The 12-Step Cuckold Program, Part 5
“The 12-Step Cuckold Program,” Part 5
by c.w. cobblestone
Bob shifted from foot to foot as he tugged at the seat of his pants.
“Sorry, guys, Deb had me coat my butt plug with Ben Gay today because I forgot to record a show she wanted to watch. So, bear with me — I’m a little tender.” Bob forced a smile. “Although it looks like I’m not the only one being punished. I see the no-furniture rule is still in place, Monte. I can try to find a pillow or something if that floor’s too hard.”
“No, thanks, I’m good,” Monte replied.
Bob nodded. “And, Lew, why are you wearing underwear on your head, my friend? What happened?”
The skinny cuck turned red beneath the blue drawers. “Uh, Caitlyn had a guy over last night, and instead of sending me to the car like she usually does, she told me to stay and hand-wash four huge bags of laundry this asshole had in his truck. She wanted it all done by the time they were done in the bedroom, but there was a ton of it, and there was no way I could get it all by hand. So, she yelled at me and slapped me around, you know, showing off for this guy — and then she took a pair of his dirty underwear and put it on my head. She said I have to keep ‘em on until Friday.”
Chester winced. “Ugh, sorry, bro. That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah, it’s a fucking nightmare, man. People keep laughing at me.”
Chisain shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side. At least it’s kind of like a mask, so it hides your identity.”
Lew threw up his hands. “I have to go to fucking work like this, man! Everyone knows who I am!”
“Oh … sorry,” Chisain said.
“Dude, they let you work with drawers on your head?” Carlton furrowed his brow. “Where the hell do you work?”
“I’m an engineer. They put me in an office by myself.”
Bob pulled at the seat of his pants and squirmed. “What reason did you give your boss for wearing underwear on your head?”
“Oh, everyone at work knows I’m Caitlyn’s slave. She made that obvious at the first office holiday party we went to years ago right after we got married.” Lew peered out through the underwear’s leg holes. “My boss fucked her that night, and a whole bunch of times after that. Half the office has fucked her.”
“Wow, that’s a great situation, you’re in.” Bob smiled.
“Huh?” Carlton raised his eyebrows. “How the hell is that a great situation? Sounds pretty fucked up if you ask me.”
“No, it’s perfect,” Bob said. “Once again, you’re thinking of this the wrong way, young Foo-Foo. You see, it’s not always possible for us to be ‘out’ because of our jobs or other reasons, but that’s what we should all be striving for. It’s best if we can maintain a true 24/7 lifestyle that includes being a public slave. It makes navigating everyday life a lot easier. Lew’s situation is a good example, where his boss understands that sometimes his mistress is going to impose embarrassing punishments.”
“Embarrassing is right,” Lew muttered from beneath the dingy underwear. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”
“Has anyone else been outed like Lew, where the whole world knows you’re a cuckold?” Bob asked. Marco was the only group member not to raise his hand.
Bob addressed the lone wolf. “So, why is your cuckold status kept a secret, Marco?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s a secret, exactly. All Carmen’s friends know. But she likes to keep it on the down-low when it comes to work because she doesn’t want to jeopardize my income since she says that’s the only thing I’m really good for. I’m in sales and that’s all about image. She’s afraid I’d get fired if I get caught doing something too crazy, so, luckily I don’t have to do embarrassing things out in public like wearing some guy’s underwear on my head.”
Carlton chuckled. “Yeah, Lew, no offense, dude, but you look pretty fucking ridiculous.”
“Who you calling ridiculous, Foo-Foo?” Lew frowned through the leg holes. “At least I’m not a little sissy in a flouncy dress.”
Isabella glowered at Lew. “And what’s wrong with being a sissy in a flouncy dress?”
Carlton jumped to his feet, making his ruffles bounce. “Yeah, motherfucker, keep running your mouth and I’ll rip them underwear off your head and shove ‘em up your ass.”
Chisain scoffed. “Boy, Foo-Foo, for a little sissy, you sure do want to fight all the time.”
“FUCK YOU, SHIT-STAIN, I’LL KICK YOUR ASS, TOO!” Carlton balled his fists.
“Dang, and I thought I was the one cranky from all those caffeine pills.” Chisain held up his hands. “Chill, dude. Don’t get your panties all in a bunch.”
Bob nodded. “Shit-Stain’s right, Foo-Foo. You can’t keep threatening to kick people’s asses every time you disagree. Now, you’re a welcome member of this group, and we want you to keep attending these meetings and hopefully continue your growth because you’ve come so far already … but you’ve got to watch that temper of yours. Okay?”
Carleton sat back down. “Sorry … I’ve been kind of cranky lately. I had a bit of remission, and I’ve been in a bad mood ever since.”
“Remission?” Chester cocked his head. “What kind of remission?”
“Well, I had been doing good … you, know, with the peeing thing. Every time Terrance called me to the tub I was able to remind myself that I was a little sissy who deserved to be pissed on … and, you know, that his pee was like sacred wine, since his dick goes inside Angie’s pussy, and her pussy is sacred. I dunno, it was a little game I’d play in my head to cope with it, you know?”
