Message-ID: <5671eli$9711171407@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: zturgeon@aol.com (Zturgeon) Subject: REPOST: Babysitter Part II (cbt, F/m) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <19971117130801.IAA11942@ladder02.news.aol.com> The following fiction contains graphic and violent sexual scenes. If you might be offended by this, please read no further. The Babysitter (part II) I suppose I was so bored with women after Karen because none of them could give me the total experience that she gave me -- the experience of utmost surrender, of losing oneself to another's pleasure, of having ones own self eclipsed by another person's will. When Karen had me sexually, I was utterly engulfed by her. I can barely describe it; it was like merging with another person then disappearing into her pleasure, which I was only a replaceable isntrument for. Karen picks up the instrument, laughs at it, then smashes it on the ground; from that moment on I can only be made whole again by her putting me back together. Ironically, this happens from her sexually tearing me apart. As I grew into adolescence and young adulthood, I looked back on my experiences with Karen and missed her painfully. When I realized in my discussion section at U.C.S.C. that the short-haired, dyed-haired, lean, quick-speaking, somewhat haughty woman T.A. was my former babysitter, my head began buzzing. My scrotum formed a tight fist. I nearly fainted or...or cried out, rushed up to her and knelt down, smothering her feet with kisses. When I came up to re-introduce myself to her -- after all the other students had left the room -- I suffered my first disappointment. Karen spoke small talk to me; though I told her who I was, she addressed me like she might address any other student. I was crushed. Desperate to spark some warmth in her, I told her how much she had meant to me; how all women after her were like smudges of diet vanilla ooze, only worthy of being wiped off with a napkin; how my last twelve years were lived in mystery because she began to explain the relations between the sexes to me only to be cut short in her lessons. I even told her that because I had found her again that day, it was the most important day in the last twelve years of my life. She looked at me silently, without appearing in the least bit flattered. "You're still a sweet boy, Andy." She smiled a plastic smile, then gathered up her folders and walked out of the room. I lurched after her in the hallway, like a pathetic beggar for affection. I had abandoned all dignity by this point; I had become again the little boy pinioned to the mattress under the weight of her body, terrified at her strength, desperate for her approval. I pleaded with her to have lunch with me. "Andy..." Karen sighed and shook her head. She unlocked the door of her office, and stepped into the small cubicle. "I'm not a babysitter anymore, Andy. I'm a T.A." Standing in the doorway, I stared at her as she laid her things on the small aluminum desk. I was confused. This woman, who I had fantasized about for twelve years, who had given me the most intense moments of my life, was brushing me off like a spec of dandruff. "You're not a babysitter anymore? Do you...do you mean I'm still a baby? I'm not sure what you mean." Karen looked up at me. She had pierced her nose on both sides; on one there was a ring, and on the other a stud. "Yeah. You're still a baby." Karen and I stared at each other. I was hurt, and my pain burned into rage. "I don't fucking believe this." "Excuse me, Andrew?" "You're fucking...you enter my life, you twirl my reality around your finger like a fucking ribbon, then you do THIS to me? You're fucking unbelievable." Karen's hand shot forward: she slammed the door shut behind me, causing me to jump. Karen stared at me with a look of detestation; her eyes riveted me against the wall. "You stupid, stupid boy. I am NOT here to fullfil your brainless expectations. Don't you even get it? I was never your fucking babysitter. I was raping you, Andrew. I had you by the balls for my own pleasure. If you fell in love with me, that's your own stupid fault. I don't give a shit about you and I never did. You were just one more juvenile cock for me to play with. I don't give a fuck about you, you little twerp, and I never did. You are NOTHING to me. You are WORTHLESS." Karen's words were like bullets pounding into my chest. She was right; I had fallen in love with my memories of her, but to my old babysitter I had been nothing but a cheap toy. I felt tears pool up in my eyes. I turned away from Karen, but she saw my eyes beginning to glisten. She stared at me in horrified amazement. "You little fucking crybaby!" "Karen, please..." "You little brainless fuck! You coward!" "Karen, you meant so much to me..." Tears spilled from my eyes about a second before Karen's spit hit my nose and my mouth. She spit on me again -- this time it hit my eye. I was nonplussed, shattered, and I began to cry aloud. "Shut up, you fucking little baby. Shut the FUCK up!" I couldn't control myself; I was weeping. I realized that any student standing outside of the office door would be able to hear my childish whimpering, but I couldn't stop myself. "Andrew," Karen's voice was venomous, "Shut the fuck up right now." "I can't, Karen," I slobbered over my words, "You were a goddess to me, and now you're just treating me like shit." Karen grabbed my hair and yanked my face to within two inches of hers."You ARE shit, you stupid little dick. You're a worthless, brainless shit." Gripping my hair, she slammed my head against the concrete