My ego got the better of me when I decided to publish several of my stories for sale, but I could never have imagined my wife’s reaction to my stories. My wife used that to try to control me—to make me her abject slave through lies, deception, and entrapment. I hate liars and deceitful people even more. This is a story about the roller coaster ride I found myself on because of her actions. Her duplicity forced me to deny any submissiveness, but later when I was free to choose I learned that great joy and even greater pleasure can come from being submissive to a dominant woman.
My ego! That was the problem…my big fucking ego. That’s what got me into the position I found myself in. After writing sex stories and posting them online for three years I was approached by someone who thought we might be able to sell some of the better ones as e-books on Amazon and several other selected sites. I had some misgivings, but my ego won out. The problem I had was that no one—not a single soul other than myself knew that I was an author—one who specialized in smut.
I went through the motions of signing the necessary paperwork, formatting my stories and sending them to my “partner.” Looking at the thousands of stories on Amazon and considering how much trouble I had even finding my own work I was pretty sure that I would never sell anything. That’s why I was astonished to receive my first check.
My wife usually brings in the mail. I just happened to be in the kitchen that day when the letter arrived. When I opened it she could see that it was a check. “What’s that,” she asked.
“It’s a royalty check…$11.25.”
“It’s a royalty check for some stories I wrote on my laptop. This guy I met online has been trying to sell them. Looks like he sold nine; my share is a buck and a quarter a pop, so I guess it’s like found money.” I went on to explain that I had found a site with thousands of porn clips. After watching them for a couple of months I became completely bored until I noticed they had a section for sex stories. I read maybe twenty and thought that I could write as well as the authors I had read. More than 80 stories later I was one of the higher rated writers on the site.
I went on to write the instructions—how to find the stories—at her request. I gave her name of the site, told her to click on “Authors List,” scroll down to find “Senorlongo,”( my screen name) and that clicking there would make all my stories available to her. She left the kitchen, walking directly to her computer. She stayed there for several hours. She didn’t mention anything at dinner or even the next day, but on Saturday morning she spoke to me, “Some of your stories are very well written and even pretty hot, but what was that thing about Batman? That was really weird.”
“Well…after reading some so-called highly rated stories I found that they were really poorly written with lots of typos and misspellings and terrible grammar; some of them were just ridiculous. I wondered what would happen if I wrote something that was also absurd, so I had this idea about Batman. I wrote each of those installments in a single evening, proofed them once, and submitted them. They did even better than I thought they would, but I never tried that kind of story again—much too stupid for my tastes.”
“I noticed that a lot of your stories deal with female domination. What’s that all about?”
“I just had some thoughts about it…that it might make for a good story. Let’s face it—throughout history most domination has been done by males so the female angle was a bit different. It was just a means to a story.”
“Just a means, eh? Interesting.” The conversation ended there and I didn’t hear another word for several months until she walked into my man cave one afternoon while I was working on another story. “Why don’t you take your pill?”
We’re not kids. I’m 66 and she is 67. I’ve needed Levitra to deal with my ED for the past half dozen years, at least. It really works well most of the time even though I don’t care for some of the side effects like flushing which makes my face red and hot and waking up hours later with a real hard-on that can be painful in the middle of the night. So I took my pill and a shower. An hour later I was ready.
“Lie on the bed. I want to try something a little different today.” I lay down but she moved me to the middle. I was shocked when she began tying my right wrist to a rope I hadn’t noticed. Next my left wrist was immobilized. She stretched me out and tied off my ankles. I was spread-eagled on the bed. “You wrote about this so many times you made me curious. I didn’t tie you too tight, did I?”
“No, I’m okay, but now what? I always lead when we’re having sex.”
“Not this afternoon. I’m going to be in charge. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure! I remember suggesting this to you years ago, but you didn’t seem to be interested so I never said anything about it again.”
“I wasn’t as curious about it then as I am now. I found it interesting that you wrote about this so many times. You made me want to try it.”
“Okay, you’re in charge. I’m kinda stuck here. I recognize these knots. Been reading some old boating books?”
“No! Don’t you remember that I was a Girl Scout? Some things you don’t forget and this knot is one of them. Now wait here while I take my shower. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Like I was going to go anywhere; she had tied me with a round turn and two half hitches—a strong knot that would hold a sizable boat at a dock indefinitely. More importantly, she had tied the knots at the back of my hands where I couldn’t reach them. Even turning my wrists didn’t work. The ropes just turned, leaving me exactly where I had been before I started. I relaxed and waited.
About fifteen minutes later she walked in from the bathroom. I knew that she had taken the time to put lotion all over her body. Her skin was so soft, even in her late sixties. She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked my face. “Such a nice face,” she commented. She ran her fingers over my mouth. “Such a nice mouth; let’s see if you can use it. Isn’t this what all those dominant women you wrote about did? Let’s try it for real, shall we?”
She climbed onto the bed and over my chest and arms, positioning her moist pussy only inches from my face. She looked down at me as she reached back and grabbed my balls. “Well…do I have to squeeze these things?” I leaned forward and plunged my tongue into her love canal. I fucked her cunt furiously until my tongue began to tire. I don’t mind eating her out, but it’s not my favorite thing to do so I do it occasionally, not often. I reached up and sucked her clit between my teeth. That got one hell of a reaction so I kept it up as long as I could. Suddenly, she pulled back and impaled herself on my cock. Oh God, I couldn’t remember ever being harder.
She fucked me at an incredible pace, rubbing her clit into my abdomen, something she did even less frequently than my eating her pussy. We worked together like we had never before. It was incredible…even more incredible when we came together, something even rarer than anything previously mentioned. She collapsed onto my chest. I would have held her if I hadn’t been tied up. Instead, I kissed her head, cheek, and hair repeatedly while we recovered.
Eventually, she sat up on my chest as her pussy leaked over me. “What do you think? Was it worth doing again?”
“Hell, yeah. It was fantastic and you were even better.” She grinned, leaned down to kiss me and untied my right wrist. “You can get the rest, can’t you?” She got up and dressed. It was five in the afternoon—time to begin preparing for dinner. I untied myself and dressed. The following week we were back to our plain vanilla relationship.
Two weeks later she did it again and the sex was even better. This time we 69’d before she fucked my brains out. I came like never before. After that we began to use the tying up as a regular part of our sex life. I really enjoyed it. We were having sex twice a week, which for people our age was incredibly frequent. Before the bondage it was once every seven to ten days usually, but sometimes even longer. Looking back, I realize how smart she was conditioning me to enjoy being tied up…to associate that with unbelievable pleasure—total rapture. My problem was that it was just a ploy—a way to get me under her control.
