New story: "The 12-Step Cuckold Program"

"The 12-Step Cuckold Program"
by c.w. cobblestone


The tweed-jacketed nerd smoothed his comb-over and smiled at the six geeks whose chairs were arranged in a semicircle in the YMCA basement.

"Hello, everyone. My name is Bob, and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Bob," the group replied.

Bob picked his ear with his baby finger. "Um, thank you all for coming to the first of what I hope will be many cuckold group therapy sessions. I trust you all read my book, 'Rules for Cuckolds?' when you signed up for the program?"

Everyone nodded.

"Great. So, like I said, I'm Bob, and I'll be your moderator today, but I'm also one of you. My wife has a lover who has lived with us for many years, and, yes, I wear a chastity device. In fact, my wife's boyfriend, Ron, is upstairs playing basketball right now; our meeting will last as long as his game does, because he's my ride. So, when he's ready to go, we'll have to split. His games usually last a good hour-and-a-half at least, though, so we should have plenty of time. As you can see, I'm definitely a cuckold like the rest of you ... but I'm hoping today I can serve more as a facilitator, to sort of guide the discussion along. This isn't about me; this is your time to try to work things out, and I'm just here to help. And sometimes, we do need help — this lifestyle of ours isn't easy, is it?"

Every head shook as Bob continued. "I think the best way to do this would be to go around the circle, and each one of you can tell us a little something about yourself, and your situation at home. I'll start: As I said, my wife's lover Ron lives with us, and has for quite some time. He moved in about 10 years ago, after Debra met him at a party and they fell in love. I haven't had sex since, and I've been in chastity for the past 9 years. I only get released 2-3 times a year, although I've gone whole years without a release, depending on how badly I'm being punished. Ron is the absolute master of our house, and as far as Debra is concerned he can do no wrong." Bob lowered his voice and glanced at the stairs. "He's kind of a bully, and he can be really, really cruel. It's tough for me sometimes, but I've learned to live with it. I mean, as cucks, that's all we can do — learn to live with it. Right?" Bob nodded at the fellow to his right. "Okay, would you like to go next?"

"Uh, sure. Hi, my name's Marco, and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Marco," the men droned in unis-on.

"Um, hi. So ... my wife doesn't have a steady boyfriend like yours — she has a lot of boyfriends." Marco shifted in his chair. "She'll usually sle-ep with a guy once or twice and then move on to the next one. Carmen loves the party lifestyle, and I make enough money to support all the expensive bars and restaurants, so she's hardly ever home. Every night just about, she goes to the club, or she's out somewhere partying, either with her girlfriends or some guy."

Bob stroked his chin. "I imagine that must get pretty lonely for you, sitting at home while she's out all the time."

"Well, yeah, it does. Unless she brings guys back; then I have to leave."

"Ugh. I've been there." Bob chuckled. "When Debra first started bringing Ron back to the house years ago, I racked up some hefty hotel bills. Eventually, though, when things got more permanent, and we had 'the talk,' they had me stay and serve them. He started bringing his laundry over, and having me wash his car, and that's how it all kinda got started. But I guess it's tough to get any routine going when your wife doesn't keep her lovers for long, huh?"

"Um, yeah, kind of." Marco's lips tightened. "And, when she brings someone home, uh, I don't go to hotels. I ... she makes me sle-ep in the car."

"OMG, me too," a thin man piped in. "It doesn't matter how cold it is, either — in fact, Caitlyn thinks it's funny that I'm out there freezing while she's nice and warm inside with some guy, so I'm not even allowed to turn the car on to get heat."

Marco shook his head. "They're so mean to us. Why do we put up with it?"

"Because we love them," a pudgy guy replied. Everyone nodded.

"Because we're fucking wimps," a redhead added, and there were nervous laughs all 'round.

When the mirth faded, Bob pointed to the man sitting next to Marco, the youngest member of the group. "Okay, sir, would you care to go next?"

"Um, hello. I'm Carlton and ... I'm a ... I'm a ..." He started weeping.

"It's okay." Bob walked over to the sobbing man and rubbed his shoulder. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

Carlton wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and straightened up in his chair. "No, no, I'm fine. I came here to do this, and I'm going through with it. Hello, everyone — my name is Carlton and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Carlton."

"I love my wife with all my heart." Carlton set his jaw. "But she loves another man. There's nothing I can do about it. That's just how it is. She ... she's crazy about him."

Bob patted Carlton's back. "It sounds like you're a recent cuck. Am I right?"

"Um, yeah. I found out three weeks ago. I was supposed to fly to Boston for a conference but my boss called before I got to the airport and told me it was canceled. When I got back home, I could hear Angie screaming in the bedroom. I wanted to run in there and stop them, but ... well, I couldn't. I wanted to, but I was too much of a fucking coward. So, I just sat there on the couch crying. Like a little bitch. And then, when she finally comes out of the bedroom and sees me sitting there, she starts screaming at ME! Like I'd done something wrong, when she was the one fucking another man in our bed! She's standing there bitching me out, while this asshole I've never seen before is standing naked in the doorway cracking up ... and he's got this huge dick that keeps flopping around every time he laughs. And then ... then Angie tells me she's not going to stop seeing this Terrance guy, that they were in love, and that I could either put up with it or get a divorce. And I ... I ..."

"You put up with it," the pudgy guy cut in. "We all do."

"I hate it, man." Carlton wiped his eyes. "I fucking HATE it."

The chubby man sighed. "We all do. But just hang in there, man. It'll get easier. I can't say it'll get any better, but it does get easier. To deal with, I mean."

Bob gestured toward the portly participant. "You're exactly right. We've all got to hang in there. Since you're next anyway, why don't you go ahead and introduce yourself to everyone?"

"Thanks. Hello, you guys, my name is Chester, and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Chester."

"Um ... well, let's see. Amy and Jamal have been together for six years now, and she's pregnant with his third chi-ld. They already have two boys, so they're hoping for a girl, although they want to keep the gender a surprise like they did with the other two. Pers-onally, I'm praying for a girl, because it would have to be better than what Jamal Jr. and Jaydon are putting me through."

"Ugh, I know the feeling," the redheaded guy said. "How old are yours?"

"Junior's 3 and Jaydon's 2." Chester shook his head. "They get into everything, and I can't do anything to stop them. I can ask nicely, try to reas-on with them—"

"Yeah, but what 3-year-old listens to reas-on?" The redhead twiddled his thumbs. "I get it, man. We've got no authority over them whatsoever — and they know it."

Chester nodded and sighed. "I got the sh-it beat out of me the other day because Jamal heard me tell Junior not to stick a fork into the damn electric outlet. The little prick was about to stick it right in the socket, and all I said was, 'you can't do that or you'll really hurt yourself.' But my master said it was too for-ceful, so I got 50 with the cane. He says if something like that happens from now on, I need to tell him, and he'll explain things to his s-on."

"I feel you, bro." The redhead shuddered. "I was put on a starvation diet for three days because my master didn't like the way I moved his youngest s-on away from the spot where I was trying to vacuum. I only nudged the little bastard out of the way, but Tom saw it and I was on water and vitamins for the next three days."

"Ugh, starvation diets are the worst," the thin guy said. "I just got off one yesterday. Still got a headache from it."

"Oh, those headaches!" The redhead rolled his eyes. "I doubt our masters even know that's one of the things we have to deal with when they put us on starvation diets like that — those horrible headaches from not eating."

"My mistress wouldn't care," the skinny fellow said. "If Caitlyn knew I got headaches when she put me on starvation, she'd think it was funny."

A dark-haired man scoffed. "Yeah, you wanna talk about a starvation diet headache? Try cleaning an entire office building with no sle-ep for three days after you've had nothing but water and vitamins for a whole week. My master owns a cleaning service and I spent the whole weekend nonstop cleaning a 120-unit complex all by myself after I hadn't eaten all week. I had to work through the night both Friday and Saturday, and until 4am Monday morning. With no sle-ep since waking up Friday morning, and not a fucking bite to eat. Plus, I had to keep taking caffeine pills, and my head was pounding. So, don't tell me about having a damn starvation diet headache!"

"Now, now, we're not here to compare," Bob cautioned. "We all have it hard in our own ways or we wouldn't be here. My masters don't even use starvation diets on me, but that doesn't mean I don't get punished." He glanced at the stairs again. "Ron made me crawl inside a Port-A-Potty toilet and kneel there for about an hour during a party he and Debra threw for their kinky friends because there was a fly in the punchbowl. It wasn't even my fault, but they were embarrassed, so Ron told me I needed to be embarrassed, too. It was no picnic, believe me. So, we all get punished in our own ways, and we all have it bad ... okay?"

The dark-haired guy held up his hand. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to compare my situation with anyone else's. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I was just saying how bad that headache was after a whole week of not eating, and no sle-ep for three days. I got a little emotional about it, sorry."

The skinny cuck frowned. "Jeez, what'd you do to get a whole week on starvation, bro?"

"Um, it's kind of embarrassing."

"Now, remember: nothing should be embarrassing in here," Bob said. "We're all in the same boat. Tell us what got you a week on starvation. It's okay."

"Well ... okay, James caught me sniffing Jenny's panties. I got 100 with the strap and a week on starvation. That weekend, I had to clean the whole complex by myself, and it was a bitch after not having anything to eat for six days. By Monday morning, I was ready to drop — but I got it all done!"

Bob smiled. "That's great. See? We should pride ourselves on a job well-done when we overcome challenges and accomplish things like that. I mean, as I say in the book, cuckolds should never be prideful, of course — because what's there to be prideful about when you're not man enough to satisfy your wife, right?"

The group chuckled and shifted in their seats as one.

"But I do think it's okay to pat ourselves on the back once in a while." Bob turned to the redhead. "Okay, you're next. Maybe you can tell us something you've done recently to be proud. First, please introduce yourself to the group."

"Hi, I'm Monte, and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Monte."

Bob cocked his head. "Monte, can you think of anything you've done recently, maybe something you've done to serve your masters where you went above and beyond, that you're particularly proud of?"

"Well ... um, I don't know if this counts, but Jan and her boyfriend Tom have five kids together — three in diapers — so as you can imagine, I don't get much down time. The other day when I was changing the twins, Jan tells me she doesn't know what she'd do without me, and she praised me for juggling so much. Her exact words were, 'you work so hard. You're the best slave a girl could ever ask for.' So, it's not something I really did, per se, but I'm still kinda proud of it. I mean, for HER to say something like that is amazing. I'll always remember that moment, and cherish it."

"Well, of course that counts," Bob said. "You earned that praise from your mistress through years of hard work and serving her and her family. It sounds like she doesn't praise you very often?"

"Oh, Gawd, no. Usually all she does is yell at me."

"Ugh, tell me about it." The skinny guy chuckled. "Caitlyn wakes up yelling at me."

Bob nodded at the thin man. "Okay, you're next up, can you please introduce yourself to the group?"

"Um, hi, I'm Lew, and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Lew."

"I've known Caitlyn since we were both babies; our moms were friends and we grew up across the street from each other. I always had a crush on her, and she was always mean to me. From as far back as I can remember. Our moms used to laugh about how as toddlers, she'd hit me for no reas-on and I'd run away crying, but I'd always come back and apologize, usually by picking a dandelion or sneaking her my dessert from dinner. But that would only make her meaner."

Bob scratched his ear with his pen. "So, how did you end up marrying her?"

"Well, when we got older, she dated other guys, of course, because she's beautiful. I never went on dates, but I'd sit at my window and watch guys pick her up, and then wait there until they'd drop her off. A lot of times, they'd stay parked, and I'd spy on them. Anyway, I went off to college, and she kind of hung around town doing nothing, living at home and partying. I ended up getting a good engineering job and she told me she needed security after her ma died, so at the funeral, she just kinda told me we were getting married. I was over the moon, even though there was really nothing romantic about it; we went down to the county building and signed the paperwork, and that was it."

