When the twins were born, I had already been in service to Madame X for almost thirteen years.  I remember serving her breakfast, the mail and the newspaper on the platter beside a pat of butter and a freshly-squeezed glass of juice, and noting the brief article on the back page: Hospital Welcomes Twins on New Year’s Day!

Of course, at the time, it was nothing but a curiosity, a soft “filler” piece.  The only reason I remember it was because, over the course of the next decade, the twins achieved the kind of small-town infamy that such curiosities do.  Zach and Zane were minor local celebrities, and it was not uncommon to see the two of them grinning their gap-toothed, boyish grins whenever the newspaper or local news channel needed a feel-good piece to round out their reporting.  They planted trees on Arbor Day, attended the library’s renovation, and showed up for the ribbon-cutting when the new public swimming pool opened.

I know this because I was there.  Madame X was the one who had funded the Arbor Day tree-planting event at the park, the library’s renovation, and the building of the new public swimming pool.  The city operated under her subtle but firm guiding touch, just as I did.  

The twins, though, were an anomaly.  They were townies who had not been crafted according to her plans, and as they aged, their cuteness gave way to mischief, the kind that comes from being given too much attention too early in life.  Zach and Zane had gotten away with plenty as children and, as they matured out of boyhood, continued to get away with things.

“Those boys need discipline,” remarked Madame X one morning as she scanned the paper, and that was when I realized their appearances at the various events had been no coincidence.

Madame X, after all, loves a curiosity.  

She’s a collector, a connoisseur, and the “New Year’s Twins” were precisely the kind of curio she’d love to adopt.  She had bided her time as the two of them grew up, softly terrorizing the town with their antics, letting them get good and spoiled so that, when it was time, she’d have the satisfaction of breaking them in.  A challenge.  What virtuosa doesn’t love a challenge?

It was late December when she made her remark about the boys needing discipline because the twins had gotten into yet another newspaper article.  It was not the sweet fluff piece of their youth; it was a cold, impersonal crime report detailing how they’d stolen a car and gone for a joy ride.  The car was (mostly) unharmed (aside from a parking ticket), but the owner was livid, and the twins were unrepentant.  They were a mere week away from their 18th birthday.  They could have been tried as adults, but a… mysterious benefactor had stepped in and settled up with the car’s owner, and the whole mess had been taken care of.

“You, Madame?” I guessed.

A smile ghosted over Madame X’s face, and she tilted her head affirmatively.  “Yes, Dr. Forbin.  I think with guidance, the twins could be set back onto the right path.  A bit of education, a bit of instruction… they could be whipped into shape.  Don’t you agree?”

I knew she meant whipped into shape in the most literal sense of the phrase.

“Yes, Madame.  Though they’re likely to present a challenge.”

“All the more reason to make them an offer.  Do me a favor, won’t you, and deliver them an invitation?  I’d like to make a weekend of it.  Ring in the new year with a bang.”

“Yes, Madame,” I agreed, and when she’d finished her breakfast, I went to the office to pull out one of the drafts of her invitation letters I kept on hand.

By then, it had been nearly thirty years that I’d been in Madame Xara’s service and before I tell you about the New Year’s adventure with the twins, I should speak to Madame Xara herself.  She is, after all, a fascinating character.  But I, a lowly man, am neither her partner nor equal, simply a trusted servant.  Still, there’s something to be said for that.  What good servant doesn’t know his mistress?  What good servant isn’t, to some extent, an extension of that whom they serve?

So, here is my humble assessment as Madame Xara’s private butler and long-time attendant:

Madame Xara is a stern, assertive disciplinarian.  A woman who knows precisely what she wants and how she wants it.  She rewards loyalty and encourages generosity but does not abide brattiness.  Over three decades, I’ve watched her work her magic, a smooth blend of eroticism, confidence, skill, and maturity that melds into a perfect union that gets results.  Madame Xara has honed her instincts to a razor-sharp edge and, now, she has the kind of intuition that makes her almost supernatural in her ability to gauge what people want, what people need, and, most importantly, what people will sacrifice to get it.

You might say I love her.  I am not unique in that; many men love her deeply and desperately.  For what it’s worth, though, you should know that only I am trusted to feed her cats in the morning.

But enough about me.  This is Madame Xara’s story and how she invited the New Year to the Queen’s Building.  

Or, how she invited the infamous “New Year’s Twins” to the Queen’s Building!

When the boys arrived on New Year’s Eve, I knew immediately that they were not fully prepared for what awaited them.  They were early, despite Madame X requesting they arrive at midnight.

Madame X had sent me to greet them in the lobby of the Queen Building to escort them up to her private suite.  They looked very out of place in their baggy hoodies, torn jeans, and worn sneakers; the lobby, after all, was a stately atrium of polished marble and elegant fixtures.

I frowned at the torn jeans.  Their pants were practically falling off of them.  Maybe it was meant to be “fashionable,” but I really felt like it was inappropriate not to let Madame Xara be the one to strip them herself.

