u/Reasonable_Injury121

My wife hired a much more competent divorce attorney that I did.

I shall enjoy making you grovel – privately, publicly and often.

After my humiliating beatdown, Tyler and Ashley wasted no time explaining my new duties to me. Cleaning out Tyler‘s toe jam is now a weekly chore (one of many). The first time was disgusting, but now that I do it regularly, it’s actually not so bad – just sweat and a little bit sock lint, usually. It’s amazing to me how much Ashley – who was my girlfriend up until a couple of weeks ago – enjoys watching me abase myself at Tyler’s feet. She really loves barking out orders at me and rubbing in what a beta loser I am. But looking up at her, seeing her nipples hard beneath her shirt, it’s clear that she’s really turned on by the whole thing. And that turns me on. I’m hard as a rock right now.

When I caught that asshole, Tyler, kissing Ashley behind the bleachers, I didn’t think. I just grabbed him by the collar and roughly shoved him. Ashley and I had only been dating for three weeks, but I had fallen hard for her. We had officially become a couple within of our circle of friends. Tyler was only on the periphery of that circle, a cousin of Ashley’s close friend, Mia. But he knew Ashley and I were an item; it was no secret.

Had I been thinking and not acted so impulsively, I would no doubt have taken note of Tyler’s physique. I’m in decent shape (even a bit of a gym rat), but he has easily 20 pounds on me, and all of that difference is muscle. When I shoved him, he instantly bitch slapped me – so hard that I fell to the ground – in the face. That was two weeks ago and the bruise on my cheek has only just faded. I wish I could say the same for the bruises on my shoulder, thigh and leg (and my ego, of course). Because after he slapped me, Tyler bent over and started repeatedly punching me on my shoulder and on my bicep with his closed right fist. I punched his arms, trying to get him off me, but it had no effect on him. So I then tried to kick him off me, and he responded by grabbing my leg and harshly twisting it, and crouching down further, punching my thigh. Meanwhile, he kicked my shin and kicked my buttocks. His rage, intensity and swiftness of movement stunned (and, if I’m honest, frightened) me.

I continued to struggle, but it got to the point that I worried that any additional resistance on my part would result in Tyler beating me more savagely. I wondered to myself whether Ashley would intervene on my behalf. I looked up at her and caught her eye. Far from trying to discourage Tyler, she was watching us intently. There almost seemed to be a gleam in her eye, the faintest hint of a smirk. She seemed to be excited rather than worried; she seemed to be enjoying it. 

I had heard that there are quite a few women who enjoy watching men fight for them – by which I mean literally, physically fight. That it turns them on. For some, the more brutal the better. I guess it’s primal when you think about it – the law of the jungle. Maybe Ashley was one of those women? Who knows, if they’re really honest with themselves, maybe most women would be – assuming that they’re one of those fortunate enough to be fought over, of course. All those thoughts were crossing through my head as I was being pummeled.

In my desperation to get him to stop, I started apologizing to Tyler. It was humiliating, but my arms and legs were burning in pain. I looked up again at Ashley, and this time she truly was smirking, still fascinated, but also seemingly amused. Amused at my capitulation and the increasing urgency of my apologies to the man who was kissing my girlfriend  – trying to take her away from me. And at that moment, I recalled that their kiss had been long and deep, that Ashley appeared to be an enthusiastic participant in it. I mean, I must’ve registered that at the time, but my reflexive assault on Tyler was so consuming, that it was only then as I was being beaten that I actually allowed myself to think about it – their kiss.

And as he continued to punch and kick me, my apologizing started to border on begging – not yet groveling, but moving in that direction. When I looked back up at Ashley, catching her eye again, I could almost swear that I saw her lick her lips. Probably not. I probably just imagined it. But Ashely is just so goddamned sexy. Seeing her turned on turns me on. And I hate to admit this, but knowing her reason for being turned on at that moment – watching this alpha guy totally dominate me through brute force, and witnessing my pitiful response – only tuned me on more. I felt myself getting hard at this most improbable moment. I honestly didn’t think that kind of pain was even compatible with arousal. I thought to myself that someone surely has to be one sick, pathetic fuck to get a boner while literally getting his ass kicked. I’m not proud of that, but I’m trying to give an honest account here.

And I’m even less proud of this: I soon crossed the border to full fledged groveling. Tyler was clearly enjoying emasculating me in front of Ashley, so was prolonging my torment. 

He eventually said, “I’ll accept your fucking apology, bitch, if you kiss my shoe and promise me that you’ll remember your place from now on.” 

I didn’t hesitate. I dropped fully down to my knees. He was standing upright now. He’s tall, probably 2 inches or so taller than me. I leaned down to the ground and kissed his sneaker – somewhat dusty from the dirt in which we were walking – and glancing fleetingly up at Ashley, I said to him, “Please, sir. I’m sorry. Very, very sorry. I won’t…forget my pl…my place again, sir. I promise.” 

Three different parts of my body were throbbing – well, four actually, but only three in pain. I took note of Tyler’s words (“from now on”) and my own (“again”), thinking it was almost as if we both knew that this wasn’t the end of our relationship but really the beginning. Of course, any man with even an ounce of self-respect would have left and never spoken to either of them again, but as you have probably figured out by now, I’m not just any man. No, I’m a special breed of loser.

Fast forward to today, only two weeks later, when I’ve reached this conclusion: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Or, to be more precise if I can’t beat HIM, join them! Because it suits their purposes to keep me around. I’m now their lackey and maid. It will be official when we all move in together next month. Inspired by my abject kiss of Tyler’s sneaker that day behind the bleachers, Ashley has decided that feet are my province. Yes, I am the designated footboy within our perverse little ménage à trois. So, I massage and worship both of their feet, I clean and maintain their footwear, I give them pedicures and trim their cuticles. I even bathe their feet (at times in a basin and at other times with my tongue). I sit and lay at their feet, and serve as their human doormat and footstool. I was never aware of having a foot fetish before two weeks ago, but I’m quite certain that I do now. Funny how easy it was for Ashley to condition me. 

I cook and serve them meals. Half the time I eat on the floor at their feet as they sit comfortably at the table I set and clean. Tyler’s abuse of me, physical and verbal, is their aphrodisiac. I’m like a fucking walking plate of oysters on the half shell. Ashley now makes no effort to conceal it (not that she ever did, really – not even that first day).

So why wouldn’t they keep me around? The bigger question is why do I stick around? Why do I put up with it? Because I love Ashley. I love seeing her turned on. Seeing Ashley turned on is pure eroticism for me. Knowing that I’m part of what’s turning her on – even though it is through my abasement – is eroticism squared. 

And, as far as that asshole Tyler goes, I’m sort of starting to develop a Stockholm Syndrome kind of thing with him. Goddamn him. HIs cock is huge, as his endurance. He satisfies Ashley in ways I know I never could. He’s cocky as hell, a natural athlete. He makes more money than I do. He deserves her more than I do. That’s just a simple fact.

And his feet aren’t bad looking for a guy (although after a game, the stench of his sweaty socks shoved in my face can be quite dreadful). While I remain resentful of how he – how they – treat me, I’m growing more accepting of it by the day. Tyler could kick my ass any day or kick me out any day. I need to make sure I remain relevant, so he doesn’t. I need to make sure to keep my promise to remember my place. I may feel different when my chastity cage arrives next week – he will hold my keys – but we’ll see….

