Life can be cruel. It has been to me.

"Fuck," I grumbled to myself as I nosed my aging car into the driveway of the garage apartment. Corey, who I privately dubbed the Evil Half, was home. She earned this title because, to me, she embodied pure evil. Half my age and half my size—four feet eleven inches and ninety-seven pounds—she was a total pain in my ass. She had the biggest case of a Napoleon complex I had ever seen in a woman.

I've been renting the garage apartment from Corey and her husband Jake for a pittance—it's all I can afford. I desperately need a stable home and a consistent job because I'm fighting tooth and nail to gain permanent custody of my son, Cole.

Corey and Jake are both attorneys and are equally successful in all walks of life. They own a nice home in a trendy neighborhood in downtown Denver. While Corey and Jake are well-meaning, I can't shake the feeling that I'm nothing more than a charity case to them. Their subtle inferences of how much I need them served as a constant reminder of my dependence on their arrogant generosity.

I was exhausted as I killed the engine and sat quietly in the driver's seat for a moment. The engine ticked as it cooled. I had worked eleven days straight and finally was going to have a chance to rest and recover today. I thought about how after a shower, a long sleep, and a meal, I might even practice guitar for a bit. That was all if I could avoid the Evil Half, Corey. She always found something she needed me to do on my days off.

DING - as I reached for the door handle, the familiar chime of my phone announced that I had a new text. Of course, it was her.

“The power is out in the basement,” the text simply read. But it was the subtext that irritated me the most. If she were honest, the text would say: “You tripped the breaker that we illegally tied into your garage apartment again. Even though it is why we set the rent so low, it is an inconvenience and you will come over and fix it NOW.”

I glanced up at the house, and Corey was watching me from the large bay window of her kitchen. I felt a flash of rage, but I suppressed it. Instead, I gave a forced smile, waved to Corey, and motioned that I would be over to fix the problem.

After I flipped the breaker, Corey produced a list of other things she needed me to do. Again, the subtext was clear: you will do these things for me, and you will do them now, with gratitude, because you owe me for my kindness.

"Can't Jake change a fucking light bulb?" I grumbled under my breath as I wrapped up. In all, the tasks only took about fifteen minutes, but all I wanted was to shower and crawl into bed for the day.

When I checked back in with Corey, I sensed that something was different. Her usual over-confident manner was gone.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Corey?" I asked politely hoping to exit quickly. "I checked that faucet, and it probably needs a new-"

"I need to tell you something," Corey interrupted, clearly not hearing a word I said.

"It must stay just between us. You got that?" Corey assumed her usual demeaning tone. "No matter where this conversation leads, I need this to remain private." Corey always spoke down to me as if I were a child and not a man.

"Private. Between you and me. If that does not happen, and I hate to play this card, but I hope that tells you how serious I am, I will not be helpful when it comes to you regaining custody of Cole."

I drew a deep breath the released it slowly to suppress my rage. I merely nodded in affirmation for her to continue, fearing that if I allowed myself to speak, I would explode in a tirade of fury. How dare she threaten me with custody of my son. I am just as smart, capable, and responsible as this woman, but life has been favorable to her and cruel to me.

“I have a sexual masochism disorder,” Corey said to me with her eyes fixed on the floor between us, “and I need…something…from you.”

I waited for more. The anger and fatigue I had felt so acutely just seconds ago flipped on its head to excitement. I am extremely compatible with sexual masochists because I am a sadist.

In an instant, I flashed back to memories of Hannah Portman. We only knew each other for a few weeks before I was called up to active duty, but we were very compatible. She was a sexual sadist. She would beg me to do things to her that most other women would never even consider.

The night before I was deployed she wanted me to do ‘something extra special to her.’ I executed a wonderfully cruel plan that drove her absolutely crazy: I took her out for a typical night of dancing at a bar. She made it clear that she was very disappointed. This is not what she wanted and was sexually frustrated.

What she did not know was that my buddy owned the bar and was watching for the outsiders to leave. Hannah was bored out of her mind and kept asking if we could go home and fuck. I denied her all night. Each time she asked, I told her ‘no’ and made her go edge and then deny herself an orgasm in the ladies' room.

Just before the last call, my buddy gave me the signal. The remaining regulars at the bar watched and jeered as I made Hannah strip naked and blow me while she fucked a beer bottle to orgasm. When I was done, I had her crawl over to the barkeeper and thank him for the opportunity. It was the hottest night I have ever experienced.

Now Corey, this bitch and cock-tease in her tight yoga pants and million-dollar home told me that she is a masochist. I never saw that coming. I was dumbfounded and silent.

“I forgot who I was talking to, she continued. Small words with him,” she said to herself in her patronizing tone.

