Ass-fucked by Batman and Robin

It’s a hot afternoon. I’m in the house alone and my boss calls to tell me I don’t have to work tonight, which is fine by me. I relax, smoke a joint and play my guitar for a while. I see a pile of dirty laundry waiting to be washed, so I load it in the machine. Then I settle in front of my laptop and catch up with stuff on line till the wash is finished and I can hang it all out on the line outside. I end up looking at porn, and stumble on a sissy hypno audio file. When I was younger, hypno was something I had been mildly interested in. I thought at the time the whole hypno craze was going to dominate porn and turn everyone into drooling zombies. But none of it had much effect on me I have to say, so I moved onto other kinks. Then a few years later I got married, so all those activities came to end. 

But now I am thinking - what the fuck? I put on headphones and click on the audio file. I expect to hear the usual ‘deeper and deeper’ crap, but it turns out to be nothing but the sound of faint birdsong and a gurgling brooks. Pleasant enough to the ear I think, so I leave it on. After a while I find myself chatting to a few mates on line and meanwhile the birdsong twitters away, to the point where I cease to notice. An hour later I get up to hang out the washing. I step out onto the terrace with the basket and the first thing I pick out is a shirt. The collar is still dirty. I’m puzzled and cannot work out why, and then I realise it’s not wet. I touch the rest of the stuff I’ve pulled out of the machine and can’t for the life of me work out why it’s all as dry as a bone. I can remember loading it all into the machine, adding the powder, setting the temperature, and then... Ah. The penny drops. I reload the machine and this time I make sure I switch it on. It’s clear I’m now a bit stoned. I see another basket of laundry my wife did before she left for work, and since I have nothing much else to do, I decide to be useful and take it up to our bedroom to put the clothes away. I start folding my wife’s knickers and stockings carefully, placing them neatly in a pile of top of the chest of drawers...

And then? Well, to be honest, I can’t remember what happened after that, but an hour later, I’m in a stranger’s dimly lit garage, bent over the bonnet of his battered Volvo Estate, with my naked ass in the air. I’m wearing my wife’s bra and her long blond wig. My lips are caked in her pink lipstick. I had been wearing her black pvc skirt too, and red satin knickers but they’ve been pulled down to my ankles, and I can feel greasy fingers, pushing into my bum-hole. It smells like axle grease. The man who is doing this is twice my age, overweight and wearing a rubber Batman mask. None of that matters of course. He starts to fuck me, and there’s nothing much I can do about it, because he’s bound my wrists together behind my back with thick duct tape. I’m just gazing at the wall beside me, at the lines of dusty jam jars on the wooden shelves, filled with rusty screws and washers, while he fucks me and calls me his cock-sucking bitch.

Some time later my view of the shelves is blocked by a second man, small and skinny. He has scraggy white hair and beard and he’s wearing a dirty grey tee-shirt with the word ROBIN printed on it. He pulls out his skinny white cock and strokes it gently, while he waits his turn.

I get back home very late. It’s the horniest night I’ve had in years, but explaining it all to my wife, who is still awake and waiting for me, is, well, as you can imagine, not easy...

Daniel Guy