When I caught that asshole, Tyler, kissing Ashley behind the bleachers, I didn’t think. I just grabbed him by the collar and roughly shoved him. Ashley and I had only been dating for three weeks, but I had fallen hard for her. We had officially become a couple within of our circle of friends. Tyler was only on the periphery of that circle, a cousin of Ashley’s close friend, Mia. But he knew Ashley and I were an item; it was no secret.

Had I been thinking and not acted so impulsively, I would no doubt have taken note of Tyler’s physique. I’m in decent shape (even a bit of a gym rat), but he has easily 20 pounds on me, and all of that difference is muscle. When I shoved him, he instantly bitch slapped me – so hard that I fell to the ground – in the face. That was two weeks ago and the bruise on my cheek has only just faded. I wish I could say the same for the bruises on my shoulder, thigh and leg (and my ego, of course). Because after he slapped me, Tyler bent over and started repeatedly punching me on my shoulder and on my bicep with his closed right fist. I punched his arms, trying to get him off me, but it had no effect on him. So I then tried to kick him off me, and he responded by grabbing my leg and harshly twisting it, and crouching down further, punching my thigh. Meanwhile, he kicked my shin and kicked my buttocks. His rage, intensity and swiftness of movement stunned (and, if I’m honest, frightened) me.

I continued to struggle, but it got to the point that I worried that any additional resistance on my part would result in Tyler beating me more savagely. I wondered to myself whether Ashley would intervene on my behalf. I looked up at her and caught her eye. Far from trying to discourage Tyler, she was watching us intently. There almost seemed to be a gleam in her eye, the faintest hint of a smirk. She seemed to be excited rather than worried; she seemed to be enjoying it.

I had heard that there are quite a few women who enjoy watching men fight for them – by which I mean literally, physically fight. That it turns them on. For some, the more brutal the better. I guess it’s primal when you think about it – the law of the jungle. Maybe Ashley was one of those women? Who knows, if they’re really honest with themselves, maybe most women would be – assuming that they’re one of those fortunate enough to be fought over, of course. All those thoughts were crossing through my head as I was being pummeled.

In my desperation to get him to stop, I started apologizing to Tyler. It was humiliating, but my arms and legs were burning in pain. I looked up again at Ashley, and this time she truly was smirking, still fascinated, but also seemingly amused. Amused at my capitulation and the increasing urgency of my apologies to the man who was kissing my girlfriend – trying to take her away from me. And at that moment, I recalled that their kiss had been long and deep, that Ashley appeared to be an enthusiastic participant in it. I mean, I must’ve registered that at the time, but my reflexive assault on Tyler was so consuming, that it was only then as I was being beaten that I actually allowed myself to think about it – their kiss.

And as he continued to punch and kick me, my apologizing started to border on begging – not yet groveling, but moving in that direction. When I looked back up at Ashley, catching her eye again, I could almost swear that I saw her lick her lips. Probably not. I probably just imagined it. But Ashely is just so goddamned sexy. Seeing her turned on turns me on. And I hate to admit this, but knowing her reason for being turned on at that moment – watching this alpha guy totally dominate me through brute force, and witnessing my pitiful response – only tuned me on more. I felt myself getting hard at this most improbable moment. I honestly didn’t think that kind of pain was even compatible with arousal. I thought to myself that someone surely has to be one sick, pathetic fuck to get a boner while literally getting his ass kicked. I’m not proud of that, but I’m trying to give an honest account here.

And I’m even less proud of this: I soon crossed the border to full fledged groveling. Tyler was clearly enjoying emasculating me in front of Ashley, so was prolonging my torment.

He eventually said, “I’ll accept your fucking apology, bitch, if you kiss my shoe and promise me that you’ll remember your place from now on.”

I didn’t hesitate. I dropped fully down to my knees. He was standing upright now. He’s tall, probably 2 inches or so taller than me. I leaned down to the ground and kissed his sneaker – somewhat dusty from the dirt in which we were walking – and glancing fleetingly up at Ashley, I said to him, “Please, sir. I’m sorry. Very, very sorry. I won’t…forget my pl…my place again, sir. I promise.”

Three different parts of my body were throbbing – well, four actually, but only three in pain. I took note of Tyler’s words (“from now on”) and my own (“again”), thinking it was almost as if we both knew that this wasn’t the end of our relationship but really the beginning. Of course, any man with even an ounce of self-respect would have left and never spoken to either of them again, but as you have probably figured out by now, I’m not just any man. No, I’m a special breed of loser.

Fast forward to today, only two weeks later, when I’ve reached this conclusion: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Or, to be more precise: if I can’t beat HIM, join them! Because it suits their purposes to keep me around. I’m now their lackey and maid. It will be official when we all move in together next month. Inspired by my abject kiss of Tyler’s sneaker that day behind the bleachers, Ashley has decided that feet are my province. Yes, I am the designated footboy within our perverse little ménage à trois. So, I massage and worship both of their feet, I clean and maintain their footwear, I give them pedicures and trim their cuticles. I even bathe their feet (at times in a basin and at other times with my tongue). I sit and lay at their feet, and serve as their human doormat and footstool. I was never aware of having a foot fetish before two weeks ago, but I’m quite certain that I do now. Funny how easy it was for Ashley to condition me.

I cook and serve them meals. Half the time I eat on the floor at their feet as they sit comfortably at the table I set and clean. Tyler’s abuse of me, physical and verbal, is their aphrodisiac. I’m like a fucking walking plate of oysters on the half shell. Ashley now makes no effort to conceal it (not that she ever did, really – not even that first day).

So why wouldn’t they keep me around? The bigger question is why do I stick around? Why do I put up with it? Because I love Ashley. I love seeing her turned on. Seeing Ashley turned on is pure eroticism for me. Knowing that I’m part of what’s turning her on – even though it is through my abasement – is eroticism squared.

And, as far as that asshole Tyler goes, I’m sort of starting to develop a Stockholm Syndrome kind of thing with him. Goddamn him. HIs cock is huge, as his endurance. He satisfies Ashley in ways I know I never could. He’s cocky as hell, a natural athlete. He makes more money than I do. He deserves her more than I do. That’s just a simple fact.

And his feet aren’t bad looking for a guy (although after a game, the stench of his sweaty socks shoved in my face can be quite dreadful). While I remain resentful of how he – how they – treat me, I’m growing more accepting of it by the day. Tyler could kick my ass any day or kick me out any day. I need to make sure I remain relevant, so he doesn’t. I need to make sure to keep my promise to remember my place. I may feel different when my chastity cage arrives next week – he will hold my keys – but we’ll see….

My wife, Brianna, is twenty years my junior and I am completely in her thrall. I am effectively her slave. She openly cheats on me (with friends and enemies alike), treats me as her maid, her boot licker (literal as well as figurative), her pedicurist, her whipping boy. And, yet, I’m her biggest fan. She is breathtaking, wickedly intelligent, complex, unpredictable, imperious, playfully cruel (and cruelly playful). Her face, her legs, her feet, her toes – all exquisite.

