Toad

“toad” part I

by c.w. cobblestone

My wife giggled at something her sister said and took a sip of iced tea. I’d been waiting for the pause in conversation to make my little announcement.

“Uh, excuse me, Mistress?”

Janie leaned back on the couch. “What, toad?”

“Um, I just wanted to let you know that I’m finished with Miss Lisa’s car.”

After I stood there for a second, Janie threw up her hands. “And what? Are you waiting for us to give you a medal or something?”

My sister-in-law snickered.

I gulped. “Um, n-no, Mistress, I … I just wanted to let you know that Miss Lisa’s car was finished, and to see if you guys needed anything else, Mistress.”

“No, I’m fine, toad. Lise, you need anything?”

Lisa took a sip of coffee and set the cup on the living room table. “Yeah, you could top that off for me, Todd. Er, I mean, toad.”

“Right away, Miss.” I sprang into action.

When I set the refilled cup down in front of Lisa, she smiled.

“Thank you, toad. You’re such a good little helper these days. I mean, you always were an attentive hubby, but you’re so much better now … although we can’t exactly call you a husband anymore, can we?”

“I … I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I guess not.”

“Well, whatever, toad, I like the new you. Did you wash my car real nice for me?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Lisa, I cleaned it up real good. It’s gleaming. Wait until you see it — it looks like it just got out of the showroom.”

Janie scowled. “Quit bragging, toad, or I’ll slap the shit out of you.”

“S-sorry, Mistress.”

“You want me to tell Omar you were showing off in front of my sister?”

I blanched and clasped my hands in front of me. “Oh n-no, Mistress, please, I’m so sorry, Mistress, please don’t tell him that, I’m so, so sorry, Mistress, please.”

“Did you finish setting up his Xbox?”

“No, Mistress, I was going to ask if it’s okay if I finish that up now, Mistress.”

My wife chuckled. “You better have that done before he gets home if you don’t want a major ass-whipping. You’re already on thin ice after those shoelaces.”

“Yes, Mistress, I’ll get it done now. May I please be excused?”

“Yes. Go.”

I bowed to acknowledge her dismissal then scurried down the hall to the guest bedroom.

While I fumbled with the gaming system cords I could hear my superiors’ conversation.

“Boy, Janie, you’ve really got him trained don’t you?”

“Well, Omar helped a lot. He’s really good with him. Strict discipline. No nonsense. It’s sexy as hell how he just takes control.”

My wife’s sister tittered. “Poor toad seems scared to death of him.”

“Oh, he is. Omar doesn’t mess around with the little shit. He dunked his head in the toilet this morning because he didn’t re-lace his tennis shoes like he told him to.”

“Seriously? OMG! What did toad do?”

“Other than swallow toilet water? What do you think the little toad did? Not a damn thing, except to apologize and get the shoes re-laced so Omar could go to his game in style. The man does everything in style, even playing basketball. Mmmmm.”

“I can’t wait to meet him. Those pictures you put on Facebook are sexy as hell. I still can’t believe you’re doing this, Janie. Mom would be proud, though. She was a slut from way back — and didn’t give a shit who knew, did she?”

“I always did take after her,” my wife said.

The sisters shared a laugh.

“Seriously, how did you ever get Todd to agree to all this?”

“It was easy,” my wife explained. “Omar just … took control. I don’t know how else to say it. We hooked up a few times and next thing you know he’s coming over to the house. Once Omar laid down the law, the toad just folded. My so-called husband never had a backbone to start with, as you know. He was already into being treated like a slave, anyway — but having Omar around gives the whole thing authority. Kind of like a having a father in the home; the toad don’t cross him.”

“Yeah, I know, he’s a fucking weasel, and always has been … but even him — how can anybody put up with it? That kind of humiliation? You kept his weirdo S&M slave shit on the QT, but that Facebook post … did you see what people were saying when you put those pictures up?”

“Yeah, and I unfriended anyone who had a problem with it,” my wife said. “Omar and me are in love, Lisa.”

“I know, and I’m happy for you. But … damn, girl, you put it all out there with that post. I know poor Todd will never be able to live that down.”

“Oh, who gives a shit what he thinks? If he doesn’t like it he’s free to leave any time. Besides, I didn’t ‘put it all out there’ on Facebook, as you say. All I said was that Omar and I were in love, he was moving in, and that toad was okay with it and would still live with us. I called him ‘Todd,’ not ‘toad.’ And I didn’t tell everyone how Omar turned him into our little bitch. As a matter of fact, when I was posting that I was sitting right here next to Omar on the couch; he was watching football while the toad sucked his toes. So, if I’d have wanted to embarrass the little loser, instead of posting pictures of Omar and me at the beach I could’ve took a picture of the toad with his master’s toes in his mouth and posted that.”

The sisters laughed again.

“Well, you know I never liked him much, but I still can’t help feeling a little sorry for the poor bastard,” my sister-in-law said.

