The Price of Admission Part 2

“How was it?” Roberts asked in a small voice.

“I thought you did well,” I said, getting up and putting on my black and floral, silk robe. “That was your first time, right?”

He nodded. His gangly limbs spread across the bed, his bright red cock shrinking back to its usual, unimpressive size. Across his white chest I had left my marks: raised red slashes and round red welts. They looked like footprints in fresh snow. “How did you like it?” I asked.

“It was, eh, was a little scary, at times. Um, but it was interesting. And fun.”

I walked around the room, opening windows and tidying the spots we had rolled, pushed, sprawled, and braced ourselves upon and through. I savored that particular sensation of silk sliding across my skin, especially after sex, especially in the cool night air. The stuffy smell of sex gave way to the crisp summer night air. In truth he hadn’t done all that well. When I first removed his chastity enforcer after our date, he came almost immediately. His penis skin could have been made of felt, it was so soft. Embarrassed, of course, he tried to make an awkward exit, but I instructed him to go make us a snack in the kitchen. Bless his heart, he made us grilled cheese in the waffle iron.

When his jumpy, mealy-mouthed chatter subsided, I made another move. He was eager if nothing else. Happy to follow instructions, happy to listen, but very little initiative, almost no passion. In short, he fucked not like a man but like a boy. Which, hey, that’s fair enough, sparkly new virgin that he was.

His eyes followed me as I moved around the room. I caught his gaze every now and then. “What?” I asked coquettishly. His look was intrigued but somewhat concerned. “I don’t know,” he said. “Some of it was kind of weird.”

“Like what?” I asked, sitting at the edge of the bed, letting the front of the kimono hang low and open below my breasts. He sat up with legs crossed like we did in kindergarten, his little dick retreating into itself. “I was doing what you asked,” he said softly, avoiding my gaze, “but you kept hurting me.”

I chuckled softly, gently, caressing the patchwork markings I’d left. “I wasn’t really hurting you,” I said, “it was just to turn you on. Get you going. None of them will be there in a couple hours.” Except the hickeys, which would probably bruise. I didn’t even want to see his back, where I did most of my clawing.

Roberts sort of pulled away and scooted to the other side of the bed where he let his legs hang down. “And I feel weird about the last thing.”

“The last thing?” I inquired. “Like when I was playing with your ass?”

He nodded, shoulder slumped in shame.

“Aw come on,” I said, crawling across the bed to him. I laid my head on his lap, right over his glistening member. “Lots of guys like it when I put something in there. I usually do more than a finger.”

“Well I didn’t like it,” he responded.

“Did it make you feel,” I bit his thigh, “violated?”

He jerked with a whimper of pain. “I don’t know. I guess so. It was just, mm, it was weird.”

I was on my knees, rubbing his back, my fingers bouncing across the furrows I’d left there. “Don’t feel bad. It’s just a normal part of sex. Do you want to know what I think?” He sort of sniffed and looked at me. “I think you actually liked it. I mean, you got way harder and you started humping me so much better. I thought it was great.”

“Do you mean that?” he asked, eyes searching for validation.

“Absolutely.”

Training a boy is like gardening. You can never create something totally new. You find your patch, with its overgrowths and twisting vines and you start to prune. A bit here, a bit there, you trim and cut back, and then you encourage growth and development. I could never have made Roberts into a total sissy if the sprouts weren’t already there. All I had to do was prune back the bravado and immaturity, the hang-ups and misgivings, and it was only a matter of letting his dependence and submissiveness grow. With a little love and constant caring, I could coax out the best parts of him, and start to mold the sissy I always wanted. Of course, it’s easy to talk about in the abstract. In reality, the process is never straightforward, as there are hidden snags and deep neuroses. Nor was I the only person making decisions here. Like it or not, Roberts could choose his own path in life, and at times it didn’t seem like he could be the person I wanted him to be.

School was over in a fall and Roberts had been so busy chasing skirts that he hadn’t planned properly. Since he wasn’t going to university and he didn’t have a job (well, he made pizzas), I found it necessary to step in. The first thing that had to go was his nasty shitbox car he had bought with pizza money. I couldn’t stand the embarrassment of having that thing outside of my house at night (never in the driveway because it leaked). But in order for him to give up the car, he had to have transportation from his home and job. So I moved him in with me and found him a job in my office, in the mail room. That way I could drive him in my nice Desrail, the shitbox could be retired, and I could keep tabs on his comings and goings. And yet, for all that forward progress, he still insisted on bringing his taped up, busted skateboard in the trunk. Sometimes his pack of “homies” would come by work and they’d skate around the industrial park on his lunch break. From what I could tell none of the others had jobs at all.

Donna from the mailroom came to my office in a huff less than a month later. My office boy sat her in an armchair in the visiting area of my office. Even though Donna was technically a few ranks below me, she held a similar administrative position in her department and I treated her with respect. “I know you like him, I get it, and it’s not the first favor I’ve done of this kind–hell, it’s not even the first of its kind I’ve done for you, but the boy is completely useless. I really–there’s nothing I can do. I can’t use him.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, getting a coffee from my secretary for each of us.

“He don’t pay attention to anything. He sorts shit wrong. He delivers things to the wrong people because he’s not paying attention. Seriously, I tell him what to do and his eyes are completely vacant. There’s nothing going on in there.” Donna was already an anxious woman, but when she wore loose, flowing blouses, as she often did, and talked violently with her hands, she was a self-contained tropical storm of heaving waves, threatening to overwhelm you with her sea problems. She had a rosy pink nose and a blotchy complexion. You could just imagine the cartoon steam billowing out of her ears and nose.

I spoke low and slow to try and bring her down to my level. “I understand that you’re frustrated. I don’t want to make your life harder just so mine can be a bit easier. Is there anywhere else he could be useful?”

Donna shook her head, her chins following after, “I already have him working the dumbest, easiest job in the place. Literally all you have to do is pay attention. I wouldn’t trust him with anything else.”

“Is there another department, maybe?” I asked. Donna pondered on that while my secretary organized the papers on my desk. “Don’t mix up Dole with Dillow,” I reminded him.

“HR always needs paper pushers,” she suggested, “but that’s certainly more involved than sorting mail. I mean, can he even write? Sorry, that was rude, but really. You know, there’s always,” she glanced towards my secretary, specifically at his ass as he bend across the desk. I shook my head, starting to talk, but she beat me to it, “I know, you need someone competent. Me too.”

I realized that I would need to get more involved. This kid wasn’t just a mess sexually, he didn’t have his life together. I figured that if he couldn’t work like a man, he could still serve as a houseboy. In the confines of my house I could train him up before introducing him to the wild again. With young boys the fun is being able to mold them exactly how you like, but with that comes a responsibility to train them properly.