My servitude to her is becoming increasingly public – for example, this very video was filmed by her best friend, Kim, on her iPhone – but I’m okay with that. Well, maybe not with my close friend – or formerly close, in any event – Kyle. Kyle is Brianna’s latest lover. He is her “hot date” tonight, and I know she knows I know that. Did she pick Kyle mainly because she is attracted to him or mainly to wound me? I think their attraction is undeniable, but she is attracted to a lot of good looking, alpha male types and vice versa.

Well, her motivations are ultimately irrelevant. She is my goddess and I worship her with obedience, devotion, gratitude even. I will resign myself to Ryan witnessing, and very likely participating in, my humiliation. Brianna is my religion.

Except from Sexy Sadie, Chapter One from r/cuck_femdom_tales

Ryan started to walk away when Sadie stopped him. “Not so fast, stud. The champ should have a victory pose over his defeated rival. Come on, don’t disappoint me. Stand over poor, pathetic Paulie. Better yet, stand ON him and flex your muscles for me. Watching you dominate him during the match got me all hot and bothered.” She mock cooled her face by waving her hand next to it like a fan. “Let’s keep the momentum going, stud. I want to get some good photos to remember this momentous occasion.”

Sadie basically said what I was thinking to myself. That this was no ordinary competition between Ryan and me. This was a turning point from which there may be no going back. Thinking that, I looked at my cock twitching upwards yet again through the nylon of the thong. Just as I did so, Ryan put his sweaty, bare foot on my chest, and I looked up to see him raise his hands in the air and flex his biceps. I noticed he had a hard-on now, too. Maybe it was because of the anticipation that he would be having sex with Sadie any minute. Or maybe it was the thrill of humiliating me in front of her. It was probably a little bit of both.

I saw the flash of Sadie’s phone as she snapped some more photos and said, “You, can do better than that, champ. I want to get some better shots. Stand on Paulie like you own him, because you kind of do now, right?”

Ryan responded by moving his right foot from my chest up to my sore collarbone, almost on my throat. He then placed his other foot squarely on my cock and balls. He stood on top of me with all his weight on those two parts of my body, flexing his raised arms again. I squirmed under him in intense discomfort.

Sadie said, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Nice! I’m getting some great shots. Ryan, next I think you should put your foot on top of Paulie’s mouth so he can kiss it. Come on, Paulie. Kiss the foot of the man who defeated you. Acknowledge his superiority.”

I did as Sadie commanded, actually with some fervor – kissing first the bottom of his foot, then his toes – as I hoped that such a raw display of servility would encourage Ryan to remove his weight from my collarbone and from my crotch.

It worked, as Ryan stepped off my body. Breathing a big sigh of relief, I looked again at my cock, which sprung right back up after Ryan stepped off it. I groaned in humiliation and pain.

Excerpt from Sexy Sadie, Chapter One from r/cuck_femdom_tales

Ryan started to walk away when Sadie stopped him. “Not so fast, stud. The champ should have a victory pose over his defeated rival. Come on, don’t disappoint me. Stand over poor, pathetic Paulie. Better yet, stand ON him and flex your muscles for me. Watching you dominate him during the match got me all hot and bothered.” She mock cooled her face by waving her hand next to it like a fan. “Let’s keep the momentum going, stud. I want to get some good photos to remember this momentous occasion.”

Sadie basically said what I was thinking to myself. That this was no ordinary competition between Ryan and me. This was a turning point from which there may be no going back. Thinking that, I looked at my cock twitching upwards yet again through the nylon of the thong. Just as I did so, Ryan put his sweaty, bare foot on my chest, and I looked up to see him raise his hands in the air and flex his biceps. I noticed he had a hard-on now, too. Maybe it was because of the anticipation that he would be having sex with Sadie any minute. Or maybe it was the thrill of humiliating me in front of her. It was probably a little bit of both.

I saw the flash of Sadie’s phone as she snapped some more photos and said, “You, can do better than that, champ. I want to get some better shots. Stand on Paulie like you own him, because you kind of do now, right?”

Ryan responded by moving his right foot from my chest up to my sore collarbone, almost on my throat. He then placed his other foot squarely on my cock and balls. He stood on top of me with all his weight on those two parts of my body, flexing his raised arms again. I squirmed under him in intense discomfort.

Sadie said, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Nice! I’m getting some great shots. Ryan, next I think you should put your foot on top of Paulie’s mouth so he can kiss it. Come on, Paulie. Kiss the foot of the man who defeated you. Acknowledge his superiority.”

Woman: “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

Young man in chair: “It does. My calves are really sore from the game. And my right foot, too.”

Woman: “Don’t be shy about telling him where to focus.”

Young man: “Press harder on the ball of my foot.”

Kneeling man: “Yes, sir.”

Young man: “This whole cuckold lifestyle thing rocks!”

Woman: “Well, for you and me it does. Maybe not so much for my husband. But it’s nice to see you so happy. You know, if the maid doesn’t do a good job massaging your feet and legs, you can spank him.”

Young man: “Awesome! If you don’t do a good job of massaging my shoulders, do I get to spank you, too?”

Woman: “Nice try, sweetheart. No, you don’t. But if my massage doesn’t meet your expectations, you get to spank him twice as long and hard.”

Young man: “Ha ha.”

Woman: “I get to watch, obviously.”

Young man, with a big grin: “Obviously. Well, I think both of your massages leave a lot to be desired.”

Woman:, grinning seductively: “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Ryan is my best friend. Or was, at least, until Sadie came between us. But now I have to reevaluate our friendship. Would your best friend make you wear a chastity cage most of the time? Would your best friend order you to worship his feet in front of the girl you love? Would he step on, and smack, your balls in front of her while verbally humiliating you? Would he force you to address him as “sir” and to be his lackey, even his maid? I don’t think so.

We both met Sadie together at the beach this summer. She is so beautiful, smart and sexy that we both immediately fell for her – hard! She makes me think of that Beatles song my dad always used to play, Sexy Sadie. After that dazzling first afternoon Ryan and I spent with her in late June, the three of us hung out together, inseparable, for the rest of the summer.

Sadie is a real tease. She figured out quickly that Ryan and I both had it bad for her, and loved to play one of us off against the other. Some days I’d be the favored one, and she’d make Ryan feel like the third wheel. Other days, it would be exactly the opposite. She could change on a dime. You could tell she loved the power she held over us. But when Sadie turns her radiant, dimpled smile on you or touches your chest or thigh seductively with her hand or pretty foot, her motivations no longer matter – you just melt. Resistance is futile. I knew Ryan felt exactly the same way. We were both her puppets.

Sadie liked to set up all kinds of little competitions between me and Ryan, some subtle and some not so subtle. Over time, they became decidedly less so. It was unspoken, but understood, that the winner would be the favored one – at least until the next competition. Early on, it was more innocent. Who could make her a tastier meal? That was me, by the way. Or tell a better joke (Ryan). That kind of thing. But things progressed (or deteriorated – I’m not sure which), and the competitions became more physical in nature, and more intense. Like which one of us of could swim across the harbor faster (Ryan). Or win at arm wrestling (Ryan). Or win at tennis (Ryan, again, but it was close – he beat me in a third set tiebreaker). Or give her a better foot massage. That was me! I felt really good about that at the time. But now that I’ve been demoted to footboy lackey in our little ménage à trois – and spend as much time massaging Ryan’s feet as I do Sadie’s – I’m not so sure anymore. Although I really do love massaging Sadie’s feet (and, considering he’s a guy, Ryan’s feet could be a lot worse).

