PART FOUR n – Training

  He begs to know. He'll do anything I want. My lord, the warm, tingling rush. It ain't the hot water. Its like he read my goddamn mind, my naughty impulse. We're on a wavelength. He picked up some dirty vibe my naughty compulsion gave off.

  "Condition one. No gag. Mommy wants to hear you scream, when I go in all at once, just like this morning. We're alone. I'll have the loud music in here."

  "Condition two. I'm not going through all the trouble to clean you out, then open up your little ass in here, and be done. When we're through in here? I'm banging your naughty little ass in the bedroom, just like down in the living room. As long as I feel like hearing you cry."

  "Condition three. You'll prepare. I want the bed, lined with clean bath towels, you can wash them after. Mommy wants you all oiled up, like a willing little slut on the bed."

  "Condition four. You can pn on showing mommy some serious respect when we're done. You know what that means."

  He agrees to all of it. Now there's just the matter of what I can do to him right now. Christ, my naughty compulsion will feed me anything I want now. My eyes find the box of gloves within reach. Fuck it. I order him to keep his hands on the wall. I snap a glove as I get it on. If his hands come off the wall, he gets punished. He promised.

  Baby oil. Glove. Little slut admitting to wanting used. Little rabbit hole right there. All too convenient for a compulsion as naughty as mine, as insidious as mine. I'm sick and twisted now, and getting worse. He gets a finger. Then two. Then three of them, in a sort of cone. Finally three side by side, moved around. Then eventually four in a cone. Then, the ultimate, all four side by side. In different and out. Opened up, used. Then, it fshed in. Do it. You know he'll take it. You know you can do it now.

  I start giggling. Then chuckling. Then ughing. My gloved hand, baby oiled up. I make a cone of my hand. I force it. He squeals, he whines, I shut him up. My hand starts to disappear, and he starts compining and squealing and whining, and I keep telling him to shut up. I can't quite punch it in, but by cocking it I can sort of get my fist in a good bit of the way. He cries, he sobs, he's humiliated. He gasps in surprise and shock and I imagine some pain, but I get off on it. He's not quite got my fist in his naughty little ass, but damn near.

  I reach around with my free hand. He begs me not to, but I ask him why not. He sobs out that he's ashamed to be made to like it. I ugh in his ear.

  "Its way too te for that, slut. Way too te…"

  He cried with humiliation likely more than actual pain, as I baby oiled up his interest meter showing full interest, naturally. I teased and stopped and started. I made it take forever, to lengthen the humiliation and fun, and in doing so I thus extend his pleasure. Eventually though, I finish him off. I finally move him out of the water, because I told him to tell me when its coming. I carefully catch it all in my hand. I turn him around, so he can watch me smile, and I fill my mouth up with all of it. Then I come in and pin him to the wall with my body, and make him kiss me, and take all of it.

  I take the dirty oiled up glove off with the inside out motion, and make the toss to the garbage can I just have a shot at. Normally its for empty shower product containers, now its to catch used slut love gloves, too. Oh well.

  I pin his wrists up on either side above his head with my firm grip as I press into him, and give him some of my sluttiest kissing possible. Which by this point is quite outrageous, I can't believe this is me now. But it certainly is. There's no more shock to my system about this. I know its me now. I accept it, that I'm simply sick and twisted now, and getting worse. Thank god my naughty compulsion is to be a sadistic fiend in bed with my lover who's willing and eager about it. Thank god its not to kill people at random in dark alleyways.

  Because compulsions when strong enough, can be denied to a point only. You entertain the slightest bit of temptation, to enjoy it just a little? Its the trickle coming out of the dam wall and the waterfall comes eventually and you can't stop it any more. This is when I'd start chopping people up, and thank god that isn't my compulsion. Mine's okay. Mine's fine. I just all but raped my lover with a gloved fist in the shower, and made him take it. Now he's honest to god thanking me for it. Begging me to do what I promised to him tonight, and I know I will and more.