I had hoped my latest project would be somewhat self-sufficient, but it seems that his mother taught him nothing. I had to teach him each of the chores in a somewhat laborious process of leading him around by a leash and securing him in the area needing improvement. After an hour or so, I would check on progress and administer corporal punishment if necessary. I don’t personally take pleasure in inflicting pain, at least not the physical kind, so I didn’t really enjoy the process, and Roberts clearly wasn’t pleased either. The way he wailed, you would think he had never seen the flat side of a paddle before.

During this time our sex life changed a bit too. Roberts had so little in his life to lose, it was hard to find leverage to keep him acting right, so I found it necessary to institute certain rules. Early on, I let him cum in me twice or three times a week. I now instituted a rule that he would be allowed to have sex each week on Sunday if he was very good. Of course, for a youth of his age, only once a week is not often enough to prevent him hurting himself in the enforcer, so he was allowed four hours of personal release time per week that he could use whenever he wanted. From what I can tell, he was masturbating about once a day, which honestly wouldn’t bother me if he was getting his chores done. Unfortunately, he was not getting his chores done often.

“Can I have my release time yet?” he whined in that particular teenage way.

“Did you finish the dishes?” I asked, not looking up from my magazine.

He rolled his eyes. “I just cooked. Can’t I do them later?”

“No, you can do them now, and you can get release time later. That’s how it works, remember?”

He sort-of stomped off and huffed around the kitchen for a while. When he came back he was getting red in the face. I couldn’t help but notice how hilariously cute and tiny-sounding his stomping was. “I wish I’d never given you my key. I never had to deal with this from my mom!”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Maybe that’s why you’re such a spoiled child. I mean, come on, Roberts. You’re an adult now and you’re throwing a tantrum like a baby.” That seemed to shut him up. On his way out of the room, I called to him, “Roberts, there’s a glass.” The wineglass sat on the table before me, so he had to walk all the way across the room and come right up to me to retrieve it. We had a strict ‘no male clothing’ rule in the house, so he opted to wear nothing. I resisted the urge to tug on his little cage or slap his ass as he walked by. “Thank you,” I said when he picked up the glass. He only glowered at me.

I heard the glass on the kitchen counter, but instead of the sound of water running, I heard the pad of his feet across the hardwood of the front room, up the stone stairs and the closing of the bedroom door. I didn’t let his disobedience bother me, I just kept reading.

When he returned about a half hour later he went straight to the kitchen and started washing. I came in behind him and found him wearing my favorite of his panties, a pink lacy number that showed off his tight ass in the best light. “How was your break?” I asked.

“Huh?” he asked, eyes all wide and innocent.

“What were you doing up there?”

He looked back at the dishes and said noncommittally, “Cleaning.”

I could have laughed if I wasn’t so annoyed. “And what did you clean?” I asked.

“You know. Made the bedroom look nice.”

I was right behind him now, watching his washing over his shoulder. I felt the outline of the panties, two bands across each ass cheek, meeting in the middle and sliding down, all the way around his pert ass, up that warm crease between his legs. I grabbed his balls lightly and kneaded them around. “Are your guys feeling sore? You didn’t get any release yesterday, did you? Why was that?”

“I was bad,” he muttered.

I removed the panties, sliding them down slowly and lifting his feet out of them. Finally I caught a glimpse of his caged package. “And what the fuck happened here?” I demanded. His enforcer was all fucked up. His balls glistened with lube where he had slid it off without the key, and his cock was not at all seated in the plastic tube. I always made sure his enforcer was properly installed every morning, and this was not my handiwork. “Seriously, answer me, what is going on?”

“Well, I asked first,” he said, lower lip jutting defiantly.

“This is absurd,” I said, giving his balls a hard slap. “This is ridiculous. You’re like a child. Just an annoying little shit. I’m too old for this shit. You’re not serious about this relationship.”

Things went downhill from there. As soon as I threatened to throw him out, suddenly he was singing a different tune. Suddenly he loved me and needed me and please please how will I live, where will I sleep, etc. His sniveling only annoyed me. By the end he was sobbing.

“Just hush. Please. Just shut up your bullshit and get out of my house. You don’t live here anymore. To live here, you need to make your own money, or you can work for me. You don’t get to laze around all day and then disobey me at night.”

Eventually he gave up protesting and made up his mind. “That’s fine,” he told me, one bag of clothes under his arm, his panties clearly showing through his tights. “You think you’re so great. Women would love to be with me. I could find someone else in a week.”

Somehow he didn’t find it suspicious that he did just that.

The Price Of Admission Part 1

“Roberts,” he corrected me, mid-sentence.

“Excuse me?”

“My name,” he said. “It’s Roberts, not Robert.”

“Oh.” I smiled politely, thinking of the things his tongue could be doing instead of arguing with me. “As I was saying, Roberts,” I started again, putting enough emphasis on the maligned consonant as I could without giving in to outright sarcasm, “I can’t think of a job that a man can do which a woman can’t, but there are plenty of jobs that a woman can do that no man can.”

Roberts was getting flustered, in a cute way. His neck up to the ears had flushed and his casual stream of, “uh, and, like I was, uh, saying,” had progressed to an outright stammer. “There’s all kinds of th-th-uh-th-uh-things that men can do b-be-be-uh-best. There’s teaching and all kinds of, uh, social work, and, uh…”

“And coat checks,” I suggested, “and I’ve never gotten a proper boot shine at a show from a woman. But you’d never want to guy pilot. Or rocket scientist. Right? The last thing we need is a male driver behind the wheel of a multi-billion dollar machine,” I insisted to general agreement and laughter. Roberts pulled down the fringe of his short, white shorts, attracting the eyes he’d hoped to avoid. Stacy caught my eye with a knowing nod. I tried to communicate “back the fuck off” with my eyes, but was unsure if I succeeded.

Roberts’ girlfriend tried to ease the tension, “Now that’s not entirely fair. There are some great male racing drivers. They say guys can focus on one task more intensely than we can.”

“Yeah, focused. That’s what they say about guys,” I chortled. “Dogs are focused too until a steak enters the room.”

The girlfriend, Carley I think (or Charleigh or Karley or somesuch nonsense) was no competition for me, any woman of the table could see. She was just a girl, and a naive one at that. Earlier she told us that Roberts wouldn’t give her his key until she put out for him. Her doughy body and passive attitude would never hold his attention for long. What he needed was a stern hand to encourage his manly nature and punish his womanly pretentions. Carley was only in town for a few weeks and was staying with her aunt, my friend, Stacy, until spring break was over. Stacy had plenty of time to make a move on Roberts, but she would never be brazen enough to attempt it with her husband Tom always around.

With the last few drinks finished and the conversation wound down (with neither sex having been declared superior), we moved the party back to Stacy’s house, where there was a pool table, a pool, and cheaper liquor.