"Does Caitlyn have a steady boyfriend?" Bob asked.

"No, not right now, thank goodness. I'm always afraid when she sees a guy more than three or four times that maybe this will be the one who steals her away from me."

"Tell me about it," Marco said. "That's all I think about, bro. If Carmen does ever find somebody, and if he's not comfortable with me ... sh-it, she'll throw me out in a minute, and just take my money in a divorce."

Carlton, the neophyte cuck who'd been sitting quietly with his shoulders slumped since making his tearful introduction, cleared his throat. "So, what do you guys do to keep that from happening? You know ... from keeping the boyfriend from stealing her away? Angie's completely in love with this guy. She'd move to Antarctica with him if he wanted, so she'd dump me without even thinking about it."

"Well, you're in the early stages," Bob said. "My best advice to you is, show your wife's boyfriend ... what was his name again?"

"Um ... Terrance."

"Okay, Carlton, my advice is to you to show Terrance up front that you aren't going to be a problem, and that he has no reas-on to want to steal her from you in the first place. Have you talked to him about any of this yet since you caught them in the bedroom?"

"No, I stay in the basement whenever he comes over."

"Well, you need to talk to him," Bob said. "Address the issue head-on. Tell him that you understand that your wife prefers him, but explain that you can be useful to the both of them. Think of ways you can make his life easier; come up with a list before you approach him, and read off all the things you plan to do to facilitate his affair with your wife, if only he'll allow you to stay in her life. Tell him you'd be happy to wash his clothes, clean his apartment, run errands — whatever he needs. Cut the issue off at the pass, before he starts thinking about taking her away from you — let him know he already has her, and that there are a lot of benefits to keeping you around."

"He's right — you gotta show your belly," the dark-haired man said. "I got down on my knees when I had 'the talk' with my master."

Carlton rubbed his temples. "S-seriously? I've even got to get on my damn knees? And kiss this guy's ass, wash his car and sh-it? The guy who's fucking my wife??? What the fuck?"

Bob clucked. "Look, Carlton, I don't want to be harsh, but you need to stop thinking of yourself as a man. You really do. I know it's hard, and in fact, this stage may be the hardest part. The acceptance. The giving in. Realizing that the only way to keep your wife in your life is to throw yourself at their mercy and beg for any little crumbs they decide to throw you. Yes, kiss his ass, and do whatever you can to make yourself useful to him, so he wants to stay around. Because you know damn well — she'll go wherever he goes."

"What a fucking nightmare." Carl huffed.

"No, it's actually reality," the dark-haired man said. "The only question is whether you want to face reality, bro. Sounds like the reality is, your wife is in love with this guy. Do you want to keep her in your life, or do you want her running off with him? And you'll still have to pay for it with alimony, anyway?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I want her in my life. I love her more than ... than ... the whole universe."

"Well, then, the sooner you get used to reality, the better, Carlton," the man with black hair said. "What you're going through isn't anything the rest of us haven't already been through, man. You'll survive it — but like Bob says, you need to stop thinking of yourself as a man. Stop trying to have pride. You think it's insulting to have to kiss the ass of the man who's fucking your wife? If you're nothing but a little cuckold bitch, then why would that be insulting? And you DO realize that you ARE nothing but a little cuckold bitch, right?"

Carlton heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know, I know."

"You're gonna be all right, bro," the dark-haired man said. "Just hang in there, and keep remembering: she doesn't want you; she wants him. Because you're a little cuckold bitch, and women don't like guys like us. Accept that and you'll be fine."

Bob smiled. "Thank you. That's very good advice. And, since you haven't been formally introduced yourself to the group, why don't you do that, and tell us a little about your background?"

"Oh, sure, hey, everyone. My name is Chisain and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Chisain."

Bob furrowed his brow. "That's an interesting name. Where's that from?"

"It's on my fa-ther's side going back to France. Of course, my master calls me 'Sh-it-stain.' That's pretty much become my name now, ever since James moved in with us. I gotta tell you ... I'm so fucking sick of that mo-therfucking name. I hear it 100 times a day and it pisses me off every goddamn time. 'Hey, Sh-it-Stain, make me another drin-k. Hey, Sh-it-Stain run to Burger King.' I'm so fucking SICK of it! You think I'd be used to it by now ... but no fucking way. They called me that in school, and now him ... ugh."

"Now, come on, Chisain — if you read "Rules for Cuckolds" like you were supposed to when you signed up for this group, you'd know that you're supposed to be happy for your master when he finds something he can tease you about, like an insulting nickname," Bob chided. "After all, like I say in the book, if you can't provide a source of pleasure for the man who's fucking your wife, then what good are you to him? Remember, resentment can build to a point where your master starts to notice it, and that just gives him another reas-on to want to kick you to the curb — and we all know our wives would go along with that in a second if their precious lovers ever told them to. Our jobs are to accept whatever our masters throw at us, so we can be cheerful and obedient at all times, the way they like us. And when they find a nickname for you, embrace it, because it means you're providing pleasure for your master and mistress."

"I know, I know," Chisain said. "But ... it's just ... I just hate that fucking nickname so b

@cwcobblestone

Maybe this first part of the story isn't complete: see the last line

TL/DR yet! This isn't about curing ourselves of our cuckold addiction is it?

Excellent start

oops, here's the rest


"I know, I know," Chisain said. "But ... it's just ... I just hate that fucking nickname so bad, I can't even tell you."

"I understand, Sh-it-Stain — I mean Chisain, sorry. Listen, we all have to put up with little nicknames or other annoyances from our mistresses and masters. It's all part of being a cuck. My master likes to call me 'fuckwad.' And Deb calls my penis my 'birth defect.' It makes me cringe every time she says it. I know it's not always easy, but I try to be happy that she has something to tease me about, because it gives her pleasure to do that."

"Ugh, Jenny calls mine 'that sad little pimple.'" Chisain sighed. "She said it should never get out of the cage."

Bob raised his hand. "How many of us are in chastity?"

Everyone but Carlton and Marco raised their hands.

"Who's been locked up the longest? I'm at 84 days."

The men went around the room until Monte made everyone cringe by saying "Jan and Tom never let me out other than using the hose on me for cleaning. I've been locked up for eight years."

The collective groan could be heard by the men playing basketball in the YMCA court upstairs. Seconds later, a manly voice shouted down: "Hey, fuckwad, time for you and your faggoty friends to cut it off. The game's over and you need to come pack my gym bag."

"Coming right up, Master," Bob hollered before turning to the group. "Well, guys, looks like our time is up. My master plays ball here every Tuesday night, and he said he'd give me a ride over every week and let us use this room during their game. So, I hope to see you guys next Tuesday. I thought this was a really productive first session."

"ARE YOU COMING, FAGGOT?" the masculine bellow made Bob flinch.

"Sorry, Master, I'm coming now." As Bob scuttled up the steps, the other six cucks smiled weakly at each other. They'd all been there.

That was an entertaining read CW!

I agree, thanks for sharing
.
Submissive Cuckold - lives for many years in a female-led marriage with a cuckold lifestyle.

I need more of this

"The 12-Step Cuckold Program," Part 2
by c.w. cobblestone


Bob plucked a lint ball from his sleeve and grinned.

"I'm so happy to see you all again. Unfortunately, it looks like we may have scared young Carlton off, but the rest of you are back — plus, I see a new face, so this is much a better turnout than I'd anticipated. Since our time is limited, why don't we go ahead and get started by having our new member introduce ... um, herself? Miss? Would you care to get things started?"

A sissy in a pink maid's uniform tugged at his ruffled collar. "Um ... hi, I'm Isabella and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Isabella."

"Tell us about yourself, Isabella," Bob said. "First though, we don't want to misgender you, so what are your pronouns?"

"Oh, I'm he/his." Isabella faked a smile. "My mistress says sissies aren't women and shouldn't be referred to as women."

"Ah." Bob nodded. "You're squirming pretty bad, there, Isabella — are you okay?"

"S-sorry. My mistress thought her eggs were runny this morning so she put me in the giant butt-plug for three days."

"Ouch! I know that feeling." Bob patted his backside. "I'm plugged, too, although mine's probably not as big as yours. I've had my share of big ones for punishment, though. I'm sure we're not the only ones who are plugged. Anyone else?"

Chester and Lew raised their hands.

"See? You're not alone." Bob smiled at the sissy. "So, Isabella, tell us about your situation at home."

"Well, my masters Darlene and DeAndre have been together eight years now. They have two girls; Aaliyah's six and Alecia's three. They're trying for a third, so they've got me doing the corking method again, since it worked the other two times."

Bob rubbed his chin. "The corking method? I'm not familiar with that one."

"Oh, my master came up with it. After he cums in my mistress, when they're trying to get pregnant he has me press my mouth up against her vagina and form a seal, to make sure none gets out. Whatever seeps out I've got to push it back in with my mouth. It's hard because the natural instinct is to want to lick, especially since DeAndre doesn't usually allow me to get anywhere near her pussy. So, it's kind of nice doing the corking thing because I get to be close to my mistress — but it's hard to stay still like that. Especially when she keeps me there all night when she's sle-eping ... that can be a ki-ller on the neck."

"Yikes, I imagine," Bob said. "So, tell me about your masters; how did they meet?"

"Oh, man ... well, there's an embarrassing story .. but I guess that's why we're here, huh?"

"That's exactly right." Bob folded his arms. "Everyone in this room has an embarrassing story, Isabella. We're all in the same boat. It just helps sometimes for us to get it out ... and share it. And that's what this group is for."

"Um, thanks. So, yeah, Darlene and I were at a party and this massive black guy was staring at her all night. He was making it obvious, too — she mentioned right after we got there how this guy wouldn't stop staring. Looking back, I think he was testing me by making it so over-the-top, because he started smiling, licking his lips, blowing kisses, stuff like that. So then, after she sees I'm not gonna do anything to stop it, she starts smiling back. They go back and forth like that for a while, then he finally comes over to the table and asks her if she wants to go for a walk. She agrees and doesn't even glance my way. He did, though — I'll never forget the look he gave me when he took her by the hand and led her out of the party. It was all over after that."

"Ugh, Debra met Ron at a party, too." Bob shuddered. "I assume DeAndre fucked your wife when he took her on this so-called 'walk.'"

"Oh, jeez, yeah, and then when they got back, they didn't even try to hide it." Isabella shook his head. "They were all sweaty, and her hair was a fucking mess. Her dress was all rumpled. I mean, it was obvious to everyone, especially after she practically sat in his lap the rest of the night. Right at our table, with me sitting right there. People were fucking laughing at me. Either that or looking at me like they felt sorry for me. Man, I wanted to run out of that party so bad, but ... ugh. I just sat there. Like a fucking loser."

"I get it, believe me," Bob said. "I did the exact same thing, which is to say I did nothing — sat there like a fucking loser, just like you. Ron held Deb's hand and made out with her the whole night, right in front of me and everyone else, and I didn't do a goddamn thing. Not a goddamn thing. I sat there with my head down. I mean, really, there was nothing I could've done — what, was I gonna kick his ass? Pfft, like that would ever happen — Ron's twice my size; he would ki-ll me. So, I fucking sat there. That party was probably the worst night of my life, and I've had a lot of bad nights." Bob drew in a deep breath and clapped once. "But we must learn to embrace these things, and be thankful for them, as I say in the book. So, anyway, Isabella, you were saying that your masters have you caring for their two dau-ghters? Do you work outside the home, as well, or ...?"