wall. I broke into a sob, and this made Karen lose her patience: she made a first with her right hand and slammed it into my face, then drove her knee into my groin. I doubled over, gasping, and Karen grabbed my head and wrenched my body onto the floor. For about ten minutes Karen kicked me in the ass. Literally: she pounded her clogs into my buttocks, and occasionally the front of her shoes -- by accident or on purpose -- aimed low and cracked my balls. At some point Karen kicked me in the head, and I lost consciousness. When I regained consciousness, it was late at night. I was alone in Karen's office, and I was naked from the waist down. My jeans and my boxer shorts were on the floor next to me. My penis was taped, with about twenty strips of masking tape, against my balls. The strips of tape went up between my buttocks to my lower back. I had no recollection of Karen taping me up. It took me more than half an hour to remove the tape. The process was painful, causing much of the hair on my scrotum to be ripped out. There was a note for me on Karen's desk, telling me that she wanted me to do something for her the following day. Her address was on the note. As I walked down hall out of the building, I limped. My groin ached. There was a bump on my head from where Karen banged it into the wall. I was scared. I had never been battered like that before. I was scared. Karen told me -- some weeks later -- that there was no philosophical basis for "femdom." Saying that women are inherently superior to men was an absurdity: a vulgar, nonsensical notion -- just one more twisted form of elitism. If women are superior to men, why, throughout history, have they been the more submissive sex? If it's because of their moral superiority -- their reluctance to engage in brutality comparable to men's -- how does their superiority continue despite "femdom," which involves blatant physical abuse -- and hence must eliminate any claim to moral superiority? "Women aren't inherently superior to men, Andrew," Karen told me, "But in every way, I'm superior to you." I disagreed with her, but I kept quiet: I felt -- and still feel -- that women ARE superior to men. They're more civilized. More rational. More in harmony with nature as a whole. Their inferior position throughout history is a scheme to punish men for their hubris. It allows women to show men how stupid they are; how destructive they've been as leaders. Women stepping back and letting men hold the gears is their way of letting men prove to themselves how useless they are. How stupid and inferior. At any rate, I had to concede that Karen was superior to me. She was more intelligent, more educated, more abundant in talent and creativity. Physically, she made me look pathetic. Men are capable of being physically competitive with stupid creatures -- they're good hunters of mindless animals -- but in combat with creatures of any significant intellectual capacity, creatures capable of basic observation, men are hopelessly weak: their genitals make them pitiably vulnerable. Karen used my sexual needs and my physical vulnerability to utterly subjugate me. And to degrade me. She pointed out that men, when they honestly consider themselves alongside women, are doomed to inferiority complexes: women are the ultimate sexual object for men, but men are rarely that for women. "The average man's cock is about six inches. That's puny. If you want my honest opinion, Andy, six inches can barely provide any pleasure at all. Another woman with a ten or twelve inch vibrator -- how could a man compete with her? She knows my anatomy better than a man, her cock is massively bigger, and it provides a kinesthetic dimension that a real dick can't. Toys are vastly superior to men's genitals, but while man has been superseded by machine, woman has not. No fake pussies are ever better for a man than a real woman. See the disparity, Andy? Men are obsolete. The only reasons women get tangled up with them are that they provide companionship -- low-grade, but better than nothing -- they provide babies, and they're amusing. They're like dogs, only easier to train, and more useful. They can do more than dogs." Karen knew just how to tear apart my confidence and shatter my self-esteem. She taught me that being a man was like being four levels down on the evolutionary ladder; it meant being a member of the part of the race responsible for ninety-nine percent of the human-made problems in the world; it meant being mentally and emotionally yoked to a penis and a pair of testicles -- the most absurd, most pathetically destructible pieces of flesh in all of nature. Some nights Karen lectured me -- while forcing me to sit at her feet (naked except for a decorative ribbon tied ridiculously to my glans) -- and, without striking me at all, without inflicting the slightest physical pain, she would have me in tears of despair and self-loathing. I had been born a man: a comically lame, inherently slavish, obtuse creature. A creature not even adequate to please her properly, though that was what I most wanted to do with my life. The day after Karen mauled me in her office, I came to her house as requested, and after about an hour of humiliating verbal abuse, accompanied by an occasional head-slap, Karen grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into her bedroom. She shoved me onto the bed, and told me to strip naked. When I did -- and believe me, I was trembling; I was fucking terrified at what she might do to me -- she told me to lie on my back and look up at her. "Spread your legs." I obeyed her. My cock was limp, and measured four inches