The Training of a Transsexual

THE TRAINING OF A TRANSSEXUAL…PART 4

                                                                       BY MISS PISS

       The rental home that we lived in was situated in the suburbs. I was impressed by the pictures that Isabelle had sent to me weeks before we moved in, but when I saw this house in person, I was more than thrilled. The outside had a front lawn and a spacious garage to fit two of our cars inside and enough room to park the other two cars on the outside. It was a two-story house. The first floor was made with fresh hardwood, a spacious and homey living room with a fireplace, a fairly large kitchen, one bathroom, one closet, a study room, and a door that led to the backyard, which had a white picket fence and a full-blossomed apple tree. The staircase and the second floor was dark red carpeted. There were three bedrooms, a common room, and one bathroom. Together we made this house into a modern, cozy, and comfortable home, blending all of our personalities into every piece of furniture, lighting, painting, and any other accessory that we added into our humble abode. In the living room we put in two leather couches, a long and rectangular glass table, a TV, artsy portraits on the wall, and plenty of candles and a few pictures of our family members on the glass lamp tables, which gave off a mellow and comforting atmosphere. In the study room we put in a pool table, a book and music library, an old fashioned vinyl player and music system, and another couch, making it nice and relaxing. As for each of our rooms, we went as loose and wild with it as we wanted. Isabelle and Mia stayed in the same room together; theirs had a sexy burlesque theme to it with posters of nude burlesque women, 1940’s pinup models, and some photographs of Isabelle and Mia and a few of Mia, her son, and Thor together as a family. Victor’s room was simple, not much decoration, just a few posters of the French countryside, photographs of his mother, his two French sisters, Françoise and Amélie, and his American stepsister, Anna. I made the walls of my room as homage to women who inspired me: posters of Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Betty Page, and of course, my wonderful mother.

       It took us nearly two months to make our house into a home. At times it was stressful, chaotic, and exhausting to make everything just right, but before we knew it everything was perfect. We hosted a few house warming parties, inviting our friends, family, and some people in our neighborhood who welcomed us with open arms. It was fun, but not necessarily the type of partying that we would do if it were just the four of us and a few of our crazy party-animal friends. Eventually we got sick of parties. It was time to begin real life. Very quickly we got situated into our normal and predictable routine.

       We all woke up at around the same time, 7am, took a shower, ate a delicious, hearty breakfast, and then went off to our jobs. I still worked at Vintage Boutique; Isabelle was an assistant manager for a fashion company, Mia was a chef at a fancy 4-star restaurant, and Victor was a journalist for the local newspaper. The times we came back home always varied, but we usually made time to enjoy a nice evening together. We prepared dinner together, ate in the living room, watched TV, played pool, and sometimes drank lots of vodka, champagne, Irish beer, or wine in our common room, just having a laugh and telling jokes and funny stories of our past life. We easily became family. We never argued or fought, rarely got annoyed with one another, and didn’t have any rules except one: if one of us were to have a special guest, we must let everyone know an hour in advance. We must be kind enough to either leave the house or stay in our rooms for at least an hour or two until our special guest leaves. Of course, you can suspect what we meant by a “special guest.” I grew absolutely horny and anxious for someone to announce that they’ll have a “special guest” for the evening. If there was one thing that I was more excited about than living together with Isabelle, Mia, and Victor was the huge possibility of watching their sex lives unfold before my eyes. The arrival of a special guest in our home would make the perfect opportunity to quench that thirst. The naughty voyeuristic pervert in me stalked any pant, moan, thump, bang, scream, yelp, buzz, groan, cry, and whimper that suggests love making or fucking going on anywhere in the house. I could hear it, smell it, and sense it anywhere; the tingle in my cock doesn’t lie. Whether it was behind closed doors or not, no matter where or when, I was going to hear it and do my best to watch everything. And I mean everything.

       To my slight disappointment, a special guest didn’t come as soon as I hoped. That’s not to say that no one in the house had sex. Isabelle and Mia fucked in their room, in the shower, in the study room, and in the living room frequently. Without a doubt in my mind, Victor sometimes came home extremely late during the week because he was out partying and fucking women, but just didn’t bring any of them over to the house. Regardless of the fact that I didn’t actually see and only heard some of this happen, it didn’t stop me from taking advantage of my wildly curious, perverted, horny urges.

