PART FIVE - Vaquera

   "All right. I'm going to get you ready. Bathroom. You know what's going on. I want you all squeaky clean. Shoo…"

   Since I'd already broke the ice by cleaning him out with hot soapy water before, it wasn't nearly as shocking to him as his first time. Even though he knew what to expect, that didn't mean he wasn't blushing up a storm, all shy and anxious about it. My teasing him and making jokes probably didn't help his nervousness any. In fact, I'm sure it made it worse.

   I know its humiliating for him to have hot soapy water squirted up his bum. Corked, forced to wait, then I pull the string and laugh at his little "explosion". Then, I do it again… and again… and again. My website had a whole section on "Humiliations", and they were ranked by popularity. Forcing anal on your submissive was one of the top rated, and the cleaning out was right behind it. I won't lie. He got more this time, even after I was perfectly sure he was already more than squeaky clean. Its just fun to watch him squirm the whole time.

   Near the end, I had him sitting. His butt cork is the wooden ball with the sturdy cord. I started making him run the cord under the seat and over to me. So I stand back and watch him fidget sitting there, waiting for that mixed relief and embarrassment of me pulling the string. I make him beg for it. This was one of the last several, and I'm laughing and teasing him for extra blushing.

   "So, little boy. You like little word jokes. Puns, right?"

   "Yes…"

   "Got a joke for you, little boy. I'll pull your cork after you hear my little joke. Ready?"

   "Yes mommy. Please…"

   "What do you call an Italian Enema?"

   "I give up…"

   "An innuendo… In, You, End, Oh… and by the way? I know you're going to give it up. You always do. Sluts? Are easy…"

   Then I yanked the string again. After I was done with the extended humiliating fun, I had him wait in the bedroom for me. I got something out of one of my clothes drawers.

   "Mommy has a special treat for her naughty little boy."

   He asked what it is.

   I showed him. The last time I drove to town to pick up cases of cold soft drink cans, I had located something at the junk store that I didn't know what it was, but I knew what I was going to use it for. I had previously cleaned and sterilized it. This was after my trip to the drugstore, the next town over. Where I picked up his special treat. I tossed the weird object onto the bed in front of his face, where he was bent forwards over the foot of the bed for me. I also tossed what looked like a big tube of hand cream next to it.

   "Read it… extra special? Fun lube. I read about it online, forgot about it till now. It has in it, if you read the active ingredients? A shitload of Lidocaine. It's supposed to help numb the inside of your poor little rear end. Apparently, from what I read online? Its also popular, because everyone says it makes an ice cold, tingly, sensation."

   "Okay… so, what's this?"

   He picked it up to examine it. It was a strong and flexible but pencil thin rod of what looked like nylon. It had a rounded ball end though, not much bigger than the pencil thin shaft.

   "Stay bent over. Can't figure out what the one thing has to do with the other, huh? Don't move. I'm dying to show you. Now watch carefully, little boy… you'll love this…"

   He was bent over the foot of the bed, face down. I bent over him, hands in front of his face to show what I was doing. I took my toy, and held it up to the rod with the ball end. I laid them side by side, and let him watch as I made a felt tip marker indicator on the rod, just a little longer than my toy. So, going down the toy's length from the ball end, I had a mark. I showed him that the tube of special lube, had a nozzle. I put a little dab on the ball end, and a few dabs every so often up the shaft. Then my hands disappeared, as I held his head down by grabbing his collar and shoving firmly to hold him in place. He jumped then fidgeted as I slid it slowly up and in, then stroked gently. Full strokes, from ball end on his rabbit hole opening, up to the felt tip mark, and back. Slowly, sensually, several times. I repeated it several times, adding a few additional little squirts of the special lube.

   "Now. Stand up."

   I let him watch, as I cleaned off the applicator on my hand… then gave him several strokes with it.

   "Stay. I want to see your face when it hits you… and if you touch your cock? I'll punish you for it. Stay."

   He was red faced and blushing up a storm, as I watched him get fidgety and wiggling around. I made him describe it to me, to increase his situation and make it worse. He said it felt ice cold, and somehow slightly burning at the same time. He described tingling, pins and needles, and an uncomfortable slight stinging sensation. Every sensation up his rear hit his cock a few seconds later, and he moaned.

   "Just so you know? First, I'm having fun with you in the shower, and that will take a while, I can assure you of that. Then, after I've fucked you silly out here all over the bed and the whole bedroom? And that will take quite a while too, you can count on it. Think… living room, and you get the picture. But, after all that's over? I'm going to lube your cock up with this stuff, and your dick is going to tingle and drive you wild. And go slightly numb. You're gonna be hard and wet, hornier than usual for a little slut… and it's going to take… forever. I'm going to have you fuck me, exactly how I want? For a while. Then? I'm going to tie you cock side up on the bed, helpless? And ride you while you're all numb and tingly. You, are going to be begging to finish, and its not going to happen for a long time. And? I have another little surprise for you, too. Probably do that tomorrow morning, you'll have to wait to see."

   "You're naughty."

   "I'm more than just naughty, I'm downright rotten. Now, go get the shower ready for me, then report back. Shoo."

   I was in the shower, leaning into the hot waterfall. Tilted forward with my hands supporting me about shoulder width apart. I heard a knock at the bathroom door. I yelled out loud to come in. The door opened and closed. It took forever, but I finally saw them through the glass walls of my big shower. There's no frosting or decoration, just see through glass. You can see who comes in, and you're on display in a big aquarium for them. I'm not shy about having my wet, naked body seen. I wanted him to see it. I left the water on but pushed the temporary stop so I could saunter over to the door and slide it over. I stood there with my hands on either side of the big door frame, over my head. Showing off, seeing how shy he was going to be about it. He looked around. Shy, nervous, and blushing. Perfect.

   "Hi. Do you want a towel."

   I just looked at him. He avoided my direct gaze, but had to look me in the eyes eventually.

   "I gave your girlfriend instructions. Did you follow them? You're late. I advise you not to be late again."

   "I was told to come here. Let myself in then lock the door carefully. Put the key on your bedroom dresser, then find you and you would tell me what you want me to do."

   "Well. What are you waiting for."

   "What do you want me to do?"

   "The hell do you think I want you to do."

   "My girlfriend said she owes you some money, and I'm supposed to do what you want me to do, to help pay it off. So, here I am."

   "Well. Here you are. Are we gonna talk all night, or what."

   "Just tell me what you need done. I'll do it."

   I stared at him. Christ, this was going to be fun.

   "Why don't you tell me what you think you're going to do for me, to help pay off what she owes me."

   "Oh. Whatever it takes. I figured cleaning stuff, maybe move some furniture. When you were in the bathroom and I heard water running, I thought I'd be cleaning your bathroom, maybe."

   "Christ. This is just too fucking precious. Let me break this down for you, in bite sized little chunks. So we can get started. Shut up and listen. Your little girlfriend owes me a lot of money, and she can't pay it back. If you don't do whatever I want, you're not going to be able to pay rent. You'll lose all your shit, and you'll both get tossed out into the street, homeless. I know it, you know it, and your girlfriend? Damn well knows it. If you don't mind losing everything. Everything you own, a place to live, and your girlfriend too, probably… turn around and walk out the door. Otherwise? You're going to do anything I say to do. All night and tomorrow morning. Pick one."

   "She said I had to do it, to help out. I'm here."

   "Do you seriously think, you're here to clean my shower? Move furniture."

   "Well, yeah. What else would…"

   "Shut up. If you end up cleaning the shower? I'll scrub the floor with you. We'll move some furniture a little later, but… not like you think. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

   "I don't…"

   "I know all about you and your girlfriend. She works for me. You know who I am, I own the agency that she performs for. I know all about you, and her, and what she does for you. Yeah. Like its a big secret, that she's your mommy."

   He blushed.

   "Yeah. She brags to me at work. I know all about it. She smacks your little ass. I've sat around at lunch, bored. Watching pictures and little movies she posts online. You really are a naughty little boy. I also know you like looking at me when you stop in to see her. She told me. I even know she got mad about it, and you got spanked for it. She made you tell her. I heard, you couldn't take your eyes off me. Staring at my legs. I was even told you think I have cute feet."

   "I…"

   "So quit looking around and blushing. I know you like me and have a cute little crush on me. I know you're a naughty boy. I know you've been sent here to pay off her debt. You? Are going to pay off her debt, with your ass. As you can see, I'm not the least little bit… shy. Am I making myself crystal clear?"

   "Yes."

   "Good. I gave your girl instructions. I hope they were followed. I told her to clean your little behind out. Lots of hot, soapy water. Is your butt squeaky clean? I gave her special lube to use on you, to get you ready. I gave her an applicator. Did she use it on you before she sent you over? Answer me."

   "Yes. I thought, that…"

   "I don't care what you thought. But now I'm curious. So tell me."

   "I thought… we were going to… you know, have sex. Then? She forgot about how I was coming over to, do what you wanted…"

   I laughed.

   "Oh. You're starting to get the picture now. So. I'm going to give you instructions. You? Will follow them to the letter. Is that understood?"

   "If I have to."

   "Oh. You have to, and you will. You? Were given to me to use, for my fuck toy. If I like it? You'll get sent over again and again. Until the debt's all paid off. And one more thing."

   "Hmm?"

   "Part of our little agreement? Your girlfriend's mad at you. For staring at me. Running and getting me coffee. Laughing at all my jokes. She asked me to teach you a lesson, since you're here for this anyways. So? Not only am I allowed to do anything I want with you, but I'm doing her a favor by being extra rough on you. I intend to really enjoy that part of the bargain. So. Let's get started."

   "What do you want me to do."

   "Strip."

   He stammered, and I told him he better get moving. He took his clothes off. I made him turn around for me, twice. I made him bend over and grab his ankles, and show me his butt. She was right, I could see tiny marks on his ass. I told him to bend over the sink, and stay there. I grabbed the big thick leather collar off the sink, and buckled it on his neck, and locked the little padlock.

   "You better start listening to me? Right now. See that chair? Bring it in here. Put it behind me, and push it in for me to sit down in here. Do it now."

   He did it.

   "Now. Stand still. I'm going to shave you."

   "I already…"

   "Shut up and do what you're told. Lace your fingers behind your head. Don't move at all…"

   I opened the wicked straight razor slowly. Let him watch me hone it, by carefully running it back and forth, up and down the thick leather strop.

   "I suggest you stand very still for this. We wouldn't want to have a… little accident, would we. Close your eyes, and stand still. Very, very… still."

   I took a jar of my leg shaving cream, and I worked it all around on his private area. He blushed, and he was embarrassed. It was amusing. I stretched out his hard cock, and carefully ran the straight razor down it, shaving him. Then I took off all the hair. I stretched out his testicles taut and flat, and ran the straight razor over them. I left a small patch on his abdomen, just over and touching the base of his shaft.

   "I'm good at this. You see a single drop of blood?"

   "No…"

   "That's because I grew up on a farm. I learned to shave animals. Before…"

   I held the razor below his pulled out package, and he whimpered when he felt me put pressure up and into the base. I was just pressing the dull side up into his clean shaven pouch, but he didn't know that.

   "We had to…"

   I whisked the razor across the base of his package, so he could feel the pressure. He gave a cry, and a whimper. I laughed and told him to look. He gasped when he saw he hadn't been cut.

   "I've done it before, to animals bigger than you, little boy."

   I grabbed his now clean shaven testicles, with a firm grip.

   "Oh. You scared now?"

   He nodded and whined.

   "That's good. You should be. Now… push that button up on the shower head, so the water comes back. Then I want you to get down on all fours, and push all the hair into the drain. You miss one single hair? Well. I wouldn't if I was you."

   I closed the scary straight razor carefully, and put it on the shelf where it belonged. I scooted the chair up to watch him cleaning the floor, scooping water to shovel everything down the drain. When he stood up, I was sitting right there.

   "Stand there. Don't move…"

   I worked the moisturizing cream off of his package, slowly working my hands on his cock and balls. Smooth now. He danced around as I did it, embarrassed he got hard.

   "How's it feel, to be clean down there, little boy."

   "It… tickles, kind of."

   "Now. Let's get this out of the way. On that website? Your mommy, is what we call a nice mommy. She's even really nice for a nice mommy. We call her a sweet mommy. That means she doesn't hurt you much. She has fun playing with you. I've seen her videos. You, all tied up or in handcuffs. She threatens you more than she does anything to you. Smacks your ass a few times. You know that there's other kinds of a mommy out there, right?"

   "Yes."

   "I'm a strict mommy. Very strict. We're going to get this out of the way right now, so there's no misunderstandings between us, the rest of the night. Let me see your wrist…"

   I yanked him over my wet lap, in the middle of the big shower. I've done this many times before. Boys think because I'm a girl, then can struggle and pull away. They're always surprised. He was no exception. I bent that wrist behind the small of his back, and yanked it in towards me. His other hand was caught helplessly flailing, below the seat and behind the corner leg of the chair.

   "And just where do you think you're going to? Hmm?"

   I swung my leg over his knees, and cinched my thick muscular thighs in tight. Crossing my ankles and preventing any scooting or kicking. He tried, and found out it was useless.

   "Go on. I got you now. Struggle. Find out."

   He pulled and twisted, but he was caught. His wrist yanked snug across the small of his back and drawn in tight, I had him securely. I laughed at him struggling, finding out he couldn't get free. He was finding out he was at my mercy now.

   "I do this all the time. Struggle all you want. It won't help. Now… let me show you how bad it is…"

   I had a free hand, and I tickled him. He squealed and begged, and I did it more. I twisted his arm in tight, and he jumped. I like to set the ground rules, up front.

   "You? Are about to learn your place when you're here with me. And by the way? Go ahead and cry. They all cry, eventually. Nothing to be ashamed of here. I've heard it all before. I'm about to hear it from you. Now. Time to set the ground rules. I'm done talking…"

   Using my free hand, I touched the mute button on my little waterproof remote and the loud music came on. I grabbed the handle of the thick leather strop. I keep it oiled with a particularly heavy oil. It keeps it supple. Flexible. It weighs more, so it hurts more than usual. I like it that way. It's like an unbelievably thick leather paddle. I'm strong, able to hold a squirming, scared boy over my lap and hold him still for this. I don't fool around. I gave it to him fast, hard and with no mercy. I could mute the music to talk, then go back to work.

   "Can't get away, huh?"

   More.

   "Aw. Crocodile tears. How cute…"

   More.

   "Told you you'd cry. They all cry."

   Harder now.

   "We're just getting started…"

   Faster and harder.

   When the screaming started, I shoved my washrag tight into his mouth and went right back to work.

   "You like crying? I'm going to give you something to cry for…"

   "Shut up!"

   "Sit still!"

   "That's it! You don't wanna shut up? You don't wanna sit still? Fine… I'll give you something to cry for!"

   Lots more.

   "Now? You get something to scream for!"

   More again.

   "And now? You were told to sit still! I'll give you something to really pull away for!"

   Always more.

   "Do we understand each other yet?"

   He nodded his head yes yes yes. Screaming and crying and sobbing in the washrag gag.

   "You just think we do. Now, I'm really going to give it to you, little boy…"

   Music back up. I really went to work. As hard and fast as I could bring that thick, heavy leather strop off his ass, I did. When I was done, I cut the music to listen to the pitiful sobbing over my knee. Great wracks of shuddering and hitched breathing. When I touched his ass with my fingertips instead of the leather strop, it was warm to the touch. He twitched and squealed with every touch. I laughed at him.

   "We'll wait."

   When it was down to a minimum, I pulled the washrag out of his mouth.

   "What's my name? Say it."

   "Vaquera."

   I cracked his ass once.

   "My whole name."

   "Vaquera… Caballera. Vaquera Caballera."

   I cracked his ass again.

   "Wrong! My name? Is Mistress Vaquera. You will never call me anything else."

   I cracked his ass for an exclamation point every time I spoke. I handed him the washrag to stifle his squeals and whining with, but he could still talk when I needed.

   "You? Will address me as Mistress Vaquera. You will know your place. You will speak to me politely. With great respect. And you will never tell me no, ever. The only time you're allowed to say… no Mistress Vaquera? Is when it's the correct answer."

   I gave him another one.

   "You will not look at me, unless told to. You will keep your eyes down, until told otherwise. You will do what I say, as soon as I say it. Is that clear?"

   "Yes!"

   I walloped his ass several times, and he screamed into his washrag.

   "Yes what!"

   "Yes, Mistress Vaquera."

   "Again."

   "Yes Mistress Vaquera."

   "Again!"

   "Yes Mistress Vaquera!"

   "That's better. Never forget it. I speak once. I don't repeat myself. Now. You might have noticed. I didn't ask you your name. What's your name, little boy?"

   He started to tell me, and he ate his washrag again, because I walloped his ass some more.

   "Wrong. Your name? Is slut. When I say slut? Now you know I mean you. Do we understand each other, slut?"

   "Yes, Mistress Vaquera."

   "You've been given to me, to pay off a debt. You belong to me now. I'm going to use you, for a fuck toy. Your girlfriend? Gave you to me. I will use you, any way I see fit, any time I want. Is that understood?"

   "Yes, Mistress Vaquera."

   "Now? Normally, having introduced myself properly. Having set the ground rules… I would enjoy my shower. Teach you how you're going to serve me when I shower. But? There's something else we need to get out of the way first."

   "What's th---"

   I beat his ass again.

   "That's for speaking without permission. Don't do it again. You will never be anything, but polite, and completely respectful when you're with me. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not interrupt me when I'm speaking. Don't you ever, correct me or talk over me. Or you will pay with the skin off your ass. You don't have to answer me, I know I'm making myself understood, loud and clear."

   He sobbed down my leg. All the fight was gone out of him now. I pulled his wrists, and placed them behind his back.

   "You will keep them there, slut…"

   I had several long lengths of rope hanging over the shower shelf where I kept bath care products. I wound one tight around a wrist. I took my time wrapping it. The rope was really rough and coarse. I had a loop peeking out from under the top when I was done making a neat wrist cuff of carefully wrapped rough rope. I shoved the long end left over through the little loop I had left wrapped over. I snugged it tight, then yanked suddenly on the short end peeking out below the rope wrist cuff I had created. He whined when he felt the rough rope scoot hard against his wet skin, as I pulled the loop down tight. It left a neat rope cuff, and a long rope trailing out a ways.

   I did the other wrist the same way. Then I grabbed an ankle, and created the same. I followed it with the last ankle. When I was done, I smiled at my craft work. Eight inch long, neat tightly wrapped rope cuffs. Cinched tight and secure, impossible to get free from, and cutting into his skin because it was so rough. He squealed when I drew the little noose peeking out the tops down, feeling how rough the rope was scratching his skin up. It was uncomfortable to be sure. When he struggled and pulled, which he would, and quite frequently. I always make sure they struggle. It would cut in and burn and bruise him more. When I finally released him? He would wear my marks on his wrists and ankles for some time.

   "Now. Stand up, slut."

   He stood, and marveled at his new bonds.

   "Wrists out."

   He held them towards me. I tied them using one of the long free ropes coming from the rough rope cuffs. I wound it around the cuffs, and knotted it tight.

   "Hmm. Struggle all you want, slut. You'll never get out of those."

   I made him sit down, and put his ankles up on my lap, so I could do the same to them as well. Again, I tied them with one, and left the other dangling out a long free rope. His wrists were now securely cuffed and tied with rough rope, and I had a free rope to control him with. The same for his ankles. I helped him stand up before me.

   "Now, as I started to explain a moment ago. I would normally get started on my shower. But… we have another matter. Your girlfriend? Part of this… little deal. Was that I punish you. Severely. Apparently, you like to look at other girls, and make her jealous. She either can't or won't address this problem properly. She asked me to take care of it. So? I'm only too happy to oblige her. I'm not only allowed to hurt you? I've been requested to do this."

   I yanked him easily over my lap, and scissored his legs once again. I'm sure it surprised him with the ease with which I could move him around at my whim. It always does surprise them the first time. I picked up what he must have thought was a back scrubbing brush. A heavy, hardwood, old fashioned one. I shoved it in his face.

   "See that? That leather strop, is how I like to introduce myself. But for serious punishment? I like to use this. Allow me to explain punishment, slut."

   I tapped his ass gently with the big and now very scary brush. He jumped and twitched.

   "When a little boy misbehaves? Mommy will take him over her knee. Just like this, and swat his butt a few times. The little boy squeals and makes some noise. The nice, soft mommy? Lets him go. That's shit. The little boy? Is actually in control. When he makes noise? He ends his own punishment. Its absolute shit."

   "Not a strict mommy. Oh, no. They know how things are done right. One day, when the little boy misbehaves one time too many? He goes over the strict mommy's lap. She pulls his little pants down, and smacks his naked little ass. But this time? Its suddenly all different. She gets done with her hand, and she picks up mommy's little helper. A belt, a wooden spoon. Anything, really. Me? I prefer to use this big brush."

   I rubbed his cheeks, and enjoyed his squirming and jumpiness.

   "Like I said. Its different, this time. The strict mommy? Doesn't just swat his butt some, then he cries and squeals, and gets let go. No, this time its very different. Mommy is fed up. The little boy realizes he's completely helpless, held over mommy's lap, and he can't get away. Just like you are, now. Helpless. She tells the little boy, what he did so he knows what its for. Same way I just told you, what this is going to be for."

   "Nothing works this time. Squealing. Whining. Crying. Screaming. Carrying on. Nothing stops it, like the misbehaving boy is used to. Because this time? Its different. He's not getting a polite correction, like the other times. This time, he's going to get punished severely. Just like you're about to get, right now, little boy."

   "The more the little boy cries? Mommy just gives him more. You give them something to cry for. The little boy screams? Pffft. She gives him something to scream for. Pulling away? No. He gets it even worse, and gets given something to move around for. And that, is exactly what is about to happen to you, little boy. Right on your naked, wet ass. Right here, right now."

   "You see, a sweet mommy? One like yours. Can't bring herself to do what's needed. She doesn't have it in her. So, she tells daddy to do it. Maybe there's no daddy to handle it. So, she'll ask a mean aunt, maybe. Whoever knows how to do things right. Has the stomach to do what needs done. And that mean aunt? That's me, little boy. You've been sent here, to get taught a very serious lesson. You? Are going to learn that lesson. Right here, and right now."

   "You like looking at other girls. A sass mouth. When I'm done with you, you're going to learn your place, little boy. I asked what she wanted out of this. I was told, to teach him a lesson, that he won't forget. And from now on, as part of our little deal? Even after its all paid off… if you don't listen to her, every bit as good as I teach you how to behave? You're coming back. And I'm going to explain it to you. Again. I'll take you down into my basement. Where no one can hear you scream, and I'll really give it to you, then send you back. No, I was told to do the job right, once and for all. And that's exactly what I'm about to do. You? Are going to sleep face down for a couple nights, little boy."

   "I don't mind you looking at me. I like it. But you've been told more than once, to stop. And you don't listen. Your soft, sweet mommy? Can't or won't do what's needed to fix the problem. Well, little boy. Here we are. You asked for this, now you're going to really get what's coming to you. When we're done here? We'll get back to my shower. I like to fuck naughty little boys like you. Hard. I'm going to fuck you, like you've never been fucked before. I've seen the videos. She makes love to your ass, all sweet and gentle. You get to beg her to go slow, and not hurt you. And she does. I've seen it. Its pathetic. Not me, little boy. I'm going to give you the fucking of your life, then I'm going to keep giving it to you all night. You, are going to learn to appreciate your sweet mommy."

   I tapped his squirming ass with the big brush.

   "Oh. I almost forgot."

   I tied the short, thick plastic tube into his mouth, and knotted it behind his head.

   "Now? You can scream and cry all you want, little boy. See what that gets you…"

   I proceeded to whack his ass with the big, heavy hardwood brush with no mercy. I went right to it. I gave it to him as hard and as fast as I could. I should have stopped before I did, but I was getting off on it. So I gave him some more. He became the little boy, held tight and helpless over a strict mommy's lap. No pants on, humiliated. I did what I had promised I would. I broke his ass, and beat him into complete and total submission. The hot water raining down on us, washed his tears and snot down my leg and down the drain. His rough tied hands hanging helplessly down, clutched for something to hold on to, to grab at anything to hold on to. He ended up grabbing my ankle, and holding on for dear life.

   When he squealed and whined, I gave him something to whine and squeal for. When he cried, he got something to cry for. When he finally screamed? I made him scream louder, and then I gave him something to scream for. And then some. When he pulled, he got more for pulling. When he twisted, he got more for that, too. Then when it was just uncontrollable sobbing and shuddering, I really started to give it to him good. The hot water rained down over us, and the big paddle brush rained down onto his helpless ass.

   I watched blushed cheeks turn to defined red marks. They overlapped until they took on a new and brighter shade of red. I saw the little red dots appear, then they mated and multiplied, and quickly spread over his ass. The more I saw, the harder and faster I whacked him with my trusty brush. This very strict mommy's little helper. I couldn't hit him any faster or harder, so I drew back far over and behind my head for a longer and more developed swing.

   The cracks off of his ass echoed in the glass and hard tile large shower. He screamed and cried to me his pitiful apology, which I didn't accept. It brought him more. When the red dots that multiplied and grew together to form larger dots that continued to reproduce before my eyes, I began to finally see the little tiny red marks appearing. The ones that looked red and wet. Tiny bright, wet pinheads at first, they grew slowly. Until I finally saw the small, red, raw, sores that came. That was what we needed here. Whacking those little sores? Brought the high pitched screeching. That spurned me on to keep at it, to complete a merciless and completely humiliating ass beating.

   I took little breaks, because I know to let them breathe. Its no fun beating a passed out victim. They have to feel it. I need to hear the cries and feel the struggling, to get off on it. The warm water raining down washed my wetness off of me, as surely as it washed his tears away.

   When I was finally done, I had a scared little boy helpless over my lap. Fierce marks on his damaged ass. No more pulling and twisting, he was played out and exhausted. The washrag and the tube gag that held it tight into his mouth, prevented him from scarring his throat and vocal cords. No more screaming, he was too exhausted even for that. He had completely given up in the end, and now just lay helpless. Draped loosely over my strong lap. Limp and barely moving. Sobbing and heaving uncontrollably, tears streaming down his cheeks.

   I calmly put my big brush back where it hung on its hook, and waited for the noise to die down. I turned the music down to enjoy the pitiful sobbing and heaving. I made fun of him. I swatted his ass with my hand, and enjoyed the new explosions of streaming tears and the helpless sobbing that accompanied it. I scraped a fingernail over the raw ass, and heard the screeching. I laughed and did it again.

   "In the future? Part of the deal was that I handle this for your girlfriend. If she gives me a bad report on you? This happens again. Except worse. Much worse. Now that I know you aren't supposed to be looking at my legs at the club? If I catch you so much as sneaking a peek at me? I'll take you right into my office, and you'll get worse. Right then, right there. People will hear. When we come out of my office, with you in tears? Everyone will know. Same goes for all the other girls at the club. I catch you sneaking a peek? Same thing. Don't test me. I'll bring the girl in that tells on you? To watch and laugh."

   "Now. Maybe you think this just goes when I'm actually there? Oh, no way. The girls tell me you've been sneaking peeks at them? Not keeping your eyes down like a good little boy, when you come in to pick up your girlfriend. I'll tell you what will happen then. I have little parties, and have some of the girls over. Once we get a few drinks in? You, will be the entertainment. I will put you naked and helpless, exactly like you are right now, across my lap except right in front of a room full of the girls. I will do what I just got done doing? Several times in a row, taking breaks. And when the party's over, and the girls leave? Oh, you will wish you were dead, little boy. Because then I'll take you down into my soundproof basement, and I'll beat your bloody little ass even harder and longer. I dare you to try me. Go on. Test me. See what happens."

   "Your girlfriend? Plans on having you do chores around the apartment. To earn your keep, little boy. I get a bad report on that? We'll end up right back here, for a much longer talk."

   "Get that whiny shit out of your system. Or you'll get it again. Right here, right now. I dare you."

   When he was reasonably quiet again, except for tears and littler sobs that wracked through him, convulsing his body that made him dance and jerk while dangling helplessly over my lap… I removed the tube gag and the washrag.

   "You will now thank me, for punishing you. And you better remember to address me properly, little boy. Or I'll do it all over again. Twice. Do, not, test, me. Speak!"

   He sobbed out "thank you, Mistress Vaquera, for punishing me."

   I stood him up, to sniffle and sob standing in front of me.

   "When you're done? I'll begin teaching you how I like taken care of in my shower. I suggest you get it right. The first time. I speak once. I do not repeat myself."

   When all I got was more sniffling and pitiful sobbing? I grabbed him up by the collar, and snatched the brush off of its hook, and laid into that ass several times more. Big, full swings. Coming all the way back, and swiveling my hips and thighs into it. I lifted his poor little standing ass up with the fast, hard impacts. I hissed at him coolly.

   "What do you say, slut."

   He squealed out what he had been taught to say.

   "You're little ass is mine now, slut. You've been given to me. To do with as I please. As you are finding out? What pleases me, is not always fun. As part of our little arrangement I now have with your nice mommy? I'm now allowed to use you. And the more I look at your nice, fit body? I'm going to."

   "I'll pretend its any of your business, what me and your mommy decided. It's going to be about five and a half weeks left, in your… little training program game she told me about. When you need disciplined? She's going to call me. And I'm going to handle that from now on. And what you just got? Is going to be nothing, compared to what you'll get down in the basement here, if I get anything less than a perfect report on your progress. You will from now on treat your mommy, like you treat me. If I hear different? I'd like to be able to say I feel sorry for what happens to your ass. But I honestly don't care. You've been sold to me, you've been given to me. You're just a fuck toy to me, that's all you are now. And you will quite soon find out how I use a fuck toy."

   I had his complete and undivided attention, as I explained how to serve me in the shower.

   "That's right, slut. Use those rough ropes on your wrists. Scratch my back. Nice…"

   "You will kneel. Eyes down. You told your girl you thought I had cute feet, hmm? Show me. I'm clean. You just cleaned me from head to toe, twice. Tongue bath, little slut. Get every little piggy. Yeah, that's right. Now? Get the bottoms… now, that's a good slut. Again, little boy."

   When I was near to done showering, I had him kneel in front of me, as I leaned up against the wall. I grabbed the little glass I'd been enjoying the occasional sip of brandy out of, and rinsed it out then filled it with some water. I grabbed his face and peed on it, laughing.

   "That's right, you're a dirty little slut. You think that's bad? Just watch…"

   I put the last couple little squirts of my pee into the glass with hot water in it, and made him drink it. When I was finally done introducing him to my shower needs, I stood him up.

   "I'm getting ready to fuck you now, slut. You're all hard, I already know you like being used rough like this. Help me into my favorite toy. Make it nice and snug. Be my good boy."

   I sat down on my chair, with the water on hold.

   "Kneel."

   "You will now show me the respect I deserve…"

   I tied his long rope trailing from his rough wrist rope cuffs wrapped tight on him, behind his back. I roped the ankles together too. He was kneeling and helpless as I tied the short, thick plastic tube gag back on.

   I made him service my toy. I had fun tapping the back of his head, and laughing at the little gagging noises, before I grabbed his head and told him to take a deep breath. I laughed that he wasn't doing it good enough, but I would show him how to do it right. I squirted a little of my special lube on it, worked it around, then put it into his waiting open tube that kept him from biting me. I laughed at the pitiful little gagging sounds, and finally shoved it in more and more, with each stroke.

   I finally forced it completely down, and held his silent, squirming face tight against my crotch. His nose scratched at my little tuft of fur above my jelly rubber toy. I let him up to gasp for air, waited momentarily, then went back to it. I eventually stroked and literally power fucked his throat, banging it. Kneeling and tied, helpless and powerless, I forced him to show me respect. On his knees, in the exact manner a little slut should be taught to give it. I made him look up at me, and then spit down on his face to show him how much I cared for his discomfort. His humiliation and terror showed plainly in his watery eyes. I made fun of his noises and did it more.

   When I was done showing him what respect was, I retied his rope wrist cuffs in front of him. He was scared he was going over my lap again, because that's how I tied him for his second ass beating. The one that broke him into complete submission, the one that showed him who was in charge, and who was the submissive little slut that was going to be used terribly. He whimpered when his ankles got the same treatment, again because that's how he had been prepared for his punishment I had agreed to perform on his nicer mommy's behalf.

   I left him gagged with just the tube tied in tight. Drool dripped out of the tube, and I pointed it out and taunted him for it. I grabbed the remaining long rough rope trailing from his bound rope cuffed wrists in front of him, and fed it under his well tied ankles. I stood behind him, and yanked it up tight, drawing his helpless wrists to his equally helpless ankles. I wound it a couple times around the wrists to ankles setup, tight. I then wrapped it around his waist. Making a rough rope fuck handle for me to manipulate him with.

   I stood back and observed him. Whimpering and whining, bent over wrists to ankles. Secured extremely well and with a rough rope handle around his waist over his hips cutting into his skin, leaving more marks. I reapplied with the special applicator, more of the special lube and worked it well into his ass. The ball end was so small, it wouldn't prepare his ass in any way for what I was about to do to him. It was however, humiliating on his part. I could see that from the blushed face.

   I smiled and let him see me applying the special lube to my toy, generously. I grabbed him firmly by the hips, and held him still as I lined up my toy to just rest against his lubed up fuck hole. He couldn't do the slightest thing to even attempt to get away from what I was preparing to do to him now, except dance his badly frightened eyes around. Begging with his eyes, tearing up.

   "Aw. Poor little slut. You? Have been given away. To a very mean mommy. To pay for her debt to me. You? Have been sold, like a piece of meat. She didn't care enough about you, and just took the money she borrowed. I don't loan money like that, without collateral. She pointed at you, and showed me what a naughty little slut you are for her. Pictures, videos. No, she took the money. Now? Here you are. Left holding the bag. Now, you're going to pay for that, with your ass. Literally. You're nothing to me, but a fuck hole."

   "Aw. Are you all scared? Well good, you should be terrified right now. I've seen how she fucks you. Yeah, I watched the breaking in video. You, all tied helpless to the kitchen table. She made love to your ass, all sweet and gentle. Pffft. I hope you don't expect that kind of treatment right now. Because you're going to get the exact opposite of that, believe me. Oh yeah… watch me with those scared little eyes, slut. I can't wait to see your face when I do it."

   "Hope you're ready, because I am. And that's all that matters. What I want. Ready, little boy? Here it comes now…"

   I lined up and touched the rabbit hole. I heard the whining and squealing, I felt the helpless squirming.

   "Third time is the charm, slut. Here we go…"

   "One."

   "Two."

   "Three…"

   I didn't play around, not while breaking a new one in. His ass was fully lubed and tingling and itching and burning from the lidocaine. My jelly weapon was all lubed up and dripping with it as well. On the big three, I grabbed those shaking hips and shoved in. All the way, hard. Insistent with an insidious, steady push. Completely to the end, then rolled my hips around viciously to open up that last little bit just beyond where my jelly toy reached into his little rabbit hole. I pulled out to just the tip touching as I had started, and fully shoved back in all the way again, rolling my hips around hard at the end, bottomed out. The positively diabolical screams and the heavy explosion of tears, was epic.

   I would have smacked his ass, but I was gripping those pitiful little hips too tight. I immediately retracted a full stroke all the way out and all the way back in. Forcefully. Power stroking my jelly piston into his tight little love hole that was forced to submit to me and my unnatural desires as forcefully as I had obtained his submission screaming over my lap a while ago. Not stopping until he was laying there a limp, hot, sobbing, wrecked mess.

   I wasted no time whatsoever, with anything but increasing the speed and the power of each powerful stroke. Rolling my hips obscenely at the end as I bottomed out, then retracted and stroked again and again. His ass was forced to submit to me just as he had been forced to submit. The resistance with each full, strong complete stroke ever so slowly gave way. The screaming and crying and spasms were intense. I got wet hearing it, seeing it, feeling it under me. A helpless victim, at my complete mercy as I showed none.

   I spoke matter of fact and giggled as I went about my fierce work.

   "Yeah… scream, little boy. Scream for all you're worth. And what you're worth? Nothing. You're just a fuck hole now. So your screams, and your tears? Mean absolutely nothing to me at all. Scream louder. That's just you telling me how much you like it, and how you want me to fuck you harder and faster. There's no shame in screaming, little boy. They all scream when I do this to them. Every, single, slut screams their little head off. Scream more… I love it."

   I turned the music up, nice and loud, and went faster and harder to the music. It didn't take long, before the song was over, and another started. I started fucking him harder, banging him faster, consistently ass raping him ever more brutally to each and every song.

   "I don't make love. I fuck… this? Is how I fuck. Get used to it. This is how I'm going to be paid, over the coming weeks. You have no choice. You belong to me now. I will show you, all night, how I enjoy fucking a new slut into complete and total submission. By the time I'm done with you? You will give yourself over to me. You will love this. You will beg me for more. And I will give it to you, every time. Now take it all, slut… every last inch…"

   The last song was coming up. A loud, aggressive paced dance beat. I grabbed his rough fuck rope handle tight, and I banged him for all I was worth. I abandoned hip rolls, for the utmost in power and speed. I fucked him like a piston in an engine. His ass had long since many songs back ceased to offer the slightest meaningful resistance. It relaxed and opened to me, because I forced it to submit. I slammed into him as hard and fast as I possibly could, all through that last, long dance song.

   When the last bars were winding up, I slowed down and gave a few little hip rolls at the bottom of every stroke. When the music finally ended, a good long while of this brutal attack sequence had gone by. I tapped the waterproof Bluetooth remote and locked eyes and smiled down at his crying eyes.

   "Shh…"

   I was done, and held him firmly, all in and clutched tight to me.

   "Now… real slow… I want you to squeeze me out of you, slut…"

   I retracted as slow as anything he might have thought possible, and finally came out of him. I heard his sigh of relief, that it was finally over.

   "Aw, poor little baby…"

   I sat down and kissed and petted him, smoothed his hair.

   "Shh. Its all over, little boy. It'll be okay now."

   I gently and slowly untied his hands from his ankles and stood him up. I stood and hugged and shushed him, and kissed his tears away.

   "There, there. Its okay now. Mistress Vaquera will kiss it and make it all better now, okay? Yeah, you like that? Shh. All right… cry it out… its not your fault. That naughty Vaquera, she made you do it. You have nothing to be ashamed of, its just not your fault…"

   As I was shushing him and kissing his tears away, actually beginning to calm him down a little… I wiped some lube from the edge of his hole and onto the palm of one of my hands, and slowly gave a gentle tug or three on his cock. It was rock hard, and trembling to the touch.

   "Aw. Now, what's this. Uh oh. It would have all been over, but… no. Seems like you're a dirty little slut? Who liked it. Well, if you want more? That's just what you're gonna get."

   I fucked him up against the wall, in the corner, every way I could. I hate-fucked his little rabbit hole, kneeling with his face down on the shower floor before me, I was kneeling upright behind him. Telling him constantly, that if only his cock didn't tell me how much he liked it? It would end and be all over. But…

   When I was done, I stood him up, and dropped him crying over my shoulder. I picked him up with some effort, and carried him with little steps into my bedroom. I dropped him bouncing on my bed, both of us soaking wet. I arranged him however I wanted, as I wanted him to be, by dragging him around the bed. I was big and strong enough to just barely do it, and I did. I shamelessly put him in every position I desired to rape him from. I went and left him crying and brought back the thick leather strop, and the fearsome brush. I used them both anytime I felt the need to make the tears come back.

   I fucked him over every piece of furniture, and every single inch of the entire room. On the floor, I yanked him helpless still tied at the wrists and ankles to lift his ass up, and demolished him from behind yet again. When I finally untied his wrist and hands, I grabbed the wound rope cuffs, or pulled on the rope strings to control him. Using the long ropes, I controlled and posed him as if he were nothing more than a live fuck puppet. I hog tied him by the rough loose ropes impossibly tight on the bed, and put the tube in and fucked his throat with no mercy. When I released him again, I made him beg for more, beg for it harder and faster and deeper. I made him offer himself to me, on the floor, on and over the bed, over every inch of every piece of furniture in the room. Slowly, he began to beg for it.

   I told him, flicking his hard, dripping rod. There's no lying to me. If you were not enjoying this? You would be soft. It gets hard, and it stays hard. It drips. You clearly like it, and you can't deny it. So? Simply beg for more. Beg for more of what you obviously love getting. We have proven that you're a complete slut, far beyond any reasonable doubt. Now just admit it to yourself, because I already know the truth.

   "Do you think you're the first? Not one of them, didn't love it. Not a single one. All the little sluts ended up begging for more before I was done. What makes you think you're any different? Now beg!"

   He began to cry, not from pain and discomfort although that abounded in his little fuck world I had him trapped in. No, this was the little cry, I call it. They all do it. Its when they finally give up, and are forced to admit they really do like it, love it, and want more. Once they ask and beg the first time, that's it. Then that little cry comes up, as they begin to beg for more.

   He begged to come, and I laughed and told him he would come when I was satisfied. I had been vibrating him for the last couple hours, and getting off to it. Because it worked on my clit too, not just in his ass. I took brandy sipping breaks, and fed it to him. I took bong hits, and held it for him and lit it for him. I held his mouth and nose, then finally allowed him to release the hit, coughing for his life. Then did it again.

   When I took a break, and saw him staring at my glass of water, I asked him if he wanted a drink. I made him beg for a drink. He was exhausted and dry mouthed from the bong hits as well as everything else. I dragged him by the rope on his wrists and made him kneel and drink from the bowl in the bathroom, after he watched me squirt pee into it. He was so thirsty, I had little to no trouble making him drink my pee water. Afterwards, I made him lick the seat clean. I took him back into the bedroom and had him clutching onto me, while I got him up and fucked him even harder up against the corner of the wall. Wrapped around me holding on for dear life with his legs and arms around me tight, begging and pleading, crying into my neck for more. Of course, I gave it to him.

   He finally, looked up into my eyes. Being raped up against the wall. Blushed and dreamy eyed, still tearing up. Then it happened, he smiled. I smiled back. I already knew, but now he knew and more importantly his face just admitted it.

   "I know, little boy. I know…"

   I have that intimate moment with all of them. After the little cry, and they admit and beg. That smile. The admission that they are now willingly in complete submission to me. After that moment? They join me. They clutch onto me and hang on for dear life. They beg me for more, they beg for it harder, faster, more humiliation, anything just more of it. They no longer fight or resist, they submit and help me. They now lift their ass into the air willingly, and look back at me scraping their cheek across the carpet with the force of my thrusts, and they smile. I smile back and give it to them more.

   They bury their face into my neck, bite my shoulder and lick my neck and cry their little apologies into my sweaty hot skin. All different cried apologies, but all the same, too. They tell me they love me, they beg me to do it more, to please not leave them without this now that they admitted it. They apologize for having fought me and resisted. They plead and cry with me to have them back again. They promise me anything for it.

   If they please me enough times like this, willingly from the start of the rest of our encounters. If I no longer have to create the situation, if they come and grovel and beg for what they can't get anywhere else? Some of them, the luckiest ones I pick out. I treat them to the sweetness they crave. The candlelit dinner, the sweet kisses, the soft lovemaking to their asses they willingly taunt into the air at me. Then I refuse to give it to them the way they know they want it, just like this, and they beg for it. Then, I give it to them finally. They beg for me to whip them, and mark them up. They can't get enough.

   I actually have a couple of these rare gems, and I think I just found another. I dress a little sexier for those ones. I take them to expensive dinners, and buy them little gifts engraved with their sweet love names I gave them. I make them wear a handcuff key on a leather choker, and I check them for it from time to time. Appearing from out of nowhere to make sure they wear it every day and at all times. I always find it on them, and not one of my luckiest ones has ever failed to desire me to keep them, and obey any instruction I ask of them.

   I put him face down onto the bed, centered and spread eagle-d out fully, and tied the long rough ropes to the corners of the bed. Held tight to the bed spread out for me, I dropped all my weight into pounding his poor little ass even harder. With gravity now as my ally, I made him scream and cry even more from it, and made him beg for more at the same time. I tickled him while I pounded him like that. Tube gag drooling his muted sobs and cries out to me. I held his tube to collect some drool in my hand, then smiled and wiped it on his face. He nodded to let me know he loves every second of it, bar none.

   I took everything and anything from him, and gave him nothing back. He offered and gave it to me, and is now completely willing and unresistant.

   When I was done, I untied him and flipped him over. Face up now. Cock side up, I told him. I stretched him out spread eagle-d again, and retied him tight. I sat on his hips, and looked down at him.

   "Phase one? Complete. The dirty little slut, has been fucked and humiliated into complete and total submission. Isn't that right, little boy?"

   He swore to Mistress Vaquera it was so.

   "Well, well, well. Now? Its time for phase two. Pain, and humiliation, are mostly over. You can see now, how I like to fuck. Have you ever been fucked, even remotely this thoroughly before, little boy? Tell Mistress Vaquera the truth…"

   He swore no, never once, not even close.

   "Now… you're cock stayed hard and wet, so I know you loved it. Ready for phase two? This is the part where you get to fuck me. Are you ready to try to please me? Hmm?"

   He begged. I took my toy off in front of him, smiling. Then, I basically turned it inside out. Instead of buckling it onto me, I buckled it backwards and inside out, onto him. It forced the jelly weapon up into his well fucked and lubed hole. When I had it on and adjusted tight, I sneaked my finger into the leather belt and pushed button 4. He squealed and whined and begged. I stood back and watched as he writhed in ecstasy and humiliation at putting on such a show for me. I clapped and pointed and made fun of him.

   "Yeah, do it. Do your little slut dance like that, all tied up for me, little boy. More…"

   I sat on his face, and gave him a sloppy blowjob that went nowhere other than to tease him further. I got my holes shamelessly licked, and had him tongue-fuck my ass. I leaked onto his face, and shamelessly rolled my hips around on his face to wipe it then made more. I was continuing to take from him. I took every shred of decency and pride he thought he had, and left him with nothing but begging and anticipation, teasing and humiliation.

   I finally lubed his cock up with the special lube, and watched him get tickled and tingled. Still tied helpless, I rode him shamelessly, all I wanted. The lidocaine prevented him from coming, and made me feel funny inside too. A mild stinging, tickling sensation that no fucking could quench. It became a new sweet torture, to ride him. I demanded that he finish, and he couldn't. He stayed hard. He wanted it, he begged for it. I slapped his face and ordered him to finish, and it was simply sweet torture to keep fucking him and riding him.

   He had long since been blindfolded, to increase my fun I had. Slapping him, pinching him, tickling him mercilessly while I fucked him. When he finally told me he might feel like he was finally able to? I gave him a wet sloppy mouth and tongue, with my soaking wet hand in front of it. My hand fucked him first, then my tongue and mouth got thrust into last. I took him all into my mouth, and sucked up every last drop. Then I climbed slowly on top of him… and kissed his entire slut's payload into his own mouth.

   I made him thank me for fucking him so well, over and over. He needed no prompting to continue on ad infinitum.

   Now that the storm is all over, I can have lighthearted fun. I now lay on them, usually restrained for quite some time. I smile, and tickle some. I touch and tease. I lick and bite playfully, and I get it back. This is where after a time, and the sweat and fluids have dried finally, I release them. I gently order them, and they always comply now. They beg at my feet and kiss them, to have them back. They want it again, they never knew it could be like this.

   This one is doing it. This is where I have playful fun, where love no longer has to hurt. They have already submitted completely. I know it, they know it. I walked this one around on a leash, and played fetch with my used socks and dirty panties. He begged to lick me, and I gave him permission.

   "Now. Your girlfriend? Owes me a lot of money. I'm taking a little off, every one of these little… sessions. I meant every word I said about punishing you. And when you're little training slut program is over? We agreed, that you're going to be sent here, to get the big whip. In the basement."

   He begs to see it, and he's scared and fascinated by my real bullwhip.

   "We agreed. I'm going to whip the jeans off of you. Literally. Its a very severe punishment. I think you understand now, how much I'm going to enjoy it. And make no mistake about it. We have an agreement. Any word from your girlfriend's lips, that you misbehaved in any way? You will get lots more than you got tonight. It will be very serious, not some introduction like you got tonight. You will not enjoy spending a couple hours in my basement, little slut."

   "And after I whip the jeans open finally? I'm going to rip the jeans the rest of the way open, and fuck you worse than I did tonight. You'll be helpless, and I will not show you the slightest bit of mercy, like tonight."

   He wants to know what now.

   "Tonight? Its your first time with me. You'll sleep next to me, in chains. If I wake up and want to fuck you? I will. Any way I want. I'm going to have fun with you tomorrow morning? Then leave you. When I want to collect more of what's owed to me, I'll fuck you like I did tonight, and more."

   Its late, and I put long chained handcuffs on his wrists and ankles, to sleep.

   "You are not allowed to initiate sex with your mistress. That's my choice. If you try? I will punish you worse than I did in the shower. I will do with you tomorrow morning? Whatever pleases me. You? Will do it. You're my slut until I'm repaid. And I will be the one to punish you properly, if you misbehave for your girlfriend. Don't ever test me."

   He slept, all exhausted and tuckered out from it all, through the night. In the morning? I showed him a phone pic of his heavily damaged ass. I made fun of him for sleeping face down, with his damaged ass in the air. I sat him down on it, and he squealed and cried. I laughed and made fun of him, and he blushed and cried.