in that state. Most of the hair had been ripped out of my genitals by the tape. When Karen saw my manhood, she burst into malevolent laughter. She reached out, grabbed the head of my cock, and yanked it up -- causing me to lurch, and giving her a wholler view of my balls. "You really HAVEN'T grown up much, have you? These are TINY testicles." After a brief pause, Karen spat on my balls, then ordered me, "Get it up." "What?" I whimpered. "Get a fucking erection, if you're capable of it." She tugged my penis again, but I found it impossible to just instantaneously erect myself. "OK, Andrew," Karen said, sounding impatient, "If you can't do it yourself, I'm going to have to help you." Still holding onto my penis, she punched me in the face. I moaned or something -- made some sort of pain sound -- then she pounded her fist on my stomach, yelling, "Shut up, you pussy!" The blow to my stomach caused me to gasp for air and crumble onto my side. Immediately Karen yanked on my hair and told me to lie on my back. I did, still gasping for air. Karen grabbed my cock head again and repeated her instruction: "Get it up, Andy. Make your little dickie hard for me." I was even more incapable of getting hard, though, and Karen simply became more frustrated. "Damn it, you fucking wimp! I'll teach you to ignore me..." Karen shoved my knees apart violently then, leaning forward, drove her knee into my groin. I began sobbing. Karen moved up to me and said quietly, "If you don't get an erection, Andrew, I'm going to get a razor blade. Do you hear me? And I'm going to slice off your right testicle. Then I'm going to put into a fucking frying pan and eat it." I truly believed her. After two more slaps to the face, I had an erection. Karen told me to masturbate. I began stroking myself. Karen reached over and put her hands over my balls, which were aching from her pulverizing blow with her knee. She kept her hand there, innocently for the most part, but occasionally squeazing a little bit. At one point she told me to notice how I felt, with my balls aching, my body battered -- her hand right on my nuts, quite capable at any moment of causing me immense pain, or even ending my status as a man. "How does this all feel, Andrew? This is what being a man is." Karen told me to ejaculate, and I did. She went to the bathroom, came back with a sponge, then mopped up my semen. She then ordered me to open my mouth, and stuffed the sponge into it. She took a strip of tape and taped the sponge there. Then, with more tape, she taped my flaccid cock down on my balls, and taped them all back towards my anus. I began weeping again, remembering how painful it had been to remove the tape the other day, and Karen punched me in the nose to shut me up. Karen then made me strap on a large vibrating dildo. "You're only about eight inches long I'd say, Andrew. That's barely worth the trouble. (I feel really sorry for the women who have men with only six inch cocks; they're useless.) This little toy is twelve inches, and I'd say that's a very nice size for most women. So tonight, Andrew, you can pretend that you have a real penis." Karen proceded to have me penetrate her with the strap-on for about and hour and a half -- telling me what positions she wanted me in, when to adjust the rate of vibration, and so on. She seemed to have many orgasms, and was occasionally driven to cry out in passion. Once or twice she became so excited that she clubbed me, and dug her fingernails into my body. When she was somewhat satiated, Karen removed the strap-on from my body. "We're going to take away your toy now, Andrew. You're stuck with your own little wee-wee now. Sorry." She told me to turn around and bend over. With one fierce movement, she stripped the tape downward -- not yanking it off my scrotum, but just away from my anus. She told me to get on my knees, with body over the bed. I heard her opening a drawer behind her, then a moment later she told me to look up at her. She was strapping on another huge dildo -- this one black, firmer rubber, with no motor. "I'd make you take my new penis into your mouth and lubricate it yourself, but that'd require removing your gag, so we'll have teach you to fellate me later. Tonight, Andrew, you get Vasaline." I watched as Karen stroked the petroleum jelly onto the rod, then she moved behind me. Pushing my head down onto the mattress, Karen slowly drove the gargantuan dildo into my ass. I was crying before it got one quarter of the way into me, and if I hadn't been gagged, I would have been screaming out loud by the time it was half way inside me. Karen was having me from behind -- possessing me, ripping into me, showing me her strength -- while I, my cock and balls taped up, my face ground into the mattress, my voice castrated by the gag, was weeping helplessly. Occasionally my whole body shuddered, entirely without my conscious control. It was as if it was trying to break me free. Karen laughed at this, and pounded into me deeper. Karen fucked me for about as long as she had ridden the strap-on, then wrenched the cock out of my body. She removed the gag, then let me collapse on the floor. I was exhausted, and every cell in my body seemed to ache. I fell asleep there, crumpled up on the floor, and didn't wake up until the next morning. To be totally honest, I wouldn't have traded my role as Karen's toy for anything in the world. Being her slave was my dream. Which isn't to say I always enjoyed it. When I woke up the next morning, Karen was straddling my face. She was grinding her pussy into me rough, just like she used to do when I was a boy. She pounded