Jerkboy Life Ch. 06

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Control can be an ethereal thing.
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Part 6 of the 9 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 09/03/2016
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If you haven't read previous chapters, there may be some trigger-inducing stuff here. Keep in mind the characters are feeling what they perceive, not necessarily what's real. For those into exhibition and humiliation head trips...have fun!

*****

The Landtree women met in the bar of a strip-mall eatery for happy hour. Suzette was talking about her sister Sarah's husband. The one with the exhibition and humiliation issues.

"Like I said in my text, there wasn't any raping going on. He was pretending in his head."

"Oh, it's true, sweetie," the mother told her. "Your sister made him tell us what he liked, and what he didn't."

Sarah was almost convinced. Her own mother wouldn't lie to her. She wouldn't really let her husband be ass-raped. She might whoop his butt with a belt, though.

"I saw what his asshole and bottom looked like, you two."

The waiter came and set down the bar food they had ordered with their drinks. All three women looked brazenly at his groin as he worked and then his buttocks when he turned to leave.

"That boy gives me some ideas," Mrs. Landtree said.

"You're such a horn-dog now, Mom. What's gotten into you? So you're both telling me his ass got tore up by itself?"

Suzette explained that Sarah's jerkboy was what she called "a painslut" and that the pain caused something called "dissociation" and that apparently made his mind go someplace that wasn't real. Sarah pounded down the rest of her second drink and remembered when it was like that with Carl, her donkey-dicked fuck buddy. When she was being slutty. Being stretched and drilled by a man who wasn't her husband, feeling her boobies flop and liking the whorish sounds they made. The more she felt like a slut, the harder she came. It was good to be a slut instead of sweet Sarah sometimes.

"Hey. You with me?" Sarah blinked at her sister. "He found that bowling pin in the garage when Mom had him doing yardwork. Next thing we know he's sitting on the thing, whining about being an "asswhore" and trying to stick it in his butt. We should have stopped him sooner, and I'm sorry about that."

"So what about the marks on his bottom?"

"He's a spankslut. Sis, I thought you had trained him. Your man is really into having his butt beat. He exhibits or humiliates himself, then pretends he's been bad and deserves to be punished, you know, by an imaginary authority in his head. A female authority."

Sarah motioned for another Long Island Iced Tea, despite the admonition of her mother. Jerkboy. Painslut. Asswhore. Spankslut. Panty Sissy. Potty Doggie. What else? He would probably suck another man's dick if we would watch him and punish him for it. That would be cool, watching him do it like that dildo pic had Suzette sent her.

". . . . so he doesn't get out of control and fuck up. You have to learn to supervise him, sis."

"Huh? Right. Supervise him."

If he wanted to be an asswhore, he probably wanted a real man's cock in there. Or at least he wanted to pretend. Her husband was so loving and vulnerable when she finger-fucked his butthole last weekend. After he healed, maybe she would try the pink dildo on him. Like what Mom and Suzy did. Or one of those strap-on things she had seen when her sister sent her those web links about Female Led Relationships.

". . .and he's very susceptible to commands. I taught him a few at Mom's. We can go over it all -- when you're not shit-faced drunk!" The three women laughed.

"My husband is a jerkboy," Sarah announced to the waiter when he brought her drink. "Hey bro, you've got a nice package." He stared, turned and scurried away.

"Okay, girl. You're not driving," Mrs. Landtree said.

"Don't worry, I'll get -- oh damn it. He's out of town on work. I know . . ." Sarah took out her phone and texted while Mrs. Landtree and Suzette eyed each other. The trio gnashed on nachos and caught up on gossip while Sarah got more sloshed until a broad-shouldered black man strode up to their table.

"Carl! Honeybear! Thank fucking goodness you could rescue me."

Suzette and Mrs. Landtree smiled and made his brief acquaintance while appreciating the large lump in his tailored wool slacks, at glorious eye level from their seats in the booth. They watched him walk Sarah by the elbow toward the front of the establishment, waving their fingers goodbye until the pair were out of earshot.

"Think she bought it, Mom?"

"I think she wanted to believe. She's always been -- suggestible. We're going to have to be more careful with him in the future."

Suzette polished off the rest of her wine and replied, "At least until little sister learns how to give him what he wants." She checked her smartphone for texts. "He's waiting over at your place now."

Mrs. Landtree signaled for the check. "It feels so naughty sneaking him like this."

It also felt good to come to home a man in her house. Francine Landtree turned her chin up to her daughter's husband and relished his passionate kisses. She had put away being a whole woman for so long, carefully avoiding situations that might arouse her hyper-sensitive private parts. And now this was happening. She was alive again.

He followed her into the kitchen, still fully dressed in his business suit and expensive leather shoes. The kitchen where Sarah had first made him kneel, hold out his genitals and show what he was.

"Are you hungry? Can I make you something?" Mrs. Landtree remembered how she liked to cook for a man and see him eat -- the right way, not like Suzette had this one shoving his face in a bowl on the floor. As she built him a big sandwich at the counter he moved up from behind and pressed his hands under her bra-supported bosom.

"What do you need?" she said without turning around.

