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Archive name: putz.txt (MF, voy, reluc, v, cuck, huml)
Authors name: Myron Lipshitz (disco_slave@yahoo.com)
Story title : Putz, The

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Putz (MF, voy, reluc, v, cuck, huml)
by Myron Lipshitz (disco_slave@yahoo.com)

***

Myron, our small-dicked hero, suffers continual torment 
and humiliation from a young age because of his condition 
(known in the medical community as a "micropenis"). One 
day he meets the girl of his dreams, luscious eighteen-
year-old Tina Anderssen, and marries her, only to find he 
has wed a selfish little vixen who will stop at nothing 
to get her way. He winds up forced to watch while she and 
her lover, Jesse, fuck each other into a delicious frenzy.

INTRODUCTION

I'll be the first to admit it: I, Myron Lipshitz, am a 
classic grade-A putz. Severe underbite, accentuated by a 
prominent acne-scarred nose... Skinny arms and knock-
kneed legs... My hairline has receded about two inches 
from where it began, and I'm only thirty-three... 
Particularly unappealing are the two small, breast-like 
cones of fat on my sunken chest - what one cruel jock 
back in high school called my "bitch tits." Some 
chromosomal miswiring, I guess. About the only thing 
going for me is a healthy, masculine outcropping of wiry 
black hair on my neck and shoulders. 

Still, there are plenty of guys who are as homely or 
homelier and still manage to have reasonably normal, 
healthy lives. 

But not me. You see, there's one tiny thing standing in 
my way.

My penis.

I have what's called a micropenis by the medical 
establishment. When I'm soft it's just about buried in my 
pubic hair - the head is barely visible, a bump the size 
of a macadamia nut, propped up on a scrotum so small and 
tight it's little more than a raised patch of wrinkled 
red skin. At the height of passion and excitement my so-
called "manhood" measures just over two inches long, a 
bit bigger than one of those lifeless canned straw 
mushrooms you find in cheap Chinese food. 

Even in the most mundane moments of my daily life my 
penis gives me trouble - I have to aim it down with my 
fingers when I'm sitting on the toilet, for example, or a 
stream of piss arcs up into the seat, soaking my pants. 

But this is a minor problem. No, having a penis the size 
of a five-cent gumball has caused me more trauma than any 
normal, healthy male can imagine... 

I've divided my story into two parts. The first part sets 
the stage by describing some deeply humiliating 
experiences I suffered as a small-dicked youth. It's fun 
reading, but the really juicy stuff comes in the second 
and third parts - where I marry Tina, the girl of my 
dreams... and learn some very painful lessons about 
manhood.

**

CHAPTER 1: Early Years - Myron's Got a Jellybean

**

I had a privileged childhood. My dad was the principle 
stockholder and Senior Executive Officer of Tastee-Kreme, 
an incredibly lucrative retail pastry chain, and had 
assets totaling millions of dollars. By the time I was 
born he and my mom had devoted themselves to a life of 
luxury and indolence, in a big three-story house in 
Queens with every amenity imaginable. I was able to spend 
my days as I liked, relaxing in bed or by the pool, 
reading Archie comics and sucking the cream filling out 
of chocolate eclairs, which we always had plenty of 
around the house (courtesy of the family business). 

I had no friends; I hated sharing my toys, and the few 
times my parents invited another child for me to play 
with I wound up sobbing and shrieking hysterically, my 
arms wrapped around my teddy bear collection. Ultimately, 
my dad decided I was too lazy and isolated for my own 
good, and enrolled me in the Cub Scouts. My mom and I 
were against it, but my dad persevered in the end. 

"He needs to be socialized," he argued. "It'll build 
Myron's character. Help him figure some things out."

Well, I figured some things out, all right.

I was sick with anxiety around all these strange kids, 
but I had no good reason to be... until our first outing, 
that is. One Sunday the whole troop went to a local 
swimming pool, and with the usual apprehension I felt in 
the company of my Scoutmates I dropped my pants to change 
into my swimming trunks. Just like everyone else. 

Kevin Lutz was standing next to me and happened to glance 
down. My crotch was a smooth expanse of nine-year-old fat 
with a thin pale line where my nut sac should have been, 
and my penis embedded in the fat like a little peanut.

"Hey," he announced excitedly to the other kids, "look at 
Myron! His thingy's like a... like a jelly bean!"

The other Cub Scouts gathered around to check it out, 
commenting incredulously on my "little weenie." I lasted 
about ten seconds, biting my lower lip to keep it from 
trembling and blushing furiously, before finally bursting 
into tears. 

Well, you know how cruel children can be. This excited 
them even more, and they began dancing in a circle around 
me, chanting "Myron's got a jelly bean! Myron's got a 
jelly bean!" as I pulled my pants back on, screaming at 
them to stop. 

I couldn't bear to tell my father what had happened. I 
could only repeat, again and again, that I didn't like 
being in the Cub Scouts any more. But he was adamant: I 
was staying, and that was final.

So I told the den mother I couldn't swim. On the next 
outing, my Scoutmates were skinny-dipping at a nearby 
lake, laughing and splashing happily in the water with 
their penises bobbing up and down for all the world to 
see; I was hanging back on the sand, fully clothed in my 
ridiculous uniform, pretending to be absorbed in the 
scum-soaked debris that had washed up there. But all the 
while I was burning on the inside with envy and 
resentment, pinching the little knob in my underwear. 

It just... wasn't... fair!


**

CHAPTER 2: The High School Wimp

**

I gradually distanced myself from my peers, and by the 
time I entered Dinkendorff Academy, an elite private 
school, I was the classic loner. I hid in the back 
corners of the classrooms, skulked through the halls with 
my head held down low between periods, clung sullenly to 
the wall during recess... The entire student population 
seemed hopelessly inaccessible to me. I was even a little 
frightened of them, and had developed a severe stutter. 

I had, of course, a rich fantasy life, like all miserable 
loners, to make up for things. It was fairly standard 
material, I suppose. In my fantasies I was Mr. Cool, 
swaggering down the halls high-fiving the "in" crowd. 
Naturally I was on the football team in these little 
daydreams of mine, scoring touchdowns and getting hoisted 
onto the shoulders of my cheering fans... 

The real centerpiece, the final goal of each of these 
fantasies was Sherri Lyons, the captain of the 
cheerleading team. This was in the 1980's, and Sherri was 
a classic 80's babe. Her copper-colored hair lay in 
massive piles on her shoulders, her golden skin glowed in 
the sun... Her high cheekbones gave her a look that was 
at once exotic and aristocratic, and her wide mouth and 
big white teeth left an impression of feral sensuality. 
Periodically she came to school in a green silk shirt 
that was sheer enough to reveal pretty much the exact 
shape and size of her bra-less tits, and in my dream life 
I spent quite some time nuzzling those gorgeous, creamy 
jugs of hers... 

I didn't know enough about sex to go any further in these 
fantasies, but they inevitably brought me to my full two 
inches and a shuddering climax. 

In reality I was as far from athletic triumph (not to 
mention fastening my mouth on Sherri's fat nipples) as a 
human being can get without being paraplegic. Gym class 
was pure torture for me; I could be counted on to trip 
over my own two feet at every critical moment, and half a 
lap around the track left me gasping for breath while 
Coach bellowed at me to "move that lazy ass." 

And then there was the locker room. 

The locker room was a nightmare come true, a place of the 
most exquisite psychological torment imaginable. Naked? 
Me, Myron "Jellybean" Lipshitz, get naked in front of the 
other boys again? I broke into a terrified sweat every 
time I entered this room, and was practically 
hyperventilating by the time I left... To avoid making my 
"little problem" public I would undergo all sorts of 
awkward contortions while undressing, which I imagined 
were subtle enough to evade the notice of the other kids.

Boy, was I wrong.

The football players formed an elite clique at my school, 
just as they do at every school in America, I imagine. I 
used to watch these boys with a kind of jealous devotion. 
They seemed practically godlike to me, so physically fit 
and full of self-confidence as they strutted down the 
hall. They had everything I lacked.

Including, of course, real cocks. 

I had glanced furtively at them countless times as they 
proudly bared it all in the locker room, while I twisted 
and turned to keep my little secret to myself. There was 
one in particular, a running back named Kip Langley - a 
lantern-jawed hulk with dimples and a greasy blonde 
crewcut. His dad owned a chicken-processing plant, and 
under his fancy school uniform he was pure white trash, 
complete with a rebel flag tattoo on one swollen bicep 
and an illicit plug of chewing tobacco tucked into his 
lower lip. 

Kip was fond of cruel practical jokes and gifted with a 
loud, braying laugh that raised my hackles every time I 
heard it. Pretty often it was directed at me, in fact - 
he delighted in tripping me as I carried my lunch tray 
through the cafeteria; he loved leaving chewing gum and 
used wads of toilet paper on my chair in homeroom; he 
routinely emptied cans of Kraft cheez-wiz and shaving 
cream into my locker... The name "Myron Lipshitz" was bad 
enough, but it was Kip who came up with a series of 
derogatory nicknames for yours truly, like "Bitch-Tits" 
and "Shitlips." 

And yet, despite my fear and hatred of him, it was all I 
could do to keep from staring at him as he stripped off 
his sweaty underthings after gym class. 

It wasn't the firm washboard belly, the swell of his 
chest, the corded forearms, the tight round ass... No, it 
was Kip's proud, fat cock. As he peeled his jockstrap 
away I glanced furtively at his king-sized dong with more 
than longing; it was a kind of helpless self torture to 
take in the size of that thigh-slapping monster, swinging 
just a few feet from where I sat with a towel artfully 
placed over my pale stub.

One day I was holding my towel over my crotch and leaning 
forward to pull my clothes from my gym locker (aside from 
actually pulling my underwear on under the towel, this 
was my most vulnerable moment) when there was a loud 
crack, and I felt an unbelievable stinging sensation in 
my rear: someone had flicked me with a wet towel. With a 
screech of pain I let my own towel drop and clutched my 
burning ass...

..then just as suddenly realized what I had done.

The towel.

Cold fear swept over me. I covered my crotch with one 
hand and bent over to pick up the towel just in time to 
see it whisked out from under me. With my head between my 
legs, of course, my ass was wide open for a second 
flicking, which is exactly what I got. Above my own high-
pitched squeal I heard that laugh, loud and brash as a 
mule's. 

Kip.

I turned, trembling, to face him, both hands over my 
crotch now. The whole gym class was watching, fascinated. 
Kip and two of his friends, Tyler and Gordon, were 
standing there, grinning hugely - three muscular football 
gods in their jockstraps confronting a skinny, naked, 
cowering bookworm. It was a classic high school moment. 
In Kip's casually raised hand was my towel... my only 
hope.

I mustered up all the courage I had.

"G-g-give..." My voice broke. Flustered and shaking, I 
tried again. "Give me m-my towel, K-k-kip."

He exchanged an amused look with his cronies. "Why, 
Shitlips? So we won't see your hard-on while you fuckin' 
stare at us?"

There was a lot of snickering from the other kids. My 
god, they thought I was gay!

"N-n-no... N-no, I - I j-j-just..."

"C'mon, bitch, admit it. You fuckin' stare at us... 
Fuckin' faggot. The whole school knows. You get a little 
boner watchin' me and my friends get naked." He hoisted 
his massive cup with one hand and squeezed it for 
emphasis. "And then you cover it up with a rag."

My mind was in a whirl; I couldn't seem to think 
straight. I drew in a great ragged breath and tried 
again. "Look, p-p-p-please, I... I j-j-j--"

"You just what?" he sneered. "You just wanna finish 
jerkin' off? You just wanna wipe your little dick off and 
get dressed and go to class like a good little faggot?" 
He leaned forward, close enough so that I could smell the 
Slim Jim on his breath. I backed my ass into the locker 
door: there was no escape now, and he knew it. He 
advanced until I could feel the animal warmth emanating 
from his powerful gleaming torso. "You got somethin' to 
hide, Shitlips? Well, why don't you just... SHARE IT WITH 
THE CLASS!!"

With that he and Tyler grabbed my arms and jerked them 
apart. In horror I drew up my legs, screaming 
frantically, but it was no use: Gordon grabbed my ankles 
and pulled. A broken shriek escaped my lips -
"Noooooooooo!" - but it was too late. 

In my worst dreams I could never have imagined this 
happening to me. It was a moment of such pure, 
unmitigated horror that I thought the earth would surely 
open up and swallow me down. Unfortunately, that didn't 
happen.

Instead it got worse.

None of these kids had ever seen anything like it. There 
were groans of disgust, mock-puzzled murmurs - "What the 
fuck is THAT?," "Is that thing a clit or a dick?" - and 
loud hooting and jeering. I hung rigid in the arms of my 
tormenters, aware of the ridiculous expression of shock 
frozen on my face, but powerless to alter it - I was 
somehow paralyzed by the unreality of it all and couldn't 
move. Of course, had I known what they were going to do 
next I would have fought as hard as I could...

Well, I guess I should have known Kip would think of an 
even more sadistic refinement.

"Hey, dudes," he exclaimed, "Shitlips is a GIRL! We've 
got a GIRL in the boy's locker room! That ain't right, is 
it?" 

"No way!" "No fuckin' way, dude!" "Fucked up!"

"Well, sheeit," he drawled, "we need to get the little 
bitch out of here! Ain't no girls sposed to be here with 
the boys!"

And with that he and the other two began hauling me 
toward the door to the hallway. At the same moment the 
bell rang, marking the end of third period; within a few 
short seconds the hall would be filled with kids. They 
were going to toss me out there, nude! Blind panic took 
over me, and I began to kick and twist in their powerful 
hands. Guttural incoherent sounds came choking up out of 
my throat as I struggled to get free, and by the time we 
reached the door my lips and chin were flecked with 
spittle and my face was purple with the effort. But I was 
no match for these boys.

A howl of despair escaped me when they kicked the door 
open. The next thing I knew I was sailing through the 
air, hurled naked and helpless into the crowded corridor. 
There were cries of shock and outrage as I knocked a 
couple of kids over before landing with a comical gong-
like crash against the side of a wastebasket. There I 
lay, on my back, in a crumpled heap, totally traumatized, 
too dazed to cover myself... My little nub of a penis on 
display for the whole crowd.

A pair of blue glittering clogs stopped in front of me. 
Dully I raised my eyes, staring at a pair of long golden 
legs... pink miniskirt... bare golden midriff... and a T-
shirt with a smiley face on it, pulled taut by the 
magnificent pair of breasts behind it... 

Sherri, my angel, my queen, the girl of my dreams, was 
standing there, staring down at me, with a gaggle of 
cheerleaders behind her. 

Of course.

Oh, God, yes.

Slowly, the look of shock on her face was replaced with 
an astonished smile. This was funny to her. I lifted my 
hand up - for help? I don't really know; she certainly 
wasn't about to touch this shrimp-dicked freak sprawled 
at her feet. To her I was an amusing bit of sub-human 
slime, not even fit to kiss the ground she walked on, and 
I finally knew it. 

I gurgled faintly, trying to explain...

..then passed out. 


**

CHAPTER 3: Shit Out of Luck

**

I have the vague memory of someone throwing a coat over 
me, and then being carried by two teachers to the nurse's 
office, where I was shaken back to consciousness by Mr. 
Hershey, my extremely irate principal. He had the idea, I 
finally realized, that I had done this for fun ("This 
institution does not need sickos like you streaking 
through its halls, Mr. Lipshitz!"). So, in addition to 
the searing humiliation of knowing that I was now the 
biggest and best joke in school, I received two weeks 
detention that afternoon for disrupting "normal school 
activities." 

My parents were appalled and furious when they came to 
pick me up, and I was too shell-shocked to explain that, 
no, I hadn't exactly run naked through the halls as a 
prank. They were firm: I would return to school the next 
day and behave myself with dignity, as a Lipshitz should. 
No, I absolutely could not stay home; there was nothing 
wrong with me. Stop whining, Myron! And wipe those tears 
off your face!

Throughout the evening thoughts of suicide were 
constantly on my mind. 

Well, I spent the next morning with my arms wrapped 
around myself, shuffling past laughing, whispering groups 
of kids. Numb depression overtook me in gym class. I flat 
out refused to enter the locker room to dress up, of 
course. There were knowing chuckles as Coach sprayed his 
standard deposit of spittle in my face, yelling at me to 
shape up. I spent third period on the bench, staring off 
into the distance as Kip and the others played softball. 
I only snapped out of my catatonic trance when the 
softball struck me on my pimply forehead, knocking me 
from the bleachers into the mud.

Yes, I was going to kill myself.

That afternoon, I saw my big chance. As it turned out, 
one of the kids in detention with me was Donny McDowell, 
the school drug dealer - another loner but one who 
commanded the respect of the other kids by virtue of 
being a walking drugstore (his dad was a pharmacist). 

I approached him after detention timidly.

"Hey, D-d-donny?"

"Whaddaya want?" He looked extremely uncomfortable, 
almost as if he didn't want to be seen speaking with me. 
Couldn't blame him, really.

"Uh... W-what, uh..."

"C'mon, dude, what the fuck do you want?"

"I... I want... Well, w-w-what do you have that, y-y-you 
know.... c-c-could, uh..."

"Fuck off, Shitlips." And with that he started to walk 
away. In a panic I lunged for him and grabbed his sleeve, 
and he slapped my hand away with a look of fury in his 
eyes. "Fuckin' punk-ass faggot!"

"D-d-d-donny, p-p-please, I... I want to..." I swallowed 
hard, then lowered my voice to a whisper. "I want to k-k-
k...k-k-kill myself."

The look of anger on his face melted away, and he 
actually grinned. "Yeah? No shit?"

"Yes."

"Huh." He looked me up and down, clearly interested. "And 
you want a little medicine from Doctor McDowell to help 
things along?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Okay, Shitlips." His grin widened. "Meet me in the boy's 
restroom on the second floor tomorrow at 8 am. Bring 
twenty bucks. I'll take care of you."

By 8:05 the next morning I was clutching a bottle of 
pills in my sweaty hands. My plan was to eat the whole 
bottle before lunch, confess my love to Sherri Lyons, and 
expire right there in the cafeteria. A nice dramatic 
ending to the short but painful life of Myron Lipshitz. I 
could already hear the gasps of horror, see the remorse 
in my tormentors' eyes as I crashed to the floor, dead at 
last... That would teach these animals a lesson! 

I skipped gym class, hiding out instead in an empty 
classroom, staring out the window at the bright blue sky 
and feeling a serenity I had never known before. At ten 
minutes to twelve I got up, went into the hall, and ate 
the whole bottle, one pill at a time, between sips from 
the water fountain.

Sherri Lyons was sitting at the cheerleader table in the 
cafeteria when I arrived. With death around the corner I 
felt completely at peace, even happy. I approached her, 
imagining I could already feel a pleasant drowsiness. 
Nothing could touch me now. I would walk right up to her, 
look her in the eyes, and tell her that I loved her 
before sliding into blissful and eternal sleep at her 
precious feet. 

I wound my way toward her table, ignoring the whispers 
and snickering from other tables I passed. A braying 
laugh made me jump: Kip, again. 

Always Kip. 

"Hey, Dickless!" he called. "Aintcha gonna eat 
something?" 

And a lump of something warm and soft thumped into the 
back of my head and hung there. Probably mashed potatoes. 
Yes, a trickle of gravy ran down the back of my neck, and 
for a split second I felt my stomach tighten with anxiety 
and hate; then the feeling passed. I was beyond caring. I 
even turned and nodded serenely to him. Donny was sitting 
next to him, and both guys seemed to think this was 
really funny.

Sherri and her friends quieted down as I approached them 
and began whispering to one another and giggling; finally 
they fell silent and just watched me coming. Sherri had a 
skeptical little smile on her flawless face, and once 
again I felt my stomach tighten. A churning feeling deep 
in my belly made me hesitate.

"Well?" she asked in an annoyed and dismissive tone of 
voice. "What do you want?" There was an imperious 
coolness to her, the coolness of a queen in the presence 
of a lowly commoner, and my guts really began to boil. 
Could I do this? Then the churning subsided, and I 
reminded myself that whatever happened in the next minute 
or so, I would be finally free.

"Are you aware," said Gloria, one of her snotty little 
cheerleader friends, "that you have a serving of mashed 
potatoes and gravy on the back of your head?"

This broke them all up, including Sherri. My stomach 
jumped and gurgled, and I took a deep breath to calm 
myself while they laughed. 

It's okay, I thought, it's okay. 

I took a deep breath. 

"Sh-sh-shesh-sh..." No, dammit, try again. Come on, I 
thought to myself, you can do it! "Sh-sh-sh-sherri, I..." 
I swallowed hard. "I l-l-luh... l-l-l..." 

She was staring at me like I was a lunatic or something. 
They all were. I cursed myself. Stop stuttering and say 
it, you fucking clown! 

I took one last breath, exhaled, swallowed hard...

..and said, "I love you."

And then there was an explosion in my bowels, and 
something foul and wet burst in a fluid stream from my 
asshole, filling my underwear. 

Oh, no... No, no, no. 

Oh, God, no.

I backed away in horror. What in God's name was happening 
to me? There was another convulsive, gut-wrenching rumble 
somewhere deep inside me, and a second wave of sludge-
like shit erupted from my anus. Shit was running freely 
down my legs, and as Sherri, my fantasy angel, and her 
five girlfriends gaped in disgust at the smell, I turned 
and ran, leaving a trail of brown slime on the cafeteria 
floor.

Donny had sold me a bottle of laxatives.


**

CHAPTER 4: Twisted Sex Dreams

**

My parents pulled me from high school without ever really 
understanding what had happened, and hired me a tutor. 
They were obscenely well-off, after all, and although 
Dinkendorff Academy was a prestigious resume-builder they 
were willing to accommodate me in the end. To accept that 
I was, and always would be, a loner.

Now I began living completely in my head, rarely 
venturing from the house, daydreaming and fantasizing as 
never before. It was pretty unhealthy. At times my 
fantasies were the sort I had indulged in before "the 
thing," as I referred to my last two days in high school: 
I was back, adored by the Class of '86, with Sherri in my 
arms... I had discovered by this time, however, that to 
have intercourse with someone you didn't simply bury your 
face between her tits and masturbate. You had to put your 
penis into her vagina. And this altered my fantasies 
somewhat, because now, whenever I started thinking about 
tearing Sherri's shirt off and sucking her engorged 
nipples, I irresistibly began thinking of lifting up her 
skirt, putting my fingers into her silky wetness... and 
unbuckling my pants... and then...

..and then my thoughts got a little strange. 

Sometimes, in these fantasies, I dropped my pants to find 
my legs and ass slick with feces, and my shit wound up 
getting smeared all over both of us as we slid stickily 
together.

In another version Sherri began laughing the moment she 
saw my two-inch boner. Then her cheerleader friends 
showed up with a cafeteria tray full of mashed potatoes 
and gravy, handfuls of which they proceeded to fling at 
my face and chest while I tried frantically to rub my 
penis to greater length. By the time I reached orgasm I 
was thoroughly coated with food -- the laughing stock of 
the whole cheerleading squad as I stood there, dripping 
with slime, tugging on my pathetic dingaling.

There was one in particular which left me feeling weak 
with self-disgust. In it, Sherri's helpless giggling at 
the sight of my diminutive pecker was suddenly joined by 
a harsh, braying laugh: yes, my old buddy Kip had 
appeared. 

"Back off, Bitch-Tits," he'd sneer. "Let a real stud show 
you how it's done." 

I would kneel there and watch, breathless with 
excitement, my pint-size erection firmly gripped between 
thumb and forefinger, as Kip and Sherri stripped in front 
of me and then pressed their flawless bodies together, 
French-kissing and fondling each other's asses and tits 
before my eyes... Sherri, my angel, fondling Kip's 
pendulous balls and massive penis with both hands while 
he licked her cone-shaped nipples...

Strangely, all these deviant fantasies worked just fine, 
and I was able to cum no matter what sick thoughts were 
running through my head, though afterwards I was deeply 
ashamed of myself. 

The most outlandish of all was a recurring wet dream. 
Each time it was more or less the same: I found myself 
back in the locker-room at high school, face to face with 
a crowd of queerly expressionless classmates. Without the 
least embarrassment I stripped my clothes off for them, 
and found that I didn't have a dick down there at all. 
Nope; I had a little pussy instead, just like Kip had 
said I did. 

Then Kip undressed, too, and walked over to me with a 
massive glistening hard-on. He positioned his magnificent 
body behind my weak pasty one and put his big hands on my 
hips; I parted my thighs just a little, and he slid his 
big proud boner between them until it jutted out in front 
of me as if it were my own. As he rubbed it gently back 
and forth under my cunt the class chanted its approval 
("Go! Go! Go!"), and I woke up from these dreams with a 
sticky spot on the sheets every time.


**

CHAPTER 5: Dr. Van Horne

**

Within my first few months out of Dinkendorff I stuck my 
finger in an electrical outlet and wound up with a facial 
tic that lasted a week. My parents finally hired a 
therapist: Dr. Van Horne.

It was Dr. Van Horne who really dragged me back from the 
edge. A bearded giant of a man with a commanding 
presence, Dr. Van Horne had no time for what he frankly 
called "bullshit," and spent the first hour of our third 
two-hour session screaming and cursing at me, pounding on 
his desk, until I broke down and confessed, trembling 
with fear, what had really happened to me in high school. 
Then he gave me the sympathy I had so desperately craved, 
and I spent the next hour weeping uncontrollably. This 
was his style - "hot and cold," he called it, and it 
worked for me.

Ultimately I confessed everything to him. He was honestly 
fascinated by each of my perverse little psychodramas. He 
even convinced me to record them all, in detail, in a 
personal diary, which I did: a little black book, kept 
under lock and key in a security box under my bed.

He really cared.

My parents were only too happy to let him deal with me. 
Dr. Van Horne recommended to them that I be allowed the 
space and time to figure things out on my own, and they 
supported me full time after I completed my high school 
studies. College was the furthest thing from my mind; 
instead I devoted myself to some good old-fashioned head-
shrinking at the hands of Dr. Van Horne. 

He devised a "Self-Actualization Regimen" for me. With 
Dr. Van Horne's help I learned some simple meditation 
techniques, so that when something triggered a spasm of 
masochistic lust I could close my eyes, "breathe through" 
it, and let it fade. I visualized "making peace" with Kip 
and Sherri, telling them how I felt about what they had 
done to me, and accepting their apologies. I did dream 
therapy. 

And I masturbated exclusively to the pages of Gallery and 
other magazines which were certain to feature only female 
models - I definitely didn't need to dwell on the 
standard porn couple: some smooth-bodied muscle boy with 
a nine-inch schlong whooping it up with a supple young 
vixen... the girl bouncing happily on her lover's 
glistening pole... two gorgeous, golden fuck-hungry 
teens, driving each into a frenzied lather of sexual 
ecstasy... 