   I made him go over my lap, and smacked his ass hard for a while, with my hand. He screamed and cried like I was using the brush, even though it was just my hand. I got wet and made him lick me thoroughly, then grovel at my feet afterwards.

   I threatened him with the brush a little later, and he cowered in fear. He cried from the threat of having it used on him. Real tears, real sobbing. I made him sit on his well marked ass and cry from the pain of it, and made fun of him for it.

   I made him kneel and grovel, threatening him with the now feared big brush, and beg not to get it used on him. Then I had him make me breakfast, and I sent him away. I sent him back to his girlfriend, with his marked up ass, to show I made good on our bargain. I don't know what she'll do with him, but I know what I'll do with him when I take my next payment. I know what I'll do to him, if he's sent on our bargain for misbehaving in any way.

   I made him kiss my handcuff key I wear around my neck, and swear to obey me, or else. Now I have another one to play with. Another fuck toy. Another dirty little slut.

   After "Mistress Vaquera" sent him "home" to his "girlfriend"… we started to have an afternoon dirty movie. Instead of curling up on the couch with me, he fell asleep to take a nap, curled up with his head on my stocking feet. Like a barn cat from my family farm curled up on my lap, I got to go through the mild discomfort of wanting to move, but postponing it for fear of rousing him. Finally, he stirs.

   "Oh. You're up."

   "Yes mommy."

   "Hmm. Did you dream about me, your girlfriend you claim to love and serve faithfully forever? Or did you dream about Mistress Vaquera. I heard you making strange noises in your sleep. Seemed like a fun dream, I couldn't bear to wake you up from it. I wouldn't want to disturb you, and you're precious Vaquera."

   "Hmm. Does your slut have mommy's permission to speak frankly?"

   "Granted. As long as you do it with the respect you know you have to give me."

   "You? Are the psych major. How am I the one, pondering the possibilities now, of how you… are quickly becoming jealous of me spending the night and the morning… with you. Honestly? Surely you would admit freely, that this would give a licensed therapist a field day to publish on."

   "Hmm."

   "At the risk of you using your hand on me for it?"

   "As long as you're willing to risk it. Its your ass, little boy."

   "How many of you are there now? I'm going to lose count soon."

   "Oh. Good question. Let's see. There's Hurry, your normal girlfriend. The one you met, the one the girls know from living with me every day."

   "That's one."

   "There's… a nice mommy. But a mommy, none the less."

   "That's two. Hmm. Vaquera? Calls that a sweet mommy."

   "Oh, does she now."

   "Is it fair to punish me for what someone else said?"

   "Fair has nothing to do with it. I just do it, anytime I wish. Until your preseason camp is completed, to my satisfaction."

   "True."

   "Then? There's the strict mommy."

   "That's three."

   "And now, I suppose there's… Mistress Vaquera."

   "That's four."

   "Good Christ. There's four of us, all sharing you."

   "All at once, would that be a five-some? Sounds like one for the record books."

   "Oh. Internet, hun. You really need to get out more, if you think you spending the night with four girls sharing you, is some kind of world record."

   "Hmm. There's four of you, all identical twins. Two is twins. Three is triplets. Five? I know is a quintuplet. Whats four?"

   "Uhm… quadruplet, I think."

   "Ugh. The others sound cuter. Quadruplet? Sounds like a girl with no arms and no legs."

   "That's a quadriplegic, you dip."

   "No. That? Is a person who can't move or use or control all four limbs. I think…"

   I stalked off. I called to him over my shoulder.

   "I'll be back. Stay!"

   I came back with the brush. He eyed it and watched me, like I was a dangerous felon he had a problem with in some back alley low rent bar. He was respectful of it in my hand, which meant he feared it. Which meant he feared me, because I was holding it. I used my voice and look now, to its full effect.

   "I grant you extra normal time. I told you in the tub, you can drop the mommy during granted normal time. But… you don't ever sass me. Not until your program is over. I can't believe you would dare to test me, and defy me like that. Don't say another word."

   "Up. Stand up. Don't even try the puppy dog eyes. You? Go into the kitchen. Right now, and bring me out a chair. Put it right here, the middle of the living room. Move!"

   After he brought the chair, I gave him the look and the voice.

   "Strip…"

   He did it. I sat in the chair, and had him stand with his back to me.

   "Wrists. Now."

   I clicked the short chained cuffs on him, clicked them tight, and double locked them with my neck charm key. I amazed myself, how slick and well practiced I'm getting with it. I bent over, and did the ankles with the other short chained regular handcuffs. Locked tight and double locked, lickety split. Cuff key dropped back around my neck before I knew it for safekeeping.

   "You. You know the rules, and you flaunt it in my face like you just did? Uh uh. Soft mommy, huh. We'll see who the soft mommy is. You better beg. I better really feel it. If I don't? I'm using this brush. Right here, right now. Go."

   He started begging and whining and pleading. I laughed at how pathetic I declared it.

   "You call that begging? I'll get better than that, in ten seconds flat. Dare me… watch me, if you don't believe me…"

   I pulled my socks off, and dangled them, smiling my strict mommy smile.

   "I know how not to annoy the neighbors now. I love hearing it? But, they probably don't appreciate it. You see, I have respect for the neighbors. I don't do things that annoy them. But you? No respect, none at all. You already know what not to say and do, and you do it anyways. Defy me, huh? I said beg!"

   I menaced him with the brush, like it was a knife or a gun or some other deadly weapon. I had the puckering lips. I had the whining and begging. Come on… give mommy's naughty compulsion what it craves. Give me those precious little tears, before I even touch you. Come on. I willed the tears to come, then I saw them. There we go. Goal scored.

   I gave him the perturbed strict mommy. Crossed arms. Too quiet voice. Stern face and eyes. Quiet but extra stern voice. Strict mommy's dangerous voice.

   "Let's go over your absolute shit performance, just now. Shall we? To start off, I granted you extra, specially granted? Normal time. You would think, you would appreciate that. But no. Keep it zipped, you're in enough already."

   "Now. Its bad enough, when you break mommy's rules. While in preseason camp to boot. But? I warned you, to watch what came out of your mouth. And what did you do? You made fun of me! My precious Vaquera? She calls that a soft mommy, ha ha. Bad enough to make fun of me, that alone calls for it. But right after being warned you were treading on dangerous ground? Oh. That's daring me."

   "I was prepared to let that one slide. Pffft. Soft mommy, I guess. Then what did you choose to do for an encore. Be sweet, to make up for it? Oh no. You had the brass balls, to correct me!"

   "Ooh! Then, you were told, more than once. You watch your sass, until we go back to normal. This whole thing was nothing but smart-alack. Soft mommy, huh? Hmm. Let me think about that one, mister."

   I dangled the socks at him, like an evil fetish spell.

   "We celebrate the extra, specially granted normal time? By making fun of me, and laughing in my face. Right after being warned, no less. Just flaunting it, what you just made fun of me for, huh? Nice. Then, you correct me."

   "Oh, wait. Let me get it right… sweet mommy."

   I walked up to him, and walked around him, standing helpless. I hissed in his ear.

   "Hey. Is your special sixth sense warning you of something bad coming on? If it isn't, you should get that thing checked."

   More hissing in the ear. Like a snake's warning.

   "Oh. Sweet mommy can't handle you, huh? Well. You liked your precious Mistress Vaquera so much… how about we call her up. Right now. Maybe it'll get your dick hard, to have her take you down to the basement right now. I can call her right up. I can have her here? Just like that!"

   I snapped my fingers to show how quick.

   "Defy me. Ignore my warning. Make fun of me to my fucking face? Then, you have the audacity, to correct me."

   The compulsion whispered seductively. You have to do it now. You don't follow through on a threat, you just keep circling day one over and over again. It whispered naughty sweet nothings in my ear again. Go on. Do it. You watched the naughty movie, he loved it. She beat him into submission, then you saw how hard he got, and how he loved it, for hours. Don't you want loved like that? Take it for yourself. You can't threaten him with the brush and not use it.

   I was reminded of the old cartoons. The little devil on one shoulder, the little angel on the other. Vaquera? She was the devil. Whispering the naughty compulsions to me. You saw with your own eyes how much he loved it, how much he fell for me, in one night after it. You can't threaten the brush and not use it, you have to follow through now. I would. Sweet mommy on the other shoulder whispered. Oh, honey. The more you pretend its not a game, the more it is, and you know it. Just use your hand, lightly. You already got what you want, and what you need. Tears from a simple threat. There you go! Six weeks of work, in one night, on a silver platter.

   Strict mommy sat on top of my head, listening to both of them argue. You know they're both right. You can't do both. You either pick one? Or… mix them. Then Vaquera laughed at me. Don't be a fool, Hurry. He's been in love since he first saw me and what I can do. His tongue rolled out for me. You're me, aren't you? Do it. I made him go the extra inch and landed you the big goal and won you the whole game, and I booted it into the net. The last bit of submission, and I handed it to you on a silver platter. He gave the little cry. You heard him beg for more, you heard him plead to never let him be without this. Who do you think just handed you tears from a threat, proof of actual fear, which guarantees the respect? Me. If you let this slide, you're throwing away this golden moment. You risk being so happy with that one big game won? That you go soft and lose the series, the big series, the championship. Its there, just take it with both hands.

   Angel sweet mommy said, you risk him hating you. It defeats the whole purpose. Devil Vaquera chuckled seductively. He loves me now. Hate you? No, nothing of the sort. He'll love you more. You're giving him, what his naughty compulsion wants. Fulfill his fantasy. Fulfill your fantasy.

   Vaquera won, and clapped her hands in glee. Sticking her tongue out at sweet mommy. I looked up at him with extra strict mommy face, and her venomous hiss when she was too quiet, and had enough. I grabbed him by the elbow, and dropped him over my lap. Naked and helpless, waiting. I whispered into his ear, seductively, as I crammed my used socks into his waiting mouth, just opening to beg more effectively. I crammed them in tight.

   "Put a sock in it, slut. Your begging was absolute shit. You liked Vaquera so much? Well. She's here now. I'll just back out of the room, and let you two get reacquainted some…"

   I started with my hand. As fast and as hard as I could swat one cheek after the other. The waterworks and crying started immediately. After a while, the screaming came quick. I didn't yell. There was no music to talk over. No music to lower and raise. I hissed calmly, like it was a joke I was telling him. Too quiet, strict mommy voice.

   "Crying? Already? Allow me to give you something to cry for…"

   Some more of the super heroine hand.

   "Screaming, huh. Here's a little something to scream for, little slut…"

   More.

   "Trying to get away. And just where the fuck do you think you're getting to? Just into getting something to move around for…"

   More hand. More whispering secret little jokes.

   "That, little boy? That… was for ignoring my warning, to watch your mouth. I smelled it coming, and I warned you. Ignore my polite suggestion again. I dare you…"

   Lots more hand. Lots of screaming and movement. Call and answer. Ritual. Ritual feeding of the naughty compulsion. Let it feed.

   "And that? Was for making fun of me, to my face. Laughing at me. Calling me sweet mommy. Let's continue…"

   More hand, by length of time, by speed of swats, by any metric you applied.

   "Ooh. That? Was for the overall sass mouth. Now, pay attention closely, little boy…"

   I gave it to him good, for the longest time yet.

   "That? Was for correcting me. You don't correct me. I correct you. Let's go over that one again. That was important…"

   I went for another even longer time.

   "Oh yeah… is that how Mistress Vaquera does it? Oh, I forgot. She doesn't even piss around with her hand, does she? Silly me. I want to be just as cool as she is. Now, wait for it. Ooh… you feel that, don't you. You know what that is. Yeah, that's mommy's belt coming off. Thought sweet mommy didn't have it in her? Guess you and Vaquera were wrong. Dead wrong, little boy…"

   He started to get the belt. A complete recapitulation of the hand series, now with the doubled over thick leather strap I wore around my waist. I got the squirming and high pitched squealing of anticipation of its arrival on his ass.

   "That? Was for ignoring my warning. Never again, ignore any warning I give you. Those polite suggestions are to help guide you. Let me guide you now…"

   Longer belt time.

   "That? Was for making fun of me, to my face, calling mommy names. You never make fun of me until this is over. You never call me names until this is over. Ever. Let me help you remember that one… its very important…"

   Much harder and longer belt time.

   "That? Was for the sass… now is your ass listening? Because your ears sure don't. Let me make it loud and clear to your ass… don't ever correct me again until you're out of preseason camp, you dirty little slut…"

   Epic belt time. High pitched screeching to go with it. Delicious. Yum. I was wet.

   "Now. What would your ever so precious, sweet Vaquera do, hmm? Let… me… think about it. Oh, that's right. She would give you, the big brush. Wouldn't she? Sure she would. And then I saw how much you loved her for it, so, I want loved like that…"

   I gave him several swats on alternating cheeks with the new, big brush. That just hit it out of the park.

   "Ignoring my warning? Never ignore any polite suggestion I ever make, you dirty little slut…"

   More swats, hard fast ones. Beyond epic reaction, and what else would any audience member expect by now.

   "Never, ever, make fun of me and call me names until you're out of the doghouse…"

   Even more, faster and harder.

   "That? Was brought to you by sass mouth. Another fine product, brought to you from? Slut industries."

   I finished up with those over the head gigantic swats, and more of them in a row than anything yet given to his ass.

   "And that? Well… that's for the next time you get any of these bright ideas."

   I stood him up, and sat there. Threatening to give it to him all over again, from the top, if he didn't knock the whiny shit off quicker than usual.

   I took one cuff off of one ankle and one wrist. I sat him down in the chair I vacated. I cuffed his ankles under the chair, around the cross member underneath, ankles up off the ground and back. This guaranteed all his weight was on his ass and he couldn't lift up. The crying would never stop like this. Wrists behind his back, around the central vertical back support.

   Then I went and got on the far end of the couch, so I could see the TV around him. When the soft crying wouldn't quit? I just put a DVD on and watched a movie. I ignored him. I simply turned the volume up to drown it out.

   I went out for a cold soda, and on the way out smacked him smartly across the mouth when I paused at him crying.

   "Make fun of me, huh?"

   I did it again on the way back in. Nothing impressive, just an attention getting sort of face swat, not a mark leaving thing.

   "Making fun of soft mommy… brilliant work there."

   Eventually the movie was over. I extended the time, by watching one of those little "making of" miniature documentaries on the special features menu. Then, I was done.

   "You. I'm letting you off the chair. But to keep you out of trouble? Keep a sock in it. The socks come out? The brush goes right on your ass. Dare me. I'm not putting up with this shit."

   I got my cuffs back, and took them over with me to sit there where I was.

   "You. Go stand in the corner. Fingers laced, behind your head. No? Better yet, kneel there. I'll tell you when naughty corner is done. You move a muscle? Brush. Stay."

   I watched another DVD.

   "Your ass? Looks really precious right now. If you want some more of the same? Try not listening again. I dare you."

   "Wow. I can do without a pair of used socks, but I guess what they say really is true. Silence is golden. Keeping you out of more trouble."

   Time for another mini documentary on the making of… a shit movie I was just killing time with. Another cold drink. I walked up behind him, and opened the can on the back of his neck, so he could feel the cold spray.

   "Mm. Really hits the spot. How's my dirty socks taste. Huh."

   "All right, slut. Naughty time out corner? Done. Get the hell over here."

   I snapped my fingers and pointed at the ground at my feet.

   "Stay. Those? Stay in. And you're lucky? You're not enjoying an eight hour soap in the mouth fun time. And don't tempt me, that sounds really appealing to watch that fun show again. Mm. We might go there. Eyes down."

   I felt little kisses, but with just the nose and socks rubbing on my bare feet. I kicked at him, irritated.

   "Don't even think about giving me those little kisses. You don't get to please me. You know, I'm not so much mad any more? As I am… really disappointed in you."

   I screen-cast off of my phone, his most recent punishment. I rewound it, making him watch it several times.

   Approaching a couple hours now with my used socks in his mouth. They would be soaked now. He'd be dry mouthed, and they're soaking wet. He has no choice but to suck on them. Gross.

   "All right. Time to eat. Follow sweet mommy to the kitchen. Let's see how much of a pushover she is, hmm? Now. I'm having instant flavored oatmeal. Oh, that's right. One of your favorites. Well? Let's let sweet mommy just spoil you and reward you for your bad behavior. Follow me…"

   He followed me upstairs. I had one of the two empty bowls out for the instant flavored oatmeal. I took the socks out. Gross.

   "You? Can guess what's coming. You want to talk to me, like I'm some kind of dog? You can drink like one. Get a drink. Go."

   He drank the water, that he knew still had that tiny squirt of pee in it.

   "Watch…"

   I filled up the empty bowl, with water from the bowl he had just drank from.

   "Drop those gross socks? In the washer. Then follow me."

   Back downstairs, I let him watch me empty the packets of instant oatmeal into his toilet water bowl, and make his that way. I tossed it on the kitchen floor, and he ate it off of my feet for a fork I fed him with. I made him clean me up extra good.

   This went on more or less all day. Ignored was the best he got, anything else was just another humiliation ritual, always in some way a reminder of what he had done that pissed me off.

   Shower time was fun. I put the chair near the shower door, and hung the brush on its hook.

   "You can see the chair, you can see that brush. And? you liked Vaquera's special attentions in here so much? Use your imagination what happens, if you mess one, single, thing about my bath up."

   Wow. Bath time care? Perfection. My fun soak and pampering day spa? Another perfection. The only difference, he didn't get in with me. He knelt in the corner, for naughty corner time while I had an extra long soak when he was done pampering me. I observed idly, with a hot washrag over my face, relaxing.

   "You could be in here, but… first? Your ass. No sitting. And second and much more importantly? You can't handle normal time that well. So…"

   I got carefully dried off, then it was time for an early bed. When he went to get into bed, I kicked him off, literally.

   "Uh uh. No way, mister. You talk to me like I'm some kind of dog? You sleep on the floor like a dog. Sweet mommy really caves in, huh?"

   I handcuffed him with the long chain cuffs on his wrists wrapped twice around the bedpost near the floor at the foot of the bed. After the light was out, I simply spoke to the dark.

   "I took you to the bathroom before bed for a reason. You wake me up, or piss my floor? Brush time. Night-y night."

   In the morning, I took him to pee. He had to wait till I took mine. Then? I made him clean me off, instead of dabbing off with a single piece of toilet paper. He cleaned my wee hole, my clit off? With his tongue. Just for about thirty seconds or so, and a brief cleansing series of doggy licks around the outside. When I threatened to get enjoyment starting? I smacked him smartly across the face.

   "You're to clean it up. Not please me."

   I let him pee after I was done and he had cleaned me. He looked at me with trepidation, as I had a morning drink of water from a disposable cup from the dispenser by the sink. I smiled at him.

   "Don't worry. I'm not that mean…"

   I flushed before making him have his morning doggy drink.

   "See? Sweet mommy strikes again. A complete pushover. Come on. You're allowed to dress me."

   I had the brush, which I showed him kneeling in front of me at my feet. I pointed to the chair.

   "I'm not saying a word. Other? Than no little kisses. You don't get to please me. Now… impress mommy."

   I must say, much like the shower care, and the bathtub spa pampering? Near perfection. A thought drifted through my mind. Was I seeing the truth in the school of thought, that a girl was better off being a complete bitch and non-redeemable cunt, 24, 7, 365? Reasoning from those types being along the lines of… hey, I'm getting treated better, by better, than you are, nice girl. Do the math.

   No. I pushed the thought from my mind. I was seeing temporary attention to detail, in an attempt to get out of the doghouse and kiss and make up. If I kept this up for the life of the relationship? I would get… the usual. The relationship would go to shit, after I got my attempts to win my favor for a long while. When you withheld past that critical tipping point though? Apathy struck, and dug in deep roots. Why try past the bare minimum, it gets the man nowhere. Why should he invest more into a bet not paying off. The relationship drags on, with apathy and bare minimum… on extended life support. Until one or the other pulls the plug.

   He taught me, what his dead sigma sage had taught him. Namely, you want different results from the others? Don't do what they're doing. For a start, try the exact opposite and refine it from there. No "Retards Monthly" advice being followed here. I chastised myself for allowing the fleeting thought to even be entertained, before banishing it for good. When I gave in and kissed and made up, then showered him with sudden goodness? It would be appreciated.

   I allowed him to give the kisses to my soccer spikes. I watched with strange fascination as he all but made love to my damn soccer spikes on my feet. Big kisses and doggy licks. If that was all he was allowed to have, he took it greedily. Wow. What kind of attention was my clit going to get soon, huh? Just… wow.

   We worked each other out to almost death. Actually great, he was preparing me for preseason camp. On a deserted back corner of the outside perimeter we ran? I stopped and snapped my fingers and pointed down. Mud puddle from the rain. Doggy drink. I spit in it first. Then, I went back to running him. Which of course simply ended up mister long distance endless wind damn near killed me. Which was a weird strategy to get optimum results. Sigma couple strikes together. With an odd, yet surprisingly superior strategy.

   After the extended workout? I naturally allowed him to undress me. I took my sweat soaked practice socks, and allowed him to pile up the rest.

   "Open."

   Rammed in tight. I showed him the bar of soap? Gently slammed it on the dresser, as a warning. The big brush went next to it. After a couple of hours, I was sure they were soaked, and he was sucking on them to get a good taste of my dirty workout socks. Ew. I missed fetch, while he still had my filthy workout socks in as a correction measure. No open mouth? No naked fetch fun. I finally took them out, and had him dispose of them into the washer. I must say, chores had been performed exemplary.

   When the dirty socks came out after a good couple hours? I had him get me the bar of soap and the big brush and hand them to me. The look on his face was priceless. I ran the feared brush over him, and tapped his naked behind with it gently as a warning. I waved the bar of soap around, in much the same manner as I had threatened the brush, but let it pass over. Like the angel of death passing over a firstborn house in Egypt. He seemed about as relieved. I told him to put the soap where it belonged, and he looked at me. After a couple hours, twice that would be bad on him.

   "I meant, go put it in the bathroom, not… just go. Shoo."

   I went back to scaring him with the brush, now that was fun.

   "All right. I made my point. Put the brush back on the dresser. I know where to find it quick, slut. I also, if memory serves me correctly? Demonstrated quite well, that pushover sweet mommy knows how to use it almost as well as Vaquera, huh? Yeah…"

   "Kneel."

   I smacked his face, a nice crack across the mouth.

   "No. Go get me the brush, I want to have a nice, little talk with you. Little slut…"

   The look was again, nothing short of priceless. Pure gold, studded with diamonds instead of rhinestones. I ran it over him, teasing him for a time. I pointed it at him as I spoke. Smacked his mouth again before I began.

   "Have we learned something, about watching what comes out of a dirty little slut's mouth? You're allowed to speak now."

   "Yes mommy."

   "Maybe… what's needed here, is a long trip down to the basement, about an hour with me, you, and this brush on your naked ass… before anything happens. You know, head that off at the pass. Do you fancy that idea? Hmm? I'm just trying to think outside the box here. Do you think that would get better results, than the absolute shit I recently had to put up with?"

   He stammered, and I smacked the taste right out of his mouth.

   "How could it not get better results. Now… show me that ass, little boy."

   I hauled off and gave it a wind up swat from hell pasted right on with extra love. I made him take one on the other cheek. He didn't cry, but… tearing up and puckering.

   "Maybe that? Is the solution here. I brush your ass really good, about an hour, I'm thinking. Give or take, depending. Right up front. Then? If you do pull anything like I just had to put up with? Two hours. But, if you're good? I'm ahead of the game. Do you like the sound of that plan?"

   "No mommy."

   "Well? That's the path, that we're barreling straight towards it. Now. Do you want to avoid that happening?"

   "Yes mommy."

   "Did I surprise you, when I belted and brushed your naked ass that good, the day after an epic brush ass beating? Hmm?"

   "Yes mommy."

   "Do you like those kinds of surprises? Because I can arrange them all the time if you like. Sweet mommy isn't going to be a pushover anymore, is she?"

   "No mommy."

   "Do you have any idea, what the next brush on your ass experience will even be like?"

   "Worse, mommy."

   "Oh. Much worse. I'm not kidding. I'm thinking, about an hour of basement brush time. Scared of that?"

   "Yes mommy."

   I got the tearing up just short of little sobs starting.

   "All right."

   I pointed the brush at him. My magic wand now. Mommy's little helper.

   "Beg. To be forgiven. This better be good. Go."

   I got epic begging. After enjoying it a while, I allowed kisses. With epic begging.

   "All right. You're forgiven. Sort of. The constant corrections? No. But… made up, and kissing and making up? Not yet. That, will wait until I see how this is going. Is that good enough for right now, till I see how you do?"

   "Yes mommy. Thank you…"

   More little kisses, groveling, full scale doggy licks. Christ, my clit is going to get the pink scraped off with his tongue, I can't hardly wait.

   "All right. Enough. You can do that more, when I'm clean. I want the workout stink off of me. You? Leave the chair in the bathroom right where it sits. I need it? I want it handy. Take the brush? Hang it on the hook in the shower. The two being in close proximity to your wet, naked ass? Should serve to remind you to watch your mouth. Get the shower ready, then come and get me."

   He ran and got the shower ready. I enjoyed, wonder of all wonders. Yet one more, for all intents and purposes and by any metric applied… a perfect shower care. I was moderately impressed. Bath pampering as well. I had him get a stack of towels and I put them in the bathtub, to see if his boo boo butt could ease down onto the wet towel stack, to let him sit finally. It just worked. I forbade him "normal time" for a while, and advised him to keep the mommy. Just in case.

   After about 20 minutes, I told him he could, on a probationary basis? Drop the mommy and enjoy normal time for bath closeness.

   "Now. I'm going to caution you. Do you take polite warnings now? Hmm?"

   "Yes…"

   I swiveled his head from behind him to see the chair.

   "Chair."

   I went a few degrees swiveled over, and the clear shower glass afforded a clear view of the much feared and vaunted big brush hanging on its hook, waiting for me to pick up my magic wand and cast a nasty spell on his ass.

   "Brush."

   "Now. Let that be your guide, for choosing what comes out of your mouth. Remember, little boy. Being allowed to drop the mommy, and talk more normally? Does not mean dropping the needed mommy respect."

   "Yes mommy."

   "You can drop the mommy for the duration of the bath, but look at the chair and the brush before you open that mouth, if you think you need to."

   "Okay. I promise. I'm…"

   "Hmm. You're what, dear?"

   "I almost forgot. I'm not allowed to say the S word."

   "Shit? We say shit all the time… and of all the talking to's you have ever gotten thus far, swearing has not really been one of them, has it now."

   "No. I… don't want to correct you, either."

   "Hmm. Such manners again. Mommy's little helper? Helps even when its not actually helping. The gift that keeps on giving. Go ahead. You have my… permission. Its on you what comes out next."

   "Sorry. I wanted to say, I'm sorry."

   I kissed his neck and shoulders, and rubbed my magic washrag clockwise on his tummy and chest. Always clockwise. Anyone can tell you? Athletes are some of the most superstitious people, even the ones that technically know better, like me. Still… can't hurt to do whatever irrelevant detail you were doing when you once got spectacular results. As long as you do everything else and don't neglect real important stuff, in favor of superstition. That said, the washrag was in, until proven otherwise.

   "I don't hate the word sorry. I hate when it's some automatic word, which is tolerable, but… when it carries some… automatic expectation of being totally absolved of all guilt, consequences, that's how too many people use it. Example. How you doing today? Most people will say fine, wonderful, great. Its a reflex. Now, that doesn't lead to… anything bad, but its an example of a learned vocal reflex, which drives me nuts."

   "Okay. So… I wait for, or if necessary ask for, being punished severely. Then, I can be sorry and its tolerated, or even okay. Gotcha."

   "Are you… watching the chair, and the brush… letting it provide you with the needed filter for the words you're making…"

   "Let me attack this from a different direction."

   "Oh. Now you're going to try to find a new way to get Vaquera called in for special basement duty. No, go ahead."

   "Can I get in trouble for asking for clarification of the rules?"

   "Hmm. If you're trying to… navigate and skate thru something? It could potentially be a bigger violation for violating the spirit of the rules, not necessarily the rules themselves."

   "Okay. And what if I'm… unclear about something."

   "Well. What are you unclear about."

   "If I'm frustrated, how do I bring it up? Sarcasm, irony… or as you call them smart-alack… is one of my greatest allies."

   "Hmm. What are you frustrated about. A little boy asking mommy to help him, doesn't violate the spirit of any rules, at least I don't think."

   "I feel like I'm circling a fighting opponent, trying to go left, right, circle, looking for my way to dart in. Or… trying to run thru a swarm of wasps."

   "You don't want your ass to get stung any more than necessary."

   "Where I used to try to practically engineer the situation? My cup can now runneth over. Too much of the elixir can be a poison."

   "So… are you trying to say you're… actually afraid of me? Of offending me."

   "I say respect, you say fear."

   "Different paths to the same village, really."

   "Did you ever hear the term functional equivalency? Its a thing in… some of my sciences."

   "Um… you explained the concept before. If its not the exact part, but it fits and works… like that."

   "Yes, basically."

   "Okay. When I'm building something, trying to invent something. A classic engineer's black box. If I'm working at the board level, not every individual component from scratch. I need a temperature sensor. That's a classic black box. The voltage indicates temperature. Doesn't really matter what circuit is in the black box, the board level view. As long as a thermistor in, and a voltage out… I'm good."

   "Okay. Daddy needs a carburetor, with 35mm throats, and a simple slide and two jets. Any brand will work. Gotcha. Where is this going."

   "So, I'm just gonna be brave, and basically ask to have my ass set on fire."

   "If you insist? Its your ass, honey. Chair… brush…"

   "How is it a big deal, and any real difference. Again, I'm just frustrated and don't understand. Vaquera… the punishment aside, after that? She fucked me like a goddamn hurricane. Now… you? Fucked me like a hurricane in the living room. Why is it some kind of issue, what name tag you were wearing on your outfit when you did it. I mean, functional equivalency. It was both times… you, that fucked me silly and made me like it. Am I too practical, I'm not catching some… nuance here? Clarification."

   "Hmm. You missed your calling. You should have been a tap dancer. That was very… artful."

   "Thank you. I tend to score high on both verbal and logic puzzles. I feel like I'm tap dancing through a minefield. Honey? I'm not making fun of you, when I might have taken the sarcastic or smart-alack route to trying to understand how its fine when you do it, but its not as good when Vaquera did it. To me? Its… you. Under functional equivalence? How much trouble am I in, that I don't care if you dress up like a naughty Christmas elf, as long as you fuck me like a hurricane and make me like it after three hours of… Christ, how sexual assault turns into…"

   "Oh…"

   Washrag, washrag, washrag.

   "What is… oh."

   "Shit. Now I'm in trouble, and I need to say I'm sorry."

   "The chair and the brush, are filtering out me pointing out I have no recourse to punish you with, and I'm definitely not allowed to tell a strict mommy? That being sorry is…"

   "Shit. I wanted to be a strict mommy, not a bad mommy. Well, a naughty mommy, not a horrible one."

   "Fuck. Now I'm in for it. I just called you a horrible mommy. Honey? I'm a computer programmer, we have manuals. I'm an electronics engineer, we have schematics. I'm a little bit of an engineer? We have blueprints."

   "You're scared of me, scared of offending me. And you're frustrated."

   "Something along those lines."

   "The joke in psychology is? Men have manuals, and there's no women's manual."

   "Am I missing the punch line?"

   "Not really much of one. Its funny because it isn't all that funny."

   "Hurry? If for six weeks, or for the next sixteen goddamn years? You wanna tell me, it just is. I can live with that. Or… if you could UN-frustrate my… understanding, and explain how you fucking like a hurricane is great, but Vaquera fucking like a hurricane is even slightly less than great? I would appreciate it. But… if you can't, or won't… I'll just file it under Bermuda triangle, and move on. I'm practical."

   "Wow. Is psychology one of your hobbies now too? You're… asking me a deep therapeutic question. Asking me to question my emotional responses, in a possibly very bad reflexive action. Hmm. Can I have a minute?"

   "Uh… sure. If this leads to an unscheduled Vaquera visit, and a trip to the basement? I'd rather not know the answer."

   "I believe, I am inadvertently using a reflexive overly emotional response, to cover up for an illogical motive. The inherent conflict, is leading me to feel… "

   "Is this a… guy, girl difference thingy? Or… a computer programmer, psych major thingy."

   "Potentially both, potentially neither."

   "See? This is why I stayed primarily in STEM fields, and in fighting. Things are clearer to me."

   "No. I understand you want a logical answer, to a seemingly illogical situation and response. I can also appreciate, you don't want a paragraph of gobbledygook, like you're kinda getting. I'm analyzing it, and… I'm coming up with an… ego malfunction."

   "Chair… brush… I should probably shut up while I still have skin on my ass, right? If you just tell me to write it down, and ask six weeks later? Or even never at all… I can live with that. I just want to label the mine on the map, so I don't step on it…"

   "Okay. I might have a… reasonable answer."

   "Does it involve the chair and the brush…"

   "I doubt it. Here goes. I am… kind of… built around? Not the best way to phrase what I feel, but… best I can say on short notice. I'm… built or predicated upon… the idea that I'm supposed to be myself. And, if I have to pretend to be something I'm not? I don't like it."

   "This is the clear answer…"

   "I can do better now. Okay… when you get the hots for Vaquera? It… must trigger me somehow, that Vaquera is a character I played, kind of like an actor. And… as an actor, I think I wanna be liked and loved for me, not for the character I once portrayed on the screen."

   "Well, the psych major answer doesn't do a whole lot for me, totally not my field. What would the… traditional girl answer be? Curious…"

   "Oh. Honestly? One of those… oh! Men! And roll their eyes. You're a man, you just don't get it…"

   "Yeah. And its shit like that? That… men roll their eyes, and say… oh! Women! What can you do."

   "Logically? When women say that… men! and roll their eyes, oh, if you were a woman, you'd just get it… that's a typical female cop out. I try not to do that. I hate women for a lot of things, and that's one of them. No different than… expecting men to read minds. And if he can't read their mind, or guess accurately? Oh, he's just not the right one… whee… very silly to me."

   "Wow. My logical, understandable, tomboy girlfriend I can relate to is back."

   "Yeah, but… I'm troubled by what you made me think of. I set up a… well, basically? Role playing. A slightly more advanced version of… be the mailman, or, be the cop… somehow and some way though? I'm irritated that you really fell for Vaquera at some point. Your reaction was just… so…"

   "So what? It got hot suddenly, like I'd been doused in gasoline, but… at some point the match got struck and…"

   "I'm insisting on taking the reins, being the coach, acting as the manager, but… what do we do when the coach is wrong or bad?"

   "Oh. Logically?"

   "Sure."

   "Well. We have many kinds of manager types in the service. Its not so much about you have to be 100 over 100 correct decision making ability. You're human. Its how you handle it when you're wrong, that can make you horrible, just bad, or okay, or good… or even great."

   "Okay. I make a bad call, and people get killed. What would a horrible leader do?"

   "Oh. Pffft. Blame it all on someone else. Usually had a blamer ready to go at all decisions, just in case they need it. They also have a way to take credit for anything, whether they did it or someone else. That's a horrible leader. Its all good reflections on them, all bad reflections on someone else. Men don't respect leaders like that, and men don't have rules, like… well, he wears the smart combat boots, so… its okay."

   "And what does a bad leader do?"

   "Pretty much the same thing, but… they're not trying to reflect back and deflect off, planning it. They just kind of react, and choose what's best for them and their career. Putting yourself first is bad."

   "Whats an okay leader like?"

   "Kinda… not good, not bad. Just kind of bumps into things, and if it works out good, fine, if it doesn't, again fine. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. Hey, sorry I got 100 men killed today. That's, you're just kind of there. A house cat could accomplish that. Where do we put the team? Oh, wherever Squeaky leaves a paw print."

   "A good leader?"

   "Hmm. Ability. They try to get the best result, for as many people as possible. Including for themselves, you don't have to be a martyr every day. They can accept some constructive criticism. This is a good leader. Not necessarily Napoleon, but… good."

   "And great?"

   "Great leaders. The men come first, they come last. A great leader, will… walk and give his driver and jeep to injured enlisted men. He seeks out criticism, to get better. Anything goes right? He immediately hands out credit to whoever thought of it, even if its the lowliest fuck-up. Anything goes wrong? He takes responsibility for it, even though its beyond his control or couldn't have known. He won't ask you to take risks he wouldn't take. The leader's life is more important than the infantryman's life? But… he won't use that as an excuse for cowardice. He goes and lives in a tent in the mud with his men, because he's damned if he's gonna drink champagne while his men are freezing to death or getting malaria. When he's right? He doesn't lord it over you, and when he's wrong? He points it out even if he could easily get away with it. He tells on himself. Its easy to do the right thing, when it benefits you or simply doesn't cost you. Doing the right thing, really matters most when it costs you dear, and you do it anyways, because its the right thing."

   "That's… heavy."

   "I know. The men following you? Will die for you, when you show attributes like that. When you steal all good praise, particularly when you didn't do it? And blame all negative consequences on others, again particularly when it was your doing… the men want to shoot you in the back, and blame it on enemy action. Actually, in combat? That can save lives and win the war. Unfortunately, back stabbing lying weasels tend to get farther faster than stand up guys. The smart thing, and the right thing? Are not very often the same thing."

   "What makes a good follower, then."

   "Do what you're told. Follow orders. That's the bare minimum, you do that, you're a solid guy. If… you know the leader is wrong, and he's not the kind to be great about it? You might have to convince him its his idea. A great follower, covers for mistakes the leader makes, because he's otherwise great, and he's only human. It takes great leaders, being followed by great men? To really get anywhere, at anything."

   "I'm… me and you, us. I'm the leader."

   "Yeah. You? Lead the relationship."

   "What kind of leader am I?"

   "Can I ask for quid pro quo. What kind of follower am I."

   "Hmm. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. Innocent, and hot."

   "There's two different views. There's how you view yourself as the leader, or the follower. And… then there's how the other or others see you. First tell me what kind of leader you think you are, then I'll tell you what kind I see you as."

   "And you tell me what kind of follower you think you are, then I tell you what kind of follower I think you are."

   "We should do this in stages. We… each take one item of clothing off first, not one strips and then its the other's turn."

   "Who goes first…"

   "Tough one."

   "This could get ugly."

   "This could get beautiful."

   "Hurry thinks… she's born with a natural tendency to jump up and try to take the reins."

   "You're naturally dominant in a relationship with a boy. No mystery there. I… think I'm born with a natural tendency to follow, usually anyways."

   "You're naturally submissive in a relationship with a girl."

   "Its a fun fantasy for you… to be the big strong girl, that runs a kinky sex club. And… creates a situation where she can own and kinky dominate a girl performer's submissive boyfriend. It got you hot to play that role. I thought so. You weren't just doing it for me."

   "It was a fun fantasy for you, to imagine an attractive big strong girl, exercise her personal and physical power, to trap you into a situation against your will, where she could… physically and sexually dominate you and use you for a fuck toy."

   "Real or a game, you got your rocks off. Punishing and torturing me physically and sexually. Then… when I… what? Was overcome and gave in… you got set on fire."

   "Real or a game, you got your rocks off. Being punished and tortured, physically and sexually. Then… when it suddenly turned into carnal lust? You… melted and begged for more. You got set on fire, and I can show you the frame of the video where it happened."

   "Oh. I know when that was. I can't explain it? But… there was a point, it was very real. I mean, you're actually doing these things to me, for hours. Relentlessly. And… when I in a very real way, admitted I liked it, I actually cried a little, admitted it as you said to myself, and… that begging for more, of anything, whatever it was? Was… very real in that super hot moment."

   "We… play out the similar scenario in real life."

   "What Vaquera was actually doing in real life that night… what you were doing to me in the living room that night… both the same, both times I, what? Surrendered… it got hotter for both."

   "We're like an old movie trope. The girl resists, the man makes her, and she suddenly gives in and loves it. We just switched the script. In real life, and in our games."

   "You though… little miss psych major. You… actually wanted me, in real life, to… submit and admit it. Completely."

   "Well. You did ask me, on the third date. If I was using psychology training on you. I said yes and no… I admitted I was, but I swore to god I was doing it for good reasons, not selfish reasons."

   "I thought it was all just a hot script, and sounded really advanced and cool. When you said… when you finally admit it, to yourself, and submit. That you already knew it, I needed to admit it to myself… that I would cry, and it would get great. That you would hear the difference in the cry, and would take me and it would be okay."

   "As a psych major, who has read some about this… naughty impulse topic for obvious reasons on her own… there are a lot, I mean a lot, of elements to these games. That are very real. That, would be one of them. I know it sounds contrived, like some romance movie plot point, but… art imitates life in some ways."

   "Um. I get skin whipped off my ass, if I accuse strict mommy of laying traps, to trick me into big trouble."

   "Hmm. I'm going to go against my very natural, and reasonable mind you… inclination to point at the chair, and the big brush? And say… if you can tap dance through this, try it? I'll try to… not freak. If you try to… not break any more eggshells than you have to…"

   "Wow. I'm rubbing off on you, that was some pretty decent tap dancing there, miss direct and straightforward."

   "Thank you."

   "Mommy is very welcome."

   "Oh. We're normal time. No mommy required."

   "Doesn't mean it isn't hot to say it when we're alone."

   "You, seem to be an excellent follower."

   "You, seem to be an excellent leader."

   "Let's not tap dance off set… what is mommy's psychological trap you think you found the secret map to? Not sure I'm aware of it."

   "Mommy wasn't aware she was jealous, of basically herself. Of her own role she created for herself. Where one would normally assume the person that created their own fantasy role, would not have any issues around it. Yet…"

   "Oh. Touche. Are you going to start to write my psych papers for me?"

   "I'm a STEM lord, dearest. I'd sooner be horsewhipped and doused in rubbing alcohol then dragged over a box of thumbtacks tossed down, than delve into the psych field too willingly."

   "Hmm. I could probably get Vaquera to do that to you, just saying."

   "Ha. I'm wondering if it would get hot…"

   "Fuck. We never know. But… the cunningly laid trap, that I either planted for you knowingly, or… unknowingly? Now I'm fucking curious you're going to pull another psych major rabbit out of your ass. Give, little doggy. Give."

   "What's one of your major themes about rules?"

   "Cheating. I will---"

   "We both know what you would do."

   "And… my cunningly laid trap? Willingly or subconsciously prepared is…"

   "You live with three, somewhat tall strong girls. Two of which, I asked out that turned me down. From day one, you go nuts with rules to prevent the obvious from happening, but, also from day one… encouraged me to watch the leg show eye candy. My loyalty is constantly being observed, and even tested. Reminds me of the boss that goes nuts about stealing, then leaves the door open, to see if you filch something. Secretly waiting, to go… aha!"

   "You admitted, you… after knowing her now, actually like Little Lightning. If you had any… designs? That's the last thing you'd admit. You would get defensive, and make up all kinds of nit picky reasons why you actually think she's horrible, and nitpick little physical reasons why you can't stand her. Her room's too messy, it reminds me of my aunt, who used to set me on fire when she babysat me… she wears yellow socks, I love otherwise attractive women, but yellow socks? Ew. Its natural. If you were trying or even fantasizing and not even intending to, that would be the natural mechanisms you would consciously or unconsciously employ. Your motives are pure. Its… actually a little monk-like, but… the natural enhanced loyalty gene of the sigma? Makes it make perfect sense."

   "Okay. Then… the… refresh my memory. Did I or did I not get punished, for crying foul, when you suggested your little tickle party? I mean, from my point of view. Hey, how about girls we all know you find attractive, and we both know you're a kinky little submissive… hey! How about I get a fun game going, where me and one or more other women, physically dominate you and tickle you against your will. Then, I say no? You freak. I'll do that and more, if I choose to! It… just felt… off, weird. Like I said, reminded me of a boss who always forgets twenty bucks. Oopsie. I assume traps are being laid for me."

   "Oh fuck. I might have punished you, for telling me no, or manipulating me… I didn't look at it like that… Christ."

   "That wasn't the only time I felt you were accidentally dropping a couple 20 dollar bills. Seeing if I returned them or not."

   "There… were others?"

   "You constantly told me stories about… what the bad mommies do with their sluts. Having mommy friends over, and forcing them to be shared. Selling or trading or giving them away. Having mommy parties and the slut is forced to be… group entertainment. Oh, I don't do that! But, all the others do it. One of the mommy parties, was even a tickling party. Which was what started the whole… issue that led to me being punished, for trying to be loyal. Which… felt weird."

   "Holy shit. You… were showing an enhanced sense of loyalty against cheating, and I punished you for it. Oh good Christ…"

   "How much trouble am I in, if I can give another… I felt weird situation?"

   "I think mommy is in trouble, but go ahead. Christ almighty."

   "You, designed the role playing game. Came up with the characters, the backstories, the plot… everything. It was a plot point to threaten me with… everyone in the club would hear what you were doing to me in your office, you would throw a party for the girls over, and use me in front of them… basic mommy-bang type of scenario."

   "Hmm. That's… a very interesting observation. You point out a recurring theme. Its very distinct. Its a verifiable pattern."

   "Well. Since I point it out, would you call it a… simple statistical anomaly? I'd buy that. One time black came up on the roulette wheel, something like 73 times in a row. The odds are a number so long you need walls to write the actual 1 in a zillion billion number out longhand… but it happened, its verified, and they tore the whole setup apart, to see what wasn't statistically possible? Yet it happened. It could be a giant statistical accident."

   "And on the other hand, its a subconscious trend. One that I had the ability to use physical force to make it possible, and…"

   "I thought you were constantly testing me. Dropping a couple large bills on accident once a week. Seeing if I was honest or not. Because it was such a big deal to you personally."

   "Shit. It actually is a big deal to me. How I could be going around subconsciously trying to create the very thing I dread? I don't know."

   "Eh. Daredevils? Its thought that some of them at least, are trying to commit suicide, but in a way its almost subconscious."

   "Strict mommy has two questions for you…"

   "What is a chair, and what is a brush?"

   "Hmm. Fun option. Get back to me on that one, but… I was thinking? Why am I leading the relationship, and why aren't you writing my psych papers and coming up with ideas for experiments and papers. Hmm."

   "Bullwhip, rubbing alcohol, thumbtacks sounds like more fun to me."

   "More so than which one? Leading the relationship, or doing psych insights and evals?"

   "Maybe both. I've never fully led any relationship that went well. I either got played and used so bad they might as well have tied a saddle on my ass and rode me down main street, I think was how you put it… or, I was in the opposite position. Where I could get all the decent one night stands I wanted, and couldn't buy a relationship, good or bad. You checking off my checklist item by item, and handing it back to me, sign here, little boy. Fuck time is this day and time. Don't be late, you need three changes of clothes. And if you don't bring a whip and rope, mommy will have some for us. Oh no, I have no idea why this relationship works great."

   "Can we go back to your… psych workup?"

   "Oh. That again…"

   "I can't get over it. Though I'm consciously jealous and guarding the sanctity of us… and threatening extreme outbursts of emotional, personal, and even physical natures to enforce what I consciously choose? Subconsciously, I'm clearly trying to…"

   Its times like this, he surprises me, every time. I know he has the vocabulary, and still when he uses it suddenly, it always takes me back a hair.

   "Before the modern day and the modern terms, isn't dominant submissive dichotomy behavior rooted in ancient and formerly accepted practices? Why else did we nickname modern kinky shit, master slave games."

   "Well. It does mimic many aspects superficially and even substantially, of the ancient master slave relationship. Ownership. Power and control and decision making. The master owns the slave's body, in most cases. Actually, it was common to have several attractive slave girls to work the house, and… it was considered polite to offer one to a visitor, or let them pick one for the night they visited. Like saying, here's a steak, or… go get what you want out the fridge. It was common courtesy."

   "And, rape was only a crime if you didn't marry her, or got her pregnant. You were legally ruining the father's value he could command for his bride price. It was more of a civil matter than a legal one in many areas. Physically raping your wife wasn't a crime, even violently. Whipping your wife was not only common, it was encouraged."

   "Hmm. We would have been the talk of the town in the middle ages."

   "We still would be, if we didn't keep it a secret. People would point and giggle."

   "Ancient practices, were rooted more in human nature and behavior, than in morality. Ancient morality was more an outgrowth of common human behavior."

   "So, you're basically saying… that its basic human nature, if you're dominant in a sexual way… to show off your control of owning another person's body, by forcing them to be offered up on occasion."

   "Whoa. But, that also means that… the submissive wants to be shared and given away? You really are a little slut."

   "Mommy please. You own the steaks in your refrigerator. If someone stays over? Its your right, to offer some of what you own, to feed the guest. There's just no morality to giving away a steak. But… you constantly claim not just ownership of my body? You claim you own me as a thing. I'm your dirt bike. You can ride me when you want to. Is it not polite and natural, if a friend stays at your house? Particularly if you have a spare dirt bike, to offer them to ride your used trail bike? You ride your new one, and if you have a used one, you offer them to borrow and ride that one. Again, just no morality to riding a dirt bike. Now, apply it to your wife and your girl house slaves. The wife is my new dirt bike, but hey… you can ride one of these used dirt bikes I have out back, if you want to play on one, go ahead."

