THE PUTZ By Myron Lipshitz INTRODUCTION I'll be the first to admit it: I, Myron Lipshitz, am a classic grade-A putz. Severe underbite, accentuated by a prominent acne-scarred nose... Skinny arms and knock-kneed legs... My hairline has receded about two inches from where it began, and I'm only thirty-three... Particularly unappealing are the two small, breast-like cones of fat on my sunken chest - what one cruel jock back in high school called my "bitch tits." Some chromosomal miswiring, I guess. About the only thing going for me is a healthy, masculine outcropping of wiry black hair on my neck and shoulders. Still, there are plenty of guys who are as homely or homelier and still manage to have reasonably normal, healthy lives. But not me. You see, there's one tiny thing standing in my way. My penis. I have what's called a micropenis by the medical establishment. When I'm soft it's just about buried in my pubic hair - the head is barely visible, a bump the size of a macadamia nut, propped up on a scrotum so small and tight it's little more than a raised patch of wrinkled red skin. At the height of passion and excitement my so-called "manhood" measures just over two inches long, a bit bigger than one of those lifeless canned straw mushrooms you find in cheap Chinese food. Even in the most mundane moments of my daily life my penis gives me trouble - I have to aim it down with my fingers when I'm sitting on the toilet, for example, or a stream of piss arcs up into the seat, soaking my pants. But this is a minor problem. No, having a penis the size of a five-cent gumball has caused me more trauma than any normal, healthy male can imagine... I've divided my story into two parts. The first part sets the stage by describing some deeply humiliating experiences I suffered as a small-dicked youth. It's fun reading, but the really juicy stuff comes in the second and third parts - where I marry Tina, the girl of my dreams... and learn some very painful lessons about manhood. ***********************************************
PART ONE: THE STAGE IS SET
Early Years: Myron's Got a Jellybean
I had a privileged childhood. My dad was the principle stockholder and Senior
Executive Officer of Tastee-Kreme, an incredibly lucrative retail pastry chain,
and had assets totaling millions of dollars. By the time I was born he and my
mom had devoted themselves to a life of luxury and indolence, in a big
three-story house in Queens with every amenity imaginable. I was able to spend
my days as I liked, relaxing in bed or by the pool, reading Archie comics and
sucking the cream filling out of chocolate eclairs, which we always had plenty
of around the house (courtesy of the family business).
I had no friends; I hated sharing my toys, and the few times my parents
invited another child for me to play with I wound up sobbing and shrieking
hysterically, my arms wrapped around my teddy bear collection. Ultimately, my
dad decided I was too lazy and isolated for my own good, and enrolled me in the
Cub Scouts. My mom and I were against it, but my dad persevered in the end.
"He needs to be socialized," he argued. "It'll build Myron's character. Help
him figure some things out."
Well, I figured some things out, all right.
I was sick with anxiety around all these strange kids, but I had no good
reason to be... until our first outing, that is. One Sunday the whole troop went
to a local swimming pool, and with the usual apprehension I felt in the company
of my Scoutmates I dropped my pants to change into my swimming trunks. Just like
everyone else.
Kevin Lutz was standing next to me and happened to glance down. My crotch was
a smooth expanse of nine-year-old fat with a thin pale line where my nut sac
should have been, and my penis embedded in the fat like a little peanut.
"Hey," he announced excitedly to the other kids, "look at Myron! His thingy's
like a... like a jelly bean!"
The other Cub Scouts gathered around to check it out, commenting
incredulously on my "little weenie." I lasted about ten seconds, biting my lower
lip to keep it from trembling and blushing furiously, before finally bursting
into tears.
Well, you know how cruel children can be. This excited them even more, and
they began dancing in a circle around me, chanting "Myron's got a jelly bean!
Myron's got a jelly bean!" as I pulled my pants back on, screaming at them to
stop.
I couldn't bear to tell my father what had happened. I could only repeat,
again and again, that I didn't like being in the Cub Scouts any more. But he was
adamant: I was staying, and that was final.
So I told the den mother I couldn't swim. On the next outing, my Scoutmates
were skinny-dipping at a nearby lake, laughing and splashing happily in the
water with their penises bobbing up and down for all the world to see; I was
hanging back on the sand, fully clothed in my ridiculous uniform, pretending to
be absorbed in the scum-soaked debris that had washed up there. But all the
while I was burning on the inside with envy and resentment, pinching the little
knob in my underwear.
It just... wasn't... fair!
The High School Wimp
I gradually distanced myself from my peers, and by the time I entered
Dinkendorff Academy, an elite private school, I was the classic loner. I hid in
the back corners of the classrooms, skulked through the halls with my head held
down low between periods, clung sullenly to the wall during recess... The entire
student population seemed hopelessly inaccessible to me. I was even a little
frightened of them, and had developed a severe stutter.
I had, of course, a rich fantasy life, like all miserable loners, to make up
for things. It was fairly standard material, I suppose. In my fantasies I was
Mr. Cool, swaggering down the halls high-fiving the "in" crowd. Naturally I was
on the football team in these little daydreams of mine, scoring touchdowns and
getting hoisted onto the shoulders of my cheering fans...
The real centerpiece, the final goal of each of these fantasies was Sherri
Lyons, the captain of the cheerleading team. This was in the 1980's, and Sherri
was a classic 80's babe. Her copper-colored hair lay in massive piles on her
shoulders, her golden skin glowed in the sun... Her high cheekbones gave her a
look that was at once exotic and aristocratic, and her wide mouth and big white
teeth left an impression of feral sensuality. Periodically she came to school in
a green silk shirt that was sheer enough to reveal pretty much the exact shape
and size of her bra-less tits, and in my dream life I spent quite some time
nuzzling those gorgeous, creamy jugs of hers...
I didn't know enough about sex to go any further in these fantasies, but they
inevitably brought me to my full two inches and a shuddering climax.
In reality I was as far from athletic triumph (not to mention fastening my
mouth on Sherri's fat nipples) as a human being can get without being
paraplegic. Gym class was pure torture for me; I could be counted on to trip
over my own two feet at every critical moment, and half a lap around the track
left me gasping for breath while Coach bellowed at me to "move that lazy ass."
And then there was the locker room.
The locker room was a nightmare come true, a place of the most exquisite
psychological torment imaginable. Naked? Me, Myron "Jellybean" Lipshitz, get
naked in front of the other boys again? I broke into a terrified sweat every
time I entered this room, and was practically hyperventilating by the time I
left... To avoid making my "little problem" public I would undergo all sorts of
awkward contortions while undressing, which I imagined were subtle enough to
evade the notice of the other kids.
Boy, was I wrong.
The football players formed an elite clique at my school, just as they do at
every school in America, I imagine. I used to watch these boys with a kind of
jealous devotion. They seemed practically godlike to me, so physically fit and
full of self-confidence as they strutted down the hall. They had everything I
lacked.
Including, of course, real cocks.
I had glanced furtively at them countless times as they proudly bared it all
in the locker room, while I twisted and turned to keep my little secret to
myself. There was one in particular, a running back named Kip Langley - a
lantern-jawed hulk with dimples and a greasy blonde crewcut. His dad owned a
chicken-processing plant, and under his fancy school uniform he was pure white
trash, complete with a rebel flag tattoo on one swollen bicep and an illicit
plug of chewing tobacco tucked into his lower lip.
Kip was fond of cruel practical jokes and gifted with a loud, braying laugh
that raised my hackles every time I heard it. Pretty often it was directed at
me, in fact - he delighted in tripping me as I carried my lunch tray through the
cafeteria; he loved leaving chewing gum and used wads of toilet paper on my
chair in homeroom; he routinely emptied cans of Kraft cheez-wiz and shaving
cream into my locker... The name "Myron Lipshitz" was bad enough, but it was Kip
who came up with a series of derogatory nicknames for yours truly, like
"Bitch-Tits" and "Shitlips."
And yet, despite my fear and hatred of him, it was all I could do to keep
from staring at him as he stripped off his sweaty underthings after gym class.
It wasn't the firm washboard belly, the swell of his chest, the corded
forearms, the tight round ass... No, it was Kip's proud, fat cock. As he peeled
his jockstrap away I glanced furtively at his king-sized dong with more than
longing; it was a kind of helpless self torture to take in the size of that
thigh-slapping monster, swinging just a few feet from where I sat with a towel
artfully placed over my pale stub.
One day I was holding my towel over my crotch and leaning forward to pull my
clothes from my gym locker (aside from actually pulling my underwear on under
the towel, this was my most vulnerable moment) when there was a loud crack, and
I felt an unbelievable stinging sensation in my rear: someone had flicked me
with a wet towel. With a screech of pain I let my own towel drop and clutched my
burning ass...
...then just as suddenly realized what I had done.
The towel.
Cold fear swept over me. I covered my crotch with one hand and bent over to
pick up the towel just in time to see it whisked out from under me. With my head
between my legs, of course, my ass was wide open for a second flicking, which is
exactly what I got. Above my own high-pitched squeal I heard that laugh, loud
and brash as a mule's.
Kip.
I turned, trembling, to face him, both hands over my crotch now. The whole
gym class was watching, fascinated. Kip and two of his friends, Tyler and
Gordon, were standing there, grinning hugely - three muscular football gods in
their jockstraps confronting a skinny, naked, cowering bookworm. It was a
classic high school moment. In Kip's casually raised hand was my towel... my
only hope.
I mustered up all the courage I had.
"G-g-give..." My voice broke. Flustered and shaking, I tried again. "Give me
m-my towel, K-k-kip."
He exchanged an amused look with his cronies. "Why, Shitlips? So we won't see
your hard-on while you fuckin' stare at us?"
There was a lot of snickering from the other kids. My god, they thought I was
gay!
"N-n-no... N-no, I - I j-j-just..."
"C'mon, bitch, admit it. You fuckin' stare at us... Fuckin' faggot. The whole
school knows. You get a little boner watchin' me and my friends get naked." He
hoisted his massive cup with one hand and squeezed it for emphasis. "And then
you cover it up with a rag."
My mind was in a whirl; I couldn't seem to think straight. I drew in a great
ragged breath and tried again. "Look, p-p-p-please, I... I j-j-j--"
"You just what?" he sneered. "You just wanna finish jerkin' off? You just
wanna wipe your little dick off and get dressed and go to class like a good
little faggot?" He leaned forward, close enough so that I could smell the Slim
Jim on his breath. I backed my ass into the locker door: there was no escape
now, and he knew it. He advanced until I could feel the animal warmth emanating
from his powerful gleaming torso. "You got somethin' to hide, Shitlips? Well,
why don't you just... SHARE IT WITH THE CLASS!!"
With that he and Tyler grabbed my arms and jerked them apart. In horror I
drew up my legs, screaming frantically, but it was no use: Gordon grabbed my
ankles and pulled. A broken shriek escaped my lips -"Noooooooooo!" - but it was
too late.
In my worst dreams I could never have imagined this happening to me. It was a
moment of such pure, unmitigated horror that I thought the earth would surely
open up and swallow me down. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.
Instead it got worse.
None of these kids had ever seen anything like it. There were groans of
disgust, mock-puzzled murmurs - "What the fuck is THAT?," "Is that thing a clit
or a dick?" - and loud hooting and jeering. I hung rigid in the arms of my
tormenters, aware of the ridiculous expression of shock frozen on my face, but
powerless to alter it - I was somehow paralyzed by the unreality of it all and
couldn't move. Of course, had I known what they were going to do next I would
have fought as hard as I could...
Well, I guess I should have known Kip would think of an even more sadistic
refinement.
"Hey, dudes," he exclaimed, "Shitlips is a GIRL! We've got a GIRL in the
boy's locker room! That ain't right, is it?"
"No way!" "No fuckin' way, dude!" "Fucked up!"
"Well, sheeit," he drawled, "we need to get the little bitch out of here!
Ain't no girls sposed to be here with the boys!"
And with that he and the other two began hauling me toward the door to the
hallway. At the same moment the bell rang, marking the end of third period;
within a few short seconds the hall would be filled with kids. They were going
to toss me out there, nude! Blind panic took over me, and I began to kick and
twist in their powerful hands. Guttural incoherent sounds came choking up out of
my throat as I struggled to get free, and by the time we reached the door my
lips and chin were flecked with spittle and my face was purple with the effort.
But I was no match for these boys.
A howl of despair escaped me when they kicked the door open. The next thing I
knew I was sailing through the air, hurled naked and helpless into the crowded
corridor. There were cries of shock and outrage as I knocked a couple of kids
over before landing with a comical gong-like crash against the side of a
wastebasket. There I lay, on my back, in a crumpled heap, totally traumatized,
too dazed to cover myself... My little nub of a penis on display for the whole
crowd.
A pair of blue glittering clogs stopped in front of me. Dully I raised my
eyes, staring at a pair of long golden legs... pink miniskirt... bare golden
midriff... and a T-shirt with a smiley face on it, pulled taut by the
magnificent pair of breasts behind it...
Sherri, my angel, my queen, the girl of my dreams, was standing there,
staring down at me, with a gaggle of cheerleaders behind her.
Of course.
Oh, God, yes.
Slowly, the look of shock on her face was replaced with an astonished smile.
This was funny to her. I lifted my hand up - for help? I don't really know; she
certainly wasn't about to touch this shrimp-dicked freak sprawled at her feet.
To her I was an amusing bit of sub-human slime, not even fit to kiss the ground
she walked on, and I finally knew it.
I gurgled faintly, trying to explain...
...then passed out.
Shit Out of Luck
I have the vague memory of someone throwing a coat over me, and then being
carried by two teachers to the nurse's office, where I was shaken back to
consciousness by Mr. Hershey, my extremely irate principal. He had the idea, I
finally realized, that I had done this for fun ("This institution does not need
sickos like you streaking through its halls, Mr. Lipshitz!"). So, in addition to
the searing humiliation of knowing that I was now the biggest and best joke in
school, I received two weeks detention that afternoon for disrupting "normal
school activities."
My parents were appalled and furious when they came to pick me up, and I was
too shell-shocked to explain that, no, I hadn't exactly run naked through the
halls as a prank. They were firm: I would return to school the next day and
behave myself with dignity, as a Lipshitz should. No, I absolutely could not
stay home; there was nothing wrong with me. Stop whining, Myron! And wipe those
tears off your face!
Throughout the evening thoughts of suicide were constantly on my mind.
Well, I spent the next morning with my arms wrapped around myself, shuffling
past laughing, whispering groups of kids. Numb depression overtook me in gym
class. I flat out refused to enter the locker room to dress up, of course. There
were knowing chuckles as Coach sprayed his standard deposit of spittle in my
face, yelling at me to shape up. I spent third period on the bench, staring off
into the distance as Kip and the others played softball. I only snapped out of
my catatonic trance when the softball struck me on my pimply forehead, knocking
me from the bleachers into the mud.
Yes, I was going to kill myself.
That afternoon, I saw my big chance. As it turned out, one of the kids in
detention with me was Donny McDowell, the school drug dealer - another loner but
one who commanded the respect of the other kids by virtue of being a walking
drugstore (his dad was a pharmacist).
I approached him after detention timidly.
"Hey, D-d-donny?"
"Whaddaya want?" He looked extremely uncomfortable, almost as if he didn't
want to be seen speaking with me. Couldn't blame him, really.
"Uh... W-what, uh..."
"C'mon, dude, what the fuck do you want?"
"I... I want... Well, w-w-what do you have that, y-y-you know.... c-c-could,
uh..."
"Fuck off, Shitlips." And with that he started to walk away. In a panic I
lunged for him and grabbed his sleeve, and he slapped my hand away with a look
of fury in his eyes. "Fuckin' punk-ass faggot!"
"D-d-d-donny, p-p-please, I... I want to..." I swallowed hard, then lowered
my voice to a whisper. "I want to k-k-k...k-k-kill myself."
The look of anger on his face melted away, and he actually grinned. "Yeah? No
shit?"
"Yes."
"Huh." He looked me up and down, clearly interested. "And you want a little
medicine from Doctor McDowell to help things along?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Okay, Shitlips." His grin widened. "Meet me in the boy's restroom on the
second floor tomorrow at 8 am. Bring twenty bucks. I'll take care of you."
By 8:05 the next morning I was clutching a bottle of pills in my sweaty
hands. My plan was to eat the whole bottle before lunch, confess my love to
Sherri Lyons, and expire right there in the cafeteria. A nice dramatic ending to
the short but painful life of Myron Lipshitz. I could already hear the gasps of
horror, see the remorse in my tormentors' eyes as I crashed to the floor, dead
at last... That would teach these animals a lesson!
I skipped gym class, hiding out instead in an empty classroom, staring out
the window at the bright blue sky and feeling a serenity I had never known
before. At ten minutes to twelve I got up, went into the hall, and ate the whole
bottle, one pill at a time, between sips from the water fountain.
Sherri Lyons was sitting at the cheerleader table in the cafeteria when I
arrived. With death around the corner I felt completely at peace, even happy. I
approached her, imagining I could already feel a pleasant drowsiness. Nothing
could touch me now. I would walk right up to her, look her in the eyes, and tell
her that I loved her before sliding into blissful and eternal sleep at her
precious feet.
I wound my way toward her table, ignoring the whispers and snickering from
other tables I passed. A braying laugh made me jump: Kip, again.
Always Kip.
"Hey, Dickless!" he called. "Aintcha gonna eat something?"
And a lump of something warm and soft thumped into the back of my head and
hung there. Probably mashed potatoes. Yes, a trickle of gravy ran down the back
of my neck, and for a split second I felt my stomach tighten with anxiety and
hate; then the feeling passed. I was beyond caring. I even turned and nodded
serenely to him. Donny was sitting next to him, and both guys seemed to think
this was really funny.
Sherri and her friends quieted down as I approached them and began whispering
to one another and giggling; finally they fell silent and just watched me
coming. Sherri had a skeptical little smile on her flawless face, and once again
I felt my stomach tighten. A churning feeling deep in my belly made me hesitate.
"Well?" she asked in an annoyed and dismissive tone of voice. "What do you
want?" There was an imperious coolness to her, the coolness of a queen in the
presence of a lowly commoner, and my guts really began to boil. Could I do this?
Then the churning subsided, and I reminded myself that whatever happened in the
next minute or so, I would be finally free.
"Are you aware," said Gloria, one of her snotty little cheerleader friends,
"that you have a serving of mashed potatoes and gravy on the back of your head?"
This broke them all up, including Sherri. My stomach jumped and gurgled, and
I took a deep breath to calm myself while they laughed.
It's okay, I thought, it's okay.
I took a deep breath.
"Sh-sh-shesh-sh..." No, dammit, try again. Come on, I thought to myself, you
can do it! "Sh-sh-sh-sherri, I..." I swallowed hard. "I l-l-luh... l-l-l..."
She was staring at me like I was a lunatic or something. They all were. I
cursed myself. Stop stuttering and say it, you fucking clown!
I took one last breath, exhaled, swallowed hard...
...and said, "I love you."
And then there was an explosion in my bowels, and something foul and wet
burst in a fluid stream from my asshole, filling my underwear.
Oh, no... No, no, no.
Oh, God, no.
I backed away in horror. What in God's name was happening to me? There was
another convulsive, gut-wrenching rumble somewhere deep inside me, and a second
wave of sludge-like shit erupted from my anus. Shit was running freely down my
legs, and as Sherri, my fantasy angel, and her five girlfriends gaped in disgust
at the smell, I turned and ran, leaving a trail of brown slime on the cafeteria
floor.
Donny had sold me a bottle of laxatives.
Twisted Sex Dreams
My parents pulled me from high school without ever really understanding what
had happened, and hired me a tutor. They were obscenely well-off, after all, and
although Dinkendorff Academy was a prestigious resume-builder they were willing
to accommodate me in the end. To accept that I was, and always would be, a
loner.
Now I began living completely in my head, rarely venturing from the house,
daydreaming and fantasizing as never before. It was pretty unhealthy. At times
my fantasies were the sort I had indulged in before "the thing," as I referred
to my last two days in high school: I was back, adored by the Class of '86, with
Sherri in my arms... I had discovered by this time, however, that to have
intercourse with someone you didn't simply bury your face between her tits and
masturbate. You had to put your penis into her vagina. And this altered my
fantasies somewhat, because now, whenever I started thinking about tearing
Sherri's shirt off and sucking her engorged nipples, I irresistibly began
thinking of lifting up her skirt, putting my fingers into her silky wetness...
and unbuckling my pants... and then...
...and then my thoughts got a little strange.
Sometimes, in these fantasies, I dropped my pants to find my legs and ass
slick with feces, and my shit wound up getting smeared all over both of us as we
slid stickily together.
In another version Sherri began laughing the moment she saw my two-inch
boner. Then her cheerleader friends showed up with a cafeteria tray full of
mashed potatoes and gravy, handfuls of which they proceeded to fling at my face
and chest while I tried frantically to rub my penis to greater length. By the
time I reached orgasm I was thoroughly coated with food -- the laughing stock of
the whole cheerleading squad as I stood there, dripping with slime, tugging on
my pathetic dingaling.
There was one in particular which left me feeling weak with self-disgust. In
it, Sherri's helpless giggling at the sight of my diminutive pecker was suddenly
joined by a harsh, braying laugh: yes, my old buddy Kip had appeared.
"Back off, Bitch-Tits," he'd sneer. "Let a real stud show you how it's done."
I would kneel there and watch, breathless with excitement, my pint-size
erection firmly gripped between thumb and forefinger, as Kip and Sherri stripped
in front of me and then pressed their flawless bodies together, French-kissing
and fondling each other's asses and tits before my eyes... Sherri, my angel,
fonding Kip's pendulous balls and massive penis with both hands while he licked
her cone-shaped nipples...
Strangely, all these deviant fantasies worked just fine, and I was able to
cum no matter what sick thoughts were running through my head, though afterwards
I was deeply ashamed of myself.
The most outlandish of all was a recurring wet dream. Each time it was more
or less the same: I found myself back in the locker-room at high school, face to
face with a crowd of queerly expressionless classmates. Without the least
embarrassment I stripped my clothes off for them, and found that I didn't have a
dick down there at all. Nope; I had a little pussy instead, just like Kip had
said I did.
Then Kip undressed, too, and walked over to me with a massive glistening
hard-on. He positioned his magnificent body behind my weak pasty one and put his
big hands on my hips; I parted my thighs just a little, and he slid his big
proud boner between them until it jutted out in front of me as if it were my
own. As he rubbed it gently back and forth under my cunt the class chanted its
approval ("Go! Go! Go!"), and I woke up from these dreams with a sticky spot on
the sheets every time.
Dr. Van Horne
Within my first few months out of Dinkendorff I stuck my finger in an
electrical outlet and wound up with a facial tic that lasted a week. My parents
finally hired a therapist: Dr. Van Horne.
It was Dr. Van Horne who really dragged me back from the edge. A bearded
giant of a man with a commanding presence, Dr. Van Horne had no time for what he
frankly called "bullshit," and spent the first hour of our third two-hour
session screaming and cursing at me, pounding on his desk, until I broke down
and confessed, trembling with fear, what had really happened to me in high
school. Then he gave me the sympathy I had so desperately craved, and I spent
the next hour weeping uncontrollably. This was his style - "hot and cold," he
called it, and it worked for me.
Ultimately I confessed everything to him. He was honestly fascinated by each
of my perverse little psychodramas. He even convinced me to record them all, in
detail, in a personal diary, which I did: a little black book, kept under lock
and key in a security box under my bed.
He really cared.
My parents were only too happy to let him deal with me. Dr. Van Horne
recommended to them that I be allowed the space and time to figure things out on
my own, and they supported me full time after I completed my high school
studies. College was the furthest thing from my mind; instead I devoted myself
to some good old-fashioned head-shrinking at the hands of Dr. Van Horne.
He devised a "Self-Actualization Regimen" for me. With Dr. Van Horne's help I
learned some simple meditation techniques, so that when something triggered a
spasm of masochistic lust I could close my eyes, "breathe through" it, and let
it fade. I visualized "making peace" with Kip and Sherri, telling them how I
felt about what they had done to me, and accepting their apologies. I did dream
therapy.
And I masturbated exclusively to the pages of Gallery and other magazines
which were certain to feature only female models - I definitely didn't need to
dwell on the standard porn couple: some smooth-bodied muscleboy with a nine-inch
schlong whooping it up with a supple young vixen... the girl bouncing happily on
her lover's glistening pole... two gorgeous, golden fuck-hungry teens, driving
each into a frenzied lather of sexual ecstasy...
No, I stayed away from that. I never even -
I beg your pardon?
You're what?
Waiting for the "good parts?"
Oh, right. Ha ha. I know what you mean. The "good parts" - the parts where I
suffer, right? The parts where Myron "Dingaling" Lipshitz is betrayed, stepped
on, laughed at... humiliated... shattered... reduced to a quivering pile of
useless jelly by beautiful yet sadistic sex-freaks once again.
Well, don't worry; you'll get what you want, and then some. You'll see me
suffer, all right. You'll see me experience humiliations you never thought
possible. But in order to really appreciate all this, you need to know how close
I came to happiness.
Tastee-Kreme Putz
In 1993, my parents died.
