The Slut Wrangler Ch. 02

The opulent hotel's penthouse was the lap of luxury. It had palm trees swaying, hot and cold running servants, fine silver silverware polished to sparkling, hand-rolled cigars and a magnificent view of the bay, its calm waters lapping playfully in the mid-morning sun.

Missy was curled up in the fetal position, asleep. She was sleeping restlessly. She twitched and made moaning and gasping sounds; occasionally, she cried out in her sleep. The silk sheets on the larger-than-king-sized bed were sweat-soaked and in disarray from her tossing and turning.

Missy's dreams were not at all pleasant. They were filled with cocks--all kinds of cock. Cut, uncut, big and small, hard and soft, all different hues of cocks. They were chasing Missy. In her dream, she was terrified of cocks. They were mean, they wanted to hurt her and they were relentlessly coming for her. She ran and screamed and ran, screaming. But like all good nightmares she could never shake the relentless, angry, hurtful cocks' pursuit.

Considering that just a few short weeks ago she was chasing cocks--joyfully, lustfully, excitedly chasing cocks (and in her old life, she caught quite a few)--this was quite the change for Missy.

Jake, The Slut Wrangler, was pleased with Missy's progress. She had been an easy slut to work. They were almost a week ahead of schedule. While Missy thought Jake had left the hotel, he was in fact in the other penthouse suite monitoring Missy's misadventures with "bad" cocks. While it took her a while to realize that new cocks were--bad for her? 'How could that be?' she asked herself. She was so confused. Her lizard slut brain was all fucked up. It didn't know up from down.

This was the time. This was the place. Missy would be broken.

It was about 10:45 that morning when Jake entered the corral. He walked into the bedroom and stripped. Missy's piercings' biosensors picked up residue of Jake. That fired a gentle, playful stimulation into the nerve bundle into which the microfiber bundles had been surgically attached. The days of healing allowed the nerve bundles to recover and grow more entangled and meshed with the microfibers. This allowed for more subtle and yet more precise stimulations.

Missy, in her dream, was cornered. There were cocks to her left, there were cocks to right, there were cocks pressing against her back. They were all angry cocks. They were going to hurt Missy. The cocks kept coming closer and closer, closing in on Missy!

She awoke with a start, and a sense of well-being settled in on her nipples.

She rolled over and there was Jake's cock. Missy was so conflicted. Cocks, recently had been pretty bad news for Missy. But. This was Jake's cock. The very object of desire that had led Missy to her bed in Havana. Missy also really missed Jake's cock, a lot.

Jake's hand reached down and, grappling Missy's head, drew her mouth closer to his cock. Her nipples were just aching for his touch. Missy's pussy, so long bone-dry, began to flow like the Highlands in Spring, after Winter's ice melt.

Jake's beautiful cockhead rested on Missy's lips. Jake's strong, firm hands gently pulled Missy's head, easing his cock between her lips. Missy's breathing grew more rapid. Jake's cockhead slipped past her lips and into her mouth, her tongue automatically caressed Jake's cock...her tongue piercing's biosensor got full-on Jake. The piercing's stimulation was pleasurable. Her whole mouth just felt wonderful--wonderful!

Missy's tongue piercing was also routed to the back of her throat and hooked directly into her vagus nerve. The microfibers stimulated a sense of well-being, approaching an almost transcendental state, for what seemed to Missy a whole-body experience.

As Jake firmly entered Missy's throat, his cockhead hit that spot, and Missy was having showers of little orgasms. They were cascading, shimmering, and Missy was quaking. Jake was about half a cock deep in Missy's throat when the dam burst.

Missy went full outta body. Her mind processed nothing; she was swept away as her orgasms grew in scale and scope. Her eyeballs were long ago rolled back into her head, her whole body shook, flapped and flopped, restrained only by Jake's hold on her head and his cock in her throat. And Missy's orgasm launched into a crescendo.

Missy's whole body spasmed, arms and legs extending, fingers and toes out stretched, cock and hands holding Missy's head firm. Then Missy started bucking and shaking, trying to throw Jake's cock. Jake's grip was firm, his hands sure, as he held Missy's head steady. Missy bucked furiously.

Then she really came.

As Missy's mind returned, Jake's cock was still only half-cock deep, buried in her throat. Missy was so...relaxed...content...safe. Her throat was petting Jake's cock and basking in the aftershocks' stimulated pleasures; Missy thought she had found her place in the universe.

But Jake hadn't quite broken Missy. When all was said and done, half a cock ain't the whole cock, and that meant Missy's job was not done.

