Author's Note: I do hope you enjoy the story. Any comments would be greatly appreciated.


Chapter 1

Desperate longing, desperate sexual desire course through my veins, consume me. A montage of images and scenes flood my mind, uncontrolled. Strong hands push me over a table. I'm helpless to stop my violation. Memories so fresh I can almost feel the penetration, my face pressed against the cold hard table, helpless to stop it, helpless to make it last longer. Leather restraints locked to cold hard steel keep me in place while a cruel crop bites into my tender flesh. Creamy thighs accentuated by a sexy skirt and oh so sexy shoes walking away from me, until all I'm left with is a view of the bars against the empty room and a desperate longing for her return. Soft tender lips passionately, lovingly, desperately kissing...a shoe. The image of a gold key against black nylon turns me into a wanton slut, please...Please...PLEASE!

I stop cutting the vegetables and drop the knife on the cutting board. My hand reaches for "her little dicklet" in a futile attempt to remove the cause of the pain; a cold steel plate protects my wife's property from unauthorized hands. After the electricity stops surging through her little dicklet I quickly wipe my hands and scurry to the living room where my wife is sitting, still dressed in her office clothes. I can't help but notice her well tanned cleavage perfectly framed by her white blouse as I walk towards her. I lower my eyes, past incredible thighs encased in black nylons, to her sculptured calves - her muscles highlighted by the nylons. I stand at attention resting my gaze on her pumps as required.

After a very long pause my wife states "We need to talk."

My wife...my beautiful wife. She's more than any man could wish for and more than any man could handle. She's both beautiful and incredibly smart. She was a cheerleader and valedictorian in high school. She majored in businesses and minored in psychology at college. She is the epitome of every thing I've ever wanted, everything I've ever desired.

I quickly mince to the hall closet and retrieve my 'conversation chair' - a very small pink hardwood stool that I sit on when we 'talk'. I place the stool inches from her crossed legs and kneel facing her with the stool between us, and wait with my eyes on the dildo.

"Proceed."

I lower my face to the stool and proceed to deep-throat the large dildo mounted on the stool. I have as much time as she allows to get as much of my spit on the dildo as possible before I take my seat.

"Have a seat." she says way too soon.

As I pull my mouth off of the dildo I'm forced to to acknowledge how ridicules I look, as I notice my lipstick marks at the base her cock (I have a standing order to call all the dildos she's bought to violate me "her cock", the one between my legs I must call "her little dicklet"). I think about what my lips must look like as I pull down my panties and let them rest at my ankles. I struggle as I try to balance myself on my stilettos. My eyes meekly meet hers as instructed while I lower myself onto her cock. I grunt and groan as the hard rubber violates me. My wife looks down at me dispassionately as I struggle to sit; my thighs and calf's burn as they try to support my weight. It doesn't take nearly as long as it used to for my stretched ass to accept this violation, however this period of looking into her eyes has not lost a single ounce of humiliation.

She takes a sip of white wine and asks me softly, "How long has it been since you've last had a cummie?"

"Seventy three days ma'am."

It's so hard to stare up into her eyes as I struggle with my humiliation.

"How many cummies have you had this year?" she asks softly.

"Two ma'am."

It's 5 fucking months into the year and I've only had two cummies! She likes to drive home the reality of my deprivation at key points in our relationship. She knows my mind will remember those rare events and I'll be reminded they weren't even real orgasms, but perfectly ruined orgasms. She has, with my help, perfected the ruined orgasm. She knows the exact time to remove her hand or foot to cause me to squirt with the least amount of satisfaction...

"We're going to play a little game." my wife says playfully as she dangles a strange looking strap before my face. My arms and legs are locked securely to the bed and I'm in no position to say we're not playing.

As she begins wrapping the device around my scrotum she begins to describe the game in a very upbeat and playful way, "I'm going to tease my little dicklet, and you get to enjoy it. If you feel like you're going to make a cummies then you just say please."

She's talking like a high school girl, so sweet and perky.

"If I let go and you don't make a cummies then your little balls don't get zapped." she says with a giggle.

She shows me the dial on her remote control and I see it's set to 3.

"If I let go and you make a cummies then I press this little button while you make your cummies." she says, still talking like a little girl.

"HOLY FUCK!!!!"

"FUCK!!!....STOP!!!!! AAAAHHH!!!"

Fuck that hurt!! I'll never let that fucking happen ever again! I'll say please way before I ever feel like cumming! I feel the sweat begin to pour out of me from stark raging fear. She moves her free hand to my cock and begins to gently stroke it. I feel the overwhelming sensations begin to well between my legs as my body instinctively drives itself to satisfaction. Oh my god that feels so fucking good!

"But if I stroke you one more time and you don't make a cummies I'll press the button even longer." as I see her beautiful thumb push ever so gently on the button.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!! AAAAHHH!!!! NO NO NO!!! STOP!!!!" I scream and writhe desperately trying to free myself from my bonds .

It's only when she finally releases the button that I stop my violent seizure and begin to breathe again. My whole being is filled with nothing but fear after the pain I just felt in my most delicate region. God!!! I will do whatever I can to never...ever...feel anything like that again! When I'm finally able to open my eyes I see my wife's beautiful smiling face directly above mine. She brings the remote into view, and, with her beautiful thumb, slowly and effortlessly moves the dial to 6.

"Shall we begin?" She says smiling as she starts slowly stroking my cock... her well manicured finger of her free hand on the button....

She raises her crossed leg placing the sole of her shoe in front of my lips. I gently and lovingly kiss the part of her she has graciously offered me: the filthy sole of her shoe. I try not to imagine the places she's been or the things she may have stepped in with these shoes. My hand instinctively rises to cradle her heel while my mind flashes images of her walking filthy streets, going to the bathroom at work. The feel of her stockinged ankle against my hand triggers a new flood sexual desperation. I try to control my passion as my lips press against the dirty sole of her shoe but I quickly become engulfed in my desires, my tongue instinctively pressing against her filthy sole just as it pushed past her succulent lips so long ago.

She takes a sip of wine as she watches me make love to her shoe, debase myself, lose control.

"Remove my shoe." she says softly.

I struggle to breath as my free hand takes a hold of her shoe. I gently pull the pump off, after I do she flexes her strong legs pressing the sole of her sweaty foot tightly against my mouth and nose. The pungent mix of her foot, her perfume, mixed with the musky smell of shoe leather is overwhelming; intoxicating. Although it's a standing order that I kiss whatever she places before my lips, I would be unable to stop myself if I had to. I struggle to keep my eyes open as I begin kissing her foot with loving reverence. I am completely lost in a heavy mixture of sexuality, pain, pungent aromas, love, lust, and humiliation.

When she sees that I am totally lost in the moment she points her finger to the floor signifying I'm no longer allowed to look her in the eyes. I direct my gaze to the foot that's on the floor, my eyes fixated on the small key hanging from a delicate gold anklet while my lips continue making love to her toes with soft passionate kisses. The studs mounted on the stool begin to take a toll on my tender ass while her cock penetrates and violates it.

"Richie, I love what we have together. When you first brought up female domination I'll have to admit I thought it was pretty silly. But something happened when I put you in a pair of panties for the first time that I can't explain, it was a mix of disgust for you and a huge power rush for me. I find it amusing that the thing that you like the least, the thing that humiliates you the most, is what triggered my ability to live, and finally come to love this lifestyle. When you're dressed like this I really don't see you as my husband, I definitely don't see you as a woman either; you're more like an it, a thing. I felt guilty about spanking my husband, about making my husband do all the chores, I didn't at all like humiliating my husband, but you desperately needed me to do those things to you. But when you became this thing I could fulfill your deepest darkest fantasies, and it turns out, use your kinky fetishes to control you."

"I will never leave you Richie. Our relationship is very different, but it's ours. I feed off your pain and humiliation and you get off on it. I live like a queen with you at my beck and call, never having lift my finger to do a single chore. There is no way I could ever go back to a vanilla relationship, one where we're equal. One where I cook and clean while you mow the lawn. No, I like it when I enjoy myself or relax while you mow the lawn, AND you cook and clean. But..."

My lips continue to reverently worship her foot. I want desperately to look her in the eyes but instead I obediently look down at her foot.

"But Richie, I need to get fucked...hard. I need to get fucked by - big - strapping - men. I need a big strong - man - to toss me around like a rag doll and fuck my lights out...whenever he wants...and however he wants. I desperately need a real man, with a real, big - thick - cock to pound me, to make me fucking scream for mercy, and for my pleas to be ignored while he pounds me without mercy!" I could see she was becoming sexually excited.

"You can't give that to me Richie, and even if you could I wouldn't want it from you. I love you Richie, but look at you, you're no longer a man and haven't been in my eyes since I put you in your first pair of panties - that's the day you became my bitch, and that's what you will always be to me...my bitch" emphasizing the word bitch.

"I've been unfaithful to you pretty much as soon as I put you in your first pair of panties, but up til now I've kept it a secret from you. Now it's time to bring it out in the open, another tool in my toolbox to humiliate and control you with. I know you need that dear, you need to be humiliated don't you?"

All I can do is to shake my head yes, acknowledging everything she said so far as the truth.

"Speak." my wife orders.

"Yes ma'am, I need to be humiliated."

"Good, the first thing you'll need to remember sweetie is that these men are not your equals, therefor I think it fitting that my bitch call every man that fucks me by their sir name from this day forward. Every time you say mister you'll remember that the man you're talking to did something you're not allowed to - fuck your wife. If they ask you a question you'll answer either yes sir or no sir."

Each sentence felt like I was being beaten by a baseball bat. I was now hyper aware of the stupid maid's outfit I was wearing, beyond my wife's sexy nylon clad foot I could see my own nylon clad feet tucked into a pair of pumps held together by my red satin panties. Fuck I don't want to wear this shit! I want to dress like a man!

I started crying as I buried my face in her foot.

"There there dear. Don't worry, this will only go on for a few more years...until I hit menopause, then it will be just you and me again, in our special relationship."

She softly petted the top of my head like she was petting her dog.

"I will be going out tonight. Where and for how long is not for you to know. I will tell you however that I will be out having a damn good time, while you on the other hand will be toiling away at your menial chores. You may make yourself some white rice and steam the vegetables you've cut up before you continue on with your chores. But first, go up stairs and fetch my sexy new peep-toe booties."

"Now little one, do you have any questions?"

"The red ones or the black ones ma'am?"

She stares down at me while I begin the humiliating task of pulling myself off my little stool. I gasp and groan uncontrollably as I struggle to pull myself off the tiny bench, a horrible noise comes out of my ass as I separate myself from her cock. She giggles as she goes off to get ready, while I mince up the stairs and retrieve the requested shoes out of her spacious walk in closet. The full length mirror forces me to witness how ridiculous I look, mascara streaking down my face, lipstick smeared, not a man, not a woman, a thing. When I return I push my stool to the side and kneel in wait holding her new shoes. I look to the side of me and take a long look at what used to be my man chair, remembering the last time I sat in the chair...

"Oh, there's my little tart." my wife says jokingly when she walked in the room and saw me relaxing in my chair during one of our fantasy weekends.

In a mixture of sensuality and playfulness she struts over to me and says, "Look at you in your sexy little skirt and heels sitting in the man chair. I bought that chair for the man of the house, not the tart of the house." as she seductively strokes my lips with her finger. She stops stroking my lips and holds her finger in front of my eyes. I stare at the hot-pink lipstick on her fingertip.

She gently pulls on my leash until I'm out of the chair and pulls the leash down roughly, putting me to my knees. She places the heel of her boot over the leash and pulls until my face and her boot meet on the carpet. She pulls hard on the leash, pulling my face tightly into her boot.

"I don't ever want to see you in that man chair again, is that understood?" her tone quickly changing to serious.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good, now kiss my boot bitch."....

My wife struts back into the room and sits before me on her couch. I can see she's touched up her makeup and replaced her work skirt with a sexy red leather skirt. Without a word I quickly get to work replacing her work pumps with a pair of red hot open toed, open heeled, boots, gently kissing each shoe as it is replaced. Oh my god she looks so fucking hot!

"Now run along and put my shoes away and fetch my skirt from the bathroom floor. Make sure you get all your chores done while I'm out having fun. Don't wait up for me" she says as her boot quickly departs from my loving kisses, leaving me feeling abandoned.

The first order of business is to clean up my stool and put it away. She bought me the stool shortly after she revoked my rights to the man chair, and it has slowly evolved over a year to the monster it is today. She said we need to talk one day and stopped me before I sat on the couch, "Your new conversation chair is in the closet. Go fetch it."

I was strangely turned on when I opened the closet and saw the old hardwood child's stool. My wife really understood the submissive psych and could play it like a finally tuned violin. She understood all of the subtle nuances that kept me in my place and kept me turned on, how to slowly add things to the relationship to keep it exciting, and how use my fetishes and desires to slowly turn me from a willing submissive into her willing slave...

