PART THREE t – The Deal

  "Well, well, well. Someone, is finally getting their shit together. I noticed, that you're finally taking my polite suggestions. The deep breathing, for instance. Its working. Now then. You're starting to get the picture, aren't you? Don't answer that. I'm not done. You see, you got this sorry thing. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I keep showing you, no. That? Is simply saying sorry. What you are now? That, is what sorry actually is. We're just getting started, is what you need to grasp. By the time I'm done with this? When I give you a look, up in the bedroom, and mommy starts unbuckling her belt? You'll actually be afraid of it. I'm going to get tears, when you see my belt getting unbuckled. Don't speak. I'm not done."

  "I noticed the paddle worked well. New toy of mine. And how did you enjoy the second half of your punishment for trying to manipute me, and get out of being punished. That second paddling worked wonders on getting your attention, I think. Once again? We're not done. Just getting started there, too. You just wait until the next time you need brought down here for one of these polite little talks. I wasn't kidding, the next over the knee spanking you get? That paddle is going to get used more like you just got it, than when you first got down here. Stay quiet."

  "Now, you asked for this. I tried to talk you out of it. You wanted real punishment. I asked you what real punishment was. If you want more swats, just tell me. No, you said. It would be even hotter, if you were actually afraid to get punished. You're not there yet, but we're a couple steps in the right direction. You wanted to go from the naughty game? And make it real. Well, here we are."

  "None of what just went on? Needed to be. At all. We… had a system going. You knew you were getting the basement and the chair. You got it. That part was over and done with. We were having a nice little talk with the bullwhip when this happened. And even that was scheduled to be reasonable. Be polite. I talk, you listen. Listen, and do exactly what I say. When I say stop something, you stop it. You don't go and do it again. Defy me. Was supposed to just be a crack here, a crack there. Reasonable. Keep your attention. Expin things. But oh no, you had to go and make me do that. The extra belt, and the extra paddle. Hope you enjoyed it. I'll do it again, at the drop of a hat from now on. Maybe you understand that now. Maybe not. We'll see. I told you, and you already knew it… that I get wet when I smack your ass, and you squeal. I told you, maybe this isn't the brightest idea. But, you wanted it. If you want me to get wetter? Just pull some shit like that again."

  "Now. Back at the ranch. Before you insisted on what just happened? We had just finished up the tattoo talk. We were just about to move on to the next topic. So? Let's get right to that."

  I walked over to what had become my normal spot, for delivering my bullwhip strokes from. To deliver them to hit the front of him. The fresh undamaged meat, so to speak. I gave him a y it on stroke, that was pretty decent in intensity. I got the nice, well defined instant welt that I was getting used to seeing. No extra wrap of the sh end to the around the corner rib cage. Contained to the front. I aimed and hit above the belly, but below the chest. He stifled a squeal and made a noise; I was rewarded for my effort with some mild sobbing that subsided rather quickly, all things considered.

  "New topic, for our little talk. We're going to go over how your next rape by mommy will go. I remember going over the basics during your first paddle smacks over my knee. We'll go over it again. Are you paying attention? Or do I need to grab your attention, in another way. Maybe, mommy needs to unbuckle her belt, to give you the right idea. Your choice, slut."

  "I don't need the belt…"

  "Oh. We're starting to get somewhere finally. Now. You? Are just like the little slut in the story I told you. Like all dirty little sluts, you need forced the first time. You like to pretend you don't love it. It makes you all hot and bothered to whine and cry and pretend you're not a dirty, little, slut. Funny thing is, we proved it over mommy's table, didn't we? That you loved every minute of it. I even have a video, that proves it."

  "Now. The third time is the charm, slut. I expect you to beg me to fuck you like I mean it. And I do mean, that you ask it just like that. Repeat it. Now."

  "Please… fuck me like you mean it."

  "Very good. When I tell you its time? You'll beg me like that. I'll have you help me put it on. You? Are going to lube me up. I already taught you the position I want you in. On the wet kitchen floor earlier. I allow you to ask me to go slow, I allow you to beg not for me to hurt you too bad. Not that I guarantee it will do you any good, but I like hearing it. I'm telling you right now, so don't act all surprised when I start doing it. I'm not making love to your ass like the first time. I'm going to fuck you like I mean it."

  "You? Are going to learn how to get fucked like a dirty little slut takes it. Mommy is going to really give it to you good. I promise you that much. I'm not pying around. I'm probably? Going to just grab your hips, and shove it right in. All the way, all at once. And then? You, are going to get fucked nice and hard. I expect crying and whining and begging, but… if you scream and carry on, like you did the first time? Or try to tell me no, try to get away? I promise you, you'll regret it. Mommy will bring you down here? And do more than just take her belt off. Believe it. Do not test me. This, is the only warning you're going to get."

  "Now. Are you curious what we're going to do now?"

  "Yes."

  "Mommy needs fucked. I intend to y on my back, and have my needs attended to. We might start with the little kisses I like so much. But seriously, I'm as wet as a leaky faucet, because beating a little slut's ass? Turns me the fuck on. You? Are going to lick my twat like you're trying to take the pink paint off. I expect to get tongue-fucked in my ass, while you're at it. When you're done? I'm going to y there, and like I said, you're going to attend to my needs. I expect a twat concussion, and if I don't walk funny afterwards? You'll hear about it. So, can you lick and fuck, like a real slut needs to be able to do? Or am I just wasting my time putting you through tryouts. Licking and fucking your mommy is very important, and I expect you to take it very seriously. Now. If you end up being a decent little slut, I intend to reward you. If you want any of your… special needs taken care of? That, is the way to go about it."