No, I stayed away from that. I never even -

I beg your pardon?

You're what?

Waiting for the "good parts?"

Oh, right. Ha ha. I know what you mean. The "good parts" 
- the parts where I suffer, right? The parts where Myron 
"Dingaling" Lipshitz is betrayed, stepped on, laughed 
at... humiliated... shattered... reduced to a quivering 
pile of useless jelly by beautiful yet sadistic sex-
freaks once again. 

Well, don't worry; you'll get what you want, and then 
some. You'll see me suffer, all right. You'll see me 
experience humiliations you never thought possible. But 
in order to really appreciate all this, you need to know 
how close I came to happiness.


**

CHAPTER 6: Tastee-Kreme Putz 

**

In 1993, my parents died.

I was 25 years old when the car they were driving crashed 
through a guard rail and sent both of them plummeting to 
their deaths. I didn't feel much, to tell you the truth. 
We had never been very close. The major change was that I 
was suddenly the principle stockholder of a multi-
million-dollar corporation, Tastee-Kreme Inc, and several 
smaller ones. I owned the house I had grown up in, and a 
yacht, and a condominium in California. My parents had 
also set up a trust fund for me, according to the terms 
of which I would receive $10,000 per month to spend as I 
wished. 

I found myself sitting on a fortune.

And yet I didn't have the desire... hell, let's just say 
it: the balls... to do anything with it. 

Oh, I ate out at fancy restaurants sometimes; I bought 
expensive clothes. Once I even went on a trip to Belize, 
but I pretty much stayed in my hotel room and read, and 
wondered back in New York why I had bothered. I spent my 
time lying in the house with the shades drawn, reading 
each new issue of Archie comics, snacking on jelly 
doughnuts and banana cream pies, and listening to Barry 
Manilow. 

Hell, I knew what other people did with this kind of 
money - after all, I watched MTV now and then: people 
with my kind of money traveled to exotic places and went 
to fabulous parties. 

But they did these things with their lovers. 

Their husbands and wives. 

People they actually... fucked.


**

CHAPTER 7: Dream Girl - Young, Desperate, and Stupid

**

In 1997, I had been seeing Dr. Van Horne at least once a 
month, sometimes as much as once a week, for twelve 
years. And by this time I had exorcised the most extreme 
of my masochistic fantasies. I occasionally indulged in 
the guilty pleasure of the cheerleading-squad-armed-with-
mashed-potatoes fantasy, as it seemed the most innocuous 
one of all, and once in a blue moon I woke up gasping 
from the dream in which Kip slid his oversized slab of 
cockmeat between my legs...

But these slip-ups were rare. 

We both knew, however, that I was still a fragile human 
being, still broken inside.

"Myron," he said one day, "you've come a long way, and 
I'm proud of you. When I first met you, you were 
teetering daily on the edge of suicide, tormented every 
moment by the memory of your humiliation at the hands of 
your classmates... Wallowing in it. Now, 13 years later, 
you're a successful American male with a largely 
normalized psychosexual substrate. Yes, you're almost 
whole... 

"...almost. The problem is that you've gone as far as you 
can on your own. You need a woman, Myron."

I smiled weakly.

"How does that make you feel? I've been urging you for a 
few years now to find yourself a woman. And yet you've 
done nothing. You're so close, Myron! We both know what 
holds you back."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Say it, Myron. Name this huge problem of yours."

"My... my penis."

"Your penis!" he thundered at me. "Little penis, 
'micropenis...' So what? A lump of flesh the size of a 
sparrow's egg is standing between you and paradise! It's 
ridiculous. There are lesbians in this world who have 
very satisfying sex lives. They don't need a penis!"

I hung my head. "I know, Doctor."

"There's cunnilingus! Sexual prosthetics!"

"...yes, Doctor..."

He stared at me angrily, shaking his head. "Myron, I've 
been looking into this matter recently. Reading books by 
and for men like you. Were you aware that there are 
several excellent websites devoted to this exact 
problem?"

"There... there are?"

"Yes! As I told you countless times already, you whining 
simpleton, you aren't the only human being in the world 
with this condition. One man in particular impressed me 
as a real problem-solver. This man suggested combing 
through the personals looking for a woman with three 
specific traits. Do you want to know what they are?"

"Yes!"

"The ideal woman for a man like himself, a man with a 
micropenis, is young... desperate... and stupid."

I was dumbfounded. This didn't sound like true love to 
me. 

"What?!"

"Exactly, Myron. The inexperience of a young woman, 
especially a virgin, would render irrelevant the size of 
his penis. She would have no reference point for penis 
size, you see. And women placing personal ads always 
include their age."

"Interesting, but..."

"And she needed to be desperate. Financially desperate. 
Money is a powerful lure, and a still more powerful means 
by which a woman can be kept faithful and obedient. Many 
desperate women will specifically ask, in their ads, for 
a financially stable man."

"Hm..."

"And finally, we are looking for stupidity. A stupid 
woman - or, to use a less pejorative term, an 
uninquisitive one, preferably one with only a high school 
education and limited literacy - would be easier to 
shield from the outside world, and would thus be unlikely 
ever to find out that there were bigger men out there, or 
that society deems such men more desirable than ones like 
yourself. Also, she would be easier to dominate. Of 
course, you can't judge a woman's intelligence by reading 
an ad. But you can get a pretty good idea within ten 
minutes."

"Incredible, Doctor. But it sounds so... so..."

"So mercenary?"

"Well, yes. I mean, it's not... not love."

"Love!" He wrinkled his mouth up in disgust. "Like the 
love you had for Sherri Lyons?"

I winced.

"Don't be a romantic fool, Myron. Love made you an easy 
target in your youth. Now, you need to be the marksman. 
You need a woman, just as all men need a woman. And to 
get her, you need to accept that archetype, that part of 
your heritage as a man, which we call the Hunter. You 
must be like a powerful animal stalking its prey. Once 
you have the right woman, a weak woman, a woman who would 
never dare to mock and laugh at you as Sherri Lyons 
did... Once you have finally tasted the joys of a normal 
sex-life... Then, Myron, you can worry about love."

"Gosh. But... Do you really think it's that simple?"

"Certainly. This man found his ideal mate within a week, 
after answering only six ads. Check out the website, 
Myron. It's an e-group called 'Tiny Penis Wives.' A 
ridiculous name, I know... But you'll hear many such 
stories there."

"This is amazing!" 

"Now get out there, Myron Lipshitz! Get out there and 
find yourself a woman!"


**

CHAPTER 8: Tina 

**

Within a month, I had found her.

It took three days just to get up the nerve to look 
through the personals sections of the many alternative 
newspapers in New York, and another two weeks to actually 
set up the first appointment. By this time I had become a 
member of the e-group Dr. Van Horne had mentioned to me, 
"Tiny Penis Wives," and was receiving a lot of 
encouragement from the other members. I had also learned 
that, just as Dr. Van Horne had said, there were many men 
like me, men who had undergone pain and torment because 
of their penis size, and this feeling of community was an 
incredible help to me. Some of them had wives, too, and 
these women were eager to offer me advice. Without the 
support group I found in "Tiny Penis Wives" I could never 
have gone through with it. And of course I had Dr. Van 
Horne's confidence-building speeches and exercises to 
help me along.

I set up each date at the bar at Le Bernardin, an upscale 
French restaurant. I wasn't naive: obviously, any woman 
meeting me here would be dressed as well as she could 
dress, so I could get a pretty good idea of what kind of 
money she had. It would be an easy matter to figure out, 
after a few drinks (I stuck with Coca Cola), how smart 
she was. 

Tina Anderssen was only my fourth date. Her personal ad 
stated that she was eighteen years old, the youngest 
woman I had responded to so far. To be honest, the idea 
of an eighteen-year-old made me nervous: too much like 
high school. But my buddies in "Tiny Penis Wives" told me 
to forget about my fears and go for it.

The picture she sent was of poor quality but certainly 
encouraging. She wasn't beautiful, but she was very 
pretty, with straight blonde hair down to her shoulders 
and a nice, sweet smile. I would have to meet her at Le 
Bernardin to really get a look at her.

We spoke on the phone once to set up the meeting. Her 
voice, the last hint I would get as to what kind of 
person she was before we met "in the flesh," was 
unexpected: frankly, she sounded like a twelve-year-old 
with a sore throat. There was something grotesquely 
titillating about that voice, the hint of smoker's rasp 
adding a strange touch of moral degeneracy to the high, 
breathy tones of a child.

I told her about Le Bernardin and how to get there, then 
hung up the phone, unable to shake a sense of unease 
about her. 

Hell, what was I worried about? 

I knew who she was the second she walked in the door. She 
made her way to the bar, sat next to me, and smiled, a 
little out of breath, brushing wisps of hair from her 
face.

"Hi, Myron!" 

I was speechless.

Sitting before me was an angel. Tina had the purest milk-
white skin I had ever seen, and a delicate face, as 
delicate as china. The roundness of her face was prettily 
set off by her little elfin chin and cheekbones, and the 
Mongol-like slant of her green eyes... but her mouth 
added another dimension to this already intriguing brew: 
lips lusciously plump, their almost obscene redness 
complemented by the faint blush in her cheeks. 

She had caught her breath by this time, and looked 
nervously at me. 

"Are you all right?"

"Wh-what? Oh, yes. Yes, Tina, I'm... just fine."

I didn't notice until later that her clothes were cheap, 
even threadbare in places; or that her shoes were badly 
scuffed.

But by then, I already knew.

Tina was The One.

We chatted for hours... I bought her four of five 
Kamikazes, then a Pink Cadillac ("Don't you think that 
sounds like fun, Myron?"), and she chattered happily 
about her life as a waitress in some pizza place on the 
East Side, her retired military dad, her dream of someday 
owning a pizza place of her own. 

It was totally inane, and it was utterly charming. Then 
she asked me questions about what I did, and I talked, 
too, on and on. I told her all about my collection of 
Archie comics and Barry Manilow albums, and about the ups 
and downs of being the biggest stockholder in Tastee-
Kreme: how boring the meetings with my accountant were, 
but how tasty the pastries were... We were having an 
actual conversation! It was pure magic; I felt like I was 
floating. Tina hung onto every word, her eyes wide as I 
described my life.

I was hooked. 

Then, out of the blue, the bartender issued a last call. 
It was three in the morning! As we got to our feet she 
lurched into me, and I had to catch hold of her to keep 
her from falling. And suddenly I, Myron Lipshitz, was 
holding a woman. A beautiful woman.

A young, desperate, stupid woman.

I had an instant hardon.

"Gosh, Myron," she breathed in that girlishly smoky, 
smokily girlish voice of hers, "I guess I had a little 
too much to drink!"

I was having a hard time letting go of her, and she 
didn't seem to want me to. Incredible. I licked my lips, 
and in a voice thickened with lust asked her where her 
car was.

"Oh, I didn't drive. I don't have a car. I walked."

"Walked?"

"Yeah, from the subway."

"My God!" 

I forgot my lust in a moment. There was no way Tina 
Anderssen could be allowed to endanger herself, drunk, on 
a New York subway at three a.m. I had a brief vision of 
her being followed by shadowy figures into the 
stairwell... Three hulking Negroes, holding her down... 

Lifting her skirt...

Hell, no.

"Tina," I insisted, "there's no way you're riding the 
subway now. No, I'll give you a ride."

"Really?" The look on her face was so innocent and 
trusting it made me want to cry. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course, Tina. I just spent seventy-nine dollars at 
this place just to... to... to be with you. A little 
extra doesn't make any difference to me."

"Wow! Oh, Myron, you don't need to do this..."

"Let me."

As I waved goodbye to her ten minutes later I was struck 
by her face in the rear windshield of the cab. She was 
smiling, waving back happily, and yet there was something 
greedy, almost predatory about that smile... 

Then I shook the sensation off. Don't be an idiot, Myron, 
I told myself. She's perfect.

I had found my woman at last.


**

CHAPTER 9: A Limp-Dicked Failure

**

Tina and I saw each other every night after that, and I 
did everything I could to make my woman more comfortable. 
I gave her cab fare, to the tune of two hundred dollars a 
week; three hundred dollars more a week in spending 
money; dinners every night at Le Bernardin; and movies - 
foreign ones with subtitles, to reinforce her sense of 
intellectual inferiority. Gruntboy66, my best friend at 
"Tiny Penis Wives," had suggested this tactic to me, and 
I followed his advice, though I was even more bored than 
she was. 

And I spent hours in bed, masturbating furiously. In my 
mind's eye I saw Tina's full lips on mine, devouring me 
hungrily; felt her hands on my chest, caressing me; heard 
her crying out in ecstasy as I kissed her neck... 

She got naked for me on our sixth date. 

We were sitting in my house, listening to Barry Manilow's 
beautiful 1983 album "A Touch More Magic." I was sitting 
on the sofa, laughing heartily over Archie and Jughead's 
antics; Tina was curled up beside me; and Barry was 
crooning "I Wanna Do It With You" in the background:

I wanna do it, do it with you

I wanna do it, do it with you

Ooooh, baby, feel so strong

I wanna do it, do it with you

I wanna do it, do it with you

I wanna live out my fantasies

Come on, baby, please...

Suddenly her hand was on my thigh. I stiffened 
immediately, and she let it rest there a moment while I 
sat as if carved out of stone, unable to respond. Were we 
about to... to kiss?

Then she got up and faced me, a secret little smile on 
her gorgeous face. 

"Just sit back, Myron," she purred. "Sit back and relax. 
You don't have to do anything." 

I was trembling with tension, almost unable to breathe, 
as I watched Tina unbutton her shirt and let it fall to 
the floor. She never took her luminous green eyes from me 
as she reached up to undo the snap between the black lacy 
cups of her bra. Then she pulled it away, slowly, licking 
her lips. Her tits jiggled free and I swallowed hard, 
close to panic at the sight of those firm, upright, 
creamy mounds, with nipples the size of egg yolks...

Oh, boy.

..Say you will, say I am

Say that I can be your man

Say that I can be your man... 

"Do you like it?" she breathed. "Do you want it?"

I croaked out a feeble yes, and she slid out of her 
shorts and panties. There she stood, stark naked in front 
of me, stroking one delectable nipple with one hand, 
caressing her thigh near her hairless, glistening pussy 
with the other. The Archie comic book slid from my 
nerveless fingers to the floor.

Her eyes were two green glittering slits of passion.

"Do you really want it?" she hissed.

"...y-y-y-yes..."

"Well, I want you, too, Myron," she whispered huskily, 
coming closer. "I want to feel your lips on my lips. Your 
hands on my breasts." She knelt down before me, tugging 
at my belt buckle. "I want to feel your cock inside me, 
Myron."

..Oh, honey, move in my direction

Time for some serious affection

Oh it's gonna be such a fine thing

Talk about thunder and lightning

I wanna do it, do it with you

I wanna do it, do it with you...

My mouth was hanging open in dumb shock. As if in a 
trance I just let her work my pants down to my ankles... 
then slip her fingers inside the elastic band of my 
underwear. I lay still, numb, scarcely daring to breathe, 
as Tina urged my underwear past my hips.

This was it... the moment I had been dreading...

And I was as soft as a spoonful of pudding.

I was way, way too nervous to have an erection; in fact, 
my penis actually seemed to have retracted a little with 
all the nervous tension. For an instant I looked down at 
the moist shrunken tip nestled in my bush, then closed my 
eyes and swallowed hard. Please, God, I prayed, don't let 
her laugh... Don't let her laugh at me... I could 
practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she 
mentally adjusted to the sight of my limp little dick. 
She said nothing. 

I risked a glance at her, but her face was carefully 
neutral. After a few moments she looked up at me again, 
and smiled.

"You're beautiful, Myron."

She took hold of my hands. I let her pull me from the 
couch to the rug. 

"You're a beautiful man," she moaned, "and I want you."

She kissed me, pressing her sweet titties against my 
chest... her hairless vulva against my still flaccid 
penis... moving my hands to her hips, guiding me through 
it. And slowly I began to respond. I kissed back, 
shuddering with ecstasy, and she pulled me down on top of 
herself, spreading her legs apart for me, wrapping them 
around my waist.

"I want you so bad!" she whined.

"...oh... oh, Tina," I gasped, "Tina, Tina..." She 
gripped my buttocks and began pulling me against her, and 
I picked up the rhythm, grinding my pelvis against hers, 
mashing my cock against her wet crotch as she began 
moaning.

"Yes... Oh, yes... Fuck me..."

Only I wasn't fucking her.

Because my penis wasn't getting hard. 

I continued thrusting my shriveled dingaling against her 
warm, slippery cunt, but I knew it was hopeless. It was 
as if my penis had been injected with Novocain. Some 
inability to admit defeat kept me pumping my hips up and 
down, and she continued moaning and writhing under me, 
but this was going nowhere; she knew it, and I knew that 
she knew it. My shame grew, and then I realized that as 
long as I pretended to fuck her, she would pretend to 
enjoy it. 

After a few last feeble thrusts, I stopped and rolled off 
of her, curling up in a fetal position. 

I was a total sexual failure.

In my mind I could hear Kip's braying laughter:

Shitlips...

Bitch-Tits...

Faggot!

I wanted to die.

I waited for her to get dressed, to walk out the door, 
but nothing happened. Then she rested a tentative hand on 
my shoulder. 

"Myron?"

I couldn't answer. My shame was too complete.

"Myron? It's okay." 

She snuggled up to me, curling her nubile young body 
against my back.

"It's okay, Myron. I don't care if we have sex. I just 
want to lie with you." 

Something inside me shifted, moved, and suddenly I was 
crying, crying like a baby, as if the tears would never 
stop.

She really loved me.


**

CHAPTER 10: The Taste of Ass

**

Well, three more weeks passed before I managed to get 
hard for Tina. 

It was just a morning stiffie, really, but I was elated. 
Panting with excitement I jabbed it against her thigh. 
She was awake in an instant, rolling over to face me, 
grinning with delight as she reached down... And the 
moment she touched it I had an orgasm, a spastic, 
twitching orgasm which left a thin little smear of cum on 
her palm. 

We worked full time together on my newest little problem. 
I read everything I could find on the internet about 
premature ejaculation, and Tina helped in every way 
imaginable. There were still plenty of times when I 
couldn't get an erection for her, and whenever I did I 
wound up blowing my load at the first touch of her 
fingers or lips, but she was fantastic. Never once did 
she get impatient or angry. Instead she would laugh, 
fondle my spent weener, and give it a gentle scolding.

"You bad, bad little boy," she would say mischievously. 
"You made another messy! Don't you know you're supposed 
to put that stuff inside Tina?!"

Gruntboy66 suggested that I should try giving her oral 
sex until I could keep my erection long enough to 
penetrate her, and I found that I loved it. I loved 
burying my tongue in her smooth little slit, loved the 
sensation of her slimy pussy smearing itself across my 
face as she sighed and squirmed. And she liked it, too. 

The breakthrough came one morning when I brought up a 
breakfast tray of Tastee-Kreme cheese danishes. She was 
just waking up, and I watched as she stretched lazily in 
the bed. Tina was only wearing a tank-top; she raised her 
hips high in the air, arching her back, and mewed 
contentedly, like a kitten. The sight of her heart-shaped 
ass and smooth pussy was too much for me. I dropped the 
tray, put my hands on her buttocks and planted a big, 
slobbery kiss on her sweet pussy-lips.

We had never done it in this position before, and to my 
feverish excitement I found, as she cooed with pleasure 
and worked her pelvis up and down, that her puckered 
little asshole was dilating with excitement right in 
front of my eyes. If it got any closer...

Then, with the next backward thrust of her hips, her anus 
was planted squarely on the tip of my nose.

She gave a startled peep. Having Tina's asshole in my 
face was turning me on like I'd never been turned on 
before, and my penis was stiffening up nicely. But what 
about Tina? Was this okay with her? 

Suddenly she responded, jamming it more firmly onto my 
king-sized honker. In fact, as we got down to business I 
realized that she was getting off quicker and harder than 
she ever had before. I nuzzled her pink little shithole 
eagerly...

..and before long, my tongue was probing her ass, working 
in and out while I snorted and grunted behind her like a 
pig getting slopped.

It was delicious.

She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked, forcing my 
face ever more deeply between her sweaty buttcheeks as I 
lapped at her sweet, succulent asshole. Suddenly she 
came, wailing like a banshee and yanking my hair so hard 
it brought tears to my eyes. My dick was as hard as a 
rock by this time, and I withdrew my face from her rear 
end, gasping and ready. 

"Oh, baby," I grunted, my voice thick with passion, "I 
wanna do it... do it with you..." I gripped her buttocks 
and got into position. "...yeah, I wanna do it with 
YOUUU--" 

With the pent-up fury of a starving panther, I buried my 
two inches of pulsing meat into the pink succulence of 
her tight young vagina and screamed as I emptied my nuts 
into her.

Then I collapsed, still shaking and twitching, my head in 
a whirl. I had done it... I had fucked my woman...

Incredible!

She rolled over me and covered my face with kisses.

"Oh, Myron," she murmured, "darling, I knew you could do 
it!"

Yes, I had become a man at last.



**

CHAPTER 11: Honeymoon Heaven

**

I came inside her again that night. This wasn't the kind 
of sex you read about in Penthouse magazine; I lost my 
erection at first, and it took five minutes of licking 
Tina's asshole before it twitched back to life. And, just 
as before, I barely had time to slip it inside her before 
I climaxed... But it was sex nonetheless, and I was 
glowing with pride. 

Nothing could go wrong now, and it was time to make my 
ultimate move. 

"Tina?"

"Mm hm?"

I looked her in the eyes, just like they do in the 
movies. This is serious, my expression said. I am a man, 
and you are my woman, and this is the Moment.

"I want you to marry me."

She looked at me and smiled in a strange way - a slow, 
darkly anticipatory smile, almost more to herself, it 
seemed, than to me. I had thought she might burst into 
tears, embrace me, thank me again and again... The look 
in her glittering eyes was of animal hunger, and I 
shivered involuntarily.

"I will," she whispered.

The next morning, as soon as the courthouse was open for 
business, Tina dragged me to a justice of the peace. She 
was so impatient I had to laugh: my little Tina was so 
infatuated with me! Within thirty minutes we had our 
marriage license. We raced back home to frisk in bed like 
a couple of playful kittens. I had completely gotten over 
my sense of shame by now and rubbed my puny pecker 
against her gorgeous young body without a second thought. 
She sucked on it with real fervor, but it stayed limp, 
and after a little while I laughed ruefully.

"Darling? Let's forget about it for now."

She pulled her mouth from my dick, which was glistening 
like a shelled snail but still as limp as ever.

"Huh? But I thought... I thought that, you know, since 
yesterday..."

"Oh, Tina," I chuckled, "you don't really think I can get 
it up like that twice a day, every day, do you? I'm not 
Superman, after all!" 

She stared at me in a confused way, then smiled and 
shrugged. "Have it your way, baby." Then she looked 
speculatively at me. With a sly grin she rolled over onto 
her belly, then slowly drew her ass up into the air. My 
mouth went dry. Her fingers snaked up between her legs, 
the middle one drawing a lazy circle over and over around 
her tight little anus as she stared at me over her 
shoulder. "Or maybe my tired little man needs some of 
Tina's... special flavor?"

I was on my hands and knees behind her in a flash. And 
even though I still didn't get hard, Tina enjoyed herself 
immensely.

We went vacationing in the Bahamas for our honeymoon. It 
was a dream come true. Tina looked superb in her new 
wardrobe, which consisted of simple yet elegant little 
dresses that showed off every sweet curve on her sexy 
young body. Men stared at her wherever we went, but it 
never bothered me. In fact, I had gotten pretty proud of 
myself. On our third night at the Royal Palm Hotel I 
managed to stay hard inside of her, thrusting in and out 
for twenty delirious seconds before spurting my juice. I 
was a Real Man now, there was no doubt about it, and I 
decided to start acting like one. Why not? I had earned 
it!

"Tina? Could I get you to scratch my back? A little 
lower... Aaaah!"

"Tina? Fetch me that newspaper over there, would you?"

"Tina, call room service."

"Get me my glasses."

"Pour me another Diet Pepsi."

She did whatever I asked without complaint. And in the 
afternoons she would go down to the beach, her mouth-
watering tits and ass barely concealed beneath her skimpy 
bikini. There were always at least a few hunky young guys 
sunning themselves there; with their bodybuilder 
physiques and well-stuffed Speedos, they were carbon 
copies of the cruel jocks who had driven me to the edge 
of madness back in high school. These proud studs would 
gape at my beautiful wife without shame, cast a few 
amused looks in my direction, nudge one another and 
chuckle, but I just smiled. She's mine, you big muscle-
bound jerks! Stare all you want... I'm the one who fucks 
her! Me, Myron Lipshitz! 

And then, on our last night - what should have been the 
best of all our sun-soaked days of pleasure - things went 
wrong.

We were relaxing in our suite, watching TV, when she 
started lightly stroking my dick. I hadn't actually 
penetrated her in a few days by now, and I knew she might 
enjoy a little old-fashioned horseplay, but my penis 
wasn't responding. By this time I had fully accepted my 
libido as it was, and I watched without shame as she 
first fondled, then bent over to begin sucking, my 
lifeless little inch-long wiener. 

After a few seconds I pushed her head off.

"Tina," I said, wiping the spittle from my dick, "forget 
it. Just relax and enjoy the TV show."

She heaved a sigh of disappointment and flopped back into 
the pillows, her arms crossed under her upright titties, 
her nipples two fat cones of unsatisfied desire. Then she 
gave me a bright, cheerful smile.

"Well, darling, you're right. You're not Superman. And 
you did fuck me - oh, let's see, two days ago, right?"

"Uh... right," I answered cautiously.

"I guess it would take a little something extra to make 
you hard after all that wild sex, wouldn't it!" She 
smiled at me again, but there was something slightly off 
about it. It wasn't the sweet, stupid, innocent smile I 
had come to know and love. No, this smile was sweet on 
the surface, but underneath was something I didn't like 
at all. Something dark... something wicked. 

She got up and crawled in front of me, blocking my view 
of the TV. 

"No, Myron needs to taste a little ass before he can get 
it up, doesn't he?" Tina turned around and stuck her ass 
in the air, offering me a close-up view of her gorgeous 
buttocks with the little pink asterisk buried between 
them. Incredibly, beneath my slowly increasing sense of 
outrage at her insolent tone of voice, my dick twitched. 
"You like the taste of my shit soooo much, you'd rather 
stick your tongue up my ass than your dick!" 

"What... But... But you like it!" There was a defensive, 
pleading tone to my voice that didn't match the anger I 
was feeling, and I hated myself for it. I was shocked, 
and hurt, and my face showed it. 