“Welcome to the Queen Building.  I am Madame Xara’s butler, Dr. Alfred Forbin… but you may call me Forbin.  Everyone does,” I introduced myself.

“A butler named Alfred?” exclaimed one twin, elbowing the other.  Both grinned wolfishly at me, and I bit back a sigh.  I couldn’t tell which was which.

Up close, I could see their appeal.  They were lean and muscular; the only extracurricular they did in high school was swimming, which was enough to sculpt their bodies.  Their features still hinted at immature boyishness, but their eyes were sharp, almost wary.  They had identical flax-colored hair, though one seemed better groomed than the other, with hair that was a little shorter and more uniform.

“Madame Xara is unfortunately delayed but has instructed me to show you to a lounge to wait,” I said.  I’d been trained to say this regardless of when they arrived, and I knew from experience that Madame Xara was not delayed at all.  She always arrived late for her new toys… it was a display of dominance, power, and control.  A clever psychological trick to establish, early on, who was in charge.

“Are we gonna miss the fireworks?” asked the one with the shaggier hair.

His brother elbowed him roughly, hissing, “Zane, shut up,” and I gleaned that the one with the slightly shorter hair was Zach.  They were still nearly indistinguishable from each other; even their clothes were the same color.  Throughout the years, they’d always matched, though they swore it was unintentional.

Even their poor, shredded pants had identical holes.

“I promise you, there will be plenty of fireworks,” I said, with a wry smile as I gestured toward the private elevator.

The twins followed me, with Zach taking the front.  I got the impression he was very marginally “in charge,” though I notice their actions often imitated each other.  When we got into the elevator, both turned in unison to face the closing door and at the same time, folded one hand over their other wrist as the lift rose to take us to the penthouse.

“I trust you understood the offer made to you in Madame Xara’s invitation letter?” I asked politely, as we rode the elevator upwards.

“Sure.  Lots of chicks like twins.  She wants to wish us happy birthday, and if we play nice, she’ll give us an extra special birthday treat,” said Zach casually.

Zane wiggled his eyebrows and stuck out his tongue, then rubbed his fingers and thumb together, indicating he expected money.

They were as crass as their pants.

Madame Xara, I knew, would fix that.

“Yes, she expects you to… play nice,” I agreed.  The elevator chimed as it came to the top floor, and the doors opened.  

Zach and Zane gaped as they emerged into the foyer, ogling the modern art on the walls that showed lithe women draped with cheetah skins, interspersed with pictures of Madame Xara posing with her proudest protégés.  Many of them were bare-breasted, and this clearly fascinated the young men.

I cleared my throat loudly to get their attention.

“Shoes,” I said.

They looked down, in perfect synchronization, at their worn sneakers.

“I just polished the floor.”

“…do we gotta?” whined Zane.

“You can hardly expect… play nice, as you put it if you won’t even remove your shoes,” I said.

“No one’s gonna steal your shoes, Zane.  They stink,” said Zach wisely, already toeing off his shoes.  

“Your belongings are safe here, I promise.  That being said, you’re not expected to wear much over the next two days.  As Madame Xara made it clear in her letter, this weekend is a trial, and you are expected to obey the rules.  You may leave at any time, of course, but if you do, you’ll forfeit the prize afforded to you at the end,” I recited.  

(I had recited this many times before to many men.)

The twins looked at each other, making eye contact, a silent conversation, before turning to me.

“Yeah, okay, we’re game,” said Zach, and without further hesitation, both began to pull their shirts over their heads.

I’m sure my face must have betrayed my shock; many of Madame Xara’s new “recruits” are not so forthcoming.  But these two seemed to fully understand the offer they’d been given and were eager to explore it.  I stood stiffly in the foyer as they peeled off their shirts and jeans without any indication of embarrassment.  (The shaggy-haired one, Zane, did glance around, though, and mouth to his brother, “So where’s Madame X?”)

“Madame Xara has a dedicated lounge space for your stay.  I will escort you there.  You can relax… or if you’d like to make a good first impression–” I began.

“Oh, yeah, we wanna make a good first impression,” interrupted Zane.

“We’re totally here for a good first impression,” agreed his brother, Zach.  The two followed me, bouncing on their bare toes, overly enthusiastic about where the night would take them.

“–one of Madame Xara’s courtesans has volunteered to prepare you–” I tried to continue.

“Prepare us?” repeated Zane, eyes widening, and he mimed jerking off to his brother, who guffawed at the obscene gesture.

I frowned.  These two were a bit… unpolished.

I showed them to the lounge, a sweeping room on the Tower’s eastern side with a thick red carpet, antique Oriental wallpaper, and warm wooden fixtures.  It was a very cozy little lounge.  The only things that might have felt out of place for a commoner were the mounted O-ring that dangled from the ceiling and the cage in the corner.  But a person might easily think that the O-ring was meant to hold a chandelier and the cage was a kennel for a large and unruly dog.  Neither twin noticed or commented but gawked instead at the clear wealth displayed by the carved cherrywood tables and the crystal ashtrays.

