Bobby's Grapes of Wrath!

Bobby's Grapes of Wrath


Hi Kids! Well its been a long time since I blogged! I guess you all know that I’ve been pretty busy these last few months with the new baby, Baby Leon having arrived. We got the baby back home and I was exhausted from the birthing but overjoyed. Baby Leon’s black bull Daddy, Big Leon came to visit from back in Afghanistan with the Army and in the meantime his best buddy, Marty took care of us day to day making sure we had everything we needed. Me and Marty put Bobby on a regular shift cycle of breastfeeding Baby Leon, mostly with me taking the day shift and Bobby taking the night shift so that I could ... regular and not get stressed out too much. That worked pretty well. Baby Leon would ... in Bobby’s room at night and when he woke up crying Bobby would feed him off his breasts, which of course didn’t have as much milk as my breasts, but with the oxytocin and prolactin that Dr. Laureen has been regularly injecting him with he was up to the job and got some good flows when needed to calm Baby Leon down when he was anxious, and when he ran out of his own flow of milk then he would use bottles of my milk from the refrigerator that I stored with the breast pump like we learned from the La Leche League.
To get Bobby’s flow going we had prepped him using big injections of Oxytocin and prolactin inducers, but that wasn’t enough at first, so we had to use a lot of mechanical stimulation to get things flowing to begin with---he had to be on the electric breast pumps (a hospital grade Medela Classic we got from the La Leche League) one hour on and two hours off for most of the day (and night!) for the first weeks, and then the flow came in nicely and his breasts began to express, especially with Baby Leon sucking on him all night, which is the natural way to do it. Marty got a bit anxious for a while that Bobby’s milk wouldn’t be enough and he got Dr. Laureen to give him supplements of Motilium and Maxeran, which with the other female hormone injections enter the brain and work on the pituitary gland to massively increase its supply of prolactin in the ... which stimulates the breast production. Marty also got into the habit of butt fucking Bobby doggie-style while holding him by his hair and using a nasal-spray injector of Oxytocin while he was on the Medela Breast pump and now he can express his milk quite naturally.
So we were just one big happy family then, right? Wrong! Even though you may have this big idea of how motherhood is such an ideal and peaceful time, I can tell you that it isn’t so simple as that! I started to get periods of Post-Partum depression. Before I had children, I understood that parenthood would be challenging. I read a lot of books about it, actually, because I was a little worried. Would the first months of my ...’s life be like boot camp? Would I go insane from ... deprivation? Was I going to be comfortable breastfeeding? Would I gag at all the shitty diapers? Could I do this? I was pretty confident that I could do it. I figured that I was about as well-prepared as any mother could be, and, besides, I was not in this alone, I had Dr. Laureen for professional advice, my black bulls, Leon the Daddy and Marty, and of course Bobby. My husband would be right there with me, doing his share gagging at runny poos and dealing with his sore nipples the baby was gnawing on. We would be doing it together, and together, we would be strong.
And then Baby Leon was born and it was, as expected, hard. And my husband was there, just as I had expected him to be, and he provided all the support that I could hope for. He provided all of the support that I could hope for, and more, and yet: I found myself feeling very, very angry. At the situation. At him. Mostly at him. I felt that as much as I loved Daddy Big Leon and Baby Leon, and even the deep affection I had for Bobby as I watched Baby Leon sucking at his titties so contented like, that somehow I was trapped. If you have never had a new baby 100% DEPENDENT AND 100% HELPLESS ON YOU and worrying and tending for day and night they you don’t appreciate the massive impact of a certain loss of freedom and oppressive sense of inescapable responsibilty that overwhelms you.
I was struggling with post-partum depression, which of course exacerbated things, but it was more than just a byproduct of the depression. It was a deep, almost aggressive, resentment that burbled up in my throat – burning, like an acid – and choked me, every time that I walked out the front door to go to to the store, or to pick up milk or cat food or whatever, that I was trapped. So I began to take it out on the one thing I could blame for every inadequacy---Bobby! I was all over him for his breastfeeding not expressing enough or long enough or his diaper washing was not perfect and since he had to take over the housework in the daytime, I was all over his backside over the beds not being made properly, the clothes not washed right or the dishes streaky. I discovered I was projecting all of my own fears and anxieties onto him. And I would really take it out on him. Every day, after he had been on the night shift with breastfeeding and then got on to the housework in the morning then naturally he would nod off for a nap in the afternoon. I would get incensed when I saw him sleeping over an hour or two and I would put the baby in my room and come back to Bobby’s room with my 14” Super Dong Black Strap-on between my legs and I would wake him out of his ... ripping his puckering asshole apart! Then I have to admit I got quite violent on him, and when I was ramming him I would just lose it completely and start just slapping and slapping his fucking face, and then balling my fists and screaming at him and punching his face. If he talked back I would go to Marty and he would really give him a man’s going over, rough sex and rough punishment. Marty and me we got into a kind of double mania about it, and Bobby was getting black and blue all over, as well as his nipples being bit raw from the baby.

