The 12-Step Cuckold Program Part 4
“The 12-Step Cuckold Program,” Part 4
by c.w. cobblestone
Bob beamed.
“It’s so wonderful to see everybody back. I couldn’t be happier at the turnout we’ve been getting. This is a nice little group we’ve got going here — I don’t know about you guys, but these sessions have really been helping me. I hope they’ve helped some of you, as well.”
“Oh, coming to these meetings has definitely helped,” Carlton said. “Just last night, Terrance had me in the bathtub, and right when he was about to pee on me I remembered what you’d said last time — you know, that I AM a little sissy, after all. Angie has no use for me, sexually or otherwise, so I should be glad that my master has found a way for me to be useful. Thinking of that made it a lot easier. I didn’t even cry when he was done, and that’s a first; I just washed up, put on a dry dress and went back to my housework like nothing had happened. I guess I’m getting used to being pissed on all the time. Since I’m a little sissy, I figure I deserve it.”
“That’s the spirit!” Bob patted the sissy’s back. “Congratulations on your breakthrough! You see, guys, it’s all about acceptance. Like I say in Chapter 4: ‘You are You and You Suck’ — once you realize what a little pussy-ass little bitch you are, then you can stop being so resentful about how you’re being treated. Now, I know this sounds like I’m repeating myself, and that’s because I am. The core message of ‘Rules for Cuckolds’ is simple: it all comes down to accepting your inferiority to make things easier for you. Accepting that you’re a cuckold bitch means being the best cuckold bitch you can be. And then, believe me, things get a lot easier.”
“Not always,” Monte cut in.
Bob frowned. “Um, why are you sitting on the floor, Monte?”
“Oh.” The redhead blushed. “I’m on punishment. No furniture for a month. Little Tommy caught me sitting at the dining room table the other day and told his *** I was being lazy. I mean, I’d been working nonstop since 5 in the morning and hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before because the twins had kept me up crying — so I try to take one goddamn break and the little bastard tells on me.”
Carlton squinched up his eyebrows. “Damn, dude, you’re not allowed to take breaks ever?”
“Only if I get permission first. But Master and Mistress were busy in the bedroom, and I obviously couldn’t interrupt them. I didn’t think there’d be any harm in sitting down for a few minutes while little Tommy, Erin and Jimmy were in the living room watching TV and the twins had finally gone down for a nap. But then the little prick Tommy pokes his head in the kitchen because he wanted some juice, and he catches me sitting there. I jumped up as soon as the door opened, but he busted me and said he was gonna tell his *** I was being lazy because I wasn’t there to refill the little prick’s juice right when he wanted it. And, sure enough, because the poor little dumpling had to wait two minutes for his refill, he did tell his ***. So, now I’m fucked — no furniture for the next month. That includes my bed, so I’m stuck sleeping on the floor. You should’ve seen the little bastard smirking while his *** bitched me out about being lazy.”
Bob nodded. “And how old is little Tommy?”
“He’s 8.”
“Well, that’s a tough age, Monte, so hang in there.” Bob chewed his pen. “Now, just a minute ago you were saying that accepting your inferiority doesn’t always make things easier. I’m curious — what makes you say that? Obviously, that goes against the core principle of the book.”
“I mean, I’ve accepted who I am … I’m an ugly, piece-of-shit loser. I get it — but there are times … ugh. I’m not saying the book is wrong, Bob. Once you accept who you are, it does get a lot easier — but the mean things they do still hurt, bro. They fucking hurt. I think they’ll always hurt. You know? I just … uh … Bob?”
Bob didn’t hear because his attention was diverted by snoring from the back row. The group leader saw that Chester was zonked out with a line of slobber running down his chubby chin. “Um, excuse me?” Bob walked to the rear of the basement and shook the slumbering man’s shoulder. “Chester? CHESTER??”
“HUH???” The portly man jerked awake and wiped his chin. “Oh … ugh, s-sorry.”
“Rough night?” Lew asked.
“Yeah, dude, Amy sent me to the store four times with cravings. After midnight. Four fucking times, man. And she was such a fucking bitch about it, too — three of the times she slapped me because I either took too long or she didn’t like what I brought back.”
Monte shook his head. “I feel for ya, bro. They get so bitchy when they’re pregnant.”
“Bitchy isn’t even the word for it,” Isabella sniffed. “And it would be one thing if it was OUR kids they were pregnant with; but we have to put up with all their shit and they aren’t even our fucking kids. You know?”
