It Takes a Village Part 1

The trap was baited easily enough. Apologists can say what they want, but my firm belief is that man’s greatest weakness (and his greatest evil) is that he is, at all times, so relentlessly male. I mean, women can be male- fickle, short-sighted, emotional, needy- but so much more often they are female and they are beautiful. But males are fun, and sometimes a girl wants a little fun.

So I took an interest. That was all it took.

The neighbors were a typical het couple- Mom’s a workaholic, dad and son are left at home to fend for themselves. She can’t get ahead at work because she doesn’t have the stones. He has to show up at all the soccer games and PTA meetings to prove that het fathers can still be relevant nowadays. The whole thing seems so exhausting, but there they were- swinging in the wind- the family barely holding together because there’s never enough money and I’m sure that neither one is getting what they need in the bedroom. Little Timmy can’t make any friends because all the girls at school just want to abuse him and most of the boys are being trained at home most afternoons. But this fucking het couple thinks that everything’s going to be alright if they can just raise little Timmy right. Crazy.

So I took an interest and I started helping out. They were always buying pizza because, as we’ve discussed, males make awful wives, so I invited them over for dinner one night. My wife, Isabel, is a men’s rights lawyer, so she was pleased to see me taking an interest. You make certain compromises to get the life you want. We both like books. Anyway, I make us all dinner and yes, yes, thank you, now we are all friends.

We start getting friendly. Bill is asking me for favors, which I grit my teeth and do because I am a nice person and because it made things more fun in the end. You’ll see. I get Mrs. Bill addicted to my home cooking and promise to teach the lazy fucker how to cook during the day. His day is so full of mansersize and tanning and pedicures and other boyish bullshit that he doesn’t have time to cook like a real wife, so I agree to do a little looking after Tim so that he can teach himself.

Okay, I admit that I would have enjoyed getting to know Bill a little better two except that Sandy from the next street over told me to back off after Bill was late to come clean her house the second time and that Bill wasn’t really my type. He was a little tall and fat for me. Once they get over 5’6 I think that men start looking really grotesque- their ribcages are all weird. And when they are fat and their bellies get that hang. It just grosses me out.

Timmy had always been the goal, so I wasn’t put off. Bill would always be complicated- entangled in the world. Timmy had no friends and his parents barely had a moment to think about him. To be honest, I probably loved him the most of anyone in the world. As I have been saying, his dad was a frivolous creature and a woman can only carry so much weight in this world by herself.

Timmy came over to my house after school, freeing up just enough time for Bill to clean the bathrooms of the few houses he wasn’t already contracted to. Actually, I think that this is around the time that Amy got him to start wearing that maid’s uniform for a few weeks. He would walk down the street in the heels and fishnets while the women peered through their windows. I don’t know what kind of insane backwards mindgame she played to make that happen, but it was funny.

As I was saying, Timmy would come over to my house. I couldn’t put him in chastity yet because I didn’t want to get caught and spoil the whole game- so I started slow. First we had to build up a little shame and dependency so that the secret wouldn’t get out early. One afternoon when he was going his schoolwork on the little table in the back garden, I told him that I had bought him a present. He was delighted and curious and he must have been so I directed him to go up to my bathroom and put on his present, knowing that beside the white skirt and pink thong laid out on the counter was the dildo still crusted with my juices from, last night sitting in the bathtub. It was a medium sized one- big enough to be satisfying but small enough to still move around comfortably. To his eyes it would seem huge. Compared to his own, gigantic. But being a good boy, he would not say a word.

He came down in his billowy skirt and g-string, smiling nervously. He did a twirl when requested, and went to sit again, thighs sweating against the searing metal seat, ass uncomfortably split by the tight elastic. Bless him, he kept working, fidgeting often, and when he was done asked if he could change back into his pants. I was offended, I said, standing, stood over him. “Do you not like my gift?”

He said no, no, my gift was wonderful, but it was getting uncomfortable for him.

So I softened and said, “But you look so pretty in it. I like it when you look pretty. It makes me happy. But when you aren’t grateful to me, it makes me sad. And when you make me sad, there’s only one way to make me happy.”

How?