About six months later she asked again and I had been completely conditioned. After so many fantastic experiences I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t wait. “Take your pill, your shower, and then put on the things I left by the bathtub. I’ll meet you in the bedroom in a few minutes.” I was surprised…and when I got to the bathroom I was shocked. Sitting next to the bathtub were a set of leather wrist cuffs, the kind that lock in place and a matching set of ankle cuffs along with four padlocks. I picked them up and went to see her at the computer.
“What’s with these?”
“I’ve been afraid I might hurt you with the ropes so I bought these to use instead. This way I can tie the rope to the rings instead of your wrist. Believe it or not, these locking ones were a lot cheaper than the ones that seal with Velcro.” I must have still looked dismayed because she continued, “Listen…if they bother you I won’t use them. You’ll just have to take your chances with the ropes.”
“No…it’s okay. They just took me by surprise. I’ll put them on right after my shower. Okay? I love you.”
“Me, too. Go on now… I have to get dinner ready soon.” I took off for my shower and after I was dry I looked at the restraints more closely. They were really strong, made of thick leather with a heavy metal buckle and hasp for the lock. I put the first on my ankle and locked it into place. The second soon followed. Soon all four were secured to my body. I went to lie on the bed while she prepped for our love making.
As usual, she tied off my wrists first and stretched me out before tying off my ankles. She jumped onto my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. She moved forward, her pussy covering my nose and mouth. I was having trouble breathing, but she didn’t seem to care too much. “Get licking, boy!”
“Boy?” What the hell was going on? I licked my head off—anything so I could breathe again. After a minute or so she lifted up and I sucked in deeply. A second later she was back in place. While I was eating her pussy she was massaging my ball sac and teasing my cock. I prayed she’d be ready soon because I was ready to explode. Several minutes later, after gnawing on her hot clit, she moved down and buried my cock in her body. She rode me just as she had in prior weeks and I relaxed in the knowledge that we were going to have mind-blowing sex. However, she pulled off me just as I was about to cum. My orgasm was ruined; semen leaked from my throbbing cock, but there was no sensation of an orgasm. I looked up at her about to ask what the hell she was doing when she laughed. She actually laughed at my predicament.
My wife jumped up and walked into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth. She wiped me down carefully. “You know, this has been an interesting experiment.” I was about to speak, but she put her finger to my lips. “I found those female domination stories really interesting and the more I thought about them the more I realized that I wanted to try doing it. I especially enjoyed ‘Paula’s Story.’ All those things you described there were things you wanted or did—jerking you off, having me finish you off with my hand, even when you begged me to fuck your ass. They were all submissive behaviors just like in the story. That’s why I began this experiment—to prove to both of us that you want to be dominated.
“It’s a good thing that I pay the charge bills, otherwise I would never have been able to get this.” She reached under her side of the bed and pulled out a stainless cock cage. “This is the best—a Steelwerks—that cost you over a thousand bucks. I had it custom designed especially for you. I especially like these screws. You need a wrench in the shape of the letter ‘S’ to work them. I think such a thing doesn’t exist, except in their factory and these others along the shaft can be adjusted to hurt your cock if you’re bad or rebel or if I just want to hurt you for no reason whatsoever.” She eased the retaining ring over my cock and balls as I looked on incredulous.
“What the hell are you doing? I never wanted anything like this. Hell, I don’t want it now! Besides…when I wrote that story I was in the role of the dominant woman. I’m not submissive and I do not want anything to do with it.”
“That’s okay…I want it. Don’t you think I know how many times you’ve been jerking off? I can smell it on your hankies when I do the wash.”
“So what? You told me several times that I could do it whenever I wanted.”
“That was a long time ago when it didn’t interfere with my pleasure. Now it does. This is going on…period! It’s not the conclusion of my little experiment, but it’s close.” I began squirming around in an effort to stop her. She just laughed some more, “I thought that story about the girl who wanted her boyfriend to stop jerking off was funny. She used ropes to restrain him when all she really had to do was this.” She grabbed my ball sac forcefully and twisted. “This is going on. Either you permit it or I’ll squeeze your balls until you can’t move and I’ll do it then. It’s really your choice—the easy way, or….” I stopped moving. “Good boy; that was the right choice. I really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t think it will be necessary to control you.”
She lubed up my cock and pushed it into the tight cage before tightening up the screws, including the ones in the tube that were designed to cause me pain if I ever got any kind of erection. “To show you how much I care about you I ordered this so you can stand up and pee.” She showed me a urethral insert. I knew all about these, having researched them several times. I knew it would hurt like hell going in and coming out, too. The question was—how much did I want to pee like a man. She dipped it into a bottle of alcohol and lubed it before I had a chance to respond, not that it would have done any good. She pushed, not too gently, and my urethra stretched around it until she locked it into place with a funny shaped wrench. I was right—it hurt like hell.
“Now…I’ll take this off you next week—seven days from today—if you’ve been good.”
“What do you mean—good?”
“You’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out and I’ll give you some little hints as you go, but if you’re not good plan on staying locked up for at least another week. I’ll keep it on you forever if necessary…until you learn to be good.” I looked down at the monstrosity and up at her in disgust. “Well, that’s not a very good start, but I’ll let you have that one because I’m sure you’re shocked about this development, but if I see that expression again there’s going to be trouble. Oh…I’m going to hide the keys before I let you up.” She left the room, walked outside, back in, back out, in, out, upstairs, back down, all in an attempt to confuse me. She did—I had no idea where the key was and we have a really big house. She released me a half hour later. I was still disgusted, but what could I do? I tried pulling the damned thing off, but all I did was hurt my balls. She kissed my cheek and dressed. I was stuck in the bedroom looking at this damned thing and wondering where it all went wrong.
I decided that the best course of action would be to go with the flow and see what happened. I walked into the kitchen while she was fixing dinner. “Can I help…set the table or something?”
“Yes, that would be good.” I’d come to hate that expression. I smiled and pulled the placemats, plates and silverware from the drawers. In five minutes I was done.
“Why don’t I do the dishes tonight?”
“What a nice idea! That would also be good.”
Later that evening I walked into the room she uses for TV and reading. She looked up as I entered. “Uh…would you like a foot massage?”
“Why, that would be delightful. Please.” She held her foot out as I sat on the floor in front of her. “Why don’t you kiss and suck on my toes while you’re at it?” What I really wanted to do was jump up and rip her hair out, but I did as requested. I was cool on the outside, but on the inside I was furious. I was just waiting for the right time. I kissed each one of her toes, not enjoying the sweaty taste even a little. I sucked on her toes and licked her sole from heel to toe. All told I was at her feet for an hour when she dismissed me. “Why don’t you go and watch your game? There’s something I want to watch and I’m sure you’d hate it.” I rose and left. That was all I saw of her until the following morning. She was asleep when I went to bed—thank God!