“Yeah, no shit.” Chester sighed. “Last night, she drags me out of bed because she wanted Chalmers Butternut Ice Cream, which is almost impossible to find. I was able to track down a gallon at a store over in Danville, and got home in less than an hour. What did I get in return? A thank-you? Of course not. I got the shit slapped out of me for taking too long — and then as soon as I get back to sleep, she wakes me up again; this time she has a craving for rotisserie chicken. Where the hell can you find rotisserie chicken at 3 in the goddamn morning? Well, I lucked out and they had some in the glass thing at Walmart — but then Miss Princess said it was too dry and slapped me again. I was sent out twice more, once for sugar-free orange juice and then for bran muffins. She was happy with the OJ, and that’s the one time she didn’t hit me. But I still didn’t get a thank-you. So, yeah, that was my fucking night, bro. I may have gotten two hours of sleep. Maybe.”
“Ugh, I’m dreading my mistress getting pregnant, and dealing with all that again.” Isabella shuddered. “She had me corking her again last night while she slept, so I’m pretty tired myself.”
“Me too,” Chisain said. “Ugh. I stay tired.”
“Another all-nighter cleaning?” Carlton asked.
“Oh, yeah, that’s pretty much every night these days. My master keeps taking on new clients and expanding my hours — and then, I get whipped if the house isn’t clean enough, because if there’s one thing Jenny hates it’s a dirty house. And there are always a bunch of women tramping in and out of the house, with orgies in every room. I couldn’t keep up with it even if I wasn’t working 150-hour weeks!”
Bob crossed his arms. “Man, sounds like you do have quite the full plate.”
“Yeah, WTF, I can’t do it all!” Chisain threw up his hands. “It’s, like, literally impossible. But they don’t care. I’ll work 48 straight hours with no sleep and then have to come home and pick up their messes, and then he signs up another client and sends me right back out again. I try not to show how tired I am because if he sees me dragging ass, he makes me take 5-6 of those fucking caffeine pills — the dosage is supposed to only be one! Those damn pills give me the worst headaches, and they make my face break out! But, like my master always says, ‘a $5 box of caffeine pills is worth it if you can get three straight days of free work out of a slave.’ My master’s running me into the ground, though, WTF!”
Bob nodded. “I feel for you. They do tend to exploit us — but that’s why we’re here, right? We serve that purpose in their lives, which gives them a reason to let us stay around.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I know.” Chisain’s shoulders slumped. “It sucks, though.”
“So, how have you been dealing with your masters calling you Shit-Stain?”
Chisain gritted his teeth. “A little better, I guess. I mean, it still bothers me, Bob, and I know I need to work on that, because like you said last week, I’m a shit-stain on the underwear of humanity. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and it’s true. From the time I was born, I was meant to be treated like shit. I was raised in a femdom ******, so all I know is being treated like shit. So, if the world was a pair of tightie-whities, then, yeah, I’d be the shit-stain. I guess it makes sense that fate would make that be my name, you know?”
“That’s an interesting concept you bring up, Shit-Stain — fate,” Bob said. “As cuckolds, fate isn’t exactly on our side, is it?”
The group members chuckled.
“I mean, look around the room; I’d say Mother Nature definitely gave us the short end of the stick.” Bob glanced at the YMCA basement stairs leading up to the basketball court, where the squeaks of sneakers on hardwood and masculine grunts signified an intense game upstairs. “I wish I could be tall, athletic and handsome like my master. I wish I had a huge dick like him, and could have sex with Debra and give her orgasms, and then have her cuddle in my arms afterward. But I don’t have a huge dick — according to Deb, I’ve got a ‘birth defect’ that deserves to be locked in a cage. I’m not tall and handsome. I am who I am: An ugly, pathetic, piece-of-shit loser. It’s fate.”
“You ever wonder what it must be like?” Isabella sighed. “You know, to have a big dick, and to just KNOW that women want you and lust after you? To see a woman on the bed below you with her legs spread begging you to fuck her? I mean … can you even imagine how what that must feel like? To not be so self-conscious all the damn time? Whenever I get undressed in front of a woman, they laugh at me. Every time. And that was even before my cage.”
