****This story includes trans and disabled people whose language for their bodies is their own. The way that they and their bodies are referred to by themselves and others in this scene is exactly how they want to be referred to. It might not be the way you want to be called; proceed with whatever caution you need to take care of yourself.****
I knew there was going to be trouble when I got home. I could hear voices through the door as I drew my keys out of my bag. I unlocked the door and entered the hall, peering into the formal dining room to see a large party; Mister's dinner guests had empty plates but lots of wine was still flowing. I stood for a moment in the entrance way, uncertain. I had made up my mind and was headed towards the bathroom when I heard his voice. "You're really going to enter our home without greeting me?" he boomed over the laughter. I froze at his words, torn between my affection and the twinging of my bladder. It felt like it took forever to decide, but eventually figured that I couldn't risk it. I veered from my course to the bathroom to step into the dining room and greet Mister.
"Where have you been?" he asked, as I leaned in to kiss his left cheek. I didn't want to stay and chat, I wanted to use the bathroom. And I certainly didn't want to announce my bodily functions to this room of Mister's friends and colleagues, so I just shook my head and turned away. I guess Mister took this as a sign I had something to hide, because that's when things started to spiral out of control. "I guess I'll have to find out for myself." He turned a knowing grin to his guests, who seemed vaguely interested. He snapped his fingers and declared, "Inspection time." Although I had grown accustomed to the possibility of an inspection anytime, anywhere, Mister was careful about who I was exposed to and I was shocked to hear the words. I thought of bolting, but it was too late. The lean for the kiss had me off balance and it was easy for Mister to grab my wrist and pull me to a half straddle over him, one leg stumbling forward between his bent knees and the other rigid next to the chair, my belly squished against his chest. He promptly let go of my wrist and bent his left arm to hold my upper body into his shoulder, securing my torso against his, several inches about the level of the table.
"No! Mister, there are people here." I protested, desperately trying to bat him off as his right arm snaked between our bodies and unbuttoned my fly. After the soft zip and a few firm, one-handed tugs, my jeans were bunched on Mister's lap and my boxer briefs exposed. The table of guests was rowdy, but some shrieks and giggles seemed to erupt, and I panickedly swung my head over my shoulder, peering through my floppy pomp to see if they were looking. Chairs and torsos were turning towards me and while some pairs of eyes were averted, one person looked at my underwear with a smirk before turning to the woman sitting next to her to make some quiet joke. An unfamiliar bearded man's gaze was moving from my briefs to my face. I flushed and turned my head back in panic, as though I would be more hidden if I didn't meet his eyes. My hands flailed towards my jeans, trying to hide my butt and pull up my pants simultaneously, but my arms were part tangled and part pinned by Mister's body and my efforts were futile. "Wait no I" I stuttered as I felt Mister's hand slip into my underwear, beginning to quest towards a hole.
"Did you just tell me 'no' again?" Mister asked with soft disapproval in his voice. I stuttered "I...no, I just meant I have to go to the..." but that third no was too much and Mister yanked my underwear down, tipped me sideways and knocked my leg out from under me to drop me across his lap. He immediately began spanking my bare butt, and I would have noticed the music turn down, but I was too busy trying to somehow stop him. He beat my ass for several long minutes, well past the warm up and pleasurable stages, until I was wailing and kicking (as much as I could kick with the bad leg and my ankles all caught in my pants) and could think of nothing but stopping the stinging pain. He then stood me back up, still facing him. My spanked butt was hot and swollen and it felt like it pulsed with each beat of my heart. I sniffed, uncertain what was happening but glad the blows had stopped and eager to avoid more. He said nothing and I stared at him, waiting, when a voice behind me remarked in the surprising quiet, "they color excellently from a spanking." My eyes widened and my stomach dropped as I remembered the guests, but Mister caught my wrists before I could reach back to cover my naked ass. I turned to see a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on my naked, exposed butt.
The entire party was turned towards us, chairs and bodies repositioned, fingers pointing and eyes devouring me, neighbors murmuring in each other ears. "So red...," a man muttered, and his laughing companion held out their hands as though to warm them on my naked rear. A woman in a green dress at the end of the table asked "Do they need disciplining frequently?" I locked eyes with her, tears brimming with the shame, as Mister loudly replied, "They were being a bad boy, resisting their hole inspection. They usually know better. Open." I was so embarrassed to be called out in front of all these people, my mouth opened more out of habit than will. His hand suddenly in front of my face, he slid his thick first finger into my mouth in a long straight line until his wide hand pressed my cheeks inwards and his finger lightly flicked the back of my throat. I gagged a little and flushed in shame, then restrained myself and let him thrust again and again into my wet mouth.
I held the gaze of the woman in green as my mouth was used. Then Mister hoisted me up several inches over his shoulder, tipping my weight back with my good knee on his lap and the bad leg spread, and he slid that wet finger right into my front hole. His hands are thick and wide and his pianist's fingers are so long that it felt like his finger never stopped entering me, touching me far deeper inside myself than I thought it possible to feel the sensation of touch. Leaving me to brace my own self from falling, he used his other hand to pull me apart wider because my bunched clothes prevented me from spreading my legs and he wanted his guests to have a better view. He wriggled the finger around, testing me for use. I grunted a little at the pain and surprise and shame of it, and the room had fallen so silent that they all heard me; a laugh rippled out. "Sounds like they actually enjoy being inspected in front of all of us" a different voice chimed in.
"There's a good boy," Mister said with too much honey, like you would say to a dog, with one hand patting my flank like an animal as he drew the finger of the other out with a wet noise. The crowd laughed, and some started making animal noises. I heard a few pig snorts and the word "fetch", dissolved in laughter and growing conversation. I flamed, but got ready to stand up. I'd passed, unbelievably.
"I just have to check your back hole. Then you can go clean yourself up and join us for after-dinner drinks." I started to try to get up, despite the spanking, which must have pissed Mister off further because he pushed me firmly back over his shoulder and used his fat thumb for my back hole, pushing it in dry. I thought about what I must look like to the dinner party as my head dangled over Mister's back and I stared at the floor and tried not to squirm away from the invading digit: underwear and jeans slipping off my legs to pool on the floor, and my fat butt perched on his shoulder, burning and red with Mister's handprints. The swollen, beaten flesh of my ass and upper thighs would be framing my holes, one of which was indented and stretched by the penetrating force of Mister's arm behind his thick thumb. Maybe they could see the redness of that hole, or the residual lube, now that Mister had spread my flaming cheeks. Maybe they could even see my fat little dickclit pressing into Mister's shoulder, because I was swollen hard as steel and leaking precum down my thighs. A groan of defeat and humiliation ripped out of my throat, and the table laughed again, perhaps thinking it another groan of pleasure.