“That’s exactly what we should be doing — playing that kind of mind games with ourselves is key to finding our Cuckold Salvation. It seems like a sound strategy to think of your master’s pee as sacred because it comes from the dick that goes inside your wife’s sacred vagina.” Bob’s lips formed a straight line. “But you fell off the wagon, eh?”
“Yeah.” Carlton sighed. “I’d gone four straight days without crying. Not once. Every time Terrance pissed on me, I’d shrug, tell myself that I deserved it, and go change clothes. But then … I don’t know, the other night I was kind of feeling good about myself, because Angie had loved this cake I’d made for dessert — she even said thank you! — and she was nice to me the whole night, you know? But then after I went to sleep, I started dreaming that it was raining … and, sure enough, it was Terrance pissing on my head. And, maybe it caught me off guard because I’d been sleeping, but I just couldn’t. Do you know? I tried telling myself that I deserved it … that it was his sacred wine … but it didn’t taste like wine, man — it tasted like piss. Ugh, all over my face … my pillow, and my sheets. So, I laid there in my wet bed crying all night. It’s like I was letting it all out because I hadn’t cried the other times. All of that was bottled up inside. I don’t know, it just fucked me up and I haven’t been right ever since.”
“Bro, I’m sorry to hear that.” Chester patted Carlton’s ruffled shoulder. “Hang in there.”
Bob scoffed. “I hate to be a party pooper, Foo-Foo but I’m not gonna coddle you — I’m gonna tell you exactly where you went wrong.”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“Well, you said you were feeling good about yourself. Your mistress loved the cake you made and she even said thank you and was nice to you that night. So, you were feeling good about yourself. Do you see the problem, Foo-Foo?”
Carlton hung his head. “Yeah. I shouldn’t feel good about myself.”
“Exactly. Why should you? You’re a little sissy faggot whose wife is fucking another man. That’s nothing to feel good about, Foo-Foo. So, she liked your goddamn cake and felt like being nice to her sissy for one night. Do you think that makes you special or something? Well, I hate to break it to you, Foo-Foo, but you’re not special — you’re a little sissy faggot who gets pissed on 10 times a day by the man who stole your wife. And you put up with it because you’re too much of a wimp to stop it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself — and proud to be a little sissy faggot all at the same time. Remember one of the mantras in the book: ‘I’m proud to be a lowdown piece of shit, which means I’ve got nothing to be proud of.’ Why don’t we all repeat that one?”
Each group member droned: “I’m proud to be a lowdown piece of shit, which means I’ve got nothing to be proud of.”
“There you go. Don’t start feeling all proud of yourself if something nice happens to you. You can see the danger right there — what do I say in the book? ‘The higher we fly …’”
“‘… the harder we fall,’” the men finished the quotation from “Rules for Cuckolds.”
“Foo-Foo, you’re an ugly little worm,” Bob explained. “It’s what you are. Stay where you belong. Things go awry when you try to be something you’re not and start feeling good about yourself.”
“I … I know, I’m sorry. This is all new to me.”
“Well, it’s not new to me,” Lew muttered from beneath the underwear covering his face. “I don’t feel good about myself. I know I’m a lowdown, scrawny piece of shit. I’ve known that my whole life. And it still fucking sucks. Do you guys ever get tired of this shit all the goddamn time? You ever think of … you know … um, divorce?”
There was a collective gasp.
“The D-Word????” Isabella jumped to his high-heeled feet. “Dude, are you out of your fucking mind?! A divorce?! Darlene’s the love of my life, man. I can’t even think about divorcing her.”
“Yeah, my stomach hurts whenever I think about Angie not being around,” Carlton said. “That’s the whole reason I’m putting up with all this bullshit in the first place — to stay married to her and NOT get a divorce.”
“That’s why all of us put up with it, bro,” Monte added from his spot on the floor. “You think I enjoy my life? Not cumming for eight fucking years? Never getting any sleep because another man’s babies keep me up crying? Changing shitty diapers while the parents lay around watching TV — and then getting yelled at or smacked for not doing it fast enough? Starvation diets? No sitting on furniture for a goddamn month because I took one break and the little prick had to wait a few minutes for a juice refill? Getting cornholed by your master’s gay brother whenever he’s feeling romantic? Do you think I like any of that shit? It fucking sucks, bro. But we put up with it because we love our wives. We’re devoted. We made a promise to love, honor and cherish them — no matter what. Well, the hard stuff we go through? That’s the ‘no matter what’ part. Nobody said this would be easy.”
“No, it’s not easy,” Bob agreed. “It keeps coming back to accepting who we are. We get into trouble and start having reckless thoughts about divorce whenever we start thinking we deserve better. Well, guess what, guys? We don’t deserve better. Lew, you’ve been Caitlyn’s slave since you were a little kid. You were born to be her slave. Now, you’re getting delusions of grandeur, and think you’re too good to wear her boyfriend’s underwear on your head? Are we getting hoity-toity now?”
“Uh, I … I know, Bob. I’m a scrawny piece of shit who deserves it.”
