Jamie's Rule Book pt 1

Jamie was a ballerina. She had calves like granite and toes like gnarled roots. “Life is about discipline,” she told me once, “focus and self-control. There is nothing to be gained from doing whatever you want. Every day is a fight to walk the harder but better path.”

I guess I can’t disagree with that sentiment, only her application of it. She said it one night, still hot and sweaty from practice, after I broke down and begged her to allow me to cum. She said she’d be happy to let me out if only I’d earn enough points for it. Until then she’d be pursuing other options.

My girlfriend loved points. “Points are progress, Lance,” she’d say. She kept tallies of everything in her notebook: her calories eaten in the day (in hundreds), exercises performed (in a week), hours spent training me, days till opening night of her ballet, orgasms experienced and points I’d earned towards a release. Each count had a box of space allotted to it by dark, deep pencil lines and a one-word title for the category. The box she cared most about was labeled “Satisfaction.” The box I cared most about was labeled “Rubbies” and was unique in that it had a number beside it. The number read 1900 and represented the number of points I needed to earn. Three years ago, when we started getting serious, the number was 500. Each time I got my “rubbies” 100 points were added to the total. For that reason I looked on the number as both a fond memory and a Sisyphean hurdle. When I asked her why she referred to my orgasms as rubbies she said, “It’s a combination of rubs and hubby or subby, whichever you prefer.”

“A portmanteaux,” I corrected her. She didn’t care to be corrected.

“You know you lose ten points for contradicting me, you know?”

Of course I knew. How could I not know? “How could I not know?” I demanded.

“And another ten for shouting. What’s gotten into you?” She asked.

I wasn’t shouting, but finally remembered to check my words before spilling them out of my mouth. “I’m sorry, Princess. Nothing is wrong.” She’d insisted I call her Princess since scoring the eponymous role in Princess Medallion and the Grail.

“That’s weird because you’re acting like you don’t want rubbies this month. Which is odd because you usually like it so much.”

Was that a coded joke about last year when she left me crying with frustration and regret as my precum dribbled onto the wood floor of the kitchen after she refused to keep touching my cock because I was supposedly looking at her breasts too pervy? I measured my response. “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to get aggressive with you.”

“Good,” she said, “because I could beat the snot out of you if I wanted to. Couldn’t I?”

I don’t know why she made me do this. “You could,” I admitted. It was true. She had twenty pounds on me despite being four inches shorter and they were all muscle. Sometimes she’d pick me up while I cooked in the kitchen just for fun. When we had sex and she rode hard and deep against my cock, I could watch her abs ripple with each pulse and feel her strong arms push down on me. I was watching just such a sight when I accidentally came inside of her a few weeks ago. She started slapping my face when she first saw the look of sudden satisfaction breaking across my face but she could not deter my pulsing cock. As I came the slapping only intensified and when the spasm had left me, I hid my face as best I could, which wasn’t well.

“It’s not your turn,” she said, laying into me, continuing to hump my increasingly lifeless member. “You haven’t earned this!” She was furious, I could tell. I hated to see her so worked up. I couldn’t look her in the eye so she grabbed my face and stared me in the eye as she continued to grind against me. “This is pathetic,” she said. “This is just sad. You used to have some self-control. I don’t know what the fuck this thing is worth if it can’t do what I tell it to.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I kept saying, but that wasn’t good enough for her. Even though I made her cum when I sucked my cum out of her, Jamie was unsatisfied. That was the last time she allowed me inside of her. If I couldn’t keep to the schedule, then she couldn’t allow me out. At first it seemed to me that it was as much a punishment for her as for me. Of course I loved sex, but hardly more than she did, especially with the constant mental constraint of trying not to cum while still giving her what she wanted. I really couldn’t control myself when she would shriek and writhe, pounding her pleasure into my eardrums and hips. “What can I do to make it up to you?” I begged. “Anything.”

She had a punishment in mind, not that night, but a week later after talking to a friend of hers in her troupe. “I don’t want to punish you, I just want to go on a nice date,” she told me, but I knew better than to take anything like that at face value. Her nice date cost me the better part of a months’ wages and when we stumbled back to our place she insisted I “pretty up” for sex. “You want me to be turned on for tonight, don’t you? You know you’re getting lucky, right?”

