The List 23: It Eyes are for Being Blindfolded

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: Finally, somewhere, the sensation started to fade. It couldn’t last, never did, but it would be there again. She dropped the paddle on the floor, and moved in front of him. She lifted up the bucket again, but this time worked the clamp loose and pulled it out of his nose. “Ugh.” Her face crinkled and she tilted her head back. “Go wash your face, blow your nose, and hurry back. I need to do something about those pretty eyes.”

He stumbled back into the bedroom with beads of water on his hairline and chin. She whistled and motioned him over. He walked over to where she stood and dropped to his knees, scooting the last couple of feet.

She wrapped the elastic band of the sleep mask around his head and centered the black pads over his eyes, wrapped a scarf over the mask, and followed with duct tape that clamped against itself and pulled the cloth down tighter.

“We’re going to play a game now, it’s called Mouth or Ass. I’m going to hold up an object, and you tell me if you want it used on your mouth, or your ass.”

He leaned towards her, and thought the words over carefully. “Am I allowed to change my mind, ma’am?”

Her laugh floated across the room. “Sure, but I think the more important question is if you are allowed to try to change my mind.”

“Am I? Allowed to try to change your mind, ma’am?” He turned his head slightly, trying to find her in the darkness.

She bit her lip, and looked at him. Scenarios bounced back and forth in her mind. Did she want to control him, or let him make the choices? Which was more appealing, to own his body and inflict it, or let him make his own decisions and suffer the consequences? Finally, she shrugged and cleared her throat. “If you ask very, very nicely, I suppose I might change my mind. I might even be persuaded to give you hints, if you ask very nicely.” The middle ground seemed best, she could always make the choice on the fly and pretend it was what she had intended all along.

She plowed on before she could start to second guess herself. “First up. Mouth or ass?”

He shrugged, paused, and then sank to his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“Ooh, on your knees? I like you like that, but I can’t get to your mouth easily. Try another position and ask again.”

He stood back up carefully, then leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “May I please have a hint ma’am?”

“How do you like the taste of hair?”

He grinned, imagining running his tongue along her slit, the short hair teasing his chin and rubbing against his lips. “Mouth please, ma’am.” His head jerked as the hard bristles of the hair brush slid into his mouth.

Her mouth clamped down on his hair, jerking his head back into place and shoving her hairbrush into his mouth. She explored his gullet and violated his mouth, scraping the hard bristles along his tongue and cheek, letting them push against his teeth. She slid it back into his mouth slowly, letting stray hairs and debris fall off the bristles into his mouth, and waited until it just barely… triggered his gag reflex. His throat convulsed and she let the hairbrush fall out of his mouth, grinning down at him. “Were you expecting something else?”

His tongue worked its way in and out of his mouth, with his face making a sour frame around it. “Yes ma’am, may it please try to change your mind?”

“Ooh, I suppose.” She clenched her jaw, watching his expression and holding the laugh deep inside her. Her hand let go of his hair, and she stepped back, then poked his chin with the hairbrush. He jumped and the laugh escaped, and she took another step back. “Well?”

He sank back to his knees, then his hands, then slowly turned in what he hoped was a circle so his face was away from her. “Please ma’am, use the hairbrush on its ass. It deserves to be disciplined and beaten.”

She ran the flat part of the brush along his ass-cheeks, and hummed to herself. “It’s a start, but I’m not quite convinced. Why do you deserve to be disciplined and beaten?”

He felt his thoughts getting fuzzy, the humiliating words rushing to get out of his mouth, fighting his instincts not to say them. “I watch disgusting internet pornography — Ah!” The hairbrush crashed into his already tenderized ass, and he lurched forward.

The hard plastic left a bright red imprint, and her words got cold and flat. “Well, keep convincing me. Or I’ll shove this down your throat until you puke.”

“Ugh, I’m a horrible person.” Splat, pain seared across his body again. “I play with my disgusting cock in the shower.” And again. “I actually get pleasure from jerking off that revolting piece of flesh.” And again.

