more than willing. Here he saw no appeal to this little charade in the least. John knew he couldn't fake a trance state to any convincing degree, and was more concerned about what new punishments Nigel would heap upon him when he didn't respond as hoped.

"Are we all ready then, John Bull?", Nigel purred.

Feeling anything but, John said, "At your command, sir."

Meringue-head of the ladies squealed, "You certainly will be, my boy! Hah!"

Nigel waved her jeering away. "I will need some level of quiet to continue effectively, my lady." Nigel held up a small glass one of the ladies had been using for port. It glinted in the light as it caught John's attention. "Now, John Bull, pay very close attention to this lovely crystal stemware, won' you?"

John tried to watch the stupid little drinking glass, but his heart was pounding and his mind was racing. He was going to screw this up and then face the wrath of this psychotic bastard to whom he'd been indentured for the next two years. John knew he could never follow Nigel's instructions about steady breathing, about counting backward, about relaxing his muscles, about anything other than what terror lay ahead after this newest milestone in his ongoing list of failures.

John realized that he must be getting more used to being made a victim, because he felt his shoulders slump a bit, his body lose some of its tension. This was no doubt due to him becoming resigned to his fate. Nigel kept talking, but John paid very little attention. he needed to put his mind on something less stressful, something that might help him cope--was that tea? Yes, John was quite certain he caught a whiff of that wonderful tea which Melanie had been bringing him every night. The thought of its fine aroma, it's rich flavor, the warmth of it spilling down into him, heating and soothing him from the inside out, seemed to ease his mind considerably. Where had that sudden, intense fragrance of it come from? One of the guests in the room must have been having a cup.

John found thought of the servant's swimming pool come to his mind unbidden. Next to his smuggled evening tea, his stolen moments in the pool ran a close second in the tension-relieving department. Oh, the thought of that. He could use a dip now, that was for certain. John closed his eyes, not even thinking how this obvious display of inattention might anger his master, and envisioned the pool. He was floating in it, its waters warm, calming, but still not entirely free of their funk. The waters lapped against him and clung a bit to his skin, leaving behind the thinnest viscous film. John's breathing became more and more deep, slow, and relaxed. The waters of his pool getaway felt wonderful. And then he began to sink.

It was the oddest sensation. John slowly began to sink into the water, yet there was no sense of panic or concern. He submerged beneath the still waters and yet could breath easily. The waters themselves seemed to support him, at least in part, acting more like a thick mud as he slowly, so very slowly, lowered down to the bottom of the pool. As John sank, he could still see the overhead lights shining above the water's surface. The farther down he sank, the dimmer the lights became, the more looming the dark green sides of the pool appeared.

Soon the lights above were but the dimmest sparkles, and the water seemed to hug John snugly, their warmth both comforting him and seeping into his body through his pores. With a soft thud, John felt himself come to rest on the bottom of the pool. It felt absolutely wonderful. The lights were gone, even the faintest sparkles snuffed out, and John was safe, warm, and alone.

From the darkness, he heard a voice. "John Bull, can you hear me?" It was Nigel.

John nodded. He didn't want to answer him. he wanted to go to sleep or keep sleeping or something. He was so comfortable and didn't want to be disturbed, especially not by Nigel.

"You will answer me, John Bull. A mere nod is not acceptable."

Bitch, bitch, bitch. "Yes", John said. Now go away.

"Yes what, John Bull?"

"Yes, I can hear you, sir." Ya happy now? Now get lost.

"John Bull, open your eyes." John did so. He didn't know why, exactly, it's not as if he wanted to. But upon opening his eyes he saw to his amazement that he was not at the bottom of his pool, but still seated on that high back chair in the study. Yet he still felt as if he were at the bottom of the pool, warm and safe.

"I'd like to make a few changes to you if I may, John Bull. How's that?" He still sounded as if he were talking through several feet of water.

"Certainly, sir", John said thickly. From very far away, one of the lady guests giggled. Nigel politely reminded all the room should be quiet. He then leaned in close to John and spoke low and clear.

"John Bull, I want you to think of someone you dislike a great deal. A great, great deal."

"Dishlike?", John asked, not realizing he was slurring.

Very softly, Nigel reiterated, "Someone whom you hate, John Bull. Who do you hate the most right now?"

This was an emotive question for John. Right now, it was toss-up. But the two people he most wanted to see die in a fire were that motorbus-sized Mrs. Flemming and his dunderheaded father. "There...there're two...", John said.

"Well, then! We shall have to combine them into one, shan't we, John Bull?" The guests murmured to one another with great interest. Nigel silenced them with a quick wave of his hand. "Stand, John Bull."

John didn't think that was going to be possible. Feeling as if he were resting solidly on the bottom of the pool, his body weighing a ton, he was quite certain he was not leaving his chair anytime soon. But to his astonishment, John stood up quite easily at his master's command, and once on his feet, could feel the warmth of the pool ooze in around him once more and hold him in place.

"Tell me, John Bull", Nigel said, "by any chance am I one of these hated individuals?"

"No."

Nigel smiled. "I thought not." he strode back in forth in front of the frozen John. "What would you say is the most appalling characteristic of the first person in question?"

John imagined the massive Mrs. Flemming, stomping down the hallways and clomping about the kitchen like a hippopotamus in a millpond. "Size. Terribly fat", John answered.

"Then that is what you shall become, John Bull", Nigel pronounced. "You are growing fatter by the second. Feel your body begin to bulge, to grow more unwieldy and cumbersome. You are growing big and fat, John Bull. FEEL it."

To John's horror, he felt that Nigel was right. He could feel his slim body gaining weight, inflating beyond his control. He felt his belly bulge hideously outward, straining against his waistband. His chest and torso tugged at his shirtfront for release as John continued to bloat. He could even feel his face fattening up, his cheeks spreading outward, his chin doubling, his neck growing thick and flabby.

"You are inflating at a tremendous rate, John Bull", Nigel said with authority. "You are becoming quite, quite obese."

Nigel was right, and there was nothing John could do about it. He looked down and saw his chest and stomach bulge outward, his buttons ready to pop. It was getting difficult to move, to breath easily, as his body took on corpulent proportions. His face, now full and round, began to feel warm, and John knew that his already ruddy complexion was growing redder. To make matters worse, John's arms and legs didn't seem to be growing at all, making him feel like a walking caricature, a Humpty Dumpy with an enormous bulbous body and spindly limbs.

