"Day by Day, Month by Month, Year by Year," Part 2

“Day by Day, Month by Month, Year by Year,” Part 2

by c.w. cobblestone

July 1​


I’m so depressed. DeShawn informed me today that my services as “bitch boy” will be required at a Fourth of July barbecue. The cookout is being thrown by the same guy who hosted the party in March where I was forced to wear panties and suck cock for the first time. I was a big hit and this dude wants me back. When DeShawn told me my serving attire would again be Molly’s underwear, my wife suggested I wear a maid’s outfit instead. DeShawn thought it was a great idea and told me to find one online. Of course, I said a humble “yes sir,” logged onto a housekeeping apparel website, and picked out the most modest frock available. When I presented it for approval, unfortunately, Molly gave it the thumbs-down. She snatched my laptop and scrolled for a few minutes before choosing a pink, puffy, ridiculous-looking getup from a fetish site. DeShawn had me pay extra to rush the order, so it’s due in the mail the day after tomorrow. I’m hoping the shipment will be late; then I’ll “only” have to wear Molly’s panties while serving this stupid barbecue. Maybe I’ll luck out and it’ll rain. The last “bitch boy party” was a fucking horror show, and I’m sure as hell not looking forward to this one.

July 2​

My backside is in agony. I was cleaning Darlene’s bathroom earlier when I accidentally knocked over one of her perfume bottles. It shattered on the tile floor and I paid the price — my mother-in-law bent me over the bed and hammered my ass and legs with a shoe heel until there were purple welts everywhere. It was difficult to walk when I got back to cleaning, and while I puttered around in pain, I overheard Darlene on the phone telling her ********: “I think I damaged the little bitch. He broke my bottle of Black Opium, so I tore that ass up with my stiletto heel.” I don’t know what Molly said on the other end of the line, but Darlene scoffed and replied, “Yeah, the little fag doesn’t need to sit down anyway.”

July 3​

The abomination of a maid’s costume arrived in the mail today, and it looks even more faggoty in real life than it did online. Unfortunately, Molly’s friend Alyssa was visiting when the postman came. My wife made me try on the dress, and the ladies damn near pissed themselves laughing at me. I can hardly blame them; the outfit is preposterously sissified with a short-short hemline and ruffles everywhere. Because the dress is so revealing, my welts were exposed, and Molly seemed to enjoy telling her friend how I’d gotten the marks from Darlene. Alyssa kept poking my bruises with her finger and asking “Aw, does it hurt?” Molly’s friends are just as cruel as she is, at least when it comes to me. After Alyssa went home, I removed the flouncy garment and resumed my chores, although my wife made me put it back on and model it for DeShawn as soon as he got back from playing hoops. He said I looked sexy and made me suck his dick, warning me not to get the dress dirty because he wants me “to look pretty for the cookout tomorrow.” Since he was all sweaty from playing ball, giving him a blowjob was beyond disgusting. I tried to go to my happy place and think of lines from a favorite movie, but repeating “Say hello to my little friend” over and over didn’t help.

July 6​

Ugh, I got out of the hospital today and still feel like shit. Molly and DeShawn branded their initials on my ass at the barbecue and I passed out, waking up in the ICU with a dangerously high fever. The docs kept me in the hospital for observation for two days, and the minute I got home Molly wanted the condo cleaned. That took about four hours since they’d trashed the place in my absence. Now, I just want to plop down on my dog bed and crash in the closet. More later. Good night.

July 7​

Well, I’m fully cognizant, which isn’t necessarily a good thing, because now that the haze has lifted I can remember every gory detail of the absolute hell I suffered through at the Fourth of July party before passing out from shock. It was horrifying from the start. My maid’s outfit was an instant hit, and I absorbed a flood of jeers and catcalls as I worked my way through the gathering of about 25 people. Of course, Molly gleefully told everyone how her mom had given me the welts on my ass and legs, and the partygoers kept pinching my swollen flesh while I served them, which made my aching backside hurt even more. Little did I know that the agony in my ass was nothing compared to what was about to happen. Two hours into the backyard cookout, by which point nobody other than me was feeling much pain, DeShawn, and Molly were talking to their friends about plans to have his initials tattooed above her pussy, and someone hollered out “You should get your little bitch-boy marked up, too.” Someone else suggested branding me instead, and both DeShawn and Molly loved the idea. Things moved fast after a guy who’d once branded members of his college fraternity said it would be easy to fashion an “M” and “D” from coat hangers and have me seared right there. Within minutes, I was naked as a jaybird and bent over a lawn chair, with Molly and DeShawn standing behind me holding red-hot brands and everyone else aiming their cellphones at us. The crowd counted to three and my masters stuck the hot irons into each cheek at the same time. Everything turned black and when I woke up face-down in the hospital it felt like my entire body was on fire — especially my poor booty. A lady from the police liaison office interviewed me to ensure that I’d consented to be branded. She told me hospital staff was concerned about the welts all over my body, and she asked me if I’d been abused. I told her my punishment had been consensual which ended the inquiry. The doctor had planned to release me after only one night but I kept shivering and my temperature was still high, so he kept me another night out of caution. I’m still shaky but the fever is finally gone. My ass is throbbing, though. The cream they gave me helps a little, but I’ll be sleeping on my stomach for the next few weeks, which will suck since that fucking dog bed is uncomfortable enough as it is. I feel like total shit right now and am mutilated forever. Oh well. It is what it is. Molly seems to be happy, and that’s all that counts, right? Nobody said this would be easy.

