Diary posts from pee-pee the hapless cuckold slave

chiappeviola
Thanks, hope you liked pee-pee's testicle tribunal party!!

What a great story!
Please continue, I can't wait to read what happens next.
powerful writing style...
thank you so much

Please keep posting the story, I am impatiently waiting for the next chapter
.
Submissive Cuckold - lives for many years in a female-led marriage with a cuckold lifestyle.

May 15, 11:23 a.m.

Dear diary,

We spent a lazy Sunday at home yesterday. Well, it was a lazy day for my masters, anyway. I've forgotten what it feels like to lounge around the house, but they seemed to enjoy it.

Oh, and in between the lazing around I got the living s h i t beat out of me. Other than that, though, my masters were chill.

I woke up achy from s l e e p i n g on the hard floor, and my ass was raw from when I'd fucked myself with the broomstick at the party. I can still see the evil glint in everyone's eyes as they sipped their ******, nibbled canapés and watched me ******** myself like that.

I rousted myself from my spot on the hallway outside my masters' bedroom and, with a resigned sigh, started another day. A shower in the basement "slave bathroom" didn't wash away the hurt. My entire body throbbed with pain as I carried out my quiet morning chores, but my soul was in even worse shape. I felt raped, mentally, physically and spiritually by my ordeal at the party. They were totally amused by the idea of me having my body parts amputated. They turned the whole thing into a fucking game, and joked about it all night.

The memory was literally overwhelming, and I almost collapsed while dusting the living room coffee table, and had to brace myself by grabbing the edge of the couch.

I shook it off and looked at the clock. It was time to start breakfast. My ears burned with resentment as I cooked an elaborate meal for the two people who'd gone out of their way to humiliate me at the party ...

They ripped me to shreds in front of their friends just a few hours ago, and here I am slaving over the stove, carefully preparing their breakfast, which I'll neatly arrange on the platters, eggs lovingly garnished with sprigs of fresh parsley, toast perfectly buttered. They won't notice any of it. But, lord, let there be one tiny thing wrong with their food ...

Sure enough, after I painstakingly prepared and arranged my masters' plates, all my hard work was ignored when I served them breakfast in bed. My wife was kicked back naked with her legs spread. Her pussy smirked at me, causing my heart to pound, my little dick to throb and the spikes in my chastity cage to bite.

Rather than being grateful to me for spending nearly an hour lovingly making and arranging her breakfast, my wife started the day by ridiculing me.

"You're limping, pee-pee." She smirked as I set her tray in front of her. "I think you got a little carried away with that broom handle."

"Y-yes, Mistress."

My master took a bite of toast. "Well, pee-pee, looks like you can kiss those balls goodbye," he said with his mouth full. "You brought it on yourself. You embarrassed me in front of my friends, voting to get castrated after we stuck up for you."

Tears flooded my eyes as I sank to my knees and started blubbering apologies.

"Oh, please, Master, I'm so sorry ... I just didn't want to disappoint my mistress, and she said she would be really disappointed if I voted yes. I ... I'm sorry, sir, I would never want to embarrass you in front of your friends, sir ... please, sir, I'll be a good slave for you, sir."

Brent's expression didn't change. "Maybe Anna's right; you do seem to be getting a little cocky lately." He looked at my wife. "What time is your sister bringing Junior home?"

"About noon."

"Good." Brent turned his attention back to me. "That leaves plenty of time for me to teach you a lesson. Go get your cane, pee-pee."

Head hung low, I trotted off to obey, trying to process exactly why I was about to be punished. My master was angry because I'd embarrassed him in front of his friends by voting the way Anna told me to vote. What was I supposed to do after she told me she'd be upset with me if I voted to keep my balls? Brent knew I had no choice, but he was being unreasonable for some reason. He's not usually like that; while my master will sometimes backhand me if I annoy him, he rarely initiates whippings with the cane. So, I knew I was in for it.

Within a minute, I'd retrieved the cane and was kneeling in front of my master, offering the instrument in my outstretched hands.

He snatched it from me and tapped it three times on my head. "Assume the position. You pissed me off, pee-pee."

My heart thumped like a jackhammer as I dropped my drawers, bent over and grabbed my ankles. Brent set the cane down and resumed eating.

I remained bent over in that uncomfortable position for at least 45 minutes while my masters relaxed on the bed, enjoying the breakfast I'd slaved over. As they watched their TV program, I doubt they noticed the garnish on the eggs, or how the butter on the toast was perfectly centered.

When their show wound down, I heard my master burp. "Get these trays out of here, pee-pee."

I scrambled to obey, and when I reported back to him, he snapped, "back in position."

Anna held up her empty glass. "Wait, I need a refill first."

"Yes, Mistress, would you like one too, sir?"

"Yeah."

As soon as I served their ******, Brent said, "Okay, bend over, queer."

With a sigh, I again bent over and grabbed my ankles. I expected to immediately be whipped, and I think my master may have been so inclined if my wife hadn't stopped him.

"Forget about pee-pee; he'll still be there," she moaned. "I need your cock inside me right now."

"Mmmm, sounds like an offer I can't refuse," my master cooed. Then, in a completely different tone, he jeered, "you think you can stay right there until the missus and me have us a little wingding in the bedroom?"

I gulped. "Y-yes, sir."

"See, pee-pee? I knew you could do it. When I get done fucking your mistress, we'll take care of your discipline, how's that?"

"Um ... er, t-thank you, sir."

He waved his hand. "No problem. Now, you stay right here, pee-pee, while I take your mistress into the bedroom and do nasty things to her."

"Y-yes, sir."

They sauntered away, leaving me bent over in half holding my ankles, waiting for what I knew was going to be a major ass-whipping.


The moans and banshee screams commenced after about 10 minutes, and the headboard slammed into the wall. I closed my eyes and tried to tune out the sex sounds, but my little penis swelled in my cage, and the needle-like spikes pierced my flesh. The pain made me forget for a brief moment how much my body ached from holding that bent-over position. I cursed myself for not having the courage to move ...

You pathetic piece of ****. All you have to do is stand up and stretch. They'll never know; they're in the bedroom, a million miles away, into each other. And no matter what you do, you're going to get the **** whipped out of you anyway. Anna sure as hell doesn't care about you. And you're going to lose your balls, even though you've faithfully served them for years. So why not alleviate the pain for just a few minutes, instead of loyally staying bent over like this? Fuck Anna. Fuck Brent. They're terrible, evil people. Oh, wait ... no, no, no ... please, forgive me ... I can't think of my masters like that ... I asked for this life ... I deserve this whipping, because ... because ... why? Oh, yes ... I embarrassed my master at the party. Yes, it's unfair. But I signed up for an unfair life, and it would be unfair, not to mention disrespectful for me to disobey my master and break the position he ordered me to maintain. So, please, Master, I hope you're enjoying having sex with my beautiful mistress, and I'll be right here waiting for you in the position you told me to be in, sir. I'll be a good slave for you, sir ... please, please, please, sir, I hear how you're making Anna moan ... you are so much more of a man that I am, sir ... I can't wait for you to finish fucking my wife so you can come down here and blister my ass ... I can't thank you enough for taking the time to correct my behavior, sir ....

I've found the most effective way to overcome intense physical pain and fear is to embrace it by falling into deep sub-space. Basically, I convince myself that I deserve whatever I'm going through because I'm a piece of **** slave.

It doesn't take much convincing. The notion that I'm a piece of **** slave gets ********** pretty much every waking hour.

The bedroom noises eventually subsided, and I tensed up, expecting my masters to either call me for cleanup, or come back into the room. The clock ticked; 10 minutes passed. Then, 20 minutes. A half-hour. I finally realized they'd fallen a*****.

I was bent over like that for more than three hours before I heard the sound of Brent pissing in the master bathroom. I made a mental note to clean his urine from the toilet after he gave me my ass-whipping, but it became a moot point when Anna called, "pee-pee, get up here," and I knew she wanted me to wipe up her boyfriend's mess.

Sure enough, when I scurried into the bathroom, my wife frowned and gestured toward the toilet.

"He's such a slob. Hurry up; I've got to go."

I triple-timed it, and the toilet seat and surrounding floor were spic and span in less than a minute. As soon as I was finished, my mistress plopped her ass on the toilet seat and started pissing. She farted as she peed, and it reverberated around the porcelain bowl, reminding me that she saw no need for feminine modesty around her sexless little flunky.

When Mistress finished urinating, I flushed the toilet for her and folded the toilet paper at a 45-degree angle the way she likes. By the time I was done, she had rejoined Brent on the bed, and I reported to them.

My master smirked. "Were you bent over like that the whole time we were up here?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"And you didn't cheat?"

"No, sir. I stayed in the position like you told me to, sir."

He scoffed. "What a loser. You're so fucking pathetic, pee-pee. You have no self-respect whatsoever, do you?"

Tears formed in my eyes. "I ... I don't know, sir. I just want to make you and Mistress happy, sir."

"Well, right now what would make me happy is for you to go downstairs and fetch your cane. We're gonna move the party up here to the bedroom. Go."

I jumped into action, and within seconds I was on my knees on the bedroom carpet a few feet from the bed, presenting the instrument with my outstretched hands.

Mistress leaned over and started nibbling Brent's ear.

"Come on, baby, blister the little faggot's ass."

"Anything for you, babe." Brent turned and kissed my wife before rolling out of bed and snatching the fiberglass cane from my grip.

"Okay, pee-pee, ready for some fun? I know I am."

"Y-yes, Master."

"Well, then, let's get this show on the road. Back in position. You know why you're about to get your ass whupped, don't you?"

"I ... I think so, sir. Because I embarrassed you at the party."

"You didn't just embarrass me; you embarrassed every man who ever had a hair on his ass. How the hell could you have voted for your own castration? I don't get that, pee-pee. Even if you are a pathetic piece of ****, I thought you were at least still a man ... or a male at the very least."

"But, Master ... um, my Mistress said if I didn't vote how she wanted me to, she was going to be very upset."

"So, what? Fuck your mistress; she's a bitch."

Anna playfully elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs. "Fuck you, asshole."

"See what I mean, pee-pee? Your mistress is a bitch to you no matter what. So, you might as well have voted to keep your balls. I mean, we both know if Anna wants it to happen, it's gonna happen anyway, but at least you'd still have some shred of dignity. But you don't. You're a sorry piece of ****, and you deserve everything bad that happens to you."

"Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"What the hell are you thanking me for, faggot? I haven't whupped your ass yet. But we're about to fix that. I done told you once: get your fat ass back into position."

Brent really laid into me. I absorbed dozens of blows, thanking him for each one, falling deeper into a black hole of pain with every excruciating stroke. Finally, after I croaked, "75, thank you, sir," he stopped. I don't know how I was able to stay in position for that ****** assault, but I did, and felt a measure of pride for it. This one wasn't easy; I could feel ***** seeping down my leg, and I knew he'd broken the skin.

Out of nowhere, my wife broke into a mischievous grin and said, "hang on one sec. Stay right there, pee-pee. Don't move."

She tumbled out of bed and disappeared for a few minutes before strutting back into the bedroom brandishing a canister of Morton's Salt. I shuddered when I realized what was about to happen.

"I saw this in a movie once," she told her boyfriend, before addressing me in a bitchy tone: "You better stay still, pee-pee, or I'll give you a hot pocket, too."

She poured a handful of salt into her palm and rubbed it into the cuts on my ass. The pain was unbearable.

"Aaaaaahhhh, please, Mistress, ahhhhhhhaaahhh, owwwwwww, ahaahhhh!"

