blistered lips

“What’s this? What are you doing?”

Caught. Caught jerking your teenage dick. You try to hide the porn magazine and pull the sheet up, but Catherine has already made it from the door to your bedside.

“Don’t pull that sheet up. A little too late for that, don’t you think? And what are you looking at. Let me see it.”

Sheepishly, you hand Catherine the magazine, turning crimson when you realize the page it is opened to. She looks at the page, then looks at you.

“You like playing with that little boy chubby while you’re looking at dirty pictures like this? Is this what gets you stiff?”

Catherine shoves the magazine in front of you, pointing to the high-gloss page. You stare dumbly at the filthy picture and feel your cock twitch. You glance at Catherine, hoping she hasn’t noticed. “Well,” Catherine snarls, “answer me, young man.”

“I, er, I mean…”

Catherine laughs. “Just admit it. You like it dirty. You want to do filthy things with bad girls. Like this.” She points to the page again. “What’s that guy taking up his ass? Huh? Tell me.”

As she says this, Catherine sits on the edge of your bed. In an instant, the anger that had colored her face is replaced with a sly smile. As she takes the magazine and tosses it onto the floor, she pushes your sheet to the bottom of the bed.

“Spread your legs.”

“What?”

“I said…” Catherine grasps both of your thighs and roughly pulls you down onto your tailbone while pulling your legs a part. “…spread your fucking legs.”

“Now,” she continues, “grab that hog of yours and start stroking it. Let me see you beat off that teen cock.” She reaches out, grabbing your hand and forcing your fingers around the shaft, then guides your hand up and down. “Go ahead. Up and down. That’s it. Keep it up.” She takes her hand away. “Do it. Jerk that meat.”

Your cock is rock-hard again as you start playing with it, watching Catherine watch you. You feel nasty and dirty. You like being watched. You like Catherine watching. A drop of pre-cum is already bubbling from the head. “Oooh, look at that,” Catherine purrs, “you like being a dirty little masturbater for Catherine.”

Moving her hand over your balls, Catherine cups them and squeezes gently. “We’re going to make little jack-off boy cum so hard,” Catherine says. Then she is putting the finger of her other hand into her mouth. She raises an eyebrow while looking at you and making sucking sounds. When she pulls the finger out of her mouth, it is glistening wet. “Guess where I am going to put this finger, babycakes,” she says, and you watch as she puts the finger between your open thighs.

When her finger touches your asshole you almost explode. “Not yet,” Catherine whispers, “keep stroking while I start working this finger in.” Not even realizing it you scoot down and open your legs wider. Catherine giggles. “Oh yeah, you want it bad, don’t you?” She starts pushing in and out, wiggling it around. You are moaning. It feels so fucking good.

“Do it,” Catherine says. “Stroke that cock and shoot the teenage load of cum. Show me what a dirty little fuck you are.”

Suddenly, she jams two fingers into you, all the way to the hilt.

And you are cumming so hard that you can feel your ass clenching her fingers with every jerk of your cock as it spews in every direction.

Easing her fingers out of your ass, Catherine leans over and kisses the gooey head of your dick. She looks at you, holds up the fingers that were just in your ass and wiggles them.

“That was just the beginning. I’ll be back later with a dildo just like the one in the magazine.”

“From now on,” she is saying, “you will wear panties. No arguing. No protesting. I’ve disposed of your boxers; every last pair. Come, Andy, let me show you.”

She’s always called you Anderson before. Your given name. The one you prefer.

But this is the beginning you’ve known was coming for a while now. Since the night she came home and caught you.

She’d been so quiet and demure when you’d married. When you look back, you think those qualities were what drew you to her. That somewhere deep inside you knew; that you knew even then that your fetishes and desires needed some kind of cap. That her softness, her goodness would keep you safe from your own demons.

But she’d caught you. One of those rare occasions you’d indulged your desires. Alone, your beloved out for the night. That’s what she’d told you. No reason to expect her until late. And you couldn’t resist. Found the pink lace thong you’d bought her for Valentine’s Day, slipped it up over your thighs, your stiff prick.

You were so devastated when she’d walked in finding you masturbating into the crotch of those panties, a pair of her soiled ones across your face. Now she knew. Knew your naughty, dirty secret. But the shock, the revulsion was quickly replaced with a smile. She giggled; told you how ridiculous you looked. And there was a look in her eye that you didn’t understand. Though, now you do.

Because she took over from that point on. Making you wear panties sometimes when you fucked her. Then making you lick her cunt while wearing panties and humping the mattress. Sometimes right before you were going out with the guys she would insist you wear panties. She even bought you a few pair of your own, very feminine, satin and lace. You were at her mercy because the panties felt so good and dirty at the same time.

And you couldn’t say no. There was a power exchange the night she caught you. You realize it now. And, as you follow her to the bedroom, you realize that things are never going to be the same, will never go back to the way they were. Maybe you like this. Maybe you’re glad to finally be the panty slut you’ve always secretly wanted to be.

The top dresser drawer is open. You see satin, nylon, ribbons, bows. It’s not a man’s drawer anymore. You look at her.

“What about when I go to the gym?”

She ignores your question, reaching for a pair of the panties–white with little pink and yellow hearts. She holds them up in front of you.