   "Hmm."

   "What are ways to demonstrate you actually own something. For one, you can loan it or give it away if you wish. I can't give away or even loan money when I work at the bank. Not my money to control or loan or give… but the money in my own wallet or bank account? I can loan or give it to whoever I feel like."

   "But… mommy only owns one dirt bike, her little boy. Its for her to ride."

   "If mommy owned one horse, would mommy not take turns riding it with her friend or cousin that stayed for a week or two on her farm one summer? Take morality out of the equation, its obvious. You demonstrate you own that horse, by saying someone can borrow or use it. You can't loan out another horse stabled in your barn. Not yours to control."

   "But… its all based on a sex game. I can't really control you. You ask me to, and then allow me to. You have to submit, and offer me your wrists or I couldn't have tied you up and whipped you the third time that first night. The second time, you had to listen to me and keep your hands on the hood of the car. If you had decided not to, I can't do anything. And the first time? Please. Give me birthday swats, you poke your butt out, tee hee."

   "Hmm. Look at the progression. You swat me at the party. Then? I offer you to do it again. Low level, but you took initiative, then I offered it back. Sure the first time was basically the same. I stick my butt out and say yeah, swat me. The hands on the car, same thing, but… by the third time? Wasn't rope your initial idea?"

   "Oh. I don't think you could sit still for that, you'd need tied up. Have you ever been tied up?"

   "You suggested actual control of me. I agreed. But… no matter how it happens, once I'm restrained? You could… loan me out to your friend hiding in the bushes, or whoever. Once I'm tied up or handcuffed, I actually turn into an object that's in your control, and you can now offer it up. What I think after it ends is another matter, but… that goes down later, I still get shared right now."

   "Hmm. You agree to it all. I mean, look at Vaquera that night. She was strong enough to hold you over her lap the first time? Please."

   "Actually? I'm a fighter, and I do grappling which is dirty wrestling, so… I know things most people wouldn't know or guess. But, if you're curious? In a real fight, I know not to let Vaquera get me into a certain position, to a certain point. After that point though, I'm actually fairly helpless. Once Vaquera had my wrist, tugging it back to her body across the small of my back? That, combined with the leg scissors move… I honestly was in her more or less complete control. Your thighs are more than strong enough to hold the leg scissors once I'm in it, and your grip? Once my wrist was held there, I was done. She didn't even need handcuffs at that point. The handcuffs just give her both hands free."

   "You mean… Vaquera actually had you helpless for your first spanking?"

   "Yeah. I know not to go there, but once past a certain point? Trapped."

   "Wow…"

   "Hmm. Mommy's getting off, finding out she can actually do it with physical force, with no real restraint? Yeah, that would turn a strict mommy on."

   "And once I have you pinned, that's another one."

   "Oh. Most people? Yeah. Not to a wrestler or grappler. I could toss you off of your pin at will, not bragging, but… now, if you took a few pointers? You could really firm up your pin considerably. I show you how to shift your weight, you could really firm it up a lot. Your leg strength? Is ridiculous. Your grip strength in your hands? Its… don't take it the wrong way, but, you have the grip strength of a man your size."

   "Ooh. Pulling off something without handcuffs or rope, yeah, that makes me wet at the thought… makes it more… real. Any others?"

   "When you sit on my face, front ride, or 69. Your reverse cowgirl is another fairly potent one, with a few pointers to all of them, yeah. With pointers? I'd have to actually do things to you, I'm not particularly willing to do to my girlfriend, to win or break out and quit."

   "Wow. Vaquera's stropping, she actually had you…"

   "Yeah. You, are really getting off on the idea. If you're curious? It made it extra hot for me too. If you never noticed, once I feel a little helpless with you? I kinda… go limp and melt."

   "Aw. When the big strong girl takes charge, you just get weak in the knees."

   "I guess. Basically."

   "Question, little boy."

   "Anything for mommy."

   "I like the way that came out, ha. But seriously… you felt, what. Betrayed then, when I wanted to have a little tickle party with you. More betrayed and hurt, when I punished you about telling me no, not letting me make all the decisions I demanded to."

   "Oh shit. Chair and brush, chair and brush. Don't I get any legal… stuff? Like, I can invoke some slut's right not to self incriminate himself? There should be some recourse for me."

   I wrapped my arms tight around his neck, but was careful not to actually cut his air off or anything. I whispered in his ear, quite seductively.

   "Little boy. All mommy has to do, is handcuff you. You act like I can't make you tell me anything I want to know at that point. So…"

   "As long as I'm going to tell the truth, whether I'm a swell guy afterwards, or Vaquera sticks a red hot fire poker up my ass… I didn't feel betrayed. Now, maybe this will get me the chair and the brush? Not sure. But… I explained what I thought. If I had felt betrayed? I would have said I felt betrayed. No, I said, and I used a very explicit analogy. The business owner that's always leaving a couple 20 dollar bills around, seeing if people take it or return it. That's not betrayed. That's… the person is suspicious and testing. And that's at best."

   "At best… and at worst?"

   "At worst? I felt I was being… baited. Analogy? Your buddy is trying to get you talking about the cute 12 year old lifeguard, and you finally have to tell him. Hey, I've been ignoring you. But, enough's enough. We're in our 20s, she's 12. I don't wanna talk about this. Then? He was just testing you, so his new wife's cousin staying for the summer, is safe or whatever shit the wife is putting through her. Present company excluded, but most, not you but most, women create drama where none exists. Not saying you were doing that. But, I felt I was being… tested, or baited. You keep trying to talk me into saying yeah yeah, now I'm an asshole, I'm caught."

   "Wow. When you explain it like that? Its an entirely different viewpoint than I had on it."

   Am I running into… chair and brush danger zone? Or am I tap dancing along just fine."

   "For now? Not an eggshell broke, I don't think."

   "Maybe our brains work different. You're a girl, I'm a guy. We have different chemicals and stuff. You're dominant sexually, I'm submissive sexually. Again, different chemicals or mixes of hormones, some shit. You grew up on a farm, I grew up in a small town but not a farm. I'm a computer electronics kind of guy? You're into psychology. You're a jock? I wasn't a big jock in high school or college either one. But… here's my view…"

   "Go ahead."

   "You said, if I get… kidnapped, overpowered… whatever. And, basically some kind of tickle tortured. Right?"

   "Yeah. It's not a threesome…"

   "Well. Let me be clear. If I come home, and two or three football players are holding you down, and you're screaming and crying, getting gang tickled? I'm not acting like a macho jerk, but… I'm simply not to be held responsible for my actions. Not bragging, but I'm not completely without experience handling 300 pound steroid jacked drunk assholes, from my days running with and helping train the new MPs. Now, what I described, what I walk into going on. The fuck am I supposed to think is going on? Just because I don't see cocks going into naughty holes, it still looks very sexual to me."

   "Tickling someone isn't raping them. Its not even in the same ballpark."

   "So… if you're daddy came home, and two or three guys were holding your mother down, and tickling her? He's not in any way supposed to freak out? We're supposed to ask what the rational explanation is, right? Uh uh. You know you're not supposed to be found, tickling your buddy's girlfriend at some party, you and your buddy holding her down tickling her, she's squealing… you know that's off limits."

   "Well you make it sound so…"

   "I'm making it sound like what? I'm describing exactly what's going on. You saying that… you can walk into some apartment, and three lady volleyball players? Can be holding me down, tickling me, screaming and kicking, they're all laughing… you're totally okay with walking in on that. That's fucking kosher. I mean, I'm allowed to go get that, if I can engineer it? Hmm? Don't bullshit a bullshitter."

   "Again, you paint it so…"

   "I'm not painting or coloring anything. I'm just describing the actual scenario the person walks in on. Am I supposed to walk in here, see three football players all taking an arm and a leg, tickling you and what. I just join in, hey someone give me a leg, I'll show where to really get her good at? Or… you saying you walk in on me getting that from three volleyball girls, that you'll just jump in and have fun? Why am I the only person in the room that thinks this is…"

   "Well. Isn't it different, when…"

   "I'm saying? Its slightly sexual. If a man catches his wife with some guy, let alone two or three guys… she's getting held down and tickled… its something close to sexual. I mean, I gotta tell you. I'm hanging around some girl, and I find out I'm allowed to grab her up, hold her, pin her down. Tickle her, she's squealing… and she keeps coming around? No one throws me out, cops don't get called… I'm figuring I can probably pin her down next time, and feel her up. You fucking know where I'm going with this. Its on that road. Ain't in the little village at the end of that road, but its right up around the bend. What I can tickle? I can touch. What I can touch? Good chance I can fuck."

   "You make everything sound so… ominous."

   "Okay. I'm done being… wow, I'm so weird. You take over. I'm interested where you go, what you do with this. Go on."

   "Okay. Little kids tickle each other all the time. Nothing going on. Brothers and sisters do it. Its right up there with all kinds of other harmless teasing fun kids put through them."

   "Little kids all have a habit, of showing each other their private parts. I know its common. Curiosity, experimentation, kids thing. A phase. But… if you come home, and me and Little Lightning are playing you show me where you pee from, and I show you where I pee from… Houston, we have a problem. Right?"

   "Well…"

   "Oh. Kids do it. Its harmless. No big deal. You make it sound so… ominous."

   "You're not allowed in her room, without me present."

   "Okay… we're playing show and tell, in the living room on the couch. Fine and dandy, I'm not allowed in her room. We're in the public living room. All clear. I don't think so."

   "You really get freaked out about this…"

   "I don't feel like I should always be having lunch with some girl. Or two or three girls. Nothing going on, no shenanigans, no jokes… I still feel like I know I'm not supposed to be doing it. I assume you would think I wouldn't be happy to find out the same going on with you and some guy, or two or three guys."

   "You have a way of making everything seem so…"

   "Look. If some guy in your psych class, is in your study group. You guys go to the rec hall, in public, each buy your own hot dog, then hit the next class together, I'm a lot more okay with that scenario. After college? Maybe less happy about always sharing a hot dog with the same coworker."

   "Let me ask you this then. I'm just curious. If… I wasn't your girlfriend, you were still single… and you by some turn of events landed into a… three volleyball girls jumped you, overpowered you like little kids, and you got tickle tortured… would you go to the cops?"

   "No. I'd probably want to know if this is a Thursday night gig now. I know I'd get… let's call it minor jollies out of it. I could see me getting a half a stiffy, easy."

   "You're saying you'd enjoy it then."

   "If I get to pick the three volleyball players that did it? I'd probably offer to go pick up girl number three that needed a ride to get to this fun night out we had planned for me."

   "So… what's the problem, with me seeing if I can artfully and accidentally, engineer a little… tickle party. No one's the wiser but me and you, that it's minor jollies."

   "Its minor jollies for me. I admit it. Is it minor jollies for you? To watch these girls do it, or you participate, or direct the action… how's that part go."

   "Oh. I know, or I think anyways… I'd get as you said, minor jollies maybe, from participating or watching. I think more fun would be teasing you later about it, I guess."

   "You admit its slightly sexual. Two guys hold a girl down at a high school afternoon get together, and tickle her, you're getting to touch her butt and stuff. Its giggle giggle roaming hands jollies. Right?"

   "I guess."

   "I already admitted I think it would be a half a stiffy for me. You want it done. Who are the girls. I'd want… quality control on my… tickle play partners. And I don't want some fat smelly chick at the party joining in, feeling me up."

   "I could understand that. Some… participation control would need to be… gently seen to without anyone realizing it."

   "And you're thinking the girls and the location would be…"

   "Actually, how else could I control the participants and everything else, without it being here."

   "So, everyone's favorite three bachelorettes."

   "It seemed safest…"

   "Do you wonder… how I rank them…"

   "I already know how you rank them. Lightning is your favorite, then Right, number three is last.

   "Yeah. I wouldn't want number three involved at all."

   "You asked her out before we met."

   "That was before I met her. On raw looks? Shes fine. I have a sliding scale that goes up and down, based on many factors. In girl terms? Now she's ew and creepy to me."

   "So, me Lightning and Right."

   "I'd prefer just you and Lightning, but if you needed a third wing girl, then Right."

   "So, we're talking about it."

   "We're talking. So, you admit then, that you did have an agenda about this."

   "Not an agenda…"

   "Then what. How did we go from, you're not allowed to talk to any other girl, or I'll kill both of you. To… discussing this."

   I explained all the crazy stuff going on, at the website. The side of things I wasn't interested in.

   "But, you saw it and now you're curious."

   "Not really from there. I told you, I overhear all kinds of drunk talk out of the boys. I'm not drunk, they think no one can hear them talking drunk about… whatever."

   "What kind of whatever did you hear. And all of a sudden, you have your own groupie now. That you can play with and use for fun."

   "Stuff wilder than what we're talking about? Stuff ten times wilder goes on, and that's just what you hear about. You know other stuff goes on you don't hear about."

   "Honey? I ran with the MPs. That's the cops for a military base. All those young people, all physically fit, all making the same money, wearing the same uniforms. All those young people crammed in, it's in a way like dozens of giant college campuses all rolled into one. Trust me here… from the MPs? I'm privileged to know all kinds of shenanigans the MPs roll up on."

   "Where would what I describe fit in with… shenanigans on a military base."

   "On weekends, holidays. Giant, drunken college type parties. Everyone knows there's… more than one wild get-together for different things. People are pairing off and getting into shenanigans. If the MPs heard screaming and laughing, and found two or three girls in uniform, restraining and tickling another guy in uniform, say down at the river, or out on the trails or whatnot. Or in the apartments or dorms. They make sure it isn't an assault, they get the feel for the situation. Key ingredient is the person that could be being assaulted and maybe won't say? They get them alone and tell them if they want to, they will escort them safely."

   "Usually, that's some girl… in our case? It would be a guy that looked like me. The possible victim, isn't a victim by their own admission in private? No crimes being committed? They just laugh and tell the kids to have fun. Happens all the time, I've heard some hair raising stories. I'm not as sheltered from 4 years there, knowing what goes on around me, as I was growing up actually sheltered in a small town."

   "Oh. So… you know stuff goes on. You're not as sheltered as you let on."

   "In cities? There's a semi official system called the hankie code. You wear a certain colored hank-y, that identifies what you're into. Casual encounters are more easily made. Me? I'd go out with a straight hankie color, and a SM hankie color. I'd work it into my weekend casual bar look. Or, for a first date? I'd hang my… straight hankie and my submissive hankie from my rear view mirror. Vanilla girl? Won't think anything. A top girl like you? Will smile and tell me she thinks my hankies are… cute."

   "So… why didn't you get into more… fun. You were getting one night Latinas…"

   "Couple reasons. One? MPs know. All the local and city cops know. Now people can gossip. I might as well have worn a T shirt and advertised my preferences. Another reason? Its for cruising, in a big metropolitan area. Casual encounters. Its not a relationship building block in general. You're part of the scene. Different bars have different reputations… are there handcuff bars where straights go? In big cities, you have bars and clubs with, unadvertised and unofficial themes. Yeah. Its… you're out cruising."

   "You were shy, or…"

   "I could spend a lot of time having that as my main hobby, like an ordinary young man? Or… you see my hobbies. My personal life wasn't what I wanted anyways, and my hobby life was, so… you put your effort into what's working smooth."

   "Any other reason you're against this?"

   "If me and you started hanging around a coke bar, we'd eventually have coke friends. Even if we successfully stayed out of it? It would be around us. The… atmosphere isn't conducive, in my opinion, to relationships, careers, etc. Just trouble waiting to happen. I don't need to be around the next crime scene. I'm not scared of the seedier side of life from the MPs? I just would rather avoid the seedier side of life."

   "Me and Lightning… I engineer me and her jumping you for tickling fun one time, I make it like its a fun idea out of nowhere… that's seedy?"

   "No. Fun wild night. Question? What do we do for an encore. It makes living together possibly awkward. Me and you want to keep our private life private. People talk and gossip."

   "That's why if I worked it right? It was just something that happened one night. The story of me and Lightning and maybe Right jumping you and tickling you? Wouldn't even register on the Richter scale among all the much juicier rumors. When the story doesn't go into anything seedy? They tune into the next better story that did."

   "I dig. I also think its like doing a line of coke. Some percentage of people do it a second time. Some a third time. Another question, mommy."

   "Yeah."

   "People are always more comfortable when its their idea. If this was my idea, I feel like it wouldn't get brought up, it wouldn't shine as an idea. I have more reservations about this than you do."

   "I know you're shy about stuff. Our private life wouldn't be brought up."

   "Hmm."

   "You remember when your eyes practically rolled back in your head? Living room, with Vaquera… you smiled, and started clutching onto me? Begging, all into it. At that moment, in that moment… if Vaquera would have handcuffed you and called a friend up and brought her over, you blindfolded, too… I don't think Vaquera would have taken a lot of calls on the complaint line. Not like you'd have dove for your cell, locked yourself in the closet, and dialed 911."

   "Mommy is usually direct and open. You now sound like the football player, working on his girlfriend, trying to arrange… hey, why not blow my roommate too, what the hell. I'm the groupie, and you're the ball player trying to talk me into it."

   "Sure is looking that way."

   "Am I supposed to be house entertainment now? We gonna start having a little… kitchen club? All the girls on your soccer team high five you? You win a bet. What. How is it."

   "You do feel betrayed."

   "I don't use the word betrayed. I just describe knowing something is up. I describe… lectures about counting the money carefully, not losing money… then a couple twenties are being left around, I feel like its an obvious test. You? Are the one who keeps using the word betrayed. Keeps, not quite putting the words in my mouth? But close. Whatever is going on, I don't feel betrayed. It sounds to me? Like you feel like you're betraying me."

   "Hmm. Someone, is a little better at psych 101 than they let on."

   "If you think I don't know what goes on, you're wrong. I'm just generally not involved. I do my own thing."

   "You're shy, I know that. I thought if it was a roommate, it would be different."

   "Shy? Is… I can't go get into things. Private? Is I don't feel generally inclined to."

   "I get that. But if it comes to you?"

   "Another reason I stay out of… stuff? Is that I think it affects relationships."

   "Let me put this another way. Lets say you were dating some girl. One night, her room mate stays home. She wants her room mate to help her… you know. That's not cheating. No sneaking, no lying."

   "Its also okay as long as you're in charge. Its your idea."

   "Duh. Who made every decision, from day one. And who was okay with every decision, again from day one. You said it yourself, you couldn't have come up with a better plan yourself, if you could wish it into existence."

   "No. I can't complain."

   "You do complain, but just a little up front. I'll put this yet another way. Your… friends. You never heard someone in the group talking about how their girlfriend's room mate joined in, maybe after a party, something like that."

   "Yeah. I figure half of them are lying or exaggerating."

   "Means the other half aren't lying or exaggerating."

   "Do you ever get tired of being right?"

   I shushed and kissed his shoulder several times, used my magic washrag some more. Clockwise, always clockwise. More shoulder kisses, before resting my chin on it.

   "Do I… lord it over you, when I happen to be right?"

   "Hmm."

   "No punishment, no correction. I won't even… anything. Mommy promises."

   "Not really, no. You don't… run around reminding me all week, how you were right and I was wrong. Telling everyone we see all week, how you won."

   "Hmm. Some girls I know, are like that."

   "Some guys are too, hun. I was a smart kid, and if I was showing off like that, rubbing it in as a little kid?"

   "Aw. You got smacked upside the head."

   "Naturally."

   "That's why you're not an asshole. You had upbringing."

   "Hated it as a kid."

   "And as an adult?"

   "You know me well enough. I hold the door for people. I offer to carry something for an old lady struggling in the parking lot. If I see someone and I can help? I help."

   "I know how you are, silly. I asked, if you like it now. That you were raised right."

   "Oh. Yeah, I do. I can't stand people that act like…"

   "Spoiled little kids, all grown up?"

   "Exactly. If I acted like that? I'd be embarrassed of myself."

   "I was raised like that too, dear. Its something else we have in common. Why do you think I snatched you up and refuse to let you go. Plenty of reasons, but that's one of them."

   "So. About what we were talking about."

   "What about it."

   "Why the sudden change? You just woke up one day, and decided… hey, I'm going to have wild fun now."

   "I didn't just wake up and decide. You never changed your mind about something before?"

   "Well. I know I saw people eating what they call Texas toast."

   "You lived in Texas. So."

   "So, I decided one day, that I was going to try Texas toast too. Its the service, its like high school in some ways. The MPs at the chow hall? Applauded, and someone stood up and pointed out. Hey, Yankee is learning how to eat real man's toast."

   "Hmm. That's funny."

   "Yeah, it is. Thing is? You just decided something more substantial than what kind of toast you're going to eat. Am I allowed to be a little shocked."

   "Sure. I was on the edge, trying to decide. Then…"

   "Then what."

   "Then, you. You pulled your little psychology stunt. I was already kind of noticing I was… looking at things like that. I don't want us to go… cruising, as you called it. I don't want to join weird clubs. I don't want to give you away and get another one of you. But… I do wanna have a little more fun that way. And…"

   "And…"

   "And. Its small potatoes. When I was really young? It was… shocking for a girl to wear a tiny string bikini. Only one or two girls did it. Next summer? More did it. A few years later, most of the girls were wearing them to the pool."

   "Did you wear the string bikini?"

   "Not the first year, no. I wasn't one of the first girls. Late the second year, when it wasn't… a daring thing. And plenty of others were already doing it."

   "So, this is your string bikini, all over again."

   "Mm. I guess. I wasn't one of the first girls. I refuse to be the last girl though."

   "Do you need my approval, or something."

   "Yes. No. Maybe. We're talking about it. Wouldn't you want to wear the string bikini?"

   "I'm not sure what the Army guys would think, hun…"

   "Hmm. Funny boy. But, I'm asking. How bad would it be, to be the guy that… had some wild fun like that."

   "I use cocaine as an analogy. You don't do coke, your girl don't do coke. Suddenly, a few of her girlfriends are doing it at parties. Next thing you know, your girl wants you to do coke with her. Have some fun, everyone says. You're only young once. But, they say that about everything."

   "I don't want to do coke."

   "Its just my analogy. Next thing you know though, your girl starts… acting up. Seen it happen. You know what I mean."

   "So. We can talk about how we'd try it the first time then. I'm not going to jump into the deep end of the pool. I'm not going to throw you into the deep end of the pool. I wanna walk in from the shallows."

   "What's your idea of walking into the shallow end."

   "Hmm. I mentioned it before. I want to have a… tickle party. I have a little tickle party alone with you, it would just be with a friend."

   "A room mate."

   "Mm. Its safe that way. Yeah. Now, you admitted that it would be fun. It would be a… thrill for me to be there and see it and be involved."

   "Involved? You thought of it, you engineered it…"

   "Well, yeah. I wanna do it in a way, that doesn't make us… circus freaks. I didn't plan on bringing you out all tied up or anything. So, nothing embarrassing like that. Technically, it wouldn't even be your fault, its just something I got another girl in on the fun plot. Like that."

   "I guess if you can pull it off like that, I'd agree. As long as I'm not in trouble later."

   "You wouldn't be in trouble."

   "And this doesn't lead to me coming home one day, and find you getting tickled by the football team."

   "No. Nothing like that."

   "What does it lead to. It leads to something. You have some kind of… agenda."

   "Well, since you bring it up and all…"

   "Yeah. I brought it up. You brought it up. It was your idea. You take full responsibility for the new idea."

   "I'd be a bad leader, if I made you do something, and it went sour, then I blamed it all on you. I get that. But… if its fun, and you have fun… then I'm a good leader, right?"

   "Your tap dancing act is going good. Just tell me where it leads."

   "Oh… you know my, little daily day spa treatments? I love it. I brag, how good I have it. No one else gets… day spa treatment. I had a kind of… fantasy."

   "Such as…"

   "I'm laying with my close girlfriend. We're both getting a massage. Like at a, real day spa. You do realize, that girls that are rich? Go to day spas, and get massages, and their nails filed, and rubdowns and massages, right? Sure you've seen it in movies."

   "Sure."

   "Well? Me and my close friend can't afford a day spa, like rich girls on TV. We get the same thing. How bad would that be. That's not some weird club, cruising. How horrible would it be, to give me and my friend a rubdown, a massage."

   "Oh. It would be horrible. I'd be forced to put hot oil, on some pretty girl's legs and rub it on? I'm petrified."

   Magic washrag. Clockwise. I'm going to get this fucking thing bronzed.

   "See? Mommy had a good idea."

   "And you get a kick out of watching."

   "Yeah. I admit, I get a kick out of it. You see, the other girls are always bragging. Like girls do. I can make my guy do this, I can make my guy do that. Well, when my close girlfriend I share this wonderful day spa with them brags about it… its the girl version of a guy bragging his girlfriend's room mate… helped give him a shoulder massage after the gym."

   "And what does that lead to."

   "It leads to girls getting jealous of me. Don't you boys get jealous of the guy that brags he gets… whatever he gets? That's me."

   "What do I get out of it…"

   "Hmm. You won't enjoy yourself?"

   "Well…"

   "Your guy friends will find out, that the girls are talking about your magic hands, giving them hot oil rubdowns. Your girlfriend? Isn't mad about it, and knows. Hell, it was her idea. So, how bad does it make you look."

   "I look like a genius. The guys will want me to go on a speaking tour."

   "Same here. Win win."

   "Who's the girl though."

   "Has to be safe and controllable. Has to be a room mate."

   "I ain't touching number three."

   "I know. You have to like the girl. I was thinking of Little Lightning. Its your little buddy, anyways."

   "Huh?"

   "Oh, please… oh, thank you Wizzy, you made my eggs just like I like them. Oh, Wizzy… you make my bacon all crisp, just like my mom made it for me. You're so wonderful."

   "I can't do this."

   "You rub me down. I love it…"

   "No, I'm friends with her boyfriend. I don't know what rules you girls have, but guy rules? You're not allowed to give your buddy's girlfriend a… day spa package."

   "They're not doing so great."

   "She's fucking him for days now. We're alone, we have the townhouse to ourselves. Actually, they're doing great. I can't piss in my Army buddy's cereal bowl."

   "That means they're fucking. That doesn't necessarily mean that things are going great."

   "Then why's she fucking him?"

   "Same reason anyone fucks anyone, I guess. She likes him with his shirt off. Your Army buddies at their little Army house?"

   "The barracks. Its called… the barracks."

   "He has a cool truck. All the girls noticed the guys fighting in the yard. Her friend is dating another one. She's having fun."

   He sighed, and got quiet.

   Washrag, washrag, washrag.

   "What's the problem then? She likes him with his shirt off, she likes his cool truck, she likes hanging out at the barracks and I guess the other girls knowing she's there. Her and her friend are both… dating one of the guys. What's the issue?"

   "Am I allowed to be honest?"

   "Well that's a first. Mommy asking the little boy for permission to say something. No. Lie to me. Of course be honest."

   "He found out she… had a few boyfriends. He's not happy about that. They had words."

   "Then why is she fucking him?"

   "The honest truth?"

   "I just know I'm gonna regret this… yes."

   "Fresh meat bad boys. The girls are having fun."

   "And when the girls are done having fun…"

   "Well. Then the other girls on my team are going take a whack at them, from what I heard…"

   "Oh."

   "Your friends are having fun with my two girls for a while. He's not happy about her dating habits he's hearing about. When she gets tired of having fun? The boys at the barracks will get consoled by new girls who have discovered there's fresh meat they didn't realize was down there. There's like a dozen of them living down there, its a big old rooming house. I think your Army buddies will get over their heartbreak."

   "So they can get used by the rest of the team."

   "Mm. I didn't make things the way they are. Do you think the boys will be… unhappy getting used by half of the rest of the team? Oh, how horrible it will be for them. Getting fucked and dated, then passed around from girl to girl. I'm sure they'll be in tears over their plight. You will have to do what you can to help them get over it."

   "No. They'll be man whores. The other guys will buy them drinks to hear their stories."

   "And I'll get to hear all about it, from my team mates."

   "Once the other girls start… whoring around with the fresh Army meat they found… that makes them a bunch of whores. Does that make you the madam, for discovering the fresh meat, and putting on a meat show?"

   "Lightning and her close friend, got first crack at the boys. They look good, and they like looking good. Those two? Will tease the other girls, that they're just getting their leftovers."

   "I'm so glad, that everything is as fucked up as it really is. Its just wonderful."

   Washrag. Clockwise.

   "Me and you aren't fucked up, are we?"

   "Well. You don't plan on fucking your way through the barracks, do you?"

   "I hadn't planned on it… I'm in love with you."

   "Tell me there's no other guys in this naughty movie you're directing."

   "You're the only naughty boy in my naughty movie. You see me on girls night out? Ever?"

   "Actually, no."

   "Well. There you go. Now. I've seen this before. Lightning, Right. They get done with boys? There they are. Moping around the townhouse. Poor Little Lightning. You know what you need? Lets take a trip to the day spa, like the rich girls on TV. That'll be girl fun, that'll cheer you up."

   "You? Are rotten to the core."

   "The worst."

   "What about my gym buddies."

   "Hmm. I guess I'll suggest a mixer. I mean, poor boys. Lost their toys. Hey, how about a party? More girls with muscular legs. That would be just the thing to cheer your barracks buddies up, right?"

   "Hmm. And your team mates will smell fresh meat in the water, start circling like girl sharks."

   "You don't want to… be the friend that set up the mixers? I'm sure your buddies would be so pissed at you. All those girls with muscular legs. Getting drunk with them, having parties. Why, they'll hate you with a passion."

   "You devious little… what are you getting out of all this."

   "Hmm. I hadn't thought that far ahead. But… two thirds of my front line? The young stars… the ones the older girls abused and I had to protect them. They get elevated in status. They had first pick of all the fresh meat. The others? Got their leftovers. Then? Me and the girls, toss them fresh meat in the water. It won't make me a co captain, but, it won't hurt the team voting any."

   "Gee. I thought the coach picks the co captains."

   "He does. But the girls still all get to vote. The coach doesn't go by the voting, but… social standing makes his pick easier. If its someone he wanted to lead anyways."

   "You're playing chess…"

   Washrag, washrag, washrag… clockwise. Always, always… clockwise.

   "Am I?"

   "You're… holy shit."

   "I want a championship. I'm sick of being a bridesmaid, never a bride. I want my championship. When I win it? I want to be co captain. I wanna run right over some of the other girls around our division in the finals, that think they're hot shit. I wanna mow them down. I'm sick of having the best starting line we ever had, be the team wall flowers. Its not fair. The stars that lead the team? Are the butt of all the older girl's jokes. I'm pissed. The coach is pissed. The administration? Has a football team that hasn't taken their division in a couple years, and they pour money into it. The coach, if we win? Gets big bragging rights. with the administration. I'm his right hand girl."

   "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my sweet, farm raised girlfriend."

   "If we win our first championship? We have momentum. We'll be the favorites to win again next year. Its always like that once you win one year. I wanna end up the captain, that put our team into a powerhouse in our division. We have the starting line to do it with, and they're young. We get three more years till they graduate. As those girls mature? They're already scoring leaders and stars already, imagine what they turn into. We start taking championships in our division, the biggest and toughest division in girls athletics in our sport? You get recruiting. All the stars, across the mid west? Will wanna go to our school, and play for us. We can begin to dominate our division."

   "What do you get out of this, if it comes to pass. Just curious."

   "No matter what, I get my degrees. Maybe end up an assistant coach, or even a coach. At a big school, not some scrub team. Most girls in my position? Take their scholarship degree and either take a job, get married, or both. I stay in it, for grad school, then my doctorate? All free, by the way… experienced players are valuable. If we win, and I'm doing what I'm describing? I'll get recruited to coach somewhere worth coaching."

   "What am I in all this…"

   "Do you like your stable I keep you in? Do you want to live like this all through graduate school, then getting your doctors? Working out all you want in your best years for it, eating only the best food dietitians can figure out for top rated athletes to eat. We both make doctor, we both get careers. You're my husband when its all over. Your wife? While all the other guys your age had a wife with a body that shit out a couple puppies and were already going to shit… what would yours look like. Tell me, little boy. Speak."

   "27, 28 year old fitness model body. With a doctoral degree. I don't know. What man would even want that."

   "She might even be a little bit kinky. I hope that isn't a problem."

   "A kinky fitness model with a doctor's degree. I don't know. Maybe I could do better."

   I had my arms wrapped tight around his neck again. The magic washrag? It had done its work, it lay down in the water somewhere. I bit his neck and kissed it. I hissed in his ear. Strict mommy voice.

   "Shut the fuck up, little boy. If you think you can do better? You know where the door is. Don't let it hit you, where I whip your naughty little ass, for talking to me like some whore you dragged home from the bar. I told you what I want, I told you what I want to do. Just shut you're fucking mouth, while you still have an ass. Do I make myself clear?"

   "Crystal."

   "Good… you need some more practice, on body massage. I just happen to have one, you can use to practice on. And just so my little smart ass knows? I'm going to call Vaquera, and tell her my boyfriend isn't listening to me, the way I like. We'll see what she has to say to you about it…"

   I bit his neck.

   "What's the matter, little slut. Cat got your tongue… I'm getting sick and tired of hearing sass, every time I make a decision… you tell me how you could have it any better…"

   I bit his neck hard. When he didn't answer me, I had him bite the washrag to hold it for me.

   "Yeah, that's right. I don't hear shit out of you now, and that's just the way I like it… a gagged slut. After all, sluts are to be seen, and not heard… ain't that right…"

   I nodded his head yes for him.

   "I have to go, and help the coach with some of the summer work he has to do. Mostly recruiting stuff. Paperwork, and we watch video. Seeing what we can get for the team. I want you to take a nap. When Vaquera gets here? Well. You know what you have to do."

   When we were done with shower and bath time, I had him clean up and dress me. I told him to take a nap while I did what I had to do.

   I dropped the big bag of ice inside the door, and got the cooler out of the corner of the living room. I went and got what I wanted out of the freezer, and put it down in the ice filled cooler. I went into the bedroom quietly, and smiled looking down at him sleeping. Face down, too. I quietly got the bullwhip out of the closet, and amused myself with it. Dangling the tiny lash end to tickle him asleep. Running it down his back and legs, until he was awake.

   When he woke up and looked up at me, he eyed the whip coiled up in my hand. I smiled.

   "Oh, this? Don't worry. You're safe. In here, anyways. Not enough room to use it on you properly. Now, if I had you down in the basement? Bad things would be about to happen."

   I continued to drag the lash end over him, teasing him with it.

   I was prepared to give him a little wake up call, when he didn't greet me properly. I was actually looking forward to it. He surprised me, by recovering from the sudden shock of being woken up by me. He realized who had woken him up without being told. He addressed me properly, saying hello to Mistress Vaquera. Eyes stayed down on the pillow. The quiet, nervous little voice he suddenly had.

   "I see you remember me. Its nice to be remembered. I must have made quite an impression on you, little boy. Did you miss me?"

   He said he had, and more importantly he said it properly. I made him describe the things I had done to him last time I visited him, and I took my time about it. I was enjoying it. How some of the things made him feel. How embarrassing or humiliating it might have been for him. How much each thing had hurt. How he had loved it.

   "I fucked you last time I was here, little boy. I'm going to fuck you like that again. I'm going to keep fucking you like that, until I'm paid off. I know you liked it, little boy. I can always tell, when they like it."

   I ran my fingertips over his damaged ass.

   "I didn't do all that. You got your ass beat by someone else. Tell me who did it."

   He had to tell me how he had gone over his mommy's knee. I made him describe it to me, from start to finish. Every last detail. What he had been restrained with, and how. The dirty socks. All about how he got her hand first. Then mommy's belt came off. Finally, how he had gotten the brush.

   "Mm. I can tell just by looking at your ass, you must have made your mommy mad. Tell me what you did to deserve it."

   He had to tell me all about it. How mommy had gotten mad that he made fun of her, after being warned. How he had corrected her in conversation on top of it.

   "I had lunch with her. She told me all about it. I'm glad your mommy is learning how to deal with a naughty little slut. You got it right in the living room, hmm? Right when you were bad, right where you misbehaved. I heard you got it good, and I can see on your ass she wasn't bragging for nothing."

   I went from running my fingertips over his punished ass, to scratching at it. Making him wince.

   "Did she kiss and make up, after she gave it to you? All sweet and nice. Ruining such fine work, right after she did it."

   He had to tell me how no, she hadn't. I made him describe all of that in detail as well. Crying on the naughty chair. Made to go in the naughty corner. Drink out of the toilet. Sleep on the floor. How she had taunted him, about what sweet mommy could do. How sweet mommy wasn't going to be a pushover and made fun of for it.

   "Come."

   He kept his eyes down, and came up to my feet. I was wearing my heeled cowboy boots, something he never really saw me in before this all started. I don't wear them in summer that much. I enjoyed standing there, and having him grovel at my boots. Holding where my ankles would be if he could get to them. Little kisses for my boots now. I had cleaned them and oiled them special just for this occasion when I got them out of the back of my closet, where they waited in what I think of as summer storage. I knew he'd be able to drink in the smell of the freshly oiled leather.

   "More."

   He did. I definitely enjoyed it. Licks with the little kisses. Yum.

   "Keep it up. But we need to have a little talk, you and me. I remember the last time I was here. I seem to recall giving you instructions. You were told to give your mommy the same level of respect you give me, isn't that right."

   He had to admit to me, groveling on my boots, that was indeed the case.

   "So. I gave you explicit instructions. Myself. And you disobeyed me. You? Were very lucky that your mommy handled it herself. Because if she had called me… I would have done far worse. But that's not everything we have to talk about now, is it? No its not. Your mommy called me, and I got a bad report on you. I expect you to tell me all about the problem she encountered, right now. Go."

   He had to explain the entire situation to me. What his mommy suddenly wanted to do with him now. How she wanted to share him with one of her room mates. How he had disagreed with her over it. How she had talked him into it in the end.

   "I see. That sounds like what she described to me. I just wanted to hear your version of it. I'm deciding what to do with you now. You realize that, right?"

   He did.

   "The only thing in your favor, is your mommy explaining things to me. How the deal you two had, has changed. How that change, led to this happening. Otherwise? We would already be down in the basement, having a very serious talk about your bad report. None of this, however? Is any kind of an excuse for you to sass your mommy. Tell her no, that you weren't going to do something she wanted you to do."

   I sat a while longer and enjoyed having my boots groveled.

   "A lot of the problem stems from a lack of proper respect. That will eventually get fixed. Much, much more… properly, we'll say… than the problem has been addressed up until now. I'll be handling that little talk with you when the time comes? Personally. But that doesn't fix right now. You showed a lack of respect for me, when you disobeyed my very clear instructions. You will show your mommy the same respect you show me. You didn't, did you. No, you did not. So the first thing, is a lesson in respect. You will get the toy and the tube both, and you will put it on me. Now."

   I stood, and waited while he got it out, and held it for me to step into it. He pulled it up, and adjusted it tight and got me all ready. There's a farmer's chic sort of mentality that goes along with having a property and barn and all that. The cheaper a farmer can perform action X, the more they brag about it. The most creative and cheap farmer somehow "wins" this. My jelly toy he is putting on me as I think this, wins that competition. Top of the line product, and cost pennies on the dollar because the color to the jelly rubber was changing over, and it went half and half with blobs of swirl in the middle. A blem.

   He's developed a habit of putting this thing on me now, all by himself. It turns me on something fierce, too. He licks the complete path of each leather strap and buckle, before adjusting it all snug. Yum.

   Its all built off of a main leather belt. You adjust that main belt nice and snug. A leather flap with the jelly rubber toy trails off two thinner leather straps to hold it all down secure. Two more trails he licks the path of each time. The backside of the jelly rubber main toy, has the spot for the smaller nub to buzz my clit or my hole. He even licks the little nub I picked as best for reaching my own pleasure button. I find it hot. I suppose someone else could think it was silly. It makes me wet, though.

   I flicked his name tag.

   "You're already wearing your collar. That's good."

   "Now. Hand he those 4 pieces of rough rope."

   "Good. Give me a wrist. Eyes up. I allow you to watch."

   I had him watch, while I did it. I started with an end of the rough rope, that he held in his hand. It came up several inches and came back down. Forming a little loop. I began to wrap tight around the base of his wrist, keeping it tight with each careful wrap. I continued up the wrist several inches, forming the tight well wrapped rope cuff he knew of. I then held the last wrap tight, and fed the long end through the last little bit of loop that was still peeking out. Then holding that in, I smiled as I yanked the loop tight with the leftover his fingers were holding. The loop under the tight wrapped cuff, scuffed the really rough rope hard against his wrist getting pulled snug and secure. He winced as he felt the burn scraping his skin.

   "Don't be such a baby. Other wrist."

   I repeated it again. I smiled as I yanked the second wrist's loop tight, pulling harder, knowing I was making him more uncomfortable with the rope burn.

   "Lay down. Give me your ankle. You know how this goes, this isn't your first time. The next time, you better not need told what to do."

   I smiled and slid that loop tight even harder and faster. He gave me his remaining ankle without needing asked.

   "Good boy."

   I slid that loop tight, snugging it up slowly. Maximizing the rope's scuff and burn. I tied his hands behind his back quick, then also tied his ankles. I had a helpless kneeling slut at my feet.

   "Respect, little boy. Respect…"

   I tied the tube into his mouth, and held it over my toy. It didn't take long for him to make slobber noises. I shushed him and told him to let it run out. I slowly coated my toy with his own slobber, while he was helpless and forced to watch it prepared for use on him. He knew what was coming the whole time, and he was blushing and nervous. Yum.

   I started gentle and slow, like always. But I got to the point much quicker. Tapping the back of his head to make the gagging much more often. Little shoves and tiny pulls. It wasn't long before I had my strong hands on either side of his helpless head, and began my lesson in earnest.

   "This, is about respect. Sluts kneel, because it shows respect for the person who owns you. What comes out of your mouth, is a sign of how much respect you have for them. You haven't respected me, and you haven't respected your mommy. So? If you don't show the proper respect for what comes out of your mouth, I'm not showing you any respect back for what goes into your dirty little mouth. You will learn respect, slut. One way or the other."

   I put his nose on my jeans fairly quick into his lesson. He pulled and twisted, and I held him there a few seconds at a time, laughing, until I stroked out. Smiling, I began again, and started stroking into his throat. I began to face bang him, taunting him. I did it sitting down, I leaned back and dragged him onto it and worked him. I stood up and took my respect from him by force.

   I sat him down at the foot of the bed, and fucked him with his head leaning back against the bed. I finally dragged him up onto the bed, and laid back and with my hands on his head, working him like a toy. When I was done fooling around and had him going well, I got on top of him, and carefully fucked down on him from on top.

   This was no five minute lesson. He was teary eyed and had been snorting and gagging throughout it. When I was finally done with him, I ended with him kneeling in front of me sitting on the end of the bed, just like we had started. I held my last thrust in for a while. Counting slowly to ten. I finally released him slowly, a slow withdrawal before I was done with him. I put my palms on his tear streaked cheeks, and had him look me right in my smiling face.

   "Respect, little slut. You will show it."

   When I untied his tube and released his mouth, I got thanked properly. I smacked him hard across the face, and had him thank me for teaching him some respect, and he complied. As if he had any choice in the matter. I smacked him again.

   "I don't ask for your respect, slut. And neither does your mommy. We demand it. You will give it to us, or we will take it. You better remember it. Eyes up here…"

   I watched him in the face and eyes for a little while before leaning forwards to get closer for speaking.

   "This is a lesson, little boy. Normally? I just whip, beat, and fuck the respect into my slut. If I don't get as much as I need? I take it from them. I whip them harder and I get more respect. I beat them more often, longer, and harder. I get more respect that way. I fuck that respect right into them. But I'm going to help you, little boy. I'm going to be nice to you."

   I rubbed his head and his face gently, shushing him.

   "Shh. Mistress is going to teach you something. It will help you, and keep you from getting hurt more than necessary to train you, to be a good little slut for your mommy. Nod you head yes, if you are ready to be taught something nice."

   He nodded several times.

   "All right. I want you to remember how you feel, right now, right this very second. I just used you. Its humiliating, to be tied on your knees, helpless. Have your throat fucked with no mercy, as deep and as hard and as long as I feel like it. If you feel humiliated, show me by nodding your head yes."

   He nodded again.

   "Don't forget how you feel, right now. Used and humiliated. You're afraid of me right now. Because you know I can do it again, for twice as long if I want to. Just like that…"

   I snapped my fingers in his face for the full effect.

   "That's where your respect for me, and your respect for your mommy comes from. You need to fear me, and fear your mommy. Remember little moments just like this, and it will make you treat us with the respect we demand."

   "Now. I'm going to untie you. Your mommy tells me you're doing very well, dressing and undressing her."

   He thanked me well for his compliment. I stood up.

   "Face on my boots, slut. Show me some more respect like a good little boy. Yeah… that's more like it. All right. I want you to take my boots off, slowly. One then the other."

   I had him put them carefully together, to the side. I pointed at my stocking feet, and got kisses and my ankles held, somewhat reverently. Yum. I knew he could smell the well oiled leather of my boots, and I let him get used to the oiled leather aroma. It seemed as if it fascinated him, and inordinately so.

   "Now take my socks off, and give them to me. Good boy. Open…"

   My socks went into his mouth, and I tied a bandanna around them.

   I stood up.

   I brought the chair near enough I could scoot him into position, and yanked him across my lap.

   "You disobeyed me, and you sassed your mommy…"

   I gave him my hand, hard and fast. It was a super heroine hand, because he already had a sore little bottom. It didn't take long at all to have the sobbing and crying I wanted. I went for broke with my hand, and got well into the screaming and crying.

   "You will not be a little sass mouth. So, we'll go over that one again…"

   I repeated it twice as long, for all I was worth. My hand hurt when I was done. I let him feel me taking my belt off.

   "You argued with her, and told her no. That you weren't going to do what she wanted…"

   I attacked his sore ass with the belt, and restored the screaming and crying and pulling. My strong thighs scissored his legs and held him secure. I shoved his crying head down firmly by the back of his neck and it stretched him out helpless for me to go to work with my belt across his ass.

   "Your mommy called me, and gave me a bad report. After I taught you that you will show her the same respect that you show me. We'll discuss that a little more now…"

   My hand came up from below the front of his collar and held him down tight. As I had done with my hand, I went for broke. I turned him into the helpless, hot mess and kept him there.

   "Now, we'll finish that discussion…"

   I went for the complete submission. Where his pulling and twisting slowly became more and more feeble with each attempt. The screaming started to subside into the steady sobs that wracked through. He was giving up. I stood him up.

   "You stay right there, little boy…"

   I went and came back with the big brush, and yanked him right back over and continued with the brush where I had left off with my belt. The high pitched shrieking coming from his well gagged mouth didn't last long, and neither did the sudden increase in his mobility. I gave hard sets of intermittent brush whacks. The kind that come from far up and back from behind my head. I spoke between attacks, once I had him beat into the limp sobbing machine that no longer had the will to resist.

   "There we go. Now we're getting somewhere…"

   A few more and I began to speak.

   "Your mommy, wants to share you with her close friend. Girls sometimes share with their close friends and roomies. There's nothing wrong with it, it goes on all the time."

   Some more. Just more sobbing, because all the fight had been beat out of him now. I wanted to keep him here for this.

   "You don't share a slut, unless they're a good one. If your mommy wants to share you, it means she's proud of you. She wants to show you off."

   More.

   "Now then. After all the arguing, and all the disrespect and sass, where did it end up at, hmm? You admitted you liked the girl she wants to share you with anyways. You admitted you'll enjoy it. So what was even the point, huh? Let's talk about that a little bit…"

   More.

   "So? This was entirely unnecessary. This didn't need to be. You brought this on yourself. Now. Since I was told all about this, I'll explain to you what will go on."

   More.

   "Your mommy, is going to show off how well you do the rubdown and massage. The pretty girl? You will get to have your hands all over her legs, and everywhere else. What's the problem here. You're going to have fun, little boy."

   More.

   "Your mommy? Is going to lay with her on the bed, while you give rubdowns and massages. Showing you off, and its going to be fun for you. What do you have to complain about. Nothing."

   More.

   "Then? After a couple good body massages, your mommy is going to take turns with her, getting taken care of in the tub. Eventually, this will lead to a shared shower for them. After a tough morning workout? You will take care of both of them. Shower, tub, then rubdown and body massage."

   More.

   "Now. First things first. Your mommy wants to have some fun, with a little tickle party. That's all. That will break the ice, with getting the pretty girl's hands on you. Then later, the massages and rubdowns will start."

   A couple whacks more. The pitiful sobbing thing across my lap, laid there in complete surrender.

   "You argued and sassed for no good reason. You agreed to it in the end. So, this was all for no reason. Now. Look at you. Laying there crying. Its humiliating, to be helpless across my lap. Getting your naked ass cracked with anything I feel like using on you. Crying your little eyes out. Take my advice, and remember how you feel right now. This will help you show the respect we demand from you."

   I stood him up, and took the bandanna off and pulled my socks out of his mouth. I untied his wrists and ankles, and put the wet socks in his hand.

   "Now. Go put these in the washer. Don't start them. Then, go get ready for my shower. When everything is ready, report back here for more instructions. Go."