"Take a walk and experience your new body, John Bull. Model it for us."

John attempted to navigate the room, but it was far from easy. His body was now a clumsy thing, his arms pinwheeling as he attempted to turn this way or that less he lose his balance and wind up trapped lying on his back. Each step was like trying to transport a full waterbed with two broomsticks. John found himself sweating from the effort, his face full and puffy, his body like an overstuffed canvas bag filled with gelatin. All around the room, Nigel's guests laughed themselves into hysterics.

Nigel walked up to John and spun him around, then pushed him away, causing John to stumble forward and whirl about in desperate attempt to regain his balance. Eventually, Nigel stopped John's humiliating one-man parade and held him upright as the howling guests tried to compose themselves.

"Now tell us, my fattened friend", Nigel sneered, "what is it about the second person you find so offensive? What trait do you find so annoying there? Hmm?"

John knew that whatever he said would be visited upon him, just as with this hideously obese new frame. But he was unable to restrain himself. He felt compelled to tell the truth. "So..so cheerful...all the time...", he wheezed.

Nigel feigned surprise. "Cheerful, you say, John Bull? Why, however could so amiable a trait be found disagreeable?" He knew full well that John was referring to his father.

"Sir", John gasped, "he's cheerfully clueless. So chipper without realizing the consequences of his actions on others." John attempted to step away from Nigel, but his master held onto his shoulder to prevent his departure. The small, aborted half-step alone caused John to fell his girth jiggle around his waist before settling again.

"So! We have in our second offender the aspect of a dunderhead, do we?"

Quietly, John murmured, "...nooo..."

"But you just said so, John Bull! And now, dear boy, that clueless dunderhead--" and Nigel touched John's forehead, "--is you."

John suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of good cheer and happiness. But it was a feeling in conflict with all he had been feeling moments before. His mouth split wide into such a broad and foolish grin that everyone present laughed boisterously. John began to trundle about the room, his massive frame causing him to tip to the side here and there, to stumble against furnishings and guests alike, all the while spouting the most ridiculous and inane banter.

"Splendiferous of you all to join us hyear this evening, eh wot? Jolly good, jolly good! Spit-spot, tish-tosh, and Bob's your uncle!" John continued his nonsensical tirade to the delight of all and torture of himself. His mind fought valiantly against the actions of his body to no avail. To the casual observer, john was having the time of his life behaving like a perfect idiot. Guffawing, toddling about, bumping into things, he looked to be the very picture of verbose joy. Inside, John was screaming silently for release. He had become an amalgam of the two people he hated most in the world and was helpless to stop it or change himself back.

John plodded over to one of the guests, snatching up his cigar and making conversation. "What's that you do, sir? Run a diamond mine, do you? Say, what you need my good man is to spend a few dozen years shoveling refuse from the bottom of the nation's sewer system! Yas! Builds character, keeps the heart pure! That's the ticket! Let's do humiliate you for my personal amusement, jolly fine idea, eh old boy?"

While the rest of the room continued laughing hysterically, Nigel could tell this could easily get out of hand were John permitted to continue in this Flemming/father persona indefinitely. He approached John and held the small glass before him. "John Bull, do you remember this?" The small glass caught the light and sparkled.

And that was all John saw. Next thing he knew, the room was dark, all was quiet. Then, a sharp, crisp sound, like someone snapping his fingers. John opened his eyes to see Master Nigel standing before him, hand poised in such a way to show that the finger snapping noise was just that. John sat once again in the high-backed chair. He was himself again, his normal size returned to him, with a dim realization that the experience had not been real at all, only imagined vividly. All the guests applauded appreciatively of Nigel, complimenting him on a fine performance and his splendid control of his manservant.

John was lifted roughly from his chair by Nigel, who then claimed the seat for himself. John was then forced to wait upon the guests as they chatted incessantly about John's performance, all the while going back to pretending he wasn't even there.

Finally, mercifully, the party ended. Nigel saw the delighted guests to the door, all of whom assured Nigel of future visits. The lady with the big hair was the last to depart, squealing even as John helped her into her wrap. "And the way he stumbled around like he was big as a house, all the while not seeing how slight he was! So terribly priceless, Nigel! You are a gem!"

"Thanks ever so, darling", Nigel beamed, giving her a peck on the cheek.

John held the door for her and she departed without acknowledging him. John let out a deep sigh and contemplated killing Nigel right then and there. Instead, he said, "Will that be all, sir?"

"Of course not, John Bull. You need to see to cleaning up the rooms following tonight's entertainment. I'll expect to see the house spotlessly clean come morning. Honestly, you'd think that dunderhead suggestion I gave you was still in place. Wake me at the usual time, John Bull." With that, Nigel departed to bed.

John did not feel like a dunderhead, but truth be known that through some lingering phantom sensation, he did still feel as if he were fat. Three times he stopped to look in the mirror just to confirm that he had not somehow magically gained weight. The feeling of obesity lingered for the several hours it took john to clean everything up.

John lay on his cot, his feet pounding within his boots, his mind reeling from the events of the day. There was knock at his door and he jumped slightly. Who the hell could that be? John looked at his bedside alarm clock, saw it was 3:45 in the morning, and couldn't imagine who would try to rouse him at this hour. Then he thought of Mrs. Flemming, and realized he had not yet done his final oath recital of the day. It had to be her, come to oversee his mantra.

With legs of lead, John shuffled to the door, opening it slowly. There stood not the elephantine mistress of the house, but the adorable serving girl, Melanie. "Care for a cupper, John?"

John could have kissed her. Instead, he simply ushered her inside and down on the cot. John began to sip the tea, which tonight was sorely needed that it tasted like the nectar of the gods. "I heard about what 'appened today, John", Melanie said.

"Which part?"

"All of it. Yer dad makin' you stay on, the trouble from the staff, thet terrible ordeal with Master Nigel's hypnotism. What a 'orrible fing, making you make such a right fool of yer'seff."

"I'm beginning to think I do a pretty good job of that on my own." John stared into the cup as he drank, losing himself in the fragrant warmth of the tea. So much so that he almost missed Melanie's hand sliding up his leg. Almost. "Whoa! Melanie, what--?"

"You ought'nt think of yerseff that way, John", she said, her eyes wide with affection. "I think you're pretty special. An' to be honest, I don't half fancy you." Her hand made it's way up John's leg to settle on his crotch, where she showed a surprisingly strong grip for such a small girl.