Finally, Dr. Laureen noticed the marks all over Bobby’s face and brought up the issue. I then went for some counseling with the psychologist at the Veteran’s hospital, which I got free because of the Daddy Big Leon being in the army in Afghanistan and all, and then with Dr. Laureen’s help I started to get a handle on my problem and began to overcome it. Dr. Laureen helped a lot. She slept over with me in my bed and held me like a mother and it just seemed all the poision and hate was drained away. I stopped pounding on Bobby and adjusted to the wonderful beauty of having Baby Leon, my so beautiful black baby and my two black bulls, Leon and Marty, and I even became thankful to have Bobby around.

So after six or eight months we really did seem like one big happy family! Marty would come over at night and we would make love for hours while Bobby let Baby Leon suckle on his nipples, and afterwards we would watch TV or listen to jazz music together. I was over the post-partum depression and was quite mellowed out and getting back into sex with my black bulls after my pussy contracted back into tight condition with the help of black cock and Kagel Balls every day! Dr. Laureen would come over every few days and give Bobby hormone injections with big doses of Oxytocin, Motilium and oestrogen, and he was developing a deep bond with the baby, kissing his little wee-wee every time he cleaned him up and changed his nappies. Even Marty had become Mr. Mellow, drinking beer and watching ball games after screwing each night, like a real Norman Rockwell scene! But the idyllic scene was not fated to last

One night after Marty had fucked me so beautifully and then we went back into the living room where Bobby was nursing Baby Leon Marty turned on an NBA basketball game with the Lakers and Bobby and Baby Leon were absorbed in themselves so I felt a little ignored and threw myself down in the big soft chair and took up a magazine. I leafed through it and finally saw an ad for one of those geneological services where you can research your family history, which I was interested in because we had two thousands of years of our family history in China that we were so proud of, going back to the time of Confucius. I showed it to Marty and and said we should get our family trees done and find out about our family heritage. I even said, “Hey, you and Bobby could save money because you have the same last name!”

Marty was only half paying attention, but he agreed we would get family histories for Bobby, Marty and Big Leon. I already had mine from China. Well I sent away for the histories and though it would be something that would bring us all together as one big happy family。 Boy, was I wrong!

When the results came back a month later by Federal Express we went through them like it was a party game. I always thought it was a funny coincindence that Bobby and Marty had the same name. (Which I won’t reveal for Privacy reasons---let’s just substitute the good old Southern name “Davis” instead). Well, it so seems that Bobby’s family history was from the American deep south, though he had moved out to California before he met me in China, and so was Marty’s. But the family tree and geneological and census research revealed some dark secrets. It seems that for two hundred years Marty’s family and Bobby’s family hailed from the same county in Mississippi. Not only that, but it came out that Bobby’s Great-Great Granddaddies back for those hundreds of years had owned Marty’s whole family! It was unbelievable!

