{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"f6e3bd03-0819-4da3-9465-14b57010d8df","seriesId":"798edf89-997e-4a84-952e-104424322232","seriesName":"A Long & Kinky Road","currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2023-07-16T21:08:11.605Z","title":"Hey Nineteen! (Part 2)","slug":"hey-nineteen-part-2","shortId":"GvQfQn0J","authorNote":"Absolutely autobiographical. Only the names have been changed","disclaimer":"No reproduction without permission","type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"My nineteenth birthday party hosted by three mistresses. The first party game, cake & ice cream humiliation","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"4283fe5e-f10e-48c3-b40e-b78e2bd30f1c","title":null,"summary":"Hey, Nineteen! (Part 2) Vibrations of footsteps through the floor. Someone was coming!&nb","wordCount":3131,"readTime":16,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

Hey, Nineteen! (Part 2)

Vibrations of footsteps through the floor. Someone was coming! Vibrations from the rattle of the skeleton key door handle. A rush of air-conditioned wind chilled the sweat from my body as the door finally opened.

I had absolutely no idea who took hold of my leash. I knew not to speak in pet mode. My leash holder didn’t speak, either. Responding to a sharp tug on the leash, I took up the “heel” position on the left side. Rubbing my shoulder I could feel a bare leg. Rubbing my head up and down that well-shaved leg, I recognized high heel straps.

Another tug on the leash, this time slightly forward. I knew Ms. Margie’s home pretty well. I knew my way around the kitchen. Me on all fours, we took a few steps forward toward the left. I knew this was the direction of the hallway that led to the large family room/game room I’d been in many times before.

As I crawled the 20 feet or so down that hall, I started to see vague light through my blindfold. Not shapes, just light. The headphones muffled the sound of celebratory laughter. Again, I wondered who and how many. But dogs do not speak.

We came to a stop. When we stopped, I immediately shifted from ‘heel’ to ‘sit’. A hand took mine. Well manicured nails. Definitely a woman. She placed my hand on a heavy coffee table, tapped and pulled me toward it. I recognized the expectation and felt my way onto the heavy table. I took up an American Kennel Club inspection position.

I could hear muffled sounds of delight: laughter, mostly, but also conversation that I presumed were comments and suggestions.

A few moments later, wet fingers in my mouth and downward pressure on my head pointed me to my water bowl. I lapped up as much as I could. Someone wiped my mouth dry, then took a washcloth and wiped down my body. Another used a smooth bath brush as if grooming me for the judges.

Something running down my ass crack. Baby oil. I flinched as I felt pressure against my sphincter. Someone was putting something up my ass! My right earphone was pulled away long enough for Ms Margie to say, “A good doggie needs a nice tail!” The roar of laughter was revealing. A LOT of women were watching, and a few men too. As to WHO they were… utterly clueless. The

headphones returned any sounds to muffles. The manicured hand pushed between my shoulder. I dropped my arms to my elbow, arching my ass into the air. A rubber dog bone was placed in my mouth. I bit down on the bone as I whimpered loudly when pressure changed to sharp pain as the butt plug was twisted and forced into my ass. Despite the brief discomfort that caused my heart to jump, it was quick and the plug wasn’t terribly large. The pain subsided quickly. My squeal became a moan as I slobbered around the bone but held it tightly in my jaw. The woman’s hand took my right hand, and pulled it towards my backside in order that I could feel my new tail. Then she returned me to my AKC inspection position. This time, she connected my wrist and ankle cuffs to the table.

My headphones were removed, but my blindfold remained. I felt sharp pain on each earlobe as office clips replaced the headphones with cloth dog ears.

I immediately recognized Ms Margie’s voice as she addressed her guests. “Any lady who wants to participate in our version of Five Card Stud, draw a card from the deck. Order of participation is decided in high to low order, with an Ace being a high card.”

My heart raced as I listened carefully for voices I recognized. I heard several, including Donna and Lisa from the store.

“Alright ladies, cards in.” Ms Sally made note of which lady had which card, placing the information into blocks on a game poster board they’d made.