I knew it was a trap, of course I knew, but what was I going to do? Leave and spend the night wandering the cold, damp streets? Normally she insisted I shave for a special night of romance, but this night she insisted I tweeze.

“All of it?” I asked incredulously. My crotch hairs were not long but they were numerous.

“Yeah, like that,” she said. “That’s the face I like.”

I thought that after the first few hundred hairs either she would take pity on me or the pain would grow more numb, but neither happened. One by one I plucked the hairs from my skin, each one a piercing sting as fresh as the last. I alternated sides of my body to help with the tenderness. I deposited each one into a trash can at the foot of her king bed as she lay on it, alternately watching me, rubbing herself lightly and perusing a trash magazine from the supermarket. When my whimpers of pain would grow too slow she would encourage me by asking, “do I need to get the shock collar out? That usually hurries you along.” Even so it took me nearly two hours to complete the task. “Your ass looks like a homeless guy’s beard,” she said as she plucked the hairs I’d missed. “Can you do anything right? I thought you wanted to make tonight special.”

“I’m sorry, Princess. I couldn’t see.”

I felt a pause as she considered my comment, and then, with renewed vigor with the plucking she said, “Maybe you should learn what it’s like to really not see. I wonder if that would be fun.” When she’d finished removing my hair she tied up my wrists with two strips of aerial silk. The silk ran through metal hoops on the top two posts of the bed and tied together around a ring at the top center of the bed. She tugged on my shoulders to make sure my arms were secure and then tied another band of silk around my head. At first it covered my whole face and I tasted the fabric in my open mouth, but when the knot was secure she folded the silk up off of my mouth. I heard the high buzz of an electrical device being turned on and she asked at my ear, “You want to earn some points tonight.”

I panted, terrified, unsure of how to respond.

Her voice was farther away now and she cooed, “aww, are you scared? You scared of Mr. Zappy?” A shot of pain fired through my side as the cattle prod clicked against my skin. I cried out but a moment later her gloved hand was in my mouth. “Are you singing to me, baby?” she asked. Involuntarily I tugged at my bindings but could only raise one hand as I lowered the other. “You know you have such a pretty voice.” Another sting hit the center of my back and from deep within me came another howl muffled by her leather.

Then I heard a different kind of buzz, a loud, low buzzing. It didn’t sound like the little pink vibrator or the larger flesh tone one. This buzzing was lower. “All right, baby. It’s time for your old friend Mr. Happy.” Mr. Happy was a comically wide and long vibrating dildo that Jamie had brought home from a bachelorette party. They had fucked the strippers with similar models and she was so impressed by its vibration at both ends that she bought one from the sex shop on the way home. She woke me that night to show it to me. Since then, Mr. Happy had only made the occasional appearance, usually after I’d commit a particularly heinous offense such as contradicting her in front of her friends.

Her finger briefly penetrated me to apply lube and then Mr. Happy was rattling his way into me. I wailed as my hole parted and admitted the enormous head of the dildo. Right away the pressure and vibration on my prostate was enormous. I could feel my tight asshole straining to stretch. I thought my tightness was bad at first, but that was nothing compared to when Mr. Zappy rejoined the party. The pain tensed my entire body, making me push involuntarily against the invader. “Oh God, please baby, that’s enough. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want it.”

She laughed and grabbed and handful of my hair. “You think this is punishment?” she asked. “This isn’t punishment. This is for the satisfaction column. Mr. Happy’s my friend, not yours.” She punctuated the point by driving the cock deeper into my guts. I heard that telltale moan of the vibrator grinding against her clit.

When she finally came she grabbed my tightly locked cock and balls with a gloved hand. “This little guy isn’t getting out for a long time.” Mr. Happy shook deep inside of me. “I’ve taken away all of your points.” She gave my balls a scream which elicited another shriek from me. “And I’ve added another 200 to your goal: one hundred for cumming and another hundred for cumming inside of me.”

