Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Our First Domestic Part 2

Part 1

“You serve from the left side, not the right,” Mom groaned with exasperation. “How many times have I told you?”

He knew better than to talk back.

“You are setting yourself up for a long night,” she warned him, and that was before she found his secret stash. Crumbs, all over the floor of his kennel. “You only eat from your bowl, on the kitchen floor, when we’re done with your shit cooking,” she noted, “so why would there be crumbs in here?” The kennel was black on the bottom and the bits of snack showed bright as fool’s gold. “If you lie to me, I’ll know. Have you been sneaking food?”

Worse than any of the mistake he’d made this far, this was betrayal. Lying, thieving and cheating all in one. Mom got two toys I hadn’t seen before: a cane and a dildo at least an inch wider than the last, and several inches longer. His face welled up before the first blow had hit. Mom went off on him, telling him how lucky he was to be taken in, how we had trusted him and treated him kind, how personal this betrayal was, how many privileges he’d lose. Of course the majority of it was just Mom being Mom, but Boy didn’t know that. But after the waterworks started, the cane didn’t help. He was sobbing, deep, body heaves as the cane came down on his back, ass and legs. I wondered if the neighbors could hear.

She left him on all fours while she prepared to fuck him. Fucking as punishment seemed so odd to me. The noises he usually made were usually not of pain, although they were not exactly of pleasure either. It seemed unpleasant, if bearable, for him. The nature of the punishment seemed odd though. It wasn’t like spanking or caning or even humiliation punishment. This was singularly invasive, an ordeal, it seemed. And yet, when I slid things inside myself, starting with my little pen and eventually moving to larger conquests, it felt fantastic. Now, when I’ve been playing for a while, I invariably get this itch somewhere behind my ear, somewhere deep in the pit of me, that could use more, take more. It wants to be filled up. My fingers can only do so much. But here was Mom, filling up Boy against his will, as a punishment. It didn’t make sense.

She started with the old toy, jamming it unceremoniously up inside of him. She worked it quickly and evenly in and out, talking the whole time. “Do you know what it’s like to be violated? This is how it feels to be violated. To have your trust and your kindness taken advantage of.” The hypocrisy was unbearable. “A-huh, A-huh” was his only reply, the sound of the mechanistic thrusting, interpreted by his voice. Before long, he dropped his weight from his arms to his head, ass still high in the air. Now she moved into sharper, shorter jabs and Boy’s face contorted from a sigh to a grimace. “Ahh, ahh,” he grunted. She slapped his back and ass as she worked. “Don’t run away from me,” she warned.

Then it was time. She had been wearing the larger one the whole time. She flipped him on his back. “Were you a virgin when you got here?” she asked.

Through the tears he said, “We were given toys, near the end.”

Mom shot a glare at me. “Virgin,” she said disapprovingly. It seemed personal. After all, she
knew I was a virgin too. “Cringes at the sight of an extra small.” He cringed harder when the end pushed into him. Now I saw the pain. He grunted louder than ever before, the ends of the noises rising up to a scream. Then it was all screaming. “Shh, shh,” Mom yelled at him. She slowed her thrusting and he his crying. “There, there.” She slid her hips towards his. He made a sort of clicking sound in the back of his throat as she filled him up. And then something strange happened. His plastic cage hopped up three times all on its own, like a dancing bean, and then it coughed out some white phlegm through the pee hole.

“Ewww, what’s that??” I cried.

“That’s where boys come from,” said Mom, wiping it up with a long-fingernailed finger and depositing it in Boy’s mouth and nose. “Let’s get rid of all this trash,” she said.

It smelled disgusting and looked even grosser. It was viscous like snot and chunky like curdled milk. “I didn’t know that would happen,” I admitted.

“It’s okay,” she explained, “it’s just something their bodies do sometimes. The cage is supposed to help it, but they have accidents sometimes.”

Now here’s where the story gets weird- where I had my first major “lapse of awareness” as the school nurses termed it. It’s all because of Mom, really, the way she carried on in front of me, using Boy at every chance and never inviting me. That’s who I blame anyway.

I continued dreaming about waking us as Boy, but in all different situations. Always my boy self was uncaged while my girl-self was in chastity. Every time. An increasingly, after dreaming about his arrival and his spankings and house cleaning, I started dreaming about the penetration. The deep, hard assfucking that he received frequently from my mother.