  I will be uniquely qualified to understand rapists, and will be unable to expin how or why. I'll be able to ride that ragged edge and be a state prison psychologist. The one woman able to talk frankly about understanding what they get out of it, and how it makes sense to them it was okay. So they open up to me, so we can begin some sembnce of rational therapy to try to get themselves under control as they near parole, if they want to try to live in public again. What other woman will be able to do anything but shut up and make a face when they describe their feelings frankly. I'll shrug, and say… oh, that's fair. I can see that. Now, let's look at it from the other point of view, shall we?

  I'll be uniquely qualified to understand serial killers and all manner of compulsion driven freaks. My open and frank admission that I completely understand that they have the compulsion, and how it drives and tempts them? Will shock them, it will jar them. Now, can we talk about some strategies to try to control it? That's why we're here. I don't judge you having the compulsion; they just exist.

  Some part of me is mildly ashamed of being the bad guy on the soccer field. Not any more, not this upcoming season. No way. I'm helping, no check that… I'm demanding and forcing my lover to get over his self shame and self guilt at admitting he's my little slut and that he likes it. The least I can do, is admit what my job is, and enjoy being able to do it better. I'll check girls harder. When Little Lightning, Little Miss Two Feet is in danger, I'll go on a goddamn seek and destroy mission to get the girl that's trying to cow tail her.

  When we set up a shield to set up a cross pass to feed Right or Lightning to one time on a run and gun. For Light to take one of her jets on, full tilt on a blur, acrobatic one times out of the air for a goal shot? Oh, when the other one comes across to hide me coming and I take her out… running girls over won't be just a phrase anymore. I'm literally going run over girls like a freight train.

  Every once in a blue moon, the coach gives the secret go ahead. There's no other way. Its time. She's hurting too many pyers. Its strategically worth it. Take her out. Beat her senseless. I'll never admit it ever, I have to scream at you and you know its just a role pying game, because I have to. But you have my permission, you have my instructions. Do it. Give the crowd what it wants. Show them why you're called the Hurricane. They pull hair and scratch. You don't. Grab her by the throat and hit her like a man and don't stop. Start a bench clearing brawl, the papers and the crowd love it.

  There's a social contract. Its supposed to be a limited contact sport, you're supposed to py clean with skill. If they wanna py rough, we py rough too. Its that level of py now. They wanna py dirty? Try to "adjust our roster"? Fuck them, we'll adjust their roster too. You want blood and all out brawling as well? Be careful what you ask for, we'll give it to you. It'll pay off. When we meet you the second time in this regur season, you'll watch your shit. If we meet you in the pyoffs? You'll have learned twice already, don't you dare try that st ditch cheap headhunting of our starting front line. You'll pay for it.

  But that's ter in this season coming up, that's ter in my career after I'm done with my doctorate. I live in the here and now. Right now, I've got my lover pinned up against the shower wall, and I just got done raping him, I just got done feeding him his own mess forcibly and he loved it. I spit in his open mouth, and kiss him even sluttier than already.

  He clings to me when I finally "release" his wrists from the wall, and he's once again allowed to run his hands and his mouth over my body freely. He thanks me, he means it. He kisses my handcuff key charm pendant, and I grin like a madwoman. He knows what it means, I know what it means, we both know what it means. I'm the dominant one, and he's submissive to me. We both love it. He's thanking me for taking charge and owning his body and using it like my own personal fuck toy.

  On the way out of the shower, to get dried off by him obediently… I grab him from behind, and cmp my hand over his mouth and pull him in tight to me. I hiss in his ear.

  "You ass is mine tonight, little boy."

  He nods his head under my tightly cmped hand over his mouth. He knows I mean it both figuratively, and quite literally as well. I'm going to fuck him like a hurricane half the night. He's going to struggle, scream, and cry. Whine, beg, and plead. I'm going to hurt him bad, and he's going to love every minute of it. I feel confident and powerful. Because I am.

  I lean back against the sink, and do what I do now at this juncture. Lift one foot, then the other, while I'm ever so lovingly and softly dried off. With the utmost care and love to do it exactly as I enjoy. I smile down at him, the way a cat must lick its chops at a mouse. Because I'm going to devour him tonight. I know I'm going to use him for my fuck hole, and put him to bed in tears, quivering and shaking.

