Week 1

The first week of what I hope is the rest of my life is now over. It's incredible how years and years of working towards and hinting at this sort of a relationship have gotten me nowhere, but one week of Goddess deciding to take control has changed everything. It relaxes me for two reasons: 1) I wasn't doing anything wrong in the past, aside from the usual mistakes people make in relationships. A sub can't make a D/s relationship happen by him/herself. 2) She said she had her change of heart from reading something on this blog. After great consternation and heartache on my part, last week I sent her the link for this blog for the first time. I was deeply concerned about what she would think about my stories, but that night she delivered her list of rules. I've purposely kept this blog hidden from all the people in my life so that I will feel free to write anything I want. She had seen me working on stories many times, but this was the first time I let her read one. But it wasn't a story that triggered her. She said one of the personal posts told her what she needed to know. And that's me being me. And she likes me!

Things have been different. I haven't gotten to touch myself. We both agree that wearing chastity around the office is a bit weird (and unwieldy. I don't understand why guys I read online don't have bulge issues.), but as soon as I get home I lock up and hand over the key. Even when I have gone on self-enforced stints, I would generally cheat here and there to feel at least the pleasure of an erection. There's no cheating now, and it's a different beast of desire altogether.

I managed to milk myself for the first time, something I've been trying for a while. I was given permission to masturbate, but not the key to my device. I was using my dildos like I sometimes do but this time I realized it was for real: I could not get out. So I just kept working and working at it, not particularly harder than any other time, but now with the knowledge that it was my only option. Sure enough I got a fair amount of white stuff out. Have to admit, it just felt like peeing. I have had something I could class as an "orgasm" (a sort of all-over nerve tingling) while playing with my ass, but this was not one of those.

Goddess has allowed me to lick her ass in the past, particularly on my birthday or when we've been drinking. This past week she has been much more amenable to sitting on my face. Not only that but she's really working it, seriously going for pleasure. Not only that but she's been forcing my face into her ass as well, usually giving me a nice compliment for hitting the spot. Probably the sexiest thing she's done this week is after letting me up from a hard ass grinding session she said, "You did a very good job." It made me feel so sub.

I've been trying to be good but it's a learning curve for me as well as her. One night I failed to keep her wine glass filled as specified in the rules. The next morning she started fooling around with me. After I had worked her up, when I asked to please fuck her, as I usually do, she told me I had to use my "big cock," the strapon. It's always slightly awkward because the strapon doesn't sit in exactly the same position as my biological cock and obviously I can't feel it firsthand. Still, I think I was fucking her well, and she guided my movements with a hand of my back and ass, like she usually does. After she came, that was it. At first I didn't know what to do with my frustration. I went down on her and licked the lube from her beautiful pussy, but that didn't help me and she was clearly over it. So I just lay there and let my erection slowly fade. It's always a slightly sad feeling to lose an erection, as you instruct your body to relax and all your nerve endings quiet down. I felt angsty, frustrated, but undeniably excited and happy. At work afterwards, I kept that quiet frustration, and it continued to build.

Even after I finally came on Friday, the first time all week aside from the milking, I was still horny. I managed another encounter on Sunday, and only then did I really feel better. But in the meantime, I felt like a college kid again. In my very first "honeymoon" period of a sexual relationship, right at the start of college, it felt like I was hard 24/7 and I literally could not stop thinking about sex. All this week, especially the last few days, I felt like that, and even better, Goddess felt it too. For the first time ever while I was driving, she grabbed on to my stiffening cock. I love those casual encounters, and Goddess had never seemed particularly interested in exploring my body, at least not in that virgin discovery kind of way. Now she seemed genuinely interested in my arousal as an object of curiosity. Score.

One last report: it has supercharged ordinary experience with sexual tension, at least for me. I don't know yet if Goddess shares this. Last week I got up to fill her glass. As I was opening the wine bottle, I got hard (insofar as that's possible in a chastity device). Suddenly the mundane task of opening wine felt like a sexual act, because I was working towards a possible release, because I was playing the game that Goddess had set out, because I was pleasing her. Yesterday, in a reefer frenzy, I was searching for some candy to eat. Earlier in the week, Goddess had given me some of my favorite candy the day after I kept her rules. She noticed that I wanted candy and gave me several pieces from the secret stash. I got hard. Eating candy became a sexual act. All because the rules of the game have changed.

That's it. That's my first report from the other side.

Yissss

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah and yeah. Had a couple of talks over the holiday week about what each of us wanted in this relationship. Well I need to step up my game because Godess has stepped up hers. She delivered to me a list of December rules, signed off with the ominous note, "follow these rules and your rewards will exceed your punishments." Shivers down my spine. She texted me at work that she wanted to fuck my ass. I think she understood me when I said I didn't want to feel humored. The first day I earned a reward in the form of delicious corn starch pumped with corn syrup: my favorite candies. However, that night I failed to keep Godess' wine cup filled, so this morning I got a punishment. She let me wake her up with sexy times, but when I asked to fuck her, she instructed me to use the strap-on dildo (don't worry, we keep separate toys). Happily and gave her her pleasure, and at the end, nothing for me. It's the first time she's denied me, or really any woman has straight up told me know when at that point. It felt... interesting. I felt truly submissive, like I'd performed a service and that service was done.

This woman is amazing. And so quiet to the outside world. She has rarely pushed dominance on me aside from a few special occasions. Her taking this step to bring it out of the bedroom and into our relationship and daily life is more than I could have hoped for. I have felt more fulfilled in this last week than I have in any relationship ever.