“Tonight’s stud is an Irish PussyHound named Mikey. As you can see, he’s got good leash manners. He’s housebroken and attentive. When Mikey came to us, he had temperament issues. He was defiant and callously broke girls’ hearts. We invited some of you here tonight because you were someone whose heart he broke or feelings he stepped on. He has demonstrated a propensity for being able to deliver multiple loads in very quick succession with very short recovery times. As you can see, his proportions are on the smaller end of average. But no matter. He makes up for it in enthusiasm and makes excellent use of his tongue. I’m particularly proud of this PussyHound’s tantric ability. He’s very good at delaying his own gratification. It might amuse you to know that while we’ve been training and teasing him relentlessly for the last few weeks, he has been denied any sexual release. This good boy cums only with permission, and never unsupervised!”

I felt a hand firmly grasp and gently squeeze my balls. Ms. Margie’s manipulation combined with buttplug and the sounds of her guests’ merriment caused my shaft to flex as it stretched. Margie cackled with delight as she noted a dribble of pre-cum drool ooze from the tip! “Oh yea, he’s ready to bust. He’s so full he’s leaking!”

“He knows the rules!” Ms Sally called out.

Ms Margie removed the bone from my mouth. “Show them that tongue I told them about.”

I dutifully obeyed her instructions. She turned my head to face her audience, then wiped her pre-cum covered hand across my tongue, before putting the rubber bone back in place.

The cacophony of the voyeurs’ derision delighted my mistresses. Now I could hear it all, but even facing them I still could make out only the faintest of shadows.

Ms Sally called out, “Has everyone placed their bets for tonight’s two 50-50 contests? Remember, the more squares you cover the better your chance to win. You take home half and the other half goes to the birthday stud.”

My mind whirled for a moment. Bets? What were they betting on? Before my mind could wander far, my answer followed quickly.

Ms Margie explained, “Our first contest is called, ‘Time to Target’. How long will it take our Irish PussyHound to blow his first load from those frustrated leaking blue balls of his? The lady who guess is closest without going over not only wins the prize, but also gets to be first participant in our second drawing.”

Inside my darkened head, the excitement of objectification and humiliation were overwhelming. I was at once embarrassed and yet somehow not ashamed at all. I was excited to prove to my mistresses that I could make them proud, even if it took eliminating any vestiges of my own pride to get there! So what if girls from work or from the neighborhood knew I was a kinky, horn-dog? I was nothing more than a pet to amuse the mistresses’ guests by obediently performing whatever tricks they commanded. And I was completely fine with that!

“Does anyone still need a card?” Ms Sally asked. “We will randomly select from a matching deck. Whoever has that card will have one minute to excite the stud to orgasm. As you saw, he’s swollen and full. This game probably won’t take long. It’s important to aim his cock directly at the target.”

Another outburst of amusement erupted as the ‘target’ was placed on the table beneath me. When Ms Margie announced, “We don’t want any of that handmade icing going to waste!” I realized that the target must be my birthday cake!

“The drumroll, please…” Ms Margie jested as the voyeurs began tapping the furniture until Ms Sally declared, “5♦️! Who has the five of diamonds?”

A loud shriek came from a far corner of the room. I tried to recognize the voice celebrating her win. I couldn’t be certain but it sounded like Donna from work. So hers was the face I imagined as she approached the table with great excitement.

“Timers ready?” Ms Margie queried as I heard the squirt of a bottle behind me.

“Ready!” Ms Sally responded.

Tugging slightly on my collar, Ms Margie leaned over me and whispered into my ear. “I made a side bet, and I’m counting on you. So If you last at least five minutes, I promise I’ll give you anal sex for your birthday. Don’t let me down.” She kissed my temple and said, “Ready…set…go!”

I didn’t really have time to process what Ms Margie said before I felt maybe-Donna’s oil-slicked hands caress my balls and slide along my shaft. Secure in position as I was, there was little I could do. I had to concentrate on anything but the hands trying frantically to manipulate me to a quick resolution.

“15 seconds” called out Ms Sally. The distraction helped.

I thought about the oil change I needed to do on my motorcycle. Success.

“Time!” Called out Ms Sally. I sighed deep relief as I regained my mental composure as much as was possible in the circumstances. I had a few moments while they regrouped.

Ms Margie whispered in my ear, “Good boy!”

Ms Sally announced the next card. “9❤️. Nine of hearts you’re up!”