   "All right. I want you to go downstairs, and grab the cooler of ice in the living room. Put it in the shower and wait for me there. I'll be in. And hang this brush up where it belongs. If I need it in the shower, I want it ready. Get moving."

   I had my shower attended to, and it was wonderful. When I was done, I started kissing him. I got ice out of the cooler, and rubbed it on his nipples, his neck, his cock, and anywhere else I thought would be fun.

   "Now. I'm going to clean you out…"

   When the hot soapy water was in, I plugged him with one of the ice cubes. I shoved more and more in, before corking it in with the wooden plug on the string. I kissed him to enjoy the discomfort. Of being full, and having ice cold stinging to go with it. When I sat him down, and yanked the plug string? There was a little explosion and you could hear the stream of cubes clinking out rhythmically. I pointed and laughed, and he about cried from the embarrassment.

   I repeated it again and again, far more times than was necessary. Something about the clinking noise was amusing beyond all else. When I was done, I reached into the cooler with him in the shower again, and used my frozen surprise on him. An ice shaft I had made. I shoved it in his cleaned out and chilled behind, and plugged it and held the string. I kissed and teased him for a while, enjoying his obvious humiliation and discomfort. When I finally pulled the plug on him sitting, there was a pronounced clunk. It had been more than long enough, that his little bottom was numb.

   "All right, little boy. Its time. Lets get you ready…"

   I tied his hands, and tied his ankles, and tied his wrists to his ankles like before. I used the applicator, and lubed his rear end up several times, thoroughly. I repeated my brutal rape of his ass, to all the screaming and crying I expected. After I let him go, and fucked him all over the shower and across the floor… I sent him dripping wet into the bedroom after having the towels and washrags thrown into the washer on top of my socks and started.

   When I came into the bedroom, dripping wet… I tackled him onto the bed and began the rape and sexual battery on him that I had started in the shower all over again. After fucking him all over the bedroom like before, we took a break long enough for him to get the wash into the dryer and running.

   By the time the dryer was done, I had him smiling and surrendering to me, like any other time I fucked him this way. Yet, we get here quicker, each time. Blushing deep red, I gathered his legs up and kissed him. He gave himself over to me, and wrapped himself around me and helped me punish him further. He cried and begged for more, and pleaded with me to do anything I wanted.

   "Once again. Remember how you feel right now, that's how I want you to be for me, that's how your mommy wants you, too. Just like you are now. Completely give yourself to us. Don't fight it, just admit you like it…"

   I was getting played out from venerable number 4, and took a break, strapping him in for it. I tied him spread out on the bed, to enjoy watching him struggle.

   "Now? I have a surprise for you."

   I had a cock ring with the toy and its array of accessories. I put it on him, high down at the base of his shaft. It squeezed him that little bit harder. Tied spread out for me, number four attacking him from behind… I attacked his shaft from above, riding him. I told him to let me know when he finished, and I'd give him permission. When he sobbed out into my shoulder that it was time, I lifted off him and pumped him with my hand, until his squirming and squealing ended.

   I showed him how nothing came out, smiling.

   "It traps it. It can't get out, little boy. Your cock stays ready, too…"

   I giggled as I rode him more, and he got what they called over-stimulation. His begging into my neck was almost pitiful, and when he whispered and sobbed out a much longer time later that he was ready, I did it again. Nothing came out, and he moaned. I rode him with my hand over his mouth to stifle the over-stimulation noise. After I was about to collapse from exhaustion, I untied him. I put him kneeling on the side of my head, and let him drain out into my mouth.

   The two or three "finishes" held back poured out and he about collapsed under the release that had been building up. I easily flopped him on his back and climbed onto him. I pinned his hands with no resistance, and kissed him and gave him back everything he had given me all at once. There was a lot more payload than normal, and he made a bit of a face. I pinched his nose shut, and giggled until he swallowed.

   He reached for me, and stopped. A couple times. He was hesitant to touch me. I smiled, propping my head up on my shoulder, laying on my side, watching him laying there in a reverie. The half closed eyes, the vacant stare. Rapture, lust, carnal knowledge gained.

   "What…?"

   He dropped his eyes as he asked in a whisper.

   "Am I still allowed to touch you, mistress Vaquera?"

   "Hmm. Yes."

   He ran his fingers down the top of my side facing up. From my ribs, slowly up and over my hip, and down my thigh to my calves and over them. Then back again. Then down again. Smiling.

   "You can use both hands, slut."

   So he did. When he changed where he was roaming his hands, he would look at me, it wasn't exactly for permission, I would have classified it as looking for approval. I smiled and gave it every time. He came in as if to kiss me, and when he thought he had my approval he licked my handcuff key neck charm on its leather cord. He made a sort of oral love to it. I was highly amused.

   "If… you really want something more useful, to put your lips and tongue on. Just ask…"

   He asked, I smiled and shook my head no.

   "I'm sorry. I meant beg, not ask."

   He begged to be allowed to lick me, and I made him wait for my assent.

   "If you really want to lick me? I'll let you use something special to do it better… if you want to see if you can really please me, that is."

   He begged in a wholly ungodly fashion. I went and got something out of the toy box, another accessory. It was a thick rubber ring, with a rubber bulb on it for a jewel. Like a toddler's imitation of a big bejeweled ring, except a round blob instead of a facet's cut shape. Then it looked to me as if it was one of the little joke rings, the kind that squirts. You had the bulb in your hand, and you showed someone your new ring… and they got a little squirt of water in the face. It was the vaudeville comedian's compatriot prop to the flower in the pocket that squirted the rube when he smelled it.

   But I knew this ring did have a squirt potential, at least two different kinds. I turned the rubber bulb to inside my hand, and pushed on it then worked his spent cock with my ringed hand. He felt the vibrator ring. Then, I took it off after turning it off… and put it on his tongue. I guided his now all powerful tongue using the modern slutty technology the internet made available and affordable to all fun couples, and let him rub it on my clit. I held his face to it and made noise.

   "If you stop before you're told? I'll…"

   I didn't finish and sighed instead. He reverently asked Mistress Vaquera what would happen to him if he got a tongue cramp and had to quit.

   "Mm. I'll decide if you're dumb enough to quit…"

   I let him see me making noises, and bicycling my legs in slow motion, my wet thighs rubbing on his ears and cheeks. Not all of that moisture was sweat, and not all of it was even my own bodily fluids. We were both filthy, disgusting creatures. Both wet and dried sexual filth, a layer of dried and still moist carnal grime that we produced and mixed and shared. He clung his face to me, and his body around as much of me as he could rub up against as I churned under his oral clitoral slow attack. Having a technological advantage made his tongue a superhero's weapon. It temporarily gave him a tiny bit of a slut's minor and temporary power to render the superior super heroine passive.

   He begged me to keep using him, and not to stop.

   "Ah… when we're done here? What do you want…"

   I was prepared to hear some filthy and selfish request. I might even grant it, in the state I was in, the state I was rapidly getting to… it was getting more likely by the second.

   He didn't care what it was, he just wanted it "done" to him. I squirmed and squealed, but his request stuck with me. His eyes, his insistent pleading. The way he clung onto me after that smile and the little cry, begging for it not to stop. I realized laying there under his tongue, that he was waxed on chemicals. We were heavily into the infatuation phase. The love chemicals, endorphins and hormones. Endocrinology was here as well. The exertion, the sustained pain and pleasure over a lengthy period of time. My Stockholm Syndrome of him, linking his pleasure to his pain. More of one was more of the other. The shame and humiliation cocktails were powerful love drugs in their own right, and I had linked them to sex as well.

   After I was done laying under his tongue for quite a while, I asked him what I could do to him. I was curious. "Anything" was always the answer, as long as I was doing something to him.

   "I want to hurt you. Will you let me?"

   He gave me his wrists, the wound rough rope was trailing off of them. I shook my head.

   "I want you to let me…"

   He laid back and smiled his dopey smile through the half slits of over pleasured eyes. He nodded.

   I pinched his nipple. Hard. I couldn't get him to cry out, though he did make noise. While he made movements, quite a lot of them actually, he made no moves to actually get away. He just panted, and stared at me. I grabbed the other nipple as well, and pinched and tweaked both as hard as I thought I could. He writhed and moaned but little else.

   I slapped him several times, same response. I stuck my toes in his mouth, and he just kissed them. Intrigued, I went in the toy drawer and got the holy grail paddle. I made an "up" motion. He came and offered his ass to me. I hauled off and belted him with it. Lifted his ass, saw the impact waves roll across the skin and tissue. I did it several more times, and all to the same effect. He would move, but not try to get away. He made noise, but would not scream out for me to quit. If anything he taunted me with his ass, for another.

   After several or more, I switched tactics. I bit him on the shoulder… hard. I left a wicked bite mark. He hissed but made no attempt to stop it.

   I already knew I could present him with drinking my pee? He had done it more than once. I stuck my finger up his rear, ostensibly playing with him, then stuck it idly in his mouth. He made a face but let me. Hell, I had done that before too.

   I had to up my game to try to win. I went and got a plastic glove on. If he thought I was going to finger his rear, or even attempt another fist in him, he was wrong. I picked up a little jar. I showed it to him. Sports creme. The kind that's hot as hell when you first apply the oily waxy substance, then ice cold later. The heat was capsaicin, the active "heat" ingredient. Mine? Was university issue. Higher heat. The "cold" was menthol, actually mentholatum. Higher amount of that as well in this industrial version.

   I smiled wickedly, and tugged and snapped on a second glove now. I held the jar up, and cocked my head, smiled, wondering. He nodded. I shrugged. I worked some on my gloved hands, then a big glob and coated both gloves with the stuff. The athletic treatment smell permeated the bedroom. I reached for his cock, and touched the underside of the tip with a gloved finger. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip and winced, but no win for me. I started touching more of his head and then the shaft. He whimpered, and I eventually used it as lube and tugged on him.

   I made a circular motion with my finger, and he presented his ass to me. I used a finger on him, and he squealed and jumped and shuddered, but he let me do it to him. I gave him two, then three. I had banged him hellaciously, so I quite soon had all my fingers in him, coating him inside with greasy fire. Curious, I touched my own clit, and the stinging assaulted me and I caught my breath in my throat. Holy shit. I was literally torturing him, for curiosity and idle fun. He either liked it or pretended he did. I couldn't "win", if winning was getting him to quit.

   I raised my gloved hands, a gesture of surrender. I snapped the gloves inside out and tossed them to the wastebasket. I sat on his hips astride him, and came down onto him. My mouth on his neck, and in his ear.

   "I can do anything I want right now, can't I…"

   He nodded and squealed as I bit his neck.

   "Right now, if I had Lightning here, and I wanted us to tickle you, we could. Right?"

   Sure we could. He begged for it now.

   "Right now? You'd give her my spa time in the tub, rub us both down, right?"

   He would. Anything. He begged to be allowed.

   I realized that days in, I had won. He was mine, and I owned him. His will wasn't his own any longer. It was mine. I checked he still had the tongue ring on, and the vibrator was running. It was. I hissed my quiz in his ear.

   "I want you to show me other positions. Where I have you. Not just your wrist back, over my knee… give yourself to me, little boy."

   He maneuvered me. He had me sit on his face, but reversed. I knelt, my knees next to either side of his head. He sort of hugged my knees. Around from behind them. Then he reached up with his tongue, the little rubber ball on the end. I came down to get licked… my knees cinched his arms as I crouched down.

   He had given himself to me. I had him. Just like over my knee, holding his wrist towards me across the small of his back, his legs scissored inside mine. I leaned forwards, feeling his arms caught, as he started to pleasure me. I softly bit his tummy and ribs, and he jumped and pitched around. I had him. I tickled his ribs and tummy and hips. He jumped and squealed. When he went to cry out, I lowered myself onto his mouth and face, then came back up. I had his arms locked behind my knees, between the tops of my thighs and above my big rounded calves. My calf muscles actually provided the "lock" against the back of my thighs near my knees, trapping his upper arms.

   He couldn't get away. My twat was on his mouth, and I could tickle his midsection and thighs all I wanted to, with impunity. I did, without reservation. I marveled at feeling him jump and twitch. Hear and even feel his cries inside my wet slit. I could feel his hitched hisses of air on my clit, like it was some sort of microphone. My twattophone? I giggled at the silly, random word and image.

   He bucked, he twisted, I scratched lightly around with my fingernails and fingertips. His arms went out and folded in. Hands roaming my knees and legs above, below, and around that area. He wasn't trying to dislodge or unseat me. He was rubbing and touching me.

   He knew I wanted to be able to tickle him, and to share the fun with a close friend and room mate. He gave me this position, and I could hold him down once he was in it, and complete the task myself. If I had a second helper right now, she could attack any other part of him or help hold him down. Or both at once. He gave it to me freely. I had asked for his complete submission, and he kept granting it to me.

   I talked and whispered and plotted what I was going to do first, the tickling. I described who my co-conspirator would be. I was talking softly into his tummy. I described how I would continue it once I started it, as long as I felt like it. That crying was an option.

   I don't know how long this went on, but it seemed like forever.

   I had won.

   The net result and objective of a protracted six week campaign had just been achieved. I was supposed to have to wear him down, with a long term and slowly escalating series of physical and shame based attacks. He had adrenaline mixed in with his love and shame and infatuation infused chemical cocktail. He was an athlete. He had a sort of runner's high from a lengthy kinky sex session.

   Realizing I could do whatever I wanted, I realized I was getting my main kicks from not only being in charge, but from simply telling him what I was going to do. My naughty video still that flashed through my naughty compulsion infected brain. It was me simply laying on him, tied up securely. Explaining like the weather what I was going to do to him. So? I did.

   I didn't even say anything. Wherever I went, his eyes followed me with interest. He questioned nothing, I simply did what I felt like doing. I rose and grabbed the four long chain handcuffs. I had four long rough ropes trailing off of his wrists and ankles. I roped him to the bed cock side up. Attached to the four corners. He viewed me, waiting for the next torture he was being roped helpless for. I had the same amused smile on my face I wore when torturing and humiliating him.

   I rode his hips, and gently tucked my legs in against him down the sides. I leaned my chin on both hands folded on his chest. Gazing at his face.

   "All right. Let's see. You? We just can't 'give away' you and your mommy's secret. We're going to have to act like mommy's plotting to get you, for whatever reason. Mommy enlists her trusty room mate slash close friend to help her. Now. We need a reason. Some good sounding reason. Why does she want to attack you, subdue you, restrain you indefinitely… and tickle you until you cry. Hmm. Excuse for that…"

   "All I can come up with, is revenge. Um… you guys were drunk, and tickling each other. Then… you got out of hand, and held her down and tickled her mean, for a long time. She wants revenge. So… going to get you all drunk, and get a tickle fight going… then hold you down. Tickle you mean. For too long. And more, to get you back worse."

   "Hmm. Decent plot line. The girls? Mommy told me all three of them are what my grandma would have called little pistols. You can't put anything past them. Pranks, fights, you name it. You're mommy's the den mother, and usually tries to put a wet blanket on shenanigans. Should be no trouble instigating it once you get Little Lightning drunk with mommy."

   "So. That absolves you of any guilt about being a pervert. Which you are, of course. But, that's a secret. Here, we have a reason to do exactly what is the… fantasy scenario for this."

   "Now. I want to somehow… segue, if you will. Into the massages and rubdowns. The tub spa work. Eventually shower work. If… you get tickled till you cry, mommy will simply then decide to extract a promise. You'll service both of them with the day spa treatment. Once she starts getting it? She's going to love it."

   "Hmm. So, that's the plan. What do you think of it… be honest, slut. I allow you to give me your opinion. I value it. Go on. Tell me all about how you think its a perfect idea, and you're glad I thought of it…"

   His only "talk" was muffled gag ramblings. I would tickle him after a little while talking, bad and mean tickling. Intense bursts of tickle torture. He would make noises that amused me in his gag for a while. It was my "answer", agreeing with me completely. In this fashion, I idly informed him of my plan and what I wanted to do. The timing and manner in which I explained it to him, brooked no possibility of it being optional. He screamed into his gag periodically in answer to my asking his opinion at every step of the idea.

   "Ground rules. I'm going to lay those down now. Most important rule? Every single time anything, and I mean anything at all goes down… me or mommy's present. No exceptions. The rule about being found in Lightning's room, without permission? Is still in full effect. This does not change that rule. The key word is permission. The key concept is that mommy has to be there to watch, its the whole point that she's getting off sharing you, like a possession."

   He screamed a short burst of commotion. His tickle coerced response that agreed with me.

   "Now, once again. See how helpless and vulnerable you are right now? Just remember this, when you speak to me or your mommy. Now then… about training. No matter what, you're still getting punished and doing what we want the remainder of the six weeks. Thing is though, the whole point for the six week course? Was to basically get you to do what you do now. Beg for torture and abuse, because you've been made to realize that not only will you take it? You'll ask and even beg for it."

   "So. If you want to be a good little boy? I need a clean ass on you. Mommy needs you on your very best behavior, so we can start pulling this off. Now. If you take advantage of this niceness, and misbehave? You'll get hurt. But if you try to be good. We need a clean bum to share you."

   He screamed in his gag that he agreed completely, once again.

   "Now. At some point, between now and the end of the six weeks… I'm going to also need a clean bum, so I can whip the jeans off your ass, for my little demonstration. So… you be good, and get a clean bum so we can enjoy sharing you. Then, I'll also have the clean bum I need to have for curing you of your jealousy that your mommy whipped other boys through their jeans."

   "Its really going to hurt. But, that's then. From now on? Just be a good boy, and don't make mommy whip the skin off your ass with her belt, okay?"

   He screamed for a while.

   "Yeah, I know. But? That's what your mommy told me to explain to you. Okay?"

   He screamed for even longer. I laughed.

   "Uh huh. Thank you for agreeing with me…"

   "Now. If you can keep your ass out of hot water until tomorrow morning? I'll give you a special treat, before Mistress Vaquera leaves you. You do want a special treat, right?"

   He promised and begged. Well, it resembled screaming in his gag and thrashing around as much as his helplessly tied position allowed, which wasn't very much at all. But? I knew what he meant. Music to my ears. I took the gag out of his mouth and let the panting subside a little. I reminded him that if mommy had any "serious" problems with him in any way? It would be dealt with harshly. He promised again, and told me how good he promised to be for her.

   In the morning, I woke him up by dangling the lash end of the long bullwhip over him again, that had been too fun.

   "Good morning, slut."

   "Good morning, Mistress Vaquera. Are you still… happy with me?"

   I smiled and nodded. He thanked me and was about to reach for me to embrace me, and stopped short. Looking at me for permission.

   "Its all right… I allow you…"

   I made out with him for a wake up. I held his wrists above his head by the rough ropes, and slutty kissed him. Stopping and starting and giggling. Teasing his morning wood, with my mouth and my hand.

   "Remember, little boy. All you have to do, is remember how it feels, and don't ever forget it. Now. Let's get you up and ready. Stand at the foot of the bed, slut."

   I got the sweet little response "Mistress Vaquera" liked so much. He hadn't forgotten last night, and I could hear it in his voice. It had a soft, begging quality to it. Yum.

   I had him give me his wrists one at a time, and I slowly undid the tight rope wraps. I smiled as he winced when I tugged the loops a little loose to get the end free and feed it through and slowly unwrap his wrist. He gasped and stared at his wrist being free. I was peeling rope from deep indentations worked in. I let him stare and touch it, all curious.

   "You look like a sex crime victim when they're let go. Because that's what you are now. My sex crime victim. Now give me your other hand…"

   I undid the other wrist. Then I had him give me both ankles one at a time. Ritual. I had missed the rope. His Mistress like the rope rituals, while his mommy liked the cuffs and chains. I sat at the foot of the bed, and smiled and watched him play with his deep rope marks.

   "They're called ligature marks."

   I took cell phone pics for his "mommy" to see. I got a nice, long, morning groveling ritual. Copiously thanked for fucking him, and helping to train him. I put four of his mommy's athletic sweatbands on his wrists and ankles, before long chain cuffs on his wrists and ankles. I got the short brush out, too.

   "Your mommy tells me she taught you to play fetch. Show me…"

   I tossed the short brush all over, and had him retrieve it. Hearing the chains and cuffs clinking on him while he ran around was highly amusing. The mommy websites all describe that once you "have" them, you "keep" them through fun little humiliating ritual games like this. The websites all claimed that every "mommy" has favorite games. I knew what mine were, too. Fetch, walking the doggy, and now playing horsie.

   I got the little brush off of him now. I held out my hand.

   "Give…"

   I got some of the soft cotton rope. I tied the dog bone shaped brush into his mouth snug, with the business ends, the bristles, pointing out. I tied on an extra piece to both ends, leaving a rope "handle" hanging down the back of his neck reaching to his shoulder blades. I grabbed it and mock scrubbed the bed with it. I yanked him around rough some, and smiled at his soft demeanor being used. I had him, he was mine.

   "Now go get your cleaning bucket, and be quick."

   "Good boy. Your mommy gave me a good report, on you doing your chores."

   I walked him in his collar on all fours into the bathroom, then unlocked his collar after closing the door. He thanked me properly for complimenting him on his chores. I had him get a bucket of hot water but not too hot. I scrubbed the bathroom floor with him. I was heavy handed with dunking and scrubbing, and giggled.

   "You're still a bad little boy, for sassing your mommy. Don't get to thinking I forgot about getting a bad report on you, either, little slut…"

   I hauled him up rough by his rope handle, shaking him tight to me to admonish him. Sudden mild roughness like this, is key according to the instructions. I hauled him up very rough by the handles, and all but dragged him into the shower. I kept up the little harangue. Long, deep dunks into the bucket. Rough, violent scrubbing with his face brush. Irritated monologue.

   "Don't you get fooled by me being nice to you, little boy. That can change, in the blink of an eye."

   "I better get an extra good report on you, from your mommy. It reflects on me, that I can discipline you when she asks me."

   "Are you trying to make me look bad, hmm?"

   "Honestly. Your mommy wants to share you, with a pretty girl. A pretty girl you even like! And you argue with her, tell her no."

   "Do you know how lucky you are, your ass is, that you're not screaming down in the basement? Hmm? Lucky, little, slut."

   "You better watch those manners, and be polite. Not just to me, I mean your mommy."

   "You better be on your best behavior, mister."

   "And if you think your Mistress is going soft on you? Think again. I'm still going to take your jeans off your poor little bottom, with my whip. Just not today. But I will…"

   I had gotten him up really early for this, and had him dry me carefully and pick and clean up, and took him back to bed. Before going back to bed, I played nice with him. I cared for his wrists and ankles, by rubbing Aloe Vera on them. I gave him a little container of it.

   "That? Will help you heal up my marks I left on you…"

   I knelt him at the foot of the bed, and gently untied the brush gag and let him go. I got kisses

   "All right. Its early yet. This wasn't your special treat. You have to go back to sleep, to get that. Okay?"

   He addressed me quietly and in the proper manner. Yum. I took him up into bed, and amazed him by letting him curl up with me. No handcuffs, no rough rope. He clung to me under the covers, gentle kisses and slow roaming hands.

   "Shh. You're not allowed to start anything with your mistress. You'll get into big trouble for that. You have to wait for me to do anything. Don't forget that. I don't want to hurt you for not listening. Promise me."

   He enjoyed kissing and hugging and touching, promising his ass off to his Mistress, that he would listen, that he would be good. Eventually, we fell back asleep from this before the sun was up, having completed our cleaning chore time.

   I waited until he was deep asleep and contented again. I waited for more than deep, regular breathing. I watched the little dreams come, his eyes jerking under his lids. He had fallen asleep cradled in my arms, one arm dove under his neck and came up and over, hugging him to me for slow wet kisses. My thigh up over his hip, my leg slung over him. He had slowly rotated in his sleep and I was behind him. He still nestled into me sleeping. Backing into me unconscious, still desiring as much warm skin contact as he could obtain.

   I reached out of the covers slowly, grabbing what I had waiting by the bed. I slid it in stealthily under the warm covers, like a kitten sneaking unbeknownst under the bedclothes. You just wake up to find the warm furry cat asleep with you, curled up. I had other things right by the bed too. I ever so gently got ready, the last act of which preparation was rolling him a little off me. He finally readjusted position without waking up. He was now largely face down next to me. I slid my hand down his left arm, until it found just above his left wrist. I reached over him and found just above his right one. I stealthily tugged it down to rest beside his right hip. I was poised and readied. Time for his morning treat I had promised him. I struck.

   All in one smooth motion, planning my surprise morning attack like a date rapist waiting for the right moment to strike, I seized both his hands just above his rope damaged wrists and held them fast in my surprisingly strong grip he often marveled at. Grip strength is another physical gift granted to people at birth. It goes beyond size and physical strength. Some tall, big boned and well muscled guys have surprisingly weak grips for their size. He knew this, he exploited knowledge of grip and we had talked about it.

   Some farm boys and mechanics had amazing grip strength for their lack of size. Wrestlers and grapplers needed it too, as he already knew. If you have grip strength, you simply have it. If you don't, you can improve it but it will never equal that of a person granted it genetically. There's also a wide middle ground, like any other physical attribute. My grip strength as a farm girl doing chores was all but legendary. Not as surprising in and of itself but more so because I was a girl. I had my knees between his when I rolled over for my surprise morning attack, and his Mistress with the feminine but surprisingly strong grip had his wrists just above the rope marks. He awoke in a start, already caught.

   "Shh. I… got… you…"

   He pulled involuntarily as he separated dream from reality. In his dream, perhaps Mistress Vaquera had him tied and was raping him. Who knows, and even he might not. We don't remember all our dreams. Now coming awake, I continued to shush him. I kissed the back of his neck and shoulder.

   "Shh. You're awake, aren't you…"

   I got a meek little "Yes Mistress Vaquera", and some gentle struggling. Not really trying to get away, just testing to feel that he was caught and helpless. Gentle wiggling. I firmed up my grip when he did it, and bit the back of his neck which I know beyond all else drives him wild.

   "Oh, yeah… I want you, right now… be good…"

   I got more up on my knees. Where I had been leaning and laying on him, I now hunched over to softly chew on the back of his neck and the side of it. He sighed and squirmed under my sweet attack.

   "You are available to me, sexually, any time I want. Is that understood?"

   It was, and he delivered his acknowledgment properly. Soft and polite. Quiet and full of respect. Fear of what had already been done to him, uncertainty of what was yet to be done to him in the near future. Whipping the jeans off of him, helpless in the basement had been promised to him. He had yet to take in a promise that hadn't come to pass yet. He knew that one would as well. It came out in his voice, he sounded as if he might begin to give silent, little sobs at any moment.

   He probably wouldn't, because I recognized the little cry when I heard it. He had done this ritual many times now, and I had helped him go that farther bit and submit completely. He had undergone prolonged rough sexual interaction with me over such a sustained period that he had reached the little cry, and knew where it was.

   Now instead of fearing the approach to the little cry, instead of dreading it, instead of enduring it… it became the ultimate destination, more often than not. He had made the little journey enough times in a row to finally begin to be able to hop over the preamble and land near it. This was his first such emotional and sexual hop. He landed a little short of it, but more than close enough to please me. He would sob his little cry quite soon, requiring no hours of brutally raping him into submission.

   He could have just as easily landed just beyond the little cry, and sobbed immediately. I can say that would have worked for me just fine as well. I had told him after beating him into complete submission, to remember where you are. Right here, right now, is where I want you and where you want to be. Be able to go there. I had done it right after fucking him over the edge of completely submitting to me. So? Look at you and where you are. Remember this place, so you can go there for me.

   Now, for the first time… he went. He had given up thoroughly and handed himself bodily to me. He wanted me to have him, he wanted me to take him. I asked and demanded it and was happy to finally have an on demand system for getting what my naughty compulsion craved.

   There's no real changing sexual orientation. A submissive just is, and a dominant just is. The submissive can be all powerful in the rest of the phases of their life, but during a romantic relationship and especially for sex it disappears. A dominant can be all passive and enjoy being it in all other phases of their life, but during a romantic relationship and especially for sex that disappears. The submissive can learn to act more aggressively, and the dominant can learn to act more docile. That doesn't mean it can be changed.

   The dominant craves power and control over their partner. Not through a desire to hurt them or belittle them, but because they feel more secure knowing they securely hold onto the thing they have. They show they fear losing the thing, by being more possessive and controlling of it. The submissive is the lock to the key. They feel more secure when possessed and controlled. They feel more wanted and desired.

   I showed I both cared about having and feared losing my precious object by imposing my will on it. To show I placed great value on having it. The object felt more cared about, the object liked being treasured and held on to. The object was reassured that it would be kept and not discarded.

   In our own romantic and sexual language we shared conversational ability with each other speaking with it non verbally. He was asking me to love and keep him, and I was reassuring him that I would. I held him tight. He whispered to me.

   "Please lube me up…"

   "Shh. I did…"

   There it was, the little cracking in the whisper. Complete submission was very near.

   "Please don't hurt me…"

   I bit his neck, making him pull and twitch however gently.

   "Shh…"

   I nudged his legs I was kneeling between. I tightened up on my grip and drew him in tight, forcing his legs apart slowly. He wiggled beneath me bearing down on him. He tried to lift his ass up and offer it to me, but I bore down and flattened him. With nothing left to offer me, he did the only thing he could. He opened his legs to me, and offered himself up. Now that I held him in tight and had my weight on him and he was opened up, I adjusted my knees to forcibly keep the legs spread. I had him now, completely at my mercy and he knew it.

   I was already lubed up and prepared. I lifted my hips up and it dragged my toy up his crack, sliding my tip up the valley that held his rabbit hole and I laid the jelly rubber shaft down the valley. I slowly slid back and down, and when the tip found the rabbit hole, the bigger bunny invaded the doorway to the smaller rabbit's hole and squeezed in.

   He whimpered and began to pant, bracing for the now very normalized brutal SWAT entry on his little rabbit hole. He shook, waiting. When I nudged and noodled around just inside he whimpered more. He was sure he was being teased, and the explosive push would soon come. I teased and nudged, and shushed into his neck that I softly bit and chewed on.

   The more I nudged and wiggled around, the more he began to whimper, waiting and anticipating the sudden thrust that never came. I took a millimeter at a time, like a caterpillar chewing a leaf. I spent a long time nudging until I got my first teeny movement that could be graced with calling it a tiny stroke. I imitated it over and over again, barely taking another millimeter or two working it slowly in and out at the entryway.

   I didn't take every millimeter after, they came naturally and organically from my gentle retractions and re-insertions. I was on a snail's dancing pace, and didn't veer from it and held it. It took me forever to be able to gently give the tiniest roll of my hips, and a little flick for a stroke now and again.

   He jumped and started for each of these tiny flicks, sure it was the anticipated hammering open coming, yet it wasn't. He made little noises and settled back down for every little movement. It was a slow motion rape. It had been hours since his last sexual assault this way. He had closed back up to virginity diameter. His tenseness and nervous apprehension were slow to dissolve, sure it was waiting up around the bend, just after the next little flick for a stroke.

   I giggled huskily into his warm, wet neck I kissed and chewed on. I felt every twitch that accompanied every flick, felt every shudder and shake when I kept to the regimen of tiny strokes, accidental millimeters only being taken at a time as they came willingly and of their own accord.

   "Mm… I could hurt you so bad right now, if I wanted to…"

   He began to beg, for Mistress Vaquera not to hurt him. I shushed him and gave a couple flicks to warn him back to whimpering silence. I giggled at the little squeal he made, because the tease had caused him to give a tiny half clench that my flicks stopped. I felt the lubricated but momentary grip and release as he relaxed and resubmitted.

   My millimeters had accumulated like change in a jar being saved for a piece of candy. I did this over and over again, taunting and teasing and reminding him of my power and control. The bigger, badder bunny would come into this littler rabbit's hole any time it wanted to, and it would move around as slow or as fast as it felt like it. And the littler bunny knew it.

   Time suspends itself during these magical bonding moments. 12 minutes can seem like close to an hour, an hour and a half can seem like 23 minutes. When I was sure I had held back enough even well before a half a stroke, I started with little flicks and they came in patches. I felt every tense and clench grip the bigger bunny.

   "Shh. You have to relax. You can't fight me, or it'll hurt…"

   He was well into the little cry now. He had the silent sob that was so yummy.

   "Mm! Mm! Mm!…"

   "Shh… if you keep doing that, I'll hurt you. Do you want me to make it hurt bad? Do you?"

   He sobbed a little.

   "Please don't hurt me…"

   "Shh…"

   Several flicks in a row squealed him again.

   "Relax, let me in… that's it… open up. You have to give yourself to me, then it won't hurt…"

   He sobbed a little. Silent. Little cry. So delicious. Yum. I slowed down and the bigger, badder bunny went back to the entrance and nudged around again.

   "What's the matter, little boy. You were doing so good. Tell me…"

   He sobbed quietly now, and as yummy as it was, I shushed him and kissed and licked little tears as they came.

   "Don't you trust your Mistress?"

   He gushed, how much he trusted me. He begged me not to hurt him. He begged while asking me if he was being good, and doing what I wanted. Then amid the sobbing gush, he slipped it in. How he didn't want to be in trouble, then he went back to the gush of how he trusted Mistress Vaquera, and wanted to please me so desperately, how good he was trying to be for me.

   "Shh. You're not in any trouble, I just need to know what's wrong, little boy. If I wanted to fuck you into submission, you know I can…"

   He gushed. He begged for more lube.

   "Aw. Is that all… hmm. All right…"

   I went back in slowly and smoothly, until I hit the end of my travel. I heard the squeal, I felt the clench, I heard the sobs. I gave several little flicks, then did a slow retraction and dropped out. I marked where I was by holding with my fingers, and told him to stay still, and not to move. I reached into my box, and got the little safety jelly doughnut and marked his spot. This gave me a chance to inspect, and I was starting to go dry. I had spent so much time at the front of the rabbit hole, that as I tried to go further, I was dry fucking him up there. No wonder he was tensing up and clenching up. I had been feeling it every time, that resistance. I had thought he was clenching me harder and harder.

   "Okay. You're allowed to move, slut. Come over here…"

   I had him kneel at the foot of the bed, and he instantly gave little kisses for all he was worth.

   "Enough. Come up here…"

   He knelt up, but still kept his eyes down.

   "I allow you to look at me. Eyes up here, little boy."

   "I usually fuck you hard, don't I."

   "Yes Mistress Vaquera…"

   I rubbed his head and face with my dry hand.

   "Normally, when I go right in… I drive the lube deep into you, and you're all ready for me. But… I used it all up and I went dry. That's what's hurting you. It's not your fault, you're not in any trouble, okay?"

   "Yes Mistress Vaquera…"

   "All right… here…"

   I gave him the lube, and had him grease me all up. He gushed and thanked me over and over again. Yum. Then I had him bend over the foot of the bed after I stood up, because I realized that normally I both lube up my toy, as well as inside him. I used the thin nylon tube with the tiny ball end, and gave him a long, slow, use of the applicator. Several times, using more each time. Going super slow, I could feel where I had been, and where I had stopped. I put extra on the end, so I could deliver the lube up where it needed to be. I shushed him and stroked his back gently. He gushed to thank me.

   I could do a lot with my jelly rubber toy, but there were things I would never be able to. I would never be able to feel it, no desire or force of will would grant me nerve endings. And I would never be able to generate lubrication. When he does me, slow and gentle… he gets excited and a drop of his own natural lube comes out and if he goes slow enough, that drop at a time takes care of it. He can feel it, and stroke where he's already wet to get more, to get to the next part.

   I can't.

   No matter how much we teach girls they can do everything boys can do, I know its a lie. We scrimmage the boys soccer team to get ready for the season, I know the truth. Boys and even smaller ones? Are faster and stronger, and they knock us around and burn us. This is my reminder that I'm pretending. I can rape him, but only with an object. Never with myself. Its a trade off. I can pick as big or as small of a shaft as pleases me, and I can magically go for as long as I want to, true. Those are things he can't do. He can't become magically smaller when I want it gentler, and he'll never magically grow larger, if I want my own bunny hole punished. But he can feel it, and he can make lube on demand.

   "All right. That was my fault, okay? You're not in any trouble…"

   I looked and saw he was still all ready from the night before. He had closed back up, but he was still clean as a whistle. He had been taking it. A dry fuck, because he didn't want to offend me. He was all eager trying to please me. Just like I was warned time and again, that when you had someone tied up and helpless, you were completely responsible for them. I had been warned about this, too. You can't make lube, don't ever forget. Its all too easy to get drunk and ram it in dry, and really hurt them, bad. It will ruin the trust.

   I lubed him up even more generously, and slowly worked the little ball applicator, in and out. Distributing it, delivering more, then working it around.

   "Shh. Are you ready to try it again?"

   I got him back and made him lay flat again. My knees scooted his legs wide gently again, and I shushed him as I went back. Little test flicks until I was back at my safety jelly stop. I enjoyed full strokes, bumping it off of his little rabbit hole gently.

   He was gushing now, the little cry was all through his voice, and all through him. I could see it, I could feel it. I took my safety stop all the way down, and enjoyed where I was and felt the next millimeter come of its own accord. He whimpered and sighed, and I felt him relax and finally trust me. A few exploratory hip flicks showed me he was in complete submission now. His whispers cracked, and he sobbed quietly while he gushed. Thanking me, over and over. Begging me to fuck him. I shushed him, and kissed little tears.

   "Aw… shh… tell me all-l-l about it, slut…"

   He sobbed out how scared he was at first, like every time with me. How he was sure I was going to hurt him again, and make him take it. How he was sure he was being teased, then I was going to hurt him, bad. How scared he was to ask for lube, because he didn't want basement for trying to manipulate me into going easy on him. That if I wanted to go easy, then make it hurt bad the rest of the way… I could do anything I wanted.

   Yummy.

   I fell back into my rhythm. Taking a millimeter as it came to me, naturally. Enjoying easy, slick strokes until I felt that little gasp and shudder, then went back and only used what I had been given and freely offered so far. He slowly gave in and I earned his trust by not dropping down into him. I knew I could, and so easily. Gravity would drop me right down in. I knew it, and he damn well knew it.

   I could flick now, and give a gentle roll of my hips now and again. I was nearing two thirds in, and could stroke as long as I slowed nearing the end of what had been given. My toy slowly kissed and asked for more, and he submitted and consented, slowly giving what was asked of him. The bigger, badder bunny was touching noses and asking to be invited in. The scared little bunny was agreeing.

   Normally no vibrator was the signal for a hard, terrifying punishment fuck. Brutally entered and raped all at once, then banged with no mercy. This was the polar opposite. This was slow, this was sweet, this was gentle and caring. After being violently raped a number of times, this was a soft date rape. I was making love to his tight little ass, and he appreciated it. He thanked me, again and again, for not hurting him.

   "Mm. Is this how your mommy did it, the first time… on the table… tell me all-l-l about it, little slut…"

   He told me how she had tied him up and cuffed him, all helpless and scared. How she had started rough, then went all gentle, like I was giving it to him right now. How she had made him first take it, then made him like it. How she had forced him to admit he loved it. I asked him what was different now. He said I was going so slow and being so nice, he was sure it was going to be the opposite of his first time. Starting out slow, then he would get hurt. He thanked me over and again, telling me how much he loved it, how good he would be, and he begged me not to stop fucking him.

   I promised I would fuck him all morning, and I intended to make good on it. He begged for it. Yum.

   It took forever, working slow like this. I finally wondered what was… oh, there it was. The little soft jelly safety stop, bottoming out gently, little padded taps on his rabbit hole.

   "Shh, you feel that… you know what that is…"

   He did, he told me.

   "Beg me to take it off… beg me…"

   He begged. I took it off…

   "There's only a little bit left. I want it, all at once. Its just a wee little bit. Offer it to me, I want to hear you beg for it…"

   He begged. I held above his injured wrists tighter than what I had been, and pulled him in close. I flicked into the last part not ready yet. He whimpered and squealed every time I touched it. I took full if slow strokes, that bumped it and got the noises out of him. I rolled my hips at the end of strokes, touching it from all directions. He teared up and sobbed, a final little cry that was almost musical. I slowly stroked into it again and again, rolling my hips into it, and taking his last little bit he had to give. He offered it willingly, and I took it. I retracted to the tip barely touching, made sure he was still well lubed, then slowly pushed in, into it all the way. Tears ran down his cheeks that I kissed and licked off.

   "Aw… its all right, little boy. The scary part's over…"

   I slid my hands down to grabbing him tighter than ever, over his marked up wrists. He squealed when I grabbed them tight, so I grabbed them even tighter, hauling him in. I rotated my grip I loosened and tightened up, enjoying the whimpers from manhandling his wrists so rough. Little polite reminders that I could be as rough as I wanted, at any time. I scraped a fingertip over it, feeling the indentations his wrists wore, from pulling and twisting on such rough rope wrapped so tight the way he had to endure it last night. I scraped fingernails over it on both wrists, and enjoyed the fresh squeals and streaming tears.

   "Shh…"

   I took my first few full strokes, finally able to go in and out to completion. I rolled my hips around at the end and felt the little shudder, felt the reverberations through his body of the little silent sobs as they wracked through gently. I heard the final squeal that dissolved into softer whimpering and the sobs that were the last of the little cry coming out. He had given himself completely to me, he was now in utter and total submission to me. I pulled out and dabbed some fresh lube down it and took his rope burned wrists back up harder than ever, and started taking full, even strokes and rolling at the end.

   "Oh, yeah… there we go…"

   He asked, then begged me. Please fuck me like you mean it.

   "I will…"

   And I did, I just worked into it slowly. I had no more depth to take from him, he had given it all up freely. I now only had stroking speed and thrust strength left to offer him. I gave him what I had left, slowly. He gave one soft squeal and I turned the vibrator on finally. I slowly brought up speed and strength of thrusts and strokes, and worked up through the buttons. He whimpered under number three for a while. I finally released him and got up on my knees.

   "If you want it… ass up, face down, and beg like you mean it…"

   I took his wrists back and lined up touching the rabbit hole, while he begged pitifully for me to fuck him like I meant it.

   "Oh yeah, you want it like that?"

   He did.

   "I bet you want more, don't you, you little slut…"

   He begged for it. I began to deliver it to him. I let his wrists go, and he didn't pull away. He offered me his ass up for more, and ate some bedclothes while I gave it to him. I could now grab his hips, and stay still and work him back and forth. I bounced the tops of his ass cheeks off of the bottom of my six pack and chuckled from deep down in my throat.

   "Yeah… take it like that…"

   When I stopped, he wiggled his own loosely raised ass back onto it, whimpering for more. I amused myself by letting him try to fuck himself. He had no way to do what I could deliver, but I watched him try. Then I grabbed his hips tight, lined up and began to deliver him the goods, with authority. I gave him number four. He whimpered and squealed under the combination of it all. The much vaunted button four, my relentless bang, and his utter and total submission to me and anything I wanted him to take.

   He told me he loved me, or to be more accurate he told Mistress Vaquera that he loved her. I was no longer jealous of her. We enjoyed complete functional equivalency. I laughed and swatted his ass playfully with my hand now and then. I laughed at how wet and hard he was, and stroked him up and adjusted the cock ring to tight on his base. I fucked him in any position I wanted now. A slight push on the small of his back, on his water ink, the spot where he would wear my personal mark, my hurricane symbol. My ownership tag, the license plate that announced to the world that this was my dirt bike. I owned it, I did what I wanted with it. A slight push there, and he went down and spread out for me to drop into him and give it to him. A lift up with but a finger or two on either hip? The ass came up and begged me for more.

   I asked if he liked it, and he said he loved it.

   I had him around the room, in every position I could think of, over everything I could. I had him on the bed, I had him on the floor. I skinned his knees pounding him mercilessly behind him, scooting his face across the bedroom carpet. He looked back and smiled at me. I smiled back and nodded. We both shared it, we both knew. There was no more guilt, no more shame. I said the filthiest things to him, and he readily agreed to anything I said, no matter what. Anything I wanted.

   So delicious. So yummy.

   I had him flat on the bed again, and reached for the horse bit. I roped it on him tight. He gave me no resistance at all, and helped me. I yanked on his slut reins firmly, and fucked him as hard as I could, then released him to get air back and be allowed to whimper. Ritual.

   I was secretly glad I hadn't dared to bit him up and then fucked him dry the rest of the way. Because now, I could enjoy his complete and eager submission to my desires. My naughty compulsion fed me snapshots of him like this, but tied up and blindfolded. Other strange mommy's visiting, and taking turns. We had him right out on a blanket in the living room, passing his lifted ass up around the circle. He had to guess who was banging him each time, and he got punished for being wrong. We won prizes for tears and crying and finally the big prize for screaming.

   I let it run, smiling silently to myself, that it was just like enjoying a movie. We had him secured to the kitchen table, but he was spread out on the long side now, not the short end. Legs spread out so wide and so helpless that he was off the ground. Wrists stretched over the table, handcuffs tied to a rope from table leg to table leg on the far side. Stretched out completely. Utterly helpless for the next unseen mommy coming for the blindfolded little slut being shared at a mommy bang party. To take him while we laughed and cheered her on.

   Then back in the bedroom on the carpet at the open space at the end of the bed. Fucked completely into total submission and being punished now, passed from one to the next. Competing for fresh squeals and tears. Laughing, taking drinks and little breaks as others took our places in the intimate little circle of rape and torture.

   God, who even was I now. What had I become, what had I turned into finally. That I could enjoy such a bizarre fantasy I could never perform. I was sick and twisted, and enjoyed it. I got him on top of me on the bed, knees on either side of my hips. I had my arms up and around his shoulders from below. My strong hands on his shoulders firmly. Holding him while I thrust up and into him, as hard and as fast as I could bang him.

   "Shh. Take it, you dirty, little, slut… take it all…"

   He begged for more, he begged his Mistress to fuck him like she meant it. She did, oh did she ever. I had him on his knees after that, on the end of the bed. I stood behind him. I grabbed his hips and pulled him back where I wanted him. Knees just on the bed.

   "Ass up. Face down…"

   I unlocked and loosened his collar a notch, then re-buckled it and re-locked it tight. I stretched my strong leg up, and put it on his head. Then, I moved it off and back. I slid it up until I was just inside the collar. I lifted his ass up as high as it would go, bringing his head back as far as I could. My foot anchored him squarely, face tight and down into the bedclothes.

   "Knees apart slut. More. More… there. Legs pointing in… more. Yeah, right there… don't you dare move an inch, slut… I'm really going to give it to you now. And you're going to take it for me, ain't that right…"

   It was.

   He was all open and relaxed for some time now. I re-lubed generously again even though I didn't have to. I yanked back on his reins, and the horse bit cut him off tight. I entered him and fucked him brutally, for a while. I released and enjoyed the squeals and whimpering, then did it again and again and again. I was in a complete rush. I picked a spot on an ass cheek that looked like it would hurt the worst, and smacked it. Hard. I swatted his cheeks more and more with the reins yanked back severe, then released it to hear the crying and enjoy the whimpered tears and the gentle sobbing. Again and again. I tugged his cock-ringed shaft and marveled at how it stayed up when his frantic wriggling told me he was done.

   "Yeah, you like that, don't you…"

   He couldn't speak with the bit tight across his mouth, but he nodded eagerly. I found my belt, and gave him a few halfhearted smacks, and he nodded without being asked. Just the free end of the leather. I doubled it over the normal way finally, and yanked back on the slut reins to give him some good ones, then released him to cry. I ended up giving him a few hard shots with the buckle swinging free, laughing as I gave them to him, before releasing the reins to let him breathe and sob. I spit on my hand, so I could milk him a little later and it wouldn't be numb. His squealing and pulling got the reins yanked back hard as I finished him again. Then I went back to enjoying having his collar pinned down helpless with my foot standing through it, banging him with no mercy whatsoever. Smacking his ass as it pleased me.

   When I was finally sure he could be ready, I finally stopped. One final thrust and an obscene, long hip roll… and into the final slow retraction and out.

   I took his reins, and led him to kneel at the foot of the bed. I had him go get my socks and put them on me. Then my boots. I stood above him in just my heeled cowboy boots, pulling up on his reins. I snapped my fingers and pointed, before giving him slack on the reins. He obediently kissed and cleaned my boots with his tongue. A little, straining tongue that had to curl up and over the bit to get out, to lick. Kisses were slobbery licks. I heard him suck on it, but he slobbered my boots and I had him lick it off.

   When I was done having my boots cleaned, I yanked him by his slut's reins over to the chair, where I sat down.

   I spit on my hands several times, rubbing my thighs with it, coating them with warm slickness. My twat had gotten so wet, it was mixed in with the natural wetness I made and clung.

   "You're all full now, aren't you… you little slut."

   I pointed to his hard cock, he nodded. He had been finished twice and it would feel full and ache for release. I pointed to my thighs I had coated for him.

   "You're going over my knee. You're going to come while getting taught a lesson, little boy. Right here, right now. You will not argue with me. Let's go…"

   He laid down over my lap and I grabbed his rope burned far wrist and yanked it in tight to me, across the small of his back. Across the ocean, where my hurricane mark would go. I kept my knees uncharacteristically tight, to grip his hardness. My hand came up from below his collar and yanked it down tight, as I scissored his legs in mine, and crossed and locked my boots together. I had his little bottom warmed up, and gave him my super heroine hand. He sobbed, he cried. He slobbered down my leg. His free hand found my ankle in my boot and held on for dear life as I gave him my hand as hard and as fast as I could.