“Why? Don’t feel sorry for him; he’s the one who asked for this. He said he liked being treated like a slave, so we treat him like a slave. When Omar said he was moving in, toad was scared to death I was going to divorce his ass. You should’ve seen the little creep; he literally got down on his knees right there on the carpet and begged us to let him stay. It was pathetic. He said he’d do anything we wanted. So, we let him stay and be our little bitch. He was already that pretty much anyway even before Omar came into the picture, but now ... I’m telling you, Lise, it’s wonderful. I’ve got my king in the bedroom and a loyal little housemaid bitch who’ll do anything we say sleeping in the basement.”

“Jeez, he has to sleep in the basement?”

“On the floor. Omar put that rule in place the first night. And the toad isn’t allowed to sit on the furniture. Ever.”

Lisa chuckled. “Damn, that’s cold.”

“Hey, if the little bitch wants to stay, this is how he’s gonna get treated. Otherwise, like Omar told him the first time he spent the night: if he doesn’t like it, he can fuck off down the road.”

“And when Omar said that, he just folded?”

“You should’ve seen it, Lisa. He just bowed his head and said ‘okay.’ Then, Omar made him say, ‘yes, sir.’ It was the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Mmm, that does sound sexy." From my vantage point down the corridor, I could hear my sister-in-law sigh. “It sounds wonderful but I still don’t understand how he can put up with it. Jeez, Janie, what did you do to that poor man?”

My wife chuckled. “Hey, what can I say? I guess I’m just special. The poor little shit doesn’t want to leave me, no matter what I do to him. I have that effect on men.”

“Well, I will say you look hotter than you ever have. Omar’s obviously good for you.”

“Mmm, tell me about it, girlfriend.”

“I don’t know … I guess people can get used to anything. Maybe toad growing up in an orphanage has something to do with it.”

“Oh, big-time. When we first started dating, all he ever did was whine about how nobody wanted him, and how grateful he was that I wanted him.”

Lisa giggled. “You wanted his money.”

“Hey, toad knew the score from the get-go. I mean, all he has to do is look in the mirror; he’s a fucking toad. He knows he could never get a woman like me if he wasn’t pulling in high six figures.”

“Well, aren’t we Miss Stuck-Up? All the rich guys are lining up to marry you, huh?”

“I don’t know about that, but I wouldn’t mind a bunch of black guys lining up to gangbang me.”

“Damn, Janie, you are like mom.”

After a hearty laugh, Lisa asked, “what’s that like? Being with a black guy?”

“You know what they say, Sis: Once you go black …”

“Well, judging from those pictures, I can see why you’d never go back to the toad.”

Another chortle.

I wiped away a tear and glanced at the clock on the guest bedroom wall. 2:54. Omar would be home soon from his basketball game and I still wasn’t close to being finished. So, I tuned out the conversation and concentrated on trying to get my master’s Xbox set up.

I surely didn’t want to give him an excuse to kick my ass in front of company.

 

“toad” part II

by c.w. cobblestone

The spaghetti-like tangle of Xbox cords began to unravel a bit as I walked my fingers inch-by-inch down the cable, trying to focus so I wouldn’t again lose track and tie yet another knot.

My concentration was shattered by my wife’s bitchy voice: “toad! Get in here.”

I wanted to cry. Instead, I dropped the clump of cords, undoing all my hard work, and then scurried to the living room to see what my beloved wanted.

She held out her glass. “Refill.”

“Yes, Mistress.” I turned toward my wife’s sister. “Miss Lisa, do you need a refill, too?”

“No, toad, I’m good.”

I bowed to my sister-in-law to acknowledge her non-order before scuttling to the kitchen to fetch my wife’s drink.

Janie looked up at me as I set her glass on the table.

“How’s it coming with your master’s Xbox?”

Tears filled my eyes. “I’m trying, Mistress, but I … I can’t figure it out. There’s so many cords …”

“Poor toad.” My wife picked up her glass and chuckled. “He’s gonna whoop your ass if it isn’t ready.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “Ooh, I want to see that.”

Janie took a sip. “See what?”

“Omar kicking the toad’s ass. That would be so awesome.”

“Oh, believe me, it is awesome, to see the little bitch cowering … begging Omar to stop; it’s so primal.” My wife sighed. “Mmmmm, I’m getting hot just thinking about it.”

I cleared my throat. “Um, excuse me, Mistress … uh, is it okay if I get back to Master’s Xbox?”

Janie shook her head. “Nope. My sister wants to see Omar kick your ass, and so do I. So, no, toad — leave it. You can go upstairs and polish my shoes instead until he gets home. When your master asks about his Xbox, I want you to tell him you forgot. You understand me, toad?”

Her edict knocked the air out of me. I fell to my knees, hands clasped.

“Oh, please, Mistress, please, no. Oh, no … please I … I … don’t want …  I don’t want him … to … please, don’t let him …” The tears choked me and I couldn’t finish the sentence.

My wife clucked her tongue. “I think you’re being selfish, toad. Didn’t you hear my sister say just a second ago that it would be awesome to watch Omar kick your little faggot ass?”

I blinked. “Y-yes, Mistress, but—"

“But, nothing, toad. I give you a direct order to go polish my shoes and you dare to question me?”

“I … um … Mistress, I …”

“Maybe I should tell Omar that you’re disrespecting me, too.”