her mons against me, swung her asshole over my mouth. Facing my groin, began yanking the tape off of my genitals. I thought I was losing my balls; I thought they would rip off, blood exploding out of my groin. But they were intact. Screaming with pain, but intact. Our relationship over the next year -- which is how long it lasted -- is best exemplified by a scene that occurred three months after our reunion. Karen never gave up baby sitting. TA's are paid next to nothing by the University of California, and she continued babysitting to supplement her income -- and our of sheer enjoyment of children. One of the children she used to sit for was a six-year-old girl named Tanya. One evening Karen asked Tanya's parents if it was OK for Karen to bring her "boyfriend" over with her. Lying, she told them I was visiting from out of town only briefly, and that she didn't want to miss any time with either me or Tanya. She parents agreed. Tanya loved Karen: her stories, her explanations of the world, her simple philosophical propositions made Tanya feel powerful as a girl; proud to be female, and lucky to not have to be male. But if all that Karen was saying was true -- about men's sexual weakness, their physical incapacity, their servileness -- was true, why didn't she see it out in the open? Karen explained that you often do, but it's very subtle, because men will struggle to their death to not let other men see how weak they are. Around the company of only women, they don't dare attempt such pretenses. Moreover, it's usually in the home and -- especially -- in the bedroom that men's real weaknesses come out in blinding clarity. There people are primitive -- facades are stripped away. There men are exposed as the weaklings that they are. Their pants are pulled down, revealing God's biggest practical joke on humanity. Without describing the details of the evening with Tanya, let me summarize it briefly. Karen gave Tanya a very frank lecture about men: their nature, their follies, and their anatomy. She asked Tanya if she'd like a demonstration. Tanya giggled, and said, "Of course." Karen told me to strip. I obeyed. She told Tanya that, if she felt like it, she could touch my body. Tanya, a rather bold little girl, took my penis in her hand and jerked it around. She swatted at it, laughing. She reached lower and lifted up my testicles. "Oh, Tanya, honey? That's the real weak spot. You might want to try squezing those." Tanya did, and quite firmly for such a little girl. I whimpered, and Tanya loved it: she squeazed my testicles harder. I cried out, and taking pity on me, she released them. Karen asked Tanya if she wanted to see my cock get hard. Tanya said yes, and Karen turned to me. "Andrew, get it up." Her voice was very firm. My testicles ached. I didn't know if I could get it up. A moment went by in which nothing happened. "Andrew..." Karen took a step toward me, and I winced. I felt myself trembling as she came closer to me, and -- thank heavens -- my penis began to salute her. Tanya was impressed with how long it became. Karen assured her that mine was not really a long cock. "Most men don't have very good equipment, Tanya. Few do. Women get better pleasure from other things. Just to show you..." Karen told me to lie on the floor, and -- lifting up her skirt -- she mounted my penis. She ground down on it, shifting it around, shoving against it with her hot vagina. "It's really very inadequate, Tanya. Men are weak little bastards. If they were twice as big down there, they might be some fun." She got off me, then told Tanya she was going to show her a good way to punish men. She explained to Tanya that a few days ago I was late coming to her house; that, in other words, I had "copped an attitude" with her. This, she said, was unforgivable. Karen told me to spread my legs wide. I obeyed. She removed a Q-tip from her purse, then yanked cotton at the end of it off. She kneeled down between my legs, then began pressing the Q-tip into the hole of my penis. She hadn't done this to me before, and I was terrified; I could feel the object scraping and cutting the inside of my penis. I whimpered uncontrollably, and Karen, telling me to shut up, slapped my face. "You see, Tanya? Punishing him in this way reinforces his weakness. A man's greatest pleasure comes from sex, and I'm punishing him by using HIS silly, vulnerable tools of pleasure as MY tools of domination. And see, look at him. There's nothing he can possibly do about it. Men are weaklings. Don't you agree?" Tanya laughed, and said, "This is what men are like? Men are cowards!" I looked over at Tanya; despite my terrible fear of Karen, my feeling of utter helplessness as I lay there with that thing being rammed into my cockhole, despite my horror at seeing a little blood coming from my penis (I was being devirginized), inside myself I knew I was a match for at least THIS young woman. Perhaps that sentiment became visible on my face; perhaps a look of arrogance flashed across my visage. For Tanya stepped up beside Karen, between my wide-spread legs, and looking me straight in the eye, slammed her foot into my balls. Karen laughed and applauded her. As I writhed on the floor, doubled-up, groaning like an animal being slaughtered. Tanya leaned down, yanked at my hair, then reached between my legs from behind, grabbed my balls with both of her small hands, and wrung them like a sponge. She gripped onto them, refusing to release me, squeazing and clawing the seeds of my masculinity. Dominating me. Crushing my manhood. This six-year-old girl. END -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /