Page 120 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

A Beautifully Broken Boy by J.M. Dabney

Chapter 1

Georgie

I was a disgrace or at least most people thought I was. Violent thug with no redeeming qualities and I'd admitted for the most part that was true, I'd fucked up a lot in my forty-five years. If I added up all my time served, I was locked up for more than half my life.

Growing up like I did, I didn't have much choice in how I ended up, but my last time in, I swore it would be the last. I stared at myself in the mirror to take in my big hairy form in nothing but pink panties and a short t-shirt that didn't cover my belly that had Mommy's Boy written across the front. I rubbed my cock through the silk of my underwear.

Since my teens, I’d an obsession with slips of silk and lace, I'd hid my shame by saying they belonged to some chick I fucked if someone ever found them. I hadn't worn my first pair of panties or stockings until I was in my twenties. All I remembered was they made me feel good. They were delicate and soft, completely opposite of how everyone viewed me.

I felt like a sick fuck. I'd done everything to prove I was the biggest and baddest out there. Destroyed my life and that of others trying to prove I was macho. Every time I'd get free, I’d find myself standing outside clubs. Checking message boards and online dating sites searching for something, but I didn't know what.

My job was a dead end but as a felon the best I could get.

I went to my desk and sat down, opened my laptop and stared at the cropped image of a woman. She was tall and lean, wearing a simple black jacket with nothing beneath it. I could tell her breasts were small—almost flat-chested. The skirt outlined her slim hips and legs, her calves smooth and she wore a pair of stilettos, but what I focused on the most was the thick paddle in her hands.

I'd found the site for Caregivers to find Littles, I'd made the profile but hadn't done more than fill in the required information. It kept telling me to upload a picture, but I'd studied the others like me, and I wasn’t like the rest. They were all slim and perfectly waxed or shaved. I'd seen a few others like me, but the last activity on their profiles was months or years old.

All of them looked young. What did I think I was going to do?

My phone beeped telling me it was time to get up and ready for work. My hands shook as I clicked to send a message.

Hi Mommy. I want to be your boy. - Georgie

I hit send before I could rethink it. I wanted to know if she'd talk to me. If she'd answer questions. I had no one else to talk to. She'd never have to know my name or what I looked like. The minute I thought she was getting too close I'd delete my profile and never think about it again.

Sadly, I stripped off my t-shirt and panties, put on my work clothes of jeans, t-shirt and leather vest. I worked as a bouncer at a fetish club. Mostly leather Daddies and masochists, a lot of rough trade and I worked the door but never went inside unless they needed me. I didn't like the place, but it paid my bills and kept my parole officer off my ass.

A few Dommes came in on occasion, but they did nothing for me. Again, I knew what I wanted but no idea where to find it. Other Littles weren't covered in tattoos and thick body hair or beards.

I grabbed my keys and wallet, made my way down the steps and out onto the street to hop on my motorcycle. I had a half hour to get to work. Eight hours and I could come home, and then curl up and watch TV until I passed out, then repeat it all over again when I woke up the next day.

A week passed and my message was still unanswered. I didn't understand why I kept going back to her profile. I'd seen she read it so she wasn't interested. There was a green dot beside her name saying she was online. She'd never have to see me. I could just see if she'd answer questions.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Can I ask some questions? - Georgie

I hit send and thought the worst she could do was ignore it again. I got up and went to search through my tiny kitchen for something to eat. I couldn't do four days of takeout in a row. I liked cooking but not really for just me.

Growing up, I'd lived in a sty because mom and dad were too busy putting who knows what up their noses or in their veins. I was obsessive about my space and all. Again, I hid a lot of stuff but wondered how long I could keep going on.

Going back to my old life would be easy enough. A distraction I wouldn't have to work at too much. All the prison shrinks tried to tell me that all my years locked up that I'd learned to live in prison and exist outside it. That's why I self-destructed and headed back, this was the longest I'd been out for any one stretch.

I didn't want to go back.

My laptop pinged as I was just finishing up heating my soup and flipping my third grilled cheese onto my plate. I made sure everything was cleaned up, the pot and pan washed, dried and put away. I carried my plate and soup to my desk and sat down.

I typed the spacebar to find an instant message box that said I'd receive a message from Mistress_H and asked if I wanted to accept. It was her. The profile picture was the same and I started to click on it, then the doubts came. Was she going to ask questions I didn't want to answer? Would she demand some kind of payment?

No one ever gave you something for free. You always owed them something. Money. Drugs. Piece of ass. Only thing was, did I want to pay the price?

I can just delete my profile if she gets too nosy, and she'll never know who I am.

Mistress_H: Hello, Georgie. Did you want to know how to be a good boy for Mommy or just want to pick a Mommy's brain? Is this your first time?

I held my fingers over the keys and tried to figure out what to say. So many questions, what did he want to know first?

Chapter 2

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