"I can’t do it!"

"You can!" She screamed. Then, in hushed but with a most threatening tone, she added, "And you bloody well will if you know what’s good for you!"

One look at the expression written on her face and I knew she meant what she said. Not to comply with her request would, as far as parts of my anatomy was concerned, be folly in the extreme. On any other day I just might have been inclined to refuse and suffer the consequences because I was addicted to the pleasurable pain she could most expertly inflict but I was still suffering from last night and knew my cock, balls, nipples and backside were in no position to take any more punishment.....

I’d arrived home from work quite looking forward to the weekend only to be met by the wife in one hell of a bad mood. I later found out that, earlier in the day, she’d been out shopping and had apparently had an altercation with "this bastard of male chauvinism" over a car parking space. Unable to exact revenge she wanted upon his personage I was going to be the one to suffer.

"Get the fuck upstairs," she’d instructed before my feet were fully over the threshold, "and get your collar on!"

"Anything else?" I’d gently enquired, not wanting to exacerbate her mood any further.

"Nothing else. Just the collar."

Knowing I’d be parading around stark bollock naked I’d ventured to enquire whether Peter and Jane where still coming round for dinner but was informed that they’d been put off until next weekend. That news had come as somewhat of a disappointment as normally such evenings turned into some fantastic sessions of bondage and sex and I’d had numerous erection throughout the day just thinking about my cock pounding into Jane’s oh so tight pussy as my arse was being whipped unmercifully by Peter and my wife.

"Don’t go sulking," my wife had called out as I got to our bedroom door. "You wouldn’t have got your grand finale cos Jane’s on her period."

In the bedroom I’d taken off my office suit and hung it in the wardrobe before going into the en-suite bathroom and, after removing my tie, shirt, underpants and socks and placing them in the washing basket, had a pee before having an all over wash. Back in the bedroom I’d opened the blanket chest which served as a container for our smaller sex toys and equipment and found what I was looking for. The collar was of the high posture type which forced your chin uncomfortably up high and made of heavy duty leather. Other than a normal buckle fastening it had three d-rings and the word ‘slut’ emblazoned in large white lettering at the front. Attired as instructed I’d made my way back down the stairs.

"You took your time! Get me a drink!"

All the time I busied myself making the gin and tonic my wife had berated me with what a lousy day she’d had and then, recumbent on the sofa with her drink, had embarked upon one of her favourite pastimes - belittling my manhood. I’d been ordered to switch on the television so she could watch her favourite programme and then kneel on all fours with my backside facing towards her so she had somewhere to rest her feet. Throughout the next half an hour the cheeks of my backside had been cruelly and systematically spiked by her needle sharp stiletto heels which, she’d informed me, was intended to be a process of tenderising the said areas as a prelude to what would be the main course. I’d taken this mean my ass was in for some serious paddling sometime later!

Without warning her feet had come off my backside and one of her hands had come between my legs and grabbed my balls just as I’d been propelled forwards with a vicious shove from her other hand. My forward motion had been painfully halted when my bollocks, which were now pulled right back between my legs, couldn’t be stretched anymore. Even though I’d yelped with the agony which coursed through my two squashed plums my cock had immediately become fully erect. Through gritted teeth I’d endured my bollocks being squeezed and slapped until, after she’d spent an inordinate time concentrating on hitting my right testicle (which she knew was my most sensitive and caused me the most painful discomfort) I’d had to beg her to stop. When her final god awful almighty thwack connected and her grip on my balls released, I’d collapsed in a heap on the floor and, clutching my tortured bits, writhed around in a near foetal position in a less than successful attempt to ease the pain.

"Bloody pathetic!" she’d scolded. "I see we are going to have to teach you to be more appreciative when I take the bother to pay you some attention."

With that I’d been ordered to the end of the room and, after my arms had been cuffed together at the wrists, attached to the o-ring which was neatly concealed from the uninitiated by purporting to be a support for a hanging tapestry. With my arms high above my head I’d been instructed to face the wall and, after being gagged, she’d begun. With hands, whips, paddles and crops she’d lain into me and once my back from neck to ankle was alive with what felt like burning fires I’d been turned round so the whole of my front could receive the same attention. Finally, with my body looking like something akin to an overcooked lobster and both of us exhausted although for obvious separate reasons, my wife had stopped. Whilst I’d hung there like some rag doll trying to come to terms with the weird sensation of, on the one hand, initial relief my ordeal was over and yet, on the other hand and only a surprisingly short time later, a desperate craving for some more punishment as I was missing the pain and exhilaration of being beaten, my wife had slumped on the sofa to recover from her exertions. It was some ten minutes or so later that I’d felt the urge to urinate and began making grunting noises as loud as I could to attract my wife’s attention to my predicament. When at last I’d finally made her understand what I wanted I’d really expected she’d let me free to go to the toilet but no, she had other ideas and had disappeared out of the room. By the time she’d come back carrying all manner of items in her arms I was really squirming and she’d only just got the plastic container in place before my golden stream erupted. With my bladder emptied she’d placed the container on the floor to catch any dribbles whilst she returned to the sofa to sort through the things she’d dumped there.