My panic skyrocketed and I had to slam my hand onto my chest to keep from throwing up.

“No, no, Mistress, please, please, I’m not … I’d never disrespect you, Mistress, please, I’m so sorry, Mistress. I’ll tell Master that I forgot about his Xbox, so Lisa can … can watch him … um, beat me.”

Janie smirked. “See? That’s the spirit, toad. As long as I don’t tell him you were disrespecting me, he’s probably not gonna hurt you too bad; he’ll most likely just slap you around a little. So, rather than disrespecting me and setting yourself up for a serious ass-kicking, you should act like you’re happy to provide us entertainment. Now, then — thank us for the privilege.”

My Adam’s apple felt stuck but I managed to peep, “t-thank you?”

From her perch on the couch, my wife leaned down to where I was kneeling on the carpet and bopped me upside the head. I saw stars.

“Don’t give me that crybaby bullshit, toad,” she said. “Act like you’re happy, goddamn it. I mean, think about it: Lisa and me get to watch my sexy man work you over. Aren’t you happy about that?”

Licking my lips, I squeaked, “Y-yes, Mistress.”

“Well, then, smile when you thank us.”

I must have looked quite the idiot trying to contort my mouth upward while crying my eyes out, because they both cracked up as I forced a fake smile and said in my cheeriest fake voice, “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you, Miss Lisa.”

Lisa pouted. “Poor widdle toad wooks so saaaaad.” She batted her eyes at me. “Tell me something, toad: is it wrong for me to want to see Omar kick your ass? I mean, you know I never liked you, because you’re an ugly little toad … but it’s still kind of mean for me to want to see you get your ass kicked for something you didn’t even do. Isn't it?"

I stared at the ground, prompting Lisa to lean down to make eye contact.

“Are you mad at me, toad?” She smirked. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

Amid the barrage of fear and humiliation my emotions poured out: “Um, I don’t know, Miss Lisa. I just … I just want to make Janie happy because I … I love her so much and I’ll do whatever she wants … because … I … I love her.”

The sisters looked at each other and simultaneously cooed, “awwwwwwwwwwww.” They rolled over laughing. And I cried even more.

Eventually, they caught their breath, and my wife frowned at me. “You better not let Omar hear you talking about you love me. He’ll put you in the damn hospital — and we don’t want that because then we won’t have our little bitch around the house to clean.”

The sisters shared another laugh. Then my wife’s lip curled.

“Why are you still kneeling there like a beached whale, toad? Go polish my shoes until my man gets home like I told you. And get ready to get your ass whooped.”

“Y-yes, Mistress, t-thank you.” I remembered to put on my fake smile this time, eliciting a titter from both women.

With the nonstop tears continuing to stream down my cheeks, I turned and ran away. Lisa’s squeal followed me up the stairs.

“OMG, Janie, I can’t wait to see this.”

 

“toad” part III

by c.w. cobblestone

The theme from “Jaws” played in my head as I shined pair after pair of Janie’s shoes. I couldn’t hear the conversation in the living room downstairs, save for the occasional sisterly titter, but it sounded like they were having a ball while I wallowed in misery.

When the door opened and slammed shut, I threw up a little in my mouth. Hanging my head, I steeled myself for the inevitable.

The girls giggled as I dashed down the staircase and fell to my knees in front of Omar, greeting him as required.

“Welcome home, sir, may I take off your shoes, sir?”

In response, he lifted his foot and wiggled it. As I removed each sneaker, I performed the mandatory ritual of bending down and kissing his socked toes.

“Go fix me a drink, bitch,” he said over his shoulder as he strutted toward the couch and my eagerly waiting wife.

I scurried to the kitchen while peeking at Omar, who plopped on the sofa and scooped Janie into his arms.

Within seconds, I was kneeling before my master offering his drink. He bent down and took a sip before placing it back in my hands, and I maintained that position while he relaxed and chatted with the ladies.

Omar smiled at Lisa. “So, Janie didn’t tell me she had such a sexy sister.”

“Ooh, you’re right, sis — he IS a charmer,” Lisa told Janie.

“That he is.” My wife smiled.

“I know how to treat a pretty lady, that’s all,” Omar said. “I just tell it how it is.”

“Well, I’m so glad you two found each other,” Lisa said. “Janie’s never been so happy.”

“Yeah, I hate to think of all the years she wasted with this turd,” my master said, flicking me painfully on the ear before scooping his drink from my hands. He took a long gulp, placed it back into my cupped palms and tweaked my nose. “You get my Xbox set up for me, faggot?”

I gulped. “N-no, sir. I … I forgot.”

“You forgot?!”

Omar snatched the glass from my hand, downed it, set it on the table — then slapped the living shit out of me, sending me tumbling to the carpet. While I held my face and sobbed, I peeped up at my wife and her sister, who both had evil smiles on their faces.

My master snapped his fingers and pointed. “Kneel your toad ass back up here.”

I complied and braced for another smack. Omar obliged.

SLLLLAPPP!!!!

My head snapped sideways, but I held myself upright, per Omar’s orders.

“Didn’t I tell you to have that shit done by the time I got home?”

