BESTIALITY SCAT FETISH CUCKOLD PUNISHMENT, pt. 2

bestiality scat fetish

He said cuckold, I said “bestiality scat fetish.”

Some people (or even another phone sex operator) might consider a bestiality scat fetish “too hardcore” or too extreme. Ha. Extreme cases of wannabe cuck dumbassery call for extreme measures. Last week I crossed paths again with the most pitiful closeted cuckold fetishist I’ve met in a while, much to my (highly discerning) chagrin. He was “helping” my friend Lena move. I wouldn’t call what he was doing “helping,” and eventually, neither did my (also intimidating, mean) ladyfriend.

I was pretty disgusted to see Art’s pasty, underwhelming face again. Then again, it didn’t surprise me — his wormy little self always seems to turn up when I am least expecting it/least looking forward to it. Of course, I am never looking forward to seeing a limp-dicked weaselly bitch like Art. God, everything about him made me sick.

He was, as usual, talking WAY too much — talking at all is too much for him, in my opinion — and generally derailing any kind of “progress” from the task at hand. How annoying. How childish. What a detestable dimwitted man-baby. Ugh. His assigned chore was pretty fucking easy: washing dishes. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist. But an aspiring cuck does not a dishwasher make. The dishes he “washed” seemed dirtier. They needed to be rewashed. Not only did he not clean his greasy, foul, uncalloused hands before washing the dishes, everything was soapy yet dirty. The dishes seemed to have more callouses than his baby-like, grotesquely soft hands.

I decided his “help” with chores had gone on long enough. It was time for his new assignment.

Another messy area of the house, one I couldn’t clean because I have a cat allergy, was Lena’s litterbox. No one had changed it in at least four weeks. If this stupid fuck couldn’t clean anything, it was time for him to do some actual work. Or better yet, wallow in the filth he perpetuated in his neverending, increasingly desperate frenzy in a bestiality scat fetish-style punishment.

“Hey, Art!” I shouted over the din of shitty commercial hip hop his dumb ass had put on. So I gripped his shoulder firmly, hoping more to scare him and not inadvertently give him a hardon. Lena had told me he was a virgin. Ew. But, again, unsurprising. This nasty, impotent schmuck just kept getting more and grosser.

Slow on the uptake, he didn’t respond right away. I can only imagine he’s received quite a bit of criticism over his short (and again, underwhelming, mostly wasted) life. However, he was still unable to follow simple instructions to save his life. The only matter of life and death was how bad he was irritating the fuck out of me. I tapped him more aggressively. He eventually asked “what?” blandly, with the same prowess he “washed” dishes.

“I’m going to do the dishes now. We have another chore for you. It’s very important, and only you will be able to do it.”

I kept a poker face while delivering this line. He responded with his usual kerfuffled confused blabbering dumbassery. Luckily, Lena and another friend (with lots of experience robbing and humiliating cuckolds) helped me drag his stupid ass onto the floor in the living room.

I didn’t even have to tell my friends to get out the zip ties, they were already in hand. Because this mother fucker was overdue. Obviously, it wasn’t hard to subdue him, he had the upper body strength of a toddler. He whimpered like the bitch he is. I laughed. And Lena pointed. And my male friend, the zip tier, made quick work of Art.

I began the sacred ritual of our sadistic femdom cuckold by explaining to Art that the litterbox needed to be cleaned. Lena brought it out, all four weeks worth, and held his head up over it by his ugly, greasy, flaccid ponytail. His inedible giblet neck dangled precariously over the pungent feline shit receptacle.

“I don’t know who taught you to wash a dish. Does your mother still do your laundry AND wipe your ass? You are a fucking idiot. And now you get to actually help clean something. But guess what, Art? You don’t get to use your hands!”

We all cackled like hyenas at his impending bestiality scat fetish treatment — talk about a punishment that fits the crime!

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

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