Chapter Seven: In Their Bed
Four o’clock came. I was already dressed exactly as ordered.
The black panties were tight, the soft fabric stretched obscenely over my hard cock, the front already dark with precum. The lace bra sat strangely against my chest, the cups empty and ridiculous. The sheer hold-up stockings clung to my thighs. The collar was locked around my neck again, the metal ring resting against my throat every time I swallowed. I had made a fresh pot of tea and cut a plate of sandwiches, arranging everything neatly on the living-room table like a good little hostess in my own parents’ house.
The knock came right on time.
I opened the front door. Master stood there first. Beside him was Richard—my father’s friend—wearing the same easy smile he used at every family barbecue and Christmas drink. Behind them was the third man.
Richard spoke first, voice warm and familiar, as if he had just popped round for a cuppa.
“Hello, son. How’s your dad?”
The word son in that voice, while I stood there in panties, bra, stockings and collar, made my face burn so hot I felt dizzy. I couldn’t answer. I simply stepped aside and let them in.
I led them into the living room and poured the tea with shaking hands. Master looked around slowly, taking in the family photographs on the walls, the ordinary furniture, the life I still lived under this roof.
“This is such a nice home,” he said. “You need to give us a tour. I understand Richard is a friend of your father.”
“Yes, Sir,” I managed. “He is.”
Richard took a sip of his tea and smiled over the rim of the mug. “Your father would be so proud of what you’ve become.”
The shame was physical. It sat in my stomach like a stone. At the same time my cock twitched hard inside the tight panties, leaking another wet spot.
They finished their tea without hurry. Then Master stood.
“Show us your parents’ bedroom.”
I led them upstairs in silence. The door to Mum and Dad’s room was half-open. The big king-sized bed dominated the space, neatly made with the same floral duvet cover I had seen a thousand times. Family photographs sat on the chest of drawers. Mum’s perfume still lingered faintly on the air. Their wedding photo watched from the wall.
“Lie down on your back, slut. In the middle of the bed.”
I climbed onto the mattress. The sheets still smelled faintly of my mother’s washing powder. Richard and the third man produced thick leather cuffs. They stretched my arms above my head and locked each wrist tightly to the wooden headboard so I was spread and helpless. The collar sat heavy against my throat. The sissy clothes suddenly felt even more obscene against the ordinary married bed.
Master stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at me for a long moment.
“We are going to use you properly in here,” he said. “And you are going to remember it every time you walk past this door.”
Richard was first. He climbed onto the bed, straddled my chest, and pulled his cock out. He slapped it across my face several times, leaving sticky trails on my cheeks and lips, before pushing it into my mouth.
“Open wider, son. That’s it. Take your dad’s mate’s cock like a good little girl.”
He gripped my hair and fucked my throat with slow, deep strokes, forcing me to gag around him until spit ran down my chin and onto the pillows my mother slept on every night. The third man yanked the crotch of the panties roughly to one side, spat once onto my hole, and shoved two thick fingers in hard. I jerked against the cuffs. He worked them roughly, then replaced them with his cock in one long, punishing thrust that forced a broken, wet sound out of me around Richard’s shaft.
They used me without any pretence of kindness.
Richard kept talking in that same friendly voice he used when he stood in our kitchen with my dad.
“That’s it… good boy… these pillows are going to smell of your throat by the time we’re finished. Your mum’ll put her head down tonight and never know why it smells different.”
The third man fucked my ass in deep, relentless strokes, the wet slap of skin loud in the quiet bedroom. Every thrust drove me further up the bed until the cuffs bit into my wrists. My cock strained against the soaked black panties, leaking steadily onto the duvet my parents shared.
Master moved closer. He reached down, pinched both cups of the empty bra, and twisted hard enough to make me whimper around the cock in my mouth.
“Look at yourself,” he said quietly. “Dressed like a proper little whore in your mum and dad’s bed. Getting face-fucked by your father’s friend while another man breeds your hole. You’re going to think about this every time you change these sheets for them.”
They swapped places without pulling out of me for long. Richard shifted down the bed and pushed straight into my already-stretched hole, burying himself to the hilt with a satisfied grunt. The third man took my mouth instead, holding my head still while he used my throat. Master unzipped and stroked himself slowly, occasionally leaning in to spit on my face or slap my cheek whenever I made too much noise.
Richard’s voice stayed conversational even as he slammed into me, the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of my hole filthy and constant.
“Your dad sat right where you are last Christmas Day, telling me about the new car. Now look at his boy. Legs open, stockings on, taking cock in the same bed. Proper little sissy for the men who know exactly what you are.”
The humiliation was total and deliberate. I could smell Mum’s perfume on the sheets. I could see their wedding photograph on the wall. And I was cuffed spread-eagled, dressed in her-style lingerie, being face-fucked and arse-fucked by the men who already owned every degrading picture and video of me.
They kept me there for a long time, swapping holes, making me clean their cocks with my mouth after they had been inside me, forcing me to thank them between thrusts whenever Master ordered it.
When Richard finally came, he buried himself deep and filled my hole, grinding against me until every drop was pushed inside. He stayed there for a moment, then pulled out slowly so I could feel it leak.
“Look at that,” he said, almost fondly. “Your dad’s bed, full of his mate’s cum.”
The third man pulled out of my mouth and painted my face and the lace bra with thick ropes of cum, deliberately aiming for the empty cups and my open lips. Master stepped closer last, stroked himself a few more times while looking me in the eye, and added his own load across my tongue and chin.
They left me cuffed and dripping while they caught their breath.
Richard wiped his cock casually on the corner of the floral duvet, then patted my cheek almost affectionately.
“Your father would be so proud,” he said again, smiling the same smile he used at family parties.
Master unlocked one cuff, then the other. My arms dropped, aching and marked.
“Clean yourself up just enough to make another pot of tea,” he ordered. “Then get back on this bed exactly as you are. We’re not finished with you. And when we leave, you will clean every single trace of us out of this room. Sheets, pillows, floor—everything. Your parents will never know what their good boy did in their bed… unless we decide they should.”
I lay there for a long moment, wrists red, face and chest covered, hole leaking onto the sheets my mother slept on, the taste of three men thick in my mouth, the collar still locked tight around my throat, and the black panties still pulled to one side.
In my parents’ bed. |