John leapt off the bed, sending the cup crashing to the floor. "Melanie, no! Stop it!"

Melanie looked at John aghast. "Whatever's the matter, John? Why are you acting like that?" She looked sad, even heartbroken, and said, "It's me, in't it? There's something wrong with me and it turns you away. What is it, John? Am I so ugly that--"

John sat back down next to her and took her hand in his. "No, no, Melanie, you're beautiful. It's not that, it's not you. It's just that--"

"What is it, then? Is there another girl?"

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's late. I'm exhausted. It's been a truly terribly day and I have to rise early, in just a few hours, in fact. I cannot possibly--"

Melanie rose rapidly. "Oh, of course! I'm so sorry, John. To fink only of me'seff, just because I've been waiting up for you to come to bed. You need your rest. Forgive me for a fool." Melanie bent down to pick up the broken bits of teacup on the floor.

John rested his hand gently on her arm. "I'll get it. You should get some sleep, too. Your job's no easier than mine."

"But 'all the staff ain't out to get me."

John only offered a weak smile. "Goodnight, Melanie. Thank-you for your kindness."

Melanie stepped out the door, and as she closed it, she called back, "Another time perhaps, John?" She closed the door and departed without waiting for his answer.

John buried his head in his hands and felt his temples pound under his fingertips. God, now he had a beautiful young girl coming on to him on top of everything else. That was all he needed.

Part Two

John had slept miserably. Ordinarily, he would sleep on his side. Once he rolled over, he would drop off instantly. But the morning found him groggy and irritable and still lying on his back. he had tried multiple times to roll over, but found his efforts confounded by his girth. Or rather, his imagined girth. Each time he began to drift off, he would instinctively turn to roll over, only to be struck by the unmistakable feeling that he had the belly of a whale and could not navigate past it. The shock would jar him awake and prompt him to clutch at his stomach to verify that it was indeed it's normal size. At one point at 5:15am, he actually leapt from his bed and paced the room in frustration, all the while rubbing his abdomen and back to reassure himself that any transformation he'd undergone the night before was purely imaginary. It didn't help.

At six o'clock on the dot, Mrs. Flemming pounded her way down the hallway toward John's room, ready to hear him recite his oath--twice, as she had missed the recitation the night before. As she approached the door with the intention of pounding her meaty fist against the jam to rouse John, she was sorely disappointed to find the door already ajar and the lights on. She heard John's voice from within.

"--my privilege to serve. I am only John Bull, and this is all that I am." Mrs. Flemming opened the door to find John finish reading his oath from a sheet of paper.

"What is this, then?", she snarled. "I've come to 'ear you do your recitation. You cannot simply start without my being present--"

John, already dressed in his full livery, strode out past the elephantine mistress, slapping the piece of paper against her chest. "Do it yourself. I've got something important to do." Mrs. Flemming was so flustered by John's sudden departure and show of spine that she was unable to bring herself to burst out after her charge to yell upcoming punishments until he was already well down the hall.

John rounded the corner and made his way to the servant's breakfast area. As he approached, some maids from the housekeeping staff giggled as he passed, exchanging whispered comments about the previous night's spectacle. "Ooh, there 'e goes, our very own zombie butler, 'e is!", said one.

"Do him some good to put in a trance of obedience all the time, save us taking up his slack", said the other. Both found this hilariously funny and giggled their way on to their morning chores. John wondered what possible slack there was left for them to pick up, but knew they had only spoken the remarks to provoke a confrontation, so he let it pass. There was someone else of far greater importance he wanted to confront this morning.

John entered the breakfast area and surveyed the room. More than half a dozen servants were still tending to their nourishment, girls from maid service, one of the chefs, some errand boys and Clive, one of Master Nigel's top serving men, formerly a batman to an admiral in the royal navy.

John looked at Clive. "Where's Nigel?", he demanded.

Clive gave John a look of disdain and then returned to his porridge. "MASTER Nigel is presently engaged in his morning exercises, and wishes not to be disturbed." He took a heaping spoonful in his mouth and chewed with retentive precision. Upon swallowing, he added, "I imagine that order is simply enough for even you to understand, despite your not being in a cooperation-inducing trance." This garnered chuckles and titters of agreement from around the room.

John refused to rise to the challenge. He turned to leave, but Clive threw one more comment out. "If I understand correctly, John Bull, last night you experienced a complete transformation in a complete dunderhead. Flopping about like a ridiculous cartoon character, waddling like a stupid pig, making a complete fool of yourself." The other servants did what they could to restrain themselves from bursting out laughing, only a few were successful. Clive added his zinger. "Couldn't have been too much of a change for you, I imagine."

John turned and left quickly, the door closing on the ring of unbridled laughter and merrymaking at his expense. The chef cried out between gasps, "Now 'e knows what 'e's seemed like to all of us since 'e arrived!"

John's blood was beginning to boil. The violation, the humiliation he experienced last night and the backlash of it felt this morning was beyond any lesson in humility his father had intended. This was purely malicious, and John was going to have it out with Nigel once and for all. By the time John approached the main gymnasium, his face was so flushed that it was impossibly to see where his usual ruddy cheeks ended and the manifestation of his sheer rage began.

John rounded the corner to enter the gym with every intent of shouting out Nigel's name (without its "master" prefix). Upon catching his attention with this show of deliberate disrespect, he would give the bastard a piece of his mind at the top of his voice. He'd remind the good master of who John really was, that this little bit of servant-master playtime would eventually end, returning John to his rightful station-- though he need not wait that long to kick ol' Nigel's' scrawny ass.

At least that was the plan.

Until John rounded the corner. John froze there, in the entryway to the gym, just watching. He was watching Nigel, his good master, engaged in a remarkable workout. And Nigel looked absolutely beautiful.

Stripped to the waist, Nigel was wearing only a pair of snug navy blue gym shorts and running shoes. All the usual snooty air and foppish behavior was gone, leaving in their place a poise and confidence that had nothing whatever to do with wealth and privilege. Nigel's body was tanned and toned, his muscles working together like a well-oiled machine. His physique was that of a practiced gymnast, which made sense as Nigel was currently in the midst of a stunning gymnastic routine.