Bob nodded. “See? That’s the spirit, Lew. We’re all losers who deserve what we get. The sooner we all accept that the better it’s going to be. If I sound like a broken record … well, sometimes you just have to drive the message home, again and again. You’re all dirty, rotten, lowdown, pathetic pieces of shit — so stop feeling good about yourselves. Okay?”
While the group nodded, Bob adjusted the back of his pants and consulted his notebook. “Alright, then, last week we were talking about the rules we live by and how we’re going to start acknowledging these rules differently. We’ve heard from Monte and Lew already, and Chester was going to go next. Chester? Is there a particular rule that bothers you?”
“Well, I mean, my life would be a lot easier if I was allowed to say ‘no’ to Junior and Jaydon, but Amy and Jamal say that word should never leave my mouth when one of their kids wants something.”
“OMG, that was the rule I was gonna use, too,” Isabella interjected. “I have to do whatever Aaliyah and Alecia tell me to do, no matter what. If they tell me to jump off the roof, I can beg them to not make me do that, or if worst comes to worst I can double-check with their parents, and THEY can say no. But I’m not allowed to. OMG, if Darlene or DeAndre ever heard me telling their ********* no to something …”
“I know!” Chester shuddered. “And it’s so ridiculous because sometimes you have to tell a kid no. My master gave me 50 with the cane because Jamal Jr. kept trying to stick his fork into the electric outlet, and I told him he’d get hurt if he did that. Master said my tone was too forceful. WTF.”
“And the spoiled little bastards know we can’t say no to them, either,” Monte added. “Tommy’s 8 and Erin’s 7, and they’re at that age where they’re turning into little smartasses and I have to beg to get them to do anything. And they’re so demanding! The other day, Erin wanted ice cream right before dinner, and I tried to tell her that was against her mom’s rule but she just pointed toward the kitchen with that look on her face she inherited from Jan. So, what else could I do? I went and got the little princess a bowl of ice cream — and, sure enough, Janet comes walking in right when she was sitting there eating it. And who gets bitched out? Me. Erin’s sitting behind her mom poking her tongue out at me while I had to endure Jan’s lecture about not feeding the kids before dinner. Thank goodness she didn’t tell Tom.”
Bob cleared his throat. “Well, guys, I hate to be mean, but as your facilitator, it’s my job to tell you all that you’re all full of shit. You can tell those little pricks no any time you want to. Chester, how old are your masters’ kids?”
“Jamal Jr. is 3 and Jaydon’s 2.”
Bob nodded. “Monte?”
“Um, little Tommy’s, 8, Erin’s 7, Jimmy’s 3; and the twins are six months old.”
“And Isabella?”
“Aaliyah’s 6 and Alecia’s 3.”
“I see.” Bob peered at each cuck. “And, Monte, even though you’re a scrawny little faggot who looks like you couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag, I assume even a wuss like you can kick an 8-year-old kid’s ass?”
“Well … yeah, probably.”
“And, Isabella, even though you’re a girly little sissy, you could physically restrain a 6-year-old girl, correct?”
“Um … sure.”
“And how about you, Chester?” Bob scoffed. “I mean, with those love handles and man-boobs, so I wouldn’t exactly expect you to be an MMA champion — but even your roly-poly, out-of-shape ass could take 3- and 2-year-old kids, even if they ganged up on you. Right?”
“Well, yeah — but then Jamal would, like, literally kill me.”
“But that’s not the point. You’re saying you can’t say no to your master’s kids. Is that true?”
“Well, no, Bob, I guess I could say no to them. And you could technically walk up to a cop and punch him in the nose if you want — if you want to go to jail! And, sure, I can tell the little bastards no some time — and their *** would beat the fuck out of me, to where I couldn’t walk for a month.”
“Listen, Chester, Isabella, all of you — none of you HAS to do any of this. You’re free to leave whenever you want, and you wouldn’t have to put up with your masters or their little prick kids ever again. You choose to stay. So, the rule isn’t that you’re not allowed to say no to these kids — the rule is, you want to raise them the way your masters prefer, and so you choose to tough it out and do the job. It’s all about service to your masters, not what makes life easier for you.”
Chester huffed. “Yeah, well, YOU try having a 3-year-old kid spit his food in your face, like, every single meal. And Jamal and Amy just sit there and crack up. They encourage it! So, he does it, and so does Jaydon. I’m talking just about every meal.”
“Or how about having the little pricks lie on you, just so they can laugh at you when you get in trouble?” Monte shook his head. “Last week, I was put on two days’ starvation because Erin thought it would be funny to tell her mom I broke a vase. The little bitch told Tommy ‘Watch this’ and then purposely knocked the vase on the floor. When Jan asked what happened, the little brat told her ma I’d been in a bad mood and had been ‘slamming stuff around.’ Janet says ‘Let’s see if two days of starvation puts you in a better mood,’ and you should’ve seen the looks on that evil little bitch’s face. After Jan left the room she and Tommy cracked up, and for the next two days they kept rubbing it in whenever they’d eat. ‘Mmmm, this hamburger sure does taste good!’ I mean, they’re rotten little monsters, man.”
