Jamie's Rule Book pt 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I panted, terrified, unsure of how to respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Takes a Village Part 3

Part 1
Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sandy snorts, “whatever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room gasps. The air goes cold.

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

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

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

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

It Takes a Village Part 2

Part 1
Part 3

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

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

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

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

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

Marcy asks, “What do the directions say?”

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

No one had ever gagged a boy before.

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

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

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

Amy murmmered “I forgot.”

“Well don’t.”

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

“Up. Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

28k Words

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It Takes a Village Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

“Yes. I know.”

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

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

Part 2
Part 3

A little about me

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

I' m currently at 25k words in total.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Delta Gamma Delta Knows How to Party: Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

It seemed obvious to me, but the women seemed fascinated by my vibrating belly. Not one to ask for permission, Sandra pulled me onto my back by my hair and straddled my chest, ass to my face. Her dress was hiked up just enough that I could see the white g-string underneath soaked through as she ground her clothed pussy back and forth over my abdomen.

“It feels,” she moaned, “really good.”

Most of the outright cheering had subsided by now and a different atmosphere was settling over the kitchen. Some girls still shared shots at the counter but most were intently focused on the fun with us two boys. The shouts for pain and violation had become a low communal breathing. Anticipation.

Sandra put one hand to her hair and gripped my hips tightly with the other. Her grinding had led her further down to my shaking pubic bone. She now hit the swollen top of my tightly caged cock with her clit on each upstroke. “Oh,” she moaned deeper and deeper. “Oh, Peter. It feels good. Your body feels… uhhh” she shuddered. “Feels so good. Mmm. Squirm for me now. I want you…” A hand came down between my thighs with far more force than a playful slap. “Yes that’s it,” she moaned as I writhed with pain. She clamped her pussy tight against me. “Move for me,” she cried hitting me harder and harder. Finally, with a shriek and a tightening of grip, followed by her weighty torso draping flatly against mine, she came. I could barely breathe between the sweaty fat columns of her back, but I found a stream of air. The giant pink cock still buzzed and pulsed deep inside of me.

I barely felt conscious anymore the sensation was so intense. I had retreated deep into my head.

Before I knew it Sandra had rolled off of me and Amy had taken her place. Amy faced me, breasts nearly spilling out of her low cut blouse. Her body felt warm and soft and enveloping pressed against mine, her clit seeking out the vibrating skin of my hips. “Stop,” I whispered. “Stop.”

Amy was beginning to bite her lip with pleasure, but she seemed none too pleased at my outburst. She looked around for her ‘little sister’ who was watching Eduardo try to protect his balls. “Double Stuff,” she called, “get the collar out of my drawer.”

The large girl looked fearingly at her ‘big sister’ and plodded off without a word.

With shaking, weak arms (my whole body shaking, really) I tried to push Amy away, but she grabbed my wrists and pushed my hands to her breasts. “You dirty son of a bitch,” she said, slapping me for show. “Don’t touch me while I’m enjoying you.” Her lips said that that, anyway. Her hands implored me to massage her erect nipples.

“Don’t… don’t stop” she started to moan lustily but ‘Double Stuff’ had returned with the headgear. It was a collar of sorts, but it was also a gag. The leather held the neck in place while the thick knotted cord kept the mouth open and filled. Amy fit it over my head, pulling the leather strap tight. “Come on, don’t stop,” she said in lighter, more masculine tones. Only then did I realize that I had been matching her rhythm pulsing my abs and drawing my body tight against her clit. When I realized it I was horrified. I felt dirty. Somehow complicit in the act.

Amy screamed with exasperation. “Why? Why did you stop?” She slapped me on the face and chest, bouncing up and down on my belly, painfully compressing me against the vibe. “Oh god, come on. Come on I was so close.” We both knew that it was too late already. The orgasm had passed and only frustration remained. I knew the feeling all too well. Unfortunately for me, Amy didn’t.

“This is bullshit,” she said, slapping my face back and forth.  The fight had completely gone out of me at this point. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

The leather had begun to sour in my mouth and I began to feel a gagging sensation creep over me. The taste of leather was so strong in my mouth, and the more saliva I produced the less I was able to swallow it all. With this addition Amy was able to yank my face to meet her enraged face as she continued to berate me. “You are the worst kind of cunt-tease, you know that? A prude on the street, a freak at a party and incompetent in bed.” She put a hand over my face, not that I was going to try to respond anyway.