       There were many moments when I came home and nobody was in the house but me. I would go inside Isabelle and Mia’s room, go into their panty drawer, and sniff their fresh and smelly thongs and panties, getting absolutely aroused by their scent. An odor so sweet, not too strong, but filled with the pungent perfume of wet pussy and dried cum. I would sometimes wear them. They didn’t always fit me perfectly, but regardless, I felt so sexy trying them on. At times I searched through their closet, hoping to find their sex toys and costumes. Unfortunately for me, they kept all of their naughty playmates in a locked suitcase. Dammit. But to my surprise, I discovered Mia’s photo album. I searched for photos of her when she was sixteen years old and pregnant with her little boy. I found two. One was of her looking about 6 months pregnant and sitting on Thor’s lap in what looked to be the Icelandic cottage that they lived in. Fuck, no wonder their son was so handsome. They were such attractive and beautiful looking people even at sixteen and seventeen years old. Mia hasn’t aged at all, only grew ripe with wisdom and experience. Thor hasn’t aged either with his raw and rugged ice-prince look that reminded you of a young modern day Viking. And lo and behold, the other photo was of a fully 9-month pregnant Mia, nude in a black Icelandic desert setting, tenderly cradling onto her huge and round belly while standing up. I assumed that Thor was the one that took the picture. I could only imagine how happy, proud, and horny he was. I tried not to do this, at times I resisted, but I couldn’t hold back. I masturbated to these two pictures and came non-stop. After I was done, I put them back exactly where they were, clean and unbent. Luckily, I never got caught doing these perverted acts and invasion of privacy.

        In Victor’s room I found stacks of pornographic movies and piles of Playboy magazines under his bed and some that he put in the bathroom. It wasn’t a big deal to me; I’m personally not a fan of Playboy. What I was surprised to find under his stack of boxers in his drawer were novellas and articles about the female dominatrix and female domination, short stories with BDSM, F/m themes, and the most tantalizing of all, pictures of men being sat on, stepped on, tied down, pissed on, and whipped by their intimidating, full-figured, vinyl wearing mistresses and put in some of the most complicated, painful, and uncomfortable looking positions that I’ve ever seen. Some of these men were forced to endure the pain of their mistresses stepping on their back while she was wearing thigh high ballet boots, sitting on their faces as they wore leather head masks, probably making it hard for him to breathe, and being made to drink her piss by wearing a ring gag. I was shocked, entranced, and overwhelmed. I never would have thought Victor would be into this kind of sex. I not only masturbated to what I found, but also with the thought of Victor participating in these acts and loving every dark, gruesome, painful minute of it. My sex-raged obsession only increased when I found a list of phone numbers in the same boxer drawer. The first name on the list was Mr. and Mrs. Ivy. There were other names that suggested in my dirty mind that these were the phone numbers of fuck buddies, casual sexual encounters, and flings. I wondered how often Victor called and saw these people in person. I could only imagine what they did to him and what he did to them. I couldn’t stop; I came and I came and I came with the constant thought of the sexual games they played. Since the day that I discovered Victor’s hidden BDSM fetish, I hoped and actually prayed that one of Victor’s special guests would come over to our home. Praying for these special guests was my religion. Then one day, after waiting for so long, the prayer was finally answered.

       ----------

       It was 8 PM. Only Victor and I were in the house. We were in the living room, relaxing on the couch and watching some television. Victor’s cell phone rang. When he answered it, the biggest grin appeared on his face as he listened to the caller, nodding and chiming “yes ma’am, yes ma’am, yes ma’am.” When he hung up, he immediately got up and told me “Stella, I have special guests coming tonight, so you know what that means.”

       “No problem,” I winked. “I will leave soon.”

       “Please be gone in at least an hour. Let Mia and Isabelle know that I’ll have guests over too, okay sweetheart.”

       He kissed my cheek quickly and then scurried upstairs to the bathroom as if he was in a hurry. He was taking a shower. I quickly unlocked the door that led to our backyard, so that way when I walk out the front door I can go back there and creep into the house. I would creep upstairs, look down, and watch anything and everything that happens in the living room, being extremely sneaky and quiet of course. I wondered who these special guests were. I couldn’t wait, and neither could my monster cock.

       When Victor got out of the shower, he smelled and looked absolutely amazing. He wore cologne that was light and seductive. His long brown hair was slicked back with water, bringing out his clear skin and gorgeous dark eyes. He was dressed up in a black waiter suit, wearing a black collar around his neck with a bow tie at the front. He was clean, sharp, and professional from head to toe. He already looked like somebody’s bitch, ready to serve for his or her pleasure. He was in the kitchen, scurrying around cleaning the counter tops and stove, and then collecting pots, pans, silver platters, wine glasses, forks, knives, spoons, and plates, ensuring that everything was clean and spotless. Then he began to cook a scrumptious meal that perfumed the entire house. He prepared a fresh spinach salad with his special homemade vinaigrette dressing, French onion soup made from scratch, a plate of Swiss cheese, cheddar cubes, and saucisson, his delicious roast rack of lamb with mint sauce, a fruit salad, a plate of chocolate truffles, and chilling our finest glass of pinot gris in a bucket of ice. Victor was a fabulous cook; half the foods that he made were from his mother’s recipes. He made an entire meal that looked fit for a king and queen. Through the heat in the kitchen, he didn’t break a single sweat. When he began to hurriedly glance at the clock while cooking the rack of lamb, he appeared equally ecstatic and nervous.

       “Oh my, who are you cooking for, the queen of England?” I said to Victor.