“And you choose to put up with it,” Bob said. “Yes, they’re mean to you. Why wouldn’t they be? Generally speaking, kids don’t respect gap-toothed, ugly pieces of shit who have no authority over them. They see how your masters treat you and they treat you the same way: like the pathetic loser you are. But that doesn’t change the fact that you choose to stay. All of you do. So, for Chester and Isabella, the new rule is: You can say no to your masters’ little pricks anytime you want to — you just choose to raise the kids in the way your masters want. Does that make it easier to think of it that way?”
“I guess.” Chester shrugged. “I mean, the kids are gonna be little pricks no matter which way I look at it, so I might as well try to think of it the right way.”
“Me too,” Isabella said. “Aaliyah takes after her ***, so I know I’m in for it when she gets a little older. Alecia’s a little more mellow like her mom, but she’ll do whatever Aaliyah does.”
Bob nodded. “But you choose to put up with it, correct?”
“Yep. That’s the new rule, Bob.”
“Great.” Bob smiled at Chisain. “Your turn. I’m gonna guess what your most-hated rule is.”
“Being called ‘Shit-Stain?’ Yeah.” Chisain scoffed. “I know, I know. I could go down to the Registrar’s Office and change my name anytime I want to … I could be something normal like Robert, Bob or Monte, or Steve. Instead, I choose to keep this name because I’m an ugly piece of shit and a shit stain on the underwear of humanity.”
“Now, you’re talking!” Bob grinned. “It’s so wonderful to see each one of you growing like this, and learning to accept your inferiority. I feel like we’re getting somewhere with these sessions. How about you, Marco? What’s the one rule that bothers you?”
“Well, it’s not really a rule … but … well, I hate to keep harping on the same thing, man, but I sure wish Terrance would stop pissing on me all the time. I don’t understand it. He does it constantly. I mean, I can understand maybe when he first moved in and took over the household … how it must feel pretty empowering to piss all over a little fag like me. But you’d think after a while it would wear off. I know I’m a piece of shit who deserves it — but WTF, I can’t help it. I’m fucking tired of getting pissed on all the time. Like, 5-6 times a fucking day, man.”
“Now, we’ve been through this, Foo-Foo. Your master’s piss—”
“—is like sacred wine, yeah, yeah, I get it, I know. I choose to stay, so the rule isn’t that I HAVE to get pissed on constantly; it’s that I WANT to get pissed on because that’s what makes my master happy.”
“Exactly,” Bob said.
Marco hunched forward in his chair. “What’s your wife do when he’s pissing on you, bro?”
“Oh, she thinks it’s gross, so she stays away, thank goodness,” Foo-Foo said. “I’m glad she doesn’t watch, but it’s fucked up because she blames ME for it. She’ll crinkle up her nose at me and say, ‘You’re so fucking disgusting.’ As if it’s somehow MY fault!”
“But it IS your fault, Foo-Foo.” Bob clicked his pen. “Everything is your fault, remember?”
“Yeah, sorry, I forgot.”
“Okay.” Bob nodded at Marco. “Your turn. What rule bothers you the most?”
“Well, I’d like to have sex with my wife at least once.” Marco made a face. “Carmen says I have to stay a virgin. She says my dick is too small to ever go inside a woman.”
“But at least you’re not caged,” Monte said. “That’s something to be thankful for.”
Marco shrugged. “It’s not because Carmen is nice, that’s for goddamn sure — she just doesn’t care enough to put me in a cage. As long as I keep bringing in the money and stay out of her way, she hardly notices me. It’s like I’m an ATM. There are whole weeks that’ll go by without her saying a word to me the few times when she’s home. I keep the house clean and make sure her car is gassed up, so there’s no reason for her to ever talk to me unless she wants something specific. I’ve found myself not doing things on purpose or doing them wrong to get her to yell at me — so at least I could have some interaction with my wife.”
“Dude, that’s sad,” Monte said.
“Yeah.” Marco sighed. “But I deserve it. My wife wants nothing to do with my tiny little dick.”
“You make good money, correct?” Bob asked.
“Oh, yeah, close to $300,000 a year.”
Bob smiled. “Well, then, you could fly to Vegas and pick up a legal prostitute any time you wanted, correct?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“But nothing, Marco. You’re a virgin not because of your wife’s rule. You’re a virgin because of YOUR rule: You want to stay a virgin to make your wife happy. True or false?”
“Well … true.”
“See? Now, don’t you feel like a pathetic piece of shit? What kind of man chooses to stay in a sexless marriage and remain a virgin while his wife openly fucks other men? Tell me, Marco — what kind of man puts up with that?”
“Um … a pathetic piece of shit?”
“YES!!!” Bob clapped. “I am SO excited at the growth we’re seeing here. This is very inspiring. I think we’re experiencing what I call in the book a—”
But before Bob could sneak in yet another plug for his book, the voice from upstairs roared: “GAME’S OVER!! LET’S GO, QUEER!!”
Bob pulled at the back of his pants. “Gotta run, guys — I don’t want more Ben Gay! Hope to see you all next week!”
The group leader waddled gingerly up the stairs to a chorus of goodbyes from the gaggle of cucks who felt better about themselves after having acknowledged that they were all pieces of shit who had no reason whatsoever to feel good about themselves.
by c.w. cobblestone
Bob shifted from foot to foot as he tugged at the seat of his pants.