Amy gave me that bitchy look of hers before sliding up my body and planting her ass on my face. Under her skirt my nose was flat against her musky, wet pussy. She ground her snatch against my nose for a bit, but ultimately came to a stop. As I began to gasp desperately for air, she lifted herself off of me and sat beside my head, legs pulling my head sideways to match her posture. She uncovered one of my ears to say, “We decided that since you’re no good sexually, you’ll have to put on a show for us.”

“Please,” I croaked. “Please let me go home. No one-“

“Oh my god!” Amy groaned in frustration. “You are so boring. And don’t tell me the cock isn’t nice in your ass. You’re leaking cum all over it.”

She was probably right. Usually after a month without release, anything in the ass will start me leaking like a well-fed sailor’s whore[1].

And just like that the enormous intruder was gone. I gasped as a partygoer forcibly emptied my ass. I felt every muscle in my body relax and the feeling of emptiness was glorious.

Beside me I saw Eduardo struggle to his feet. He looked absurdly small in the moment, probably partly due to his horror streaked makeup. The poor creature barely came up to the naval of the women surrounding him without his shoes. As various girls continued to slap and prod him he raised his slender arms in defense, but they easily slapped them away. He slipped to his knees for a moment, tiny feet slick against the hardwood floor speckled with saliva, tears and drinks.

I was beginning to come back into my body and the girls took notice immediately. My arms and legs felt weak now, wobbly. Strong hands rolled me onto my stomach and then helped lift me to my feet. I was too weak to stand for a moment but found my balance, bare feet on the soft towel. Someone shoved Eduardo into me and as I clung to him and he to me we both hit the hardwood with a kuh-thud-thud.

“There has been a request,” Sandra started, leaning back to collect her hair into a ponytail and apply a band, pushing her chest out in the process so that her breasts pressed tight against the cotton of her t-shirt, “that we enact one of our members’ deepest fantasy. I don’t want to say whose it is, but this girl reads a lot of books and damn is her mind filthy.” A cheer went through the crowd. “But first, you two look like cheap whores and you need to clean up.”

I was happy to stay on the floor forever. Floor was hard, but it was stable and motionless.

Nevertheless I knew she was right. Ed’s dress now had a tear up the back from the bottom to his hip dimples (no doubt from the fucking. Or was it the dog’s fault?), and I had lost my shirt and panties completely. Our makeup was a mess. Ed’s was anyway. We’d both been crying.

So will a little help and some playful slaps of encouragement we were loaded into the large master tub and the water flowed. At first the heat was nice but it quickly burned my skin and made my head even more exhausted. “Hot,” I said.

“Ouch, that does look hot,” a girl said and turned on the cool faucet too.

We huddled together in the middle of the spacious tub. Ed grabbed tight to my arm and I pulled him close and hugged him against me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m scared,” he said.

I looked past his partially matted hair at the other side of the room. Six girls had lined the wall in front of the counter and mirror watching silently. Conversation continued out in the hallway but the only sound in the bathroom was the running water. I looked from eye to eye and saw no sympathy. Only hunger.

A shorter girl with long, curly brown hair and a thick New York accent entered the room saying “so funny because I was just having a dream where these two cute little boys were-“ she stopped short to take in the pathetic sight in the tub. I looked down at us. Someone was bleeding. “Eugh,” she grunted with disgust. “Well they weren’t like that. They were… beautiful. But these twinks are skinny enough I guess. You guys should have woken me sooner.”

She approached the tub and as she reached for the soap on the wall behind us I flinched away from her open palm. “Woah there little guy,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s alright.” She grabbed the soap and started rubbing away at Ed’s face saying, “You got a really sad face there little buddy. You look just like my little brother when I take away his cum day. Come here. Do you have any idea how to put on makeup? Do you just slap a few different colors on your face and call it good? Stand up now. Oh! Look at how cute his metal cage is. I would love, love to design something like this. K, let’s get you nice and clean here. And bend over now. No, facing away from me, silly.”

Ed glared at her distrustfully. I rubbed his leg to comfort him. He gave me that dopey, scared, questioning look that girls love so much in porn. I nodded, hoping to relax him, but he only bent over stiff and scared.

“There we are. It looks like somebody’s on his period tonight. Did somebody give you a little more cock than you were ready for?”

Ed whimpered as she cleaned his hole.

“Don’t worry there little buddy. It’s just superficial. This amount is normal for a virgin. Are you a virgin?” she asked.