She woke earlier than I did and was up when I went out for breakfast. “What’s on your agenda for today,” she asked.
“Well, before yesterday I would have said nothing, but now I’m thinking of dusting and vacuuming the living room, dining room, and all the bedrooms. If I have time I’ll do the two bathrooms, too.”
“That would be very, very good,” she replied as she patted my head and walked away to play her insipid computer games. Swell—now I was the fucking maid. It wasn’t enough that I had to do the work, but she came around and inspected it, too. “You missed a spot here,” or “This needs furniture polish,” or “I really want to see this shine.” I must have re-done everything three times that first week, but come Sunday she told me to take my pill. She tied me to the bed and removed the cage. Despite my best efforts it smelled. We live in the South and I sweat a lot, even though we’ve been here for years. Some days I was taking two or three showers in an effort to be clean. She sat on the edge of the bed and washed my cock and balls. She reviewed my performance while she did.
“You were pretty good this past week, but you’re going to have to be much better if you want to cum next Sunday. There are a lot of things you could have done for me.”
“Like what? I cleaned the entire house, massaged your feet four times, mowed the lawn and edged, picked up all the pine cones and dead branches after the storm, washed the windows, and weeded the beds. What else could I do?”
“First, you did not ask permission to play golf—you just went and played—and then you went to hit balls two other days, too. Had you asked I would have allowed it, but you should have asked me first. Also, you should have asked if I wanted an orgasm. Isn’t that what all those dominant women in your stories do—cum all the time? I think that I should cum at least once a day, just like them. Oh, one other thing, the kitchen floor needs to be cleaned every day and the grout needs to be scrubbed, too. Those would be good for next week.”
“Okay.” I started when she slapped me.
“You also need to be more respectful, after all I am clearly superior to you.”
“Yes…Ma’am,” is what I said, but I was thinking something else entirely.
“That’s better, and don’t forget again. If you do….” She grabbed my balls and squeezed. It was enough to hurt me badly, but it could have been worse. She stopped and began to stroke my cock. She kept it up for more than fifteen minutes just holding me below the threshold until my cock became raw from the friction. Finally, she stroked in earnest while she twisted my nipple viciously. It hurt like hell, but I came and came. The relief was much welcomed. She cleaned my cock and balls and locked me up again before she untied my hand and told me to clean myself up and remake the bed. Then I could make the dinner. I was beginning to doubt that I would ever want to cum again.
This is how things went every week for more than a month until one day she told me she wanted me naked in the house. And she wanted me to crawl instead of walk. “Uh…how am I going to do all these chores if I’m crawling, Ma’am?”
“Okay, you can stand if you’re working, but the rest of the time you are to crawl. Understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am…naked in the house and crawl when not working.”
Next she told me I had to have permission if I wanted a drink or a snack. This was supposed to be for my benefit—to control my weight which was funny because I’ve never had a problem in that area while she’s always on one diet or another. She excused me to begin my vacuuming.
Most of my chores were mindless, requiring virtually no thinking. That empty time was spent trying to figure out how I could get out of this mess. Of course, I could just refuse to play the game, but unless I could get this damned thing off I’d probably never cum again. So far it wasn’t too bad, but I had the feeling it could get a lot worse. I was right. A major change came after I’d been in this thing for almost six months.
“Well, darling slave,” she began. That was the first time she had called me “slave” which I guessed was an accurate deion. I was enslaved by my cock and my need to cum. “There are two other things I want to do to finish my work. When you’ve done these two things your life as you know it will be done. You’ll be under my thumb forever. I’ll own you. Now crawl into the bathroom…behind me, you idiot.”
I followed her, crawling as directed. “Into the shower and on your back.” She stepped over me, spreading her legs. I wasn’t the least surprised when she began to piss on me. “Open your mouth, stupid, and drink it.” Initially I refused, but when she stepped on my balls I closed my eyes and opened, but this was the final straw so far as I was concerned. Luckily, she couldn’t reach my mouth while she stood on my scrotum. It mostly dribbled onto my chest. All of this might have been acceptable if I were even slightly submissive, which I actively and repeatedly denied. I believed I was as much a Type A personality as anyone you might meet. I’d always held high-stress management positions back when I was working. I would readily agree that I did ask for those things she mentioned—the jerking off, and finishing me with her hand, even the ass fucking, but…I did those things to encourage her to be more assertive in bed. She was so passive when we married that she just lied there as though she was dead…sometimes I almost thought she was! It had taken me a long time to get her to be an active participant. I told myself that over and over again, but I knew I was deluding myself. Meanwhile, I thought I had figured out a way to get myself out of this mess. All I needed was the opportunity.
She pissed on me several times every day and I pretended that I was accepting. She continued to jerk me off every Sunday afternoon, but we never had real sex or kissed or even hugged each other. I assumed that was what happened because of what she thought was the difference in our status—mistress and slave. I awoke two weeks later and took her piss. I still couldn’t swallow it and I didn’t want to. I showered and dried myself, crawling to her in the bedroom. I was surprised to see the wrist and ankle cuffs on the bed.
“I have to go to the city today. It’s a long trip and I think it will take a while and I also want to visit our son. I haven’t seen him in months. I don’t want you to come with me. Frankly, I don’t want him to see what you’ve become. You’ll be here all day so if you have to use the toilet do it now. It’ll be your last chance until after four when I return.” I turned back to the bathroom, emptied my bladder and moved my bowels before crawling back. She locked the restraints on my wrists and ankles, locking them together, my wrists behind my back. She left me lying there on the bedroom floor, but returned suddenly. She moved me closer to the bed. “These will remind you of me and my position over you while you wait.” She tightened two nipple clamps onto my chest before fastening a short chain to each, the chain looped around the short steel support that held the caster at the base of the bed. She was laughing wildly as she left, locking the door behind her.
I was totally pissed! Leaving these clamps tightly on me for hours could be extremely dangerous, but I thought this might be the chance I needed. I immediately positioned my thighs under the steel bed frame and slid them closer and closer to the caster. It took me almost fifteen minutes to get them just right, but in time I was able to lift the entire bed almost an inch and slide the thin chain under the caster. I had accomplished the first step toward gaining my freedom. I had thought about doing this a long time ago, but she usually kept me under her eye busily doing chores, and then there was the whip. She had showed it to me one day when I was a bit slow completing the tasks she had set. “I told you I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. I’ve been practicing with this while you were out in the yard. I’m sure I can take a lot of your flesh off if you give me any trouble.” I never gave her any reason for concern after that little speech. I was completely her prisoner.