A few days later my wife beckoned me to the living room right as I got home from work. She pointed to the floor before her where I quickly took my place with my head bowed. She lifted my chin with her finger until our eyes met and sat back against the back of the couch crossing her legs.

"You know when you're home alone toiling away at your menial chores I'm out trying to pick up guys, right cuckie?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Well cuck, I notice I get a lot of stares. I can't help but notice all the men staring at my legs, my breasts, and when I'm walking I know if I turn around I'll catch them staring at my ass. The problem is, not many guys are approaching me. I think some of the men are just way too intimidated by a hot sexy woman. But I also think a lot of guys see my wedding ring and think I'm a committed wife just out for free drinks. There's not much I can do about the guys too intimidated to talk to me, I don't really want another sub anyways, but I do think it's time I stop giving the false impression that I'm a devoted wife, so the real men who aren't intimidated by a hot sexy woman will have no reason not hit on me. Don't you agree my devoted husband?"

I can't help but to look at her left hand resting on her thigh, the large diamond glimmering in the light.

"Yes ma'am." I reply meekly as fear began to take over my body.

"I want you to take your off your ring and hold it in your right hand."

I had no idea what was going on. A sense of panic flooded my soul as I was lead down a path only she knew the destination of. My wife removed the symbols of her faithfulness from her finger, grabbed my left hand and placed her engagement ring and wedding ring on my ring finger like I did to her so many years ago.

"Do you promise to be faithful, to love and to cherish, to honor and obey me from this day forward?" my wife asks holding her rings on my finger, staring down into my eyes; into my soul.

"I do." I said meekly, looking up into her gorgeous eyes, more of my manhood being taken from me.

"I now pronounce you my faithful obedient cuckold." she says with an incredibly wicked grin.

"You will wear your man ring when you're outside the house, and you will wear my feminine ring when you are in the house. I had the ring re-sized just a little so it would fit you. The ring you're not wearing will be placed lovingly on our wedding mantle. The first thing you will do when you enter the house from now on is to exchange rings. The last thing you will do before you leave the house is to exchange your rings. Now go ahead cuck, go put your ring on the mantle."

I turned around and looked to the mantle that's displayed prominently in the living room and almost broke into tears when I saw a small statue where our wedding mantle sat for years, that feeling in the pit of my stomach growing as fear and dread flooded my soul.

"I didn't want the men I brought home to feel uncomfortable so I put the mantle in your room along with all the pictures of us in marital bliss, I hope you don't mind. Now come on, we'll perform your first ring exchange together."

She grabbed my left hand and led me to my room. After she placed me before the picture I went to place my ring on the wedding mantle when she grabbed my hand.

"You will kiss our wedding picture before you place the ring."

She grabbed a tube of lipstick off my dresser, grabbed my cheeks with her other hand so my lips were pushed out and began transforming my lips. She looked so sexy as she puckered up to mock me. She pressed her lips together like she was smoothing her lipstick, I followed her lead...smoothing my lipstick.

"I want you kiss a different part of the picture every time you place your ring on the mantle. Start in the upper left corner and work your way across and then down...just like a calendar."

I went to reach for the picture.

"No dear. On your knees."

I dropped to my knees. I reached up and gently, lovingly pressed my soft lips to the hard glass. The sound of a gentle kiss. The picture is of our first kiss as husband and wife. My strong hands gently holding my wife's slender waist. Her delicate arms draped across my strong shoulders. Our lips together in tender embrace. I will never forget how she looked up to me before she kissed me, there is absolutely nothing like a woman's eyes as she stares up at the man she loves. I see how beautiful she looked back then, I remember how much I loved her back then. I can't believe how much more beautiful she is today, and how much more I love her.

"I love you." I say.

"I know." She says.

I turn my head to look up to her, to look into her eyes.

"No Diane. I truly, deeply, love you with all of my heart. I was so in love with you the day we got married. I love you so much more today."

My wife looks down at me, compassion showing through her normally indifferent eyes. She softly places her hand against my cheek.

"I know you do Richie." starring down at me for an eternity.

"You may hold me if you wish."

I quickly turn to face her and wrap my arms around her slender waist, pressing my face tightly against her stomach. It's difficult to hold her tightly with my arms raised like they are. I feel like a little boy in this position. The feeling of her hand rubbing my hair fills me with comfort. I realize the feeling of her diamond digging into my right arm and move my arms, I don't want to be reminded of my new reality. I ignore the fact that my wife didn't reciprocate my affirmation of my love for her and embrace the tenderness and warmth of the moment.

"This is what you wanted, what you needed. You would have been so unhappy living the typical mundane life. The reason you love me so much is because I give you everything you need, fulfill all your desires, and take you beyond your wildest fantasies. I complete you."

After I have settled down she pulls me to my feet. She places her hands on my waist, forcing my hands to rest upon her shoulders. The look in her eyes so different today, a predator looking at her prey. Her lips gently touch mine as she gives me a rare kiss. I quickly become breathless as she stares into my eyes, her head slowly approaching mine for another kiss. Her lips gently touch mine, pain slowly welling within as her teeth clamp down on my lower lip and she pulls away, her hands manhandling my ass. She knows without a doubt the affect this is having on me. She quickly and effortlessly transforms my pain and doubt to overwhelming desire, culminating with her hot wet tongue invading my ear.

"At least one of us will honor our vows of obedience and faithfulness," my wife whispers in my ear, her hot breath sending shivers through my body.

"Hurry up and get changed. You need to help me get ready to go out." she states as she walks out of the room.

A couple weeks later I got home from work and before I could begin my ritual my wife beckoned me to the living room. She pointed to the floor; I quickly kneeled and took my place before her, my eyes fixated on the key dangling from her anklet.

"Do you think it's fair for that guy's always to pay every time we go on a date?"

"No ma'am."

"Good then, you'll to get a part time job then. You'll work Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday. Every dollar you make will go to pay for my dates with other men."

"But we make more than enough for you to buy dinner and drinks." I

She bends forward and pulls my chin up and stares into my eyes and whispers lustfully, "It makes me so fucking hot to know you'll be toiling at some shitty job to pay for my dates. Thinking of you sweating and suffering for me will make me scream out in an uncontrolled orgasm as some guy fucks me after I've bought him dinner and drinks with your money. And what really makes it hot is I won't let you fuck me, you can't fuck anyone else, fuck...you can't even touch my silly little dicklet. Poor little boy - humiliated, suffering, and horny. God this is so fucking hot! Is my little dicklet trying to get hard?"

"Yes ma'am it is."

She reached down and slowly pulled her first and middle fingers between her legs while letting out a gasp, then she seductively wiped her wet dripping fingers under my nose and on my lips the same way, leaving behind a thick trail of her juices. She snaps her finger and points to her crotch. I immediately bury my face into her dripping wet cunt. She grabs my hair and grinds my mouth and nose deep within her, and quickly pulls my hair back so I'm forced to look up to her.

"I've already set up an interview for you at the The Sanctuary on 4th and Market. The manager is expecting you in 15 minutes, and you better get this job. Don't you dare wash your face. Now run along while I take care of this itch."

I can feel droplets of her juices on my nose and chin.

I rush down to The Sanctuary and ask the cute young Maitre D' for an application. There's no escape from the musty smell.

"Are you Richie?" the young woman asks?

"Yes, but please call me Rick."

"Sure." she says smiling. "Come with me."

She escorts me to a small table in the kitchen.

"The manager will interview you when she's ready."

What the fuck!

I have head hunters calling me!

I interview companies! They don't interview me!

I filled out the application and I waited. I waited, and waited. My wife doesn't allow me pocket change, so I couldn't even ask for something to drink.

About am hour later an incredibly beautiful woman walked toward me and reached out her hand, "Hi Richie, I'm Ms. Benoit."

I stood up and shook her hand.

She escorted me back to her office. After we sat back down she asks me if I was there for the dishwasher job. The whole conversation was very humiliating. I wondered if she could smell my wife's pussy juice. I could barely look her in the eyes as she told me what my duties would be, how hard I was expected to work, what I was expected to wear, that I would make minimum wage, and that I should never be seen in the restaurant area by the customers, and that I needed to work on my personal hygiene. I began to sweat, my face felt like it was on fire as I nodded in agreement. After I told her I would take the job she simply stated "You'll start tomorrow at five."

Fuck, I wasn't ready for any of this. I needed time to comprehend what was going on. I would have to rush from my job to get here. While everyone else would be looking forward to relaxing and having fun after a long week of work, I would be dreading a long weekend toiling as a lowly dishwasher.

"Yes ma'am." I replied.

Fuck, what the hell was that? I never called anyone but my wife ma'am! But the way she was talking to me...at me really, just put me in my place.

A week after I started my job I received my first check. When I came home my wife called me into the dining room before I had a chance to start my ritual. I was exhausted and I just really wanted to shower and go to bed. When I turned the corner and saw my wife I froze. She was dressed in one of her many dominatrix outfits. My eyes lowered to the tips of her calf length, open toe boots. I was speechless as I slowly looked up her from leather boots to her well toned nylon clad thighs, one of which was concealed by her knee length leather skirt, the other side fully exposed by the slit in her skirt. I felt myself grow ever weaker as I took in her sexy black leather jacket which was offset by her white blouse. Leather gloves holding a riding crop. I just stood there like an idiot, unable to move or say anything.

She walked the rest of the way across the room and grabbed me by my cheek like a teacher would grab a little boy, "Strip down to your girly things and present me your check bitch." she ordered, waking me out of my trance.

After my clothes were removed and neatly folded in the corner I kneeled before her, head bowed and both arms raised with the check resting on my hand. I stared at the key dangling on her anklet. I stared at her sexy toes poking out of her wicked boots. My arms were struggling as they held out my paltry offering."

"How do you like your new job boy?"

"I hate it ma'am. It's very hard and demeaning."

"Good."

A page of her magazine is turned. She placed a foot against my side, heels digging painfully into my side, resting her leg against her ottoman.

You smell like garbage." she stated.

I can hear her sipping her drink and flipping pages of a magazine.

"You better do whatever it takes to keep this job. If you ever lose it I'll make your life a living hell." She says sternly, digging her heel into my side for emphasis.

"Do you wonder what I'm doing while you're toiling away? God, it must really suck working your ass off while your imagination runs wild...wondering where I'm at, wondering what I'm doing, wondering who I'm with....wondering....who....is....fucking....your.....wife" she says very sensually, sexually. Her voice soft and husky.

My arms begin to shake as they struggle to stay up. I can smell the musky scent of her excitement.

"God, I can't believe how fucking hot this is. I feel like I'm going to have an orgasm without even touching myself!"

She finally grabs the check from my hand and I finally lower my aching arms.

"Kiss my boot bitch, and don't you dare kiss my naked toes." She states, plopping a boot right in front of my face.

I pay reverence to her boot with my lips. The pressure immediately begins to build as her little dicklet tries to swell in the unrelenting steel tube. I hear the envelope being ripped open and the check being removed.

"Wow, this is pathetic. This wont even cover dinner and drinks. Put your hands up."

She places the check and my pen in my hands.

"Sign it cuck. Sign over all your hard earned money so I can take some stud out on a date. After you sign it kiss the key to your cummies and then present your check. This is going to be our new weekly ritual."

My life is made up of hundreds of these little rituals. Rituals which reinforces my status, rituals made to get me turned on, rituals made to emasculate me, rituals made to relive my humiliation over and over again.

One of the rituals we used to have is that every time I worshiped her shoes I would have an orgasm. So not only was she allowing me to engage in one of my fetishes, but using it to condition me to equate kissing her shoes with getting to fuck her. I have long ago stopped getting laid after every time I kiss her shoes, but her little dicklet will only get touched after kissing her shoes and feet.

After she removes the check from my hand she grabs a fistful of hair and puts my face between her legs. I can't believe how hot and wet she is already. The mixture of her juices and the smell of leather heighten my already overloaded desire. Times like this are the only times I'm allowed to touch her and I can't help but to reach up and stroke her well toned thighs. All my desires, all my passion, all of who I am emanates from my groin and comes out my tongue.

"You're dismissed." she says as she pushes my head away from her before I'm able to bring her to an orgasm.

I carry my uniform and shoes to my bedroom and fall on my tiny bed. I'm exhausted, devastated, and incredibly aroused. I reach down between my legs and rub my hands against the infernal steel plate; my heart drops into my stomach as I hear the garage door opening and my wife's BMW starting up. I can't fucking believe she's going out dressed like she is, and I know she's incredibly horny...every fucking guy in the city will be lining up for a chance to talk to her, and a chance to fuck her. I, however, will not be one of those guys. The only guy in the whole fucking city that has absolutely no chance to fuck my hot wife is her husband. Still I rub the steel plate with two fingers in a futile attempt for any stimulation.

