My Wife's Prison Pen Pal! (Year 1) By Dex O’Donald (Patreon)

My Wifes’ Prison Pen Pal! (Year 1)

My Wife’s Prison Pen Pal: Year 1 By Dex O’Donald 

© 2019-2030 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to Devinwhitegurl@gmail.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***
All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real. The acts in the following written work are only consensual sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.

Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities.

My Wifes’ Prison Pen Pal! (Year 1)

My Wife’s Prison Pen Pal: Year 1 By Dex O’Donald w/QoS Book Club

January

-

Dear Shelley,

It’s been a hot minute since I could write you. I hope those dick pics have kept you company in between my letters. Remember what I told you? Make sure you’re getting off to them at least twice a day...and if that makes you too tired for your little hubby, well, too fucking bad.

You’re my bitch now, and when I get out of this place everyone is gonna know it.

I’ve been using your pictures every single chance I get. I’m a large man with larger appetites, and I’ve been cumming to you too many times to count. My cell mate, this bitch by the name of Patricia, been so busy catching my nut she ain’t even hungry at chow time anymore. She stay fed - because I stay stroking to you.

But I’m tired of stroking baby. I want that pussy...now, tomorrow, every fucking minute of every damn day. And once I’m out, ain’t NOBODY gonna stop me. Not even that little bitch you call a husband.

The only thing is baby...who knows when I’ll even be out? My lawyer fucked me harder than Patricia’s white ass in the showers. They got on me on assault, breaking and entering, and kidnapping. But it’s ALL bullshit, baby. You know that - I know that. And I’m still holding out hope that I’ll catch parole here soon enough. And when I do - I’m driving straight to California and kicking in your door.

I know you don’t want yah husband finding out about our letters...or that life-sized mold of my cock you got hiding under the floorboards. But I’m gonna level with you baby - the sooner he knows, the better. I ain’t gonna be in here forever, and when I DO show up, there ain’t gonna be no time to explain to yah mans why I’m digging out his girl.

Know what I’m saying?

But you do what you want, as long as it includes sending me more pictures along with your husband’s hard-earned cash. The pics get me off, and the cash keeps me fed. Maybe I’ll buy little Patricia here a honeybun if she keeps being such a good little replacement slut.

Are you ready baby? Ready to serve your Bronson? Ready to get on your knees and worship my big black cock? I know you are...and I’m ready to stand over you and give you EXACTLY what your white boy hubby can’t.

Who knows - maybe I’ll let the little fucker watch and take notes.
Enjoy the new picture, and try to pretend it’s YOUR face covered in my

cum.
See you soon,

- Bronson

“This can’t be happening,” I spoke into the empty room. “This isn’t real.”

I stood in the middle of the bedroom I shared with my wife; a yellow piece of paper crinkled in my hand. My eyes searching the messy black scribbles that adorned the page - some of those scribbles included my wife’s name, along with reference to her husband.

I read through it a second time, a third time...it wasn’t until the fifth reading that I began to understand any of it. With mounting dread, I returned the letter to the shoebox from whence it came and pulled out another envelope from the stack of fifty within.

I removed a yellow piece of paper from the envelope, hands trembling, eyes watering.

Dear Shelley,

How you been girl? Are your needs being met? Didn’t sound like it in your last letter, and I can’t blame you. Ain’t no way a bitch as hot as you should be dealing with some white boy’s pathetic three inches. You deserve better than that, and I KNOW you know that.

If I was there, you’d be coming back to back to BACK on my 12 inches of pure chocolate. Your thighs be shaking, eyes be rolling back into your head kinda shit. Know what I’m saying?

I want to take your titties and -------

I dropped the letter back into the shoebox, too disgusted to read another word...but somehow unable to stop myself from opening yet another letter postmarked Rock Mountain Correctional Facility.

Dear Shelley,

I want you to know that the guys in Cell Block D been LOVING that last batch of pictures you sent us. I swear when it was lights out last night the entire block went quiet as a mouse stroking it to you. Only thing you could hear was motherfuckers spitting and rubbing...some of these loud ass niggas was moaning, too.

Appreciate you letting me share you with the boys- shit gets hard up in here and I ain’t the only one that gets lonely. Only problem is now I got Grim and the crew asking if they can come pay you a visit when they get out too.

I said nigga wait yo damn turn! HA!

But on a more serious note baby, would you mind if when the boys DO get out if they might stop by and pay you a little ------------

I dropped the letter along with the shoebox, overwhelmed and a little feverish. I watched the envelopes and letters spill to the floor along with countless polaroid pictures I hadn’t been able to bring myself to look at. My heart was pounding.

Kneeling, I took a random picture from the scattered mess on the floor. I wished I hadn’t.

Cold steel bars in the background. Against them, a face that was strikingly feminine, yet it wasn’t. Colorful eyeshadow, ruby red lips, blonde pigtails. She/he stared into the camera lens with bright blue eyes, eager and hopeful. And lying across her/his face from chin to past the forehead, obscene and malformed, swollen and black - an abnormally large, glistening cock.

“Oh God,” I cried, letting the photo drift down into the mess of secrets at my feet.

As if in a dream I dropped to my knees and crawled below the king bed I shared with Shelley. I knew what was lurking there beneath the floorboards even before I pulled them up, but when I found it, I was no less shocked or disgusted.

Because seeing that giant black dildo hidden there confirmed everything I’d just read.
I pulled the monstrosity out and held it up in the light.
My fuck. It was impossibly large. No way no how it was a “mold” of a real human penis.

How in the hell would a violent criminal even make such a thing in prison? It couldn’t be...had to be something from the sex shop. The cock I saw in the picture only moments prior was extravagantly large, but you couldn’t see the entire thing in the shot...this thing, this was monolithic.

And still...something about it was certainly lifelike.

Dark as midnight, rotund as a full-grown house cat. LOTS of scary specifics like veins the size of earth worms running along the ebony shaft...smaller ones along the underside too, looking as interconnected as a road map of Los Angeles County. And the head...my God I was staring, and I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t look away- so perfectly defined, swollen, elephantine.

“What are you doing?” Shelley from behind.

“Oh!” I gasped, looking up to see my wife standing in the doorway, mouth pursed and eyebrows up.

“Oh my God Max, are you going through my things?”
“I um, I...”
“Where did you get that?” she nodded at the giant dildo clutched in my hands.
“I think you know where I got it, dear,” I said, finding my voice.
Shelley walked into the room slowly with her arms crossed below her ample, round

breasts - thrust forward in a white blouse, each button taut with the weight behind it. Blonde locks of hair escaped the messy bun on top of her head and hung about her sea-green eyes - something like guilt forming there.

“Max, I’m...sorry, I...”
“I mean Shelley...what the fuck?”
“It’s a long story, honey. Really though, it’s nothing. You just need to give me a second to

explain....”
“I got all night,” I huffed, standing tall and pushing my chest out, “you better get started.” She stood only slightly shorter than me at 5’4, a petite potion of sex and beauty. She

stared at me with that suffocating gaze she has, the one that usually makes me crumble in seconds. Even before she started “explaining” I knew she was going to frame herself as the victim

“Baby, you know I love you. Right?” she took the rubber monstrosity from my hands and set it on the bedside table. “And what we’ve got, it’s really good. You’re sort of the tough guy of my dreams...I mean, being a little girl, I always imagined I’d grow up and meet a guy like you - strong, intelligent, no-nonsense. It doesn’t even matter that you’re shorter than most men...you make up for it with a big heart and bigger words!”

“What does this have to do with the fifty love letters in that shoebox? Fifty goddamn letters from some convict locked up out in Colorado!”

“Calm down, Max,” Shelley took my hand and sat beside me on the bed. The entire time she spoke that blasted dildo was in my periphery, staring at me, distracting me.

“Remember when you joined that motorcycle group?” she went on. “And the time you got that tattoo on your shoulder?”

“Yeah? So?”

“Well, you told me you did those things because you are a man. A real man, who needed to do manly things to feel...well, to feel confident and masculine, right? Whether it was the motorcycle thing, or the basketball rec league, or the shooting range...you did all that because you needed to prove something right? To prove that you, Max Donahue are a big tough guy manly man.”

“I don’t need to prove anything,” I said annoyed. “It’s just how I am. I’m an alpha, a leader, a go-getter. I don’t do that stuff to prove shit! I do that stuff because I’m good at it and its just what men do!”

“Of course,” she said patiently, “but if we’re being honest...the motorcycle thing was pretty short-lived, you couldn’t keep up with the other guys- “

“It was the damn clutch on that bike!”

“And the tattoo was so painful that the artist nearly messed it up from you crying so much-“

“It was allergies, not tears!”
“And you were always picked last in the rec league-“
“I was sixth man!”
“And you’re not allowed at the shooting range anymore because you can’t hit any of the

targets-“
“The barrel was crooked!”

“Sure it was, baby! I know that! But listen...what I’m saying is, you’re a man with needs and sometimes you have little flings, little hobbies, that help you fulfill your sense of masculinity.... well, I’m a woman...with needs. Very specific needs and you could think of this thing with my pen pal as...a fling. Nothing more!”

“Back up a second,” I choked out. “Are you telling me that you’re actually in a relationship with a man in prison? You’re serious? And that...thing,” I pointed to the monstrosity on the bedside table. “You’ve...used it?”

She frowned at me, lovingly and sad.

“I know it’s a sensitive subject, baby,” Shelley pushed a lock of hair from my eyes. “But you and I both know that it’s hard for me to orgasm unless it’s from deep penetration...”

“Oh Christ, not this again!”

“And I know it’s not your fault, I know there isn’t anything you can do about it, but...you are very, very small, baby.”

“Christ almighty...”
“And like I said, as a woman, I have needs.”
“So you cheat on me with a violent thug?”
“Don’t you call him that! Bronson is not a thug - what an awful word! And who said

anything about cheating? How can I cheat on you with a man I’ve never seen in person? What I’m doing is much more ethical than that! I’ve made a pen pal...he made me a toy...and I use that toy when I write him and...voila! I get what I need without breaking any rules!”

“My head is starting to hurt,” I rubbed my temples in semi-circles. “I can’t listen to much more of this.”

“Don’t hate me baby,” she slid a hand down to my crotch, searching for what she could find there. “I still love you...and I’ll still get you off.”

There were too many emotions running through my mind, and between Shelley’s hand sliding down my pants and the horror show on my nightstand, it was difficult to make sense of anything.

We didn’t speak for a few days, and when I could take it no more, I finally opened up to her.

“Look, I’m not mad at you,” I started, “I’m just disappointed. That you kept it from me.” “How could I tell you? I hate to see you upset!”
“I understand that this...pen pal thing or whatever helps you to, you know...get there.

And I know that I’m not necessarily the best lover in the world, although I think I’m pretty damn good at cunnilingus.”

“No question!”

“So...I will tolerate this little friendship you’re having with this...Bronson. I’ll even let you keep that stupid toy...”

She tensed up when I said it, but I kept going.

“But you have to promise me that if he ever gets out, you won’t tell him where we live or give him any information about us. Do you swear it?”

Her dazzling green eyes searched my face, her eyebrows seemed to twitch. Her round, pink lips pursed out and she nodded slowly.

“Of course, baby,” she mumbled.

“You need to know that I am damn man, Shelley! And if you were pulling this shit in the real world, I’d cut you off so fast it would make your head spin...and that if this psychopath you’re writing to in his little cell out in the Rockies ever tried to come here of all places, well, I’d have to defend our home and your honor. And it wouldn’t end well. Not for him. And I’d hate to do that to you.”

“Thank you for understanding, baby,” she said, eyes watering and the corners of her mouth twitching. At the time, I thought she was getting emotional. But now that I think back on it, I’m pretty sure it was something else.

I think she was trying not to laugh in my face.

February

Dear Bronson,

I hope this letter finds you well, darling. I can’t even begin to tell you what’s been going on over here in my little life, but I’ll try not to complain about it either. I know your day-to-day is so much harder than mine and I feel silly even griping a little bit about it...but I know that if you were here, I would have NOTHING to whine about.

My husband, Max, found our letters. He found your cock, too. I thought for sure he was going to do something crazy like forbid me from writing you - that would not have ended well I can promise you that. But he’s agreed to let our relationship continue as long as I adhere to a few silly rules. Honestly, these little “rules” of his are so stupid in nature that I won’t waste my time writing them here. Rest assured that my letters won’t be slowing down any time soon...nor will the pictures.

I mean HONESTLY, does he expect me to get off on his little 3-inch boners?

I’m so happy to hear that the photos I sent went over well with your friends. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, and if I can help those lonely nights pass with a little more peace...well, I’m happy to. Maybe one day I’ll get to meet you AND your friends...but until that day comes, just know that I’ll keep your mold close to my bedside...when it’s not inside me, of course.

Every night I pray for your release, dear Bronson. I pray that your parole will be swift and that we can be together soon. So very soon. I long to touch you, for you to touch me. I want to tremble in your arms, I want to lose myself with you deep, deep inside of me...and I want you to loose deep inside of me as well.

I’ll look for your next letter everyday. Until then, remember - I am yours, Bronson. Whenever the day comes, I am waiting for you.

With sincere love, Shelley-

I fished the letter out of our outgoing mailbox that morning after Shelley went to work. It was maddening to read, and the picture she’d included with it was worse - her massive breasts bare and pushed together, tilting her face down with her tongue out so she could lap at one of her wide, pink areolas.

There was real joy in her eyes, and it killed me.

I had no idea how to approach her about it, and I realized that confessing to going through her mail would only make things worse. So, I did what I said I would do - I tolerated it. I put the letter, along with the picture, back in the envelope and into the outgoing mail. With gritted teeth and a forced smile, I allowed it to continue, steadily watching a new letter go out in the mail every few days.

After a while I stopped reading the letters. Too sickened by what they said to keep digesting them. I guess it was enough that in my gut I knew they would never meet in person.

This Bronson thug was a hardened criminal, I’d looked up his record on the web. There was no way he was ever going to be released, and even if he was, Shelley wasn’t dumb enough to tell him where we lived.

And even if he was released, I’d be ready. I’d logged over ten hours at the local shooting range, and lifted weights every Monday and Tuesday. If he wanted to get to Shelley, he was gonna have to go through me. And I just didn’t see that happening.

“I’m going out for a bit today, honey,” Shelley said one afternoon. “I need to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

She was dressed different than usual for a Sunday afternoon. Her hair was done up for one thing, straightened and curled and lavishly golden. Her makeup was on point, too, and she had this flowery button-up blouse that showed off her tummy and accentuated her chest. I had this feeling like something was off, but I think her beauty that day threw me off my game.