"Oh, no, DeAndre had me quit my job when Darlene got pregnant the first time. He owns a pretty successful nightclub, so money's no problem. He doesn't like Darlene working, either, so she quit her job at the real estate firm. Right after she got pregnant with Aaliyah, that's when my master told me he wanted me to start dressing up as female so I could be the nanny and the maid. A friend of his owns a white couple and turned the husband into a sissy maid and nanny, and DeAndre wanted the same for us — and when my master wants something he gets it. So, I threw away all my male clothes and have worn dresses ever since."

Bob stroked his chin. "I see. And, you said DeAndre is black; what does your family say about your wife having mixed-race dau-ghters?"

"Oh, they disowned me, straight up. There was a huge scene in the delivery room with my mo-m when Aaliyah was born. She ran out crying and never talked to me again. Nobody has. I'm dead as far as they're concerned."

"Ugh, I know that nightmare." Chester grimaced. "My mo-m and sister were in the delivery room when Jamal Jr. was born. I knew the baby wasn't mine, obviously, since I hadn't had sex with Amy in, like, forever, and I tried to keep them from coming. I did everything I could, but it's this big tradition in our family for the women to be there for every birth, and once my mo-m and sister decide on something, there's no talking them out of it, you know? Plus, Amy kept encouraging them to come. She never liked them, so I think she wanted to shock them. Well, it fucking worked. I was hoping maybe the baby might be born light-skinned, because sometimes that happens. But no way. You could tell she wasn't mine as soon as the head crowned. My mo-m actually slapped Amy before the umbilical cord was even cut. She's laying in the hospital bed with the cord still attached and my fucking ma slaps her. Then, when I told everyone it wasn't Amy's fault and I'd given her blessing to be with Jamal, my sister goes after me, and starts cho-king me and hitting me, and they had to call security to the delivery room and drag them out. My ma and sister went to jail for assault — the whole thing was a fucking zoo, man."

"Sorry to hear that." Isabella sat forward. "So, I take it your family disowned you, too, then?"

"Well, fuck yeah, they did. My dad sold the '66 Vette that was supposed to go to me, and my mo-m threw away all my stuff she had in storage, including my fucking baseball cards — and I had a Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card in there!"

"No!" Lew slapped his head. "Not a Ken Griffey rookie card!! Dude, that's fucking cold. What the fuck!"

"No shi-t," Chester said, his eyes tearing up. "I fucking hate her for it. My goddamn Ken Griffey card. It was in mint condition, too."

Bob raised his hand and looked around at the group. "Show of hands, how many of our wives' lovers are black?"

Isabella, Chester and Chisain raised their hands. Marco raised his, but only halfway.

"Um, Carmen has had black lovers, but white ones and Hispanic, too," he said. "She says she doesn't care, as long as they got a big dick. She's, like, the ultimate size queen. That's something she's always joking about with her friends: 'Marco should've known better than to marry to a size queen and bring a four-inch dick to the table.' I must've heard that sentence a thousand times. Like, she's said that very sentence literally a thousand times, probably two thousand."

Bob nodded. "They do love to embarrass us, don't they? Chisain, have you gotten any grief from your family because of the racial issue?"

"Oh, no." Chisain looked at his shoes. "My master ... he has sex with my mo-m and my sister."

"Oh, really?" Bob clicked his pen. "Tell us about that."

"Well, you know, James, he has a real powerful personality, and women just melt over him. I mean, they just melt. Jenny's, like, completely, head-over-heels in love with the guy, and would do anything he told her to do. So, she brought him home one night out of the blue and he laid down the law — he told me he was seeing my wife, he wasn't gonna stop, and that if I behaved he wouldn't kick my ass. I mean, he just took over, just like that. Next thing I know, he's living in our house and I'm sle-eping in the basement. I was already on the couch, and he put me in the basement because he said he didn't think I should sle-ep on the same floor as them. That's just what James does — he fucking comes in and takes over. He owns a cleaning service he inherited from his dad, and once things got serious with Jenny he fired the three women he had working for him, and made me quit my job and work for the service doing three people's jobs. For zero dollars an hour. I put in a lot of 18-hour days. I fucking stay exhausted, man."

Lew licked his lips. "So, how did he start fucking your ma and sister?"

"Oh, they're not the only ones he fucks," Chisain said. "He's fucking Jenny's mo-m and her two sisters, too."

Lew scoffed. "Jeez, what, does this guy have, like, a 15-inch cock?"

"No, I told you, he has a real powerful personality ... and he's got these piercing eyes. I swear, when he looks at me with those eyes I want to piss my pants. Anyway, one night he came over while my mo-m and sister were visiting. James didn't give a shi-t; once Jenny gave him a key to our house, he'd come barging in any time of day or night. So, he comes over one night and starts running his game on my mo-m and sister, and I think it was maybe a half-hour before they were all in the bedroom having a foursome. And my master satisfied all three of them, too. The man is a fucking beast."

"Where were you during all this?" Bob asked.

"Um, I was busy with laundry. The reason my mo-m and sister used to come over was to drop off their laundry and visit with Jenny while I got it all done. My sister got married, so she has her own slave now, but my ma still brings her laundry over. And James still fucks both of them."

"Ah, so you were a submissive all along."

"Oh, yeah. I was raised in a femdom household. In fact, you could say I'm in an arranged marriage — Jenny's mo-m is friends with my mo-m, and she has an FLR household as well. So, our mo-ms set us up."

Bob blinked. "Did your mo-m cuck your dad?"

Chisain's lip curled. "No, the piece of shi-t only hung around long enough to give me this fucked-up name. Shi-t-Stain. He split when I was a baby. I think that's a big reason why my mo-m and sister were always so mean to me growing up — they took out what my dad did on me."

"Same thing here," Monte added. "I always wonder if my mo-m being so mean to me is the reason I ended up like this."

Lew nodded. "Throughout my whole chi-ldhood, my mo-m and Caitlyn's mo-m used to stand there and laugh while she'd beat me up. One time she poured hot sauce in my eye and everyone thought it was the funniest thing in the world while I was rolling around on the ground crying. So, I'm sure all that had something to do with how I am."

Bob held up his hand. "Now, if you'll recall from the book, I discuss my research that shows there is no one template for making submissive cucks like us. Some cucks come from households where their families were abusive, and then others lived in perfectly happy situations."

"I don't know. Whatever caused it, sometimes I wish ... well, I wish things would've turned out differently." Monte hung his head.

Bob pursed his lips. "Really, Monte? And why is that?"

"Well, I mean, it's kinda obvious, isn't it? My fucking wife has five kids who aren't mine, but I do all the fucking work to take care of them. My mistress hasn't changed a diaper in her life. And Tom? Oh, jeez, don't even think about asking him to do for his kids. He gets to lay on his ass and play the hero while I ki-ll myself every fucking day. The kids are just fucking rotten, too. Little Tommy shaved off my eyebrows last year and his mo-m and dad laughed about it. Gina locked me outside in zero-degree weather all night, and her parents fucking praised her. Gee, let's see ... what else? I've been in chastity for eight fucking years with ZERO relief — other than when my master loans me to his gay brother, and I cum invo-luntarily from getting fucked in the ass. I have no money, no assets, no job ... all I do, 24 hours a day, is bust my ass taking care of someone else's fucking kids. And what do I get in return? Ass-whippings. Starvation diets. Little kids spitting food in my face and laughing about it."

"Ugh, don't you hate that?" Chester shook his head. "Jamal Junior is 3; he shouldn't still be spitting food all over the place. But, same as your masters, Amy and Jamal give the kids positive reinfor-cement; they crack up whenever they spit their food in my face, so of course, they do it all the time. All I can do is wipe it off and act like I enjoy being the butt of the fucking joke. It gets old, bro, so I know how you feel."

"We all get frustrated sometimes," Bob said. "What's important is that we—" He stopped midsentence, and jaws dropped throughout the room as Carlton teetered down the YMCA basement stairs wearing a dress, heels and makeup.

Monte put on a smile. "Hey, bro, glad to see you made it back."

"Yes, welcome back." Bob waved his hand toward an empty seat. "So, judging from the way you're dressed, I take it you finally had 'the talk' with your wife and her lover?"

Carlton gulped. "Um, yeah. I even got on my knees."

"So, um, what happened, bro?" Lew hunched forward.

"Well, Terrance came over as usual and I went to him like you said, and had a list of stuff I could do for him if he'd let me stay around. Angie started calling me a little sissy, and Terrance made me put on one of her nightgowns. He said he'd let me stay as long as ... as long as I stopped pretending to be a man. So, now, I have to ... dress like this."

"Well, that's a nice dress, honey, but you need help with that makeup." Isabella smiled. "If you want, after the session, I can give you a few pointers."

"I don't want any fucking pointers!" Tears fell from Carlton's eyes. "I fucking HATE this!"

"Now, Carlton, Isabella was only trying to help," Bob said. "Let's not yell like that."

"I'm ... I'm sorry." Carlton sniffled. "It's just ... it's just ..."

"I understand, honey," Isabella said. "It was hard for me, too, after Darlene got pregnant, and DeAndre made me go through the transition. But if you stick with it, you'll get used to it, sweetie. I promise you. Did your masters give you a femme name yet?"

Carlton blinked at his shoes. "Um fff-ff," he mumbled.

"What's that?" Bob cocked his ear. "I didn't hear what you said."

"Me neither," Monte piped in.

Carlton gulped. "Um, it's Foo-Foo, alright? It's so fucking embarrassing. Foo-Foo, for chrissakes! That's supposed to be my fucking name now! It's like, ever since I begged Terrance to let me stay, they both keep looking for ways to humil-ate me. Any little thing they can do ..." He started sobbing into his hands.

"They're so mean to us." Lew gritted his teeth. "Like you say, they fucking look for ways to make our lives miserable."

Bob nodded. "Yes, our masters and mistresses can be quite mean sometimes. But as I say in the book, we should embrace the cruel things they do, and try to look at these things as cute little idiosyncrasies — sort of like when your spouse has a funny little snore, has a habit of chewing her straw. Remember: If our masters are cruel to us, that means we're serving a purpose in their lives. And that means we get to stay with the women we adore. So ... let's go around the group and talk about some of the mean things our masters do to us that we're going to start thinking of as cute little habits. Monte, would you care to go first?"

Monte shifted in his chair. "Um, well ... when Amy lies about me in front of her friends and tells Jamal I disrespected her so her friends can watch her boyfriend kick my ass ... well, when he's done, and I'm laying on the ground crying, it's cute the way she'll stick out her bottom lip and pretend-apologize. And it's so empowering for her to be able to do that in front of all her friends, and show them how much Jamal cares for her and protects her. So, it's ... it's really GREAT!"

Carlton scoffed. "Bull fucking shi-t. Come on, already. You can tell yourself whatever you want to, but nothing about this shi-t is great, or cute little idiosyncrasies, or any of that horseshi-t. It's fucked up is what it is. Why do we have to be treated like this? Why??"

"Now, Carlton, you sound bitter." Bob held up his index finger. "Remember what I say in the book: You can't just—"

"Aw, for chrissakes, FUCK your goddamn book." Carlton jumped to his feet, and his ankles buckled in his high heels. "This whole group is BULLSHI-T! You're all a bunch of fucking losers who just accept whatever comes your way."

"Well, yeah, I AM a loser, Carlton — but so are you," Isabella said. "You're never gonna find happiness until you accept that."

"Happiness? How? By having people fucking laugh at me everywhere I go because I'm wearing this fucking ridiculous dress?"

"Honey, you've got to embrace it," Isabella replied.

"Please stay, Carlton ... or Foo-Foo." Bob gestured toward his empty chair. "We can see you're in a lot of pain, and every one of us has been there. I think in the long run, this group is going to be good for you. Please, stay."

Carlton took his seat but didn't stop crying.

Bob cleared his throat. "It's difficult for us to turn these cruel things our masters do to us into positives, but I'm telling you, that's the only path to what I refer to in the book as Cuckold Salvation. As hard as it is, we've got to try. Now, Chisain, would you like to go next? What does your master or mistress do that might be construed as cruel — but it's just the cutest little thing that makes them who they are?"