After a drink and maybe another, we convinced the boys into a few games of strip pool. The first game went quickly, with only a couple of socks and Tom’s tie discarded, so we made it more interesting. “Once you miss a shot, you lose clothing for every sank ball until you sink again,” I suggested. For a while only Tom was disrobing, his protuberant belly hanging low over his waistline and then his waistband. When his undies came off, he was hairy and pale, and we allowed him to put them back on. Carly was the next to lose her clothes, sitting pudgy, pale, and sad, overflowing her bar stool in a tightly-packed bra and underwear. It wasn’t until the last few rounds that Roberts started missing. My turn followed his.

“I’m going to make you regret that,” I said devilishly as his solid ball bounced harmlessly off a bumper, not even close to the hole. With my first strike, his shawl came off. Even though the weather was warm, he had retrieved his shawl from the car. “That doesn’t count,” I insisted, but Carly and Stacy shouted me down. “Fine,” I accepted, and promptly sank two balls with my next hit. Off came his necklace (another questionable “clothing item”) and his shirt. Underneath was a pretty unimpressive chest, almost entirely free of hair, with two tiny cherry-drop nipples. As he walked around the table, I could see the flexing and relaxing of tight muscles under his pale skin. His tiny shorts left little to the imagination.

“Give us a twirl,” I shouted. Carly rolled her eyes, but Roberts didn’t look to her for permission, he looked at me. “Pah,” he powerlessly protested, and took a turn, quick and awkward. “Aw, come on,” I insisted, “give us some sugar,” and reluctantly he spun around again, slowly, letting me examine how the ridges of his scrawny lower back gave way to the ass cleft below. His was a small ass, but perky enough to fill in those tight little shorts.

Right on cue, Stacy dropped the straw with which she had been stirring her margarita. It just so happened to roll close to Roberts’ feet. “Sorry,” she said coyly, “could you get that?” Again, the boy looked not to his girlfriend, but to me, at the eyes he could feel burning into his skin. I gave a slight nod. Like a good boy, he bent to his feet, leaving his ass high, those wonderful shorts sliding slightly up, just enough to tantalize without satisfying. I find that a boy in a good pair of shorts can be more interesting than any nude. The suspense has its own allure, I suppose.

When Tom cleared his throat, I realized that it was still my turn. “I could clear this table,” I said, counting one, two, three balls left. “What are you going to lose if I get two more?” I asked. Roberts giggled and shrugged. “All I see are the shorts,” I said. Carly finally lost her patience and demanded, “just take the shot.” Dutifully I sank another ball, sending it speeding clear to the other side of the table before, luck beyond luck, it dropped into a pocket on my side of the table. I let out an evil laugh and Stacy shot me a chiding look. Had it been earlier in the night, or had we had a few fewer drinks, I might have controlled myself, but not tonight. “What ever will you do?” I asked as he dropped the shorts.

This was one of those rare cases where the reality was actually better than fantasy. Beneath his shorts he had a lovely see-through chastity enforcer, pressed tightly against his (maybe a little engorged) cock, a small tuft of pubic hair (although I prefer clean shaven, a cute design can be nice), and the most incredible skin. Most skinny white boys are too pale and their skin becomes translucent, red and blue with veins, but Roberts’ skin was white as porcelain and just as smooth. A little stubble was forming up in the corners of his pubic triangle, but that somehow seemed hot in a rugged kind of way. Almost immediately I wanted more. I started imagining the things I could do, the things he could do for me. To be honest, I imagined that perky white ass sliding down over my fattest purple cock, the look his face would make, the ripple of his muscles as he took my thrusting, the noises that whore mouth would make. The imagination reels. The things I could mold that body into…

Roberts sort-of half-covered his cute little package with one hand, a futile but manish gesture. “It’s still my turn,” I noted, circling the table to the boy’s side. I had worn the correct dress for pool, figuring that the night would end here, as it so often did. Stretching to reach the middle of the table, I knew Roberts was getting a look at my curves in full view of his helpless girlfriend. When I stood up from sinking the shot, a red flush had sprouted in the middle of his chest. “What should we bet this time?” I asked the room. I sat beside Carly on a low bench to implicate her as a co-conspirator. “What else can he bet?” I asked her. Carly eyed her boy like a slab of meat in a butcher. My first suggestion would of course be dares of a humiliating, penetrating nature, but I didn’t want to put our pudgy, young friend off. She hemmed and hawed for a time, eventually standing to examine him from other angles. Finally she asked, “Which pocket are you aiming for?”

Tom returned from the kitchen with fresh drinks for us all. “You’ll want a nip of that. For courage,” I advised Roberts. Only the eight ball remained of my targets, in a somewhat tricky spot, far from the cue. “Far end. Left,” I chose. Carly led Roberts’ to the pocket and delicately (he shied away at first, but she held tight) lifted his little enforcer with his tightly packed, clean-shaven balls over the edge and into the leather pocket. “What if he flinches?” I asked.

Roberts looked flustered and shot his girl a panicked, pleading gaze. “What do you want to do to him?” she asked.

“Ten smacks, does that sound fair?”

I lined up my shot carefully, studying the angle from the cue to the black ball, from the black ball to my pretty pink targets. His cock had shriveled in its cage as if to hide. With a crack I let loose, laying hard into the ball, which hit the eight and sent both barrelling harmlessly around the table, sending the remaining balls into chaos.

“There’s too damn many of your balls on the table,” I complained.

A few short turns later, Roberts asked permission to visit the little boys room. I caught him in the hallway on his way back. Casually I slapped his ass as we passed.

“Hey,” he complained. “Hands to yourself!”

“Oh?” I asked as I grabbed hold of him, slipping my slender fingers along the hard plastic of his enforcer, sliding back behind his balls. I squeezed the package, lightly crushing his man eggs against the hard plastic cock cage. “I can’t touch you? ‘Cause of that girl out there?” I demanded.

“She-she’s-uh, well she’s my girlfriend,” he stammered.

I scoffed. “she’s a silly young thing. Fun for an afternoon, maybe, but she can’t teach you like I can. How old are you?” I asked.

“Eighteen,” he replied, “just.”

The number alone turned me on. I practically licked my lips. I had dated young guys before, but never into the teens. Still in high school, I considered, or just graduated.

“You owe me, you know,” I said.

“What?”

“You owe me for that extra ball I sank. You think that was free?” I traced the ridge of the enforcer with my thumb, exploring his prison. “I want to see your clit uncaged.”

Roberts pulled away a bit but my grasp held him tight. “Please,” he whispered.

“Where’s your key?” I asked.

He looked down at himself, avoiding my gaze. “At home,” he admitted finally.

“Your girly friend doesn’t have it?” I clarified.

“No.”