  I stood there and waited a little while, looking at… hmm. Throughout the whole "little talk", and how I do love those old timers and their little euphemisms, it's easy to forget what I have here, when you take everything else away. To see what's left. My boyfriend, mister math and computer science calls such reasoning with funny names. Like, isotion by subtraction, subtractive isotion. Its apparently a concept in mathematics. You're trying to see one thing by itself, where you can work with it or… whatever, not my field. With a long equation, it can be difficult. You want to isote the part that you want to work with.

  He showed me to illustrate his point. If many girls would find bedroom talk like this silly, I found it simply fascinating.

  Perhaps the fact that I'm recovering from a mild to moderate twat concussion, and my little pussy is all but stinging from the constant tingling of a tongue being used on it. Made to squeal and squirm from application of said tongue upon my pussy's most delicate part. Then I offer my wrists passed down under my tented knees and legs. The wrists get firmly grasped, and the tongue then gets overused and practically punishes my poor little pussy. I'm held there like that, and I end up begging and pleading but I'm still grasped and my poor little clit gets licked, over and over, until I'm all but screaming and crying. Begging, tearing up. Panting and dizzy from all the bored breathing and squealing. I get a break with my wrists still grasped, then when I'm sure I'll fall asleep and drift off, it starts again. When I'm finally "released", my eyes are half closed slits of carnal lust. I'm tired and exhausted, but I still climb on top and do a slow ride, ying on him and kissing him when I'm too exhausted to support myself upright. Still able to roll my hips and take teasing breaks, until I fall asleep like that.

  So. When you wake up from such a nap? Pretty much anything that comes out of his mouth can seem quite fascinating. I got As and Bs in all the science and math csses in high school, along with all the "smart" kids bound for college. Math was not my strong suit, and it required a lot of work to get those Bs. A taste of Calculus my st year, taught me I could do this but I was never going to discover a new branch of mathematics like Newton. B, C, B, C… sweating and praying on top of extra work had me tipping and teetering. Would my final grade be a B? Or the dreaded C. I squeaked into a B minus, and learned my lesson with higher math. I was fixing to get into a fight with a girl bigger than me, and she knew how to hit like a boy too.

  When I hear other girls describe while smiling, because they are in afterglow hearing their guy describe… whatever advanced concept? I'm smiling in the same afterglow, but… I can follow the plot line. He said to just watch. I didn't need to know the mechanics of how to correctly manipute this big equation, it was enough to know it could be done. I isoted variables in Algebra csses, then used it routinely all through Trig and into Physics and Calculus. These were even stranger maniputions, but okay. He's… isoting a piece of an equation he needs for something else.

  When he had it isoted properly, it really was a lot easier to see it. What it did. He was excited his "smart" girlfriend recognized Boyle's Gas Law in equation form. God, how could anyone who didn't flunk out of Chem I and Chem II and Physics I and Physics II, ever forget it?

  Boyle's simple equation, reting Volume, Temperature, and Pressure of a gas… was simply being tortured. Volume was equal to? A very long set of multiple equations, another page of them. Volume was the same, and Pressure had two pages of sets of equations it was set equal to.

  Then he showed me. Look at the original complete equation. A page full of Egyptian hieroglyphics. Now look at the subtractively isoted variable… volume was no V, but, it was a much more reasonable equation. I didn't have the techniques and experience to perform these maniputions, but I could follow along. I marveled at the ending. Egyptian hieroglyphics, boiled down to a much more concise and understandable and workable… thing.

  Why would he do this in his spare time? Aha. He wanted to manipute gas pressure. Raise and lower it, to produce desired temperatures, on demand. An electronics circuit board he designed and soldered together, proved the concept worked. He called it his "proof of concept". In the end, when he got there? Several electronics boards he made, were going to each control a different gas. Maniputing the temperatures and pressures back and forth, fast and accurate. Then another circuit board would open and close valves when pressure and temperature sensors said the brief time was right. A cold gas and a very hot one, were going to be passed just at the right speed, down into a chamber where thick epoxy liquids were needing just the right thing at just the right time.

  I asked him how the one gas was going to get cold. There would be a refrigerator? No, and he smiled. He was going to put the cold gas, under pressure. Leave it overnight, for the tank to cool off back down to room temperature. To prepare a "run". Apparently, this was how any refrigerator, freezer, or air conditioner worked. He showed me, with simple numbers for the example. You put the gas under pressure, the temperature gets quite hot. But, you let it sit and cool off all night? When you released it, its temperature dropped the same amount. Boyle's gas ws were simple Physics. If he wanted it a hair warmer, a slight pressure would bring it back up again.

  It would, if it worked like he envisioned in the end? Have a single computer, controlling it all. You could click a mouse, and things would start, and get done. Faster than any humans could ever work valves and watch gauges. New and highly desirable special epoxies could be created, with unique properties for industrial uses. The said epoxies known to exist and be possible, just impossible to make at any reasonable cost.

  I saw it all, in a fsh. I didn't know how he did these things, but I could follow the description. He was spending a couple years as a "hobby" on this. His "striking point" was coming. The third version of little chips that were an entire computer on a tiny chip? Were going to have just the power now, to handle more. While these Egyptian hieroglyphics couldn't be handled by a tiny single chip computer? They could or should, just handle the boiled down version. They could handle their part of the hieroglyphics. He was calcuting exactly how many instructions each equation required for one calcution. He knew how many instructions per second the tiny chip computers could perform. He could just make it.

  Several, each handling their own parts, would be instructed by, and reporting back to… his ptop. His computer program would monitor and control everything. Some tech could click a mouse, and make what was formerly impossible to make. Some engineer could specify a weird epoxy with a weird use, and get some at a reasonable cost to let him py.

