Recital

I was trembling, waiting for my case to be opened. I had to remember to be still, or I might tangle the strings. This was our first public performance, my owner’s and mine, and the hall was sold out. I had been thoroughly caned so that I understood how important tonight was for my owner; not that I really needed a reminder.

I felt my case being stood upright—it must be almost time. I had no idea how long it had been since I was carried out of the car and brought backstage. The clips holding the case shut were released, and I could see my owner. He was beautiful and stern in his dark tuxedo, his face showing nothing. From now until the end of the concert, I was not a person. I was his instrument.

He put on my special end pin—a butt plug attached to a cup shaped seat, molded to fit my butt, with a spike sticking out the other end. My legs were bound up behind my back, getting them out of the way and giving my musician something comfortable to lean against.

I was wearing a body suit of a special material that bounced all sound back, turning my skin into a resonating surface. The fabric looked like varnished wood, but was translucent enough to show the F holes tattooed on my abdomen. Of course, I could still feel every vibration, every touch of the bow or my owner’s hands. My cock, kept erect by a polished wooden device, formed the base of the bridge, with wooden pieces on either side of it. The strings ran from a special bar between my bound knees, over the bridge, up across my body, finally ending at my fingers. My arms were bound over my head, attached to a hard board. I now very much resembled a cello, and the waist cincher helped to give me the extra curves to help the illusion.

I was grabbed and brought on stage, my musician carrying me to his chair and settling us both. We, or rather, he, were the stars of the evening. The only reason people would remember me, the instrument, this time, was my…vibrancy. Instruments are not usually remembered by symphony audiences.

This audience caught its collective breath as they saw me. I was blushing, but realized that I hardly needed an apparatus to keep my cock erect. I loved having them all watch my musician and I perform our erotic dance.

My musician raised his bow, and I knew his eyes were closed with concentration. Hidden from the audience, I also had a board stabilizing my spine, just to keep me steady and comfortable. We rarely used this, but with such a long performance…the bow touched the strings, and the distance between the humming strings and my skin, which might as well have been bare, that’s how thin the fabric was, was so small that I could feel every note through my whole body. His hands were at my throat, coaxing the notes out of me as though I were singing, and he an especially tactile vocal instructor. I was so much a part of the music, but still helplessly, beautifully passive. The skill was his alone, but I don’t think he could have gone back to playing wood. I wouldn’t want to give myself too much importance, but…even when I wasn’t his instrument, when I was just his, it was special.

I nearly came during an extended section of low, resonating notes that vibrated the butt plug at just the right frequency, and I was glad he had thought, after our first messy rehearsal, of including a metal prong that went into my urethra in the wooden cock support.

Each note thrummed over my cock, seeing as it was such an integral part of the instrument, and I remembered that my cock wasn’t really being kept from going soft from lack of attention, but from too much! Without the rod in my urethra, and the wood supporting it, I would have come very quickly as my cock was vibrated and stroked by the music.

From time to time the bow would tap my side, and I would smile. I loved it when he was so involved with the music that he would knock my side. I could feel how much of himself he was playing tonight, feel the audience responding to the sight of me, cradled between his legs, showing them something so intimate.

During a long rest for him, he tickled my foot, out of sight of the audience, his expression not changing. I knew it was intentional, and that it was the most he could, or would, show his affection until we were back home.

I remembered him asking me to move in with him.

“Well, I don’t know any other musicians who don’t live with…have their instruments at home.”

“You have other…real…cellos.”

“You don’t understand, do you? You are a real cello. I don’t want to play a wooden one any longer. Just you. I’m going to play you at the next symphony.” He pulled me into his arms as roughly as he would if we were playing, and kissed me with all of his music, and the next day I was driving my possessions to his house.

It wasn’t long before I forgot about the audience, about the rest of the orchestra. My world narrowed to his hands, always tantalizingly out of reach of my throat, the bow hovering over my ribs, the feeling of his knees, his legs, pressed against my back and legs. I felt his love for me, and I realized I was crying. I knew he loved me, because he loved his music, and he was sharing it with me, and he was sharing me with his audience.

All too soon, though I knew it had actually been several hours, I was carried back offstage, the end pin was removed, and I was put back in my case. He had laughed when I had suggested the case, until he saw that I was serious. If we’re going to do this, I had said, we should do it properly. The case was very comfortable, having been custom-built to my shape, with lots of soft foam and airholes. I felt myself being lifted and put in the back of the car, heard another musician ask if he…we…were coming for drinks.