Over the past months she had severely restricted my diet while requiring me to work harder than I had in years. I had lost more than twenty pounds and gained in strength and flexibility. I felt more like a man in his forties than a man in his mid-sixties. I pushed my body into the bed until I was able to sit up. Levering my legs and pushing simultaneously against bed and floor, I managed to sit on the bed and eventually stand.
By bending at the waist and casting my shoulders forward I was able to slide my hands behind and below my butt. I sat back down on the bed and leaned forward, grabbing my right foot with my fingers. I tried sliding the chain between the cuffs along the bottom of my foot. I made progress until the damned thing caught on my big toe. I struggled for several minutes before pulling my foot madly to free it. Now my wrist chain was between my feet. Again, I gripped my foot, the left one this time, pulling it forcefully up. I corrected my earlier mistake by moving my right hand first so the chain moved away from that damned big toe. In minutes I was done with phase two—my hands were in front of my body. I dreaded the next step. Removing the nipple clamps was going to hurt--maybe even worse than when they went on. I screamed as the blood rushed back into the tender tissue. I massaged my poor swollen nipples for more than ten minutes before the pain subsided.
The chain between my ankles was only four inches long so I was forced to take tiny shuffling steps out of the bedroom toward the garage door. I jumped down the first step so I could sit on the landing and ease myself down one step at a time. Eventually, I made it all the way to my workbench.
I was able to lift the top trays from my tool box fairly easily. In time I found the tool I was searching for—my hacksaw. I tried sawing one of the locks but the chain connecting my wrists was too short. Then I had another idea! I tightened up my vise and flipped the hacksaw over so the blade was up instead of down. I held it carefully with my left hand while slowly and awkwardly tightening with my right. Finally, I was able to let go and use both hands on the vise handle.
I pulled the chain tight and ran the lock’s shackle back and forth over the length of the blade. The lock was small, but I could see the word “Hardened” punched into the steel. However, I knew it would be no match for the special carborundum blade. I ran the shackle back and forth. It was sloppy work, but I could see a small “V” forming and deepening with every stroke. The whole operation was clumsy, but it worked. The shackle parted with a pop. I twisted the chain, the two pieces separated and my hands were free. I was able to remove the wrist cuff easily.
Now I placed the lock on my left wrist into the vise where I could saw it properly. I spent less than five minutes cutting through it. I tried a different approach on my ankles. I removed my biggest screwdriver from the rack and slid it through the shackle. Using it as a lever I applied pressure until the D-ring on the cuff parted. The final one broke a minute later—I was free, naked in my garage. It was cool being March, but I was still sweating from my exertions. The first thing I did was take two Gator-Ade’s from the garage fridge and drink them down then I found the parts I would need to free myself.
I had purchased a car top carrier a few years ago to help manage luggage when our grandkids came to visit. The hardware included heavy galvanized steel bars about five inches long by an inch wide and thick enough to be extremely strong. I took two of them from the cabinet. Next I found two quarter inch bolts about three inches long and six nuts. I placed a plate onto a bolt and secured it in place with a nut that I socked all the way down, tightening it with an open-end wrench. I did the same thing with the other bolt and nut. I slid this plate under my ball sac against the restraining ring of the cock cage.
I screwed another nut onto each bolt, just above the first plate. The other plate went over my scrotum. To get this into place I had to pull the scrotum to get my balls out of the way. It hurt like the dickens right up until the plate was in place. I had to wait several minutes to recover before I finished with the final set of nuts at the end of each bolt just to make sure the whole thing wouldn’t fall apart. I had thought while vacuuming one day that what I needed was a hydraulic jack, but I’d never find one small enough. Then I thought—hydraulic jack? Why not try a screw jack? Now I had two strong steel plates wedged between the restraining ring and the actual cock cage. If I could turn the nuts back off the bolts, the upper plate would move the cock cage up and out of the way…at least that was the theory.
I hand-tightened the middle nuts against the upper plate before using the open-end wrench to separate the two plates and bend the cock cage away from the restraining ring. I took two turns on one side before switching to the other. I continued and as I did I could see the cage rings separate. Within a half hour the two rings had moved from less than a quarter inch to more than an inch—good, but not quite enough to get my balls out unless I was willing to accept a lot of pain. I checked the clock on the wall; it was almost 1:00 p.m. I had at least three hours. Plenty of time, I hoped.
Farther and farther the two parts of the cock cage spread. Now my biggest fear was that the plates would slip and the cage would spring back into place. I solved that concern with a pair of tiny wooden wedges that I slipped into the hinged area. Soon I had another quarter inch and then another. Finally, I heard a “snap” and saw a small crack where the tube of the cage met the hinge. It came apart after a few more turns of the screw. All I had to do now was get the cage off my cock and then I could deal with the rings. She had bought what she called pull-out protectors, essentially short bolts that fit perpendicularly into the cage. They compressed my cock and now I found it impossible to remove the damned thing. But, once again I had the solution.
I got a vase from the kitchen and filled it half-way with ice cubes, the rest with water. I held it at my groin and submerged my cock in the freezing concoction. It shocked the hell out of me, but ten minutes later my cock was numb and it had shrunken to almost nothing. I pulled the cage off easily, even with the damned urethral insert in place.
There was now enough room between my shrunken cock and the ring to fit the heavy-duty screwdriver between the two sides of the smaller ring. I pulled up until the ring bent, leaving a gap between it and the larger restraining ring. I moved the screwdriver to the other side and pulled again. I figured I must be exerting at least a thousand pounds of force on the ring. It bent like rubber—my balls slipped easily from the prison. I went inside, dressed and prepared for my wife’s return.
Now I had a few hours to finalize the plans for my revenge, and revenge it would be. It might cost me my marriage, but to be honest it hadn’t been much of a marriage lately, had it? I cleaned up the work area, dumping the ruined cock cage in the trash and the leather cuffs in a drawer. I might have a use for them, but I doubted it. I returned to the bedroom where it was much warmer. I put on a sweatshirt temporarily as I untied two of the ropes from the bed, adding them to several I had brought in from the garage. I sat and eagerly awaited the return of my wife.
She strolled in the door shortly after four, almost exactly as she had planned. “Get up you lazy loafer. I have something special for you. I’ve been holding it all afternoon.” I was hiding behind the door and grabbed her arms by the elbows as she strolled in. “That’s good because I have something for you, too.” I tied her elbows tightly behind her back; I tied her ankles and knees together next. “Surprised? Look…no cock cage…no cuffs, but lots of trouble for you.” I pulled a dirty pair of my underwear from the hamper and shoved them into her mouth, securing them with a piece of duct tape that I wrapped all around her head.