Anna laughed.

Brent shook his head. "Damn, girl, you're sadistic."

"You know you love it."

"I do, baby. I do."

My wife nudged my leg with her foot. "Okay, pee-pee, the fun's over. Get dressed; Becky will be here with the baby in a few minutes."

I pulled up my pants and limped into the hallway, leaving my masters in the bedroom. As soon as I got out of hearing distance, I started sobbing uncontrollably. My entire backside was racked with pain, my psyche torn to shreds.

My sister-in-law arrived at noon, as promised. Years ago, Anna told her sister all about our three-way relationship, and Becky doesn't have a major problem with it, although she has made it clear she doesn't feel comfortable humiliating me or seeing me humiliated. So, when she comes over, I try to make myself scarce.

Anna's sister left a few minutes after dropping off Brent Junior, and Anna called for me. I was hiding in their bedroom polishing her perfume bottles, and ran downstairs to respond.

"Here, take him, pee-pee." She handed Junior over to me. "I hate the way Becky does his diaper; put it on right."

"Yes, Mistress."

As soon as I finished, Brent snapped his fingers. "I'm thirsty, pee-pee. Iced tea."

I ran into the kitchen, hating myself for so enthusiastically following his order after the horrible way he'd just treated me. When I brought him his *****, he downed it, handed it back to me, and said, "refill." I once again ran to the kitchen, hating myself for so enthusiastically following his order after the horrible way he'd just treated me ...

The rest of the day was like that, with my masters relaxing, snapping their fingers and barking out orders as I scurried around cleaning the house:

pee-pee! Come find the remote.

pee-pee! Refill.

pee-pee! Bring the Doritos.

pee-pee! You forgot the nacho sauce.

pee-pee! Refill.

pee-pee! Get your foot kit.

Oh, pee-pee! Diiiaaaaappper duuuuuuuty!

That night, after Junior was put down, I gave my wife a long foot massage while she relaxed on the bed with Brent watching a movie. When the film ended, she yawned and told me to "get everything ready," which means fetching glasses of water for each of my masters, laying out something for her to ***** in, and turning off the overhead lights.

After that was taken care of, I stood before my reclining masters and meekly addressed them.

"Um, er, uh ... um, do you, uh ... do you think I could please have beanbag privileges tonight?"

Anna propped her hands behind her head and cocked one leg to the side, exposing her pussy. I averted my gaze, and she lay in that position for a few ticks, basking in her feminine power.

Finally, she scoffed. "Beanbag privileges?! Boy, you've got some fucking nerve."

I tried to hold back the tears I felt forming. "P-please, I'm sorry, Mistress ... it's just that ... it's just that ... I'm sorry, Mistress, but I'm in so much pain; my back hurts so bad—"

Anna threw back her head and laughed, almost like the Wicked Witch of the West. It sent chills through me.

She turned to her lover, who was kicked back with an amused smirk on his lips.

"pee-pee wants beanbag privileges." She jeered. "The little faggot thinks he actually earned extra privileges today."

Brent shook his head. "If you had a backbone, maybe I'd think you were worth sticking up for, pee-pee. But you're a worthless piece of ****. Say it. Repeat after me: 'I'm a worthless piece of ****, and I don't deserve my beanbag.'"

I gulped. "I ... I'm a worthless piece of ... piece of ****, and I don't deserve my beanbag."

My wife tilted her head. "You know, pee-pee, we still haven't completely made up our mind about castrating you. There's still hope for those ugly little things."

I fell to my knees. "Oh, Mistress, thank you, thank you ... oh, please, thank you, Mistress, I'll be the best slave for you, Mistress; you'll see, I'll prove it to you ... I'll—"

"Jesus, would you shut the fuck up?" My wife closed her legs and sat upright. "Stop your goddamn brownnosing. Like I said, we haven't made up our mind. But it seems to me, if you want to keep 'em, you'd show a little humility. Seems kind of uppity to come in here every night asking for extra privileges. I mean, that's a nice, comfortable little beanbag, and you're a little piece of **** slave. So, who the hell are you to think you should be allowed to ***** in luxury?"

Brent chuckled. "Damn, girl, the way you make it sound, I think I want to spend the night on pee-pee's luxurious little beanbag."

"Studs get king-sized mattresses," my wife mewed in her lover's ear. "Little bitches get the floor. What do you think, pee-pee? Don't you think it's uppity to ask for beanbag privileges every night?"

"Um ... I don't ... er ... I'm ..."

I sighed. "Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry."

Brent fluffed up his pillow. "Tell you what, pee-pee, maybe you can get your beanbag privileges back after Junior's potty-trained, and you get your own little room down there in the basement. Until then, Mistress says no beanbag, so I guess you're **** out of luck. If your back hurts, oh well."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"No problem, fag. Now, get out of my face. I'm still pissed off at your little faggot ass. I swear to God, I should give you a hot pocket."

Anna sneered. "You should."

I clasped my hands in front of me, begging. "Oh, please, Master, please—"

"Shut the fuck up and get out here pee-pee, before I change my mind."

I scrambled as fast as I could out of the room and went down into my basement slave bathroom, pretending to have a call of nature. In fact, I wanted to get far away from the master bedroom so I could cry without them hearing me.

A piece of **** slave like me needs a good cry once in a while. And by once in a while, I mean pretty much every day.

Life sucks. Good night.

pee-pee is one lucky slave!

thanks for the update, sounds like submissive heaven for a sincere servant like pee-pee

I'm so jealous...could true masters like Brent and Anna be any more appropriate in their attitudes... or more magnificent?

Glad you guys like the story. Here's another entry:


May 20, 2:03 p.m.

Dear diary,

The past few days, I've been away from home and unable to write. My masters sent me to Jenny and Marc's house to help with their big landscaping project — and by "help," I mean I did all the work while they sat on their porch in the shade sipping lemonade and barking orders at me.

As always, I was the last one to know about this job; Anna broke the news to me after she came home from work.

"You'll be going back over to Jenny and Marc's tomorrow, so get up early and take the bus," she said as I served her after-work *****. "I'll leave $1.50 on the counter; I told Jenny she could decide if you've earned bus fare back home when you're done."

"Yes, Mistress."

"It's a two-day job, so you'll ***** in the shed again."

"Thank you, Mistress." I swallowed my bitterness as I recalled how uncomfortable the night in the shed was a few weeks ago when I planted grass at Jenny and Marc's.

The next morning, I got up at 4:30 a.m., hopped on the bus and after it dropped me off, walked the mile-and-a-half to the home of the couple who would be my masters for the next two days. I prayed I could earn the $1.50 bus fare so I wouldn't have to walk 20 miles home, but I knew it was unlikely, since everyone gets a kick out of making my life miserable.

Marc was standing by his truck when I walked up. I noticed the truck bed was heaping with bags of soil and decorative bricks.

"Oh, good, you're here." He nodded toward the truck. "All this **** needs to be unloaded and taken into the backyard. Then start spreading that soil where I made the rock bed back there. Put the bricks by the patio; you'll be arranging them over there later."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll be inside watching TV. Come knock on the backdoor when you're done."

"Yes, sir."

Marc sneered and looked me up and down. "I hope you got your rest, pee-pee, because I intend on getting my money's worth out of your little faggot ass. You want bus fare home?"

"Yes, sir, I do. Please, sir."

"Well, bitch, you're gonna have to earn it. I'm still pissed off about your little wimpy-ass display at the party, voting to cut off your own balls. I always knew you weren't a man, pee-pee, but goddamn, you are pathetic."

Just then, Jenny strolled outside with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to her lover and smirked. "pee-pee, are you pissing off my boyfriend?"

"Oh, no, Miss Jenny. I would never do that, ma'am."

She sniffed. "What a brown-noser."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

Marc took a sip. "All right, pee-pee, enough talk. Get the lead out of your ass and start unloading all this ****."

They sauntered into the house, leaving me to my task. As I lugged each heavy bag of soil around the side of the house, I could see Jenny and Marc through the picture window relaxing on their couch, ******** coffee and watching the morning news, and that familiar feeling of resentfulness and unfairness flooded me. Here I was, busting my ass to make their lawn look good, while they sat on their asses.

The situation might had been more tolerable if I'd gotten the sense that either of them had even a tiny bit of appreciation for all my hard work. But they take their cue from my masters (mostly Anna), and treat me like a subhuman piece of **** who should be happy to **** myself for them.

I worked nonstop until 6 that evening before Marc emerged from the house holding a hot dog with no bun.

"Meal break," he called, tossing the hot dog high in the air. We both watched it land in the soil at my feet.

"Dig in, pee-pee. You can take a ***** out of the garden hose, too."

"T-thank you, sir."

Marc watched me wolf down the hot dog and slurp from the hose. My rest period hadn't lasted more than two minutes when Marc clapped his hands.

"Okay, pee-pee, break's over. Back to work."

"Y-yes, sir."

He strolled back into the house and I continued spreading soil and planting fauna until sundown. I'd been toiling in the darkness for about 10 minutes when Jenny poked her head out the sliding door.

"Okay, pee-pee, there's nothing more you can do out here tonight. Come on in and get started on the basement."

"T-the basement, ma'am?"

"Yeah, pee-pee, the basement. Didn't your mistress tell you? You're also going to clean out the basement. What, did you think you were gonna sit on your ass and watch TV all night when it got dark? You think I'm just gonna give you bus fare home without you earning it?"

"N-no, ma'am."

"Then get busy. It's a mess down there. When you're done, you can let yourself out the backdoor and ***** in the shed — but I want you out there working as soon as the sun comes up. And be quiet, too; we want to ***** in tomorrow."

"Y-yes, ma'am." This was so unfair.

With that, Jen turned and walked away, and I ventured into the basement. She was right; it was a fucking mess, with **** lying everywhere, and I immediately knew I'd be up half the night cleaning it, after busting my ass on yardwork all day. I was exhausted, but of course, nobody gave a fuck.

As usual, as I worked, I kept getting interrupted by demands for ***** refills. It's so disheartening to be ****ing yourself for someone else's benefit while they lounge around watching television, and you have to drop what you're doing to fetch things for them because they're too damned lazy to do it themselves.

But that's my reality. I wish I could get used to it, and stop being so resentful. I have to accept the fact that this is my station in life. Anna is always stressing that, and I have to admit, the daily reminders certainly kept that fact at the forefront of my mind.

As I bent, scrubbed, polished, lifted and sorted through the basement clutter, I kept thinking about the fate of my testicles. I know unless I wholly embrace my slave role and learn to be even more subserviently enthusiastic about my position than I already am, there's no way Anna will let me keep my balls. She's clearly wanting to have me castrated, but I think there's still a little doubt in her mind. So, I must prove to her that it's not necessary.

My branding, however, is a foregone conclusion, although I have no idea when it's going to happen; they never tell me things like that, because they don't feel I have a "need to know." Yeah, I'm going to be *********, and they think it's really not my concern, since they believe they own my body.

Now, I've got to convince myself that they do, indeed, own my body. It is not my own ...

It'll be better once I'm branded, because it'll make me a better servant. And the tattoo, a heart with "Anna + Brent" inscribed inside, will always remind me of how much my masters love each other, and that's a good thing too. And if my wife wants to have me ... wants to have me cas ... cas ... castrated ... well, Mistress knows best. If it makes her happy, then I'll be happy. This is a time to rejoice! I'm going to be permanently marked as my masters' property! It's so wonderful!

For a quick minute, I actually believed it.

