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ONE

Alfred Nemirow rubbed his throbbing dick tentatively, and gave Fanchon an imploring look. His wife

of three years was impervious to such looks, but Alf tried anyway. He looked down at the steaming

Starbucks cup, and then checked the mirrors of the Mitsubishi Galant…was anyone looking?

God knows no one wanted to catch Kissler Systems’s head Accounting and Financial Recruiter committing

an act of obscenity right outside the damn office…even if he was with his gorgeous wife!

“P-please Fanchon.” Alf said.” Can’t we do it some other way?”

Fanchon grinned. “Sure, Alf. But then you have to wait another month. You know the rule…You want me to

lock you up? I sure will, but you seemed to really want to release, honey. If you want to orgasm, you have to

do it the way Fanchon tells you, dear.”

There were worse things that jerking off into your fresh cup of Starbucks Chi Latte…but Alf couldn’t really

think of what they were now. Especially in the parking lot of your office. What if someone looked into

the car?

Oh Jesus, Leon Bengivenga is walking by…he’s going to look in the fucking car! “Hey there, Alf!”

Bengivenga screamed, looking Fanchon’s side window. He then pretended to notice Fanchon for the first time,

though Alf and Fanchon both knew that Bengivenga had the total hots for Alf’s shapely redheaded wife.

Alf stuffed his dick back into his zipper as Bengivenga stuck his head in the car. Bengivenga, while staring

straight at Fanchon’s cleavage, made small talk. “We sure miss Alf on the Kissler softball team, Fanchon…

his pitching helped us beat Wibley Incorporated last summer.”

Fanchon smiled at Bengivenga, licking her lower lip. “Yeah, I know, Leon, but Alf has way too much to do at

home. We just don’t have time for him to do softball, darts leagues, bowling, poker and all that other happy

horseshit. You understand.”

Alf sighed. This was true. When Alf had married Fanchon, he’d been quite the playboy—bimbos, fun with

the guys, whatever. Alf was the stud of Buttermilk Falls—everyone said so! And Fanchon had really been

nice about him having a few nights out now and then even after they were married….

But then Alf had asked Fanchon to spank him one night. He’d put other women off with this weird request,

but Fanchon had taken Alf’s pants down, tied his shirtsleeves in a little bow around his belly, and thrown

him across her knee, pounding his buttocks until they were nearly purple with an old thick square wooden

hairbrush.

Fanchon had then just sat patiently and watched Alf, kneeling on the floor with his pants around his ankles,

weep into his hands. She didn’t bother to comfort him or even pat him on the back…

Alf’s former girlfriend, Lucinda Marie had asked all these questions about “why do you want to be hurt like

that?” and then she’d hit him lightly, and he’d had to ask her to hit harder…she only used her hand, and

then just barely and then FINALLY she’d hit him hard enough…and then when Alf had cried, Lucinda

Marie had cried harder, and it was just not worth it!

Alf had finally gotten up, and blown his nose…and then taken Fanchon and fucked the daylights out of her

that night…then he’d asked her how she’d known what he really wanted when he asked for a spanking.

2

Fanchon had smiled, as she’d lay in Alf’s arms. “Honey, I’ve had several boyfriends before you who were into

that…I whipped their asses with a belt a number of times…and we did other fun stuff.. So I don’t mind us

doing it, either.”

Alf had thought that was amazing. He’d lost more than one girlfriend because they’d believed he needed

some sort of therapy….it was very rare to find someone who could give him a little punishment. He’d had to

resort to dominatrixes…they were expensive!

But as Alf had become more and more submissive to Fanchon, she’d taken his privileges away…now he was

only allowed to watch the Super bowl, no other sports games, and he was NEVER allowed to go out with

the boys…too much housework!

Now, FINALLY, Bengivenga shut up, and said goodbye, and went into the building after giving Fanchon

one of those “You ought to dump this lucky shmuck and run off with me!” What a moronic Beta male.

Fanchon waved goodbye to Bengivenga, her purple nails flashing in the reflection of the car window. She

turned to Alf. “Are you going to squirt or should I lock you up again, Alfred? I need to take the car and do

some shopping…C’mon, jerk off into the latte, drink up, and I’ll lock you up or…I’ll lock you up NOW…”

But then she leaned towards Alf and ran her long purple nails across his bulging, (also purple) cock. “Don’t

you want to have a spurtee, baby?” Fanchon asked, breathing the words into Alf’s ear. “You’ve been

complaining for thirty days about how horny you are…or don’t you need to cum now?”

Fanchon stroked and pumped Alf’s cock a bit, and Alf bit his lower lip to keep from cumming in her hand.

He knew what would happen then…Fanchon had once beaten Alf’s balls with a steel claw hammer when

he’d lost control during one of her long and lustrous teasing sessions.

Fanchon leaned across to Alf’s seat and gave him a long tongue kiss as she jerked him faster and faster,

and she unbuttoned another button on her top, and her breasts almost fell out…her full round boobs were

just incredible!

And then suddenly, he felt the surge…it was coming. “Fanchon I’m about to cum—”

Fanchon pulled her hand away and casually slapped Alf’s face and he winced, and burst into tears. But it did

the trick and his penis shriveled.

“Jesus, Alf, you’re such a little faggot.” Fanchon said dismissively. “You cry at the drop of a hat…it’s kind of

disgusting.”

Why did she have to be so mean? Alf wondered this. Her constant teasing sessions were great, but whenever

she jerked her hand away, telling him she was tired after 2 hours or so…and locked him up, she’d laugh in

his face if he looked sad. What kind of a wife does that?

Months and months of chastity—well years of it now, almost two years—had made Alf patient for the rare

orgasms Fanchon allowed him. She’d first looked askance when Alf had begged her to put him in chastity,

after the spankings went so well.

“You sure about this, Alf?” Fanchon had asked. “You know, my old boyfriend Dunstan was into this too…

but it’s my rules, if you really, REALLY want this.” Did he want it? He’d wondered.

Fanchon had just been teasing him for long periods of time while he pretended to be tied up…and then

when it was time for him to cum, he’d mount her…and it was fun…getting his orgasm on after all that…a

harsh spanking, a teasing and then fucking!

But Fanchon had told Alf on more than one occasion that his dick really didn’t make HER cum, and so he’d

begun licking between her legs…her initial rule was “If you can’t make me cum at least three times with

your tongue, I’m not going to let you fuck me.”

And she meant it! If she only came twice, she’d turn over and go right to sleep…Alf sometimes would

sneak in the bathroom and jerk off, but then one night Fanchon caught him, and she’d given him a vicious

thrashing with her slipper, and tied his hands for the rest of the evening…

And then the next night, she’d felt his balls and accused him (rightly) of jerking off in the bathrooms at

work! That had resulted in another spanking, this time with the pancake spatula (Fanchon used whatever

was in reach…and they’d been in the kitchen.)

So Alf had told Fanchon of his chastity fantasies, and they’d ordered a belt together. Or Fanchon had

ordered it; she seemed to know a lot about that stuff. She’d locked Alf up, and then ordered him to lick her

and make her cum three times.

But the problem is, of course, a woman doesn’t always feel like cumming. Fanchon had cum twice that night,

Alf had gone to bed orgasmless…and suffered during the day watching Kissler Systems’s hot little secretaries

walking back and forth in the office! No running to the lavatory to wank off then!

The next night, he’d brought Fanchon to two orgasms again, and when he’d pouted as she turned over to

go to sleep, she’d become annoyed, and she’d tweaked one of his nipples, HARD, and told him to quit his

bitching.

Alf hated it when a woman said he was bitching. It was such a feminine term, you know? But he’d rubbed ice

on his nipple and gone to sleep in the chastity belt, which he was really beginning to hate.

The next night, Alf had brought Fanchon to three orgasms, and she’d unlocked his belt…but she wouldn’t

fuck him…she was tired. “Just jerk off quickly and I’ll lock you up again. And hurry.”

Alf suggested timidly that she go to sleep, and he’d take care of himself, but Fanchon was not going to let

him jerk off several times. He had to do it once and lock up…immediately! So he’d done so…and what a hot

orgasm it was!

He’d thrown away the soiled Kleenex, and Fanchon had locked him up once more, telling him. “Now I

don’t want you to ask for any more orgasms this week. I want you to give me three orgasms a night until next

Friday (this was on Wednesday) not this Friday, and then I’ll let you fuck me NEXT Friday, if you’ve been a

good boy.”

And she’d rolled over and gone to sleep!

To say she made it difficult for him with all the teasing and denial was an understatement…and was she

manipulative! Cruel, almost.

One time, when Alf had been 24 days orgasm-less, it was bringing him down…it was only six more days

until he’d be allowed to jerk off, as by that time Fanchon had shut her pussy down to him except for

Christmas and his birthday…and he was getting depressed.

That night Fanchon sat down next to Alf, and was rubbing his back. “What’s wrong, honey? You’ve got the

blues, huh? Can you tell me about it?” There was true compassion in her gorgeous Italian-Irish brown eyes.

Alf almost spoke, then hesitated. “I-I don’t think I can talk about it. You told me not to, you said you were

sick of hearing about it and—”

Fanchon shook her head. “Whaddya mean? You can tell Fanchon anything…I love you, Alfred, and I want

you to be happy. If you can’t talk about things with your spouse, what can you do?”

Alf smiled. “You-you mean it? You don’t mind hearing about my problem?”

Fanchon had given Alf a long kiss. “Tell me, baby. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just depressed about wearing the chastity belt so long. I know it was my idea, and all, but I-it’s really

difficult to go a whole month without an orgasm, and especially since I can’t stick my dick in your tight little

vagina anymore, honey…that’s what it was—you know?”

Fanchon had smiled and kissed him harder. “Of course! And why were you so reticent to talk about it with

me, darling?” She patted his crotch and gave him an impish grin.

Wow! Was Fanchon softening up? Maybe she’d—give him a break, maybe even FUCK him. “Well, Fanchon,

you know you said if I even mentioned wanting to get out of the chastity belt, you’d give me another thirty

days to be locked up, and that’s why I was scared to talk to you about it—-so I was trying to be strong and

silent and wait out my six days until I get to masturbate , but—-”

Fanchon smiled, pooching out her full lower lip. “Baby…of course you can always talk to me, I love you so

much! I really appreciate you being able to open up to me and I know it will be hard to wait out the next

thirty-six days, but I am glad it helps to talk about it.”

Alf had babbled with relief at first. “I’m-I’m so glad you understand, Fanchon, and maybe we can—thirty-six

days till my masturbation date? No, honey, it’s only six days, right?”

Fanchon shook her head, smiling. “No no, you broke the rule, honey. You mentioned it, and I have to

enforce boundary violations. Since you mentioned your stress at not having an orgasm, that means you

have another thirty-six days to wait. But I am so glad you talked to me about this…it’s great we can

communicate.”

Alf had burst into tears. “But-but I wasn’t complaining about not being able to cum, Fanchon! You asked me

why I was so depressed, and told me I could tell you, and so I told you about my sexual frustration. It’s not

fair to give me another month of chastity, honey! Puh-please don’t…”

Fanchon had clicked her tongue. “No honey. I’m worried about you, and I want my hubby happy, but I did

make that rule…if you mentioned your frustration or hinted in any way about wanting to get out early, that

was another thirty days. That’s the rule. Now why don’t we just change the subject…oh, you’re not having a

tantrum, are you?

Am I going to have to get out my whip and my big dildo…and maybe my enema kit to calm you down?”

And he’d just gone to bed and cried himself quietly to sleep!

Now, sitting in the car, Alf looked sadly at his bloated cock…it had filled with blood again after a minute or

so, and he was so, SOOO horny. Fanchon was looking at her watch. “I got to get out of here, Alfred. Are you

going to squirt or not?”

Alf shook his head, miserably. “Fanchon, I knock myself out at work, turn over my paychecks, I service you

every night…and sometimes you seem suspiciously sticky down there, like you’re seeing someone…you’ve

not fucked me in a year…and you won’t even let me jerk off in a handkerchief. Why does it have to be in

my coffee?”

Fanchon became annoyed. She reached into her purse and got out her square wooden hairbrush. “That’s it.

I’m so fucking sick of your attitude. Take your pants down RIGHT NOW, and get over my lap. Right here

in the car.”

Alf looked at the hairbrush and looked scared. “It’s-its okay. I’ll jerk off in the coffee, we can’t-can’t do that in

public.” He looked into Fanchon’s eyes and saw granite

“Nope. You’ve lost your right to cum this month. I’m going to lock you the fuck up…for thirty more days.”

Fanchon smiled. “But you’re also going to get a thrashing. Get your pants down, now, take your seat belt off,

and lean across my lap. 20 hard ones with my brush, before you go to work.”

Alf began begging. “P-please Fanchon. You’re not going to let me cum for another month—AND a

spanking? P-please Fanchon don’t-don’t…” Alf’s eyes filled with tears, and Fanchon tapped her square

wooden hairbrush.

“You’d better get across my lap now…it’s 40 whacks and if you’re not across my lap in fifteen seconds,

PANTS DOWN and underwear, it will be sixty, and I’ll do it with your belt while you lean over the hood

like we did on the way back from your parents on Highway 33!”

Finally Alf unbuckled his seat belt and took his pants down, lifting his butt up as he rolled down his undies.

He’d done this in the car before—once he’d been speeding, and Fanchon had made him take off everything

from the waist down just so he would drive at a civilized pace…and not risk being stopped by a cop.

So finally Alf, after giving Fanchon a final pleading look, lifted himself up and lay across her formidable lap.

She was wearing a denim miniskirt over her long tanned legs, and he was instantly aroused, but after he lay

across, opening his door for more leg room in the cramped Mitsubishi, Fanchon began whacking away.

About five minutes later, the car ejected a weeping Alf, who was pulling up his pants, and then Fanchon

drove off, whistling.

TWO

Kip Sobieski watched the Mitsubishi drive away, and watched the poor guy walk, rubbing his butt into the

office building. Jesus, that woman Fanchon hadn’t changed! His mind went back to years ago, when he’d

been a reporter for “In the Bedroom” magazine…

God, those were wild times! Now Kip was a columnist for restaurant-supplies weekly, but back then he’d

really enjoyed his early journalism. Kip had run into his old roommate from Buttermilk State, Flanders

Cimelde, and Flan had been quite excited to hear about Kip’s reporting for a sex mag…”Have I got a story

for you!”

Kip had laughed when Flan told him about Fanchon, his girlfriend who was a dominant of some sort.

They had had dinner once and Kip had thought the demure redhead was really sweet, and easy on the eyes,

but a dominant?

But a story was a story, so he went over to their place one night. It had to be better than the midget he’d

interviewed who blew donkeys on a beet farm, right? They sat and had drinks, and Flan seemed almost over-

eager in discussing BDSM.

Fanchon sat there, calmly sipping Merlot as Flan went on about how he was a submissive, and how Fanchon

was really good at making him submit, but it didn’t make any difference in their professional equality as a

couple, blah blah. Kip always did think Flan talked too much.

But he politely made some notes…Fanchon finally looked at him, she’d been crossing and re-crossing

her legs on the sofa all night as Flan babbled beside her..”Say, Flan, honey. Why don’t we give Kip a

demonstration, do you want to? A spanking, perhaps?”

Suddenly, Flanders quieted down. He laughed nervously and looked over at Kip—they were on the couch

and he was across the coffee table on a chair—but then he said, “Yeah, maybe…just for fun. Kip, you

probably don’t believe people do this, maybe a hand-spanking.”

Fanchon shook her head, smiling. “No, honey, go get my big square wooden hairbrush. It’s in the bedroom,

go on.” Flanders laughed nervously and went to get the hairbrush, and when he came back, he was about to

lie across Fanchon’s knees.

“C’mon, Flan, take ‘em down. Kip’s a guy just like you are, he’s seen a man’s butt before.” Fanchon smiled,

but it didn’t sound like a request…and it wasn’t! Flan dropped his pants—Kip was amused to see little

purple chimpanzees on Flan’s boxers— and then, after a look from Fanchon, he pulled his boxers down, too.

God, Kip thought. His dick is hard—is he gay or something? But Flan lay across Fanchon’s lap and grinned

over at Kip, looking a bit ridiculous, as it was weird to see a guy with a beard and ponytail bent over for a

spanking.

“You see, Kip, this is the way my chick punishes me…I’m a bad boy!” The joviality was still in Flan’s voice

as Fanchon brought the big square wooden hairbrush down on Flan’s pale asscheeks the first time. “Oooh,

honey. A little hard, but hey, I can take it!”

Flanders kept talking to Kip as the girl, her large chest heaving attractively in the snug baby pink angora

sweater, slapped the hairbrush down again and again. And again.

“Yeah (slap) Kip (slap, WHACK!) I got to (WHACK WHACK) watch my P’s (WHACK) and Q’s

(WHACK WHACK) you know?” Flan said as his eyes began to water. The brush began gradually turning

Flan’s ass pink, and the girl didn’t neglect his upper thighs, either.

“It’s (WHACK WHACK) just a game, really (WHACK WHACK) right honey? (WHACK WHACK!)

Kip WHACK WHACK understands that WHACK WHACK I’m really a WHACK WHACK regular guy.

This is WHACK WHACK just a kinky game WHACK WHACK we play, and um, baby you’re hitting

awfully hard for this interview. Kip are you taking pictures?”

Yes, Kip had brought along his Iphone and yes, he was taking shots of Flan’s bottom, which was now quite

a misty red, with little tiny purple blotches. Fanchon was hitting and hitting, but still kind of looking at

Kip in a seductive way…it seemed almost like Fanchon and Kip were adults now, and Flan was just a weepy,

naughty boy…

Because now he was crying! Kip didn’t understand why Flan didn’t just push himself off the bitch’s lap, but

he just lay there and was sobbing, outright sobbing as the large square wooden hairbrush turned his butt

from light red to dark red to purple.

“P-please-please WHACK WHACK Mommy (MOMMY? thought Kip…she’s 23 years old) p-please stop

WHACK WHACK spanking me now—(sob) Kip gets the idea, I think sob puh-puh please…” Flan’s face

was covered with tears, and though Kip could sympathize, he thought Flan really should try to man up, or

get off the chick’s lap.

Seriously dude, Kip thought…Fanchon’s a hottie and all, but how much can a guy put up with, right? And

she’d behaved erratically in the past too—Flan had told Kip that the way he’d met Fanchon was, she’d been

his across the hall neighbor, and she’d found his bondage magazines in the trash, she’d confronted him,

he’d blushed…

And then a few weeks after that, Flan had had some people over on a weeknight, and made so much noise

that Fanchon came over, opened the door, screamed at Flan and taken his pants down THEN and spanked

him in front of his laughing friends! You’d think that would be enough for a restraining order…

And also, Flan’s a big, husky guy, snowboarder, Rugby player, and the girl weighed about eighty pounds…

how did she do this against his will? But then they began dating….and now this!

Kip was really feeling sorry for Flan now. He’d gone from being a confident excited kinkster showing off his

girlfriend’s dominatrix proclivities, to being a sniveling, sobbing baby. Flan’s ass looked like a violet now, it

was so purple, and the blotches were increasing, as well as welts, bruises and near scars. Flan could no longer

talk, he just sobbed miserably, and Fanchon cheerfully kept whacking.

Finally she tossed down the square wooden hairbrush, and Flan got up, shaking from her lap. “Now it’s time

for baby to go in the corner…for causing such a tantrum in front of Mister Kip! Only sissies and crybabies

behave this badly from a little itty paddling.”

Flan actually turned to Kip, tears coursing down his blotched, mottled face and said “I’m s-s-sorry Muh-

Mister Kip.” Kip was amazed because Flan’s pants were still down, but a thick erection protruded from his

shirttails.

Flan tried to pull his pants up, but Fanchon smacked his hand. “No no…You don’t get to keep your pants up,

and if you argue, it’ll be the big belt! I’ll get Mister Kip to lend me HIS belt, you bad boy.” Fanchon pointed

to the corner, and Flan burst into fresh tears.

How humiliating it must be, thought Kip to be told he would be beaten with his buddy’s belt! But of course

how could they be friends anymore. Who but a total loser would put up with this from a little itty bitty

redhead like her?

Kip watched as Flan shuffled with his pants round his ankles to the corner and stood there, with his hands

above his head, bruised and ripped bottom quite obvious.

Fanchon had then gotten up and gone over to Kip and given him a deep hug, rubbing her big boobs against

his chest. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow night” she whispered in his ear..” And we’ll finish the

interview.”

The next night Kip had not been late. When he’d gone in, he’d expected Flan to probably be either absent,

or pretending it was no big deal. but when Kip came in, Flan was naked on the floor on his knees with his

hands behind him.

And, amazingly, Fanchon had shaved Flan’s beard and cut almost all his hair off…just a little fuzz remained

on his head. Kip wouldn’t have recognized him, but he’d known Flan just before he’d grown the beard, back

in freshman year.

Flan didn’t speak to Kip, he just kept his eyes on the floor—was that eye shadow on his lids? Damn..it’s

insane. Flanders was such a regular guy. What had this woman done to him?

And his dick was straining hard, too…sticking right up as he knelt there naked on the floor. And Kip

thought Flan’s wrists were cuffed, but when Fanchon snapped her fingers, Flan got up and went and brought

them—just Kip and Fanchon— drinks, and returned to kneeling on the floor, staring at his knees, and

probably his raging rock hard cock.

What had happened next, Kip had never talked about to ANYONE. He and Fanchon had begun necking,

completely ignoring Flan, until she’d snapped her fingers. Then, as Kip had begun playing with her boobs,

pulling them out of her tube top, he felt someone unzipping his pants and pulling his fucking DICK out.

Yup—Flan was sucking Kip’s dick. Flanders, the big man on campus…he’d been Sigma Phi Epsilon

president, tackle on the ‘Varsity football team, and all-around hell-raiser…and look at him now…wearing

makeup and sucking Kip’s dick.

And Kip didn’t try to pull his cock out of Flan’s mouth…because Fanchon wouldn’t let him…she kept his

mouth busy, with her tongue in and out of it…and encouraged him to play with her titties. “You should

enjoy my boobs, Kip, because Flanders isn’t allowed to touch them…he’s just a Nancy boy”

As Kip forced his tongue further down Fanchon’s throat, he could hear Flanders sobbing…”

THREE

After she’d left her husband Alf at work, Fanchon whistled cheerily, as she drove past Buttermilk Falls Mall

to visit her dear friends, the Antonoviches. Pulling up in front of Mrs. Antonovich’s large Colonial, Fanchon

hopped out and went up to the door, and it opened before she could knock.

And there she was! Mrs. W.Gernsbacher Antonovich opened the door. “Fanchon, darling! How are you?

Dunstan’s actually at home today!” Mrs. W.Gernsbacher Antonovich was a youthful sixty-three, and her

dyed blonde hair and massive chest, tightly encased in a black crinoline dress, was really something!

Mrs. W.Gernsbacher Antonovich was quite an imposing woman, but had friendly crinkles under her eyes,

and the two embraced before Mrs. W.Gernsbacher Antonovich ushered Fanchon in. “Dunstan has been just

impossible today, dear.”

Fanchon wasn’t surprised. Mrs. W. had raised Dunstan the old fashioned way—a widow of considerable

means, she’d been able to tutor Dun at home and keep him within the confines of the house and walled

garden.

When Dun was twelve, he’d tried to sneak out to play with other boys, and Mrs.W. had countered this by

making Dun wear frilly dresses and knee socks and parading him through the town. This effectively cured

any hope of a social life with his “peers”.

One day Buttermilk State U. student Fanchon Spagnuolo’s mom had asked her daughter to come help her

with her work in her new job as housekeeper at the Antonovich estate.

Fanchon was sitting in the scullery, polishing some silverware, thinking about her upcoming exam in her

“Thomas Hardy and the Natural World” class and also what she was going to wear to Estelle Morricone’s

party that night, when a weird figure entered the room.

A handsome young man, wearing only a garter belt, stockings high heeled shoes and pink panties came into

the scullery kitchen hesitantly. “M-mother says I’m to help you polish the silverware, Miss Spagnuolo.” the

boy said, blushing.

Fanchon noticed, however, that his eyes grew big as he stared at her lustrous strawberry curls, and the way

her bosom was packed in her bright blue metallic cable knit sweater. It was a short sweater, and showed

Fanchon’s cute belly.

Fanchon’s immigrant plumber dad had argued “But honey, it be d’ fall. If you’re wearing a sweater to keep

warm, why you wanna show you belly? Don’t it get cold?” But Daddy’s never understand…”

“You can call me Fanchon.” Fanchon said to the oddly dressed boy. “Are you wearing blusher and eye

shadow?” Damn, and it was cheap makeup, too….

“Yes…my mother put it on me.” the boy said, blushing more. It was incredible for him, interacting with this

adorable strawberry blonde girl in her tight sweater and leather miniskirt with fishnet stockings…and he in

this humiliating lingerie!

Fanchon could see a bulge growing in the poor lady boy’s panties…quite the bulge! He looked quite

entranced with her, but completely, TOTALLY embarrassed.

Suddenly the scullery door opened and Mrs. W.Gernsbacher Antonovich bustled in, holding a three foot

long stick with seven long, braided leather tails coming from it. It was too short to be a whip…Fanchon

learned later it was called a flogger.

And under Mrs. W.Gernsbacher Antonovich’s arm was a bundle of twelve or thirteen long, thorny branches

lashed together with a leather cord at one end—Fanchon assumed to as a handle. As the boy looked over

at the bundle under Mrs. W.Gernsbacher Antonovich’s arm, Fanchon could see sheer terror in his eyes.But

Mrs.W. smiled genially at Fanchon, and her full bosom heaved in a snug strapless shimmering satin gown

with a plunging swoop neckline that accentuated her cleavage.

“Hello dear…you’re Colleen’s daughter, aren’t you? You must be more from her Irish side of the family,

though I’ve seen your father, he’s quite handsome.” Mrs. W. turned to the boy, and Fanchon winced as she

slashed him in the face.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU, DUNSTAN? DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO TAKE YOUR PANTIES

DOWN?” As Mrs. W used the flogger more liberally on the boy, he looked mortified, seeing Fanchon there.

He tried to grit his teeth to the thrashing…

“Mother, I-I can’t do that—this girl goes to my college! I can’t pull my panties down…even if you thrash me.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes, but he was trying, desperately, to make a stand.

Fanchon realized she’d seen this guy! He was in her Economics for Equity and the Environment class back

in sophomore year. He always wore a dark, expensive suit, and weirdly, knickerbockers—the baggy knee

trousers that young boys wore in the 1920s. Fanchon had read Booth Tarkington’s “Penrod” and this dude

looked just like him.

And what was weirder was, Dunstan wore sparkling pink nail polish, although he spent most of his time

trying to hide his hands so no one would see his nails…that’s so strange

She’d overheard Dunstan telling another student, who was normally dressed in a backwards baseball cap

and a “Motley Crue” t-shirt that his mother was making him wear the knickerbockers until he reached the

age of twenty-five, and then he could wear “big boy” trousers.The guy apparently hadn’t had the nerve to ask

about the pink nail polish!

And Fanchon had remembered once in the hallway, the poor guy, Dunstan, tried to ask bitchy Patrice

Dalessio for some coffee…and Patrice had laughed in his face, and then slapped him…”You look like such a

faggot in those golf pants, dude!”

Then Patrice had twitched her blonde ponytail and called over her boyfriend Roscoe and his buddies, and

they’d dragged poor Dun’s knickerbockers down…

It was called “pantsing” someone, and Patrice and her bitchy friends, Jill Assante Cheryl Silvaggio and Nona

Reilley, had laughed at poor Dun and his little dick sticking out as he’d knelt on the floor crying, before

Roscoe had kicked Dun in the nuts and dragged him off to the locker room.

“And then they took turns corn holin’ him, Fanchon” Anthony, Fanchon’s boyfriend at the time had confided

in her. Anthony was a scholarship kid at Amber Rock State and worked as a towel boy…he had told her it was

brutal. “They skull fucked his head and his butt, and then Roscoe took a shit on his face…it was real sad, man.”

The poor guy! And to have this kind of mother?

Now, Mrs. W.smiled at Fanchon. “Dear, what would you do? I find this filthy minded son of mine

masturbating and reading a stolen “Victoria’s Secret” catalogue in the lavatory…I don’t allow him to use the

Internet because of his disgusting mind, and apparently that isn’t enough! So I am punishing him…TAKE

DOWN YOUR PANTIES, YOUNG MAN!”

But Dun tried to look manly, absurdly as he was dressed, and so Mrs. W. dropped the flogger, and tapped

the bundle of thorny branches in her hand. “You don’t want me to use Mommie’s Little Helper do you?” she

said venomously.

Dun’s lip had begun trembling, Fanchon still remembered that 20 years later, how scared he was, but he

forced his shoulders up and looked at her through wet tears. “I-I won’t do it, Mother. I’m a tuh-tuh-twenty

year old man. Puh-please don’t make me.”

And then Mrs. W. swooshed in slashing the boy with the bundle of thorny rose branches. “HOW

(WHACK)DARE YOU(WHACK) DEFY MY (WHACK)WISHES YOUNG(WHACK) MAN?

YOU’LL (WHACK)TAKE DOWN(WHACK) THOSE (WHACK)PANTIES(WHACK) OR I’LL

(WHACK) KNOW THE (WHACK) REASON WHY!”

Fanchon watched as Mrs. W. slashed poor Dun’s narrow chest with the bundle before pulling his panties

down herself. In horror, Fanchon noticed that Dun’s penis, oddly hard, had a bright pink ribbon on the end.

But his cock flagged as Mrs. W’s bundle of thorny branches whacked it severely five or six times before

returning to attention on the buttocks. “I’m sorry you have to see this, dear” Mrs. W. said as she swung the

bundle again and again. “But I have to hit his nasty wee-wee, because he can’t stop playing with it!”

Fanchon gazed as Mrs. W whipped every area of her son’s body, and watched as his skin tore and long raised

welts were prominent on his back, shoulders, buttocks and thighs. The bundle of deadly twigs broke one of

his garter belts, and his stocking fell down, and finally Dunstan dropped to his knees, weeping.

Mrs. W Gernsbacher Antonovich finally tossed down Mother’s Little Helper, and walked to the scullery sink,

drawing a pail of very cold water, which she threw over her naked, welted son, telling Fanchon that it was for

hygiene reasons.

“Now, you are to help Fanchon polish the silverware” Mrs. W Gernsbacher Antonovich had said to poor

Dunstan, “And if you give her any trouble, I’m leaving Mother’s Little Helper here for her to use on you!”

FOUR

Of course at the time, Fanchon had just polished the silverware with poor, bruised Dunstan helping. She had

no desire to hit the poor guy with the bundle of thorny branches, and he’d actually done a great job on the

silver, better than she did…he told her later that he’d had lots of practice, having done lots of the housework

since he was a little tot.

But a few weeks later, Mrs. W. had taken Fanchon aside as she was vacuuming the music room. “Darling,

I understand you are fellow students with Dunstan…he tells me you are a quite talented Romance

Languages major on full academic scholarship!”

“Yes ma’am.” Fanchon replied, as she turned off the vacuum. “I got a scholarship to Smith College, but I

wanted to stay close to my family, y’know, here in Buttermilk Falls.”

Mrs. W nodded .”I am afraid Dunstan is not a very bright pupil, though I have certainly tried hard to drum

academics into his dull head. We could’ve paid for him to go to Harvard, but he was only bright enough

for Buttermilk State. Dun is failing French…would you tutor him? I can pay you quite handsomely…and I

think you’re aware of my methods. They’re the only ones that work on a spoiled, vain boy like my Dunstan.”

Fanchon shrank from those “methods” but then she discovered that Dun really wasn’t much of a worker…he

was actually a smart student, but he didn’t have much ambition, it seemed…and he didn’t study, at all…he

just looked at cum-stained catalogues from Victoria’s Secret and Fredericks of Hollywood. Finally one day

Fanchon had had enough.

They were sitting in the Buttermilk State U. Student Union, and Fanchon was saying “ I asked you to

translate ‘Je suis malade’ which is ‘I am sick’ and you wrote ‘it was a bad malady’. I asked you to translate

‘Nous avons une maison’ which is ‘We have a house’ and you construed it as ‘The Avon lady is here’.Dun,

haven’t you been doing your homework?”

But Dun was just staring at Fanchon’s breasts, which was certainly cute as it peeked out of a frilly white-pink

fontaine dress. He wasn’t even listening to her. Did she have to wear a fuckin’ nun’s habit to get his attention

on his French work?

Fanchon lost it, and slapped Dun’s face, which fortunately did take his weak mind off her cleavage, at least

for a moment. “Goddamn it, Dunstan, are you going to focus on your work or not?”

Dun looked imploringly at Fanchon. “Fanchon, I-I think I’m in love with you. You got Mother to take the

fingernail polish off, and to let me wear long trousers, and you’re so beautiful. Mother has my bedtime at

seven-thirty, but would you like to see an afternoon movie with me?”

Fanchon’s lip curled. As if a wuss like this could ask her out! He was dumb, fat and a crappy student. Sure,

she felt sorry for him, but goddamnit, she wanted him to work! And look, Dun’s eyes were on her tits

AGAIN. What could she do?

“Dunstan, take your belt off and give it to me…I am so sick of this shit” Dun handed her his belt, and she

looped it around her hand. She walked over to his side of the long table and sat down. “Now take those long

pants down that you’re so proud of, and your panties—I know you can’t wear boxers—and bend across my

lap. NOW!”

Dun’s eyes widened and he began arguing with her. “Fanchon,the Student Union is full of people—a lot of

them are pretty girls! Please, can we just wait til we get home? I’ll study harder, I really will.”

Fanchon then unbuttoned Dun’s pants herself, and pulled them down, as well as his panties. Other students

began looking on with interest as Fanchon grabbed Dun’s left ear and dragged him across her lap, and began

swinging the belt against his bare ass.

Fanchon had been afraid that Dun would struggle, but he’d just lie there, thanks to Mother’s training, and

bit his lip, crying quietly as the belt had slammed his pale buttocks again and again. Fanchon was grimly

determined to return Dunstan’s interests to his studies.

Patrice Dalessio stood up from her table and swung over in her slutty but skin-tight fuchsia floral tube top

dress. “What’s goin’ on, Fanchon?” Patrice said, cracking her gum. “Beating the little faggot heah?” Arsenia

Carbone came over as well, laughing, and as Fanchon slapped Dun’s buttocks, Arsenia began shooting

rubber bands at his reddening cheeks.

Suddenly Fanchon threw the belt down. “This annoys me. It just bounces off his ass…Say, Bobby, can I

use your cane?” Bobby was a nice guy, and he had a lame leg and arm from cerebral palsy, and he’d always

appreciated the pretty Fanchon being nice to him, and he immediately handed her his long wooden cane.

“Now get the fuck across the table, you slacker!” Dun lay across the table, his bruised buttocks evident to

everyone. Fanchon began whacking with some vigor, but her hand became tired, as she was unused to wrist

action.

“Can I help?” Fanchon turned to find a tall, sandy haired guy, quite cute, looking down at her. His English

accent was quite thick, and he looked like a big, strong guy.

Taking the cane from her, the guy said “I was a prefect in boarding school got lots of practice on the younger

boys, and your caning (he pronounced it ‘Ky-ning) methods are a bit unwise…you’re wearing your wrist out,

Miss. Let me show you how it’s done. You see, you have all these crossed stripes on his bum-quite messy.”

The English boy swung the cane hard, with the entire Student Union watching. “It must be like a golf

swing, you know.” After the cane thwacked, Dun screamed. “That was a nice scream, you see? And then

you immediately pull the cane back and swing again…and you see how I leave these lovely weals, brown and

blue, on his sorry little bottom”

“Yeah, take his mind off sex and focus it on his books, for Chrissake” Fanchon said as she watched the

whipping. Damn, the guy did it professionally, almost methodically.

“Oh, it’s a sex problem, is it?” The fellow stopped in mid swing. “Well, there’s a solution for that, eh? Get up,

young jackanapes, and take off all your clothes.”

“B-but everyone is watching!” Dunstan said tearfully. But as the young man gritted his teeth meaningfully,

Dun stripped naked, and a couple of assholes began clapping as his face became incredibly red.

The sandy haired boy told Dun to hold his hands behind his back and to jut his chest forward. WHACK!

The cane went right across Dun’s nipples, and the Student Union rocked with laughter as Dun fell to the

floor, clutching his chest and moaning.

“Get up, you cringing worm” shouted the sandy haired boy, as he whacked Dun’s prone figure…finally Dun

jumped up, tears coursing down his face. The sandy haired boy ordered Dunstan to jut out his chest again,

and once again landed the cane across Dun’s nipples.

“Now, lay your cock and balls on the table, and we’ll give you a good lesson, Dunstan.” The English guy

knew what he was doing! Dunstan put his cock and balls on the table, and the other young man swung the

cane down hard on Dun’s cock.

Dun shrieked and fell over, and began grabbing his crotch. Fanchon watched, amazed as the sandy haired

English boy pulled Dun up by the hair. “Now then, enough of your malingering. I’ll need two chaps to hold

Dunstan’s shoulders so he doesn’t fall down again, eh?”

Roscoe, Patrice’s boyfriend and another fellow, “Lips” Lackowitz, who Fanchon had gone out with once or

twice the previous semester, came to Dunstan’s body and grabbed his shoulders firmly.

The sandy haired boy swung the cane again and again on Dunstan’s dick until it was tiny and withered.

“Not done yet you know.” the English boy said crisply. “Fanchon, jerk ‘is dick until it’s a proper specimen

again, so I can lick it a bit with the cane.”

Fanchon took Dun’s bloody, wrinkled penis in her long fingers, and began tickling the head with her nails.

While she did this, Patrice kissed Dun’s neck and toyed with his sore nipples, and soon Dun’s dick was once

again long and hard.

“Now then” the sandy haired boy said. “Put ‘im on the table again, and let’s do a bit more work…like

Clockwork Orange this is!” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Dun’s face was in absolute agony as Roscoe and Lips held him tight, pulling his hands behind his back as the

English lad did his work. Finally, Dunstan fainted, and the English boy threw the cane down.

“Well now, I think we won’t have a problem with him and his filthy ‘abits anymore…He’ll be a good student

for you Fanchon, methinks.” And the sandy haired boy walked out of the Student Union, and no one ever

saw him again!

FIVE

And not surprisingly, Dun turned into a model student, and wound up graduating from law school as

well…and although Fanchon would’ve thought that having all those future voters in the Student Union

witness his humiliation be a problem, Dun was elected mayor of Buttermilk Falls on his 24th birthday, and

Congressman for the State on his 30th.

Now, Fanchon smiled at Mrs. W. “I’m so glad to hear the Governor’s in town, ma’am.” Fanchon was trying

to be as supportive as possible, though she thought Dunstan was a bit wimpy for the job…

Mrs. W. smiled beneficently. “Yes…I hope your dear parents and your husband Alfred are doing well!

Dunstan would have been glad to see him! Guess what?

A poll has been done in the state, and many of the voters think my son would be a better Senator than our

current one, that vile liberal, Selwyn Iglehart-Dinsmore…and so we need to get Dunny in shape for it! And

that’s why I called you!”

There was a picture of Selwyn Iglehart-Dinsmore in the newspaper on the coffee table, and Fanchon

surveyed it. Goodness. It was the sandy haired Brit who had caned Dun in the Buttermilk State U. Student

Union 15 years ago!

“Unfortunately, Dunstan has been involved in little scandals in the Statehouse, sexually harassing his female

subordinates, leaving pornography around his office, that sort of thing.” Mrs. W. said, shaking her head. “I

don’t have the energy to pull him up, dear…so it’s really up to you!”

Over the years, Fanchon hadn’t seen a whole lot of Dun or his mother; but every now and then he needed a

refresher course in ambition and she was well compensated for her visits. She nodded to Mrs. W. and made

her way to Dunstan’s study.

What could she do this time? Once, she’d made Dun drag a 100 pound safe, chained to his cock and balls

while she’d urged him on with a bullwhip…this illustrated how his sex urges were dragging him down!

Another time she’d locked Dun’s cock and balls in a stainless steel canister-thing, called the Cruncher…

Fanchon, single then, had gone back to the statehouse with Dun, and whenever he’d seemed a little too

interested in the hot little legislative assistant, Fanchon would press a remote control button and the

Cruncher would contract severely on Dun’s cock and balls, in the little canister until he dropped to his knees,

crying.

Once she’d taken Dun to the Gay Room of the Buttermilk Falls PainCafe and put him in a tiny closet with

a small hole in the door…and shoved his cock and balls through the hole! Then various Gay Masters had

come up to the peculiar appendage sticking out of the closet hole and whipped, kicked and tortured Dun’s

genitals until he’d promised to reform!

And then a few months later, when he groped a mail clerk, Fanchon had drilled a hole in the floor of the

Buttermilk Falls Hatchery, and positioned Dun under it, with his junk sticking out of the hole, to be pecked

by wild, cockfighting roosters…that had been unusually interesting, and agricultural as well!

When the Governor had nearly raped the curvaceous State Environment, Water, Energy, Natural Resources,

Oceans and Recreation expert in an elevator, Fanchon had rubbed Ben Gay all over his cock and balls, and

let him scream for HOURS….

And the time Dun got caught jerking off under his desk at a Labor, Commerce, Consumer Protection,

Financial Institutions, Housing and Insurance meeting, Fanchon had tied him naked in the woods and

poured syrup on his body and had him attacked by fire ants!

Fanchon had, on occasion, bloated Dun’s cock with a vacuum pump, and then enclosed it with a cock ring,

then attaching lead weights to the shaft, holding them down by little fishhooks in the skin. Fanchon had

then chased Dun around the family estate, thrashing his bare buttocks as he jounced along, the weights

dragging painful jolts in his already engorged cock.

At one point Fanchon had shoved ice cubes up Dunstan’s butt, and sealed the cheeks with wax, so he was

so distracted by the melting ice that he wasn’t focused on hot pussy…but then his pants had become quite

drenched…so that didn’t work either. The man was a satyr… there was no questioning this.

Now, Fanchon went into Dunstan’s study, and not to her surprise—he was hanging by his wrists from the

hook in the ceiling, stark naked, and he had a large empty paint bucket attached to his cock and balls by

another chain. Yes, Mother must’ve been quite displeased with Dun.

Dun was blindfolded, and his mouth was stuffed with a huge cucumber. Fanchon looked around, and not

to her surprise, there was another young woman in the room, and a young man as well—Smitty and Sandi,

Dun’s trainers.

“Hey kids…what’s in the bucket?” Fanchon asked cheerily. But she went and looked for herself, and whaddya

know? The pail was filled with half-bricks. There were about four or five of them.

Sandi grinned at Fanchon. Sandi had short blue-black hair and little pointing boobs in a snug ultraviolet

T-shirt. She looked a bit like Demi Moore. “I’ve been adding a half-brick every hour…we’re tryin’ to get the

Governor to focus on his work…but his dick is just too deranged, Fanchon.”

Smitty, who wore a spiked dog collar and had a huge Mohawk, and dressed in black was smoking a Viceroy

and standing just behind where Dun’s naked butt swung, about at the level of Smitty’s face.

Amused, Fanchon watched Smitty stab Dun four or five times in the butt with the lit cigarette…of course

Dun screamed, and the cucumber fell out of his mouth and landed on the expensive Oriental rug.

“WHAT THE FUCK’S WRONG WITH YOU, GOVERNOR?” Smitty screamed, enraged. He picked

up a steel paddle made in the tradition of the long frat whacker, and slapped Dun’s butt with it six or

seven times as the Governor screamed. “I TOLD YOU TO HOLD THAT FUCKIN’ CUKE IN YOUR

MOUTH,EVEN IF IT IS COVERED IN WET LAUNDRY SOAP!”

Sandi laughed at Smitty’s tirade and lazily picked up another half brick and tossed it in the bucket, and Dun

shrieked with the additional weight on his cock and balls. Then Sandi reached out one of her leather boots

and kicked the bucket so it swung back and forth between the Governor’s splayed legs.

“It’s real serious, Fanchon.” Sandi said, as she violently kicked the brick filled pail again. “Dunstan’s tried to

mount our 23 year old Communications Director, and he snapped the bra strap of a departing Session intern,

at her party, humiliating her, and one day the bastard took his pants off in the office and threw them to our

very feminist Policy Analyst, and ordered her to mend them!”

Smitty continued to whack Dun’s butt. “YOUR JOB IS TO BE A GOOD LEGISLATOR AND

SAVE OUR STATE, AND ALL YOU WANNA DO IS MANHANDLE THE ASSISTANTS,

GODDAMNIT!”

“And of course Dun was late for an important Agriculture and Rural Economic Development meeting,

because he was jerking off with a pair of panties he’d stolen from a neighborhood laundry…I can’t keep up

with him, constantly, Fanchon.”

Fanchon noticed that Sandi had hooked a condom on Dun’s dick, and tied it up so it held, but she’d put an

ice cube in, right next to the tip…God, that must really be driving him crazy, along with the um, other stuff.

Sandi clawed the condom off, finally and slapped Dun’s penis hard, then pinching the cockhead hard with

her long nails. Dun was still blindfolded, but he moaned at the horrible sensations his poor pecker was

enduring.

“I mean, it’s such a backwards turn for feminism you know.” Sandi said as Fanchon watched her take a couple

of metal tipped darts out of her purse. She threw one, and it expertly landed on Dun’s glans, and he shrieked.

“SHUT UP, FAGGOT!” Smitty screamed as he thwacked the Governor on the ass again. Fanchon was

beginning to suspect that the Governor was going to have a nearly purple butt…poor thing!

Sandi threw another dart and it lodged in the side of Dun’s shaft, and Fanchon watched as thick tears rolled

out from under his blindfold. Sandi threw yet another dart and it landed in Dun’s scrotal sack.

“Smitty, would you get the darts out, hon? I want to throw them again.” Sandi said innocently. Smitty

growled and came around.

“I aint touching that little faggot’s groin. I’ll slap them out!” Smitty whacked Dun’s glans once or twice, and

one dart fell out in a little pool of blood. The one stuck in his shaft took a bit of pounding with the metal

paddle, as did the scrotum dart…

But Sandi didn’t mind! After all, she needed her darts back, right?

All of a sudden, just before Sandi could attach a couple of office binder clips to Dun’s dick, Smitty ran

around and began kicking him in the balls, screaming and hollering all the while.

Fanchon finally calmed Smitty down, and got the kids to let the Governor down from the ceiling. She gently

took his blindfold off, and embraced him gently, and, after unlocking the hellacious paint bucket filled with

bricks, took Dun up to his old bedroom.

Dun smiled at Fanchon as they came into his room. If these walls could talk! Fanchon remembered stripping

Dun and whipping him bloody with a vacuum cleaner cord because of his failure to conjugate the French

auxiliary verb “devenir “ and then raping him with a mammoth oak strap-on dildo that his mother had

purchased in Istanbul.

And Fanchon also recalled the many hours she spent sitting on Dun’s face as he brought her to many, many

orgasms. He’d been trained by Mother; and his tongue was a dancing snake…truly it was. Then he’d be

allowed to jerk off into her ashtray, full of her Marlboro butts, and then she’d force him to eat the sticky

butts and ashes.

Now, Fanchon bound Dun’s wrists to the bedposts and lay him on the bed. She took off her top, revealing a

skimpy demibra showing her full melon tops, and began stroking his cock, so recently tormented by Sandi…

“Tell me why you’re behaving so badly, Dunstan. You’ve got a wonderful wife and caring staffers…what’s

going on here?” Fanchon tossed her red hair and the flash of sparkling strawberry mop nearly hypnotized

Dun, but he began telling her a story.

“Yes, it was wonderful meeting Erin, she has big boobs like yours, and curly dark hair…Even though Mother

tried to put the kybosh on our love, Erin still liked me! She was hired as a typist for my mayoral staff years

ago, and I began taking her out to lunch and coffee.

As you know, at the time, Mother had me locked in steel swimming trunks to prevent masturbation; twice

a day she would unlock the little portal between my legs so I could pee and have bowel movements…and

sometimes Mother would be cruel and ‘forget” to come to the office at noon so I could relieve myself.

Although I was careful not to drink too much iced tea at lunch, or other liquids, Mother was tricky, and

would often slip Ex-lax into my chocolate pudding, and so around the middle of the day I’d start becoming

anxious and calling Mother on the phone, begging her to come unlock me so I could do my “business”.

One day Erin, the sweet typist, came into my office, and patted my hand. ‘Your Honor, are you all right?’ I

smiled at her, and said everything was all right, though I was jumping up and down.

Erin offered to give me a back massage to relax me, and amazingly, it did. I stopped thinking about the

pressure on my bowels due to these horrible steel trunks, and was able to grit my teeth and get through it

until Mother finally came, and took me into the bathroom.

And of course that was a big production. Mother would unlock the little hole from my steel trunks, and I

would shit and pee…and that day, Mother saw the consistency of my turds was too soft, and suspected I had

been eating illegal French Fries.

“What’s this about, Dunstan?” Mother asked me quite severely. “Have I not ordered you to stay on your diet

of salads and oatmeal? Do I not provide you little packets of instant oatmeal so you can order hot water in

restaurants and mix it yourself?”

And of course I remonstrated with Mother, explaining that as an elected official, I had to attend various

eating events, and I couldn’t risk looking weird by eating oatmeal, but it was quite difficult to argue with her,

especially in a bathroom while wearing steel trunks!

And Mother would have none of it. She stepped over and unlocked my steel trunks, and I winced as they

clattered loudly on the floor around my ankles. Mother took me by the ear and I stepped out of the trunks,

and then she lay me across the sink.

“Now I am going to teach you that you don’t disobey your Mommie, darling.” Mother cooed. “You’re going

to learn that even if you are the Mayor of Buttermilk Falls, you’re still a little sissified Momma’s boy, and you

will obey your Mother.”

“P-please, Mother” I begged as I watched her take out her nasty leather Martinet, a short whip that really cuts

from her bag,” Let’s do this at home. My staff will hear me screaming and—”

“Nonsense darling” Mother said soothingly. Mother grabbed a roll of toilet paper, and dunked it in the urinal

and stuffed it in my mouth, encouraging me to bite down hard. “Now your mouth is nice and full—please

don’t make those hideous faces—and we can commence with your punishment.”

And I took that whipping. The lashes of the martinet across my bare buttocks were so vicious, and so

alarming…within fifteen minutes my butt looked like a Serbian war zone, and I’d bit all the urine out of the

toilet roll, and it had sailed down my throat—all the men in the office that had peed in the damn thing (the

urinal was broken, of course so all the pee had sunk into the toilet roll).

Finally Mother threw down the martinet, and reached back into her bag and brought out something even

more horrible—her enema kit! “I’ve told you to insert your glycerin suppositories, and you always complain

that they make your stomach hurt…but if you did as you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have to do this to you!”

“I knew I’d probably have an issue with you, so I have icy cold soapy water that I brought from home!”

Mother pulled out all the equipment, and attached the rubber hose to the enema bag, inserting a nozzle at

the loose end. She then pushed the nozzle in my rectum.

Then Mother made me hold the freezing liquid in my ass for nearly ten minutes, watching with amusement

as I danced around desperately, before she let me sit back on the toilet and explode…

After this, Mother had me hold my hands behind my back and kneel before her so she could stomp my little

penis with her high heel and grind it into the bathroom floor, as she laughed hysterically, as she spoke of my

pitiful efforts to impress the girls on my staff…by the time I was re-locked in the steel trunks and dressed

again, my face was swollen from weeping!

Although many of my staff made jokes about how the Mayor went into the bathroom with his Mother, Erin

was very sweet when we got out. She insisted I go to lunch with her as soon as Mother left the office, and was

so sweet and supportive…and we necked in the car on the way back to the office…as you know, I moved out

of Mother’s and in with Erin, and we were married within the year!

It was wonderful, sexual freedom, no more steel trunks, no enemas, Erin made me feel like a real man’s

man…it wasn’t all sunshine. Erin’s first husband had died of an overdose, leaving her with two juvenile

delinquent teenage sons, Piggy and T.D. They were either playing Nintendo, or raising hell around the

neighborhood, but I had a lot of power as Mayor, and I kept them out of jail…and the sex with Erin was just

fantastic…I really loved it!

But then I started gaining weight. In the early years, before I was Mayor, and just running for City Council,

I’d dropped a lot of pounds so I’d look good…Mother’s cook was terrible, anyway. But after I married Erin,

I began eating whatever I liked, since Mother no longer was supervising my diet, and making me do stupid

shit like ordering porridge in restaurants.

One night, about five years into our marriage, Erin pushed my hand away as I approached her for sex. She

told me she no longer was attracted to me, I was too porky, and she wasn’t even going to let me see her in the

nude anymore.

I was now in Congress, this was before we moved home to the Governor’s Mansion, and were living in

Washington. I was under tremendous pressure work-wise, and the only joy I got was taking Erin’s clothes off

and worshipping her beautiful body. And now she said I couldn’t touch her—or look at her anymore!

“B-but honey. It’s not fair.” I pleaded. “Besides, Piggy and T.D. are both obese, they dropped out of college

and they just get high all day….I need you!”

Erin shook her full breasts at me, tightly encased as they were in a nice mohair sweater, and said she wasn’t

planning to sleep with her sons, and she didn’t care what they looked like. She challenged me to try and lose

weight…maybe she’d let me back in her pants!

I began trying to diet, and begging Erin to let me do little things for her—and although she wouldn’t let me

see her in the nude, she wore very revealing body stockings and tight little T-shirts, and began encouraging

me to massage her back, buttocks and legs for hours.

Of course I got hornier and hornier doing this, and I began sneaking off to the bathroom to jerk off. One

night Erin told me to get on the scale, and discovered that I hadn’t lost any weight, and in fact had gained

about twelve pounds.

Erin was enraged. “Dammit, Dunstan! I used to think your mom was too hard on you, but all you do now is

eat and jerk off. And you are supposed to be a legislator in our nation’s capital! This is just disgusting! If you

haven’t lost at least two pounds by the time I weigh you next Wednesday, I am going to whip your sorry ass!”

But of course I couldn’t lose two pounds. Erin screaming at me actually made me more anxious, and I

GAINED five! Also, during the week, Erin was very stand-offish. She made me sleep in the maid’s room

down the hall. Her worthless sons snickered at me behind their video-game joysticks…it was horrible.

Gone was Erin’s tenderness. One night I came home and she was talking to a young guy, wearing stoner

jeans and a Metallica T-shirt…when she saw me come in the door, she took him by the hand and went into

her bedroom! I hope they only wanted privacy to converse, but you know I’m quite suspicious…

Then came weigh-in day, and of course Erin was enraged about the five pounds. Oh, she looked so beautiful!

Her hair was pouring over her shoulders, and her boobs were peeking out of a little knit thing, but she

screamed at me…and then she calmed down, dangerously.

“I’m starting to realize, Dunstan, that you really can’t be just encouraged like an adult to do what you are

supposed to do…like losing weight, not being a slovenly little pig. And, since you’re a Congressman, and I

want you to effectively serve your district, I think I’ll have to take you in hand the old fashioned way…”

With that, Erin brought some long, thick hazel switches that she’d had soaking in the bathtub all night. She

ordered me to take off my clothes, and she bound my wrists and ankles (“Because you’ll just run off when I

hit you, you’re such a baby”) and lay me across my little bed in the maid’s room.

WHACK! WHACK! THWACK! SNAP! The switches were ruthlessly and efficiently used on my bare

bottom, quite with the vigor that Mother used to, and in a few moments, I was squealing like a pig, and my

buttocks were dripping with blood and weals. It was my first whipping in five years, and I wasn’t taking it well.

T.D. and Piggy looked into the bedroom. “What th’ fuck’s goin’ on Mom?” Piggy asked, through a

mouthful of Doritos. “Damn, you’re like, killin’ him, and he’s naked. I’d never let a woman take my clothes

off and tie me up.” And T.D. snorted in agreement!

I was horrified that Erin would allow the boys to see me naked and in such a position, as I was supposed to

be a person of authority in the house. But as I tried to open my mouth to say something, the whipping just

shut me down, somehow…

“Your stepfather has disappointed me, boys…and you’re right, no real man would allow a woman to do this

to him, but as much as I’ve tried to make Dunstan a real man, there’s no hope for it, he’s a confirmed wimp

and a slovenly, sniveling little overeating pansy.”

The boys laughed. T.D. said “D’ya have any scratch? We want to go downtown…just like, forty bucks or so.”

Erin smiled. “Just go through his pockets, his pants are lying on the chair.” And I watched from my position

on the bed, as the little thugs took all the cash and one of my Platinum Visas out of my wallet, before

lounging off to their loser occupations. This was horribly humiliating, and outrageous.

“Erin, you can’t let those boys take all my money! Shouldn’t they be working, anyway?” I was so upset, really.

“Why? If there’s no singles in your wallet, you can’t buy any Twinkies or Moon-pies…I think I’m gonna keep

you on an allowance from now on, Dun. You just have no control…you’re obsessed with food and sex. It’s

truly revolting!”

“Then she turned me over on the bed, and ran her long red nails up and down my cock, and of course it

blossomed into total rigidity. As her soft fingers toyed with the pulsating vein on the underside of my cock, I

breathed easy. Finally she was touching me again!

I really wanted to grab her and fuck the daylights out of her, but of course I was bound at the wrists and

ankles, and was completely powerless. I can’t believe I let her tie me up!

Erin then unbuttoned one of her blouse buttons so her cleavage was just hanging in my face and smiled.

“Now I want you to lose your erection. Put your mind on the Overdraft Protection Act of 1997, aren’t you

voting on that tomorrow?”

I tried to focus on the Overdraft Protection Act of 1997, but there was just no hope! My dick was getting

harder and harder, and of course Erin hadn’t stopped stroking it. With her other hand she was manipulating

her right nipple so it was a big round thing under her blouse…oh it was so hot!

“I can’t go soft, honey, because you’re exciting me too much” I said, trying to smile. “It’s just not going to

work, unless you maybe throw cold water on me and leave the room.”

Erin let go of my cock and gritted her teeth. “DeMint, Dunstan…you are going to be constantly tempted by

women! I need you to be an adult. I need you to lose weight and lose interest in constant sexual gratification!”

She got up, and picked up one of the switches. WHACK! It landed on my bloated cock, and I screamed.

WHACK! SNAP! CRACK! SLASH! My dick faltered a bit, and after a bit more attention from the switch,

it died again.

Erin smiled grimly. “This is good. Now you can focus on your duties. Now tell me about the Overdraft

Protection Act…let’s see if you’ve been doing your homework.”

I gasped and said “Regulators have failed to stop our nation’s financial institutions from moving from a

policy of discouraging overdrafts to that of encouraging and maximizing overdrafts to drive up fees.”

As I spoke, Erin casually unbuttoned her shirt and took it off, and picked a little can of Nivea cream off the

nightstand and began slowly massaging the tops of her breasts in her adorable little fuchsia lacy bra.

I paused, and Erin looked meaningfully at me, with her gorgeous frown. “I’m listening, continue, forget

about my tits, tell me about the Overdraft Protection Act!”

“The Act will require financial institutions to obtain explicit permission from all their customers before…”

and then I just forgot what I was going to say, because Erin had taken one of her boobs out of the bra and

was playing with the nipple.

“Well! Isn’t there more? You’ll be a pathetic filibuster on the Senate floor, I think!” Erin let go of her tit and

grabbed my cock, stroking it faster and faster. “I thought you were going to tell me something about our

government, Congressman, but you are too focused on my TITS!”

She let go of my cock and grabbed the switch and whacked my dick until it was tiny again, I screamed and

bellowed, but no one was there to hear me. Then she left the room disgustedly. When she came back in, she

had an oblong box about a foot long, and I had a bad feeling about what it was…yes, it was a strap-on!

“Your mother sent me this for Christmas last year…but I thought I would never need it!” Erin said, as she

shook her gorgeous dark head. She threw me over on my stomach again and strapped up and drove the

damn dildo right up my ass! “No, you get no lubrication…your mother says that it spoils you…”

And she drove the strap-on into my ass again and again, and then made me lick my blood and shit off of it…

she called it a cocksucking lesson! And that’s how my marriage became…For the last ten years she’s been this

cold bitch, and of course I have been driven to chasing other women, harassing my staffers, don’t you see?”

When Dunstan finished his story, he looked very sad, but of course he was also horny, because Fanchon had

been stroking his hard cock the entire time. His arms sagged against the bedposts they were tied to…and she

felt terribly sorry for him.

But what could be done? The man was an obese satyr, and though he’d finally been elected Governor, there

was no way he was going to be Senator in the condition that he was in, mentally or physically…he was more

appropriate for a Santa Claus at the mall.

Fanchon smiled at poor Dun, stroking his cock faster and faster. “So you haven’t had sex with your wife in

ten years, honey? That must be tough.”

Dunstan shook his head. “No, she won’t touch me. She is involved in a torrid relationship with the janitor in

the Governor’s Mansion, and they openly laugh at me. Sometimes she makes me strip naked and kneel in

front of the bed while she and the black custodian fuck…it’s terribly depressing.

“And also, Fanchon…her worthless sons dress me up in lingerie and lipstick and make me suck off all their

friends! And I am absolutely powerless to stop them…I think it’s in the training Mother gave me…”

Fanchon shook her head. “I know, darling. It’s not your fault that you’re such a wimpie little thing. But

you have to accept that you really are not made to service a woman, except of course by using your tongue.”

Fanchon stroked poor Dun’s dick faster and faster, and then pulled her hand away abruptly as his hips began

to rise.

“I think we only have two choices, Dunstan” Fanchon said as she toyed with Dun’s balls. “Either you let

your mother put you back into the steel trunks, and let Erin supervise your bathroom habits, OR we try

something more permanent…like castration. That might make you an effective legislator. Castration and

lap-band surgery so you can only eat tiny amounts. Then you’d be focused and not as obese looking.”

Dunstan’s face became overcome with terror. “N-no, please not that! I don’t want to lose my balls…I love

sex…can’t—if I’m back in the steel trunks will I ever get release?”

Fanchon smiled. “Yes, twice a year I’ll let you jerk off into a condom and drink it down. But the rest of the

time you’ll have to be in the steel trunks. And you must agree to the lap-band surgery…how about it?”

That afternoon, Fanchon left the Governor’s Mansion a skilled negotiator!

SEVEN

That night, when Alf came home from work, Fanchon had a quizzical smile on her face. “Did you have a

good day, dear?” she asked as he took off his jacket. She knew he was a little irritable because he had to take

the bus home—Fanchon commandeered his car during the day…but he wouldn’t complain.

Fanchon kissed Alfred deeply, running her tongue in and out of his mouth, and Alf’s cock turned and twisted

in his chastity device. “Take off your clothes, baby.” Fanchon whispered, and Alf obeyed rather quickly.

Fanchon locked Alf’s wrists behind his back once he was naked, and removed his chastity belt, toying with

his long-denied cock. “Do you regret it yet, honey…that you didn’t want to cum this morning, into your

Starbucks cup?”

Fanchon’s gentle fingers gripped Alf’s cock and stroked it into a bulging stiffness as she smiled and gazed

into his eyes. She’d changed into a hot pink tank top and short denim miniskirt, and her cleavage was

blossoming into his face…he was enraptured by her, as always.

Fanchon kissed Alf’s neck as she stroked his cock some more, and he gasped, breathing heavily. Alf bent his

head down and pushed his face into her cleavage, and scenting intense perfume, began kissing the tops of her

breasts with some great interest.

He felt his cock getting slick with pre-cum, and Alf pushed his face even closer into her bouncing boobies,

before feeling a horrible sting between his thighs SLASH! THWACK! SMACK!

Alf pulled back, howling, and noted that Fanchon was now holding a mean looking two foot leather

thing, with a nasty tied end. She slashed it a couple more times across his suffering cock, and Alf squirmed

around….but of course he couldn’t cover his dick, as his hands were manacled behind him!

“Do you like it? It’s a cowboy quirt—but it’s vegan. instead of leather it’s made with neoprene rubber, honey…

you’re always telling me we need to be more environmentally conscious” Fanchon slashed him directly

between his legs again, and Alf burst into hot tears. Neoprene rubber or not, the fucking quirt hurt as much

as leather ones that Alf had experienced.

But of course his cock was bulging out a little anyway…it was so predictable, he was SUCH a submissive.

Hit his dick,and it got excited. It happened all the time to poor Alfred…and he’d started early!

Alf’s sister Deanna Marie had discovered his passion for pain when they were in high school. Deanna Marie

would laugh, good naturedly when her older brother would embarrassedly ask for “barn time”…

“It’s gonna HURT Alfie…you sure you want it…you cried like a little bitch the last time.”

It was so horribly embarrassing…Deanna Marie was the black sheep of the family, always getting in trouble,

and her brother was the straight A-Science Fair winner who’d skipped second and fifth grade…but when

they were alone…it all changed!

“You sure, honey?” Deanna Marie would say, putting down her “Tiger Beat” magazine. “I don’t want you cryin’

and whinin’ like the last time…when you wanted me to stop…you’re not going to bitch to me, are you.”

Alf would always promise, staring at his baby sister’s bubbly tits. “I-really want it, Deanna Marie …please?

I’ll give you money, if you want!”

“I won’t cry this time, Deanna Marie…you’ll see.” But he knew he would. No matter what a tough guy he

was supposed to be…and he was Buttermilk County Golden Gloves! Alf knew he was a wussy at heart.

They’d go out to Dad’s old milking barn empty for 20 years, and Deanna Marie popped her gum, and

lounged in her hot little bikini top and cut off shorts while Alf stripped naked and climbed up a ladder to

hang a rope on one of the rafters.

Deanna Marie, giggling, would climb behind him and tie his wrists to the rafters, and then go into the

yard and cut some long, thick switches from the willow tree. Then she’d prance back into the barn—Alf

remembered Deanna Marie looked so cute, because with the cut-offs she always wore these leopard satin

peep toe pumps that had HIGH heels.

Then Deanna Marie would giggle again, popping her gum, and say “Alfie,you’ve been such a bad boy!” First

Deanna Marie would concentrate on Alf’s bare buttocks and thighs, making the boy scream with pain as she

welted them.

At first Alf would bite his lip, resisting crying out as the willow switch landed again and again on his butt

cheeks. He was terribly humiliated that he was actually naked in front of his little sister, and that he was

allowing her to hit him with a switch—he kept hoping that if he could prove to her he was a man, and could

take the strikes, she might be more um, intimate with him, illegal and immoral as that might be…

But by the fourth or fifth slash, Alf would cry out—Deanna Marie had a way of hitting that very sensitive

area just under his buttocks and above his thighs—sometimes she would tie his ankles together, and others

she would let his legs bounce around as he tried to move his ass away from the flailing switch.

But he always cried.

Deanna Marie loved telling Alfie what a sissy faggot he was for not being able to take the pain in silence, but

he never could—it was a damn good thing their parents worked!

But finally Deanna Marie would come around to the front, and survey Alfie’s pecker, straining as it was

between his legs. This was always the most humiliating part for Alfie…he’d never seen his sister naked,

except for peering in the shower a couple of times…but she’d seen HIM quite a bit…

Though Alfie’s parents adored him, when Granny was watching them, she often punished Alfie by putting

him in adult diapers, and when her arthritis was acting up, she’d ask Deanna Marie to strip him down…and

that had always been really, horribly humiliating, being diapered by your sexy little sister!

Grandma especially got angry at Alf when he wet the bed. Although Alf’s parents were educated folks who

understood that their son had a weak bladder and was a deep sleeper, and had gone to all kinds of trouble

preventing Alf from feeling shame about nocturnal enuresis, Grandma, who Alf and Deanna Marie spent

the summers with, had never shared that patience.

Oftentimes Alf would come back from Buttermilk Falls Computer Lab Studies (or what Deanna Marie

called “Geek camp”) and find his mattress airing out on Grandma’s porch. That’s when he knew there

would be trouble. Grandma would then come out onto the porch, raging “You nasty little bed-wetter. If you

want to behave like a baby, I’ll treat you like one!”

Grandma would then order Alf to strip naked, and she’d thrash him with her carpet beater, in front of

Deanna Marie, and Alf’s other cousins, Leigh Ann, Felicia, Heather, and Athena. After this, Deanna Marie

would, under Grandma’s supervision, oil and powder Alf’s crotch area, rubbing the baby oil thickly on his

penis, before putting him in a pair of Depends for the rest of the day.

So Deanna had no mystery about Alf as a nude!

And then they’d begun the whipping games—-and Alfie loved it! He hated it, but he loved it, and Deanna

Marie would begin with light lashes to his bloated penis with the willow switches, and then she’d hit his wee

wee harder and harder.

Sometimes she’d put Mama’s clothespins on Alfie’s nipples and his cock and balls and then knock them off,

or shove old corn husks from the barn trash cans up Alfie’s ass…she was quite imaginative!

And of COURSE she’d stroke his dick a bit with her long red nails, making it stiffen with precum

OOOZING out…and then she’d whip it some more. Finally, Alf would begin screaming for her to stop.

“Please, Deanna Marie it hurts so much…please don’t hit me on my dick anymore…please untie me now…

my wrists are turning purple!”

“Aw no, Alfie, I’m just startin’.” Deanna Marie would laugh as she slashed his dick again and again, breaking

four or five willow switches. “You gotta stop being such a little sissy faggot alla time. I thought you was a

fuckin’ Eagle Scout…can’t you learn to man up an’ take the fuckin’ pain in silence?”

Deanna Marie’s aim was deadly too…she could make the switches slash the tip of Alf’s dick, or right in his

scrotum…sometimes she’d grasp his balls and squeeze them, and then whack his dick again and again…but

in the end, he remained hard…he couldn’t lose the erection in the wake of the whipping!

By the end of the afternoon, Alfie’s face would be swollen with tears, and his dick and the rest of his body

would be completely marked and his tongue would be dry from drooling as he looked at her soft white

melons in their little bikini top…the anguish!

Deanna Marie knew that Alf loved staring at her tits, though of course he’d never seen them completely bare.

As she whipped his dick with the willow with one hand, she’d play with her boob in the little bikini top with

the other…

During the winter, Deanna would wear a tight pink sweater when she took Alf out to the barn. He was

always naked, but the whipping kept him warm, and she’d massage her breasts in the pink sweater the same

way…

“Doncha wish you could play with my titties, Bubba? But you can’t…and you’re NASTY to want to!”

Deanna would be merciless in her teasing, and would occasionally stroke Alf’s dick with one hand while

toying with her chest with the other.

Then once in a great while she’d bring her cleavage right to Alf’s straining, welted penis, and push the boobs

around his dick, rubbing the soft skin of her mammaries against his penis until he was very, very close to

cumming, before pulling back and thrashing his dick with the willow until it broke in her hand.

A couple of times Alfie’s dick was so hard that he actually spurted cum as she lashed his dick…that was

especially humiliating…

Once, Deanna Marie’s pot dealer, Slimy Celentano, had come over, and he’d used his leather belt on poor

Alfie’s ass, while Deanna Marie had thrashed Alfie’s cock…finally they’d cut Alf down and Alf had given his

first blowjob…he’d never talked about that, mysteriously!

Deanna Marie died of leukemia at the age of nineteen and everyone at the funeral was so touched by how

weepy big brother Alfie was—-but was it his love for his little sister…or how much he would miss her

whippings?

Now,Fanchon swung the cowboy quirt and hit Alfie across the cock once more, and she giggled, much as

Deanna Marie had at how simultaneously Alfie cried and his dick shot up…it was uncanny.

Fanchon gave Alfie a big smile as she put the quirt down for a moment…she was in quite a good mood!

“What’s-what are you smiling about, dear?” Alf asked, his brow rising. When Fanchon smiled, it wasn’t

always a fun thing for her husband. “Is everything all right?”

“Well, we’re having company tonight, Alfred. I’ve invited Cyrus Thibodeau over for dinner.” Fanchon

smirked as Alf’s face fell a bit. It wasn’t long ago that he would’ve been thrilled to see Cyrus—they’d grown

up together and were hell-raising buddies, until Fanchon had let Cy in on Alf’s slave status.

It wouldn’t have happened, except one night Alf had sneaked off to a strip bar with Cy and some of his other

friends. It had been a bachelor party, another guy had been about to get married, otherwise, Alf wouldn’t

have dared to do such a thing…Fanchon didn’t even let him go to football games or non-chick-flick movies…

but he’d wanted to please his friends.

Fanchon had been enraged when she’d discovered that Alf had spent the evening gazing at naked girls

dancing on little tables. When Alf had gotten in, Fanchon had tied him to a hassock and cut one of the lamp

cords, and tortured his balls with the sparking end of the cord, which of course was still plugged in the wall.

But that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you’d humiliate those poor strippers—bars like that are for real men, not wimpie pansy boys.”

Fanchon had said to Alf, enraged. “I’m going to humiliate you before your friends, just so they can see why a

wimp like you isn’t someone to take to such a place.”

“Don’t do that, Fanchon.” Alf was adamant. “I like our BDSM games, but the guys and I have a special

relationship—I don’t want them to know that I am your slave here at home. No way. Especially Gus and

Cy…we’ve always had a competition over whose top gun, since we were in third grade!”

“That’s fine, honey.” Fanchon had said, smiling. “Then until you change your mind, you are forbidden to

touch me.” And the next two weeks had been hell! Fanchon had begun wearing more and more snug tops,

tiny skirts and high heels…and poor Alf was left out in the cold!

Fanchon stopped tying Alf up and teasing him, which hed’ found tender if a bit frustrating. He was just

bathed once a week, when she removed the chastity belt, scrubbing his cock and balls as his hands were tied,

and then re-locking him up again.

But his punishments continued, of course. One night, Alf had forgotten Fanchon’s dry cleaning, and he

protested in vain as she led him to the bed with a firm grip on his right nipple. “B-but I thought we weren’t

touching each other!”

Fanchon had laughed. “No, I can still touch you, and I will!” After she’d ordered him to strip, Fanchon had

tied him down and thrashed his buttocks and legs with her whippy whangee cane. Whangee, also known as

pearl bamboo, covered with bumps and ridges.

Fanchon had gritted her teeth and slashed Alf’s bare buttocks thirty times, making him howl and scream

in abject pain, before tossing the cane on the floor. Then, in silence, she’d plowed his rear with her 18

inch strap-on dildo, five or ten times, and then yanked it out, and slammed it into his mouth, and then

unbuckled it and left him in the darkened room, tied to the bed with the shit covered plastic phallus in his

mouth.

It had seemed like hours before she’d come back into the room, untying him. But, unlike usually, when she

would comfort him on her lap and he would promise amendment before burrowing his little face between

her tender things…now he was just ordered to the corner, and then to bed without supper.

Finally, Alf had fallen to his knees and BEGGED her to forgive him, and said, “Of course you can humiliate

me by having me do a strip show in front of my friends…I’ll call them!”

And he did!

So Cy, Gus, Ozzy, Virgil, Lester, Stanley and Randy had come to the house one night, ostensibly for a poker

game. In the bedroom, Alf lost his nerve and had pleaded with Fanchon not to make him do this…but she’d

thrashed him with her twelve plait blacksnake bullwhip, and he’d danced out into the living room, wearing

only thigh high pink stockings and high heels, as well as heavy pancake makeup, lipstick and blusher, and a

ridiculous blonde wig.

Fanchon had followed him out, declaiming to his friends “See Miss Alfreda dance, boys…put a few dollars

in her stockings…let’s see if she can really please you!” CRACK! LASH SMACK!

Ozzy, Stan and Randy had left on the double, their stomachs churning but the other guys had stayed,

laughing and Gus had actually taken the whip from Fanchon and given Alf a few across his narrow ass—

Gus had always had a rivalry with Alf, academically and also in athletics—he’d resented Alf for beating him

out to be the point guard on the Buttermilk Falls High basketball team.

Finally, Fanchon had whipped Alf’s entire body until it was covered with welts, and then she’d ordered him

to kneel in the corner, while she’d played poker with his friends, and cleaned them out! It had been a great

time, and Fanchon never had to worry about Alf’s buddies asking him out to do any more guy stuff…he was

always safely at home, the little sissy!

But then Fanchon had run into Cy in the supermarket one day, and he’d seemed lonely—his girlfriend had

broken up with him, and they began talking. “I’d love to have you over for dinner, Cy…and Alf would, too.”

Fanchon had said, but Cy had looked terribly nervous.

“I dunno, Fanchon, you guys do that weird S&M thing, and y’know, Alf’s my buddy. I guess I understand

why he hadda resign the bowling team, and the darts league, and why we can’t go to games anymore

together, but I don’t think he really wants me over there if you’re going to be beating on him and shit.”

But Fanchon could tell that the very cute Cy was staring at her with a peculiar intensity, and that he might

be more interested in HER, and that she probably could twist him round her little finger…and so she finally

convinced him to come to dinner.

That first night had been somewhat awkward for Cy, as Fanchon had ordered Alf to strip and put an apron

on and serve them dinner, waiting on his knees as the two had ate, rising only to refill wine glasses and take

dishes away.

“I have such a hard time with this” Cy had said to Fanchon. “Alf is my friend…we’re equals, I think. How

can you subjugate him to this role, Fanchon?”

“Cy, you must understand. Alfred loves being my slave. He is constantly asking me to take it to a new level. He

is incredibly horny right now. Look at his apron. Even though he’s wearing a chastity device, you can see his

erection protruding out of the apron. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to him in some time!

Alfred admitted to Cy that it was something else. “I am incredibly embarrassed that you and my other

friends have seen me like this, and I miss my old camaraderie with you guys. But I’m a submissive, and I

have to obey my wife. I’m the one who asked her to dominate me in the first place.”

It was a bit harder for Alf later of course when Cy and Fanchon began necking on the living room couch.

This was a new one for Alf—he knew that Fanchon had “friends” that she saw. It was no mystery, for

instance that the paper boy didn’t bill them for the “Buttermilk Falls Beacon”, or why the golf pro at their

country club had a key to their house.

But this was almost too much—kneeling, naked except for an apron, watching your best friend sticking

his tongue in your wife’s mouth and fondling her breast! But what could he do? Alf had known he was

absolutely powerless over his wife!

“C’mon baby,” Fanchon had finally said to Cy, “Let’s go to bed, shall we?” But as she took Cy’s hand to pull

him to the bedroom, he’d hesitated.

“Fanchon, this is so unfair to Alfred. He’s my buddy. I can’t cheat with you on him…he’s like, crying while

he watches us, I mean, we go back to Cub Scouts, you know?”

Fanchon had then sighed, and stood up. She’d gone to Alf, and ripped off his apron, and unlocked his

chastity device. “Look at this penis, Cy. It’s tiny. It can’t do me any good. It’s more of a clitoris than a penis,

really…it’s like a pinky.”

Fanchon had then forced Alf to stand up and put his hands behind his back. She’d taken a coat hanger from

the bedroom—a nasty wire one—and thrashed Alf’s penis with the coat hanger as Cy had watched, with his

mouth agape.

“He’s WHACK SMACK worthless, Cy. And THWACK SMACK I’m going to whip WHACK SMACK his

dick with this SMACK WHACK hanger until he ASKS you to fuck me…BEGS you to WHACK SMACK

fuck me. Do it,SMACK WHACK Alfred, do it now!”

Tears rolled down Alfred’s face. He was doing his best to keep his hands behind his back as Fanchon whaled

on his still quite hard dick with the clothes hanger. He wanted to grit his teeth and be a man, and claim his

wife for himself, but finally he had to give in.

“Please, oh please Cy, just take Fanchon in the bedroom and make love to her.” Alf gasped with relief as

Fanchon quit whacking his dick with the clothes hanger. “I’m not worthy of Fanchon, and my dick hasn’t

entered her in nearly 28 months. Give her the satisfaction she wants.”

And that night Cy and Fanchon had banged the bottom out of it while Alf sat in the living room, sobbing

softly. But the next time Cy had come over, after the sex was done, Fanchon called to the living room

“Honey, come in here and clean us up! We’re full of stickiness, you know what I mean?”

Alf had refused, but Fanchon would have none of it! She’d donned a robe and grabbed her nice thick short

whip made of two or three leather thongs with little zinc stars at the end. It certainly was a mind-changer if

anything else was! “Leather Prozac” was what Fanchon called it.

From the sounds of Alf’s anguish in the living room, Cy never would’ve guessed that Alf actually had

purchased the scourge during a business trip in Ecuador, and begged Fanchon to use it on him.

Cy had winced, hearing the blood curdling screams of “NO MISTRESS, PLEASE NO, IT HURTS SO

MUCH, FANCHON YOU’RE KILLING ME!” But soon Alf came stumbling into the bedroom, his

naked body covered in welts.

First Alf had licked Fanchon’s pussy and asshole clean (Yes, she’d let Cy sodomize her a bit) and then

Fanchon pointed to Cy’s semen covered penis. “Clean him up, Alfred…it’s awfully messy.”

“Fanchon, I can just take a shower you know.” Cy had said at the time, looking at his old pal’s eyes brimming

with tears. “Besides, I don’t want a guy’s mouth on my dick, hon. Just let it go.”

But Fanchon had hopped up and began swinging that horrible scourge thing all over poor Alf’s back

and butt—and the metal stars at the ends of the thongs really were tearing him up! Finally she’d actually

whipped Alf’s dick with the thing, and he’d ducked his head, and begun crawling between Cy’s legs.

Cy had admitted to Fanchon that it really was kinda soothing, having Alf clean him up, especially as she’d

distracted him with her gorgeous kissing lips and big, pink breasts. After it was over, Alf had brought them

tea and cookies, and then gone to kneel in the corner as they’d enjoyed the Sunday paper.

The following week, after a really vicious thrashing, Alf had put his head under Cy’s groin area and sucked

Cy’s balls as he fucked Fanchon on the bed. After this, Cy had jerked off into Alf’s open mouth and used

Alf’s naked body as a coffee table to put his steaming mug and his ashtray…and the week after this, he’d

used Alf’s mouth as an ashtray!

The next six months had completely changed Alf’s relationship with Cy. Fanchon had to occasionally jump

in and give Alf a severe whipping when they’d forget and talk about football or something, but eventually Cy

learned to just use Alf as a pure sub—he began gradually taking over Alf’s discipline during his “visits”.

Alf learned that although his wife could give a pretty vicious thrashing, that Cy was much more muscular

and could really make Alf cry with that strong arm action, holding scourges, whips, canes and paddles!

It was sort of sad, as Alf actually could kick Cy’s ass if they’d ever gotten into a fight…he’d done it a few

times when they were kids. But as Fanchon’s slave boy, Alfred was completely helpless.

So tonight, Alf was just silent when it came to learning that “Master Cyrus” was coming to dinner. He knew

the evening would start with Cy supervising his chores, giving Alf a flogging for not cleaning the bathroom

well enough…possibly Cy would burn Alf’s dick with the hot fireplace poker for imagined insults, before Alf

would serve Cy and Fanchon in the bedroom.

But what Alf didn’t know, was that Cy had been talking to Fanchon very seriously about his own desires to

be a male slave. Although Cy really enjoyed using Alf as a punching bag…hitting the more muscular man,

without any fear of being hit back was just a joy.

Cy,however had submissive leanings, and he’d taken Fanchon out to lunch the week before, and he’d

presented her with a tennis bracelet, set in diamonds. “What’s this about, sweetie?” Fanchon had asked Cy.

“You really don’t have to give me gifts—I have a subbie for that. Though it is beautiful.”

Cy had told Fanchon that he also wanted to be her slave. It was incredible, but Cy envied Alf his chastity

device, and his lack of having to worry about anything but pleasing his beautiful wife. “I-I never thought I’d

say it, but I’m just as much of a potential slave as Alfie is…do you think you could accept me?”

Fanchon thought she could.

EIGHT

Cy Thibodeau felt quite nervous as he got ready to go over to see Fanchon, and of course Alfred. Was

he making the right decision? It was true, Cy had dreamed of being a submissive for as long as he could

remember…or really, it had been forced on him, and one of his serious faults had always been obsessive

masturbation.

A wealthy orphan, Cy had been raised by his guardian, Miss Congleton-Neigerfind, who was a devout

member of the Buttermilk Falls Fanchonvation Temple. When she’d first caught Cy diddling himself while

looking at “Playboy” magazine, Miss Congleton-Neigerfind, a shapely, though remote Nordic blonde, had

been quite horrified.

Cy had loved Miss Congleton-Neigerfind deeply. She was only about nine years older than he was, and she

had long blonde hair that she kept in a severe bun, though sometimes, when Cy was good, she would let it

cascade down her back, and allow him to play with it, combing it out for her.

Miss Congleton-Neigerfind was given to wearing tight gray sweaters and short but business like skirts, and

she was always a kind host to Cy’s friends, as she loved making cookies and cakes, and she bought Cy the

latest in video games, and that sort of thing…but Miss Congleton-Neigerfind was quite religious!

Cy still blushed when he remembered how she’d stripped him of his sailor suit ( Miss Congleton-Neigerfind

was quite old fashioned in the ways of dressing her charge) and pulled his underpants, tighty whities, down

to his knees.

“Please, Miss Congleton-Neigerfind, I’m too old to be punished this way!” Cy had protested, but his guardian

had taken a long razor strop from the kitchen door, and bent Cy over the couch in the living room.

It had always been the razor strop…before Cy’s parents had passed, Miss Congleton-Neigerfind had only

been his governess, and she’d deplored their easy treatment of him. As soon as she’d become his guardian in

his early teens, Miss Congleton-Neigerfind had purchased a thick balsa wood hairbrush and a dependable

long, thick razor strop, and two to five times a month, his bottom was bared for helpful correction!

Once, when Miss Congleton-Neigerfind caught Cy with one of her 36 DD bras, filched from the laundry

hamper, she’d actually tied his cock and balls with a rope, and pulled the rope over the bedroom door and

made him hang there, barely able to stand on his toesies…it had taught him a valuable lesson!

“Cyrus, I am deeply disappointed in you, and I am going to encourage you in better habits!” Miss Congleton-

Neigerfind had lifted the leather strop and given Cy thirty across his pale white buttocks until he was

sobbing, and she felt quite energized.

Then she’d made Cy strip completely, and Miss Congleton-Neigerfind had taken him to the bathroom. This

was not unusual, as once weekly, she made him stand in the bathtub while she shaved his crotch area, so he

didn’t feel too manly or ahead of himself.

But this time it had been a bit more serious. Miss Congleton-Neigerfind had bound Cy’s hands behind his

back, and after the ritual shaving, began lecturing him on the evils of masturbation, wasn’t he listening when

Reverend Oxmore lectured at the Fanchonvation Temple about the “Sin of Onan”? What the hell was wrong

with Cy and his perverted desires?

The bathroom had been a bit overheated, and Miss Congleton-Neigerfind had removed her tight gray

sweater, revealing her full cantaloupe breasts in a beautiful frilly floral spot under wire bra. “Now I certainly

hope you’re not ogling me, Cyrus.”

Miss Congleton-Neigerfind frowned. “You know my boyfriend doesn’t like that…he thinks you’re quite

peculiar, and I’d hate to tell him—” Cy had shivered. Miss Congleton-Neigerfind’s boyfriend was a large

black man who was an usher at the Fanchonvation Temple. He’d horsewhipped Cy once after Cy had gotten

a C on a Sunday school test at the Temple.

Miss Congleton-Neigerfind went into the medicine cabinet and came out with some cream. “This is

wintergreen oil, made from the plant species of the shrub genus gaultheria…it is good for a vigorous massage.”

As Miss Congleton-Neigerfind rubbed the wintergreen oil into Cy’s cock and testicles, he began to scream…

the burning sensation was incredible! He wanted to grab his penis and testicles, but of course his hands were

bound behind him. Instead he jumped up and down in the bathtub, as his guardian struggled to hold him

and finish the “vigorous massage”

Finally she had had enough, and went to the telephone. A few moments later, Miss Congleton-Neigerfind

answered the door, and her large black boyfriend Pindar Watkins entered the bathroom.

“Are you giving your guardian a difficult time, white boy?” Pindar had thundered. He had then grabbed Cy

by the scalp and dragged him to the bedroom, throwing him down on the bed, before removing his large

leather belt, a less threatening implement than the razor strop, but just barely.

Cy had laid on his back, crying bitter tears as Pindar had thrashed Cy’s already burning cock with the belt.

Then Miss Congleton-Neigerfind had vigorously used steel wool on Cy’s cock, to further cleanse him of the

impurities.

“And I quote Matthew five: But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath

committed adultery with her already in his heart!” screamed Pindar, enraged at the way Cy’s eyes still strayed

to his guardian’s cleavage… it had been a horrible afternoon!

But, as Miss Congleton-Neigerfind became more and more involved in the Fanchonvation Temple, she

focused less on Cy, who was a good student and athlete, and left him to his own devices, which was good in

a way, because if she’d become more severe, she and Pindar might have cut his dick off!

Cy had a terrible time, though…he really wanted to be, like the other kids at the Salvation Temple, a virgin

until his wedding day. Alfred and his pals who were Episcopalians made fun of him, but Cy knew the best

goal was to be a Virtuous Virgin.

Cy’s older brother, Cleary, a chemical engineering major at Buttermilk State, led the Salvation Temple Youth

Male Fellowship, telling the younger adolescents, “Remember, two important things, guys—first, that you

remain a virgin til your wedding day, and secondly, that you don’t spurt your seed, because then you’re

MURDERING millions of little sperm that could grow up to be productive Salvation Temple members.”

The Salvation Temple teen females were in The Virtue Girls, and were led by Cornelia Rajasekhar, a chesty

blonde, and Cleary’s longtime girlfriend. They wore Purity Lockets, and when you dated them, they were

tough…hands-off.

But sometimes Cy would watch Cleary making out with Cornelia….Because of their crazy guardian, Cleary

used the changing shed at the river where the kids swam in the summer and skated in the winter to fool

around with his girlfriend. There was a little hole in the outside wall, and Cy would sneak after the couple

and watch them go at it…celibate-style!

Cornelia allowed this, and they’d make out for HOURS, Cleary would unbutton Cornelia’s shirt, and she’d

let him kiss her breasts…but only so much…and she’d push him away if he got too kissy..b.ut then she’d get

all hot and grab him again.

One afternoon it got especially weird. They’d been making out for hours, and Cleary was in his boxers and

Cornelia down to a candy pink polka dot and striped bustier top and blue jeans, and the kissing was hot and

heavy! But then Cleary reached out and touched Cornelia’s left boob, and she got mad and slapped him. And

THEN she reached into her purse and pulled out a pancake spatula!

As Cy watched in amazed horror, Cornelia waved the spatula at Cleary. “You know what we talked about…

we agreed on this! Miss Congleton-Neigerfind told me this is the only way to keep you under control.”

Cleary nodded unhappily, and lowered his boxers and lay across Cornelia’s denim covered knees.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Cleary bit his lip, as he was quite manly while Cornelia spanked his rear,

finally putting the metal spatula back into her purse. Cornelia touched Cleary’s wet face gently. “Now are

you going to keep your fingers off my boobs you bad boy?” Cleary had then nodded.

This amazed Cy…Miss Congleton-Neigerfind,their guardian had certainly used the razor strop and various

other implements to keep Cleary and Cy in line, but this was a new one! Had she talked to Cornelia about

sex desires?

The couple had begun necking and fondling again…Cleary had preached to the Youth Fellowship about

“foreign hands on dates—Russian and Roman, get it?” But he was a total hypocrite, because within a few

moments, his own fingers were touching and squeezing the full breasts in Cornelia’s bustier covered cleavage.

SLAP! Cornelia’s hand left a red print across Cleary’s face. “You touched my breasts AGAIN, you bad boy!”

Cornelia shook her head, and lit a cigarette as Cleary sat there, stunned.

“I-I thought you didn’t smoke?” Cleary asked

Cornelia blew smoke in his face. “I thought you weren’t a potential rapist, Cleary.” Then Cornelia walked out

of the shed. When she saw Cy, crouching by the hole outside, he thought he was done for, and Cleary would

kick his ass, but she smiled at him, and put her finger to her lips, and motioned for him to follow her.

“Cut me a switch from this hickory tree, Cyrus.” Cornelia said, smiling. Cy couldn’t keep his eyes off her full

boobs, bouncing in the bustier. But he took out his jackknife and cut her a big, long switch, and Cornelia

gave Cy a big kiss with her full lips, rubbing her boobs against the younger boy’s chest. “You like that, don’t

you, Cy? Can’t blame your brother for trying…but I must be pure!”

Cy took his place at the hole again and Cornelia went into the shed. “Now, Cleary…you’re going to take off

your boxers and drop them on the floor and stand with your hands behind your back!” Cornelia then began

stroking Cy’s cock, with her long pink nails, and kissing his ear.

“You like touching my boobies, don’t you…you tell the kids in the Youth Fellowship to be virtuous, but that’s

what you like, right…not being virtuous, defiling an innocent young girl like me, right?” Cornelia took her

cigarette out of her mouth and put the tip to Cy’s swollen glans.

Cy tried to move back, but Cornelia pushed the burning cigarette closer to his penis. “Don’t you know that

if you violate my innocence, you’re going to burn in HELL?” Cornelia then stabbed Cy’s dick with the

cigarette until she’d stubbed it out on his dick, and the changing shed shook with his screams.

Cornelia then pulled her bustier down, exposing her full, round milky breasts with the rose colored areolas.

“You want to play and suck on these big melons of mine, but is that what a religious boy does? Is that what a

boy does who wants to be a missionary for the Salvation Temple…you want to defile MY temple, don’t you?”

Cornelia then backed off, pulling her bustier back up and took the switch that Cy had cut and slashed

Cleary’s hard cock with it, five or six times. Cleary was a real man, he was captain of the Buttermilk State

University hockey team, but Cy could tell through the hole that Cleary was having a bad time with the

switch landing again and again on his hard cock.

Interestingly, the cock didn’t go soft until the last swat. Then Cleary said “I’m so sorry, Cornelia, maybe we

should go home…I’m really morally a bad person.”

But, as Cleary moved towards his clothes, Cornelia stopped him with a soft hand. She threw her bustier

covered bosom into his arms, and plunged her tongue down his throat. Cleary hesitated, and then began

kissing her back.

They sat down on the changing bench, looking somewhat odd, as Cleary was stark naked, and Cornelia was

wearing the pink bustier and blue jeans. Cornelia pulled her face back for a moment. “Baby, I can’t resist

you…I know I have to—I want to go to Heaven one day. But you are such a hot guy, and I want you so bad!”

They fell off the bench and began rolling around on the dusty changing-shed floor. Cleary began rubbing

his hard penis against her faded blue jeans, and Cornelia rubbed her fingers on his chest. “You are such a

sexy guy, but…WHAT AM I THINKING?”

Then, as Cy goggled, Cornelia used her knee to kick Cleary right in the balls, HARD. Cleary howled, and

Cornelia knocked Cleary off of her, in a feminine rage. She pulled away from him and got up.

Cornelia was wearing Doc Martens boots, with the heavy heel, and before Cleary could get up, she stomped

Cleary’s dick with her heel, grinding it into the floor as if she was putting out a cigarette butt!

At this point, Cy’s cell phone went off, and he was being summoned by Alf and some of his other friends to

the video arcade. A few hours later, after everyone else went home, Cy drove back to the changing hut, just

for the hell of it. He couldn’t believe they’d still be there, but he just wanted to check.

Son of a bitch! As his eye went to the hole, there they were. It had been 3 hours. Now, Cleary was naked,

his hands were tied behind his back, and Cornelia, still clothed, was smoking, and massaging Cleary’s

cock,which was a rich shade of purple.

Cleary’s hungry eyes were still on Cornelia’s breasts, which were just barely covered with the bustier. What

was more curious, was that Cleary’s mouth was all pooched out, as if it was stuffed with something.

“You just have to control yourself, honey.” Cornelia was saying in a soft voice. “I think it’s good to feel an

intense attraction to me, but you must keep your little sperm cells trapped in your wee-wee, understand?”

Cleary’s cock was oozing pre-ejaculate liquid, and Cornelia shook her head and pulled a bit of Kleenex out of

her purse, wiping the precum off the cock.

“So nasty…this icky stuff that comes out of your wee-wee…I can’t touch it, you know I’m a pure virgin!”

Cornelia giggled, and her breasts bounced merrily in the hot pink bustier.

To Cy’s horror, she then waved the Kleenex at Cleary, and he opened his mouth, which was filled with little

round balls! And, Cy noticed, a couple of wet cigarette butts. Cornelia crumpled the Kleenex into a little ball

and shoved it into Cleary’s mouth as well. He now had a mouth utterly stuffed with tissue.

A moment later, Cornelia stubbed her cigarette out on Cleary’s penis, and he howled, even with his mouth

full, and then she brought it to his lips. But Cleary’s head shook. “No ‘ore ‘oom” he mumbled.

“No more room in your mouth?” Cornelia asked, innocently. “Of course there is. Do I have to make you

open your mouth? I guess so.” Cornelia reached into her purse and brought out a safety pin, which she

plunged into Cleary’s left nipple, and his mouth opened to shriek…and she stuffed the Marlboro butt right

in there!

Cornelia flipped her long thick blonde hair back on her shoulder and giggled. Cy couldn’t believe this, but he

ENVIED his big brother. Even though Cornelia was being awfully mean to poor old Cleary, she was such a

hottie!

Cornelia toyed and stroked Cleary’s stiff cock, teasing the underside with her long fingernail. “I know it’s

hard for you, baby.” She whispered this, her face very close to Cleary’s swollen organ. “I know you wish I

would take my long pink tongue and lick your pee- pee, and make it all excited and let it cum in my mouth…

but I don’t think I could do that to all those Christian sperm cells, honey.”

“Sometimes I fool around with Littlejohn Tubbs, the black mechanic at my dad’s garage.” Cornelia said,

breezily. “I let him cum in my mouth, because after all, his sperm cells aren’t that important…he’s no

community leader.

And sometimes I hang out with Burbridge Minsker, the Jewish boy down the block from me…he’s going

straight to hell, being a Jew and all, so I let him shoot off in my mouth. I can’t let them fuck me, because I’m a

Virtue Girl, but I let ‘em cum. But you, Cleary have to keep those little semen warriors in your Trojan horse!”

With that, Cornelia let go of Cleary’s dick and stepped away from the bench and picked up the hickory

switch that Cy had cut her hours before, and whaled away at Cleary’s dick until it was quite red and

miniscule….and Cleary cried, though he knew it was just to keep him as a good Christian Boy!

But of course the teenage Cy realized that Cornelia was only doing this for Cleary’s own good. It was so

important to remain pure and to be celibate until the wedding day. Cy had really been turned on, against

his will, by the way Cornelia had tortured Cleary, and Cy had begun going into the red-light district of

Buttermilk Falls, and purchasing BDSM magazines and VHS tapes (they didn’t have DVDs back then).

It was about this time that Cy began dating Deanna Marie, his best buddy Alf’s little sister. They had been

sharing a joint (one of Cy’s few vices) in his room, when Deanna Marie

had found one of his magazines, and she’d read half of a story about “How I like to cane my boyfriend” out

loud before he’d got the book away from her. “Come over to our farm around three o’clock tomorrow and I’ll

show you something funny” Deanna Marie had said.

Deanna Marie was quite fond of Cy…she had a good deal! Cy was very conscious about not letting his

seed escape his penis,but he wanted his girlfriend to be happy, so often he would spend hours with his head

buried, licking and sucking Deanna Marie’s wet pussy so that she had many orgasms…and then she would

toy with his cock and balls, being careful not to let him have a release! “It’s great hanging out with you

Baptist types” shed say with a grin as she left him frustrated, with a pussy-wet face.

When Cy had looked into the barn the next day, he’d seen Deanna Marie whipping some naked guy who

was hanging from the rafters. She’d put a little hood around his head. “I can’t tell you who he is, but trust me,

he’s a submissive little faggot just like you are, Cyrus…and I love givin’ it to him.”

Cy had had a lump in his pants as he’d watched Deanna Marie whip and torture the mystery guy. Then

she’d shown him something even more horrible—she’d donned some gloves and taken these little plants

called habaneros peppers out of the bag, and rubbed them all over the hooded kid’s cock and balls, and the

barn had quivered with his screams.

“These peppers really make him wake up.” Deanna Marie had said. It put Cy in mind of when his guardian

had rubbed the wintergreen oil all over his penis during her ant-masturbation campaign, but obviously the

peppers were much worse. Just being near them made his eyes water.

Cy had watched, dumbfounded as Deanna Marie rubbed the peppers all over the hooded guy’s balls and

then his mouth dropped as she twisted and squeezed his scrotum, following it up with a punch and a

roundhouse kick…Years later, as Alf’s male Master, Cy had seen enough of his buddy’s naked body to know

this had been Alfred…amazing how they’d been so close, and never discussed their mutual interest in being

submissives.

Later on that night, Cy had necked feverishly with Deanna Marie in the back of his new 1998 Mazda Miata,

a present from his guardian for memorizing the book of Genesis. But Deanna Marie had pushed back for a

moment. “You are so horny tonight…what is it you REALLY want, Cy?”

They drove back to Deanna Marie’s farm…Her folks were asleep, and Alfred was at a Guns-N-Roses concert

at the Buttermilk Falls Pavilion. Back in the barn, Cy stripped and Deanna Marie tied his hands over the

rafter, as she’d done with the other hooded guy. God she looked hot! Deanna Marie had recently dyed her

hair peroxide blonde, and was clad in a little halter jumper thing, dark red, that really showed off her full

boobs and long legs.

Cy was aroused and humiliated that Deanna Marie refused to remove any clothing…and he was puzzled

when he saw her pick up what appeared to be a tennis racquet for midgets. But then she approached Cy and

touched his penis with it.

ZZZAPPPP! Cy bounced and his dick burned. “Like it?” Deanna Marie asked breezily. “This is an electric

fly swatter. It really brings out the bear in a guy. I think.” She tapped Cy’s penis again. ZZZZAAPPPP!!!!

“Now right between the legs.”

Deanna Marie carefully nestled the electric fly swatter under Cy’s scrotal sack and turned it on once more.

This time he nearly blacked out from the pain, but when he awoke, his cock was hard!

Deanna Marie was also frigging herself beneath her dress. “I’m gonna make you lick me a LOT after this is

over. You’re just lucky that Dad took down the electric fence…I’d love to tie you to it and turn it on and off!”

A few minutes later, she snapped a couple of rat traps on his nipples and two more on his scrotum, and then

knocked them off with the electrical fly swatter…he was terribly worried that he would not leave the barn

alive, when suddenly

Deanna Marie got a call on her cell phone.

“What? Sure…it’d be fun…but another date?” Cy hung there as Deanna Marie walked back and forth with

her cell phone to her ear.Cy could tell that she was talking to “Bogus” Alois, her other boyfriend, a big, black,

obnoxious mechanic.

Cy had begged her to dump Bogus, as Bogus was complete trouble…and of course Cy wanted his precious

Deanna Marie to himself…but she loved Bogus’s “Big dick” and of course Cy couldn’t please her that way,

being as he was a devout member of the Salvation Temple.

Now, Deanna Marie came back and cut Cy down, and as he rubbed his wrists, she consulted him. “Cy,

Bogus’s cousin Brumback has just been paroled, and Bogus needs me to get one of my girlfriends and meet

them…Brum’s like, totally horny. But I promised you I’d spend the evening with you…and I think I might

have a way to please you both.”

How Cy agreed to do what he did in the next forty-five minutes was a mystery, as he thought of it later.

Deanna Marie had sneaked Cy up to her room, and shaved him completely…and then put foundation,

lipstick, eye shadow and blush on his face. Cy had long hair, and Deanna had gone over it with a curling iron,

and then used two Zip-Lock bags filled with bird seed, dumped into her Mom’s 38 DD bra, to put around

Cy’s narrow back…and then she’d put Cy in a nice flowered dress…

Sucking a black guy’s cock had been really a strange experience for Cy, but he really wanted to please his

girlfriend. The date had gone quite well. Deanna Marie had explained to Bogus and Brumback that her

girlfriend Sienna just couldn’t remove her panties because she was a virgin, but certainly was willing to use

her lips…and it had been quite an evening!

Twenty years later, Cy’s eyes teared up thinking of Deanna Marie’s untimely death from leukemia…though

it was probably best that he had not married her…it would’ve been quite a strange relationship!NINE

“Where’s Alfred?” Cy asked, as he gazed into Fanchon’s lovely eyes. He was so in love with her! Full lips,

strawberry blonde curls, and what a cleavage the girl had!

“I locked him in the attic.” Fanchon said with a smile. “We need to talk. I am so excited about your

submissive leanings, Cyrus. I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be an exciting journey for us!”. Cy was a

little scared, it was true.

Cy had spent most of the car ride over thinking of his youth, observing his brother and Cleary’s girlfriend,

and then his own tortuous relationship with Deanna Marie, Alfred’s sister. He’d left all that as an adult—

he’d left the church, and had many normal sexual relationships with women…but sometimes he wondered if

that was really want he wanted…he was so glad to be seeing Fanchon tonight…she occupied a lot of space in

his head!