“You know something? All the research I did for my stories showed that the old adage was correct: Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. You certainly have proved that, haven’t you?” I walked to the kitchen for a scissors and proceeded to cut her jacket, shirt, and bra from her body. “I’ll give you a choice. I can cut off the pants or you can allow me to take them off. Shall I cut them?” She turned her head to tell me “no” furiously. I cut them off anyway.
Grabbing her by the hair and shoulders I dragged her to the shower and pushed her down. Straddling her body I took my cock in hand and began to piss. The advantage here was that I could aim; I also had a much bigger bladder than she had. I could often go all day without having to relieve myself. I pissed and pissed and pissed. “Next time,” I told her, “I’ll expect you to drink. Won’t that be fun? You thought it was great, didn’t you? Not so much on the receiving end, is it?”
I turned on the shower—cold water only—and let it wash over her filthy body. Then I dragged her out and dried her as best I could. Placing my hands under her arms I carried and dragged her to the bed where I lay her on her stomach and chest. My sitting on her back guaranteed that she wouldn’t get away as I tied her arms to the bed, exactly as she had done to me.
“You know, I really enjoyed being tied up here initially. I had a ton of pleasure with you right up until you betrayed me. Yeah! That’s what it was—betrayal, pure and simple. Somehow I doubt if you’ll find this very much fun. Now I want you to think…what’s the one thing I’ve always wanted, but that you refused me?”
I could see the fear in her eyes when she turned her face to me. She shook her head frantically, telling me, “NO!” But, I didn’t care. I didn’t give a damn about anything right now. I was going to fuck her ass if it was the last thing I ever did. I removed a long wooden rod from under the bed. It was strong and almost three feet long. I had placed screw eyes at each end. First, I tied one end to her left knee. Then I removed the rope tying them together and tied the right one to the other end, spreading her legs as far apart as possible. She’d be under a ton of strain until I untied her ankles which I did next.
Tying another rope from the headboard to the middle of the rod enabled me to move her knees forward, forcing her ass into the air. I secured the dowel in place with a final rope tied off to the bottom of the bed frame. She was now in place and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She was just as helpless as I had been when she tied me up.
I pulled a big bottle of lube from my night table and dribbled it onto her butt hole. She would have jumped off the bed if at all possible when I jammed my finger into her. I worked it around, thoroughly enjoying the experience. A minute later I added a second and five minutes later a third. Her anus was ready--at least I thought it was. If it wasn’t, well then…tough.
I positioned my hard cock at her asshole and rammed home less than a second after I had pulled my fingers free. Her tightness amazed me. There was nothing even remotely similar; I was in anal sex heaven. I fucked her ass for almost five minutes before cumming hard. I collapsed on her back, breathing heavily.
After another fifteen minutes I got up, washed my cock and her ass, and untied her. “I’ll understand if you want to leave me.” I removed the duct tape around her head. It was a bitch getting it out of her hair, but I did it carefully so as not to hurt her.
“Why would I? I was going to do the same thing to you. I even bought the strap-on.” She rubbed her wrists and looked down as she spoke. “I guess my experiment was a failure.”
“What the general public doesn’t realize is that more than 95% of all scientific experiments fail. That’s something I learned when I was studying chemistry. Why wouldn’t yours? You should have realized that I’m not submissive. I’ve never been submissive. Look at the jobs I’ve held. All you did was make me angry. If you wanted me to help more with the household chores all you had to do was ask. I did enjoy massaging your feet and even eating your pussy. I wouldn’t mind continuing if we stay together.”
“Okay…I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have done that cock cage to you. That was a big mistake. How’d you get it off, by the way?”
“Screw jack…I made it from a couple of bolts and nuts and some hardware from the car top carrier. It’s in two pieces out in the trash. I was tempted to crush it in the vise, but that would be overkill. It’s broken and useless as it is. That’s enough.”
“Oh…I should have known better than to leave you alone. You’re too clever…too good at solving problems.” She hung her head and cried. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted a divorce.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “I don’t…we’ve been together a long time and I’ve made plenty of mistakes, too. Let’s just chalk it up to experience and move forward, okay?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Does that mean I’ll really get to fuck your ass?”
“Why not? I plan on fucking yours again.” We both laughed and we hugged for the first time in months. I pulled back for a second and we kissed. It was the best—the sweetest, the hottest kiss of our lives. We made out like teenagers for more than an hour and then we fucked. Again, it was the best, the sweetest sex of our lives.
This would be a great place for the story to end, but it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Over the next few months our sex lives got even better than they had been when she was tying me up. I thought things couldn’t get better. I was almost ready to completely trust her again.
One day I was trying to replace a leaky faucet while she was out shopping. I realized that I had bought the wrong size connectors—you know, those thin flexible pipes that run from the valve to the bottom of the faucet-- so I went to our home office to find the receipt. I was in a hurry so I accidentally slid the desk blotter aside while searching for the right one. I was surprised to see several papers under it. My blood ran cold when I checked the first one—it was her timetable for enslaving me again. I read it carefully, not believing my eyes. It read:
1. Use great and frequent sex to encourage trust that I can take advantage of later—10 weeks.
2. Use the Steelwerks to gradually enslave him, raising the ante weekly—4 months.
3. Destroy his self-esteem by pissing on him and fucking his ass while making him eat and swallow his cum—two months.
4. Damn! Go to Plan B—Steelwerks destroyed—my fault for underestimating him. Rebuild trust
through lots of great sex until he is willing to be tied up again—move really slowly this time—3-4 months. Use drugs if he is still unwilling.
5. Once helpless use the Supreme Chastity Belt—Break him quickly and completely using extreme pain as well as humiliation. (paddles, canes, whips, handcuffs if shocking his balls with the Supreme isn’t enough (but I think it will be)
6. Success!—my own personal slave!
There was about an inch and a half between each typed sentence with short handwritten notes. One of them said, “Almost there; locking him up next time,” with the date. Another said, “Pissing on him such fun. Never enjoyed myself more. Almost at the end.” Then, “Underestimated—moving to plan B. I’ll have to hurt him now to make him my slave.”
I checked out the other papers. Most of them were nothing special, but I did find a receipt for a storage locker at the place down the road. I put everything back where it had been and pulled out the file of credit card bills. Sure enough, there they were—two payments for a four foot by six foot storage locker at $104 per month and a payment for a Supreme Electro-Shock High Security Training Chastity Belt in the amount of $5,600. I dropped everything and drove straight to the hardware store. I was back a half hour before she returned. I used that time to prepare my second surprise for her.