A year before my wife decided to completely disassociate me for her little dicklet it became my little clity. The only way I could get sexual relief was to beg and plead for my wife to "let me rub my little clity." After a few days of begging my wife would unlock my belt and have me lay down on the floor in front of her. I would then have to masturbate like a woman, using only my first and middle finger. My legs would be spread with my feet pulled toward me, making me hyper aware of my heels. With my free hand I would have to grab at my "breasts" and squeeze my nipples, stroke and grab my inner thigh. My lips had to stay open, although I could bite my lower lip. I had to moan like a woman. If I didn't put on a good enough show, a realistic show, she would lock me back up without relief.

In no time I'd be writhing on the floor before her. Sometimes she'd watch, telling me what to do, sometimes she'd humiliate me, other times she would be totally oblivious to me as she read a book or watched TV, talked on the phone or ate her dinner.

Without warning she would simply say "Cum whore" and I would rub the tender spot of my little clity as fast as I could in tiny little circles. The resulting orgasm was only slightly more satisfying than a ruined orgasm.

So now when I think back to when I could masturbate I never think of myself masturbating like a man, but rather of me rubbing my little clity. My wife was able to even take that away from me.


Chapter 2

A couple weeks later I came home on a Saturday afternoon after a hard day of washing dishes. Every droplet of moisture was sucked from my mouth and throat when I saw a new Camaro parked in my spot in the driveway. I pulled my Kia up to the curb and could feel my body shutting down. I really really didn't want to turn off the car...I knew there was a man, a real man, in my house. I didn't want to confront him. Should I leave them alone...fuck! My wife...the love of my life...is in there with a strange man!

My emotions were running wild...more so than ever in my life. I have never been more paralyzed! I couldn't fucking move! I couldn't even turn my car off!

My car...I hated my fucking car. My wife gave me "my car" about a year into our fantasy life. She thought it would be cute if I traded in my new 4Runner for a stripped down used purple Kia, and she traded her Camry for a BMW, as it would add a new dynamic to our kinky lifestyle. Apparently it wasn't stripped down enough because the first thing she had me do was remove the cheap radio.

I finally found the energy to shut off the ignition. My body was nothing but jello as fear and jealousy coursed through my body. The act of moving my arm from the steering wheel to the door handle was more than I could bear. My emotions ran wild as I wondered if any of the neighbors saw this guy come to my house...or how many times this epitome of testosterone sat in clear view of the neighbors, parked in the driveway, leaving no doubt to who he was visiting. A beacon to all of my wife's adultery, and my impotence.

It took everything I had to finally walk to the back door (the servants door as my wife likes to call it), my rubbery legs barely able to carry my weight. I walk to the kitchen door....it seemed like an eternity before I finally made it to the door. Time seems to stand still. The panic was overwhelming as I walked slowly through the door.

"Get in here boy!" my wife yells.

I freeze, paralyzed. My mouth goes dry as my emotions overtake me. I can't even close the door, my body begins to shake uncontrollably - the door knob in my hand my only source of strength and stability.

"FUCK!" I scream as I let go of the door and grab in vain at her little dicklet, doubling over in pain.

As soon as the pain subsided I close the door and run into the living room. I find myself paralyzed again as I enter the living room.

"Well get in here boy!" my wife orders, her thumb lazily rubbing the the button of the shocker remote while the other hand signals with a near empty glass of white wine. I quickly take my place to her side with my eyes to the floor.

"You know Mr. Stanton." My wife states.

Eric Stanton. One of those guys that everyone notices when he walks in the room. A tall imposing man at 6'5", well built, and very good looking. He's the owner of a chain of upscale restaurants in the area, including the one I work at.

"Good evening Mr. Stanton." I say weakly.

"Hello Richie." his voice booms.

I see his big strong calves sticking out from the robe he's wearing. His feet look incredibly large next to my wife's, as she playfully rubs her foot on one of his. The man chair he's sprawled out in looks ridiculously small as it fails to contain his large frame.

"Would you like another beer Eric?" My wife asks.

"Sure Diane." he booms.

"Go fetch us some drinks boy." she says, handing me her empty glass and waving me off.

"Yes Ms. Harrison." I reply, calling her by her maiden name as instructed. "...Not only will you be paying me the proper respect, but you'll also be acknowledging to me, to yourself, and to the man I'll be fucking that you have no right to any part of me."

I return with my silver tray and place the frosty mug of dark beer on the table beside Mr. Stanton and quickly take my place next to my wife, holding the tray before her. My wife is captivated as Mr. Stanton describes the summer he spent sailing the Caribbean. I struggle to hold the tray before her. After a couple more minutes my wife reaches over and takes a sip of wine. I feel so incredibly relieved as I place the tray to my side. The relief is quickly replaced by humiliation and a very deep feeling of submission. As I stare at the ground my mind races uncontrollably: I haven't sat in that chair for years, they must have fucked, jealous rage, she looks satisfied and wanton at the same time, damn his feet are huge, I know they don't make fuck-me-pumps in his size, he's probably never been made to wear toe nail polish, mine are red at the moment, I feel so inferior to him, I know he's fucked my wife! His dick must be huge, I feel stupid standing here - totally ignored. I want to leave, I want to stay, I want to grab my wife and protect her from him, I want to kick his ass out of MY house!

After a couple minutes my wife snaps her finger and points to the ground in front of her where I quickly take my place. She grabs my hair and guides my head between her legs, and covers my head with the long hem of her satin lingerie. I recognize the musky smell of his cum mixed with hers. I'm filled with disgust, forced to touch her sopping wet panties so I can push them to the side. Their conversation continues like I don't exist.

I know what my job is; I'm not here to get her off, I'm here to clean his spunk out of her pussy. Their conversation continues while her husband is kneeling between her legs, their flirting continues while her husbands is cleaning his spunk out of her pussy with his tongue. My whole world has been turned upside down. I'm so fucking humiliated. I fight back tears as my wife flirts with my boss, my throat tight making it hard for me to clean his cum out of her pussy!

My existence is finally acknowledged when my wife pushes my face away from her.

"You smell like garbage. Go take a shower, put on what I've put out for you, and get your ass back here."

Stark terror fills my soul as I imagine what she has put out for me to wear. I really really don't want to do this!

"But Ms.." I'm quickly shutdown by a hard smack across my face.

She points and I quickly run to my room where I fall on the bed and start bawling, completely overwhelmed by all the emotions that have flooded my soul in the last half hour. I throw the silly maids uniform and stockings on the floor, even that act of defiance emasculates me.

After a few minutes I've calmed down a little when my wife sits beside me and gently rubs my head.

"Come now." she says gently guiding my head to bosom. I can't help but to wrap my arms around her and hold her tighter than I've ever held her before. I let lose and really start bawling again. After a couple minutes I begin to calm down and my wife begins to talk to me.

"I love what we have sweetheart, and I do love you very much, although it's not like the love you have for me. Now when you suggested a femdom lifestyle I thought it was silly and I really didn't want to do this, but you kept talking me into trying it...and then it became a part of me. I will always have a submissive in my life. I really want you to be my life long slave. You're probably thinking of leaving right now. If you did decide to leave it would be very painful for me, but I would eventually get over it and I'd get a new sub. It would be sad to lose the investment I have in you. Richie, I've gotten used to living the life of a princess. While you're toiling away doing all the menial chores I get to relax, go shopping, go out with my friends, go to the gym, go on a cruise. I just smile when my friends bitch about how little their husbands do around the house, thinking about my bitch at home slaving away. All the other wives have to compete with their husbands for the fun money. Their men have their motorcycles, boats, golf, all the big expensive boy toys. I don't allow you to play with boy toys, so instead of you driving around in a $15,000 Harley I get $5,000 in clothes and jewelry, $5,000 for my vacation fund, $4,000 in my bank account, and $1,000 in bondage gear and sexy clothes for you; such a small investment to keep you in your place. Instead of you paying for golf, you pay for my gym membership and a private trainer."

She stands up.

"I know you massage me all the time, but I want you to feel my calves Richie."

I kneel down and wrap my hand around her tan, well toned calf. As my hand softly caresses her silky calf she flexes her foot. God she has perfect legs.

"Now my thighs. Wrap your hands these silky thighs. This is what an hour to two everyday at the gym can do."

My hands begin to shake as I caress her perfect thighs.

"Grab my ass. You kiss it all the time, now I'm giving you permission to grab it like you were my man. That's an ass you can only get when you have a trainer. This is a body you can only get by spending hours a week at the gym. I wouldn't have a body like this if I had to do all the menial chores that you take care of."

I reach around and grab her perfect ass.

"Now wrap your hand around my waste." she says as she places her hands on my shoulder.

"Isn't this what you wanted? " her soft husky voice whispering in my ear, sending chills down my spine.

"To worship a body like this and yet be denied access to it at the same time. To be my little bitch. To be used and humiliated. To be controlled by an incredibly hot sexy woman who knows how to twist and manipulate you, knows how to dominate you, who knows exactly what you need."

"Now I know you're thinking this is too much for you and you want want it all to stop now. This is what your life is going to be like with me, forever. I have my own needs, my sexual needs that will be fulfilled. You need to make your choice on whether you want to keep living like this or you want to leave. It would really hurt me if you left, and I'll strictly enforce the post-nup you wrote up."

"Now I'm going to take Mr. Stanton out for dinner and I want you to think about your decision while you're on your perch. If you want to stay with me you'll change your ring, take a shower, change into these clothes, clean my room, and then start on your chores. If you decide to leave then you can grab your male clothes and and wait for me in the entry way. If you do decide to stay, you'll be punished for disobeying me."

"Please ma'am. I don't want to stand on my perch."

"This isn't about what you want. This is about what you need darling. Now do you have anything else you want to say?"

"May I please wear my sexy fuck me pumps ma'am?" I ask.

"Yes sweetie, you can wear your sexy little shoes - after you take off all your clothes." she says gently.

After I put on my 5" red stiletto's my wife guides my face to my perch...a specially designed dildo protruding from the corner. After my lips are covering the sensor my wife walks over and sets the timer. My wife walks back to me and whispers in my ear while violating the crack of my ass with her fingers, "I hope you make the right decision and stay with me dear. It would be such a shame if I had to train another lucky little slave."

"I want you to think about all the kinky adventures I've taken you on. Think about the leather, the chains. Think about the hours you get to spend locked in your special cage, or the hours of predicament bondage you've suffered through. Think about the hours you spend worshiping my body through massages and pedicures. Think about all the things I do to you that get you so fucking hot, get you so fucking deep into your own depravity you can't even speak. Do you think you can live without that?"

She seductively kisses and licks my ear, sending shivers throughout my body, and walks away.

I have no idea how long I'm going to be stuck here. If my lips or mouth aren't on the sensor her little dicklet will get shocked by the ever-present electrodes mounted in my chastity belt. I have no choice but to stand in the corner until the timer goes off, whenever that is. If I didn't ask to wear my fuck-me-pumps I would be struggling to stay up on my tip-toes.

Shortly after the first time she put a pair of panties on me she pulled back from the fantasy. I think about the day she came to me with her fears, her fears that if she was to become the woman of my dreams I would not like it. She said that if she did become my fantasy mistress I wouldn't be able to take it and I would want a divorce. She said I was everything to her and she was terrified I would leave her if we lived out my fantasies. She would not continue with the fantasy games unless I was able to put those fears to rest.

I was finally able to put her fears to rest by working with her friend Kathy, one of the best divorce lawyers in the city, to come up with a post-nuptial agreement that stated if I filed for a divorce:

I would pay her 20% of my current salary in alimony, the maximum allowable by law, for the rest of my life.

We would be responsible for 100% of credit liabilities held individually.

I would make no claim for any property held exclusively by her.

I would not be able to change any allocation of funds until after the divorce was final.

She would provide me the current minimum wage for a full work week until the divorce was final.

We then signed over all property to her. The bank accounts, IRA accounts, the investment account were all placed in her name. All of our joint credit accounts were closed and switched to my name, although I never again saw a credit card bill...

Fuck I hate standing standing in the corner like this. I hate how realistic this dildo is, I hate the feeling of a fat cock in my mouth! My wife is out enjoying herself with another man, with a man that just got done fucking her, while I'm standing in the corner in a pair of fucking pumps sucking on a dildo! The taste of Mr. Stanton's cum mixed with my wife's juices adding to my humiliation.

Fuck this...I'm not doing this anymore.

I barely get my lips off the sensor when I scream and shove my mouth back to its appointed spot.

...My wife handed me a very thick and very realistic dildo, "Can you put a sensor in this that can tell when your mouth is over it, and that can trigger a remote if your mouth leaves the spot? It can only work if your mouth is over it, not your hand."

With my background in electrical engineering she knew it wouldn't be a problem.

She slid the cock in my mouth until I started gagging and then pulled it out a little. "I want your lips right here.", wrapping a piece of tape around the cock.