My musician laughed. We often did join them for drinks, after I had been unbound and soothed for a bit. We had played for the symphony during rehearsals a few times, and I was always around during concerts (in a strictly non-instrument capacity), but this was our first public performance, and we had other plans. Some of the other musicians were already wondering how to…convert…their instruments.

My musician drove us home, whistling softly, my case rocking softly on the seat. He didn’t speak to me during the drive, and I hadn’t expected him to. It certainly was easier now that we lived together; he could simply unbind me and we could tumble into bed together, rather than having to drive me home (I was usually in no condition to drive).

Finally, he pulled into our driveway, and came around the car to pull my case out, resting it upright on the step as he unlocked the door. He carried the case straight to the bedroom before he opened it, unfastening the Velcro that held me in place and gently removing me.

I expected him to unbind me right away—this cello business wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t been as small and flexible as I am, and able to keep my legs bound behind me for extended lengths of time—but he didn’t. Instead he laid me, reverently, as a good instrument should be, on the bed, facedown. Normally, he would have played me first, but he just had for several hours, so he went straight to my ass, which was already nice and loose from the butt plug. He stopped, running his fingertips over the matching F holes tattooed on each ass cheek, making me shiver.

He fingered me playfully, his long, elegant, calloused fingers just as good at playing my hole as he was the rest of me. After a moment of this, he straddled me, resting his hands on my fingerboard, and began to gently fuck me. After several minutes of sustained moaning from me, he stopped, sounding thoughtful. “Oh, of course! You can’t cum!” He pulled out the prong in my urethra, as though he had actually forgotten it was there, which we both knew he hadn’t.

I could almost hear his wicked grin as he resumed, fucking me passionately now, occasionally plucking a string. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I came, my cock driven into the mattress by his weight on top of me. He laughed, following suite soon after, collapsing elegantly to the bed. “Mmm, I’m quite boneless, you might just have to stay like that while I recover.”

I was forbidden to talk as a cello, but he must have taken pity on me, anyway, because he soon had me freed and nestled in his arms to sleep.

Stock's Wish

Sydney brought his doctor bag down to the kitchen, not knowing quite what to expect. He saw the kitchen boys fairly regularly, but Jess had requested a meeting between Sydney, him and Stock.

Stock is sitting on Jess' bed, swinging his legs a little nervously and waiting for the doctor to arrive. Jess is finishing some last minute dinner preparations while they wait, and Stock can hear the chef screaming at someone--mostly to be heard over the general kitchen clamour.

Sydney comes in, sitting in an available chair. "Hello Stock," he smiles kindly. "How are you?"

Stock smiles back. He's seen the doctor every few months or so, for checkups and minor injuries. "I'm alright, how are you?" He's a little shy.

"I'm well. What is this about?" Sydney said. Stock looked fine, he'd been expecting something fairly serious.

"Um..." Stock blushes. "...did Jess not tell you?"

"No. You're alright, it's not serious?"

The kitchen boy blinks in surprise. "No, I'm fine...why?"

"I thought... perhaps you had a terrible health problem." Sydney explained. "Since I was told to come down here, and since it was a meeting with Jess as well as you."

"Oh!" Stock laughs softly. "I'm sorry. No, it's nothing like that. I'm fine. I...ah...we...I was wondering if you could measure me for a prosthetic..."

"A prosthetic?" he looked surprised.

"We'll be eating his leg." Jess said as he came in. "Sorry I'm late, there was some chaos in the kitchen." he sat on the bed with Stock. "And I'll need you to sit in on the butchering to take care of Stock afterwards."

Stock jumps a little, startled by Jess' appearance. The boy nods, still rather red. He leans closer to the chef without really noticing that he's doing so.

Sydney nods after a moment. "Well, where were you thinking of amputating?"

Jess indicated a place on Stock's thigh, lifting the boy's shorts.

Stock nibbles his lip shyly, feeling his cock begin to harden, and loving hearing them talk about him like this.

"Do you have a tape measure?" Sydney asked, digging a marker out of his bag.

"I'll find one. Undress." Jess said to Stock, getting up and opening the drawers of his desk.

The boy nods and shimmies out of his shorts and briefs, shrugging out of his shirt--as long as they're in the kitchen, they mostly wear what's comfortable, even if it's not entirely historically accurate. He delicately tries to cover his partial erection with one hand, standing by the bed a little awkwardly.

Sydney kneels in front of the boy, getting him to stand. He makes a mark on his thigh where Jess had indicated.

Jess gave him the tape measure and he wrapped it around Stock's thigh snugly.

Stock finally has to move his hand away from his cock, or he's definitely going to start stroking it. He continues to stand uncomfortably, torn between watching what they're doing and trying to think of something else.