Nigel was standing upside-down on the parallel bars, his arms stiff and straight as his strong hands gripped the bars firmly but without strain. Holding his body perfectly vertical, legs together as if welded that way, toes pointed, Nigel hand-walked the length of the parallel bars. Upon reaching the end, he switched hands easily, spinning his body with one rigid movement and walked back the other way. Reaching the opposite end of the bars, he did a back flip and caught himself easily, flipping himself back up into a series of flips and spins that made his solid body appear suddenly feather- light.

John felt his jaw grow slack as he watched the man he'd been allowing to control him. He stood mesmerized, his body frozen in place, his arms hanging limp at his sides, with a strange feeling of warmth spreading over him. All thoughts of confronting Nigel left John's head in an instant as he watched the incredibly display of strength and skill. Not for fear of physical repercussions, but because Nigel looked so damned beautiful.

Nigel dismounted the parallel bars with ease, but landed running. With two quick steps, Nigel hit the springboard in front of the pama horse and grasped the top handles and began a series of extraordinary spins and rotations, his legs whirling about before him, his eyes focused in concentration. His bare chest and arms glistened with perspiration. His blond hair was damp but still loose enough to occasionally let of a spray of sweat as Nigel spun and twirled.

John felt his heart race increase and his trousers seem to grow tighter around his crotch as he watched Nigel's routine. John could not take his eyes off this blond god, could not blink, could not turn and slip out, could not do anything that might take the sight of Nigel from his eyes, even for an instant. John licked his lips and unintentionally spoke aloud. "...master..."

The words were spoken softly as a whisper, but it was loud enough for Nigel to hear. John had apparently forgotten Nigel's sensitive hearing. Nigel looked over and saw the liveried John standing in the doorway, staring. Nigel adjusted easily to the distraction, changing his rotations just enough to address John without breaking his stride.

"What is it, John Bull? Am I needed for something?" John just stared. Nigel brought himself up to another handstand atop the horse. "John Bull? Is there a problem that requires my attention?" John kept on staring. Nigel shook his head, sun his body into an intricate series of spins and twists, and executed a perfect dismount. Grabbing up a small towel from a nearby bench, Nigel strode confidently over to John.

"John Bull, if you've been struck dumb it's going to seriously hamper the execution of some of your duties, the recitation of your oath not being the least of which." John stared. "You'll find that I left express instructions that my workout not be disturbed, John Bull, if you even bothered to check before tramping in here." Nothing. "John Bull, you have ten seconds to explain yourself before I--"

"You're beautiful."

Nigel didn't think there was much John could do to catch him off guard, but this remark proved him wrong. "How was that again, John Bull?"

John gave his head a tiny shake in attempt to collect himself. It was only moderately effective. "Um, er, what I mean is--", he swallowed hard, tried again. "Master Nigel, that gymnastic routine, your workout, it was incredible. You looked just beautiful over there." Nigel raised an eyebrow. John stumbled to rephrase. "I mean, the execution of the routine, the practiced moves, they were beautiful. Your body." Nigel frowned. "I mean, your body's moves! The movement of your body, not just you. I mean, you too, but not that I was thinking of you that way. Or anything. Sir."

Nigel stuck a tongue in his cheek. "And what way would that be, John Bull?"

John spluttered. "Uhhh...in a way that, uh...would be inappropriate for a servant to look at his master while his master was half naked and all sweaty and--" Nigel put his hands on his waist. His trim, tight, glistening, 29-inch waist, with its one trickle of sweat rolling down from his pecs to make its way through the defined indentations of his incredible six-pack abs...

"John Bull!" Nigel snapped his fingers in front of John's eyes. "Are you in there, man? What ever has come over you?"

John blinked. "My apologies, Master Nigel. I--I just had no idea that you were capable of those kinds of gymnastic feats."

Nigel softened a bit at John's show of genuine admiration. Toweling himself off, Nigel turned away. "It has taken quite some time to reach this level, I assure you. So you can understand why I do not wish to be disturbed while exercising. I plan to maintain this level of proficiency for as long as possible." Nigel ran the towel over his head, sprinkling the mats beneath him with a fine spray of his sweat. Then he looked back at John. "But you didn't come down here just to watch me engage in a workout routine you didn't even know I was doing."

John shook his head. "No, sir."

Nigel walked back over to John. "Have you not been sleeping or something, John Bull? You look dreadful."

John was taken aback by the comment. "Sir?"

Nigel reached out and touched John's face. John's first instinct was to flinch or step away, but he found his body unresponsive. Nigel's touch was soft, gentle. He cradled John's cheek in one hand and lightly brushed his thumb at the corner of John's eye. "You have bags under your eyes, John Bull. Have you been getting the required amount of rest a servant requires to fulfill his duties?" Nigel didn't take his hand away. Strangely enough, John found that this close contact very soothing.

John swallowed. He would be getting enough sleep if not for the ringer he'd been put through as Nigel's personal slave, he thought. But he said, "I didn't sleep well last night, sir, no. It was...well, I'm not sure why, but..." He tried to find the words to describe his bizarre sensation of imagined fat around his belly.

"Well, what is it?", Nigel demanded.

"The hypnosis session, Master Nigel", John finally blurted out.

"What about it?"

"I can't be certain, sir, but I think I retained something of the suggestions you gave me for your guests' entertainment. Last night I couldn't sleep because, well, sir--I still felt like I was fat." John let out a quick breath. That was hardly the explosion of rage he had anticipated unloading on Nigel, but at least he let him know that there had definitely been some hypnotic residue and that it was up to his master to clean it up. He looked at Nigel, awaiting his response.

"Is that all?"

John hadn't expected so blasé a remark. "Excuse me, sir?"

"It's not uncommon for a receptive subject to find himself reliving some of his hypnotic experience, John Bull. And you were nothing if not receptive. I suppose you should feel grateful that you didn't awaken feeling like a frightful dunderhead and stumble into the walls." Nigel grinned, finding his observation terribly amusing.

John managed a weak smile, thinking, "Yeah, lucky me. Whoopee."

Nigel stepped up to John and rested a hand on his servant's shoulder. Again, a feeling of warmth and comfort spread through John at his master's touch. John found this simultaneously disturbing and arousing. It was disconcerting to experience such conflicting feelings toward someone he was convinced he hated only moments ago.

"I think what you need, John Bull, is to be put under hypnosis again", Nigel said.