   I kept it up until my hand began to sting, then gave him more. Every once in a while for a safety breathing break, I spit on my hand and re-lubed his thigh humping fun zone and teased and taunted him for it before going back to work. For these breathing breaks, I released my clamped legs and clapped my warm, wet thighs back together. So he could hump them to a few halfhearted smacks before returning to holding him securely once again and getting back into my pace. I worked him into screaming and into cried out. I beat him when he went limp and sobbed and wracked more sedately, collapsed over my knee and all played out. I made my hand hurt more, beating the naughty little boy's naked ass over my lap. A mommy out of control and fed up, humiliating him to teach him a real lesson this time.

   When I was finally done, my hand stung and hurt. I wiped my thighs, and the drool down my leg in several swipes I rubbed onto his face to clean my hand.

   "Lick…"

   He obeyed me.

   I put him on the bed, naturally with slut rein yanks to control him, though I didn't need to at all. He would do anything I wanted, completely willing. I wrapped rough rope around his ankles, then hitched it so I could yank it with one tug to free him when I so chose. I did the same to his wrists and hitched them as well. Then, I wound the rope around his wrists and his ankles, tight and pulled up. A quite severe hog tie.

   I laid myself down beside him, and tickled him with no mercy whatsoever. I yanked his reins tight to silence him for more, then released him to breathe again and squeal uncontrollably. I did it forever. When he was the utterly complete hot mess I desired, I gave him some more. I laughed at his pitiful display, and teased and taunted and made fun of him.

   Then after a little safety breathing break, I began to explain to him what I wanted, what he would do, and how he would be on board with his mommy's plan she had told me to get across to him. I stopped and tickled him brutally every so often to make my point. When I was finished, I gave it to him bad, then was finally done. I stood by the bed, and smiled down at him, as I yanked the hitch keeping his wrists to his ankles. It allowed him to finally relax, as his wrists were freed from his ankles.

   Then I unhitched his wrists, and rolled him over rough to lay face up. I hissed at him.

   "Hands at your sides, slut…"

   I lifted his ankles and let him watch, as I smiled and yanked the hitch that let him wiggle his ankles slowly free. I took the rough ropes away and set them aside, and lovingly took the bit off of his mouth and freed him completely. The cock ring did its job, and he stood as hard as ever. All held back, at least two finishes I knew of, and likely a third from humping my spit wet thighs. I knew he ached from being full and needing released. No way. I took my toy off that had flopped on his hip harmlessly through his humiliating spanking. I turned it inside out and strapped it into and around his ass and buckled it in tight, then turned on number four.

   "I'm tired of doing all the work. You? Will now fuck me. How I want. As long as I want to be fucked. Is that clear?"

   "Yes, Mistress Vaquera."

   I laid down, and beckoned him with a finger to lay on top of me, between my legs I wrapped around him lovingly. I still had my heeled boots on, and kicked him to punctuate every order. I started out with slow, and made him perform. Eventually, I had him go regular. Finally, I kicked him hard with my heels, to get him to give me the twat concussion I craved. More. Harder. Faster. My heels dug into him hard, like putting the spurs to a horse to run it.

   When I'd finally had enough, I made him lick me. Thoroughly and at great length. I wiped off on his face periodically and shoved him back for more, greedy and selfish. He got the wettest, sloppiest, sluttiest kissing possible. From before his start, all through it, and until the moment I made him begin to lick my holes. Both of them. He got the filthiest dirty talk known to man or woman the entire time not being kissed, and non stop throughout my holes being gratuitously serviced. Particularly filthy when ordered to tongue fuck me more, to really get it up in there like a dirty little slut.

   When I was finally completely satisfied, I had him kneel as I released his ring to spill out into my mouth. I rolled on top of him and fed him every last drop. It was quite a payload, and I pinched his nose and made him lift his tongue to prove he had been a good boy and taken his mess back.

   I stood at the foot of the bed, and snapped my finger to have him kneel. I unstrapped my toy, and reclaimed it.

   "And now, little boy? We will have another lesson in respect…"

   With no wiping off because he was still clean as a whistle from last night's thorough cleaning, he got a long rough lesson in respect. Taught that what came out of his mouth to me or his mommy, had an impact on what went into it. Right out of his ass, and right into his mouth, I fucked his throat. He feebly pushed and slapped at my thighs, but I laughed and held his head tight and fucked his face as long as I wanted to.

   I sat back down on the end of the bed and pointed at my boots. He obediently went down, held the ankles through the boots, and gave licks and little kisses.

   "Hmm. You seem to like my boots…"

   He did.

   "Are they… sexy…"

   They were.

   "Mm hmm. Now… scoot that chair over here… aw, don't worry. You're not in trouble, little boy. Go on, that's it. Put my boots up. There, that's a good boy. Now…"

   I had him go and get cleaner to take great care and clean the bottoms off.

   "Watch it, slut. Don't you get a drop on anything, but the bottoms. You be careful. Nasty cleaner might ruin my nice leather… and that? Might earn you a very special trip to the basement. For a nice, long discussion about being careful."

   "All right. You're going to learn the rest. Pay attention…"

   I stood up, and put one boot up on the seat of the chair. I directed him to get whatever I wanted. I taught him the proper way to clean them. Then how to oil them. Finally, to polish them. It took some time. Then, I switched and had him show me that he could do the other one without much interaction.

   "You really like them. You think they're sexy, huh."

   He swore he did.

   "Well, little boy. Then I'll be sure I wear them, when I come over to whip the jeans off of your naughty little ass one day. Now. Do you want to kiss and make up with me? Or… do you want to stay in trouble…"

   He wanted to make up. I took him on the bed, and kissed and hugged him. I took turns with my husky whispering in his ear. Naughty stories, and instructions how I expected things to go. He seemed to particularly enjoy a long, lurid description of how whipping the jeans off of him would go, and his helpless rape afterwards.

   "So. Did the little boy enjoy his morning workout? I know I did."

   He told Mistress Vaquera he enjoyed it very much. I tried to figure out what Mistress Vaquera would wear, taking one of her favorite sluts out. I had him get my phone, and I texted Lightning to make sure she wouldn't mind if I borrowed a little something out of her wardrobe. Lightning has a little cache of shall we say, girls night out outfits. I clicked the leash on him, and walked him into her room. I slowly held things up to myself for his benefit. I kind of used how far his tongue hung out as my clothing barometer reading of what was "appropriate".

   Lightning is a jeans and T shirt girl like me, and what the hell, like most of us sports girls are. She does have a penchant for "girls night out" though, and the outfits to go with it. Young, fit girl. Away from a sheltered life and home, with no adult supervision. Surrounded by girls on campus showing her what you wear when you live away at college to get the boys eyes onto your body. What I grew up thinking was "cute" and "daring" in my late teens? Well… I had a lot to learn when I hit college, let me tell you.

   He seemed to really "like" the denim miniskirt. Faux frayed to hell and back hem. A T shirt that had either seen better days, or was bought to just look like it. Sleeves ripped off, bottom ripped off to show the midriff. Frayed look to the sleeves and bottom hem. Little Lightning is not a little girl. She's a little shorter than me, and I'm a hair under six feet tall. She's not a clothes hanger, either. She has some shoulders and arms, and especially her too long legs, which likely aid her genetically when she turns on her jets and streaks up unexpectedly fast even for a forward. Her legs are well muscled, like you would expect on a big university's young star forward. But she has the more compact, lithe leg muscles to my bigger thighs and calves.

   The miniskirt puts her long, cut legs on display. The cropped T shirt shows her fit upper body. That her shoulders and arms aren't flabby. And particularly her flat tummy. Its for girls night out, to put her on display for boys. Everything is two sizes too small. On her.

   I'm going to look like a hooker.

   I had him get the shower ready, and walked into my now usual bliss. I find it hard to believe this is going to be my life now. After school, we're going to "need" an extra large luxury shower like this. We could never cram into a regular economy shower, we'd be like two sardines trying to make out in the can. Judging by his face with me in here, I highly doubt he'll argue about having a "nice" bathroom. I don't mean fear of not acquiescing to my demands, I mean actual discussion between a married couple. By the time undergraduate school is done, then grad school and finally the doctorates are both completed… we will be so hooked on this, we'll both laugh at the normal shower stall. Crammed in as an afterthought, no way. We'll probably have to convert a spare farmhouse bedroom into a big bathroom like we'll require.

   One of his friends is an extra set of hands for a local contractor. Always doing and redoing college apartments. He claimed during idle talk, that one of his "hobbies" will be looking into tile work. He can already handle plumbing, it was one of his chores he performed regularly for living in a dirt hole in the basement before I found him. All he has to do, is learn how to make large tiles stick to floors and walls and remain waterproof.

   Vaquera is my imagination's production of a rich, powerful businesswoman. She walks into the shower all prepared for her, and her trained slut tends to her needs. I leaned against the wall, and had to do absolutely nothing but lift one foot or the other. Normally up until now, he spends the entire time caring for me in here. When he's done, he goes off to the side and hurries through a normal guy shower. I stopped him.

   "Get over here, little boy. Hands on the wall. Lean in, like I do…"

   I treated him to an abbreviated version of my shower.

   "I'm taking you out to dinner. I want the filth scrubbed off of you, little boy…"

   He was slightly nervous when I grabbed the big brush off the hook. I tapped him with it, and ran it over him the way I sometimes did with the coiled up bullwhip, a threat. Then I giggled, and used it to scrub his back, then finally all over. I couldn't help doing something to him in here though. I snapped gloves on after baby oiling him up thoroughly. After "cleaning" and "oiling" his rabbit hole, I parked a long thin bottle of moisturizer in it. Giggling, I could squeeze it to dispense moisturizer and apply it. I took my time and teased him about it. It was great fun. Not to mention, I would enjoy seeing him squirm in his seat, and teasing him about that as well.

   I walked out when I was done, and I got promptly dried off. I told him to take care of things and meet me in the bedroom when he was done. Vaquera affects the attitude of a rich woman ordering her pool boy around. Its a novel thing for me, so I quite enjoy it. I'm no longer jealous of Vaquera; I am Vaquera, if only when I portray her. We enjoy functional equivalency to one another. If my boyfriend professes his love and fascination to her, and the things she does? He's professing it to me. I'm wondering if perhaps I missed something when I was little, namely playing pretend.

   Just because I didn't enjoy playing princess tea parties, perhaps I could have pretended to be something else. Maybe the rich, single ranch owner now that I look back on it and reflect. Maybe dress up would have been more fun that way. I must have missed something, because I sure get a charge out of being Vaquera over for a "visit" when I do it. Its not like almost everyone doesn't have brushes with role playing. Children do it for play daily. Girls and boys. The boys are soldiers and cowboys and cops and superheroes. The girls? Mostly princesses and grown up women, but some super heroines too.

   Actors? Professional and amateur alike, get to practically live it. Everyone knows great method actors, the ones that define iconic roles. The best of them are known to be a little off and weird, and will stay totally in character between takes, all day. The very best of them? Actually become their characters and have been known to take time before shooting, to get ready and prepare. By living in their character. Then all during, they go to sleep and wake up in character. Then, they even have trouble getting out of character when the movie shooting schedule is over. What children play at, those lucky few get to live.

   I'd never dress like I'm about to, much less go out in public like that. But I am. Well, Vaquera is. I wonder what it will be like. I've never really dressed up as a complete brazen hussy before. I know its all right, tons of other girls around the campus do it on the regular. Some live it, and go to class in what they wear out to parties. Method actors? Others tend to dress down a bit for class, then get outlandish for going out. Wardrobe change. Same actor plays both roles. Good girl and bad girl.

   I'm excited to do it. I'm nervous though. I'm not used to being an attention whore like almost all other girls really are. I know I'd be self conscious about it. But Vaquera? She wouldn't. She likes to see approving stares from boys. Look all you want, boys. Drink it in. Vaquera wouldn't be self conscious being looked at. She'd strut her stuff. Her long, tan, muscular legs are her greatest asset. She wouldn't cover them up, she'd expose as much of them as she could without getting arrested.

   I wonder what he'll think today watching my performance. Vaquera's performance, whatever. I already kinda know. Staring and drooling. I could never have attempted this previously, before him. The way he stares at me, particularly my legs. Traces his fingers over my leg muscles. It makes me feel gorgeous. With him, I'm not a 4 to 6, I'm an 8 to 9.

   Now… where would Vaquera take her new boy toy out to eat. Now that she had him trained to basic specifications, and he could be trusted not to hump her leg in public. Because she knew she could change any behavior she suddenly didn't like with just a look. Anything more, and she'd just have to threaten to take him out to her car, and have a little "talk" with him. And that would just be to tide him over until she got him home, where the real discussion would take place.

   Hmm. Vaquera would either want a big steak, or ask her date where he wanted to be taken to. It was a treat for him to get to spend normal time with his Mistress. She'd definitely order for both of them, and pay. Choose the seat, walk him to it. All the subtle cues that she was confident and in charge. I was sitting at the foot of the bed when he was done with taking care of after bath cleanup activities. Little kisses ensued with no prompting.

   "You may be wondering where the bathtub is, hmm?"

   "Yes, Mistress Vaquera."

   "I'm taking you out. It's early. Maybe some shopping, and a nice early dinner. I'm saving the bath for when we get back. No more talking now. I want you to get me dressed…"

   I had him bring me socks and panties until I picked both out, then he put them on me. I love standing up and stepping into my panties and they get slowly brought up. Something about him kneeling up and adjusting the panties to sit perfect really gets it for me, that I honestly can't explain. I went with the little cropped T shirt next, and stepped into the denim tiny miniskirt last. It's made to be short but loose and lay uneven in little bunches. Like the T shirt, its made to be frayed and look like it was ripped out of a full size item of clothing.

   I waited on the boots. I stood there in my freshly socked feet, gazing down at little kisses and ankle holding. I treated him to me standing on my tiptoes. This makes my calves firm up. My legs are both my biggest asset, and my biggest liability. In jeans and a regular T shirt, anyone who didn't know better would, and rightfully, assume I'm slightly chubby. That's why that first night together, I had him close his eyes so he could open them to see what he would get.

   I had calculated, like I was well versed in some… sexual math class. He's working his way through all the female athletes at this university. I was at first worried he wanted a volleyball player, he tried working on a couple first. Then two basketball players. Was it height alone he desired? Volleyball, basketball. It would make sense.

   Then a softball player saved that notion. She's more of a normal height for a girl, but has legs like mine. He didn't need height, he wanted a strong girl. He liked tall, though. And the tall ones he was working on were no clothes hangers, either. By the time he tried his first soccer girl, I knew it was no team thing, it was the girls. His preference was clear. Tall, strong, and feminine.

   I stayed on my tiptoes and let his hands rub my calves popped out, and there it went. His fingers traced up the middle of my calf muscles. The split up the middle is a source of his fascination. I gave him my thighs, too. He could see how my dark tanned Italian leg muscles would be jumping and playing for his eyes to stare at all day while we were out and about. He was mesmerized. He looked up as he slid his hands up to play with my thighs, asking silent permission to be allowed to feel there, too. I smiled, it was okay, go ahead.

   He hugged them, he ran his hands up and down the sides and backs. He likes the hard backs of my thighs, and after years of this my hamstrings are like wood. His fingers like to find where my quads start over and around my knees. Little bulbs of rounded strength. His palms like the feel of them up the side, and his fingers love to trace the lines between the individual quads. He could just see the little one at the top front, peeking out at him. He kissed them both, again looking up for permission I smiled to grant.

   I pulled his hands up to let him know he could feel up my hamstrings, onto my hips and my butt. Keeping on my tiptoes, and flexing my thighs was his own private leg show he was in love with. I treated his hands to me pinching my butt so he could feel them dance and rub the hard things that came back up from my hamstrings.

   In the old movies, there's that trope where the girly girl unzips and drops her dress for the prospective lover to gaze on her naked body. Confident it will hypnotize and trap. I didn't have that kind of self assurance. My little show was calculated to show him I wasn't chubby the way the jeans and T shirts portrayed me. I wasn't showing off doing old gymnastics tricks, I was showing him balance and strength, and letting my muscles speak for me and tell him what I didn't know how to. I know you want one of these. Here's one. Take it, its yours if you want it.

   Little Lightning's denim mini is much worse on me. She has the less rounded hips, the tiny hard butt. The leg muscles that look like a dancer. Too long and too muscular. My rounded hourglass hips and ass fill out her mini bordering on the obscene. I can't go out like this, but Vaquera can. Which means I can. We're functionally equivalent.

   "When you're done down there? Go grab my belt…"

   He handed it to me, sightly nervous. I smiled and tugged on a belt loop. As if I even need the belt, but if I'm going for farm slutty I might as well go all out. He ran it slowly through the belt loops one at a time. He always looks up for me to nod which belt hole I want it adjusted on. He gave it a little kiss when he was done, patting it. My navel and tummy are on full display in this getup. Lightning has the hard, flatter type of girl's athletic tummy. I have the look of a six pack, the kind that's always there, even before it gets used. I went down flat on my socks and smiled down at him kissing my bellybutton, then tightened up to give him that last show, unashamed. His nose traced out the rounded edges and lines created by my abs.

   He pulled back several inches to focus on it, and put his hand on it as I clenched and relaxed for him. When he's licking my slit, he feels for my climax with his hand on my tummy like that. He can feel the rhythmic tightening and loosening of my body there clear as a bell. Up high on his knees now, he looks up again for permission to feel up my back, and I grant it with a curl on my lips. I fake a stretch and a yawn, and let his hands feel the thicker cords I have up and down my back on either side of my spine. He finished by sliding his palms down my sides. Feeling the edges of my back leap up, then go soft and blend in more with my ribs as my stretch is finishing.

   When I'm done, I finally sat back down on the bed.

   "One boot at a time. Nice and slow."

   "Very good. Now, we'll go over ground rules. We're going out, so… its normal time. But? When we're around people that don't know us? You will call me Vaquera. Understand?"

   He did.

   "And one more thing. Anywhere we go, anything we do. You, will walk behind me. I go first, and you come second. When we go to sit? I'll take you by the hand, and seat you. If you want to get up to do something? You mention it politely, and I'll decide. You need my permission for anything you do. Are we clear on this?"

   We were.

   Then I had him dress how I wanted. I decided to start out with a pair of my panties. Because why not. Then, a pair of my regular socks. A fresh pair of my practice sweatpants and a practice T shirt were great, and my jogging shoes since I was wearing my heeled boots completed it perfectly. He was covered head to toe in all my clothes. Displaying my number on everything showing. He held his rope burned wrists out to me, and I went and grabbed a pair of my numbered wristbands. It didn't quite cover it, so two pairs worn close together did the trick.

   He went to grab for his wallet, and I smacked his hand smartly.

   "No."

   I led him by grasping his fingers gently.

   "Come…"

   I led him slowly out to the car and didn't let his fingers go until I had seated him in the passenger front seat, then carefully closed the door for him. I went around the front of the car and got myself in. I couldn't help some slutty kissing before I started up and pulled out. Of course I led, grabbed him and pulled him in, stopped and started as I felt like it, then separated when I was done. A couple of moist doggy licks after heavy eye contact finished that off nicely. Yum.

   I'm not rich, far from it. What I do have, is a couple things in my favor. Free tuition, free books and all fees. Free housing, and a limitless bounty of health food. Recruited athletes get a tiny stipend. Its our job to practice and play. Worrying about an expensive book for a class, a lab fee for a chemistry or biology course, would distract a player. We're supposed to stay in shape, practice and play. Get passing grades to maintain the scholarship.

   There's different types of student jobs. Eight hours a week is the standard, you get a 16 hour paycheck every two weeks. You see the lines of students at that office in the student union every two weeks. Lined up like old fashioned mill workers on payday. Some students, can get 15 hours a week. Your "boss" has to specifically request you by name, so you're considered uniquely qualified in some way to get it. As a mathematics laboratory tutor, his Doctor that runs the math lab wants him. No doubt the coaches asked as well.

   As an undergraduate student, he's not allowed to teach. Not legally. Yet… his Doctor at the mathematics lab noticed his way with certain classes. Classes, that are in demand for tutoring. Too many students, too few tutors. Too many requests for those classes, too many requests for him doing those classes. The solution? 15 hours a week was tried first. Wasn't enough. If two or more students being tutored on the same subject agreed, he started being scheduled groups.

   Finally, a couple of these group tutoring schedules threatened to take over the limited space in the tiny mathematics lab office. He ended up standing in the front of an empty classroom upstairs and down the hall from the math lab in their old building. Three hours a week, tutoring those certain in demand classes. An hour every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Or? 90 minutes on Tuesday and Thursday.

   I know this, because I went looking for him at his summer job in the math lab. There's a summer semester, and some students pick up an extra class or two. Usually one they want to really concentrate on just that one class and get it out of the way. I sat like a student waiting for a tutor. When I said I was waiting for "Wiz" to surprise him for lunch? Another tutor gave me directions to the empty classroom upstairs. Christ, he's basically teaching a class, an introductory 100 level computer programming class.

   Yeah. I was suitably impressed, and hadn't heard a single brag from his own lips. He's dressed like he just came from the gym or intends to hit there after he's done for the day. Other than that, anyone walking by would assume some young, new professor with a masters was teaching a few classes, working on their doctorate. Half the "students" were athletes taking a computer programming class. There's a beat up cheap coffee machine in the corner on a stout, old, wooden table. He has a coffee mug in one hand. One of his treasured "MP" coffee mugs with both the Air Force logo on one side, and a depiction of Lady Justice, blindfolded while holding her scales aloft, a sword in her other hand. One hand holding his coffee mug, the other holding a piece of chalk. No one has to be here, like for regular classes. They want to be here, so they can pass a class or get a better grade in it than they feel they would otherwise.

   I mean… wow. This, is my boyfriend. Toot, everyone calls him from this part of his life. "Professor Toot" is another in-joke nickname. He had to explain to me, that he's not a professor, he's not teaching. He's only being a tutor. He's simply being a tutor to more students at one time, due to demand. I decided not to bother him, and went back to the mathematics lab to wait on him. Doctor Williams that ran the math lab talked nice to me, and had me back into his little office. He had heard about me, but never once seen me. He politely eased into how what I had just seen, was absolutely, definitely not "teaching" a "class". I heard the same lecture from his own lips when he finally took an hour off for lunch.

   Doctor Williams accompanied us for lunch. I didn't need told that "this" was why he worked fifteen hours a week instead of the usual eight during the Fall and Spring semesters. Why he always was guaranteed to land one of the "full time" summer semester jobs. Summer full time, is 32 hours a week for 15 weeks. All year long, spring fall or summer the class schedule is identical. The earliest any class starts is 8:00 am. The latest possible class, in any night class, 6:00 to 9:00 pm. So, he gets his 32 hours per week for his full time summer job? Going in at 8:00 am, and ending at 9:00 pm. Two days of this, is 26 hours. His third day working, is the leftover 6 hours. He gets breaks that don't count against paid hours. A perk. I like to join him for these breaks when I can.

   Honestly? If you didn't know any better, and no one told you different… you would honestly think he was another professor at the university. He takes lunches and breaks at the little student diner across from the building he works out of, with his own Doctor there. When I take lunch with him, other professors and doctors sometimes sit with them and gab. "Doc", as he and everyone else call him… explained with a gentle smile when he was on a bathroom trip. He's being "groomed" to become a graduate assistant. His graduate job? Will be teaching undergraduate computer science classes. Unlike regular professors teaching these classes though, Toot will be uniquely in lock-step with the mathematics lab, which tutors these classes.

   Doc explained his plan. Get him into a bigger classroom for his classes. More students at once. Specifically, those classes which clog his own tutoring scheduling up. A huge chunk of his most-tutored classes in the math lab? Will be being taught by someone that knows exactly how to tutor the students through the classes. Freeing up the limited number of tutors for all the other classes. Without Doc saying it, his smile tells me all I need to know. The flood of athletes taking computer classes? Will be gently guided into him teaching them. No more waterfall of athletes every semester. A teacher will be on staff, that looks and sounds like an athlete himself. Using athlete's metaphors and analogies they understand easily.

   The athletic department? Will be inordinately pleased with the situation. Any gentle pressure to make this happen? Almost certainly will. When he finally has his "Doctor" in front of his name on his driver's license? Well… its obvious he'll simply become a full time PhD, and join full time professor staff. This is going to be my husband. He can work out all week long. Teach his 15 hours of classes per week, 25 hours of "office time" where students can come in. Really good pay and benefits. Long breaks to have fun, and every long summer break off, with pay. Full professors are expected to publish, and he'll like that, too. It will both fulfill his research requirements, as well as allow him to write his own textbooks for his own classes. Me? I'd like to become an assistant coach or a coaching assistant to my own girls soccer team. If I end up even a part time psych professor after I'm a doctor? My life… no, check that. Our life. Will be somewhat of a fairy tale.

   Yeah, I'm naming the children already in my head. I'm tall and strong. I'm no dimwit. He's not short or weak. He's rather brilliant himself. Our kids? Should end up tall, strong, and bright. Free top 10 university degrees, too. Perk for staff.

   I feel spoiled. I get it all. He's 6'1" and some. He's muscular but trim. Loves working out. Honestly, he's brilliant. He definitely doesn't look like what the other computer science professors look like, and by far, trust me here. He's handsome in his own way, just not pretty gorgeous. Us girls call it the "rough and ready" look. Five o'clock shadow. You can about stick him in any group of masculine men? Blends right in. Cop, military, factory worker, electricians… looks just like about any of them.

   He's… perfect. For me, I guess. I know I'm in love, I know I'm "naming the children". I seem to be perfect for him, just as well. Both of our life and career plans? Well underway, and its like nothing can stop it. Short of one of us getting run over by a truck crossing the street, short of being struck by lightning? This all comes to pass. I get to win in the end of all things. Yeah. That's my husband. Dr. Wiz. Computer science professor. Fighting instructor, just for fun. See the little row of books over there, the top shelf? That's his textbooks he authored. Me, I might have to sort of "slum it" as a part time psych professor, trying to get on full time here, just so I don't disrupt all this. Other women are going to envy me. I'm going to love it. I did it all my own way, too.

   Okay, hun. What's the sex life like though. Oh, that. I'll just smile, and say "no comment". And this? Is all somewhat of his backup dream. As nice as it all will be, he's just slumming it until the research epoxy thing gets to working, if it will. If that takes off? He can either go to that full time, or I suppose try to balance both out for a time to gauge it. Its definitely publishing and research, because its going to come from his masters and doctoral theses.

   Most student jobs? Eight hours a week. The football players all crowd the grounds crew job. The student that go out in packs and cut the grass, do janitor work, carry things around for deliveries. Some girls answer the phone at a desk, or sit where you sign in and show ID. Gophers.

   But, there's mine. All but a computer science professor already. Doing the work of one. No, he's technically not a teacher. Because that? Would be illegal. Yet… he's functionally equivalent to one. What kind of idiot, what other girl on campus wouldn't want him? Apparently, about all of them. This… perfect thing? Is all mine. Exclusively.

   During preseason and throughout our season, we're not allowed to work the standard university side jobs. Not without written permission from our coach that we're focused. I always get mine, some don't. My "job" is being an office assistant to my coach, something I'd do anyways even without the pay. And yeah, the coach dotes on me. So I get the 15 hours a week. I sometimes don't find myself actually in the office for each and every hour, but all 15 hours still ends up on my two week 30 hour paycheck stub. But hey, any college student that doesn't have rich parents will tell you any extra pay is nice. That's where I'm the same as the other athletes, its what I do with it where I differ.

   My team mates, my room mates? Pizza and similarly frivolous things. Their summer job paychecks mainly get frittered away as they see them. I don't. Its rare I get pizza or buy beer and liquor. The occasional half gallon of my tolerable brand of cheap apricot brandy does me fine. We all take turns purchasing cases of generic soft drinks and stack them up. Hey, we go through them. Since I pay for my own education and let my parents financially off the hook entirely? My parents can easily give me a little allowance, and a little extra here and there. Again, just like my tiny paychecks… I don't need it, I just enjoy it.

   So, I'm not rich by any stretch of the definition, but… when I want something I can go out and get it. My dad always did joke that for having a daughter, I'm a joy to shop for clothes for me. Jeans and T shirts. Some flannels and insulated flannels. The occasional 2XL men's work coat or overalls. I get a new pair of nice work boots every year since I was a kid working on the farm. They last more than a year, so… I have a collection that slowly grows faster than they wear out.

   So if I want to take my boyfriend out for a treat dinner, I can. For shopping? Take a guess. We share something, a deep rooted and dovetailing sexual preference. Our new sexual hobby lets us go "shopping" and on the cheap. We get some kind of very cheap but very sexy thrill out of scrounging and re-purposing stuff. Bonus points if its free or so cheap they're basically giving it away. Like the one dollar, two dollar, etc bins at the junk store.

   I got stacks of one dollar loose leather belted goods. I picked on thicker ones, that I rubbed my thumb over lovingly. Arts and crafts used goods. Is that what they're calling it these days, huh? Yummy. I'm concerned with the strap itself, and little else matters. I grew up a farm girl, if you remember. Farm kids have farm fathers. Those farm fathers? Probably had farm grandpas and farm great grandpas. The more "greats" you can name back or list with other farm kids, is bragging rights.

   In a farm area, a lot of other farms are nearby squares of land. We all notice things. One such bit of farm minutiae is that a clear relationship exists with how many generations back your land goes in your family, and it in general correlates directly to what you can make and use on the farm.

   Farmers don't spend many times the worth of simple aluminum or steel aircraft cable fittings. Its family lore to simply bend rope and cables and plop the sturdy u bolts and clamping plates around a stump in the ground. You're showing off when you fabricate something expensive and heavy duty on the spot, quickly and easily.

   Well, my big farm daddy didn't have a son he passed this collective multi generational spot fabrication lore onto. He had a six foot tall sturdy farm daughter. He was forced to pass it all on to me. I was not naturally quite as adept as the boys at learning to use hand tools. But just like tackle football I just had to work a little harder at it. Then, I was on more equal footing.

   I knew to take used leather and fabricate all kinds of things on the spot. Once you have the basic knack, you are taken and shown all the zillions of things you can rivet in or on or under leather straps. I bought a one dollar weathered wooden box and had him in tow carrying it, as I put one dollar, two dollar and whatever other items I wanted in it. I found an old wooden box with a number of beaten up hand tools in it. I knew exactly what it was, and everything imaginable had been used and kept in a personal strap fabricating kit.

   "Hey. These are neat. They're right by the one dollar bins, right?"

   The old man looked over.

   "Oh. Those. I have no idea. I asked around, nothing. You want that stuff?"

   "Yeah. It looks neat. Cute decorations."

   I got it for a dollar. Handful after handful of old metal tack. Buckles, O rings, D rings, all different sizes. Carabiners and locking carabiners. Small coffee cans of the various metal rivets and fittings you worked with. I bought a small stack of old, soft cotton bedclothes. Then I drove a small town away, a little out a side road. I hit another junk store with him in tow.

   I didn't spend quite thirty-five dollars. Instead of driving on back roads more, I turned off several times. I was looking for a nice, out of the way spot. Dirt roads never take long to yield some privacy. I finally found an old abandoned farm and parked behind the wide open and time ransacked frame farmhouse. I didn't waste any time on preliminaries, and spoke in Vaquera's order the obedient slut around voice.

   "Get out…"

   I went around to his side and started the slutty kissing. I giggled while dragging him back under kissing pretenses to the trunk. I popped my trunk with the key fob. I took two pairs of regular handcuffs and clicked an open wrist of each onto the curved half inch thick bent steel square tubes that hinge the trunk of my car. The handcuffs dangled invitingly. I grabbed a wrist and walking over to the side of the trunk, clicked it in and locked it tight. Then I stretched out his other wrist and barely made the other cuff. He feet were all but off the ground leaning in and over the open trunk.

   Then, I slowly teased his jogging pants down to his ankles, tickling the legs as I went. I gingerly slid my panties down his legs so they rested on the jogging pants bunched up at the ankles. I lifted one ankle up and sort of "wound" it up and over the jogging pants bundle. With each wind, the jogging pants twisted tighter, like a rubber band being wound up to power a toy airplane for a toddler. When the jogging pants tightened up enough, I had securely held ankles. To finish him off, I tapped his ankles out to the ends of the pant's reach, and stepped on the wound up rope formed by the pants. He pulled and twisted a little, suddenly realizing how securely he was trapped. I couldn't help whispering huskily in his ear.

   "And where the hell do you think you're getting to, little boy. You? Are going to get fucked…"

   I let him feel me strapping up, then I lubed up and pressed it just into the rabbit hole.

   "I want you horny for going out to eat…"

   I efficiently fucked him without hurting him too badly, all things considered. I spent about 20 something minutes opening him slowly up, as gently as I could and still make decent time. I vibrated as soon as I started getting the first tiny strokes, and brought it up as the bigger, badder bunny elbowed its way into the littler rabbit's hole. I made my way gently but insistently to that first, slow, full stroke. He begged to be lubed up, then switched to pleading I didn't hurt him, to please go slow. I chuckled and teased and taunted him throughout his now ritualized rape.

   "Oh, yeah… there we go…"

   I didn't bang him, but I spent time giving him full strokes in and out and the hip rolling now and again. I gave him a lurid running commentary in his ear.

   "You like it, don't you…"

   After I'd used him as gently as possible while still fully opening him up, I stayed there and worked him a while before explaining it as dirty as I could in his ear.

   "There. I'm gonna get wet, seeing you squirm in your seat while we eat. I'm gonna smile, knowing why you squirm so bad, and knowing I did it to you. And I'm going to do it to you again when we get home. You don't get to finish till we get home, little boy…"

   "Yeah, take a little more… oh, I love it here, slut. Look around you. Probably no one for miles in any direction. No one can hear you scream if I feel like giving it to you good out here, huh? Yeah… now squeal for me, little boy. That's right… squeal like a little piggy…"

   Apparently the pig squealing humiliation had become forever fixed into the American kinky lexicon. I taught him to make the cute little piglet squeal. A high pitched "e" noise, then I laughed and taunted him for having to make it.

   "Yeah… we're coming here a lot more, you can bet your ass on that, little slut. Oh, hey. There you go, you love cute puns, huh? You can bet… your… ass… we're coming back here… ha…"

   I love once I have him at this point. Little patches of fast hip flicks generate the soft whimpering that's simply music to my ears. I reminded him for about twenty minutes, that here was where he needed to be when I was fucking him or doing anything else alone with him. Squealing not to be hurt bad, but begging far more simply to amuse me. When I finally ended, I slowed and gave my now signature long, slow withdrawal. I let him go and made him clean it off with a rag before touching his face with what certain weapon of mine had just reamed his ass so thoroughly.

   Then we found our way back, and I hit the destination town several towns distant from where we started. I used my phone for GPS and directions to ideas. I asked him if he wanted a big steak, but he wanted Chinese buffet. I drove an extra couple towns to hit a better one, with more lanes of food to pick from. Another gallon of gas and another 8 to 10 bucks seemed worth it. GPS made rerouting to hit another junk store easy, and I scored some more hardware for strap craft and a small pile of fake old satin sheets. I got this in the leftover space of the wooden box and then made for the Chinese buffet my date wanted. I told him he had already put out, so taking him out to eat was more than fair.

   Vaquera had been attended to by the shower boy she fancied having in tow while shopping. She had fucked him at her convenience, for her amusement and pleasure. Now, she would take him out to eat. He followed her around like a puppy dog, staring at her tan muscled flesh as she put on her shameless display for him to ogle. He was both terrified of her possible wrath to inflict painful and humiliating punishment upon him, yet equally fascinated by her body and her easy carefree domination of him. When she whispered that little sluts are to be seen and not heard, he was quiet and avoided her stare until she lifted her random proclamation. When she made him look her in the eyes to tease or taunt him on the sly in code because they were in public, he blushed knowing full well what she meant.

   He obediently and respectfully mentioned he was thinking about the restroom, or wanted another trip up to the endless food buffets lined up. He whispered in my ear going to the table, would I please get him the house tea with his fountain soda. Sometimes Vaquera granted his polite request immediately, and other times she had him wait. Vaquera put on a show for him, making him sit and "watch their table" while she took her sweet time over her choices. Constantly bending over to peruse the far side of the buffet table's offerings, the ones on the other side. She could just as easily walk around, but why? Putting her long tan legs and ass on display as the obscenely small miniskirt rode up was far more entertaining.

   She went and got him what he wanted as well at times, so she could put on her show more often and for longer, and return smiling. She teased him about who was watching and who was staring. Vaquera could be a sweet bitch when she wanted to. I thought I'd have to brazen it out a lot more than I did to get through it. I amazed myself by quickly getting used to stares and leers as I put on my show for my boy toy.

   Was this what other women enjoyed? Maybe, probably. They did it for all boys benefit though, until they attracted one they wanted. I just did it for mine I already had. I told myself I was somehow better than they all were. I felt it though, I surely did. The warm feeling from knowing I had put my assets on display, and been ogled and eye raped. I told myself it was for him. But some part of me knew, deep down in some recess that I didn't want to freely admit existed, that I liked it. I had taught him not to be ashamed of enjoying it, so I brazened through it then quickly found it was fun.

   I was raised with traditional Catholic guilt. So my daddy could sleep at night, knowing I'd shame myself for whorish displays just such as this one that I was now enjoying. I shattered boundaries mortared carefully by years of doting guilt laid upon me, and what's more I giggled and enjoyed it shamelessly. I had taught him to show me no shame, and I now had none. I cringed as I enjoyed putting on the leg and pantie show as surely as lazy whore number three had done. No item was too far out of my bend and stretch for me to reach. Far better to pick a central spot on a whole buffet table to stand in, and reach and lift my obscene mini to get to something.

   The sudden desire to be simply used overtook me and gripped me in its terrible embrace. What the hell was that. I told myself that was just my urge to have him use me later, as a treat for him. I knew it wasn't, it was for me. I wanted bent over in this hooker's uniform and fucked well extra rough from behind. Maybe, both holes? Yeah, that's what I wanted. Well that's settled then. I'll just tell him to do it, and it'll happen. Like any other selfish sexual desire I craved.

   Yeah. Railed in both holes, definitely. I'll pretty it up, though. I'll have him lick me at first, and tongue fuck my ass. To show him that I'm in charge. I'll ride his face shamelessly, talking filthy to him. I'll make him go extra slow, on both holes. Before… yeah, before I demand that. To be used. But then? Clean your mess, thoroughly. Both holes. Somehow, that makes it okay that I want used rough. But hey, whatever I want, right? Oh yeah.

   I had him make a cell phone video of me, my outfit, and my performance bending and reaching for things I wanted on my plate.

   I watched him eat. He wouldn't use silverware, he handled the chopsticks like he was breathing. He could eat dishes of mainly rice with the damned things and pick seemingly anything up. He asked sly for permission to go get sushi. They had a chef making the stuff in the back and stacking display trays people went up to. I stood up and held my fingers out. I allowed and would take him there.

   I walked him back and released his fingers to browse the trays. He got a clean plate from the stack and arranged a bunch of the stuff on a plate. He made everything into a pattern, and had a central pile of pickled ginger. I now know what the slices of pink stuff are only because I asked. He asked politely if I ate the stuff, and I shook my head. He offered to make me a plate, and if I didn't want it, then he'd eat it. It would save him a trip. I waved my hand to allow it.

   He carried both back to our table and put mine in front of me.

   He ate a piece of the pickled ginger with the sticks, and filled a little tray for the purpose with soy. Then he picked up… whatever the hell it was with chopsticks, deftly dipped it generously in the soy and popped it into his mouth. When he was done, he had a piece of the pickled ginger to finish it off. He had a second piece the same way. Pickled ginger, then the piece of sushi dipped in soy, then pickled ginger again after it.

   I now know ritual when I see it. I asked for him to explain it.

   "Promise you won't get mad if I… lecture you."

   "Then do it respectfully. But do it."

   "Have you ever had sushi?"

   I shook my head.

   "Raw fish? No. Steak and potatoes here."

   "You like seafood? Crab legs, shrimp and lobster. Clams, oysters, kalimari."

   "Yeah. Everyone eats that stuff. Not everyone eats raw fish."

   "Do you allow me to… lecture you on this."

   "Successful tap dance. Go."

   "We're not eating Chinese."

   I looked around.

   "You could have fooled me."

   "Eating Mexican? Is rarely eating Mexican. Its really called Tex-Mex. Its… Americanized Mexican dishes. This? Is Chinese-American. Americanized Chinese dishes. They make it all with extra… flavors for us."

   "I like General Tso's chicken…"

   "General Tso lived a very long time ago. Every region, every area has different dishes and styles of cooking. What's reported popular here in America? Gets done. General Tso's famous recipe was passed down as history. The rest of the dishes? Worked on so Americans like it."

   "What's with the pink slices…"

   "Pickled ginger. You eat a piece, then eat your sashimi or sushi, then another piece of ginger. The pickled ginger, is to cleanse your palette. So you can taste the mouthfeel and individual unique taste of every piece."

   He picked up sliced ginger with his sticks, and held it out for my mouth. I opened and he slid it in.

   "Pickled. Flavored vinegar. Your taste buds are wiped clean, like a blackboard being erased."

   "Now…"

   He picked up, again and always with chopsticks, a piece of the sticky rice sliced off a shaft of the stuff, with cut up stuff inside. He dipped it in soy, dunked it actually, and placed it gingerly on my tongue. He held out the pickled ginger afterwards.

   "Not bad. Now, I eat sushi."

   "You do. But sashimi is the kind that has the actual raw chilled fish sliced on it or in it or both. Sushi? Is things like… avocado, cucumber, tempura, like that. Sashimi is the raw fish."

   He did the ginger ritual. Then, a piece of the sashimi. I could see the big thick slice of raw fish on it. He held it out.

   "Try it. Most people are grossed out because they know what it is. With soy? Most people like it if they don't know its raw fish. Its… crunchy. This, by the way… is yellow salmon on top. Not sure what's chopped up inside. Sushi, and sashimi both… are made to appeal to all the senses. First? By eye. Note the colors. Its attractive. Next? By smell…"

   He dangled it under my nose for me to smell.

   "Then by taste. You're meant to experience all types of taste buds. Sweet, sour, bitter… all of them. One will predominate over the others for the type you eat. That's the artist's… the chef's choice. Last? The different mouth feels. The rice, the vegetables, the fish, all unique. You eat raw shrimp, this is raw fish. No different…"

   He popped it in my mouth, then followed it up with a big slice of pickled ginger.

   "Well?"

   "Do more…"

   "This is red salmon…"

   "Mmm. Crunchier."

   "And this…"

   "That's good…"

   "That's Unagi. The eel."

   "I just ate… eel?"

   "Raw eel slices."

   "Maybe I don't need to know what it is…"

   "Whatever Vaquera says."

   "Glad you got that straight. Now… what about those ones? You're saving those for yourself or something."

   "That's… you just said not to tell you. Here… it'll be salty, but I like it."

   "Mm. Different…"

   "I know. Squishy and salty. Want another one?"

   I opened my mouth and held my tongue out. I didn't care who watched.

   "It's called… Roe."

   "I thought you weren't going to tell me…"

   "If I didn't tell you that Unagi, was eel… would you know you ate eel?"

   "Hmm. No…"

   "Want more Roe?"

   "Sure…"

   "Okay. What is… Roe. I like it, so. Spill it."

   "Eggs. Fish eggs. Hence, the saltiness."

   "Wow…"

   "Remember, fish eggs… sturgeon eggs? Are rich people's delicacies. Caviar."

   "Hmm. Some of that…"

   "That's seaweed wrap. Looks like minced avocado inside, with minced cucumber and tempura. Looks like no fish, so… its sushi, not sashimi."

   "Mm. I like that one…"

   "Pretty much anyone that eats any kind of seafood, beyond fish sandwiches? Likes it. Knowing what it is stops a lot of people, and some people like the taste but spit it out because it feels weird in their mouth. Then there's me. Guys go steel-head fishing, and steel-head is nicknamed freshwater salmon. They bring a lot back, and most of them give most of it away. Hell, I take all I can get. And yeah, I eat some of it raw. When I clean one that has eggs? I eat some fresh eggs, too."

   "That's safe?"

   "Steel-head fishing is when there's still snow on the ground. They bring back coolers full of them, and its still frosted. It really is freshwater salmon, and fresh and packed in ice just above freezing? Well, that's where sashimi comes from. Yeah, it really freaks the steel-head guys out to see me do it. Heck, the one time? I'm sitting there with a cat. We're both eating raw fish and we're sharing eggs. The guys got a kick out of that."

   "Hmm. So… tell me why you arrange the plate so carefully. Why don't you just load up the plate and go."

   "Are you sure you want me to…"

   "You. Come over here and sit right next to me, dear. I want to tell you a secret. Come on."

   I smiled and patted the seat next to me in our booth. When he came over, I stood up and hipped him over to kind of trap him. I whispered in his ear.

   "Listen to me very carefully, little boy. This is the third time I've asked you to explain this sushi shit to me? And this is the third time you gave me sass instead of answering my questions. As cute as it is, that you're scared of offending me… this better be the last time it happens. I showed you the brush when we got in the car, I have it right under the driver's seat. All I have to do, is pay and tell them I'll be right back, that I have to make an important call. I'll take you to the back end of a quiet parking lot, and I'll put you over my knee in the back seat and have a nice little talk about sassing me instead of doing what you're told. Then? We'll come back in, and you'll answer me anyways. But? When I get you home… I promise you that I'll really give it to you good. Do we understand each other, little boy?"

   He whispered nervously back in my ear.

   "Yes, Mistress Vaquera."

   I smiled and pointed at his seat across from me, then I got up and let him get back over.

   "So, where were we then…"

   "I was explaining why I make my plate up like I do."

   "Oh, that's right. Go on… give me a little doctoral dissertation on it."

   "Well. There's two kinds of plates. You see the normal plates, and then there's the rectangular trays. If you're taking just one kind back, you line it up on the tray. If you're mixing and matching, on a plate…"

   "Yes. Go on."

   "The sushi chef? Has to go to school to learn his trade. For one thing, he has to be licensed to make the dangerous puffer fish, one drop of the nerve toxin hits your tongue, you'll be dead before your head hits the plate."

   "That's real?"

   "Very. He knows how to cut the gland out, and avoid the bad parts. Its a serious school for it. He also learns presentation, to arrange it to be pleasing to the eye. He studies the textures and flavors of common rolls, and which flavor to stand out for each one he makes. Experiments with different mouth feels, how much of each spice to add."

   "Okay, so what's that got to do with you loading your plate?"

   "Well. If you just go up, and say… got-damn, I just love this here sushi shit, hoo boy… and just slob it on your plate and walk off and eat it with a fork? You… are marking yourself as a rube. He won't make you the best stuff, he feels like he went to culinary school and he's flipping burgers here. Now… if you show you have some idea what you're doing? He might do things for you."

   "How would I do that…"

   "Well, for one. First look at everything on display. He spent time to arrange it, you show him he didn't waste his time when you take a few seconds to look. Then? Never mix the tongs you serve with up. You don't want to mix the flavors. He'll have to wash it as soon as you leave. You'll irritate him. Now, when you put it on your plate? Just make a pattern of some kind. Anything, it doesn't matter how you do it. Just do something to arrange it somehow. You can lay some flat, lean some on others, stack some… whatever looks pretty to you. Then, leave space for the sliced pickled ginger. You want a couple decent sized pieces for every piece. That shows you know how to eat it correctly, again he doesn't feel like he's wasting his time."

   "I'm here… to please the cook."

   "He's not a cook. He's a licensed chef. He paid good money to go to school to learn to do this, so he can earn a living without washing dishes and cleaning toilets."

   "And I compliment him…"

   "Not before you eat. When you first look? Its polite to tell him it looks beautiful. He'll smile and nod. That's a tiny bow, in his culture. Ask him what he recommends, he'll tell you what he thinks is the best out of what's put out on display. Take at least one piece of that one. The rest? Like I said, you arrange it in some pattern of some kind, and don't forget plenty of pickled ginger. Now, if you go back up? Now you can tell him it tasted excellent. Because you've already seen it, smelled it, now tasted it? You can have an opinion now."

   "Okay. Other than being polite… what does this get me."

   "Oh, simply the world. A place like this? There's lots of sushi out, and very little sashimi. The special raw fish? Is more expensive than regular cooking fish. Its a higher specification, and a much higher price. Now… if he's happy with you? You made him feel good about himself. You might be the only American that night to show him what he wants to see. He's beaming with pride now. You can ask for sashimi. Any kind you like, he'll most likely go get it and make what you want. Your own special roll. With more cream cheese than he's supposed to, with double sashimi fish… you know, the works. When he nods in your direction, you hustle up and get your special roll and lay it down a rectangular tray carefully. Lots of ginger, too. You make him feel like he's not wasting his time? He'll go out of his way to take care of you."

   "Do I blow him? Or do you give him a reach around…"

   "Ha ha. You tell him… shee-ah shee."

   "Shee-ah shee?"