"Um, I mean, when my master makes me eat whole boxes of caffeine pills so I can keep cleaning offices with zero sle-ep for days, and it makes me throw up and gives me splitting headaches ... well, he takes the money I make for him and he buys all these gold chains. Geez, my master must have 50 gold chains in the bedroom. So, that's kind of a funny little thing he does, collecting all those gold chains. Is that the kind of thing you mean?"

"Sure, Chisain, that fits," Bob replied. "How about you, Lew?"

"Well, a lot of times when it's cold and Caitlyn has me sle-ep in the car, I can see her and her lover looking out the window and laughing at me while I'm out there shivering. My mistress sure does have a great sense of humor; that's one of her cute idiosyncrasies."

"See, that's perfect, Lew." Bob smiled. "You're taking something that could possibly cause you misery if you didn't process it the right way, and you've turned it into a positive. That's wonderful."

There was a short silence before an angry voice bellowed from upstairs: "LET'S GO, FAGGOT!"

Bob shrugged at the group. "Sorry, fellas, duty calls. I don't want to keep my master waiting, so I guess we'll see you all next week. And Carlton, you hang in there, buddy. Okay?"

Carlton sighed. "I'll try."

As the rest of the cuckolds said their good-byes, Isabella hung back for a while in the YMCA basement to give Foo-Foo makeup tips. For the first time in weeks, the neophyte sissy felt a little tenderness.

Then again, you can all kick the rabid bitch to the curb, claim your manhood back and get with a nice vixen who will love you and still fuck guys for your enjoyment 😉

CW Cobblestone

Thank you for sharing your story, I have followed your stories for quite some time now, and being totally honest, while not my cup of tea as to the theme of your stories, I greatly appreciate your time and effort in posting stories for us cuckolds to read and enjoy!

thank you for the new chapter
.
Submissive Cuckold - lives for many years in a female-led marriage with a cuckold lifestyle.

"The 12-Step Cuckold Program," Part 3
by c.w. cobblestone


The YMCA basement reeked of sandalwood.

Bob swung the incense thurible to and fro. "Ohm."

"Ohm," the seven geeks in folding chairs intoned.

"Today, gentlemen, we are going to clear our minds ... free our souls," Bob said. "But first, we must calm our blo-od by relaxing ... chanting ... and inhaling the essence of the sacred wood of Karnataka. Now — one more time, with feeling: Ohm."

"Ohm."

"Great. Now, I want you to each think of the one thing that haunts you ... if you could pick one thing to have disappear, what would it be? Think about that, and then we're going to dig deep into these sore spots and free ourselves of these burdens. Chester, why don't you start? If you could make one thing disappear from your life, what would you pick?"

"Well ... um, probably my tattoo."

Bob raised an eyebrow. "Your tattoo? Can you show it to us?"

"Yeah. Ugh." Chester stood, wiggled down his pants and twisted so everyone could see the large tattoo on his left butt-cheek, an ornate "J" inside a black spade. "I got this right after Jamal moved in. He had Amy and me get matching spade tattoos as a symbol of ownership. Hers is identical, although it's right above her ... um, vagina."

"Ah, and so you wish you could get rid of this tattoo, then?" Bob asked.

"If you had an embarrassing tattoo like this, wouldn't you want to get rid of it?"

Wordlessly, Bob unbuckled his belt and undid his fly, exposing the area above his pubic region that bore the inked message "R&D's Little Bitch" in thick red-and-black letters. He turned and showed off his other tats: "Faggot" on one butt-cheek and "Queer" on the other, written in hot pink script. The black end of a butt plug poked out from between Bob's butt-cheeks. He pulled up his pants and smiled. "Since you asked, yes, I'd love to get rid of my tattoos. They bother me all the time, Chester. Ron and Debra had me tattooed about a year into their relationship, and I still despise it. Doctor's visits are particularly embarrassing."

"OMG, I HATE, HATE, HATE going to the doctor," Chester said. "In fact, I've only been once in the last four years, and that was because my mistress told me she was tired of hearing me cough all the time. That was when I had pneumonia. Other than that, when I've gotten sick I've just dealt with it myself. I don't think I can face having another doctor see my tattoo."

Chisain piped up: "Yeah? Well, I've got a fucking brand on my ass, although that's not the one thing I'd change in my life."

"A brand?" Bob tucked his pen in his jacket pocket. "Would you mind showing it to the group?"

Chisain stood and dropped his drawers, exposing the raised-flesh scar of interlocking J's to signify Jennifer and James. "You guys can cover up a tattoo; there's nothing I can do about this shi-t, unless I got a huge chunk of my flesh removed."

Carlton winced. "OMG, bro, did that hurt? Getting branded, I mean?"

"Gee, what the fuck do you think? Yes, it hurt, Foo-Foo — WTF kind of dumb question is that?"

Bob held up his hand. "Let's bring it down a notch, okay? There's no need to snap at each other."

Chisain shrugged.

Bob shrugged in response. "Now, Chisain, you said there was something else you'd change other than getting rid of your brand. What is it?"

"Goddamn it, what do you think? My fucking name! I can't stand this fucking name; I swear to fucking Gawd. Shi-t-Stain. Shi-t-Stain, Shi-t-Stain, Shi-t-Stain, Fucking Shi-t-Stain!!!!! ARRRRRGH!!! Why the FUCK did that cocksucker fa-ther of mine give me that fucking name and then run off, leaving me with an abusive mo-ther and sister who literally treated me like a slave throughout my entire fucking chi-ldhood? Why??"

Bob rubbed his chin. "Gee, Chisain, it sounds like you've got a lot to work out."

"No shi-t, Sherlock. Everything's so fucked up. Nothing's fair. IT'S NO FAIR, GODDAMN IT!!! Why the FUCK do guys like James get so much, and losers like us get so little? Just last night, my mo-ther and Jenny's mom and her two sisters were over, and they were all kissing and licking James everywhere all over his body while he kicked back smoking a blunt and watching the playoffs. The so-nofabitch had literally FIVE WOMEN at his disposal, fawning all over him, giving him blowjobs, licking his balls, sucking his toes. And I'm stuck at the goddamn laundry sink washing his socks and boxers by hand, along with everyone else's fucking dirty clothes. Because James gets the women — Shi-t-Stain gets the shi-t-stains. And then, when he was done, he sent me to the Pine Tree Hotel to clean all fucking night."

Bob nodded. "And being in that situation ... I mean at the laundry sink while your master enjoyed five women, including your wife and your mo-ther ... that made you jealous, didn't it?"

"Well, what the fuck do you think? Yeah, it fucking made me jealous, jeez, with the stupid fucking questions."

"Hey, Shi-t-Stain, how about you tone it the fuck down?" Carlton snarled. "You're acting like a fucking dick today, man."

Chisain balled his fists. "Fuck you, Foo-Foo — mind your own fucking business."

"Yeah? Fuck ME????" The sissy jumped to his feet and almost turned his ankle on his high heel. "No, fuck YOU, Shi-t-Stain!" He smoothed the ruffles on his dress. "How about I kick your fucking ass?"

"Bring it on, sissy." Chisain jutted his jaw. "I'll rip that fucking dress off and shove it up your ass."

"Guys, guys, come on, sit down, please, chill out, let's reset." Bob relit the incense. "Ohm."

"Ohm," everyone chanted.

Chisain sighed. "Listen, guys, I know I'm being cranky today and I'm sorry. I haven't gotten a wink of sle-ep in four days. My master added three hotels to my plate last-minute Thursday and I had to scramble round the clock all weekend and Monday to get them all clean and keep up with my normal jobs. I'm wired up on these damn caffeine pills he makes me take, and I guess they're making me irritable. I really apologize."

"That's okay, Chisain, thank you for apologizing," Bob said. "You know, you don't need to come to these meetings if you're that tired."

"No, my mistress wants me to come. That's why she had me buy the book, too — she says she wants me to learn to become a better slave."

"Oh, well, that's nice." Bob beamed. "Tell her I can get her an autographed copy if she'd like."

"Nah, I don't think she'd be interested. Sorry."

"That's okay." Bob tightened his lips. "So, then, Chisain, let's get back to talking a little more about the thing that bothers you most — your name."

"Ugh, do we have to?"

"Yes, we do. As I say in the book, if we're ever going to achieve Cuckold Salvation, then we need to face these sore spots, and pick at them, and figure out how to fix them."

"Well, there's no fixing this, Bob. I fucking hate the name, man — that's all there is to it. My mom and sister called me Shi-t-Stain from the time I was born ... once I got to school everyone there started calling me it. Then, Jennifer. Now, my master. And I fucking HATE IT!!!!" Chisain started crying.

"Ohm." Bob angled the incense censer close to Chisain's face. "Remember to embrace who you are. Okay? Now, I want you to repeat after me: 'I deserve to be called 'Shi-t-Stain' because I'm an ugly cocksucker whose very existence is a shi-t-stain on the underwear of humanity. Ohm.' Now, say it."

"Um, I deserve to be called 'Shi-t-Stain' because I'm an ugly cocksucker whose very existence is a shi-t-stain on the underwear of humanity. Ohm.'

"Wonderful. Embrace the name 'Shi-t-Stain,' Shi-t-Stain. Before you know it, you'll be well on the road to Cuckold Salvation." Bob turned to Chester. "Now, back to you. So, you say the worst thing in the world for you is that tattoo on your ass?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Why does that bother you, Chester? When you look in the mirror, do you see a handsome man who's worthy of being treated like a man looking back at you?"

"Um ... no, not really."

"Well, Chester, that's because you're not a man who's worthy of being treated like a man — you're a fat, ugly loser, and you should be proud that your master put his tattoo on that chubby, cellulite ass of yours. Now, please repeat after me: I'm a fat, ugly loser, and I should be proud that my master put his tattoo on my chubby, cellulite ass."

"Um, I'm a fat, ugly loser, and I should be proud that my master put his ... his tattoo on my chubby, cellulite ass."

"That's great." Bob smiled at Lew. "You want to go next? If you could get rid of one thing, what would it be?"

"Well, I don't know if this counts as one thing, but overall, I just wish Caitlyn would stop being so mean to me all the time. Ever since we were real little kids, she's always been ... just rotten. Evil. I think a big part of it is because our moms used to cheer her on whenever she'd do something mean, and so she saw it as positive reinforcement ... I dunno, maybe?"

"Oh, that was definitely the case in my family," Chisain cut in. "My mom would reward my sister for doing fucked-up things to me. After my dad split, my mom adopted a femdom philosophy for her household. I think she was trying to avoid being hurt again — but in the process, she ended up hurting me. She hurt me real bad. Still does. And she fucking laughs about it, bro. She fucking laughs. When James has his big orgies with all the women over, my mom is the one who treats me the worst. I mean, they're all cruel when they get together like that because they want to impress James, but my mom's the worst for sure. After the big ice storm last February, she had me go in the backyard naked and lick the metal fencepole, like the kid in 'A Christmas Story.' They left the bedroom curtains open so they could look out and see me while they fucked, and I could see their orgy through the window while I was standing out there shivering. Good thing we live way out, so nobody was around to see me. I was praying the mailman wouldn't come, although he's used to us by now, and just shakes his head. I stayed bent over with my tongue stuck to the pole like that for more than two hours before Jenny's sister finally came out, poured hot water on my tongue and told me to get inside and start making dinner."

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that, Chisain ... I really am," Bob said. "But ... um, just now, it was Lew's time to talk."

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's these damn caffeine pills; they've got me jabbering a mile a minute, sorry."

"That's okay, Chisain. Now, Lew, you say Caitlyn has been mean to you since you were kids?"

