How I Met Your Mother

It's not really all that much of a story, but I guess you're old enough to be told.

It was back in my college days. My roommate was a guy named Colin Jacobson. Yes, I'm talking about "Uncle Colin." He was a great guy, always one for a practical joke. I remember once, he replaced our urinal slut with his mother. I pissed down her throat for a full minute (I'd drunk way too much the night before), and was enjoying a great post-piss blowjob when I realised "her" technique at giving head had gotten a lot better. I looked down, and was pleasantly surprised to see Mrs. Jacobson squatting in the urinal, sucking my dick for all she was worth. She realised I had noticed, smiled up at me, and said, "Good morning, Anthony."

Actually, of course, it came out more like, "Gwahrdmrnnfgantfy". But it was the thought that counted. Anyway, as I was saying, it started one Friday, when Colin told me there was going to be a great party over at the Engineering Society. Unlike most schools, the geeks at the U put on the coolest parties on campus. Fortunately I was pursuing my degree in Computer Engineering, so I was invited. Colin was a Nuclear Engineer. They always joked that they were in college to get a little "Nuke E". (It's funnier if you read it aloud, fast.)

Since the party didn't start until 9pm, there was time for a relaxing bath, and dinner, before we had to go. I summoned three bath attendants. The residence hall knows my preferences, and all three were petite and busty redheads. As I got in the tub (nicely filled with nicely hot water), one of the sluts climbed in with me, knelt between my legs, and began to suck my cock. I hadn't yet made up my mind whether to snuff her. On the one hand, there is something truly delicious about feeling a slut literally choking to death, gasping for air on your cock, to make a man come like a fireplug. On the other hand, I was in no hurry to come, yet, so I decided that she'd live, for the time being.

One of the other two lathered her boobs up, and began using them to soap me up. The third, of course, had been thoroughly cleansed, and then had her ass filled with soap, so she could be our soap dispenser. I lay there, enjoying the bath, and must have drifted off, since the next thing I remember was Colin calling out to me.

"Dude, I'm fixin' to order some grub. Got a taste for anything in particular?"

"Yeah. Tell 'em I want fresh-grilled tit."

In the background, I could hear him mumbling something about pussy tartare and grilled tit. I was glad he got it right. Nothing can ruin my evening faster than getting my mouth set for one dish for dinner, and not getting it. But Colin usually did get it right. That was one of the many reasons we got along so well as roommates.

I looked down at the cocksucking slut. She was amazingly talented, since she had kept me hard this whole time, without bringing me off. "What's your name, slut?"

"Connie, Sir."

"Ah, Connie, do you have any plans for tonight?" I thought I'd bring her along to the party. It never hurts to bring a great cocksucker to one of these shindigs.

"Sorry, Sir, yes I do. I and a few others have been assigned to serve at a party tonight."

"Really? Which party?"

"The Engineering Society party, Sir."

"Perhaps I'll see you there, slut."

"I'd like that, Sir."

"Then finish me off, so the other two can rinse, dry, and dress me." She began to suck with even greater skill and enthusiasm than before, and it was only a matter of a few more minutes before I came in her mouth. Outstanding!

The other two, as expected, rinsed and dried me, and asked me what I wanted to wear. "Is this a formal party, Colin?"

"No, dude, no need for the official robes."

"Great, I hate wearing those on hot and muggy nights. Sluts," I turned to my bath attendants, "pick me out a polo shirt and matching slacks and sandals."

"Yes, Sir!"

When I was dressed, I dismissed the sluts. Soon, there was a knock at the door. In came a lovely blonde, pushing a charcoal grill on a wheeled cart. Colin was in his room, getting dressed. "Dinner's here," I called.

"Be right there, dude."

"Okay, slut, I am having the grilled tits, and my roommate is having the pussy tartare. So we'll grill your tits first, then cut out your pussy."

"Very good, Sir. Would you like a blowjob before we start?"

"No, slut, I just had a great one." I smiled at the memory. I really did hope to meet Connie again at the party.

"I'll take one, slut," came Colin's voice as he entered the room.

She dropped and gave him a blowjob. Her technique wasn't bad, but I don't think she was as skilled, or as enthusiastic, as Connie had been.

She finished, and returned to the grill. Since she had started the fire before she blew Colin, the coals were cherry red. "How done would you like me, Sir?"

"Medium," I answered.

"Very good, Sir." She bent over the grill, pressing her tits to it. Almost immediately, they began to sizzle. She grimaced, but made no other sign of any discomfort she might be feeling.

"I've always wondered, slut," my roommate said, "does it hurt to grill your tits?"

"Yes, Sir, it does."

"Ah, good, glad to hear it. Carry on!" He waved in gesture that he probably thought made him look imperial. It didn't.

Soon, I could tell from the smell that Connie was probably about done. I shoved a meat thermometer into her tits. Perfect!