“Good.” I gave him a little kiss on the shoulder where it met his neck. He stood about a head shorter than me, and when I stooped I knew he could see my black lace bra, about a size too small, working its magic. Now I pulled his little clit, bringing him to his tip-toes. “Does it hurt when I do that?” I asked. He whimpered submissively. “Very good, little kitty. I like you purring for me.” It was true, I was getting wet, warmness heating me from the inside. I wanted to press him flat against the wall and rub up against him, but I restrained myself. “Are you going to be a good boy and leave that tramp?” I asked. My index and middle fingers, wrapped around the back of his balls along the plastic enforcer, strayed backwards and upwards, across the short prickles of his stubbly skin, back to the wrinkly edges of his exposed hole. Already on his tip-toes, he struggled up and away from my touch, but had nowhere to go. I circled his hole with my index and gently probed the tensing muscle. “Have you ever taken a cock? A real woman’s cock?”

He shook his head and turned his face away. With my other hand I took his face and pulled it back to me, staring him down eye-to-eye. “I can make you feel good. How do you feel?”

“Scuh-uh-scared,” he whimpered.

“But a little turned on?”

He nodded.

“Good.”

Jamie's Rule Book Part 4

Jamie's Rule Book Part 1

Jamie's Rule Book Part 2

Jamie's Rule Book Part 3

“Stop being so sulky,” she told me the next morning, Saturday, in the car outside of Rosylind’s house.

I refused to look at her and pulled away when her hand hovered into my line of sight. “It’s fine.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means that I’m pissed but you’re not going to care or understand why.”

She shrugged. “That’s fair enough. Come on though. You’ll get to hang out with Berry.”

I shook my head. “I don’t like Berry. I tell you that every time we come over here.”

She flicked my arm. “You don’t like Berry after what Rosylind had him do for you last time?”

I didn’t want to think about that. I shuddered when I saw his doughy face. “Hey, Lance,” hey greeted me. 

He said to my girlfriend, “The girls are out back with a pitcher of Mui Tais. You just let me know when you run out, okay?”

“What’s new with you, Berry?”

He started to prattle on about some bullshit he’d seen on TV. I stopped paying attention after a few minutes but thankfully for both of us, Berry either couldn’t tell the difference between attention and total indifference or else no longer cared. I busied myself throwing together some sauces for a marinade.

When I stepped outside for a drink I was greeted by ten staring eyes. My wife’s gang sat around a metal table with Steve, the token guy. Steve’s real name was Stefano Raul Vesquelez but everyone called him Steve. His long dancer’s legs were stretched out over Rosylind’s lap casually. I’d never seen her allow a man to touch her instead of her touching him except Steve. His dancing had earned their respect and now he was just one of the girls. That said, he was rarely invited out shopping or really any events that didn’t involve drinking. “Hey there, Lance,” he said. “How are you this morning?”

I glanced around the yard as I approached. “I’ve been better.”

Rachel coughed and Evie kicked her under the table. Steve, sharp as a spoon, asked innocently, “Did you have a big night last night?”

Evie stifled her giggle but the damage was already done and all the girls were rolling with laughter, even Jamie, after a bit. “What? What?” Steve asked.

I finished filling my glass and made a bee-line for the screen door to the kitchen but Rachel stopped me, asking, “Wait a second. You didn’t answer Steve’s question.”

Rosylind giggled from behind her hands, “was it big, Lance?”

“I- my- Jamie there,” I indicated with an extended arm, eyes glued to my shoes, “Jamie milked me.”

“Milked your ass?” clarified Steve.

“Yes, my ass,” I said.

“And…?” encouraged Rachel.

“And she had sex with Brad,” I squeaked.

Rosylind put a hand on Steve’s arm, asking, “You know Brad?”

“I know Brad,” said Steve.

Jamie snorted and looked off to her right, taking a drag of a joint and passing it to Evie.

“And…?” persisted Rachel.

“And I c-“ my voice caught on the word- “cleaned out my Princess after.”

Steve finally broke into a hearty laugh even though his hand shot to his mouth as soon as it started. “Okay,” he said between breaths, “that is pretty bad.” As he giggled his white A-shirt drifted up his supine torso, exposing his rippling abs. These dancers were always in such good shape.

When the laughter subsided, I asked, “May I start cooking lunch now?”

Jamie responded, “Let us get another drink in and then start it up.” I turned on the grill to begin warming and returned inside.

I added the meats from the fridge to the marinade bowl while Berry excitedly explained his college volleyball bracket for the season. I washed my hands and relined on the kitchen island holding my drink with both hands, eyeing Berry suspiciously. He had the loose, vealy tone to his flesh and although his skin was naturally darker than mine, indoors it had paled to a yellowy brown. This is what marriage does to you, I thought. I can’t become some homebound nitterer. I can’t.

I gulped down my drink to both limit my exposure to Berry’s running mouth and dull the embarrassment. When I approached the screen door it banged open with a kick of Rachel’s foot. She shot past me, out the front door. After her came Stefano, shrieking as Evie nipped pinches at his butt. Rosylind followed at a jog and finally Jamie. “We’ll be back in ten, maybe fifteen minutes. We’ll be right back.”

Perplexed, I wandered out back and put the meat on the grill. I sat in the shade of the umbrella at the table and sipped on the half-finished mai tais. Fucking Jamie always dragged me to stupid shit like this, made me hang out with some empty-headed boy while she went off someplace fun with her friends. As if I would have anything in common with Berry. Doughy, soft, boring, inoffensive Berry. I hated the silent parts, the waiting, the wondering. What was Jamie doing?

Before long the meat was cooked but the girls were nowhere to be found. I piled the grilled meat, dripping juices, onto a plate and covered it with aluminum foil. Eventually Berry waddled out and sat with me, burbling on about his mansercize group. Honestly I preferred the company of just the meat.

Finally we heard earth-rumbling percussion of Rachel’s car returning. Berry, always a little puppy, bounded inside to greet his wife. I kept my seat until Berry’s face appeared at the screen door, saying, “Your girlfriend wants you.”

That was not a phrase I’d heard much lately. When I got inside I heard Steve calling out in a high sing-song voice, “Oh Lance. Your lady requests you upstairs.” A chorus of girlish chuckles followed. I could never tell if Stephano’s lisp was an accent of a speech impediment or what.

I replied as I climbed the stairs, “Okay, but the food’s been ready. We need to eat it before-“ I stopped short at the sight down the hallway. My girlfriend sat on the edge of Rosylind’s bed wearing only an oversized shirt with a long, open neck that exposed her right shoulder. She locked eyes with me and beckoned with a smile. Evie and Rachel sat together in a sofa on one side of the bedroom looking hot and tossled, sharing giggles and glassy stares. Rosylind leaned against the other wall, watching me intently, and Steve lay on the bed behind Jamie.

Rosylind spoke first, “We have a present for you, buddy.” Steve giggled at that.

He said, “Look at your skin, Jamie. You’re glowing.”

Evie chimed in, “Didn’t I tell you he was great.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” giggled Rachel, twirling a wavy golden lock of hair in her finger.