The first thing to go on were the leg spreaders and then a particularly vicious pair of nipple clamps which were agonising in their initial application without the extra discomfort when they were screwed even tighter. Next came a leather strap arrangement which had been first secured around my cock and balls before another strap was fastened around the top of my scrotum. I’d grunted as she’d gone round tightening all the straps and clamps only to receive a thwack on my cock for my indiscretion. I’d never before seen the box she placed on the floor in front of me and gulped when she’d opened the lid to reveal a whole host of two distinct sizes of shiny metallic balls. I’d had a damn good idea of where they were going and sure enough, she’d begun by attaching one each of the smaller ones to the rings on my nipple clamps, which made the teeth bite even harder into the skin, before she knelt down to attach the larger ones to the two d-rings on the leather strapping around my cock and balls. With the hook and eye type arrangement at the top and bottom of each ball, two became four, four became six, six became eight and there were still more in the box! Leaving me to get used to my genitalia being stretched more than I’d ever known, my wife, with a sadistic smile written right across her face, had tightened the screws on each of the nipple clamps before adding another couple of the balls. Setting the lower set of balls swinging back and forth between my legs she’d taken up a riding crop and, in relative terms as far the action and motion was concerned, began to gently tap my cock and balls with it. With my bits and pieces stretched, scrunched and swinging each repetitive tap soon felt like full bloodied thwacks and I’d been reduced to agonising ‘mmmmmmphing’ cries for mercy. So irritated was my wife by what she had described as my pathetic wimpish display the next few blows were really vicious and the pain had me floating towards a dark place to try and block it out.

With my eyes closed I’d not seen what she next intended and my relief from the ache of my jaw when the ball gag had been removed was short-lived as it had it almost immediately been replaced by another type of gag. My eyes had opened just in time to see that this gag had a smallish penis shaped piece which was stuffed into my mouth and as soon as it was securely fastened in place it was inflated. I now also saw that there was a tube protruding out of the other end of the gag and I’d been glad of this as, with the gag fully inflated, there was no other way of breathing in air through my mouth. Satisfied I’d be kept suitably quiet my wife had further tightened the screws of the nipple clamps and quickly followed this up by adding two more of the smaller ball weights. This was followed by the addition of two larger balls down below and my wife had expressed her pleasure at sight of me trying to endure the extra pain and discomfort she had created.

A long held fetish of mine had been for my wife to straddle my face, to gaze up her long shapely legs and watch as she pulled apart with her finger the lips of her oh so gorgeous shaven pussy and treat me to a golden shower but she‘d always refused. I’d often fantasised what it would taste and feel like as the aim of her hot gushing stream filled my mouth. What I hadn’t fantasised about was what had happened next. Having taken hold of the tube which protruded out of my gag and attached another length of tubing she’d knelt down where, because of my posture collar, I couldn’t see what she was doing. When she came back up she’d proudly displayed the container which held my urine and now had the extended tubing secured into the top. I’d watched in horror as she’d turned the container over and, with the hook arrangement she’d secured to the bottom, fixed it above my head to the bar holding the tapestry. Almost immediately I’d felt a salty acrid taste of liquid filling my mouth. With a warning not to try and use my tongue to stop the flow as she expected the container to be empty upon her return she’d gone for a bath. My mouth and throat was coated with a less than pleasant tasting film and I’d been sorely tempted to stop the flow with my tongue. However, taking into consideration the ever increasing biting pain in my nipples as well as my genital area, where the leather of the cock and ball strap was now really cutting viciously into the skin, I hadn’t fancied eduring her wrath on her return, I’d downed the last drop.

In hindsight I probably shouldn’t have bothered because, as soon as my wife had returned from her bath, I’d been subjected to more torturous punishment on the convoluted pretext that she was so absolutely disgusted that I could do something so abhorrent as to drink my own urine. When I’d been suitably chastised and finally be released l still had to prepare a meal and even though she’d condescended to remove a number of the metal balls there were still enough of them left to cause me a painful reminder they were there every time I moved. The remainder of the metal balls, the cock and ball strap and the nipple clamps only came off when it was time for bed. By this time I hadn’t known where to put myself to relieve my agony but any relief I’d felt when at last she’d begun removing the instruments of my torture was short-lived. Not only was it bloody painful when she’d begun to unscrew the nipple clamps as the claws had bitten into the skin to the extent that neither wanted to let go of the other but, when they finally parted company and the blood rushed back into my nipples, the pain was all the more excruciating and I couldn’t help but cry out. When it came to removing the cock and ball strap which had also bitten into the skin no mercy was shown and as it was ripped off I’d cried out again. The posture collar was, I’d been informed, to stay on until morning.

I’d spent the night with my wrists padlocked to the head of the bed and my cuffed ankles padlocked to the foot whilst my wife had loudly pleasured herself with fingers and vibrators. Every so often she’d lifted the covers to mock and laugh at my erection. When she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep I’d spent a fitful night of frustration

This morning, Saturday, after being released from my restraints, I was told to shower as she had bought something new for me to wear. The something new turned out to be a French Maids outfit complete with frilly white knickers, a white suspender belt and black stockings. There was also a pair of ladies shoes with kitten heels. I’d managed to prepare breakfast without breaking an ankle or major catastrophe and even braved a trip out to the rubbish bins but now she wanted me to get the car out of the garage and drive her to the supermarket and this was when I said, "I can’t do it!"

"You can! And you bloody well will if you know what’s good for you!"

I have never before driven so carefully as we travelled to the supermarket. Every traffic light and pedestrian crossing seemed to be against us and I had to endure the double take and fits of laughter of all the drivers and pedestrians who caught sight of me. It was only marginally worse at the supermarket when, as this was my first time dressed this way, I was left in the car to be on show to anyone who passed by. Next time, my wife informed me as she closed the car door, I would be accompanying her inside!!!