Each sentence, each confession, ended in searing pain. He debased and humiliated himself, cataloging failures and perceived failures, and she administered pain for each one. The beating went on until he was sobbing, gasping the words out between choking sounds. He confessed to being a whore, of fantasizing about women forcing themselves on him, of jerking himself off while thinking of being chained to a urinal where they pissed on him and he licked his food off a filthy bathroom floor, of cleaning the floor with his tongue, licking up mud and piss and the sexual fluids of strangers. Of begging to be spit and pissed on just to wash the taste out of his mouth. Of the chain being unlocked one day, and just crawling to a corner and starting to lick the floor again.

She kept hitting him with the hairbrush, helping him turn the shame and humiliation into a physical pain he could survive, that would fade. His ass turned pink, then red, then black and blue as blood vessels popped and tissue bruised. She listened to him sink lower and lower for her, wondering how far he would go, loving the sounds of his sobs and words, ready to pull him back up if he needed it.

Eventually he couldn’t speak, and she kept beating him to the rhythm they had established. Finally, when he couldn’t even gasp or cry anymore, she stopped and gently ran her hand down his spine up to his head. She jerked his head up by his hair, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “My god a disgusting animal.”

He moaned and leaned closer to her, and she bit down on his ear playfully. “I can’t believe I let something as disgusting as you near my cunt. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time your head went into the bag.”

Preview: Heads are for being stuffed in a bag. Wasn’t that a Joe Pesci movie?

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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99 Rules and Something About a Bitch?

Quick note: So, this should have gone up Friday, but since you were good, or bad, you got it early. I most certainly did not forget what day it was. No way. 🙂 I did do a little more writing on it though, so there is a little bit of new stuff for Friday.

His skin was hot under her hands. She rubbed his legs some more, sighed, and snuggled against his chest.

He moved his head to get her hair out of his mouth, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight. “That was fun.”

“I know, right?” She enjoyed the sensation of warmth coming from his legs, and closed her eyes. “I enjoyed the bossing you around bit.” She threw it out there cautiously, and listened carefully for the tone of his response.

She felt the slight increase in pressure of his arms, and his cock twitch against the small of her back. “Me too. It was fun, not being in control. I like to take orders from you.”

She slid her back up and down against his cock. “We’ll have to do some more of that then. Why don’t you check the fridge tomorrow morning? In the mean time, I need to get in the shower and get to sleep.”

“You want company?” He let his hands slide off her body as she stood up, and ran his eyes up and back down her body.

She stretched. “This is a washing shower, not a fun shower. You can go after.”

He smiled and nodded, and she padded off to the bathroom.

The next morning he forgot until he was on his way out, and had to run back to check the refrigerator. There was a brightly colored notepad with a magnet on the back, stuck to the white enamel door.

“99 RULES” was written in multi-colored marker across the top, surrounded by girlish hearts and stars. Below that, in her normal, neat, precise script: Rule 1: Send me a picture of your cock at noon today, exactly. I want it hard and dripping pre-cum, but no orgasms.

He jerked his cock in the restroom as quietly as he could, hoping no one came in. When his cock was throbbing and drop of fluid were gathered at the tip, he took a careful picture, frowned, disabled the flash, and took another. He typed the email, attached the picture, and saved the draft. He sat in his cubicle, one eye always on the clock, until he took out the phone, waited for it to flip over to noon, and hit send.

Other rules followed.

Rule 5: You will carry in the groceries with a plug in your ass, one bag at a time.

He had told her it seemed awfully inefficient, launched into his usual talk about how he was the heaviest thing he had to move, and the fewer trips he made the fewer times he had to carry himself…

And she had added, You will then carry the bags back out to the car one at a time, insert a larger plug, and then carry them back in one at a time.

A tingling sensation had traveled from his cock up his spine, and he had silently nodded. He went to go find a butt plug.