“OMG, Carmen literally fell on the floor laughing the first time she saw me naked,” Marco said. “I’ll never forget what she said after she caught her breath: ‘What do you suggest I do with THAT ugly little thing?’ Those words are, like, etched into my memory: ‘What do you suggest I do with THAT ugly little thing?’ Then, she took a picture of it and sent it to her friends.”
Monte winced. “Aw, dude, that’s cold. I guess by then you were probably already hooked, huh?”
“Oh, yeah, I was hooked from the moment I met her.”
“Me, too.” Monte smiled up at Marco from his spot on the floor. “Janet had me paying her rent within a week of us meeting. Next thing I knew, my entire checks were being direct-deposited into her account and I’ve had to ask for money ever since.”
“OMG, isn’t that so fucking embarrassing — having to ask your wife for money?” Marco shook his head. “I mean, I earn all the goddamn money, but, like with you, the whole fucking paycheck goes straight into her account. I have a debit card, but if I want to spend five bucks on something for myself, it’s like the end of the world. She can blow $700 in one night in some expensive nightclub buying drinks for her macho assholes, no problem — but let me ask to get a hamburger once in a while and she gives me major shit.”
“Yeah, bro, it fucking sucks.” Chisain leaned back in his chair and sighed. “What are you gonna do? I guess that’s why we’re all here.”
“You said it, Shit-Stain.” Bob clasped his hands.
Chisain frowned. “Ugh, could you please not call me that? Can I have one place where I don’t get called ‘Shit-Stain?’”
“No, Shit-Stain, actually you can’t.” Bob set his jaw. “We’re going to get you to embrace that name if it’s the last thing we do. And as I point out in the book, the only way to do that is to stop running from it. Got it — Shit-Stain?”
Chisain bit his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, alright, already.”
Bob held up his hand. “Okay, group, we only have so much time, so let’s get started with our exercise. Tonight, we’re going to talk about rules. The rules that guide our lives. Last time, I asked all of you to think of one rule that your masters have imposed that you maybe think is unfair or unreasonable. Have you all done your homework?”
Everyone nodded. “Okay, then,” Bob said. “Monte, why don’t you get started?”
“Okay. Well, I mean, I haven’t had a proper orgasm in eight years, and Tom told me unless some miracle happens, I’ll probably never be allowed one for as long as I live, unless it’s from his gay brother cornholing me. That’s an unfair rule if ever there was one — I don’t even have autonomy over my own body, man.”
Bob scoffed. “Oh, now THAT’s a little out of line, don’t you think? Body autonomy? For a gap-toothed, ugly piece of shit like you, Monte? Are you starting to get a high opinion of yourself or something? I thought you said you’d accepted that you’re a loser piece of shit?”
“Well, yeah, I have accepted that, but—”
“Have you not given yourself over to your masters? Body and soul?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“But nothing, Monte. You think a cuckold slave who’s sitting on the floor because he’s not allowed to sit on furniture should have a say over the body that belongs to his masters? You have no say over your body or your soul. Am I right or wrong?”
Monte sighed. “Yeah … you’re right.”
“Look, guys, I get it.” Bob made eye-contact with each of his compatriots as he walked around the room. “These rules are our masters impose on us are tough. That’s why we need our own rules. For every rule we don’t like, we need to come up with a counter-rule. That’s tonight’s exercise — we’re going to figure out which counter-rules will make the rules we have to live by easier to deal with. So, let’s take Monte’s rule that he’s not allowed to ever have an orgasm. That’s pretty unfair, wouldn’t you all say?”
Every head nodded.
“So, let’s replace that with a fairer rule. Our new rule for Monte will be that he’s allowed to cum whenever he wants — but he chooses not to because he’s a dedicated slave. Because, at the end of the day, that’s the truth. Monte, are you free to leave your marriage anytime you want? Could you file for divorce?”
“Well … yeah. I mean, I don’t want to, but I could.”
“Exactly my point,” Bob said. “Think about it: None of us is forced to stay in these marriages. We might end up getting fucked in alimony, or have to pay child support for kids that aren’t ours, but we could at least live with dignity — if we wanted to. But we don’t want to live with dignity, do we?”
There was an uncomfortable rustling among the participants, along with a few muttered “no’s.”
“And why is that? Why don’t we want to live with dignity?” Bob looked around. “Anyone?”
Carlton raised his hand, flashing his pink fingernail polish.
Bob tilted his head. “Yes, Foo-Foo? Tell the group: Why don’t you want to live with dignity?”