I looked over at Marty and he read and read every word of his family history, with the anger and the pressure building up inside of him like an angry volcano waiting to explode. For weeks he was silent, and he would keep studying his family history and brooding while Bobby cowered in the corner on the ottoman suckling Baby Leon. Marty showed me several sections of the family history, especially the part before and after the Civil War. It seems that Marty’s Great Great Grandmother Dalia Davis name subsituted for real one) was the wetnurse nanny on the plantation of Colonel Davis, Bobby’s Great Great relation. Her black husband had given her twin beautiful black baby boys during the end years of the war before he was killed in the final battles of Appamatox while serving as a steward and personal slave of Colonel Davis. Colonel Davis’s wife also gave birth to a boy at the same time, since the two had come home on leave together nine months earlier. So at the time of the war’s end there were three new baby boys on the plantation, the young white master and the two beautiful twin black baby boys. Mrs. Davis, the Missus of the plantation, however, died shortly thereafter. Colonel Davis told the black wetnurse nanny Dalia Davis that she would have to feed all three, but that she would have to feed the “Little Master” first and completely before nursing her own children, and that she must not fail, because the “Little Master” was the last of his line and if he died the Davis family would be at an end.

So Dalia Davis took such excellent care of the “Little Master” that he survived to have nine children, but of her own children, in the scarcity of the Post-War period there wasn’t enough food for her and milk for him and one of the black baby boys died and was buried on the plantation. Marty was descended from the boy who survived.

Now, from Bobby’s family tree it came out that the white Davis family had reached the same point in Bobby as it had in the “Little Master,” at the end of the Civil War. Bobby was the last. He was the last of the line. If Bobby did not produce children the white Davis Family would be erased from the face of the earth and erased from history.

For weeks Marty stewed and brewed and smoultered like an angry volcano. He began to pick on Bobby for little things like his maid’s uniform not being pulled straight into his crotch or his dick being tucked away properly out of sight, or the dishes being streaky after he washed them. Then he got down on Bobby’s neck every night about his milk not being enough. Of course Bobby couldn’t produce as much as me for obvious reasons but Marty wouldn’t hear of it. He started to put Bobby on the Medela Classis Breast Pump almost constantly when he wasn’t suckling Baby Leon, trying to increase production. He told Dr. Laureen the whole story of Bobby’s history and how his black baby ancestor died to keep Bobby’s white family line going. Dr. Laureen, as a black woman doctor was deeply grieved, and when Marty demanded that she double, triple, and then quadruple Bobby’s female hormones, his Motilium and Prolactin, even though it was a bit dangerous medically she gave in to Marty’s urging, and soon she was there every night with her hypodermic needle built for a horse pumping it into Bobby’s veins while Bobby was strapped to the Medela Electric Breast Pump and Marty was pumping his asshole –style doggywith his massive black cock while holding the Oxytocin nasal-spray injector over Bobby’s nose. Bobby’s milk began to express massively. He doubled and then tripled his milk output, even more than Baby Leon could keep up with, and we began to store Bobby’s milk in the refrigerator until that too became overfull and Marty would just dump the bottles into the toilet while whipping Bobby’s ass to produce more.

Finally Marty had had enough. He told Dr. Laureen what he had to do. At first Dr. Laureen said no, that it would violate medical ethics. But Marty was firm and Dr. Laureen, a black woman doctor herself whose family had been owned by whites bowed to the pressure. Marty got Bobby to fill and sign out the forms and legal releases, relieving Dr. Laureen of any liability. Then one night we went to the hospital where she had scheduled a Bi-lateral Orchiotomy for Bobby, with the Informed Consent signed by him in front of witnesses. Then we went into the small operating theatre and put Bobby into the stirrup chair usually used for childbirth or gynecology and strapped down his hand and legs so he couldn’t move, and administered a local anesthetic. Dr. Laureen shaved him off, and then taped his penis to his belly. She had me and Marty dressed in nurses’ scrubs so we were the only ones assisting, and she locked the door. Then she cut into Bobby’s scrotum. She pulled out the testes, which were already shrunken to the size of grapes from the female hormones, and pulled out the testicle cords that they were still attached to, placing them on a silver tray on Bobby’s belly. Then Marty departed from medical procedure. He pulled off his pants and stood in the scrubs, the green medical uniform andfrotteed his massive and beautiful black dick harder and harder. Then, Bobby’s balls still attached to the testicle cords and resting on the slightly blooded silver tray resting on his bulging belly, Marty rammed home his ten inches of black manhood, balls deep into Bobby’s puckering asshole and began to pump. Then Dr. Laureen and I took hold of one testicle each and held it under our knuckles, squeezing, as we each picked up an immaculately clean silver scalpel in our other hand. Bobby writhed and gagged and attempted to shout, but Dr. Laureen taped his mouth shut with silver duct tape. Then the pressure grew. Marty stroked and stroked and finally grimaced towards us, I’m gonna cum------cut!” Then as he shouted at the top of his lung, coming, ‘Hallilujia!” we drew the razor’s edges across the cords, which Dr. Laureen had already tied off with surgical thread to prevent bleeding, and Marty came into Bobby’s ass just as Bobby’s cock burst out of the tape on his belly and stood up one last time, sending incredible gobs of yellowish cum up into his own nose, mouth and face as he screamed almost silently beneath the duct tape. Then Dr. Laureen cleaned and disinfected him, and put in a pair of prosthetic silicone balls into his scrotum sack, to spare him that “empty sack look----or what she called “sad sack” look. Then she sewed him up and swathed him with antiseptic and bandaged over it.