  My god, and I was fucking this guy. I pointed at the carpet, and he kissed the tops of my feet. I gave him "the look" as I slowly started to take my leather belt off to get undressed, and watched him blush like a teenager getting to see his first raised T shirt and he was allowed to look.

  He said he was preparing, all to take a chance a couple years hence. When he would be in graduate school. Now was the time to get all this drudge work done, so when the time came and the third version of little computer chips might be able to just handle their loads? He'd be ready to concentrate on trying to get little machined metal boxes with pistons compressing and pulling vacuum, and have the time to concentrate on the nuts and bolts.

  If it didn't all work in the end, or just got close? He would still have something valuable, and wanted to shop it around to see who was interested. He wanted to impress the right person, and get noticed. So he could get hired somewhere to do "important" work, not just glorified busy work.

  By god, he wasn't interested in tossing a drunk football pyer around, he had more important fish to fry than to indulge in puppy shit as he called the pecking order nonsense. He winked, expining that his Master's Thesis, should be one of these. What he already had done before he started his Master's, smiling. His Doctoral Thesis, would be doing the rest. Again, obviously… the work already done. He calcuted that this Master's Thesis, then Doctoral thesis? Might generate "interest" in a research pce somewhere. Leading to a "real" job, and not just a "scrub" typical entry level programmer's position.

  I didn't lust after his money or prestige this all might bring him, if everything came together right and his grand pn popped a soccer ball into the tiny net. I could smile at other women who marveled at how I had such a romantic devotion from such an important man. And this was the same man, that spent a couple years learning to fight bigger, stronger men. And more than sometimes win. He had spent years learning and practicing a superior method, then exploiting it ruthlessly te in the game, when the enemy thought they had him beaten down.

  He hadn't spent years in the service, learning to fight well so he could beat up bullies. He simply wanted to have the ability to do it. The confidence to know it was a thing he could do. He wanted left alone, to do his work. And if some drunk goril insisted on putting their hands on him, I saw videos. He would shred their joints and leave them ying face down in a puddle of their own blood when they made the mistake of following him into the parking lot to have more fun with him, and impress some ditz majoring in basket weaving that was impressed by her "bad boy".

  He avoided it all, because he simply didn't want the hassle. He didn't have the time nor inclination to stand around, pretending to get drunk but not too drunk, so he could win some pecking order brawl and impress some Miss Basket-weaving. All for his chance to taste the clit that had seen a hundred other useless dicks, to win a week being her bad boy of the week.

  He wanted me. When I was teased for not taking random dicks to create a longer list to show off how desirable I was, he instead liked this about me. When I was teased for being too tall and too muscur for an otherwise cute girl, he loved that, too. Preferred it. When I didn't just y there and wiggle around in bed, taking it… when I confidently ordered him around if only in bed, and took what I wanted, he liked that, too. If we shared the compulsion on flip sides of the same coin, and I would restrain him, punish him, tease him, then make him do exactly what I wanted? He liked that too.

  He really was, as he joked, the 350 pound goril when you were in his sport. Academic sports. People marvel at heavyweight boxers, that win the title. The top wrestler, that wins his title. But… there were also mixed martial artists. They did the work of several fighters in one, and put it all together. You saw the best of them on Cable TV, clips on the internet, doing their thing. Boxers, weightlifters, bodybuilders, wrestlers, bck belts in whatever-fu… all were tops in their game, but feared those men on those shows. They mastered or mixed partial mastery of enough other jobs, that they were the top dogs that performed the jobs of several others in one man. And did it effectively.

  That was… him. But, in academics. Not in the fighting world. Computer programming, he was the Wizard. The nerds all called him THE nerd, not A nerd. And he liked it. The Electronics Engineering students, gave him a bemused respect. His hobby of electronics? Was obviously no hobby. He was friends with a couple of the top EE students, who found it again somewhat amusing, that he was something of a mascot. Students barely scraping by in EE, were joked they had to measure up to the guy that did this for a hobby, or what the fuck did they ever think they would get hired to do in their field. He'd been the mascot before, and liked being out of his element. Learning to get by in another world he would never be the king of, but wanted competency at it none the less.

  He understood "just" enough chemistry, as he needed to scrape by as he put it, understanding the basic ideas behind creating the advanced epoxies. In chemistry? He was me in calculus, or worse. But, he showed mettle. He drudged through what he needed to slowly figure out what a real chemistry student would do easily. Physics, too, the same way. After understanding what he was up to? I suddenly understood his connection with his "chemistry friend" as I called that one. He helped him with his higher math csses, quite diligently. Obviously, this was the "chemistry god" that paid him back by expining the weird epoxies. Hell, the chemistry god might have designs on being the chemist that could get special epoxies made in small batches for the engineers to py with applications.

  Those two shared little smiles back and forth, when they gabbed in their strange nguages they shared. They were both pnning on becoming gods one day.

  He was hanging out with machinists, and reading about it in his spare time. So he could eventually "get" his metal box made precisely enough. Have enough friends to help him by making him something on expensive CNC machining equipment, at expense of the college for a project for their css. Contacts. Friends. He got them through math and computer csses as they needed.

  And mathematics, it ran through all his fields he was drawing together.

  Mathematics. Computer Science. Electronics Engineering. Chemistry. Physics. Machining.

  He wasn't content to be the Computer Programming Heavyweight Champion with that title… he wanted to be the Mixed Martial Academic, to try to "get on TV" and mix it up with the best academics that were like he was. If he couldn't be top dog, he would be at least a respected mascot of the academic fighters there. He was humble enough, too.