But she didn't seem to care. And something strange was 
happening. Under my anger, deep down inside, a part of me 
was responding to her nasty little taunts. I felt a 
psychic shiver run through me as I recognized it: Myron 
"Shitlips" Lipshitz was enjoying this. 

Enjoying the humiliation.

No...

No!

My penis was sticking straight out now, and with a grunt 
of rage I slapped her ass, hard. She just laughed and 
shook it a little more.

"Come on, Myron," she sang cheerfully, "sniff it! Lick it 
like a good little doggie!"

"You... you bitch!" I yelled, getting to my knees. I 
forced her down; she didn't even try to resist - she was 
giggling too hard. I positioned myself behind her, prick 
at the ready, but this time I wasn't aiming for her 
pussy. "I'll teach you to talk to me like that... You 
want me to fuck you? Huh? Huh?" 

I was sweating profusely now, lust and anger and 
desperation all combining to produce the biggest, hardest 
erection I had ever had. Gripping it firmly between thumb 
and forefinger I placed it against the hard little knot 
of her anus. Oh, yes, I was going to fuck her, all right. 
I was going to make it hurt. 

"Get ready, 'cause here it comes... I'm gonna fuck... 
your... ASS!!"

And with that I shoved my hips forward.

Well, I don't know if she was clenching her sphincter or 
something, but I didn't wind up fucking her ass at all. 
No, instead my penis just kind of bent sideways a little.

It hurt.

"Come on, come on," I muttered, placing it against her 
anus again as she shook with laughter under me. This time 
I was more careful, holding it tight to keep it from 
getting hurt and pushing more slowly, but her asshole was 
as tight as a fist. She looked up at me through her 
disheveled blonde hair, her green eyes dancing merrily as 
I slowly but surely lost my erection. 

"Oooh, Myron," she said in her sexiest voice, "fuck me 
harder, you big stud!" Then she broke down and started 
giggling again.

That did it. My penis wilted, shrinking in shame until it 
was almost completely hidden in my bush. I gave it a 
half-hearted tug, but I knew it was no use. 

"Very funny," I said in a tight little voice. For some 
reason this set her off again. Trembling with impotent 
fury I pulled on my clothes.

"Very... fucking... funny!" 

I was practically blind with rage as I stomped toward the 
door. Unfortunately I didn't see the slippery little 
bottle of suntan lotion on the carpet, and my right foot 
flew out from under me, so that I landed with a thud on 
my ass. Fresh peals of laughter rang in my ears as I 
picked myself up and stormed out the door.

"Bitch!!"



**

CHAPTER 12: Domestic Bliss

**

Well, this was the beginning of some bad times for me. 
She apologized for her behavior on the last night of our 
honeymoon, and seemed to mean it. I forgave her, too; 
what else was I supposed to do? But inside I was still 
hurting from the humiliation; and somehow, that one 
evening had altered our beautiful relationship. Tina 
seemed to begin enjoying any sign of discomfort or 
incompetence on my part, began smirking every time I 
stumbled, every time I dropped something or bumped my 
head. She took a genuine pleasure in me making an ass of 
myself! And I was so anxious in her presence now that I 
gave her ample opportunity to laugh at me: I was like a 
one-man slapstick routine, tripping over my own two feet 
at every turn. She really seemed to enjoy it.

And sex? Well, sex was worse than ever. 

We developed a routine that left me feeling less and less 
like a man every night. I would crawl into bed after 
spending the day sulking around the house, and Tina, 
oozing a sweetly false blend of sympathy and tenderness, 
would encourage me to try penetrating her again. 

"Please, darling. I just know you can get hard if you 
give yourself a chance. Here..." And she'd bend over in 
front of me, offering me a good look at that delectable, 
eighteen-year-old asshole of hers. "Go ahead. I like it, 
really! Lick it as long as you need to, darling, just 
take your time..."

Oh, I licked it, all right. I ate more ass than ever, 
feeling somehow that if she was being so reasonable (even 
superficially) then I should be, too. But even with my 
tongue wiggling deep in her poop chute, my dick only 
spasmed once or twice, twitching like a dying minnow. And 
as she fondled and sucked me in return, I had the feeling 
she knew that I would be left as limp as ever. I tried 
hard not to notice the secret little smile on her face 
when she finally gave up, night after night.

"Maybe next time, darling."

It was pure torture.

Well, I hadn't written to the fellows at Tiny Penis Wives 
in a long time, and when they finally heard from me I got 
a storm of advice. Gruntboy66 was amazed at my stupidity 
for having married her in the first place. 

"Did you forget that your tiny penis wife was supposed to 
be `desperate,' you moron?" he thundered on the 
listserve. "Now that you're married she's not desperate 
any more. In fact, she could wind up owning half of what 
you've got! And it sounds like the bitch knows it. Some 
women seem to really enjoy taking a man for all he's got 
and destroying his ego in the process... You've got to 
get the upper hand again, Disco_slave. Take some 
assertiveness classes. Lift weights. Anything - fast!"

And I did. I took two different course by mail - "How To 
Be A More Effective Person" and "The Path To Real Manhood 
In Twelve Easy Steps." From the second course I learned 
the ancient technique of manifesting one's own reality, 
which Rick Ryder (who developed the course) said could 
alter one's actual physical body. So I spent hours 
standing in front of a mirror nude, holding my penis in 
my hand, and repeating to myself over and over: "I am a 
strong, sexy stud. My cock is a big cock. My balls are 
big balls..." 

I also began changing my attitude. I had been far too 
sweet and loving with little Miss Anderssen; it was time 
to show her a different side. And though it wasn't easy, 
I began to boss her around. 

"Hey, Tina! Get me Archie Comics #214. And a glass of 
lemonade. Now."

Of course she was difficult to find sometimes; it was a 
big house. But when I did manage to catch her and issue 
an order, she did whatever I asked. It was the response 
which bothered me. There was no apparent positive or 
negative reaction from her, and her indifference began to 
drive me to greater extremes. To any outside observer, 
with no idea of the nightly psychic sex-torment she was 
putting me through, I must have looked like a total pig.



**

CHAPTER 13: Jesse the Busboy

**

Things came to a head at Le Bernardin one evening. I was 
snapping at her to hurry up and finish her crab a la 
russe when the busboy accidentally knocked my cream of 
oyster soup onto my lap. I let out a thin shriek of 
disgust as the thick sticky mess spread across my 
expensive slacks, then turned to look at the idiot who 
was responsible.

The busboy was just a kid, really - he couldn't have been 
more than seventeen. He had an all-American boy's face: 
flaxen hair, buzzed on the sides but long on top; a 
little snub nose, slightly sunburned; white cheeks, each 
with a patch of color under a nearly translucent blonde 
peach fuzz; unusually pale blue eyes, and rather 
insubstantial blond eyebrows. His soft, full lips had the 
natural rich redness that comes with a very fair 
complexion. My gaze lingered on those lips a little 
longer. The upper lip had one of those tender-looking 
"nipples" on it, accentuating its attractive curve. A 
beautiful face, I had to admit, the face of someone not a 
child, but not yet a man. 

But I couldn't let him get away without a thorough 
chewing out for Tina's benefit. No matter how young he 
was. 

"What," I asked icily, "is your name?"

He looked through me, somehow, without looking perturbed 
in the least. 

"Jesse."

"Uh huh. Well, Jesse, do you think that instead of 
standing there, you could... GET ME A WET TOWEL TO WIPE 
MYSELF OFF?!"

Tina lowered her head, hand over her brow, as though 
embarrassed. Good, I thought to myself. The waiter ran to 
our table, frantic to set things right. A real 
bootlicker: I liked that about him. He snapped at Jesse 
to hurry and get the towel Monsieur Lipshitz had asked 
for, and as Jesse nodded coolly and wandered off, he 
fussed and mopped. 

"A clumsy fool," he muttered.

"Right," I said, leaning back. 

"He's too young to be working here... The little good-
for-nothing..."

Jesse came back with a small hand towel and handed it to 
me with the same indifference I had seen in Tina earlier.

This really sent me over the top.

"What is this?!" I yelled. "A dishrag? I need a towel, 
you moron! These pants cost me three hundred bucks!" 

By now several more waiters had joined the fray. I was 
glowing inside with pride: this was the way to take 
command of a situation! Poor young Jesse was getting 
snapped at from all sides by a pack of irate French 
waiters. I had to admire his calmness in the face of all 
this hysteria, particularly as Mr. Bernardin himself 
waddled over to investigate.

"What's the matter, M'sieur Lipshitz?"

"Well," I said smugly, "it seems that some of your staff 
are nothing more than bumbling nitwits. That kid just 
ruined a pair of three hundred dollar pants."

"Oh! Jesse," he growled, "that's the last straw. Pack 
your things and get out!"

Then I caught Tina's eye.

She was looking daggers at me. Well, good, I thought to 
myself. The bitch is taking notice.

"Maybe next time," I called out to the kid as he 
sauntered off, "you'll be a little more carefff-- 
AANGGGHHH!!"

I lurched over and gripped my aching shin. 

Tina had just kicked it. 

Hard. 

I stared at her in disbelief as a startled hush settled 
on our previously bustling little scene. Then I allowed a 
rich, satisfied smile to spread across my face. I had 
finally pushed her to show some real emotion; now that 
she was exposed, it was time to strike once and for all. 
I got up, shoving the waiters out of my way, and grabbed 
her arm, hard. 

"Come outside," I hissed. 

"Mm hm."

Outside I shoved her against the wall. This was going to 
be good. 

"Listen, bitch," I spat, "it is NOT YOUR PLACE-"

And then she slapped me.

I stopped short, my mind a blank, and lifted a trembling 
hand to my stinging cheek. That wasn't supposed to 
happen... Rick Ryder hadn't covered this in the "Path To 
Manhood..." 

She glared at me with a fury so cold, so righteous, so 
inexpressibly total, that I could only drop my eyes.

"Look at me, Myron."

With an involuntary whimper, I looked back up. Her 
gorgeous young face was pale with anger, radiating an 
Amazon-like power I would never have credited her with. 

"B-but..."

"Shut up. Just shut up and listen." I did as she said, my 
mind still reeling from the slap she had given me. 
"You've been acting like a pig recently, Myron. A pig, do 
you understand?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Say it!"

"A... p-p-pig?"

"Good. Now. You just cost someone his job. You and I may 
have our little problems, Myron, though honestly I've 
been bending over backward to try and help us through 
them. But your difficulties in bed have nothing to do 
with some sweet kid trying to hold onto his job."

I was speechless, opening and shutting my mouth like a 
fish out of water. What could I say?

She was right.

"Well? Say something!"

"I... I'm s-s-sah--"

"Good. Now wait here. Don't move."

And with that she turned and stalked back into the 
restaurant. 

I watched her go through the big glass doors, mesmerized 
by the sight of her calves and ass as she strutted 
purposefully into the crowded dining room. What was she 
up to? And more importantly... What was I up to?! Had I 
been making a mistake? Had she really been trying to 
help? It's possible, I thought to myself. I waited 
miserably for a few minutes, shifting uncomfortably in my 
wet pants, rubbing my still-smarting cheek and trying to 
ignore the throbbing in my shin. My God, maybe this 
assertiveness thing had been a terrible error in 
judgment! Maybe Gruntboy66 and all the others were just a 
bunch of pathetic losers, compensating for their lack of 
endowment with a pushy attitude toward their women... 
Yes. Yes, it was true!

Holy shit. What a swine I had been... How could I make it 
up to her?

Suddenly the doors swung open and she was standing there 
again, a little out of breath... my angel... my loving, 
caring wife...

And with her was Jesse, the busboy. 

He was bigger than I had first thought, his chest 
straining at the starched white shirt and his thighs and 
calves filling out his black pants admirably. He looked 
like a natural athlete to me. But his angelic young face 
showed none of the condescension I associated with such 
types; indeed, his expression was perfectly bland, as 
though he had no idea what this was all about, and didn't 
really care.

Tina certainly did, though.

"Myron, meet Jesse Youngblood. Jesse, meet my husband, 
Myron Lipshitz."

At my name he smiled, ever so slightly, and I bristled, 
just a bit. But one withering look from Tina was all it 
took: I accepted his hand, wincing a little as he out-
firmed my grip. 

"Pleased to meet you," he said.

"...likewise..."

I wasn't sure what to do next, so I looked to Tina for 
help.

"Myron and I were just talking about what happened 
inside," she continued, "and he has something he'd like 
to say to you."

I gave her a pleading look, but she was made of steel and 
wouldn't give me an inch. Instead she folded her arms 
under her firm young tits and fixed me with a cool green 
stare that said, Do it. I looked back at Jesse. 

The crotch of my pants was cold and clammy where the 
cream of oyster soup had begun to dry, and my weiner 
chafed a little against the sticky patch, so that I had 
to shift uncomfortably. Damn it, it wasn't fair... was 
it? But after all, I had just cost another human being 
his livelihood. Jesse simply waited, as if he had nothing 
better in the world to do. I risked one last look at 
Tina. She was growing angrier by the second, and once 
again I had to admit to myself: Myron, you've made a real 
asshole of yourself tonight. 

I took a deep breath and looked the kid in the eyes. 

"J-j-jesse, I... I'm s-s-s... sah-hahhh... s-s-s..." 

That imperceptible shadow of a grin on his flawless young 
face widened a little, and I dropped my gaze, thrown by 
the hint of amusement there, and the cocksure power 
behind his pale blue stare.

"...I'm sorry."

I looked hopefully at Tina. There! Better? She smiled 
warmly at the busboy and actually put her hand on his 
bicep, squeezing it fondly.

"And we'd very much like it if you came over tomorrow for 
lunch. We've got a beautiful pool."

Once again I was left with my mouth opening and closing 
like an idiot. Whah...? Jesse grinned broadly at her.

"Well, sure! That sounds awesome!"

She gave him the address while I stood gaping at the two 
of them. Lunch?! Pool?! There was a roaring in my ears as 
I tried to take in what I had just heard.

"Uh... I'm going inside to get my shit packed," he said. 
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Tina."

"Mm hm..."

We both watched him swagger into the restaurant, looking 
for all the world like a welterweight who'd just won the 
fight of the century, his broad shoulders and round ass 
straining against the cloth as he went. I turned back to 
Tina, speechless. She watched Jesse for a moment more, 
then gave me a bright little smile.

"What a nice young man!"

"B-b-but..."

But she was already hailing a taxi for us, ignoring me 
completely, with a radiant glow in her cheeks that I'd 
never seen before.

It spelled trouble.

I kept quiet all the way home, hesitant to bring up my 
discomfort with this new turn of events. Our home had 
always been a very private kind of retreat, a place where 
we could be absolutely alone together. Now, for the first 
time, a guest was coming -- and not just any guest, but a 
total stranger... and not just any stranger, but Mr. 
Jesse "Hot Stud" Youngblood, whom my wife had just made 
me abase myself in front of. I wanted so badly to argue 
against this. But Tina was showing me a brand new side of 
herself, a side I had never known existed. I glanced at 
her sidelong and was struck again by the confidence and 
power radiating from her.

Back in the bedroom I tried one last time to salvage the 
sanctity of my home.

I had just finished worshipping my wife's sweet shithole. 
Tina had urged me onto my back and straddled my face with 
her rear end, grinding her ass down on my mouth with 
vigor, and I was gasping for breath by the time she came, 
her anus muscles spasming on my tongue. My dick, of 
course, remained in a practically catatonic state the 
whole time Tina was force-feeding me with her delectable 
derriere. I pinched and squeezed halfheartedly, but by 
this time it was more out of habit than any real desire 
to get hard. She didn't even bother trying to bring it to 
life after dismounting from my face. 

I kept my mouth shut for a minute or so to let her relax. 
Timing was everything. She had just finished smearing her 
hole across my face as if it were a piece of toilet 
paper; surely she was in a good mood now... Her body was 
stretched out languidly across the sheets, a thin sheen 
of sweat covering her spectacular torso and legs. I 
admired it helplessly from my position at the foot of the 
bed. If I played my cards right, I could keep that 
invading barbarian of a busboy out of my home and 
eventually, perhaps, win back my rightful place in Tina's 
affections. 

It was time to make my move. Mask my intentions with 
tender, sensitive suggestions about having the pool 
drained, maybe.

"Tina?"

"Mm."

I crawled up to lie alongside her. With trembling fingers 
I began stroking her shoulder. She didn't move. I put my 
lips next to her ear and lowered my voice to a whisper.

"Um... darling, about... about J-j-j--"

"Brush your teeth," she murmured.

I was a little taken aback.

"B-b-b... brush--?"

"Your breath smells like shit, Myron. Brush your teeth."

My face burned with shame. I stroked her shoulder for a 
few more seconds, then crawled quietly out of bed and 
slunk into the bathroom. 

No, now was not the time.



**

CHAPTER 14: Poolside Frolicking

**

I spent the next morning dancing nervously around Tina 
wherever she went, trying to help her however I could, 
until she snapped at me to get out of her way. After that 
I lurked miserably in her general vicinity, alternating 
tortured looks at the clock with stricken stares at my 
young wife. She had on a beige corset-style blouse that 
pushed her firm little titties up, squeezing them 
together at the deep neckline in two tantalizing twin 
mounds, and a short denim skirt that came perilously 
close to exposing her lace panties when she bent over to 
retrieve the cookie tray from underneath the oven.

She was making a pitcher of pina coladas when the 
doorbell rang. I was already on edge, and I jumped and 
gave an involuntary squeak at the first ring. Tina shot 
me an amused glance.

"Nervous?"

My mouth was dry. I could only nod. She turned back to 
the blender and shook the rest of the coconut milk into 
it.

"Get over it. Answer the door."

I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I walked down 
the main hallway to the front door. My eyes were sunken 
with exhaustion from the sleepless night before, and I 
had an angry new pimple on the tip of my nose.

Great. Just great.

In a fever of nervous tension I began compulsively 
rehearsing my greeting. The whole situation felt like it 
was swiftly teetering out of control; the slightest 
misstep could mean disaster. Every little nuance, every 
gesture needed to counter it perfectly. "Hi, Jesse," I 
murmured. Was that too relaxed sounding? "Good 
afternoon." No, It was lunchtime. Damn it, what did you 
say to someone when it was twelve o'clock sharp? "Hi, 
Jesse." Yes, that would have to do. Now, if only I could 
keep the tremor out of my voice...

I got to the door, steeled myself, took a deep breath, 
and opened it.

Jesse was wearing one of those tight white tank tops; it 
clung to his deep chest like a lovestruck girlfriend, 
leaving little of his anatomy to the imagination. His 
pecs swept out and down from under his collarbones to 
fold in neatly above his solar plexus, and the nipples 
made obscenely plump little cones under the fabric, like 
a girl's. It was several seconds before I could tear my 
eyes from them, and then my gaze was drawn down as if by 
some unseen magnetic force to his pants. 

Not good.

He had on jeans. Regular jeans, Levi's, a little scuffed. 
Not as tight as the polyester slacks I was wearing; just 
tight enough to put his fucking manhood on proud and 
shameless display, like it was a Ripley's Believe It Or 
Not! item. The kid's cock had to be six inches long, and 
it wasn't even hard, unless 32-year-old balding guys 
turned him on. It made a bulge thicker than a Polish 
kielbasa across the front of his right thigh. There was 
another bulge under it, which buoyed his massive schlong 
up to even greater prominence than it would have had 
otherwise: his nut sac. The thing looked to be as big as 
two plums in a plastic bag... 

It occurred to me that my mouth was hanging open in dumb 
shock, like some microcephalic idiot. I shut it and 
forced myself to look up. He was looking at me with the 
same mildly amused expression of the night before.

I felt something like a wave of vertigo for a second and 
leaned against the doorway for support. Get a hold of 
yourself, Myron, for Christ's sake! Don't just stand 
there staring at this teenaged punk's crotch; say hello!

I opened my mouth. Out came a strange sound: something 
between a toad's croak and a fledgling sparrow's peep. He 
chuckled as I rubbed my throat. Come on, you stupid, 
stuttering piece of shit! I smiled crookedly back at him 
and tried again.

"Hi, J-j-j--"

"Hi, Mr. Lipshitz." He walked in, and I scuttled out of 
his way. By the time I had recovered myself, he was 
halfway down the hall. I trotted after him, wringing my 
hands. He was carrying a six pack in one hand and a 
leather backpack slung loosely over one shoulder. The 
backpack, of course, would be for his towel and swimsuit. 
I couldn't let myself think about it. 

I wouldn't think about it.

He walked with an easy, careless swagger in his hips to 
the stairwell, glanced right, then turned left, heading 
straight toward the kitchen. 

I had caught up to him by this time and made several 
efforts to dart in front of him, but his body was too 
broad to slide past. Tina was just pouring the pina 
coladas when we entered. She looked up and gave him a 
smile like sunshine.

"Jesse!"

He dropped the backpack and the beers into my arms as she 
hurried to him. I walked unsteadily to the refrigerator 
and busied myself putting the beers in to cool.

I didn't want to see it. Didn't want to see her put her 
arms around him...

..holding him...

..pressing her ripe young body against his.

By the time I turned around they had parted again, but 
the glow in their faces was painful enough. 

"Well!" she sang. "Let's get changed and go for a swim, 
shall we?"

"What," I asked, laughing, "already?!" It came out 
sounding a little too loud, a little too harsh, and they 
both looked at me strangely. I laughed again, trying for 
a careless, jocular attitude, but the laugh was tinged 
with hysteria. 

Tina looked puzzled and annoyed. 

"Why not?" she said.

"Yeah," said Jesse. He leaned against the kitchen counter 
next to her, his fabulously unlikely crotch on proud 
display. "I don't know about you, Mr. Lipshitz, but I'm 
hot."

I gritted my teeth and attempted a small smile.

"Mmm. You LOOK hot," Tina said. She actually wiped her 
fingertips across his forehead -- quick and casual, but 
the air was instantly charged with sexual electricity. 
Then she turned to me, fidgeting eagerly, her sweet tits 
jiggling in her blouse. "Doesn't he, Myron? I'm hot, 
too."

She was too stupid to knowingly make a double entendre. 
They both were. Still, it was almost too much. My insides 
were curdling with jealousy and downright hatred for both 
of them. The smile on my face felt more rigid, more false 
with each second that passed.

"Well," I sneered, "if YOU'RE hot, and HE's hot, then by 
all means, let's go swimming."

He went into the guest bedroom upstairs to change. I 
followed Tina into the master bedroom. Once the door was 
closed I grabbed her by the arm. She frowned, then glared 
at me and jerked out of my grasp. I was panting heavily 
by now.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Myron?!"

I actually grinned at her.

"What the fuck is wrong with ME? You think I'm STUPID? 
You think I don't know what's going ON?" My face felt hot 
and swollen. I wasn't shouting, but the corners of my 
mouth were damp with spit. "I know what's going on, Tina! 
You and J-j-j-j... J-j-j--"

Then she did something totally unexpected.

She fastened her lips onto mine. Her hands reached up, 
gripped my ears, and pulled my mouth against hers with an 
almost painful passion. 

I was so stunned I didn't even respond. It lasted perhaps 
five seconds. Not long. But long enough to leave me 
speechless, gaping stupidly at her. She stared back at 
me, her green gold-flecked eyes boring into mine with 
hypnotic intensity. Then she gave me a smile -- a faint, 
cryptic smile. 

"Everything's going to be all right, Myron."

I watched her as she stripped and pulled on her white 
bikini, the one with the thong bottom. Then she rummaged 
in my things until she found my own swimming trunks, the 
baggy red ones. I was as docile as a child while she 
undid my shoes and pulled my pants and shirt off. In a 
slack-lipped stupor I stared dumbly at the knuckle-sized 
dickhead hiding between my legs as Tina worked the trunks 
up and over my skinny hips.

Then she took my hand and led me back down to the 
kitchen, where we picked up our drinks, and then to the 
pool.

Jesse was there already, his pina colada in one hand, 
rubbing sunscreen on himself with the other, and the 
sight of him broke my happy little trance into a million 
pieces, and then incinerated them just to be sure. I was 
wide awake in a second. 

This kid was absolutely fucking obscene. 

Yes, there was his torso. I knew it would look good, and 
it did look good: his smooth, flawless, almost 
pornographic chest, the ripe pink nipples, his abdomen 
muscular but all of it covered with the faintest abiding 
layer of adolescent fat... 

But that wasn't the issue. It was an issue, to be sure, 
but it wasn't THE issue.

He had on a blue Speedo, only the thing had to have been 
customized by Speedo, Inc., to hold his massive balls and 
penis. Actually it didn't quite manage to hold everything 
in. There was a brief interlude of naked space at either 
side of his crotch where the swelling of his genitals was 
just too much for the stretchy fabric to do its God-
damned job. And stretching a little past the edges of 
either gap was a smooth, pale burgeoning of seventeen-
year-old flesh.

It wasn't his cock. No, that monstrous slab of cockmeat, 
thick as a baby's arm, was outlined clearly enough. I 
could see it filling the front of his suit; in fact, I 
could even see that our cute little busboy friend was 
uncircumcised. The naked flesh I was seeing was his 
fucking scrotum, bulging out the sides of his inadequate 
suit like an overloaded sperm bank.

It took only an instant to take all this in. But in that 
instant the spell Tina had cast on me with her bedroom 
kiss was shattered. I sank, utterly exhausted and 
demoralized, into a chair and stared dully at this young, 
golden, hypersexed sun-god. Tina, too, was staring.

And he was staring at her.

Slowly I raised my eyes to look at my wife. My young, 
stupid, desperate wife. Now that another man (well, a 
kid) was looking at her, I saw her in a fresh new light -
- the same light I had seen her in the first time we met. 
Her skin positively glowed, like pale sweet cream butter. 
There was a smell, too; could he possibly smell it? I 
could: a subtle warm floral smell that said "I am as 
perfect now as I will ever be." 

And yet that fresh virginal innocence was tempered with 
something knowledgeable... Something smilingly 
degenerate... Something wicked. 

Part of it was her body. Her ass had smothered my face 
several hundred times now, and yet its high, eager curves 
were as mysteriously bewitching as ever, and the thong 
bikini bottom left absolutely nothing to the imagination. 
And her tits! The cups of the bikini top clung tightly to 
her peach-sweet breasts, exposing every succulent curve. 

Only now I noticed something about them I hadn't noticed 
a minute before: her nipples were popping out like 
freshly baked tollhouse cookies. Yes, and they were 
swelling even more as I watched. She was staring, with 
her moist plump lips parted, at Mister Seventeen-Year-Old 
Horsecock over there, and it was having quite an effect 
on her.

The horny little bitch. 

She patted me absentmindedly on the top of my head and 
walked over to him, her ass twitching back and forth like 
a cat in its first heat.