BTW, there is a new story coming. It's half finished. I've decided to return to my rule: don't post part 1 until the whole thing's done. I hate an abandoned story, and I have abandoned many. More to come.

The Price of Admission Part 4

When Roberts finally returned a week later, we took things slow. He looked haggard, tired, even though he’d only been gone for two weeks total. His normally tight-fitting clothes looked a little baggy on his skinny frame. He was sitting on my stoop as I pulled into the driveway after work. I gave him tea and sandwiches. He didn’t say much, except to ask, in the sweetest, little voice, for me to remove his enforcer before he showered. I made dinner too, and when we went to bed, I touched him only to hold him close and cuddle.

He woke hard as iron, unconsciously rubbing against the bedsheets. With slender, delicate fingers, I teased his head while my other fingers raked softly through his hair. “Did you miss me?” I asked. When he gave me the right answer, I brought him to climax in seconds.

For the next few days he was very quiet. His youthful excitement had been dampened, I could see. Something in me felt guilty, though I don’t know why. It seems that my involvement, as slight as it was, burned in my head every time I looked at his expressionless face. I never meant for him to get hurt, not really, but of course I couldn’t tell him about my involvement now. It would only hurt our relationship with no benefit to anyone. There was no sense in lingering on the past, so I focused on the future. I took a few days off of work so that we could spend time together. I took him to the department store and spent hours dressing him up and showering him with compliments. As we shopped, I got into the cheerful spirit as well. I saw that a few well-chosen words of encouragement could shape his tastes twice as effectively as months of admonishment. I restrained myself, only buying him a few new outfits, but I realized that I could have his whole skater boy wardrobe in the trash in just a few months. That night I helped him cook dinner and the next morning I helped him clean the house. It wasn’t work I enjoyed, or felt obligated to perform, but spending time in his world seemed to make him happy. By mid-day he was back to his usual self, asking stupid questions, making silly jokes.

I took him out for a date that night, a proper date. Not to a fancy establishment where he would blush at the pretty waitresses, but a rustic-style smokehouse. Roberts felt more comfortable here, where he could make snide jokes about the trashy patrons and tell stories from his childhood. I guess his mom loved this sort of place even though his dad hated eating with his fingers. The more he talked, the more comfortable he became, until he was heatedly recounting all of his childhood fears and aspirations. He wanted to be an astronaut, I learned, and then after that a hair dresser. Eventually he settled on research assistant, but didn’t have the grades or drive for college. I realized that, for all my desire to shape and improve him, I had spent little time inside his head. In truth, he only wanted to be useful, like most boys. I couldn’t, and shouldn’t, continue this game of whack-a-mole, where I was trying to quash each of his pesky vices. I needed to work with his natural inclinations, use his wonder and naivette to both of our betterment.

When we got home, Roberts was flush with laughter and red meat. He was singing the songs he sang in choir, dancing around the room, whipping around the curtains, first like a sash on a beauty queen, then a bullfighter’s cape. “I am Fernanda, the fastest lance in the west,” he explained, whipping the curtain back and forth.

I gave him a look that startled him for a moment before he let out a giggle. I put my forefingers to my forehead and let out a snort, scraping the carpet with my feet. Him being behind the sofa, I had to vault the furniture to charge, hitting him in the middle with my shoulder as I wrapped my arms around him. The force drove him into the wall, where he let out an involuntary “oof.” I pulled him to the ground with my weight on top of him.

Roberts laughed, “You need to be careful. I just ate.”

I snorted again and licked his face. “I don’t do careful. I’m a bull,” I explained, my hand traveling the length of his body from his sensitive armpit to his more sensitive ass. I shifted a little to get my hand under my body, feeling for his already-hard cock trapped up against me. I felt it up and down. It wasn’t a large cock, or a wide one. In fact, it wasn’t particularly superlative in any way except for hardness. “I like it when you wear skirts for me,” I said. “They make your legs look great. And there’s easy access.” His panties were new too, with tight, snappy elastic and bright, vibrant colors. His partially freed cock pulsed in my hand. “Good boy,” I whispered. He closed his eyes and smiled.

I fished the pre-lubricated condom out of my pocket and pulled it over my fingers, my nails longer than what’s probably ideal, but it was too late now. I dragged the latex down his cock, over and under the scrotum, down his perineum, to the warm hole they wanted to invade. “Hey,” he breathed, but did nothing to stop me. He gasped when I entered him, his inflating ribcage outlined by his tight, clingy green shirt. I worked my fingers in and out, probing a little deeper each time, until I settled on a certain trajectory that brushed past his swelling prostate. He felt warm in my hand. “Oh!” he gasped when I rubbed his little prostate. “Nnng,” came from deeper in his throat.

“That’s good,” I told him, “you look so hot when I’m fingering you. I like how you move your body.”

He was breathing hard now, almost to the point of hyperventilation. His hips rose and fell with my fingers, his legs pulsing with the effort. And then, the most beautiful thing happened. A bead of clear liquid formed at the tip of his penis. Then some white joined it and the first bead dropped like a diver off the end of his pink head. Something deep in me melted watching that. It was just so incredibly hot. I couldn’t help but sink a hand down the front of my jeans as I kept up the pressure with my other hand. Sure enough, his cock kept going, sputtering out (not with much force) his lovely little boy cum. Roberts was now moaning audibly, driving his hips up and down such that I was barely moving my hand. “Good boy,” I exclaimed, “Very good.”