  Toot, the tutor known for patiently expining computer science and higher mathematics to jocks trying to get by and get their own real degree. He had a way with them, and its why the Coach and other coaches sent their schorship risks to ask for him. He would smile, drink his coffee… patiently expining things in a way that only a fellow jock and military man and fighter could. The professors didn't use football analogies, to expin Trigonometry. But he did. I had heard about one such expnation. A soccer team mate, needing to get through Trigonometry, to get her education degree.

  We want to know where the soccer ball is on the field, and be able to describe it. See the yard line markers? We'll simply have yard line markers across the other two sides of the rectangle, behind and across the goals. Now? we can give two numbers, to pinpoint the exact location of the soccer ball at any point in time. If we kick the ball in a straight line, to this team mate? We have two points. The exact location you are at before kicking. The exact location of the other pyer you kick straight to. Now, lets describe mathematically, this exact pass in a straight line. Why? So we can say exactly, how it happened ter. One soccer team mate, had been sharing the "Toot expnation" with another team mate intimidated by Trigonometry. Oh, that did make more sense now.

  Toot had asked Trigonometry soccer girl out for coffee, only after "Tooting" her successfully was completed. So he was polite and not being creepy, trying to trade her keeping her schorship for a cheap and coerced pity thrill. She turned him down, but politely. She used the old "I have a boyfriend at home" excuse. Gentle. Why, I asked her. Look at him. He's not looking like the other math geeks. He works out with some jacked ripped guys every day. Ah, she said. But he hangs out on the weekends with the nerd club. Pying video games. I can't suffer that, and I don't want made fun of for that. Gee, did I understand nothing of how things worked?

  I know this speech. I've heard it before. I smile. I had learned how the girl's world worked finally? And didn't want to stay there.

  She was better though, than another I knew. She had been sent, note and name in hand, to the Mathematics Lab. She waited for Toot, to have an open hour to work with her. Once again, a sports girl having trouble with this time a basic computer course needed for her degree to get completed, for her schorship to survive. Another success. Later on, after she had gotten what she needed and wanted? Toot happened by. As usual, some small talk and into his well practiced coffee suggestion. She wasn't polite. She wasn't even blunt. She had bragged at all the fun she had made of him with in front of people. Toot had simply shrugged and walked away. She always trotted this story out, how dare a man with an IQ over 100 have the gall to so much as talk to her outside of an academic necessity. Boy, the things she said to him, she sure taught him a lesson.

  I sat there and waited for all the brouhaha to die down, and simply pointed out. Gee. When you needed him, and he was the best one to help, he helped and you got what you needed to keep your ass into the minimum to keep your schorship. You don't have to fuck him, you don't even need to accept the free coffee and small talk in between csses politely. All you had to do? Was not go overboard being a complete cunt about it. Oh, that's right she said, I forgot. The Hurricane has a soft spot for faggots, I forgot. My apologies.

  So I'm sitting there, down in my basement below the basement, the big thick cement safety bunker, looking up at a… well built physique of a young man. He's my willing victim, and seems to love having me render him helpless. Completely at my mercy. Anything that crosses my compulsion attacked mind, any dirty overheard thought to try, I can do it and try it. Whatever I want. I'm not only allowed, but encouraged and somewhat enthusiastically mind you… to punish him, and train him to do exactly whatever I desire in bed. No no, kiss here first. Slow, don't rush this part, I want to savor this. Okay, now move up and touch that. No! Not that, there. All right, keep going now, finish me. And the next day? I "punish" him so he remembers exactly how to please me at the moment.

  When he has it perfect, to my OCD specifications? Well. We're adding this in. Punish and instruct on that, and adjust where it fits in, until mommy is pleased again. Anything I want, is mine for a gesture, a word. I can train him what to shift to by touch if I want, so I can moan and eat my corner of my bnket and still manage his controls. Any humiliating or shameful act I want to giggle and try once? I just do it. No Retards Monthly magazine article, how to sweet talk your man into giving you X. Which is of course the new thing this month, you know. I'm looking up at a helpless victim strung up for my pleasure, and hanging there for my complete control. Hey. There's this thing, X. When we're done here? You're going to do that. Mommy better be pleased with your attempt, or else. It gets done. No "eh, that's silly" like another man might do. Whatever I say. When I say. Where I say. How I say.

  If I'm not pleased? I have no one but myself to bme. If I see some silly picture of a woman ying on a couch, getting a tongue bath and being fed peeled grapes pced onto her tongue? Cool. I bring home a bag of grapes. I say "You. Follow me." and I get nothing except followed. I lock us into the fraidy hole cement tomb, and I render him helpless. I then punish or threaten him as it pleases me. Then I host a little css. No. Peel the grapes like this. Do it again! No, put it on my tongue like this… again! When I release him, I instruct him to keep quiet and follow me to the bedroom. He follows obediently. I pick up a silly little stick, and point at the pillows and covers. Have them arranged for me, until they resemble the fantasy artwork I admired. Then I get tongue bathed exactly where and how I wanted, and fed peeled grapes exactly as I trained him to do it.

  I'm not into the "furry" bullshit, but… if I was? I'd simply bring home our costumes, dress him up and train him to do what I wanted… then… whatever I wanted and imagined, happens immediately. No! You hold mommy's tail in your mouth when you fuck mommy from behind!

  Anything. Everything. Mine.