Fanchon kissed Cy deeply, and gently touched his crotch area. “Kinda limp down there…is it something

about me?” Fanchon touched her boob and smiled at Cy.”I hope you aren’t going through some kind of male

menopause thingie.”

Cy blushed. “No, no…I’m a little spent, maybe. I jerked off right before I came here, and twice in the

bathroom at work…I have my own private bathroom, you know.” God, he hoped she wouldn’t get mad at

him for that!

Fanchon clucked her tongue, and looked straight at Cy. “I have to lock Alf up to keep him from cumming

all the time. Am I going to have to do that to you, as well?” She got up and walked to the liquor cabinet,

making herself a drink.

“No, no…please, Fanchon.” Cy said, shaking. “I-I just have kind of a masturbation habit, and I can try to cut

down, if you want me to…but I do it so much!” He hoped she wouldn’t put him in a chastity device. Those

were horrible.

Fanchon came back with two Cosmopolitans, handing one to Cy. “Cy, I can’t have you as either a lover or

a supervised slave if you’re going to be letting your energy out in Kleenex, babe. I’m not saying you can’t

masturbate, but you’ve gotta hold it in.”

Fanchon was so beautiful, Cy thought. Her big boobs, the long curly red hair, the full lips…he couldn’t lose

her now, could he? He’d really enjoyed fucking her during the last few months, and he was so excited about

possibly becoming her slave…he’d do whatever she wanted!

Fanchon hopped onto Cy’s lap and gave him a big, long, kiss. She ground her buttocks against Cy’s crotch,

and finally his dick began responding. They rolled around for a bit, and then went into the bedroom, and

undressed. Cy was about to plunge in her when Fanchon stopped him.

“Why don’t you focus on giving me pleasure, since you’ve been pleasuring yourself all day.” Fanchon pointed

her long purple nail to her vaginal area, and Cy buried his face in between her thighs. For a full hour he

licked, and sucked and bit, according to Fanchon’s instruction, and she had several orgasms.

Now Cy was rock hard, and he pulled himself up and began rubbing the tip of his organ gently across

Fanchon’s pussy lips…but she stopped him. “Honey, it’s just not about you tonight” Fanchon gently moved

past Cy and went to the night table. “You can’t really please a woman, can you? I think you need to have

your tongue expanded.”

To Cy’s astonishment, Fanchon brought out a small tube of ointment. “Open your mouth and stick out your

tongue, Cyrus.” He obeyed, and she rubbed the vile-tasting cream on his tongue…and suddenly his tongue

felt paralyzed. It just hung out of his mouth!

“Excellent!” Fanchon said with a smile. “Let your tongue hang there, dearest. It’s expanding and soon it will

be able to please my little clitty like there’s no tomorrow. Now why don’t you go home and call me. And for

God’s sake, don’t masturbate…or at least don’t cum. That’s an order.”

Cy wanted to verbally protest, but his tongue was still sticking out of his mouth! He couldn’t move it…and

he was quite distressed that she wanted him to dress and go home…she’d always allowed him to spend the

night. But what could he do? His tongue was just hanging there, as if he’d just had a root canal and had a

mouthful of Novocain.

Cy went home, and around four in the morning, his mouth began to feel better. Cy began getting horny,

thinking of what a hottie Fanchon was, and of her long legs, and her wet, nearly shaven pussy. His dick

began getting harder, and Cy began stroking it…faster and faster he stroked, but then he remembered

Fanchon, and stopped.

Feeling insane, he called her…at four in the morning. But she was up, and the answer was still no.” Forget

it, Cyrus.” Fanchon said briskly. “I know you want to jerk off…but I want your dick to service me someday…

and how can it ever enter my wet, tight pussy if it’s always squirting? Seriously, if you ever want to kiss my

full boobs, and suck on my hard nipples, something I never let Alfred do, and if you ever want another

blowjob from me…you’re going to have to man up, you know what I mean?”

As Cy listened to Fanchon, he continued to play with his penis, pulling back whenever it seemed that

there was danger of his squirting. After she hung up, he thought about her big breasts, hard nipples, and

blowjobs…and jerked his dick some more, but reluctantly took his hand away when it looked like he might

be about to release.

The next day was a Saturday, and Cy called Fanchon. He heard a lot of screaming and hollering over the

phone. “I’m sorry, Cy.” Fanchon said. “I’m training Alfred to suck his own cock, and he’s not able to bend

that far…I have to punish him for not doing his sit-ups.” There was another horrible scream, and then—

”Autofellatio shouldn’t be that hard, should it?” she said breathlessly. “Call me next week, and remember not

to cum.”

Cy took a lot of cold showers over the next few days. Tuesday morning, he got on the phone with Fanchon.

“Are you on your cell, baby?” Her voice was husky. “Take me into your office bathroom honey—I know it’s

lunchtime.”

Although Cy was Executive Sports Editor for the Buttermilk Falls Beacon, his private restroom was being re-

finished, and he had to use the staff washroom. Crouching in one of the stalls, he began talking to Fanchon

in a hushed voice, as other men were walking in and out of the lavatory.

“Are you sitting down, honey? Are your pants down?” Fanchon’s voice was brimming with excitement.

“Touch your dick now…but don’t cum! Rub the tip—the very end, what the doctors call your glans. Rub it

and think about my full, hot breasts.”

“But you don’t want me to cum, do you?” Cy was mystified, but he was rubbing his cockhead earnestly. What

was on this girl’s mind?

“You won’t cum, if you do what I tell you to. Don’t touch any other part of your cock but the glans, that’s

right. Now think about my tight pussy. Think about the last time I let you fuck me, a few weeks ago…and

think about the last time you saw me, when I had you lick me out…wasn’t that nice?”

“Yeah!”Cy whispered, biting his lip, and rubbing his little cock tip.

“Why are you whispering, honey? Oh, you’re in the public restroom. Maybe you should let those men know

that you’re talking to your hot little girlfriend…I might like to fuck some of them…and make you suck their

dicks…wouldn’t that be fun?”

Cy coughed, and dropped his dick. He almost dropped the cell phone into the toilet! But he continued to

listen, and took his dick in hand again, being very, VERY careful to only touch the glans.

“See, you’re just a pathetic little cocksucker, Cy…just like Alf is. A real man wouldn’t envy Alfred for being

my slave. he’d just enjoy having me as his lover! But you are a closet submissive, right…that’s what you like,

don’t you, Cy…would you go out of the stall and ask the first young guy you see at the sink to whip your

bare ass with his belt? And then let him fuck you in the ass? Would you do that for me, for your Mommy?”

Cy was amazed as he heard himself whisper into the cell phone, “If that’s what you wanted, Mistress

Fanchon, then of course I would.” But would he? Was he insane? What was that twisted bitch doing to him?

It was fuckin’ hypnosis, wasn’t it?

He already was horrified at the way Alf obediently sucked his dick, and licked the mud off the bottom of his

shoes—Alf who made more money and had more education than Cy did. Big, strong, Alf, who had always

kicked Cy’s ass when they boxed or wrestled…and Fanchon had turned Alfred into a she-bitch!

“Come to my house tonight, Cy, and we’ll continue your training, honey.” came Fanchon’s voice again, and

she shut off, and he was listening to a dial tone.

TEN

Within a month, Cy’s life was really changed…and not for the better, he was sure. Was he happier? Perhaps,.

but…was it for the better? Cy had been forbidden to cum by Fanchon that night, after he’d been so excited

about talking to her in the restroom…he’d gone down on her with his new improved tongue, and then she’d

sat and flashed her boobs at him while he knelt on the floor and jerked his dick, but every time he came

close to cumming she kicked his hand away.

Alf was locked in a small dog kennel in the basement, and Cy didn’t see him for two orgasmless weeks, until

finally Fanchon decided to let Cy have his first orgasm, in Alf’s mouth. Then another two weeks had gone

by…jerking off every day, but no orgasms. Now things became even more interesting.

Fanchon encouraged Cy to continue dating, within the restriction of no orgasms, and he had quite a few

necking sessions with different girls that he met in The Plaster Cast, which was Buttermilk Falls’s hottest

singles bar….

But the girls were so puzzled by him! “What’s going on?” asked Nichole, a punk rock waitress, who Cy

necked with madly in the car and went down on after dragging her to his place. “Doncha wanna fuck me?”

At some point, Cy lost it and did fuck her, but was careful not to orgasm. This made him quite popular.

Nichole told her friend Aurora that there was a guy who could fuck again and again, and bring her to lots of

orgasms…besides using his tongue…and Cy found himself with lots of dates.

Fanchon thought that was hilarious, and was quite encouraging. “Just remember, baby. your orgasms belong

to me. If it means you have to ask a girl to kick you in the balls after you fuck her to calm down…go for it!”

It hadn’t gotten that far, but it was a bit rough!

“One issue we need to work on” Fanchon had said, “Is your ability to take pain, honey.” The tests she came

up with!

One night Fanchon showed Cy his first spreader bar. The spreader bar was a three foot steel rod with leather

ankle cuffs on each end. After Cy’s legs were strapped, Fanchon tied his wrists to a ceiling hook and enjoyed

a full half hour of whipping Cy’s dick with a crop called “The Licorice Whip”. Though Cy had had a bit of

cock torture in the past, not being able to protect his cock and balls with his knees was a new one…

After Fanchon got bored whacking Cy’s willy, she attached a string to the spreader bar, not too long and

attached the other end to Cy’s balls. Now, if he stretched his manacled legs, it dragged his balls down, but if

he held his legs up, his knees were in intense pain…and of course Fanchon continued her ministrations with

the Licorice Whip!

Then Fanchon attached a couple of rubber bands around Cy’s genital area and snapped them a bit, and then

there was some Ben Gay…what an evening!The TEASING WAS INSANE.

Cy still didn’t have his private bathroom back, but Fanchon thought of a new wrinkle. Every day she gave

him a series of words and phrases, and each time he encountered one in his work, he was to go to the public

lavatory and jerk his dick for one minute per word (yes, without cumming).

The first day, Cy’s words were “Running back” “offensive line” “line backer” “secondary” “wing” “score”

“puck” “inside move” “point guard” “basket” and “defense”

Cy had a lot of football, hockey and basketball articles to edit, and he spent several hours in the bathroom

that day…and the next day Fanchon had more phrases and words! A couple of nights later, Fanchon brought

the tired Cy to her bedroom, stripped him and bound him hand and foot, and stroked his dick for two

hours, telling him how proud she was of him.

It had been quite exhausting. Because one day Cy would be instructed to just play with his glans, the next

day he could just use his forefinger on his cock while masturbating, and the day after that, he could only

play with his scrotal sack! But when he was safely tied up on Fanchon’s bed, and she was wearing a sleeveless

fish-net body stocking…it was heaven.

Fanchon, of course, used her entire hand, both in fact in rubbing Cy’s cock and balls, and his only

responsibility was to tell her when he was getting close to orgasm. Then she would usually take an ice cube

out of her gin and tonic and rub it on his cock and balls until he calmed down again. “Don’t complain,

darling…I calm Alf down by whipping his balls with a slide rule.”

Fanchon knew how to make a dick really, really excited. She did things with her fingers that tickled poor Cy

and made him arch his back, despite the fact that his hands and legs were tethered.

As Fanchon swirled her fingers across Cy’s swelling cock head with one hand, she’d play with his testicles

with the other, and occasionally run a finger up his ass in and out, quickly…and then she began jerking

faster and faster…

“You like that, Cyrus…wouldn’t you like to escape your bonds and fuck my tight little pussy…and suck on

my boobies…or just cum all over my fingers….I know that’s what you want to do” Fanchon said, licking

her full, luscious lips, and moving around on his splayed legs as her fingers nimbly danced up and down his

suffering cock…

“I’m close to cumming, Miss Fanchon!” Cy howled, and immediately, the cruel girl pulled her hand away,

and laughed as his cock bounced and staggered, and a tiny bit of semen flew out of the top. But of course

there was no satisfaction.

Sometimes she would turn on a porn tape, particularly the “Dr. Fellatio” DVDS where different girls sucked

a cock…and Fanchon stroked Cy’s dick and talked to him endlessly about how the blowjobs were good, or

bad while they watched…she had critiques on all of them! Cy had quite a difficult time not cumming in her

hand, but he knew that if he had an “accident” she might really get mad and send him home.

Sometimes Fanchon would use her heels on his cock, bringing them both together around his foreskin,

pulling it back and forth and driving him CRAZY. At times she would neglect to wear panties when she did

this, and it was really a stimulating experience, so to speak.

At the end of the second two weeks, Cy thought he’d finally earned a chance to fuck Fanchon and cum in

her, but nothing doing! Alf was dragged out once more, and Cy came in his mouth, and then both Cy and

Fanchon watched as Alf attempted to suck his own cock. He couldn’t quite make it, and Fanchon locked

him back up again…he could cum when he came in his mouth!

“Then when the PainCafe has its monthly gala, I will have something interesting to show off…and have

perhaps a chance at a blue ribbon, I’m so jealous of Mistress Jolene Lipscomb for teaching her husband to

torture his own dick with a car battery.”

Things got especially interesting when Fanchon had a party…it was more of an orgy, really. Everyone could

do as they liked, except Alf and Cy. Alf had almost no privileges…he was instructed to please male and

female guests with his mouth only, and canes, whips and other implements were in each room to keep his

performance up high. Cy could fuck AND suck, but he was still prohibited from cumming.

This was especially hairy when he was fucking one woman and licking out another at the same time, holding

back his semen….it was the sex thrill of a lifetime, but how horrible not to be able to release! Still, it was

better than poor Alf—

Alfred was getting butt-fucked AND face-fucked by Fanchon’s gay friends, and the women left him severely

alone after the first few cum facials he got. Cy did feel a bit guilty that Alf was so envious that he got to fool

around with all the women, but the torture was incredible!

Alf of course was locked up in his chastity belt, so he really couldn’t be tempted, but all of Fanchon’s

girlfriends had been put wise to Cy’s dilemma, and they were constantly grabbing him and sucking his dick

and giving him impromptu hand jobs.

One of the girls, a beautiful secretary from Alf’s office, was sucking Cy’s dick, making him nearly insane

with desire, and he actually had to pull out of her mouth and run to the kitchen where he put his dick, quite

unhygeinically, in the ice bucket…but what else could he do?

Now of course it was six weeks since he’d been enslaved by Fanchon, and Cy was really distressed…where

was this thing going? Cy took Fanchon out to dinner one night to discuss it with her.

“I really was wondering what’s going on, Fanchon, honey…what else is happening in this relationship besides

me being teased almost to the point of mental illness?”“You’re right, it’s time for you to move on…” And

when Fanchon said this, she chuckled serenely, and somehow Cy felt a chill in his heart.ELEVENHans

Kochmeier got out of the taxicab, brushing himself. Americans were so dirty! He paid the driver with a

near grimace, and surveyed the house. “Cyrus Thibodeau, aged forty-four, journalist but with independent

income from family trust.”

Hans smiled and shook his head. Another lazy, fat American. And from what Fanchon had told him, this

man lived in a filthy, unkempt house even with a weekly maid service, and he also had a filthy masturbation

habit. An obese hausfrau waddled by, gazing curiously at the young, immaculate German, in his blond crew

cut and white turtleneck sweater.

The woman resembled Hans’s last case, a slovenly district attorney, named Angela Scifres…Hans had

broken several canes on her lard-filled buttocks before Ms. Scifres had shown much improvement at all…

Hans was confident that now he’d left her care, Angela Scifres was once again stuffing Twinkies and other

grotesqueries in her mouth, undoing all his good work. Alas.

Hans walked to the house, climbed the unkempt, badly kept steps and rang the doorbell. Hans waited. He

heard some scuffling from the inside, and curses. Cyrus Thibodeau will pay for that…making me wait

on the porch, cursing. Ach, much work to do here. Hans’s fingers longed to grip a cane again…Fanchon

promised that she’d sent some implements to this dummkopf’s house…

The door finally opened, and Hans looked in mild revulsion at a balding man clad in a T-shirt proclaiming a

membership in the “Buttermilk State Chuggers Club” and Bermuda shorts. He was shoeless

“Yeah?” The balding man peered at the trim twenty-eight year old German. “Are you selling something?

Bibles, perhaps? Not here, man.” The door was about to close when Hans, holding back his desire to gag at

the smell of stale beer, spoke.

“You are Cyrus Thibodeau, I believe? I am Hans, your new Master. You may call me Master Hans.” Hans’s

nose wrinkled, but he soldiered on. “Step back from the door and let me in, young man. We have much work

to do.”

“Huh? I don’t think so.” Cyrus Thibodeau shook his head. “I think you got the wrong dude…perhaps you’re

looking for an embassy or something—-”

Suddenly Hans’s right hand shot out and grabbed Cyrus Thibodeau’s left nipple, and he twisted it violently.

“I believe I told you to step back and allow me to enter…you are not starting your relationship with your new

Master well, Cyrus. Fanchon will not be pleased.”

Cyrus Thibodeau screamed until Hans let go of his nipple, and then he stood back, and Hans entered the

house. Yes, it was disgusting. Cigarette butts everywhere, abandoned pizza delivery boxes, beer cans…Yankee

disorder.

“Look, no, you—ow, that hurt. Shit! I—” SMACK! Han’s hand crashed across Cyrus’s face.

“I do not allow profanity. Where are my canes?” The crew cut spun around, surveying the repulsive pig sty

that was this rich American’s house.”Fanchon told you to leave them in the living room, I believe?”

“No, no…Jesus, my nose is bleeding. Fanchon said she was sending someone to live here, but I asked for a

Mistress, not a Master. You got it wrong, man.” Cyrus was not quick on the uptake, in Hans’s opinion. Ah!

but there were the canes.

Hans pivoted and walked into the living room, and picked up a nice long bamboo cane from the coffee table.

He bent it, smiling. Yes, very good. “You will remove your shorts, Cyrus. In fact, remove all your clothes. I

may burn them after your punishment.”

But the American was not finished talking. Quite, quite unfortunate. He babbled something else about

having wanted a female Master, and Hans decided to wade right in. He swung the cane, catching Cyrus

Thibodeau smartly across the shoulders.

Cyrus Thibodeau began backing up, and screaming about the police, and Hans caught him by the ear and

shook Cyrus’s head until his eyes were rolling about in it. “You are going to be a difficult case, I assume. If

Fanchon had not given me your cashiers check for twenty thousand dollars for your first month, I would

leave now…but I am committed. I have signed a contract.”

Cyrus’s mouth was slack. “Sh-she gave YOU my check? I’m not going to get a hot little dominatrix? What

kind of—Oh no!” For the young German was quite strong. Hans grabbed Cyrus and threw him across the

couch, and ripped down his shorts.

WHACK! WHACK! THWACK! CRACK! Hans had been a Dominant Master for nine years and he never

got sick of the feeling of a cane in his grip, and the satisfying look of welts being raised on a fat, pale buttock.

Cyrus Thibodeau struggled for a bit, and then relaxed and just screamed, which was of no consequence to

Master Hans….he could cane all day, and ignore the wails of a spoiled 44 year old child.

About an hour later, after Cyrus had obediently stood in the corner, weeping, Master Hans summoned him.

Cyrus was now naked and covered with marks from his shoulders to his upper thighs, but it seemed to have

been therapeutic, as he was quite subdued.

Cyrus came over to where Hans was sitting, and opened his mouth. But Hans noticed that Cyrus’s penis was

erect. This would not do, so early in the relationship.

“Make your penis small, Cyrus, before you address me. I do not want to see a hard penis just now.” Hans said,

with a look of displeasure.

Cyrus looked at his dick, and bit his lip. “I don’t understand it, either, Master Hans. I’m not gay, but—but

I—”

“You cannot help it? Please bring me the cane. No buts, just bring it.”

Cyrus brought the cane and handed it to Master Hans reluctantly.

Hans stood up, and took the cane, swinging it against Cyrus’s nipples…right across them, hard. SMACK!

Predictably, Cyrus fell on his face, grabbing his chest. Hans was revolted. Like every good Master, Hans had

a Master of his own, and could take numerous hits to the chest without even wincing. Some Spartans these

Americans were.

“Rise, immediately, Cyrus.” Hans took the cane, and this time swung it hard against Cyrus’s still erect penis.

SNAP! Yess! The penis went down obediently…though of course Cyrus fell on the floor again, crying…this

was getting rather tiresome.

But Hans put the cane down and sat back down, waiting for Cyrus Thibodeau to arise once again.

Finally Cyrus arose, looking plaintively at his Master.

“You have learned something from your time in the corner, Cyrus?” Master Hans asked. “There will be no

more tantrums, I assume? Fanchon did not tell you she was going to send you a female Master. She sent me,

and I am here. I hope that is understood.”

“I-I’m sorry, Master Hans.” Cyrus said, as he stood in front of where his young German Master was sitting.

“When you came here I-I didn’t mean-um—”

“You did not mean to be inhospitable?” Master Hans asked, permitting himself a small smile. “It is all right. I

understand that you were crying out for a bit of correction a bit of Abgestraft? It is fine. Now you will clean

this house. Where is your vacuum cleaner? Your mop and bucket?”

“No, the maid is coming on Tuesday, don’t worry about it—” Cyrus once again was cut off, as Hans hopped

up and grabbed Cy’s ear with one hand, and boxed the other ear with his fist. Cyrus burst into tears.

“I said you are to clean this house. And I mean now. You do not have cleaning supplies? Of course not, you

are slovenly and lazy. You will get a pad and paper, and I will dictate what you will need. You will go to the

supermarket and purchase the cleaning supplies, and be back in half an hour. For every minute over thirty

minutes that you are gone, I will give you five strokes with the cane…”

“Wait, before you go, I must void.” Hans said to Cyrus Thibodeau. “Just a moment on your knees, and then

you are off to the supermarket.”

“What? You have to void—pee? You can use the toilet, it’s right there.” Cyrus gesture to the toilet. “I’m not

into pee or scat—not me, man.” Cyrus smiled. “I’m really getting turned on by this whole Master thing…

but I can’t let someone pee in my mouth…it’s unsanitary. But no offense to you.”

Hans sighed. It was difficult to keep one’s temper. “You will kneel and I will void in your mouth, and then

you will go to the supermarket. Kneel, immediately.”

But, remarkably, it was much too much work. Cyrus Thibodeau had dressed, and so Hans had had to once

again, grab him by the ear, throw him across the sofa and pull his pants down, and let the cane do its dance.

FINALLY, after about ten thrashes, Cyrus Thibodeau had knelt, his face wet with tears, and his pants

around his ankles.

Goodness, Americans were stubborn, thought Master Hans as he unzipped his pants. Why all the

complication? Angela had taken even more caning than this to take in his urine.

“That is right. Now open your mouth—do not touch my penis with your teeth, I will knock them out,

Cyrus…that’s right…don’t choke, just let the penis lodge in your throat, and I will release the urine. Do

NOT cough or spit, just hold your head back, please.”

Finally, Cyrus Thibodeau had drunk all of Hans’s urine, and considerately (without being prompted,

actually) licked around Hans’s crotch to ensure there was no remaining drops!

“Now you may dress and go to the supermarket. Remember, Cyrus, five strokes for every minute after one

half hour.”

Hans was pleased with Cyrus’s efforts! He returned only five minutes after the half hour limit, but with

all the sponges, mops, cleansers and dishcloths and other things. He obediently grabbed his ankles for his

twenty-five strokes, without making ridiculous excuses.

And then he cleaned! Hans, of course gave instruction. “Mop from the top of the room to the bottom,

so that you are always standing on unmopped floor. This will prevent tracking…” Several times, Cyrus

Thibodeau was distracted, and wanted to tell a little story, and Hans was quick with the cane, just a few

helpful swats, and it was amazing how the American began to understand who was in charge!

Every room was scoured, and Cyrus didn’t even question Hans’s suggestion that he use a toothbrush to

clean the tiles in the kitchen and bathroom! Cyrus did make some objection to scrubbing the windows

with newspaper and ammonia when he was still naked, but Master Hans used the cane to poke him in the

scrotum once, and Cyrus scrubbed in silence.

Twice during that time (Because Hans had consumed much too much iced tea on the flight) Cyrus had had

to consume Hans’s urine, but he had obediently dropped his mop or his sponge and had gone through his

good work like a trooper, as the Americans said.

Hans at one point did have to defecate, but felt it was too much to push on Cyrus at this time…he just

sighed and went to use the toilet. Time enough for Cyrus to learn later, eh?

Finally, at midnight, Cyrus Thibodeau was exhausted, and Hans allowed him to put the supplies away.

“But now you will show your Master some appreciation before you go to bed, no?” Cyrus looked puzzled.

“Cyrus, come. You have been using your big, stupid mouth for excuses and complaints all evening, can you

do nothing useful with it?”

Cyrus Thibodeau was not a natural cocksucker, but Hans gave him a B minus…and after Hans came in

Cyrus’s throat, of course Cyrus wanted to spit it out. Hans tried not to feel hurt at this caustic response to

taking his precious seed. He just grabbed Cyrus by the scalp, and held his head back, so he could not move,

and Cyrus coughed, he swallowed, and smiled somewhat sickly…improvement would come, Hans thought.

However, Hans was still a bit tense. Angela had not been much of a sexual partner, especially since she was

really not of the gender that interested Hans…So Hans bound Cyrus’s hands and feet and took him from

behind, wearing a prophylactic, of course. One never knew how clean these Americans were!

After Hans had orgasmed into Cyrus’s buttocks (which needed tightening up, Hans considered….he must

arrange a thorough exercise program) Cyrus made some noise about being released. But he didn’t even moan

as Hans rolled him off the bed to spend the night tied on the floor. This was not going to be a whining case,

Hans thought It would work out!

“Thank you, Master Hans” came Cyrus Thibodeau’s voice. “Good night, Sir.”

“Yes, and good night to you too, dummkopff.” came Master’s voice, and they slept!

Outside, the couple the car watched as the lights went off. “Well honey” Alf said. “This is what he said he

wanted—to have his limits stretched…and you did it!”

“Yeah.” Fanchon replied, as she gunned the engine and they took off. “I hope it’s not more than Cy can

handle.”

“He’ll make it…I did, after all!”

“You know, Alfred…you might just get laid tonight!”

TWELVE

Bunky and Skip, two waiters at the Golden Spoon, Buttermilk Falls’s Cajun restaurant, stared at the couple.

“He’s kind of geeky, Four Eyes there, to be with a chick who looks like that,” Bunky said, but Skip had

noticed the Adam’s apple on the “chick” and wasn’t surprised…she was hot, but it was still disgusting!

Ellis McKeigue shook his head as his friend Claudia Thibodeau explained her life to him. He couldn’t

believe that this used to be his cousin Cyrus Thibodeau…though technically Claudia was still Cyrus, there’d

been no operation, no implants…just big breast forms and, according to Claudia, the penis was pinned

between his/her legs with a series of little ring piercings. “If you don’t have your glasses on, Ellis, it looks kind

of like a cunt”

But Ellis did not want to remove his glasses to look at his friend’s crotch. They were sitting in a restaurant,

anyway, Claudia wearing a pretty, flowered dress, and full makeup, as well as an interesting honey blonde

wig…Ellis found it mildly disturbing that he was vaguely attracted to Claudia! Icky poo poo.

Jesus, Cy, or Claudia had big eyes. Ellis had known him since he’d moved to Buttermilk Falls at age ten, and

never noticed how big, almost lustrous his friends’ eyes were…but wait…that was eye makeup. That’s right

chicks do that to their eyes. Ellis felt uncomfortable.

“Mistress Holly helped me with my makeup this morning” Claudia said, as she spooned a tomato, eating it

carefully so not to mess up her lipstick. “We are going to get our legs waxed later on this afternoon…its fun

girl stuff, you know? Sometimes Miss Holly gets mad at me and puts on her two foot black strap on…I really

get it hard then! But most of the time we’re nice girlfriends.”

It was true…when Ellis, Cyrus, and their buddy Alfred were in high school, they were all enthusiastic readers

of bondage magazines. They’d talked about being submissive males, and were surprised to find that most of

the ads from dominant women were for “pay.”

At Buttermilk State University, the three had been members of the university Pansexual Individuals for

Gynocracy and Servitude…but the PIGS had mostly been male, except for a few fat girls who just wanted to

get dates…All the haughty cheerleaders and college babes didn’t really want to be bossy in the bedroom, just

everywhere else!

Ellis was not surprised when Alf began playing femdom games with his wife, Fanchon,but was a little more

surprised when Cy began also being trained by Fanchon…

And then Cy spent eighteen months with a Male Master, a freaky German guy….who taught Cy to “walk

like a lady” with books on his head, and all kinds of other shit. The old friendship was gone, it seemed…but

now Cy was Claudia, and he had invited a young couple, real redneck types in Ellis’s opinion, to live in his/

her house.

“Master Philbert and his wife Mistress Holly are just the greatest people.” Claudia enthused. “I took the

retirement buyout at the newspaper, though I still write freelance sports stuff…I can go to games in my

miniskirts! And I can be a full time maid and housekeeper for my Master and Mistress…after all, my trust

fund is more than enough, right?”

Ellis watched in dismay as Claudia, who used to chug beers and eat T-bones, picked at her salad. She was like

a real-chick, man oh man! “But um, Cyrus—I mean, Claudia, you PAY them to live with you, right? They

were a married couple who did maintenance at the BDSM club, the PainCafe.”

Ellis blushed slightly, mentioning it. Of course Ellis himself went to the PainCafe. They’d all started going in

college, and Ellis had been to more than a few dominatrixes…but to give up your life! But Claudia looked so

happy…was there something in that?

Claudia smiled and patted Ellis’s arm in a very feminine way. “That’s right! But they quit their jobs to take

over my full time training, isn’t that great?” Claudia wriggled. “Just this morning,

Philbert took my panties down and flipped my skirt up and whipped me with a Spencer paddle—you

know the kind with the holes to make the wind fly through?—he gave me fifty hard ones because when he

bounced a quarter on his bed, it didn’t bounce enough…I still need to work on my hospital corners.”

Claudia smiled, and her lip gloss shone. Ellis was getting a little nauseated.

“But then” Claudia said dreamily,” I was crying while standing in the corner with my panties down, and

Philbert took me in his lap and kissed me tenderly. and I gave him a big, sloppy blowjob! It was so nice!”

“But Cy-Claudia, you’re NOT GAY.” Ellis said patiently. “Maybe you need a therapist. You don’t enjoy

sucking guy’s dicks…and I saw that Philbert fellow. He is fat and disgusting! His wife is fairly cute, but still

in a white-trash kind of way, you know.”

Ellis paused. “And I’m really your spiritual advisor, technically, aren’t I?” Ellis was the curate of the Salvation

Temple, the church they’d both grown up in…he wasn’t perfect, but he was technically a clergyman. “And

as your pastor, I got to tell you, you’re a normal, tough guy…you used to kick ass in bar fights, and I had to

counsel you about that, but this is serious…you’re no pansy.”

Claudia laughed. “You’re right, Ellis. You know I was the most macho of the macho guys…captain of the

Rugby team, all that shit…I remember how we used to harass gay guys when they came out of the gay bar…

what an asshole I was! But as a submissive, I need to learn to serve whoever is my Dom, and it excites me to

submit to a man…it’s so degrading, you know what I mean?”

Ellis knew what he meant. Though he was loath to admit it to anyone, he really enjoyed buying and renting

femdom vids and DVDS and reading stories where there was forced bisexuality…but then he liked going

back to his normal life, didn’t he? Cy, or Claudia was full time with these people!

Claudia sipped her mineral water—AA and twelve rehabs since high school had not cured Cy of his drinking

habit, but he had now been sober without any problems for a year—and then spoke again. “Last night, while

Philbert was fucking Holly, I helped to arouse them by licking both their bodies…I was all over them, and

it really helped in getting them to have an intense orgasm, and of course then I cleaned up, and went back to

my closet.”

“Your closet?” Ellis asked, taking a BIG swig of his Long Island Iced Tea.” You didn’t get to fuck and you

went to a closet?”

“Yes, I live in the closet much of the time…I don’t need too much space, it just confuses me, kind of like

a puppy needing a training cage…and no, I don’t get to fuck anyone. Every ninety days or so Miss Holly

removes the rings and I jerk off, and I’m milked from the rear weekly, to keep pressure off my prostate…it’s

very healthy you know.”

Claudia smiled at Ellis’s now pale white face. “I know you probably think that’s crazy, Ellis. I’m nuts, right?

But although I’m horny all the time, it helps me to serve my Master and Mistress…isn’t that the most

important thing?”

Ellis reached for the bill, but Claudia dropped her Visa Gold on the table, and took the waiter’s hand.

“Would you like a personal tip from me…?” My God, and he licked his lips…oh damn! And Claudia took

Bunky by the hand and they went into a broom closet. and Ellis swigged a couple of shots until his friend

came back out…Bunky was zipping up, and Claudia was re-doing her lips…

As they left the restaurant, Ellis found himself (to his horror) helping Claudia on with her coat. “Thanks,

you’re sweet” Claudia said, bussing Ellis gently on the cheek. Ellis was twisted between a desire to vomit, and

wondering how Claudia had created that amazing cleavage with no implants!

It was true that Claudia was taking female hormones…and this might contribute to the breast enhancement,

but it just didn’t seem possible that his/her voice could be that girly on its own…Ellis honestly wondered if

Claudia was going to like, float away in femininity!

A car suddenly pulled up in front of The Golden Spoon, Ellis recognized Claudia’s Beemer, and a huge guy

with a leather jacket, tattoos and a goatee got out. Oh, it was Philbert. Damnit, what’s he doing here? Ellis

didn’t like to be seen with criminal types…ick.

But Claudia walked right up to him in her high heels and put her hands on his chest. “Yes, Master Philbert, I

hope you’re not upset that I’m not at home, I told Holly I’d be out.” But, as Claudia watched the malevolent

redneck removing his belt, she trilled “Are-are you upset with me, Sir?”

“Pull your dress up and bend over the BMW, bitch! You forgot to polish my Stetsons this morning…An’ mah

underwear ain’t ironed neither, you lazy cow.”

Claudia protested, but Philbert grabbed her by her wig, ripping it off, showing Claudia’s quite bald head.

Though Claudia could have easily taken the fat man, Philbert shook her as if she was a tiny little thing, and

Claudia burst into tears as he bitch-slapped her a few times, bloodying her nose.

Then Philbert threw Claudia across the car and jerked her skirt up, and pulled down her panties, and Ellis

got to see Claudia’s penis and scrotum, pierced tightly between his/her legs.

As Philbert lifted his belt up to start the whipping, Ellis ran into the alley and vomited.

ONE

“I don’t know why you’re so disturbed by all of this, Ellis” said Meredith. SNAP! Her steel switch whacked

his balls. Ellis was naked and on his stomach, with his cock and balls pushed out between his legs, which

were splayed by a spreader bar. His balls were on top of his cock as he lay on Meredith’s bed, with his hands

cuffed behind his back.

By day, Meredith Trease was the makeup expert on the cosmetics counter at Luttrell’s, Buttermilk Falls’s

pitiful excuse for a department store, but at night, Meredith lived it up as a dominatrix, and a damned well-

paid one…and she LOVED her work. She brought the steel wand down again, and giggled as Ellis jumped,

tied up as he was.

“Oooow. Oh, Meredith, it’s so hard.” groaned Ellis. His balls were simmering in pain. “Muh-my point is,

Cyrus, or Claudia, is ruining his life, instead of keeping the whole BDSM thing as a hobby. It’s a fun thing,

not what you should do 24/7.

Jesus, he’s taking cooking classes and licking up crushed pieces of apple that the redneck guy Philbert

stomps into the kitchen floor with his muddy boots. It’s truly disgusting—OOOW!” Again the little steel

wand had nailed his balls!

Meredith, who had been described by an ex-fiancée as “Ally McBeal with tits” was sitting on the bed, taking

little pot-shots at Ellis’s penis and balls. “I see him at the store all the time, Cy, or Claudia…we chat about

moisturizer and mascara…he’s much happier as a pseudo woman than he ever was as the asshole who used

to get into fights in every sports bar in town.” She brought the wand down again, hard. “You just are a bit

jealous, that’s all—you wish you could get me to marry YOU and do that to YOU, instead of having to pay

me by the hour, right?”

Ellis shook his head, which was a little ridiculous as, being bound on the bed, he was facing away from

Meredith. “I’m getting married. And as soon as Violet and I tie the knot, this is all over. I’ve wasted too

much of my life on kinky sex…it’s not helping me as a clergyman, and it’s not helping me as a person. This

may be my last visit.”

Meredith smiled. She’d heard this sort of thing before. Carefully, she took a needle and pushed it through

spare skin on the side of Ellis’s scrotum, and, ignoring his whine, pushed two more on the other side. Now

the exposed cock was effectively pushed down on the bed by the scrotum, which was pinned down on the

mattress by the needles.

“You boys always come back to me…I can’t get rid of any of my clients. You might as well give that one up,

Ellis.” Meredith silently picked up her thick leather razor strop, a present from her uncle, who had cut hair

in Buttermilk Falls for thirty years. “See, being a slave boy isn’t something you can just give up, Ellis…it’s

ingrained in you, dear.”

“Oh no, not me” Ellis said confidently. “I am going to get therapy with a Doctor Oppidan, who is good at

curing paraphilias like this. I think it’s almost over for me…sorry, Meredith.”

Meredith lifted the heavy razor strop and brought it down hard, nearly flattening Ellis’s balls. As Ellis

screamed in surprised agony, she lifted the strop again and brought it down five times across his naked

buttocks! How funny. Doctor Oppidan was one of Meredith’s clients…one of her key holder clients as a

matter of fact.

WHACK! Again the razor strop came down, right on Ellis’s cock and balls. She was deaf to Ellis’s entreaties.

Dr. Oppidan was locked in a CB-6000, one of the newer chastity belts, and Meredith was his key holder…

Twice weekly the good doctor came to visit her…she would unlock his belt, after tying him to the very bed

that Ellis was lying on!

Oppidan’s cock and balls would be massaged and teased for nearly an hour by Meredith’s gold speckled

fingernails…and then, he would toss a pair of dice…and if it came up sevens, he could jerk off! Otherwise,

Oppidan left Meredith’s office orgasmless until the next time…and did he cry and whine when Meredith

locked him back up again!

Meredith had not always been a dominatrix…though it was really in her blood! She had, however always

been beautiful, and when her cousins, Walvick and Gilbreth Westbrook had started The Snatch Catch,

Buttermilk Falls’s premier strip club, they had not had to beg their beautiful cousin, who was thoroughly sick

of her born-again religious parents, to come and work for them.

Wally had actually offered Meredith a management position, but she was quite happy to dance for tips,

which was where the money was. Meredith liked this—-she’d had two kids by an abusive welder who’d

overdosed when she was twenty, and then she’d met Jared the sensitive artist, who she LOVED, but who

really couldn’t support them on the four paintings he sold a year, even at five grand a pop. But he took care

of the house and was a great step dad for the kids, and so it was just up to Meredith to bring home the

greenbacks…she couldn’t remember what had started her off, taking private clients and whipping their bare

asses..but she loved it that she didn’t have to fuck them, you know?

When the kids were school age, Meredith got respectable, working at the department store…and it was ok

that she’d quit the Snatch Catch,(which Wally and Gil had lost to the Mob by that time, gambling debts)

because she’d gotten a few clients that she didn’t have to sleep with, but paid her bills, and helped Wally and

Gil’s now impoverished families as well…for Meredith was now a dominatrix! Actually, Meredith was a

cottage industry.

Cousin Wally had suggested filming a few of her sessions, and was now in charge of “ScourgeGirl Dot

Com.”(ScourgeGirl being her nom de whip) and he sold her clips and DVDS…Cousin Gil now ran the key

holder service, as idiots all over the country had been sending ScourgeGirl the keys to their chastity belts,

which they could get back at a price…

And their dad, Mephisto “Westy” Westbrooke did the mail order business on the side, sending Meredith’s

perfumed panties and pictures…out for more dollars… Uncle Westy’s wife, Aunt Enid supervised ten fat

girls on telephones pretending to be Scourge Girl and giving intensive verbal abuse at 5.99 a minute!

Now, while thinking of again of her therapist client, Doctor Oppidan, Meredith rolled Ellis over and began

running her fingers around his stiffening cock, and finally drawing invisible circles on his shaft with her

gold-speckled forefinger. Ellis moaned, and closed his eyes.

Another one of Meredith’s clients was the son of her employer, Ninian Luttrell…who paid a hundred dollars

per tampon, to suck the blood out…this was only a monthly customer, but Meredith valued him. She also

caned and anally raped Ninian’s dad the store owner, and for that she was paid twenty thousand dollars a year

more than the average cosmetics expert. It was annoying when he wanted those late-night visits, when he had

her bag him up and thrown out in the Luttrell’s dumpster, to climb out later…but he paid extra for that!

Not bad, really for a beauty college dropout .

Comparatively, Ellis was a wuss, really. Sometimes he wanted Meredith to pretend she was his cuckolding

girlfriend…she would spread her pussy with sour cream and he’d lick it out…but when she asked if he’d like

her husband to fuck her before his session, so he could lick REAL cum, he always demurred. What a wuss!

“You’ve not been jerking off too much, have you, Ellis? I really wish I could lock this penis up, it would be a

great thing for all concerned.” Meredith smiled and stroked Ellis a little faster. “You look distracted, honey.

Are you wishing you could play with my titties? But you won’t be comfortable having regular sex with a real

woman…

And your fiancée will be quite disappointed on her wedding night. I know, being religious types, you’re

waiting til then to fuck her…that’s what you tell yourself, Ellis. but the fact is, you don’t WANT to fuck her.

you want to be tortured and teased by me, right?”

Meredith hummed, rubbing the base of Ellis’s shaft with her long, energetic speckled fingernails. He gasped

as she coursed her hand up and down the suffering penis..”When did you last cum, can you remember, Ellis?”

“Uh, I think Pennell and I were making out on her bed two nights ago, and I came in my pants when she was

grinding her butt against my crotch…it was messy, but we didn’t weaken and have premarital relations” Ellis

said, gasping as Meredith’s fingers danced happily along his frenulum.

“That’s so good…you remained virtuous.” Meredith said, giggling. She had been raised in the Salvation

Temple as well, and her parents had encouraged her to be a Virtue Girl—one of the keep-it-til-you-wed

fellowships where you got a Purity Locket.

Meredith had found the whole celibacy before marriage thing ridiculous, and had fucked four or five elders

of the Church before she was twenty, and now of course, as a professional dominatrix, it amused her that she

was now regularly beating and torturing their Second Reverend for $350 per hour…

Meredith felt so sorry for Pennell, Ellis’s fiancée. Penny was such a nice girl, she taught Meredith’s kids

Algebra at the Spiro Agnew high school…her son, Rick said Penny was incredibly patient! And Ellis was

going to be sexually useless to this poor girl unless she got a clue about the fact that he was a pathetic

masochist.

Thinking of poor Penny, Meredith took up the thin steel wand again and brought it down severely on Ellis’s

bloated penis, and he screamed. A good thing, really! Meredith brought the steel wand down once more,

savagely.

Ellis screamed again, and begged to be let loose. “Puh-please…you’re too angry today, and I need to get

home. Let me go, I’ll pay you double!” The wand came down once more, and his cock head began to turn an

unpleasant shade of fuchsia.

“I don’t think so” Meredith said calmly.” You and I are more than client-domme at this point, Ellis…we’re

theoretically friends…and I think you should tell Penny that you are a slave boy…BEFORE you get married.

Give her a chance! The poor thing’s got so much going against her in the marriage already—

You’re fifteen years older than she is, you make shit pay, half of which you give to me, and we both know

you are embezzling from the coffers of the church for New York trips to the ‘more exciting’ dominatrixes…

so there may be legal trouble there…AAND you are an impotent sex pervert. You won’t get erect in her

pussy,but your dick is standing straight up for the lashes from my steel wand! What’s that about?”

Shit, she had to get Ellis out of here. Knox Hartley, the Buttermilk Falls alderman was showing up, and he

was another chastity boy…she’d have to dig out his lacy panties and the Ben Gay. and of course the medical

catheter. Fortunately, she’d peed in the mayonnaise jar, and he would be able to drink it quickly while she

did the thing with the Ping-Pong balls…gross. But it would be an easy $385, and she’d be home by the time

Ricky and young Meredith (called Twinkle) got in…and her artist husband who made precious little money,

but was the most wonderful guy in the world…and NOT a masochist.

What a great guy…unlike this one! She gave Ellis another swat with the wand, and then, impulsively, kicked

him right in the balls. Whee!

Charmaine Pennell Mastronardi , called Penny, sat at her desk, fondling her long chocolate brown hair and

correcting pre-calculus papers. She thought about Ellis. What would she do about Esmerelda?

Penny had to give up being gay…she HAD to. But she’d had a wonderful, long term affair with the Agnew

High librarian for eight years now!

Besides the other problems, Penny had a dreadful secret concerning Esmerelda. Well, it was their secret,

really. Penny and Esmerelda, to the world, were just roommates who worked at the same high school. They’d

actually become friends and roomed together in college, and it had gone on for nine years now…

Everyone thought Penny was quite broad minded to share an apartment with a black woman…especially

such a brisk, itchy black woman. This woman made Michelle Obama seem like Aunt Jemima, and how!

But what all of Buttermilk Falls didn’t know was…six weeks after Esmerelda had become Penny’s roommate,

she’d discovered a letter Penny had written to “Lesbian Slave World Journal” in which she’d typed a fantasy

about being dommed by her Negro roommate…Esmerelda had been quite offended by it.

“What the fuck’s this, white girl?” Esmerelda had asked, waving it in Penny’s face when she came back from

her Egyptian Literature seminar.

Penny had blushed as Esmerelda ridiculed her with the fantasy. “You actually WROTE this to a magazine.”

Esmerelda shook her head as she read aloud.

“My fantasy was that my Negro roommate, Esmerelda Jefferson would become angry because I wasn’t

keeping the room clean. One night, in this fantasy, Esmerelda became enraged at me, and borrowed the

wicker carpet sweeper from the dorm janitor. It is a French rattan cane carpet beater, shaped like a paddle,

and Esmerelda ordered me to drop my jeans and underpants and bend over her broad knees for a full

thrashing.

The carpet beater crashed against my bare buttocks until I screamed in pain, but I gritted my teeth—I wasn’t

going to let this black bitch make me cry! But finally, the beater left a splinter in my lower left thigh, and I

burst into tears.

Esmerelda laughed at me, and took me by the ear, panties still down around my ankles, and pulled my

sweater up, ripping off my bra, and thrashing my full breasts as well, before tying my hands and feet

together and shoving me under her bed while she fucked Negro man after Negro man above me. It was truly

humiliating.” After Esmerelda finished reading it aloud, she laughed in Penny’s face.

“It’s just bad writing, Penny.. “Esmerelda had giggled “I am disgusted by this…and you need to be

PUNISHED.”

“What?” Penny had asked…and then she’d seen the gleam in Esmeralda’s eye. “Really, I am so sorry,

Esmerelda, ma’am…it won’t happen again!” But as Penny had said it, she’d unsnapped her skirt and dropped

her panties, and Esmerelda had whipped her butt raw with a metal yardstick. Penny had gasped and writhed,

but she didn’t really want to get away, and Esmerelda had landed about forty whacks on Penny’s full cheeks.

After this, Esmerelda had ordered Penny to strip completely, and had snapped a couple of binder clips on

Penny’s nipples, and then changed her mind and knocked them off with the same yardstick! Penny had

then taken charge and pushed Esmerelda down on the bed, pulling down the black girl’s jeans, and licking

Esmerelda to about eight orgasms.

The next week, Penny felt that Esmerelda went too far—she decided to humiliate Penny in the lounge of the

coed dorm…it was for a good cause, Penny was way overweight, and Esmerelda had, previous to their new

relationship, been gently warning Penny about diabetes, etc…but she found Twinkie wrappers on the floor

one too many times!

Esmerelda had stripped Penny naked, shaved all her head, ears streaming down her face as Esmerelda briskly

clipped her dark brown curls.

“You depend too much on this hair…you flirt with boys and forget that your butt is getting big enough

to ride the Macy’s day float parade…you’re going to learn that your focus is getting the weight down…”

Esmerelda had cheerily ran her razor over the rest of Penny’s head, and she looked like a dilapidated Kojack.

Penny had kept trying to arise, but Esmerelda threw her down and brought the steel yardstick across her too-

big bum again and again, before finishing the rest of the head-shaving. “You must learn, Penny, that you are

not a babe…you’re a tub!”

When Penny had tried to rise again, Esmerelda punched Penny in her large, full left breast. Penny knew that

Esmerelda was jealous of her full rack (Thank goodness she couldn’t cut off THOSE) and several times since

she’d begun domming Penny she’d thrashed Penny’s boobs, perhaps in some sick method of making up for

her own pitiful A cups.

But finally Penny was naked, bald and humiliated.

Esmerelda then had made Penny kneel in the student lounge, whipping Penny’s fat ass while the other

students made fun of her for being a cow… Esmerelda, an energetic jogger, had then chased Penny around

the campus with her metal yard stick, whacking Penny’s fat ass whenever she fell behind…years of therapy,

Overeaters Anonymous, Weight Watchers, none of it had worked, but one angry black girl with a yardstick

did amazing things!

Penny had lost twenty-six pounds in the next four months, it was amazing…and she became quite a hottie!

And by the time she grew her hair back, she was riding in the Rose Bowl parade for their college…

But she had no interest in being with anyone except Esmerelda…they’d graduated and Esmeralda’s dad was

Superintendent of Schools in Buttermilk County, and had found them both positions here…and then Penny

had met Ellis…and things had changed!

Penny loved Esmerelda,but needed to get married…for stability. Ellis wasn’t hot, but he was stable, and he

would be the Head Reverend of the Salvation Temple soon!

Sure, he had a tiny dick…Penny wasn’t much into dicks,but if she had been, Ellis’s wouldn’t have impressed

her. She’d had her share of big ones, and even medium sized…they hadn’t fucked, but she’d fondled his dick a

few times…and he was a pre-mature ejaculator also which was icky. And she was planning to marry this guy!

A nice guy? Sure. Generous to a fault. They shared interests in Renaissance art, blues music, suspense novels…

but talking just wasn’t enough, right? This was a problem!

The door tapped, and Reginald Kassendorf looked in. “Ms. Mastronardi? You wanted to see me?” Big,

clumsy, nearly twenty years old, and unable to graduate from high school because he couldn’t pass the

minimum arithmetic requirement. This wouldn’t really be a problem, as Reggie had little else to do; but he

was also going to lose his eligibility to play football…and Agnew High was playing Theodore Kaczynski

Science and Technical Academy next week…they needed their tight end.

“Reggie! You can call me Penny, like we do in church, since no one’s here.” Penny smiled at Reggie, who of

course was staring, as he always was, at her tits. “Eyes up here, Reggie! Sit down, and stop blushing.” Penny

pulled up a chair near her desk, and Reggie sat down. folding his hands.

“Reggie, we have a problem. You are eligible for a HUGE football scholarship to a Big Ten university if you

graduate…and you’ve been a senior for three years! All you have to do to graduate, and stay eligible to play

next week against Kaczynski Academy, is learn your six times tables. I’m not asking for logarithms, or even

geometry. Just, what is six times nine?”

Fifty four…say Fifty-four, Reggie…but no, he was just staring at her boobs.

“36 D?” Reggie blurted. Great. Her bra size. How did he fucking know her bra size? Jesus.

“Then there’s the other problem, which is quite related to this one, Reggie. I am your Chastity and

Abstinence counselor at the Salvation Temple. And I know you’ve been screwing two or three of my Virtue

Girls…you’re a big baseball, football and basketball star, and you’re not financially poor, and of course they

like you…but we’re talking celibate til marriage, right?”

But he was just staring at her tits. Staring. It was a little creepy. Penny slapped him. Hard across the cheek.

“Wake up. You like these tits? Take a good look!”

Penny pulled her sweater up and showed her full melons in a demure powder blue demibra. She shook them

at him, and he brightened. Penny pulled her sweater back down and slapped Reggie again.

“You want to be married to a woman with tits like mine? My fiancée can multiply six times nine, Reggie.

He’s a bright guy…he has a MBA AND a Doctorate in Divinity….Girls like smart guys after they finish

school. You will wind up alone, clerking in your father’s dry-goods store. Want to be handling alfalfa the rest

of your life, and married to your fat cousin Abigail? I didn’t think so. Stand up.”

Reggie dumbly obeyed, and Penny unzipped his corduroys, pulling out his long, pink penis. Now THIS was

a dick. Ellis’s was about one fifth the size. It looked like a squished Vienna sausage next to this monstrosity.

Penny began stroking Reggie’s penis with her soft hands, running her white-tipped French manicure up and

down his slowly stiffening shaft. “I think you know that you play with this thing too much, and inveigle my

girls to play with it. It’s very, very bad form, Reggie.”

“A-Are you going to blow me?” Reggie blurted out, and Penny lost it.

Penny yanked Reggie’s pants down, along with his boxer shorts, and picked up her pointer. SWAP! SLASH!

CRASH! The pointer landed on his stiff dick four times, and it wilted quickly. “No, I am not going to blow

you, you egocentric little SHIT.”

Penny swung the pointer again, and landed it on Reggie’s now tiny dick and he shrieked. She bent him

across the desk with his butt up and began swinging the pointer against his buttocks again and again.

She had full permission, according to the County to do this with the parent’s consent, and Reggie’s father

had told her that he needed sense “Beaten into him” and this was what she had to do apparently.

THIRTEEN

Fanchon and Alfred were having a dinner party. Dinner was actually yet to come, so everyone was just

relaxing in the living room. Ellis and his fiancée, Penny were sipping wine coolers and having an animated

discussion with Fanchon’s brother Santino about the merits of indie music.

There were about six other people there but all were suddenly drawn to attention by Alfred’s argument with

Chloe, the woman next door. “You just don’t understand Sarah Palin, or politics at all…America can’t be run

by a bimbo.” Alfred said, with some satisfaction. “The woman doesn’t read newspapers, Chloe, I’m amazed

by your ignorance.”

“What the hell’s wrong with him, Alf fucking can’t disagree with someone without insulting them, especially

if it’s a woman, he always has to be abusive.” Santino said, annoyed.

Penny shook her head. She actually agreed with Alf politically, but there was no reason to tell someone they

were ignorant, was there?

Suddenly, the kitchen door opened, and Fanchon came into the living room with a tray of caviar canapés,

and of course her famous blue cheese stuffed mushrooms. “What’s going on…why the uncomfortable

silence?” Fanchon smiled. “A few minutes ago, Alf was lecturing everyone about the Super Bowl of 2008, is

he doing it again?”

Fanchon tossed her glorious strawberry curls as she gave Alf a look. “Were you shrieking at poor Chloe? I

heard you all the way in the kitchen. Apologize to Chloe. You don’t have to agree with her, but you certainly

shouldn’t be so unpleasant, Alfred.”

“Goddamn it Fanchon, I’m just telling your friend Chloe here, what a bimbo Sarah Palin is, and she keeps

telling me all this crap about how Palin listens to voters, and what the hell does she know!” As Alfred’s voice

went up, Chloe looked at the floor, and her husband looked quite annoyed. Chloe didn’t have a lot of self-

confidence, and was quite shy at these dinners…and Alf wasn’t helping.

Suddenly, Alf began shouting at his wife, and Chloe said something about leaving. Penny was just shocked at

the outrageous behavior and then something REALLY WEIRD happened.

“That’s it, Alfred…we’ve had enough of your tantrums.” Fanchon said calmly. “Take your clothes off and

hand me the Spencer paddle on the piano.”

“No, no…c’mon, Fanchon…it’s not a big deal. I’m not going to apologize for my views on Palin, but I’ll shut

up about it…though Chloe’s wrong, but not the Spencer, not right now.”

Fanchon snapped her fingers. “You have five seconds, Alfred…or it’ll be my scourge!” Everyone’s jaws

dropped as Alf’s face turned white. And then he did it, he picked this strange looking rectangular frat style

paddle with neatly bored holes throughout the inlaid wood.

“It’s really all right” Chloe said shyly. “I-I forgive Alfred, Fanchon, really I do.”

Alfred looked from Fanchon to Chloe and back, but his wife was ignoring this appeal.

“Do-do I have to take off—-Fanchon everyone’s watching. Can’t we do it upstairs?” But his wife’s implacable

look was enough. Alfred pulled his striped polo shirt off, and unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down—

right there in the living room!— and stepped out of his shoes and socks. He gave Fanchon an imploring look,

and then removed his little white Jockey shorts.

It was weird, Alf’s nipples had little rings in them, like he was a stripper or something, Penny thought…what

the hell?

“Fanchon, you’re going a little far with this, aren’t you?” Santino asked, good naturedly. “Alf’s a pain in the

ass, but he’s sorry…right.”

Fanchon grinned. “No, Santino, I gave Alf a chance to be a nice boy…but he chose not to…remember

what Poppa did when we acted up? ‘Tino, I never knew how wise he was…that’s right, get naked, Alfred.

Everyone’s seen it before.”

Penny looked, and then she STARED. Alfred’s penis had a little metal circle piercing in the head, and it was

locked into another little piercing in his stomach! It just sort of hung there, and Penny noticed that it was

getting hard, but of course it couldn’t leave where it was pierced in Alf’s stomach….so it quivered.

“Damn, he’s like, totally shaved up.” Sondra, a girl with a platinum Pixie haircut said, staring at Alf’s crotch

area. “It makes him look like a baby.”

Fanchon smiled. “That’s right. Only real men get to have pubic hair…you understand that…nasty little

Napoleon type temper tantrum boys don’t get hair…it’s a policy of mine.”

“What the fuck’s that thing?” Ned, one of the programmers in Alf’s office asked. “Why is his dick locked to

his stomach?” As Alf’s face turned purple, Fanchon explained.

“Well, Alfred is a compulsive masturbator, Ned. I think he’d be a compulsive tomcat if he wasn’t a pathetic

little computer geek, no offense…so for the past four years I had Alfred in a nice little chastity belt, but

recently, I discovered a little shop here in Buttermilk Falls that does piercings, and so I had his dick locked to

his stomach…now he only gets to touch it when I say so!”

With that, Fanchon slapped Alfred right in the penis—and the stomach with the Spencer paddle, and Alfred

almost fell over, and everyone laughed a bit.

Then Fanchon ran a burgundy nail up and down Alfred’s penis and it began swelling up. “Yes, all he thinks

about, other than forcing his inane opinions on others—is his dick. And that’s just too obsessive, don’t

you think? If he’d had his way this afternoon, Alfred would’ve jerked off all day instead of scrubbing and

cleaning the house for the dinner party, right darling?”

Alfred’s face turned even darker with his humiliation. He clearly didn’t want anyone to know how much

housework he did.

“And when he’s an especially bad boy, I lock five or ten pound weights on his piercing, and make him do

housework that way…it’s very intense in dragging him down…and once I thought the stomach piercing

would rip, but Alf’s a tough guy in his way, right honey?” Fanchon’s tone of course was bantering…and Alf

had no reply!

“But how do you make love with that thing locked on him?” Chloe asked in a shy voice. She was starting to

get nervier, though, since Alfred had removed his clothing, Penny noticed.

“Honey, I don’t fuck Alfred.” Fanchon smiled. She pointed at a burly black guy sitting in the LaZ-Boy. He

had seemed, in Penny’s opinion, pleasant but quiet the entire evening. But now he grinned at Fanchon. “I

fuck Bamma McDaniel over there…he used to be a custodian at Alf’s job…and sometimes I have a lover in

the next county…but Alfred is just a temperamental child. I am surprised you’d ask about making love…it’s

just not done.”

Fanchon rubbed Alf’s swelling stock-still miserably attached to his gut. “Alfie gets to make love a bit…he

services Bamma, and services me…and now and then he gets to touch his Willy…but he’s such an arrogant,

misogynistic jerk that I keep him locked up much of the time…it’s just the way it has to be!”

“Now Kevin, Sondra move over next to Ellis and Penny, so Alf will have room to bend across the arm of the

sofa…that’s right. Now bend over, Alfred. We’ll make this quick and short, honey.” Fanchon waved the

paddle as if she had a bit of experience with it.

Alfred bent across the couch, biting his lip. Everyone stared in amazement as Fanchon lifted the paddle.

“Think, Sarah Palin couldn’t do this better, could she?” Fanchon smiled.

WHACK! Boy did it come down hard, Penny thought. Alfred’s naked butt began turning pink. WHACK!

THWACK! SNAP! As Penny brought the paddle down a final time, Alf burst into tears. “Now then, Blume,

since Alfred was screaming at Chloe, and she is your wife, why don’t you give our Alfie a few with your belt?”

After Blume whipped Alf’s ass about thirty times…quite vigorously, in Penny’s opinion, Alf, weeping,

begged Fanchon to let him dress again.

“No dear heart.” Fanchon said with a little smile. “You’ve lost your privileges to be an equal this evening. You

can spend the rest of the night in the corner while the rest of us eat. And then you can clean up….how’s

that?”

The meal was so strange. It was served by a very hot woman called Holly, and her maid Claudia, who was an

attractive blonde, but with suspiciously big shoulders, Penny thought. And throughout the dinner, there was

lots of crying and whining in the living room, and twice Fanchon had picked up the Spencer paddle, with

the holes to “quell rebellion”…WHACK WHACK WHACK!

FOURTEEN

Alfred had finally stopped blubbering, Fanchon coming back with the cane from the dinner table to shut

him up had quieted him down. Now he knelt miserably in the corner, on the little pile of rice that Fanchon

had poured…just to make his knees remember!

God, and Fanchon had been such a bitch. When she’d bent Alfred over for whipping, she’d made sure his

balls were stuffed outside his legs so she could hit them a few times. One of her swats with the evil Spencer

paddle had nearly made him black out! Fanchon was a real monster when it came to this stuff. To think that

the first time he approached her to dominate him she was so “ Do you really want me to hurt you like this

honey” and now she was just a raging domme!

Alf’s hands were behind his head, holding a quarter up against the wall with his nose (Fanchon felt that

this way he kept good posture) And his butt really was hurting. It had been so humiliating having Chloe’s

Red-State asshole husband Blume whipping him with the belt, though Blume was so unskilled at it, it didn’t

really affect Alf as much as the whipping from Fanchon’s paddle…her paddle really had stung! On his lower

left cheek,

Alf actually felt some broken skin, he figured that the paddle had bounced a little too hard on an old welt

from the whipping he’d gotten the day before yesterday, when he’d let the dog poop in the living room.

She’d used the rattan cane on his bottom that time, and left it utterly raw.

Alf had tried to jump up when she’d used the cane, the other day, and she’d had to push her leg down on

his knees to keep him down. Lucky for him she hadn’t used the cane today! Alfred wondered if he’d created

a monster in his beloved Fanchon. Certainly, it had changed his entire life…made things so much easier

than in the old days when he had to go pay hookers to tie him up and whip him…. It was sooo humiliating

though, being whipped in front of the dinner party!

They were all laughing and talking in the other room now. Just forty minutes before, he’d been an equal

adult, just like everyone else, talking football, dirty jokes, etc…and then he’d made the mistake of belittling

shy Chloe…it was true, Alf was a bully and a coward…but he usually got away with it. These were not their

BDSM friends, and Alf couldn’t believe that Fanchon had had the nerve to expose him in front of vanilla

people.

And it was bad enough that Fanchon had invited that black ANIMAL Bamma McDaniel to the dinner

party…he wasn’t from the same background everyone else was! But how could Fanchon tell everyone that

Alf was Bamma’s suck-slave, and that she cuckolded him with Bamma on a regular basis? As Alf thought

about it, the quarter his nose was pressing to the wall slipped dangerously, and he knew Fanchon had super

hearing. She’d be out here with the Spencer Paddle again if he dropped it on the floor!

And of course later on tonight, Fanchon would probably make Alf write punishment lines—1,000 times “I

am a boor and a bore”…and he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep until he finished—his hand would be swollen

from writing, and she’d make him sleep in the closet, the door locked, with him having to hold his bowels all

night long!

What if Ned told Mr. Erisman at work? And now Blume and Chloe would never look at Alf respectfully

again. They always had, after all, Alf had two master’s degrees, one in mathematics and one in Com Sci…

Blume was just a common plumber and HVAC man, and Chloe an aerobics instructor…

It had always amazed Alf that Blume and Chloe could afford to live in the neighborhood at all, though of

course plumbers charge an arm and a leg. But that was the kind of snobbish thinking that got Fanchon

all mad…she’d grown up on the wrong side of the Buttermilk Falls tracks, and she and Santino had won

scholarships to college….but she got really mad at Alfred when he told her she “came from nothing”.

But, with all this horror, Alf’s penis was struggling to get hard against the piercing on his stomach. It was

true, he had not orgasmed in several months, but how could he be so excited about having been horribly

humiliated and bruised and welted in front of his old friends? What kind of a sick fuck was he?

Jesus, he had to keep his nose closer to the wall to keep the goddamn quarter there! And his nose was

running! It was really a bad time for him. How had he gotten into this…was this really exciting him?

But the erection was there! He was just DYING to cum…and the fact that he had basically been revealed to

be a sissy-cuckold slaveslut seemed to make poor Alfred even more excited than he’d been before! And God,

later he’d be forced to fellate that animal Bamma McDaniel…

Bamma’s huge black cock shoved in Alf’s mouth…what a repulsive nigger Bamma was, but Alfred was really

looking forward to sucking his dick, getting it hard for Alfred’s wife’s pussy…how deranged was THAT?

And Alfred had really learned how to suck a good dick…Bamma had taught him on pain of real

punishment…he’d finally taught Alf that you have to lick slowly and enthusiastically along the underside of

the penis…and how to notice when Bamma thrust his hips, so to suck a little faster, but not to make Bamma

cum too fast…because then his pleasure was over, and he might take Alf by the scalp and bang him against

the wall!

It was really tough, as Alf considered it, but not quite as tough as kneeling against this corner, holding up a

quarter with your goddam nose!

The door to the dining room opened, and Alfred heard Ellis’s voice. “How are you doing, man…I’m really

sorry for what happened.” Alfred grunted. He knew how excited Ellis could get thinking about being a slave-

boy. It was just that Ellis had never really had the nerve to go through something like this. He just liked to

beat off and think about it…to stay in the slave boy closet, as it were.

Alf had to speak very carefully so he didn’t drop the coin he was holding to the wall with his nose. Fanchon

was very, VERY strict about him not dropping the quarter. He didn’t want further humiliation, or further

pain!

“Don’t worry about it, Ellis.” Alfred said softly. He knew that if Fanchon heard him talking out here, she’d

be out with the Spencer paddle in no time! “Say, is Cy—I mean Claudia, doing a good job serving?” Alf and

Ellis had a buddy who was also bitten with the sadomasochistic bug serving dinner in full tranny gear in the

kitchen. Now THAT was a real submissive.

“Yeah…I think Ned is starting to realize he knows “Claudia” from somewhere. He keeps looking at Claudia…

he doesn’t realize yet that he used to play racquetball with the man Claudia used to be…it’s kind of hilarious.

But don’t you think it’s going a little far for you guys, Alf?” Ellis asked earnestly…”I mean, you’re fucking

naked out here, and your butt looks all purple and blue and welted…it really is, uh…”

Alfred turned his head and the quarter fell to the floor. “Look, Ellis…I am what I am…and that’s a

submissive. I probably am going to pay for this tomorrow at work but—”

The door to the kitchen opened and Fanchon came out. “Did I hear that coin drop? Get out of the corner,

Alfie…it’s whipping time!”

“Wait, Fanchon…”Ellis said, trying to stop her. “It was my fault, really. I started conversing with Alfred, and

he dropped the quarter to talk with me…please don’t blame him…”

“Really, Ellis?” Fanchon said pleasantly. “Alfred knows he’s not supposed to talk to guests when he’s in slave

mode. But if you want to take responsibility, perhaps you should take YOUR pants down and let me give

you thirty with the paddle. It might do you good!”

Ned’s voice came in through the door “Yeah, whip Ellis’s ass now, Fanchon….you’re on a roll!” And then

Penny’s “You have my full permission, Fanchon!”

Ellis’s face burned, but his cock swelled in his boxer shorts. What would it be like to have Fanchon rip down

his pants and undies, and whip his ass in front of the dinner party? Him, one of the leading clergymen in

Buttermilk Falls? Could he take it? Would he wuss out?

But then Bamma’s voice came through the kitchen door as well: “I’ll fuck his ass after you whip it, Fanchon…

It’ probably be tighter than Alfred’s, right? Alf’s ass be loose from my big dick…lemme take a shot at Mist’

Ellis’s ass now!”

Ellis almost puked from humiliation…”You better just whip Alf then, Fanchon” he mumbled as he headed

upstairs to the bathroom…but when he got there, he peed…and then he jerked off, thinking of Fanchon’s

paddle, and Bamma’s black dick!

FIVE

When Blume and Chloe got home, they were still shaking their heads over the odd goings-on at the

dinner party. But Chloe had a funny smile on her face. “You know, Blume…it reminds me a little of those

weird newsgroups you go to on the Internet…Chastity Fair, and what’s the other one? Penis Torturella, or

something?”

Blume’s face colored. “Yeah, I guess…Chloe, you have to understand, there’s fantasy and there’s reality…the

whole chastity thing is kind of a fantasy of mine, but those people next door are crazy.”

Chloe smiled, and ran a long nail through her pixie haircut. She crossed her legs in her tight bell-bottoms,

and shook her boot just the way Blume liked…”If you ever want to explore it, Blume…I’m willing. it seems

kind of fun. And I really like the way Fanchon makes Alfred treat women with respect, though of course you

have always been respectful and decent anyway…If you like, have fantasies that you want to go through with

me, it would be great! But if you don’t, that’s cool, too.”

Blume smiled, and kissed his wife, and they made tender, gentle love that night, and no more was said about

it. But about a week later, Blume came to Chloe. “You know, I really do have these fantasies, and if you really

mean it, Chloe…”

They started out quite tamely. Blume undressed and Chloe tied Blume’s hands behind his back and lay him

on the bed, and then she was about to undress herself…she looked very cute in a snug black T-shirt and

denim shorts…

But Blume said “No, don’t undress yet, honey…you should wear a few clothes, sexy like that! I’m the

submissive, right? I should be naked. You can undress later, if I’m a good boy.”

“If you’re a good boy?” Chloe smirked. It was too much! Her big, macho handsome husband was lying on the

bed, with his hands locked behind him, naked as the day he was born…and his dick was standing straight

up!

Blume was two hundred forty pounds of solid muscle, not a flabby pig like Alfred next door…and she, little

Chloe, was about one hundred eight pounds soaking wet, though she did have a nice rack…big boobs!

Blume probably could have juggled three Chloes! But here he was!

Chloe hesitantly came over and sat on the bed, right next to Blume’s groin area, and took his big dick in her

little white hands. She began rubbing the shaft, and toying with the head of Blume’s glans, and he moaned.

Chloe knew how to give a hand job—in high school it was the best way to keep a boyfriend’s dick out

of your two holes—and she rubbed and stroked Blume’s dick for about half an hour, until he was really

groaning and moaning, and about to spurt. Fortunately, Chloe had talked with Fanchon a few days before

about this, and knew the ropes a little bit.

“Remember, Chloe” Fanchon had said with asperity,” You don’t want them to cum immediately…it’s

amazing how they will dance to your tune if you make them wait for a bit…or a long bit!” Chloe was often

quite astounded by how much work Alfred did around the house and yard.

Blume was a good worker, he made a good living with his plumbing business and was quite generous with

Chloe, but he felt when he got home that it was his time to rest, and Chloe, who felt she worked as hard as

Blume did, seemed to do the brunt of the housework—and sometimes she found herself mowing the lawn

and clipping the hedges!. But of course that was how Blume’s parents had always lived!

Chloe now felt Blume’s hips bouncing and bucking and knew he was getting close to orgasm…he moaned

and bit his lip, and suddenly, she pulled her hands away.

“What happened?” Blume asked with a startled look. “Can’t you finish me off, honey? Or can’t we screw

now?” He looked so ridiculous with his penis bobbing around!

“Well, it’s tease and denial, right?” Chloe said, giggling. “Besides, maybe it’s time you had some punishment!

I know you are always writing on those newsgroups about Mommy whipping your naughty bottom—you

spend a LOT of time writing about that stuff….and Fanchon next door lent me a cane.”

Blume’s face brightened, and Chloe could tell he was very turned on. But then he looked a little scared as she

took the rattan cane off the bureau and began bending it, and walking back and forth in front of the bed.

“You’ll enjoy using a rattan cane” Fanchon had told Chloe enthusiastically. “Rattan palm is grown in Africa,

Asia and Latin America, and though it’s bendable, it’s quite strong. I have reduced Alfred to intense tears

with my cane…and you will, too!”

“Maybe we could do that next time.” Blume said. “Can’t we just finish off, honey? I want to fuck you now.”

But his dick was getting really, really hard.

“Are you scared, Blume?” Chloe asked with a smile. “What’s wrong, baby? Alf next door gets the cane all the

time. Are you less of a man than a computer nerd like him?” Chloe bent the cane again and then swung it,

dangerously close to Blume’s dick, which of course was now hard off the charts.

Blume gasped. But his macho ire had been raised. “No, of course not. I’m twice the man that idiot Alf is. I

can take the cane, sure I can!”

So Chloe rolled Blume over. Now he looked especially ridiculous. Lying on his stomach, his hands cuffed

behind him (Fanchon was SO generous with her stuff) and his big, man’s bubble butt pooching up…Chloe

was starting to feel a little horny with all her power.

“Remember” Fanchon had said, “Put pillows under his crotch, so the butt sticks up really high…then you

have lots of room for swinging the cane!”

Chloe stuffed Blume’s crotch with pillow after pillow until it was sticking straight up! What a target this

would be, she thought as she toyed with the rattan cane.

Chloe lifted the cane and brought it down hard on Blume’s butt, and he grunted. Oh God, did she hit him

too hard? Blume was such a sweetie. “Blume, are you all right?”

Blume turned his face up to Chloe. “Y-yes honey. It hurt, but it’s supposed to, I guess. I used to see a

dominatrix in New York, and she hit harder than that. I had a safe word—”Mercy”…and I’d tell her if she

was going too far. Even if I started crying, she’d keep going unless I used the safe word, and it was kind of a

point of pride not to use it, you know? So unless I use the safe word, you should go until you decide not to

anymore.”

Now Chloe was annoyed…even though Blume was about twelve years older than she was, and had had lots

of experiences before he met her, this dominatrix thing made her jealous. Perhaps irrationally so, but women

never have to explain, right?

Chloe raised the cane and swung it down, quite hard, and then really went to town. WHACK! WHACK!

WHACK! SMACK! THWACK! CRACK! She could hear Blume breathing hard, and closing his eyes,

biting his lip, but she just went on with the cane until her arm was exhausted. She could tell that Blume was

crying a little bit.

Chloe sat down, and rubbed Blume’s back. “I know I went over board, you poor thing. Are you all right?”

He really was crying, and Blume’s butt was covered with long red marks. Chloe could tell that Blume was

trying not to sob out loud…he was really a guy’s guy, and had been in both Gulf wars…he’d been a sergeant,

and…The struggle not to cry was a big one, and the tears were coming out.

“You can cry, Blume honey.” Chloe said gently. “Cry for Mommy. It’s all right. Punishment is difficult, I

know, baby…but you can cry.” But Blume’s head shook, and he bit his lip. Chloe was annoyed. Really, he

needed to cry.

Chloe took Fanchon’s other loan off the dressing table “This is a modern glass

fiber-core crop with wide leather slapper. The handle and wrist loop are also leather, the cap simply

aluminum. It’s not a long whip, but it certainly is helpful in bringing the emotions out, dear.”

Chloe fingered the long crop hesitantly. But she knew she had to make Blume cry, and so she went back to

the bed and began swinging it against his already quite mottled buttocks. Blume’s teeth gritted more, and he

just wasn’t cooperating. As she swung harder, Blume bit into the mattress, trying to stay silent.

Chloe could tell he was in pain—he was twisting around, straining against his wrist cuffs, and desperately

trying to make his bottom avoid the crop—but it just wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to be a

wailing, crying mess, like when she spanked their two-year old son, now spending the summer with his

grandmother.

“But here we have my six foot sixteen plaited nylon bullwhip” Fanchon had said, when she gave Chloe her last

loan…”This produces results in almost any man.”

And indeed, Fanchon had not lied…the Nylon bullwhip did its work well!

LATER….

Cyrus Thibodeau, Junior, known by family, friends and judges and law enforcement in several states as

“Chip the Slip” watched Cyrus Thibodeau Senior’s antics with a jaundiced eye. What the hell was going on

with the old man?

Cyrus Senior was dancing and weeping as Miss Holly swung her Cat O Nine Tails at his naked butt

and thighs. “You thought you could break into your piercing to do a little jerking off, did you Claudia?”

CRACK! SNAP! LASH SLASH!

Chip shook his head. He hadn’t seen much of Dad in the past decade—except for when Chip had come

home to borrow money or when the old man showed up at Chip’s parole hearings—but he’d never expected

things to change this much!

On one hand, Cyrus had quit drinking, Valium and coke, and had lost 50 pounds, and written and the book

on the ‘02 season for the Chargers he’d been putting off for years…and his writing was off the charts good!

But on the other, he was the chastity slave to two rednecks, really abusive types, and it was just too weird

even for Chip, who was covered in tattoos and had a Mohawk…

Cyrus’s face was covered with tears as he danced, and he kept screaming “Puh-please Mistress Holly…please

give me another chance! I was so horny..”But the lashes curled around his thighs and penis, and he continued

to dance miserably.

“What a bad example you’re setting for your son!” Holly said, smiling at Chip. Holly was hot for an old

chick…forty if she was a day, but her tits were out to here, and her beehive hairdo made her look a lot like

Bernadette Peters, who was in that movie “The Jerk”.

Chip winced as the cat hit his father’s dick, and Cyrus screamed. What could Chip do though? He’d been

kicked out of the Buttermilk County Nomads, easily the nastiest motorcycle gang in three states because he

was “untrustworthy”…None of his siblings would speak to him, and his mother and her new husband had

moved to Crete.

Dad had paid the fines for Chip’s latest prescription forgery charges and given him his old room back, first

time he’d stayed in it since he’d stolen the family station wagon and split town back in seventh grade…But

Chip had to toe the line, which meant putting up with Pop’s perversion lifestyle.

But how could Dad have these sick freaks in his house? Chip could understand it if Dad wanted to cross-

dress, but to pay people to tell him what a tranny faggot he was, PAY them to criticize him and beat his ass,

that was ridiculous. Chip had discovered the hard way that you can find people to kick your ass for nothing,

dude!

Cyrus’s dancing was hindered by the cuffs on each ankle chained to a ten pound round ball that he had to

pull around as Holly repeatedly whacked him.

Finally, Holly stepped back, her full lips in a gorgeous smirk. “I have warned you repeatedly, Claudia, about

cutting your piercings and playing with your clittie. Look at all the damage you’ve done to your expensive

piercing.”

Chip looked at his dad’s crotch. It was true. Originally Cyrus/Claudia’s penis had been laced up between his

legs, in a neat row of little metal loops, but Cy had decided, in a desperate horny attempt to get to jerk off, to

sneak down to his workbench and get a pair of pliers and cut off all the piercings.

Apparently he’d jerked off about five times before Mistress Holly had caught him! It had been several

months of hard core chastity, and he had finally broken down. Chip couldn’t blame his dad. Who the hell

would want to have your junk locked up so you—or anyone you liked—couldn’t play with it?

But now Mistress Holly was cuffing Cy’s hands behind his back. “You knew what would happen if you cut

your piercings again” she said this venomously. “I told you that you—if you were a good girl and let Mommy

keep you in chastity six months—that you could suck Mommy’s tittles, didn’t I?”

“Y-yes Mommy”Cy said, with tears coursing down his face. Chip was just overcome with contempt for his

pathetic transvestite father at this point. How revolting was this?

Holly pulled down her tube top, revealing full, juicy luscious breasts. Chip’s tongue fell out, just like his

Dad’s did.” You could have sucked on these for ten minutes, or maybe fifteen, honey…all you wanted…

but you chose to cut your piercings, and now you’ll never get to kiss them…you’ll be regulated to rimming

diarrhea out of my asshole instead.”

“Puh-please give me another chance, Mommy.” begged Cyrus. Chip could see that his father’s dick was

getting really hard.

Chip couldn’t blame Dad for wanting those boobs, no he really couldn’t!

One night, Holly had actually come to visit Chip when he was in bed. “You like my tits, eh?” she’d said,

running her painted nails across the tight top of her Merry Widow. Chip had gasped, and nodded his head.

Was he going to get some nookie?

Holly had then REMOVED her negligee and waved her full breasts in Chip’s face. The nipples were so

smooth, and shiny! She was at least fifteen years older than he was, almost forty, but damn she looked good.

Chip was a fast worker with women, and he rose from the bed to grab her hooters, but then she’d pushed

him down…the handcuffs had come out (did the woman ever not use these) and she’d locked Chip’s hands

behind his head.

Then Holly had removed Chip’s shorts and begun stroking and pulling his rapidly expanding cock with one

manicured hand, while playing with her big boobs with the other. “You like these boobs, and you want to

suck on them…just like your daddy does…but you’re not a real man, Chip…you’re just a sullen twenty-three

year old child.”

“No, no, I am real—I mean, I am a real man.” Chip had said earnestly. “I’ll-I’ll fuck the daylights out of you,

Holly.” Holly laughed and slapped Chip’s face, so hard that his ears rang. But then she began playing with

his cock and balls again, and licking her lips.

“Honey, I know you think you’re a real guy. From what your dad has told me, you’ve impregnated about five

waitresses in Buttermilk Falls, and if it wasn’t for the trust fund, all those poor kids would be in foster care…

but that doesn’t make a man, you know?”

Holly had begun earnestly pumping Chip’s cock, and then she’d leaned down and rubbed her big, sexy

boobs against his burgeoning organ, so that he was almost going insane trying to get loose from the

handcuffs.

“You just have no control over yourself, Chipper.” Holly had said, as she briskly rubbed Chip’s cock against

one of her nipples. Goddamn she was like a porn model. Those boobs were golden tan, even though it was

the middle of winter!

“I found these, you bad boy, earlier this afternoon” Holly waved one of Chip’s Camacho Corojo Diploma

cigars, a box of twenty of which had cost 151.00. “We had a rule, no tobacco in the house…and I smelled it

in your room. You’ve been smoking cigars AND your Marlboro’s against Miss Holly’s wishes!”

Before Chip could speak, Holly lit the Camacho up and puffed a smoke ring going to the ceiling. “Love

these LOVE THESE…but not for the slave boy.” Then she moved the glowing tip of the cigar down and

burned one of Chip’s inner thighs, and he screamed. Then she did it AGAIN.

“Why can’t you follow rules, you cigar smoking stud?” Holly asked matter of fatly. “You’re too much of a man

to, right?” Holly touched the cigar to Chip’s belly button and he howled again, but she left it there until there

was a nasty red mark. “You’re not man enough to support yourself of course…that would be too much work,

but you like rebelling against the rules, doncha?” Again she stabbed the cigar on Chip’s swelling shaft, this

time extinguishing it as his flesh sizzled and he wept.

“Bet you’d like to fuck me, wouldn’t you honey?” Holly had then mounted Chip’s hard dick but she didn’t

let it actually enter her vagina, she just teased it, rubbing her vaginal lips against his cock, which was bulging

and quite miserable with the teasing.

As she did this, Holly nimbly massaged and tickled her nipples, holding the heavy breasts in her little palms in

a way that nearly was driving poor Chip insane. Goddamn he wanted to kiss and suck her breasts! No wonder

the old man was going so fucking crazy…Holly was using her breasts to enslave Cyrus, and Chip as well!

Holly moved off of Chip’s stiff penis and she crab crawled across his chest over to his face. “I think you can

do some licking here, can’t you baby?” Chip nodded, though he would miss the floor show of watching her

play with her boobs as her pussy landed squat on his face.

“Not so fast, don’t bite me” came Holly’s no nonsense voice.” Go in circles, go up and down, and flick back

and forth lightly. That’s a good boy. Dart your tongue in from underneath my clitoris ..you feel it hardening?

Now you have to push my button, that’s a good boy”

Chip had never really eaten pussy before, and he never realized how much fun it was! Usually he just forced

a skank to suck him off, and then he mounted her, and then went to sleep…but this was glorious! It was

actually fun!

Finally Holly came twice, and got off of Chip’s quite wet face. “Your dad is getting good at this, too…I make

him eat me out about nine times a day. Since he hasn’t cum in quite a few months, he is REALLY horny

much of the time, and strangely, that makes him even more excited to do my pussy…and of course he sucks

Philbert’s dick too! Don’t make faces, Chip—never knock it until you try it, and I have a feeling you’re going

to, soon!”

Chip had thought Holly would unlock him and let him make passionate love to her, but she’d left the

room, and his dad had come in to unlock his cuffs at dawn…he’d jerked off by himself, thinking of Holly’s

beautiful, wonderful, tits!

Now he found himself staring at Holly’s boobs, and she gave him a wink as she continued to taunt and tease

his poor father.

“Please oh please, Miss Holly…let me kiss your breasts…I just lost control, that’s all!”

“No, I told you that if you broke into your piercing again, you’d never have access to my tittles, and ALSO,

that you would be punished with my electric baton. I bought this in China. darling…it’s what they use to

torture the religious Falun Gong people.”

Chip gaped at the long, black stick in Holly’s hand. She’d pulled her tube top back up and was fondling

this black wand thing, and boy did it look evil, especially since she kept touching a button and sparks kept

coming out of the end.

“Now that I’ve gotten your hands out of the way, Claudia, you can get your punishment just as you deserve!”

With that, Holly touched the end of Cy’s hard penis with the black thing, and there was a ZZAAAP, and Cy

jumped, pulling his legs together in pain. Chip noted that there was a vicious red mark on the end of Cy’s

penis.

“Please oh please don’t shock my penis” Cyrus said, blubbering and sobbing. “This-this is too much, Miss

Holly. I-I can’t stand it.” ZZAAP! The baton touched his left nipple. ZZAPPPP! The baton touched his

stomach. Cy bent over and tried to cover himself, quite inefficiently as his hands were tied, but Holly went

around to the back and touched the baton to Cy’s buttocks. ZZZZAAPPP!

Yes, Holly was one psychotic bitch, Chip thought…But the craziest thing was, Holly’s husband was Philbert

Benoit, the dude who used to hijack trucks and liquor stores with Chip! “Chip the Slip” he’d said when

Chip walked in…and Chip had heard that Phil had quit the game, but his mouth dropped when he’d heard

that Phil was also drug and alcohol free, and he’d started out as Holly’s slave before becoming Chip’s dad’s

dominant!

Had Holly ever treated Philbert like this? Right now, Holly was rubbing Cy’s dick, her red nails massaging

it and pulling the scrotum, until, despite the previous shocking, it was hard again…pull, rub, massage…But

then, as Chip’s dad was about to spurt…ZZAPPP!

“Now you may understand” Holly said sweetly, “That Mommy means it when she says she doesn’t want you

to play with your dingie…understand?”

And there Cy was, on his knees, weeping softly. “Puh-please don’t zap me anymore, Mommie…please don’t

play with my wee-wee and zap me again…”

But as pathetic as Dad was, Chip was in the same boat! Because now Chip was waiting for Philbert to come

and take him to Dad’s cabin in the woods, where he would live for a month with Master Hans, the freaky

German who had taken Dad in hand in the beginning. Chip owed Phil big time as Phil had refused to

testify against Chip during a major robbery case, even though it meant more prison time for Philbert…

“Do this for a month, Chip…your dad will pay for it, and it’ll change your whole life! Shit, leave after seventy-

two hours if you really can’t stand it—I’ll tell Hans to let you go, but try it, and we’ll be even! And your Dad

will pay up your legal bills and continue your child support to your ex and kids…for as long as it takes! “

The door knocked, and Chip, walking by the horrid scene in the living room, opened up, and there was the

weird German dude with the close cropped blond hair. “Oh, hey man.” Chip said in a friendly voice, though

his stomach was feeling a bit queasy. “You’re Hans, right? I met you when I came by the house last year to get

Dad to lend me a couple hundred.”

“Are you ready to go Chip?” Hans said calmly. “Philbert is not driving with us, I am taking you. Do you have

a bag? It is immaterial, as those clothes are inappropriate anyway. Come with me now, please.”

“Well, I have to say goodbye to my Dad.” Chip said, as there was another ZZAPPP in the next room, “I have

to let my psychiatrist and my parole officer know before I go anywhere—and I have to get a supply from the

Methadone clinic…And I have tickets to AC/DC tonight, so I was hoping we could go tomorrow—”

Suddenly, Chip felt his nipple being grasped, and he was being pulled off the porch. Ow! He tried to pull

away, but he was now walking along with the German dude, who would NOT let go of his fucking chest.

“We must be punctual, I do not want to get to the cabin after dark. I have inspected the cabin and it is

disgraceful. You will have to tidy it up. You and your slovenly father have much in common.” Master Hans

did not let go of Chip’s nipple until they reached the taxicab, driven by an irate black man. “Into the back

seat, immediately, Chip.”

Chip was insulted. What the fuck’s going on with this dude? “Look, Hans” he said, rubbing his nipple,

which felt like it had been twisted with a pliers,” You can’t push me around like this, I’m a gangster, baby, I

used to rumble with the Hell’s Angels—”

Suddenly Hans’s knee shot out between Chip’s legs, and he saw stars, oh God, he was falling, his balls felt

like they’d been assaulted with a god dam sledgehammer. Chip fell to the ground and lay there dizzily.

Then Chip felt this grasp on his Mohawk, and Hans was pulling up as if he were lifting a heavy suitcase,

and so Chip rose with the pull so his Mohawk wouldn’t be pulled out of his head. “Now you will get in the

taxicab.” Hans said patiently. “Goodness you are more of a trial to me than your father was, dummkopf.”

Chip knew he should kick this guy’s ass, after all, he WAS a brown belt and had been in prisons and

motorcycle gangs, but it was just too much. He got in the taxicab, and Hans got in beside him.

“Kraut kicked your ass, huh, punk rock boy?” The taxi driver was a mouthy nigger. He didn’t understand

who Chip was. Chip was the head of the Aryans back in Lompoc. But he didn’t say anything. Hans shut the

cab door. “Please on to 932 Wilberforce Lane…”

“Dude, I just can’t go there right now…you’ve assaulted me, and it’s illegal” Chip said firmly. “I’m twenty-

three years old, you can’t…” What was this? Hans’s right hand was unzipping Chip’s fly, and pulling Chip’s

dick out, and—was he giving Chip a fucking HAND JOB?

“Could you give me your car cigarette lighter please? Yes, push it in and hand it to me” Hans was saying to

the driver.

“Whachoo want with mah cigarette lighter?” the black driver was asking suspiciously. “What going—”

“Please, no more talk” Hans said patiently. “Give me the lighter, there will be a one hundred dollar tip.

Thank you.”

Hans pulled up Chip’s now hard cock, and took the little metal car cigarette lighter, the kind that is glowing

red at the end, and you push in, and he pressed it to the side of Chip’s cock, and the burning pain was so

severe that Chip passed out.

FIFTEEN

“Chip?” Master Hans knocked on the door. “You are taking an awfully long time in the lavatory. I hope you

are not doing something regrettable in there…” Master Hans knocked again.

Hans hoped that Chip was not committing the sins of onanism. Hans had whipped Chip’s palms thirty

times with the razor strop just the other day for this…but Chip was so incorrigible!

Hans knocked on the door again sharply.

“I’m just, uh, washing my hands.” came the voice. “Please-I’m twenty-three and I need my privacy. It’s a

boundary issue.” But Hans could hear the skin against skin…

Hans pulled the door open. No locked doors in this house. And there he was! Chip had one hand on his

penis, the other holding a copy of “Hustler” Magazine. Hans clicked his tongue across his teeth. Goodness.

Hans took Chip by the ear and dragged him out of the bathroom, the boy stumbling in his underpants.

“P-please, Master Hans, it’s not what you think!” Hans slapped the magazine out of Chip’s hand, tossing

it in the fire. He grabbed his trusty rattan and swung it against Chip’s buttock, the boy still struggling to

extricate his ear from Master Hans’s sure grasp.

Yes! A lovely red line had appeared across Chip’s buttocks. Hans swung again. Hans had discovered in his

career as a Master that short strokes left less sting, longer strokes gave a better, harsher, stinging feeling. He

swung again, and then let go of Chip’s ear. “I am very displeased with you, young man!” But there had been

much progress in the long run, Hans thought.

One month had passed, and Hans was not displeased with his progress. There had been grotesque

unpleasantness, with vomiting and much sniveling as Chip had gone through withdrawals from heroin,

cocaine, amphetamines, Dilaudid, Demerol, Oxycontin, Vicodin, barbiturates, tobacco and alcohol…

The repugnant Mohawk haircut had grown out, Hans’s cane had persuaded Chip not to make efforts to

maintain it, and his leather pants and concert T-shirts had been burned in the back yard…and Chip’s goatee

was gone too…as well as his pubic hair. In fact, Hans ensured that Chip shaved his entire body daily, and

any hairs left were painfully plucked with Hans’s pliers!

Now Chip was dressed regularly in a nice velvet Eton suit, with short pants and high knee socks, and girl’s

saddle shoes… and he had a broad starched collar over the jacket…and a little black cap.

But presently, Chip was naked, except for his underwear, pink panties, hanging round one ankle. He was

crying, and Hans had no patience for this. Hans was astonished at what spoiled creatures American men

were. Like large, articulate pigs.

“This is enough struggling, Chip. Grab your ankles. Let us get this out of the way. You are no longer

grotesquely overweight, and you can touch your toes, the calisthenics have certainly helped with that. Grab

your ankles, you are getting fifty.”

Chip looked truculent. “Master Hans, I know we agreed I wouldn’t masturbate…but you get off! I suck your

dick four times a goddamn day! And you just let me jerk off once a week. It’s not really fair and—”

Suddenly Master Hans’s cane slashed neatly across Chip’s nipples, and he fell to the floor, weeping. Hans

was so bored by this. It seemed like Chip had spent half the month on the floor weeping.

Hans sighed. He kicked Chip in the stomach, not too gently. “Arise, Chip. I am weary of your tantrums.”

Chip began attempting the fetal position, and Hans kicked him again, just a bit harder, and Chip arose

rather quickly. Now the panties were off, and the young man was rubbing his stomach and looking at Hans

reproachfully.

Hans was pleased at the young man’s body. The operation to remove the tattoos that had virtually swirled

Chip’s arms and chest was painful, but life was pain, ja?

Muscles were starting to appear on Chip’s chest and arms, thanks to Hans’s campaign to get Chip to cut

wood and do manual labor around the place…and then of course Chip was taught to run and further exert

himself as Hans had chased Chip, slashing his bare buttocks with the Kangaroo Hide English Blacksnake

Whip. Fortunately the area around the cabin was at least six acres, and there were no neighbors about.

Yes, Chip was quite attractive now. Hans enjoyed having Chip crawl to his bed, licking Hans’s own body

from head to foot, before giving Hans a wonderful slurpiing blowjob, if not two or three. Chip was quite

adamant about his heterosexuality, but Hans had noticed that Chip’s penis was a bit hard when he was

performing his ministrations.

Hans had actually asked Chip, after a week, if he wanted to leave, and Chip had said he would stay…under

whatever Hans thought was best…sometimes he looked a bit doubtful, but he was staying on…

Now, Hans reached over and began massaging Chip’s penis gently, and the younger man’s cock became hard.

“I know you enjoy toying with your little liebchen, but when Master instructs you to abstain from touching

yourself, you must abstain.”

Chip’s dick became quite erect. Hans noticed Chip’s eyes closing, and his mouth breathing sensually. Silently,

Hans raised his cane and slapped it down on Chip’s erect penis. SMACK! Before Chip even opened his eyes,

Hans slashed Chip’s penis twice more.

Chip, of course grabbed his penis and began whining. Hans was amazed at the young man’s capacity to

whine. His ineffective parents had raised him on psychology or some such rot, and of course since his tenth

year when he’d been sent to Juvenile Hall for trying to pass Xeroxed one hundred dollar bills, Chip had spent

most of his time in prison…or causing all sorts of trouble.

Hans could not understand why young men in the US were so fond of seeking trouble and darkness. He

had had a joyous youth playing soccer and studying Calculus; he would’ve had no other life! Hans had read

the story of how Annie Sullivan had had to take Helen Keller to an abandoned cabin to re-train her; to get

her away from her spoiling family…and he had followed suit with Chip, who was not deaf or blind, but just

obtuse…so obtuse.

Now Hans once again, patiently asked Chip to grab his ankles. “Quickly, it will be over soon, and we can

move on with our day. You have one thousand punishment lines to write for yesterday’s profanity, and then

we will polish the windows. Let us not have any more nonsense, Chip.”

But Chip was in a rebellious mood, apparently. “I haven’t’ done anything WRONG, Master Hans…I need

my space! Masturbating once a week isn’t enough! It’s not…” Hans clicked his tongue against his teeth, and

waded in once more with the cane, and all was agony for some time!

SIXTEEN

Hans and Chip walked the road into Buttermilk Falls, Chip not moving terribly comfortably. First, it was

terribly cold, and he was wearing these frigging ridiculous shorts! And, Hans had caned Chip extensively for

his masturbation sins, and then of course Chip had offered up some lip concerning having to wear his Eton

suit complete with short pants, high collar and high knee socks, and Hans had had to bring out the razor

strop to quell this new disturbance!

Oh fuck, Chip thought, as his butt was so goddamned sore! Master Hans had caned him with intense

rapidity and energy. It was like nothing Chip had ever gone through before. Chip had really fought it, having

to wear these weird-ass boarding school clothes. I mean, okay, he couldn’t wear punk rock shit anymore, but

why did he have to dress like Donald Duck? Hans, though, could really whale with that strop. Chip had

gritted his teeth…he could take it, couldn’t’ t he? But Chip had finally broken down…shit, Hans could have

him go into town in a ballerina tutu if he wanted, Chip was worn out.

Now Chip was in his Eton suit, the cap placed smartly on his head, but he was moving rather disjointedly, as

his hips, buttocks and thighs were in quite a lot of pain. Hans’s right arm was feeling a bit numb as well…it

had been quite a time with the correction. But it was a fine day, and Hans did enjoy looking at the flora and

fauna as they walked.

“Look at the yellow and shiny black goldfinch, Chip, there in the maple tree. The Goldfinch usually eats

plants such as thistles and asters, I don’t know why it is in the maple tree…perhaps it is just resting. “

Goddamn, I wish he’d shut up, Chip thought. Who gives a good goddamn about some fucking bird in a

tree? And look at the dumb-ass expression on Hans’s face as he stared around the woods…but Chip dared

not say anything. The slim German had incredible strength, and Chip knew Hans wasn’t just carrying the

diamond willow walking stick for show.

And Hans went on. “Ah, and what a tree. There are thirteen native maple species in North America, you

know. That tree is a Big leaf Maple, you know…there is also a Sugar Maple near our cabin though usually

those trees are natural to the northeast United States and Southern Canada.” Hans paused for a moment.

“How I miss the trees back home ! The Eiche, the Birke, the Fichte…”

But now they were in the village. A couple of kids, dressed much as Chip had once done, in baggy jeans,

obscene T-shirts and facial piercings, lounged with their skateboards in the town square. They looked

curiously at the trim German youth in his turtleneck and khakis, and the odd duck next to him wearing the

schoolboy outfit reminiscent of Angus Young of “AC/DC”.

“What’re you dressed like that for, faggot?” One of the young men shouted this out, while massaging his

crotch area. “This ain’t London, man…”

“Ignore them, Chip, they are merely street urchins” Hans said calmly as they went on. Chip was mortified,

however; he couldn’t believe this was happening to him, though he would’ve behaved the same way towards

oddly dressed strangers just six weeks ago. Indeed, a year before he had beaten the shit out of a couple of

Amish youths who had come to town for chicken feed.

But one of the boys came up close. “I’m talking to you queers…you from around here?” Chip thought of

himself as a tough guy, but he was really a coward without his switchblade and nun-chucks, which Hans had

disposed of his first day at the cabin. But Hans, easily four inches shorter than the thug, was completely at

his ease.

“I advise you to move on, lad.” Hans said, smiling slightly. “I have not been paid to train you…and do not wish

to waste my time!” But this produced a bellow of laughter from the young guy, who shoved Hans back…

Then, as Chip stared, Hans grabbed the “urchin” by his arm, and twisted it round his back, and forced him

onto his knees. “What the fuck’s goin’ on man…Norbert! Sweeter, help me out, man!” But his friends were

as cowardly as Chip, and they stood, shaking, at a safe distance away. “Hey you ought to leave Q-Ball alone,

dude.” Skeeter said, hesitantly.

Hans fiddled with the Q-Ball’s trousers, and they came open…and Hans pulled them down to Q-Ball’s

ankles. The diamond willow walking stick came down twelve times on Q-Ball’s buttocks, one cheek of

which was tattooed with a swastika. Q-Ball screamed and struggled, but Hans lashed again and again…and

then finally stopped.

A uniformed cop came striding up. “Constable Kastanakis help me out here, man” Q-Ball screamed. Chip

hoped Kastanakis didn’t recognize him…he’d spray painted the good officer’s face during a ruckus after

Chip was caught vandalizing police cars a few months ago.

“What’s going on here?” Constable Kastanakis looked with some disgust at Q-Ball, but he had his duty to do.

“Unhand that boy!” But, as Hans continued to shake Q-Ball like a dog shakes a rat, Kastanakis stepped closer.

“I am almost finished with this…youth.” Hans said slowly. “He can pull up his pants after he kisses my boot and

apologizes for shoving me, here in your street…or I will give him a few more strokes with my walking stick.”

Constable Kastanakis looked shrewdly at Q-Ball’s well marked buttocks, and glanced at his retreating

friends. “You’ve been harassin’ tourists again, Q-Ball?”

“Goodness, is that his Christian name?” wondered Hans aloud. “What is this nation coming to?” Suddenly

Hans shook his head. “Never mind. I will, as you say ‘let this one go’ and move on. Good day, Constable

Kastanakis.”

Hans then let go of Q-Ball’s arm and patted Chip’s arm gently. “Come, Chip, it is time to walk on…” and

they did!

And Chip was proud to be with him!

SEVENTEEN

After Chip had cooked dinner and waited on Hans, and had his own meal in the kitchen, cleaning up

quickly, he got busy polishing Hans’s shoes and boots.

But in the middle of polishing Master Hans’s last set of boots, Hans interrupted Chip. “Chip. How many

times I must tell you? You have not written down your Stuhlgang, your poo-poo!.” Hans, who was a strict

hygienist, required that his submissive weigh and record his bowel movements, using little plastic gloves and

a small digital kitchen scale, something that Chip was somewhat uncomfortable with.

More unpleasant were the results of such a weigh-in, which often could result in Chip’s being given a

punitive rectal cleansing involving Hans’s Vaseline covered finger exploring Chip’s inner sanctum, and then

inserting a douche nozzle connected to an enema bag.

Master Hans would then either give Chip a four quart boiling soapy water enema, or a freezing water

one, and then plug Chip’s rectum, and have him clean the house while plugged, which was extremely

uncomfortable. Sometimes Hans would tell Chip he was untrustworthy, and would make Chip wear adult

diapers, usually Depends or Serenity brand, for several days, and weigh the fecal matter himself.

Sometimes Master Hans could be even more cruel, and catheterize Chip’s penis, and not allow him to

urinate for a day. This often resulted in some quite amusing dancing on Chip’s part, and sometimes for

Master Hans’s entertainment, he would make Chip wear tap shoes as the poor sub danced in agony, his

bladder nearly killing him. Hans would clap his hands and tap his feet and sometimes play polkas on the

CD player as Chip danced miserably!

You’d think with all these punishments, Chip would not forget to record his bowel movements, but

sometimes he still did. Tonight, though, Master Hans only smiled beneficently, and waved his hand away.

“You had a big day in town, and that disturbing fellow Q-Ball harassing us…I will forget it tonight.”

“Thank you, Master Hans.” Chip said humbly. But he had a question for Master Hans, and finally, Chip got

up the nerve to approach him.

“Master Hans, why did we buy those odd things in town today?” Chip was genuinely curious. Hans had

purchased two miniskirts, three feminine blouses, a full makeup case, a wig and women’s shoes and

stockings, as well as breast forms. Was Master Hans a transvestite?

Hans looked up from Friedrich Hayek’s “The Road to Serfdom” politely. “They are for you, Chip, for your

vocational training.” He returned to his book, but this apparently was not enough for Chip.

“Wh-what do you mean, my vocational training? Am I going to learn to sell women’s clothes? What-what’s

that mean?” Chip began feeling a bit of panic as he asked. He sat down at Master Hans’s feet, so not to

annoy him.