“Going out, huh?” I said, a little skeptical. “When will you be back?” “When I have everything I need...love you, Max.”
“Love you, too.”
Shelley left and the house was quiet.

It’s hard to explain what happened next. Why I did what I did. Curiosity? My life was pretty straight forward until the day I found that shoebox with all those letters, and it seems like everything normal about it started to evaporate after that. Maybe that lack of normalcy is the reason I did it...but if I’m being honest with myself, maybe I was just curious.

Without really knowing why, I found myself creeping up the stairs to the master bedroom. To underneath the bed, to what lay below those loose floorboards.

I pulled it out and set it on the floor. I stared at it for a long time. Surely it was over-embellished. How could it not be? Unless this Bronson was close to seven feet tall and suffering from sort of condition, there was just no way the phallic statue was an honest representation of a human being. I flexed my forearm and held it alongside for comparison; pretty much the same size except the thing was thicker.

Much thicker.

I inspected those fat veins that ran alongside and underneath it, noticing the way they interconnected and ran in every direction. For a moment I could imagine it pulsating. Breathing on its own, for surely it must with so much blood flow.

Could it really be this big?

I reached out a tentative hand, trembling fingers parting, and touched it. Smooth rubber, startlingly realistic. My palm wrapped around the middle, my fingers and thumb still separated by several inches. My entire erect penis could have fit between that remaining space...my grip tightened, trying to touch fingertips.

My forearm started working up and down, gliding my hand along every rolling inch. I checked the room for privacy - foolishly, as if someone could possibly be standing there. Leaning forward I stuck my timid tongue out and traced the under-ridges of the black crown on top. So much meat...

I took it, him, in my mouth. I started to work my throat in time with my stacked hands, and I closed my eyes, imagining what it could be like in the flesh...knowing that if Shelley or any of my friends ever caught me like this, my life would be over. If the humiliation alone didn’t kill, I’d surely never look another one of them in the eyes again.

I was curious, but no one could know that. They all knew me as the tough guy. How could I explain this?

I relaxed my gag reflex and went deep. Drool rose up from my gullet and dripped slow down the shaft like melting cream. The inky skin of it shimmered, basted, beckoned. I gagged a little upon taking it too deep, but I hadn’t even covered half of it with my best effort. Not even close.

What was I doing? Why was I doing this?

In my dockers my dick was rigid and ready, but somehow, I was too embarrassed to take it out in the presence of the thing. Like it would know. It would see my dainty size and laugh.

I pushed my thighs together against my erection and did my best to appease it. I couldn’t pull my hands away to do myself proper...the thing was too big; it demanded my attention. And if I could just take it a little further down my throat -

“Honey! I’m home!”

“BLEH!” I coughed up spit onto the soaked, glistening dildo and leapt to my feet in the blink of an eye.

“Honey! I need you to come downstairs right now, it’s very important!” Shelley sounded excited and happy...but a little nervous, too.

Not as nervous as me. I sprang into action, quick and terrified grabbing hold of phallic mold and spinning stupidly around the room. I looked down at the floorboards - if I tried to get it back in there now Shelley would surely hear it from the living room. She’d know I’d been snooping again.

I searched the room as my heart rate rose, pleading with myself to find somewhere to put it.

The attic! Of course, the attic! In the closet of the master bedroom was a scuttle attic. I darted into the walk-in and grabbed the stepstool from the corner. Lifting the square hatch to the side I quickly tossed the abominable thing into the darkness above. I would have to get it back in its hiding place later, but for now it would have to do!

“Honey come down here right now!”

I gave myself a quick once over in the mirror, not realizing that it was the last time I would ever see myself quite like that...and trotted joyfully down the stairs.

Crisis averted.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard muffled conversation. One voice distinctively my wife’s; the other a low, bass-driven stranger. It seemed odd for there to be someone else in the house at that time of day, but I think my first thought was that it was some sort of solicitor or internet maintenance man.

I rounded the corner into the living room and saw what I could only assume to be a professional football player standing beside my petite, blonde wife.

He was humongous; exceedingly tall and broad, muscular and intimidating. He had too many tattoos to count running down his neck and arms. His head was shaved clean and smooth.

“Honey? Who’s this?” I asked, my voice light-hearted. I was still under the assumption there was some sort of internet outage, and this man was here to fix it.

“Now Max, don’t get mad,” Shelley started, standing awfully close to the dark stranger. “You always say we need to help out our friends, right? Well Bronson here is in a pickle and -“

I didn’t register what she was saying, and as she spoke the man took three long strides in my direction and I came face to face with the bottom of his broad chest.

“You Max?” his voice was dark, a vicious whisper. His eyebrows moved around when he spoke.

“I’m uh...I’m Max?” I was dumbfounded.

“Thought so,” he rasped, casting me in his shadow. “The names Bronson. You mighta’ heard of me from Shelley. Thing is, Max, I need a place to crash. STAT. And your beautiful wife was kind enough to offer me the guest bedroom. Been a long time since I slept on a real mattress, Max. Long time. I’m hoping I’m not cramping your style. Know what I’m saying?”

My mouth was dry. Maybe it was all the spit I used up on the thing upstairs, or maybe it was because my brain had totally flatlined. I think I tried to speak but I was breathing too fast to get any words together- thinking too fast to put any thoughts together.

“What’s the matter, Max?” Bronson leaned his massive skull into my space. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Who...who...” I tried.
“Hoo-hoo? You an owl, Max?”
“I’m...I’m...”
His tumultuous eyes narrowed on me, and he smirked a little. Like he was lapping up my

discomfort.
“It’ll just be for a few weeks, baby,” Shelley said from behind Bronson’s mountainous

frame. “Just until he can find another place to stay, and hopefully get a job!”
I chose to shake my head back and forth, in lieu of making word-sounds.
“Something the matter, Max?” his breath against my face. “You look green around the

gills, little buddy.”
In my mind flashed the image of the black dildo, wet with spit and pointing towards the

heavens.
“Bronson you’ve had a long day, er, seven years,” Shelley said, “why don’t you take your

bag and head on up to the guest room? It’s just up the stairs, last room on the right. Directly across from the master.”

My heart was thudding in my chest.

“I can’t thank you two enough for letting me crash,” Bronson’s threatening gaze never left me as he spoke. “I’ll just go have a look around...make myself at home, if you know what I’m saying. What time’s chow?”

“Chow?” I squeaked.
“We can eat whenever you’re hungry,” Shelley chirped. “It’s your first meal out after all.” “Well in that case make it a steak, with a baked potato. 6:30 sharp. That sound alright

with you, Max?” “I’m...I’m...”

“Hehehe,” a snarky chuckle as the giant lumbered off with duffle bag in hand. I listened to his footsteps stomp up every stair and then recede down the hallway.

My eyes fell on my buxom wife.

“I know what you’re going to say, sweetie,” Shelley started, “and what I need you to do is take a big breath - “

“Is that...is that him?” I asked, voice going high.
“It’s like I told you, it’s just for a little while!”
“A little while!” I was incredulous.
“Just until he can find a place of his own!”
“Shelley - he’s a convict. In. Our. Home.”
“Ex-con!” she pointed at me like she had me. “And isn’t he just so polite?”
“I’m not having it,” my voice shook. “I’m not having it in my house Shelley! For God

sakes you need to tell him to leave! Right now!”

She pursed her lips together and crossed her arms. Tapped the toes of her sneakers on the hardwood.

“I’m the one who told him he could stay, Max. I am not turning around and telling him to leave.”

“You promised me, Shelley...you promised me!”
“Promised you what?” her eyes narrowed.
“This can’t be happening...it can’t be...”
“If you want him gone so bad tell him yourself...go on. He’s right up there, probably

getting ready to take a shower. Go tell him he’s got to leave. I won’t stop you.”
Our eyes met- a game of chicken.
“Two days,” I uttered at last, unable to believe I was actually relenting. “Two days and

that’s it. Then I want him gone.”
“Of course, sweetie,” she kissed me on the cheek. “Whatever you say!”
That night my wife cooked the last of our best steaks up over the cast iron. As the fat

sizzled in the pan I sat across the table from my new roommate. It was hard to read his expression, or the smirk permanently painted across his mouth. He seemed to be sizing me up, the way a big cat does before it pounces prey.

“Mm...mm...MM,” Bronson smacked his lips, chomping down a moist bite of New York Strip. “Been a long time, Shelley. But this steak brings a tear to my eye. It’s too good, baby.”

“Aw jeez,” Shelley blushed, her wild green eyes never leaving him. “You’re flattering me, Bronson. Stop it! Really?”

“Mmhmm,” he sliced off another hunk and delivered it to his greedy mouth, “this the best damn steak I can remember ever having. And for it to be my first meal out the can, this is something special.”

I watched him make eyes at my wife while he ate the food my money bought.

“Baby aren’t you going to eat your chicken?” Shelley asked me. “I would have made you a steak too if there were enough but there was only one left.”

“Much obliged, Max,” Bronson grinned, lathering his potato up in butter. “If you two ain’t the finest hosts a brotha’ could ask for, well, then I don’t know who is.”

Bronson took a glass of wine from the table and brought it to his full, plump black lips and drained half of it in a gulp. It was a Biondi Santi Brunello di Montalcino DOCG Riserva, 2011, extremely expensive.

“How’s the wine?” I asked, seething.
“Better than the stuff we make in the joint, but not as good as pussy.”
Shelley stifled a laugh, nearly snorting.
Bronson gave her eyes and a grin, and for a moment I wondered if their feet were

touching below the table.
When dinner was over, I counted the minutes until Bronson went to bed, not daring to

leave him alone with my wife. The entire evening, I was three seconds away from calling the police, from having the violent criminal removed my home...but for some reason I didn’t, and maybe it had something to do with Shelley.

At last, he retired upstairs, after drinking my wine and eating my steaks. I wasn’t alone with Shelley in our room for five seconds before all the days emotions came flooding out of me.

“I can’t believe this shit, Shelley! I really just can’t!” My voice was a scream in a whisper, anger engulfing my entire being. “After looking me in the eyes and telling me you would never invite him here you did! You fucking did it! Your disgusting pen pal who, for the

love of God you have a mold of his cock, is here in my home! Are you trying to divorce me or something!”

“Would you calm down and let me speak?”
“NO! I’m about to pick up the goddamn phone and call the police, Shelley!”
She wore a pink nightgown, see-through and short. Her enormous breasts pushed at the

pink knot in the center, and I could just faintly see her expansive nipples.
“Max, you need to listen to me right now,” she sat me down on the edge of the bed and

stood in front of me, all but pushing my face into her maze of tits. “I know you’re feeling hurt right now and maybe a little angry, but you have to understand something...this isn’t forever, OK? Bronson isn’t like, moving in or anything, he just needs a few days to get on his feet! That’s all!”

“I don’t want him here...”

“I know you don’t baby, and I really don’t either. I swear. But isn’t it the right thing to do? We always talk about how some people just need a little extra help to get on their feet and maybe this is our chance! I didn’t know he was going to call me and when he did, I just sort of let our address slip...”

“Slip? Phone call? When did you even talk to him, Shelley?”

“It’s not important, baby. What is important is that you understand that I love you, and that this whole thing with Bronson was exactly what I said it was - a fling. A fling without consequences, alright?”

“Sure doesn’t feel like it’s without consequences. There is a convict sleeping in our guest bedroom!

“Ex-convict, honey. And you know as well as I do that it’s only going to be a for a very, very little while. He should be up and out of here in a few days tops!”

I studied her face closely to see if she believed what she was saying. I thought of the big black dildo all alone up in the scuttle attic. I thought of that shoebox of letters, of all the other ones that went out in the mail that I never read. To say I was having a crisis of faith would be putting it mildly.

“Six days, Shelley. Six. That’s it. If he’s not out of here by then I’m not asking him to leave, the police are. And I don’t want you two alone together, at any point. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“You know I don’t put up with bullshit, you know I don’t take any bullshit. If he tries anything I’ll make sure he regrets it. Got it?”

“Are you going to talk about him all night,” her hand came to the front of my tighty-whities. “Or can we talk about you?”

“I’m not sure I’m in the mood,” I stuttered, growing hard beneath her rubbing palm. “Let’s see if we can change that...”
I didn’t sleep that night, convinced I could hear the snores of the slumbering giant across

the hall.

March

Six days turned into ten, and ten days turned into two weeks.

“Where is he supposed to go?”
“Is that the Christian thing to do, Max?”
“He’ll just end up back in jail if he’s homeless!”
No matter how much I tried to explain to my wife that I didn’t really give a flying fuck

about any of those things, she didn’t seem to get it. And she would keep on and keep on, all the while the quiet, snarky giant grinned at me.

“He doesn’t even have any money, baby! How can we tell him to hit the streets?”
“He’s applying for jobs as we speak, it shouldn’t be more than a couple days!”
“It’s not like he’s a nuisance or anything!”
Bronson was always around. And when we were in the same room, the same thing

always happened to me- shortness of breath, elevated heart rate, dry mouth. Somehow, I always found myself thinking of the thing when I was in his presence, wondering if the mold could really be lifelike. And no matter how much I convinced myself that it just wasn’t possible, doubt hung around me like insects in a forest.

The one thing I made very sure of in those early days of March was to never leave them alone together. From the night he arrived till the day it all went to shit, not once did I let Shelley out of my sight. I was practically following her to the bathroom.

Did I trust her to behave around Bronson?

Of fucking course not! She’d lied to my face too many times to count, and there was no way I could let her be alone with the man she’d been sending nudes to for the last eight months. For Christ’s sake I unknowingly slept above a giant rubber dildo every night for God knows how long (which reminded me - I needed to retrieve the dildo from the attic before she noticed it was gone).

There was also the way they acted around each other, even in my presence. Like they were speaking telepathically, or with just their eyes...and his were constantly on her body. Bronson liked to strut around the house in little more than a pair of gym shorts, every prison tattoo and chiseled muscle on full display...and something heavy swinging free and loose in those shorts.

I took Shelley to work in the morning and picked her up in the afternoon. No way she could be trusted to use her own vehicle. How was I to know she wouldn’t sneak off in the middle of the work day? I thought it sort of strange that she didn’t balk at my invasiveness, at my insistence on watching her every move, but it also seemed like maybe she understood where I was coming from. Like I had every right to be cautious.

But still, she seemed to stick up for him too much, always convincing me to give him a few more days.