After she pulled out we lay together on the bed panting. “I’m serious,” she said, looking down at me on her chest, “you seriously betrayed my trust. You know that you’re only allowed inside of me on the condition that you wouldn’t cum. We had an understanding. I don’t want your nasty juice inside of me. It’s degrading.”

Sometime around midnight she woke and, unable to find sleep, pulled me between her legs for a quick release. “I do love you,” she told me, half asleep, wiping her juices from my face, or rather pushing them back along my chin.

It Takes a Village Part 3

Part 1
Part 2

Timmy takes the opportunity to pull off of her and try to make a break for the door.  Sandy lets go of his hips for the fun of it and he disconnects from her cock with a sucking “pop.” Ass gaping, he crawls on hands and knees for the door, shouting muffled curses through the throat cock. He manages to get on his feet for a moment, but the heels land him on the floor, face-cock first, in moment. Exhausted and defeated, he keeps crawling towards the door, now in an army crawl.

Amy watches, captivated for a moment, and then strides around him in front of the door, cock slapping against her thighs as she advances, her thighs glistening with the perspiration of the hot summer afternoon and the sexual excitement of seeing a boy properly fucked. Timmy looks up at her, with the legs of an Amazon, up and up, until he sees her giant purple cock. He drops his chin to the floor, finally accepting the futility of escape.

“And where do we think we’re going?” Amy asks sarcastically. She bends down (cock resting against the carpet), unbelts his gag and pulls the six inches of plastic from his throat, bringing with it a fresh round of coughing, sputtering and retching. 

“A-ka. Ah. Heh,” Timmy continues to sputter, trying to make words with his fucked voicebox.

She grabs his face and says, “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners, young man? When women are enjoying your company, you’re obligated to please every woman there. Don’t play favorites. I’m going to get jealous thinking that you like Angie and Marcy better than me,” adopting a little pout at the end. “Do you want to make it up to me?”

Timmy finds himself for a moment and says in a dull, scratchy voice, “please let me go. I will do anything. I won’t tell anyone about this, I promise. Just please, please…”

My heart breaks for the kid, I have to say, but Amy has never had any males in her family, and she will not abide ‘pleading’ so she talks over him, now with a little edge of anger, saying, “you can make it up to me by burying my cock in your face.”

“Just let me go. I’m so scared. I want to go home,” Timmy keeps mumbling, turning inward, knowing that Amy will never help him. He looks at me with those puppy-dog eyes and says, “Carol. Please. Please help me,” and Amy slaps him hard right in the nose and mouth with her girthy dildo.

“I don’t want to fuck you with this. I want you to suck me. Got it?”

Timmy is reeling from the pain, eyes watering, but his hands soon find the cock and he guides it to his mouth.

“No hands,” says Amy, her gorgeous thighs glistening in the afternoon light.

Timmy lowers his hands and takes the tip of the cock in his lips. He pushes himself up off the ground, working the cock into his stretched mouth.

“I would tell you to back off the teeth, but I really don’t think you could if you tried,” she says, caressing the back of his head. He draws up closer to her, taking as much as he can in his mouth, eyes bulging, sweating, straining, but when he tries to draw back her grasp becomes hard, steadfast. “You’re not going anywhere,” she says, looking into his eyes.

Sandy, seeing an opening, steps in with all that talk again, “I want to bury this big black cock in your sissy hole. I want you to feel my chocolate cock fill you up like no cock ever has,” and she starts working her dildo back into his tortured hole, which of course sends him into a screaming and crying frenzy.

Amy, who hates whining at the best of times, is none too pleased with his development and turns on Sandy, saying, “I am so sick of your racist bullshit, Sandy. Everyone knows that I have the biggest cock here. You being black does not make yours special.”

Sandy, who was lost in her dirty talk, looks up at Amy as she absentmindedly sinks the rest of the cock home.  “What are you saying?” she asks.

Amy adjusts her grasp, forcing a little more cock into Timmy’s mouth. “I’m saying that I have the biggest cock. So why do you keep talking about your big black cock like it’s anything special?”