  Over time, I understand him now. He does come off as smart, but he's more than that. He's not weird, not really. He's some eccentric genius type. He wanted to go to the best school, so he could do these things. The service? Got him the money he needed. While he was there, he marveled at his MP world he got dunked into and enjoyed. He formed a long range pn when he was 18. Four years in the service, will get me into the best university I can dream of. Grants plus full GI bill? Should just make it. Graduate school? Will pay him, not cost him. He's, what? Four years service, two into college… six years into a 12 year long range pn. No wonder living in a dirt hole two more years didn't bug him. The payoff is down the road more. He was two years away from getting paid to finish the rest of his degrees. Grad students get a nice little paycheck, free room and board, and live simply but comfortably.

  I asked him falling asleep, talking idly about all this like I enjoy before sleep. He smiled, and caressed my cheek lovingly with the back of his hand, smoothing a strand of hair aside gently. He told me, I finally "get it". Doctor Wiz? Will graduate right around the time "Doctor Chemistry" graduates as well. Machinist boy? Will be already well off and into getting more experience at his craft. Doctor Chemistry, will suggest epoxies they can't possibly get. The other chemists will ugh. Then? No no, we can. Look at this master's thesis, his doctoral thesis.

  That's great but… no, you guys don't understand. This was my buddy in college. The prototype? Works. I've seen it work, with my own eyes. The machinist that pulled off the prototype? He's got years more experience already, he's avaible and better than ever. The machinist's uncle owns a CNC machining company. Its why he's here at our university right now. The three of them? Are going to turn into something big, something only the three of them can do. The CNC company that can make the prototype? The nephew runs the machines. The guy that designed all this? Its my college buddy. You want epoxies you can't get? We just pick up the phone, its there waiting.

  Its why he couldn't be satisfied with anything but a girl that appreciated him, just for him. The real him, underneath it all. He expined gently, that other girls? Sure, the idea of a guy that made big money or was all important? It did appeal to them. Sure, other girls were attracted to some tough guy. But… he wanted someone that liked him, just for him. I liked the guy living in the dirt hole. I liked the geek just fine. He said he felt like I deserved him. When the time came? Chemistry boy, was going to get his masters and doctorate in those special epoxies anyways. That, was his "thing". A research chemist in the advanced epoxies? There was a big demand for it. Military, aviation, NASA and the space industry. The big pn. Demand, when he talked about what they couldn't order but wished they could. Then, the other two were ready and waiting.

  This young man? Was mine. Dedicated to me. In the end, I'd have things the other girls wouldn't. Real love, not just a fake game ran on some poor guy, using him. In the end? He'd be important. I suppose money and something called success came along with all that, but… he'd be… mine. All just because I liked him, just for what he really was, underneath it all. His words, not mine. What he couldn't get in high school, what he couldn't fully get in the service? He felt like he suddenly had now, in me.

  I never felt that before, not to that degree. It was touching and romantic.

  I'm not jealous per se. But… no girl will cross my mark, or she will not dare to do it again. I was not raised on princess stories, and far from it. My experiences growing up did not lend to them either. But god himself help me, I can py pampered princess anytime and in any way I see fit. The day spa care I'm honing the routine down on, for when I come home from "work" all beat to hell and sore to pay for expensive degrees? I swear, no one gets that level of care and treatment.

  Outside of the bedroom, everyday life? Oh lord, I'm being teased and eyes rolled at me all day long when anyone sees me out or at home with him. One of the other girls wanted to jog with us. Oh, her soccer team mates were being too zy in the off season, some company for the morning run would be nice. Fine. I'm smiling. Showing up with her hair dolled. To get dunked in sweat first thing in the morning? Please. Giggle hair flip, giggle hair flip. Fpping little wrists running. Right. After the run? Oh god, I smell like a wildebeest. I simply need this… perfume. I'm going to throw up. I let her go, and went in to get us drinks and some fruit for breakfast. I left them alone in the front. Smiling.

  I could hear it as I was coming out. Ma'am? You wanna run with us, fine. You wanna wear perfume? Fine. I don't know what that shit you're spraying around is, but I'm getting dizzy and you're quite frankly giving me a headache. Would you please go sit down, in your chair? Which is over there. I feel like a mosquito, and you're trying to gas me. Christ.

  This would only be half as funny. Except… the truth is that she is, by any objective standard? Better looking than me. There, I said it. She has the great hair. The much prettier face. She's tall, though not as tall as me. She's muscur, but again? Not as muscur as me. She's more streamlined, and more appealing to regur men. In short, she looks like a cute fitness model. My boyfriend? I'm overhearing him making fun of her, for wearing expensive perfume, and annoying him by standing right up on him. Or he's being super sweet by being loyal. Either one makes me wet as fuck.

  I ignored it. I'm having fun. She's trying to stand right up on him every time my back is turned. He's compining. When she stuck around for a few burgers on the little grill for lunch, she got accidentally in the habit of fpping her little wrist onto his shoulder. Standing near the grill, watching the meat cooking. Right.

  When he went in to use the bathroom ter, I stood right next to her. Smiled. Told her out of nowhere, to knock it off. What, she excimed. I told her. You see my number on that T shirt he's wearing? That's mine. You put your hand on his arm or shoulder one more time, I'm going to break it off. Oh! And she tried to py it off. No, I said. You can stay and admire it all you want. You set another finger on it? Well, you can gather what I told her by now, with everything you now know about me. Hey. I'm an insufferable cunt, after all. I have a reputation to uphold. God. I'm a girl, and I can't stand most of them. Their man? Off limits. But, magically any man that belongs to someone else? On the menu.