Brief excitement followed as my next milker took her position. With her hosts’ permission , 9❤️ removed the kitty collar. I didn’t recognize her voice at all. Her accent screamed Chicago. Definitely a little older. Maybe a friend of Ms Patricia?

“One minute. Ready, set, go!” Ms Margie instructed.

This woman really knew her handjobs! She quickly settled established a rhythm that was agony to ignore! I was torn between priorities. Letting go would have been so gratifying, but it would have meant disappointing Ms Margie and missing out on my reward! Focusing on my reward almost blew it!

“15 seconds” Ms Sally announced.

Deep breath. Back into my head! I shifted my mind quickly to store inventory and work tasks.

“Time!” 9❤️ groaned in disappointment. I heard what sounded like the peeled off of rubber gloves as she walked away from the table.

Ms Sally must have noticed that I was using the time between drawings and prep to regather my composure. “Next card is the Q♣️. Queen of clubs.” While Q♣️ was celebrating, any attempt to discern her voice was lost when Ms Sally announced, “J♠️. Jack of Spades, you’re on deck.”

Oh crap, I thought. There goes my recovery time! The past minutes had been mind-bending with a break. It seemed unlikely I’d last the five minutes Ms Margie wanted. I hated the idea of disappointing her.

As if she’d read my mind, Ms Margie tugged my collar, whispered, “You can do this. I know you can. To delay gratification is to conquer.” She gently bit my earlobe and backed away as Q♣️ took position.

Q♣️ was pretty much the opposite of 9❤️. She was obviously inexperienced, maybe even embarrassed as she unceremoniously yanked on my manhood without a clue. Not sure what she thought she was doing, but her ineptitude certainly made my challenge quite a bit easier!”

“Time!” Called out Ms Sally, “J♠️, you’re up!”

The lack of recovery time didn’t quite seem so urgent, given Q♣️ awkwardness, I mused. But I didn’t have much opportunity to relish in that thought. Ms Sally wanted to move the game along.

“The next three participants will be… 4❤️, 6♣️, & K♦️. Four of hearts, Six of spades, King of diamonds, please take your positions in the line-up. J♠️ in the box, 4❤️ on deck, 6♣️ then K♦️batting cleanup!”

“I won’t be cleaning up a damned thing!” K♦️ laughed, “He will!” Belly laughs all around as attention returned to my midsection and the torment thereof.

I wondered how much time had actually elapsed. Oh, crap! I’d lost track! Were they counting the cooling-off time between milkers? Or only the time those milkers were actually stroking? The mouthful of rubber dog bone reminded me that asking wasn’t an option. Let’s see…

5♦️was first, then 9❤️, followed by Q♣️. Three! There had been three! So, I just had to endure two more minutes to get my prize from Ms Margie.

J♠️ had grown anxious waiting her turn. “Just start the damned clock”, she grumbled. “We’ve got a birthday cake to ice!” She squirted baby oil directly onto my penis. As soon as she took hold of the family jewels, I knew something was different. Her grip was firm, but soft. Focusing on the groin sensations was counterproductive to my desire to delay gratification. But I couldn’t help it. I had to figure this out. It’s a glove. No, not a glove, exactly. It’s a dog washing mitten! The oily but fuzzy softness as she rubbed only the bulb was gloriously excruciating! Again, had I had the mistress’ permission, I’d have offered no resistance. All the mental tricks failed me. Weekly planner schedule? Zero. Household chores? Zilch. Upcoming doctor’s appointments? Nada!

“15 seconds” declared Ms Sally.

“That’s plenty of time!” pronounced J♠️, as she began to aim my cock downward at the target! She laughed derisively as her left hand began manipulating the buttplug holding in my dog tail. As she pushed it towards my prostate, I lost control. I couldn’t stop squirting wave after wave of pent-up fluid stored for weeks in my swollen balls!

The voyeurs roared at my surrender! There was a lot of celebrating and cross-talk as Ms Sally announced, “Total time elapsed is 3 minutes, 51 seconds.”

“I won!” Shrieked a joyful voyeur! “I won!” The sound of congratulatory high fives followed. I lacked the energy to even try to discern her voice.

Still blindfolded, I had held the rubber bone firmly in my mouth. I’d made animalistic noises, to be certain. But I had not uttered a single human word!