“He doesn’t snore that loud!”
“He isn’t messy at all, Max!”
“I’m sure he’s going to have a place to stay soon just be patient, honey!”
As the days wore on so did my patience, until enough was enough. I was a man after all,

and there was only so much shit I could take from anybody. All Bronson ever did was chuckle at me or make some snarky comment under his breath. Like he knew he didn’t even have to try to get the better of me. He was living in my house AND my head rent free, and it was driving me crazy.

“Chicken again?” I asked at dinner that night. Outside one of those patented spring thunderstorms banged heavy rain on the rooftop.

“Hehehe,” Bronson chuckled raspy, low but not quiet.

“There were only two steaks left, sweety,” Shelley said undisturbed, “and you know Bronson has a very big appetite. It wouldn’t be fair to give the guest chicken!”

“Bronson has two steaks on his plate,” I said, mustering all my courage. “I have none. Bronson...the criminal...is eating steak while the man of the house eats chicken.”

His eyes narrowed on me.

“Don’t be rude, Max!” Shelley was appalled. “Bronson is our guest, and we are happy to have him. Aren’t we, Max?”

“No, we’re not actually,” I was in a staring match with him, and I was losing. My voice became barely audible over the thundering rain. “I’m not very happy to have him at all...”

“Max!”

“Is that so?” Bronson spoke up, using a toothpick to clean his teeth. “Mr. Max here doesn’t like the big black guy eating his food? Sleeping under his roof?”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” I said, looking down. “You’ve been here long enough and I think...I think it’s time for you to move on.”

Shelley looked worried, biting her bottom lip and looking from Bronson to me.

Bronson stood up from the dinner table and let his silverware clank against his plate. He walked around to where I sat and yanked me and my chair out with one hand.

Without meaning to, I gasped. So did Shelley.

“Been real kind of you to let me stay here, Max,” Bronson’s voice was measured. “Letting me eat your food, sleep under your roof...letting me look at your pretty little wife.” He towered over me, my face eye-level with his crotch.

“Excuse me?” my own voice was barely a whisper.

“Been in the can a long time, Max. Long time. When you don’t see a woman for that long, it can fuck a man up. But a smart one, he gonna work around it. Know what I’m saying? If you can’t get pussy in the joint, you gotta make pussy. It’s that simple...”

I opened my mouth to speak and found no words. He was looming.

“But your wife’s letters...her pictures...that kept my mind right when I started having trouble telling the difference between real pussy and made pussy. Shit...maybe it’s all the same to me now. Maybe I can’t tell the difference anymore...I know it must be difficult, seeing the man your wife’s been writing come up in yah house and take yo’ shit. Eat yah steaks...eyeball yah girl.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you talk about my wife like - “

His rough palm was at my throat before I could register it. I tried to stand but he kept me on my ass in the wooden chair like he was taming a mouse.

“Like I was sayin,” his voice dropped even lower, “it’s gotta be hard watching a nigga’ like me come up in yo house like I own it. Knowing I’m the one she been getting’ off to...I heard you found my little present under the bed, what did you think?”

“Let...go...of...me,” I sputtered.

Shelley stared at us, but I couldn’t make out the expression on her face. It was terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“It’s big, ain’t it?” Bronson smirked. “And to think, it’s been all up inside your wife. You think she could even feel you after riding something like that? She told me she keeps it under the

bed...you sleep above it every night...” His eyes were dark fury, and at once his presence was terrifying. I was useless in his grasp.

I tried to stand again but it was no use.

Shelley stared at his hand around my throat, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what she was thinking.

“Guess when I move out, I’ll have to take it with me, huh? Good thing I know where she keeps it...”

“I...can’t...” I managed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Max. Are you having trouble breathing?”
I nodded.
His chokehold dropped in an instant and I found myself gasping for air.
“HUH!” I belched, sucking wind.
“I got good news for you, little buddy,” he said, his tone changing suddenly. “Only two

more days. This Friday, big old Bronson here is moving out the guest room. Bet you happier than a pig in shit to hear that.”

I looked up at him, rubbing my throat.
“You’re serious?” I asked, seething with anger. “You’re out on Friday?”
“Serious as a heart attack, Max. I got better places to stay than that guest room of yours.

Though it has been quite comfortable after seven years on three inches of yellow foam. I’m moving up in the world, little buddy. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He stomped from the dining room, leaving me alone with my wife.
Shelley sipped her wine, staring at me.
“What?” I asked, in disbelief. Not even beginning to absorb the assault that had just taken

place.
“Oh, nothing...”

“What is it, Shelley?”
She didn’t know how to start; I could tell she was choosing her words.
“Why didn’t you do anything?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you just sat there...you let him talk to you like that and you let him choke

you...”
“I didn’t let him do a damn thing, Shelley!” I whispered, glancing up at the ceiling as if

he could hear me.
“But I thought you could handle him, Max? You said this was your house and your wife

and you’d defend it...what happened?”
“You can’t be serious, Shelley. I...I was outmatched, I couldn’t.... look, there was

nothing I could do!”
She finished her wine and stood from the table.
“If you say so, honey,” Shelley sighed. “Can you clean up the dishes? I’m awfully tired

from making dinner again tonight.”
“Aren’t you going to ask if I’m OK?” I called after her, but no response came. I sat alone

in the dining room, rubbing my neck.
Two days, I thought. Two more days and this nightmare is done forever!
Suddenly, for the first time in two weeks, something like hope blossomed in the pit of my

stomach. Somehow, the choking Bronson gave me didn’t seem so bad. The things he said about my wife and his past didn’t seem like the end of the world anymore.

He was moving out. He was leaving.
My life could get back to normal.
I just had to hang on a little while longer. Till Friday.

April

Friday was April 1st.

Shelley and I left the house that morning before Bronson woke up, and I expected that by the time we got home in the afternoon he would be gone. I’d never been so excited for a day of work in my life, knowing that by the end of it this whole waking nightmare would be over.

I dropped Shelley off at at 9am.
“I’ll be back at 3 to pick you up,” I called out the window.
“Don’t bother,” she said, “I’m going out with some girlfriends after work. I’ll find my

own way home.”
I paused, old paranoia bubbling up.
“Stop it, Max,” she noticed it on my face, “it’s over now, remember? Bronson packed his

bag last night, he’s out of there today. I haven’t seen Lena or Carol in a few weeks, and I need to catch up with my girlfriends!”

“Can you leave out the part about your convict pen pal coming and staying in our house for two weeks?”

“Would you just go to work, Max? Why on earth would I tell them about such a thing?” “To humiliate me more than you already have?”
“Bye, Max...”
I watched her walk up the drive and disappear into the office building. I drove the rest of

the way to my office with a mostly clear conscience, convincing myself that by lunch Bronson would probably be packed up and out of the house by then...maybe he’d rob us of a few valuables on the way out, too. Would serve Shelley right. A nice little wake up call for her naive ass. And then I could file a police report and watch them throw his ass back in jail.

Yes, the day was looking good. Life was looking great.

I skipped out early, pretty typical for a Friday afternoon. On the way home I stopped by the store and restocked on NY strips, and then hit the local wine cellar for something nice. That night was going to be a celebration in honor of me. I’d played the nice guy for as long as I could but in the end, as was my usual MO, the meaner side of me prevailed.

In the end I had kicked Bronson out of my house, whether Shelley or her jailbird buddy liked it or not.

I snagged a cigar from the humidor at the checkout and made my way home with steaks, bread, wine and tobacco for a perfect Friday evening. A man deserves such spoils after all, especially after such a hard-fought victory.

I was turning a tune up on the radio, my favorite from Steely Dan. Donald Fagen was singing...

I can't cry anymore...While you run around...Break away...

My mind puzzled over the last few days, Bronson’s behavior, my wife’s...how strange it was that they’d come to know each other so well right under my nose...right underneath...

Just when it...Seems so clear...That it's over now...

I thought back to dinner two nights ago, the night Bronson’s inner violence had come to a head. The way he’d choked me...the things he said.

“She told me she keeps it under the bed...you sleep on top of it every night...”
Oh shit...
“Guess when I move out, I’ll have to take it with me, huh? Good thing I know where it

is...”

Fagen said Cow. I heard COCK. The image of the scuttle attic projecting in my mind, the lonely black dildo all by itself up there in the dark.

And the empty floorboards beneath the bed.

If Bronson was serious about taking his replica, then he’d know in an instant it’d been removed. Then he would surely call Shelley and she surely would have no clue as to where it could be. That would leave one option. Me.

And just what was I doing with a mold of Bronson’s cock? It was a question I could never answer, and one I never wanted to be asked.

I bolted the rest of the way home, sliding through stop signs and running red lights. I had to hope, pray that he’d forgotten it. That he was long gone, and I could retrieve the thing from the attic and bury it back where it came from.

I squealed into my driveway at 2:45 and jumped out of the car.

Upon entering the house, it was eerily quiet. The sort of quiet you get when you’re the only one home. For a moment, severe, all-encompassing relief washed over me. Everything was going to be OK. I’d done it. I just needed to go upstairs to the master bedroom, retrieve the device from the attic, and put it back.

I was halfway up the stairs when I heard them.

Ooohhhh...
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
My mind tried to protect me from the truth. Surely, they were talking about the missing

dildo, wondering where it could be. Shelley had come home early from work to help Bronson look for it! Of course! And I would tell them no need to look, I’d thrown it away. Yes, it was gone. I’m sorry, but now you have to leave Bronson.

Oh my God Oh my God oh my God BRONSON!
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I was pale as a ghost, creeping down the hallway, moving slower than I wanted because

some part of me knew what I was about to find. The constant thunder of something slamming into the wall came in time with my heartbeat.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

“OH BRONSON FUCK OH!”

They didn’t even have the decency to close the door all the way, and I pushed it open with a soft wave of the hand as I entered the bedroom.

Bronson and Shelley didn’t notice me at first. Too focused on what they were doing...Shelley too focused on what was inside of her...

“FUCK FUCK FUCK BRONSON OHHHH!” “EH! UGH! EH! UGH! TAKE IT BITCH!” “OOOOHHHHH FUCK ME GOD AAAHHHH!”

“FUCK!” I slammed my foot into the gas pedal.

Drink your BIG-BLACK-COW...And get out of here...

She was underneath him, smothered by his gigantic, sweaty frame. All I could see of her pale white skin were two legs spread and stretched out to either side. Bronson’s hips rose and fell with the ferocity of a broken oil derrick drilling too hard and too fast into the earth.

“OOOHHHH FUCK BRONSON OH MY GOD!” My wife screamed, her little head poking out from beneath his broad shoulders. It was the most violent, blinding missionary sex I’d ever witnessed.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

My headboard. Slamming into the wall, peeling the paint, knocking a hole in it smack by smack. It didn’t compute that another man’s cock inside my wife was making that sound. And now that I was actually in the room there was another sound, too...

WHECKA WHECKA WHECKA WHECKA

Shelley’s cunt, soaked and creaming, squelching against his unseen mass. From where I stood, I couldn’t quite see his unit, but I could certainly hear the effect it was having on Shelley.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD BRONSON OOOHHHH PLEASE PLEASE DON’T STOP OH FUUUUUCK!”

The amount of sweat coursing along Bronson’s back indicted they’d been at it for a while. And as Shelley’s legs began to shake, the sort of convulsing one might associate with electric shock, and as she began to scream bloody murder from the orgasm taking over her body, I noticed something discarded at the foot of the bed.

The dildo.
“I’M FUCKING CUMMING OH MY GOD FUUUUUCK! OOOOHHHHH!”
From what little I could see of her below Bronson’s all-encompassing mass, she was a

complete mess. Nonsensical. Destroyed. Blissed out.
“Come swallow this nut!” Bronson barked, backing off her and revealing my wife to me

for the first time. She lay there twitching, completely nude, her overflowing breasts swaying on her chest like two great ships in a storm.

And I barely had a moment to register her drenched, defiled body before seeing the thing between Bronson’s legs. I did a double take, glancing at the discarded look alike on the floor. The sizes were the same - the veins the same.

If anything, the one belonging to his body was actually bigger.

Shelley tried to sit up and fell over. Bronson grabbed her by the hair and yanked her trembling to him, stuffing it into her mouth, pushing her head down...

“UUUGGHHH!” he grunted, eyes closed, loud enough to shake the walls. “UUUGGHHH ALL IN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH! UUGGGHHH!”

It spilled out the sides of my wife’s lips, staining our bedsheets below. She kept at it, kept gobbling...

“UUUGHHH! FUCK YES!”

And that’s when Bronson opened his eyes. That shit-eating grin of his breaking apart into a full-on toothy smile.

He winked at me.

“Swallow that fucking nut, bitch,” he said, staring into my eyes. “Swallow it like a good little slut wife. Show your husband how much you love it.”

Shelley turned her head, Bronson’s nut glazing her lips and dripping off her chin in ropes. She saw me standing there shell-shocked in the doorway.

“Honey!” she hiccupped, a wad of fresh cum falling from her mouth. “You’re home early!”

What happened next is sort of hard to piece together. I was standing there, staring at my naked wife and her equally naked black lover, and they were staring back at me. Bronson’s pipe lay across my bedsheets, slick with my wife’s wetness and his own cum. I started backing up, one step at a time, reeling as if I’d just been punched in the jaw by Mike Tyson. As I traversed backwards from the room, Bronson’s sly grin seemed to follow me.

And worst of all, Shelley seemed to be in no rush to cover her indiscretions in any way.

I found myself sitting alone in the backyard, staring up at the sky, trying to process what I’d just seen. A few minutes later the sliding glass door opened behind me, and my wife stepped outside in a white bath robe.

“Aw, Max. Don’t look so down,” she sat down beside me. “It’s really not what it looked like!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Shelley. He was fucking you so hard he put a hole in the wall!”

“Baby I know you must feel hurt, but honest to God - it really is nothing. It’s like I keep telling you, it’s just a fling.”

“You said the letters were the fling! The fucking dildo was the fling! Not actually fucking fucking him! I can’t stand for this, Shelley! And I WON’T! I want him out of here right fucking now and we can try and salvage what’s left of our marriage, because I’ll be honest Shelley- we’re two steps away from divorce right now!”