That night, when he fucked me, he lasted longer than ever before. His cock felt great for the first while, although, I was so wet that he was hardly making any friction. I rode him for a while, but after his cock slipped out for the third time, I just about lost my patience. Nor could he get me off when I leaned over the side of the bed and he stood on tip-toes. I could feel him trying to drive his cock deep into me, but his hips just bounced off my ass before he got very deep. Then the bitch had the temerity to slap my ass. I looked at him sternly. “You like that, baby,” he asked. His face fell a little and he broke my gaze to return to staring at my ass.

“That’s enough,” I told him. His little boner faded quickly as we sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re going back in chastity,” I announced, “but I just got the best idea.” I had him pay for it, although he had to take out debt from me. Only $50 or so, but it was still significant to the relationship. Now he had a contractual obligation to me. I picked out the dildo, an eight-incher with nice girth, plus a vibrating head. I got a second one too, but I paid for it. The second one was smaller, smaller than any of the toys I already owned. I even had Roberts explain to the woman at the register that he was buying a new cock to fuck his girlfriend because his wasn’t good enough. She seemed to understand.

“Get pretty for me,” I instructed as I made myself a drink. He made the right choice, the choice I hoped he’d make, and came back in his manliest pink skirt and sheer white crop top, all over black fishnets- both stockings and sleeves.  I could just imagine what his skater boy friends would think seeing him all dressed up like that. He had put on make-up too, some nice blush and lipstick. “You look gorgeous,” I told him, which seemed to make him happy. Next came the harness, which I helped him into, over the fishnets but under the skirt. His own small package tucked neatly into a pocket of the harness. Then I put the cock on. It was black and ribbed, probably twice the size of his own pitiful erection. “And now look,” I exclaimed, “you’re looking just like a man. Anyone who didn’t know you would think it’s your own.” The hanging cock tented his pink skirt in the most delicious way. “You want to get me ready, baby?” I asked, sitting in the living room and taking a sip of my drink. Roberts sat in front of me, big obedient eyes staring up into mine. “You can start with my feet.” I watched his skinny ass as he rubbed and the suckled on my feet, first the left and then the right. I was ready for his mouth, which he offered generously, sucking and licking my steaming sex greedily, lapping up my folds and suckling my button. As I’ve said, what he lacked in ability he made up for in enthusiasm. I had him sit in the chair as I straddled him, working the new toy inside, cold against my aching cunt, but only for a moment. Soon the dildo was glistening with Roberts’ spit and my own juices, sliding in and out of me with greater ease. This was what fucking is supposed to feel like. I lowered myself down slowly, with great determination, until my cunt was filled completely. “Yes,” I moaned, lips on Roberts’ ear, fingers holding tight to his hair. “Yes, that’s how I want it. Finally a proper fuck out of you.” He was thrusting with all the force of a timid doormouse, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t fill me up just the way it should. “Fuck, fuck,” I grinded up and down his abdomen, jamming my clit against his body as I rode the surrogate cock, listening to the hushed panting he made as I pushed the air from his lungs. “Harder, harder!” I insisted, for all the good it did me, but in the end, I brought myself to a pretty decent orgasm, the best I’d had with Roberts’ assistance.

When I was ready, I dismounted and pulled the cock from its holster. “Now it’s your turn,” I explained. Of course, naive dear he was, looked to his crotch. I shook my head, trying hard to suppress the smile. “You’re going to cum the way that I did,” I told him. “I’ll help.”

Roberts was suddenly serious, the playfulness gone from his tone. “I really d-d-uh-don’t please I de-duh-don’t want to d-d-do that. I’m not r-re-uh-really feeling-”

“Oh please, baby,” I insisted. “Please. It’s just so hot. I love watching you like that.”

His voice was low and desperate. “I don’t want to.”

“No fun,” I sighed. I took the harness off of him and inserted my own dildo anyway. When I pulled up the harness, the small dildo’s other end sank into my pussy, significantly smaller than the previous delight, but enough to get purchase inside of me. I walked around the room, admiring my new cock. I even gave it a stroke or two, which manipulated the other end in a most… interesting way. “Are you sure you don’t want this,” I asked, looking down at myself. “I mean, I look like a sex goddess. Look at me.” He looked, but his face did not change. “Okay, that’s fine,” I said. “That’s fine.”

“Are you still going to let me out?” he asked, meek as a schoolboy.

“Still?”

SCUM highlights

No new fiction for you beautiful people yet. I was just perusing the SCUM manifesto today for some man-hate inspiration. So, in the tradition of violent dismemberment, here's the one part of the SCUM manifesto that interested me as a disgusting chauvinistic pig

.SCUM will couple-bust -- barge into mixed (male-female) couples, wherever they are, and bust them up.

Men in the Men's Auxiliary are those men who are working diligently to eliminate themselves, men who, regardless of their motives, do good, men who are playing pall with SCUM. A few examples of the men in the Men's Auxiliary are: men who kill men; biological scientists who are working on constructive programs, as opposed to biological warfare; journalists, writers, editors, publishers and producers who disseminate and promote ideas that will lead to the achievement of SCUM's goals; faggots who, by their shimmering, flaming example, encourage other men to de-man themselves and thereby make themselves relatively inoffensive; men who consistently give things away -- money, things, services; men who tell it like it is (so far not one ever has), who put women straight, who reveal the truth about themselves, who give the mindless male females correct sentences to parrot, who tell them a woman's primary goal in life should be to squash the male sex (to aid men in this endeavor SCUM will conduct Turd Sessions, at which every male present will give a speech beginning with the sentence: `I am a turd, a lowly abject turd', then proceed to list all the ways in which he is. His reward for doing so will be the opportunity to fraternize after the session for a whole, solid hour with the SCUM who will be present. Nice, clean-living male women will be invited to the sessions to help clarify any doubts and misunderstandings they may have about the male sex; makers and promoters of sex books and movies, etc., who are hastening the day when all that will be shown on the screen will be Suck and Fuck (males, like the rats following the Pied Piper, will be lured by Pussy to their doom, will be overcome and submerged by and will eventually drown in the passive flesh that they are); drug pushers and advocates, who are hastening the dropping out of men.