I finally finished the basement at about 3 a.m., and slinked out the backdoor to the shed. Despite the uncomfortable, dirty accommodations, I zonked out within a minute of lying on the shed floor.

I got about 3 hours' ***** before I was up with the sun and toiling in the yard. Jenny and Marc didn't rouse until I'd been out there about four hours; she yelled out the backdoor, "pee-pee! Wash off with the garden hose and come make coffee and breakfast."

With a sigh, I did as she ordered. Jenny and Marc made me kneel on the floor while they ate, like my masters used to do before they recently told me to tone down the submissiveness now that Junior is older, and to act more like a butler than a slave in front of him.

My mouth watered as I knelt there watching them enjoy the bacon and eggs I'd prepared. All I'd had to eat since the previous morning was a bare hot dog covered in dirt.

Jenny noticed me salivating. "Aw, are you hungry, pee-pee?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Too bad. You haven't earned any more food — and you sure as hell haven't earned bus fare."

"I'm sorry, ma'am." I gritted my teeth. How the hell hadn't I earned food or bus fare? I'd busted my ass and carried out all their orders enthusiastically and to the letter.

Marc chuckled. "You better get your ass in gear, pee-pee; that's a long walk home, isn't it?"

I hung my head. "Yes, sir."

He burped and pushed his plate away. "Okay, clean up these dishes and then get back out there, pee-pee. You still have a lot to do, and it will get done today, or I'll personally ask your masters to give you a hot pocket after you walk your sorry ass home. You hear?"

"Yes, sir, I'll get it done, I promise, sir."

"Whatever. Get these plates and get the fuck out of here."

"Yes, sir."

My stomach growled as I scraped the eggs off their plates into the garbage. I thought for a second about licking up their leftovers, but the little Anna-angel on my left shoulder chided me:

You aren't being a good slave by thinking about stealing food from my friends, pee-pee. I know you're hungry, but you have to sacrifice. That's why I want your balls, pee-pee. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice ...

As morning turned to afternoon, Jenny and Marc ventured outside to chill on the patio. They sat there playing cards while I worked my ass off a few yards away.

At one point, Marc looked up from his card-playing and shook his head. "Damn, pee-pee, you're making me tired just watching you. Keep it up, and maybe pretty soon, we'll see about giving you a break."

"Thank you, sir." I wanted to ask him if I'd be allowed to eat during this alleged break, but I kept my slave mouth shut.

Of course, they kept interrupting me for refills and other trivial bull****. I was elbow-deep in soil when Marc snapped his fingers and ordered me to come pick up a jack of spades that had fallen right at his feet. He could've just bent over and picked up the damn thing, but no — I had to wash up with the garden hose and literally run to the patio to retrieve the card. You should've seen the look on the smug sonofabitch's face when I handed it to him.

"Thanks, pee-pee. Don't know what I'd do without you. Now, back to work, bitch."

"Thank you, sir."

Despite Marc's promise, I didn't get a break until dinnertime. My tormentors had ordered pizza and ate it on the patio while I continued busting my ass. By then, I was absolutely exhausted, having worked nonstop for 30 hours with only a hot dog as sustenance and three hours' *****.

Finally, Marc announced: "Okay, pee-pee, you can take a break. Here." He flipped a pizza crust over the deck rail and it landed in the grass. "Bon appetite."

"Thank you, sir." I made a fool of myself rushing to pick up the pathetic piece of crust and gobbling it down.

Jenny smirked. "Poor pee-pee. You look like you're starving. Here." She picked up a piece of crust that still had a bit of the "good stuff," cheese and pepperoni, on it. Jen nibbled that part off the slice and then threw the ****ty part at me. I tried to duck, but it hit me in the shoulder, causing her to giggle.

"There you go, pee-pee. You can have seconds."

"Thank you, ma'am." Without a hint of embarrassment, I picked up the crust and stuffed it in my mouth.

Marc yawned. "Well, you better get back to work if you want to finish before the sun goes down; otherwise, your ass will be out here with a flashlight. You hear?"

"Yes, sir, I'm almost done, sir."

"Good. Then get a move on." He grabbed Jen's hand and they disappeared into their house.

I scrambled around planting the last patch of groundcover. When I was finally finished, I knocked on the door to inform Marc and Jenny.

They drifted outside to see my work, and I trailed behind them as they inspected the grounds before they led me back into the house.

"Kneel down, pee-pee," Jen said as we entered the living room. I obeyed.

Marc plopped down on the couch while Jenny ducked into the kitchen, reemerging a few seconds later holding a Mason jar about halfway full of pennies.

"Good news, pee-pee — you've earned your bus fare."

My eyes welled with tears; I hadn't expected this. Usually, my masters' friends love nothing more than to give me hope before yanking it away and laughing at my disappointment.

"Thank you so much, Miss Jenny. Thank you so much."

She waved her hand. "No problem, pee-pee. We need to get rid of these pennies anyway." With that she marched to the front door, opened the jar, and scattered the pennies all over the front lawn.

"There you go. I think that should be a dollar fifty; there might even be a little extra. Buy yourself a candy bar or something, pee-pee."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"No problem. Now, go." She shut the door.

I spent the next 45 minutes rubbing my hands through the grass, feeling for pennies in the dark. I panicked, wondering if I'd be able to find 150 pennies, but I finally had enough for the bus ride home. I thought about staying and trying to scrape up another 75 cents for a candy bar, but decided against it. I'm not great at guessing games, but it didn't look like there were more than 200 pennies in that jar, and I feared I'd spend another half-hour looking, only to come up short.

I limped the mile-and-a-half to the bus stop and waited another 45 minutes until the coach finally arrived. At first, the bus driver wasn't going to let me use all those pennies, but I guess he felt sorry for me when I broke into tears and told him I'd have to walk 20 miles after working for two days. Finally, he relented.

I slumped in the back of the bus, feeling exhausted, but also grateful that I wouldn't have to walk the 20 miles home.

Only a pathetic slave like me could feel thankful after being exploited, ****** and humiliated the way I'd been.

Sigh. I guess I'm the piece of **** Anna always says I am.

But at least I'm her piece of ****.

May 21, 2:21 p.m.

Dear Diary,

I'm all caught up on my chores, and Junior is playing nicely, so I finally have a minute to relax. I'm still operating on almost zero *****, and my entire body still aches from busting my ass and crashing on the hard floor.

On top of that, I feel stuffed to the gills by the huge butt-plug that's lodged in my tailpipe, which makes it difficult to move, and ****** me to waddle rather than walk. But I'm grateful; at least it's not a hot pocket. And I'd better get used to it, because this butt-plug is now part of my daily uniform.

Gawd, I wish I could take a nap and escape this misery for a few minutes, but I can't go down until the baby does, and he's not even close to being tired.

I guess it's not all bad news; Junior pooped on the potty twice today. It's getting so he's using the potty almost every time now, and that thrills my heart for so many reasons. First of all, when he's potty-trained it'll obviously free me from the daily drudgery of changing diapers. When he's trained, I'll get my own room in the basement, with beanbag privileges every night. And, of course, my masters will be happy, which is always the priority.

As I said, I didn't get much ***** after I got home from Jenny and Marc's last night. With me being gone for two days, the house was an absolute disaster. I didn't expect Anna and Brent to clean up after themselves, but I didn't anticipate the horror show that awaited me when I tiptoed through the front door at a little past midnight.

Tired as I was from the insane workload Jenny and Marc heaped on me, and as badly as I wanted to fall down on the hallway floor outside my masters' bedroom and go to *****, I knew there would be hell to pay if I left the house in that condition. So, I spent the next four hours scrubbing and polishing. I couldn't use the vacuum cleaner because my masters were *****ing, so I broke out the whisk broom and dustpan. That's the old-fashioned way of cleaning carpets, an old-fashioned pain in the ass.

I finally finished just after 4 a.m., and I flopped down on the floor. I had to be up by six to get everything ready before my masters roused, and it felt like my paltry snooze lasted only two seconds, not two hours.

I so badly wanted a cup of coffee. It's been years. Anna would never hear of it; other than on special occasions, like when Brent lets me have his backwash or a beer of my own, I've only been allowed to ***** from the basement utility sink.

That changed this morning, when my masters laid down new rules. That's why I'm wearing this fucking butt-plug.

It was a hectic start to the day, and I felt like a zombie as I tried to tend to the baby, fix my masters' breakfast and lay out their clothes. Every time I moved, I winced. Anna noticed.

"You look like you're in pain, there, pee-pee," she said as I set her plate in front of her.

"Yes, Mistress, I'm sorry, Mistress."

Brent took a bite of eggs. "Did Marc and Jenny put you to work, pee-pee?"

"Yes, sir — but, please, sir, I'm not complaining; it was an honor to work for your friends, master. Thank you for letting me work for them, sir."

"You're welcome, peeps. Did you get any *****?"

I bowed my head. "N-not much, sir."

He chuckled. "Yeah, Marc said they had a lot of work for you to do, and you wouldn't be getting much *****. Poor little pee-pee."

Anna scowled. "Poor little pee-pee, my ass. Tell him about the new rules."

Brent took another bite, snapped his fingers and pointed at his half-empty coffee cup. I jumped to give him a warmup and returned to standing a few feet from the table, my new mealtime "butler" position, now that Junior sat at the table in a high chair during most meals.

"Okay, pee-pee," Brent said. "Here's the drill: You're gonna have a few new rules to follow; stuff that'll help you remember who you are. Since we stopped the daily reminders, your mistress thinks you're really starting to slack off, and I agree."

I wanted to scream.

Slack off?!! I just absolutely fucking killed myself for your rude, asshole friends, and then, when I got home, continued busting my ass cleaning up the fucking mess you made instead of lying down like I badly wanted to do. I've worked like a fucking dog the past three days on only a couple hours' ***** ... every goddamn bone in my body aches ... how in the FUCK can you stand there and say that I've been slacking off???

Of course, I didn't scream. I didn't lodge a complaint, or even show my displeasure with a sigh or shoulder-slump. I just licked my lips and squeaked, "sorry, sir."

As always, Brent took the opportunity to reply, "yeah, pee-pee, you are sorry. Now, then — the new rules. First of all, you'd better make friends with your butt-plug, pee-pee, because you're going to start wearing it all day, every day. Now, you can thank me; your little bitch of a wife wanted it to be a hot pocket every day."

"T-thank you, sir." I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. I wouldn't put it past Anna.

So, I guess I'm supposed to be thankful that I'm going to have to shove that huge fucking thing up my ass every morning? What the fuck?!

Brent sipped his coffee. "Second, you're only allowed to ***** out of your toilet in the basement. I think it more befits your station, don't you agree?"

I swallowed. "Y-yes, sir. T-thank you, sir."

"Just don't do it in front of Junior," he said.

"Oh, no, sir, I won't."

"Good. Now, the third and final new rule: You're getting too fat, so, we're cutting your food budget in half."

I stared at my masters, wide-eyed and mouth open, trying to catch my breath. How could they do that? I was only allowed $20 a week to buy food; there's no way I can get by on $10 a week. But when I pleaded my case, Anna just laughed.

"Boy, you really are stupid, pee-pee. Of course, you can get by. It's simple math; just buy half the food. If you usually eat a whole can of that tuna fish for dinner, well, now you'll have to eat half a can. If you eat a whole apple, eat half a one. Duh."

"That's your budget until you knock some weight off your ass," Brent piped in. "Maybe later we'll let you get an extra can of soup or something."

All I could do is bow my head and croak, "thank you, Master."