"Please, may I go potty?"

"Is that how Sarah makes you ask? I like it. You shouldn't do it in your nice clothes. You can take off your pants and jacket and hang them on the chair by the kitchen table."

He did as he was told. Mrs. Landtree folded her arms and observed him getting out of his shoes and socks, then turning around shyly to drop trou and hang them. There were baby blue bikini panties barely covering his tight round rump.

"You look ridiculous." She snapped her fingers and walked briskly toward the front door of her home. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned and saw the fright and embarrassment in his face. "I told Carol across the street to keep an eye out when she saw your car here. Maybe she'll get to see something. Now go find a spot to do your business and make sure you're pointed toward her window."

Jerkboy breathed out of his mouth at the open door and lighted front porch. "All right," she said and flipped off the porchlight. He trotted and turned left toward the plantings along the side of the house. His mother-in-law followed him leisurely and stood on the lawn, idly watching him hunt and find a place to squat, pull the panties under his balls to present his penis, and pee. When she heard him panting and the quiet splashing she told him, "Good boy. When you're done stay like that and play with your thing until it looks nice. Then you can come back inside and show me."

With that she left him humiliated and alone, locking the front door behind her as she walked smiling back to her kitchen. She noticed car lights moving past the window by the kitchen table. Good. The food was ready on a plate at the table when she heard a thump, and then the doorbell.

"Who is it?" she sung from behind the front door.

"It's me."

"Who?"

"Jerkboy."

"What's that? I can't hear."

When she had him sounding frantic she cracked the door and said, "Turn around, face Carol's house and use your hands to present yourself. Both hands. Now squat just a little so it's obvious what you're doing." She watched him comply. "Stay like that and don't you move, until I say go. Then you may come in." Mrs. Landtree counted to three in her head and then switched on the porch light. He gasped but he held position. She counted to five while she opened the doorway, stood to the side and then said, "Go!"

In he dashed, erection dancing ludicrously above his bouncing balls, down the hall and back into the kitchen. It was thrilling, even if she knew Carol was gone to play bridge on Thursdays. She saw him kneeling and presenting his sordid erection when she returned.

"Did my jerkboy get to have some fun, doing that for Mama? Good." She snapped her fingers and pointed at his oozing dick. He knew to begin masturbating for her.

"It's so pathetic, beating off like that." Mrs. Landtree stepped close to him and caressed his head and hair. "Tell me again why you're doing this." She tugged back and made him look up into her eyes.

"I love you. You're so beautiful, so sexy and powerful and wonderful. I have to. I want to."

"Do go on. Tell me some dirty things."

"Your pussy is amazing. The most gorgeous looking, delicious pussy I've ever had. I dream of being smothered with it while you grind my face. And then maybe I can get to lick at your bottom and tongue you there. It makes me so happy. Did you know you have terrific calves?"

She listened to him as he stroked his penis, expertly edging himself, singing praises for his goddess mother-in-law. Mrs. Landtree knew her thighs we're pretty soft and her ass was kind of wide and her tits hung like National Geographic. But this boy made it sound like every part of herself was a gift from god, and that felt damned good to hear.

"Okay, loverboy, you've won me over. No, you don't get to squirt. Your wife supervises that. Let go of it, pull up your panties and sit down at the table to eat."

Her vulva throbbed and her vagina tingled while she observed him. From the waist up at the table, he looked like a gentleman in his shirt and conservative silk tie. She told him so. He paused, set down his glass of beer and said, articulately and forcefully, "Francine."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a name. It was a word he had used when she had shamefully abused herself for his entertainment. And they both knew it.

"Oh my. Well. Really? I don't know. Suzy was terribly angry."

"Suzette was pretending to be angry because that was part of the game."

"Oh."

"I brought you something. Go to your room and get yourself ready for me while I finish up here."

Mrs. Francine Landtree paused, sighed, and looked at him. He was ignoring her now, just eating his food and treating her like his cook and maid. She lunged over and kissed his cheek.

"Go, woman."

In her room, Francine was oh so careful not to touch any part of her sensitive areas when she undressed. Her breathing was short. How did he want her? Nude? She didn't have any attractive nightclothes. She should get some. Maybe he would come with her to one of those stores to help her pick them out. She could model for him, now that he had trimmed the hair on her private parts. He thought her tits were beautiful. She touched up her makeup in her bathroom and decided on a bra and panties. What was he going to make her do? A shudder of dread and anticipation told her that she knew.

He caught her staring into the bathroom mirror, remembering when he had her spread open so long and teased her so long that she gave in and touched herself in front of him. There he was, back in his lawyer's suit of clothes, holding his briefcase for some reason. Francine dashed toward him flat-footed in her underwear and wrapped her arms around his waist, snugging her head into his chest.

He guided her to the bed, sat her down at the foot of it and walked over to a standing lamp. The light shone in her eyes when he adjusted the lampshade to illuminate her. A chair was placed directly in front of her.