You might have thought Marty was finally satisfied. You though wrong. Just when we thought it was all over and we were about to have Bobby wheeled away to the recovery room we saw Marty putting back on his pants and boots. Then suddenly we saw him humming to himself and begin to sing:
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Since God is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ as born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
While God is marching on.
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,
Our God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.

And God!----every time Marty came to a verse like “He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored” or “Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel” he would lift up his big manly army boot and slam it into Bobby’s bandaged groin! Then at the end Dr. Laureen just looked up at him and asked in a calm voice “Are you finished? Are you finally satisfied now” and Marty answered back calmly, “Yeah, I am finally satisfied,” and turning to Bobby who was groggy with pain but fully conscious and said: “Bobby, now were’re even….this is the end of the line for you and your poisioned race, and thank God!” Then he picked up Bobby’s severed balls, which Dr. Laureen had placed in a jar of alchohol and walked out, again whistling the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

After that Dr. Laureen gave Bobby some sedatives to knock him out, redressed his bandage in a medical diaper and we wheeled him out for observation, and a few hours later the hospital van deposited him back in his bed at home for a few days rest and recuperation before getting back into his routine.

We didn’t see Marty until two weeks later when he came over for my Birthday Party. Bobby was scared to death of him, but Marty was already mellowed out and recovered from the whole eposode, thanking Bobby when he served him birthday cake and champagne, and even complimenting him on how he looked in his maid’s uniform and how well he gave milk from his nipple to Baby Leon.

Then when it was time for him to go home Marty turned around as if he had forgotten something absent mindedly. He pulled a box the size of a cigar box out of his overcoat pocked, wrapped in golden wrapping foil and an exquisite ribbon and handed it to me, saying “Happy Birthday Sarah!” I kissed his thick black lips in gratitude and pressed my breasts against him as I hugged him, returning thanks to him. Then he looked at me and asked “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

I opened the outer foil wrapping and found a lovely blue velvet jewelry box within. Then I lifted the cover of the jewelry box and saw the most lovely pair of earrings---a gold spherical sun in the center with a crescent silver sliver of moon on the circumference, hanging mobile-like from the chain attached to the ear-pin. Then he reached over to show me how they worked. The golden spheres were actually a thin sliding hemisphere cover of gold over a crystal ball within. He drew back the gold covers to reveal the clear crystal or plexiglass spheres within and held them up to the light. Within each earring was one of Bobby’s balls, which Marty had had freeze-dried and encased in a plastic crystal ball and inserted into the earrings! I thrilled to him and kissed him over and over! Then I said to him, “Shall we try them out before you leave?” “Sure, babe!” he answered back. So he pinned the earrings through my pierced ears for me and we went arm in arm to Bobby’s room. I took out my my 14” Super Dong Black Strap-on strapping it between my legs and I woke him out of his ... ripping his puckering asshole apart, my darling earrings dangling and bumping with each stroke! I have never fucked Bobby without them again. He has come to love seeing them there as I ream him, or as he cleans my bull’s cum out of my pussy. He says they have a hypnotic or soothing effect on him as he sees them swing back and forth. He says they bring him peace.