Anna popped a piece of bacon in her mouth. "This is for your benefit, pee-pee. We want you to succeed, and be the best slave you can be. Don't you want to be the best slave for us you can possibly be?"

"Yes, Mistress ... of course, Mistress."

"Well, then, thank us for taking the time to care about your career development."

"Thank you, Mistress. Thank you, Master."

"Good." Anna shook her hair. "Now, listen — your master is so thoughtful; he knows I've always wanted to go skydiving, so for my birthday, he's taking me up to an airfield in Spring Woods tomorrow. We're staying the night, so, you're gonna need to pack us an overnight bag."

"Yes, ma'am." I wanted to cry; Brent had sprung the surprise while I was at Jenny and Marc's, and took credit for coming up with the idea.

I glanced at him, and he smirked before twisting the knife: "Make sure you pack a few sexy negligees, so I'll have a couple to choose from, pee-pee."

My jaw quivered. "Y-yes, sir."

"Good bitch. Take these plates away and get out of here."

Well, that was my morning. Before they left for work, Brent told me to get my butt plug from the hall closet and "stick it up the ol' boogaloo."

I pulled down my pants and obeyed. Anna sneered.

"That should serve as a daily reminder, what do you think, pee-pee?"

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you for the new rules, Mistress, and I know they'll help me be a better slave for you guys."

"Goo-ooooooodd!" She squealed out the last part of the word when Brent slipped up behind her and grabbed her derriere.

"Damn, baby, your ass looks good in this dress. What do you think, pee-pee; doesn't her ass look good in this dress?"

I gulped. "Um ... sir, I don't want to be disrespectful, but every part of my mistress is very beautiful — and you, too, Master, of course."

Anna sniffed. "Jeez, pee-pee, get your nose out of his ass. You're pathetic, you know that? We don't need to castrate you — you don't you don't have any balls to start with."

With that, they walked out the door, and I got started on my morning routine.

As I did my chores, I contemplated these new rules. Perhaps, since they were imposed to serve as daily reminders of my position, that means they're seeing if that measure works before taking the drastic step of castration.

That's my only hope. So, I'm going to redouble my efforts, and embrace my servitude. In fact, I'm going to sign off now, dear diary, and instead of relaxing in my down time, even though I'm absolutely exhausted from all the work I've done, I'm going to do some extra stuff for my masters. I know — I'll polish Brent's tools and arrange them nicely in the garage; and I'll put a shine on every one of Anna's 53 pairs of shoes.

I'll try to finish up by the time they get home tonight. If not, they're going to be gone on the skydiving trip, and I'll get a lot done then. That is, unless they pimp me out to one of their friends.

Oh, my mind and spirit tell me to go do extra work for my masters in order to save my balls, but my battered body is begging me to chill for a few minutes and watch my TV programs.

I probably should. It probably won't be too long before Brent and Anna take away my TV privileges.

But, no. If I'm being the best possible slave I can be, I won't sit on my ass and watch TV; I'll use that time to work for my masters.

So, that's it for today's entry, dear diary. Good bye for now.

May 22, 11 a.m.

Well, my masters left for their skydiving trip this morning, and I was able to crash on the floor for an extra two hours before Junior started fussing in his playpen. I would've gotten even more *****, but this damned butt-plug keeps me awake.

Anna is a sadistic genius; she knows exactly how to keep me humble, and, let me tell you, having a huge piece of hard plastic rammed up my ass does the trick even more effectively than the daily reminders. I don't know if I'll ever get used to this; I feel it every time I move, and I have to walk like a duck.

My hunched gait was a source of amusement to my masters this morning when I served breakfast.

"You're walking like you got a stick up your ass, pee-pee," Brent said as I poured his orange juice. "Oh, wait, I forgot — you do have a stick up your ass."

Anna stirred her coffee. "Well, he's a gimp, so it makes sense that he should walk like a gimp. Walk over to the wall, pee-pee."

I wobbled to the other end of the dining room as ordered, and Junior started laughing hysterically in his high chair. His parents joined him.

"Keep walking; Junior loves it," Anna said after I'd returned to my "butler" spot near the table.

I limped back and forth across the room, and the baby continued laughing at me while my smug masters leisurely ate their breakfast and watched me with smirks on their faces. My stomach grumbled, and in addition to the *********** of having to limp around for their amusement, I felt even sorrier for myself when I contemplated the half-ration breakfast I'd wolfed down earlier.

Normally, I'd have a piece of toast and an orange for breakfast, but with my food budget cut by 50%, I broke the piece of bread and orange in half. That was my sorry breakfast — half a goddamn piece of bread and a few orange wedges. My masters throw away more than that every morning.

Junior eventually got bored with my limping around, and Anna told me to stop the show and refill her coffee. I obeyed and returned to my mealtime position with my hands folded in front of me and my cheeks hot with *********** as I stood there awaiting further orders.

And the orders came, as always:

pee-pee: Refill!

pee-pee: More salt.

pee-pee: Hot sauce.

pee-pee: Coffee!

That was the only attention I got the rest of the meal as they sat at the table as a family. I felt like such an outsider as I stood there watching Brent and Anna discussing their skydiving trip and playing goo-goo gaga with their baby.

At one point, Brent tickled Junior and he spit his oatmeal everywhere, and I had to rush and get a rag to clean it up. I felt a surge of pride as I scurried around taking care of the mess so my masters wouldn't have to be bothered with it. I actually enjoyed doing it, because it made me feel useful.

That's all part of my new attitude. I'm learning to love my servitude, and I've made it my mission to show my masters that I'm happy to be their slave, so they won't feel it necessary to castrate me. I wasn't able to shine Anna's shoe collection or polish Brent's tools yesterday like I wanted to, because Tammy unexpectedly dropped off a mountain of laundry for me to do, which sucked up all my free time. As soon as I'm done writing this entry, though, I'm going to get cracking on it. Since my masters will be gone for two days, I have plenty of time.

All in all, things aren't too bad. I'm even trying to convince myself that I'm happy about the "present" my master left for me before they split for Spring Woods.

I had just packed their overnight bags and was about to load them in the car when Brent came walking up the basement stairs. I thought it was odd, since he rarely has occasion to go into the basement.

He smirked as I passed him in the kitchen on my way out the side door.

"Left you a present down there, pee-pee," he said. Then, noticing the bags in my hand, he added: "Did you pack lots of sexy things for my girl to wear?"

"Yes, Master, I think you'll like them, sir."

"Oh, I'm sure I will." He brushed past me and said over his shoulder, "enjoy your present, pee-pee. And I want you to enjoy it all weekend; don't flush your toilet until we get back."

I groaned. I had a pretty good idea what his "present" would turn out to be.

My fears were confirmed after my masters left without even saying goodbye; they cooed their farewells to Junior, hopped in the car and took off. With a sad sigh, I ventured into the basement, and, sure enough, the toilet water was yellow. So, that's what I'll be ******** until they return.

But it's a good thing. I'm thankful to my master for leaving me such a wonderful present; now I can have a part of him inside me while he's gone — and since he made love to my mistress this morning, I'll be ******** a part of her, as well. I have such wonderful masters, and it's so great being their slave.

Yeah, right. If I keep saying it enough, maybe I'll convince myself that it's true.

I don't know why I'm so upset that Brent took the credit for thinking of and planning the skydiving trip. What did I expect? Did I think they were going to throw a parade for me? Of course not. Still, I thought Anna at least would be aware that I'd been the one to come up with the idea. And the smug look he gave me when Anna broke the news; I swear, sometimes, I wish I could slap that sonofabitch.

I'm sorry. I take it back. That's a terrible thing to say about my wonderful master.

Ugh, this damned butt-plug is absolutely killing me. I'm only allowed to remove it when I go ****, and I keep resisting the temptation to convince myself I have to go in order to take the plug out for a few minutes. These are the internal struggles I constantly deal with: I lead a difficult life, and I'm almost always in a state of discomfort in one form or another. My natural instinct is to try to get relief from the pain, but those selfish needs aren't always compatible with what my masters want. This causes a lot of inner turmoil.

My masters want me to wear this painful plug so that I will constantly be reminded that I am their slave ... that they can do whatever they want with me ... that I should grin and be happy about it. So, that means I have to stop thinking of wearing the plug as a bad thing. I've simply got to embrace all this, or I'm surely going to lose my balls.

Sigh. Let me sign off and start working on my big project. By the time they get home, Anna's shoes won't have a speck of dirt on them, and they'll shine so brightly she'll have to wear Foster Grants to see them. Brent's tools are going to look newer than new, and the garage will be as spotless as an operating room. If I get done with those two jobs, I'll find something else to do for my masters.

Well, dear diary, I might not have any entries for a few days, because I plan on really going above and beyond for my masters so they'll be pleased when they get home, and I may not have time to write. Good bye.

May 26, 2:20 p.m.

Dear diary,

Things have been a bit hectic the last few days and I haven't had time to write. That's probably a good thing; I've been in a ****ty mood since my masters' big homecoming turned out to be a huge disappointment. I'm sitting here on the living room floor trying to look on the bright side, but even though I'm all caught up on my chores and have some downtime before I have to start dinner, I've still got a fucking scud missile shoved up my rectum.

I used to have daily reminders. Now, I have all-day reminders. But believe it or not, I'm kind of getting used to it. Like a toothache. In my ass.

One thing I'll never get used to is Anna's cruel indifference to me and everything I sacrifice for her. It was on full display when they returned from their trip.

While my masters were off skydiving, I worked myself to exhaustion, only taking breaks to spend time with Junior, since his well-being is obviously my top priority. I thought I'd be able to **** two birds with one stone by bringing Anna's shoes into the dining room to polish while Junior ate dinner in his highchair, but that only lasted so long because the kid thought it was funny to keep flinging his mashed potatoes at his mommy's shoes. He already knows I have no authority over him whatsoever, and all I could do was plead for him to stop. He didn't stop, so I finally had to take Anna's shoes out of firing range.

Junior is getting to be just like his ******.

At least, he's using the potty more and more. I'm doing a fantastic job potty-training him, if I do say so myself. He's now telling me when he has to poop; he'll say "pee-pee, poo-poo," and I'll get his potty for him. He'll be fully trained in no time. Then, I'll get my little room in the basement — not to mention the luxury of beanbag privileges every single night. I keep trying to imagine it; a room of my own ... a soft beanbag every single night ...

After I put the brat to bed, I jumped back into my work and toiled deep into the night. I made good time, although there was one impediment: calls of nature, which had become a major undertaking.

After my master left his present in my toilet and told me not to flush, I found myself facing a serious dilemma the first time I had to take a ****. There was no way I could take a dump on top of my master's present; he would almost certainly view that as disrespectful. Plus, if I crapped in my toilet, I couldn't ***** that water because I'd be setting myself up for e-coli poi***ing. And I couldn't flush the toilet, since he had expressly forbidden it.

I thought about going to one of the neighbors and lying, telling them our toilet is out and asking if I could use theirs, but I immediately put that out of my mind. What if my masters asked about it? I couldn't tell them I lied to our neighbors — not without getting a hot pocket in return.

I also contemplated using the john at the 7-Eleven, which is about a 10-minute walk from home. But something told me that wouldn't sit well with my masters, who want me to use my sad little toilet, not public facilities meant for normal people.

So, I decided to make the 20-minute trek to some woods behind a condo unit and go there. With the butt-plug, it was a grueling walk, and I had to lug Junior along. I hoped nobody would see me limping into the woods carrying a baby; they would surely call the police.

