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“Will it be fun?” she asked with a wink.
“Yes, it’ll be a lot of fun, but don’t you dare wink at me.”
She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“I’ll be right back. Put some music on up in this bitch!”
“Whatever you say, Mistress.”
I walked down the hallway to find Piece of Shit. I heard a shower running in the last room at the end on the left as “Sexy and I Know It” by LMFAO starting emitting from the built-in speakers throughout the home.
I walked into the bedroom. It had twin beds decorated in pink and yellow. The room for the kids—little girls—and Piece of Shit knew that was exactly where he belonged—biotch!
The bathroom was adorned with pastel wallpaper and pink and yellow soap dishes and towels. Piece of Shit was on all fours, looking pitiful as he tried to scrub as water got all into his eyes.
“Look at you,” I started in. “A sick-looking runt of the litter, with a wet ass, soggy ass.”
He didn’t respond. He just kept scrubbing himself.
“Scrub harder! Get all that stank bitch’s pussy off you. I know you two were doing disgusting things before I got here.”
He wanted to say something but knew better.
“Scrub that dick raw! I want it to be red when you crawl out that motherfucking shower!”
I kicked the toilet seat down with my foot and then sat down on the lid. I spotted Piece of Shit’s toiletry bag on the counter and started rummaging through it. He was an attractive man, but too average to be seen with me. He also kept himself well-groomed. I pulled out a half-empty bottle of aftershave and grimaced.
“Did you scrub that dick raw?” I asked.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Stand up and let me see.”
He didn’t look up at me but hesitated.
“You have my permission to stand up, Piece of Shit.”
As he stood, I could see that his dick was hard—my meanness turned him on—pulsating, and clearly irritated from scrubbing it so hard. He had rubbed a layer of dead skin away and exposed a fresh layer of epidermal cells . . . and some new nerves.
Before he could stick and move, I splashed all the remaining aftershave on his dick. He stifled a scream and then took all the pain. I halfway admired Piece of Shit at that moment.
“Yeah, claim that pain!” I yelled out.
He took a series of heavy breaths and then grinned. And there it was: the reason why Piece of Shit and Glaze engaged in such debauchery with me. It satisfied their individual needs to be dominated. I personally was not down for the pain, but I was more than willing to inflict it. Some people in the BDSM community liked to be both a giver and taker of pain. Not the kid. I had endured enough pain by the time I was sixteen. Besides, I was not about to trust anyone to put me in bondage and not take a ton of photos and make them go viral. Hell to the no!
When I was younger, I had run across this chick who got paid to fuck married men in their asses with strap-on dicks. Their wives would hire her and then watch her while she did it. It was then that I realized that people never really knew what the fuck other people did in the privacy of their own homes. Some believed that everything was acceptable in a marital bed. And some simply wanted to fuck the masses, have one-night stands, and live their lives. Whatever worked for them! What worked for me was having an outlet for my pain and that meant controlling other people in the process of hurting them physically!
We ended up out on the beach that night. It was a crazy time. Glaze had purchased and brought everything that I asked for. I put a bridle on Piece of Shit and had him give me a ride up and down the edge of the water. Glaze had a ball gag in her mouth and a zip strip—a row of clothing pins along a line of twine—connected to her nipples, underarms, and clit. When she least expected it, I walked up behind her, pulled the twine, and ripped them all off her at the same time. She was a trooper and didn’t scream. She did almost lose it when I made Piece of Shit scrape her ass with sandpaper and I pushed her out into the salty ocean with all of those small, open cuts.
I started to go hard and bring some electricity into the mix but, again, I was worried about going too far and ending up on New Day on CNN with Chris Cuomo or CNN Tonight with Don Lemon.
All three of us had a good time, in our own ways. I left the next morning via cab, in disguise again, and met Archie back at the plane. He had grabbed a room at a hotel right by the airport. He had no idea where I had gone off to, and he never would. He probably assumed that I was secretly seeing some man who I didn’t want the world to know about—another celebrity, someone married, a young bull, or a combination of the three: a married celebrity nearly half my age.
I had a big grin on my face as we took off. I was totally relaxed and ready to put Plan A into action!
Chapter Seventeen
Friday, August 31, 2012