“Shall I inform Mistress Marika you’d like prepped for Madame Xara, or–” I began.

Zach interrupted again.  “Madame Marika?  Yeah!  We want Madame Marika!”

“Madame Marika!  Madame Marika!” chanted Zane, jumping up and down.

“Mistress Marika,” I corrected him gently.  “…I shall fetch her.  Please dispose of your underwear in the meantime.  Also, as a reminder, please be conscientious of our rules.  You’re guests here.  You are not allowed to touch anyone unless offered directly.  Mistress Marika will touch you, however, which, you understand, you’re consenting to?”

“Yeah, yeah, we totally consent.  Is this real gold?” asked Zane distractedly, poking a small greyhound-shaped bookend on one of the wall’s shelves.

I bit back a sigh.  “Mistress Marika is a shibari artist.  Do you know what that is?”

“I hope it’s what I think it is!” exclaimed Zane with a wide grin, elbowing Zach and making another obscene motion.  Zach groaned and elbowed him back with a good-natured “Little broooo!” which sounded more like encouragement than an admonishment to me.

I gave up.  They’d figure it out.

I fetched Mistress Marika to attend to them and, sensing the restless energy that seemed to surround them, decided to stay in case I was needed to… curb their enthusiasm.

Mistress Marika, however, needed no help from me.  When she entered the room, with I at her heels, she found the two of them naked, digging through the bookshelf with unashamed curiosity.  

They turned to her with matching grins that faltered when she barked at them to come to her.

“Let’s get something straight, boys,” she snapped, planting herself just under the O-ring mounted to the ceiling and, with a single fluid gesture, pulling a bundle of rope loose.  The skein uncoiled with the grace of a ribbon unfurling as if weightless.  I knew the hemp rope was far sturdier than it appeared in her hands because I’d been tied up with it many times.  “It may be your birthday, but this is Madame Xara’s playhouse, and if you want to be invited back, you’ll have to get in line.  I’m willing to tie you up to make a good first impression, but this isn’t some little game; if you can’t behave, you’re on your own. Got it?”

The two gaped at her.

I leaned forward a little.  “I recommend you do what you can to make a good first impression, I advised them.

The two exchanged glances.

“Hey, isn’t it normally the birthday boys who unwrap their presents?  Not the other way around?” asked Zane.

I noticed how he automatically pluralized the noun, boys.  I did not get the impression either of them did much without the other.

“Madame Xara is giving you a gift because she is a generous host.  It would behoove you to be considerate guests, abide by her rules, and do your best to please her,” I said.

Zane rolled his eyes, and I could tell he thought I was terribly dull.  Zach didn’t roll his eyes, but I could tell he thought the same.

“Alright, alright, look.  Anything for a rich old lady,” said Zach, thrusting his wrists toward Marika.

I don’t know if it was his general attitude or his reference to Madame Xara as a “rich old lady,” but Marika had clearly had enough.  With a flick of her wrist, like a magician revealing a card, she looped her rope over Zach’s exposed forearms and drew him in.  The second flick of her other wrist (she was ambidextrous, a wonderful little benefit to her craft), and she’d lassoed the other twin, tugging both of them forward with a stumble.

I watched as her rope unfurled, braiding itself almost independently of her over the twins’ wrists and bodies.  The two of them stood there, awe-struck, watching with open mouths as her ropes coiled themselves over their bodies.

Marika herself was modestly dressed in a black miniskirt with sheer pantyhose and a soft grey-and-red sweater, but even so, the expert way she worked her ropes demonstrated a kind of intimacy I felt that the twins were unfamiliar with.  The two of them seemed like the only real closeness they’d ever had was with each other, and being suddenly thrust into an environment of shared trust and confidence, they were fish out of water.

But I noticed that they did not protest as Marika commanded them, in a booming voice, to “KNEEL!”  Nor did they squirm when she tied them back to back, their legs in parallel, reverse mirror images, arms up and bound to O-ring.  Across their bodies, she wove harnesses and on their necks, collars tied to each other. 

The two bore it all with surprising grace, but the skeptic in me thought they might only be tolerating it for, as they put it, “the rich old lady.”

The comment had rankled me and, apparently, rankled Marika too because once the twins were secured, she said, “So.  Which one of you called Madame Xara a rich old lady?”

They were silent, the first time since they’d arrived.

“Which one of you?” repeated Marika, more sternly

“Me,” said both in unison.

“…a Sparticus situation, mistress,” I observed.

“Then I’ll gag them both until they can learn to refrain from making snide comments about their generous hostess,” said Marika decidedly, and she crossed the room to one of the end tables to pull open a drawer containing the items she’d need.  I admired her handiwork in the meanwhile; the two twins kneeling, back-to-back, tied together, their bared bodies racked for display, was truly masterful.