I had brought along a few sheets of toilet paper; my masters probably never considered when they cut my food budget in half that I'd be ****** to use half the toilet paper, since that expense has always been included in my $20 per week, now $10 per week, food allowance. Even before the cut, I was already parsimonious with the toilet paper, since I only had it in the budget to buy a roll every two weeks. Since the half-rations started, I've just accepted that I'll only be able to use a few sheets, and I'm bound to get **** on my hands. I can wash it off in the utility sink.

When I was deep enough into the woods to feel comfortable, I set Junior on a patch of grass and squatted. I made sure the baby wasn't looking when I surreptitiously pulled the plug out of my ass. As I started to ****, I noticed a single loose newspaper page lying in some brambles. I tucked the toilet paper I'd brought back into my pocket and tore off a piece of the newspaper. Then, I folded the rest of the page and also put that in my pocket, to be used for ass-wipe later. That would buy me a couple days to stretch out the budget.

Junior saw me ****ting and busted out laughing. "pee-pee, poo-poo, pee-pee, poo-poo," he kept squealing at the top of his lungs, his peals of ******** laughter echoing through the trees, making me wince.

Fearing someone might come to investigate and find me in the woods with my pants down, wearing a spiked cock cage and holding a butt plug while tending to a baby, I hurried up and finished my crap before scooping up Junior and scooting the hell out of there.

I didn't feel like walking all the way to the woods every time I had to piss, so I just peed in my battered, old Dixie cup in increments and drank down each bitter, thimbleful-like shot, feeling like a complete loser.

The things we do for love. Sigh. Episodes like that always knock me down a peg.

But I wasn't in a morose mood when my masters came home. I was more like an eager puppy-dog, sitting at the front window wagging my tail.

They tumbled in laughing and falling all over each other, and I was flooded with emotion to see them.

"H-hello, Mistress. Hello, sir. Welcome back. Junior missed you, and so did I. I'm so glad you're home."

"Bring him here, pee-pee." Anna peered over my shoulder toward the playpen and smiled at her ***. I rushed to carry the baby to his parents.

"Take the bags out of the car and unpack them, but first, I'll take a lemonade in the living room," my wife said as I handed Junior over to her.

"Yes, Mistress, right away, Mistress."

"Make that two, pee-pee."

"Coming right up, sir."

I was being as cheerful as possible without going overboard, which can really set Anna off. ****, what can't set Anna off? She's a fucking psycho.

See? You're doing it again. You shouldn't think disparaging thoughts about your mistress. Anna isn't a psycho ... she isn't cruel; she's just playful, and I'm her plaything. And I'm so happy to be her plaything. I'm so happy she enjoys setting me up and giving me hope, only to yank it away and laugh while I cry my little eyes out. Her laughter trumps my pathetic tears. I am so lucky!

Jeez, my thoughts aren't even my own. I've resorted to internal brown-nosing.

Anyway, my masters hung around the living room playing with their *** while I scurried back and forth unpacking bags, sorting laundry and fetching *****s.

I was making my master a snack when Anna got off the couch and drifted into the bedroom. I perked up; would she notice her gleaming shoe collection? I heard her tinkling.

The toilet flushed and she emerged a few minutes later, by which time I had served Brent his chips and dip, and was about to go do my masters' hand-washables.

"pee-pee, that bathroom smells funny; like oranges or something."

"Oh, that's a different cleaner I used, Mistress; we ran out of the usual stuff and I haven't gone shopping yet. I had to use the old bottle that—"

"Well, it stinks," she cut me off. "Don't use it again."

"Of course not, Mistress, I'll dump it out."

She didn't answer me, but plopped on the couch next to Brent. She hadn't noticed my hard work, so, against my better judgment I decided to bring it up.

"Um, Mistress? Master? Uh ... while you guys were gone skydiving, I did something special for you, to show you how much I love being your slave. Mistress, I polished your whole shoe collection like they've never been cleaned before. I spent hours on them. And, sir, you should go look at the garage; I polished every one of your tools, sir. They look like diamonds, sir. I didn't rest for one second while you guys were gone, other than to take care of Junior, because I wanted to show you how much I love serving you, and being your slave. I really do."

Anna arched an eyebrow. "And what? You want a cookie? You're supposed to do all that ****, pee-pee. Don't stand there telling us how you didn't rest for one second; you're not supposed to be sitting around on your ass. Are you?"

My bottom lip quivered. "N-n-no, Mistress."

Brent chuckled. "Aw, c'mon, Anna, give poor little guy a break. He's just trying to keep his balls."

She sniffed. "Well, that ain't gonna happen if he keeps running around bragging about how hard he's working for us." She turned to me. "What are you standing there for, pee-pee? Don't you have some little chore to do? If you don't, I can think of one."

"Y-yes, Mistress."

I scurried away so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes.

It sucks being me.

May 27, 1:33 p.m.

I was in a ****ty mood when my masters got home from work last night but I didn't show it. From the moment they sauntered through the front door, I kissed their smug asses with smiling lips.

Dinnertime hasn't been easy since they started transitioning Junior to big boy food. Last night we had spaghetti, and the little bastard kept me running until my tongue dragged the carpet. He thinks it's hilarious to fling food everywhere and watch me scramble to clean it up. Sometimes his parents will chide him for it; sometimes, like last night, they just sit there smirking.

I had cut Junior's noodles into small pieces, and he started spitting them on the floor near his highchair. No sooner would I clean it up, put the rag away and return to my serving position when he'd do it again, and I'd sigh and repeat the process. After a while, he started using his fork to fling the spaghetti everywhere — until an errant noodle landed on his mom's sleeve.

"That's enough, Brent Junior. You stop that right now." Anna took a firm tone I wasn't allowed to use, and the nonsense ceased.

I can't even imagine the terror Junior is going to put me through as he gets older. I shudder to think of how bratty he'll be at age 5 ... 10 ... 15 ... 18. I imagine he'll be dropping off his laundry for me to do when he's well into his 50s — if I live that long.

After dinner, I gave lengthy foot massages to both Anna and Brent while they watched television and spent time with their ***. As always, I felt like an intruder on their "family moment," even though I'm ostensibly part of this family, too.

Yeah, right. Part of the family. Like the family Labrador.

Nah. No pedigree for me. I'm the family mongrel; the stray mutt they kick around. Hell, I'm not even that.

People love their dogs. Nobody loves pee-pee.

Have you ever rubbed feet for almost three hours straight, with no breaks other than to fetch ****** (and once to put Junior on his potty)? Have you ever done it while squatting on your haunches with a howitzer stuck up your ass? It'll make you sweat, that's for sure — and when you have a mistress like Anna, that'll get you chided.

"Ewww, you're sweating like a pig, pee-pee. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Um, er, uh ... um, Mistress, I think ... uh, I think it's ... the plug."

"The plug?"

"Y-yes, Mistress. Um ... the butt ... the butt plug."

Brent laughed at the ceiling. "Yeah, pee-pee, I guess that would make you sweat a little bit, wouldn't it?" He broke into the James Brown lyric: "Make ya sweat-uh! Make you sweat-uh!"

Anna crinkled up her nose. "Well, it's nasty. Go get a towel and wipe yourself off. You better get used to that butt-plug, pee-pee, because it's the only thing keeping me even considering letting you keep your pathetic little balls."

I gulped. "T-thank you, Mistress." Then, I ran as fast as I could, fetched my slave towel, wiped myself off and got back to rubbing my wife's sexy little feet while she cuddled with her man and their *****.

When their programs ended, Anna went into the bedroom to gab on the phone, while Brent headed into the garage to tinker with his Mustang. This was the first time he'd gone into the garage since I'd cleaned it, and I stood nearby for a few minutes, hoping he'd call me in there to tell me he liked the job I'd done.

He didn't. I'm a sap.

Later on, though, my master did acknowledge my hard work. He was kicked back on the couch watching the Giants game while I sat on the carpet nearby re-lacing his sneakers.

When a car commercial came on, he said, "by the way, the tools and the garage look great, pee-pee. You'll have to go back in there later on and spruce things up a little, because I made a bit of a mess ... but great job."

My chest swelled with pride. "Thank you so much, sir." After getting reamed the night before for bragging about my hard work, I knew enough to leave it at that.

Brent took a ***** of beer, but spit it back in the bottle. "Ugh. That's warm and flat. Here, pee-pee; you want it?"

"Oh, yes, Master."

"Run and fetch me a cold one first."

I carried out his directive, and tears filled my eyes as he handed me his half-full bottle. "Oh, Master ... thank you, Master, so much."

He patted my head. "Least I could do, pee-pee. I know it was mean leaving you a present in your toilet like that. But Anna got a kick out of it."

"T-thank you, Master."

"So, how did you go to the bathroom? I know you didn't use the upstairs toilets. And you better not had gone on top of my present."

"Oh, no, Master, I would never think of doing that. I'd be crazy! Oh, no, sir ... I walked to the woods behind that condo unit on Stegman Street."

Brent cracked up. "Damn, how far away is that, two, three miles? Why didn't you just walk to the 7-Eleven?"

"Um, I ... I didn't think you guys would want me to do that, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because ... um, because ... well, I'm a slave, sir, and I didn't think you wanted me to use a toilet like regular people do. I thought you'd like it better if I went in the woods."

"You walked all that way every time? Even to piss?"

"No, sir. I ... I peed in my Dixie cup and drank it."

Brent shook his head and tittered. "Jeez, pee-pee, you're really fucking pathetic, you know that?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I just want to be a good slave, sir."

"And you took my *** to the woods? Where'd you put him?"

"There was a patch of grass, sir. I made sure it was a good spot, with no poi*** ivy or anything, sir. And I also made sure he was turned the other way when I took out ... the ... plug."

"Well, as long as you did that, I guess there's no harm in him watching the family servant **** in the woods."

"Sir, he thought it was funny. He kept laughing and laughing."

Brent chuckled. "Yeah, he knows you're a gimp, too, pee-pee."

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem. Now, ***** up before Anna comes in and gives you another month in that cage for being uppity."

I gulped down the warm, flat beer as if it were wine poured by Dionysus himself and ditched the bottle.

I had a buzz going when Anna strolled into the living room wearing only a pair of panties. She fell onto the couch and kissed her lover.

Brent leaned back and looked at my wife's bare tits. "Damn, girl, if you're trying to turn me on, it's working."

"Well, then, how about we adjourn to the boudoir?"

"Sounds like a plan, baby."

Anna scowled at me. "pee-pee, make sure the baby's all set for bed and wait outside the bedroom. We'll call if we need anything."

"Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress."

My masters walked hand-in-hand toward their bedroom while I scooped up their *** and put him to bed. Then, I curled up on the floor in the hallway outside the closed master bedroom door, listening to Anna squeal, Brent grunt and the bedpost slam.

After about 45 minutes ... or an hour ... or 17 days ... things got quiet. And I waited. And waited.

Nothing.

As I lay there feeling sorry for myself, I tried to get inside Anna's head. I didn't like what I saw ...

Sorry, little insignificant slave, we don't want you tonight. A towel does the job just fine; I don't want you anywhere near me. Why? Because you're disgusting, pee-pee. You make me want to puke. Enjoy ******** on the floor, you gullible idiot. And then, in the morning, we'll treat you like **** and you'll bust your ass for us. We'll keep exploiting your sorry ass for as long as you're stupid enough to put up with it.

Mercifully, ***** finally came.