   "It means thank you, in Chinese. Even if he doesn't speak Chinese, he knows what it means from school. Also, with the regular servers… when you ask for chopsticks and eat everything with them, and say shee-ah shee when they do anything for you? You'll see them smile and keep coming back seeing if you want anything every 5 minutes. It makes their day. Then? The next time you come in… they'll go out of their way to make you happy. Most Americans treat the place like fast food, and it drives the staff nuts. You show you know something, how to act, what to do? Hey… they can't do enough for you. For instance, we've never been here before, this is the thin green tea. Its shit. If we made their day? Next time, I'll get the good green tea, the good stuff. Better seat, waited on quicker."

   "How do you know all this again?"

   "Where do you think I learned how to make pork fried rice and all the Chinese dishes I make, hmm? I worked part time in a Chinese restaurant for almost two semesters."

   "Why did you quit?"

   "I didn't, I loved it. Free food, and I love the stuff. They needed an employee that had a car and and could drive and deliver, I couldn't do it on my bike in the winter, so…"

   "All right. I can see why you'd be… nervous to explain it to me like that. You? Are off the hook. For now. Don't push it."

   He looked down and spoke quietly.

   "Thank you, Vaquera."

   We ate more sushi, or… sashimi. He was right of course, about everything. The sushi chef? He had no trouble getting him to make us two different rolls he specified. He whispered to me, not to tip the sushi chef until after we had eaten all we were going to, that it was rude to do otherwise. We both said "shee-ah shee" to the young Chinese girl that checked on our fountain soda drinks. She did smile and glow at the words in her language, as simple a gesture as it was. He let me taste the next tea she brought him, and compare it to my own. His new tea? Was much thicker and richer of a green tea. Heartier and bolder. The good stuff, reserved for "real" customers. Not all watered down.

   Before we left, I patted my seat and had him sit beside me. Not trapped, on the outside this time. I didn't want to sweetly threaten him. I asked huskily in his ear if there was anywhere else he wanted to go. He begged me in my ear, to take him back to the abandoned farm we were at earlier. So? I did.

   Vaquera drove him back to the farm, and was a little stern ordering him back around the car, after making out with him. The old lumber I got for a song was still tied to the roof of the car, and came back over the trunk. I couldn't help it, I tied a pair of handcuffs to the end of the lumber, cuffing his wrists at about his chin level in front of him. He had pleaded in my ear, that when I took him back to the old farm? Would I please take him a little "rougher", that he liked it and he knew I did too.

   I did the wind the dropped pants up trick again, and stood with the wound up pants in the cleft of my heeled boots. I loved how securely it held his legs slightly spread and helpless for me to ravish him from behind. I told him that if he asked for it rough? He would get it rough, and I better not hear any complaints about him getting what he asked for.

   I made him beg for lube, and taunted him with a dry tip. Twitching gently, so he could feel the end grip and pull. I finally lubed up generously, and grabbed him by the hips. I didn't do a SWAT hard entry, but I definitely didn't make love to his rabbit hole either. I pushed continuously in, but slowly, slowly, slowly. It took forever to bottom out, but a tiny slow hip roll and I retracted all the way out equally as slow. Each slow and full entry was almost as slow as the last, and the same for each pull out.

   In time, I was full stroking and taunting him with filthy talk in his ear. He begged for release, but I laughed and told him there would be none of that until I got him home. I didn't immediately fuck him once I had him at home, either. Instead I made him watch me do craft work.

   "Hmm. You think you'll get all hot and bothered watching me make things to use you with out of leather…"

   He swore he would.

   I had him watch as I picked thick though fairly short pieces of leather. How I chose them for thickness and hardness. I explained what split cowhide was. I was still dressed like a complete slut, and I had him naked in nothing but his collar in the basement, watching me work. Not the fraidy hole sub basement storm shelter, the "real" basement. There's a workbench in the basement, and I spread out the weird old toolkit I had scored cheap. I explained how I knew what it was.

   He watched me clean and oil the leather straps I selected. I cleaned a thick but short leather strap then soaked it in oil with others. I also cleaned thoroughly a thick hard rubber dog toy, a rubber ball with holes. I was soaking hardware in vinegar, and explained how that would take the rust off, then I rinsed it and easily brushed the rust off. It looked like new metal when I was done. I fed the leather strap with difficulty through opposing holes in the thick rubber ball, and stood behind him. I plopped it into his mouth and showed him I was making a rubber ball gag, to help keep him quiet.

   I let him see me fold the one end over in the vise, and size up a piece of buckle hardware for it. I used a rounded point on what appeared to be a rusty old chisel, and it marked the spot I punched. I had already scribe-d the strap's center line. The scribing tool is just a sharp, hard point. Being able to scratch a line to work on is good, knowing how to get it perfectly straight is great.

   The scribing tool can be taken out of its tool for freehand marking, but for precision work like a center line down a strip of leather the holder is priceless. I've heard it called a compass, a caliper, a divider. Basically it works like a compass you use to make a perfect circle, but it adjusts open to closed with a threaded rod, and you can lock it in place. You can go crazy taking measurement after measurement, trying to find a perfect center line.

   Or? The easy way. Just set it close, and run the edge down both sides. You end up with a scratched line the same distance in from both sides of the leather strap. The two lines are automatically in the center, and its actually easier to locate a punch inside the lines than on a single line. Now I can punch the holes for the buckle or locate a rivet perfectly centered. When you're done, its the difference between something that works but looks home made, and something that looks like you went to the tack store and spent a fortune.

   I got a soft metal rivet and used a different "old chisel" to pound it flat, spreading it out over a metal washer. I added a second rivet for strength. I used the buckle now sizing it to his mouth again, and marked it where I wanted it with a felt tip marker. I took it and punched a hole there, then a couple more around it for adjustments.

   When I was done, I showed it to him. Smiling. Then I buckled it tight and ball-gagged him, and left it on him while I did the rest of what I wanted. I stopped working periodically to tease him, and kiss his drool. I captured some on my hand and gave him a few tugs to tease him then smiled and quit, shaking my finger "no no no" at him and went back to work. He was as hard as a rock and dripping wet.

   I used four thick matching short leather straps to make wrist cuffs that buckled on. Two were shorter and two were longer. I went back and riveted the second pieces to them, to make them extra thick and strong, and also to allow for big D rings to be riveted between them. The long piece would become the buckled leather, the double thick part the wrist cuff. I showed him how I could use them to tie him, or use locking carabiners to attach him to rings with plates I could screw where I wanted. Three heavy duty D rings dangled invitingly to me off of each cuff.

   I made matching ankle cuffs, too. Then, I used two matching pieces of lumber. I laid them down on the floor, and had him lay down with his neck laying on the middle of it, and spread his arms out along to near the ends. I brushed and rinsed off three plates with heavy metal D rings welded onto them, and screwed the base plates to the lumber. I had him lay on it, and showed him what it was for. His collar got locked to the middle, and his new thick leather wrist cuffs were locked to the outsides. I couldn't help tickling him a little. Then I left him softly struggling like that, while I spread his legs nice and wide, and screwed plates with thick rings on to lock his ankles to the other piece of lumber.

   I got on top of him and jogged my hips into him from behind him. I whispered in his ear.

   "This is what I'm going to fuck you on. Maybe every night, too. Mistress Vaquera is going to fuck some respect into you, little boy."

   I used two other longer pieces of wood, to rest on top of these two, laying alongside him. I marked them and drilled holes, then pounded a threaded bolt up through. I showed him how I could simply drop the side pieces down onto the threaded bolts, and easily spin large wingnuts down to assemble it in seconds. I could store the four pieces in the corner of the closet, yet still have it out and him on it being fucked in less than a minute.

   I made a quick pair of wrist cuffs riveted together, then a pair of ankle cuffs the same way. I tried them out on him after sizing them up on him as my mannequin. Leather handcuffs and ankle cuffs. Yum. I was on a roll.

   I had a sudden attack of a filthy snapshot from my naughty compulsion. I put him ass up and marked the side pieces there as well, then added two more threaded bolts. I could now go from spread eagle, to ass up and ready in seconds just by removing and re-spinning the wingnuts to reset it. I knelt behind him in it, bopping my hips off his naked bottom to demonstrate how at my mercy he was going to be shortly.

   I left him like that. Ball-gagged and drooling, wrists and ankles cuffed and locked in position, ass up in the air and ready while I tended to the next naughty snapshot. I fairly quickly made four smaller wrist and ankle cuffs, that were all riveted solidly together. Then I giggled, showing him what it was for. I released him and put him in the strict hogtie. I tickled his ribs to demonstrate, while he whimpered in my ball-gag. I hissed in his ear.

   "Oh yeah, that's right, little boy. I grew up making horse tack from scratch. I'm going to make all kinds of things to help me use you like a dirty little slut. And then? I'm going to make a harness for you. Take you out to that old farm in the middle of the night, and train you like a horse."

   As an afterthought, I had one really wide longer piece. It kind of resembled a weightlifter's belt that hadn't been fashioned fully from the factory. I released him from his leather hog tie, so I could make sure the belt fit him. It was super long, and I scribe-d and chisel cut the excess off carefully. I saved that piece, I'd make something out of it for sure. I riveted plated D rings on the side of the belt on him, and showed him how his hands could be kept at his sides.

   I was looking at lots of leather left over, and matched up two longer and two shorter pieces. These turned into "thigh cuffs" and hand cuffs. I made him lay down, and smiled decadently as I slowly buckled the thigh cuffs onto him. Then the wrist cuffs, which I used a locking carabiner to attach to his thighs. He was laying on his back on the cold cement floor with his wrists attached to his thighs, holding them up in the air for me. I knelt in front of him, grinning as I bounced my midsection off of his ass to show him how they worked.

   "That's right, little slut. You? Are are about to get… used, used, and then used some more…"

   I let him go and packed everything into the old wooden box, and had him carry it upstairs. I sat on the foot of the bed, regarding him coolly.

   "I expect that fuck frame brought up right now, slut…"

   He had to make two trips. I made him assemble the frame on the bed. I grabbed him rough by the collar and told him not to say a word, then cleaned him out way more thoroughly than was needed. Then I dragged him again by the collar and all but threw him onto the bed. Vaquera was suddenly hissing at him.

   "Now you get on there…"

   I roughly manipulated him into having his arms stretched out, then his ankles got locked into the cuffs still attached to the leg spreader. I chuckled as I buckled his thick rubber ball-gag on, then shook his head to show him the little bell inside the rubber ball still worked. Last, I attached his collar tight to the middle of the piece of wood that stretched his wrists out and flat. I grabbed the ankle wood piece of the fuck frame as I had named it, and dragged him slowly to the edge of the foot of the bed where I was standing. I was still dressed in the obscenely small denim miniskirt and cropped T shirt I had borrowed. I buckled myself into my jelly toy and giggled.

   "So. You asked for it rough, huh? I'll show you what happens when you ask me for it rough, you dirty little slut. You want it rough…"

   I lubed up generously and lined up, touching the entrance to his quivering little rabbit hole. I entered him with the brutal SWAT entry technique, and went into an almost instant bang. I had him screaming and crying from the very start. Then I fucked him with no mercy whatsoever. I had to waste no effort to hold him down, nor any energy to manipulate him around for my assault. I didn't have to do anything except stand at the foot of the bed, grab his hips tight, and go to town plowing his helpless ass sticking up and out, inviting me to have fun. When I fucked him hard enough, I could hear the little bell inside the ball-gag going off. Heaven.

   All my effort went into the fucking, and I turned into the ultimate fucking machine. All over the house, all around my room… those times had been slightly inefficient. This time, I was able to do nothing except stand and deliver my goods. I have no idea how long I stood at the foot of the bed, my willing and helpless sex crime victim held ready for my ministrations. If I didn't detect the soft ring of the bell, I redoubled my efforts and brought the power of my pumps back up so I could hear it.

   He ran tears, he sobbed, he cried. He screamed at times. I gave his ass the occasional crack with my belt although I concentrated on my sexual assault. The bigger, badder bunny was back again, and this time with a vengeance. With no need to hold him, I found I could roam my hands and tickle him at will. I heard the filthiest things imaginable coming out of my mouth. Out of Vaquera's mouth. The same mouth, really. We were functionally equivalent. I was dressed like a complete slut for this, yet I still found myself calling him sweet little love names. A slut. A whore. A fuck toy.

   I only gave a couple tugs here and there. Just to see that he was hard and wet, and he was every time. I constantly pointed it out to him, that this was the proof that he was a dirty little slut, because he enjoyed it.

   "Ask for it rough? You get it rough."

   "You like it, don't you? Of course you do. Sluts love it."

   "Oh yeah. Take it. Take it all…"

   "Make that noise… be my little piglet… squeal, piglet… louder. I said louder…"

   "Where the fuck do you think you're going, huh?"

   "I will fuck respect right into you, little boy… yeah…"

   "Mine doesn't go soft… we can do this all night, slut…"

   I found myself covered in sweat. I wanted a drink of water. I took a break on the bed, and looked at him there. I held the water out to him. I took pity on his plight, and unbuckled the ball-gag after warning him not to say a word. I gave him sips of water between his pants. Then I buckled him up again and went back to it.

   I eventually stopped and spun the wingnuts off, and slid his ankle board down and plopped it over the lower bolts and tightened the wingnuts down there. I crawled over him, and let gravity do some of my work for me, so I could get my wind back. I got the "mm… mm… mm…" gag noise I loved so much. Yum.

   "Yeah. That's right… tell me all-l-l about how much you love this, you little slut…"

   I checked for safety that I had enough lube frequently. After I have no idea how long, I decided it was time to try the toys I had made out. The wide belt that I could buckle his wrist cuffs to the sides was fun and handy. I repeatedly rolled him over and over. Legs spread face down, legs up and gathered over my shoulders when face up. The face to face intimacy allowed us to share smiles, I could hear in his soft whimpers that he had long ago given over to me entirely.

   The leather handcuffs, riveted together, with the matching ankle set made for a face down extravaganza. Legs together pinned down, then ass up on his knees. Back and forth, working him. I pretended the gag whimpering was intelligible speech, and interpreted his answers for him. I finished up with the hogtie four cuffs riveted together, but with him on his back, his legs and arms up in a bundle. I just held a wrist or an ankle as I slid in and out lazily.

   I went downstairs and brought up one of the bar stools we have in the kitchen. Like all the furniture here, they're sturdy as anything. Made for college students partying to knock around and not come loose or break. Perfect for my needs.

   I let him go, and we shared water. I kissed him every drop. I put the sturdy stool in the far corner, and pointed at it. He went to it. I silently got him up on it, and gathered his legs up and he held his wrists up for me, to actually help me put the hogtie cuffs on him. I smiled, and leaned into him. He was trapped in the corner, and his rabbit hole was defenseless and unguarded.

   I had came and scratched and bit him enough times from number four that I had long ago lost count. I smiled as I finally unbuckled his ankles to allow him to grip around me over my hips. After a time, I unbuckled his wrists from it and tossed it.

   There was no more need for quite some time. Once the soft whimpers came, and we shared smiles… he was mine. Now, restraining him? Hardly any point. He wrapped himself around me and clung to me desperately. I enjoyed the whimpering in my neck and finally unbuckled the ball gag and tossed it over my shoulder. He begged me for more. He told me how much he loved me. He told me much he loved this.

   When I was finally done, I went and laid down on the bed, exhausted. At times like this, when I am physically spent and totally played out… I idly wonder how in the hell regular vanilla people get by. Their short quickies that are the average sex act and blowjobs for special occasions. They blindfold their partner and think they're being dangerous lovers.

   "Your turn to do the work, little boy…"

   I put his cock ring on him, and set him to work. Licking me, then doing the slow I taught him. Last was my twat concussion. I laid there being serviced until I thought I might die from pleasure and exhaustion. When I was done, I didn't move. I had him bring his cock to my mouth, and loosen his cock ring for me. Warm and spilling onto my tongue and into my mouth. I simply wrapped around him and rolled over, up and onto him. I kissed it into his mouth slowly. It felt like definitely more than one.

   I took a little nap laying on him. When my eyes popped open an hour and a half later, I amused myself by flicking his "slut" name tag on his collar until he was fully cognizant and awake. I was smiling but using my strict voice.

   "Shower. Go get it ready. Shoo."

   When I heard the water running, I slowly rolled over. I stretched and edged my way down to be sitting at the foot of the bed. He shuts the water off with the temporary stop and comes and gets me. I played naked fetch with my slut for a while to unwind before shower and bath time. Among everything else we do, I still can't believe how much I enjoy the simplest things. Having him play fetch is one of my favorites.

   When "training" is over, things won't stay exactly like this. Hell, when the girls get back home it will put a dent in it. No more fucking him all over the living room, kitchen and everywhere else. No more over the knee in the shower. Things like that will have to wait until we're alone and they all clear out. Weekends, most likely. But throwing my socks and panties around and having him fetch them and crawl back with them in his mouth? I see me getting up early every day to play a little fetch to start my day, and again before bed.

   Its really in the long run, these little things that you can do all the time that have the biggest and longest lasting impact. A simple daily and nightly reminder that we're both comfortable with our sexual roles. Me, owning him. Him, being owned by me. Playing naked fetch is a gentle but effective reminder of those roles. For both of us, I might add. I mean, its surely obvious the benefit of reminding him that I'm in charge, and reminding him daily and nightly of this fact. But, it serves to remind me as well.

   I know what you must think reading this, but honestly its not an ego boost type of reminder. I don't ever want to wake up one day, and find out our sex life has gotten stale. Its a common complaint from women, you read it all day and night in the various "Retards Monthly" columns. Oh snap, the fire is done, whatever can I do now? The time to fix that is before it happens, not after.

   Every morning when I open my eyes, I yawn and stretch and make my way down to the bottom of the bed. A sweet morning game of naked fetch gently reminds me of my role in our sexual relationship. I'm in charge. I lead. If we end up somewhere stale, cold and horrible to be? Its on me, I led us here. Just as surely as when you have your submissive tied up and you have to lock arms with them going down the steps for safety. I'm responsible for the helpless person depending on me for everything.

   At night, before going to bed? Its the same thing. I'm in charge in our bedroom, and particularly when we're in bed. I like being reminded every night when we play naked fetch. If he seems bored, that's my fault. I have to do some internet research and get some new ideas, some new ground to mow and add to our sex yard. And if I'm bored, well, that's entirely on my shoulders.

   From all I ever read, we're so damned lucky. Off the top, we're both young. I'm almost 21, he turned 24. Both still in our prime, not some half washed up middle aged let's try it again couple, with that urgent we have to make it work this time around mutual feeling. Its ironic how much that kills relationships. Couples used to meet and get attracted young, and society had constant gentle pressures built in to choose wisely, gentle pressure to stay together. Like the woods around a mowed farm yard for a toddler or house pet. Sure, you could stray into the woods but the clear mowed grass told them where they belonged.

   Retard Monthly tells women what they want to hear. Oh, its okay your starter marriage failed, that's actually great! Now, you know what not to do. Now, you can treasure and appreciate when things are going right! Whee! Its an advantage, not a liability! What a load of shit. By every metric measurable? The more partners, the more relationships whether serious or casual… the chance of success drops steadily to near zero.

   Virgin partners aren't perfect by any stretch either, and neither of us suffers from virgin complex. It seems sweet in a book or a movie, but in real life its not good. Its light years ahead of a turbo-whore's body count of over 100 to be certain, but… limited experience is far better statistically. For the man as well as the woman. We're about perfect in age and experience coming into this.

   Then, we're lucky for… this sex game we like to play. As a sexually dominant female, a lot of its on me. A cute little girly girl, all of five foot two looks kind of silly bossing around a six foot plus masculine man. There's a lot of imagination and make believe being used up there. As a female athlete, I'm far more realistic as a physical specimen that I'm going to sexually dominate my man in the bedroom.

   Farm girls have a leg up on all the others, on my favorite mommy websites and their primer instructions. We tend to be taller and stronger. We're mostly tomboys. We have intimate lifelong knowledge of ropes and straps and whips. And how to use them and not use them. Its second nature to us to impose our will on a restrained animal. Using force if necessary, or gentle caresses and sweet nothings in the ear. Or both, as needed.

   Taking a boy down to the barn, and making him do what we want isn't nearly as much of a stretch for us. We're so perfect for this, so made for this, that it's unreal. Not just me, him as well. Strong men, both physically and with willpower are surprisingly over represented among men that enjoy sexually dominant women. There's clearly something about being powerful all day, that when you go home its a break to be the opposite for a change. Men that were in the service, particularly the more dangerous military jobs, seemed to be in tune with this sort of secret fun. Danger, excitement, adrenaline.

   Men that typically went through some long and arduous training program. Physically and mentally draining, and a tough regimen period to prove that they had the stuff to earn their spot. The website pointed out, that guys in the service would to a man brag about how hard things had been, and that they didn't fall apart. You bragged about how rough a patch you had made it through. The tougher the guys were on you while training you, the prouder you were that you sported that group's badge when you finally passed muster.

   A group like the MPs.

   Every other guy on the base had to be afraid of going toe to toe with them. No shrinking violets need apply, or we'll throw you into the reject box.

   We ticked every checkbox off together. Farm girls were perfect, and female athletes almost even. That's… me. Guys in the service, and particularly those in some tough job. Men that were trained fighters were another preferred group over represented. They willingly undertook physical abuse to train for it. I thought back to when I winced and made a face showing him a cell phone picture of his boo boo butt. He had laughed when I begged his forgiveness, and what had he said? Aw, its fine. My face looked like that, when I lost a match. Honestly honey, its not a big deal.

   Part of me knew I got wet for an extra masculine guy, and I couldn't deny it.

   Him too. He actually thinks female athletes are all but pinup girls. One day when I was out doing my couple of hours at the coach's office, his laptop had some kind of… geek hiccup. It was optimum for him to simply fire up my laptop, download some… geek tool to fix it quicker and easier. He thanked me to no end when I got home. For not having a password on my laptop and he's allowed on it anytime he wants. Apparently, it made his life easier.

   It goes both ways, too. I was getting one of my rough rides on the Green Weenie. His old military footlocker. I'm bent forward straddling it, holding on for dear life that I don't get fucked right off the end of it. Clamping in from my knees to my ankles like I'm trying to stay on a horse for a spirited ride in the woods. I heard a loud "clack" noise; my knee had been piston-ed into the latch.

   When we were done and dismounting the Green Weenie, I idly mentioned he should lock that thing. Its his personal space. He just shrugged and reminded me of my laptop being free and open. He asked me why I never went through it before, because he left it open for me to nose through for fun. He egged me on to go through it. This was his entire life, his wooden green little bank vault until he had a permanent place. Wow. What would I find?

   Most guys have a stash of porn. Some girls demand it be thrown out, that "they" should be "enough" for their man. The other camp? Its like punishing a child for masturbation, it does all harm and no good. A porn stash is normal if the guy has it. A healthy porn stash? Is an old box of girly magazines kept in the basement or garage or shed. He didn't have anything like that. No posters of famous sluts, either. I was curious to find what his stash was. All service guys have something along those lines.

   I found his. A couple sets of calendars. Made perfect sense, one for each year he was in. Five actually, its not like he signed up on January 1. He's a human, not a fiscal accounting year. No girls with fake grease marks on their faces, in cute cheesecake baring coveralls, holding tools. No porno star calendars. Two of them? Year 1 and Year 5, were "Ladies of the Olympics" calendars. Each held 18 months of whatever women were getting attention from the photographers and the boys that time around.

   Swimmers, runners, gymnastics, team sports. Each had a main photo, the big one above that month's calendar. The professional photographer's pick. Then below the calendar? A series of smaller photos. Anything from stretching out to action shots. This was what he put up in a locker room full of men for 4 years. If he needed "inspiration" in his small room one night, this was it. Tall, strong, fit. Real sweat. Not something a photographer's helper spritzed on. Real muscle. Not a trick of the under lighting.

   These girls didn't cross their eyes and stick their tongue out to show the tongue piercing in every photo like the obligatory social media pictures women share. No. They spent years getting where they were, and had faces and eyes and stares and body language that showed it.

   A pole vaulter reminded me somewhat of Little Lightning. The too long dancer's legs. The lithe, compact ripped muscle all over. Caught by the camera in a dramatic mid air arc and lift just clearing the bar. The angle was just right to show exactly how much air she was getting. The caption said over 18 feet up. The tiny white hot glares from the distant blurred stadium seating telling me this was captured during competition, camera flashes going off like stars in the sky on a clear night.

   No wonder he had asked her "out for coffee" any number of times before giving up. When he had seen her in her little miniskirts and crop tops around campus, he had found an actual credible version of what he had looked at on the wall for years. Hell, the dramatic action photo reminded me of the moments when my Little Lightning was doing her thing for us. Flying and tumbling dangerously through the air, bicycle kicking and actually making contact for one of her patented one-time goal shots out of mid-air. Sometimes over the heads of rivals when university sports photographers caught her in action.

   Then I got to stare at what hit me like a brick in the forehead. The women's Olympic soccer team month. There were three of them. A tall fit woman with legs not unlike mine; if she were tan like me and not fair skinned the body resemblance might be uncanny. She was flanked on either side by two girls almost as tall with almost as muscular legs. All posing with their balls, in uniform. One stood on her ball, another held it at her hip. The third had her knee up and the ball balanced perfectly for the shot. Wow, that must be her "Little Lightning" and "Right" she ran interference for. The action photos showed them in their big game. Sliding into a gang of opponents to steal possession. One leg planted, the other arcing impossibly out and around to take a clearing boot up field. The big girl in the center was leaning into two girls she was mowing down, clearing a path for the other two in the main photo. I was looking at some alternate universe's snapshot of myself, if I was just good enough which of course I knew I wasn't nearly.

   Just like Little Lightning was good enough for him, that he had found "his" in real life, I was as well. He had spent at least one month looking every morning and every night before falling asleep at a photo that if you squinted your eyes enough, could look something like me. Clearing a path for Right and Lightning to zip up and outwards, to start their run and gun rhythm. To perform their acrobatic magic, one timing shots on goal. He had smiled and spoke quietly.

   "That was their silver year. Here…"

   He showed me their gold year, four years later. Wow. We were in the conference finals every year, we were looking for our big win. Our gold.

   "Yeah. Figured you might like those. That was my bedroom calendar. These? Were my work calendars…"

   A stack of, good lord. The girls of barrel racing. Every month was a different barrel racing standout. One big action shot of the girl and her horse cutting around a barrel, tilted at that scary and seemingly impossible angle. Mud flying up at the camera's lens. Those muscular legs tensed and held just off the saddle. One arm up for balance, to help shifting her weight over for the horse to have an easier cut for the wicked turn on the last barrel. Action photos of other barrel cuts or the short sprint down the line after a run. Some were the girls posed with their championship horse. They looked like me. Sturdy farm girls, but feminine. Flannel or western shirts. Well worn jeans and scuffed up heeled boots. Some were candid shots practicing, some obviously during competition. Goat skin chaps and spurs with a riding crop was a favorite photographer's pose.

   I asked him why the farm girls were at work instead of on his bedroom wall, where he could make use of them better. He blushed and told me that after the year was up at work? They joined the others on his wall in his room. Which was tantamount to admitting that he had pulled one off more than once, to farm girls with riding crops in their hand. No doubt fantasizing what it must be like to be alone in the barn late at night with one. Subjected to whatever strange things they must do with and to the boys they choose to ride. I realized that when I rode him and tickled him to make him buck and twist, so I could show how well I could grip him and hold on with my legs, leaning back giggling and smacking him with my riding crop? I was fulfilling his fantasy.

   Small wonder he got so hard and wet when Vaquera marked him up as she put her heels to him wearing the fancy cowgirl boots. He had been in ecstasy when she had tied his collar off and gave him the hard buggy whip to break him and train him. Then taught him to trust her and concentrate on her voice commands, and pull her blindfolded and fully bit-ted through the woods and around a field in the middle of the night. It had been similar to his sexual fantasy for years, that lined right up with his naughty compulsion.

   "And… here."

   A stack of not just barrel racing girls, this stack of calendars was all rodeo girls. Girls competed in calf roping, and he showed me months they were the featured cowgirls. That month's calf roping champion? Had a montage of other photos, one showing her riding a bull. Another showed her working a stockyard, and there it was. She was using a bullwhip in an action photo. I could just imagine what fantasy had run through his dirty compulsion infected mind when this month was showing back in his room. A tall, strong, cute ranch girl that knew how to use a bullwhip. Gee, I wonder. He had masturbated to basically Vaquera before. Now? She came to "visit" regularly and fulfilled those fantasies.

   "Then, there's the matter of the locker room at the gym the MPs trained at…"

   Calendars of women fighting. Big action photo every month showcasing another one, but with the montage of action and training and candid photos as well. These girls didn't get coached by stuntmen to remember choreographed dance fighting moves that looked good on camera. They didn't diet and jog to look good on film. You could see them lifting free weights, working out with speed bags and heavy bags. Real natural muscle. Kick-boxers and no holds barred female fighters, with a smattering of judo and a few other gi wearing types.

   Girls sporting wicked looking black eyes and torn lips. Covered in bruises, but smiling. Having their arm held up by the ref with a bloody unconscious opponent laying at their feet, getting worked on by their corner men and the cut man. There were no cute, smiling poses here. No pout-y duck lips and pigeon toed poses, whatever the flavor of the year spread out over social media and all the girls imitated that years approved pose that they all adopted across the internet.

   One girl held up her wrapped hands, dripping with what was obviously fresh blood. She was positively covered in it and looked like she had worked all day in a slaughterhouse. It took me a few seconds to read her montage. She had traveled to Thailand, and won some competition in kickboxing. It was one of the local's non-televised tournaments. The girls fought like the men did. They wrapped their hands and their shins and ankles and went at it without headgear and gloves. There were pools of blood on the canvas flooring. Her opponent looked like she was practically dead, beaten half to death. This girl's eyes were positively scary for her arms held up pose.

   Her quote was worse. My sensei craves fresh blood. It was was my honor to give it to him.

   Action photos showed her big fight to win the tournament against the local last year's champion. Up on one leg, the other coming in with a complete blur, the opponent's head snapped off to the side when she had gotten a clean head kick in. You could see a spray of blood in the air. Big punches delivered, the recipient about to crumple under her last vicious onslaught. A magnified photo in photo showed the girl laying on the canvas getting attended to. The face dunked in blood, the features all but unrecognizable. Little white lines pointed out her open mouth was missing a tooth, and another matching white line showed it laying in a pool of blood. The winning girl's shins and feet were covered in blood as well. It was beyond macabre. This girl would beat another woman to death for a medal or a ribbon, while a bloodthirsty crowd cheered.

   The little fine print story told who she was, what she had done. The end said to look out, America. She's coming back home soon to terrorize women's kickboxing tournaments. I wondered how puckered up her opponents were going to be, an hour before they stepped into the ring with her. Knowing not so much who they were about to face. She was more of a what, really.

   No wonder he wanted a cat fight video. Every guy had a favorite prized video of their girl on their phone to show off. It was usually them wiggling around in a string bikini at the pool. Not mine. He wanted to show off his girl in a brawl. I asked him in his ear if this calendar ever made it to his bedroom wall. He blushed perhaps the deepest crimson I had seen yet. He peeped out a tiny "yes". I giggled in his ear, and made him tell me, describe it to me. I had to threaten him with a credible trip to the basement if he didn't give it up. I dragged it out of him, line by line. Lurid descriptions of what I would use on him, how long and how hard if he didn't tell me.

   He whispered it in secret to me, close in and into my neck. He was stationed overseas. Thailand. She was there. He ended up at whatever local bar the girls went to when training was over. She took a fancy to him. She had a few drinks and loosened up, and made sure everyone knew she was taking him home for the weekend, to her room. Then took him home, and raped him. Rough. Really rough. She was able to mark him up with her hands. When she took him for breakfast with the other girls there, they were all giggling. They had heard all the noise coming from her room, and knew she tied unwilling boys to the bed and did dirty things to them, things the boys didn't necessarily want to do for her. So she made them. Then later on, the other girls got to drinking liquor in each other's rooms. They got around him and took turns with him, basically a willing gang rape.

   I had to have fun with him after that, believe it. I smacked him around some and made noise with him one night, making sure the other girls could hear it in the middle of the night. They were smiling around the breakfast table the next morning.

   I know I'm going to periodically roll over in the middle of the night and grab him and rape him quietly then go back to sleep. I'm actually looking forward to the girls all coming back home in some way. The guilty pleasure of taking him gently in my locked bedroom will slap a silly grin on my face for hours the next day.

   But tonight? Vaquera took him out, then used him for her rough pleasure. She had him watch while she hand fashioned leather rough sex toys before his very eyes for a couple hours. He stared, fascinated and all but drooling at what she could do. Then, she had ordered him curtly to her bedroom, and showed him what she could do with him. What she could do to him. How strong and unyielding she was in the bedroom. In her bedroom. In her bed. She showed him what she could make him do, and demonstrated that he loved every second of the harsh sexual abuse.

   Now she had him in the shower, and had him go over every inch of her. With his hands. With his tongue. She pulled him in close and intimate, and let him feel her warm but surprisingly strong embrace. When she's done getting her shower servicing, she plays with her property. After having him baby oil her up for moisturizing, head to toe? She returned the favor. Stepped into her toy and strapped it on for action. She put his hands onto the shower room wall, and told him to keep them there, or else. Let him feel number four buzzing randomly as the bigger, badder bunny leaned against the littler rabbit's tiny hole.

   "Your mistress has you all-l-l opened up, huh? Yeah, she does. I'm worn out from fucking you, little boy. And have you ever been fucked that bad before in your life? Tell me the truth, slut."

   He sobbed out "never".

   "I know. Do you want to please your mistress? Hmm?"

   He did, he begged to.

   "Mm. Very good, little boy. I want you to back up onto it, and fuck yourself for me. I'm? Just going to stand here. Yeah, go on. Stick your ass back. Do it for me. Oh yeah, just like that. More…"

   He was standing still there for me. He had been fucked into complete and total submission. Where he clung to me, and begged for more, endlessly. Now, he had to fuck himself. Impale himself on my jelly weapon while I watched, amused.

   "Don't you look back at me, slut. I just want your ass. If I wanted to see your whimpering little face, all puckered up? I'd turn you around to enjoy that. I want your fuck hole, and that's all. Stick that fuck hole out for me…"

   "Oh, yeah… more. Back up onto it, little boy. Don't just take it, do it for me… yeah… that's it. More… and don't you dare quit. Or I swear, I'll take you down to the basement? And whip your naked little ass until it bleeds and I can hear drops of blood hitting the cement floor. You think I'm teasing you about that, you fucking try me, you dirty little slut. Yeah… more…"

   "Not, fucking, good enough, little boy. I want you to bang off of it… yeah… there you go… like a complete whore, that's it… more… more!"

   He fucked himself while I stood there, amused.

   "Now… that? Is how a good little slut does it… harder… faster… yeah… oh, yeah…"

   When I finally had the finger of jelly pushed gently onto my clit long enough I came, I grabbed him. Hard. I rolled my hips around as I clung to him tight from behind. I bit his shoulder and hissed at him to take it when he winced. I knew before I looked down, that I left a bad bite mark. It had been that gut shuddering good of a climax. I held him in, tight. Rolling my hips obscenely, to better enjoy it. I hissed angrily at him.

   "Sit still, don't you dare move a muscle, you let your mistress enjoy this… oh, yeah…"

   "Now, little boy. You? Are about to get a real treat. You? Are going to clean me out. You better do it polite, and gentle, and with the complete respect I know you can, do you hear me? Don't fucking answer me, you just do it… and you better be nice about it, too… I'm not warning you again…"

   I had him clean me out. Back there. So I wasn't embarrassed, I told him what to do, every step of the way. So I was in control. I knew better, deep inside, but… I went through the facade, I went through the illusion. I felt the hot soapy water fill me up, and the stringed wooden ball plug go in. I made him keep his eyes down as I sat there. The sense of fullness. The waiting. The anticipation of expunging. I curtly ordered him when to pull the string, to release me. The cramps gnawing at me as the hot soapy water cleaned me out, again and again. Just when I thought it was over, a long wet fart escaped. I felt the tickle of soap bubbles being blown up then popping out of my rabbit hole. More hot water with no soap now, until that quits.

   I don't know who I was kidding more, him or myself. I was getting cleaned out more than I needed to be squeaky clean. For either my toy or his hard, wet cock going into my own rabbit hole. I told myself I was in control because I gave the strict orders. Because I told him that I would whip the skin off his ass and that it was no mere phrase, if he so much as watched or giggled or even smiled as he yanked the plug on my command. But deep inside, I knew. I was seeing what it was like. To be used. I knew my once a week rough ride had been denied too long, and I had dirty images flitting in and out of my filthy mind's eye. Strapped down to the board, gagged. Bell ringing from the force of hard thrusts. Squealing for my life and loving every second of the abuse.

   But no. We can't have that. Not until his training is done. Then his little "treat" will be secretly mine. To get used. Rough. Real rough. Raped nice and hard. Because I was denying myself my weekly hard ride, it was building up and I would secretly enjoy squealing for days on end when he enjoyed his "treat". Which would actually in all reality be my special treat to myself. Used for a set of holes, out in the middle of nowhere. Made to make little love piglet noises while I squirmed on the end of his well forced in hard wet shaft. Again and again. But not now. Now? We cover it up. With barked orders and unveiled threats of violent sexual assault if he dared to enjoy one second of my cleaning out.

   "Eyes down! On three. One… two… three…"

   I sighed as I felt the mild cramping and sense of fullness go out. Spilling out audibly. The website was right, there's little more humiliating above all else? Than an enema. And the only thing worse than an enema, is a hot soapy enema. And the only act beyond that for humiliation, is another person in charge of it. Making you. Forcing you. Then, making you say you like it.

   But it was all right because I was in control, and I ordered him every step of the way. Sure. Okay. We'll pretend we believe our own lie to ourselves. Uh huh.

   Mistress Vaquera strode out with her characteristic poise and control, confidently ordering him to clean up the shower, and meet her in her bedroom. Where she had more duties for him to perform for her.

   I squirmed around on the bed. Feeling like I had to go, when I knew I couldn't possibly have to. Feeling vulnerable and helpless, even though I told myself I was in complete and total control. As long as it was on all my terms, and I was curt about it, it was surely all right. Yeah. Right. Sure. Okay. Uh huh. Whatever. Vaquera gets whatever she damn well feels like, and if she wants it in her ass? Vaquera gets it in her ass. With a hot wet tongue. With a hard wet cock. As deep and as fast and as hard as she wants it. Or? As slow and light and soft as her ass requires to make her happy. Anything Vaquera wants, Vaquera gets.

   "Took you long enough. The fuck over here, now. And if sorry comes out of your mouth? I'll show you what sorry really means, little boy. Come…"

   I hissed at him, in Vaquera's pissed off irritated voice. Somehow, that would make it all okay.

   "Kneel… eyes down. You look up at me? I'll smack the taste right out of your dirty little slutty mouth."

   "Now then. You tell your mistress, why you think I had you clean me out. And you better watch how it comes out of your mouth."

   "Mistress Vaquera is… wants…"

   I softened my voice, but only slightly. I laid back and all but dragged him up on top of me, and gathered him in my arms as I rolled on top of him. I started kissing him, then chewing on his neck and biting his shoulder. Gently, though.

   "Shh. I think you know exactly what I want, little boy. But I'm telling you right now, you better listen to me, you get that straight. So, you shut up and listen carefully…"

   I continued kissing him, biting his neck and his shoulder. The only difference was, I was now playing with his interest meter with my free hand. When I whispered in his ear now though, I switched to grabbing his testicles firmly.

   "Oh yeah. That's right. When I do this? I have your full attention, don't I? Yeah, I think I do. Your Mistress knows how to get you to listen very carefully…"

   "The first thing you're going to do, is dress me. Real slow, real careful. I want that slutty miniskirt and that slutty shirt back on. You can leave the panties off me…"

   "Next? I want fucked, and I want fucked exactly how I say. You, are going to get to go into my ass, little boy. That's how I need it, and I better get whatever I want. Now listen up. You better go slow, and I mean so slow I can't tell you're moving, you understand me? You better. I mean so goddamn slow and sweet and gentle, that I swear you just have the tip touching, and next thing I know, you're all the way in. That goddamn slow. Are we on the same wavelength here? We better be. Because if I can even tell you're moving? Well… when I tell you I'll take you down to the basement and horsewhip the skin right off your ass, you know I can do it…"

   I started mixing in the extra slutty kissing with the biting and heavy breathing. His built in sex barometer, reported that relative interest was at an all time high.

   "Now… you get me dressed…"

   I sat on the end of the bed, and got socks and boots put on, then I stood up and he got me in the miniskirt carefully, and last the cropped T shirt. I had fun playing naked fetch and gentle tug of war with the panties. I had him do tricks for me and everything. I laid my toy and something else tiny next to us on the bed, and I used the tall heels of my fancy cowgirl boots to spur his legs as I hissed instructions into his neck.

   "You better go slow, little boy. I better not notice that cock I shaved clean, going in. You better pretend you're fucking broken glass…"

   "Yeah, you just park the tip right there, and wait to get it all-l-l wet. Vaquera wants it all natural this time…"

   "Yeah… that's not bad… now I swear to god, when you move? It better be no more than half a blonde pubic hair, you hear me? Or I will fuck you up…"

   "Oh, how wet is my ass getting, huh? That's all you… you love being in my ass, don't you… you dirty, little, slut…"

   I grabbed his hand, and put the little rubber ball ring on his finger for him, then guided it to my clit.

   "Oh-h-h… yeah… ah!"

   I lost the power of speech, and communicated by whimpering and squealing into his neck and shoulder. Biting and chewing, and scratching his skin gently.

   "Ah… ah… ooh!… ah-h-h…"

   "Tiny strokes… tiny… tiny tiny tiny… oh-h-h…"

   "Mm-m-m-m…"

   "Oh god, if you come, I will fuck your shit up, and I mean bad… you are not allowed to come… I need… you to get me soaking wet, before I put your… cock ring on you… don't you dare finish, slut, don't… you… dare… oh!"

   "Oh, you just wait, little boy. You're mommy? Is gonna love your mistress taught you this… ah ah ah… ooh!"

   I had my legs high over his hips, so he could feed in slow and easy. I shuddered and bit his shoulder, clutching around him for everything I had in me, not to scream. Trying to stop it, just made me whimper even worse into his neck. I reached out blind, ashamed to take my face out of his neck to have him hear me make more noise than I already was, or that he might see my face blushed such a hot scarlet red. Because when you can tell a girl with a dark tan is blushed? Its beyond bad, its just obscene. I grabbed blindly and found the toy, and slapped it into his free hand. I guided it slowly to my soaking wet twat, and using his wrist as a handle on a fuck toy, I got it in and out and soaked it with my au naturale lube. Oh god, it made wet squishing noises going in and out. I couldn't hide that. My hot wet slit can't tell a lie.

   I squealed and whimpered something fierce into his neck, and put my heels to him hard enough that I was completely sure I was marking his legs up and I couldn't care less.

   "Lis… listen clo, close… ooh!… I want you, t… to switch hole, holes… ah ah ah…"

   He slowly switched soaked cock and soaked toy. I put his cock ring on him and adjusted it tight as hell, I wanted this to last forever. I was soaked now both ways, all the way, from me and him both contributing to the organic lubrication. He was now in my soaking wet twat and had the toy fed in and buried up my own rabbit hole, that he had slowly opened up and slicked up. The little rabbit had made friends and was invited into the bigger, badder bunny's own hole for a nice little visit… and they weren't having a tea party.

   I was so ashamed of myself, that I quite simply couldn't stand myself. I had a farm slut's boots on, and I had an obscenely tiny miniskirt borrowed off of a young turbo-whore. And what's more was that it was riding up around my waist like a slut that couldn't even wait to get undressed before she took both cock and toy deep into all her holes. I finally with a monumental effort got my whimpering under control in between shudders and breathing hitches just long enough to push him up a little. Just enough to pull the slutty ripped up T shirt up and off me.

   I finally got the nerve up to open my eyes and let him see me tearing up. I prayed he'd recognize his own surrender performance. Hear his own whimpering, see his own little cry. Now it was on me. He had mercy on me, and said nothing to give it away. I got the neck of the teeny shred of a shirt over my neck, and wound my wrists around, rubber banding it up until it held my wrists securely enough I could trust I wouldn't get free. I bit the center of it, and he got the idea as I spoke with my eyes and with soft little whimpers that begged him not to make me say it.

   He grabbed that wound up T shirt, and grabbed near enough my caught and bound up wrists that I was trapped now, and put his weight on them. Pinning them on either side of my head firmly, and driving my head down with the wound up shred of slut shirt bit-ted across my whimpering and squealing mouth. He started stroking and I nodded my head, to go.

   I had turned on the now legendary button number four and as he slowly increased his stroke's depth, speed and force rhythmically? The random, moving, ever shifting pattern of vibrations came and went and moved up and down like some insane fuck lottery.

   There's a tiny slab of skin between a girl's ass and her twat. You can feel your fingers all but touch up inside if you're careful. He had his cock ring on tight as hell, so there was no way he could finish. My ass was already wet enough from him, and my own from the toy made it extra slick. With my toy crammed all the way up my ass, I knew it stretched into my twat. His cock lost space and it tightened my twat up to somewhere it hadn't been since before virginity. My ass hummed and vibrated and shook me from the inside out. I could feel it all through my twat. From his reactions, the temporarily grade school tight twat and the vibrating length of pussy drove him wild as well.

   I had given myself completely over to him. He had my wrists tight, my mouth gagged with a slut's wound up shirt. I couldn't even turn my head to hide my shame and humiliation that I was enjoying it so much. I just nodded my head anytime he questioned me with a look. Verbal communication from me to him was limited to squeals and whimpering, though they were voluminous in both quantity and volume aplenty.

   I nodded my head when he got the idea to bury his cock all the way into me and pin me to the bed like a bug on display, then tugged gently on the toy buried up my ass. Where number four was doing its usual stellar and randomized performance. My nod said it was permitted, and he slid it out. When he slid it back in, my tears and squeals were too much. I made the little piglet screeches. I couldn't hide my face to conceal my humiliation, so I just closed my eyes and streamed tears slowly down to wet the bedclothes. My tears were the least of any stains and wetness these poor sheets were enduring this night.

   He took turns burying the toy and stroking my twat with his cock, in my tightened up twat that was soaking wet and greased up of my body's own accord. I couldn't control it if I wanted to. That I was dying from abject pleasure was too obvious to deny. Then burying his cock again and stroking the toy. Back and forth, he worked me into some whorish frenzy. I sobbed and cried but kept shaking my head yes yes yes, so he wouldn't dare quit.

   I realized at some point, that I had not planned this thoroughly enough. There was no exit strategy. His cock ring was cranked so tight he'd not lose a drop, and couldn't go soft if he wanted to. He'd never finish, this would never end. It might kill me before morning came, but I'd die happier than hell. My head was pinned down and my mouth bit gagged with the wound up slut T shirt, his hands holding my mouth secure and my head along with my poor trapped hands. I couldn't beg for mercy, I couldn't signal for help. He couldn't finish. I was doomed to die from pleasure and would enjoy that, too.

   I finally made strange gag talking noises, and talked with my eyes enough he lifted my wrists up, which freed my panting and drooling mouth temporarily enough I could pant, whimper and squeal out necessary and important information.

   "You… can flip me over… and switch holes… and go back again… ah ah ah… don't ever… ah ah… stop… ooh!"

   There, that was it. I doomed myself. He rolled me over, and held my wrists down just the same, my drooling, whimpering mouth still bit-ted. I still chewed on the T shirt for dear life. The only saving grace was that I was now mercifully facing the bedclothes. I could temporarily hide my shame, my complete embarrassment at enjoying my merciless plight. He took turns burying and moving cock, toy, cock, toy… before switching holes and resuming it again. I screamed pitiful little piglet screams into the bedclothes that obviously held no more mercy on me than he had for my holes. None.

   When he flipped me back over I begged him with eyes half closed into slits of pure hedonistic pleasure, but I didn't even know what I was begging for. For him to quit, or for him to never stop. So I just sobbed and nodded my head yes yes yes, then closed my eyes and squealed more, my shame on display for him to enjoy. I spurred him with my heels and scraped them any way I could, marking his thighs and legs up something fierce, but it was all to no avail. I think when I had hurt him enough, that was when he chose to flip me over again. I could no longer hurt him with my fancy heeled boots, but the trade was fair, because my shame was hid once again. Until he rotisserie-d me again, and again, and again.

   The bigger, badder bunny had its littler bunny friend over. The bigger, badder bunny lived in duplex holes. They had a little play date, and were playing hide and seek running and hiding in either hole for fun, all night. I had no way out, and could do nothing that would make anything happen except more of the same. I tried squeezing and clenching, but it just changed the sensations. There was no pain and no pleasure. Just some strange combination of both at once. There was no clenching with a crammed twat and a full ass. I experimented with doing it after a retraction but it just forced out louder and more pitiful piglet squeals. Relaxing was easier but more humiliating. I wanted to fight it but couldn't.

   Over time, more and more little orgasms come, and you get surprised by the occasional big screaming one. I had nothing to bite but a soaked slut's shirt. And the slut was now me. I was now caught in the grip of what bar whores would kill to receive. I couldn't scratch or push or slap. I couldn't even hang on for dear life and cling and clutch. I could do nothing other than make ever more pitiful and embarrassing noises, drool, and put my heeled fancy boots to him, which if anything just seemed to encourage him to do it more yet.