I watched as my wife rubbed lotion onto his knotted back 
and shoulders, caressing them until they glistened in the 
summer sun. He drank his pina colada in a couple of man-
sized swallows while she slid her hands up and down his 
smooth flanks.

Then he set down his glass and turned around, and I 
watched as he worked two good palmfuls of the greasy, 
fruity-smelling stuff into my wife's back in return.

Oh, yes. I watched. I sat there, baking in the sun, and 
watched them put their hands on each other. And did she 
offer any sunscreen to me? Did she even have a thought 
for me, Myron Lipshitz, her fucking husband, reddening up 
like a boiled lobster out there?

Well... Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. But I was in 
one of those weird moods (I'm sure you know what I mean) 
when you're so beat-up inside that you practically beg 
for more reasons to feel miserable. She came over and 
kneeled next to me with the bottle, but I couldn't even 
look at her. I sat there with my weak little chin tucked 
down into my neck and mumbled something incoherent, so 
she shrugged, pecked me on the cheek, and walked back to 
him.

They swam for only ten or fifteen minutes, but it seemed 
like hours. Jesse executed a few perfect dives from the 
board. I could hear them talking and laughing but 
couldn't make out the words, which of course left my mind 
free to invent all sorts of things: Gosh, Jesse, look at 
him just sitting there staring at us! ...Yeah, Tina -- 
what is he, some kind of retard? 

At one point she swam to him and put her hands on his 
shoulders. I gripped the arms of my chair until my 
fingers hurt, then began involuntarily to rise to my 
feet... I don't know what I would have done to stop them 
from stripping and fucking right there in the water in 
front of me; I knew he could snap me in two like a dry 
stick if he felt like it. 

But as it turned out he was cupping his hands together 
for her to place a dainty foot in. Then he heaved upwards 
and she jumped at the same time, so that her body arced a 
full six feet above the water before slicing back under 
in a perfect backwards dive. 

Oh, yes, I watched it all.

After a few more centuries of lively frolicking, they 
climbed out.

I shambled after them, as if drugged, to the patio, where 
we ate pastrami sandwiches. Well, they did. I managed a 
bite of mine; after that I watched in a stupor as Jesse 
plowed through three of them.

Then Tina snapped me out of it. Yes, lovely little Tina. 
I could certainly depend on sweet little Tina to shatter 
my complacency.

"Well, guys," she said, "let's talk about last night."

Something tightened inside my chest and I squirmed in my 
seat. Did she have to do this? Did she have to rub it in 
my face like this? Please, God, I prayed, let the phone 
ring, let the house catch on fire. I want this punk out. 
Gone. Jesse looked perfectly comfortable, of course, 
sprawled on the chair, arms and legs akimbo. That's 
right, asshole. Take it easy. Eat my food. Swim in my 
pool. 

And stare at my wife a little more, while you're at it.

"Jesse," she asked tenderly, "how do you get by? Do you 
live with your folks?"

"Nah," he said, popping the tab off a can of beer. "I 
been livin' on my own since I was fourteen."

"Fourteen?"

"Uh huh." He was rubbing the can back and forth across 
his chest, leaving a trail of moisture streaked across 
the ripe swell of flesh. Fourteen, huh? Boo fucking hoo. 
His parents probably kicked him out for being a lazy 
good-for-nothing.

"Paying rent? Bills?"

"Sure. Me and my buddies, you know, we share a little 
apartment. It's fuckin' expensive in this town, though, 
no matter how many folks you squeeze in."

Awww. Poor little baby.

"Hm." She gazed at him for a few seconds, then turned to 
me. "Did you hear that, Myron?"

"I'm sitting right here, darling. Of course I heard it."

"You've never had to work a day in your life, have you? 
Never had to worry about bills. Never had to worry about 
making the rent."

"Now, Tina, I--"

"Don't interrupt me," she said coldly. "And don't try to 
deny it. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. 
You have no idea what it's like to work for a living. 
Struggling to make ends meet. To have to choose between 
feeding yourself or having electricity. To worry about 
getting evicted because you were late getting the 
landlord's check in the mail. Well, it's not easy. In 
fact it sucks." 

She turned back to Jesse, who was now lazily caressing 
his belly with the can.

"And Jesse. Poor thing. I hope you've recovered fully 
from Myron's... little tantrum?"

Bitch!

"Sure," he said. "The place sucked anyway. Bunch of fags. 
But, uh, thanks for asking, Mrs. Lipshitz."

An odd look crossed her face, the expression of someone 
who's just realized they tracked dogshit across the 
living room carpet; then she recovered her poise and 
smiled sweetly at him. 

"Jesse," she said with a laugh, "you can call me Tina."

"Okay."

"I mean... I'm not much older than you are. How old are 
you, anyway?"

"Seventeen."

"Mmmm. I'm eighteen."

"No shit?" He shook his head, grinning. "You act older. I 
thought you were in your mid-twenties or something, but 
still real tight, you know? That's what I thought when I 
first saw you at the table there. 'Damn, this bitch is 
tight.' You know?" 

My jaw dropped. This smirking, strutting little fuck had 
just referred to my wife - my WIFE! - as a bitch. I 
turned to Tina with a look of outrage, but she looked far 
from insulted. In fact, she was blushing a little. And 
the comment about her being "tight." What the fuck was 
THAT supposed to mean?!

"T-t-tight...?"

"Yeah, dude." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the 
beer against his neck. "Tight. You know, just... tight. 
Like, if you see a cool bike, you're like, 'Man, that 
shit is tight.' You know?" He stared at me, then burst 
out laughing. "What - did you think I was talkin' about 
her pussy?"

Once again I was floored. He... he couldn't just say 
that!

"P-p-p--"

"Eighteen, huh? How old are you, dude?"

I cleared my throat. Not that it was any of this little 
punk's business, but I didn't want to risk upsetting Tina 
again.

"Thirty-three. Listen, young man, this language isn't--"

"Thirty-three! Whoa. So you were, like... Sixteen when 
she was born?" He shook his head in wry disbelief. "Man!"

"Fifteen," I said between clenched teeth. "I was fifteen. 
So what. Now, you've said some very inappropriate--"

"Myron," warned Tina, "don't be a grump. Now, Jesse, 
where was I going...? Oh, yes. How much money were you 
making, on average?"

"I dunno. I guess about seventy a night after the waiters 
tipped me out. So, like, two-eighty a week, since I was 
workin' four nights."

"Mm hm. Not very much for New York."

"Sure as fuck ain't, Mrs. Lip-- I mean, Tina."

"Do you do any work on the side?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Me and my buddies sell a little pot now 
and then, you know, for fun money."

Pot? Was he talking about marijuana? Jesus, the kid was a 
drug dealer! He sucked down the last of his beer, crushed 
the can in his hand, tossed it over his shoulder, and 
popped open another one. Looked like he was an alcoholic, 
too.

"And, like, if I'm really hard up? Sometimes I go down to 
the park where the fags hang out and jerk off for cash."

Even Tina was temporarily speechless. I couldn't believe 
it. This kid was a walking, talking social services case. 
Morally depraved. Criminal. Surely Tina, smitten though 
she seemed to be, could see that now. He needed to be 
kept under close surveillance, his movements tightly 
controlled, either in jail or a group home. Maybe I could 
make a few calls. 

"Yeah. Fags always seem to have a lot of money, you 
know?" He glanced at me, and I flushed. "So they'll pay 
you for all sorts of stupid shit. Just get it hard and 
stroke it and blow a load and they'll pay thirty bucks. 
Some guys let the little faggots touch their cocks, you 
know, or suck them off, but not me. Only a woman's gonna 
touch my cock."

Tina licked her lips.

"I see. And... how much can you make in a week... um... 
masturbating?"

"Well, it's not weekly, you know? I mean, it's not 
something I necessarily like doing or anything. Fuck, I 
hate those fags. I'd just as soon beat the crap out of 
them and take the money. But I got in trouble once for 
doing that; I busted this one queer's nose and I spent, 
like, a month in juvenile. And juvenile sucks shit. It's 
just like prison for big boys, you know? Guys raping 
other guys or knifin' each other. Course, I can protect 
myself and all."

"I'm sure," murmured Tina.

"But still. So these days I keep my hands to myself, as 
it were." He laughed at his own joke. "And it's pretty 
rare. But, like, in a night? Fuck, I can make a hundred 
and fifty bucks."

A hundred and fifty bucks? There was a pregnant silence 
as Jesse sucked at his beer again. That meant... 

Five times. This kid could jerk off five times in a 
night.

Fucking Christ.

"And do you think you'll be... masturbating... to help 
you get through this financial crisis?"

"Sure."

"All right," said Tina shakily. "So. What I'm getting at 
is this. Myron, we need to pay him some kind of 
recompense." 

"Huh?!"

"Well, of course we do. You don't want this poor boy to 
have to sell drugs and debase himself with all those 
nasty faggots, do you?"

"No, but--"

"All right then. Two eighty a week from Le Bernardin... 
plus, um, jack-off money -- one hundred and fifty dollars 
a night, seven nights a week, comes to--"

"Now, darling," I protested. 

Jesse lifted his eyebrows.

"What, you think I can't do the park thing seven nights a 
week?"

I laughed harshly.

"Frankly, young man, I don't--"

"Fuck yeah, I can! You don't believe me?" He gave me a 
stupidly pugnacious, aggressive look. But I'd had enough 
of this foul-mouthed talk. Enough! Enough about his cock, 
and how many times he could cum in a night! And enough 
with the language, for crying out loud! My wife was not a 
"bitch." Well, sometimes she was; but she was not 
"tight." Well... in any case this had all gone far 
enough. The kid was crazy. He needed help. 

"Look, Jesse, I--"

"You want me to prove it to you?" He sucked down the rest 
of his beer, crushed the can, tossed it, wiped his mouth 
with the back of his hand. "I'll do it right now. I'll 
pull it out and jerk off five times in a row right here!" 

The statement was so wildly improbable I couldn't believe 
he had said it; I could only gape at the big bastard in 
shock as he reared up, treating myself and my wife to an 
eye-level view of the big, heavy mound in his swimsuit. 
He actually puffed his chest out, as if he were one of 
those ridiculous animals, like a turkey tom or a peacock, 
that tries to prove its reproductive worthiness with a 
display of feathers. Tina was wide-eyed; we were both 
speechless.

And believe it or not, the crazy, drug-dealing son-of-a-
bitch started tugging on the cord of his overburdened 
Speedo. 

I gripped the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles turned 
white. Little spots danced in front of my eyes. An 
incoherent growling sound came out of my mouth. 

He saw the look on my face. He knew I was about to lose 
it.

And he laughed at me.

"Relax, dude." He sat back down, opened a third can of 
beer. "I was just joking. You think I'm gonna haul my 
cock out and start beating off in front of your wife, 
with you standing right there? You're fuckin' nuts."

My mouth twitched a couple of times; I had a sudden 
nervous tic under my eye, too, fluttering wildly. Someone 
needed to call 911 and get this sick hooligan out of my 
house. But first I was going to give this sneering, 
trash-talking punk a piece of my mind. I got to my feet.

"That's IT!" I shouted, slamming my fist onto the table. 
"This has gone far enough. Jesse, you--"

"Thirteen thirty," Tina announced triumphantly.

It was as if she had clapped her dainty, well-manicured 
hand over my mouth. Thirteen thirty? What the fuck was 
she talking about? And how dare she interrupt me?! I had 
completely lost my train of thought.

"We owe him one thousand three hundred and thirty dollars 
a week."

"Now that's--"

"You thought I was serious," laughed Jesse.

"What--?"

"Jerk off in front of you guys!" He laughed louder. 
"Totally fuckin' crazy."

"Young man--"

"Darling? Make him out a check, would you?"

"Look--"

"Now of course you could pay me for it," Jesse said. 

"For--?"

"Jerking my cock. You could pay me thirty bucks and I'd 
do it."

"Stop--"

"The checkbook is upstairs, I think, darling."

"But--"

"Special two-for-one double-dip deal. Thirty for both of 
you."

"No--"

"Plus I'll throw in a facial for Tina, there. Whoa! Just 
jokin', dude!"

"You--"

"It comes to five thousand three hundred and twenty a 
month."

"STOP!!!"

They stopped. 

Silence. Thank heavens for the silence. I was panting by 
this time, pouring sweat, completely disoriented. All I 
knew was that things had gone very, very wrong. Jesse was 
the cause. And so Jesse -- this oversexed, vulgar, 
mentally imbalanced little heathen -- was going to have 
to leave. Now.

"You. You," I croaked, pointing at Jesse. I was so 
distraught the words felt strange to my tongue, alien. 
"You go. You go. Now."

"What about my fucking money?"

"No. No money. You go!"

And with that I staggered inside. I was feeling suddenly 
sick. Very sick. I upset the pina colada pitcher in my 
unsteady haste, heard it shatter on the floor behind me, 
crashed through the main hall, up the stairs... and made 
it to the master bathroom just in time to puke my guts 
out, again and again, until my belly ached.

Afterwards I stayed there, shivering violently, resting 
my head on the toilet rim. What had they been doing to me 
out there? The non-stop remarks from both sides at once, 
so that I was kept spinning this way and that... out of 
control... unable to respond... Like that children's 
game, what the fuck was it called - monkey in the middle? 
I remembered it from grade school days: two kids with a 
ball, tossing it back and forth, back and forth over the 
head of the "monkey" who jumps up and down trying to get 
it from them...

Or like fending off a pack of wild dogs. I remembered 
suddenly a National Geographic special I'd seen about 
wild dogs of the Kalahari. How they'd surround an animal, 
nipping and barking at it from all sides. The animal 
would turn to fend off one, only to feel another dog's 
teeth sink into its heel... Until it was exhausted and 
sank clumsily to the ground...

And the dogs moved in for the kill.

My gorge rose again. I dry-heaved into the basin, then 
fainted.



**

CHAPTER 15: A New Boarder

**

It's going to sound ridiculous, but within four hours 
Jesse had moved in with us.

I know, I know. Didn't Myron Lipshitz call for silence, 
and get it? And did he not order Jesse to vacate the 
premises at once?

Well, yes. I did those things. But you married men will 
understand when I say that, with a wife in the picture, 
your authority doesn't count for much. A man's home is 
his castle, and I suppose my home was more like a castle 
than most; but this castle had a queen, and Queen Tina 
had a mind of her own.

She found me huddled in the fetal position on the 
bathroom tiles, still shivering.

"Darling? I'm not letting Jesse leave this house until 
you agree to pay him a weekly allowance."

"...no... I can't..."

"Then you leave me with no alternative." She folded her 
arms and looked down at me coldly. "He's staying here 
until he can get back on his feet."

It was a clever trap; I hadn't seen it coming. I shook my 
head, I tried to argue with her; but she ignored me and 
listed all the reasons I owed it to him - not only had I 
cost him his job, but my financial status obligated me to 
take care of those unable to fend for themselves. The 
house was too big for only two people. He could be handy 
around the place. The list went on and on.

"...he's fucking crazy," I moaned. "Drugs... jail... kid 
needs professional help. Group home or something... Tina, 
I think I'm sick..."

"Now, Myron. A sensitive kid like Jesse would languish in 
an impersonal environment like that of a group home. He 
needs tender loving care. He needs to be nursed back to 
wholeness in a stable home." 

"...oh, God... I feel like shit... Pay him, then. You 
win, okay? You win... Pay him the money --"

"No." 

I goggled at her, still shivering. 

"No, darling. You're exactly right, now that I think of 
it; he needs help. God only knows what he'd do with the 
money. The poor thing would just get himself into 
trouble."

"...please... help me up--"

"Don't." She raised her hand. "Don't you dare. Don't you 
try to guilt-trip me, Myron Lipshitz." She practically 
spat my name out, staring down at me with a look of 
barely suppressed rage. And despite my gastrointestinal 
upset I was dazzled. She was so forceful, so... so 
compelling. And, I was coming to realize, so incredibly 
fucking beautiful when she was angry. 

"You can lie there and whine about being sick all you 
want. Go ahead and be sick, Myron. In your fancy little 
bathroom, in your multi-million dollar mansion. It's 
always about Myron, isn't it?" she hissed. "It's always 
'Tina do this' and 'Tina do that.' Whining, complaining, 
like a spoiled little brat, and when you don't get your 
way you sulk or pretend to be ill. Just like a child, I 
swear to God!" 

Her green eyes were ablaze, her cheeks flushed pink with 
passion. I could only watch fearfully from my prone 
position on the floor at her feet. 

"Well, no more. You're going to start treating me with 
respect, Myron, or this relationship is over, do you 
understand? A real man knows how to compromise. How to 
give a little. Are you a real man, Myron? Huh?" She 
crouched on the floor beside me. "Don't just lie there. 
Answer me. Are you man enough to make this relationship 
work?"

All the energy left me. I let my head drop against the 
tiles with a painful clunk and stared at her shoes. Yes, 
I thought, it was true. I was a whiner. A spoiled brat.

And I found myself weeping.

I couldn't stop. I'd had no time whatsoever to process 
the lightning-quick changes that had occurred in my life 
over the last twenty-four hours, and it felt like my 
world was falling apart, and I cried and cried.

"Hush, darling. There, there. You don't need to cry. 
Mama's here."

I sobbed harder.

"Okay. Mmmm. Stop it, now."

The tears kept coming.

"That's enough, Myron!"

With an effort I fought back the convulsive sobbing. 

"T-t-tina? I just... I just can't handle all this."

"Mm."

"If he stays... Could it just be for a little while?"

I was rewarded with a smile. Good! I had won back her 
affections. The smile grew, spreading wider, and her eyes 
positively glowed. She got back to her feet, looking down 
at me and grinning like the Cheshire cat.

It was a smile of victory.



**

CHAPTER 16: Barbarian Invasion

**

I spent the rest of the day in bed. Tina would have 
brought me "some pepto bismol or ginger ale or whatever," 
she explained, but she felt that getting Jesse moved in 
as soon as possible was a priority for now. And, of 
course, I understood. He might be crazy, I told myself. 
He might be a foul-mouthed, vulgar, even dangerous 
teenager. But he needed our help. I'd been a pig, a 
shameless pig, for reading some kind of sexual interest 
into Tina's relationship with him. Thank God she'd given 
me that little talk! She was going to teach me about 
caring. About giving.

I had a lot to learn.

And, after all, the sooner our young friend got better, 
the sooner he'd be able to move back into his own 
apartment. I decided then and there that I was going to 
help him to "wholeness," as Tina had put it so 
eloquently. I would be there for him, talk to him. Hang 
out with him. Of course, that meant I'd have to get used 
to his coarse speech; that I'd have to be willing to 
overlook his overheated sexuality, and not undermine my 
ability to help him by getting into some useless jealousy 
game. Sure, he was a gorgeous young stud. And, yes, he 
had a certain vitality that I lacked. But Myron Lipshitz 
was learning about being a real man, about the power of 
compromise. And Myron Lipshitz was going to compromise in 
every way possible.

By seven o'clock I felt well enough to wobble downstairs. 
I found them in the living room, curled up on the sofa 
together. Tina looked slightly guilty when I walked in; 
perhaps she felt badly for not having given me much 
attention while I lay upstairs in bed. Oh, sweet Tina! 
She had nothing to feel bad about; I was the one who 
needed to make amends.

"Jesse," I announced, "I feel that I owe you an apology."

Tina sat up and watched me, her eyes narrowed 
suspiciously. Jesse looked dumbfounded for a second, then 
settled back in his chair, an insolent grin on his face, 
waiting. 

"I guess I've been making a real fool of myself," I 
admitted. Tina raised her eyebrows. "First with my silly 
little outburst at the restaurant last night. And then 
again, today, by the side of the pool. Well, I want you 
to know that I'm man enough to admit when... Um..." It 
seemed important to me to communicate with him on his 
level. I racked my brains for the right word. "When I've 
acted like a... a `fucking dipshit?' Is that..."

He laughed, shaking his head in amazement. 

"Sure, dude. A dipshit. Wow."

"Is that your assessment?"

"Yeah, that's my assessment. Or, like, a prissy little 
fag."

"Right," I chuckled, nodding. "Right. A prissy little 
fag. Well, I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Jesus Christ... Well, don't sweat it, Mr. 
Lipshitz. Apology accepted, and all that crap."

I swelled with pride. "Call me Myron."

His things were already in the guest room. James, the 
butler, had driven Jesse back and forth across the city a 
few times to get them and looked somewhat shaken by the 
experience. I laughed ruefully to myself. How well I knew 
what he'd gone through with this poor, fucked-up kid! 
Juanita, the cook, had prepared a feast for us at Tina's 
bidding: Cornish hen, scalloped potatoes, a salad of wild 
greens... I was unable to eat much but I watched with 
satisfaction as Jesse wolfed down his food. 

"By the way, Myron," Tina said, "I've given most of the 
staff the next three weeks off, Juanita included. I think 
it will help Jesse feel more at home here if we act as a 
family, cooking for each other, doing the dishes, making 
the beds, and so on."

"Of course, dear!"

Jesse belched and tossed down rest of his third beer. He 
and Tina had finished their food, so I volunteered to 
bring the plates to the sink. The look of satisfaction in 
my sweet Tina's eyes was reward enough, let me tell you; 
and I was treated to more of the same when I began 
washing them.

Our guest swaggered into the living room to watch TV, and 
Tina hurried over as I struggled to get the dishes clean.

"Myron, this is great," she whispered. "He was telling me 
some things about his family. What a bunch of animals! 
His father especially. Just a terribly abusive man. 
Apparently the guy never did anything around the house, 
just sat around drinking and bossing Jesse's mother 
around, and beating her and Jesse when he was mad... I 
think it's going to be an incredible healing experience 
for him to see you take on a more feminine role." 

She kissed me on the cheek.

"I'm very proud of you, darling."

I was practically floating as she walked off to join him. 

James, the last of the remaining staff, came into the 
kitchen with his suitcase to say goodbye. Actually he 
wished me luck. He looked uneasy, but I just chuckled and 
reassured him that I had everything under control.

Over the next week or so we slowly adjusted to this new 
way of life. It wasn't easy, let me tell you. In fact, 
there were times when I thought I'd go crazy. First of 
all, the kid had the manners of a Viking on a raid. He 
was constantly making inappropriate jokes about sex; he 
was cheerfully racist; and he tended to treat me with a 
familiarity bordering on contempt. 

He was also incredibly messy. It seemed like I was always 
picking up crushed beer cans, dirty socks, and plates and 
cups and bowls (he had an unbelievable appetite). And of 
course all along I was working harder than I had ever 
worked in my life. I learned how to cook, how to do the 
laundry, how to vacuum and dust and make beds and mop 
floors... Sometimes I fell to my knees, exhausted, and 
rested my head on the refrigerator to cool down a little. 
All for his sake, which he didn't seem to understand.

But then my precious Tina would give me a little smile, 
and my heart would skip a beat, and I knew I could handle 
it. Anything for Tina.

Tina... That was the hardest part, I think. Jesse was 
obviously interested in her. He stared openly at her tits 
and ass, and commented frequently about how "hot" she 
was. He was vain, too; strutting around in his Speedo or 
biking shorts or boxers like an ad for some exercise 
machine, flexing his incredible body, and, most 
offensively, spreading his legs for her to brandish his 
unbelievable bulging manhood at every opportunity. And I 
couldn't help but notice that she was looking.

"Well, of course I'm looking," she explained patiently 
one night. "I mean, darling, he's trying to get my 
attention. He wants my approval."

"But--"

"And I think he needs that approval, Myron. He's a high-
school drop-out with a criminal record. Right now, the 
only thing he's got going for him is that... that 
incredible, hard young body of his. And I think it's my 
responsibility to admire his body, if it makes him feel 
better about himself."

"But..." I took a deep breath. "But it makes me feel..."

She laughed. "Myron Lipshitz! Are you jealous?"

We talked about it for a while, and though she insisted 
that I was imagining things, that I had "serious trust 
issues," she had to acknowledge that, right or not, it 
drove me crazy. So she suggested that I take a break when 
being around Jesse brought up feelings of "inadequacy," 
as she put it. 

I didn't like it, I'll tell you that. I couldn't tell 
what was worse - watching Jesse take every opportunity to 
display his overdeveloped body for my admiring wife, or 
retreating to the bedroom, where my imagination ran wild 
with thoughts of the two of them grappling on the living 
room floor like animals. More often than not, I chose to 
take a break. It felt safer.

There were times, though, and they were coming with 
increasing frequency, when I felt a real sense of 
serenity about the two of them.

I'd be wiping off sticky puddles of stale beer from the 
poolside table, and the two of them would stroll outside, 
dressed in their skimpy swimsuits, ready for a cooling 
plunge. She'd come up to me and put her hand on my 
shoulder. 

"Can you handle it, sweetheart?" she'd whisper, with a 
look of tender concern.

And at those times I would smile and nod. "Go ahead," I'd 
tell her. "Just forget about me."

And the sight of my supple, slippery wife wrestling in 
the water with this stud in permanent rut, or of their 
glistening, practically naked bodies curled up together 
on the big family-sized inflatable raft, made me feel 
oddly satisfied. Yes, I could handle it. I was a real 
man, and a real man could handle this with ease.

Of course, a real man wouldn't spend hours lying next to 
his wife without once getting even the semblance of a 
hard-on. 

Yes, my miniscule "manhood" was as incapable of achieving 
and maintaining an erection as ever. To be perfectly 
fair, at the end of a long day I was generally too tired 
to think about sex anyway. I was so exhausted by the time 
I crawled into bed that I could scarcely move, but Tina 
seemed to be enjoying my tongue more than ever. Moments 
after my head hit the pillow she would pound her firm, 
round rear on my face. I submitted to her desires readily 
enough; frenching her ass made me feel like I had 
something to give her that most real men would have been 
repulsed by.

And it turned her on more than ever. Her pussy was just 
gushing, every time. 

Thick, white, and creamy.



**

CHAPTER 17: The Walls Come A-tumblin' Down

**

Jesse had been our guest for two weeks when the shit hit 
the fan.

It was two nights before my 33rd birthday, and I guess I 
was feeling more sensitive than I usually would have. 
They were finishing the creme brulee I had labored over, 
whispering and giggling together like a couple of kids as 
I sweated over the pots and pans. Creme brulee is a 
simple custard; it contains only three ingredients - 
heavy cream, egg yolks, and powdered sugar. But it's a 
labor of love and has to be prepared the night before so 
that it can cool in the refrigerator. A little 
acknowledgment would have been nice. Still, I tried hard 
to keep my feelings of annoyance at bay as I scrubbed the 
remains of the trout almondine from the baking pan. It 
was all-important to keep him happy. 

"Hey, fuckface!"

I stiffened. Really, this name-calling was not necessary. 
Not at all.

"Heads up!"

And I turned just in time to see a generous handful of 
custard hurtling through the air toward me. 