The one with the shaggier hair– Zane?– caught my eye and stuck out his tongue.  I frowned, raking my eyes over his body for any way to more easily distinguish him from his brother.  

There– on his hip, just below the waistline, a tattoo.  A plain little “Z” on the right side, perfectly poised between his leg and torso.

Didn’t the poor thing know that the right side was generally considered the submissive side?  He was about to learn.

Marika gagged both and blindfolded them, too.  I saw each of the two boys tense as her fingers drew the straps of their ball gags around the back of their heads.  Neither resisted the gag, but this tiny bit of intimacy, the gentle fingers ghosting over their hair as the ball gags were tied, seemed to put them on alert.  

Both also tensed, I noticed, in tune with the other.  Fascinating.

Blinded, muted, and incapacitated, neither Zach nor Zane seemed overly worried.  They were cocky, I thought, though I have to admit that I admired and envied their conviction.

“Will this do for Madame Xara, Forbin?” asked Marika, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“…oh, yes,” I said, knowing she already knew that.  She didn’t need to take my word for it.  But I appreciated her acknowledgment all the same.

Outside, we heard the crackle of fireworks.  Marika frowned and checked her watch, and I, too, checked my pocket watch (a gift from Madame Xara herself for my service).

We’d all four been so entranced by Marika’s rope-binding that we’d missed the new year.  Around town, people had counted down, kissed, sung, swayed together, and toasted their drinks.  But we four had been isolated.  The twins had just begun their birthday but had no idea; they were now 18, a significant milestone, but they’d missed it.

“Madame Xara will come soon,” I informed Marika.

“Of course.  I’ve got to get back to the party at Chez Esmée’s,” said Marika.  She patted my arm in a friendly way.  “Keep the rope.”

She left us three alone in the relative quiet of the lounge.  The only sound was the distant pops of fireworks ringing in the new year, but the space itself was peaceful and dark.  The twins soon grew bored and wriggled with muffled sounds of protest, their sleek pale bodies like art pieces in the middle of the room.  Greek statues, carved in marble and bound with rope, were alive enough to squirm just slightly but so well-crafted that they could not escape their carnal prisons.

Forgive me, reader, for waxing philosophic… but nothing excites me as much as the quiet before the storm!  Madame Xara’s work was cut out for her… and when she arrived, I felt myself go a little weak in the knees, even after all my years of service.

She had donned her favorite leather boots, thigh-high with a sleek, wicked, pointed heels.  Already tall, the boots made her into a positive giantess, and I couldn’t help but want to kneel before her.  She wore little else, only a g-string and her favorite corset, laced with red ribbon, a mouth-watering shock of color to the rest of her black pieces.  She had a sheer top on, but it was see-through and I could see vividly her arms and breasts, both of which were full of power.  In one hand, she held a whip, an old familiar favorite, the braided black leather worn and soft with use but no less sharp when wielded by its mistress.

Zach and Zane, of course, could see nothing, bound up and blindfolded.  They offered some muffled noises of inquiry when she arrived, aware of her presence but nothing intelligible. 

“Madame Xara,” I said, bowing and taking her hand to kiss it.

She smiled.  “Forbin.  I see you’ve prepared my little New Year’s present for me already?”

“Mistress Marika prepared them, Madame.  I’ve only offered my guidance.”

“…well, they might learn something from you,” she said, stepping forward to circle them, drinking in the sight of their kneeling, bound bodies.  

I stepped back against the wall, clasping my wrists together to watch.

“So.  You must be Zach,” she said, prodding the hip of one with the butt of her whip.  He grunted, canting his hips forward at her, but she’d already stalked around to the other.  “And… Zane?”  Another poke at his hip, where the tattoo was.

He jerked forward, setting the rig swaying; tied together, both bodies moved a little, dangling on the ceiling mount.

“Happy birthday,” she said.

I felt myself smiling.

“I’m sure you think this is some kind of… birthday present.  A reward for being special, because you were born today and happen to be twins.  Isn’t that right?” asked Madame Xara.  “Well, let me be clear.  This isn’t a present.  No.  It’s an offer, made to you as the grown men you now are.  A present is offered without stipulation.  My offers, however, tend to have stipulations.  They’re not gifts, but rewards to be earned.  So, here are my terms.  You will obey me this weekend, and if you do, I will grant you special privileges beyond what you can imagine.  Those special privileges will also have stipulations.  I am not here to please you.  I’m here to make you a deal, because I see potential in you.  Your pleasure is given at my discretion and for my pleasure; it is only a side effect of my methodology.  Do you understand?”

Both boys nodded.

“Very good.  …there are three tenets I want you to leave here with, to consider, going forward.  Perseverance.  Service.  Trust.  I expect all these to be done with utmost obedience.  If you pass my tests, then you will be rewarded.  If either of you wants to leave, at any moment, you may.  But there will be no second chances.”

Both nodded harder; both, I noticed, had gotten hard, and their cocks curved upward, in mirror images, Zach’s to the right and Zane’s to the left.