  "You said we're going somewhere, right? Am I in trouble for asking where?"

  "Mommy, is taking you shopping. I'm going to see if I can find some cheap toys."

  "Hmm. Cheap toys, for your cheap little slut?"

  "Exactly. I can't wait to see you blush, when I show you something. I'll know it. You'll know it. And when we get home again? I'm going to try anything out on you I get."

  "What are you looking for?"

  "I don't know. Mommy will know it when she sees it. If you're mommy's little helper, and actually help give her ideas? I'll use you extra rough tonight, to show you how much mommy appreciates you."

  "Mm."

  "You know what to do to finish up in here. Meet me in the bedroom, to dress me. Do a good job…"

  I sat on the foot of the bed, and awaited my dressing ritual. He knelt down and spread the towel out. I put my feet on it, and he groveled. Kisses and licks. Toe kisses. I told him when enough was enough. He asked respectfully what I wanted to wear. I directed him. What socks to get, and he put them on one at a time. What panties I wanted. Then what jeans and what shirt. All of it was done well enough I had nothing to compin about, I would have to make something up to correct him with. He had obviously given himself over completely now to me. He smiled easier with it. He was proud I was pleased with him. The hard part described on the mommy website was done with, I had him now. My control and power over him had become reality. He was finally admitting he liked it, and the rest would be easier. And much more fun.

  He asked what I wanted him to wear. Fuck it, take this out for a spin. See what I actually had now.

  "Hmm. You'll do anything I want?"

  "Anything."

  I directed him to get a pair of my socks. I don't generally wear that many girly socks. I'm a jeans and T shirts tomboy. I have them, mind you, I just don't wear them all that often. Rare I'm in the mood. I have socks that pass muster for a boy to wear, no doubts about it. But, him knowing he was wearing my clothes, would be a secret humiliation shared between us. He blushed as he put my socks on. He got it. I had him.

  "Now for the big one, slut. You said anything. I'm going to test that and see."

  "Anything…"

  I directed him to get a pair of my panties. He blushed and was about to say something, and stopped. He blushed so bad, but got them. Then he slowly put them on. Stepped into them, and pulled them up slowly.

  "Oh. If you could see your face right now. Don't worry. No one will know. I'll drive extra careful."

  The thought of going to the hospital with a car wreck, and everyone seeing him in his girlfriend's panties, obviously embarrassed him to no end. The blush deepened, and I reminded him how cute he was when he did it for me to see. It got worse.

  He had marks that were hard to cover with my soccer practice shorts, so the practice sweatpants again, a clean pair. Then naturally, another of my practice T shirts with my number on them. Why stop now, at this stage of the game. I had him ce me up in a pair of my hikers, and he kissed them. This left him able to wear my jogging shoes. We wear the same size, men's 12. Its not like I get the pink jogging tenners, trust me.

  "There you go, slut. You're completely decked out in mommy's clothes. You're a complete little groupie now. How do you feel."

  "Hmm. Like you really own me, I guess."

  "Great. Hand me my phone and my key chain…"

  He blushed again, when he realized my key chain was the thumb cuffs, separating my car and townhouse keys, from keys for stuff sports reted. I kissed him some before getting up to go, and he kissed my handcuff key charm somewhat reverently, I thought. Good omen for training getting somewhere good.

  I led him by the hand downstairs and we went and I drove him to go shopping. We'd never hit the junk store together before. Its not called a junk store, naturally, but that's what it is.

  I had fun showing him little things only we would divine their true purpose, and we shared knowing smiles and blushes. I finally found one thing I was looking for. A giant, old fashioned hardwood scrub brush. I smiled as I showed it to him. He instantly knew it was meant for his ass, and it could be left around openly. No one would suspect or divine its true purpose.

  This was no thin light pine, modern mass manufactured thing. This was an antique. Big, thick, long handle. Real hardwood. Stained or shelcked or whatever they called it, waterproof. Bristles long since bent and worn, but the business end was the other side anyways. I swung it a little testing it. Ooh. This thing would be a fierce paddle.

