PART FOUR e – Training

  Thank god I'm one of the sports girls that still has the feminine hands and nails, the feminine feet. The decent girl hair, a cute enough face. Curves to my body that are pleasing to a man's eye. It wouldn't be only once some boy at the university has seen me walking by, no one else around to gauge my size accurately. Huh. Decent tomboy there, she always goes by around this time. Why, next day at this time? I'm gonna screw my courage up to go out there, and y some rap on her. I'm a girl, I know what's going on. Almost all of us know, hell, even before a guy knows he's interested.

  I've seen them walk up on me, then realize they were fooled by not seeing me around other girls to accurately assess my size. I know the numbers from human sexuality css. At a hair under an even six foot tall, I look down to some or more of an extent of over ninety percent of the men in America, to look at their face. If I stare straight ahead, I'm overlooking the top of their head. I'm one of the few girls on campus that notice which boys have that teeny thinning no other girl can see, if the boy is going to go thin on hair when that starts. I stare dead ahead into a six foot tall man's eyes in conversation. Getting close to 200 pounds when I'm an "off season porker", I'm not even a girl bodybuilder. Its not fake muscle like they sport.

  I inherited from my Daddy's side of the family. Where men routinely grow to six and a half foot tall on average. Some a little less, and a few even taller. Like Daddy always jokes, some Vikings must have invaded Italy way back in the day, and left their mark on our family line. I simply tower over men of average height and worse on the ones under average. They stare up at me in fascination. I'm actually the girly girl around the adult men in my family, at any big family get together. The men aren't beanpoles and clothes hangers, either. The kind of guys that already look like pro linebackers naturally, before they ever touch free weights when they get to that age where boys get into that.

  I'm well aware at my age, that the girl next door cute tomboy they might look at in passing? When I wear shorts and can show off my legs, is when I get some attention from boys that like fit girls. I have daddy's side's big legs and calves, the kind where the muscles naturally show as if free weights caused it, even though not. I have their big thick bones, too. No, until guys get well over six foot tall, and filled out a bit… I honestly don't think of them as "big" by comparison. Even then, the giants that py on the line at a top university football program? I'm at my ease walking around them. Hell, they look like all the men at any big family reunion I go to once a year with my family.

  I talk and joke and push and shove in good nature with them. I grew up around men this size. Hell, I prefer to hang around boys instead of girls, just by my tomboy nature. I see the looks on little girl's faces when they walk up and I'm standing around some of the athlete boys. I'm one of them, I'm one of those. One of the big people. Scary big to ordinary girls. When I'm with team mates, other big girls more like me, I'm sure we're about as intimidating physically to regur sized girls as Vikings must have surely appeared to regur Europeans when they got their first look at them.

  If you ever wondered how sports girls are personality wise at a big university at this level of py? About as ornery and boisterous as the boys when we feel like it. I've learned to watch myself around smaller girls in the psychology department. I can't get pissed or pushing and shoving like some girls can get. I'm a gentle giant by nature without being given cause to act otherwise. I want to get into the study groups of the smartest in my department, and being intimidating or scary isn't the way to get invited in. Intellectuals value politeness and brains, not aggressiveness and pushiness.

  Plus I don't want gawked at any more than necessary for being a big girl. Sure, at this level of college py, there's girls around taller than me. Of course. Particurly on the basketball and volleyball teams. Almost all of them though, run a little slender at that height a couple inches over me. They don't have quite the thick bones and naturally thick muscles I have. Some of the tallest on those teams, are the slender really tall girls. Their extra inches aren't even remotely intimidating to me.

  Yeah. College kids are always moving into and out of apartments. I sometimes shove an average height and weight guy out of the way, and grab the other end of the couch or chest freezer, and negotiate with some guy the steps and corners where you have to be able to more than just lift it, but be comfortable and able to manipute it for a span of time. I don't wrap dishes in newspaper and pack boxes of nick-knacks with the girls. I walk out where the boys are moving the big and awkward items, and pick an end up and go.

  Men gawk. Girly girls drop their jaws open and get quiet and whistle low. The more capable boys, that remind me of the farm boys I grew up hanging out with, smile and nod approvingly.