SLLLLAPP!!!

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Then why the fuck …”

SLLLLAAPPP!!!

“… ain’t that shit …”

SLLLLAPPP!!!

“… done?”

SLLLLAPPP!

Through the hailstorm of blows, I saw Lisa filming my ass-whipping with her cellphone while my wife watched with a crooked smile, absent-mindedly stroking her thigh. This was obviously turning her on.

SLLLAPPPPPP!!!

“What do you got to say for yourself, bitch?”

SLLLLLLAAAAAPPP!!

“I … I … I’m sorry, sir.”

SLLLAAPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!

As Omar reared back to hit me yet again, Janie touched his arm.

“Hang on, babe, I got to something to tell you.”

“What’s that, baby-girl?”

“Well … the truth is, toad didn’t really forget to do your Xbox — Lisa thought it would be kinda sexy to watch you kick his ass, so I told him to go polish my shoes and tell you he forgot.”

Omar cracked up. “Damn, baby-girl, you cold.” He leered at Lisa. “So, what did you think? Was it sexy like you hoped?”

Without warning, he slapped the shit out of me again, prompting Lisa to squeal while I held my swollen cheek and cried.

“You’re damn right that shit’s sexy,” my sister-in-law purred. “He just kneels there and takes it like a little bitch. Like Janie said: You and the toad aren’t even part of the same species.”

“You hear that, toad?” Omar smiled at me. “You’re making me look good.”

“Oh, you don’t need that ugly bastard to look good, baby,” my wife said, sneering my way.

Omar patted the couch next to him and licked his lips at Lisa. “Come sit over here, girl. Don’t be shy.”

Lisa grinned at her sister. “Are we really doing this?”

“I don’t know … you think Mom would approve?” Janie asked before both sisters broke into giggles.

“You know she would.” Lisa sashayed over to the couch and bent over in front of Omar, shaking her butt a few times before sitting next to him, providing the alpha male with a beautiful woman on each arm. He turned toward Lisa and began kissing her while my wife undid his fly, removed his dick from his pants and sucked it.

I continued kneeling there with my head bowed, my face still throbbing and my soul hurting even worse. In contrast, the man of the house was in his glory, enjoying a nice blowjob from my wife and a snog with my sexy sister-in-law. I hated the smug sonofabitch with every fiber of my being.

After a few minutes, he ordered me to refill everyone’s drinks and take them up to the bedroom. I obeyed, and then knelt on the carpet as my master led his two playthings toward the bed.

Lisa lay on the mattress, wiggled her panties off and spread her legs. As Omar started to mount her, he barked over his shoulder, “come lick my booty-hole.”

Flushed with shame, I obeyed and did my best to hold my breath. At first Omar poked gently, but he increased the intensity of his thrusts, making my head rock violently back and forth as I tried keeping my tongue buried in his asshole. Far above me, my wife licked her lover’s ear, which made him pump harder, threatening to snap my neck.

To my great relief, Omar finally let out a cry, and his O-ring squeezed my tongue in waves as he enjoyed what appeared to be a satisfying, powerful orgasm. He rolled off my sister-in-law and pointed to her dripping pussy.

“Clean that up, toad.”

I pulled my face out of his ass. “Yes, sir.”

Lisa crinkled her nose. “That’s fucking nasty.”

Janie giggled. “OMG, I forgot this is the first time you’ve had the toad clean you.”

“What kind of low-down piece of shit licks another man’s cum from a woman’s pussy?” Lisa glowered at me. “Go ahead, you fucking loser. Do it.”

As I began sucking up Omar’s mess, my wife told her sister, “you should slap the shit out of him. You wouldn’t believe how good it feels.”

Two seconds later I saw stars. Then she smacked me upside the head a second time. And a third. But I kept on licking like a good slave.

When Lisa’s pussy was clean, Omar snapped his fingers and I finished my cleanup duties by licking the juices off his dick, balls and ‘taint. He pushed my head away when he was satisfied.

“Alright, toad, get the fuck out of here. If my Xbox ain’t set up pretty soon, I’m gonna put my foot up your ass, you hear?”

“Y-yes, sir, I’ll have it done right away, sir.”

Omar scoffed. “Ass-sucking faggot.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

I scurried away to the humiliating chorus of feminine giggles.

 

“Toad,” Part IV

by c.w. cobblestone

The burly doorman poked his finger in my chest.

“The fuck you doing out here?” He flexed his muscles, which virtually popped through his Club V tee-shirt.

I cleared my throat. “Um … I’m waiting for some … uh, friends. They’re … um, inside.”

“Well, you can’t be standing out here.” His eyes narrowed. “Ain’t you got a car where you can wait?”

“Well, I … my friends want me to stand by the door.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me. Get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass and call the cops.”

“Um, sir, please … I … I’m supposed to be here to pay the bill when my friends are done in there.”

The guy scoffed. “Don’t sound like friends to me. You got to wait out here and then pay their bill?”

I licked my lips. “Well … um … yeah.”

“Bullshit. How do I know you ain’t casing the joint? Fuck this, I’m calling the cops.”