       “I guess you could say that…” he smirked, covering the spinach salad and the plate of cheese and saucisson on their own silver platter with a silver lid. “If you don’t mind Stella, can you please leave now, my guests should be here any minute now and I’m just almost finished setting up everything.”

       “I will lover boy,” I smiled, kissing his cheek. “Have fun.”

       “À demain,” he waved.

       I put on my heels, got my purse, and I left. I walked a block away from the house, called Isabelle and Mia to let them know about Victor’s rendezvous, and then turned back. I snuck into our backyard and hid behind the picket fence, having a clear view of our drive way. I was already caressing my panty-covered crotch as I waited. I wore one of my favorite sheer pink thongs especially for this occasion. It was already moist from my anticipation of seeing the special guests show up.

        In fifteen minutes, a limousine pulled up to the drive way. The driver opened the door. Out came a couple, a man and a woman, who looked like movie stars. They were dressed in the finest clothes and flaunting the most sparkling and obviously expensive jewelry that the average person in the neighborhood couldn’t afford. From afar I could tell how stunning the woman looked. She is what I called the voluptuous black diva. She stood about 5’10.” She had smooth cocoa brown skin, plump dark red lips, beautiful wide hips, a slim waist, huge breasts, a deliciously plump ass, long, muscular, and powerful killer legs, and nice muscle toned arms. Her coal black hair cascaded down her back with a glossy shine and soft curls at the end, giving her an aura of sass and sweetness all packed into one mighty fine package. She wore a ruby red strapless dress that perfectly showed off those big and round tits of hers, a pair of “fuck me” red pumps that perpetuated the strength of those bare naked, magnificent legs, and a matching red waist cincher that accentuated her perfect hour glass figure. She was holding what looked to be a large, red leather saddle purse. She wore huge diamond earrings, flaunted a breathtaking diamond necklace around her neck, and glittering diamond bracelets on her wrists. She probably wore diamond rings on her fingers as well, but I couldn’t tell. Every accessory she had showed off her extravagant, spoiled rotten, rich and fabulous persona. Even if all of that was taken way, she would still look like a smoking hot Nubian goddess. She also looked young, about 25 years old or perhaps even younger. She had a sweet, sultry, and youthful face. Beside her was an equally wealthy and extravagant white man, dressed in a classy black tuxedo suit. I took him to be either her boyfriend or her husband. Most people, however, might have taken him to be her father. He was remarkably older looking than his lady. I guessed that he was about 50 years old. He stood about 5’11.” His short and straight silver fox hair was slicked back, bringing out his taut and healthy complexion. For an older guy, he was quite attractive and very handsome with a slim body that showed no signs that it was becoming wrinkled, sluggish, or fat from age. He still maintained his classic sex appeal from head to toe. His face was absolutely breathtaking. It was a look of confidence, fearlessness, and pride. Even from a distance, I could tell that his eyes were silver, cold and sparkling. I could sense from his overall strong stud-like presence and relaxed aura that he knew that he was the king of the world, being the envy of every man who wished to be in his shoes, and most of all, of every man who desperately wanted to be in his woman’s panties.

       As they were approaching the doorway, I quietly opened the back door and stepped back into the house. Classical music was playing. A few candles were lit. The food smelled more delicious. The entire mood felt like a romantic date to celebrate an anniversary or Valentine’s Day. I pressed my back against the wall, a few inches away from the kitchen where Victor was putting some things in the sink. I sneakily ran up the stairs to look down from the balcony. Voilà. I had the perfect bird’s eye view of everything down below.

        The doorbell rang. Victor sauntered towards the door. He was wearing leg irons. When he got to the door, he kneeled down on his knees and opened it. As soon as the couple stepped in he sang “Bonjour Monsieur et Madame Ivy” and immediately pecked passionate kisses all over their shoes. They looked down at him with naughty, devious smiles. Mr. Ivy traced his hand along Mrs. Ivy’s incredible ass, squeezing it and lightly patting it, letting out a soft grunt.

       “Waiter boy,” snapped Mr. Ivy in a suave and strict English accent. “Lie down on your stomach. Mrs. Ivy and I need to wipe the dirt from under our shoes.” 

       “Yes sir!” choked Victor, who was apparently struck by Mrs. Ivy’s voluptuous body. He collapsed down on his stomach, his face pushed into the ground by Mrs. Ivy’s shoes. She walked on his back with those feisty red pumps, wiping and stomping them all over him as if he were an actual floor mat. Victor groaned and gasped in light pain. I don’t blame him; the heels on those pumps were tall and sharp. It made me cringe watching it. Afterwards, Mr. Ivy stepped on his back and wiped his polished black shoes on him. It made Victor groan and moan even louder because of this man’s body weight, which looked to be less than 160. When they stepped off of him, Victor took Mrs. Ivy’s purse and put it on the side of the couch in the living room. The couple sat down, sitting side by side very closely.

       “We are starving,” cooed Mrs. Ivy in a soft and sexy English accent as well. “What’s for dinner tonight garçon?”

       Victor stood up tall and straight, his posture suggesting that Mrs. Ivy’s heels produced blood-letting scratches and bruises on his back.