Perhaps they weren’t so hopeless, after all, if they were already responding positively to Madame Xara’s clear instructions!  Some people tend to simply be… wired for obedience.  Madame Xara, it should be noted, has an almost supernatural ability to sense when someone is wired thusly.  This is how she recruited me, and how she has recruited many others since… including the twins.

“Very good.  The first test will be perseverance.  I do not like to enter contracts with those who cannot commit to them.  So, I want to know you can see things through to the end… and won’t quit.”

Zach tried to speak.  It was nonsensical through the gag, but I swear he was saying, We’re not quitters.

Madame Xara heard the same, it seemed, because she smiled and cupped his face in her delicate but firm hand.  “Good.  Good.  That’s what I like to hear.  Your first test will be not to give in to temptation.  Both of you, I know, are impulsive, and used to getting what you want.  But tonight, I expect you to behave according to my rules.  And I’ll make it easy for you, if you like.  I’ll offer you cock rings and plugs to prevent any… accidents.”

Both of their cocks throbbed at the thought, the thrill, of having Madame Xara touch them!  She looked up and nodded to me, her wise face full of mischief, and I hastened to get the cock plugs for her.  Madame Xara is an expert at many things, but to hobble a man so he can serve her better is beneath her.

I fetched the items she needed and went to the first twin, Zach, to secure a ring around the base of his cock, and gently insert a small silicone peg– not dissimilar to a golf tee– into his slit.  I noticed, as I looked at his groin, that he, too, had a tattoo.  A plain “Z” on his left side.  Even in their tattoos, they were mirrored.

Blindfolded and gagged, Zach still tensed a bit as I took his hard-on into my hands.  I didn’t speak.  Better for him to think it was Madame Xara, I thought.  She watched on imperiously, hand on one hip, whip dangling at her side, as I caressed Zach’s cock to loosen it up before binding and pegging it.  He was turned on and already leaking, and it was easy enough to manage.  His brother, likewise, was already clearly turned on, his member full and hard, and it willingly allowed me to work a small peg into the urethra to keep him from ejaculating.

“Very good.  Now, then.  Who ought to go first?” asked Madame Xara, giving her whip a little flick, like a cat twitching its tail before pouncing.

“…I believe that’s the older one, Madame,” I said, pointing to Zach.

“Thank you, Forbin,” she said, and I backed out of the way quickly, knowing what came next.

Like lightning, she drew her whip over Zach’s torso, striking his abs, leaving long, pink lines across him!  She drew a “Z,” a clever little joke, I thought, but Zach could not have appreciated it, at least not in that moment.  He cried out as best he could in the gag (it was nothing compared to the fireworks outside, nor the crack of her whip), and wriggled, jostling his bound brother.

Madame Xara’s whip came around the back, and this showed her true skill.  The twins were back-to-back but, even with only a few inches, her aim was so precise that she was able to get the tongue of the whip between them, slicing into Zach’s backside while never touching Zane.  All Zane must have felt was the whisper of the air currents as her whip hit his twin, and though Zach was the one getting the beating, it was Zane who panicked, trying to wrench free of his restraints and shrieking through the whole thing.

Madame Xara’s breasts bounced with every lash of the whip, but the rest of her was hard and toned, an athlete’s body, one used to the repetitive motion of punishment.  She made whipping Zach look easy, though in his position, it was not, and I admired her handiwork.  In the dimly-lit lounge, most of the world was monochrome, but even in the low light I watched Zach’s ass turn from pale to pink to blush to maroon… like a sunset.

Finally done, she leaned in, grabbing Zach’s jaw.  “Now, Zach, tell me… do you want more, or is it Zane’s turn yet?”

Zane threw more of a fit at this, presumably trying to volunteer, but Zach was already nodding and giving muffled, begging cries of agreement that he wanted more.  Madame Xara smiled at the way the two played into her scheme; they were trying to spare the other, but both were submitting to her in the process.  Brilliant.

“Perseverance.  The first test.  Zach, you’ve performed very well.  I’d like to untie you and give you a reward.  …as for you, Zane, I still need you to prove to me that you’re willing to endure.”

Both nodded, again in synchronization.

“Forbin.  Cut them down,” she commanded me.  “And get the leashes.”

I hurried forward to do her bidding.  The twins seemed grateful to lower their arms.  Zane reached down to touch his tender, swollen member; Madame Xara slapped his hand, sharply.

“No, no.  Not until it’s time,” she scolded him.

She took Zach by the arms and led him gently over to a footstool.  I noticed how he hesitated, unwilling to leave his brother, and how Zane’s head turned, though he was blind, worried at his brother being taken from him.

“Sit,” commanded Madame Xara.

Zach sat, but grimaced with pain as his tenderized ass settled onto the stool.  Slowly, Madame Xara peeled away his blindfold so he could see her face.  

With thick silver hair and delicate features, Madame Xara had the striking appearance of a fairy godmother.  A magical woman who could grant wishes… but who you’d be a fool to cross.