I was 25 years old when the car they were driving crashed through a guard
rail and sent both of them plummeting to their deaths. I didn't feel much, to
tell you the truth. We had never been very close. The major change was that I
was suddenly the principle stockholder of a multi-million-dollar corporation,
Tastee-Kreme Inc, and several smaller ones. I owned the house I had grown up in,
and a yacht, and a condominium in California. My parents had also set up a trust
fund for me, according to the terms of which I would receive $10,000 per month
to spend as I wished.
I found myself sitting on a fortune.
And yet I didn't have the desire... hell, let's just say it: the balls... to
do anything with it.
Oh, I ate out at fancy restaurants sometimes; I bought expensive clothes.
Once I even went on a trip to Belize, but I pretty much stayed in my hotel room
and read, and wondered back in New York why I had bothered. I spent my time
lying in the house with the shades drawn, reading each new issue of Archie
comics, snacking on jelly doughnuts and banana cream pies, and listening to
Barry Manilow.
Hell, I knew what other people did with this kind of money - after all, I
watched MTV now and then: people with my kind of money traveled to exotic places
and went to fabulous parties.
But they did these things with their lovers.
Their husbands and wives.
People they actually... fucked.
Dream Girl: Young, Desperate, and Stupid
In 1997, I had been seeing Dr. Van Horne at least once a month, sometimes as
much as once a week, for twelve years. And by this time I had exorcised the most
extreme of my masochistic fantasies. I occasionally indulged in the guilty
pleasure of the cheerleading-squad-armed-with-mashed-potatoes fantasy, as it
seemed the most innocuous one of all, and once in a blue moon I woke up gasping
from the dream in which Kip slid his oversized slab of cockmeat between my
legs...
But these slip-ups were rare.
We both knew, however, that I was still a fragile human being, still broken
inside.
"Myron," he said one day, "you've come a long way, and I'm proud of you. When
I first met you, you were teetering daily on the edge of suicide, tormented
every moment by the memory of your humiliation at the hands of your
classmates... Wallowing in it. Now, 13 years later, you're a successful American
male with a largely normalized psychosexual substrate. Yes, you're almost
whole...
"...almost. The problem is that you've gone as far as you can on your own.
You need a woman, Myron."
I smiled weakly.
"How does that make you feel? I've been urging you for a few years now to
find yourself a woman. And yet you've done nothing. You're so close, Myron! We
both know what holds you back."
"Yes, Doctor."
"Say it, Myron. Name this huge problem of yours."
"My... my penis."
"Your penis!" he thundered at me. "Little penis, 'micropenis...' So what? A
lump of flesh the size of a sparrow's egg is standing between you and paradise!
It's ridiculous. There are lesbians in this world who have very satisfying sex
lives. They don't need a penis!"
I hung my head. "I know, Doctor."
"There's cunnilingus! Sexual prosthetics!"
"...yes, Doctor..."
He stared at me angrily, shaking his head. "Myron, I've been looking into
this matter recently. Reading books by and for men like you. Were you aware that
there are several excellent websites devoted to this exact problem?"
"There... there are?"
"Yes! As I told you countless times already, you whining simpleton, you
aren't the only human being in the world with this condition. One man in
particular impressed me as a real problem-solver. This man suggested combing
through the personals looking for a woman with three specific traits. Do you
want to know what they are?"
"Yes!"
"The ideal woman for a man like himself, a man with a micropenis, is young...
desperate... and stupid."
I was dumbfounded. This didn't sound like true love to me.
"What?!"
"Exactly, Myron. The inexperience of a young woman, especially a virgin,
would render irrelevant the size of his penis. She would have no reference point
for penis size, you see. And women placing personal ads always include their
age."
"Interesting, but..."
"And she needed to be desperate. Financially desperate. Money is a powerful
lure, and a still more powerful means by which a woman can be kept faithful and
obedient. Many desperate women will specifically ask, in their ads, for a
financially stable man."
"Hm..."
"And finally, we are looking for stupidity. A stupid woman - or, to use a
less pejorative term, an uninquisitive one, preferably one with only a high
school education and limited literacy - would be easier to shield from the
outside world, and would thus be unlikely ever to find out that there were
bigger men out there, or that society deems such men more desirable than ones
like yourself. Also, she would be easier to dominate. Of course, you can't judge
a woman's intelligence by reading an ad. But you can get a pretty good idea
within ten minutes."
"Incredible, Doctor. But it sounds so... so..."
"So mercenary?"
"Well, yes. I mean, it's not... not love."
"Love!" He wrinkled his mouth up in disgust. "Like the love you had for
Sherri Lyons?"
I winced.
"Don't be a romantic fool, Myron. Love made you an easy target in your youth.
Now, you need to be the marksman. You need a woman, just as all men need a
woman. And to get her, you need to accept that archetype, that part of your
heritage as a man, which we call the Hunter. You must be like a powerful animal
stalking its prey. Once you have the right woman, a weak woman, a woman who
would never dare to mock and laugh at you as Sherri Lyons did... Once you have
finally tasted the joys of a normal sex-life... Then, Myron, you can worry about
love."
"Gosh. But... Do you really think it's that simple?"
"Certainly. This man found his ideal mate within a week, after answering only
six ads. Check out the website, Myron. It's an e-group called 'Tiny Penis
Wives.' A ridiculous name, I know... But you'll hear many such stories there."
"This is amazing!"
"Now get out there, Myron Lipshitz! Get out there and find yourself a woman!"
Tina
Within a month, I had found her.
It took three days just to get up the nerve to look through the personals
sections of the many alternative newspapers in New York, and another two weeks
to actually set up the first appointment. By this time I had become a member of
the e-group Dr. Van Horne had mentioned to me, "Tiny Penis Wives," and was
receiving a lot of encouragement from the other members. I had also learned
that, just as Dr. Van Horne had said, there were many men like me, men who had
undergone pain and torment because of their penis size, and this feeling of
community was an incredible help to me. Some of them had wives, too, and these
women were eager to offer me advice. Without the support group I found in "Tiny
Penis Wives" I could never have gone through with it. And of course I had Dr.
Van Horne's confidence-building speeches and exercises to help me along.
I set up each date at the bar at Le Bernardin, an upscale French restaurant.
I wasn't naive: obviously, any woman meeting me here would be dressed as well as
she could dress, so I could get a pretty good idea of what kind of money she
had. It would be an easy matter to figure out, after a few drinks (I stuck with
Coca Cola), how smart she was.
Tina Anderssen was only my fourth date. Her personal ad stated that she was
eighteen years old, the youngest woman I had responded to so far. To be honest,
the idea of an eighteen-year-old made me nervous: too much like high school. But
my buddies in "Tiny Penis Wives" told me to forget about my fears and go for it.
The picture she sent was of poor quality but certainly encouraging. She
wasn't beautiful, but she was very pretty, with straight blonde hair down to her
shoulders and a nice, sweet smile. I would have to meet her at Le Bernardin to
really get a look at her.
We spoke on the phone once to set up the meeting. Her voice, the last hint I
would get as to what kind of person she was before we met "in the flesh," was
unexpected: frankly, she sounded like a twelve-year-old with a sore throat.
There was something grotesquely titillating about that voice, the hint of
smoker's rasp adding a strange touch of moral degeneracy to the high, breathy
tones of a child.
I told her about Le Bernardin and how to get there, then hung up the phone,
unable to shake a sense of unease about her.
Hell, what was I worried about?
I knew who she was the second she walked in the door. She made her way to the
bar, sat next to me, and smiled, a little out of breath, brushing wisps of hair
from her face.
"Hi, Myron!"
I was speechless.
Sitting before me was an angel. Tina had the purest milk-white skin I had
ever seen, and a delicate face, as delicate as china. The roundness of her face
was prettily set off by her little elfin chin and cheekbones, and the
Mongol-like slant of her green eyes... but her mouth added another dimension to
this already intriguing brew: lips lusciously plump, their almost obscene
redness complemented by the faint blush in her cheeks.
She had caught her breath by this time, and looked nervously at me.
"Are you all right?"
"Wh-what? Oh, yes. Yes, Tina, I'm... just fine."
I didn't notice until later that her clothes were cheap, even threadbare in
places; or that her shoes were badly scuffed.
But by then, I already knew.
Tina was The One.
We chatted for hours... I bought her four of five Kamikazes, then a Pink
Cadillac ("Don't you think that sounds like fun, Myron?"), and she chattered
happily about her life as a waitress in some pizza place on the East Side, her
retired military dad, her dream of someday owning a pizza place of her own.
It was totally inane, and it was utterly charming. Then she asked me
questions about what I did, and I talked, too, on and on. I told her all about
my collection of Archie comics and Barry Manilow albums, and about the ups and
downs of being the biggest stockholder in Tastee-Kreme: how boring the meetings
with my accountant were, but how tasty the pastries were... We were having an
actual conversation! It was pure magic; I felt like I was floating. Tina hung
onto every word, her eyes wide as I described my life.
I was hooked.
Then, out of the blue, the bartender issued a last call. It was three in the
morning! As we got to our feet she lurched into me, and I had to catch hold of
her to keep her from falling. And suddenly I, Myron Lipshitz, was holding a
woman. A beautiful woman.
A young, desperate, stupid woman.
I had an instant hardon.
"Gosh, Myron," she breathed in that girlishly smoky, smokily girlish voice of
hers, "I guess I had a little too much to drink!"
I was having a hard time letting go of her, and she didn't seem to want me
to. Incredible. I licked my lips, and in a voice thickened with lust asked her
where her car was.
"Oh, I didn't drive. I don't have a car. I walked."
"Walked?"
"Yeah, from the subway."
"My God!"
I forgot my lust in a moment. There was no way Tina Anderssen could be
allowed to endanger herself, drunk, on a New York subway at three a.m. I had a
brief vision of her being followed by shadowy figures into the stairwell...
Three hulking Negroes, holding her down...
Lifting her skirt...
Hell, no.
"Tina," I insisted, "there's no way you're riding the subway now. No, I'll
give you a ride."
"Really?" The look on her face was so innocent and trusting it made me want
to cry. "You'd do that for me?"
"Of course, Tina. I just spent seventy-nine dollars at this place just to...
to... to be with you. A little extra doesn't make any difference to me."
"Wow! Oh, Myron, you don't need to do this..."
"Let me."
As I waved goodbye to her ten minutes later I was struck by her face in the
rear windshield of the cab. She was smiling, waving back happily, and yet there
was something greedy, almost predatory about that smile...
Then I shook the sensation off. Don't be an idiot, Myron, I told myself.
She's perfect.
I had found my woman at last.
PART TWO: MY WIFE
A Limp-Dicked Failure
Tina and I saw each other every night after that, and I did everything I
could to make my woman more comfortable. I gave her cab fare, to the tune of two
hundred dollars a week; three hundred dollars more a week in spending money;
dinners every night at Le Bernardin; and movies - foreign ones with subtitles,
to reinforce her sense of intellectual inferiority. Gruntboy66, my best friend
at "Tiny Penis Wives," had suggested this tactic to me, and I followed his
advice, though I was even more bored than she was.
And I spent hours in bed, masturbating furiously. In my mind's eye I saw
Tina's full lips on mine, devouring me hungrily; felt her hands on my chest,
caressing me; heard her crying out in ecstasy as I kissed her neck...
She got naked for me on our sixth date.
We were sitting in my house, listening to Barry Manilow's beautiful 1983
album "A Touch More Magic." I was sitting on the sofa, laughing heartily over
Archie's and Jughead's antics; Tina was curled up beside me; and Barry was
crooning "I Wanna Do It With You" in the background:
I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna do it, do it with you
Ooooh, baby, feel so strong
I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna live out my fantasies
Come on, baby, please...
Suddenly her hand was on my thigh. I stiffened immediately, and she let it
rest there a moment while I sat as if carved out of stone, unable to respond.
Were we about to... to kiss?
Then she got up and faced me, a secret little smile on her gorgeous face.
"Just sit back, Myron," she purred. "Sit back and relax. You don't have to do
anything."
I was trembling with tension, almost unable to breathe, as I watched Tina
unbutton her shirt and let it fall to the floor. She never took her luminous
green eyes from me as she reached up to undo the snap between the black lacy
cups of her bra. Then she pulled it away, slowly, licking her lips. Her tits
jiggled free and I swallowed hard, close to panic at the sight of those firm,
upright, creamy mounds, with nipples the size of egg yolks...
Oh, boy.
...Say you will, say I am
Say that I can be your man
Say that I can be your man...
"Do you like it?" she breathed. "Do you want it?"
I croaked out a feeble yes, and she slid out of her shorts and panties. There
she stood, stark naked in front of me, stroking one delectable nipple with one
hand, caressing her thigh near her hairless, glistening pussy with the other.
The Archie comic book slid from my nerveless fingers to the floor.
Her eyes were two green glittering slits of passion.
"Do you really want it?" she hissed.
"...y-y-y-yes..."
"Well, I want you, too, Myron," she whispered huskily, coming closer. "I want
to feel your lips on my lips. Your hands on my breasts." She knelt down before
me, tugging at my belt buckle. "I want to feel your cock inside me, Myron."
...Oh, honey, move in my direction
Time for some serious affection
Oh it's gonna be such a fine thing
Talk about thunder and lightning
I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna do it, do it with you...
My mouth was hanging open in dumb shock. As if in a trance I just let her
work my pants down to my ankles... then slip her fingers inside the elastic band
of my underwear. I lay still, numb, scarcely daring to breathe, as Tina urged my
underwear past my hips.
This was it... the moment I had been dreading...
And I was as soft as a spoonful of pudding.
I was way, way too nervous to have an erection; in fact, my penis actually
seemed to have retracted a little with all the nervous tension. For an instant I
looked down at the moist shrunken tip nestled in my bush, then closed my eyes
and swallowed hard. Please, God, I prayed, don't let her laugh... Don't let her
laugh at me... I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she
mentally adjusted to the sight of my limp little dick. She said nothing.
I risked a glance at her, but her face was carefully neutral. After a few
moments she looked up at me again, and smiled.
"You're beautiful, Myron."
She took hold of my hands. I let her pull me from the couch to the rug.
"You're a beautiful man," she moaned, "and I want you."
She kissed me, pressing her sweet titties against my chest... her hairless
vulva against my still flaccid penis... moving my hands to her hips, guiding me
through it. And slowly I began to respond. I kissed back, shuddering with
ecstasy, and she pulled me down on top of herself, spreading her legs apart for
me, wrapping them around my waist.
"I want you so bad!" she whined.
"...oh... oh, Tina," I gasped, "Tina, Tina..." She gripped my buttocks and
began pulling me against her, and I picked up the rhythm, grinding my pelvis
against hers, mashing my cock against her wet crotch as she began moaning.
"Yes... Oh, yes... Fuck me..."
Only I wasn't fucking her.
Because my penis wasn't getting hard.
I continued thrusting my shriveled dingaling against her warm, slippery cunt,
but I knew it was hopeless. It was as if my penis had been injected with
novocaine. Some inability to admit defeat kept me pumping my hips up and down,
and she continued moaning and writhing under me, but this was going nowhere; she
knew it, and I knew that she knew it. My shame grew, and then I realized that as
long as I pretended to fuck her, she would pretend to enjoy it.
After a few last feeble thrusts, I stopped and rolled off of her, curling up
in a fetal position.
I was a total sexual failure.
In my mind I could hear Kip's braying laughter:
Shitlips...
Bitch-Tits...
Faggot!
I wanted to die.
I waited for her to get dressed, to walk out the door, but nothing happened.
Then she rested a tentative hand on my shoulder.
"Myron?"
I couldn't answer. My shame was too complete.
"Myron? It's okay."
She snuggled up to me, curling her nubile young body against my back.
"It's okay, Myron. I don't care if we have sex. I just want to lie with you."
Something inside me shifted, moved, and suddenly I was crying, crying like a
baby, as if the tears would never stop.
She really loved me.
The Taste of Ass
Well, three more weeks passed before I managed to get hard for Tina.
It was just a morning stiffie, really, but I was elated. Panting with
excitement I jabbed it against her thigh. She was awake in an instant, rolling
over to face me, grinning with delight as she reached down... And the moment she
touched it I had an orgasm, a spastic, twitching orgasm which left a thin little
smear of cum on her palm.
We worked full time together on my newest little problem. I read everything I
could find on the internet about premature ejaculation, and Tina helped in every
way imaginable. There were still plenty of times when I couldn't get an erection
for her, and whenever I did I wound up blowing my load at the first touch of her
fingers or lips, but she was fantastic. Never once did she get impatient or
angry. Instead she would laugh, fondle my spent weener, and give it a gentle
scolding.
"You bad, bad little boy," she would say mischievously. "You made another
messy! Don't you know you're supposed to put that stuff inside Tina?!"
Gruntboy66 suggested that I should try giving her oral sex until I could keep
my erection long enough to penetrate her, and I found that I loved it. I loved
burying my tongue in her smooth little slit, loved the sensation of her slimy
pussy smearing itself across my face as she sighed and squirmed. And she liked
it, too.
The breakthrough came one morning when I brought up a breakfast tray of
Tastee-Kreme cheese danishes. She was just waking up, and I watched as she
stretched lazily in the bed. Tina was only wearing a tank-top; she raised her
hips high in the air, arching her back, and mewed contentedly, like a kitten.
The sight of her heart-shaped ass and smooth pussy was too much for me. I
dropped the tray, put my hands on her buttocks and planted a big, slobbery kiss
on her sweet pussy-lips.
We had never done it in this position before, and to my feverish excitement I
found, as she cooed with pleasure and worked her pelvis up and down, that her
puckered little asshole was dilating with excitement right in front of my eyes.
If it got any closer...
Then, with the next backward thrust of her hips, her anus was planted
squarely on the tip of my nose.
She gave a startled peep. Having Tina's asshole in my face was turning me on
like I'd never been turned on before, and my penis was stiffening up nicely. But
what about Tina? Was this okay with her?
Suddenly she responded, jamming it more firmly onto my king-sized honker. In
fact, as we got down to business I realized that she was getting off quicker and
harder than she ever had before. I nuzzled her pink little shithole eagerly...
...and before long, my tongue was probing her ass, working in and out while I
snorted and grunted behind her like a pig getting slopped.
It was delicious.
She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked, forcing my face ever more deeply
between her sweaty buttcheeks as I lapped at her sweet, succulent asshole.
Suddenly she came, wailing like a banshee and yanking my hair so hard it brought
tears to my eyes. My dick was as hard as a rock by this time, and I withdrew my
face from her rear end, gasping and ready.
"Oh, baby," I grunted, my voice thick with passion, "I wanna do it... do it
with you..." I gripped her buttocks and got into position. "...yeah, I wanna do
it with YOUUU--"
With the pent-up fury of a starving panther, I buried my two inches of
pulsing meat into the pink succulence of her tight young vagina and screamed as
I emptied my nuts into her.
Then I collapsed, still shaking and twitching, my head in a whirl. I had done
it... I had fucked my woman...
Incredible!
She rolled over me and covered my face with kisses.
"Oh, Myron," she murmured, "darling, I knew you could do it!"
Yes, I had become a man at last.
Honeymoon Heaven
I came inside her again that night. This wasn't the kind of sex you read
about in Penthouse magazine; I lost my erection at first, and it took five
minutes of licking Tina's asshole before it twitched back to life. And, just as
before, I barely had time to slip it inside her before I climaxed... But it was
sex nonetheless, and I was glowing with pride.
Nothing could go wrong now, and it was time to make my ultimate move.
"Tina?"
"Mm hm?"
I looked her in the eyes, just like they do in the movies. This is serious,
my expression said. I am a man, and you are my woman, and this is the Moment.
"I want you to marry me."
She looked at me and smiled in a strange way - a slow, darkly anticipatory
smile, almost more to herself, it seemed, than to me. I had thought she might
burst into tears, embrace me, thank me again and again... The look in her
glittering eyes was of animal hunger, and I shivered involuntarily.
"I will," she whispered.
The next morning, as soon as the courthouse was open for business, Tina
dragged me to a justice of the peace. She was so impatient I had to laugh: my
little Tina was so infatuated with me! Within thirty minutes we had our marriage
license. We raced back home to frisk in bed like a couple of playful kittens. I
had completely gotten over my sense of shame by now and rubbed my puny pecker
against her gorgeous young body without a second thought. She sucked on it with
real fervor, but it stayed limp, and after a little while I laughed ruefully.
"Darling? Let's forget about it for now."
She pulled her mouth from my dick, which was glistening like a shelled snail
but still as limp as ever.
"Huh? But I thought... I thought that, you know, since yesterday..."
"Oh, Tina," I chuckled, "you don't really think I can get it up like that
twice a day, every day, do you? I'm not Superman, after all!"
She stared at me in a confused way, then smiled and shrugged. "Have it your
way, baby." Then she looked speculatively at me. With a sly grin she rolled over
onto her belly, then slowly drew her ass up into the air. My mouth went dry. Her
fingers snaked up between her legs, the middle one drawing a lazy circle over
and over around her tight little anus as she stared at me over her shoulder. "Or
maybe my tired little man needs some of Tina's... special flavor?"
I was on my hands and knees behind her in a flash. And even though I still
didn't get hard, Tina enjoyed herself immensely.
We went vacationing in the Bahamas for our honeymoon. It was a dream come
true. Tina looked superb in her new wardrobe, which consisted of simple yet
elegant little dresses that showed off every sweet curve on her sexy young body.
Men stared at her wherever we went, but it never bothered me. In fact, I had
gotten pretty proud of myself. On our third night at the Royal Palm Hotel I
managed to stay hard inside of her, thrusting in and out for twenty delirious
seconds before spurting my juice. I was a Real Man now, there was no doubt about
it, and I decided to start acting like one. Why not? I had earned it!
"Tina? Could I get you to scratch my back? A little lower... Aaaah!"
"Tina? Fetch me that newspaper over there, would you?"
"Tina, call room service."
"Get me my glasses."
"Pour me another Diet Pepsi."
She did whatever I asked without complaint. And in the afternoons she would
go down to the beach, her mouth-watering tits and ass barely concealed beneath
her skimpy bikini. There were always at least a few hunky young guys sunning
themselves there; with their bodybuilder physiques and well-stuffed Speedos,
they were carbon copies of the cruel jocks who had driven me to the edge of
madness back in high school. These proud studs would gape at my beautiful wife
without shame, cast a few amused looks in my direction, nudge one another and
chuckle, but I just smiled. She's mine, you big musclebound jerks! Stare all you
want... I'm the one who fucks her! Me, Myron Lipshitz!
And then, on our last night - what should have been the best of all our
sun-soaked days of pleasure - things went wrong.
We were relaxing in our suite, watching TV, when she started lightly stroking
my dick. I hadn't actually penetrated her in a few days by now, and I knew she
might enjoy a little old-fashioned horseplay, but my penis wasn't responding. By
this time I had fully accepted my libido as it was, and I watched without shame
as she first fondled, then bent over to begin sucking, my lifeless little
inch-long wiener.
After a few seconds I pushed her head off.
"Tina," I said, wiping the spittle from my dick, "forget it. Just relax and
enjoy the TV show."
She heaved a sigh of disappointment and flopped back into the pillows, her
arms crossed under her upright titties, her nipples two fat cones of unsatisfied
desire. Then she gave me a bright, cheerful smile.
"Well, darling, you're right. You're not Superman. And you did fuck me - oh,
let's see, two days ago, right?"
"Uh... right," I answered cautiously.
"I guess it would take a little something extra to make you hard after all
that wild sex, wouldn't it!" She smiled at me again, but there was something
slightly off about it. It wasn't the sweet, stupid, innocent smile I had come to
know and love. No, this smile was sweet on the surface, but underneath was
something I didn't like at all. Something dark... something wicked.
She got up and crawled in front of me, blocking my view of the TV.
"No, Myron needs to taste a little ass before he can get it up, doesn't he?"
Tina turned around and stuck her ass in the air, offering me a close-up view of
her gorgeous buttocks with the little pink asterisk buried between them.
Incredibly, beneath my slowly increasing sense of outrage at her insolent tone
of voice, my dick twitched. "You like the taste of my shit soooo much, you'd
rather stick your tongue up my ass than your dick!"
"What... But... But you like it!" There was a defensive, pleading tone to my
voice that didn't match the anger I was feeling, and I hated myself for it. I
was shocked, and hurt, and my face showed it.
But she didn't seem to care. And something strange was happening. Under my
anger, deep down inside, a part of me was responding to her nasty little taunts.
I felt a psychic shiver run through me as I recognized it: Myron "Shitlips"
Lipshitz was enjoying this.
Enjoying the humiliation.
No...
No!
My penis was sticking straight out now, and with a grunt of rage I slapped
her ass, hard. She just laughed and shook it a little more.
"Come on, Myron," she sang cheerfully, "sniff it! Lick it like a good little
doggie!"
"You... you bitch!" I yelled, getting to my knees. I forced her down; she
didn't even try to resist - she was giggling too hard. I positioned myself
behind her, prick at the ready, but this time I wasn't aiming for her pussy.
"I'll teach you to talk to me like that... You want me to fuck you? Huh? Huh?"
I was sweating profusely now, lust and anger and desperation all combining to
produce the biggest, hardest erection I had ever had. Gripping it firmly between
thumb and forefinger I placed it against the hard little knot of her anus. Oh,
yes, I was going to fuck her, all right. I was going to make it hurt.