A month later when I showed her the prototype she had me put on my sluttiest, highest heels and slid the cock in my mouth. After directing me to the corner and ensuring my head was perfectly straight she put a mark in the corner where she wanted her cock mounted.

After I had it mounted I showed my wife the controls. Basically it had a timer, a light to signal when her little dicklet was getting shocked, the power level knob for the remote, and a start and stop button. Then I showed her a feature I added as a surprise. I placed another sensor at the tip and a timer that would force me to bob my head back and forth over the length of her cock, giving the cock a blow job. My wife seemed amused as I explained the feature to her.

"Well get your mouth on your boyfriend and let's see it in action."

I quickly run over to put on a pair of stiletto's. When I was bent over buckling the thin straps my wife calmly walked over and kicked me on the side knocking me over. She placed her boot on my throat and stared down at me.

"Who told you you could put on your sexy little fuck-me pumps bitch?"

"Nobody ma'am." I replied.

She stared down at me with her boot on my neck for an eternity, my submission and fear growing stronger with each silent second as I struggled to breath.

"If you'd like to wear your sexy fuck-me pumps then you need ask me first slut?"

"May I please wear my sexy fuck-me pumps ma'am?" I squeak out, terror starting to overcome me.

She stares down at me, her expression cold and unrevealing.

After another eternity of my wife staring down at me with her boot pressed firmly against my neck, "Yes slut, you can wear your sexy fuck-me pumps. But since this is your first time with your boyfriend you need to wear one your little slutty outfits as well," finally pulling her boot off my neck

She reaches down and scrunches my cheeks together, "And don't forget to wear your slutty red lipstick whore."

I got dressed and took my place before the dildo. I heard the beeps signifying the timer has started and immediately began to mouth fuck the dildo. My wife walked over to me and gently placed her hand on the back of my head. After a few strokes she pressed my head into the dildo, not allowing me to continue the stroke. I screamed into the dildo and tried desperately to pull my head back while my wife laughed, releasing my head. She watched me mouth fuck the dildo for a couple more minutes, both pulling my head away from the dildo and forcing my mouth to stay on the dildo laughing at my predicament each time my balls were fried.

"You earned a full cummies next time. Start dinner when you're done mouth-fucking your new boyfriend slut," she said laughing as she walked out the door, leaving me to my cruel task for another very long 15 minutes....

What were they doing, where were they at?

I always fantasized about living a femdom lifestyle. I had no idea she would take it this far. She has brought to fruition all of my wildest fantasies and so much more. She has become the epitome of a femdom wife. God I barely remember the last time I fucked her, nor can I remember when my last satisfying orgasms was. Fuck!, I can't even remember the last time I saw her little dicklet. The only thing I remember is that the last time I saw it I rubbed like a clit. Jealousy rips through my body in waves; tears roll down my cheek and I struggle to keep my lips pressed around her cock as I cry; my imagination creating graphic images of my wife being ravaged by my macho boss.

My wife's investment. My wife was quick to understand what she wanted from this new relationship with me. I was immediately enrolled in culinary arts classes at the local community college, after that massage therapy and nail technology classes at a cosmetology school. A room was converted into a well appointed spa where my wife spends hours being pampered by well skilled hands. She spent countless hours correcting defects, real punishments for dirty counter tops or toilets. After spending an hour with my head in a filthy toilet, my ass burning red, I vowed there will never be a dirty toilet in this house again. To me she is a goddess well deserving of such pampering, a woman I love with all my heart and soul - to her I'm useful. The punishments are rare now, the result of very affective training of a well trained slave.

The timer finally goes off and I pull my dry mouth off the dildo. I feel completely spent both physically and emotionally. The only thing I feel I can do is climb into my bed and curl up into the fetal position, but without hesitation I mince over to the dresser, apply my lipstick and exchange rings. I'm forced to stare at our first kiss as husband and wife, my mind creates a scene of Mr. Stanton shoving his tongue down my wife's throat.

I feel relieved that they're not here to witness my humiliation as I put on the slutty maids outfit my wife laid out for me. I'm terrified doing my chores knowing my macho boss could walk in at any time and see me like this.

My imagination runs wild as I pick up her clothes which are thrown around her bedroom. The smell of her perfume is intoxicating; of course she has never worn it for me. I think of his big hands ripping the clothes off my wife while she transforms into a wanton slut, the buttons of her torn blouse are all over the floor. I imagine his big arms wrapped around her, fumbling with the delicate zipper of her skirt as I bend down to pick it up. I hold it in front of me and remember how hot she looked the couple of times she's worn it out, and how she teased and tormented me as I knelt before her putting it on. Was it him that she was going to go see after I kissed her ass before she walked out the door in these?

Images of them locked in carnal embrace, his tongue filling my wife's mouth, my wife's lipstick smeared on his lips. I pick up her bra, stockings, and garter. My mind goes off on it's own showing me vivid images of my wife having her clothes pulled roughly from her, heavy breathing as she unbuckles the belt of his trousers, his large hands roughly squeezing her tender breasts.. When I pick up her panties I can feel the cold dampness from when she was dripping with hot passionate desire. I can hear her sultry voice as she begs him to fuck her. She must feel like she's being crushed when he's on top of her. I pick up the robe he was wearing, XXL. My wife has a mans robe in every size, I've never worn any of them but will soon wash every one of them.

There's nothing more emasculating than changing your wife's soiled sheets after she has fucked your boss, while you're dressed as a maid; I've said to myself "there's nothing more emasculating..." many times, only to be proved wrong again and again by my creative wife. I'm reminded constantly how ridiculous I look by the many mirrors in her bedroom as I watch myself scurrying around with her clothes. The smell of her sweet perfume mixes with his cologne, musky sweat and cum fill the air. Her bed is a complete mess and covered in sweat and cum. I put on fresh sheets wondering if I'll be doing the same thing tomorrow after I get home from washing dishes.

Can I handle this?

Am I strong enough for this?

It was a little after 10:00 when I heard the loud Camero pull in the driveway. Overwhelming panic set in, paralyzing me. I really can't take this anymore! I struggle to move, shaking, sweating, mouth dry. Terror rips through me, fear of the unknown, fear of everything my mind could imagine. Is he going to come in with her?? I make it to the door just in time. My wife walks in and hands me her purse. She turns and my shaking hands remove her leather jacket. I hear the car backing out of the driveway and relief like I've never felt before washes over me, washing away the fear,dread, and anxiety. She faces me and I quickly drop to my knees, my lips paying due respect to her sexy red sandals.

"I'm so glad you decided to stay. You may sleep with me tonight. I talked Mr. Stanton into giving you the day off tomorrow, isn't he so nice?"

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am." I replied, her foot brushing against my lips and face as she walks away.

Chapter 3

Working at the restaurant became so much harder after that. Not only did I KNOW my wife was out fucking men while I was here, she was fucking the owner of this restaurant.

A week later Mr. Stanton came to the restaurant and gave a tour of the kitchen to his dinner guest, my wife - escorted by Ms. Benoit. They stopped for a long time near the dish washing station. I couldn't help but to notice how powerful Mr. Stanton looked, how much control he had over both of the beautiful women with him. Both my wife and Ms. Benoit are incredibly beautiful, Ms. Benoit in her powerful businesses outfit and my wife in her sexy yet elegant dress. Mr. Stanton would occasionally display his claim over my wife by placing his large hand against the small of her back.

I was very self conscious of my stained uniform, vinyl smock, and paper hat. I really wanted them to leave. As always I was sweating profusely from the heat and steam coming off the dishwasher while I picked through the half eaten food on the dirty plates, removing the bones, napkins, and silverware before scrapping the garbage into the disposal. I was being overwhelmed with raging jealousy and abject humiliation. I could feel myself shaking as the mix of emotions took over, my mind racing trying to come to terms with what I was experiencing, what I should do, how to take control of the situation, trying not to cry. It took everything I had to pick through the garbage and stack the dishes in the tray while my wife was watching me. It seemed like they were there for hours, but in reality they were only there for about 3 to 5 minutes before my wife and her boyfriend left to enjoy the rest of their Friday night.

Hector the busboy came over and started talking about the "boss's puta", lewdly gyrating his hips describing how he'd ram his cock in her mouth and and bust that ass. I didn't say anything as rage mixed with humiliation, some lowly fucking illegal immigrant is calling my wife a slut and describing how he was going to fuck her a minute after I watched my boss and my wife on a date.

Later that night my wife came home and just had to tell me how hot that was, how seeing me suffering like that for her made her so wet she swore she was dripping on the floor. She couldn't resist telling me how she couldn't stop herself from clawing at Mr. Stanton on the way here. She just had to tell me it made her so fucking hot she ripped his clothes off as soon as the door closed and they fucked in the entry way.

My wife asked me about my side of the story. When I told her everything, how humiliated I was, how jealous I was, how totally emasculated I felt, she just smiled. When I told her about the vulgar remarks Hector made I could tell my wife's interests were piqued. My wife asked me to gyrate my hips like hector did while she laughed.

"Did you protect my honor there knight?" my wife asked.

"No ma'am. I was too humiliated."

"Well then, maybe someday Hector will get a chance to bust my ass if my gallant knight isn't going to protect my honor." my wife said with a twinkle in her eye and a wink.

A few weeks later was my birthday. I'm like a little kid during Christmas whenever it gets close to my birthday, although unlike a kid on Christmas I know exactly what I'm getting. After I get home from work and I've changed, prepared our dinner, and cleaned up after dinner, I will be allowed to worship my wife's shoes and feet. When she feels I have given proper homage to her she leads me to my room and removes my dress. My wife grabs the remote from my dresser and I watch her well manicured fingers turn the dial from 4 to 8. A seductive kiss before the deprivation hood is placed over my head and locked. A gentle push on my head is all it takes for me to take my place in the center of my bed. I am quickly secured to the eye-bolts attached to my bed. The Neosteel is removed from my waist and a warm soapy washrag is used to remove a weeks worth of sweat and precum. I can feel cold electrodes against my tender balls as the collar is secured. My breathing becomes labored when the hole over my mouth is covered by her crotch, the tiny holes over my nostrils buried in her sexy ass. I gasp for air as my tongue does what it is trained to do: work her pussy into a slow and powerful orgasm.

After my wife becomes wet she moves herself down to my waist and mounts me. Oh my fucking God the feeling is intense as she slowly lowers herself down on me. The feeling of her soft weft vagina wrapped around her little dicklet drives me to insanity. Her hips push down for a couple seconds and I try desperately to push further into her. Oh my god I never want this to end!

I desperately want this feeling to last for hours and to end by me exploding deep inside the woman I so desperately love. Distant memories emerge of my body racked with convulsions as I deposit my seed deep inside my wife. Please please please let this last for ever!

Her hips gyrate slightly and I try desperately not to cum. She slowly pulls herself up to begin her first thrust and I scream out "PLEASE!" She quickly dismounts me laughing hysterically as she watches her little dicklet twitching futilely in the air, making sure none of my cum escapes her little dicklet.

I struggle desperately against the wave of pleasure building deep within me. I fight against millions of years of evolution to relax my body. "Please no no no no no." escape from my lips as I beg my body to stop from doing what it was designed to do, to stop it's most primal desire. My body feels like a massive spring wound right to the edge, the sight deprivation amplifying the physical sensations. My only defense is to relax so the spring doesn't pop. If a gnat landed on my chest right now I would fucking explode.

A different kind of relief than what my body so desperately craves washes over me, the relief that my tender balls aren't being fried.

"Damn stud, you lasted 10 whole seconds this year." my wife says mockingly.

Something frozen is thrown on her little dicklet and my wife resumes her position on my face so I can sexually satisfy her; there's no way my wife is going to be left sexually frustrated.

After she's satisfied and her little dicklet is safely locked away my wife frees me from the bed and removes my hood. She lays down next to me in my tiny bed and places her naked thigh over my waist and chastity belt. The feeling of her silky thighs on my exposed skin is heaven; I really wish I could feel her warm silky thighs on her little dicklet, but I feel nothing. She rubs my hairless chest as we drift into pillow talk.

"I love the life you've given me Richie. I'm the luckiest woman in the world. I've got a loving husband who will do everything and anything I tell him to, and macho studs to satisfy me sexually. "

The conversation drifts as pillow talk normally does. Loving and intimate, it's one of the rare times I'm allowed to touch and kiss her. Although I'm still incredibly aroused I'm also strangely satisfied. Waves of desire occasionally flood my being as I struggle to keep myself calm so this doesn't end abruptly.

"I think you deserve some sexy new lingerie, what do you think dear?"

"May I please stop wearing womens clothes? I feel ridiculous wearing this stuff."

"You should, you look ridiculous; that's why you'll continue dressing like a little sissy - so you'll look and feel ridiculous." she says, twisting my nipple.

She whispers in my ear "It keeps you in your place." reaching deep in my soul and cranking on my submissive knob.