Zach gazed up at her, his eyes darting over, just once, to his brother.

“Now, it’s Zane’s turn to demonstrate perseverance,” she said with a wicked little smile, going over to Zane to remove his ball gag.

“I’m not afraid of getting whipped,” he said, the second it was out.  (I saw Zach wince at this bravado; Zach, at least, seemed to appreciate that no one got points for “acting tough” with the Madame!)

“No, of course not,” purred Madame Xara, stroking Zane’s hair.  “That test was for your brother.  This is for you.  What I want from you, Zane, is something quite different.  I have a large number of male servants, and I’d like you to pleasure one of them for me.  Have you ever done that, Zane?”

Zane twitched a little.  Though he was blindfolded, I could tell he was surprised at the idea.  “You… want me to suck cock?” he blurted.

“I want one of you to suck cock and the other to be whipped.  Zach was already whipped,” said Madame Xara.  “…draw your own conclusions.”

Zane considered.  I imagine his considerations were difficult, since I could see he was fully erect.

“Do I have to swallow?” he said, finally.

“Not this time,” said Madame Xara, and I felt she was being very generous.

“Well… Zach, you here?”  (Zach gave a muffled “mmf!” through his gag.  His gaze was trained on his brother.)  “Zach, you already got whipped, we oughta go through with it, right?  …right.”  

(He was convincing himself, not his brother, but the line between them already seemed… mushy.)

“After you finish your task, both of you may have a glass of champagne to celebrate your birthday, and then, you may go to sleep.  Tomorrow we’ll finish our tests, and on Sunday, if you pass, you’ll be released.  Fair?” asked Madame Xara.

“Fair,” said Zane firmly.

I watched as Madame Xara tied a lead to Zane’s shaft to lead him.  He let himself be led, and she pulled him around the room, blindfolded, enjoying his obedience.

I resisted the urge to touch myself, knowing it was reward enough to observe.  Part of me hoped she’d bring him to me, feed me to him, but this was not her plan.  Instead, she walked him around the lounge, enough to disorient him, and eventually brought him to the foot of Zach’s stool, where Zach, gagged, was still seated.

Zach’s eyes were wide as dinner plates as Madame Xara crouched beside him and reached out to ease the plug from his cock and roll the ring off the base of it.  Her hands stroked his length slowly, and his eyes rolled up in his head with pure bliss at her touch.

“Remember.  Perseverance. Service.  Trust,” she said, her voice low and silky as she tugged his erection out, an offering.

Zane was still blindfolded.  

Zach’s gaze darted between her and Zane, a degree of panic in his expression.

“Hey, lady, I don’t got all day.  Where’s the cock you want me to suck?  I don’t care, I’ll do it!” exclaimed Zane, opening his mouth.

Zach winced a little but spread his legs.

Madame Xara pushed the back of Zane’s head forward, almost gently, directing him forward, and when his lips met with Zach’s head, he pulled his cock in eagerly, suckling like a newborn calf at a teat.

Madame Xara stroked his bare back encouraging as he worked Zach over, sucking his neglected dick with gusto, and it wasn’t long before Zach squeezed his eyes shut and, still silenced by his gag, came, his body jack-knifing forward.

Zane pulled back, coughing and gagging and spitting on the carpet (the carpet!  …it would take me hours to clean it!).

“Swallow,” directed Madame Xara, harshly, and Zane gulped desperately despite already gagged out most of the cum in his mouth.

Madame Xara rose, wrenching Zach’s gag away.  Next, she pulled off Zane’s blindfold.  

Zane looked up at Zach without much surprise; Zach looked down with apparent concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“…we can go, if you want.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” asked Zane.

Zach frowned in annoyance.  “You just blew me.  That doesn’t bug you?”

“It’s like eating my own cum, isn’t it?  I knew it was you.  I’d rather it was you than some random guy.  Look, bro, she’s rich!”  Zane gestured toward Madame Xara, then added, in a lower voice, “You’re rich, right?”

Madame Xara tried to hide a smile.  “I do well for myself, yes.”

“…I just wanna make sure you’re okay, little bro.”

Zane rolled his eyes.  “Ugh.  Zach.  I’m fine.  I’m not the one who got my ass beat.  Let’s just… c’mon, let’s finish this.  Don’t you wanna see what we get at the end?  I bet it’s like… a thousand dollars!”  He added, in a lower voice, “Is it like, a thousand dollars?”

“Something like that,” said Madame Xara.

Zane looked at Zach pointedly.

Zach heaved a dramatic sigh, but I could tell he didn’t really need Zane to convince him.  “Okay.  Okay.  We’ll stay,” he agreed.

“Wonderful.  Because, for tonight, you’re finished.  I won’t have need for you until tomorrow.  …that being said, Zane, you’ll be spending the day in the cage.  Zach, you’re feel to roam the open areas of my penthouse, and Dr. Forbin will assist you in anything you need.”

