Slut Boy Mega Collection Volume 1

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

The Birthday Present

Last year I completely forgot my wife’s birthday. D'oh! Was I ever in the doghouse! I think I slept on the couch for a month. So this year I swore to make it up to her. She could have anything in the world she wanted, I promised her. Anything at all...

Melinda’s eyes blazed. She grinned unsettlingly, and immediately took me up on this. Oh, how she took me up on it! She demanded that I not only turn over my wallet to her, so that she could go shopping, but that I also agree to serve as her slave for the entire day. I would have to do absolutely everything she ordered me to, all day long, with no argument. Wanting desperately only to please her, as always, and atone for my thoughtlessness last year, I acquiesced. How bad could twenty-four hours servitude be? Little did I know it could stretch into a lifetime!

The night before her thirtieth birthday, I went to bed beside Melinda a bit uneasy and already urgently erect. Whatever would the morrow bring? She’d been full of s****l innuendos all week. What exactly would she want me to do for her? This volatile mixture of horny anxiety only got worse when she once again rebuffed my timid overtures. “I’ll have plenty of use for you tomorrow, my delicious little birthday present!”

Indeed. Melinda woke me at seven a.m. by suddenly sitting on my face.

We’d had oral s*x before, but always with the servicing partner on top. All of a sudden I found myself crushed beneath her hundred and fifty pounds, clamped between her hard thighs with my mouth buried in her crotch. Fists gripped my hair and her voice dripped contempt as she snarled down. “Eat me, slave! It’s the first day of the rest of your life! Let’s begin it in appropriate fashion. I want your worthless tongue in my ass and cunt!”

I couldn’t believe this was my loving wife. She was the same big, bosomy blond, with long, reddish-gold locks. She had the same piercing blue eyes, heavy orange freckling and rose-petal pink n*****s, labia, anus and clit. But her entire attitude had completely changed. She was supremely forceful, confidently domineering, and more than a little bit scary. Shocked and cowed immediately, I obeyed her without even thinking about it. Somehow an early-morning erection was straining up as urgently as ever from my groin, and my heart was pounding like a kettledrum. Breathlessly I performed the most sustained and vigorous c*********s of my life, lavishly servicing Melinda’s v****a until she screamed and humped herself against me and ordered me to, “f**k my butt with your tongue, slut!” Naturally I obeyed her, though I had never done anything of the sort before. Somehow I made my tongue into a pointy prong of hard muscle and jabbed it repeatedly, ever deeper up into her dilated anus. Soon my slavish ministrations had the desired effect. Melinda came in my face, ejaculating messily on me as she screamed and groaned and thrashed ecstatically. Then at last she climbed off me, kneeling next to me on the disheveled bed. She gripped my straining erection, squeezing and pulling it deliciously hard. Then she started laying down the new order of things.

“Today, my slave, you will address me only as ‘Mistress’ or ‘My Lady’. And as agreed, you will obey me completely at all times, without argument. In fact, you will only speak when given explicit permission. Is that understood?”

Head swimming, my fondled erection throbbing, I nodded up at her.

“Speak, slave!”

“Yes, well understood, My Lady!” Dazed at the depth of what I’d somehow gotten myself into, I felt my cheeks burning with shame as my big strong wife loomed above and cruelly dominated me. Yet somehow my consequent arousal at this treatment was unlimited. I squirmed and groaned under her gaze and grip even as she began laying out an absolute horror of a day for me.

“Now then, slave, you are going to clean the house from top to bottom, while I am out birthday shopping. I had better not find a single speck of dust when I return, or you are going to pay like no disobedient slave ever did! Not that you won’t certainly suffer an awful lot for me today anyways. I’ve been in need of a wimpy, compliant little whipping-boy slave for a long time now. So today, you’re finally going to give me everything I’ve always wanted: the gifts that just keep on giving! But first you’re going to bathe us, dress us, and make me my breakfast. Don’t expect to eat yourself at all today, of course. Now let’s go, slave! Follow me into the shower!”

We have an enormous shower, a steamy rectangular cubicle eight feet by twelve, complete with two hand-held adjustable massage units and padded benches. Once inside, with the sliding door shut behind us, and the hot water blasting full out of both heads, I received and cherished the sublime honor of bathing my incredible mistress.

Melinda is fully six feet tall (over three inches more than me), strongly built and statuesque. She spent several years in the army, and still has the muscle to prove it – although lately her breasts have swelled, and her washboard abs have softened a bit. Still, her body remembers combat and her mind clearly recalls her basic training. She critiqued my technique in a most abusive fashion as I scrubbed her, not allowing my fawning hands to linger over her truly tremendous t**s for more than a minute or two. Indeed all her glorious muscles and curves were mine for far too short a time, until at last I had to move on to double-shampooing her long, thick, red-tinged golden-blonde locks. Yet even when I’d carefully combed out this luscious glory, the hygiene job was just beginning.

“It’s time for you to shave me, slave. Everywhere. Here’s the lotion, and the razor. Don’t you dare give me the slightest scrape or nick either. I’ll be keeping track for later.” Very carefully I lathered and shaved My Lady, first beneath the arms. Oh how beautifully toned her biceps and triceps, as she raised them overhead! And how round and upswept her bulbous breasts as they were thus lifted and spread! Then I moved on to her long, well-defined legs, and finally what lay above and between.