After hours slaving away in the kitchen, preparing coq au 
vin and crab a la russe, Caesar salad, potatoes au 
gratin, and mushroom soup, I didn't have the reflexes 
needed to duck; the best I could manage was a look of 
comical stupefaction in the split second before the 
sticky, creamy stuff burst across my nose and cheeks.

Impossible.

It trickled down to drip from my chin. I stood there, 
stock-still, eyes closed, mouth open in mute shock, with 
hunks of creme brulee dropping onto my shoes. Slowly, 
unable even to draw a breath, I opened my eyes. 

Tina was whooping with laughter, and Jesse was 
practically crying, he was laughing so hard. 

With an effort my wife mastered her mirth. "You..." 
whimpered Tina, pointing at me, "you..." Then she 
exploded with laughter again, leaning against Jesse for 
support. 

Putting her hands on that big, firm chest.

He had gotten over the worst of it by now. Wiping his 
eyes, still shaking a little, he draped one big, solid 
arm over my wife's shoulders and smiled at me -- a 
golden, mocking smile. She snuggled into him, biting her 
lower lip, eyes shining, trying not to laugh at the sight 
of her husband standing there with a pale mask of creamy 
custard decorating his face. 

My mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out; the 
outrage, the effrontery was too great. I had been 
rendered utterly speechless. 

But for the first time in weeks, I, Myron Lipshitz, was 
angry.

"Oh, man, that was great," said Jesse. And he pulled my 
wife a little closer to him. "What a blast! I fuckin' 
LOVE it here, dude! I mean, where the fuck else am I 
gonna find someone like you? It's like having a maid, a 
cook, and a fuckin' clown, all wrapped up in one. With a 
mansion and a pool, no less. And a wife..." 

He turned to her. To my wife.

And he stroked her cheek. 

I opened my mouth again. Still, no sound came out. The 
grinning, jeering little bastard had just creamed me with 
a dripping handful of the dessert I had spent hours 
preparing. He had referred to me, his host, as 
"fuckface." In my house. Mine! And now...

"Fuckin'-A, dude!" he exclaimed reverently, staring at 
her. "You've got a wife like a Hustler centerfold. 
Peaches `n cream... God DAMN!"

"Oh, Jesse," she chided teasingly. And she snuggled a 
little closer, still watching me. There was something 
else in her eyes now, too, not just amusement at her poor 
slob of a husband, but something deeper. Darker. The look 
in her eyes was like a challenge, a dare. 

And while my blood pounded ever more loudly in my ears, 
while my hands began to tremble, Jesse kept his mouth 
running.

"Yeah, baby, you look good enough to eat, you know that? 
Huh?" He sniffed her. He actually sniffed at her, like 
some kind of animal. "I can smell it." He grinned 
broadly. "I can smell you, baby. Mmmm."

She smiled coyly at me. An odd little choking noise 
pushed itself past my clenched teeth.

"Myron?" she purred. "Are you going to let him talk to me 
like that?"

"Hell, yeah, he will," Jesse crowed. "He's not gonna do a 
thing. He likes it. He's all about hospitality and shit. 
Hey, fuckface," he sneered, "whaddaya say? When you 
finish wiping your face off, maybe you can go upstairs 
and get the bed ready." 

My left eyelid fluttered rapidly. I clenched my teeth and 
felt the beginnings of a word, at last.

"...gng..."

"Yeah. And that maybe while I'm fucking your wife, you 
can bring me a beer--"

"Get."

It was my voice. High-pitched, strangled, but mine. 

He lifted his eyebrows. "Huh?" he said. "What? Did you 
say something to me, fuckface?"

"Out."

The good humor left his face entirely.

I raised a trembling hand to my dripping face and wiped 
off what I could. Myron Lipshitz had just come up with a 
complete sentence; one that expressed very neatly his 
most immediate desires. This was good. Now, to try and 
convey a little more.

"I," I said hoarsely. 

It sounded good, and I decided to repeat it for good 
measure. 

"I. I am not." I took a deep, shuddering breath and 
released it. "Not. A maid."

"Ooooh," he said in a voice of mock admiration. "Little 
bitchy-poo is standing up for himself all of a sudden. 
Gettin' uppity--"

"Not," I went on in a trembling voice, and took a step 
forward, my hands working convulsively at my sides. "Not. 
A clown."

"Oh, yeah?" 

"Not," I continued, "a clown--"

Lightning quick, his hand had dipped into the bowl of 
creme brulee and whipped out another handful; and for the 
second time, custard exploded across my face.

There was no laughter this time. Tina gasped, but not 
with anger or shock; it was more a kind of gleeful 
apprehension. She was looking at me expectantly. 

"Not a clown, huh?" he snickered.

My head twitched once. Twice. Another dollop of thick 
custardy goo splapped onto the floor from my chin.

Then I turned and walked unsteadily to the phone, and 
called 911.

"Who ya callin', fuckface?"

I licked the creme brulee from my lips. Quite tasty, 
really. An unearthly calm had come over me. The 
dispatcher answered after the second ring. 

"Yes," I said in a very quiet tone of voice. "It's an 
emergency."

Pause.

"There's an intruder in my house. He's dangerous."

Pause. 

"Yes. Right away. Please."

I hung up the phone and turned around. They were both 
staring at me. That's it, I thought, stare at me. 

"You didn't think I could do it," I whispered. "You 
didn't think I could do it. But I did it." I laughed, a 
slightly manic laugh, but full, also, of relief. "It's 
over!" I shouted happily, cream dripping from my nose. 
"It's all over! The cops are coming. And I don't have to 
listen any more. No more comments about my WIFE!" I 
glared at him and pointed a shaking finger in his 
direction, and suddenly I was full of a righteous fervor, 
an energy I hadn't thought I possessed. "There are no 
bitches here. No fuckfaces. No centerfolds. And soon," I 
hissed, "here will be no... more... JESSE!!"

Then Jesse smiled again and stood up.

"That," he said, "was a fucking stupid thing to do, 
bitch."

I faltered. He was clearly unimpressed; in fact, he 
looked more utterly sure of himself than ever. But didn't 
he understand?! Didn't he know when he was beaten? I had 
won! I had won-

"Myron!" snapped Tina. "Call them back. Now!"

"N-n-no--"

"You," he said conversationally, and he began to walk 
toward me, "just fucked yourself. You know that?"

The look of triumph left my face abruptly. I don't know 
what I'd thought he would do; run into his room and lock 
the door, perhaps, or realize how badly he'd messed up 
and begin crying, or run away into the night. I mean, 
it's what I would have done. But Jesse was out of his 
mind; I'd forgotten that; and he was clearly not going to 
do any of those things. 

And suddenly the gentle smile on his face was the most 
terrifying thing I'd ever seen. 

I backed up, trembling like a leaf, until I felt the 
kitchen wall. And still he kept coming. Tina. I could see 
Tina still on the couch, an unreadable look in her eyes. 

"Tina!" I quavered. "Tina, help...? Please. Tell... Tell 
him that..."

"Shut up," he said casually. 

He was standing next to me now. And my knees buckled. 
They simply folded underneath me, and I sank down, 
terrified. Jesse was no boy, no average seventeen-year-
old. He towered over me, his face working terribly, big 
and powerful and quite completely insane. His crotch was 
about four inches from my dripping face, impossibly 
large. I pressed myself against the wall; I'd felt his 
incredible power too many times now, been squashed 
against the wrestling mat like a wriggling bug too many 
evenings to think I had a chance against him.

He wrapped his big, meaty fingers around my shirtfront 
and hauled me to my feet, and then up, into the air, 
until we were nose to nose. I was finding it difficult to 
breathe, and suddenly I felt a warmth flowing down the 
front of my pants. Christ, I'd pissed myself! I closed my 
eyes in mortification.

Then I heard them.

Sirens.

I opened my eyes. He smiled even more broadly, then 
dropped me; I landed in a puddle of my own urine and 
cowered there at his feet.

And when I looked up he was gone.



**

CHAPTER 18: The Reckoning

**

One officer took notes while the other two walked around 
the house, inside and out, to make sure Jesse had really 
left. I described him as best I could, told them about 
the drug dealing in his past and the recent intimidation 
in my own house... Tina was looking coldly at me the 
entire time, and when the officer tried to question her 
she maintained an absolute stony silence.

It hurt. It really did. After all that had happened, 
couldn't she see how fucked up the kid was? Was she so 
blinded by her altruistic impulses that she couldn't 
recognize a psychopath when she saw one?

I had to turn to the officer for support, asking him for 
sympathy ("And then he threw a handful of custard in my 
face! Is that fucked up, or what?!") while she stared a 
hole through me. The officer was a professional, of 
course, not about to get emotionally engaged in a 
domestic situation; he remained totally noncommittal, and 
I was left feeling lonelier than ever. 

Tina wouldn't answer any questions. In fact she didn't 
say one word the entire time they were there, and I had 
to excuse her, saying that the trauma had left her 
speechless.

When they left, she climbed the stairs, and I followed.

It all broke apart in the bedroom.

"Listen, sweetheart," I pleaded. "You saw how he was. He 
was out of control. I mean, the sexual stuff... and him 
grabbing me like that..." I trembled, remembering, and 
pulled off my wet pants. They stank. But I didn't intend 
to do another load of laundry ever again, if I could help 
it. Tomorrow I'd call Maria back, and James, and all the 
others. I peeled off my underwear, too. 

"Listen, darling, I... We'll get everything back to 
normal in a few days. I'll... I'm going to change. I mean 
it," I insisted. "I'm going to try hard to be the man you 
want me to be. I love you, angel. Cupcake? I love you so 
much, and I'm... I think the sexual, you know... Our 
sexual relationship has obviously not been, uh, the best 
it could be, and... I'm going to change that, though. I 
really am. I'm going to work really hard on all my... my 
little problems. And I think it will be easier now."

She ignored me, instead looking pensively out the window.

"Look, it's going to be better without him." I peeled off 
my shirt, too, which was stained with the creme brulee he 
had spattered my face with, and walked over to her. "I 
mean, Jesus Christ, Tina, I know what you think - you 
think he's just looking for positive attention or 
something. But he's out of control--"

Her eyes flashed at that.

"Myron," she said quietly, "shut up."

"But--"

"I said shut UP!" she spat. "As in shut the FUCK up!" She 
advanced on me, rage in her eyes, and for the second time 
that evening I found myself backing away from someone. I 
had never seen her quite like this. Angry, yes. Scornful. 
Mocking. But not like this. So utterly pitiless. The look 
in her eyes...

"You," she sneered. "The big tough guy. In your piss-
soaked pants."

I flushed.

"Now, wait a minute--"

"You think you're some kind of big man? Calling the 
police like a little baby? And all because you can't 
handle a little joke."

"Joke?! But--"

"That's your breaking point? A little custard? Oh, my 
God, Myron. How pathetic. I though you were a man," she 
hissed. And she jabbed her finger in my chest, hard. I 
sat down with a pained little whuff! on the bed. "I 
thought you knew how to handle yourself," she went on, 
"but I guess I was wrong. A real man would have known 
what to do."

"A real man, huh?" I was breathing hard now. I was not 
going to let this go without a fight. "A real man? Tell 
me, Tina. Tell me what a real man would have done."

The hectoring little bitch.

"Yes," she snapped, "a real man! A real man would have 
wiped his face off and finished washing the dishes--"

"-and gone upstairs and made the bed?" I suggested 
loudly. "Isn't that what he said?" I got to my feet 
again. My head was spinning. "Go upstairs and make the 
fucking bed, right? And then I could bring him a beer, 
right?" 

She gave me a cold little smile, and it drove me up the 
wall.

"Right?!" I shouted. "Right, god damn it?! Bring him a 
beer while he f-f-f..." I couldn't bring myself to say 
it. I tried again. "While he f-f-f--"

She leaned close, the same cold smile on her face as 
before, and put her lips to my ear.

"While he fucks me, Myron?"

I jerked at the words. Tina leaned back, a richly 
satisfied smile on her gorgeous young face. 

"Is that what you're trying to say?" she asked sweetly. 
"While he fucks me?" My wife laughed, then. Tina laughed, 
a bright, tinkling little laugh. "Why's that so hard for 
you to say, Myron? It's just a few simple words...

"...you stuttering dipshit."

The last words cracked out at me like the lash of a whip. 
I was stunned.

"Just a few simple words. Jesse... fucks... Tina. Is that 
the problem? Three words? Is poor little Myron jealous? 
Hm? Poor little Myron with his poor little pee-pee?"

I gritted my teeth. She could not be doing this. She was 
angry, that was all, and it would pass, and then we could 
work it out. I would not get angry at her. I would not 
lose my shit. I would not -

She stood up tall, then. And as I watched, my wife pulled 
her shirt over her head. She was braless underneath, and 
her delightful breasts danced teasingly as she struck a 
"depraved schoolgirl" sort of pose. 

I moaned.

"Mmmm," she purred. "Poor Myron. His little wee-wee is so 
tiny. Even when he sees a sexy bitch standing in front of 
him, he can't get a little hard-on." 

"No," I whispered.

"Oh, yes," she cooed. She cupped them in her hands and 
offered them to me. "Suck them, Myron. Suck my tits. 
Please. Let's see if we can make you hard. Let's see if 
we can make you stiff." With a wicked smile Tina squeezed 
them together so that the mouth-watering nipples jutted 
out, like fat, pink candies. I clapped my hands to my 
crotch, where, of course, as she knew perfectly well, 
Myron's "little wee-wee" was about as stiff as a mouthful 
of lard.

I was deeply, desperately ashamed...

..and utterly furious.

"No," I whispered again. I could feel the blood draining 
from my still-gooey face as I struggled to keep a rein on 
my emotions. 

"Why?" She fluttered her eyelashes at me, feigning 
confusion. "Can't you even get a little itty-bitty 
erection? No?" She leaned close again, grinning evilly. 
"Not even some ass? Hm? No? Not even some of Tina's ass, 
you pathetic little shitfaced ass-licker? Hm? Oh, well." 

I shivered. 

"T-t-tina--"

"Oh!" she cried out, as if an idea had struck her. "I 
know! I bet I know someone who can get a hard-on for 
little Tina." She laughed happily. "I know just the 
person. A big, sweet, gorgeous young thing, just 
seventeen but - mmmmm! -- what a hunk, what a big, hard 
hunk! I bet he could do it. Don't you think so, ass-
breath? Don't you think, if I let him suck my nipples, 
he'd get a big fucking hard-on? Huh?" Her voice was 
rising. "Huh? Huh, you pathetic little fuck? Don't you 
think his big fucking cock would just about pop? ...Oh. 
Oh, yeah." Now she put on a sad face. "Oh, that's right. 
He would, I'm sure, but he's gone. Because Myron..."

"...tina..."

"Poor little limp-dicked, piss-pants Myron..."

I was shaking, wild-eyed. 

"...stop..."

"...is just a whining, sniveling--" 

I slapped her.

She stopped in shock. I, too, just stood there, staring 
in disbelief, my hand stinging gently. Slowly a red 
handprint appeared on her fine china-white skin. 

What the hell had I done?

I stood there, naked, cream drying on my face, and 
watched, like a statue, as she slowly and 
expressionlessly turned away from me.

I watched her drag a traveling case out from the closet.

I watched as my wife filled it with a few things from her 
dresser. A pair of underwear. A bra. A skirt. 
Stockings...

I stood there, my mind a blank, as she walked into the 
bathroom. I listened as she flung bottles and brushes in 
after her clothes.

And I watched as my Tina, my angel, walked out the door. 

I stood there for a long time after she'd left, watching. 

Waiting.

And at some point I guess I crawled into bed. My 
emotional being was completely and utterly exhausted; I 
don't remember feeling angry, or sad, anymore. I was... 
nothing.



**

CHAPTER 19: A Reprieve

**

I think I can safely say that the next day was the worst 
of my life. It topped anything I'd felt back in the old 
days at Dinkendorff High School, even the day Donny sold 
me the laxatives. I lay in bed, dead to the world, 
staring up at the ceiling. 

Quite the real man, Myron, I told myself calmly. Hitting 
women. Yes, that's good, very good. I went over the 
events of the day before compulsively, moment by moment, 
replaying them all in my mind, and thinking of all the 
many things I could have done differently. I passed out a 
few times, and in my fevered half-dreaming state I saw 
Tina back in bed with me, caressing me, as she had done 
in our first months together. She was holding me, 
whispering to me. 

My wife.

And then I'd wake up, and a cold, dead feeling at the pit 
of my stomach would overpower me. 

Leave it to Myron Lipshitz. Leave it to him to find a 
woman like Tina, a perfect angel, who loved him despite 
all his shortcomings. A saintly woman, who wanted to help 
the less fortunate. A woman who loved him enough to not 
simply overlook his faults, but gently point them out to 
him, and show him the path to improvement.

And then leave it to Myron Lipshitz to scream at her, and 
stomp around like a big baby.

And slap her.

It was around ten at night when I heard footsteps on the 
stairs. No, I thought to myself. Just another fevered 
hallucination. I rolled over and buried my filthy face in 
the pillow.

The door opened, then. Someone was approaching. A hand 
touched me lightly. I opened my eyes, and there, standing 
before me, a tender look of concern on her perfect 
features, was Tina, my blonde angel.

"Darling?" she whispered.

"T-t-tina...?" I croaked at her.

"Oh, poor baby," she crooned. 

She said nothing more; neither did I. There was nothing 
to be said, at the moment. There was only a wounded 
couple who needed to be together, to hold one another. 
And she cradled me as I sobbed, and wept, and moaned with 
relief; she held me to her bosom, and caressed my 
thinning hair, and murmured wordlessly to me.

My baby was back, and I would never, ever fuck up again.



**

CHAPTER 20: Happy Birthday, Myron

**

I woke up in the morning to see her bustling around the 
room. I blinked drowsily, and smiled at her. She smiled 
back as she got dressed. 

"Where... where are you going?"

"Out." She grinned mischievously. "Don't worry, darling. 
I've got some shopping to do. After all... Today's your 
birthday, right?"

I'd completely forgotten. 

"Oh! Right..."

"And tonight... we're gonna party!"

She pranced over to me and kissed me on the top of the 
head, then stepped back and gazed at me for a few 
seconds. The look in her eyes was one I hadn't seen in a 
long time: that dark, anticipatory look she used to get 
before we made love. For the first time in months I felt 
a shiver of desire, though my dick, of course, remained 
completely insensible. And a split second later an image 
flashed through my mind - of my penis, small and 
stubbornly wilted, as my wife tried to tease it to 
hardness with her mouth and fingers... How the hell were 
we going to grope our way back to a healthy sexual 
relationship, after the nightmarish trauma we'd been 
through? But she caught the look of dread on my face, and 
smiled.

"Don't worry, darling. I won't pressure you sexually, or 
anything. We have so much healing to do, poor dear, and I 
know it's better not to rush these things. But," she 
added, "I have a special evening planned, and I think, 
stiffie or no stiffie, you'll find it pretty... 
stimulating."

I grinned back at her. Hell, yes! This was a little more 
like it! But-

"Tina, darling, there's something I should say." I took a 
deep breath. "I'm sorry. I... You're like a goddess to 
me, and if I touch you I... I want it to be a loving 
touch, not...not a..."

"A slap in the face?" She laughed, shaking her head. 
"Well, we'll see. Perhaps you should save your apologies; 
you never know when it's going to be Tina's turn to lose 
her temper." Her eyes flashed, and my stomach gave a 
little involuntary jump of nervous anticipation; then she 
grinned and swatted me gently on the side of the head. 
"And of course you've been through hell recently, 
darling. This whole unpleasant business... I've had a 
while to think it over, you know? Jesse... Well, he's 
crazy. And I suppose, looking back on it, that he really 
was interested in me sexually, the poor thing. It wasn't 
nice of me to taunt you like that last night."

Tina shook her head solemnly; then she shrugged and gave 
me another one of those darkly amused stares.

"Listen, wash that crap off your face before I get back, 
will you?"

She patted me on the head as she left.

I washed the dried custard from my face, lay back down in 
a daze, and at some point slipped at last into a deep, 
untroubled sleep. 

It was after dark when I awoke. The house felt still; I 
made my way downstairs, still anxious after the blow-up 
of the night before. But, yes, she was home; I could hear 
her bustling about in the rec room.

I opened the door.

"Tina?"

"Not yet," she called. "Stay put, you naughty boy, until 
Tina's ready for you!"

I shut the door and waited in a state of nervous 
agitation. What the hell was she planning down there? In 
about five more minutes she dashed up the stairs and 
flung the door open, as eager as a twelve-year-old.

"Ready," she sang, and took me by the hand. "It's a 
surprise, now. You can't see anything yet..." 

And she covered my eyes with her warm little hand. I 
laughed uncertainly and followed her down, a little 
unsteady, fearful of falling, but trusting in my Tina to 
guide me well. And she did. We took the steps slowly, and 
when we reached the bottom she pulled her hand away from 
my eyes.

The rec room had been hung with crepe paper everywhere. 
Across one wall was a big banner reading "Happy Birthday, 
Myron" in big red letters, and underneath it was a table 
laden with Tastee-Kreme pies.

"Happy birthday!" she squealed. 

I was astonished, and then I felt a jumble of emotions 
crowding in my chest, and a lump came to my throat.

"Oh, Tina..."

"It's coconut creme. Your favorite."

"Darling..."

"But before we do anything else, I want to play a 
little..." That mischievous look crossed her face again. 
"...a little game with you." 

She skipped excitedly over to the pool table and picked 
up a black velvet bag, then skipped back, took my hand, 
and dragged me to the bathroom.

"Put these things on," she whispered huskily, and she 
pressed the bag into my hands... 

..and licked my left earlobe. 

At that precise moment, something wonderful happened: my 
penis twitched. It was just one tentative, fearful 
twitch, like a rabbit sticking its head out of the rabbit 
hole: is the fox really gone, or is it hiding behind that 
gorse bush? But it was a sign of life, and something 
opened in my heart that had slammed shut on that last 
night of our honeymoon so many months ago. 

I took the bag from her with a foolish, happy smile on my 
face, and as I turned to go in the bathroom she slapped 
my ass lightly. My little ding-dong twitched again.

Yes...

Yes, the rabbit was out!

I closed the door behind me and tore my pants down. By 
God, it was actually semi-hard! I touched it, scarcely 
believing my eyes, but it was true: my penis was 
stiffening, slowly but surely stretching its tender 
little head past the tangle of my pubes. I struggled as 
fast as I could out of my clothes and stood in front of 
the mirror for a moment. 

Myron Lipshitz, I told myself, you are a man. 

Then, still grinning, I opened the bag and dumped it on 
the floor. 

At first I couldn't make sense of what I saw. There were 
two high-heeled shoes, deep red and so glossy I could see 
my face reflected in them. Sheer pink lace stockings. A 
lacy little pink garter belt with garters to match. And 
an impossibly small black bra.

Why, the kinky little...! I grinned even more broadly. 
She was a wild one, all right! Well, Myron Lipshitz was 
man enough to wear a woman's underthings, if that's what 
his hot little Tina wanted.

I worked on the stockings, then the belt and garters. It 
took time, and my hands were trembling, but I got it 
after a few minutes. The shoes were easy, but I certainly 
felt unsteady in them when I got to my feet: I had to 
grip the edges of the sink and haul myself up. 

Finally there was the bra. It looked as if it were 
designed for a Chihuahua.

"Honey...?"

"Yes, Myron?"

"Um... this bra? It, uh--"

Her merry laughter rang brightly on the other side of the 
door. "Myron, you idiot, it's not a bra. It's a 
blindfold!"

Oh. I smiled sheepishly, then turned to the mirror for 
one last look. It was a little odd, to say the least. But 
she was a kinky little thing, and I was going to do 
whatever it took to satisfy her lust this time. I put on 
the blindfold and tottered out of the bathroom.

I can't possibly describe to you how exhilarating it was 
to emerge from the bathroom blindfolded like this. I felt 
exposed, and yes, the exposure was tinged with a hint of 
shame; but the shame added a little electric jolt of 
excitement to the whole situation.

"Ooooh, Myron."

I followed the sound of her voice, my hands outstretched.

"Ooooh, Myron, you're so... so gorgeous like this. So... 
so manly."

My dick was so hard it hurt. I continued forward a few 
more feet, following her cooing, purring voice, only to 
bark my shin against a table leg. I gripped it, wincing.

"You have to be a real man to wear clothes like that and 
still look so... so hunky, Myron."

I got back up.

"Stay right there, darling. Just stand there and let me 
look at you."

I heard an odd clicking sound. Her bra, no doubt. In my 
mind's eye I saw Tina peeling away her bra, freeing those 
tasty little globes of teenaged titflesh... I grabbed my 
cock in a spasm of lust.

"Oh, yes, Myron! Hold it!"

"I... I'm holding it, Tina!"

I heard another clicking sound. Her own garter belt, 
perhaps?

"Hold that big cock, darling."

My mouth was dry; I licked my lips several times, 
breathing harder.

"Yes, Tina... I'm... holding it. I... I'm holding my b-b-
b-b... my big c-c-cah.... m-m-my big COCK!"

"Oh, yes, Myron! Stroke it! Stroke your big, proud cock!"

Holy shit! I held it tighter between my thumb and 
forefinger and began to masturbate for her.

"God damn it," I gurgled, "I'm stroking it! I'm... I'm 
stroking my big fat COCK! And I... I'm gonna FUCK you 
with it!"

"Ooooh, yeah, Myron, baby, you're gonna do it!" She 
giggled, but I heard her own shortness of breath, the 
sweet signal of her own sexual excitement. "You're gonna 
fuck me so HARD!"

"Yeah!"

"You're gonna FUCK me, you big STUD!"

I was dripping sweat now, and panting hoarsely. Oh, man, 
was I going to fuck her! I'd give her the fucking of a 
lifetime! 

"I'm a big stud," I growled, "and I'm gonna fuck your 
tight, pink pussy with my big, fat COCK! I'm..."

That's when I heard it. Unmistakable. I heard Tina 
giggling a little more...

..but I heard another sound, too. 

The sound of muffled laughter.

Someone else's.

I froze, and the sounds stopped. 

I tore off the blindfold.

My wife was standing right in front of me, a mischievous 
little grin on her sweet young face as she watched me 
jerking off. She was stark naked, just as I had imagined 
she would be, her high, firm titties jiggling a little as 
she began giggling again.

And standing with his arm around her waist, dressed only 
in his biking shorts, like a bodybuilding model, was 
Jesse.



**

CHAPTER 21: Myron in Cuckoo-Land

**

Time seemed to stop.

There was a roaring sound in my ears, and the blood 
drained from my face. Jesse and Tina looked as if they 
were enjoying the expression of frozen shock on my face 
more and more with every passing moment, and yet somehow 
I couldn't bring myself to move. I just stood there as if 
paralyzed, like a dog caught in the headlights of an 
onrushing Lincoln Continental, still clenching my little 
hard-on between thumb and forefinger.