John blanched, his eyes bulging and mouth growing slack at the suggestion. If he went to bed feeling like a bloated pig after one session, what would happen to him after two? "Sir? Is that wise? I mean, if that was the cause of my problem, should we--?"

Nigel stepped away, and John found himself missing his master's hand once it was removed from his shoulder. Nigel spoke with a terse edge in his voice. "Oh, please. I hardly intend to have you perform for an empty room, John Bull. I am talking about helping you ease your obvious concerns that the suggestions you received last night would linger. I suspect that your fears were strong enough that they manifested themselves. That is easily remedied. You've nothing to worry about in that regard." Nigel had walked almost back to his workout equipment when he spun on his heel and looked back at John. "However. Seeing as you are such an excellent hypnosis subject, I would suggest that we pursue that exercise for your personal betterment. We could use it to lessen your stress level, to help you acclimate to your new...if temporary...station, to improve your ability to perform as a proper servant. And let's face it, John Bull, you can hardly get too much help in that regard." Nigel patted his brow with his towel, ran his fingers through his soaked hair and then flung the moistened towel easily over one shoulder. "If nothing else, I could use the practice to keep my own mental skills sharp. When shall we begin, then?"

Looking at the dashing man with the extraordinary build, John was half tempted to surrender himself to anything he asked, but he was still more than a little frightened at the way this man could so easily enthrall him with a technique that had been proven ineffective on John by certified professionals from his past. "I--I really don't know, sir."

"Shall I make it an order then, John Bull?" John said nothing, but held his teeth shut tightly behind closed lips. "So when shall we schedule our first session?"

John watched as Nigel walked closer to him again. His abs still a bit wet as the perspiration dried on his skin. The strong arms with their gentle hands, the defined legs. Nigel tilted his head to the side in anticipation of John's answer, causing one lock of hair of hair to fall lightly upon his forehead. The sight of that alone made John get an erection.

"Could we start right now?"

Nigel smirked. "Excellent, John Bull. We might as well make use of this room as long as we're here. Step this way to the weight bench, won't you?"

John paused for a second before following. He couldn't believe he'd just said that. He closed his eyes, biting his lower lip and shaking his head. Idiot! How could he let this man continue to get the better of him, regardless show gorgeous he was with his shirt off? First he's his slave and now he's submitting to become what--his puppet? But then John recalled Nigel's fingers upon his cheek, the warmth of his hand upon his shoulder. If he put him under, would Nigel touch him again? That wouldn't be so bad then. For his master to touch him.

"John Bull? Are you coming?"

John snapped back to attention. "Yes, of course, sir. Right away, sir." He swallowed again and walked over to be hypnotized again.

John lay back on the weight bench, noting that it was wider than any he'd seen before. He was able to actually rest his arms at his sides upon the bench, something unheard of with most benches. He half sat up, looking down at his feet, seeing that they too were supported by the unusual weight bench's extra length.

"Head down, John Bull." Nigel pushed John's head back down to the bench with two fingers. Nigel walked around the head of the bench to squat down near John's head. As he passed close by John's head, John caught a good whiff of Nigel's scent. The musk, the aroma of his sweat from his workout. Nigel absently tossed his towel over John's chest as he positioned himself in place. The towel was light, soft, but it may as well have been an iron girder as it landed on John. So close to his nose, John caught the full brunt of the smell it carried, so soaked with Nigel's perspiration, the cooling overflow of his remarkable gymnastic feats. John closed his eyes, breathing deep of the scent of his master, feeling himself grow lightheaded as the fragrance filled his head and clouded his mind--

"John Bull, eyes up here, please."

John blinked his eyes open. "Huh? What?" He looked up to see Nigel standing over him snapping his fingers.

"I need you to focus your attention on me", Nigel said. He then grabbed his towel from John's chest and tossed it atop a nearby weight set. John's eyes widened like a child being deprived of his puppy. Nigel didn't seem to notice. He snapped his fingers again. "Not the towel, John Bull. I need you to look at my finger." Nigel held his index finger up before John's eyes.

Briefly, John's fear of repeating last night's hypnotic debacle returned. Did he really want to extend his subconscious mind to this man who had so gleefully imprisoned him in a lower class? John decided to stall. He thought for a moment, looking up at the finger. "Sir, with respect sir, don't you need something shiny, like that crystal glass or a pocket watch or somethi--" Nigel pressed the finger to John's lips, silencing him. John felt another rush of pleasure at the contact of John's skin against his. This time, with a tiny charge of electricity behind it.

"That was merely to help amuse the rabble, John Bull. Such theatrics are hardly necessary for true hypnosis. Now watch my finger and let yourself relax."

John looked at Nigel's index finger, watched it as he moved it slowly back and forth, up and down. John allowed the moving finger to go out of his focus as he shifted his gaze to Nigel's eyes. He had never noticed before how beautiful they were. Nigel began to smile at him. Then John could keep his own eyes open no longer. Nigel was saying something, directing him to do something, but John was only hearing him distantly. John did not want to shut his eyes. He wanted to keep gazing at Nigel's. But a few rapid blinks, then John's lids fell. Then he fell backwards into his body.

The sensation was much like he had experienced the night before at the dinner party, only intensified. John felt as is his consciousness had literally collapsed into his own mind. There was no other way to explain it. From the end of a thick, obsidian wall, Nigel's voice came to John, reciting more instructions. John didn't think the words registered. They were held too securely behind that ebony barrier. But John began to be dimly aware of his body, and could sense his limbs growing heavier, his muscles becoming so free of tension that they may well have been liquefying. The relaxing sensation flowed up his body, all the way to his scalp, where John felt the most euphoric feeling of peace and contentment. That was when he fell backwards out of his body.

John's consciousness tumbled down free form physical restraint and floated in a thick, warm limbo, there to sink, drift, and bob in the darkness. Soon his descent slowed and he seemed to levitate in nothingness, arms and legs rising an falling freely at his sides-- despite the fact he could still feel his limbs weighted down at his sides. His body rotated slowly around, and as it did he could feel his body growing fat once more. There was a twinge of panic at the back of his mind that was almost immediately quelled by a distant muffled voice that ay or may not have sounded like Nigel's.