Ms Margie moved in to reassure me. “You did great, boy. You really did. I promise, you’ll still get anal from me tonight. Happy birthday, baby.” She kissed by cheek.

Despite the blindfold - or maybe because of it - my head was spinning. Ms Margie must have noticed my wobble, as she tapped my elbows and signaled me to rest on my forearms. My elbows bumped the cake plate back toward my knees a little, reminding me what would likely happen next.

Ms Margie & Ms Sally gathered everyone’s attention. I felt the cake plate move off the table. Voyeuristic squeals of delight as they showed off the birthday cake now covered with the fruits of my pent-up frustration!

Ms Sally lit a candle, and led the guests in the happy birthday song. To this day, over four decades later, I can’t wrap my brain around the emotions of that moment. Center of attention and yet object of bemusement. Proud of my ability to be humiliated. Psychosexually speaking, I’m a mess. But I was a mess long before tonight!

As the happy birthday song wrapped up, one of the mistresses pulled the bone from my mouth. She led my mouth to my water bowl, then after a few drinks she pulled it away, and replaced it with cake plate.

Again, I heard the unmistakable whirring of Polaroid instant cameras!

“Eat it!” taunted the voyeuristic party guests, delighting in my obedience, submission, degradation & humiliation. “Lick up that icing, horn dog! How many times have you left some bitch with a mouthful? Swallow it all, whore boy! Every last bite!”

The mistresses pulled my collar down toward the plate. Circling the cake with my nose, I was glad it wasn’t very big. But it was covered in an awful lot of cum! As the mistresses encouraged me, I swallowed my pride as I swallowed the pieces they hand-fed me.

“Clean plate club!” a guest teased. The mistresses made me lick the plate clean.

“Can’t have birthday cake without ice cream.” declared Ms Margie,”Where’s his ice cream?”

“Right here!”came a reply from a distance. I heard the wheels of an office chair rolling across the tiled floor, headed closer. Someone was seated in the chair. I was still restrained to the table. The seated person lifted her legs onto my table, between my arms. High heels ran down my arms, then vinyl go-go boots brushed my forearms as the mistresses maneuvered their guest into place.

Would Ms Patricia be the one to feed me my ice cream? I hadn’t heard her voice all night. I was pretty sure I’d recognized her daughter’s voice among the revelers. Surely, she wouldn’t have skipped such an important event.

Any further mental wandering fell by the wayside as the mistresses briefly raised my blindfold so I could see what lay before me. To further insure the anonymity of their guests, they stood to either side, blocking any peripheral vision with party platter trays. I couldn’t look up or to either side, only down through the thin slit they’d given me. The mystery guest’s off-white vinyl miniskirt was unzipped. She wore garter & stockings, but no panties. Her pussy was right in front of me, but just out of reach. Her bush was trimmed similarly to mine: neat, short, but not bald. No hairs long enough to curl. She held a paper bowl of ice cream in her lap. She flipped over onto her swollen mound and adjusted herself in the seat.

My mistresses replaced my blindfold. “You know what to do.” They then stepped away from the sides so that spectators had a full view. One guided my leash, as the other maneuvered the office chair.

The mystery guest finally spoke. “I’m glad I won. My husband is a Dom. He won’t eat my slave pussy. Your Mistresses tell me you’ve got skills. Let’s see what you’ve got.” No mistaking that voice. It was Ms J♠️ who had one the contest with a well-timed tug on my plug!

I licked ice cream and labia for all I was worth. I was young and strong and horny as hell! Ms J♠️ got off on talking dirty to me, and I followed every instruction. There may have been some voyeurs watching in. Maybe most of the crowd was eating cake & ice cream of their own. Didn’t know, didn’t care. Just focused on the instructions of my mistresses and their special guest. It really didn’t take very long before her juices were dripping down my face. I had been well-taught.

“Good boy!” said Ms Margie. “Yes, very good boy, Mikey”, Ms Sally concurred. Even Ms J♠️ weighed in, although her accolades were more for my trainers than for me.

As I took a beat to bask in the afterglow of my success, I felt a familiar twinge in my groin. “Ma’am, I need to pee.”

Any hope of a stretch break evaporated as a mistress placed my water bowl under my penis. “Go ahead. Pee.”

Birthday Contest #1 was completed.

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