  So yeah, I'm slightly self conscious of my size and strength for a girl to have. Its equal parts gift and curse. Cute enough and enough of a tomboy for men that appreciate that in a girl, but enough of it I'm just too damn big for most men. I'm willing to overlook something like that in favor of other things on my to get list in a steady boyfriend. But most men aren't. Or worse, they think they're doing me a favor "overlooking" me being big and strong. Or worst of all, a little guy that fetishes an amazon.

  But I can be myself and more with my boyfriend, wrangling him around on the bnket in the middle of the living room floor like a feeder calf that needs grabbed up and controlled. I'm actually getting close to thinking about pinching off his final and most violent sodomizing and rape of the evening. Hell, maybe even one more. Sexually assaulting him with excessive force, hugging him securely with his legs up over in a bundle. Just for the hell of it, I tried to pick him up like that. I told him my intention was to see if I could hold him up against the wall, and continue raping him there. The way a man ordinarily controls the wife for rough night fun.

  I failed trying a couple times, but I got an A for effort and had him a couple inches off the bnket before setting him back down. I was only barely missing those couple precious inches more, where I could have gotten him up to where I knew I could handle him and go through with it. He's loved every minute of my physically aggressive series of forced rapes I perpetrated on him tonight, and he's into it. Well, after that first one that left him sobbing in tears and shaking afterwards. Crying like any rape victim, hurt and humiliated they had been forced and had to do what the aggressive attacker wanted to take from them as they felt the whim. He cried and finally submitted to me fully, giving himself over to being in submission to me for several weeks. Begging me to kiss and make up with him. I opened his ass up to my toy shamelessly and with no mercy.

  Now he's into it finally. After admitting he would submit to my control and power over him, to abuse as I saw fit, he started loving it. Fuck this. I want what I want, and won't be denied after all this. I toss him down, and spill him out in front of me. I look down, sweating and breathing hard from the physical exertion of wrangling him around. His hands smooth around my tan legs kneeling over him. One on my muscur thigh, tracing an errant index fingertip around, feeling the individual thigh muscles bulging and pying around as I shift my weight. His other hand caressing and cupping my calf muscle. That index finger feeling the split when I push right. He's staring, smiling and biting his lower lip. Fascinated he actually and now finally has his own girl he only saw on TV and grew up fantasizing about. He's got that entranced and infatuated look. I'm not self conscious with him. The way he stares like this, makes me feel gorgeous. My 1 to 10 scale number almost doubles when I'm with him and his eyes are the only ones on me.

  I tickle and pinch him rough, and he squirms but doesn't fight me. I stood up, and put my feet on either side of him, touching his rib cage. He gently grabs my ankles, and runs his hands lightly up to feel as much of my legs as he can. He's waiting to see what I want to do with him now, what I'll expect out of him. He has submitted to me completely. I gesture, he does what I indicate. I can twirl my finger and smile, he'll roll over and stick his ass in the air if he thinks that's what I want. I touch him and give the gentlest touch, he moves or rolls to comply with my hand's suggestion. I'm completely and irrevocably in charge of this carnal fuck.

  I nudge him with my foot and order him roughly.

  "Roll over for me, slut."

  I get the respectful soft reply I expect. When he goes to stick his ass up into the air like I taught him to do for me, I shove him ft on the floor with my foot on his lower back. He pnts his face on the bnket and slowly spreads his legs for me, in case that's what I want. I guess I do. I kneel back down and put my weight on him. My six pack tummy bearing down on him rough, my knees scooting his thighs apart for me. I grab his wrists and hold them at his sides forcefully. I bang him ft, face down and tell him he's my fuck toy, and when I grab him for this in the middle of the night and wake him up for a rough fuck, he'll comply. He swears he will, and that he'll love it.

  It feels now more like he means it, its no longer just ritual words he must repeat. He's completely submissive to me now, he offers his body to me for any carnal and unnatural desire I wish. I bury my toy on number 4 for a while now, and sweat and shake on him. The extra pressure from bottoming out and rolling my hips around buzzing my clit is making me make noises of my own, louder now by a slight margin than his own squeals he can't help. Some of his whimpers and squeals now are pain, some are pleasure. Both excite me almost as much as the quick random selections and timing of the incomparable button number 4. The Catholic guilt I was raised with is evaporated. When I'm done, I regain my composure sweating and panting on him, and stand up. I nudge him with my foot, kind of rough.

  "Get the fuck up. Now."

  I grab him by the front of his strong leather colr locked around his neck.

  "You're my fuck toy now. Beg me for more."