"Last Friday night I was dancing with a hot young soccer player from Brazil when I thought of you washing dishes, your pretty girly things under your uniform, thought of you in your little maids uniform scurrying around the house doing your menial chores . Oh my god did I fucking cream my panties. I just had buy Sergio a drink with your hard earned money after that. Does that turn you on?" she asks rubbing the plate of my chastity belt.

"I'm always turned on Ma'am." I replied truthfully, making her laugh.

"Please ma'am, I'm not asking for a cummie, but can I ask how come I get so few cummies now? I mean, I've been doing everything I can to try and please you Ma'am."

"Well I guess I can tell you, there's not much you can do about it anyways. A long time ago I found out you were much more compliant when you're horny. At first I tried to set a schedule but I thought I was too soft, so now I leave your fate to the role of the dice .The rules all very complicated dear, you don't need to worry your pretty little head over them, just know it should average out to 6 tease sessions and one cummies every two months if you're a very good little girl. Remember, the dice gives sparingly...but this Mistress taketh away for the smallest discretion."

"But Ma'am, with all due respect, I haven't had a cummies in over 4 months and I've been very good a good little girl." I said pleading, the last part of the sentence twisting my submissive consciousness.

"Well that's when I rolled the dice 7 days a week silly girl." she says, softly toying with my nipple.

I could feel myself sinking again.

"I can't very well roll the dice on the days you're working at the restaurant, you wouldn't have enough time to finish your chores..." her finger rolling my nipple.

"Or when I have a date." pinching my nipple as a wicked grin washes over her.

"Oooh, Think about that for a second cuck." she says seductively as she continues her assault on my nipple, "When you're out slaving away making money for my dates, or when I'm out with some stud on the weekday, you lose your chance for cummies."

Her hand slowly makes it's way to her little dicklet. The feeling of her fingers brushing against my skin drives me insane with desire, until the feeling suddenly disappears when her fingers reach the cruel steel plate imprisoning her little dicklet, what was so long ago my manhood. Occasionally her fingers will brush against my inner thigh sending shivers through my entire being.

"When you're home all alone slaving away doing your chores while some guy is getting his rocks off fucking your wife, you pay for that with your chance for a cummies. Let that ferment in your submissive pshych: when I come home and have you finish me off with your tongue because some selfish macho stud busted a nut and left me wanting, he also used up your chance for a ruined orgasm."

Her mouth moves next to my ear, her warm breath sending shivers throughout my body as she whispers "When some hot stud has had his dick buried deep in my hot wet pussy, or my hot wet mouth, for as long as he wants, and as often as he wants, you pay for that by giving up your chance for a ruined cummie."

Waves of emotion wash over me: anger, humiliation, jealousy, submission, and arousal. She allows my emotions to ferment. I'm only allowed to feel the incredible sensation of my wife's pussy for a few seconds every year while strange men get to fuck her for as long as they want...and whenever they do I lose my chance for a ruined hand job that I so desperately need. Anger builds to rage as I wonder how I let this happen, abject humiliation quickly replaces the rage as I glance at my feet and see the pink toenail polish and the sexy stiletto sandals their strapped into.

She allows me to let everything sink in for a minute, and for me to sink another notch, before twisting my nipple stating "I think it's time for the second half of your birthday party, what do you think birthday bitch?"

"Yes Ma'am." I grudgingly reply.

"Well then, run down to the basement and prepare yourself." she says waving me away.

"Oh, and pour me a glass of Chardonnay and set it on the table in the basement; it is a day of celebration isn't it?"

Women, have you ever wondered what to get your man for his birthday?

Do you hate spending hundreds of dollars on a gift he probably won't even appreciate?

My wife doesn't have that problem. Every year she gives me what I desire more than anything in the world. I look forward to it all year, and remember the last gift fondly for the rest of the year. The best parts for her, it doesn't cost a penny and it only takes her about 10 seconds. Ask him what was written on the birthday card 2 days after his birthday and he won't remember. Instead of a card, she gives me a birthday spanking I'm sure to remember for the rest of the week.

In reality I know it's not really a gift, it's instead a way to never let me forget what I can't have.

The evening text messages got ever so much crueler. All of the variations of "I won't be home tonight." not only fills me with overwhelming dejection at the realization that my wife, who I love and cherish with all my heart, is out with another man, but now she's added new dimensions to the hate and jealousy. Now not only am I extremely jealous that my wife is out with another man, and I'm left toiling on chores after a long day at work while she's out enjoying the company of another man; I'm now mad at another man because his evening with my wife was paid for with not only my hard work washing dishes, but also with my chance for a desperately needed ruined hand job.

While my wife is enjoying drinks at a bar with her date, I'm going through my daily ritual of replacing my wedding ring with hers. While my sexy beautiful wife is out with some macho stud, I'm home changing into a ridiculous maids outfit. While my sexy beautiful wife is getting fucked by some macho stud I'm hanging up the sexy clothes she decided not to wear and tossed on the floor, cleaning the mess she's made in her bathroom primping herself for her night with him, or changing the sheets from the mess they made before I got home.

I think back to last week when I was told to kiss her shoes after dinner. I became so incredibly excited as the Pavlovian responses kicked in. Shortly after she has me sit on my bed and pulls the soft leather sight deprivation hood on and locks it, eliminating any chance of seeing what used to be my manhood. I'm pushed back and securely locked to my steel bed frame. The sound of the lock springing open, cool air on her exposed little dicklet, warm soapy water, the shock collar strapped to her balls - fuck I can't take it!

Soft oily fingers wrapped around her little dicklet, slowly, gently, stroking. Fuck I desperately need to cum. Please.

God I don't know if she's going to let me cummies or if she's done with me.

A short pause and a soft oily hand slowly, gently, strokes. Please I beg. Fingers quickly let go.

Fingers slowly caress, slowly stroke. After a short time I feel myself beginning to cum. Please I cry. When her hand wasn't stroking her little dicklet they were caressing my inner thigh, twisting my nipples, turning my whole body into one giant fucking erogenous zone.

Fuck I couldn't take anymore. Please stop! Please Don't Stop! Desperate fucking desire was overwhelming. Her soft delicate fingers returned to her little dicklet, softly stroking. Fuck I couldn't take anymore teasing! PLEASE I cried.

The torment went on for almost an hour and ended without cummies. I was left crying, twisting in my bonds as my body desperately tried fucking the air for relief. My body was out of control with overwhelming desperation, but the thick leather and cold hard steel held firm. Eventually my body grew tired and I was just left a sobbing mess.

After her little dicklet was safely locked away and I was released I was allowed to serve as my wife's foot rest. She knows after an extended teasing session I'm pretty much worthless for the rest of the night. Sometimes she'll just have me work off my desires doing some mindless tedious chore like cleaning the grout in the kitchen.

Now of course with the combination of intense teasing and denial, edging, and general constant state of arousal blue-balls is just one more thing that I must suffer with, another part of who I am. Quite often though it becomes debilitating where I'm bent over in pain and unable to perform my duties. When that happens my wife gives me a pill and sends me to bed early in the evening. When I wake up the next morning I'm a bit groggy and I'm immediately aware of my tender ass. I no longer have the debilitating pain in my balls, but it feels like I've been gang raped and whipped; my ass is sore both inside and out. A thick goo oozes out of my ass all day, it's so bad I have to wear a maxi-pad. I feel dirty and violated for days. The first time I asked my wife what happened, she told me "...not to worry your pretty little head over it dear."

When I'm told not to worry my pretty little head about something it means I'm not allowed to ever bring the subject up again, although it plays over in my mind like a broken record.

The pain and overwhelming sense of violation is an effective deterrent to me faking the pain to get relief, in fact I do my best to try and hide the pain for as long as I can.

I think to myself I should man-up, go change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and take control of my marriage. Every time I think those thoughts I quickly realize I don't own any jeans or t-shirts. I also what my wife made perfectly clear; we will never go back to a vanilla marriage, I will never be the man of the house. I hang up another skirt when I hear a car in the driveway.

I quickly mince down to the door to greet her, desperately praying that she walks in alone. I kneel staring at the floor for an eternity while my mind takes me for a ride thinking of the endless possibilities for my near future. I panic as I hear the engine shut off.

After an eternity the door opens and she walks in alone. I'm so relieved I almost start crying as I begin to prostrate myself before her, but she grabs my collar and pulls me up before I'm able to kiss her shoes. She places her hands around my waist. I follow her lead and I place mine around the back of her neck. I'm quickly overwhelmed with love, lust, and desire as she stares into my eyes. I can smell him. Her head slowly moves towards mine. I close my eyes as her sexy lips softly touch mine. Soft gentle seductive kisses make me desperate for more. Her silky tongue makes its way past my red lips and the taste of cum begins to fill my mouth. After her tongue has invaded my mouth I'm left with nothing but a mouth load of cum, filling my soul with a mix of emotion, jealousy, humiliation, and desperate desire. She slowly and seductively pulls away and stares into my soul for what seems an eternity, the wicked smile of a Cheshire cat. I think back to the time she told me she would never give me a blow-job. I'm left with the reality that my wife just gave a blow job to some guy in our fucking driveway.

I am breathless as I stare back at the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I think back to when she told me I was not a man, I was not a woman, but a thing as I look at my lipstick stain on her lips.

"Greet me properly."

She doesn't let go of my waist so I'm forced to pull away from her. I drop to my knees and passionately but gently and respectively place my lips on the leather of her sexy boots and continue the passionate kiss she started. After a couple of seconds she walks away leaving me feeling abandoned. After I hang up her jacket she grabs my leash and leads me to my room closing the door - putting me away. I am limited to two choices when she locks me in before bedtime: I can stand at attention at the foot of the bed or I can sit at attention on a tall wooden stool placed at the foot of the bed. She had a locksmith fix the door so it can only be opened from the outside. So I sit on my stool until it gets uncomfortable, then I stand until that gets uncomfortable. It can become quite exhausting if I'm put away for an extended period of time. I'm not allowed to move except to change positions, or fidget. Although I doubt she's wasting her time watching me on her monitor, she can.

She has so many places to put me away: locking me in a cage in the basement, putting me in a closet, of course there's my perch. A snap of her finger and a wave of her hand is enough to put me away in the corner. There's a post in the garage in the middle of where the mops and brooms hang that fits the humiliator gag. She need simply toss a lock on my ever present wrist cuffs and push my face into the post until she hears a click, where I will have no choice but to remain until she has a use for me.

I can't help but to think, my mind drifting uncontrollably. I think about how I can feel my testosterone leave my body as I slide my satin panties on, how effeminate I feel as the g-string slide between my crack. I can almost feel the estrogen flood my body as I slide the silk stockings up my shaved legs. I'm a man! Emasculated, I buckle the thin ankle straps of my stiletto pumps around my nylon encased ankle. I feel like a woman as I raise my arms to allow the satin baby doll to slide down my shaved chest.

I can't help but feel submissive when I'm dressed like this. I can't help but to want to be violated when I'm dressed like this, my wife all to willing to fulfill my desire. I feel so hot and sexy when my wife bends me over whatever piece of furniture is near. The short dress or skirt provides no protection from her eyes, her hands, or her cock. It's easy for my wife to either slide my panties to the side or forcefully pull them down. I think how embarrassed I feel moaning uncontrollably like a little girl as she penetrates me, violates me. I think about how completely emasculated I feel as she roughly slams her cock into my ass; her hands pulling my hips into her, driving her cock deeper into my tender ass. I feel helpless as she reaches up and grabs a fist full of hair and pulls and twists my head. My moans timed to the sound of her pelvis slapping my ass. My legs shake as I try to maintain some sort of balance on my precarious heels.

A sudden emptiness and a very hard slap on my ass signifies she's done with me. I want nothing more then to rest for a moment. A strong hand pulls me back by my hair and I have no choice but to struggle to follow my hair. I'm guided to my knees, her hard rubber cock inches before me. I see and smell the disgusting mixture of lube and my anal goo for a second before she grabs both sides of my head and pulls me toward her. I open my mouth and accept her filthy cock. Disgust mixes with humiliation as the foul taste fills my mouth.

I can't believe how desperate I am to have her take me now, to slam me over this dresser and violate me. God I want to be with her so fucking bad!

After some period of time the door opens and she walks away. I have no idea why she felt the need to put me away, and I will never know. The only thing I do know is that I need to finish cleaning her room and get on with my chores.


Chapter 4

The months passed and my wife fully embraced her inner slut. I have no idea how many men she's slept with or how many men she's sucked off. Anywhere between 1 and 4 days a week I would simply receive a text message that said "N", meaning not going to be home for dinner...it also meant no chance for cummies. N was a lot better than "A", "B" or "C", orders that would affect my life reduced to a single letter. A meant I was to immediately go to my room and close my door, standing at attention or sitting on my stool. Eventually I would hear the front door open and my wife and her lover walk past, their voices and footsteps fade as they go to the living room or her bedroom. Emotions rip through me as I stand at attention in my slutty maids outfit listening to the distant moans and screams from my wife, while my calves and feet burn from standing in my stilettos.