Rule 19: You are now an “it.” It will refer to itself as such until told otherwise.

The texts had come throughout the day.

>>How are you?
>>It is okay, ma’am. Work is boring.
>>How was lunch?
>>It got stuck in a meeting ma’am, it is just now leaving.

Each message had come with a little jolt of warmth that traveled between the two of them.

Rule 33: If it is told or asked to perform any sexual act today, it will do so. No matter who requests it, or if they are joking. PS: Try not to get arrested, but really try to get them all off.

He had almost called her at work to ask what she meant, if she had something planned. Had she told someone he worked with, or saw every day on the way to work, to tell him to do something? He imagined being under the receptionist’s desk at work, licking the soles of her shoes as his co-workers filed by, imagined someone following him into the men’s room, and ordering him to…

Of the door to the conference room closing and all eyes turning to him. Of sweet, gray-haired Joan opening her old fashioned, battered brief case and showing him the blindfold, paddle, and leash inside it. Of being stripped, paraded around the room naked and blindfolded while they had their meeting. Of being beaten while they used his, no its, tongue and holes for their pleasure. Of the business being finished, and all eyes on it as it knelt in the middle of the conference room table and jerked off, then licked its filth off the polished surface.

The photos, the video, the blackmail.

Would only women from the office be there, or would men be there too? Would she tell it to have sex with another man? Would it be able to?

Every person he saw became another dominant, another person who could use him for their pleasure, if they only knew. Another person who could have him on his back, legs spread in the air, arms flat on the ground, his entire body their for their enjoyment. Another way for him to serve her by getting them off with his holes, his tongue, his cock.

Its holes, its tongue, its cock, he silently corrected himself.

It took him longer than usual to get home, he had to walk the long way around to avoid the schizophrenic homeless person who ranted on the corner. Last week he had been telling everyone to kiss his ass. It shuddered, and watched carefully.

Rule 46: It will write by hand two-hundred times “Orgasms are a privilege, not a right” and hand them to me the second it comes through the door.

It had spent its lunch hour frantically scribbling across a legal pad, hoping no one would notice it had never left its cubicle.

She had looked it over, taken a red marker from her pocket, and written, “Atrocious penmanship. Barely legible. Redo.”

The next day it had taken the bus, so it could write on the commute, written through lunch again, and carefully shielded the pad during a meeting, meticulously writing out the block letters.

She had looked over his lines, frowned but scribbled “Acceptable. Barely.” and handed them back to him. He noticed her own penmanship was atrocious, but didn’t say anything.

Rule 47: had appeared after he already left for work. It read, It will report every erection, and be punished for them as I decide appropriate.

The first erection had come from reading Rule 47, and he had spent the evening naked and in shackles.

Rule 69: You wish.

Rule 76: It will not drink anything until it has finished the glass of piss I have so thoughtfully provided for it.

He looked longingly at the fresh coffee in the pot, but picked up the glass. She must have set it out last night after he’d gone to bed, it had cooled. It was worse when it was cold.

Rule 84: During the party Tuesday, it will be allowed to place the rules in our bedroom drawer; however, it will be quizzed on them, and each one it gets wrong will result in one stroke of the cane.

It had tried to memorize them, but there hadn’t been enough time. She had eventually stopped asking, but it had still been howling well before the caning ended. Afterwards, she had held him in her arms, and told him to put the notepad back on the fridge. He had minced from the bedroom to the kitchen, then collapsed back into her arms.

Rule 99: It will buy a new notepad, write “New Rules” across the top, and put this one in our bedroom drawer with the photos and letters.

He had smiled, pulled the new notepad that he had been carrying for a week out of his pocket, and wrote “New Rules” across the top.

Preview: She grinned. “Hey, like my boots?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Scene From a Burger Restaurant: Reality

A continuation of the previous story.

He waited in the garage, kneeling on concrete with his pants around his ankles, hands cuffed behind his back, leashed to the wall, and a garbage bag wrapped around his head. The jagged edges of plastic from the hole she had torn in the trash bag fluttered around his mouth.

He heard her footsteps coming back, and licked his lips. A slight rustle of plastic, and her fingers were in his mouth, pulling his jaw apart. Cold stands of noodles and tomato sauce slid past his lips, and worked their way into his mouth. “Chew.”

His jaw started to work, reducing the food to paste, mixing it with saliva.

Her voice loomed above him. “Swallow.”

His throat contracted, and he forced himself to swallow.

Latex slid into his mouth, a round column of hard plastic. “Suck.”

He started to suck on the dildo, sliding his lips up and down, gagging slightly as it hit the back of his throat. His head lurched forward as it slid away and his lips popped as it came out of his mouth.

“Disgusting. You got your filth all over my favorite cock, you’re going to have to clean that mess up.” The dildo slid back through the hole in trash bag into his mouth, and he started to lick down its length and suck on it. Lifting himself higher on his knees to get more in his mouth, he blindly tried to cover every vein and crevice with his tongue to clean it off.

“Oh, are you getting hard? Sure you want to do that?” The words brought him back, reminded him of being chained to a dumpster in a dirty alley, waitresses and busboys coming out to humiliate and degrade him, cover him in the scraps of food left behind by strangers.

The thought made him whimper, and he realized his cock was getting harder. He shook his head no, and tried to plead with the cock in his mouth. To not be dragged out to the trunk of the car, driven to an alley, and left there like a random hole for strangers to fill with garbage.

She laughed above him, enjoying the garbled sounds coming out of his mouth. “Okay, I’ll help you this once.” The toe of her boot flicked into his balls, and his body jumped. The wretched sounds coming out of his mouth suddenly got louder, and she kicked his balls a second and third time, until his cock was totally limp.

“You should say thank you.” She slid the cock out of his mouth long enough for him to swallow hard and take a deep breath.

“Thank you for keeping my cock from getting hard, ma’am.”

She smiled and nodded slightly, then took another handful of leftover spaghetti and shoved it into his mouth. She shoved it back, then scooped up the strands hanging out of his mouth and shoved them in the gaping hole in the plastic bag. She reached in her bag again, and pulled out a jug of milk. A little bit of white liquid sloshed in the bottom, and a slightly sour smell hit her nostrils as she opened the lid.

She held his head back as he chewed, and poured it in his mouth.

He gasped and sputtered, the milk running down his chin and across the skin of his neck. He kept chewing, swallowing and making contorted faces under the plastic. She didn’t wait for him to finish this time, shoving the dildo into his mouth and grinding it against the food there.

The dildo smashed the food against his tongue, teeth, and cheeks until it was reduced to a disgusting pulp. Some he swallowed, some fell out of his mouth, dragged past his lips by the cock fucking his face.

She dragged more food out of the bag, and shoved more in his mouth whenever it started to look less than full. “You’re disgusting, you’re not even a very good dumpster.” She looked down and sighed happily. “And your cock is getting hard again.”

His garbled pleas sprayed food, and she winced at the mess in the garbage bag, but still felt herself getting into that mental space where time slowed down and they were the only thing in the world.

“You can use my foot to make your cock soft, but you’ll have to do it yourself this time.” She leaned her foot back on its heel, the toe sticking up in the air in front of his cock.

His body jerked forward, slapping his crotch into the toe of her boot, torturing his cock and balls. He tried to howl at the pain but all the came out past the dildo and garbage in his mouth was a strangled animal sound.

She shoved more food in his mouth and looked at his cock. “You just use my boot whenever you start to get hard, because I am a kind and gracious ma’am. And I swear to god if you get a hard-on I’ll drag you downtown, chain you to that dumpster, and leave you there for a week.”

His body jerked frantically from head to toe, trying to keep his mouth from over-flowing, suck her cock, and slap her boot with his balls all at once. Food and milk ran out of his mouth and pooled where the garbage bag was taped around his neck, sloshing and distorting his features even further, looking like giant garbage filled boils ready to burst under his white plastic skin.