“What?  How come I gotta go into the cage?” exclaimed Zane.

“Because you referred to me as ‘an old rich lady.’”

“Well, I meant it like a compliment, and I didn’t mean old-old.  Just old, like–”

“Bro, stop,” advised Zach.

“Like in that song, she’s a grand old flag–” he began singing.

“Bro, stop.”

I held open the door of the cage and gestured.  “Your cage, sir,” I offered dryly.  Zane gave me a dirty look as he crawled forward on his hands and his knees into the soft but confined box.  I shut the door behind him, padlocking it, knowing that Zach would not leave the penthouse while his twin was locked up.

What can I say about New Year’s Day, except that Madame Xara put me in charge of her brats?  Zane complained about his confinement while Zach fretted, but whenever I reminded them they could simply ask to leave, Zane protested that he was no quitter, and Zach usually echoed it.  Zach might have been the ringleader, but Zane had his own influence, and even caged away, he made it known to Zach what he wanted.

What both wanted was to stay.  They didn’t seem especially concerned with it being their birthday, nor with their clothes being done.  (I’d taken them to be laundered, and the pants mended.  I simply couldn’t stand the ripped pants.)

Zach only left the lounge room twice, to fetch food with me, but brought more than half back to Zane.  Zane, in his cage, whined, but didn’t really seem fully dedicated to it.

And when Madame Xara returned that evening, both snapped to attention in a way I thought neither was capable of.  Of course, Madame Xara was entirely naked except for her long, red leather boots, and the presence she commanded was incredible.  Still, I was impressed that the boys seemed so attentive.

“Perseverance,” she said, without any other greeting or acknowledgement.  “…what else?”

“Service or something?” guessed Zach.

“…very good.  You received a very nice treat from Zane last night, didn’t you, Zach?”

Zach turned red and nodded.  

“…now, then, I expect you to pay it forward.  I’d like you to show me what you can do, Zach.”  

Madame Xara leaned over the cage, resting her forearms on the top of it, sticking out her bottom and planting her legs far apart.

Zane gave a little whimper, craning his neck to try to see up through the bar of his cage at her tits dangling down, or better yet, her pussy.  His view was limited, tragically.  But Zach’s was not.  It was clear what Madame Xara wanted, and Zach obediently sank to his knees behind her, putting his hands on the globes of her ass and spreading her so he could lean in and begin eating her out.

Zane sighed with a shuddered, watching, wide-eyed with unconcealed jealousy.  His cock had been plugged and bound all day, the cage too narrow to allow him to reach down and relieve himself, and I can only imagine his frustration as the soft, wet lapping noises of Zach savoring Madame Xara’s pussy filled the room.  I could practically hear the texture of his velvet rasps against her sleek, slippery, inviting folds, and it made my mouth water, the way she offered him herself as a treat and the willingness with which he accepted it.

She rested herself on the top of the cage and relaxed as Zach serviced her, his eyes closed, his prominent erection quivering between his legs.  His ass was still red and tender, but I’m sure he wasn’t even aware of it, because he was focused on the taste of Madame Xara’s puffy, inviting lips.

She came with a quiver, pushing her hips back into his face, forcing him to bury his tongue into her hole and suck out the juices she provided.  Zane whimpered, loudly, no doubt feeling left out.

Madame Xara swayed her hips, grinding back into Zach’s face for a bit before she relinquished him from the grip of her sex.

“Good boy.  Good boy!  Now, I think you deserve a reward.  What would you like in return?” asked Madame Xara.

“Let Zane out,” said Zach, immediately, without pretense.

“…doesn’t that little boy toy of yours ache?  I could help you with that,” she purred, gently toeing her boot against the head of Zach’s erection.  It bobbed.

“Zane,” he said, stubbornly.

“Bro,” said Zane, sounding touched.

“…very good.  Very selfless, and service-oriented,” said Madame Xara approvingly.  She looked up, nodding to me.  “Dr. Forbin, the key.  …I think Zane’s waited long enough for his turn.”

Zane practically scrambled from the cage, bonking his head on the top of it, excited for “his turn.”

Madame Xara, meanwhile, retrieved a familiar hip harness from one of the room’s caches.  Zane rose from the cage, his thick, leaking cock prominently curved up around the little “Z” tattoo on his hip, at the same time that she turned, wearing nothing but boots, the harness, and a thick, pearled dildo.

Zane’ face blanched.

“Perseverance.  Service.  Trust.  …this is the third test, boys.  I want you to trust me.  I’ll make it feel good.  I know it’s intimidating.  But if you trust me, you’ll see how good I can make you feel. Beyond your wildest dreams.  And then, having experienced perseverance, service, and trust– having experienced pleasure and pain– knowing my methods– you can receive your reward and make a decision about your futures.”

“…I’ll do it,” said Zach.

“Bro, shut up, she wants me.”

“No, I’m older, I’ll do it.”

“You’re only seven minutes older, and your ass is still sore!  It’s my turn to get a sore ass!”

