a cuckold blog...by cuckytoher



Another great thing about pantyhose is that, if she leaves them on while teasing and denying you, there is no access to her pussy.  You can rub up against the crotch of the pantyhose, overstimulating yourself, but can’t achieve penetration. 

(Comment by Throne)

Stockings & pantyhose

Men are fascinated and aroused by pantyhose and woman hate them! That’s been my experience and I find it a very ironic twist on each gender’s sexuality. As a man, I find pantyhose erotic, they’re soft and depending on the color they make a woman’s legs and ass look hot especially if she’s not wearing panties. They are in a sense a gift wrapping for a man to unwrap! They conceal her delicious ass and legs and of course who doesn’t love unwrapping that fabulous gift of a beautiful pussy? Add to that, the fact that it may be full of another man’s cum adds to the excitement and us cuckolds look forward to it like a kid on Christmas morning.

Woman on the other hand see pantyhose as a necessary evil. Years before pantyhose they had to deal with nylon stockings (which ripped and ran constantly) garter belts and girdles. Pantyhose replaced all of those in one fell swoop. However if you ask any woman her take on pantyhose she’ll tell you they’re hot in the summer and can be uncomfortable and most all women will find them anything but sexy and erotic! If you’re a foot fetishist pantyhose add and even greater excitement because you have the sight, touch and smell combined to arouse you. Again ask any woman you know and she will look at you like you have eight head when you ask if she finds pantyhose erotic.

Cuckolds love pantyhose and they love the look, feel, smell and they especially love unwrapping that fantastic present when their woman presents them with the gift of another man’s cum. Pantyhose will forever be one of those items that will remain a mystery between the sexes. Men love them; women hate them. My suggestion, share your fascination and turn on with your woman and you may be able to find a pantyhose compromise where you both win!