“Max!”
“I mean it!”
“You do not! For love of Pete it was just a fling, Max! And I thought you knew! Those

headboard dents have been in the wall for a week!”
“You mean you’ve been fucking him...ALL WEEK!”
“Oh boy...”
“Shelley!”
“Listen baby, I didn’t come out here to argue with you...”
“This is fucking BULLSHIT, Shelley!”
“Bronson is inside...he sent me out here to get you...he wants to talk to you...”
“You’re really unbelievable, you know that?” I shook my head. “If that criminal has

anything to say he can write me a fucking letter! I want him out in five minutes or I’m calling the fucking police!”

“You really ought to go in there and talk to him, Maxy,” she bit her bottom lip. “And I really wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.”

“Oh no? Why? What’s he gonna do?”
She raised her eyebrows at me and said nothing.
I stood up and went back into the house. Somehow, I knew where I’d find him, and when

I did my stomach curdled over. He was in my bed, sheets pulled up to his waist as he sat back against the loose headboard. He laid there like he owned the place. My fucking bed!

“Don’t sit down,” he grumbled when I walked in, “this won’t take long.”

“What are you doing in my bed?” I asked indignantly, beyond the bullshit, ready to throw hands if that’s what it came to.

“You mean my bed?”
“Excuse me?”
“This my bed now, white boy. Best get used to it.”

“You must have lost your mind in the big house, Bronson. Because this is my house. And if you aren’t out of it in the next five minutes, I’m calling the fucking police!”

“Little Maxy gonna narc on me, huh? Can’t defend your home or your woman so gotta ask somebody else to come do it for you?”

I searched for the words; none came.

Bronson spread his legs wide and made himself comfortable. I shuddered to think at what lay below those sheets.

“You didn’t read every letter, did you?” Bronson said. “I know you didn’t. Know how I know? Cus if you did you’d have known that there was a camera in your wife’s favorite new toy. Hehehe...”

All the toughness washed out of my face and my posture deflated.
“Bullshit,” I said. “No way.”
“I’ve got to admit I’m impressed with the way you handle so much mass. And your throat

game be on point, too. Natural Talent, we call it in the joint. We see a bitch ass little trick like you walk up on the block and we know just how to handle it. Yeah, if this were prison, yo’ ass would already have my name tattooed on your lower back.”

“This isn’t true, you’re lying,” I muttered, my words sounding underwater to my own ears.

“Me and yo wife had a good long laugh at the video today before I fucked her brains out, Max. It’s a helluva thing, seeing you go fagget in the first person. If you want, you can take a look. Video’s right there on your wife’s phone. And maybe your friends can take a look too? Your co-workers downtown? Hell, we could even show the police when they get here. Go ahead and call em,’ I ain’t gonna stop you.”

“I want you out...out...out of my...” my stomach turned.

“I want you the fuck out my room, Max. And you can send that little dime piece of a wife of yours back in on your way out. I kept my promise, Max. Told you I’d be moving out of the guest room today. Well, here I am. All moved out. And starting tonight it’s yo ass in the motherfuckin’ guest bedroom. I ate yo’ steaks, bitch. Now Ima’ eat yah whole fuckin’ world .”

He shooed me off with a wave of his hand, and I left in silence.

May

Every night I spent in the guest room I could hear them at it. For hours. I could hear the plaster cracking beneath the headboard. Could hear Bronson grunting on top of my wife like a wild animal in heat. I could hear Shelley’s throbbing, broken whines and moaning...some of those sounds would keep me awake long after the two of them had fallen asleep, replaying in my head over and over.

And worse than all of that, is as the weeks passed by I began to get used to it. Used to not having sex with my wife anymore, used to waking up everyday and patching the damnable hole in the wall above the bed.

And once you get used to a thing it can be hard to go back. And it inevitably leaves the door open for more liberties to be taken.

“I think it’d be best for everyone if you moved your work to remote only, baby,” Shelley told me one morning in mid-May. “Bronson thinks if you were home more that you could be more useful around the house.”

“Is that what he thinks now?” I was patching the wall above the headboard for the eighth time, painting it over with the last of the Eggshell White. “Why does he need me here? So he can taunt me some more? Torture me with the fact that he gets to sleep with my wife every night while I sleep alone? Or torture me with the fact that you let it happen...”

“Wouldn’t you rather work from home anyway?” she ignored my call-out. “You always say you hate the commute...why not just set up a home office in your room -“

“The guest room you mean?”
“Sure...”
It didn’t take long for me to realize why Bronson wanted me home and not Downtown.

My first day remote I woke up to a schedule and a list of chores written in scraggly handwriting that could only be Bronson.

-make breakfast
-make bed, do the dishes, clean kitchen -yard work
-grocery shopping
-make lunch
-clean up and nap time
-dinner
-lights out

“You want me making you three meals a day?” I asked, staring at the list while Bronson chomped down the big plate of eggs and bacon I fixed him. “And do yard work and find a way to keep my job all at the same time?”

“You a smart white boy, Max,” he slugged down some orange juice. “You’ll figure it out.” Bronson never wore a shirt, and seeing his half-naked black body became as commonplace as the awful sounds that came from the master bedroom every night.

“I’m not going to take a nap just because you tell me to,” I tried to stick up for myself. “I’m not some child you can push around!”

“Oh no?” Bronson’s dark gaze lifted from his plate to where I stood. “Do something about it then, son. Go on and show me how fucking tough you are...or shut yah fuckin’ mouth and clean the dishes! And when yah done with that, go make my fucking bed. Probably need to wash the sheets first after I made yo’ bitch squirt all over em’ last night.”

Too mortified to respond, I turned my back and began scrubbing a pan.

Soon I found myself neck deep in these little tasks of Bronson’s, with my will to argue with him lessening by the day.

“Bring me a beer, Maxy,” he grunted from the couch, kicking his legs up and putting his arm around Shelley. He watched a baseball game on the television in the living room, and he never even looked at me when he barked out orders like that.

“I hate that name,” I said, handing him a Corona with lime.

“Maxy? Why?” Bronson smirked. “It suits you...but I think eventually would find an even better nickname for you, boy.”

“Can you make me a margarita, baby?” Shelley added before I walked away. “Salt on the rim?”

I didn’t respond to her, I sulked off to the kitchen to fix her drink. But on the way out I heard Bronson quite loud and clear when he said, “white girl sure do love her rims. Mmmm. But from what I hear she like chocolate rims the best.”

“Oh stop it, Bronson!” she squealed. “You are so bad!”

At night I made dinner in the kitchen all alone while they often made out on the couch, or sometimes Bronson liked a blowjob before dinner. I was straining pasta one evening when I heard them out there, relentless.

“GAK GAK GAK!” Shelley’s soft, supple throat.

“That’s it white bitch. No hands. Let me do it...let me fuck that pretty little face...mmmm.”

“GAK GAK GAK GAK!”
“Fuck yeah. Like that. Louder so the fagget in the kitchen can hear!’ “GAKGAKGAKGAKGAK!”
“Fuck baby Imma’ cum. You ready for a little appetizer? Here it is...UUUGGGHHH!” “GAK GAK GAK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK SHLUUUURP!”
“Good fucking girl...yah husband would be proud...Fuck I’m hungry, baby. Let’s see if

my dinner is ready.”
And so it went, and so it went.
Every morning the first thing I did was get the spackle from the garage and get to

repairing the fuck hole from the previous night while Bronson and my wife had coffee on the patio. Then I’d make the bed, often needing to strip it and wash the sheets depending how carried away the two of them had gotten the night before.

Then I’d cook. Clean. Rinse. Repeat.

Every day. And here and there I found ways to gripe or try and squirm out of it, but Bronson’s approach was always the same.

“Your wife gave me all your contacts, Maxy...one push of a button and your little make out video with my cock goes to everyone...who knows, if you’re a good little fagget and do everything I say maybe I’ll let you touch the real thing someday...”

To be blackmailed by an ex-convict is a frustration I would wish on no one.

One morning towards the end of May, after I’d painted over the dry wall patch for the thirtieth time, I came down to the kitchen to find Bronson waiting for me in the breakfast nook, sitting in the booth.

“Where’s Shelley?” I asked, expecting that the two of them would be on the patio like usual.

“Sent her out to pick up some supplies for our beach day next weekend,” he said. He had a brown shopping bag beside him in the booth, and he lifted it and set it on the table. “You’ve been doing a real fine job around here, Max. Helluva’ host, know what I’m saying? So as a thank you for cooking, cleaning, keeping your fagget mouth shut when I rail your big-titty wife...I got you a present.”

I looked at the bag cautiously, swallowing my pride in the face of his lewd comment (a familiar taste at this point.)

“Go on, Maxy...open it...”

I took the bag from the table, reached in, and pulled out some clothing wrapped in plastic. It was white and black and frilly - some lace in there too.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“If you gonna be cooking and cleaning all the damn time I need you looking the part. I got you a little uniform is all...

I unwrapped the clothing from the plastic and held it up by the shoulders. White apron over a black dress with a frilly hem. Fishnet stockings. A perfect hole in the middle of the bust to show off a woman’s cleavage. A maid’s outfit plain and simple. Probably bought from the lingerie store.

“I think you meant this for my wife...”

“Does your wife cook and clean, white boy? That’s your fucking job, remember? Your wife too busy servicing my black dick to pitch in with your chores. That dress belongs to you now, and I don’t want to see your ass without it when you cooking my meals and washing my fucking clothes. Got it?”

“Uh-uh,” I shook my head tossing the dress onto the tabletop between us. “No way. NO. I am NOT going to wear women’s clothes I refuse!”

“Want me to come from around this table and put it on you? Is that what you want, Maxy?”

“You wouldn’t dare...and if my wife ever saw me in something like she would lose all respect for me. No fucking way!”

“Hehehe,” that familiar chuckle. “This fagget talkin’ bout’ respect. Yah wife watched you lay down like a fuckin’ doormat when her pen pal lover came waltzing in. You didn’t do shit to stop me...you really think your wife has any respect left? Put on the fucking dress, bitch!”

“No.”

Bronson stood up slowly, approached me at the speed of a sloth. As if giving me ample time to try and run. He backed me up against the kitchen island until there was no escape, just his football player’s frame against mine.

“The dress lifts up real easy, white boy,” he said, his breath in my face. “I can get to that ass any time I want, and I can punish you for being disobedient. Do you know what we do to the sissy bitches on the block when they disobey? I spank they ass raw then fuck em’ blind. That what you want, son? Do I need to put this dress on yo’ ass and discipline you? Cus I fucking will. I ain’t got shit to do today cept’ yo’ wife.”

I tried to look anywhere but his face, but my whole world was his black, shirtless body. Nowhere to move. Nowhere to run. I could feel the inevitability of the dress sneaking up on me...could feel my lack of choice in the matter, and I felt so weak standing there knowing that I would have to do what he said...or else...

Shelley came home later that morning when I was vacuuming the living room. Bronson was on the couch drinking a beer and watching TV. As usual, she looked at him first, said hello to him first...and then looked over at me.

“Oh my...” she started, hand coming to her mouth. “Is that...Maxy?” A stuttered giggle started up on her lips, and she stood there in disbelief.

“How you like yah hubby’s new fit?” Bronson chuckled. “I think we got just the right size.”

“Oh my, hahaha,” Shelley was unable to hide it any longer. “Hahaha, oh gosh. HAHAHA!”

I stared at the floor continuing to vacuum, my legs itching from the white fishnet stockings covering them. The handle of the vacuum kept getting caught on the hem of my short, frilly dress, and I was still figuring out how to move in the damn thing. The sleeves were short, making it feel even more feminine than it already was. And that stupid hole in the bust, showing off my flabby white chest.

“Hahahaha, you look so pretty, Maxy!” Shelley guffawed. “So pretty indeed! HAHAHAHA!”

“HEHEHE,” Bronson’s deep chuckle was louder now. “But we might have to do something about the chest...might need to fill out it somehow...hehehe...”

My wife’s mountainous breasts shook and jiggled inside her shirt, in time with the roars of laughter she no longer cared to hide. I turned the vacuum up in power to try and drown them out, but it was no use.

Hahaha! Hahaha!

They cuddled up on the couch together and watched me clean in my new dress, and eventually Shelley’s squirming hand found its way past the waistband of Bronson’s jeans.

June

I guess it’s time to talk about the beach day. I’d rather not, but I guess I will.

I was actually looking forward to it at the time. Despite the fact it was the first time the three of us were going out in public together, I was still excited because I loved the beach and some of my fondest memories with my wife were by the ocean. I thought maybe since there would be other people around that Bronson would control himself...that maybe I could even pass him off as just a close friend of ours to the wandering eyes of strangers.

“Oh shoot,” Shelley said, sitting up in her lounge chair and pulling the shades from her eyes. “I forgot the sun block in the car! I’m going to get all burned!”

“Maxy. Go to the car and get your wife some sunblock so she don’t tan that sweet pale skin I like so much.” Bronson flexed from his chair, looking out over the calm blue waves of the Pacific Ocean.

I was in the sand beside them, watching them like a child might watch his parents.
“Um, Ok I guess,” I said, standing and brushing the sand from my behind.
Shelley smiled and laid back. Her incredible, curvy body was on full display that day in a

hot-pink bikini. The top barely held her overflowing, fleshy breasts as they spilled out the sides and bottoms. When she flipped over to get some sun on her back, her rotund, fat ass was hungry in its attempt to eat every bit of the bikini bottom.

Bronson reached over and smacked it, a crack in the salty afternoon air.
“Go on now, boy. To the car. Get the damn sunblock!”
By the time I returned with it the two of them were in the water. Tall as Bronson was, he

could stand way out in the surf with the water lapping at his well-defined pectoral muscles. He was holding my wife afloat by letting her back float on the surface of the water, his hands below helping to keep her steady; one between her shoulders, the other cradling her plump asscheeks.

The sun shown on her smiling face, and I was reminded of our honeymoon in Hawaii, and all the time we’d spent in the water together. In that moment, I wanted to be with her. Badly.

I walked out across the beach and into the ocean, watching the two of them the whole time. I always got so nervous trying to confront them when they were being so lovey dovey. It really made me sick. But I hadn’t touched my wife beyond some minor hand holding in weeks. Was it really so bad if I wanted some time with her in the water?

Bronson would just have to share.

The water got deep fast, and at my height I had to swim the rest of the way to them. Shelley had no issues with the depth - she clung to Bronson’s expansive shoulders, her wet titties pressing into his back.

“Look at little Maxy the fish,” Bronson chuckled, “doggy paddling his white ass out to sea.”

“Kick kick kick, baby!” Shelley squealed, giggling, a little drunk from the margarita pitcher we’d brought.

“Hey, uh, guys...I was uh, wondering,” the water splashed in my face and made it hard to talk, “maybe um, maybe me and Shelley could have a little alone time out here? In the water, I mean...”