I spoke, my voice small and hollow. “I don’t understand, Jamie. Why are you doing this to me? We were… happy.” Were we?

“Don’t be like that. We decided-“ It took to the first C of decided for me to realize she was sloshed. How did she get drunk so fast, I wondered but then it hit me: we were set up. One of the girls had planned this. “- to give you a chance to get free. Isn’t that nice of us? Didn’t you want to cum?”

“Jamie, this is-“ I started but was cut off by Rosylind.

“Oh, you don’t want to cum?” Rosylind asked flatly.

“I- of course- Jamie, this isn’t right. You can’t just-“

Rachel undercut me, laughing, “Well she did.”

Jamie made a sympathetic face and reached out to me. She refused to take my hands when I offered them and instead reached for my head. She said, “I want to do something nice for you, but you have to impress me. You have to get my question right.” She pulled me in, closer and closer to her sopping cunt, half obscured by the cotton shirt.

“No, no, no” I was saying. Her hands prevented me from shaking my head.

“If you can tell me whose cum it is, I’ll let you cum. Right in front of my girlfriends. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I tried once more but it was too late. My face made contact with her hot, cum-filled sex, wet and reeking from the mingling of body juices. The taste made me gag a little at first, but no one noticed. She tasted of salt and body odor and the cum was fresh.

Rachel moaned, “Oh my god he was so big!”

Evie nodded, “Right? He’s the best.”

Rosylind cut in, “Don’t spoil the game. Come on now.”

Rachel didn’t care, saying, “I can’t believe I never tried him before.”

Evie remarked, “I’ve been telling you.”

All this I heard muffled by Jamie’s thick thighs that squeezed and then released my head as her fingers on my scalp compelled me into her deeper and deeper. Jamie was too focused on the warm softness of my tongue to join the conversation but I knew she’d be praising some other man for her current pleasure.

“You’re going to turn me on making all those noises, girl,” said Rosylind.

Finally Jamie pulled me back by my hair and I sat on my heels between her legs staring up at her. She wiped my moist face and smiled. “Well?”

I shrugged and looked down. My lips curled into a pout. Was I going to cry? “I don’t- I can’t-“ I started blubbering.

“A boy who doesn’t like to cum,” remarked Rachel. “Didn’t think I’d ever see that.”

Rosylind asked Jamie, “I thought you said he didn’t get out ever anymore.”

Jamie nodded, saying airily, “But only for the last week.”

Rosylind tutted. “Maybe he’s not hungry enough.”

I let out an exasperated moan. The only guys I knew were Brad and Evan. Who was that other guy? Andrew? Archer? I regretted my habit of filtering out the ladies’ boy talk. None of them stuck around for long. Archer? I peer past Jamie’s leg at Steve. He was smiling and kept touching Jamie’s hair and sides, but he seemed too awake. Besides, he was a brother to them. Who has the biggest dick? I asked myself, but of course I didn’t know. Brad’s wasn’t much bigger than mine. The cum certainly tasted more like Brad’s then Evan’s.  “Brad?” I guessed.

Jamie made a surprised face for a long moment and then it cracked into a smile. Laughter rose from the women, everyone but Steve. Jamie too broke into a guttural guffawing and laid back on the bed giggling. I stared at her glistening sex, watching her stomach rise and fall. I felt stupid and inferior. Jamie sat back up and between peals of giggles and wiping away tears from her eyes she said, “How can you… you were there! Brad’s not… I’m not having sex with Brad ever again.”

Rosylind howled, “Did you send him packing?”

Jamie shouted, “He was there!”

That sent a fresh round of laughter through the girls. Rosylind was in disbelief. “He watched him fail and he still guessed Brad?” Jamie buried me back in her pussy as the laughter rocked through her, ab muscles pulsing. Her joy morphed into a lustier moaning and she laid back on the bed, wrapping her thighs around my head.

Steve looked her down and said, “Damn girl, how many times are you going to cum today?”

“Stephen,” said Rosylind, getting up to hit him. He yelped when she slapped his face. “Don’t be a bitch.”

Stephen rubbed his face distrustfully. Evie shouted over Jamie’s moaning, “He’s just jealous.”

“Aaah,” Jamie moaned, “that’s the… uhhh… good boy. Gooooood.”

Rosylind asked Steve, “Is that it? Jealousy?”

Steve played dumb. “I don’t know what you girls mean. I’m not-“

“-Jealous you didn’t get to cum,” responded Rosylind. “We let Arthur have a go on you but you didn’t get to cum.”

Arthur, I thought to myself. I should have known. The taste of his cum had been almost entirely replaced by the more familiar flavor of Jamie’s growing horniness.

Steve pretended to be uncertain. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t.” Nervousness started to well in his throat.

Rachel whined from deep in the sofa, “You never want to play with us, Steve? Why don’t you like to play?”

Steve got to his feet carefully and backed up the short distance he had to the wall. “I don’t really like games,” he said, his ass still sore from the game minutes ago.

Suddenly Evie announced, “I want to see him cum in Lance’s ass.”

“Hmm,” considered Rosylind. All of the girls watched me for a moment, voraciously eating Jamie’s snatch in the vain hope that she’s stop the growing consensus. Jamie writhed on the bed, spasms of pleasure gripping her legs now and then. I worked my face up and down, anything to get her off. Anything I could do from this position.

Rachel said wistfully, “I’ve never seen Lance get fucked.”

Evie’s eyes lit up. “Oh well you have to then. He makes these noises. Like these little ‘no’s but you can tell it’s actually a ‘don’t stop.’”

Rosylind guffawed. “It’s true. He goes ‘no no no no.’ It’s so cute.” Then, without hesitation she shouted to the door, “Berry, lube.”

I started to say something, tried to pull back but Jamie noticed immediately and drew me in tighter with a “No no no no.”

Rosylind advanced on Steve and he said, “I really don’t know girls. I… uh.” He was saying no but I could hear a second voice taking over. I knew the sensation well. Every reasonable part of you knows it might end poorly, but the deeper, animal voice just wants to cum. I knew what happened when I listened to that voice, and yet seeming every time cumming was an option…

Berry arrived at the door holding a platter of lube. I back for a moment when I heard the door squeal open. He tip-toed in nervously, cautiously. I caught his eye for a moment and we shared a look of regret. Just one week ago Berry was in my position and I in Steve’s. We both looked away, Berry in shame and I at Jamie’s insistence. “Stop it,” she commanded. “Make me… oh… make me…” She seemed to be on the verge for a second but the tension went out of her voice. “Mmmm more like that.”

