Author's Note: The fifth chapter of just a walk on the other side of the tracks, as it were, written for a Litster a couple of years ago. All a work of fiction; hope you enjoy. An ounce of prevention: If you object to trans sex, gay sex, bizarre pain fetish, nipples covered with honey and fire ants, or any of the other weird stuff, you might want to skip this whole series.
Trixie's Tricks
Trixie guides me into the small bathroom, and has me strip off the rubber shorts. "You do it; I ain't touching that nasty shit!" she tells me, shaking her head.
I carefully slide my hands into the sides, hoping to slide them down rather than peel them down, because I don't want them turning inside out & making a mess on her floor. She hasn't seemed to be mean, but I don't want to risk stirring up her wrath. The sandy, sticky mess scrapes on the skin as it slides down over my legs, and try as I might, I can't keep the shorts from sticking to my scrotum and bottom cheeks. I hear a light peppering sound of sand landing on her cheap linoleum floor, and I wince at the sound.
"Fuck, that's nasty, and now it's making a fucking mess on my floor! Get in the fucking tub!" Trixie barks at me. I carefully but quickly step into the tub, and she turns on the water, testing it to get it hot. Fortunately, she has one of those detachable shower nozzles with a hose attached, so she can direct the steamy flow right where it is needed most.
Unfortunately, the hot water by itself isn't enough to dissolve the mess, much to Trixie's disappointment. She disappears from the bathroom, then returns with a bottle of Dawn dishwashing soap. "Turn around," she tells me, then, "Bend over." I feel here drizzling the soap all over my bottom, including the crack of my ass. "Now, soap yourself up good. Rub it in good, you gotta get all that nasty shit off of you. I'm not having MY cock rubbed raw!" I comply, scrubbing hard and deep.
After a few minutes of this, Trixie turns the hot water back on, and rinses most of the mess away. Still, some remains even after that.
"Well, I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but...you leave me no choice. Bend over again." I do so, and feel here again spreading the thick liquid all over me. "Spread 'em," she orders. I put my head against the wall at the far end of the shower and reach back, pulling my cheeks apart.
My next thought is simply: FUCK! The rasping of a scrub brush rains fire upon my senses. The bristles feel like steel wire, not the plastic that they actually are, and they rasp up and down between my cheeks and even dead center over my poor little boi pussy. Trixie then works outward, over both cheeks, raining napalm-like fire across my already tender bottom. I'm almost immediately crying, sobs and yelps as the strokes paint pain all over. She works quickly, and I'm sure she was just trying to get it done and over quickly, but it feels like an attack.
She stops, and turns the water on me again. The hot water, which left the skin tingling before, now heaps horrible torment on the raw, scrubbed skin. Apparently, the scrubbing was effective, though, as Trixie seems pleased with the results.
"Okay, turn around," she says. And now it gets an all new kind of ugly.
Because it's the front, I can't effectively bend backwards, so she has to basically squirt it all over my shaved front and over to the fronts of my legs. She tells me to lather it all up, and I'm hoping against hope and common sense that it will be enough this time.
But of course, it isn't. The brush is needed again.
This time, she starts with the fronts of the legs, then across where my pubic hair WOULD be. All of that skin is sensitive, and I'm already on the verge of begging just at that. Tears fill my eyes, partially from the present pain, and partially in dread of what is coming next, and I look up to see YOU, standing in the bathroom door, your arms folded across your chest...smiling. Smiling at my tears, smiling at my completely humbled position, smiling at the results of your torment.
Trixie doesn't see you yet; she's focused on the task at hand as she begins to scrub with the brush down under, below my balls, then up on either side, then, just as briskly as if she were scrubbing a pot clean of burnt-on rice, she begins to work on my poor balls.
A wail, a pitiful cry, comes from my lips at this. They aren't big, but right now, they are a fiery sun at the center of my universe, burning hotly. My scrotum is soft, and the bristles feel as if they are tearing at the tender skin. And then...and then...you begin to scrub, albeit just a bit more lightly, over my poor little dicklet.
At this, I begin to beg, to plead with her not to continue. She doesn't, of course. She simply HAS to to get me clean, she tells me, shushing me so I don't wake her neighbors. She stands, strips off her clothes, and steps into the shower with me. She clamps her hand across my mouth to stifle me as she works the brush, even more softly and slowly, over the head of my cock, then, nudging the brush under the head, tortures the bottom.
Trixie looks me in the eye as, with one slow, gentle stroke, she strokes back down on the top of my cock, registering my agony, my...pleasurable?...agony, as each little bristle catches at the ridge of the head, then slips off, scraping ever so fine of a line across the top of the head. I can not fathom why, but for some reason, this sensation makes my senses go haywire, and my poor little boi clit stiffens up, rising quickly to its full (but still unremarkable) swollent size.