“Sorry, guys, Deb had me coat my butt plug with Ben Gay today because I forgot to record a show she wanted to watch. So, bear with me — I’m a little tender.” Bob forced a smile. “Although it looks like I’m not the only one being punished. I see the no-furniture rule is still in place, Monte. I can try to find a pillow or something if that floor’s too hard.”
“No, thanks, I’m good,” Monte replied.
Bob nodded. “And, Lew, why are you wearing underwear on your head, my friend? What happened?”
The skinny cuck turned red beneath the blue drawers. “Uh, Caitlyn had a guy over last night, and instead of sending me to the car like she usually does, she told me to stay and hand-wash four huge bags of laundry this asshole had in his truck. She wanted it all done by the time they were done in the bedroom, but there was a ton of it, and there was no way I could get it all by hand. So, she yelled at me and slapped me around, you know, showing off for this guy — and then she took a pair of his dirty underwear and put it on my head. She said I have to keep ‘em on until Friday.”
Chester winced. “Ugh, sorry, bro. That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah, it’s a fucking nightmare, man. People keep laughing at me.”
Chisain shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side. At least it’s kind of like a mask, so it hides your identity.”
Lew threw up his hands. “I have to go to fucking work like this, man! Everyone knows who I am!”
“Oh … sorry,” Chisain said.
“Dude, they let you work with drawers on your head?” Carlton furrowed his brow. “Where the hell do you work?”
“I’m an engineer. They put me in an office by myself.”
Bob pulled at the seat of his pants and squirmed. “What reason did you give your boss for wearing underwear on your head?”
“Oh, everyone at work knows I’m Caitlyn’s slave. She made that obvious at the first office holiday party we went to years ago right after we got married.” Lew peered out through the underwear’s leg holes. “My boss fucked her that night, and a whole bunch of times after that. Half the office has fucked her.”
“Wow, that’s a great situation, you’re in.” Bob smiled.
“Huh?” Carlton raised his eyebrows. “How the hell is that a great situation? Sounds pretty fucked up if you ask me.”
“No, it’s perfect,” Bob said. “Once again, you’re thinking of this the wrong way, young Foo-Foo. You see, it’s not always possible for us to be ‘out’ because of our jobs or other reasons, but that’s what we should all be striving for. It’s best if we can maintain a true 24/7 lifestyle that includes being a public slave. It makes navigating everyday life a lot easier. Lew’s situation is a good example, where his boss understands that sometimes his mistress is going to impose embarrassing punishments.”
“Embarrassing is right,” Lew muttered from beneath the dingy underwear. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”
“Has anyone else been outed like Lew, where the whole world knows you’re a cuckold?” Bob asked. Marco was the only group member not to raise his hand.
Bob addressed the lone wolf. “So, why is your cuckold status kept a secret, Marco?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s a secret, exactly. All Carmen’s friends know. But she likes to keep it on the down-low when it comes to work because she doesn’t want to jeopardize my income since she says that’s the only thing I’m really good for. I’m in sales and that’s all about image. She’s afraid I’d get fired if I get caught doing something too crazy, so, luckily I don’t have to do embarrassing things out in public like wearing some guy’s underwear on my head.”
Carlton chuckled. “Yeah, Lew, no offense, dude, but you look pretty fucking ridiculous.”
“Who you calling ridiculous, Foo-Foo?” Lew frowned through the leg holes. “At least I’m not a little sissy in a flouncy dress.”
Isabella glowered at Lew. “And what’s wrong with being a sissy in a flouncy dress?”
Carlton jumped to his feet, making his ruffles bounce. “Yeah, motherfucker, keep running your mouth and I’ll rip them underwear off your head and shove ‘em up your ass.”
Chisain scoffed. “Boy, Foo-Foo, for a little sissy, you sure do want to fight all the time.”
“FUCK YOU, SHIT-STAIN, I’LL KICK YOUR ASS, TOO!” Carlton balled his fists.
“Dang, and I thought I was the one cranky from all those caffeine pills.” Chisain held up his hands. “Chill, dude. Don’t get your panties all in a bunch.”
Bob nodded. “Shit-Stain’s right, Foo-Foo. You can’t keep threatening to kick people’s asses every time you disagree. Now, you’re a welcome member of this group, and we want you to keep attending these meetings and hopefully continue your growth because you’ve come so far already … but you’ve got to watch that temper of yours. Okay?”
Carleton sat back down. “Sorry … I’ve been kind of cranky lately. I had a bit of remission, and I’ve been in a bad mood ever since.”
“Remission?” Chester cocked his head. “What kind of remission?”
“Well, I had been doing good … you, know, with the peeing thing. Every time Terrance called me to the tub I was able to remind myself that I was a little sissy who deserved to be pissed on … and, you know, that his pee was like sacred wine, since his dick goes inside Angie’s pussy, and her pussy is sacred. I dunno, it was a little game I’d play in my head to cope with it, you know?”