I'm all caught up and I'm absolutely loving this story. I love how sullen and resentful his thoughts are, and how cruel Anna is 😈👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

thank you for the next chapters, please keep posting
Submissive Cuckold - lives for many years in a female-led marriage with a cuckold lifestyle.

Glad you guys like it! Here's poor pee-pee's next diary entry:

June 1, 1:29 p.m.

Dear diary,

Although my masters went skydiving last week to celebrate Anna's birthday, her actual birth date was yesterday, May 31. That also happened to be Memorial Day, and as I served breakfast at the dining room table, Anna instructed me to begin packing for a picnic.

"Yes, Mistress. Um ... happy birthday, Mistress."

"What did you get me, pee-pee?"

"Um ... I'm so sorry, Mistress ... I ... I didn't have the money to buy you anything, Mistress."

"We give you $20 a week, and you can't even buy me a little something? That's awful selfish, pee-pee."

Brent held up his finger. "Actually, it's $10 a week, remember? We cut his budget in half."

Anna chuckled. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Little bitch deserves it. Still, even $10 a week; you should've bought me something, pee-pee."

Tears started welling up. "I'm so sorry, Mistress. I'm so, so sorry. I just ..."

And then, it all came flying out: "I just don't know if I'm going to have enough to live on, Mistress. I really don't mean to sound uppity, and please don't think I am, but, please, Mistress, I have to eat, and $10 ... it just isn't enough."

Anna got "that look" on her face.

"What do you mean, it isn't enough? You'll be fine. Go to the dollar store. Everything's a dollar. Get 7 cans of tuna fish; there's your food every day right there. Or maybe get 5 cans of tuna, and get a couple bags of Raman Noodles, or a box of cereal to change it up. They have oatmeal; that'll fill you up. And they sell those fruit bags with 5-6 apples for $1. So, what are you bitching about? You've been spoiled, pee-pee, but that's about to change."

Spoiled?! I gritted my teeth, hung my head and uttered, "yes, Mistress, sorry, Mistress."

Of course, she replied, "yeah, you are sorry, pee-pee."

I can't win for losing.

Brent yawned. "All this talk about ****ty dollar store food reminds me: use the leftovers from that juicy, delicious ham you made the other night, pee-pee, and fix sandwiches for the picnic. Oh, and make potato salad. That okay with you, baby?"

"Yeah, but make macaroni salad, too, pee-pee."

"Yes, Mistress."

My mouth watered as I prepared their food, and I once again reflected on how adept Anna is at controlling me. Being barred from eating their gourmet food puts me firmly in my place — not that I need any help being put in my place with this log stuck up my ass. She controls my body and mind; a normal per*** subject to my paltry diet would sneak a bite or two, but I'm a scared little mouse, and while the thought certainly occurred to me a few times, I was too cowardly to actually do it.

On the contrary, I yelled at myself for even thinking about it ...

What the hell's wrong with me? How dare I think of sneaking a bite of my masters' food? That's normal people food, and Mistress says I'm not good enough to eat it. I wish I was a normal per***, but I'm not. I take that back; I don't wish I was a normal per***, because if I was, I wouldn't have the honor of serving my mistress and master ...

And then I had visions of Anna, sneering as always ...

Jeez, what a fucking sap you are, pee-pee. Your thoughts aren't even your own, are they? You can't even think bad things about us. And you're too scared to take even a little bite of food. I've got you trained, don't I, you ugly little piece of ****? You're so loyal to us ... and why? We treat you like dog**** and you keep coming back for more. I mean, who does that? You do. That's because you're no man; you ain't worth a pimple on Brent's ass, and you know it. I can't believe what a pathetic little wimp you are ...

As usual, I shook away the negative thoughts by immersing myself in my tasks, and I had everything ready for the picnic by 10 a.m. I had to refrigerate it when my masters decided at the last minute that they didn't want to leave until closer to noon. I was just glad I hadn't pulled the car around yet, or else I may have ended up having to park it and stand outside for nearly two hours. I hate that rule, but Mistress gets what Mistress wants, and she doesn't want me chilling inside her or Master's car.

I puttered around the house until it was time to leave, and I packed everything into the car. My masters rode up front while I hunched in the backseat with Junior.

After we parked near the woods, I unloaded the car while my masters stood there holding hands, watching me. Brent held his *** on his shoulders.

"Get a move on, pee-pee, I'm getting hungry," he said.

"Yes, sir."

He's hungry!??All I've had since yesterday was one can of tuna fish and two orange wedges. And this smug asshole tells me he's hungry, just a few hours after I made him and my wife a huge breakfast?!!?

I swallowed my indignation and scrambled around snatching up the picnic provisions. My arms were full and I struggled to keep up with my masters as they strolled to the picnic site, a clearing with a beautiful view of a line of oak trees. The butt plug that was shoved up my ass didn't help as I waddled through the woods about 50 feet behind my masters, trying to balance all the **** in my arms.

At one point, Anna stopped, turned and scowled.

"Jeez, pee-pee, what the fuck are you doing? Keep up. Didn't your master just tell you he was hungry?"

"I-I'm s-so sorry, Mistress, I'll be right there, Mistress." My eyes welled with tears as she turned and kept walking without a reply.

When we finally made it to the clearing, I rushed around as quickly as I could setting everything up. Then, I took my butler position, hands folded in front of me, and watched the family enjoy their picnic. I kept having to swallow because my mouth was watering so much as I watched my masters casually chomp their ham sandwiches and slurp up macaroni noodles.

My poor stomach started grumbling like crazy, which of course pissed off my wife.

"Go stand over there, pee-pee." She pointed to a spot in the tall grass.

I waddled to the designated position and felt like a fool standing there in grass up to my chest. My mouth hung open and my eyes over glazed as I watched my masters take each excruciating bite. Anna noticed me staring at them and smirked.

"Hungry, pee-pee?"

"Y-yes, Mistress — but I'm not complaining, Mistress. I'm glad you cut my budget in half, Mistress, because I need to lose weight, Mistress."

Brent chuckled. "Jeez, pee-pee, you really don't have any pride whatsoever, do you?"

I bowed my head. "No, Master. I'm just a slave, sir. I don't have any pride."

"Nor should you."

The family ignored me for a while, and I stood there in the deep grass feeling hungry, miserable, mistreated and left out. I actually felt happy every time one of my masters would snap their fingers and order refills or seconds, because it made me feel like I was being useful to them.

Finally, after he had devoured one sandwich and more than half of a second, along with a mountain of mac and potato salad, Brent leaned back and burped.

"That was good, pee-pee."

"Thank you sir."

He gestured toward his plate, which contained a good portion of his ham sandwich and potato salad. "Tell you what, pee-pee. If you run to the car really fast, and I mean as fast as your fat ass can possibly go, and fetch me my lighter, I might see fit to let you eat my leftovers."

"Thank you, Master." Before the last word was out of my mouth, I was running as fast as my butt-plug would allow, and all three of my superiors cracked up watching me. At one point I fell down, and they really died laughing. I left their view shortly after that when I rounded a bend, and kept racing down the path, wondering if I was being set up yet again.

How many times is Lucy gonna pull the football out from under you before you realize what a sap you are? Your mistress is right; sap sums you up perfectly. You know damn well your master is going to trick you, get your hopes up that you might be able to eat those mouthwatering leftovers, and instead, at the last second, he'll pull some dirty trick ... then again, what if he's not kidding? RUN FASTER!!!!

I was completely out of breath by the time I ran the half-mile to the car and back. Brent snatched the lighter, stepped back away from Anna and the baby, and lit a post-picnic cigar, something he'll treat himself to from time to time.

When I stopped wheezing, I glanced at Brent's plate, and was crestfallen to see that it was empty.

He noticed. "Aw, sorry 'bout that, pee-pee. Yeah, I was a little hungrier than I thought. You know how it is when you get hungry."

My shoulders slumped. Anna noticed.

"Your master just saved you a few calories," she said. "What do you say to him?"

"T-thank you, sir."

She sneered. "I should slap the **** out of you for disrespecting your master like that. I saw your shoulders droop down. What's wrong, pee-pee? Aren't you happy being our slave? Maybe you need to have your balls cut off to remind you who you really are?"

I fell to my knees. "Oh, no, please, Mistress, please, don't—"

Brent jerked his thumb toward the sky. "Get off your goddamn knees, pee-pee."

I stood and tried to hold back the tears that were forming, but it was no use. I started bawling like a baby. Anna reared back and slapped me so hard I literally saw cartoon stars.

"Quit whining, pee-pee, and start packing up."

"Yes, Mistress."

I scrambled around folding their blanket and putting everything away, and again was loaded down as I tried to keep up with my masters as they strolled ahead of me, oblivious to the incredible pain the butt-plug caused with each step.

I packed the car and slid into the backseat. It was a sad, lonely ride home.

Poor Pee Pee! I love his owner Anna, so methodically cruel and wonderful in her lack of empathy 🥰

The story is excellent.

I noticed the submissive is starting to internalize his mistress's voice. Is this something you have personally experienced?

Are you familiar with Jaynes' theories on inner voices ("The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind") ?

June 14, 2:48 p.m.

Dear diary,

It's been several days since I last wrote, and my world is now a different place — a darker place. Once again, my wife gave me rea*** to hope, only to yank the rug out from under me and snicker at the betrayal. And, once again, I didn't do a damn thing except bow my head and thank her.

So much has happened, I suppose I should just start at the beginning. My masters never notify me of their plans, so I was shocked one morning a few days ago when they dropped their dastardly scheme on me at the last minute.

"Today's a big day for you, pee-pee," Anna said as I set her morning coffee on the dining room table. She leaned over in her chair, licked her finger and touched it to the side of her butt.

"Sssssssss," she hissed, and I knew she was imitating the sound of a branding iron.

She sipped her coffee. "You have a noon appointment, pee-pee. I don't know what little can of tuna fish or whatever you planned on eating for lunch, but the medical tech said you shouldn't eat anything."

I gulped. "A m-m-medical tech? Um ... is that ... do you need a medical tech for the branding, or ...?"

My wife chuckled. "Don't worry, pee-pee — we're not gonna cut your pathetic little balls off."

My sigh could be heard a block away, and I resisted the urge to fall to my knees and kiss Anna's shoes. I took a breath. "T-thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much."

"No problem, pee-pee." She nodded at her cup. "Top that off."

I obeyed, and then stood in my usual serving spot near the table. As my masters ate, I had time to think, and wasn't sure whether to feel scared or thankful. Actually, I was both. I'd been trying not to think about how badly the brands on my ass cheeks and penis were going to hurt, but now that it was imminent there was no way to block it out of my mind. But Anna telling me they weren't going to cut my balls off was an incredible weight off my shoulders. I stood there, hands folded politely in front of me like a good slave, my impassive expression belying my emotions, which fluctuated from terror to relief.

My reverie was interrupted when Junior started throwing oatmeal everywhere, and I had to keep scrambling to get a rag and clean it up. He was in a mischievous mood, and as soon as I'd wiped up his mess and returned to my serving position, he'd toss another handful of slop, and I'd have to scurry back into the kitchen for the rag. Moving around with the butt-plug up my bowels was difficult and painful, which Brent found amusing.

"Poor pee-pee — walking must be a bitch with a baseball bat up your ass," he said. "Your mistress is mean making you wear that every day."

I stared at the floor; no way was I about to comment on that. Junior saved me when he squealed and tossed another handful of oatmeal; this time he threw it at me, and it slapped my neck before sliding down the front of my shirt and onto the floor. Everyone in the family thought that was hilarious, and I stood before them with a fake smile plastered on my face, my ears burning with shame.