As I’ve said, Mom didn’t get home until late most nights. Normally, I wouldn’t beat her by much, with all my clubs, and it being winter, baseball training. But one day, I wasn’t interested in practice. All day, and I mean all day, through every class and even during lunch, I was thinking about Boy. Specifically, I was thinking about the size of the tool Mom had punished him with, and imagining how far, if you could see it in outline from the outside of his body, it would go. Past the navel? Maybe. Probably not into the ribs. I thought about his face, the line between pleasure and agony. The resignation. And, of course, I replayed in my head the noises. Sweet music.

I went home right after school, after very seriously considering skipping math. He was eating when I got home. Can you believe that? He wore a skimpy maid’s outfit, the third new outfit Mom had bought him (no concern for my wardrobe of course). He looked like a porcelain doll, white lace on his shaven legs.

The dildos were in a box in Mom’s headboard. I didn’t often venture into her room. It smelled like her and her disgusting perfume. I wasn’t allowed in Mom’s room. I had suffered enough spankings to learn that one. The box held three dildos, one I hadn’t seen before. I was only concerned with the big one. I held it. It was heavy. Serious material. Held up next to my hand, it reached well past my wrist. I moved the dildo and strapon to my room, and returned downstairs.

He was under the table when I got there, awaiting his punishment, ass in the air. “Mom won’t be home for a few hours,” I told him. “We can do what we want.”

I had him pose up in my room, balancing in different positions in the late light coming through my white curtain. “Hands above your head.” You could count every rib and see the bending muscles of his abdomen as he breathed. Not a trace of fat. No trace of the latin love handles I had already begun to grow into. Every day my body reminded me more of my mom’s and I hated it, the tacky pig. She had no idea how to dress. Even in her best evening wear she looked like a pig in a girdle. Clueless about makeup too. “Bend over.” He rested his hands on the end of my bed. His plastic cage hung from his crotch like a tiny pinata. I rested the dildo on his back, right between his ass cheeks. It looked big. A hand slipped into my pants. “Is it big?” I asked him.


“Did it hurt when she used it?”


“Did they ever fuck you at the academy?”

“No, but they gave us toys.”

Well that set off a whole new world of ideas, boys bunked 10-12 to a room, all furiously diddling their asses, their white cotton panties a pile on the floor. All those sweaty boy bodies.

The dildo rolled off his back and hit the ground with a noticeable thump. Boy breathed in like he’d been struck.

“Are you scared?”


I eased the dildo into the harness- it stretched the elastic ring to the limit. “Step in,” I told him, lifting his feet through the straps. The harness was more complicated than expected. I pulled it up to height and started pulling every strap in sight. It seemed secure enough.

“Now how do you feel?” I asked.

He looked ridiculous. Instead of that little cage, now he had an absurd appendage. “Does your real penis look like this?” I asked.

He didn’t know.

When he walked it slapped comically from one thigh to the other. Slap, slap, slap. When he held it, his fingers didn’t quite go all the way around. “Imagine if you had something like that?” I asked with a laugh. I meant it as a joke, but my laugh betrayed me. It was a hot idea. I laid him down at the top of my bed so he was almost sitting up.

It wouldn’t go in at first. I pushed against it painfully a few times before I remembered an important step. I retrieved the tub of thick jelly from the box of dildos. “Gross,” I said as I smeared it up the length of my chosen dildo. That time, when I sat down on it, it resisted and bent like before, but with a little more pressure, it popped deep into me. “Ah!” I exclaimed under my breath. I’d never tried something of that size before. “Oh.” It was cold at first, but soon it started to warm, as did I. Boy started kissing me instinctively, kissing my chest through my blouse. I grabbed on to his head for stability as I pushed further down, letting the punishment cock fill me up. It was exactly what I wanted, exactly where I wanted. I could feel Boy writhing beneath me. The tingling had already begun in my fingers and toes and radiating out from the middle of me. “Uh, uh,” I was gasping for air as I thrust up, up and settled back down. I pushed against Boy’s chest for purchase as my eyes rolled back. “Hannie.” “Uh, uh,” I was still gasping. It felt right, right where I needed it. “Hannie,” “Stop moving,” I begged Boy, but he wriggled harder and harder, like he was fighting me. Then Mom’s hand came down on my head.

“Hannie, what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

I kept moving. The release was so close, right there, if I could just.

“Hannie!” She cried again, and shoved me off of Boy. “What are you doing?”

My void tingled with pain. The pain of loss. Of regret. God, it hurt.

Part 3

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