       “I’ve prepared your favorite meal, Monsieur et Madame. The aperitif is a plate of cheeses and saucisson, the entrée is my homemade onion soup au gratin and spinach salad with my special vinaigrette dressing, the main course is a roast rack of lamb with mint sauce, and for dessert is fruit salad and chocolate truffles.”

       While he was telling them what was on the menu, Mr. and Mrs. Ivy were making out slowly, seductively, passionately. I could hear them moan. Mr. Ivy clutched onto Mrs. Ivy’s ass, lifted her up like a baby doll, and plopped her down onto his lap. Her massive breasts pushed against his chest. He swallowed her plump and luscious lips into his hungry mouth, kissing her like a wild beast wanting to devour her from head to toe. She roughly ran her fingers through his silver hair, moaning shakily. She was already going to explode and they hadn’t even got started. His hips began to thrust back and forth against her crotch from underneath her dress. My cock slowly grew to my full 8-inches, almost rock hard. Victor just stood there, watching them as if he were already restrained by chains. He couldn’t keep his eyes off them. If only I could see how hard and noticeable his cock protruded through his pants.

       “What the hell are you waiting for boy?” snapped Mr. Ivy with his fingers, glaring at Victor belittlingly as he was dry humping his wife. “Bring us a glass of pinot gris and that plate of cheeses and saucisson, allons-y!”

       “Oui monsieur!’ he squeaked, going towards the kitchen, nearly tripping on his leg irons which restrained him from walking smooth and naturally.

       Meanwhile, the deviously horny couple went into the 69 position. Mrs. Ivy unzipped her husband’s pants and pushed it down, taking out his fat and hard 5 inch cock. She stroked it lovingly, giving it kisses from balls to base, and then tracing her wet and wild tongue up and down the shaft, swirling it around the head. Mr. Ivy groaned “Oh god…” as he lifted up Mrs. Ivy’s dress, revealing her bootylicious gorgeousness. Fuck, what a nice ass that woman had. It was perfect. Round, firm, and very plump. She wiggled her ass as she sucked on his cock, bobbing her head up and down in a rapid pace. Mr. Ivy moaned loudly with pleasure as he smacked her ass many times, whispering “My dirty slut…” He spread her ass cheeks, licking her filthy asshole with that long tongue of his. She screamed “OMG!” His face was pushing deeply into her ass; it appeared like he was getting sucked into it whole. He was suffocating in her wonderful smell. He was tongue fucking her asshole good and deep. She yelped orgasmically. Mr. Ivy thrusted his hips and pounded his cock into her mouth with such rapidness and agility. Old age must come with immense sexual experience and fully ripe stamina, which was probably one of the reasons why she worshipped him in bed.

       Victor walked in on them, holding two silver trays, one with the two glasses of pinot gris and the other with the aperitif. He was already shaking with pleasure; I could hear the clink of his leg irons. He was speechless; he was probably drooling, wishing that he was in Mr. Ivy’s position right now. 

       “Oh fuck, baby, I’m coming!” gasped Mr. Ivy, squeezing Mrs. Ivy’s ass cheeks. Mrs. Ivy gagged. He deep throated her, force feeding her his creamy juices. Mr. Ivy moaned loudly; Mrs. Ivy must have just come. He crammed his face into her pussy, licking and collecting every drop of her creamy goodness. When Mrs. Ivy lifted up her mouth from his cock, I could tell that she was overfilled with his cum. She didn’t seem to spill a single drop; she gulped it all down. She sat down on Mr. Ivy’s face, smothering him with her scrumptious ass. She grinded her pussy into him, groaning “Drink all of me baby!” I could hear Mr. Ivy’s suffocated grunting as he was drinking her all up, rubbing that nice ass and smacking it when he was through. Poor helpless Victor, I bet he would do anything to taste a drop of her. 

       “H-here’s your w-wine and aperitif monsieur et madame…”

       “Good,” Mr. Ivy grinned. “Something to wash it down with, right my boy?”

       Both he and Mrs. Ivy sat on the couch normally again. Mr. Ivy didn’t bother to zip up his pants; his cock was out in the open for Victor to see, looking slightly hard still. They each took a glass of the pinot gris and sipped it. They probably savored the taste of each other’s juices more than the wine itself.

       “Mmm…get down on your knees boy. Keep your back completely stiff and straight like this table,” commanded Mrs. Ivy with such a wicked and dominating tone.        “Yes ma’am!”

       He gave her the tray of aperitif. He went into a doggy style like position. She used him as a piece of furniture, placing the tray upon his back and munching on the cheeses and saucisson. Mr. Ivy chuckled snobbishly while eating, staring down at Victor as if he was nothing more than property.

       “He makes quite a nice table my love, better than the ones we have at home.”

       “Yes he does,” she giggled. “I bet he could also take off our shoes while in this position too. Can’t you garçon?”