  He does. It sounds convincing when he pleads for mommy to fuck him more, like she really means it. Mommy will, too. She most certainly will. I smile and py with moving him around by the colr. I bounce him somewhat gently off the front door. The neighbors will think there's another party fight over here. Whatever.

  "If you don't give me what I want, you get mommy's belt on your ass. Again. This time? I won't put a thing in your mouth. The girls on both sides of us, will hear a naughty little boy over mommy's p, screaming for his life while mommy works his poor ass over with her belt. Then I'll get a little too much apricot brandy in me? And I'll go back to work with mommy's belt and really give you something to scream for, and you can really give the neighbors a good show."

  He tries to kiss me and I pull my smiling face back, hold him by his colr against the front door. Firm. Rough. He begs me to make him please me. He begs to do absolutely anything I want.

  "Good."

  I drag him by the colr to the corner, and all but throw him into it. The neighbors surely looked up again, and shrugged.

  "Back in the corner, little boy. Feet together. Hands down at your sides. Stand still, or you'll get it good."

  I make him turn around, like its time out corner. Nose in the corner. Feet together, in the corner. Hands down. You move, you'll get it. Stand still. Or else. God, strict mommy needs a drink. A short breather. Number 4? Killing me softly, and what a way to go, let me tell you. A couple sips of my cheap apricot brandy I like. A cold drink can. The cold drink is essential, the brandy? Optional and appreciated. A couple minutes and I'm back… somewhat. I'm still in the rush. Was this really me the st couple hours off and on? Yeah. Pretty sure.

  I'm safer for staying loyal to him now, and the same way I recently told you his reasons for it. Even if he wanted to sample a random bar whore, she could do nothing for him now. Me? I'm hooked now for good. Where the hell would I ever find another one of these. The rare combination of matching up to my list so perfect. Coupled with dovetailing sexual appetites that are each the minority. Now add this in. The kinkier and more specific your taste gets, the more willing you have to be to skimp on other qualities.

  Its not in me to be an attention whore and go public. Girls and women do that, I feel, as some kind of attention getting device. Look at me, I'm so down to earth and so perfect. And guess what? The kinkiest shit you ever met. I'm so dreamy. I could puke, as if the world needs another one of those.

  I can't troll kinky sex clubs in some seedy end of a big city known for it. LA, New York… not me. I refuse to turbo-whore around and join all the other people in my society making personal retionships in the modern world a race to the bottom. Most other girls are going the modern route. Show boyfriend, then bad boy fun on the side. They've turned marriage into the adult version of this retarded teenager game. There I go. Mommy is down the rabbit hole now too.

  "Want a cold drink? Here. If I'm thirsty, you are too."

  I reached around and tipped the can for him. I wiggled the small gss of cheap brandy we like to sip, and tipped that for him as well. Another tip of the cold can. When we're both happy, I need my hands free. I crowded him in the corner from behind, inspecting his body with my hands. I still want what I wanted, I just needed a break.

  "Turn around."

  I'm still roaming my hands. Like a blind girl trying to "see" her lover.

  "I still wanna try fucking you up against the wall. My… demographics consultant? Tells me that a guy that likes it rough, is going to love it. So let's try. Give me a leg…"

  I managed. I'm a farm girl. When you're carrying a heavy hay bale, you can push it up against a wall or anything solid, and you can even get one or both hands free temporarily. In the corner of a barn stall? Its even less effort. If I can almost lift him up with his legs over my shoulders, hugging him tight… that means I can probably hold him and maybe take a few steps if I managed to get him up. If I can get him up and in the corner, I'm home free.

  We're both athletic, and flexible. We both stretch out well. We fooled around, and got one of his legs over and around my hip. I can hug him, and get enough pressure that his shoulders against the corner, almost gives us a brief moment. What would he call it, a proof of concept? Well, POC is a success. Operation fuck my slut up against the wall is about to come true. I dare any girly girl to try this and expect to pull it off.

  Rough, but really today and tonight was nothing but. He got his legs around me, hugging me. He called it his "guard" from fighting. Arms locked around my neck and one hand tucked and locked into the other. He's just doing it standing up instead of rolling around on the ground fighting with me. Wow. As long as I can stand up with him even briefly, I just have to keep on my tiptoes and get pressure on him against and into the corner. I got my hay bale now. I can risk about a full second at a time with one hand, to ready my next assault on the rabbit hole. Second attempt had me just miss and slide off instead of in. Like everything else with us, the third time is the charm. I can feel him gasp as I make my entry. This isn't possible slow. If I did this to start him out? He would scream as I plunged and bottomed out, and cry hysterically.