Good on you, Valerie Solanas, you crazy person.

Personal Post

I wore this exact thing the other week when I begged my girlfriend to let me fuck her with my "big cock," which is this thing:

I admit she pulls it off better than I do. I'm a pretty skinny guy and I just couldn't keep my unsightly bulge from swelling up.

It was the first time I cross-dressed in front of her and the first time I fucked her with a strap-on. It was scary and exhilarating and fun and awesome and I want to do it again. She said her favorite part was when I fucked her with my "big cock." What that means for my biological tool, we shall see.

I am writing more. I promise. Updates soon.

Also putting this here. This is way hotter than any porn I have seen. Hysterical Literature.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQuT-Xfyk3o

The Price of Admission Part 3

[Not sure why this part was so hard for me to write. I guess the story got kinda real. Anyway, this is a necessary step for what's coming next in the story. I hope you enjoy.]

Let me just take a moment to stress that my involvement in what comes next started and ended with a single phone call in which I asked Darla to take my boy out and scare him a little. Everything else was her doing.

She met him in an upscale restaurant downtown. He showed up in worn sneakers and jeans, presumably arriving by bus. If I know Darla, she probably wore something black, sheer, tight, and more than a little intimidating. She mentioned a spiked necklace and black lipstick. The two of them had met at work when she was trying to sort out why she wasn’t receiving her mail. She was unimpressed with him. At 22, Darla was much closer to his age than mine, and cute too. She barely stood five feet tall, actually shorter than Roberts, I think. I’d had a soft spot for her since she joined the agency. A short girl with as much sass as she could always win me over. Besides, her brown ringlets and button nose were just irresistible.

“I took the chance and ordered you a salad,” she explained, “in case you showed up.”

“What kind of salad?” Roberts wanted to know.

He wore a cute pair of shorts and a ¾ shirt that ended just above his navel. He hadn’t shaved properly and an obstreperous tendril of stubble extended from his waistline and curled around his navel. Darla thought it was indicative of his general bad hygiene. Apparently, he managed to steer the conversation to his childhood illnesses, least favorite dogs,  and favorite daytime dramas within the first twenty minutes. You’ve got to love a boy as oblivious as that. He clearly felt uncomfortable in such a classy establishment, especially wearing what he was, particularly being served by a woman. When she spilled a drink on him, he tried to clean himself, but she insisted on rubbing the soda into his tight shorts.

Darla drove him all over town, to a new club with a line halfway around the block, to an old bar with retro games, out for a quick bite—she insisted on picking up her friend, Shelly—then back to the clubs. I don’t actually know Shelly, but I hear she’s a tall woman, and not entirely fit. I guess her breasts and belly have a way of escaping her shirt once she gets moving. Darla didn’t drink much, so that she could drive, but she never missed an opportunity to buy Roberts one, and Roberts never said no. Shelly (already plenty drunk herself) redoubled the effort, going shot for shot with the boy.

“Body shots!” she insisted. “Take it from my cleavage. No hands!” When he got close, she smacked his face around with her chest, laughing uproariously when he made a face and backed off.

Roberts obviously knew what he was doing on the dance floor, swaying his hips seductively, backing his ass up when someone took up behind him, singing, shaking, writhing, and moaning. Darla said it was a treat to watch, even though she didn’t like to dance. Shelly was more than happy to take her place, her hands sliding along his skin, groping his nubile angles. During a particularly intense bump-and-grind, she got so hot and red that she had to stop and get a drink by herself, leaning over the bar as she fanned herself. In the absence of her touch, Roberts happily took over the groping himself, rubbing up and down the skinny frame beneath his clothes.

”He’s a slut,” Shelly noted to Darla.

They asked Roberts to take them back to his place. Apparently he had an out-of-town friend. As they drove, the night air blowing through the open windows gave a therapeutic, if not entirely desired, reprieve from the heat and sweat and heady scents of the writhing bodies of the club. The wind pulled the hot moisture from their hair and clothes. “How old did you say you were?” Shelly shouted back to Roberts over the loud music.

“Eighteen.”

The women tittered. “You look older,” said Shelly. “Like a grown man.”

“Let me see your hands,” she said a little while later, turning around to face him. “Wow! It’s so tiny.” She curled her much-longer digits over his fingers. “The other boys must be so jealous of your tight, little body.”

“Well, I guess s-uh-so. I don’t know. I never got tha-uh-that much attention in school.”

“Shut up!” insisted Shelly. “You’re so cute you don’t even know it. That’s so cute. I mean, I don’t want to be rude or anything, but believe me when I say that a lot of girls would want nothing more than an itty-bitty honey on their lap like you.” She shot him a smile, “Like me.”

The women helped him open all the windows of the house, letting in the cool night. Shelly produced a flask from somewhere deep in her purse and they set to talking sitting on a couple of sofas beside the open kitchen. Darla finally found something in common with him in the stacks of boxes around the room. “There’s no way that Shelly Harlot is better than Fierceness. Never. No superhero can beat the depth of character and constantly changing plots of Fierce. Female or male,” insisted Darla

“Fierce is such a boring choice. That’s like saying you’re into asian teen porn. So done already,” poo-pooed Roberts.