  Then I hear back about this the next two weeks, the girls soccer gossip grapevine. Whatever. She got her little crew together to try their best tactics. First? Downgrade my man. Because as we all know, if the girls don't approve, and say "ew", well then, I should drop him in an instant. Why? Because most girls do. Yeah, right. That didn't work. Next, they tried making fun of me. For slumming it with a nerd, etc etc. He's a faggot, etc etc. Aha. I countered. You were watching him, working out with the tough guys in the yard. I didn't see your boyfriend rushing down, to py and have fun with the tough guys.

  It was true. His little dispy, bringing all the ex-army buddies over, to have fighting practice in the yard? Made quite a spectacle for the other girls. He came out of the closet, for me. To make me happier.

  Then, as I said, the push came to the shove. I'd had enough. I ain't risking much on the whole girl's social network. I snatched a decent sized team mate up and fired her off the wall. I expined shit to her, like a guy would expin it to another guy in such a situation. Basically put, you can say and talk anything. You y a hand on him in my presence or he comes and tells me you did? Well… I do have a certain reputation. I didn't win any girly points with that. I don't care. I never gave two shits about the girl's point system anyways.

  The basic upshot? The Hurricane is all head over heels for Toot, and you risk getting shit stomped for giggle hair flip in front of her. I suppose it doesn't hurt that I can and will do that? Well, that doesn't hurt any. And I tell you, that was good enough for me.

  But… sitting here, looking up at him, strung up for my pleasure? None of that matters now. All that does matter, is that I'm about to enjoy some of the fruits of my bor. Soon. Sitting here, quietly, making him wait. Wondering what I'm going to do next. I told him to stay still and be quiet, and he's doing it. Well, he's not actually being quiet. The occasional sob still goes through him. Some puckering and tears still happen. The little shudder now and again.

  I'm sure with this picture I've painted you, there's simply no way to tell what the outsider looking in would even think. I suppose a complete stranger would assume I hated him. Perhaps think I was torturing my helpless victim. They might even think I was paid to do what I'm doing. Assume I was some kind of kinky and expensive escort. A team mate? Might assume I was just having "fun" with a "cheerleader".

  I guess it appears to be a big, complicated messy thing. Most people wouldn't understand if I tried to expin it to them what was really going on. A page full of Egyptian hieroglyphics. But if you know how to move things around, get rid of them, simplify it. All there is at the end, is very basic. This is my lover. We both like this. We're going to fuck soon.

  "Take all the time you want, little boy. I think we're done for now."

  I walked up to him and got behind him. Ran my fingers over the corduroy lines on his bum. Traced a few whip lines. Felt the raised red welt. Ran my fingertips over his oiled skin.

  "As you can see, mommy means business. Me and you, we used to py a fun little game. We will again, I'm sure. But not now. Now its very real, as you just found out. You got punished. This is what happens, when you misbehave. And that nasty little bit of extra business? That's punishment, too. That, was for thinking you can give me puppy dog eyes, and manipute me. You can't."

  I scratched my fingernail lightly along a nice bullwhip welt.

  "I'll tell you about punishment. What it is. It takes two people. One person, is in charge. That person has authority, over another. That person is in control, and they can wield that authority. In case you haven't noticed? That person is me. I have authority over you. You belong to me. You have no choice, just like a little boy."

  "Since the beginning of time, children misbehave. Its normal. You have to teach a child. To do certain things. To not do other things. How to behave. For the longest time, children got their ass beat. To teach them what to do, and what not to do. They learned what was expected of them."

  "It worked. Children listened to their parents. Children learned to respect authority figures. To be polite. To do what was expected of them. Society had some sense of structure. When a child went and took something from another house, and brought it home because they wanted it? That's stealing, for instance. Mommy would beat her child's ass, and the child learned not to do that again. It just works. Then, when the children grew up? They didn't steal. They were polite to other adults. Society works way better? When it has structure, and discipline."

  "Somewhere along the line, we lost that. Permissive and indulgent mommies got the strange idea, that it was harmful to have structure and discipline for children. Children do whatever the hell they feel like. Little children are included on the decision making processes. No more real punishment for misbehavior. Time out. Grounding. Bribing the child to please do what you want, by giving them treats. You shake your finger at them, and tell them you're very disappointed in them."

  "Now, just look around you at the results. We have absolute shit for a society now. Spoiled and completely undisciplined children do whatever they feel like. They grew up to be spoiled and undisciplined adults. They act like spoiled children. It's shit."

  "Here's the simple facts. Most children learn very quickly when you set down rules. When they break those rules? You beat their little ass. They learn not to do that. When they don't do what you want them to do? Again, you beat their little ass. They learn to do it."

  "The new way? Children break rules, and they have to sit for all of five minutes, then they go on their merry little way. They learn that if they do get caught, they're barely inconvenienced temporarily. Why not do what you want. And bribing a child with treats to behave? Please. Every time the child misbehaves, they get a treat. Why not misbehave and get rewarded for it."

  I walked around him, running the coiled up bullwhip over him. Tapping him firmly on his ass cheeks with it.

  "I'm not having it. I'm in charge, and I'm going to provide structure, and discipline. Lots of it, in case you didn't notice just now. Structure, is rules. I'll tell you what not to do. Then, if you do it anyways? I'll punish you. I'll make you follow my rules. Every one of them. Structure, is doing what is expected of you. You'll do what I say. If you don't do what I expect out of you? I'll punish you."

  I ran the coiled up threat over him and whispered in his ear.

  "You now have a very strict mommy."

  I continued to walk around him, touching him on marks. Swatting his ass pyfully.