Ed whimpered again.

“Doesn’t sound like a virgin to me. Sounds like the sluts in the Pool Boy movies,” she said, slapping his ass. Then she turned to me. “Were you looking at your boyfriend’s little clitty while I was washing it?” I tried to shake my head but she caught my chin in her thumb and index finger and started wiping my face with the soap. “You love to look at your boyfriend’s clitty, I bet. Do you two live together?” she didn’t really want an answer. “Do you play pillow fights and touch each other when you’re lonely? I bet that some nights he grabs the TV remote and pretends he’s a big strong woman fucking you, huh?” She forced my head under water and inevitably my nose filled with soapy water. “Come on now. Up. Show me your hole too. Not bad. Not bad. I heard that you took Big Betty. Betty is Double Stuff’s vibrator. Did you moan the way she does at night when it filled you up?”

I remained silent. Ed slowly lowered himself into the lukewarm tub.

“Okay up now. Up and out you go. Nice and clean.”

The flurry of mad, drunken hands were suddenly given purpose by this girl’s presence. We were dried in soft towels and led before the full-length mirror in the bedroom. After some discussion each of us had a pink ribbon tied around our chastity cages and pink panties to match. Eduardo, being smaller, was zipped into extra tall boots.

“What size are you?” asked our new friend.

“I’m sort-of between a medium and a large,” I explained. I suppose my mothers considered themselves noble for having me the old-fashioned way, but it had caused me nothing but trouble. Normally males were manufactured in one of three standard sizes by the agency according to preference. Eduardo, like over half the new boys born in America, was a Small. There was no doubt the option was cute, but sadly not durable or reliable. Eduardo was unlikely to see his fortieth birthday. Instead my mothers combined their DNA in the lab and used one of the 20 stored Y chromosomes in the central database.

Being somewhere between a medium and a large was no good. It only resulted in large responsibilities with medium freedom. In school gym when the guys we were locked up for the first time, I was of course given a medium chastity cage, but in sex ed I was issued a large practice cock. Medium clothes make me look fat and large clothes make me look disheveled. I can’t meet large expectations or fit inside medium confinement.

She stared at me incredulously for a moment and said eventually “okay,” and set about building my outfit. They gave me lacey black garters and a small tee shirt with a unicorn on it. They proceeded to make us up “not like whore, like you came in,” they said, “like ladies. Proper ladies.” Ed, who normally loved this sort of thing held in his usual squeals of delight. His eyes registered only dread. I’m not sure if he knew what was coming next. I had an idea, but that didn’t make it any easier.

They led us to the circular bed in the middle of the room with black sheets. Already on the bed was a thick, long, double headed dildo. “Don’t take off the shoes,” said Double Stuff. “I like the shoes on.” At this point any girls still wearing pants shed them, relaxing into the various chairs and sofas around the room. Sandra stared intently down at me alternating touching herself, pulling her hand away, starting to accidentally fondle a breast and so on.

“I want you to repeat after me,” the skinny blonde said, “’I’m just a sissy boy home all alone and my dirty pussy is craving some lady cock.’” She breathed heavily as she read it. A creepy quiet had descended over the whole room. The spectators were only interested, not concerned.

I took a breath to steady myself and repeated as I was told. In my head I spoke fluently, with grace, but I’m sure I was a shaky mess. Deep breaths, I kept reminding myself. Be still.

A different black girl, one I didn’t recognize, picked up the dildo and began slathering it with a viscous lube, clenching it in her meaty fists. The blonde spoke again, this time for Ed. “I’m home all alone too and I’m aching for something to fill up my sissy pussy.” Ed only whimpered and cried.

“Say it,” said Double Stuff, slapping his face hard enough to knock him on his side.

Ed shrieked and cried louder.

“Christ,” said Double Stuff who leaned out onto the bed and collected Ed in her thick arms. He put his hands against her chest as if to push her away, but she pulled him into a tight embrace, sideways, like a baby. “Just chill a second, okay?”

Ed struggled in futile fits off and on for a few seconds but eventually his body went limp and relaxed. “There, there,” she said, patting his bottom. Then it wasn’t so much patting as rubbing and eventually her pointer finger began to rub his hole directly. His closed eyes shot open and he struggled again for a moment, but when her lubed finger slipped slowly inside of him he seemed to accept his fate. Cradled against her there was nowhere to go, no hope of overpowering her. “Do you like mommy’s finger, baby?” she asked.