“Um, because I’m a little sissy who doesn’t deserve any better?”
“Exactly.” Bob smiled. “We’re all loser pieces of shit, which is precisely why we choose this degradation for ourselves. Nobody’s forcing this on us. In other words, these so-called rules that are imposed on us are really imposed by ourselves, because deep down, we all know that we’re loser pieces of shit. So, in our minds, then, we need to replace the old rules with new ones that better reflect reality. The rule isn’t that Monte doesn’t get to cum for the rest of his life. The rule is that he can cum whenever the hell he wants to; he can jack off 10 times a night if that makes him happy. But he chooses to stay celibate, because he’s a loser piece of shit who knows he’s inferior to his masters, and it makes him happy to sacrifice for them and be celibate. So, the rule is: He can cum whenever he wants. He just chooses not to. See how that works?”
Monte nodded. “Yeah, you sort of flip it on its ear.”
“Exactly. Rather than these rules being someone else’s fault, this way we can take responsibility. Okay, Lew, you want to go next? What rule really bothers you?”
“Well, there are a few, actually. I hate the rule where I always have to wear this fucking butt-plug. I’m caged, too, and I’d obviously like to cum more often, so I’m gonna adopt Monte’s rule for myself. Is that allowed?”
“Sure, you can adopt any of these rules that apply to your personal situation,” Bob said. “Is that the rule you hate the most? Not cumming?”
“No, I think the one that’s even worse than that is never getting to look at Caitlyn naked.”
“I see.” Bob nodded. “Now, let’s apply the same logic as we did to Monte’s situation: You do realize, Lew, that you could pop in on your wife in her bedroom or in the shower any time you wanted to and see her naked, right?”
Lew scoffed. “Yeah, if I want to go on a starvation diet for a month! Are you crazy?”
“Now, remember what we just talked about with Monte, Lew: your wife has no real power over you. You realize that you could walk away from your marriage any time you wanted to, right?”
“No, I can’t! I wish I could, but I can’t. That’s where I disagree with you, Bob. It’s like Caitlyn and me been joined together since we were born. Ever since we were little kids, she’s been hitting me, and spitting on me and doing mean things to me. How can I walk away from that? I mean, you can say it’s possible, and that’s all good and well … but mental bonds are every bit as strong as steel bars. Even more so. At least if you try hard enough, you can sometimes break out of steel bars.”
“And you can break out of your mental bond as well, Lew.” Bob sighed. “I think the problem is, you’re fighting the wrong battle. You’re looking at it as a struggle between your natural desire to be free and your upbringing, which you think is making you stay with your wife, even though she’s mean to you. The way you need to start looking at it, Lew, is that your natural desire is to be treated like a scrawny little bitch. Because that’s what you are, whether you like it or not — a scrawny little faggot-ass bitch.”
“I know, I know … but I really DO wish I could be free, Bob. I don’t like this.” Lew started sobbing. “All my life, all I ever wanted was for Caitlyn to love me, and she’s always been mean. And I’ve always wished it could be different. I can’t stop myself from wishing, Bob. I’m sorry.”
“Now, Lew, remember what the book says: ‘Cuckolds and wishes are—’”
“‘—fragile like dishes,’ I know, I know.” Lew wiped his eyes. “WTF, man. This is hard, you know? I just want her to love me.”
“It’s hard for all of us, bro,” Carlton said.
“But, Lew, you’re wasting your time wishing your mistress would love you,” Bob said. “She doesn’t love you. You said it yourself — your whole life, all she’s ever done is hurt you. That’s because she lives in reality, Lew. She knows you’re a scrawny little bitch. The question is: do you live in reality?”
“I … I … yeah.” Lew shuffled his feet. “I know. I’m a scrawny little bitch.”
Bob squinted. “Chester! Hey, Shit-Stain — wake him up.”
Chisain nudged his portly fellow cuck in the ribs. Chester sat up straight. “Uh, sorry, did I miss something?”
“Yes, it’s your turn. What rule do you hate the most?”
“Um, er .. rule? I … I …”
Before the still-sleepy cuckold could answer, an irate voice trumpeted down the stairwell: “LET’S GO, FAGGOT, TELL YOUR LITTLE QUEER FRIENDS GOOD-BYE AND LET’S GET A MOVE ON!”