She walked in with a big smile on her face, but it disappeared when I pushed the storage receipt into her face. “Mind telling me what the hell we’re doing with a storage locker?” What’s in there?”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“No! Why the hell should I? Let’s go for a ride.” I grabbed her by the arm and threw her into my car. She refused to give up the entry code to the storage place so I backed the car out and waited. It wasn’t long before another car pulled up and opened the gate. I drove in behind it. It wasn’t difficult to find the locker—E-221—was to the right and at the end of a long row.
“Want to open it?” She remained silent, her arms crossed over her chest. “No problem…I’ve got it covered.” I popped the trunk and pulled out my brand new shiny bolt cutters. Popping the lock took less than a minute. I pushed her through the doorway. There on a low shelf were all the items she had listed in her blueprint—several pairs of heavy-duty handcuffs, three whips, four canes, and a cat o’ nine tails and several paddles, one with metal spikes which I was sure was designed to nearly kill the poor victim. In a box was the new cock cage she had bought.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Really? What is it then? It looks like you still have plans for me—plans to hurt me, plans to bend me to your perverted needs. It looks like these needles fit into this cock cage and connect to these wires. Is this how you planned to shock me into submission? It looks like you’ll never learn. Get into the car. We’re leaving.” I closed the door and took out the new lock I had just purchased. We were back home three minutes later.
She started to the door when I stopped her. “Not so fast…You’ll need these.” I pulled her suitcases from the side of the garage and dumped them into her trunk. “Get out…now…before I…! My lawyer will be in touch.” I turned away and she tried to follow me. “Don’t! You’re nothing but a lying manipulative bitch. I found your “blueprint” with all your little notes…all the things you did and were going to do. You’re sick…sick. Get out of my sight. You disgust me. I’ll probably kill you if you don’t leave so just go. I’d be thrilled never to see you again.” She seemed shocked at my remarks, why I would never know. How many times did I have to tell her I wanted no part of that lifestyle? I went inside as she drove away and secured all the documents—her blueprint, all the receipts I could find and the credit card bills. I removed the broken cock cage from the trash in the garage—luckily I only emptied it when the can was full, roughly once every couple of months. In my search I found the code for the storage place. I put everything there for my lawyer.
I met with her the following Wednesday morning. We had a shaky start when she told me, “I always represent women. They are always the aggrieved party.”
“What if the man was the aggrieved party? Would you represent a man under those circumstances?”
“I think it would depend on the exact circumstances. Why don’t you tell me why you want the divorce and then I’ll decide.” She listened to me for almost an hour. When I was done she told me she needed a drink—it was almost ten a.m. She took the case, calling me the following day to tell me that my wife had tried—too late—to retain her.
My wife’s attorney tried to negotiate a settlement, but mine would have nothing to do with it. “We’ll do better in court, especially when you’ve testified. Besides, we’ve drawn Jutner.”
“The Honorable Judith Jutner…best known because she has yet to rule in favor of the husband. Notice I said ‘yet.’ She’s fair and she hates when husbands do things to cruel things to their wives. We’re going to use that sentiment, but in reverse. Watch and see.”
“I hope you’re right.” She smiled and patted me on the back. Two weeks later we were in court. I was sworn in and sat in the witness box. I was first asked about my employment history as a civil engineer and the early days of our marriage. Slowly she brought the judge up to the date when I had received that damned royalty check. I told how my wife had first tied me to the bed and how great the sex was that day. I stared into the judge’s eyes as I told all about it. I explained how our frequency had increased and how happy I was with our relationship. Then I described what I considered her betrayal of our marriage. I described the things I did so I’d be able to cum once a week. I could see the judge start when I told how my wife pissed on me and tried to make me drink it. She asked if I had been willing.
“No, your honor, I wasn’t willing to do any of it. I was a prisoner of my sexuality. The only times it came off was when I was tied securely to the bed.” I continued right up until the day I managed to escape.
“What took you so long?”
“There was less than a half inch between these two rings,” I explained, holding the two rings up in front of the judge. “There was no way I could just pull it off so I had to figure out a way to do it without breaking my …oh, excuse me your honor.” I described the process of getting loose from her bondage, about the pain involved, and the struggles I had working the hacksaw. I tried to be factual without embellishing or exaggerating. I also tried, not entirely successfully, to keep my emotions in check. I honestly described my revenge and how we made up afterwards. I spent only a few minutes describing how things were later, right up until I found her “blueprint for my slavery.” I read all the typed entries and those she had handwritten. I thought I saw the judge grimace several times. That was before my attorney brought into evidence the contents of the storage locker. I identified the receipts first and then tied each one to the items. Finally, we came to the electro-shock cock cage.
“Can you describe how this thing is supposed to work?”
“Yes, I looked it up on the internet and there’s a manual in the box. This ring would fit around my penis and scrotum then the penis fits into this tube and is locked into place with these bolts. If you lift up this shield you can see where sixteen needles screw into the tube. The wires connect to the top of each needle. The entire workings are covered by the protective shield and controlled by this remote control.”
“Have you determined the distance between the tips of the needles once they’ve been screwed in all the way?”
“Not exactly, but if you look closely you can see that it’s about a half inch, maybe a little less.” I showed her honor the tube with the needles installed.
“What is the diameter of the tube?”
“That I can tell you—it’s exactly an inch and a quarter.”
“And the diameter of your flaccid penis?”
“Also an inch and a quarter.”
“So that would mean these needles would be buried into your penis?”
“Yes, at least three-eighths of an inch.”
“Do you know what the shocking mechanism would be like?”
“Obviously, I haven’t tried it out, but I can show you.” I held it up for the judge to see as the spark jumped between the electrodes. “According to the manual that’s 50,000 volts, kind of like a stun gun for the penis.”
She jumped back in shock. I expected my wife’s attorney to object, but she was silent.
My attorney had just one more question, “How often would this come off?”
“According to the manual it’s not supposed to come off—ever.” When I finished Judge Jutner called for a recess—just as well, I needed some time to prepare myself for what I thought would be a real grilling from my wife’s attorney.
I returned to the stand when the judge called us to order the following morning. I was reminded that I was still under oath. Her attorney walked slowly to the witness box. “Isn’t it true, Mr. Martinson that this was something you really wanted?”
“No. I never wanted that and I told her so…many times.”
“Didn’t you write a lot of stories about female dominated relationships?”
“Yes, I did write some stories with that theme.”
“Doesn’t that mean it was something you found interesting?”
