Slut Boy Mega Collection Volume 1

Chapter Three-3

Mistress swung again, scoring me with new welts of red. Staggered by the scale of the ordeal ahead, I somehow obeyed. As my next shriek of pain peeled out, I managed to get my vocal cords around it in order to tune it into an actual word – or even a number, to be precise. Then she swung again, and I found another number, managing to keep them in the right order as both my acknowledging screams and the amount of pain raving throughout me constantly ascended.

Remorselessly Melinda whipped me, methodical and relentless despite my desperate struggles and obviously overwhelming agony. By ten strokes she’d covered my chest in cherry-red, and by twenty-five she’d knocked the clamps from their grip on my n*****s. These teeth flying away were bright spears of pinpoint pain in the raging inferno of my nervous system, and Mistress took them as a signal to move on. My legs and thighs next came under assault, suffering the same treatment as my chest, and then at precisely stroke forty-three the floggers first struck my groin straight on.

Blinding excruciation again overwhelmed me. I choked on my scream, barely forcing the correct number out, as my spike-harnessed and extensively clamped and decorated balls and erection took the entire force of the whip straight on. Then again Melinda struck, and again, slowing down for nothing, whaling away at my crotch until all the clamps and clips were knocked away and I was as red and welted down there as everywhere else. Finally, at seventy-five strokes, she stopped for a moment.

“Halfway there, Slut-boy.”

She was puffed up, buffed-out and breathing heavily from her workout. Sweat dampened her temples and tricked beautifully down her heaving breasts. Salty drops scattered from her n*****s as she swung, but for the time it took her to smoke half a joint and recover she let me be. Then the punishment resumed, and I proceeded to receive each and every one of the final seventy-five strokes. By the time she slashed in and I howled out the last, my voice was hoarse, my body from neck to toes was all black-and-blue down the front, and my bruised and abraded erection was kept jutting up only by its implacable harness.

I was in purest misery, sobbing unabashedly like a little girl, and sorrier than ever that I had spoken out of turn, failed to make the bed, and worst of all forgotten about My Glorious Lady’s birthday last year. Snot ran from my nose in streams, sweat and tears soaked my hair, and my entire skin was aflame with a burning pain that seemed likely to never abate. But true to her word, once the beating was done Mistress cast aside her whip, and even used a towel to clean up my face. But then she looked at me critically, clucked disapprovingly and shook her head.

“Your make-up job is ruined, Slut-boy. I can understand if this was from someone ejaculating in your face, but it’s not. What a little crybaby you are! Well, if you hadn’t spoken out of turn, and failed to make the bed, we’d have been through whipping you and f*****g away like bunnies for over an hour now. But now first I’ve got to re-do your whole face. You’re not nearly pretty enough for me to f**k yet, Slut-boy!”

***

For fifteen minutes or so Mistress re-applied my make-up. Then, adjusting the angle of the X, she finished by positioning my spread-eagled, whipped-raw and cross-dressed body at about thirty degrees upright.

By this time my erection was once again honest: a throbbing spike of fleshy need that reveled in my helpless subservience. Even though I knew I was unlikely to be allowed to ejaculate soon, I strained eagerly forward, testing the belts as I’d done all throughout my torture. But this time the pain was all inside, as I worshipped the sight of my glorious goddess’ unattainable t**s, her menacing muscles and monumental lines and curves approaching. Still what stuck out most about her was that which stuck out so far in front: ten long inches of hard ribbed plastic cast in the shape of an enormous c**k. That was all I had to hope for and dread from My Lady today.

Indeed. Once she was satisfied with my appearance and positioning, and with the obvious bobbing need of my up-jutting hard-on, Mistress Melinda moved between my legs. She grinned at me, reaching between the split in my panties to smear some lubricant into my anus. Her words were shaming, arousing, and portentous beyond measure.

“Here we go, my sissy-slave husband. Finally we’re going to start to have s*x together properly. After all, this is about the only pleasure a sick little Slut-boy like you deserves. And I know that I definitely prefer you this way: as a compliant little whipping-boy c**k-servicing she-male eunuch come-funnel. So here’s my c**k, Slut-boy! Get used to the way it feels. I’m going to stick it in you over a hundred times for every occasion I ever let you touch my t**s, suck my cunt or f**k me! It is Mistress Melinda who wields the p***s in this household from now on! And you’re going to live to beg me for it!” She stepped up, greasing and fondling her impressive new member: the gift I’d bought her to give back to me, again and again and again. Grinning possessively, she slipped it through my slit, aligned it with my hole and started ramming it up into me.

Despite the pain I moaned like the slut I’d become, feeling her take me. Unlike the shame of my earlier homosexual rape, this suddenly felt entirely natural: an inevitable expression of my larger, stronger s*x partner’s total dominance over me.

