Peter Goes Gay Sub for Daddy Ch. 05

Part 5 Making New Friends

I squirmed in my seat the whole cab ride home from my first time whoring for Daddy. My ass sore from all the fucking and aroused from the memory of it. I had been fucked by two cocks at once for the first (and I hoped not the last) time, and Fred's fat cock had stretched me further than anyone before. In the cab I had the first moments to myself to reflect on my circumstances, since the night before, when I entered the Johnstons' home.

I remembered, as if it had been ages: my ex-wife, Marsha, personal trainer, Carlos, and Daddy together, while I was serving as a whore to Will and Herb. The image on Herb's phone of the three of them derisively laughing at my situation kept going around in my head. I could see how it logically might have happened, but was it just a coincidence, was there something else? I was too exhausted to think it through, and nodded off throughout the ride. Then, something happened that completely put it out of my mind for a while.

As my taxi pulled down our street, I saw Noah walking arm-in-arm with a woman that must have been the most beautiful I've ever seen. She had black wavy hair down below her shoulders in a wild natural style. Her dark features made her look mysterious and her high cheekbones made her look aristocratic. She was thin, but somehow curvy and walked with an assertive gait that made her body sway in an alluring manner. They walked by, about halfway up the block from our building, as the cab drove past them.

I got to my apartment in a seething rage of jealousy. I knew! Of course... I knew! he had other subs. Though, that wasn't quite what distressed me, I thought. I wasn't truly jealous of him; I was jealous of her. All my interactions with Noah were in private, in the gym, at his apartment. He had never been seen with me except by my ex, and I doubted he would walk down the street like a peacock, as he did with this goddess.

She was gorgeous, and she knew it, and he walked with her like the king of the world, puffed out with pride for her. Whatever pride he had in me would be about how deeply he could defile, demean, and humiliate me, and my gratitude for it.

But hadn't I agreed to it? I do enjoy it, more than probably walking down street as in a Victorian novel. My rage might also have been caused by exhaustion from the weekend exertions. I took an ibuprofen and a sleeping pill and went to bed. The next morning, I awoke to a text from Daddy, "Will and Herb were very satisfied. Proud of you! Such a good little faggot whore, for me."

I glowed with pride from this praise, before I remembered my jealousy. I decided to wait before I replied. I took a nice hot bath with Epsom salts to relieve some of my aches and pains and took it easy the rest of the day, alternating between naps and tv. Somewhere in there I replied thanking Daddy for his praise.

The next few days I heard nothing from him. Wednesday, I texted Marsha to see if she would have lunch with me. I was eager to ask her questions, but it turned out she had left for Davos, Switzerland Monday morning. I asked if she'd had fun on Saturday night.

"Oh, yeah, tons! I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Kinda busy here [wink emoji]."

Fuck! I'd have to wait to quiz Carlos on what it was all about. Turns out, though Carlos is a loyal Noah subject, he can be easily won over with flattery and guided to reveal things he ought not to. Especially through titillation and fawning.

"Oh, fuck, Carlos, how could you look even sexier?" I kissed him hello sensuously, as he walked in wearing his usual tight cycling gear. He smiled and blushed a little.

"How was your weekend?"

"Oh, y'know, got into your wife a little bit, yeah!"

"Uhm, EX-wife, honey. How was that? I bet you fucked her good with that sweet fuckin' cock of yours? I'm so jealous!" I said, mock flirting.

"Yea' EX, I keep forgetting. You know I did! You willing to get a beating to get you some, he pulled down the front of his tight shorts and showed it to me. I reached out and felt it. It looked so tasty, but though I would have braved the punishment, I didn't want the guilt.

"I bet you'd like that; you wanna watch him beat me again for letting you fuck me too?" Then I licked my lips and pulled his shorts back up.

"How was your weekend whoring? Slut!"

"Oh, fuck! Carlos. It was unbelievable. I was cumming almost the whole time."

We began to stretch out for our session. Carlos was still trying to tempt me, but I had gotten so much cock over the weekend and had just cum with my dildo before the session. I would have enjoyed fucking him, but I could resist him more easily, though I continued to tease.

"Hey, Carlos, you know who that gorgeous woman Noah was with Sunday afternoon?"

"Uhm..., I don't know..."

"Dark hair long, tall, hot body... have you met her?"

"Uhm, yea yeah... that's Ahn... she's ah... erm... I don't think I'm supposed to tell you, little Petey."