Ed shook his head slowly side to side, mouth open but unspeaking.

“Come on,” the girl said hugging him tighter so that a short moan was squeezed out him. “Don’t be a prude. Just play one more game with me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ed whispered, lying out on the bed as she released him even as her finger stayed snug inside of him. The dildo slapped juicily in the black girl’s lubed hands.

Amy, who was getting annoyed at the delay, chimed in, “K, now you say, ‘I do have the one dildo my teacher gave me, but it’s much too big for me alone.’” It wasn’t hard for me to sell that line.

Double Stuff, who now had Eduardo moaning and rhythmically moving his hips with her finger inside of him, said in a mock high voice, “I’m a fucking sissy cunt who doesn’t know how to take cock in her pussy correctly without complaining,” eliciting shrieks from Ed by poking his prostate for emphasis. “I need a big, strong woman to teach me how take it like a real man.”

“That’s not…” Amy started but realized the futility of trying to keep continuity and improvised, “I need a teacher too. Good thing the girls at Delta Gamma Delta are great teachers.” Double Stuff flashed her a smile. This new story was pleasing too. The girl holding the formidable dildo approached menacingly but Amy waved her off.

“Okay sissies,” said Double Stuff, now playing herself, “you’re going to touch each others nipples and spank each other. Ed let out a little sound as his ass came unplugged. We did as we were bid, tickling and touching each other in stilted, uncomfortable movements. After a time Double Stuff approached again and guided us into different positions. She moved me around to Ed’s rear as he stood on all fours. The girls laughed at her joke as she moved my hips, pretending to fuck him.

When she was finished amusing herself, she guided me into a position on all fours too, facing away from him. The dildo wielder approached again and held the giant toy between us. “All right now,” said Amy, coming around the bed and crouching down so we were face to face. She smelled sweet, like fruit. “Ease yourself on it. It’s okay to go slow at first.” Even as she said it she put a hand on my head and one on my shoulder, encouraging me backwards. I moved around a bit to lube up my hole from the dildo and started working it into my ass. Ed made no sound for a long time but after a few moments I heard a loud slap followed by Ed screaming and crying his head off. The cock head felt impossibly large as I let it slip inside of me. Relax. Relax, I reminded myself. I could do this, but Amy’s pushing was not making it easier. All at once the cock head broached me and I felt my asshole pull tight under ridge. God it was big.

“Good, good. Keep at it,” said Amy. I looked up to watch her piercing eyes but looked back down to concentrate. I kept pushing back, still faster than I would like, trying to open up for the length and girth. Ed was still crying, which could only be making it worse. I moved my knees to back up, accepting more and more, the ridges tickling my tender prostate. “Say ‘I want it.’”

“I want it,” I gasped. Finally Ed’s panic was subsiding again and I heard his characteristic little moans. The same sounds he made when he thought I was asleep in the dorm. Several of the girls had gotten out of their seats to approach the bed.

“Now that you two sluts have the cock you’ve been begging for,” said Sandra, “don’t let it drop. It would be very bad for you two to let it fall on the bed.

Ed sniffed an “uh huh” and I nodded. I tried to move back and forth on it a bit to make the sensation more pleasurable, but I couldn’t move much in Amy’s grip. After a bit more hands touched me. Hands on my hips and thighs, another on the back of my head as well as the top. I could hear myself starting to moan but I just focused on the sensation, trying to make room for more, more. “Gah,” I let out my breath with a pained moan.

This set Ed off who immediately blurted “Oh god, stop. I can’t take any more.”

There were a few chuckles at this.

“No, no please. Please stop. It’s too big. It’s too big. It hurts my tiny pussy.”

He did sound like a slut in the Pool Boy videos. I couldn’t claim superiority though as I finally slipped into a headspace where the full, pained sensation felt alright.

“I want the asses to touch,” whispered Double Stuff.

The girls pushed with renewed vigor. Their combined strength easily overpowered my attempts to slow my descent. The cock pushed deep into me, filling me deeper than anything I had felt. I almost felt the urge to cough it felt so deep inside of me.

“Come on,” Double Stuff said, “come on. Come on,” we must have been close. I could feel his feet between my legs, his toes curling and uncurling. “Come on,” and for one brief moment, I could feel Ed’s shaven ass against mine. The hands let up and we sprung away from each other. For a second I felt the monster cock drop onto the bottoms of my feet, but I pushed back to take more of it. I wasn’t convinced that Ed was doing the same.