“Get him ready,” said Rosylind, untying the string that held Steve’s grey sweatpants. They dropped to the ground revealing his slightly stubbly pubic hair and his growing, circumcised member. I never understood why boyfriends like me were always in chastity while they allowed short-term lovers and friends like Steve to remain uncaged. Jamie insisted that the cage was all about ownership. She wanted everyone to know, me included, that I belonged to her completely. Berry, his own member soft and caged, got on his knees and began to rub the lube onto Steve. Steve began to sigh as the pudgy fingers encircled his long-ignored cock.  “Very good,” said Rosylind. “I didn’t even have to tell you.”

“Yes Ma’am” he said.

Evie spoke excitedly with Rachel about their past experiences with forced man-on-man action. Apparently Rachel had a brother who became well established at her high school as a fucking boy for good boyfriends’ cum. Good girls like Evie and Rachel would never debase themselves to ritual cum-letting but they were more than happy to find a boy’s warm hole to substitute. It wasn’t until after college that they discovered the joys of being fucked for themselves, once their mothers’ teachings wore off. Evie meanwhile used to make casual hook-ups fuck her boy roommate to prove they had the moves and stamina. “If he can’t make a boy squeal and scream, what chance does he have of pleasing me?” she asked.

“St-stop,” Steve stuttered. “It feels too good.” Berry had clamped his lips around the head of Steve’s skinny cock.

Rosylind slapped Steve again. “You better not cum on my boyfriend,” she insisted.

“Stop-“ Steve pushed Berry off of him. “Cut it out, man.”

Soon Berry’s pudgy fingers were at my asshole, pushing lube into me. I grunted to try and rouse Jamie’s attention but she only moaned louder. His greedy sausage fingers poked at my hole harder and harder until they started to slip in, one at first, and then two. I tried not to tense against him, but his movements were quick and startling. I guess I couldn’t hold it against him, but Berry was always altogether too happy to fulfill the girls wishes (at the expense of his fellow man). No one could be counted on to try as hard and as obstinantly as Berry when pitted in competition with a fellow man, even if cumming was not on the table. Thankfully his doubtless devotion was tempered by his flabby body and general ineptitude, which made him an easy competitor physically. In mental and endurance challenges, Berry was a real bastard. He jabbed me persistently, shamelessly.

“Are you ready?” asked Rosylind.

Steve now had his dick in hand, standing over me, considering my helpless, squirming body. “I don’t know…” he intoned.

Evie moaned, her hands slipping into an easy rhythm in her lap, “Do it. I want to see it go in.”

I made a final effort to warn Jamie but as my grunts grew more and more hysterical, her moans grew to cover them up, until she was gasping thunderous gasps, squeezing her breasts with one hand as the other stayed glued to my scalp. In a long, slow, even movement Steve leaned into me, impaling his throbbing cock past my desperately squeezing sphincter, deep into my guts. I could feel the fat cockhead inside of me, widening me for the rest of his long cock. I screamed and shook, as did Jamie. Steve clasped his hands around my hips as he sank balls deep. He seemed to fill up my ass completely, pushing hard on my unwilling prostate. Even so, my cock stiffened ever so slightly in its cage. Steve moaned, “uh-huh. That’s right,” as he locked hips with me, rocking my body back and forth with his cock fully planted. Then he backed out a little. My whole body tensed, the sucking emptiness as uncomfortable and the growing wideness. As he pulled almost entirely out I felt my muscles tense with the anticipation of pushing him out completely. Instead he stayed just where he was, cockhead nuzzled tight against my sphincter. I tried to pull away but he stayed right there, just a little inside of me. “It feels good when you squeeze me like that,” he said, “really good,” and thrust back into me. This time he didn’t stop, but continued, in and out, in long, unavoidable strokes. My prostate burned with sensation.

Jamie, who had climaxed moments after Steve found purchase in my guts, finally looked down from the ceiling and wiped the sweat from her face. As she did so, she pushed my face away from her sensitive pussy, driving me back onto Steve’s cock. He grabbed my hips tighter and drove himself deep, no longer in even movements but pounding, jerky jabs deeper and deeper. My continued wailing was enough to drive Jamie back to reality, and when she did so she mumbled, “Wait, stop.” She looked weakly down at my glistening, red, smeared face and then back up at Steve. “What are you doing?”

Steve couldn’t answer, he was already preparing to cum.  I could feel the blood rush into his cock and he grew wider and longer than before. He mounted me higher, forcing me from my hands to my elbows as he shifted more weight onto my back. He was now thrusting with the full power of both of his meaty dancer’s legs, jamming his hard pelvis against my skinny ass. I could feel the cockhead deep inside of me growing, pushing my intestines out of the way.

Jamie stood now and I stared at her foot to the left of my head. “Get off of him,” she was saying, planting her hands on either side of Steve’s chest and pushing him backwards.

It didn’t matter, though, she was too late. Steve brought my hips back with him as she pushed him backwards, glued to my hole like a mad chimpanzee. Grunting louder and louder, finally he screamed and his warm cum filled my ass, shooting deep into my intestines. He fell off shortly after that, Jamie not standing over him screaming about property and respect and I felt cum dripping out of me onto the floor. Berry caught my eyes again, this time with a horrified empathy. “Steve!” Jamie was screaming. “How could you?”

“They made me,” he insisted, looking at Rosylind and Evie, who shook their heads.

Rachel contradicted, “He was like crazy horny.”

I didn’t care anymore. There’s a special kind of disappointment that takes hold after a man fills your ass with cum. It’s like the shame and disappointment of premature ejaculation, but with an extra sense of emptiness and being used that comes from dipping cum from your sissy hole. It was not something that Jamie, who now felt only anger and betrayal, could understand.

We didn’t see Steve after that, although he remained with the company for many more years. When I finally worked up the courage to sneak a peek at Jamie’s notebook weeks later Brad’s name had been crossed about, as had Evan’s and Arthur’s. I almost shed a tear when I saw that so too was “rubbies.” I knew to expect it from the way she spoke to me on our way home after she hastily and angrily dressed. She kept using words like commitment and trust like I had somehow been at fault. I tried to explain my attempts to rouse her but she had no memory or care for that. Although she hadn’t explicitly canceled the cum points, she stopped mentioning them altogether.

I waited until she was drunk and satisfied a few weeks later to ask her when I might get out. She looked up at me sleepily before she drew close, eyes coming into focus. “You know that from book two onward there’s no tolerance for cheating.”

“I-“ I started.

“Hush,” she commanded. “At all. How can I trust you?”

“Jamie!” I snapped. “Your friend fucking raped me and you let him. And now you’re mad at me.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. She sat up and began to collect her long straight hair in a ponytail at the back of her head, her small, pointed breasts waving with her movements. “Did you not see the column?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Don’t play dumb,” she hissed, “I know you looked. I’ve already added five points for it.”

This time I was truly at a loss. I started to weep, quietly at first but growing into deep sobs. “Jamie, listen to me god damnnit.”

“Go,” she said, waving at the door with a limp wrist. “Stop and go get the book.”