Hans looked very weary for such an energetic young man. But he finally dropped “The Road to Serfdom”

on the floor. “Chip. One of my concerns, and the concerns of others is that you have no job skills.” Hans

pronounced this Chop skeels, but Chip tried to listen.

“You are not much of use, eh Chip? I hear you read, and you sound like a child of five. ‘THE…CAT…

RUNS..’”Hans’s eyes bugged out and he spoke slowly like an idiot trying to spell out a sentence. “That is

quite sad, and you barely can add and subtract—”

“But I’m intellectually challenged, mentally disabled—” Chip said “It’s a learning difference—”

“It certainly is, and you should have been shot as an infant” Hans said cheerily. “However, I am doing the

best I can for you as an adult. You drop out of the ah, high school, and have spent many years wasting

your father’s money. Other than your proclivities for theft, which are not much because of poor eye-hand

coordination, you know how to do nothing…I was concerned for you until I realize you have one skill. And

I will help you to turn that to money making…perhaps a career!”

Chip looked at Hans, with his head cocked. It was true that Chip had spent the last decade doing as little

productive as possible…it was probably time he had a job, but what kind of skills did Hans mean?

Hans, seeing the puzzlement on Chip’s face, smiled. “You were resistant to my efforts to teach you to suck on

my eh, Schwanz” Hans patted his crotch,” But you have become quite adept after further training and a bit

of encouragement from the cane, eh?” Hans smiled, and of course Chip winced.

“So you have a rather slight build and a pretty face, Chip, and I think you could be a paramour for perhaps

a rich burgomaster…after some practice as a prostitute. The pay is good, I understand as many men in

Buttermilk Falls are dissatisfied with the female prostitutes who insist on using a prophylactic, which

deadens the senses to the penis when they perform fellatio.”

Hans smiled again, and lit a Dunhill cigarette. “I believe” he said, as he puffed enthusiastically “That you,

although a stupid boy, could have quite a career using your mouth, and say your anus, provided you do not

use the condom. And so the clothes and makeup are for you, my boy. Tomorrow we will begin teaching you

to walk and act like a woman, and then we will shave your legs and make you up, and then you can receive

visitors.”

Chip gasped. Sweet Jesus. He had not been much enthusiastic about sucking Hans’s cock—Chip was as far

as he knew, a committed heterosexual, and had been quite the cocksman in his day. The first night in the

cabin had been quite difficult. Hans had explained to Chip that he was to fellate, and Chip had certainly

resisted, the way he’d once fought off an amorous cell mate in San Quentin…

But Hans had retaliated much more nimbly than Norville Grady, who’d wanted a little lovin back in the

hoosegow. Hans had “trained” Chip…he’d hogtied Chip and stuffed a soap encrusted English cricket bat

(where the hell had he gotten that?) into Chip’s mouth for a night or two. it had really wedged painfully…

And within 48 hours, Chip was willing, reluctantly to suck Hans’s penis…and then he also had to adjust to

drinking Hans’s urine right from the uh, “spigot”.

Eventually Chip had been shocked to find himself craving the slim but muscular German’s body. Hans

was only seven years older than Chip was, not quite thirty, and Chip had not only begun enjoying sucking

Hans’s penis,but running his tongue in between the cheeks of Hans’s ass and kissing Hans all over his nearly

hairless body…but Hans was an exception!

But Chip didn’t know what to do about this one…what could he do to explain to Hans about not wanting

to dress in drag and suck random dicks for money? Chip didn’t think a foreigner like Master Hans would

understand about human rights…and he was right, Hans didn’t!

The next day, Hans woke Chip early, and got him started in a pair of painfully small women’s pumps. “I am

going to order a man’s pair from the TransvesiMall,but until then we will bind your toes like the Chinese

women, and you will learn to walk like a lady.”

Master Hans balanced a Encyclopedia Britannica (“Be-Bul”) on Chip’s head and Chip began walking

carefully in the high heeled shoes. It was quite painful. In a moment, Chip bent over, and the encyclopedia

fell on the floor. Hans shook his head. “Posture, Chip…you must have posture…perhaps you need

resistance!”

Hans instructed Chip to strip naked (except for the high heels) and he snapped a small chain between Chip’s

pierced nipples, the only piercing Chip was allowed these days. He then attached a two pound lead weight to

the nipples so they sagged, and Chip bit his lip, but after an application of Hans’s cane, Chip straightened up

manfully.

“Now then, Chip” Hans said softly,” You will walk with your head up, your shoulders straight, in the shoes,

balancing the books. Do not let the weight drag your nipples down, or I will put a heavier weight on there…

let us see you walk!”

Hans then put on “I know what Bitches Need” by the rap group Sinister Thuggs, as Chip carefully walked

up and down the living room floor, his toes killing him, not to mention his nipples.

The lyrics went

“WATCH ME A BITCH WALK DOWN THE STREET

GRAB HER ASS SO I DON’T NEED TO BEAT MAH MEAT

SLAM THAT BITCH, MAKE HER ROLL

GIVE HER THE BIDNESS WITH MAH BIG BLACK POLE”

Chip’s head tilted and the encyclopedia fell down, and Hans jumped up, and attached another one pound

weight to the nipple clamps, replaced the book on Chip’s head and waved his hand for Chip to walk again.

“BITCH YO BETTAH SUCK MAH DICK

CAUSE YOU WALK SO SEXY AND SO QUICK

AH JAM MAH DICK IN YO’ ASS

AND RAPE YO’ ASS, QUICK AND FAST”

“Try to move your hips a bit, Chip” called Master Hans. “You must be attractive as you walk up and down

the floor in front of the discriminating gentlemen who you will be meeting soon.”

Chip was sobbing, but Hans ignored this baby-ish activity…he just closely monitored Chip’s walking. After

a week of eight-hour a day walking practice, Hans, with a rare sensitivity, showed Chip about makeup,

moisturizer and how to sit in a miniskirt to show his legs to the best advantage.

Hans had said something about freezing Chip’s balls with ice and removing them, but after Chip had

become hysterical, he’d dropped that line of interest…

“Perhaps, if this vocational training is not pleasing to you after a month or so, we can look at other

alternatives.” Hans said soothingly. “But presently you are quite useless, Chip…and we must make you as

useful as possible!”

In another week, Chip was coiffed, and he’d gone through electrolysis at a discreet salon. His nails were of a

French manicure, and reluctantly, he had to admit with the enchanting blond wig, he looked a bit like one of

the Olsen twins…well, perhaps in the dark.

“I’m so pleased about the progress.” Mistress Holly said one night as they all sat in Buttermilk Brewmeistery…

and indeed, most of the patrons were looking at Master Hans and the three beautiful women, only one of

whom was born that way.

Chip, now called Charlotte was in a stunning gold lame top and sexy Capri pants, made of liquid metal

lycra. They clashed a bit, but the male customers didn’t seem to care. Cyrus, now Claudia was resplendent

in a purple sequin halter minders with spaghetti straps. When they’d gone to check their makeup in the

bathroom, Charlotte had said to Claudia pleadingly, “Dad, I don’t want to do this! I realize your dream is to

be a girl, but mine just isn’t!”

Claudia had paused in making an O with her mouth to apply City Lips alcapinko Lip Plumper. “Son, if you

don’t want to do this, you can break off with Master Hans…I found it wonderful when he re-trained me

from a drunken misogynistic sportswriter to a clubbin’ hottie, but you gave it a chance, and if it’s not your

thing, okay.”

Charlotte checked her eye shadow. “Dad, I really respect Master Hans though, and he’s teaching me so

much. I’m afraid if I disappointed him, it would hurt more than some of his most vicious whippings!” He’s…

been so wonderful, and when I let him cum in my mouth, I feel so useful.”

Suddenly, the door to the restroom opened, and a auburn haired hottie from the bar bustled in. Claudia

didn’t even notice her, but Charlotte had been giving her the eye…of course the hottie didn’t realize that

Charlotte was Chip. “Be careful you guys” the auburn hottie said briskly. “There’s a real dorko near the

entrance. He’s got like, a plaid jacket and a gross comb-over, he needs a rug BAD. He’s just so creepy.”

Chip/Charlotte took the auburn hottie’s arm and smiled, and said “You are really beautiful, you know that?

I can’t believe a woman like you is in such a pathetic place.” It was Chip’s old pick-up line, but of course the

girl just laughed in his face.” Sorry, I don’t swing that way…and you’re a little fat for me if I did, babe.” Chip/

Charlotte hung his head in abject shame. And the hottie ran on. “ Seriously girls, watch out for the creep!”

“Thanks sugar” said Claudia as he swiveled his hips and walked to the restroom door. God the practice,

learning to twitch your hips like a girl! Hans had had to lock Charlotte’s arms in a leather arm binder and

then give Charlotte several brutal whippings with his Spanish horsewhip before Charlotte got the macho out

of his step….it had been quite grueling.

Hans had also placed Charlotte into a Humbler for three nights…the Humbler consisted of two pieces of

cherry wood “wings” with handles and locks on the ends. The two halves of the Humbler came apart, in

order for Charlotte’s testicles to be placed in the center carved out opening.

The wings of the Humbler were secured under Charlotte’s butt, with his balls locked in them. When

Charlotte tried to stand up, he was kept on all fours, as the scrotum felt a horrible dragging sensation, as the

Humbler was, of course locked between his legs.

As Charlotte crawled around, Hans had whipped his locked testicles lightly and then not so lightly with a

piece of secured barbed wire, and Charlotte had attempted to flee, not successfully on his hands and knees.

Then Hans had butt-fucked Charlotte while allowing Charlotte to masturbate with the Humbler on…and

finally Charlotte broke…and promised to learn to hip-twitch for as long as the lessons took!

But now, Charlotte followed his dad out of the Ladies Room. He looked for the creep that the auburn haired

hottie had mentioned, but the only gross guy with a comb over and ugly plaid jacket was now sitting with

Miss Holly and Master Hans. “Hello ladies” Master Hans said, smiling. “This gentleman is Lloyd Weidner…

he is quite prosperous, he owns five gas stations, and is looking for a bit of feminine company.”

Charlotte almost puked as he noted the way Lloyd Weidner was staring at him. Charlotte tried to sit in a

far away seat, but Master Hans brought him right down next to Lloyd Weidner, who immediately began

stroking Charlotte’s thigh.

“Hi there, baby” Lloyd Weidner said, showing a mouthful of stained, filling filled teeth. The man had a CAR

in his mouth, Charlotte thought. “I’m just lookin’ for a little company…you look just like a girl I useta date.”

Lloyd Weidner then proceeded to talk about himself for about twenty minutes, in the way that men did,

dominating the conversation…Charlotte noted that the auburn hottie and other authentic girls at the bar

were giving the table a commiserating look…it was bad!

Suddenly Hans whispered in Charlotte’s ear. “I want you to practice on this Lloyd Weidner

fellow, Chip….out in the parking lot…certainly this is not a realistic future husband for you, dear…but it is

good practice in getting friendly with strangers.”

Charlotte whispered back “Are you kidding, Hans? He’s married. You can see the outline of where the ring

was. And besides, he is GROSS.” Chip/Charlotte was feeling rather nauseous. There was no danger of Lloyd

Weidner’s creeping fingers to find the outline of Charlotte’s cock, as it was pierced between Charlotte’s thighs,

but Lloyd Weidner was still running his hands all over down there…

“Am I making ya hot, baby?” Lloyd Weidner’s whisper in Charlotte’s disgusted ear—Chip/Charlotte was

in shock—was incredibly loud. It was a stage whisper. Charlotte looked at Holly, and then to his father’s

place—but apparently Holly had instructed Claudia to go talk to ANOTHER creep at the bar…disgusting.

“Go ahead, go outside with Lloyd, Charlotte…give him a good time!” Holly smiled beneficently at Lloyd

Weidner, who was stroking Charlotte’s inner thigh with one hand, and stroking himself with the other.

“She’s known as Parking Lot Charlie around here you know, Lloyd!”

Hans smiled, and kicked Charlotte violently under the table, and Chip/Charlotte knew he had to move.

“Please, Lloyd, lets go out to the parking lot, and have-a-good-time.” Lloyd Weidner looked earnestly at

Charlotte..

“Sure you wouldn’t like t’get a room, honey, there’s a Motel 6 up the street.”

“No no” Holly interrupted. “Our Charlotte has lots of dicks to suck before the nights over. Let her take your

dick in…she’s on the rag, after all, and can’t get laid.”

And the nightmare continued! Outside, Lloyd Weidner began unbuttoning his pants near his ancient Nissan

Sentra.”I shouldn’t have bought a Jap car, but the bitch ex-wife has taken all my money for child support…

you wanna get on your knees, Charlie, or go in th’ back seat?”

“Dude, I can’t do this” Chip/Charlotte said briskly. “I um, have somewhere to go.” But as he turned, there

was Master Hans, tapping his Black Derby Beechwood Walking Cane. “Come on, you have work to do,

Charlotte. Lloyd Weidner has already paid me.”

“Yup, twenty bucks.” Lloyd Weidner said, and now his gross dick was hanging out!

“No, I can’t do it, besides I might get a disease!” screamed Chip/Charlotte.

WELL DAMN!

Lloyd Weidner had never seen anything like this happen at Brewmeisters! The chick, Charlotte was quite a

slut, but…more of a bitch, right? The old joke—a slut fucks everybody, but a bitch fucks everybody but you?

Well the Kraut fella wasn’t having any of it.

Lloyd Weidner watched in bemused drunken interest as the Kraut bent Charlotte over the front engine of

Lloyd’s battered Nissan (Lloyd was really a gas station ATTENDANT, not an owner) and pulled Charlotte’s

shiny pants down and got that cane going on Charlotte’s ass.

And then Lloyd got the BJ of his life. Yowza!

BUT THEN LATER? WHAT HAPPENED? DID CHIP BECOME CHARLOTTE PERMANENTLY?

The next day, after the Lloyd fiasco Hans offered Chip an “alternative”…he could go to community college,

or take the course in air conditioning and heating installation at Buttermilk Falls Technical Institute, or he

could join the Army…all wearing his own male clothes, clothing of his choice!

Today, the many years alcohol and drug-free Chip Thibodeaux has his own air conditioning and heating

company in Cleghorn,Iowa, is married to the daughter of his Methodist Minister, and occasionally tells

Cyrus Thibodeau III, affectionately called “Trey” that if he cuts up too much, Dad will send a postcard to

Germany…to an old friend!

EIGHTEEN

Blume sat in the bedroom, holding the chastity tube in his hand. He’d got it last night in the gift shop of

the PainCafe, during all the revelries of the BDSodomania Party. He’d just left Chloe’s side for a minute, as

she watched some midget dominatrix do some weird shit with a fat submissive and a ketchup bottle…he’d

quickly purchased the chastity tube and returned to Chloe’s side.

Blume knew he should throw the damn thing away, but his dick just hardened in his jeans as he stared at it.

But if Chloe discovered him fooling around with it, she might either laugh her ass off, or order him to wear

it, even for a few minutes, just to fuck with his head, and then what? He might never take it off. There were

so many doofuses wearing those chastity things last night at the PainCafe BDSodomania Party, and he really

didn’t want to become one of them. I mean, poor Alfred. Poor Ellis.

Blume had learned from observing Alfred’s chastity adventure, that locking your dick up—or letting some

woman lock your dick up, was nothing to fuck around with. Blume had read online about these guys who

put themselves in chastity and mailed the key away…that was bad enough. Shit, what if the key got lost in

the mail? Then you have to buy bolt cutters or something…but give the key to a woman! A woman who

could get angry?

Alf had told Blume, in brief conversations during the carpool, how intensely his life had changed since going

into chastity…and though it was thrilling, it was also a desperate experience. At the PainCafe party last night

Blume had seen Alf crying, while locked on the big wooden St. Andrew’s Cross…

Fanchon had removed Alf’s belt and rubbed a bit of Astroglide on her fingers and spread it very, very

gradually across Alfred’s glans, and his dick had swollen almost immediately, and then Alfred had wept and

cried, begging Fanchon to either let him cum, or put him back in chastity, and she’d laughed in his face, and

encouraged the onlookers to laugh as well.

“Isn’t he a pathetic loser, guys?” she’d said as she lightly stroked his near purple organ. “Sure, he’s been chaste

for 73 days, but is that any reason to whine like he’s doing?”

And she’d grazed her long pink fingers over Alf’s poor, bulging dick…and laughed in his face as he’d begged.

“You want to cum? Cum if you can.” Fanchon said, tickling Alf’s dick as he hung on the cross…”I’ll use one

finger on the tip of your dick. If you can’t cum like that, you must not really want to orgasm!”

And the crowd had roared as Alfred’s face was covered in tears…and he’d sobbed and blubbered, his purple

cock bobbing as his wife’s gentle fingers teased the tip…just barely! Blume had realized while watching this,

the depth of Alf’s suffering.

Alfred had described more than once, during carpool about his poor cramped cock, locked in the horrible

chastity belt, and how difficult it was watching Fanchon fuck all the guys, because she required him to either

watch from the closet (if the guy might be bashful) or kneel at the foot of her bed while she was rogered by

this or that young buck. “And sometimes she makes me harden their dicks with my mouth.” Alfred would

say bitterly.Alfred had told Blume that he still watched porn DVDs a lot, the ardent feminist Fanchon, who

once objected to porn, would BUY him all he wanted now…she thought it hilarious that he couldn’t cum

and was even more frustrated watching porn with his little wee-wee locked up. And also…he was more and

more attracted to Fanchon, his wife…not cumming made him crazy, and of course she didn’t help with her

hot, slutty clothing…

Blume noticed that Fanchon constantly wore low cut V necked, plunging necklines, and paint thin shorts

and skirts…in the winter she wore the shorts with fishnet stockings! And she was an evil flirt…she greeted

Blume and every other man with a deep kiss and warm hug…it was almost like she was flinging herself at

them. Poor, sad Alf!

“She just becomes more and more beautiful to me, man.” Alf pointed out one day in the car.” Before we got

into BDSM, Fanchon would sometimes lose interest in having sex, and I was sure she was having affairs, so

I’d have affairs too…or just jerk off all the time. It wasn’t that bad. But after I got locked up down there, I

was constantly tense and very, very horny all the time, and watching her flirt was poison, not to mention

when I have to kneel at her bed and watch young men suck her luscious breasts, which I’ve not been allowed

to to touch in over a year…and she thinks it’s funny, flashing her cleavage at me!

Boy that was some weird party at the PainCafe last night, Blume thought. Alf had been just fucked around

with so much by his bitchy wife, and she’d brought that idiot Senator, Dunstan whats-his-name, as an

additional submissive. Ellis, the clergyman at Blume’s church was there along with his wife…they were

now both slaves of this black woman, Esmerelda…and Blume’s old drinking buddy, Cyrus Thibodeau, had

finally had “the operation” and was a real CHICK, and his Mistress Holly had whipped Cy/Claudia’s fake

tits with a long, evil looking riding crop, before Claudia had hit her knees and begun licking and slurping

Holly’s black heeled pumps.

And then Claudia was peeing out of her new pussy into poor Dunstan, the Senator’s mouth…and when he

failed to catch all the urine, Fanchon had whipped his balls with a golf club! She really needed therapy, that

woman did. And of course Blume knew that Fanchon had lent Chloe, Blume’s occasionally dominant wife,

all the stuff she’d used on him. Sometimes Blume would look over the fence and see Fanchon giving him a

little cat smile….

Blume knew that Fanchon was well aware of what was now going on in their household—once Fanchon,

by herself, had been invited to attend and watch Chloe as she thrashed Blume’s butt with a variety of

implements…and then he’d been absolutely humiliated while Chloe had shoved little needles in and out of

Blume’s bulging penis while he cried and sobbed miserably.

“You are enjoying yourself, Blume” Fanchon had said that afternoon.” Most men would wilt immediately if

you shoved needles in their penises…but you really are an excitable boy there!”

But as to the PainCafe party—Fanchon had recommended fetish regalia, but Blume and Chloe had just

attended in their street clothes…although Blume was making some tracks in his submissive journey at

home, he’d told Chloe he wasn’t really ready to be exposed to the world as a submissive loser, you know?

How Alfred could let his wife whip his ass in a public club with a snow shovel was absolutely beyond Blume’s

comprehension.

Worse, in Blume’s opinion was when the black woman ran her fist up poor Ellis’s butt…just slammed it in

and out until Ellis was on the floor begging and pleading for her to stop…and Esmerelda had also sewn

Penny’s pussy lips shut, and then ripped them open savagely with a nail file.

But Blume had to admit that he had been quite aroused by a lot of it, and he’d really wanted at one point to

be naked and humiliated.

But that meant he needed a psychiatrist, right? But hey, then so did all the other people at the party last night.

They were all so different, and Blume had spotted at the PainCafe party a classical musician, a political

journalist, several chefs, a social studies teacher, an opera singer, a fireman, a ballet dancer, a computer geek,

a government consultant, a NASA engineer, a university publisher, a pro-skateboarder, a local hip-hop star, a

bartender, and lots of lawyers…so apparently this was more typical than Blume thought.

Now Blume heard Chloe moving around in the other room, and knew he should probably put the chastity

belt away. But strangely, he just sat there, dicking around with it. It wasn’t an ordinary chastity belt, it had a

little tube attached to a belt, and it was the kind where you couldn’t even get erect without a little pain.

Alfred had explained how such a tube worked…”It’s hell, absolute HELL, when you’re downtown and you

see the cute girls walking around in their miniskirts and short-shorts, never mind watching porn. Also, when

I’ve worn one of those damned things, I wake up with these horrible three a.m. erections, and of course it

can’t fully expand in the little metal chute, and so I start weeping and crying, but Fanchon won’t unlock

me…

I can take a cold shower sometimes, but others I’m locked in the closet because she’s with her boyfriend, and

then I just have to suffer and think about World Series scores until my dick calms down again…it’s really

awful.” Alfred told Blume that if he ever started in the chastity game, he perhaps should begin with a large,

roomy chastity cage, so if he got horny, at least it wouldn’t be painful. “Don’t worry, Blume…you’ll still

suffer, but just because you can’t cum.”

Blume had been not pleased that bitchy Fanchon was spreading his business around, and that Alf knew all

about the enslavement games, but there wasn’t much he could do. Now he stared at the tube. Dammit, he’d

chosen this tube, even though the larger cages were much cheaper. He didn’t want the easy way out! But

what then?

“Having fun playing with that thing?” Chloe’s voice startled the shit out of Blume, and he looked up at her.

God she was beautiful…her little pink tank top and white shorts. Although they were doing full weekends

where he was her slave, Blume couldn’t imagine not getting to fuck Chloe now and then…her pussy was so

damn TIGHT.

“I-I got this at the PainCafe. It’s just for fun, I think.” Blume said hesitantly, but he was almost fondling the

damn thing. “It’s quite a—quite an instrument, this tube.” He looked at Chloe, but he couldn’t tell what she

was thinking. Chloe was so quiet and seemingly timid, but she’d changed a great deal since they’d begun

playing their sadistic games.

A few nights before, Chloe had been watching Blume doing his leg exercises, where he stood on tippie toe

and stretched, while holding five pound dumbbells. It was just something he did to keep his gut in, but he’d

never seen her take an interest. And what had his wife done? She took the hot fireplace poker and came right

up to him, pulling down his shorts to his ankles. “Spread your legs” Chloe had ordered, and when Blume

did, she lightly touched his inner thigh with the hot poker, and of course he’d screamed and dropped the

dumbbells immediately.

And then Chloe had snapped her fingers briskly. “Get up, come on, get those dumbbells back in your hands,

you dumbbell, and get back on your toes.” Blume had obeyed, nervously, stepping out of his shorts. Now he

was on his toes, holding the dumbbells, and Chloe came a little closer. She opened her shirt, unbuttoning the

buttons slowly, and Blume could now see her beautiful cleavage.

“Want to suck my boobies, honey?” Chloe had asked in a throaty tone, but when Blume had tried to come

down on his heels again, she’d lightly touched his right nipple with the hot poker and he’d screamed again…

but he had not dropped the dumbbells this time. He stood there…his nipple and his inner thigh were

burning, but he had stood there quite helplessly.

Chloe had giggled, and gone to stoke the fire with her poker…getting it even hotter. Blume had noted that

she now was holding the poker with a towel, and she came back up to him, but she turned this time and

pulled her shorts down, showing her bodacious bubble-butt. She got closer and closer and rubbed her butt

cheeks against Blume’s stiff rod, and he had moaned. Yes, he had moaned….loudly.

“Feel how good that is, Blume…I remember how you used to pound your dick up my full cheeked ass all the

time…it was so exciting! Remember, babe?” And of course Chloe had then pushed her ass just a bit closer

to Blume’s suffering dick. “Now be careful, don’t go off your tippie toes, and hold those dumbbells up like a

good boy. Nice and strong.”

“You like that? You miss fucking my ass honey? You used to, before we discovered that you’re a secret sissy

submissive bitch boy, right?” Chloe rubbed just a little closer, and Blume had felt as if he would die, he was

so horny, but he had those fucking dumbbells in his hands…he couldn’t just grab her ass and TAKE her, like

he wanted to.

“Yeah, maybe I should get some big, hot stud to fuck me, a REAL man, since you are a wimpy idiot who is

enslaved by me now…you aren’t man enough to just grab me. I should get that young kid down the street

who mows our grass, Jimmy McNichol, and have him fuck my ass…and maybe I could get him to fuck your

face, too…that would be fun, wouldn’t’ it?”

Blume was now enraged. He wanted to go and kick the shit out of Jimmy McNichol, and he felt like he

should bitch-slap Chloe for her attempts at humor, but all he really could do was stand there, with the

goddamn dumbbells in his hands, on his tippie toes…

Just hoping she’d push her soft butt cheeks, the glorious full orbs, against his stiff, bloated, miserably denied

penis Then Chloe had giggled and rubbed her soft cheeks against Blume’s stiff dick, and then she’d spun

and moved the hot poker very close to Blume’s stiff dick…just near the glans.

“Hold still, Blume! Don’t let me burn your wee- wee, honey…that would be terrible, right? You do so much

good with it….” This piece of sarcasm made Chloe giggle just a bit. Blume, not thinking, let his heels down,

and Chloe came up close and burned the head of Blume’s dick with her hot poker. Blume screamed, grabbed

his dick, and the dumbbells fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Chloe had then taken Blume over her knee, and thrashed him with Fanchon’s Spencer paddle until he’d

screamed in agony, and she’d sent him to bed without supper. And then around midnight, she’d crawled

into bed with the now cold poker, and she’d shoved it up his ass until he’d howled. “You like this, fuckface?”

Chloe had whispered as she’d poked the sharp iron into Blume’s rectum. “You think you’ll ever get your

dick back in my PUSSY much less my asshole? I’m going out to get the biggest dildo I can find to ream you

regularly…watch and see…you pathetic numbnuts!”

It had been very sad and arousing, Blume had cum on the sheets as Chloe was poking him…and it had

shown Blume what a dominant Bitch Chloe was turning into these days.

Now, Chloe looked at Blume, who was sitting sheepishly with the chastity tube in his hands. She stepped

closer, and took it from him. “You like this thing, honey? Does it excite you? Your little wee-wee all cramped

up in there? Fanchon has so much fun now that Alf is locked up…she fucks like a truck driver, that girl does.”

Chloe giggled as she thought of this. Blume was not so sure that it was that funny.

Blume looked at Chloe helplessly. She smiled and looked into his eyes. “Honey, if you’re not into this, or

you just want to play with it, fine…but if you want me to lock you up, tell me now…what do you want?” An

hour later, Blume was locked in the chastity tube, and then Chloe went to sleep, telling him they’d play later.

A week went by, and Chloe’s family came to visit, and they just didn’t have time to play, what with taking

the nieces to the amusement park, and that sort of thing.

Blume began feeling all the different stuff that Alfred had warned him about. His dick began expanding in

the little tube when he saw hotties walking up and down the street, and one night he’d made the horrible

mistake of going with the boys to a strip club, and he’d almost passed out when one of the skanks treated

him, as a regular, to a free lap dance. When would he get the thing off?

Chloe was way too busy these days to fool around with him, but she still encouraged him to lick her out

every night when the family was there, and after she discovered that he’d sneaked off to the strip club, Chloe

had gone to dinner with an old high school boyfriend, and hadn’t returned to the house till two…leaving

poor, locked up Blume to entertain the relatives…but the next night the family split, and Chloe told Blume

to meet her in the bedroom!

And there Blume was locked in the chastity tube, naked, and kneeling at Chloe’s feet. She had changed into

a turquoise crocheted top and opened the buttons to expose her cleavage…actually the buttons were open to

her waist, but Blume couldn’t see her nipples. She also had stretch lace ruffled “booty shorts” on…and she

was grinning!

“So it’s been a rough two weeks, huh Blume?”Chloe asked this with her twisted smile. “Your dorkie sure is

suffering, I can tell that. I was really, REALLY amused watching you staring at my little niece Bryanna…

shame on you…staring at a young girl in a tube top and cut offs! A high school girl…you horny bastard!”

Chloe stepped away from where Blume was kneeling and turned to pick up an item…oh her butt cheeks

were so beautiful! And the cock was getting bigger and bigger in his little nasty metal tube. “Chloe, really, I

didn’t encourage Bryanna, sure she did sit on my lap while we played Xbox, but that was just once, right…?”

Chloe spun, and she was holding her father’s policeman’s nightstick. It was a nasty truncheon, the kind with

the leather covered lead tip. Her father had left it with her on this trip, because he’d just retired after thirty-

seven years on the force, and Chloe was planning to put it on a plaque on the mantle at some point. But now

she tapped it in her hand. “Stand up, perp…I’m going to look you over.”

“I’m not a perpetrator” Blume said. “I can’t help it if your little slut teenager niece thought I was cute.” Blume

got up, anyway, and Chloe came over on her high heels and groped his chastity tube, kissing his ear sloppily.

Blume gasped as his dick got REAL hard. Blume’s dick was about six inches, and the tube was about three…

it was painful.

Or so he thought…because pain was relative. Chloe stepped back quickly and whacked the chastity tube,

HARD, and Blume’s imprisoned penis rang with just acute pain. “You’re a fucking pedophile, Blume…

you make me sick!” Blume could actually tell that Chloe’s mouth was working to avoid a smile…she didn’t

REALLY think he was a pedophile…but this game was a nasty one.

WHACK! TWHOCK! Again and again the lead-tipped blackjack swatted Blume’s tube locked penis, and

he began staggering on his feet. Then Chloe swung a little lower and bounced the little lead-tipped sap

bounced off Blume’s bloated testicles, and he fell over…and Chloe danced up and kicked him in the side

again and again until he rose, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Chloe turned Blume around and jammed the truncheon up his ass once or twice…”You need that, bitch

boy…wouldn’t you like it if I could get some big black HIV positive convict to give you a good ass rogering…

but this nightstick is sure doing the job!” She pulled the stick out, and whacked his butt and Blume turned

back to face her…he was terrified!

Chloe stepped up a little closer and THWACKED him again, hard, and this time Blume fell to the floor,

and curled up, shaking. Chloe kicked Blume a couple of times, but even her sharp shoes didn’t have much

effect on him, he had to protect the metal tube to save his life!

Finally Chloe laughed softly and dropped the truncheon on the bed and got Fanchon’s rattan cane and

whipped Blume all over his back, buttocks and legs until he jumped up, whimpering…

“And you think you’re a real man, doncha?” Chloe said, laughing uproariously.

Chloe rubbed her crotch as Blume stood there, shaking. “Like this? But you can’t have it, right?” Chloe

stepped back and pulled her stretch lace ruffled shorts down and began toying with her clitoris with her long

fingers. “Miss my pussy…I’m a wet girl, Blume.” Chloe went through her night-table a moment later and

brought out a small, buzzing dildo vibrator device. “This is a clitoris stimulator, Blume…what do you think

of it? Seven inches of dependable cock…none of your pathetic pre-mature ejaculation, none of that nonsense.”

Blume watched as Chloe pushed the clitoris stimulator into her vagina, and thought about how long

it’d been since she’d let him fuck her. In the beginning, of course, Blume had kind of talked Chloe into

domming him, but it usually ended, no matter whether the session involved spanking, teasing, whatever, it

always, always ended in them fucking, or perhaps her giving him a nice blowjob…

But eventually she talked to Fanchon and began pushing Blume’s face into her crotch…and making him

“finish off” by himself in the bathroom. For a cocksman like Blume, it had been a supreme insult, though

quite arousing at the same time…being told that his teeny dick wasn’t what she needed!

Chloe shoved the stimulator further into her clit, and began moaning. Of course Blume knew that she

couldn’t be aroused that quickly…but the moaning was driving his cock crazy. He tried to not focus on her

masturbation, but he couldn’t take his eyes away, especially after she pulled back the turquoise top and began

massaging one of her nipples at the same time.

Blume’s penis began to expand slowly in the tube, and soon his dick was starting to really hurt. Two weeks

in the damn thing had just made him fucking crazy…Blume watched as Chloe pulled the stimulator out

of her vagina and reached her knee over, stroking Blume’s imprisoned penis. He closed his eyes and tried to

think of something that didn’t involve sex,,but of course that was impossible.

“Will you lick me, Blume honey…make me cum, darling…” Chloe opened her legs and patted her inner

thigh, and Blume was THERE.

AN HOUR LATER

Man. Chloe felt good…she’d made Blume lick her to about four orgasms, and then he couldn’t quite

bring her to a fifth, but he’d licked steadily…and then he’d given her a full body massage without her even

ASKING. Usually it was like pulling teeth to get the man to even rub her shoulders for a few minutes!

Chloe giggled in her pillow, as Blume rubbed her lower back AGAIN. She thought of that evil little bitch

Bryanna…and how Aunt Chloe had slipped the girl a $50 bill to grind and hump Uncle Blume, and kiss his

neck wetly, and drive the poor thing insane. It had been HILARIOUS.

And of course Blume didn’t know this, but Chloe had been slipping Viagra in his oatmeal for the past

fortnight, and so he was even more horny than usual…it had been really something. He was constantly

tapping his crotch area, trying to calm himself down…and getting hornier and hornier!

Fanchon had warned Chloe that being a dominant wife could really make you a bitch after a while. Fanchon

had a submissive lover who was a urologist and got Fanchon the Viagra by the caseload, and so Alfred AND

Blume had been suffering, quite a bit! Now Chloe was going to have a little more fun, she thought.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Chloe said, pushing Blume’s hands away. “All you seem to do is try to grope my boobs

when you rub me…it’s really insulting. Get me the handcuffs, so we can examine your erection and how it’s

fared in the tube.” Twice Chloe had removed the tube in the past two weeks, just to hurriedly bathe Blume’s

dick while the relatives were there…she didn’t want him to have BO. But she’d done it with VERY cold

water, to keep his wee wee small, and locked his ass right back up!

But now, after cuffing Blume’s hands behind his back and lying him back down on their bed Chloe

unlocked the chastity tube, and poor Blume’s dick was black and blue! She really shouldn’t have hit him

quite so hard with the lead billy club, but whatevs. He wanted a submissive adventure, and by golly he was

going to get one, wasn’t he?

Chloe went and got some lotion and began carefully giving Blume a massage on his cock, and he began

feeling better, pain wise, but much more aroused. This of course wasn’t surprising. Chloe was now naked,

because Blume couldn’t massage her without taking her clothes off, right? He was of course staring at her tits

like there was no tomorrow. His poor dick was still so purple…just from two weeks of intensive denial, poor

thing!

Now Chloe ran her little fingers up and down Blume’s suffering shaft…goodness how that must feel, right?

He was panting just a bit, and she was giggling…it was quite a bit of fun! Blume was really staring at her, his

eyes bulging, and his dick was swinging like a metronome.

Chloe wondered if she should fuck him…he was never harder than like this, right? It had been a while since

they’d had sex…too much femdom stuff lately. Maybe she should let him get lucky…but what if he just

came too fast?

That didn’t happen! Chloe mounted Blume and began running her pussy up and down his stiff rod, and

SHE ended up cumming about four times, but apparently, if you are denied orgasm for a bit too long, it

takes time to cum…more time than Chloe was willing to give Blume! “Can I just jerk off, honey?” Blume

asked, as Chloe came again a fifth time, which, counting the orgasms he’d given her with his tongue made

about ten times.

“No no…jerking off? I’m not going to let you jerk off, Blume…if you can’t cum in my pussy like a respectable

married man, I’m just going to ice you down and lock you up, and we’ll try again next week!” And that’s

what she did!

Blume tried desperately to get Chloe to let him out of the damned tube…he did extra chores around the

house, ate her out every night, and gave her looong massages. He was the king of devoted husband hood…

but it wasn’t enough.

She was not going to let him jerk off…she wanted him to cum in her pussy…no matter how long it

took! And she wasn’t going to fuck him every night for it to happen…no no…he had to suffer just a bit.

And Chloe didn’t want a lot of bitching about either. One afternoon when she thought Blume had been

complaining too much, she bound a bunch of hickory sprouts from the back yard, and seasoned them in the

fire, and whipped Blume’s bare ass for forty-five minutes! This really made him shut up.

And she kept FUCKING with him. One night she peed in his food, and another night she peed in his bath!

Another night, she made him wear clip-on earrings when they went out to dinner, and when they went to

the supermarket, Chloe cuffed Blume’s wrists to the shopping cart…then little kids played bumper cars with

their carts against his, and he almost fell over!

However, on Wednesday night, Chloe bound Blume to the bed and removed his horrible little chastity tube,

and massaged his suffering dick for an hour…just to make sure it was working right! “Doesn’t it like my

pussy, I wonder?” Chloe asked, as she leaned over Blume’s dick rubbing the full tops of her breasts, what a

cleavage! against his sweating, bruised erection.

Blume was so relieved to have the tube off. Chloe had only removed it once before that week, when she’d

given Blume “bench time”…sitting on a sharp carpenter’s horse with an even sharper beam coming out of it,

and of course Blume had to sit quite gingerly on this right on top of his cock and balls…he was able to keep

himself up on his tippie toes some of the time, but then Chloe had evilly spread Motor Oil on Blume’s feet,

so he was quite slippery, and his cock and balls had had quite a nasty time being mashed against the sharp

board. But it had taken his mind off bitching about the chastity tube!

Now she pulled and tickled his sweltering erection, gazing at it curiously. “If it’s not good for cumming in

my pussy, what good is it for? Might as well cut your dick off like they did Claudia’s…now she can use her

mouth, her new pussy and her ass to please everyone…but I guess you wouldn’t want your wee- wee snapped

off, eh Blume?”

Blume couldn’t believe how dependent he’d become on this wretched woman! Blume, who never wanted

anyone to tell him what to do!

Blume’s father had named him for Mr. Blumestein, his beloved manager at the Government Printing office,

and although Blume respected Mr. Blumestein, and appreciated all he did for the family, Blume still despised

his father’s dependence on government.

Although Alf and the other fellows looked down on Blume for being a tradesman, Blume was quite

independent, and had left home at thirteen and become an accomplished mechanic,carpenter,electrical

contractor and plumber by his mid twenties. Blume had done all this so NO ONE could tell him what to

do….he’d never have a boss, just people begging to pay him for his services. But now things apparently were

changing! Chloe had his full obedience and attention, and she KNEW it.

Chloe took a long ostrich feather that she’d purchased when they’d gone abroad and began running it up

and down the edge of Blume’s cock…and then she began running the feather right against the sensitive spot

under his penis, called the frenulum. God she was patient.

“I keep wondering, Blumie, what can I do to make you even more into a submissive…remember the

PainCafe BDSodomania gala? Remember Slevin Sharples,who owns Sleazy Slevin’s, the used car palace…

Slev, who kneed you in the groin and didn’t even get nabbed by the ref when your basketball men’s league

played the YMCA team…he was incorrigible, we always thought, but at the party Slevin was wearing a

diaper and a bonnet, and was being beaten and burped by an enormous black man…think I could do that to

you, in public?”

Chloe ran the feather a bit more, driving Blume crazy, and then she began running her sharp nails up and

around the veins that were bulging out of his dick, tracing little pictures and giggling to beat the band. Hal

began raising his hips, trying desperately to force his dick into Chloe’s mischievous fingers, but of course she

just resisted, pulling away every few seconds!

“You know I found those horrible little porn erotica books you buy online” Chloe said, laughing. “One of

them is called ‘Cuckold In the Corner’ and the other’s called ‘The Tutor of Sissy-ville’ People don’t live that

way! But you apparently must fantasize that I will fuck all your friends and humiliate you in public, but

apparently you can’t loosen up just a little bit like Alfred has…then I could really give you your humiliation

fantasy, Blume!”

Chloe then began using her fingers to tickle Blume’s thighs and along the lower part of his gut, pulling

her fingers just past his swollen, tortured erection. Blume began gasping and puffing, but she ignored this,

moving her fingers around the sides of his dick,as he continued to try to move his hips towards her hands.

Blume thought about the plot of “Cuckold in the Corner” about a man who convinces his wife to put him

in chastity and play around on him sexually. and in the end, the guy is a feminized sissy-faggot sucking off

his old buddies…thinking of the plot did make Blume wild, but he really hoped that Chloe didn’t take the

plot seriously. but you never knew with her…Chloe moved her sharp nail just under Blume’s cockhead, and

she began stroking the sensitive area there, giggling as she watched her husband’s agonized face. “You’re just

so excited now…but you can’t cum in my pussy? Maybe I need to find someone else to cum in my pussy.

Fanchon tells me that’s the way to go, she gets fucked all the time by all these different guys, and Alfie just

licks her out, gets all that scum out of her wee-wee…he’s like a vacuum cleaner for her, or maybe a Bidet…

right?”

Chloe now began pumping Blume’s shaft hard, after dousing it with a bit of lubricant. “And Esmerelda, who

is the lesbian dom of Ellis and Penny, says that she keeps them both chaste, and they take turns licking her

out after she’s been fucked by various men…because really, Esmerelda is bisexual, which Penny really finds

painful…it’s so sad.”

Blume’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as Chloe kept slamming up and down on his stiff cock with her

soft, manicured hands. Now and then he would open one eye to peek at her cleavage and her big boobs…but

he was really getting close. She was going to TREAT him, to let him cum after three weeks of misery! What

a great wife!

But as he got REAL close, and the precum was streaming out of his urethra, Chloe snatched her delicate

little hand away FAST, and poor Blume ended up humping air again…and his scum went back into the

depths of his balls. Oh what a horrible wife he had!

NINETEEN

Chloe was having such fun. After she let go of Blume’s dick and let hit wiggle, she leaned over and took his

penis in her mouth…it’ had been a year since she’d done that. But she didn’t suck, she just held it there, and

then slowly pushed her head up and down, her full lips pressing the tight sides of the penis as Blume almost

lost his mind. Now and then she would use her little pink tongue to zip back and forth inside the mouth,

giving Blume’s wee-wee something to think about…it reminded her of torturing Cousin Ferdinand!

When her brother and his family had been at the house, Chloe had asked how Cousin Ferdinand was

doing…he of course was a cop like the rest, a desk sergeant in some precinct in Chicago. “Ferd’s living kind

of quietly…he never married y’know.” her brother said. “I think he never got over you, Chloe…that weird

crush he had.”

Cousin Ferd…the memories. When Chloe had been younger, long before she met Blume and moved here to

Buttermilk Falls, she’d had quite an interesting relationship with Ferd. At that time he had been considering

becoming a priest, and it was hard because he had quite an enthusiastic heterosexuality. But Ferd’s parents

really, really wanted him to become a priest, and he wanted to a lot…well, sort of…

One night, when they were hanging out at her house, her parents off at a movie, and brothers out getting

drunk Chloe climbed on Ferd’s lap and began kissing his neck….he was kind of cute, and she knew he

constantly stared at her…Every guy in town wanted Chloe, but of course she wanted her hyper-religious

cousin who was home from the seminary just for the summer.

“Chloe, seriously, you are so cute, but you have to stop.” Ferd said, laughing as he gently pushed her back. He

was a strong guy, and he could’ve just knocked her off his lap, but Ferd adored Chloe, and treated her like a

porcelain object, just so precious! Ferd gently tugged a blonde lock of Chloe’s hair, and tickled her chin. “You

know I can’t mess around with you…I’m going to take my vows soon.”

Chloe had moved her buttocks around in her tight little jeans, and felt a bump—Ferd’s involuntary

erection—pushing up his zipper. “You know, Ferd, you might not really want to be a priest, babe…I know

you had a hard time breaking up with Bonnie DeFlelippo last year.” Chloe had pushed her little hands

against Ferd’s broad chest, and pulled back, and she reached down and unzipped his zipper, and yup, his

dick bounced right out.

“Doesn’t look to me like you’re thinking much about walking with God here.” Chloe said, as she’d begun

stroking Ferd’s straining member. “You really need to focus on how those nails hurt Jesus’ hands and feet

when he was locked on the Cross, instead of wanting to fuck me…your little cousin. You should be ashamed!”

Chloe had pouted. Then she used her little fist to punch Ferd in the balls, which were just hanging out his

open zipper. Ferd screamed and Chloe laughed hysterically. “I’m just trying to show you how pain will help

you stay chaste, Ferdinand!” Chloe cocked her head and looked into Ferd’s eyes. “I remember how Uncle

Florian was helping you with that last week in the garage.”

Ferd had blushed. “Yeah, Dad was really tough on me, Chloe. He caught me touching myself in an impure

way, and he tied me naked to his Chevrolet in the garage and whipped my penis with a willow switch until I

screamed. I guess you saw all that, right? Uncle Florian invited my sisters—your cousins in to the garage—to

show them what a nasty pervert I was, and I guess you were with them. But it was a good lesson for me, the

humiliation, and it made me a better Catholic.”

Chloe had snorted, and had moved closer to Ferdinand, pushing his hands away as he had attempted to

shove his cock and balls into his pants. She pulled up her little halter top, showing her cousin her full breasts

in a tiny burgundy bra, and shoved her full boobs into Ferd’s face, rubbing them closer and closer. Chloe had

doused them with Chanel No.5 before the evening started, and she had high hopes for Ferd’s reaction.

Then Chloe had threw off her halter and bent down and rubbed her full, bouncing boobs against Ferd’s

bulging cock, sliding them up and down as her cousin gasped and moaned. “My balls feel like they’re going

to explode, Chloe, I really should stop now…”

Chloe had gasped and jumped off Ferd’s lap. “You are talking to your young cousin about your testicles like

that? What would Uncle Florian say? I think I have to tell him that you are trying to molest me. and you a

seminarian!” She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Ferd’s face turned scarlet…was

he scared!

“But I’ll make a deal with you…I won’t tell Uncle Florian, if you let me help you get over these impure

thoughts and temptations. Just because I’m standing here in my little bra doesn’t mean you should be

thinking about anything else but the Virgin Mary and the Crucifixion and that kind of thing. It really

shows a lack of respect, in my opinion.”

Ten minutes later they were down in the basement recreation room. Chloe had stripped Ferd naked and tied

his right arm to his right leg, and his left arm to his left leg. She was now in bra and skimpy panties, and was

earnestly teaching in her role as “therapist”.

“I really want you to think about your duty to the Above” Chloe had said earnestly, as she tickled Ferd’s cock

and balls with her pearly pink polished toes. “But if you can’t deal with temptation now, I am so worried that

you might become a priest and then take advantage of some poor parishioner’s WIFE!”

With that, Chloe had picked up her mom’s egg beater, a normally benign instrument with a turn knob

and metal blades. She came close to where Ferd’s rock hard cock was streaming pre-cum. “I mean, this is

obscene…it really is.” Chloe pushed the egg beater against Ferd’s balls and began turning the crank with

renewed enthusiasm.

The blades beat and tangled against Ferd’s bloated scrotum and tangled the skin in the spinning metal. Ferd

screamed like a hog being slaughtered as Chloe earnestly cranked the beater for about a minute and a half

before taking it away. Now her big, macho cousin, who had been quarterback on the St. Reilley’s high school

football team was weeping like a newborn for her bottle.

Chloe had then felt bad. “Do you want me to make it better?” she had crooned and she’d rubbed and kissed

poor Ferd’s wilted member until it stood straight up again, and was excited. “Are we returning to the impure

thoughts?” Chloe asked, with a slight frown. She took the end of the skin of Ferd’s circumcised member, and

tweaked it sharply, and he howled again. But it wouldn’t grow flaccid, probably because Chloe was in her bra

and panties…”You know what? After your Daddy whipped your dick with the willow switch, he left it in the

garage, and I brought it back here.”

Chloe had twitched her cute little pantied butt as she went to get the willow switch that Uncle Florian had

used so ruthlessly on his son’s erring member. Chloe had left the willow switch in the bathtub, and it was wet

and sounded neat as she swung it around the basement. She finally came back to where Ferd was still sitting,

his hands manacled to his legs, and lifted the switch. “I am doing this as a favor for Uncle Florian, Ferd….I

hope you appreciate it!”

WHACK! SLASH! SMACK! THWACK! The willow switch came down about ten times on Ferd’s swollen

penis, and certainly it reduced it’s tumescence almost immediately. Chloe had been quite excited also about

how Ferd’s wee-wee had red strokes and weals on it now…but as soon as it was limp again, Chloe began

feeling remorseful, and bent down to kiss and suck it again…and this time she sucked it so greedily that Ferd

came in her mouth!

Then Chloe pulled her head up, and with her mouth full she said “Now I’m going to ‘snowball’ you..” And

she kissed Ferd right in the mouth and spat his cum down his throat…and then she’d stepped back. “I think

you should quit the seminary and do something else, Ferdie, don’t you?”

And the next day, he’d joined the police force, thanks to his little career counselor cousin!

Now Chloe let go of Blume’s dick once more, and rubbed it with ice until it was small…locking it back in

the chastity tube as he watched with tears coursing down his face. “Next week, you can try fucking me again

honey…I wish you luck with that!”

What a nice girl!

TWENTY

Bagshaw smiled as he saw Angus and Dulceana Smorthwaite entering the PainCafe. As Headwaiter of the

PainCafe, Bagshaw enjoyed the look of recognition from steady customers. Bagshaw had begun bussing

tables at the PainCafe at age fifteen, just after having been expelled from The Seventh Avenue Orphanage

and Foundling Home, where he’d spent his formative years.

This had happened after Bagshaw had been caught in flagrente delicto with one of the Home’s Teach For

America volunteers. Bagshaw had no interest in BDSM, but he was a quick adapter, and his tolerance and

instincts of his customer’s peculiar ways had helped him rise the ladder quickly at the PainCafe, and now,

after twelve years service he was invincible as their maitre d.

“Looka there, Bags, there’s the Smorthwaites” muttered Dermot McDermott, who had been bell captain

of the PainCafe’s Hotel for 33 years. “I remember his granddaddy comin’ in heah back in 1948 with Lady

Medea, she gave old Smortie a floggin’ ayeh she did, right in th’lobby of th’PainCafe Ho-Tel, yessirree…

made old Smortie howl”

“Get back in the Hotel, then you old fool” breathed Bagshaw…he hated reminiscing…he’d also been a

bellhop under Dermot, and what a pain in the ass the old bastard had been. But he now put on his smile for

the Smorthwaites.

“Good afternoon, Bagshaw” said Mrs. Smorthwaite, smiling. “We hope you have a table for lunch today…

Angus has been much too difficult for me to take to a traditional restaurant.”

Angus Smorthwaite groaned. “Oh, please, Dulceana…can’t you not be a bit of a drama queen? Can’t we just

eat a normal meal Bagshaw?” Dulceana gave Bagshaw a significant look, and Bagshaw nodded and escorted

them to a center table. “Will you be needing the Castor Oil today madame? Or a cane for the table?”

Dulceana gave Bagshaw a frosty smile. She wore her bright red hair in a short but enticing bob, and was

otherwise in a shiny black dress that emphasized her ample cleavage. Angus was sixty, balding and somewhat

overweight, and the owner of Smortie’s Sportswear, a chain that criss crossed the American South. He was

blushing after having heard his wife’s words, but pretended to ignore Bagshaw and just take up the menu.

“That won’t be necessary, Angus” Dulceana said genially. “I will have the lobster bisque and a Cobb Salad

and a glass of Chardonnay, and Angus will have a bowl of your Brat’s Weak Porridge. He’s been irregular

you know, Bagshaw, in his bowel movements and this will bring him a bit of peace.”

“Now stop being like this, Dulceana.” Angus said in an annoyed fashion. “I don’t need our private life spread

out all over the place. Look here, Bagshaw. I am paying the bill and your tip. I want a New York Strip Steak

and a baked potato. Please don’t participate in my wife’s neurosis. What we do in our bedroom doesn’t have

to be dragged here.”

Bagshaw looked straight at Dulceana. “Are you sure you will not be needing the cane, madam? I have the

Porridge order, and of course your Cobb Salad committed to memory.” Bagshaw enjoyed the look of black

rage on poor Angus’s face, but he knew that Dulceana had the charge account here at the PainCafe and

would probably just ask Bagshaw to sign and add his own tip. All the Smortie’s Sportswear finances were in

her name, and of course Angus just liked making a bit of a swell.

Bagshaw went to the kitchen. “A Cobb salad and a very weak porridge…make it gruel-like, okay, Hector?”

The Hispanic grinned. “Anything you say, Bags. We got another brat in the dining room, huh? God, I love

this job, I think there’s nothin’ easier than making oatmeal weak, you know what I mean? Do you still need

the dish of Alpo for Table Six?

Bagshaw smiled. “Yes, I think Mr. Ignilio will probably want seconds…remember to pee on it before I bring

it out.” The crew all laughed, and Bagshaw spun on his heel to see what was going on in the dining room.

He heard some howling in the men’s room, and assumed that Slevin Sharples, the used car sales guy was

being worked over in there by his Black Master.

Bags was slightly irritated that it was a slow noon —not many people were here today. Master Entworth was

visiting with one of his hottie slave girls. He was rapidly putting out five or six cigarettes in her meat loaf

before they began eating. And Fanchon was supposed to show up with the Senator at one—that was always

good for some cash!

Bagshaw stood near the left side of the room, so if Dulceana got his eye, he could bring the cane that her

husband desperately was going to need. The Smorthwaites were one of those couples that provided condign

entertainment for the noon hour quite a bit. Bags hid a yawn with a menu and tried to look alert.

TWENTY-ONE

Angus was sweating bullets on his bald head as his gentle wife took him over the coals at the table. “You are

just an annoying little goblin, Angus…throwing fits, pouting, what shall I do with you.” Dulceana sipped

a bit of Chardonnay. “I’ve instructed Bagshaw to bring your prune juice in a toddler’s plastic sippy cup. We

can’t have you spilling all over your Oxford shirt.”

Angus, who had excellent manners, flushed. Prune juice! Dulcie wanted him to be “regular” and sometimes

twice a day enemas just weren’t enough, she felt. It had been months since poor Angus had been allowed to

drink any alcoholic beverage, and even soda pop such as Pepsi was saved “for special occasions” like back

when he was seven.

Angus bit his lip as his left buttock moved uncomfortably on the chair. There was a nasty welt there—

Dulci’s favorite implement to use on him at home, in the Nursery, which was what she called his bedroom,

was a barber’s razor strop, one of the thick kinds. This morning, Dulci had caught Angus touching himself

inappropriately in the shower, and had led him, naked and dripping out into the living room by the ear.

Their three grown daughters had laughed and applauded while Dulci had first taken Angus over her skirted

knee and whipped his bare buttocks with her leather bedroom slipper, and then with her oval elephant’s tusk

hairbrush, before moving on to the evil razor strop. And of course their daughters had laughed and made

snide remarks. Young women could be quite thoughtless, Angus considered.

“Oh, Mom this is good” Sierra, the youngest had nudged Bridget. “Can Daddy keep from crying? Can he

not be a sissy boy for just ONCE?”

“Now for the strop…off my lap and over the hassock, dear.” Dulcie had bound Angus’s wrists and

ankles for this, because the strop often made him dance and sometimes run out in the front lawn of

Smorthwaite Lodge, in front of the butler, gardener and other servants, stark naked. This often made for an

uncomfortable overturn in staffing.

“Now I am going to try to help you to not cry and scream like a little bitch. I will hold and caress your head

in my lap as you lie over the hassock, and Corrine will administer your discipline. It will be unappetizing for

her to have to view your rather flabby gluteus maximus, but what can we do?”

Angus had known that he had to be a brave sixty year old “boy” and let his oldest daughter do her worst, but

it was never easy. “Now be a brave boy and don’t cry in front of the children” Dulci had said, as she’d begun

kissing and rubbing his hair as his head sat in her lap as she was on the couch…with his back and buttocks

on the damn hassock!

“B-but it hurts so much, and she’s my daughter, it’s so embarrassing, and painful.” Angus whined. He knew

how ridiculous it was. Hildegarde, the upstairs maid, had wandered into the drawing room to watch as well,

and that was terrible also. Hildegarde had recently reported Angus to Dulci for sneaking into the laundry

and sniffing panties, and what a punishment that had been!

“Just no crying, dear. Let Corrine take a few shots at your naughty tushie while I teach you not to cry. Be a

little MAN, Angus.” And then 20 year old Corrine had shyly taken the strop and begun lambasting poor

Angus’s rump while Dulceana had rubbed his ears and cheeks, giving him kisses. “No one likes a sissy-boy,

Angus. If you can take a thrashing without any crying or tantrums, I’ll let you stay up until ten o’clock this

week and perhaps let you watch your tiresome basketball playoffs.”

That was very generous of Dulcie…she had cured Angus of football passion by attaching a car battery to his

cock and balls, and making him sit on it naked, freezing in November, while watching games naked, in the

garage. He was no longer allowed to watch television at the local bar, or at friends houses, and although the

girls all had TVs in their rooms, there was a lock on the television set in the living room, and only Dulci had

the key.

She had made Angus go through all manner of chores and tests before she’d let him watch a Saturday of

football, including sometimes blowing the butler before he fucked Dulci’s wet pussy. Dulci was really tough.

But then, finally, it would be time for Angus to watch the telly…he’d earned it, in his lingerie, scrubbing the

kitchen floor with the butler’s cum dripping out of his mouth…but then…out to the miserable garage!

Whenever his favorite college team, the Buttermilk State Leapfrogs made a touchdown on the TV screen,

Dulci would put two wires together (she was sitting fully clothed on an easy chair in the same garage) and

the battery would violently shock Angus, and soon he no longer wanted to watch college games, or regular

NFL either. By the time the SuperBowl came around, Angus had become so physically ill from his crotch

being buzzed and burned, that he’d lost complete interest in the gridiron.

But that morning, he was really hoping that he could watch the playoffs…even in the cold garage! All he

had to do was be a “man” and take the whacks from the razor strop in silence. “Don’t be a sissy boy darling”

Dulceana had said with her husky voice, smoothing his hair down. “Just ignore the pain…offer it up to the

Goddess…I know you can do it, can’t you?”

“Yes ma’am”Angus had whimpered, looking up at his beautiful wife adoringly. But then his athletic daughter

swung the strop against his unprotected asscheeks, and yowza, she could hit!

Angus had tried so hard! But Corrine had used deadly aim…she was field hockey captain at Smith College

, and swung with an accuracy unknown in the average girl. Corrine actually caught Angus’s balls a couple

of times as she’d wielded the strop again and again. “Remember” Mother had said to Corrine previously. “If

you can make him break down, I’ll let you drive my Ferrari back to school for the spring term.” Mother had

such a deadly smile…Corrine had been glad she wasn’t on Mother’s shit list!

Corrine had done her damndest, and then it had been 18 year old Bridget’s turn! Within half an hour, Angus

was on the floor, pounding his face into the carpet, as his fists of course were still manacled…begging to be

let up, and Dulcie had been forced to say no basketball television this season, and bedtime at six…he might

be allowed to watch “Project Runway” instead of the playoffs! How cruel!

And now they were lunching at the PainCafe, and Corrine ALWAYS found a way to provoke Angus into a

tantrum, or at least angry tears when they were there. It was the only restaurant in Buttermilk Falls —indeed,

the only one in America —where you could correct a grown man or woman without the police being called.

If Angus lost it, his expensive Armani trousers would be yanked down in front of the other patrons, and

Dulcie would swing the cane that Bagshaw the Headwaiter provided…swinging the cane until Angus was

sobbing and falling over with his pants bunched up around his ankles? The last time, Dulci had had tennis

elbow, and had had to ask another male patron, and then one of the cooks to take over with the cane while

she took pictures for their Facebook account.

Their friends at the country club were always ribbing poor Angus for his humiliating photo shoots, and oh,

the horrible Xmas pic she’d once taken with him stuffed in a red lingerie fishnet body stocking and Santa

hat…with full makeup and an ugly blonde wig! Really, it was too much for a corporate executive like Angus

to tolerate.

It was his own fault, of course—Angus’s fascination with being a male submissive had started with him

sneaking to see a dominatrix in town when he was a prep school boy at Groton . He’d never been hit in his

life—his parents had been quite indulgent, and Angus had first been fascinated with caning when he’d seen

a movie about Winston Churchill, and in Churchill’s early years, he was caned on the bare bottom!

By the time Angus had gotten through his MBA at the Sloane School of Management, his father and

uncle had given him the 118 store Smortie’s Sportswear chain to run himself. And he should have had

the common sense to just limit himself to paid dommes…For a handsome young man with bucks in his

pocket…there were so many girls to accommodate him!

Tempie had been one of Angus’s first dommes. An aspiring model, Tempie preferred the company of

generous men and their oddities to having to waitress between assignments for a questionable living. Tempie

was slender, with enticing B cup breasts, legs longer than stilts, and bouncing curls! Angus was fascinated

with her!

After Angus had shown her a chastity piercing he’d gotten “just as a fun thing” Tempie had immediately

locked his cock to his testicles and retained the key. They didn’t live together, so it was quite a horny

experience for poor Angus to survive between his weekly visits to the amused Tempie.

Dinner, a movie, with Tempie occasionally rubbing her fingers down between Angus’s legs, sometimes at the

height of the flick, she’d unzip his trousers and play with the piercing to the point he had no idea what was

happening on the screen! Then back home, Angus would strip and lie on the floor while Tempie, resplendent

in snug tube top and faded cut offs would run her feet and toes all over his pierced cock and balls, laughing

as he begged, with tears running down his fat face, for her to unlock him!

“How much is it worth to you?” Tempie would ask, giggling. Angus would remind her that he was paying

half her rent and giving her diamonds every now and then, and she’d keep running her little pink toes with

the purple sparkle polish up and around his swelling penis, which of course was cruelly arced and locked,

with a pierced glans, to just below his scrotum.

Angus had remembered how painful it was. All week before seeing Tempie was bad enough—he

masturbated himself constantly, running lubricant in and out and all over his curved cock,but of course he

never got to cum, because it was locked up in this nasty bow….and he thought of Tempie and looked at her

pics, and oh God, he was horny…and then he finally got to see her, and how nasty she could be!

“Okay, I’ll give you fifty dollars to unlock me” Angus said, as he lay on the floor, staring up at her long,

smooth legs…Tempie was just relaxing on the couch and pushing her little toesies up and down his trapped

shaft…it was too much! Tempie laughed and did a thumbs up motion, and Angus said, “Okay a hundred.”

But that wasn’t enough….it just made Tempie laugh, as she gave him camel toe shots of her little wee-wee

through the denim shorts.

Tempie had then taken a fishhook, attached with string and hooked it around one of the rings in Angus’s

chastity piercing and begun tugging his dick towards her, while still pushing his balls away with her little

pink size 4 foot. This got Angus even MORE horny!

Tempie’d then dragged the hook towards her more, while making Angus anguish as he struggled against the

cuffs holding his hands behind his back. What an experience—having a hot little model sitting on the couch,

running her cute little feet on your imprisoned pecker, while pulling the piercing that held that pecker with a

fishhook and string!

Then Tempie asked again, and of course Angus upped it to one-fifty…but that wasn’t enough for our girl.

She picked up a wooden pointer that she’d stolen from one of her instructors at modeling school and began

whacking Angus’s curled and pierced penis, while STILL pulling the fishhook and running those adorable

purple speckled toes against his tortured crotch!

At this point, Angus’s penis was absolutely filled with blood and backed up semen, he was so close to

cumming…but of course he really couldn’t, could he? He was pulling his wrists, but they were SO securely

cuffed. The pointer kept whacking the side of Angus’s dick and there were little welts appearing here and

there…it was getting desperate.

So finally he said resignedly “Okay, three hundred bucks…go get my card, you know where it is”Tempie

plucked Angus’s Platinum Visa from the wallet and took it to her credit card machine. Though she kept

this machine by her bed, she told her housemates that she was an antiques appraiser…it was doubtful if they

believed it but who knew?

Tempie then would go “How I like this game!” cheerily, as she returned the depleted credit card to Angus’s

wallet. Then came the unlocking of Angus’s stiff prick…and then further running of Tempe’s little pink

toes up and down his stiff denied cock SLOWWLY for nearly an hour before he’d made a mess on her right

ankle, and then she’d dragged him by the hair (back then he’d had hair)towards her foot and made him lick

it all up. “Now how much to remove the restraints?” Oh, what an expensive afternoon.

Norine, a moody brunette had large, conical breasts that she waved at Angus’s suffering face as he stood,

bound naked to a clothesline pole in her parent’s back yard. Usually Norine would wear a rather snug top

with a plunging neckline and of course a micro-miniskirt and wave her boobs, sometimes pulling cloth back

to expose a nipple, which she denied Angus’s sweating mouth.

“You like these boobies, loser?” Norine’s eyes would light up as Angus would lunge his head for the tempting

nipples…and she’d stroke his cock and then THWACK it rather nastily with an old metal curtain rod, four

or five times until he was crying bitterly.

Angus recalled one rather painful afternoon when Norine, annoyed because Angus only thought her good

enough for rendezvouses and not to meet his parents, had bound his hands above his head to an ceiling hook

in her family’s Florida room. She’d stripped to a black lace bra and panties. As Angus had gaped, Norine

squeezed her breasts in the little black brassiere, and taunted him mercilessly.

“What’s wrong, faggot? Am I not good enough to meet Mummy and Daddy? I let you come over here and

kiss my feet and take my spankings…but you don’t want to let your rich folks know you’re hanging out with

a little Dago girl?”

“No no, Norine…it’s not like that. But Mom and Dad want me to date women from a certain background.”

Angus had said…it was perhaps the wrong statement to make when trussed up to the ceiling, stark naked!

Norine had taken a tick oak stick off the couch and waved it in Angus’s face.

“You see this? My dad cut this and polished it, and he used it to keep my brothers and sisters and me in

line…he calls it the Awakener…shit, he Awakened me good when I came back after my prom at four in the

morning…and now I’m going To Awaken youse!”

Norine had gone around to Angus’s back, and he’d really felt the Awakener on his fleshy butt cheeks.

WHACK! WHACK! SMACK! THWACK! The stick had bounced off his fat derriere and he’d screamed,

but Norine’s family were spending a month at the Jersey shore… no one could hear. “P-puh please,

WHACK! Norine…I pay WHACK! you good money WHACK! for WHACK! these sessions, WHACK!

and I’ve WHACK! taken you to nice WHACK! restaurants WHACK! and WHACK! bought WHACK!

you jewelry…isn’t WHACK! that enough?”

“Dance, faggot!” Norine had screamed, and she’d reached the horrible oak stick between Angus’s waving legs

(for he was quite high up off the floor) and thwacked Angus’s testicles with some vigor. “That’s right, you

snobby little bastard! Let’s see if you can dance for Norine here, lets see you Jitterbug, baby!”

And Norine really went to town on poor Angus’s butt and balls, and then she’d come around to his front and

given him a long, wet tongue kiss, while jerking his dick hard and fast…it became stiff and began drooling

precum all over her French manicure, and as she kissed Angus’s neck, and lightly bit his earlobe, he thought

all was getting better…but he of course, was wrong!

“You know, Angus…my brother (she pronounced it “brudda”) worked three years in one of your stores, the

one in Pentonville…and they told him he couldn’t be manager ‘cause he had no college degree…but then

one of your nephews came in, who’d been kicked out of college, and he was made a manager, and poor

Carmine, he still had to do all the work at six bucks an hour!” Suddenly Norine had pulled back then and

WHACK! The oak stick had snapped the edge of Angus’s glans and he’d screamed bloody murder.

He thought he would never have an erection again, but Norine had pulled her bra down and shoved her

nipples in Angus’s face. “You know you wanna suck these? But why should I let you? You’re a snob and an

asshole…you think you’re better than me and my family!” Norine had whacked Angus’s fresh erection and

then she’d given him another couple of shots in the balls. It had been a harrowing afternoon!

Yes, if he’d just been content to occasionally pay a domme to whip and torture him, say, one weekend

a month, he could’ve held on to his empire…but within ten years he’d met the absolutely mesmerizing

Dulceana Towson, who had been a Rose Bowl Queen.

At first Dulceana was just a nice normal girlfriend, but of course she had that evil domme look, and it drove

poor Angus crazy…so he’d asked her to tie him up and spank him with a leather belt one night….She’d

looked so hot in a snug pink minidress, swinging the belt on his bare ass! And of course Dulceana had

REALLY enjoyed having Angus earnestly munching between her legs after the whipping session was over.

They’d married and she’d taken him with a strap-on on their wedding night. It had been like creating a

monster!

“Don’t you see, Angus…you are such a worm that having this sportswear concern makes you falsely puffed

up with ego, and then you really become much too confused…are you a wimp or a corporate genius…we

know you’re a wimp!” Dulcie had said helpfully. “You really should sign the stores over to me, darling.”

It had been difficult at first—Smortie’s Sportswear had been started by Angus’s grandfather and enlarged by

his father and uncles…and Angus actually had had quite a bit of success in making even more money with

his specially designed brand of treadmills, which Dulcie had helped him test…having him run naked on one

set at eight miles an hour uphill while she encouraged him on with her cat o nine tails!

But he just worshipped his gorgeous wife…and he wanted to make her happy. Keeping Dulcie happy was

always wise! Dulcie had been quite happy with Angus’s chastity piercing…though he’d had to change the

locks several times, every time he broke up with an angry girl…Dulcie loved the idea that Angus would

perform between her legs endlessly, and go back to his Nursery with a swollen, purple bowed member locked

between his legs!

And the backed up semen had really created a potent fellow…nearly every time Angus fucked Dulcie

he’d gotten her pregnant, until after the baby, Jessica, he’d been locked up for good, except when he had

impressed her as being deserving of a little jack-off time.

But that morning, he’d really fucked up…he’d gotten a hold of the key to his piercing, and jumped in the

shower for a little bit of a good time. and she’d caught him! Now they were having a nice lunch, but Angus

was well aware that Dulcie was going to make him pay for his indiscretions.

Bagshaw brought Angus’s porridge and Dulcie’s lobster bisque. “I trust you’ll want him to have a second

bowl of porridge while you have your Cobb salad, madam?” Dulcie nodded and beamed at Bags, who spun

off to the kitchen. Angus began eating the weak, ill tasting porridge with a grimace.

Dulcie smiled at her husband, watching his discomfort with extreme pleasure. She reached down and

touched Angus’s inner thigh, and he moaned slightly. Dulcie knew that Angus was absolutely obsessed with

her, it helped a lot that his orgasms were very regulated, but she also knew that he was very, very much in

love with her.

Dulcie unzipped Angus and reached her long nails in and began stroking his cock, which had been peeking

out of his pink panties, (Angus was not man enough to be allowed boxer shorts, of course). Dulcie gently

massaged Angus’s cock until it was sticking up, though under the table of course.

Angus’s eyes were hopeful. It was not much of a hope, of course, but there was no mistaking the intense

desire in his eyes as he stared at his beautiful wife. What a woman! It had been 83 days this time, since

Angus had last been allowed to have an orgasm, that orgasm obtained when Dulcie had tied Angus’s hands

and made him rub his penis against her black lover’s boot heel as he attempted to stomp Angus’s balls. You

have to get your cums where you can, was Dulcie’s philosophy.

Now she rubbed Angus’s growing penis. “I know it’s been a long time since I let you have a squirted darling”

she breathed. “You must’ve been terribly in need to commit the grave infraction of touching yourself

inappropriately in the shower…where everything is supposed to be hygienic.” As she said the word “hygienic”

Dulcie removed her hand swiftly, leaving Angus’s throbbing cock…it traveled to the table, picking up a fork

and going back under.

JAB! The fork went right into Angus’s bloated glans, and he emitted a brief shriek, garnering amused glances

from the PainCafe’s other customers. Dulcie pulled the fork out, and rubbed Angus’s dick softly again,

smiling. “You have to learn how to avoid these temptations, darling…it makes me so disappointed when you

lapse.”

Again she withdrew her soft fingers and jabbed the fork, this time pinning part of Angus’s foreskin against

his trouser leg. JAB! “Poor, poor weak baby.” Came Dulcies voice, and then STAB!

The fork again went right into the middle of his shaft. Angus of course was trying hard not to make a sound.

He held his spoon with his porridge in it, biting his tongue and praying that he would not make a big scene.

How could his wife be so fucking crazy?

The week before, though, they’d been in a regular restaurant, where NORMAL people went, and when

Angus had made the mistake of using the wrong spoon, Dulcie had poured boiling coffee into his lap, and

then she’d spanked him in the car with her hairbrush for “making a scene in the restaurant” It was quite

difficult to know where you stood with this woman!

Back at the door of the PainCafe, Bagshaw noticed that two lovely young ladies were coming in the door…

Claudia, the former Cyrus Thibodeau, and Eleanor, who had once been Ellis McKeigue, clergyman of

the Salvation Temple…Eleanor had just had her final surgery, and Claudia was taking her to lunch at the

PainCafe to celebrate, before they went home to their respective dominants…Bagshaw was thrilled to get the

ladies a table…such beauties deserved it!

TWENTY-TWO

After Fanchon and her graduate student friend, Morse got in the house; Fanchon quickly went and switched

on the computer web cam. “What do you think of this, Morse?” Fanchon asked. “This is my Wink’s

Wanking Web cam! Every night between nine and twelve my friend Theodosius Winkleburger masturbates

for three hours in front of the camera, and I get to watch him!”

Morse looked with some distaste at the camera, where a somewhat obese middle aged man was, indeed

pulling and tugging on a rather bloated and purple shaft. It didn’t look like he’d cum in some time. “I don’t

watch Wink all the time, you know…but he pays me to monitor him…it’s just a few dollars a month, and

when he’s lucky I let him have a spurtie.”

Fanchon laughed at Morse’s shocked expression. “Last month I made him bring home a male prostitute and

suck his dick before he was allowed to jerk off, and the month before that, I made him jerk off in front of his

open window. It was quite hilarious.”

As they turned to the web cam, Wink looked hurt. “Miss Fanchon! You have someone with you? Who’s

that?” Morse felt a bit ridiculous, even though the person doing the asking was whacking off naked in his

own house. God, old men have such disgusting stretch marks, Morse thought…worse than pregnant women.

But finally Fanchon lost interest in the web cam and they went to sit on the couch.

“I-I really liked what you wrote, your essay about dominatrixes in history…when I was correcting it, it made

me think of-experiences I’ve had.” Fanchon listened to Morse’s earnest words with a smile. God, these

graduate students had shitty little apartments. But he’s so sweet, she thought…short little Asian-American

kid, been staring at her tits for the entire semester Fanchon had been working to get the final credit for her

long-abandoned B.A.

“Morse, that’s great, I’m glad you liked the paper. But why did you bring me all the way over to your little

apartment to tell me this? Do you want me to whip you?” Forcefulness was Fanchon’s big point, it always

had been. And there he was, blushing, despite his brown skin, and look at the little bulge in his chinos! “You

may need it…but you have to tell Fanchon, honey.”

Morse was blushing and looking at the floor, poor thing. Fanchon could just imagine it…though Asian

American girls did very well with American guys, most American women were not attracted to little Chinese

guys…they wanted something macho. But Fanchon, of course, was pressing her long legs together with the

excitement of what torturing a needle-dicked little wuss like Morse Wong would be like!

“I-I haven’t dated much.” NO SHIT. “B-but I’ve read BDSM magazines for years, and I used to fantasize

about seeing a dominatrix, but you know there’s not a lot of money in my family—” No shit again. His

granddaddy was Sonny Wong, who owned Wong’s Dry Cleaning. Fanchon’s mom had once kneed Sonny in

the nuts for burning her good plaid skirt.

“And.., and I was afraid if I did go to a domme—-it might hurt too much. I did have one dominant friend—

Mistress Smallpox, but she’s another story.” He looked like a calf about to be slaughtered. “I-I think you’re so

beautiful, Miss Nemirow. I’ve really enjoyed teaching you—”

“Oh, but you want Fanchon to teach YOU now?” Fanchon laughed huskily and tossed her red curls over

her shoulder. She jiggled her breasts at him. As Morse gaped, Fanchon reached over and touched his crotch.

“Well you know, Morse, I’m offended that you would be so forward…and I think you need to be punished! I

think you’d better take down your pants and shorts and bend over my knee.” Fanchon paused, smiling. “But

only if you want to.”

Morse’s eyes filled with tears. Oops! Had she gone too far? But then he stood up and began unbuckling his

pants, letting them hit his ankles, and then he stood there, blushing in his shorts. “Take them down, Morsie.”

Fanchon said with a smile. “It’s not anything Mommie hasn’t seen before.”

Morse pulled his shorts down showing a tiny but quite erect penis. Goodness! The impudence! And then,

with a sigh, he lay across Fanchon’s leather skirt, his erection probing her legs enthusiastically. And Fanchon

raised her hand and brought it down with a medium swat on his bottom. She hit him ten more times. There

was a slight murmur, but nothing really.

Fanchon rubbed Morse’s back. “I’m thinking that you need a little more force, honey. Let Mommie see what

she has.” Fortunately she was carrying her large square handled wooden hairbrush, which she’d used the

other day in the changing room of a department store on Alfred’s ass, her errant husband…it was good to

carry the hairbrush around.

“Now try to be a brave boy, Morse. This may hurt just a bit!” WHACK! WHACK! THWACK! SMACK!

SNAP! Morse was no wimp, but he began struggling slightly, and as the hits continued, and his ass began

turning red and then purple, Morse began crying softly…and then a little louder, but he never left Fanchon’s

knee. What a good submissive!

Fanchon continued the spanking, and when it looked as if Morse might be ready to jump off her lap, she

gently but firmly took his right hand and held it behind his back, so he was quite powerless, and continued

operations with the hairbrush for the next half hour, hitting Morse over 250 times.

As the hairbrush came down further…the blotches on poor Morse’s asscheeks were getting more and more

purplish, and he was screaming louder and louder. Fanchon stopped for a moment, and rubbed Morse’s back,

and then his blistered cheeks.

“I want you to be a man, and take this spanking without a lot of weeping, Morse. I know you have a difficult

time because it hurts.” Fanchon watched his head tremble.

“It-it does hurt, Miss Fanchon…It hurts so much!” But Fanchon could feel Morse’s penis pressing into her

nyloned thighs. She knew she had him!

“Be a brave boy, Morse. If you can withstand a few more with the hairbrush, and maybe a few with your

belt—and—is that a fraternity paddle on the wall? Oh my.” Fanchon was fucking with him. She was going

to stop after about ten more swats with the hairbrush, but she was a heartless and merciless tease. “If you can

take a few more, Mommie will caress you and make you feel better.

Years ago my Italian father would take my jeans and panties down, yes right in front of my brothers and

whip me with the frying pan for using the Lord’s name in vain…you like that? I feel your dickie getting hard

when you think of little Fanchon being spanked. But I didn’t give Daddy the satisfaction of crying…and

if I can be tough, so can YOU Morse. I know you’ve had a tough life, honey. Your gramps owned Wong’s

Laundry, and your father is a prison guard, your Mom teaches elementary school and you’ve had to work

your way through Buttermilk State for your BA and your Master’s…you want the good life. And you’ll get it.

But it will take some punishment honey!”

And she resumed his paddling!

Finally, she let him get up, and she pulled Morse into her lap and began kissing his pretty black hair, and

kissing the tears out of his eyes, petting him gently…letting one of her boobs out of her tight top for Baby to

suck…and eventually she began stroking Morse’s cock…faster and faster until there was a little mess, which

she fed him off her fingers.

“It-it was—you were wonderful, Miss Fanchon!” Morse said, his eyes still quite wet. “You’re so good for me,

but it hurt so much…Can we…can—” But he was at a loss for words, and it was then that Fanchon decided

to invite him to the party she was having Saturday night.

TWENTY-THREE

Clarence Thibodeau staggered, as Blythe yanked heavily on the chain that was locked on his testicles.

Women in evening gowns and fellows in tuxedoes smiled at him, though Cleary noticed that Blume, the

plumber that replaced his water heater last year, was almost naked, except for a loin cloth and nipple clamps.

It was hell to be led by the balls naked at a party, especially by a beautiful girl like Blythe, who was

resplendent in a little black cocktail dress. Cleary’s hands were cuffed behind his back, and Blythe ignored

his lack of balance, as she tugged on his testes none too gently. This was so embarrassing, even if it was an

S&M party.

As Cleary passed groups of people talking, he bit his lip as he listened to the joyous conversation of dominant

women.” I control a young man in Belgium” a short redhead commented. “He keeps his keys in a strongbox,

and had his sister set up a combination, the code of which she sent to me. I have a marvelous time giving

Francois various line-writing and exercise assignments…it’s too fun!”

The woman standing next to her, who was a bit pudgy laughed. “I am so frustrated with Louis because he

is able to stay thin effortlessly, and as you know, I’ve been limiting my sugar intake to one piece of Hershey’s

Miniatures a week. My favorite is Mr. Goodbar. So if I reach into the bag with my eyes closed and take out a

Mr. Goodbar, that puts me in a great mood, and I’ll take off Louis’s chastity belt and let him fuck me. After

a week of denial, that makes Louis quite happy!”

The redhead with the Timelock chastity slave laughed and nodded.

“If I get a Krackel miniature, which is like a Nestlé’s Crunch, I’m happy enough, and I’ll let Louis take off

his chastity belt and jerk off and then he’s locked up again. I keep my clothes on, and it’s very brief for him.

If I take out a regular Hershey’s mini, I give Louis a kiss on the cheek…hey, that’s his thrill for the week, he

doesn’t get to cum, and all I get is a plain Hershey’s bar until my calorie chance next week. But if I get one

of those gross Hershey’s Special Dark chocolates, which I can’t stand, not only do I not give Louis an orgasm,

but I whip his ass with my bullwhip and send him to bed with no supper!”

The pudgy woman continued. “Now my daughter-in-law has a very different system with my son, as she is

not a compulsive overeater like I am. Shenandoah keeps a bowl of 100 little pieces of paper—five of them

say ‘Normie jerks to orgasm’ 30 of them have chores for Normie to do, and another 25 say ‘Normie services

Shenni’s lover before Shenandoah gets fucked’, another 20 have various punishments for Normie like

whipping, torture etc…And I forget what the rest are. But if Normie does a lot of things that Shen likes, he

can put one or two more slips in the bowl that say “Normie gets to jerk off’ He has only masturbated four

times in the past seven years under this system, poor boy, thank God that Shenandoah gives him jack-off

presents, or freebies now and then!”

Ignoring further conversation from the middle aged ladies, Cleary looked with disgust at a particularly

beautiful “woman” in a little cage being poked by interested men. Who is Cyrus kidding? He’s in a cage,

called Claudia? How could Cleary’s younger brother have had a sex-change operation? Cleary and Cyrus had

been raised by a psychotic governess who had mind-fucked them, and turned them into submissives…but

poor Cyrus/Claudia had gone a bit too far!

Cleary had tried therapy, different religions, Lifespring, Scientology, Transcendental Meditation, Rolfing,

personal coaching, four years in the Marines, but nothing had rid him of the desire to be a slave boy. He

could only respond sexually as a subbie…and like it or not, he was quite thrilled to be submitting to a hot

chick like Blythe!

Blythe had short, spiky black hair and very pale white skin, almost an involuntary Goth. Her 36CC boobs

pushed the little cocktail dress’s neckline out…every man, and a few women in the room were staring at her

hungrily. When Cleary had first met Blythe, she’d been quite deferential to him, as one of her real-estate

clients.

And she’d had tremendous respect and slight awe for the man who had built the shopping center that she

was going to lease out, store by store. He’d given her lots of sexist jabs about female incompetence, and

Blythe had laughed good naturedly. But then, as Cleary had been staring at Blythe’s INCREDIBLE tits,

nearly spilling out of her conservative black jacket, he’d noticed the necklace…he’d seen it before, at the

PainCafe’s gift shop!

He knew he shouldn’t say anything but…

“What a curious piece of jewelry” Cleary had begun. “Is that a little gold rhinestone studded whip on the end

of your chain?” Of course he knew what it was! Cleary and Cyrus had been sneaking over to the PainCafe’s

Dungeonopolis gift shop since they were in high school…they could describe the inventory by heart!

Flushing, Blythe had said “Um, Mr. Thibodeau, it—yes it is a little whip. An-an old boyfriend gave it to me.

I hope you don’t think it’s too inappropriate.” She coughed, and covered the necklace with one delicate hand.

“I won’t wear it if you think it would upset our clients, of course.”

And then Cleary had made his error. Or not a mistake…oh Jesus. “My-my first wife was the Dungeonopolis

purchasing agent years ago—”

“Oh your wife was Imogene, right? She knew the guy who designed that necklace!” Blythe had said excitedly.

And then Cleary had noticed that Blythe’s eyes went from appreciative and admiring of him to a sort of cool

contempt…not in a nasty way, just like she was a camp counselor or babysitter, and Cleary was a brat she

had to deal with…she could be nice, or she could be nasty!

“Oh my God, you’re Imogene’s sub-pig Weary Cleary…when I was about nineteen, Imogene led the Female

Led Relationships seminar at the PainCafe Ballroom! She kicked the shit out of you, right there on stage! My

girlfriends and I were like, God, she’s so sexy for someone who’s like thirty-eight years old.

And she really—we loved it when she told us about how the alarm went off in the morning and shocked

your nipples and genitals and you screamed from your doggie bed until she was ready to wake up? And then

she’d hit the Snooze button, and then it would shock you again ten minutes later?”

They’d had quite a talk…Cleary explained that he’d divorced Imogene when he’d gotten “therapy” but then

his second and third wives, normal, non-S/M types had just not done it for him…so he was now quite single,

and occasionally dated dominant women he met at the PainCafe, or at the Tawse Club in the next state.

“And no one is holding your chastity keys?” Blythe had said, smiling. “You poor man.”

Cleary had gasped. “How-how did you know I was into chastity?” Cleary had asked this quite puzzled.

“Honey I can tell you’re a compulsive jack-off boy. You need to be locked up, BADLY. Imogene had you in

chastity, and I bet you’ve been running wild since you two divorced, right?”

They’d gone to dinner that night, and Cleary had hinted that she should invite him up when they pulled

up to her apartment, but Blythe had demurred. But she’d kissed him deeply on the mouth, and Cleary had

felt her little hand unzipping his pants, and pulling out his hard cock. Massaging it expertly, Blythe had

whispered in Cleary’s ear.

“I remember Imogene telling us—this was like, eleven years ago, ‘cause I was nineteen then, and I’m thirty

now—that she had to keep your sorry ass locked up in a belt ALL the time, because otherwise when you

guys went to dinner at some girls house, you’d sneak off to her bathroom and pull your pants down and

sniff panties while you jerked off in a strange woman’s bedroom…Imogene said that she had to lock you up

and let you cum about once every thirty days…and when you were bad, about once every NINETY…’cause

you’re a total loser perv, right?”

Cleary had looked briefly away from Blythe’s heaving cleavage, where the little whip-necklace rested to where

her bright red nails were rubbing and toying with his stiff cock…he gasped as she rubbed and stroked it,

feeling the little metal circle that was embedded in his glans. “So this is your piercing…you moved on from

chastity belts, huh, Cleary? Some smart girl put you in a Prince Albert piercing…but you’re running around

loose, playing with your dingie..Someone has to do something about that.”

Blythe had jerked Cleary’s dick faster, and plunged her tongue down his throat, and then pulled out one of

her nipples for Cleary to suck, and suck he did, quite greedily. And then, just as he was about to cum, she

SLAPPED him. HARD. “Do you have the key to your piercing, asswipe?” Blythe had asked severely. “Give

it to me NOW.” She pulled her hand away. “Or, never see me again, outside of a business relationship.”

Luckily, or unluckily, Cleary DID have the keys to his piercing. And he handed them to her wordlessly. She

apparently knew a great deal about piercings, because she made him pull his pants completely down in the

car, so they were around his ankles near the gas pedal and the brake, and Miss Blythe had pushed back his

dick, connected the links, and locked on the tiny padlock quite briskly.

“Okay, I can’t see you for about a month.” Blythe had then said, as she dropped the keys to Cleary’s belt in

her purse. “Except of course for work-related stuff. But I hope to have dinner with you thirty days from now,

when we’ll talk.”

TWENTY-FOUR

The difference between chastity fantasy and chastity reality has always been painful for the submissive

male, and of course poor Cleary had been on a great little diet of dommes, hookers (for he liked vanilla sex

a bit) and pornography, jerking off five to ten times a day while eating Viagra, and all of a sudden, he had

to distractedly play with his piercing, which had not been locked in over a year…and he got hornier and

hornier…And Blythe was a woman of her word…no dates for thirty days!

There had been numerous chaste lunches, and Cleary kept trying to bring up the subject of the key, and

the locked rings. Because of course now he couldn’t masturbate at ALL. On one chaste lunch, Cleary had

mumbled something about how it wasn’t hygienic for him to wear the piercing without cleaning it, and how

he should be unlocked. Amazingly, Blythe had asked the waiter to use the private employee bathroom, and

to borrow some Witch Hazel, and she doused his poor dick with the alcohol as soon as they got in there.

Blythe unlocked the piercing, rubbed it vigorously (and painfully) with the rubbing alcohol, and then locked

him up again…and then KICKED HIM IN THE BALLS for trying to “manipulate” her…what a girl!

Then they had their first “date”…he’d been sending her flowers and little gifts, and she was appreciative…

Blythe, what a girl! Finally she let him come up to her little apartment, and, after having Cleary do her

cleaning, laundry, and ironing. She’d unlocked his chastity piercing and bound Cleary’s hands behind his

head…and then she’d brought out this vile thing…

Six foot long strands of barbed wire wrapped at the end with hockey tape! “I call this my Booster. Don’t be

a bitch, Cleary” Blythe had said cheerily. “I know you can take it!” Cleary had left Blythe’s apartment four

hours later—she’d alternately teased his dick, rubbing her boobs against it, and stroking him to near-orgasm,

and whipping him with The Booster. All over his cock, balls, inner thighs…and then his shoulders, back

and buttocks…

And then she’d stripped off her little frock and she’d allowed Cleary to kiss her entire, beautiful body…the

pale white full breasts, and her perfectly flat stomach, and the V shaped pubic hair…he’d licked her to five

orgasms, and then attempted to stick “it” in…And she’d grabbed his balls, twisted them, and kicked him off

the bed!

…and then she’d locked Cleary up again and sent him home, sans orgasm. Then there had been more dates…

For one date, Blythe asked Cleary if he’d like to go camping! Cleary had been an avid backpacker in his early

twenties, and thought it might be neat to hang out in Buttermilk Falls National Park…but she’d brought

along her BOYFRIEND, a lunk called Trent. Blythe and Trent had made passionate love in the tent while

poor Cleary had had to stay outside and stoke the campfire, and then he’d been invited into the tent to

“clean up” the lovers with his tongue…

The next day, Cleary had said the wrong thing to Trent and then, Trent and Blythe had tied Cleary to a

picnic table and thrashed his penis and balls with stinging nettles! They’d gotten rather bored after this, and

gone fishing, pouring honey on Cleary’s prone body so he could be at the mercy of the bees and mosquitoes

for a bit…Poor Cleary had really learned that Blythe was a tough Mistress…and of course she didn’t let him

cum on that trip, either.

The hardest part had been having to continually service both Trent and Blythe… it was almost as if Cleary

wasn’t a man at all…just a slave pig with an irrelevant cock. Trent had thought it funny to cuff Cleary’s

hands behind his back and stuff a pinecone up his rectum, and Blythe had had almost no sympathy for him.

However, when Trent had fallen asleep drunk the last night, Blythe had stripped and allowed Cleary to kiss

and lick her luscious, wonderful breasts, and suck her sweet clitoris for nearly an hour….

And then she’d removed the chastity device and let Cleary stick it in, and pull in and out, with the codicil

that if he dared to cum, she’d stick his dick into a nearby hornets’ nest! The wet pussy tightening around

Cleary’s cock had brought him dangerously close to orgasming, especially after nearly six weeks of celibacy,

but Cleary held off gamely, and he’d fucked Blythe to several really great orgasms….finally she’d snapped

her fingers and he’d pulled out and she’d re-locked him in his chastity piercing. “I am letting you wait to

cum…It’s good for you, babe.” Blythe had told him…and he had to take her word for it!

They’d actually been dating now for six weeks, and he still hadn’t cum. He thought she’d appreciate

Fanchon’s BDSM party, but he’d been absolutely horrified when she’d said “Great, you can go naked!” She

didn’t even KNOW Fanchon, but when Cleary had intimated that the event would be clothing optional…

she’d opted for his nudity!

Now, Cleary just followed his lovely new girlfriend, hands cuffed behind his back, balls being yanked…she

was so beautiful! Would she humiliate him further? He knew she had The Booster in her handbag!

TWENTY-FIVE

“Morse…come here. Honest to God, you got to see it, there’s a freaking’ naked dude on the bathroom floor.”

Ratface O’Rourke gestured towards the bathroom door. “Morse you MUST see this, it’s insane. He asked

me if he could drink my pee. Do you have a camera on your cell phone? We should get a shot of him for the

Rotten dot com website or something.”

With an appellation like Emerson Hastings Wong III, Rat’s buddy should have felt aristocratic, but his first

name had been bastardized to “Morse” by the kids on the street years before…though not as derivative as

Grandpa’ who’d been called “Sonny” or Dad, Emerson Junior (“E. J.”). However, Morse was no aristocrat,

just a hard working Buttermilk State U. teaching assistant, who’d been invited by one of his Adult Education

students, gorgeous Fanchon Nemirow, to an honest to goodness adult party. An ADULT party.

Morse wondered if Sonia would be here. Mistress Smallpox, his old friend. But that was ridiculous, of

course. She was back in Boston. But there were a lot of people with her philosophy at this weird party, man.

Everyone was here, even Senator Antonovich who Morse had once done an internship for…and he was in a

WEIRD position here.

Morse had already been goggling at topless women with mouse trapped nipples serving cucumber cups filled

with creamed Dolce latté on trays cuffed to their wrists…and Timothy Pickford from their seminar, being

whipped with a cane by a large black man…Timothy, who was a pompous fuck, apparently had known

Fanchon from Pervert-World here, and had encouraged her to take classes…

It was interesting watching Tim finally getting a little pain, as he could be a horrific ass at school! “Notice

he’s not going on about his articles in Lingua Franca now, dude” Rat had said earlier, as they’d watched

Tim’s vigorous flogging.

But a naked guy who wanted to be peed on? Morse followed Rat to the lavatory, and son of a bitch, there he

was…a middle aged dude on the floor, with his wrists cuffed to his balls. How horrible it must be, thought

Morse to have to be bent over like that, not being able to keep your hands away from your nuts.

“Hello boys, I’m Alfred Nemirow, Fanchon’s husband. I can service you by taking your urine or”—the naked

guy shuddered—”other waste orally, as the toilet is not in use now, and I also can provide fellatio. I am slave

Alfred, and I am here to be of service.” The man said this somewhat mechanically, as if he knew he had to

mouth it, but wanted to get it over with, as if he were a telemarketer with limited job skills.

“Really, I can use the toilet” Morse said. “Is it seriously stopped up? Is there a plunger?” But the man shook

his head and pointed to his open mouth. This is so random, Morse thought, but when in Rome… Morse

unzipped his fly and took out his dick, and aimed carefully for Alfred’s mouth, and peed, and he had to give

it to the old guy—he caught it all, except one or two drops.

“Oh dear.” Alf said after Morse zipped up. “I lost a few drops. That means you have to punish me with this

dog-whip.” He pointed to a short leather flogger-thing in the corner. “I’ll just bend over the bathtub here.”

Morse was a little nauseated by this, and wanted to back off, but Rat picked up the whip.

“Whatever floats your boat!” Rat winked at Morse. Morse knew the real reason Rat was being so obliging

was because he was pissed that earlier Fanchon’s husband (while still dressed) had told Rat he had to smoke

outside. Rat was a mean fuck when he wanted to be. Morse stepped back in horror as Rat went at Alfred’s

butt with the dog whip.

“You give head? Excellent!” Rat said, and he dropped his pants and began whacking his dick across Alf’s

face…and then shoved it in, skull-fucking Alfred like there was no tomorrow. Morse was somewhat startled,

as Rat had always seemed quite hetero, having hit on and sometimes bedded, despite his physical ugliness,

many of the undergraduates they were entrusted to tutor.

As Rat jammed his dick in and out of Alf’s choking mouth he turned to Morse with a grin “Remember I

wasn’t always a grad student…we used to do this to incoming fish in the Bronx House of Youth Detention!”

Finally, Rat pulled his dick out and shot all over Alfred’s unfortunate face…”Aaah.” he said happily.

“Now I’ll smoke, and put my cigarette out in your mouth, asshole.” Ratface said, and Alfred reluctantly

nodded and opened his mouth again, gingerly rubbing his welted bottom. Morse gagged while this went on,

and stepped outside, to go get a drink. A BIG drink.

Ratface flicked his butt into Alf’s mouth after he’d ground it out on his tongue. He turned to leave the

bathroom when a HOT little blonde pigeonholed him outside the bathroom door.

“Hi, I’m Demeter, but call me Demi…I was watching you thrashing Alfred!” She opened huge blue eyes, and

Rat’s eyes were transfixed on her heaving bosom.

“Hey, I—he asked me to do it, right? I guess I shouldn’t have done the smoking thing—”Rat knew how to

pretend to be sensitive. It was the only way to get in these therapy head chick’s pants, you know?

“No, I understand…he deserved it! You know, you’re so stunningly ugly…and scary looking!” Demeter said

to Rat, but it seemed to be a compliment. “Don’t you think so, Cinder…isn’t he great?” Demi turned to

a stone hottie behind her who looked very much like Demi…fraternal twins, maybe. But Cinder had slightly

darker hair…and even BIGGER boobs. Yes, they were both staring at his ugly face! And they weren’t the

first chicks here to do that!

“Yeah, I’m um, Rat…he did deserve it didn’t he?” Weird, usually Ratface had to pretend to be sensitive to

score with chicks like this!”

Rat couldn’t believe the way women at this party were staring at his rodent like pock marked mug…they all

looked like they wanted him to hit them or something!

Ratface, so dubbed by a crack-addled, schizophrenic mother, who wrote whatever came in her head on the

birth certificate for each of her numerous offspring, made it to college through straight B’s and a lucky

jump shot.

Rat had passed leadership of his street gang to his half brother, Vacancy, after getting the basketball

scholarship, but now wished Vake was here at this weird-ass party instead of doing life without…If chicks

were attracted to Rat because of his dangerous ugly face, Vacancy would’ve been a hit!

“I’m supposed to go do service in the bathroom downstairs, but I’m a little scared” Demi said. “Cinder has

been trying to get me to go down there. Maybe you could go with us.”

Rat watched with an open mouth as Cinder grabbed Demi by the back of the scalp. “Demeter, you were

supposed to be kneeling naked in that bathroom five minutes ago. If you can’t get it together to go down

there right now, I’m going to borrow Rat’s belt and take your panties down and whip your butt right here

and now!”

Demi suddenly burst into quiet tears. Rat realized he’d seen Demeter before—-she was the emergency room

physician at Buttermilk General—he’d seen her when he cut his thumb on a beer can last spring! And now

the other girl grabbed his arm. “Can you help me take my naughty sister down to the other bathroom to do

what she has to do…it won’t take long, Rat.”

TWENTY-SIX

As the kids moved away from the bathroom, Alf sighed and tried to digest Rat’s Marlboro cigarette butt. He

wondered if the crushed tobacco would poison him. If it did, Fanchon wouldn’t care, she really wouldn’t.

Alfred tried to move, but it was impossible to keep his balance, with his wrists locked to his scrotum.

The hardest part about having your wrists locked to your crotch was keeping from touching your wee-wee..

Fanchon had taken Alf’s chastity device off, but warned him that if he jerked off, and she felt his balls were

lighter, there would be hell to pay after the party was over!

The bathroom door opened again, and this time it was just a beautiful, though quite drunk curly haired

girl of about twenty-six. Stacked like a brick shithouse in a lovely vibrantly colored evening gown with a

plunging neckline, she looked uncertainly at Alfred. “Fanchon told me about you…I got to pee, I’ve had too

much sangria” she said.

A moment later, Alfred’s head was under her dress, and the girl peed, and peed, and PEED. Her kidneys

seemed to have all the pee for the Western Hemisphere, and then she peed more. Alfred drank it all down,

his mouth carefully not touching her gorgeous quim…but then she wouldn’t let him leave the shelter of her

dress!

“You give me an orgasm now. I heard you can really give a good one…lick!” And Alfred went to work. Earlier

he’d had to perform this chore on a severely overweight fifty-six year old woman who hadn’t bathed down

there since Wategate;but the perks of this bathroom-attendant thing were working out now.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Blythe DeKruyter had been a rebellious little delinquent when she arrived at her 12th foster home. Mrs.

Freudenheim, Blythe’s social worker had warned Della Reneau to be careful. “She’s a little hellion,

Ms.Reneau, and it’s good of you and your husband to take her in.” But Della Reneau was known for her

success with foster kids, particularly teenagers.

There were three boys living there, all foster kids, and though they looked like hard customers, they seemed

to do chores around the house and do their studies without complaint. One boy, J-Dog, who Blythe

had once hot-wired a car with told her, “Blythe, I been here a year and a half now. Della is good people.”

Della was a gorgeous, though tough looking blonde, and it had been a mystery to Blythe what she had in

common with Specs, her short, chunky husband with the Woody Allen glasses. Blythe had expected the

Reneaus to put her to work, like every other foster family had…but all Della had asked her to do was check

the kitchen after Specs had cleaned it the first night, and tell her if he’d neglected anything.

Weirdly, Specs had cleaned the entire kitchen until it was sparkling, but he’d left one cup in the sink. Blythe,

leaning back on the wall in her hot little leather flight jacket had said “You just forgot one cup, Mr.Reneau,

you want me to wash it and put it away?” But Specs had smiled, and told her to report the EXACT condition

of the kitchen to his wife.

Well, what happened next? In her years in foster care, Blythe had been disciplined physically, a LOT, and

she’d seen other kids in the foster homes get it bad…but she’d never seen a foster parent take her husband’s

pants and undies down and whip him with a sawed-off broomstick! And then, incredibly, Della had said

“Blythe, my arm is tired, can you give him a couple? I’d so appreciate it, and I know you must have anger to

get out of your system!”

Blythe had gone to where Specs was leaning over the arm of the couch, weeping, with his pants down

around his ankles, and his butt bright red. “Are you sure, Mr.Reneau?” But he’d nodded, and turned to give

Blythe a flirtatious wink!

And this had irritated her. The old pervert! So she’d taken up the cane and hit Specs Reneau thirty times!

He’d howled and protested, but he’d not moved a muscle…later, he’d pulled his pants up and helped Blythe

with her algebra homework.

But then later that evening, Blythe had sneaked out of bed, with the plan of smoking a joint on the balcony

(the Reneaus were fairly well off, and had a beautiful house with about five balconies…it was a mystery as

to why they wanted to add to their income by taking in unwanted kids) and as she’d passed the Reneaus

bedroom, she’d heard some crying, and she’d peeked through a crack in the door.

Della had looked up, and smiled at Blythe. “Come on in, honey. I’m just doing a little work with Specs here.”

Specs was tied spread-eagled on the bed, quite naked, and Della was still wearing the tight little halter and

jeans she’d been in since early afternoon. She was running her pink nails up and down Spec’s hard cock…

but as he got to the point of orgasming, Blythe saw Della pick up the sawed off broom handle, and whack

poor Specs right in the nuts…HARD.

Then Della had returned to her manual ministrations, and Specs had moaned and gasped…and as he

became more excited, Della said…”Hey Blythe, if you’d like a little pleasure, you can mount Spec’s face…it’s

quite a fun time, at least in my opinion.”

By the time Blythe went to bed she no longer needed to smoke a joint to feel good. She felt GREAT.

The next morning, Blythe had come downstairs, stretching lazily. The boys had been off riding their

motorcycles, (It was a Saturday) and Della and Specs were finishing breakfast. “Do you want something,

Blythe?” Specs had asked, touching Blythe’s arm affectionately. “I can make you an omelet, Belgian waffles,

pancakes…”

Blythe had neglected to put on anything except for a short Britney Spears T-shirt, and she reached up and

gave Specs a deep neck kiss, which Della noted with amusement. Blythe had then reached down and grasped

Specs’s crotch and rubbed his penis through his pajama pants for just a moment or so, before pulling back,

giggling to herself as she watched her foster father staring at her nipples boldly hanging braless in the concert

T-shirt.