But before that happened (before my demotion, that is), as Sadie‘s little competitions between Ryan and I became more physical, things started to change, gradually at first, but then suddenly quite dramatically. Whereas earlier, Sadie would simply make it clear that one of us was the favored one – she would lavish more attention on the winner, flirt more, touch, etc. – she never treated the loser especially badly – just with a touch of indifference, or neglect. It was subtle but noticeable. But once the competitions got more physical, Sadie began to get much more physically affectionate with the winner – sitting close to me or Ryan, legs touching, caressing our chests, kissing us on the cheek, massaging our necks, making sexual innuendos suggesting that we might get into her panties. At the same time, she started treating the loser not simply with indifference, but with bitchiness – snapping at Ryan or me, exhibiting clear impatience or annoyance with us (often without any apparent reason), making little putdowns (often comparing one of us unfavorably to the other), issuing commands to do things, like getting her a drink, cleaning the bathroom, that sort of thing. Because by that point, in the late summer and early fall, the three of us were basically living together in the off-campus house that Ryan and I rented; it was modest, but had three bedrooms, so it worked.

I guess one might hope that two such close friends as Ryan and me – friends since met in third grade – would’ve been supportive of the other who was out of favor with Sadie. Occasionally, early on, our eyes would meet in sympathy. But over time, resentment, jealousy, and a determination to remain in her favor took over. Because that’s the thing. The way Sadie played it, when one of us was in her good graces, the other one was out. It was a zero sum game; Sadie is a master of divide and conquer.

Everything changed one day during the last week of August. We had gotten back from the beach and Ryan and I were still in our bathing suits, Sadie in her skimpy bikini. Ryan had just made Sadie a Moscow Mule and he and I had just opened beers when Sadie said:

“Listen, boys. I’m kind of horny. I haven’t gotten laid since I broke up with my last boyfriend in May. I’m certainly not going to sleep with both of you. That’s just not my jam. So, I thought maybe we’d have another little competition: the winner gets to sleep with me. And the loser…well, we’ll just have to see about the loser. Are you boys up for that?” She smiled at us seductively.

Ryan and I looked at each other and he said, “Sure. We know you like competitions, Sadie. Bring it on!”

I was honestly a little hurt that Ryan didn’t even hesitate. But I wasn’t about to let that show. Instead, I said, “Yeah, sure. But what did you have in mind exactly?”

Sadie smirked, and replied, “Oh come on, Paul. Does it matter? You know you’re gonna do whatever it is I want.”

I replied, with a little laugh, “Well, I won’t fight Ryan to the death.”

Sadie said, “Ha ha. No, not to the death, but I do want you to wrestle each other. The first one to submit gets a roll in the hay with me. And if that goes well, who knows where it might lead.” She smiled her beautiful smile. She was right; I would do whatever she wanted.

At the same time, I was worried. If you noticed from what I explained a minute ago, Ryan had a better track record of winning the physical competitions set up by our beautiful puppet master. I’m not in bad shape, but he’s in better shape for sure. He spends substantially more time at the gym and is more of a natural athlete than I am. We’re both competitive, but he usually comes out on top when we compete in sports. I, on the other hand, tend to do better in chess, trivia, crossword puzzles, that type of thing.

But I was determined to give it my all. The stakes were pretty high, after all. I had never wrestled in school or anything – just fooled around with my friends, including Ryan, a few times when I was younger, imitating professional wrestlers. As far as I knew, he had no experience with actual wrestling either. So, I figured I had a chance. I thought maybe I could beat him through sheer determination.

When we asked her where she wanted us to wrestle, Sadie said that we should just do it right in the middle of the living room floor, and that she would watch from the couch while enjoying her drink.

But when Ryan and I started to move towards the center of the room, she said ”Wait, I wanna make this a bit more interesting. I left something on my bed that I want you both to wear while you wrestle.” She grinned mischievously. “I want you to wear that and nothing else.”

I was already nervous as hell at the prospect of wrestling Ryan. Now, I felt a pit in my stomach. Did she buy us wrestling singlets or something?

Sadie followed Ryan and me into her room, no doubt eager to see our reactions when we found what she had laid out on the bed for us. There were two ridiculously skimpy, nylon mesh thongs lying next to her pillow.

Ryan said, “You’ve got to be kidding, Sadie.”

Sadie replied, “No, I’m completely serious. This is what you’re going to wear. You’re both lucky I don’t make you wrestle each other in the buff. I told you I’m horny. Seeing my two boys fight for me wearing your little thongs will really get me in the mood. You do want me to be in the mood, don’t you?“

I replied timidly, “Sure, Sadie, but…”

Sadie cut me off. “No buts. I’m going back out to the living room and then I want you both to come out there wearing them. Unless one of you has something to worry about that is,” she said, giggling.

Of course, that was the problem. I did have something to worry about. I’m definitely below average down there – not only the length of my cock, but it’s girth. And the size of my balls. I had seen Ryan in the locker room a couple of times, and he is meaningfully larger. I always suspected that was a big reason why he’s generally more confident than I am – less self conscious, more cocky. Please forgive the stream of consciousness for a moment, but I’m sure that’s the etymology of the word “cocky” – guys with bigger cocks have more confidence, feel they have the license to act arrogant… to act (lets be honest) like big dicks. Well, I’d say Ryan’s a good bit above average in the cock department. He’s clearly much bigger than ME, in any case. I’m not sure that he really knew that, because I tend to be very careful in locker rooms and bathrooms to not to let other guys see me (aided by the baggy boxer shorts I favored as underwear). But now, Ryan would see for
Ryan is my best friend. Or was, at least, until Sadie came between us. But now I have to reevaluate our friendship. Would your best friend make you wear a chastity cage most of the time? Would your best friend order you to worship his feet in front of the girl you love? Would he step on, and smack, your balls in front of her while verbally humiliating you? Would he force you to address him as “sir” and to be his lackey, even his maid? I don’t think so.

We both met Sadie together at the beach this summer. She is so beautiful, smart and sexy that we both immediately fell for her – hard! She makes me think of that Beatles song my dad always used to play, Sexy Sadie. After that dazzling first afternoon Ryan and I spent with her in late June, the three of us hung out together, inseparable, for the rest of the summer.

Sadie is a real tease. World class. She figured out quickly that Ryan and I both had it bad for her, and loved to play one of us off against the other. Some days I’d be the favored one, and she’d make Ryan feel like the third wheel. Other days, it would be exactly the opposite. She could change on a dime. You could tell she loved the power she held over us. But when Sadie turns her radiant, dimpled smile on you or touches your chest or thigh seductively with her hand or pretty foot, her motivations no longer matter – you just melt. Resistance is futile. I knew Ryan felt exactly the same way. We were both her puppets.