  Once I found brushes, I found the rest near it. I discovered a little one, and it was weird. Shaped like a dog bone somewhat. Handle to hold being the inside of the dog bone shape, and squared ends that still had quite serviceable if heavy old bristles. He couldn't fathom its use, I whispered I'd have fun showing him what I was going to use it for. He shrugged and smiled. Whatever I wanted was fine. Wow, the rush.

  I was two whole dolrs in, and had two great toys already. Dug through the bins, and found a treasure. A razor strop. This was another grandma toddler tale. The belt was one thing, but getting the strop was another. When a lot of people used to say "get the strap", it was a mispronunciation lost over time, from back around 1910 when men still all used straight razors and had to strop the razor daily. The leather strop? Basically a heavy duty leather paddle. It was almost but not quite worn out for its actual use, so another dolr. Three bucks in, and three great toys.

  Then I found old tack. There were bundles of old, thick, heavy leather straps. My naughty compulsion fed me a stream of snapshots of things I could do with these. Dolr a bundle, I got a couple bundles. As a farm girl, I know some metal hardware. Metal handles on ft screw ptes. The handle hinges down into the recess ft. You screw several of these onto any wooden surface, and you can have tie or clip points. Too handy for a submissive dirty little slut. A dolr a box for many.

  I got a dolr's worth of carabiners. They locked. I was missing my rope. The ritual. The inherent intimacy. I have tons of soft cotton rope that I tie things to the roof rack of my car all the time. I got a roll of really rough rope. I whispered in his ear, how this stuff would cut and burn him and leave wicked marks. Another dolr.

  An old fashioned, heavy duty long chain dog leash. For slut walking fun, I whispered. Then I found pieces of old horse tack. I had to have an old bit, the straps long since worn off. Young pony size for equestrian use, human sized for… well, you get the idea I'm just sure. Then, when I thought I was all out of finds, the holy grail. My own personal paddle shelf. They were old fashioned cheese boards and cutting boards, and like items. One was bigger, thicker, and heavier and shaped better than all the others. It looked wicked and fearsome. I smiled at him and he rolled his eyes and blushed crimson. Had to have that. My naughty compulsion said I could give him a crack or two now and then, and otherwise threaten him with it. It wasn't a cheese board, the note said it had been what was once called a sausage board. Which made me giggle.

  I wasn't ten or eleven bucks in all told, and had an armload of stuff. I was ecstatic. My naughty compulsion was cheap to feed. I must be a cheap sadistic fiend, I thought. I must have a cheap slut, which is of course the very best kind, really. I took my finds up to the counter, where the old man proprietor idly checked me out. I volunteered how great this pce was for decorating. My grandma and my parents, had decorated old farmhouses with random old stuff on the walls. My new apartment I just got needed stuff, and his pce was great. He agreed, he got a lot of of customers for that reason. When he got to the bit and the tack straps, he asked if I wanted any more horse tack, he had more if my walls wanted something else. I shrugged, why not be up sold for another buck.

  I fell in love with an ancient but very serviceable buggy whip, and then I saw it. Light from heaven shone down on it, and a naughty angel choir sang for the dazzling light show. An old and in great shape lunge whip. Five bucks. Up sold but loving it. Come back anytime, he got new stock in constantly, mostly from estate sales in bulk. I swore I'd be a customer and we left.

  I took him to a truck stop for coffee, and I browsed on the store side of the pce. Truck stop jewelry. I fell in love with a neck pendant. Heavy duty but small enough. Looked at even a close gnce to be a "super" capital S. Maybe a snake on closer inspection. If you knew what to look for? It was a whip pendant in an S shape. A bullwhip. Mommy's signature weapon for slut training that marked her as a savvy professional, not some rank amateur girly girl slut tamer looking for cheap street cred. Had to have it. We were on the way home, and I wasn't barely 25 dolrs lighter. I teased him all the way home that I was going to pull over somewhere, and give him a taste of my favorite new paddle, but good, over my knee in the backseat.