“This happens every time I meet a major success,” Corey sighed. “I just became a junior partner at my law firm and now I need it.”

Again, I waited for her to go on. I was confused by her train of thought.

“Essentially, I want to be treated like a sexual slut puppy. I want the harsh handling of a dominant male when this happens.”

I later discovered that for Corey, each stride toward success or power only fueled a hidden psychological hunger for degradation. Despite her notable accomplishments, she harbored a deep-seated belief in her unworthiness, haunted by guilt and shame over her achievements.

“Slut puppy…?” is all I managed to say.

“Here’s the deal,” Corey said with the patronizing confidence of a highly educated lawyer, “I have seen your creepy old-man eyes undressing me when you think I’m not looking. I know you find me attractive.”

“Uhhh nnn…” I muttered.

“Shut up,” Corey snapped. “This isn’t exactly easy for me. I love Jake, you have to understand that. But sometimes when things happen to me, the monsters come out if I don’t act on them.” Corey stammered.

“Monsters…?” I mirrored, totally confused.

“Well, not exactly…it’s like every so often, I have to give in to this very specific urge I have. The truth is, I long to be dominated sexually. It stems from issues in my youth but I don’t want to get into that. All you need to know is that Jake is out of town this weekend and I am hungry for it. I must have it.”

The silence between us thudded in my ears.

“It can’t be Jake,” Corey blurted, “My ideal ‘partner', unfortunately, is someone older, unattractive, and aggressive. He will use me like a…nasty whore…”

The silence echoed heavily in the room still.

Corey looked over my body, her eyes stopping at my paunch, and nodded absentmindedly. “You fit those requirements.”

I could not believe my ears. This gorgeous, rich, and successful woman had just body-shamed me and offered me sex.

“Oh,” Corey continued, “and I figured out who you are, ktdoner66. I have been reading your work on LushStories for years. If you treat me like you treat those high school cheerleaders you write about, then I think we will both be in for a satisfying weekend.”

“Do I understand correctly, Corey, that you want to have sex with me this weekend?”

“Oh my God. Fat, old, and dense.” Corey shook her head in disbelief. “Why am I like this?” she asked as an aside to herself.

“No. I can ‘have sex’ any time I want with Jake. This is beyond just sex. This is a secret desire I have, and what I need from you,” Corey poked her bony finger at my forehead “my creepy friend, is for you to use me like a slut puppy. Make me serve you. Make me worship your cock. Fuck me when and how you like.”

I remained baffled by the entire situation.

"Look," Corey said impatiently, "I aired a very dirty secret to you, hoping that you can fulfill this need. If you don't think you can do it, I'm going to need you to forget about the whole thing entirely and never speak a word of this to anyone. If you can't comply with that, then you should say 'goodbye' to your son forever because I will make sure the courts see you as an incompetent father."

I felt my mind splitting into two pieces as I debated the correct response. I let my gaze drop to Corey’s body. She had the tiny tits of a fit young lady and the wonderful shapely legs of a collegiate soccer player. She wore tight leggings that hugged her mound beautifully.

The words I spoke next echoed in my ears. The moment was surreal. I felt as if I were outside of my body observing the scene as an outsider rather than playing a role in it. “Take off your pants.”

“Pardon?” Corey asked. Her eyebrows raised and she looked at me as if I were stupid.

"You stand here insulting me, making it clear that I disgust you," I explained with more confidence than I felt. "The truth is, you clearly disgust yourself and yet cannot control these urges. If you want to engage in a sexual bender weekend—if you are what you are saying you are, and—if you are asking me what I think you are asking me, then you don’t deserve the dignity of pants right now."

I reached forward grabbing the tops of her yoga pants pulling them toward me then letting them snap back into place. Corey instinctively tried to stop me, but her response was half-hearted and slow. “Take them off,” I commanded.

“No, Brad,” she said confidently, “I need you to wait until this weekend. We have to set ground rules, establish safe words, and create backstories.”

“Corey, we are on the same page here. No fucking yet. But, I see a woman before me clinging to her dignity rather than understanding her place. You have bad manners for a slut puppy,” I said contemptuously. “Do you think you are going to dictate to me how this works?”

She stood frozen like a deer in headlights trying to decide what to say. I appealed to her, “We are just talking, right?” Giving her a confident shrug.

“Right,” Corey affirmed, relieved.

“...and,” I continued, “do you need pants on to talk?”

Corey blushed and fumed. Her breaths were heavy. “No,” she said with disdain.

“Right,” I said in the condescending tone she so often used with me, “Take them off.”

Corey was now the one who was dumbfounded and flat-footed.

