Chapter 7: One Step Forward

(Still 4 years ago)

Still in her 'Wet Dream' outfit, Alex picked up her cell phone, got Marc-Us into her car, told him to sleep on her way back to the UFW campus, and woke him so he could drive home. What kind of furor he would generate tomorrow when his posse got dumped off the gravy train that was provided by his St. Louis Cardinal signing bonus, she would love to see. Those people were abusers too, but of a different kind.

When she returned home, Spats was the only one who watched as she stripped off the dominatrix costume. It suddenly struck her – what if she'd been stopped for a routine traffic infraction? She didn't even have her driver's license. And of course, she had no way to control the potential officer's reaction. She thought in those terms now: How would she control the people she was dealing with?

That little problem would get solved tomorrow, somehow. She didn't even want to think about Marc-Us or any of the MPC projects tonight. For right now, she'd take a bubble bath, play with Spats, and think about David Halpern.

Spats, it turned out, really liked the bubble bath and took a flying leap into the tub when it was full of naked Alex and an overflowing complement of bubbles. His intended landing – on the top layer of bubbles – did not work out as well as the little guy thought it would. There was a blind grope for a panicked kitty (on Alex's part) and a desperate, claws-out swim for safety (on Spats' part) that should have been captured for the internet. Sadly there was no cameraman, but a good time was had by all. Spats seemed to actually like being thrown into the air and landing on and in the bubbles. He seemed to have gotten over his initial dislike of water sports.

Not that kind of water sports, Alex laughed to herself.

She called up her own MPC record, entered the Star Spangled/driver's license number/parents' phone number password, and programmed herself to have pleasant dreams, to sleep through the night, and to awake refreshed. She barely had time to turn out the lights before drifting off in the arms of Morpheus.

Alex would have been less than happy if she'd called up David Halpern's MPC record, and noticed that he was in the process of a lusty anal fuck with a redhead he'd met at a local bar, who had a trick pelvis, apparently. The back room of the bar didn't have a condom machine, and David didn't want to get the redhead pregnant, so he'd resorted to an 'alternate entry point, ' as they say. Why he was worried about a girl with a trick pelvis, who had six cocks lined up to do her at the moment, was anybody's guess. Seven if you counted the cock in her mouth.

Alex woke on Tuesday with a plan to write a front-end for the MPC program that would be run from her cell phone. It would mean that she'd have to modify the MPC program so it would run invisibly in the background of her desktop, but she could handle that. She grabbed the leash and cock-cage and headed to work. Her work load in the CS department was trivial. No one noticed, of course, and no one cared – wonder why?

She worked on this little project straight through Tuesday night and on into Wednesday. At 6:29, there was a knock on her door, and she looked up. No one knocks on my door when I'm busy. What the... she thought and then remembered.

"Come in, little boy," she said aloud.

Marc-Us entered and stood in front of Alex's desk. He was still blinged out and was still wearing that $300K grill.

"The bling and the grill will stay in my desk tonight. It will still be here in the morning, don't worry about that," she started right in. Tonight, we go for humiliation, with little messages thrown in, she thought.

"Yes'm," he replied as he fumbled with his mouth and took off the gold chains and medallions.

"Pull your pants down to the knees and then kneel here, alongside my desk."

Alex could see the hatred in his eyes, but he did it. His hands were covering his dick.

"Oh come on, little boy! Don't hide it from me. Hands behind your back. Now!"

Then she kneeled down and fitted the cock cage to him and snapped the half-inch ring around the skin of his scrotum; the little ring, of course, led to his leash.

"Now, stand up, pull up your pants but leave your package out where I can see it." She started to walk to the door, pulling on the leash before she even finished the sentence. Marc-Us was struggling to pull up his pants as she closed the office door behind them.

He started to look up and down the hall way, his hands again covering himself.

"Marc-Us listen to me:" Alex said the magic words. He almost froze and looked at her. "Stop covering yourself. If someone sees you, just keep walking. Keep your gaze down. You will look at my right foot. Nothing else."

They walked quickly through the CS building. She had to jerk lightly on his leash at some of the intersections, so he'd know which way to turn. She stopped suddenly and looked at him. Under his black face, he was blushing.

"Speak to me, little boy. What are you feeling, right now?"

"I am embarrassed, ma'am. I do not like it."

"Then think about how Denise or Ladasha felt going home to their families with a bruise on her face or with a black eye. I don't think they were just embarrassed. How about nine months later when they had a baby with no man around? Maybe I should just take you over to the athletic department and have you wear a little girl's dress. 'Cause that's how much of a man you are right now. Would you be more than 'embarrassed?'?"

"Yes'm. I'd ... well ... Please don't do that, ma'am. I'm doin' what you want."