“Wait, sir, please, don’t do that.” I clasped my hands. “Please. Can’t you go inside and check with my wife and … um, her boyfriend?”

“What?! You mean you’re standing out here like a chump while your wife is in the club with her goddamn boyfriend? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Please, sir. Don’t call the police. Go ask them; they’ll explain it all.”

He shook his head. “This I got to see. Okay, dude, take me to your wife and her boyfriend. Let’s see what they got to say.”

I followed the giant into the club toward the swirling lights and pounding hip-hop beat. Squinting through the haze, I saw Omar chilling at a table at the other end of the bar with my wife on one side and her sister on the other. Two other couples I didn’t recognize sat with them while my master held court. He loved showing off in public, with a lady on each arm and a wimpy chauffeur on call.

After Omar had enjoyed that first threesome with my wife and her sister, they became inseparable, and he started parading them around at the local clubs. I usually tagged along as designated driver, and at first I was allowed to wait in the car while my masters partied inside the bars. But one night I fell asleep and Omar had to come find me. After he kicked my ass in the parking lot while his two ladies looked on giggling, he told me from that point forward I would be required to stand at attention outside the establishments until it was time to pay the bill. He could easily have just paid the damn tab himself with the multiple platinum credit cards I’d opened in his name, but he liked being mean just for kicks. And the girls loved it. So, because of his edict, I’d stand there like an idiot for hours, sometimes in the pouring rain and snow.

One of the consequences of Omar’s rule was running into suspicious bar staff, including the big guy who accompanied me through the noisy club toward my masters. A lot of the bouncers and barmaids in town had either gotten to know me, or had heard all about “the toad who waits outside the bar for his wife and her boyfriend.” They’d ridicule me during my vigils, making make me stand in the bushes out of sight of customers, and not allowing me to huddle under the awning during thunderstorms. But this Club V guy hadn’t yet met “the toad,” so I knew I was in for yet another humiliating introduction.

Janie was the first to notice us as we approached the table, and she smirked and poked her lover in the ribs. The doorman stepped forward while I stood behind him, head bowed.

“Um, excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you folks, but this guy claims he’s waiting outside to pay your bill.” He looked at Janie. “He says he’s your husband.”

“Well, I’m not exactly proud of it,” my wife replied, causing everyone at the table to crack up. “But, yeah, I’m married to the little toad. I married him for his money, believe me!”

“It sure as hell wasn’t his looks; can’t you tell?” Lisa added, prompting another round of laughter, although the doorman remained stoic.

“Well, he can’t stand by the front door like that,” the man said. “If the owner saw it, he wouldn’t like it.”

“That’s okay, we’re leaving now anyway.” Omar snapped his fingers. “Take care of the bill, bitch. And leave a big tip.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I said, keenly aware of how the two other couples at the table were smirking at my wimpish subservience, while my wife and her sister basked in Omar’s control over me.

After I took care of the tab, I followed my master and his entourage out of the club. When we got to the parking lot, I started to go get the car, but Omar stopped me.

“Hang on a second, toad, come around the back — I got a present for ya,” he said.

I bowed my head. “Yes, sir.” I knew what was coming.

Janie grinned at the two couples I didn’t recognize. “OMG, you guys gotta come see this.”

“You’re gonna love it, watch,” Lisa agreed.

Omar strutted toward the alley behind Club V, to a spot near a dumpster. I trailed behind, fighting tears, until he stopped near the garbage bin and pointed to the ground. I knew that was an order for me to kneel on the grimy concrete, which I did.

He whipped out his huge, black dick and I leaned forward, taking the head in my mouth and breathing through my nose. With a sigh, he started urinating, and like a panicked fish out of water, I desperately gulped down each mouthful.

One of the ladies, a sexy black woman, giggled. “OMG, is he pissing in his mouth?”

“Yep.” Janie sneered. “The little faggot drinks every drop, too.”

The other woman’s eyes widened. “Ooh, I got to pee; can I make him drink my pee, too?”

Omar, who was still pissing full-force, nodded. “Sure, you can, girl. My bitch is your bitch.” He stopped his stream, slapped me upside the head for no reason whatsoever, and then restarted filling my mouth. I expertly swallowed the salty flow until it finally stopped.

He dried off his dick by rubbing it in my hair before tucking it back in his pants. “Good job, bitch, you didn’t spill any.”

Lisa pointed. “Ooh, he did spill some. Look, a drop got on his pants-leg.” She smirked at me like a bratty tattletale while Omar shook his head.

“Too bad, toad,” he said. “You know what that means.”

“What does it mean?” the first woman, a short blonde, asked.

Omar scowled at me. “Tell her what it means, toad.”

“Um, spilling my master’s precious urine means another two months in my … my cage.”

“Your cage?” the blonde asked.

“Show her,” Omar ordered.

With the taste of piss still in my mouth, I unbuckled my pants, pulled down my panties and displayed my spiked chastity device, which hadn’t been removed in seven months — and now would remain intact for at least another two months, and possibly more, thanks to Lisa’s tattling.

The black woman clucked her tongue. “What a fucking loser you are.”

