One cheerleader dressed in pink. Check.
One cheerleader dressed in blue? Check.
One referee to oversea it all? I looked down at my own black and white striped outfit. Check.
Everyone in pigtails? Double check.
Now it was time to make some boys cry…one way or another.
It was a humid, sticky day at kinky summer camp but with the rain just tampering off minutes before we gathered in the “playground”, I couldn’t help but get a little excited. I really liked beating up boys and I was accompanied by two other women who also happened to like beating up boys.
“Those idiots better not be late,” the pink cheerleader huffed fanning herself with a stack of cards. Her pink pigtails swung as she shook her head disapprovingly.
“I’ve got complicated math equations for them to solve!”
“…while under duress!,” I chimed in with a smirk.
I looked around at the two women who would be joining me in the handcrafted scene as my own toy bag spilled onto the grass under us. Thirty ice cold filled water balloons, a toy baseball bat, pom-poms, body chalk, homemade pepper spray, Legos and other miscellaneous items littered the area and in turn, filled me with glee.
I spotted the two consenting “boys” coming up the hill on foot out of the corner of my eye.
“Here they are!” I exclaimed immediately putting my brand new purple whistle to my lips.
“LET’S GO IDIOTS!” I yelled down to them.
The other “girls” looked at me with a twinkle in their eyes as I looked over my shoulder and said, “Remember, today’s lesson is ‘Girls rule and boys drool’ don’t let them forget it.”
Pigtails all around bounced up and down in agreement, pre-scene adrenaline rushing through us all.
“Now GET THEM!” I lifted my head back and yelled.
The girls began to circle around the two of us like vultures with us as their prey. It was clear they were ready to be much more than mean.
“Hey loser!,” said one of the cheerleaders in our direction.
” You have no idea what we you have gotten yourself into”, said the other one with a more sinister look in her eyes.
My Mistress, dressed as the referee, continued to circle us as all, taunting about anything they could poke at: our clothes, our hair, various aspects of our bodies, our respective life choices (or lack thereof), there wasn’t much they held back verbally. Then for the first time I heard ‘The whistle’, which would become a huge part of our scene. The loud sudden shrieking noise startled both of us boys, but it also seemed to alert anyone within a hundred foot radius that we were about to be get a proper female led beatdown. The crowd gathered and cheered almost anytime they heard its call.
A flurry of random hands attacked my small, lean body. The outfit I had been given to wear was quite literally roughly ripped open and off my body, the buttons littered the ground around me. My pants were cut off with scissors just enough to allow them to be ripped off too, my tie was tightened firmly against my Adam’s apple and pulled tightly like a leash and my glasses were snatched from my face as Mistress mocked me before she crushed them beneath her foot while cackling with delight. It’s a cackle I’ve heard often. The other girls thought this was hilarious and joined in her laughing. Then that whistle was blown again, somehow louder than before.
“JUMPING JACKS NOW BITCHES,” Mistress screamed, as us boys hurried to obey.
As we began jumping, more and more spectators had gathered around us and started watching. Even at kinky camp I imagined they were wondering what these three women had in their devious minds for us dumb boys. As we jumped we were told to go faster and then even faster. We were told to not waiver even when the water balloons were being lobbed at us from all three of them, they urged us to push ourselves as we raced each other relay style up a hill, they wanted us to ignore the bats and paddles they continued to beat us with all over our bodies with, oh and the rapid fire rubber band gun that was being shot as us as we tried to ‘escape’? Dodge them as best we could. I tried to just look straight ahead, to sink into sub space, and not worry about the onlookers, or the abuse that I was being subjected to. In that moment I was just focused on jumping jacks and counting them out loud.
1, 2, 3, 4…..11, 12….
The attacks from all three woman continued. One drew on us in permanent marker:
Countless more humiliating words were scrawled on our bodies on every available surface. Raw eggs were thrown at us, and grinded into my skin like tiny shards of glass, our asses were beaten in rotation by each girl with each different implement. Though as people watched on and laughed at the two idiot boys allowing themselves to be humiliated like this, I continued to focus: Jump, Jump, Jump, Jump.
Just as I had reached the perfect sunken place within my mind, that whistle, pressed between my Mistress’s plump red lips.
It screeched once again and jarred me back to Earth, back to reality. I heard a sound I always dread hearing the most…electricity crackling. She had forgotten a few outfits, some accents for classes we were to teach that weekend, even a spare pair of shoes, but she had not forgotten the stun gun. My stomach double coin knotted. She knew how much I loathed electric play, especially with this one particular weapon. She knew mentally, it was going to fuck with me.
We all began to chant “GIRLS RULE BOYS DROOL! GIRLS RULE BOYS DROOL!’ over and over for the next minute to ensure the message was really sinking in as they stood naked, half shivering from the water balloons, graffitied for our pleasure, covered in messy egg yolk, silly string, mud and more, on top of the verbal lashings whispered from each of us to them.
We made them repeat the chant back to us. I wanted them to reaffirm the mantra of today’s scene, and I demanded that every nearby member in the camp ground, men especially, to know that ‘GIRLS RULE! BOYS DROOL!’ I don’t know exactly how many times I whistled guiding them in that chant.
BREEEET BREEEET! BREEEET BREEET!
GIRLS RULE! BOYS DROOL!