Sandy, undeterred, starts fucking Timmy, nice and slow, moving several inches in and out. Timmy is screaming like she’s ripping his guts out. “You hear that sound?” says Sandy. That’s what my big black cock can do.

Amy forces her giant dildo further down his throat, trying to muffle the sound, saying, “my cock could do that too. I don’t like the whimpering. I want him to fuck me.”

Everyone knows what she meant, but I giggle at the prospect of this little sissy using his clit for anything other than receiving pain and humiliation. Sandy retorts, “you know this cock is modeled on an actual man’s penis. All 12 inches of it. Everyone knows that black cocks are the biggest. Everyone knows.”

Amy starts rage-fucking Timmy’s face a little bit. I can see the new shock in his eyes. “Who gives a fuck what guys dicks were like? That’s totally irrelevant. A cock is a cock is a cock now and mine’s the biggest, okay?”

Sandy snorts, “whatever.”

Poor Timmy. This is not an argument that any of us women would be willing to get in the middle of. He was totally at their mercy. Amy suddenly rips her cock out of his mouth. “If you want me to show you, I will show you. Okay?”

Sandy says, “Fuck off. I’m getting into it.”

Amy stands up, her cock waving dangerously close to Sandy’s face. To touch her with it would be the ultimate insult. “You want me to make him scream, I will show you. Let me show you, you racist bitch.”

Sandy swats the cock away, “Fuck off. Just let me cum.”

“No,” yells Amy. She gets on her knees next to Sandy and starts trying to cut in. “Let me fuck him,” she says, angling her cock towards his stretched hole.

“I said no!” shouts Sandy, fucking away vigorously. “Let me fuck him first.”

The women yell and bicker, pushing on each other, pushing on Timmy, who is screaming like a wildcat with his mouth unplugged, but they don’t care. They have to take this to its inevitable conclusion because it’s fucking Amy and Sandy and they are always like this. So sure enough they fight and fight and eventually Amy manages, with a horrible pop, to get the head of her cock into Timmy’s virgin hole right alongside Amy’s.

The room gasps. The air goes cold.

Timmy gasps, silent for a moment, and then lets out a mewl different from the others. What before was mostly terror now became pain. Genuine hurt.

The women pull out right away, Amy’s popping out and then Sandy, and turn to me apologizing breathlessly, blood dripping off their cocks. The blood is everywhere, welling on the carpet, splattering in little droplets. I can basically see the fibers gobbling it up.

So that was it. My ‘friends’ yet again ruin everything nice in my life. I’m a nurse who has worked in ‘men’s issues’ before, so I had him sown up before long. While he was out the women all apologized to me, except Marcy who was still mad at me for finishing her off early. I sent Timmy home with a tampon and a pad, I told him that I would never speak to him or love him again if he ever told his parents.

He was a little different after that. Jumpier, I guess. Certainly less trusting of me. But he accepted my gifts and enjoyed my company, and when he was needed, he would offer his body for our pleasure (but we always had to gag him before taking his ass. His terrified screaming was just too much, even years after we had been fucking him without incident). It ended like most relationships with males do- he was so attached that when I handed his key to his new owner, he started crying and hugging my leg, asking what he had done wrong and how to please me again. How do you explain to a boy that young that what for him was a shaping experience was for me just another conquest in a long, deeply lived life. I wonder who he’s serving now.

It Takes a Village Part 2

Part 1
Part 3

They barge in, unstoppable at this point and start to mill around the kitchen, putting on their cocks, making sandwiches and drinking lemonade. Now I’m entertaining, I think. Great. They start discretely rubbing themselves and talking about previous exploits (all stories we have heard and told many times) while listening to the howling of Timmy upstairs, still strung from the ceiling, his shoulders and back searing from keeping himself up and breathing, eyes bloodshot, snot pooling. I had fitted him with a chastity device while we were waiting (knowing the fucking Angela would bring the ladies and that the ladies wouldn’t bear an unsecured cock) and started fingering him in the vain hope that he wouldn’t be totally ruined by the experience to come.