Bob jumped and blinked at his companions. “Gotta run, guys! Let’s pick this back up next week!”
by c.w. cobblestone
Bob beamed.
“It’s so wonderful to see everybody back. I couldn’t be happier at the turnout we’ve been getting. This is a nice little group we’ve got going here — I don’t know about you guys, but these sessions have really been helping me. I hope they’ve helped some of you, as well.”
“Oh, coming to these meetings has definitely helped,” Carlton said. “Just last night, Terrance had me in the bathtub, and right when he was about to pee on me I remembered what you’d said last time — you know, that I AM a little sissy, after all. Angie has no use for me, sexually or otherwise, so I should be glad that my master has found a way for me to be useful. Thinking of that made it a lot easier. I didn’t even cry when he was done, and that’s a first; I just washed up, put on a dry dress and went back to my housework like nothing had happened. I guess I’m getting used to being pissed on all the time. Since I’m a little sissy, I figure I deserve it.”
“That’s the spirit!” Bob patted the sissy’s back. “Congratulations on your breakthrough! You see, guys, it’s all about acceptance. Like I say in Chapter 4: ‘You are You and You Suck’ — once you realize what a little pussy-ass little bitch you are, then you can stop being so resentful about how you’re being treated. Now, I know this sounds like I’m repeating myself, and that’s because I am. The core message of ‘Rules for Cuckolds’ is simple: it all comes down to accepting your inferiority to make things easier for you. Accepting that you’re a cuckold bitch means being the best cuckold bitch you can be. And then, believe me, things get a lot easier.”
“Not always,” Monte cut in.
Bob frowned. “Um, why are you sitting on the floor, Monte?”
“Oh.” The redhead blushed. “I’m on punishment. No furniture for a month. Little Tommy caught me sitting at the dining room table the other day and told his *** I was being lazy. I mean, I’d been working nonstop since 5 in the morning and hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before because the twins had kept me up crying — so I try to take one goddamn break and the little bastard tells on me.”
Carlton squinched up his eyebrows. “Damn, dude, you’re not allowed to take breaks ever?”
“Only if I get permission first. But Master and Mistress were busy in the bedroom, and I obviously couldn’t interrupt them. I didn’t think there’d be any harm in sitting down for a few minutes while little Tommy, Erin and Jimmy were in the living room watching TV and the twins had finally gone down for a nap. But then the little prick Tommy pokes his head in the kitchen because he wanted some juice, and he catches me sitting there. I jumped up as soon as the door opened, but he busted me and said he was gonna tell his *** I was being lazy because I wasn’t there to refill the little prick’s juice right when he wanted it. And, sure enough, because the poor little dumpling had to wait two minutes for his refill, he did tell his ***. So, now I’m fucked — no furniture for the next month. That includes my bed, so I’m stuck sleeping on the floor. You should’ve seen the little bastard smirking while his *** bitched me out about being lazy.”
Bob nodded. “And how old is little Tommy?”
“He’s 8.”
“Well, that’s a tough age, Monte, so hang in there.” Bob chewed his pen. “Now, just a minute ago you were saying that accepting your inferiority doesn’t always make things easier. I’m curious — what makes you say that? Obviously, that goes against the core principle of the book.”
“I mean, I’ve accepted who I am … I’m an ugly, piece-of-shit loser. I get it — but there are times … ugh. I’m not saying the book is wrong, Bob. Once you accept who you are, it does get a lot easier — but the mean things they do still hurt, bro. They fucking hurt. I think they’ll always hurt. You know? I just … uh … Bob?”
Bob didn’t hear because his attention was diverted by snoring from the back row. The group leader saw that Chester was zonked out with a line of slobber running down his chubby chin. “Um, excuse me?” Bob walked to the rear of the basement and shook the slumbering man’s shoulder. “Chester? CHESTER??”
“HUH???” The portly man jerked awake and wiped his chin. “Oh … ugh, s-sorry.”
“Rough night?” Lew asked.
“Yeah, dude, Amy sent me to the store four times with cravings. After midnight. Four fucking times, man. And she was such a fucking bitch about it, too — three of the times she slapped me because I either took too long or she didn’t like what I brought back.”
Monte shook his head. “I feel for ya, bro. They get so bitchy when they’re pregnant.”
“Bitchy isn’t even the word for it,” Isabella sniffed. “And it would be one thing if it was OUR kids they were pregnant with; but we have to put up with all their shit and they aren’t even our fucking kids. You know?”