No sooner had I cleaned up the oatmeal, when Junior threw another handful, which hit me smack-dab in the face. The food stuck to my cheek, and I had to scrape it off with the blade of my hand.

Brent chuckled. "Okay, Junior that's enough; pee-pee needs to get these plates out of here."

Anna smirked at me. "After you clean up, start getting ready for your big treat."

My big treat.

"Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress." I dashed around the dining room clearing the table while the family relaxed. After I did the dishes, I showered in my basement "slave shower," and dunked my Dixie Cup into my toilet several times and drank up, since I wasn't sure how long it would be before I'd be able to ***** anything again.

I studied my battered Dixie Cup and noticed it was really starting to wear thin at the bottom. It's only a matter of time before it wears through, and I'll have to beg for a new one, or else ***** from the toilet by sucking it out of my cupped hands. I contemplated going upstairs and asking my masters for a new cup, but figured I'd better wait until the time felt right.

And then, the self-loathing kicked in.

Look at me, about to be branded on my penis and my ass-cheeks, and stuck with a humiliating tattoo on my arm proclaiming my wife's love for her fucking boyfriend — and I'm worried about whether now is the right time to ask for a Dixie Cup, so I can ***** out of the toilet in luxury. I'm such a fucking loser ...

After a while, we hit the road. As usual, Master drove, Anna rode jump, and the baby and me were in the backseat. I wasn't sure where we were headed, but I thought it was odd that they were taking Junior to my branding, until Master pulled into Anna's sister's driveway, and I realized she'd be babysitting. As I said, they never advise me of their plans. Why should they? I'm just pee-pee the slave, and I don't need to be apprised of anything ahead of time; when they tell me to do something, I do it.

After I unstrapped the baby from the car seat, Anna told me to stay in the car since her sister is lukewarm about our poly/BDSM lifestyle, and probably wouldn't want me standing in her driveway. My masters carried their *** into the house and I waited in the car for about 20 minutes while they visited. I felt guilty about sitting in the backseat, and kept seeing visions of Anna's scowl years ago when she and Brent returned from an evening of shopping and she told her lover she thought I looked too comfortable chilling in the car. So, she imposed the rule that, if I have to wait for them, I must stand at attention outside the car.

It's a mean thing to do, but that's my Anna. My loving wife.

My masters returned to the car and we hit the road again, winding through the outskirts of town until we pulled into a long driveway. At the end, a sprawling, foreboding stone house sat in front of a cluster of eucalyptus trees.

My hand trembled as I held the car door for my wife. She noticed and smirked.

"What's wrong; you scared, pee-pee?"

I tried unsuccessfully to swallow. "Y-yes, Mistress, I'm sorry, Mistress."

Brent chuckled. "Don't be sorry, peeps — I think I'd be scared if I was you, too."

Anna looked at her watch. "We told everyone noon, right?"

Brent nodded. "We're still a little early."

I wanted to ask who else was coming, but I knew better. I got my answer as we walked toward the house, when Jimmy's SUV came rumbling up the driveway. I could see Tammy next to him, and Jen and Marc in the backseat.

Great, I'm gonna have a goddamn audience when I get branded.

My masters waited while their friends exited the vehicle and joined us on the walkway.

Jen looked at me and sneered. "So, did your masters tell you about your big surprise yet?"

Anna cleared her throat. "Shush, Jen, we haven't told him yet. We wanted to wait ... until later."

Tears welled in my eyes, and my shaking got worse. I tried to shut myself up, but I kept blubbering a "buh buh buh buh" sound, which cracked everyone up.

"Don't worry, pee-pee," my mistress said, winking at Jen. "It's not what you think."

Now, I was really frightened. They were fucking with me. I knew this "surprise" was not going to be good.

We walked up to the scary-looking house and Brent rang the doorbell. I expected it to sound like one of those Scooby Doo doorbells, but it was a normal chime.

A tall, bald man with a pointy goatee answered, and the thought ran through my mind that he was the devil himself. He was even dressed in black. He let us in, and I stood to the side while he and a pretty older woman, whom I assumed was Satan's wife, chatted. He apparently was friends with Marc and Jen, given their familiarity.

Finally, Lucifer looked at me. "And you must be pee-pee."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Have you eaten anything today, pee-pee?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Good. We can't do the operation on a full stomach."

"O-o-o-peration?"

The ***** drained from my face and I looked at my mistress. She flashed the most sickening smirk I've ever seen, and I changed my mind about which one was Satan.

"I know what you think, pee-pee. But I'm telling you, I didn't lie to you. We're not gonna cut your pathetic little balls off. So, don't worry your faggoty little head about it. Now, drop trou and take that butt-plug out of your ass."

I glanced around the room at all the amused, smug faces and fumbled with my pants. I was so humiliated as I squatted and pulled out the butt-plug in front of everyone, I felt like I was going to faint.

"Suck it clean," Brent said.

I started to obey when the bald guy's wife stopped me. "No, we can't have that bacteria in his system."

Brent smirked at me. "You lucked out. You owe me one, pee-pee. Maybe on down the road, we'll give you another Dirty Sanchez."

I blinked. "T-thank you, sir."

"He can take that plug down to the basement utility sink and wash it out," the woman said. "That's where we're headed, anyway."

I followed my superiors down the basement stairs and into a well-equipped sex dungeon, with implements cushioned in expensive red leather. But what scared the **** out of me was the operating table in the corner, with surgical equipment laid out.

I couldn't think straight; I kept parsing what my mistress had told me, trying to figure out what trick she was up to.

We're not gonna cut your pathetic little balls off ...

With a heavy heart, I figured that just wordplay; when Anna said "we" weren't going to castrate me, she meant her and Brent. It was obviously going to be this woman, who was changing into hospital scrubs.

"Get undressed, pee-pee; there's a razor and shaving cream in the bathroom." The woman nodded at a door in the corner of the dungeon. "Shave yourself from the neck down."

"That shouldn't be too hard, since pee-pee has no testosterone," Jen said, causing everyone to laugh and making me blush as I scurred toward the bathroom, which turned out to be larger than I'd expected. Whoever these two were, they had bucks.

I looked at myself in the mirror and the tears just started flowing. I knew I had to get started shaving, because if I took too long there'd be hell to pay, but I couldn't help myself; I stood there for several minutes, staring into my own eyes in the mirror, and then gazing forlornly at my testicles, my manhood. I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to them.

Jen was right; I don't have a lot of body hair, and I was denuded in short order. I walked back out into the dungeon, and everyone turned to me smirking.

Jimmy whistled. "Damn, that's a smooth ass, there, pee-pee. Better watch out, or you might just get raped!"

"You look like a plucked chicken, pee-pee," Tammy snickered.

The woman clapped her hands. "Okay, pee-pee, it's time." She turned to my masters. "You want to do his ass or his dick first?"

Anna and Brent looked at each other. Brent shrugged. "I don't know."

Jimmy piped in: "Let pee-pee decide!"

Everyone agreed that was a great idea.

"Where do you want to be branded first, pee-pee?" the woman asked.

My jaw bounced up and down, and a moaning sound came from my throat, but I just couldn't formulate words. I was in a full-blown panic attack, which everyone thought was the funniest thing in the world.

Mr. Satan cleared his throat. "Say, everyone, I know it's a bit early, but does anyone want a ***** before the show starts?"

"**** yeah, it's five o'clock somewhere," Jimmy said.

The devil looked at me. "Take ***** orders, pee-pee. We've got bourbon, scotch, gin, there's beer in the fridge."

Brent leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, pee-pee, that'll buy you a few more minutes to think where you want your initials branded first. I'll have a bourbon."

I felt like a zombie as I served everyone *****s for "the show," as Satan had referred to it.

I handed the woman, whose name I learned was Vanessa, her gin and tonic, and she arched an eyebrow.

"Well, pee-pee. Where do you want it first?"

I closed my eyes.

Just get the worst one over with. Maybe you'll pass out and won't feel the other ones ...

I gulped. "Um ... m-m-my ... on my ... on ... on my p-p-p-penis, ma'am."

Everyone cheered.

"Good call, pee-pee," Brent said, raising his whiskey glass. "That's my boy."

Vanessa strapped me onto an X-frame, with my legs locked in the spread position.

"Anton, baby, you want to get everything ready?" the woman asked.

The satanic Anton nodded and retrieved two branding irons and a blowtorch. Each of the irons was adorned by a block-letter "P," one larger than the other. I assumed the larger one was for my ass, and that the smaller one would scar my penis.

As I watched the iron Anton was holding get red-hot, I started heaving, trying to breathe, struggling against my bonds.

"You better hold still, pee-pee, or you're gonna be in a world of hurt," Vanessa said.

"Yeah, pee-pee." Anna sipped her gin. "Relax and enjoy it. This is what I want; aren't you happy for me that I'm getting what I want?"

"Y-y-yes, Mistress ... but you said ... you said ... YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T GOING TO CUT MY BALLS OFF, MISTRESS! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

I lost it and started crying my eyes out, unable to control myself from saying "please, please, please, please," in one long wail.

My misery only amused my masters and their friends, who relaxed with their *****s; I guess they considered my crying and begging as part of the "show." Anton wasn't *****ing though, since he was in charge of administering my **********.

Vanessa slipped a pair of rubber gloves onto her hand and swabbed my groin with *******. I was trying to hold still but it was impossible, since every breath was like trying to suck a Mack truck through a straw, and I couldn't stop trembling.

"I think someone's gonna have to hold him down; he's shaking too much," Anton said.

With an annoyed sigh, Brent stood up. Marc joined him.

"Jeez, pee-pee, you're a fucking spineless wimp to the very end, aren't you?" my master said as he reached his forearm across my chest, holding me steady against the X-frame. Marc stood on the opposite side and did the same.

Anton looked at Vanessa. "Ready?"

She nodded, pulled my dick to the side and stretched it out. The last things I saw before I closed my eyes were the intense look on Anton's face as he edged the branding iron toward the shaft of my penis, and, behind him, Jenny and Tammy, filming my misery with their cellphones.

And then I was flooded by a searing pain I never thought imaginable. I can't describe the agony, which was repeated seconds later as Anton burned another "p" into my penis flesh.

I couldn't take it and passed out.

I don't know how long I was ***********, but when I awoke it felt like the lower half of my body was dipped in fire. It was agony that made hot pockets feel like rim jobs.

"Ah, he's awake," Vanessa said. She leaned in close to me. "Your mistress is so good to you; I was going to have Anton brand your ass while you were zonked out, but Anna says she wants you to feel it, so we waited. Aren't you lucky to have such a kind and considerate mistress?"

"Huh? Uh ... I ... huh .... nnnggg ... yes, yes, ma'am." I was still out of it, and having a hard time comprehending anything through the wall of pain.

I found myself being turned over on the X-frame, so now I couldn't see anyone. I heard the blowtorch fire up, and then felt Vanessa's arms on my shoulders.

"Fellas, you want to help hold him again?" Vanessa asked, and I heard two pairs of shoes clomp across the floor before four more arms wrapped across my torso and held me fast to the frame.

The pain was sudden and searing, and once again, when Anton pressed the second "p" into my flesh, I lost consciousness.

When I woke up some time later, I'd been moved to the operating table. I tried to rise, but was bound fast.

Anna's face came into view as she leaned over me.

"Are you gonna be brave for me, pee-pee?"

"Y-yes, Mistress."

"Are you happy that I'm getting what I want?"

"Y-yes, Mistress."