       “Yes ma’am…”

       “And if you drop a single piece of food boy, you’ll get a beating from me, understand?” shouted Mr. Ivy, looking stern, strict, and serious.

       “Yes monsieur…”

       Mrs. Ivy lifted her right leg up a bit, forcing the sole of her pumps against his nose. Victor moaned. He bit onto the end of the heel and pulled the shoe off her foot slowly and carefully. I heard the tray shaking; he was horny and nervous.

       “Good…good…” nodded Mrs. Ivy, wiggling her toes. “Now the other…”

       The wiggling of her toes made Victor excited; I heard him gasp. Mrs. Ivy was such a tease. She pressed her toes against his nose; it looked like she was trying to stuff one into his nostril. He sniffed them. He tried to lick them. Smack! Mr. Ivy slapped his face and spat at him twice.

       “You piece of shit, no toe licking aloud!”

       “Yes Monsieur…I’m deeply sorry Monsieur…”

       “It’s Master now, boy. Call me Master now.”

       “Yes Master…”

       Mrs. Ivy laughed and then lifted up her left leg, shaking her foot side to side. He bit onto the heel of her shoe once again. She forced an inch of the heel into his mouth and pushed it in, which made him gag and arch his back. The tray fell; the pieces of food scattered all over the floor. Mr. Ivy immediately got up and went into Mrs. Ivy’s bag.

       “Master, I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!” cried Victor. He immediately picked up the leftover pieces of cheese in a hurry as if it would postpone the beating that was going to ensue. His eye glasses fell off in the process. As he tried to pick them up, Mr. Ivy kicked his side roughly, holding a 21” cat-o-nine tails leather whip in his clenched hands. Victor collided into the table, falling on his stomach, groaning in pain.

       “Get up!” Mr. Ivy roared. “Stand in the same position that you were in!”

       “Yes Master,” sighed Victor. He obeyed.

       “Baby, take off his shirt!”

       Mrs. Ivy did as he commanded. She viciously took off his waiter coat and his white shirt, ripping it off his back. I noticed that his shirt had a few spots of dark dried blood from when Mrs. Ivy used him as a placemat to wipe her feet. Without saying a word, Mr. Ivy slapped the cat-o-nine tails against Victor’s smooth and bare back, grunting with frustration. Victor barked with each slap. 1, 2, 3, and so on, he barked like a naughty bitch that had to be punished. Mrs. Ivy just sat there, sipping her wine and caressing her crotch from underneath her dress. By the 30th slap, Victor was whimpering. The skin of his back was red, hot, and tender. I could even see the throbbing welts in complete formation. Being beaten so many times made Victor weak. He couldn’t hold on any longer, he wanted to collapse. Mr. Ivy had enough strength to go up to 50 more.

       “Please Master!” cried Victor, nearly in tears. “I’m very sorry.”

       “Apologize to the wife,” he shouted.

       “Apologize to me by worshipping my feet, slave.”

       “May I master?” asked Victor hesitantly.

       “If my wife says so, do it!”

       I sensed in his voice that he didn’t really want him to worship his wife’s feet. Without a doubt, he did anything to make his wife happy even if it meant fulfilling every ounce of her fantasies, whether he liked doing them or not.

       Victor bowed down to Mrs. Ivy’s feet, pecking tender and loving kisses all over them, one at a time. She relaxed, moaning orgasmically with the simple touch of Victor’s fingers caressing and massaging the soles of her feet. Mr. Ivy looked absolutely jealous; his wife was so turned on by Victor’s wonderful touch. Victor devoured her toes with no hesitation. He slid his tongue between the cracks of each toe, sucking on each one hungrily, giving loving undivided attention to each foot. He groaned “Oh Mrs. Ivy, you have such beautiful feet…they’re just as beautiful as your divine pussy and your amazing ass…”

       Mr. Ivy smacked Victor’s face and slapped his back with the whip, screaming “That’s enough! Bring in the rest of our supper before I lose my fucking patience!” 

       He got up immediately, limping towards the kitchen. He came back in with the spinach salad and French onion soup. He went back in the doggy style position, being used as Mr. and Mrs. Ivy’s table. They enjoyed the food and chatted casually about the pleasures of having sex slaves, ignoring Victor’s existence. Being whipped put Victor into complete obedience. He didn’t spill anymore food and even endured Mr. Ivy criticizing him on his misbehavior and mocking him. After they were done, Victor got up and served them the main course. They moaned orgasmically over the rack of lamb. When they were through, Victor waddled back to the kitchen. While he was away, Mr. Ivy kissed his wife, unzipping the back of her dress and pulling the top down, revealing her huge, round breasts. They were absolutely gorgeous, a gift from God. They didn’t appear fake, saggy, or over the top; they fit her hour glass body perfectly. Her nipples were big and perky, a toasty chocolate brown color that made them delectable. Mr. Ivy sucked each nipple into his mouth, nibbling down on them. It made Mrs. Ivy groan with passion. When Victor appeared, he stared at them like a hypnotic trance. 