This couldn't be happening.

I squeezed my eyes shut. No. No, there was no way this 
was happening. 

She wouldn't... she wouldn't do this to me... 

Against my will I opened my eyes. Yep - there they were.

Tina bit her lower lip in excited anticipation and 
snuggled a little closer to Jesse, pressing her tits 
against his powerful torso, and he squeezed her hip in 
response.

My mouth opened but no sound came from my slack lips for 
several seconds. Then it came -- a strangled, barely 
audible moan.

This was funny to them, of course. This was what they had 
been waiting for. They burst out laughing. I sank slowly 
to my knees, finally releasing my rapidly shrinking hard-
on, letting my arms hang limply at my sides, and moaned 
again.

They were laughing. 

At me.

And now I started to get it. It really was kind of funny, 
actually. Me, Myron Lipshitz, with my caved-in chest and 
my hunched, narrow shoulders... my sagging, hairy ass and 
skinny legs... dressed in high heels and stockings, 
pulling frantically on my miniscule little dingaling...

That was me. The "big stud," yanking on his "big fat 
cock" while his wife and her lover watched.

What a pathetic clown.

Yes, it was really very funny.

A broken smile spread across my pimply face, and I felt 
something welling up inside me, something strange and 
painful, yet oddly comforting...

A tortured laugh escaped my lips. 

This really broke them up; Jesse was practically in 
tears, he was laughing so hard, and Tina's musical 
giggling had become a helpless gasping at the sight of 
Myron Lipshitz, her husband, kneeling on the floor in 
front of her, slowly losing his mind.

I nodded at them happily. Good, boys and girls! See the 
funny man? See the funny, ugly little man? Laugh at him, 
boys and girls! I laughed again. It was more of a giggle, 
really, a sort of gurgling giggle, and it felt good. Yes, 
as a matter fact, it was too fucking funny! I'd been 
strutting around, dressed like a whore, masturbating at 
my wife's command, debasing myself completely -

Suddenly I was laughing in great hoarse winded gasps. I 
felt as if I were standing at the edge of a precipice, 
looking down into an awesomely deep, black chasm, ready 
to take the plunge... An almost exhilarating feeling of 
vertigo made me head spin. How easy it would be to simply 
step off. Yessirree, Mister Lipshitz, sir! Bags are 
packed! You're about to take a little trip, all expenses 
paid, to Cuckoo-Land!

Crazy, funny Cuckoo-Land. 

And I knew that I could just let go, right now, and laugh 
like this all the way to the looney bin.

I saw it happening, and with the last remaining shreds of 
sanity left I forced my teeth together. Even through my 
gritted teeth the laughter continued, but only for a few 
more seconds. I clapped my hands over my mouth, and it 
finally died away.

I drew a deep shuddering breath while Jesse and Tina 
watched me, still chuckling together, and then I released 
it.

Then, slowly, I began to crawl back onto my feet.

It wasn't easy; my legs felt like rubber, and the damn 
heels were very difficult to find my balance in, anyway, 
but I did it, and then I covered my penis with my hands.

It was time to go.

I didn't know where, but I had to leave, get up to my 
room and change, and then get away from this house, far 
away. I couldn't think very clearly and had no real idea 
what would come next. But having even that much direction 
was critical. This place was evil. THEY were evil. 
Must... leave...

I tottered unsteadily toward the door.

"Where the fuck are YOU going?"

It was Jesse. I didn't feel capable of human speech yet, 
and anyway, I didn't feel like talking. I kept on going.

"Get back here, Myron."

That was Tina. But... Get back here? Why... Why would she 
even want me to? Nothing was making sense. I stumbled 
once, then regained my footing and kept going. Almost 
there!

"Hey. Hey, faggot."

There was a touch of anger in his voice now. Oh, God... 
Oh, my God... Just ignore it, Myron...

I heard him walking after me as I reached the door, and a 
chill of fear crawled up my spine. Sweating now, I 
reached for the knob and yanked the door open, anxious to 
get upstairs -

-- and Jesse's fist pounded it shut again.

I licked my lips, which were suddenly, horribly dry. Why? 
Why was this happening? Then I felt him move right up 
behind me until his body was touching mine... his big 
chest grazing my back... and his big, soft, Spandex-
wrapped crotch pressing against my naked ass.

I gasped.

His mouth was right next to my ear, and when he spoke it 
was in a soft, sexy murmur, and his warm breath sent 
shivers up and down my spine:

"I was talking to you. Faggot."

Then his big hand clapped itself on my jaw, the fingers 
digging into my acne'd cheeks and puckering my lips out 
comically, and twisted my head around. I had my back to 
him, so I had to roll my terrified eyes around, much like 
a wildebeest does to look at the lion on its back. He was 
still smiling, like an angel. A beautiful, dangerous, 
crazy angel.

"I gave you an order."

The tears came. I whuffed and huffed convulsively, blew a 
snot bubble, hiccupped and made little barking sounds, as 
tears of fear streamed down my face. I was terrified now. 
They were psychopaths.

Maybe they were going to kill me.

Finally I found my voice, though it was hard to talk with 
my face balled up in his ham-sized fist like a Nerf ball.

"P-p-p-pweashe... I... I j-j-jush wan' guhng-g-g--"

"I gave you an order," he went on in a conversational 
tone of voice. "And you disobeyed it. You pathetic sack 
of shit. So now it's time for Jesse to teach Myron a 
lesson."

A desperate, grotesque keening sound broke from my 
twisted mouth as a fresh hot wave of tears streaked down 
my face. I felt like screaming. What the hell was he 
doing? Why, oh, why couldn't they just let me go?

What was the fucking POINT?!

I had barely enough time to taste my own confused and 
fearful outrage before he jammed two fingers up my 
nostrils, hooked them, lifted his arm so that I was on my 
tiptoes, and began to lead me away from the door. The 
pain was excruciating. I began whimpering in agony, 
whining like a whipped dog, clawing at his big forearm.

"Aaanghhhh... p-p-please..."

He released me at last and I tottered back a step before 
falling flat on my ass, holding my throbbing nose. Then 
he stood next to my wife again.

Tina had an amused smile on her pretty face. 

"Poor Myron," she purred. "You have no idea what's going 
on, do you? Well, I'll explain it."

She began stroking Jesse's nipple lightly as she spoke.

"Jesse and me... we're dangerous."

My mind was in total disarray. Dangerous...? The word 
sent a shiver of dread through my bowels, but I couldn't 
make sense of any of this. 

"D-d-d--"

"Dangerous," said Jesse with a laugh. "Good boy. You got 
it, you stuttering dipshit."

"Dangerous to you, anyway. Oh, you'll see how dangerous 
we are in a minute," cooed Tina. "We'll show you, all 
right." She closed her eyes and sighed with anticipation. 
"We're gonna crush you."

I could only stare in horror. Crush me...? But...

One word was all I could manage. It came out in an 
unsteady quaver, thick with emotion: fearful, confused, 
and miserable.

"...why?"

"Survival of the fittest," she murmured. "Destruction of 
the unfit."

"'The fittest' - that's us," said Jesse with a content 
look on his sweet face. "Me and Tina. You know what I 
mean, faggot. Don't fuck with me. Little weaklings like 
you always know, deep down inside, when you see people 
like me and Tina. I can tell you know what I'm talking 
about. We're superior, right? Special, like... 
genetically, or something. We're stronger, and sexier, 
and... shit, just better than ordinary people. And way, 
way superior to puny, stupid little worms like you."

I just stared at him. Genetically superior? Crazy... he's 
crazy! And yet, deep down inside, I felt myself 
responding to him. 

Yes.

Yes, I had felt it. Images of Kip and his friends, Sherri 
and the other cheerleaders came to me: confident, 
godlike, gorgeous... Yes. And me, Myron, underdeveloped 
little subhuman Myron, slinking along with my sunken 
chest, my "bitch tits," my skinny arms and legs, and 
my... my penis... my shriveled little penis... staring 
longingly at them all.

But why this? Why this insane cruelty?

Please, God... Why?! 

It was Tina's turn now.

"When I first saw Jesse," Tina said, "I knew. He was 
special, like me. And he knew it, too." She sighed 
happily. "That night at Le Bernardin... We couldn't stop 
looking at each other. That was when you were in your 
`manly' phase." She laughed, remembering my efforts to 
take charge. "Trying so hard to be the head of the 
household. Poor Myron... You were so caught up in your 
little fantasy world that you never noticed me staring at 
Jesse. You never saw him brushing against me: his fingers 
on my neck, his crotch on my cheek. With you sitting 
right across from me. And I thought: this bold, gorgeous 
hunk is the one. He's the alpha male I've been waiting 
for. That's why he dumped your soup in your lap; it was 
to show you who was boss, to put you in your place. A 
warning.

"But you didn't get it. You tried to stand up to the 
alpha male. And that's a very, very stupid thing to do. 
Every animal in the world knows not to do that. Jesse and 
I were meant to be together, Myron. We're alphas. We were 
meant to mate. And when we fuck..."

No.

"When he opens my pussy up with that big, sweet cock..."

Oh. God. No.

"...we do things..."

No, no...

"...mmmmm."

Jesse chuckled and gently brushed his fingers down my 
wife's taut, golden belly to her glistening vulva, 
staring arrogantly at me the whole time. 

"Not like you, Myron," she cooed as he fondled her. "I 
mean, you have a lot of money. That's nice. I like money. 
But you're sick. A sick, flabby pervert. I mean, you 
don't walk like us, you don't look like us... And you 
definitely don't fuck like us. Snorting around with your 
tongue up my ass!" She grinned in disbelief. "Now, 
Jesse... He's a sex machine. He doesn't get hard by 
smelling my shit." 

She wrinkled her cute little nose in disgust. Jesse 
looked highly amused. Of course, I realized. Of course. 
She had told him everything. Probably they'd laughed 
about my inadequate size, my impotence, my ass-licking 
fetish while he fucked her tight slippery cunt with that 
horse's cock of his. If there'd been a gun handy I'd have 
blown my brains out there and then. 

I hung my head in shame.

"All Jesse has to do get hard is look at me, or think 
about me. And he's always ready. He doesn't have to wait 
forever, like you do, or snort around in my ass... What 
kind of disgusting weirdo wants to lick another person's 
asshole? You're degenerate. A freak, or a mutant, or 
something. Genetically fucked up. Let's just say it: 
inferior. That little thing between your legs, instead of 
a real penis..." She giggled again. "And that, you poor, 
sniveling little loser, is what makes us so dangerous. 
It's not so much that we WANT to break you down, even 
though I think it's going to be a lot of fun.... It's 
more that we have to. It's the way we're made. It's in 
our genes. It's like when you see an ugly little bug, and 
you want to step on it, or pull its wings off or 
something. It makes us..." She lowered her voice to an 
excited whisper. "It makes us want to do bad things-- 
Oh!"

He had nudged his middle finger in at the top of her 
slit, and she squeezed her legs together, her mouth open 
in an ecstatic smile. Then she relaxed into it and looked 
back at me, her freak of a husband, crumpled in a heap on 
the floor, and smiled again, that lazy, unspeakably cruel 
smile. 

"You can't even get it up to fuck me any more, can you?"

They waited. I could only stare, hypnotized, at Jesse's 
big fingers as they worked up and down my wife's pussy.

But not saying anything turned out to be a serious 
mistake.

"I just asked you a question, Myron," she snapped. 

"Q-q-question? What--"

Jesse frowned and moved toward me again. The throbbing in 
my nose was just dying down, and I had no doubts he could 
cause me untold pain. I did scream this time, and 
scrambled back, but he lunged forward and slapped me 
across the face, hard. I felt a slice of red-hot pain in 
my neck as my head snapped to the side from the force of 
his blow. Then he slapped the other cheek. Spittle 
sprayed from my numb lips.

"Answer your wife, you piece of shit retard! Can you get 
it up? Huh?"

The bitch-slapping had left me too dazed to think 
clearly. Little colored lights danced in my eyes.

"Answer me, Myron. Or Jesse will not be a happy boy." She 
giggled again. 

Crazy. Sick, dangerous, crazy. 

Different.

Special.

"And you should know," she went on, "that when Jesse gets 
angry he can be really, really mean. He's such a bad boy! 
Now: tell us, Myron. Tell us about that little `problem' 
of yours."

I rubbed my burning cheek, desperately trying to clear my 
head. My mouth was numb. Christ... I had to say 
something, fast...

"...please..."

Jesse's nostrils flared. It was the only sign that he had 
lost his temper with me, but I curled into a terrorized 
ball at the sight of it. He just grinned at me and walked 
over. Panic surged inside my guts. This was it. He was 
going to kill me.

I freaked out.

"No! Nononono, pleasepleaseplease, ohgodno, 
Jessewaitpleasepleaseplease NOOOO--"

He put his implacable hands on my arms and one foot on my 
thigh and began to unfold me, still smiling.

"Okayokayokay! I can't-Tina, please! You're my WIFE!! My 
WIFE!!!"

She laughed. Good one, Myron!

"Oh, SHIT, oh, SHIT!" Tears and snot streaked across my 
splotchy face as I writhed helplessly. The words began 
tumbling out of me. "YES! Yes, RIGHT! My d-d-DICK won't 
get h-h-HAAARD, nonoplease... My... my little DICK!!" I 
was screaming now, begging for mercy. "I... huh-hi-I'm a 
FAGGOT, I'm a stupid little FAGGOT, okay?! Please, 
just... a stupid little no-dick faggot... Oh, god, ohhhh, 
god, ohhhh... PLEEEASE!!!"

Tina was laughing again as Jesse twisted my body at will. 

It was another one of his wrestling moves. I even 
recognized it from our degrading "championship wrestling" 
sessions: the "Surfboard Roll-Up." He had me upside down 
now, my wrists clenched in his paws as I struggled and 
jerked and screamed with fear and pain; he was lifting my 
body clear up off the floor; now he had one of my legs in 
a knee-lock; now the other... 

I was upside down, babbling nonsense, resting painfully 
on the back of my head so that my weak little chin was 
tucked into my chest. My knees were pinned behind my 
ears, and my arms were yanked up behind my back. My 
flabby ass was bared to the world, spread open wide to 
expose my hairy asshole; so were my little balls. As for 
my "jellybean," it was invisible in this position. 

I couldn't move a muscle.

Jesse was behind me, his super-sized schlong squooshed 
against the small of my back. I was looking up at him 
from below, his beautiful, grinning, All-American face 
just visible above his big teenaged pecs.

Tina came up now and stood on the other side of me, her 
feet on either side of my head so that I had a perfect 
view of her shapely legs, her round, saucy little ass, 
and her smooth wet slit. 

My wife... 

Terrified, I babbled some more. I could see her sweet 
young tits wobbling daintily as she bent over. She made a 
face of mock concern as she looked at my crotch. 

Then she raised her fingers and began to caress my 
defenseless scrotum. 

"Awww," she murmured sadly. "Poor little Myron."

I stopped my babbling and held my breath. They're 
dangerous, I reminded myself. They were special, and they 
were sexy, and they were very, very dangerous, and they 
wanted to be mean to Myron and step on him and pull off 
his wings. It was better now to just keep quiet, to speak 
only when I was spoken to, to take whatever they were 
about to do to me and pray that I'd live through it...

At least, those were my thoughts before she pinched my 
nuts up in one cruel motion. 

It hurt. My neck was bent at a ridiculous angle, so my 
cry of pain came out sounding like I'd inhaled a lungful 
of helium, like a cartoon chipmunk, and of course they 
laughed at me. They laughed, Jesse and Tina; they laughed 
at this ridiculous upside-down cuckold with his 
micropenis and poor, pinched-up nuts. 

Then she raised one dainty foot over my face and bore 
down, hard. My poor, already abused nose bent slowly to 
the side, and the balls of her foot shoved my lips 
sideways. 

She might merely have been using my face as a stepping 
stool to make out with Jesse more easily, because that, 
suddenly, is what my wife was doing: the two of them were 
kissing so hungrily, with such passion, that I could see 
beads of sex-juice gathering in the crease of her pink 
little pussy. 

Yes, she might have been using my face as a stepping 
stool; but did she have to bear down quite so hard? She 
was grinding her foot against my face with all her 
weight; my mouth was getting wrenched this way and that, 
and the cartilage in my nose was making little crunching 
popping sounds, though the bone, thank God, didn't break. 

And all the while she was twisting my pathetic nut sac 
back and forth.

I moaned, but they were moaning, too, so loudly they 
couldn't possibly have heard, and of course they were 
enjoying my humiliation too much to have cared anyway. I 
tried to look away, but her foot held my stepped-on face 
upright, and there was something weirdly compelling about 
the sight of my wife kissing this stud... Her soft lips 
crushed against his, then parting just enough for me to 
see their tongues writhing together... Her hand stroking 
his heavy pecs and plump nipples, then suddenly digging 
into his flesh in a spasm of passion as her shoved that 
fat middle finger into her pussy ...

...and despite the pain in my face...

...and the horribly uncomfortable throbbing in my 
scrotum...

...my penis twitched.

Eagerly. And twitched again, as he clenched one of Tina's 
puffy areolas between his thumb and forefinger, and 
worked it until it was a bright, luscious fuschia. 

They were beautiful together. 

It hurt to watch them; my heart felt like it was being 
sliced to ribbons, watching them make out above me. But 
they were so... fucking... beautiful...

Finally they stopped. It was a relief, not to have to 
watch them frenching each other, but she didn't remove 
her foot from my face. In stead she turned her attention 
back to my aching sac. 

"Okay," she said breathlessly, and licked her lips. 
"Okay." She was grinning now, an openly malicious grin. 
"This little bump here? This wrinkled little bump you 
call your `balls'?" She twisted it hard for emphasis, and 
I gave a muffled cry. "We need to do something about it."

I saw now that she was holding a thick rubber band in the 
other hand. As I stared helplessly, my mind a tangle of 
fear and misery, she snapped it around the base of my 
scrotum. It bulged up away from my groin now, about the 
size and color of two red grapes. 

"...pfeenzh..." 

I was trying my hardest to say "please." I was ready to 
beg, grovel, and crawl on my hands and knees, to say 
whatever they wanted me to say, no matter how debased; I 
would have confessed to any crime, promised any ransom, 
to regain my freedom... but my constricted throat and 
stepped-on face meant that this nasal, inarticulate baby-
word was the best I could do. Not that it would have made 
any difference. I was crying again, too, just a series of 
wet throat-clicks and snot-laden snorting sounds that 
made no particular impression on them at all.

Tina, my wife, my angel, raised her other hand.

She was holding a ping-pong paddle.

And she was going to pound my nuts with it.

My penis shrank even more. I jerked involuntarily as she 
used the paddle to caress my nuts, which were turning 
purple now.

"Nncch... Mmphhngg!" No good. I tried again. "Teem'mn, 
nrngh!" (Tina, no!) "Nrngh, nrngh! Pfeenzh, nrngh..."

I farted with fear, and Jesse made an exaggerated show of 
disgust:

"Whoa! You stink like shit, faggot! Give him TWO whacks, 
baby!" 

Tina looked down at me.

"Poor Myron. This is going to hurt." She licked her lips. 
"It's going to hurt soooo bad..." 

"Nnngghh!"

"But you have to learn, Myron. You have to learn to be 
a... a good boy and do what I tell you."

Her lips were parted now, and her breathing was shallow. 

This was turning her on.

I felt Jesse's proud, king-sized maleness flex against 
the small of my back a little. He, too, was getting 
turned on by my humiliation. But at the moment I wasn't 
thinking about the implications of what this meant; about 
how they might want to keep doing it, keep me around for 
hours or even days of "special," "dangerous" fun. No, I 
could only think about what was about to happen to my 
testicles. My mouth was dry, and my head spun. 

The paddle bore down a little, causing that familiar, 
horrible ache that every male, alpha or not, feels when 
his testicles are in trouble; I saw my wife lean forward 
a little, and Jesse did, too, until suddenly they were 
kissing again. 

"Pfffzh... tchnnt..."

I could only sputter and watch as Tina and Jesse made out 
over my throbbing nut sac. His cock flexed again; Tina 
pressed the paddle against my balls a little harder, 
whether out of sheer excitement or the wish to cause me 
still greater pain, I don't know. I could see their 
tongues twining together as he reached up and pinched her 
swollen pink nipple, hard.

Then they parted, flushed with excitement, and Tina 
raised the paddle.

"One..."

With a superhuman effort I arched my back just enough to 
open my mouth a little more.

"Teem'mn, pfeenzh! D'ng dee n'sh k'me!" (Tina, please! 
Don't do this to me!) 

"Two..."

"Pfeenzh, n'rt... n'rt m'nitsh!" (Please, not... not my 
nuts!) 

"Three!"

"RRRNGH--!"

I squeezed my eyes shut...

And then--

CRACK!

It was like being struck by lightning. I couldn't even 
feel it at first. Spittle sprayed from between my 
clenched jaws, flecking my pinched lips, as every muscle 
in my body spasmed simultaneously.

My wife had slammed the paddle with all her might against 
my scrotum, driving it with savage glee into my pelvis.

I heard her gasp with pleasure; I dimly heard Jesse 
murmur an admiring "...yeah!" As for myself, I couldn't 
breathe. My face was turning red, I could feel it; an 
ugly beet red. It felt as if an elephant were standing on 
my stomach. My nuts would never be the same.

And then she did it again.

CRACK!

Jesse released me. I toppled over, then rolled slowly 
onto my side.

Twice.

Twice!

I lay there motionless for a while. Slowly the pain came, 
building deep in my belly, an agony so profound I 
couldn't cry or moan. This pain was completely 
paralyzing; it was all I could do to inch my sore arms 
from behind my back. I pulled them up to my chest, then 
slowly, slowly moved them down until my hands rested near 
my devastated groin. Just rested there; I couldn't bring 
myself to touch anything yet. I was too weak, and I was 
afraid. And still the pain grew, emanating from the core 
of my being, as if it were a permanent part of me.

After what seemed like an eternity I was able to draw one 
feeble breath. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep 
me alive. It was also enough to produce a sound. A very 
little sound, considering the mountain of pain and agony 
I was experiencing. A startled falsetto peep, like an 
adolescent girl's. 

They didn't laugh. I had been sure they would laugh, like 
they had every time I said something amusingly stupid or 
made a comical noise. 

Instead, I could hear smacking sounds.

I opened my eyes. 

Jesse had Tina pinned against the wall. She was clawing 
at his back, his ass, his shoulders, her legs wrapped 
tightly around his waist, as they licked and sucked at 
each other's tongues, hungrily.

I closed my eyes and drew another breath.

In another five minutes I was able to roll onto my knees. 
I guess I must have made some kind of sound, another 
peep, maybe, because the smacking sounds stopped. 

Footsteps...

Then a swift kick to my ass.

I flew forward, banging my head against the wall, and the 
impact caused my over-sensitive groin to flare with new 
pain. Wheezing, I painfully rolled over.

They were standing there, panting with passion. 

I forced myself to look at my crotch. My balls were 
unrecognizable. Dark purple and swollen, blotched, oddly 
misshapen. Christ, I had to get the rubber band off...

"Get up."

It was Jesse. And he had just told me to do something. 
The rubber band would have to wait. I heaved myself, 
choking and gagging, to my knees, then slowly got to my 
feet, leaning against the wall for support. The damn high 
heels weren't making this any easier.

"Are you ready to follow orders, bitch?"

"Y-y-yes." It came easily to me; it was almost automatic. 
I had learned my lesson.

"Yes what?"

"Uh..." I racked my addled brains. "Uh... y-y-yes... 
master?"

He smiled again. 

"Good bitch."

"What do you think, Jesse?" asked Tina. "Should we test 
him?"

Oh, no.

"Huh," he grunted, and his eyes narrowed speculatively. 
"A test. Sure! Let's see... Walk over here, bitch."

I had only one thought on my mind: to avoid any more 
pain. Stumbling a little in my ridiculous shoes, 
bowlegged to spare my poor little scrotum, I shuffled to 
them.

"Lean forward."

I leaned forward. Jesse snorted deep in his throat 
once... twice... I could see his mouth working away at 
something... Suddenly he spat in my face. A huge spray of 
snot and saliva spackled me from forehead to chin; 
gobbets of his sputum hung from my eyelashes and nose and 
lips. 

I stiffened, but didn't move.

He glared at me. "What do you say, faggot?"

"Uh... Th... Thank you, m-m-master."

"Good."

My body spasmed with pain. 

"Aaaah! Ow... M-m-mum... M-m-may I p-p-please take off 
the rubber band, master...?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," he laughed. "Go ahead."

They watched, snickering, as I sank to my knees and bent 
over to examine the situation. Oh, Christ... my balls! My 
undersized claim to manhood... They had swelled up until 
I thought they might burst; the badly bruised skin was 
taut and shiny, like that of an eggplant. The band was 
doubled around the base tightly, but I had to get it off, 
now, before my sac puffed up any further. With a moan of 
apprehension, I slowly and carefully worked my fingers 
under one layer of rubber band.

"Hurry up, bitch." Jesse said it carelessly, without any 
particular emotion, but I knew better than to disobey. 
Urgent whimpering sounds bubbled out of me as I struggled 
to get that initial layer up and over my belabored 
scrotum. 

There! It was off.

I had just gone to work on the second layer and had it 
pulled half-way off when Jesse decided to play one of his 
little pranks. Without warning he lunged at me and 
shouted, "Boo!"

I jumped. The band snapped back against my battered nuts, 
and that horrible black pain exploded deep in my crotch 
and bowels. I let out an outraged howl of agony. Jesse 
and Tina loved it, laughing helplessly as, frantic, 
sweating like a pig and yelping with pain and fear, I 
tore the band off.

At last! I cradled my poor, pummeled testicles, shaking 
with relief.

My wife wriggled happily against her lover's muscular 
body. 

"Oooh, Jesse, you're so bad! Hmmmm... Let's see... Okay, 
here's another one. Get up, shitface."

"Yes, Tina." I scrambled up, still cupping my nuts.

"Dance. Dance for us, you ugly fuck. Dance like a... like 
a chicken."

Jesse guffawed. I practically wept with relief. No more 
slapping! No more ball-bashing! ... At least for now.

"A chicken," I agreed. "Yes, Tina. Right away, Tina. 
Thank you, Tina."

And I did it. It was a little stiff at first; I was never 
very good at improvisation. I tucked my hands under my 
armpits and flapped my "wings" tentatively, made a few 
awkward steps... Jesse looked kind of bored, and Tina 
looked outright irritated with my lackluster efforts. 
With a lump of fear in my throat I stuck my ass out, as 
much like a chicken as I could, and shook it. That was 
better: they were both smiling now, nodding. I lifted my 
legs and began strutting around in front of them. But 
they didn't really start enjoying themselves until I 
began clucking.