   Face up now, my shame on display yet again for him to enjoy. His new trick as he fiddled with this new system of pleasure came about. He would retract the toy, and bury his cock, then retract his cock while he buried the toy. After several double pistons, be would engage both and re-stretch my bigger, badder bunny holes and take more pleasure from me than I could stand to give up. My poor tummy had clenched and fluttered too many times and was cramping up a little. I had to try to relax that now as well as everything else. I had to completely give up and just relax everything, and try to keep taking it. Minute after minute, just giving up more until I was spent and played out. I could no longer struggle credibly. Even my flailing hands and fingers were weak.

   The next orgasm might well kill me. I just sobbed and heaved and panted through it, grunting and moaning deep down my throat, up from inside. I finally lost the ability to spur and scrape my heels down his legs. I could now do nothing except lay there and take it. It suddenly grew weirder. I felt as if I was watching myself take it, and had the even stranger sensation I was inhabiting some other slut's body, like borrowing a car. I was watching out through some other over pleasured whore's half closed eyes. But that other complete slut, that other over pleasured whore? I knew that was surely me. I was looking out through my own eyes.

   My head buzzed, and felt like tiny bees were buzzing in it. My eyes and ears tickled with it. I was amazed watching an ever so interesting collection of little white dots move around in random, non-programmed patterns. But they never once touched one another. They moved like little white tadpoles, but they didn't have wiggling tails, no, they trailed straight behind them. I was out of it enough I didn't even realize I had lost the battle to catch my next panted breath. My breathing slowed to some primal, slow, deep rhythm. But it was just when I needed to pant and whine faster for more air. It made the dazzling white tadpole show ever increasingly fascinating to observe. No. A dense cluster of shooting stars. No, white tadpoles. White shooting tadpole stars, then. Why I had to determine what to call them, I didn't know.

   Why was this happening to me? Oh. It was the teeny little too tiny denim miniskirt's fault. It was a sexually charged magical item. I knew it was a slut's miniskirt, and from the moment I put it on and wiggled in it for his approving view? I wanted to to be a slut. It wasn't my fault, that damned three sizes too small miniskirt had done it to me. It had infected me with its satyric evil spell. Its power flashed and dazzled all over me and turned me magically and instantly, into a complete slut. It had made me prance and strut and bend over, for a roomful of strange men and boys and made me enjoy their hot stares. I begged the denim miniskirt to allow me to go back when I finally took it off. It was possessed, it now possessed me, and I needed its permission to turn me back. If I even lived through this.

   I felt drool running out and down the corners of my mouth, and I made the embarrassing little sucking noises as I chewed on the wound up slut's shirt. I lost the ability to whimper, whine or squeal. The little love piglet was dying, and had screeched its last. I was vaguely aware of the bunnies playing hide and seek in the duplex hole system they played in. My face made some weird noise I barely recognized as bubbling drool in the back of my throat. My head lolled to the side as if my neck had become jelly. It had happened. Some climax had come along and claimed me. I was now dying from pleasure. I was far too naughty a girl now to ever get to heaven, I would simply wake up in hell and hope for the best. At least with the tiny miniskirt I was dressed for hot weather. How appropriate was that.

   I would have to float up to St. Peter at the pearly gates, and just as I was now. He would take one look at me, and see the condition of me as I had died. Wrists all bound up in a turbo-whore's ripped up tiny T shirt, still chewing on it soaked through. Drool still running out of my mouth, thighs streaked with dripping twat grease. My ass on display because the evil denim miniskirt was still ridden up onto my waist. He would laugh and send me straight to hell where I knew I belonged. Because I had been taught to be a good girl, and I had willingly chose and then even worse enjoyed, being a bad girl. Not even a bad girl, but the very worst of the worst of them.

   I heard some male voice asking softly if I was all right, and I felt my head scraping up and down slowly. It was like someone else was shaking my head yes yes yes for me. The buzzing filled my ears and my eyes and my head. I could feel my heartbeat inside my head, like a drum. My breathing had slowed down far too much for what air I required to stay alive. I could feel my poor little heart bumping away, fighting like hell to keep this poor defenseless body running in something loosely resembling stasis, then it too seemed to give up and relax. Slow, regular heartbeats came out of nowhere.

   Weird calm. Hot and flushed, and ice cold at the same time. I could feel the warm little puddle of drool my face lay in, as my bubbling in my throat ceased. Some kind of light humming noise came out of my face from down inside somewhere, but I couldn't tell you where, how, or why. Hell, I wasn't even completely aware who I even was. I was myself, I was this other shameless whore, one of us was borrowing the other's body and looking out through the other's eyes, but… which was which? I neither knew nor cared.

   I couldn't tell you how long I laid there under those circumstances. I couldn't tell you if I was spinning and the world was stationary, or if it was the other way around. Not spinning like when you're drunk and the bed is spinning, and you stick a foot out onto the floor to try to stop it. Spinning like a gyroscope; around, over, and other directions all at the same time. Not unpleasant though, it felt like free falling flight. Fun not scary. I was dying, I was sure of it. I had willingly set myself up to be fucked to death. Somehow, this other shameless whore still moved my head feebly up and down, yes yes yes. I heard the lightest laugh coo out of my bit-ted and gagged mouth.

   My head was to the side, I just realized it. My mouth was free. I could scream, beg, or yell for help now. But… I didn't want anything to come out that would stop my death, it felt too good. Another giggle escaped me as I realized I was enjoying my death.

   My head bobbed slightly, from motion coming from down… there. Machines with dual pistons, working my holes somehow, some way, making this happen. I smiled.

   Then I was back. I snapped back suddenly, like a rubber band let go. The shameless whore, and me? Met in mid air on my bed and became one. I looked around, confused. I could struggle again, and did. It was feeble as hell, but it was there. I was gasping and heaving for air, and it came down my throat in great gusts. Drool bubbled in the back of my throat again, and I now voluntarily pushed it with my tongue around, and felt it run down my cheeks. I was no longer ashamed, no longer humiliated. I tried to laugh, biting down for dear life on the wound up T shirt, and all I heard was those cackles of weird, scary pleasure come up and out of me.

   I could scream again, so I did. Just to hear it, I think. I made the little piglets screeches of pleasure. Something different. The buzzing was gone from my head, it had dissipated as I came back alive. I spurred his legs with everything I had in the way of renewed energy and sense of a shameless whore's purpose. I scraped his thighs with my heeled boots viciously. He tightened his grip on my new burst of struggling. I settled into little bursts of laughter amid intense struggling that got me nowhere except more of the same, interspersed among much longer periods of giving up and relaxing, during which somehow soft whimpering seemed best.

   "Mm… mm… mm…"

   I stared into his eyes, trying to focus but unable at this distance and in this condition, covered over in a thick sheen of pungent and aromatic sweat. My pores opened up and released that deep, musky odor of hormones and mother nature's terrible and wonderful endocrinology. My poor, sore tummy muscles could clench up again. I found myself squeezing and clenching my holes in vain, just enjoying the painful pleasure of being completely and shamelessly fucked into a totally hot, wet mess. My ass cheeks and the small of my back were soaked with what I at first thought was a weird place to collect sweat, before I realized that… had I pissed myself in pleasure? Oh god no, please… before I realized I must have squirted and it simply collected there under gravity.

   As I struggled, my poor humiliated bottom squished around in my own wet sex filth. Then he flipped me over yet again, and my poor sore tummy got to enjoy sliding around as I struggled in vain, in my own body's unasked for compliance with what was being done to me that I was utterly powerless to put a stop to. Flipped face down yet again, the disgusting greasy sex puddle grew far worse. It wasn't peeing, I had been reduced to to the state of an abject and complete whore. That must be my turbo option kicking on.

   I couldn't spur or kick flipped twat side down, ass side up. Kicking was useless, I settled for scraping my pointed toes of the farm slut's fancy pointed boot toes on the poor bedclothes. Every time I was flipped face down for more of this, he would haul back on my bound up wrists, tugging the T shirt tighter into my drooling mouth that spilled its contents out as I panted hot moist air into the abused bedclothes. I tried to shake my head to throw the sweat streaked hair our of my face, but I just managed to move it around some. My hair was picking up drool from the warm puddle my face slid around on as I struggled for nothing.

   Shame and humiliation flooded back into me. What had I been reduced to, what had I done to myself. My ass cheeks and my tummy took turns sliding around in my own naughty filth, my face and my hair were laying and drug around in a growing pool of warm drool. My wrists were bound, and I had done that to myself too. Both of my poor holes were being worked to death, and I had been responsible for that as well. The tiny obscenely small denim miniskirt was bunched up around my waist and soaked in my warm wet filth like the rest of my midsection. I sobbed and cried and pitied myself. I tried to pant and get back to dying again, but couldn't manage that no matter how hard I tried. All I could manage was to make myself dizzy now, and it forced me to cease struggling to any remotely meaningful degree. I was now the slut.

   Then, face down while my hair wicked up my slut's drool pool rolling out of my bit-ted mouth, came a hint of salvation from my humiliating plight. He was making noises. He sounded like he was in discomfort. I concentrated on those noises, I focused in on them. After a while, it sounded suspiciously like his discomfort had grown into some slight… was that pain? I felt sobbing on my sweaty shoulder, and what I had been taking for sweat dripping off his forehead, I suddenly realized were his tears falling onto my neck.

   His grip on the wound up slut's T shirt slacked a little, and I heard him begging please in my ear. Over and over again. What the fuck. He was no longer hauling the tightly wound T shirt into my mouth, and I slowly realized all I had to do to be free was to simply quit biting it; I did and amazed myself I could talk again. I was still panting and heaving though.

   "Do… not… stop…"

   He begged and pleaded, to stop. I kept telling him no, and he kept pestering and wheedling and whining to me. It hurt, he had to stop. What the hell, rug burn? No way. As wet as my twat was, that was completely impossible. My twat was a fucking slip and slide for a well trained slut's cock right now. My ass and tummy slid around in a goddamned pool of my own wet greasy filth. If his cock had the slightest rug burn? Monkeys were about to fly out of my well fucked ass. I had shaved his cock myself, he couldn't have so much as a single hair rubbing him the wrong way.

   He claimed it hurt. He was starting to be in increasing pain. He begged me now for my permission to quit. There it was. My salvation. My complete recovery from my abject and utterly complete shame and humiliation. He's not allowed to tell me no. He hasn't said the word no, but I've told him what I want and he keeps bugging me, like a little kid that keeps begging.

   Mistress Vaquera's dangerously quiet voice came out of my mouth.

   "Your ass will hurt more than whatever else hurts if you stop now. Just fuck me a little more…"

   He kept it up. The relaxed grip on my wound up wrists, combined with the pool of warm wet filth under my ass allowed me to rotate around to face him. I dropped my wrists over his neck and drew his face into mine as I locked my legs around and over his hips and crossed my farm slut's fancy boots shut, trapping him to me.

   "I said… fuck me."

   It was unintelligible but he whined.

   My hands were still wound up in the T shirt, but I could unwind them at any time now. I was back, and I was suddenly thrust right back on top of the fuck situation. I was in control again. I was dominant once more. I had recovered from my pitiful plight, and Mistress Vaquera was back on top again. Metaphorically, anyways. I tightened my grip on the T shirt I had behind his neck keeping his face in mine, and I spurred him harder than ever with my heeled boots.

   "You will continue to fuck me, until I give you permission to quit, is that understood, slut? If you don't, you will be taken to the basement, and whipped. I can't be any clearer than that."

   More whining. I hissed in his ear that I drew down to my warm and wet lips.

   "Cry fucking me here? Or scream in the basement. Choose…"

   He cried and resumed fucking me. He no longer had control over me anymore. I now had him back in my power. I tightened up on the T shirt around his neck. I was no longer bound, it was trapping him.

   "Yeah… fuck me more. Don't you dare stop…"

   "Uh huh… cry for your mistress little boy. That's what I'm here for you know. I'll fuck you harder and give you something to really cry for…"

   "I said more!"

   "Faster, slut!"

   He begged that it hurt. I laughed and demanded it harder, faster, and deeper.

   "Yeah, that's right. No more turning mistress over. Uh uh. You will stay right here, and fuck me until I say so. More!"

   I began to realize, if only slowly. What might be going on. Never once had I put the cock ring on that tight before. There was no telling how long we had been going at this. It was a long time though. His cock couldn't get soft again. It was stuck on full engorgement with the tight ring. He could technically finish, but not a drop could come out. Without the explosion of hot wet come from his cock, I had no way to tell how many times he squirted off and it got trapped inside.

   Where the fuck was it even being stored up at? I had no idea, not my goddamn field. Piss has a bladder that fills up, was there even some kind of come bladder, I had zero idea. Where exactly was the goo produced. In the balls, or in the prostate? Like I fucking know these things. I icily told him when to switch cock and toy holes, and when to switch back. But keep fucking me, or else.

   I smiled and enjoyed having him crying and begging to quit, while I held on wrapped around him, spurring and heeling him rough, making him keep at it like a rough Mistress should. Then, I got Machiavellian on him. I teased him and begged him, that he could quit fucking me if he wanted to. When he went for it? I picked up my belt, and ordered him onto the fuck frame.

   I first had tried simply putting him on his hands and knees, ass down face up. I wanted originally, to rub his face all around in my warm greasy pool of filth my twat had produced. While I fucked him and tugged on him. So I did that for a while. I ran his crying face around in the pool of warm filth.

   "Yeah… that's right… you made that mess come out of me, slut. Yeah, that's right, you lick it up… now, that's a good little slut… yeah, cram it in your dirty little mouth… now suck on it… taste me… more…"

   I quickly switched to the fuck frame to ensure his complete and total compliance and submission to my demands.

   "Yeah… that's right, slut. You don't wanna fuck your Mistress like she wants? Then your Mistress will fuck you…"

   He squealed as I fastened him in tight, face down, ass locked up in the air. I pulled my toy out of my thoroughly soaked twat, number four still kicking ass, and shoved it rather unceremoniously into his ass. I taunted and teased him and tugged his cock while hand-fucking him with the buzzing toy deep into his ass quite rough. Generous cracks across his ass with the leather cowgirl belt. It didn't take long for his crying to go from sobbing to screaming. I ball-gagged him and went back to it.

   I had enough warm grease of my own to tug him soaking wet with a wave of my hand. I toy fucked his ass, and tugged his cock or cracked his ass with the belt, all with no pity or mercy whatsoever. When I got the piglet screeching I wanted? I told him to make more noise for me, that he was simply telling me how much he loved it. I definitely spent a lot of time at that. This reminded me of the first couple times I discovered that I had a super heroine hand after warming his ass up properly. Discovering that I could actually get squirming, tears, and even screams swatting his ass with just my bare hand when properly prepared? The feeling was indescribable, and it still is.

   Making him beg so pitifully, run tears, sob, and scream just from touching his cock? Was somehow even better. More delicious to see and hear. Vaquera's extra stern voice, taunting and lecturing him. Followed by piglet screeching from simple lubricated tugs on his hard wet cock? I couldn't get enough of that. I knew right then and there, this had all not been a one time performance. I would get fucked like that again. Somehow it was okay, knowing that in the end he was going to go to pieces and beg. I had found my exit strategy, I had found my big finish. I guess I felt like a dancer that had an awesome dance routine, with no big finish but had just found it. Some music composer that had a great score, but lacked the ending and now had it.

   My piece of performance art, had been perfected. Anytime I wanted it rough, and fucked senseless? I could get it. Knowing full well that even though I had squealed and cried and screamed and struggled for my life, twisting and pulling in puddles of drool and sweat and worse… that at the end, I would end up on top again. I calmed him down after a time, as best I could. I buckled him face up, all spread out flat in the fuck frame. I walked around and looked at him. Vaquera wore her smug smile.

   When I touched him, and by touched I mean lightly dragging a fingertip over a thigh? He trembled, begged with his eyes, and put on such a show comprised of sudden piglet screeching and bucking and twisting that it was beyond delicious to know I got all of that? Just by a light graze from my mere fingertip. So yummy. I was like a little kid, left alone with my bowl of ice cream while the adult was out of the room. Suddenly allowed to squirt the chocolate syrup on the ice cream, again and again. I sat on the edge of the bed looking down at him.

   "Tsk, tsk, tsk… just look at you now. Thought you really had me, didn't you. Didn't end like the little slut thought, did it? No, I don't think it did…"

   I gave a little tug. He screamed. In between ball-gag dampened screams, I heard the little bell going off. I gave him Vaquera's bemused and distracted smile and nodded, before stopping.

   "Now then. Let's go over a few things that need corrected, little boy. And right off the bat, at the very top of the list…"

   I smiled and I licked my hand and tugged his cock for a while, to his explosion of performance art.

   "That? Was for arguing with your mommy, when she told you what she wanted. You know not to do that, and you did it anyways. So, we have to go over that one again."

   Longer.

   "Now. We have plenty more to talk about, don't we? Yes. We certainly do. I think I have your attention now. So? Let's get right to it, shall we?"

   Longer. Just when he thought this one was over? I exploded suddenly back into a faster series of harder tugs, laughing at his pitiful plight.

   "That, was for disrespecting your Mistress. I told you, that you have to hold the same respect for your mommy, that you have for me. I was very hurt, being told you didn't respect me enough to follow my orders to the letter. That hurt me. I thought we had an understanding. So…"

   Lots more.

   "Now, that was extremely important? We'll go over that one again."

   More, more, more.

   "Which brings up me taking you out for dinner. It was very sweet, that you were afraid of offending me. But? There's no getting around the fact I had to tell you three times to explain what I wanted to hear. Don't ever do that again…"

   I went for a good, long time.

   "I speak once. I don't repeat myself."

   Then quite naturally? I went for broke. After I was done, I waited for him to compose himself a little, before I went on.

   "Now. You were told to keep fucking me, and you wanted to quit, did I hear that right…"

   I ever so slowly got over him. Carefully, slowly. Teasing him until I ever so lightly and gingerly put my hot, soaking wet slit down onto his hard cock and got down on him and tucked myself all in for a ride. He twitched and squealed as I got into my sexually dominant mounted position on top of him.

   He shook and whimpered just from me sitting there motionless after I got settled in and buried my face in his neck.

   "I'm going to fuck respect right into you…"

   I shushed him, and kissed and licked tears away. I used the softest sweet mommy voice I could conjure up. I went Stockholm Syndrome on him completely. I was so turned on, it wasn't even real. My soaking wet twat had the power to make him scream now.

   I still could barely believe what I could now do. This rush that came over me, was the strongest and longest lasting one yet. My body was positively pickled in hormones and endorphins. I was drunk on it. I was completely out of my mind and beyond all control, and I loved it.

   "Shh…"

   "Don't be ashamed of it, little boy, let it all out…"

   "Don't be ashamed that you love it, its okay to be a dirty little slut that loves it…"

   "Yeah… I know…"

   "Shh, shh, shh…"

   "You belong to me, do you understand?"

   "You're my personal, trained, slut…"

   "You have to do what you're told, little boy. You have to listen to me. There's just no other way…"

   "You're never getting away from me, ever…"

   "I'm going to mark you, so the whole world knows. That you? Are my personal property…"

   "I own you. You belong to me. Forever…"

   "Its not enough that you listen to me, and do what I say. You should want to please me… I shouldn't have to make you…"

   I sat up, and settled down on him and got still. Waited for him to calm down.

   "I'm going to fuck you to death."

   I was off like a sprinter from a starting gun at a track meet. I threw my head and shoulders back and jogged my soaked slit up and down on him. He lost it, completely. I didn't slow down or quit, and far from it. I stroked him fully up and down, and worked myself into a frenzy. I fucked him past that place where he gave himself to me. I rode him past complete submission, and into some kind of… I don't even know what it was.

   I was being cruel and demanding, I was being selfish. I was punishing him for making me feel so much pleasure at what I had set him up to bring out of me. I brought pleasure and pain completely together and welded it into a single, terrible force and brought it down with no mercy onto him. I fucked him down into the hot, screaming and writhing mess he was melting into.

   I kept going until I was entirely sure that no dirtier slut had ever existed before and submitted completely to the will of a dominant female, ever. I made myself into the thing that he both loved and craved, and feared and respected above all else. Me. I made myself the white hot center of his universe. Then I gave him more.

   I finally saw the signs of it starting. The feeble nature of his struggles. The panting bellowing in and out of his lungs. I pressed my body down on to his, tight. My arms on his, our fingers entwined. I felt his grip on my hands weaken, as I continued to pump and roll my hips with force, sweat dripping.

   "Do you love me? Do you trust me… completely…"

   He held his breath and what little he could nod his head yes with his slut collar locked down, he did. I heard the little bell ring in his drool soaked ball-gag. When he gave up holding that breath, a gust blew out of a hole in the gag, hot drool running down the sides. I felt him slip away. I saw his eyes roll back in his head. I felt him die under me.

   I slowly and reverently unbuckled his drool soaked ball-gag, and tossed it aside on the bed. I gingerly put my palms on either side of his face, and held it up to mine. I whispered that I loved him, over and over again. Asking between each declaration of my love, if he loved me as much as I did him. I felt his head wiggle feebly. Yes. I cooed and kissed his face for the time he was away, and until he began to stir and come back. When he began to move with any credible sense of self control of his body once again, I had his wrists and ankles unbuckled. I gave him one final lingering kiss, as I slowly lifted my hot wet slit up and off him, and his hard shaft slid out easily and bobbed aside.

   I laid down, up on the bed and waited a couple minutes while he recovered and regained his senses. When he was up and about, and discovered he was freed? He laid there for a little while before gaining the strength to look around, and saw me smiling at him.

   I scratched my finger in the air to bring him in close. He had to kneel and get it over my mouth. I undid his cock ring, and… good lord I wasn't prepared for what happened.

   My mouth didn't literally fill up and overflow, but… lord almighty what an effort. He sighed and cooed with either relief or pleasure at being untapped and milked out. I got on top of him, pinned his wrists above his head, and slowly spit out a tiny little bit at a time, again and again, into his mouth. I held his nose and covered his mouth every now and again to make him swallow it a little bit at a time. Of course I didn't stop until I had fed him every last drop. I finished by making him suck on the blanket filth until his crying stopped, then face on my feet while he worshiped me. Only then did I allow him to be done.

   I laid back down, and relaxed. He curled up beside and on me, and sobbed into my neck. He thanked me, he begged me to fuck him like that again, he swore holy hell he loved me and would never leave me. He pitifully begged me to keep him. With my head slowly screwed back on right, I realized the weird sensations I had gone through? Le Petit Mort, they called it. The little death. Women usually get it, not men. Its over-stimulation of the clitoris for such a prolonged period, that you drift in and out of consciousness. It feels and looks suspiciously like dying, so… wow.

   I stroked his head now. I cooed softly to him. Shushed him as much like a mommy as I could.

   "Shh, it's all over now. You're okay. Shh, don't worry. It's not your fault, little boy. You don't need to be ashamed it happened to you. The bad girl made you do it. You're safe now…"

   After a time and he had calmed down, he still clung to me. When I moved around to get more comfortable, he looked up at me. Questioningly. He begged me to stay and continue holding him, with just his eyes. He was still feeling it, he was still "there". He was in complete and total submission to his wicked mistress even after the action was over. He begged with his face and eyes to roam his hands over me, and begged further to move them to a new and as of yet untested location. I smiled or nodded to grant it. I could see it on his face. I could hear it in his soft voice. I could feel it when he trembled anytime I shifted position, afraid I was going to leave him alone and not continue to hold him and keep granting him this sweet aftercare he now craved.

   I had him admit he was a complete slut now, and what was more that he loved it. I had always wondered about something. Stories you hear, true crime. How certain women had some mysterious ability to get men to rob and steal for them, to commit murder for them. I was pretty sure that I knew how by this point. I could get him to do practically anything for me. With more time? Nothing was impossible. If I had him commit some heinous act? The responsibility was all mine, the courts had that part all wrong.

   I remembered the story of the young woman that was a teacher. Stuck like all new teachers as a substitute, and then she had finally landed a one year gig filling in for some teacher on a sabbatical. A fairly cute slut, too. What did she end up doing? She first off started, continued, then remained ongoing… a relationship with a teenage student. As the older and much more sexually experienced one in the relationship? She used that shamelessly, to addict the youngster to wild sex and then used it to control him.

   It all came out in court. Because she used that ability and that control she had over him, to talk him into killing her ex for her. They, and by they I mean the court, delved back into her life. Young? She was no good girl, she was a wild weed. A teenager running around with musicians and drug dealers in their 20s. I like older bad boys, tee hee! When details of the "wild" sexual relationship she shared with the youngster came to light in court? The journalists bent over backwards to find anyone in her past, to run it all by. They found a musician, and his response? Oh, yeah. She was fun… she was a wild girl. Yeah, I read in the papers, ice on the nipples, handcuffs, yada yada, yeah… went through all that with her. She was fun, she was a wild girl.

   But, using that experience on a youngster? She added in an extra ingredient. Boo hoo, my ex is a bad man, he, he, he… beats me. He scares me, why… if someone doesn't kill him? He's going to kill me! Why won't anyone help poor little me? Why? Step one, she "created" the problem. Step two? Mesmerize the youngster with wild sex. Step three? She went and bought him a gun, provided him with the "dangerous" ex's schedule, and basically sent him to kill him. She planned on sitting back, and letting the kid take the fall… but prosecutors figured out the game plan quick and were onto her plan like it was made out of glass and easily seen through.

   I was developing that level of dependence and control with him now, in a way. Yet, I would use that power for good. Not all would, as her case clearly illustrated. But, reading a true crime book on that case, I had always been curious how a girl could develop that much control and power in the relationship. Let me rub ice on your nipples? Whee! Now, here's a gun, and a schedule. Go kill my ex, I'm scared of him. Now, I was beginning to understand how that could happen.

   Vaquera coming to "visit" him, and using him for a fuck-hole? Was fast becoming a defining thing in his life. A thing he would become addicted to. I now saw clearly, if Vaquera were to one day suddenly have a "problem" with an ex, proclaim him a crazy stalker she was "scared" of, and feared for her life? Yeah… it was sobering and scary what Vaquera could request of him.

   My plan was just to use "Vaquera" coming over to "visit", as a fun spice in our sex life. I wanted him addicted to me. To want me, to need me, in a way beyond what a normal vanilla relationship calls for. But, just like when you tie a person up you are now responsible for locking arms going up and down the steps when you move them tied up around the house? I was now responsible for using that power for a good reason. Or, at least not to an evil end and purpose.

   I'm in awe of what I've accomplished so far in X number of days at this. He's laying here, in shock and awe what Vaquera can do for him, and more to the point do to him. He's clinging to Vaquera literally, hanging on her every word, begging her to keep coming and visiting. How badly he needs her, how much he loves her. How much he now needs those special things she does for him that no one else can do, and he's far too embarrassed to ever ask anyone else to do for him.

   I'm Vaquera. We're functionally equivalent. I've simply "hooked" and addicted my boyfriend to me. So that he won't ever go out looking for wild fun, he can just beg for a visit from Vaquera. Who will of course, use him like a fuck toy. I have no nefarious and ulterior motive. My intention is simply that my boyfriend look to me for wild sex, and then to "Vaquera" for even wilder sex. If me and Vaquera provide him with the wildest things possible? What else can he ever hope to find anywhere else.

   In human sexuality and sexual relationship counseling? There's no secrets. A very common theme is a couple. Been together a while. You interview them together? You get a sort of "coached" or rehearsed set of answers. Because they're together. You interview them separately? Hoo boy. Couples by and large don't communicate effectively. Then, what they think passes for "communicating" is one of them suddenly getting "empowered" and telling the other what they want, and that's how its going to be. Which is not communicating, that's demanding.

   But a common theme, is the fact that people relate their own relationship to those around them in their peer group. Example, and a very common one. What you only hear when you interview the men separately? The boys sit around and talk about this and that. My wife? She performs sex act X. Oh yeah? That's nothing. Mine performs sex act Y. The next guy, well. His wife performs X and Y, and what's more, she enjoys it and does them both really well.

   Now the first two. One can get the wife to perform X, the other? Can get the wife to perform Y. But, that third guy. Bragging his wife? Hoo boy, she does X and Y both… and she likes it, and is good at both. Whoa. X boy goes home to his wife, and starts hinting around at Y. Y boy, goes home and starts hinting around at X. All the others? Go home and start hinting at X, hinting at Y, trying to get what the others report they're getting.

   Its no different a situation than when one guy in the peer group gets a… anything. A fishing boat let's say. Next thing you know, the other guys in the group, one by one, start getting similar fishing boats. Guys that never really fished much before, suddenly are all interested in fishing and now getting a boat, too. Doesn't matter what "it" is, if the others see it, they want one too. Fishing boat, dirt bike… blowjobs, anal sex… all works out the same.

   Some women use sex as a "treat", and many keep it a rare one. Like the rare time you give a kid a box of candy. Now, if you're a good boy? Once in a while… you get a box of candy. Other women put out fairly regularly, but… its just straight sex by and large. Nothing "dirty". I'm not that kind of girl, you know.

   Logic time. You can train your kid to listen, all day and every day, because he wants that candy. The treat. Problem though. What if the neighbor's kid gets a box of candy every day? And, for nothing in particular. Now, your kid is thinking. Hey. I toe the line, day and night, weeks on end… for the occasional box of candy. Kid next door? Gets a box of candy every day, whether he cleans his room and takes out the garbage or not. Boom. You? Are undermined.

   Welcome to living in a society, welcome to the concept of a peer group. You can fight it all you want, but… in the end, you have to assent to how things are. Largely traced to "the internet", girls are now doing more things and openly. The old joke goes, that if you aren't giving your guy a blowjob? Some other girl out there… will.

   Now we get around to me. I place great value on my boyfriend. I want him. Bad. If I ever lose him, its not going to be because I won't give him a blowjob, or because I won't let him park it in my rear end once in a while. Honey? You want to steal my guy? You're really gonna have to up your game, and good luck. Mommy swings from the chandeliers. What's more? Mommy likes it, and is getting good at it.

   When the boys sit around one day, and one brags this, and the other brags that, well… he'll either smile and come home laughing, or… the other guys are going to feel left out.

   He was locked "there" for now, still looking at me in awe and wonder. I smiled and nodded my head ever so slightly, and he smiled back. He was still looking to me for tiny permissions, still begging with his face and body language for my mild continuous permission to touch me, to move around laying on me. He started "Please Mistress Vaquera…" to try to talk to me, and I shushed him with my finger on his lips gently.

   "Shh. We never did get a bath, did we? How about a nice, long, hot soak…"

   His eyes perked up, and he went and filled the bathtub and got towels and things ready. I had taught him to fill it with all hot water, and it would be far too hot to get into for a little while. By the time he got back, I was sitting on the foot of the bed. I wiggled my used panties at him, and he smiled back at me. I killed time waiting for the bathwater to get to where we could just manage getting in without sustaining actual burns. I killed that time, naturally, by playing fetch. God, how I enjoyed this silly game.

    I laughed to myself inside my head. Nothing wrong with this psych major right here, uh uh, no way. I only have four distinct personalities, and so what if I trained my boyfriend to act like a doggy and a horsie and I whip him to train him to sexually please me. Not a thing wrong with me. I mean, who doesn't, am I right?

   I went in to check the temperature on the bathwater, and it was just a hair too hot to try it yet. I realized he had followed me in on all fours. I gave him my bemused smile, as I got him up off of his "begging doggy" position and had him stand directly in front of me. To kill the remaining minutes left to bath temperature time, I began to kiss him and make out with him.

   I was suddenly taken back years, and I was all of 14 again. My filthy cement storage shed had become a luxury townhouse bathroom, and my young make out boyfriend was all grown up now. I roamed hands and kissed him in my best imitation of how I had done it as a kid. I even gave him the ultimate expression of the nostalgia of this situation to me, saying nothing.

   When I was 14, like any youngster I was acutely aware of my body. I knew well I was a bit too tall for a girl, so I had those long legs. Every kid, I think, always homes in and keys in on one particular perceived body fault though. Mine? If only my feet weren't so damn big. Daddy used to joke I'd have trouble finding a husband because my feet were too big to let me reach the stove top to cook right. From grade school, the other girls would tease me my feet were too big.

   Playing wiffleball and tackle football and riding dirt bikes with boys though? Hell. The boys were bragging who had the biggest feet. I never won with all those other farm boys, but I placed well in the shoe size event. More than one young boy got teased because the girl in the group had bigger feet than he did. No one has ever told me I have ugly feet, thank god. For a girl that's a death sentence to never enjoy flip flops and swimming and later on certain women's footwear. Of course, no one ever went out of their way to tell me I had cute feet before either, aside from this boyfriend standing in front of me now.

   So… when I started to enjoy my first make out boyfriend, at 14 at the pool that summer? When I got in close to kiss him, I put the ends of my feet on top of his. In my head, I was getting close enough to the stove top, to really get cooking. When I did it now, it took me back. As I made out with him like we were kids again, it occurred to me that I could have all the wet towel snaps I wanted now. No more pretenses, no more manufactured reasons and excuses for extras.

   I realized life is a series of events, and disrupting just one of them in the chain, completely changes where you end up. Yeah, the first link in this chain was weird thoughts flashing into my mind, when I thought about certain boys. Worrying about it, and intuitively knowing to be ashamed of it and to keep it a secret. If I hadn't of had just that certain make out boyfriend at that pool, when I was 14? I wouldn't have gotten my first wet towel snaps in on a boy I was alone with. I wouldn't have realized that I liked it, and been able to link it up to the weird pictures that the naughty compulsion fed my mind's eye when I daydreamed about boys. Then no wooden spoon for birthday swats when we met up in the woods with that next one. And of course by "we", I naturally mean the boy, me, and my naughty compulsion tagging along.

   Which would mean no weird fascination with seeing the Caballeras performing at the county fairgrounds. Which meant there would have been no rehabilitating the ancient bullwhip stored in the barn, which meant no practicing with it. Which would have precluded driving bulls around with the men. No stockyard and farm auction work at that. All of which led to trying out for Vaquera's recently vacated spot. Which would have meant there wouldn't have been a ranch hand coming to me, making all too clear of jokes about what he wanted me to use a leather belt for. Which meant no experimental bullwhip snaps with full force through the boys jeans in the summers for their little dares and bets.

   All of those little links, had taught me what I liked, what I wanted, and what I needed that was different from most people. Which led me to both keep it a closely guarded secret, while still making innocent enough jokes and innuendo that passed casual muster enough to slip them into conversation with boys at college. Then the whole chain, when I really looked at it in the right light? Was why I had chosen Psychology as a major. Which led me to discover what I really was inside, and that there was nothing wrong with it. I just had to understand that most people, and that's men and women both? Were right handed, and I was just left handed. Most men were dominant in a relationship, and most women were submissive in the same relationship. The same way most people are right handed.

   The world is made to accommodate the highest percentage of people possible, and so that naturally means that society's everything and anything, is geared towards dominant men and submissive females. The right handed people, the biggest majority. Everyone knows left handed people exist, and there's plenty of them. But the reality is, that life is geared towards the majority, and I'm just not in it. Once I learned that, and accepted it? It all made sense. It was why I couldn't simply soak up how to live life from everyone else around me. All the little things that worked for them? Wouldn't work for me. All the well intended advice? Would work against me.

   I was just in the minority, a dominant female. Which led me to realize what was wrong all these years. I simply had to know that I was left handed, and so I needed a left handed boyfriend. You take or change out just one of these links in this long chain, and I'm not right here, right now, and I'm not exactly who I am and both know it and like it. I celebrated it by placing the ends of my feet over his, and making out with him like a 14 year old girl again, experimenting with her tongue and her hands.

   He's a little surprised by my sudden "new" style of exploratory kissing and hand roaming, but he just goes with it. I reach out and hold him how I want. I bring him in for each kiss, and stop and start gently on my whim. Whatever I do with my tongue, he reacts and adapts his to it automatically. I always grab the back of his head, and hold him in for the duration of each lip and tongue lock. He likes it, he expects it.

   I stop on random intervals, and test the water temperature. Finally, I place my feet on his and make out with this "new" style he accepts with no question whatsoever, for the final time. I smile and take his fingers gently in mine, and idly move my hair over my ear with my free hand, as I test and dip in. First one foot, then the other. Still gently holding his fingers, I settle in and gesture him in by lifting my chin and smiling, holding his fingers as he follows my lead and steps in slowly, and settles in front of me, sitting between my legs like always. As dance partners would describe it, I lead.

   I drape my arms around him like I do, and I place my legs around him and put my feet between his legs in their customary spot. My hands find the "jet" button without looking. I'm on autopilot. My head and body are still flooded with mother nature's couple chemistry, and right now I'm about overdosed and loving it. An all natural head and body high. If love truly is a drug? I'm fucking freebasing it. From the dopey look on his face, and the way his eyes, face, voice, and body language are all "locked" in sweet submissive mode? Him too.

   "Mistress Vaquera?"

   "Hmm…"

   "Are… are we, you know…"

   "Hmm. Asking permission for normal time, are we? Such a sweet little boy. Such good manners. Yes, we're on normal time. Just mind your tone."

   "I will…"

   I've got my magic washrag, and I'm idly running it over his chest, reaching around him. Because he's now all nestled back into me like a bird gotten comfortable in its little circular nest.

   "That was… just… wow."

   "Oh. You liked it, then."

   "I don't even know where to begin to… just… wow."

   "Well. You asked for it… rough."

   "Is it rude of me to ask you, where in the hell you even…"

   "Hmm. You? Have the internet to thank for that."

   "God bless the internet. Does that… have a name?"

   "Which thing. They all have names, you know."

   "Will you list them? Please."

   "Hmm. Well, our sex life is all about dominance and submission, to start with."

   "Mm. I know, I just love it."

   "Then… I've been putting off my… once a week hard ride, and I missed it. There's about no point to being sexually dominant, if I want something and I'm not getting it. So."

   "I hope you enjoyed it, by the way."

   "Oh. It was… like you said. Wow."

   "Thank you."

   "You? Are very welcome, little boy. Moving right along though. Since I'm not a whore that wants to have half the football team pull train on me? I still got to experience… double penetration. Would you like mommy to explain some of the nuances of that?"

   "Oh. By all means."

   "Well, its the obvious. Something crammed into both my holes at once. But, there's a technical side to it. If you like details about things, that is."

   "Mm. The technical reference manual, on the female body. Please go on."

   "Well. Seems there's very little skin. Between… one hole and… the other one. Apparently, when women give birth? It was historically common for it to rip. So much so, that they routinely take scissors, and just snip it apart. To make one big hole, for the kid to come out easier. Seems its easier to stitch the planned thing up, cut nice. Than… for the woman to rip apart in other places, and die during childbirth."

   "I'm following you."

   "Well. As I said, there's a very thin piece of flexible skin separating the two holes. You park in the rear and fill that up? It takes space away inside the… main front parking garage. Perhaps you noticed, that…"

   "Oh my god, it was like fucking a little schoolgirl, if you don't mind that way of putting it."

   "Hmm. Yes. It… felt like that, too. It was like… how to put this. The little garage was designed for a pickup truck? And… you decided to squeeze one of those big dump trucks inside, and just kind of made it fit. It was… well, like you said. Wow."

   "Mm. Thank you."

   "Now, on your part? You, got tighter holes. In case you didn't notice."

   "Oh, I noticed."

   "Mm hmm. Figured you did. Also, you might have noticed something. That… the holes are so close, separated by such a thin piece of flexible skin, that… you can feel the one thing through it, in the other hole."

   "And it was vibrating. I mean, oh… my… god."

   "Yes. I was talking to him along with you. Not sure he appreciated the topic of conversation, but still. Now then, there's something you should take from this. I'll make a point of saying it."

   "Mm?"

   "You know how… well, you hear about two guys sharing one girl, right?"

   "Yeah. Double teaming her. Spit-roast, they call it."

   "Yes, or…"

   "Oh. Double penetration. Gotcha."

   "Well. You now know, that if you were ever involved in such a thing? You, would be feeling the other guy's cock moving in and out. How's that make that particular guy fantasy seem like it would feel now in real life, hmm?"

   "Oh god. I feel like I wanna throw up."

   "Right. So, the next time two guys brag about double teaming some bar slut… you can ask. Spit roast, or double penetration. And, if they say double penetration? You know to make fun of them, for feeling each other's cocks all night."

   He started the giggles, then I caught it, then we both ended up belly laughing over that one. God's truth, though.

   "Am… I allowed to make a joke in poor taste, at this most delicate juncture?"

   "Hmm. Go ahead. This whole conversation is in very poor taste. You have mommy's permission, to be a very crude little boy. Go on."

   "Well. Based on this information, should I ever find myself in such a position, pun not intended, but…"

   "Yeah, I get it. Very clever."

   "Should I ever find myself in such a position? I now know to spit roast only. And, double penetration? Had better only involve one cock, and a toy. Two cocks? Is borderline gay."

   "Oh. And pray tell me, slut. How… exactly… would you ever find yourself in such a… position, hmm?"

   "I clearly wouldn't. Which, was why I asked for permission to make a crude joke."

   "Hmm. Nice tap dance, little boy. Not a single eggshell broken. Your ass can keep skin on it."

   "I'll just quit while I'm ahead of the game, without any further warning…"

   "Just teasing you. Actually though, since the subject came up. There's only one way you could ever find yourself in such a position. Well, two ways. But… only one of those ways? Doesn't involve me taking you down to the basement, and taking skin off of your ass with my bullwhip."

   "Part of me is scared where this conversation is going."

   "The long bull-whipping in the basement? Yes, I can see where that would sound scary. Its supposed to, you know. And the other part of you?"

   "Hmm. I guess that part's scared where this is going, too. Just not as scared as the bull-whipping part."

   "The point I'm making, is that the only, and I mean the only way you would ever be put in such a position? Is by me. Period. No other way, is that clear?"

   "Crystal."

   "Good."

   I continued with the magic washrag, and I was waiting on the conversation that would naturally ensue. But, it didn't.

   "You're so talkative all of a sudden. I was expecting twenty questions."

   "What questions do you want?"

   "That's it. I just said that, and… nothing."

   His voice got softer.

   "We had this conversation before, and I got in trouble. Vaquera punished me. She made me promise to be good."

   "Hmm. I see. I thought you wanted Vaquera to take you down to the basement though."

   "I… do, but. Not like that. I'll do anything you say. I promise."

   "Hmm. I remember that conversation. You, were… I don't know. Shy, embarrassed. You kind of… had a reflex action. But, by the time we were done? You admitted, it would be fun to be allowed to put your hands on another girl, that you thought was pretty."

   He squirmed. Both physically and metaphorically.

   "All right. Look. I'll make you do anything I want… with me. But… when it comes to something like that? No. You… I will not call Vaquera up, to make you do something like that, if you didn't want to. You would have to be willing. You got into trouble? For arguing the whole time, only to admit in the end, that it would be fun."

   Nothing.

   "No questions again?"

   "You didn't ask me a question. You told me what I got punished for."

   "You know. Most girls I talk to? The boys tend to bug their girls for stuff like that. You? Are surprisingly shy about this whole subject. Is that it? You admit it would be fun, you're just shy about it then. Its okay to admit to being shy. You were shy about… everything at first. I'm used to that."

   "Do I get in trouble for being… shy?"

   "No."

   "Good."

   "I can see I have to carry this conversation."

   "Yes. I'm either shy, or scared… or maybe both. If you carried the conversation? If it didn't get me into trouble, I think that would be easier. What would I have to be willing to do…"

   "Well. First off? I would never make you… do anything with a girl you didn't like. That would just be wrong. You have to approve of the girl. No threats, no punishment. I want willing, not forced."

   "I'm pretty sure I know who. You said before."

   "Yes. I'll ask you straight out, just to make it official. Do you think Little Lightning, is pretty?"

   "We went over this. You know I do."

   "I know dear. You asked her out a lot, before you moved on, and got to me. Its fine, dear. I think I know why you like her, too. Although I'm just guessing."

   "Why?"

   "Remember your calendars? I thought she looked a little bit like the one girl. The pole vaulter."

   He practically whispered his answer.

   "Yeah."

   "Aw. Are you blushing right now?"

   "Yes."

   "Hmm. I wish I could see, you know I think its cute when you blush, I just love it. So… you admit you find Lightning pretty, and she reminds you of your pole vaulter calendar girl."

   "Yeah."

   "Do I remind you of any of your… calendar girls? Be honest."

   "More than one, just being honest."

   "Really. Which ones…"

   "One of the soccer girls, the tall one in the middle. And… well, more than one of the farm girls, really."

   "Hmm. I'm honored. Thank you."

   "You're welcome."

   "And… meanwhile, back at the ranch. You'd have to approve of what was going to go on. So, I'll run it by you. Tickle party, with Little Lightning… helping me. I told you the scenario there with that one. My story is, we were drinking, and you held me down and tickled me too much, and… I want her to help me get you back and teach you a lesson. Is that… kind of hot?"

   "Yeah."

   "Are you blushing real bad? Or just a little…"

   "Pretty sure you could light a cigarette off my face."

   "All right. I figure, that would… break the ice. It gets both our hands on your body. Which is… kind of a key moment. Now. I told you before, I'll say it again. I'm not going to… out you, so to speak. About our secret love life."

   "You keep saying that…"

   "That? Is because it kinda makes sense that we have to either hold you down for it, or… something else. I mean, if it just happened? Our secret stays secret, if you know what I mean."

   "This? Is getting dirtier by the minute."

   "I know, right? Now… admit it. Or not. You might end up… restrained some way, for the little tickle party. I know you like being tied up, she doesn't have to know that. It just… happens."

   "Are you asking for my permission?"

   "Yes. I am."

   "Oh no. Two pretty girls, and I'm all tied up, and they have their hands all over me. Oh lord no, how did it come to this. Please someone save me from this fate worse than death."

   "Okay. That sounds like another yes."

   "It is, I just…"

   "You just what, dear."

   "How the hell does… it just happen? You make it sound like people accidentally get tied up and tickled all the time by groups of girls."

   "Well, actually… there's a thing on the internet. Its called… gang tickled. Its actually mainstream, all over social media, if you do a search. Plus? How it just happens, is… my plan, and I think I mentioned this before, the last time. I would be kind of… plotting with her, before hand. You know, help me pull this off. It gets it all happening, and its innocent enough its just a… practical joke kind of thing."

   "You really thought this through."

   "Hmm. I did. Then… as I said, having broke the ice… I plan on getting her jealous of my… after workout rubdown. Figured I'd run her to death one morning, then… she gets to see me getting a massage, and… well, kinda obvious where it goes. I… innocently enough, graciously offer to share this wonderful experience, with my roomie. Do you have any objections, should I get that far, with giving her a massage? I'll be laying right next to her."

   "Okay."

   "Well. Then I figure a couple days getting a rubdown with me… I start bragging about my little spa care package in the tub…"

   "I get it. Shoulder massage in the tub. Loofah sponge. I basically offer her all the things I do for you in the tub, before I get in."

   "Well? Are you… willing."

   "Yes."

   "Question."

   "Finally, a question. Shoot."

   "Is she… you know… naked? For rubdowns, for tub care… this just sounds…"

   "Oh. That. To be honest I was planning on telling her to put her string bikini on. You've seen it before, not like we all haven't gone to the university pool and steam room and sauna before, you know."

   "Okay. I was just curious."

   "Hmm."

   "What."

   "I guess there's something you wouldn't know about our… Little Miss Two Feet. I forget, you don't spend practically any time in the bars in town with your boys, and… never on the weekends, when the places are hopping and everyone's out."

   "Okay. I'll bite. What don't I know."

   "Couple beers, a couple shots? Little lightning is not exactly shy about flashing her little titties at parties."

   "Oh. I… did not know that."

   "Yeah, well. How do I put this. Your Little Lightning? Isn't… as shy as you might think. In fact, her… past escapades, we'll say… are what her and her boyfriend, you're Army fighting buddy? Are arguing about. You didn't hear it from me, but… I don't think its going to last much longer, to hear Lightning's side of it."

   "I think you touched on this once before. He never said anything to me about it, I see him every day when I work out with the boys at the gym."

   "Well. It's your girlfriend's best friend and room mate, so… he might not want to offend you that way."

   "Oh. I hadn't thought of it that way. I guess that makes sense. When you put it like that."

   "Yeah. Apparently, he called her a… drunken whore, or something along those lines. Like I said before, those two are on thin ice. Lightning said she's kinda just having some more fun, then… pffft."

   "What's… pffft. Big fight?"

   "Actually? No. The plan there is, to keep it civil. Your Army buddies? Are going to get introduced to the rest of the soccer team. The, uh… other girls? Have noticed the boys now."

   "I almost forgot. Fresh meat."

   "Yeah. Told you before. Your Army buddies? Are going to kind of get traded by the girls, like little boys trade baseball cards."

   "Oh, the inhumanity of it all."

   "Yeah, I know, right."

   "Those poor boys."

   "Yes. Pity them. And, you'll look very good, when you set up the first mixer. Girls soccer team, Army house. And… Little Lightning? Is going to get big brownie points with the girls on the team, by…"

   "Throwing the girls fresh meat."

   "And, in case you didn't know how girl politics work…"

   "Yeah. I'm no expert."