  When we were back, I handed him the bags and told him to go upstairs and wait for me. I'd be up in a minute to py with my new toys. And him. When I hit the bedroom, I had pnned on issuing the curt order to "strip", which signaled the beginning of anything. He was ready for me. He was naked, and in his colr. He sheepishly handed me the colr padlock key. Wow. I was actually touched. He had prepared himself for me to py with him. I actually kissed and hugged him and did roaming hands.

  I sat on the bed. It was early yet, and we had all day and all night and more to ourselves. I pyed fetch. I couldn't help getting a few licks in with my big brush and the holy grail of paddles. I ughingly got him over my knee, and scissored his legs in and pushed his neck down for test swats. No handcuffs and ankle cuffs. Pure test fun. The big brush, was actually way better than I thought. It was heavy, the thick solid hardwood handle was strong as anything. Swung with some speed, it delivered a terrific blow. A couple halfhearted swats, then a few hard ones actually got squeals and begging. Please no, it actually hurts.

  "Oh. Really. All right then. Lets get a few good ones in. Lets see what I actually got…"

  My hand snaked up and drew his colr down tight. I wiggled the brush on his ass, and he twitched. He was actually nervous, I could tell. Hmm. I gave him a couple full force swats. Fast hard test swats, before letting him up. The commotion told me I had an actual serious thing in my hands. My strict mommy voice came out.

  "Shut it. I want ten, good, swats. I wanna see how this thing works. Do it."

  He id over my p slowly, looking back and up at me with trepidation. I lit his ass cheeks up with ten hard fast ones, to test it. I got nearly a scream before I was done. He was literally begging me that he was being good. To please, please don't.

  "All right. But you need to be actually scared of going over mommy's knee. The next time we take a trip to the basement? After mommy's done with her belt… this? Is going to be mommy's new paddle. This, is what you're going to get your next serious talking to with. What do you think of that?"

  He begged and groveled, he was being good, please don't. Hmm. I couldn't wait. Maybe one good ass beating with the brush? And the next time I threatened him with it, I would get real puckering and real tears, scared. Which was of course, one of my primary aims. I repeated my test now with the holy grail paddle, and the results were even more spectacur. He was teary eyed, and actually terrified of it. Wow. One good ass beating with this thing, and my work might be done here. I was done scaring him for nothing, this was supposed to be fun pying.

  "Here's the little brush. I'm going to use it as a bit gag…"

  I showed him and had him hold it in his teeth, and expined how I would tie the bit gag in with some rope. Then? how I pnned on scrubbing the shower with him like I had scrubbed the kitchen floor in a simir fashion. He blushed at the prospect. I showed him the horse bit. I had sized it up for his mouth, not some horse. I showed him how it was used, how the bit was supposed to go under the tongue, then when I pulled back the "reins"? The tongue cut off the throat for air and noise. Great for control of a naughty horse. Or, I reminded him, an uppity slut if they ever needed it.

  I expined I could yank back, for silent "first thrust" when I did "hard entry". Or, I could yank back for over the knee beatings, and cut all noise off then release the reins, to hear the crying when I was done beating him for a short burst. I told him he should be very afraid if I ever came for him and wanted to fix this thing on him, he'd know he was in for an extra rough ride.

  The razor strop was an obvious ten swat test. It was less feared then the brush and holy grail paddle, but definitely was as effective or even more so, than my normal paddle that was my present go to. My naughty compulsion told me to make up an excuse, any excuse, to give the hard, real, over the knee test of the brush and holy grail right here, right now. I dispensed with the idea. Not all naughty compulsion snapshots were winners.

  While pying with my new toys, my joy was somewhat slightly overshadowed by a slight burden. A milestone had been reached in all this, but only I knew it. He had initially requested how "hot" it would be to become… forced to commit a sexual act or acts he might not necessarily want to. He had somewhat unknowingly asked to be raped by force. He had, and it was now not only on the menu, but being asked and even begged for. He had asked to not only be punished, but how "hot" it would be to actually get punished. For it to be real. When I asked what real punishment would be, he said it would be scary to get it.