July 11​

It was muggy as hell yesterday but DeShawn made me wear the maid’s outfit while cleaning the house anyway. I sweated like a pig, earning Molly’s derision, but DeShawn said he likes me as a sissy, and told me to order more maid’s uniforms because from now on that’s how I’ll dress at home. He also wants me in heels, so I ordered a few pairs of 4” pumps as well. Molly says my feet will be killing me after doing housework on them all day, which she thinks is hilarious. She also told me I’ll make an ugly woman but DeShawn corrected her, pointing out that I’m a bitch-boy, not a woman.

July 13​

The blisters from the brands on my ass keep busting and it hurts like crazy. I sat through a five-hour deposition at the firm today and squirmed the entire time. How long is it gonna take for these damn things to heal?

July 14​

The maid’s dresses came in the mail, and they’re all just as embarrassing as the first one. At least I won’t have to keep washing the same dress every night now. But the heels are killing me. After only one day of wearing them, I now have blisters on my feet to go with the blisters on my ass.

July 16​

My brands are starting to heal a bit. The blisters are still there, but the letters “M” and “D” are becoming more pronounced. I hate to admit it, but the guy at the cookout knew what he was doing; the brands look professionally done. I’m trying to be proud of them instead of being ashamed. I’ll keep working on it.

July 17​

They’re switching out our email system and work and we got a memo telling us to save whatever old messages we wanted because we’d be losing them when the new system kicked in. While going through old emails, I found one Molly had sent early in our relationship, before DeShawn came into the picture. It was just a note reminding me that her cell phone bill needed to be paid, but it included an explanation of why she’d changed her mind about marrying me a few days earlier after she’d rejected my initial proposal. “After my father ran off I’ve been afraid of commitment,” she said. “But I think we can make a life together if you give me my space. xoxo.” For Molly, those x’s and o’s constituted a major outpouring of emotion. I made sure to forward that email to my account. I don’t want to lose that one.

July 23​

Molly and DeShawn have been running me ragged for the past week. First, my wife loaned me to Alyssa to empty and scrub down her boyfriend’s garage, which turned out to be a three-day job. On Wednesday, DeShawn told me I’d be staying the night at his mother’s house after cleaning because she needed a bunch of forms filled out related to her retirement that would take hours to complete, and Cassandra said she didn’t feel like doing all that writing. I reported to the mean old lady after work and got busy cleaning the house to her exacting demands. When I finished, we went through our ritual: I knelt and drank the cup of piss she always had ready for me. It’s become an obsession for Cassandra to humiliate me by making me consume her urine, and while I’m doing it she always looks at me like I’m the most contemptible piece of shit on the face of the earth. After Cassandra went to bed, I spent the next several hours in her kitchen hunched over stacks of forms. By the time I’d finished neatly filling them all out at 4:30 am, my hand ached. I lay down on the kitchen floor to get a few hours of sleep. Luckily, I change from my suit to one of my maid’s outfits before I clean Cassandra’s place, so I had something to wear to work, even if it was for the second day in a row. After work Thursday, having gotten only a few hours of sleep, DeShawn had me go by his brother James’ house to pull weeds from his backyard. Then, when I finally got home, Molly yelled at me because the condo was “a fucking pigsty.” She tends to exaggerate — there were only a few dishes in the sink and her boyfriend’s piss hadn’t been wiped up from the tile at the base of the toilet, but that wasn’t my fault. Oh, well, I just apologized and took care of it. Such is life, as the French say.

July 26​

These fucking maid’s outfits are hot as hell. When I’m cleaning, I perspire like crazy, even with the AC going, and then Molly gets mad because she says I look “like a sweaty pig.” I can’t win.

July 29​

Well, I can say goodbye to autonomy over my genitals. DeShawn walked into the kitchen unexpectedly last night and caught me with my hand down my panties. After slapping me around, he told me to order a chastity device. When I showed him and Molly the cage I’d chosen, my wife once again vetoed my decision, confiscated my laptop, and found the item she wanted. It’s a wicked contraption with spikes and a rod that goes through my pee-hole into my urethra. I dread having to wear that thing but I guess it’s my fault for getting sloppy. Had I confined my jerking off to when I was in my little closet at night, I’d have been okay. That’s what I get. The cage is due the day after tomorrow. Ugh.

July 31​

The Magnum Secure Lockdown Deluxe chastity device arrived in the mail a few hours ago. I screamed when Molly shoved that rod into my pee-hole. When I pissed for the first time, because of the device I was forced to sit down, and it stung like hell because of the rod. I don’t know how the hell I’m ever going to get comfortable wearing this thing, but DeShawn says I’d better get used to it, because other than for one supervised cleaning per week, he says “It ain’t coming off any time soon.” WTF, just add this to the list of other bullshit I have to put up with to keep Molly in my life. The things we do for love.
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