"Yeah, I don't know what it is about me that brings that out in her, because she's so sweet with everyone else."

"But, Lew, I know it hurts you, but do you see yourself as someone who's worth being treated better? You're not, you know."

"I ... I know. It's just ... well, sometimes, I wish—"

"Now, Lew, what do I say in the book about cuckolds and wishes? 'Cuckolds and wishes are fragile like dishes.' We cucks shouldn't wish, Lew. Now, I want you to embrace Caitlyn being mean to you, okay? Because you don't deserve any better, and you know it. Repeat after me: I'm a scrawny little prick, and I'm lucky my mistress takes the time out to notice me, even if she's mean to me." Bob waved the incense under Lew's nose. "Ohm."

"Ohm. I'm a scrawny little prick, and I'm lucky my mistress takes the time out to notice me, even if she's being mean to me. Uh, ohm."

"See? Doesn't it feel better to just admit it?" Bob smiled. "Okay, Isabella. What would you most like to get rid of?"

"Well, right now if I could have any wish, it would be that Darlene not get pregnant again."

"No?" Bob frowned. "Why not?"

"Because babies are so much fucking work, that's why. It seems like I just got Alecia out of diapers, and the idea of doing that whole thing all over again — the constant waking up in the middle of the night, the potty-training ... it makes me cry. Like, I literally stay up at night with tears in my eyes thinking about it."

"And I assume you get no help from your mistress or master?"

Isabella scoffed at Bob's question. "No way — unless by 'help,' you mean letting me know when a diaper needs changing! Neither one of them does a damn thing. It's all on me. And I don't want to fucking do it again, man. I don't!"

"I understand your frustration," Bob said. "But try to embrace this thing that's bothering you so much. Think about it: should your wife get have to up and change her baby's diapers?"

"Um, no, of course not."

"Should your master?"

"Change a diaper?" Isabella chuckled. "No, that's never gonna happen."

"Well, then, why are you sad about Darlene possibly getting pregnant again? After all, they've got a pansy-ass sissy around to do all the dirty work; why wouldn't they want another kid? They get all the benefits and you have to deal with the shi-t. Literally. Now, repeat after me: I'm a little pansy-ass sissy who should be proud to get up in the middle of the night and change the diapers of another man's kid."

"Um, I'm a little pansy-ass sissy who should be proud to get up in the middle of the night and change the diapers of raise another man's kid."

"Feel better?"

"Um, not really."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot the most important part. Here." Bob swung the incense holder close to Isabella's face, causing the sissy to gag. "Now, say it again, please."

"Agggh ... I'm a little pansy-ass sissy who should be proud to ... gaaack ... change diapers."

"Wonderful. Now, do you feel better?"

"Um, kind of. But my eyes are burning."

Bob smiled. "Yeah, sandalwood does that. Okay, then. Marco, why don't you go next?"

"Shi-t, I don't know." Marco massaged his temples. "If I could change one thing, I would stop Carmen from cheating on me all the time. I mean, I know that's not a specific thing — but isn't that at the heart of all our problems? Our wives are fucking other guys. That's what this whole group is about, isn't it? It fucking sucks, man. IT SUCKS! I've got a wife ... and I love her ... but she fucks around on me constantly. And I know, I know — I'm a fucking dweeb with a little dick who deserves to have her cheat on me. But what the fuck, man? Can't a guy catch a fucking break once in a while?" Marco started crying. "I mean, I do everything for her! I never ask for SHI-T! I buy her whatever she wants, no questions asked. But she couldn't even get through the goddamn wedding without fucking the best man and one of the groomsmen in a side room right before the ceremony. When I kissed the bride she tasted like cock! And she hasn't stopped fucking around on me since. It's been a fucking nightmare, man. Why me, Bob? WHY ME????"

"Now, Marco, I know it's hard. But as I say in the book, as difficult as it is, you need to learn to embrace this pain. Remember the chapter, 'Hug the Meanie?' That's what I want you to do, Marco. Hug the meanie. Yes, your wife cheats on you. Have you looked in the mirror? Now, you just admitted that you're a fucking dweeb with a little dick who deserves to have Carmen cheat on you. Do you truly believe that?"

"Y-yes."

"So, then, if you're truly a fucking dweeb with a little dick who deserves to have your wife cheat on you, then why would you get upset if she cheats on you? After all, you're nothing but a fucking dweeb with a little dick. You said so yourself. So, what do you have to get mad about?"

"Um, I dunno."

Bob dangled the incense. "Ohm. Repeat after me: I'm a fucking dweeb with a little dick who deserves to have his wife cheat on me. Ohm."

"Uh, I'm a fucking dweeb with a little dick who deserves to have his wife cheat on me."

"You've got to say 'Ohm' or it won't work."

"Ohm."

"Doesn't that feel nice, Marco?"

"Uh, sure ... okay."

"Great. Alright, Carlton, you're next."

"Pissing."

Bob frowned. "I'm sorry, Carlton, what was that?"

"I said 'pissing.' If I could change one thing, I would stop Terrance from pissing on me all the goddamn time. What the fuck! I mean, the guy takes my wife from me, moves into my house — how much more does he have to prove?"

"My master pisses on me all the time, too, bro," Chisain said. "My mistress, too. In my mouth."

"I don't mind it so much when my mistress pisses in my mouth," Monte added. "But, ugh, Tom's is so damn strong."

"Especially in the morning," Chisain said.

Monte made a face. "Ugh, morning pee is the worst. I've been dri-nking it for years and still can't get used to it."

Bob stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So, Carlton, you say your master pisses on you a lot?"

"Gee, I dunno, would you say 3-4 times a day is a lot? Every time he has to go, almost. No matter what time of day or night, no matter what I'm doing, he'll holler out through the house, 'get in the bathtub, sissy.' And I have exactly 10 seconds to be lying in the bathtub or I get the shi-t beat out of me. Since there's no time to change, I always have to put on a new dress when he's done, because my clothes get soaked with piss ... unless he drags me out of bed when I'm undressed, which happens a lot, too, especially if he's been dri-nking. Sometimes, if he's really drun-k, he won't even bother pulling me out of bed. I'll be zonked out and dreaming that it's raining, only to wake up to find Terrance pissing on me. When he does that, he makes me sle-ep in the wet bed. Man, I swear to holy hell, I'm so goddamn tired of piss, I can't even tell you."

Bob swung the incense decanter near Carlton. "It's okay, Foo-Foo, now, repeat after me: I'm a little sissy queer who should be grateful that my master takes the time out to grace me with his sacred wine."

Carlton's lip curled. "Sacred wine? Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me with this bullshi-t?"

Bob sighed. "Carlton, you really need to get with the program here. Until you learn to embrace your inferiority, you are never going to find your Cuckold Salvation. That means, yes, you have to start thinking of your master's piss as sacred wine. Now, say the mantra and breathe in the sandalwood."

"Ugh, jeez, I'm a little sissy queer who should be grateful that my master takes the time out to grace me with his sacred wine. Okay?"

"Say 'ohm.'"

"Fucking ohm, already."

"Feel better?"

"Not really."

"Don't worry, you will. Just keep reading the book, you'll get it eventually." Bob smiled at Monte. "Well, you're last. What would you change in your life, Monte?"

"Well, I've been locked up for eight years, so I'll give you three guesses."

Bob nodded. "You'd like more orgasms."

"Well, shi-t, I'd like at least ONE. You know? Just one nice orgasm — and not from getting fucked up the ass by my master's gay brother, either. Is that too much to ask? Just one fucking orgasm in eight goddamn years?"

"But, Monte, you DO realize that you're an ugly, redheaded, gap-toothed loser who deserves being denied orgasms, right?"

"Yeah, I know. Bring that incense over here and I'll do the thing, I guess."

Bob held the thurible under Monte's nose. "Okay, say it: 'I'm an ugly, redheaded, gap-toothed loser who deserves being denied orgasms.'"

"Ugh. I'm an ugly, redheaded, gap-toothed loser who deserves being denied orgasms."

"You forgot 'ohm.'"

"Ohm."

"Feel better?"

"No, Bob, to be honest, I still feel like shi-t."

"Well, as I say in the book, we all must—"

Bob's budding, self-important soliloquy was cut short by the roar from upstairs: "MY GAME'S OVER, LET'S GO, FAGGOT!"

"Uh, sorry, everyone, gotta run." Bob glanced around at all the group members. "Next week, we'll talk about rules. Think of one unfair rule your masters have imposed on you that bothers you, and we'll discuss it. Hope to see you all next Tuesday."

"LET'S GO, QUEER, OR I'LL TEAR YOU A NEW ASSHOLE!!!"

Bob managed a weak smile. "Bye, everybody."

"Bye, Bob!" the group replied as one while their leader scurried up the YMCA basement stairs.

"The 12-Step Cuckold Program," Part 4
by c.w. cobblestone


Bob beamed.

"It's so wonderful to see everybody back. I couldn't be happier at the turnout we've been getting. This is a nice little group we've got going here — I don't know about you guys, but these sessions have really been helping me. I hope they've helped some of you, as well."

"Oh, coming to these meetings has definitely helped," Carlton said. "Just last night, Terrance had me in the bathtub, and right when he was about to pee on me I remembered what you'd said last time — you know, that I AM a little sissy, after all. Angie has no use for me, sexually or otherwise, so I should be glad that my master has found a way for me to be useful. Thinking of that made it a lot easier. I didn't even cry when he was done, and that's a first; I just washed up, put on a dry dress and went back to my housework like nothing had happened. I guess I'm getting used to being pissed on all the time. Since I'm a little sissy, I figure I deserve it."

"That's the spirit!" Bob patted the sissy's back. "Congratulations on your breakthrough! You see, guys, it's all about acceptance. Like I say in Chapter 4: 'You are You and You Suck' — once you realize what a little pussy-ass little bitch you are, then you can stop being so resentful about how you're being treated. Now, I know this sounds like I'm repeating myself, and that's because I am. The core message of 'Rules for Cuckolds' is simple: it all comes down to accepting your inferiority to make things easier for you. Accepting that you're a cuckold bitch means being the best cuckold bitch you can be. And then, believe me, things get a lot easier."

"Not always," Monte cut in.

Bob frowned. "Um, why are you sitting on the floor, Monte?"

"Oh." The redhead blushed. "I'm on punishment. No furniture for a month. Little Tommy caught me sitting at the dining room table the other day and told his dad I was being lazy. I mean, I'd been working nonstop since 5 in the morning and hadn't gotten any sle-ep the night before because the twins had kept me up crying — so I try to take one goddamn break and the little bastard tells on me."

Carlton squinched up his eyebrows. "Damn, dude, you're not allowed to take breaks ever?"

"Only if I get permission first. But Master and Mistress were busy in the bedroom, and I obviously couldn't interrupt them. I didn't think there'd be any harm in sitting down for a few minutes while little Tommy, Erin and Jimmy were in the living room watching TV and the twins had finally gone down for a nap. But then the little prick Tommy pokes his head in the kitchen because he wanted some juice, and he catches me sitting there. I jumped up as soon as the door opened, but he busted me and said he was gonna tell his dad I was being lazy because I wasn't there to refill the little prick's juice right when he wanted it. And, sure enough, because the poor little dumpling had to wait two minutes for his refill, he did tell his dad. So, now I'm fucked — no furniture for the next month. That includes my bed, so I'm stuck sle-eping on the floor. You should've seen the little bastard smirking while his dad bitched me out about being lazy."

Bob nodded. "And how old is little Tommy?"

"He's 8."

"Well, that's a tough age, Monte, so hang in there." Bob chewed his pen. "Now, just a minute ago you were saying that accepting your inferiority doesn't always make things easier. I'm curious — what makes you say that? Obviously, that goes against the core principle of the book."