Melinda was unquestionably my superior in every way. In our uneven union, should she not use me then in whatever manner she chose? No wonder she coveted this perfectly appropriate birthday gift! And how eager I suddenly was to grant it! Strapped helpless to the titled table, perfectly angled to accept the invader, I lay splayed open and avid as she braced her considerable weight, battered her way in and established a punishing rhythm.

The length and thickness, the plastic hardness and upraised ridges of My Lady’s erection gored me more painfully than anything in my thankfully limited experience. Rod’s earlier ‘bone’ had been mere flesh and blood, and of slightly more realistic proportion. Mistress Melinda was sporting a giant, inhuman stud-club by contrast, and she quickly became carried away using it on me. Leaning into my tightly restrained form, sneering down at my virgin-sissy-in-distress expression and unconvincing complaint, she hammered her waist into my crotch like a woman possessed. So demonic was her power and pace, and so evocative the triumphant and self-righteous derision shining from her visage, that my brand new submission compulsion had me gasping and wallowing in the gouging pain more urgently than I’d ever responded to conventional s*x.

Mistress knew what I needed, and she proved it to me in incredibly lavish fashion that afternoon for longer than I could possibly compute. “This is how I f**k my sissy-slave!” she kept hissing, and stabbing ever more violently into me, until at last I knew nothing but the mindless and indescribable sensation of being caught on the receiving end of an out-of-control pile-driver: lying insensate like the earth and yet gladly yielding before the endless thudding blows. When at last she’d temporarily expended the last of each of our energies, I was ripe and easy prey for my mistress’ total eternal conquest.

“Ah, I loved that so much!” she smirked down. “And you did too, my sissy little Slut-boy! Didn’t you? I can see by the size of your p***s that I was smart to harness you! You’d have probably ejaculated all over me a dozen times by now! Admit it, Slut-boy! Tell me about how you loved being corn-holed!”

“I loved being corn-holed by you, Mistress.”

“Damn right you did. Isn’t this just the best birthday ever? You were smart to offer me anything at all that I wanted this year, little man. Too bad you didn’t realize I’d end up taking everything you had, right down to your money, your cherry, your autonomy as a human being, and even your pathetic little soul!”

“Wha-what?”

Still with her prick buried deep inside me, Mistress Melinda leaned forward, letting me feel all of her personal force concentrated in that penetrating spike.

“You know what would be the best birthday present of all for me, Slut-boy? If I could have you like this forever. Not just twenty-four hours, but for the rest of our natural lives, and even beyond! I want your soul, Slut-boy. I want your bankbook first, your eternal obedience second, and most of all total control over your tender little f**k-hole.” She nudged into me, harder and harder. “For all time. And you did say that I could have absolutely anything I asked for this year. Tell me I can have you, Slut-boy; tell me you’ll be my abject little sissy-slave forever and ever. Then I’ll finally take this harness off, and allow you to ejaculate.”

To say that I’d been staggered before was an understatement. Yet this time the prospect of what my wife demanded held both infinite terror and perverse, uncontrollable appeal.

Melinda made my conflict worse by really grinding her crotch against me: gouging me painfully and deliciously with the length of her embedded prick. Despite the state of my tortured skin then, despite the mortification that still gripped me at being dressed up like a faggy little sissy-slut with one load already each in my belly and butt, I suddenly crumbled quite shamefully early. Afraid to actually speak, I nodded up that I would give over everything to My Lady forever and ever if she would only let me come.

***

Thus Melinda’s birthday present became my entire body and immortal soul. She has taken me on as her around-the-clock cross-dressed she-male whipping-boy eunuch s*x-toy sissy-slave until the very end of all existence. Yet that hardly describes the half of what I now regularly go through for her.

As soon as she had my assurance that her birthday gift was permanent, Mistress Melinda neither freed me, nor f****d me, nor resumed brutally corn-holing me. On the contrary, she instead immediately pulled her long prick out of my ass, backed up, and flipped out her cell phone. “I’d like to help you with that hard-on, slave, but as your owner it’s no longer my problem. I will keep my promise to allow you to ejaculate, however. Don’t worry. This new lifelong birthday party is just getting started! Let me just call in your friends from this afternoon to help us.” While I lay there and gaped up at her, Mistress Melinda dialed a number and began talking. “Hi! It’s me. Are you guys done working? You’re right outside the door? Great! We’re more than ready for you! Come on in!”

She hung up the phone, and grinned at me. After a moment or two at most, the bedroom door pushed open. In came Bull and Rod, the deliverymen from earlier, grinning eagerly and already unzipping their overalls. Mistress laughed outright at my shock and chagrin.

“Who knew I’d meet such a couple of great guys on my very first shopping trip? And now I’ve learned that they know quite a few kinky people themselves! Now, this is our first time together as a foursome, but we’ve all been acquainted separately, right? So let’s just get busy everyone! Rod, I promised Slut-boy here an ejaculation. Could you see to the poor little sissy?”