  "Punishment. Time out. Grounded. Giving treats to bribe them to listen. Shaking your finger at them. That's not punishment. Real punishment? Is using force. The little boy learns that he's helpless when Mommy is not pleased with his behavior. That when he does what mommy doesn't allow, or doesn't do what mommy expects? He gets punishment. Mommy puts the little boy over her knee, to show him he's truly helpless. Mommy holds him there. Mommy beats a naked ass? Because it provides extra shame, to be helpless over mommy's p, with a bare bottom up for her to smack. Its humiliating to be held helpless over her p, naked little ass waiting to get smacked. Its part of the punishment."

  "If mommy is not strict enough? Pants still on going over her p, smacks the butt a few times, then lets the boy go. The little boy learns he just has to compin, and mommy will feel all bad, and its over. That's almost as bad as not punishing him at all. The little boy quickly learns, that the punishment ends when he makes some noise. That's the little boy being in charge of punishment. The little boy is deciding when its over. That's mommy not being strict."

  "Pants on. Couple swats. Little boy wiggles and compins some, and he gets set free. That's not what we're going to do. Mommy is going to do it right. I'm going to show my little boy who is actually in charge here. And its not him. A couple tears, a little crying? Uh uh. The child learns to put on a show, and it ends. That he's in control of the situation. No way. The cure for that? They cry, then you give them something to cry for. Then… you really give it to them good. Then you give them some more. Lots more."

  "This was your first real punishment. This was just an introduction, little boy. I meant what I said, every word of it. The next time I need to correct you? We'll see if an hour across my knee getting the paddle works. I'm going to show you who is in charge here, and its me."

  "Now. As you figured out, its not sexy fun to get the bullwhip. I think a lot of little boys get that idea, seeing silly videos. Those are not real whips, like mine is. Those are fakes, like the kind you get in naughty book stores. The girls are all dolled up in a silly costume, putting on a show for the guy having naughty fun. I've seen it. I've been preparing for tonight, and what comes after tonight. Fake naughty book store bullwhips, girls dressing up in silly costumes. Putting on a show. They don't even know how to use their props correctly."

  "I hope you don't think you even got it used on you for real. You didn't. I used it as lightly as I could. We were actually having a nice little talk. A couple light cracks to keep your attention, while I expined things to you. You have absolutely no idea, what a serious talk would be like. Now. Here's how this is going to go. I suggest you listen up, very carefully."

  I ran the coiled up whip over him and tapped his ass a few times before going back to running it over him some more.

  "You asked for real punishment. You asked for a really strict Mommy. I tried to talk you out of it, you wouldn't listen. I told you it wouldn't be a fun game like we've been pying. You kept asking. Congratutions, little boy. You got it. Now there's no getting out of it. If you try? Well… I think you know what that will get you."

  "I'm going to go over the rules, and what I expect out of you. Strict punishment for breaking rules, for not doing what's expected of you. You started learning a few things tonight. I speak. You listen. You will not interrupt me, or correct me. When I tell you to stop it or shut up? You better listen. You will do what you're told. You will be polite and show me manners. This is for when we're alone, and in particur when I want sex. When we're around other people, we're the same normal couple as always. No one will know. This is just between us."

  "Tomorrow morning? Remember what I told you about how its going to go. And don't be surprised, when I grab you, and I just force my way in. All the way. No screwing around, getting there. We're going to get right to the point, quick. Then I'm to give it to you rough. Real rough. You thought your first rape was kinda fun and hot? We'll see about that. A real rape is forced. You don't have a choice, but to give the person what they want. How they want it."

  "Wanna know about rape? I'll tell you. Psych major, had a css on introduction to rape. Cute name, huh? Hmm. We hear it all the time. Rape is not sex. Rape is about something else, and sex is just being used as the tool. A baseball bat, is for pying baseball. If I smash you over the head with the baseball bat, am I pying baseball with you? No. That's the difference."

  "Sex? Is what I've been doing with you all along. I'm pleasing you. I care that you enjoy it. Even when I get on top and ride you rough. I'm just pleasing you. When I direct the action in bed? You like it, same as I like it. That, was me having sex with you."

  "Rape is not sex. Rape, is about taking a person against their will. Rape is about having power and complete control over the victim. Its painful, and its humiliating. The victim usually gets aroused, and orgasms. That adds to their shame and humiliation. We won't be having sex tomorrow morning, I'll be raping you. I'll show you that I have power over you, and complete control of you. I meant every word of what I told you, and more. I'm going to put it in, and grab your hips and push it all the way in, as far as I can. Not gentle, not going slow. Right in. Then I'm going to start fucking you. Hard. I'll do it as hard and as fast as I want to. I'm going to loosen your little ass up, then bang you and really give it to you good."

  "It will hurt, and it will be humiliating. That's because it's meant to be. When you enjoy it sexually, and you get hard? I'm going to ugh, and show you. Only a little slut would enjoy it, and I'm going to prove that you're a little slut, for liking it. I'm going to make it more painful and more humiliating that I have to. For fun. The more the victim cries and begs, the more fun it is for the rapist. It lets them know they do have power over the victim. That they really do have complete control of them."

  "I'm going to make it worse. I'm going to have you ask me for it. I'm going to have you put my toy on me. You'll lube me up for it. You're going to stick your naked little ass up in the air, like I showed you how I want you to. You'll beg me for it. You'll beg me to do it hard. Then? I will. You'll cry, you'll squeal, you'll whine. Pitifully. If you scream? You'll be punished for it. Then we'll do it more, to show you I can."