“Yeah, no shit.” Chester sighed. “Last night, she drags me out of bed because she wanted Chalmers Butternut Ice Cream, which is almost impossible to find. I was able to track down a gallon at a store over in Danville, and got home in less than an hour. What did I get in return? A thank-you? Of course not. I got the shit slapped out of me for taking too long — and then as soon as I get back to sleep, she wakes me up again; this time she has a craving for rotisserie chicken. Where the hell can you find rotisserie chicken at 3 in the goddamn morning? Well, I lucked out and they had some in the glass thing at Walmart — but then Miss Princess said it was too dry and slapped me again. I was sent out twice more, once for sugar-free orange juice and then for bran muffins. She was happy with the OJ, and that’s the one time she didn’t hit me. But I still didn’t get a thank-you. So, yeah, that was my fucking night, bro. I may have gotten two hours of sleep. Maybe.”
“Ugh, I’m dreading my mistress getting pregnant, and dealing with all that again.” Isabella shuddered. “She had me corking her again last night while she slept, so I’m pretty tired myself.”
“Me too,” Chisain said. “Ugh. I stay tired.”
“Another all-nighter cleaning?” Carlton asked.
“Oh, yeah, that’s pretty much every night these days. My master keeps taking on new clients and expanding my hours — and then, I get whipped if the house isn’t clean enough, because if there’s one thing Jenny hates it’s a dirty house. And there are always a bunch of women tramping in and out of the house, with orgies in every room. I couldn’t keep up with it even if I wasn’t working 150-hour weeks!”
Bob crossed his arms. “Man, sounds like you do have quite the full plate.”
“Yeah, WTF, I can’t do it all!” Chisain threw up his hands. “It’s, like, literally impossible. But they don’t care. I’ll work 48 straight hours with no sleep and then have to come home and pick up their messes, and then he signs up another client and sends me right back out again. I try not to show how tired I am because if he sees me dragging ass, he makes me take 5-6 of those fucking caffeine pills — the dosage is supposed to only be one! Those damn pills give me the worst headaches, and they make my face break out! But, like my master always says, ‘a $5 box of caffeine pills is worth it if you can get three straight days of free work out of a slave.’ My master’s running me into the ground, though, WTF!”
Bob nodded. “I feel for you. They do tend to exploit us — but that’s why we’re here, right? We serve that purpose in their lives, which gives them a reason to let us stay around.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I know.” Chisain’s shoulders slumped. “It sucks, though.”
“So, how have you been dealing with your masters calling you Shit-Stain?”
Chisain gritted his teeth. “A little better, I guess. I mean, it still bothers me, Bob, and I know I need to work on that, because like you said last week, I’m a shit-stain on the underwear of humanity. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and it’s true. From the time I was born, I was meant to be treated like shit. I was raised in a femdom ******, so all I know is being treated like shit. So, if the world was a pair of tightie-whities, then, yeah, I’d be the shit-stain. I guess it makes sense that fate would make that be my name, you know?”
“That’s an interesting concept you bring up, Shit-Stain — fate,” Bob said. “As cuckolds, fate isn’t exactly on our side, is it?”
The group members chuckled.
“I mean, look around the room; I’d say Mother Nature definitely gave us the short end of the stick.” Bob glanced at the YMCA basement stairs leading up to the basketball court, where the squeaks of sneakers on hardwood and masculine grunts signified an intense game upstairs. “I wish I could be tall, athletic and handsome like my master. I wish I had a huge dick like him, and could have sex with Debra and give her orgasms, and then have her cuddle in my arms afterward. But I don’t have a huge dick — according to Deb, I’ve got a ‘birth defect’ that deserves to be locked in a cage. I’m not tall and handsome. I am who I am: An ugly, pathetic, piece-of-shit loser. It’s fate.”
“You ever wonder what it must be like?” Isabella sighed. “You know, to have a big dick, and to just KNOW that women want you and lust after you? To see a woman on the bed below you with her legs spread begging you to fuck her? I mean … can you even imagine how what that must feel like? To not be so self-conscious all the damn time? Whenever I get undressed in front of a woman, they laugh at me. Every time. And that was even before my cage.”