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Hard Ivan Studlovoff was a hard man from St. Petersburg, the land of long nights. Hard Ivan is not a nice man. He was short, with thinning hair. He lifts to make his muscles hard. He was pretty paranoid and sneaky. While in the Russian Federation's crack "Citizen Improvement and De-Nazification" assault teams, he proved his lack of human compassion, over and over.

That makes him the perfect "assistant" to help Jake finish breaking Missy. Hard Ivan had flown in the night before from Florida where he was on loan, consulting on new legislation to strip defective citizens of their troublemaking ways (i.e. they voted for the wrong guys).

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Missy finally awoke to find Jake sitting on the bed looking down at her. His scent triggered a wave of positive stimulus from her brands. She looked up into Jake's ice-cold blue eyes.

"Missy, I don't think it's too much to ask that when you give me a blowjob, that you give your all. That means, all of my cock down your throat, balls deep. If you really wanted it..." Jake's voice trailed off.

Missy, suddenly awake, grew concerned. "I do! I DO want all of you deep in my throat!"

"Are you sure?" asked Jake cocking his head.

"YES!!"

Jake stood. "Then get on my cock," he said.

As Jake stood by the side of the bed, Missy, on her knees, drove herself on Jakes cock. Alas, she still was, at her best, only halfway down. Frustration grew due to her inability to get more of Jake's beautiful, monster cock deeper into her throat...

Hard Ivan slipped into the room and approached Missy from behind; she was totally unaware. Hard Ivan grabbed Missy's hips--Missy was becoming aware, but she was still focused on Jake's cock in her mouth--as Hard Ivan ever-so-slowly eased his cock between Missy's pussy lips.

Suddenly Missy pussy lips were on fire! All Missy wanted at that exact moment was to get away from Hard Ivan's invading cock. All her efforts did was drive about another 1/32" of Jake's cock into her throat. As Hard Ivan's cock moved into Missy relentlessly, the PAIN was crawling inside Missy's pussy, and it was driving her insane. She had to escape Hard Ivan's cock! Her legs were flying like the Road Runner running down the road. Hard Ivan looked like Wile E. Coyote*

(*trademark violation violations) going in for the kill.

However, unlike Wile E. Coyote who moved in for a quick kill, Hard Ivan liked inflicting pain, so Hard Ivan was movin' slow. Hard Ivan, with the determination of Stalin, worked hard to extract every last tear of pain from Missy. Each millimeter more of Hard Ivan's cock seemed to double the searing, lancing pains in Missy's pussy. As Hard Ivan bottomed out, Missy was out of her mind--with still a good two more inches of Jake outta her.

Jake caught Hard Ivan's eye; Jake nodded. Hard Ivan said, "Da". This was it. Missy, crazed in pain from Hard Ivan's hardness, her feet trying to run, pushing the bedsheet, rolling off the bed, but for Missy, there was no escape from Hard Ivan. Through the fog of her pain, Missy also felt her mouth and throat screaming in joy. Missy's arms around Jake, hanging on for dear life, she now used them to pull herself forward to pleasure and hopefully away from the pain, impaling herself millimeter by millimeter on Jake's cock.

Hard Ivan pulled out and slammed his hard cock home; Missy gained a micrometer. Hard Ivan slammed into Missy's pussy again. Shattering waves of pain drove Missy's feet to to sprint away from him. Missy was inescapably caught, spit-roasted between Hard Ivan and Jake, but her feet were still trying to run her pussy to safety.

Hard Ivan drove it home again, and again and again, like he was a pile driver--Bam, Bam, Bam; millimeter by millimeter, Hard Ivan drove Missy deeper onto Jake's dick. Missy was screaming, but didn't make a lot of noise, her throat being plugged by Jake's beautiful monster cock and all.

Poor, poor Missy was a spit-roasted mess. Her body was twerking involuntarily, tears flowed from Missy's bulging eyes, and she was choking on the copious quantities of throat lube she was making--not to mention Jake's massive meat. And Hard Ivan's hard dick tore Missy up; the negative stimulation was horrific. Her pussy was desert dry and Missy was sure she could smell her pussy's insides burning!

As Hard Ivan slammed home yet again, his overly large and heavy balls impacted Missy's VCH dead-on. The awful-fullness of this most horrific pain, reminiscent of what a stalled Russian advance inflicts on the peaceful civilian population, exploded off the charts. The last 1/32" of Jake was in!!! Missy was in heaven with Jake's cock, finally all the way down her gullet.