“Whatever you think I need, Uncle Specs.” And then Blythe gave Della a hug, too…and this was the first

time she’d ever hugged one of her authority figures!

“When you finish breakfast, make sure Specs cleans up, Blythe. And get him to straighten the living room; as

well…I have to go see my boyfriend.” Blythe didn’t miss the pained look on Specs’s face as Della made this

pronouncement. “And if he does a good job, you can let him have his Special Reward.” What was that?

After breakfast, Blythe watched as Specs cleaned the kitchen, and then, after she pointed to the vacuum,

Specs went to work in the living room…and after that “I want you to clean all my tops and pants, dresses

and skirts, put them in plastic bags with mothballs” Blythe said, grinning…what a busy guy!

Finally Specs was finished with all the chores, and then Blythe slipped her panties off, and lay back on the

couch, spreading her legs. “Give me a little pleasure…c’mon you faggot!”

Specs licked and sucked Blythe to several orgasms, and then worshipped her adorable little pink butt a bit as

well…she licked her lips and moaned and screamed…what a good time.

But when he was done, Blythe said “What’s your special reward? I guess I’ll let you have it.”

Specs smiled happily, squinting through his thick lenses at the beautiful teenager. He went to the closet

and brought out a peculiar contraption—three strands of rope tied together. Two of the strands had little

sharp toothy clips, which he snapped on his nipples after taking off his clothes. Specs pulled the third strand,

which was attached to a small metal cock ring, around his scrotum and penis.

Blythe came up to Specs and began stroking his cock. “What a cute little pecker you have, old man…so I

get this, when your dick gets hard, it pulls on the nipple clamps? That’s cute.” Blythe rubbed the tip of Spec’s

dick and traveled her fingers up and down his rapidly growing shaft, and he began groaning as the weight of

his bulging cock began pulling on the nipple clamps.

“And now let me get the other part of my special reward.” Specs said, grinning, and went back to the closet,

bringing out a fearsome looking black stick with six thick thongs of rawhide, each with a hook on the end.

“This is called a knout.” Specs said smiling. “We bought it in Europe. They were initially used in Russia

in the fifteenth century for flogging criminals and other offenders. Would you use it on me while I

pleasure myself?”

While Blythe fingered the knout, Specs knelt on the living room floor, and began masturbating, and as he

pulled his penis, it continued to grow, pulling the nipple clamps down, making him moan more, and his

cock got harder and harder. As he straightened up, the clamps pulled his testicles up painfully, and the fat

little four-eyed geek gasped in crotch pain.

Blythe first stood in front of Specs and pulled up her concert T-shirt showing her full breasts and tiny,

shaved pussy with all the vaginal piercings. “Like this, Uncle Specs? Wish you could fuck me…you know

you never will!” Blythe toyed with one of her nipples, making it thick and hard, “Want to suck my tittie

there, Uncle Specs?”

Specs groaned and gaped at the hot young girl through his thick lenses, and continued to stroke his penis

faster and faster, further torturing his poor nipples. “Yes, more than anything, Blythe…you know I’d love to

suck your nipples!” Blythe smiled and rubbed her boobs together as Specs continued to choke his chicken.

“I used to fuck my last foster father, who was a two-time loser hot check artist, Reno Rhodes, and I also used

to go down on his wife, Olene…it was a nightmare, but I learned lots about sex from them both….but they

weren’t wimps like you are, with that tiny pathetic dick of yours, Specs.”

Specs’s face turned red and he looked a little sad at the girl’s words, but he kept jerking his dick hopefully,

and as Blythe gripped the knout and walked behind Specs, he closed his eyes in anticipation of the thrashing.

“Yeah, Reno was a bad seed,but he at least had a big dick, and taught me a few things. But what could you

teach me, Specs? You’re just bad genes congealed baby…and I must punish you for wanting to fuck your

little foster daughter, you bad man!”

WHACK! THWACK! SLASH! SMASH! Blythe slashed Specs’s buttocks, back and upper thighs again and

again until her arm was tired. Specs had an amazing constitution and didn’t utter a sound as his punishment

was meted out. Blythe was quite pleased with the long bloody red marks and cuts from the hooks on the

ends of the knout thongs, and their effect on Specs’s back, buttocks, and thighs.

But Blythe heard Specs groaning and moaning. “Are you close to cumming?” Blythe screamed. “Not yet you

don’t!” She ran around to Specs’s front and began using the Knout on Spec’s penis and balls and soon Specs’s

dick was tiny again.

“B-but Miss Blythe” Specs begged, “My treat is to get to cum, now…please let me!” But Blythe was adamant.

She’d long noticed a pair of handcuffs on the coffee table, and she locked Specs’s hands behind his back, and

got down on one knee and looked closely into Specs’s spectacle covered eyes.

“It’s not going to be that easy for you, you slutpig.” Blythe said, smiling. “I’m going to get up and raise my leg

over your face, and I want you to lick me to some more orgasms. Lick hard, and make me scream, bitch-boy!”

Blythe raised her leg over Specs’s face, and indeed he licked her again and again, and she was thoroughly

satisfied within a few moments.

“Now then, I want you to lie on your stomach, and rub your dick against the carpet…and I’ll keep you

dancing with the Knout for a while…how’s that?” And she whipped Specs harder with the Knout as he

ground his dick against the carpet, and finally there was a low moan, and Specs had finally made a mess,

and of course then Blythe took him by the back of the neck and made him lick it all up! She really thought

the whole foster care experience was just getting so much better!

But life got even MORE interesting. One day, she overheard Della telling J-Dog that a B wasn’t good

enough…Apparently J-Dog, who Blythe had remembered as barely being able to read, had graduated

valedictorian of his high school class and was now a straight A student at Buttermilk Falls Junior College…

all since living with Della and Specs!

J-Dog still sported green hair and wore Black Sabbath T-shirts, and had a LOUD motorcycle, but was a

diligent student, but not diligent enough, because Della was mad at him, and wouldn’t give him something

he desperately wanted.

“P-please give it to me, Aunt Della.” J-Dog begged. “I’ve been trying’ so hard. I got A’s on all my quizzes until

now—” But Della had shook her head. “Go on your date without it…just be a gentleman.” And Della had

begun laughing to beat the band.

Blythe had looked utterly puzzled, until Della jerked down J-Dog’s battered jeans, displaying Blythes’ first

look at a chastity belt. “You see, Blythe, I told Jeremy here that he could go on his date with or without his

chastity belt on, depending on if he passed his Plane Trigonometry test…but he didn’t study, he wanted to

go and see Richard Scalpel and the Abortions at the Satan’s Rectum Club…instead of studying!”

Blythe had found that rather hilarious also!

Blythe had ended up living with the Reneaus for the rest of her tenure in foster care, and even through

graduating from college! The female domination lifestyle had done wonders for her, and although she liked

to fuck insensitive, regular guys, she was smart enough not to use those men for REAL relationships…slave

boys were so much more useful!

Cleary for example had brought Blythe to this fabulous party. She was meeting new and different folks

in the BDSM community. Now she ordered Cleary to kneel beside her as she sat on the couch next to a

quiet young Asian guy, and she munched sausage balls, enjoying the cheddar cheese IMMENSELY. Cleary,

kneeling helplessly, looked like he wanted a sausage ball, but Blythe didn’t give a fuck.

“Hi” ventured the Asian guy. “Those sausage balls are pretty good. It’s the mustard, I think.”

“Yup” responded Blythe with her mouth full. “They’re damned good. I’m Blythe, by the way.” She jerked

a manicured thumb at her naked companion. “That’s Cleary, but he’s irrelevant. I heard someone call you

Morse…like the code, right?”

“Like the code, right.” said the young Asian guy, smiling. “This is my first, um, kinky party. I’ve never been

to anything like this before.”

Blythe and Morse began an intense conversation about male submission, and also about their lives…and,

while Cleary knelt naked and ignored, Blythe and Morse necked a bit, and Blythe permitted Morse to feel

her up! It was quite an evening…”You’re the most beautiful, understanding woman…Fanchon’s been terrific,

but you’re incredible!” Morse said.

Blythe found Morse quite easy to talk to, and she quickly got him to discuss his fantasies. She discovered that

he’d had some scary experiences with dominant women before, and was quite frightened that his life would

be eclipsed by BDSM if he weren’t careful. “I really want to be a weekend warrior if you know what I mean?”

Morse said. “I don’t want to do it full time, be a full time slave.”

“Well, there are different levels of submissiveness you know, Morse” she said. “For instance, Cleary, the naked

fool kneeling beside me here, is on a totally different level of submissiveness than you might be.” Blythe

jerked a manicured thumb at Cleary, who was kneeling in utter silence, indeed naked and humiliated.

“Cleary is a bit like my old boyfriend Phineas. Back in college I lived in a house with several submissive guys.

Rowland was sort of a half-sub. He came and went as he pleased, and he and I played femdom games on the

weekend sometimes. On Friday night, Rowlie would go out with one of his girlfriends and they’d have a

normal date and he’d come back home later, and then on Saturday night, Rowland would dress in women’s

clothes and I’d fuck him with a dildo and whip his sorry ass…and then he was back to being normal again.”

Blythe grinned as she remembered. She sipped her Cosmopolitan and noted that Morse was watching her

avidly. “But Phineas had a different deal. Although it was actually Phinny’s house, you’d think he’d have the

majority of the power, but Phineas was a total slave. When Phineas was not at work or cleaning the house

or doing sessions with me in the basement dungeon, he was in his room, naked. Phineas was not allowed to

leave his room to go to the bathroom. I kept him pretty busy writing punishment lines and listening to my

taped rants on his headphones.”

Blythe was noting that both men were looking at her now. Cleary looked a little worried. He was, of course

wondering if that was his fate in Blythe’s plan. Who knew?

“Both men took turns dividing the chores, cooking for me, and cleaning up, but as I said, Rowlie of course

had time for himself, friends, sports bars, Frisbee team, all that stuff, and Phineas was just limited to his

room…Rowlie could go out and get laid, unless I had him on a chastity restriction, while Phineas’s dick was

locked up like, eleven months out of the year.” Blythe paused, remembering.

“And Phineas didn’t get minor punishments like Rowlie, either. I routinely used canes, whips, switches and

electro-shock on Phinny, but Rowland was usually just subjected to hairbrush spankings…but it worked out!”

Blythe smiled at Morse, and casually she reached over with her stockinged foot, just briefly out of it’s high

heel, and began rubbing Morse’s crotch.

“B-but what if a slave doesn’t know what he wants?” Morse asked, as he kept his hands carefully by his sides.

Evidently, Morse’s penis was greatly enjoying the massage from Blythe’s talented toes. “Like, I am really

turned on by the Phineas situation, but I also like getting laid and all that…and I have friends and other

people I like to see. It’s weird.”

Blythe thought about how to answer Morse. She could see that Morse was headed, if she worked it right, to

being a full-on slave boy like Cleary was. Even if she’d not seen Imogene torturing Cleary all those years ago,

she’d have known that Cleary was made for high level submission. And she could see real potential for the

same with nerdy little Morse. But she couldn’t scare him off, right?

“I think you’re very cute, Morse, and I can tell you must think I am, since you can’t take your eyes off my

boobs…if you were interested in a relationship with me, or any other dominant woman, she’d respect your

boundaries, while encouraging you to slightly expand them…you and I might make love, whereas I’ll never

fuck Cleary. He will be lucky if I let him jerk off within the next month, you know what I mean?”

As Morse laughed, Cleary burst into quiet tears. Blythe looked at him contemptuously. “Big, strong

capitalist…bullshit. What a weakling you are, Cleary. I may force you to suck Morse’s dick tonight, how

about that?”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Morse had thought he would never meet a dominant woman, at least while he was young. But a curious

thing happened. During Morse’s junior year in high school, his father, E. J. went to teach for a year in

Heidelberg, Germany, taking Morse’s mom and the younger kids with him. Morse went to live with his aged

grandmother…

And when Morse acted up, Granny usually sent Morse to be disciplined by his uncle Osbert…Osbert was

from the non-Asian side of the family, and was of Slovakian very husky, and muscular ancestry. Ozzie kicked

Morse in shape when the kid fell asleep smoking pot and burned up Granny’s antique quilt, and when he

missed his midnight curfew, coming in drunk at four a.m. six days in a row…

But when Granny caught Morse going through her purse so he could go out and buy a cap of China

White, she said with distress…”I want you to go over to Uncle Osbert’s…but he’s down with the flu…but

your Cousin Madeira will take care of you, though she’s so young…”

Morse had thought that was funny. Cousin Maddie was a hot little honey blonde, but she only weighed

about ninety pounds. But when he’d walked in to see her, Maddie had been quite proactive! She’d grabbed

Morse by his long hair, and dragged him to the dining room table. “You like ripping off our pension

dependent grandma, huh Morse?”

Morse tried to grab Maddie’s arm, but he’d forgotten that she’d studied Ju-Jitsu from the ages of seven to

sixteen. Maddie’s little size seven foot crashed into Morse’s jaw and he knew nothing. When he came to,

Morse was naked hands bound together with clothesline and ankles the same, across the dining room table.

Maddie was trimming the leaves off a long, deadly looking switch that came from the spruce tree in the back

yard. Morse looked weakly at her…and of course, as always he was distracted. Maddie, although a tiny five

foot one, had 36 DD breasts that almost ripped through the hot pink stretch tube top she was wearing. Her

honey blonde hair was tied up in a business like bun at the back of her head, and her jeans looked like they’d

been painted on.

Maddie had taken the switch and slashed Morse’s bare buttocks with it, and her boobs jiggled as she swung

again and again.

“You know,(WHACK!!!) Morse…I’ve ,(WHACK!!!) always thought,(WHACK!!!) that Aunt Phyllis

shouldn’t have ,(WHACK!!!) married ,(WHACK!!!) into the,(WHACK!!!) Chinese side of the family…

,(WHACK!!!) you’re just ,(WHACK!!!) a weak skinny,(WHACK!!!) Asian pissant…and now,(WHACK!!!)

you like ripping ,(WHACK!!!) off your grandmother. A worthless ,(WHACK!!!) junkie, and I ,(WHACK!!!)

know you and your loser friends ,(WHACK!!!) been jerking ,(WHACK!!!) off and watching ,(WHACK!!!)

my sisters ,(WHACK!!!) and I ,(WHACK!!!) when we were ,(WHACK!!!) skinny dipping in Dad’s pool…”

As he had resisted the intense pain from the swishing spruce switch, Morse had blushed. How could she

know that? But it was true, he and his buddies, Ralphie, Whitey and the Hernandez twins, Pedro and Pablo,

had lined up in the alley, staring through the holes in the fence at those hot girls.

And Maddie went on, as she landed the switch again and again, nailing Morse’s bare butt…”Every

(WHACK!!!) summer…you, (WHACK!!!) didn’t ask, (WHACK!!!) if you, (WHACK!!!) could join us,

probably, (WHACK!!!) because we would’ve, (WHACK!!!) demanded you swim ,(WHACK!!!) naked

too, and, (WHACK!!!) you were too, (WHACK!!!) chicken shit to do that, (WHACK!!!) you’d rather,

(WHACK!!!) just jerk your (WHACK!!!) tiny dicks behind the, (WHACK!!!) fence, (WHACK!!!) in the

alley, (WHACK!!!) risking a morals, (WHACK!!!) charge if a cop, (WHACK!!!) had come by…you’d

,(WHACK!!!) rather watch than, (WHACK!!!) take a chance ,(WHACK!!!) of actually having ,(WHACK!!!)

a real relationship with, (WHACK!!!) a girl…pornography ,(WHACK!!!) freaks that you ,(WHACK!!!) are.

voyeurs!”

Then Maddie had dragged Morse off the dining room table and stood him up. At this point he was sobbing

bitterly. Humiliated by his younger cousin who not only was seeing HIM naked for the first time, but was

thrashing him with a switch! Actually, Maddie had broken two switches and was now on a third.

“Let’s see you dance now!” Maddie said, as she began whipping Morse from the front—his legs and chest,

and the tip of his dick. As the switch slashed his penis and legs and bounced off his nipples, Morse began

jumping up and down, trying to avoid the switch. But of course his ankles were still bound, so he had to just

sort of do a Pogo stick thing, and Maddie had laughed merrily as she’d swung the switch again and again…

Finally Maddie, had taken a break and began fondling Morse’s dick. “You are such a dope fiend loser, Morse.”

she said, shaking her head.

“Your whole family has always looked down on my dad and me because he’s a meat cutter, and you’ve had

plenty of spending money and an allowance, while I’ve stocked shelves at the store where Dad is a butcher…

and you still need more money for your filthy drugs!”

As she’d lambasted Morse, her little white fingers had begun exploring the length of his shaft with her

fingertips, teasing the glans slightly. She then began gently pulling his cock back and forth as if she were

reeling in a fishing rod…Morse began gasping, and of course he wanted to grab her, strip her and fuck her,

but his wrists were still bound behind his back.

Maddie’s head ducked down a bit, and she licked Morse’s dick with a tiny tongue, just for a moment. She

laughed uproariously as Morse’s hips bucked and his toes curled, as he came quite close to an orgasm…as his

dick trembled a bit, Maddie took her hands quickly off his penis and let it hump air, and Morse looked as if

he would burst into tears.

“You have such a tiny dick, Morse. I’m surprised that you get so horny, it’s hardly bigger than a clitoris. I’m

embarrassed to be related to someone who is this deformed.” Maddie said, but she smiled at him with her

full pink lips as her hands now began tugging his foreskin back and grasping and tickling the scrotum with

the other…

Maddie had let go of Morse’s dick. “Oooh, disgusting precum! And I’m your little baby cousin, too.” Maddie

had picked up the spruce switch TWHACK! WHACK! SNAP! The switch landed again and again on

Morse’s hard cock, and he felt it grow tinier and tinier, and he burst into fresh tears.

“Please, Madeira, please don’t whip me any more…it hurts so much!” But Maddie was enraged and she spun

Morse around and turned him over the dining room table and began whipping his ass again with the spruce

switch.

“You WHACK!!!are privileged WHACK!!!and spoiled,WHACK!!! and a fuckingWHACK!!! pervert to

WHACK!!!boot. You WHACK!!!DARE to put your WHACK!!!disgusting WHACK!!!pre-ejaculate all over

my WHACK!!!nice, virginal WHACK!!!hands. WhatWHACK!!! kind WHACK!!!of a weirdoWHACK!!!

are you? I try to WHACK!!!give you aWHACK!!! little privileged massage, WHACK!!!and you

justWHACK!!! spew your WHACK!!!disgusting seed on me! WHACK!!!You didn’tWHACK!!! cum

on meWHACK!!!, but you wouldWHACK!!! have if I touched you just a WHACK!!!little longer, you

disgusting pervert!”

By this time Morse was screaming, but the house was empty, and his little cousin was having a ball. She

finally turned him over and kissed his tears away. “Poor baby. I know it’s too much for you, being a worthless

junkie who has to pay the freight for ripping off his aged grandmother.” Maddie had then given Morse a

couple of deep tongue kisses, and his dick had lengthened incredibly in her hand.

Maddie had stroked Morse’s dick,putting her non-stroking hand at the base of his penis,pulling the skin

down so the skin at the base of his shaft was tight, and then tickling the head continually with the other

fingers…he was really gasping now…

And he became closer and closer to cumming…his legs shook and he was panting heavily.

“Are you close, baby?” Cousin Maddie had whispered as she jerked him faster and faster…you want to

spew now?”

“Oh yes!” moaned Morse as his hips shook and his penis bulged…he felt the semen shooting to the tip…But

then Maddie did that karate kick again, this time into his balls, and again he passed out.

When he woke up this time, Maddie had untied him. “Now then, you are going to show me that you’re sorry

for what you did.” Cousin Maddie said, and Morse watched in astonishment as she pulled off her little pink

tube top and unzipped her jeans. “Get your nasty little head in between my legs and give me a good time!”

After Morse had brought Maddie to about three orgasms, she’d handed him her panties and told him to jerk

off if he liked. “I know you always sneak into my closet and steal them when you’re visiting my mom and

dad…so go for it. I just want to watch this…you can watch me play with my nipples a little bit—and no, you

can’t touch my boobs. They’re just for my boyfriend, Gino, who will kick your ass BAD if he ever finds out

what went on here.”

Morse had been utterly humiliated as he’d jerked his penis in front of his pretty cousin, who had helpfully

told him that she’d seen it all before, and that wimpy Beta males like him were really not made for anything

better than touching their own wee-wees. Finally Morse had spurted in the panties, and then Maddie had

shoved them in his mouth and made him suck out the semen before he dressed and went home.

Morse then had an even more revealing encounter that year when he began dating Sheridan Stoeckley, who

sung in the Youth Choir at the Salvation Temple, one of the strictest churches in Buttermilk Falls. Bored

to tears and usually nursing a hangover, the teenage Morse’s only entertainment was watching Sheri lead

the other girls in the singing…they all wore virginal white outfits, but Sheri had cut hers into a revealing

neckline. and it just possessed Morse to no end, though he HATED church.

Although Morse’s folks were atheists, they were out of the country that year, and Granny was a devout

believer, and since Morse had been viciously punished by Maddie, he really didn’t want to piss Grandma

off. Maddie had given him another thrashing when he’d missed church because of a drunken late night, and

Madeira had sent him home with a saltshaker up his ass…stuffed up there! “And if Granny complains again,

I will shove a bowling pin up there the next time” Maddie had warned. So, while Morse lived with Granny,

he had to attend services at the Salvation Temple. That was it!

Morse had finally gotten Sheri to go for a walk with him. She was a member of the Virtue Girls—the pro-

virginity celibate society…keep it till marriage at any cost! And she didn’t drink or do drugs, and Morse

knew no one else in Buttermilk Falls over the age of twelve who was like that! Sheri was forbidden from

going on “car dates”, but one day after church, she and Morse went to the woods, and Morse began necking

with Sheri, who really kissed well.

She had long, curling black hair and intense hazel eyes, and her boobs shook in the white choir dress as she

and Morse went at it on a little bench in the woods. They got more and more excited, and Sheri pulled off

her choir dress, and there she was, in a little powder blue frilly bra and panties…Morse thought he’d gone to

heaven!

Morse had taken off all of his clothes, and tried to remove her little bra, but Sheri smacked him. “Not

yet…I’m a nice girl. I don’t know if you really care about me!” Morse went into a whole thing about how he

respected her and wanted to marry her, bullshit was pouring out of his mouth as if he were a broken septic

tank, but Sheri would have none of it. She did, however, climb onto his naked lap and continue kissing him,

and at one point she shoved his head between her heaving pink cleavage, and Morse began slurping and

kissing at the mounds…but then when he tried for a nipple, Sheri went nuts!

Sheri pushed herself off Morse’s lap and slapped him hard across the face, so he almost saw stars. “I can’t

believe you would violate me that way!” Sheri screamed, and she looked really hot, with the black curls flying

and the little powder blue bra almost bursting from those gorgeous pink melons. “You need to be punished…

or I will get dressed and go back to church. You are a heathen!”

And then she’d quoted Scripture: “Lust not after her beauty in thine heart; neither let her take thee with her

eyelids. For by means of a whorish woman a man is brought to a piece of bread: and the adulteress will hunt

for the precious life. Can a man take fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned? Can one go upon hot

coals, and his feet not be burned? So he that goeth in to his neighbor’s wife; whosoever toucheth her shall not

be innocent.” Sheri paused. “That’s Proverbs six twenty-five.”

And then, her eyes sparkling she’d said “ Also from Proverbs—He who spareth the rod hateth his son: but

he that loveth him correcteth him betimes” (Proverbs 13:24) and “Withhold not correction from a child: for

if thou strike him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and deliver his soul from

hell.”

Morse had been absolutely horrified, when Sheridan had picked up a thorny briar branch and snapped her

fingers, indicating he was to bend over the bench. His cousin had put him through this, but this girl was

practically a stranger! But Morse was possessed by her gorgeous pink breasts in the powder blue bra, and so

he bent over the bench out there in the woods, his bare ass up in the air, feeling quite vulnerable.

The whipping that Sheridan Stoeckley had given Morse was moonlight unto sunlight compared to Madeira’s

thrashing some weeks before—Sheri apparently was a tennis player or something…her backhand was

vicious! And then something worse happened—a couple of tall church boys came through the woods with

butterfly nets and bird watching glasses…and Sheri appealed to them…

“Boys, this horrible heathen Morse Wong ripped my choir dress off me and tried to ravage my body. Can you

help me to discipline him in the ways of the Lord?” The boys had taken turns using the thorny branch on

Morse’s bare ass…and apparently they had never read the Biblical verses prohibiting sodomy, because then

they’d behaved even worse!

Finally they’d left Morse kneeling on the ground, his rectum bleeding from thorns and dicks, and they’d

given Sheri friendly and somewhat passionate kisses, and wandered off on their bird watching way.

Sheri had helped Morse up and caressed him, picking the thorns and bristles out of his injured buttocks.

“You must understand, Morse that I am a pure girl…captain of the Virtue Girls…and revenge will be visited

on anyone who tries to impugn me.” Sheri had paused and then said “Saint Joachim said ‘Humanism in your

world has been created by Satan. You will bring back the adages of old…spare the rod and you will spoil the

child…discipline must be returned to the home.”

At this point, Morse had fully believed that Sheridan Stoeckley was out of her mind, but he was still quite

possessed by her body. When she’d invited him to come to her house to watch “Jesus of Nazareth” a few

nights later, he’d arrived there, seeing her attractively dressed in a snug tomato colored turtleneck. They’d

watched the video in silence, and then she’d necked with Morse for a full hour before he’d made his attempt

on her bra strap. and again she became quite angry, Sheri did.

Sheri had gone to the kitchen and brought back a long, round polished hazel wood paddle, and before she

had to open her mouth, Morse had sighed and pulled down his pants and underpants. He’d lay across Sheri’s

miniskirted thighs, and bit his lip as she’d whacked him more than sixty times.

And then Sheri had taken Morse down to the basement, where she’d tied his hands to an upright clothing

rack that, because Morse was rather short, was just above his head. Sheri had begun stroking Morse’s dick

and telling him that he had to learn to control his Satanic impulses. “You seem to take an innocent massage

of your manly wand as some sort of perversity.”

Sheri kissed Morse deeply, and stroked him some more. “Certainly affection between young people is so

important, and I do love you, Morse, as my brother in Christ.” Sheridan grabbed Morse in a deep hug, and

he felt her beautiful full breasts press against his own narrow chest as she kissed his neck and bit his left

earlobe. Reaching down, Sheri pulled and toyed with Morse’s questionable manhood.

“You see, man is only like Adam, who couldn’t resist temptation…it’s so sad.”

Sheri had stared down at Morse’s thick, soggy sausage…with some disgust. She’d fetched a wire coat hanger.

“I am going to show Satan he cannot enter your rod of love!” she’d screamed. WHACK WHACK WHACK!

The coat hanger had landed again and again on Morse’s dick until it was tiny and bleeding, and this brought

the church girl some grim satisfaction.

Morse had really wriggled and bounced as Sheri had gone at it with the coat hanger, but she had been a Girl

Scout and really knew how to tie her knots! Sheri had then stripped off her red turtleneck and her miniskirt,

and then taken off her bra and panties as well.

Morse’s eyes had bulged out…God, Sheri had a beautiful body, huge areolas on her nipples and what a

beautiful bush! She was incredible…and she came close and began kissing him and stroking his damaged

penis until it was large and hard again.

“Darling, I want you to understand…that your penis is a God given tool to bring pleasure. but there can be

no completion, no spilling of the seed, until marriage. But you can bring ME pleasure if you like!”

“No spilling of my seed at all?” Morse asked as he thrust against her beautiful naked body. But then she told

him the quote about the Sin of Onan, and he knew of course that she was right…

But then Sheri shoved her pussy against Morse’s dick just slightly, so it penetrated the edge of her vaginal lips.

“I can’t push it any closer dearest, because I can’t burst my hymen…you understand…I have to protect my

virginity!”

After a bit of her teasing the death out of poor Morse’s dick, Sheri had untied him. “Your cousin Madeira

tells me that you are good with your tongue and your lips…you can bring me some pleasure after all the

work I’ve done trying to bring you to righteousness…and I can stay virginal!”

An hour later, Morse’s mouth and jaw were paralyzed, but Sheridan was cooing happily. “Now I know your

penis must be rather disturbed, but I will get the coat hanger and work on it again…we will drive the devil out!”

And, unfortunately, she did!

Morse had been all aflutter to get Sheridan to come across. He really wanted to get his dick in her.

But he couldn’t get her into his car much. He had to come by the house when her parents were out, and then

they’d get into deep kissing sessions…One weekend, Sheri’s parents were gone, the entire family was gone,

and she had invited him to stay there! It was the chance, he thought. They had gone hiking Friday afternoon,

and then came back to the house all tired and dirty, and then Sheri had had an inspiration. “Come on in the

shower with me….let me clean you and me up!” Morse couldn’t believe it—they got naked and got in the

shower!

And Sheridan had been all that—her boobs, her soft skin, her curving little ass. “But keep your hands to

yourself, Morsie, I know what you want. I am giving you a little peek into how I look in case you want to get

married one day, but until I cross the altar I certainly am keeping my virtue intact!”

So Morse had stood there, the hot water streaming over his head and shoulders as Sheri soaped his chest, his

shoulders, and then his penis and testicles, getting up quite a lather. At one point, he lurched towards her, but

then she had moved slightly, and he slipped in the tub, and she was sitting on top of him, on his chest with

her back to him, rubbing and slurping her pink-tipped nails all over his growing cock.

Sheri had jerked Morse’s cock to the point that he was very, very close to releasing, and then she punched his

balls, and he screamed loudly. Then Sheri stood up and snapped her fingers, and Morse had got up as well.

“I know you’re just going out of your mind here, with those sinful, Satanic thoughts of yours.” Sheri said, as

they got out of the tub and began toweling off.

Morse had been utterly puzzled. What the hell was she talking about? Sheri had finally dried off, as was

Morse, and she grabbed him by his hard cock and pulled him into the bedroom. “Your problem, Morse is

that you have no interest in me as a person.” As Sheri said this, she went through her drawer, pulling out

some massage oil. “If you really cared about me, you’d give me a nice massage, before we have dinner.”

What else could Morse do? He had rubbed and massaged every inch of Sheri’s naked body, while she had

idly toyed with his lengthening cock. After he had done, Sheri had modeled various outfits she’d bought

during the week, finally settling for an electric blue slip dress.

Morse had dressed as well, and they went out to dinner and then to a popular nightclub the Sunflower

Room. Sheri had slow danced with Morse for the first part of the night, grinding her little body against his,

and kissing and licking his neck as his cock grew hard against her. She was SUCH a hot girl!

But then Sheridan had begun dancing with another young man, a Church Elder of about twenty-six who she

knew from the Salvation Temple. For a time she forgot about Morse, who sat disconsolately at the table, and

she danced with Forrester, and at one point Morse thought he saw them making out.

Somehow, Sheri had convinced Morse that Forrester should come back to the house. “We really need a

chaperone, and Forrester is a friend of my parents.” Some friend, Morse thought…if he’s tonguing you on

the dance floor. Morse had known that Sheridan’s folks wouldn’t let her go steady with one guy, so he had no

claims on her, but this Forrester dude was just a little too much, and his hands were all over Sheri on the way

home.

Somehow, over Cheetos and a “Dude, Where’s My Car?” video, Sheridan had told Forrester what a good

masseur Morse was, and Forrester said he was feeling very tense. “Morse can make your body feel like limp

spaghetti.” Sheri told Forrester.

Morse had been recalcitrant, but one look into Sheri’s appealing eyes, and somehow…Forrester was on the

bed, naked, except for a towel, and Morse had begun rubbing his muscular shoulders and back. Sheri had sat

on a chair, smiling at this scene. “I like to see my boy friends getting along.”

Forrester turned around on his back after a time, and beckoned to Sheri to join him on the bed. “You stay

put there, Morse.” Forrester said, as Sheri began undressing. “I want to make love to you, Sheridan, but I

know it’s wrong…but perhaps I can kiss you and touch you…and our friend here can stimulate me!”

Morse jumped back, in horror, but Sheridan got mad. “Morse, don’t you want to make me happy…I’ll make

YOU happy if you make me happy?” Morse to this day still could not remember how he ended up sucking

Forrester’s dick while Forrester feasted on Sheri’s breasts and she tongue kissed him.

Morse had realized this was the second time Sheri had gotten him molested by a guy, and he’d thought

maybe he should get out of there, but finally Forrester had gone home and Sheri was all his. She still would

not let Morse screw her, but she’d ridden his face for two hours, and then she’d actually given him a partial

blowjob. Partial in that, she’d sucked and licked his penis, but she kept pounding on his balls to keep him

from cumming.

“It’s just such a waste of your precious semen, Morse. I know I let Forrester cum in your mouth, but frankly

he’s not as intelligent as you are, and I don’t think his genes are going to amount to much….I want you to

keep control of yourself. I don’t know if I trust you to spend the night with me without sticking your badness

in my purity hole!”

Which is how Sheri had ended up tying Morse’s hands above his head to one of the bedposts, and then just

falling asleep beside him, her rhythmic breathing causing her breasts to heave and bounce, and of course

Morse was quite hypnotized, before he finally went to sleep, his cock and balls just frustratedly jammed with

back logged sperm!

And the next morning, Morse awoke to an intense pain on his cock! When his eyes opened, Sheri was fully

dressed in a tight blue top and plaid skirt, and she had a long thorny rose branch in her little gloved hand,

and she was thrashing his cock!

“What-what are you doing?” Morse screamed, as the thorny branch landed on his hard cock again and again.

“Are you insane?” But Sheri was hysterically angry. She had claimed that Morse had leaned against her in the

night, rubbing his dick on her velvety buttocks, and now she wanted to drive the sin out of him as best she

could. She really felt that Morse was a serious pervert.

Morse was still bound by his connected wrists to the bedpost, and try as he might, he could not get loose

from it, and had to withstand a serious cock whipping. The thorns were incredibly painful. But, Sheri

dutifully pulled the thorns out of his cock after the thrashing was over, and then rubbed the whole infected

area with Ben Gay which stung so much that Morse almost passed out.

He was finally awakened, and somewhat stunned to find that Sheridan was rubbing a bag of frozen peas

against his testes. “I think we’ve finally gotten your genitals to behave themselves. I really hope that you’ve

reconsidered your desire to rob me of my virtue.” she said pompously. Sheri untied Morse and he got dressed.

“I think it’s time for me to go home now.” he said hesitantly. The weekend, for him, was over…

But he still couldn’t stay away from her!

Dating Sheridan Stoeckley had its benefits; she got Morse to cut his hair and dress “preppy” Morse learned

that actually, you can behave quite badly, but get lots of respect if you look good, which perhaps was not

what Sheri had in mind.

But his new appearance and his good grades got him a sweet deal in his senior year, catapulting him out

of Granny’s house and into a sweet deal living in Washington, D.C. as a Senate Page to Senator Dunstan

Antonovich, a Buttermilk Falls resident whose campaign Morse had volunteered in the year before.Of course

as soon as Morse got there, he found the other dirt bags in the Senate Page Program. “Didja see that hot

blind chick in your Senator’s office?” Carver Cutilletta said in the public restroom of the Senate Dirksen

Building rolling a joint and handing it to Morse. Lighting the doobie, Morse took a big inhale.

“Yup, she’s a nice one all right.” Joe Billy Bucksbaum, who served an Alabama Senator, said, as he took the joint

from Morse. “Y’all ought to git in her pants there, Morsie…she cain’t see how ugly you is, haw haw haw!”

Back in the office, Morse watched Kyra as she talked on the phone. “Yes, we’ll have the flood control bill on

your desk by noon tomorrow, Walt. We hope to have your Senator’s vote on it.” Carv was right—Kyra was

quite pretty. She had long, curling sandy hair, and perfect skin, and sparkling, if blank hazel eyes.

As she talked, Kyra swung her long legs up onto her desk, and Morse was amazed at the curves in her body.

Kyra managed to look businesslike but sexy in a short tweed skirt, snug white crinoline top that hugged her

considerable breasts, and matching tweed jacket.

Suddenly there was a buzz from another line on Kyra’s phone, and she hung up and picked up the

other phone.

“Senator Antonovich? Right away, sir.” Kyra stood up, staring straight ahead of her, and felt around for her

long white cane. As she moved past Morse she tapped his leg with the cane. “Stop staring at my tits, Wong…

don’t you have anything else to do? I can hear your panting all over the freaking office!”

But as she passed Morse, still staring straight ahead, Kyra reached down and grasped Morse’s crotch, and

unzipped his pants, pulling out his penis. Morse was alarmed and aroused—what if someone walked into

the office? But Kyra had complete confidence. She massaged Morse’s dick quickly, and Morse was amazed

at how quickly the sightless girl’s fingers found his sensitive points. She gently encircled the base of his penis

with her thumb and forefinger, and glided her hand from the base of Morse’s penis up to the glans.

When Kyra’s hand got to the cockhead, she swiveled her hand around so the entire palm covered the glans,

then sliding her hand back down and going up again. Morse was amazed, because Kyra didn’t turn her

head towards him at all, just continuing to “look” off in space. “What a pitiful little pecker this is.” Kyra

said almost to herself, as she gripped the middle of Morse’s shaft with her hand, and began gently tapping

and tickling it. “You’re just another skinny little geek, Morse. It’s such a shame there are no real men in the

Capitol or the Senate…it’s just a city of nerds and doormats.”

Suddenly Kyra let go of Morse’s bouncing, hard penis , pulling back and WHACKING it with her white

cane. “There you go, you little sexual harasser. You want some entertainment? Peek through the keyhole of

Antonovich’s office…”

And she walked off, tapping her cane, as Morse shoved his now quite stiff penis into his pants. Morse’s penis

was horny, but in pain as well—that fucking blind cane had really hurt a lot…he should tell the girl to go

to hell, but watching her butt twitch in the little skirt was driving him wild…and he followed her, quite

willingly…as if hypnotized.

Morse followed Kyra as she tapped her way into Senator Antonovich’s office, and he knelt, looking through

the large key hole. Kyra came in, and took off her jacket, dropping it on Senator Antonovich’s desk. “Hello,

Dunstan…what are you whining about now? You’ve been calling me all morning, is your horniness getting

to you?”

Morse was amazed. Senator Antonovich was standing by his desk, NAKED except for a weird little silver

tube hanging between his legs. “Please, Miss Kyra” the Senator begged. “I’ve been waiting all morning for

you, and you’re right, I am really, really horny. It’s been 83 days since I had a release and—”

“Oh shut up, Dunstan, you little faggot.” Kyra said, still staring into space as she tapped her way to the nearly

naked lawmaker. She reached out and grabbed the Senator’s nipple and twisted it, and he screamed. “You’re

such a whining little crybaby, it makes me sick to listen to you filibuster on the Senate floor about how we

need to end welfare because you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps you white supremacist racist fuck.

You’ve never worked a goddamned day in your life!”

Kyra had then felt around in her little Prada purse and pulled out a key, tossing it to the Senator. “Unlock

your little chastity tube and then put your hands behind your head. NOW!” The Senator obeyed her,

unlocking his tube and putting the contraption on the desk.

Fascinated, Morse had watched through the keyhole as Kyra began slowly massaging the Senator’s

gradually swelling penis with expert fingertips. She laughed huskily and pulled and stroked poor Dunstan

Antonovich’s penis, and he was really digging it, though terrified…quite evidently terrified!

The Senator looked ridiculous, holding his hands behind his head as if he were some sort of arrest suspect,

but his eyes were on Kyra’s glorious cleavage as she pulled and stroked his stiffening member. Kyra’s left hand

was busy with the legislator’s penis—she was clearly ambidextrous—but her right hand wandered to her hot

little crinoline blouse, and began unbuttoning it.

“You like this? Dun’s horny for my boobies, isn’t he…you pathetic jerk-off boy. I can’t fuckin’ believe they

elected you to be Senator. You couldn’t function as a garbage man without everyone running around to wipe

your ass, you know that?” Kyra’s head wasn’t titled up at Senator Antonovich at all, just sort of pointed at his

chest, but she was talking to him, and he was listening avidly.

Kyra’s hand brushed a bottle of Evian water, and she clearly knew what it was—everyone knew that Senator

Antonovich drank about twelve of them a day— and she groped for it, then sprinkled a little of it on her full

cleavage, so the drops were sparkling over her considerable boobs.

“Yes ma’am, Miss Kyra, I know that.” Dunstan Antonovich said, as he gasped and moaned, his eyes

transfixed on her glorious bosom. “I’m worthless, and I don’t deserve your care and consideration…I’m not

worthy of you, ma’am. But please let me suck your boobies, you promised me you’d consider it after I bought

you that tennis bracelet—” Suddenly, without warning, Kyra’s knee shot out and got the Senator right in the

cajones, and he went down on the floor, moaning.

“Get in here, Morse!” Kyra shouted without looking behind her. “Right now…and bring me that Cowpoke

that you see by the door.” Morse opened the door, and picked up the odd Cowpoke, a short, five stranded

leather whip that the Senator had brought home from a Singapore “fact finding” mission a few months

before.

It was a deadly looking thing, with a thick leather handle and the leather strands quite thick. Morse was

thankful that Cousin Madeira had not had recourse to this evil thing. He put it in Kyra’s hands, and she

purred, feeling the strands with her fingertips.

“What a great little whip this is…Dunstan, lie back on the floor and put your hands behind your butt, I’m

going to give your dickie something to think about.” Dunstan obeyed, looking a little warily at Morse, probably

wondering if this arrogant little Page would be going to the Washington Post to report this little episode.

Kyra went down on one knee, feeling around for the Senator’s crotch, and when she found it, she began

pulling and pumping his dick with true enthusiasm. When it reached full tumescence, she began swinging

the little Cowpoke. WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! CRACK!

The Senator howled as the short whip’s lashes hit his hard penis again and again. “Now spin onto your

stomach, and put your hands behind your head” Kyra said, with her stare into space look. She made the

Senator’s buttocks red and welted within moments of his bodily turn. Morse winced and bit his lip watching

as the Cowpoke landed heavily on Dunstan’s full buttocks!

After there were a number of long, red weals on the Senator’s buttocks, Kyra rose to her feet, groping for her

cane. “Now then, Dunstan. If you want to jerk off before I put your little tube back on, then you’re going to

show me that you realize what a worm you really are. I want you to suck Morse’s dick while I let him suck on

my breasts, which you will NEVER be allowed to touch.”

The Senator’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Morse. “Miss Kyra, please understand. The boy is a lowly Page,

a half-breed grandson of our town laundry owner back home. He’s lucky I gave him this job at all—the

Capitol Police have advised me that he’s a heroin addict!”

Kyra smiled. “Well, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Dunstan. We’ll lock you up for sixty

more days, and then you can service some of the homeless Vietnam vets who sleep across the street from the

White House, how’s that?”

Sighing, the Senator had gotten up on his knees, and begun unzipping Morse’s pants, and pulled his dick

out. Morse would have objected to an obese, bald man making designs on his peter, but at the same time,

Kyra had completely unzipped her top, and unsnapped her bra from the front, and her glorious breasts came

tumbling out…and Morse was lost…

If anyone had any reason for calling Morse Wong a dumb-ass it would have to be after said Morse Wong

witnessed a blind girl forcing a United States Senator to perform fellatio because she had the key to his

chastity belt….putting on a chastity belt himself!

What an idiot, right? Ignoring the clear evidence that chastity belts were a mistake…how did Morse decide

to make this idiotic choice? He’d really been seduced by Kyra. After having Senator Antonovich blow him,

and feasting on Kyra’s nipples, Morse had taken Kyra out to dinner, and told her how incredible he thought

she was…and she’d brought him back to her place. And there was the first weird thing. She didn’t live alone,

but with her husband Brock, and her twin brother Kevin.

It was a nice big Georgetown house (Brock was a rich lobbyist) and Morse was quite impressed, but also a

little weirded out. Brock and Kevin were both kneeling, naked except for little chastity tubes, on the living

room floor. Again, Kyra explained that she’d gotten them in her thrall, and controlled their orgasms. So

Morse should’ve been warned, right?

Kevin was some sort of writer, but he explained to Morse that he’d always been his sister’s servant. “I can see,

and poor Kyra was born blind, and although she’s much brighter than I am and in much better shape (Kevin

was a chubbo) I’ve always adored her and taken care of her…and when we were young she began punishing

me for not doing a good job sometimes. “ Kevin had blushed and Kyra, sitting and staring sightlessly off on

the living room couch, had smiled.

Kevin went on. “Kyra learned how to tie me up and hit me with belts and sticks, and my parents encouraged

her, since I really should’ve learned to watch after my poor handicapped sister…Kyra also required me to go

down on her and lick her various adolescent boyfriends semen out of her pussy when she came home from

dates so she wouldn’t be in danger of getting pregnant…it was very difficult and gross for me, but on the

other hand, I loved having the privilege of kissing Kyra’s sweet pussy…but with all that devotion and me

doing her chores, she still was irritated by my main distraction, jerking off, since of course I was a teenage

boy. So, then at some point Kyra began monitoring my masturbation, since jerking off took too much time

from her paying attention to me!”

Kyra smiled, thinking of that. “Yeah, Morse, and you think I don’t smell it when you’re burning your black

tar heroin in the spoon…I can smell the chunk of smack, and I hear you pouring the water into the spoon,

and hear your butane lighter as you burn it in the office closet…and you make even more noise when you’re

freebasing cocaine, you’re a weakling, and a pathetic drug addict…you’re addicted to dope and to jerking

off…and it’s truly sad…”

Morse had blanched; realizing that Kyra knew all about his habits and she had the power to get him fired

from the Page program if she liked…it was really scary!

Then her husband Brock began speaking. He looked truly ridiculous kneeling naked on the expensive

Oriental rug, rubbing his wife’s feet. “Kyra has been so wonderful for me, as well…

We started out with a regular sexual relationship after I met her at a Hill party, and then she taught me to be

less selfish, to perform orally upon her more often…and got me to be satisfied with jerking off after I’d done

a long session between her legs! And then she pointed out that I would be of more service to her if I limited

my masturbation sessions…it would make me more excited about servicing her! And it did. Especially after

she locked me into this chastity device. Now I am completely devoted to my beautiful princess’s pleasure,

aren’t I darling?”

Morse thought that Brock looked completely pathetic as he stared up at his beautiful blind wife, but he had

to admit, she was a gorgeous woman. And a few moments later, when Kyra took Brock’s little metal tube off

and began playing with his penis a bit, he looked like he was in absolute heaven. Kyra stroked Brock’s cock for

about ten minutes before she cruelly pulled her fingers away and ordered him to re-lock the chastity device.

“Now I am in need of a fucking.” Kyra had then said. She stood up and reached out for Morse’s hand. “You

can give me some young dick, right babe.” Kevin looked sad, and Brock actually began weeping silently. But

she ignored them, tap tapping her cane as she led Morse to the bedroom…and indeed, he had a wonderful

night fucking her. full access to her boobs, her pussy, and the whole nine yards.

Morse came three times, and just before he was about to go to sleep, Kyra whistled, and Kevin and Brock

came into the bedroom…Kevin massaging Kyra’s body while Brock went between her legs, licking Morse’s

semen out…Morse just let the whole thing go and went to sleep, but it was strange!

A few weeks later, after many sex sessions, Kyra began cooling off a little bit, and Morse became frustrated.

“What’s wrong…don’t you want to make love to me anymore?” He was staring at her beautiful full breasts

encased in a tight brown top, and was hot to get the top off of her, but Kyra kept stiff-arming him. She just

was feeling cold, he thought.

“Sorry, you’re too focused on fucking me, Morse. I am worried about your career as a Senate Page; you have

been neglecting the filing and missing runs on the Senate floor. You almost screwed up Senator Antonovich’s

position on a key vote the other night. I think we’re going to have to stop this.”

“No, please, Kyra…don’t say that. I’ll do anything!” Morse’s voice had become rather strained, and the

sightless girl sensed his desperation. She reached down and began massaging his crotch, and then told him

where to get some ropes and to meet her in the bedroom. Brock and Kevin were cleaning the upstairs, and

were not around, and so Morse did as she said.

“Now then, I want you to take off your clothes and lie spread eagled on the bed, and I’ll tie you to the

bedposts…I think if I give you a little massage you’ll calm down, and then you won’t be so focused on

fucking me anymore.” Kyra said, as she sat down on the side of the bed. Morse did as she asked, and she felt

her way around, expertly tying his wrists and ankles to the bedposts.

“I’ve been doing this for years. Once Kevin was dating this girl I didn’t like, and I tied him to a bed just

like this, and then I invited her in, and we took turns putting lipstick and eye shadow on him, and then

she wrote obscenities on his chest with lipstick, too…that was the last time she went out with him!” Kyra

then moved down to the middle of the bed, and took Morse’s hard cock in her long red nails, and began

massaging it slowly.

Morse moaned, and expected that she would eventually let him cum, he’d had hand jobs from girls at the

Buttermilk Falls Drive-In in his dad’s old 1997 Acura Integra GS Sedan…but apparently this hand job was

going to go on all night! Kyra pulled and teased his cock for nearly three hours.

“If you want me to take off my clothes, you have to prove to me that you are a dedicated Senate page, and

that you know a lot about your Senator…For the price of me removing my blouse, what year was Senator

Antonovich elected to the House of Delegates, his first position in politics?”

“Um…1984.”

“Nope, 1989. We’ll try something else. What was the Senator’s first chairmanship when he was elected?”

“Chair of the Judicial Proceedings Committee, right?”

“Great.” Kyra let go of Morse’s dick and pulled off her tight brown top, showing glorious breasts hanging

pertly in a pink demibra. “I might take off my miniskirt if you can inform me of the pertinent details of

Senator Antonovich’s Insurance Verification Bill?”

Morse was so horny.”Um,about 25 to 35 percent of driver’s are on the road without insurance. Under this bill,

an online verification program will enable police to immediately determine whether that driver actually has

insurance coverage. “

Morse’s dick was slick in Kyra’s manicured grasp…but he had to go for the miniskirt!

“If not, the police could seize the driver’s license or remove their license plate. They would be allowed to drive

home, but could not legally drive again or have their tag returned until they obtain insurance.”

After about five more questions, Kyra was down to her panties, and she toyed with her nipples as she stroked

Morse’s dick. “I’m sick of these questions, Morse. I want you to give ME some pleasure, since I’ve been

jerking your dick for a while now. I’m going to sit on your face, and play with your dick at the same time.”

Kyra had then pulled down her panties and mounted Morse’s face, and leaned over and played with his dick

as he slurped and licked her hot pussy for forty-five minutes. She came about four times, and then climbed

off him.

“I know you really, REALLY want to cum now, but I think you think better when you’re horny, don’t you

think so?”

Morse had to agree…and that was how he got his chastity device! He got a grand total of five orgasms before

finally graduating from the Capitol Page School, He was QUITE happy to cut the thing off with pliers in

the bathroom of the train going back to Buttermilk Falls…

Even after the Kyra situation, Morse had continued to be fascinated with female domination, but he’d tried

to kill the desire, mostly by increasing his drug use— smoking pot and taking Quaaludes, acid, freebase

cocaine, and other stuff …but he’d kept his grades up, and after he’d graduated from the Capitol Page

School, he’d gone off to Tufts University, in Boston, a great school. But Morse’s habit had gotten ahead of

him, he’d been thrown out of Tufts, wrecked a few cars, bounced in and out of jail and then he’d had an

overdose.

When he’d come out of the hospital, two guys from Dope fiends Anonymous, a 12 step program had taken

him under their wing, and they’d saved Morse’s life, and helped him get off drugs. Morse had been so

grateful that he’d begun manning the Dope fiends Anonymous Hotline, and then Sonia had called. “I’m

a dominatrix, do you know what that is? A heroin addicted dominatrix, actually.” It had been a fascinating

conversation, and Morse, of course had offered to take Sonia, A.K.A. Mistress Smallpox, to her first Dope

fiends Anonymous meeting.

God Sonia was beautiful! She was black, and quite aristocratic looking, with full boobs in a skin-tight leather

bustier, with hot pants. After the meeting, Morse could tell, with a junkie’s experienced eyes, that Sonia

might be on the verge of getting dope-sick and going through withdrawal.

Morse took her to detox for a fourteen day stay, but he visited her every day, and one day he met her husband,

Euclid, a fairly handsome steel haired guy in an expensive suit. “As you know, Morse, I’m a dominatrix, and

Euclid here is the publisher of Debbie’s Dungeon Digest!”

Morse had been amazed, admitting that this was his favorite magazine…he’d been getting the “Digest” sent

monthly in a plain brown wrapper to an anonymous post office box since 9th grade. Euclid had gone home,

and Morse had sat at Sonia’s bedside, telling her all his fantasies, and she’d invited him to dinner upon

her release.

Dinner had been freaky, because Euclid had cooked and served it, in the nude, except for am apron and

a little metal tube around his crotch that Sonia called his Iron Maiden. Morse had noticed that Euclid’s

naked body was covered with scars, old and new, from belts, whips, canes and switches. He also had a thick

green butt-plug up his ass. “I am trying to widen his rectum a bit, so he will be ready when I get him a black

homosexual lover…a little sodomy for Euclid would be so therapeutic, don’t you think, Morse?”

Morse just couldn’t get over how beautiful Sonia was. She herself was black, and rather stunning…but

she had an amazing confidence as well, and this just drove Morse wild. He couldn’t get over the aura she

sent out. While they ate, Euclid knelt on the floor quietly….and Morse had learned quite a bit about the

femdom lifestyle from Sonia…when Euclid asked if he could go to the bathroom, Sonia had unlocked the

Iron Maiden and ordered him to pee in a backwards arc into his own mouth, and Morse had been amazed at

Euclid’s agility.

“You see, Morse” Sonia had said brightly “The Iron Maiden prevents unauthorized orgasms as well as

urination. I drop by the “Debbie’s Dungeon Digest” office at noon every day to unlock Euc so he can pee,

and then I take out his butt plug, which is also locked in…sometimes I’m late, and Euc calls me, begging for

me to show up so he can do his business. He tries to drink and eat as little as possible every day, but there’s

always an uncomfortable scene.”

Morse had panted with desire, imagining what that must be like…not being allowed to go to the bathroom!

But on the other hand, Morse had been a basic prisoner of cocaine, pot and other drugs from the ages of

thirteen to twenty…did he want to be controlled by a crazy black woman for the rest of his life like poor Euclid?

After dinner, they had cappuccino. “Euclid, this cappuccino is cold.” Sonia said, putting down her demitasse

cup. “After dinner coffee should be perfect, especially with a guest present. Bring me the Batter, please.” As

Morse watched with astonishment, Euclid’s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head. He looked QUITE

ridiculous now, as he’d removed his apron and his Iron Maiden and was very naked, except for bright red

high heeled pumps in the oversized transvestite size.

“Please…Sonia…Mistress Smallpox…I’ve really been busy getting dinner together, and the cappuccino

maker is broken. I had to make it in the frying pan, and the pilot light was weak…” But Sonia was

implacable, and finally Euclid went to the closet and brought out what appeared to be fifty three foot broom

straws tied together at the end with a little wooden handle at the end.

Mistress Smallpox took the Batter from Euclid and ordered him to jut out his crotch….and as Morse

watched, she whacked his penis ten times, scraping the balls with the ends of the broom straw, and bringing

Euclid to near tears. “You see, Morse, as Euclid has not had an orgasm in 389 days, his penis is especially

sensitive!”

“Now fetch me my Carcass Beater, please.” The weeping Euclid came back with a long, thick braided loop

with a bone handle. “This is made of polyethylene, Morse.” Mistress Smallpox said, smiling. “It’s tougher

than leather, and it helps Euclid to think…he’s not that bright, you know.”

THUNK! Just as Sonia said “you know”, she whacked Euclid between the legs, hitting his balls with the

Carcass Beater. and then before he could react, she began whacking his head and shoulders with it, finally

turning him over a chair so she could have full access to his unattractive, flabby bottom.

“When (WHACK) will you learn (WHACK) to make (WHACK) coffee the way (WHACK) I

expect (WHACK) it? You (WHACK) are a (WHACK) hopeless (WHACK) slug, Euclid. I am

(WHACK) seriously considering (WHACK) renting you (WHACK) out as an (WHACK) oral suck-job a

(WHACK) attendant at (WHACK) the Third (WHACK) Street Olympic (WHACK) Baths, so you can

(WHACK) just use (WHACK) your (WHACK) useless mouth (WHACK) and ass to (WHACK) pleasure

(WHACK) the sodomites (WHACK) there, you are (WHACK) absolutely no (WHACK) use to me

(WHACK) here, you know!”

Finally Sonia tossed the Carcass Beater down. “You can go clean the kitchen now, Euclid…”

While Euclid began cleaning up the dishes, Sonia had taken Morse to the bedroom. “Why don’t you take off

your clothes, Morsie?” she’d asked, but it was in a very commanding voice. “Hurry up…you know in spite of

trying to be my authoritative Dope fiends Anonymous sponsor, you’re just a bitchy little crybaby.”

Sonia had stretched as she’d said this, tossing her black curly hair, and making her big boobs almost re-

expand in the snug pink turtleneck she was wearing. Morse hungered for her full lips, but he knew that she

didn’t really regard him as any kind of a man.

Morse had been about to object, but he just couldn’t. Having given up his dependence on alcohol and drugs,

he really had nothing to assist him in resisting his quite intense desire to submit and humiliate himself to

Sonia. “I’m… I’m not a crybaby, Sonia. I think it’s unfair of you to…to assume this about me.”

Sonia smirked. “Well then, take off your clothes and prove it to me! Let’s see what you’re really about, white

boy.” Euclid was also white, and Morse wondered if Sonia had some sort of superior black woman’s contempt

for Caucasian males. He stripped naked and stood in front of her, trembling slightly. It was really kind of

embarrassing, as she had not taken off a stitch.

Sonia rose slowly, still with her contemptuous smile, and she gently bent Morse over the bed, tying his hands

behind him with thick rope, and then, suddenly, blindfolding him as well. “Now we’ll see if you’re a real

man or not. If you can resist crying, you get to fuck me…but I doubt you can do it!”

“Now I’m bringing out my Brazilian Quirt, which is made of quarter inch harness leather. and topped at the

end with deer hide tresses It is designed to make you think. Can you be a little man and take a few?” Morse

had nodded his head, feeling ridiculous with his eyes closed off and his hands bound…but then the first hit

of the Brazilian Quirt bounced off his bare ass, and he reconsidered.

And then another whack! And another. Within thirty seconds, Morse was crying, loudly, and attempting

to get up off the bed, but he felt Sonia’s knee pushing him back down and again and again the Brazilian

Quirt landed. Oooh! The Quirt made a blister, and then landed again and opened the blister up, and Morse

screamed once more.

Suddenly, he felt himself being turned over on

the bed, and then felt Mistress Smallpox’s fingers deftly pulling and stroking his penis into hardness…She

really had a velvety touch, and Morse’s hips began shaking and quivering with desire…was he going to cum?

But then he had heard Mistress Smallpox’s throaty laugh and WHACK! The Brazilian Quirt had come

down HARD on Morse’s hard cock WHACK! WHACK! Morse’s cock began withering, shrinking

WHACK! OOPS, right on the balls…and his cock was tiny again.

Then Morse felt the Quirt being pressed to his tear covered lips. “Kiss it darling Thank the whip for making

you into the true crybaby we always knew you were.” And Morse kissed it!

And then a month later, after numerous painful training sessions, Mistress Smallpox had upped the ante.

Morse came to dinner, and Sonia had ordered him to strip and kneel on the living room floor. She’d then

put a snaffle pony bit gag in his mouth, and cuffed his hands beside him…and then visitors came!

Shannon Halligan, Morse’s steady girlfriend, Anne Moller, Morse’s boss at the bookstore where he’d worked

since being kicked out of Tufts, Lilace Jaeckman, captain of the Boston City Rowing Team that Morse

coached, Tierney Connors, lead in the community theater play that Morse was directing and Lulu Oscanvan,

Morse’s very hot next door neighbor.

She had forbidden Morse to cum after the first night, when he’d been allowed to jerk off into a full ashtray

and lick it all up…every single butt! Oh it was disgusting.

But since then, Sonia had ordered Morse to drop by her house every night so she could feel his balls and give

him a whipping…they’d had extended sessions on the weekends, but there had been no orgasming for poor

Morse. Some nights they went to Dope fiends Anonymous meetings, and those had been extremely trying,

as there were all these hot girls there….

And Morse’s regular girlfriend, Shannon, had been quite suspicious. Shannon had understood when Morse

had gotten involved with Dope fiends Anonymous, after all, she’d born the brunt of his drug use, and had

loyally visited him when he’d been in detox,but she didn’t understand why he was hanging out with this

arrogant black woman…what the hell was that about?

And then Mistress Smallpox turned to Morse, indicating the remarkable women in his life and said…

”Tonight we are going to humiliate and torture you…and it will bring you to true humility I hope…

Ah, what an evening THAT WAS!

Yes. Mistress Sonia Smallpox had had quite an interesting relationship with Morse, and then he’d finally

gone home and transferred his crappy transcript from Tufts to Buttermilk State University, and he’d

graduated, and now was in the grad program…and Fanchon had invited him to this strange party…and

now he was facing the erotic but insane Blythe…and Blythe had taken Morse by the hand, leaving Cleary

kneeling on the party floor.

“I’m going to explain male submission to you, darling…” Blythe said, and Morse walked beside her up to

Fanchon’s master bedroom, his legs trembling.

TWENTY-NINE

Cinder was quite excited, but a little nervous, driving home. Demi was in the back seat with Ratface. Demi’s

mouth was going up and down on his cock, and from what Cinder could see in the windshield mirror, Rat’s

eyes were closed and he looked quite happy. Cinder hoped he was happy. She really liked Rat, and hoped to

hell that he would become the family Master.

No one in the software development world would suspect that Cinder Shinabery, a hard-headed

businesswoman could be such a submissive! But Cinder knew that she was weak willed at heart, and needed

firm discipline. Her beloved Daddy had taught her that! Cinder had always had desires towards laziness. She

wanted to socialize with the other young people in the neighborhood, and Daddy knew what was good for

Cinder and her siblings…

Once, after he’d caught her out when she was supposed to be at home, grouting out the bathtub, Daddy had

taken Cinder’s jeans and under panties down, exposing her bare buttocks and whipping them hard with his

belt as the the neighborhood boys watched. “You like Cinder, boys? I know what you want…you like what

you see?”

Daddy had known that Cinder loved flirting with the boys, and he felt that the best way to put the kybosh

on this was to demystify Cinder for them. Cinder’s long hair had bounced as she’d begged tearfully for

Daddy to let her up, to let her pull her pants up, and maybe continue the spanking inside, where all the boys,

particularly the very cute Topher Bauman could see.

“Puh-please, Daddy…I just wanted to talk to the other kids. you never let me use the phone, and I just-just

wanted to—” But Daddy’s belt had fallen hard on Cinder’s bare buttocks, and then he’d ordered her to strip

off her clothes and stand naked in front of the boys, where she felt utterly humiliated. They had gone from

being admiring of Cinder’ who was beautiful and intelligent, to just sort of feeling contemptuous of her…

though still quite aroused!

Daddy had taken a branch from a tree and whipped Cinder’s bare breasts, buttocks back and legs until she

was covered in welts and long red weals, and then he’d told the boys…”Go ahead, feel her up, get it out of

your nasty little systems so I can take my girl inside and make her do her homework and make something of

herself. Go ahead!”

Daddy had tied Cinder’s hands behind her, and she’d sat miserably as all the boys, including fat, repulsive

Granville Bogalusa had touched and felt her up, and pinched her nipples. One kid, a nasty greaser from the

wrong side of town, had actually put his cigarette out on Cinder’s right nipple, making her scream, and then

her beloved Topher Bauman had asked Daddy if he could whip Cinder’s ass with the branch a bit, and Daddy

had said yes…that had been the ultimate humiliation, and had really broken the hardened Cinder down.

The next day at school, she’d discovered that she was dropped from the drill team of cheerleaders because she

was a “bad influence” despite being an honor student, and all the boys laughed at her and made grotesque

sexual movements, grabbing their crotches and shouting “Spank me, Daddy” whenever Cinder or her sister

Demeter walked by….

But it had had it’s desired effect. Cinder no longer hung out with the kids at recess, she studied harder in the

library, and RAN home after school so as not to be waylaid by the boys in the street…and she studied her

butt off! Daddy had been responsible for this, and he’d made sure she was not lazy or slothful!

Cinder never thought she’d find someone as dedicated to her as Daddy had been until tonight…Ratface

O’Rourke was her dream come true! After he’d twisted Demeter’s wrist behind her back and forced her

to lick out the toilet on the second floor at Fanchon Nemirow’s party, he’d turned to Cinder. “So you like

bullying your sister, huh?”

“I-I’m her domme tonight, that’s all” Cinder had muttered, but Rat would have none of it. He’d unsnapped

Cinder’s skirt and pulled her panties down, and borrowed a guest’s belt and lashed Cinder until she’d been

sobbing, just as hard as Demeter was…and then she knew he was the one. She only hoped that Vitus, her

brother would agree that Rat was the Master…

THIRTY

Vitus Shinabery knelt in the corner, waiting for his sisters to come home. Cinder had ordered him to not

move, and he had argued bitterly with her about not being allowed to accompany his sisters to Fanchon

Nemirow’s party. The Shinabery triplets—Vitus, Demeter and Cinder usually showed up together, looking

desperately for someone to dominate them…the three submissives!

But Vitus had neglected to polish the dining room table, and Cinder, who the other two had elected to be

the Top that week, had caned Vitus severely on his bare butt cheeks, and then hooked a metal ring through

his nose, connecting it to an identical ring through his glans with a very short chain…and she’d made him

kneel there while she and Demi went out.

Vitus couldn’t complain much, as the week before, when he’d been Top, he’d tied Cinder’s breasts up with

baling wire so they’d swell, and he and Demi had tossed darts at them for an entire evening, just because

Cinder had done a shitty job scrubbing the baseboards! But to be put on restriction like this, when there weren’t

that many BDSM parties going on this season, was just too much, and he was bitterly angry towards Cinder.

Vitus didn’t think he could blame Cinder that much though—she had really born the brunt of it, when

Father and Mother were alive. Certainly all the Shinabery children were tortured and punished equally…

being forced to strip naked at the door of the house, signing in to show they’d gotten home within ten

minutes of leaving school, and later work…

But Cinder had been the worst student of them all. She was an A student, that was true, but Father would

note that a 97 wasn’t a 100, and he’d force Cinder, weeping bitterly, to put her wrists and head into the old

fashioned stocks that were kept in the basement.

Then, as Demi and Vitus knelt and watched, Father would go through his array of implements—canes,

thick wooden paddles and of course the Argentinean Blacksnake Whip— and make Cinder dance and

wriggle, trying to get out of the stocks desperately as he lashed again and again, turning her curvy white butt

into a bright red and then purple mottled nightmare.

Father would then tie Cinder’s wrists to an eyehook in the ceiling, and put clothespins all over her nipples,

and her shaved clitoris (for Father shaved her quite regularly) and then quiz her on whatever subject she had

lost those three points on.

“Which of the following structures contains genes for enzymes and antibiotic resistance…plasmid, pilus,

capsule or plasma membrane?” Father would ask his hopeful pre-med daughter as she swung around

miserably from the ceiling. And Father was holding the sheet, but Cinder better damn well remember all the

options. Father didn’t cotton to her forgetting any part of the question.

“Uuuh, plasmid” Cinder would reply, wincing because Father loved to use his cane on her exposed underarms

as she hung from the ceiling.

“Correct…but you didn’t say SIR.” And then Father would slap the cane against Cinder’s tender belly four or

five times until she screamed in pain.

“Now then, Which of the following is not true concerning Staphylococcus aureus?Staphylococcus aureus is

related to inflammation, Staphylococcus aureus can cause pneumonia, Staphylococcus aureus can lead to

acute bacterial endocarditis, or Staphylococcus aureus does not make coagulase “

“Father I-I can’t remember them all.” poor Cinder would choke out, and Father would then begin joyfully

knocking off all the clothespins, one by one, as Cinder screamed. Sometimes, if Cinder got a B, Father

would punish her further by cutting off her long, beautiful hair, and make her go to school with an ugly

buzz crew cut and wearing one of his coveralls from Elmo’s Garage, where he was a mechanic.

After this was over, Father would take the trembling Cinder into his lap and kiss her face and neck and

remind her that he was only doing this because he LOVED her, and wanted the triplets to make something

of themselves. “I don’t want you drinking and raising hell like I did, having a good time…that’s why I’ve

never let you leave the house except for school, and why I insist on perfect grades, I want you three to make

me proud.” And then in appreciation, Cinder would suck Father’s penis, or offer him her rectum, which he’d

been enlarging for some time.

But in the end only Demi made it to medical school and that after many whippings and tortures from Father

and Mother. Mother of course was less interested in the girls than in Vitus himself…who she’d used careful

application of her Cat O Nine Tails to turn into the perfect sissy boy. “Come to Mommy, Vitus…don’t you

dare look out the window at the boys playing stickball…you have to practice your tuba , and then I want you

to suck Momma’s wee-wee…I’m all bloody, this is Momma’s bloody time, and you must clean me out!”

Mother was relentless! She was constantly trying to teach Vitus to be virtuous. Mother pierced Vitus’s

nipples in his freshman year of college, and ran a chain through them, and she would often jerk him around

the neighborhood, poor Vitus clad only in an adult diaper and high heels while she pointed out the “bad

influences” that could corrupt him.

“Look at those little mall sluts over there, laughing at you. That’s the kind of girl I want you to stay away

from, Vitus…they’re no damn good. What’s that? No I don’t care if one of them is in your Geometry class at

school…she’s worthless, and…”

And then Vitus would want to break away from Mother to go explain to the “worthless slut” that it was not

his choice to be paraded around town in an adult diaper, and then of course Mother would pull her razor

strop out of her handbag and rip down Vitus’s diaper and give him thirty good ones right across the butt!

Then they’d go home, Vitus weeping bitterly, and Mother triumphant.

Mother loved diapers, it seemed. Sometimes she would lock all the bathroom doors in the house, and give

the other siblings keys, but keep Vitus and his sisters in their diapers, and slip them a bit of Ex-Lax in their

morning cocoa. Vitus would be extremely humiliated when Mother or one of his non-slave sisters would

change his diapers, pouring oil over his hard erection, and laughing at the way Mother kept his pubic area

completely shaved!

Of course Mother would punish Vitus and the girls for failing their potty training, even though it was

Mother who had locked the bathroom doors and put the Ex-Lax in their chocolate. Mother loved taking

down a diaper and whipping a bare bottom until the miscreant screamed and yelled…and sometimes

Mother would tie Vitus or his sisters to their urine soaked mattress and make them lie in it for hours.

It was especially unpleasant when Vitus would get a shit attack at school, and then the teacher, smirking

would read the class the letter that Mother had sent the first day…detailing how Vitus hadn’t quite learned

how to control his bowels yet, even though he was nearly a grown man!

Mother also really seemed to hate Demeter, because Demi had a full bosom, and Mother just had “mosquito

bites” Mother was convinced that poor Demi was “full of herself” over her large, beautiful breasts.

Sometimes Mother would suspend Demi from a tree outside and thrash Demi’s breasts with a riding crop as

the girl wept and begged Mom to calm down. Part of the problem was, Demi could never find a blouse that

was loose enough to cover her boobs, and Mother was always enraged at the sight of Demi’s beautiful, full

nipples and her gorgeous round mammaries.

It was quite normal for Mother to tie Demi’s hands behind her back and then don a pare of boxing gloves

and take pot-shots at poor Demi’s breasts until they were black and blue…but they always healed, just as

gorgeous as ever. It didn’t help that Father was often fondling Demi’s boobs and telling her how “precious”

they were…that just made Mother madder!

It was really sad, Vitus thought…Cinder was a pretty girl, but if Demi had been allowed out to go to parties

and get togethers, she would have had no end of dates and male attention, but Mother kept her locked in the

house, and sometimes locked in closets and in her big cedar chest…she so hated her!

And if Mother was threatened by Demi’s breasts, Father was enraged by Vitus’s cock, his maleness. True,

Father didn’t have a big set of equipment himself, but it was no reason for him to punish Vitus so, was

it? What other kid had to crawl up and down the living room floor, with his balls tied to five or six huge

encyclopedias, getting thrashed with a horsewhip whenever Dad felt he was crawling too slowly?

On the mornings that Dad didn’t waken Vitus by throwing water on his face, he would run a tube of Icy

Hot on Vitus’s dick until he awoke, screaming bloody murder. It really gave Vitus an edge, though…he was

usually awake before Father came in the room most days!

Sometimes Father would spend a Saturday “bonding” with Vitus—he would loop a chain round Vitus’s cock

and balls, and attach it to a pulley looping it over a beam in his back yard greenhouse.

Father would then pull the chain through the pulley until Vitus was upside down, screaming from intense

pain, and the pain of hanging by his genitals. Father would also cuff Vitus’s wrists to his ankles, but

backwards, so the imprisoned cock and balls would be hanging out.

Sometimes Father would then smoke a few Marlboros, putting them out on Vitus’s hard cock as his son

begged and howled to be let down. “You’re just a weakling, Vitus.” Father would say…”This wouldn’t hurt

me…my Father was much stricter with me than I’ve ever been to you!” Another cigarette would be burned

into Vitus’s right nipple, and then his left nipple, and inside the house Cinder would be screaming bloody

murder because Mother was using an iron to torture HER nipples. It was fortunate that Uncle Wilmot was

the Chief of Police in Buttermilk Falls, because the neighbors were constantly calling and complaining about

the screaming triplets!

Then, other times, Father would dress Vitus up in baby doll lingerie, making the boy put heavy lipstick and

eye shadow on, and of course bright red press-on nails. “You’re a fucking sissy, Vitus, and if you want to be

a bitch, I’ll treat you like one!” Father and his gruff, macho buddies would take the transvestite boy out to

the woods and he would service all of them with his anus and his mouth, also doing the cooking and tent

construction while the men went hunting. Uncle Wilmot, the Chief of Police took especial joy in fist-fucking

Vitus in front of the others while they sung raucous drinking songs around the fire!

Vitus also had to deal with his brothers and cousins shooting at him with their BB guns while the men were

out doing the real hunting, and Vitus’s brother Farley, a nasty little shit, would make Vitus suck all their

penises as sort of a blood test rite!

After the trip was over, Vitus would be taken on a tour of the public rest stops in the state area, Father forcing

the boy to use his mouth to pleasure truckers, transients and bisexual fathers just taking a little time away

from the picnics.

Vitus knew that Father was trying teach him to “man up” for the real world, but it had been quite unpleasant

and difficult. Especially in the late evenings when Father would crawl into Vitus’s bed and ream his little

buttocks with the big cock….oh God that was horrible.

Vitus wasn’t sure who was worse, Mother or Father…it was close!

Mother and Father had had nine kids, but they’d only done this to the triplets—the others were free to go

their way, wearing clothes in the house and playing outside, going on dates and having fun in high school

and college…because they weren’t “special”…they weren’t that bright, according to Mother and Father, and

so they might as well do their thing, they’d never be anything but blue-collar.

Lucky, lucky them. The triplets didn’t really feel like freaks being paraded around naked in front of their

siblings until they learned how others lived, and then it was too late. Much too late.

Vitus had especially hated it when Father would deputize his younger brother Farley to give poor Vitus over

the knee bare-bottom spankings…and Vitus was not allowed to fight back! Farley and his friends also often

threw mud balls at Vitus when he was on his way to his tuba lesson.

And of course Farley told all the girls at school about how Mother would make Vitus dress in women’s

lingerie and paint his nails and learn how to do battement développé and other ballerina moves, as Mother

brought in her share of the bacon by teaching ballet to the town girls. And of course Vitus, who was such a

“Cute little fairy” in Mother’s parlance.

Vitus had hitched a ride to New York City the day he’d graduated from college—he knew that there had to

be a better way. But he wasn’t used to the freedom! Pretty girls who treated him like an equal, not making

him take ice cold enemas or briskly scrubbing his dick and balls in the bathtub with steel wool like Mother

did, (to discourage masturbation)

Vitus was able to secure a good job, it really had helped that he’d graduated from Buttermilk State with a

4.0 in Computer Forensics, Vitus was able to find a good gig in the Big Apple, analyzing digital data and

fighting website sabotage for a government contractor.

For a time, Vitus, who was quite well off, had gone to various dominatrixes, and then realized he’d needed

something a little more 24/7. Something that reminded him of the folks, he guessed…so he’d put an ad in

the local BDSM rag, and then actually hired a married couple to move into his Manhattan apartment.

Owen and Piper had been the nicest people…Piper had worked as a dominatrix in her twenties, and was

now a sexy thirty-six, with a blonde bob and full, firm breasts. She looked a great deal like Brigitte Nielsen,

and Owen had simply looked threatening.

Piper had gotten construction people in to soundproof the master bedroom in Vitus’s Manhattan condo,

renaming it “The Nursery” and Owen had gone out to purchase a series of canes, whips and paddles. They

also purchased a small chastity device and locked it on Vitus to monitor his orgasms.

And then it was Vitus’s duty to try and avoid punishment—which of course, never worked out. Vitus was

supposed to be home from work at five sharp, but he was a project manager and had to stay as long as his

staff did on any important security work, and no matter how long he tried to convince Miss Piper on the

phone to let it go, she always just maintained “You know the rules, Vitus…we’ll deal with it when you get

home, dear. “

And Vitus would be there at work, pleading, as his cock grew harder and harder in his pants, “Please,

Mommie…it’s not my fault I must stay late!” When Vitus got home, he would go into the Nursery

immediately and come out wearing an adult diaper, much as his original Mother put him in, and then Piper

would berate him for “gallivanting about”.

Sometimes they would break because Piper needed to go to the bathroom. She would either pee into Vitus’s

mouth, or shit into a feeding funnel that Vitus wrapped his mouth around. Within four months of their

relationship, Vitus was a committed shit-eater.

It was fortunate that the Nursery was so well soundproofed, because Vitus’s voice would be hoarse within the

hour! First Mommie (Piper) would tie Vitus over the side of his adult sized Crib, and pull his diaper down,

viciously whipping him with a Spencer paddle and then a strap, and then to follow up, Owen would usually

sodomize Vitus, and then force Vitus to blow Owen two or three times until Vitus’s stomach was full of

semen and Owen fully satiated.

If Piper was feeling sexual, she would allow Vitus to either go down on her for an hour or so, or put on a

penis gag and use his head to pound the dildo into her vagina again and again until she orgasmed.

Usually after that, Vitus, who had learned to be a gourmet cook for his parents, would make Piper and

Owen a good dinner, and usually Vitus himself would suck baby formula out of a bottle. When Vitus

was out, of course, he ate in restaurants, so he did get his share of meat and normal food, but nights and

weekends he was purely on a formula diet.

It really worked out well for a time…Vitus really felt he was getting what he needed from the couple, but

again, he missed his sisters…he missed his family. What could he do? But then his parents died, he learned

from a telegram…so he fired the couple, (but with generous severance) and he went home to Buttermilk

Falls. And things had certainly changed in the household.

The other siblings, after years of bullying the triplets, had come to realize the insanity of the parents, and had

begged the girls to leave their sick parents, but Demi and Cinder had said no, so the other kids had just taken

off to pursue, yes, their mentally healthy but blue collar lives. In fact, none of them lived in Buttermilk Falls

anymore.

But Vitus had initially tried to impress his sisters, saying he was just visiting, in his Armani suit. Demi had

been eating a bit of salad, and as Vitus watched, Cinder slowly undressed and began licking a piece of peach

that Demi had mushed with her high heel on the floor. “What the hell’s going on? What’s she doing?” Vitus

had asked.

“It’s Cinder’s turn to be the sub.” Demi had responded calmly. “We live this way, because it’s the only way to

keep us from being slovenly slackers, like Father said…Cinder, clean that floor up, don’t leave one little scrap,

or I’m going to whip your ass with the snow shovel in the corner.”

Vitus had looked in the corner, and indeed there was a large snow shovel with some bloodstains on it, from

whipping and blistering asses! “But don’t you guys want to make up for the way things were before with Mother

and Father?” But when he’d asked this, his dick had been hardening in his pants. He’d known the answer.

Cinder had looked up from where she was licking up the dirty, mushed peach. “You know what you need,

Vitus. That’s why you came back. Why don’t you take off that ridiculous suit and lick out the ashtrays…

service Mistress Demi…you know that’s what you want to do!”

Vitus had been enraged, and he’d screamed at his sisters…but then he’d bit his lip, and as they’d watched,

amused, Vitus had disrobed, and dropped on his knees next to Cinder, and Demi had gone to fetch the

snow shovel, giving him sixty quite painful whacks. The next day, the girls had taken Vitus to a piercing and

tattoo artist and had his penis put into a Prince Albert, and hidden the key…just as he needed!

Cinder had started her own software company, and Vitus went to work with her, and Demi of course was an

emergency room physician—living with Father and Mother had taught her to deal with traumatic crises!The

three knew they needed discipline, and they decided to take turns being the Top…the boss, the parent. But

it was difficult, and they’d been hoping for some years that they’d find another, fourth person to take over

the Master role…and just a moment ago, Vitus had been called out of his corner by the cell phone…Cinder

had told him “Prepare for this, Vitus…I think I’ve met our Master, at Fanchon’s party. His name is Ratface

O’Rourke, and I think he’s perfect!”

But now Vitus was not so sure about this Ratface O’Rourke fellow. It was indeed a strange name, and did

Vitus want to submit to a man? Vitus was as hetero as they came, and he enjoyed submitting to either of

his pretty sisters, and also enjoyed domming them…no, that wasn’t true. It was much too much work. He

enjoyed subbing only. Just the week before, Demi had tied Vitus down, unlocked his Prince Albert, and

she’d sat there, fully clothed, running her burgundy nails up and down his sweating shaft, and then, when

he’d begged to cum, she’d smashed his balls with one of her high heels, held delicately in her hand.

The girls could be especially cruel to Vitus when giving him his quite rare orgasms. Once they’d made Vitus

wait six months, unlike his usual thirty days, and he’d been allowed, finally to jerk off in the back yard, in

mid February…but every time he got close to cumming, Demi or Cinder would turn the ice cold hose on

him, literally knocking him over, and making him shiver, naked in the grass.

Then there was, of course “Timed jerking” where Demi would hold a stopwatch while Cinder whipped

Vitus’s ass while he jerked his dick, sometimes with sandpaper, but always with his left hand. He would be

allowed to try this once a week, for five minutes, and rarely did it cumulate in an orgasm, though by George

he tried!

Sometimes the girls would hire six to eight male prostitutes and make Vitus suck them all off before he was

allowed to jerk off, and other times they’d cuff him up in the closet until he brought himself off rubbing his

dick against the wall!

Another memorable time was when Vitus had been forbidden to cum until he’d done sufficient sit-ups and

crunches that he could actually bend over and suck his own dick…an act of amazing autofellatio. The girls

had put this on web cam, entertaining most of the BDSM community of the Western Hemisphere!

All that was extremely arousing…what would it be like with a Male Master? Vitus didn’t think it would be

that arousing. And damn it, he needed to take charge. Vitus got up out of the corner and went to where the

key was to the chain attaching his glans to his nostrils, and unlocked himself, going then to the bedroom

and dressing. It was weird having clothes on in the house…two weeks before, Vitus had been Top and of

course for seven days he’d been dressed, but much of the time it was one of the girls who was in charge, and

Vitus was quite nude.

But now he sat down on the couch, and picked up a magazine and waited for the door to open. The girls

were coming home from their party, bringing this Ratface person with them, and Vitus would just tell him

to go to hell. If they wanted to sub to this moron, that was their business! Suddenly, Vitus heard the key in

the lock. Would Cinder punish him for being dressed? It was all voluntary, damn it.

Cinder and Demi came in first, followed by a homely man who indeed, had the face of a rat or perhaps a

damaged gerbil. They were laughing and talking to Ratface, and he was having quite a good time, hanging

out with these beautiful girls. “Hey there Vitus!” Cinder said with a smile. “This is Ratty, possibly our new

Master.” Vitus was surprised that Cinder didn’t say anything about his illegal clothing, but then he realized

that Cinder, of course was no longer in charge. She had a relieved and quite carefree look on her face. Well,

bully for her.

Vitus just looked at him, skeptically. “Hi, I’m Rat O’Rourke” the guy said, smiling. What crooked teeth.

Evidently this fellow had not had much of an upbringing. Whatever Mother and Father’s other sins, they

could afford an orthodontist! As Vitus watched, both girls undressed quickly, kneeling in front of him. He

was a little new to Mastership, and looked a bit disjointed. “You guys don’t have to do that…we did our thing

at the party, but…”

Demi looked up happily at Rat. “No no, we want to be your full time submissives. We have a good feeling

about you! I know it’s a little much, asking you to make your decision now, but I really, really got wet when

you whipped me at the party, and Cinder was totally jealous because she was my domme…now you can

punish us both! And…”Demi looked doubtfully at Vitus, who looked out the window, trying to be macho.

“Well, if Vitus doesn’t mind, we can do more of the same here, I guess” Rat said, and he began to unbuckle

his belt, but then of course Cinder stopped him and pointed to the buggy whip in the corner, an old

fashioned monster with a thick end and a short lash.

THIRTY-ONE

Ratface awoke the next morning with a weird feeling in his groin. He looked up, and whaddya know, Cinder

was sucking and slurping on his dick! She must have a forgiving spirit, Rat thought, after the way I treated

her last night. Rat had been amazed at how Cinder had gone from kicking poor Demi’s ass at the party to

complete submissiveness to Ratty when they’d gotten back to the house.

He’d whipped both girls, and twisted their tits up, and bitch slapped Demi a few times because she asked a

rude question about his first name, but even with her nose bleeding, Demi had immediately begun licking

his boots with almost manic fervor. The brother, Vitus had just sort of stared at the scene for a bit, and then

gone into his bedroom.

“He just will take some time to adjust” Cinder had told Ratty in a confidential tone, as he was ripping out her

pubic hair with the tweezers on his Swiss Army knife. “Vitus wants you to dom him too, he is just in denial.”

And Rat of course had no interest in THAT whatsoever. Despite having gotten the host of the party to blow

him the night before, Rat was not a fag.

Mistreating women, however, Rat was quite accustomed to. He and his brothers and sisters had grown up in

a crowded tenement apartment, and as Rat’s mother was a crack smoking welfare witch, Rat had brought in

what he could using his peculiar charms.

His brothers were muggers, burglars and stickup guys, but Rat started shilling for the hackneyed whores on

Eighth Avenue when he was in junior high. “Hey Mister, you want a lay?” the ugly little boy would say as he

motioned potential customers over to meet the various girls. And, although they were supposed to offer up

ten percent (five bucks out of a $50 blow job, for instance) the girls would cheat him when they could, and

so Ratty had begun kicking asses early—he wasn’t very big, but if he punched a girl in her siliconed chest

and then threw her to the pavement, bouncing her head on the curb a couple of times, it was amazing how

quickly they’d ante up.

After Rat had gotten to college he’d found even more girls who wanted, BEGGED for abuse. Arianna

Orelowitz was his first, willing victim. Arianna assumed, that first day in freshman year at the library,

that the kid with purple hair and leather jacket was in need of tutoring, and had been amazed at how much

smarter he was than she…lots of time in his mother’s crowded tenement for reading Goethe, Hume and

Milton, and doing complicated math games on the walls…

But Ratty had enjoyed Arianna’s company. She had curly piles of dark hair and full lips, and a zaftig figure.

The first time she’d asked him to tie her up, Rat had been horrified. But Arianna had known how to handle

him. “Are you afraid, Rat?”Who was this Jew cunt to call him afraid? Rat had tied the naked Arianna up,

and then, after she’d said that he couldn’t tie good knots, he’d taken off his belt and whacked her a couple

of times across her mammoth breasts. “Oh shit, you’re not going to call the cops, are you?” Rat was really

worried. His scholarship was tenuous and he had a long police record back in New York. But Arianna had

winked and dared him to hit her again!

Within three weeks, she’d moved him out of his dorm room and into her trust fund apartment, and within

two weeks after that, he’d begun doing shit like taking off all her clothes, tying her hands behind her back

and shoving her in the hallway, forcing her to beg him to let her back in…and then of course there was the

time he’d put a bag over her head with a little hole for the mouth, and let her service most of the men in her

building’s Tenant’s Association…

And then Arianna had wanted to marry him! But Rat knew then, as he did now, that he was not the

marrying kind, as Rhett Butler would say. Nine different men had sired his brothers and sisters, and Mom

had married none of them, which had made them such interesting colors, shapes, and possible nationalities,

who knew? Rat had wisely gotten a vasectomy on his eighteenth birthday, but he also was going to avoid the

wife thing.

Now, he looked down at Cinder slurping away on his big rod, and got sick of it. Rat used one foot to kick

her off the bed and onto the floor, and he enjoyed the way her boobs bounced as she fell. “Enough, you

slut-bag. Go get me coffee.” Rat lit a cigarette, and just before Cinder left the room, he stubbed it once on her

bouncing, naked buttock. Life was good.

THIRTY-TWO

But when Rat opened the bedroom door, there was the brother—Vitus. “I need to talk to you, if you have

a moment.” Rat could tell it was a battle for the handsome, successful guy to be polite to him—Ratty had

known guys like that all his life, guys who looked down on street hoods like him. Even after Rat had gone to

college and graduate school, he had never “looked the part” though he had an IQ of 156, and his professors

thought he was incredibly promising.

They sat down in the living room. Vitus looked straight at Rat. “My sisters think that you may be the

ultimate Master for them, they want you to move into the house.” Vitus bit his lip and stared at his shoe

then. Rat became somewhat annoyed. What did they think, he was trying to sponge on them? Rat had a

respectable fellowship here at Buttermilk State, and he sold a little Ecstasy on the side to undergraduates, he

didn’t need to live with these rich fucks.

Then Vitus said something just incredible. “We-I think it might be a workable solution, if you’d consider it.

My sister and I own a software company, and as you know, Demeter is a physician at Buttermilk General

Hospital. We could pay you a monthly tribute of possibly five thousand dollars if you’d consider moving in

and taking over. I had my reservations at first, but now I am thinking it would be a good plan.”

You could tell the guy was just in pain over the whole thing. Rat was of course amazed that anyone would

pay him five grand a month to kick the shit out of them, but stranger things had happened in his peculiar

life. Still, he had to maintain the upper hand. “That would really make big changes in my life. How about

ten grand a month, and my tuition paid in my Master’s program so I don’t have to do the teaching thing

anymore…I’d have more time for you folks.” What the hell, right?

Vitus looked angry for a moment, and then nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll have my attorney draw up a contract

tomorrow. Will-uh, will you be able to dominate a man as well? I have needs too, and it would be all three

of us.” Poor Vitus looked arrogant and mortified at the same time as he said this, and Rat doubted the man’s

sanity. Rat wasn’t a fag, and he sensed this guy wasn’t either…but hey, $120,000 a year certainly would

broaden horizons, eh?

“I guess so, sure.” Rat said hesitantly. “I’ve never um, you’d have to show me stuff.” Vitus still looked way

pissed off. He didn’t seem like a submissive at all. He motioned for Rat to accompany him, and they went

down to the basement of the house, which was a true horror show—paddles, whips, and crops hung from

the walls, there was a padded carpenter’s bench with restraint handles, and in the corner were some stocks

out of what had to be the Middle Ages. It was a true dungeon. Rat wondered if Vitus had lured him down

here to kill him. Rat had carried a switchblade since early childhood, and he touched it from the outside of

his pocket nervously.

Vitus looked straight at him. “I-I need punishment…last night when my sisters were at the party, I was

ordered to stand in the corner all night naked, and I dressed instead before all of you came home. Will a

cane be what you’ll need to begin on me…Master?” Vitus gritted his teeth, but Rat nodded, smiling, and

watched as Vitus went to the wall and took down a nasty looking long black walking stick with a silver head.

He came over and handed it to Rat hesitantly. “I hope this will do. I have a bamboo if you like, but this

works rather well.”

Rat took the cane and as he held it, Vitus began unbuttoning his shirt, and taking off his pants, and stepping

out of what looked like silk stretch women’s panties. Rat noted with some horror that Vitus’s penis was

locked in a chain to his balls, and it looked as if this was done to prevent masturbation. Now, the handsome,

aristocratic young man was naked and shivering slightly in front of Rat, who was in his jeans and concert

T-shirt.

“Do you want me to grab my ankles, Master?” Vitus asked in a low voice. But Rat’s eyes had wandered over

to the stocks. Those were mean looking!

“What’s this here thing?” Ratty asked, walking up to the stocks. “Looks nice and sturdy.” He tapped it with

the cane. “Why don’t you get into this stock thing, there, Vitus.”

Vitus walked over to the stocks. “That’s a Cornhill pillory. It was used to punish thieves and other offenders

in the 1600’s. My father bought it when I was about thirteen. If that’s what you want, Master, I’ll get in.” But

Rat could tell that Vitus was trembling a bit. Vitus lifted the stock open and put his neck and wrists in the

holes, and Vitus closed it and locked it.

Then Rat walked around the pillory, finally stopping at the back, where Vitus’s buttocks looked white and

vulnerable. “You really pissed me off, being all dressed and smoking when I came into your house last night,

Vitus…you’re a bad boy.”

“Yes Master” came Vitus’s voice from the front of the stocks. He was trembling more, and Rat imagined he

was worried. Sure, being whipped by your sisters was tough, but a man’s arm was a lot more muscular! Rat

took the cane and swung it hard, but then stopped and just tapped Vitus’s buttocks. Vitus gasped, and Ratty

smiled. He liked fucking with this handsome little prick.

Rat had always known he was ugly, and he’d never been invited to the nice parties at school, even though

he was always in the Gifted and Talented classes where the smart, rich kids were. Confident, handsome,

rich guys like Vitus made him angry much of the time, and Rat was determined to get this anger out of his

system…

WHACK! The cane slashed Vitus’s buttocks, and there was a red mark, but Vitus didn’t cry out, he just said

“One, thank you Master.” Rat liked that. He swung again, harder and this time, it grazed the sensitive area

just below Vitus’s buttocks, and there was a strangled cry, and then “Two. Thank you Master.”

Rat smiled. “You really can take it, can’t you Vitus…and you thank me. How polite!”

“My father trained me well.” Vitus’s matter of fact voice came from the stocks. “I was taught not to be a

crybaby and to take my punishments philosophically. Should we continue, Master?”

Rat went to the wall without answering Vitus, and put the cane back, this time taking down a nasty looking

thing, seven long thongs with metal sparks interspersed in the leather, attached to a handle. “Now we’ll see

how philosophical you can be, Vitus.”

SLASH! THWACK! SMASH! And now Vitus screamed. The prongs and metal stars of the scourge were

clearly ripping long bleeding marks in his buttocks and upper thighs, and he screamed and howled like there

was no one’s business. “No-no, Master. You shouldn’t use that-that’s the scourge. Father kept that to just

warn us—he used it on Cinder for her bad grades, but never me or Demeter!”

“Well Father’s not here right now.” Rat said lazily. “If you can’t take it, I guess we can stop…but I expect brave

things from you, Vitus. You sure you want to stop?”

There was a long silence. And then Vitus’s sobbing voice came back. “Y-yes Master, I can take the scourge…

puh-please continue.” And Ratty did! He had quite a time with the scourge, finally quitting after five more

strikes. Ratty then unlocked Vitus, and the young man got on his knees in front of Vitus. Ratty could see

that his cock was trying desperately to harden against the piercing, and so he took up a long, thin wire

switch and whacked it down, hitting right between Vitus’s legs until his penis was tiny.

And then he kicked Vitus with his thick black engineer boot right in the balls for good measure, and the

young man fell over, screaming. WHACK WHACK CRACK! Ratty slashed Vitus’s bare buttocks and

back. “Get your ass back up. Get on those knees, NOW!” And Vitus did, his face coursing with tears. But he

looked up at Rat. “Y-yes Master?”

Rat leaned over and slapped Vitus’s face with his hand, just like he used to do to the whores he managed on

Eighth Avenue…and Vitus looked down again, shamefacedly. “Don’t you ever look in my eyes again, Slave

Vitus, you understand?” Rat unzipped his pants, and began peeing on Vitus, and the slave knelt quietly,

allowing the urine to sprinkle over his prone body.

“And now I want you to suck my dick…and slurp it up, you little pig. Suck it like you mean it!” And Vitus

took Ratface’s dick in his mouth and began sucking it gently and tenderly, massaging the underside of Rat’s

cock with his tongue, quite as if he were playing a violin…and Rat was in great heaven!

After Rat spurted in Vitus’s mouth, he zipped up while Vitus knelt, awaiting further instructions. “Quite a

place you’ve got here…what’s that bear trap for…it’s the kind they use in the woods right? I took a forestry

course in college.”

Still looking down, Vitus replied, “Yes Master. Father would punish me sometimes for masturbating without

permission by trapping my genitals in it for a night. It isn’t as bad as it looks…once he was so upset by my illicit

onanism that he drove a corkscrew through my penis, and another time he locked my testicles in a vise in his

carpentry shop. Fortunately now I am pierced, and Cinder allows me to masturbate once every thirty days.”

“We’ll make it every ninety days from now on, I think.” Ratty said, as he walked upstairs. He grinned as he

heard Vitus burst into fresh tears, thinking about how his already rare orgasms were going to become even

rarer.” Why don’t you follow me up here, dirt-bag and make me some lunch!”

THIRTY-THREE

Phineas peered out of his cell window, somewhat furtively, as he didn’t want Miss Blythe to accuse him of

skylarking and wasting time in his cell. He had his computer work to do, and she’d also ordered him to

write 1,000 times in his cell “I am a biological waste of Miss Blythe’s time”. But there she was! There was

his beloved Miss Blythe, walking back from Baskin Robbins with her new young friend, Morse, the Asian

fellow. They were really enjoying their ice cream cones, and holding hands.

Phineas sighed. It had been a long time since he’d been out for an ice cream cone. Actually all he was allowed

to eat was Nutraloaf, a vegetable and bread filled tasteless thing that they served prisoners on Death Row.

Miss Blythe had heard the recipe on National Public Radio, and she’d kept Phineas on it eight years now. He,

of course was a gourmet cook for his Mistress, but other than tasting to ensure quality, he had never eaten

his gourmet meals.

After a decade, Phineas was still living with Blythe, though in a remote part of the house. His house, his

name was on the deed, but it was really Blythe’s place. He’d been with his Princess since her sophomore

year of college. He’d always been on the “room plan” —restricted to his room except for chores and work.

But in recent years Blythe had commissioned an architect and contractors, at Phineas’s expense, of course to

construct a real 6 X 9 by 9.5 foot high cell of concrete and steel—no rugs, just a small cot, a chair and a table,

toilet, sink and a laptop, as Phineas telecommuted now, only going to the office once a month for meetings.

There was a large brass ring up high on one of the walls, and sometimes Blythe would cuff Phineas’s wrists

to the wring, forcing him to stand on his tippie toes for hours at a time. It was, as she put it “A restriction

within a restriction”. There was also a smaller grated hole in the lower wall called the “Pocket” and Blythe

sometimes shoved Phineas into the Pocket and locked the small grate and leave the poor claustrophobic slave

there for an hour or two…or sometimes five!

As there was only one tiny window on one side of the basement cell, Blythe also had the option of turning off

all the lights and shutting the iron window porthole so Phineas was kept in darkness. This was not a frequent

punishment, but it was always there!

Phineas was kept nearly naked except for his MoodJock, an interesting invention that Blythe had purchased

from the PainCafe’s Dungeonopolis gift shop. The MoodJock was a jock-strap shaped cup that fitted over

Phineas’s penis and testicles. It was an electronic device that shifted into different sensations.

Sometimes it provided a silky, stimulating feeling that made Phineas’s cock aroused and very excited…but

then it would go into Hell Mode, and a hundred spikes would be shot from within, and stab Phineas’s cock

and balls, sometimes to the point that he fell down in acute agony.

Sometimes the Moodjock would become very hot, nearly burning Phineas’s genitals, and other times it

would be icy cold, and Phineas’s cock and balls would shrink incredibly.. Each sensation lasted about ten

minutes at a time…and Phineas was never at peace.

Although there was no lock on Phineas’s cell door, there was a red seal, and Blythe knew when Phineas had

left the cell as the seal would be broken, which he was allowed to do for three hours in the morning to clean

the house and make Blythe’s breakfast.

21 hours a day though, Phineas was in his cell. And when he was in the house, doing his chores, usually

no one was there…Blythe visited Phineas in his cell, and that was only three times a week, as she felt that

Phineas didn’t deserve the reward of seeing her daily.

When Blythe did visit Phineas, it was quite thrilling, but sometimes painful as well. If Blythe was in a

particularly foul mood, she would chain Phineas’s wrists to the wall ring, pull off his Mood Jock and cane

his cock, testicles, and buttocks for twenty to thirty minutes.

Other times, she might bind Phineas to his cot and give him long, but ultimately unsatisfying teases. Phineas

was allowed two orgasms a year, on Christmas and his birthday, and otherwise, he was milked every six

weeks from the rear to reduce pressure on his prostate. Blythe often rode Phineas’s face, though…and he

would bring her to five or ten orgasms in a four hour visit!

Blythe also invited other Dominants, male and female to visit Phineas in his cell, to punish him torture him,

or make use of his mouth and anus. Phineas, who was as heterosexual as they come, had learned to suck

dick better than a Manhattan hairdresser, and he was always ready to be of service, even when it made him

somewhat ill.

Twice a week Blythe, who was in addition to her real estate skills, a certified Fitness Instructor would, with

the help of her whip and cane, put Phineas through Step Aerobics, Jumping Jacks, jogging in place and even

break dancing…it was good for his heart and even better for his attitude.

Some would say that Phineas had a difficult life, but he was actually quite content as Miss Blythe’s total

prisoner. When he was young, Phineas had been quite the rich young playboy, he’d gone through bimbos

like butter, not to mention golfing, windsurfing, kayaking, flying his own jet, and and it had been lots of

fun, but he’d always felt like he had a hole in his chest—filled with anger, loneliness fear and resentments.

There was something hollow in always getting your own way, it seemed.

Between twenty-five and forty, Phineas had tried doing a monthly BDSM session with paid dommes…

and that had been good, but he always knew that there was something phony in resuming your real life

after leaving…in the ten years between forty and fifty, Phineas had experimented with dating a variety of

dominant women.

Lexi had advertised herself in the paper as a “pouting domina” who wanted to be spoiled by a rich man.

Phineas had spent eighteen months courting Lexi, who was indeed beautiful and quite spoiled. She was tall,

ash blonde and curvy, but with an evil temper! Sometimes, if Phineas told Lexi he couldn’t take her to a

certain club, or buy her a certain dress at a certain time…Lexi would bind him hand and foot and drive steel

knitting needles through his glans, and then bat them back and forth with a carpet beater.

Maeve, a truculent brunette had the temerity to take Phineas’s pants down and whip his bare buttocks at his

sister’s wedding just because he burped after his third glass of champagne! Aldeline had given poor Phineas

a case of trench mouth after a rather pungent golden shower, and Euphemie had somehow confused BDSM

with Satanism, and had been hard pressed not to crucify Phineas on an altar!

Blythe had been an amazing find, right around Phineas’s fiftieth birthday. She was a saucy twenty year old,

and they’d met at the PainCafe’s Dungeonopolis Dinner Dance…and it had been love ever since!

At first of course, Phineas’s relationship with Blythe was quite different from what it was now! He had

certainly not imagined that one day he would be spending 21 hours a day in a cell, like a death-row inmate!

Phineas, at the time he’d met Blythe was handsome and worldly…he’d traveled the globe many times, and

he’d climbed the Khumba Icefall on Mount Everest , gone hang gliding, hot air ballooning, sky diving, and

bedded thousands of girls!

Phineas had initially explained quite at length to the amused Blythe that he wanted a “part-time” dominant,

so as not to interfere with his lifestyle. He, of course would be quite generous with her, as he was thirty years

older, and she was a gorgeous young thing…but it had to be on his terms, right?

A typical date in the beginning would consist of Phineas taking Blythe to dinner and a show, or perhaps

to play tennis. When they were home though, she’d order him to strip and don a frilly apron and do some

housecleaning, and afterwards, no matter how well he scrubbed, she usually worked him over with her whips

and other implements! Then he would go down on Blythe for an hour or two, and then she might let him

fuck her, but generally had him jerk off into a pair of her panties…and it was a working relationship for them

both…when he went home, they wouldn’t see each other for another week.