“You’re a sore ass, all right!”

I put a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, it wouldn’t be proper.  The two naked twins were slapped and jostled each other as they quibbled.  Both, I thought, were scared, but neither wanted to let on that they were to the other, and both wanted to protect the other, too, creating a strange feedback loop of fake bravado.

But in the end, it was Madame Xara who decided.

“Zach.  It’s your turn to demonstrate some self-control.  Zane needs relief.  You may watch,” she instructed, and then, without any further argument, pointed to a coffee table in the middle of the room.  “Assume the position.”

Zane had not ever done this, I didn’t think, but he immediately knew what she meant.  He bent over the table, gripping the sides, baring himself to her, bringing up his butt to present his hole.

Zach sank to his knees, watching, his length already thickening with envy.

Madame Xara was slow with her craft, as she was with all new boys, softly stroking his entrance and testing the ring of muscle with her fingers, loosening him by degrees with spit and lube, playing with his tender little hole until it was willing to accept her.  She put one hand on his spine, pressing him flat against the surface of the table, and then pulled him toward her with her other hand on his hip.  He widened his stance for her, and when she lined up the dildo to his puckered threshold, he turned his head toward me.  I got a perfect view of his face and the way it scrunched up as she pushed her hips forward, entering him, the dildo filling him.

Slowly, she began thrusting, angling herself to ensure her fucking would tantalize his prostate, and soon his scrunched-up expression of anxiety gave way to relief and pleasure.  Zach and I watched as Zane loosened for her, accepting her violation, his denied, tortured body finally getting the simulation it craved.

She let go of his hip once she was sure he was hers, and reaching around, pulled the plug out of his penis, giving him free rein to cum.

And oh, did he cum!  Thick, white ropes of it, a deluge of it, over a days’ worth of frustration released as she milked his prostate with only her hips, stroking him from the inside with her thick instrument.

Zach’s dong pulsed and he came, too, though he wasn’t even touching himself; the sight of Zane finally being given some relief was enough to set him off. 

Both sank into a blissful, relaxed trance, and Madame Xara slowly pulled herself out of Zane, patting his hindquarters affectionately.

“Yes.  You two will do.  You seem to have the predisposition I’m looking for.  Dr. Forbin will give you your rewards,” she said.

“…but… it’s only been a day and a half.  I thought you wanted us for two days?” asked Zach, sounding dazed.  He was still kneeling on the carpet in front of the puddle of tribute he’d paid to Madame Xara.

“Yes, but you’ve both proven yourselves, and you gave up your eighteenth birthday to do so.  I believe that warrants a reward.  So, both of you are dismissed.  Go down to Chez Esmée’s for a free birthday dessert, on the house.  And while you’re there, you can open up your rewards,” said Madame Xara.

She clicked her fingers at me.

She didn’t need to, because I already knew this was her plan.  I had the boys’ clothes freshly laundered and ready for them, two white envelopes places neatly on top.

“…what did you do to our jeans?” asked Zach, frowning, as he unfolded his clothes.

“I had them mended,” I replied.

“You ruined them.  These were designer.  They were supposed to be ripped!” cried Zane.

“Madame Xara likes her holes to be well-kept,” I replied, curtly.  That shut him up; Zane blushed, understanding my double entendre, and hurriedly covered himself.

Madame Xara had already vanished, not caring to waste her time watching her new wards get dressed, and that left it to me to escort them down the Tower to the lower levels, where the commercial elements were.  Chez Esmée, the restaurant, was a classy joint, and the two ragamuffins drew a few looks from guests when they appeared in their street clothes.  But with me as their escort, the host inclined his head knowingly and offered them a nice table out on the balcony.

I stood back, watching through the paned French doors as the two of them tore open their envelopes.

What did they expect?  A thousand dollars?

No.  There was no cash.  I saw their faces fall as they pulled out the enclosed letters, finding no bills in the envelopes.

Madame Xara is not someone who gives cash.  What she gives tends to be more valuable than what money can buy.

Realization dawned on a pair of identical, mirrored faces as they read their letters.  The letters were the same, except for the first names.  Admission to the college.  A full scholarship.  Something I’m sure both had given up on after a year of minor run-ins with local law enforcement.

One of the waiters came out, bearing two small personal cheesecakes with candles, and following him, two young boys I already knew, Eric and Eddie, junior leaders of the next generation of servants and confidantes like myself.  

Eddie, the swim team captain, a good solid leader who would help the twins realize their best possible physical capabilities.  And Eric, president of the Delta Theta Kappa fraternity, a secret organization of the world’s best men who served women like Madame Xara and honed the skills for success among the elite, private fellowship of obedient hedonists who thrived under the discipline of powerful women.

The twins rose, looking a little confused, but greeted Eric and Eddie warmly.  They pulled up some seats for their new mentors, and sat down to talk.

And knowing all had gone precisely as Madame Xara had planned it, I turned away to leave them to it, knowing they were in good hands.