Sadie liked to set up all kinds of little competitions between me and Ryan, some subtle and some not so subtle. Over time, they became decidedly less so. It was unspoken, but understood, that the winner would be the favored one – at least until the next competition. Early on, it was more innocent. Who could make her a tastier meal? That was me, by the way. Or tell a better joke (Ryan). That kind of thing. But things progressed (or deteriorated – I’m not sure which), and the competitions became more physical in nature, and more intense. Like which one of us of could swim across the harbor faster (Ryan). Or win at arm wrestling (Ryan). Or win at tennis (Ryan, again, but it was close – he beat me in a third set tiebreaker). Or give her a better foot massage. That was me! I felt really good about that at the time. But now that I’ve been demoted to footboy lackey in our little ménage à trois – and spend as much time massaging Ryan’s feet as I do Sadie’s – I’m not so sure anymore. Although I really do love massaging Sadie’s feet (and, considering he’s a guy, Ryan’s feet could be a lot worse).

But before that happened (before my demotion, that is), as Sadie‘s little competitions between Ryan and I became more physical, things started to change, gradually at first, but then suddenly quite dramatically. Whereas earlier, Sadie would simply make it clear that one of us was the favored one – she would lavish more attention on the winner, flirt more, touch, etc. – she never treated the loser especially badly – just with a touch of indifference, or neglect. It was subtle but noticeable. But once the competitions got more physical, Sadie began to get much more physically affectionate with the winner – sitting close to me or Ryan, legs touching, caressing our chests, kissing us on the cheek, massaging our necks, making sexual innuendos suggesting that we might get into her panties. At the same time, she started treating the loser not simply with indifference, but with bitchiness – snapping at Ryan or me, exhibiting clear impatience or annoyance with us (often without any apparent reason), making little putdowns (often comparing one of us unfavorably to the other), issuing commands to do things, like getting her a drink, cleaning the bathroom, that sort of thing. Because by that point, in the late summer and early fall, the three of us were basically living together in the off-campus house that Ryan and I rented; it was modest, but had three bedrooms, so it worked.

I guess one might hope that two such close friends as Ryan and me – friends since we met in third grade – would’ve been supportive of the other when he was out of favor with Sadie. Occasionally, early on, our eyes would meet in sympathy. But over time, resentment, jealousy, and a determination to remain in her favor took over. Because that’s the thing. The way Sadie played it, when one of us was in her good graces, the other one was out. It was a zero sum game; Sadie is a master of divide and conquer.

Everything changed one day during the last week of August. We had gotten back from the beach and Ryan and I were still in our bathing suits, Sadie in her skimpy bikini. Ryan had just made Sadie a Moscow Mule and he and I had just opened beers when Sadie said:

“Listen, boys. I’m kind of horny. I haven’t gotten laid since I broke up with my last boyfriend in May. I’m certainly not going to sleep with both of you. That’s just not my jam. So, I thought maybe we’d have another little competition: the winner gets to sleep with me. And the loser…well, we’ll just have to see about the loser. Are you boys up for that?” She smiled at us seductively.

Ryan and I looked at each other and he said, “Sure. We know you like competitions, Sadie. Bring it on!”

I was honestly a little hurt that Ryan didn’t even hesitate. But I wasn’t about to let that show. Instead, I said, “Yeah, sure. But what did you have in mind exactly?”

Sadie smirked, and replied, “Oh come on, Paul. Does it matter? You know you’re gonna do whatever it is I want.”

I replied, with a little laugh, “Well, I won’t fight Ryan to the death.”

Sadie said, “Ha ha. No, not to the death, but I do want you to wrestle each other. The first one to submit gets a roll in the hay with me. And if that goes well, who knows where it might lead.” She smiled her beautiful smile. She was right; I would do whatever she wanted.

At the same time, I was worried. If you noticed from what I explained a minute ago, Ryan had a better track record of winning the physical competitions set up by our beautiful puppet master. I’m not in bad shape, but he’s in better shape for sure. He spends substantially more time at the gym and is more of a natural athlete than I am. We’re both competitive, but he usually comes out on top when we compete in sports. I, on the other hand, tend to do better in chess, trivia, crossword puzzles, that type of thing.

But I was determined to give it my all. The stakes were pretty high, after all. I had never wrestled in school or anything – just fooled around with my friends, including Ryan, a few times when I was younger, imitating professional wrestlers. As far as I knew, he had no experience with actual wrestling either. So, I figured I had a chance. I thought maybe I could beat him through sheer determination.

When we asked her where she wanted us to wrestle, Sadie said that we should just do it right in the middle of the living room floor, and that she would watch from the couch while enjoying her drink.

But when Ryan and I started to move towards the center of the room, she said ”Wait, I wanna make this a bit more interesting. I left something on my bed that I want you both to wear while you wrestle.” She grinned mischievously. “I want you to wear that and nothing else.”

I was already nervous as hell at the prospect of wrestling Ryan. Now, I felt a pit in my stomach. Did she buy us wrestling singlets or something?

Sadie followed Ryan and me into her room, no doubt eager to see our reactions when we found what she had laid out on the bed for us. There were two ridiculously skimpy, nylon mesh thongs lying next to her pillow.

Ryan said, “You’ve got to be kidding, Sadie.”

Sadie replied, “No, I’m completely serious. This is what you’re going to wear. You’re both lucky I don’t make you wrestle each other in the buff. I told you I’m horny. Seeing my two boys fight for me wearing your little thongs will really get me in the mood. You do want me to be in the mood, don’t you?“

I replied timidly, “Sure, Sadie, but…”

Sadie cut me off. “No buts. I’m going back out to the living room and then I want you both to come out there wearing them. Unless one of you has something to worry about that is,” she said, giggling.

Of course, that was precisely the problem. I did have something to worry about. I’m definitely below average down there – not only the length of my cock, but it’s girth. And the size of my balls. I had seen Ryan in the locker room a couple of times, and he is meaningfully larger. I always suspected that was a big reason why he’s generally more confident than I am – less self conscious, more cocky. Please forgive the stream of consciousness for a moment, but I’m sure that’s the etymology of the word “cocky” – guys with bigger cocks have more confidence, feel they have the license to act arrogant… to act (lets be honest) like big dicks. Well, I’d say Ryan’s a good bit above average in the cock department. He’s clearly much bigger than ME, in any case. I’m not sure that he really knew that, because I tend to be very careful in locker rooms and bathrooms to not to let other guys see me (aided by the baggy boxer shorts I favored as underwear). But now, Ryan would see for sure; those thongs Sadie bought us (she must’ve been planning this for a while, I realized) were so scanty that they would leave nothing to the imagination. And, worse yet – much worse – Sadie would see.

Now I felt that even if I somehow managed to win the wrestling match, I would still lose.

After Sadie had left for the living room, Ryan started stripping off his clothes right there in her bedroom. I took my thong and went to the hallway bathroom to change. Nervous about the match and what I knew to be my impending humiliation when wearing the absurdly skimpy, transparent thong, I felt my treacherous little cock get rock hard. I started breathing heavily and willed it to go down. Even though the AC was on, I started to sweat. We only had a couple of old window units, so it didn’t get that cool in the house. But it was mainly just nerves.