"Get ready, 'cause here it comes... I'm gonna fuck... your... ASS!!"
And with that I shoved my hips forward.
Well, I don't know if she was clenching her sphincter or something, but I
didn't wind up fucking her ass at all. No, instead my penis just kind of bent
sideways a little.
It hurt.
"Come on, come on," I muttered, placing it against her anus again as she
shook with laughter under me. This time I was more careful, holding it tight to
keep it from getting hurt and pushing more slowly, but her asshole was as tight
as a fist. She looked up at me through her dissheveled blonde hair, her green
eyes dancing merrily as I slowly but surely lost my erection.
"Oooh, Myron," she said in her sexiest voice, "fuck me harder, you big stud!"
Then she broke down and started giggling again.
That did it. My penis wilted, shrinking in shame until it was almost
completely hidden in my bush. I gave it a half-hearted tug, but I knew it was no
use.
"Very funny," I said in a tight little voice. For some reason this set her
off again. Trembling with impotent fury I pulled on my clothes.
"Very... fucking... funny!"
I was practically blind with rage as I stomped toward the door. Unfortunately
I didn't see the slippery little bottle of suntan lotion on the carpet, and my
right foot flew out from under me, so that I landed with a thud on my ass. Fresh
peals of laughter rang in my ears as I picked myself up and stormed out the
door.
"Bitch!!"
Domestic Bliss
Well, this was the beginning of some bad times for me. She apologized for her
behavior on the last night of our honeymoon, and seemed to mean it. I forgave
her, too; what else was I supposed to do? But inside I was still hurting from
the humiliation; and somehow, that one evening had altered our beautiful
relationship. Tina seemed to begin enjoying any sign of discomfort or
incompetence on my part, began smirking every time I stumbled, every time I
dropped something or bumped my head. She took a genuine pleasure in me making an
ass of myself! And I was so anxious in her presence now that I gave her ample
opportunity to laugh at me: I was like a one-man slapstick routine, tripping
over my own two feet at every turn. She really seemed to enjoy it.
And sex? Well, sex was worse than ever.
We developed a routine that left me feeling less and less like a man every
night. I would crawl into bed after spending the day sulking around the house,
and Tina, oozing a sweetly false blend of sympathy and tenderness, would
encourage me to try penetrating her again.
"Please, darling. I just know you can get hard if you give yourself a chance.
Here..." And she'd bend over in front of me, offering me a good look at that
delectable, eighteen-year-old asshole of hers. "Go ahead. I like it, really!
Lick it as long as you need to, darling, just take your time..."
Oh, I licked it, all right. I ate more ass than ever, feeling somehow that if
she was being so reasonable (even superficially) then I should be, too. But even
with my tongue wiggling deep in her poop chute, my dick only spasmed once or
twice, twitching like a dying minnow. And as she fondled and sucked me in
return, I had the feeling she knew that I would be left as limp as ever. I tried
hard not to notice the secret little smile on her face when she finally gave up,
night after night.
"Maybe next time, darling."
It was pure torture.
Well, I hadn't written to the fellows at Tiny Penis Wives in a long time, and
when they finally heard from me I got a storm of advice. Gruntboy66 was amazed
at my stupidity for having married her in the first place.
"Did you forget that your tiny penis wife was supposed to be `desperate,' you
moron?" he thundered on the listserve. "Now that you're married she's not
desperate any more. In fact, she could wind up owning half of what you've got!
And it sounds like the bitch knows it. Some women seem to really enjoy taking a
man for all he's got and destroying his ego in the process... You've got to get
the upper hand again, Disco_slave. Take some assertiveness classes. Lift
weights. Anything - fast!"
And I did. I took two different course by mail - "How To Be A More Effective
Person" and "The Path To Real Manhood In Twelve Easy Steps." From the second
course I learned the ancient technique of manifesting one's own reality, which
Rick Ryder (who developed the course) said could alter one's actual physical
body. So I spent hours standing in front of a mirror nude, holding my penis in
my hand, and repeating to myself over and over: "I am a strong, sexy stud. My
cock is a big cock. My balls are big balls..."
I also began changing my attitude. I had been far too sweet and loving with
little Miss Anderssen; it was time to show her a different side. And though it
wasn't easy, I began to boss her around.
"Hey, Tina! Get me Archie Comics #214. And a glass of lemonade. Now."
Of course she was difficult to find sometimes; it was a big house. But when I
did manage to catch her and issue an order, she did whatever I asked. It was the
response which bothered me. There was no apparent positive or negative reaction
from her, and her indifference began to drive me to greater extremes. To any
outside observer, with no idea of the nightly psychic sex-torment she was
putting me through, I must have looked like a total pig.
Jesse the Busboy
Things came to a head at Le Bernardin one evening. I was snapping at her to
hurry up and finish her crab a la russe when the busboy accidentally knocked my
cream of oyster soup onto my lap. I let out a thin shriek of disgust as the
thick sticky mess spread across my expensive slacks, then turned to look at the
idiot who was responsible.
The busboy was just a kid, really - he couldn't have been more than
seventeen. He had an all-American boy's face: flaxen hair, buzzed on the sides
but long on top; a little snub nose, slightly sunburned; white cheeks, each with
a patch of color under a nearly translucent blonde peach fuzz; unusually pale
blue eyes, and rather insubstantial blond eyebrows. His soft, full lips had the
natural rich redness that comes with a very fair complexion. My gaze lingered on
those lips a little longer. The upper lip had one of those tender-looking
"nipples" on it, accentuating its attractive curve. A beautiful face, I had to
admit, the face of someone not a child, but not yet a man.
But I couldn't let him get away without a thorough chewing out for Tina's
benefit. No matter how young he was.
"What," I asked icily, "is your name?"
He looked through me, somehow, without looking perturbed in the least.
"Jesse."
"Uh huh. Well, Jesse, do you think that instead of standing there, you
could... GET ME A WET TOWEL TO WIPE MYSELF OFF?!"
Tina lowered her head, hand over her brow, as though embarrassed. Good, I
thought to myself. The waiter ran to our table, frantic to set things right. A
real bootlicker: I liked that about him. He snapped at Jesse to hurry and get
the towel Monsieur Lipshitz had asked for, and as Jesse nodded coolly and
wandered off, he fussed and mopped.
"A clumsy fool," he muttered.
"Right," I said, leaning back.
"He's too young to be working here... The little good-for-nothing..."
Jesse came back with a small hand towel and handed it to me with the same
indifference I had seen in Tina earlier.
This really sent me over the top.
"What is this?!" I yelled. "A dishrag? I need a towel, you moron! These pants
cost me three hundred bucks!"
By now several more waiters had joined the fray. I was glowing inside with
pride: this was the way to take command of a situation! Poor young Jesse was
getting snapped at from all sides by a pack of irate French waiters. I had to
admire his calmness in the face of all this hysteria, particularly as Mr.
Bernardin himself waddled over to investigate.
"What's the matter, M'sieur Lipshitz?"
"Well," I said smugly, "it seems that some of your staff are nothing more
than bumbling nitwits. That kid just ruined a pair of three hundred dollar
pants."
"Oh! Jesse," he growled, "that's the last straw. Pack your things and get
out!"
Then I caught Tina's eye.
She was looking daggers at me. Well, good, I thought to myself. The bitch is
taking notice.
"Maybe next time," I called out to the kid as he sauntered off, "you'll be a
little more carefff-- AANGGGHHH!!"
I lurched over and gripped my aching shin.
Tina had just kicked it.
Hard.
I stared at her in disbelief as a startled hush settled on our previously
bustling little scene. Then I allowed a rich, satisfied smile to spread across
my face. I had finally pushed her to show some real emotion; now that she was
exposed, it was time to strike once and for all. I got up, shoving the waiters
out of my way, and grabbed her arm, hard.
"Come outside," I hissed.
"Mm hm."
Outside I shoved her against the wall. This was going to be good.
"Listen, bitch," I spat, "it is NOT YOUR PLACE-"
And then she slapped me.
I stopped short, my mind a blank, and lifted a trembling hand to my stinging
cheek. That wasn't supposed to happen... Rick Ryder hadn't covered this in the
"Path To Manhood..."
She glared at me with a fury so cold, so righteous, so inexpressibly total,
that I could only drop my eyes.
"Look at me, Myron."
With an involuntary whimper, I looked back up. Her gorgeous young face was
pale with anger, radiating an Amazon-like power I would never have credited her
with.
"B-but..."
"Shut up. Just shut up and listen." I did as she said, my mind still reeling
from the slap she had given me. "You've been acting like a pig recently, Myron.
A pig, do you understand?"
I nodded dumbly.
"Say it!"
"A... p-p-pig?"
"Good. Now. You just cost someone his job. You and I may have our little
problems, Myron, though honestly I've been bending over backward to try and help
us through them. But your difficulties in bed have nothing to do with some sweet
kid trying to hold onto his job."
I was speechless, opening and shutting my mouth like a fish out of water.
What could I say?
She was right.
"Well? Say something!"
"I... I'm s-s-sah--"
"Good. Now wait here. Don't move."
And with that she turned and stalked back into the restaurant.
I watched her go through the big glass doors, mesmerized by the sight of her
calves and ass as she strutted purposefully into the crowded dining room. What
was she up to? And more importantly... What was I up to?! Had I been making a
mistake? Had she really been trying to help? It's possible, I thought to myself.
I waited miserably for a few minutes, shifting uncomfortably in my wet pants,
rubbing my still-smarting cheek and trying to ignore the throbbing in my shin.
My God, maybe this assertiveness thing had been a terrible error in judgment!
Maybe Gruntboy66 and all the others were just a bunch of pathetic losers,
compensating for their lack of endowment with a pushy attitude toward their
women... Yes. Yes, it was true!
Holy shit. What a swine I had been... How could I make it up to her?
Suddenly the doors swung open and she was standing there again, a little out
of breath... my angel... my loving, caring wife...
And with her was Jesse, the busboy.
He was bigger than I had first thought, his chest straining at the starched
white shirt and his thighs and calves filling out his black pants admirably. He
looked like a natural athlete to me. But his angelic young face showed none of
the condescension I associated with such types; indeed, his expression was
perfectly bland, as though he had no idea what this was all about, and didn't
really care.
Tina certainly did, though.
"Myron, meet Jesse Youngblood. Jesse, meet my husband, Myron Lipshitz."
At my name he smiled, ever so slightly, and I bristled, just a bit. But one
withering look from Tina was all it took: I accepted his hand, wincing a little
as he out-firmed my grip.
"Pleased to meet you," he said.
"...likewise..."
I wasn't sure what to do next, so I looked to Tina for help.
"Myron and I were just talking about what happened inside," she continued,
"and he has something he'd like to say to you."
I gave her a pleading look, but she was made of steel and wouldn't give me an
inch. Instead she folded her arms under her firm young tits and fixed me with a
cool green stare that said, Do it. I looked back at Jesse.
The crotch of my pants was cold and clammy where the cream of oyster soup had
begun to dry, and my weiner chafed a little against the sticky patch, so that I
had to shift uncomfortably. Damn it, it wasn't fair... was it? But after all, I
had just cost another human being his livelihood. Jesse simply waited, as if he
had nothing better in the world to do. I risked one last look at Tina. She was
growing angrier by the second, and once again I had to admit to myself: Myron,
you've made a real asshole of yourself tonight.
I took a deep breath and looked the kid in the eyes.
"J-j-jesse, I... I'm s-s-s... sah-hahhh... s-s-s..."
That imperceptible shadow of a grin on his flawless young face widened a
little, and I dropped my gaze, thrown by the hint of amusement there, and the
cocksure power behind his pale blue stare.
"...i'm sorry."
I looked hopefully at Tina. There! Better? She smiled warmly at the busboy
and actually put her hand on his bicep, squeezing it fondly.
"And we'd very much like it if you came over tomorrow for lunch. We've got a
beautiful pool."
Once again I was left with my mouth opening and closing like an idiot.
Whah...? Jesse grinned broadly at her.
"Well, sure! That sounds awesome!"
She gave him the address while I stood gaping at the two of them. Lunch?!
Pool?! There was a roaring in my ears as I tried to take in what I had just
heard.
"Uh... I'm going inside to get my shit packed," he said. "I guess I'll see
you tomorrow, Tina."
"Mm hm..."
We both watched him swagger into the restaurant, looking for all the world
like a welterweight who'd just won the fight of the century, his broad shoulders
and round ass straining against the cloth as he went. I turned back to Tina,
speechless. She watched Jesse for a moment more, then gave me a bright little
smile.
"What a nice young man!"
"B-b-but..."
But she was already hailing a taxi for us, ignoring me completely, with a
radiant glow in her cheeks that I'd never seen before.
It spelled trouble.
I kept quiet all the way home, hesitant to bring up my discomfort with this
new turn of events. Our home had always been a very private kind of retreat, a
place where we could be absolutely alone together. Now, for the first time, a
guest was coming -- and not just any guest, but a total stranger... and not just
any stranger, but Mr. Jesse "Hot Stud" Youngblood, whom my wife had just made me
abase myself in front of. I wanted so badly to argue against this. But Tina was
showing me a brand new side of herself, a side I had never known existed. I
glanced at her sidelong and was struck again by the confidence and power
radiating from her.
Back in the bedroom I tried one last time to salvage the sanctity of my home.
I had just finished worshipping my wife's sweet shithole. Tina had urged me
onto my back and straddled my face with her rear end, grinding her ass down on
my mouth with vigor, and I was gasping for breath by the time she came, her anus
muscles spasming on my tongue. My dick, of course, remained in a practically
catatonic state the whole time Tina was forcefeeding me with her delectable
derriere. I pinched and squeezed halfheartedly, but by this time it was more out
of habit than any real desire to get hard. She didn't even bother trying to
bring it to life after dismounting from my face.
I kept my mouth shut for a minute or so to let her relax. Timing was
everything. She had just finished smearing her hole across my face as if it were
a piece of toilet paper; surely she was in a good mood now... Her body was
stretched out languidly across the sheets, a thin sheen of sweat covering her
spectacular torso and legs. I admired it helplessly from my position at the foot
of the bed. If I played my cards right, I could keep that invading barbarian of
a busboy out of my home and eventually, perhaps, win back my rightful place in
Tina's affections.
It was time to make my move. Mask my intentions with tender, sensitive
suggestions about having the pool drained, maybe.
"Tina?"
"Mm."
I crawled up to lie alongside her. With trembling fingers I began stroking
her shoulder. She didn't move. I put my lips next to her ear and lowered my
voice to a whisper.
"Um... darling, about... about J-j-j--"
"Brush your teeth," she murmured.
I was a little taken aback.
"B-b-b... brush--?"
"Your breath smells like shit, Myron. Brush your teeth."
My face burned with shame. I stroked her shoulder for a few more seconds,
then crawled quietly out of bed and slunk into the bathroom.
No, now was not the time.
Poolside Frolicking
I spent the next morning dancing nervously around Tina wherever she went,
trying to help her however I could, until she snapped at me to get out of her
way. After that I lurked miserably in her general vicinity, alternating tortured
looks at the clock with stricken stares at my young wife. She had on a beige
corset-style blouse that pushed her firm little titties up, squeezing them
together at the deep neckline in two tantalizing twin mounds, and a short denim
skirt that came perilously close to exposing her lace panties when she bent over
to retrieve the cookie tray from underneath the oven.
She was making a pitcher of pina coladas when the doorbell rang. I was
already on edge, and I jumped and gave an involuntary squeak at the first ring.
Tina shot me an amused glance.
"Nervous?"
My mouth was dry. I could only nod. She turned back to the blender and shook
the rest of the coconut milk into it.
"Get over it. Answer the door."
I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I walked down the main hallway to
the front door. My eyes were sunken with exhaustion from the sleepless night
before, and I had an angry new pimple on the tip of my nose.
Great. Just great.
In a fever of nervous tension I began compulsively rehearsing my greeting.
The whole situation felt like it was swiftly teetering out of control; the
slightest misstep could mean disaster. Every little nuance, every gesture needed
to counter it perfectly. "Hi, Jesse," I murmured. Was that too relaxed sounding?
"Good afternoon." No, It was lunchtime. Damn it, what did you say to someone
when it was twelve o'clock sharp? "Hi, Jesse." Yes, that would have to do. Now,
if only I could keep the tremor out of my voice...
I got to the door, steeled myself, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Jesse was wearing one of those tight white tank tops; it clung to his deep
chest like a lovestruck girlfriend, leaving little of his anatomy to the
imagination. His pecs swept out and down from under his collarbones to fold in
neatly above his solar plexus, and the nipples made obscenely plump little cones
under the fabric, like a girl's. It was several seconds before I could tear my
eyes from them, and then my gaze was drawn down as if by some unseen magnetic
force to his pants.
Not good.
He had on jeans. Regular jeans, Levi's, a little scuffed. Not as tight as the
polyester slacks I was wearing; just tight enough to put his fucking manhood on
proud and shameless display, like it was a Ripley's Believe It Or Not! item. The
kid's cock had to be six inches long, and it wasn't even hard, unless
32-year-old balding guys turned him on. It made a bulge thicker than a Polish
kielbasa across the front of his right thigh. There was another bulge under it,
which buoyed his massive schlong up to even grater prominence than it would have
had otherwise: his nut sac. The thing looked to be as big as two plums in a
plastic bag...
It occurred to me that my mouth was hanging open in dumb shock, like some
microcephalic idiot. I shut it and forced myself to look up. He was looking at
me with the same mildly amused expression of the night before.
I felt something like a wave of vertigo for a second and leaned against the
doorway for support. Get ahold of yourself, Myron, for Christ's sake! Don't just
stand there staring at this teenaged punk's crotch; say hello!
I opened my mouth. Out came a strange sound: something between a toad's croak
and a fledgeling sparrow's peep. He chuckled as I rubbed my throat. Come on, you
stupid, stuttering piece of shit! I smiled crookedly back at him and tried
again.
"Hi, J-j-j--"
"Hi, Mr. Lipshitz." He walked in, and I scuttled out of his way. By the time
I had recovered myself, he was halfway down the hall. I trotted after him,
wringing my hands. He was carrying a six pack in one hand and a leather backpack
slung loosely over one shoulder. The backpack, of course, would be for his towel
and swimsuit. I couldn't let myself think about it.
I wouldn't think about it.
He walked with an easy, careless swagger in his hips to the stairwell,
glanced right, then turned left, heading straight toward the kitchen.
I had caught up to him by this time and made several efforts to dart in front
of him, but his body was too broad to slide past. Tina was just pouring the pina
coladas when we entered. She looked up and gave him a smile like sunshine.
"Jesse!"
He dropped the backpack and the beers into my arms as she hurried to him. I
walked unsteadily to the refrigerator and busied myself putting the beers in to
cool.
I didn't want to see it. Didn't want to see her put her arms around him...
...holding him...
...pressing her ripe young body against his.
By the time I turned around they had parted again, but the glow in their
faces was painful enough.
"Well!" she sang. "Let's get changed and go for a swim, shall we?"
"What," I asked, laughing, "already?!" It came out sounding a little too
loud, a little too harsh, and they both looked at me strangely. I laughed again,
trying for a careless, jocular attitude, but the laugh was tinged with hysteria.
Tina looked puzzled and annoyed.
"Why not?" she said.
"Yeah," said Jesse. He leaned against the kitchen counter next to her, his
fabulously unlikely crotch on proud display. "I don't know about you, Mr.
Lipshitz, but I'm hot."
I gritted my teeth and attempted a small smile.
"Mmm. You LOOK hot," Tina said. She actually wiped her fingertips across his
forehead -- quick and casual, but the air was instantly charged with sexual
electricity. Then she turned to me, fidgeting eagerly, her sweet tits jiggling
in her blouse. "Doesn't he, Myron? I'm hot, too."
She was too stupid to knowingly make a double entendre. They both were.
Still, it was almost too much. My insides were curdling with jealousy and
downright hatred for both of them. The smile on my face felt more rigid, more
false with each second that passed.
"Well," I sneered, "if YOU'RE hot, and HE's hot, then by all means, let's go
swimming."
He went into the guest bedroom upstairs to change. I followed Tina into the
master bedroom. Once the door was closed I grabbed her by the arm. She frowned,
then glared at me and jerked out of my grasp. I was panting heavily by now.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Myron?!"
I actually grinned at her.
"What the fuck is wrong with ME? You think I'm STUPID? You think I don't know
what's going ON?" My face felt hot and swollen. I wasn't shouting, but the
corners of my mouth were damp with spit. "I know what's going on, Tina! You and
J-j-j-j... J-j-j--"
Then she did something totally unexpected.
She fastened her lips onto mine. Her hands reached up, gripped my ears, and
pulled my mouth against hers with an almost painful passion.
I was so stunned I didn't even respond. It lasted perhaps five seconds. Not
long. But long enough to leave me speechless, gaping stupidly at her. She stared
back at me, her green gold-flecked eyes boring into mine with hypnotic
intensity. Then she gave me a smile -- a faint, cryptic smile.
"Everything's going to be all right, Myron."
I watched her as she stripped and pulled on her white bikini, the one with
the thong bottom. Then she rummaged in my things until she found my own swimming
trunks, the baggy red ones. I was as docile as a child while she undid my shoes
and pulled my pants and shirt off. Like a microcephalic idiot I stared dumbly at
the knuckle-sized dickhead hiding between my legs as Tina worked the trunks up
and over my skinny hips.
Then she took my hand and led me back down to the kitchen, where we picked up
our drinks, and then to the pool.
Jesse was there already, his pina colada in one hand, rubbing sunscreen on
himself with the other, and the sight of him broke my happy little trance into a
million pieces, and then incinerated them just to be sure. I was wide awake in a
second.
This kid was absolutely fucking obscene.
Yes, there was his torso. I knew it would look good, and it did look good:
his smooth, flawless, almost pornographic chest, the ripe pink nipples, his
abdomen muscular but all of it covered with the faintest abiding layer of
adolescent fat...
But that wasn't the issue. It was an issue, to be sure, but it wasn't THE
issue.
He had on a blue Speedo, only the thing had to have been customized by
Speedo, Inc., to hold his massive balls and penis. Actually it didn't quite
manage to hold everything in. There was a brief interlude of naked space at
either side of his crotch where the swelling of his genitals was just too much
for the stretchy fabric to do its God-damned job. And stretching a little past
the edges of either gap was a smooth, pale burgeoning of seventeen-year-old
flesh.
It wasn't his cock. No, that monstrous slab of cockmeat, thick as a baby's
arm, was outlined clearly enough. I could see it filling the front of his suit;
in fact, I could even see that our cute little busboy friend was uncircumcised.
The naked flesh I was seeing was his fucking scrotum, bulging out the sides of
his inadequate suit like an overloaded sperm bank.
It took only an instant to take all this in. But in that instant the spell
Tina had cast on me with her bedroom kiss was shattered. I sank, utterly
exhausted and demoralized, into a chair and stared dully at this young, golden,
hypersexed sun-god. Tina, too, was staring.
And he was staring at her.
Slowly I raised my eyes to look at my wife. My young, stupid, desperate wife.
Now that another man (well, a kid) was looking at her, I saw her in a fresh new
light -- the same light I had seen her in the first time we met. Her skin
positively glowed, like pale sweet cream butter. There was a smell, too; could
he possibly smell it? I could: a subtle warm floral smell that said "I am as
perfect now as I will ever be."
And yet that fresh virginal innocence was tempered with something
knowledgeable... Something smilingly degenerate... Something wicked.
Part of it was her body. Her ass had smothered my face several hundred times
now, and yet its high, eager curves were as mysteriously bewitching as ever, and
the thong bikini bottom left absolutely nothing to the imagination. And her
tits! The cups of the bikini top clung tightly to her peach-sweet breasts,
exposing every succulent curve.
Only now I noticed something about them I hadn't noticed a minute before: her
nipples were popping out like freshly baked tollhouse cookies. Yes, and they
were swelling even more as I watched. She was staring, with her moist plump lips
parted, at Mister Seventeen-Year-Old Horsecock over there, and it was having
quite an effect on her.
The horny little bitch.
She patted me absentmindedly on the top of my head and walked over to him,
her ass twitching back and forth like a cat in its first heat.
I watched as my wife rubbed lotion onto his knotted back and shoulders,
caressing them until they glistened in the summer sun. He drank his pina colada
in a couple of man-sized swallows while she slid her hands up and down his
smooth flanks.
Then he set down his glass and turned around, and I watched as he worked two
good palmfuls of the greasy, fruity-smelling stuff into my wife's back in
return.
Oh, yes. I watched. I sat there, baking in the sun, and watched them put
their hands on each other. And did she offer any sunscreen to me? Did she even
have a thought for me, Myron Lipshitz, her fucking husband, reddening up like a
boiled lobster out there?
Well... Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. But I was in one of those weird
moods (I'm sure you know what I mean) when you're so beat-up inside that you
practically beg for more reasons to feel miserable. She came over and kneeled
next to me with the bottle, but I couldn't even look at her. I sat there with my
weak little chin tucked down into my neck and mumbled something incoherent, so
she shrugged, pecked me on the cheek, and walked back to him.