  "Once you see that you get hard, and it proves you really are a naughty little slut? I'm going to take you all over the house, little boy. I'm going to bend you over things, and since I already have you loosened up? I'm going to give it to you good, everywhere. When we're done? I'll show you. We're going to take a bnket in the living room, you'll beg me for it even harder. You'll stick your ass up and do what you're told, and I'll fuck you even harder in the living room, and I'll stroke you lubed up at the end, and you'll love it. You'll know for sure, that you're a complete slut then. I'm going to record every, single one of these? And when we're all done… we'll have naughty movie time, and I know I'll have fun watching it. You'll watch too, and see how much of a slut you really are. I'm going to stop, and repy parts. Make fun of you. And you'll love it."

  "By the time we're all done? We will have created a link. Between the pain, the humiliation, and you getting off. You'll get it whenever I feel like it after that, and you'll start to like it more. Eventually, you'll miss it? And I'm going to enjoy hearing my little slut ask for it one day. I'm going to celebrate that day, by taking you to get my own mark put on you."

  "Lesser forms of rape. Date rape, for instance. That was what you got tied over mommy's table, the first time. Typical date rape? You py with rope or handcuffs for naughty sex. One day? The little slut finds out its different this time. They take it in the ass, and the date rapist won't stop. Its usually not violent, and they even get it slow and careful, but they take it. Like you got it over the table. I wanted to see if you got off on being raped, and you did. You're my dirty little slut."

  "Mommy is going to be very strict with you from now on. Until you finally earn your position, as my personal slut. We'll celebrate by me putting my mark on you, to show everyone that I own you, and you belong to me. By that time? You'll have been punished enough to know, that I demand strict obedience. You'll obey me. I will in general, punish you by bringing you down here, for one of these little talks we just had. Every time I have to do it? Its going to get more severe, until you learn strict obedience."

  "Don't confuse punishment with being corrected. I will not be letting things slide now. Instead of letting something slide? I'll give you one chance, to get corrected. I'll tell you what you did, and I'll tell you what you get for it. You will not need tied up for a minor correction. You'll bend over, and not move, and not make a sound. If I tell you to bend over the bed, you get twenty good licks with the long medium switch? You'll take it, you will not move, or make noise. If you do? We will repeat it. Harder. If you can't sit still and be quiet? That means you want severe punishment instead of me being nice, and giving you a gentle correction. We will then come down here, and have a nice, long talk about it."

  "Once we get to the point you've earned your spot, as my personal slut? Things will then go back to being normal. You'll finally be allowed to ask me for sex again. You'll be permitted to initiate sex with me. I will have taught my little boy how to behave properly, and you'll have the nice mommy back. I'm pretty sure that you'll appreciate having a nice mommy again. You're not even afraid of mommy yet. You just think you are. This was just a pleasant introduction to being punished. Pretty soon? When mommy starts taking her belt off, you'll pucker up and start begging me not to hurt you. It will probably just get you more. You're going to learn, real quick, that I speak once. If I have to repeat myself? Well… you know how that will go."

  "Once you earn your spot, as my personal slut? We'll have a lot of fun after that. You'll be doing everything imaginable in bed with me, and loving it. I'm going to take all the shyness out of you. You won't be ashamed of doing dirty things anymore. You'll know that you like it, and you'll ask for it. I like being obeyed in bed, and you like obeying me in bed. This will just make it… so much more."

  "But. Until then? You noticed, I'm sure. You don't get finished down here. This is for real punishment, not fun. I don't allow you to ask for sex, until you've earned your spot. If you do? Well, I don't recommend it. But, feel free to ask anyway. See what you get for disobeying me. I, will fuck you, when I feel like it. If you get horny? You can ask for permission. Once. You bug me after I say no? Don't do it. Yeah. You're going to be horny as hell, and licking my twat and doing anything else I feel like getting? And not allowed to finish, until I feel like it. You're my personal property, I own all of you, and I'll do what I want with it."

  "You notice, I didn't ask you if you agree to all this. I told you, not to ask if you weren't sure you wanted it. Too te to say no now. And if the word no comes out of your mouth? I dare you."

  "Now. That about covers the basics. I'll tell you as we go along. Let's get you down from there…"

  I untied his blindfold, and threw it over towards my little bag. I walked over and unwrapped the rope from the gate tch on the storage cage, and he finally got off his tiptoes and I let his hands down. I pulled the rope over the strong overhead pipe, and dropped it in a heap by him. I untied the rope from his hinged handcuffs. I unlocked the double locks on his hands and ankles. I removed the ankle hinged cuffs, then the wrist hinged cuffs. I went and sat down, and beckoned to him.

  "Come. Stand here."

  I ran my hands over him some, and traced my fingertips over the bullwhip welts. I slid my hands around and drummed my palms on his ass cheeks, and then rubbed my palms around on them, before pulling him in. Holding him to me with my hands on his cheeks. I kissed around his welts, and ran my tongue down many of them.

  "You fucked up. There's one problem with all of this. I told you about it before it started, and you didn't listen. Having a strict mommy? Is one thing. But… your strict mommy, is a little sick and twisted. I get wet, when I make you helpless. I get wetter, when I hurt you. The more you cry and whine and squeal? The hotter it makes me. Its fucked up. The person hurting you, with complete and total control over you? Gets off on it. Its not good. I can see it now. I'm going to punish you harder and longer than you actually deserve. I'm probably going to come up with excuses, just to do it more often."

  I ran my tongue over welts, looking up at him.

  "Go bring me my bag."

  "Now. Get the rope, and make a ball like we started."

  "Good. Now get both cuffs…"

  I had him get everything out, into the bag.

  "Now pick up my whip. Kneel and hand it to mommy."

  He did, and he was obviously nervous, and started looking down.

  "You're allowed to look at me. Look up."

  He came up and looked at me, blushing.

  "You're very cute, when you blush."

  "Thank you."

  "Very good. Manners. We might get somewhere."