"Bring me a carving knife, slut, you are ready to serve." She handed me a knife and I cut her tits off. They were done to perfection. I hardly noticed it when Colin took her aside, and cut out her cunt. Her dying screams made a nice counterpoint to my dinner.

When we finished, I checked the clock. It was already after eight. Time to go!

We headed down to the entrance hall, and found a four-slut cab waiting for us. I looked at Colin, questioningly.

"I figured we'd need a ride," he answered my look.

Back in the day, my son, I found few things more exhilarating than a brisk ride in a cab drawn by not one, or even two, but four lovely ponysluts. I've broadened my horizons in the years that followed, but back then, what a treat it was.

When we arrived, Colin unhitched all four of the ponysluts and led them in. "I forgot to mention, dude, it's a BAS (Bring A Slut) party."

Sure enough, when we got to the door, we saw our friend Bryce, arguing with the doorman. He was unaccompanied, and clearly was not to be admitted. "Bryce," Colin called out, "no worries, dude. We brought extras."

Colin handed the leads for the sluts to the doorman, and swept an arm to encompass the three of us. The doorman nodded and waved us in.

We weren't the first to arrive. Good, I always hate being first.

In fact, it was clearly shaping up to be a great party already. The band was one of my favorites, Vale of Tears. I admit to being prejudiced. My older brother, yes, your Uncle Michael, played the electric soprano for them. I wandered over to say hello.

"Anthony," he called. He knows I hate being called Tony. "Good to see you!"

"And you, 'bro! I didn't know you were in town, let alone playing a gig here."

"Well, I admit to persuading the band to come by. I wanted you to meet my fiancée." He gestured to the brunette strapped in to the electric chair. "Anthony, this slut is called Lydia. Lydia, this is my younger brother, Anthony."

"Pleased to meet you, Sir. I apologise for not being able to greet you with the traditional blowjob, but as you can see," she gestured with her head.

I nodded. "Another time, slut Lydia. Michael," I turned back to my brother, "what ever happened to your previous instrument?"

"Sylvia, you mean?"

"I think so. Blonde, flat-chested, big-ass, screamed like a banshee, sucked like a vacuum cleaner?"

"That's her. Well, we were playing The Taste of Chicago last summer. You know how wild that gets." I nodded. "Well, the crowd was rowdy, and having a great time. When they called for a third encore, we did Ride The Lightnings."

I remembered that one. The song built slowly, over the course of about five minutes, as the slut in the electric chair was gradually shocked with greater intensity, until finally at the crescendo, she gets a fatal dose. Usually they only performed it when my brother was tiring of his current slut, but sometimes they did it for a final encore.

"You didn't happen to get that performance recorded, did you?" I asked, hopefully.

He handed me a disc, and grinned. "A little bird," he nodded at Colin, "said you'd be coming tonight. By the bye, have you got a sec? I'd love to introduce the two of you to the rest of the band."

"Sure."

"Great. Anthony, Colin, this is Gunther, our axe man." He was a brute of a man, at least six four and two-hundred-fifty pounds, but it was all muscle. In his right hand was a large double-bitted ax, though he made it look almost like a toy in his massive grip. Gunther nodded at us, and Michael continued, "These are his sluts for tonight, Helga, Brigitte, and Erica."

Once again, the blowjob of greeting had to be dispensed with, as all three sluts were already strapped to their respective chopping blocks. Actually, they were not chopping blocks so much as chopping tables, since (as I knew from past performances) he'd dismember his sluts with the ax during the show.

"This is Nick, our percussionist," he pointed to a tall weedy looking guy, with a Mohawk. He may have been skinny, but his arms were well-muscled, the sign of a percussionist. "These sluts are Anna, Julie, Kim, and Joan. Anna will be our alto drum tonight, Julie the snare-scream, and Kim and Joan the cymbals."

"Finally, this is Samson, our slut-o-phone player. I don't remember the sluts names anymore. Samson, how long has it been since you changed out your sluts?"

"Dunno, Michael, six months, maybe eight? Who cares, so long as they scream on key."

"Well, thanks for the introductions, 'bro, and for the disc. But I'd probably better let you guys finish getting ready." I held out my hand to my brother, but he disdained it, preferring to give me a bear hug. With Colin, he did shake hands, though.

We walked back to Bryce, who goggled at me. "I keep forgetting your brother plays in Vale of Tears," Bryce said. "What's it like?"

"For me? It doesn't really make any difference, except that I get invited to more backstage events than most guys my age." I grinned. "Of course, y'all are invited to the after party, too, if you like."

The emcee on the dais at the other end from where the band had set up, grabbed the microphone, and said, "Gentlemen, let's get this dance started. Just for a change, the first dance will be Slut's Choice. Sluts, choose your partner, and choose your torture toy. No wallflowers!"