They swam for only ten or fifteen minutes, but it seemed like hours. Jesse
executed a few perfect dives from the board. I could hear them talking and
laughing but couldn't make out the words, which of course left my mind free to
invent all sorts of things: Gosh, Jesse, look at him just sitting there staring
at us! ...Yeah, Tina -- what is he, some kind of retard?
At one point she swam to him and put her hands on his shoulders. I gripped
the arms of my chair until my fingers hurt, then began involuntarily to rise to
my feet... I don't know what I would have done to stop them from stripping and
fucking right there in the water in front of me; I knew he could snap me in two
like a dry stick if he felt like it.
But as it turned out he was cupping his hands together for her to place a
dainty foot in. Then he heaved upwards and she jumped at the same time, so that
her body arced a full six feet above the water before slicing back under in a
perfect backwards dive.
Oh, yes, I watched it all.
After a few more centuries of lively frolicking, they climbed out.
I shambled after them, as if drugged, to the patio, where we ate pastrami
sandwiches. Well, they did. I managed a bite of mine; after that I watched in a
stupor as Jesse plowed through three of them.
Then Tina snapped me out of it. Yes, lovely little Tina. I could certainly
depend on sweet little Tina to shatter my complacency.
"Well, guys," she said, "let's talk about last night."
Something tightened inside my chest and I squirmed in my seat. Did she have
to do this? Did she have to rub it in my face like this? Please, God, I prayed,
let the phone ring, let the house catch on fire. I want this punk out. Gone.
Jesse looked perfectly comfortable, of course, sprawled on the chair, arms and
legs akimbo. That's right, asshole. Take it easy. Eat my food. Swim in my pool.
And stare at my wife a little more, while you're at it.
"Jesse," she asked tenderly, "how do you get by? Do you live with your
folks?"
"Nah," he said, popping the tab off a can of beer. "I been livin' on my own
since I was fourteen."
"Fourteen?"
"Uh huh." He was rubbing the can back and forth across his chest, leaving a
trail of moisture streaked across the ripe swell of flesh. Fourteen, huh? Boo
fucking hoo. His parents probably kicked him out for being a lazy
good-for-nothing.
"Paying rent? Bills?"
"Sure. Me and my buddies, you know, we share a little apartment. It's fuckin'
expensive in this town, though, no matter how many folks you squeeze in."
Awww. Poor little baby.
"Hm." She gazed at him for a few seconds, then turned to me. "Did you hear
that, Myron?"
"I'm sitting right here, darling. Of course I heard it."
"You've never had to work a day in your life, have you? Never had to worry
about bills. Never had to worry about making the rent."
"Now, Tina, I--"
"Don't interrupt me," she said coldly. "And don't try to deny it. You were
born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You have no idea what it's like to work
for a living. Struggling to make ends meet. To have to choose between feeding
yourself or having electricity. To worry about getting evicted because you were
late getting the landlord's check in the mail. Well, it's not easy. In fact it
sucks."
She turned back to Jesse, who was now lazily caressing his belly with the
can.
"And Jesse. Poor thing. I hope you've recovered fully from Myron's... little
tantrum?"
Bitch!
"Sure," he said. "The place sucked anyway. Bunch of fags. But, uh, thanks for
asking, Mrs. Lipshitz."
An odd look crossed her face, the expression of someone who's just realized
they tracked dogshit across the living room carpet; then she recovered her poise
and smiled sweetly at him.
"Jesse," she said with a laugh, "you can call me Tina."
"Okay."
"I mean... I'm not much older than you are. How old are you, anyway?"
"Seventeen."
"Mmmm. I'm eighteen."
"No shit?" He shook his head, grinning. "You act older. I thought you were in
your mid-twenties or something, but still real tight, you know? That's what I
thought when I first saw you at the table there. 'Damn, this bitch is tight.'
You know?"
My jaw dropped. This smirking, strutting little fuck had just referred to my
wife - my WIFE! - as a bitch. I turned to Tina with a look of outrage, but she
looked far from insulted. In fact, she was blushing a little. And the comment
about her being "tight." What the fuck was THAT supposed to mean?!
"T-t-tight...?"
"Yeah, dude." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the beer against his neck.
"Tight. You know, just... tight. Like, if you see a cool bike, you're like,
'Man, that shit is tight.' You know?" He stared at me, then burst out laughing.
"What - did you think I was talkin' about her pussy?"
Once again I was floored. He... he couldn't just say that!
"P-p-p--"
"Eighteen, huh? How old are you, dude?"
I cleared my throat. Not that it was any of this little punk's business, but
I didn't want to risk upsetting Tina again.
"Thirty-three. Listen, young man, this language isn't--"
"Thirty-three! Whoa. So you were, like... Sixteen when she was born?" He
shook his head in wry disbelief. "Man!"
"Fifteen," I said between clenched teeth. "I was fifteen. So what. Now,
you've said some very inappropriate--"
"Myron," warned Tina, "don't be a grump. Now, Jesse, where was I going...?
Oh, yes. How much money were you making, on average?"
"I dunno. I guess about seventy a night after the waiters tipped me out. So,
like, two-eighty a week, since I was workin' four nights."
"Mm hm. Not very much for New York."
"Sure as fuck ain't, Mrs. Lip-- I mean, Tina."
"Do you do any work on the side?"
"Yeah, sometimes. Me and my buddies sell a little pot now and then, you know,
for fun money."
Pot? Was he talking about marijuana? Jesus, the kid was a drug dealer! He
sucked down the last of his beer, crushed the can in his hand, tossed it over
his shoulder, and popped open another one. Looked like he was an alcoholic, too.
"And, like, if I'm really hard up? Sometimes I go down to the park where the
fags hang out and jerk off for cash."
Even Tina was temporarily speechless. I couldn't believe it. This kid was a
walking, talking social services case. Morally depraved. Criminal. Surely Tina,
smitten though she seemed to be, could see that now. He needed to be kept under
close surveillance, his movements tightly controlled, either in jail or a group
home. Maybe I could make a few calls.
"Yeah. Fags always seem to have a lot of money, you know?" He glanced at me,
and I flushed. "So they'll pay you for all sorts of stupid shit. Just get it
hard and stroke it and blow a load and they'll pay thirty bucks. Some guys let
the little faggots touch their cocks, you know, or suck them off, but not me.
Only a woman's gonna touch my cock."
Tina licked her lips.
"I see. And... how much can you make in a week... um... masturbating?"
"Well, it's not weekly, you know? I mean, it's not something I necessarily
like doing or anything. Fuck, I hate those fags. I'd just as soon beat the crap
out of them and take the money. But I got in trouble once for doing that; I
busted this one queer's nose and I spent, like, a month in juvenile. And
juvenile sucks shit. It's just like prison for big boys, you know? Guys raping
other guys or stickin' each other. Course, I can protect myself and all."
"I'm sure," murmured Tina.
"But still. So these days I keep my hands to myself, as it were." He laughed
at his own joke. "And it's pretty rare. But, like, in a night? Fuck, I can make
a hundred and fifty bucks."
A hundred and fifty bucks? There was a pregnant silence as Jesse sucked at
his beer again. That meant...
Five times. This kid could jerk off five times in a night.
Fucking Christ.
"And do you think you'll be... masturbating... to help you get through this
financial crisis?"
"Sure."
"All right," said Tina shakily. "So. What I'm getting at is this. Myron, we
need to pay him some kind of recompense."
"Huh?!"
"Well, of course we do. You don't want this poor boy to have to sell drugs
and debase himself with all those nasty faggots, do you?"
"No, but--"
"All right then. Two eighty a week from Le Bernardin... plus, um, jack-off
money -- one hundred and fifty dollars a night, seven nights a week, comes to--"
"Now, darling," I protested.
Jesse lifted his eyebrows.
"What, you think I can't do the park thing seven nights a week?"
I laughed harshly.
"Frankly, young man, I don't--"
"Fuck yeah, I can! You don't believe me?" He gave me a stupidly pugnacious,
aggressive look. But I'd had enough of this foul-mouthed talk. Enough! Enough
about his cock, and how many times he could cum in a night! And enough with the
language, for crying out loud! My wife was not a "bitch." Well, sometimes she
was; but she was not "tight." Well... in any case this had all gone far enough.
The kid was crazy. He needed help.
"Look, Jesse, I--"
"You want me to prove it to you?" He sucked down the rest of his beer,
crushed the can, tossed it, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'll do
it right now. I'll pull it out and jerk off five times in a row right here!"
The statement was so wildly improbable I couldn't believe he had said it; I
could only gape at the big bastard in shock as he reared up, treating myself and
my wife to an eye-level view of the big, heavy mound in his swimsuit. He
actually puffed his chest out, as if he were one of those ridiculous animals,
like a turkey tom or a peacock, that tries to prove its reproductive worthiness
with a display of feathers. Tina was wide-eyed; we were both speechless.
And believe it or not, the crazy, drug-dealing son-of-a-bitch started tugging
on the cord of his overburdened Speedo.
I gripped the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles turned white. Little spots
danced in front of my eyes. An incoherent growling sound came out of my mouth.
He saw the look on my face. He knew I was about to lose it.
And he laughed at me.
"Relax, dude." He sat back down, opened a third can of beer. "I was just
joking. You think I'm gonna haul my cock out and start beating off in front of
your wife, with you standing right there? You're fuckin' nuts."
My mouth twitched a couple of times; I had a sudden nervous tic under my eye,
too, fluttering wildly. Someone needed to call 911 and get this sick hooligan
out of my house. But first I was going to give this sneering, trash-talking punk
a piece of my mind. I got to my feet.
"That's IT!" I shouted, slamming my fist onto the table. "This has gone far
enough. Jesse, you--"
"Thirteen thirty," Tina announced triumphantly.
It was as if she had clapped her dainty, well-manicured hand over my mouth.
Thirteen thirty? What the fuck was she talking about? And how dare she interrupt
me?! I had completely lost my train of thought.
"We owe him one thousand three hundred and thirty dollars a week."
"Now that's--"
"You thought I was serious," laughed Jesse.
"What--?"
"Jerk off in front of you guys!" He laughed louder. "Totally fuckin' crazy."
"Young man--"
"Darling? Make him out a check, would you?"
"Look--"
"Now of course you could pay me for it," Jesse said.
"For--?"
"Jerking my cock. You could pay me thirty bucks and I'd do it."
"Stop--"
"The checkbook is upstairs, I think, darling."
"But--"
"Special two-for-one double-dip deal. Thirty for both of you."
"No--"
"Plus I'll throw in a facial for Tina, there. Whoa! Just jokin', dude!"
"You--"
"It comes to five thousand three hundred and twenty a month."
"STOP!!!"
They stopped.
Silence. Thank heavens for the silence. I was panting by this time, pouring
sweat, completely disoriented. All I knew was that things had gone very, very
wrong. Jesse was the cause. And so Jesse -- this oversexed, vulgar, mentally
imbalanced little heathen -- was going to have to leave. Now.
"You. You," I croaked, pointing at Jesse. I was so distraught the words felt
strange to my tongue, alien. "You go. You go. Now."
"What about my fucking money?"
"No. No money. You go!"
And with that I staggered inside. I was feeling suddenly sick. Very sick. I
upset the pina colada pitcher in my unsteady haste, heard it shatter on the
floor behind me, crashed through the main hall, up the stairs... and made it to
the master bathroom just in time to puke my guts out, again and again, until my
belly ached.
Afterwards I stayed there, shivering violently, resting my head on the toilet
rim. What had they been doing to me out there? The non-stop remarks from both
sides at once, so that I was kept spinning this way and that... out of
control... unable to respond... Like that children's game, what the fuck was it
called - monkey in the middle? I remembered it from grade school days: two kids
with a ball, tossing it back and forth, back and forth over the head of the
"monkey" who jumps up and down trying to get it from them...
Or like fending off a pack of wild dogs. I remembered suddenly a National
Geographic special I'd seen about wild dogs of the Kalahari. How they'd surround
an animal, nipping and barking at it from all sides. The animal would turn to
fend off one, only to feel another dog's teeth sink into its heel... Until it
was exhausted and sank clumsily to the ground...
And the dogs moved in for the kill.
My gorge rose again. I dry-heaved into the basin, then fainted.
A New Boarder
It's going to sound ridiculous, but within four hours Jesse had moved in with
us.
I know, I know. Didn't Myron Lipshitz call for silence, and get it? And did
he not order Jesse to vacate the premises at once?
Well, yes. I did those things. But you married men will understand when I say
that, with a wife in the picture, your authority doesn't count for much. A man's
home is his castle, and I suppose my home was more like a castle than most; but
this castle had a queen, and Queen Tina had a mind of her own.
She found me huddled in the fetal position on the bathroom tiles, still
shivering.
"Darling? I'm not letting Jesse leave this house until you agree to pay him a
weekly allowance."
"...no... I can't..."
"Then you leave me with no alternative." She folded her arms and looked down
at me coldly. "He's staying here until he can get back on his feet."
It was a clever trap; I hadn't seen it coming. I shook my head, I tried to
argue with her; but she ignored me and listed all the reasons I owed it to him -
not only had I cost him his job, but my financial status obligated me to take
care of those unable to fend for themselves. The house was too big for only two
people. He could be handy around the place. The list went on and on.
"...he's fucking crazy," I moaned. "Drugs... jail... kid needs professional
help. Group home or something... Tina, I think I'm sick..."
"Now, Myron. A sensitive kid like Jesse would languish in an impersonal
environment like that of a group home. He needs tender loving care. He needs to
be nursed back to wholeness in a stable home."
"...oh, God... I feel like shit... Pay him, then. You win, okay? You win...
Pay him the money --"
"No."
I goggled at her, still shivering.
"No, darling. You're exactly right, now that I think of it; he needs help.
God only knows what he'd do with the money. The poor thing would just get
himself into trouble."
"...please... help me up--"
"Don't." She raised her hand. "Don't you dare. Don't you try to guilt-trip
me, Myron Lipshitz." She practically spat my name out, staring down at me with a
look of barely suppressed rage. And despite my gastrointestinal upset I was
dazzled. She was so forceful, so... so compelling. And, I was coming to realize,
so incredibly fucking beautiful when she was angry.
"You can lie there and whine about being sick all you want. Go ahead and be
sick, Myron. In your fancy little bathroom, in your multi-million dollar
mansion. It's always about Myron, isn't it?" she hissed. "It's always 'Tina do
this' and 'Tina do that.' Whining, complaining, like a spoiled little brat, and
when you don't get your way you sulk or pretend to be ill. Just like a child, I
swear to God!"
Her green eyes were ablaze, her cheeks flushed pink with passion. I could
only watch fearfully from my prone position on the floor at her feet.
"Well, no more. You're going to start treating me with respect, Myron, or
this relationship is over, do you understand? A real man knows how to
compromise. How to give a little. Are you a real man, Myron? Huh?" She crouched
on the floor beside me. "Don't just lie there. Answer me. Are you man enough to
make this relationship work?"
All the energy left me. I let my head drop against the tiles with a painful
clunk and stared at her shoes. Yes, I thought, it was true. I was a whiner. A
spoiled brat.
And I found myself weeping.
I couldn't stop. I'd had no time whatsoever to process the lightning-quick
changes that had occurred in my life over the last twenty-four hours, and it
felt like my world was falling apart, and I cried and cried.
"Hush, darling. There, there. You don't need to cry. Mama's here."
I sobbed harder.
"Okay. Mmmm. Stop it, now."
The tears kept coming.
"That's enough, Myron!"
With an effort I fought back the convulsive sobbing.
"T-t-tina? I just... I just can't handle all this."
"Mm."
"If he stays... Could it just be for a little while?"
I was rewarded with a smile. Good! I had won back her affections. The smile
grew, spreading wider, and her eyes positively glowed. She got back to her feet,
looking down at me and grinning like the Cheshire cat.
It was a smile of victory.
Barbarian Invasion
I spent the rest of the day in bed. Tina would have brought me "some pepto
bismol or ginger ale or whatever," she explained, but she felt that getting
Jesse moved in as soon as possible was a priority for now. And, of course, I
understood. He might be crazy, I told myself. He might be a foul-mouthed,
vulgar, even dangerous teenager. But he needed our help. I'd been a pig, a
shameless pig, for reading some kind of sexual interest into Tina's relationship
with him. Thank God she'd given me that little talk! She was going to teach me
about caring. About giving.
I had a lot to learn.
And, after all, the sooner our young friend got better, the sooner he'd be
able to move back into his own apartment. I decided then and there that I was
going to help him to "wholeness," as Tina had put it so eloquently. I would be
there for him, talk to him. Hang out with him. Of course, that meant I'd have to
get used to his coarse speech; that I'd have to be willing to overlook his
overheated sexuality, and not undermine my ability to help him by getting into
some useless jealousy game. Sure, he was a gorgeous young stud. And, yes, he had
a certain vitality that I lacked. But Myron Lipshitz was learning about being a
real man, about the power of compromise. And Myron Lipshitz was going to
compromise in every way possible.
By seven o'clock I felt well enough to wobble downstairs. I found them in the
living room, curled up on the sofa together. Tina looked slightly guilty when I
walked in; perhaps she felt badly for not having given me much attention while I
lay upstairs in bed. Oh, sweet Tina! She had nothing to feel bad about; I was
the one who needed to make amends.
"Jesse," I announced, "I feel that I owe you an apology."
Tina sat up and watched me, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Jesse looked
dumbfounded for a second, then settled back in his chair, an insolent grin on
his face, waiting.
"I guess I've been making a real fool of myself," I admitted. Tina raised her
eyebrows. "First with my silly little outburst at the restaurant last night. And
then again, today, by the side of the pool. Well, I want you to know that I'm
man enough to admit when... Um..." It seemed important to me to communicate with
him on his level. I racked my brains for the right word. "When I've acted like
a... a `fucking dipshit?' Is that..."
He laughed, shaking his head in amazement.
"Sure, dude. A dipshit. Wow."
"Is that your assessment?"
"Yeah, that's my assessment. Or, like, a prissy little fag."
"Right," I chuckled, nodding. "Right. A prissy little fag. Well, I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Jesus Christ... Well, don't sweat it, Mr. Lipshitz. Apology accepted,
and all that crap."
I swelled with pride. "Call me Myron."
His things were already in the guest room. James, the butler, had driven
Jesse back and forth across the city a few times to get them and looked somewhat
shaken by the experience. I laughed ruefully to myself. How well I knew what
he'd gone through with this poor, fucked-up kid! Juanita, the cook, had prepared
a feast for us at Tina's bidding: Cornish hen, scalloped potatoes, a salad of
wild greens... I was unable to eat much but I watched with satisfaction as Jesse
wolfed down his food.
"By the way, Myron," Tina said, "I've given most of the staff the next three
weeks off, Juanita included. I think it will help Jesse feel more at home here
if we act as a family, cooking for each other, doing the dishes, making the
beds, and so on."
"Of course, dear!"
Jesse belched and tossed down rest of his third beer. He and Tina had
finished their food, so I volunteered to bring the plates to the sink. The look
of satisfaction in my sweet Tina's eyes was reward enough, let me tell you; and
I was treated to more of the same when I began washing them.
Our guest swaggered into the living room to watch TV, and Tina hurried over
as I struggled to get the dishes clean.
"Myron, this is great," she whispered. "He was telling me some things about
his family. What a bunch of animals! His father especially. Just a terribly
abusive man. Apparently the guy never did anything around the house, just sat
around drinking and bossing Jesse's mother around, and beating her and Jesse
when he was mad... I think it's going to be an incredible healing experience for
him to see you take on a more feminine role."
She kissed me on the cheek.
"I'm very proud of you, darling."
I was practically floating as she walked off to join him.
James, the last of the remaining staff, came into the kitchen with his
suitcase to say goodbye. Actually he wished me luck. He looked uneasy, but I
just chuckled and reassured him that I had everything under control.
Over the next week or so we slowly adjusted to this new way of life. It
wasn't easy, let me tell you. In fact, there were times when I thought I'd go
crazy. First of all, the kid had the manners of a Viking on a raid. He was
constantly making inappropriate jokes about sex; he was cheerfully racist; and
he tended to treat me with a familiarity bordering on contempt.
He was also incredibly messy. It seemed like I was always picking up crushed
beer cans, dirty socks, and plates and cups and bowls (he had an unbelievable
appetite). And of course all along I was working harder than I had ever worked
in my life. I learned how to cook, how to do the laundry, how to vacuum and dust
and make beds and mop floors... Sometimes I fell to my knees, exhausted, and
rested my head on the refrigerator to cool down a little. All for his sake,
which he didn't seem to understand.
But then my precious Tina would give me a little smile, and my heart would
skip a beat, and I knew I could handle it. Anything for Tina.
Tina... That was the hardest part, I think. Jesse was obviously interested in
her. He stared openly at her tits and ass, and commented frequently about how
"hot" she was. He was vain, too; strutting around in his Speedo or biking shorts
or boxers like an ad for some exercise machine, flexing his incredible body,
and, most offensively, spreading his legs for her to brandish his unbelievable
bulging manhood at every opportunity. And I couldn't help but notice that she
was looking.
"Well, of course I'm looking," she explained patiently one night. "I mean,
darling, he's trying to get my attention. He wants my approval."
"But--"
"And I think he needs that approval, Myron. He's a high-school drop-out with
a criminal record. Right now, the only thing he's got going for him is that...
that incredible, hard young body of his. And I think it's my responsibility to
admire his body, if it makes him feel better about himself."
"But..." I took a deep breath. "But it makes me feel..."
She laughed. "Myron Lipshitz! Are you jealous?"
We talked about it for a while, and though she insisted that I was imagining
things, that I had "serious trust issues," she had to acknowledge that, right or
not, it drove me crazy. So she suggested that I take a break when being around
Jesse brought up feelings of "inadequacy," as she put it.
I didn't like it, I'll tell you that. I couldn't tell what was worse -
watching Jesse take every opportunity to display his overdeveloped body for my
admiring wife, or retreating to the bedroom, where my imagination ran wild with
thoughts of the two of them grappling on the living room floor like animals.
More often than not, I chose to take a break. It felt safer.
There were times, though, and they were coming with increasing frequency,
when I felt a real sense of serenity about the two of them.
I'd be wiping off sticky puddles of stale beer from the poolside table, and
the two of them would stroll outside, dressed in their skimpy swimsuits, ready
for a cooling plunge. She'd come up to me and put her hand on my shoulder.
"Can you handle it, sweetheart?" she'd whisper, with a look of tender
concern.
And at those times I would smile and nod. "Go ahead," I'd tell her. "Just
forget about me."
And the sight of my supple, slippery wife wrestling in the water with this
stud in permanent rut, or of their glistening, practically naked bodies curled
up together on the big family-sized inflatable raft, made me feel oddly
satisfied. Yes, I could handle it. I was a real man, and a real man could handle
this with ease.
Of course, a real man wouldn't spend hours lying next to his wife without
once getting even the semblance of a hard-on.
Yes, my miniscule "manhood" was as incapable of achieving and maintaining an
erection as ever. To be perfectly fair, at the end of a long day I was generally
too tired to think about sex anyway. I was so exhausted by the time I crawled
into bed that I could scarcely move, but Tina seemed to be enjoying my tongue
more than ever. Moments after my head hit the pillow she would pound her firm,
round rear on my face. I submitted to her desires readily enough; frenching her
ass made me feel like I had something to give her that most real men would have
been repulsed by.
And it turned her on more than ever. Her pussy was just gushing, every time.
Thick, white, and creamy.
The All-Star Workout
Jesse was a work-out fiend. His body seemed to burn calories like a furnace,
which meant not only that he was always eating, but that he was in motion all
the time, constantly looking for some way to relieve his boundless energy.
A few years ago I'd had a gym installed in the basement. It was essentially a
rec room, complete with a bar and kitchenette, a sportsbar TV screen with a
video projector, a pool table, and the like. Of course, I never used the gym
equipment myself; it was there for me, though, whenever I felt ready to use it.
But he put it to work right away. He was down there often, bench-pressing a
couple hundred pounds at a time, working the cables and pulleys and flex-bars of
the machines like they were children's toys, his muscles jumping and sliding
together effortlessly under his fair skin. Tina often accompanied him downstairs
to watch, or keep count, and I'd follow along, watching discreetly from the
kitchenette as I fixed him and Tina lunch, or running upstairs to get a pitcher
of lemonade and some glasses when he was done.
One day Jesse told me to give the machines a try. I had to indulge him, of
course; Tina wouldn't have had it any other way. But they were set for him, not
for me, and the machines might as well have been solid steel; I couldn't budge
any of them, and wound up panting, red in the face, as Tina and Jesse laughed
openly at my efforts. After catching my breath I laughed sheepishly with them.
"What a fuckin' wimp!" he chuckled.
I nodded, grinning ruefully.
"Really, Myron," my wife chimed in, grinning, "you need to shape up."
Thus was born the most difficult part of his stay with us to date:
Wrestling Night.