I marched downstairs trying not to feel like a child throwing a tantrum. This was real, I thought, this is different. Not right.

I snatched the little black book from the drawer and returned to the bedroom. My eyes began to well again as I reentered the room. Jamie now wore her baggy practice shirt and white and grey striped panties that she’d washed too many times. She sat casually on her side of the bed. She watched me take a seat next to her and then shook her head slowly. I shrank under her gaze to a spot on my knees on the floor. “Jamie,” I started.

“Look in the book,” she commanded me. “Last page. I want to see the look in your eyes when you understand.”

I blinked water from my eyes as I scanned the page. There was rubbies, crossed out as before. Besides that were only tallies for workouts, lunches, after-dinner drinks, and…

“You’ve taken a new man?” I asked angrily. Why was she making me do this?

“What?” she asked.

I sneered, “The only other thing here is someone’s last name. Gelding. And the number 2000.”

Jamie's Rule Book Part 3

Jamie's Rule Book Part 1

Jamie's Rule Book Part 2

Jamie came home the following night as exhausted as usual. She grabbed a cup of water, made her adjustments in the notebook and joined me on the sofa watching TV. I had on some boring animal program. Somewhere, at some time on this planet, this group of lionesses trapped and devoured a confused warthog. The nonplussed narrator explained how lionesses would hunt together even though they preferred solitude.

“How was practice?” I asked.

“Exhausting,” she said, “we had to practice Steve’s lift a hundred and a half times and then Evie couldn’t get her second pirouette in the ghost sequence. The pianist started rushing she got so bored, and then nobody could keep time.” As she spoke her fingers wrapped themselves around the side of my head and her grasp casually guided my head to her belly. I kissed the dried sweat from her navel and progressed southwards as she rolled down her tights. I made my way past the strip of half-shaven stubble between her public bones and into the longer thicket on her pubic mons. She pulled one leg out of the tights and wrapped it around the back of my head, compelling me down and in. I gave her outer labia a nice even lick. It wasn’t until she pushed my mouth up against her vagina that I noticed the taste was wrong.  It was something totally unusual, something salty and foul. I made a noise of disgust and tried to pull back but her grasp tightened on the back of my head and she overpowered my retreat.  “Get in there,” she moaned. “Suck Evan’s cum out of me. Make me clean, baby.”

After she’d cum on my face I sat on the floor between her legs, my head rested on her thigh. “I can’t believe you did that,” I mumbled bitterly.

“Was it good to taste a real man?” She asked. “Do you know how many times he made me cum before shooting off in me? Do you want to guess?”

I looked away, off at her other thigh. “How did you become so…” I let the first word pass from my mind, “voracious all of the sudden?”

She giggled but her laugh descended her throat into a belly laugh. “All of the sudden?” she repeated. “I’ve always loved sex. I just stopped looking forward to it because you’d always tease me up and then leave me high and sopping wet. When we were first dating I would get a boy in almost every day.” She caught my chin with a finger and pulled my face to see hers and then pet my cheek. She sat back, relaxing in the sofa. She said, “I think this is just fantastic. I’ve never been this fulfilled physically and I just feel so alive.” It was true, she was beaming.  “I haven’t danced this well since college.”

After I cooked dinner and we ate it on the couch, watching a cooking competition series on TV, Jamie noticed me watching her. “What?” she asked.

“Weren’t we…” I hinted, “Didn’t you want to…”

Comprehension broke across her face. “Right. Your milking. I did want to try that.” She considered me briefly and said, “But you’re going to have to get prettier than that if you want to seduce me.”

I was still wearing sweats from hanging around the house all day. I didn’t feel terribly sexy, but I did feel pent-up. I gussied up and returned wearing the red silk nighty and panties she liked so much. “Ooh, nice choice,” she said. “Now shake it for me.” She turned on “Leave the Key on the Chain,” her favorite slow, sexy song. I shimmied a bit and made a few poses, trying not to feel silly. She didn’t look entirely impressed, but when it was over, she said, “Okay, bring that cute ass over here.”

She leaned over the back of the couch to grab something and I presented my locked cock and balls for her key. When she turned back, she held a floppy purple dildo. “All right, let’s get you ready,” she was saying.

When I saw her hand I stepped back. “What?”

She burst out laughing, her giggles sending ripples through the floppy silicone. “You didn’t- I told you that you weren’t getting out of that cage anymore. Did you think I was kidding or something? My goodness you look so silly.” She mocked my sad expression with a sadder one. “Why are you so sad? Did you not understand?”

My shock and horror mixed with embarrassment. Before I could she laid a towel across the floor beside the sofa. “Get down there, on hands and knees. No, facing away from me. Are you just acting dumb to waste time? I hope so at this point.” She lubed up my exposed hole and began to work the dildo inside of me. I tried my best to accept it inside, focusing on relaxing into the intruder. I looked down and saw a clear liquid dribbling from my cock. “Woah,” Jamie said, “You weren’t supposed to start that quick. It’s supposed to take a-“ she cut herself off and hurried to the kitchen leaving me waiting with the dildo hanging out of my ass, held in only by gravity. She returned with a roll of condoms and opened one. She rolled it over the plastic of the chastity cage and remarked, “It’s been a long time since you’ve worn one of these, huh?”

She sat back down and continued to work the cock into me, in and out, inch by inch. I was moaning and groaning by the time the handle hit my hole. “Oh god, that’s deep,” I gasped.

“Hush, Sandy’s pulling ahead.” she responded, glued to the television. I looked down to see the condom hanging loosely from the tip of my cock with an increasingly large bubble of an off-clear liquid. As the drama of the show heightened her movements became more forceful until I was grunting like a Pool Party slut. During the commercial breaks the thrusting stopped as she lubed up the next biggest cock and replaced her fucking implement inside of me. By the end of the show I was in tears from the pain and stimulation. We were only two toys away from Mr. Happy. She inspected my cock and said, “Yeah, that looks like a healthy amount. Possibly a week’s worth. Anyway, anything we missed we can get next time.” She carefully pulled the condom from me and brought it to my lips. I turned away, disgusted by the smell, but she grabbed my face by the nose and when I gasped for air I met a mouthful of my own filth. I coughed and hacked with elicited fresh guffaws from Jamie. “Mmm mmm, I bet that’s yummy,” she mocked.

Not long after that the front door opened and slammed shut. The noise sent of shiver of tension through my body and I had to fight to keep my stretched rectum relaxed. “Hello?” called a man’s voice.

“We’re in the living room,” cried out my girlfriend.