She kept fucking his face until the bag was empty, then ground the rest of the food in his mouth until it was pulp that fell out or he swallowed. She wiped it off on the garbage over his eyes, then tossed it aside, and held his jaw in one hand. He heard her spit just before it fell into his throat, and he shivered in her hands.

She felt tremors throughout her body as his balls slapped into her boot again, and she needed to come now. She spit in his mouth again, then let go of his face just long enough to unbutton her pants and slide them down to her knees, then her ankles. Her panties followed, and she fished one foot out of the cloth and repositioned her feet.

His body humped the air, jerking automatically, blindly seeking her boot to smash into, until she swung one leg over and put her foot back.

He slapped into it with an oomph and she groaned in pleasure. Her fingers found her clit and she started to jerk herself off. She grabbed his head again, partially to hold it still and partially to support herself as her legs began to shake.

She leaned against him, and then, just as she started to come, pulled his mouth near her cunt and started to piss. The acrid liquid shot into his mouth and he gasped and sputtered, then began to swallow eagerly.

She shuddered through her orgasm as her bladder emptied, then leaned over and took deep, hard breaths. Her eyes were closed, but she sensed him growing still under her hands. His hips stopped twitching, and the sound of the plastic moving with his breath got slower and steadier.

“Good boy, good boy. Stay a second. She got the safety scissors out of her back pocket, and carefully began to cut the tape away. The garbage bag fell away in chunks, and she put it in the empty grocery bag, careful not to get any on her legs or boots.

His face appeared a little at a time, sweaty, covered in garbage, and flushed and happy. His eyes were bright, and he couldn’t seem to stop grinning despite the paste of food smeared across him.

She laughed at his expression, then patted his head. “God, you’re a fucking mess. Stay here, I’ll go get some paper towels.”

He licked and his lips and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” His posture relaxed, and he leaned back to take some weight off his knees.

She started out, and he cleared his throat. “Hey, would you really have done that? Taken me down to the restaurant and chained me to the dumpster.”

She grinned back at him, then shrugged and smiled. “Maybe.”

Preview: That’s going to cost you.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Scene From a Burger Restaurant: Fantasy

This is a two-parter. Come back Monday morning for the exciting conclusion, Scene From a Burger Restaurant: Reality.

She dragged him out to the garage by his hair, pulling him through the house with quick steps. They rushed through the door and hopped down the step to the concrete, across the dimly lit cavernous room, and to the wall. She slammed him against it face first, planting his cheek against unpainted drywall and holding it there.

Handcuffs wrapped around one wrist, then the other, pinning his arms behind his back. A garbage bag slid over his head, and down to his shoulders. He could feel the tape wrapping around his neck, cinching the trash bag tight against his skin, screeching softly as it made another loop. The space grew smaller as she pulled down folds of the bag, taping them down, holding them tight against his body.

He could feel the air getting hot and humid as he tried to control his breathing, and sighed in relief as she sank her fingers into the plastic, working them through it and into his mouth. She widened the hole, giving him a way to breathe, and he took long, grateful gulps of cool air.

He winced when he felt his pants and underwear being pulled down, hobbling him at the ankles. He felt her leg in front of his, then she had him by the shoulders, gently but firmly shoving him down and holding him at the same time. The plastic on his face slid along the wall until his knees hit the concrete, dirt and small pieces of gravel digging into his skin. He immediately started shifting his weight, trying to find the least painful position for his knees.

“Stay.”

He froze, and heard her moving around him. He heard her footsteps return before he felt something, metal and hard but flexible, a chain, wrapping around his throat. It pulled against his throat, cutting into the muscle and skin, then slackened a little. He heard a click and the sudden weight of a padlock pulling down as she locked the links together. The chain pulled up slightly, and he sensed her moving around him.