“OMG, Carmen literally fell on the floor laughing the first time she saw me naked,” Marco said. “I’ll never forget what she said after she caught her breath: ‘What do you suggest I do with THAT ugly little thing?’ Those words are, like, etched into my memory: ‘What do you suggest I do with THAT ugly little thing?’ Then, she took a picture of it and sent it to her friends.”
Monte winced. “Aw, dude, that’s cold. I guess by then you were probably already hooked, huh?”
“Oh, yeah, I was hooked from the moment I met her.”
“Me, too.” Monte smiled up at Marco from his spot on the floor. “Janet had me paying her rent within a week of us meeting. Next thing I knew, my entire checks were being direct-deposited into her account and I’ve had to ask for money ever since.”
“OMG, isn’t that so fucking embarrassing — having to ask your wife for money?” Marco shook his head. “I mean, I earn all the goddamn money, but, like with you, the whole fucking paycheck goes straight into her account. I have a debit card, but if I want to spend five bucks on something for myself, it’s like the end of the world. She can blow $700 in one night in some expensive nightclub buying drinks for her macho assholes, no problem — but let me ask to get a hamburger once in a while and she gives me major shit.”
“Yeah, bro, it fucking sucks.” Chisain leaned back in his chair and sighed. “What are you gonna do? I guess that’s why we’re all here.”
“You said it, Shit-Stain.” Bob clasped his hands.
Chisain frowned. “Ugh, could you please not call me that? Can I have one place where I don’t get called ‘Shit-Stain?’”
“No, Shit-Stain, actually you can’t.” Bob set his jaw. “We’re going to get you to embrace that name if it’s the last thing we do. And as I point out in the book, the only way to do that is to stop running from it. Got it — Shit-Stain?”
Chisain bit his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, alright, already.”
Bob held up his hand. “Okay, group, we only have so much time, so let’s get started with our exercise. Tonight, we’re going to talk about rules. The rules that guide our lives. Last time, I asked all of you to think of one rule that your masters have imposed that you maybe think is unfair or unreasonable. Have you all done your homework?”
Everyone nodded. “Okay, then,” Bob said. “Monte, why don’t you get started?”
“Okay. Well, I mean, I haven’t had a proper orgasm in eight years, and Tom told me unless some miracle happens, I’ll probably never be allowed one for as long as I live, unless it’s from his gay brother cornholing me. That’s an unfair rule if ever there was one — I don’t even have autonomy over my own body, man.”
Bob scoffed. “Oh, now THAT’s a little out of line, don’t you think? Body autonomy? For a gap-toothed, ugly piece of shit like you, Monte? Are you starting to get a high opinion of yourself or something? I thought you said you’d accepted that you’re a loser piece of shit?”
“Well, yeah, I have accepted that, but—”
“Have you not given yourself over to your masters? Body and soul?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“But nothing, Monte. You think a cuckold slave who’s sitting on the floor because he’s not allowed to sit on furniture should have a say over the body that belongs to his masters? You have no say over your body or your soul. Am I right or wrong?”
Monte sighed. “Yeah … you’re right.”
“Look, guys, I get it.” Bob made eye-contact with each of his compatriots as he walked around the room. “These rules are our masters impose on us are tough. That’s why we need our own rules. For every rule we don’t like, we need to come up with a counter-rule. That’s tonight’s exercise — we’re going to figure out which counter-rules will make the rules we have to live by easier to deal with. So, let’s take Monte’s rule that he’s not allowed to ever have an orgasm. That’s pretty unfair, wouldn’t you all say?”
Every head nodded.
“So, let’s replace that with a fairer rule. Our new rule for Monte will be that he’s allowed to cum whenever he wants — but he chooses not to because he’s a dedicated slave. Because, at the end of the day, that’s the truth. Monte, are you free to leave your marriage anytime you want? Could you file for divorce?”
“Well … yeah. I mean, I don’t want to, but I could.”
“Exactly my point,” Bob said. “Think about it: None of us is forced to stay in these marriages. We might end up getting fucked in alimony, or have to pay child support for kids that aren’t ours, but we could at least live with dignity — if we wanted to. But we don’t want to live with dignity, do we?”
There was an uncomfortable rustling among the participants, along with a few muttered “no’s.”
“And why is that? Why don’t we want to live with dignity?” Bob looked around. “Anyone?”
Carlton raised his hand, flashing his pink fingernail polish.
Bob tilted his head. “Yes, Foo-Foo? Tell the group: Why don’t you want to live with dignity?”