"Is that about right?" Sydney asked Jess.

"Looks fine to me. Can you still give him a prosthesis if you make it higher?"

"Not easily, no. It's much simpler if part of the limb remains." the doctor explained.

"I thought so, but his thigh meat will be some of the best." the chef chuckled.

Stock shivers with delight, making involuntary whimpering sounds as he tries not to touch his now fully erect cock. This is his version of talking dirty. "I suppose not many people can be measured before they lose a limb," he says, sounding a little forced.

"No, I've never heard of it happening before." Sydney chuckled.

Jess looked at Stock's cock with a smirk. "Enjoying yourself?"

Stock nods and looks away, subtly crossing his legs.

"None of that." Jess nudged his legs apart. "I was thinking we should take a cast of his leg. I seem to remember hearing about prosthetics being made with casts."

"That's correct," Sydney nodded. "I can get the supplies to make a cast by next week, but we'll have to send Stock and the cast to a prosthetic specialist once he's healed. Scars all heal slightly differently and the way you butcher him will change the shape of the prosthetic where it meets his leg." Sydney explained, touching Stock's thigh.

Stock is a little surprised that Jess knows so much about this, and touched. For some reason, the thought of a stranger touching and examining his stump is erotic, as well. His legs tremble a little, his cock beginning to leak at the tip. He's quite looking forward to the cast.

Jess smiled at Stock. "You get back to work and we'll get the cast made when the supplies are in."

Stock nods, beaming. His smile is only slightly diminished when he realizes he'll have to get right back to work, with no, ah, break.

"Come to see me after you're done, I have one more thing to do before you wash up." Jess said, dismissing him and continuing to talk to Sydney.

Stock nods and sort of shuffles back to the kitchen, trying to ignore the little trail of drops he's leaving behind. And the thing making them.

Roast chuckles when he sees Stock come in. "Are you okay, sweetie?" he gestures to the boy's cock.

Stock makes a sulky face, shaking his head sadly. Then nodding happily. Then just looking confused. And horny.

Roast ushers him in to their room quickly, dropping to his knees and taking Stock's cock in his mouth.

"Eep!" Stock squeaks. "I, uh, don't...I mean...Jess told me to get back to work...ohgod..."

Roast didn't answer him, just grazing the boy with his teeth lightly. It wasn't polite to talk with your mouth full.

"Ahhh...mmm...oh, yeah..." Stock puts his hands behind his back so he won't grab Roast. In a very, very short amount of time..."Roast, I...ahhhnn!"

Roast swallows and licks Stock clean, grinning up at him. "Feel better?"

Stock nods with the big, grateful eyes. His legs tremble a little, and he leans against the wall with a content little smile. "...thanks, Roast," he says dreamily.

"You're welcome, sweet boy. You take a moment, then get back to work." he kissed Stock's forehead.

Stock nods happily, resting a little before going back to work with a spring in his step.

****

After they've finished the details of how Jess will sever Stock's leg, Jess smiles and offers Sydney his hand. "Thank you for your help."

Sydney smiles back, and takes the hand, a little awkwardly--he's not particularly comfortable around the living, especially if he isn't treating them or something. "Of course. I...look forward to seeing how this turns out," he says, eyes a little unfocused.

Jess raises an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

Sydney replies, without a trace of shame, "When next you, ah, butcher a boy...would I be able to have him for a short period? Say, after you had bled and gutted him, but before you had proceeded further?"

"What for?"

The doctor gives Jess a rather dark look. "To fuck."

"Yes. You could have him longer if you're fine being in the freezer with him." Jess said matter-of-factly.

"I assume you mean the walk-in freezer, and not the deep freezer...?"

"Yes, the walk-in."

Sydney nods. "That would be quite alright. Although I don't need long." He smiles, finding himself quite liking the head chef, despite himself.

"You can have him until he needs to freeze, then you can go with him if you're not finished." Jess chuckled. He was also finding himself liking Sydney. The man was quiet and morbid and the enjoyment Jess got from Sydney was different than the sexual enjoyment he got from his kitchen boys.

Sydney nods, his smile much more open and genuine this time. "Well," he says, standing. "I suppose I have some supplies to order." From here, they can just hear Stock's moans. The doctor raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Jess laughs. "Yes. Let me know when they get in."

Sydney nods, his gaze lingering on the chef just a moment before he leaves.

***

When he's done work for the day, Stock knocks softly on Jess' doorframe. "Jess?"

"Come in." Jess is mixing something in a small bowl, a green paste of some kind.