“Put these on, Panty Andy. Be the little Panty Slut you know you want to be for me.”

She’s never called you anything like that before. You blush. But you also feel your prick responding to the calm authority of her words, the intuitive power in her demeanor. You slowly begin removing your jeans. Her words have hypnotized you. You only need to do what your Goddess Wife says. That is all that matters.

When the jeans are lying next to you on the floor, she hands you the panties, then reaches for a tube of lipstick. “What’s that for, honey,” you say as you pull the panties up over your pelvis, feeling the rush of pleasure as your prick drags along the soft fabric.

She looks at the panty tent your erection has caused and snickers. Again, she ignores your question. “Here, stand in front of the mirror.” You move to her side as she takes the lid off of the lipstick tube. “Close your eyes, Panty Slut.” Because it is all you can do, you close your eyes. You feel the lipstick, guided by her firm hand, moving across your torso. All the while she is laughing. You get the weird sensation that you are hearing her in stereo, but chalk it up to the surreal-ness of what is happening.

Finally: “Okay, open your eyes.”

You slowly open your eyes to see your chest, your ribs, your belly smeared with pink lipstick, spelling out the truth. Even backwards you can read it, because you’ve always known it. And you see Jessica standing at the bedroom door. Jessica, your wife’s best friend. Jessica’s lips are twisted into a lewd grin. She is shaking her head, like she is disgusted with you, perhaps even finds you pitiful. She mouths the words, “You are so fucked.”

“Read it out loud for me and Jessica.”

And you do.

“I am Andy Panties. I am a panty slut. I am not a real man. I am panty slut Andy.”

As humiliating, as embarrassing as your dilemma is, you are more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. Your prick is leaking into the panties, a gray bloom spreading across and down the front of them.

“Now, Andy Panties, show Jessica how hot you are. Rub the front of those wet panties. Yes, you’ve leaked all over them, haven’t you? Now rub them and read your little mantra again and again until you cum in those panties in front of us.”

You know you should stop this. But you can’t, because you want this, you need this. And so you begin rubbing.

“I am Andy Panties. I am a….”

But it’s too late. Because you are coming so hard that your knees are buckling, your asshole and balls are twitching.

“I told you that would happen,” Jessica tells your wife.

“Now you’ve got him by the balls. Forever.”

Mary’s queer, the kids said. She’s fat and queer and stupid and ugly.

They made fun of her crush on Michelle, the class princess. Teased her, taunted her, harassed her. Called her Pussy Breath and Muff Diver. Michelle laughed it off, even was kind to Mary — at least when no one was around to see.

So long ago and far away, yet the scars linger, fading and blooming as childhood wounds forever do.

This is Manhattan. This is today. Now see Mary:

Tall and blonde, successful and happy. Loved by Elizabeth who kisses the scars on those rare occasions when they make an appearance. Mary is making love to Elizabeth in the bed of a thousand roses. That’s what they call it, after the rose petals, Elizabeth’s romantic gesture on their first anniversary.

Mary is touching the quiet slope of her lover’s breast, watching the goose flesh quiver in response. She runs her thumbnail across the raspberry nipple, watching it spring from under the enamel edge. Elizabeth moans, whispers, I love you. Mary knows this is true, yet it still fills her with wonder, with awe, that love runs this deep, this true for her.

I love you, too, she whispers back, spreading Elizabeth’s legs. Let me show you how much. I am going to make you cum with my mouth, darling.

She lowers her face to the moist labia before her. Ever so slowly, just so she can savor the scent of her lover’s arousal.

Somewhere far away a woman named Michelle — whose story is of sadness and betrayal, and not to be told here — would give all to be loved like Mary for just one day.

She is watching you. You feel her eyes, lasers watching every move, every nuance, even the breaths you take. Yes, you paid her for this. To be here, to make you do this. But she is enjoying it. She likes her work. She likes making you do this dirty deed. This realization excites you.

You are on your knees in an alley off Garfield street. Not a very nice neighborhood. You can hear the music, the noise of the crowd from the biker bar on the corner. “Soon they will come,” she says. The gravel crunches as she moves closer, cupping your chin, pulling your face up to look at her. She studies you, stares into your eyes, her mouth a twist of a smile and a sneer.

“What do you say?”

You heart quickens in your chest. You know what she wants to hear. You swallow. You aren’t quick enough. She slaps you. Slaps you hard with her leather gloved fingers.

“Say it, you dirty, fucking, piece of shit scumbag.”

“I am a cunt-fag, Sir. Use me.”

“That’s more like it. And I expect you to say it every time. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She starts to raise her hand and this time you know better. “Yes, Mistress.”

You think of the hotel room on the other side of town. The business conference you spoke at this afternoon. The wife. The three children. The birthday dinner at your in-laws last week. Your woodshop. I’m a normal guy, you think to yourself. With a normal life, a good life, a happy life. Yet, here you are on your knees when two guys stumble out from the bar and turn into the alley.

You watch them wallking towards you, leather vests, tight jeans. One of them, the one with the beard, is already unzipping his pants.

Echo, Mistress Echo, grabs your shoulder.

“Here comes dinner,” she says tightening her grip. “Now lets get busy.”