I only encouraged them to be louder and louder, as I walked closer and closer until eventually we were nose to nose and I screamed into my sissy husband’s face ‘GIRLS RULE! BOYS DROOL!’ and then I spat on him and watched him struggle not to shift as the white glob rolled down his face slowly. When I held him down on the ground to force open his eye, only to receive a quick but powerful mist from my homemade pepper spray, a kind spectator offered us water while he flailed around…which I allowed him for a few minutes, but only a few.
My eyes still burned and were and blurry as Mistress grabbed me from behind. Her mental and emotional dominance over me, suddenly turned into physical, as this is often the case because she likes to show me that physically, I am much weaker compared to her. She pushed me down like her property and dragged me around on the grass by my ankles, my backside took most of the pain. She, as usual, overpowered me with ease, shoved me face down into the dirt again, then we all began another round of beat Puppy’s sore and bruised body. In this dark yet chaotic place, the mud muffled some noise, my mind began again to slip away to that submissive place of peace, even with all the humiliating taunts that were meant only for me to hear.
If I am being completely honest, what happened over that next half an hour, I am unable to recall in completely clear details. I was beaten and humiliated in ways I never had been before. All of my senses were in someway punished, abused, or aroused. The truly stand alone moment of the entire scene happened just after I had been forced to be dry humped by the other boy in the scene, of course only after being made to hump him first. Because, why not? My Mistress was so disgusted with my new display as a sissy husband, that she dragged me up from the ground by my hair and forcibly removed the wedding ring we had only exchanged just two months earlier and tossed it out of sight.
I could hear the verbal humiliation, the insults, the threats, the belittling, the constant shouting of ‘GIRLS RULE BOYS DROOL’ and of course that fucking whistle.
I could see everything that was happening, but was powerless to stop it. I could see each implement that would be used to beat me, each water balloon that came hurtling towards my body. I could taste the dirt in my mouth. I could also smell the sweat oozing from myself as endorphins tab through me and I was continued to be physically pushed more and more and more.
I could feel every little thing that was being done to me. So many different sources of painful stimuli, but there is one I remember clearly. Have you ever gotten up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, only to be halfway to kitchen when you step on tiny but deadly Legos? Now imagine kneeling on Legos. On concrete. Then being forced to crawl on a path of them being laid out before you, handfuls at a time. No matter how deep I was in subspace, I could feel every little ridge and corner of those pieces of evil Legos!
“This boy hates vegetables so I wanted to give him his daily serving today,” Mistress told the other cheerleaders. They smiled and laughed with her clapping their hands. I hated vegetables she was right. I really didn’t like peas, but I loathed baby food! One girl held the stun gun so close to my body that I felt it’s heat. It was a great incentive to cooperate.
Thus, for the first time ever in a scene, even my sense of taste was abused. Holding me again in place by the hair Mistress pulled out a jar of baby food, something she actually enjoys as a real late night snack, said ‘Open wide’ and began force feeding me the green goo. But I quickly realized it wasn’t one of the nice pureed fruity ones she usually eats. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to gag, the taste was awful, I wanted to spit it out, but knew I would regret that more if all of Mistress’s actions today had been any indication.
Scenes like this can be start off highly charged, lighting up the proverbial sky, but then burnout just as quickly, even for veteran kinksters like myself. Sweat was pouring down my face, my hands were sticky with who knew what by that point, my boots had been licked, kicked, and pressed into floundering, floppy flesh but I was starting to feel my own self drop. It was also clear after about an intense, non stop, 45 minutes of beating, everyone in the scene was sharing my ebb back down to reality. It was a very physically and mentally complex mindfuck of a scene, on a 90° day in the middle of the woods.
“HAVE YOU ALL HAD ENOUGH?!” I screamed at the top of my lungs bluffing. I was taking pride that I knew my voice would be lost after this scene.
Neither of them dared answer my rhetorical question but instead awaited further commands, standing silently at attention as taught.
I wanted to end the scene the right way, so I mustered up the last of my energy. The girls roughed them up a little more and the boys were once again pulled to their feet and told to run to one end of the field and back. I saw Puppy’s eyes light up as I knew he was gearing up for this to be winding down. But the competitive streak in him took over and I knew he really wanted to win this race. I think after being told for an hour he was a ‘LOSER’ he wanted to prove he could be a winner, even if only in this capacity. He wanted to impress his Mistress.
After the sloppy, tired, spacey, race was complete the scene began to come to a true end. The crowd had steadily been growing throughout the scene and Mistress wanted to make sure if they took away one thing from the experience it was that…’GIRLS RULE BOYS DROOL’
We repeated that phrase over a dozen times and everyone within a certain radius of us heard us shout it was loud as we were commanded.
Once it had been completed to the satisfaction of all 3 ladies, we were lead down to the communal showers to try and wash away bits of food, dirt, grime, insults scrawled across our bodies, and yes just a little bit of shame.
I watched Puppy and the other bruised boy walk back to where the scene had started and we just smiled at each other, knowing the scene idea we had first talked about 3 years ago had finally been fulfilled. I gave him a hug, and allowed him to snuggle into me, his attacker, for brief comfort, and then he whispered in my ear, “Can I have my ring back please Mistress?”
“What ring? Your wedding ring? I threw that thing somewhere in the grass,” she said nonchalantly as she began to tug me by the makeshift collar of my chopped off tie.
She was only joking…right???
**As retold by Mistress and her Puppy**