“Um, because I’m a little sissy who doesn’t deserve any better?”
“Exactly.” Bob smiled. “We’re all loser pieces of shit, which is precisely why we choose this degradation for ourselves. Nobody’s forcing this on us. In other words, these so-called rules that are imposed on us are really imposed by ourselves, because deep down, we all know that we’re loser pieces of shit. So, in our minds, then, we need to replace the old rules with new ones that better reflect reality. The rule isn’t that Monte doesn’t get to cum for the rest of his life. The rule is that he can cum whenever the hell he wants to; he can jack off 10 times a night if that makes him happy. But he chooses to stay celibate, because he’s a loser piece of shit who knows he’s inferior to his masters, and it makes him happy to sacrifice for them and be celibate. So, the rule is: He can cum whenever he wants. He just chooses not to. See how that works?”
Monte nodded. “Yeah, you sort of flip it on its ear.”
“Exactly. Rather than these rules being someone else’s fault, this way we can take responsibility. Okay, Lew, you want to go next? What rule really bothers you?”
“Well, there are a few, actually. I hate the rule where I always have to wear this fucking butt-plug. I’m caged, too, and I’d obviously like to cum more often, so I’m gonna adopt Monte’s rule for myself. Is that allowed?”
“Sure, you can adopt any of these rules that apply to your personal situation,” Bob said. “Is that the rule you hate the most? Not cumming?”
“No, I think the one that’s even worse than that is never getting to look at Caitlyn naked.”
“I see.” Bob nodded. “Now, let’s apply the same logic as we did to Monte’s situation: You do realize, Lew, that you could pop in on your wife in her bedroom or in the shower any time you wanted to and see her naked, right?”
Lew scoffed. “Yeah, if I want to go on a starvation diet for a month! Are you crazy?”
“Now, remember what we just talked about with Monte, Lew: your wife has no real power over you. You realize that you could walk away from your marriage any time you wanted to, right?”
“No, I can’t! I wish I could, but I can’t. That’s where I disagree with you, Bob. It’s like Caitlyn and me been joined together since we were born. Ever since we were little kids, she’s been hitting me, and spitting on me and doing mean things to me. How can I walk away from that? I mean, you can say it’s possible, and that’s all good and well … but mental bonds are every bit as strong as steel bars. Even more so. At least if you try hard enough, you can sometimes break out of steel bars.”
“And you can break out of your mental bond as well, Lew.” Bob sighed. “I think the problem is, you’re fighting the wrong battle. You’re looking at it as a struggle between your natural desire to be free and your upbringing, which you think is making you stay with your wife, even though she’s mean to you. The way you need to start looking at it, Lew, is that your natural desire is to be treated like a scrawny little bitch. Because that’s what you are, whether you like it or not — a scrawny little faggot-ass bitch.”
“I know, I know … but I really DO wish I could be free, Bob. I don’t like this.” Lew started sobbing. “All my life, all I ever wanted was for Caitlyn to love me, and she’s always been mean. And I’ve always wished it could be different. I can’t stop myself from wishing, Bob. I’m sorry.”
“Now, Lew, remember what the book says: ‘Cuckolds and wishes are—’”
“‘—fragile like dishes,’ I know, I know.” Lew wiped his eyes. “WTF, man. This is hard, you know? I just want her to love me.”
“It’s hard for all of us, bro,” Carlton said.
“But, Lew, you’re wasting your time wishing your mistress would love you,” Bob said. “She doesn’t love you. You said it yourself — your whole life, all she’s ever done is hurt you. That’s because she lives in reality, Lew. She knows you’re a scrawny little bitch. The question is: do you live in reality?”
“I … I … yeah.” Lew shuffled his feet. “I know. I’m a scrawny little bitch.”
Bob squinted. “Chester! Hey, Shit-Stain — wake him up.”
Chisain nudged his portly fellow cuck in the ribs. Chester sat up straight. “Uh, sorry, did I miss something?”
“Yes, it’s your turn. What rule do you hate the most?”
“Um, er .. rule? I … I …”
Before the still-sleepy cuckold could answer, an irate voice trumpeted down the stairwell: “LET’S GO, FAGGOT, TELL YOUR LITTLE QUEER FRIENDS GOOD-BYE AND LET’S GET A MOVE ON!”
Bob jumped and blinked at his companions. “Gotta run, guys! Let’s pick this back up next week!”
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