  I now had the means at my disposal. And if I knew anything now about the naughty compulsion and its uninvited whispers? Anything that could be done, soon would. My telling myself I would just tease and threaten him with the big brush and holy grail paddle? That had just been my naughty compulsion telling me what I needed to hear, to tell myself what was needed to get the things home. I could feel it in the rush, when giving him ten "good" test swats to try it out. Sooner or ter, something would happen that "required" punishment, and a trip to the basement. One or both of these would go down with me. They would get used enthusiastically on his poor little tookus.

  I got off on tears and humiliation now. The website described the progression of things, and how we were right up against one of the final ingredients to our perverted little meal we were cooking up. The final dash of spice was of course the over the knee punishment that would bring palpable fear into the equation. Real respect was real fear. He would sit and cry his little eyes out afterwards, eyeing me warily after that if I showed displeasure to his actions.

  The milestone of seeing real tears and puckering up with threatening him, would happen. The control and power coming over would finally be complete. The bullwhip was actually a power tool, like using a jackhammer when a little tack hammer was required to do the job right. That big brush had given me the final ingredient. I would then be able to threaten him with the brush, and the threat would be all too real.

  He would fear me. Before, I had figured on the bullwhip accomplishing this task first. It still would accomplish it, just not first. The big brush or the holy grail would. Probably the brush. Too handy and effective. The naughty compulsion said to do it now, and I ignored it. Now it said, use it instead of the pnned on regur paddle. Why not get a more serious effect with less work required, when I interspersed the brutal shower rape action, with paddle crackings, imitating this morning.

  The compulsion was seductive. Its the same thing, just easier and quicker. Why waste an hour with a push mower, when the tractor and big belly mower would do the hours of work in fifteen minutes. Why piss around, with tearing up then sobbing, then crying, then more crying, then the first few tentative screams, then the real screaming. Why not just go almost directly to the screaming and get it over with.

  What was sobering wasn't that it was going to happen, I had always known it would. That was the pn after all. What was sobering was realizing that I was looking forward to it, and now knew it. I no longer pretended to be sick and twisted, I actually was. But that was okay too. It was my part in this, my role. His role was to admit he was more of a slut than he wanted to, and I would force him to admit it. My role was unrealized by me at the start. Though it was becoming clearer and clearer to me tely. My role? Was to admit I was getting off on power and control, and wielding it.

  I hadn't seen the slow progression of the events creeping up on me. At 14, wet towel snaps were a game. Teasing. Pying. A dare with my first make out boyfriend. I discovered there was something there, that I knew existed but I didn't fully understand. It was something, and it seemed to be somewhat sexual in nature, too. It "went" with sexual activity somehow and in some fashion.

  Practicing with my bullwhip I rescued and salvaged. I had woken up on rainy days in the barn amusing myself, I had my naughty little picture fshes. What was that? Oh well. I was just another person pying with a bullwhip for a fun something to do to pass time. Like anyone that pyed intrepid archaeologist adventurer with the hat and whip. Imitating some entertainment they had seen, that was all. Harmless.

  Then someone fed that compulsion. Towel snap boy had unwittingly fed it. He traded towel snaps for make out experience. But, the guy that saw Vaquera in all her performing glory, he had known what he was looking for. If he couldn't get anything else, Vaquera liked him for making out and maybe more. He actively got what he could. Belt swats. It was completely sexual in nature now. There was no denying it. He wanted to make out and more with Vaquera or the girl that portrayed her, but right up there was his belt swats, too. They were mixed in with the deal.

  I was cognizant of the nature of it by then. I suddenly understood all the depictions and jokes in movies. I smiled and said "tell me when". He didn't say when. It was up to me to say it for him.

  Other guys were looking for dare or bet swats, that was one thing. But, the curious young cowboys asking on the side… they were like belt boy. They had probably tasted a belt before, and wanted a lick from the real thing, to see. I didn't like them that way, and resisted. I had to like the boy to enjoy that. It was sexual, and you can't have fun without desire.

  But, now this boyfriend. I knew from the start. I picked one out because of the jokes and innuendo. It was a major check mark on my list. It raised him from almost perfect, to actual perfect. The first sex date? Saw him long before the first night got old, tied up and whipped and tears falling. I told him to say when. You can touch the radio as many times as you want, and when you quit touching the radio, that was saying when.