       “W-Would you like your dessert Master, Mistress?”

       “I have my dessert right here…” moaned Mr. Ivy, beginning to hump his wife again. “So for now, you’re no longer needed slave.”

       “Isn’t there something I can do Master?”

       He didn’t say anything at first. He continued to suck his wife’s nipples until they were hard, glaring at Victor to watch him suffer. Then he stopped.

       “You can suck my dick. Make it good and hard. Afterwards, you’re gonna be forced to watch me bang the shit out of my wife’s pussy and asshole.”

       The instant I heard his command, I pulled my panties to the side and began to stroke my cock, wanking it up and down slowly.

       “Yes master…”

       “Since I’m in a fine mood now, I will give you a reward. If you don’t cum while you suck my dick and watch me bang my wife, you can join me when I bang the shit out of her again.”

       “Oh master, thank you!” Victor went down on his knees, kissing his feet all over. “I worship you master…”

       “You should be kissing and worshipping my cock, my filthy whore! Do it!”

       With no hesitation, Victor held onto Mr. Ivy’s cock by the base and licked the tip of the head.

       “Mmm that’s a good boy…lick the pre-cum off first…”

       I wish I could see more and elaborate more on how good of a cock sucker Victor must have been. He was so good that when he started bobbing his head up and down Mr. Ivy’s fat, growing cock, Mr. Ivy was shaking with pleasure and couldn’t control himself. He grabbed Victor’s head and forced him up and down his cock, controlling the speed, rhythm, and force. He throat fucked him; Victor didn’t gag at all. I was surprised. I wondered if this was the first or the hundredth time that Victor has sucked cock. He seemed very comfortable with having a man, who was about two times his age, cram his entire member down his throat. It was so hot watching this. Mrs. Ivy looked so fucking horny and mischievous while watching them too. She got up and went behind Victor, taking off his pants and pulling down his boxers. Victor’s cock was huge and thick, just like I imagined it, about 7 inches. She caressed his cock, tapping the head to ensure that not even a drop of pre-cum was coming out of him.

       “Oh God,” groaned Mr. Ivy, ramming his cock down Victor’s throat, even grabbing his hair and pulling it roughly as if he was mouth fucking a girl. “Fuck, it’s been a long time since I had a young man suck me this good!”

       “Mmm, he’s acting very good so far baby, his cock is still dry.”

       “Plug his ass with a butt plug baby. I’m sure he’ll like it, he’s such a dirty cunt!”

       She took a huge glass anal butt plug from the bag; it looked to be about 5.” Mrs. Ivy spat on Victor’s asshole and added some lube on the plug. When she began to insert it in Victor’s ass slowly, Victor’s hip jolted and he made a loud and hard grunt.

       “Mmm, you love this, don’t you filthy cunt…” breathed Mr. Ivy, slapping Victor’s face. “You love being my bitch…”

       “I brought something else too baby…” interrupted Mrs. Ivy.

       She went into her bag again and took out what looked to be a shiny black leather straight jacket. Mr. Ivy was surprised when she took it out.

       “Oh God Ophelia, you fucking bitch! Where the hell did you get that?”

       “I got this especially for our slaves, especially this one…” she slurred evilly.

       “Fuck, that’s a good girl, I love you darling…”

       She blew him a kiss and roughly lifted up Victor from the ground away from her husband’s member. She smacked his face and spat at him. Mr. Ivy’s cock was hard, but not hard enough. He made a cunning grin as he watched his wife put the straight jacket onto Victor’s sore and red body. Victor gasped with agonizing pain, disbelief, and bizarre pleasure. The straight jacket looked beautiful on Victor and he looked beautiful in it. He was completely bound. Victor’s freedom was in Mr. and Mrs. Ivy’s hands. If they left him there, alone and abandoned, there was no way he could get out of that straight jacket without helping hands. That turned me on immensely. I wanted to come, but I held back. The anticipation would make the release of my orgasm all the more explosive.

       Victor jerked left to right violently, letting out a tiny growl.

       “Haha, our slave is growing mad already!” laughed Mrs. Ivy. “He must be anxious to suck on your cock again…”

       She smacked his face and his ass. She wrapped her muscular arms around his upper body and forced him down on his knees in front of his Master. She forced his mouth open with her own hands. Mr. Ivy pushed his fat cock into Victor’s mouth again, pounding him harder and faster than before. With each thrust Mrs. Ivy spanked his ass repeatedly with the cat-o-nine tails. She even pulled the butt plug out of his ass and licked and fingered his gape, which made Victor squirm. The combination of being in a straight jacket and having a man and a woman do anything to him must have overwhelmed him, but was a major turn on as well. Mr. Ivy smacked Victor’s face, looking down at him.

       “Okay boy, my cock is ready. Are you ready for it boy? Are you ready to watch me bang the shit out of my wife?”

       Victor nodded. Mr. Ivy forcefully pushed Victor away from his cock; he fell flat on his sore ass. Mrs. Ivy checked Victor’s cock again.