“Sorry I didn’t hear you little buddy,” Bronson laughed, pulling my wife like a little bug from his back and bringing her entire petite frame into his arms. “Too busy feelin’ on yah wife’s fat ass!”

“Oh stop it, Bronson!” she kicked and squealed. His hands were under the water, touching her, fondling her, and she just squirmed against his broad chest, loving it.

“I was just thinking maybe since, you know, we’re at the beach and she is my wife that maybe we could -“

“AH!” Shelley squealed, rising out of the water, her sopping titties breaking the surface, sunlight beating down on all those droplets running the crevices of her sweet body.

Suddenly Bronson was spinning her around, holding her close, pushing his tongue into her mouth.

“Oh no,” I groaned quietly, steadily tiring in the deep water. I did my best to float.

“Oh Bronson,” she gasped between kisses, “you’re so good, baby...but maybe we should go to the car? Not in front of Max...”

“I want it now white girl,” his fat lips against hers. His hands roamed her luscious chest, squeezing the white flesh between his fingers, fondling her wide nipples. Eventually he tore the top from her body, crumpling it into a ball. “Hold this shit for me white boy,” he said absently, tossing the hot-pink top at me.

“Oh Bronson...”

I looked around nervously, terrified that other beach goers would be able to see...and they certainly could. Coming by on a few floats, about ten yards out, was a group of college kids laughing and cracking jokes. The moment one saw what was happening in the water between Bronson and my wife, the others were soon informed.

“Look at them titties!” one exclaimed.
“Wow homeboy is all up in that shit!”
“Who the fuck is that loser watching them?” “Hahaha! Probably her husband, fucking cuck!” “HAHAHA!”

The boys drifted out to sea, pointing and laughing, ogling my wife’s tits as Bronson searched every inch of them.

And I floated there, clutching her top in my hand.

“Oh Bronson you’re so fucking big baby,” she moaned in his arms, “I can feel it baby...I want it...”

There was a small splash as Bronson tore the bikini bottoms from her ass, and a moment later they were plastered to the front of my face, wet and smelling of salt and sex.

“HAHAHAHA!” the college kids from somewhere behind, enjoying the show.

I tore the bikini bottoms from my face and held them along with the rest of her swimsuit. She was stark naked now, mostly covered by the water except for her breasts just breaking the surface. The longer I tread water the more tired I became, constantly looking from the two of them to the shore, wondering who could see...it did seem like more and more people along the beach were starting to gather.

“Oh fuuuuck,” Shelley moaned, bobbing up and down in the water. “So fucking hot, Bronson...like that, oh baby, oh fuck...”

“Ride that dick like a fuckin’ dolphin, baby,” Bronson said, his hand wrapped up her blonde hair. “Let me hear you squeal on it!”

“OHHHHH!”

I watched in horror as they fucked there in the ocean, spectators and all. On the wind I could hear more laughter, more gasps, as one by one more and more people gathered on the side of the beach. Waiting...watching...

And the worst part was that I knew I didn’t have very much longer out there. I would need to get to where I could stand and soon.

But I didn’t want to leave my wife naked in the ocean with him.

“Fuck fuck fuck, so fucking gooood!” Her splashing intensified, and below the water I could almost see his black shark roaming in and out of her love cave.

“That’s it white girl, fucking ride...UGH! Fuck yeah!”
“Oooohhh!”
“Look at yah little husband baby,” he said, taking her fragile face in his hands and turning

it to me. “Tell him...tell him how good it feels...”
I could see the conflict on her face, I could tell she didn’t necessarily even want me there.

But there was no way she could refuse him when he was inside of her. So I braced myself, knowing it was coming.

“Oh Maxy he fucks me so good. Sooooo much better than you ever could. Your dick is too fucking little to give me pleasure...I can cum on his cock again and again...oh Maxy, it’s so fucking good baby! You wish you had it like this!”

“Tell him to put the suit on, white girl,” Bronson kissed her cheek, fucking her. “Tell him to put it on like a good little bitch! UGH!”

“FUCK! OH! Put it on Max! OH! Right...fuck...RIGHT NOW! PUT IT ON you little sissy bitch...do it or I’ll have Bronson kick your ass!”

Every word she spoke stung like a jellyfish in my heart, but that last part was too much to bear. There was just no way. NO way in hell!

“You heard your wife, bitch boy,” Bronson grunted, drilling her there in the water. “Put the fucking suit on or Imma’ lift yah little wife and show her off to every motherfucker on the beach. How’d you like that, fagget? Strangers ogling your wife’s cunt. PUT THE FUCKING SUIT ON!”

“Oh Bronson you’re so mean, baby...I fucking love it...Oh fuuuuuck!”
I hesitated, the crumpled ball of a bikini in my hand, and my legs failing me.
“NOW BITCH!” Bronson barked, starting to lift my wife straight out of the water,

droplets cascading down her naked back, the entirety of her titties revealed (much to the delight of the floating college boys), the crack of her ass sliding into view.

“Stop!” I plead. “Please, don’t! Keep her in the water!”
“Put the fucking suit on then!”
“Fuck! FUCK! FINE!”
Legs cramping and arms tired, I floated away from them, watching them fuck as my

dancing legs searched for solid ground. At last, I found some footing and my body thanked me, near to exhaustion. Scrambling, with the laughter of the shore in my ears, I squatted down in the water and took my own bathing suit off. With much effort I got the pink bottoms on, my shriveled penis easily hidden within.

Then came the part that was hard to hide. The top. I reached my arms through, a little confounded, and situated Shelley’s massive cup size against my own chubby little man-tits. It certainly didn’t fit but it would have to do.

I sat there in the water up to my neck, too terrified to move.

When I looked back at Shelley she was rising out of the water, back arched, face to the sky and glimmering in the hot sun. Water rolled off her cheeks as she opened her mouth, screaming, cumming there in the ocean as it rocked her body like a typhoon.

I heard it clear as day, and so did everyone on the beach. “OOOOHHHHH FUCK! YES YES YES!”
Hahahaha, went the people on the shore.

HAHAHAHAH, the college kids on their floats.

And then an image from my worst nightmare- Shelley swimming back and then eventually walking, Bronson beside her...and she was completely, utterly stark naked. Her perfect rolling tits on display for all to see. Her tucked pink cunt between thick thighs, her rounded ass cheeks soaking in the sunlight.

And everyone staring, some speechless, at the beauty on the beach.

Then they were standing over me, and I was eye level with my wife’s cunt for the first time in a long time

“Stand the fuck up, bitch boy,” Bronson commanded from over me. “We leaving.”

“What?” my eyes wide with shock. “Shelley for the love of God cover up! Take your suit back!” I reached back to unclasp the bikini top from my chest.

“Don’t even fucking think about it!” Bronson barked, grabbing me from under the armpits and yanking me out of the water like a minnow. For a split second I dangled there, feet kicking, as he held me like a prized catch.

“Hahaha, Bronson you’re terrible!” my naked wife laughed. And then from the shore, so close and terrible... HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAH!
Oh my God he’s a sisssy! Look at him!

I don’t think that top fits!
HAHAHAHA!
Would you LOOK at that girls tits!
Does he even have a cock underneath those panties?
HAHAHAHAHAH! HAHAHAHAH!
“Fucking walk, bitch boy!” Bronson commanded, shoving me forward so hard I nearly

tripped. He and Shelley stayed on my heels, marching me up and out of the water, towards the heckling crowd on the shore.

I looked down, really seeing myself for the first time. I was in a fucking hot-pink bikini, my less-than shapely body on full display.

And then we were walking through the crowd, the three of us, all eyes on me and my wife.

HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!
“Nice bathing suit loser!”
“Sissy bitch!”
HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAH!
“Look at that fucking cuck!”
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
It was louder than the crashing waves, and the red in my face brighter than the sun itself.

Cameras were out, taking pictures, taking videos, posting to every form of social media...
“Good little bitch boy,” Bronson laughed, kicking me in the ass and causing me to tumble

into the sand there in front of everyone. “So pretty in his pink bikini!”

HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!

JULY

It was hot. Like, ant under a magnifying glass hot. A heat wave ripped through the state right in the middle of the month, and wouldn’t you know it, that’s just when Bronson decided it was time to have an above-ground pool installed in the backyard.

Manually.
By yours truly.
The pool was relatively small, but it still needed a big enough clearing to be set up. Well,

my backyard was covered with trees. In order to make room for the pool I was going to have to not only install it myself but clear out enough space to set it up. I had to cut down two trees, then break said trees up into smaller pieces with a chainsaw, and then move the limbs to another corner of the yard.

It was 105 degrees outside on the third day of the project. The trees were down and dismantled, but now it was time for the fun part. Moving the heavy logs fifty feet across the yard, one painstaking piece at a time.

“Look at that white girl strainin’ with that little log,” Bronson chuckled from beneath the shaded porch, iced tea in one hand and my wife’s tit in the other. “Surprising cus you’d think he was well used to handling them by now!”

“Oh, Bronson you’re so bad!” Shelley laughed, pushing her petite frame closer to his. Bronson’s bulky arm was around her shoulder, his dangling hand fondling her breast. She leaned her head against him, watching me work.

“Faster white boy! This heat wave will be over by the time you finish and then what good is a pool? Double time!”

“You can do it, honey!” Shelley cheered me on.

I was dripping with sweat, my back hurt, my hands blistered. Bronson wouldn’t allow me to wear normal yard-work clothing, instead the maid’s outfit stuck to my soaked skin sticky and uncomfortable. The fish-nets itched at my legs, and the hem of the dress kept getting caught on everything.

“Ugh,” I moaned, dropping another log into the stack at the corner of the yard. I turned around and stumbled slowly to the two piles of tree waiting for me fifty feet away.

“I said faster white boy! You so weak you gotta take one at a damn time?”

“He’s never been one to workout, really,” Shelley said, helping herself to some more iced tea. “

“CHOP CHOP MAXY!”

I trudged back and forth, bearing Bronson’s insults and commands. The hours moved like molasses, the sun burning my neck and arms. Occasionally Bronson and Shelley would duck in for some air conditioning and then return a few minutes later looking sweatier than they had before.

“How much more today?” I asked Bronson. I stood in the middle of the yard, catching my breath, dressed like a fool.

“You know what white boy? I think what’s slowing you down in this heat is that pretty little dress you got on. Too hot. Go ahead and take it off.”

I put my hands on my hips, looking at the two of them, unsure.
“Well go on, take the damn thing off!”
Normally I’d argue, but the heat was just too much. I pulled the dress up and over my

head, peeling it from my body. I stood there in the yard with little black panties on and white fishnet stockings, praying the neighbors wouldn’t look outside and see me.

“Damn son. You ever even lift a jug of milk? Look at those useless little arms! Nice panties fagget!”

“His chest is getting bigger lately, too,” Shelley frowned. “Every year he gets a little more out of shape...”

“Shelley, Jesus!” I plead, hurt but not surprised anymore by her callous remarks.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say your little hubby was born to be a jailhouse sissy. The guys in the can would have a field day with that little body. I mean, you wouldn’t even know there’s a dick in those undies!”

Shelley blushed, stifling laughter.

“Go on take the rest off, Maxy,” Bronson said, standing and walking out into the direct sunlight for the first time that day.

“What?” I looked over the fences of my property, worried that the neighbors might already be looking.

“I stutter, bitch boy? The panties. Drop em’. Now!” He was approaching fast, with Shelley right behind. Suddenly they were standing beside me, and the only shade I’d gotten all day was in Bronson’s shadow.

“What if the neighbors see?” I asked.
“Who cares,” Shelley laughed, “let em’ look.”
“The panties, Maxy. Now...Don’t make me ask you again.”
I gulped. I bent down and removed my wife’s underwear from my body. It felt strange,

the cool air against the sweat on my naked body, having my privates exposed in broad daylight like that.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bronson chuckled. “That’s it? That’s your dick? God almighty how the hell you ever get a girl like Shelley?”

My hands came to cover my embarrassment, but he slapped them away.

“Now you see what I have to deal with?” Shelley said, staring at my pink worm. “It’s barely four inches when it’s hard.”

“Aw, hell no!” Bronson was disgusted. “What the fuck is this shit! In prison we’d tape that shit back and let you walk around with a pussy all day!”

I felt ashamed standing in front of them, not much I could do. Exhausted and tired.

“Shelley get on yah damn knees and show this kid what a real cock looks like, would yah?”

“Mmm. I’d love too...”

Shelley knelt down in the grass, her yellow sundress perfect for the weather, her cleavage like two giant tubs of vanilla ice cream. She pulled off Bronson’s basketball shorts with ease, like she’d had so much practice at this point she knew just how to tug them down.

Bronson’s heavy flaccid member fell into the daylight, rotund and mammoth. His pubic hair was getting a little unkempt, curly and black about the base of his johnson. His ballsack hung extra low in the heat of summer, leathery and malleable, almost past his thighs.

My wife took my penis between her thumb and pointer finger and wiggled it. With her other arm, she flexed as she held Bronson’s goliath girth up in the air like a prized marlin caught from the ocean.

“Oh my fucking God,” Shelley’s undeniable giggle, “hahaha! This is crazy! Look how small he is compared to you, Bronson!”

She brought them tip to tip, Bronson didn’t even need to get closer to me- his just reached. It looked like a tadpole facing down one of those prehistoric sharks of old, the ones that grew to fifty feet in length. It looked like his pee-hole alone could swallow me up.

“Dick so small you don’t even deserve a woman,” Bronson grunted. “Matta’ fact, the only thing you should be doin’ is learnin’ how to serve a man walkin’ round with that oversized clit between your legs.”

“Mmmm,” Shelley dropped my little dick and placed two hands along Bronson’s shaft, stroking.

“Gonna be some more changes round’ here, white boy. Hope you ready for em’...but first, I want my fuckin’ pool. Now get yah ass back to work while your wife blows me!”

He shoved me in the chest and I stumbled naked back across the yard. I moved logs one by one, my dick exposed the whole time...and in my periphery I watched Shelley stroke and suck Bronson, so eager to please.

“Goddamn I can’t even see that little dick when the sun shines on your white ass! How the fuck you call yourself a man, white boy? And you movin’ TOO DAMN SLOW! I want my motherfuckin’ pool so I can fuck yo’ motherfuckin’ wife in it! NOW MOVE!”

I worked until the sun went down. And Bronson and my wife had their pool all July long.