  My naughty compulsion even likes that idea. Damned compulsion is going to make me roast in Catholic hell for liking kinky sex too much. I can't stroke like this, not properly. I can barely roll my hips but I can a little. I can only come out slightly, then back to using it to help hold the hay bale. What percentage of his weight I help out in this fashion, I have no way to measure. Its forceful on him, I can read that on his face. He's equal parts impressed his big strong girl next door cute tomboy can rape him like this in this position, and equal parts embarrassed to be trapped in the corner by his lover. My filthy mouth does nothing to lessen his humiliation and his pleasure pain, I tease and humiliate him verbally. My slutty tongue and mouth compete with my dirty mouth hooked directly to my filthy, compulsion driven brain.

  Like I need begged right at this moment to give it to him like I mean it, but he's been trained to say it and mean it. He's my personal property, a thing that I own and do with as I please. He now knows it, and I tell him anyways. If his face could get any redder of a blush, it would be a different color. Goddamn, but number four button does its thing too reliably. I end up making as much noise as him, then I pass him up in commotion on occasion of… well, you know what happens unpredictably. Some of these are little ones and come more frequently by this stage of long use. Unpredictably, some are more violent and induce shuddering and panting.

  Before one such gut fluttering happening I feel coming on, I threaten him with violence and sexual assault. Hardly worth noting one more at this point, really. Not after all this.

  "I swear to god, if you come without my permission, mommy is going to belt your naked marked up ass so long and so hard, the neighbors will call the cops on me."

  I don't really care anymore if the bite marks show on his shoulder when the girls get back, I doubt he'll mind either. Like I'd care if he did. My thigh muscles are starting to burn from the added effort of sustaining this squirming and wiggling hay bale up in the corner. If regur sex on average burns X calories per hour? I don't even wanna know at this point. With all the crazy fad workouts that come in and out of fashion, could I sell this one and make my quick mint. Pornographic isometrics is as good a name as any other.

  Regur neighbors would have called the cops by now. College kids are a safer option when you're going to carry on like this. Rowdy team mates though? You could probably throw human body parts out the windows before they'd call. We're going to be the gossip of my team, and I'm going to love it. Fuck it, and there's another pun. Its literal as well, though. I'm fucking an it, an object. He's my naughty little fuck toy at this point. Literally and figuratively. It takes a while, but when I finally feel like my thighs can't take any more, I experiment with stepping back.

  I can slowly teeter a few steps to get to the couch, risking catastrophe. He cries when I drop him on the couch and he doesn't stop clutching on. Because dropping him on the couch buried me deeper into him. Hugging to me with arms and legs around me. Because I'm so tender and sweet to him in bed when I'm like this, I sp him around some and resume my earlier ability to continue where I left off. Stroking, rolling my hips, and humiliating him verbally to match my physical sexual assault on him. On the couch now, I can stay alive under number 4's random attacks and regain my steam. I'm a fucking and raping machine again. I start seeing how badly I can actually hurt him now. I want him to beg me to quit, so I have an excuse to punish him.

  I can dig in with my legs spread out, pinning him to the couch with my jelly weapon. I can manage to hurt him now. I make him look me in the face, so I can see him cry and get off on it. Its as much of a rush now, as was my first rape up in my bedroom where I owned him and won his complete surrender and submission. I'm just funting my control and power now. If directing action in the bed is mild domination, this is the other end of that spectrum. Sps across the face are a little more frequent, and definitely every few they slowly grow more powerful. He's doing absolutely nothing to deserve it, he obeys perfectly. There's no reason not to just haul off and smack the taste out of his mouth at random intervals. The more he cries into my neck now, begging, the more I give him something to cry for. When I spread my legs to pin him like a bug to the couch, I dig in some.

  The sps across the face are just icing on the cake. The main dish is the sexual act being used to provide punishment. This fight is sexual in nature, and one sided. I'm beginning to punch him inside his ass, as hard and as fast as I can now. Every time he sobs out another "I love you mommy" I'm more prone to sp him again. I decided to have fun with it. I suddenly smiled, and went back to something resembling making love to his ass. Not gentle by any stretch, just not as hard as I can. I sit up on him, and smile now.