B and C both mean I am to lock my collar if it's not already locked and go to her closet. B means I'm to lock myself to the floor ring and C means I'm to lock myself to the wall ring. The wall ring was typically used for her quickies since it's set up so that I have to wear 5 inch heels in order to lock myself to it, although I once had to suffer for a couple of hours listening to my wife get fucked repeatedly. When her bull finally left and after my wife rested a bit, she finally came in and unlocked me I had no choice but to fall on the floor.

"Mmmm, I know just how you feel. I'm a bit weak in the knees myself." she says dreamily

"Take your dress and shoes off and crawl into bed with me sweetheart, I need to be held."

My wife just said "...I need...". Does she know what real need feels like? Desperate fucking longing, consuming your very being...everything you are is desperate longing...desperate desire...you can think of nothing else...it is what you are...days..months..years...desperate need!! Every thought, every wish, every prayer...for days...for months...for years! I FUCKING NEED!!!!!

I lay in her bed and wrap my arms around my naked wife and hold her tight, fulfilling her needs. Her body is sticky from sweat, her body still flush from being fucked. His musky smell mixed with hers. I feel disgusted as I lay in their cold wet cum. The noises from the last couple hours fill my mind and mix with the sound of my wife's breathing. The sound of their bodies slapping together, her moaning and screaming, the sound of his grunts, his deep booming voice... and her soft breathing against my naked chest. I wonder what kind of man struggles to remain silent in his wife's closet, feet and calves in extreme pain from standing in a pair of fuck-me-pumps, while his wife gets fucked by another man. Still my arms hold her tight. I wonder if she can feel how much I love her through my arms, through my face pushed tightly against the back of her neck, through my hands gently resting against her waist.

She pulls one of my legs between hers and I become very self conscious of my silky nylons. I wonder how different they feel to her from the strong hairy legs that were between hers minutes ago.

"Your legs feel sexy, so silky and smooth, so feminine." she purrs as she rubs her thighs against mine.

I struggle to maintain control as my emotions go into overdrive. I want to cry, I want to paw at my wife...grab at her breasts, her thighs, her ass like a strange man did moments ago...but I'm not allowed. I want to scream at her for fucking other men, while I haven't fucked her for years. The warmth of her naked body next to mine inflames my ever-present desire for her. The steel tube easily prevents her little dicklet from getting hard, but does nothing to quell my desperate desire. The pain from the pressure mixes with my passions. My body feels like it's going to fucking explode from the mix of emotions, desire, and pain... yet I just lay there quietly holding my wife while she basks in the peaceful serenity that can only be had after a really good fuck.

Sleepiness begins to take over from all the emotion, the suffering in the closet, all after a day of washing dishes. Her bed is so comfortable and I am so physically exhausted. I tuck my nose into the nape of her neck and begin to drift off to sleep.

"Don't get too comfortable there stud, put your dress and shoes back on and finish up your chores. Begin with drawing me a bath and fetching me a glass of chardonnay."

The river of time continues to flow, and the men in her life come and go. Every date, every fuck, every day washing dishes is a missed roll of the dice. I've lost track of how many times my wife has watched me clean my lipstick marks from our wedding picture. I think of the thousands of days I've spent without sexual satisfaction, never to be made up, lost to the past, gone forever. I think of how far I've come in my debasement; every time I think I can't be humiliated more than the last time my mistress, my wife, proves me wrong. Every time I think I can't possibly go any lower she drops me down a notch.

I arrive home tired and exhausted after another day of washing dishes. I'm kind of relieved that my wife texted me an "N", at least I don't have to cook a full dinner. I immediately go to my room and perform the ritual of changing rings. My heart sinks as I enter my room and see my wife has laid out a new dress for me to wear, complete with new stockings, garter belt, and delicate lace gloves. Since her new life began she has had little time to micro-manage mine, there is simply a standing order that I wear one of my maids uniforms if nothing is laid out on the bed. I match my lipstick with the new dress and exchange rings, placing another mark on our wedding picture. After a quick shower I put on the garter and stockings. Picking up the slutty dress reveals a note from my wife.

"Full makeup and lock everything bitch."

I begin shaking from excitement and fear. The wrist to neck chain is rolled up under the note. After my long transformation into a ridiculous looking cross dresser I begin my chores. About an hour later I receive a text message from my wife. "A". I quickly put the vacuum cleaner away, mince to my room, close the door, and stand at attention. Fear begins it's well traveled journey through my mind and soul. Why the new clothes, why the full makeup. I'm so thankful that the I've only met Mr. Stanton up until now, and he's never seen me dressed like this. I have a feeling that is about to change and I begin to shake. I pray to my empty room...pray that I'm not paraded out to my neighbor, my boss, my engineering coworkers, Mr. Stanton, or my underlings. I pray this as I experience another mind fuck among thousands.

I sit on the stool It's even difficult to sit on the stool I'm shaking so much. Nothing has even started and I want it to end, the future is something I can only experience, my wife controls it. My collar and cuffs are locked on, my patent leather red fuck-me-pumps are locked on, and I'm locked in my room. I have 2 options, stay here and take what's coming or climb out the window and run down the street. I don't have a choice.

I can't take this fucking waiting, it's killing me!

I wait...for an eternity. There's a standing order that my keys are to go on a peg by the door and all the doors are locked when I'm home. When I'm sent to my room my phone is to be placed face down on the nightstand. I wait not knowing for how long. Am I going to have to suck some guy off, am I going to be forced to get fucked by a guy, by Paul the new mechanical engineer, Rob the next door neighbor?

The possibilities seemed endless as my mind raced uncontrollably. I found myself pleading to an empty room, praying to my Goddess "Please ma'am. Please don't do this. I beg you please, Please, PLEASE don't do this."

Finally the garage door opens, long after I've driven myself insane. There are no voices as their footsteps trail off to her bedroom, but I can clearly tell there's two people. I'm tired of sitting on the stool, but there's no way I could stand in these shoes with the way I'm shaking. I just really need my wife to come in, take me in her arms, give me a gentle kiss, and tell me it's all over - that this was just another big mind-fuck.

A short time later the door to my room opens and my wife walks back to her room without saying a word. I struggle to get off the stool and resume my chores. I feel like there's a thousand pound weight on me and that time has stopped. My movements seem to take all my energy and are so painfully slow. I struggle to maintain my balance on my precarious heels. I feel so incredibly exposed as I enter the hallway. Terror rips through me as I think about how big Mr. Stanton is, how helpless I would be if he decided to shove his cock in my mouth, or rape me...his cock must be huge! I barely make it back to the kitchen, struggling to walk, when I the pain rips through her little dicklet.

I lose control as I beg "No...No...No! Please god NO! Please don't let this happen!" to an empty kitchen. I'm paralyzed; I can't move. My wife knows me better than I know myself. She knows my body is shutting down from fear, and sends a second but stronger shock to her little dicklet for motivation. After the current stops tearing through my tender flesh I jump up and mince to her room as quickly as I can. I pause at her door when I hear moans timed to the sound of the rocking bed. I reach up and grab to door handle but can't bring myself to turn the knob, my heart racing, mouth dry, shaking from the fear taking over me. Another shock to her little dicklet overcomes my paralysis.

My hand throws open the door and I'm overwhelmed by what I see before me, I just stand in the doorway like an impotent idiot. They stop what they were doing and he looks at me laughing. My naked wife is bent over the foot of the bed while his hands are wrapped around her waist pulling her deep into him.

"Get over hear and kneel." my wife says breathlessly pointing to the side of the bed with the transmitter.

I don't know how my body did it but I quickly took my place by the side of the bed. As soon as he started grinding in to my wife I lowered my head in shame.

"Eyes up!" my wife ordered, followed by a quick jolt to her little dicklet.

I had no choice but to take in what was going on before me. He grinds his hips in the same vulgar fashion he did so long ago, except this time he wasn't fucking some imaginary puta, he's fucking my wife; his dick deep inside my wife's cunt, busting that ass. It doesn't take either one of them long to forget I was there. One of his hands reached up and grabbed my wife's hair and pulled her head back while his hips continued their pounding. I couldn't believe how helpless my wife looked as Mr. Torres' strong arms controlled her, the sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room. My wife's moans became more primal as her head was violently pulled back, it looked like her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets, her lips curled like I've never seen before, her jaws clenched tight, spit flying off her lips. He's extremely vulgar, calling my wife bitch and slut in both English and Spanish. The desire to rip this bastard off my wife and beat the shit out of him quickly wells withing me, but just as quickly replaced by humiliation as I feel the silky stockings with my delicately gloved fingers, my wrists dangling helplessly from my collar.

Mr. Torres responds to primal screams from my wife's contorted face by pulling her hair harder, by pounding her harder. The hand around her waist gives her one hard slap on the ass before pulling my wife deeper into him. I have never seen my wife like that and I suddenly realize I've never given her an orgasm. Her face barely looked human as spit poured out uncontrollably from her clenched teeth, her golden thighs slick from her own sweat and juices. Mr. Torres let her hair go and slowed down his relentless pounding.

"Your husband ever make you scream like that Dianne?" he asks, slowly grinding hi hips.

"Oh my god no." she says struggling to catch her breath.

He pulls out, grabs her legs and spins her around on the bed, flipping her over like a rag doll. I can't believe he hasn't cum yet. He manhandles my wife's breasts...squeezing them so hard she let's out a yelp. He's very rough with her, slapping her thighs and muff. He grabs my wife's ankles and spreads them above her face again rendering her helpless, the key to my manhood buried in his hands; Mr. Torres' sweaty ass a foot from my face as he begins to fuck my wife again.

I really don't want to be here. This has to be the most humiliating experience of my life. My wife is getting fucked by a busboy, his ass so close to my face I can smell it, while I just sit here like a wimp...worse than a wimp, I'm dressed like a Mexican slut while my wife gets a complete fucking by a Mexican dishwasher. I'm not allowed to touch the key buried in his hand, unless it is to give it a respectful kiss.

"You had better be looking straight ahead." my wife states, my body twitches and I let out a yelp as current rips through her little dicklet.

After a while he let her ankles go and her legs quickly made their way around his waist. After an eternity primal grunts emanated from deep within his throat, hips bucking uncontrollably, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him in deeper, as a second orgasm racks her body. He collapses on top of my wife, his dick still in her. My wife's legs release their grip on him and drop to the floor. Their sweaty bodies expanding and contracting as they both try to catch their breath.

After they were able to regain their composure my wife states "When Hector pulls out you will immediately get in their with your tongue and get me nice and clean."

"Yes Ms. Harrison." I reply.

Mr. Torres pulls out and sits next to my wife, grabbing one of her breasts and I quickly crawl over and begin licking his thick spunk out of my wife. My hair and face quickly become soaked in their juices. After she's satisfied that she's been thoroughly cleaned she sends me off to fetch some ice-tea for herself and her bull. As I was ordered away I felt so very thankful, thankful that I wasn't ordered to clean or otherwise have contact with Mr. Torres. Regardless, I have never been so thoroughly humiliated.

A couple minutes later I return with their ice-teas and coasters on a serving platter. They have taken their places under the covers with my wife cuddling in Mr. Torres' arm. I place Mr. Torres' coaster and tea on the nightstand that used to be mine. I can't help but notice my wife is caressing Mr. Torres' cock under the covers. I mince over and place the coaster and tea on my wife's nightstand, take a step back and stand at attention with my eyes cast to the ground. After being ignored for a couple of minutes I hear a snap of her finger, looking up I see her hand pointed to the corner where I quickly take my place.

I stood in the corner with my wrists hanging from my neck, my forearms parallel to the floor, the empty serving tray gripped in my delicate lacy fingers. Mr. Torres' English is pretty basic so they speak mostly in Spanish. I can't believe a person can feel so out of place in his own home; every time they laugh I know they're talking about me.

My mind is racing, wondering what they are doing...literally behind my back, replaying graphic images of what I was just forced to witness - burning them into memory. I feel so humiliated standing here, so exposed. The balls of my feet are quickly becoming painful, and my calves begin to burn. I struggle desperately to comply with the very strict no fidgeting order. An image of Mr. Torres' ass flashes into my minds eye, my wife's legs wrapped around his waist. I hear them get off the bed.

After an eternity standing in the corner my wife addresses me, "You must be starving senorita. Well we brought you a little surprise. Come."

My wife attaches a leash to my collar and she and Mr. Torres walk together in front of me dressed in their elegant robes. When we get to the hall she tells me to get the box on top of the car and drops the leash, the cold steel startling my bare flesh. I return to the kitchen and hand my wife the box. She snaps her finger and points down, I quickly kneel on the floor with my eyes cast down. I hear the unmistakable sound of my metal dog bowl being placed on the counter. The sound of food scraps dumped in. The sound of spitting and laughing. The bowl is dropped in front of me and I stare at the contents.