As a kid Jesse and his friends had been big fans of televised championship
wrestling. I'd never been particularly interested in the sight of those big apes
hurling each other around the ring, but Jesse had been an avid student of this
"art;" he'd subscribed to several magazines, which, along with a few biographies
of men with names like The Undertaker and Sir Smackdown, had comprised the whole
of his reading experience; and he had worked out the various moves with his
friends long before any of them had seen the inside of a gym. They'd gather in
an empty lot, or in the living room of one of their houses, and stomp, choke,
strongarm, and otherwise mangle one another for hours.
He wanted to introduce me to the same regimen. He was quite excited about it,
really. I was a little apprehensive, of course; I mean, I was the classic
ninety-pound weakling, and what chance did I have against a superb young jock
like Jesse? But Tina backed him up. It wasn't about winning, she told me; it was
about getting in shape.
And privately, she reminded me that I needed to help give Jesse a sense of
empowerment.
"This is his idea," she insisted. "And we're going to honor and respect his
ideas, however silly they might sound to you."
And so, night after night, I'd set out the mats, and he'd proceed to teach
me, with Tina as our audience.
It was hell. I felt, quite literally, like a ball of putty in his hands. It
didn't help any that Tina was cheerleading him from the sidelines, hollering her
approval as he put me in yet another headlock, crushed my face to the floor, or
wrenched my legs behind my head. Night after night I staggered after him to the
rec room, still sore from the previous night's exertions, and struggled futilely
as he demonstrated the banana split, the guillotine, the leg whip, the torture
rack, and the atomic drop. Each session ended when I was forced to beg for
mercy.
He took a real delight in these little work-outs of ours, and so did Tina.
And on a certain level, of course, so did I. It was good to see him enjoying
himself; every time I did something to please him I knew I was pleasing Tina, as
well. And it was oddly satisfying to give in to him, as much as my body might be
screaming soundlessly with the pain of a new hold. He must have been developing
a kind of affection for me, I reasoned after these sessions, or he wouldn't
press himself against me like that, bearing down on my crumpled body with his
warm, sweating thighs and torso...
Crushing my ribcage with his powerful arms...
Straddling my shoulders as I scrabbled ineffectually at the floor with my
spindly arms, and gasped as that tremendous mound between his legs pressed into
the back of my neck...
And at the end I'd limp painfully upstairs to soak in the tub, shivering
violently with some strange emotion I couldn't name.
The Walls Come A-tumblin' Down
Jesse had been our guest for two weeks when the shit hit the fan.
It was two nights before my 33rd birthday, and I guess I was feeling more
sensitive than I usually would have. They were finishing the creme brulee I had
labored over, whispering and giggling together like a couple of kids as I
sweated over the pots and pans. Creme brulee is a simple custard; it contains
only three ingredients - heavy cream, egg yolks, and powdered sugar. But it's a
labor of love and has to be prepared the night before so that it can cool in the
refrigerator. A little acknowledgment would have been nice. Still, I tried hard
to keep my feelings of annoyance at bay as I scrubbed the remains of the trout
almondine from the baking pan. It was all-important to keep him happy.
"Hey, fuckface!"
I stiffened. Really, this name-calling was not necessary. Not at all.
"Heads up!"
And I turned just in time to see a generous handful of custard hurtling
through the air toward me.
After hours slaving away in the kitchen, preparing coq au vin and crab a la
russe, Caesar salad, potatoes au gratin, and mushroom soup, I didn't have the
reflexes needed to duck; the best I could manage was a look of comical
stupefaction in the split second before the sticky, creamy stuff burst across my
nose and cheeks.
Impossible.
It trickled down to drip from my chin. I stood there, stock-still, eyes
closed, mouth open in mute shock, with hunks of creme brulee dropping onto my
shoes. Slowly, unable even to draw a breath, I opened my eyes.
Tina was whooping with laughter, and Jesse was practically crying, he was
laughing so hard.
With an effort my wife mastered her mirth. "You..." whimpered Tina, pointing
at me, "you..." Then she exploded with laughter again, leaning against Jesse for
support.
Putting her hands on that big, firm chest.
He had gotten over the worst of it by now. Wiping his eyes, still shaking a
little, he draped one big, solid arm over my wife's shoulders and smiled at me
-- a golden, mocking smile. She snuggled into him, biting her lower lip, eyes
shining, trying not to laugh at the sight of her husband standing there with a
pale mask of creamy custard decorating his face.
My mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out; the outrage, the effrontery
was too great. I had been rendered utterly speechless.
But for the first time in weeks, I, Myron Lipshitz, was angry.
"Oh, man, that was great," said Jesse. And he pulled my wife a little closer
to him. "What a blast! I fuckin' LOVE it here, dude! I mean, where the fuck else
am I gonna find someone like you? It's like having a maid, a cook, and a fuckin'
clown, all wrapped up in one. With a mansion and a pool, no less. And a wife..."
He turned to her. To my wife.
And he stroked her cheek.
I opened my mouth again. Still, no sound came out. The grinning, jeering
little bastard had just creamed me with a dripping handful of the dessert I had
spent hours preparing. He had referred to me, his host, as "fuckface." In my
house. Mine! And now...
"Fuckin'-A, dude!" he exclaimed reverently, staring at her. "You've got a
wife like a Hustler centerfold. Peaches `n cream... God DAMN!"
"Oh, Jesse," she chided teasingly. And she snuggled a little closer, still
watching me. There was something else in her eyes now, too, not just amusement
at her poor slob of a husband, but something deeper. Darker. The look in her
eyes was like a challenge, a dare.
And while my blood pounded ever more loudly in my ears, while my hands began
to tremble, Jesse kept his mouth running.
"Yeah, baby, you look good enough to eat, you know that? Huh?" He sniffed
her. He actually sniffed at her, like some kind of animal. "I can smell it." He
grinned broadly. "I can smell you, baby. Mmmm."
She smiled coyly at me. An odd little choking noise pushed itself past my
clenched teeth.
"Myron?" she purred. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"
"Hell, yeah, he will," Jesse crowed. "He's not gonna do a thing. He likes it.
He's all about hospitality and shit. Hey, fuckface," he sneered, "whaddaya say?
When you finish wiping your face off, maybe you can go upstairs and get the bed
ready."
My left eyelid fluttered rapidly. I clenched my teeth and felt the beginnings
of a word, at last.
"...gng..."
"Yeah. And that maybe while I'm fucking your wife, you can bring me a beer--"
"Get."
It was my voice. High-pitched, strangled, but mine.
He lifted his eyebrows. "Huh?" he said. "What? Did you say something to me,
fuckface?"
"Out."
The good humor left his face entirely.
I raised a trembling hand to my dripping face and wiped off what I could.
Myron Lipshitz had just come up with a complete sentence; one that expressed
very neatly his most immediate desires. This was good. Now, to try and convey a
little more.
"I," I said hoarsely.
It sounded good, and I decided to repeat it for good measure.
"I. I am not." I took a deep, shuddering breath and released it. "Not. A
maid."
"Ooooh," he said in a voice of mock admiration. "Little bitchy-poo is
standing up for himself all of a sudden. Gettin' uppity--"
"Not," I went on in a trembling voice, and took a step forward, my hands
working convulsively at my sides. "Not. A clown."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Not," I continued, "a clown--"
Lightning quick, his hand had dipped into the bowl of creme brulee and
whipped out another handful; and for the second time, custard exploded across my
face.
There was no laughter this time. Tina gasped, but not with anger or shock; it
was more a kind of gleeful apprehension. She was looking at me expectantly.
"Not a clown, huh?" he snickered.
My head twitched once. Twice. Another dollop of thick custardy goo splapped
onto the floor from my chin.
Then I turned and walked unsteadily to the phone, and called 911.
"Who ya callin', fuckface?"
I licked the creme brulee from my lips. Quite tasty, really. An unearthly
calm had come over me. The dispatcher answered after the second ring.
"Yes," I said in a very quiet tone of voice. "It's an emergency."
Pause.
"There's an intruder in my house. He's dangerous."
Pause.
"Yes. Right away. Please."
I hung up the phone and turned around. They were both staring at me. That's
it, I thought, stare at me.
"You didn't think I could do it," I whispered. "You didn't think I could do
it. But I did it." I laughed, a slightly manic laugh, but full, also, of relief.
"It's over!" I shouted happily, cream dripping from my nose. "It's all over! The
cops are coming. And I don't have to listen any more. No more comments about my
WIFE!" I glared at him and pointed a shaking finger in his direction, and
suddenly I was full of a righteous fervor, an energy I hadn't thought I
possessed. "There are no bitches here. No fuckfaces. No centerfolds. And soon,"
I hissed, "here will be no... more... JESSE!!"
Then Jesse smiled again and stood up.
"That," he said, "was a fucking stupid thing to do, bitch."
I faltered. He was clearly unimpressed; in fact, he looked more utterly sure
of himself than ever. But didn't he understand?! Didn't he know when he was
beaten? I had won! I had won-
"Myron!" snapped Tina. "Call them back. Now!"
"N-n-no--"
"You," he said conversationally, and he began to walk toward me, "just fucked
yourself. You know that?"
The look of triumph left my face abruptly. I don't know what I'd thought he
would do; run into his room and lock the door, perhaps, or realize how badly
he'd messed up and begin crying, or run away into the night. I mean, it's what I
would have done. But Jesse was out of his mind; I'd forgotten that; and he was
clearly not going to do any of those things.
And suddenly the gentle smile on his face was the most terrifying thing I'd
ever seen.
I backed up, trembling like a leaf, until I felt the kitchen wall. And still
he kept coming. Tina. I could see Tina still on the couch, an unreadable look in
her eyes.
"Tina!" I quavered. "Tina, help...? Please. Tell... Tell him that..."
"Shut up," he said casually.
He was standing next to me now. And my knees buckled. They simply folded
underneath me, and I sank down, terrified. Jesse was no boy, no average
seventeen-year-old. He towered over me, his face working terribly, big and
powerful and quite completely insane. His crotch was about four inches from my
dripping face, impossibly large. I pressed myself against the wall; I'd felt his
incredible power too many times now, been squashed against the wrestling mat
like a wriggling bug too many evenings to think I had a chance against him.
He wrapped his big, meaty fingers around my shirtfront and hauled me to my
feet, and then up, into the air, until we were nose to nose. I was finding it
difficult to breathe, and suddenly I felt a warmth flowing down the front of my
pants. Christ, I'd pissed myself! I closed my eyes in mortification.
Then I heard them.
Sirens.
I opened my eyes. He smiled even more broadly, then dropped me; I landed in a
puddle of my own urine and cowered there at his feet.
And when I looked up he was gone.
The Reckoning
One officer took notes while the other two walked around the house, inside
and out, to make sure Jesse had really left. I described him as best I could,
told them about the drug dealing in his past and the recent intimidation in my
own house... Tina was looking coldly at me the entire time, and when the officer
tried to question her she maintained an absolute stony silence.
It hurt. It really did. After all that had happened, couldn't she see how
fucked up the kid was? Was she so blinded by her altruistic impulses that she
couldn't recognize a psychopath when she saw one?
I had to turn to the officer for support, asking him for sympathy ("And then
he threw a handful of custard in my face! Is that fucked up, or what?!") while
she stared a hole through me. The officer was a professional, of course, not
about to get emotionally engaged in a domestic situation; he remained totally
noncommittal, and I was left feeling lonelier than ever.
Tina wouldn't answer any questions. In fact she didn't say one word the
entire time they were there, and I had to excuse her, saying that the trauma had
left her speechless.
When they left, she climbed the stairs, and I followed.
It all broke apart in the bedroom.
"Listen, sweetheart," I pleaded. "You saw how he was. He was out of control.
I mean, the sexual stuff... and him grabbing me like that..." I trembled,
remembering, and pulled off my wet pants. They stank. But I didn't intend to do
another load of laundry ever again, if I could help it. Tomorrow I'd call Maria
back, and James, and all the others. I peeled off my underwear, too.
"Listen, darling, I... We'll get everything back to normal in a few days.
I'll... I'm going to change. I mean it," I insisted. "I'm going to try hard to
be the man you want me to be. I love you, angel. Cupcake? I love you so much,
and I'm... I think the sexual, you know... Our sexual relationship has obviously
not been, uh, the best it could be, and... I'm going to change that, though. I
really am. I'm going to work really hard on all my... my little problems. And I
think it will be easier now."
She ignored me, instead looking pensively out the window.
"Look, it's going to be better without him." I peeled off my shirt, too,
which was stained with the creme brulee he had spattered my face with, and
walked over to her. "I mean, Jesus Christ, Tina, I know what you think - you
think he's just looking for positive attention or something. But he's out of
control--"
Her eyes flashed at that.
"Myron," she said quietly, "shut up."
"But--"
"I said shut UP!" she spat. "As in shut the FUCK up!" She advanced on me,
rage in her eyes, and for the second time that evening I found myself backing
away from someone. I had never seen her quite like this. Angry, yes. Scornful.
Mocking. But not like this. So utterly pitiless. The look in her eyes...
"You," she sneered. "The big tough guy. In your piss-soaked pants."
I flushed.
"Now, wait a minute--"
"You think you're some kind of big man? Calling the police like a little
baby? And all because you can't handle a little joke."
"Joke?! But--"
"That's your breaking point? A little custard? Oh, my God, Myron. How
pathetic. I though you were a man," she hissed. And she jabbed her finger in my
chest, hard. I sat down with a pained little whuff! on the bed. "I thought you
knew how to handle yourself," she went on, "but I guess I was wrong. A real man
would have known what to do."
"A real man, huh?" I was breathing hard now. I was not going to let this go
without a fight. "A real man? Tell me, Tina. Tell me what a real man would have
done."
The hectoring little bitch.
"Yes," she snapped, "a real man! A real man would have wiped his face off and
finished washing the dishes--"
"-and gone upstairs and made the bed?" I suggested loudly. "Isn't that what
he said?" I got to my feet again. My head was spinning. "Go upstairs and make
the fucking bed, right? And then I could bring him a beer, right?"
She gave me a cold little smile, and it drove me up the wall.
"Right?!" I shouted. "Right, god damn it?! Bring him a beer while he
f-f-f..." I couldn't bring myself to say it. I tried again. "While he f-f-f--"
She leaned close, the same cold smile on her face as before, and put her lips
to my ear.
"While he fucks me, Myron?"
I jerked at the words. Tina leaned back, a richly satisfied smile on her
gorgeous young face.
"Is that what you're trying to say?" she asked sweetly. "While he fucks me?"
My wife laughed, then. Tina laughed, a bright, tinkling little laugh. "Why's
that so hard for you to say, Myron? It's just a few simple words...
"...you stuttering dipshit."
The last words cracked out at me like the lash of a whip. I was stunned.
"Just a few simple words. Jesse... fucks... Tina. Is that the problem? Three
words? Is poor little Myron jealous? Hm? Poor little Myron with his poor little
pee-pee?"
I gritted my teeth. She could not be doing this. She was angry, that was all,
and it would pass, and then we could work it out. I would not get angry at her.
I would not lose my shit. I would not -
She stood up tall, then. And as I watched, my wife pulled her shirt over her
head. She was braless underneath, and her delightful breasts danced teasingly as
she struck a "depraved schoolgirl" sort of pose.
I moaned.
"Mmmm," she purred. "Poor Myron. His little wee-wee is so tiny. Even when he
sees a sexy bitch standing in front of him, he can't get a little hard-on."
"No," I whispered.
"Oh, yes," she cooed. She cupped them in her hands and offered them to me.
"Suck them, Myron. Suck my tits. Please. Let's see if we can make you hard.
Let's see if we can make you stiff." With a wicked smile Tina squeezed them
together so that the mouth-watering nipples jutted out, like fat, pink candies.
I clapped my hands to my crotch, where, of course, as she knew perfectly well,
Myron's "little wee-wee" was about as stiff as a mouthful of lard.
I was deeply, desperately ashamed...
...and utterly furious.
"No," I whispered again. I could feel the blood draining from my still-gooey
face as I struggled to keep a rein on my emotions.
"Why?" She fluttered her eyelashes at me, feigning confusion. "Can't you even
get a little itty-bitty erection? No?" She leaned close again, grinning evilly.
"Not even some ass? Hm? No? Not even some of Tina's ass, you pathetic little
shitfaced ass-licker? Hm? Oh, well."
I shivered.
"T-t-tina--"
"Oh!" she cried out, as if an idea had struck her. "I know! I bet I know
someone who can get a hard-on for little Tina." She laughed happily. "I know
just the person. A big, sweet, gorgeous young thing, just seventeen but - mmmmm!
-- what a hunk, what a big, hard hunk! I bet he could do it. Don't you think so,
ass-breath? Don't you think, if I let him suck my nipples, he'd get a big
fucking hard-on? Huh?" Her voice was rising. "Huh? Huh, you pathetic little
fuck? Don't you think his big fucking cock would just about pop? ...Oh. Oh,
yeah." Now she put on a sad face. "Oh, that's right. He would, I'm sure, but
he's gone. Because Myron..."
"...tina..."
"Poor little limp-dicked, piss-pants Myron..."
I was shaking, wild-eyed.
"...stop..."
"...is just a whining, sniveling--"
I slapped her.
She stopped in shock. I, too, just stood there, staring in disbelief, my hand
stinging gently. Slowly a red handprint appeared on her fine china-white skin.
What the hell had I done?
I stood there, naked, cream drying on my face, and watched, like a statue, as
she slowly and expressionlessly turned away from me.
I watched her drag a traveling case out from the closet.
I watched as my wife filled it with a few things from her dresser. A pair of
underwear. A bra. A skirt. Stockings...
I stood there, my mind a blank, as she walked into the bathroom. I listened
as she flung bottles and brushes in after her clothes.
And I watched as my Tina, my angel, walked out the door.
I stood there for a long time after she'd left, watching.
Waiting.
And at some point I guess I crawled into bed. My emotional being was
completely and utterly exhausted; I don't remember feeling angry, or sad,
anymore. I was... nothing.
A Reprieve
I think I can safely say that the next day was the worst of my life. It
topped anything I'd felt back in the old days at Dinkendorff High School, even
the day Donny sold me the laxatives. I lay in bed, dead to the world, staring up
at the ceiling.
Quite the real man, Myron, I told myself calmly. Hitting women. Yes, that's
good, very good. I went over the events of the day before compulsively, moment
by moment, replaying them all in my mind, and thinking of all the many things I
could have done differently. I passed out a few times, and in my fevered
half-dreaming state I saw Tina back in bed with me, caressing me, as she had
done in our first months together. She was holding me, whispering to me.
My wife.
And then I'd wake up, and a cold, dead feeling at the pit of my stomach would
overpower me.
Leave it to Myron Lipshitz. Leave it to him to find a woman like Tina, a perfect
angel, who loved him despite all his shortcomings. A saintly woman, who wanted
to help the less fortunate. A woman who loved him enough to not simply overlook
his faults, but gently point them out to him, and show him the path to
improvement.
And then leave it to Myron Lipshitz to scream at her, and stomp around like a
big baby.
And slap her.
It was around ten at night when I heard footsteps on the stairs. No, I
thought to myself. Just another fevered hallucination. I rolled over and buried
my filthy face in the pillow.
The door opened, then. Someone was approaching. A hand touched me lightly. I
opened my eyes, and there, standing before me, a tender look of concern on her
perfect features, was Tina, my blonde angel.
"Darling?" she whispered.
"T-t-tina...?" I croaked at her.
"Oh, poor baby," she crooned.
She said nothing more; neither did I. There was nothing to be said, at the
moment. There was only a wounded couple who needed to be together, to hold one
another. And she cradled me as I sobbed, and wept, and moaned with relief; she
held me to her bosom, and caressed my thinning hair, and murmured wordlessly to
me.
My baby was back, and I would never, ever fuck up again.
Happy Birthday, Myron
I woke up in the morning to see her bustling around the room. I blinked
drowsily, and smiled at her. She smiled back as she got dressed.
"Where... where are you going?"
"Out." She grinned mischievously. "Don't worry, darling. I've got some
shopping to do. After all... Today's your birthday, right?"
I'd completely forgotten.
"Oh! Right..."
"And tonight... we're gonna party!"
She pranced over to me and kissed me on the top of the head, then stepped
back and gazed at me for a few seconds. The look in her eyes was one I hadn't
seen in a long time: that dark, anticipatory look she used to get before we made
love. For the first time in months I felt a shiver of desire, though my dick, of
course, remained completely insensible. And a split second later an image
flashed through my mind - of my penis, small and stubbornly wilted, as my wife
tried to tease it to hardness with her mouth and fingers... How the hell were we
going to grope our way back to a healthy sexual relationship, after the
nightmarish trauma we'd been through? But she caught the look of dread on my
face, and smiled.
"Don't worry, darling. I won't pressure you sexually, or anything. We have so
much healing to do, poor dear, and I know it's better not to rush these things.
But," she added, "I have a special evening planned, and I think, stiffie or no
stiffie, you'll find it pretty... stimulating."
I grinned back at her. Hell, yes! This was a little more like it! But-
"Tina, darling, there's something I should say." I took a deep breath. "I'm
sorry. I... You're like a goddess to me, and if I touch you I... I want it to be
a loving touch, not...not a..."
"A slap in the face?" She laughed, shaking her head. "Well, we'll see.
Perhaps you should save your apologies; you never know when it's going to be
Tina's turn to lose her temper." She grinned and swatted me gently on the side
of the head. Then she put on a serious face. "And of course you've been through
hell recently, darling. This whole unpleasant business... I've had a while to
think it over, you know? Jesse... Well, he's crazy. And I suppose, looking back
on it, that he really was interested in me sexually, the poor thing. It wasn't
nice of me to taunt you like that last night."
Tina shook her head solemnly; then she shrugged and gave me another one of
those darkly amused stares.
"Listen, wash that crap off your face before I get back, will you?"
She patted me on the head as she left.
I washed the dried custard from my face, lay back down in a daze, and at some
point slipped at last into a deep, untroubled sleep.
It was after dark when I awoke. The house felt still; I made my way
downstairs, still anxious after the blow-up of the night before. But, yes, she
was home; I could hear her bustling about in the rec room.
I opened the door.
"Tina?"
"Not yet," she called. "Stay put, you naughty boy, until Tina's ready for
you!"
I shut the door and waited in a state of nervous agitation. What the hell was
she planning down there? In about five more minutes she dashed up the stairs and
flung the door open, as eager as a twelve-year-old.
"Ready," she sang, and took me by the hand. "It's a surprise, now. You can't
see anything yet..."
And she covered my eyes with her warm little hand. I laughed uncertainly and
followed her down, a little unsteady, fearful of falling, but trusting in my
Tina to guide me well. And she did. We took the steps slowly, and when we
reached the bottom she pulled her hand away from my eyes.
The rec room had been hung with crepe paper everywhere. Across one wall was a
big banner reading "Happy Birthday, Myron" in big red letters, and underneath it
was a table laden with Tastee-Kreme pies.
"Happy birthday!" she squealed.
I was astonished, and then I felt a jumble of emotions crowding in my chest,
and a lump came to my throat.
"Oh, Tina..."
"It's coconut creme. Your favorite."
"Darling..."
"But before we do anything else, I want to play a little..." That mischievous
look crossed her face again. "...a little game with you."
She skipped excitedly over to the pool table and picked up a black velvet
bag, then skipped back, took my hand, and dragged me to the bathroom.
"Put these things on," she whispered huskily, and she pressed the bag into my
hands...
...and licked my left earlobe.
At that precise moment, something wonderful happened: my penis twitched. It
was just one tentative, fearful twitch, like a rabbit sticking its head out of
the rabbit hole: is the fox really gone, or is it hiding behind that gorse bush?
But it was a sign of life, and something opened in my heart that had slammed
shut on that last night of our honeymoon so many months ago.
I took the bag from her with a foolish, happy smile on my face, and as I
turned to go in the bathroom she slapped my ass lightly. My little ding-dong
twitched again.
Yes...
Yes, the rabbit was out!
I closed the door behind me and tore my pants down. By God, it was actually
semi-hard! I touched it, scarcely believing my eyes, but it was true: my penis
was stiffening, slowly but surely stretching its tender little head past the
tangle of my pubes. I struggled as fast as I could out of my clothes and stood
in front of the mirror for a moment.
Myron Lipshitz, I told myself, you are a man.
Then, still grinning, I opened the bag and dumped it on the floor.
At first I couldn't make sense of what I saw. There were two high-heeled
shoes, deep red and so glossy I could see my face reflected in them. Sheer pink
lace stockings. A lacy little pink garter belt with garters to match. And an
impossibly small black bra.
Why, the kinky little...! I grinned even more broadly. She was a wild one,
all right! Well, Myron Lipshitz was man enough to wear a woman's underthings, if
that's what his hot little Tina wanted.
I worked on the stockings, then the belt and garters. It took time, and my hands
were trembling, but I got it after a few minutes. The shoes were easy, but I
certainly felt unsteady in them when I got to my feet: I had to grip the edges
of the sink and haul myself up.
Finally there was the bra. It looked as if it were designed for a chihuahua.
"Honey...?"
"Yes, Myron?"
"Um... this bra? It, uh--"
Her merry laughter rang brightly on the other side of the door. "Myron, you
idiot, it's not a bra. It's a blindfold!"
Oh. I smiled sheepishly, then turned to the mirror for one last look. It was
a little odd, to say the least. But she was a kinky little thing, and I was
going to do whatever it took to satisfy her lust this time. I put on the
blindfold and tottered out of the bathroom.