John felt at peace, floating in the darkness, growing fatter, becoming increasingly aroused. Aroused? Yes, John was finding it increasingly exciting to be kept in this calming, relaxing state of surrender. He welcomed the growing obesity, and as his body seemed to reach its maximum bulging potential, John could feel his face and cheeks growing fatter as well. Once his face seemed to become as rounded as it could, a strange mist settled over his mind. And he began to speak. Or at least that's what it felt like. John wasn't entirely certain what he was saying, but it seemed to be gibberish. From within the confines of his mind, John could hear himself blather on like a village idiot, as if he was hearing a recorded playback of a performance, despite being quite certain his lips were moving and sound was coming out of them. John conceded to this condition, realizing that he had no idea how the inane banter was being produced or how to shut it off. He let his newly-inflated body sink deeper into the inky netherworld and let the ludicrous jabbering continue on. In a way, it was almost comforting. And as John drifted, bulbous, helpless, content, the clueless ramblings grew softer and softer, more quiet and distant.

"Open your eyes, John." The voice was Nigel's, and it was incredibly loud and immediately close.

John opened his eyes to the gymnasium which seemed remarkably bright. He blinked against the intensity of the lights, and realized he was no longer laying upon the weight bench, but standing at attention before his master. "Sir?"

"Your session is complete, John Bull", Nigel said, pulling on a tight- fitting T-shirt. John didn't know which was more alluring, seeing his master shirtless or seeing him in such a form-fitting shirt. "Do you still feel yourself to be, shall we say, bloated?"

John looked down at himself in his livery costume. His laid his hands upon his belly and even though his body seemed terribly out of shape, even a bit flabby to touch, emotionally he felt very slim and svelte. It was odd to have so strong a mental reaction when the physical facts seemed to point the other way. John looked at Nigel. "Wh-what happened? What did we do just now? When did I walk over here? I don't remember anything from when I was under--"

"Answer the question", Nigel pressed. "How do you feel, John Bull?"

"I feel that I'm quite slim, sir, thank-you", John said, which was true. He felt that way, but in the back of his mind he seemed to know different. he was unable to articulate it, however.

"It is my recommendation, John Bull", Nigel went on, "that we continue these hypnosis sessions for the foreseeable future. It will help you focus, improve your work productivity and obedience, and serve as a hedge against any more restless nights. I'll speak with Mrs. Flemming to work out a schedule for you later."

John's stomach lurched at the thought of placing his inner thoughts and mind in Nigel's hands. What had he been told while he was in his trance a moment ago? There was no way to be certain. And to simply surrender himself time and time again without any conscious knowledge of what was being done to him--

"Yes, I agree that is an excellent idea, sir, and should do me a world of good. Thank-you for suggesting it, sir." John's hand flew to his lips, far too late. The words spilled out of his mouth unbidden, and he couldn't believe he had said them. He felt as if he had spoken with no more thought to his words than an automated phone message.

Nigel smiled, seeing the fear in John's eyes. "Not at all." Nigel walked confidently over to a nearby thermos and picked it up. John could not recall seeing it in the room before. Nigel poured its steaming contents into the lid which served as a cup and offered it to John. "A bit of refreshment before you return to your duties, John Bull."

Gingerly, John took the cup and caught a whiff of what was inside. It was the special tea blend he liked so much. "Sir? You drink hot tea after a workout?"

Nigel's face was blank, but he said, "Anytime is a good time for tea, John Bull."

John felt something click inside him. That was so very true. "Anytime is a good time for tea", he repeated, half- consciously. John proceeded to empty the cup down his throat.

"That's the way, John Bull", Nigel grinned. "Drink it all down." John handed the cup back to his master, feeling quite refreshed and renewed, and wondering why he had ever worried about being hypnotized. He felt fine. "You may return to your work", Nigel told him.

John gave a curt bow and turned to leave. "Oh, and one other thing", Nigel said, stopping John's departure. John turned to face him.

"Yes, sir?"

"While I shall see to it that your workload today will be moderate, for the following three days your assignments will be doubled and overseen by Mrs. Flemming." John's eyes widened and he almost opened his mouth to protest. "I did leave express instructions that my exercise regimen was not to be disturbed", Nigel clarified.

John felt his face flush, something that his now-ruddy complexion helped to hide, and replied, "Of course , sir. It won't happen again."

Nigel flung his towel over one shoulder and took a swig from his thermos. "Oh, I've little worry in that regard." John started on his way, feeling that trepidation about being hypnotized rising up inside him again. What exactly had he gotten himself in for? "John Bull?", Nigel called again. "Is there something the matter with the cut of your trousers? Your gait is quite odd."

John did not turn back, but answered over his shoulder, "Not at all, sir. I suspect my leg may have fallen asleep while I was hypnotized, is all."

Nigel gave a small "hmp", and waved John off with a "Carry on."

John hastened down the hallway to put some distance between him and Nigel. Or hastened as best he could, anyway, with the throbbing erection he had between his legs.

The remainder of John's day was uneventful. True to his word, Nigel kept John's work regimen light. Even Mrs. Flemming was given a short leash, he supposed, since she merely stood nearby and glowered each time he recited his oath, keeping her sizeable trap shut. By the end of the day, John was feeling better than he had since he could recall coming to this house and taking up his assigned role of servant.

John neared his room and saw a tea tray and laid out by the door. John knelt down and saw the small tray held a single tea serving and china pot kept warm beneath a tea cozy. A small card was placed within the cup, which John picked up and read:

My Dear John-

Late night tonight steam cleaning the rugs in the library and main dining hall. Sorry I'll miss you. Just leave the tray inside your door and I'll sneak by and pick it up come morning. Hope all is well.

Fondly, -Melanie

John sighed, both from being touched by Melanie's affection and his own distress over being utterly unable to respond, much less reciprocate. He took the tray into his room and after kicking off his boots enjoyed his tea. It may have been the weight of the day's events or simply his imagination, but he could swear the tea tasted even better than usual. Perhaps due to a special additive on Melanie's part. Either way, John found the tea so soothing that it relaxed him completely. He was barely able to shuck off his uniform before falling fast asleep atop his covers.

John opened his eyes to find himself standing in the gymnasium again. He felt as disoriented as he had when Nigel had hypnotized him the morning before, blinking his eyes against the brightness of the overhead lights and trying to get his bearings as he pondered how he had come to stand there, several feet from the weight bench with no recollection of making the journey.

Nigel was working out on the other side of the room. He swung and pivoted around the parallel bars, going into slow motion as his swing arced upward, landing softly in a floating dismount some feet away. He began to stride toward John, his unblinking eyes fixed upon him, boring through to his soul. John felt naked and exposed under that stare, and felt a chill run across his body.