We have a little talk about Isabel and Ella agrees to go next door and wait for Bill to get home so that he will not be alarmed about Timmy’s absence. No doubt the maid costume would be involved. This left us two hours to have our fun with Tim.

We go upstairs and Tim is panicking against his bindings. “It hurts it hurts it hurts” he is saying and squirming and the tension is visible all through his body. I rush in and lift up his head so that it is above his heart for a little while, which eases the panic. I brush his hair and his eyes close briefly, but snap open when Marcy starts playing with his ballsack, pulling the skin over the hard plastic chastity tube. He moans, confused, uncomfortable. Marcy journeys a little lower and starts fingering around his butthole and, feeling the lube I left behind, tries to push her way inside. I lower his head back down so that she can get a better angle and he starts to cry a little. He has seen the women and if he doesn’t totally comprehend the situation, the cocks certainly look ominous. He starts swinging around again, struggling and the women surround him. Sandy grabs him by the head and pulls him up to her, under the cock and big plastic balls, back between her legs and under her ass. “Wait,” she says, slapping his chest. “Hit that note again. You’re making my pussy vibrate.” After a moment she laughs and the room laughs, and everyone gets a little more comfortable.

Angela tires of the foreplay and describes to us what she wants while Tim’s head is secured between Amy’s powerful legs. She’s a biker and it pays off. Amy goes home to grab a pair of her daughter’s heels, the nearest that there will be heels small enough for his boyish feet, and Marcy starts playing with his ass again. “I like asses,” she says, “I’m an ass girl“ and giggles. “I like the way they…” she says, hesitating and then, “squirm,” she says as she jabs his prostate. The boy is mewling like a cat so Sandy decides to muzzle him. Someone brought the goodie bag from the Shandra Fawn collection demonstration the other week.

Sandy produces a gag with a 3’ dildo and a 6’ dildo of either side. “Which side goes in him,” she asked the crowd. The girls all look eye to eye, afraid to say something stupid.

Marcy asks, “What do the directions say?”

Angela says, “We don’t need directions. Hasn’t any ever gagged a boy before?”

No one had ever gagged a boy before.

“Well you obviously use the 6’ end in him. That way he’s embarrassed by his little 3’ dick-face.” The crowd nodded at the logic of it and proceeded to wrestle the gag down into Timmy’s gullet and strap it home. He gagged and wretched, but nothing seemed to come of it.

Amy re-entered the room, purple heels in hand, and we strapped them to Timmy’s still bound feet, strapping the plastic thongs between his toes. The heels were about 8’ tall, about tall enough to bring his hips near to Angela’s. As we lowered and unbound him, Amy said, “Hannie’s going to be so turned on when she hears what we used those heels for.”

I pulled her shoulders and looked in her eyes, saying “you cannot tell her. No tales of this. I thought I was clear. No one can know about this because it will get back to Isabel. She’s a lawyer for christs sakes. Come on, guys. I invited you into my house. You could do me this courtesy.”

Amy murmmered “I forgot.”

“Well don’t.”

Timmy shakily gets to his feet like a baby bird or maybe a giraffe, lightheaded and unstable on the high heels. “Walk over here,” says Angela, adjusting her strap-on, getting out the lube. He trips and falls to the ground, yelping in pain. “Come here, little bird,” says Angela, staying put, watching him get to his feet again. His eyes are bloodshot and I feel a real moment of compassion for him until his falls a second time, which just pisses us off. The laughing stops.

“Up. Now.”

Timmy struggles to get his feet under him. The carpet is uneven but it breaks his falls. His skirt is too short. Every time he stands he shows his ass and caged pupil to everyone. He stands on shaky feet and with his first step falls again.

“Aaarg!” Angela flies into a rage, falling on him like a bird of prey. She spares no kindness as she fills his shallow body with her thrusting rage and he screams through the gag, red face pressed to the carpet. She fucks him in and out, powerful hips rising up and thrusting down into the carpet, thick hips designed for carrying children and carrying weight. Thick hips driven by anger and horny desire. The little cock gag bobs preposterous on the carpet as his strained body inches across the floor with each hump. She fucks him in hard, vicious pushes, jamming her tool deeper and deeper into his guts. After a while, she reaches down and pulls his hips up at an easier angle, eliciting a fresh urgency to his screams, reaching deeper into his body.