Concentrating like a laser despite my arousal, I managed to strip her clean everywhere without inflicting the slightest wound. At last I finished, and she allowed me to rub a variety of lotions into her treasured flesh. Then Mistress Melinda ordered me to thoroughly bathe and prepare my own body while she left to dress.

***

Just as I finished – or thought I did – the shower door slid open. I looked up, and gasped with shock. Confronting me, dressed in just a tight black corset that emphasized her muscles and breasts, perched on stiletto heels that gave her an extra four inches height, Mistress was the glorious epitome of female impatience and scorn.

“Where do you think you’re going, slave? You haven’t even shaved yet!”

Not daring to speak, I felt of my chin and cheek. Then I noticed My Lady holding several more articles of clothing: lacy, frilly, pretty-ribbon-trailing lingerie. She noticed my noticing, and her scorn turned gloating. “That’s right, darling! Legs, crotch, balls, n*****s, underarms, everything! Then you’ll put on this underwear. Today you play the sissy, my submissive little birthday slave! Your mistress is now the man of this house!”

Unnerved by that, unbearably humiliated yet still unbelievably aroused by my increasingly demeaning subjugation, I quietly complied. Under my mistress’ derisive instruction I shaved myself completely bare, then began donning female undergarments as she handed them to me.

First came a pair of silk, split-crotched panties that I had quite a bit of trouble pulling up over my erection. But then once through the split, both my rock-hard p***s and tingling-bare balls bounced freely, while the rest of the sheer, elegant material clung lovingly to my shaved groin and butt. After that I pulled on hot pink nylon stockings, frilly little lace-trimmed garters and belt, lace gloves, a cup-less brassiere and finally an almost diaphanous nightgown.

I felt terribly ridiculous, mortified beyond belief, and yet hornier than ever. Melinda poured on the derision, mocking my appearance by calling me ‘Mary’, ‘Sissy’, ‘She-male’, and finally ‘Slut-boy’, which she at last settled on as my new name. “Come on now, Slut-boy! I’m going to show you how to do your hair and face.”

When Mistress was finished with me, my hair was coquettishly styled, my finger and toenails shaped and painted, my brows plucked, my face heavily made up, my body powdered and perfumed and laden with jewelry and I was as transformed as it was reasonably possible to get. Teetering on pink three-inch high heels, the only anomaly was the insistent spike of my erection, which still refused to go away. Mistress wrapped both it and my balls up with a long string of pearls then, both decorating it and giving it a constant weight to pull up against. Then she ordered me down into the kitchen to make her breakfast.

In my heels and pearls and outlandish outfit I prepared her favorite morning meal with equal care and clumsiness. She ate it without acknowledging me; then rose and buttoned up a stylish black jacket on top of her heels and corset. She picked up my wallet, and headed for the door.

“Remember, Slut-boy, not a speck of dust! I want this house absolutely spotless when I get back. Then we’ll enjoy all my wonderful presents together for hours on end! In the meantime, you will neither eat nor change, understood? Not even your shoes. In fact, I expect you to be walking perfectly in those heels by this afternoon, and completely comfortable in your brand new persona as my slutty little sissy-maid househusband foot-slave. Because your servitude has barely begun!”

With that she swept off to go out shopping. Missing her already, I sighed, hung my head, and tried to ignore both the grumbling of my belly and the throbbing of my disappointed prick. Then I began to clean up the breakfast dishes.

All morning long I performed my chores shamefully made-up, perfumed, and cross-dressed, all the while dreading an unexpected visitor at the door. Unwilling and now even scared to disobey my mistress on this her special day, I nevertheless did a meticulous job on the housework, using her many warnings to distract me from my discomfort. But then shortly after noon the phone rang, and my worst fears were nonchalantly superseded.

“Hello?”

“This is your mistress, Slut-boy. I’m downtown at a rather unique boutique. You’ve just purchased my first gift, and I’m about to have it delivered. You will greet the deliverymen at the door, and show them into the master bedroom. Don’t forget to sign for delivery, and don’t you dare forget to tip them! I’ve got several other stops to make now, so I’ll see you in a while.”

“But...but...I don’t have my wallet!” was all I could come up with. Mistress snapped right back.

“I did not give you permission to speak, slave! And if you have no money, then you’ll just have to find some other way to thank Bull and Rod here. They’re both bisexual of course, and I’ve been talking to them for an hour now about how cute my little Slut-boy is. So who knows? Maybe you can even convince them to ‘stick’ around long enough for me to get back. In any case, you’d better hurry up and finish cleaning the house! Your true servitude is about to begin!”

She slammed down the phone, leaving me standing there speechless. The implications of our conversation were staggering. For twenty minutes then I was in tortured denial: squirming around my erection and self-image, unable to rectify the two. And then a truck pulled in, the doorbell rang, and I saw shadowy shapes unloading something big.

Burning with humiliation I forced myself to the door. Consummately sissified and cross-dressed, mortified and yet helplessly breathless and erect, I finally did as my mistress ordered. I opened the door to the bright light of day and exposed myself to the world, particularly the two barrel-chested, hard-looking brutes lugging forward a large black contraption.

“You’ve got to be Slut-boy!” guffawed the first. “Mistress Melinda wasn’t kidding! Well, step back there, and let us in with this thing!” Gratefully I quickly retreated, leading the way into our big master bedroom. Across from the bed, in an alcove that used to be a wardrobe, was a big open space surrounded by mirrors. None of us had to guess that this was where Mistress wanted her new piece of furniture. Its nature alone made that obvious.