John looked down and found that he was in fact actually naked before his master. John wanted to run from the room, or at least cover himself, but was frozen in place. Nigel came closer, and John could see that Nigel was dressed in the livery uniform which John had been assigned to wear. Nigel strode up to John and stood nearly nose to nose with him, his eyes like flint. Then Nigel held up his index finger and said in a voice that echoed strangely, "Keep your eyes on my finger."

John felt the will drain from his body and he nodded dumbly as Nigel ran his fingers over John's bare shoulders. Then, slowly and deliberately, Nigel began to disrobe. First he carefully unbuttoned his jacket, then his shirt. Nigel eased off his tall boots and very slowly removed his pants. He wore nothing underneath.

John watched Nigel strip off the uniform, his body still standing frozen but his eyes moving wildly up and down Nigel's body. For a moment, the naked Nigel stared at John, looking his body up and down. Nigel shook his head, as if he'd assessed that John's physique was sadly lacking. Nigel then threw the shirt around John's shoulders. He slid John's arms into the sleeves and buttoned it up. John could do nothing to prevent or assist in this endeavor, and could only allow himself to be dressed as if he were some giant doll. Nigel put John's legs into the trousers, one leg at a time, then pulled them up and fastened them securely. He then put on John's boots and completed John's attire with the jacket. Nigel stared at John, his penetrating eyes not breaking contact with John's own, until he suddenly produced a top hat from thin air. John was uncertain where it had come from, but it was without question the hat that went with John's serving uniform. Gingerly, holding the brim with two fingers on either side, Nigel set the hat atop John's head with great ceremony.

Nigel stepped back, completely naked and uncaring, and admired the now fully-uniformed John. He nodded in approval at his handiwork. John felt strangely exposed, despite the fact that he was now fully clothed and Nigel was fully naked. Yet John felt embarrassed and humiliated while Nigel still carried himself with an air of confidence and strength.

Nigel stepped forward then, and gripping John's lapels, kissed him lightly on the lips. John felt a rush of pleasure at the contact and became so lightheaded he feared he would faint. John's head stopped spinning as Nigel led him over to the weight bench.

Nigel laid John down on the weight bench and kissed him again. Once, twice, three times, all very softly and with great affection. Then on the fourth kiss, Nigel lingered, his tongue probing, finding its way into John's willing mouth, sending John's heart rate up considerably. John wanted to struggle, or perhaps wrap his arms around Nigel, or something, but found he could only lie back and accept his master's advances. Nigel did not pull away, and as his kiss lingered on and on, John felt himself swell with intense joy.

Then his body physically mimicked the joy he was experiencing, and he began to swell up like a balloon. His body inflated as if attached to some bizarre magical pump and he became gigantic and round, all under the passionate lips of Master Nigel. John began to panic, desperate to scream for Nigel to pull away, to stop kissing him, to stop inflating him, but he was helpless to do anything.

After John had reached a point where both his belly and torso formed a massive sphere and his head and neck bulged, Nigel calmly pulled away, breaking off his kiss. John then floated up off the weight bench like his balloon likeness. Still clad in his livery uniform, which had somehow stretched to accommodate his increased size, John floated up toward the ceiling of the gymnasium. Horrified, John looked down at Nigel, who stood looking up at him, proud and naked, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. With a light thud, John felt his floating body bump against the ceiling. Upon impact, he knew without question he was trapped. In that house, in that body, in the thrall of his beautiful master.

With a gasp, John sat up in bed, soaking with sweat. Frantically, he pawed at his body, desperate to assure himself that he had not blown up like a balloon, that he was his normal size and that all was well.

But all was not well. John was frightened in the unnerving, desperate way that only comes following nightmares. Even though John knew that logically, the dream was past and he could go back to sleep, he would not close his eyes again for some time for fear or returning to the same dream. John saw the time was 3:34 in the morning. Slipping out of his quarters, John took the hidden passageways to the servants' pool and swam for the better part of an hour before gaining sufficient courage to return to his bed. The rest of the night, thankfully, was dreamless.

The next brought his first officially-scheduled hypnosis session with master Nigel, as well as a new parade of jokes and jibes from the staff that now he was "crackers" as well as incompetent since they viewed his sessions as therapy. The sessions were quick and relaxing and much to John's relief, were held in the upper study where Nigel kept his shirt on. As Nigel prepared to dismiss John, he reviewed their session together.

"You feel fine then, John Bull? No lingering sleepiness, nothing of that sort?"

"No, sir."

Nigel nodded absently, not really listening, then his eyes grew sharp, and he looked back on John. "And nothing unusual has been troubling you otherwise, has it, John Bull?" He paused, as if for effect. "How have you been sleeping?"

John felt his heart skip a beat. How could he know? But this was a legitimate worry. Something was effecting John's psyche to the point that it was coming out in his dreams, and the hypnosis was very likely at the root of it. John began to say as much, even give an expurgated recounting of his dream, when his voice said, "I've been sleeping very well, sir, thank-you for inquiring. I am doing splendidly and I wish to continue these hypnosis sessions for as long as you deem necessary, please."

John's eyes bulged with horror. These were not the words he had intended to speak, by any stretch of the imagination. His tone, inflection, and phrasing did nothing, however, to betray that what he had uttered was anything other than an honest response. His eyes, on the other hand, projected absolute panic. John wanted to shout out that those words were not his own, but his lips had closed tight and he was left with inescapable conclusion that he was done speaking for that session.

Nigel approached John and looked into his eyes. It was evident that Nigel could see the panic reflected there, and grinned in response. Slyly, he whispered, "So very glad to hear it, John Bull. You best return to your duties now before you're too badly missed."

John gave a slight bow and left the room, possibly propelled by his own power, possibly not. He could no longer tell.

That evening there was another tea tray outside his room, another card. Melanie was assigned to assist with cleaning the fourth floor draperies. John was relieved. He still wasn't up to facing her just yet. He enjoyed his tea, retired, and fought sleep for the better part of two hours before finally drifting off. He would slumber for an additional hour before the dreams came again.