But then Phineas began pestering Blythe to let him see her more…and of course she was a popular girl,

and didn’t really have time for a geezer. But he kept begging her to move into his house, and she finally

acquiesced…but she found he was getting in the way of her social life, giving her hurt looks as he passed her

in the living room when she was being felt up by a horny frat boy.

“Sure it’s your house, Phinny, but I want you to spend more time in your room…you can do what you want

outside of the house, but when you’re not cleaning up, I want you to stay in your room, read or something.”

But as Phineas complained more, Blythe began giving him assignments to keep him busy—she had him

copy the dictionary in his spare time…and then she began tying him to a whipping post in his room, with

a leather hood over his head, and various young college guys would come in and stick their dicks in, to be

serviced by the unfortunate Phineas!

Phineas found eventually that he actually wanted to spend more time in his room, doing assignments for

Blythe. He lost interest in his Jet-Ski, his motorcycle and his Saab, and began spending more and more time

in his room, in the nude, thinking of ways to please her. Unfortunately, when he was bored, he would jerk

off, and she was having none of this…she eventually locked him up in a chastity device.

This at first drove the playboy Phineas crazy…he was used to running around singles bars, telling women

lies…and being the witty guy he knew he was! But what was the point of this if he couldn’t get laid because

he was locked up? Theoretically, they had an open relationship, he and Blythe, she sure fucked her share of

young men…but apparently it wasn’t going to go both ways.

And the chastity device was incredibly difficult for Phineas…he had to take a lot of cold showers at first, and

of course throw out all his porn. But the worst part was how long it was between releases!

Blythe initially used a pair of dice to calculate how long Phineas would have to go before he was allowed to

cum. She’d throw the dice and multiply the numbers on each die wherever they landed…say if there was

a 7 and an 11, that would be an unfortunate 77 days, whereas if it was a one and a two, only two days! But

then of course, Phineas often made errors in judgment—as Blythe called it…like not choosing to scrub the

bathtub just before she brought a date home for a romantic shower, or forgetting to pick up her dry cleaning.

Each time there was an “error” like this, Blythe would add five to ten days of chastity time to whatever

Phineas owed. For instance, once he had a fifteen day sentence, and he’d done nine days of it, and he’d not

washed Blythe’s car, so she gave him an eight day extension….which meant he had fourteen more days before

he would be allowed to jerk off and then she’d re-roll the dice!

But he also got a lot of credit with her for being devoted and slavish, and the more time he spent in his room,

the happier she seemed to be with him, even though Phineas eventually lost touch with his family and

friends…did it matter? Wasn’t Blythe what it was about?

In the end, though, it was Phineas who told Blythe that she was right to limit his orgasms, and he’d told her

that if she wanted, she could keep him indefinitely chaste…and so now he was on two orgasms a year! But

hey, they were great orgasms, right?

Now,Phineas looked out his cell window again…who was that? A beautiful girl with a white cane was

getting out of a taxicab, and greeting Morse and Blythe, who had finished their ice cream cones. What was a

blind girl doing here?

THIRTY-FOUR

God, when Blythe called me, it was quite a blast from the past! After we reminisced about our times in the

Kappa Gamma Sade femdom sorority, she told me that she’d hooked onto one of my old submissives, little

Morse Wong…of course I had to take the first plane to Buttermilk Falls to see them (Seeing as in meeting

them, since I can’t see a damn thing.) Old home week…getting out of the cab, being hugged by Blythe, who

smelled of Acqua Gio Armani body oil—some things never change! From the feel of her, she was still quite

curvy and in great shape.

It wasn’t known to all, but Blythe and I had been more than friends then—we’d rolled around and sucked

each other’s nipples, and licked each other’s pussies—-actually, she’d licked mine more, as Blythe, who

dommed every man she met, had been my submissive. Not full time of course, but she’d begged me to take

her over my knee, and to feel for a paddle, and whip her little round ass, and I’d gotten true joy out of doing

this…making her weep, and then worship me! Those were the days!

But now, we were just old friends…”And we have another old friend for you to meet” and I felt for Morse’s

weak, wimpy little hand—like holding a washcloth. He’d been such a pitiful creature…a chemically

dependent substance abuser, who also couldn’t keep his hands off his dick! I’d tried to help him, I’d locked

him up in chastity, but he just couldn’t get with the program, our Morse couldn’t. It was such a shame!

“It’s-it’s good to see you again, Kyra.” Morse said haltingly.

I reached out, feeling for his face, and then worked my fingers up to his scalp and grabbed it hard. “You

mean MISS Kyra, don’t you, scum-worm? You think we’re just pals now?” I pulled hard and felt him falling,

and mercifully let go of Morse’s scalp—he never could keep his damn hair short— and he hit the pavement

as Blythe laughed uproariously.

I felt his breath puffs soiling my nyloned knees, and knew where to kick—I’d catch him in either the nose

or the stomach—KICK! KICK! Morse screamed and begged, and I stopped finally. “Kyra we’d better get

inside before you’re arrested for assault.” Blythe said cheerfully.

“What a shame, I do love handcuffs,” I quipped as she took my arm and guided me into her house. I could

hear Morse rising and coughing behind me, and following sullenly. He hadn’t changed a bit in the seven

years since I’d “seen” him!

After a nice lunch, served by Kyra’s new slave Cleary, we adjourned to the living room, and Morse began

undressing. “I couldn’t believe it when Morse told me all about his relationship with you, Kyra, and that he

had been so resistant to chastity training.” Blythe said, laughing. “I told him that if he wanted to be involved

with me, he would certainly have to get locked up—and probably a piercing like Cleary has. Show Miss

Kyra your piercing, Cleary.”

I felt Cleary approaching me, and he took my hand and guided it to his penis, and I ran my long nails up

and down his curved shaft, cruelly curved in fact, and locked to his scrotum.Humming, I took a four ounce

flip top bottle of lotion out of my purse and squirted it on my fingers, and then ran the lotion up and down

Cleary’s cock and balls with my exploring fingertips, listening to him gasp and moan. I could tell from the

lumps and ridges and veins on his shaft that he had not cum in some time!

“Ah, I can see that you’re circumcised, Cleary…I like a nice hygienically cut organ myself.” I said, feeling

around just under the ridge of his shaft, which was unsuccessfully trying to straighten out, as it filled with

blood.

“Yes, Miss Kyra, that’s correct ma’am” came Cleary’s strangled voice. “I am indeed circumcised.” My left

hand wandered down to his full balls. I tickled them and grasped them gently, and then, all of a sudden, I

squeezed them hard and Cleary screamed.

Blythe, doubled over with laughter got up and brought me to the couch. “Forget Cleary now. I have bound

Morse’s hands behind his back, and you can play with his unpierced penis. It’ll be the last time, because the

guy from Buttermilk Falls Tattoos and Piercings is coming today to drill some holes in his peenie!”

I started my hand out reaching around and feeling Morse’s face, his nose, and little chin. He wasn’t a

handsome kid, but better than some faces I’d felt. I worked my way down his narrow, skinny chest, feeling

his arms, which were cuffed behind his back, and then my little naughty fingers traveled down to his legs, to

his penis, which was already stiffening.

“So you’ve decided to voluntarily go into chastity this time, Morse?” I asked as I took the tip of his penis in

my thumb and forefinger.

“Y-yes Miss Kyra, that’s right” Morse’s voice was a little low. “I-I realize that it was probably for the best that

you locked me in chastity, and I should’ve taken your advice and stayed in Washington, DC….I was just

weak, I guess.”“That’s no surprise, Morse.” Blythe’s titter filled the room. I took my left hand and grasped

the base of Morse’s penis, using my thumb and index fingers in an “OK” sign, and then I laid my right palm

on top of Morse’s glans, running it in little circles around the top of the glans. The fingers of my left hand

were busy twisting circular motions around the glans, and Morse was moaning happily.

“Enjoy this while you can, Morse” I said lazily, as I tickled his frenulum with my energetic forefinger. “You

know of course, that you’ll probably never get to fuck a woman again—my ex-husband Brock, for the time

we were married, almost twelve years, only came when he got to jerk off, which was very rarely. But you

know, you’re not really equipped to please a woman with a tiny cock like that one.”

I could feel Morse tensing up, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. It was true, what I said, men like Morse were really

Beta males. They weren’t really made to please women like Alphas were. But someone had to pay a girl’s bills

while the Alpha males were fucking them right? And of course Beta males get teased…and that’s something

to look forward to, especially when it involved being teased by ME.

People think a blind woman is severely disabled, but I have had amazing adventures with my sense of

touch—and I know the feel of a penis better than any woman. The glans, the shaft, the perineum, the

bouncing testicles…my poor husband Brock complains quite often that I make him almost crazy with my

long teases, but he wouldn’t sacrifice them for anything, and of course I learned my way around the business

end of a dick with my twin brother Kevin, who I used to tease and torment for HOURS.

Once or twice I had some of my girlfriends home from the Perkins School for the Blind, and we’d strip

Kevin and tie him to the bed, and explore his body with our hands…Kevin never seemed to complain about

having six beautiful blind girls touching him! We learned so much about anatomy through the touch feel,

and it helped us in our quest to conquer men, I think.

Now, I firmly grasped Morse’s shaft at the base and slid my hand up towards the glans, and when I reached

the cockhead, I twisted my hand over the top, and began exploring the ridge and frenulum, massaging it

with vigor. Morse’s pants became louder, and I smiled involuntarily. He was so fucking predictable! I could

feel him struggling to get out of his cuffs, but Blythe had locked him tight, yes she had!

As I continued to stroke Morse’s dick, I sensed his desperation to cum. I thought of the last time I let Kevin

cum…I had his legs jacked over his head, wrists bound as always, and I jacked him just a little too long with

one hand, twisting his right nipple with the other, and as he opened his mouth to scream, the semen flew

right in! God, that was hilarious!

The best place to massage I’ve always found was my thumb on the frenulum, and it was almost like using a

remote control device. Morse’s gasps were increasing. I wondered if he thought he was going to get to cum

before he was pierced…”You know of course, things will be quite difficult for you, Morse, with a chastity

piercing. You won’t be able to use a urinal anymore.” I laughed deep in my throat, considering it.

“Quite a few times Cleary has complained about that, too” Blythe’s voice came, laughing. “He came home

from work one day with stained pants, because all the stalls were full and he couldn’t of course use the urinal

being all locked up. I advised him to drink less iced tea during the day…what else could he do, right?” We

laughed at this, the image of a man not being able to use the urinal!

We laughed, and I continued to stroke Morse’s pulsating cock. I pumped faster and faster and then stopped,

so he could cool down. I jerked again, running my fingers up and down his shaft, and then stopped, holding

the cock around the foreskin…and then I bent over and pretended to kiss the tip of Morse’s dick, though not

quite. I rubbed again, faster, and then felt Morse’s hips shaking, and knew his orgasm was imminent unless

I took quick action, and so I held his penis at the base, HARD, and the eruption subsided, like a confused

volcano.

“Think Morse, this’ll be like the old days when we were in D.C.” I said, giggling. “Days and weeks of being

all locked up…me not having time to tease you like I’m doing right now…but it’ll help to focus you on your

work…I understand you’re a graduate student now, and actually drug free. This orgasm denial thing will

make you so focused that you’ll probably qualify for a Fulbright when you’re done with your M.A.!”

I took my hand away and began caressing his inner thighs, cradling Morse’s testicles with my other hand,

and then slowly working my way back in a rhythmic motion to his tumescent erection. I jerked and pulled a

bit, and then as he began his pre-orgasmic gasping, I pulled my hand away and began tracing my fingers up

his stomach and then down to his lower legs.

Soon I had returned to his cock, but I could tell now that he was very, VERY close to cumming, and I had to

take drastic action. I groped for my purse, and pulled out a small Mace spray, and hit his crotch with a shot

of it, and wouldn’t you know, he calmed right down! He was whining and bitching,but he didn’t orgasm.

And isn’t that the point?

THIRTY- FIVE

“You see, Entworth, I saw you last night at the PainCafe, when you were hitting that girl’s breasts….she was

tied down, her hands were, and you kept, like thrashing her with that wire thing.” Jinx O’Casey smiled at

Entworth beseechingly.

Entworth’s swarthy face stared at Jinx through his prescription sunglasses, his copy of “Soap Opera Digest”

forgotten. “You-you aren’t here about my share of the rent?” He tried to look matter of fact, but this was an

extreme relief.

Jinx shook her head, her russet curls tumbling across the snug red-striped top. “No, no, I know you don’t

have any money, why would you, all you do is get high and watch “The Guiding Light” on your waterbed

all day…but I paid your back rent to Ken and the others, and I wanted to ask you about hitting the girl at

the PainCafe.”

“Uh, I didn’t know you were at the PainCafe, Jinx. You seem a little too tight-assed—um, I mean

conservative for um,—”Entworth coughed. “But anyway, I—the girl I was hitting, she was consensual, you

know?” Entworth wiped his nose. “She liked it, even though she screamed a lot.”

Jinx smoothed a long curl on her shoulder as she smiled at Entworth. Fuck, what am I doing, she thought.

I’m a feminist, and Entworth is a pimple ridden slacker who failed out of Buttermilk Falls State Teacher’s

College, where a donkey could graduate summa cum laude. What’s wrong with me?

But she thought of the night before…Entworth sunglasses ever present, had thrashed this really cute

girl’s boobs as she’d cried and begged for more…and Jinx, who had told herself she’d just come to the

PainCafe out of curiosity, had been flabbergasted.

Fantasizing about a dominant Master all her life, and the hottest one in the world was the worst tenant in her

group house? But she had to tell him. She’d done everything right all her life…but she had to tell him.

“Entworth, I know you weren’t hurting her against her will. I wish I WAS her. Do you know what I mean?”

Oh, God, he’s looking at me, and grinning. Oh, those disgusting yellow teeth. Fuck, what have I done?

Entworth smiled at Jinx, and shook his head. “Wait a minute. You’re like, a Republican little twat, and you’re

engaged to lawyer-boy upstairs, and I heard him complain to Stu next door that you don’t even give head…

and you want me to whip you?”

Jinx’s mouth went dry. She thought of the night before. The little blonde girl’s hands were cuffed behind her

head, and her ankles had been connected by a spreader bar, and it had been amazing that she’d been able to

stand up like that….

And Entworth had been holding what seemed to be a straightened coat hanger with duct tape wrapped

around the end he was using for a handle…

And he’d swung the damn thing and SLAPPED her 36 C’s, right across the nipples—it staggered Jinx that

such a sleepy slacker like Entworth could have such dead-on aim—and when the girl had stumbled back,

he’d screamed for her to jut her breasts out again, and she’d fuckin’ obeyed him.

And he’d hit her again, and AGAIN, and not just on the boobs,but all over her stomach and he’d laughed as

she’d screamed bloody murder. He, of course hadn’t noticed Jinx, as she was wearing a black wig and weird

disguising glasses…

Jinx was up for a security clearance, she was a Foreign Service recruit the day she graduated…she couldn’t be

seen there at a sick place like the PainCafe, no sirree.But when she’d gotten home, she’d pushed away from

Ken, who thought she’d been playing bridge at the Student Union…and she’d frigged herself on her knees

in the bathroom, DREAMING that Entworth was whipping her breasts and forcing his cock down her

throat…

And now, she was going to give Entworth a big thrill, because she was going to let him whip and torture her!

Of course she had to keep it from Ken and the others, but she just wanted to do it once or twice, you know…

and Entworth could probably keep his mouth shut, shit, he almost never left his room, pothead that he was…

“So you want a slave master yourself, Jinx?” Entworth said cocking his head at her. “You think that’s hot stuff,

huh?”

Jinx grinned. “Yes, and I want you to be my Master!” Jinx pulled her striped T-shirt up, showing her

awesome big boobs with the rosette nipples. “You can whip these! And I paid your rent, and can even

give you a little money. It’s-it’s true I called you a loser in the past, but I realize now that you really mean

something to me! When can we start?”

Entworth smiled, and lit a doobie of the best weed from Humboldt County, California. “I’m sorry, Jinx, but

I’m just not interested!”

THIRTY-SIX

Jinx was speechless. What did he mean, he wasn’t interested? Not interested? First, Jinx was a hot babe, Miss

Treluce County ‘07, and secondly, Entworth was BROKE, and she’d just paid his rent. He was disowned by

his family, for Chrissake.

Shit, she’d seen the announcement in the local daily—”We, Ellis and Mary Beth Entworth, are no longer

responsible for the debts of our dissolute son…” Young Entworth had nothing coming in, and since he didn’t

work…the nerve!

Entworth, probably reading her thoughts, smiled, and patted her knee. “Jinx, you’re a nice girl, and quite

cute and all…but I don’t think you understand how tough it is being a submissive, ya know?” Entworth took

a drag on his joint, and exhaled.

“Shit,one thing I’ve learned about the kink lifestyle—and I’ve been in it awhile—is that it’s not for the um,

faint hearted.” Entworth was trying to reason with Jinx, but he really wanted to get back to “Soap Opera

Digest”. There was a compelling article about Carly, Bo and a kidnapper’s note on “Days of Our Lives”.

Jinx was now reasoning with Entworth, but he wasn’t listening. Women could be so boring. Maybe it would

be less trouble to just give her a good jolt, scare her off, right? Apparently she wasn’t going to go away,. And

indeed, Jinx was rather cute.

“Just…couldn’t you just hit me with that wire thing, the coat hanger, on my boobs?” Jinx was asking, as she

pulled her little striped top off. “Just a couple of times? It’s not asking so much, since I paid your rent and all.”

Again about the rent. What a mercenary bitch. “Look Jinx, Cherise and I—that’s the girl from last night—

we worked our way up to the wire whipping. I had to start out real lightly with her, using like, my hands,

and then a plastic ruler…it took months before…”

Damn, Jinx’s boobs were out now, She was taking off her cute little powder blue demibra. Those were NICE

tits. She saw Entworth’s interest and shook them merrily at him. Entworth reluctantly admitted that he felt a

little twinge in his pants.

“Please, Entworth,” Jinx begged, as she casually fingered her right nipple. “I know I can take the wire hanger

thing. I’ve been thinking about it for 24 hours now. Please—”

What Entworth really wanted to do was gag Jinx…the girl could not shut up. But he got up and picked up

his lovely straightened coat hanger, with the cute little duct taped handle and came back to Jinx, swinging it

in his hand.

Jinx immediately jutted her chest out and smiled at him. “Don’t be wimpy, Entworth…I need it bad!” She’d

hit a nerve, Entworth’s eyebrows seemed irritable behind his sunglasses, and by George, he swung the coat

hanger rather heavily.

WHACK! Jinx gasped with intense pain. Right across the fucking nipples. Her entire breast—well, both of

them, felt as if they’d been attacked by a Pitt Bull or something. Jinx grabbed her boobs and fell over on her

side, weeping.

Entworth yawned, dropped the hanger and went back to sit down on the sofa. After only one swipe, Jinx

was DOWN. If she’d had enough, he could relax and shit, it was almost time for “Jeopardy”. He picked up

his roach, re-lit it and took a glorious intake…he’d been getting high daily since he was in the Lower Fourth

Form at St. Dismas, and it just got better and better.

Jinx, her eyes streaming with tears looked up at Entworth. Why wasn’t he paying attention to her? Shit, if she

broke a nail, Ken and every guy she’d ever known, including her father, fell to their knees trying to soothe

her…she’d been spoiled by men her whole life!

“Entworth! Aren’t you going to DO something? I’m in serious pain here. Do you have Neosporin?” But

he was barely looking at her. My God, he had a Gameboy in his hand. He was playing Tettrus…he had

massacred her, and he was playing Tettrus!

Entworth looked at her casually through ganja addled eyes. “Um, there might be some, like ointment in the

bathroom back there.” Entworth pointed his thumb behind him and returned to his game.

Jinx was enraged, and appalled…Entworth should be arrested. If her father knew, he would be shot. She

wanted to kill him, but most of all, she really, REALLY wanted him to hit her breasts again.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Dr. Sanctorius Lytton Peale, Assistant Provost of Buttermilk Falls State Teacher’s College looked at

the unprepossessing languid specimen in front of him. Sunglasses, Bermuda shorts, and sandals—in

November…and to an interview to get re-admitted to this university!

“Mister, ah…Entworth, do you have a first name? It doesn’t say…” Dr. Peale peered at the young man, who

frowned behind the dark lenses.

“That’s awfully personal question, don’t you think, Doc?” Young Mr. Entworth stared back at Dr. Peale as if

HE was in charge of the interview. The boy looked half Hispanic…he couldn’t be that classy, you know.

“Well, do you have an initial at least?” Really, this was highly irregular. Dr. Peale was surprised, shocked,

really that this young man had even been admitted to Buttermilk Falls.

“Do I have a what? No I drive a Nissan Sentra.” Entworth was deaf AND dumb…Peale smiled at his silent

witticism.

Entworth had been expelled from several other colleges, and kicked out of the Coast Guard, and then had

his three semester disgrace here at Buttermilk Falls…and now he wanted back in, for the outrageous reason

that “It qualifies me for student loans, you know.”

Entworth leaned over Dr.Peale’s Victorian Continental Pedestal desk and picked up a hairbrush. “Look at

this, it’s beautiful…sterling silver, right?”

Dr.Peale smiled. “Yes, that was my grandfather’s—and then my late Dad’s vintage sterling Silver

hairbrush, crafted in 1902. It is very dear to me.”

Entworth slapped the heavy hairbrush against his palm. “Yeah. It made you what you are, right? I mean, you

don’t use it, you’re cue-ball bald. But it was a great help?”

Dr. Peale’s mouth went dry. The memory came back. Father’s deep voice. “You have neglected your Latin

preparation again, Sanctorius. Take down your breeches, young sir. I am going to make you a better man

with this brush!”

Young Sanctorius sobbing, his pants and underpants falling to his knees, and the brush slapping his bare

buttocks over and over again, as he flailed on Father’s strong lap…before being consigned to the corner, with

his pants crumpled round his ankles, his blistered raw bottom stinging…

This before Father would continue with his silver handled Malacca military swagger cane…” Sanctorius,

come back here and bend over the desk for more correction, sir!” And his own sobbing “Yes, Father…”

Sanctorius Peale prayed that Entworth didn’t see him peer at the silver cane in the corner of his office, but

the young man had quick eyes behind his dark glasses. Dr. Peale, his heart sinking watched Entworth slap

the hairbrush across his palm again, and casually reach behind him, to grab the swagger stick as well.

“You kept me waiting quite some time, Dr. Peale… You’re not really organized are you, Newbie.”

Entworth got up and walked over to Dr. Peale’s antique chaise lounge and sat down, placing the cane on the

floor and tapping the hairbrush.

“You’re not well organized, are you sir? And you in charge of whether or not to admit me to your university. I

think we need to talk about that. Come here, Sanctorius.”

Dr. Peale, remembering Father’s sermons on slovenliness, tardiness and untidiness, stood up. “Yes of course,

Mr. Entworth…I understand.” He felt his fingers unbuckling his belt, and unzipping his pants as he walked

towards the young man. “B-but perhaps you will give me another chance, sir?”

Moving across the room, he recalled Father’s serious worries that young Sanctorius would ever be anything

useful, which was why Father had whipped the boy between two and five times a month until the old man

died, and Dr. Peale had been close to fifty then…he’d never been able to marry, as Father had never thought

he was mature enough…and no one had disciplined him after Father’s death…but now…

“P-please Mr. Entworth?” But he knew the answer, and his pants were falling downward.

Entworth shook his head, as he pointed to his lap. “You must learn, Sanctorius , the wisdom of promptness,

and I have spoken enough.” As the older man bared his bottom and leaned across Entworth’s knees,

Entworth said “And afterwards we can arrange for my scholarship needs.”

“Y-yes sir.” breathed Sanctorius Peale, as he clinched his buttocks for the first swat.

THIRTY-EIGHT

“The solution is for you to drink it, Toni…what do you think?” Entworth said, as he tossed a lit match at his

probation officer. “Don’t you think the phrase ‘dirty urine is sort of oxymoronic?”

Antonia Valdiviezo flinched as the lit match bounced off her right breast. She tried to move, but of course her

hands were cuffed (again), and her shirt was ripped open, bra hanging down…what the hell was wrong with

her?

Toni had said to herself over and over again, as she’d made the visit “You must be firm with him. It’s true,

you got into this weird sadist thing with him—he tied you up naked at your request and whipped your ass

with the wire hanger thing…but you are his PROBATION OFFICER, and he violated his probation with

positive drug urine.”

The Head of Probation had looked askance at the repeated violations—Entworth had had two DWIs and a

shoplifting arrest since Toni had taken over his supervision, and now he was failing his piss tests, but she’d

not locked him up.

How could Toni explain to her boss that Entworth used her open mouth for an ashtray the last time she’d

forgotten to bring pizza?

“E-Entworth, it’s just-just that my boss—”Oooh. Another lit match had hit her nipple. “—My boss

says you’ve had too many offenses, and I have to bring you in—” Another match had hit, right between the

full mounds of her cleavage.

Entworth had such unerring aim. And he used those old fashioned long Lucifer matches, which he could

strike on his incredibly hot ass and then toss flaming, at her exposed breasts.

She was supposed to bring Entworth in the week before, and of course in the middle of approaching him

with the handcuffs, instead she’d asked him if he could give her one more whipping…he’d locked her

handcuffs round her wrists and laid her naked body, ass up on his repulsive bed….

The welts he had left across her full butt cheeks, upper thighs and lower back had not gone away for five or

six days. After he’d thrashed her till his arm was tired, he’d rolled Toni over, climbed on her face and had her

suck him off, fucking her face violently, and spurting over her lip gloss.

This before jumping off and thrashing Toni’s breasts and cunt a bit, using a pliers to pull the lips out so he

could really get them with the edge of the coat hanger.

Afterwards he’d taken the handcuffs off her, and mockingly asked, (while she was masturbating on the floor)

if she wanted to lock him up now…and of course she’d gone home and told her supervisor that he had been out!

“If he’s out this time, we’ll put a bench warrant out on him” The Head of Probation had said crisply. And

Toni just couldn’t do that to her precious Entworth, could she?

Four hours later, Buttermilk Falls Vicinage Chief Probation Officer Audra Stiglitz rapped on the door of

9023 Selden Lane, and Jinx O’Casey opened up.

Jinx’s eyes opened wide. Like, wasn’t this the chick that Entworth was whipping at the PainCafe a couple of

weeks ago? Yeah, that’s right. Short blonde hair, nice rack, about forty…and here she is in this suit with the

epaulets?

“I have reason to believe one of my officers is here visiting Mr. Entworth?” Officer Stiglitz inquired of the pert

redhead. “She was supposed to return quite a while ago and—-”

“Oh by all means go right back, first door on your left,” Jinx said, smiling. “I’d knock first, but it’s up to you.”

Jinx was feeling a little irritable, as Entworth had forced a huge fat Feng Shui candle up her battered ass, and

had forbidden her to remove it before tonight.

Vicinage Chief Probation Officer Stiglitz walked to the door, her high heels clicking across the cork

hardwood, Pausing, Officer Stiglitz considered knocking, but then heard a shriek, and opened right up.

Officer Stiglitz beheld her employee Toni Valdiviezo naked on her knees, moving back with her mouth open,

attempting to catch urine being peed from the penis of an equally naked (except for sunglasses) young man,

who was also whacking Valdiviezo’s back with a long piece of straightened coat hanger.

But then Stiglitz looked closer…that was Master Typhoon! Entworth looked right back at her…”Oh, my

little Slut-Pig” he said with a grin, never stopping his pee-rain. “Strip and drop next to Toni here…on the

double!”

As Stiglitz unbuttoned her blouse, she wondered how she would explain it all on Entworth’s Final Report.

THIRTY-NINE

Dr. Sanctorius Lytton Peale knelt on his study floor, naked, his hands exhausted and cramped from writing

punishment lines for his Master…the punishment was for not “cleaning his plate” when the Buttermilk Falls

State Teacher’s College Provost was ordered to consume an entire trough of Purina Pig Chow.

One thousand lines! The first book of Virgil, the “ Aeneid “was only seven hundred and fifty lines,

and Sanctorius had tried just writing the first three hundred lines over again, but Master Entworth had

caught this deception, and nearly broken Father’s cane on Sanctorius’s ass before ordering Sanctorius to go

out and buy the second book of Virgil’s work…and write it all again!

Sanctorius heard approaching footsteps to his office. Oh, God, I hope that’s not my secretary. Dr. Peale had

given Lanie the afternoon off, but she might be coming back, and seeing him naked like this, writing on the

floor with this awful thing on his cock…how humiliating!

A Ball Crusher Vise made of steel and Plexiglas had Sanctorius’s nuts quite squeezed…Dr. Peale’s eyes teared

up as his balls moved slightly between his knees as he worked on transcribing the 858th Latin line…

“…Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso,quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus insignem

pietate virum, tot adire labores …”

God, it was grim stuff, and much worse with the horrible Ball Crushing Vise between his knees…and now

the door was opening! And here was Entworth, and what was that evil looking black stick in his hand?

Dr. Peale was now sadly used to Entworth’s straightened coat hanger, as well as various canes, strops whips

and chains…but he’d never seen this thing before. And Entworth pressed something on the end of the stick

and it sizzled a bit.

“So! Sanc old fellow…have you finished your lines? I gave you 24 hours!” Entworth touched the evil black

stick to Dr. Peale’s fine English Regency style floor globe and with a ZZZT, the stick blew the globe off its

receded mahogany stand.

Before the provost could open his mouth, Entworth sauntered over and looked at the papers. “Looks kind

of short—and you fucked up big time.” Entworth touched the black stick to Sanctorius’s right nipple and it

zapped him.

Dr. Peale screamed and rolled over, clutching his right nipple, which felt as if it had been shot with a gun.

Moaning, he lay on his back, rubbing his narrow chest, and looking reproachfully at Entworth, who was

tapping the stick in his palm with rare satisfaction.

“Like it? It just got delivered from China. It’s an electric baton, man.”Entworth said, beaming…his dark glasses

could barely conceal the gleam in his eyes. “I was just using it on my roommate Jinx’s bottom, and did she

scream! They use this to calm rioters down and to torture those Falun Gong spiritual types, you know?”

Entworth bent over and put the baton to Dr. Peale’s balls, still in the Crusher, and zapped him.

As Sanctorius shrieked, Entworth patted his own knee with the baton, smiling. “The end I hold is insulated,

so you don’t have to worry…this shocking thing will help you remember to do what I ask you, Sanc, instead

of what you want to do…so disobedient.”

“B-but Master Entworth, I have been working on the lines…I just couldn’t get the entire thousand done—I

have my other work to do—-” But then Entworth’s baton touched the tip of Dr. Peale’s crushed penis, and

the zap came again, and Dr. Peale lost consciousness.

When he awoke, some liquid was wetting his eyes. Had Entworth thrown water on him? No, he was

urinating on him…Sanctorius noted though, that the Crusher had been removed from his crotch area, and

that was a small comfort.

“Dude, I changed my mind. I don’t want you to copy the lines, I want you to translate them…translate the

Latin lines, all one thousand…you have another 24 hours, no dictionary, no cheating though.” Entworth

gave Sanctorius a sunny smile, and the slave’s heart bounced in his chest. Entworth was such a beautiful

young Master!

FORTY

Jinx O’Casey came into the house late on Friday, shutting and locking the door behind her. She looked

around, and no one was home. Jinx sighed with relief. Shasta wouldn’t be on her about the baseboards then…

she’d have to get them cleaned soon, though.

She and Shasta had been best friends since freshman year—so close that they’d decided to get a house with

Ken, Phyllis and then, of course Entworth—but they really weren’t friends anymore…Shasta scared Jinx

now, though of course she wouldn’t have it any other way, would she?

But Jinx had sighed too soon. There was a patter of feet coming downstairs, and indeed, it was Shasta,

smiling with a kind of vicious pleasure. She saw Jinx and cocked her head.

“Well, if it isn’t the Moo-Cow…come home late after frowsting over at the College?” Shasta, always envious

in a friendly way of Jinx’s ample chest, had now begun calling Jinx the “Moo-Cow” since the change in their

relationship.

Jinx had known that Shasta was jealous of Jinx’s boobs, sure, as well as Jinx’s shapely bottom and full lips…

Shasta was kind of gaunt looking, and guys had not really noticed her much. But was that Jinx’s fault?

No, Jinx breathed, thinking…it was all Entworth’s fault. How could he have given Shasta all that power?

Of course Jinx could have knocked Shasta into a wall, but the submissive in her just collapsed at any kind of

authority…that kind of authority, anyway.

Jinx looked at Shasta, tried to smile at her old friend, but Shasta’s eyes were cold. “P-please, Miss Shasta, I

haven’t been frowsting—I’ve been working on a paper—”

Shasta hopped off the step and stalked up to Jinx. SLAP! Shasta’s hand bounced off Jinx’s jaw. “Eyes down,

Moo-Cow. No one wants to look at cattle today.”

Tears on her lashes, Jinx looked at her feet. She bit her lip. It was true, Shasta had ordered Jinx to be back by

three-thirty, but…Suddenly she felt a violent twist on her left nipple.

“You had to wear something slutty, didn’t you, Moo-Cow.” snarled Shasta as she twisted Jinx’s nipple through

her tank top. “You really aren’t happy unless you look like a fucking streetwalker. I thought we went over

what you’d wear today.”

Goddamn Entworth. What had he done? “Miss Shasta,” Jinx gasped, trying to avoid the pain in her

nipple—Shasta hadn’t let go, and of course Jinx was trained to keep her hands by her sides—”It’s May, I

can’t wear a poncho every day…it’s too hot for that, or even the muumuu you wanted me in…And I look

like a laughingstock.”

Shasta let go of Jinx’s nipple, balling her hand in a fist. Jinx knew what that meant! POW! A punch right

in the breast…oooh. Certainly Shasta had always felt badly about her little chest, and she’d probably just

resented Jinx trying to help her dress more fashionably but—

WHAM Shasta’s little fist hit Jinx’s chest AGAIN.Oh Jesus. And Shasta was probably still mad that Jinx

had advised against Shasta getting a boob-job, because they were dangerous—and once or twice Jinx had

laughed when Shas padded her bra—-

Shasta’s eyes glittered as Jinx, her breasts probably black and blue from the assault, stumbled back.

“Entworth told me that you’d give me lip if I gave you any leeway in your training….I should have forced you

to wear the poncho and then driven you to school to make sure you wore it, but I had a god dam dentist’s

appointment today.”

Shasta grabbed the front of Jinx’s tank top. “You want to show yourself off? Fine. A couple of religious

missionaries are upstairs helping me move furniture so they can proselytize me…I’m going to let you show

them all of it!”

RRRIP! Shasta tore the tank top off Jinx’s chest, and ripped her little black bra off as well, whistling as she

did it. “Boys! I’ve got a prospect for you…she really needs your church, she’s a real useless whore.”

As the young men came down, in their white-on white shirts and skinny black ties, their eyes widened, at

the large breasted girl kneeling on the floor wearing only a miniskirt. Shasta was coming back with a broom

from the kitchen, and as the missionaries watched in horror, Shasta began swatting Jinx about the head and

shoulders.

The door opened and Entworth came in. He lifted his sunglasses and winked at the missionaries and took in

the thrashing of poor Jinx O’Casey. “I guess I’m useless in this act…going’ downstairs!”

Jinx looked up at Entworth bitterly as the broom came down on her back again and again by the enraged

Shasta. “Yes, you’ve certainly done enough!”

FORTY-ONE

Audra Stiglitz tried not to scream. Her back was perfectly rigid, yes perfect posture, as she’d been trained to

do as a young submissive back in Germany. Entworth was searching around Audra’s spread legs with the

pliers…

Entworth’s “boys” were really enjoying the sight of the statuesque, naked curvy blonde…oh, those luscious

breasts, and the cropped hair. She looked much like Glenn Close in her early years.

“Oh, I got another one!” PLUCK! Audra screamed in spite of herself. Having your public hair torn out one by

one was just excruciating. But he’d warned her…just not in time.

When Entworth had told Audra Stiglitz that she was to shave her entire pubic area bald, she’d gone right to it,

but she was a busy lady as Head of Probation for Buttermilk Falls County…she couldn’t get home in time,

it seemed.

She’d gotten there—rushed in the house and begun shaving, but he’d shown up soon afterwards…with his

friends. Lizard and Bernie…they were just so creepy, but when Entworth had ordered Audra to strip naked

in front of them, kissing their feet, what could she do?

And now she was lying on her back, legs spread, enduring the plucking of her vaginal area…because

of course she’d missed a few spots. But as Entworth plucked each hair out, Audra’s pussy leaked with

excitement…it was quite the thrill!

“You screamed, Slave-piglet…” Entworth said, shaking his head. He got up and dropped the pliers, and

picked up his trusty coat hanger. He waved it about. “See, boys—” Entworth said to Lizard and Bernie.

“Got to keep her in line. Told Audra not to scream, but she can’t keep her mouth shut!”

Audra Stiglitz’s tears rolled down her face. “P-please, Master, I’m sorry I screamed. It was just so painful…

please give me another chance—WHACK!-Ooww!” The hanger had come down crisply across her large

breasts.

“You will get another chance.” Entworth said as he slashed her full bosom again,” After I get through

thrashing you for this fuck-up…you can not scream the next time I pull a hair out of your sorry snatch!”

WHACK! THWAP! SMACK! CRASH!

Audra screamed again and again as the straightened coat hanger hit her nipples…but it was the best thrill

she’d gotten since….the LAST time Entworth had thrashed her. That day when she’d caught him with Toni,

her subordinate…oh the pain was excruciating…but God it felt good!

Bernie Raulerson’s mouth was open…Damn. The woman’s breasts look like they’ve been criss crossed with

a fast-food squirting ketchup bottle, they’re so red-welted. “You see?” Lizard whispered. “Didn’t I tell you

Entworth was on to something? This is like prime, man…you should’ve come to that PainCafe place…he

got me my first blowjob in about three years from this hot—”

That was surprising, that Entworth was able to induce any girl to touch Lizard, who’d been so dubbed for

his reptilian forehead by John Mlyniec,one of the nastier prefects, the first week that Bernie, Alton “Lizard”

Juszkiewicz and Entworth had come to St. Dismas’s as twelve year old First Formers.

St. Dismas’s was run on the old British tradition, which decreed that the oldest boys in the school, the Sixth

Formers, could discipline younger kids with the aid of the ash plant cane…and although some prefects were

fair and judicious, Mlyniec was not one of them—he was a bully through and through.

And for some reason Mlyniec had it in for the Three Mousketeers—as Lizard, Bernie and Entworth were

called—and often caned them for small matters like sliding down the banisters, forgetting to clean Mlyniec’s

bedroom, or just being late for a meal.

But there was so little the kids could do, as Mlyniec had the Headmaster’s trust—they even were unable to

tell anyone—for fear of being called “snitches” that Mlyniec pulled their pants down and caned their bare

bottoms in the privacy of his study, and that he’d tried to bugger Lizard once, and the three Mousketeers

had had to fight the bully off together.

But then sometime in the second semester, Mlyniec began leaving the Three Mousketeers alone, and even

covering for them for other prefects. Once he actually lent Entworth his Porsche for them to drive on a half-

holiday, and Entworth was barely old enough to reach the pedals!

And then Bernie found out why. “Come out to the woods with me, Bernard” Entworth said one day…

”Lizard’s in the Chem lab, and I don’t want you to tell him about this, he’s our pal, but he’s got a big mouth…

check this out!”

Bernie had been astonished by Entworth that afternoon. He was the slacker of the three, the only

underclassman at the school who wore sunglasses all the time, even in class…Bernie had to do all Entworth’s

English, French and History work, and Lizard took care of Entworth’s math and science…otherwise he

would’ve been booted from the school easily.

But Entworth wasn’t much of a leader, and didn’t have any particular charisma but. he had to be tricky…

because when they’d gone into the woods that day, he and Bernie, there was John Mlyniec, bound, gagged

and quite naked on his knees!

But, as Bernie considered later—Entworth wasn’t BRIGHT enough or in shape enough to either con or

overpower Mlyniec into this position—-Entworth could barely write his name, and smoked two packs of

Luckies a day, and a dime-bag of pot as well—he was utterly powerless…

It took Bernie years to realize that Entworth had one talent only—and he’d used that ability to get Mlyniec

to VOLUNTARILY strip and submit to being tied up…God, it was weird!

But Bernie had quite happily whipped Mlyniec’s ass with a thorny branch while Mlyniec sucked Entworth’s

dick, and then they’d reversed it…poor Mlyniec kneeling on broken glass and cigarette butts out there in the

woods…and then in the end, they’d untied him, taken his car keys and made him run back to school!

But now, years later watching Entworth torturing this German probation officer, Bernie wondered if this

talent of his wasn’t demonically inspired…

FORTY-TWO

WAY BACK AROUND APRIL 2004

Ms. Marirose Persechini, World History instructor at St.Dismas’s Academy waited patiently in her office

for Entworth. The door opened without a knock as always. and there were those damned sunglasses, and of

course he’d forgotten his tie, which was a major offense on non-half-holidays.

Ms.Persechini felt her nipples hardening as the errant pupil grinned at her, and breathed inwardly, watching

as he placed a leather bag on her desk. What would it contain? Last week, when they’d met for um,

“counseling” she’d found herself across Entworth’s knees, her tender buttocks ravaged by a tennis racquet

that he’d had in the bag, and the week before that, the Fifth Former had ripped Ms.Persechini’s right breast

nearly open with four soaking wet cut rose branches from the Headmaster’s private garden.

It had just been “pie” as he called it, thrashing her boobs with the tied branches. “Think of it, my Piglet

Persechini, I’ll probably never be asked to be a prefect, next year so I’ll be one of the few without whopping

privs against the junior students—thankfully I can still whip your ass, right?”

And then he’d slashed Ms.Persechini’s boobs as she’d held her right wrist in her left hand behind her back,

trying to show him what a good “girl” she could be, though of course she was eight years his senior.

Years before, when she had been a student at Choate Rosemary Hall, Ms. Persechini had read “Story of O”

and “Justine” and had felt an impulse, just incredibly compelling. She’d had a roommate at the time, a black

scholarship student named Rwanda Simmons, and the young Ms. Persechini had bribed the Negro girl to

whip her bare ass with a plastic hairbrush, and then a belt!

Rwanda had totally enjoyed this—”Jesus,Marirose,you’re just the sickest girl!” Anyone would have been

shocked to see The Teen Republicans president Marirose Persechini face down over this black girl’s lap as the

belt slammed her red little ass…Rwanda had then ordered Marirose to lick her twat for nearly an hour before

Lights Out, and then for an hour or two after!

A therapist at Wellesley had told Ms. Persechini in her sophomore year that she was going through some sort

of post-traumatic stress disorder, though there was no memory of her parents ever laying a hand on her…and

therapy had been sought.

And she was so…close to being normal! Engaged to a nice Professor of Creative Arts and Head of School of

Communications at the local U.,so what if he didn’t give her orgasms?

She was teaching the history of Argentine economics at a boy’s school and quite well paid, when she’d met

Entworth, and he’d…looked at her funny in class one day, making her feel like he knew where all her stretch

marks were!

Ms.Persechini had more than reason to call Entworth into her office—the Three Mousketeers had made her

class a pandemonium with their smart remarks, but Lizard and Bernie were at least, A students…Entworth,

though, really needed a talking to!

But somewhere in the first ten minutes of her “lecture” Ms. Persechini had somehow found herself begging

Entworth to let her suck his cock…and then he’d not been pleased with her efforts…for a sixteen year old,

he’d had a few dick-licks, and knew what good head was…

“What’s wrong with you, Persechini, you ho!” Entworth had said, dragging her by the hair off his burgeoning

penis and slapping her casually back and forth, making her head literally bounce like a Jack-in-the-Box.

“P-please don’t hit me, Entworth…you’re lucky I’m giving you this, I’m your teacher, and it’s really not

sanitary, I never do it for my fiancée, you know.” Jesus he’d hit her hard. Was her nose bleeding?

Then Entworth had slapped Ms.Persechini across the jaw again, and her head had rang, there she was on

her knees, and this KID was outright assaulting her…and Ms.Persechini, confirmed feminist (although

Republican) and coordinator of the anti-rape Take Back the Night at Wellesley College was incredibly

horny…Hit me again, Entworth!

“Blowjobs aren’t sanitary? What shit, face-fuckings good for you, you dago whore. I’m an innocent adolescent

sprite, and you’re lucky to know me!” Entworth replied, kicking Ms.Persechini in the stomach.

“This is good advice,Persechini…trust me, I’ve taken many blow jobs, and actually given a few, so I’m

an expert.” That was news to Ms. Persechini. “Now take my dick in your sorry little lip-glossed mouth

SLOWLY, half inch by half inch…that’s right…”

Gradually, while severely holding Ms.Persechini’s ears, Entworth took her through tongue bathing the cock,

and taught her the various tongue movements, and taught her where the sensitive frenulum, on the underside

of his shaft was…

That night, when she was blowing Freddie her fiancée, he was absolutely thrilled!

But now, Ms.Persechini forgot the first time, three semesters ago, as Entworth reached into his leather bag

and brought out a long black stick. he pressed the end and it sizzled.

Ms. Persechini’s legs grew weak, and then Entworth grinned.

“It’s Baton time!”

FORTY-THREE

“COME HERE THURSDAYS BETWEEN 1 AND FIVE PM TO HAVE A GOOD TIME FROM A

SEXY FAG BOY—$5 A BLOWJOB!”

Entworth carefully lettered this with a Sharpie as Dr. Sanctorius Lytton Peale looked on anxiously as he

shivered in the cold public restroom at the Lake Buttermilk Falls County Recreation Area.

“It’s—It’s so cold here, Master Entworth” Dr. Peale said, though he was quite bundled up in a parka. “D-do

you think it’s wise to-to post my availability for next Thursday? What if the constabulary showed up?”

Entworth turned to Sanctorius and smiled. “Dude, you can get your first practice now. Take off your clothes.

The early rush should be in here…and remember, it’s for charity!”

Sanctorius’s tortoise shell Oxford pince-nez spectacles nearly fell off the bridge of his nose as he took this in.

“Today! You promised it wouldn’t start me until next week, Master Entworth!”

Entworth reached over and yanked Dr. Peale’s pants to his ankles, and thrashed him several times with a bit of

pine stick that he’d cut outside, and as the clipped branch thunked Sanc’s bare buttocks, he danced miserably.

And then, as Sanc’s penis rose…because of course it always did in the presence of gorgeous Master Entworth,

the young man whacked it too, until Sanc burst into tears, and almost collapsed on the linoleum…

Entworth’s sunglasses shone from the light over the restroom mirror as he shook his head. “You didn’t get me

a good enough scholarship for Buttermilk State, Sanc old bean…

It’ll barely keep gas in my Camaro…we got to find money elsewhere, remember, you’re my academic advisor,

and you said I should have some elbow grease and find work, and my best work is pimpin!”

Dr. Peale shuddered, remembering that he had indeed told Entworth that he should be grateful for the

scholarship acquired, since he didn’t deserve it academically, and he’d also implied to the young man that he

consider a job perhaps in the school cafeteria. Well, he should’ve known Entworth better than that…now he

was in for it!

And he knew that Entworth wasn’t fooling around. Entworth had had to raise money to fix the fuel injector

on the Camaro, and he’d let young gay men buy chances to shoot rock salt at poor Sanctorius as he’d run

around with a paper target stapled to his bare back!

The door to the restroom opened, and a burly man with a trucker’s cap came in. He looked around furtively,

and it was clear to both Sanctorius and Entworth that he was not there to take a piss.

“We have a customer…take off your clothes, Sanc!” Entworth said, turning to the trucker guy. “Sir, would

you like a little five dollar head from our cum dump Sanctorius Peale, here?”

Entworth noted that Sanctorius was a bit slow in disrobing, so he whacked Dr. Peale in the face with the

pine stick and then banged his head none too gently on the sink. Finally, the elderly academic stripped down

to his birthday suit, quivering and shivering in the March weather.

“I could go for a fiver, I reckon.” the trucker responded, as he opened his wallet and unzipped his jeans at the

same time. “You goin’ to lick my pecker, old timer?”

Entworth grabbed the protesting Dr. Peale by the back of the neck and pulled him to his knees, and then

used the pine stick to urge Sanc’s head towards the trucker’s none too clean penis.

WHACK WHACK! WHACK! “Get on it, there, slave pig!” Entworth shouted encouragingly, as he landed

the pine stick again and again on Sanctorius’s bare back, shoulders and buttocks.

Indeed, Sanctorius Peale never felt more miserable then kneeling on the urine soaked floor, in the non heated

restroom, sucking away at this trucker’s smelly penis, with Entworth’s pine stick crashing about his head

and shoulders.

Luckily, the trucker suffered from some sort of premature ejaculation, and within seconds, Peale’s face, neck

and throat were soaked in redneck semen.

After the trucker paid Entworth and got out of there, Entworth transferred the money to his pocket and

patted Sanctorius’s bald pate. “See, if we can just make about six hundred a month from this, I won’t need

to worry about my expenses, now that my folks have cut me off and all…you just have to keep your jaws

moving, you know, Sanctorius.”

The door opened again, and Dr. Peale saw more men coming in, and licking their lips at the sight of the

naked, shivering professor. “Perhaps-perhaps it might be better for me to just give you a $600 monthly

allowance, Master Entworth, it would cost less than paying for me to deal with possible HIV infection from-

from this.”

Entworth grinned and whacked Sanc’s shoulder happily. “Make it a thousand a month, and you can get

dressed, and I’ll send the boys home…or if you want to dicker with me, I’ll give them your home number,

isn’t it 364-4388? and you can do this full time!”

Sanc decided he didn’t want to dicker!

FORTY-FOUR

WAY, WAY BACK IN FEBRUARY 1987

Eden came in somewhat hesitantly to the Executive Episcopal Adoption Center’s ornate offices, looking

around as she carefully held the little bundle. She looked down at him and smiled.

Nine months old, and so coordinated! Some client’s Ray-Bans had fallen into the crib, and Eden’s amazing

son had put them on! They looked a bit ridiculous on his tiny face, but he seemed happy, so what the hell.

A few men in the hall noticed the raven haired young woman with the quiet infant, she had tried to dress

quietly for this visit, but no loose dress was going to hide her large full breasts and shapely bottom…it was

like reining in a nuclear explosion with an umbrella!

The receptionist welcomed Eden and offered her a seat in one of the offices, and the young mother sat with

her babbling little one, still adjusting the sunglasses on his tiny nose….so cute. What would the couple name

him? He’d have to be re-named…

And why not? Eden had spent her first seventeen years as Arvilla Beagley until she’d been recruited at the

Circus Dungeon and been christened Lady Eden Severelocks!

Eden took a deep breath. This was going to be a long shot—offering an older baby up for adoption at one

of the classiest adoption joints in Pittsburgh. But it had to work! Eden couldn’t abandon her little cherub

to foster care—she’d grown up in that awful environment—and most of the other agencies had turned her

away because of her weird profession…like that would taint her baby!

The door opened, and an officious little man came in. “I am Mr.Loughridge, is this the infant?” He came up

close and looked at Eden’s son. “He doesn’t look quite as light as most ah, European American babies… a bit.

Italian? Hispanic I don’t think Executive Episcopal can assist you, ma’am, we are a wholesome and high end

agency….”

“I don’t know who the dad was, Mr. Loughridge, but you must take my son, I—” Eden took a closer look at

Mr.Loughridge…and then she smiled. “After all, what high end agency would hire a bad boy who eats his

own poo-poo and dresses in a polka dot frock to service a big black dildo, eh?”

The little man’s mouth went dry as he looked closer at the dark haired young mother. “L-Lady Eden…is, is

that you?” His hands began shaking, and his knees knocked as he watched the young woman get out of her

chair and carry the gurgling infant into the reception area.

She came back and shut the door.” Now my little one can entertain the receptionist, while I talk to you,

Myron Shit-Eater…For the first Tuesday of every month for donkey’s years you’ve been coming to see me…

giving me $300 an hour to enjoy drinking my pee, eating poop and taking the punishments I give out…and

you think you’re morally superior to my little son?”

Myron Shit-Eater’s mouth opened, and he began quivering. “N-no, perhaps we can work something out,

Lady Eden, but…it’s highly irregular…”

But things got more irregular. Eden pulled the clip from her bun, and tossed her long black hair around her

shoulders, pulled her dress open to reveal her cleavage, and walked right up to Myron Shit-Eater, and pulled

the belt out of his pants with one hand, while unbuttoning his top button and pulling down the zipper with

the other.

“Now we’re going to see who is the Executive Episcopalian, won’t we?” Her teeth bared as Eden dragged

Myron Shit-Eater across the table and began ministrations with the belt. “I think, though…that my little

slutcakes will behave himself, after a bit of correction!”

Myron Shit-Eater didn’t know what to do…he could have easily overpowered this woman, told the security

that she’d lost her mind, and dropped her brat off in an orphanage as the bitch was dragged to jail for assault,

but there was something about her…after all, she’d been his Mistress the first Tuesday of every month since

the late Seventies…and how could he criticize her…or resist at all?

After the whipping, Myron Loughridge’s cock and balls had been placed in an upper drawer of his desk, and

the drawer had been slammed shut once or twice, and he’d bit his tongue to keep from screaming…and after

he’d agreed to place Lady Eden’s son with as good a couple as he could find…—why not, it couldn’t be that

hard—Myron had been allowed to rub his cock against her heel until he’d spurted into the carpet…and

then licked it up.

After a tearful kiss goodbye, Eden left the Executive Episcopal Adoption Center and hailed a cab back to

her dungeon. She was so glad that her little one was going to get a great life away from the questionable

influences…after all it was more nurture than nature, and she was sure the little boy would get a nice life

and a classy name.

As the cab took off, a Mercedes pulled up, and Ellis and Mary Beth Entworth got out. Mary Beth was

ecstatic…a baby had been found! Ellis wasn’t so sure…you never know what you get with adoption…but as

Ellis was a one hundred percent homosexual, he had to provide his rich wife, daughter of his employer, with

something she could cuddle, so he could continue his own cuddling with the hairdresser in the next town…

it would all work out, right? After all, babies are so innocent!

FORTY-FIVE

Gideon Reinicke and his sister Kate had quite a reunion It was a yearly thing at this point, but they

always both looked forward to it.! He’d picked her up at the airport, and taken her to lunch, and they’d

discussed old times, and Kate’s art gallery, and of course Gideon’s practice as the most prominent allergist in

Buttermilk Falls.

Kate had asked Gid over lunch whether there were any romantic prospects in his life. “You know, I know you

must be lonely, Gideon, are you dating, or are you just sitting at home reading detective novels and trotting

off to the Camera Club and the Opera Society twice a week?” Kate’s slight white hand with her red nails had

reached over and touched Gid’s and he’d blushed.

“It’s been difficult since Monique died, Kate. I-I guess I’ve not gotten out as much as I’d like, you know. I have

a few good friends, but not a lot of romantic possibilities, but I have quite a full life you know. My kids live

here in town, and I see them a lot, and I’m quite involved in the church…it’s a life!” Gideon had tried to smile.

Kate still looked damn good for sixty, her honey blonde hair cut close around her ears, and she still had a

dynamite figure from all the tennis and jogging. When they got back to Gideon’s house, he carried Kate’s bags

upstairs, and when he came back down, Kate was sitting on the couch, with Mother’s hairbrush in her hand.

“I was just thinking you might enjoy going to the opera tonight at the Buttermilk Theater, La Traviata—what

the hell?” Gid tried to smile at his attractive sister, who was in a no nonsense position on the couch, tapping

the hairbrush. Oh God, Gid thought. We’d spent the day as equals, but now this. But he felt his cock

growing hard in his pants…and it had been such a long time.

“You’re still my little brother, Gideon, and I know it’s been a while. You have sins on your conscience, and

I have an itchy arm. Why don’t we get it out of the way, eh? It’ll be cathartic.” Kate smiled and tapped the

hairbrush, a gigantic wooden thing, on her skirted knee. “Take down your pants and your underpants,

please, and lie over Sissie’s lap.”

Gideon sighed, and put his hands together. “Katherine, I think we’re past that now…those games. My life is

very different, and it’s quite inappropriate for—-”But Kate shook her head smiling, and crooked a long red

nail. What could he do? “Kate, let go of this nonsense, why don’t you take a nap, we’ll get together with Dick

and Rhona perhaps for dinner and go to the opera—”

Kate shook her head good naturedly. “I was going to give you thirty, Gideon, but I think I’ve just upped it to

fifty, do you want to try for seventy-five? Take down your pants and let’s get this going, dear. I would like to

take a nap later, but we both know what you need.”

Gid sighed, and he felt angry tears reaching his eyelids, reminiscent of high school and Mother or Kate or his

younger brother Barnabas snapping their fingers for him to drop his pants after some transgression. And why

his younger brother? Why couldn’t Gid be the disciplinarian…because he was the weak one, he was in need

of serious training, and Barney, not all that bright in other ways, was able to give it to him, just like Mother

and Kate.

And then Monique—she’d found his spanking erotica back in a closet before they were married, while

they were living in sin and going to med school together…She’d had lunch with Mother and Kate, and it

had been inevitable that Gideon’s relationship would change, and his pants had been taken down for hard

spankings by his quiet French wife two to five times a month during their twenty-six year marriage, as

well as other notable punishments. How he missed Monique! And he missed the spankings, deep down, he

supposed. And Kate knew this.

Finally Gideon removed his cardigan sweater slowly, smoothed his tie and began unbuckling his belt,

unbuttoning his pants as he walked slowly over to his smiling sister. Gid sighed as he pulled his khakis down,

but his sister said “Let me do the undies” And indeed she did, lowering them to his knees.

It was so humiliating! His sister was fully clothed, and poor Gid was naked and his dick was stiffening right

in front of her. Why should a fifty-eight year old man embarrass himself this way, Gid thought bitterly. He’d

never seen Kate naked in all his life, and yet she had been taking down his pants, or watching Mother or his

wife Monique do it, for over forty years.

He’d been tortured worse—Monique would sometimes whip his bare ass, and sometimes his cock as he

stood naked and crying in front of her completely clothed bridge club, or the Ladies Sewing Guild, but still,

Gideon never quite got used to it!

“Still hasn’t grown much, I see.” Kate murmured, gazing at her brother’s pecker, which was standing up at full

form. She smiled slightly and flicked it with a red nail, and Gideon winced…but his dick stayed hard. As

Kate laughed deep in her throat, her full bosom shook in the snug gray turtleneck, and Gid grew even stiffer.

Gid heard some clinking as he lay across Kate’s lap. “What’s that?” But he knew. Monique had advised Kate

some years ago, that Gideon, no manly punishment taker, would still try to pull off her lap, and it helped to

lock his wrists in handcuffs.

FORTY-SIX

Kate lifted Mother’s large hickory hairbrush and whacked it down on Gid’s exposed rear end with a vigorous

slap. Ah, it was good feeling the brush in her hand again. Seventy-two hours ago, Kate had been using it on

Mr. Dorsey Kounalakis, a major patron to her art gallery. There was nothing that gave Kate more pleasure

then visiting Dorsey at his shipping office and having the stout magnate take down his pants and underpants,

still dressed however in a vest and tie, and bend across her knees!

Of course she had a very different relationship with Dorsey Kounalakis than she did with her baby brother.

Sometimes Kate and Dorsey would take a hotel room (As Dorsey and Kate were married, albeit to other

people) and Kate would use Mother’s hairbrush till it sizzled, then borrowing Dorsey’s gold tipped walking

stick for a few remaining shots before he undressed her with shaking hands, worshipping her beautiful

breasts and then performing between her legs with his tongue so that she screamed in joyous pleasure!

Now Kate used the hairbrush on Gid’s butt like there was no tomorrow. WHACK! CRACK! SMASH!

SLACK! Kate heard Gideon’s quick intake of breath, smiling inwardly. It must be difficult to have spent all

the years of your life undressing and being punished by your big sister, especially as Gid had never even seen

Kate without her blouse on. As she had this errant thought, she brought the brush down again on Gid’s ass,

quite severely.

Kate admired the hairbrush as she swung it again. Ten inches long and six inches wide, and made of thick

Hickory wood, it was a paddle to remember!

Mother had had easily tangled hair, and she’d had to really drag the brush through her tendrils, as well as

Kate’s…sometimes little Kate had whined when the brush had pulled at the hair on her scalp, and then

Mother would have to turn little Kate over and give her medicine of a different kind!

But fortunately, when Kate was 18 she was too old for spankings, unlike Gid who really never fully grew up.

Mother had insisted that Gideon stay at home while he went to college; and the rules hadn’t really changed

for him in his twenties than they’d been when he was young…home by suppertime, in bed by nine, or on

the weekends, perhaps nine thirty, particularly if there was studying to be done.

And of course Gideon always tried to rebel, sometimes just by sneaking up to watch television after his early

bedtime, and then Mother would have to take the hairbrush and then the razor strop to his bare buttocks,

stopping only when there was a bit of blood. Mother after all, was not a Mongoloid.

WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! SMASH! Gideon’s buttocks were turning fire engine red, and there were

little bursts and purple blotches appearing here and there. Kate could feel the familiar trembling, Gideon

was biting his tongue, trying desperately not to burst into tears. Why were men in such a war with their

masculinity?

Gid’s legs opened a bit, and Kate saw his testicles and slammed them with Mother’s hickory hairbrush, and

he screeched like a tomcat being castrated. Aah, music to Kate’s ears. Her brother took all this pressure on his

shoulders, tried to quell it with wine and Dunhill cigarettes…it just wasn’t good for him, all that pressure.

Mother had always been quite tough on Gideon, as he was the smart one.Barnabas was of average

intelligence; he’d ended up becoming a hot dog vendor, and so Mother had allowed Barney to do his own

thing. By the time Barney was thirteen he was staying out all night, doing drugs and chasing girls, but

Gideon had been held to a much higher standard…and when he fell short of this, Mother used the hairbrush

and the razor strop!

Kate felt Gideon’s penis harden against her stockinged legs. Whacking even harder had no real effect,

his penis just stiffened even more! Yes, there was another problem he’d always had. Masturbation! Mother

had constantly had to bang on the bathroom door to keep Gideon from pounding his pud in there, and to

get back to his books.

Now Gideon called up “We’ve—ooh— gone ow OW way past fifty whacks! Can’t we stop?”

Kate laughed as she continued to lambaste Gid’s bare buttocks. “Sorry, you need a little more. Fifty whacks

was just a lie to get you across my knees baby brother. I am afraid you’re in it for the long haul!”

When Mother caught Gideon red handed with the Montgomery Ward women’s lingerie catalogue, she’d

tied Gideon naked to a tree in the back yard and whipped his hard penis with a spruce switch as the

neighborhood girls had watched over the fence, chortling and blowing Bazooka gum bubbles.

Mother also would give Gid ice cold enemas, to try and re-structure his innards away from sinful thought,

but it didn’t seem to help much—her son was a true satyr! Kate just knew that Gideon was probably

watching computer pornography in his spare time instead of looking around for a sensible wife who would

take him in hand. It was truly a serious issue!

At about the seventieth whack, Gideon began blubbering, and oh, those tears began coming out. Kate smiled

grimly and began alternating whacks on the left and right cheeks. Mother would be smiling if she were here

to see this.

Many the time Kate would come home from her cheerleading practice to see her brother over Mom’s knee,

getting his bare buttocks tormented with the brush for some small infraction. And by George, it had turned

Gideon into a model citizen! He would’ve been such a slovenly slacker without regular chastisement, Kate

realized as she brought swat one hundred and fifty down on Gid’s defenseless bottom.

Kate had found that her mother’s discipline had also assisted in her marriage to the wonderfully

disorganized Elkin Christen bury…Elk was much like Gid, talented but quite disorganized, and he’d been a

pony tailed Julliard dropout when Kate had met him, singing at her best friend’s wedding.

“Well, I deal a little weed too, and my folks pay my rent” Elk explained to Kate when, over drinks, she asked

what kind of a living one could make playing at weddings, park concerts and honky-tonk bars. To Kate, who

had managed a Dairy Queen at fourteen and had then started and sold the Kate’s Rent A-Car chain, before

buying her own art gallery…Elk’s self-survival explanation just seemed a bit meager.

Elk had thought it was cute that first night when Kate wanted to tie him to her bed, though he was a bit

alarmed when she took his belt out of his pants and looped it in her hand….

By the time they’d been dating for two years Elk’s hair was short and he had finished his PhD dissertation on

Temporality in post-tonal music and was teaching high school classic guitar…and by their five year wedding

anniversary Elk’s CD was selling quite respectably, and he was a great influence in the jazz world, though he

still had to beg his wife to unlock his chastity tube if he wanted to masturbate…which happened rarely!

Sometimes Kate would bind Elk’s hands behind his head and stroke his cock until he was on the verge

of cumming, and then thrash it with the conductor’s wand that he used for the community orchestra…

Stroking and swatting again and again, to teach Elk that true pleasure should come from your loving wife…

as long as she wanted to give it to you!

Elk had much need for training, he was not naturally bright outside of the composing world and for a time,

Kate had hired a handsome black Master, Tonk Springer, to work him over. Kate and Tonk had shared a bed,

keeping Elk on the floor, and just having Elk come up to service them both with oral sex in the mornings

before bringing them breakfast…Tonk would give Elk the floggings that Kate didn’t have time for, and

when Tonk sodomized Elk, it was a much more powerful substitute for Kate’s strap-on training!

While Kate was visiting Gideon, Elk was doing an intensive spring cleaning of the house under the

supervision of Tonk as well as their daughters, who fully subscribed to Mommy’s supervisory methods…

Twenty year old Katherine II, called Kit, had been paddling Elk’s bottom since she was too short to have him

over her knee and had to tie him to the coffee table! Yes, men needed just a bit of restraint and supervision.

Just a bit.

Gideon’s voice was coming to Kate’s ears now like a symphony of wailing “Puh-please luh-let me up, Kuh-

Kate…I’m really in puh-pain now…the hairbrush hurts…I’ll be a guh-good boy, ruh-really I will, please!”

And his butt looked like a plum, it was so purple! Kate knew that he could take more, she’d given Elk’s

bare buttocks a whipping with a wicker carpet beater just before she’d taken the flight to Buttermilk Falls…

they all whined the same way, these boys!

Finally Kate put the hairbrush down, somewhat reluctantly, and pulled the now snot nosed weeping Gideon

up to his feet by his ear.

As Gid stood before Kate, tears still coursing down his face, Kate ran her long red nails up and down

Gideon’s swollen shaft. “I bet you’re playing with this nasty thing night and day.” Her remark stung poor

Gideon, though of course it was true.

Kate began stroking and toying with Gideon’s penis, and he stared down at her full breasts in the tight gray

turtleneck, though he knew such thoughts as he was having were Biblically forbidden.

Kate’s fingers were toying with Gid’s full scrotum, and she playfully yanked out a couple of his pubic

hairs, and he shrieked. “Mother used to keep this area quite shaved as I remember.” Kate said, giggling. “I

remember when Debbie Finkenaur and Margo whats-her name came over so we could sew Band uniforms,

and they watched, fascinated while Mother shaved your wee-wee. We must’ve been the strangest family in

high school you think?”

Gid blushed at the memory. Kate looked critically at Gid’s stiffening penis. “I bet you play with this all day

and night. Since Monique has passed, you don’t wear your leather corset anymore, right? You’re just sitting in

the bathroom at work spanking the monkey, and of course you don’t have the energy to ask a girl on a date.

How utterly sad.”

Kate looked up at Gideon’s face, and he was still crying, but now from humiliation and resignation of what

a loser he was, dating wise. Kate knew what he needed. Mother, before she passed knew as well. Mother had

despised Gideon’s sin of onanism, she said it was childish.

Sometimes when she caught Gideon “making bad” with his hands, she would dress him in a 19th century

petticoat and make him crochet out on the lawn, or put him in adult diapers with a bonnet and have him

crawl up and down the living room floor while his siblings and their friends ridiculed him..but it never

worked…he couldn’t keep his hands off his nasty parts!

Now Kate noticed that precum was dribbling out of Gid’s organ, and she grew angry, though of course she

had been giving him a sexy hand job in the course of “examining” him. She took up Mother’s hairbrush, and

used the bristle side, rubbing the underside of Gideon’s cock sharply until he screamed and went limp.

Then Kate spun Gid around, unlocking his wrists. “You are hopeless, Gideon…it’s sad.”“Now you go stand

in the corner for a bit…I’m going to make myself a drink, methinks!”

FORTY-SEVEN

Gid pressed his tear stained nose in the corner, his pants and tighty whitie undies still baggy around his

ankles. He knew better than to rub his scorched buttocks—Mother had trained him always to keep his

hands behind his head when standing in the corner. It had been dreadfully humiliating, especially when the

rest of the family was having dinner, and the bare-bottomed Gid had to just stand there while his siblings

chatted and passed the potatoes!

As Gid thought about his youth and standing in the corner during dinner, he remembered one of the

worst nights of his youth. Gideon’s family had moved to New Haven when Gid had gotten into Yale, so

he wouldn’t have to be “lonely in a dormitory” as Mother had put it. Of course he still had to be home by

suppertime, and he wasn’t allowed to use the telephone unless it was school-related.

But then Gid had met Jessica, in his Restoration and Eighteenth-Century Literature class. They’d had a few

discussions about books, and it had been quite flattering when Jessica asked Gid if he’d like to go to a movie

sometime. She had been nonplussed when he’d explained that his widowed mother was strict, and that he

had to focus on his studies.

“But we’re going to see an art film, and I am sure I can explain it to her.” Jessica said. “Why don’t you invite

me to dinner, your mother can’t object to that, can she?” Mother hadn’t objected, and in fact had been

overjoyed to have Gideon bring his “little girl friend” to dinner…but then Gid spilled mayonnaise on his tie

at the table, and Mother was very strict about table manners…

Gid wasn’t sure whether Jessica had run out of the house while Gid’s pants were being pulled down, or after

he’d been sent sobbing to the corner…but she was gone by the time dinner was over, and then she never

spoke to him again!

Still, Gid had to admit that his grades had stayed high, with no pretty girls to distract him. (Jessica had lots

of friends, and apparently a big mouth) and he’d gotten into Harvard Medical School, and graduated from

there at the top of his class.

Monique had been the receptionist of Gideon’s first medical practice partner. Gorgeous, blonde, and

nineteen, but only demure to a point. She was much too impatient with Gideon’s impotency, correctly

diagnosing it to much too much masturbation. “Sacre Bleu! I will lock the bathroom door, and grab your

balls every twenty minutes at work to ensure they are still full.”

But, the first time she caught Gid with his penis in his handkerchief during a solitary hour in his office,

Monique forgot she was a receptionist, and whipped his bare buttocks with the back of her hand mirror. “I

found your BDSM pornography, Gideon” Monique said as her mirror came down again and again on his

cheeks. “You just need a firm hand…most men do.”

And then Monique surprised him! “This is a leather corset, Gideon. It is made for a woman, but you are so

slight and weak that it will fit you though a bit tightly.” Monique looped the corset, which tied at the back,

just above Gideon’s nipples, and then she tied it, and locked it with a small combination lock usually seen in

high school gyms.

“You will wear this all the time, and I will unlock it so you can shower thrice a week, and use the bathroom,

but only five times a day, so control your intake, please. Hopefully you will save up enough energy from not

abusing yourself so we can have sex once a month.”

This corset had wound up being a bit of trouble. Patients in the waiting room at Page, Reinecke & Holleran

would look askance over their “New Yorker” magazines as the head allergist would be dancing around,

grabbing his stomach because the demure receptionist with the pixie blonde hair was not there to escort him

to the water closet.

Sometimes Monique would guide Gid to the bathroom, but then stand by the toilet, smiling and refusing

to unlock Gid as he knelt in front of her, naked except for the horrible locked corset, and begging to be

unlocked…urine dribbling down his pale white legs…it was hellish, really.

At home, Gid was kept in the nude, but Monique had him on a long leash attached to his testicles while he

did the chores. After he spent a satisfactory amount of time between her legs, she would re-lock him in the

corset for the evening, though sometimes she gave him a non-orgasm hand job…just to tease him a bit!

When Gideon bitched about it, Monique would lose her patience, and bind him naked wrists and ankles

locked, over the ottoman in the living room and cane his buttocks until he screamed and begged for mercy…

and then he would apologize, kissing her feet for sometimes hours! When they finally did make love once a

month, the sex was dynamite, and Gideon was damned grateful he’d waited.

Monique of course was an imaginative girl, and realized that the corset actually had many possibilities,

once she brought Gid’s weight down a little bit. “Let us pad the chest area a bit, and perhaps you can be my

girlfriend, oui?” Gid had been horrified, but he was always jealous when Monique had her “nights out” with

her girlfriends, when he knew she was on the prowl for men to fuck. So, he grudgingly had allowed her to

make him up and put a bright red bouffant wig on his head.

“Gillian” began accompanying Monique and the other women to the singles bars, and Monique encouraged

Gillian to suck men’s dicks in their cars! She told Gid later that this would expand his consciousness concerning

the position women had been in for centuries, and certainly it did make Gid a more committed feminist,

especially as he got so sick of trying to explain why he couldn’t remove his corset, as he was on the rag.

Sometimes men would complain to Monique that her girlfriend Gillian was too cold, and then Monique

would take Gid to a back room of the bar and whip him with a dog-whip she kept in her purse until he was

“pliant” and then she’d send him back to the hopeful suitor, who would enjoy better fellatio from the warmer

Gillian! It had been quite an experience.

And he’d owed it all to his lovely wife Monique!

They’d had a wonderful twenty-six year marriage, with five wonderful and successful children…and then

Monique had found a lump in her beautiful right breast, and in a year she was gone! And Gideon had been

at lost ends ever since.

As Gideon stood there, nursing his welted bottom, he thanked Heaven for Kate’s visits! What would he do

without his Big Sister?

FORTY-EIGHT

Chauncey Nodalsky looked desperately at Myriam’s breasts, poking as they were, nearly falling out of her

little corset.

“Okay, Grandma…I’ll think about it. Yeah, I love Uncle Gideon, but Buttermilk Falls is a little too

boondocky for me, like, no offense. Love you, bye.” Myriam stroked Chauncey’s cock as he knelt naked on

the bed, his hands tied snugly to his ankles.

Myriam leaned over to Chauncey, as she hung up the phone, her platinum curls falling from her shoulders,

and gave him a deep tongue kiss. His penis hardened in her red-tipped fingers, but suddenly and forcefully,

Myriam pushed her long right thumbnail into Chauncey’s urethra, and he howled…oooh! But he knew he

wasn’t supposed to make all that noise! What a bad boy.

When Great-Uncle Gideon’s sister Kate had been nineteen, she’d been briefly married to a good-for-nothing

called Mapes, and they’d had Katherine the Second, called Kit, later lovingly adopted by her stepfather Elkin.

Kit had met her own good-for-nothing, who she’d not bothered to marry, and began Katherine the Third, or

Katherine Myriam Mapes. As the nicknames Kit and Kate were already taken, and the little girl next door

was called Cathy, Katherine III was called by her middle name, Myriam.

Myriam had just had a fascinating talk with Grandma, who she was just crazy about. Grandma had raised

Myriam while Kit was doing her thing, and Myriam had learned lots about the family. Grandma’s brother,

Great-Uncle Gideon, was apparently quite depressed and lonely, and needed some dominant woman for

company, or at least that was Grandma’s humble opinion.

Uncle Gideon and the late Aunt Monique had had a son, Jacques who had been known by the cousins as

“Jake the Snake”, he’d been just a worthless crack head.

But Grandma had taken Jake for a year, and Myriam had been quite impressed with Grandma’s methods…

the now blistered and tortured Jake was in law school, and hoping to never get in contact again with

Grandma’s whip!

Myriam smiled at the memory of Jake, dressed in bra and panties and wearing heavy cherry-red lipstick,

sucking off the big black boys in the At Risk Youth Group that Grandma counseled. And then she

remembered Grandma slamming a dildo into Jake’s ass…a big dildo! Grandma was quite unusual…but

Myriam would have been raised by no one else!

Myriam chuckled as she saw Chauncey’s desperate eyes surveying her full cleavage under the corset. “That

was my grandmother.” Myriam said as she stroked Chauncey’s thrusting hard cock. “She wants me to

transfer from Dartmouth to Buttermilk State University, so I can look after my Uncle Gideon.” Myriam

opened her corset a bit with one hand, and flashed Chauncey a nipple, and he closed his eyes, licking his lips.

“But-but Myriam, Dartmouth is a much, much better school than a little shithole like Buttermilk State, I

hope you’re not seriously considering this?” Chauncey looked really worried. Chauncey had met Myriam

back in high school…she’d changed Chauncey’s whole life!

Chauncey remembered when he, Bubba Imbray and Longworth Simms had attempted to rook the quiet

Drama club girl in Strip Poker in Lonnie’s tree house back in ’02. The boys had wound up naked, while

Myriam hadn’t had to even remove her wristwatch. And then she’d played for favors, as the fellows hadn’t

given up.

“Okay, now I’m going to tie Bubba’s hands, and if I win this hand, Longworth has to kiss Chauncey on the

mouth!” Myriam’s eyes had sparkled as she’d forced the guys to do awful, horrible stuff…she’d eventually

gotten the three popular football players to promise to dress in drag for the school Variety Revue…

Chauncey had been so focused on getting Myriam’s clothes off, even after that humiliation. He’d taken her

out countless times…Myriam was the only girl who didn’t seem to succumb to Chauncey’s charms. Possibly

she’d heard about Chauncey’s impregnating Kari Olnick, one of the town waitresses…but whatever had

happened, Myriam had kept her legs closed!

She’d driven Chauncey crazy though—wriggling and squirming all over his chest as they lay on the

waterbed in the back of his van, sometimes stripping down to bra and panties…”Oh Chauncey, I want you

so bad…,but not tonight.” Myriam would say, as she rubbed her full breasts against him.

One night, Chauncey had gotten so worked up that he almost forced himself on Myriam, but then she’d

kneed his balls rather sharply! Chauncey had burst into tears. “Whats-what’s wrong with me?” he had

sobbed. “You are driving me crazy, and you made me promise not to jerk off between dates, and that’s just

horrible!”

It was true. Myriam had very strict standards for what was “cheating” and she made Chauncey not touch

himself when they weren’t together. This drove him even crazier, as he’d see her bouncing down the halls

of Richard Speck Technical High School, her miniskirted ass twitching…and she was always flirting with

these horrible dirt bags—greasy guys with long hair, or Mohawks…people who made the Columbine

shooters look like Cub Scouts!

“Don’t ask me about my friends” she was always saying, and it made Chauncey crazy.

That night in the van, he’d begged her to let up on him a little bit. “I am all tense since you told me to stop

touching myself, and you ignore me and hang out with these douche bags…can’t you understand how crazy

you’re making me?”

And Myriam had felt bad. God she’d looked so hot that night, clad in a slip dress and thigh-high suede

boots. In those boots, her bare thighs had looked so inviting, like she was the Catwoman or something, but

whenever Chauncey had tried to touch them, he’d gotten slapped, and severely!

“If you want to make love to me” Myriam said simply, you’re going to have to participate in some trust exercises.”

Chauncey nodded his head earnestly, his dick pressing madly against the crotch of his frayed jeans. Myriam had

taken Chauncey out of his van. “I want you to do what I tell you to, so we can build up this trust.”

“I know you believe that you love me, but it seems like you love me less with your heart than with your dick…

it’s more hormones than genuine feelings….but if you can show me that you’re not just all about getting into

my pants, perhaps we can make gentle love. If you really are sincere. Now take your clothes off.”

It was a chilly April night, but Chauncey had obeyed Myriam, though he was terribly embarrassed to be seen

stark naked in front of this hot little chick in a slip dress and thigh high suede boots…those boots were just

like, damn.

Then, to Chauncey’s horror, Myriam had gone around to the front of the van and snapped off his long wire

radio antenna, his pride and joy, which he and his friends used to pick up police scanner signals so they knew

when they could speed, drunk, and get stoned in the van…but she snapped it off, and was waving it around.

Myriam slapped the radio antenna against her suede-booted thigh and grinned. “Okay big boy, we’re going

to see if you really love me. Put your hands behind your head!” Chauncey had amazingly obeyed this

command. Myriam really enjoyed the sight of him, freezing, naked, with a hard cock.

“Now at first we’re going to teach you not to grope me without permission, that’s vulgar.” Myriam had said,

going round to Chauncey’s back and swinging the antenna mightily against his bare buttocks.

He heard her little grunting voice as she swung the antenna, and fifteen times the metal thing slashed

Chauncey’s buttocks. But he was determined, as a tough football quarterback, to keep his hands on his head

and not allow her to see him express any pain.

Chauncey’s dad had been a true sadist—he had humiliated Chauncey and his brothers by making them wear

pink shortie nightgowns…”Bend over, queers!” he’d scream, and pull their girlie panties down and thrash

their buttocks with a thick leather strop until he saw blood…

Eventually, Chauncey’s oldest brother had “accidentally” hospitalized their father with a shovel, and the old

man had kept his hands to himself, but it had taught Chauncey to be tough.

As harsh a disciplinarian as Dad had been, little Myriam seemed to have an even more vigorous forearm. By

the twelfth swat Chauncey’s eyes were tearing up, and he was biting his lower lip until it bled.

Myriam came around front and began stroking Chauncey’s cock, and it got harder and harder, and he began

grunting and moaning, trying to keep from cumming in her hand.

“That’s right, baby.” Myriam had said. “Remember if you can hold off and keep from having an accident,

you’ll get your big dickie into Myriam’s quim…won’t that be nice?”

Myriam got up on her tippie toes and kissed Chauncey’s mouth (He was six one, so she really had to get up

there) and then resumed stroking his dick. He felt his semen rising, but gritted his teeth and kept holding back.

What a stroke fest though! As his dick grew in Myriam’s rapidly massaging fingers, Chauncey closed his eyes…

“Myriam, I think I’m about to make a mess…I’m real sorry. We can clean it up, you know” he murmured.

“Just let me…”

WHACK! Just before Chauncey was about to release, Myriam’s antenna had slashed him across the dick

quite severely. Chauncey’s hands had quickly left his head to grab his throbbing member, but Myriam’s

antenna had been too fast, and it whacked his knuckles painfully.

“You keep those hands on your head, you bad boy” she had commanded as she lifted the radio antenna,

whacking it again and again on Chauncey’s unfortunate organ, though it mysteriously had not lost its

tumescence at all. despite the condign punishment.

Finally, Chauncey had fallen to his knees, and, tears streaming down his cheeks, had begged Myriam to give

him a break, to forgive him for his unfortunate erection and its proclivities. “That’s right baby…here, you

can kiss my high suede boots if you want to…and my bare thighs just above the boots, why not?”

In heaven, Chauncey began kissing Myriam’s thigh high suede boots, and his hard cock between them

began rubbing gently against the suede, though he was quite careful not to cum. Myriam stroked

Chauncey’s hair, murmuring to him about what a sweet boy he was when he wasn’t trying to rape her.

“I’ve seen my Grandpa Elkin begging my Granny Kate on his knees. It’s so fun to watch, and it makes me

real hot.” In the back of his mind, Chauncey suspected that this was a disturbing thing for an adolescent girl

to say, but he was pathetically horny and his entire body ached from the whipping that he’d gotten from his

own radio antenna.

Chauncey had gently kissed Myriam’s short expanse of thigh between her short slip-dress and the tops of the

suede boots, and she’d rubbed the boots together around his stiff penis. Although he was so cold he that he

might be near pneumonia, he had just ignored it all to kiss and moan.

“You can go under my dress baby, I’m not wearing any panties.” Myriam had said softly. “Lick and make

Myriam feel good, she deserves it, you know?”

Myriam had guided Chauncey’s trembling head under her skirt and between her legs, and he’d licked her as

she stood there, and then she’d taken him back in the van and he’d licked her to about five orgasms.

When he was done, Myriam had taken a battery powered electric razor out of her purse and had asked him

to trim her pussy hair into the shape of a heart. “I’m going to get it dyed bright red tomorrow.” Apparently,

Myriam had a date with LaFontaine Smiles, point guard on the basketball team, and he liked to see her

vagina in a heart shape.

“But I thought we were true to each other” Chauncey had pleaded….Myriam told him though, that he had

to learn a lot before she would be devoted to him totally, and until then, he was to stay faithful to her and not

touch himself. Chauncey’s eyes filled with tears, but there was no convincing her.

Finally, despite the unmanly way he was crying, Myriam had allowed Chauncey to put a condom on and

fuck her…Chauncey had been disappointed to discover that Myriam was not a virgin. “What’s wrong with

that? Jesus, if you had to pop my cherry, your dick would be in all kinds of pain. Give up your stupid ego

and enjoy my smooth, well worn pussy.”

And then Myriam had wanted Chauncey to suck his cum out of the Trojan, and of course he had put up a

fuss, and then she’d dragged him out of the van, naked and thrashed him until, sobbing, he’d sucked the

semen out and chewed the condom up and swallowed it!

On their next “date” an afternoon in the following week, Myriam had invited Chauncey over and

encouraged him to “help” her with the spring cleaning. “Grandma’s busy with her art gallery, and I need

your help, and then maybe we can have a little whoopee” she’d said.

Chauncey had scrubbed every room in the house, and cleaned the curtains, while Myriam had either

read “Seventeen” magazine or stood over him with his old radio antenna. When he’d begun to break a

sweat, Myriam had encouraged him to undress, and while scrubbing the baseboards, Myriam had whipped

Chauncey’s ass, telling him he needed to work faster.

“Let’s go!” Myriam had screamed, whacking Chauncey from the back, and hitting his balls through his legs.

“We’ve got lots to do, shit-bag!”

Chauncey had been horrified when Myriam’s granddad came home. Elkin taught music at their high school

and led the band.

When Chauncey, was quarterbacking the team, he’d always look over scornfully at the band of geeks, with

old Elkin as their leader, but he never suspected how pathetic the guy really was!

Myriam’s gramps had stripped down as soon as he got in. Chauncey recalled that the guy was wearing a

weird looking apparition under his clothes called a “hair shirt” which was supposed to help him “suffer”

while out of the house…

“He itches all day” Myriam had said with pride. “Grandma ordered it from Bavaria, Germany, that’s where

they make stuff like that. It’s usually used for priests or something.”

Grandpa Elkin was also wearing a chastity belt…and that should’ve given Chauncey the hint to get the fuck

out of there. But he hadn’t! Then Myriam had actually given her Gramps a few lashes with the radio antenna,

and the poor old guy began helping to scrub the house right along with distressed Chauncey!

When the house was gleaming, Myriam had locked her Gramps in a closet and taken Chauncey upstairs,

and they’d made out for about an hour. She was so hot! He had just wanted to strip her down, but instead

she’d stripped HIM down, and tied his hands and legs to the bedposts, and begun stroking his hard cock

with her long nails.

“You haven’t touched yourself since we had our last date, I hope, Chauncey?” Myriam had asked as her

forefinger tickled Chauncey’s swollen frenulum. “I really am hoping that you are staying true to me, because

it’s really so important.”

Chauncey had gasped as the girl’s fingers had swirled around the tip of his stiff penis, and his eyes had

inflamed with desire as he gazed at her cleavage. God, he wanted to fuck her! Why did she keep doing this

to him?

And now she was asking about whether he’d jerked off since he’d last seen her—Myriam, who was fucking

everything that moved! And unfortunately, he hadn’t stayed pure, he had broken down and touched himself,

and instinctively, he’d known it was wise not to lie to her!

Chauncey had looked sad. “I-I tried to, Myriam, but I got kind of excited after our last date and I jerked off a

couple of times last week. But I’ve not cum in three days!” Chauncey a had tempted to end on a hopeful note,

but now Myriam was annoyed.

She had let go of his cock and had hopped off the bed, picking up a long rattan cane from the dresser. “You

see this? This is what my Grandma uses to get Gramps to keep his hands to himself!”

WHACK! Myriam had slashed the cane across Chauncey’s cock, and he had howled. WHACK SMACK

THWACK! The cane had landed again and again, and he screamed desperately.

The girl knew that she could really land the cane wherever she wanted to…it was almost target practice.

Now one to the glans. Now, one to the balls. Now, one in the middle of the shaft. And all poor Chauncey

could do was cry and whine. What a limited goof he was!

Myriam threw down the cane, shaking her head in an annoyed fashion. The weather had grown much

warmer in two weeks, and she was wearing a pair of overall cut-offs with no shirt…her ballooning boobs had

looked quite alluring under the overall, and Chauncey had wanted her badly.

Myriam had sat down on the bed. “You’ve got to learn to get control of yourself. I am so angry with you!

Don’t you understand—you can’t control yourself, and that’s not the kind of guy I want in my life!” Myriam

reached over and took Chauncey’s balls in her hand, rolling them around in her fingers.

“All you seem to think about is jerking off, when you’re going to cum, and when you’re going to put your nasty

hands all over me…it’s disgusting!” Myriam had squeezed Chauncey’s scrotum tightly and he shrieked.

“I’m going to show you how to re-arrange your priorities, seriously.” Myriam had told him. She’d played

with his dick for about four hours without letting him cum, and then they’d gone to visit one of her other

“boyfriends” a tattoo and piercing artist who had pierced Chauncey’s foreskin and scrotum, inserting little

metal circles, and Myriam had joyfully locked them together with a tiny padlock.

“This is a little rougher than Grandpa’s chastity device, but I can use it for other stuff” she’d observed. Other

stuff? Chauncey had discovered that in addition to Myriam locking him up between dates so he couldn’t

pleasure himself (which had resulted in embarrassment in the locker room on an away game once) Myriam

also began giving him little strength tests.

Myriam began attaching metal weights to the ring that hung from the tip of Chauncey’s cock when it was

unlocked. He would stand with his hands behind his back, and she’d take off the padlock and then attach a

one pound weight to his glans, and then begin teasing him to see if his cock had the strength to grow erect

with a pound of metal hanging from it.

“Let’s try something else” Myriam had said one day, and she’d padlocked Chauncey’s penis and testes

together as usual, but she’d also attached another two pound weight. “Now I know you can’t remove this,

and I want you to wear it while you play with the team. And when you go jogging. I have a feeling this is

going to help with your speed in the long run.”

What the hell was she talking about? First, when Chauncey got tackled during practices, the fucking weight

crashed against his balls, leaving him dazed, and secondly, hauling around two pounds of weight when he

jogged just completely wore him out.

But right before a game, Myriam would sneak into the locker room, and remove the weight, and then

without the familiar heaviness, it was true…Chauncey FLEW across the field!

This earned him a full four year scholarship to Dartmouth for football. Myriam had gotten a full scholarship

(though she didn’t need it, Granny was mega-rich) for mathematics…and somehow, with all the extra money,

they’d been able to live off campus in an apartment!

Now, in their third year of school, Chauncey was completely, out of his mind in love with Myriam, and

certainly didn’t want her to consider moving to Buttermilk Falls to take care of her crazy great-uncle Gideon.

No, he certainly didn’t.

Chauncey had been a C student, just enough to keep his eligibility for football, when Myriam had met him.

In fact, Chauncey had been in his second senior year of high school, and football had been all he really had

going on. He had had some interest in reading history, but really was just a semi-athletic stoner, with

little ambition.

Myriam had ended all this. She’d understood the importance of his having friends to occasionally get high

with, but limited this to once or twice a week, and really, he preferred her company, anyway.

She’d encouraged him to study history more seriously, and had gone over his tests and quizzes once they’d

gotten to Dartmouth, using the antenna and Granny’s Lochgelly Tawse to urge Chauncey towards

studying harder.

She’d whipped his bare buttocks on a regular basis, and once or twice she’d strung his scrotum up to a pulley

from the ceiling and hung him upside down while she questioned him on the fall of Rome, or whatever he

was studying that month.

This hands-on tutoring helped considerably when Chauncey had hurt his knee in sophomore year and had

had to go from the sweet football scholarship ride to applying for academic grants to finish up school as a

history scholar. He owed it all to Myriam, who had given him far more guidance than his fucked-up parents

ever had.

It wasn’t all fun—Myriam had kept poor Chauncey on about one orgasm a month through high school,

sometimes allowing him to fuck her after thirty days of oral ministrations…and sometimes being forced to

jerk off, sometimes in front of a group of her laughing girlfriends.

It had been sheer hell having his balls and penis locked together in that damned piercing, particularly

when Myriam was whipping his dick in the piercing, or locking weights and other things to it. Who wants

imprisoned genitals?

Sometimes Myriam would actually lock Chauncey’s penis to a really BIG weight, like one of his twenty

pound barbells, and then she’d wave her tits at him and get him to drag it by the tip of his penis. It was

amazing how excited he’d get and how energetic he’d be in dragging a huge weight in an effort to get to his

girlfriend’s breasts…

And then it got a bit more stringent when they’d gone off to college. Myriam had told Chauncey that he was

getting to cum too much, and that he would now be permitted to only orgasm at the end of the semester,

with the codicil that his grades were at least a 3.0.

The second bit of bad news was, Myriam was a young woman and wanted to meet other guys—and girls!

She was bisexual, it seemed.

Several nights a week, while Chauncey had stayed home and studied, Myriam would be out with all sorts of

men and women…sometimes bringing them back to the house. When this happened of course, Chauncey

had usually had to sleep in the living room.

He really didn’t enjoy being horny, his dick locked to that horrible piercing and whatever little metal weight

was down there…and listening to Myriam’s moans and screams from the bedroom.

But, as she had pointed out, she didn’t need to study as much as he did. She made A’s effortlessly, and anyway,

Grandma was paying for the apartment. Chauncey had better understand what was going on here!

It was indescribable how difficult Chauncey had it, at a school with lots of beautiful, flirtatious women,

while he was locked in that effing piercing.

Myriam had encouraged Chauncey to hang out, have friends, even to make out with other girls, as long as

he kept his pants on, which of course he did, because he couldn’t explain the piercing and why his dick was

locked to his balls!

And then one night something happened which was just about unacceptable, though nothing was really

unacceptable where Myriam was concerned. Myriam had brought home a tall, well built black man, who

was known on the Dartmouth campus as “The Mongrel”.

The Mongrel was an African American activist, and was a wrestler on the college team. He was strong and

was the grandchild of two Black Panthers, and the son of a rather vituperative rap artist… “Mon, meet

Chauncey.” Myriam had said that night. “Mon and I are dating.”

Chauncey had given Mon his best Richie Cunningham smile, and had offered his hand, but the Mongrel

had just turned away with a scowl.

Chauncey had assumed that he would be taking his usual place on the couch while Myriam pleased the

Mongrel in the bedroom, but was horrified when Myriam told Chauncey she wanted his participation in

their lovemaking.

“Chauncey, the Mongrel has a lot of deep seated anger about slavery in America, and to process that out,

we are going to go through some role play. You can be really helpful in this.” The Mongrel had just stared

straight at Chauncey, who looked a bit nonplussed.

“But Myriam, this is ridiculous. He was born in what, 1989? How did he experience slavery? His dad is a

multimillion dollar rap star.” Chauncey had shaken his head. This had made no sense whatsoever.

“Besides, Myriam I owe no one for reparations. My grandparents emigrated here from Poland in 1938. Sixty

three years after the Emancipation Proclamation! They’d never seen a black person, much less enslave one”

But now this creature, this Mongrel, covered in gold bling, was staring at Chauncey like he was Hitler.

“White boy, you better shut yo’ face and take yo’ clothes off. You gonna suck some dick tonight, ofay

motherfucker.” These were the first words out of the Mongrel’s mouth. He had glowered at Chauncey, who

had now regretted that he’d not brought his deer rifle with him to Dartmouth.

Myriam had smiled implacably at Chauncey. “I know you’ve not had an orgasm in 73 days, and with your

grades in Differential Calculus, you probably aren’t going to qualify at the end of the semester. But Myriam

might let you play with your dick tonight if you do what Master Mongrel says.”

What the hell? Chauncey had had to admit to himself that he’d really enjoyed becoming Myriam’s

submissive. It had thrilled him to beg for her beautiful body, and his dick had often hardened, tugging

painfully against the cruel piercing when she’d denied him access to her perfect breasts.

Chauncey had often wondered if he was a fag, as he’d submitted to Myriam butt-fucking him with a dildo,

and then making him lick his own shit off it afterwards….and then refusing to kiss him because he was a

shit-eater.

But this was way across the line. Suck some nigger’s dick? But Chauncey was so horny. Four or five nights a

week, after Myriam had returned from her dates, she would unlock his piercing and slowly stroke his dick for

hours, making him cry and beg before she’d ice him down and lock him up again. It was horrible, his need

to cum. He was only twenty years old and the hormones were killing him, man.

Myriam might let him jerk off if he submitted to the Mongrel? It looked as if there wasn’t going to be

much of a choice, anyway. The Mongrel was walking right over to Chauncey, and yes sir, he had grabbed

Chauncey by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. “Bitch, you’re going to take off them threads, or

the Mongrel gonna rip them off fo’ you.”

And Chauncey had stripped off his clothes. He’d instinctively kneeled down naked before the Mongrel, who

had removed his leather belt, then dragging Chauncey up by his right nipple and throwing him across the

couch. WHACK! WHACK! THWACK! CRACK! The belt had risen and fell, and Chauncey had cried

miserably. The Mongrel was really, really strong.

After Chauncey’s whipping, the three had gone into the bedroom, and Chauncey had knelt, his reddened

buttocks resting painfully against his ankles, as Myriam and the Mongrel had begun undressing each other.

“Now you’re going to suck Mon’s dick a little bit so it’s REAL hard.” Myriam had told Chauncey, and he’d

done it, and found that the penis wasn’t all that disgusting in his mouth. It wasn’t fun, but….

Then, while the Mongrel had fucked Myriam, (without a condom, Chauncey had resentfully noted)

Chauncey had sucked the Mongrel’s testicles, resting his head just under where the Mongrel was pounding it

into Myriam.

The Mongrel had been really potent, and after he’d cum twice in Myriam’s pussy and once in her ass, she’d

gotten tired, so the Mongrel had bent Chauncey over and fucked HIS ass, too.

Then the Mongrel had told Chauncey that he wasn’t going to unlock the piercing because he sensed that

Chauncey still had “attitude” problems. They’d sent Chauncey, bitterly weeping to the living room to go to

sleep, and he’d heard their moans and cries all night.

Chauncey had discovered that he was quite aroused by the Mongrel, and he’d had a helluva time getting

to sleep.

He’d tried to jerk off despite the piercing, and of course that was impossible. The reason Myriam had set

Chauncey up with a piercing instead of a chastity belt was primarily so he could pleasure himself without

cumming…she got a real kick out of that.

The next morning, the Mongrel had woken Chauncey up by throwing an old beer in his face, and then

dragged Chauncey into the bathroom, where he’d forced Chauncey to let him pee in Chauncey’s mouth…

and then Chauncey gave the Mongrel an impromptu blowjob without asking.

“That’s better, white boy. Now I’ll unlock you.” The Mongrel had the keys, apparently, and he unlocked

Chauncey, who jerked off on the Mongrel’s boots and then happily licked up his cum. It had certainly been

an interesting pairing. Myriam had eventually broken up with the Mongrel, but certainly her time with him

had been a learning experience for Chauncey.

Now he stared desperately at Myriam as she teased his cock. It had been 93 days this time since he’d had a

spurt, and poor Chauncey was damned desperate. “You wouldn’t like it if I transferred to Buttermilk State?”

Myriam asked Chauncey playfully as she pumped his hard dick and waved her corseted cleavage in his face.

“Think, Chauncey, you could take the chastity piercing off and go fuck whoever you wanted to.” Myriam

smiled as the realization hit Chauncey’s face. “You’re almost ready to graduate, next year, right?

All those girls who give you hot looks. I know your lab partner in Organic Chem is really hot for you, that

strawberry blonde? You could give it to her right over the laboratory table if you liked…whaddya think?”

Chauncey thought about it. Cheryl, his hot little lab partner, who asked him constantly why he was so

committed to Myriam. Cheryl was far prettier than Myriam, and he’d like to light a Bunsen burner under

her, boy.

But Cheryl wasn’t as bright as Myriam, and certainly not as exciting.

Also, could Chauncey make it without Myriam? He’d never been able to do homework on his own….

Social promotion had gotten him as far as senior year in high school at age twenty-one, and Myriam had

had to kick his ass to get him to graduate, and of course power him through three years at one of the most

competitive colleges in America.

Chauncey wasn’t stupid, but he was terribly lazy. Being allowed to cum in return for a B average on his

midterms had done a world of good.

And he LOVED Myriam, despite her infidelities, even with the bi-weekly whippings and tortures…he just

did! Last week she’d hung him by his pierced nipples and made him watch while she was fucked by three

freshman boys, and then Chauncey had been forced to lick the dirty semen and pussy scum off their cocks

before they got dressed again…but he’d do that daily to make his princess happy! What else was life about?

He couldn’t lose her. Tears began streaming out of Chauncey’s eyes as he watched his cruel little princess

stroking his cock, the cock that wouldn’t cum until June.

“Don’t worry, Chauncey” Myriam said, as she smiled. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to ask around at

Myron’s Purgatory (this was the local BDSM club) and see if any of my friends would like to look after a rich

old sub geezer. But you and I will be together forever. Now lick my clit and get me hot for my date tonight!”

FORTY-NINE

After Kate had finally allowed Gideon to leave the corner, she decided she wanted to have a heart-to heart

with her beloved brother. But he was so lonely, and she also wanted him to have a treat. “Come to the

bedroom with me, Gid.” Kate said in a friendly way, and wondering, the now naked Gideon followed his

beautiful sister into his master bedroom.

It was difficult for Gid, being naked in front of Kate. He’d never quite gotten used to the humiliation, as

he’d never seen her naked, though she’d always worn sexy skin-tight turtlenecks and sweaters not quite

appropriate for a woman of her age.

And she’d always been able to get Gid to strip down. It was rather unfair. When she’d been a cheerleader,

she’d brought her friends over, and told Gideon to strip and dance for them, using the pom-poms.Gid had

not wanted to do it, but Kate had gotten her mother’s spruce switch and dragged down his pants and undies

and whipped him until he was sobbing and dancing and waving the pom-poms as the girls had laughed

uproariously.

Now, Kate stepped in the bedroom, and as Gid watched in wonder, she pulled off her sweater, revealing full

breasts in a small black bra, indecently perky in a woman of sixty, and then she undid her skirt, and my Lord,

she was wearing sexy lace black panties.

Kate was wearing a lovely, old fashioned garter belt with attached black stockings and her brother was

amazed at the effect that this had on his cock. Without taking off her high heels, Kate sat down on the bed.

“Gideon, it’s been a couple of days since I had my clit cleaned by an attentive male tongue” Kate said as she

lay down and pulled her panties off. “Normally Elkin’s tongue gives me five orgasms a day, but of course I’ve

been traveling. I think you could pick up the slack, couldn’t you?”

Gideon’s cock was raw from the hairbrush treatment…the bristles had really done a job on him. But he was

still quite excited by his sister, and he climbed in between her legs and began licking happily.

At some point, in the dimly lit room, he’d asked if he could come up and feast on Kate’s breasts, and she’d

allowed this too, slipping off her brassiere. Incest was a taboo, but it was a fun one! Then, of course, Gid

wanted to enter Kate, but she shook her head. It couldn’t go that far.

Kate pointed to the floor, and Gid instinctively understood. He crawled down, and took his cock in his hand

and began masturbating as Kate flashed her bosom at him—covering her nipples with the bra and then

pulling it away.

As Gid approached orgasm, Kate instructed him to remove his hand. “I don’t want you finishing so soon,

Gideon. Don’t you want to have an extended good time?” Gideon obediently put his hand on his leg.

“Okay, you can start up again.” Kate smiled indulgently. “Rub your cock, baby brother.”

Gid smiled at Kate. She was so beautiful! He’d always had a sort of crush on her, but as she lay on the bed

in her black lace lingerie, it drove him a bit crazy. Gideon rubbed his penis and moaned a bit, and thought

about the spanking earlier…Kate’s hairbrush whacking his bottom with vigor.

Kate for her part, began massaging her nipples, making them very hard and enjoying the look of desire on

her younger brother’s face. Often, she played this same game with her husband, Elkin…she didn’t really have

the energy in her fingers to give Elk long teasing and denial sessions as she’d once had, and so she made Elk

edge himself while she watched lazily.

It had been tough for her poor husband—-he spent months in extended chastity, and then he didn’t even

have his wife’s playful fingers to look forward to! Kate would just let Elk edge, and edge and edge…and then

she’d tell him to stop, just shy of an orgasm, and lock the chastity device on once more.

Sometimes Elk would begin sobbing, and have a little temper tantrum. “It’s so unfair, I have to jerk myself,

and then I don’t even get to cum, man” he’d say in his repulsive musician’s dialect.