"No, little boy, you are not," Alex said forcefully. "But you're starting to get the message."

She turned and walked through the exit doors, ignoring the startled look from a couple that strolled by. It was still light, and she got several looks from passers-by as she led her 'little boy' through the parking lot. Of course, she had entered commands in his Other section of the MPC record, to the effect that no one will even remember the strange scene.

But he didn't know that.

Marc-Us slept through the trip to Alex's house, again, and followed her into the basement when they arrived. She had him strip and kneel and, most importantly, watch her while she donned the 'Wet Dream' costume again. This time, with no instructions to prevent it, he got hard – started to get hard was more accurate. When his prick hit the sharp spikes on the inside of the cock cage, he felt the pain. And penis pain, if you're not a masochist, just does not go well with engorgement.

It took a few moments for the warring blood surge to his cock to come to terms with the pain-induced messages for blood to surge away from it. In the end, away won the struggle.

Alex led him into the dungeon. Tonight she had some new toys to use before settling in for a little chat. She had him stretch out and place his hands on the floor in front of him. Then she traced the outline of his large hands on the cement floor with chalk. Alex moved his knees apart by the simple expedient of jerking his leash until he had them where she wanted them. She drew a little circle around his knees, too.

On her laptop's MPC record of Marc-Us, she typed: 'Keep your hands and knees in the chalk outlines on the floor.' He found an irresistible force holding his hands exactly on the outline – it was as if they were glued to the floor.

Alex showed him a long, thin tube that had an indentation just before the handle: it was the thinnest anal probe that the store carried and yet it was six inches long. She was spreading thick grease along the shaft.

"Know what this is, little boy?"

"I sho'nuf don', ma'am."

"I thought we had decided to do away with the ghetto accent."

"Yes'm. I do not know what that is. It looks like an ass plug that I've seen on the internet," he admitted.

"Right on the first try. Good, little boy, very good," she beamed a smile at him like she might give a puppy who learned to do his business in the yard. "If we have to, over the months we're going to have these sessions, we'll work up to this." And she showed him a hard rubber strap-on about ten inches long and a good six inches in diameter at its base. She put that monstrosity on the floor for him to look at.

The Wet Dream dominatrix walked behind him and put the thin anal probe to his pucker.

"NO! Ma'am, please don't do that! I'll learn what you want me to learn. Just tell me what it is," he pleaded.

She pushed it in an inch. His ass rejected the invader and it came out streaked with brown.

Oh, that's just gross! she thought to herself. I'll fix it next time.

"Tell me, little boy," Alex said in a monotone, "do you like anal sex with girls?"

"Sho'do. Dem bitches ... I mean ... Yes'm. The girls seem to like it after a while. Most of 'em anyway. Takes some getting used to, I guess. I'm kinda big, you know."

Alex placed the dirty device back to his pucker and began to push. It slowly – ever so slowly – began to invade his bowel. He screamed. He begged. He pleaded. She kept pushing slowly until the whole thing was seated in his backside.

Then he screamed again, as his prick started to fill again, undoubtedly the pressure on his prostate was the cause. And once again it came in contact with the spikes, whereupon it deflated like a punctured balloon.

Crossing to her laptop, she typed: 'Begin to get hard every five minutes. After contact with the spikes, continue to expand for three seconds, then get soft again, back to normal state. Think about the pain, discomfort and humiliation you're getting and then think about the pain and humiliation you gave to Denise and Ladasha. Their's was so much longer-lasting and more permanent, and ultimately more cruel. You want to do something to fix that. A real man wouldn't treat his women like that.'

"I'm going to leave you like this for a few minutes, so you can think about the way you treat women, specifically Denise and Ladasha." She turned away, her heels clicking on the hard cement floor, until she reached the light switch. Flicking the light switch, she threw the room into darkness, and she found her way to the stairs by the light of her laptop screen.

She heard him crying and moaning as she went up to the kitchen.

Alex made herself a cup of coffee and shared a tin of tuna fish with Spats as she relaxed in the captain's chair in the eat-in portion of the kitchen.

Her pulse was racing and she was out of breath. Wow. I'm beat. This dominatrix stuff is harder than it looks. And I'm on the pitching side. What must it be like to be on the receiving end? She chewed on a finger as she took another bite of tuna. And some people do this without the Master PC program. Jeez! What must that be like?

It was only forty minutes later. She had nodded off – the all nighter was taking its toll – and only Spats knocking the tuna can onto the floor woke her. He was peering over the edge of the table, looking down at it. It was a long leap down for a little cat, but he was brave. He took the monumental jump, landed on his feet – and chin – but then collected himself with an 'I meant it to look exactly like that' air, and turned to attack the evil tuna can.