"I mean, I've accepted who I am ... I'm an ugly, piece-of-sh-it loser. I get it — but there are times ... ugh. I'm not saying the book is wrong, Bob. Once you accept who you are, it does get a lot easier — but the mean things they do still hurt, bro. They fucking hurt. I think they'll always hurt. You know? I just ... uh ... Bob?"

Bob didn't hear because his attention was diverted by snoring from the back row. The group leader saw that Chester was zonked out with a line of slobber running down his chubby chin. "Um, excuse me?" Bob walked to the rear of the basement and shook the slum-bering man's shoulder. "Chester? CHESTER??"

"HUH???" The portly man jerked awake and wiped his chin. "Oh ... ugh, s-sorry."

"Rough night?" Lew asked.

"Yeah, dude, Amy sent me to the store four times with cravings. After midnight. Four fucking times, man. And she was such a fucking bitch about it, too — three of the times she slapped me because I either took too long or she didn't like what I brought back."

Monte shook his head. "I feel for ya, bro. They get so bitchy when they're pregnant."

"Bitchy isn't even the word for it," Isabella sniffed. "And it would be one thing if it was OUR kids they were pregnant with; but we have to put up with all their sh-it and they aren't even our fucking kids. You know?"

"Yeah, no sh-it." Chester sighed. "Last night, she drags me out of bed because she wanted Chalmers Butternut Ice Cream, which is almost impossible to find. I was able to track down a gallon at a store over in Danville, and got home in less than an hour. What did I get in return? A thank-you? Of course not. I got the sh-it slapped out of me for taking too long — and then as soon as I get back to sle-ep, she wakes me up again; this time she has a craving for rotisserie chicken. Where the hell can you find rotisserie chicken at 3 in the goddamn morning? Well, I lucked out and they had some in the glass thing at Walmart — but then Miss Princess said it was too dry and slapped me again. I was sent out twice more, once for sugar-free orange juice and then for bran muffins. She was happy with the OJ, and that's the one time she didn't hit me. But I still didn't get a thank-you. So, yeah, that was my fucking night, bro. I may have gotten two hours of sle-ep. Maybe."

"Ugh, I'm dreading my mistress getting pregnant, and dealing with all that again." Isabella shuddered. "She had me corking her again last night while she slept, so I'm pretty tired myself."

"Me too," Chisain said. "Ugh. I stay tired."

"Another all-nighter cleaning?" Carlton asked.

"Oh, yeah, that's pretty much every night these days. My master keeps taking on new clients and expanding my hours — and then, I get whipped if the house isn't clean enough, because if there's one thing Jenny hates it's a dirty house. And there are always a bunch of women tramping in and out of the house, with orgies in every room. I couldn't keep up with it even if I wasn't working 150-hour weeks!"

Bob crossed his arms. "Man, sounds like you do have quite the full plate."

"Yeah, WTF, I can't do it all!" Chisain threw up his hands. "It's, like, literally impossible. But they don't care. I'll work 48 straight hours with no sle-ep and then have to come home and pick up their messes, and then he signs up another client and sends me right back out again. I try not to show how tired I am because if he sees me dragging ass, he makes me take 5-6 of those fucking caffeine pills — the dosage is supposed to only be one! Those damn pills give me the worst headaches, and they make my face break out! But, like my master always says, 'a $5 box of caffeine pills is worth it if you can get three straight days of free work out of a slave.' My master's running me into the ground, though, WTF!"

Bob nodded. "I feel for you. They do tend to exploit us — but that's why we're here, right? We serve that purpose in their lives, which gives them a reaso-n to let us stay around."

"Yeah, you're right. I know." Chisain's shoulders slumped. "It sucks, though."

"So, how have you been dealing with your masters calling you Sh-it-Stain?"

Chisain gritted his teeth. "A little better, I guess. I mean, it still bothers me, Bob, and I know I need to work on that, because like you said last week, I'm a sh-it-stain on the underwear of humanity. I've been thinking about that a lot, and it's true. From the time I was born, I was meant to be treated like sh-it. I was raised in a femdom family, so all I know is being treated like sh-it. So, if the world was a pair of tightie-whities, then, yeah, I'd be the sh-it-stain. I guess it makes sense that fate would make that be my name, you know?"

"That's an interesting concept you bring up, Sh-it-Stain — fate," Bob said. "As cuckolds, fate isn't exactly on our side, is it?"

The group members chuckled.

"I mean, look around the room; I'd say Mo-ther Nature definitely gave us the short end of the stick." Bob glanced at the YMCA basement stairs leading up to the basketball court, where the squeaks of sneakers on hardwood and masculine grunts signified an intense game upstairs. "I wish I could be tall, athletic and handsome like my master. I wish I had a huge dick like him, and could have sex with Debra and give her orgasms, and then have her cuddle in my arms afterward. But I don't have a huge dick — according to Deb, I've got a 'birth defect' that deserves to be locked in a cage. I'm not tall and handsome. I am who I am: An ugly, pathetic, piece-of-sh-it loser. It's fate."

"You ever wonder what it must be like?" Isabella sighed. "You know, to have a big dick, and to just KNOW that women want you and lust after you? To see a woman on the bed below you with her legs spread begging you to fuck her? I mean ... can you even imagine how what that must feel like? To not be so self-conscious all the damn time? Whenever I get undressed in front of a woman, they laugh at me. Every time. And that was even before my cage."

"OMG, Carmen literally fell on the floor laughing the first time she saw me naked," Marco said. "I'll never forget what she said after she caught her breath: 'What do you suggest I do with THAT ugly little thing?' Those words are, like, etched into my memory: 'What do you suggest I do with THAT ugly little thing?' Then, she took a picture of it and sent it to her friends."

Monte winced. "Aw, dude, that's cold. I guess by then you were probably already hooked, huh?"

"Oh, yeah, I was hooked from the moment I met her."

"Me, too." Monte smiled up at Marco from his spot on the floor. "Janet had me paying her rent within a week of us meeting. Next thing I knew, my entire checks were being direct-deposited into her account and I've had to ask for money ever since."

"OMG, isn't that so fucking embarrassing — having to ask your wife for money?" Marco shook his head. "I mean, I earn all the goddamn money, but, like with you, the whole fucking paycheck goes straight into her account. I have a debit card, but if I want to spend five bucks on something for myself, it's like the end of the world. She can blow $700 in one night in some expensive nightclub buying drin-ks for her macho assholes, no problem — but let me ask to get a hamburger once in a while and she gives me major sh-it."

"Yeah, bro, it fucking sucks." Chisain leaned back in his chair and sighed. "What are you gonna do? I guess that's why we're all here."

"You said it, Sh-it-Stain." Bob clasped his hands.

Chisain frowned. "Ugh, could you please not call me that? Can I have one place where I don't get called 'Sh-it-Stain?'"

"No, Sh-it-Stain, actually you can't." Bob set his jaw. "We're going to get you to embrace that name if it's the last thing we do. And as I point out in the book, the only way to do that is to stop running from it. Got it — Sh-it-Stain?"

Chisain bit his tongue. "Yeah, yeah, alright, already."

Bob held up his hand. "Okay, group, we only have so much time, so let's get started with our exercise. Tonight, we're going to talk about rules. The rules that guide our lives. Last time, I asked all of you to think of one rule that your masters have imposed that you maybe think is unfair or unreaso-nable. Have you all done your homework?"

Everyone nodded. "Okay, then," Bob said. "Monte, why don't you get started?"

"Okay. Well, I mean, I haven't had a proper orgasm in eight years, and Tom told me unless some miracle happens, I'll probably never be allowed one for as long as I live, unless it's from his gay brother cornholing me. That's an unfair rule if ever there was one — I don't even have autonomy over my own body, man."

Bob scoffed. "Oh, now THAT's a little out of line, don't you think? Body autonomy? For a gap-toothed, ugly piece of sh-it like you, Monte? Are you starting to get a high opinion of yourself or something? I thought you said you'd accepted that you're a loser piece of sh-it?"

"Well, yeah, I have accepted that, but—"

"Have you not given yourself over to your masters? Body and soul?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"But nothing, Monte. You think a cuckold slave who's sitting on the floor because he's not allowed to sit on furniture should have a say over the body that belongs to his masters? You have no say over your body or your soul. Am I right or wrong?"

Monte sighed. "Yeah ... you're right."

"Look, guys, I get it." Bob made eye-contact with each of his compatriots as he walked around the room. "These rules are our masters impose on us are tough. That's why we need our own rules. For every rule we don't like, we need to come up with a counter-rule. That's tonight's exercise — we're going to figure out which counter-rules will make the rules we have to live by easier to deal with. So, let's take Monte's rule that he's not allowed to ever have an orgasm. That's pretty unfair, wouldn't you all say?"

Every head nodded.

"So, let's replace that with a fairer rule. Our new rule for Monte will be that he's allowed to cum whenever he wants — but he chooses not to because he's a dedicated slave. Because, at the end of the day, that's the truth. Monte, are you free to leave your marriage anytime you want? Could you file for divorce?"

"Well ... yeah. I mean, I don't want to, but I could."

"Exactly my point," Bob said. "Think about it: None of us is for-ced to stay in these marriages. We might end up getting fucked in alimony, or have to pay chil-d support for kids that aren't ours, but we could at least live with dignity — if we wanted to. But we don't want to live with dignity, do we?"

There was an uncomfortable rustling among the participants, along with a few muttered "no's."

"And why is that? Why don't we want to live with dignity?" Bob looked around. "Anyone?"

Carlton raised his hand, flashing his pink fingernail polish.

Bob tilted his head. "Yes, Foo-Foo? Tell the group: Why don't you want to live with dignity?"

"Um, because I'm a little sissy who doesn't deserve any better?"

"Exactly." Bob smiled. "We're all loser pieces of sh-it, which is precisely why we choose this degradation for ourselves. Nobody's for-cing this on us. In other words, these so-called rules that are imposed on us are really imposed by ourselves, because deep down, we all know that we're loser pieces of sh-it. So, in our minds, then, we need to replace the old rules with new ones that better reflect reality. The rule isn't that Monte doesn't get to cum for the rest of his life. The rule is that he can cum whenever the hell he wants to; he can jack off 10 times a night if that makes him happy. But he chooses to stay celibate, because he's a loser piece of sh-it who knows he's inferior to his masters, and it makes him happy to sacrifice for them and be celibate. So, the rule is: He can cum whenever he wants. He just chooses not to. See how that works?"

Monte nodded. "Yeah, you sort of flip it on its ear."

"Exactly. Rather than these rules being someone else's fault, this way we can take responsibility. Okay, Lew, you want to go next? What rule really bothers you?"

"Well, there are a few, actually. I hate the rule where I always have to wear this fucking butt-plug. I'm caged, too, and I'd obviously like to cum more often, so I'm gonna adopt Monte's rule for myself. Is that allowed?"

"Sure, you can adopt any of these rules that apply to your perso-nal situation," Bob said. "Is that the rule you hate the most? Not cumming?"

"No, I think the one that's even worse than that is never getting to look at Caitlyn naked."

"I see." Bob nodded. "Now, let's apply the same logic as we did to Monte's situation: You do realize, Lew, that you could pop in on your wife in her bedroom or in the shower any time you wanted to and see her naked, right?"

Lew scoffed. "Yeah, if I want to go on a starvation diet for a month! Are you crazy?"

"Now, remember what we just talked about with Monte, Lew: your wife has no real power over you. You realize that you could walk away from your marriage any time you wanted to, right?"

"No, I can't! I wish I could, but I can't. That's where I disagree with you, Bob. It's like Caitlyn and me been joined together since we were born. Ever since we were little kids, she's been hitting me, and spitting on me and doing mean things to me. How can I walk away from that? I mean, you can say it's possible, and that's all good and well ... but mental bonds are every bit as strong as steel bars. Even more so. At least if you try hard enough, you can sometimes break out of steel bars."