"Showtime, Francine. That will be your trigger word." He sat on the chair and opened the briefcase in his lap. When he turned it around, he showed her that it was filled with brand-new, filthy sex toys. She knew what some of them were. There was a fat black thing, and a weird orange thing with a little arm and some kind of tickler on the end. It would be okay. Watching his perversions last weekend made her horny and jealous but she couldn't dare touch herself with Suzette in the room. Until it happened by accident. Was it an accident? She needed to come so badly.

It had been so long since her husband had made her do those things in front of men. At his damned poker parties. When she couldn't stop herself after he got her worked up. How, eventually, he had turned her out and whored her out to his friends.

"Since your lovely mouth is open, let's put this in it."

Francine stared immobile at his face as she felt the ball-shaped object fill her mouth and the strap fasten around her head.

"You'll be able to scream and make all of your sounds for me now."

She had been trained, brutally, to vocalize when she was whoring. It was all coming back now. The laughter of the men in the living room, drinking their cheap beer and taking turns groping and using her while she tried to give them a good show. Because if she didn't, her husband gave her the razor strap.

The man in the suit held up a deep purple camisole. He made her take off her bra first, then bend over and hang her tits humiliatingly while she pulled down her panties. The air on her pussy nearly made her come.

The camisole's foundation supported and caused her tits spill so her nipples jutted almost straight out. At least it covered the stretch marks on her belly. The matching whore hosiery framed the exposed and aching place between her legs. He make her look at it. It looked like it did when she was a girl. When Sam Landtree had first taken her. She was ashamed.

"You'll get some more clothes like this. Suzy will help you."

Suzy? God, no.

"She knows all about it. Knows what you are. It's okay. You've seen what I am. I understand."

You don't! He made me -- god! -- be a whore. It's different! The gag made her thoughts hurt worse because she couldn't get them out of her mouth. Francine felt completely out of control, panicking from the need to come and the desperate urge to run away into the bathroom and cry.

"You're doing this because you want to, though. For me. And for your own needs. You need, don't you Francine?"

But Suzy?

"She gave me a present to take home after our little game last weekend. It was a shoebox, Francine."

No! Her head shook back and forth slowly. This couldn't be real.

"It was filled with Polaroids of you in your prime, shall we say? And a couple of old home videos . . ."

The stupid ball jamming her tongue made it maddeningly impossible to explain. The horror and anguish in her eyes must have said it all.

"That's right. Suzette's seen your dirty picture collection. She knows."

It was almost too much. Francine leapt up and bounced her boobs in the slutty lingerie all the way her closet. She ripped at hat boxes and shoe boxes above and below the clothes rack. It was gone! Her shoulders slumped. Her own daughter had seen her. She had forgotten that shoebox. Why had she saved it?

Sam had made her pose for disgusting "advertising" shots. Smiling, holding her pussy open to show her clitoris and vagina. Holding her bottom open and trying to look alluring over her shoulder when she was advertising that her rear end was "open for business."

There were so many others. From servicing his poker buddies at their weekly game, mostly, where the winner got to use her first in front of the other jeering men. That bastard Lou shoving it up her ass while she rode his lap, held up by her knees facing the room and begging for someone to stick something into her open, empty cunt. That picture was in the box. It was one of the many images she had buried when she created her new life. Not being a whore any more.

The man in the light reached into a folder in the lid of his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. Francine fought the urge to vomit. Her mind reeled. The gag made it impossible to tell him how badly he was destroying everything. She wouldn't look at the pictures. She would squeeze her eyes shut and what if she touched herself and came for him? Maybe that would get him to quit the torturing. Francine slammed her back onto the bed, reached down to her open pussy rubbed at it furiously.

The howls went off in her head but they didn't echo back from the walls. The gag made them vibrate in her mouth and skull. Relief and acceptance warred with anger and indignity while she roiled and wailed in front of him. For him. He owned her now. It was happening again. Wave after wave of shameful orgasm wracked her.

She felt something bounce off her inner thigh and hit her hands. She felt it, wrapped her fingers around it, and raped into her dripping, juicing whorehole. Viciously she abused her sex, punishing it for loosing this disgraceful, animal part of her again. The knob of the thing made the pain she deserved when she jammed it deep, ripped it like a gear shift and smashed at her cervix.

Jerkboy calmly held his smartphone up and recorded her, as ordered by Suzette. These women were seriously messed up, much worse than he was, he decided. Or maybe not. It was a huge turn-on having Suzy record his performances last weekend. Making him say into the lens who he wanted her to show the clips to was a vast new vista of humiliation. What if she actually showed them? And then they wanted to see The Jerkboy Show live and in person? He looked down and saw the pre-cum that had soiled his slacks.

It made him jealous, not being able to have multiple, apparently endless orgasms like this woman. The ball gag seemed to help prevent hyperventilation. Time to try the Rabbit Pearl on her. But not restraints. Not yet. He wanted this time to just be her, using the intruments to degrade and pleasure herself for his, and Suzette's, entertainment. Those two had been power-struggling for Alpha Bitch since he met them.

The nearly ultrasonic squeal that emanated from the heaving mommy-piggy when it touched the vibrator to its fat clitoris pretty much settled that battle. He held the cameraphone with one hand while he reached down to rip the string of balls out of its asshole.

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