As I looked down at my cock jutting out through the nylon fabric, it only got harder and throbbed. “Fuck,” I thought to myself.

Through the closed door of the bathroom, I heard Sadie yell from the living room, “What’s the hold up, Paulie?” She likes to call me “Paulie” sometimes, to tease, or diminish me. I kind of like it, to be honest. “You’re not chicken, are you? Have you decided to forfeit the match?”

I quickly walked out of the bathroom and into the living room, saying, “Hell, no. Let’s do this.”

Sadie looked at my crotch and giggled, saying, “Someone’s a little excited about his match.”

Ryan, also staring down at my crotch, said, “The key word here is ‘little.’”

The son of a bitch. I stared at his crotch. I could see his big balls and large cock, flaccid, through the mesh fabric.

Great, I thought to myself. Sadie will not only see that I have a small cock, but she’ll think I’m gay or something.

She laughed, “You’re pretty funny, Ryan. Okay, now let’s get this match underway. I wish I had a whistle or something. Well, boys, on the count of three, let the match begin.”

She counted down and Ryan and I started circling each other carefully, with arms extended, in the middle of the floor. I glanced over at Sadie on the couch, and Ryan took advantage of my momentary lapse to pounce on me, grasping his arms around my stomach and chest. Still standing, I tried to twist my body free from his grip, but he was equally as determined as I was and undoubtedly stronger. We stayed on our feet in this awkward dance for several minutes. I was getting sweatier by the second, as was Ryan by this point, and at one stage I managed to slip free. I tried to grab Ryan’s thigh to get him off balance and onto the floor, but he outmaneuvered me and instead was able to get a tighter grip around my torso than he had before, pressing his body up against mine. Amazingly, my cock was still hard and I felt it touching Ryan’s thong. He still felt flaccid, and my shame was intense. Immobile in his tight grip, I glanced over at Sadie on the couch. She was smirking, and when our eyes met, she laughed.

I continued to try to break free from Ryan’s powerful grasp from a standing position for a few more minutes, breathing heavily. Feeling increasingly exhausted, however, I dropped first to one knee, and then to the other. The match didn’t last long once I was off my feet. Ryan deftly swung his body behind mine, pushed me face down to the floor, with his arm wrapped tightly around my neck, pushing up against my throat, making it difficult for me to breathe. He was fully on top of me now, his sweaty torso pushing my sweaty back further down into the unforgiving, hardwood floor. Then, in what I thought was a dirty move, he shoved his right leg between my legs and pushed his knee firmly into my ball sack. I continued to try to struggle for a few more minutes, but my difficulty breathing combined with the growing pain in my groin and my left thigh, trapped between his muscular thighs, was too much for me.

I heard Sadie say, “I don’t know, Paulie. It looks to me as if Ryan has your number. When you’re ready to submit, I want you to say ‘uncle’. Say it nice and loudly, so everyone can hear you. Cry ‘uncle!” she said with a giggle.

“Fuck no,” I said, and put everything I had left into trying to buck Ryan off my back. I was able to rise off the ground a foot or so, thinking I might have a chance to escape, when he tightened his grip on my neck, digging his forearm into my throat, and simultaneously drove his knee further into my groin, causing me to fall once again – the final time – flat to the floor. I continued to struggle for a few moments, but grew weaker and weaker.

Sadie said to Ryan, “Talk to your opponent, Ryan. Ask him if he’s ready to admit that you’re the better man.”

Ryan said to me, “Are you ready to cry uncle, bitch?” squeezing me with still more ferocity as he spoke.

I was ready. “Uncle,” I said, softly.

Sadie said, “We can’t hear you, Paulie.”

Grinding me down into the floor still harder – my collarbone now really hurt, too – Ryan said, “Yeah, we can’t hear you, bitch.”

He was clearly showing off for her. While it annoyed me, even at that moment I was self aware enough to realize that I probably would be doing the same if our positions had been reversed, and she was urging me on similarly.

I now practically yelled, “Uncle! Uncle. Please. I give. You’re the better man.”

Ryan said, “You’re goddamned right I am. Don’t ever forget it!”

He started to let up on me, when Sadie said, “Wait. I think you ought to give Paulie a little spanking before you let him go. Just so he has no doubt about which one of you is the boss.”

“Gladly,” Ryan said, and I immediately felt his open palm come down sharply on my ass. The flimsy thong, which during the fight had become wedged up between my butt cheeks, offered little protection from the sting of Ryan’s large hand. He pulled up the thong up further with one hand, giving me a true wedgie, as he spanked me with his other hand. My cock, which had deflated during the latter part of our match, started to grow hard again under Ryan’s assault on my buttocks.

Which didn’t escape Sadie. I heard her giggle and looked up at her as best I could from my compromised position on the floor. She had her iPhone in her hand and appeared to be filming Ryan spanking me. I wondered how long she had been filming. I was too spent to even protest. It’s certainly not like I was in a position to do anything about it, anyhow.

“I think your buddy enjoys being dominated by you, stud,” Sadie said to Ryan. “He has the cutest little stiffy. In fact, he had one for most of your match, but it went down towards the end when you really started winning. And it didn’t pop back up until just now when you started to tan his buns. Isn’t that funny? Maybe you should squeeze his little balls, too. That way he’ll really know who’s boss. Ha ha.”

Ryan responded by spanking me harder with one hand and grabbing my balls with his other hand, squeezing firmly, but not too hard. It felt really strange having my long-term friend grab me there. Not to mention to feel his hand come down repeatedly on my ass. After about ten hard smacks, he finally stopped spanking me and released his grip. I got up off the floor. I turned over on my back and started rubbing my sore collarbone. I thought about rubbing my sore ass too, but restrained myself. I was so sore, exhausted, and humiliated, I no longer cared that lying on my back would make my erection even more visible. Or, rather, I did care, but I had reached a point where my humiliation was so massive, so intense, I almost felt as if my only option was to give into it, to surrender to it – to revel in it, you might say. I mean, it was as erotic as hell. Sadie was sitting on the couch in her bikini with her legs crossed and her pretty bare feet not too far from where I was lying on the floor; I could see her freshly pedicured toenails and her sexy grin. My best friend was standing above me, his body glistening with sweat, staring down at me smugly. He had just manhandled me in front of the girl I had the most intense crush on of any girl ever – the girl I had convinced myself I was falling in love with. My ass was burning, my cock was throbbing, and I was quasi paralyzed with fatigue.

Ryan started to walk away when Sadie stopped him. “Not so fast, stud. The champ should have a victory pose over his defeated rival. Come on, don’t disappoint me. Stand over poor, pathetic Paulie. Better yet, stand ON him and flex your muscles for me. Watching you dominate him during the match got me all hot and bothered.” She mock cooled her face by waving her hand next to it like a fan. “Let’s keep the momentum going, stud. I want to get some good photos to remember this momentous occasion.”

Sadie basically said what I was thinking to myself. That this was no ordinary competition between Ryan and me. This was a turning point from which there may be no going back. Thinking that, I looked at my cock twitching upwards yet again through the nylon of the thong. Just as I did so, Ryan put his sweaty, bare foot on my chest, and I looked up to see him raise his hands in the air and flex his biceps. I noticed he had a hard-on now, too. Maybe it was because of the anticipation that he would be having sex with Sadie any minute. Or maybe it was the thrill of humiliating me in front of her. It was probably a little bit of both.