"And you can break out of your mental bond as well, Lew." Bob sighed. "I think the problem is, you're fighting the wrong battle. You're looking at it as a struggle between your natural desire to be free and your upbringing, which you think is making you stay with your wife, even though she's mean to you. The way you need to start looking at it, Lew, is that your natural desire is to be treated like a scrawny little bitch. Because that's what you are, whether you like it or not — a scrawny little faggot-ass bitch."

"I know, I know ... but I really DO wish I could be free, Bob. I don't like this." Lew started sobbing. "All my life, all I ever wanted was for Caitlyn to love me, and she's always been mean. And I've always wished it could be different. I can't stop myself from wishing, Bob. I'm sorry."

"Now, Lew, remember what the book says: 'Cuckolds and wishes are—'"

"'—fragile like dishes,' I know, I know." Lew wiped his eyes. "WTF, man. This is hard, you know? I just want her to love me."

"It's hard for all of us, bro," Carlton said.

"But, Lew, you're wasting your time wishing your mistress would love you," Bob said. "She doesn't love you. You said it yourself — your whole life, all she's ever done is hurt you. That's because she lives in reality, Lew. She knows you're a scrawny little bitch. The question is: do you live in reality?"

"I ... I ... yeah." Lew shuffled his feet. "I know. I'm a scrawny little bitch."

Bob squinted. "Chester! Hey, Sh-it-Stain — wake him up."

Chisain nudged his portly fellow cuck in the ribs. Chester sat up straight. "Uh, sorry, did I miss something?"

"Yes, it's your turn. What rule do you hate the most?"

"Um, er .. rule? I ... I ..."

Before the still-sle-epy cuckold could answer, an irate voice trumpeted down the stairwell: "LET'S GO, FAGGOT, TELL YOUR LITTLE QUEER FRIENDS GOOD-BYE AND LET'S GET A MOVE ON!"

Bob jumped and blinked at his companions. "Gotta run, guys! Let's pick this back up next week!"

Oh the things we do for our Cuckoldress'. My first long term girlfriend had one particular Bull that was into piss play. I wasn't at all interested, but between the both they had me in the bathtub with him pissing all over me. He kept telling me to open my mouth but I wouldn't. A few days later on a Saturday afternoon my girlfriend and I were laying down taking a nap when she cuddled up against me and told me me she really wanted to watch me ***** her Bull's piss. A few hours later that day while kneeling in our tub she got her wish as I freely swallowed mouthful after mouthful of warm piss straight from her Bull's large cock. Totally embarrassing for me,
Oh the things we do for our Cuckoldress'!!!!!

Techcuck
Indeed! As they say when the pee's about to hit your lips -- cheers!

CwCobblestone

EXACTLY CHEERS!
While getting ready for me to
d ri nk his piss, out of ear shot, my GF whispered in my ear, that she was proud of me for thinking of hers and his pleasure over mine. She just had one more request and that was for me to show signs that I was and did enjoy this embarrassing ordeal of ******** his piss.
I was scared just as I was scared the first time I gave a blowjob to completion. Not knowing what to fully expect can be a frightening feeling! To be honest this guy was squeaky clean and drank mostly water so his piss didn't really taste all that bad, a little salty but really not bad as I had feared. I probably swallowed 5 big mouthfuls. Seeing the satisfaction and pleasure on my GF face was completely worth the whole experience. It was a one time deal never repeated, but we both knew if she suggested or demanded it again I would have done it!
Again..............
Oh the things we do for our Cuckoldress' pleasure!!!

"The 12-Step Cuckold Plan," Part 5
by c.w. cobblestone


Bob shifted from foot to foot as he tugged at the seat of his pants.

"Sorry, guys, Deb had me coat my butt-plug with Ben Gay today because I forgot to record a show she wanted to watch. So, bear with me — I'm a little tender." Bob for-ced a smile. "Although it looks like I'm not the only one being punished. I see the no-furniture rule is still in place, Monte. I can try to find a pillow or something if that floor's too hard."

"No, thanks, I'm good," Monte replied.

Bob nodded. "And, Lew, why are you wearing underwear on your head, my friend? What happened?"

The skinny cuck turned red beneath the blue drawers. "Uh, Caitlyn had a guy over last night, and instead of sending me to the car like she usually does, she told me to stay and hand-wash four huge bags of laundry this asshole had in his truck. She wanted it all done by the time they were done in the bedroom, but there was a ton of it, and there was no way I could get it all by hand. So, she yelled at me and slapped me around, you know, showing off for this guy — and then she took a pair of his dirty underwear and put it on my head. She said I have to keep 'em on until Friday."

Chester winced. "Ugh, sorry, bro. That's fucked up."

"Yeah, it's a fucking nightmare, man. People keep laughing at me."

Chisain shrugged. "Well, look on the bright side. At least it's kind of like a mask, so it hides your identity."

Lew threw up his hands. "I have to go to fucking work like this, man! Everyone knows who I am!"

"Oh ... sorry," Chisain said.

"Dude, they let you work with drawers on your head?" Carlton furrowed his brow. "Where the hell do you work?"

"I'm an engineer. They put me in an office by myself."

Bob pulled at his pants-seat and squirmed. "What reaso-n did you give your boss for wearing underwear on your head?"

"Oh, everyone at work knows I'm Caitlyn's slave. She made that obvious at the first office holiday party we went to years ago right after we got married." Lew peered out through the underwear's leg-holes. "My boss fucked her that night, and a whole bunch of times after that. Half the office has fucked her."

"Wow, that's a great situation, you're in." Bob smiled.

"Huh?" Carlton raised his eyebrows. "How the hell is that a great situation? Sounds pretty fucked up if you ask me."

"No, it's actually perfect," Bob said. "Once again, you're thinking of this the wrong way, young Foo-Foo. You see, it's not always possible for us to be 'out' because of our jobs or other reaso-ns, but that's what we should all be striving for. It's best if we can maintain a true 24/7 lifestyle that includes being a public slave. It makes navigating everyday life a lot easier. Lew's situation is a good example, where his boss understands that sometimes his mistress is going to impose embarrassing punishments."

"Embarrassing is right," Lew muttered from beneath the dingy underwear. "It's a fucking nightmare."

"Has anyone else been outed like Lew, where the whole world knows you're a cuckold?" Bob asked. Marco was the only group member not to raise his hand.

Bob addressed the lone wolf. "So, why is your cuckold status kept a secret, Marco?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say it's a secret, exactly. All Carmen's friends know. But she likes to keep it on the down-low when it comes to work, because she doesn't want to jeopardize my income, since she says that's the only thing I'm really good for. I'm in sales and that's all about image. She's afraid I'd get fired if I get caught doing something too crazy, so, luckily I don't have to do embarrassing things out in public like wearing some guy's underwear on my head."

Carlton chuckled. "Yeah, Lew, no offense, dude, but you look pretty fucking ridiculous."

"Who you calling ridiculous, Foo-Foo?" Lew frowned through the leg-holes. "At least I'm not a little sissy in a flouncy dress."

Isabella glowered at Lew. "And what's wrong with being a sissy in a flouncy dress?"

Carlton jumped to his feet, making his ruffles bounce. "Yeah, moth-erfucker, keep running your mouth and I'll rip them underwear off your head and shove 'em up your ass."

Chisain scoffed. "Boy, Foo-Foo, for a little sissy, you sure do want to fight all the time."

"FUCK YOU, SHI-T-STAIN, I'LL KICK YOUR ASS, TOO!" Carlton balled his fists.

"Dang, and I thought I was the one cranky from all those caffeine pills." Chisain held up his hands. "Chill, dude. Don't get your panties all in a bunch."

Bob nodded. "Shi-t-Stain's right, Foo-Foo. You can't keep threatening to kick people's ass every time you have a disagreement. Now, you're a welcome member of this group, and we want you to keep attending these meetings and hopefully continue your growth, because you've come so far already ... but you've got to watch that temper of yours. Okay?"

Carleton sat back down. "Sorry ... I've been kind of cranky lately. I had a bit of a remission, and I've been in a bad mood ever since."

"Remission?" Chester cocked his head. "What kind of remission?"

"Well, I had been doing good ... you, know, with the peeing thing. Every time Terrance called me to the tub I was able to remind myself that I was a little sissy who deserved to be pissed on ... and, you know, that his pee was like sacred wine, since his dick goes inside Angie's pussy, and her pussy is sacred. I dunno, it was a little game I'd play in my head in order to cope with it, you know?"

"That's exactly what we should be doing — playing those kind of mind games with ourselves is key to finding our Cuckold Salvation. It seems like a sound strategy to think of your master's pee as sacred because it comes from the dick that goes inside your wife's sacred vagina." Bob's lips formed a straight line. "But you fell off the wagon, eh?"

"Yeah." Carlton sighed. "I'd gone four straight days without crying. Not once. Every time Terrance pissed on me, I'd shrug, tell myself that I deserved it and go change clothes. But then ... I don't know, the other night I was kind of feeling good about myself, because Angie had loved this cake I'd made for dessert — she even said thank-you! — and she was nice to me the whole night, you know? But then after I went to sle-ep, I started dreaming that it was raining ... and, sure enough, it was Terrance pissing on my head. And, maybe it caught me off guard because I'd been sle-eping, but I just couldn't. You know? I tried telling myself that I deserved it ... that it was his sacred wine ... but it didn't taste like wine, man — it tasted like piss. Ugh, all over my face ... my pillow and sheets. So, I laid there in my wet bed crying all night. It's like I was letting it all out because I hadn't cried the other times. All of that was bottled up inside. I don't know, it just fucked me up and I haven't been right ever since."

"Bro, I'm sorry to hear that." Chester patted Carlton's ruffled shoulder. "Hang in there."

Bob scoffed. "I hate to be a party-pooper, Foo-Foo but I'm not gonna coddle you — I'm gonna tell you exactly where you went wrong."

"Wrong? What do you mean?"

"Well, you said you were feeling good about yourself. Your mistress loved the cake you made and she even said thank-you, and was nice to you that night. So, you were feeling good about yourself. Do you see the problem, Foo-Foo?"

Carlton hung his head. "Yeah. I shouldn't feel good about myself."

"Exactly. Why should you? You're a little sissy faggot whose wife is fucking another man. That's nothing to feel good about, Foo-Foo. So, she liked your goddamn cake, and felt like being nice to her sissy for one night. You think that makes you special or something? Well, I hate to break it to you, Foo-Foo, but you're not special — you're a little sissy faggot who gets pissed on 10 times a day by the man who stole your wife. And you put up with it because you're too much of a wimp to stop it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself — and proud to be a little sissy faggot all at the same time. Remember one of the mantras in the book: 'I'm proud to be a lowdown piece of shi-t, which means I've got nothing to be proud of.' Why don't we all repeat that one?"

Each group member droned: "I'm proud to be a lowdown piece of shi-t, which means I've got nothing to be proud of."

"There you go. Don't start feeling all proud of yourself if something nice happens to you. You can see the danger right there — what do I say in the book? 'The higher we fly ...'"

"'... the harder we fall,'" the men finished the quotation from "Rules for Cuckolds."

"Foo-Foo, you're an ugly little worm," Bob explained. "It's what you are. Stay where you belong. Things go awry when you try to be something you're not, and start feeling good about yourself."

"I ... I know, I'm sorry. This is all new to me."

"Well, it's not new to me," Lew muttered from beneath the underwear covering his face. "I don't feel good about myself. I know I'm a lowdown, scrawny piece of shi-t. I've known that my whole life. And it still fucking sucks. You guys ever get tired of this shi-t all the goddamn time? You ever think of ... you know ... um, divorce?"

There was a collective gasp.