I look down and get sick to my stomach as I see among the leftovers that some of the food has been chewed and spit out. Mixed in with the chewed food are scraps of salad, must be my wife's, a small piece of enchilada must have been Mr. Torres'. A small mix of rice, half eaten chips, refried beans, salsa, guacamole, and sour cream all thrown carelessly together. I imagine Mr. Torres spitting a huge chunk of his enchilada out and I get totally grossed out. My wife senses my trepidation and presses the back of my head down with her foot. Although it's quite common, and even a bit of a turn on for me to eat my wife's masticated food, this is far worse than anything my wife has made me eat before. I suppress my instinct to vomit as I feel the first bits of pre-chewed food make it past my lips. When my wife is satisfied that I'm eating she takes her foot off the back of my head. As my wife walks away she pulls the back of my dress up to my back, exposing the radio receiver and my panty clad ass.

I fight back the tears as I eat this disgusting gruel while my wife and her lover laugh at my situation, mocking me as I force myself to swallow.

"Maybe if we brought home the mariachi band he'd be a little more festive."

"Si." Mr. Torres responds, both of them laughing.

After I finally force the disgusting mix down my throat I dread what I must do next. I slowly crawl over to where they're sitting and look up to them sitting high above me.

"Thank you so much Ms. Harrison and Mr. Torres for the wonderful meal." I say as sincerely as I can.

"Well I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now kiss my foot to show me how much you enjoyed it." Mr. Torres laughs as I lower my face to her foot.

Mr. Torres says something in Spanish and my wife with a sexy "mmmm". Her foot pushes away my face and she walks over to Mr. Torres' chair.

"Eyes up." my wife says.

Looking up I watch as my wife dances seductively in front of Mr. Torres. She grabs his hand and guides him out of his chair. He stands before her. She grinds her hips against his as she guides him over to me. Terror floods through me as I imagine the worst. They invade my space, my wife's thighs brushing up against me while Mr. Torres' groin is inches from my face. My wife seductively unties the belt to his robe. My worst nightmare...my worst fucking nightmare...she's going to make my suck his dick!

Fear...fear like I've never felt..stark raging fear!

My wife seductively drops to her knees. She gives me a big smile before she takes him in her mouth and, ever so slowly, deep throats him. I'm brought back to a conversation early in our relationship when she told me in no uncertain terms that she would never go down on me, and she has kept her word.

I'm thankful beyond whatever I could ever express...and completely devastated.

My wife's face is inches from mine as she gives a lowly dishwasher a gift she has never given me. A wave of emotion washes over me as I come to the realization that I'll probably go to my grave never knowing the feeling that Mr. Torres is feeling right now. He sounds like he's in heaven as soft moans emanate from him, his strong hands guiding her head. I can't believe how sexy my wife's mouth is, her lips...her cheeks.

A short time later my wife slowly pulls her mouth of Mr. Torres' hard cock, and while she gently strokes it she looks up to him and says "No you don't stud. You're going to pound me to another couple orgasms tonight."

She turns to me, grabs my chin and gently directs my eyes to hers, "Oh poor baby, I don't know which would be worse - knowing what you're missing or knowing you'll never know what so many men have felt from these succulent lips."

Her tongue slowly and seductively makes it's way from my chin to my nose, twirling her tongue around my nose, leaving a trail of spit on my face. She turns and performs the same motion from Mr. Torres' balls to the tip of his cock, he lets out a moan as her tongue twirls around the tip. She then pulls his robe closed and ties his belt and giving him a kiss. I can only imagine what Mr. Torres just felt.

Everything seems so surreal, time so painfully slow. My mind and emotions both on overload and I want so desperately for this night to end, to never have happened. It's getting late and at least I can find comfort in the fact that she'll soon send me to my room. The starkness of my room will be a welcome relief from this emotional overload. My pain and humiliation deepen as I watch them dance and grind before me, his hands wrapped around my wife's waist, grabbing her ass, hers wrapped around his neck.

I was dismissed. I spent the next hour doing chores while my wife and her bull got dressed and sat in the living room.

When it was just about bedtime my wife beckoned me, "You have a half hour to powder your nose. When you're finished stand in front of your bed. You will not be able to use the bathroom after so use your time wisely." my wife states while staring in his eyes.

"Yes Ms. Harrison." I reply.

Although my nightmare is about to end, a new terror quickly replaces my relief: how will I get all this makeup off before I go back to the restaurant in the morning?

Only if you've every tried to wash off mascara will you know my dread.

Still, the solitude of my room is what I so desperately need.

I drink a glass of water and prepare for a night locked in my room. "Powder your nose" also means I must touch up my makeup and tidy myself up. After I've completed everything I need to I go stand at attention in front of my bed. I stand, wondering if she forgot about me, wondering if I exist in the recesses of my wife's mind. Finally I hear the footsteps I've so longed for. I hope she unlocks my cuffs and my shoes, that she offers me a gentle kiss and a strong hug before putting me to bed. She walks in slowly and seductively, staring into my eyes and straight through to my soul. I want to thank her for finally putting an end to my suffering, She stands before me staring into my eyes for what seemed an eternity; her hand slowly rises and my body anticipates what it so desperately needs - the soft gentle caress from my wife's gentle hand as she reassures my broken soul.

The collar around my neck violently tears into my neck as my wife turns and walks away, my leash held tightly in her hand. I stumble in my heels as I struggle to keep up with her.

"Please!" I scream.

"You're not about to cum." she replies laughing.

She has changed her clothes, and she is totally hot. She struts before me in the hottest red and black negligee I've ever seen, complete with a garter belt, seamed stockings, and a pair of red pumps exactly like mine, except instead of a thick locking collar she has a dainty strap. Her delicate hand holds so much control over me, the chain to my collar doubled over in her hands, pulling my leash tight.

When we return to her room I'm pushed to my knees. My leash is replaced by a 6 inch chain that is locked to the top of her footboard. Soft candlelight gives the room a sensual feeling, while a heady mix of Delerium type music fills the room. My wife lays on the bed before me and gives me a wicked hot kiss, her tongue invading my mouth while her hands pull at my hair. As quickly as that began, it ended. As soon as her lips left mine they were replaced by a penis gag pushed into my mouth.

"I know you won't make a sound. I just like the thought of you sucking on a cock while I get fucked." she says seductively as she stares into my eyes.

I can't help but feel breathless as I gaze at my wife's beautiful face in the soft candlelight: her eyes, her lips, her hair, the intoxicating smell of her sensual perfume fill my soul with longing and desire. I can't help but to feel I'm in the presence of a Goddess. My wife finishes fastening the straps far too quickly. After pulling the sheet down she takes her place on the bed. I have no choice but to watch her waiting, wanton. She rubs her breast, a finger in her mouth. The Goddess is transforming herself into a wanton slut. Her hand reaches between her legs while all I can do is watch.

After a few minutes Mr. Torres walks into the room fully clothed and stands by the bed. There's nothing subtle about him...he's vulgar and crass. He grabs my wife's breasts, twisting and squeezing. My wife cries out, but he just keeps attacking her soft tender breasts with his rough hands. My wife tries to pull his hands away, but he grips harder into her tender breasts and my wife lets out a scream. He pulls the Chemise off of her and tosses it on the floor. My wife's tender breasts are turning pink as his hands brutally manhandle her naked breasts.

The chain to my leash pulls taught as I instinctively jump up to save my wife. His face lowers down and he presses his lips to hers, not so much in a kiss but more of a violation. My wife tries to scream as his tongue invades her mouth. I find myself yelling incoherently into my thick penis gag as I see the woman I love with all my heart clearly in distress. Mr. Torres pulls a large knife out of his pocket and flicks it open with a quick flip of his hand. Neither one of us can do anything as he holds my wife's neck, candlelight reflecting off the sharp blade. He drags the tip of his knife across my wife's tender flesh. He doesn't stop until the knife reaches her hips. The sharp tip of his knife edges up against my wife's tender thigh until the blade is between her panties and her hip, a quick pull up and the waistband of her delicate panties are cut in half. He does the same motion to cut away the other side of her panties. After setting the open knife on her nightstand he reaches down and rips the destroyed panties from under her, tossing them on the floor. He's rough; red welts rise from her tender body wherever his strong hands tear at her tender flesh. Her breasts are bright red, as are the inside of her thighs. He manhandles my wife's tender crotch, at times lifting her off the bed

He lowers his pants and grabs my wife by her hair, shoving her face into his cock. She has no choice but to take him in her mouth. It isn't long before he takes his place between her legs. His jeans are lowered to his cowboy boots. His well worn boots and her sexy bedroom shoes are inches from my face. I have no choice but to watch this violent defiling of my wife while my favorite music plays in the background. All I can do is kneel in my fucking Lolita costume and suck on a large penis gag, and watch. I feel so fucking impotent on so many levels.

It's not until my wife's sexy legs wrap around his torso that I realize she is getting turned on; her pleas for mercy are replaced with pleas for more, pleas for harder. I have no choice but to watch a 20 something year ol Mexican immigrant fuck and abuse my wife, while she screams for more.

Isn't that the low of the low...the pool boy, the janitor, the dishwasher, fucking the middle class wife??

Fuck!! I'm a fucking dishwasher!!!

I think of when I made love to my wife, so tender and loving. Soft caresses and tender kisses. I was a perfect gentleman who never manhandled her, never groped her, always romanced her. I always thought of her pleasure before my own. A bouquet of roses, bottle of wine, dark chocolate, dinner at a fine restaurant...tender yet passionate kisses, strong hands gently rubbing her body, extra gentle with her breasts and between her legs. I treated her like a princes...he's treating her like a fucking whore, and she fucking loves it!

They must have fucked for another 15 minutes. I couldn't believe the stamina of Mr. Torres. After she orgasmed a couple more times she begged him to stop, but he just kept ramming her ignoring my wife's pleas. His hips thrust violently as he pulled my wife's hips toward him, primal grunts as his body writhes uncontrollably, depositing his load deep within my wife. They laid there spent with him on top of her, both bodies glistening in sweat, both just trying to catch their breath...his face resting against my wife's neck, her arms lay spent at her side.

After an eternity my wife thanks Mr. Torres, kisses him, and tells him they need to get ready for bed. After Mr. Torres finally rolls off my wife she pulls up the edge of the fitted sheet by her feet and cleans the mess between her thighs, I can see gobs of his cum as she flexes her muscles. My wife reaches over, grabs a key off her nightstand and unlocks the lock that held the chain to her footboard, and places the lock and key on her nightstand. .

"Change the sheets, but don't put the fitted sheet in the laundry. Use the summer comforter. Blow out the candles and turn the thermostat down to 65."

"Yes Ms. Harrison."

While I scurry about the room performing my tasks my wife unbuckles the thin straps of her pumps and removes her shoes and tosses them carelessly on the floor. She takes off what's left of her lingerie and tosses it carelessly on the floor. She throws on a red satin babydoll and matching panties. Mr. Torres takes off everything but his boxers and then goes into my wife's bathroom and takes a piss; he doesn't even have the consideration to close the door. I haven't peed in that bathroom for years, I'm not allowed. Although he's more well endowed than myself he's not large, but it sounds like a racehorse is pissing. I think about the tinkle sound I make as the pee dribbles out of my chastity belt, I can't even remember standing up to pee. When he's done he simply struts back into her room and sits on her chair watching me make the bed. It isn't long after that the bed is made up, the covers turned down on each side. I mince around pushing the wick into the wax on her pillar candles so the wicks don't smoke, they laugh hysterically as I try to blow enough air through the tiny hole in the penis gag to blow out the tapered candles. I scurry out to the hall and turn the thermostat down from 68 to 65.

When I return I see my wife straddling Mr. Torres, his disgusting boxers tossed on the floor next to her delicate lingerie. She snaps her fingers and points to the bathroom. I quickly mince into her bathroom and wipe Mr. Torres' piss and pubic hair from off the bowl with a piece of toilet paper, flush the toilet, close the lid, and turn out the light.

"Lock yourself to the bottom of the footboard." my wife says.

I grab the lock from her nightstand and attach the lock to an eye-bolt on the of her footboard. After a couple of minutes Mr. Torres' retires to what was so long ago, my side of the bed, while my wife appears before me with the filthy sheet held carefully in her fingers.

"Roll over."

My wife places the sheet over me, pulling the sheet over my shoes.

"Roll back."

She wraps the sheet around me like a cocoon, cold wet sticky globs of cum seem to be everywhere. After washing her hands she turns out the lights and retires to bed. I listen as bodies are pulled together, arms and legs finding their comfort zones, wrapping around body parts. The expensive sheets and comforter pulled over them as they lay in each others arms on my wife's very expensive and very comfortable bed. It isn't long before they find comfort in each others embrace and fall asleep. The coolness of the room makes it very comfortable for two bodies to sleep close together.