AUGUST

Dear Grim,

Long time no see, dawg. How’s the can treating you? That hoe Patricia still giving you head on the daily? Hope you keepin’ that sissy ass in line for real.

I told you when I got paroled that I ain’t gonna forget about you. And I ain’t. Matta’ fact, I got some REAL good news for your ass. Things been goin’ real good for me on the outside, I got me a house and a bitch...actually got me 2 bitches. And I’m thinkin’ I’m about to send the spare bitch yo’ way.

All you gotta do is put a name down on that conjugal visit guest list you got. I know the guards be takin’ a tax sometimes before you get your nut, and that’s fine...by the time this bitch gets to you she gon’ be seasoned and ready for EVERYBODY.

Maxine is the name. Write it down.
And be sure to show this bitch why they call you Grim Reaper. Peace and love
-Bronson

I trembled as I read the letter, terrified I’d be caught pulling the outgoing mail from the mailbox. I could hear Shelley and Bronson in the pool in the backyard, splashing and talking and occasionally moaning.

My maid’s outfit was soaked through with sweat.

I carefully placed the letter back in the envelope, resealed it, and dropped it in the outgoing mail.

Maxine? Who the fuck was Maxine? Surely it couldn’t be me...I mean, the names were similar, but I was no bitch. Maybe I wore a maid’s outfit to cook and clean, but I was certainly nowhere near to walking into a prison and giving my body up. I wouldn’t do that at a female prison let alone a male one!

But Bronson sure seemed confident in his letter. Maybe he had a second lover...someone he kept hidden from my wife. Maybe if I found some proof of this other girl’s existence, I could break the devastating news to Shelley and she might actually dump his ass.

It wasn’t a full proof plan, but it was definitely something to think about. Almost low hanging fruit.

I peeked out the window into the backyard just in time to see Shelley’s delicious body come strutting out of the pool. She took a towel and dried off as she walked in the house, all smiles.

Bronson waded in the pool alone, his immaculate body drenched in sunlight.

“There you are,” Shelley said, entering the kitchen. “Are you deaf? We were calling for you. You know Bronson hates to be kept waiting!”

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did you want?”
“I need you to come with me to the bathroom, Maxy. We gotta have a little talk, OK?” “What are we gonna talk about?”
“Just come please!”

I followed her up the stairs, down the hall, into the master bedroom. The bed was bare, the sheets still in the wash - and thank God, they were covered in a mess of semen and pussy the likes of which you wouldn’t believe. Shelly took me into the bathroom and closed the toilet seat lid, motioning for me to sit.

“Why are we talking in the bathroom?” I was a little excited to be honest. If she was taking to me this far from Bronson, then maybe she wanted to say something she didn’t want him to hear. Dare I say it, but hope had crept into my belly.

“I don’t know how to say it so I’m just gonna blurt it out,” she looked at my furtively, and I felt so stupid sitting there in my maid’s outfit. “I think Bronson has been messing around on the side. I think he’s been seeing another woman...”

It was even better than I could have imagined. She was already there!”
“Maxine?” I said, eyes optimistic.
“How did you know that?” she searched my face.
“Doesn’t matter. But I’ve had the same feeling, too!” I whispered urgently, unsure of how

much time alone we might have. “And I can’t just sit by and watch him treat you like that, Shelley! I love you too much. We’ve got to stand up for ourselves...I think maybe it’s time we ask him to leave.”

She looked doubtful.

“Don’t be scared, Shelley! We can do this. I know we can...God, I’m so sick of wearing this shit, so sick of the guest room, sick of that goddamn hole in the wall! I want my wife back, baby. I want my life back...and if he’s cheating on you, well, then he doesn’t deserve you. We could find you someone better!”

She seemed surprised when I said it, almost amused.

“You’ve really changed, haven’t you, Max?” she smiled a little. “Just a little pressure and you crack like clay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind. Look, I could get on bored with this. I really could...maybe we could even have him out by the end of the week.”

“Yes, yes!” Her words were like candy to my ears, sweet salvation so sudden and tangible.

“But before we can do that...I think we’ve got to play nice. Play by his rules a little longer and we push him out when the time is right.”

“Sure! Lull the giant to sleep and cut out his heart when he’s least expecting it!” “Exactly,” she said, reaching for a tube of lipstick on the bathroom sink.
“Lipstick now? Aren’t you getting back in the pool?” I asked. “You’ve been gone too

long as it is, we need you back out there playing nice!”
She twisted the tube up, a dark, luscious red.
And turned it on me.
“What are you doing?” I flinched back.
“Bronson thinks you need to look prettier...he said he wants you looking nice when

you’re working around the house.” “Excuse me?”

“Babe have you listened to a single word I’ve been telling you? Bronson is cheating on me! And I’m not going to stand for it...I’m not going to tolerate this Maxine girl. But we can’t just barge out there right this instant and tell him to get out. He’s too strong! So we do what he says until the time is right and then...voila! No more Bronson.”

I looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, completely uncomfortable.
“But I don’t want to wear makeup,” I said stupidly. “I don’t want to put on lipstick.” “Did you want to put the dress on?”
“Well, no...”
“But you did it anyway, right?”
“Yeah, I guess...”
“Well, if you don’t put on the makeup, he’s going to know something is up. Our entire

plan will be blown.”
I sighed long and deep, pursing my lips together.
“Good boy,” she smirked, running the sticky tube across my lips. “See? That isn’t so

hard, is it? Sit nice and still and let me work my magic...”
I sat there in disbelief for the next ten minutes, still as a statue. Was I really letting her do

this? To what end? Was giving me a makeover really that essential to kicking Bronson out of my house? Of course it wasn’t. I should have picked up the phone and called the police and had them escort him the hell off my property.

But it was nice to be with Shelley again, alone. It was also nice to see that she was ready to move on from the whole nightmare...and maybe she knew something I didn’t, and that biding our time really was the right move.

Whatever the reason, I chose to trust my wife. Unequivocally.
“MAX! SHELLEY! GET YAH ASSES OUT HERE NOW!”
Bronson’s booming voice from downstairs. Terrifying.
Shelley started, nearly dropping the blush brush in her hand. And as we both scrambled

to exit the bathroom, I caught a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Other than the overgrown mop of hair on my head, I looked changed. My complexion

was pale and even, my lips burning hot lava. Dark eyeliner pitted against cotton-candy pink eye shadow made me a stranger to my reflection. I was so startlingly feminine I almost gasped. Paired with the maid’s dress I was someone new entirely.

We raced down the stairs together, nearly tripping, and found Bronson waiting for us in the living room.

“Don’t you look like a pretty little bitch,” Bronson chuckled. “Nice job with the makeover, Shelley.”

“Glad you like it, baby,” she was like a completely different person in his presence. She played the part so well even I was almost fooled. Shelley crossed the room to him, wrapping her arms about his waist.

“I’ve got some bad news for you bitch boy,” Bronson’s eyes narrowed. “It looks like someone’s been going through my mail.”

My breath stopped when he said it.
“What? You think she didn’t see you?” Bronson said.
My eyes fell on Shelley, the hope draining from my soul.
“It’s easy to see right through the fence from the pool you built, baby,” she shrugged.

“What was I supposed to do? Lie?” This couldn’t be happening.

“You know you can go to jail for tampering with the mail, Maxy?” Bronson stepped closer. “Get a couple years in the can the way I hear it...but personally, I don’t think you’d last long in prison.”

“I...I...”

“You what, bitch boy?” he grabbed me by the open collar of the dress. “You gonna lie to my face now, too?”

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “Please I’m...”

“You’re in big fucking trouble you little fucking wimp. I ain’t no narc so I’m not calling the po. But you will be disciplined...right fucking now!”

Bronson pulled me over to the couch, struggling all the way. He sat and yanked me over the top of his thighs, laying me there across his lap like a stubborn child. Suddenly my dress was up over my waist, and my heavily made-up face was grimacing in pain as his giant hand thundered against my tender, pale ass cheeks.

WHACK!

“AH!” I screamed, struggling to get away but unable to overcome his strength.

WHACK!

“Bad sissy bitch!” he barked. “Bad little girl!”

WHACK! WHACK!
“AAAHHH FUCK!”
“Take your medicine like the bitch you is! Hold still!”
“NO! PLEASE!”
WHACK! WHACK! CRACK!
“AAAHHH!” The sound of it stung my ears; a constant, high ringing.
“You gonna be a good bitch from now on? Gonna do what your daddy tells you?” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“AAHHH YES! AH! I’M SORRY!”
CRACK!
“Louder bitch!”
“I’M SORRY DADDYYYYY!”
Somewhere around me Shelley was laughing, hearty and full. She’d lied to me. Set me

up. Filled me with hope just to take pleasure in watching it fall. Who was she these days, my buxom wife?
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“AAAHHHH FUCK! NO!”

“I like the way you squirm, fagget!” Bronson barked.

CRACK! “FUCK!”

SEPTEMBER

The rest of the summer passed by with too many spankings to count. Most days my ass was so welted and sore it was difficult to sit on the toilet seat. Every morning started with makeup now, applying it carefully, just the way Bronson liked with all the colors he liked it in.

By September I was their plaything bordering on punching bag.

“It’s time for our weekly Friday Night Fashion Show!” Shelley announced, giddy as could be. It was our third time performing her little idea, except that night she’d invited her girlfriends over. They were all out there in the living room, sitting on couches and love seats, fawning over Bronson while I got dressed in the next room over.

“Oh Bronson, you’ve got to show me your workout routine sometime,” Lena Myers cooed, and I could practically see her squeezing his firm bicep. “You’ve just got to be the most perfect specimen of a man I’ve seen in a long time...”

“You ain’t even seen the whole thing,” he chuckled back.

The girls erupted into giddy laughter, all six of them. Shelley, Lena, Stacy, Carol, Shereen, and Jessica. Their joy was like needles in my ear, and it made me absolutely terrified to think that in just a few moments I’d be walking out in front of them dressed as a woman.

I was huddled in my office, listening to them through the wall as I tried fitting into the newest dress Bronson and Shelley had picked out. It was hideous and bright and frilly, too short at the bottom and too wide at the chest...and worst of all, that night was the night I’d be premiering my newest accessories.

That pair of jiggling humiliation I’d begged and pleaded not to wear.

“What the hell is taking that sissy so damn long?” I heard Bronson’s bass through the wall. “Go get that little bitch and bring him out here, Shelley!”

“I’ll just be right back,” my wife said, “don’t you girls go trying to take my man while I’m gone!”

“No promises!”
Hahaha...
A moment later the office door opened and Shelley stepped in to find me straightening

my dress out in the mirror.
“Don’t you look cute,” she giggled. “Oh my, they are just going to love this! But where

are your tits, Maxine?”
“I don’t want to!” I protested for the twentieth time. “It’s too much, I can’t do this!” “Now honey we talked about this,” she crossed her arms, “it’s too late for all that. You’re

going to wear what we got you and you’ll do it with a smile...or else...”
“Or else what?” my voice cracked.
“You know what...I’ve been having to kiss and lick Bronson’s poor palm it’s been so

sore from busting your little behind! But he’ll spank you right here in front of everyone if you make him. And no one will stop him...least of all you...”

I sighed. Accepting my awful, damnable fate.

“And comb that hair back,” she looked annoyed. “We’ve still got to do something about it when the time is right...for tonight you just push that mop of yours back, OK?”

By the time I stepped out of my little dressing area the entire living room was in a riot. Bronson had the girls so worked up it was all cackling with intermittent moans of “Oh” and “ah.” I remember my heart beating out of my chest as I walked down the hall and took the corner into the living room. I so badly wanted to be anywhere else.

“Is that...Max?” Carol Summers was in disbelief.

“No it can’t be...”

I walked out into the middle of the room, standing there with my face going a blinding red.

“It’s... Max!”
“Maxine to be precise, girls,” Bronson chuckled. “Behold the little bitch!”
“No fucking way! Hahaha!”
Haaaahahahah!
It erupted all around me, their drunken, cruel guffaws. Mouths open and tongues lolling,

eyes full of tears and incredulity. HAHAHAHA!

The dress was purple, horrifyingly purple. Puffy from neck to hem, it ran in rivulets down the bust and sleeves. The neck was so tight that I was constantly aware of it on my person. It was itchy too. I wore a matching frilly beret on top of my head, and Shelley was able to find almost the exact shade of purple for my lipstick.

And filling out the chest, clinging like glue around my shoulders and upper back, were massive silicone falsies - size double D tits complete with hard little nipples that nearly tore through the purple fabric of the dress.

HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAH!
“Your husband is a sissy, Shelley!”
“You’re telling me! Why do you think he sleeps in the guest bedroom now?” “Hahaha! Oh my!”
“Nice titties, Maxine! You look so hot!”
“Stop it! Stop! I can’t catch my breath! This is too fucking good! HAHAHA!” HAHAHAH! HAHAHA!
“Give us a little twirl, Maxine,” Bronson commanded from the couch. He was sitting

wide legged, with four different girls clinging to his bare arms and chest. Lena stood behind him, massaging his shoulders.

I spun around on my sparkly heels, nearly tripping myself in the process.
“Look at his chubby little ass!”
“You look ready for a night on the town, bitch boy!”
“Aw! Is she blushing! Don’t be embarrassed, Maxine! We think you’re beautiful!” HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!

It was hard to breath in the tight costume, my chest constricted not only by the falsies but by the bust of the dress itself. I was itchy and sweaty under the beret and felt my breathing quickening.

“Sorry, Maxine! Bronson is already spoken for by the six of us,” Shelley laughed. “You’ll just have to wait for another night if you want a piece of him!”

Suddenly, Shereen popped up from where she sat on the couch and approached where I was standing. She ran her hands down my fake tits to the delight of her girlfriends, and then grabbed hold of the frilly hem of my purple dress.

“Let’s see what little Maxine is packing, shall we? Shaved, or a runway? Any guesses?” “Shaved!”
“Patch!”
“Runway!”

“Only one way to find out,” Shereen squeaked, lifting the dress before I had a chance to protest.

HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? HAHAHAH!”

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN PUTTING UP WITH THAT LITTLE THING, SHELLEY? HAHAHAHA!”

The laughter reached a deafening pitch, and I focused my eyes on the ceiling. They were pointing at my flaccid, terrified white penis. I was totally clean down there, baby balls and all.

“It even looks feminine!” one of the girls cried. “So tiny and cute! Little Maxine has an itty-bitty little dicky!”

HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!

“Alright, alright!” Bronson tried to calm them down. “Let’s see that other dress we picked out for you, bitch boy! Go change into the pink one! NOW!”