I can't possibly describe to you how exhilarating it was to emerge from the
bathroom blindfolded like this. I felt exposed, and yes, the exposure was tinged
with a hint of shame; but the shame added a little electric jolt of excitement
to the whole situation.
"Ooooh, Myron."
I followed the sound of her voice, my hands outstretched.
"Ooooh, Myron, you're so... so gorgeous like this. So... so manly."
My dick was so hard it hurt. I continued forward a few more feet, following
her cooing, purring voice, only to bark my shin against a table leg. I gripped
it, wincing.
"You have to be a real man to wear clothes like that and still look so... so
hunky, Myron."
I got back up.
"Stay right there, darling. Just stand there and let me look at you."
I heard an odd clicking sound. Her bra, no doubt. In my mind's eye I saw Tina
peeling away her bra, freeing those tasty little globes of teenaged titflesh...
I grabbed my cock in a spasm of lust.
"Oh, yes, Myron! Hold it!"
"I... I'm holding it, Tina!"
I heard another clicking sound. Her own garter belt, perhaps?
"Hold that big cock, darling."
My mouth was dry; I licked my lips several times, breathing harder.
"Yes, Tina... I'm... holding it. I... I'm holding my b-b-b-b... my big
c-c-cah.... m-m-my big COCK!"
"Oh, yes, Myron! Stroke it! Stroke your big, proud cock!"
Holy shit! I held it tighter between my thumb and forefinger and began to
masturbate for her.
"God damn it," I gurgled, "I'm stroking it! I'm... I'm stroking my big fat
COCK! And I... I'm gonna FUCK you with it!"
"Ooooh, yeah, Myron, baby, you're gonna do it!" She giggled, but I heard her
own shortness of breath, the sweet signal of her own sexual excitement. "You're
gonna fuck me so HARD!"
"Yeah!"
"You're gonna FUCK me, you big STUD!"
I was dripping sweat now, and panting hoarsely. Oh, man, was I going to fuck
her! I'd give her the fucking of a lifetime!
"I'm a big stud," I growled, "and I'm gonna fuck your tight, pink pussy with
my big, fat COCK! I'm..."
That's when I heard it. Unmistakable. I heard Tina giggling a little more...
...but I heard another sound, too.
The sound of muffled laughter.
Someone else's.
I froze, and the sounds stopped.
I tore off the blindfold.
My wife was standing right in front of me, a mischievous little grin on her
sweet young face as she watched me jerking off. She was stark naked, just as I
had imagined she would be, her high, firm titties jiggling a little as she began
giggling again.
And standing with his arm around her waist, dressed only in his biking
shorts, like a bodybuilding model, was Jesse.
PART THREE: SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST Myron in Cuckoo-Land Time seemed to stop. There was a roaring sound in my ears, and the blood drained from my face. Jesse and Tina looked as if they were enjoying the expression of frozen shock on my face more and more with every passing moment, and yet somehow I couldn't bring myself to move. I just stood there as if paralyzed, like a dog caught in the headlights of an onrushing Lincoln Continental, still clenching my little hard-on between thumb and forefinger. This couldn't be happening. I squeezed my eyes shut. No. No, there was no way this was happening. She wouldn't... she wouldn't do this to me... Against my will I opened my eyes. Yep - there they were. Tina bit her lower lip in excited anticipation and snuggled a little closer to Jesse, pressing her tits against his powerful torso, and he squeezed her hip in response. My mouth opened but no sound came from my slack lips for several seconds. Then it came -- a strangled, barely audible moan. This was funny to them, of course. This was what they had been waiting for. They burst out laughing. I sank slowly to my knees, finally releasing my rapidly shrinking hard-on, letting my arms hang limply at my sides, and moaned again. They were laughing. At me. And now I started to get it. It really was kind of funny, actually. Me, Myron Lipshitz, with my caved-in chest and my hunched, narrow shoulders... my sagging, hairy ass and skinny legs... dressed in high heels and stockings, pulling frantically on my miniscule little dingaling... That was me. The "big stud," yanking on his "big fat cock" while his wife and her lover watched. What a pathetic clown. Yes, it was really very funny. A broken smile spread across my pimply face, and I felt something welling up inside me, something strange and painful, yet comforting... A tortured laugh escaped my lips. This really broke them up; Jesse was practically in tears, he was laughing so hard, and Tina's musical giggling had become a helpless gasping at the sight of Myron Lipshitz, her husband, kneeling on the floor in front of her, slowly losing his mind. I nodded at them happily. Good, boys and girls! See the funny man? See the funny, ugly little man? Laugh at him, boys and girls! I laughed again. It was more of a giggle, really, a sort of gurgling giggle, and it felt good. Yes, as a matter fact, it was too fucking funny! I'd been strutting around, dressed like a whore, masturbating at my wife's command, debasing myself completely - Suddenly I was laughing in great hoarse winded gasps. I felt as if I were standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down into an awesomely deep, black chasm, ready to take the plunge... An almost exhilarating feeling of vertigo made me head spin. How easy it would be to simply step off. Yessirree, Mister Lipshitz, sir! Bags are packed! You're about to take a little trip, all expenses paid, to Cuckoo-Land! Crazy, funny Cuckoo-Land. And I knew that I could just let go, right now, and laugh like this all the way to the looney bin. I saw it happening, and with the last remaining shreds of sanity left I forced my teeth together. Even through my gritted teeth the laughter continued, but only for a few more seconds. I clapped my hands over my mouth, and it finally died away. I drew a deep shuddering breath while Jesse and Tina watched me, still chuckling together, and then I released it. Then, slowly, I began to crawl back onto my feet. It wasn't easy; my legs felt like rubber, and the damn heels were very difficult to find my balance in, anyway, but I did it, and then I covered my penis with my hands. It was time to go. I didn't know where, but I had to leave, get up to my room and change, and then get away from this house, far away. I couldn't think very clearly and had no real idea what would come next. But having even that much direction was critical. This place was evil. THEY were evil. Must... leave... I tottered unsteadily toward the door. "Where the fuck are YOU going?" It was Jesse. I didn't feel capable of human speech yet, and anyway, I didn't feel like talking. I kept on going. "Get back here, Myron." That was Tina. But... Get back here? Why... Why would she even want me to? Nothing was making sense. I stumbled once, then regained my footing and kept going. Almost there! "Hey. Hey, faggot." There was a touch of anger in his voice now. Oh, God... Oh, my God... Just ignore it, Myron... I heard him walking after me as I reached the door, and a chill of fear crawled up my spine. Sweating now, I reached for the knob and yanked the door open, anxious to get upstairs - -- and Jesse's fist pounded it shut again. I licked my lips, which were suddenly, horribly dry. Why? Why was this happening? Then I felt him move right up behind me until his body was touching mine... his big chest grazing my back... and his big, soft, Spandex-wrapped crotch pressing against my naked ass. I gasped. His mouth was right next to my ear, and when he spoke it was in a soft, sexy murmur, and his warm breath sent shivers up and down my spine: "I was talking to you. Faggot." Then his big hand clapped itself on my jaw, the fingers digging into my acne'd cheeks and puckering my lips out comically, and twisted my head around. I had my back to him, so I had to roll my terrified eyes around, much like a wildebeest does to look at the lion on its back. He was still smiling, like an angel. A beautiful, dangerous, crazy angel. "I gave you an order." The tears came. I whuffed and huffed convulsively, blew a snot bubble, hiccuped and made little barking sounds, as tears of fear streamed down my face. I was terrified now. They were psychopaths. Maybe they were going to kill me. Finally I found my voice, though it was hard to talk with my face balled up in his ham-sized fist like a Nerf ball. "P-p-p-pweashe... I... I j-j-jush wan' guhng-g-g--" "I gave you an order," he went on in a conversational tone of voice. "And you disobeyed it. You pathetic sack of shit. So now it's time for Jesse to teach Myron a lesson." A desperate, grotesque keening sound broke from my twisted mouth as a fresh hot wave of tears streaked down my face. I felt like screaming. What the hell was he doing? Why, oh, why couldn't they just let me go? What was the fucking POINT?! I had barely enough time to taste my own confused and fearful outrage before he jammed two fingers up my nostrils, hooked them, lifted his arm so that I was on my tiptoes, and began to lead me away from the door. The pain was excruciating. I began whimpering in agony, whining like a whipped dog, clawing at his big forearm. "Aaanghhhh... p-p-please..." He released me at last and I tottered back a step before falling flat on my ass, holding my throbbing nose. Then he stood next to my wife again. Tina had an amused smile on her pretty face. "Poor Myron," she purred. "You have no idea what's going on, do you? Well, I'll explain it." She began stroking Jesse's nipple lightly as she spoke. "Jesse and me... we're dangerous." My mind was in total disarray. Dangerous...? The word sent a shiver of dread through my bowels, but I couldn't make sense of any of this. "D-d-d--" "Dangerous," said Jesse with a laugh. "Good boy. You got it, you stuttering dipshit." "Dangerous to you, anyway. Oh, you'll see how dangerous we are in a minute," cooed Tina. "We'll show you, all right." She closed her eyes and sighed with anticipation. "We're gonna crush you." I could only stare in horror. Crush me...? But... One word was all I could manage. It came out in an unsteady quaver, thick with emotion: fearful, confused, and miserable. "...why?" "Survival of the fittest," she murmured. "Destruction of the unfit." "'The fittest' - that's us," said Jesse with a content look on his sweet face. "Me and Tina. You know what I mean, faggot. Don't fuck with me. Little weaklings like you always know, deep down inside, when you see people like me and Tina. I can tell you know what I'm talking about. We're superior, right? Special, like... genetically, or something. We're stronger, and sexier, and... shit, just better than ordinary people. And way, way superior to puny, stupid little worms like you." I just stared at him. Genetically superior? Crazy... he's crazy! And yet, deep down inside, I felt myself responding to him. Yes. Yes, I had felt it. Images of Kip and his friends, Sherri and the other cheerleaders came to me: confident, godlike, gorgeous... Yes. And me, Myron, underdeveloped little subhuman Myron, slinking along with my sunken chest, my "bitch tits," my skinny arms and legs, and my... my penis... my shriveled little penis... staring longingly at them all. But why this? Why this insane cruelty? Please, God... Why?! It was Tina's turn now. "When I first saw Jesse," Tina said, "I knew. He was special, like me. And he knew it, too." She sighed happily. "That night at Le Bernardin... We couldn't stop looking at each other. That was when you were in your `manly' phase." She laughed, remembering my efforts to take charge. "Trying so hard to be the head of the household. Poor Myron... You were so caught up in your little fantasy world that you never noticed me staring at Jesse. You never saw him brushing against me: his fingers on my neck, his crotch on my cheek. With you sitting right across from me. And I thought: this bold, gorgeous hunk is the one. He's the alpha male I've been waiting for. That's why he dumped your soup in your lap; it was to show you who was boss, to put you in your place. A warning. "But you didn't get it. You tried to stand up to the alpha male. And that's a very, very stupid thing to do. Every animal in the world knows not to do that. Jesse and I were meant to be together, Myron. We're alphas. We were meant to mate. And when we fuck..." No. "When he opens my pussy up with that big, sweet cock..." Oh. God. No. "...we do things..." No, no... "...mmmmm." Jesse chuckled and gently brushed his fingers down my wife's taut, golden belly to her glistening vulva, staring arrogantly at me the whole time. "Not like you, Myron," she cooed as he fondled her. "I mean, you have a lot of money. That's nice. I like money. But you're sick. A sick, flabby pervert. I mean, you don't walk like us, you don't look like us... And you definitely don't fuck like us. Snorting around with your tongue up my ass!" She grinned in disbelief. "Now, Jesse... He's a sex machine. He doesn't get hard by smelling my shit." She wrinkled her cute little nose in disgust. Jesse looked highly amused. Of course, I realized. Of course. She had told him everything. Probably they'd laughed about my inadequate size, my impotence, my ass-licking fetish while he fucked her tight slippery cunt with that horse's cock of his. If there'd been a gun handy I'd have blown my brains out there and then. I hung my head in shame. "All Jesse has to do get hard is look at me, or think about me. And he's always ready. He doesn't have to wait forever, like you do, or snort around in my ass... What kind of disgusting weirdo wants to lick another person's asshole? You're degenerate. A freak, or a mutant, or something. Genetically fucked up. Let's just say it: inferior. That little thing between your legs, instead of a real penis..." She giggled again. "And that, you poor, sniveling little loser, is what makes us so dangerous. It's not so much that we WANT to break you down, even though I think it's going to be a lot of fun.... It's more that we have to. It's the way we're made. It's in our genes. It's like when you see an ugly little bug, and you want to step on it, or pull its wings off or something. It makes us..." She lowered her voice to an excited whisper. "It makes us want to do bad things-- Oh!" He had nudged his middle finger in at the top of her slit, and she squeezed her legs together, her mouth open in an ecstatic smile. Then she relaxed into it and looked back at me, her freak of a husband, crumpled in a heap on the floor, and smiled again, that lazy, unspeakably cruel smile. "You can't even get it up to fuck me any more, can you?" They waited. I could only stare, hypnotized, at Jesse's big fingers as they worked up and down my wife's pussy. But not saying anything turned out to be a serious mistake. "I just asked you a question, Myron," she snapped. "Q-q-question? What--" Jesse frowned and moved toward me again. The throbbing in my nose was just dying down, and I had no doubts he could cause me untold pain. I did scream this time, and scrambled back, but he lunged forward and slapped me across the face, hard. I felt a slice of red-hot pain in my neck as my head snapped to the side from the force of his blow. Then he slapped the other cheek. Spittle sprayed from my numb lips. "Answer your wife, you piece of shit retard! Can you get it up? Huh?" The bitch-slapping had left me too dazed to think clearly. Little colored lights danced in my eyes. "Answer me, Myron. Or Jesse will not be a happy boy." She giggled again. Crazy. Sick, dangerous, crazy. Different. Special. "And you should know," she went on, "that when Jesse gets angry he can be really, really mean. He's such a bad boy! Now: tell us, Myron. Tell us about that little `problem' of yours." I rubbed my burning cheek, desperately trying to clear my head. My mouth was numb. Christ... I had to say something, fast... "...please..." Jesse's nostrils flared. It was the only sign that he had lost his temper with me, but I curled into a terrorized ball at the sight of it. He just grinned at me and walked over. Panic surged inside my guts. This was it. He was going to kill me. I freaked out. "No! Nononono, pleasepleaseplease, ohgodno, Jessewaitpleasepleaseplease NOOOO--" He put his implacable hands on my arms and one foot on my thigh and began to unfold me, still smiling. "Okayokayokay! I can't-Tina, please! You're my WIFE!! My WIFE!!!" She laughed. Good one, Myron! "Oh, SHIT, oh, SHIT!" Tears and snot streaked across my splotchy face as I writhed helplessly. The words began tumbling out of me. "YES! Yes, RIGHT! My d-d-DICK won't get h-h-HAAARD, nonoplease... My... my little DICK!!" I was screaming now, begging for mercy. "I... huh-hi-I'm a FAGGOT, I'm a stupid little FAGGOT, okay?! Please, just... a stupid little no-dick faggot... Oh, god, ohhhh, god, ohhhh... PLEEEASE!!!" Tina was laughing again as Jesse twisted my body at will. It was another one of his wrestling moves. I even recognized it from our degrading "championship wrestling" sessions: the "Surfboard Roll-Up." He had me upside down now, my wrists clenched in his paws as I struggled and jerked and screamed with fear and pain; he was lifting my body clear up off the floor; now he had one of my legs in a knee-lock; now the other... I was upside down, babbling nonsense, resting painfully on the back of my head so that my weak little chin was tucked into my chest. My knees were pinned behind my ears, and my arms were yanked up behind my back. My flabby ass was bared to the world, spread open wide to expose my hairy asshole; so were my little balls. As for my "jellybean," it was invisible in this position. I couldn't move a muscle. Jesse was behind me, his supersized schlong squooshed against the small of my back. I was looking up at him from below, his beautiful, grinning, All-American face just visible above his big teenaged pecs. Tina came up now and stood on the other side of me, her feet on either side of my head so that I had a perfect view of her shapely legs, her round, saucy little ass, and her smooth wet slit. My wife... Terrified, I babbled some more. I could see her sweet young tits wobbling daintily as she bent over. She made a face of mock concern as she looked at my crotch. Then she raised her fingers and began to caress my defenseless scrotum. "Awww," she murmured sadly. "Poor little Myron." I stopped my babbling and held my breath. They're dangerous, I reminded myself. They were special, and they were sexy, and they were very, very dangerous, and they wanted to be mean to Myron and step on him and pull off his wings. It was better now to just keep quiet, to speak only when I was spoken to, to take whatever they were about to do to me and pray that I'd live through it... At least, those were my thoughts before she pinched my nuts up in one cruel motion. It hurt. My neck was bent at a ridiculous angle, so my cry of pain came out sounding like I'd inhaled a lungful of helium, like a cartoon chipmunk, and of course they laughed at me. They laughed, Jesse and Tina; they laughed at this ridiculous upside-down cuckold with his micropenis and poor, pinched-up nuts. Then she raised one dainty foot over my face and bore down, hard. My poor, already abused nose bent slowly to the side, and the balls of her foot shoved my lips sideways. She might merely have been using my face as a stepping stool to make out with Jesse more easily, because that, suddenly, is what my wife was doing: the two of them were kissing so hungrily, with such passion, that I could see beads of sex-juice gathering in the crease of her pink little pussy. Yes, she might have been using my face as a stepping stool; but did she have to bear down quite so hard? She was grinding her foot against my face with all her weight; my mouth was getting wrenched this way and that, and the cartilage in my nose was making little crunching popping sounds, though the bone, thank God, didn't break. And all the while she was twisting my pathetic nut sac back and forth. I moaned, but they were moaning, too, so loudly they couldn't possibly have heard, and of course they were enjoying my humiliation too much to have cared anyway. I tried to look away, but her foot held my stepped-on face upright, and there was something weirdly compelling about the sight of my wife kissing this stud... Her soft lips crushed against his, then parting just enough for me to see their tongues writhing together... Her hand stroking his heavy pecs and plump nipples, then suddenly digging into his flesh in a spasm of passion as her shoved that fat middle finger into her pussy ... ...and despite the pain in my face... ...and the horribly uncomfortable throbbing in my scrotum... ...my penis twitched. Eagerly. And twitched again, as he clenched one of Tina's puffy areolas between his thumb and forefinger, and worked it until it was a bright, luscious fuschia. They were beautiful together. It hurt to watch them; my heart felt like it was being sliced to ribbons, watching them make out above me. But they were so... fucking... beautiful... Finally they stopped. It was a relief, not to have to watch them frenching each other, but she didn't remove her foot from my face. In stead she turned her attention back to my aching sac. "Okay," she said breathlessly, and licked her lips. "Okay." She was grinning now, an openly malicious grin. "This little bump here? This wrinkled little bump you call your `balls'?" She twisted it hard for emphasis, and I gave a muffled cry. "We need to do something about it." I saw now that she was holding a thick rubber band in the other hand. As I stared helplessly, my mind a tangle of fear and misery, she snapped it around the base of my scrotum. It bulged up away from my groin now, about the size and color of two red grapes. "...pfeenzh..." I was trying my hardest to say "please." I was ready to beg, grovel, and crawl on my hands and knees, to say whatever they wanted me to say, no matter how debased; I would have confessed to any crime, promised any ransom, to regain my freedom... but my constricted throat and stepped-on face meant that this nasal, inarticulate baby-word was the best I could do. Not that it would have made any difference. I was crying again, too, just a series of wet throat-clicks and snot-laden snorting sounds that made no particular impression on them at all. Tina, my wife, my angel, raised her other hand. She was holding a ping-pong paddle. And she was going to pound my nuts with it. My penis shrank even more. I jerked involuntarily as she used the paddle to caress my nuts, which were turning purple now. "Nncch... Mmphhngg!" No good. I tried again. "Teem'mn, nrngh!" (Tina, no!) "Nrngh, nrngh! Pfeenzh, nrngh..." I farted with fear, and Jesse made an exaggerated show of disgust: "Whoa! You stink like shit, faggot! Give him TWO whacks, baby!" Tina looked down at me. "Poor Myron. This is going to hurt." She licked her lips. "It's going to hurt soooo bad..." "Nnngghh!" "But you have to learn, Myron. You have to learn to be a... a good boy and do what I tell you." Her lips were parted now, and her breathing was shallow. This was turning her on. I felt Jesse's proud, king-sized maleness flex against the small of my back a little. He, too, was getting turned on by my humiliation. But at the moment I wasn't thinking about the implications of what this meant; about how they might want to keep doing it, keep me around for hours or even days of "special," "dangerous" fun. No, I could only think about what was about to happen to my testicles. My mouth was dry, and my head spun. The paddle bore down a little, causing that familiar, horrible ache that every male, alpha or not, feels when his testicles are in trouble; I saw my wife lean forward a little, and Jesse did, too, until suddenly they were kissing again. "Pfffzh... tchnnt..." I could only sputter and watch as Tina and Jesse made out over my throbbing nut sac. His cock flexed again; Tina pressed the paddle against my balls a little harder, whether out of sheer excitement or the wish to cause me still greater pain, I don't know. I could see their tongues twining together as he reached up and pinched her swollen pink nipple, hard. Then they parted, flushed with excitement, and Tina raised the paddle. "One..." With a superhuman effort I arched my back just enough to open my mouth a little more. "Teem'mn, pfeenzh! D'ng dee n'sh k'me!" (Tina, please! Don't do this to me!) "Two..." "Pfeenzh, n'rt... n'rt m'nitsh!" (Please, not... not my nuts!) "Three!" "RRRNGH--!" I squeezed my eyes shut... And then-- CRACK! It was like being struck by lightning. I couldn't even feel it at first. Spittle sprayed from between my clenched jaws, flecking my pinched lips, as every muscle in my body spasmed simultaneously. My wife had slammed the paddle with all her might against my scrotum, driving it with savage glee into my pelvis. I heard her gasp with pleasure; I dimly heard Jesse murmur an admiring "...yeah!" As for myself, I couldn't breathe. My face was turning red, I could feel it; an ugly beet red. It felt as if an elephant were standing on my stomach. My nuts would never be the same. And then she did it again. CRACK! Jesse released me. I toppled over, then rolled slowly onto my side. Twice. Twice! I lay there motionless for a while. Slowly the pain came, building deep in my belly, an agony so profound I couldn't cry or moan. This pain was completely paralyzing; it was all I could do to inch my sore arms from behind my back. I pulled them up to my chest, then slowly, slowly moved them down until my hands rested near my devastated groin. Just rested there; I couldn't bring myself to touch anything yet. I was too weak, and I was afraid. And still the pain grew, emanating from the core of my being, as if it were a permanent part of me. After what seemed like an eternity I was able to draw one feeble breath. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me alive. It was also enough to produce a sound. A very little sound, considering the mountain of pain and agony I was experiencing. A startled falsetto peep, like an adolescent girl's. They didn't laugh. I had been sure they would laugh, like they had every time I said something amusingly stupid or made a comical noise. Instead, I could hear smacking sounds. I opened my eyes. Jesse had Tina pinned against the wall. She was clawing at his back, his ass, his shoulders, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, as they licked and sucked at each other's tongues, hungrily. I closed my eyes and drew another breath. In another five minutes I was able to roll onto my knees. I guess I must have made some kind of sound, another peep, maybe, because the smacking sounds stopped. Footsteps... Then a swift kick to my ass. I flew forward, banging my head against the wall, and the impact caused my over-sensitive groin to flare with new pain. Wheezing, I painfully rolled over. They were standing there, panting with passion. I forced myself to look at my crotch. My balls were unrecognizable. Dark purple and swollen, blotched, oddly misshapen. Christ, I had to get the rubber band off... "Get up." It was Jesse. And he had just told me to do something. The rubber band would have to wait. I heaved myself, choking and gagging, to my knees, then slowly got to my feet, leaning against the wall for support. The damn high heels weren't making this any easier. "Are you ready to follow orders, bitch?" "Y-y-yes." It came easily to me; it was almost automatic. I had learned my lesson. "Yes what?" "Uh..." I racked my addled brains. "Uh... y-y-yes... master?" He smiled again. "Good bitch." "What do you think, Jesse?" asked Tina. "Should we test him?" Oh, no. "Huh," he grunted, and his eyes narrowed speculatively. "A test. Sure! Let's see... Walk over here, bitch." I had only one thought on my mind: to avoid any more pain. Stumbling a little in my ridiculous shoes, bowlegged to spare my poor little scrotum, I shuffled to them. "Lean forward." I leaned forward. Jesse snorted deep in his throat once... twice... I could see his mouth working away at something... Suddenly he spat in my face. A huge spray of snot and saliva spackled me from forehead to chin; gobbets of his sputum hung from my eyelashes and nose and lips. I stiffened, but didn't move. He glared at me. "What do you say, faggot?" "Uh... Th... Thank you, m-m-master." "Good." My body spasmed with pain. "Aaaah! Ow... M-m-mum... M-m-may I p-p-please take off the rubber band, master...?" "Huh? Oh, yeah," he laughed. "Go ahead." They watched, snickering, as I sank to my knees and bent over to examine the situation. Oh, Christ... my balls! My undersized claim to manhood... They had swelled up until I thought they might burst; the badly bruised skin was taut and shiny, like that of an eggplant. The band was doubled around the base tightly, but I had to get it off, now, before my sac puffed up any further. With a moan of apprehension, I slowly and carefully worked my fingers under one layer of rubber band. "Hurry up, bitch." Jesse said it carelessly, without any particular emotion, but I knew better than to disobey. Urgent whimpering sounds bubbled out of me as I struggled to get that initial layer up and over my belabored scrotum. There! It was off. I had just gone to work on the second layer and had it pulled half-way off when Jesse decided to play one of his little pranks. Without warning he lunged at me and shouted, "Boo!" I jumped. The band snapped back against my battered nuts, and that horrible black pain exploded deep in my crotch and bowels. I let out an outraged howl of agony. Jesse and Tina loved it, laughing helplessly as, frantic, sweating like a pig and yelping with pain and fear, I tore the band off. At last! I cradled my poor, pummeled testicles, shaking with relief. My wife wriggled happily against her lover's muscular body. "Oooh, Jesse, you're so bad! Hmmmm... Let's see... Okay, here's another one. Get up, shitface." "Yes, Tina." I scrambled up, still cupping my nuts. "Dance. Dance for us, you ugly fuck. Dance like a... like a chicken." Jesse guffawed. I practically wept with relief. No more slapping! No more ball-bashing! ... At least for now. "A chicken," I agreed. "Yes, Tina. Right away, Tina. Thank you, Tina." And I did it. It was a little stiff at first; I was never very good at improvisation. I tucked my hands under my armpits and flapped my "wings" tentatively, made a few awkward steps... Jesse looked kind of bored, and Tina looked outright irritated with my lackluster efforts. With a lump of fear in my throat I stuck my ass out, as much like a chicken as I could, and shook it. That was better: they were both smiling now, nodding. I lifted my legs and began strutting around in front of them. But they didn't really start enjoying themselves until I began clucking. "Buk-buk-bawwwwk!" That did it. They were laughing now. Yes! Good! I really threw myself into it at that point. I bobbed my head up and down, sweating with the effort, clopping back and forth, clucking for all I was worth. I was dripping with sweat, and it was while I was clucking that I realized how thirsty I was. It would have to wait. But, like all young people, Tina and Jesse had short attention spans, and within a minute they'd had enough. "Okay, dipshit," my wife snapped. I stopped immediately, out of breath and scared again. What now? Tina wasn't quite done with me. "Now. You had a little trouble earlier, admitting that you can't get it up. Didn't you?" I swallowed hard, and my stomach lurched. Please, God, don't let her be angry with me! "Y-y-yes, Tina. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry..." "Mm hm. Well, I want a full confession, right here, you stinking little creep. About everything. All your... shortcomings." Again, a wave of relief hit me, so powerful it made me weak in the knees. No more physical abuse! "Y-y-yes, Tina. Th-th-thank you, Tina. My... my sh-sh-shortcomings." I swallowed hard. "And darling?" "Yes?" "I want you to jerk off while you do it." Oh. Jesse burst out laughing. "Whoa! Tina, you are one evil little cunt, you know that? The poor little freak's nut sac is ready to pop...!" She smiled sweetly. "Mm hm." Yes, the `poor little freak's nut sac' had seen better days, and I was very, very afraid of overtaxing it in its current condition. But I knew better than to wait. I grabbed my dingaling and started pulling on it. I was exhausted, and my words were punctuated with sharp little hiccups of breath, like dry sobs; but I could do it. Anything to please them. To make them happy. "Um." (dry swallow) "Huh... My... I'm just (hic) a loser. (hic) A little (hic) freak (hic) loser." I smiled hopefully at them as I yanked my miniscule nub back and forth. My wife had settled back in her lover's burly arms contentedly. He nibbled on the upper edge of her ear as he watched me. No one was angry at Myron yet. That was good. I wanted to make them happy. I wanted to be a good boy. I jerked harder and kept going. "My... My pathetic little p-p-penis... It's just not even an inch long! Just a shriveled, useless little... m-m-micropenis. That's what doctors call it," I added helpfully. "A micropenis. And... and it only gets hard when I lick your ass..." I shivered suddenly. Violently. That ass... Just saying the words aloud was having a strange effect on me... My mouth was actually watering. I swallowed hard. And that small, wrinkled joke between my legs was getting an erection. I couldn't quite believe it. Here I was, fresh out of a session of the most intense ball-torture I could ever have imagined, jerking off in front of my wife and her stud, and I was actually getting a hard-on... A stab of pain from my ravaged scrotum made me wince, but I kept it up, masturbating furiously. Christ, it felt good. "Oh! Oh, Tina, your asshole... I have to lick it every time I want to get a hard-on! That sweet, tasty asshole..." I groaned with desperate need. "P-p-please... I need your shit in my face before I can get hard!" That wasn't exactly true. She had never actually crapped in my face - at least not yet - and going down on her ass hadn't given me an erection in months. But it sounded good. And regardless of my past impotence, I was certainly hard now. "I'm a shitface! Uh..." (What else was there?) "A limp-dicked, whining little shitface... Uh..." (Keep going, you moron! Don't stop! It's the only way to save yourself!) "My stupid, pathetic little dingaling... uh... I'm not a real man. I'm a... a faggot. Yeah, yeah, a faggot!" Something clicked inside. A faggot? I stared at Jesse, at that magnificent golden body of his. How many times had I found myself gaping open-mouthed at it? Looking hungrily at every slope, every curve? Hypnotized by his sculpted back and shoulders, his big sweet-nippled pecs... his flat, rippled belly with its deep "innie" navel... his powerful ass and haunches... and that thing, that heavy, hulking thing between his legs? Just like my locker-room days, when I couldn't pull my eyes away from Kip's manly prong... I knew now that it was true. I wanted him. I wanted to run my hands over that perfect, football-kicking, bench-pressing, hubby-crushing, wife-fucking young body of his. To... lick it. "Jesse. Oh, master, you... You're so fucking sexy. I wanna..." I stopped suddenly, terrified that I had gone too far. But he had the same lazy confident grin on his face that he'd been wearing pretty much from the moment I'd torn off the blindfold and seen him standing there with Tina. In fact, he even reached down and stroked the big bulge in his biking shorts, staring at me. Then, he winked. My dick was rock-hard. I pounded it harder still, in a frenzy of desire. "Nnnngh! Aaah! Oh, master, I wanna be your little cunt! Suck you and l-l-lick you..." He wrapped his hand around his crotch now and squeezed gently, emphasizing his ripe young hugeness. I went wild. "Annggh! Hnnnh! Oh! Big -- fucking -- COCK!" Yes. His cock was everything I could never be. My eyes strayed down to the skinny, glistening stub in my hand. My mouth twisted into a sneering grin. Really, it didn't even deserve the name "penis;" after all, it was smaller than my little finger. A dizzying range of emotion coursed through me: regret, self-hate, and also a sense of release at finally getting it all off my chest. This was better than any session with Dr. Van Horne. I pinched my penis vengefully, glaring at it. "Little faggot prick! Useless piece of shit..." I flicked it once, twice, three times, hard; I slapped it back and forth. But like those Weebles which wobble but don't fall down, it bobbed back up every time. It seemed to be enjoying the abuse as much as I was enjoying my humiliation; it had finally found its place - as an object of unremitting scorn. Contempt and loathing for my craven little dick swept over me. "Christ. LOOK at this thing! Oh, Tina, oh... My little faggot dingaling can't do it. My limp faggot prick! You need a big, hot stud to fuck you..." The words just popped out of my mouth. My balls were throbbing with pain, but this felt good. Really good. Tina's eyes brightened up. A big, hot stud, eh? And Jesse... Jesse raised his eyebrows as if to say, Oh, yeah? Yes. Yes! "Yeah! Jesse! Jesse has a big dick. Jesse has a big fat dick and he... he FUCKS you, doesn't he? Oh, yes... He FUCKS your hot, wet PUSSY with his fucking COCK, ohhhh... Yeah!" I stared at him, grinning boldly. "Yeah! You! You big muscle-stud-fucker, you do it! Uh-huh! Uh-huh! You love it! You and your big sweet dick! All Myron gets is a faceful of her asshole! But you! You FUCK MY WIFE!--" His hand flashed out suddenly. An open-handed strike across my left cheek and I spun around like a top, crashing to the floor. Sobbing again. Whining incoherently. "You sound like Beaker right now, you know that? Remember that little guy on the Muppet Show?" Jesse laughed happily. "The one who always got blown up..." I rolled over, clutching my still-hard penis, and stared up at him, struggling to smile through my tears. "Why, master...? W-w-why did you slap Myron?" "I just felt like it, bitch. What do you say?" "Th-th-thank you!" Tina bent down, took my chin in one hand, and raised the other. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for it. SLAP!! I collapsed. "Admit it, faggot," she purred. "You like it." "Yes!" I laughed savagely through my tears. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I was twitching all over, jerking spasmodically as I continued yanking on my stub of a wiener. "Thank you!" She gave me a look of frank appraisal. I got back to my knees, wriggling like a puppy before its masters, eager to please them. If I kept them happy, I just might save my wasted testicles... "I think he's ready, Jesse." Ready? "Yes!" I exclaimed. I had no idea what she was talking about, but as long as they didn't hurt me any more, I would do whatever they said. I was ready to accept any degradation, and be grateful for it. I needed it; I deserved it. I was a subhuman freak. "Yes! I'm ready!" "Yeah?" He leaned forward. "You're ready? You wanna see it?" "S-s-see it...?" And in a flash I saw what was coming. I don't know how I knew, but I knew. And I wanted it. I was nodding excitedly, my face twisted into an eager leer, my puny little boner bobbing up and down between my thumb and forefinger. I'd known all along where this was going; I been craving it, without quite being aware of my craving; and now that it was finally about to happen, I was ecstatic. They were going to... do it. Right here. Right in my face. "Oh - oh, yes, master. Yes, yes, please yes! Myron wants it. Myron wants it so bad. Please..." "You really wanna see it, bitch?" "YES!" I screamed. "YES! You think I don't know what you're talking about, don't you? You think I'm stupid. Okay. Okay! Myron IS stupid! I'm a stupid ass-licking faggot! But I know. I KNOW! You're gonna... you're gonna do it. You're gonna show me." I swallowed hard and crawled to my knees. "Please. Please do it." "Do what?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face. "Yeah, Myron," said Tina. "Do what?" I giggled again. "Please. Pleeeease!" "Please what, bitch?" Jesse had an excited grin on his face. "Please f-f-f... Please f-f-f-f-f-f..." He slapped me. Hard. He was enjoying this. "Say it, bitch!" "...p-p-please f-f-f-fuck her." "Huh?" He wore a look of mock incredulity now. "What?" "Please, master. Please." Yet another power-surge of pain in my genitals. I gasped, stopped masturbating, then regained my composure, such as it was. "Please. Fuck. My. Wife." "You want me to fuck your wife?!" "YES, master!" "Right here? Right in front of you" "YES! Yes, yes! Please fuck her, master!" "You want to watch me fuck your wife with my cock, you pathetic sack of shit?" I lost it completely. "YES! Do it, do it! FUCK her! Fuck my WIFE, right in my faggot FACE! I want to SEE it!" He stepped back from me, and the room was suddenly charged with a new kind of energy. Like the charged air before a lightning storm. Jesse seemed to swell up in front of me; Tina was surrounded by a pearly aura, I swear to God. Jesse, my master, turned his back to me. Looking at me over his shoulder he hooked his big thumbs into the waistband of his biking shorts and began easing them downward. Slowly, sexily, moving his hips back and forth, he worked them down, down, down... "You like it, bitch?" I licked my dry, cracked lips. "...yes... oh, yes..." I could see the top of his ass now. "You want to see more?" "...yes, master... please..." He slid them down, inch by inch, over more and more flawless ass-skin, over the sweet crack that separated his two gorgeous buttocks... "You want some? You want some of Jesse's asshole, bitch? "...oh, God, yes..." "You wanna lick it, shitface?" There it was. That round, muscular ass had tightened and relaxed God knows how many times as he shoved his big young prick into my wife. I would have worshipped his sphincter with my tongue in a second, if he had told me to. I would have sandwiched my face between his sweet, seventeen-year-old cheeks, squeezed them against me, and frenched his shit-scented hole for hours. "Oh, yes," I whispered reverently. "Yes, master." "May be you will. Maybe you will, turdface." Then he turned around. The biking shorts had been pulled down far enough to expose his hips and all of his groin. Two shallow grooves ran from his hips downward and inward, skirting the lowest part of his perfect, god-like torso, angling toward his crotch, as if pointing the way. A few silky blond hairs were visible now, and somewhere below them... He pulled his shorts down. More silken hairs, a flaxen nest of them... ...then, the base of his cock... ...and more... ...and still more. Tina eased her hand in and pulled it out the rest of the way. "Mmmmm," she said. "Mmmmm." It was half-erect already, and I gasped at the sight. This was it. This was manhood. With what I had, buried between my legs, you diddled; but this was a cock. This thing fucked. Two inches thick, six inches long and still growing as I watched. Big as it was, it was still loose, still floppy in Tina's hand, which looked impossibly childlike beside it; but it was stiffening and raising its head in the air of its own accord. A pale, pearly pink, with a prominent vein running down the middle. Jesse was uncut, and the thought occurred to me that the word "manhood" might have derived from the beautiful unblemished sleeve that cloaked his bulbous glans. Tina moved the skin back, revealing the tip of something big and round and shiny. When she let it slide back his cock angled upward still further; it was at half-mast now, and suddenly it was rising fast. It was spreading, growing, and rising higher and higher... nine inches... ten inches... and the pink, glistening, bulbous head was emerging from his foreskin like an shiny purple Easter egg. Bigger and bigger. I fell to my knees. A puddle of saliva had been collecting inside my lower lip, and it ran suddenly down my chin in a viscous line, to drip onto my own toddler-sized stiffie. Tina was rubbing it now. Rubbing his cock. He sighed with pleasure and peeled the trunks down to his thighs. His balls swung free, big, pendulous, and she fondled them and they kissed again. Jesse's monster cock was completely hard now, close to a foot in length, the head streaming pre-cum as my wife stroked it. He moved his face down her neck, kissing and licking as he went, until he reached my wife's tits. Her perfect tits, upright, firm globes of sweet eighteen-year-old flesh, tipped with fat, pink nipples... And he kissed them. He licked them. He chewed and sucked on them, while she moaned and writhed and ran her fingers through his hair... squeezing that... that thing between his legs... The two of them were bathed in a sheen of sweat, and they slid wetly together as they urged each other on, getting stickier and hotter with each passing moment. They were ready. Jesse, flushed and slack-lipped, his pupils dilated with lust, sat down on the floor with a thud. His eleven-inch cock was as rigid as a barber pole and pointing straight up, drooling non-stop, a thick milky syrup which rolled down the sides and over his enormous balls. Tina straddled him and lowered herself down until her juicy cunt-lips met his cockhead and began to spread over it, like a girl's mouth on a scoop of strawberry ice-cream. "Ooooo...!" She was frantic now, crazed with lust, mewing like a hungry kitten, but it was so fucking huge she was having trouble getting it in... she was twisting, bobbing up and down, thrusting her hips back and forth... and little by little she worked her tight pussy over his gargantuan cock. He was actually growling. "Rrrr... Mmmm... Yeah, yeah, yeah, bitch, c'mon, c'mon..." There was a desperate note to his voice. She had squeezed almost four inches of it inside herself; there were eight more to go, eight more inches of shiny, baseball-bat-thick fuckmeat... "Oh, baby, I... I'm trying... Unnh! It's always so... Oh, God, it's so fucking BIG..." "Aw, yeah... yeah, Tina, sweet Tina, come ON... Suck this, bitch, suck it!" He was shoving his fingers in her mouth. "Glmph...!" She slurped hungrily at them, eager to get some part of him inside her, no matter what, no matter where. Then he withdrew them and reached around, groping blindly at her ass. One slimy, spit-covered finger found my wife's hole, the asshole I had spent hours lapping, and with a savage grunt he jammed it in. My wife gasped. She cried out. And his finger invading her anus must have helped because suddenly she opened up, my wife's cunt loosened just enough and she slid down, all the way, his cock plunging deep inside her with a wet squelch. "AAAAAH! "YEAH! FUCK yeah, you sweet cunt, OOOHHH--" "Ohhhh, Jesse, oh, BABY!" She rose up, exposing his manhood. It was slick with my wife's juice. Then she sank down again, crying out in pleasure and pain, and this stroke made an incredible sticky sound, like two honey-glazed buns being squeezed together, and then they were doing it. They were fucking each other. Up until this moment I had pretty much forgotten that I was there. I had never seen anything so powerful, so animal-like, so primitive, and I had just... faded from the picture, in a way. But now I snapped out of my trance with a shock. I was watching it. I was watching my wife fuck Jesse. And I grabbed my wiener and began pounding it for all I was worth. "Yeah!" I cried. "Yeah, FUCK! FUCK her, FUCK her!" "Fucking BITCH," Jesse shouted as my wife rode his pole, "fucking SLUT, SUCK it, suck my cock with your CUNT--" "Aaaangh!" She forced herself down with a breathless little cry, and cried out again as she slid back up. "Orrrngh! Ungh!" "Fucking, fucking," I sang out frenziedly, "fucking my WIFE--" He gripped her buttocks, digging his fingers in, and seemed to lift her up and slam her down, again and again. She was getting the breath pounded right out of her. My wife. Her poor cunt... She was weeping now, stretched to the limit. "Fuck!... me!... unnh!... fuck!... me!..." An image flashed through my mind: my little Myron-sized prick, sliding in and out of her pussy for a few meager seconds of love before the Magic Moment. I laughed out loud; I think I was crying, too. She was raising one leg high in the air now, easing it over his head, crying out in ecstasy as he licked her calf, lowering it until it was beside the other. They were moving around now, both of them, urgent, impatient; she was getting to her knees, he was behind her - "Fuck me," she whined. "Fuck me, you fucking cunt-fucking stud. Fuck me like a bitch in heat. Fuck me!" He laughed, gripping her hips and rearing over her like a stallion before plunging deep inside her. To the hilt. With a smacking sound as his groin met her ass that made both her and myself cry out. "Big COCK!" I blubbered. "Big COCK in my wife's CUNT--!" She focused on me for a second. Laughed. Then her eyes unfocused and she had entered their world again, the world that existed only for the two of them. The world of pure, unadulterated, big-cocked, tight-pussied wife-fucking. His gargantuan nuts were swinging back and forth like a pendulum, slapping her stomach with a damp "plop" again, and again, and again, keeping time with their furious fucking, dripping with their combined juices. I was temporarily mesmerized by it... that huge, dangling softball-sized sac, swaying this way and that as he rammed into my wife... "Ohhh Jesse," she groaned, "ohgodohgod you're so BIIIG--" "YEAH, bitch! YEAH!" He reached around now to take hold of her bouncing tits, squeezing them hard, kneading them. Milking them. Milking my wife while he fucked her, rolling her nipples, digging in. "You love it, huh? Cocksucking bitch... You love Jesse's cock, huh? Big fuckin' cock, stuff your fuckin' pussy, you stupid fuckin' whore, you cock-slut... You love it, Christ fucking hot bitch-ass cunt..." The words were pouring out of him. They made no sense; they didn't need to. This was sex. This was fuck-talk. "Unh. Unh! Fuck, FUUUCK!" As for my wife, his barbaric pounding was driving her wild. "Stick it in my - Unh! Oh! Oh, fuck my pussy, you fuck, you piece of shit, unh! Unh! Uh, GOD, my fucking pussy, you God-damned motherfucker, cock-fucking... shit, ah - AANGH -- fucking GOD--!" They did this for a while. Then they changed positions. Twisting and turning. Him on top, pounding her cunt to jelly with his oozing pole. My wife's hands clutching his ass, pulling him into herself, deeper than ever. His sweet cheeks parting moistly as he raised himself, exposing his tight smooth asshole. Then closing stickily as he slammed back into her. Then doggy-style again. I would have cum if I could have. Oh, I came close, so many times... But each time I felt myself near to orgasmic release my testicles experienced a stab of pain, and I had to stop, and wait a minute. The pain never quite went away, actually; it built and built. But I simply couldn't stop myself from jerking off. I was like a puppet, out of control, being jerked on its strings by some twisted child, and after half an hour I was masturbating with one hand and clutching my stomach with the other. "Ooohhh," I moaned as I spanked my wiener. "Oooofff! Owww... Urnngh!" Abruptly, he collapsed to the floor, on his back, with a delirious, crazy laugh. It looked as if someone had poured a gallon jug of Mazola over both of them; they were practically glowing with sweat. She ground herself down onto his cock with her ass to his face a few more times, then twisted herself around to face him. They were back where they had started. Only now Jesse was making a weird whimpering sound; the sound of someone who is about to let go of all control, to ride the waterfall, to jump off the cliff... He was close. The whimpering became a huffing and puffing, like a locomotive. And Tina clenched her fists, her face red with effort, eyes screwed shut, weeping with passion, and abandoned herself to a final, over-the-top round of cock-pounding mania, bouncing up and slamming down onto his glorious, throbbing shaft. "Beautiful fucking SLUT," he sobbed, "FUCK me, fuck MEEEEE--" "AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" And then we were all cumming. At last. My balls clenched, the pain was hideous, it was like they were trying to take a giant shit, but I came; several drops spurted into my fist as I screamed in ecstasy and torment. As for them -- Tina hung on for dear life, shaking and crying, as Jesse's cock exploded inside her. Those balls of his must have been churning inside like two overheated power plants because it was a fucking meltdown inside Tina: his prick was erupting with a volcanic mother-lode of cum. The thick milky cream was overflowing my wife's pussy and streaming down his shaft, smeared all over it when she slid down, only to be replaced with fresh streams as she slid back up, heavy jiggling ropes of his slimy, shiny jack hanging from her cunt to his balls. Balls... Ohhh, Christ... Suddenly my abused nuts really did feel like they were about to pop. I gasped, doubled over... ...and passed out. Happy-Meal It must have been only a minute. I came to slowly, groggily, feeling a little hung over. My throat felt like it was coated with dry clay; my tongue felt like sandpaper. And -- Christ, my aching nuts! Where the hell was I...? ...Oh, yeah. Jesse was lying on his back now, my wife resting on top of him. He was stroking her ass, and they were still fastened together at the groin; limp, his cock was still bigger than many men's, and it didn't slip out like mine would have but remained firmly in place. Her cunt-lips weren't quite as stretched as they had been, but they were still somewhat taut. They were kissing gently now. I lay there watching them. Not a thought in my head. Time seemed to have stopped. Finally they stopped kissing. Jesse lifted his head and noticed me staring. "Bitch is awake," he mumbled. Tina turned and cast a disinterested look my way. "Mm." One more lingering kiss. "Ohh, Jesse... I could stay like this forever..." "Yeah? You wanna do it again? I'm getting hard just thinking about it." She laughed. "Baby, you're insatiable! But I don't think I can handle another fucking from you quite so soon. ...What do YOU think, Myron? Isn't Jesse amazing?!" I licked my dry lips. "Yes, Tina." My voice was raspy; I desperately needed something to drink, but prudence seemed the better part of valor at the moment. It might not be wise to ask permission for things like food and water yet. Thankfully, she noticed. "Oh, poor Myron!" she exclaimed. "Jesse, listen to that voice! He must be thirsty!" She inched forward, pulling herself off his penis with a moist shlupping noise. Finally his cock flopped free, lying limp on his belly like a baked and buttered yam. To my amazement Tina's cum-splattered pussy remained open for a few seconds, then slowly began to close. That was one well-fucked cunt. She stretched luxuriously, then climbed to her feet. More of Jesse's cum slid out from between her legs, trickling down the insides of her thighs. "Are you? Are you thirsty, Myron?" "Oh, yes." I swallowed; it actually hurt, my throat was so parched. "Yes, Tina. Very, very thirsty." "Awww. Well, you've been a good boy. I think you've learned your lesson. Don't you think he learned his lesson, baby?" Jesse propped himself up on his elbows. "I dunno. Did you learn something, faggot?" "Yes," I croaked fervently. "Oh, yes, master. I learned my lesson. And I... I'm very, very thirsty. Please..." "Okay, Myron," she said, "I'm going to give you something tasty to drink. Something special. For your birthday." "Oh, thank you... thank you!" She walked over to me, then squatted next to me. His thick cream was running out of her now, making a luminous puddle on the floor next to my head. "Open up, Myron dear." "What--?" She was already maneuvering her crotch over my face. Her pussy was a sticky, cum-streaming mess; the lips parted as she spread her legs a little wider, and still more spooge streamed out, pooling on my chin as I opened my mouth to protest. Too late. She sat down abruptly, covering my mouth with her sloppy cunt. Dear God, no... Not this... "Mmmph!" I reached up to try to get her off, but the repeated slaps across the face, the agonizing wrestling hold Jesse had pinned me with, the paddle-blows to my nuts, the chicken-strut - all these things had left me even weaker than I was normally. I scrabbled feebly at her thighs and ass, but it was no use. "Eat it, you pathetic little worm," she hissed. "Eat it, or you know what happens." My groin spasmed with remembered pain. No; I wasn't stupid. I wouldn't ever, ever disobey