Facing into the room, I couldn’t see Brad until he came around the sofa. My head was to the floor and I was panting into the towel, shaking and exhausted. I saw his brown shoe first, then the pressed line of his starched slacks, his manicured fingers and the cuffs of his green shirt. Meanwhile my nighty had ridden up to my nipples. Brad looked in every way my opposite: he had fair skin and blonde hair totally unlike my deep mocha skin and black, thick hair. He looked to be as much as a half foot taller than me, and when Jamie bid him take off his shirt I could see how hairless his chest and back were. Jamie hadn’t waxed me in ages. Brad’s chest formed an almost perfect V shape from his broad, built shoulders and slender abs.

She got up and ran her pale pink fingers down his white, unfreckled chest. “Did you come from the gym?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “I thought we were going out.”

Jamie spun around and leaned back onto him. He had to step back to brace against her weight. She put her hands around his neck and shimmied down her body, saying, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in?” Then, turning back around she curled her fingers around his stiffening cock through the thin slacks. “I think maybe you do.”

Brad let out an embarrassed laugh and stepped back, taking a look at me. The expression that flashed across his face, was it disgust? Or fear perhaps?

Jamie frowned. “What’s wrong, Bradley?”

“I don’t… He’s- this is your boy-“

She cut him off, “He’s my boy. You’re my man.” She approached and grabbed his ass at which he let out a startled yelp. She drew him in close to her and rubbed against him. When she felt his body relax in her hands she said, “I want to see that beautiful cock of yours,” and undid his belt.

The slacks thudded to the floor, weighed down by the leather. She pulled his boxer briefs to his knees and lowered herself to her knees, face to face with his throbbing member. “Hey there, little guy. You look happy to see me.”

Brad guffawed again and reached for his underwear, saying, “Jamie, please.”  Jamie stopped him, catching his hands in hers and gave his cock a lick, causing it to bob up and down. She looked up and said, “Hush now. I’m not talking to you.”

“You’re a pretty cock, aren’t you,” she said and gave it a kiss on the head. “You like to look me in the eye.” That was a slight my hockey stick penis. While Brad’s was no longer than mine and probably a big skinnier, his had a long gradual upward curve. My wonky cock jutted decidedly to the left halfway down. Jamie never found it terribly pleasing. Jamie now wrapped her lips around the head of his tool and licked slowly down the underside with her extended tongue. She only used that long muscle on me to occasionally gag me while we were making out, for a laugh. I could see Brad shudder with pleasure as she drew her tongue back into her mouth. She pulled back with a pop and pushed the saliva down his shaft with her hand. She took the glistening thing in her palm, thumb extended along the shaft and began to stroke him slightly as she took him back into her mouth. He thrusted gently into her and she encouraged the movement. As Brad let out a low moan she reached up and dug her nails into his chest. His moan rose to a strangled shout and she pulled him in by his cock as his chest tried to pull away.

“Ouch, Jamie,” he said with an edge of annoyance in his tone.

She replied coyly, almost mocking, “I thought you liked it rough.”

“I do-“he said, then clearing his voice and proceeding in a deeper tone, “I do like. Rough.”

“Mmm” she hummed approvingly. “I want you to fuck me on the couch.”

I shifted a bit to keep them in my sight (managing the wedge the dildo deeper into my guts thanks to gravity) as they approached the couch, she falling backwards onto the cushions and pulling him onto her. She, glistening from my tongue, invited him, glistening from hers, into her. They both gasped with pleasure and he started nailing her hard. The couch joined in on their racket with its squeaking. “Hard, hard” she was screaming and he was giving it to her. “Fuck! Fuck yes!” she shrieked, pulling him close as she came. I watched the muscles spasm through her body, hard tired muscles shaking under her sweaty skin. She grabbed his face and kissed him hungrily. “Your cock fills me up so good,” she whispered. I moaned with frustration.

Brad looked over at me, surprised I was still here. Jamie looked at me too, stress forming across her pale sweaty brow. “The cuckie,” she started but had to catch her breath. “The cuckie is frustrated is he?”

I closed my eyes and regretted my misfortune of being born with a mouth.

She allowed Brad, still hard and unsatisfied, to pull out as she crawled across the sofa, leaving a damp spot where they fucked. With her knees on the cushion she leaned over the arm of the sofa and planted her sweaty hands on my back. Her nails bit slightly into my skin. “Up, up,” she said, and I pushed myself up into a table position. “Brad, get that glorious cock back in me.” As he took up a stance behind her she moaned, “Right where it belongs,” and groaned her pleasure as he slid back into her. Before long he was pumping away with her hips stationary between his broad hands.

“Take it. Fucking take that shit,” he grunted through grit teeth. I could feel every pump through Jamie’s arms 

pushing me into the ground. My own shaking arms could barely hold us up but I fought to hold my ground. One of her hands picked up and traveled down my back to the dildo still jutting from my back end.

“Take it,” she echoed and worked the beast in and out of me. My prostate was tired and sensitive from the already extensive hammering it had received but the punishment continued. The thing had a big head that I could feel jabbing me deep inside, and along the sides the ribs of silicon kneaded my aching hole. I whined like a dog as she brought up the pace.

“Please!” I cried.

“Fuck me Brad,” she screamed, “fuck me deep.”

“Oh fuck!” he yelled.

“No, no, no,” shouted Jamie, pushing against me so that she could continue fucking him as he came.

“Ah! Ah!” he cried as she humped his sensitive cock. “It hurts!”

“I didn’t say to cum yet, you shit,” she said, taking out her frustration by raping my ass all the harder as she ceased her humping. “Did I say you could cum?”

Brad looked like a hurt animal. “I thought you liked it,” he was saying.

“Get, get,” she yelled shooing him. Brad snatched his clothes from the floor and scampered into the front room. Soon afterwards I heard him leave.

Jamie was rage and heat of the moment so she eased the silicone out of my ass. The relief was indescribable, the relaxation glorious. She spanked my playfully. “You did very well, toy.”

I was shaking my head, digging my forehead into the carpet. “No, no, no,” I shouted, “That was awful. I hated it.”

Jamie tsked. “Don’t talk like that. You’ll earn yourself a night in the crate.” She rolled me off of the towel and, seeing it was clean, threw it on the wet spot and plopped herself down on top of it. The late afternoon sun made the droplets of sweat crawling across her skin an orange and purple. “Give me your tongue,” she demanded.

“Nuh-uh,” I shook my head.

“Get over here,” she said, a note of annoyance creeping in.

“No. That’s disgusting,” I said. “I can’t move, anyway.” I felt so tired. I didn’t care about points or punishments, I just wanted to lay there and die.

She slapped a pillow beside her for emphasis, saying, “I can get Mr. Snappy if I need to. I’m sure he’s feeling left out.”

I met her gaze to express my displeasure and she stared me down. Seeing she was totally serious, I pulled myself to my knees and crawled between her legs. The taste was different, slightly better than the older cum from earlier, but salty. The salt of her sweat had accumulated in her bush and my nose sucked in the air and moisture indiscriminately. I was already dreading the inevitable next time.

Jamie's Rule Book Part 4