I stood looking over the sluts, trying to pick out which ones I'd like to dance with, after the first. A cute little blonde, maybe five foot in flats, and lucky if she weighed one hundred pounds, approached me with a short single-tail (also called a message whip) in her hands. I gave her the once-over, twice. I definitely liked what I saw.

"Greetings, Sir," she said. "My name is Amber. Would you please single-tail me for the first dance?"

"I'd be delighted, but I have to warn you, my father was a Gold Medalist on the Snuff Olympic team, and his specialty was the single-tail. I learned how to use one from him starting at a very young age, and by the time I graduated high school, I was proficient enough that he let me single-tail his then current slave to death for my Snuff Master Qualification Exam. I can promise you some of the most severe pain you can ever imagine. You game?"

She looked at me, and a shudder ran through her body, though whether in fear or anticipation, I wasn't quite sure. She just nodded.

I grabbed the leash attached to her collar, and led her across the dance floor to a quiet corner. We found an unoccupied circle on the edge of the floor, where I could take my time.

"Okay, slut," I ordered, "I am not going to bind you. I want you to stand still while I whip you. If you move out of the circle before I am done, I'll call forfeit. And the forfeit will be me chaining you in place, and single-tailing you to death. Do you understand?"

She nodded, again. I think she was already trying to get into a good torture headspace. Too bad!

About the time all the guys and sluts had partnered up, and found circles on the floor, the band began to play. They played "Scream For Me, Slut" which I've always loved. I began to whip Amber, arrhythmically. I didn't want her to get good headspace. I wanted her to feel the agony of every single stroke. I wasn't planning to kill her, though I wouldn't hesitate if she strayed from the circle.

I must say, Amber was a delight to whip. She had such a lovely screaming voice. One of the things I always loved about dances like this, with a live band, is that the band, knowing why they were playing, always did the extended cut. In this case, they played for about twenty minutes. I heard one particularly heart-wrenching (or more accurately, dick-hardening) scream from the band, and looked up. Sure enough, it was Lydia. I could see, watching her writhe, and listening to her scream, why my brother loved her. I couldn't wait for my own chance to get her in the dungeon.

Meanwhile, I made sure that Amber would never forget the night she asked me to single-tail her. My dad taught me a trick that I showed Amber. If you are very skilled with the single-tail, and just a bit lucky, you can split a slut's clit right open. As the climax to the song came, I lined up. I was on my game, that night, and knew I'd get the stroke perfectly.

As Lydia hit the final chorus, I struck. Amber screamed like a soul in hell, which I hoped at that moment she was. She collapsed, as Eddie Izzard would say, "like a flan in a cupboard." But she stayed within the circle. I was quite pleased with her.

I walked over to help her to her feet. "Slut," I said, "you were terrific. I want you to come to Brandearl Hall, Room 483, next Saturday, at 4pm. I was so impressed by your performance I'd like to single-tail you to death."

"Oh, yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!"

The emcee called for us to change partners. Standing just a few circles away was a truly stunning African slut. She was at least six foot tall, and built! She had more curves than US Highway 101. She was holding a genuine sjambok.

I walked over, grabbed her leash, and led her back to my circle. This was going to be fun.

"Hello, slut!" I said. "Usual rules apply. Step out of the circle before the dance is complete, and I'll assess a forfeit. For you, the forfeit will be to be dismembered alive, one joint at a time. Capisce?"

She nodded. The band began their second song, "Beat Me, Daddy." I did.

By the time the song ended, another twenty or so minutes later, it would have been nearly impossible to find a place on her ass, thighs, or belly, that was not bruised. Too bad there was at least one more song before they called a rest break. Maybe I'd pushed her hard enough that her next dance partner could get a forfeit. I was hoping so. She looked like she'd be fun to snuff.

I looked around to pick my next dance partner. I heard Colin call my name.

"Anthony, dude, you have got to dance with Kirsten, here. I've never seen or even heard of a slut as well-suited to pussy-whipping as she is. She is truly incredible." The slut standing next to him, a busty brunette of about medium height, beamed at the words of praise.

I approached, took her leash, and offered Colin my last partner's leash. "This slut was fun to sjambok. I've warmed her up enough you can probably get her to forfeit." I grinned. "I promised her a joint-by-joint dismemberment."

He returned the grin, and took the leash. "What's her name, dude?"

"No idea. Snuff-bait?" I guessed.

"Close enough." He returned to his circle, I to mine. I looked at Kirsten.

"What makes you so well-suited for pussy-whipping?" I asked.

She turned, and showed me her clit. Holy shit! I've known guys with smaller dicks than that.

"I was bred to have a very large, and extremely sensitive clit. I can orgasm just from someone blowing hard on it. Getting whipped, though," she continued, in a low, breathy whisper, "is like nitrous oxide. I'm always afraid I'll come so hard I'll break a bone. I haven't yet, thank goodness, but you never know."