The blonde scoffed. “You got that right. A total fucking loser. And I want to piss in the loser’s mouth.”

“You heard the woman, toad — lay your ass on the ground,” Omar said.

I felt the wet cement of the alley floor against my back as I lay prone, watching the blonde wiggle her pants and panties down before squatting over my face. I peered up into her straining vaginal lips, and it caused a painful stirring inside my spiked cock cage.

The blonde squatted there grunting for a good minute. I could see her asshole winking at me with each effort.

“Come on, Darlene, hurry up, I gotta go next,” said her companion, a tall black guy.

“Hang on, you guys, it’s hard to go while everyone’s watching,” Darlene said.

Finally, she was able to relax and start filling my mouth with urine. I was afraid more chastity time would be added if I spilled any so I managed to drink it all down. I was reminded of when I was a kid, and my two older foster sisters would sexually abuse me and pee in my face.

When she was finished pissing, Darlene looked up at her boyfriend. “You care if I make him lick me clean?”

“Shit, I don’t care.” The man unzipped his fly. “But hurry up; I drank too much beer, and I gotta go.”

As I licked the blond-haired pussy clean, my little dick began to swell in its cage, causing excruciating pain. Having had lots of practice, though, I managed to stay quiet and suffer in silence.

When Darlene was satisfied, she stood up and walked away, and within seconds her boyfriend took her place. His dick was already out, and he didn’t give me a chance to move before he started pissing all over me, aiming his stream first at my face and then working his way down my body while everyone died laughing at my pathetic sputtering.

The pee finally stopped, and Omar nudged me with the toe of his shoe. “There’s piss everywhere; that’s another two months at least.”

I blinked, the urine burning my eyes. “Please, sir, I … there was no way for me to drink it, sir.”

Omar lifted his eyebrow. “Oh, so it’s Jamal’s fault?”

“Um … no, sir.”

“Sounded to me like you was blaming my friend. That’s another two months.”

Janie giggled. “Dang, that’s six months. If I was you, toad, I’d shut the fuck up and quit while I was ahead.”

Lisa crinkled her nose. “Do we seriously have to drive home with the toad in the car? He smells like piss.”

“No, I’ve only had a few,” Janie said. “I can drive.”

Omar nodded. “Walk home, toad. And wash off with the hose before you go in the house. You hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

In response, he hocked up a loogy and spit it in my face.

“Thank you, sir,” I said pathetically as my master led his laughing admirers out of the alley.

 

“Toad,” Part V

by c.w. cobblestone

A lump of hashbrowns peeked out from beneath Lisa’s discarded napkin, while Janie’s plate still had a half-eaten sausage patty and a soggy piece of toast marinating in a pool of slimy egg gunk. Omar, as usual, had wolfed down every morsel, leaving a spotless platter.

My wife waved her hand. “Clean these plates up, toad, and then go get the shower ready.”

“Yes, Mistress. Um, can I please have the leftovers?”

Janie picked up her partial piece of sausage and inspected it for a few seconds before tossing it back onto the plate. “Nah. You can go hungry, toad. No food today.”

Omar and Lisa snickered as I croaked my required, “yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress,” and rose from my knees.

My sister-in-law pouted. “Aw, poor widdle toady. Mistress is so mean. It must suck only getting to eat our leftovers, huh?”

“I … I dunno, Miss Lisa.”

“When’s the last time you ate anything, toad?”

“Um, the day before yesterday.”

“Well, there’s a reason your mistress came up with that rule. You’re too fucking fat. So, you eat what we leave on our plates, and if there’s nothing left, oh well. Two days without food ain’t gonna kill ya.”

“We need to knock some weight off your fat ass.” Janie smirked. “Besides, what are you whining about? Didn’t you get to eat Omar’s cum out of my pussy just last night?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“So, you’re saying that don’t count as something to eat?”

“Oh, no, please, Mistress, it was delicious, of course. Thank you, Mistress.”

Lisa nudged Omar. “Ooh, I think the toad just disrespected you, baby. Janie let him eat your cum and he done forgot about it. That sounds like disrespect to me. You should teach him a lesson, baby.”

My master chuckled. “Come on, girl, I’m full. I don’t feel like that shit right now.”

My sister-in-law giggled and shrugged. “Oh, well, you can’t blame a gal for trying. What can I say? I love watching you kick the ugly little toad’s ass. It’s sexy as hell.”

Lisa turned to me and batted her eyes innocently. “Toad, do you think I’m mean for always trying to get you in trouble so I can watch your master smack you around?”

“Uh, no, Miss Lisa, I’m happy to be here for whatever you want,” I lied. Everyone in the room knew I was full of shit, but that just made it more satisfying for my power-tripping rulers, who were tickled to death that I hated what was happening to me but had to fake a smile and pretend to be happy anyway.

I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, until Janie snapped her fingers.

“Didn’t I tell you to get this shit cleaned up and get the shower started?” She pointed toward the master bathroom. “Go, toad. Omar’s not gonna have to kick your ass — I’m gonna get the damn cattle prod out if you don’t get your fat ass moving.”