Her tongue slurped and slopped all over Jake's balls, and her tongue piercing was going off in such a very, very good way!

Now, down at her pussy, it was sheer Hell; her pussy felt like it had been fisted by hellfire itself. All any part of Missy wanted was away from Hard Ivan's invading cock! But there was no escape, no relief. Missy, spit-roasted between heaven and hell, experienced both at the same time. Her mind was a mess and her sweat-soaked body gave away all control.

In a final act of surrender, her bowels let loose a huge squirt of mostly-liquid shit. It splattered on Ivan's chest, neck and face.

Hard Ivan pulled out, his job was done, he was heading to the showers. The absence of Hard Ivan's cock and the resulting lack of negative stimulation freed Missy to have the biggest orgasm of her life. We are talking Guinness Book of records stuff here, folks.

Missy's brain had been, for a while, totally saturated in a dopamine lake.

Jake pulled his cock from Missy throat. It was like pulling a snake out of a hose. He noticed, with satisfaction that Missy's tongue, mouth and lips all worked to entice his cock to stay lodged in her throat, as it was slowly extracted. When his cock fell on her pouting lips, she whimpered and her tongue extended reaching for Jake's missing cockhead. He headed to the Penthouse's deck for a smoke.

Missy appeared to be comatose, but was technically conscious. Missy's brain really wasn't aware of anything and most of her movements were involuntary twitching.

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Timmy had dropped Reggie and Sam at Sam's crib. Timmy's parole officer was making a home visit today. Sam, never the most forthright fellow, had implied his place was fit for human habitation. Sadly, that was an exaggeration. But Reggie didn't have much choice. Reggie, was painfully trying to take a shit on Sammy's black-mold-infested shitter (which hadn't ever been cleaned by Sam. Each time Reggie would bear down, his ribs scraped together, causing Reggie great agony.

Reggie was getting desperate. He hadn't taken a shit in days. His fear of the pain associated with the forthcoming bowel movement was quite the detriment to Reggie. The pain of his backed-up shit was starting to rival the pain from his many busted ribs.

Sweat was rolling off Reggie's forehead and dripping in his eyes. With his one uninjured arm he braced himself for a final push.

"OoooHHHHMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRUUUUUAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR, (sharpe intake of air) AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGUUUUURRRRRRRRRCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Reggie could feel his shit crowning.

He scrunched up his face, went Zen and focused.

"HhhhaaaaaahhhhhaaaaaaHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMYYYYYYYFFFFFFFUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDD!"

Reggie's asshole looked like a birth canal after giving birth to overly-large triplets, as a humongous American football-shaped (and sized) turd swished out of his ass, plopping into the foul toilet water, not unlike a 350-lb. man doing a belly flop from the high diving board, drenching Reggie's butt.

Reggie, totally spent, collapsed, falling off the toilet. On impact with the floor, his ribs exploded in the pain that comes from the grinding of bone upon bone. Blissfully passed out on the grossest bathroom floor this side of the Grand Canyon, lay Reggie, blood trickling from his gaping, ripped and distended, asshole.

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Back at Bob's joint he had converted Missy's dressing room into his new man cave. He had gone whole hog. Yep, after giving The Slut Wrangler 2/3rds of his 401(k) to "fix" (whatever the hell that looked like) his slut of a wife, Missy, he figured what the fuck and pulled all the cash, paid the taxes and penalties, and blew it on himself.

When it came to Bob and Missy's marriage, it was Bob who "wanted it" more. I mean Missy was smoking hot. All the boys wanted Missy. The whole "Missy letting all the boys catch her"...that was Bob's issue. Of course, Missy knew Bob was lust-struck by her, and had over the years extracted quite a toll for his obsession of her. It was second-nature for Missy to expect Bob to get Missy what Missy wanted. She did her part; she let Bob marry her!

So, Missy's car was newer and nicer, the house was what Missy wanted, decorated to Missy's taste, while Bob paid through the nose. Those days were over. Missy was gonna "want it" more. The Slut Wrangler's sale pitch offered a full 100% money-back guarantee. What could go wrong?

Smiling, Bob sipped Redbreast from a crystal glass. Bob thought about Timmy. Yea, he should be heading back to the big house pretty soon. Reggie was a fucked-over mess. Bob figured he'd give Reggie a break, give him a chance to heal--catch his breath, if you will. Then Bob would hit him again...even harder. Of course, the problem was, there wasn't much left to take or break of Reggie's, or frankly Reggie.

Bob's mind moved to review what he had learned about Sam. Sam was a mess. Fucking with him would be like catching fish in a barrel with dynamite.