"The D-Word????" Isabella jumped to his high-heeled feet. "Dude, are you out of your fucking mind?! A divorce?! Darlene's the love of my life, man. I can't even think about divorcing her."

"Yeah, my stomach hurts whenever I think about Angie not being around," Carlton said. "That's the whole reaso-n I'm putting up with all this bullshi-t in the first place — to stay married to her and NOT get a divorce."

"That's why all of us put up with it, bro," Monte added from his spot on the floor. "You think I enjoy my life? Not cumming for eight fucking years? Never getting any sle-ep because another man's babies keep me up crying? Changing shi-tty diapers while the parents lay around watching TV — and then getting yelled at or smacked for not doing it fast enough? Starvation diets? No sitting on furniture for a goddamn month because I took one break and the little prick had to wait a few minutes for a juice refill? Getting cornholed by your master's gay brother whenever he's feeling romantic? You think I like any of that shi-t? It fucking sucks, bro. But we put up with it because we love our wives. We're devoted. We made a promise to love, honor and cherish them — no matter what. Well, the hard stuff we go through? That's the 'no matter what' part. Nobody said this would be easy."

"No, it's not easy," Bob agreed. "It keeps coming back to accepting who we are. We get into trouble and start having reckless thoughts about divorce whenever we start thinking we deserve better. Well, guess what, guys? We don't deserve better. Lew, you've been Caitlyn's slave since you were a little kid. You were born to be her slave. Now, you're getting delusions of grandeur, and think you're too good to wear her boyfriend's underwear on your head? Are we getting hoity-toity now?"

"Uh, I ... I know, Bob. I'm a scrawny piece of shi-t who deserves it."

Bob nodded. "See? That's the spirit, Lew. We're all losers who deserve what we get. The sooner we all accept that, the better it's going to be. If I sound like a broken record ... well, sometimes you just have to drive the message home, again and again. You're all dirty, rotten, lowdown, pathetic pieces of shi-t — so stop feeling good about yourselves. Okay?"

While the group nodded, Bob adjusted the back of his pants and consulted his notebook. "Alright, then, last week we were talking about the rules we live by and how we're going to start acknowledging these rules in a different way. We've heard from Monte and Lew already, and Chester was going to go next. Chester? Is there a particular rule that bothers you?"

"Well, I mean, my life would be a lot easier if I was allowed to say 'no' to Junior and Jaydon, but Amy and Jamal say that word should never leave my mouth when one of their kids wants something."

"OMG, that was the rule I was gonna use, too," Isabella interjected. "I have to do whatever Aaliyah and Alecia tell me to do, no matter what. If they tell me to jump off the roof, I can beg them to not make me do that, or if worst comes to worst I can double-check with their parents, and THEY can say no. But I'm not allowed to. OMG, if Darlene or DeAndre ever heard me telling their daugh-ters no to something ..."

"I know!" Chester shuddered. "And it's so ridiculous, because sometimes you have to tell a kid no. My master gave me 50 with the cane because Jamal Jr. kept trying to stick his fork into the electric outlet, and I told him he'd get hurt if he did that. Master said my tone was too for-ceful. WTF."

"And the spoiled little bastards know we can't say no to them, either," Monte added. "Tommy's 8 and Erin's 7, and they're at that age where they're turning into little smartasses and I have to beg to get them to do anything. And they're so demanding! The other day, Erin wanted ice cream right before dinner, and I tried to tell her that was against her mom's rule but she just pointed toward the kitchen with that look on her face she inherited from Jan. So, what else could I do? I went and got the little princess a bowl of ice cream — and, sure enough, Janet comes walking in right when she's sitting there eating it. And who gets bitched out? Me. Erin's sitting behind her mom poking her tongue out at me while I had to endure Jan's lecture about not feeding the kids before dinner. Thank goodness she didn't tell Tom."

Bob cleared his throat. "Well, guys, I hate to be mean, but as your facilitator, it's my job to tell you all that you're all full of shi-t. You can tell those little pricks no any time you want to. Chester, how old are your masters' kids?"

"Jamal Jr. is 3 and Jaydon's 2."

Bob nodded. "Monte?"

"Um, little Tommy's, 8, Erin's 7, Jimmy's 3; and the twins are six months old."

"And Isabella?"

"Aaliyah's 6 and Alecia's 3."

"I see." Bob peered at each cuck. "And, Monte, even though you're a scrawny little faggot who looks like you couldn't fight your way out of a wet paper bag, I assume even a wuss like you can kick an 8-year-old kid's ass?"

"Well ... yeah, probably."

"And, Isabella, even though you're a girly little sissy, you could physically restrain a 6-year-old girl, correct?"

"Um ... sure."

"And how about you, Chester?" Bob scoffed. "I mean, with those love-handles and man-boobs, so I wouldn't exactly expect you to be an MMA champion — but even your roly-poly, out-of-shape ass could take 3- and 2-year-old kids, even if they ganged up on you. Right?"

"Well, yeah — but then Jamal would, like, literally k-ill me."

"But that's not the point. You're saying you can't say no to your master's kids. Is that literally true?"

"Well, no, Bob, I guess I could say no to them. And you could technically walk up to a cop and punch him in the nose if you want — if you want to go to jail! And, sure, I can tell the little bastards no some time — and their dad would beat the fuck out of me, to where I couldn't walk for a month."

"Listen, Chester, Isabella, all of you — none of you HAS to do any of this. You're free to leave whenever you want, and you wouldn't have to put up with your masters or their little prick kids ever again. You choose to stay. So, the rule isn't that you're not allowed to say no to these kids — the rule is, you want to raise them the way your masters prefer, and so you choose to tough it out and do the job. It's all about service to your masters, not what makes life easier for you."

Chester huffed. "Yeah, well, YOU try having a 3-year-old kid spit his food in your face, like, every single meal. And Jamal and Amy just sit there and crack up. They encourage it! So, he does it, and so does Jaydon. I'm talking just about every meal."

"Or how about having the little pricks lie on you, just so they can laugh at you when you get in trouble?" Monte shook his head. "Last week, I was put on two days' starvation because Erin thought it would be funny to tell her mom I broke a vase. The little bitch told Tommy 'watch this' and then purposely knocked the vase on the floor. When Jan asked what happened, the little brat told her ma I'd been in a bad mood and had been 'slamming stuff around.' Janet says 'let's see if two days of starvation puts you in a better mood,' and you should've seen the looks on that evil little bitch's face. After Jan left the room she and Tommy cracked up, and for the next two days they kept rubbing it in whenever they'd eat. 'Mmmm, this hamburger sure does taste good!' I mean, they're rotten little monsters, man."

"And you choose to put up with it," Bob said. "Yes, they're mean to you. Why wouldn't they be? Generally speaking, kids don't respect gap-toothed, ugly pieces of shi-t who have no authority over them. They see how your masters treat you and they treat you the same way: like the pathetic loser you are. But that doesn't change the fact that you choose to stay. All of you do. So, for Chester and Isabella, the new rule is: You can say no to your masters' little pricks anytime you want to — you just choose to raise the kids in the way your masters want. Does that make it easier to think of it that way?"

"I guess." Chester shrugged. "I mean, the kids are gonna be little pricks no matter which way I look at it, so I might as well try to think of it the right way."

"Me too," Isabella said. "Aaliyah takes after her dad, so I know I'm in for it when she gets a little older. Alecia's a little more mellow like her mom, but she'll do whatever Aaliyah does."

Bob nodded. "But you choose to put up with it, correct?"

"Yep. That's the new rule, Bob."

"Great." Bob smiled at Chisain. "Your turn. I'm gonna guess what your most-hated rule is."

"Being called 'Shi-t-Stain?' Yeah." Chisain scoffed. "I know, I know. I could go down to the Registrar's Office and change my name anytime I want to ... I could be something normal like Robert, or Bob or Monte or Steve. Instead, I choose to keep this name because I'm an ugly piece of shi-t, and a shi-t-stain on the underwear of humanity."

"Now, you're talking!" Bob grinned. "It's so wonderful to see each one of you growing like this, and learning to accept your inferiority. I feel like we're really getting somewhere with these sessions. How about you, Marco? What's the one rule that bothers you?"

"Well, it's not really a rule ... but ... well, I hate to keep harping on the same thing, man, but I sure wish Terrance would stop pissing on me all the time. I don't understand it. He does it constantly. I mean, I can understand maybe when he first moved in and took over the household ... how it must feel pretty empowering to piss all over a little fag like me. But you'd think after a while it would wear off. I know I'm a piece of shi-t who deserves it — but WTF, I can't help it. I'm fucking tired of getting pissed on all the time. Like, 5-6 times a fucking day, man."

"Now, we've been through this, Foo-Foo. Your master's piss—"

"—is like sacred wine, yeah, yeah, I get it, I know. I choose to stay, so the rule isn't that I HAVE to get pissed on constantly; it's that I WANT to get pissed on because that's what makes my master happy."

"Exactly," Bob said.

Marco hunched forward in his chair. "What's your wife do when he's pissing on you, bro?"

"Oh, she thinks it's gross, so she stays away, thank goodness," Foo-Foo said. "I'm glad she doesn't watch, but it's fucked up because she blames ME for it. She'll crinkle up her nose at me and say, 'you're so fucking disgusting.' As if it's somehow MY fault!"

"But it IS your fault, Foo-Foo." Bob clicked his pen. "Everything is your fault, remember?"

"Yeah, sorry, I forgot."

"Okay." Bob nodded at Marco. "Your turn. What rule bothers you the most?"

"Well, I'd like to have sex with my wife at least once." Marco made a face. "Carmen says I have to stay a virgin. She says my dick is too small to ever go inside a woman."

"But at least you're not caged," Monte said. "That's something to be thankful for."

Marco shrugged. "It's not because Carmen is nice, that's for goddamn sure — she just doesn't care enough to put me in a cage. As long as I keep bringing in the money and stay out of her way, she hardly notices me. It's like I'm literally an ATM machine. There are whole weeks that'll go by without her saying a word to me the few times when she's home. I keep the house clean and make sure her car is gassed up, so there's really no reaso-n for her to ever talk to me unless she wants something specific. I've found myself not doing things on purpose or doing them wrong to get her to yell at me — so at least I could have some interaction with my wife."

"Dude, that's sad," Monte said.

"Yeah." Marco sighed. "But I deserve it. My wife wants nothing to do with my tiny little dick."

"You make good money, correct?" Bob asked.

"Oh, yeah, close to $300,000 a year."

Bob smiled. "Well, then, you could fly to Vegas and pick up a legal prostitute any time you wanted, correct?"

"Well, sure, but—"

"But nothing, Marco. You're a virgin not because of your wife's rule. You're a virgin because of YOUR rule: You want to stay a virgin to make your wife happy. True or false?"

"Well ... true."

"See? Now, don't you feel like a pathetic piece of shi-t? What kind of man chooses to stay in a sexless marriage and remain a virgin while his wife openly fucks other men? Tell me, Marco — what kind of man puts up with that?"

"Um ... a pathetic piece of shi-t?"

"YES!!!" Bob clapped. "I am SO excited at the growth we're seeing here. This is very inspiring. I think we're experiencing what I call in the book a—"

But before Bob could sneak in yet another plug for his book, the voice from upstairs roared: "GAME'S OVER!! LET'S GO, QUEER!!"

Bob pulled at the back of his pants. "Gotta run, guys — I don't want more Ben Gay! Hope to see you all next week!"

The group leader waddled gingerly up the stairs to a chorus of good-byes from the gaggle of cucks who felt better about themselves after having acknowledged that they were all pieces of shi-t who had no reaso-n whatsoever to feel good about themselves.

I there anything we wouldn't doing for your cuckoldress?
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Submissive Cuckold - lives for many years in a female-led marriage with a cuckold lifestyle.