   "Social standing among a girl peer group? The girl that gets the boy first, is winning. The other girls? Are getting her leftovers, that she's tired of playing with. When she's okay with it, and doesn't carry on… she gets more brownie points. See, here's how it works. The typical guy? Will try to date her friends, to piss her off. When that ends? Another girl in the group takes her place, and… the cycle goes on. You boys usually don't realize anything is going on, the boys just think they're getting a lucky streak going. The girls? Passing fresh meat around, and trading baseball cards and keeping score."

   "Christ almighty, this is what was going on in high school? Yeah, there were a few guys that seemed like they dated all the cheerleaders, and half the girls softball team… we all thought they were… magicians with girls or something."

   "Not really. Once a boy is… on the circuit? All he has to do, is not whine and cry and carry on when he breaks up, and… boom. The girls do their thing. The boys on the circuit? Think they're Don Juans. The girls are really in charge. That's what all the discussions in the girl's bathrooms are all about. They're trading the boys around like baseball cards, really."

   "I can't believe, that this is actually how this all works."

   "I never said it was pretty, how sausage gets made."

   "Oh well. It is what it is."

   "Yeah…"

   I went back to the magic washrag. Clockwise, always clockwise.

   "Honey?"

   "Yes dear."

   "Can… I ask a serious question, and you promise I don't lose skin off my ass for it?"

   "Well, I can't promise that, not knowing what you plan on asking, or how you plan on asking it. Use your best judgment there, little boy."

   His voice, had slowly risen in volume and confidence of tone throughout this conversation, if slowly. Now? It suddenly went back to the shy, scared whisper again.

   "I know its just our little private joke that I'm your groupie, and your trained slut. Which I like, don't get me wrong. But…"

   "But what, dear. You sound so serious."

   "Promise me, you're not just having fun, and… you're planning on putting me on the… circuit."

   I dropped the magic washrag, and hugged him tight from behind. Kissing his cheek and shoulder as I did it.

   "I promise. You? Are mine. Period. This whole… soap opera? Goes on around us. It doesn't touch us. Why did you get so scared all of a sudden. What. I told you before, ask around. You can see my track record. I'm not like that. My record? Speaks for itself."

   "Okay. Its just… all this open talk about… the circuit, throwing fresh meat around. You? Suddenly started prancing around in public with… that outfit, and liked it. Now, you're planning on tying me up, and sharing me with your best friend. You're just… scaring me, is all."

   "Shh. Nothing like that, I promise you. I'm… how do I put this. I'm making sure you have some fun. While we're both still young, and that's the time to have it. Trust me, its all safe. You can trust me. I promise."

   I hugged him tight.

   "I'm… not in trouble for asking?"

   "No. You're not. Its… actually very sweet."

   "Really?"

   "Yes. Most guys? Would simply love to get put on the circuit. Think of it. You? Are just about to start having some fun. Playing with a girl you liked, and asked out a bunch of times, before moving on. A girl you thought was very pretty, and kept turning you down. If you went on the… meat circuit? Think about it. You? Would get to date all the same girls you were looking at and asking out anyways. Most guys? Would kill for that opportunity. But you? You're scared of the idea. That? Tells me, that you really love me and care about me. So, thank you."

   "You're welcome, of course. Glad I finally did something right, I guess. It all just seems… a little crazy to me, that's all."

   "Hmm. You're really very sweet. That's just one of the things I like about you. Try to remember. This whole… game? Was going on all around you in high school, you just didn't realize it. Its going on all around you at the university, too. Whether you know it or not. The fact that you don't like seeing how the sausage gets made? Well, like I said. That's very sweet of you."

   "As long as you promise, that you'll never trade me away, like… a baseball card."

   "Never in a million years."

   I hugged him tight for a while, in silence. His super soft voice whispered back again.

   "The MPs had a knack for teaching little guys, to throw big guys around, that think its not possible. Real sure anyone that knew me in high school would have trouble believing that was me in your little fight video. I'm… the wizard computer programmer? The one that always tackles the so called impossible jobs, and makes the impossible, possible. My programming language and compiler, the industrial process I'm trying to make. Somehow I even tumbled into your bedroom, honey. You're some kind of… fantasy calendar girl, and you even…"

   "Mm. I even what… finish it."

   "You even… you know. Did… naughty fantasy stuff to me. I'm kind of making a living, since getting out of high school? At making the impossible? Possible."

   "And what's so bad about that?"

   "I guess you don't remember this one story one time you told me."

   "About…"

   "You were telling me about the bad mommies? In the city. What they had going on. Which is one thing. But then, the one? Her… groupie? Thought it was another fun bad mommy party, and next thing you know… they're dragging him naked, to throw into the strange mommy's trunk. He's blindfolded, he never even saw her, and… he's going to wake up trapped in some strange mommy's bedroom. Like I said, I don't want given away."

   "Oh, Christ. I forgot about that. No. That? Would never happen. I promise."

   "As long as you promise."

   I paused. I can't help being a little devilish though. At this point, I'm willing to blame it on the damn miniskirt. Its the denim miniskirt's fault.

   "You have my solemn promise, dear. Mommy will check the trunks after every bad mommy party, if I can't find you. So you have nothing to worry about."

   "Ha ha ha. Hmm. Normally, I'd find that a little funnier. Good one."

   "I couldn't resist, dear. The butt was right there, I had the wet towel in my hand… just had to snap that butt."

   "Okay…"

   He slowly relaxed and melted into me again, like warm wax in the hot water. And I resumed kissing his shoulder, and touching him with the magic washrag.

   "I just thought of something, honey. I need your permission, you have to be willing."

   "Hmm. What now."

   "Your little tickle party I'm trying to plan like a bank robbery."

   "What about it?"

   "Well. You have no imagination, dear."

   "How's that…"

   "You recently had a birthday, dear. I enlisted my free spirited friend, to help me in my time of need, to get you back for tickling me."

   "Yes. I remember the premise you cooked up for the whole sordid affair. I just agreed to it, didn't I?"

   I giggled.

   "If I pull it off quick enough? You can't let your birthday go by, and not get your… birthday swats. You know. For the first time."

   I snickered and snorted something terrible into his neck, hugging him from behind. So bad, I almost dropped the magic washrag. He caught the giggles too, it was infectious.

   "Anything else? You two might as well set me on fire too, I suppose."

   "No dear. I can just see us trying to explain to the coach, how we burned a row of townhouses down. But, um… was that a yes, if I can sneak it in?"

   "What do you think."

   "I didn't hear a no."

   "I don't believe this. You're killing me. Yeah, its a yes."

   "Hmm. So… if I could go back in time, and I was hanging out at the… computer room, you worked at when you were in the service. Lets say, you had shared your… naughty fantasy with me. And I pointed at the calendars in your cubicle… and said when you got out of the service in a couple years, you see that pole vaulter? And… that naughty cowgirl, there? There's gonna come a night, where you get tied up. Getting birthday belt swats and then tickled, by both of them. Would you have believed me?"

   He laughed.

   "I'd have said you were out of your ever loving mind."

   "Yeah, but would you have said… oh no, please don't."

   "Eh. Would of been more like… who do I have to kill, and what's your plan for getting rid of the body."

   I hugged him tight again, and kissed his neck. Magic washrag. Clockwise. Always clockwise. I whispered in his ear.

   "Look at you now."

   He was quiet, but nodded his head. He looked around him, like he was seeing the big bathroom for the first time. Then he nestled back into me. Once again, like warm wax melting in hot water, right into and around me. Like a barn cat that had hopped up on my lap, when I was cleaning out stalls in the barn on a rainy summer day. He was all but purring contentedly, and pulled my wrist snug around him, after kissing it.

   "Mm. And what was that for."

   "I'm halfway through my undergraduate degree, in mathematics and computer science. My computer language? I have it working, its just a lot of busy work now, to polish it off. I'm around the corner though, it works. Its gonna get done. Its just enough man hours now, to finish it off. I remember thinking out loud, with the other computer guys, in the Chair Force, way back when? It was impossible, everyone said. Now…"

   And he looked around again.

   "And now…"

   "Couple months ago? I lived in a dirt hole, in a basement. No real toilet, no real shower. If I had to take a shit in the middle of the night? I had two choices. Make it two blocks and have enough spare change for a pack of gum, or… go in a bucket and bury it out behind the back yard in the middle of the night. Kids younger than me? Woke me up at 4 in the morning. To take a coat hanger, and fish the tampon their ditsy girl friend flushed down the toilet, all drunk. Happened enough, I put a goddamn sign up in the bathrooms not to do that. I swear, it happened more after I put the signs up. Like it was some kind of goddamn game. To wake the Groundhog up in the basement, to deal with it. Fuck me and my Calculus 4 quiz the next morning, you know? Thank god I have self control, a lesser man would have run amok with an ax after enough times of that, I'm telling you."

   "That's all over now."

   "Yeah. It is. You can get used to anything, if you put your mind to it, and you have to, to get what you want. I thought that's what I had to put up with. To get my degree at a bigger university than my GI bill would pay for."

   I hugged him a little tighter for a second, before loosening up again.

   "Like mommy said. That's all over now. Forget about it."

   He looked around, yet again.

   "Life can change. Just like that. In the blink of an eye. One day? I'm in high school. Worried about what football players might be in my locker section, and might get a bug up their ass to have some fun with me. Another day? I wake up, and I'm going for weekly take-down practice with all the MPs, at their closed gym on base. One of the older instructors everyone looks up to? Is telling me to stop over his house that weekend, have a beer, he wants to talk to me about something. It changes in the blink of an eye, honey. Blink of an eye."

   "Aw. You got stuck in a run of bad luck in high school. Then? You snapped out of it in the service. You had a run of great luck then. Coming here? Sure, you had a 2 year run of bad Groundhog luck. Couldn't get the time of day from… what you really wanted to get more than the time of day from."

   I licked his neck, then softly chewed on it. Positively obscene of me, I know. Damn denim miniskirt again, I can blame it on that.

   "And now? No more dirt hole, no more coat hangers and tampons. Now, you live where the rich kids live. Now? You're in the whirlpool… and the naughty calf roping girl, is planning a fun little threesome, with the naughty pole vaulter. We're gonna have our own townhouse, just like this one, in two more short years. We'll live very comfortably, until we get our grad schools finished. With enough free time, that you can finish your… computer language, and your… industrial experiment. Life is good now, right?"

   More neck chewing. Obscene.

   "That's the thing about blinks of the eye, honey. They work both ways. Yeah. I blinked, and went from high school, to the MPs. But… I blinked again? Groundhog time. All… this? Can disappear, tomorrow."

   I whispered in his ear, with a slightly tighter hug while I whispered.

   "No. It won't disappear. Tomorrow morning? I want to wake up, and play fetch. And you know what? I'm going to. As long as I want. And you can blink all you want, little boy. But… none of this? Is going to disappear."

   He melted into me again, and nestled back in. Yum. And that's what the submissive in the sexual relationship craves, from being held tight and forcefully, from the dominant sexual partner. They make it okay. They provide that feeling of control, for both of them. The fact that most couples are right handed, and the big, strong man does it for the little lady? Is completely immaterial. People might think, its because the man is bigger and stronger. Or because he makes more money and has the bigger career. Its not really, not underneath it all.

   The truth is, it doesn't matter in the slightest. None of it. If the man does it the traditional way, for the woman. Because they're a matched right handed couple. Or, our way. A matched left handed couple. The strong willed female, hugs her even stronger man tight in the tub. The silly boys think its all about their money and their career, and that's why they're in charge. Its not. We have no money in play here, me and him. No, underneath it all? Its simply a matter of chemistry. Its the natural inclination of the dominant sexual partner, to hug the sexually submissive partner tight, and whisper that everything's going to be okay. Because they're going to make it okay. For both of them.

   Then? It reassures the submissive, that everything really is okay. They melt into your arms, and feel all warm and fuzzy. They feel they are owned, by someone that cares enough. And I felt that. He just melted into my arms. And stayed melted. Yum.

   People, laymen. They get all kinds of weird misconceptions. He's not a weak person, far from it. He's physically not small. He's physically fit and quite strong. He's actually really tough, and a trained fighter. Outside of the relationship? He's as tough and as strong as anything you could ask for. Also smart, capable and resourceful to boot. He's just naturally unsure about relationships. Outside of our bedroom, its the only thing actually "submissive" about him, really.

   I've been with him long enough, to just about read his mind. Right about now, he's going to wish his dead mentor had lived long enough, to see him on a clear path to having an even shot at getting everything he ever dreamed up out of life. Because they came up with a plan, and now its working. And what's more? Being comfortable and secure, while doing it. The sadness passes quickly enough, but still. I don't want that for him, not right now. So, after a short time and he was fully melted? I patted his shoulder, and stood up in the whirlpool.

   "What's wrong hun?"

   "Nothing. I just decided, that its time to change your attitude, that's all. I'll be right back…"

   I dried my hands, and walked off out of the bathroom, and returned in short order. I went and grabbed the stash baggie out of my socks and panties drawer, and the little bong we both like. I was dragging the chair behind me, and put it right next to the tub. I had the chair now right near the tub, and my hands behind my back while smiling. Teasing him. Right now? He's thinking… mommy decided its time to change my attitude. She stalked off. There's the chair. She's holding something behind her back, and she's got that tight lipped smile. Oh boy, I'm about to go over mommy's lap, and whatever is behind her back? Is about to go over my naked wet ass, helpless over her lap. I'm going to scream and cry, before she's done. But like I said. I'm teasing him. I drew out the tension as long as I thought I could, before I showed him how I was going to change his attitude.

   I put the stash baggie and the little bong I had in one hand on the chair. I let him wonder about what was in the other hand. Handcuffs? Whip? Handcuffs and whip? Nope. Cell phone and keys.

   I giggled at his relief smile, and being teased. I nudged him with my foot, to move him so I could get back into my spot, behind him. Fake stern mommy voice, to go with it.

   "Better make room for mommy. Before I change my mind, and I decide to use that chair for something a lot less fun for you. Now shoo… mommy wants her spot back, and you know better…"

   "What did you go downstairs for? All this stuff was up here, I think."

   "Well, aren't you just a nebshit tonight. Hmm? Just teasing you. I checked my phone. Got a text. I think the girls are coming home, maybe. So? While I'm up anyways, I unbolted the front door. And yeah, I locked our bedroom door, just in case."

   I kept my hands dry, as I carefully got back down into "my" spot in the tub. I packed the little red bong up, and held it around for him, and hit the lighter for him. It took him three big hits to clear the Pyrex pipe bowl, then it was my turn. Then? We repeated that procedure. I melted over his back and shoulders, and he wiggled and nestled back into me.

   Attitude? Adjusted.

   We were both still waxed on mother nature's love chemicals, and this just finished us off. For private fun, I started quizzing him on intimate details, about what kind of "inspiration" the calendar girls had provided him with, once upon a time on his bedroom wall.

   "Which one?"

   "Well… the bloody hands girl, the kick-boxer? I remember that one. She found you at the bar, and took you home and had her way with you. Then, she shared you the next night, with her fighter girlfriends."

   "Well. Sounds like its finally my turn to tell you a naughty story, huh? Go on, pick one."

   "Hmm. The girls soccer team? Dying to hear it, I mean go figure on that one, right?"

   "Yeah, makes sense. Well, remember I was a young man. I was having trouble with that one, at first. Then, it hit me. Remember, I was hanging out with the MPs. Anyways, I somehow ended up doing security for the… Olympic stadium. Surprisingly? The, uh… girls soccer team, took a real shine for some odd reason. To a handsome young man, in uniform. I was dating one, then another. The girls were kind of, you know… catty and jealous. Arguing over who got to go out with me every weekend."

   "That's… it?"

   "What. The Olympic girls, were practically fighting over little old me. Who got me next, who had me now. I think, eventually though…"

   I poked him in the ribs.

   "Uh huh… go on…"

   "Well. Two of the girls decided they were jealous of the one I was dating at the moment, and… decided to come to my little dorm room, and… I guess I got tag teamed after practice, or something like that."

   "Hmm. Were they all… just got done working out?"

   "Oh. Definitely. You know, they were sore. They? Needed back rubs. Would I be a sweetheart, and… oblige them, on account of they were so sore and all? Hey, what else could I do."

   "I bet they were still in their uniforms…"

   "Oh. Definitely."

   "All… sweaty, too."

   "Yep. Pretty typical young man's fantasy?"

   "Hmm. I guess so. Just one thing I can't figure on."

   "What's that."

   "Where's the… naughty compulsion at. They didn't… do anything to you, naughty?"

   "Oh, that. Well, that was the first calendar. I had just gotten out of high school, and that was one of my first girly calendars. The… compulsion, as you call it? Wasn't as strong yet. But still…"

   "Oh, okay. Here we go. Details, slut. Details."

   "Well. The two girls. They're getting their shoulder rubs, taking their tops off. You know, so I can rub their shoulders better."

   "Naturally."

   "Oh yeah. Next thing you know… they got a little… aggressive about it. One's holding me down, while the other one fucked me. Then, they switched around, and returned the favor. One would help the other, you know, make me lick her good. Then switch."

   "There we go. A fun date rape. Nice."

   "Glad you liked it."

   "See? I just knew the naughty compulsion was in the fantasy, somewhere. Just had to dig a little."

   "Yeah, I guess."

   "That one? Could pretty much maybe happen, in the near future."

   "If you say so. I mean, if I have to. I'm afraid not to, because of what Vaquera would do to me, if she hears I didn't put out for my mommy."

   "That's right, little boy. You remember that, and you'll be fine."

   "You need more?"

   "Hmm. How about… the pole vault girl. Let me hear that one."

   "Oh. You have to remember. That was right after I got there. She was… well, she was that girl for the Olympics. She was all over the internet, all over TV. She was… on lots of guys computers, the background girls kind of replaced poster girls."

   "Okay."

   "Like I said, I was still young. She just… liked me. She's tall, she's pretty, she's fit. She's… famous. Every other guy wanted her, and… she wanted me. That was the main fantasy there, I guess. Pretty basic for a fantasy."

   "Yeah. The standard fantasy used to be some famous actress. You just replaced it as her. What did she… do."

   "Oh. Nothing specific. But… she was aggressive in bed. Possessive of me. In love with me, had to have me. Now that you got me thinking about it, she was… decided what she wanted in bed, wouldn't take no for an answer. Now back then, that young? I read that as… she was so in love with me. Now, older? And after you, of course… yeah, that was the little bit of naughty compulsion creeping in."

   "That's how I read it. Now. Dying to hear this one. The… naughty rodeo girls. This has to be good."

   "Oh, yeah. The… rodeo girls. That was a little later, The… naughty compulsion had more time to come out. The Olympic girls? Were… fantasies. Unobtainable in real life. To me. Now, those naughty rodeo girls? Just as tall, just as strong. Just as cute, but… they were somehow… real life possible things to get. If that's making sense."

   "No. Very. You were… refining your fantasy. Trying to get basically the same thing, just in a form that was… what you saw as more of them, and more available."

   "Yeah, and… let's not forget here. The naughty fantasy was growing. It wasn't enough to have a girl or two forcing herself on me, aggressively. Those girls? All have whips in their hands. They leap off of horses, and rope calves. They all train big, strong animals. They're not afraid of them, and can make them do whatever they want."

   "Ooh. The fantasy? Had really matured. You knew what you wanted by then, didn't you."

   "Yeah…"

   "You knew if you landed one of those? You could get taken down to the barn. Let me guess. Tied up. Whipped and raped. Made to do whatever the naughty rodeo girl wanted to make you do, huh?"

   "I suppose you want… specifics, right?"

   "Oh, definitely."

   "She, got drunk. Decided I wasn't… licking her good enough. Took me down to the barn. Taught me a lesson. Then… made me kneel and lick her all night. If I didn't do it right? Another lesson, then right back to it again. She was drunk, so… she got a little out of control that weekend."

   "Mm. Delicious. Very specific, too."

   "Well, we both already know that fantasy came true."

   "Hmm. No wonder you liked me. You saw me in my cowgirl boots and flannel work shirts. My jeans, with that big shiny belt buckle…"

   "Pretty much. I knew you played sports, I knew you were a tall, strong girl, but… I overheard you mention you grew up on a farm, owned horses. You had the boots and jeans and the belt buckle. Yeah. A real life rodeo girl. Here. On campus. Holy shit."

   "And after you met me?"

   "Oh gee. I was around you all of 15 minutes? You swatted my ass. I stuck it out the next time you squeezed past? You did it again. I didn't have to guess what you wanted to drink, you dropped the bottle of brandy you brought with you to the party. Here, this is what I like to drink. Then? Here. I allow you to have some. I'm going to take advantage of you later. You grabbed my hand and led me around. You grabbed me and kissed me. Holy shit… it was… just like I imagined a naughty rodeo girl would be like."

   "Question."

   "Shoot."

   "You started out. Sports girls, Olympics are sports girls… how the hell did you switch over to… farm girls and rodeo girls."

   "The truth?"

   "No, lie to me. I love being lied to."

   "The truth it is then. The MPs would go out and do things. They took me to a county fair. Remember, this was Texas. The county fairs? They're fucking huge things down there. Runs in my mind, it was something to do. All the food. All the shows. I think the guys liked the idea of the smash up derby, and a couple of free concerts once you were there, too. But… you see tons of other shows, too. There were girls showing horses. You know the ones, those little outfits, and the boots?"

   "English showing. Yeah, the riding boots are famous. As is the little riding crop they all carry. You liked that."

   "I did. But, next up was girls barrel racing. These girls were taller, and stronger, and seemed a lot more… fearless with what they did on their horses. When you walk around, where they hang out? They're louder, more laughing, more confident. Pushing and shoving. Tomboys. Then? They had girls calf roping competition. I mean… there's even bigger and stronger and more fearless and confident girls now. I saw sports girls, just dressed for a ranch. Then, I walked around them getting ready? Wow."

   "You got hooked."

   "Big time. All I could think about all day."

   "The girls were at the fair all day every day. They're not hard to spot. You didn't try talking to any of them?"

   "Yeah…"

   I heard the deflation in his voice, it sounded like when he was describing getting the brush off from all the sports girls on campus, before he found me.

   "It didn't go well?"

   "It didn't go good, no. It didn't go bad, either. It… just didn't… go. At all."

   "How so?"

   "Nothing, and I mean nothing? Worked."

   "What did you try? I gotta hear your lines…"

   "Well. This one. I remembered her. She won her heat in the barrel racing, then barely lost in the final, where all the girls that won the heats ran. She's hanging out with her horse, afterwards. They all were, and you can walk up and down."

   "Sure."

   "Hi, how you doing? Fine. Yeah, its really hot out. Yeah. Its called Texas. You're in a desert basin. Get used to it. Yeah, I am. Hey, I saw you win your heat, you almost won the big one at the end. Sorry you missed out. You looked good out there."

   "How'd that go?"

   "She looks right at me. Smiles. Says… you think I don't know I almost won, but missed it? Get away from me. You're making my horse nervous."

   I laughed.

   "Aw. She was having a bad day, hun. She wanted to win."

   "Yeah, I told myself that. But… there's, what? A couple hundred more of these girls. All lined up with those trucks and trailers, as far as the eye can see. I walked down a little bit, found another one."

   "There's a lot to pick from, sure."

   "Yeah… next one. Hey, its hot out. We're heading to the lemonade stand. Yeah, that's nice. Well, you look like you could use one. My treat, its hot out."

   "Not bad. For a line."

   "She says, and I quote. I'm done riding, and I'm not a faggot. I'm gonna go grab a beer. Oh, okay. We'll probably grab a beer too. My treat. She says straight out… I don't drink with Yankee faggots."

   I'm giggling now.

   "Yeah, glad you think this is funny. Next one. Boy, I could sure go for some of that chili for lunch right about now. You uh, care to join us? No. Maybe if we quit feeding the Yankees, you'll all go back where you belong."

   "It just wasn't your day, was it."

   "Nope. My MP buddies? Are just pissing their pants laughing. They have to stop every time I go over to try one of these girls I see, and… they're having fun razzing me."

   "You kept it up though, didn't you."

   "Oh yeah. I finally found a nice one. Had to be six foot tall in her boots. Cute face, nice tan. Maybe you know the type, huh? Had the spurs on and everything. She's unloading hay, from this trailer. Now, I figured if I was unloading all these heavy square bales of hay? In over 100 degree humidity, boy. Would I ever like it if someone would offer to help me. I might not shut them down until they were done doing free work for me, right?"

   "Now, you had a good plan going there."

   "You would think so. Hi. Those things look heavy. She says yeah, they are. I asked how much one weighed. She says, about ninety pounds each. So? I figured I'm doing okay now. Well, my dad always would slap me upside the head, if I watched someone working, and didn't help without being asked."

   "Oh. A refined plan. I like it. You at least get to watch her while you unload the hay bales, if nothing else. Good plan."

   "Yeah. I thought so. I went over and picked one up, after she did, took it over where she's stacking it. She stands in front of me, so I can't put the hay bale on the stack there. She asks what the hell I think I'm doing. I said, I'm gonna help you unload the hay, that's all. Then? I'll be on my way. She told me to put the hay bale down. So, I went to go put it on the stack, and quit. She knocked the thing out of my hands. She says, and I quote. You see me doing this? I got it. I don't need any help. And if you pick up one more of my hay bales? I'm gonna break your hand. Get the fuck moving."

   "Wow. What the hell… no one, and I mean no one? Turns down free help loading or unloading hay."

   "Well. This went on for… couple hours like this. These were the funnier ones, sure. But… the other ones? They… just smiled, and wouldn't talk. Or… you know how you answer a question, and shut up, waiting for them to get the hint and leave? Like that."

   "Aw. You poor thing."

   "Well, what do they say. You never get a second chance, to make a good first impression. That, was my impression I got, from horse girls. Just… plain mean."

   "Did you try the… English showing girls? They're… a lot less rowdy. More prim and proper, usually. Quieter and more polite. Might have been more your cup of tea."

   "Oh yeah, they were on the other side of the long walkway. Went back up that side, my buddies gave up by now. Said happy hunting, we'll be getting lemonade, beer and chili. Come find us when you get tired of getting kicked in the nuts."

   "English show girls had to have gone better."

   "Quieter and politer? Yes. More prim and proper? Yeah… but really? Actually they were meaner. Stuck up snooty cunts, every last one of them. If you weren't in a… Mercedes? They weren't the least bit interested. That was the impression I got from them. They were all in little groups. The girl you're trying to talk to, would smile, and be polite and not say much. The others? Would all say snide little shit, disguised by acting polite about it."

   "Oh… this was a really big county fair? Yeah, those were the girls on the county and state and national circuit. Yeah, they're all super rich. All their daddy's have to buy them solid silver saddles, or they can't compete. Ouch. You probably could have done better with… small time, small town English showing."

   "Yeah. Whatever. Once again? You don't get a second chance, to make a first impression. English show girls? Out. Rodeo girls? Wish I could get in, but… bunch of foul mouthed cunts. Didn't matter what you said, nothing pleased them. You want a cold drink? I can buy my own, no thanks. Can I help carry that? No, I'm a big girl, I do things for myself. Hey, you looked good out there. Yeah, I know, that's why I practice."

   "Hmm. Guess you gave up on horse girls, huh."

   "No. You saw me on campus. I'll try every last cute sports girl, make sure there isn't one for me. Hit the lottery, and found you. Honestly? You sports girls, were looking to be about as sweet a deal as the horse girls ever were. Honestly, when you took a shine to me? I couldn't figure it at first. You were a horse girl, and a sports girl. I figured, you'd hate me twice as bad. But, as it worked out? You had a position for a groupie open, so. I was in."

   "What did your buddies say, when you met up for beer and chili."

   "They teased me, like any great bunch of guys will do. Normal. But… they all agreed? Its Texas, every one of them has tried the horse girl thing. They all said, horse girls were a different breed. All mean as piss, and even if you landed one? You were fucked anyways."

   "How. You want one, if you finally get one…"

   "Truth? They grow up making big animals do what they want. They intuitively know, how to make you do things for them, and work you. Then? Fuck you, you're just a horse. The joke was, they treat their horses better than their guys. The horse? Gets candy and treats, and rubbed and petted. The guy? Just gets ignored, until its time for him to do what he's told. They'll kiss your cheek, just like the horse, to get you to do what they want, then ignore you again."

   "Hmm."

   "Present company excluded, mommy. You? Are nothing like any girl I've ever been around before. Why do you think I'm so head over heels for you."

   "Well, I'm sorry you had a bad impression of horse girls. Why did you keep buying the calendars…"

   "I guess the fantasy was still there. But, it wasn't real life anymore. They were… just like the Olympics girls. Something… unattainable."

   "You gave up. Went back to what was working for you. Pretty Latinas, that were impressed with the gringo bad boy MP. I don't blame you."

   "Uh, hello? Its me we're talking about. Impossible isn't in my vocabulary."

   "Oh. The plot thickens."

   "It usually does. Second year, the fairs are rolling around. After a year in Texas, you figure out things. For one? Down south, there's this thing where… we hate Yankees. I picked up a slight Texas drawl, and I could use it. People didn't know I was a Yankee, if I didn't want them to know."

   "Hmm. Sigma strategy."

   "Yeah. I also learned to blend in more. I learned, anytime there's a big military base? There's this… us against them mentality. You see it here, just not as bad. The townies? Against the college kids. When I was off base? I had jeans and cowboy boots. I had my drawl that worked. I could blend in better. I? Was ready to try the county fair out again."

   "Oh. I admire you're persistence."

   "Yeah…"

   "You didn't do better?"

   "Well. Sort of. I could get them to have a lemonade. A beer, a bowl of chili. And yeah, I was magically allowed to carry their hay bales now. The English riders? I won't even talk to one. The rodeo girls though? Thought I was doing better now."

   "Oh. Were you're buddies impressed you could get one of the rodeo girls to join you for a beer and a chili, eh?"

   "Well, that part. Yeah. They were now nicer. But… it didn't go anywhere."

   "Huh? Sounds like you were doing okay."

   "It always went one of two ways. Way one. I get her back with the little group, for beer and chili, or… lemonade and city chicken. Whatever. Soon as she figured out she was sitting and gabbing with… ew… military guys? Poof. Gone. Whoever said girls love a guy in uniform? Hasn't spent a lot of time around a military base."

   "Sigma boy? Adapted his strategy though. I'll bet…"

   "Oh hell yeah. Impossible? Not in my vocabulary. This? It can be done. Military bad. Okay. I cut her from the herd. I walk her around alone. Now? I get further. I get done with beer and chili, and we're walking around, talking."

   "Now you're in."

   "But am I? All I got, was hit with a stream of questions. So. What kind of a truck do you drive? Take me for a ride in your truck. I like trucks. What kind of trailer do you have? If you have a double, we could go riding. How many acres is your farm? How many head do you run a year? You got a picture of your quad? I like to go quad riding."

   "Oh…"

   "Yeah. There's a joke, that all girls are the same, they just dress and act differently. Now, I have this girl talking to me. Walking around, doing fine. But… when I don't have proof of all these expensive things? Wow. That smiling face, that suddenly oh so darling sweet disposition? Poof. Gone. Oh, hey. Just forgot. I have to meet my girlfriend, and smear horse shit all over myself. That? Is more fun than talking to a guy that doesn't have a couple hundred thousand dollars to buy all the shit I expect. See ya."

   "That's a little harsh, ain't it?"

   "Once again. Present… company… excluded. I reported back to my MP buddies, who asked me how the horse girl hunt was going. We talked, I brought them up to speed. You wanna know the conclusion we all agreed on?"

   "I'm afraid to ask."

   "I don't know where the notion that farmers are all poor and walk around dirty and barefoot comes from. Maybe in the old days, the old dirt farmers, but… these days? Farm kids are the original rich kids. Those acres? That's a million dollar property. The truck? That's 40, 50, 70 grand. You need that expensive truck, so you can haul the trailers around. There? Is another 40 grand. Quads? 10, 15, 20 grand a piece for a nice one. Cattle? Thousands of dollars, per head. A horse no one makes fun of? Thousands more. Ain't even priced all the animal care, all the vet bills, all the fancy horse shit you now need, to go with the horse. I looked up a decent riding saddle. I about died when I saw the price. Just a fucking saddle? Costs more than I spent on my street bike. Thousands."

   "Hmm."

   "Yeah. Now… the PR that gets put out? Oh, I'm this simple farm girl, shucks, I just like jeans and boots and T shirts, I just like hanging out in the woods, with all my farm buddies. But… the reality? The rodeo girls, are no different than the English show girls. Diesel dually, instead of a Mercedes. But… functionally equivalent. Now, once again. Present… company… excluded. You asked for the truth, and I gave it to you."

   "You… don't paint a pretty picture, and you choose all dark colors to color it in with on top of it."

   "You're 20 turning 21. I'm 24. I spent 4 years in the military, I've been around the block once. In high school? I got used, as the show boyfriend. While the girls ran around pulling train with any assholes they could find. Just a horse with a wallet, hooked up to an apple cart. In the service, I thought I'd arrived. Because life would be so much cooler, being a tough guy, right? Yeah. Now? I'm the bad boy, and I'm only a fun weekend, you don't date those kinds of guys. I hit campus. All the same bullshit's going on. Other than trying something new again, girls in sports… why do you think I about gave up and don't care to even play the game anymore?"

   Wow. The sigma male view of the world. They see it for what it truly is, not the romanticized view the rest of the world paints it in to seem like.

   "My choices in life, as I see them. One? Spend my life trying to be the show boyfriend. Which will soon become… the show husband. I already know how that game works. No thank you. Option Two. Let the world see me fighting, and working out. Be the bad boy again. I already know how that game works. No thank you. I'm not spending my entire life, trying to get rich any way I can, just so I can finally attract a snotty, spoiled, English riding pain the the ass. Who by the way? Will still fuck Juan the pool boy? Because he's hot, and she can."

   "Well… what do you think life with me will be like?"

   "I… really don't know. How could I. I've heard you say it before, you're not real big on the idea of taking me home to meet your parents. Particularly? Daddy. You… act like I never went through the whole meet the daddy routine. I look forward to meeting yet another daddy? About as much as I like the idea of getting run over by a garbage truck crossing the street. Something different, but, not really that much fun. Or, tell me I'm wrong. But be honest, how you actually picture it will go."

   "Um… like I said… he's a daddy. What do you expect."

   "Mommy. Do I have permission to speak freely? Or do you want me to tap dance and lie."

   "No. The truth can hurt, but its better than all lies. Permission granted."

   "I have three choices. Choice one, which is by far the most popular. A week before I'm coming, the Daddy is telling jokes, bragging to everyone how he's going to show me who's boss, and put me in my place. Then, when I get there? He's going to have to make good on his promises. A physically big father? Will typically go the route of trying to cow tail me, threaten me, and tell me how he can kill me and bury me, shovel and a bag of lime, yada yada yada, heard it all before. This choice? I'm expected to kiss his ass, act all scared. Of course, when I do that? Now he has no respect for me, and therefore I'm a piece of shit."

   "Choice two?"

   "Same thing, except I ain't putting up with his bullshit, and I offer him outside for a little talk? And unlike a lot of people… I mean it. I call the bluff. Now? I have no respect, I'm an asshole, how could my daughter bring such a disrespectful little shit home."

   "Choice three?"

   "Fathers with big jobs and big money, own a business, blah blah… they basically do the same thing, except its all about them bragging how much they're worth, how important they are, and I have to listen to all the puff stories about how they know all the right important people. Once again, I'm expected to eat shit, and grovel, before the great man. Of course, he has no respect for me. I'm not as rich as he is, my parents aren't rich to put me in his class… and I have no self respect, because I'm cow tailed."

   "Can't wait to hear number four."

   "Same thing, except I tell him he can stick the money and connections up his ass, I'm not a sissy with money who thinks he can buy his way into pushing people around. Once again? I'm a disrespectful little shit. How could my daughter ever be slumming it with a poor, mouthy asshole like you."

   "Does an option 5 even exist."

   "Yeah. That's the holy grail option. My parents are rich and important, so naturally I'm simply the most eligible bachelor around. I'm tall, handsome, rich… yet amazingly polite and well cultured. The daddy? Suddenly sees husband material, puts him arm around me and starts calling me son, and orders you how you better marry this one, this is a swell kid. Oh yeah, everything I say? Is witty and charming. Your aunts, all giggle at anything I say, and fetch me cookies."

   I said nothing. What could I say?

   "How much trouble am I in?"

   I waited, but couldn't wait forever. I've been dreading this conversation for a while now. It had to happen sometime.

   "No trouble whatsoever. You're simply being realistic."

   "Okay. Being honest, which way do you see it all going, you bring me home for the holiday break."

   "I'm not sure. You can never guarantee how these things go…"

   "Tap dancing. Don't wanna answer truthfully, because you know the truth won't be the answer you want."

   "Well… why don't you tell me which way you think it will go then."

   "Well. Your daddy? I'm guessing he'll be a real charmer. Let's see… 6'6", right?"

   "Yeah. Give or take."

   "Big man. Hey, everyone around town, knows not to cross big Joe. You already related to me, the story of the principal coming, so… he likes to show how big he is, and threaten to physically throw people around. He'll want to physically intimidate me. But? I've listened carefully to all your stories. I really do hang on every word you say. I love you. I have a little movie in my head, what I think the spread looks like. You, are describing a couple hundred acres of farmland, easy. Probably 500 plus, maybe more. That's a million dollar or more property. More than one barn. Main barn, horse barn, probably other outbuildings and sheds and such. Diesel dually, right?"

   "Uh, yeah…"

   "Naturally. You need that to haul shit around a farm. Cattle trailer? Probably the big 5th wheel kind."

   "Well, cattle, so…"

   "Yeah. Other big trailers, to haul machinery and that around."

   "Well…"

   "You need hay to feed all those animals. Probably other food crops, for more animal feed."

   "Um…"

   "Which is… big plow thingy, the thing that cuts the hay and gathers the crops. Got a separate hay baler cutter and maker one too, I bet."

   "How do you know all this…"

   "I'm in love with the original tomboy farm girl. When I'm bored, and I need a break on the computer I look stuff up and read about it. I got really bored one night, and wondered how much money I needed, if I wanted to buy a farm like you described. I think, we're talking about a million dollar plus piece of property, with probably well over a million dollars plus, tied up in buildings and machinery and what not."

   "What's your point there."

   "In addition to being the big man, and showing a predisposition to attempt to physically intimidate other men? Do you not realize, that your simple farm daddy, is a multimillionaire? There's no more 40 acres and a mule. That's a large business your daddy owns and runs."

   "So?"

   "Not only is your daddy going to try to physically intimidate me, he's also going to be playing the big business card, and trying to impress me with that. Then, he's going to throw in the farmer wild card."

   "The hell is that…"

   "Oh. Because I don't know what it means when a horse does this, and a pig does that… and I can't name the parasite and which medicine to buy at the farm store? Well, I'm simply another useless college faggot, who thinks he knows everything, but doesn't really know my ass from a hole in the ground. Come on, how am I doing here, ever heard any stories like this come out of daddy's mouth before?"

   "Well…"

   "Uh huh. Pop quiz. What's your dad think about computers and electronics? That's my whole life. What's he going to have to say, about me, my life, my career, and my education I'm dedicating years of my life towards, hmm?"

   "Daddy calls it… the confuser. Hates computers."

   "Uh huh. As he pulls his computer out of his pocket, which he calls a phone, but its really a more powerful computer than the best desktops from ten years ago. Using the internet, another technological marvel, which is what allows him to look up a video to show him how to fix his tractor when he works on it. Probably calls his farmer buddy up, to make fun of computers, while he's using one all day."

   "Christ. You met him before. I can't believe this…"

   His voice got quieter, he was done making his point.

   "So honey. Be honest. Do you really think it will turn out well, when he pulls three different options on me at once? The game is designed, by the way, like this. If I take it? I'm a pussy. I'm no goddamn good. If I challenge him? I'm disrespectful, so again, I'm no good. So. What do you think I'll do? Hmm?"

   "Its you, so… if he doesn't actually lay a hand on you, try to grab you up… you'll ignore him. You won't take the bait. You almost never do that."

   "I'll try. I'll do my part to ignore the crotchety asshole. But… after I ignore him long enough? He's gonna figure he has me cow tailed. Which I'm not, by the way, he just thinks I am. Then? He's gonna want a new target… and he can't give his wife too much shit, because she doesn't have to put up with it. His new target? Is going to be y-o-u. What were you thinking, bringing home this worthless college sissy for, blah, blah, blah. If you challenge him? You're no good, and you don't know anything anyways. If you don't challenge him? He's going to really start in. Something will come out of his mouth, that I won't tolerate, then? I'll decide to take him up on his earlier offers, to spend some quality time outside with him."

   "Like that ends well."

   "Oh, that's another game designed for me not to be able to win, no matter which way it goes. If he wins? See, I'm a sissy. But if I win? I'm an asshole and he calls the police and his farm lawyer. But once we get to that point? It only ends with one of us getting hurt. I feel no responsibility if he gets hurt, by the way? Because he's been trying to do it since I got there."

   "What's the point of all this again?"

   "I'm simply showing you, that the entire game is rigged. There is absolutely nothing to gain, and only the possibility of losing by some degree or more, by playing that game."

   "Hmm. What would your mentor recommend… consult the oracle."

   "Easy. Analyze the game thoroughly. What is at risk, what is there to gain. What are the likely odds of each. If you are forced into any game, or you choose to enter the game? Play to win."

   "Hmm. And… the analysis?"

   "I have everything to lose, and nothing to gain. The odds are shit, too. A wise man picks his battles, and this one's a stinker. Avoid this game at all costs, and if you're forced into it? You're fucked."

   I sat quiet for a little while. The magic washrag was failing me.

   "You want my honest opinion?"

   "Sure."

   "You're probably right. Any argument I come up with? Its entirely emotional. I look at the whole setup like its wonderful. Its my family. I can't wait to see them. No, I've heard these horror stories from my guy friends. I hate this. Everything is wonderful for me? Just because I have tits. So, how do you handle this?"

   "Well. I'm obviously stupid if I go and volunteer to play that game. Hopefully? You won't do what most girls do, which is browbeat the guy into going home to meet the family. Then, when it goes sour. Which we both know it in all probability will? You, will be quickly forgiven. You? Are daddy's little princess. You? Are family. No, I will then bear the brunt of it for the rest of our life together. I refuse to play that game."

   "What do we do when I go home for the holidays then… we have 2 more years of undergrad, then two years of grad school… then a couple years for doctorates. That's a long time."

   "For the next 2 years? Am I allowed to stay here when you go home? Or… do I have to find somewhere to crash. I probably can."

   "That… that's horrible. And of course you can stay here. Is that how you plan to spend the rest of our lives? Me going home for holidays, you being by yourself every holidays? That's… horrible!"

   "Best option."

   "What are the other options…"

   "We go and try it. Once. You tell your mother and father, you don't intend for this shit to happen. When it happens, which of course it will… I get up and leave. You go with me. You issued an ultimatum, they challenged you. We never go back, until they agree to change their ways."

   "But… that means I give up my family!"

   "You? Are thinking like a girl. Look at it from the boy's point of view. Most cases? The girls go home every holiday, and the guy has to go with her. The boy almost never sees his family. Welcome to my world."

   "Why can't you go home to your family?"

   "Motorcycle. Holidays are winter. I don't like the idea of spending two days on a bus to get home, then two days back, then spending two days sleepy the whole time anyways. No point. You, really don't have as much option not to go home? Because you're family gave you a nice car for free, so… you're kinda obligated to use it to go home in it."

   "The morally right thing to do, seems to be… we stay together, and have our own little holidays."

   "Won't work. Your parents will come in to visit. The same shit will go on here, as would go on in your house. I'll have to go run and hide somewhere till they leave anyways. Plus? You'll have to explain why there's a military footlocker and another study carol desk and computer next to yours in your room."

   "We… could move the footlocker and the desk, into the storage basement."

   "Not logical. What's the point, we're still apart for the same holidays anyways. Plus, you risk your daddy getting pissed, and taking the car off you for not obeying his wishes. Not to mention, it only takes one of the three girls, to forget and ask about Wizzy. My crystal ball? Says… number three, just accidentally drops my name every fifteen seconds. Call it my hunch, she's a pain in the ass. No, it makes more logical sense, for you to go home and for me to stay here."

   "There… has to be other ways!"

   "You could come home to my house. Hell, you're a girl. Anywhere you go? You get treated like gold. My family will pretty much fall all over you being nice to you, the whole time you're there. You know how it is, when the boy goes to meet the girl's dad? Its like that, except its the complete opposite."

   "You make me feel guilty."

   "Don't feel guilt. If you didn't design the game, you bear no responsibility for playing it to the best outcome. No different than our friends. All your jock friends? Hated me, and only warmed up to me slowly. How warm a reception did the Army guys, or the computer guys give you?"

   "Once again, treated like gold. When… does this all end…"

   "Well, when we die? It definitely ends then, so there's that."

   "I meant before that, Mister Morbid."

   "I'm just your little groupie, technically staying over one night, again and again. I have no standing. My name isn't on the lease. Now. When we get our own townhouse? My name will exist as a grad student on the lease."

   "What does that get us?"

   "When my name is on that lease? I own half that townhouse. You can go home, or you can choose to stay the holidays with me, our own little holidays. But… when daddy and mommy come for the obligatory surprise visit? I'm not leaving what is essentially half my own house. I won't run and hide. I won't be pushed around, nor talked shit on all day and night, in again my own house. You father can leave? Or he can run his yap and get into it with me. I call people's bluff in the end. I'll take my chances."

   "Daddy's a big guy… I'm the little girl in the family? And I'm almost your size."

   "Let me ask you this, hun. I mean, if I may."

   "No, go on."

   "Daddy. Big man. Um… how big was Mister Principal that he acted like a hero with?"

   "Oh, the principal isn't a big guy. Short, kinda fat…"

   "Yeah. I was figuring as much. Now, tell me. Have you ever once, seen Big Daddy… throw around a guy his own size? Even once. Or… is it magically, always some little guy he pushes around. Hmm?"

   "Oh… shit I see where you're going…"

   "Yeah. Was Big Daddy a… boxer… wrestler… any kind of trained fighter at all?"

   "Not that I know of…"

   "Right. He'd brag if he was. The farmhands? Don't count. He pays them, they have to eat his shit if they can take him or not. Your dad? Might have never once encountered a guy like me, ever. I'm trying to be as nice as I possibly can about this, but… don't you think, that the MPs training, was more or less specifically designed to train guys like me, to surprise guys like… daddy? Think about it. I'm trying to keep your Big Daddy from getting hurt."

   "You do try to avoid it all, as best you can. I can only assume you're still on that train of thought. I guess you're right about that."

   "There's only one more piece of the puzzle that you don't realize, hun."

   "Which is…"

   "You see me avoid conflict. Here. I'm at school. I'm here temporarily. These people all around me? Other than you, don't really matter in the end. Yes. I avoid conflict, because it serves no useful purpose. But… when it comes to you, and me? I plan on spending my life with you. I have to deal with your family, the rest of my life. When I'm forced into a situation where I have to deal with it? I do it. Most men are actually bluffing everyone, 90 percent of the time. I almost never do."

   "Your mentor taught you that, I bet."

   "God rest his soul. After every other guy before me, bluffing 9 out of 10 times… they think its a joke when I tell them what's about to happen. Then? Its a real shock when I follow through immediately, and do exactly what I just said I would."

   We went the rounds on this issue, but no matter where we went with the topic, nothing seemed optimum. I wasn't mad, and I didn't get mad. I was frustrated, and once I thought about it? I wasn't mad or frustrated with him. The magic washrag had finally failed me. Apparently, there were limits to its powers. I had to tell him several different times, that he wasn't in "trouble", then I had to reassure him several more times. We drained some water and reheated it now and again, then moved onto other topics more pleasant in nature, if only temporarily before returning and finding out that there was still no answer to all of this giant quagmire of a quandary.

   Then, we both heard the front door work. The girls were home. There wasn't a lot of noise for them being home, and we soon found out why. We heard a voice, idly calling out to first me, then him. The steps were used, then we heard knocking and trying our door. Finally the bathroom got a light rap on it.

   "You guys in there?"

   I whispered in his ear, giggling.

   "Speak of the devil…"

   Then I called out loud enough she could hear me through the door.

   "Yes!"

   "Can I pee? Come on…"

   He went to get up, and I put my hand on his shoulder. I put the jets back on, we had them off for a recent draining and refilling of several inches to keep the temperature up for our extended soak. I called out to her.

   "All right!"

   She cracked the door and peeked in. She could see we were in the tub, hear the jets working. I smiled and waved at her.

   She smiled back, and came in. She made her way to the toilet and stood there for a second, eyeing us. She finally shrugged and started undoing her jeans. I covered his eyes with my wet hands, and politely said "no peeking, little boy". She giggled and took her tinkle. I had used my fingers loose for his benefit. I was sure he could peep through the slits, if he wanted to. It wasn't like he swiveled his head away. When she was done, she stood up and leaned on the sink after a quick perfunctory rinse of her hands and using a hand towel to dry them.

   "So. What are you guys doing."

   I nudged him to answer.

   "As you can see, Light… we're busy picking blackberries."