“That’s exactly what we should be doing — playing that kind of mind games with ourselves is key to finding our Cuckold Salvation. It seems like a sound strategy to think of your master’s pee as sacred because it comes from the dick that goes inside your wife’s sacred vagina.” Bob’s lips formed a straight line. “But you fell off the wagon, eh?”
“Yeah.” Carlton sighed. “I’d gone four straight days without crying. Not once. Every time Terrance pissed on me, I’d shrug, tell myself that I deserved it, and go change clothes. But then … I don’t know, the other night I was kind of feeling good about myself, because Angie had loved this cake I’d made for dessert — she even said thank you! — and she was nice to me the whole night, you know? But then after I went to sleep, I started dreaming that it was raining … and, sure enough, it was Terrance pissing on my head. And, maybe it caught me off guard because I’d been sleeping, but I just couldn’t. Do you know? I tried telling myself that I deserved it … that it was his sacred wine … but it didn’t taste like wine, man — it tasted like piss. Ugh, all over my face … my pillow, and my sheets. So, I laid there in my wet bed crying all night. It’s like I was letting it all out because I hadn’t cried the other times. All of that was bottled up inside. I don’t know, it just fucked me up and I haven’t been right ever since.”
“Bro, I’m sorry to hear that.” Chester patted Carlton’s ruffled shoulder. “Hang in there.”
Bob scoffed. “I hate to be a party pooper, Foo-Foo but I’m not gonna coddle you — I’m gonna tell you exactly where you went wrong.”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“Well, you said you were feeling good about yourself. Your mistress loved the cake you made and she even said thank you and was nice to you that night. So, you were feeling good about yourself. Do you see the problem, Foo-Foo?”
Carlton hung his head. “Yeah. I shouldn’t feel good about myself.”
“Exactly. Why should you? You’re a little sissy faggot whose wife is fucking another man. That’s nothing to feel good about, Foo-Foo. So, she liked your goddamn cake and felt like being nice to her sissy for one night. Do you think that makes you special or something? Well, I hate to break it to you, Foo-Foo, but you’re not special — you’re a little sissy faggot who gets pissed on 10 times a day by the man who stole your wife. And you put up with it because you’re too much of a wimp to stop it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself — and proud to be a little sissy faggot all at the same time. Remember one of the mantras in the book: ‘I’m proud to be a lowdown piece of shit, which means I’ve got nothing to be proud of.’ Why don’t we all repeat that one?”
Each group member droned: “I’m proud to be a lowdown piece of shit, which means I’ve got nothing to be proud of.”
“There you go. Don’t start feeling all proud of yourself if something nice happens to you. You can see the danger right there — what do I say in the book? ‘The higher we fly …’”
“‘… the harder we fall,’” the men finished the quotation from “Rules for Cuckolds.”
“Foo-Foo, you’re an ugly little worm,” Bob explained. “It’s what you are. Stay where you belong. Things go awry when you try to be something you’re not and start feeling good about yourself.”
“I … I know, I’m sorry. This is all new to me.”
“Well, it’s not new to me,” Lew muttered from beneath the underwear covering his face. “I don’t feel good about myself. I know I’m a lowdown, scrawny piece of shit. I’ve known that my whole life. And it still fucking sucks. Do you guys ever get tired of this shit all the goddamn time? You ever think of … you know … um, divorce?”
There was a collective gasp.
“The D-Word????” Isabella jumped to his high-heeled feet. “Dude, are you out of your fucking mind?! A divorce?! Darlene’s the love of my life, man. I can’t even think about divorcing her.”
“Yeah, my stomach hurts whenever I think about Angie not being around,” Carlton said. “That’s the whole reason I’m putting up with all this bullshit in the first place — to stay married to her and NOT get a divorce.”
“That’s why all of us put up with it, bro,” Monte added from his spot on the floor. “You think I enjoy my life? Not cumming for eight fucking years? Never getting any sleep because another man’s babies keep me up crying? Changing shitty diapers while the parents lay around watching TV — and then getting yelled at or smacked for not doing it fast enough? Starvation diets? No sitting on furniture for a goddamn month because I took one break and the little prick had to wait a few minutes for a juice refill? Getting cornholed by your master’s gay brother whenever he’s feeling romantic? Do you think I like any of that shit? It fucking sucks, bro. But we put up with it because we love our wives. We’re devoted. We made a promise to love, honor and cherish them — no matter what. Well, the hard stuff we go through? That’s the ‘no matter what’ part. Nobody said this would be easy.”
“No, it’s not easy,” Bob agreed. “It keeps coming back to accepting who we are. We get into trouble and start having reckless thoughts about divorce whenever we start thinking we deserve better. Well, guess what, guys? We don’t deserve better. Lew, you’ve been Caitlyn’s slave since you were a little kid. You were born to be her slave. Now, you’re getting delusions of grandeur, and think you’re too good to wear her boyfriend’s underwear on your head? Are we getting hoity-toity now?”
“Uh, I … I know, Bob. I’m a scrawny piece of shit who deserves it.”