  He kept touching the radio. It was up to me to say when. Now he had taken the safety device off of the tool. He wanted the "when" removed from the equation. I thought I knew when I was to say "when" for him. I was off the deep end now and would never return back. Like a fishhook, the barb sticks in and now can't be pulled out without doing more damage than pushing it through or leaving it in.

  I was fast losing the sense and the sensibility to say "when". I was very near to losing the ability to say "when". This had been on the website too. The submissive came to grips with their desire and admitted it. But, the dominant? Had a job to do as well. That had to come to grips with realizing and embracing what they were, too. It was equal and fair.

  You pyed more and more, to make sure. Then? They wanted you to do it. To get actually mad and actually punish them. Like the out of control strict mommy wallops her toddler's ass for… whatever reason it happened for that day. The child tests the limits of mommy's patience one time too many. Finally, that strict mommy has had enough, and takes the complete and total control that only an adult can exercise over a small child. They go over mommy's p and are held there, helpless and at the mercy of mommy. But this time, its different. This time mommy has no mercy.

  Mommy beats the helpless child senseless, and into complete and total submission. From that point on, mommy is feared. That's where this was headed, he already knew it. I had to know it. I was the one who had to do it.

  The website recommended waiting until they said or did something that actually irked you, so you could do it. It was time. The mouse trap was now fully loaded. It would snap shut on the helpless little mouse tonight, tomorrow, or a month from now. But the mouse trap would go off, that could be counted on.

  I took accurate score of myself though. I still had some shred of "when" to give. It was the st thread of a fraying rope. It still held up what it was supposed to hold up, because the st thread was intact. It would be gone soon, and the object would fall. The object was me and him. Us. We would plunge into the rabbit hole together. But my st thread was still there, intact. I'd give one st taste test. Tonight. He'd be helpless just in the shower this time. I'd switch the regur light paddle out for the new fearsome big brush. On my whim, fuck it. Give him a little more than usual. See.

  If I didn't get some kind of serious reprisal during "normal time"? Fuck it. Whenever "it" happened, whatever "it" turned out to be? Whatever. It would be time. Basement. Big brush. Naked, helpless, squirming ass. Out of control strict mommy would beat her helpless toddler senseless and into complete and total, irrevocable submission. The naughty "child" was asking for it. Give them what they were asking for. Then? The promised jeans on bull-whipping would happen soon after. Then this game that was not a game could move forward to its inevitable conclusion. The conclusion was, of course… that instead of the two of us pying at me owning him? I actually would. He had gotten real rape, he had been made to like it. He'd have then gotten actual severe punishment, again against his will. We could follow through with the pnned spicy ending.

  And things like this could forever be on the menu, whenever he asked, or when I missed it. I was inordinately turned on thinking of that jeans on bull-whipping. The threat of ripping two pairs of jeans off him in a row to set the tone for our own townhouse? Even more so at that thought. Then the final promised third pair of jeans in a row warning that our own house would be predicated upon? Wow. The rush would be intense that night.

  Last taste test tonight, little boy. Then you're going to get force fed the whole pte. When? Sooner. Later. Whenever the mouse sprung the trap. Not just now though. This is fun time.

  "You've been a very good boy, ever since we started over. Mommy wants to have some fun with her pet slut."

  I pyed fetch for a while. It had started out silly fun, another small humiliation. How or why I actually enjoyed it now for its own sake? I gave up wondering these things. If he found me irrepceable to him? The feeling was mutual. I could imagine asking the next boyfriend to py naked fetch. Without the inherent desire to py naughty games such as these, you can't smoke enough pot to get that accomplished. Oh, maybe once or twice they'd pick up a sock and bring it back to you, for a rk and a good belly ugh, but… not a regur game. You couldn't get real fetch going.

  Then I imagined trying to somehow ease into expining that naked fetch? Well, if you said "no" then here's what happened. Urp.