“Anyway,” Darla dismissed his opinion, “it’s just cool to meet a boy who likes comics. The whole community is a fish market, as you know. The hairy virgins scare off the normal boys.”

Roberts agreed,  safely removing from her hands off the first edition Shelly Harlot comic One. “But you know why that is, right? Who’s your favorite male superhero? Can you even name one?”

“I guess Alan Orangutan is kinda cool. I don’t know. They all just seem so manly, you know?”

“Exactly,” said Roberts. “It’s pretty boring when they’re all long-legged, shapely, toned Adonises whose only problem is which superwoman to fall in love with at the end.”

“I’m not into comics,” interjected Shelly, finishing off the flask with a long swig, “but I can do a cool magic trick. Check this out.” She pulled a length of cord from her purse and sitting next to Roberts, close. “I’ve been practicing this everywhere, on the bus and stuff. It’s very relaxing when your hands take over and you don’t have to think anymore. So if I do this,” she grabbed his wrists together in one of her hands and wrapped the rope around them a few times, “and then like his,” she tied some kind of knot in the middle, “then you will find you can’t take your hands apart. See?”

Roberts struggled a bit, rubbing his wrists together without any change in the rope. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m stuck.”

“Come on now,” Shelly pushed Roberts back into the cushion. “Try harder. Really try now.”

Roberts struggled a little more with no change.

“Come on now, if you do this...” she helped pull down on his hands the knot, rope, and all spooled off his wrists like thread. “Easy. You’re free.”

“That’s not really a magic trick,” complained Roberts. “That’s just tying a knot.”

“Anything is magic if the reveal is surprising enough,” Shelly responded. “Do you have anything else to drink?”

“There’s something in the fridge,” said Roberts, getting to his feel. After a couple of steps, he nearly broke his ankle in his tall, red heels.

“Careful now,” called Shelly, standing to join him. She touched him on the ankles as he steadied himself against the wall. Her finger traced this inside of his leg as she stood, drawing a shiver of energy up his spine.

“Hey now,” he cautioned.

“What?” asked Shelly. “You don’t want me touching you?”

He smiled at her over his shoulder, “You can look, but you can’t touch.”

Shelly laughed bitterly. “What? You’re not a frigid bitch, are you?”

Roberts returned with the beer. “Please don’t use that kind of language with me. Here’s your beer. It’s my last one, so I hope you like it.”

Shelly took the beer in silence, lips pursed, eyes smouldering.

Darla asked, “Out of curiosity, how much did that beer cost?”

“Dunno,” he said with a shrug as he sat down. “Probably a buck and a half. Why?”

“You want to know how much I spent on you tonight?”

“Umm, I’m not sure. That was very nice of you. Thank you.”

Darla smiled coldly. “I think that’s the first time you’ve thanked me all night.”

Shelly shifted so she sat beside Roberts. “Let me see your hands again,” she asked.

“I don’t know…” he said. “Darla, I hope I didn’t give you the wrong idea- Hey!”

Shelly, despite her apparent drunkenness, moved fast and effectively, snatching his wrists and binding them just as fast. “Don’t worry, it’s the same knot. You can pull loose whenever you want to,” she explained.

“Please, Shelly,” he complained, tugging on the rope. This time it wasn’t just tied around his wrists, but also around the heavy iron frame of the couch. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not a comedian. I’m a magician, remember. I think my next trick will be to make you appear grateful. Do you want to thank my friend again?”

Roberts tugged this way and that but the rope held him tight, hands uselessly locked together. “I really did-ah-didn’t mean to give you lay-ladies the wrong idea.”

Shelly asked, “What idea would that be? That you want more than our money?”

“Le-let’s just call it a night, shall w-we?” Roberts tried to laugh, eyes searching desperately for mercy in Shelly’s smile. ‘Ju-j-just-ah-just untie me and-uh-and we’ll talk. Okay?”

Shelly said, “You look comfortable as you are.”

Darla was on her feet, standing over Roberts on the couch, and her foot edged closer to his crotch as she spoke. “You got something to show us under there? What are we working with?”

Roberts was in rare form, gasping and shaking and stuttering like never before. “Now I would have t-tuh-ah-told you earlier, only I wasn’t… I didn’t… oh please don’t hurt me.”

When they had his pants off, they saw what he was talking about.

“Where’s the key?” demanded Shelly.

“Tha-uh-um-huh-um-that’s the th-thing. My ex-eh-uh-ex-girlfriend has it.”

Darla was disappointed too. In my defense, I didn’t think things would get this far. I thought it would be a casual humiliation on the curbside in front of anonymous onlookers. I never really thought they’d get his pants off. Maybe he was just a bigger slut than I gave him credit for.

Shelly sat close now, her mouth inches from his ear, her flowing body draped over his thin, shivering form, her chest against his back, his skin pulled tight by the angle of his tied hands. “You know, that isn’t the only way we can have fun,” she suggested. Roberts struggled at his rope with renewed intensity. “Hush, hush. Calm,” she cooed as she ran a finger down his side, around the back to his ass. Darla took up in front of him while Shelly pulled his hips up to a kneeling position on the couch. Shelly started to open up his ass with one finger, then two, using the lube from her bottomless purse. Darla shimmied up her skirt and down her thong and guided Roberts’ protesting face towards her ass.

