Slut Boy Mega Collection Volume 1

Chapter Fourteen-1

Chapter Fourteen

Endless Weekend

Jill is the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen.

She is slim and yet stacked, with slender, shapely legs, a just-a-bit-bulbous ass, tiny waist, and flat little belly. Yet emphasizing this otherwise endomorphic frame are breasts the size of softballs.

Her small, delicate face is fetching and yet fey, with a pert little nose and diminutive mouth that is nevertheless deliciously thick-lipped. These are centered within surprisingly full cheeks and a contrastingly fine-boned jaw and chin. Her ears are almost lobe-less, her pale complexion is flawless, and best of all her shockingly large eyes are the cool grey of remote, storm-tossed seas.

The piercing potency of these features is further emphasized by their flaming framing of big, thick, long, teased-out auburn hair. At nearly six feet I find her so irresistibly attractive that I’m hopelessly, helplessly, head-over-heels in love with her – despite knowing practically nothing about her. Unfortunately it’s the little bit I do know that’s the problem. Beautiful Jill is a lesbian. Not bisexual, not experimenting, a full-fledged f*****g lesbian. Her interest in men is apparently minimal.

That hasn’t stopped me from asking her out over and over again. Some guys just never know when to quit. And finally it seems my persistence has paid off. Jill finally agreed to one date – although the terms she insisted on have me wondering if my persistence and acceptance is nothing short of idiocy.

“I’m sorry, Ken, but I’ve told you, I’m nearly never attracted to men!”

“Yeah, but you keep saying ‘nearly’. So what am I, chopped liver? Does ‘nearly’ mean only if the guy is rich? Talk to me, baby! What do I have to do to win you over?”

Jill sighed, rolled her eyes, looked away and acted in general like I was daring to waste her precious time. But when she finally looked back at me, it was with a coolly appraising look that had my foolish hopes shooting skyward.

“Maybe...” she mused.

She was silent a bit more, now eying me unsettlingly directly. Then at last she shocked me silly.

“All right: if you must know Ken, the only time I’m turned on by a man, the only time I really want to f**k his ever-loving brains out, is when he’s suffering: suffering for me, to be precise. So if you really want me to f**k you – and believe me boy, I will f**k you – then you have to agree to submit to me completely for an entire weekend. You have to allow me tie you up, tease you, punish you and dominate you all I want. After a couple days and nights of this, you’ll surely be in such a state that I’ll be utterly unable to help myself. I’ll just have to f**k your useless brains out!”

Holy s**t! So this delicate-looking Jill was the whips-and-chains type! Yikes! Kinky is not my middle name! Still...to f**k the stupendously hot Jill...that was worth anything, wasn’t it? Almost...

“If I say yes,” my voice quavered, “Can we agree on a few things?”

“Like what?” Jill huffed.

“Like no permanent scars or disabilities for one thing,” I cautiously put forth. “And no bodily wastes or forced homosexuality.”

“Fine,” she shrugged dismissively. “So are we on?”

“Yes ma’am!” I probably stupidly agreed.

“Good enough,” she smirked.

“Be at my house Friday at eight.” She recited an address. “Expect to stay until Sunday night. Also expect to get your f*****g socks f****d off!”

She sniffed derisively and marched away from me.

I couldn’t care a whit for her contempt.

All right! I thought. Get my f*****g socks f****d off! I can put up with anything for that! The rest of the week was thus all idiotic anticipation. And now here is finally the proof in the pudding: it’s Friday night and I’m mounting the steps to Jill’s door.

Heart pounding, palms sweating, my belly fluttering and my c**k a red-hot rock, I ring the bell.

She makes me wait: either tormenting me with further anticipation or giving me one last chance to high-tail it. But finally she turns a bunch of bolts and flings the door open. The absolutely fantastic sight of her thus suddenly exposed steals my soul.

Oh, she is so unbelievably hot she could be the devil herself! And if she is, I don’t care. I will merely take her hand and follow meekly down to whatever incredibly torturous circle I’ve been assigned.

Her finger and toenails are painted dead black, and yet accentuated with silver sparkles to match her shoes. Otherwise sable, these have five-inch steel heels and are secured to her by shiny-spiked straps that wrap up her legs to the top of the calves. And oh, my Goddess, on up from there she’s completely naked to above the waist. I s**t you not: the only thing between my eyes and that glorious flesh is a skillfully trimmed female signal crafted from her otherwise bare pubic hair. Below the descending cross I can even see the top of her slit before my eyes are drawn inexorably upward.

Okay, about her midriff she wears a black leather corset, supremely sexy in its own right. But between the almost pristine nudity below and the only dreamed about opulence above, I barely have eyes for this. Suddenly I’m goggling unexpectedly at t**s I’d always known were utterly fantastic. But now they are revealed to me in all their glory as the most sublime examples of their kind ever.

They are wholly natural of course. No implant could mimic such flawless perfection. Even the tiny asymmetry in their size testifies to their divine origin. They are so heavy and yet upswept, so firm yet malleable, so invitingly pointy and delightfully pendulous that not even the most skilled surgeon ever could hope to counterfeit them. And anyway, f**k him! I’ve always despised his works. For as long as I’m allowed I gape at those glories hanging just in front of my mouth.

What would you do, suddenly confronted by the specter of divinity?

