Tables Turned

I pulled the panties roughly away from him and gave him a wad of tissue to stick up his pathetic leaking snout. I got hold of the leash and, giving a tug, marched him down the hall to the bathroom. No doubt he was watching my ass shift and jiggle and, had I caught him at it, well... you can imagine. But first things first. In the bathroom, I pulled him up to standing position, and faced him toward the sink.

"Look at yourself." I said.

Standing beside him, I could see his eyes lift slowly and peer through the leghole into the mirror.

"Don't you look ridiculous?" I said, laughing.

I took in the image of poor little Bobby wearing a woman's shorts on his head and with a blood-stained wad of tissue hanging from his nose.

"That was a question, moron." I said. It seemed I had to explain everything to him.

"I do look ridiculous, Ma'am."

"you've been whupped, haven't you little boy?"

"Yes, Ma'am. You gave it to me good."

"Don't forget it. I'll kick your ass anytime I please. Got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Bobby replied, still taking in his improbable image.

"Get to work on my panties. Jeez. Look at them. Stupid asshole." I said, inspecting them.

"I'm so sorry, Ma'am. Would you allow me to buy you some new ones?"

"What do you think we're doing in the bathroom, dopey? No. You are going to restore these panties to their original condition. Now, you stay in here and work on these until they are clean. You read me?"

"Of course, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am." Bobby said, nodding vigorously. "I'll do a good job. I promise!"

I looked down at his cock, and, lo and behold, it was doing its little dance again. Ha. It seemed even panty washing was a turn on for this pervert.

"I'll be in the living room. Wash them, and then iron them dry. Use the right setting. If you scorch them, I'll whip you good. When you finish, fold them neatly, place them on your back, and bring them to me crawling. Now get going."

I went to my room, donned a fresh pair of undies and shorts and made my way back to the living room. I giggled a bit while I did all this , marveling at how Bobby was now at the stage where the effect of my thrashing him (the bleeding) he now took to be his own fault, his responsibility. This was so amazing. I knew that I was on my way to entering his feeble mind and fully taking over. Hooray for me and all women! With the right approach, neanderthals like Bobby could be turned into, well... whatever we like.

In returning to the living room, I went past the bathroom. I looked in quietly and saw Bobby working away. I entered the bathroom. Bobby looked up.

"While you clean my panties, I want you to say something. I want you to repeat it as you work. It's this:

'I am a loser washing a woman's panties. I am a loser.' Have you got that?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Bobby said compliantly.

"Show me." I said.

Bobby continued to work on the panties.

" I am a loser washing a woman's panties. I am a loser." he intoned.

"Go on. I said. "Keep repeating it."

"I am a loser washing a woman's panties. I am a loser. I am a loser washing..."

I turned and headed down the hall. I could hear Bobby repeating his mantra. I imagine I could get him to keep doing it even as I slept, if I wished - eight hours on end. The idea pleased me considerably!

Ensconced again in my chair in the living room, I awaited shithead's return. Meanwhile, I savored the sound of his voice.

" I am a loser..." on and on.

I remained there sipping a glass of wine for awhile, and musing over my new and very interesting relationship with Bobby.

You may well wonder how it was, at the beginning, that Bobby collapsed and then bent to my will easily as he had. The bottom line is simply this: He was an out-out fraud before he changed to my way of thinking; acting macho, being dismissive of the people around him, even those he presumably loved. But he was a house of cards, and it didn't take much to bring it down. And, do you know, I loved doing it. I continue to love it. He has moved into a "new space", emotionally, and I'm the landlord. I don't knock. I walk right in to take what I please, to dish out what I will. I push him around, dress him down, slap him silly, and leave, if that's what suits me. As I sat and listened to Bobby's loop tape, I pondered over a new venture in my ongoing training of him.

Naturally, I know, or know of, other women who have been seriously wronged and disrespected by men. For instance,I have a friend, Cindy. Her husband, Roland, was a lady's man who didn't give up the role after he married. He had left Cindy in tears innumerable times. I know because she confided in me after the breakup. Soon after they parted ways, she brought home the cutest white toy poodle. Cindy, who had always been a demure, compliant wife, decided on the name " Moxie", meaning "courage, pluck, audacity". These were the traits she now set her sights on. She would not be walked on or deceived again; not if she could help it.

A few days ago, I asked her to lend me a copy of the breeder's document that comes with a pedigree dog. Of course, she knew of my mischievous side and that I probably had something up my sleeve. What I told her was that it was just for a lark, a joke on a friend. I said I was going to doctor it so that I could put in my own name and that of the "dog" and give it to him for a kidding kind of birthday present. She was carefree about it, but did give me a funny, inquiring look. No matter.

Anyway, I whited out the names ( Cindy Regan and Moxie ), and typed in my name and the name of my new dog. Those being,... ( drum roll, please ): Gretchen Arnold and Bobo. In the space where it specifies the breed, I typed "Male Pig".

So, Bobo is Bobby's dog name. No. To be more accurate, that is the name of my dog. There is no more Bobby.

Bobby was more than receptive to the idea. I enclosed a copy of the document in an envelope and slid it under the door of my closet ( where Bobby sleeps, curled up on an old blanket ) while he slept. In the morning, I awoke at my usual time only to find Bobby kneeling at the foot of the bed, the envelope held in his mouth, his eyes upon me in the most, complimentary, even worshipful, light. Yes. Bobby, or should I say Bobo, was entirely on board!

I threw back the covers, yawning. I like to sleep naked and whenever I casually display my body to Bobby, (It will take a bit of time to be calling him Bobo, I suppose), he takes on a very concentrated yet respectful attitude. He clearly worships my body ( my long legs, my full, soft ass, in particular), yet he knows he must exercise some restraint and be respectful towards it.

"So, what do you think, Bobo?" I said a bit teasingly.

"May I frame it, please, Ma'am?" was his meek reply. I could barely hear him.

"And hang it where, may I ask?"

"May I hang it in my closet space, please, Ma'am?"

"Hmmmm. I don't want you taking over in there. I've already had to rearrange my shoes to accommodate your sorry ass. I don't know." I said, scratching my inner thigh. "I'll have to think about it. Anyway, I get the impression that you like it. Is that right?"

"Oh, yes, Ma'am! Bobo. That's me. That's who I am now."

"Goddam right it's who you are." I said, taking the silk robe off the bedpost and slipping it on. I came to where Bobo knelt, the front of the robe open.

"Like the view, Bobo?" I said, as I scratched around in my pubes for a moment. I held my fingertips to Bobo's nose and he inhaled my scent. To me, this is the perfect way to begin the day - showing who's boss - and it has become a routine morning event.

I nonchalantly reached behind me and let my middle finger press lightly into my anus. Bobo was watching this very intently. Sometimes I think he likes the smell of my anus more than that of my pussy. I know that the times I've allowed him to pleasure me there with his mouth, he's been very, very good at it. In fact, I've orgasmed more than once with his tongue up my ass.

I brought my finger up to his nose and he breathed in the aroma. Naturally, he was erect as he could possibly be. Ah. Another day begun, I thought.

I made a mental note that I would have to show specifically which part of the closet he could use. I didn't want him cluttering it up.

"Good boy." I said, as he continued to sniff my finger. "That's a good boy."