Readers might want to check the previous chapters, but here's what's happening: Jerkboy remembers details of his femdom weekend and then barbers his mother-in-law's hairy pussy, which results in something that explains how he came home so wrecked in the previous chapter.
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Sunlight was leaking through the edges of the blinds in Mrs. Landtree's bedroom. It must have been late Sunday morning. She had kept me up late lapping cunt and ass after her daughter Suzette had gone home.
I was alone in my mother-in-law's bed. My butt cheeks were sore. My butthole was sore. I had an ache in my abdomen I recognized -- it came from my testicles. When they were slapped really hard, the pain was in my guts, not my nuts.
Memories flooded and swirled in my mind. I latched onto one and heard myself bawling and sobbing and scooting across the carpet away from the belt to curl into a fetal position. Sucking my thumb had helped calm me.
I didn't dare touch the morning wood between my legs. I stared at it and opened my mouth the way they made me when I had to pee. Slack jawed, tongue hanging and panting like a dog -- or a human hoping for a warm, hard cock. Whatever the women wanted. My brain was broken.
It was over for me, I guess, when I needed to urinate and Suzette thought up the squatting humiliation. I had no clue how to do it and fell over the first time. The women's laughter stomped my soul. Family events were never going to be the same -- not with my wife, her sister and their mother all knowing what a shamewhore I was. By the second time I was already imagining being ordered to squat and pee at a wedding reception.
My face burned with embarrassment when I figured out how to hold my knees open for balance and I relaxed enough to allow my penis to shoot urine toward them. My emptying bladder felt like it was being refilled with abasement.
"Oh, yes. He hates this," I heard Suzette say from the patio as I watched any semblance of dignity trickle away in a puddle of pee.
"Stay in that position and pant like a dog." I couldn't see her, just the blinding backyard floodlight that was illuminating me for the neighbors. "Come on, doggie, let your tongue hang out."
That's how I learned what Suzette called 'rest position' inside the house. She showed me a horrendous pic of myself on her phone so I would remember how to do it right.
Fantasies were one thing but seeing myself actually doing things -- and knowing evidence was in the hands of someone I didn't fully trust -- amplified and multiplied the fear, shame and humiliation far beyond simple imagination. The feelings were real, deep, and physical.
"How is he able . . . " Mrs. Landtree had begun to say before I screamed from one of Suzette's more creative dick-tortures. The four rubber-band snaps on the sensitive part of my glans was the furthest she'd taken me, thank god.
"He's dissociating, Mom." Suzette had an undergraduate degree in psychology liked to play Ms. Know-It-All. "You know how you have to get outside your own head to orgasm? Just for a little while?"
"Hmmm. I guess."
"Come on, Mom. Little fantasies, or pretending you're someone else, maybe a little more, um, promiscuous than who you really are?"
"Okay. I suppose Sarah told you about some of the things she -- she heard last weekend."
Suzy chuckled. "Umm, yeah. It's okay, Mom. We're grown women, and you raised us right. It's not for me to judge about being a Backdoor Beauty."
"Gawdammit, girl. You be careful or I'll whoop your bare ass for him to enjoy."
I rubbed my penis to make the sting go away. Their voices were more like birdsong than words. Suzette continued holding forth.
"That'll be the day. Okay, listen: Dissociation can be an erotic device, yet it's also a coping tool that people use to deal with trauma. It can be triggered by endorphins, like the rush he feels from exposing himself, perhaps." She turned to me. "Go lean against the wall in resting position, stick your dildo in and play with your stupid doggie dick."
I heard and fumbled about trying to create the pose while the women talked.
"This isn't real, to him. It's sensations and alternate personalities, like someone he's created called Jerkboy. That's the danger, Mom. He arouses himself, gets into a dissociative state, and then maybe does things in his unreality that turn out very badly in the real world."
"So Sarah needs to learn . . . how to properly supervise his unreality."
"Yeah. Something like that. His need to please or be shamed by maternal figures like you or his wife means he has mommy issues. Hey. It's not unusual. His typical boob-ogling jackass act is a cover for the secret, unreal world in his imagination."
I saw Mrs. Landtree look at me curiously while I squatted onto the pink, veiny dildo. I slapped at my hanging ballsack so she could hear and see my love. The woman shook her head sadly.
"Poor Sarah. He seemed like such a virile, strong man. Just look at him."
"I know. Mom, a cruel, stupid woman would use his dissociation to amuse herself or feed her ego and revel in power over men. There are a lot of fucked-up guys out there who got involved with psychos because of their imaginary desire for domination."
"Hmmm. I suppose that can happen to women, too," Mrs. Landtree said quietly. They looked at each other for a few moments. The only sound in the room was the disgusting shlick shlick shlick of me working my pathetic penis.
"I know, Mom. Him leaving was hard for us girls. But having the wrong father figure is worse than not having a Dad around. We knew what he was doing to you."
Mrs. Landtree cried out and plunged her face into her Amazon daughter's lap. I listened to her wails and sobs and locked eyes with Suzette while she stroked her mother's hair. I was so used to bawling from the spankings that my tears just flowed over my cheeks. I loved those two women so hard at that moment that my heart felt like it was thumping in my throat. Without thinking, my cum squirted without permission.
I blinked at the sunlight filling the colorful, elegantly retro bedroom when Sarah's mother opened the shades. She trotted toward me, nude, and plunked down on her chest in front of my morning erection.
"I see you're up, lover. I don't know if we're going to be able to do this for long, so let's make it fun while we can."
Already trancing from recalling the day before, I pulled my knees up and hoped she would get the hint.
"Good boy. Stroke for me while your Mama watches."
She smiled with her lively eyes so beautifully, so lovingly, down there with her face directly in my view. I could look at myself beating off and watch her watch me. The exquisite exhibitionism went on while she chattered musically with words I didn't hear until she said:
"I know I'm really hairy down there and it makes it harder for you to . . . do your job." The woman sat up and I watched her ample boobs jounce. They had big, dark areolae and gumdrop nipples that were nothing like her daughter's -- my wife's. I masturbated with joy at the thought of a tribe of women supervising my sexual needs.
"So I was thinking . . ."