"Buk-buk-bawwwwk!"

That did it. They were laughing now. Yes! Good! I really 
threw myself into it at that point. I bobbed my head up 
and down, sweating with the effort, clopping back and 
forth, clucking for all I was worth. I was dripping with 
sweat, and it was while I was clucking that I realized 
how thirsty I was. It would have to wait.

But, like all young people, Tina and Jesse had short 
attention spans, and within a minute they'd had enough.

"Okay, dipshit," my wife snapped.

I stopped immediately, out of breath and scared again. 
What now?

Tina wasn't quite done with me.

"Now. You had a little trouble earlier, admitting that 
you can't get it up. Didn't you?"

I swallowed hard, and my stomach lurched. Please, God, 
don't let her be angry with me! "Y-y-yes, Tina. I'm 
sorry. I'm really sorry..."

"Mm hm. Well, I want a full confession, right here, you 
stinking little creep. About everything. All your... 
shortcomings."

Again, a wave of relief hit me, so powerful it made me 
weak in the knees. No more physical abuse!

"Y-y-yes, Tina. Th-th-thank you, Tina. My... my sh-sh-
shortcomings." I swallowed hard. 

"And darling?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to jerk off while you do it."

Oh.

Jesse burst out laughing. "Whoa! Tina, you are one evil 
little cunt, you know that? The poor little freak's nut 
sac is ready to pop...!"

She smiled sweetly. "Mm hm."

Yes, the `poor little freak's nut sac' had seen better 
days, and I was very, very afraid of overtaxing it in its 
current condition. But I knew better than to wait. I 
grabbed my dingaling and started pulling on it. I was 
exhausted, and my words were punctuated with sharp little 
hiccups of breath, like dry sobs; but I could do it.

Anything to please them. To make them happy.

"Um." (dry swallow) "Huh... My... I'm just (hic) a loser. 
(hic) A little (hic) freak (hic) loser." I smiled 
hopefully at them as I yanked my miniscule nub back and 
forth. My wife had settled back in her lover's burly arms 
contentedly. He nibbled on the upper edge of her ear as 
he watched me. No one was angry at Myron yet. That was 
good.

I wanted to make them happy.

I wanted to be a good boy.

I jerked harder and kept going.

"My... My pathetic little p-p-penis... It's just not even 
an inch long! Just a shriveled, useless little... m-m-
micropenis. That's what doctors call it," I added 
helpfully. "A micropenis. And... and it only gets hard 
when I lick your ass..." 

I shivered suddenly. Violently. 

That ass... Just saying the words aloud was having a 
strange effect on me...

My mouth was actually watering. I swallowed hard. 

And that small, wrinkled joke between my legs was getting 
an erection. I couldn't quite believe it. Here I was, 
fresh out of a session of the most intense ball-torture I 
could ever have imagined, jerking off in front of my wife 
and her stud, and I was actually getting a hard-on... A 
stab of pain from my ravaged scrotum made me wince, but I 
kept it up, masturbating furiously.

Christ, it felt good.

"Oh! Oh, Tina, your asshole... I have to lick it every 
time I want to get a hard-on! That sweet, tasty 
asshole..." I groaned with desperate need. "P-p-please... 
I need your shit in my face before I can get hard!" That 
wasn't exactly true. She had never actually crapped in my 
face - at least not yet - and going down on her ass 
hadn't given me an erection in months. But it sounded 
good. And regardless of my past impotence, I was 
certainly hard now. "I'm a shitface! Uh..." (What else 
was there?) "A limp-dicked, whining little shitface... 
Uh..." (Keep going, you moron! Don't stop! It's the only 
way to save yourself!) "My stupid, pathetic little 
dingaling... uh... I'm not a real man. I'm a... a faggot. 
Yeah, yeah, a faggot!" 

Something clicked inside. A faggot? I stared at Jesse, at 
that magnificent golden body of his. How many times had I 
found myself gaping open-mouthed at it? Looking hungrily 
at every slope, every curve? Hypnotized by his sculpted 
back and shoulders, his big sweet-nippled pecs... his 
flat, rippled belly with its deep "innie" navel... his 
powerful ass and haunches... and that thing, that heavy, 
hulking thing between his legs? Just like my locker-room 
days, when I couldn't pull my eyes away from Kip's manly 
prong... I knew now that it was true. I wanted him. I 
wanted to run my hands over that perfect, football-
kicking, bench-pressing, hubby-crushing, wife-fucking 
young body of his.

To... lick it.

"Jesse. Oh, master, you... You're so fucking sexy. I 
wanna..."

I stopped suddenly, terrified that I had gone too far. 
But he had the same lazy confident grin on his face that 
he'd been wearing pretty much from the moment I'd torn 
off the blindfold and seen him standing there with Tina. 
In fact, he even reached down and stroked the big bulge 
in his biking shorts, staring at me. 

Then, he winked.

My dick was rock-hard. I pounded it harder still, in a 
frenzy of desire.

"Nnnngh! Aaah! Oh, master, I wanna be your little cunt! 
Suck you and l-l-lick you..."

He wrapped his hand around his crotch now and squeezed 
gently, emphasizing his ripe young hugeness. I went wild. 

"Annggh! Hnnnh! Oh! Big -- fucking -- COCK!"

Yes. His cock was everything I could never be. My eyes 
strayed down to the skinny, glistening stub in my hand. 
My mouth twisted into a sneering grin. Really, it didn't 
even deserve the name "penis;" after all, it was smaller 
than my little finger. A dizzying range of emotion 
coursed through me: regret, self-hate, and also a sense 
of release at finally getting it all off my chest. This 
was better than any session with Dr. Van Horne. I pinched 
my penis vengefully, glaring at it. 

"Little faggot prick! Useless piece of shit..." I flicked 
it once, twice, three times, hard; I slapped it back and 
forth. But like those Weebles which wobble but don't fall 
down, it bobbed back up every time. It seemed to be 
enjoying the abuse as much as I was enjoying my 
humiliation; it had finally found its place - as an 
object of unremitting scorn. Contempt and loathing for my 
craven little dick swept over me. "Christ. LOOK at this 
thing! Oh, Tina, oh... My little faggot dingaling can't 
do it. My limp faggot prick! You need a big, hot stud to 
fuck you..."

The words just popped out of my mouth. My balls were 
throbbing with pain, but this felt good. Really good. 
Tina's eyes brightened up. A big, hot stud, eh? And 
Jesse... Jesse raised his eyebrows as if to say, Oh, 
yeah?

Yes. Yes!

"Yeah! Jesse! Jesse has a big dick. Jesse has a big fat 
dick and he... he FUCKS you, doesn't he? Oh, yes... He 
FUCKS your hot, wet PUSSY with his fucking COCK, ohhhh... 
Yeah!" I stared at him, grinning boldly. "Yeah! You! You 
big muscle-stud-fucker, you do it! Uh-huh! Uh-huh! You 
love it! You and your big sweet dick! All Myron gets is a 
faceful of her asshole! But you! You FUCK MY WIFE!--"

His hand flashed out suddenly. An open-handed strike 
across my left cheek and I spun around like a top, 
crashing to the floor. 

Sobbing again.

Whining incoherently.

"You sound like Beaker right now, you know that? Remember 
that little guy on the Muppet Show?" Jesse laughed 
happily. "The one who always got blown up..."

I rolled over, clutching my still-hard penis, and stared 
up at him, struggling to smile through my tears. 

"Why, master...? W-w-why did you slap Myron?"

"I just felt like it, bitch. What do you say?"

"Th-th-thank you!"

Tina bent down, took my chin in one hand, and raised the 
other. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for it.

SLAP!!

I collapsed.

"Admit it, faggot," she purred. "You like it."

"Yes!" I laughed savagely through my tears. "Yes! Yes! 
Yes!" I was twitching all over, jerking spasmodically as 
I continued yanking on my stub of a wiener. "Thank you!"

She gave me a look of frank appraisal. I got back to my 
knees, wriggling like a puppy before its masters, eager 
to please them. If I kept them happy, I just might save 
my wasted testicles...

"I think he's ready, Jesse."

Ready?

"Yes!" I exclaimed. I had no idea what she was talking 
about, but as long as they didn't hurt me any more, I 
would do whatever they said. I was ready to accept any 
degradation, and be grateful for it. I needed it; I 
deserved it. I was a subhuman freak. "Yes! I'm ready!"

"Yeah?" He leaned forward. "You're ready? You wanna see 
it?"

"S-s-see it...?"

And in a flash I saw what was coming. I don't know how I 
knew, but I knew. 

And I wanted it. I was nodding excitedly, my face twisted 
into an eager leer, my puny little boner bobbing up and 
down between my thumb and forefinger. I'd known all along 
where this was going; I been craving it, without quite 
being aware of my craving; and now that it was finally 
about to happen, I was ecstatic.

They were going to... do it. Right here.

Right in my face.

"Oh - oh, yes, master. Yes, yes, please yes! Myron wants 
it. Myron wants it so bad. Please..."

"You really wanna see it, bitch?"

"YES!" I screamed. "YES! You think I don't know what 
you're talking about, don't you? You think I'm stupid. 
Okay. Okay! Myron IS stupid! I'm a stupid ass-licking 
faggot! But I know. I KNOW! You're gonna... you're gonna 
do it. You're gonna show me." I swallowed hard and 
crawled to my knees. "Please. Please do it."

"Do what?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"Yeah, Myron," said Tina. "Do what?" 

I giggled again. "Please. Pleeeease!"

"Please what, bitch?" Jesse had an excited grin on his 
face. 

"Please f-f-f... Please f-f-f-f-f-f..."

He slapped me. Hard. He was enjoying this.

"Say it, bitch!"

"...p-p-please f-f-f-fuck her."

"Huh?" He wore a look of mock incredulity now. "What?"

"Please, master. Please." Yet another power-surge of pain 
in my genitals. I gasped, stopped masturbating, then 
regained my composure, such as it was. 

"Please. Fuck. My. Wife."

"You want me to fuck your wife?!"

"YES, master!"

"Right here? Right in front of you"

"YES! Yes, yes! Please fuck her, master!"

"You want to watch me fuck your wife with my cock, you 
pathetic sack of shit?"

I lost it completely. "YES! Do it, do it! FUCK her! Fuck 
my WIFE, right in my faggot FACE! I want to SEE it!"

He stepped back from me, and the room was suddenly 
charged with a new kind of energy. Like the charged air 
before a lightning storm. Jesse seemed to swell up in 
front of me; Tina was surrounded by a pearly aura, I 
swear to God.

Jesse, my master, turned his back to me. Looking at me 
over his shoulder he hooked his big thumbs into the 
waistband of his biking shorts and began easing them 
downward. Slowly, sexily, moving his hips back and forth, 
he worked them down, down, down...

"You like it, bitch?"

I licked my dry, cracked lips.

"...yes... oh, yes..."

I could see the top of his ass now. 

"You want to see more?"

"...yes, master... please..."

He slid them down, inch by inch, over more and more 
flawless ass-skin, over the sweet crack that separated 
his two gorgeous buttocks...

"You want some? You want some of Jesse's asshole, bitch?

"...oh, God, yes..."

"You wanna lick it, shitface?"

There it was. That round, muscular ass had tightened and 
relaxed God knows how many times as he shoved his big 
young prick into my wife. I would have worshipped his 
sphincter with my tongue in a second, if he had told me 
to. I would have sandwiched my face between his sweet, 
seventeen-year-old cheeks, squeezed them against me, and 
frenched his shit-scented hole for hours.

"Oh, yes," I whispered reverently. "Yes, master."

"May be you will. Maybe you will, turdface."

Then he turned around. The biking shorts had been pulled 
down far enough to expose his hips and all of his groin. 
Two shallow grooves ran from his hips downward and 
inward, skirting the lowest part of his perfect, god-like 
torso, angling toward his crotch, as if pointing the way. 
A few silky blond hairs were visible now, and somewhere 
below them... 

He pulled his shorts down. More silken hairs, a flaxen 
nest of them...

...then, the base of his cock...

...and more...

...and still more.

Tina eased her hand in and pulled it out the rest of the 
way. 

"Mmmmm," she said. "Mmmmm."

It was half-erect already, and I gasped at the sight. 

This was it. 

This was manhood. With what I had, buried between my 
legs, you diddled; but this was a cock. This thing 
fucked. Two inches thick, six inches long and still 
growing as I watched. Big as it was, it was still loose, 
still floppy in Tina's hand, which looked impossibly 
childlike beside it; but it was stiffening and raising 
its head in the air of its own accord. A pale, pearly 
pink, with a prominent vein running down the middle. 

Jesse was uncut, and the thought occurred to me that the 
word "manhood" might have derived from the beautiful 
unblemished sleeve that cloaked his bulbous glans. Tina 
moved the skin back, revealing the tip of something big 
and round and shiny. When she let it slide back his cock 
angled upward still further; it was at half-mast now, and 
suddenly it was rising fast. It was spreading, growing, 
and rising higher and higher... nine inches... ten 
inches... and the pink, glistening, bulbous head was 
emerging from his foreskin like a shiny purple Easter 
egg. 

Bigger and bigger.

I fell to my knees. A puddle of saliva had been 
collecting inside my lower lip, and it ran suddenly down 
my chin in a viscous line, to drip onto my own toddler-
sized stiffie.

Tina was rubbing it now. Rubbing his cock. He sighed with 
pleasure and peeled the trunks down to his thighs. His 
balls swung free, big, pendulous, and she fondled them 
and they kissed again.

Jesse's monster cock was completely hard now, close to a 
foot in length, the head streaming pre-cum as my wife 
stroked it. He moved his face down her neck, kissing and 
licking as he went, until he reached my wife's tits. Her 
perfect tits, upright, firm globes of sweet eighteen-
year-old flesh, tipped with fat, pink nipples... 

And he kissed them. 

He licked them. 

He chewed and sucked on them, while she moaned and 
writhed and ran her fingers through his hair... squeezing 
that... that thing between his legs... The two of them 
were bathed in a sheen of sweat, and they slid wetly 
together as they urged each other on, getting stickier 
and hotter with each passing moment.

They were ready. 

Jesse, flushed and slack-lipped, his pupils dilated with 
lust, sat down on the floor with a thud. His eleven-inch 
cock was as rigid as a barber pole and pointing straight 
up, drooling non-stop, a thick milky syrup which rolled 
down the sides and over his enormous balls. Tina 
straddled him and lowered herself down until her juicy 
cunt-lips met his cockhead and began to spread over it, 
like a girl's mouth on a scoop of strawberry ice-cream.

"Ooooo...!"

She was frantic now, crazed with lust, mewing like a 
hungry kitten, but it was so fucking huge she was having 
trouble getting it in... she was twisting, bobbing up and 
down, thrusting her hips back and forth... and little by 
little she worked her tight pussy over his gargantuan 
cock.

He was actually growling.

"Rrrr... Mmmm... Yeah, yeah, yeah, bitch, c'mon, 
c'mon..."

There was a desperate note to his voice. She had squeezed 
almost four inches of it inside herself; there were eight 
more to go, eight more inches of shiny, baseball-bat-
thick fuckmeat...

"Oh, baby, I... I'm trying... Unnh! It's always so... Oh, 
God, it's so fucking BIG..."

"Aw, yeah... yeah, Tina, sweet Tina, come ON... Suck 
this, bitch, suck it!"

He was shoving his fingers in her mouth.

"Glmph...!"

She slurped hungrily at them, eager to get some part of 
him inside her, no matter what, no matter where. Then he 
withdrew them and reached around, groping blindly at her 
ass. One slimy, spit-covered finger found my wife's hole, 
the asshole I had spent hours lapping, and with a savage 
grunt he jammed it in.

My wife gasped. She cried out. And his finger invading 
her anus must have helped because suddenly she opened up, 
my wife's cunt loosened just enough and she slid down, 
all the way, his cock plunging deep inside her with a wet 
squelch.

"AAAAAH!

"YEAH! FUCK yeah, you sweet cunt, OOOHHH--"

"Ohhhh, Jesse, oh, BABY!"

She rose up, exposing his manhood. It was slick with my 
wife's juice. Then she sank down again, crying out in 
pleasure and pain, and this stroke made an incredible 
sticky sound, like two honey-glazed buns being squeezed 
together, and then they were doing it. 

They were fucking each other.

Up until this moment I had pretty much forgotten that I 
was there. I had never seen anything so powerful, so 
animal-like, so primitive, and I had just... faded from 
the picture, in a way. But now I snapped out of my trance 
with a shock. 

I was watching it. 

I was watching my wife fuck Jesse. 

And I grabbed my wiener and began pounding it for all I 
was worth.

"Yeah!" I cried. "Yeah, FUCK! FUCK her, FUCK her!"

"Fucking BITCH," Jesse shouted as my wife rode his pole, 
"fucking SLUT, SUCK it, suck my cock with your CUNT--"

"Aaaangh!" She forced herself down with a breathless 
little cry, and cried out again as she slid back up. 
"Orrrngh! Ungh!"

"Fucking, fucking," I sang out frenziedly, "fucking my 
WIFE--"

He gripped her buttocks, digging his fingers in, and 
seemed to lift her up and slam her down, again and again. 
She was getting the breath pounded right out of her. My 
wife. Her poor cunt... She was weeping now, stretched to 
the limit. "Fuck!... me!... unnh!... fuck!... me!..."

An image flashed through my mind: my little Myron-sized 
prick, sliding in and out of her pussy for a few meager 
seconds of love before the Magic Moment. I laughed out 
loud; I think I was crying, too. 

She was raising one leg high in the air now, easing it 
over his head, crying out in ecstasy as he licked her 
calf, lowering it until it was beside the other. They 
were moving around now, both of them, urgent, impatient; 
she was getting to her knees, he was behind her -

"Fuck me," she whined. "Fuck me, you fucking cunt-fucking 
stud. Fuck me like a bitch in heat. Fuck me!"

He laughed, gripping her hips and rearing over her like a 
stallion before plunging deep inside her. To the hilt. 
With a smacking sound as his groin met her ass that made 
both her and myself cry out.

"Big COCK!" I blubbered. "Big COCK in my wife's CUNT--!"

She focused on me for a second. 

Laughed.

Then her eyes unfocused and she had entered their world 
again, the world that existed only for the two of them. 
The world of pure, unadulterated, big-cocked, tight-
pussied wife-fucking.

His gargantuan nuts were swinging back and forth like a 
pendulum, slapping her stomach with a damp "plop" again, 
and again, and again, keeping time with their furious 
fucking, dripping with their combined juices. I was 
temporarily mesmerized by it... that huge, dangling 
softball-sized sac, swaying this way and that as he 
rammed into my wife...

"Ohhh Jesse," she groaned, "ohgodohgod you're so BIIIG--"

"YEAH, bitch! YEAH!" He reached around now to take hold 
of her bouncing tits, squeezing them hard, kneading them. 
Milking them. Milking my wife while he fucked her, 
rolling her nipples, digging in. "You love it, huh? 
Cocksucking bitch... You love Jesse's cock, huh? Big 
fuckin' cock, stuff your fuckin' pussy, you stupid 
fuckin' whore, you cock-slut... You love it, Christ 
fucking hot bitch-ass cunt..." The words were pouring out 
of him. They made no sense; they didn't need to. This was 
sex. This was fuck-talk. "Unh. Unh! Fuck, FUUUCK!" 

As for my wife, his barbaric pounding was driving her 
wild. 

"Stick it in my - Unh! Oh! Oh, fuck my pussy, you fuck, 
you piece of shit, unh! Unh! Uh, GOD, my fucking pussy, 
you God-damned motherfucker, cock-fucking... shit, ah - 
AANGH -- fucking GOD--!"

They did this for a while. Then they changed positions. 
Twisting and turning. Him on top, pounding her cunt to 
jelly with his oozing pole. My wife's hands clutching his 
ass, pulling him into herself, deeper than ever. His 
sweet cheeks parting moistly as he raised himself, 
exposing his tight smooth asshole. Then closing stickily 
as he slammed back into her.

Then doggy-style again. 

I would have cum if I could have. Oh, I came close, so 
many times... But each time I felt myself near to 
orgasmic release my testicles experienced a stab of pain, 
and I had to stop, and wait a minute. The pain never 
quite went away, actually; it built and built. But I 
simply couldn't stop myself from jerking off. I was like 
a puppet, out of control, being jerked on its strings by 
some twisted child, and after half an hour I was 
masturbating with one hand and clutching my stomach with 
the other.

"Ooohhh," I moaned as I spanked my wiener. "Oooofff! 
Owww... Urnngh!"

Abruptly, he collapsed to the floor, on his back, with a 
delirious, crazy laugh. It looked as if someone had 
poured a gallon jug of Mazola over both of them; they 
were practically glowing with sweat. She ground herself 
down onto his cock with her ass to his face a few more 
times, then twisted herself around to face him. 

They were back where they had started. Only now Jesse was 
making a weird whimpering sound; the sound of someone who 
is about to let go of all control, to ride the waterfall, 
to jump off the cliff... He was close. The whimpering 
became a huffing and puffing, like a locomotive. And Tina 
clenched her fists, her face red with effort, eyes 
screwed shut, weeping with passion, and abandoned herself 
to a final, over-the-top round of cock-pounding mania, 
bouncing up and slamming down onto his glorious, 
throbbing shaft.

"Beautiful fucking SLUT," he sobbed, "FUCK me, fuck 
MEEEEE--"

"AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"

And then we were all cumming. At last. My balls clenched, 
the pain was hideous, it was like they were trying to 
take a giant shit, but I came; several drops spurted into 
my fist as I screamed in ecstasy and torment. As for them 
-- Tina hung on for dear life, shaking and crying, as 
Jesse's cock exploded inside her. Those balls of his must 
have been churning inside like two overheated power 
plants because it was a fucking meltdown inside Tina: his 
prick was erupting with a volcanic mother-lode of cum. 
The thick milky cream was overflowing my wife's pussy and 
streaming down his shaft, smeared all over it when she 
slid down, only to be replaced with fresh streams as she 
slid back up, heavy jiggling ropes of his slimy, shiny 
jack hanging from her cunt to his balls.

Balls... Ohhh, Christ... Suddenly my abused nuts really 
did feel like they were about to pop. I gasped, doubled 
over...

...and passed out.



**

CHAPTER 22: Happy-Meal

**

It must have been only a minute. I came to slowly, 
groggily, feeling a little hung over. My throat felt like 
it was coated with dry clay; my tongue felt like 
sandpaper. 

And -- Christ, my aching nuts!

Where the hell was I...?

...Oh, yeah! 

Jesse was lying on his back now, my wife resting on top 
of him. He was stroking her ass, and they were still 
fastened together at the groin; limp, his cock was still 
bigger than many men's, and it didn't slip out like mine 
would have but remained firmly in place. Her cunt-lips 
weren't quite as stretched as they had been, but they 
were still somewhat taut.

They were kissing gently now.

I lay there watching them. Not a thought in my head. Time 
seemed to have stopped.

Finally they stopped kissing. Jesse lifted his head and 
noticed me staring.

"Bitch is awake," he mumbled.

Tina turned and cast a disinterested look my way.

"Mm."

One more lingering kiss. 

"Ohh, Jesse... I could stay like this forever..."

"Yeah? You wanna do it again? I'm getting hard just 
thinking about it."

She laughed.

"Baby, you're insatiable! But I don't think I can handle 
another fucking from you quite so soon. ...What do YOU 
think, Myron? Isn't Jesse amazing?!"

I licked my dry lips.

"Yes, Tina." 

My voice was raspy; I desperately needed something to 
drink, but prudence seemed the better part of valor at 
the moment. It might not be wise to ask permission for 
things like food and water yet.

Thankfully, she noticed. 

"Oh, poor Myron!" she exclaimed. "Jesse, listen to that 
voice! He must be thirsty!"

She inched forward, pulling herself off his penis with a 
moist shlupping noise. Finally his cock flopped free, 
lying limp on his belly like a baked and buttered yam. To 
my amazement Tina's cum-splattered pussy remained open 
for a few seconds, then slowly began to close. 

That was one well-fucked cunt.

She stretched luxuriously, then climbed to her feet. More 
of Jesse's cum slid out from between her legs, trickling 
down the insides of her thighs.

"Are you? Are you thirsty, Myron?"

"Oh, yes." I swallowed; it actually hurt, my throat was 
so parched. "Yes, Tina. Very, very thirsty."

"Awww. Well, you've been a good boy. I think you've 
learned your lesson. Don't you think he learned his 
lesson, baby?"

Jesse propped himself up on his elbows. "I dunno. Did you 
learn something, faggot?"

"Yes," I croaked fervently. "Oh, yes, master. I learned 
my lesson. And I... I'm very, very thirsty. Please..."

"Okay, Myron," she said, "I'm going to give you something 
tasty to drink. Something special. For your birthday."

"Oh, thank you... thank you!"

She walked over to me, then squatted next to me. His 
thick cream was running out of her now, making a luminous 
puddle on the floor next to my head.

"Open up, Myron dear."

"What--?"

She was already maneuvering her crotch over my face. Her 
pussy was a sticky, cum-streaming mess; the lips parted 
as she spread her legs a little wider, and still more 
spooge streamed out, pooling on my chin as I opened my 
mouth to protest. Too late. She sat down abruptly, 
covering my mouth with her sloppy cunt. 

Dear God, no... Not this...

"Mmmph!"

I reached up to try to get her off, but the repeated 
slaps across the face, the agonizing wrestling hold Jesse 
had pinned me with, the paddle-blows to my nuts, the 
chicken-strut - all these things had left me even weaker 
than I was normally. I scrabbled feebly at her thighs and 
ass, but it was no use. 

"Eat it, you pathetic little worm," she hissed. "Eat it, 
or you know what happens."

My groin spasmed with remembered pain. No; I wasn't 
stupid. I wouldn't ever, ever disobey them again. And she 
was, after all, Tina Anderssen. She was the blonde little 
vixen of my dreams... and of my most feverishly 
delightful nightmares. I had eaten this pussy before, and 
been grateful for every Goddess-given moment of it. So 
what? So what if my wife's pussy, the pussy squishing 
itself against my mouth, was full of her lover's jism? 
Wasn't this, too, a privilege, in a way?

I gave up and ate.

Jesse's cream was running into my open mouth as though it 
were being poured from a pitcher. Straight out of my 
wife's fuckhole, thick, viscous, hot, and plentiful, 
getting smeared all over my face... 

It was kind of tasty, actually.

I slurped at it, licked it, probed her pussy with my 
tongue for more. I could hardly breathe; only my nose was 
uncovered, and even that was getting slimed, so that I 
was practically blowing nose-bubbles of the stuff; but I 
swallowed it all down, eagerly.  "That's it," she sighed. 
"That's it, fuckface. Loser. Freak. Eat it... eat Jesse's 
cum... Ahhhh."