“The pink one?!”

HAHAHAH! HAHAHAHA!

Humiliate, I turned tail and receded back to the changing room. The night was far from over...and so was this nightmare, as I would soon learn.

OCTOBER

The nightgown was short and pink, with a doll collar along the chest that tied with a black bow in the center. It was lacey, a little frilly, and sleeveless. It’s what I wore to bed every night and there was just no arguing it. By mid-October I was getting used to the feel of it, falling asleep rather quickly instead of tossing and turning for an hour first.

I must have fallen asleep quicker than usual that night, the moans from across the hall absent for once. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on when Shelley shook me awake around 1 am.

“Put this on,” she handed me something furry in the dark, “and put your accessories on. Keep the nightgown. Meet me in the hall?”

“What?” I said sleepily, sitting up.
“Put this on,” Shelley left the room as quickly as she’d come.
I flicked the lamp on beside the bed and looked at the strange thing in my hands.
It was golden and soft, with a row of bangs down the front and two big ponytails coming

out either side. It was a big head of hair that probably weighed five pounds. I stared at it confused for several minutes, not fully understanding what she was asking of me.

In a daze, I slipped from my nightgown and fastened my double-D breasts to my chest. I admired the authenticity of the little pink nipples for a moment before putting the gown back on. Then came the wig, a little clumsy at first, but eventually I got it to sit on my head without any of my own hair showing beneath.

I touched up my makeup, added some pink lipstick (I might as well match).
I took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall.
“There you are,” Shelley had this devilish look on her face, some strange mix of

excitement and sadism. “I’ve got good news for you, baby. You get to come into the big room tonight and play.” We were standing in the dark of the hallway, but she looked stunning. Her big bottom lip was glistening, her green eyes piercing, her lush blond hair hung about her shoulders in soft waves. She wore this sexy little black slip, no more than a thin sheet covering her burgeoning body. Black, see-through lace clung skin-tight to her demanding breasts, as if it would pull apart at any moment.

She took me by the hand and led me into Bronson’s room.

He sat on the bed, on top of the sheets, only a pair of red boxer shorts keeping him modest. He leaned back against the headboard that kept me awake at night, and he was chatting on the phone with someone - who, I had no idea. Not yet.

“Hell yeah, dawg,” he laughed. “You know I stay lookin’ out for my boys. Can’t just leave yall up in there with nobody but that bitch Patricia to keep you company. This one I’m sending in gonna be primed and ready, you know what I’m sayin’?”

Bronson saw me enter and motioned the two of us over to the foot of the bed. Shelley stood there waiting, but she gently pushed me by the shoulders until I moved to my knees. I was now eye-level with the top of the mattress, staring straight between Bronson’s giant feet and through the pant leg of his boxers. I could see it sleeping there, massive and bloated.

“I got big plans for this one, dawg. It’s amazing what you can do when you out the can. Been using all my old tricks to get her ready, but by this time next year we gonna be at whole notha’ level. So enjoy this piece while you can, cus next time you see her she gon’ look different.”

Shelley adjusted my wig and we waited. My eyes struggled to look away from Bronson’s piece, and that old image of the dildo flashed in my mind.

“Look for her second week of November. Now let me let you go before the pigs catch you on the celly after lights out.”

Bronson got off the phone and looked down the bed.
“Mmhmm,” he nodded. “Coming right along. Now crawl your sissy ass up here.”
I looked up at Shelley, afraid. She nodded towards him.
I slinked up onto the bed and crawled hands and feet across the mattress, between his legs

the whole way. As my downturned face crossed over the crotch of his boxers, the top of my head ran into a stiff wall- Bronson’s palm.

“It’s time we get you in real sissy shape, fagget,” Bronson sounded extra hostile that night. “You’re gonna be going on a little field trip soon, and I need to know that you ain’t gonna be a disappointment. That little teeny tiny worm between yah legs is enough of a damn disappointment to yah wife, it’s time you start using what you got in the right way...but first, Imma’ have to show you!”

He pushed my face down into his clothed cock, rolling me against the shape of it. Its mass was hard to comprehend, in some ways it was as wide as my own face even though it was soft.

“Get nice and acquainted with it, bitch!” he shook my face around in his crotch roughly, and though I tried to pull my head back he just palmed it like a basketball. I could feel Shelley moving around behind me, rolling the bottom of my night gown up.

I could smell him through the fabric softener, could tell he’d showered not too long ago. The more he ran it across my face the less I fought, realizing how useless it all was. Bronson’s strength was incomprehensible to me.

“Now pull my fuckin’ shorts off and give it a kiss, sissy!”

Bronson’s boxers came down as my gown came up. I tried to hide myself from my wife by squeezing my legs together to keep it from dangling, but she pinched at my thighs until I spread them...revealing my awful secret.

“His little nub is hard as stone, baby!” Shelley giggled excitedly from behind. “I knew she was going to like this...”

“Just like I thought,” Bronson chuckled, “secret sissy, full on fagget!”

Bronson’s johnson lay across his six-pack, stretching well-beyond his belly button. The ridges of his mushroom tip were a lighter brown underneath, curving upwards robustly to his tip. His balls were fully revealed at that angle, the size of lemons in a black leather sack, they pooled against the mattress.

“Go on and give it a kiss, baby,” Shelley giggled, “you know you want to!” She flicked my little erection.

I leaned down, lips pursed, and pressed into the flesh of his cock.
“Mmhmm,” Bronson said, “love at first fucking site. Now let’s get to work!” Bronson cupped me under the chin and turned my face up to him. He took hold of his

heavy swinging snake and began whipping it across my cheeks like a bullwhip. I felt my lipstick smearing, my mascara flaking.

“Ah!” I cried out, feeling it all over my face. “Stop it, come on!”
“Good sissy, that’s very good. Keep telling me not to! We all know you don’t mean it!” “He definitely doesn’t mean it,” Shelley said from behind, her hands spreading my ass

cheeks. “He’s harder than I’ve seen in a long time!”
Then Bronson was cramming it in my mouth, filling my tongue with it, touching the

inside of both my cheeks. It was the first time I tasted cock, and suddenly all illusions I had

about my own masculinity seemed to be fleeing. All the sports and the gun classes and everything I’d done to convince myself suddenly seemed like petty jokes.

I was helpless in his presence.
“Suck it up, sissy! Show me what you got!”
My head began to bob up and down on his meat, and simultaneously I felt something

cool and wet against my crack. The sound of a bottle spitting something sticky against my asshole.

“Nom nom nom, bitch! That’s it!”

“GUK GUK GUK!” My throat was soaked instantly, and I couldn’t help but gag against the drill slamming into the back of my throat. “GUK GUK GUK!”

“Just like that sissy! Nice and loud and sloppy! It’s how the boys like it- and you best believe you gon’ make them like it! UGH!”

“GUK GUK GUK!”

He had one hand clenched on the back of my head, fucking my face with deep, blocking strokes. The other hand searched low, finding my tits, squeezing and playing with them.

Meanwhile, Shelley was spreading lube against my hole with something rubbery and thick. I tried to speak up, tried to protest and say I wasn’t ready for that yet, but speaking was beyond my abilities at that point.

“GUK! GUK! GUK!”

“Is her little boy pussy almost ready?” Bronson asked, staring down at me with vicious, lustful eyes.

“Just about...just needs a little...more...lube...there we go!” Shelley was giddy. “BLEH!” I gasped and slobbered as Bronson yanked it from my stuffed throat.
“Look at me, bitch!” he held me by the face, all dolled up and slick with spit, “yah wife is

gonna break you in...I’d do it myself but I promised the boys some virgin hole...”
I felt it huge and girthy at my ass, and the moment it touched my puckered hloe I knew

exactly what it was- my old friend the giant black dildo, rubber and ready to go. “No please,” I stared into his vast eyes, “it’s too big! Please we can’t!” “That’s what the lube is for, sissy!”
“It’s gonna hurt, I don’t think this is a good idea!”

“It’s definitely gonna hurt, fagget. Check him, Shelley!”
“He’s so hard he’s dribbling,” Shelley squeezed the thimble head of my pink prick,

feeling the sticky wet there.
Bronson began to smack me across the face with his glistening rod, the bottom of my

chin resting in his canvas-sized ballsack, and the head of his powerful, raging cock reaching well past my brow.

“Here...we...go!” Shelley squealed.
“OOOOHHH NO. OOOHHH NO. TOO BIG! TOO BIG, SHELLEY! PLEASE!” “Relaaax, Maxine” she whispered breathily, “you should be so lucky it’s me breaking you

in and not Bronson!” “OOOOHHHH FUCK...”

“That’s it bitch boy, squeal for me,” Bronson rubbed it across my parted lips, “nice and loud and high. Just the way them motherfuckers in the joint like...”

“OW OW OW OW!”

“Oh my! There goes the head!” Shelley’s words turned to moans, and the amount of enjoyment she was getting out of it all scared me a little.

“No biting!” Bronson shouted, burying my moaning face into ballsack, imploring me to lick and worship and feast on them.

I garbled against his smooth-shaven, impressively large testicles.
“Theeere we go,” Shelley sighed, “a little more for the sissy...fuck this is kind of hot...” “Give it to him harder, baby,” Bronson said, palming my blonde head and smothering me

in his balls. “Them boys at the penitentiary sure as fuck ain’t gonna go soft on his ass. Show him what’s up!”

“I hate to do this to you, Maxine,” Shelley’s voice trembled, “but better me than them, right?”

Suddenly, my wife possessed a strength that was previously unknown to me. Like fucking Popeye on spinach. In the blink of an eye my ass was stretched wall to wall, and my wife was plowing with the force of an ox.

“AEYAAAYYAAAAAAAAOOO!” I wailed, high-pitched into Bronson’s leathery sack.

“Good little fagget,” Shelley’s voice changed, “like it in your fucking ass don’t you? DON’T YOU!”

“WOOOAAHHHHHHHH!”

“Take that big black cock in your ass, Maxine! You know you fucking love it! You love it don’t you!” Her cruel, tiny hand came to my even tinier dick, reaching around and clenching it in her vice grip. She jerked me in time with her violent thrusts, all the while I spit and slobbered on Marcus’s manhood.

“The little bitch likes it!” She spat. “He fucking LOVES IT!”
“AAHHHHHAAHHH!”
And then I was spraying, shooting down into the bed top, cumming so hard my vision

went black. I could feel her moving in and out of me, destroying me, I could feel Bronson shoving his cock into my screaming throat...but it was more like I was watching it from above, out of body.

“GUK! GUK! GUK!” Bronson back in my throat and my orgasm hasn’t even subsided yet!

“Thaaat’s it, little sissy bitch, that’s right. Let it all out. You fucking love it!”

My soft white dick hung between my legs, useless and tickling back and forth as I got railed from behind.

Marcus’s black hose unleashed in my throat, filling my belly with his black seed. Laughing, he said, “I think this sissy is about ready to pack her bags. It’s time for a mothafuckin’ Conjugal!”

NOVEMBER

I was Maxine from the time I woke up in the morning till when I went to sleep at night. I was Maxine when I took a cab to the airport, and I was Maxine for the entire plane flight over to Colorado.

When I landed it was a long, lonely trip out to the mountains where the Correctional Facility was. I had to check in with Shelley and Bronson constantly to let them know I hadn’t chickened out, that I was on my there.

“You need to be a good girl and see it through!” my wife told me over the phone, “otherwise Bronson would be letting some good people down! Remember baby, the man you’re going to see has seen me naked lots of times! So, you’ll have some common ground!”

“Please,” I whispered into the phone, my voice girlish and high so that the cab driver wouldn’t suspect anything. “You can still call this off, Shelley! If you just tell Bronson it’s over and-“

“Would you stop? You know we’re way past that, right? Bronson isn’t going anywhere baby. And neither are you...as long as you see this through.”

“I’m just asking that you - “

“Look baby I got to go, Bronson and I are late for a party with some of his old friends...I’m sure you’ll be hearing from me soon,” she hung the phone up, giggling all the way. The cab driver dropped me off outside the gates of the Rock Mount Correctional Facility

that afternoon. I stared up at the giant looming fences, laced with barbwire along the tops and sides. Uneasiness crept into my gut, something like déjà vu or maybe just fear. This was the place Bronson had come from to take over my life.

“Well aren’t you just a pretty little thing,” he said, sitting inside the guard shack and speaking to me through a speaker in a window. A name badge identified him as Corrections Officer Marcus Brown. He was a black man with a thick neck and a short-cropped fade. He smiled when he talked.

“I’m here for visiting hours,” my voice was delicate and sing-songy, as close as I could get it to girlish. “For prisoner Tyrell Moore.”

“Ah. The Grim Reaper,” Marcus eyed me up and down, “he’s been expecting you, Maxine.”

I wore a white, sleeveless blouse tucked into a short, pink skirt. A matching pink bow, large and frilly, tied around my collar and sat on top of my bursting, huge falsies. I had sandals on with little fake diamonds bedazzling the straps. I carried a little white purse.

“Right this way, little lady,” Marcus grinned, opening the gate and leading me into the prison.

We came into a sterile, pale hallway lit by bright fluorescents. He led me into a room off to the right, four cement walls and an empty table in the center. He closed the door behind him and got real, real close to me.

“Gotta pat yah down first of course,” he said in a low voice, towering over me, “make sure you’re not sneaking anything into the prison.”

“Oh...OK,” I stuttered, nervous as hell.
“Turn around. Put your hands against the wall.”
I stepped gingerly to the far wall, my sandals clopping off the tile.
Marcus’s huge, strong hands came to my sides and immediately slid forward, filling his

hands with my breasts. “OH!” I gasped.

“Mmmm. Aren’t these nice? But these aren’t really yours, are they, sissy?”
Fuck. He knew!
“Let’s see what else you’re hiding under there,” he growled, hands roaming down,

coming to my thighs and then sliding straight up my little pink skirt. “What a surprise! A tiny little clit dick. What the hell you plannin’ on doin’ with this?”

“Nuh-nuh nothing, sir!”

“Of course not. Ain’t nothing you can do with that useless little thing. But what about your little sissy-hole? How’s that looking?” His rough hand came over to chubby ass, his middle finger sliding between the cheeks and pressing stubbornly at my sore hole.

“Ah!” I moaned, wincing.

“There it is! Nice and tight, too. Just how we like it here. Yeah, Grim is gonna have a real nice time with you. So am I. Now let’s get going!”