"C'mon. Carlos, you owe me for faking me out so bad and causing me so much pain."

I pouted and reached out from stretch to fondle his luscious package.

"Yeah... well... she's uhm... Noah's girl, but not exactly a girl; she's trans, but not a sissy like you. She is sooo fuckin' hot, no? Jealous?"

"Yes..., no, not really. I knew it was something like that..." I tried to keep a flirtatious tone, but my voice cracked a little. I knew this shouldn't affect me this way; but it did, and I couldn't explain why.

"Aw, honey. I'm so sorry, you wanna... y'know, anyway? Promise, I won't tell." He must have been hard up or something. I wouldn't bite, though; he couldn't be trusted not to tell anyway.

"No, Carlos, I'd loved to, but you know I can't."

Beyond that, I could get no more out of him about either Ahn or Marsha. By Friday, two weeks after my encounters at the Johnstons, I was fully recovered and again super horny. I got a package at the front desk and a text from Noah to be at his apartment at eight sharp. The package was a French maid outfit with a microscopic flouncy skirt and miniature apron that barely covered my dangling cage. I was to wear only it without underwear, and a pair of chunky Mary Janes.

My horny mind began to create scenarios of debauchery that would satisfy my aching desires. The marks left from Will's whipping had all but disappeared; I felt around, looking in my bathroom mirror. I was hungry for cock, but I missed the pain too. It had been two weeks since I had been touched at all. A hug from Carlos was the only physical human contact I'd had.

At five to eight, I peeked out of my door toward the elevator--no one in the hall. I rushed to the elevator full-speed, faltering in my heels, and called it up. When the doors opened, a conservatively dressed middle-aged couple stood there. I tried to crush myself in a corner of the elevator and press the button for the ninth floor, but it was already pressed; I knew I'd have to get out with these straitlaced strangers, wearing a skirt that barely covered my ass and cupping my cage in front.

When doors opened, they waited, and I waivered, but then just moved out and toward Noah's door as quickly as I could. I heard snickering from behind me, as I approached the door. I tried ringing Noah's door urgently, nervously waiting to be let in. But it turned out the prudish looking couple were going to the same place. They pulled up next to me as Noah opened the door to greet us.

"Good evening! Fag whore! I see you've met the Dixons."

"Uhm, not really..." I responded turning bright red and rushing in out of the hallway.

"Oh, well, these are Maria and Bert Dixon. Bert and Maria, this is my little bitch fag whore, Petey."

They each, in turn, stuck out their hands and giggled silently as they said, "pleased to meet you." I was mortified. They looked like they could have been my parents and it made me feel more embarrassed and nervous. It was one thing to be a raging slut with a bunch of men, who fit into the scene; quite another to be that person in front of staid-looking older couple, it was like they reminded me of how anomalous I was from what was expected.

Mr. Dixon was an average looking white guy in every respect: maybe five-nine, medium build, a serious looking face, like he may have been a judge or an accountant, something grave and serious. (Turned out he was a middle manager at a cardboard company.) But not unpleasant or unfriendly, just a bit dour. He had lively hazel eyes and brown hair, and a slightly receding hairline. When he did smile, his face lit up, and he could be called handsome.

Mrs. Dixon was a vivacious, well-preserved fifty-something-year-old woman. She was at least part Asian, maybe Filipina. She was a little shorter than me, and had long beautiful jet-black hair that went down her back near her luscious round behind. She was wearing a tight business skirt that narrowed and ended just above the knee. Her shapely legs were accentuated by the mile-high heels she wore. She had smooth light caramel skin and sultry dark eyes.

Noah led us to the living room area and guided Mr. and Mrs. Dixon to the sofa. He sat on the end, next to Mrs. Dixon. He gestured to have me stand in front of them, with my hands behind my back and eyes focused on the floor near me. He whispered and wiggled his finger to approach him.

"Petey, my little whore, you will serve my guests tonight, but I have a little present for you first. A reward for your good behavior. Lift up you skirt, honey."

I was nervous and self-conscious, but I lifted the tiny skirt over my belly button, revealing my caged package. The Dixons gulped in surprise. Noah reached in his pocket and drew the small key. I had been locked for a little more than two months straight now. The stainless-steel cage I got was small, with a little cup maybe an inch deep to hold my little peenie. I had noticed that the pain from squeezing against the cage had lessened, even when I got very aroused.