“No pussy for you,” Darla cautioned. “You haven’t earned it. Just lick my ass.”

Shelly asked, “Where are your toys?” but it was too late, Roberts was already occupied. So she started searching herself, wandering through the darkened house until she found a bedroom, and in the bottom drawer of the dresser, a collection of toys including an impressively sized, pink vibrator complete with bulging veins down its surface. “Is this yours?” she asked, returning, but Roberts couldn’t look away with Darla’s hand on the back of his head. “You must be some kind of slut,” insisted Shelly as she lubed up the pink appendage. Roberts’ moans rose urgent and jagged, muffled between pleas for mercy. “Hush that trash,” Shelly cooed into his ear. “Say something nice. We’re making love after all.” Roberts didn’t have anything nice to say.

When the women had had their fun, Shelly pet Roberts’ hair, matted with sweat. She asked Darla, “How much did you spend?”

Darla was flushed and still bottomless, leaving stains on an armchair. In the end Roberts had indeed gotten a taste of her pussy, not the he had asked for it (willingly). “Huh?”

“On him. Tonight. How much was it?”

“Shit,” murmured Darla as she thought. “Close to a hundred bucks. Those downtown drinks are crazy.”

“A hundred bucks!” Shelly whistled. “Do you think you got your money’s worth out of him?”

“Not really.”

The Birthday Present

This story, like so many others, is inspired by and dedicated to Mysty Mason, from whom all good ideas originate.

I will continue the other story soon. I wrote some parts out of order and now I have to knit it back together.

For my daughter, Rebecca’s, 16th birthday, I made possibly the greatest mistake of my life. Against my better judgement, at the strenuous urging of her mother, I paid for my daughter to be augmented. For those of you not from around here, that means she had an extended, in her case, enormous, sex organ grafted onto her existing sex organ. The plastic surgeons connect up all the nerves and whatnot, and women are able to use them just like cocks. It’s a weird fad, I always thought, but it doesn’t seem to be going away. Even my mother got herself augmented in her later years. The irony is that the women who are most in favor of female supremacy were the ones who were getting the fake cocks. Why would women who despise penises want their own?

“Well, it’s not exactly a penis,” my wife insisted at the parent-teacher conference.

“How is it not?” I asked.

Mrs. Haley, Rebecca’s math teacher, was herself augmented, and had brought up the idea. “It’s much more than a simple penis. There are more nerve endings in the head than you have in your whole body, for a start. The fluid that it produces is far different from cum. In fact, some say it has restorative and energizing properties.”

“Propaganda,” I dismissed her.

Mrs. Haley persisted, “I don’t want to have to be the one to explain this, but a social dynamic develops among the upper classmen. Certain girls lead and certain girls follow. If she isn’t augmented before the end of puberty, she will miss out on the height and muscle growth that are side effects of the process. She will never be able to captain the soccer team if she can’t compete physically. And besides, and this is the really ugly part, there’s a respect thing. So many of the girls are getting them these days, those who do don’t just get treated differently. And heaven help the boys!”

Rebecca had begged me for years. One by one each of her friends had gotten their augmentations, and sure enough the procedure was followed by a spurt of growth for each one. Little Sandy, an adorable girl in her youth, now towered over both of us when she came over to dinner. But the growth also brought an attitude, I couldn’t help but notice. A devil-may-care disrespect for anything getting in the way of their wants. Maybe that’s just adolescence, like my wife says, but it seemed like something more.

Amy, my wife, had made up her mind years ago. Starting at age 11, when Rebecca was just a waifish pre-teen, Amy started transferring power over to her. When Amy left town for a week for work, she insisted I listen to Rebecca.

“I can’t make her grilled cheese again. It’s not healthy,” I explained to my wife on the phone.

“Put me on speaker,” she insisted. “Rebecca, you can’t eat only bread and cheese, it’s not good for you.”

“Mommy,” Rebecca’s voice whined. She was so whiney at that age. “You said I was in charge.”

“I did say that, but being in charge means the responsibility to do right for everyone. You can’t take advantage of it.”

“Well then I guess I’m not in charge,” she huffed, sitting in a dining room chair in the angriest way a person has ever sat in a chair.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” Amy told me, “I did say she was in control. You need to learn to give up some control to her even if it goes against your better judgement. You need to let her make her own mistakes.”

“This is absurd,” I insisted. “I shouldn’t have to eat garbage just because an 11 year old wants to.”

“Baby, that 11 year old is my daughter and you will treat her with respect.”

She was only “our” daughter when she needed something from me. The rest of the time she was Amy’s daughter. In truth, Amy had conceived her with DNA from an anonymous woman in a database. This donor had great education, employment, intelligence and was beautiful to boot. The decision hurt me deeply at the time, but I always treated Rebecca as my own flesh and blood.

Amy was happy to take advantage of that fact at other times. As the big birthday approached, she insisted I accompany Rebecca to the clinic. “It would be nice if you paid for the operation too.”

“Me? Why?” Amy easily made four dollars aor every one that I scraped out at work, and I hated the idea in the first place.

“It’s just a nice father-daughter thing to do. All of her friends had their fathers beside them, even Sandy, whose dad is divorced and lives in another state. Seriously.”

“Doesn’t the whole thing seem weird to you? I mean, I’ll be expected to… test it out. This is inscest, right? It’s creepy.”

“Well, first of all, you’re not her real father, so don’t worry about that. But you know how hard it is to get a boyfriend, especially a big girl like her. There’s, like. five girls to every guy at her school since everyone has two moms these days. If she had a boyfriend or something, of course, it would make sense for Rebecca to go with him, but she just doesn’t. Don’t make this hard, baby.”