The prospect of having my testicles zapped with my diabolical wife’s favorite implement of torture spurred me into action, and I worked my way around the reclining threesome removing their plates from the bed. After lugging everything to the kitchen, I scraped the leftovers into the trash can with a heavy heart and grumbling stomach, and then started the shower for my masters. They paraded into the bathroom for some wet frolicking while I changed their cum-stained bedsheets.

Janie, Lisa and Omar enjoyed a long, noisy Sunday morning romp in the shower while I scuttled around the house picking up their messes, wishing I could be more of a man, and contemplating my sad excuse for a life.

^^^^^^^^^

The world hated me from the start.

When I was two weeks old, my mother wrapped me in a blanket, dropped me into a dumpster and disappeared. I would’ve been crushed to death if a garbageman hadn’t heard me crying just before he emptied the container into the trash compactor.

The story of the abandoned garbage baby was covered by the local media, marking the first and only time anyone ever gave a shit about me.

My life had gotten off to a miserable beginning and would only get worse.

I spent my childhood being shuttled around to different foster homes. Every now and then I’d move in with a family that treated me halfway decently, although it was obvious most of them were merely using me to for the grant money, and the adults in my life were dismissive at best, and sometimes outright abusive. The other foster kids picked on me constantly. I guess I made a prime target, being short, fat and ugly. I never had a friend growing up. Not one. And no family ever thought about adopting me. They always took the cute kids.

When I was nine years old I moved into the McMurtry home, where two of my older foster sisters routinely molested me. That first night in the new house would haunt me forever. The two teenagers stole into my room, stuffed a rag in my mouth to stifle my screams, and scraped a fork across my penis until it bled. Then, they shoved a hairbrush handle up my butt and ordered me to dance around the room like a “little faggot monkey.” After sodomizing me with the brush for an excruciating period of time, they took turns squatting over my face and peeing on me, soaking my mattress. Before they left my room, they forced me to thank them. I cried all night, shivering under piss-soaked sheets.

At breakfast the next day, I couldn’t look my smirking foster sisters in the eye, and I never said a word to my foster parents. I doubted they would’ve cared if I had said anything.

The sexual abuse continued throughout my entire five-month stay at the McMurtry home. I had mixed feelings when I got word that I was being transferred to another facility. While I hated the way the older girls were treating me, I was starting to get a sexual charge out of it. For a young boy, seeing pussies up close — even when they were pissing in my face — was a major turn-on.

When I got to the new home, I was abused there, too, albeit without the sexual element. No matter where I went, everything stayed the same: I was still a sad, confused orphan with no one on my side.

Since nobody wanted to hang out with me, I turned to my studies. Most kids hated school, but for me it provided a welcome escape. My classmates bullied me just as ruthlessly and relentlessly as my foster siblings, so I found no solace there, but I lost myself in the wonderful books, mathematical problems and scientific laws and theories that carried me away from my terrible circumstances.

As a result, I was fast-tracked and double-promoted, aced every test, finished high school with a 4.0 GPA and earned a full college scholarship. After obtaining my engineering degree with yet another 4.0 average, I shifted my ambition from schoolwork to career, and by age 30, while I still had no friends, I was an executive vice-president in a major manufacturing firm’s engineering department, earning more than $400,000 a year.

Although I was making tons of money, nothing had changed. I still lived an empty, sad existence. Having a luxury condo meant little because I found myself alone in it each night, either staring at the ceiling wishing there was someone out there for me, or jacking off to femdom porn. The abuse at the hands of my older foster sisters had shaped my sexuality, and the only way I could get off was to fantasize about being abused by pretty women.

I was dying for some kind of human contact, so despite my lack of social skills I started forcing myself to go out more often. My wild Saturday nights usually involved sitting alone at the bar, ogling pretty females and watching other men take them home before heading to Betty’s Diner for a late-night meal.

It wasn’t the restaurant’s ambiance or the apple pie that kept me coming back. It was Janie, the waitress.

I literally choked the first time I saw her. I had started to order a western omelet, only to have my throat clutch, which caused me to start gagging. I took a drink of water but that made things worse. I hacked up a storm, prompting the cook to rush from behind the counter and pound on my back in a ham-handed attempt at First Aid. His actions only gave me a sore back, but I eventually caught my breath and thanked the man anyway.

After I gathered myself and got resettled in my booth, the pretty waitress threw me a wry smile and said, “you all right there?”

Her innocent four-word question nearly brought tears to my eyes. It was one of the only times a woman had ever expressed concern for my well-being.

I must’ve asked her 20 questions about the omelet in a pathetic attempt to prolong our time together. By the time I’d finished my meal, I was hooked, and left a $100 tip.

As soon as I got home, I signed up for multiple social media accounts and followed Janie on all platforms. It was clear from the photos she’d posted that she preferred black guys, but that didn’t matter to me because I was obsessed, and harbored a ridiculous fantasy that I somehow might be able to win her over.

Betty’s Diner became my hangout spot. Whenever Janie would see me skulk into the restaurant, she’d flash her little smirk that made it clear that she knew I had a massive crush on her, while also signaling that she thought I was a creep. That didn’t stop me from trying to make conversation, although she usually responded to my efforts with an eye-roll and contemptuous lip-smack.