Melinda removed her big strap-on, and backed out to provide access. Somehow she found her way right into Bull’s arms. Both big brutes had dropped their clothes, and my beautiful wife began fondling that big hard-on almost immediately. Jealously flooded through me like acid, but then Rod was right there, releasing my screaming erection from the tight, spiked harness that had been so cruelly confining it. Against my conscious will that crazy wounded organ strained up urgently, eagerly. Then it nearly burst with pleasure when Rod suddenly ducked his head and slurped it in.

Strapped to the X, I moaned in futile homophobic denial as the accomplished fetish stud serviced me. But the only distraction available was even worse. There stood my beloved Melinda: practically naked in the arms of another man, briskly jerking his hard-on and letting him cup and squeeze and stroke and heft her glorious breasts.

Mistress saw me looking. She also saw Rod bent over, bobbing on my red and throbbing c**k, and she called out imperiously. “Stop that Rod! Sucking on it’s too good for my lowly Slut-boy! I want you to milk him, very slowly, while he watches big bad Bull here f**k the ever loving s**t out of me, right in front of his helpless nose! Crank him up to sixty degrees, Rod, so he can see everything. Come on, Bull! Let’s get onto the bed! Show my Slut-boy here what sissy-slaves like him never ever get to do to their mistresses! Show him what he’s forfeited forever by succumbing to me!”

Stunned and staggered yet again, shamed and mortified beyond belief, keenly lacerated by the news of my new perpetual cuckoldry and emasculation, I was tilted up to watch as my rapist and usurper Bull fell onto the big marriage bed with my wife. Big and bald and all tattooed, he suckled and roughed-up and f****d her big t**s, then shoved her down, spread her out, and drove his massive c**k deep up into her hungrily welcoming cunt.

Soon he was riding My Lady hard, torturing me with the sight of their violent coupling, the liquid slap of flesh on flesh and their rising duet of ecstatic yelps. But even worse, in a way, was what Rod began doing. Standing off to the side, allowing me a clear view of the bed, he was nibbling and tonguing my ear and manipulating my still insanely raging hard-on. Gripping it tightly in his fist, he pulled it straight down toward the floor, tugging it slowly, firm and hard like an old cow’s udder being coaxed to give up its milk.

Before long it did. But because of some fetish trick this Rod seemed to know, maybe just the back-bent way he was pulling my prick, I somehow ejaculated without achieving orgasm. I felt a draining, quivering sensation, and rather than pump up and out of me forcefully, I felt my semen drizzle slowly out of my p***s onto the floor. Apparently this was what Mistress Melinda meant by ‘milking’. Perhaps, in addition to never again allowing me to use my p***s on her, she also intended to forever deny me even the necessary release of orgasm.

Whatever the case, I soon had more immediate concerns. Once he’d seen to my milking, Rod could contain himself no more. He stepped into Mistress’ place between my legs and lubricated his own urgent prick. Soon he stuffed it in and began f*****g me, acting just like a horny lover: embarrassing me ill by squeezing my t**s and sticking his tongue in my mouth – not to mention humping against me hard and pumping his hot, throbbing c**k so far up my ass. My head was soon swimming with horribly conflicting sensations and emotions as I again hung helpless and brutally butt f****d in my implacable bonds. And yet that ordeal was still only the young night’s first harbinger.

For hours the two big studs rotated, one of them f*****g my mistress on my own bed while the other one raped and whipped and tortured me on my bondage cross. I watched Melinda swallow their c***s to the root, and even bare her own asshole, groaning with animal delight as Bull’s big organ squeezed its way inside. Indeed, I even watched them roughly double-team her, both bi studs humping away at either end while I, the poor deprived husband, hung crucified on my X and observed it all.

Eventually of course, and for the longest interval, all three of them came at me together: Mistress whipping me once again while both hung brutes most righteously double-f****d my sissy ass and mouth with their big hot throbbing salamis. At one point, I dimly overhead my mistress Melinda talking to Rod and Bull about the gay b**m club they ran, and inviting them all to come over and use us (particularly me) on at least a biweekly basis. Everyone (except me) had orgasms galore then, and that pretty much set the standard for the way my life’s been ever since.

I wear a chastity belt now of course, and never even get hard at all. But otherwise I’m still the same lingerie-wearing she-male sissy-slut my wife first chose for her birthday present. Almost the entire time I’m not doing housework, or waiting hand and foot on her, Mistress has me strapped to my big torture X, locked in my cage, bent over my whipping horse, secured in my stocks or otherwise restrained by one of my many new gifts for her: praying that she or one of her many proxies and lovers will come and brutally use my slutty-painted come-funnel face, or my faggot little sissy-p***y ass, until they grunt and slobber and get their groaning rocks off.

That’s about all a worthless slave like me is really good for, right? Right!