Now all I can do is lay cold and lonely at the foot of her bed, wrapped in their filth. The skimpy dress, pantyhose, and thin wet sheet does nothing to keep me warm as I lay on the floor. My mind races uncontrollably as I try desperately to fall asleep where I can finally escape. Emotions and thoughts consume me...rage, jealousy, desperate longing, overwhelming love for my wife, my birthday is coming up, how long since I've orgasmed or even had cummies, "You'll have to accept I'll never go down on you.", I'm really cold, the image of Mr. Torres' ass in my face, my dinner, washing dishes, fuck I'm desperately horny, my shoes are very uncomfortable, her lips wrapped around his cock, the look of his cock, I can't remember the last time I saw mine, I'm sucking on a penis, fear, tomorrow.

I drift in and out of sleep. Every moment I'm awake I hear their breathing, their snoring. They are both completely spent and sexually satisfied, warm in each others embrace, and comfortable. I want to tuck my hands between my thighs, but I can't. The night is long. I don't know how long I've slept or how long I've been awake. I don't know what time it is or how long I have before I need to go to my dish washing job. I struggle to sleep. FUCK! My makeup! How will I get it off????

I need sleep!!!!

Daylight begins to shine through the curtains. Holy fuck I'm going to be late! Do I scream in the penis gag and try and wake her??

I'm so torn.

No...I don't dare...but she told me I better not lose this job. I'm so fucking tormented!!! What should I do!!???

Fuck!

I'm so tired.

Something drops on my face waking me out of a very deep sleep. The foggy sound of a woman speaking. I try to get into the fetal position but my hands can't get to my thighs. I pull them up under my head like a pillow and try to fall back to sleep.

I jump up quickly and my neck is stopped violently by a chain. I try desperately to stop the pain in her little dicklet but my hands stop short. I try to scream but I'm muffled by something in my mouth. I quickly realize my reality. I look on the floor and grab a key. My shaking hands struggle to unlock the lock at the bottom of the bed before there's another zap to her little dicklet. I hear a soft tender voice say "Oh no dear, go back to sleep." followed by a gentle kiss.

I jump to attention and see my wife's finger held against her lips as he nuzzles up to my wife's breast. When she's sure I've received the order she gestures for me to "come here" with the same finger. When I stand by her side she grabs one of my chains and pulls me down so my ear is next to her lips.

"Coffee. You may get yourself some water and powder your nose." she whispers in my ear, her hot breath in my ear causing goosebumps all over as she removes the penis gag.

Oh my god I'm late for work!

I try to be as quiet as I can as I mince out of her room, trying not to wake the man sleeping next to my wife. It's painful to stand up straight as her little dicklet tries in vain to rip through it's steel tube, but that's my problem and I must suffer through alone. I stumble in my 5" heels as I scurry to the kitchen. After the coffee is started I sit down to take a pee and I can't help but remember the sound of his piss as I tinkle in the bowl. My makeup is atrocious. All I can do is wipe off the mascara that has run all over my face and apply some lipstick. My hair is hard and spiky from their cum. My dress is stained with cum, I can feel hard cum wherever I have exposed flesh; I feel completely and totally disgusting.

Fifteen minutes later I arrive at my wife's bedroom with a fresh cup of coffee and a fresh red rose on a silver serving tray. My wife points to the nightstand where I place her cup and rose. My wife points her finger to the floor and I kneel by her side. She points her finger again to the floor and I lay down by the side of her bed. I lay at the side of her bed among her discarded clothes listening to the occasional sips of coffee and movements, not privileged to lay by her side or to even know what she's doing. The dishwasher my wife fucked last night sleeps comfortably beside her while I lay on the floor cold and covered in his cum.

"Mmmmm, good morning stud. I hope your slept well." I hear sometime later followed by the sound of a kiss.

"Si."

After a few minutes I jump to my knees to the sound of of my wife snapping her fingers. I'm greeted by the sight of my wife's well manicured hand wrapped around Mr. Torres' cock.

"Well, we can't leave you to suffer now can we. Swing your legs over here so I can take proper care of that." my wife says pointing over in my direction.

Again she kneels beside me, spreading Mr. Torres' legs as she crawls between them. I'm forced to spread my legs as his leg invades my space, Mr. Torres' foot rests against my inner thigh. Once again I'm forced to watch as my wife wraps her incredibly sexy lips around another man's cock, a vivid memory of her telling me early in our relationship, "I hope you can live the rest of your life without a blow-job because I'll never have a filthy cock in my mouth."

Cheeks sucked in as her head bobs slowly. Tongue swirling around the tip, tongue slipping between her sensual lips and his cock. The sound of slurping, controlled gagging when she takes all of him, her lips pressed against the base of his cock, veins popping .. A trail of spit from her lips to his cock when she pulls her lips away.

The slurping, kissing, sucking sounds mix with her moans. Her eyes roll back when she goes down on him. The look of her lips, her face when she pulls away for a second...oh my god, I've never seen a face so fucking hot, so fucking carnal.

Mr. Torres grabs a fist-full of hair and takes control of the pace, my wife has no choice but to follow her hair. My wife claws at his inner thigh with her well manicured nails and he loses control. She grabs his ass as Mr. Torres face fucks my wife, letting go of her hair and enjoying the ride. As soon as he calms down my wife pulls her mouth of his cock and grabs the back of my head. She looks at me for a second, a small stream of cum dripping from her closed lips. She presses her lips to mine forcing my lips open with her tongue before depositing her load.

"Normally I swallow, but today I have a little cum bucket." she says laughing as she climbs back on the bed.

"Would you like some coffee Hector?"

"Si."

"Get Mr. Torres some coffee, then make us your Migas con Salsa Verde. Oh, and no dishwasher privileges for you today."

"Yes Ms. Harrison."

After scurrying about in the kitchen for about 40 minutes I present the couple with their breakfast trays. It was impossible for me to carry both trays with my hands chained to my neck and wobbling in my heels, so I had to carry one up at a time and leave one outside the door while I ran to get the other.

Mr. Torres said something in Spanish and my wife immediately chastises me about forgetting the Tabasco sauce, followed by a sharp pain in her little dicklet that causes me to double over in pain. I scurry down as quickly as I can in my fuck-me-pumps and get the Tabasco sauce for Mr. Torres. My wife then tells me to run down and get my bowl.

"Fetch us another cup of coffee." I'm quickly becoming exhausted as I run up and down the stairs in my stilettos. After returning, my wife snaps her fingers and points to the corner. My fucking feet are killing me, there's no way I can stand in the corner!

I can't stop my legs from shaking, my calves burn, the balls of my feet burn, as I listen to the couple eating breakfast. Laughing, kissing, moans, sipping, silverware, and conversations in Spanish. The sound of a fork scrapping a plate, the sound of food plopping in a metal bowl.

"Take our trays downstairs." orders my wife.

"You have one hour to yourself...eat your breakfast and to do anything you wish. You will then take a nice warm bath for a half hour and relax. I'm proud of you cuck." followed by a gentle kiss to the cheek.

It takes everything I have to walk, to stumble actually...

I served them the rest of the day. My wife had me dress in more appropriate attire: a red french maids outfit with sensible shoes. When they didn't require my direct services, or I wasn't hand washing their dishes, washing his clothes, or preparing them something, I was doing my chores. I would drop what I was doing when I felt a jolt to her little dicklet and run to where they were relaxing. The worst time was when they were out on the patio and I came scurrying to meet their latest demand and I saw Mr. Torres holding the remote; I couldn't help but notice my wife staring through me, looking incredibly seductive, before I lowered my gaze. It was an extremely powerful reminder that her property, me, could easily be loaned out by her and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. All she had to do was to hand someone the remote to her little dicklet and I would have no choice but to do whatever I was told.

"More tea."

"Yes sir Mr. Torres." I said as I grabbed his dirty glass.

I was about to ask my wife if she needed anything when a surge of electricity to her little dicklet caused me to double over in pain.

"Rapido!" He shouts, both of them breaking out in laughter.

My wife took Mr. Torres out for dinner that evening while I continued on with my chores, but not before I had to thank him for pleasing my wife. After a few hours I hear the garage door open and rush to greet my wife at the door, thankfully she is finally alone. After taking the doggy bag from her and kissing her boots she tells me to place the food on the counter and wait for her outside her room. A few minutes later she opens the door still dressed as she was, but with a huge dildo strapped around her jeans. She tugs on my leash and drags me to the foot of her bed, quickly pushing me over so that I'm on the exact spot my wife was when I walked in and saw Mr. Torres fucking her.

"I hope you enjoy this as much as I did slut."

A few weeks later a cute young waitress approached me and asked me why I called Hector Mr. Torres, said yes sir and no sir when I answered his questions. Why did I look at the ground when I talked to him.

"Ummm, nothing, no reason. Please, I'm busy." I said, feeling my face burn.

"Did he threaten you? Is he beating you up? Tell me and I'll make him stop." she said.

I could feel my face burning and I knew it was a deep crimson red.

"Please don't. Please, it's nothing. Please leave it alone." I begged of her.

The next weekend everyone acted differently around me. I could tell people were talking behind by back. I knew everyone here knew about me now, but no one ever confronted me directly. It was the snickers and stares. The waitresses who would try hover a little longer when Mr. Torres was near me; the exclamation "Oh my god!" and giggles from the attractive young waitresses when they hear me say "Yes sir Mr. Torres."

I wonder if everyone also knows about Mr. Stanton. Holy fuck, I just realized everyone else calls Ms. Benoit Jes or Jessica.

A couple weeks later I was cleaning my wife's bathroom. Opening her toilet I see the unmistakable drippings of piss on the edge of the bowl, triggering a montage of images and scenes, smells and sound, I'm unable to control. Me wiping fresh piss off this toilet after Mr. Torres fucked my wife, the sight of his cock, my face in this filthy bowl while my ass was burning, massaging a naked back, naked thighs, naked calves, a golden key against bronze skin...painting nails, serving.

I rub my hand up and down my crotch like a girl in a futile attempt to pleasure myself. I must concentrate on the toilet. I'm so desperate to kiss her...shoes. What the fuck...I want to kiss my wife...I need to kiss her shoes.

My wife towering above, the feeling of her wet cunt torments me...the ultimate tease, the ultimate denial. The sound of Mr. Torres' grunts mixed with my wife's guttural screams and moans. The look of my wife's lips wrapped around his cock...the sound as she bobs back and forth, a couple days ago, abject fear of the pain if I stopped bobbing back and forth on the perch, my red lipstick smeared on her cock...my red lipstick smeared across our picture, marking time. My wife's beautiful calf, her beautiful foot...rubbing Mr. Stanton's huge foot, thick massive calves. A wave of humiliation as I look down at my red toe nails sticking out of my pumps, thin hairless calves wrapped in silky nylon. I'm sickened by the fact that I'm holding a filthy sponge in my hand, a sponge covered in the stale piss of another man.

I turn on the water to rinse the sponge, reminding me how Mr. Torres sounded like a racehorse as he stood pissing like a man, the sound of my tinkle as I sit like a girl. I see myself in the mirror...neither a man nor a woman, a thing.

Being put away, mounted to a post in the garage with the brooms and mops...a thing, except I desperately longed for my owner to return...to find another use for me, to be with her....to worship her. Unlike the mop I was cold, unlike the broom my discomfort grew as each minute passed. Unlike the rake, this turned me on. Soft slippery hand, stroking. Please.

Brown muscular sweaty ass in my face, the sound of grunts as he cums deep inside my wife. The musky smell. Her perfume. God I desperately need to cum SO FUCKING BAD. If I kiss her shoes I might get to cum. Please please PLEASE let me kiss her shoe, the sole of her filthy shoe! What the fuck has come of me? A roll of the dice determines my fate. Is today my lucky day??

What kind of man desperately longs for a ruined orgasm from his unfaithful wife??

Hands reach down in a futile attempt to stop the pain, a cold steel plate protects my wife's property from unauthorized hands. I scurry as quickly as I can to the living room. I'm breathless as I catch a glimpse of my wife's beautiful face and incredible body as my eyes instinctively drop to her bare feet...a brass key dangling from a delicate gold chain against a bronze foot...so fucking beautiful. She's reading some documents, the contents of which I may never know. Anticipation, fear, longing, desperate desire. I don't know what the next minute will bring, the next hour an eternity. It takes everything I have...all the power within me, everything that I am, to patiently wait.

Silence fills the room.

The silence is broken as beautiful fingers grab the stem of a glass of ice water. She casually brings the glass to her beautiful lips and takes a sip. She casually places the glass back on the table.

The sound of a page being turned.

A few moments later I'm startled out of my trance as my wife simply states "We need to talk."...