I remember the exact moment when her attitude changed. I was sitting in my usual booth, going over tax documents when she brought my order and peeked over my shoulder.

She squinted. “What’s that?”

I was shocked that she was initiating a discussion with me, and had to lick my lips a few times before being able to formulate words.

“Um, it’s my W-2. Uh, taxes.”

She poured more coffee. “Dang, you make four hundred and thirty thou a year?”

“Um, yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

The glint in her eye was shaped like a dollar sign.

The next time I came to the restaurant, Janie asked me out for a drink, and I almost choked again. Of course, I accepted. Like a chump.

While we were at the bar she’d chosen, she mentioned that she was behind on her rent and didn’t know where she was going to get the money. It was an obvious hint, but I took the bait and offered to pay. That got me a thank-you, but no good-night kiss. In fact, I didn’t even get a “good-night” — for most of our date, she texted with someone while I sat across the table playing with my napkin, and after she finally pulled her face out of her phone, she told me that “a friend” was coming to the bar to drive her home, and suggested that we cut our date short.

At that point, I would’ve agreed to anything she said, and although I wasn’t happy about the turn of events, I thanked her for a wonderful time and left my first-ever date with a smile on my chubby face.

My buoyant mood deflated when I checked my cellphone a few hours later and saw that Janie had posted an Instagram photo shortly after I’d left the bar that showed her nestled in the arms of some muscular black dude in the same booth we’d just occupied.

For the rest of the night, I lay in bed looking at that rotten picture. If I wasn’t crying about it, I was jacking off to it.

The next day, I paid Janie’s rent — six months in advance.

It wasn’t long before I was paying all her bills. I was a sugar daddy who hadn’t even gotten to first base yet, while she enjoyed lots of sex with her black guys, if her social media feed was any indication. Of course, I never asked her about all the other men in her life. It wasn’t my place.

Our relationship took a drastic turn one night when Janie started badgering me about whether I masturbated to her pictures.

“Let’s see which ones you got on your phone,” she said, snatching my Galaxy from my hands. After thumbing through my photo gallery, her face twisted up and her nose crinkled.

“What the fuck is this shit?” She held the screen toward me, showing a photo of a leather-clad dominatrix pegging a prone man with a huge, black strap-on.

Since I was caught, I had no choice but to confess my femdom fantasies. Janie seized on the opportunity.

“Kneel your ugly ass down,” she said.

With a beating heart, I obeyed. Out of nowhere, her hand slashed forward, striking my face with surprising force.

“Now thank me.” She stood over me with her hands on her hips.

“Thank you.”

“Say, ‘thank you, Mistress,’ you ugly little fucking toad.”

“T-thank you, Mistress.”

“If you like this kind of shit, I’m gonna give it to you. In spades. You hear me, toad?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

In response, she slapped me again. Then, she spit in my face.

“Now that I don’t have to hide it, I can tell you the truth — you are one ugly little fucking toad, you know that? There’s nothing about you I find attractive.”

I bowed my head. “I … I know.”

She spit in my face again. “Fucking toad.”

With that, my fate was sealed. Todd, the name given to me by some social worker because my birth mother hadn’t bothered to name me, was gone. I would forevermore be known as toad.

The following day, Janie informed me we that were going to get married at the Justice of the Peace so she could quit her waitress job and have access to my primo health benefits. While I knew she was marrying me strictly for my money, I was over the moon and floated into her web with my eyes wide open.

Our “marriage” was never consummated. My wife didn’t dress in leather, nor did she ever peg me. She basically ignored me, other than barking orders or insulting me when she got drunk. If I did something to piss her off, she’d either yell at me or slap me, although if I really made her mad, she might kick me in the nuts. That was about as far as she went toward fulfilling my femdom fantasies, although I knew she wasn’t doing it for my sake. Meanwhile, she continued dating while I stayed at home like a good little cuck and financed her lifestyle.

Within a year, Janie met Omar and my life fell completely off the rails. The man had an imposing presence due to his giant, muscular frame and confident authority, and he scared the shit out of me. Everything moved at warp speed once he started dating my wife, and the next thing I knew he was coming over regularly to fuck her. In the blink of an eye, he’d moved in with us and assumed the role of man of the house.

Shortly after that, my wife’s sexy sister moved in and we became a foursome — or, rather, they became a threesome with an ugly little toad who served them and paid the bills. My three masters fed off each other’s cruelty, and the meaner they treated me the more turned on they got.

As had been the case in the McMurtry home so many years earlier, I found myself being constantly tortured by two females. Presiding over the abuse from his perch on the throne was King Omar, the head of our household and the man I called Master.

^^^^^^^^^

The bathroom was a total mess as usual. Seven towels were scattered across the floor. Toiletries were left open on the sink. There was piss in the toilet and nearby tiles. Water had been splashed everywhere.

It was a Sunday, so I couldn’t escape to the office, and I knew I’d be forced to spend all day with my tormenters if they chose to stay home. I cleaned the bathroom with a pounding heart, praying that my masters had better things to do than to hang around the house abusing me …