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?And that was the beginning of Mistress Jessica asserting her dominance over the young boy. Now whenever he was about the house, he had to always be naked, except for certain items that could be (and frequently were) worn – collars, nipple clips, ball gags, butt plugs and cock harnesses. She had him do all the household chores as her slave houseboy and frequently spanked and punished him if he didn’t complete the chores on time. They never had penetrative sex. She didn’t even give him blowjobs anymore. If he had been good, once every three days Mistress Jessica would give him a dry handjob and he would spurt a very full load, which he’d have to clean up off the tiles afterwards. Given that his cock was in an almost constant state of arousal, and that Mistress Jessica wore provocative fetish outfits all hours of the day now, it was pure torture for the young Asian boy. In contrast, he was made to sexually service her even more. At least half a dozen times every day, Lee would be. “Then we’ll have to figure out a different plan. Let’s vote. All those in favor, say aye.”All four of us yelled, “Aye.”Karen pulled off her top and dropped her shorts. “Dave, I hope you’re happy that we voted on this.”“That was nice, but the best part is seeing your tits.”Cindy slapped my shoulder, then stood up and stripped. “Okay, guys, are you going to join us, or do I have to put my clothes back on?”We hooted our approval and joined the wives in their nudity.Ken went to the cooler and pulled out bottles of rye whiskey and red vermouth. “We need a celebration. I’m making a pitcher or manhattans.” He proceeded to mix a batch in a half-gallon picnic jug. “Get your own drinking glass or mug or whatever. You are all responsible for your own cherries.”Karen quickly quipped, “I don’t think anybody here still has their cherry.” # # #We sat around the campfire trading jokes and getting buzzed. Eventually, I wandered into the woods to recycle some of my manhattans. When I got back, I found.
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I glanced at my watch. It was nearing 6:00 pm. It was supper time. I stood on the porch, wondering whether I should knock, or just walk in. I chose both. I rapped firmly on the door, then opened it and walked in. ‘Hi folks, it’s me … Rod,’ I called loudly. I heard the clatter of utensils on plates and the scrape of chairs being moved. My mother appeared first, with a look of astonishment on her face. I wondered briefly if I had forgotten to tell them I was coming, but recalled the telegram I had sent from Omaha. ‘Roddy … oh god … Roddy,’ she cried, rushing toward me, arms outstretched. ‘Hi Mom,’ I said softly into her head as we embraced. I looked up and saw my father moving slowly toward me. He looked so much older than I remembered him. He had lost weight, his face drawn and pale where once it was full and ruddy. I held onto my mother and my arm extended to take the offered hand of my father. ‘Hi Dad. Good to see you.’ ‘Good to see you too, Son. It’s been a long time. We’ve.

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