Then Kate would have to pick up a cane and give Elk a few whacks on the pecker with it, just to show him

not to have disrespect. She smiled as she remembered whipping Elk’s penis until he screamed and howled,

the tears flowing from behind his ridiculous John Lennon glasses—what a fool Elk was…he still thought he

was nineteen in a garage band, when he was now a senior citizen music teacher , who was laughed at by the

very students he pretended to be so hip in front of!

What Kate loved about her brother Gideon was that Mother had trained him not to have temper tantrums.

She’d never spoiled him with toys like the other children—at Christmas and birthdays she’d give him helpful

things like monogrammed stationery, or a nice gold pocket watch, and he’d sigh and try to look grateful.

When the other siblings had been taken to Baskin Robbins for ice cream, Gideon would be given a Latin

exercise to do while sipping Ovaltine. Gid had never been allowed to be a giggly child, and that was what

made him such an obedient, fabulous adult!

Now he stroked his penis and looked pleadingly at his big sister. She shook her head solemnly. He had

certainly had an arousing day, but that didn’t mean he was going to get to make a squirt just yet. “Put your

hands behind your back, Gideon” Kate said, and she moved to the edge of the bed, dropping her long

stockinged leg over it.

Gid knelt, his hands behind him, as his sister’s scratchy black stockinged toes rubbed the tip of his hard penis.

At fifty-eight, the erections didn’t come as often as they once had, but he still got excited, and it had been

about four days since he’d masturbated while reading some BDSM erotica, that new book “Cuckold In the

Corner”. Sometimes he would go to the PainCafe, which was Buttermilk Falls’s BDSM hotel and restaurant,

and watch a screened film.

Sometimes, Gideon went to see Desdemona, a girl he had a private arrangement with at the PainCafe.

Desdemona was primarily a bartender there, and she always looked quite enticing (the other night she’d

only worn a bikini top and tight jeans, and did she have fabulous breasts!) But Gid would sometimes slip

Desdemona a couple hundreds, and she’d take him up to a private dungeon room, just for a little while…

Desdemona would shake her big boobs at Gid, as he watched…she rarely took off her bikini top, or anything,

for that matter, but Gideon would strip completely. Then Desdemona would put a Judgment Board on

Gid—this was a round heavy piece of thin wood, kind of like a table top from a cocktail lounge—but with

three holes, a big one for Gid to put his head through and two smaller ones for his hands.

Then, with the Judgment Board encapsulating his head and hands, Desdemona would first take out one

of her thorny rose branches and thrash Gid’s cock, balls and ass, while he danced with the heavy Judgment

Board around his head.

Then sometimes Desdemona would use her Shock Stick, which gave burning volts of electricity, to poke and

prod Gideon until he was almost falling down.

Finally Desdemona would allow Gid to rub his dick against her high boot, his hands and head still locked in

the Judgment Board. This was especially difficult, since he couldn’t really see anything under the Board, and

had to rub by instinct…but it was one of the most powerful orgasms, really!

Gideon had also had an interesting relationship with his Administrative assistant at work, Amaryllis, a pouty

curvaceous brunette before she’d quit to get married. It was eerily reminiscent of his first dealings with

Monique, who had been the office receptionist, and then become his dominant wife!

Gid and Amaryllis had always had a flirtatious relationship…she was great with the patience, despite her

multiple facial piercings, and the rest of the staff often chided him for letting her get away with behavior that

no one else would’ve!

One day Amaryllis had been going through Gid’s desk, and had found “Cuckold In the Corner” and she’d

read it in an afternoon when things were slow. Amaryllis had left the book open on Gid’s desk later, with a

Post-It note that said, “What kind of faggot shit is this, Doc?”

Gid had been terribly embarrassed. He didn’t want Amaryllis looking down at him. He knew that she was a

tough girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and in a gum-cracking way, was quite judgmental. Later, he’d

seen her with her teased hair and snug T-shirt (she never really participated in the office dress code), and

she’d pointed to her lap…and what could Gid do?

He’d taken off his white coat and taken down his pants and underpants, and bent across Amaryllis’s soft

denim thighs, and she’d whipped him quite severely with a thick ruler, until tears had come to his eyes.

“Now take off your clothes, Doc…don’t you have more of a life than reading this whips and chains shit?”

Amaryllis had clucked her tongue as her boss had folded his clothes neatly and was now standing in front of

her, naked, with a sore bottom. “You’re a good guy, Doc, and I’ve always been really fond of you.” Amaryllis

took Gid’s penis in her manicured fingers, softly stroking and tugging it. “You must be lonely.,. you want

someone to haul your ass, huh?”

When Gid didn’t answer immediately, Amaryllis had dug her French forefinger nail into the tip of his cock

and he’d screeched. “Damn, you have a voice like a little girl there, Gideon…like a little opera singer or

something.”

Amaryllis took a long pin that had been pierced in the side of her ear, and looked at it. “This probably isn’t

sanitary, but what the hell.” She plunged the pin into the tip of Gideon’s glans, and he bit his tongue trying

not to cry. “That’s right, Doc..you want pain? Amaryllis’s going to give you some. You’re under way too

much pressure, honey.”

Amaryllis then twisted and toyed with the pin as it sat in the suffering Gideon’s penis, and tears came from

his eyes. How could his office assistant treat him this way? How could every woman he knew treat him this

way? But Amaryllis had seen the pain in his eyes and pulled the pin out, and then she’d let go of his penis

and pulled off her tight T-shirt.

“I know you want to suck on my boobs, don’t you Doc?” Amaryllis had waved them in Gid’s face, and as

she’d slipped the bra off, he had begun kissing her nipples greedily.

Oh, the long pink nipples were so beautiful…he’d seen them poking through her tube tops, see-through

blouses, crop tops and every other slutty outfit under the sun…his head of staff, a stern gray haired woman

had heartily disapproved of Amaryllis’s fashion choices, but Gid had always told Ethel to mind her own

business.

Now he sucked and sucked, but suddenly Amaryllis kneed him in the balls and he buckled. “No no…just

ignore the pain. Keep enjoying my titties, Doc. If you REALLY want to suck my tits, you can endure a little

suffering, right?”

So Gid had continued to kiss and suck Amaryllis’s nipples, and once again the knee had come and he’d

almost blacked out….but she’d rubbed his hair affectionately. “Just keep trying to focus on my glorious

breasts, honey.”

Amaryllis had then begun tongue kissing Gideon, and she had guided his hands to her breasts, one to her

boob and one to her ass, and told him to enjoy himself. And oh, God…it was so hard for a fifty-eight year

old man to get this kind of attention from a twenty-four year old girl!

But then Amaryllis had reached down and grabbed Gid’s balls and begun twisting them, forcing her long,

sharp nails into them.

“Just ignore the pain, baby…I am trying to show you how to be devoted to a woman the way the early

Christians were devoted to God, even when they had to face the lions” she whispered, as her fingers had

twisted his unfortunate scrotum.

And Gideon had begun weeping, the pain was almost too much, but he’d really enjoyed kissing her beautiful

full lips and fondling her breasts, and he just knew he had to ignore what was going on below, no matter

what she put him through…

Gid and Amaryllis had then adjourned to a hotel where she’d whipped him with a mop handle and then

shoved the handle up his ass! They’d gotten together after work many, many times, and sometimes she’d

tortured him between patients…what a great assistant she’d been!

Now, Kate’s toes pushed against the underside of Gid’s hard cock, and he began moaning desperately. “Calm

yourself, Gideon” she said with a smile. “It’s not always about you, you know.” Kate pushed herself up on the

bed and dropped her second leg down and took Gid’s swelling penis in her two feet, rubbing them together

around his cock, and creating serious friction.

“Don’t have an accident, Gid.” Kate said seriously, as her feet continued to push together against Gid’s swollen

penis. “Elkin had an accident on my precious stockings once, and I am afraid I used a nail gun and attached

his wee-wee to the wooden wall of the backyard shed for about seventy-two hours.”

Kate recalled Elkin’s bitching and whining that day. Indeed, it was painful to have your penis stapled to a

shed wall…especially in January, when you have to shiver naked while the rest of the family goes away for

the weekend!

That was, except for her wonderful granddaughter Myriam, who would go out periodically to feed Grandpa

a bit of food so he didn’t starve to death! And Elk learned his lesson…he never soiled without permission

again!

Now Gideon was breathing through his nose, trying to keep from making a nasty mess that might displease

his Big Sister. She really knew how to give a foot job! Up and down his hard cock, and then poking the

testicles, just a bit…the scratchiness of the nylon was driving Gid crazy.

Gideon felt his hips trembling again, and feared he was close to orgasm. He looked up desperately at Kate for

the OK, but she shook her head, licking her lips at him.

“You can’t cum yet, Gideon.” Kate said with a little smile. “I am trying to teach you to follow MY bliss, not

yours…you don’t want me to cane your cock, do you? When I cane Elkin’s penis, he really doesn’t like it

much.”

Gideon imagined Kate’s cane slashing his penis, and indeed, it had a disquieting effect. Kate had not stopped

her foot massage of his dick—Gid had to resist temptation on his own. But he looked so unhappy. Finally

Kate stopped massaging his dick with the feet, and snapped her fingers, and Gid followed her, his penis

bouncing wetly with pre-ejaculate juices.

Kate took Gid into the bathroom and helped him into the shower, and then turned it on, icy cold, and kept

her hand firmly on Gid’s shoulder to ensure he didn’t leave the shower until his penis was tiny once more.

“That’s the boy. Now see? You’re not thinking about having an orgasm right now, are you?”

And indeed Gideon wasn’t. When he got out of the cold shower, after ten freezing minutes, he was a

shivering mess. Kate instructed Gid to get into his flannel striped pajamas, and she tucked him in bed,

warning him not to touch his penis in any inappropriate way…for she would be in to check!

What a Big Sister!

FIFTY

Myriam walked into the front lobby of Myron’s Purgatory, and headed to the bar. “Hey, Mercutio, is Scarlett

Sharp around?” The pierced young bartender wiping the counter looked at Myriam with tired eyes. It had

been quite lively at the Purg the night before.

“I think Scarlett is in the West Dungeon with a friend of hers” Mercutio said, using quote marks around

friend, which of course gave Myriam the idea that it was a paid “friend”. “I’m sure you can go back there and

see them, though, Myriam. Privacy’s never that big an issue with Scarlett.”

“You look really out of it, Merc.” Myriam said, gazing at him. “What’s going on…working too much?” She

leaned over and touched his arm.

“Oh, Myriam…my Master is making me wear a heated butt plug right now. It’s a new invention and

whenever he presses a little button—he’s over there at that table—it heats up here in my ass, and sometimes

I think I’m going to collapse.” Mercutio looked like he was suffering just a bit, but Myriam knew that Merc

adored his Master, a big husky fellow named Corrigan, and in fact couldn’t live without him.

Myriam tapped Mercutio’s arm sympathetically and walked into the back bar. She was eager to see Scarlett

Sharp. Although Myriam was a dominant some of the time, she’d had her interests in the other side of things,

and had been Scarlett’s slave for about eighteen months…

Scarlett, a sultry brunette, had been in the “scene” for over thirty years, since happening onto a bondage

convention not fifty feet from her Vacation Bible School, and the first time Myriam laid eyes on Scarlett,

she’d felt she needed a spanking from her. Scarlett had resisted this, as she was old friends with Myriam’s

grandparents.

But, after Elk and Kate gave Scarlett. the high sign, she’d taken Myriam back to her small apartment and

tied her to a whipping post that she kept in her closet…then she’d left Myriam there for about seven hours.

Myriam had been raging when Scarlett returned. “I thought you were going to punish me!” Myriam was

gorgeous, and was used to being fussed over, and being ignored while being locked in a closet and tied to a

post was a much worse punishment than fifty with a scourge. And of course Scarlett had known this!

Eventually Myriam had gotten her whipping, and then she’d learned a few things about obedience that

no one else could possibly have told her. The high point of the relationship had been when she’d gotten

“SCARLETT” tattooed on her ass…

Myriam really believed that Scarlett had possibly been the love of her life, but of course Chauncey was going

to be the better provider, even if she had to beat the stuffing out of him to fix it that way. Now, Myriam

walked into the dungeon hall where Scarlett was “charming” a client with a piece of cut off garden hose.

“There (WHACK!!!) you go Demetrius, (WHACK!!!) you want to fiddle (WHACK!!!) with your

chastity belt(WHACK!!!) do you, you want (WHACK!!!) to take it off and(WHACK!!!) play with your

(WHACK!!!) wee-wee, and (WHACK!!!) of course I (WHACK!!!) don’t know anything (WHACK!!!)about

it, (WHACK!!!) right? You pay (WHACK!!!) me $300 a week (WHACK!!!) to keep your keys, (WHACK!!!)

and give you a (WHACK!!!) little discipline, and (WHACK!!!) then I find out you’ve(WHACK!!!) been

tampering (WHACK!!!) with your (WHACK!!!) belt so you can(WHACK!!!) jack your Willy, huh?”

Myriam stood back, enjoying the show. Poor Demetrius was covering his head with his hands, and dancing

around, naked except for his chastity belt, which had a bobby pin stuck in it…he’d evidently not been able

to get it back out before he came to see Mistress Scarlett.

Scarlett was resplendent in a violet T-shirt showing her full cleavage, and hot pants, fishnets and high heels,

and she was whacking poor Demetrius with the cut off hose like if she stopped, the world would end. But of

course discipline had to be kept.

Scarlett turned to Myriam, as she continued to pummel Demetrius with the hose. “Hey there(WHACK!!!)

Myriam, you sexy (WHACK!!!) Thing…I am working (WHACK!!!) over this worthless (WHACK!!!) bag

of (WHACK!!!) bones.

He lives (WHACK!!!) in Lawrence, Kansas, and (WHACK!!!)is locked in chastity (WHACK!!!) there, and

if he (WHACK!!!) pleases his (WHACK!!!) wife and (WHACK!!!) has perfect (WHACK!!!) behavior, he

comes(WHACK!!!) here and I unlock(WHACK!!!) him, after a session (WHACK!!!) or two, (WHACK!!!)

and he gets to (WHACK!!!) jerk off—every 90 days.

But (WHACK!!!) apparently (WHACK!!!) he’s been (WHACK!!!) trying to break into his belt, and

(WHACK!!!) after he got this (WHACK!!!) bobby pin locked (WHACK!!!) in the keyhole. Demetrius’s wife

sent him to me early (WHACK!!!) to get a reminder of what (WHACK!!!) bad boys aren’t (WHACK!!!)

supposed to do!”

Finally, the poor man fell to his knees, and Scarlett tossed the hose down and went to greet her friend with a

hug and kiss. “I am so sick of this work, honey.” Scarlett whispered in Myriam’s ear. “If there was anything a

little more restful, you know?”

Finally Demetrius was sent to um, wash up, and the ladies took a booth in the dining room of Myron’s

Purgatory. Scarlett did look tired. “I just get so sick of all the goddamn clients, Myriam” she said with a sigh.

“I am a part-time domme, and then I also have to manage the Suffering Lounge, which is Purgatory’s main

dance floor.”

Scarlett took a deep swig of her Long Island Iced Tea. “I remember when I discovered BDSM as a kid, and

I loved it. For twenty years it’s been a ball, all the torturing and pain and all that good shit, but now I’m

getting old, and I want to calm down…just a little, you know?”

“You look great, Scarlett.” Myriam said loyally. “But let me tell you about an interesting proposition. My great

uncle is a doctor, he lives about forty miles from here, and he’s a sweet man, but lonely—a widower, and he

needs a dominant girl to look after him. And he’s loaded, not that this should be your main priority.”

Both women laughed at this—the dominant woman’s priority is always getting a little cash! “My nana tells

me that what Uncle Gideon needs is just someone to haul his ass a little—make him clean his house, give

him some hairbrush discipline, and of course limit his orgasms so he really, really appreciates the chance to

jerk off, you know what I mean?”

Scarlett did. She understood the plight of the Beta male. Alpha males went around fucking whoever they

liked, and Beta males were left to take care of things. That was the way it was, always. In Myriam’s case it

had happened twice.

Her Grandma Kate had been impregnated by a handsome loser, he’d taken off, and she’d married and

enslaved Grandpa Elkin to have him take care of Kit, who met her own handsome loser, donating good

gene-laden sperm to produce Myriam…and now Myriam was with Chauncey, but fucking all the hot Alpha

losers she could…for fun!

“Your Uncle Gideon sounds like a sweet man.” Scarlett said, as she heard more about him. “I might be quite

happy helping him out, and he’s closer to my age—I’m forty-two, he’s what, fifty-eight? It might be a good

deal for me.”

“Sure, and you could still pick up handsome drunkards at the various bars and beer gardens in Buttermilk

Falls.” Myriam said, as she considered it. “I am too committed to my education—raising hell at

Dartmouth—to go look after Uncle Gid, and besides, it’s a little creepy to dom your uncle. I always feel a

little funny when I spank and torture my Gramps, right?”

“Well, technically your Gramps isn’t a blood relative, and your Uncle Gid would be. Sure, you should keep

doing your thing. I am willing to at least go to Buttermilk Falls and meet the man.” Scarlett said.

And she did!

FIFTY-ONE

Gideon’s hands and legs were cuffed behind his head with his cock splayed out on Scarlett’s punishment

table, which she’d shipped from home when they’d both finally decided that she would move to Buttermilk

Falls to “see to his care”.

Gideon’s mouth was gagged with a long, plastic penis, but his eyes worked well…As Scarlett ran her lotion

soaked hand up and down Gid’s hard cock, he looked at her with amazed love…certainly he couldn’t be in

love with someone he’d just met but—she was fabulous!

Scarlett had thick raven hair, cut in a bob with a slight silver streak in the middle, and curvy swelling breasts

that nearly burst the Shocking Pink Lycra top she was wearing. Gid had argued to Kate that he really didn’t

need looking after, that he wasn’t that lonely, but Kate had persuaded him to just meet Myriam’s friend.

Gideon of course worshipped his sister’s granddaughter, and valued her opinion mightily. And when he met

the shy dark haired woman at the Buttermilk Falls Amtrak, his heart had almost fallen into his gut.

“Dr. Reinicke?” the demure lady had asked, smiling, and Gideon had nearly swooned as she’d taken his hand.

He’d put Scarlett’s overnight bag into the back of the Saab, and he’d taken her to lunch, and they’d had a

long talk about backgrounds, interests, and all that sort of thing.

Although Scarlett had just barely graduated from high school before being thrown in the work world, she

had a knowledgeable interest in classical music, and was a devotee of Chopin. And she also enjoyed paintings,

and they’d adjourned to a local gallery to look at a Impressionist piece that Gid was thinking of buying for

his downstairs den.

But Scarlett had noticed Gideon’s eyes shyly taking in the swell of her breasts in the demure cotton print

dress she’d had on that day, and she’d felt his gaze on her seamed stockings…she did have long legs! “Why

don’t we go back to your house, Gideon” Scarlett had smiled…”get to know each other a bit more privately.”

Scarlett had an odd take on BDSM enslavement—she believed in making passionate love to her potential

submissives now and then, and then denying them future sex, so they’d know what they’d once had…that

the breasts they were no longer allowed to touch were indeed real, and the tight vagina that had encased their

penises was now forever just for tonguing out other men’s cream pies.

And, after seventy-two sex-filled hours, Gid reached to caress Scarlett’s breast, and she’d slapped him, her

purple painted nails scratching his cheek. “Did I tell you that you could touch me, you little worm?”

And so it had begun. Scarlett had whipped Gid’s buttocks with an evil weapon she called her “divining rod”

and then she’d used a foot long black dildo, jamming it down Gid’s throat and then his rectum until he’d cried.

Finally, when he was sobbing and quite apologetic, she’d said, “Now you can beg for permission to touch

Scarlett’s body…and she might let you!” And Gid had begged, and then Scarlett had allowed him to caress

her breast, and cover her entire body with kisses…though his penis was no longer allowed to go where it had

gone before!

After Gideon had licked Scarlett to her fourth orgasm, he’d looked at her with pleading eyes. “I-I hope you’ll

consider moving here, Miss Scarlett. I will offer you whatever terms you like. You are so helpful for my

submissive needs, as well as being an intellectual companion…Indeed; I’d ask you to marry me but…”

“But I’d only marry an actual man, Gideon—subbie queer boys don’t do it for me.” Scarlett had said,

laughing as Gid’s eyes filled with tears. “But yes, you are a sweetie, and I do like Buttermilk Falls. For five

hundred dollars a day, and room and board, I think we can work something out.”

And Scarlett had gathered Gid’s wet face to her bosom, and allowed him to kiss and lick her breasts, and she

told him what a good boy she would train him to be, it would just take a bit of time…

Some five weeks later, Gid was trussed up, his arms and legs behind his head, and Scarlett was stroking his

cock with vigor.

After Gid’s initial weekend with Scarlett, she’d locked him in a chastity belt before going back home for her

possessions. Since then, Scarlett had unlocked Gid two or three times a week and teased him, but she’d only

let him cum every week or so…it had been grim!

Now Scarlett was training Gid to hold his orgasm…she knew how excited he got, and she wanted him to be

able to enjoy a hand job without feeling the need to soil her precious white fingers and red nails. Scarlett gave

Gid a smile, but he could tell her eyes were warning, and that she would brook no nonsense if he had

an “accident.”

It had been quite difficult for Gid, after years of jerking off and going to whores, all of a sudden he was unable

to have any sort of release, and this while living with a gorgeous woman who constantly tempted and teased

him…wearing body stockings and Merry Widows; crop tops and sexy little dresses…and he was so horny!

Scarlett laughed as she saw the panic in Gid’s eyes, but she kept rubbing his long, stiff cock, tickling the

sensitive area under the ridge with her hard red nails.

“I know you’re going to want to have an accident, Gideon, but you’d better clench your butt cheeks or

something—if you cum, I am going to use the three foot Negro Strap-On that I just bought this week…

there are little sharp needles in the head, and it won’t be comfortable as I jam it into your tight little

asshole….”

Scarlett’s lotion covered fingers massaged the swelling knob of Gideon’s penis, and he breathed faster, trying

to hold back. She was just so beautiful! And relentless…Scarlett was constantly stroking and massaging, and

she had a certain gift for making a penis AWARE that it was getting stroked.

Monique had been a loving wife, and quite a dominant one, but she’d never really had the comfortability

with the penis that Scarlett seemed to have. Kate’s strokes were alluring but mechanical, and Gideon had

been quite aroused, but had never had any trouble holding back until he was allowed to release…

But Scarlett’s tantalizing pull had every nerve ending in Gid’s cock begging to allow an orgasmic explosion,

to spurt his seed all over her long nails. And she kept licking her lips and smiling at him, as if she knew some

horrible secret about him that would destroy everything in his life…or take him to the heights of the moon.

Scarlett now went from toying with his swelling glans to using her hands to take turns running up and down

the shaft, as if she were pulling a rope in a bell tower, and as she bent over, Gid got a glorious peek at her

wonderful cleavage.

Scarlett caught his eye. “Wouldn’t you like to be kissing the tops of these mounds, to be sucking my nipples,

biting them, even…putting your dick between my jugs and having me titty-fuck you, Gideon?” Scarlett

laughed as Gideon’s eyes bulged, as he continued to suck the horrible thick dildo.

“I have a lot of boyfriends who get such a great time out of fucking and sucking and holding onto my

titties…I have a big black boyfriend, Ethelred Mountbatten Dix, and he just goes for it! E.M. gets so excited

when I drop by his tenement apartment in the heart of the ghetto and he just licks and sucks and fucks and

jumps all over me…

Gid was horrified but even more aroused at the thought of E.M. Dix, hitting every one of Scarlett’s holes, while

he, Gideon, a rich doctor, had to be bound and locked while she teased his dick and drove him nearly mad.

Scarlett rubbed a little faster, and Gideon closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn’t let go. He knew that she

meant business!

He wanted to protest, but it was difficult when gagged with a thick black penis…even if it wasn’t a real one!

“You’ve gotten a lot of my various strap-ons over the past month, honey” Scarlett said with a smile, “And if

your asshole gets a little too loose you’ll be an old man shitting his drawers before his time, we don’t want

that, do we honey? I didn’t think so” she finished as Gideon’s eyes filled with tears, probably thinking of not

being able to hold his bowels.

“It would be just so sad if you had to wear Depends now, wouldn’t it, Gideon?”Scarlett said, but then she

reached up and pulled her Lycra top back and showed him one of her hot nipples, and he gasped, as she

rubbed just a little faster.

“Keep holding back, honey, we don’t want you to ruin your good record, Gideon.” Scarlett said, tickling Gid’s

frenulum. “But I know you’d like to be sucking my soft nipple, wouldn’t you, babe…sucking and licking it…

having a good time, but there’s no good time for you, is there…just pain!”

Suddenly, Scarlett let go of Gid’s hard cock, and pulled her breast back into the top. “I know what you want,

Gideon, and it makes me sick. You’re just a worthless pervert, aren’t you.” She almost giggled as she saw the

guilt stricken look on Gid’s face.

Only a hard core submissive would feel guilty when a woman showed him her bare boob and then criticized

him for staring! What an adorable man Gideon was. His attitude was so perfect.

But, Scarlett was bored. Gid was a sweet old man, but he was gone much of the day, and although Scarlett

had begun hanging out a bit at the PainCafe, she found time hanging heavy on her hands, and realized she

wanted to do a little more heavy duty domming. And making more money, of course!

And the most interesting thing had happened. Fanchon Nemirow, a woman whose acquaintance Scarlett

had made at the PainCafe, had told her that there was a bit of day work that might be available to her!

“My friend, Ratface O’Rourke, was a full time Master to three adult siblings, Demeter, Vitus and Cinder, but

he and Demeter have fallen in love, and they got married recently and moved to Long Beach, California.”

Fanchon smiled.

“So Cinder and Vitus are at loose ends now—they don’t function well without someone in charge. It wouldn’t

have to be full time—you could whip them up a bit, and give them housework assignments, and then still

run back to Gideon! And have time to pick up a little normal tail at the local singles joints, you see?”

But would Gideon allow that? Certainly she was the one in charge, but he had a verbal contract with her, of

sorts, and it might hurt his feelings to know that she had other submissives. She had had lunch with Cinder

and Vitus—they seemed like nice people, very bright.

Vitus was quite different from Gideon—much more masculine, with a sort of angry, pressured personality,

and Cinder was also a bit intense. They ran a successful software emporium and that took a lot of moxie.

Now, Scarlett frowned warningly as she saw Gideon staring into her cleavage, and she reached into her

handbag and pulled out a bit of thin metal chain. She strung the chain around Gid’s testicles, and made long,

sweeping loops around his hard cock as well, pulling it enthusiastically towards her….as she pulled the chain,

Gid grunted in pain…

“This is what you deserve for being so perversely focused on my poor defenseless boobs!” Scarlett said. As she

pulled the nasty, grating chain with one hand, she picked up Gid’s discarded belt with the other, and swung

the buckle against his penis and testicles.

SLAP! The hard metal buckle bounced against the chain covered penis, and tears came to Gid’s eyes…

Scarlett smiled with satisfaction. She swung the belt again, and poor Gid tried to move, but his ankles and

wrists were tied together behind his head, and he could do nothing but squirm a bit, and look pathetic.

“No, you can’t move, Gideon” Scarlett said, shaking her head sunnily. “If I wanted to, I could just carry

you and throw you into that Olympic sized pool you have in the backyard. You’d drown…sink like a

stone. You’re such a worthless, panting pervert, that the world would be well rid of you, but of course then I

wouldn’t get paid, would I?”

Scarlett swung the belt again, and it landed harshly on Gideon’s cock and balls, and tears spurted from his

eyes, though Scarlett knew that part of that was the nasty shit she was saying to him. She was actually rather

fond of Gideon, but she wanted to keep his ego trimmed as best she could. Scarlett swung the belt again. Ah

yes, what a nice bounce that was.

Scarlett had brought her length of rubber garden hose, and she got up to get it. It was such an inexpensive

tool, and it did such good work! She’d not used it since that afternoon with Demetrius…but why not do a

number on poor Gideon now? Let’s see how his cock and balls would react to that, huh?

Scarlett sat down after bringing over the length of hose. “What do you think of this, Gideon…you think it’s

just a harmless bit of garden hose, eh?”

Gideon bit the penis. He knew what was going to happen, and the fact that he was gagged, made no

difference. What damage could be done with a rubber hose! And then he felt it!

THUNK! The hose hit his chain wrapped penis, and Gideon screamed around the thick penis gag.

WHUNK! The hose again slammed his penis, and a small trickle of blood came out of Gid’s perineum.

Scarlett briefly dropped the hose and stroked Gid’s cock, and it began recovering fast, and soon was thick

and erect in her hand. “A hard cock is somewhat offensive to me as a feminist, Gideon.” Scarlett had said

firmly. “It’s a sort of rape symbol. What shall I do about that?”

Before Gid could react, Scarlett picked up the length of garden hose again and swatted his cock and balls

nine times, until Gideon felt as if he would happily have his genitals amputated if it might lessen the pain.

WHACK! Scarlett’s hose slammed Gid’s right inner thigh, and a black and blue mark appeared. Gid was

crying and seemed somewhat shaky. Scarlett didn’t give a shit, though…the garden hose did that to these

poor fools.

Scarlett had had a rich submissive girl, Lilibet, who had craved the hose, but then would utter primal screams

when it bruised her shaved cunt. But Lilibet was far tougher than Gideon, who looked as if he were going to

pass out at any moment.

Scarlett stroked Gid’s dick again, and told him in a soft, little girl voice that she knew he wanted to put his

big, fat dick in her little pussy…but he couldn’t! THUNK! WHUNK! WHACK!

Scarlett grinned. She lifted the hose again. WHUNK! THUNK! As the hose slammed Gid’s genitals, she

pulled the chain painfully, and he howled some more. His eyes closed in agony, and Scarlett figured he

might’ve had enough. Later she would whip his ass with the garden hose, and what fun that would be!

Finally Scarlett threw the hose down, and unwrapped the chain, squirting more lotion on her hands…she

began massaging Gid’s penis again, smiling genially at him as she did it. “How’s that feel, sweetie?” Gid

nodded, the penis still stiffly in his mouth, poor thing.

Scarlett rubbed faster and faster, tickling and rubbing with her fingers and thumbs, and he moaned and

panted. She gave him a warning look with her arched eyebrows, and he nodded. He knew he couldn’t have a

release without her permission!

Scarlett used one hand to pull out her breast again from the Shocking Pink Lycra top. She licked her fingers

and then rubbed her nipple until it stood out like a bullet. Scarlett smiled as she watched Gid’s eyes bug out

as he stared at the diamond sharp nipple.

“You’d love to lick this nipple wouldn’t you, Gideon?” Scarlett asked with a smile. “You’d just love it. After

that first weekend we had though, I realized I couldn’t let a sniveling, cringing worm like you drool all over

my fabulous breasts…they’re not for the likes of you.”

Scarlett noted with satisfaction that Gideon’s eyes were tearing up again. This sort of talk was much harsher

for him than having his balls whipped with a bit of garden hose! Gid’s adoration of Scarlett was just over the

moon at this point, and she was having a good time, a really good time.

Scarlett massaged her nipple again and stared into Gideon’s pathetic eyes. She rubbed the tip of his dick, and

felt it trembling. She knew there was a terrible inner struggle for poor Gideon to keep from cumming. It was

like a test of strength for him, and the sad little bugger would probably lose. And then, of course there would

be a terrible punishment.

Scarlett lifted her boob up to her face and licked the nipple. It was a skill she’d perfected in high school—

most girls didn’t have breasts that big, or that flexible. She licked and sucked the nipple, and moaned, though

of course it didn’t do that much for her.

Suddenly Scarlett reached out and pulled the penis gag from Gid’s mouth. “So, you want to suck my nipple,

don’t you, pig?” Scarlett’s eyes were cold, and Gid knew he had to watch his step, but what could he do? He

had to be honest.

“Yes, Miss Scarlett. I really miss those initial days when you let me suck your nipple. I have appreciated that

you let me lick the bottoms of your breasts, and it’s such a pleasure, but I do dream of getting to suck on

your nipple again.” Gid said this as sincerely as possible, but he wasn’t surprised when Scarlett smacked him

upside the head.

WHACK! Gid’s head bounced on his shoulders, and tears came from his eyes. “Jesus you are such a crybaby.”

Scarlett said coldly. “I can’t believe how much you cry when we spend time together. It’s whine, whine

whine.” Suddenly Scarlett picked up the garden hose and thunked Gid’s hard cock with it, and he burst into

tears.

Scarlett threw the hose on the floor. “Oh, Gideon, you are so hopeless.” She stroked Gid’s cock and rubbed

his balls with the lotion. “I think you can’t handle looking at my bare nipple any more. I think I’m going to

put it back in my top, and maybe not let you ever see me naked again, how would that be?”

Gid watched with agonized eyes as Scarlett pushed her boob back into her top. “What do you think, Gideon?

You told me that your sister used to punish you for years, making you get naked in front of her without

letting you see anything.”

“But-but what about my oral worship?”Gid babbled. “I love kissing your body and bringing you to repeated

orgasms, Miss Scarlett.” He paused. “And you’ve told me that I have some skill at bringing you such pleasure.”

Scarlett laughed. “How cleverly you manipulate me, Gideon. No, don’t worry. I’m not going to stop you

from looking at me naked. I just wanted to give you something to think about. But if it’s really worth it to

suck my nipple…you should have a bit more suffering, don’t you think?”

Gideon nodded sadly, and Scarlett whacked his cock and balls five or six times with the cut off piece of

garden hose. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming, as he wanted her to know that he was devoted to her,

and that he truly was worthy of being allowed to suck and kiss her beautiful breasts.

Finally, Scarlett pulled out her bosom and stuck it in Gideon’s mouth, and he began sucking her nipple with

ardor…but as he did, she jacked his cock quickly, and Ooops…there was an accident! He soiled her fingers.

“And now, you’re going to get a punishment Gideon…I can’t believe you disappointed me!” Scarlett picked

up the hose. “It’s time for you to have an endurance test…this will make you re-prioritize, I think…”

Twenty minutes later, Gideon’s breath was coming in short bursts as he stood on the kitchen stool,

attempting to balance a heavy teacup laden tray in each hand while Scarlett toyed with his hard cock. “You’d

better not drop anything, or lose your balance.” Scarlett laughed. “Learn to be a good waiter, Giddie boy.”

Gid’s dick was so swollen….although he’d had an orgasm just now, Scarlett seemed to make his dick bounce

back with an energy that he’d never realized he had! He was unaware that Scarlett was slipping Viagra in his

coffee, and thought he was just intensely attracted to her.

“You never had to wait tables did you, Gideon?” Scarlett said as she tickled and stroked his penis, while it

throbbed mightily. “I left home when I was criminally young, and began bussing and waiting tables full time

while going to school…lotta balance in that kind of work, not like sitting around as a doctor in an office.”

Scarlett stroked Gid’s penis again, and then took her long nails away and picked up a two foot long steel

pointer that Gideon had used to instruct medical students. “Hold on to those trays, Gid…its punishment

time!” Scarlett kindly warned this as she lifted the steel pointer, licking her lips.

Gid gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, praying he wouldn’t drop the trays. It was very difficult, asking a

fifty-eight year old man to stand on a kitchen stool holding heavy trays of three china teacups each.

SLASH! The steel pointer came down on the tip of Gid’s penis, and he gripped the trays while trying to

maintain balance. The pain was just incredible. TWACK! Again the steel pointer came down, and he almost

buckled, but stood straight, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Scarlett smiled, her breasts heaving in the velour tube top she was wearing. “What a good boy” she soothed,

dropping the pointer.

Scarlett picked up the lotion and began rubbing it gently up and down Gid’s damaged penis. “Brave as a lion,

and able to take all kinds of cock spanking! And you’d be a good little waiter, too, Gideon.”

Gideon breathed through his nose, looking down at Scarlett, who was pulling the skin back on his

circumcised cock so that it bulged in her pink tipped fingers. How he loved her! The massage was so

soothing and quite arousing at the same time, and her cleavage was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen!

As Scarlett rubbed and slathered the soothing lotion all over Gideon’s rapidly enlarging penis, she cooed to

him, though when he listened closely, it was a bit disturbing.

“We’ve got to move up Baby’s training a little bit, don’t we? I’m thinking of getting a big Male Master in here,

to give you a few hard whippings, and kick you in the balls a little bit. I don’t know if Scarlett has the energy

to make such a big strong boy submit without some help.”

Scarlett rubbed and stroked Gideon’s full balls, squeezing them just a little bit, but not enough to keep him

from staying erect. She looked up at him, her tongue peeking out from her glossed lips. The alarm in his

beady little eyes amused her greatly.

Gideon gulped, and realized how tired his arms were from holding up these plates…no waiter was required

to jut his arms out for forty-five minutes, holding plates as laden as these…especially while balancing on a

kitchen stool while getting the hand jobs of their lives!

“Scarlett, I’m not gay, or even bisexual, I don’t think I’d want a guy doing that stuff with me, dear. I’m really

happy with you, though sometimes I think it would be nice if you took it down just a notch…maybe a bit

of lovemaking like we had that first weekend, not that I don’t like and need the domination” he hastily

amended.

Scarlett shook her lovely dark head solemnly. “I don’t think you really could handle lovemaking with a pretty

girl like me. Not when you know what a worm you really are!” Scarlett wiped her hands free of the lotion,

and to Gid’s dismay, she picked up the steel pointer again. “You don’t think you need a man to help guide

you, Gideon?”

WHACK! This time the pointer came down rather harshly on Gid’s penis, and it is sad to say, the tray in

his right hand jiggled too much, and one of the teacups fell and smashed on the hardwood floor. “Oh dear.

Not good, Gideon. It would be healthy for you to grip that tray, honey.” WHACK! Again, very harshly, the

pointer smacked his penis, and Gideon began crying, though he maintained a heroic grip on the trays.

Scarlett stepped back for a moment, surveying the unhappy man with the now quite welted cock, grasping

tea trays, and trying desperately not to fall off the kitchen stool. This assignment was working out so well!

She loved Buttermilk Falls.

“Gideon, just that you gave me all that lip about not needing a man to boss you around, telling me what

YOU wanted in a woman, telling me you wanted to fuck me…that’s what we’ve been trying to train you out

of, honey. I think you really need a big, strong man, maybe a black man, who could instruct you in the ways

of obedience.”

Scarlett laughed huskily and watched Gid’s penis swell. “You like that don’t you—a big man whose dick you

could suck—a big strong Negro who’d fuck you in the ass. You know how you beg me to give it to you with

the strap-on, think of what fun it would be to have a REAL dick in your butt. A big, black sperm engine.”

FIFTY-TWO

Cinder gritted her teeth as the garden hose whipped across her full breasts. Oooh. She closed her eyes, and

then opened them, looking through her tears at Scarlett, who was standing before the naked, bound woman

with her trusty hose…WHACK!

And the hose bounced once again on Cinder’s tender nipples.

Scarlett was amazed at the strength and self control of the female submissive. Gideon would have been

rolling around, grabbing his chest, blubbering, but Cinder was able to kneel carefully, her untied wrists

behind her. It was truly phenomenal.

WHACK! Cinder bit her lower lip, but there was no other sign that she’d felt what must’ve been a horribly

painful smack. There was a blue bruise across her chest…and if Scarlett looked closely, she could see a bit of

trembling, but Cinder had it all down.

Scarlett really admired Cinder—her tawny hair, her full lips. Scarlett lifted the hose again, a bit annoyed

now. WHACK! Ah yes, a single tear rolled down Cinder’s cheek as she bit her lip, trying to keep perfect

posture and carriage. After all, Cinder wasn’t leaning her knees against her legs, she was up in a praying

position almost, although of course one wrist held the other behind her back.

“Well at least there’s a reaction.” Scarlett said. “I was wondering if you had any pain nerves at all, Cinder.”

Cinder smiled slightly, and Scarlett saw a trembling of the lower lip. What a remarkable woman Cinder was!

They’d had a chaste lunch, and Scarlett could tell that this girl, twelve or fourteen years younger than she,

was just brilliant, as well as rich and successful and frankly, in better shape than Scarlett herself.

“I just don’t want to blubber and irritate you, Mistress Scarlett.” Cinder said with a half smile. “Vitus is a bit

of a whiner when it comes to pain, but I’ve prided myself on my inner strength.”

Scarlett grinned. “Did I give you permission to speak, you bragging little scumbag?” Scarlett stepped forward,

swinging the hose WHACK! THWACK! She could tell that Cinder was tempted to use her arms to cover

her breasts, but held her wrist as gamely as possible behind her back.

“There’s (WHACK!!!) Nothing I (WHACK!!!) hate more than a (WHACK!!!) bragging slave-pig. It’s

(WHACK!!!) revolting, really. (WHACK!!!) If I (WHACK!!!) wanted ego, I’d put (WHACK!!!) on the

Rush Limbaugh (WHACK!!!) program.

Here (WHACK!!!) I am trying to(WHACK!!!) teach you to (WHACK!!!) be a (WHACK!!!) proper

submissive, (WHACK!!!) and all you want to (WHACK!!!) do is bad mouth your brother, (WHACK!!!) who

is my other (WHACK!!!) employer, and go on (WHACK!!!) about your so called(WHACK!!!) inner strength.

What(WHACK!!!) the hell’s (WHACK!!!) wrong with you, you (WHACK!!!) worthless piece of trash?”

Amazing. Cinder was able to keep her hands behind her back during this vicious attack on her now quite

black-and blue breasts. Also, the hose had hit her face, and she was bleeding from the nose, and had the

beginnings of a fat lip. But she just knelt there, with perfect posture, almost rigidity.

“You know, Cinder” Scarlett said, worried the girl was catatonic, “You can use your safe word if you like. I

don’t want to go too far…”

Cinder smiled through her swelling lower lip. “Mistress Scarlett, you’re wonderful. You weren’t raised by my

father. This is mild compared to some of the things he put us through. I’m doing quite well, thriving, under

your tutelage, though perhaps I should put some ice on my lip as I have a presentation with my staff and

some important clients tomorrow.”

“Oh, you poor thing” Scarlett ran to the refrigerator and came back with some ice chips, and Cinder arose

and took them from the older woman’s hand. Cinder rubbed the chip on her lower lip, smiling ruefully.

“You really know how to pass out the punishment, Miss Scarlett. I hope I’ve proved to be a worthy

submissive.” But even in saying this, Cinder looked down. She was so submissive! Yet, that morning, when

Scarlett had been fist-fucking the bound Vitus, she’d overheard Cinder screaming and yelling, raising hell on

the phone…she was a tough cookie in business!

Now, Scarlett took Cinder into her lap, and stroked her hair. “You’re a very good submissive, Cinder. I’ve

been doing this a long time, and I am quite pleased with you, and you’re a beautiful girl, as well. I want to

take my submissives past their limits, but I don’t get the feeling you have many now.” Shit, unless she wants

me to cut off her arm or something.

Cinder lay her head on Scarlett’s neck. “No, I’ve been through a lot. Vitus perhaps has some journeys

to go through.”

FIFTY-THREE

Vitus Shinabery opened the gate to his house, casually unbuttoning the top button of his Oxford shirt. He

was quite attracted to Scarlett, she seemed like an exciting woman. She’d told him that although she’d been

christened her Vondra Lou Cumberland, the name had never given her satisfaction. When getting legally

emancipated at age twelve and a half, the precocious Vondra Lou re-named herself after the two great literary

dominant women—Scarlett Rebecca Sharp.

Vitus unlocked the door and came in. He wondered what might be in store for him tonight. The night

before, Scarlett had put a rubber hood over Vitus’s head and locked his wrists to the ceiling of her bedroom

closet, and she’d left him there for the evening, in adult diapers…this after encouraging him to down a few

Budweisers. He’d awakened with diaper rash this morning…ugh.

One thing that seriously concerned Vitus though, was the state of his chastity. Rat had been a good and

attentive master for the twenty-one months he’d been with them, but he’d left Vitus having now not had an

orgasm in 182 days.

Vitus had been scheduled to have an orgasm every ninety days, after his chastity belt was removed, but he’d

made the mistake of calling Master Rat an “asshole” during an amicable discussion that had perhaps not

been that amicable!

Rat had penalized Vitus with an extra month of chastity, adding two weeks to that one morning when Vitus

had been late for an important meeting, and forgotten to make his and more importantly, Master Rat’s beds.

Then Rat had finished his PhD thesis, proposed to Demi, and they’d left! Rat had dropped the keys off

with Cinder, making her promise not to allow Vitus to cum until another strong Master or Mistress was in

place to ensure that the orgasm was deserved…and Cinder had actually opened a safe deposit box for the key,

knowing her brother’s deviousness.

They’d had a difficult time finding a candidate, and of course Vitus had begged Cinder to consider just

hiring some domme to put him through a few housekeeping chores and then allowing him to jerk off. “After

all, Cinder, it’s been six MONTHS now…”Vitus had begged.

But Cinder was implacable. “Sorry bro, it’s not going to work that way. We’ve got to get someone in place,

and that person will decide when you get to be released. It’s not like I don’t milk you from the rear when

you get too congested back there. You just want your little thrill, and you’re not getting it until we’ve hired

someone else besides you and me to make that decision. If you want to get bolt cutters and cut your thing off,

and forget the whole master/slave thing, fine, but otherwise…

And of course Vitus didn’t want that, and in a way, he was quite excited by his chastity enforcement. His

cock often bulged painfully against the piercing he was in, especially when he saw cute girls downtown, or

when his secretary leaned over the desk to talk with him—it kept him in a bit of heat!

Vitus masturbated quite often in the bathroom, thinking of various women, he carried a little bottle of

lotion just for the purpose, but his masturbating just got his dick hard…but as it was locked in a nasty curve

against his scrotum, there was no way it could get too excitable…

Rat had been a good Master, but Vitus was not sexually attracted to men, and although he’d dutifully sucked

Rat’s dick several times a day and allowed Rat to sodomize him…the thrill wasn’t there. But when the young

man had seen Scarlett Sharp the first time, he’d nearly lost his mind!

What a beautiful, exciting woman…he’d enjoyed talking with her as well during that initial meeting, but all

he could think about was making love to her…Cinder, who was a lesbian, felt the same way, and after they’d

said goodbye, they’d talked excitedly all the way home about the endless possibilities.

They’d worked out a daily schedule, as Scarlett was occupied in the evenings with the old man, Gideon that

she was “caring for.” And for the past two or three weeks, Scarlett had been everything Vitus could imagine!

Intense sessions, vicious punishments, and Scarlett had enjoyed Vitus’s energetic tongue between her legs for

hours every day…

But he’d been hesitant to mention his chastity arrangement, though Cinder had repeatedly told Vitus that

she’d given Scarlett the keys. “I’m sure when she feels you’re ready and deserving, you’ll get to cum, Vitus.

I don’t think she’s into this 90 day thing, instead of a regular allowance, she’d rather give you occasional

treats…spontaneity and all that.”

Oh God. Women are like that, aren’t they, Vitus thought, closing the door. He and Rat had a kind of

deal—a tough deal, but predictable. When Rat had moved in, Vitus and the girls took turns domming each

other, and Demi and Cinder had had Vitus on a thirty day orgasm schedule—even when he was domming

THEM, they were allowed to cum and he wasn’t—they’d suck his dick without unlocking the piercing, and

that sort of thing.

But every thirty days he’d be allowed to cum—and then Rat came in, and he jacked it up to every ninety

days—but at least it was predictable until that last time, when he’d angered his Master and the orgasms

had stopped. Vitus had never expected them to stop for six whole months though, what with the thirty day

punishment, then the fourteen day extension, and then just limbo while a new Master or Mistress was sought.

Although Cinder had just drained Vitus’s anus a few weeks before, he felt like his balls were leaden, and part

of that was his tendency to stimulate himself…he’d see a cute little paralegal in the street, fantasize about her

torturing him and play pocket pool until his balls were filled and his cock was suffering, pulling against the

cruel piercing.

Vitus really hoped that Scarlett would A. cut it back to every thirty days and B. let him cum very, very soon.

He was being good enough to her, for God’s sake. He and Cinder were paying Scarlett a thousand dollars a

week to “tend” to them.

Certainly, Scarlett might be a little grateful, but of course that was never how the sadist-masochist

relationship worked…and if it had, Scarlett softening up, they’d probably lose interest in her and hire

someone else, someone cruel and evil, like their parents had been!

Being a paraphile, a BDSM pervert, was a conundrum. Now, Vitus looked around the living room, and

just as he turned, Scarlett walked in. She smiled at him. “I just put the queening stool and funnel over your

sister’s mouth and went rather heavily. Number Two. I think it’s lactose intolerance. thing. She’s still locked

up in the bathroom…digesting.”

Vitus sighed. “I don’t envy her, Miss Scarlett. I hope you had a good day, ma’am.”

Scarlett grinned. “Well, it’s been a busy one. I can stay here about another half hour and then I must get

home to Gideon. I do have a list of chores for you to complete, if you’ve not brought work home.”

Vitus looked distressed. “Mistress! I’ve not gotten to see you today at all. I, I was hoping you’d have time

tonight…for me. Lucky Cinder!” Scarlett smiled at Vitus. She thought Cinder was a sweetie, but Scarlett

Sharp was essentially heterosexual and enjoyed male attention.

“Also, I wanted to ask about something.” Vitus bit his lip. He hoped she wouldn’t think he was being

impertinent. He had to word this carefully. He couldn’t say something stupid like, he had a RIGHT to an

orgasm…but he had to say something!

“All right, that’s a plan, you can ask away.” Scarlett said, suddenly grabbing Vitus by the tie and walking

towards the basement door. “But we have to start up your session now. I hope you had some dinner before

you came home…”

Ten minutes later, they were in the basement dungeon, and Scarlett had stripped Vitus and chained his legs

to the ceiling pulley, and now he was upside down, and his hands were cuffed behind his head.

Vitus felt the blood rushing to his head, and knew he would be the recipient of a nasty headache if he was

forced to stay here all night.

“Now I have to go, Vitus, but I’ll be back tomorrow to let you down right after Gid goes to work, honey, and

then we’ll have a nice morning session maybe. I had Cinder cancel your morning meetings.” Scarlett was

touching up her lipstick in the mirror as she said this, and Vitus was panicking. He was going to be here all

night? Upside down?

“But—but I thought we could talk for a moment—about my next orgasm?” Vitus felt a bit ridiculous talking

about this while hanging upside down. It did give him a nice little view into Scarlett’s cleavage, but his nose

was starting to bleed.

“Your next orgasm? Who said anything about that?” Scarlett said, amused.

“Well-I had a deal—an arrangement with Master Ratface, you know… it was an every ninety day thing, but

he left all of a sudden, and it’s been a long time since my scheduled um, release.” How could he have this

conversation upside down? Vitus was beginning to feel a bit dizzy.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what type of arrangement you had with your previous Master, but it has nothing

to do with us—you and me. We shouldn’t –you shouldn’t worry about when you’re going to cum again,

Vitus dear. It’s really none of your business. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, Scarlett went upstairs and shut

off the lights, leaving Vitus in darkness.

Vitus burst into tears.

But, what Vitus didn’t know was, Scarlett had shut the door from the inside, and was now sitting on the

steps. Bitch as she was, even Scarlett wouldn’t make anyone hang from the ceiling upside down for more

than an hour or so…

And what Scarlett’s plan was—was fabulous! The Shinaberys had given Scarlett a healthy budget aside from

her salary for hijinks, and Scarlett had spent some money to hire a friend of hers, Kyra, a domme who had

been totally blind since birth. Kyra had visited Buttermilk Falls before, and had been happy to return, and in

fact was waiting in a closet of the dungeon, which of course was pitch black.

As Scarlett sat on the top step, and Vitus hung, wondering how he was going to deal with being upside down

all night, Kyra silently came out from the closet. Ky had felt around and knew where all the implements were,

and of course had no need of light for anything…

Vitus hung miserably, still half resentful about his “lack of orgasm” for six months. He was wondering if

indeed he should fire Scarlett, but he knew he wouldn’t, as he had fallen in love with her, just as deeply as a

certain allergist twice his age across town. But what would he do, and what about staying here all night—“

WHACK! Vitus felt a vicious sting across his bare buttocks. It felt as if –WHACK! Now the sting hit his

pierced cock! WHACK! THWACK! Vitus screamed. He was terrified.

What the fuck was going on? Vitus was well familiar with the tools in his dungeon, and if he wasn’t crazy,

SOMEONE had gotten his Biter riding crop and was thrashing him with it. The Biter was a nasty little

three foot steel wire based crop that had was spliced with a tiny chain with a little steel ball with little needles

all over it, like a tiny medieval weapon.

They’d ordered the Biter from the Little Shop in New Hampshire, and it was great, but not so good when

there was no fucking light, and how did this person know how to whip Vitus’s ass and then go around to his

front and whip him there too, without any stumbling?

TWACK! The Biter hit Vitus’s right nipple, and the little steel ball whonked him on the chin. “What the

fuck’s going on?” Vitus screamed. “Have you broken into my house? Who are you? Scarlett, Cinder, help!”

Although Scarlett had told Vitus that Cinder was locked under the queening stool in the bathroom, she’d

actually given Cinder the night off from training, and Cinder was getting drunk with workmates at a

nightclub downtown. Scarlett had no idea what exactly Kyra was doing to Vitus, as she didn’t have infra-red

vision, but as he’d been screaming, she was sure he was at least, still alive. This would be beneficial to her

pocketbook.

As Vitus swung from the high ceiling straining his eyes to see ANYTHING, Kyra walked with absolute

confidence to the wall and picked up a coiled Blacksnake whip from the wall, and let it fall out on the floor,

before she swung it, calculating how high she had to do this to not you know, knock Vitus’s eye out.

SLASH! Right across Vitus’s stomach. He screamed bloody murder. Kyra stepped back and gave him one

across his ass, biting her lip to keep from laughing aloud. She slashed him with the Blacksnake for about

three minutes and then laid the whip silently on the floor so she would make no noise.

Kyra took some nipple weights off the wall display and felt her way back to Vitus. “Look, I don’t know who

the fuck you are, man, but I can pay you money if you let me go, or just get out of here. This is way too

upsetting. Could you at least put on a light or something?”

Ky chuckled silently. That was a request that had bedeviled her for years as a child. She had no concept of

light, but she’d heard so much about it…and had felt so inferior because it was denied to her, and because

she had to try so much harder than everyone else just to learn the lay of the land!

It was fortunate that her parents hadn’t shielded her or spoiled her, except in the way that you do a little girl

with gifts and fun trips—but she’d learned to live well in a world without eyes. She could swim, ski, jump

roofs with her brothers and ride a bike unassisted by second grade…so “light” was unneeded, Ky had found.

Becoming a domme had been quite an experience, and cowards like Vitus fascinated her! Now she tiptoed to

Vitus, felt for his nipples and locked the weights on. She chortled inwardly, realizing it would be strange for

Vitus to have his nipples pulled towards his head rather than below. Because, of course he was upside down!

(And in the dark, poor thing).

“Aaah!” Vitus screamed, as the intense pain of the nipple weights hit him hard. “What the fuck are you

doing? This hurts…take them off!” Kyra obeyed, she dropped to the floor, picked up the Biter and swatted

both clamps until they’d been forcefully knocked off Vitus’s agonized nipples.

Kyra used her fingers to explore Vitus’s cock, imprisoned by the piercing. Vitus stopped blubbering as he felt

Kyra’s soft fingers stroking the large vein under his penis, and he began breathing faster…whoever this was,

they knew how to handle the business end of a dick!

At this point, Vitus’s dick was just above Kyra’s head, but she adjusted the ceiling chain so his penis was

lowered to about her chest level

Kyra was naked except for a tiny belt that held the keys to everything relevant, and she unlocked Vitus’s

piercing, and his dick straightened out, assisted by her forefinger exploring the underside of his shaft. Kyra

grasped Vitus’s dick and rubbed it slightly, and then a little faster, and Vitus began panting.

Kyra rubbed and stroked Vitus’s penis, teasetrix that she was, and listened to him gasp and moan. She also

had a tiny bottle of lube attached to her “utility belt” and squirted this on her little fingers and rubbed Vitus’s

now bulging penis with vigor.

“Oh, God that feels good” Vitus said, moaning. “You have small hands for a guy and pervert though you may

be—“But then Kyra pulled Vitus’s penis towards her soft boobs, and pulled them together around his cock,

rubbing them softly against the swollen organ.

Vitus was startled. This apparently, wasn’t a dude. His cock was being smothered in glorious breasts—real

ones, as Vitus had been a connoisseur during his younger years, before returning to the harsh world of male

submission.

For a time Kyra gave Vitus a silent tit job, and then pulled away all of a sudden once more. This was driving

the poor slave crazy…poor thing.

When Kyra had been exploring the dungeon earlier, she’d discovered a foot long vibrator, and had gotten

Scarlett’s assurance that Vitus’s rectum was enlarged enough to take this, with all of Ratface’s sodomy.

Kyra had found a way to muffle the noise of the buzzing with a handkerchief, and she sneaked up behind the

utterly confused and welted Vitus and used her thumbs to spread his anal cheeks. She shoved the vibrator in,

and pressed the doohickey that made it quiver, and Vitus began shaking with the buzzer…

”What the fuck’s going on, man…this is so weird.” Then Vitus felt his wrist cuffs being unlocked.…and now

his hands were free. What now? Should he try to fight with this strange girl? But then he felt her feminine

fingertips on his cock, and he just let things happen…

Kyra came around to Vitus’s front, and did something to the chain, and Vitus was gently lowered to the

floor, and, moving confidently, as if she could see everything, she knelt and unlocked his ankle cuffs, helping

Vitus arise. Vitus was mumbling and babbling. “Um, thanks for getting me down, I don’t know who you are

but—“

And then Kyra placed Vitus’s hands on her full, soft breasts. She took his wrists and rubbed his fingers

around her long nipples, and traced his fingers around her areolas. Then, she let go of Vitus’s wrists, figuring

he could feel around for himself, and indeed he did!

Vitus played with Kyra’s breasts, telling her what a great set she had. “Jesus, these tits are incredible.” He felt

her slim shoulders and her chin, and then Kyra pulled Vitus’s head to her and she found his mouth and gave

him a long kiss…and rubbed her boobs against his narrow chest.

Then Vitus felt a painful SMACK on his shoulder. This invisible woman in the dark had picked up the Biter

again and hit him! He instinctively dropped to his knees, and he felt his head pushed from the back into her

shaved vagina, and he began licking happily.

Finally, Kyra pulled Vitus up and lay him down with her, and they began having sex…she fucked the

daylights out of him, as Scarlett listened…

And then, after about an hour, and after Vitus had three blissful orgasms, Kyra pulled away from him, still

having said nothing, and felt for where she’d left a small vial of chloroform, and doused a rag and rolled back

and knocked Vitus out, rubbing the cloth on Vitus’s nose.

When Kyra was sure that Vitus was unconscious, she called up to Scarlett, who turned the light on and came

downstairs. The girls put Vitus into a sleeping bag with a pillow, and went back upstairs to have a drink.

Vitus was out cold all night, and in the morning, Scarlett locked his ankles to the chain and pulled him back

up to the ceiling, and put back the handcuffs and re-attached the piercing. Then she put all the implements

back where they had been. She’d paid Kyra $800 and sent her on her way, and now came the REAL fun.

Scarlett took a bucket of cold water and threw it on Vitus, who awoke, gaping around the dungeon, and

shivering (Just before Scarlett filled the bucket she turned off the heat in the basement, and she herself was

wearing a snug but quite insulated sexy cat suit and stockings.)

Vitus looked with amazement at Scarlett. “Did you enjoy your night, slut-pig?” she asked, and he noted she

had her cut-off hose with her. Stepping close to him she swung it right into his stomach.

WHACK! Scarlett stepped back and walked around to Vitus’s back. “I am still offended that you brought

up having an orgasm, as if that’s YOUR choice…you’ve not had an orgasm in six months, and I may not let

you have one for a year.”

Vitus gaped. What the hell had happened last night? Jesus, was it a dream? And that, of course was what

Scarlett was hoping for. She was more interested in being perceived as a vicious domme than actually being

one—she wanted Vitus to think he’d been upside down all night, and that she’d be super-severe to him after

he awakened…and that she’d deny his orgasm for a year!

But, she’d given him quite a pleasurable experience the night before, via Miss Kyra, and now she could deny

his orgasm for another thirty days or so and not feel like too much of a meanie.

Vitus would never really know whether he’d had an orgasm or dreamed it…Ky and Scarlett had discussed

the possibility of Kyra talking in a ghostly voice and pretending to be a dominatrix spirit, but Vitus was too

bright for that one, they’d both thought…this was a much better plan!

Vitus hung, his mind boggling, as Scarlett walked around him, tapping the cut bit of hose against her thigh.

“You make me sick. Why should I allow you to have an orgasm at all? I bet you feel pretty crappy, having

hung here all night, and you deserve it!”

Vitus was amazed, he didn’t even have a headache. Also, the girls had put iodine on the few welts that Ky had

left, and so he didn’t really feel them that much, or if he did, he mistakenly thought they were connected

with the whipping he was now getting from Scarlett.

Finally Scarlett let Vitus down and took him upstairs. “I have to tell you something, Miss Scarlett” Vitus said

hesitatingly. “I think someone came downstairs and let me out of my chastity piercing, and we made love.

That’s a little crazy—“

They were in the kitchen, Vitus was still naked, of course. Scarlett pretended to look horrified and offended.

She took a saucepan off the stove, and sat down on a chair, pulling Vitus over her knee.

“How (WHACK!!!) dare you(WHACK!!!) tell me you had(WHACK!!!) an orgasm without (WHACK!!!)

permission last night, and (WHACK!!!) actually had(WHACK!!!) sex with a(WHACK!!!) woman last

(WHACK!!!) night, as well. You know(WHACK!!!) you can’t (WHACK!!!) have sex with (WHACK!!!)

a woman. You don’t (WHACK!!!) deserve to, and no(WHACK!!!) woman I’d (WHACK!!!) ever know

(WHACK!!!) would fuck a worthless(WHACK!!!) scheming, (WHACK!!!) lying little(WHACK!!!) toad

like you.

Who (WHACK!!!) the hell do(WHACK!!!) you think(WHACK!!!) you are? Telling (WHACK!!!) your

Mistress (WHACK!!!) an appalling(WHACK!!!) fib like that (WHACK!!!) when you know (WHACK!!!)

you’ve been(WHACK!!!) hanging all night…I don’t (WHACK!!!) like being(WHACK!!!) fucked around

(WHACK!!!) with, Vitus, and(WHACK!!!) you’re going(WHACK!!!) to learn how(WHACK!!!) much I

don’t like(WHACK!!!) it!”

Finally Scarlett tossed the saucepan down, and looked with considerable satisfaction at Vitus’s red and purple

welted butt. Vitus was no sissy, and his father had forbidden him to cry during a punishment, but now he

was sobbing—a saucepan paddling was nothing to sneeze at, and besides he was utterly bewildered at the

experience he’d had last night.

Scarlett ordered Vitus to use the saucepan she’d used on him to make her some breakfast, and then she’d

allowed him to dress and go off to work. Whistling, she’d gotten into her Mazda convertible, a birthday

present from Gideon, and drove to the PainCafe, where she was meeting Fanchon Nemirow for a drink.

“So what the devil’s going on, Fanchon?” Scarlett asked her new friend. “You were really excited on the phone

last night. Is all copasetic?”

“Well dear, I know you’re having such fun with your dual submissive supervisions” Fanchon said lazily, as she

casually made eyes with a handsome waiter. “But I’ve heard so much great stuff about you around town—

you’ve taken your subs to dungeon parties, and you do so well—I think you’re up for a much better position

than baby-sitting local masochists. I think you’re up for a Presidential campaign.”

FIFTY-FOUR

“Well, the debate seems to be over.” Creighton Zell said with some satisfaction. “I think Senator Antonovich

fielded that question on space policy well, right Ms. Sharp?”

Scarlett looked with faint distaste at Creighton Zell, an obese sycophant whose bald pate was sweating under

the television klieg lights. It always seemed as if Presidential candidates had some homely subordinate—

James Carville, George Stephanopoulos, Karl Rove, and of course Cheney…brains, but no looks, no charm…

just grotesque cunning.

Scarlett beamed at Dunstan Antonovich as he shook hands with Katie Couric, and walked off the stage.

Scarlett’s bob had grown into a curly tangled dark mass that made her resemble Kirstie Alley when she was

on “Cheers” before she became a beached whale. The past year had been certainly instructive—-Dunstan

Antonovich was an exciting guy to hang out with!

“You did so well, Senator” Scarlett said, smiling and taking his arm. Dun was supposedly happily married,

and in public Scarlett was only his aide-de-camp. Creighton Zell came up on the other side, babbling his

feedback, and Scarlett wrinkled her nose. Someone, Senator Everett Dirksen possibly had said that politics

was Hollywood for ugly people, and Zell was certainly evidence of this.

As Scarlett looked Portia Noble, one of the other Republican candidates, she noticed that Portia was being

accompanied by Wenceslas Monczowki, an old acquaintance of hers. “Jesus, what’s Monks doing here?”

Scarlett thought. Could Portia Noble be vulnerable to the charms of West Chicago’s most notorious Male

Master?

Dun was looking anxiously at Scarlett, and she could tell he needed something. Dun was very much like a

child—when he was tired and whiny, he often needed a spanking, and Scarlett had had no compunctions

when he was visiting a voter’s house during the New Hampshire Primaries. “May we use your lavatory?”

she’d asked the host. “The Senator seems to have a chin hair I want to pluck.”

They’d fortunately had a rather large bathroom, and she’d had plenty of room to plunk down, and order the

Senator to take down his pants. “No arguments, Dunstan.” Scarlett had said firmly. “I heard you making

some rude comment about a journalist’s ass, and we’ll be lucky if she doesn’t report that. You’re getting thirty

with my hardwood paddle.”

Gagged with a washcloth, the Senator had taken his thirty, and then Scarlett had checked her makeup in the

mirror while he knelt and wept silently. But, by the time they’d returned to the limelight, he was charming

and pleasant as always! Fanchon had been right, this was a plum job.

Gideon had been very sad to lose Scarlett, but he’d also been incredibly proud of her. Vitus and Cinder were

committed Democrats, and thought Dun Antonovich was slime incarnate, but Scarlett had fortunately

found a colleague of sorts to take over their training, and she promised to return to their care after the

election was over, unless of course it was White House time!

Now she clicked her high heels beside Dun, and she smiled casually at the attentive male photographers.

There was quite a bit of speculation in the news about Scarlett and the Presidential candidate, but she did as

little as she could to feed it. After a few more words, Dun took Scarlett back to the office in the Senate Hart

Building, and adjourned to their “lounge”.

As Dun stripped and knelt before her, Scarlett wondered about Monks. This was too interesting. Portia

Noble was one of Dun’s toughest rivals—pro-life, gorgeous, a fiscal conservative. Women LOVED her, and

men didn’t mind her either, for Portia was a looker!

But that might be interesting information to use in the campaign. Dunstan looked up expectantly at Scarlett

from his kneeling position on the floor. Scarlett took a long walking stick with a gold knob on the end that

Dun carried when he was being especially pompous, and stepped up to him.

Scarlett let the walking stick slide into her hand, and pointed the knob end at Dun’s cock. His cock was free,

as it generally was when she was within ten feet of him…otherwise of course it was secured.

TAP! The knob bounced painfully against the head of his cock, and Dun bit his lip. “Senator, you need to

tell me something—did you notice the young man accompanying Governor Noble?” To ensure that Dun

was listening to her, Scarlett whacked his cock again with the walking stick knob.

“N-no ma’am, I don’t think so.” Dun’s face crunched in pain as the knob hit his cock again. “She’s a

dangerous challenger though. She really has her eye set on the nomination. She told Tom Brokaw about

some promises I didn’t keep in my last Senatorial term.”

Scarlett shook her head, and her long dark hair flew around her shoulders, and Dun’s eyes widened. She was

glad she’d grown it out. It seemed to have a bewitching effect on men! Scarlett lifted the cane and landed it

on Dun’s shoulder.

“You don’t keep promises? That’s unfortunate. It would take a woman like Portia Noble to point something

like that out.” Scarlett snapped her fingers, and Dun bent over, burying his face in the carpet, and she took a

position at his rear. Scarlett lifted the cane, and smiled with pleasure. Politics was fun, really.

Scarlett swung the long walking stick down, and it landed with a smack on Dun’s exposed buttock, and

he gasped. She swung it again, hard, and watched as a black and blue mark seemingly appeared on his left

bottom cheek.

“It’s all about ego with you men.” Scarlett mused. “You actually don’t care about the voters, or whoever

you’re making promises to. It’s campaigning, and then you’re bored until you have your next tantrum to get

whatever it is you want.”

Scarlett lifted the cane and swung it hard five times against Dun’s buttocks, and he howled. Fortunately the

lounge was soundproofed, and Dun’s staff could just work undisturbed. “Lies, deceit…I always wanted to

thrash Teddy Kennedy’s big, flabby buttocks, before he died. And Howell Hefflin. Fortunately, I have you to

do a number on…”

WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! Finally Scarlett let up. She didn’t want to hospitalize Dunstan before the

next speech he was to make. Scarlett helped Dunstan up, and locked his hands behind his back with a set of

handcuffs, instructing him to kneel on a chair.

Scarlett unbuttoned her blouse, showing a milky white cleavage. She watched Dun’s eyes…men were so

predictable! Dun’s breath came in short gasps as Scarlett began stroking his dick with unbridled energy.

“You know Mommy doesn’t like to punish you” she said, the lie coming easily. She put her chin into Dun’s

neck and blew air in his ear, as she toyed more with his fevered cock.

“I know you’re horny…wouldn’t you like to fuck Mommie? No, Dunny, that’s not going to happen. Only big

boys get to fuck Mommie. But Mommie is going to help you win this election, and won’t it be nice when a

sad little sack of a submissive becomes President of the United States.”

As Scarlett said this, she slipped her fingers along to Dun’s scrotum and twisted it, lightly, and he buckled

over, but then regained his composure as she returned to her endless masturbation of his throbbing rod.

“I liked using that walking stick on you, Dunstan” Scarlett whispered, her fingers pretending to play the

piano on the sensitive underside of his shaft. “I thought very seriously about running the stick up your ass,

just to see what you might do. That would be funny, wouldn’t it?”

Dun gasped, and his mind boggled at the idea of having a walking cane up his ass. But as he stared into Miss

Scarlett’s heaving mounds, under her silk shirt, he began gasping more, and his legs began trembling.

“Yes,” Scarlett mused, “I’d just love to shove the cane up your ass knob first. That would really spread your

cheeks, babe. I could slam it again and again, you’d be like the ultimate faggot, getting your punishment

from the cruel rod…you’d be an anal slave.”

Scarlett pumped and toyed with Dun’s cock and he began to breathe hard through his nose. His eyes rolled

back in his head, and Scarlett realized that he was getting close to cumming, so once again she reached to

the back and this time crushed his balls HARD.

And Dunstan’s eyes filled with tears as his testicles turned tiny. Scarlett stood up and buttoned up her silk

blouse, and became quite businesslike. “Senator we have a lot of work to do now, going over your speech to

the Association of Realtors. I’m going to unlock you, and you can get dressed now, no time to waste.”

Dunstan’s eyes filled with tears, but he obeyed Mistress Scarlett!

FIFTY-FIVE

Wenceslas Monczowki had been raised in a traveling carnival, owned by his father, Stash. Strange as all the

fortune tellers, fire eaters and other strange stuff Monks saw was, what was weirdest, was when Stash went

off on his own to Miss Mina’s trailer.

“Leave it alone, kid,” Monks’s older brother Stanislaus, who operated the Ferris Wheel, said was. “Pa’s a

strange fella.” But Stan didn’t have a proper sense of curiosity, Monks felt. And Monks ignored Stan to

follow Pa, and had a good perch just outside the trailer window.

Mina was a small, buxom dark haired woman, and she didn’t seem to have a definite job here at the carnival.

She did some of the bookkeeping, and when she was younger, she’d been an exotic dancer for the carnival’s

older attendees…the fathers who bought their kids a string of tickets and then snuck off to watch the bounce

and jiggle.

Monks got an eyeful. Stash began talking to Mina, and then she said something, and Stash’s lower lip

trembled. Monks had never seen his father look anything but angry or satisfied, and all of a sudden it looked

like Stash was crying. Mina took a round, big hairbrush from her drawer, and tapped it on her hand, and

Stash unbuckled his pants and pulled them down, and lay across her small lap.

Fortunately, Mina was sitting on a bed, because Stash weighed about 245 and she was about 110 soaking wet.

Monks watched Mina whip Stash’s big, hairy ass, and was amused by how his father banged his fists and

cried, but didn’t try to get up off Mina’s lap or overpower her in any way.

Monks had seen much in his fifteen years—his mother had died of sheer exhaustion, and his father had

kicked the shit out of all of them so many times…he’d watched adulteries, and seen the Bearded Lady

blowing one of the barkers, and just a LOT. But this one had been the biggest of the strangest things.

Stash finally rose from Mina’s lap and then she’d ordered him to stand in the corner of her trailer, as she

polished her nails. And then he’d come back finally and she’d taken a long thin wire and whacked his hard

dick while tears had coursed down Stash’s cheeks.

Finally, Stash had gotten on hands and knees and kissed Mina’s feet, and Monks had had enough. He’d

gone back to his trailer, packed a small bag, and put his thumb out on the highway.

Monks had not thought of BDSM for another decade, as he’d traveled around the U.S., stealing, doing odd

jobs, and passing the odd bad paper. But then he’d been bussing tables at a small leather bar in Sheboygan,

and one of the patrons had offered Monks money to hit him with a belt! It had all come back to him.

For fifteen years Monks had been a Master to men and women, and it had been quite lucrative. He’d

met Portia when she was just a Skokie councilwoman, and she’d visited him twice a month for hairbrush

paddlings and a bit of nipple torture.

But as she’d moved up in Illinois politics, her visits had become more frequent—she was making more

money, and Monks wasn’t cheap, but also the pressures of the jobs were getting to her. When she became

Governor, Monks was summoned twice a week to the Mansion for “therapy”.

Now, as they left the debates and climbed into Portia’s limousine, Monks realized that at forty, he was

doing rather well…in the twenty-five years since he’d abdicated Stash’s Carnival, he’d accomplished much…

without a lot of work.

“Iphigenia, take the short route to the hotel, and take us into the underground garage, so the Governor won’t

have a lot of hassle from reporters.” Monks ordered. Ippie would understand. She herself had felt (and craved)

the lash of his whip on her buttocks; the two had worked together on and off for twelve years; she knew

everything.

“Monks” Ippie said, just before closing the little transom window separating chauffer from passengers, “Did

you see who was accompanying Senator Antonovich? It was Scarlett Sharp, I think.”

“You don’t say,” Monks looked up, smiling. How interesting. Wonder if our Dunstan’s a perv.” Governor

Portia Noble sat in silence in the back seat. She’d gone through a lot and was a bit exhausted. But also, she

didn’t speak in Monks’s presence until he gave her permission. Monks was not up for a lot of natter from

females.

As the Governor looked at Monks, awaiting his cue, Monks unzipped his cock, and whipped it out, and

Portia Noble smiled in relief. Brilliant economist and lawmaker that she was; expert in all issues, really what

she wanted to do was suck cock. And she leaned down and began slurping Monks’s tumescent penis as he sat

back and listened to the Talking Heads.

By the time they’d reached the hotel, Monks had cum twice in the Governor’s full lips, and before they left

the garage, he’d forced Portia to service Ippie on her knees as well as the chauffer leaned against the car and

moaned, Portia’s head bobbing under her skirt.

When they got upstairs to the suite, Portia stripped to her panties, and knelt on the carpet. Ippie went to her

room to have a drink, and Monks looked outside, wondering. Scarlett Sharp. Son of a bitch. What could

that mean?

“M-Master?” Portia looked at him fearfully. “P-permission to speak, Master?” The Governor certainly

sounded different when addressing Monks than when shrieking from the podium about the “waste” of

health care reform.

Monks spun away from the window and took a long fiberglass cane from the mantelpiece and walked up,

cracking Portia Noble on her right breast, and then snapping it again for good measure.

“What could you possibly say that needs to be heard? Unlike the rest of the worshipful Red State morons, I

think you’re a waste of space, Portia…hot air exclusively.” WHACK! Monks brought the fiberglass cane

down again, this time on Portia’s left shoulder, and she sobbed slightly. “Make it quick, I’ve got things on

your mind concerning your rotten campaign.”

“Muh-Master, you said that if I did well in the debates with the other Republican candidates, you might let

me masturbate using the vib-vibrator, Sir.” Now the Governor was trying to look appealing, very much as

she did with Ma and Pa Kettle when she talked about her caring for the newborn, or her “concern” that gays

shouldn’t be allowed to teach school. This look of hers made Monks nauseous.

WHACK! The cane hit Portia right in the stomach. CRACK! Again on the back. TAP! Hard on the right

cheek, almost bruising her mouth. “Is that what you interrupted my important thoughts for? You want to

roll around on the floor and diddle yourself?”

Monks’s eyes rolled heavenward. You see what I must deal with, Lord? What Portia was missing, what was

making her whine was her steel Locker. The Locker was about the size of a small freezer, and had about

thirty air holes.

Portia’s husband, Archimedes Noble, a quiet man who graded driveways for a living, and refused all

government contracts, explained to Monks when Portia went on the road with her Presidential campaign,

that she would be a little weirded out, spending so much time out of the Locker’s confined space.

Ark generally kept the Governor naked and confined in the Locker at least six hours a day. Their children

were being raised by his mother, so it didn’t get in the way, and yet, Ark and Portia got credit for family values.

“You could try makin’ her crawl under the bathroom sink” Ark had suggested to Monks “Some hotels have

big ones, others she couldn’t fit in, but you cain’t jes’ have her out and about, ‘cause she gets nervous, like a

show dog left in a field or somep’n.”

But unfortunately, the hotel they were staying in had no big enough cabinets, and of course they couldn’t

travel with the Locker, as it would bring up too many media questions. It was strange enough that the

Governor shared a hotel room with her “special assistant” and her chauffer.

When they’d been closer to home, Ark had come with a barrel in the back of his truck, and the two men

had bound the Governor up, tying her arms and legs close to her body with duct tape and locking her in the

barrel and then rolling her up and down the parking garage, batting it occasionally with Louisville Sluggers.

This had been a regular occurrence when they were still in the state, Ark’s brother Agamemnon, who worked

with him in the paving business joining. Sometimes Ark, Ag, Monks, and Ippie would have a “barrel hockey”

tournament, and then when it was over, the Governor would emerge from the barrel, perhaps with a bloody

nose, and go down on everybody…but she’d have her “itch scratched”. But then they had to leave the state as

her quest for the nomination gained popularity.

When they’d been in Iowa during Super Tuesday, Ark had enclosed the makings of a packing case, and there

had been faint hope when Ippie and Monks had shoved Portia in for a night of cramped pain, but the thing

fell apart…and of course carrying a dog kennel around with no dog would also attract strange questions..

And they were in Washington now…staying at the Mayflower Hotel. There was no place for barrels or

Lockers. The Governor was whining to masturbate, and it was going to be a real drag, Monks realized.

FIFTY-SIX

“Pull your cheeks apart, darling” Scarlett whispered. “That’s right. It’s not going to be that bad.” Scarlett

lifted the three foot long bologna sausage and began gently forcing it into Dunstan’s rectum. The Senator

was gritting his teeth.

As Scarlett pushed, she thought about Monks. She had never thought much of him, though they’d brushed

each other, traveling in the same circles. Scarlett was certainly a mercenary girl, but Monks was positively

avaricious. Once, she’d criticized him for financially wiping out a young man’s trust fund.

At the time, Scarlett had been living in Chicago, managing The Nutcracker Lodge, a BDSM watering hole,

and she’d actually had to give a busboy job to Enfield Bostick, an ugly little midget and former shipping heir,

because he’d signed his entire fortune over to Monks, who had then tossed poor Enfield into the street!

“I thought for sure that he’d keep me as his slave boy once he had the money” Enfield had sobbed. “But he

said that $850,000 only goes so far, and I’d been charged by the hour.” Enfield’s parents had disinherited

him from any future remittances, seeing the boy as a lunatic, and it had just been really sad.

“It’s a dog eat dog world, Scarlett” Monks had told her. “And working will be good for Enfield. Watch and see,

he’ll be your assistant manager, or even be running the Nutcracker Lodge before the year’s out.”

Although this prediction had turned out to be accurate, Scarlett still knew that Monks was evil, and

suspected that if Monks was evil, Governor Noble must be a bit evil as well.

Finally, Scarlett had gotten the entire three foot bologna sausage up the Senator’s ass. “Now you’re all ready

for the banquet. I know you hate these rubber chicken dinners, but with a half smoke up your tushie, you

won’t be that upset, right babe?”

But Scarlett had known how to do her research, and she’d learned interesting things about Governor Noble

and her camp—and then learned even more interesting things about Enfield, who had recently quit the

Nutcracker Lodge to parlay his amateur photography skills to be a reporter for the “National Exploiter” one

of the supermarket rags.

Thanks to Governor Noble’s chauffer, Ippie, who had a cocaine problem, Scarlett learned that a steel locker

was being delivered to the hotel suite, some sort of thing that could keep a woman in a cramped position—or

hold a dwarf with a camera!

The locker had arrived yesterday, while the Governor was out speechifying, and Enfield, who had not charged

Scarlett a penny had adjourned to the closet with his camera. And of course there had been a discipline scene

when Monks and Portia Noble had returned…and “Hard Copy” had enjoyed the use of the pics!

The Governor had now resigned the campaign, as well as her Governorship…it had to happen!

FIFTY-SEVEN

Byron Leicester had a difficult time visiting his strange Aunt Hattie Twysel. She was actually only about

sixty-three years old and damned good looking for that, but the doctors said she had early Alzheimer’s,

though this mystified Byron as his aunt still lived in her own house, did her gardening and shopping.

“But don’t upset her or offend her” his mother advised. “She will leave you money if you’re nice to her…not

that this should be a motivation, dear.”

Aunt Hattie had severe black hair that was tied back in a bun, and really good curves…her boobs were

always quite well displayed in old fashioned dresses…and Byron was fond of her, but it seemed that she’d

never forgotten that she’d looked after him as an adolescent, and this was troubling.

Byron had spent every summer with Aunt Hattie and then had lived with her full time as an undergraduate

at Buttermilk State U., and he’d enjoyed living in her house by the beach. As a teenager, he’d had the

benefits of her liberal gifts of spending money, and the use of her refurbished MG convertible.

But Aunt Hattie had been unusually strict—though Byron had been given plenty of money, which he had

blown on the Buttermilk Falls townie girls in late night beach parties with beer kegs, pot, cocaine, and other

party favors, he couldn’t enjoy it after eleven-thirty at night—for then Aunt Hattie had demanded that he

come home.

Certainly, when Byron was fourteen, that was quite reasonable; most of the gang went home around eleven-

thirty, or midnight, but by the time Byron was a high school junior, it had been a bit embarrassing—and he

had tried staying out ‘til one in the morning, but Aunt Hattie had had a most unpleasant surprise for him.

“Did I not tell you to be home by eleven-thirty, Byron?” Aunt Hattie c had confronted Byron at the door of

her little cottage. “Is it not enough that you don’t have to work a summer job, you just laze about, I have the

one request that you come in early enough so I can get to sleep without worrying?”

“Really, Aunt Hattie, my parents don’t mind if I stay out late, they say I’m too old for a curfew—“But Byron’s

excuse had been interrupted as Aunt Hattie had grabbed him by the arm and had twisted it behind him,

dragging poor Byron to the living room, where the razor strop that was usually on the kitchen wall, on a nail,

was now lying on the couch.

Byron’s father, Silas, had joked about the razor strop, and how he’d gotten it now and then from Aunt Hattie.

Silas had spent summers at Aunt Hattie’s Buttermilk Falls summer cottage also. “And she was one woman

whose word was law!”

Byron had seriously doubted that his big, athletic father, the dude who’d run away to Woodstock as a

thirteen year old, actually had taken beatings from Aunt Hattie, but Silas had just encouraged him to “Not

cross her, son.”

And, although Byron had been summering with his aunt since childhood, he’d never had a fight with her.

Hell, when he had started going out at night, he’d broken her curfew a few times, and she’d been asleep

when he’d gotten in, had a few too many Madeira wines…but not tonight!

“I am most displeased with you, Byron. Take down your pants.” Aunt Hattie had been wearing a snug

white sundress and her hair was tied back, and she picked up the razor strop and swung it. Byron had been

appalled. His folks had raised him using “time outs”.

But when he had attempted to remonstrate with her, Aunt Hattie had reached over and fumbled with

Byron’s Bermuda shorts, pulling them down, along with underpants. She had surprising strength, and

although Byron had resisted, Aunt Hattie had pulled him over her knee, looping the razor strop in her palm.

“You (WHACK!!!) Must learn not (WHACK!!!) to disobey me, (WHACK!!!) Byron. Your father, and

(WHACK!!!) your Uncle Donald (WHACK!!!) both learned this (WHACK!!!) lesson when they

(WHACK!!!) stayed with me, (WHACK!!!) and you (WHACK!!!) will as well. I (WHACK!!!) am

planning to (WHACK!!!) raise you to be a sensible (WHACK!!!) and well (WHACK!!!) mannered young

(WHACK!!!) man. At least in the (WHACK!!!) summers, though (WHACK!!!) I doubt your much

(WHACK!!!) too permissive (WHACK!!!) parents will (WHACK!!!) assist me. I hope (WHACK!!!) you will

learn(WHACK!!!) to cooperate (WHACK!!!) with me.”

Finally, Aunt Hattie had pushed the now blubbering Byron off her lap and he’d lie on the floor, sobbing and

dazed, as she’d arisen and gone off to bed. Thinking about it now, Byron realized that if Aunt Hattie was

sixty-three, and he was now twenty-four…then she’d been only in her late fifties then…and quite muscular.

But Byron had not been able to keep to the curfew. His best beach pal, a waster called Willy Skegness, had

found some girls to party with, but they lived a ways away, and Byron and Skeg began visiting them, and

partying hard. Byron had begun coming home at two o’clock in the morning, several nights a week.

Aunt Hattie often was asleep when Byron got in, and she didn’t ask questions about his return time the next

morning. He just had to hope that she’d forgotten about this nonsense. And then one night, when he and

Skeg had gotten very drunk, Byron had stumbled in the door, and opened his eyes, and there had been Aunt

Hattie, wearing a flimsy negligee…rather indecent for an old lady!

But she had had some nice tits, boy. They were just pokin’ out there. Byron had felt Aunt Hattie’s long red

nails bite around his left ear, dragging him up off the floor. And, as he was only about half awake, with the

ether-istic qualities of nine Budweisers and two Long Island Iced Teas, he was unable to fight back as Aunt

Hattie had undressed him and thrown him into the shower, turning the icy water onto Byron’s head…and

he sobered up fast!

The next thing Byron had known, he had been tossed across Aunt Hattie’s bed, and he felt his aunt using

clothesline to tie his hands behind his back. And then his ankles were being tied, too. Jesus what was going

on here?

Byron had looked up at Aunt Hattie, whose high breasts were nearly poking out of her see-through nightie.

Oh, Jesus, she’s going to get the razor strop. When Byron had told his dad about the last whipping, Dad had

just wondered aloud whether Aunt Hattie’s swinging arm was as vigorous at fifty-six as it had been when

Silas had had the benefit of it when Hattie’d been thirty-six.

Byron had actually pleaded to go home during that call, but his parents were in Moldavia, on some sort of

fact-finding mission for the World Health Organization, and they’d known their son too well to let him just

move into the house by himself.

Byron had once fallen asleep while smoking pot and burned down the upper floor of their Manhattan

brownstone during a spring break when his folks had been in Lusaka, Africa, and that wouldn’t be

happening again. Byron was learning the hard way that it didn’t pay to be an eternal fuck-up.

WHACK! Byron’s reverie had been rudely interrupted by the razor strop slashing the tender underside of his

buttocks, where the thighs and rear end met. Byron screamed, and Aunt Hattie laughed. “You howl like a

little girl, Byron” she had said. “I should call you Janie.”

WHACK! The strop had come down right across the middle of Byron’s cheeks, and he’d burst into tears,

biting the pillow. He really didn’t want to give Aunt Hattie the satisfaction of making him cry again, but it

looked pretty bad for him.

“You (WHACK!!!) enjoy defying (WHACK!!!) me, don’t you (WHACK!!!) Byron. You think I

(WHACK!!!) am not awake when (WHACK!!!) you sneak into (WHACK!!!) the house at (WHACK!!!) one,

two, (WHACK!!!) three o’clock (WHACK!!!) in the (WHACK!!!) morning? I (WHACK!!!) keep hoping

(WHACK!!!) against hope (WHACK!!!) that you will(WHACK!!!) have the (WHACK!!!) common sense

(WHACK!!!) to see the (WHACK!!!) error of your (WHACK!!!) ways. And yet (WHACK!!!) you are just

a (WHACK!!!) drunken sot (WHACK!!!) who has (WHACK!!!)no personal(WHACK!!!) responsibility, just

like (WHACK!!!) your father was. It’s (WHACK!!!) a shame.”

The next night, Skeg was trying to convince Byron to stay out later. He of course didn’t want to tell Skeg or

any of their other friends what had happened the night before. It was already twelve-thirty, and he knew that

he was booked for trouble. “Come on, Byron.” smiled Misty, a perky chestnut haired teenybopper, pleaded.

“It won’t be any fun without you.”

Byron had been vaguely aware that part of the “fun” was his willingness to spend money on drugs and

alcohol—his parents had endowed him a “drawing account” and Aunt Hattie was quite generous. Did he

want to be used, and then thrashed at home? But hey he did like Misty, and her friend Jonquil a lot.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go to the dunes and have a party.” Byron had said, and they’d gone off. But as they were

walking on the beach, he’d heard a familiar voice.

“A party, Byron? At this obscene hour?” Byron’s heart had fallen into his stomach, and he’d turned around…

and yes, it was Aunt Hattie. How she could walk in her six inch heels in the beach sand like this was an

absolute mystery, but she was approaching at quite a rate.

“There’s the crazy old chick who lives in the rich cottages” muttered Jonquil, and Misty had shushed her,

thumbing a pink nail at the absolutely horrified Byron. Skeg, mildly aware of Aunt Hattie’s moods, was

edging off…

Or actually, well aware. For Skeg had been a recipient of Aunt Hattie’s tutoring sessions. She tutored

remedial students as a way to supplement the retirement benefits of her late husband, and Skeg, who used the

learning-disabled label to coast along with D’s, had been forced onto the Honor Roll by Aunt Hattie…

“William, you really have done none of the homework I assigned you to gain parity in your French and

Geometry classes.” Aunt Hattie had told Skeg…and then she’d pulled out the very cane she was now

brandishing at his bud Byron!

“Like, what the fuck’s wrong with you, you old bitch?” Skeg had protested, but he’d found himself naked

and bound to Aunt Hattie’s bed, and the cane had come down thirty times on his naked ass, and then she’d

spun him over “Because I’m concerned about the reading material I found in your book bag dear” And her

cane had landed on his cock another ten times…and then he’d watched, as she’d burned his “Barely Legal”

magazine in her coal stove!

And then she’d returned to the bed…for more punishment. Skeg had remembered how Aunt Hattie had sat

down on the bed after his cock-lashing and she’d taken his cock and balls in her fingers. “My son, Archer

had a problem with dirty pictures. I regret to say I caught him once with the young men’s underwear

advertisements in the Sears Roebuck catalogue…back in 1969.”

What a sick little fuck was he, Skeg had thought, and he’d tried to wriggle loose, but Aunt Hattie had really

secured him well. He had noted that her rack was like, poking out of her pink satin top, oh man.

“William Skegness, I understand that you have impure desires, and they confuse you.” Aunt Hattie had then

said. “But I think I can cleanse you.” Aunt Hattie had taken out a spray can of something or other and she’d

sprayed this stinging shit on Skeg’s cock and balls and he’d begun screaming bloody murder.

PUNCH! Aunt Hattie’s delicate little fist landed on Skeg’s testicles, and he sagged, almost passing out. And

then she’d begun masturbating him again, with her sad, wicked smile. “Why are you so focused on women’s

body parts?” Aunt Hattie had asked.

“Do my poking breasts arouse you to impure thoughts, William Skegness? To impure acts? Don’t you know

that’s against God’s law?” WHACK! The cane came down again, right across Skeg’s cock and balls, nearly

knocking his junk off his body, man.

And then, as Skeg watched in horrified fascination, Aunt Hattie had tied a tight string around his cock and

balls and pulled them violently until his hips were hanging up in the air.

As she lifted with one hand, she brought the cane down with the other. WHACK! CRACK! SMACK!

Amazingly, she had the muscle and balance to suspend Skeg and cane his nuts and wiener with total ease.

“I (WHACK!!!) had a problem (WHACK!!!) with my husband, (WHACK!!!) Thorne.” Aunt said in a

sweet, singsong voice as she caned violently. “He would (WHACK!!!) neglect his husbandly (WHACK!!!)

duties to spend (WHACK!!!) hours in my (WHACK!!!) lavatory, (WHACK!!!) sniffing my (WHACK!!!)

undergarments and looking at (WHACK!!!) sick magazines, things (WHACK!!!) that came in plain

(WHACK!!!) brown wrappers from (WHACK!!!) New York. and I (WHACK!!!) finally had to

(WHACK!!!)whip his genitals with (WHACK!!!) barbed wire to get (WHACK!!!) him to come back

(WHACK!!!) to just serving (WHACK!!!) me.”

By the time Skeg got out of Aunt Hattie’s house, he was really convinced that she needed to be in an asylum,

and his cock and balls needed the services of the Emergency Room, but as he drove home that night, he’d

decided that he could just sleep it off…but wow.

Byron had quailed when Aunt Hattie approached him. “You have disobeyed curfew yet again, Byron, and

I don’t think you’re going to go to that party, dear.” Aunt Hattie had walked right up to Byron, whose eyes

bugged out at her in the moonlight.

“Um, all right Aunt Hattie” Byron smiled apologetically at Jonquil, Misty and Skeg, who seemed to be

retreating from Aunt Hattie at a rapid rate. “I’ll come home with you.”

This had been terribly embarrassing to Byron, but then things got worse. “No, I’m afraid you will have to be

punished first, Byron. Take down your pants!”

At this, Skeg had muttered “Oh fuck” and he’d jogged away, really fast. The girls had stayed, bemused. As

they’d told the story to their friends at the International House of Pancakes, it had been wild. “Like, Byron’s

nutty aunt, she totally ripped down his pants and began hitting him with the cane, and he cried like a little

bitch, dude.” Misty had reported.

Eight years later, Byron was visiting Aunt Hattie, and he still remembered how she effectively killed his social

life at Buttermilk Beach. He’d never missed curfew again—never had a reason to. Shit, he just stayed home

after dinner and he and Aunt Hattie had taken turns reading “Great Expectations” aloud, and watching

“Ballykissangel” reruns on PBS.

Byron had not planned to see much of Aunt Hattie although he was going to attend college in her town…

ugh, Buttermilk State University.

But Byron had had no choice. He’d cost his parents ten grand after injuring a family of six in a drunk

driving accident in his sophomore year, and then they’d spent another $28,000 sending Byron and his older

brother, Silas the Second, to an expensive treatment center in his senior year…

“We have no money for college now, but your Aunt Hattie says she’ll pay for you to go to Buttermilk State as

a resident, since you’ve lived there summers. You don’t have to live with her, you can stay in the dormitory.”

Silas Senior had said.

Si the Second had shuddered at the suggestion of Aunt Hattie, and had gone to follow the Grateful Dead.

Although they’d broken up as a group…no one told him, and he wandered off happily!

So there Byron was, in the dorm, and staying away from Aunt Hattie like the plague.

But six weeks into the first semester he’d annoyed his roommate by wetting his bed, while drunk, setting fire

to his bed while high, and then being arrested in the dorm room for selling Quaaludes.

When they’d finally tossed him out of the dorm, he had had no recourse but to move in with Aunt Hattie.

She had tried to be accommodating by telling him he could stay out ‘til midnight now, but somehow that

just wasn’t enough.

He had wished he could complain to Skeg, but after the incident on the beach, Skeg had quit his job at the

gas station and joined the Navy, never to be seen in Buttermilk Falls again.

And then, at the end of his first semester, Byron had been put on academic probation which, combined with

his deplorable dormitory activities, had the dean wondering if it was time to toss him out for a term or two.

But Aunt Hattie had stepped in and talked with the dean, and she’d promised that Byron would work harder.

“You know what this means, dear” she’d said to Byron as they’d driven off. “You’re going to have to stay in on

school nights and do some work.”

And then of course Aunt Hattie had been sitting on Byron’s bed when he’d sneaked in the window, stewed

to the gills at four a.m. He looked at her, and then for some reason at a framed Polaroid of her three children,

Archer, Aiden and Leonora.

Although the photo was taken in the seventies, the boys were dressed in sailor suits, and Leonora in a

hoopskirt thing that made her look like a deranged Amish. I’ve got to get out of this house, Byron thought,

but before he turned his head, Aunt Hattie was upon him.

Byron wasn’t sure how it happened, but Aunt Hattie stripped off his clothes, bound his hands and suspended

the rope connecting his wrists from a ceiling hook in his bedroom.

WHACK! Aunt Hattie began going at Byron’s cock and balls as he hung from the ceiling, and he raised

his legs to protect them. SLASH! The cane cracked Byron’s left shin and he howled. “I am thrashing your

genitals because I suspect that you have impure desires that keep you from doing your schoolwork nights.

This was a problem with your friend, William Skegness, when I was tutoring him. Constant pornography

and drug addiction”

That was true. Aunt Hattie had tutored Skeg onto the honor roll, and then he’d dropped out of high school

to avoid further forced achievement.

SNAP! Aunt Hattie’s cane tapped Byron’s glans none too tenderly. “Do(WHACK!!!) you think you

(WHACK!!!)will ever amount(WHACK!!!) to anything, Byron, (WHACK!!!)with your work(WHACK!!!)

record? All I hear(WHACK!!!) from your parents(WHACK!!!)is about your school expulsions, your crack

cocaine(WHACK!!!) addiction, the heroin (WHACK!!!) habit, your (WHACK!!!) marijuana stupor,

(WHACK!!!) the abortions they’ve (WHACK!!!)had to pay(WHACK!!!) for…it’s just so(WHACK!!!) sad!”

Aunt Hattie had gone around to Byron’s rear and delivered several hard swats to his buttocks, and he’d

pumped his legs in the air, in a vain attempt to escape, but there was no escape coming.

After a couple more shots to Byron’s buttocks, Aunt Hattie came around front, and toyed with the tip of his

penis, making it grow a bit, and she smiled at him. “The focus it seems is sex, dear. Every night you come

home late, there’s lip gloss on your collar and you’re flunking everything…I think your sex addiction is a

worse addiction than the drugs.”

Aunt Hattie had then taken a large wicker carpet beater off the mantelpiece. She stepped up close. “I know

you like staring at my rear end, Byron, and I think it’s rather disgusting.” WHACK! The carpet beater

came down on his swelling cock, and Byron bit his lip, his eyes tearing. “Spread your legs dear…no, wider.”

Suddenly his aunt twisted Byron’s nipple, and his legs spread involuntarily.

SWASH! The wicker carpet beater swung up and seriously grazed the underside of Byron’s balls. Aunt

Hattie dropped the wicker carpet beater and began stroking Byron’s dick again.

“There’s really nothing wrong with excitement in a young man, but it is disappointing when he emits so

many of his creative juices…and you’re killing all those sperm cells, and what a waste, a terrible, terrible,

waste that is.”

As Byron had fallen under the lull of Aunt Hattie’s gentle masturbation, he was actually enjoying himself, but

then Aunt Hattie suddenly twisted Byron’s balls, squeezing them like a tennis ball as she said the word “waste”.

Byron screamed and cried, but Aunt Hattie had been implacable. She’d taken up the wicker carpet beater

again and thrashed his cock until he was in angry tears…but what could he do?

Aunt Hattie went to where the family room dart board was and took a dart down, bringing it back to where

he was hanging. Aunt Hattie took his cock in her right hand and drove the dart (in her left right into his

glans, and he cried and sobbed.

“You just don’t understand what your priorities are, dear. So many men are like you…they are just so selfish

and callous. My Thorne was that way, and my sons as well. It was quite unfortunate.”

Aunt Hattie trailed the sharp point of the dart against Byron’s cock, and poked again, this time right in the

middle of his shaft. Byron saw a bit of blood, and almost fainted. But a quick slap to the jaw by Aunt Hattie

awakened him nicely.

Aunt Hattie rubbed her full breasts against Byron’s cock and balls, and he got involuntarily quite excited, and

tried to rub her back. STAB! The dart went into his shaft again, and Aunt Hattie smiled sweetly.

Then she went into another room, and Good God, she brought out an electric drill, which she turned on. It

was battery powered, and Aunt Hattie pointed it quite closely to Byron’s cock and balls.

She then pushed Byron’s chest, and he swung back and forth, and as he swung close to Aunt Hattie, she

shoved the whirring drill towards his testicles, but didn’t quite make a connection with them.

“Shit Aunt Hattie, I’ll do anything you say.” Byron howled. “I’ll stay home nights, quit masturbating and

make fuckin’ A’s but you have to put the drill away… you really do.”

“I have many tools, Byron.” Aunt Hattie said, her eyes glittering. She moved the electric drill criminally close

to his right nipple, and he closed his eyes. His parents were in Abu-Dhabi, and this crazy old bitch could kill

him and they’d never know…

Aunt Hattie went back to her tool box and brought out a vise. The vise was not connected to a table, but this

did not stop Aunt Hattie from locking it around Byron’s testicles and spinning the little knob until it was

squeezing them quite tightly!

And then Aunt Hattie went and got a hockey stick that Byron had used when he’d played summer roller

skate hockey here in Buttermilk Falls. In horror, Byron watched as she swung the hockey stick and whacked

the vise, and made Byron swing back and forth, still suspended from the ceiling.

“Don’t worry, Byron.” Aunt Hattie had said with confidence. “I won’t hit your legs. I was a field hockey

champion at Miss Darnell’s School, you know. WHACK! SMACK! THWACK! The field hockey stick

slammed the vise that was tightly clamped to Byron’s balls, and she hit it until her arms were tired.

Finally she had taken the vise off Byron’s cock and balls, and had looked at them critically. “Think of all the

power these testicles have over your brains, Byron. What a sad, sad statement this is on the American male,

don’t you think?”

And then she SQUEEZED them once more!

Finally, when Byron was marked and exhausted, Aunt Hattie had let him down, and she’d transferred his

tied hands to the bedpost, and she’d sat down, and begun stroking his cock. “Hey, this is molestation, Aunt

Hattie!” Byron had protested.

Aunt Hattie had then gotten up and opened the chest of drawers and pulled out a long length of barbed wire,

with a duct taped handle. “I regret that I must use this, dear…but you really have breached trust with me.”

TWACK! The barbed wire had come down on Byron’s cock and he’d howled with true emotion.

As Aunt Hattie had pulled the barbed wire away, it had clawed again on Byron’s hardened penis, and he

screamed again, and then finally she had tossed the barbed wire down and had released him.

The next day, Byron began working hard, devoting himself utterly to his studies…and for the next three

years, he went out once a week, but was always in by midnight.

One thing that had been somewhat of an impediment in Byron’s social life, along with only going out one

night a week had been being outfitted with Uncle Thorne’s old chastity device. “I’d buy you a new one dear,

but I’ve always believed recycling was more ecologically sound” Aunt Hattie had told him.

“You see, Byron, your focus on the ladies is so completely distracting to you. I did have the tube re-fitted by a

friend of mine at the PainCafe, so you won’t be troubled by lots of erections.”

Indeed, this was true. Byron’s penis was locked into the tiny tube, and he was unable to become erect at all…

it was just pain and cramping. “I suggest you assign yourself a three-second rule, Byron.” Aunt Hattie

had advised.

The three-second rule allowed Byron to look at a pretty young lady, but not become distracted by gazing at

her derriere and making imaginary plans for it. “Your Uncle Thorne was rather rude as a young man, but

after three decades in that belt, he became quite gentlemanly.”

And it was true—Byron didn’t have much time for chatting girls up, he had to keep his grades up, to avoid

Aunt Hattie’s whipping arm, and so there wasn’t much incentive to talk to the pretty girls, or even look at

them much.

But of course he did…and got a dozen cramps a day in his crotch area. He was, after all a healthy eighteen

year old male. And college girls were such flirts! Stopping him to ask about test questions, offering to study

together, just putting an affectionate arm on his chest…it drove him crazy.

Twice or thrice a day at first, Byron would go to the gym and work out strenuously, weights, treadmill,

elliptical machine, and then take very, VERY cold showers. He also increased his prayer life, joining the

Campus Crusade for Christ.