“It hurts,” he moaned, leaning further and further forward. Sure enough he doomed us, sliding off of the cock entirely and letting it hit the bed. The girls’ cheering turned to disappointment. My end stayed in and I simply lowered myself flat on the mattress, legs spread, hoping for mercy. I heard a series of smacks and cries from Ed.

“Wait, I know,” said the brunette who washed us. “He’s got what? Bleeding, abdominal pain, emotionality. I have something just for that.” She returned with a pack of Menseaze and fed Ed two with some water. He happily swallowed them down. “That should get your tummy feeling better,” she said patting him on the gut like a submissive dog. “You make such a cute little girl,” she said. “Is this your first period?”

Ed moaned.

“You know what, little sissy. I’ve had an idea. I want to teach you how to piss like a girl.”

I continued doing my breathing exercises face down on the mattress as my body writhed against my will. I was happy to be forgotten for the moment.

“Come with me to the bathroom,” she said. Ed still wore his heels and could not stop slipping on the slick black floor. I watched from the bed as the brunette grabbed a rubber bag from under the sink and began to pee in it. She passed it around and a few other girls added to it, casually, standing up. The brunette took the bag back and after jokingly threatening to pour it on his head, she asked Ed to get on hands and knees. She stoppered up the bag and fed a tube into Ed’s ravaged hole then hung the bag from the shower rod. Ed’s face was puzzled more than anything. He no longer seemed in pain but I could tell the sensation was not pleasant. While he was down there a few girls took the opportunity to jam their feet in his face and have him lick their toes.

“Are you filled up?” the brunette eventually asked. “Does the sissy need to pee?” She pulled the tube from his ass. “Get up,” she said, lifting him under the armpit. Once standing, I could tell he was not feeling well. “Ask me politely if you want to pee.”

“Please,” sobbed Ed, “please Ma’am let me pee. I have to pee.”

She shook her head disapprovingly. “Not yet. I want you to walk around the bed and back with perfect posture like a good sissy.”

Ed dutifully started out of the bathroom. A few voices called out when he emerged from the room, balancing carefully on his shoes. He made it around the bed and a few steps back before a shift of balance sent his load bearing foot sliding out from under him. He hit the ground with a thump and then…

“Oh lord,” yelled Sandra, “the fresher’s pissing himself. He’s pissing himself.”

Most of the girls started laughing but the brunette was not amused. She ran to him screaming about failure and making a mess and dragged him to the tub. “You’re going to clean that up, young man,” she said.

By now the fiery booze had turned to sleep in their bellies some of the women were dropping off to sleep reclined in their chairs. Finally deciding I couldn’t relax any longer, I slid my way off of the huge cock. I pushed the cock head out with a pop and felt a wonderful deflation as my guts relaxed.

My relief was short lived as Amy spoke from the other side of the room, “What do you think you’re doing, Peter?”

A cold washed down my spine.

“I don’t think anyone asked you to take out that cock.”

“Please,” I whispered to myself.

“I think that both of them are bad, disobedient boys,” Amy continued. “Disobedient boys get punished. You don’t deserve that nice big cock we gave you. You deserve a cold night in the basement.”

She half-dragged me to the bathroom and threw me in the tub with Ed. “I should make you lick up the mess you made,” she said to Ed, who looked concerned and then looked down. She proceeded to turn the cold water on us and spray us down with the showerhead. I realized that she was washing away the only physical evidence that they could use in court. Without physical evidence, a man can’t hope to win a sexual assault trial (and may even be sentenced to serve his abuser).

We were then thrown in the basement wet without clothes or blankets. The basement was significantly colder than the rest of the house, so we just hugged each other in the dark. After a few hours the room went a glossy grey color. At some point in the early morning the door opened with a bang but I could not see anyone at the top. Barefoot we crept up into the house, moving directly to the front door.

I have done the walk of shame, but never completely naked. Anyway, that’s why I don’t do soro parties any more.

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[1] That phrase actually has an interesting history. Pirates would take island husbands on ships with them and they found that there was no need to give them any water or food rations. The boys could survive for months on only their own semen. Of course it was later discovered that the semen was only recycling a small amount of the male’s water. Most of the nutrition was in fact coming from the sailors’ urine which was rich in water and electrolytes. (Edbert, A Maritime History of the Colonies)