"It's not what you think," she said. "It's not what you think ..."

Vanessa injected me with a syringe, and within seconds the room began spinning before melting into blackness.

I was dead to the world for hours before a sliver of light got in through my fluttering eyelids. Slowly, consciousness returned, although lucidity lagged behind.

Wha ... where am I? Owww, everything hurts ... wha .... whoa ... I'm gonna puke ... where am I? Ohhhhh, everything's spinning ... my balls ... OH, MY GAWD, MY BALLS!!!!

I tried to open my eyes but my lids wouldn't cooperate. I sucked in breaths, trying to focus.

Come on ... concentrate. Wake up ... check your balls ... wake up ... open your eyes ... check your balls ... open ... your ... eyes ... open ...

I finally managed to wake up. The pain radiating from my groin was the worst thing I've ever dealt with — physically, as least.

Bandages covered my private parts. I moved my arm, expecting it to be bound to the basement bed. It wasn't, so I was able to slowly reach downward toward my groin and tenderly peel back the bandage.

What I saw absolutely shocked me. Anna kept her promise; she didn't have my balls cut off — she had my dick cut off!!!

Through the haze, it dawned on me that Anna purposely made me go through the double penis branding just to make me feel the extra pain.

I threw up. Then, I passed out again.

omg thank you for that diary post, I guess I'm pervert because my cuck dick is rock hard
Submissive Cuckold - lives for many years in a female-led marriage with a cuckold lifestyle.

Great writing and storyline. You keep upping the "squeamish factor" in every chapter.

June 26, 3:48 p.m.

Dear diary,

I'm still adjusting to life without a penis. After the initial shock of seeing what Anna and Brent had done to me, I lay in that basement dungeon for hours, crying my eyes out. Finally, the door opened, and my masters and their friends filed into the room.

Brent smirked. "Hey, pee-pee — how's it hanging?"

That cracked everyone up, and I started to cry harder.

Anna approached me and stroked my hair. "Aw, poor pee-pee. It was mean of Mistress to play a trick on you like that, wasn't it?"

I couldn't have answered her if I wanted to; all that escaped my throat was a long, quavering moan.

"It's okay, pee-pee," my wife said as she continued petting me like a poodle. "Things are gonna be better for you now, watch. For starters, you don't have to wear your butt-plug every day. You don't need to be reminded of your position anymore. And we're giving you back your beanbag privileges, pee-pee. Aren't you happy?"

I looked up at her with what must've been the saddest puppy-dog eyes in the world, because she stuck out her bottom lip in a mock pout and repeated, "aw, poor pee-pee. Don't be sad; this is gonna make you a better slave for us, and isn't that what you want?"

Tears blurred my vision, and I couldn't talk, or even bring myself to nod.

"I think pee-pee's mad at us," Brett said.

Marc guffawed. "****, if someone cut my dick off, I'd probably be mad at them, too." Everyone thought that was funny.

Anna shot me a seductive look and started rubbing against me as I lay on the gurney. Her sensual tease gave me an odd feeling; even though I had no penis, I still had testicles, and the grinding made me incredibly horny.

"See, pee-pee? We left your balls, so you still have your sexual desires." My wife patted my forehead-. "Remember when you said if we cut your balls off, you wouldn't be horny, and that would make you a worse slave? Well, we listened to you, pee-pee. Aren't you happy?"

My eyes were blurry from the tears, and I couldn't find my voice. I was still woozy from the operation and drifted back into ***************.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to, I was surprised to see Anna and Brent still in the room, although their friends were either upstairs or had gone home.

"Ah, you're awake, pee-pee." My wife smiled. "I know you're probably still in shock. But it's something I decided to do to make you a better slave. There are going to be more changes coming up, pee-pee, and this was necessary." She leaned in. "I'm pregnant, pee-pee. We're going to have another baby."

I gulped. "Ngggggggg," was all I could muster.

Brent smirked. "We're shooting for a little girl this time, pee-pee, and if you're gonna be changing my ************ diapers, we felt it best if you ... well, you know, not have a penis."

Anna giggled. "Don't be mean, Brent. It's okay, pee-pee. Even if it's a boy, this was something that needed to be done. Now, you don't have to get your daily reminders, or wear that mean, old butt-plug all day. Now, you don't need to be reminded who you are. Now, you can concentrate on being a better slave for us ... for me, your master, Junior, and our little girl."

"Or, another boy who ****s a lot like his brother and daddy." Brent chuckled. "Boy, pee-pee, just when you thought your diaper-changing days were over. Seriously, if it's a girl, there's no way you'd be changing my ************ diapers if you were still a man. This had to be done."

I must be crazy, because I found myself agreeing with them.

This had to be done.

Anna tapped my forehead. "Now, go back to *****, pee-pee. You can dream about how happy our family is going to be."

I drifted off, the words rattling in my head:

I'm not a woman. I'm not a man. I'm something that you'll never understand ...

Now that it's all over and I'm back home, I can't shake this depression. I can't stop crying. I thought I'd had a hard life before, but this is a whole new realm ... the lowest of lows in a world of lows. My masters turned me into a freak, and they think it's hilarious. But, of course, I haven't said a cross word to them about how they betrayed me. In fact, I've done the opposite — I've become even more subservient. Why? Because I'm a fucking sap, that's why. Anna hurt me in the worst possible way. She even had my dick branded before removing it, just so I'd have to feel the indescribable pain.

And she laughed about it. She fucking laughed about it.

When my masters visited me the day after the operation, Anna giggled and explained that it was important for me to go through that mind-numbing ordeal. "That way, you'll always have a reminder of who you are, which is my little dickless slave," she said while fingering my surgical scar. "It just wouldn't have been the same if we'd just had your little wee-wee removed without having it branded first. Now, it's a memory we can share forever, pee-pee!"

I lay there, tears in my eyes, thinking, "I married a fucking madwoman."

But like the pathetic, spineless worm I am, I just licked my lips and said, "t-thank you, Mistress. I ... I love you, Mistress."

Anna smirked and patted my head. "I know, pee-pee. I know."

Leave it to Brent to spoil what passed for a tender moment with one of his smart-ass comments: "Hey, look on the bright side, pee-pee — at least you don't have to worry about that cage, and those spikes you hated so much. They can't hurt your little dick anymore — because you don't have one."

Anna punched him in the arm. "Oh, stop it, you big meanie. Don't tease pee-pee. He's our little forever slave now." She rubbed her stomach. "And the best nanny anyone could ever ask for. Someone's gonna have a lot more diapers to change pretty soon, huh, pee-pee?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Brent chuckled. "Damn, pee-pee, just when you almost got Junior potty-trained. Poor little loser, you can't catch a break, can you?"

I gulped. "Um ... uh ... no, Sir, I ... um ... I would be honored to change your new baby's diapers, sir."

"Our new ************ diapers," Anna corrected me.

"Yes, Mistress, your new ************ diapers."

Brent nodded. "And now, with your little ... adjustment ... we don't have to worry about you getting any ... um, ideas if we do have a little girl, do we, pee-pee?"

"N-no, sir ... but, sir, I promise, that wouldn't have been an issue anyway, sir. I would never —"

"Whatever, shut the fuck up, pee-pee." Brent frowned. "I get sick of listening to you whine all the damn time. I wasn't gonna have a man changing my ************ diapers, and that's all there is to it."

Anna chuckled. "Damn, pee-pee, I think that's the first time your master has ever referred to you as a man."

"Uh, t-thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me, dumbass. I said you were a man. Were. You're not a man now. That's the whole point, stupid fuck."

I bowed my head. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"And, to correct the record, you weren't a man before. You were a male. Big difference."

"Of course, Master, thank you, sir."

Anna grabbed Brent's hand. "Come on, baby, let's go; 'The Bachelor's' on tonight." Then, she turned to me. "We're gonna split, pee-pee. Rest up. We'll be back tomorrow to take you home."

With that, my wife and her lover turned and traipsed up the staircase, leaving me alone in the basement operating room. I heard Anna's sing-song voice call, "good night, pee-pee!" an instant before the light switch clicked and the room turned black. I lay there in the dark feeling like a sad, lonely, neglected, ****** piece of ****.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I still here? Why don't I call the police and tell them what these monsters did to me? Why don't I run away and start a new life? A normal life? Wait, what am I talking about? There is no normal for me anymore. Who would want me now? I'm a freak. A dickless freak. At least I know my masters have a place for me in their lives. I should be happy. No. NO! I shouldn't be happy. What the hell am I thinking? They've ****** me in unthinkable ways. They ********* me. Why do I put up with it? Why am I still here? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME???? Oh, please, Anna ... I gave you everything ... I poured my heart and soul out for you ... why do you betray me? Why do you despise me so? Why? Why? Why?

Tears and anguish flowed all night.

As promised, my masters came to collect me the next day. Before we left, I had to perform the humiliating task of thanking Anton and Vanessa for cutting off my dick. Then, during the drive home, I sat silently in the backseat like a good slave, listening to my superiors gleefully chat about how they'd just ********* me, and how their friends had enjoyed watching it.

"It's really too bad Jenny can't post that one video on Facebook, but they'd remove it for violating the terms of service," Anna said. She turned around and smirked at me. "I don't know if you remember, pee-pee, but you sounded like a damned cow when your little dick got branded. You were like, 'mooooooooo!' That **** was hilarious."

I just bowed my head and muttered, "yes, Mistress."

They didn't talk to me the rest of the way.

Since I've been home, my mood has fluctuated between deep depression and acute anxiety over what might happen if my masters ever decide to dump me. If there is any good news, it's that Anna told me I'm exempt from my chores until Tuesday, which is the day after tomorrow. That gives me a few more days to recover. She's been nicer to me since the operation, too. Hopefully, now she won't feel the need to constantly put me in my place; going through life without a penis should accomplish that feat just fine!

Or, maybe my mistress is being nice because she's pregnant. I remember how happy she was when she was carrying Junior. At the time, it devastated me to see her glowing and swollen with another man's *****, but now after all these years, I'm just relieved whenever she's happy because it means less grief for me.

Still, another baby is going to exponentially add to my workload. Damn it! I don't even want to think about it. Junior is almost potty-trained — an experience that's been an absolute nightmare — and in a few months the process will start all over again with a new baby.

Fuck.

Anna and Brent said they want a girl; I just hope whatever sex the baby turns out to be, he or she won't be as fussy as Junior was. I hardly got any ***** the first 10 months after he was born.

Well, diary, this has sneaked up on me, but I'm on the last page of this notebook. I'll have to ask my masters if I can have another one.

Until then ...

when does the next chapter come? it's damn hot ...
Submissive Cuckold - lives for many years in a female-led marriage with a cuckold lifestyle.

Oh. My. GOD. I don't know how I missed this story last summer, but this is the greatest thing I've ever read. I am absolutely speechless. This is a masterpiece. I need to go calm down - my head is spinning....

sissyboystevie

Well, thank you, I'm glad you like it. Since posting those chapters on this site, I've added a ton more, and I didn't just tack the new stuff on the end of the story, but added new diary entries earlier in the story, expanded on existing entries, and added a bunch more later. So, there's new material all through the file, not just at the end. Here's a link to the whole thing:

The hyperlink is visible to registered members only!


Also, if you look along the right side of my blog page, there are links to most of the other stories I've written over the years. A new one that's nearly as long as the pee-pee story is linked below, although this one is a lot more subtle hum-il-i-ation than the pee-pee story. I hope you like this one as well!

The hyperlink is visible to registered members only!