“Aunt Hattie, please take this horrible thing off me” Byron periodically begged, but Aunt Hattie was adamant

that he stay locked up. “Your grades have steadily risen since your chastity came into effect, Byron. I think

you should be very pleased with that result!”

Often, though, Aunt Hattie would go over some of his work herself. As a former teacher of language arts,

she was quite critical of his essays for his English and Philosophy classes, and more than once, Byron found

himself stripped, bound and lying across Aunt Hattie’s bed.

“I’m sorry that I must do this to you, Byron. But a normal young man would rather perish than end a

sentence with a preposition, to say nothing of these split infinitives.” WHACK! CRACK! TWACK! Aunt

Hattie’s cane was in order quite often. Fortunately, Byron did well on math, scientific and engineering

courses, so Aunt Hattie let him go in that respect.

But she was determined that Byron would learn to love literature. He came home one day to find that Aunt

Hattie had given his Game-Boy, his X-Box, and indeed, the television, to the Salvation Army. “It will be

difficult for me missing ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ and the Lehrer Newshour, but I must be brave, Byron. The

future of your brain is at stake.”

Aunt Hattie then told Byron that she had an excellent incentive plan for him. “You will read my Shakespeare

plays, my Dickens, Austen, the Brontes and the rest of my library, and do reports, in addition to your studies.

For every successful one thousand word thematic analysis, I will allow you to take a young lady out to dinner

sans chastity device.” Aunt Hattie had paused. “Or pleasure yourself, once in a handkerchief.”

This really gave Byron the reputation as a gentleman among the coeds at Buttermilk State. “It’s like so

weird” Shasta Pierson told her pals over beers at the Low Hat bar. “First Byron takes me out for like, a month

without doing anything but a little bit of kissing, he never tried past Second Base.

And—he never saw me more than once a week, because of studying. And I knew he wasn’t cheating, guys—

no one else saw him out, and Buttermilk Falls is a small town. And then finally we make tender love after he

takes me to dinner and then back to my dorm room…but then after that he goes back to kissing so he can

get to know me better…for ANOTHER three weeks! What a guy!”

Because really, Byron found the classics hard going, and it took him quite a while to write those “thematic

analyses”. But Aunt Hattie did not let a young man go to waste. Byron was invited into her bed and allowed

to perform between her legs, though he had a bit of trepidation about that.

But his trepidation ended after a severe whipping and his aunt’s reminder that she was, indeed paying for his

college, as well as free room and board.

Every night, Byron would strip and bathe Aunt Hattie, paying especial attention to her lovely breasts, and

then he would take her to bed for an hour’s cunnilingus and then a massage…and he found himself, the

sexually frustrated lad, looking forward to that!

Byron had studied so hard that he’d ended up taking seven courses at a time, 12 months a year, and

graduated with honors after three years, doing his master’s in hydraulic engineering in nine months…and

she’d unlocked him for good after his M.S. was finished.

Without Aunt Hattie’s financial support and tutoring, this never would’ve happened, and Byron was

damned grateful. But he had his trepidations about visiting Aunt Hattie now…the memory of the discipline

and chastity would be with him forever!

Now, the twenty-four year old nephew knocked on his aunt’s screen door, and she opened it to let him in.

“Byron, you look so well! How is the engineering going?”

“It’s wonderful, Aunt Hattie, I’ve been promoted at work, and I recently got engaged.” Byron began to relax,

realizing that Aunt Hattie had to see him as a competent adult now. He could now discuss adult issues with

her. “Are you excited about President Antonovich? Someone from our own Buttermilk Falls community.”

“Yes dear…Dunstan was a lovely boy. I knew his late mother well. We shared certain interests.”

As Hattie looked at Byron, she was amazed at his resemblance to her husband, Thorne. The insecure, yet

arrogant stance, the weak chin, the watery eyes, trying to look authoritative, and yet just…weak.

It was a trait of the Leicester men…Hattie had loved Thorne, but her respect for him had never been high.

Certainly, he had been an improvement around the vacuous hippies that surrounded her when she’d been a

junior at Buttermilk State in 1967…

Hattie had started out at Wellesley, but her father had had business upsets, and the moneyed, attractive girl

had transferred to the much cheaper in-state school, and was shocked at the poor behavior of it’s denizens,

except for Thorne Leicester!

Thorne had kept his hair short, and wore a natty bow tie—but he was weak willed and enjoyed lecturing her

on propriety, something Hattie had never needed instruction in.

She had made the best of a bad thing, though, and they’d married at graduation, as Thorne was taking a

position at his father’s firm, the Buttermilk National Trust Company, and Hattie began teaching at a nearby

junior college.

“What’s this, dear?” Hattie had asked Thorne one evening, when she’d found the strange magazine with the

black and white pictures of corseted women thrashing naked men. “It’s quite odd. But all the passages are in

French.”

“Yes, I bought that during my summer abroad after sophomore year.” Thorne had said nervously. “It’s cute,

isn’t it. Just an amusing—er—“

“It certainly is well thumbed.” Hattie had said, and then she’d noticed that Thorne had quite a few of these

little periodicals around. Lots of pictures of whips, men getting beaten with paddles, canes, crops…

One day, exasperated with the way Thorne tossed his clothes on the floor in the bedroom, Hattie had said

“If you make a mess like this again, or neglect the dishes after I’ve cooked for you, I’m going to beat your

bottom. I work just like you do!”

Thorne had laughed, but a week later, it had happened again, and this time Hattie was as good as her word.

She met the startled Thorne with a hairbrush in her hand, and she’d pulled him to the bed, and undone his

pants and thrown him over her knee.

Hattie had been worried that Thorne might resist, but it was amazing how mildly he took the forty whacks

across his bare cheeks. And after it was over, he’d undressed her and performed between her legs with his

tongue until she’d almost melted with pleasure.

And then she and Thorne had begun going to the PainCafe in Buttermilk Falls, a quiet BDSM club, hotel

and restaurant that had existed for many years. Thorne had had a troubling masturbation habit that seemed

to reduce his interest in pleasuring Hattie, and she’d bought a chastity device (they were rather primitive in

the late sixties) in the Dungeonopolis gift shop.

Hattie had been amazed that Thorne was such a diligent, subdued creature while locked in chastity. He

began doing housework, all of it, as well as working in the yard, and then begged her to inspect almost

hoping she would find fault and correct him.

Hattie had been so troubled by Thorne’s Leicester beta male qualities, that she’d cut off all sexual contact

with him six months after the wedding, save the occasional cunnilingus session. Thorne had been quite

bitter about this, until Hattie warned that a sullen boy did not get many masturbation sessions…and could

have his chastity belt on for MONTHS.

Hattie had wound up having affairs with a number of handsome, rugged Alpha male types, men who

wouldn’t commit to save their lives, but didn’t mind a few nights in the sheets. Through this, she was

impregnated with her three healthy, genetically superior children, and although Thorne was resentful, he

said nothing.

For after all, when Thorne was lucky, very lucky, usually once every forty-five to sixty days, he was allowed

to strip naked, put binder clips on his nipples, kneel on sandpaper and masturbate slowly into a saucer, and

lick up the mess…while Hattie and her lover of the week watched with studied amusement.

Two or three times a year, Hattie would wear a sexy body stocking or cute lingerie of some sort, and she’d

bind Thorne’s wrists behind him and masturbate him slowly with her toes….after he spurted, she’d feed him

his used scum and as he slobbered on her feet, he’d tell her how wonderful she was.

On their twentieth anniversary, Thorne had taken Hattie to dinner and presented her with a diamond

brooch. “Hattie, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” Thorne had said, holding her hand. “I

was spoiled as a child, and women fell in my lap in college, but I never felt a sense of fulfillment.”

Thorne had poured Hattie some more champagne and continued. “Being forced to earn my orgasms,

spending hours pleasuring your orally…learning to also pleasure your lovers, has been so good for my

character. Just this morning when I crawled into your bed when you were with your lover Jethroe, and I

sucked his penis and then serviced you, before getting permission to make and bring you both breakfast in

bed, I felt so useful.”

Hattie had smiled as Thorne continued. “Everything else in life I’ve been handed. My father gave me the

reins to the family investment company when I was twenty-one, other children always let me win when we

played games, because my family was so rich, and girls paid me court all the way through junior high school,

boarding school and college.

But you whipped my bare buttocks, and forced me to learn to do housework, and serve you in every way

possible. And I’ve learned to put off immediate gratification. It’s been difficult sometimes, waiting a month,

two months for an orgasm…and then once when we had an argument about your MasterCard bill, you gave

me a six month chastity sentence for giving you lip, and it just made me so much more grateful when I was

given a surprise early orgasm on Christmas morning. How I love you.”

That night, Hattie had given Thorne seventy lashes with her signal whip and then taken him with her two

foot dildo as he’d cried and howled, but afterwards he’d kissed her clit and worshipped her entire body with

little kisses and a full massage! Of course he couldn’t cum, despite his generosity at dinner, because it wasn’t

that time of the month….

But Thorne knew he was a lucky man!

In 2002, after thirty-four years of marriage, Thorne had suffered a fatal heart attack, and Hattie had been

alone…and had been alone for eight years…but that was better than another Leicester man! Just looking at

Byron depressed her.

But recently Hattie’s good friend Fanchon Nemirow had introduced her to a doctor just eighteen months

younger than she! Gideon was a wonderful man, and according to Fanchon, he had a desire to be led, and so

she’d brought this interesting topic up at dinner, and Gid had been quite expressive.

They’d gone back to his house, and Gideon had found his sister’s big wooden hairbrush, and removed his

old fashioned plaid trousers and boxer shorts, and he’d bent across Hattie’s lap…and she’d done his buttocks

serious justice.

WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! Hattie had reveled in Gideon’s bruising…it had taken quite a few to leave

any damage on Byron’s buttocks, but Gid had such sensitive skin, and Hattie could tell that he was quite

aroused with the brush coming down, and nearly hitting his swollen testicles.

As Hattie had landed the brush again and again on Gid’s defenseless bottom, she’d thought about what a

wonderful mate he might make, because at her age, she needed less regular passion in her life, and more

stability. And Gid seemed like the sort who would give her this, or really, anything she wanted!

At one point, Hattie had temporarily stopped the spanking, and reached between Gid’s legs, pulling his

penis out and stroking it, running her soft fingers up and down his growing, thrusting shaft. She’d heard

Gid moan and gasp.

“You aren’t going to cum are you, Gideon?” Hattie had asked warningly as she’d continued her gentle

massage of Gid’s organ. It was getting quite long and the precum was leaking out in long drops.

“No ma’am, not until you allow it” Gid said from where he lay across her knees. “Miss Scarlett has trained me

not to cum until given permission, though your hand massage is quite exciting to me.”

Hattie had laughed, deep in her throat. “Well you’d better not. I will make you wish you were dead if you

ever, EVER soil my precious fingers with your disgusting semen.” As she said this, Hattie had spun the

brush and rubbed the hard bristles on Gid’s penis hard, shocking him, and making his penis wilt again,

before she’d turned the brush around and begun spanking him again.

Gideon was a weeper, unfortunately, but Betas were like that, and Hattie was starting to get used to it. She’d

then asked Gideon to remove his belt, and she’d decorated the welts left by the hairbrush with further scars,

and then sent him to the corner to weep, while she changed into something sexier.

“What do you think, Gideon?” Hattie had said, as he’d turned his tear stained face from the corner to look at

her. He gasped. Sixty-three years old or not, Hattie knew how to put herself together.

She’d let down her long, curling hair and was wearing a snug, powder blue camisole that hung on her full

breasts, showing the nipples shamelessly. Hattie complemented the camisole with a crushed velvet miniskirt

and sheer black stockings.

Gideon’s cock hardened as he stared at her. He was naked now, of course, and felt a little ridiculous, like a

little boy, bared for the bath, staring at his sexy governess. As Hattie saw his cock rise, she took her two foot

Licorice Whip riding crop and came close to him.

”Gideon, you are a patient and good man.” Hattie had said, and she’d put her face forward and plunged her

tongue in Gid’s mouth. “And even sexy in a way.” As Hattie said “sexy” she pulled Gideon into her arms and

kissed him deeply, and involuntarily, he grabbed her ass, pushing his hard cock into the miniskirt.

Hattie had reached down and stroked Gid’s penis, tickling the underside with a long nail. “What a great

dick you have, Gideon” she said throatily. “I don’t usually speak in such a vulgar way, but you do arouse me,

darling…and I’m sure you know how to use it, am I correct?”

Gideon whispered into Hattie’s ear “I’m the best you’ll get, and I go like a jack-hammer.” Hattie had almost

thrown up, laughing so hard. These arrogant men. As if this chubby little piglet of an allergist thought he

would ever get his penis anywhere near Hattie’s glorious nether area.

But men were like that. Hattie remembered burning Thorne’s penis with her clothing iron because he’d had

the effrontery to peek at her in the shower, and then beg for just one more “lovemaking session” as they’d not

had one in years. The arrogance!

But she had to lead Gid on just a bit. Hattie’s fingers found Gid’s penis again, and she began playing it like a

flute, tapping the shaft with her manicured nails, and she listened for his predictable gasps and moans.

“You’d like to cum wouldn’t you, Gideon?” she breathed huskily in his ear. “You’d like to spurt that big rod of

yours…to really anoint me with your seed…to service my little pussy with your raging manhood?”

Hattie bit her lip as she tried to keep from laughing. She wondered how the girls on the 1-900 sex lines made

a living babbling this absurd repartee. But Gideon was swallowing it whole.

“Yes, Hattie, I want to pleasure you with my magnificent penis…I want to make you scream and rake my

back…and I can do it, I’m proud to say.”

Hattie pretended to gasp passionately, and she rubbed Gideon’s penis faster and faster, and he began

moaning and shoving himself against her like a lust crazed fifteen year old boy.

Hattie had kissed and licked Gideon’s lips, and then pulled back just a little, and lowered the top of the

camisole. “Don’t you like my honeys, Gideon? Don’t you want to suck them…they’re great, right?”

Gideon’s head had bobbled as he’d nodded. Would he get laid tonight? What fun that would be. He

pressed his dick into her miniskirt. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten about the riding crop…but he suddenly

remembered as Hattie had pulled back and covered her boobs with the camisole.

WHACK!!! WHACK!!! TWACK!!! The crop had come down across Gid’s thick cock, and also slashing his

nipples and then his face. Gid covered his head as she rained the crop on it, and she laughed as he fell to his

knees, sobbing fresh tears.

“God, (WHACK!!!) You just think (WHACK!!!) You’re going to (WHACK!!!) get in my pants, don’t

(WHACK!!!) you, you (WHACK!!!) PATHETIC little wormy (WHACK!!!) slave pig? (WHACK!!!)I can’t

believe (WHACK!!!)The arrogance (WHACK!!!)You have, Gideon. You’re (WHACK!!!) just another male

(WHACK!!!) perv, aren’t (WHACK!!!) you? Bend (WHACK!!!) over on the (WHACK!!!) floor, I’m going

to (WHACK!!!) give you thirty (WHACK!!!) for your insolence!”

And Gid bent over, and the crop had covered his poor buttocks with its venom. Finally Hattie had stopped,

her arm exhausted. She’d noticed that Gid was focused on her six inch black heels, as his face was down

there and she encouraged him to kiss them.

Gid had kissed and licked her shoes until they were shining, and then Hattie had told Gid to sit on his hands

in the corner, while she poked and gouged a bit in his crotch area with her left pump.

And Gideon got more and more excited, though of course he was also quite terrified of further rage from

Hattie. Finally she ordered him to turn around and resume his stance in the corner.

Then Hattie had called her friend Dockery Dixon, a muscular black man who had come over to Gideon’s house,

and while Gideon watched, weeping further, Hattie and Dock had made love, and then Gideon had been asked

to clean them up with his tongue, very much as Thorne had been required to do on so many occasions!

“And now you can masturbate, Gideon” Hattie had said politely, while she and Dock had necked…and

Gideon jerked his Willy onto the carpet and sucked it up. It had been quite a first date for Gideon and

Hattie (and Dockery). Why not?

On their second date, Hattie had invited Gid and Dockery over to her house for dinner, and afterwards,

she’d bound Gid’s hands behind his back and let Dockery whip him with the old razor strop that she’d used

so many times to keep Thorne in line…and then there had been some honing of Gideon’s cocksucking skills

before she’d sent him home so she could just relax with Dockery.

And this morning Gideon had called. “Hattie, I want you to marry me!” What great news. But right now,

Hattie wondered if poor Byron needed a touch of the strop, and maybe the dildo. He was acting so grown up,

it was almost anal retentive…and a little further retention might be a good thing!

FIFTY-EIGHT

Monks got off the plane in Buttermilk Falls, feeling very odd. He was quite annoyed with Portia Noble

“distancing” herself from him, though he knew that she’d never have a run at dogcatcher in Illinois if people

thought she was still connected with BDSM.

Longshanks and Wrigglesworth, Governor Noble’s P.R. firm had issued a press release describing Monks as

a long time “parasite” who had taken financial and moral advantage of the Nobles. Monks wondered why

anyone would try to re-elect someone weak enough to hire him, a so-called parasite.

A ghost writer had just penned an autobiography recounting the Governor’s “abusive” childhood, and lots

of nonsense. Monks had not bothered to read it; he knew that she would continue her relationship sexually

serving her husband and his brother as soon as the furor died down.

But that bitch Scarlett Sharp had sent Monks a brief note “If you still want to work in our line…” Perhaps it

was her way of making amends, and Monks certainly didn’t want to return to Chicago. He saw the woman

with the sign “CINDER” and he walked towards her. She was cute, if a little nervous looking.

“Hi, are you Monks?” Cinder asked, as Monks walked up. He nodded briefly. Self centered bitch. Of course

she’d have HER name on the card instead of Monks’s …but Monks preferred that as well, really. He was an

anonymous sort of guy.

As they walked to her car, Monks thought about how much he needed the money. Certainly he’d pried a

nice chunk of change off the Governor in the past eight years, but unlike those who blow it on heroin or the

ponies, Monks actually had a wife and kids in a Skokie suburb, and he commuted to see them, to enjoy a life

he’d never had traveling with Stash’s Carnival.

Until his picture had gone on “Hard Copy” everyone thought Monks was a hard-working traveling software

salesman … now his kids were having a shitty time of it at school he suspected, and he KNEW his wife had

had to resign from her gig as the Hennepin Christchurch Choir Director…so they needed the money from

this Cinder cunt and her weirdo brother badly.

The Cinder cunt was talking. Monks tried to focus. “We’ve had a difficult time keeping a Master in our

house” she said as she fired up their Volvo. “They kind of come and go. Scarlett was a really good one, but of

course she’s involved now in a higher calling. I suppose you know about that, since she recommended you.”

“Slave mistress to our Commander in Chief.” Monks said, wondering if there was a dungeon being built in

the basement of the White House, or hell, maybe there was already one there, Nixon looked like a secret

submissive from the word go.

“Vitus and I thought we’d do a thirty day trial, a probationary period, and then if it’s agreeable to all parties,

you might continue?” Cinder said as she pulled into the driveway of a classy looking place. “To see what the

rapport is, you know.”

Jesus, for a submissive, this Cinder really orders you around, thought Monks. “Yeah, we’ll see what happens.”

I may have to go back to running dungeons in Chi, at my age, too.

Cinder unlocked the door and they went in. Cinder, of course was still talking. “After Scarlett left, we had

Mistress Beverly and then Lady Philomena, but Beverly had a clash with Vitus over the chastity arrangement

and Lady Philomena was allergic to—“

Monks looked up, and there was a snotty looking young guy reading “The New Republic” and lazing on the

living room couch. Jesus. He had his work cut out for him with this little fucker, as well as Jabbering Jane.

“Vitus, this is Master Monks, who Scarlett recommended.” Cinder said to the preppy dude, and he rose and

nodded. “I explained that we were interested in a trial engagement—“

Monks had had enough, Distractedly, he reached out and took Cinder by the back of the neck and shook her,

as if she were a misbehaving kitten. “Take off your clothes, Motormouth; I’ve had enough of this now.”

Cinder looked as if she’d been slapped, but immediately she began pulling off her sweater and unsnapping

her denim skirt. Vitus just stood there, until Monks nodded his head and pointed at Vitus’s crotch, and then

the young man undressed as well.

Within five minutes the siblings were naked and kneeling in front of Monks. They both had good bodies,

Monks would enjoy torturing Cinder’s nipples…they were rose colored, what fun. Vitus was slouching, but a

quick kick to his balls by Monks straightened him up.

“Okay, so it’s just the two of you here in the house?” Monks said to affirmative nods. “Good. You’ve got to

give me your work schedules and a list of the rooms in the house, so I can supervise the chores…and then

we’ll work on your training levels. I assume there’s a working dungeon downstairs?”

Monks lit a Viceroy, and as the ash grew he looked down and Cinder’s head came up, her mouth opening.

Good. Some training, at least. He tapped the cigarette into Cinder’s open mouth. The preppie boy still

looked a bit sullen, but the whip would cure that.

“How long have you two been dom free?” Monks asked. “Been lying on your asses for a while, I bet.

Disgusting. Well, I tell you what we’re going to do here. Vitus is going to suck my cock and lick my balls for

half an hour—without letting me cum, take your time—and I will interrogate lovely Cinder, how’s that?”

Aah. Now this was the life. Sitting in the easy chair, Vitus’s head slurping between Monks’s thighs, and

Cinder was standing in front of him, her hands held behind her neck, as he twisted and snapped his fingers

on her lovely breasts.

“Ever had a Male Master before?” Monks asked this as he gouged an imprint of his nasty thumbnail into the

side of Cinder’s areola. “Someone who made you appreciate a man?”

“Owww. Yes, Master Monks. We had Ratface O’Rourke, he married our sister, and then an imported Master

from the Isle of Wight, Slats Slattery, but he ended up embezzling money from us and fleeing. He got me to

lend him my ATM as a trust exercise.”

Then Cinder gasped as Monks slapped her left breast hard, and then punched her lightly in the stomach.

Tears appeared in her eyes, and Monks loved that. “That’s wonderful” Monks said, laughing. “A trust

exercise. I promise you no troubles from me on that score, you just wire transfer my tribute every month,

understand?”

Goodness, Monks’s penis felt good. Someone had trained Vitus well in deep throating, apparently. The boy

was hetero, though—Monks could tell that Vitus’s dick was limp even though he was in a chastity device.

“Vitus, leave off my dork for a moment and fetch me that rattan cane. You don’t have to get up, just go over

on your hands and knees and bring it back in your mouth, doggy style. That’s right, thanks. Now get back

sucking, and let’s have more licking under my dick with your tongue…good boy.”

Monks tapped the cane on his palm as Cinder looked at him doubtfully, her hands still gripping the back of

her neck. She was sure that they’d made a good choice here, but Monks was a bit too malevolent looking for

her. Fuck, he was swinging the cane.

While sitting in the easy chair, yet. And he swung, the cane cracking across both her boobs in a simultaneous

shot. Cinder bit her tongue to keep from screaming as a thin red line of pain crossed her nipples.

Father had trained Cinder from early on not to cry or “whine” when she was getting her punishments, but

sometimes it was very difficult. It had been especially hard when Father would attach clothespins or rat-traps

to Cinder’s breasts and then knock them off, but as he said, it was the only way he could make the girl “listen.”

Now Monks’s cane was cracking across Cinder’s breasts once more, and she held back a scream, tears

coursing silently down her cheeks. And again the cane came, this time across her tender flat stomach.

Monks certainly had a swinging arm, and it took quite a bit of skill to do it while sitting on a chair. “Grab

your ankles, my pet.” Oh my. Cinder bent over and grabbed her ankles. She did 150 crunches a day just so

she could bend perfectly.

Monks kicked Vitus away from his penis, shoving it back in his pants, and stood up…and now he was

swinging the cane. WHACK! CRACK! SMACK! A former lover once told Cinder that her breasts were

exquisite, a compliment she’d never hear from a dominant Master, but she feared with this caning, they

might be torn to ribbons.

WHACK! It took tremendous skill to stand still grabbing her ankles, and trying desperately not to fall over.

But Father had always made the punishments even worse if Cinder lost her balance.

Vitus knelt, watching Cinder’s punishment impassively. He’d probably be next. This Monks was not an

impressive specimen, probably just five foot seven. One thing about Rat had been, they, he and Vitus had

both been over six feet tall.

But Vitus could see the twenty-five years of experience that Scarlett had mentioned in her e-mail. This guy

could give a whipping, and find all the nerve points to bring Cinder down, to break her will. And his face

never changed.

He resembled nothing as much as Dustin Hoffman, playing the disgusting little character in “Midnight

Cowboy”, but there was a power about him, a presence that was made to be feared.

Finally, Cinder was sobbing—Monks had broken her, and he sent her to a corner to recuperate before

turning his attentions on Vitus. Vitus looked up proudly, telling Monks with his true blue eyes that he

wouldn’t be the patsy that his sister had been, though he knew from experience that Cinder’s durability to

pain was tenfold to his.

“What fun we’ll have” Monks said, and Vitus’s heart fell into his stomach.

FIFTY-NINE

Driving home, Darrell Plunkett certainly hoped that Bootsie had changed her mind. He knew that Bootsie

was jealous of Thelma; Darrell’s secretary was quite a dish, and sweet and charming in a way that his wife

wasn’t though of course Bootsie served Darrell’s needs well.

“You know it depends on you, Darrell.” Bootsie had said, smiling the night before. “If you want to have a

release, you have to do it on my terms. We’ve always done it that way, and if you want to continue with your

chastity training, we always will!”

Darrell was, or at least he thought, a normal, athletic guy—he loved football, darts, and had been the

president of his fraternity. But he’d had a need, an almost pressuring need to be a slave boy. It had really

fucked with him growing up.

When he’d asked his wife to experiment with playing dominatrix, Bootsie had been quite skeptical. “Why is

it” she’d asked “that a man will order you to dominate him, and he’s still in charge? That’s the way it always

is, isn’t it?”

“I just need discipline.” Darrell had said at first, and Bootsie had raised her eyebrows. Bootsie was an

attractive woman, she was no Thelma , but she had thick red curls, and formidable breasts…and Darrell had

had to take her out many times before he’d been allowed to touch them!

When they’d married, the practical Elizabeth “Bootsie “ Cottrell, daughter of a famous financier, had taken

Darrell’s debt-ridden credit cards and cut them up—there were way too many old debts for liquor stores,

strip-clubs and “working girls”

Bootsie had not been judgmental, but she’d told Darrell—“I’ll pay all this off, all seven thousand dollars of

your foolish debt, and you give me your paycheck, and I’ll give you a reasonable allowance.”

So Bootsie had known that Darrell had disciplinary needs. But it had been a surprise to her how he proposed

she deal with them. Darrell had brought in a thin plank of wood from the back yard, and had handed it to

her.

“My mom used to spank me with something like this.” Darrell had said. “It hurts, but doesn’t do a lot of

permanent damage.” How Freudian, Bootsie had thought. But she’d tapped the thin plank in her hands and

looked expectantly at Darrell, who had then taken off all his clothes and lay across her desk.

Bootsie had stood up, tucking in her sweater, which emphasized her full breasts, and told Darrell what a lazy,

good for nothing he was, and he’d nodded reluctantly. And then she’d begun whipping him!

After seven swats, Darrell was blubbering, after twelve; he was banging his fists on the desk, begging her to

stop, but at no time did he take the plank away from Bootsie as he might have done.

After all. Darrell was an athlete, he’d been a high school varsity fullback, and Bootsie weighed about one

hundred twelve soaking wet. But he’d just banged his fists, kicked his legs and begged her to stop, and after

she saw the first trickle of blood on his damaged bottom, she’d reluctantly put down the plank.

Apparently Bootsie had a lot of anger!

And then Darrell, instead of bitch-slapping Bootsie for going too far as some men would do, had bent over

on his knees and kissed her feet, and thanked her for making him a better man… and he’d taken her to bed

and gone down on her for an hour!

A week later, Bootsie had brought out the plank again, on her own volition, because Darrell had stayed out

too late with his male co-workers and came home with Scotch on his breath.

She’d told him when they married that she wanted him to drink only with her at parties and special

occasions, but of course Darrell was difficult to reach at times. “Take down your pants, Darrell. You’re going

to learn to listen to your wife.”

The whipping she’d given Darrell had made him howl and cry, and then she’d sent him to the corner while

she’d enjoyed a gin and tonic. And then of course he’d performed between her legs again, penitently, and

he’d not even argued when she’d made him quit the darts league and the bowling club…he could stay home

with her instead.

“What do you mean, cock and ball torture?” Bootsie asked to Darrell’s next request. He was standing in front

of her, looking rather foolish with his penis hanging out in front of her, and she’d began toying with his

penis.

As Darrell had become more aroused, Bootsie had asked him questions about CBT, about points of contact on

the testicles, and she’d stroked his thickening penis. “This certainly is interesting, this punishment business.”

“Well, you could just stroke it.” Darrell said, as he closed his eyes, thinking how pleasant hand jobs could be.

TWANK! Darrell’s eyes opened all of a sudden, Darrell’s penis had been assaulted by…what was it?

Jesus, she’d taken off her heavy gold chain and looped it in one hand while stroking his balls with the other,

and then SWUNG it on his dick! SWACK! Again, the heavy gold chain hit the knob of Darrell’s penis.

Darrell had gritted his teeth, and then he smiled “Honey, you don’t have to um, start so hard…you can go

gently you know.” Bootsie looked up and smiled at him.

She resumed the gentle stroking, her soft fingers finding the vulnerable spots on his swollen penis, and again,

he foolishly closed his eyes…that were nice…maybe she would be nice now.

BONK! WHAPPITY WHAP! Darrell’s eyes opened in new horror. “Don’t move, I’ve got something going

on here” Bootsie had said. Long an intolerant critic of Darrell’s “wasted” hours spent playing the drums with

his old college chums, Bootsie had borrowed the sticks.

Bootsie drummed Darrell’s penis excitedly with the drumsticks, the tips of the sticks banging and jabbing

at his hard cock. Darrell tried to move back, but Bootsie reached out and whacked his bare hip with one of

the sticks.

“Don’t you move back. I’ve got a rhythm here.” Bootsie slammed away at Darrell’s unfortunate penis with the

sticks, harder and harder. “Can’t get no satisfaction” Bootsie sung…finally she threw the sticks down, and

guided Darrell by the ear to the bedroom, where she ordered him to lie on the bed on his back.

Bootsie tied Darrell’s wrists to the headboard and sat down, stroking his wounded penis. “I know this is

going to be a true learning experience for me….I’m very excited about feeding your perversion..”

“Paraphilia” Darrell amended. Bootsie smiled and continued to stroke his penis. “Whatever you call it,

darling. I certainly have noticed that you are more interested in me when I mistreat you, and that’s peculiar.

But hey, I learn something new every day.”

Bootsie reached down and pulled Darrell’s long leather belt out of the loops of his discarded pants, and

doubled it in her delicate little hand. “Your penis looks so white and vulnerable, doesn’t it honey?” she’d asked.

Darrell didn’t know what to respond so he just lay there. Sometimes that was just the safest thing. Or not!

WHACK! THWACK! The belt came down. Oh no, buckle first.

Darrell tried to move, but of course he was locked against the headboard.

“Its fun, watching you dance” Bootsie said as she slammed the tip of Darrell’s dick with the leather belt. “You

can really move around a lot while locked to that headboard. It might be good aerobics for you, you know?”

SIXTY

When it came to chastity training, which really excited Darrell, and he talked about it ad nauseum to his

lovely wife, she’d opened his package from the PainCafe’s Dungeonopolis gift shop. “You’re sure about this?”

Darrell had nodded his head, and she’d locked it on him. The first time, she’d kept him in chastity for

eighteen agonizing days. “You know, you’re supposed to start with like, three days or maybe a week locking

me up.” Darrell had hinted broadly.

“Topping from the bottom?” Bootsie had asked, smiling broadly. “I don’t think so.”

About a week into his eighteen day stretch, Bootsie tied Darrell’s naked body to the kitchen stool, and she

unlocked the chastity belt and stroked his dick for awhile. “What’s it like not being able to play with your

pee-pee, Darrell?”

Darrell was insane with lust, it seemed. He had been a habitual masturbator since elementary school, and

had gotten laid with a variety of different women in high school and college. In fact, after Bootsie had locked

him in chastity, he’d had to break off with a waitress he’d been fooling around with.

Darrell tried to recall why it was he’d asked Bootsie to lock him up. He’d read all those BDSM chastity sites,

that was part of it, and it really excited him…but the reality of day after day of no orgasms was incredible.

And sometimes he awoke at midnight with a hard on, and it couldn’t get completely erect, and it was

horribly painful! Now his cock felt so free, being stroked by his wife’s long, sexy fingers. It was free for the

first time in days…but of course she hadn’t let him cum!

The next night she’d unlocked him again, and stroked him some more. He’d whined so much when she’d

locked him back up and sent him to bed the first night, he was surprised that she let him loose again, but of

course his hands were tied.

They watched hours of television, and she’d stroke him, and then get lost in whatever program it was, and

forget…and then pick up the slack again during the commercials. It was rather intimate, Bootsie thought.

“Before we started this nonsense up, you used to surf porn while I watched the Lifetime Channel, or you’d go

watch sports upstairs. Now I have you aware, awake and interested. It’s quite pleasant.”

At one point, she got a bit horny, and she pulled Darrell down to his knees and had him lick her, his head

between her legs, while she watched “Project Runway” and told him what pigs the judges were. He was so

horny, he almost had the hots for some of the effeminate gay judges.

At the end of the evening, before they went to bed, Bootsie stripped to her bra and panties and laid the

bound Darrell on the bed, and jacked him hard with the lube…faster and faster, just stopping short of him

having an orgasm. She actually laughed rather loudly when Darrell began weeping out of desperation.

Then she’d gone to sleep and not unlocked Darrell, warning him that if he wanted to pee, he should hold

it until morning, or she would give it to him hard with the plank. Darrell had spent the evening horny as

anything, thinking seriously of rolling off onto the bed and rubbing his dick on the carpet, hoping the

friction would give him an orgasm.

Why had she neglected that night to lock him back up? He’d never quite figured that one out. Bootsie had

locked him back up the next morning, and he’d gone to work, just bulging in the device, wondering if he’d

ever get to touch himself again.

Darrell’s mother had had a war with him against masturbation…she’d been a strict Catholic, and had

only gotten married because the three different convents she’d applied to to be a nun had deemed her

mentally unstable.

When Darrell had begun his teenage masturbation, his mother, Mrs. Plunkett had tried punishing him in a

variety of ways. First, because Darrell had this macho self-image, she’d made him parade around the block

wearing a garter belt and panties, to the laughter of his stick-ball playing buddies….

After she’d caught him jerking off again, Mrs. Plunkett had taken stinging nettles and wrapped them

around his cock and balls and tied him to the kitchen table to endure it for a while. This had driven young

Darrell almost out of his mind with pain and agony, but it had not kept him from touching his “bad thing”

as Mrs. Plunkett called it.

Then Mrs. Plunkett worried that it might be hygiene. So she had put Darrell in the bathtub every morning

before he went off to high school and she’d carefully bathed his cock and balls, shaving the icky, manly hair

and rubbing hot Ben Gay on his dick…and this also had done nothing for him…in fact he became even

more excited!

Mrs. Plunkett had found a “Playboy” magazine in Darrell’s room in his junior year and had almost gone

out of her mind. She had pulled his pants down in front of his brothers and sisters and she’d caned his cock

severely with an old bamboo ash plant that the family had had around…his penis had bled, but he’d kept

toying with it!

Sometimes late on Saturday nights, Darrell would be necking with a girl in his parent’s old Volvo, and Mrs.

Plunkett would crawl up to the car on her hands and knees, and surprise them suddenly, throwing cold water

on the couple. This had not done much for Darrell’s dating reputation, but it had given him a healthy dose

of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

When Darrell came home from being out with a girl, Mrs. Plunkett would often pull his pants down in

front of the family, and feel his testicles to ensure herself that they were as full as when he left. Otherwise,

she would strip him naked and thrash his balls with a long willow switch until he cried and howled with

absolute agony.

Under Mrs. Plunkett’s strict regimen Darrell’s three other brothers had become priests, and he might have

given up also, but she had been committed to a mental hospital in the midst of his high school years after

attacking a traffic cop who had “suggestively” waved his baton at her, and Darrell had been able to have a

peaceful remainder of high school, and of course college…

But he’d never stopped masturbating!

And it was hell, this business of being locked in the chastity belt…though Darrell suspected that if Mrs.

Plunkett, locked in a rubber room in the State Hospital knew, she might approve!

At the end of eighteen days, Bootsie had allowed Darrell to fuck her…and it had been quite a fuckfest! But

then, just before they went to sleep, happy but exhausted, she’d locked the belt back on.

The second time, she’d not unlocked it for forty-two days. This time, Darrell had come to her with begging

eyes again and again, and whenever he’d gotten too much on Bootsie’s nerves, she’d given him a blistering

bare bottom paddling with his racquetball racquet, and extended his chastity time.

Finally, when it had been his time to cum, Bootsie had told Darrell that she didn’t feel like making love, and

that he could masturbate. But he had to do it quickly, because she was going out with a friend.

When Darrell had tried reasoning with her, pointing out that for forty-two days he’d taken over the lion’s

share of the housework and gone down on her nightly, she’d responded. “We could keep you locked up, and

discuss this in two weeks.”

So Darrell had masturbated while Bootsie put on her makeup and did her nails—and then she’d locked him

up and gone out with her “friend” a guy who’d pulled up in his convertible to pick her up, honking the horn

rudely, something that Darrell had never done.

The next period had been 49 days—this had been just awful for the first twenty days, and then Darrell

strangely found he’d gotten used to it. He still missed making love to his wife, and jerking off over the

Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader calendar….

But his priorities were very re-organized towards productivity, and his boss at Buttermilk Realty had

promoted him from a cubicle to a window office, with his own adorable secretary, Thelma.

She was so sweet; a timid brunette with Bambi eyes, friendly and a bit worshipful. She called Darrell

MISTER Plunkett and called Darrell’s sales efforts on the industrial and office markets of Buttermilk Falls

“Remarkable.”

When Darrell asked for the files on the Prather West Professional Building on Buttermilk Boulevard,

Thelma would look at him with awe and say “Right away, Mister Plunkett.”

And Darrell enjoyed that! And he told his wife at home that it was refreshing to have a woman look up to

him in this time of feminism and general sassiness from the gentler sex.

After his 49 days of chastity, Bootsie had told Darrell he could masturbate, but he had to do it in the front

yard. At noon, on a Saturday. Darrell had rebelled, and Bootsie had left the belt on for another month.

“Okay, I’ll do it in the front yard, for God’s sake,” Darrell had said desperately.

But Bootsie didn’t want that anymore. “I have a new plan for you.” Bootsie had said, smiling at her sexually

desperate husband. “I want you to masturbate while cowering naked on the floor in front of your beautiful

secretary, the one you talk about who worships you.”

And Darrell had balked again. He had now been chaste for 80 days; it was ghastly, and he was sooo

horny. But damn, to be told he couldn’t cum unless he jerked off in front of his secretary! That was sexual

harassment…it would ruin him.

“Oh, it won’t ruin you, Darrell.” Bootsie had said, smiling. “And even if it does, you know I’m independently

set. I can continue my job and you could just stay home all day and be my houseboy.”

So Darrell just held out. His real estate career meant a lot to him. He wasn’t awfully bright, and a rich

alumnus had gotten him his realty job. Darrell didn’t think there was much else he could do, and he didn’t

really want to be dependent on Bootsie.

But he also didn’t want to go without cumming for the rest of his life.

SIXTY-ONE

Darrell decided to bring the problem to his ChasteBois support group, held in the Turquoise Ballroom at the

PainCafe on Sundays.

As Darrell entered the Ballroom, he saw a skirmish going on… “Why, Kimber, why can’t I just go to my

support group, ma’am?” a pudgy fellow in an alligator shirt was pleading of a frosty blonde. “You told me

I could go if I scrubbed the garage, and drank a quart of your urine…now you’ve changed your mind just

because your girlfriends stood you up.”

“Cedric, I don’t have to keep my promises, you know that.” The bitchy blonde was smiling at Cedric’s

discomfort. “The girls weren’t here, so I want you to go with me to Home Depot. I don’t want any more of

your bullshit, come on, let’s go.”

Darrell watched in amusement as Cedric stomped his foot. “You promised. And I licked Roger’s balls on

Thursday night even though you said I wouldn’t have to do this stuff. I need to talk with my support group.”

Kimber tossed her blonde curls, and Darrell admired the curve of her hard breasts against her belly shirt.

“That’s it, Cedric.” Kimber reached into her purse and brought out a long black strap. “Take ‘em down. I’m

so sick of your bullshit. And you’re going to eat a bar of soap when we get home for mouthing off.”

“P-please, Kimber.” Cedric said, his chubby chin trembling. “Not here. I’ll go to the store with you. I can’t-

can’t cause a scene.” Cedric looked a bit self-important, Darrell thought.

But that was the thing, of course. The dominant wife didn’t understand about propriety, which was of

course why he was having so much trouble with his own wife over this ridiculous humiliation thing. Bootsie

just didn’t understand, or she understood perfectly.

But Kimber had a wicked smile on her pink glossed lips. “Take them down, Cedric. It’ll be over before you

know it.” Cedric’s knees knocked as he looked unhappily at Kimber.

The door to the Ballroom opened and another couple walked in. “Hey, Kimber!” a girl in a tennis dress

waved. “I missed you downstairs. Marcella’s waiting. I thought we were going to have lunch while Baylor

went to his queer-ass meeting.”

Baylor, the tennis girl’s husband blushed at having his support group referred to as “Queer-ass.”

Cedric’s face brightened. “See, Kimber? The girls ARE here. We can meet up after the meeting, and you can

have lunch.”

Kimber gave Cedric a withering look, and then smiled at her friend. “Esther, that’s great. I’m going to punish

Cedric here for giving me a bunch of arguments, and then I’m going to ask the Lounge Manager to lock him

in a Seclusion room—his meeting is off for today, and then I’ll join you downstairs, how’s that?”

Cedric’s plump jaw sagged. “P-please Kimber, that’s not fair, after all the housework I did this week…”

“Pull your pants down, Cedric, so we can get the thrashing out of the way, or I’ll make you take off all your

clothes.” Kimber sounded bored. All the other men in the group were trailing in, looking at the couple curiously.

“It’s amazing, Esther” Kimber said, smiling. “I’ve got the whole family of sad, submissive freakazoids to look

after now. Cedric the Third, this Cedric’s father is cuffed by the balls to Cedric V, my twenty-three year old

stepson by the balls in our attic, and Crompton and Hollis, the twins who are Buttermilk State seniors, are

in the pillory in the cellar…

I showed his daughter Aubrietia how to put her boyfriend in chastity, and his other daughter Wisteria

is a dominatrix in Buttermilk City… and Emory, my youngest stepson, just got tossed from Groton for

impregnating his Biology partner…so he’ll need a chastity belt too. Goddamnit, Cedric, get those pants down!”

Finally Cedric unbuckled his chinos and pulled them down, followed by his underpants. Darrell saw that

Cedric’s cock was locked in a CB-6000 plastic chastity device, and then Darrell was treated to Cedric’s fat,

bare bottom, as Cedric weightily bent over a chair.

Kimber flogged Cedric efficiently but almost with complete detachment. Darrell was amazed at how bored

she looked as her slim arm came down again and again, the strap tearing up Cedric’s bottom as he burst

into tears…the pain combined with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to hang out with the other

ChasteBois this morning.

Darrell had been locked once in the Seclusion Closet—it was airless and steaming hot in the summer, and

icy cold in the winter. Bootsie had ordered him locked in once when he made a fuss at a waiter in the

PainCafe for not having vinaigrette dressing.

After the whipping was over, and poor pudgy Cedric had worshipped Kimber’s Capezios, he had been taken

away by two female attendants for an hour in the Seclusion Closet, and Kimber had gone off with Esther

and Marcella…comfortable, laughing.

And Darrell had sat down in his support group, and wondered if the fellows would have any insights into his

problems with his wife!

But other people had issues, too. Blume, who Darrell recognized as his plumber, was complaining that his

piercing was starting to get on his nerves.

“My wife won’t let me switch to a chastity belt—she thinks it’s too expensive, but I’m almost sure this

piercing is going to give me a rash. It itches all the time.” Blume laughed self-consciously. “But that might be

because I’m jerking off—without getting orgasms—using that icky bathroom pink dispenser soap in public

restrooms, and it’s making me itch, you think?”

Haven commented, “My daughters have me in a small chastity belt that I can’t even get erect in, and that’s

almost worse than a piercing. I think the grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence…I would

die for a full, unfettered erection, never mind an orgasm.”

Baylor Burberry, husband of Esther laughed shortly. “But does your device have the little needles in it? Esther

has put one of those teeth bracelets in my device, because she is jealous—she thinks I am watching the asses

of the girls I coach on the track team at Buttermilk High….she might be right, but I sure can’t watch them

for long.”

The men laughed bitterly. One man, with a shock of red hair mentioned that his wife was trying a new thing

where he was required to blow five men for every orgasm he got.

“I wouldn’t mind so much, as Lisbeth lets me put a condom on them, but she chooses the most disgusting

people to bring home. My dad was a White Supremacist, sure, but why must I pay for his sins when Lisbeth

brings home these big, gangling Mandingoes?”

Baylor, who was the group Coordinator smiled. “Sounds like you might have a bit of residual racism there,

Theron. Maybe a few more blowjobs of African American sanitation workers will ease your attitudes.

Esther noticed that I was very short with the undocumented Latino alien workers who were helping to

remodel our town house, and she finally had me ream one guy’s ass out, this Hector…and it really made me

more respectful!”

Fleming, a quiet financial type guy who Darrell didn’t know well raised his hand. “My wife has told me that

I must blow a man who is locked in chastity to qualify for my next orgasm…can anyone oblige us?”

Three guys raised their hands and said they’d consult their wives for this favor, and Darrell felt slightly ill.

When it finally came to Darrell discussing his problem concerning Bootsie wanting him to wank in front of

his secretary, he was disappointed with the feedback. The guys were supportive, but not particularly helpful.

Brad told him to practice Tantric meditation: “Forget about your orgasm. I try to keep Annabel from

manipulating me with her chastity key by pretending that I don’t know what an orgasm is like. I don’t

succeed…but I’m really trying to forget the importance of the damn squirt, you know?”

Henrik’s lover, Jerome made him jerk off in front of a different embarrassing person each week. “The worst

was the Mormon Missionaries.”

Fitzie, an earnest sixty year old Irishman advised him to “get the bolt cutters. True, I don’t have the nerve to

cut off my device—Cathleen would cut me nuts off right after—but you don’t have much choice, lad.”

Norman told Darrell that he was lucky, as Norm’s wife had actually had him castrated the year before. “She

got tired of me complaining about my chastity issues.”

Grigsby told Darrell that his wife had actually made him jerk off in front of his mother. “And Mom actually

laughed. She said that my dick was smaller than my Dad’s, but I shouldn’t feel bad about it. I was naked and

utterly ashamed of everything else but not that?”

Eighteen year old Spalding commiserated: “Darrell, My Mom has kept me in chastity for five years, and it’s

been especially tough, since you know, I’m in puberty and super horny all the time.

She used to unlock me for a brief jack-off on report card day, if I got a 3.0 or above, just like she unlocks

Dad when he gets his work bonuses, but recently she got pissed at me because I tried to break into my

belt with one of her bobby pins. So now she is considering only letting me jerk off in front of one of the

cheerleaders at school, the one I’ve been like, mooning over…it’s been seventy-six days, she ignored my recent

straight A marks…so I’m holding out, too. but it’s so much harder ‘cause my blue balls are intense and I’m

only eighteen!”

Herbert O’Hara, who ran Herbie’s Limo Service, and often took Darrell and his boss to various sites to

purchase things said “I am limited a lot of the time by being locked in a remote controlled pillory. My wife

presses the buzzer to release me, and I go and do her bidding, usually oral service, and then I get re-locked in,

that is, when I’m not working. I’m locked in chastity, of course, and generally my balls are split with a leather

ball splitter…which is quite uncomfortable.

But because I’m in the pillory eight hours a day, most of my rewards involve just not having to be locked

up physically, which means that masturbation time is generally off the table as an incentive, so I only get it

quarterly. It’s tough, and I’m worried that being locked in a pillory 12 hours a day when I’m not working is

bad for my back…but hey, it has simplified my life a lot.”

Nelda, the only female member of the group smiled understandingly at Darrell “My husband has told me

that if I want to masturbate without my chastity rings next time, I must do it in front of my Inner Child

Therapist, who has advised me to leave him.”

Kenny was convinced that Darrell could bribe Bootsie by lending her his credit card to shop, until Darrell

reminded Kenny that Bootsie was a multi-millionaire, and had taken all his credit cards anyway.

“My wife made me jerk off in front of all the guys on the landscaping crew I supervise” the burly Haven

Howell remembered. “They never really respected me after that, called me faggot, wimp-bitch all that. But

an orgasm’s an orgasm, and I’d had to wait eleven months for that one.”

Troy recommended his buying salt peter and putting it in his food. “This way you don’t think about sex all

the time…but it only works a little bit. And my wife counters it by putting Viagra in my coffee, so that might

not be the best plan.”

Haven paused. “Now that my wife has passed, my chastity keys are supervised by my daughters—Haley,

Hortense and Hyacinth—and they only let me beat off when they bring a guy home for me to meet…can

you imagine? So the prospective boyfriend won’t be afraid of Big Bad Dad.”

Laurent suggested that Darrell get a key duplicated “But be careful. When Allesandra caught me in that

trick, she tied me up and locked me in the furnace.”

Sinclair told Darrell that he should be lucky that he had a wife to lock him up. “I have to send my keys to a

guy in Wichita, Kansas…sure I get it back every three weeks, but how sexy is it?”

Algren considered the humiliation factor “You know, it’s probably that Bootsie thinks your secretary might

think of you as cheating material, and if she sees you whacking off, naked as the day you were born, it’ll

reduce your masculinity. My wife is very much into reducing my masculinity through breast forms and

makeup…she makes me dress up like Lucille Ball at least once a week.”

Clement told Darrell that he had been forced to masturbate in front of the Census taker which had been very

hard for him, since he was an anti-government zealot. “And then the guy wrote something down on his pad,

and I hate to think what Uncle Sam thinks of me now.”

Ezekiel thought that Darrell was a whiner. “Ashleigh makes me suck my own dick. She told me that I had to

do crunches to take off weight, and I wouldn’t cum until I could do the autofellatio…it was thirteen months

before I could get a cum, in my mouth, and then Ash invited my big brother, the one whose always told me I

was a wimp, to watch…it ended the competition between us for who was coolest, let me tell you!”

Rambert wondered who else might be down the line that Darrell would have to masturbate in front of—

”Think of it, she might have you whacking off to everyone at your company picnic. Our wives do get out of

hand, you know.”

After the meeting, Darrell went for a beer with Alfred Nemirow, his ChasteBois sponsor. “Alf, I don’t know

what to do.” the younger man complained. “This humiliation thing is just the most devious thing that

Bootsie’s come up with. I realize she’s jealous in some way of Thelma, and that’s why she wants to debase me

in Thel’s eyes.”

Alfred thought a bit before speaking. “Well, kid, I just know that Fanchon has my best interests at heart, and

I’d do anything to please her. See, everything else in life comes and goes, but my relationship with Fanchon is

the main event, do you know what I mean? I can’t tell you how to manage things with Bootsie, but if Fanchon

ordered me to masturbate in front of my secretary, I’d have to say she knew it was good for my psyche.”

SIXTY-TWO

Darrell thought about this for a long time. His cock and balls weighed him down something terrible. It felt

like the congealed back semen between his legs was some sort of albatross he was carrying. It had now been

nearly three months, but Bootsie was implacable—she wasn’t going to let Darrell have any kind of release

except for the one she had proscribed.

This didn’t stop her from tying him up every other night and playing with his poor pee-pee. And how

adorable she looked in her hot pink body stocking. “Don’t you want to cum, honey…these balls are awfully

big and blue now.” Bootsie would say as she gently fondled his now quite engorged scrotum.

Darrell moaned and stared at her through bleary eyes. God she had a nice rack! Bootsie also was denying

him access to her breasts because of his “unreasonableness” concerning the masturbation in front of Thelma

issue. What a bitch! But he didn’t want to anger Bootsie further.

“Why don’t you just give in, Darry, honey. I just want Thelma to know what a cringing slave boy you are,

and it’s really a mild condition for your masturbation. Think of what I can give you next. “ Bootsie paused,

stroking and tickling Darrell’s frenulum.

As Bootsie pulled her hand away, just as Darrell was about to spurt, she continued. “ I just was watching

“Nightline” , apparently President Antonovich is being investigated because some reporter is convinced that

his “handler” a Ms. Scarlett Sharpe makes the President go out in drag as a hooker and blow anonymous

homeless guys for $5 bills and when he makes a hundred dollars, he gets to jerk off!”

“That’s impossible” Darrell managed, breathing hard as Bootsie’s nails scraped his suffering glans. “President

Antonovich is a staunch Republican. He doesn’t go in for perverted shit like that.” He paused, gasping…she’s

so good. “What the hell’s happened to that show? Ever since Ted Koppel left, it’s pure tabloid trash.”

“Perhaps.” Bootsie smiled, as she rubbed Darrell’s dick vigorously, pulling her hand away just as he was

getting ready to cum. “But it does give me good ideas, doesn’t it?”

The next night, Bootsie introduced Darrell to the concept of “Forced Edging”. She had him put on her pink

body stocking—it stretched it, but oh well—and masturbate with his dick sticking out in front of a web cam.

Apparently Bootsie had joined an online edging group, and the wives were all having their husband’s edge to

each other on these web cams…and Darrell felt ridiculous.

But it felt so good to have his hand on his cock again, rubbing the lotion in as it poked ridiculously out of the

side of the negligee…but then as he approached orgasm, Bootsie swatted the tip of his cock with her cane,

and he had to start over again.

“Now we’re all going to do it with our left hands!” came some dominant wife’s voice on the speaker, as if it

was Step Aerobics…so Darrell began jerking his dick with his southpaw, but of course even with that weak

hand, he was so horny (Four months and counting) that he came quite close to cumming once again, and

Bootsie had to rap his dick sharply TWICE to calm his wiener down.

And then the other guys—Bootsie had on multiple web cams—all began cumming after an hour of this

nonsense, and poor weeping Darrell had to get locked up again.

“Honey, just give in. It’s inevitable. Your secretary is going to see you playing with your dingie, or you can

take the chastity belt off, and we can go back to being normal husband and wife…but I get the feeling you

like it this way. Don’t you?” Bootsie was trying to be reasonable, Darrell supposed, but it was a bit tough

for him.

Sometimes he stared at Thelma, as she was looking through his files, and doing general clerical stuff, and

realized that if she didn’t quit or get him fired, their relationship would probably always be so different. She’d

be grossed out, or feel sorry for him. He’d already had the humiliating experience of having a waitress burst

into tears when Bootsie had ordered him oatmeal once while she devoured a 16 ounce strip steak!

SIXTY-THREE

And then Bootsie did something just unforgivable. “Don’t make any plans this weekend, Darrell” she said

breezily. “I’ve hired a Male Master to work on your attitude problems.”

Darrell’s jaw dropped. “A-a what?” He needed to clean out his ears, he thought.

Bootsie smiled. “A male master…he’s a friend of Fanchon Nemirow’s. You know, you go to ChasteBois

with her husband. I’ve decided that part of the reason you hold on to this false pride and arrogance, which

prevents you from showing your real self to your secretary, has something to do with the male ego.”

Darrell wiped his brow. “The male ego. But…the guys at ChasteBois have been telling me about that-that

being dominated by a guy stuff. I’m not gay, and I don’t think—“

Bootsie shook her head. “Don’t worry about your needs. You’re so obsessed with self. It’s all about you, all the

time. I’m trying to eradicate that. It’s going to be expensive, too, paying for him to come from Germany but

it’s worth it—“

“Germany? You’re going to have some guy come from Germany for the WEEKEND?” Darrell’s eyes were

bugged out. She was insane, this woman. “We don’t have the money, and I don’t—“

“Don’t worry about it. I’m selling your Sportrend speedboat. And, I think, the Jetski as well. Master Hans

isn’t coming for the weekend, but for about a month. It’s really going to do you good, Darrell.”

Bootsie paused, smiling before she returned to her “Elle” magazine. “You told me it would excite you to put

your possessions in my name, as your dominant. so it should excite you more that I’m selling them.”

That Friday night, when Darrell walked into the house, he saw a trim looking man with curly blond hair,

wearing a turtleneck sweater, and relaxing with a cigarette. Darrell noted with horror that the blond fellow

was using his frat mug as an ashtray.

“Hey, we don’t smoke here in the house” Darrell began. “I don’t know who you are—“

“That will be enough talk” the blond man said in a heavy European accent. “More to hear from you is ah,

unnecessary, ja?” He dropped the cigarette in the mug and stood up. “I am Master Hans. You are Darrell?”

“Yeah, I’m Darrell. Where’s Bootsie?” Fucking Kraut. Darrell was half Jewish, and his Uncle Shmuley

had always said that if he ever became President the two things he’d do were ban diesel trucks and bomb

Germany for what they did to the Jews.

No one is fucking around with me, Darrell thought. Look at this little twerp. Doesn’t look like he weighs

more than one fifty. “Where’s Bootsie? I don’t want her leaving strangers in my house and—“

Darrell, in thinking about it later, never did figure out how Hans got close enough to him to hook his leg

and bring all 195 pounds of him to the floor. Or how then, Hans had flipped him on his stomach and

pulled his arm behind his back.

“Your wife has gone to her sister’s for the next month.” Master Hans’s voice came from above Darrell’s

confused and dizzy head. “I said this earlier, it is much talk I do not need to hear from you, ja? What we

need from you, Darrell is a bit of quiet.”

Darrell, who bench pressed 270, struggled mightily against Hans’s arm holding him down. His head turned

to look up at Hans and utter profane imprecations, but Hans used his palm to gently shove Darrell’s head

against the floor and hold it there.

Hans appeared to have thin arms, but one was holding Darrell’s arm down and the other Darrell’s quite

muscular neck…there was more to Hans than one might think!

“Now I would like to have you get up. I am sure this is not comfortable for you, but I cannot have any more

distraction. We have much work to do in the next month, and it will be hampered during the week with

your having to go to the office.”

Darrell really wanted to get up, and hated having Hans’s palm on his cheek, holding his head on the floor.

How the fuck could this be worth a racing motorboat? “Master Hans if you allow me to rise, I will um, not

speak as much.”

Miraculously, Master Hans’s hands left Darrell’s body, and Darrell was allowed to rise. It occurred to him

that now he could try to overpower the German, but strangely, he was quite subdued.

“You will remove your clothes, Darrell. Remove your clothes and kneel before me, no more time wasted.”

And Darrell mechanically began removing his clothes. He folded them and knelt before Hans, mentally

reviewing his options. He knew that Bootsie must have gone too far, but he didn’t know quite what to do yet.

“Now I understand you are having difficulty obeying your wife’s command that you masturbate in front

of your secretary, yes? You want to hold onto an absurd ah, how do you say…image of yourself?” Hans lit

another cigarette and stood over Darrell.

Darrell thought of Thelma, and how sweet she was. He loved that about her! She was considerate and often

played with his tie when she was talking to him. He was father confessor to her when it came to boyfriend

problems, and she made him feel really good…he didn’t want to lose that!

And, of course he was up for a promotion at work, and Thelma was niece of one of the partners. No one

understood business, it seemed, but maybe Master Hans would.

Darrell looked up at Master Hans, who promptly boxed his right ear. His head felt as if he’d been hit with a

frying pan.

“You must not look at me until I ask you to. In a moment I will need a place to tap my ash, and then you will

look up and open your mouth, but until then—“

Darrell had a feeling that it was going to be a long weekend!

By the time Bootsie came back to town a month later, Darrell was a different person. He had learned to suck

cock with amazing skill, and Hans had invited various men over to sample Darrell’s fellatio tricks.

Hans had supervised Darrell’s cleaning and scouring of the entire house, and had learned to mop a floor

while wearing a leather straitjacket by using his mouth.

“I am quite pleased, Darrell. Your mouth has learned to do many things. I will encourage your wife to

continue your fellatio training with many different men, to make you even more proficient…because a male

slave must learn to serve males!”

Darrell had been so horrified by the idea of being forced to suck dicks…just terrified, though it had aroused

him to hear of other men’s humiliation in the ChasteBois groups. But the first time he’d had a dick in his

mouth—Hans’s penis—he’d learned it wasn’t that bad, and in fact, it felt more natural, really than servicing

a clitoris…It was like slurping a hotdog!

Darrell had also learned to take a severe flogging with the blacksnake without “whining” which had been a

complaint of Bootsie’s for some time. Darrell did still vehemently object when Hans “fisted” his ass, but he

was beginning to get used to it, and looked forward to licking the shit off Hans’s fingers after a punishment.

Darrell had come quite a way in thirty days of training…but he still was averse to being humiliated in front

of his secretary…but, after they drove Master Hans to the airport, Darrell admitted to Bootsie that although

he hated the idea, he would do it to show his submission to her.

“I-I hated serving Hans at first.” Darrell had said to Bootsie shamefacedly. “But I began to understand why it

was necessary, and I feel free-er knowing that I’m a more skilled and submissive slave. I can’t really explain it,

honey.”

SIXTY-FOUR

Darrel came into his outer office, passing Thelma’s desk. Usually she would give him an exuberant smile,

have brought him a latte from Starbucks, but not today of course. This was the Day After.

“Good morning, Thelma,” he said with a halting smile. Thelma’s eyes narrowed, and her lip curled with

obvious revulsion. “Uh, good morning, Mr. Plunkett.” Darrell wondered if part of the issue was not only

had she seen him masturbate, but saw the extent of his pot belly, that he had always kept so well covered with

well tailored suits.

Darrell tried to laugh casually, but it sounded like a weak cough. “Last night was a bit weird, and I appreciate

your coming over for it. Some couples are—“

Thelma ruffled her papers. “Mr. Plunkett, you really creep me out, man. Could you just like, go in your

office now?” Darrell could see that she was filling out a request for a transfer to another department. He

genuinely hoped she got it.

Darrell sighed, and went into his office, shutting the door. Just before the door closed, he noticed that a

young chesty typist had paused at Thelma’s desk and they were whispering, and Thelma was pointing to his

door.

That wasn’t good. Bootsie had given Thelma a plain white envelope filled with Darrell didn’t know HOW

much cash to not mention this to Darrell’s superiors, but of course gossip was another issue altogether.

Darrell sat on his desk, and burst into quiet tears. It had been worse than he’d thought it would be. They’d

had Thelma over to dinner, and then afterwards she’d sat in the living room, and Bootsie had snapped her

fingers.

Darrell had had to strip naked, and Thelma had almost gotten up, and that was when Bootsie had sat next

to Thel and whispered to her, and Thelma had sat still while Darrell shed his suit and underwear.

Then of course Thelma had been somewhat curious about the chastity belt that Bootsie had unlocked, and

Thel’s jaw had dropped when Bootsie had told her that Darrell wasn’t allowed to cum without permission.

“It seems so medieval” Thelma had said, and of course Bootsie had laughed, before ordering Darrell

to masturbate.

At first Darrell’s cock hadn’t gotten hard because he was so traumatized by the event, but then Bootsie had

come up and whacked him repeatedly with her trusty plank, while Darrell kneeled and jerked his dick.

Finally he had spurted onto the floor, and Bootsie had ordered him to lick it up.

Darrell had argued, and Bootsie had really laid into him with the plank, and finally he’d licked the entire

thing up, gagging. Bootsie had also said “After all the blowjobs you’ve given, Darrell, don’t you think you

should be used to the taste of male semen by now?”

Goddamn, Master Hans had put Darrell through a lot, he’d made him dress as a transvestite schoolgirl with

a plaid skirt and knee high socks and a Swiss Miss pigtail wig…he’d taken Darrell dressed like this into the

woods and had him orally and anally sodomized by homeless men.

But that was nothing next to debasing himself in front of his lovely secretary… and she’d been so horrified!

Wrinkling her nose, her mouth an O, and her look going from admiration to pity, to disgust.

After he’d seen the look on Thelma’s face the night before, and he was still naked…his semen had left his

penis so there was no thrill whatsoever, just humiliation, Darrell had made a rush for his clothes, but Bootsie

had said no.

And when Darrell had tried to ignore her, Bootsie had stepped in with the plank and thrown Darrell across

the coffee table and whipped his ass until he cried. He could’ve gotten up at any time, but he was utterly

powerless when his lovely wife was dominating him!

And then Bootsie had played some Shirley Temple CDs and made Darrell dance and sing—and Thelma’s

contempt had deepened. She would never get him fired for this, the money had taken care of that, but

obviously she’ d tell her friends informally.

And now Bootsie was talking about having Darrell humiliate himself weekly to different people, perhaps

serving tea naked except for a wig and high heels, something horrible like that. And what could he do?

For he was a hardened sub now. He was quite turned on by the whole thing and he was just desirous of

serving his lovely wife. Unbelievably, he wouldn’t have had it any other way, but it didn’t keep him from

crying in miserable humiliation.

On the other hand, it would be an interesting story for the ChasteBois group next Sunday. The other men

would congratulate Darrell on being finally “broken in” to being humiliated in front of a known person.

They’d been thrilled after he’d learned to suck cock, after all.

Darrell felt his chastity device through his pants. He didn’t know when he’d get to cum again. What would

Bootsie make him go through next? It had been somewhat of a ruined orgasm, he was so upset about

Thelma watching and of course Bootsie was whipping his bare ass with the damn plank.

Depressed, he called his friend Alfred Nemirow. After hearing the story, Alf laughed. “The first time you’re

put through something like this is quite difficult, I agree. Fanchon has done it to me so many times in the

last nine years that I am pretty much used to it, but being subjugated is tough.”

“But it’s so horrible” Darrell replied. “I wish I could say I didn’t want to continue being a submissive male, but

of course that’s not true. It excites me as well as mortifies me, thinking about it, Alf. But the girl is spreading

it all through the office…will this affect my work?”

“Well, I’ll tell you a story, Darrell.” Alf replied. “Every Friday night Fanchon comes to my office and she and

my secretary and my assistant take turns whipping and dominating me…and one night they blindfolded me,

and then I felt this thing coming up my ass. At first I thought it was a strap-on dildo, but then I realized it

was actually a man’s penis…and it came in my ass!”

Darrell choked, listening to this.

“So on the way home, Fanchon told me that one of the three guys who I supervise had happened upon this

domination scene, and he’d offered to fuck me in the ass, and the ladies let him…but Fanchon wouldn’t tell

me which guy it was. I still don’t know, and some days it drives me crazy!”

As Darrell hung up the phone, the door to his office opened, and Thelma came in, talking to the chesty

typist as if Darrell wasn’t there. “So I could put in for a transfer, right Melody? But like, maybe the better

plan would be to just stay here and mess around with Jerk-off Boy.”

“Thelma, I wish you wouldn’t discuss—“ But Thelma just walked over to the desk and took Darrell by the

shoulder and pulled him up. And then, as he gaped, she began pulling down his pants.

“See, his wife gave me this envelope with like, five grand in it, and that’s cool, but there was also a key, and

I’m sure it was to this gadget here.” After Darrell’s pants had been yanked down, Thel pulled down his

underpants and tapped his chastity belt with a long fingernail.

“Take off your shirt and your undershirt and put your hands over your head.” Thelma said briefly, and

Darrell obeyed, though his mind was in a whirl. Thelma was hot stuff, as was Melody, the typist…what was

going on here?

Thel unlocked the chastity belt and took it off, dropping it on the table. She stroked Darrell’s penis, which of

course became hard almost instantly. As Darrell had only had the one orgasm in the past four months, there

was still plenty of “juice” backed up in his testicles.

Thel began stroking Darrell’s penis faster, bending over so Darrell could get a good look at her cleavage.

Melody giggled, which of course made her considerable boobs bounce.

Darrell began gasping and moaning as Thelma jerked his dick and he gasped and his legs shook as she

played with his dick faster and faster, but then all of a sudden she kneed him in the balls, and he fell over, on

top of the pants that were baggy around his ankles.

“Forget the sexual harassment rules, dirt bag?” Thelma asked, popping her gum. She lifted a high heel and

kicked Darrell in the stomach, and he groaned. “Get up. Stop lying on the floor, this isn’t a flophouse.”

When Darrell got to his feet, Thelma helped him to step out of his pants and shoes, and Melody used a bit of

cord to tie him to his chair. Then Thelma jabbed a sharp pencil into Darrell’s glans and he screamed.

“You better be quiet, or the whole office will be in here to see how queer you are, Mr. Plunkett.” Melody

giggled. Then she pulled a boob out of her dress. “You like this? I see you staring at my jugs all day when you

go by my desk, when I’m typing up those tiresome leases…I have a hot boyfriend who gets to kiss them…

you wish you could, right?”

Darrell nodded and Thelma slapped him, hard. “I think you need to get back to reality, you fat middle aged

pustule.” Both girls laughed. “Jesus, I may start to enjoy this job just a little bit.” Thelma said.

Melody took off one of her spike heels and swung it hard against where the tip of Darrell’s penis hung over

his chair. TWACK! Darrell opened his mouth to scream and remembered that he was in a business office,

and bit his lip instead.

“You’re such a fucking pig, Mr. Plunkett” Melody said as she hit his right nipple with the sharp high heel.

“I’m an incest survivor, been raped by three stepfathers, and you look at me, at my boobs just like they used to.

I know what you want!” Melody shoved her adorable breast back in her dress and hit Darrell once again on

the balls with the heel, which felt as if she’d honed it with a knife sharpener.

“There’s a new game in town, Mr. Plunkett!” Thelma said, and the girls both laughed…and Darrell burst

into tears.

SIXTY-FIVE

A couple of days after this, Thelma approached Darrell’s desk. “So I bet since I locked you back up, your

wife hasn’t let you cum or anything” she smiled. She hadn’t let him either, after she and Melody had had

their good time with him. “I was thinking we might go over to the vacant property we’re selling on Sandford

Avenue, and hang out there.”

Darrell had forgotten that the Sandford Avenue property was a rooming house, with beds, and when they

got there, Thelma had Darrell strip and she bound his hands and legs, and unlocked the chastity device,

casually stroking and tickling his hard member.

“It must be real hard for you, Darrell honey…not being able to touch your thing.” Thelma said earnestly,

staring into Darrell’s eyes. “But it’s your bag, right? You must’ve agreed to this.”

Darrell watched her long French manicured nails teasing his growing member. “Yes that’s right, Thelma. I

don’t know why, but I get turned on by being dominated by women. Sometimes I think it can go too far, but

once I’ve agreed to be a slave, it’s really difficult to monitor what comes next, do you know what I mean?”

Thelma rubbed and stroked Darrell’s cock and giggled. She really was cute, and after the initial hostility,

she’d warmed up to Darrell again, though of course they’d never be back on their old footing. Darrell now

had to go and get his own coffee, and with all the abuse he’d gotten from Melody, he was now learning to

type his own leases, as well.

“It’s so funny though, Darrell. I wonder if I could get my boyfriend to submit to me.” Thelma said. She

grazed Darrell’s glans with her forefinger and thumb, just barely touching it, and he moaned. “My boyfriend

is one of those macho types, but it’s funny, sometimes I withhold sex and he gets on his knees to beg and

plead with me. I think it’s really hilarious.”

“Well, I don’t know if your boyfriend could be a submissive, but you definitely have the personality of a

dominatrix.” Darrell said, smiling ruefully. “That’s the kind of thing Bootsie likes to do to me.”

“Yeah, she’s a bitch huh?” Thelma asked. “She called me and told me I could tease you all I wanted, but not to

let you cum. She said you are more, um…pliable when you don’t get to cum. That’s hilarious, quite frankly.”

“Yeah, that’s her thing—and mine, I guess, though it’s gone further than I expected.” Darrell replied, as

Thelma tickled his balls and ran her little palm up and down his stiff, suffering organ. “And now Bootsie is

returning to an old theme—she’s denying me permission to touch her breasts. It’s really tough.”

“Really, that’s interesting” responded Thelma, as she fingered a growing vein on the bottom of Darrell’s dick.

“She won’t let you touch her boobs? I know you’re into boobs, you’re always looking at mine and Melody’s.”

“When we were dating, it took me six months of working on Bootsie before she’d let me touch her breasts,

and she didn’t make love to me until we were engaged” said Darrell, his eyes on Thelma’s busy little fingers.

“And then when she’d get mad at me, if I flirted with a waitress or forgot to mow the lawn, she’d pull back

and wouldn’t let me touch her tits. Sometimes she’d pretend they were tender and couldn’t be touched, so to

drive me nuts…and now she makes me earn breast touching time.”

Thelma looked askance at Darrell. “Breast touching time? You can’t fondle her breasts all you want? That’s

sad; your wife’s got a nice rack.” Thelma stroked Darrell’s dick with a bit more energy, giggling as he panted

in desperation.

“Well, after she locked me in chastity, I think Bootsie was going to exchange orgasms for chores done, but

now she’s decided to only let me cum every few months…and since I love kissing and touching her breasts,

I get three minutes per chore…so if I vacuum three bedrooms, and the living room, and clean the kitchen

completely, that’s fifteen minutes…

But then I lose time in ten minute shots for things like using the phone without permission, or playing video

games, which Bootsie doesn’t approve of a thirty-six year old man doing, you know what I mean?” Darrell

was so abashed describing this, but of course it was the truth.

“And then” Darrell said, to pique Thelma’s interest, “Since Master Hans has trained me to be a female tranny,

Bootsie dressed me up in makeup and high heels and re-named me Darien, and she made me serve her and

this jerk she brought home, Leaming Ecclestone, she used to date him, but she married me, so now she’s

going to screw him?

…I had to be a French maid and it was awful…and then Bootsie let Leam play with her boobs for an hour

while I watched. It was really, really traumatic, Thelma.” Darrell paused. “See, we were all in school together,

and Ecclestone and I were real rivals, not just for Bootsie, but on the debating team, and all this other crap…

it was a real bummer having him fondling my goddamn wife.”

“That’s awful…and you had to serve them tea and stuff?” Thelma said in surprise. “I would think a real man

would’ve kicked the guy’s ass, but you just did it wearing drag…that’s really kind of sad, Darrell, or Darien.”

“Yeah, and Bootsie and Leaming went into her bedroom, and I strongly suspect that she cheated on me.”

Darrell sighed. “And she says next time she brings him over, she may make me, as Darien, suck the guy’s

dick. Bootsie knows I used to play around on her, and I guess this is her revenge, and a woman’s revenge can

be a terrible thing!”

SIXTY-SIX

Ambrose Hethering, Head Bookkeeper at the Purbright, Dovecote & Dimbleby Security Systems & Burglar

Alarm Emporium showed up at Thelma Tydemann’s door with false confidence.

Thelma Ambrose was quite excited about his date with Thelma…she was chesty, and had those full glossed

lips. She was a hot one! He had been going out with her on and off for a few months, but quite often she

would get sick of him, and he’d have to send her gifts and call her, and be really romantic to entice her back

to him. But tonight for the first time she was going to have him come to her apartment for dinner!

As Ambrose knocked on the door, his arms full of roses; he wondered anxiously what would go on. They’d

fooled around in his car quite extensively, but she always seemed to push him away at the crucial moment…

and he knew she dated other men!

But the door opened and Thelma greeted Ambrose with an effusive kiss. “Hey there, cutie!” She took the

flowers and looked quite thrilled. She looked absolutely stunning…her big boobs were obviously being

supported in one of those push-up bras, and tightly encased in a sexy burgundy velour top with a plunging

cleavage.

Thelma’s lips were glossed dark red as were her nails to match the top, and there was a hint of Chanel No. 5.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Ambrose. God, I’ve thought about you all week!”

That was curious, Ambrose thought, since she never answered 90 % of my calls. But hey, he wasn’t going to

argue, right? They chatted through dinner and then relaxed with wine on her sofa, and he took her hand

experimentally.

“You know, Ambrose” Thelma said, with a cheery smile, “My boss, Darrell, has the funniest relationship with

his wife…she keeps him in a chastity belt! And she rations out sex to him just a little at a time, and it gives her

time for her for boyfriends and other lovers—she loves Darrell, but he’s not really enough for her, if you know

what I mean—and so she kind of takes charge of their sex life, and has him be of maximum use to her.”

Ambrose’s head cocked as he gazed at Thelma. “That’s interesting” he said, a little nervously. “What an

interesting way to have a relationship.” He felt a tap at his crotch, and apparently Thelma had taken her foot

out of her shoe, and was poking her stockinged toes into his crotch.

As Thelma rubbed Ambrose’s covered penis with her toe, she continued talking. “And you know, I was

thinking a lot about us. You and I have been dating on and off for about seven or eight months now, and

often you complain that I don’t have enough time for you, what with my other boyfriends and all that—and

I love being with you!”

The toes were prodding Ambrose’s pants a little more, and then Thelma reached over, and Ambrose watched

in astonishment as her long red nails unzipped his pants, and pulled out his long white penis.

“We have such fun—going to political events, the science lectures, enjoying your opera season tickets, visiting

the Botanical Gardens, attending the ballet, hitting the Van Gogh exhibit at Buttermilk Gallery, and having

a little din-din around town.”

As Thelma spoke, she stroked Ambrose’s cock which grew longer and thicker in her delicate palm. Deftly,

she took her other hand and undid his buttons and removed his trousers, underpants and shoes.

Ambrose got up and reached for her, but Thelma pushed him back on the couch and continued massaging his

organ, signaling for him to undo his shirt. Ambrose was a little embarrassed that he was now completely naked

and she was still clothed, as he’d never seen Thelma unclothed, but he was quite aroused at the same time.

“But you know Ambrose, I also need my he-men, like my friend DeRoy, who takes me to rap concerts and

football games and truck shows…DeRoy fucks me on the swings at midnight at the children’s playground…

he makes me scream, Ambrose. And I need that, too!”

Ambrose’s eyes grew big as Thelma leaned over, the tops of her full breasts almost in his face as she continued

to stroke his bulbous cock. He began breathing heavily, and she playfully licked her glossed lips at him!

Thelma’s red-tipped fingers rubbed and stroked his bulging penis, and her other hand played with his balls.

He was getting quite excited, but it disturbed him what she was saying about DeRoy.

The fact was, a lot of the time Thelma pushed Ambrose away when he tried to make love to her, and she told

him he “objectified” her too much. She often had spent time complaining to Ambrose about her married

lovers, and how guys like DeRoy were inattentive to her unless they got their sex…so this was very unusual.

“I know you have complained about being in the ‘Friend Zone’ a lot, Ambrose, and that can be sad for a guy…

but I am starting to think about settling down, and I think I’d like to settle down with you, but with

a few codicils.”

Thelma began stroking Ambrose’s dick faster and faster now, and he was gasping. She really knew how to

give a hand job! He tried to rise. “Thelma, why don’t we make love, since I’m so excited…why don’t you take

off your clothes?”

SLAP! Thelma’s hand crashed against Ambrose’s jaw, and he lay back again, and a tear rolled down his

plump cheek. “You see, Ambrose…that’s the problem. You have all these irrational biological urges. You

want to take advantage of me when I’m trying to give you a little treat. I think I may have to NOT marry

you, and break up with you and find someone else.”

“No no…please, Thelma. Don’t do that. I’m really sorry. Please give me another chance.” Ambrose begged.

“I’ll do anything. You’re so sexy and wonderful, and I can’t live without you.” He continued to implore her,

and finally Thelma smiled reluctantly.

“All right, but I’m going to give you a lesson in propriety, I think.” Thelma got up and took Ambrose by the

arm and led him into her bedroom, formerly a forbidden province. She pointed to the bed. “Lie down on

your stomach, please.” Ambrose looked doubtful, but he obeyed her.

Thelma came behind Ambrose and used a length of rope to tie his hands behind his back quite firmly, and

then also secured his ankles together. “Can you move? Here, I’ll hit your balls to see if you can…Whoops!

No, you’re pretty well bound there. Good.”

As Ambrose watched anxiously, Thelma went to the dresser and brought out a long wooden plank, not too

thick, made perhaps of oak. “My employer’s wife gave me this.” Thelma said tapping it against her palm. “It’s

really good for making naughty boys think before acting, you know?”

Thelma lifted the plank—Ambrose noticed that one end was whittled as if to be a handle, like a frat

paddle—and swung it down hard on his bare bottom. WHACK!

Ambrose tried to be a man, and not cry, but he had to bite his lower lip and close his eyes. “I’m trying to

teach you not to grope me, and to listen to me when I’m telling you serious things about our relationship,

instead of propositioning me rudely as you just did.” Thelma said.

WHACK! SMACK! THWACK! “I think, to show me that you appreciate me, you should say, “Thank

you, Miss Thelma, can I have another” after each swat from now on, so I can tell you are appreciating this.

The sooner I’m sure you’re appreciative, the sooner I’ll stop, and we can go back to having our valuable

conversation.”

CRACK! “Th-Thank you Miss Thelma, may I have another?” Ambrose was barely able to get this out.

THWACK! Thank yuh-you Miss Thelma, can-can—“But Ambrose couldn’t finish, and in exasperation,

Thelma smacked him twenty times, quite fast, and Ambrose was soon in tears.

“Ambrose, you’re hopeless. I’m going to untie you and then I want you to go home.”

For a week after this, Ambrose called Thelma, begging for another chance. He sent her Godiva chocolates,

and drove by her house many times. Thelma was the sexiest woman he’d ever met, and he knew he had to

get back in her good graces.

Finally, he got her on the phone, and she reluctantly agreed to have him come to dinner again. He showed

up with flowers, and an expensive locket. Thelma smiled when she saw the jewelry, and stroked Ambrose’s

face with a smile.

“Well, your heart is in the right place, even if you can’t behave yourself very well.” They had dinner and

talked of other things and then after dinner, Thelma pointed to the bedroom, and they went in, and

Ambrose stripped naked again as per her instructions.

This time Thelma was wearing a tight white dress, reminiscent of the one Marilyn Monroe wore in the scene

where she stood above the grate. Ambrose realized he had never been in the company of one so beautiful.

Once again Thelma bound his wrists and his ankles, and this time pulled out a long thick strop. “This was

my Dad’s razor strop” she said. “I was able to take whippings on my bare buttocks as a girl without whining,

and I want you to prove to me that you can as well.”

Ambrose was somewhat aroused thinking of Thelma being whipped with the strop, though he didn’t want

her to think that he was in favor of any violence being done. This time he bit the pillow as she whipped his

bottom until it was nearly purple, and he sighed with relief, his cheeks wet with tears, when she finally tossed

the strop in the corner.

Then Thelma turned Ambrose over and sat down next to him, opening her blouse up a little bit so her full

cleavage showed. She began pulling and stroking his cock once again, and he got quite excited.

“I am trying to tell you, as I was last week before you rudely interrupted me with your disgusting proposition

that I’d like to consider you as my helpmate. My soul mate, my life partner…but only if you can be

a gentleman.”

Thelma’s long red nails scraped the tip of Ambrose’s cock, and he breathed through his nose. Ambrose’s

nipples hardened and then he moaned as Thelma reached over and tweaked one, hard. “You see, Ambrose?

I have my hard sex needs, which can be filled by the Alpha men in my life…but I need you as a soul mate to

serve me…and have a few favors, as it were.”

Thelma was now rubbing Ambrose’s dick so hard he was very close to orgasming. But then she pulled his

balls out from between his legs, and went into the kitchen and came back with what appeared to be a sock

with pennies in it. “I used to use this to discourage muggers…and I also use it to tame impudent erections.”

Thelma said.

Thelma swung the penny filled sock and slammed it into Ambrose’s balls and he screamed. She swung it

again, and the second time it completely deflated his erection and he almost passed out from the pain… but

then she resumed her stroking of his cock.

“I want you to have a good time, Ambrose. But I don’t want you to have too good of a time. Because you

forget what your primary purpose is, which is to make Thelma happy. Don’t you want to make me happy?”

Ambrose nodded wearily, but Thelma could tell that he got the point. Soon enough he was quite excited,

and then she stood up and pulled off her white dress, revealing lingerie underwear, and then she took off the

underwear, and he saw her in glorious nudity.

“Now I’m going to ride your erection honey…but I don’t want you to cum…I want you to just pleasure me.

Can you hold back?” Ambrose nodded and Thelma jumped on his dick and went up and down, her vagina

muscles squeezing his hard cock until she’d cum about three times.

Thelma then moved her crotch up and down quite slowly and she nodded at Ambrose, and he let himself

shoot, although it was hard at first…after he’d cum quite hard in Thelma’s pussy, she moved her crotch up

to his mouth and she instructed him to lick. “It’s not just your semen, honey. DeRoy was here earlier, so you

have a bit of a creampie to take care of…but I do appreciate it!”

Ambrose really was elated after that night. They’d made progress ! But after that date Thelma wouldn’t see

him for a time, and it drove him crazy. He wanted to see her every day.

“I’m busy, both working at my job, sexually dominating my boss, and servicing DeRoy” she replied. “While

I’m so busy, why don’t you prepare for when I visit you at your house…I have a suggestion.”

Thelma’s suggestion was that Ambrose prepare a martini every night and put it on the carpet at seven p.m.

He was then to kneel naked in front of the martini until ten o’clock, when he could safely assume Thelma

wasn’t coming over…and then he could watch TV, or do whatever.

“Except masturbate. I want you to be true to me, do you understand, Ambrose?” He understood.

Ambrose was really put out by this suggestion at first, but he wanted to prove his devotion to Thelma. He

took the phone off the hook, stripped off his clothes and prepared the martini, hustling to make sure it was

in front of him by seven p.m.

The first hour was incredibly painful on his knees, because he didn’t want to be seen by Thelma slouching,

should she bustle in.

After the third hour, Ambrose was quite stiff from the kneeling, but he poured the martini down the toilet

and answered his messages, and of course he had calls from friends, and a nice girl who had a crush on him,

who he’d totally dissed in favor of pursuing Thelma.

Ambrose was incredibly horny from all this kneeling naked, feeling like he’d burst…but he kept his hands

to himself!

Within a week, Ambrose was good at this regimen, though his pals were certainly complaining. “Dude,

what’s going on?” Trent said to Ambrose over the phone. “I keep calling you, Joel and I wanted to go to the

Wildflour Pizza for beers and to check out hotties, but you’re never around in the evenings.”

What could Ambrose do? He was frustrated that Thelma had not shown up yet—it had been eight days, and

he was getting heartily sick of kneeling on the carpet in front of that ridiculous Martini…his parents came

to town, and he couldn’t see them in the evenings…it was really crazy.

Finally, two weeks after Thelma had made her suggestion, she opened the unlocked door and walked in,

smiling at the naked Ambrose, kneeling in front of the Martini.

Thelma picked up the Martini and swigged it, and then crooked a red nail at Ambrose, who followed her

obediently into the bedroom. Not to his surprise, she had the ropes and she bound his wrists and ankles.

“See, I like this, Ambrose. You’re ready and waiting for me. All these nights I’ve been out with DeRoy and

his friends, partying and screwing, and you’ve just waited by the door like a good boy. I really think you are

husband material, honey.”

Ambrose was a bit distressed because Thelma put a blindfold over his eyes, and then she gave him forty with

the plank…he was weeping a bit, but lying obediently…and then he felt her push some pillows under his

crotch area, and then…”Do you know anything about strap-ons, Ambrose?”

Ambrose’s first experience with a strap-on phallus was not a pleasant one! He felt the head of the thing push

into his anus, and he complained bitterly that he was not gay.

But of course Thelma ignored him, and grabbed his hips and shoved it all the way in, pulling it out again

and shoving it in again, hard. “I didn’t lube it much, since you’re a tough rough guy…head of the Buttermilk

County Chess Team and all that.”

As Thelma shoved the fake dick in and out of Ambrose’s rectum, she reached around and jerked his dick,

and he got excited feeling her long nails scraping his inner thighs. “You like this, Ambrose? You should go to

prison, honey. Big, horny men will do this to you every night. It’s a good thing to get used to!”

Thelma’s voice went on. “Maybe I’ll get a big guy to come here and fuck your asshole, Ambrose. DeRoy did

eleven years out of a fifteen to thirty bit in Folsom Prison for robbing a liquor store, and he said he got lots of

little white boys with tight asses…and he loosened those asses up!

“I’m really not gay, Thelma” Ambrose said weakly, but of course she ignored him, continuing her patter.

“You can learn how to cinch your anal muscles together to give a man a good friction point, and get a rep as

a good bottom, you know? I bet you’d be sold for a carton of Newports on any cellblock with the tight little

ass you have now, honey!”

This was of scant comfort to Ambrose, who had always obeyed the law strenuously. He gritted his teeth as

the phallus repeatedly invaded his gluteus cheeks, and panted, aroused of course because of Thelma’s wrap

around jerking off technique.

Finally she pulled the dildo out of Ambrose’s butt and then he felt her pushing the long phallus against his

lips. He wished he could see, but the damn blindfold. “The phallus smells funny” he complained.

“That’s because it’s covered in your blood and your shit, but I want you to clean it up with your mouth”

Thelma’s voice came reassuringly. “I borrowed this from my boss’s wife, and I need it to be cleaned up.”

“I’m not going to lick my fecal matter…or blood off that dildo!” Ambrose said with asperity. “That’s

unhygienic.” Suddenly he felt the dildo smacking the side of his face, and then he felt Thelma’s little hands

grasping and pinching his cheeks until he opened his mouth in protest…and then she slipped the dildo in!

After this, Thelma skull-fucked Ambrose until he was coughing and choking. She slammed the dildo in and

out of his mouth energetically, grasping his ears for balance. “This is great! I’m fucking your face. Keep my

strap-on moisturized, baby boy!”

Finally Thelma pulled the dildo out of Ambrose’s mouth, and cleaned his face off. “Now I’m going to spread

my legs and you are going to give me some pleasure, understand?”

Ambrose did…he licked Thelma for nearly an hour!

SIXTY-SEVEN

Spalding Tyll walked home disconsolately, his knapsack hanging off his arm. It had now been 103 days since

Mother had allowed him to masturbate, and it was hanging heavy on his young balls.

Mother was mad at Spalding…she was going to punish him through humiliation by making him jerk off

in front of the hottest cheerleader at Buttermilk Falls High! Or, if he didn’t want to do this, he could just be

celibate until he changed his mind. And he was so horny!

Spal looked down at his Iphone as he walked. Shit, he needed to write his oldest brother Potter back. Pots

was an Air Force captain, and he’d sent Spalding a big e-mail.

“I know it’s hard having Mom crack down on you like this.” Pots had written. “It’s really hard for me…Shit,

I’m a decade older than you, and I have to be here in Afghanistan on the Honor System. I have to ice my

balls down six times a day to stay straight.

Also, Mother shipped me a two foot whittled lilac branch, about an inch thick, and told me to find someone

to use it on me. Fortunately, one of my enlisted men—yeah, I wish it was a girl, too—has taken over my

discipline, and pulls down my cammies once every couple of days and thrashes me ‘til I cry, and that takes

my mind off the horniness bullshit…but it’s tough. But listen to Mom. She knows best.”

And Spal’s other two brothers, Boswell and Searcy had agreed with Pots. They’d taken him out to lunch

just last week after they’d all played a round of golf. Boswell, an insurance agent was especially urgent to

Spalding to toe the line.

“My wife makes me jerk off in front of all kinds of people, Spal.” Boz had said quite seriously. “Rosalyn

doesn’t even let me cum more than every few months, but she makes me play with my penis in little rituals,

usually in front of either her male or female lovers, or once in front of a visiting Jehovah’s Witness.

It cuts down on my big ego, which is always dragging me into trouble, you know with drinking contests

and stupid shit like speeding tickets because I think I’m the king of the road. Supervised masturbation keeps

me humble.”

Searcy, a Princeton junior agreed. “Dude, you just have to let go of all that bondage to self stuff.” (Searcy was

a philosophy major) “Sure, when I was a junior in high school I told Mom I wanted to give up my chastity

belt, and I expected she’d give me a lot of shit about it, but she just took it off without a word…stopped

disciplining me, too.

But within six months I was snorting heroin, slapping my girlfriend when we got into fights, jerking off in

bathrooms to Playboy magazine…damn I was grateful when Mother gave me another chance and locked me

back up.”

“B-but I don’t want to jerk off in front of this cheerleader. I have a big crush on her, and it’s really going to be

awful, I think” Spal had told his older brothers. “Don’t you think there should be another way?”

Searcy laughed, Boz joining him. “Man, I don’t know about you, but I am happy that Mom is still

controlling my orgasms. I’m really afraid of what’s going to happen when I graduate and move away and get

a job, and have to find a woman to run things. I’m afraid things are going to get really fucked up!”

And of course Spalding had had to agree, his brothers had a point!

At school, the girls pranced past him; many of them were his good friends and gave him friendly hugs, which

made Spal just crazy with lust. He wasn’t grounded, after all, and he’d actually been on a few dates where

there had been lots of necking in Dad’s 2005 Acura…and when Jennifer had wanted to go further, Spal had

of course had to demur.

Shit, he couldn’t remove his pants, right? He couldn’t let the young people of Buttermilk Falls know that

he was in a chastity belt. Jennifer was a hottie, but she was also a powerful gossip, and that would ruin

whatever “rep” Spal had, and all his luster he’d gathered from being a point guard on the basketball team, for

playing bass guitar in his band “The Animal Keepers”, from being tall and handsome, all that shit would be

irrelevant!

But Mom was adamant. She wasn’t going to let Spalding masturbate unless he did it in front of Whitney

Ponds, the hot cheerleader that Spal had all those pictures of…the girl he would NEVER have a chance in

hell of going out with…but he’d always lusted after.

And all this because Spal had had the nerve to try and break into his chastity belt with a bobby pin, because

he was so desperate to masturbate. It wasn’t like he had a chance in hell—the damn belt was really secure,

but Mom was so insulted that Spal would even try…

“I am so disappointed in you, Spalding” she’d said grimly. Mother had made Spal strip naked and she’d

bound him over a hassock and whipped his buttocks with her wooden spoon and then the lead tipped

flogger that she used on Dad.

Spal’s sister Maisie had watched with amused contempt, and then when Mother’s arm had gotten tired,

Maisie had taken over and used the flogger until Spal had been weeping bitter tears.

Maisie was a beautiful girl—she had rich russet curls and full breasts under her snug pink cashmere sweater…

but she was a bitch on wheels, and many times Spal had had to bribe her with his allowance and the money

he made mowing lawns to keep her from telling the kids at school about the way their family “operated”.

Maisie was his younger sister, but she had a later bedtime and no curfew…and he’d never seen HER naked,

but he was routinely stripped for discipline and punishment, had been his whole life, and she’d seen it all!

She’d seen it when Mother dressed Spal in a pink dress and high heels and made him parade with a parasol

in front of the house after she’d found his computer porn, and she’d seen it w hen Mother had used a strap-

on dildo on Spal, to cure him of “attitude problems”.

And Maisie had found it hilarious that Spal was so horny. After 103 days of not getting to jerk his dick—

nearly four months! She was always tantalizing him by walking around in tiny little tops and short-shorts,

and sometimes she’d climb on his lap and kiss his neck when he was trying to do homework or program his

mp3 player.

It was absolute hell. And Spal knew that he would only get a brief jack-off period, even if he did agree to

humiliate himself in front of Whitney, it would only be a brief spurt, and then Mother would probably go

back to the old rule—that Spal could next jack off when he got his quarterly report card, and showed up at

least a B average!

This had spurred Spal to take summer courses—while his friends were surfing and getting drunk on

Buttermilk Beach, Spal was in class—just so he could jerk off in September, instead of waiting for the

November report card!

One of Spal’s buddies, Nick had pointed out that Spal now had more than enough credits to graduate early,

and get away from his strict family, but the truth was, Spalding loved his Mom, and loved Maisie as well. He

was planning actually to attend Buttermilk State, and live at home.

“You don’t have to, dear” Mother had told Spalding. “I’ll give you your keys if you really want to go off to

college, but I’m going to supervise you as long as you live here at home.” She had been pleased when Spal had

told her that he really wanted to live with her…he had been locked up in chastity since seventh grade, and

didn’t know what he’d do if he had unlimited orgasms!

One orgasm every academic quarter, usually jerking off in front of the laughing Maisie (who did give him

occasional tit-flashes) and Mother…he’d actually probably not jerked off more than thirty times in his

adolescent life!

And now of course with Mother’s restriction because Spal had tried to break into his chastity belt, it had

been even longer. She’d just ignored his latest report card, which had been very good, and told him, “You lost

your chance to onanize dear, when you violated my trust by attempting to break into your belt. You can only

masturbate now if you do it in front of the Ponds girl.”

And Maisie had thought this was HILARIOUS. She constantly teased poor Spal about it, coming in his

room and laughing. “What’s Whitney going to do when she sees what a pathetic little perv you are, Spal?

She’s gonna tell the whole school about it…you’ll be in the Friend Zone, if that, for every girl at Buttermilk

Falls High!”

Maisie was so cruel too—just last night she’d sneaked into Spal’s room wearing only a little T-shirt, no bra,

and panties. She’d ordered Spal to take off his clothes, and she’d tied his hands to the bedposts.

Then she’d taken the chastity belt key, which she’d filched from Mother’s keyring, and she’d unlocked Spal’s

belt and played with his penis, running her long purple nails up and down his stiff dick for an hour and

a half.

This wasn’t Maisie’s first visit—she’d done this a number of times…Mother probably knew about it, and

didn’t mind, because after all, Maisie didn’t let Spalding cum! She just teased him, and sat on his chest, and

then would pull back and rub her little crotch up and down over Spal’s stiff, suffering cock…he was so

young, and so full of semen, and SHE KNEW IT!

“It must be hard…get it?” Maisie had said as she rubbed her little panty covered crotch against Spal’s

throbbing erection. “I know you just want to fuck me, your little sister, and isn’t that forbidden…forbidden

by the Church?” Maisie was a Virtue Girl, in the choir at the Buttermilk Falls Salvation Temple…they had a

virginity mission!

Then Maisie had lay down next to Spal and just casually rubbed his hard penis and whispered in his ear.

“What a hard life it’s been for you, Spal—I’ve watched while Mother gave you cold showers, and punished

you by tying a pink ribbon to your dick and made you walk around with a book on your head so you’d learn

to be a lady…just so you’d give up your testosterone driven passion…but does it work, no…”

“Please, Maisie, can’t you just let me jerk off? Mom will never know.” Spal had pleaded with her, but his little

sister had just laughed in his face as she’d continued to stroke his desperately bloated penis.

“How much would you give me, Spal?” Maisie asked, as one of her adorable russet curls fell over her shoulder.

Spal looked at her nipples coming through the tight Hannah Montana T-shirt she was using as a nightie.

Spalding rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you twenty-five bucks, okay? I don’t have a lot, but I’ve been working part

time at the Quik-Mart, saving for a new electric guitar…I can give you twenty-five, I think.”

Maisie had laughed. “No no…that’s not enough. And you have more money than that. Uncle Howard gave

you your Christmas money late, and I know Dad has been slipping you money, because he feels bad about

your chastity…one slave to another…you want to cum, you’d better give me more money.”

So finally Spal had confessed that he had about one hundred fifty dollars hidden in his sock drawer, and

Maisie had taken it and tucked it in her panties…and then she’d called down the hall, “Mother, Spalding is

trying to bribe me to let him cum! He got me to take off his chastity belt and I feel so guilty!”

Maisie had given Spalding a wicked smile, and Mother had come into the room, and taken a wire coat

hanger out of Spalding’s closet. “You just can’t keep your filthy mind off your penis’s satisfaction can you?”

Mother had asked, with gritted teeth.

SMACK! TWACK! WHACK! The coat hanger had come down quite painfully on Spal’s thick cock until

it was bleeding and tiny. Then Mother had spun Spal over and whipped his ass with her trusty lead-tipped

flogger until he was sobbing in his pillow.

Mother and Maisie had derided Spal for being a “crybaby” before he’d been locked back up again…he was

still covered with welts the next day…Dad was in trouble for something else, and that morning the two

of them had been forced to eat out of dog dishes while crouching naked while the rest of the family, fully

clothed, had sat at the table.

Spalding knew that Maisie would never give back the one hundred fifty dollars, and if he pestered her for

it, she’d probably do something even more extreme. Once Maisie had brought her bisexual boyfriend home

and, with Mother’s agreement, had forced both Dad and Spalding to suck the guy’s dick…Mother had said

it would be a “learning experience” for them!

Spalding had never forgotten what it was like to have another man’s semen in his mouth, and being forced

to swallow. Dad, who had sucked countless dicks of Mother’s assorted lovers over the past twenty years had

insisted that Spal would get used to it…but who knew?

Now Spalding crossed the street to his house, and he saw Darrell Plunkett posting a letter in the mailbox. He

recognized Mr. Plunkett from his ChasteBois support group and indeed, he’d mowed the guy’s lawn.

“Hey Mr. Plunkett, how’s it going?” Spalding asked in a friendly voice. Darrell looked up and grinned.

“How’s it going, Spalding? You missed the last Chastebois meeting.” Darrell lowered his voice when he said

this, although the streets in their suburban neighborhood were deserted.

“Yeah, we had an away game, and didn’t get back on the bus until seven Sunday night. Hey, it’s none of my

business, but how did it go with your secretary?” Spalding was a little afraid to ask this out in the public, but

he had to know, as he had a relevant problem.

“I ended up doing as I was told!” Darrell said, smiling. “I really feel better now, and I have a new friendship

with my secretary. She has keys to my belt, and we sometimes have a few sessions over lunch hour. Matter of

fact, Thelma is currently indoctrinating her own boyfriend in our little lifestyle.”

Spalding sighed. “I’m still holding out, but I don’t know how much longer I can. I think I’d die if Whitney

Ponds, the cheerleader found out that I was a naked slave boy at home…but you know, I love my mom and I

know she knows what’s best for me, and I’m like, dying to pound my pud, Mr. Plunkett.”

Darrell smiled. “I know. It’s hard to do the right thing, Spalding. But remember, your parents love you and

know what’s best. And you love them…I remember you telling the group that you’re going to stay here to go

to school because you realize that your mother’s chastity training and her physical discipline is good for you.

And that’s important. You’re a very mature young man.”

“So are you saying I SHOULD masturbate in front of Whitney?” Spal said, confused. “I don’t get what you

think I should do.”

Darrell smiled as he turned away. “You’re a smart kid, Spalding. I can’t tell you what you should do. I know

that the decision I made to expose my submissive status to my work inferior did me a lot of good as a slave

male. I love my wife and I’ll do anything she asks of me. I hope you can make the decision on your own.”

Then Darrell stopped and smiled. “But you are eighteen years old, Spalding. If you like, I’ll take you down

to Buttermilk Falls Hardware and we’ll buy a bolt cutter and cut the belt off. I’m sure your parents would

understand if you want a different life. If you’re afraid of your mother’s retribution, I’ll even help you get an

apartment and you can screw girls night and day, but is that really what you want?”

Spalding looked terrified. “No no…Although I get tempted, I’d never want to rebel to that extent. My folks,

except around chastity and discipline are really great people, and I know Mother has my best interests at

heart. I think I’d better just do what she wants.”

Darrell Plunkett grinned as he watched the boy walk off. That’s a kid with a good head on his shoulders!

Spalding came to his door, and opened it up. Darrell Plunkett was right. He had to get used to being a slave

boy, and adjusting to his slave status. It was what would make him happiest!

But when he looked in the living room, he found the decision might have been made for him! There was

Whitney Ponds…long blonde hair, huge tits, long legs…in her cheerleader uniform, as a matter of fact,

though football season was long over.

And Dad was kneeling before Whitney, stark naked, slowly rubbing his thick penis. Spal knew that Mom

made Dad do this sometimes…she wouldn’t let him cum, but she’d have him jerk his dick slowly… it was

torment, but saved Mom from having to manually tease him, as she had a touch of arthritis in her left hand.

Spal’s sisters, Maisie, Fawn and Tania were on the couch next to Whitney, and they all were laughing their

asses off watching Dad. Maisie was the youngest, and of course they all had witnessed the males in the Tyll

family and the humiliations….

Mother came to Spal and smiled. “Dear, I’m so glad you’re home. Your father has just started, and I suggest

you remove your clothes, and Maisie will unlock you and you can join him…Whitney has been waiting

patiently.”

Whitney looked straight at Spal and said “Yes, that’s right, Spalding. I was raised in a femdom family myself,

and I’ve been kind of interested in you. You’re not the best looking guy in the world, but I need a slave boy in

my life…let’s see how submissive you really are…and maybe we can go to the movies on Friday!”