  "You really love me? Don't you dare just say it."

  He swears to mommy he does.

  "Then tell me. Say it again."

  It gets him a nice hard sp across the face.

  "Again."

  He repeats it, with more feeling and he gets another one, harder.

  "Again. Love hurts now…"

  After a couple, I don't have to tell him again. He starts repeating it. I repeat my open handed and backhand cracks across his surprised face. The sweeter, the more feeling in how he says it? The harder my hand goes across his face.

  He won't beg me to stop. Maybe he's afraid I'll make good on my threat if he does, or maybe he actually loves it now and I've won. Maybe both. It can't be neither. I hurt him as bad as I can. If I kill him like this, I can imagine the look on the jury's face. The murder weapon, we give you exhibit A. Number four is a killer. The newspapers and tabloids and media would go into a feeding frenzy. Half the people would want to ban the dangerous sex toy, the other half would ask as casually as they could sneak into conversation what company and model was the murder weapon. I'm sure they would use the old standby excuses. Just out of curiosity. Asking for a friend.

  There's no more pretense of a sex act, I'm simply giggling and seeing how hard I can deliver each thrust, and how fast. With his arms and legs hugging me, I can see his head jog with every attack.

  He's crying into my neck now freely. Threatening to possibly scream now. He begs me to please cram something into his mouth, to keep him out of trouble. He sobs and cries it out while he still can, and judging from where he's at now, he will soon lose coherency. My clothes are piled just close by enough to drag some of the pile over with my foot. My hand reaches down without looking and feels around. I come up with my socks.

  I tease him with my socks dangling in his face now. I slow my attack. I actually tease him with some love making and gentle hip rolling now. I wipe some sweaty lube on my one palm and show it to him, and give him a couple of teasing tugs to torture him.

  "I told you the rules before we started. I allow you to cry, I allow you to beg, and begging won't do you any good. Rules are rules. I told you, no gag and if you scream, you'll get severe punishment. Think twice. Because once this gag goes in? It will not come out."

  He sobbed his questions into my neck. Which would be worse. The punishment for screaming, or being punished for needing gagged.

  "Hmm. Technically, its sort of sweet that you want more. And that you're trying to stay out of trouble. I'm not sure. But, mommy knows this. If you get gagged right now? You at least get the devil you know right now. Actual punishment for screaming? That, is the devil you don't know."

  He cried into my neck while deciding, and begged for the devil he already knows. I gagged him with my socks, and secured them with a bandanna still ying around in the kitchen I knotted tight behind his head. Ritual. I used two pairs of the long chain handcuffs, around the back and around the front both. No more hugging me, this restrained his hands kept at his hips now. Helpless for any sps. I went back to giving him something to cry for, but with a vengeance now. He had been st getting it on the couch where I had dumped him after walking a few steps over from the corner. His legs still wrapped around my waist over my hips, hugging my neck. Clutching and hugging around me with arms and legs to hold on for dear life, while he took his relentless jelly pounding I gave him.

  I decided to start there, as that was where I had left off. I attacked the rabbit hole with no remaining mercy. The attempt now was to see how bad I could make him rain tears and cry, and to see if I could make him lose it and scream. I stopped using backhands, because I was really cracking him open handed now when I did it. I'd sp his face sideways, then back again with the other. There's some middle ground between loud crying and the beginning of screams. I guess I'm an expert now on these matters. I went back to his legs over my shoulders and gathering him in my arms in a bundle, and attacking him as relentlessly as I could in that position. He stops taking sps, but I can more effectively deliver my other, my main punishment. Legs flipped up is a helpless position to be in. I abuse my position, both literally and figuratively.

  I all but tossed him on the floor, and had him face down and his ass in the air. Then I would push his ass down ft and go back to it. My knees forcing his thighs apart and keeping them helplessly wide and waiting. Dropping and throwing my weight more and more into it when he was ft and helpless under me. I cycled around these bnket living room floor positions, and really worked him over. I ughed when I saw I could scoot his face across the bnketed floor by seeing how hard I could thrust into him from behind, and how fast. Hands chained helplessly at his sides, when on top I was prone to spread his legs wide and push them down hard. Instead of pinning his wrists down, I pinned his spread ankles down rough. I could really deliver the goods directly into him like that, and he was helpless to take it.