Once again, the naked John met with his liveried master in the gymnasium. Their clothing was exchanged, only this time John was left with the oddest feeling that this was somehow the natural order of things. Again, after John was fully dressed, his unclothed master kissed him. But unlike before, this time Nigel led John through a series of corridors that John did not recognize. They eventually led to a back passageway with descending stairs that emptied out before the servants' swimming pool. John was taken aback for a moment. He had never come to the pool by way of the main house before.

Nigel led John by the hand into the pool. The water was grimy and thick as it was when John first discovered it. John thought nothing of following his naked master into the water, despite being fully attired in his uniform, boots, hat, and all. Once submerged up to their waists, Nigel began to kiss John, again assaulting his senses with wave after wave of the most sublime joy.

Nigel gently lowered John into the water until John's face was all that remained above the water. His uniform was heavy with water, his boots had been flooded, he had no idea how his hat was staying on his head. He didn't care about any of it. His master was kissing him, over and over. But then the small kisses stopped. Nigel leaned forward and kissed John intimately, and the overwhelming rush of joy began anew. John felt the pleasure swell within him and he wanted to protest while simultaneously begging for more. His body began to inflate, taking on the aspects of a beach ball. Nigel kept kissing, John's useless hands and feet splashed about at the outer fringes of his huge bloated body, unable to make Nigel break off his contact, unable to free himself.

Soon John floated up atop the water and began to drift, as easily as a living beach toy. Nigel tapped John lightly on the behind, sending him whirling around in circles atop the pool waters. Nigel's laughter pealed louder and as he spun the helpless, floating John balloon about, he cried out, "Recite your oath! Recite your oath!"

Weeping, John called out in hopes it would make Nigel stop. His desperate cries sounded like the voice of a fool, "I am only John Bull! That is all that I am! I am only John Bull! That is all that I am!"

John's floating ball-body thudded against the side of the pool, jarring John awake. John gasped and thrashed, trying to adjust himself to the fact that he was not in the water, but in his bed. Until his arms splashed water around him. The floor was flooded beneath John, and he nearly found himself swept under the standing water. There was at least four feet of it.

Gasping, John stood up rapidly, nearly falling over backwards. John was not in his bed. he was indeed in the servants' swimming pool. All the lights in the room were off, and the room was dimly illuminated by the light streaming from the servant's back passageway nearby. John had never sleepwalked in his life. How had he come to be here? As John began to drag his soaking wet body out of the pool, he saw that he was still dressed. And not in his pajamas.

John was dressed in his livery uniform, which he knew for a fact he had removed and hung up for cleaning before he went to bed. For a full five minutes, John simply stood in the shallow end of the pool, feeling his heart beat against his chest, frightened of what was happening to him, of what he was doing. And truly horrified of what could possibly come next.

He had to get out of Master Nigel's house. It was time for extreme measures.

Part Three

"Dad, you have GOT to get me out of here! Don't give me the damn responsibility and growth through humility lecture, either! You don't understand, he's DOING something to me! I'm not behaving normally--NIGEL!! Who the bloody hell do you THINK I'm talking about?!"

John yelled into the phone, desperate to convince his father he needed to escape Nigel's hold on him. He hoped the increased vocal volume would penetrate the father's thick skull. It was having no effect so far.

"Yes! He's started hypnotizing me! Look, I know it's a trick he does at parties, that's how it all started--yes, Dad, I WAS a good sport about it. But he keeps doing it. We've had multiple sessions already and it's begun to--No, I can't just tell him I'd rather not, Dad. Because I'm a bleeding MANSERVANT, that's why, dammitt all! I have to do whatever he tells me! You saw to that!"

John cradled his head in one hand as his father's gurgling voice flowed out of the receiver. Shaking his head, John tried to collect himself. "Dad, no, that's not...what? You just don't get it, you aren't hearing what I'm saying...STOP laughing!" John stood up, his knuckles going white as he clutched the telephone. "I am NOT being petulant and cute! Oh, spare me the foofaraw about sticking it out, already! I am being manipulated, I am being twisted into somethin--"

John clenched his teeth, pacing back and forth as his father spewed platitudes which he punctuated with what he thought was reassuring chortles. As his old man paused for breath, John hissed into the phone, "I will take off from here, Dad. I could care a pin about the damned inheritance, and I mean it. I don't KNOW where I'd go to-- Corsica, Tahiti, the Cayman Islands, Newark New Jersey, just as long as I'm away from here!" His father's voice dribbled out of the phone. He was now attempting to be soothing. John sighed, realizing how futile this entire ploy was.

"No, I serious--Dad, I really mean it this time. I swear I will leave, I don't care how many times I've threatened before--! What? I do NOT run away from all my problems, how dare you--?! Well, maybe I'll just find some travel agent that doesn't require money up front, and I'll--" John could feel his ruddy complexion going crimson. "I CAN'T stick it out, for the love of heaven! Don't you see that?? I have to get--DON'T you hang up on me!! Dad! DAD!!!"

John heard the click on the other end and stood staring into the receiver long enough for the dial tone to return. He was sorely tempted to just march out the door and keep walking, livery costume or no. In fact, since that was what he had been reduced to, so be it. John slammed down the receiver and whirled about to make his grand exit.

And saw Nigel leaning against the doorway.

"And how is your dear father, John Bull?"

John fumed, but held his tongue. "Same as usual, sir."

"Jolly good", Nigel smirked. "It's time for your next hypnosis session, John Bull. Off we go."

John puffed up his chest and prepared to tell off Nigel once and for all, and then to storm out of his damnable house, slamming the door behind him. But as he opened his mouth, out came the words, "But of course, sir. May we see to it immediately then?" After the sentence had been spoken, John looked stricken. Nigel appeared to enjoy that look.

Striding casually up to John, Nigel said with menacing quiet, "Yes, John Bull, we shall begin immediately. And from now on, your telephone privileges are revoked. You know better than to make calls during your working hours."

John nodded. "Yes, of course, Master Nigel. I thank-you for correcting my misconduct."

Nigel stepped backwards out of the door, bidding John to follow him with a curling index finger. John plodded on after his master like a condemned man going to his final fate. If only John knew what his final fate was...

That night in his room, John sat on his cot trying to ignore the knock at the door. Mrs. Flemming had already come and gone, after hearing John's oath recital and making a few venomous comments about John's mental instability and the burden he brought to both her master and the household in gen

O'Melissokomos: The Bee Keeper

John Bull (mm mc)

by Purplebootsgywr

Part One

Part Two

Part Three