Spalding pulled off his sweater excitedly. Things were really looking up! Stripping off his clothes quickly, he

stopped in front of Mother, and she unlocked his belt, and then Spal slid into place next to Dad, and began

jerking his dick and looking at Whitney with reverence…but then she said…

“Actually, Spalding, I’m not just a cheerleader, attractive two-dimensional image of me as you may have…I’m

also a drama major, and I just went through this charade to please your sisters and your mom!” All four girls

and Mother burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe two men would actually take off all their clothes and do this in front of a girl, and no I didn’t

grow up in a female dominated family…I’m leaving now, and I probably will tell this around school, but if

you stay the fuck away from me, you little weirdo, I might give you a break on that matter. See you later!”

And with that, Whitney flounced out. Spalding began weeping softly, and Dad looked at him with some

sympathy…but then they both cringed in pain when Mother rapped their cocks with her lead-tipped flogger.

“Sorry boys…you’re getting locked up again. I have changed my mind. You can cum in September, Spalding,

if your NEXT report card has all A’s on it, as you’ve shown me you have the ability…and Potter Senior, I

think you can hold off until your Christmas bonus!”

And that was it for Spalding!

SIXTY-EIGHT

Bootsie came into the Dungeonopolis gift shop with Darrell’s chastity belt in her hands, looking exasperated.

Isaiah smiled. He enjoyed Bootsie, she was fun and cute, and they had a flirtatious relationship, though of

course he was a good forty five years older than she.

Isaiah actually was a retired mechanical engineer; he’d had a hobby of building and repairing various BDSM

paraphernalia, and he’d begun helping out at the gift shop on weekends while he was still at his “real job.”

Isaiah had enjoyed that, and the owner of the PainCafe had, in return, given him a small salary and serious

discounts on things he was unable to build for himself and Letty.

His Letty. He’d met her at the ’46 Dartmouth Winter Carnival, he’d thought she was Rita Hayworth

slumming… and they’d followed up at a Dartmouth-Smith mixer a few months later. Then he’d made a

rude remark to her when she’d come up for the weekend, and she’d taken his pants down and whipped him

with her silver-handled hairbrush, and Isaiah had known he was in love.

Oh, the good times back then! Right after they’d married, Letty had instructed Isaiah to design a small

hardwood box with a small hole in it that she’d locked around his cock and balls…when Isaiah had asked

about his next orgasm, Letty had thrashed Isaiah’s bare buttocks with her granddad’s old buggy whip until

he bled…she didn’t fool around!

After Isaiah had returned from Korea, he’d taken Letty around the world, and they’d purchased an Iron

Maiden chastity belt in Germany. This was a little rougher on Isaiah’s cock and balls, it was quite medieval

compared to the newer models they developed later, but it had worked well for Isaiah.

She’d bought a knout, a nasty thing that took Isaiah’s skin off when she used it, but it really made him

respect Letty…

They’d also gone to a professional dungeon in France, and Mistress Veronique had locked Isaiah in a

kneeling stock and Mistress V. and Letty had taken turns thrashing his bare ass with bullwhips, and then

he’d been taken in the rear by Mistress V’s male slave Jean-Goulet…it had been quite an ordeal!

In ‘64 Isaiah had gotten a job transfer to Buttermilk Falls, and through the kinky grapevine, what there

was of it back then, they’d discovered the PainCafe, which of course was very hush-hush then. Not like

now, when they advertised in the alternative weeklies, no sir. Things were much different then. Worse than

homosexuality, really.

No more just tying Isaiah over the davenport armrest and whipping his bare ass! No, they finally got to

visit their first American dungeon, right there in the cellar of the PainCafe. And as soon as Isaiah saw the

St. Andrew’s Cross, he took a look, did a bit of mental measurement and was able to reconstruct the thing at

home, in their basement.

When she’d seen the Cross, re-created in her basement, Letty had been so thrilled! But Letty had just coldly

upbraided Isaiah for taking so long in building it, and had ordered him to undress so she could lock him to

it, and thrash him with the cat o 9 tails she’d bought at the PainCafe.

Ah those were the days, eh? Isaiah was locked in the Iron Maiden about twenty-eight days out of the month,

and only occasionally did he get out to masturbate—their children were fathered by God knows who…Letty

loved him, but unfortunately just as a “friend.”

And so Isaiah had started the Men’s Chastity Discussion, now called ChasteBois—young people had to

rename it of course. Times change and there are always transitions. But discussing the shameful fact that you

were being cuckolded and locked in chastity by your wife, and that she was making you service her lovers—it

was just great to confide in the other guys.

Around the time of Nixon’s resignation, Letty had begun developing an even more extensive night life—the

discos, and swinger parties, and all that nasty stuff of the Seventies.

Isaiah of course had been forbidden from participating in any of this—except as an oral servant of the

various guests, and waiting tables by their pool. It seemed like a hell of a note, serving these brash young

fellows mixed drinks while dressed in a loincloth by his very own swimming pool, but that was what Letty

required, and of course Isaiah had wanted her to be happy!

In 1985, Letty had grown somewhat depressed, because she just didn’t bring the boys in any more…at her

age it was hard for her to find lovers!

She’d unfortunately taken this out on poor Isaiah. Instead of his once every six weeks orgasm, Letty had put

him on a twice-yearly contract, and hired out a male prostitute to milk Isaiah from behind periodically so

he’d avoid harming his prostate.

Unfortunately though, Letty had not looked after her own health as pragmatically, and she passed after

a fatal stroke in 1989. Then Isaiah had married Margot, who was not into kink. She was beautiful and

generous and kind, but that didn’t do much for Isaiah, and they’d divorced after only three years.

Isaiah had never realized how lucky he’d been to find a woman who was happy to dominate him—all of a

sudden he was faced with going to dominatrixes, and they were just cold. And no one wanted to hold his

chastity keys!

Isaiah had had some assistance in his domination through his daughters, Dolores, Estelle, Gerardine and

Alma. While Letty had been alive, his daughters had certainly taken notes on how his wife had treated him,

and Letty had always told them that they had free rein over Dad.

Dolores and Alma had taken this to heart, bringing Isaiah with them in their van when they’d gone to the

Woodstock concert in 1969…they’d parked him in a Porta-Potty and had Isaiah orally service dozens of

young men and women, as their way of promoting free love!

Estelle, who Isaiah suspected was the daughter of one of Letty’s black lovers, had been a beautiful girl, a light

chocolate and sexy as hell. She and Isaiah had had a pleasant and loving relationship, but it had not stopped

her from taking Dad’s pants down and whipping his bare ass with a frying pan when he’d been somewhat

judgmental of her boyfriends.

Later, when Estelle had married Doyle, a promising young architect, she’d put Doyle and Isaiah in kneeling

stocks together when she’d visited…this was after Letty’s death, and after Isaiah’s unfortunate second

marriage.

Estelle had put Isaiah through the same disciplinary paces as her husband whenever she’d visited, but

unfortunately they’d lived so far away that this was only once or twice a year.

Gerardine, the youngest had been the only child living at home when Letty had passed on. Geri was a honey

blonde and sweet natured to the extreme. Although she’d witnessed much, as a child does, being raised in a

BDSM house, she’d not taken any involvement in Isaiah’s particular fetishes until his second marriage had

ended.

At this point, Geri had been in her junior year at Buttermilk State University, a media relations major, whatever

that was, and she’d often crawled on Isaiah’s lap, as she’d done as a little girl, to soothe him, and comfort his

loneliness. “I wish I could help you, Daddy” Geri would say, as he stroked her long curly blonde hair.

“Honey, it’s all right” Isaiah would tell her. “I had forty good years with your mother, and that’s more than

any man should expect. I do have my needs, but I can see professionals at the PainCafe.”

Isaiah didn’t feel uncomfortable mentioning the PainCafe to his youngest daughter, as she and Estelle had

both been bartenders there, as a way of making a few extra dollars to spend on female nonsense.

Geri knew a great deal about the whole chastity belt thing as well—and finally, noting Isaiah’s depression,

she’d decided that she would take his keys. “But Daddy, I’m not going to be around all the time to take the

thing on and off you, so you can’t pester me for the keys more than once a month.”

But of course having his genitals locked in chastity made Isaiah a little crazy. And Geri took some advantage

of this…one night, as Isaiah was tossing and turning in his bed, because he was so horny, he felt her little

curvy figure snuggle in beside him in the lonely queen-sized bed.

“What’s going on?” Isaiah had asked sleepily, and Geri had grinned. “Well, I’m horny and you’re horny,

Daddy…and Mommy told me when I was thirteen that my real dad was Mr. McMullen the dude who

delivers for Dysart Deli…so I figure it’s cool if you relieve my horniness just a little… it’s no sin, right?”

She had stripped off her nightshirt, and my goodness, what a cute little body she had. Small firm breasts

the size of oranges, and a tight little vagina…and Isaiah had gotten his head down and buried it in his

“daughter’s” quim, and brought her to about seven orgasms, before spinning her on her stomach and eating

out her gorgeous little buttocks.

This made him hornier than ever, but Geri felt that too much complaining got on her nerves so she told

Isaiah to shut it. The next evening she’d come in again, but this time she’d brought a strap-on that she

attached to Isaiah’s chastity device, right where his dick was supposed to be.

“Now fuck me, Daddy…give it to me hard!” And Isaiah had fucked her to about five orgasms! And then

she’d wanted more from his tongue, and he’d done yeoman’s duty down there, before she’d finally given him

a sloppy kiss and turned over and gone to sleep.

This had been even more frustrating for poor Isaiah. The more he’d been horny, the harder he’d thrust

himself in Geri’s pussy, and of course all it had gotten him was sore hips…he was really trying to get hard in

the tiny compartment in his belt. But he’d felt like his life was in control again, which was so important.

A few weeks after this, after nights of futilely fucking Geri and getting nowhere fast, his daughter had come

home and ordered Isaiah to strip and kneel, and she’d removed the chastity device, and made him lie on the

floor while she ran her adorable pink toes, each painted a different color up and down his engorged cock

until he’d finally spurted all over his stomach.

After she’d locked him back up again, he’d thanked Gerardine for being so sweet. “I don’t know what I’d do

without you, honey.” Isaiah had said, and Geri had smiled.

“Well, Dad…I am planning to go to New York after this semester as I’ve been offered a job doing PR for one

of the TV shows. I don’t know what you plan could be after this…there’s probably someone out there for

you…some lucky girl. You’re a great guy, after all!”

What would he do without her? He just didn’t know. There had been two more weeks of him servicing Geri

with no orgasms…then she’d had a male lover come and made poor Isaiah service the two of them for ten

days straight.

All the cocksucking and cunt lapping and no release at all. At the end of that time, when Geri’s boyfriend

left, Isaiah had looked so sad, so they’d taken him in the bathroom and lay him in the tub, unlocking his

chastity belt.

Geri had stood over his cock, rubbing her foot on it, and the boyfriend had stood over Isaiah’s face, shoving

his toes in Isaiah’s mouth…and they’d done this for about ten minutes, but just as Isaiah had been about to

cum, Geri had kicked him in the balls, the boyfriend had peed on him, and they’d jumped out of the tub,

turning the shower on icy cold for about an hour…

And then, six weeks after that, Gerardine had handed Isaiah back his chastity keys and kissed him goodbye…

and he’d had a solitary orgasm. It was tough finding someone nice!

Fortunately, Isaiah had then met Guillermo, who was the landscaper for the PainCafe’s hotel gardens.

Guillermo was gay as a goose, and a big strong dominant, and although Isaiah himself was not gay, he and

Guillermo spent eight years together, and Guillermo could whip and torture with quite a bit of energy, and

rarely allowed Isaiah an orgasm!

And fortunately for Isaiah, he’d used condoms with Guillermo, because a year and a half ago, Guillermo had

passed away of AIDS related lymphoma.

And now Isaiah worked disconsolately at the gift shop. It kept him from masturbating obsessively, which

of course was his wont, to BDSM tapes and magazines…and Bootsie had come in, and Isaiah tried to be

polite…her husband was a lucky man!

“How are you doing, Isaiah? I want to find a way to make this chastity belt a little more snug. I am sick of

Darrell’s erections…he just gets too much pleasure as it is, you know?” Bootsie smiled and Isaiah thought

about what beautiful eyes she had…and what a rack!

“Just a bit more discomfort if you know what I mean. I don’t want him to feel too cramped, but I think he

gets off rubbing his erection on the inside of his belt right now.” Bootsie’s beautiful eyes appealed to Isaiah.

“I can fix this, Bootsie, and if you like, I can install little needles in it, and this will keep Darrell’s thoughts

pure, or his penis pricked, eh…give the word prick a new meaning?” Isaiah was not much of a wit, most

engineers aren’t, but Bootsie smiled anyway, and she asked Isaiah how he was doing.

“I’m all right. I do envy your husband for having you hold his keys, though.” Isaiah ended up telling Bootsie

much of the story of his life, as he worked on the chastity belt.

“How much do I owe you?” Bootsie asked, and Isaiah had smiled and told her it was on the house. She had

smiled, and asked him if he’d like to cook her a steak sometime.

Isaiah was thrilled by this…but my God, what would a twenty something girl like this, married, want to do

with him? He was a geezer from the word go.

But Isaiah was no fool—he invited Bootsie over for that steak! He actually made her a full gourmet meal,

and afterwards brought Bootsie homemade cappuccino in his wife’s old demitasse cups on their balcony.

“Where’s Darrell tonight?” Isaiah asked, not because he was curious, but just to make conversation. “Is he

upset that you’re here?”

Bootsie laughed deep in her throat. “No, I go out a lot with a variety of men and women, and Darrell is

generally at home, catching up on housework. Tonight though, he is dressed in drag as Darien and he, and

his secretary Thelma, and her transvestite boyfriend Ambrosia are out on the town…Darien and Ambrosia

are getting cock-sucking lessons.”

Isaiah paused, smiling ruefully. “I had to do that in the discos in Buttermilk Falls, but fortunately Letty had

me stop it in the early 80’s when the gay plague came out.”

“That is lucky for you. But I make Darien use a condom when she blows her strangers.” Bootsie laughed

throatily. “Two if she likes. Not that there’s any chance that I’d catch anything, as Darrell, or Darien and I

have ceased having any sort of physical relations.”

Isaiah nodded his head. That had happened for him as well. He and Letty had not had sex together since the

early sixties, and three of their nine children had been half black, and one was either Hispanic or Chinese…

“But the reason I wanted us to have dinner was that I feel badly for your plight.” Bootsie said, looking intently

at Isaiah. “You seem so lonely, and you’re a wonderful guy. Even a senior citizen deserves to be a slave boy if

he likes, right?”

Isaiah smiled. “Yes, that’s a great attitude to have, Bootsie. I do miss having my submissive side exercised

as it were.”

Bootsie laughed. “Well, you’re being much too familiar calling me Bootsie. You’d better call me Miss Bootsie,

and take off your clothes.” Isaiah hesitated, but then he began undressing as Bootsie sat and watched him.

He had had some hope she might undress as well, but of course that wasn’t going to happen. She was quite

attractively attired in a keyhole slip dress and high heels…and now he was naked.

“Perhaps we should go inside though, as neighbors can see me from the balcony.” Isaiah said haltingly, and

Bootsie laughed and shook her head.

“No, Isaiah. I don’t think so. I don’t care what your neighbors think of you. You have too much ego as it is.”

She took a wooden plank, whittled at the end out of her purse. “Why don’t you lie across my knee and we’ll

see if I can knock some of that attitude out of you.”

Guillermo had been a big strong man, and had brought Isaiah to tears many a time when wielding the strap,

but it was moonlight unto sunlight when compared to Bootsie’s thrashing….

She was not as strong as Guillermo had been, but she knew the vulnerable nerve endings on a man’s bottom,

and she nearly gave Isaiah a nervous breakdown in fifty swats with that damnable plank.

She let him cry on his knees in front of her, and laughed as he cowered, and then enjoyed it as he licked and

sucked her toes and gave her a full foot massage. “Now get me your chastity belt” she said.

Isaiah limped to the closet where his dusty chastity belt was kept, and he washed it in the sink before

bringing it to his new Mistress. Bootsie looked it over critically, commenting on what an old fashioned

model it was.

“But we can get you something more modern later. What we need to do now is lock you up and throw out all

this BDSM porn you have in the house. I’d much rather you spent your time creatively thinking of ways to

please me, Isaiah darling.”

And then Bootsie crooked her French nail, and Isaiah came closer, and he stood in front of her as she toyed

with his burgeoning penis. It was quite a thrill—Isaiah was in his seventies, to have a young woman playing

with his dick. Letty had been quite a beauty, but young Bootsie was certainly a competitor.

And Isaiah had a fine view into Bootsie’s cleavage, and she was quite well proportioned. Bootsie began

rubbing Isaiah’s dick and toying with the vein under it. Although he was quick to respond, his dick growing

in her hand, she clucked her tongue.

“I think you’ll be even hornier after a few weeks in the belt, Isaiah.” Bootsie said as she pulled and stroked his

dick with energy and abandon. “You’ve just been jerking this thing too much for a nice old man. The party

is over now, my friend.”

Shortly after this, Bootsie locked Isaiah in his belt, and left. Isaiah couldn’t believe he was locked up again.

Of course he wanted to jerk off, but he couldn’t, and watching the porn didn’t help the matter, so he boxed it

up, and the next day he took it to the Dungeonopolis gift shop, and put it with the Used items.

Within seventy-two hours, Isaiah began feeling very panicky. His dick was getting hard in the middle of the

night again, and for an old man, he was really thinking about sex a lot. It might have cleared the mystery up

if he’d known that Bootsie was friendly with his assistant Simone, who was doctoring his coffee with Viagra.

By the end of the week, he called Bootsie at home, he’d had to look up her number. “Can we get together,

Miss Bootsie?” Isaiah asked pleadingly. “It-it’s getting very difficult for me. I am surprised that I’m not

adjusting to chastity as easily as the last time.”

Bootsie had laughed and told Isaiah to call her in another week, and then she hung up. Isaiah drove home

and took a cold shower. He then watched a PBS documentary about gorillas in West Africa, but even that

had aroused him.

Isaiah was in good shape for a senior citizen, and had an exercise regimen already, but he began doing

jumping jacks, and then did some push ups as well, and finally he was exhausted enough to fall asleep.

On Wednesday of the following week, Bootsie called Isaiah at the Dungeonopolis gift shop. “Hey, there stud.

How are you feeling?”

Isaiah breathed excitedly, listening to Bootsie’s voice. “I’m lonely and horny, Miss Bootsie. It’s been so long

and oh, I’m getting sick of this chastity belt. But of course I’m glad to be under the care of a loving dominant

“he hastily amended.

“Well, that’s good. Why don’t you expect me to drop by around seven…we’ll see if we can work on earning

you an orgasm hey, sweetie?” Bootsie paused. “Now make sure the house is clean though, darling. It seemed

a bit dusty when I was there. I’m sure Letty didn’t let it get that way, did she?”

That was true. Letty had always supervised Isaiah’s cleaning of the house from the time they’d married.

She’d given Isaiah twenty minutes to get home from the office—none of this stopping for a beer with the

fellows—and she’d always greeted him with her cane and a list of chores.

Isaiah had generally had to take off his suit and put on a pair of panties and a garter belt and brassiere and

high heels, and get to work vacuuming, mopping and waxing the floors, scrubbing the baseboards and the

refrigerator, washing windows and vacuuming draperies, and whatever else needed doing.

“My goodness it’s just amazing that you have such a sparkling house and still have time to shop with your

girlfriends and work on your backhand at the Club!” one of Letty’s girlfriends had said to her.

“Yes, my backhand is so important” Letty had replied, and Isaiah, who had been serving the women tea, had

shivered. Letty had been a martinet about checking chores, and had thrashed Isaiah’s bare buttocks for any

imagined slight.

Sometimes after Letty had checked Isaiah’s chores, she’d put a rubber hood on his head and put his legs in a

spreader bar, locking him in a closet for the evening, so she could have friends over from the art world.

Sometimes, if she was afraid Isaiah would get bored, Letty would attach an enema bag as well and put the

funnel in Isaiah’s mouth…a pipe was drilled through the hole to the bathroom, and when guests used the

toilet, the contents were sent through the tube to Isaiah’s mouth…so he could enjoy the party a bit, himself.

Now and again, when it had been a more personal, BDSM party, Isaiah had been taken down from the closet

for a moment or so…as the hood had no eye holes, he could see nothing, but it would be unzipped from time

to time and a penis would be shoved through, or he’d be placed on the floor, and a woman would sit on his

face, and then of course he’d be locked up once again after he’d satiated whoever it was with his tongue…

Other times, after Isaiah had done a thorough cleaning, Letty would set him up in this contraption, but

attach the hose to a plastic container filled with a liquid meal, and she’d leave him there for the weekend, to

shit in diapers and suck at the tube when he needed refreshments! It had been quite a peculiar situation…

Isaiah wondered if Bootsie’s methods post housekeeping were anything like Letty’s. One thing he did find

out, was Bootsie was a much more meticulous housekeeper than Letty had ever been.

As soon as Bootsie came in, Isaiah noticed she was wearing little white gloves. Although the house seemed to

be spotless, Bootsie ran a gloved finger across the mantel, and yes…there was dust!

“So, you thought you’d cleaned, did you, Isaiah?” Bootsie asked, and swung her bendable rattan cane,

swatting him in the chest. “Take off your clothes. You’re a lazy pig, just like my husband. Darrell didn’t clean

the bathroom right, and I just poured a jar of Miracle Whip in the commode and he’s licking it out now.”

Isaiah hustled to strip down, yanking off his red polo shirt and tossing it on the floor. WHACK! WHACK!

“Can’t you fold things up?” Bootsie demanded as she lashed his back and buttocks with the thwippy cane.

As soon as Isaiah was naked, Bootsie put her cane under her arm and unlocked his chastity device, just after

she’d cuffed his hands to the back of his head. “I don’t trust you much further than I can throw you, Isaiah.”

Bootsie stroked and tickled Isaiah’s long denied cock a bit, and he began breathing excitedly, but then she

punched him in the balls, telling him that business came before pleasure.

Then Bootsie went over everything in the house, and found quite a bit of dust, and then she “accidentally”

kicked over a wastebasket, and pretended to discover the contents strewn across the floor.

WHACK! WHACK! “I can’t believe what a pig you are, Isaiah!” The cane landed on Isaiah’s stomach, and

then he began running, looking a bit ridiculous with his hands locked to the back of his neck, as Bootsie

chased him, cutting his buttocks and the backs of his legs with the rattan.

Finally Isaiah tripped on the carpet and came down hard on the wood floor in his bedroom, and Bootsie

whacked away enthusiastically with the cane, as she berated him.

“You (WHACK!!!!)men are such(WHACK!!!!) slobs. To invite (WHACK!!!!)a woman over and have

(WHACK!!!!)her walk into a(WHACK!!!!) shitpile like this(WHACK!!!!) is so utterly(WHACK!!!!)

insulting. I can’t believe(WHACK!!!!) you’d have the (WHACK!!!!)nerve to have (WHACK!!!!)me here and

not (WHACK!!!!)even clean up just a little (WHACK!!!!)bit!”

Poor Isaiah began trying to crawl, using his knees, but he could get little traction on the floor as the barrage

of painful swats came down on his butt and legs. Finally he climbed under the bed and hid there, sobbing as

Bootsie ranted on.

It reminded him of when he’d fled from his teenage granddaughter, Melva. When Dolores had taken Isaiah

to Woodstock, and subjugated him to the eternal sodomy of its denizens, at one point he’d been foolish

enough to protest.

Dolores and Alma had taken him behind their van and whipped him with a length of vacuum cleaner cord,

and then Dolores had noticed a corpulent young man in a Doors T-shirt watching.

His name was Hobie, and he was a dental student, when not freaking out to psychedelics, and it turned out

that he spent much of his parents allowance (that was not earmarked for drugs and rock records) paying

Mistress Piccola of Kansas City to do just what Isaiah’s daughters were giving him for free…

Hobie and Dolores had married, and produced Melva, a temperamental little thing, who had spent a

summer with Isaiah after her junior year of high school. Melva had taken over Isaiah’s discipline to a new

level, and after he’d protested mildly of her using his Platinum Visa at a Betsy Johnson store, she’d stripped

and whipped Granddaddy until he had yes…hidden under the bed!

And then Melva had used the broom to poke at him, trying to get him out so she could take another crack at

him. Isaiah had had to tell her she could use his credit card all she liked to calm his little darling down.

But he had no recourse like this with Bootsie!

“Isaiah, I want you to crawl out from under that bed NOW” Bootsie said, tapping her foot. “I’ve never seen

such dereliction of duty. You’re going to have to pay for your sins, and you might as well take your medicine

cheerfully.”

When Isaiah continued to hide, Bootsie had crouched down, reached in and dragged the poor man out by

his ear, and ordered him to kneel on the bed, where she played with his cock and told him what a naughty

boy he had been.

And Isaiah realized what a lucky guy he was!

ZENITH’S HUMILIATION

This was the test. “Zenith, take down your pants, NOW.” Enrico said to his insolent young wife. Zeni tossed

her hair at Ric “What the hell are you doing, this is my family reunion.” But Ric could see the challenge

in her eyes, and he was enthralled by the way her light brown curls bounced against her shoulders as she

attempted to flounce away from him.

And then Ric took Zeni’s arm, and pulled her to him, briskly unsnapping the buttons of her jeans himself, as

her parents, siblings, and various aunts and cousins gaped. Pulling down her jeans and panties, Ric took the

willow switch he’d whittled and lifted it, swinging it down across her full buttocks.

Ric couldn’t help noticing how the young teen cousins were checking out Aunt Zeni’s hot derriere, and this

amused him, even as he enthralled to Zenith’s embarrassment. WHACK! WHACK! SNAP! THWACK!

Zeni’s sister Jasmine was standing nearby, and she had a wistful smile on her face. Ric knew that Zeni and Jas

had had a rivalry all their lives; Jasmine, who was flat-chested, had always been jealous of Zeni’s full breasts

and her extensive social life, and Zeni had envied Jas’s academic prowess and her fabulous computer career.

“What are you doing to my daughter?” asked Zeni’s dad in alarm, but Jas held him off. “Dad, this is their

thing. Look, she’s into it. Ric is giving Zeni what she needs, the spoiled little bitch.”

Ric tapped Zeni hard on the head as she lay sobbing on the picnic bench. “Tell your parents to back off, Zeni,

and tell them you need your Master’s correction.” He continued to swing the switch, enjoying the long red

weals that were appearing on Zeni’s vanilla bubble cheeks.

“Daddy, really it’s okay. I was rude to Ric and we are in a disciplinary relationship.” Zeni said, tears coursing

down her cheeks. “I need this, sir.”

And how true it was! Ric had been amazed the first time his young wife had asked him to spank her. He

was a committed feminist, and had always been horrified watching his Bolivian father bossing his mother

around. He didn’t want it to be that way in his family.

But Zenith had had a past in the BDSM world—she’d been a waitress at the PainCafe, the BDSM-oriented

restaurant and hotel in Buttermilk Falls, before getting her degree in physical therapy…she’d had an

interesting life!

Ric was relatively sheltered—he’d spent a few years in the seminary before realizing the priesthood wasn’t for

him, and he’d dated quiet, conservative girls before being enticed by the hippy-dippy Zeni.

And he’d been a great husband to her, loving and supportive and all that. She didn’t make a lot as a physical

therapy aide, and Ric’s job selling boilers and plumbing supplies had basically looked after Zeni really well,

as he was quite generous.

But then she’d asked him to whip her with his belt, and oddly, it had turned him on to watch Zeni demurely

take down her panties, flip up her skirt and bend across his knees. When he’d been young, his father had

disciplined his cute sister Francesca the same way, and he’d watched, secretly from a doorway.

After he’d given her a few half-hearted swats, trying not to hurt her, Zenith had mocked him for being a

“wimp” and then he’d lost his temper and whipped her hard until her buttocks were deep red and stinging

and Zeni was weeping…

Ric had worried that his wife had thought him abusive, that he’d gone too far, but then she’d asked with

gasping breaths, “Do you want me to go stand in the corner with my panties down, Master?”

That had been an even bigger thrill. Sitting and watching television while his wife’s cute buttocks peeked out

to him from the corner where she stood, for nearly an hour before he’d summoned her to sit in his lap, and

he’d comforted her, and she’d promised to be a better girl for him, thanking him for the punishment.

Now, as he lashed Zeni’s buttocks a few more times, Jasmine looked at him, grinning. “It’s good that she’s

getting the punishment she needs.”Jas said, smiling. “She’s a real little bitch sometimes.”

Zeni turned her head on the bench and shouted “Fuck you”

But then Ric slapped the side of her head. “Apologize to Miss Jasmine right now. You are a little bitch.”Ric

said harshly as he brought the willow switch down once again hard on the tender area between her thighs

and buttocks. Zeni bit her lip, refusing to say anything, and Ric whipped her harder. “Do you want me to

make you strip completely naked in front of your family” he asked. “I will.”

“I’m sorry I sassed you, Miss Jasmine.” Zeni said with clenched teeth. Ric knew how hard this must be for her.

She never would admit that Jasmine had any advantages over her at all—it was a bitter rivalry.

Then Zeni had startled Ric a few days after the initial whipping when he’d come back from work, and she’d

had a long bamboo cane sitting on the coffee table. Ric had looked really startled, and when he’d turned to

Zeni, she was taking off her top, revealing her full freckled breasts in a demibra.

Zenith knew how much Ric adored her boobs, most men stared at them, and after she’d removed the demi

bra, she put her hands behind her back and she had asked Ric to whip them.

“Hit—hit your breasts?” Ric had asked incredulously. “But they’re very sensitive, aren’t they?” But Zeni

looked at him challengingly, and jutted her pink nipples out further.

“What’s wrong, are you afraid? I bet you can’t make me grab them no matter how hard you hit” Zeni had

that way about her, she could be awfully annoying when she wanted to give some lip…and then she’d be

winsome and apologetic later on.

Ric had taken up the bamboo cane and tapped in in his hnad. He had still been aroused by what had gone

on when he’d whipped her ass the week before and he knew he wanted more…and just the previous night,

Zeni had sucked and licked his dick tenderly and told him what a powerful Master he was!

So Ric had swung the cane and caught Zeni across the nipples, and although she’d winced, her hands

remained behind her back…and then she’d winked at him! So he’d become perturbed and swatted her three

more times across the tits.

“Thought you could make me jump, huh?” Zeni had then said. “I’m tougher than you think, spic.” And that

had set Ric off, racial slurs always did.

WHACK! THWACK WHAP! SMACK! Finally Zenith had grabbed her welted boobs, her eyes streaming

with tears, but Ric hadn’t had enough, and he’d taken her by the arm and dragged her to the bed and gone

to work on her bottom until she’d screamed in agony.

But once again, after he was done, Zeni had crawled to him, and kissed him and told him what a manly

Master he was. She’d apologized profusely for having offended him.

But he’d been quite piqued with Zenith at this point. He couldn’t understand why this rich girl from

Buttermilk Hill had taken it upon herself to provoke him, and then engage in racial epithets just to get him

to give her a thrashing.

And Ric began looking for reasons to spank and punish Zeni. The following evening at dinner, he complained

that she hadn’t put enough cayenne pepper in the soup, and he’d taken her to their bedroom. She’d been

wearing a cute ribbed white dress with a blue sash and a plunging V-neck, and she looked quite enticing.

But he ripped the dress off her, and took off his belt, whaling away initially at her firm full young breasts,

before taking her across his knee.

And Zeni began finding ways to get Ric crazy. She’d leave the living room a mess, but walk around

twitching her butt in ultra tight 501 black jeans, and he’d end up taking them down and whipping her full

creamy butt with one of his military hairbrushes.

Ric got such a kick out of it when Zeni would kick and rebel, and he’d enjoy the way her buttocks would

redden and blotch as he brought whatever implement he was holding down on her defenseless rear.

And when he punished her breasts it was such a joy—her areolas were shiny and smooth, and when he cut a

switch from the back yard oak tree and it ripped into her tender bust…his dick got so excited it almost burst

through the zipper!

And then Zeni had instructed Ric on tying her breasts up, and showed him where a previous Master had

pierced the nipples and showed him how to string wire through them and hang her from the ceiling…

for hours!

But Zenith eventually wanted to up the ante—she told Ric of her previous Master, a fellow called Gordon

who, noting her vanity concerning her light brown locks, had shaved Zeni’s head one summer when they

were at a remote cottage…he’d humiliated her, taking her through a village where no one knew her, and her

head was bald, and he forced her to re-shave it and polish it every day with his semen for a month.

“And that nearly broke me…but what I really dream of is being humiliated, you know what I mean?” Zenith

had looked into Ric’s eyes when she’d said this. “I want to be broken…seriously!”

Ric tried different things. One day he’d taken Zenith into the changing room at the Gap and taken her

panties down and whipped her ass until she’d screamed, and when she’d come out into the store again,

everyone had stared at her—her eyes were red and weepy and she was tenderly rubbing her shapely bottom,

and of course Ric had a riding crop that he was still waving in the air.

And then once Ric had taken Zenith to a roadhouse bar out on Route 19 and made her strip and dance on

a table while rednecks threw beer cans and small change at her. Ric had used a small dog-whip to thrash her

legs and make her dance faster and faster, and he’d threatened to make Zenith suck off the patrons when she

was done dancing…that had excited her to no end.

It had been very difficult to keep in the dominant mode sometimes. Ric really worshipped Zenith…and

so many times he had covered her beautiful buttocks with kisses and massages, and it was quite difficult to

trade this off for severity and whippings.

She was the kind of girl who could make your knees weak when she smiled, and now he had to be severe

towards her…but as he continued to punish her, Ric found that it was getting easier and easier…she was

after all, just a human being…a damned good looking human being, but still…

And then the family reunion had come up, and Ric had always noticed the rivalry between Zenith and

Jasmine. They were spoiled hippie girls of indulgent left-wing ex-hippie parents, and they’d gotten anything

they’d wanted.

The only friction had been in the competitiveness between them, and when Zenith had smarted off at Ric

after he’d made a comment about how he wanted his burger cooked, he’d taken her pants down and began

whipping her.

And suddenly he looked at Jasmine and thought perhaps he knew how he could up the ante in Zenith’s

training!

“Jasmine, if Zenith gets on your nerves so much, perhaps YOU should give her the whipping.” Ric said now,

and he handed the switch to Jasmine.

“No, Enrico no….please, Ric…I refuse to let that bitch—“ But Ric pulled Zenith’s head up off the picnic

table and slapped her hard. “How dare you mouth off to me and Miss Jasmine!” he demanded. “Now I’m

going to insist that she punish you thoroughly!”

Jasmine took the switch and smiled evilly. She had always been so furious at her older sister, the pretty one,

who’d had all the attention, and the great social life. She’d gotten the car keys first, and HOGGED them

even after Jas had turned sixteen, and she’d always had first pick of men, and pretty much everything else.

Jasmine came closer, she was a little hesitant, but Ric patted her shoulder. “It’s all in the wrist, just swing

firmly, and you’ll give your big sister a valuable lesson.”

Jasmine took the switch and lashed Zenith hard on the lower curve of her buttocks. Zenith was trying not

to make a sound, but Jasmine swung again and again, harder and harder, and finally she saw silent tears

coming from Zeni’s eyes.

Ric watched, quite aroused. He knew it was the ultimate humiliation for Zenith to take a bare bottomed

whipping from her younger sister, in front of all her relatives. But there didn’t seem to be much of a

groundswell of anyone protecting Zeni. She was a spoiled little bitch and always had been.

Ric imagined what it must’ve been like for Zeni that previous summer, when her lover Gordon had shaved

her head. He could picture her being paraded through the town, in a Lady Godiva shame…but no one she

knew had been there. Here, everyone Zenith knew was here, and there were young relatives who would live

to tell their grandchildren about Aunt Zenith’s punishment.

As Jas slashed Zenith’s bottom, Zenith began sobbing loudly, and beating her little fists against the

picnic table.

And from Zenith’s perspective, it was perhaps the worst day of her life. She had always looked down on

Jasmine, considered Jas a geek, and they’d battled forever. And now her little sister was punishing her with

a rare vigor.

Finally, Jasmine threw down the switch. “That was extremely satisfying” she reported to Ric and the family.

She went and sat down in a lawn chair and had some lemonade.

“Now you can dress and compose yourself.” Ric said evenly, “And I hope you’ll make my hamburger as I

asked you to, and there will be no more nonsense from you.”

And Zeni did, the tears still coursing down her cheeks. She blew her nose, and tried to ignore all the relatives

who were staring at her. She cooked and prepared Ric’s hamburger, putting on all the pickles and such, and

gave it to him.

“Now I want a hamburger, too” Jasmine said warningly, and Zeni sighed, but got her sister a hamburger, and

then she went into her mother’s house to have a stiff drink. Zeni chugged some Scotch, and realized she was

very aroused.

Because of course that was what she’d wanted—to be punished, humiliated like a dog. And by her geeky

little sister, too. She hated Ric, but she loved him, too. And—

“Okay, Aunt Zeni, I want some service, too!” Zenith whirled around, and saw her second cousin, Young

Carlyle, staring at her. Young Carlyle was a skateboard freak, the type with the backwards baseball cap and

the baggy pants like the rappers wore.

His father was a corporate accountant, but you’d never realize it by looking at Young Carlyle, who dressed

and acted as if he had been transplanted to South Central L.A. when he was born.

“Carl, I don’t have time to talk right now, dear.” Zeni said patiently. “Let Auntie have a little time alone. I’m

sure it was traumatizing for you to have to witness—“

Young Carlyle would have none of it. “I want service now, bitch! Take off your top. I want to see your tits.

Uncle Ric said you’d better listen to me.”

Oh no. God, Ric was taking this too far. Young Carlyle was a child, not quite nineteen years old—but now

Zeni was even hornier, and she knew she didn’t want to anger her husband.

Sighing, Zenith stood up. She could see the boy’s eyes beadily zoning in on her breasts. He had been staring

at them obsessively at family get-togethers since he’d hit puberty.

“I don’t know what your parents are going to think of me—“Young Carlyle was upon her.

He grabbed Zenith by the hair and shook her like a kitten. “I told you to take that top off. I’m the Master

here.” And he slapped her, hard.

Zenith looked at her young cousin. What could she do? Finally she pulled her top over her head, revealing

her full pink breasts in a modest black brassiere. Young Carlyle’s tongue hung out of his mouth in adolescent

appreciation.

Zeni was sure the boy was a virgin. He had revolting acne, and a nose like a turnip. Still, he was young and

muscular, and she wondered if it would hurt if he decided to give her a whipping. Was he as strong as Ric?

Young Carlyle licked his lips as he stared at Zeni’s nipples, poking through the lacy black bra. “Okay, now

you’re going to suck my dick!” Young Carlyle pulled down his pants and shorts and waved his dick at her. It

was a relatively big one.

Zenith got down on her hands and knees and took Young Carlyle’s penis in her mouth, and began diddling

it with her tongue.

“That’s right, baby…give it to me, oh yeah.” Young Carlyle’s eyes closed, enjoying the kissing and slurping of

his tumescent cock. “You older chicks know how to do it, boy.”

Suddenly Zeni heard the screen door opening and someone coming in. She was going to pull Young Carlyle’s

dick out of her mouth, but he grabbed her scalp and held it there. “Hey there, Rosemary, I’m just havin’ a

little party here with Zeni…”

Rosemary was Young Carlyle’s sister, an obese brat who had also always been jealous of Zenith’s looks. And,

unlike Jasmine, Rosemary didn’t have a whole ton of intelligence to make up for her very below average

charms.

“Is she doin’ a good job, Carl? Jasmine says she’s a lazy slut you know.” Rosemary’s nasal voice infuriated

Zenith, but she kept sucking Young Carlyle’s dick, and hoped he would cum soon,before his parents came in

and had her arrested for molestation. He was over eighteen, but apparently had the maturity of a third grader.

“You know, Rosemary, you should take that fireplace poker and whip her ass with it, make her suck my dick

harder…get her going!” And to Zenith’s horror, she felt her pants being taken down and her panties once

again, and then the heavy metal SWAT of the fireplace poker. Rosemary was a tubbo, but she had good

muscular arms apparently.

“That’s right, suck away, Aunt Zenith” Young Carlyle said, as Zeni tried to ignore the poker that was slapping

her bottom. “Otherwise I’ll have Rosemary shove this poker up your fat ass, baby!”

THE CRAFTSMAN

F.X. Copeland parked his truck across the street from the Enright’s Colonial house. Real nice, these houses,

Cope thought to himself. He had grown up on the other side of Buttermilk Falls, in the tenements, but his

Daddy had done some of the work rehabbing the various stately mansions here on Buttermilk Hill, and

Cope had helped a few times when he was a little squirt.

Cope got his toolbox and his manifest list and shut the truck door. Cope was a little fireplug of a guy, who

wore a green coverall, but it was unwise to dismiss him—he was a craftsman of the first order. And how

many other people knew how to build and repair chastity belts? A Copeland belt was a thing to be proud of.

He’d fixed elevators for a while, and then he’d done HVAC, but the belt thing was up and coming. Cope

walked across the street in his stolid gait, and rang the doorbell.

A housekeeper opened the door. Yessir nice titties on them Hispanic girls, Cope thought cheerily. “You are

Mister Copeland? Mrs. Enright waiting in the parlor.”

Cope entered the parlor, and yup, here’s a looker. Mrs. Enright was blonde and she had a nice figure in that

little black dress of hers. “How are you, Mr. Copeland? I am so glad you could come on such short notice!”

“Oh, you call me Cope, ma’am…what seems to be the trouble? Y’all need a belt?”

Carmel Enright smiled at the squat little man. Well at least he WAS a man, unlike Watson. Watty was

constantly whining, and after she’d told him that she was no longer interested in sexual relations…and she

began dating around a little, of course Watty had begun playing with himself.

Disgusting…sneaking into her bathroom, jerking off while sniffing the panties from her laundry basket, and

of course sneaking around, trying to get a peek of her as she showered or changed for her dates.

Certainly, Carmel couldn’t blame Watty for having a case on her…she had curly short blonde hair, and nice

natural 36 DD breasts…very long legs and a heart-shaped ass, as one of her old boyfriends had once told

her…her parents had been thrilled when she’d “caught” one of the rich Enrights…but rich men, though

good to marry, weren’t too good in the sack.

She’d finally forbidden Watty to play with her breasts because he was always slurping at them greedily, it was

quite digusting. This had been heartbreaking for him, as she’d waited a year after they’d started dating to let

him touch them in the first place!

And then, finally she’d told Watty she wanted him to stay in his own twin bed…and what does he do?

Snivels, bitches, and masturbates…disgusting!

Masturbation was such a disgusting, adolescent behavior in a man. Last night after she’d caught Watty

messing around with her Victoria’s Secret catalogue, she’d stripped him and tied him over a hassock and

whipped him hard with his mother’s Amber cherry wood walking stick.

Watty’s mother had presented it to Carmel the day before the wedding. “Watty’s a dear boy, Carmel darling,

but he is a whiner, and often throws tantrums if he doesn’t get his own way…this will be of prime assistance

in handling him.”

Carmel had been amazed how soon she’d needed the damn thing, he’d begun whining and bitching on the

honeymoon, and she’d been glad of bringing it along to the hotel room!

But now there was a bigger problem…with all the masturbation, Watty had become rather heavy lidded

and lackadaisical…and she was so glad when she’d called the manager of the PainCafe, and he’d sent Mr.

Copeland out.

“Well, Cope,” Carmel said, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re here. I will send for Mr. Enright, and you can give

him a measurement, or whatever it is you do.”

“Yes’m.” Cope said as he brought out his measuring tape and his other tools. Damn this is a nice house, he

thought. Oriental rug and all that. Cope’s loving wife, Mrs. Copeland, often pestered him to go antiquing,

and go to auctions, but they could never afford nothin’ like this.

Carmel left the parlor, and in a moment came back with a little bald man, who looked like Mr. Peterson, the

patient in the old Bob Newhart shows when Cope was a boy. He remembered how he and his pals played a

drinking game where you chugged a beer every time someone said “Hi Bob” Them was the days…yessir.

“This is my husband, Watson Enright, Cope.” Mrs. Enright said, smiling. Cope was almost sure, plumb sure

that Mrs. Enright was waving her big bazoom at him, but of course he had to maintain seriousness. This was

the client, after all.

“Now Watty, I want you to take off your clothes, so Mr. Copeland can measure your private parts and lock

you into something sensible, so I don’t have to run around keeping your hands off your pecker.” Carmel

tapped Watty’s chin with a red nail, and he blushed.

“Look here, Carmel, I won’t stand for this. I don’t want to wear a chastity belt, and you’re neglecting your

marital duties by me. How dare you—“

Mrs. Enright slapped her husband hard, and Cope goggled a bit. He was no stranger to witnessing these

female dominated households, but he’d be damned if he’d let a woman slap him around like that. She’d be

chewin’ her teeth.

“Now you take your clothes off right now. Or am I going to have to ask Mr. Copeland to lend me his belt?”

Actually, Cope was wearing a coverall, but Carmel was too distraught to notice this.

Watty Enright looked at his wife in horror. What was she thinking? God, what Watty had put up with for

this woman. He’d met the curvy and enticing Carmel Bromden at the tony Bachelors and Spinsters Ball, a

sort of gala for Buttermilk Falls’s elite, a bit too old for debutante balls, but not quite married yet.

And he’d gone crazy for her! He’d bought her jewelry, and taken her everywhere…he’d begged to touch her

beautiful breasts, and bribed her in every way…and then she’d finally told him, “Watty, you can have all of

me if we’re married!”

And then eight months into being married, she cut him off!

“I’m just not that interested any more, Watty.” Carmel had said to him one night, when she was wearing a

delicious turquoise camisole, painting her nails and lolling her long legs on the bed in their master bedroom.

“And as a matter of fact, I am getting rid of this big bed and we’re going to have twin beds. I really don’t need

you slobbering on me all night long. Don’t argue, or I may consider separate bedrooms.”

This had just made Watty crazy. And then at some point, she’d refused to let him see her naked…said

it made him too excitable. Watty wondered whether Mother was behind all this—she’d been quite the

martinet when he was young.

“No, I’m not going to let you date until you’re older, Watson” Mother had told Watty all through his high

school and University years. “You’re too excitable, and I don’t want some poor girl’s father calling me in a

rage because you poked your thing at her, like you did at that dance recital in the 9th grade.”

All he’d done at the recital, which was what they had after ten weeks of dancing school was have an erection

and stand a little too close to Starline Fauntroy…who was such a bitch..and ever since then, Mother had

attempted to keep poor Watty away from the opposite sex!

And when he’d complained, even at twenty years old, Mother had taken Watty’s pants down and thrashed

him with the cane, and then when he’d finally broken off and gotten married, Mother had given the damn

cane to Carmel!

And so he’d masturbated a bit in secret, remembering, nay relishing the few times that Carmel had allowed

him access to her beautiful, stiff areolas…what a hot girl she was!

And now she didn’t want him to masturbate. She said he was uninterested in helping her out, in

remembering things when he was all spent. “I just think it’s a nasty habit” she’d said.

Mother had been the same way…when she’d caught Watty playing with himself in high school, she’d bound

him naked to the bed and rubbed cayenne pepper and Ben Gay to his genitals until he’d screamed, and then

she’d spun him on his scorched privates and whipped his bare buttocks with her cherry wood walking stick…

but to no avail!

Now Watty stood feeling ridiculous, looking at Mr. Copeland, the chastity belt builder fellow, as his wife

ordered him to strip naked in front of him!

“I am so sick of this. Carmel was saying. “You are so full of shit, and I am tired, utterly tired of trying to get

you to behave yourself.” God, look at how she sashays around, Watty thought.

He remembered taking her to a ball game one summer day…she was wearing this adorable tube top, her

boobs almost spilling out of it, and she’d kissed his neck and made him all hard…but even then, he’d felt she

was play acting, and her eyes had been intently on a handsome young guy on in the next row of seats.

Watty knew at heart he was a Beta male—that his money, his stability made him interesting as a prize to a

woman wanting to settle down, but most of them weren’t all that interested in fooling around with him…it

was regrettable.

And now, of course, Carmel had no interest in him whatsoever. She still knew how to get stuff out of him.

Just a week ago, after the no sex ban had been put in place, she’d crawled on his lap when he’d been reading

the “Financial Times”: and whispered in his ear about some Visa bill until he agreed to write the check…

she’d been so hot in her nightie!

He still remembered Carmel rubbing her full buttocks against his burgeoning penis…she had been so

affectionate, so sweet, until she’d gotten what she wanted. And of course she wanted him to be horny, not to

jerk off. How on earth could she manipulate him otherwise?

Carmel smiled, and walked up to Watty. “You’ve taken too long, darling.” She unbuckled Watty’s belt and

pulled his pants down, right in front of Cope. And then came his underpants—Cope noticed that he was

wearing women’s panties, what th’fuck was that about—and then bent her husband over the armrest of the

chaise lounge.

Carmel pulled Wally’s belt out of his pants and looped it in her hand and began thrashing him—fifty times,

while Cope watched. This was not a new scene to Cope, but again, he couldn’t imagine what went on in

these rich men’s heads.

Finally Carmel tossed the belt down, her husband was weeping, and she ordered him to strip, and poor

Watty did, folding his clothes neatly as they’d taught him in ROTC.

“Now step up here and let Mr. Copeland examine your measly crotch.” Carmel ordered, and Watty did so,

his stomach curdling as the little man in the coverall glided his fingers around Watty’s cock and balls while

wearing surgical rubber gloves.

“Now what I want, Cope” she touched the little man’s shoulder as he was still examining Mr. Enright’s pubic

area “Is a nice, tight fit, and a strong lock. I’ll let him out now and then if he’s a good boy, but much of the

time he’s going to be shut down in that area.”

Cope nodded, and took some measurements, and then arose. “You kin get dressed if ye want, Mr. Enright.”

Cope took the gloves off, and sat delicately in a Victorian balloon backed parlor chair, and consulted his

notes.

“No, I’m afraid not, Watty. Your behavior has been execrable today, and so I’m going to insist that you remain

naked, and in fact, just stand there. If you give me any lip, I’m going to make you stand in the corner for the

rest of the day, including when Pilar comes in to clean.”

Watty looked terribly sad, and a tear coursed down a plump cheek but he stood still, and Cope noticed that

his peeter was getting a little bit of a hard-on. That kind of thing would end when he got locked up, Watty

guessed.

Carmel stood close to Watty, and began playing with his penis. “You’re not going to get to jerk on this

anymore, big boy. Mr. Copeland will see to that. Thank Mr. Copeland for his efforts on your behalf,

darling.”

Watty looked stubborn. “I will not thank—“KICK! Carmel’s knee crashed into Watty’s testicles, and he

buckled. He fell to the ground, and she pulled him up by his ear.

“Now as I said, you are to thank Mr. Copeland. If you keep acting up like this, I’ll make you kiss Mr.

Copeland’s muddy boots as well, Watson.”

Tears of humiliation sogged his cheeks, but Watty finally said “Th-thank you Mis-Mister Copeland for your

efforts, sir.”

“Ain’t no thang” Cope said cheerfully as he put his things away. “It’ll take about a week, mebbe ten days? An’

then I’ll be back with your belt. It’ll be comfortable, lessn’ you get too horny, y’understand.”

Carmel kissed her husband’s ear, much as she had some weeks before when she needed his attentions on

her Visa bill. “Don’t worry…Watty’s going to learn to be a good boy, and not be so focused on sex. Right

darling?”

Carmel’s hand stroked Watty’s member and then she remembered something. “Oh yes. What can I do

to keep him honest until the belt arrives?” Carmel tickled the burgeoning head of Watty’s penis, and she

giggled. “It’s just that he’s such a horny boy.”

“I have what I call my little coffin, ma’am.” Cope said. It turned out that there was a tiny, six inch wooden

box, with a hole in the end, and this was locked onto Watty’s cock with a tiny padlock until he was ready for

the real chastity belt. Carmel was excited, and gave Cope a hug, and he smiled good naturedly, and took his

leave, wondering if these rich folks were insane.

Cope’s next stop was about a mile south, in mid town Buttermilk Falls. He walked to an apartment building

and was buzzed in, and took the elevator to the 9th floor.

He knocked on the door of 9J, and the door opened. “Hello, Mr. Kutlov!” Cope said, smiling at the serious

young dark haired man who answered.

“I got your piercing stuff, and the electronic connection.” The young man nodded, and walked to the

computer, clicking a button and suddenly a cartoon image of a red-haired hottie, much like Jessica Rabbit of

the old movie came alive on the screen.

“Hey there, Mistress Vivienne.” Cope nodded. He felt a little ridiculous, as it was quite odd to have a client

who was a computer generated image, but certainly he got paid especially well by these people.

“Hello Cope” the cartoon babe said, smiling. “Were you able to get the needed equipment for Anson?”

Mistress Vivienne was dressed in a cartoon belly shirt and cut offs, but then this image metamorphosed into

her wearing a leather corset and holding a whip.

“Yes ma’am, I got it fixed up nice. Kin we use yer mantelpiece, Mr. Kutlov?”

“You have permission to speak, Anson!” the cartoon girl spoke, and suddenly she was in a bikini, riding a

surfboard in the air over what appeared to be an animated New York City. “If he’s a little hoarse, it’s because

it’s the first time he’s been allowed to talk in 72 hours, since his mother called.”

Anson Kutlov spoke. “Yes, of course it’s fine. You can put the bolt in there, Mr. Copeland.”

Cope drilled a hole into the mantelpiece and attached an eyebolt to one of the ends. “Now, you’ll have to

undress there, Mr. Kutlov.” Cope said, and the dark haired man took off all his clothes. Anson’s balls were

locked in a little steel pouch (a creation of Copeland’s) that made masturbation impossible, but his cock

stuck out of the hole of the pouch, and the underside of his glans was pierced with a little closeable hook.

As Cope motioned, Anson moved his hips up, arching his back so that Cope attached the hook in his penis

to the hook in the mantelpiece, which kept Anson Kutlov on his tippie toes, as the penis was locked firmly to

the mantelpiece.

Then Cope reached into his bag and brought out the electronic handcuffs, which he had also constructed,

and he locked these on Kutlov’s wrists, joining them behind his back.

Now Anson Kutlov was on his toes, and when he relaxed, because his feet hurt, he felt intense painful

pressure on his cock. This of course because the pull of an 180 pound man against a delicate foreskin was no

picnic.

“This is excellent” cried Vivienne from the computer screen. “Now as you have it fixed, Copeland, the

handcuffs can be timed for up to twelve hours, am I right? And he can lock them on himself…and only I

can unlock him early?”

“That’s right…if that’s what you want, Mr. Kutlov?” asked Cope, mindful of a lawsuit. “You did sign a

contract, sir.”

Anson nodded and smiled slightly. “It’s all right, Mr. Copeland. Mistress Vivienne has me locked up, but

usually every four hours I think she will agree to let me loose for a twenty minute rest, and to have a meal.”

Cope nodded. “Is everything else workin’ all right. How about the whippin’ machine?” Anson blushed as he

looked towards the huge contraption in the corner of the apartment—a windmill with long strips of leather

attached to it.

When Vivienne ordered Anson to be whipped, he would go to the “machine” and lie across the painful

sawhorse under the windmill, and then Vivienne would press a control button from her mysterious location,

and the windmill would begin pumping and the leather strips would whack Anson’s ass again and again,

sometimes for an hour…

Although Anson had never met Vivienne, and indeed would have been surprised to know that Vivienne was

not only not a young woman, but was an incontinent old pornographer with a modem in a nursing home…

but Anson was devoted to Vivienne anyway!

And thanks to Copeland, his little torture chamber was in place. There were nipple clamps that could be

attached and tightened from Vivienne’s remote location, and also a closet that locked at will.

There was some concern on Cope’s part that a fire might start while Anson was attached or locked up, or

bound to the whipping machine, but it wasn’t his call. He just did the work, and collected the money!

A NEW BEGINNING

Parrish Pindler stood in abject pain as his testicles dragged, with the extensive weights attached to his

chastity belt. Babs whacked the weights between Parrish’s legs as he stood before her. “Yup, that fellow

Copeland is a genius! I needed a little more vavoom to your chastity device, and this certainly has given you

something to think about, huh babe?”

Babs paused, laughing. “You’re more restless than when I put that hot hard-boiled egg up your ass…God,

wasn’t that hilarious!” She whacked the weights with her riding crop again. Babs could do this all day as she

was sitting comfortably in an easy chair as Parrish stood uncomfortably in front of her.

What fascinated Babs about the chastity device of course was how desperate it made Parrish. He followed her

around with pleading eyes, and did whatever she asked him to. Although they had a professional landscaping

service, she’d have him out on Saturday mornings, clipping the hedges in an adult diaper!

Sometimes she’d follow him and shove the clippings into the diaper and then she and her daughters would

watch as he flinched and scratched himself as the thorny branches irritated his crotch and lower stomach.

Then, after he’d come back inside, Babs would take off the diaper, unlock the chastity device and put it in

the dishwasher, and tie Parrish to the four poster bed…and then she’d stroke his cock, running her colored

nails up and down it, as she poked her tongue out at him through full lips.

“Do you love Mommy?” Babs would ask as she’d pump Parrish’s dick hard, faster and faster until he was

moving his hips up and down in an effort to cum in her hand.

“I-I do love you Mommy Babs.” His tremulous voice always amused her…

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear!” Her hand would suddenly pull away at the crucial moment, and poor

Parrish would be humping air. Sometimes he would cry in frustration, but then after Babs’s hand was rested

up, she’d begin stroking him again, and flashing him looks at her cleavage, as she’d pull down the body

stocking she’d put on just for him!

Other times, she’d tie him up in the back yard, on one of the lawn chairs, and rub his dick with one hand as

she read a Jackie Collins novel with the other…sipping lemonade, and whiling the hours away…Buttermilk

Falls was quite nice in the summer and spring.

Babs would be wearing a little yellow string bikini and a big hat, and of course Parrish would be stark

naked. Sometimes the girls came into the yard, but they were all young adults and knew their parents were

“progressive”.

She could read for hours, and almost forget what she was doing, until she looked up and saw Parrish’s

bulging purple dick, and watch his sweating face. She’d just been toying with his dorkie, and of course he

was absolutely obsessed!

After a time, Babs would heartlessly take an ice cube out of her lemonade and rub it along Parrish’s dick

until it was tiny again, and then she’d lock him up, untie him from the lounge chair, and invite him to go

swimming in his Olympic sized pool.

And he was a good sport…he knew his wife was the boss, and he’d immediately become playful, sometimes

he’d toss her in the pool, and they’d swim around for a time!

And then later that night, Parrish would lick and suck Babs’s twat for hours…even if she’d gone out on a date

and come back with her clitty all messy…he’d be there!

Or he’d suck Babs’s toes for an hour, his mischievous tongue bathing between her toes and tickling her arch.

And then he’d hope that there would be another teasing, with the possible pleasure of orgasm. Now and then

Babs would allow him to fuck her, and hard…but with the codicil that he held off from cumming in her. “I

have four daughters, thank you very much, and I don’t need more.”

What would his reward be after Parrish had brought Babs to five or six orgasms fucking her and holding

back? Sometimes she’d let him jerk off into a glass and drink it, and others she’d just lock him back up, and

thank him for being such a “stud”.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as the situation Babs’s friend Elspeth had with her husband Oliphant. Elspeth made

Ollie hold his scum back almost all the time, and then, when she was all sexy and he’d gone a long time…

he’d have a guilt tinged “accident” and she’d punish him severely with her bullwhip! Certainly Babs was far

more merciful with Parrish than that.

No, Babs preferred the other challenge—could poor Parrish get an orgasm when she carelessly rubbed too

long? It was certainly a fun event watching him try.

And of course she got such a kick out of denying Parrish any orgasms! Sometimes it went on for one to two

months…and he’d complain that his balls ached, but always follow it up with a hasty “But you decide when

you want to release me, dearest.”

Yes, Babs liked hearing that sort of thing!

One thing that did interest Babs about Elspeth’s situation with Oliphant was “erection control” Elspeth was

far stricter than Babs was, and she could get Ollie to lose his erection just by snapping her fingers.

“But dear, it took years of training to get him that way” Elspeth assured Babs on many occasions. “You must

take Parrish aside and discourage his erections in a corporal fashion, you know.”

And Babs had gone at it. She’d instructed poor Parrish to kneel in front of her his hands bound behind him,

and his cock unlocked from the chastity device, and she’d put on French underwear and she’d stroked his

penis until he’d become almost wild with desire…and then she’d ordered him to go limp.

“What, what did you say?” Poor Parrish had been expecting an orgasm of course.

“Go limp. I command you to.” Babs of course was still rubbing his stiff dick with her lotion smeared hands.

He looked helpless.

So Babs took a tuning fork (Parrish was a volunteer conductor for the Buttermilk Falls Park Orchestra) and

poked him in the glans with it. Twice. Tears streamed from Parrish’s eyes, and Babs asked him warningly if

he was going to go limp for her.

But he was still slow in calming down his dick. After all, his hot wife had been giving him a hand job for

nearly an hour! So Babs, clicking her tongue against her teeth, went to the other room and brought back a

long fiberglass riding crop.

“Now then. Go limp!” WHACK! CRACK! SMACK! THWACK! Parrish screamed and cried, but indeed,

his cock did grow rather limp and small.

Babs was thrilled. “You see, you can go limp when I ask you to.” But she began stroking and pulling his dick

again. “Now let’s see if you can go limp a little faster.” Babs tickled the underside of Parrish’s dick and then

bent over and rubbed her cleavage against it, and he began getting quite hard.

“Now…go limp.” Babs looked at Parrish expectantly, and to her credit, she did let go of his cock this time.

But Parrish couldn’t do it. He tried hard…he thought about football, cleaning out the garage, pro wrestling…

nothing worked! She was such a hot Italian girl…with those Jersey blonde highlights in her hair and those

fabulous curves…what could he do?

Babs clenched her teeth in rage. She swung the fiberglass cane again and again against Parrish’s erection

until it was tiny and bleeding. “I am very disappointed in you, Parrish. I don’t understand why this is so hard

for you. Elspeth can get Oliphant limp with a snap of her fingers.”

Then Babs paused. “Of course it took quite a few years of training before she could do that. Like when I got

you to swallow all my urine without spilling any…I had to give you quite a few vicious whippings to teach

you discipline. Oh well, I have time!”

Babs had then begun tickling Parrish’s balls with her long red nails, smiling at him as she went at it…she

poked her tongue out at him, and ran it back and forth, and yes sir, the erection returned with a vengeance.

“P-please Babs…I just can’t keep from getting excited ma’am…you just enthrall me. I think we should stop if

you don’t want me to get hard.” Parrish begged.

“No no, Parrish. I like it that you are attracted to me, and I want you to get hard. But when I want you to go

limp, you must do so immediately. It’s all about discipline. I remember when you were telling Margot about

how she had to be home by midnight, and had to discipline herself…we can’t have two standards, can we?”

Babs continued to stroke and tickle Parrish’s dick, and he began breathing hard, and was quite afraid he

might cum against his will…this would be bad!

“Now go limp!” Babs watched Parrish’s hard dick. NOTHING. It was as stiff as ever. This was blatant

disrespect. Babs got up and went to the bedroom and came back with a bamboo cane.

WHACK! THWACK! SLASH! Babs was pleased that Parrish’s dick died almost immediately, but it was

embarrassing to have to admit to Elspeth that she had to use artificial means.

At this point poor Parrish was weeping, and his cock looked terrible…it was covered with weals and long red

lines…and he was so afraid…yes, she was flashing her boobs…it was going to get erect again!

There was just no hope. Babs never could tame Parrish’s ornery cock!

Now Parrish winced. Babs, never just the normal dominant wife, had to have a chastity belt locked on her

husband that did vivid and exciting things. Eight years ago, when she’d first locked the belt on Parrish (at his

request, she always reminded him) all the belt had done but keep him from masturbating.

But then she’d learned that there could be little extensions—for instance tiny needles inserted in the pouch

of the belt so that Parrish’s “errant erections” would subside obediently. “After all, Parrish, I have four

daughters, and I don’t need you staring at them all the time with a dirty mind!”

And that had been rough. Because his four stepdaughters, Lissie, Stacy, Margot and Deri were all blonde

and beautiful like their mother, and they were outrageous flirts. They loved it that Mom had married such a

sweet, generous guy, and his properness amused them to no end. So they teased him and jumped on his lap,

and when his penis swelled…the needles gouged!

Certainly Parrish loved Babs and he had always had submissive fantasies…they’d met at the PainCafe’s

Singlefest, and really hit it off. When they’d first gone to bed together, Babs had gone into the bathroom

to slip into something more comfortable, and when she’d come out in a pink negligee, there was her new

boyfriend, kneeling naked on the floor. He knew no other way…

After the needle attachment, Babs found a way to block off the device so Parrish had to beg to urinate. He

couldn’t pee unless she allowed him to, by unlocking the tip. Copeland was a real bastard, Parrish thought,

no craftsman could be this evil.

“Not now, darling, I’m on the phone” Babs would say as poor Parrish begged her, on his knees, because he

had not peed in five hours…and then when he began making too much noise, Babs had risen and taken

her long willow switch and slashed Parrish’s buttocks making him bite his tongue, focusing on holding his

kidneys AND tolerate the intensive pain.

Sometimes she’d send Parrish off to the office with the urinary portion locked off, and she’d laugh with her

daughter Deri as her poor husband would call around lunchtime, begging Babs to come down to the office

and unlock him so he could pee.

“But honey, did you remember not to drink too much coffee…or was it hanging around the water cooler too

much? I’ll be down, but I want to have another scone with Deri. Can you hold off for an hour until I can

come down there and unlock you so you can pee? Well, you’ll have to!”

Now and then she’d come too late—Parrish would’ve peed, and of course instead of the urine coming out of

the plugged hole, it would gush out the sides, and she’d have to run home and bring him pants.

That was rather hilarious also. Parrish was in a very serious job, he was a tax auditor in Buttermilk City, and

respect, especially from his extensive staff of secretaries, clerks and the like was too important to have him

trotting about in piss-stained Golden Fleece Two button pinstriped trousers!

Now, Babs was really enjoying the latest of craftsman Copeland’s effects—locking heavy ten pound weights,

and she loved, LOVED swinging them back and forth between his poor, skinny legs.

But oh, he loved her. His beautiful Babs.

Barbara “Babs” Castillo-Pindler was quite fond of her husband, too. He was a nice, stable guy…and he took

great care of her and the girls. They’d gone through a rough divorce from Babs’s worthless first husband, and

then she’d dated a lot of losers…and then she’d had a serious cancer, which was now in remission…and she’d

put herself back out in the dating world. But where to find someone nice?

Babs had been hesitant to go to the SingleFest thing at the PainCafe, but her friend, Fanchon Nemirow had

advised her to try something new. “I met a great guy there, and married him” Fanchon told Babs, “And I

keep going back to meet more!”

Fanchon had suggested Babs wear a little blue bracelet on her arm—everyone seemed to have a blue or red

bracelet. “You don’t want some lunatic thinking you want to be spanked, dear.” The reds were looking to be

dominated, Babs had guessed.

And then she’d met Parrish! His manner was shy, and he’d danced with Babs for hours, and asked for her

number, and called in an appropriate number of days. And then of course he’d asked her to dominate him.

This had gone much more smoothly than she’d thought. At first she would down a little gin and water

before giving him a session, but eventually it became quite natural. A Sunday afternoon on the couch with

Parrish over her knee, his pants and undies pulled to his ankles, and her hairbrush methodically covering

every inch of his buttocks…it was quite normal after a time.

Even after she’d let him up, and order him to take his blubbering, tear stained face and put it in the corner

for a while…sometimes Babs worried that Parrish might hold it against her, that she was being so severe with

him, but it never proved to be that way.

After a time he’d leave the corner, cook her dinner and then hold her in his lap, kissing her and letting her

know he was the luckiest man in the world!

Then came the time that Parrish had shown Babs an oblong box. “This is the Terminator. My ex-wife

Olympia used to use it on me” he’d said hesitantly. “But I need it, and I hope you’ll adjust.”

Babs had reached in the box and pulled out an eighteen inch dildo with a strap-on belt. Olympia must’ve

been a big girl, Babs thought, to have locked this thing around her waist.

But she’d gamely locked it on, and when she turned to Parrish, he was naked and on his knees. “I just have to

kiss it a bit and show appreciation.”

Babs wondered if this made Parrish a little bit gay, but she stood and let him kiss and lick the big plastic

phallus, and then he’d gotten up on the bed and spread his fleshy cheeks, and wiggled them.

“You can tell me I’m your bitch if you like…whatever you want.” Parrish said, and Babs dove right in,

plunging the knob right into his rosebud of an asshole. “You are my bitch, my little fairy queen, you little

scumslut, Parrish. I wish I was a big black convict man in prison so I could rape you every day!”

And he’d been so excited, and nearly cum on the bed as she’d taken him, slamming the thing in and out,

eliciting muffled “Oh”s and groans…it had been quite an exercise.

And then he’d licked his shit and blood off the Terminator, and of course Babs made Parrish use extensive

mouthwash before she would let him kiss her again!

Deri had examined the dildo and wondered if poor Parrish was right in the head, but of course the young are

so conservative. At twenty-eight, Deri was too young to remember the freewheeling Sixties and Seventies…

And then came the day when Harlan, who was an old boyfriend with employment issues, called Babs

at work.

“What should I do?” she implored to Fanchon on the phone. “He’s a lot of fun in the sack, but we had to

break up because he had no money, and smoked way too much weed.”

“Honey, just invite Harlan over for an early dinner, and when Parrish comes home, he’ll understand. You’ll be

surprised at how open-minded he is.” Fanchon’s voice had calmed Babs, though she was still a bit worried.

But she’d had Harlan over, all the girls were at soccer practice, or play rehearsals, and she’d enjoyed a little

fooling around with him, and they’d adjourned to the bedroom before dinner.

Harlan had always been afraid of Help Wanted ads and getting his hair cut, but he was a fast worker when it

came to bedroom stuff! And then of course in the middle of things, Parrish had walked into the bedroom.

They’d both been a little freaked out. “You didn’t tell me you was married now, Babs.” Harlan whispered, for

Parrish was a big strong guy…he didn’t live on crack cocaine and chicken fingers from Happy Hour at the

Low Hat Bar, as Harlan did.

But Babs had gotten up on a trembling arm, and looked straight at Babs. “Is there a problem, Parrish? If not,

you’re to strip and bring us drinks.” She’d winged that one, but miraculously, Parrish had done just that!

Harlan had made Babs sip his drink before he enjoyed it, just to ensure that Parrish wasn’t poisoning him,

but after that, Harlan told Babs that she had a “good deal here” before he’d borrowed $40 from her purse

and ambled off.

And now that she’d passed the “learning curve” as Fanchon would put it, Babs was starting to enjoy herself.

This marriage wasn’t a bad thing, although her daughter Deri worried that she was taking too much

advantage of poor Parrish.

She’d asked the Dungeonopolis belt maker to construct a chastity belt that left the testicles open for

punishment, and when she wasn’t kicking poor Parrish’s balls, she was attaching clothespins to them, and

knocking them off…and then she’d just had Cope lock on little holes to attach weights to…and oh, how

Parrish was adjusting to this one!

But finally Babs got tired of poking Parrish’s cock and balls, and she mercifully unlocked the weights, and

told him he could relax and watch a bit of “Project Runway” a show she had assigned him to take an interest

in…she made sure he took notes for her. The football days were over!

“I have a doctor’s appointment and I’ll be back soon…” There had been some tests, and Babs had to go see

about them. After her visit, she came home in a quiet mood. Deri, who still lived at home, looked up at her

mother over her Cosmo magazine.

“Deri, honey. I need to talk to you,” Babs said to her. Deri was a young, gorgeous blonde, much like her

mother, but perhaps a little quieter. She’d been a “second mother” to the younger girls, and was very fond of

Parrish.

After Babs told Deri the doctor’s unfortunate news, and they’d had a bit of a cry, Babs said hesitantly, “I

know that Parrish will take care of you girls no matter what, but I am worried about who will take care of

Parrish…he has these needs, as you know.”

And Babs had been looking thoughtfully at Deri the entire time. Her blonde daughter’s curvy chest pushed

out her mesh black blouse, and Deri’s full lips smiled as she began to interpret her mother’s meaning.

When Parrish got home from work the following evening, Deri was waiting for him in the living room,

holding a round wooden paddle. “You were supposed to clean up the dishes after you made breakfast for

Mom and my sisters…but you left a cup in the sink.”

“Deri, honey…I had to get to work!” Parrish said, trying to smile, but a moment later Deri beckoned to him,

and he came a little closer, and the girl began unbuckling his pants. “Deri, baby…do you know what you’re

doing? What would your mother say?”

“You need to learn to not be forgetful, and I’m going to teach you!” Parrish was horrified, but thrilled at the

same time, and when his pants and underpants went down, and he fell across Deri’s stockinged knee, it was

exciting, and he could feel the pain as his penis swelled against the needles….but the pain was distracted by

the pain of the wooden paddle hitting his bare buttocks.

And then Babs came in, and watched approvingly. “You-you want to authorize Deri to discipline me?”

Parrish asked afterwards, unbelievably. She was such a beautiful girl.

“Yes, and she’s going to tease you and let you perform with that remarkable tongue…that’s the good news,

honey! The bad news is…my cancer is back, and soon it will just be Deri looking after you.” Babs said with a

bittersweet smile.

And then Parrish really cried.

Eighteen months later, Buttermilk Falls was scandalized when the late Babs Castillo-Pindle’s widower

married her barely thirty year old daughter…but the younger sisters were so supportive as bridesmaids, and

Fanchon Nemirow smiled and drank her champagne…all was fair in love, war, and BDSM!

THE CHASTITY CUBE

F.X. Copeland came to the Deliosse’s front door, lugging the massive box, and pressed the doorbell. A

moment later, Santiva Deliosse answered. “Oh, good, Cope, you’re here. That’s the Zero-Wave?”

Cope nodded. “Yep, Miz Deliosse. Works like a microwave, but in reverse. It’s an innerustin’ invention of

mine.” Cope lugged the box into the house. It was a big black steel thing, with a hole in the middle.

“I am so thrilled!” Santiva said admiringly. “Fremont, you’ve got to get in here, honey. The Zero-Wave is here!”

Fremont Deliosse came into the room, a bit hesitantly. He looked at the black box, and felt a little nervous.

“Santiva, do you really think this is safe? What do we know about it?” Fremont shook his head. “It’s scary

looking, and it could, you know—cut my balls off or something!”

Cope shook his head. “Nossir, Mr. Deliosse. There is some fear you might get a little cold, from the effects of

the Chastity Cube, but no one has got frostbite down there yet…and I’ve been improvin’ it.”

Santiva smiled. “Well, I’ve heard so much about it from my friends at the PainCafe. You’re always

complaining that your chastity belt irritates your skin, Fremont…this way I can leave the house for the

weekend, and know you’re safe…until it melts! Now we talked about this honey, so take off your clothes.”

When Santiva had heard about the Chastity Cube she’d been amazed. Santiva’s friend Trellis had initially

been the one who assisted Santiva in getting Fremont to go into chastity in the first place, because it had

worked so well for her husband and her sons, all of whom had poor self control.

“Glover’s brother Glen also is in chastity, but he was a little shy of having his balls frozen, so instead, since he’s

between relationships, I froze the keys to Glen’s chastity belt…so he has to wait til it melts to get the keys out

to unlock himself!”

But poor Glover’s testes were completely locked in ice several times a week…and he submitted to it!

Santiva had been mildly surprised that Trellis could get Glover, who was a powerful financial type, to submit

to chastity belt training, but it had been even more remarkable that she’d been able to lock up Glover Junior,

called Buddy, and her other son Sean in belts as well…since they were both in college in other states!

But then Trellis had gotten Copeland, the master craftsman of the PainCafe’s Dunngeonopolis Gift Shop, to

use his Chastity Cube invention to lock an ice cube on Glover’s cock and balls, and then when the boys came

home, they were arguing too much, so she’d locked Buddy and Sean’s penises and testicles TOGETHER in

an adjoining cube…this had been an added advantage of the Chastity Cube invention. Cope was a genius.

Probably part of the reason Buddy and Sean had been so resentful was that all their friends had gone to Fort

Lauderdale for Spring Break, but they couldn’t wear swimming trunks, even Bermuda Shorts over their

chastity belts without everyone seeing everything…and they didn’t want to be known as the Chastity Boys!

So when they came home from their separate colleges, they couldn’t get mad at Mom, who swung a mean

whip, so they fought with each other…

So she co-joined them in ice!

“This way the boys could spend time together during their Spring Break, getting to know each other instead

of running around after girls and smoking marijuana and that sort of nonsense “ Trellis had told Santiva

cheerfully. “And believe me; by the time their cube fully melted, at the end of Spring Break, the boys were

quite docile.”

Santiva had actually gone over to Trellis’s house and watched poor disconsolate Glover pulling his huge block

of ice between his legs around the living room. Trellis had insisted that he keep a towel between the huge ice

cube and her beautifully refinished hardwood floors…he looked so ridiculous naked, with his junk locked

in ice!

Then they’d gone out to the garage, and Trellis had shown Santiva the boys, who had a huge block of ice

locked between them, so big that they had to lie on the floor of the garage. Buddy was trying to read “Crime

and Punishment” for a paper due when he got back to school and Sean was busy with his Game-Boy.

“Of course Cope had to use his Jumbo Zicro-wave box to create this block of ice, but it’s really kept the boys

subdued and well behaved.”

Sean was blushing hotly, having his mom’s attractive friend watching him lie naked on the garage floor

with his penis and balls all frozen was just too much. But Buddy was more self-assured and tried to hold a

conversation with Santiva.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s not too pleasant, but I have to admit, Mom was right about one thing—I am not thinking

about sex at all. I can’t speak for Sean, but it’s almost like I don’t have any genitals…having them frozen

like this. I was obsessed with this girl all semester, it didn’t help that I was in chastity…and now I am not

thinking of her at all…she was hot, but I am cold!”

Santiva had to laugh at this. She began seeing that Fremont really might benefit from the Chastity Cube at

that point, although she’d been afraid it might not be good for his health.

But Trellis laughed. “Men are durable creatures, and the most durable thing about them is their genitalia”

she said with a laugh. “This invention of Copeland’s could really change society…get men productive again.

The chastity devices have their place, but the cubes are amazing. The only down side of course, is you can’t

go to work as the cube is too big and too wet to shove into your pants!”

Now, being told to disrobe, poor Fremont looked very depressed. He looked at Cope, and at the black steel

box, huge thing that it was. It looked like a safe, really…but it couldn’t be that heavy or Cope wouldn’t have

been able to lug it in.

But Santiva was tapping her foot, and looking impatient. She was going away with her boyfriend for the

weekend, and Fremont had to be looked after. Certainly she wasn’t going to put up with any of his bullshit.

Fremont had tried to put his foot down about this, but Santiva had thrashed his bare buttocks with her

blacksnake whip until he’d nearly bled, and then raped him with her vibrating strap-on phallus (another

Copeland invention) until he DID bleed.

And he knew she had no respect for his privacy, and would begin whipping him right now, right in front of

Copeland, and he didn’t want that. So he took off his clothes, and soon was standing naked, except for the

hated chastity belt.

Santiva took the key from where it sat on a necklace hanging between her boobs….it really enhanced a

beautiful cleavage, Fremont thought, and she knelt down and unlocked him. His 69 day denied dick poked

out, stiff and hard, and Santiva laughed, and Cope smiled.

“There it is, Cope. His big doingie…he’s been lonely for over two months now.” Santiva rolled the L’s in

“lonely” and it was very sexy, but of course Fremont felt like he wanted to die of embarrassment.

“Now all you got to do ther’ Mist’ D, is squat your legs over this here box, and stick your equipment right in

there.” Cope said, and Santiva looked warningly at Fremont, who hustled over to the Box and sat on it, as

Copeland had directed.

Then Cope closed the hole right above Fremont’s scrotum, and locked it. After this, Cope pressed some

buttons and flicked a dial and there was a whirring, and yes, Fremont felt the intense cold. But it wasn’t so

intense that he would faint, thank God.

In thirty seconds the whirring stopped, and Cope pressed a button on the side again, and the hole opened

and Fremont noticed that Cope was tapping his arm.

“Now you’ gonna pull yourself out of the Box, Mist’ D, and it’s goin to be heavy, but you’ll get used to it. Just

lift up there.”

Fremont pulled and shoved and finally got out of the box…and there it was. His cock and balls were covered

in a huge block of ice, weighing easily ten pounds.

“Now how will I pee again?” Fremont asked acidly. “That is a legitimate question. I can’t exactly go to the

bathroom.” An economist with the Buttermilk City Institute, Fremont didn’t have a lot of respect for these

blue-collar types. It was hard to be civil to Cope…especially now that his genitals were locked in a cube of ice!

“Well, that’s your good news.” Cope said. “There’s a little bit of a hole in there, and you keep peein’ and th’

heat from the pee helps to melt the ice cube. ‘Course if it takes too long you might get you a little rash, as

your dick is stuck in the ice with th’ urine, but still, it helps…

“But just in case” Santiva said helpfully, “It might be best if you stayed in the areas of the house that don’t

have carpet, honey. Actually, I’m going to put you in the basement for the weekend.”

“The basement? Of my own house?” Fremont was incredulous. “Is that why you had me put six sub

sandwiches and a case of soda in the little dorm refrigerator?”

The basement. All weekend. This was outrageous. On the other hand, if he could melt the ice, Fremont

could jerk off! And that would be fantastic.

But Santiva laughed as she read his mind. “There’s almost no chance you’ll melt that thing…and if you try

to break it, you’ll end up castrating yourself!”

After Copeland left, and Santiva had also disembarked on her vacation with her young lover, poor Fremont

was depressed. He was locked in the basement, and so he wouldn’t be idle, Santiva had assigned him to copy

A-C from Merriam-Webster’s New International Dictionary of the English Language.

She made Fremont do it one letter in pencil, one in ink, which slowed him down considerably, although he’d

mastered how to hold the pen and pencil in one hand…but it was tough! No television or radio, and he had

to sit on the goddamned cube until it melted.

And he’d peed already, and he could feel the urine congealing around his poor penis. Goddamn that

Copeland. Stupid redneck. Fremont wished he could have the guy killed, as did many of the men in his

ChasteBois support group that met in the Turquoise Ballroom of the PainCafe’s hotel.

Fremont saw the value of chastity, although he’d not been in favor of it in the beginning. He loved Santiva

to distraction, and wanted to prove his devotion to her as often as he could. She was a shapely woman with a

short raven bob, and they’d been married for five happy years.

Santiva had divined Fremont’s interest in BDSM early, and he’d taken her to the PainCafe, but he should’ve

been smarter and not introduced her to anyone. That would have made more sense.

He loved it when she tied him up and ran her long pink nails up and down his suffering cock, and she was so

damn sexy. And then sometimes Santiva would rub her body all over him, while he was bound and locked

down and could do nothing about it…she’d do a virtual lap dance on him while he lay there.

But after Santiva had gotten pregnant the first time, she’d not had the energy to constantly tease Fremont,

and she didn’t want him jacking off to pornography…and locking him in one of Copeland’s infernal chastity

devices kept him quite sedate…

Their daughter, Kaitlyn, was wonderful, and she was spending her third summer in Europe with Santiva’s

parents…so Fremont had hoped that there now would be more time for he and Santiva to get to know each

other as a couple…but Santiva had begun dating some handyman, and she preferred to keep Fremont

in chastity.

It was quite lonely, watching her put on makeup and painting her nails, and getting all dressed up for a night

of dining and dancing with this young asshole, Dirk, was his name. They spent hours together, and went

picnicking, and poor Fremont was left at home to do the housework.

He often complained to Santiva that this was not why he’d gotten married, but she would just laugh, or if

she was in a bad mood or on the rag, she’d strip him and tie him to an eye bolt in the garage and let him

hang there…

Sometimes she’d whip him with her kangaroo hide tawse and make him dance for a bit, and then leave with

Dirk, and he’d just hang from the garage ceiling, crying, in his chastity belt.

The worst times were when she’d bring Dirk in to laugh at him…to laugh at poor Fremont’s predicament.

What could he do? He loved her so much.

And then on the rare occasions she did have time for him, she was just wonderful. She’d unlock the belt, and

let him make love to her, or if she didn’t feel like letting him, she’d tease his cock while he was bound up,

and then finally let him jerk off with his left hand, which she found incredibly amusing.

But lately the chastity lengths had been longer and longer. Dirk was more interesting and more virile than

poor Fremont, and Santiva just didn’t have much interest in spending time with him, and hence, he was

stuck here in this ridiculous garage.

Fremont tried to sit on the cube, but the frosty ice bit into his asscheeks. It was interesting because his cock

and balls were utterly numb, but his legs and ass were still suffering from the utter indignity of being pushed

against the cube.

It was July, and if Fremont had gone outside, he probably could’ve melted the damn thing off, but being

stark naked didn’t help. They lived in a very conservative neighborhood, and all he needed was some report

to the Buttermilk Falls District Commission from the Garden Club that some nudist weirdo was sitting in a

backyard with an ice cube between his legs!

Fremont picked up the cube and lugged it to the desk to begin working on his dictionary transcription. This

was a lot of work. But oh, he couldn’t focus. What was she doing with Dirk? Such an evil wife he had!

What broke Fremont’s heart about Santiva was that he knew she had an insatiable sexual heat about her, and

during the early years she’d fucked him twenty times a day with abandon. This couldn’t have changed.

She used to bite his neck, rake his back with her nails, and scream out loud…sometimes she’d beg him to

give it to her doggy-style, or even sodomize her! But after she’d realized what an utter submissive he was,

she’d locked him up…

And then the pleasure of fucking her had become a PRIVILEGE that was rarely bestowed. She’d give him

extensive chore lists, and gift suggestions…and he would go out of his mind trying to find ways to make

her happy.

She also had him spend hours between her legs, licking every inch of her body until she screamed with

passion, and there his poor cock and balls were, trapped in the chastity device!

And she also liked giving poor Fremont “tolerance” lessons—she’d tie him up on the bed and try out various

canes, whips, floggers and paddles…and see if he was “man” enough not to cry out.

Now Fremont jumped up, because his butt was burning again from the ice. That was weird, how his skin felt

burns from ice, not fire. He peed again, and realized his dick was starting to marinate in the urine trapped in

the ice cube.

Now last weekend had been bad—Dirk and Santiva had gone to Niagra Falls and they’d hung Fremont by

his nipples to the garage door…Glover’s wife had come by and fed him from a baby food jar twice a day, and

laughed in his face!

He wished he could strangle that damned Trellis. She was such a troublemaker! Still, it was true that he was

far more devoted to Santiva now that he was in chastity than he had been before chastity.

He wondered if Santiva had taken her little periwinkle negligee with her…the one he’d bought her for their

third anniversary. He bet that Dirk would like that one! The little bastard.

Of course things could be worse, Fremont considered. Glover, for instance had to find his wife lovers, and

often had to bring home young men who he supervised in the office. And then Trellis would turn the

young men against Glover, so in addition to being cuckolded, the young guys, often common actuaries or

administrative assistants would be taught to tie Glover up and whip him!

And as Glover had told Fremont bitterly, this made the young men less efficient in the office. “Theoretically”

Glover recounted “The guys should forget what happened at home and respect me for being the expert bond

salesman I am, but somehow it’s hard to bring a man coffee when you have just been whipping his bare ass

with a saucepan and sodomizing his wife.”

Trellis had now been locking Glover in the Zicro-Wave and putting Chastity Cubes on his cock and balls for

several months, and somehow he never got serious frostbite, but Fremont knew that there was some horrible

repercussion to having your balls and cock locked into a goddamned iceberg.

Fremont couldn’t sit on the cube any more, but it was impossible to hold the damn thing up by standing up…

it was much too much pressure on the skin that supported his frozen cock and balls!

Fremont decided to lie down, and he found a sofa pillow for his head and then pulled the cube over and

lay on the floor. He knew that Santiva was going to make him miserable over not having completed the

sentences, but having the damn ice cube on was much too distracting.

Fremont knew also that Santiva was hoping that he would stop complaining about getting rashes from the

chastity device—Santiva’s logic probably was—if this ice cube thing is horrible enough, Fremont won’t

complain anymore.

The phone rang, but Fremont was too far away, he tried getting up, but of course it took about thirty seconds

to get the huge block of ice back right sides up. By the time he dragged it over to the phone, whoever it had

been had hung up.

Then Fremont saw a rolled up electric blanket. He looked at the blanket, and at the very, very slowly melting

block of ice between his legs, and wondered. He might get to jerk off after all.

About five hours later, Santiva and Dirk finally got their emergency flight back to Buttermilk Falls, where

they rushed to the hospital. The doctor met them. “Your husband is all right, ma’am, he’ll be bandaged on

his privates for a few days, but the fire marshal wants a few words with you. What kind of a man plugs an

electric blanket in and puts it on a block of ice?”

DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL

1985

Madeline was late getting in, but just by six minutes…but she’d have to sign the chart…Daddy and Mama

gave her twenty minutes to walk home from school, and she’d foolishly stopped to discuss a French quiz with

a classmate, and there would be trouble.

Madeline also had to mark the chart for the weight and size of her bowel movements, which Daddy made

her keep in a separate freezer. Daddy loved Madeline, but only in his way. She finally got to the house and

opened the door…and there was Daddy!

“So, you’re late…seven minutes late!” Daddy said, walking up to Madeline with a glint in his eye. “You were

talking to boys, I imagine…shoving your insolent breasts in their faces, and seducing them with your evil

eyes.”

“No, Daddy… you make me wear these loose dresses and heavy undergarments,” pleaded Madeline, “And I

don’t talk to boys at all—oooh!”

For Daddy had smacked Madeline across her jaw, and was now pulling her heavy jumper from her

shoulders…and now he was taking off the hoopskirt petticoat he made her wear…and she was naked before

her Daddy!

“You just live to rebel against me, don’t you, worthless girl?” Daddy asked, as he pulled his belt out from his

trousers. He slashed Madeline across her left breast and she burst into tears.

“Look at these impure, insolent breasts…I know you tempt men with them!” SLASH! THWACK! SMACK!

The belt, swung with the buckle at one end, bounced off Madeline’s nipples and the girl cowered into the

corner until Daddy grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back.

Throwing Madeline across his knees, Daddy doubled the belt up and slapped it again and again across her

full pink buttocks, and she screamed.

“Shut your filthy mouth, slut!” Daddy roared, and Madeline burst into tears once more. “When will you

learn that you can’t defy your father? Remember the commandments!”

Finally, when Madeline was covered in welts, Daddy took her in his arms and began kissing her hair. “You

know your Daddy loves you…that you’re Daddy’s little girl…I’m trying to raise you to be obedient and

gentle and religious.”

“I-I know, Daddy” Madeline said, and Daddy began playing with one of her nipples. “Daddy, you really

shouldn’t touch me like that—they talk about it at school—“

But that was a mistake, for Daddy backhanded Madeline off his lap. “You worthless unappreciative,

disobedient girl! I make the mistake of being kind to you, and what does it get me but MISERY!”

Daddy shook Madeline by the shoulder, and smacked her full breasts with his palm. “What kind of breasts

are these for an adolescent girl?” Daddy screamed. “You are too young to have breasts this large…and I am

going to make you pay for that!”

For a moment Daddy paused, staring at Madeline’s rose colored nipples set against the pale white mounds.

“Such beautiful, Satan inspired mammaries…it’s a terrible thing, and Daddy will kill off the temptation, you

can be sure of that, you whore of Babylon!”

Daddy made Madeline kneel, naked while he went into the kitchen, and when he returned he had two

rat traps in his hand, huge wooden things. He snapped one on each of Madeline’s nipples, and she bit her

tongue. This was not the first time she’d had her nipples “disciplined” this way!

“Now you kneel there and kept those traps correcting your naughty breasts for an HOUR, while your Daddy

reads the Bible to you!”

But then there was a ringing at the doorbell, and when Daddy opened it, there were some policemen there…

for Daddy had done a terrible thing!

2010

Rupert came into the house with his new buddy, Billy. Billy gaped as he saw the good looking woman, long

auburn hair, but naked as a jaybird, crouching on the living room floor, with a spiked collar around her neck.

Rupe smiled at his buddy’s goggling look. “That’s just my mom. She’s a little different.” Rupe bent down, his

Buttermilk State sweatshirt hanging over his belly. “Go! Go in the kitchen right now!”

The beautiful woman looked sad, but when Rupe threatened her with a rolled-up newspaper, she crawled on

all fours into the kitchen, pushing the door with her head.

Billy looked after her…what a cute ass, with a little tuft of pubic hair poking out the back. “Rupert, dude…

that’s really weird. But she is hot, your mom!”

Rupert grinned. “Yup. Good reason not to live in the dorm, huh?”

As Madeline forced her head against the kitchen door, and walked in on hands and knees, she looked up at

her daughter Misty, who was sitting at the kitchen table, talking on a cell phone, and eating a grilled cheese

sandwich.

In the midst of her conversation, Misty looked down, noticing her mother, crouched on her knees. “You,

Dogshit! Get up and get me some milk, NOW!” Misty cuffed Madeline across the ear, and Madeline

winced, rising to her feet and padding to the fridge.

Madeline poured her daughter some milk and brought it to the table, dropping to her knees right afterwards.

Misty tasted the milk and made a face. “Hold on a minute, Brandi” she said into the phone with some

irritation. “You stupid bitch. You know I like strawberry Quik in my milk.”

“I-I’m sorry Misty I—“Madeline tried to give her daughter an ingratiating smile, but Misty reached out and

tweaked Madeline’s Grecian nose, hard.

Then Misty took a fly swatter off a hook on the wall and began batting her mother’s face and shoulders with

it, as Madeline tried to cover her head with her hands.

“Misty-you didn’t specify—“And then her daughter kicked Madeline in the stomach and she fell to the floor,

and Misty followed this up with a kick to her nose, and it began bleeding.

“I don’t have to specify, you bad doggie!” Now you make me the milk the way I like it!”

Misty had always been demanding, even as a small child, but it had gotten much worse after her dad had

revealed Madeline’s slave status. Now her daughter was a holy terror.

Madeline got back up and went and found the Quik mix and stirred the stuff into her daughter’s milk, as

Misty chatted to Brandi on the cell, oblivious now to her mother’s presence.

Finally Madeline fell to her knees again, and she looked at the floor. It was Rory’s rule that Madeline was to

stare at the floor when she wasn’t being ordered to do something.

But that was relatively permissive—when Madeline was in her mother’s house, she was forced to stand in a

small drawn square in the middle of the living room at all times except when ordered otherwise. So really,

being at home was a breeze!

But Madeline’s mother had always been like that. In Rory her husband, Madeline herself had created a

monster. Originally Rory had been the ultimate loving husband, and very devoted to his beautiful wife.

He had felt himself amazingly lucky to have won her, and if probably helped that Madeline’s mother, Bernice

had been very strict and had not allowed Madeline to date until Madeline began making money as a model,

and escaped the house at age twenty.

Madeline was also very accomplished, and when Rory had met her, Madeline was a PhD candidate

in biosciences.

Madeline had been quite pleased with Rory, who had just worshipped his beautiful, intelligent wife, and

things had gone well for a time. But then she’d asked Rory to tie her up and tweak her nipples first with his

fingers and then with a pair of pliers, which was an odd request to make of your hubby on a honeymoon.

Rory had no idea that his wife’s parents had raised her doing just that sort of thing…and she really couldn’t

feel any sexual pleasure unless she was tortured!

Rory had been quite taken aback by all this, but then his interest had grown in spanking and tormenting his

pretty young wife.

Rory was a bit of a homely geek, and having Madeline greet him with her face to the floor and her bare

buttocks in the air was quite flattering to say the least when he came home at night!

And Madeline was brilliant at suggesting things such as “I’d really like it if you whipped my ass with this

piece of barbed wire, honey.”

They’d kept it rather private while the kids were growing up, but by the time the youngest, Russell was in

high school, it was all quite out in the open. Rory began encouraging the kids to discipline Madeline for her

“sloppiness” and absentmindedness as a mother.

If she was late picking Rupe up for soccer practice, he would throw Mom across his knees right there in the

station wagon and whip her bared bottom with a leather tawse he kept in the glove compartment just for

such purposes!

Although the boys were fairly easy on Madeline, Misty really enjoyed torturing her mother, and laying into

her full breasts and bare buttocks with a spatula, a belt or a big hairbrush.

Misty looked much more like her father’s side of the family, and just hated her mother for being so much

more beautiful. Misty’s boobs were small, and her skin wasn’t that great. She began really getting into tying

Mom’s hands behind her back and whipping Madeline’s full breasts with pieces of baling wire, or a hickory

switch she’d cut from the back yard.

“I like to keep the switches in the tub so they’re wet and this really gets Mom screaming” Misty would say

with some satisfaction.

Madeline began wondering at one point whether she should call the police on her abusive husband and

children, or perhaps leave and go to an abused women’s shelter, but the problem was at some level she

loved it.

Madeline was continually horny and enthralled by the humiliating situations that her family put her in. This

new thing, being treated as a dog, had been the cap of everything else!

Madeline had attended Human Obedience Training classes at the PainCafe and had learned to heel, sit and

catch tennis balls in her mouth quite well.

The night before, Russell and his girlfriend had been watching TV in the living room and tossing kernels of

popcorn into her mother’s mouth. Whenever she missed one, Russell would swat Madeline across the face

with a pillow.

“God Russ, I don’t know how you have so much control over your mom, mine is such a controlling bitch” his

girlfriend had commented.

Russell had replied with the insolence of an 11th grader “Well, my mom is a traditional bitch…and a bitch is

a female dog! Catch the popcorn, Mom!”

Later that evening, Rory, Madeline’s husband had taken her down to the cellar, promising her a glass of wine

(which had been a lie) He’d brought down his new girlfriend, a pink-haired bus girl he’d met at the Low Hat

Bar.

“What, Maddie…” Rory laughed. “You think I’d give a common whore like you a glass of wine? You must be

out of your mind, you worthless slavegirl. I just wanted to introduce you to my new girlfriend here!”

The skanky girlfriend was everything Madeline was not—fat, uneducated and slovenly. And of course the

skank had gotten a real kick of how this “high class bitch wife” of Rory’s had been humiliated, and forced to

lick her boots and sniff around the floor.

“She’ll eat your shit too, if you want, right out of your asshole, and rim you afterwards.” Rory had offered, but

this had been declined by the fastidious busgirl, to Madeline’s relief.

At about midnight, after orally servicing both Rory and his slut girlfriend for a time, Madeline had looked

longingly at her husband, hoping he’d send the white-trash woman home and maybe give poor Madeline

some loving. She deserved it…

But instead Rory had chained her to a whipping post on the cellar floor, which had been installed by F.X.

Copeland, the craftsman employed by the PainCafe’s Dungeonopolis Gift Shop, and taken the busgirl

upstairs to fuck her in their master bedroom.

And callously, Rory had turned the heat off in the cellar and all the lights, so Madeline was left to lie on her

stomach in pitch black with her wrists locked to a post. Madeline had frozen all night, and at six a.m. Rory

had awakened her by peeing in her face, and then he’d unlocked her, before he’d gone back upstairs to go to

work.

Madeline also worked, she had a position as a researcher at Buttermilk State U., and so she’d dressed and

gone to work, and then run home early to do the chores. Madeline’s mother, Bernice, would come over and

supervise Madeline’s housework.

This was a ritual that had gone on since Madeline was young, coming straight home from school…Her

mother Bernice had begun the work on Madeline’s psyche so effectively that created the person Madeline

was now.

Madeline’s only relief was that her father was still in prison, and he could no longer “help” supervise his

daughter’s housework.

But Madeline would come straight home and strip to her panties, and snap rings in her pierced nipples and

begin cleaning the house. The kids had no chores, and she had to do everything.

When Bernice would show up, she’d go around and flip a quarter on each bed to see if it was made with

tight hospital corners, and inevitably one of the beds would not make the quarter bounce…and Bernice

would tear the bed apart!

And then Bernice would grab her daughter by the ear and throw her across the bed, whipping Madeline’s ass

with her panties down around her ankles, making her scream.

Bernice treated Madeline with the same respect at age 44 as she had when Madeline was in third grade,

which wasn’t much. “You (WHACK!!!)are a worthless(WHACK!!!) little cunt, Madeline, (WHACK!!!)

and I am going(WHACK!!!) to make you(WHACK!!!) realize what (WHACK!!!)A lazy incompetent

(WHACK!!!) creature you are (WHACK!!!)And how (WHACK!!!)You are unworthy (WHACK!!!) of your

fine (WHACK!!!) husband and children!”

Then, for each consecutive mistake, dust on the window sills, or marks on the wall, Bernice would string a

chain through Madeline’s nipple rings and add one pound weights per mistake, until her poor daughter was

weighted down, because her breasts were being forced to swing close to the floor!

Usually, Misty would have gotten home from hairdressing school by now, and she’d be so thrilled to see her

blue haired grandmother whipping her naked mother with her thick hazel cudgel, and Misty would nearly

orgasm at the long red weals on Madeline’s back and buttocks.

“Give it to her, Grandma, give it to her good!” Misty would jump up and down and become absolutely

enthralled with Madeline’s correction.

“You see (WHACK!!!)This, worthless (WHACK!!!)girl? Your poor (WHACK!!!) daughter must

(WHACK!!!) suffer from your poor (WHACK!!!) example. (WHACK!!!)It makes me (WHACK!!!)so sad

to (WHACK!!!)see what (WHACK!!!) a terrible (WHACK!!!) mother you’ve (WHACK!!!) been, you’re

(WHACK!!!) slovenly and absolutely (WHACK!!!)disinterested in (WHACK!!!)running a (WHACK!!!)

household. I am amazed (WHACK!!!)that poor Rory (WHACK!!!) has not had to commit (WHACK!!!)

you to a mental (WHACK!!!) institution or at least (WHACK!!!)throw you in the (WHACK!!!)street by

(WHACK!!!) now!”

Madeline was mystified as to why her mother hated her so much, but it was just the way things were…

And so Madeline couldn’t really focus outside of a violent BDSM relationship, because she confused violence

with love.

Usually after her mother had gone through the house, examining everything for dirt and negligence, she

would tie Madeline up and throw her in the fireplace or in the basement, and then go home, and Madeline

would have to wait for Rory or one of the kids to untie her.

Russell was difficult because he wouldn’t untie Madeline unless she promised to blow him. “Russ please,

honey…it’s inappropriate for you to ask me that.” Madeline begged, but then Russell would just walk off and

go in the bedroom and listen to his Eminem loudly, ignoring his mother’s screams for help until she finally

broke down and told him she’d do anything for him that she could.

Sometimes Russell would twist and bite his mother’s nipples until she cried…Madeline’s nipples and breasts

were very sensitive, and her family really enjoyed the effect that torture had on them.

It was truly sad because when Madeline was out in the world, she had a position of respect in the community,

and was a pillar of her church…but when she was at home life was so different!

Now it looked as if Misty was finishing her phone call, and she might be taking more of an interest in her

mother’s welfare…that was not good. Not good at all.

But then the doorbell rang, and Rupert’s voice came: “Mom, put on some clothes, you’ve got a visitor!”

Madeline came to the door after hastily donning a bathrobe. Rupe had re-joined Billy on the couch, and

there was a white haired man in the doorway. He was smaller than she remembered, but she recognized him

immediately.

“Daddy? You’re out of prison?” That was impossible. He’d gotten seven consecutive life sentences. But Daddy

came up to her and gave her a hug. Then he looked at her cleavage poking out of the robe, and it looked as if

he was tempted to slap her, but he held back.

“My lawyer found a technicality and I was released. I’m still guilty of the terrible things I did, and your

mother won’t see me, but I knew you would. I want to know if you’ll come with me, Candace…I know you

must’ve been living a sinful life as I wasn’t able to supervise you…and I want you to leave this sick family,

and join me. I’m driving to Canada.”

That was just like Daddy…Three was no “How are you darling” just the facts. How she’d missed her Daddy!

“Daddy, I can’t leave with you. I have a family I must take care of here. But you’re welcome to stay—oooh!”

For Daddy had slapped her, hard, and Madeline fell to the floor, bumping her jaw. Rory never hit her this

hard, not even Misty did. And now she felt Daddy grabbing her by the scalp.

“I don’t recall asking you anything, disobedient girl. You’re coming with me now!” And Daddy began

walking, Madeline’s scalp in his clutch, and Rupert jumped up.

“Mom, you want me to call the police, Or maybe Billy and I can take this guy!” But the boys were cowards,

and neither would fight an ex-convict…Rupe’s grandfather!

Madeline straightened up, and her father let go of her scalp. She took his arm, and smiled. “No darling. Tell

your father that I must go away for awhile. You can run this house without me…perhaps you can enlist

Misty to be the drudge. I’m leaving with my own Daddy now!”

And she left with her beloved Daddy!

THE END