The receptionist at the doctor’s office wasn’t augmented, but the doctor was. Her scrubs laid flat across her oversized member. “Are you excited to take this next step?”

“I am,” gushed Rebecca.

“It’s very exciting. You can become more woman than you ever imagined while also taking the best parts of being a man. You will become the perfect completion of humankind. And what about you, Pops? Are you excited?”

I forced a smile.

Rebecca flipped through the book of penises, each a surprisingly tasteful picture of a woman against a nondescript background. “Definitely this one,” she selected. “It’s love at first sight.”

I nearly choked when I saw it. “Is that the biggest one in the book?”

Rebecca blushed. Doctor Holly shushed me, “Don’t shame her for being honest. A lot of girls don’t have the nerve to pick that one.”

“It better not be this color though,” she worried. “Are they all this white-pink color?” Unlike her mother and I, Rebecca had bronze skin made brown from a summer of tanning.

The doctor patted her knee, “Don’t worry, we’ll grow it from your own skin. Normally we could even have a relative, a brother or cousin or something grow it and then graft it onto you, but I see that there is no one genetically close to you.”

“I’m an original,” Rebecca confirmed.

“Won’t the big one be be, like, hard to clean or something?” I objected.

The doctor swayed her head noncommittally. “It does need to be cleaned regularly, like all the others. Both urine and secretions to keep the tubes open. I expect dad will be helping with that.”

I nodded.

“Have you been practicing?”

“Practicing?”

The doctor got up, shaking her head, and found her prescription pad.  “You’ll want some level of oral and anal training before the big day if you want this to go smoothly. The secretions will help your body adapt to the stresses of the cock, but behavioral therapy works best. The local recreational center has classes on blowjobs and I expect your wife can help with the other end.”

The largest cock also happened to be the most expensive. It amounted to nearly a quarter of my yearly income. My wife found it impolite to discuss money, so I couldn’t even complain.

A couple of weeks before the surgery, Rebecca came down to the dining room in her underwear, half in tears. “I don’t know,” she said. “Is it supposed to look like this?”

A tube of flesh had grown on her inner thigh, stretching from a few inches above her knee to her panty line, and a third the width of her meaty thigh. “Weird,” I whispered to myself.

Rebecca wailed, “I heard that. Oh my god I’m so embarrassed. I’m such a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Amy comforted her, petting her hair. “Your father didn’t mean it.” Rebecca’s growth spurt had already started. She stood a few inches taller than me, but still a few shorter than her mother.

“I didn’t mean it,” I repeated. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s so ugly,” she complained. “I’m scared it’s going to come out ugly.”

“It’s beautiful,” I insisted. “I think your legs look beautiful. And you’ll look even better after the surgery.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Rebecca hugged me, squeezing out a little sigh. Suddenly she seemed coy and looked down at her feet. “Will you kiss it?” she asked.

“Oh, Rebecca, honey,” I started in a negative tone, but my wife caught my eye.

“That sounded like a direct request to me,” Amy said.

“You two can’t be serious.”

Amy said with a shrug, “you’ll be doing a lot more than that soon.”

They laughed while I kissed the bulging head of the proto-cock. That night, while my wife stretched my ass with her new strap-on, she said, “watching you kiss that growing cock was such a turn-on for me. I want to see more of that.”

I drove Rebecca to and from her surgery, ignoring the laughter of the ladies in the waiting room while I flipped through Futa Forward magazines, waiting for my new girl to emerge. When she did she was groggy and horny. I was able to get leave to work from home for a few days to better take care of my little girl, so I posted up in the study while she watched movies and shows in the next room. A few hours later, when I heard grunts and moans on the TV, I knew I was in trouble.

“Daddy,” her sore voice croaked through the house.

Her python was out and already inflated, hovering above the blankets of the sofa. On the TV a young boy was getting reamed by two women wearing strapons. The boy wore nothing but a chastity cage. “Will you help me?” she asked.

As humiliating as the display the other night was, it was nothing compared to actually sucking the cock. I hated the experience. Almost immediately the thing started leaking. I did my best to keep from dribbling on the blankets, but I was quickly overwhelmed. I swallowed mouthful after mouthful. The fluid tasted like my wife’s vagina, like the smell of body odor and dirty laundry. Rebecca’s long fingers went from gently caressing my hair to insistently pushing on my head. “Hang on now,” I tried to say, but only mumbled into her wide appendage. My mouth stretched wide to accommodate the whole head, the juice dripping straight down my throat. She slid her hips up, driving deeper and deeper into my mouth. When I finally gagged, she came right away, maybe in response to it. As I made my hurling sound, she pushed down hard on my head and blasted lump after lump of lady cum straight down my throat. I came up choking and wiping my mouth and eyes. “Thank you, Daddy,” she mumbled as she laid back to sleep.

The lady tyrant demanded my services again that morning, and then again in the afternoon. The fourth time I heard the call “Daddy? Daddy?” my stomach dropped. I already felt full to bursting with her disgusting cum. I’d always found my wife’s scent pleasant, but this new flavor stuck around in my mouth forever. Eventually Amy, who had gotten home from work, came by my door. “Rebecca wants you,” she said.

“I know.”

“Well?”

I groaned.

“Hey, I changed all the diapers when she was little. This is your job now.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I changed the diapers.

“Well, it’s the idea anyway.”