“Sure, it made for some good stories.”
“But, doesn’t that mean that you had a deep-seated desire to be in that kind of relationship?”
I almost blew my stack. “Absolutely not! If I wrote about a murder would that mean I wanted to be murdered? If a woman wrote about a rape would that mean she had a deep-seated desire to be raped? Of course not! That’s ridiculous.” She continued along the same vein until my attorney got tired and objected. After the objection was sustained she tried again until Judge Jutner told her she was done unless she had another line of questions. Court was adjourned until the following day.
Court convened the following morning at ten sharp. I noticed a few people in the audience—a man and a woman; yesterday the court had been empty other than the staff and the parties involved in the divorce proceedings. This was, after all, hardly a newsworthy event.
“I’ve looked at this matter very carefully over the past day and night. I grant the divorce petition from the plaintiff with property to be distributed as follows: the house will go to Mr. Martinson; all bank accounts held in joint tenancy will go to Mr. Martinson; any investments held by Mrs. Martinson will go to her husband.”
“But, your honor. How will my client survive?” My now ex-wife’s attorney was practically screaming.
“I wouldn’t worry about that too much.” She signaled the two people seated behind their table. “These two officers are here to arrest Mrs. Martinson. By my count she’s committed at least seven felonies.” The officers stepped around the railing, handcuffed her and read her rights. I sat there dumbfounded as she was led away by the detectives.
I turned to my attorney who was just as shocked as I was and congratulated her on our victory. “Trust me,” she replied, “the verdict was assured. It was open and shut. Like I said—she hates when people are cruel to their spouses.” She shook my hand and told me she’d handle the paperwork and forward the final bill in the mail. Whatever it was it would be money well spent. I was just about to leave the courtroom when the bailiff handed me a note. It was from Judge Jutner: “Please meet me in chambers at 3:00 this afternoon. Your attorney need not be present.”
I showed it to my lawyer. She didn’t comment, but raised her eyebrows. I shrugged my shoulders as we walked out victorious. Once outside I asked her, “Isn’t this a bit unusual?”
“Not only unusual…unheard of. What are you going to do?”
“I guess I’ll show up. I can’t see that I have anything to lose.” I shook her hand again and went home to my big lonely house. I wandered from room to room and as I did I wondered what I was going to do now that it was over between my wife and me. I had hoped to do well in the divorce, but I never expected to get everything. I found that concept mind boggling, almost as much as the thought that she could go to prison. I was pretty sure I would have to testify and I wasn’t so sure about that either.
Eventually, I found my way to the bedroom, the scene of so much joy and so much anguish, both at the hands of my schizophrenic wife. How she could be so loving and so deviously evil at the same time disturbed me. I fell onto the bed and cried. I sobbed for almost an hour wishing that I could turn back the clock to the day before I had received that damned royalty check. I found it interesting that I had never received another—all these problems because of $11.25 and my big fat ego.
The clock read 12:45. I had wasted more than an hour wallowing in self pity. I made some lunch—big deal--a ham on rye with a Pepsi before returning to the bedroom where I threw my clothes on the floor, something that would have driven my wife crazy. I thought I’d pick them up tomorrow—maybe.
I shaved and showered for my big date with the judge. At 3:00 on the dot I knocked on her door. I waited for more than five minutes before she called me in. “You wanted to see me, your honor?”
“Yes…there were a few things about your testimony I wanted to talk to you about.” When I started to object she spoke again, “No, I don’t believe you lied. I know you were truthful in what you said. I am more interested in what you didn’t say.”
I was confused. I stood there with my mouth open until she waved me to a seat near the side of her desk. “You are obviously a very intelligent man. Being an engineer I found it hard to believe that it took you more than six months to figure out how to get out of that thing. Be honest now…how long did it take you?”
“About two weeks, probably a bit less.”
“That’s even less than I thought. That tells me that you weren’t all that upset with what happened…that there were things you enjoyed about the situation. Once again…be honest.”
“May I ask why you’re so interested?”
“I’ll get to that once you’ve answered the question.”
“OK, there were some things I did like. I enjoyed seeing my wife happy…me making her happy. I enjoyed massaging her feet and after a while I didn’t even mind the sweaty taste when she had me lick and suck her toes. I’ve never been a big fan of eating pussy, but I did enjoy doing it. Even all the chores were okay; I’ve had plenty of time on my hands since I retired a few years ago. Of course, there was plenty I didn’t like. I hated the idea that I was betrayed…set up. I hate liars and what she did was even worse. I truthfully could have killed her when she pissed on me and wanted me to drink it. And the nipple clamps she used on me that last day…that was the final straw. Leaving them on me for seven or eight hours was extremely dangerous. All that time with no circulation I could have been seriously injured…permanently injured. That’s what really pissed me off. Oh…sorry, your honor.”
“There’s no reason to apologize. I asked you to be honest, but I think you’re still leaving something out. Despite your comments and testimony to the contrary, I suspect that you do have some submissive tendencies. I think many men would have taken that thing off immediately. You figured out how to do it in two weeks yet you took more than six months before acting. That tells me a lot.”
“Like you’d come over here to massage my feet if I asked you to.” She raised her stocking clad foot, holding it only a few feet in front of me. She wiggled it teasingly in front of me for more than a minute before continuing, “Well?” I couldn’t believe how quickly I found myself on the floor. She stood and spread her legs. “Remove my stockings. Don’t let them run.” I reached up under her dress and found tops—they were the kind that would stay up by themselves. I slowly pulled them down, running my hands along her smoothly shaven legs and feet. First one, then the other found its way to the chair I had just left. She had beautiful feet.
Judge Jutner sat back in her chair and held her foot aloft. I took it into my hands, rubbing it and massaging from heel to toe. I slowly took her big toe into my mouth. It tasted salty, but wasn’t the least offensive. After licking and sucking each of her toes I began to lick the sole of her foot. I kissed her entire foot repeatedly before moving to the other. I repeated my ministrations until told to stop.
“What did you do next?”
“Usually, I ate her puss…I mean, oral sex.”
“Yes, I am familiar with the idea of oral sex…you ate her pussy.” She spread her legs, inviting me to her cunt. She had a trimmed bush over her lovely cunt. It had been months since I had performed for my wife—I dove into her sex, first sucking her entire pussy into my mouth. Her labia engorged, becoming red and enflamed before I shifted my attentions to her tight tunnel. She really was tight; the tightest I’d ever known. I didn’t have to search for her G-spot, my tongue found it immediately. Indeed, her tightness forced me into it. It was fun watching her squirm under my assault. She nearly jumped out of the chair when I shifted to her clit. A mere lick or two brought her over the precipice to an extremely strong orgasm. Her legs gripped me tightly, squeezing my head and neck. Fortunately, I was able to breathe through my nose. Finally, her orgasm ebbed and she released me.