Soon enough I was stumbling after him, further down the hall and deeper into the prison. This awful feeling began to settle over me, like what if I never made it out? What if this was all some trick to get me in here so I’d have to stay, while Bronson and Shelley lived happily ever after. The idea consumed my mind, and my thoughts were deafening as Marcus brought me into a new hallway, lined with holding cells on the right and left.

“Right this way, Maxine,” Marcus laughed.

He took me to the end of the hall, no exit. On the right side was a metal door, a small rectangular window its only adornment. He held up three fingers to the security camera in the corner of the room, and a moment later a loud, metal chunking noise signaled the unlocking of the door.

CLUNK!

Marcus grabbed the handle and cracked the door open.
“He’s waiting for you,” Marcus winked, “I’ll join you two in a little bit.”
I looked up at the giant security guard, stomach in knots. This was my last chance. If I

made a run for it, they would have to let me go, let me out of the prison, let me walk free...or would they? It didn’t matter, because as the hysteria of my thoughts took over, I found myself walking forward into the holding cell.

The door locked behind me. A long, plain room with blue paint. A queen-sized bed along the backwall. No windows.

Standing there in front of the bed was the most hardened looking criminal I had ever laid eyes on. Immensely tall and lanky, his face marked by several tattoos. His eyes were two different colors, one brown the other blue. Unkempt, short dreadlocks dangled in his face. He wasn’t so much as smiling as he was snarling, gold teeth in his grill. His prison attire was grey, and his pants fit like sweats - concealing very little of his obvious namesake.

And yet despite all that, he was still handsome. His smile evil and kind all at once.
“You know what you here for, girl?” his raspy voice rattled as he walked towards me. “Um, yes,” I cleared my throat, keeping it feminine.
“You know what my name is?” he stopped in front of me, twirling a strand of my blonde

hair in his bony, inked fingers. He was much, much taller than I. “Um...yes...”

“Know why they call me that? The Grim Reaper...”
“Uh-uh,” I shook my head, eyes falling instinctively to the obstruction in his pants. “That’s aight’...cus I think yo’ little white ass bout to find out...lift up that skirt, sissy.” I did as he said, rolling the tight-pink skirt up and over my hairless, tiny manhood.

“Ha!” he laughed. “Even smaller than Bronson said...now, you keep that fucking skirt up till I say when. You understand, slut?”

“Yes...”
“You call me sir, sissy! You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” my voice trembled.
Grim pulled at his sweatpants until at last the monster was free. Obscenely long and

uncut, it was like a giant brown sandworm from a sci-fi movie. The caramel hood did little to hide the definition of the head below it, so strong and rigid that it seemed to be breathing. He took it by its hairy handle and began to swat at my little pink thimble with it.

I sucked wind, feeling the strength of his prick as he slapped mine around with it.

“Look at that little fuckin’ nub you got, bitch. No wonder yah wife sent you away...she probably fuckin’ Bronson as we speak...maybe we fuck ya’ll in tandem, what you think about that white girl?”

I was transfixed by the sight of his club bossing mine around, making a mockery of my size. Soon it was rigid, as long as it could get, unable to deny his power.

“Look at that shit, a little fagget through and through,” Grim chuckled. “Well you best get it wet bitch, cus you gon’ need the lubrication!”

I dropped to my knees, thankful to have a task but terrified of the near future, using two hands to get his unruly, swaying black dong into my mouth. His hands came immediately to the sides of my blonde head, controlling me, using me like a sleeve for his cock.

Somewhere in my mind I was holding out hope that it would just be the blowjob...that surely this criminal wasn’t going to penetrate me. I just needed to do a good job and then I could leave.

The door unlocked behind, I heard it but I was unable to move my head. Footsteps, laughter, getting closer...

“GAK GAK GAK!” it jammed as far down my throat as he could get it, but it bottomed out somewhere along the way, squelching drool from deep down in my gullet.

“Bronson trained this little sissy real good,” Grim grunted, slamming his hips forward towards my face. “Real fuckin’ good!”

“Looks like it,” Marcus’ voice from above. “But I’m gonna need that sissy tax right about now if you wanna keep this pretty little thing all the way till tomorrow afternoon.”

I heard the words but couldn’t register them fast enough. Grim pulled out of my throat, passing me off to Marcus, and in between I tried to speak, tried to protest - TOMORROW AFTERNOON? I’d thought a conjugal visit was no more than a few hours...were they really talking about keeping me the night?

“GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK!” Marcus slow stroked my face.

“Mmmm. Damn this white bitch give good head. I’ll try and make it short and sweet so you boys can get to your business!!”

You boys?

“Get that throat nice and warmed up for me, Officer Brown,” a stranger’s voice, deep and rumbling. “Ain’t no need to rush!”

“GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK!” drool spilled of my chin, soaking my white blouse straight through to the silicone tits beneath. Soon it was see-through, the falsies showing so real and tantalizing at they abused my throat.

“Mm. Mm. Mmmm,” Officer Marcus one-palmed my head, short, jagged strokes on his meaty, pulsating cock. “That’s it. Nice and deep, sissy. Real good. Now when I cum I need you to swallow every drop like a good girl. Can you do that for me?”

“GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK!”
“Good girl...here it comes...UUUGGGHHHH FUCK!”
An explosion of warm, salty thickness in my mouth, shooting down my throat, greasing

my throat.
“FUCK YEAH! EAT IT UP BITCH!”
I swallowed the best I could, but it spilled out the sides of my cheeks, dripping down in

white, goopy ropes. A wet hollow sound reverberated in my throat as Marcus never slowed, not relenting until he’d gotten every last drop out.

They gave me barely ten seconds to collect myself before Grim and the stranger were dragging me over the bed.

“You boys have fun,” Marcus called to us, zipping up his pants. “I’ll be sure to rally the others up when it’s their turn...and don’t forget - I get a tax for every two of yall that come in here!”

“You got it, Officer Marcus,” the stranger grumbled, tossing me onto the bed.

“This here my boy Darkness,” Grim said, directing me to my hands and knees along the bed top. “He gon’ use your pretty little mouf’ while I blast that sissy-pussy!”

I turned my head slightly towards the door on the other end of the room, watching the little rectangular window that looked out into the hallway beyond. There was a dark face there, one I didn’t recognize, a tear drop tattoo below the left eye.

“There a whole ass line out there for you, bitch boy,” Darkness said, pulling his thick, midnight-colored cock from his pants. “You got a long way to go today, so pace yahself!”

“Or don’t,” Grim laughed, rolling the skirt up over my ass. “We gon’ get ours regardless!”

“Please, I can’t! There’s too many of you!”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”
I moaned and tried to plead with Grim that he was just too long, too much to take up my

ass...but he didn’t care. Soon I was gargling on Darkness’ dick and being all too aware of my anal virginity being taken from me.

“Tight as fuck,” Grim said, pushing at my opening. “Just how I fuckin’ like it!” “Throat tight too, this little bitch ain’t never had one so thick!”
My first scream came out as a wet gag, drool spilling out of my mouth and soaking

Darkness’ pole as Grim pushed inside of me. It was a different feeling, it being an actual cock and not made of rubber. There was this quick heartbeat in it, slamming against the ridges of asshole, practically vibrating me as he went deep.

“UUUGGHHHH!” I managed into the cock blocking my throat.

“That’s it, white girl, make some fuckin’ noise on it!” Grim slapped my ass red, diving deep.

“UUUGGGHHHH!”

“Mmhmm, like that. Now I fuckin’ ride it! Say hello to the Grim Reaper, sissy bitch. I’m about to send this ass straight to the fuckin’ grave! UGH!”

“AAAAAHHHHH!”
“UGH! UGH! UGH! UGH! UGH!” “AAAHHHHH FFFFUUUUUGGGG!”

“UGH! UGH! UGH! UGH!”

Darkness stayed buried in my throat, loving the struggle of my breath and my squirming body as Grim did what he pleased from behind. Even in my pain and confusion I could feel myself close, already so close to spraying that little conjugal bed.

Grim took my wrists from behind, pulling my arms straight back and turning my upper body into a straight plank. He rode me like that, using me as leverage as he dug out my ass.

“She fuckin’ loves it!” Darkness laughed, finally starting to fuck my face again instead of just holding it deep.

“GAK GAK GAK GAK!”

“You know what Darkness?” Grim asked his cohort across my body. “I think I need to call that nigga’ Bronson up and thank him for this fine piece of sissy meat.”

“Yeah you do that. Thank that fine ass white girl, too. This used to be her husband after all. Haha!”

I didn’t know what they were talking about, how could Grim call Bronson? But then I remembered the phone call on that night last month, the first time Bronson brought me into his room. He’d been on the phone with someone, and at the time I didn’t have the slightest idea who it could be.

But it was Grim, of course. And now, from behind me, I could hear the faint, staticky sound of a cell phone ringing.

“You two ready for this?” Grim said, still plowing in and out of my ass like it was his job. He passed something to Darkness over my body, and a moment later I was face to face with a phone screen.

My wife and her black lover on video chat. Shelley’s face in the foreground, bent over, naked. Bronson in the background, tall over her ass, clearly fucking the shit out of her...and a line of black men I didn’t recognize stretching out behind him.

“Hi baby!” she yelled, a little breathless. “Looks like you’re having fun! Hahaha!”

Darkness’ johnson was sliding in and out of my throat, and you could clearly see Grim having his way with me from behind.

I tried to respond, but it was no use.

“Aren’t you a good little sissy?” she panted. “I knew you’d love it! It’s so nice to have the house to just me and Bronson for a few days...we invited some of his friends over, too. Hope you don’t mind!”

I grunted, moaned in pain, wondering if Grim would ever slow down.

“You just do whatever those nice inmates say and I’m sure they’ll let you out of there just fine! Hehehe!”

Bronson grunted behind her, that sly-shit eating grin across his face as he plowed. The same grin as that first night he sat my dinner table, eating my steaks. The men behind him looked eager.

“Well I don’t want to interrupt, sweetie! It looks like you’re busy...and so am I. Talk soon, gotta go!”

“Bye, fagget!” Bronson yelled from the back.
“Bye lil’ bitch!” the man behind his guffawed.
And then they were gone, and I was alone with Grim and Darkness again.
In and out of me, their pieces swinging like a Newton’s Pendulum made of flesh and

man. They took their time, relishing it, loving my struggle. Eventually my inferior dick made a mess on the coverlet, and sometime later they were making a mess on me. All over me.

“Cover that bitch in it!”
“Take all that fuckin’ cum, sissy!”
“UUUGGGHHH!”
My face dripped; my blouse ruined. My aching asshole throbbing as they finished with

me, tossing me onto the bed like a sack of potatoes.
I turned and watched the two of them get dressed, and then watched as they walked to the

door at the far end of the room. They knocked twice and it opened; I wouldn’t see Grim and Darkness again until the next morning.

“I’m Fat D,” said the new black giant stepping into the room.
“And I’m Busta’ Nut,” said his twin brother following in behind.
“And we here to wreck that sissy ass!”
They lumbered forward and fell on me like ravenous dogs. By nightfall there would be

nothing left.

DECEMBER

On Christmas morning I came downstairs dressed in a little pink nighty, two pieces frilly and soft. I wasn’t allowed to wear panties, and my little dicklet was poking out in plain sight.

I sat on the floor and doled out gifts to Bronson and Shelley, who sat side by side on the couch together. They both wore bath robes; Shelley’s white and open at the top, showing the curve of her luscious cleavage. Bronson’s was black and opened at the waist, his massive snake coiled up on the couch cushion.

I picked up a box marked:

To Maxine
From B and S
I opened it in silence, listening to them laugh behind me. When I pulled away the

wrapping paper and opened the top of the box, the first thing I saw was a bright, shocking red. Hair. A wig.

“Do you like it baby?” Shelley asked hopefully. “There’s more! Keep digging!”

I sat there in my pink nighty, removing wig after wig from the box. Ginger, blonde, brunette, short, long...purple, pink, black and blue. Too many to count.

“I’m not sure if all these will fit,” I said, a little confused. “My hair might be too long now to get some of these on.”

“Keep digging, sweety!”

I could feel Bronson’s eyes on me, taking it all in as I sat his feet, taking what he gave me. The fight had been knocked out of me out in Colorado, and I sat there a shell of my former self.

I removed the last wig, a curly pink nightmare that looked like something an e-girl might wear.

There at the bottom of the box was a pair of shears, and an electric razor.
I turned to them.
“No,” I said, head shaking. “No we can’t. We just can’t!”
“What’s the matter, baby?” Shelley’s eyebrows raised. “Don’t wanna wear the wig for

your black daddy?”
“My hair...it’s all I have left. Please, don’t take it!”
“There’s always more we can take,” Bronson eyed me in my little pink nighty. “Or

add...”
“This is crazy! No way! Not my hair, please I can’t be bald!”
“You won’t be bald, silly!” Shelley reassured me from the couch. “You’ll be able to have

any kind of hair you want! We can change wigs so quickly, baby!” “But I want my hair!”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Bronson boomed, standing up, offering no argument in his tone. “Get your ass up to the bathroom. Now, bitch!”

I ran, for the first time that year I actually took off running. I don’t know why it took me so long...maybe because I knew it was futile?. That the effort would only be half-serious, and that any struggle, like so many of my other struggles, would just be in vain. But I had to try...at least one last time before it was all over.

Bronson caught up to me in the front yard and dragged me back into the house, up the stairs and into the bathroom. With my wife and her lover to either side of me, I watched my curly brown locks fall away from my face in droves. Soon, the bathroom floor was covered in them.

The hum of the razor like a bell tolling at midnight. The last of my hair falling away.

“I’ll pick out your first one, Maxine...here we go! I love this one!”

I stared in the mirror as she adjusted the long brunette wig on top of my newly shaven, bald head. Though I hate to admit it, it seemed to be the perfect piece missing all along. Now, even I could no longer recognize the man it sat atop of.

Shelley squeezed my shoulders.
Bronson crossed his arms over his massive chest, nodding approval.
“You look so pretty, Maxine,” she giggled in my ear. “And just think, you’ll have a

chance to wear all of these for Bronson at some point or another. Maybe one for each month!” “Each month?” my voice cracked. “But there’s like ten of them in there.”
“Twelve to be exact,” Bronson chuckled. “What? Did you think I was leaving anytime

soon? Ha!” He stepped beside me and placed his huge hand on the back of my neck, tightening his grip.

“I’m not going anywhere, Maxine. As a matter of fact, I think we’re just getting started.” TO BE CONTINUED...