them again. And she was, after all, Tina Anderssen. She was the blonde little vixen of my dreams... and of my most feverishly delightful nightmares. I had eaten this pussy before, and been grateful for every Goddess-given moment of it. So what? So what if my wife's pussy, the pussy squishing itself against my mouth, was full of her lover's jism? Wasn't this, too, a privilege, in a way? I gave up and ate. Jesse's cream was running into my open mouth as though it were being poured from a pitcher. Straight out of my wife's fuckhole, thick, viscous, hot, and plentiful, getting smeared all over my face... It was kind of tasty, actually. I slurped at it, licked it, probed her pussy with my tongue for more. I could hardly breathe; only my nose was uncovered, and even that was getting slimed, so that I was practically blowing bubbles of the stuff; but I swallowed it all down, eagerly. "That's it," she sighed. "That's it, fuckface. Loser. Freak. Eat it... eat Jesse's cum... Ahhhh." "Mmmph." Quite a lot of it wound up on my face rather than in my mouth, of course, but I did the best I could, and when she finally dismounted, I wasn't very thirsty any more. I looked up from my position on the floor, dazed, blinking owlishly. The stuff was in my nose, my eyelashes, even in my hair. "Jesus fucking Christ, Myron," she complained. "You look like someone threw a pie in your face." "What a fucking pig," Jesse grunted. "Yup," she agreed. "And I'm still pretty sticky. Oh, well, Myron. I guess you did the best you could with such a big load. I'm going to clean up a little." She walked to the bathroom, a little bounce to her step. What a woman. And now I was alone in the rec room with Jesse. "Okay, cumsucker," he said. "My turn." "Your turn?" "You heard me, fuck-breath." He gestured at his penis, still lying wetly across his sculpted abs. "Clean it up." I felt a little like I was dreaming. Could this really be happening? Me, Myron Lipshitz, actually... actually touch Jesse's godlike cock... with my mouth? A broken smile spread across my face. Or was it a trick? "Bitch," he said menacingly, looking up again, "do it. Now." "Y-y-yes, master," I whispered. I got painfully to my hands and knees and crawled over to him. Even up close, I couldn't quite believe this thing was real. Oh, it wasn't just the size. I mean, yes, even limp it was six inches long and about two inches wide. There was no way I could fit my mouth around it. But it was more than size. It looked as though someone had poured a lightly beaten mixture of egg-whites and whipping cream over the entire thing, as well as over his belly and balls. "Here, he said, tossing me his shorts. "Wipe your face off, bitch. You can't clean shit with your face like that." Under his breath: "Fuckin' idiot." "Yes, master," I said gratefully. "Thank you, master." I wiped what I could from my dripping mug, then bent over his cock again. I lifted it, hefted it in my hands. It was slippery with the stuff - "fuck-sauce," I thought to myself. And it was heavy. Prayerfully, I touched my lips to it. I slurped at it. I ran my tongue from one end to the other, sucking up the mixture of Jesse's and Tina's cum; peeled back his foreskin, lapped eagerly at the still-oozing head, then lifted the whole thing up and worked on his balls for a while. I cupped them and lifted them to my face, kissing and sucking, rubbing my face on his slack nut-skin, lifted his flabby scrotum up higher, too, to get at the other side, and that's when I smelled it: the unmistakable smell of ass. Incredibly, my penis jumped. A little fuck-sauce had trickled down the bulging muscle at the base of his nuts, entering the crack, and I got to work, tonguing it with gusto, but I hadn't gotten very far before he cuffed my head. "Do my belly," he murmured. My ministrations didn't seem to be turning him on. I was a little hurt, and more than that, I was hard, achingly hard. But I knew better than to argue. With a sigh I slurped at the cooling puddle on his smooth stomach, probing his navel, lapping at the little puddles in the hollows near his hips... Then I sucked at the golden hairs above his cock, until they stood in damp peaks. I fondled my penis furtively. Oh, Christ, Jesse... "Mmmm... Ohhhh, master..." "Relax, fuckface. You're not my girlfriend, you're the janitor. Just get it clean." I whimpered plaintively, but did as ordered. The Show Must Go On I was sucking the last of the creamy mix from under his foreskin when something slammed into my stomach. With a whoof I flopped to my side. It was Tina; she had kicked me, kicked me away like an old tin can. Just a piece of trash. I lay still, nursing my stomach and my hard-on, praying she wouldn't kick me again. "So," she said, grinning naughtily at Jesse, "I seem to remember that you told me only a woman was going to touch your cock." He looked at her blankly. "That first day you came to visit? When you bragged about jerking off for cash in the park?" "Oh, yeah!!" he laughed. "Well, in the first place, Myron isn't a man. The bitch ain't exactly a woman, but I've seen clits bigger than that thing between its legs, so it's definitely not a man. Especially not after you hammered its nuts. And secondly, it wasn't a turn-on, at least not for me. This sack of shit is about as sexy as a public toilet. No, I'm just using your husband for a little clean-up." "Good," she said. "I was about to get angry at him." She turned to me, amused, cruel... truly goddess-like. "I was thinking it might be time for another spanking. Maybe it is." Spanking? Good God - did she mean what I thought she meant? I felt the blood drain from my face. There was no way my nuts could withstand another round of abuse; if the damage wasn't permanent now, it certainly would be in two more paddle-whacks. I scrabbled to my feet. "No!" I shrieked. "No, no, no, please! Oh god - Oh god, please! No! Tina, don't - don't do that to me again." I was crying now, covering my nuts with both hands. Both Jesse and Tina were chuckling at my terror; I didn't care. I didn't care how amusing this was to them. I only knew that I would do whatever it took to save myself from another such beating. "You can do anything. I... I'll dance the chicken-dance again." I smiled through my tears eagerly, desperately. "I'll masturbate for you again and do another confession. There's more to confess, I just know I can think of more things, if you'll give me more time." I sank to my knees and clasped my hands together. "Please--" SLAP! Jesse had lashed out, unpredictable as always. My head snapped to the side, and I bit my tongue. Ouch. "Ah. Th-th-thank you, master. Please slap me again, if you want to." But they'd forgotten me. They'd forgotten all about me, Myron, the poor, shivering, cum-slopped husband. They were talking together. And that wasn't good. No, it wasn't good at all. God only knew what evil, twisted plans they were coming up with now. A public humiliation at Le Bernardin? I didn't think I could handle that. No, that might drive me to suicide. Castration...? I whimpered aloud. The ringing in my ears from this latest slapping was keeping me from hearing what they were saying, so I plunged on. "You can do anything. I'm your toy. Your funny little toy. I'll... I'll be your t-t-toilet. Wouldn't that be funny?" They were ignoring me. "You can piss on me. Piss in my face, and I'll... Or you can shit in my face. Take a big crap on Myron's face, how about that! Ha ha! Only please... Please, please not my nuts--" "Myron," said Tina sweetly, "if you don't shut your fat, disgusting, ass-licking mouth, you'll get the worst ball-busting of the century." I shut up. "Actually," she purred, "we were just talking about how hard this must have been for you so far. The humiliation. The torture." She walked up to me, and as she approached I was struck anew by her demeanor: like a Celtic warrior-queen, she radiated a grandeur mixed with a hint of blood-lust. And, of course, she looked spectacular. Tina moved close, until I could smell the smell of fresh fuck rising from her splendid, firm young bod. Only inches away... My knees were shaking, threatening to lose their starch completely. Her trembling, glistening breasts were only a couple of inches away from my own pallid, hairy bitch-tits. I felt faint. Tina... my angel. My wife. "So hard," she sighed sadly. "So hard for poor, sweet Myron." "S-s-sweet...?" "Mm hm. So we think it's time to reward you for all your hard work." "Reward?" I felt a broken smile contort my features. If I knew my wife, it wasn't going to be a trip to Jamaica. Hopefully it wouldn't hurt too much. "Thank you, Tina." "Of course, you already had a little birthday snack," jeered Jesse, hoisting his great big cock. "Right, faggot?" I licked my lips nervously. "Yes, master." "So maybe you're ready for dessert." "D-d-dessert...?" What the hell did he mean by that? "Y-y-yes, master..." "And a little ass-fucking. You faggots like that kind of thing. Right? You like havin' stuff shoved up your little assholes?" "I..." "Course you do. But you need to sing for it, bitch." "That's right," giggled Tina. "We want a song. What's that stupid shit you listen to all day? That guy you like so much?" I racked my brains, which seemed to be working rather sluggishly. Too much was happening at once; my asshole was clenching and unclenching spasmodically in anticipation of whatever they were going to do to it, and of course I was pretty well fried after the hell my wicked little wife and her muscular stud had put me through. Stupid shit I listened to all day...? Then it came to me. "B-b-barry Manilow?" "That's the one," she laughed. "Barry fucking Manilow. Jesus Christ, Myron, you are one pathetic loser, you know that?" "Y-y-yes, Tina." I nodded enthusiastically. "I am a pathetic loser. A cock-hungry faggot who needs a good hard ass-fucking. A sniveling--" POW! Another slap across the face. Spittle sprayed from my mouth again, then hung in a slick line from my slap-numbed lips. "Th-th-thank you, Tina. What song would you like, Tina?" She leaned close, so that I could smell her intoxicating scent - a heady mixture of expensive perfume and freshly pounded pussy. Christ, she was something else. Beautiful! "How about... Memories," she murmured. Then she wrapped her fingers in my hair and wrenched my head down. I yelped and hobbled after her, my hands fluttering helplessly near hers (I didn't dare touch them), until she had dragged me to the party table. I registered, just briefly, the big cheerful-looking banner emblazoned with the words "Happy Birthday, Myron." Thirty-three years old. I giggled, despite the pain in my scalp. The table was loaded with coconut creme pies - my favorite, as she had so sweetly pointed out earlier; a lot of them, certainly over twenty. In fact, I realized, probably thirty-three of them, thirty-three ripe, white, fluffy mounds, the deluxe size, a full twelve inches across, each topped with a single maraschino cherry. The sweet smell was overwhelming. She slammed me face down onto the surface, winding me and crushing several of the pies under my flabby torso in the process; the viscous goo oozed over the folded edges of the pie tins, curling out past my sides. I giggled again. Jesse had called me a clown and a maid wrapped up in one, and sure enough, in my high heels and stockings, bent over the party table in a slimy mess of coconut creme, I felt like I qualified. A heavy slapping sound got my attention. Jesse and Tina were standing in front of me. His incredible cock dangled in front of my face, and my head swam. My penis hadn't yet lost its erection, and I reflected that, if nothing else, I had finally and completely overcome my impotence. Tina was next to him, and in one dainty little hand she was holding a sausage, slapping it again and again into the open palm of the other hand. A big sausage. A foot long, a couple of inches thick... "What do you think, Myron?" she crooned. What did I think? Here's what I thought. I thought that in a minute this thing was going to slide deep into my anus. I had gleaned that I was going to have to sing for the privilege. And I had the growing suspicion that my wife would somehow manage to involve the pies, as well. A shiver of masochistic delight ran through me. "I'm ready, Tina. Myron is ready." Her musical laughter danced in my wears as she made her way to the other side of the table, behind me. "You know," said Jesse in an offhanded tone, "this was all your wife's idea. The whole thing. Tina has a pretty fucked-up sense of humor." "Y-y-yes master..." I felt the tip of the thing suddenly nudge my ass, and groaned in mingled fear and eagerness. Tina pressed a little harder, then stopped. A moment later she raised the meat high and brought it down hard against my backside, and I gave a little ecstatic cry of pain. "Sing for it, cumsucker," she hissed. "Sing for your ass-fucking. Sing like a good little fag." I took a deep breath. And I sang. "Memmmorieees..." The warbling falsetto broke them up at once. That's it, boys and girls. Laugh. Laugh at the clown. "All aloooone in the mooo-- NGAAHH!!" The bitch had shoved it in, hard, and I screamed. Tears started from my eyes. My guts were blazing, my hole stretched until I thought it would rupture. But it didn't. Instead, my little candy-corn-sized hard-on gave an excited jump. And she pulled it out some. I was panting, and whimpering, and I'd completely forgotten my orders until Jesse grabbed a fistful of my already-abused hair and yanked, hard. "Sing," he said curtly. "Uh! Uh god... Hoo... I..." How the hell did it go? My asshole was on fire. "M-m-moooonliiight... I can smile at the ooooold dayyyys..." More laughter. It was funny. This was funny to them: raping the cuckold's ass was a big joke. Yes. And his microdick was trembling for release. "It was byooo-- WAAUGH!!" Thrust number two. Deeper this time. Abruptly she let go, closed her fist around my hair, and yanked upward, hauling me to a standing position. Atten-SHUN! Clots of coconut creme flopped from my chest to the floor at my feet with wet smacks, and I was forced to keep my legs spread a little to accommodate the sausage jutting from my anus. Tears were streaming down my face, tears of pain. She released my hair and walked back to join Jesse, who was hefting one of the pies in his hands, testing its weight appreciatively. "Keep singing," she said with a grin. I mastered myself with difficulty and opened my mouth. "It was beautiful thennnn..." Jesse hefted the pastry a few more times, then cocked his arm back. He hesitated, eyes shining, lips parted, and I saw his big, still-dribbling penis rise a little. Yes, he was enjoying this immensely. Savoring it. In a second the kid was going to paste me with coconut creme as though I were a carnival booth patsy, and the thought of humiliating his woman's shrimp-dicked husband like this was clearly turning him on. I swallowed, gathered myself, and forged on. "I remember," I warbled, "the time I knew... Then he let it fly, and I saw it coming, sailing through the air with unerring accuracy toward my face, my ridiculous clown face, open-mouthed in song. "...what hah--" SPLAT! And the first pie of the evening hit me square on the nose. Fragments of creme whipped past my head with the force of Jesse's mighty throw. I rocked back a little. More laughter. "Nice arm, baby," I heard my wife tell her lover. The time I knew what happiness was... The words came back to me in a rush. I felt suddenly that Barry must have written the song for just this occasion; it was too perfect. I was really crying now. Heavy creme filling hung on my face; a hunk of the sweet glutinous stuff slid from one eyebrow to land on my penis. But I couldn't stop singing. "Dayyyylight... I must wait for the--" SPLAT! A second pie, plastered directly on top of the first. I licked my lips, sobbed once, and kept right on going. "...the sunrise... I must think of a newwww liiiife--" SPLAT! This one hit my chest. Their laughter was so bright, and happy, and merciless... "...and I mustn't give innnn..." SPLAT! One for the crotch. My balls throbbed in silent protest from the impact, and I bent over just a little, with a huff of pain. The pie hung wetly between my legs for several seconds before unsticking itself and landing on my feet. And my penis bobbed up, thickly coated, and more excited than ever. Keep on going, Myron. Ignore the ache in your ass, the dull pain in your swollen nutsac. Ignore the sore ankles from the high-heeled shoes. Stop crying, you fucking baby, and give your masters what they want... "When the dawwwwn comes, tonight will be a--" SPLAT! "...a memory tooo--" SPLAT! They were coming fast and thick, now. I was singing the best I could, but it was difficult. Touch me, I sang. It's so easy to leave me. All alone with the memory. Of my day in the sun. And still they pelted me, my chest, stomach, every inch of me, until I was dripping head to toe with the stuff. I couldn't see any more, or I would have known to brace myself, because Jesse must have wound up for this last pitch like a pro; all I knew was that the final pie slammed into my face with incredible force, as though it had been fired from a cannon. The impact knocked me completely off balance. One leg shot out from underneath me on the cream-slick floor, the other slid after it, and then I was flat on my back, a sodden mass, sobbing uncontrollably. "Hey. Bitch." Jesse. He was standing over me, his legs apart, like a warrior, with his thick, proud penis swinging between his legs. I gulped, started to get to my feet. "Naw, bitch, you don't have to get up. Just stay on your knees. That's it. Look up at Jesse, now. Good, bitch. Okey-dokey, we're gonna get you cleaned off, here, don't you worry none." That's when he started pissing in my face. I was too dazed to move, or even to shield my face from the hot, rancid stream that was suddenly splashing against it. All I could do was kneel there, dazed, my mouth open a little, as Jesse pissed all over me. He was one of those guys, of course, who could hold it for a long time. Not like me; in the course of a normal day I had to pee every forty minutes or so, and then it was just a five-second trickle. But Jesse was an accomplished beer-drinker; he could put a twelve-pack away easily without having to empty his bladder; and this ultimate humiliation lasted almost a minute. A minute doesn't seem like a long time in some situations, but when your wife's lover is using your face as a urinal, it feels like forever. And the stream was heavy and hard; he was staling like a thoroughbred stallion. Finally he was done. With a contemptuous shake of his massive cock he planted his foot on my creme-coated chest and shoved me back down. "Now," he said calmly, as if he were a teacher explaining homework, "you've had your birthday snack. And you had your dessert. And daddy cleaned you up. But before you have your nap, you need a little something to top it all off." I stared dully at him. I had just been pissed on. My balls had been clobbered, my face slapped repeatedly. I had been forced to confess my sexual perversions in front of my wife and her lover while masturbating my puny dick. I'd performed a lame rendition of one of the most pathetically sappy songs of the twentieth century for the privilege of having a sausage shoved up my asshole, and of serving as a target for a table-full of creme pies. The two of them had fucked like wild animals in front of me - me, her lawfully wedded husband. And my lawfully wedded wife had forced me to slurp away at her sloppy cunt afterwards. And now they had... something to top it off. Jesse stepped over me. All I could see of him were his mighty legs, his low-slung balls, that incredible cock, and the two round mounds of asscheek, covered in the lightest peach fuzz. And as he lowered himself, I knew. He had suggested I might get to taste his ass earlier. Well, here it came. The first thing to happen was that his big balls flopped heavily over my nose and rolled forward, to loll across my forehead. It was like having a warm, greasy mound of bread-dough spreading across the upper half of my face; I couldn't see a damn thing. The second thing to happen was that I felt the lower half of my face abruptly buried deep between his warm, sweaty buttocks. The third thing... The third thing was his tender young asshole, which came to rest directly against my mouth. At last. I had given up every last shred of human dignity a long time ago. Clutching blindly at his hips, I pulled him even more tightly down over my face and stuck my tongue hungrily into his tight, pink anus, as far as I could. The pungent taste, the velvety feel of it were driving me frantic with need; my little dingus was rigid and throbbing, while my own anus clenched and unclenched around the thick sausage that had stretched it to its limit. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "That's it, bitch. Lick it. Lick your master's ass..." "Grmmph!" "Now... unh!... now watch this..." Then he reached down and hauled his balls away from my face and over to one side. His big, sweaty sac was draped across my left cheek, now, with result that I had a clear view, and there it was: his cock, his huge young cock in all its firm, turgid glory, suspended over my face like a fucking girder. I groaned, watching the thing swell, overextend its foreskin, rise some, fall back a little, then rise a little more... Until finally it was standing tall and proud over me, like one of those ancient, featureless European idols carved of stone. Pre-cum was trickling nonstop down that awesome shaft, rolling over his sac to streak itself across my face as I grunted and snorted with my tongue up his asshole. Tina was standing over me, too, now. My wife, towering over me like a magnificent sex goddess lording it over a cowering supplicant. And as I watched, my wife lowered herself down, facing her lover, until she had planted her pussylips against his bulbous cockhead. I watched the whole thing from between their legs. And I think I'll never see anything quite like it again. I mean, I'd seen it earlier, but this was different. His asshole spasmed on my tongue as she forced herself down, her fuck-loosened cunt spreading its mouth a little more easily this time to accommodate Jesse's incredible girth, her round eighteen-year-old derriere sinking toward my adoring gaze... ...and the fucking began. It wasn't easy; when she slammed downwards, his ass bore down on me with about twenty extra pounds of force. But on the other hand I was watching it all from a ringside seat, as it were. What an honor! "Oh, my fuckin' GOD," he bellowed, "this is the SHIT! You fuckin' me while he eats my ass... FUCK yeah!" "Yeah," she panted, laughing a little, "yeah, Jesse, you PIG, that's IT! Ride his FACE! EAT it, Myron, you miserable FUCK! Eat a real man's SHIT while I FUCK him...!" It didn't take long at all. I think having me down there was a bigger turn-on to them then they would have been likely to admit; certainly it was the crowning humiliation, having me service Jesse's shithole while they fucked, quite literally, in my face. As for me, Myron Lipshitz, I was in a state of masochistic ecstasy. My hands were occupied either in pulling my master's buttocks apart to nuzzle his asshole more deeply, or in grabbing his hips; I wasn't touching myself at all. And yet, slowly but surely, without even touching myself, I was getting closer and closer to orgasm. Pretty soon the flow of his semen, mixed with my wife's juice, was pooling in my ears, nostrils, and hair. I was grunting more urgently now. "Mmmph! Mmmph!" "Christ, fuck shit piss, ah, GOD, yeah, bitch, fuck it, fuck it fuck it FUCK IT--" "Oh Jesse ohmygod ohmygod you... you... big... fucking... STUD--" "Oh! Unh! Unh! Ah! AHHH--" "AAAAHHHH!" And we came. I could feel it this time; his balls were resting against my cheek, and I could feel something rushing inside them, and then his cum was everywhere, rolling down his schlong like a 32 ounce milkshake, streaming from Tina's pussy, pouring over my snuffling face as I screamed my own pleasure (which isn't easy to do with your tongue up someone's ass). I lay there under his butt for a while, lapping weakly at his sphincter, as Jesse and my wife kissed softly, gently, letting the waves of their orgasm shudder through them. A Fresh Beginning Finally Tina eased herself off from his still semi-hard cock, and Jesse got to his feet. I lay there, limp, unmoving. My face was soaked in their cum, my nose and mouth full of the taste and smell of Jesse's shit. I was spent. Used. Wasted. "Okay," said Jesse. "Here's the deal, shitface." I gurgled faintly. "We've got a few photos of our little birthday party extravaganza." I nodded weakly. Nothing surprised me. "Photos of you jerking off in women's clothes and shit. Eating my ass. A few scandalous little items like that." I trembled briefly, took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaled. "...uh huh..." "Got it?" he demanded "...yes, master." "Good," said Tina crisply. "Then here's how it is. I'd divorce you and take half of what you own, but I'd rather just have it all. We could kill you, of course... But frankly, I think I like having you around." She giggled. "It's fun." "...fun...?" "And don't deny it: you seem to enjoy receiving the humiliation as much as we like doling it out to you. You were desperate for it tonight, Myron. Begging for it. In fact, ever since I met you, I knew this was what you were after." "Fuckin' sicko," grinned Jesse. "...yes, master." "So," she concluded, "we stay married. You and I will remain the owners of all this luxury, just like always. But the reality is that you're our bitch. You'll do the cooking and cleaning. You'll pick up after us. You'll run our errands. You'll wait on us hand and foot." "...yes, Tina." It didn't sound so bad, really. "And in return..." She and Jesse looked at each other, and smiled wickedly. "In return, we'll let you watch us fuck. Every once in a while, of course, not all the time. You can feast your tortured little eyes on us, when we say it's okay. And if these terms aren't acceptable, well..." She made a camera of her hands, pressed an imaginary button. Click. I heaved myself up to one elbow. "Tina... Tina, I..." I hung my head, almost afraid to look at her. "Darling, I love you. And I... I want you to be happy. B-b-blackmail... you don't have to worry about it. And..." I swallowed hard. "And yes, I... I like it." "Yeah?" She laughed. "Well, maybe we'll post the photos around town anyway someday, just for kicks. In the meantime..." "I'm hungry," announced Jesse. I got slowly, painfully to my feet. "Yes, master." "I want grits. Grits and bacon, and tater tots. And some collard greens or something. Fuckin' your wife always makes me hungry for real food, not that fag shit you're so fond of making." "Yes, master. Tina?" "Oh, something light and refreshing. A smoothie. Raspberries and bananas and vanilla ice cream. And personally, Myron, I like the 'fag shit,' as Jesse calls it. So I guess you'll have to get used to making a variety of foods." "Yes, Tina." I looked at them fondly, and a little fearfully. My master, so big and powerful. And my gorgeous wife, like a young queen. "Well, bitch?" snapped Jesse, as he stroked Tina's nipple to hardness. "Get a fuckin' move on. I need some energy food before I fuck again." "Yes, master. Right away, master." And walking delicately because of the sausage in my ass, my shoes sploshing wetly with each step, I minced my way up to the kitchen. I risked a backward glance: they were making out again, two golden, insatiable teenagers working their way lazily back up to another bout of stormy, unbridled fucking. Yes, they were meant to do this, to mate and be slaved over by me. A woman like my wife deserved to be filled, and Jesse was, after all, the ultimate one-man filling station; I'd been such a silly, stupid fool to resist. They were truly special. And it was a privilege to serve them. I turned away. I was Myron Lipshitz, I reminded myself as I climbed the stairs. I was an amusing clown. A servile maid. A pussywhipped, groveling cuckold. And underneath it all, I was, and always would be... A classic, grade-A putz.
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