She muttered something he couldn’t hear, then there was the sound of three gentle taps, then louder thuds and the crash of metal on metal. The nail sank into the wall, and she kept hitting until it was about halfway in, then turned to underhand blows that bent it over. It moved to a ninety degree angle, then further until the head of the nail smashed into the wall, securing the end of the chain.

She stepped back, and looked at him. Kneeling on the concrete floor, naked from the waist down, the edges of the trash bag fluttering around his lips as he breathed in and out. The chain was padlocked around his neck, and the free end was fixed to the wall with the nail. She leaned in closer to him, and spoke into his ear.

“You’re not even good enough to be a cum dumpster. You’re just going to be a regular dumpster. I’m going to clean out the fridge now, and fill you with the garbage. Fill you up with waste until you can’t stand it anymore. And…” She trailed off, then leaned in closer, biting off each word and over-enunciating.

“If your cock gets hard, we’ll be doing this for real… I’ve got the car backed up to the door, I’ll pull the nail and drag you outside by the chain, throw you in the trunk, and we’ll go downtown. That nice burger place has a fence around their dumpster, I’m sure I could talk them into letting me chain you to it. You could spend all evening naked on your knees, getting leftover food shoved down your throat.”

“I’d be there to take pictures for anyone that wants them, and make sure nothing bad happens to you. Well, nothing permanently bad anyway. If you are a bad dumpster, say if you puke from another handful of cold, greasy food, we’ll just have to find another hole to put things in. I wonder if you’ll beg for a cock or a woman’s hand up your ass well enough that we’d promote you to a fuck dumpster? I don’t think you could do that, personally.”

“I think you’ll just end up getting food shoved up your ass the rest of the night while your face sits in a puddle of puke. Oh, eventually the food will just fall back out of your ass, but getting your nose rubbed in it will at least get your face out of the puke. And maybe if you eat it, we’ll even stop shoving more up your ass, and let you go back to being a regular dumpster.”

“Do you think you could do that? Will you eat food off the ground after it was shoved up your ass and fell out? Will you be such a good little dumpster that someone eventually takes pity on you, and decides you could be their cum dumpster? Will one of the cute waitresses jerk you off, and then giggle and watch while you lick your cum up off the dirty ground? Or will they just get you close to an orgasm, then leave you to be filled with more garbage? Your cock will be so hard and aching, but without any release?”

“Do you think anyone working there is gay? Will they decide a nice blowjob from the dumpster would help them get through their shift? Will you suck a cock to make it stop? Will you swallow another man’s cum just so you can be a cum dumpster? Will you really do your best at sucking someone off so they’ll drag you into the bathroom, and you can do relatively normal things like sucking dick? Maybe get a nice mouthful of a stranger’s piss? That would probably be an improvement for you.”

“Will you be grateful? Will you be such a thankful little cum dumpster just so they don’t send you back out to be a regular dumpster? Will you simper and grovel and tell them how good their cocks taste? Will you thank the waitresses for denying you orgasms as they jerk you to the very edge, then leave you there? Because I think if you cum, after you lick your mess up, you’ll go back to being a regular dumpster. Cum dumpsters eat cum, they don’t make it. So maybe if you beg nicely, instead of jerking you off the waitresses will let you lick the sweat from an eight hour shift off the soles of their feet. Maybe.”

“Do you think your horrible cunt of a partner will leave you there overnight for the brunch crowd tomorrow? For the whole weekend? Will she stay there to protect you, or just set up a webcam and go home and watch you getting abused for the next three days?”

“You think about that. I’m going to go through the fridge, but I’ll be back. Maybe we’ll do some of those things I just described. And if you want the rest of them to happen, just let your dick get hard.”

He whimpered and instinctively tried to lower his body, but the chain held him up. He held his body against the wall, and listened to her footsteps going away. Her words ran through his head, he felt his cock twitch, and he whimpered again.

Preview: Part 2 of Scenes From a Burger Restaurant! “Oh, are you getting hard? Sure you want to do that?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.