Daddy had me push forward and turned me slightly to display the cage, so the Dixons could watch, as he adroitly turned the key and guided first my peenie then testes out of the cage. He handled my little package firmly but caringly. I looked down, shocked to see my tiny penis shrunk to about half its already short length. He fondled it like a clit and offered Mrs. Dixon a go. The embarrassment and humiliation sprung my little guy. But even fully erect, it was not much more than an inch as Mrs. Dixon pinched it between her thumb and index finger.

I was trembling from the attention when Mr. Dixon reach over his wife to cop a feel of my tiny endowment. He was rougher than they had been, making a fist around and squeezing my junk like he was pulling on a cow's udder. Abruptly, Noah dropped my skirt and sent me out to get drinks for our guests. Mrs. Dixon and Noah ordered gin and tonics and a beer for Mr. Dixon. Daddy said I should get myself an ice water.

I pressed my skimpy skirt down and half curtsy on my way to the kitchen area where there was a small bar. I made the drinks and got the beer out of the fridge. I couldn't quite make out the conversation, but I felt it was about me, as I heard them all chuckling. I brought back the drinks and laid them out on the coffee table respectively.

When I placed Daddy's drink by him, he pulled me closed and gave me a quick, but passionate kiss and whispered softly in my ear.

"Aww, tch, pretty Petey, my sweet little fag whore, I have missed you, but tonight won't be about you." And then in full voice for the benefit of the Dixon's, "But I haven't really given you your gift yet."

He handed me a little gift-wrapped package. I ripped it open nervous and excited. Inside was a new cage, even smaller than the one he'd just taken off, gold-plated with a glossy finish. Where the other one had a cup, this one had a flat top with perforations like a saltshaker. There was a miniature tube that had to be pushed into my urethra. He beamed at me waiting for a respponse, as I held the cage in my hand somewhat puzzled by its parts.

"You like it, faggot?"

"Y-y-yes...? Daddy. Thank you!"

I was stunned at the results of being caged, I could imagine what this new one would do to my diminutive genitalia. It wasn't that I minded--when I spied my tiny clitty in the hall mirror, as I fetched the drinks, I thought it looked rather cute and wiggled it around. But it was a lot to take in. I guess I had some idea this would happen, but never thought it through. At this point, my inadequate penis was excluded from my sexual desires. It was just a conduit for release; its insignificant size was not a problem to me, and seemed an asset to the men who used me.

I am so glad Daddy had taught me there were better ways to be sexually fulfilled than through my irrelevant pee pee. I was at a stage where the smaller my penis the more sexually potent I became. I could tell it pleased him to see how much smaller it was, and that made me happy. I was lost in these thoughts and finally broke into a big grin. And Daddy reached over and put his thumb in my mouth and let me suckle it, while he fiddled with my freed clitty.

I was so excited! "How is this not all about me?" I thought. Suddenly, he pushed me back gently and placed the new disassembled cage on the coffee table and picked up the ice water. I was again engorged to my new full inch length. As excited as I could get, and it was "erect-ish" but more spongy than rock hard. He put the glass of water under it and tipped it until the cold water drowned my erection. Turtlelike, my little guy drew into my sack and all but disappeared.

"Look it, it's just a little button-like clit!" Mr. Dixon cried out, like a brusque immature kid.

"Hey, Maria? You want to put it on? You were a nurse, weren't you?"

"Yes, for twenty years. Are you sure?" She looked at me, as she needed to ask my permission, and I looked down at the floor to avoid her gaze.

He pointed to the parts and how they went and scooched me over to her. She had really long scary--when thinking of her handling my junk--looking fingernails. She picked up my whole package, like a crane machine at an arcade, where you try to scoop up prizes. Her nails made contact with the base of genitals. She threaded a ring through behind my tiny testes and pushed in the little pipe that went into my urethra. The cap snapped on and locked on the side.

I was so uncomfortable with her doing it, that I did not get hard. Had Noah done it, I might have had trouble keeping down an erection. Once she was done and handed Daddy the key, I could feel the new resistance against my teeny clit. The pain I had grown accustomed to was back.

Daddy pointed casually to the floor near the love seat, and I dutifully went and knelt there with my eyes fixed on him, my hands behind my back. He looked down toward the floor, and I focused my eyes on the foot of coffee table. The trio turned and engaged conversation.