I saw the flash of Sadie’s phone as she snapped some more photos and said, “You, can do better than that, champ. I want to get some better shots. Stand on Paulie like you own him, because you kind of do now, right?”

Ryan responded by moving his right foot from my chest up to my sore collarbone, almost on my throat. He then placed his other foot squarely on my cock and balls. He stood on top of me with all his weight on those two parts of my body, flexing his raised arms again. I squirmed under him in intense discomfort.

Sadie said, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Nice! I’m getting some great shots. Ryan, next I think you should put your foot on top of Paulie’s mouth so he can kiss it. Come on, Paulie. Kiss the foot of the man who defeated you. Acknowledge his superiority.”

I did as Sadie commanded, actually with some fervor – kissing first the bottom of his foot, then his toes – as I hoped that such a raw display of servility would encourage Ryan to remove his weight from my collarbone and from my crotch.

It worked, as Ryan stepped off my body. Breathing a big sigh of relief, I looked again at my cock, which sprung right back up after Ryan stepped off it. I groaned in humiliation and pain.

Sadie laughed and said to Ryan, “If you had stood on Paulie’s little stiffy any longer, stud, I think we would’ve had a little mess to clean up on the floor. Ha ha.”

Ryan snickered. I caught Sadie’s eye for a second before I had to avert my glance, so overwhelmed was I by shame. Because, she was right: I was very close to ejaculating when Ryan removed his foot from my cock.

Then Sadie said to Ryan, “Come with me to my bedroom, stud. It’s time for your reward.”

Then she turned to me, still on my back on the floor and said. “As for you, loser. I want you to take a shower and then make the three of us a nice dinner. Pasta would be nice. I’m sure you’re thinking that things have changed now, Paulie, and you’re absolutely right – but I don’t want you to sulk. You still have a very important part to play in our little threesome.” At that point, she extended her long, toned leg in my direction and rubbed her toes lightly against my cock and balls – really almost hovering above them, but faintly touching them. I moaned with desire and humiliation. There was no longer any distinction between the two in my defeated body and mind.

Then Sadie said, “Yes, the three of us are going to have SO much fun. Just so long as everyone remembers their place. We’ll discuss it over dinner.”

And with that, she got up off the couch, grabbed Ryan’s hand and dragged him off towards her bedroom, saying to him, “I sure hope you still have some energy left for me, stud. I like it a little rough.“

Ryan smiled, and said, “Oh, don’t you worry, Sadie. I’ve got all the energy in the world!”

After I heard Sadie’s bedroom door close, I stayed on the floor a bit longer, licking my wounds, before heading off to the shower like the obedient little bitch I am.

Excerpt from Sexy Sadie, Chapter One in r/cuck_femdom_tales

He started to let up on me, when Sadie said, “Wait. I think you ought to give Paulie a little spanking before you let him go. Just so he has no doubt about which one of you is the boss.”

“Gladly,” Ryan said, and I immediately felt his open palm come down sharply on my ass. The flimsy thong, which during the fight had become wedged up between my butt cheeks, offered little protection from the sting of Ryan’s large hand. He pulled up the thong up further with one hand, giving me a true wedgie, as he spanked me with his other hand. My cock, which had deflated during the latter part of our match, started to grow hard again under Ryan’s assault on my buttocks.

Which didn’t escape Sadie. I heard her giggle and looked up at her as best I could from my compromised position on the floor. She had her iPhone in her hand and appeared to be filming Ryan spanking me. I wondered how long she had been filming. I was too spent to even protest. It’s certainly not like I was in a position to do anything about it, anyhow.

“I think your buddy enjoys being dominated by you, stud,” Sadie said to Ryan. “He has the cutest little stiffy. In fact, he had one for most of your match, but it went down towards the end when you really started winning. And it didn’t pop back up until just now when you started to tan his buns. Isn’t that funny?”

Ryan responded by spanking me harder. After about ten hard smacks, he finally stopped and got up off the floor. I turned over on my back and started rubbing my sore collarbone. I thought about rubbing my sore ass too, but restrained myself. I was so sore, exhausted, and humiliated, I no longer cared that lying on my back would make my erection even more visible. Or, rather, I did care, but I had reached a point where my humiliation was so massive, so intense, I almost felt as if my only option was to give into it, to surrender to it – to revel in it, you might say. I mean, it was as erotic as hell. Sadie was sitting on the couch in her bikini with her legs crossed and her pretty bare feet not too far from where I was lying on the floor; I could see her freshly pedicured toenails and her sexy grin. My best friend was standing above me, his body glistening with sweat, staring down at me smugly. He had just manhandled me in front of the girl I had the most intense crush on of any girl ever – the girl I had convinced myself I was falling in love with. My ass was burning, my cock was throbbing, and I was quasi paralyzed with fatigue.

I’m ashamed to say it is. My wife is gorgeous. Her young lover is like a Greek god. I am a fat, ugly pack animal.

Big Changes, Chapter One

On a call l with my mom last week when I was still in Sydney, she gave me a heads up that there had been some big changes at home since I was last there nearly 9 months ago. I’m a communications major at UCLA, and just finished my junior year abroad in Australia at the University of New South Wales. It was awesome! 

Because of the huge distance, I didn’t return to my childhood home in Gladwyne, Pennsylvania for Christmas and/or Thanksgiving like I usually do. For those of you who don’t know it, Gladwyne is an affluent suburb on the Philadelphia Main Line. My parents are pretty rich. My father owned a large regional construction business until he sold it to a private equity firm two years ago and cashed out. He made a ton of money. That’s when my parents bought a 10,000 square-foot home in Gladwyne and my dad retired. We were living in a pretty big home the next town over for most of my childhood, but my dad wanted something over the top after he made all that money selling his company. The big show off.

I’m an only child. I’ve always been a lot closer to my mom. She’s 10 years younger than Dad and has kept herself in great shape. I honestly don’t know why she’s stayed with him all these years, because he’s honestly kind of an asshole. He’s a very chauvinistic guy. I mean construction is a pretty male dominated industry to begin with, but he didn’t have one single female or non-white male executive on his entire leadership team. And this grew to be a pretty big company, about 5000 employees. I met a lot of his executive staff over the years and they all came across to me as a bunch of macho blowhards. I bet most of them have small dicks. I bet Dad does too.

So he’s chauvinistic, and also kind of racist. At home, he always threw his weight around as the primary breadwinner in the family. Mom had a job running a clothing boutique in town, but it barely broke even, to be honest. Dad called it her vanity project. That kind of put down is typical of him. He has never been physically abusive to Mom, but does like to belittle her. But I guess one of the reasons she’s stuck around and not divorced him is that his income has allowed us to live in relative luxury. And she did get to do something fun like run a boutique rather than work some boring desk job. I also suspect it was because she didn’t want to put me through a divorce, as a couple of her friends got divorced and it was really hard on their kids. Still, I thought that once I went off to college she’d dump his sorry ass. But much to my surprise, they're still together.

