I reimagined The Bully into Grosse Ile Dominas.

It's similar story line, but this time, I wrote it with more grit, detail, and maturity (I'm older now, after all). 

If you love Mother/Son domination, ballbusting, CBT, please check out the novel: Grosse Ile Dominas on Amazon.com

Author: Joe Gonzo

Excerpt:

Footsteps stopped at the kitchen doorway. Matt, keeping his lids slit just enough, saw two silhouettes—one tall and angular, the other petite and whip-thin. His mother and Kathleen stood framed by the doorway, arms folded, sipping coffee and surveying the scene with a mixture of satisfaction and, in Kathleen’s case, outright amusement.

“You see what I mean?” Jennifer said, voice low but electric. “He’s not even fighting anymore. He’s all yours.”

Kathleen set her mug down with a clack and stepped forward, heels clicking a slow metronome on the tiles. She circled the island, her gaze lingering on Matt’s face, then drifting down the length of his torso. Matt felt her eyes rake over him, cataloging every inch: the bruises blooming on his inner thighs, the red welts where the rope bit into his hips, the angry purple splotches that marred the skin over his groin.

“He’s pretty,” Kathleen said, almost clinically. “You did good work here, Jenn.”

Jennifer smiled, the kind of proud, tight smile Matt remembered from childhood swim meets. “I told you. He’s resilient. And he learns fast.”

“Did you try the spoon, like we talked about?” Kathleen asked.

“Not yet. I wanted to save something special.” She approached the counter, placing her palms flat on the stone, leaning in until her face hovered just above Matt’s. Her blue eyes were cold, implacable. “You ready, sweetheart?”

Matt tried to jerk away, but the tape on his chin held him firm. He tried to speak, but the only sound that came out was a muffled grunt.

“Good boy,” Jennifer cooed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re going to thank me someday. Maybe not now, but when you’re grown. This is what it takes to be part of a real family.”

Kathleen moved behind her, hands resting on her hips. “Mind if I have a look?”

“Go ahead,” Jennifer said, stepping aside. “He’s your test subject.”

Kathleen’s hands were surprisingly gentle as she examined Matt, running her fingers along the ropework, testing the knots for give. She pushed at his inner thigh, making the bruises bloom darker, then pressed her palm flat over his belly, just below the navel. Matt felt the pressure drive the ache down into his pelvis and, reflexively, his hips lifted off the counter. Kathleen laughed.

“Sensitive,” she said. “That’s good. Means it’s working.”

She trailed her fingers down until they hovered over Matt’s groin. His penis, which had once been the pride of his adolescence, was now a swollen, discolored mess. The skin was mottled red and purple, the shaft laced with angry blisters and a handful of shallow cuts. The balls hung low and heavy between his thighs, the scrotum puffy and almost translucent. Kathleen touched the shaft with the tip of her nail, watching it twitch and contract in response.

“Still alive down here,” she said. “Remarkable.”