"So, Petey, here, is your... uhm" Mr. Dixon posed, in a croaky but excited tone.

"Petey is... whatever I want: my nasty faggot bitch whore... my plaything, content to do anything I say...

"Mr. Dixon, as I said, our last encounter was a fair trade, you seemed to enjoy your time with my girl, and I know your wife, Maria and I had a good time. But as I explained to her, any further interaction will require a commitment on your part..."

"A... a... commit... mmment...?" Bert gulped.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon. You must know your wife is interested in giving herself to me. She's called several times to set this up. Hasn't she told you the parameters of our prospective arrangement?"

"Honey, you know... I told what he demands and my wish to go ahead with it."

"Uhm..., yeah, but, babe... are you sure...?"

"Yes, I told you I am, dear!"

I got the backstory later from Carlos. The Dixons had tried wife-swapping, attempting to revive their sex-life and marriage. They met Noah and Ahn through an online site and had a previous encounter. After the experience, the wife had become obsessed with Noah's cock--I could totally relate--and had been calling ever since. Noah explained that to get what she wanted, he would have to sexually own her, and her husband would be a part of it.

"So, he does whatever you say?" Mr. Dixon pursued, distractedly.

"Yes! Petey is nasty fucking pigslut, who loves humiliation, pain, and submission but it wouldn't need to be exactly the same with your wife. I'll test her limits and move accordingly. I tell you what, Bert. I don't usually do this, but I'll even let you fuck her, with my permission, of course."

"Huh... wha..."

"Yes, Bert, I demand exclusive sexual rights to my cuckold's wives; she will have to ask my permission to let you fuck her.

"We'll see how she takes to it, but, make no mistake, I will get rough with her, and abuse her. You're lucky Bert; she still loves you,... and enjoys spending time with you or whatever, but she doesn't love sex with you. You're too small and you don't make her cum.

"So, she's ready to leave you, just to be my bitch. If that happens, I guarantee you: she'll end up like this pathetic pig faggot whore, here. Willing... no... eager! to do whatever repulsive act I dream up just to stay my bitch. Whore!"

I looked up. He sneered at me and waved me over, but with his hand pointed down. I knew my role was to demonstrate the kind of obedience he required. I crawled over to him. He stopped me at arm's length, and I knelt there looking up at him like a submissive puppy. He reached out and stroked my cheek gently, and I smiled up at him.

"Aww, my sweet little femboy." Then, "SLAP!"

"Do you like it when slap your pretty face, honey."

"Yes, please, Daddy!" I nodded leaning forward for him, with hands behind me.

He slapped me hard again to demonstrate his command over me to them. My eyes teared up, and I thanked him and offered my cheek and begged for another slap.

"Thank you, Daddy! Pleeease may I have another," I croaked after the next strike.

"That's enough, fagwhore! Get our guests fresh drinks and set the table for dinner, bitch!"

I started to crawl away, but he slapped my ass and said, "get up, you fuckin' useless faggot!" and turned back to the Dixons.

"It may not be like this; this one just hungers for humiliation. Your wife might too, but we'll have to see how much you both need. But, most of the time, in your everyday life..."

From the kitchen, I couldn't quite make out the rest until was coming back with the drinks.

"... leaves you and makes herself my abject slave, like this pathetic faggot here, or you get to keep a semblance of dignity and your current life. Really... your choice, Bert. I'm good either way." Daddy was saying as I came back in with the drinks.

As I collected the empties and walked away, I caught a glimpse, of Noah's hand reaching way up under her tight skirt, and her mouth quivering in the shape of an O, tiny squeals escaping her mouth. I went back to the kitchen, as they negotiated the terms of Mrs. Dixon's submission and Mr. Dixon's cuckolding.

I found dinner had been prepared by the building chef and left warming in the double oven. I set the table, opened the wine, and prepared to serve the food. They wandered over to the table, and I filled their wine glasses and served a four-course meal beginning with soup and ending with chocolate souffle from the French patisserie down the street.

Daddy had placemats where he wanted me to set the rectangular table for six; he sat at the head of the table and Maria in the chair next to him on the left. Mr. Dixon sat six feet away at the other end. As he gallantly pulled out her chair, Noah made a point of having her lift her skirt and pull down her panties to her ankles. As she lowered herself into the chair, he shoved his tongue down her throat and his hand into her snatch.