Sandy, Amy and I watch with excitement but Marcy, ever the opportunist, gets down and straddles Tim’s head with her legs. She pulls his face, red with pain and passion and rugburn, off of the floor and rests it on the pubic mons, enjoying the undulations of Angela’s thrusting and the lost, agonized look in his eyes. His vocal chords vibrated pleasingly against her as he screamed and struggled for air. She swept the hair out of his eyes and watched with mock empathy as he shook. By now Angela was really getting into it and less than fucking him she was rubbing against the dildo, forcing it as far into him as possible. She tucked her arms under his shoulders, across Marcy’s soft thighs, and pulled his body up into hers. He writhed with agony, working the dildo just enough that Angela came, releasing her prey and her tension, but after a moment of twitching, fucking him again, harder and harder. With one more push she was cumming even harder and Timmy shrieked and shrieked.

After it was over, she lay, still lodged in his guts, and whispered just loud enough for the room to hear, “You did a good job with my dick. You’re going to enjoy the other ones less. Mine is average for normal, well grown males- about 8 inches and 3 in diameter. Sandy other there has a 12-inch dick and I can’t even imagine what Amy’s packing. So you should enjoy this dick in you while you can.”

Marcy giggled, his soft flesh jiggling as she kindly and softly played with Timmy’s hair. Angela, her body totally covering and encompassing Timmy’s small frame, gave him a breathy kiss on the ear and in one swift, cruel motion, pulled her cock from its resting place.

Something strange happened. Timmy, who had been screaming so much, shook and balked, writhing on the floor. But this wasn’t pain- Marcy could see it in his eyes. This was something else. Sure enough, when I look underneath his shaking body, there was a dampness in the carpet that could only mean one thing. “He’s a slut,” I said.

The realization dawned over the group. This was no longer just for them. They have a genuine, self-born slut on their hands. Any boy who is willing to give up his cum through the bars of his chastity cage just because his woman fucks him is obviously born to be fucked and should be treated as that. Angela got a glint in her eye. “Well I thought I was done, but maybe there’s more life in him yet.”

Marcy grabbed him by the little dick gag to anchor his face and rode into him harder, her wetness starting to soak her panties. She moaned in a childish, sing-song voice, “you made a big mistake.”

“You’ve had enough,” hissed Amy, “and you too,” she said to Marcy. “Stop being greedy. You’re all greedy,” she rubbed herself as she said it, feeling a little greedy herself.

Sandy interrupted, “No, let me go next!”

I tried to step in with a ‘what the fuck is going on, this is my boy and you fuckers are having all my fun,' but there was no way to be heard. Each woman thought herself most entitled to the aching asshole and Timmy whimpered in fear listening to their discussion of the depraved acts they wanted to try, all while choking on the dildo and rubbing against Marcy’s hungry lips. Her slight pulling on the tightly anchored gag agitated his throat and made him freshly aware of his ongoing fuckeditude.

So Sandy stepped forward, waving her veiny black dildo around like a gun, like it would scare any one of us. Timmy couldn’t even see it he was so lost in Marcy’s sensual rubbing, her wetness soaking into his chin. Sandy gets behind him and starts rubbing lube up and down the beast, and lowers it to his puckered hole. Timmy makes a “huh?” noise that starts the room giggling.

“He’s a virgin,” I cry out, suddenly realizing the enormity of the situation. “He’s never been stretched before.”

Sandy just smiles at me sardonically, saying “It’s much too late for that now, don’t you think?” and leans, no, steps into him, ramming her cock as hard and deep into him as she possibly can. His screaming echoes the room even through that brutal gag. He squirms and crawls, trying desperately to ease the dildo out of his ass. Sandy grabs his hands, lowering her weight onto him, trapping him with her flesh and says, “now stop all the struggling. You’re mine now so you should just relax. It’s going to hurt, but there’s nothing you can do about it. So be a good boy and stay right here.”