        “His cock is still dry. He’s holding back very well.” 

       “Tie him down to the fucking table and put a gag in his mouth. I don’t even want him to drool while he’s watching me bang you.”

       Mrs. Ivy took a bunch of thin chains out of her bag. Mr. Ivy lifted Victor up and smashed him down on the glass table, flat on his stomach, his chin against the surface. Mrs. Ivy pressed the chains against his legs and around the table, wrapping it from his ankles to his upper body with the straight jacket on. Victor tried to move. He couldn’t. He was strictly bound. I never saw anybody look this helpless.

       “Now we need a gag,” Mrs. Ivy said. She took off her sheer red panties. She put it over his head so he can smell her pussy. She forcefully pushed some fabric into his mouth and made him bite down so he can taste how good she is.

       “Oh god, baby, I’m so hard!” moaned Mr. Ivy.

       He grabbed her and forced her to the ground on her back. Victor could see them face to face, straight on Mr. Ivy’s backside. Mr. Ivy took off her dress completely. His cock was hard and ready, eager to ram into her hot and amazing body. He lifted up her legs and forced her knees to her shoulder, pounding his cock into her pussy. She howled. He rammed in and out of her rabidly. The old man was such a fucking sex beast. Victor squirmed and groaned. I bet he wanted to cum right there and then, but he resisted. Victor so wanted to get a piece of Mrs. Ivy’s ass; holding back his orgasm meant the whole world to him since it guaranteed that he’ll be able to fuck her too. Probably the greatest victory of all in Victor’s mind was that he’ll fuck Mrs. Ivy even better than Mr. Ivy, so rough and hard that she wouldn’t be able to walk for days.

       “Oh fuck, fuck, I’m going to cum already!” roared Mr. Ivy. He slammed deep into her. He made a long, drawn out groan. He panted heavily, biting on Mrs. Ivy’s neck as he came inside her. She gasped and squeaked orgasmically. I quietly crept into the bathroom and came. Fuck, it felt so good. When I came back to look down on them a few minutes later, Mr. Ivy pounded her pussy again. Faster, harder, quicker, rougher. His orgasm was bigger and louder than before. He pulled out, spreading her ass cheeks.

       “Oh fuck, what a nice huge gaping pussy…do you see it my boy?”

       Victor breathed heavily and nodded. Mr. Ivy used his fingers to stretch her bright pink hole.

       “Mmm, this cunt hole is opening wider for me, what a sweetheart…”

       He put two fingers inside of her, swirling it deep inside her cunt hole. Then he inserted three or four fingers. He plunged them deep inside of her. When he pulled out, he wiped her glistening juices all over her asshole, spat on it, and slid two fingers inside of it, spreading them so he could look inside of her.

       “Mmm…fuck…”

       He lied down on his back and pulled her on top of him. He forced her back against his chest with her legs spread wide open and inserted the head of his cock inside of her asshole. She groaned and screamed as he gripped onto her thighs, pounding her fast and deep. It looked like Victor was struggling; he was dying to fuck this woman’s ass. He squirmed roughly like a madman trying to escape from his psychotic prison. It only took a few minutes for Mr. Ivy to explode in her asshole. Once he came, he pulled out and spread her asshole with his fingers.

       “Oh fuck…” Victor groaned in agony.

       The orgasm drained Mr. Ivy; he moaned with sweet delight. He and Mrs. Ivy relaxed for a few minutes, letting the pleasure wash all over them. Afterwards, they both got up, looking down at Victor. They laughed wickedly; calling him a cock sucker, pussy, slut, whore, and other foul names that made him cringe, but I bet he fucking loved it. They smacked his face with their bare hands, whipped him with the cat-o-nine tails, and stood on top of him on the table, pissing over his hair, on his face, and his ass, chuckling like wicked sex demons of humiliation and torture.

       “Mmm…so my boy, have you had enough? Did you cum at all?”

       He shook his head quickly.

       “We’ll see…,” said Mr. Ivy sternly. “If you haven’t, we can both fuck Mrs. Ivy at once; she loves nothing more than to be stuffed with cock in both her holes and having two cocks in her pussy and asshole too.”

       Mrs. Ivy took off the panties from Victor’s head and unraveled the chains.

       “God, thank you Mr. Ivy,” groaned Victor, looking up at him like a god. “I’m much honored to fuck your wife.”

       “But there’s one catch, boy.”

       “What’s that Master?”

       “You will fuck her with the straight jacket on.”

       “Yes master…”

       He lifted himself up slowly once the chains were gone; the straight jacket made it difficult for him to even do that. Mrs. Ivy helped him to get off the table and to stand up. She inspected the table to see if any drop of his cum stained it.

       “Mmm, so far so good, the table is dry.”

       Mr. Ivy grabbed Victor’s cock, twisting it so hard that it made him yelp like a pup and fall down to the ground on his knees.

       “I’m very impressed my boy…you must be dying to cum right now…”

       “Yes!” Victor screamed.