“That was incredible, Frank. Do you mind if I call you Frank?”
“Not at all, your honor.”
“I think you should call me Judith…maybe Mistress Judith for I have a proposition for you.”
“You know I just went through hell with my wife. I’m not so sure I would want to go into another relationship like that.”
“I understand that so what I propose will be different, but similar in some regards. Please hear me out. I’m sure you noticed how tight I am. I can never have normal intercourse. I know—I’ve tried it several times and it hurt more than I can tell you even though there was no penetration. He couldn’t get it in. That’s why I’m still single. I became interested when I listened to how you satisfied your wife orally every day, sometimes several times a day and knowing that you could have put an end to it but didn’t just makes you all the more desirable.
“I won’t kid you…I need to be in control. I need to be the one in charge. I’d want you to come to my home nightly to service me—my feet and my pussy. I’d want you naked and crawling in my home. It will just be the two of us. You won’t be exposed to any outsiders. I don’t need you to clean my home—I have a service for that and to handle the lawn and gardening, as well. Your responsibilities would be solely sexual in nature in addition to my feet, of course. Frankly, that’s more sexual than many of the so-called sexual practices many couples experience. I know…I’ve heard all of them in my courtroom.
“Because I would be in control I would expect you to be in chastity when we are not together. I would never hurt or torture you, not your genitals or any other part of you, but I need to protect myself from STD’s. Of course, you would be protected through the same mechanism.”
“Sounds great, your honor…for you. What would I get out of it?”
“Good question…I will masturbate you twice a week. After we get to know each other I will also use my mouth on you, but I have to tell you that I do not swallow. I consider that practice disgusting.”
“You know…I could just jerk myself off if I wanted. What’s the big deal?”
“You’re about to find out. Drop your pants and underwear and lie on the floor. Don’t worry…we will not be disturbed.”
“Well, what the hell,” I thought. I had gone this far, why not finish on a high note. I hadn’t had a woman jerk me off in…let’s see…it must be almost forty years. I did as asked, dropping my pants and boxers so I could place them neatly on the chair and removing my shoes. I lay on the floor, on an expensive Persian rug, to await her honor.
I knew that I had jerked off virtually every day from the middle of seventh grade through graduation. That would be 365 times 5 ½ years or roughly 2000 times. Add in the times in college and even later while married and I figured that I must have done it at least 7000 times. However…I had never experienced anything like Judith Jutner’s hands on my cock. She stroked me to hardness which didn’t take much after doing her feet and pussy. Even without Levitra I was soon very, very hard. She used a lotion, telling me it was something special she got all the way from Romania. All I knew was that her hands felt like silk as they moved up and down my shaft. She started slow and easy with minimal pressure on my cock, but increased both to bring me to the edge before backing off. Six times she brought me there over the next hour before allowing me to cum, and cum I did. I couldn’t ever remember cumming so hard, even on my best day with my now ex-wife, even when she had first tied me to the bed. I lay there on the expensive Persian rug covered in semen. I looked up at Judge Judith Jutner and smiled.
“Why don’t you take a minute to check out the contract? Hold on, I’ll get you a towel. That was a big one.” She stepped into her private bathroom, reappearing a minute later with a large bath towel. She spoke when she saw my questioning eyes, “Don’t worry…they’re mine. I’ll take it home and wash it like I always do.” She handed me the towel. I wiped my chest and abdomen realizing that I was still breathing heavily after almost three minutes since cumming. I finished with my cock which was still oozing. When I wiped my balls I noticed that they were maybe half the size they had been earlier. Thinking back I realized that sex had been a low priority over the past months. I dressed, still experiencing the high from my orgasm and sat back in the chair. Judge Jutner was all business again.
“If you check pages one and two you’ll see all the conditions for you that I already mentioned. On page three is my agreement to masturbate you twice a week on Wednesdays and Sundays, although that can change to different days if you wish. On page four is our agreement to have complete physicals and blood testing for STD’s. I put that in because I don’t want you dying on me some night; the blood testing, well that should be obvious. On page five are the termination conditions. I can terminate at any time if I become bored or if you fail to meet your responsibilities. You can terminate at the end of any month. The contract goes into effect on the first day after medical results are mutually received.
“Of course, there is a gag provision that prevents both of us from ever revealing the nature of our relationship. Questions?”
“Yeah, a couple actually. Do I ever get to see you naked?”
“Hmmm…I hadn’t thought about that. Why should I consider it?”
“Maybe you’d like a body massage before your orgasm, or even between orgasms, besides, a little nipple play can enhance your experience, not to mention mine, besides, I do better when I’m stimulated.”
“I won’t put it in the contract, but I will definitely think about it. Anything else?”
“How about kissing? I love to kiss and I’ve been told I’m very good at it.”
“Again, I’ll think about it.”
“How much freedom will I have with your body when I give you your orgasm? Can I use my hands, my nose?”
“Your nose? That sounds positively decadent. I think I’d like to see that. Anything else?”
“I can’t think of anything right now, but something may come to me if I decide to go forward. Oh, what kind of cock cage would you require me to wear?”
“Why don’t you come over here and we can shop together online?” I moved behind her as she went online, Googling “Cock Cage.” We checked out several sites before deciding on a CB6000. It was lighter in weight, but might require me to sit when peeing. Even though there were supposed to be holes to accommodate peeing, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t make a mess. On the positive side she agreed to pay for it since she had made it a requirement.
I agreed with everything and signed both copies. She also signed and gave me a copy. Before I left she asked if I had a tux. “No, but I have a really good dark blue suit. Why?”
“I may have a need for an escort to a play or the opera, or maybe even a Bar event. We couldn’t do that now, right after your divorce, but possibly in a few months.”
“I’ll think about it. I don’t really have much use for a suit these days, and less for a tux, but I might spring for one if things go well between us. By the way, how old are you?”
“Here’s everything you need to know—I’m 48, 5 feet 7 inches, 132 pounds. I work out regularly and watch my diet. I drink only occasionally…white wine.”
“Okay, I’ll bring some my first time. You don’t have to share it. So long, Mistress Judith.”
“So long, slave. Keep in touch. There’s an email address on the back page. Send me an email so I’ll have yours. Oh, yeah here’s something for you to think about.” She walked up to me and planted a huge kiss on my lips. Her tongue was demanding, her lips were soft and plump, her breath smelled of mint. It was a sensational kiss. I wanted more.