Suppose the never-credited Goddess suddenly uncovered herself before your amazed gaze, overwhelming you with stupendously lush breast flesh? What the f**k would anyone do, except fall helplessly to one’s knees? Forget the fact that you’ve spent generations being force-fed the inbred belief that women were chattel. Such a sight would countermand anyone’s instinct. Unmanned utterly, I immediately accept the only appropriate response. Despite my inexperience with this fetish business, I subjugate myself the instant she shrieks at me.

“Get on your knees, slave!”

I drop like a rock, and cast my eyes at the floor before her.

“I’m sorry, Jill.”

“How dare you!” she shrieks at me again. Then she steps up and smacks my face so hard that lights flash behind my eyes.

“You never use my given name! Never again in your entire life! I am Goddess to you now! And so is every other female in the world! And you are just a disgusting male Slut-boy! Now get in here, Slut-boy! Crawl after me to my bedroom. The most momentous part of your pathetic existence is upon you!”

Head spinning I do as instructed. Like a dog at heel I follow Goddess on hands and knees through her surprisingly opulent house and into her bedroom. There my jaw literally drops.

There are cabinets everywhere, plus encircling shelves and racks piled high with all kinds of fetish items. The square, center-set bed is absolutely gigantic, at least sixteen feet on a side, big enough to host the most outrageous orgy. Most shocking of all, set into the ceiling above it is a winch and a heavy steel cable. Goddess points.

“Strip, Slut-boy. Get naked on my bed. I want you facedown in the very center of it in sixty seconds.”

Quickly I comply, my heart pounding with excitement and trepidation. My erection is an exclamation point, which throbs ever more palpable punctuation as it’s pressed between me and the slick coverlet. Straightaway Goddess joins me though, and begins locking padded leather cuffs about each of my ankles, wrists and biceps.

“What...what are you doing Goddess?”

“I am putting you in bondage, Slut-boy. You will spend the entire weekend here restrained. Now shut up! Slut-boys only speak when ordered to.”

She bends my arms around behind my back, and locks each wrist cuff to the one on its opposing bicep. Then she takes a length of chain, and winds this all about my overlapping forearms. Next she spreads my legs out wide and locks each ankle cuff to either end of five foot-long metal bar. She bends my legs, even lifting them off the bed, arching my back until she can lock the center of that bar to the chain restraining my arms. I gasp in pain at this contortion, and Goddess laughs at me.

“You think that hurts? Just wait, Slut-boy. You haven’t felt anything yet!”

A motor whirs above me, and down comes the cable.

Goddess snaps this to the lock, which secures my chained arms to the bar. Then again the motor whirs. Before I can properly prepare for this, I’m hauled into the air by my hogtied arms and legs.

Goddess raises me to perhaps a meter off the bed – enough for me to know she was absolutely right. The strain on my shoulder sockets and the small of my back is incredible already, and who knows how long I’ll have to hang this way? And yet still Goddess is barely getting started. Next she produces a box full of crocodile clips and heavy lead weights, and starts attaching them to my most sensitive areas.

First she does my n*****s.

The big toothed jaws bite pitilessly into these, and the weights drag down and stretch them outrageously out. Then she clamps a half dozen onto the oh-so tender tip of my strangely persistent erection.

This is an absolute agony of course. But the way the weights pull my hard-on straight down at a right angle to the rest of me is exquisitely arousing as well. This arresting amalgam finally gives me a fleeting insight into the weird appeal that s****l suffering has for the masochist.

Oops! Okay, it’s gone now. Well, I’d better pray it comes back, so I can hopefully seize upon it, expand it, maybe even embrace it and make it my own. This is immediately obvious. Next Goddess takes a pair of one-inch metal manuscript clamps, available at any office supply store, and attaches them to my testicles. This squeezes them brutally, flooding me with nauseated agony.

I’m struggling not to retch, or even worse puke, when Goddess makes this imperative. From her seemingly endless supply of devices she chooses a complex leather harness that straps all about the head and jaw and completely encloses the lower half of the face. On the inside of this elaborate gag I’m appalled to see a p***s.

“Open your mouth, Slut-boy,” Goddess orders.

I do not want to! But what choice do I have? I committed to all of this and Goddess knows what else in return for having s*x with this divinity. I open my mouth, and Goddess forces that big hard plastic c**k in deep, before buckling and locking the harness tightly about my face and head.

“One more hole to fill,” Goddess direly proclaims then, suddenly banishing all my brave intentions and flooding me with unlimited horror. But once again there’s nothing I can do but bite down hard and submit as she produces a six inch-long, one inch-thick vibrator, greases it up and pushes it all the way up into my terrified ass. She grins at me and switches it on.

Okay, wait. Suddenly I’m a bit conflicted.

True, that anal intrusion is painful and demeaning in the extreme. But the hot electric buzzing jiving my insides is also weirdly pleasurable. It makes my c**k strain even harder against its weights. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – I’m denied the immediate opportunity to explore this madness. Again Goddess activates the winch, which resumes hauling me upward. Higher and higher I go, goggling my incredulity all the while. Finally I’m left hanging horribly tormented just below the ceiling.

“There!” Goddess announces with satisfaction. “Now we’re ready to get this party started. I’ll be back in a bit, Slut-boy. Hang out for awhile, why don’t you?”