I decided this time I'd have her bend at the waist, and take my dick in her mouth, while I whipped between her ass cheeks, letting the tails curl under to whip that beautiful clit.

"Remember, bitch, if I even feel one tooth on my dick, it's forfeit time. And your forfeit will be me taking sanding paper to sand off your clit, after I sand off your labia."

"That sounds delicious, Sir. But unfortunately, Colin has already ordered my termination, tomorrow at noon. But I will suggest that to him."

"So will I, slut, so will I."

There are few things as emotionally satisfying as a really good pussy-whipping. By the time the band had wrapped up "Gimme Head or Gimme Yours" her screams around my dick had caused me to shoot down her throat at least twice.

I looked over at Colin. The African slut (I never did find out her name, but then, who cares?) had stepped out of the circle. Yes!

I dragged the nearly exhausted Kirsten over to see what forfeit Colin had decreed.

"Janelle," he said (so her name was Janelle), "you stepped out of the circle before I was finished. What forfeit did I promise you, bitch?"

"That you would feed me into the chipper-shredder," she sobbed.

"Let's go." He led her across the room, to where the industrial chipper-shredder was set up. This one was designed to shred live sluts. There was a shoot leading in to the maw, and a plate that could be set at the head of the slut, to slowly feed her in. There was even a speed control, to set how many minutes it should take. Colin dialed four, figuring that was about as long as she could survive the blood loss, and loss of internal organs.

She lay down in the shoot, and Colin pressed the start button. It was...intense. I've never shredded a slut, myself, but it was one of Colin's favorite snuff methods. To each his own.

The emcee spoke again. "Those of you who were students here last year may recall that we had a little bet with Club Pre-Med over which group would raise more funds for the Inhumane Society, and we have the results: Club Pre-Med raised a quite respectable $24,500. But the men of the Engineering Society dug deep and did us proud, raising a record-breaking $58,700 to support the good work carried out by the Inhumane Society. Well done! Give yourselves a round of applause."

Everyone did so, and the emcee resumed. "Now there's the little matter of the forfeit. You may recall that each of the club's officers was required to put up a female relative, either a sister or mother, as stakes. Well, we won, and you know what that means!"

"Barbecue!" was the massed shout from the guys.

"Technically," the emcee said, "lots of sex and torture tonight, followed by a barbecue tomorrow. Bring in the prizes, and enjoy! But before that, we have one more bit of business to take care of, specifically, the door prizes. Gentlemen, you each got a ticket on the way in. I have a bowl here, with the matching halves. We'll be drawing for several prizes."

"First of all," he continued, "we'll draw for designated grill master for our barbecue tomorrow. Who has," he looked at the ticket he had just drawn, "number 483117?"

Some freshman I didn't recognise, a little runt with a squeaky tenor said, "That's me! I won, I won, I can't believe I won!" He ran up to the emcee, who checked his ticket, and agreed.

"Second, we have a drawing for a weekend getaway for two masters, and their slaves, at Spa Sado. They have some of the most exquisitely trained girls there, and access to some of the most advanced torture equipment. It's a great time, or so I'm told." He grinned, and drew another number. "Who has 483064?"

Quiet for a bit, then Colin said, "Shit! I have it, woo-hoo!" He looked at me and added, "Feel like a weekend getaway?" I nodded, enthusiastically. My Dad had been to Spa Sado a time or two, and he always came back thoroughly sated. He went forward, confirmed that he had the winning ticket, and came back with the vouchers.

"Finally," the emcee said, "we have our grand prize: A slave who is receiving the 'slave-wife' training. She's being trained in all the arts a slave-wife must know, including becoming a cordon bleu level chef, a torture and snuff artist, a skilled fellatrix and sex partner, able to satisfy men, women, and even animals, and of course, most of all, an extremely sensitive pain-slave, with an extremely high tolerance for pain. One of you lucky men will be taking home...Connie!"

He pointed to side of the stage, and sure enough, the same Connie who had done such a delightful job sucking my dick earlier was standing next to the emcee. He had her reach into the bowl and pull out a ticket. "And the lucky winner is..."

He drew out the suspense. "The winner is number 482979!" Nobody responded. "Who has 482979? Anyone? Anyone? Last call for 482979." He waited a further minute, but got no response.

Finally, he had Connie draw another number. "Okay, second time around, who's the lucky fellow holding...483065?" I blinked. I must have misheard him. "483065?" he repeated.

"That's me," I said, still surprised. "That's me!" I walked up to the stage, and showed him my ticket. He confirmed that I did, indeed, hold 483065, and handed me her leash.

"Enjoy!" he said.

I grinned at Connie, she at me. "I will!" I responded.

And that's how I met your mother. As I said, not much of a story, really.