“Fine,” she said after a long moment of consideration, disbelieving what she was doing. Corey looked away ashamedly and shed her pants in one quick motion. She folded them neatly and placed them on the Italian marble counter behind her. Her legs crossed protectively and her hands naturally covered her crotch area. She had the bashfulness of a first-time middle schooler in the locker room. It was wonderfully cathartic watching her struggle and suffer for a change.

Angered and spiteful she shot a hateful glare at me with tear-swollen eyes. “Happy, asshole?” Corey dropped her eyes to the floor in shame.

Again, I could not decide how to proceed. My dick throbbed within my pants, but Corey and I both knew that this could not start just yet. Her eyes met mine and we gazed at each other in a long silence. She is beautiful. I could feel something was changing between us. In the silence, we both were transforming.

Whatever I did next would set the tone of our sexual relationship, but I was paralyzed with fear of doing or saying the wrong thing. I remained silent and still as I stared at her.

Corey looked at me waiting for what came next. I gazed deeply into the dark pools of her brown eyes. I saw depths of pain and longing I had never seen before. In return, she gazed back, peering into my eyes. It was as though our souls had intertwined in that moment, fostering trust, respect, understanding, and even love.

This felt right. I saw Corey's inhibitions melt away. Her hands dropped to her sides and her whole body relaxed. Without a word Corey dropped her panties to her ankles, and removed her shirt and bra, folding and stacking them on the counter with her pants.

“You are right, master. I don’t deserve the dignity of clothes at all.” Corey dropped to her knees and splayed her legs. She picked her panties off the floor and held them out to me as an offering - a gift for her new master.

She gazed up confidently into my eyes, our connection entirely undeniable.

I accepted her gift with a nod of affirmation and placed her panties in my pocket. They were mine now. She was mine now. Corey took her empty hands and folded them submissively behind her back.

I looked over her toned, naked, kneeling slut body. I could not believe this was real. A lecherous smile crept across my face as I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. Corey tilted her head up, maintaining eye contact.

I gestured for her to open her mouth. I, too, had a gift for my new submissive. Like intimate dance partners, we were in sync with each other - communicating in a language beyond words. I led and she followed.

Corey opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. She graciously accepted my gift as I spit a glob of saliva into her mouth. It landed on her tongue and slid to the back of her throat.

What I did next was cruel, but I needed to test the authenticity of what was happening here.

I picked up Corey's phone from the counter and pointed it at her face. The phone unlocked, and I made a few swiping gestures. Her body tensed up, though she didn't change positions. I could feel Corey's strained expression following me.

"Hello?" The voice of her husband broke the silence of the kitchen. On the screen now I looked at Jake's image. Jake, the eternal narcissist held the phone so I could see the city behind him from the corner office of the skyscraper where he worked. Both Jake and Corey always had a way of rubbing their success in my face.

Corey remained still and obedient, but her eyes were desperate, pleading with me not to expose her secret to her husband. This was a test of Corey's trust in me, her new master. Despite her clear objections, she remained quiet and her position. So far, she was passing.

"Hey, Jake, it's Brad," I said casually. "Sorry to call you like this. My phone died, and I'm at your house doing a few things for your misses."

"Uh, OK. That's fine. What's up?" Jake responded awkwardly.

"Corey tells me that you're out of town this weekend, is that right?" I glanced at Corey, who obediently awaited her fate before me.

"Yessir," he said smugly. "Me and my boys from college are going up to Breckenridge for a long weekend of skiing."

This would normally have dragged me through feelings of resentment and hostility. Now, however, with his wife kneeling naked and vulnerable on the floor with my spit in her mouth, his comment brought me a wonderful sense of spiteful joy.

"Nice…" I nodded genuinely to Jake.

"Hey, you want to come?" Jake asked in a friendly tone. The question stung my pride. We both knew I could barely afford rent. What an insensitive question.

I glanced from the phone to Corey. She gave me an expression of understanding and pity. It was an apology on behalf of her husband.

I thrust two fingers deep into her open mouth. She responded by pushing upward, taking both fingers to the knuckle. She made an involuntary but quiet gurgling sound.

"Thanks for the offer," I said coolly, looking back to the phone, "but I just made plans."

I withdrew my fingers from Corey’s mouth and smeared the slime from deep in her throat onto her face.

“That’s too bad,” Jake replied in feigned disappointment.

I placed all four fingers flat against Corey’s waiting tongue and forced my hand deep into her throat. Corey pushed her tongue forward allowing me full access to her throat without complaint.

"What I was calling for was to see if I could borrow your guitar amp while you're gone?" I carefully turned the phone camera over Corey’s head, who was shamelessly choking herself on my fingers. I pointed the view at the guitar amp and accessories piled neatly in the corner of the kitchen. "I wanted to play some this weekend, and your amp is much better than mine."

As I turned the camera back towards my face, I saw Jake give a smug little smile. It was intended to be friendly, but it was insincere. It...