       “For being such a good slave,” said Mrs. Ivy, roughly lifting Victor up on his toes again. “You can decide which hole you want to fuck first. Baby, you will be forced to watch this time.”

       Mr. Ivy nodded. For the first time throughout this whole session, he looked completely submissive while his wife made all the stops to satisfy her every carnal need. He collapsed onto the couch, glaring at Victor with lust and jealousy.

       Mrs. Ivy got on top of the table in the doggy style position. She lifted her plump ass up a little and spread her cheeks. I could imagine that both of her holes were gaping big and wide enough for Victor to slide right in with ease. Victor made a heavy “oh yes” groan. He got on top of the table on his knees, licking Mrs. Ivy’s ears and whispering “I must fuck your asshole…your asshole was made to be fucked shitless…”

       “Your wish is my command…”

       She held onto the base of his cock and guided it to her asshole. Victor pounded his huge cock into her and banged her with no mercy. He made fucking with a straightjacket and leg irons look so easy.

       “Oh yes, god, I love your long, huge cock inside of me! Oh god, it’s in so deep!”

       Mr. Ivy was raving jealous. I could sense from his tense posture and erotic death-like stare that if he wanted to, he’d shoot a bullet through Victor’s brain. However, this was the sacrifice he was going to make to please his wife. Deep down, he fucking loved it, he had too. Even he couldn’t resist how hot it was to watch a sexy man like Victor bang the shit out of his wife, especially with a straight jacket on. Mr. Ivy’s cock grew; it looked so hard. He wrapped his hand around it and masturbated. Mrs. Ivy was screaming so viciously; oh god, I imagined how it felt to have Victor’s cock in my ass too. I was envious of Mrs. Ivy, the spoiled rotten bitch.

       “Oh god, I’m going to cum!” she shouted.

       And she came. Victor wasn’t ready to release his seed into her asshole yet. He pounded her for half an hour longer to make Mr. Ivy squirm and suffer; what sweet revenge! Mrs. Ivy couldn’t stop screaming and groaning with mind blowing, earth shattering pleasure that was ten times louder than when her husband fucked her. She came more than once. Then at last, Victor declared “Fuck, I’m cumming!” 

       And he came. Minutes later, Mrs. Ivy, Mr. Ivy, and Victor stood up at once. Mr. Ivy went behind his wife, picked her up, and inserted his cock into her asshole while standing up. He gripped onto her thighs as she spread her legs wide enough for easy access. Victor stood in front of her with his cock hard and stiff as a rock. He plunged his member inside of her greedy pussy with ease. Mrs. Ivy exploded. She wrapped her arms around Victor’s neck, holding on tight as she was being fucked in both holes. It was an amazing sight. She screamed so loud; Mr. Ivy and Victor pounded her with no mercy in perfect unison. They all came at once. I came as well. Afterwards they put Mrs. Ivy down on the table again. She stood on all fours. Victor stood on the table on his knees and inserted his cock into her asshole, thrusting in and out slowly. Mr. Ivy stood beside him, squeezing his member into her asshole as well. He grunted and struggled, but he got it in. Two hard, fat, juicy cocks were inside her ass. She screamed in pain and immense pleasure. They both pounded her in complete unison, so hard, deep, and rough. They both pushed her down into the table, her breasts pressed against the surface, her head turned to the side. After fucking her for fifteen minutes, they came inside her in what sounded to be in complete unison. I came again. They double fucked her pussy as well. Having two cocks thrusting and pounding her pussy made her pee. Both Mr. Ivy and Victor groaned and pulled out. They drank her golden fountain from the table top and even lapped up drops of it that fell on the floor. Afterwards, everyone collapsed on the floor, panting, sweating, breathing, and sighing. They were completely satisfied and fulfilled, and so was I.

       Fifteen minutes passed. The straight jacket was taken off of Victor. Everyone put on their clothes. Everything looked back to normal. Every toy was put back into Mrs. Ivy’s purse. Victor wiped down the table while still in character and wearing the leg irons. He served them dessert; once more they used him as a table. He was a good table, an excellent slave to the very end. They devoured every piece of fruit and chocolate. They were full in more ways than one. Afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Ivy said their adieus to Victor and left. Silence. Solitude. Relief. Victor went into the kitchen and started washing the dishes, sighing with an exhausted but pleasurably ecstatic release. While he was there, I quietly crept down the stairs, passed by him without him noticing, and went out to the backyard. Hoorah! I wasn’t caught. I walked around the neighborhood, thinking about everything that I saw. It was an adrenaline rush and the ultimate sexual high for me. I couldn’t wait to see more for days and months to come.

       When I went back into the house, Isabelle and Mia had just arrived from wherever they were. The living room was tidy and perfect. Victor was fresh and clean again from head to toe, dressed in casual jeans and a T-shirt, and free from leg shackles. He grinned when Isabelle and Mia asked about his spicy rendezvous. He was proud of the fact that he was going to keep it his naughty little secret. I was more than proud that his naughty little secret was now a fantasy to call my own.