  I smiled genuine pying naked fetch, throwing socks around. I did the tricks. Sit up, beg, roll over, py dead, scratch the tummy. I said "aw" and scratched under the chin. I petted the head, I gave kisses and baby talk like I did to a puppy. Then? I had another harmless toy. The old chain leash. I walked him. I pointed at the bed, and he hopped up. I told him he was a good boy. I walked him out of the room, and would stop, make him heel up, etc. I walked him downstairs, and all around. More naked fetch in the living room. I was carrying some socks around for doggy toys, for Christ's sake. I walked him downstairs and around the basement, to show it to my new puppy.

  I didn't know who was crazier now, me or him. Him for doing it? Or me for liking it. Or the other way around. Or? Both. I microwaved him some little pizza roll treats. I tossed them around the kitchen floor, it was dry now. He fetched and ate them. He held onto socks, and I had to tell him "give". I ughed wholeheartedly when we pyed tug of war with my one sock, damn it. He licked my hand. I giggled when I gave him a "drink" out of a cereal bowl. I had him sit up and beg for some more pizza rolls. I even tried tossing them until I got one to nd in his mouth. I honest to god cpped when it nded in, like I would for a real dog's first "catch". Fuck, I was losing it.

  I ughed and told him if he peed on the floor, I would rub his nose in it, and he would get beat to teach him a lesson. He teased me by lifting his leg, then winked. I wanted to fucking strangle him, then ughed. When I realized I had forgotten "speak, boy!" I tried it. I got "rrrruff!" the cute p dog noise. Not the throaty "woof!" I had been expecting. This man could actually menace a 300 pound jacked up goril, and effectively as hell. I had seen videos to prove it. He was no more harmful than a tiny pdog to me.

  The website was right. Some of the most powerful men, that commanded some, or all of the personal powers avaible to men, often wanted this. I had a sudden urge to make instant pudding again. I would do that again sometime. It was… strangely intimate. I would never have a real dog lick food off my foot, but… if I slid any further down the rabbit hole, I would never see daylight until I came out the other side. Maybe I was already there. Who knew. I wasn't even sure.

  I "walked" him back upstairs when I was done pying with my trained puppy. I found myself wracking my brain for what other fun "tricks" I could teach him. I about now need my head examined, and I'm a fucking psych major for the love of god. Someone was right. Most psych majors were almost to a student? Slightly "off". This all qualified as off. I even had a naughty compulsion fsh I could never fulfill. Have him perform for team mates, to see the looks on their faces. Ha! Let's see any of you motherfuckers get your guy to do this! I win!

  Where the fuck did that urge come from? It was followed up like many naughty compulsion urge pictures were, with a series of built upon progressions. Leave him cuffed helpless, blindfolded and gagged in the locker room and let him hear all the girls coming to change, and ughing and enjoying the show. Having him helpless in the girls shower room like we enjoyed after the wee hours, and having the same thing happen. Having other "mommies" on the team, and bring them over to… where the fuck was this coming from? Secret! No sharing!

  Well, a good number of drinks, and I could let just Little Lightning join us in the shower, to be amazed what went on in there, fucking holy hell no! This… thing in my head, was dangerous. It wouldn't shut up when it needed to. A sexual compulsion. That would never leave, it y dormant until awakened, then grew slowly like a seed sprouting slowly… then when it gained roots and had access to water and soil and nutrients? It was unshakable.

  This was where "mommy bang" parties came from. It started out, mommy had a "friend" over. It was okay, she expined to her slut not to be afraid sitting there, tied up helpless, blindfolded. Its not a regur friend, its another mommy. It was fine. She understood. Next thing you saw in the amateur video? They were stealing kisses and he had to guess which. Touched, the game was to accurately tell from which. Riding crop swats for each wrong guess. They grew harder and more numerous as the game went on.

  Next thing you knew, all three were drunk and the slut had to now guess which one was raping him with her strap on toy in his ass, bent helpless over the couch. One held him for the other. When the girlfriend over party ended? He never got to see the other mommy, he had been blindfolded the entire time. She would have him out for normal time, and he wouldn't know it had been her friend at dinner. She expined at the end of the video. All a part of the fun games to py with a well trained slut. If they resisted, embarrassed? That was dealt with.