"Mmmph."

Quite a lot of it wound up on my face rather than in my 
mouth, of course, but I did the best I could, and when 
she finally dismounted, I wasn't very thirsty any more. I 
looked up from my position on the floor, dazed, blinking 
owlishly. The stuff was in my nose, my eyelashes, even in 
my hair. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Myron," she complained. "You look 
like someone threw a pie in your face."

"What a fucking pig," Jesse grunted.

"Yup," she agreed. "And I'm still pretty sticky. Oh, 
well, Myron. I guess you did the best you could with such 
a big load. I'm going to clean up a little."

She walked to the bathroom, a little bounce to her step. 

What a woman.

And now I was alone in the rec room with Jesse.

"Okay, cumsucker," he said. "My turn."

"Your turn?"

"You heard me, fuck-breath." He gestured at his penis, 
still lying wetly across his sculpted abs. "Clean it up."

I felt a little like I was dreaming. Could this really be 
happening? Me, Myron Lipshitz, actually... actually touch 
Jesse's godlike cock... with my mouth? A broken smile 
spread across my face. 

Or was it a trick? 

"Bitch," he said menacingly, looking up again, "do it. 
Now."

"Y-y-yes, master," I whispered.

I got painfully to my hands and knees and crawled over to 
him. Even up close, I couldn't quite believe this thing 
was real. Oh, it wasn't just the size. I mean, yes, even 
limp it was six inches long and about two inches wide. 
There was no way I could fit my mouth around it. 

But it was more than size. It looked as though someone 
had poured a lightly beaten mixture of egg-whites and 
whipping cream over the entire thing, as well as over his 
belly and balls. 

"Here, he said, tossing me his shorts. "Wipe your face 
off, bitch. You can't clean shit with your face like 
that." Under his breath: "Fuckin' idiot."

"Yes, master," I said gratefully. "Thank you, master." 

I wiped what I could from my dripping mug, then bent over 
his cock again. I lifted it, hefted it in my hands. It 
was slippery with the stuff - "fuck-sauce," I thought to 
myself. And it was heavy. 

Prayerfully, I touched my lips to it. 

I slurped at it. 

I ran my tongue from one end to the other, sucking up the 
mixture of Jesse's and Tina's cum; peeled back his 
foreskin, lapped eagerly at the still-oozing head, then 
lifted the whole thing up and worked on his balls for a 
while. I cupped them and lifted them to my face, kissing 
and sucking, rubbing my face on his slack nut-skin, 
lifted his flabby scrotum up higher, too, to get at the 
other side, and that's when I smelled it: the 
unmistakable smell of ass.

Incredibly, my penis jumped.

A little fuck-sauce had trickled down the bulging muscle 
at the base of his nuts, entering the crack, and I got to 
work, tonguing it with gusto, but I hadn't gotten very 
far before he cuffed my head.

"Do my belly," he murmured.

My ministrations didn't seem to be turning him on. I was 
a little hurt, and more than that, I was hard, achingly 
hard. But I knew better than to argue. With a sigh I 
slurped at the cooling puddle on his smooth stomach, 
probing his navel, lapping at the little puddles in the 
hollows near his hips... Then I sucked at the golden 
hairs above his cock, until they stood in damp peaks.

I fondled my penis furtively. Oh, Christ, Jesse...

"Mmmm... Ohhhh, master..."

"Relax, fuckface. You're not my girlfriend, you're the 
janitor. Just get it clean."

I whimpered plaintively, but did as ordered.



**

CHAPTER 23: The Show Must Go On

**

I was sucking the last of the creamy mix from under his 
foreskin when something slammed into my stomach. With a 
whoof I flopped to my side. It was Tina; she had kicked 
me, kicked me away like an old tin can. Just a piece of 
trash. I lay still, nursing my stomach and my hard-on, 
praying she wouldn't kick me again.

"So," she said, grinning naughtily at Jesse, "I seem to 
remember that you told me only a woman was going to touch 
your cock."

He looked at her blankly.

"That first day you came to visit? When you bragged about 
jerking off for cash in the park?" 

"Oh, yeah!!" he laughed. "Well, in the first place, Myron 
isn't a man. The bitch ain't exactly a woman, but I've 
seen clits bigger than that thing between its legs, so 
it's definitely not a man. Especially not after you 
hammered its nuts. And secondly, it wasn't a turn-on, at 
least not for me. This sack of shit is about as sexy as a 
public toilet. No, I'm just using your husband for a 
little clean-up."

"Good," she said. "I was about to get angry at him." She 
turned to me, amused, cruel... truly goddess-like. "I was 
thinking it might be time for another spanking. Maybe it 
is."

Spanking? Good God - did she mean what I thought she 
meant? I felt the blood drain from my face. There was no 
way my nuts could withstand another round of abuse; if 
the damage wasn't permanent now, it certainly would be in 
two more paddle-whacks. I scrabbled to my feet.

"No!" I shrieked. "No, no, no, please! Oh god - Oh god, 
please! No! Tina, don't - don't do that to me again." I 
was crying now, covering my nuts with both hands. Both 
Jesse and Tina were chuckling at my terror; I didn't 
care. I didn't care how amusing this was to them. I only 
knew that I would do whatever it took to save myself from 
another such beating. "You can do anything. I... I'll 
dance the chicken-dance again." I smiled through my tears 
eagerly, desperately. "I'll masturbate for you again and 
do another confession. There's more to confess, I just 
know I can think of more things, if you'll give me more 
time." I sank to my knees and clasped my hands together. 
"Please--"

SLAP! Jesse had lashed out, unpredictable as always. My 
head snapped to the side, and I bit my tongue.

Ouch.

"Ah. Th-th-thank you, master. Please slap me again, if 
you want to." 

But they'd forgotten me. They'd forgotten all about me, 
Myron, the poor, shivering, cum-slopped husband. They 
were talking together. And that wasn't good. No, it 
wasn't good at all. God only knew what evil, twisted 
plans they were coming up with now. 

A public humiliation at Le Bernardin? I didn't think I 
could handle that. No, that might drive me to suicide. 

Castration...? 

I whimpered aloud. 

The ringing in my ears from this latest slapping was 
keeping me from hearing what they were saying, so I 
plunged on. 

"You can do anything. I'm your toy. Your funny little 
toy. I'll... I'll be your t-t-toilet. Wouldn't that be 
funny?" They were ignoring me. "You can piss on me. Piss 
in my face, and I'll... Or you can shit in my face. Take 
a big crap on Myron's face, how about that! Ha ha! Only 
please... Please, please not my nuts--"

"Myron," said Tina sweetly, "if you don't shut your fat, 
disgusting, ass-licking mouth, you'll get the worst ball-
busting of the century."

I shut up. 

"Actually," she purred, "we were just talking about how 
hard this must have been for you so far. The humiliation. 
The torture." 

She walked up to me, and as she approached I was struck 
anew by her demeanor: like a Celtic warrior-queen, she 
radiated a grandeur mixed with a hint of blood-lust. And, 
of course, she looked spectacular. Tina moved close, 
until I could smell the smell of fresh fuck rising from 
her splendid, firm young bod. Only inches away... My 
knees were shaking, threatening to lose their starch 
completely. Her trembling, glistening breasts were only a 
couple of inches away from my own pallid, hairy bitch-
tits. I felt faint. 

Tina... my angel.

My wife.

"So hard," she sighed sadly. "So hard for poor, sweet 
Myron."

"S-s-sweet...?"

"Mm hm. So we think it's time to reward you for all your 
hard work."

"Reward?" I felt a broken smile contort my features. If I 
knew my wife, it wasn't going to be a trip to Jamaica. 
Hopefully it wouldn't hurt too much. "Thank you, Tina."

"Of course, you already had a little birthday snack," 
jeered Jesse, hoisting his great big cock. "Right, 
faggot?"

I licked my lips nervously. "Yes, master."

"So maybe you're ready for dessert."

"D-d-dessert...?" What the hell did he mean by that? "Y-
y-yes, master..."

"And a little ass-fucking. You faggots like that kind of 
thing. Right? You like havin' stuff shoved up your little 
assholes?"

"I..." 

"Course you do. But you need to sing for it, bitch."

"That's right," giggled Tina. "We want a song. What's 
that stupid shit you listen to all day? That guy you like 
so much?"

I racked my brains, which seemed to be working rather 
sluggishly. Too much was happening at once; my asshole 
was clenching and unclenching spasmodically in 
anticipation of whatever they were going to do to it, and 
of course I was pretty well fried after the hell my 
wicked little wife and her muscular stud had put me 
through. Stupid shit I listened to all day...? Then it 
came to me.

"B-b-barry Manilow?"

"That's the one," she laughed. "Barry fucking Manilow. 
Jesus Christ, Myron, you are one pathetic loser, you know 
that?"

"Y-y-yes, Tina." I nodded enthusiastically. "I am a 
pathetic loser. A cock-hungry faggot who needs a good 
hard ass-fucking. A sniveling--"

POW! Another slap across the face. Spittle sprayed from 
my mouth again, then hung in a slick line from my slap-
numbed lips.

"Th-th-thank you, Tina. What song would you like, Tina?"

She leaned close, so that I could smell her intoxicating 
scent - a heady mixture of expensive perfume and freshly 
pounded pussy. Christ, she was something else. Beautiful! 

"How about... Memories," she murmured.

Then she wrapped her fingers in my hair and wrenched my 
head down. I yelped and hobbled after her, my hands 
fluttering helplessly near hers (I didn't dare touch 
them), until she had dragged me to the party table. I 
registered, just briefly, the big cheerful-looking banner 
emblazoned with the words "Happy Birthday, Myron." 

Thirty-three years old. 

I giggled, despite the pain in my scalp. The table was 
loaded with coconut creme pies - my favorite, as she had 
so sweetly pointed out earlier; a lot of them, certainly 
over twenty. In fact, I realized, probably thirty-three 
of them, thirty-three ripe, white, fluffy mounds, the 
deluxe size, a full twelve inches across, each topped 
with a single maraschino cherry. The sweet smell was 
overwhelming. 

She slammed me down onto the surface so that my head hung 
over the edge, knocking the wind out of me and crushing 
several of the pies under my flabby torso in the process; 
the viscous goo oozed over the folded edges of the pie 
tins, curling out past my sides. I giggled again. Jesse 
had called me a clown and a maid wrapped up in one, and 
sure enough, in my high heels and stockings, bent over 
the party table in a slimy mess of coconut creme, I felt 
like I qualified.

A heavy slapping sound got my attention. 

Jesse and Tina were standing in front of me. His 
incredible cock dangled in front of my face, and my head 
swam. My penis hadn't yet lost its erection, and I 
reflected that, if nothing else, I had finally and 
completely overcome my impotence. 

Tina was next to him, and in one dainty little hand she 
was holding a sausage, slapping it again and again into 
the open palm of the other hand.

A big sausage. A foot long, a couple of inches thick...

"What do you think, Myron?" she crooned. 

What did I think? Here's what I thought. I thought that 
in a minute this thing was going to slide deep into my 
anus. I had gleaned that I was going to have to sing for 
the privilege. And I had the growing suspicion that my 
wife would somehow manage to involve the pies, as well. 

A shiver of masochistic delight ran through me. 

"I'm ready, Tina. Myron is ready."

Her musical laughter danced in my wears as she made her 
way to the other side of the table, behind me.

"You know," said Jesse in an offhanded tone, "this was 
all your wife's idea. The whole thing. Tina has a pretty 
fucked-up sense of humor." 

"Y-y-yes master..."

I felt the tip of the thing suddenly nudge my ass, and 
groaned in mingled fear and eagerness. Tina pressed a 
little harder, then stopped. A moment later she raised 
the meat high and brought it down hard against my 
backside, and I gave a little ecstatic cry of pain. 

"Sing for it, cumsucker," she hissed. "Sing for your ass-
fucking. Sing like a good little fag."

I took a deep breath.

And I sang.

"Memmmorieees..." 

The warbling falsetto broke them up at once. That's it, 
boys and girls. Laugh. Laugh at the clown.

"All aloooone in the mooo-- NGAAHH!!"

The bitch had shoved it in, hard, and I screamed. Tears 
started from my eyes. My guts were blazing, my hole 
stretched until I thought it would rupture. But it 
didn't. Instead, my little candy-corn-sized hard-on gave 
an excited jump. And she pulled it out some. I was 
panting, and whimpering, and I'd completely forgotten my 
orders until Jesse grabbed a fistful of my already-abused 
hair and yanked, hard.

"Sing," he said curtly.

"Uh! Uh god... Hoo... I..." How the hell did it go? My 
asshole was on fire. "M-m-moooonliiight... I can smile at 
the ooooold dayyyys..." More laughter. It was funny. This 
was funny to them: raping the cuckold's ass was a big 
joke. 

Yes. And his microdick was trembling for release.

"It was byooo-- WAAUGH!!"

Thrust number two. Deeper this time.

Abruptly she let go, closed her fist around my hair, and 
yanked upward, hauling me to a standing position. Atten-
SHUN! Clots of coconut creme flopped from my chest to the 
floor at my feet with wet smacks, and I was forced to 
keep my legs spread a little to accommodate the sausage 
jutting from my anus. Tears were streaming down my face, 
tears of pain. She released my hair and walked back to 
join Jesse, who was hefting one of the pies in his hands, 
testing its weight appreciatively.

"Keep singing," she said with a grin.

I mastered myself with difficulty and opened my mouth.

"It was beautiful thennnn..." 

Jesse hefted the pastry a few more times, then cocked his 
arm back. He hesitated, eyes shining, lips parted, and I 
saw his big, still-dribbling penis rise a little. Yes, he 
was enjoying this immensely. Savoring it. In a second the 
kid was going to paste me with coconut creme as though I 
were a carnival booth patsy, and the thought of 
humiliating his woman's shrimp-dicked husband like this 
was clearly turning him on. I swallowed, gathered myself, 
and forged on.

"I remember," I warbled, "the time I knew...

Then he let it fly, and I saw it coming, sailing through 
the air with unerring accuracy toward my face, my 
ridiculous clown face, open-mouthed in song.

"...what hah--"

SPLAT!

And the first pie of the evening hit me square on the 
nose. Fragments of creme whipped past my head with the 
force of Jesse's mighty throw. 

I rocked back a little. More laughter. 

"Nice arm, baby," I heard my wife tell her lover.

The time I knew what happiness was... The words came back 
to me in a rush. I felt suddenly that Barry must have 
written the song for just this occasion; it was too 
perfect. I was really crying now. Heavy creme filling 
hung on my face; a hunk of the sweet glutinous stuff slid 
from one eyebrow to land on my penis. But I couldn't stop 
singing.

"Dayyyylight... I must wait for the--"

SPLAT! A second pie, plastered directly on top of the 
first. I licked my lips, sobbed once, and kept right on 
going.

"...the sunrise... I must think of a newwww liiiife--"

SPLAT! This one hit my chest. Their laughter was so 
bright, and happy, and merciless...

"...and I mustn't give innnn..."

SPLAT! One for the crotch. My balls throbbed in silent 
protest from the impact, and I bent over just a little, 
with a huff of pain. The pie hung wetly between my legs 
for several seconds before unsticking itself and landing 
on my feet. 

And my penis bobbed up, thickly coated, and more excited 
than ever.

Keep on going, Myron. Ignore the ache in your ass, the 
dull pain in your swollen nutsac. Ignore the sore ankles 
from the high-heeled shoes. Stop crying, you fucking 
baby, and give your masters what they want...

"When the dawwwwn comes, tonight will be a--"

SPLAT! 

"...a memory tooo--"

SPLAT!

They were coming fast and thick, now. I was singing the 
best I could, but it was difficult. Touch me, I sang. 
It's so easy to leave me. All alone with the memory. Of 
my day in the sun.

And still they pelted me, my chest, stomach, every inch 
of me, until I was dripping head to toe with the stuff. 

I couldn't see any more, or I would have known to brace 
myself, because Jesse must have wound up for this last 
pitch like a pro; all I knew was that the final pie 
slammed into my face with incredible force, as though it 
had been fired from a cannon. The impact knocked me 
completely off balance. One leg shot out from underneath 
me on the cream-slick floor, the other slid after it, and 
then I was flat on my back, a sodden mass, sobbing 
uncontrollably. 

"Hey. Bitch."

Jesse. He was standing over me, his legs apart, like a 
warrior, with his thick, proud penis swinging between his 
legs. I gulped, started to get to my feet. 

"Naw, bitch, you don't have to get up. Just stay on your 
knees. That's it. Look up at Jesse, now. Good, bitch. 
Okey-dokey, we're gonna get you cleaned off, here, don't 
you worry none."

That's when he started pissing in my face. I was too 
dazed to move, or even to shield my face from the hot, 
rancid stream that was suddenly splashing against it. All 
I could do was kneel there, dazed, my mouth open a 
little, as Jesse pissed all over me. 

He was one of those guys, of course, who could hold it 
for a long time. Not like me; in the course of a normal 
day I had to pee every forty minutes or so, and then it 
was just a five-second trickle. But Jesse was an 
accomplished beer-drinker; he could put a twelve-pack 
away easily without having to empty his bladder; and this 
ultimate humiliation lasted almost a minute. A minute 
doesn't seem like a long time in some situations, but 
when your wife's lover is using your face as a urinal, it 
feels like forever. And the stream was heavy and hard; he 
was staling like a thoroughbred stallion.

Finally he was done. With a contemptuous shake of his 
massive cock he planted his foot on my creme-coated chest 
and shoved me back down.

"Now," he said calmly, as if he were a teacher explaining 
homework, "you've had your birthday snack. And you had 
your dessert. And daddy cleaned you up. But before you 
have your nap, you need a little something to top it all 
off."

I stared dully at him. 

I had just been pissed on. My balls had been clobbered, 
my face slapped repeatedly. I had been forced to confess 
my sexual perversions in front of my wife and her lover 
while masturbating my puny dick. I'd performed a lame 
rendition of one of the most pathetically sappy songs of 
the twentieth century for the privilege of having a 
sausage shoved up my asshole, and of serving as a target 
for a table-full of creme pies. The two of them had 
fucked like wild animals in front of me - me, her 
lawfully wedded husband. And my lawfully wedded wife had 
forced me to slurp away at her sloppy cunt afterwards.

And now they had... something to top it off.

Jesse stepped over me. All I could see of him were his 
mighty legs, his low-slung balls, that incredible cock, 
and the two round mounds of asscheek, covered in the 
lightest peach fuzz. And as he lowered himself, I knew. 

He had suggested I might get to taste his ass earlier. 
Well, here it came.

The first thing to happen was that his big balls flopped 
heavily over my nose and rolled forward, to loll across 
my forehead. It was like having a warm, greasy mound of 
bread-dough spreading across the upper half of my face; I 
couldn't see a damn thing. The second thing to happen was 
that I felt the lower half of my face abruptly buried 
deep between his warm, sweaty buttocks. The third 
thing... 

The third thing was his tender young asshole, which came 
to rest directly against my mouth.

At last.

I had given up every last shred of human dignity a long 
time ago. Clutching blindly at his hips, I pulled him 
even more tightly down over my face and stuck my tongue 
hungrily into his tight, pink anus, as far as I could. 
The pungent taste, the velvety feel of it were driving me 
frantic with need; my little dingus was rigid and 
throbbing, while my own anus clenched and unclenched 
around the thick sausage that had stretched it to its 
limit.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "That's it, bitch. Lick it. 
Lick your master's ass..."

"Grmmph!"

"Now... unh!... now watch this..."

Then he reached down and hauled his balls away from my 
face and over to one side. His big, sweaty sac was draped 
across my left cheek, now, with result that I had a clear 
view, and there it was: his cock, his huge young cock in 
all its firm, turgid glory, suspended over my face like a 
fucking girder. I groaned, watching the thing swell, 
overextend its foreskin, rise some, fall back a little, 
then rise a little more... Until finally it was standing 
tall and proud over me, like one of those ancient, 
featureless European idols carved of stone. Pre-cum was 
trickling nonstop down that awesome shaft, rolling over 
his sac to streak itself across my face as I grunted and 
snorted with my tongue up his asshole.

Tina was standing over me, too, now. My wife, towering 
over me like a magnificent sex goddess lording it over a 
cowering supplicant. And as I watched, my wife lowered 
herself down, facing her lover, until she had planted her 
pussylips against his bulbous cockhead.

I watched the whole thing from between their legs. And I 
think I'll never see anything quite like it again. I 
mean, I'd seen it earlier, but this was different. His 
asshole spasmed on my tongue as she forced herself down, 
her fuck-loosened cunt spreading its mouth a little more 
easily this time to accommodate Jesse's incredible girth, 
her round eighteen-year-old derriere sinking toward my 
adoring gaze...

...and the fucking began.

It wasn't easy; when she slammed downwards, his ass bore 
down on me with about twenty extra pounds of force. But 
on the other hand I was watching it all from a ringside 
seat, as it were. What an honor!

"Oh, my fuckin' GOD," he bellowed, "this is the SHIT! You 
fuckin' me while he eats my ass... FUCK yeah!"

"Yeah," she panted, laughing a little, "yeah, Jesse, you 
PIG, that's IT! Ride his FACE! EAT it, Myron, you 
miserable FUCK! Eat a real man's SHIT while I FUCK 
him...!"

It didn't take long at all. I think having me down there 
was a bigger turn-on to them then they would have been 
likely to admit; certainly it was the crowning 
humiliation, having me service Jesse's shithole while 
they fucked, quite literally, in my face. As for me, 
Myron Lipshitz, I was in a state of masochistic ecstasy. 
My hands were occupied either in pulling my master's 
buttocks apart to nuzzle his asshole more deeply, or in 
grabbing his hips; I wasn't touching myself at all. And 
yet, slowly but surely, without even touching myself, I 
was getting closer and closer to orgasm. 

Pretty soon the flow of his semen, mixed with my wife's 
juice, was pooling in my ears, nostrils, and hair. I was 
grunting more urgently now. 

"Mmmph! Mmmph!"

"Christ, fuck shit piss, ah, GOD, yeah, bitch, fuck it, 
fuck it fuck it FUCK IT--"

"Oh Jesse ohmygod ohmygod you... you... big... fucking... 
STUD--"

"Oh! Unh! Unh! Ah! AHHH--"

"AAAAHHHH!"

And we came. 

I could feel it this time; his balls were resting against 
my cheek, and I could feel something rushing inside them, 
and then his cum was everywhere, rolling down his schlong 
like a 32 ounce milkshake, streaming from Tina's pussy, 
pouring over my snuffling face as I screamed my own 
pleasure (which isn't easy to do with your tongue up 
someone's ass).

I lay there under his butt for a while, lapping weakly at 
his sphincter, as Jesse and my wife kissed softly, 
gently, letting the waves of their orgasm shudder through 
them. 



**

CHAPTER 24: A Fresh Beginning

**

Finally Tina eased herself off from his still semi-hard 
cock, and Jesse got to his feet.

I lay there, limp, unmoving. My face was soaked in their 
cum, my nose and mouth full of the taste and smell of 
Jesse's shit. I was spent. Used.

Wasted.

"Okay," said Jesse. "Here's the deal, shitface."

I gurgled faintly.

"We've got a few photos of our little birthday party 
extravaganza."

I nodded weakly. Nothing surprised me. 

"Photos of you jerking off in women's clothes and shit. 
Eating my ass. A few scandalous little items like that."

I trembled briefly, took a deep, shuddering breath, 
exhaled.

"...uh huh..."

"Got it?" he demanded

"...yes, master."

"Good," said Tina crisply. "Then here's how it is. I'd 
divorce you and take half of what you own, but I'd rather 
just have it all. We could kill you, of course... But 
frankly, I think I like having you around." She giggled. 
"It's fun."

"...fun...?"

"And don't deny it: you seem to enjoy receiving the 
humiliation as much as we like doling it out to you. You 
were desperate for it tonight, Myron. Begging for it. In 
fact, ever since I met you, I knew this was what you were 
after."

"Fuckin' sicko," grinned Jesse.

"...yes, master."

"So," she concluded, "we stay married. You and I will 
remain the owners of all this luxury, just like always. 
But the reality is that you're our bitch. You'll do the 
cooking and cleaning. You'll pick up after us. You'll run 
our errands. You'll wait on us hand and foot."

"...yes, Tina." 

It didn't sound so bad, really.

"And in return..." She and Jesse looked at each other, 
and smiled wickedly. "In return, we'll let you watch us 
fuck. Every once in a while, of course, not all the time. 
You can feast your tortured little eyes on us, when we 
say it's okay. And if these terms aren't acceptable, 
well..." She made a camera of her hands, pressed an 
imaginary button.

Click.

I heaved myself up to one elbow.

"Tina... Tina, I..." I hung my head, almost afraid to 
look at her. "Darling, I love you. And I... I want you to 
be happy. B-b-blackmail... you don't have to worry about 
it. And..." I swallowed hard. "And yes, I... I like it."

"Yeah?" She laughed. "Well, maybe we'll post the photos 
around town anyway someday, just for kicks. In the 
meantime..."

"I'm hungry," announced Jesse.

I got slowly, painfully to my feet.

"Yes, master."

"I want grits. Grits and bacon, and tater tots. And some 
collard greens or something. Fuckin' your wife always 
makes me hungry for real food, not that fag shit you're 
so fond of making."

"Yes, master. Tina?"

"Oh, something light and refreshing. A smoothie. 
Raspberries and bananas and vanilla ice cream. And 
personally, Myron, I like the 'fag shit,' as Jesse calls 
it. So I guess you'll have to get used to making a 
variety of foods."

"Yes, Tina."

I looked at them fondly, and a little fearfully. My 
master, so big and powerful. And my gorgeous wife, like a 
young queen.

"Well, bitch?" snapped Jesse, as he stroked Tina's nipple 
to hardness. "Get a fuckin' move on. I need some energy 
food before I fuck again."

"Yes, master. Right away, master."

And walking delicately because of the sausage in my ass, 
my shoes sploshing wetly with each step, I minced my way 
up to the kitchen. I risked a backward glance: they were 
making out again, two golden, insatiable teenagers 
working their way lazily back up to another bout of 
stormy, unbridled fucking. Yes, they were meant to do 
this, to mate and be slaved over by me. A woman like my 
wife deserved to be filled, and Jesse was, after all, the 
ultimate one-man filling station; I'd been such a silly, 
stupid fool to resist. They were truly special. And it 
was a privilege to serve them. I turned away.

I was Myron Lipshitz, I reminded myself as I climbed the 
stairs.

I was an amusing clown.

A servile maid.

A pussywhipped, groveling cuckold.

And underneath it all, I was, and always would be...

A classic, grade-A putz.