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The sun rose in Havana and was well up in the sky when Missy regained awareness of her personal existence. There was something different about Missy today. She couldn't put her finger on it. But she felt...safe? Perhaps secure? She searched for meaning. Yes, she was more secure in herself, secure in her place in the grand scheme of things. In some ways, to Missy, she felt a Zen-like peace. She never understood. She never realized. But now, she felt owned and was serene in that.

Missy rose from the bed and headed to the shower. She spent extra time shaving herself smooth, she did up her hair, just-enough and sparingly put on make-up. Not a lot of point to "putting on full warpaint" as Missy hoped it soon would be ruined. Then she selected a simple lightweight sun dress. She liked it. It was nicely transparent in the sunlight, while allowing access to everything. Simple sandals completed her ensemble.

She sat in the over-stuffed living room couch, near the front door of the penthouse, to wait for her Slut Wrangler. Missy was content and she simply shone.

Jake rose that morning, putting return plans into play. Time for Missy to go home. He called for his plane, Slut1, to be fueled and ready to depart. He called the biomedical research facility to transfer ownership of their blockchain controls to Bob. He called for a limo to go to the airport, and gathered up Missy. As he and Missy exited the elevator, he sent Bob a text.

"Bringing slut. ETA 12 hours."

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Bob, walked into work as his cell phone burped with The Slut Wrangler's text. Bob felt a chill move through him; he actually shivered in the warm morning sun.

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The Slut Wrangler ignored Missy, which, oddly, she was ok with. Whenever Jake wanted to ride her, Missy was primed and ready, but until then, Missy stayed ever-watchful for a nod or some other indication that Jake wanted her, in one way or another.

They took off from Havana, bounced back to St. Thomas for refueling and lunch. The Slut Wrangler let Missy lick his lunch and butter plates clean. He was nice and let her finish his water. Then back to the airport and back on Slut1 to fly home.

Once over American airspace, Jake fired up his laptop and got to work, finding six more excellent referrals. Jake had been riding herd on sluts for a while: he had a fat bank account--with the in-app purchases adding more to the pile every day--and despite the fact Jake could really use a vacation, he ok'ed full background checks on the sluts these husbands wanted wrangled.

Jake saw his efforts as lucrative. He felt, as well, he was servicing a growth market. But Jake was a realist; there were only so many sluts he would physically be able to wrangle. He felt, in his bones, it was time to pull the trigger on franchising The Slut Wrangler® (Trademark of Slut Wrangler Enterprises Unlimited, a Limited Liability Corporation). He dropped a note to his attorney to fire up the venture. Then he called his business offices to start recruiting wannabe Slut Wranglers who would be able to buy into Jake's new venture.

He started to make his to-do lust...er list. Then he called his financial advisors about an initial public offering for the new umbrella organization: Slut Wranglers International. He pondered, should he get listed on The New York exchange? Perhaps Paris...lots to think through. As he pondered, he waved to Missy; she was quickly attached to Jake's cock.

Missy was happy.

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Bob was of very mixed feelings waiting for Missy's return. Yeah, he still wanted to kill her for being a slut who was also his wife. He was embarrassed that he had, in effect, given Missy his balls as a wedding present. He was horny, as he hadn't been laid in weeks. He was fearful that The Slut Wrangler was just scamming him. I mean, who can break a willful slut?

Bob had poured a fifth of 20-year Redbreast into a crystal decanter, and had the two crystal glasses standing at the ready. Bob fidgeted; he moved this there, then back again. His toes tapped and his fingers drummed on the table as excess nervousness energy cried for escape from his body.

Bob started to really think what it would actually mean to "own" a slut. And then there was that small piece of Bob that longed for Missy's willful touch, for him to actually be the one that Missy desired. Yeah, it was a fantasy he'd had since first meeting Missy.

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Bob's phone burped; it was a text from Jake--"arriving". As Bob was looking at the text there was a knock on his front door. This was it, the moment of truth. Bob wasn't at all prepared. Yeah, he had thoughts and fantasies. But this was the place where the rubber would actually meet the road.

Bob opened his front door. There was Jake; he strolled in like he owned the place. Missy, head held high, eyes sparkling, dressed in a simple button-up-the-front sundress, followed him into her house/home. As a comfy dress for the tropics, it wasn't much help in the much-colder, drenching downpour that was the weather at Bob's house. Missy was soaked to the bone; the sundress stuck to her body and her cold nipples were hard as diamonds. Bob could see the outlines of her new nipple piercings through the second skin that was the soaked sundress.