I honestly didn’t see Dad that much growing up because he was always so busy with his job. It wasn’t like all of my memories with him growing up were negative. We did have a couple of nice vacations to Europe and at our beach house on Long Beach Island. But I always resented the way he treated Mom. And I was also the target of his chauvinism and belittling remarks about women on several occasions over the years. He also spanked me twice – once when I was 13 and he he caught me smoking a cigarette in our backyard and once when I was 15 when he he caught me sneaking in late at night after I was out with a boyfriend. Do you know how humiliating it is for a girl to be spanked by her father at that age – when you’re growing up and super conscious about your body? I mean, he let me keep my panties on both times, but it was still incredibly humiliating. And really hurt! I’ve never really forgiven him for it, and probably never will.

I also never once saw Dad clean up after himself or cook a meal, not even on Mother's Day, Valentine's  Day or my mom's birthday. I mean, we had cleaning ladies, of course, who would come and clean every week or two. But, you know, things get dirty in the meantime around a house. Dishes pile up in the sink. The dishwasher needs to be loaded and unloaded. The laundry needs to be done. Shit falls on the floor in the kitchen and needs to be swept up. The bathroom gets gross. All kinds of stuff like that. It was Dad’s attitude that because of his big shot job, Mom and I should do all the cooking and cleaning and pick up after him. Like when he’d leave his dirty socks on the living room floor or his dirty plate on the table or dirty glass on his nightstand. Or whatever. Not to mention do all of his laundry. Even though Mom worked too. Real chauvinistic, Leave-it-to-Beaver type shit. Like we’re living in the 1950s or something. I feel bad for Mom that she’s had to deal with all that bullshit on her own without me to help over the last three years.

Like I said, Dad is kind of an asshole. Mom is just so smart and beautiful and keeps herself fit – also, in contrast to my dad, who’s put on weight and is losing his hair – so that I’m sure she could do way better than Dad if she wanted to. I know she thinks he’s an asshole, too. We’ve talked about it many times over the years – often comforting each other after some stupid remark he made or some annoying thing he did.

So on the long flight back to the states, I kept thinking about what possible big changes my mom could’ve been talking about. I thought back to our phone call.

“What do you mean ‘big changes,’ Mom? Are you and Dad getting a divorce?”

She replied, “No, not exactly. But there has been a pretty significant change in our relationship.“ She laughed – somewhat devilishly, I thought.

“Come on, Mom! You’ve got me really curious now. It’s a long flight back. Two, in fact, as I have to connect in Los Angeles with a three hour layover. I don’t want to be kept in suspense for days.”

“Cool your jets, honey. No pun intended, ha ha. Look, Kelly, I think this is something that it’s better for you to see for yourself rather than me trying to explain it to you on the phone. Besides, I want it to be a surprise. I think you’ll like it.”

“God, l’m even more curious now than I was a minute ago. OK, I’ll do my best to cool my jets, as you say. Can’t wait to see you, Mom.”

“Me neither, honey. I hope you have a great trip back. Love you.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you, too.”

But I kept racking my brain during the long trip home. What could possibly have happened? Was it possible that since his retirement, my dad turned over a new leaf and started treating Mom better and helping her out around the house – especially since he now has so much free time on his hands? Was it possible that they had rekindled the passion in their marriage? Although they slept in the same bed together, I don’t think they’d had sex in over a decade. Frankly, even the thought of my dad having sex grosses me out. I sincerely doubt that it was either of these things, but what else could it possibly be?

So, I was a little nervous, but also a little excited, when I rang our front doorbell (I had no idea where my keys were after all this time). 

Well, nothing could’ve prepared me – and I mean nothing! – for the door opening and being greeted by my father – Mr. big shot, macho former CEO, Gerry Ivans – wearing a black-and-white maid’s uniform, with sheer black stockings and high heels.

Unable to meet my eyes, Dad stared down at my shoes and said, “Welcome home, Miss Kelly. May I take your bag?“ As he spoke these unthinkable words – unthinkable coming from my dad, in any case – he made a ridiculous attempt at a curtsy, bending his knees and dipping his body down awkwardly.

I covered my face in shock and burst out laughing. I said “Dad? What the fuck? What in the hell is going on?”

My father briefly made eye contact with me, looking like he would die of shame, and said, “Mistress Jacqueline…” – Jacqueline is my mom, although Dad has always called her Jackie – “…is waiting for you in the kitchen. I have prepared some sandwiches for you and Mistress Jacqueline, and will serve you both tea as soon as I take your bag up to your room. Please follow me to the kitchen, Miss Kelly.“ 

He then made another pathetic attempt at a curtsy, and we made our way to the kitchen as I tried – not very successfully – to stifle my laughter.

I’ve fallen hard for Leah. We met in our freshman English composition class. We’ve been together for about six months now. Well, “together” might not be the most accurate word. She moved into my off campus apartment a couple months ago – I have this pretty sweet two bedroom condo that my parents are paying for. So, we do live together. And, we do have sex occasionally, although Leah told me my cock “just doesn’t cut it.” I’ve always been on the small side and I’ve been told that by prior girlfriends, so I really wasn’t that surprised. Probably explans why I’m such a doormat.

Anyhow, Leah told me that she likes me – my “puppy dog” eyes and my willingness to please – and that I can be her “beta boyfriend,” as long as I don’t get in the way of her having sex with “real men.“ So, I do all the chores for her around the condo. I cook for her and clean up after her. I eat her out pretty regularly, which I love. We have wonderful, quiet nights at home when we watch movies together. On our movie nights, I usually lie at her feet on the floor with her pretty feet resting on my body or on my face. Sometimes she lets me suck her toes, which I also love (I’ve always had a super strong foot fetish). She likes me to wear panties or pantyhose when I’m lying on the floor and giving her foot service. Twice she’s even let me suck her toes while she stepped on my balls and cock with her other foot. One of those times, she brought me off with her foot (she was pretty rough with me that day, even giving little kicks to my balls with her foot – not hard enough to seriously hurt, but certainly enough to give me real discomfort and make me feel owned). It was the most intense orgasm that I’ve ever had. She called me pathetic when she made me lick my own cum off her foot.

When she moved in, she made me promise that she could bring home any “real men“ she wanted to to fuck in the condo. Fortunately, there’s a second bedroom that I can sleep in when she has guests over. She tells the guys about me. Most of them think it’s pretty funny that she has a “beta boyfriend.“ I, of course, have to dress and behave in a manner that makes it clear that I’m no threat to them whatsoever. In fact, I usually greet her guest at the door, dressed in a pair of panties or pantyhose. I then usually offer him a drink, careful to always call him “sir.”

Her lastset hook-up apparently expressed more hesitation than most of them do about coming over to the condo. Leah really likes this guy, or at least really wants to have sex with him – so she told me to be extra submissive to him. She even picked out the pair of mesh panties I’m wearing. As soon as they sat down on the couch, she ordered me to lie on the floor at their feet. His bare feet are right next to my face. I have a strong fetish for women’s feet, but not for guys’ feet. But Leah Insisted that I lie down with my head next to HIS feet. Why do I have a funny feeling that she’s going to make me suck his toes? He does seem to be relaxing, though, and getting comfortable with my presence. I sure hope Leah will reward me on our next movie night for being such a good beta boyfriend.