Bob nodded. “See? That’s the spirit, Lew. We’re all losers who deserve what we get. The sooner we all accept that the better it’s going to be. If I sound like a broken record … well, sometimes you just have to drive the message home, again and again. You’re all dirty, rotten, lowdown, pathetic pieces of shit — so stop feeling good about yourselves. Okay?”
While the group nodded, Bob adjusted the back of his pants and consulted his notebook. “Alright, then, last week we were talking about the rules we live by and how we’re going to start acknowledging these rules differently. We’ve heard from Monte and Lew already, and Chester was going to go next. Chester? Is there a particular rule that bothers you?”
“Well, I mean, my life would be a lot easier if I was allowed to say ‘no’ to Junior and Jaydon, but Amy and Jamal say that word should never leave my mouth when one of their kids wants something.”
“OMG, that was the rule I was gonna use, too,” Isabella interjected. “I have to do whatever Aaliyah and Alecia tell me to do, no matter what. If they tell me to jump off the roof, I can beg them to not make me do that, or if worst comes to worst I can double-check with their parents, and THEY can say no. But I’m not allowed to. OMG, if Darlene or DeAndre ever heard me telling their ********* no to something …”
“I know!” Chester shuddered. “And it’s so ridiculous because sometimes you have to tell a kid no. My master gave me 50 with the cane because Jamal Jr. kept trying to stick his fork into the electric outlet, and I told him he’d get hurt if he did that. Master said my tone was too forceful. WTF.”
“And the spoiled little bastards know we can’t say no to them, either,” Monte added. “Tommy’s 8 and Erin’s 7, and they’re at that age where they’re turning into little smartasses and I have to beg to get them to do anything. And they’re so demanding! The other day, Erin wanted ice cream right before dinner, and I tried to tell her that was against her mom’s rule but she just pointed toward the kitchen with that look on her face she inherited from Jan. So, what else could I do? I went and got the little princess a bowl of ice cream — and, sure enough, Janet comes walking in right when she was sitting there eating it. And who gets bitched out? Me. Erin’s sitting behind her mom poking her tongue out at me while I had to endure Jan’s lecture about not feeding the kids before dinner. Thank goodness she didn’t tell Tom.”
Bob cleared his throat. “Well, guys, I hate to be mean, but as your facilitator, it’s my job to tell you all that you’re all full of shit. You can tell those little pricks no any time you want to. Chester, how old are your masters’ kids?”
“Jamal Jr. is 3 and Jaydon’s 2.”
Bob nodded. “Monte?”
“Um, little Tommy’s, 8, Erin’s 7, Jimmy’s 3; and the twins are six months old.”
“And Isabella?”
“Aaliyah’s 6 and Alecia’s 3.”
“I see.” Bob peered at each cuck. “And, Monte, even though you’re a scrawny little faggot who looks like you couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag, I assume even a wuss like you can kick an 8-year-old kid’s ass?”
“Well … yeah, probably.”
“And, Isabella, even though you’re a girly little sissy, you could physically restrain a 6-year-old girl, correct?”
“Um … sure.”
“And how about you, Chester?” Bob scoffed. “I mean, with those love handles and man-boobs, so I wouldn’t exactly expect you to be an MMA champion — but even your roly-poly, out-of-shape ass could take 3- and 2-year-old kids, even if they ganged up on you. Right?”
“Well, yeah — but then Jamal would, like, literally kill me.”
“But that’s not the point. You’re saying you can’t say no to your master’s kids. Is that true?”
“Well, no, Bob, I guess I could say no to them. And you could technically walk up to a cop and punch him in the nose if you want — if you want to go to jail! And, sure, I can tell the little bastards no some time — and their *** would beat the fuck out of me, to where I couldn’t walk for a month.”
“Listen, Chester, Isabella, all of you — none of you HAS to do any of this. You’re free to leave whenever you want, and you wouldn’t have to put up with your masters or their little prick kids ever again. You choose to stay. So, the rule isn’t that you’re not allowed to say no to these kids — the rule is, you want to raise them the way your masters prefer, and so you choose to tough it out and do the job. It’s all about service to your masters, not what makes life easier for you.”
Chester huffed. “Yeah, well, YOU try having a 3-year-old kid spit his food in your face, like, every single meal. And Jamal and Amy just sit there and crack up. They encourage it! So, he does it, and so does Jaydon. I’m talking just about every meal.”
“Or how about having the little pricks lie on you, just so they can laugh at you when you get in trouble?” Monte shook his head. “Last week, I was put on two days’ starvation because Erin thought it would be funny to tell her mom I broke a vase. The little bitch told Tommy ‘Watch this’ and then purposely knocked the vase on the floor. When Jan asked what happened, the little brat told her ma I’d been in a bad mood and had been ‘slamming stuff around.’ Janet says ‘Let’s see if two days of starvation puts you in a better mood,’ and you should’ve seen the looks on that evil little bitch’s face. After Jan left the room she and Tommy cracked up, and for the next two days they kept rubbing it in whenever they’d eat. ‘Mmmm, this hamburger sure does taste good!’ I mean, they’re rotten little monsters, man.”