Stock enters, still grinning happily from the day's events. He looks a little confused--Jess never cooks in his room--but goes over to the bed the chef is sitting on.

"Stand." Jess directs him, stripping off Stock's pants. The line Sydney had drawn on earlier is still visible. Jess uses a wet cloth to wipe off some of it and in its place he draws a line with the thick green paste.

Stock raises an eyebrow, watching. Goosebumps raise on his leg, following Jess' fingers. He has no idea what's going on, but...the contact feels very, very good. Especially given the context.

Jess finishes wiping off the line and leaving the trail of paste where it had been. He stood and kissed Stock briefly. "Wash that off in ten minutes and don't scrub at it very hard for the next week. It should last until we amputate your leg."

Stock shivers a little at the kiss, the goosebumps covering his whole body now. "...yesJess..." he murmurs, wandering out of the room to find Roast and squee.

***

Stock is clearly distracted and giddy during his week of waiting, but is trying very, very hard to do well.

Sydney sends Jess a note one day, telling him that the plaster bandages are in.

Jess in turn summons Stock, before heading upstairs to the Doctor's room with his kitchen boy in tow.

Stock bounces up the stairs, grinning like an idiot and trying very hard not to do either.

Jess knocks at Sydney's door, then lets them in. He checks Stock's henna tattoo briefly, nudging Stock forward to be taken charge of by Sydney.

Stock settles a little when he's faced with Sydney, a little shy around the mostly-unknown doctor.

Sydney nods to Jess, undressing Stock quickly and efficiently. He kneels, frowning at the line. "Ah, henna. Good idea." He pushes Stock into a chair near a pan of water and rolls of plaster bandages.

Jess nods. "I didn't want our line to disappear." he hands Stock something made out of leather and metal. "Put this on." it looked like it would fit over the boy's cock.

Stock squints at the contraption, turning it this way and that, trying to figure out where he's supposed to be putting it.

Jess helped him step into it, then locked it around his genitals. "This way you won't be leaking on the cast."

The kitchen boy blushes and nods, sitting again.

Sydney gives Jess a grateful smile and begins dipping strips of the bandage into the water, laying them on Stock's leg starting below the line.

"It's cold!" Stock giggles, "and the water tickles." He watches a bead of whitish water run down his freshly shaved leg, feeling his cock testing the limits of its cage.

Jess held Stock around the chest and neck, keeping him still.

Stock squeaks, his eyes wide as he peeps over Jess' arm to watch the procedure.

Sydney positions the leg until he's got it to his liking, nicely bent to show the joint, and continues applying the wet strips. When he has the whole leg coated to the ankle, he begins a second layer. "We'll do the foot separately," he says, to Jess, ignoring his 'patient'.

"Will it be more finicky, or is it so it can be jointed?"

"So it can be joined. It would be difficult to do a cast of his leg like this and do the bottom of his foot. We'll need to prop the ankle up for that."

Jess nodded. "Sensible."

Stock is nibbling his lip to keep from whimpering at the irresolvable pressure in his nethers. His eyes are closed, and he's quite enjoying them talking about him like this, while the doctor continues slowly covering his leg. "It feels warm!" he says in surprise.

"That means it's starting to dry. Keep still," Sydney says, shaking his head and smiling at Jess.

Jess smiled back, tightening his arm around Stock and enjoying watching Sydney's hands wrap the bandages expertly around Stock's leg.

Stock makes a little 'glack!' noise as he's squeezed, but keeps still.

Sydney finishes the last layer to his satisfaction, gently pressing on the cast for thin spots. "Done. Hold still." The doctor stays where he is on the floor, head resting on his knee, as though he fully intends to stay here until the cast is dry.

Jess rests his chin on Stock's head, looking down at Sydney.

Sydney smiles gently up at the chef, ignoring Stock.

Stock squirms a little--it doesn't so much feel sexy anymore as warm and sort of scratchy, and now he mostly just wants it off.

"Don't squirm." Jess warned him.

Stock nods, cuddling back against the back of the chair and Jess' arms, waiting impatiently for the stuff to harden.

Finally, Sydney pokes it again all over. "It's dry." He takes a pair of medical shears and slides the lower blade between plaster and skin, carefully snipping the cast away up the back. As soon as it's free, he props it up. "Come here," he says to Stock.

Stock, having watched the procedure a little nervously, looks at Jess for confirmation.

Jess nods to him, shooing him forward.

"Hold the edges together." Sydney tells him, dipping another length of bandage in the water.