But of course, how can he? So as soon as she lets up and starts humping him what little the dildo can move, he starts crawling and squirming, cock dragging along the carpet. Marcy is, of course, none too pleased with the break in her little wonderland and decides to get down to business. She pulls off the soaked panties and starts to ease the tiny mouth dildo into herself. She grabs Timmy by the red, sweaty ears and says, “Stop all that moving around. I want your face now,” but again, how can the kid be anything but a bundle of nerves and animal instinct at this point? She starts riding his face but she has to grab the back of his head to control him enough. The dildo is small but the flesh is willing and she starts grinding his face so hard that his nose disappears into her fluffy mound for minutes at a time. I don’t become concerned until I start to see his tortured arm and leg movements become erratic and sporadic and the shakes go through his frame. Sandy doesn’t notice because she can only think about her hips and his hips and Marcy is barely sentient at the best of times.

I did what I had to do. I pushed Marcy down flat and finished her off with my hand on her clit. Timmy started up with the grunting and crying, so I knew that the air was back in his lungs. Marcy tried to fight me, the dear, but I kept one hand on her chest and the other on her clit and forced her to cum, legs wrapped tightly around Timmy’s head and back, hips thrusting wildly, muscles squeezing, firing at random, until she came, her body writhing and shaking in my hands. 

28k Words

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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

A little about me

I'll elaborate of my recent prolific writing. I've been building this femdom world in my head, through stories and captions for many years. I have had a novel-sized plot that I was working on for the last two years. I recently realized that it was the overwhelmingly boringness of the main characters that was making the story hard to write. I jotted down a sexual fantasy and started adding to it. 6 stories sprouted from there.

I' m currently at 25k words in total.

The other change was buying a chastity device. Simply taking away that release has freed me from any hard stop on writing time. I can continue working on an idea late into the night because I never cum and crash to sleep.

While I've always fantasized about chastity on men and enforced chastity worlds, it never seemed like an idea for me because I was such a serial masturbator. I hadn't gone more than three days without coming since first discovering manual masturbation at age 13 or somewhereabouts. Even before that time, I'd discovered from climbing trees that if I rubbed the tree tightly as I climbed it felt good. I can't imagine how the bark didn't destroy my flesh through my sweatpants, but there we are. I probably hadn't gone a week without masturbating since age 5. From ages 16-22 I was masturbating at least twice and up to five times a day.

In my last relationship, I had problems with staying hard off and on. Part of it, in retrospect, was that were were miles apart in what we wanted sexually. I've learned to be a switch out of necessity of being a heterosexual male, but I'm truly a sub through and through. Throughout that relationship I masturbated compulsively to femdom porn and my own stories. I'd masturbate right after sex and use the weekly sex to keep my masturbation fantasies fresh. Eventually she just stopped having sex with me and refused to discuss things. I can finally understand now, it was because our sex sucked and she didn't want to do it anymore.

In this relationship I've been more honest about the connection between fantasy and reality. My girlfriend has always been a submissive person in relationships, but before meeting me decided she wanted to take charge of her life. It's been my great pleasure to help her explore that in life and in sex. Consequently, I've tried to cut down on masturbation and porn to focus on her. Sometimes I've been good and looked at no porn for days, other times I was masturbating as compulsively as always. I never had the magnitude of ED with my current girlfriend as my ex, but I've had issues here and there.

My biggest concern has always been, since the beginning of my sex life, I have to focus on a fantasy of one kind or another to actually cum. The feeling can be amazing, I can be present in the moment for most of the act, but if I want to go over the edge, I have to imagine things. When I haven't cum in a week, that requirement disappears.

So basically I've been treating my cock like a dangerous inmate. He's not allowed to look at porn anymore (except when I've been picking pics for the story. Seems like a necessary evil). He's much too adolescent to be allowed control of my body, for the time being at least. I've made a deal with myself that my cock will stay locked up until I finish this block of stories, except when my girlfriend sees fit to release him. So far it's been going great. If I keep up the pace I should be feeling the sweet familiar feeling of my hard cock in my hand. Until then, he's only let out to fulfill his one purpose: making Her happy.