  Number four attacked me, though not with as much pain and humiliation as I gave him. The harder I hate-fucked him, every push made that slightly harder jelly contact with my clit. I had a helpless rape victim, and more license than ever to degrade, humiliate and to hurt him. He couldn't quit, he was a literal captive audience participant. It was on me to finally stop. After one final period of clutching and scratching and biting and making my own noises… I was exhausted. I was literally spent and exhausted from a marathon of seeing how bad I could use sex as a weapon to hurt him. I taught him he was to beg for more, and that he would get what he begged for.

  It was crystal clear now, who owned who. Who was in charge. Who held power and who was in complete control. He had submitted to my absolute and complete authority over him.

  I let him go free, and released his mouth. I had him sit on my p on the couch, kneeling astride me, down on number 4. Face to face intimacy. Love didn't have to hurt anymore, at least for now. I finally wiped a lubed palm into tugs. Stopping and teasing and drawing it out as long as I could. He begged for release after I told him to. When I eventually sped up with no sudden stoppage I had become known for now… he went off. I had warned him he had to tell me when it was time. I caught it all in my mouth. Then, smiling, I kissed him as slutty as I could, while feeding it to him off of my tongue. Finally allowed to lift his now tender ass up and off of to become at st free from number four, he could finally begin to calm down, and sobbed into my neck, leaning in. Thanking me more respectfully and politely than he'd been taught to, and for much longer as well. I went through the new ritual of consoling the poor, ashamed rape victim.

  Each rape had grown more violent and more intense, growing longer each time. Every sweet consotion afterwards, grew more tender, sweeter, and more touching. He craved it. This st one was longer and more loving than ever. At what would become the end of it, I started speaking matter of fact about what had happened to him. I asked how his ass felt, and he admitted it hurt. I shrugged, and told him easily and directly that I knew, because I was the one hurting him. Then it was time.

  "Now. Go get the box in the kitchen. The one with mommy's toy kit stuff in it. Bring it to me. Shoo."

  Strict mommy voice was back after tender time was over.

  "Grab my practice T shirt. Kneel in front of me."

  I gave him a throw pillow off the couch I was sitting on, for him to kneel on.

  "Wipe me off with the T shirt. Do a decent job. You'll see why its important to do a good job in just a minute."

  When he had it wiped clean several times, I handed him two pairs of regur handcuffs, after putting my socks over his wrists and hands.

  "You will cuff your wrists behind your back. Do it now. Make it extra tight. When I check it and lock them? If I find it could have been tighter… I'll put my belt across your ass for not following my instructions properly, and it will take a while. It will not be a polite correction, it will be an extremely long and very severe punishment. Do it."

  When he was done, I checked them, and told him he was lucky he listened to me. I locked them. Then I did his ankles, and clicked them tight so they dug in some, like his wrists. I sat back down and dangled one of the many keys in front of his face. Then I dropped the key and tied the short pstic tube in his mouth, tight behind his head.

  "I just fucked you properly for the first time. This is how mommy likes to fuck. Get used to it. And now? You're going to show mommy some respect, for having fucked you so well."

  I wiped some lube on it, and pulled the excess back off with my hand, then wiped my hand on him. I grabbed him gently by the back of the head, and guided his tube gagged mouth down onto it, and it into his mouth. After a while, I tapped the back of his head and heard a little gag.

  "I heard that. Sounded like you were asking for more…"

  I ughed, and tapped the back of his head to make the little gag noises every time.

  "Kneeling in front of mommy? Shows you have respect for me. You will respect me. You're thanking me, for fucking you so well. You're thanking me, for showing you how to take a good fucking for the first time."

  I leaned over, and started giving him the belt. Hard. I gave him a good one, then tapped his head to make the noise. Then he got another one and I did it again. I took a break and held his tube over it, until he drooled on it. Then he got another crack, and I started dipping it in the back of his mouth more each time. When I finally got it in the first time, I held it down in, and gave him a fast series of really hard ones. I brought him back up, then repeated it again and again. By the time I finally got him all the way in, I ced my fingers behind his head and held him there, until he started struggling. He was cuffed tight and helpless, I heard the insistent "mm!" noise and little clinks of the short handcuff chains on his wrists and ankles. Then I brought him up for air and a break. Holding him to drool on it more. Then, when the break was over, I went all the way in, and gave a nice, long set of super fast and extremely hard cracks with the belt.

  I repeated this procedure several more times, until my p was soaked with his tears. I spoke very firm and rough to him when I was done and brought him up the st time.