“By accepting the punishment for hurting my feelings,” I said. In this case I picked him up by the middle and carried him inside where I laid him across my thighs and pulled up his skirt. His asscheeks, tight and clenched, looked like two summer apples. I took a moment to trace the path of the little pink string as it hugged his shape from the T down along the curve and through the valley before smacking him hard and suddenly across both cheeks. When he cried out, I brought my hand down again. And again. The third time it lay where it fell and I dug my fingertips into his flesh. I could feel the tiny appendage between his legs and between his thighs, and felt a sudden urge to do something I hadn’t done before.

With a firm grip of my hand, I drove his thighs forward, rubbing his strange little member against my thigh. He let out a moaning gasp and pushed back against me, terrified by the mingled sensations. “Wait,” I said, and spanked him again, carrying the motion through to rub him against me. It only took a few moments more and he had soiled his brand new skirt.

That night I lay awake, having been unsuccessful at getting Isabel to fuck me properly. She cums and is out- it’s just her way. The thought of allowing a man to lose control on me like that- for me to lose control! I had willingly and wordlessly pushed him over the edge. “Oops” he had said, looking up with guilty eyes. I felt somehow taken advantage of in that moment. Like he had somehow made this happen with his boyish charms. He had been persuasive in his flaunting and his ass was so beautiful, laid out like a side on a platter. I couldn’t tell what I was feeling, but it wasn’t altogether good. The situation had escalated beyond my control and I felt somewhat used.

Which is why I escalated in turn. If he was going to chose to get off then so was I, which is why I got him back into the skirt as quickly as possible the next day, and, under the guise of a game, got his wrists and ankles velcroed to a metal bar. Once I had him locked helpless on the kitchen floor, I enjoyed myself and took my time. I got some lemonade and went outside, telling him that I would be back soon to continue the game. Summer had come so suddenly this year and it seemed too soon for all the heat and sticky, insecty passion of it. I let the sun lay across my skirts and feet like a blanket of light and took my time, filling up with the lemonade.

In time I came back inside, and the cool rush of the air conditioning and the dark of the closed blinds brought me back to the moment, excitement returning to me. It was time to have my fun. I carried him upstairs and, for the fun of it, tied the metal bar to a rope that I tossed over the bar we have hanging from the ceiling. Don’t ask. It’s a long story that Isabel does not like to tell at parties. And wouldn’t you know it, as I hoisted him up so his face hung down at hip height, body painfully contorted by gravity, the doorbell rings. Of course.

It’s Angela, and Angela wants to know if she can have her cardigan back because fucking Angela can’t let anything go for a fucking week because she is one of the most tightly-strung people to ever live. So I tell her to wait where she is in the foyer while it get it because I know what she’s going to say if she sees little Tim. I go back in the bedroom where the pink fucking cardigan is and Tim’s all red in the face. He’s saying he scared and he wants to go home and it hurts and he doesn’t want to play anymore and I’m giving him the yes, yes, I know, I’ll get you right down, I’m sorry, just give me a second and of course fucking Angela comes in the room because she apparently can’t listen to one fucking thing I say the fucking obstinate bitch.

Angela’s shrieking for joy because Daisy won’t have sex with her anymore, and when she does, she always wears the dick (high-strung bitches, both of them) and I have to basically drag her out of the room to stop her from taking off her pants right then. I tell her she’s ruining everything, that there’s a plan here, that she can’t rush things because I don’t want to scare him off, but Angela’s got lust in her eyes and she’s got a few inches on me and those stone cold blue eyes that can cut through any kind of bullshit and she says that she needs this. She needs it. This is what I mean by emotional and short-sighted. But I guess that being treated a certain way can make us all a little male.

“Isabel can not know about this. She would kill me.”

“I know.”

“Seriously. You can not tell anyone. You can’t do that to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I know.”

“You are saying that but I need you to understand how much this could fuck up my life. This is a deal-breaker for Isabel. She can not know.”

So, sworn to secrecy Angela goes home to get her favorite toy, but a half hour later, she’s got half the women on the block in tow. There’s Marcy, who’s a nice girl but doesn’t think much and will pretty much go wherever there’s a happening, Sandy, who thinks that just because she’s black she has to bring this giant black cock to everything like this, Amy, who thinks that Sandy’s racist, so she has to being this even bigger purple dildo even though she knows she can never get more than the tip into anyone, and Ella, who uses this really long, fairly skinny piece that she likes to put in them and watch their eyes as she slides and slides and slides the thing in.

Part 2
Part 3