Stock obeys, allowing the doctor to seal the cut again. Of course, then he has to hold it while -that- dries. And then hold it some more after Sydney has sealed off one end. It's becoming less and less sexy and more and more tedious. He stifles a yawn.

Sydney smirks. "Maybe we'll do your foot another day, hmm?"

"Don't humour him, Sydney, we can finish this. He can be as impatient as he likes." Jess grabbed Stock by his hair.

Stock squeaks and nods, pulled over onto his ass.

The doctor shrugs. "Alright." He nods Stock back into the chair, putting a plastic covered stool in front of it for the boy to rest his ankle on while they repeat the process.

Jess holds Stock more tightly by the neck, giving the boy something to focus on.

Stock shivers happily, the firm grip on his neck and the gentle sensation on his foot making his cock push at the straps holding it again...which only makes him harder. He's soon quietly moaning, blushing as he tries to hide it.

Jess smiles down at Sydney, chuckling. "Doesn't take much, does it?"

Sydney shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. "I suppose not..."

Stock blushes more deeply, trying to look away, but unable to because of the grip on his neck.

Jess tilts Stock's head back, putting more pressure on his throat. "Sex with the living makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it." he remarked.

Stock gasps, quietly, the goosebumps returning, his foot twitching on the stool.

Clamping one powerful hand on Stock's ankle above the area he's making a cast of, Sydney nods, looking up with a little surprise at Jess. "...yes..."

"Have you ever tried it?" he asked curiously.

"No," Sydney says, looking as repulsed as if Jess had just suggested he put live cockroaches up his butt.

Jess nods, chuckling at Sydney's expression.

Stock listens to the exchange, curious and a little confused.

"Have you ever, well...tried it my way?" Sydney asks, just as curiously, as he finishes wrapping the foot in the final layer. He continues to hold the ankle firmly in place, not realizing how much it's turning Stock on.

"I've fucked dead boys, but never just for the sake of fucking dead boys." Jess shrugged. "It's part of their death and part of cooking them."

Sydney nods, a little surprised to have found common ground with the chef. "Perhaps we could...talk like this again sometime?" he says, a little tentatively.

"I'd like that." Jess smiled, tightening his fingers on Stock's throat in his own happiness.

"...glack!" Stock says again, his eyes rolling up in his head, little bits of his cock's flesh pushing out of the confines of the cage.

"As would I," Sydney says, smiling back and increasing his pressure on the leg in case Stock squirms...which of course, makes him do so.

Stock's cast dries and Jess helps Sydney close it up, since Stock is still wiggling with horniness.

Sydney's hand brushes Jess' while they're working together, and he glances sideways at the chef. There was...something...at that moment. Something that almost reminded him of the way he felt with the dead. He shakes his head and continues.

Stock whimpers in the chair, casting subtle, pleading glances at his cock.

Jess smiles at Sydney, touching the man's shoulder as he stands up. He tosses Stock the key to his chastity belt. "Give this to Roast."

Sydney glances up at Jess, a very odd expression on his face. He remains kneeling, holding the cast of Stock's foot.

"Yessirthankyousir!" Stock pants as he fumbles for the key and races downstairs.

"What is it?"

"Hmm?" Sydney asks, confused, his face neutral again.

Jess raised an eyebrow. "Your expression changed."

"Did it?" he says, glancing down as he gathers the remaining rolls and pieces of bandage.

"I thought as much." Jess touched Sydney's wrist. "If you'd like, we could talk more privately next time."

Sydney glances at the hand on his wrist, an expression that vaguely resembles longing on his face. "...it's private now," he says, sounding almost shy for the first time.

Jess kneels next to him. "What are you thinking, when you look at me like that?"

The doctor considers the man beside him, resting his head on his knee again. "I'm not sure," he says, eyes roving up and down Jess' kneeling body as though he's an unusual specimen.

"I'm not particularly picky when it comes to lovers, but I get the feeling you are. I'm not sure if you'd want to be involved with me, but that's what I'm seeing. I can certainly involve you in the deaths of my boys, but beyond that, I doubt a sexual relationship would satisfy you." Jess said bluntly.

Sydney raises an eyebrow and laughs quietly. "True. And I'm not sure that's what I want. But..." He visibly relaxes, his face shifting from its usual pleasant blankness to something...else. Something much more real, and less comforting. "I enjoy talking with you," he says, awkwardly, unable to express how it feels to be able to be honest, and open, and not have to lie for the sake of other's comfort.

"Because I understand?"

"Yes."

"Friends, then?" Jess offered him his hand.

Sydney nods, very seriously, and takes the hand. "Friends," he agrees.