  "You better knock that whiny shit off, right now, immediately. Or I'll really give you something to whine for. I demand strict obedience, and you will obey me. Until we're done, you're going to get extra chores. I'll show you what I expect, and if it isn't done right when I check to see how well you respect me? I'll give you polite correction."

  "When you're being corrected? You will not need tied up for it. You'll willingly submit to being corrected. You'll strip, and stay how I tell you for your correction. You'll stay still for it, and not make a sound you're not told to make. If you move, or make noise? We'll repeat it again after we are done. If you reach the point you can't possibly sit still, can't stop making noise? That means you're asking me for punishment, instead of a nice correction. You'll be taken down to the basement, and you'll get severe punishment. I mean real punishment, not the love taps you've been getting. Then, we'll see if you appreciate polite correction a little more."

  "When we're alone, you know my name is mommy, and you know how to address me with respect. You better never forget to. When other people are around, you'll drop the mommy shit, and we'll be a normal couple again. When you're training is completely over? We'll go back to normal. But until then? You will not talk over me. You will not interrupt me, you will not correct me. If you think you need to, you will whisper into my ear for permission, and I'll decide."

  "Until this is over? You will not tease me, or make fun of me. Or you will get an extra severe punishment. I like the way you tease me, I like your smart-ack. But until you earn my respect by showing me how good of a slut you can be for me? That can wait until the end. Like I said. When this is over? We'll be a normal couple again. Until then? You better watch what comes out of your dirty little mouth, and how it comes out of it."

  "Now. Is anything unclear about any of these instructions? I hope not. You need to remember that I speak once, and I don't repeat myself. You need to understand that things that could normally slide, will get correction. And you better figure out quick, that if I have to correct you on the same things too many times, it will be obvious that you want some extra punishment instead. Don't ever forget to thank me with great respect, every time I correct you or punish you. Not only will it be extra polite, and extra respectful when you thank me? I don't want to just hear the words, I better believe you mean it. If I think you don't really mean it? Very severe punishment. I expect to be properly thanked from now on, every time I have sex with you."

  "Hmm. Now that you know what's expected of you? I better see it. Or else. I hope I make myself clear. Now then… I'm starving. You'd probably like to eat too, I bet. Let's get you out of this, and you can start showing mommy how good you can be from now on."

  I had it all on a cell phone high resolution video, to go with the others I was collecting for us to watch on naughty movie nights. I had him cook for us, and wait on cold cans to drink for us. I couldn't resist having him feed me like before, and lick my lips to wipe me. I teased him for squirming in his chair, and quizzing him about how it felt. I teased him about it, and made him describe it. I talked about it like we were discussing the weather, even though it was so explicit and dirty of a subject, and embarrassing to make him admit things like that. I enjoyed seeing him all shy and blushing in his chair talking with me.

  Not that it was super te, but I was wiped out and I was sure he was as well. I had him gather everything up, and I got my shower time fun I loved so much. Followed by my now ritual tub day spa pampering. We finally had our tub normal time.

  I sat leaning back with my eyes closed in enjoyment and rexation, with my legs open and down the sides. He sat in front of me, leaning back on me.

  "Mm. Someone is not so talkative, like the st bath."

  "You weren't happy with how I was talking to you, I remember."

  I rubbed his chest with the wet washrag idly while we talked.

  "Hmm. I remember. I was expining to you, that it wasn't just a fun game, it was real. I told you, you won't do the yeah yeah okay thing to me. So? Just don't. Simple as that, really."

  "Okay."

  "You don't have to not talk to me. I like talking to you. Especially when we have normal time, like now. I told you, that I was going to show you what completely submitting to me, really meant. Didn't I, little boy."

  "Yes."

  "Well. I think you have a much better idea what I had in mind now. It was so cute the way you cried after the first one, you know. You didn't expect that, did you. Tell me the truth. Surprised you, huh?"

  "I was… very surprised."

  "Hmm. I could tell. I think I got my point across. You actually submitted completely to me, didn't you."

  "I did."

  "Gd it worked. By the time we were done finally, I feel like you're not ashamed and shy with me now. There's no need to be shy with me. I already know you like what I do to you, I've known it for a long time. I meant what I said. You didn't admit anything, to me. You just admitted it all to yourself. You finally let yourself go, didn't you."

  "I'm pretty sure I did."