“And you choose to put up with it,” Bob said. “Yes, they’re mean to you. Why wouldn’t they be? Generally speaking, kids don’t respect gap-toothed, ugly pieces of shit who have no authority over them. They see how your masters treat you and they treat you the same way: like the pathetic loser you are. But that doesn’t change the fact that you choose to stay. All of you do. So, for Chester and Isabella, the new rule is: You can say no to your masters’ little pricks anytime you want to — you just choose to raise the kids in the way your masters want. Does that make it easier to think of it that way?”
“I guess.” Chester shrugged. “I mean, the kids are gonna be little pricks no matter which way I look at it, so I might as well try to think of it the right way.”
“Me too,” Isabella said. “Aaliyah takes after her ***, so I know I’m in for it when she gets a little older. Alecia’s a little more mellow like her mom, but she’ll do whatever Aaliyah does.”
Bob nodded. “But you choose to put up with it, correct?”
“Yep. That’s the new rule, Bob.”
“Great.” Bob smiled at Chisain. “Your turn. I’m gonna guess what your most-hated rule is.”
“Being called ‘Shit-Stain?’ Yeah.” Chisain scoffed. “I know, I know. I could go down to the Registrar’s Office and change my name anytime I want to … I could be something normal like Robert, Bob or Monte, or Steve. Instead, I choose to keep this name because I’m an ugly piece of shit and a shit stain on the underwear of humanity.”
“Now, you’re talking!” Bob grinned. “It’s so wonderful to see each one of you growing like this, and learning to accept your inferiority. I feel like we’re getting somewhere with these sessions. How about you, Marco? What’s the one rule that bothers you?”
“Well, it’s not really a rule … but … well, I hate to keep harping on the same thing, man, but I sure wish Terrance would stop pissing on me all the time. I don’t understand it. He does it constantly. I mean, I can understand maybe when he first moved in and took over the household … how it must feel pretty empowering to piss all over a little fag like me. But you’d think after a while it would wear off. I know I’m a piece of shit who deserves it — but WTF, I can’t help it. I’m fucking tired of getting pissed on all the time. Like, 5-6 times a fucking day, man.”
“Now, we’ve been through this, Foo-Foo. Your master’s piss—”
“—is like sacred wine, yeah, yeah, I get it, I know. I choose to stay, so the rule isn’t that I HAVE to get pissed on constantly; it’s that I WANT to get pissed on because that’s what makes my master happy.”
“Exactly,” Bob said.
Marco hunched forward in his chair. “What’s your wife do when he’s pissing on you, bro?”
“Oh, she thinks it’s gross, so she stays away, thank goodness,” Foo-Foo said. “I’m glad she doesn’t watch, but it’s fucked up because she blames ME for it. She’ll crinkle up her nose at me and say, ‘You’re so fucking disgusting.’ As if it’s somehow MY fault!”
“But it IS your fault, Foo-Foo.” Bob clicked his pen. “Everything is your fault, remember?”
“Yeah, sorry, I forgot.”
“Okay.” Bob nodded at Marco. “Your turn. What rule bothers you the most?”
“Well, I’d like to have sex with my wife at least once.” Marco made a face. “Carmen says I have to stay a virgin. She says my dick is too small to ever go inside a woman.”
“But at least you’re not caged,” Monte said. “That’s something to be thankful for.”
Marco shrugged. “It’s not because Carmen is nice, that’s for goddamn sure — she just doesn’t care enough to put me in a cage. As long as I keep bringing in the money and stay out of her way, she hardly notices me. It’s like I’m an ATM. There are whole weeks that’ll go by without her saying a word to me the few times when she’s home. I keep the house clean and make sure her car is gassed up, so there’s no reason for her to ever talk to me unless she wants something specific. I’ve found myself not doing things on purpose or doing them wrong to get her to yell at me — so at least I could have some interaction with my wife.”
“Dude, that’s sad,” Monte said.
“Yeah.” Marco sighed. “But I deserve it. My wife wants nothing to do with my tiny little dick.”
“You make good money, correct?” Bob asked.
“Oh, yeah, close to $300,000 a year.”
Bob smiled. “Well, then, you could fly to Vegas and pick up a legal prostitute any time you wanted, correct?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“But nothing, Marco. You’re a virgin not because of your wife’s rule. You’re a virgin because of YOUR rule: You want to stay a virgin to make your wife happy. True or false?”
“Well … true.”
“See? Now, don’t you feel like a pathetic piece of shit? What kind of man chooses to stay in a sexless marriage and remain a virgin while his wife openly fucks other men? Tell me, Marco — what kind of man puts up with that?”
“Um … a pathetic piece of shit?”
“YES!!!” Bob clapped. “I am SO excited at the growth we’re seeing here. This is very inspiring. I think we’re experiencing what I call in the book a—”
But before Bob could sneak in yet another plug for his book, the voice from upstairs roared: “GAME’S OVER!! LET’S GO, QUEER!!”
Bob pulled at the back of his pants. “Gotta run, guys — I don’t want more Ben Gay! Hope to see you all next week!”
The group leader waddled gingerly up the stairs to a chorus of goodbyes from the gaggle of cucks who felt better about themselves after having acknowledged that they were all pieces of shit who had no reason whatsoever to feel good about themselves.
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