I negotiated with the two of them that I would take it up the ass twice a day if I didn’t have to suck on the thing anymore. The doctor had said anal feedings were fine, but less effective for the curative properties. I was fine with taking the chance. My wife insisted on watching as her daughter took me for the first time. While I was cleaning myself I heard Rebecca calling, “Hurry! I feel like my balls are going to explode.”

When I got down there she was rubbing her nipples. “My whole body is tingling. My breasts are so sore. My ass tingles too.”

Amy nodded. “Must be the flood of hormones they were talking about.”

Rebecca dripped a few drops of her natural lubricant on my hole before entering. I squeezed a pillow as I bent over the sofa. Amy cringed in sympathy and patted my hand. “Slowly. Slowly,” I cautioned.

“Wow, this feels a lot better than his mouth,” Rebecca told her mother. “You must have done a good job on this ass.”

The cock was bigger than any strapon Amy owned, and felt different too. Once inside, the thing never stopped moving, never giving me a moment to relax. It pulsed with the heavy surging of blood and grew inside of me. Twice I had to crawl off of her from the immense pain, but she was understanding and backed off. “Alright, here we go,” she decided eventually, and started pumping my ass hard. I started moaning as each thrust drove the bulbous head deeper into my guts, but moans turned to screams as she got too deep. “Oh fuck yes, take it all,” she was shouting over my noise. My wife smiled sympathetically and brushed the hair from my eyes. “You’re doing so good,” she cooed.

“I don’t want… I don’t want…” I screamed.

Rebecca had her full weight on me now. My legs shivered under the pressure. With her added mass, the girl was probably heavier than me, and she felt it. She rubbed her chest across my back as she thrusted, her hands enclosing my shoulders. Finally she came, holding me so close I could almost feel her balls behind mine. She pulled out quickly, seemingly ripping my guts out with the bulbous head, dripping copious amounts of lady cum on the floor.

Amy said, “You did so good. I’m so proud of you honey. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Wait a sec- what’s that?”

She pointed to the puddle of filth between my legs.

“Is that… white? Is that boy cum?”

Sure enough another droplet oozed from my cock.

Amy hummed. “I don’t know how I feel about this. It’s pretty weird.”

Rebecca agreed, “Gross.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes and grabbed my limp cock. “It’s just something that happens,” I explained. “I didn’t get hard.”

That didn’t stop Amy from chewing me out earlier. “I just feel betrayed,” she explained. “I mean, that’s my daughter. If you have sexual feelings for her, then this is a big problem. You’re just supposed to be helping her out, not falling in love with her.”

No matter how many times I insisted that it wasn’t like that, she insisted that I go back to wearing my chastity enforcer. She had made me wear the thing for a time early in the relationship, but quickly gave it up in favor of spankings. Now, it seemed, she needed to know that I wasn’t getting erect. Ever, apparently, because there was no talk of a release date.

Rebecca invited her futa friends over more and more, especially Sandy, who started making comments about my figure when I’d leave the room. “That ass looks tight,” she noted. “Is it tight? I’m jealous. My dad’s old and basically used up already. I bet your dad squirms.”

Now that I was in chastity full time, the women seemed more lax about being discreet. On a few occasions, Amy invited Rebecca to take me in the kitchen in front of friends, thinking nothing of showing off my caged dick or her own new toy. Rebecca's freedom and newfound confidence radiated off of her and she began to wear nothing but a tight stretchy white shirt and her hip-hugging grey sweatpants around the house. All of her futa friends wore essentially the same thing when they came over.

In August I turned 35. My wife promised a memorable birthday and she delivered.

“I have something every special for you,” she told me at the dinner table at the end of the night. “I was looking over our finances and, as you know, Sweetie’s been asking for a rent boy who could take some of the pressure off of you. Well, we don’t have enough to hire help, but you could quit your job and look after Rebecca full time. What do you think?”

I didn’t know what to say. Some part of me would be happy never to wake up early and go to work again, but the other part dreaded what my life would become.

“I have a present too, Daddy,” said Rebecca. “Since we’ll be spending so much time together, I thought it would be fun to get you these.”

She presented a bag. Inside were panties, stockings, gloves and collars, all black and pink and uber sexy. “Oh my,” was all I could say. “You know about this?” I asked my wife.

Amy nodded. “We talked about it, and I see her point. It gets a little boring watching her take you the same way night after night. It would be fun to spice up the proceedings a little.

Rebecca asked, “Do you want to try some on before you post up on the couch?”

I sighed. “Oh, do I have to? I thought we could skip just this one.”

Rebecca shifted uneasily in her chair. “You know I have to cum and urinate twice a day to keep it clean. It’s dangerous to skip one.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I thought you could masturbate this once.”

Both women gasped. Amy spoke first, “That’s disgusting.”

“Gross, dad.”

“What?” I asked.

Amy tsked. “I know that it might not bother a chronic masturbator like you, but normal people don’t jerk off. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about this.”

I groaned. “It’s just so big. It kinda hurts. I hate having to do it every day. Twice. Isn’t there someone else who could help?”

Amy shook her head. “You’re being so selfish. I could understand if you didn’t like it up the ass, but I’ve been making you cum that way for years. Just stop complaining about it already.”

Of course there was no one else. It was an argument I had tried and lost already. Like every other night I ended up bent over the sofa, biting the pillow, only now I wore black lace panties while it happened. That night my wife refused to release me from chastity, saying I hadn’t been good enough. Instead she let me fuck her with a strap-on nearly twice the size of my little thing. It was probably all the same anyway, since I can hardly get hard after Rebecca’s hard reaming.