Cuck hubby in chastity…by Throne

Another fantastic story!!
Being locked in chastity can do plenty to a man.  The longer he can’t get free, the bigger the changes. 
"What do you think of these?" Bella wanted to know.  "They’re called Date Panties.  ‘Cheeky’ style.  Because they leave my butt cheeks showing." 
The curvaceous woman turned around so her husband could see the rear view.  He opened and shut his mouth, throat so dry he couldn’t speak.  She was extremely sexy, with her long red-brown hair, generous bust, full hips, and gorgeously rounded bottom.  The tiny panties showed off that last feature to great advantage.  Also, they were the only thing she was wearing.
"Well?" she said.  "What do you think, Bunny?  Hmmm?"
Her shaken up husband stood there gaping at her.  She asked him if HE would like a pair of date panties for himself.  That brought him back into the present moment.  Bobby, who she had renamed Bunny, looked down at himself.  He had on a filmy top with a scalloped collar.  It was the upper half of a set of bedroom lingerie.  She hadn’t given him the matching panties, however, because she didn’t want to cover the pink tube that contained his penis.  The rigid sheath was short and narrow enough that he couldn’t get an erection, something he was very aware of as he continued to stare at her. 
His distress registered with Bella and she giggled, walked over to him, and took his face between her palms.  “Poor baby.  Poor Bunny.  Poor baby Bunny.  Are you having second thoughts about letting me put you into that pretty pink chastity device?  Are you?”
He put his hands self-consciously over his crotch, which was shaved hairless like the rest of his body and his face.  Bunny mewled softly, sadly.  He swallowed to get some moisture into his throat and then said, “I’m sorry.  I mean, I’m not but…”  His eyes, adoring yet worried, met hers.  He went on, “I mean, I wanted to be put into chastity.  You know that.  And I was willing to go along with being dressed this way, if it meant you would lock me up.  But… but…”
"But what, baby Bunny?  But you didn’t think I’d be so enthused about playing your chastity game after I made you close the lock on your pink prison?  You didn’t think I’d find oral sex SO much better than that boring old penetration that I used to put up with?  Did you forget that you always finished quickly?  Much too quickly?  Quick like a bunny?  Has it been rough on you, these past months, being locked up almost constantly?"  She chuckled as she reached out to rub his nipples through the soft and slippery material of the barely-there top.  Bunny whimpered and pressed his thighs together involuntarily. 
"Pleeease," he moaned.  "Don’t tease me like that."
"Not like that?  How would you like me to tease you instead?  Or would you rather I took you out of chastity?  I could, you know.  I’d unlock you, slip that nasty old tube off your handsome cock, and show you a wonderful time in bed.  Except that you’ve been so antsy, loving that I’m playing the chastity games you crave, but super horny because I’ve kept you out of action for longer than you expected.  How long has it been this time, Bunny boy?"
"Y… you know."
"Of course I do.  But I want to hear you say it."
"It’s been th… three weeks."
"Right.  With seven more days to go before you’re eligible for parole.  The sentence you agreed to was one month, love Bunny.  Isn’t that what you wanted?  Or was that length just your fantasy?  Did you imagine that I’d miss penetration so much that I’d relent?"  She continued toying with his nipples, making him writhe and murmur.  "I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go back on what you agreed to.  Would you?"
"N… no."
"Well, then, let’s have fun with MY part of the deal we made.  The part where I turn you into my girlfriend for nights of unrestrained pleasure."  She laughed at her clever way of saying that, then turned to the dresser where she had cosmetics, perfume and accessories spread out, ready to be used. 
First Bella picked up an old-fashioned atomizer that was full of an especially flowery scent.  She held it under her spouse’s chin and sprayed some into the hollow of his throat.  Then she applied just a whiff to the inside of each of his wrists.  Finally, just to be funny, she made him lift his chastity out of the way so she could spray the fragrance onto his bald scrotum.  He didn’t want to smell like some silly girl who didn’t know how to limit her use of perfume, but that’s  what his bride liked to make him almost resemble. 
Next she picked up lip gloss, flavored-and-colored strawberry, and applied it liberally to his mouth.  Pleased with the results, she moved on to eye shadow and liner, using them sparingly so that he still looked like a guy, but a very feminized one.  Bella leaned close to give him an air kiss.  She gripped his slender upper arms and pulled him toward her so that her large warm breasts pressed against his narrow chest.  He took a deep breath, then licked his lips without thinking, so that he got a good taste of the gloss.
"Now you’re SURE, right?  You don’t want to cheat on the agreed period of time?  I mean, it must be SO hard for you."  She paused and put on a thoughtful expression, than said, "Oh, wait.  It CAN’T be hard for you.  I mean, your dick can’t.  Not all the way.  That tube is just too darned small.  And I’m so naughty, parading around in these super-sexy panties, with my boobies exposed."  She leaned closer, as if he needed to be reminded of the magnificence of her bust.  "But then, it’s not about what you want, anyway.  Is it?  No, it’s all about satisfying my whims.  And my desires."  She chortled.  "So my horny little Bunny will just have to stay in that tight tube and have blue balls until I say otherwise."
He nodded his agreement and whispered, “Yes, dear.”
Finally she selected some heels for him, only two inches high because that was still his limit.  But they were zebra patterned, like something a hooker might select.  Bella had him strut around in that shameful outfit, his chastity tube moving slightly with each careful step.  She instructed him to put more swish in his hips and to roll his shoulders.  Soon she had him walking in an exaggeratedly girly style.  His eyes begged her not to make him remain in the role of her lesbian lover, but she had no intention of granting him his wish.
"Let’s go to the kitchen," she decided.  "I feel like a glass of wine.  You may pour for me." 
They walked through the house and Bunny was horrified to see that the curtains on the large picture window in the living room were opened wide.  They had to pass right in front of there.  Worse, when he was in the most visible location, Bella told him to stop for an inspection.  Bunny hated when she committed small indignities like that on him.  In no hurry, the stunning woman, still clad only in panties, heedless that she too might be seen from outside, circled him, brushing her plump fingertips over his neck, shoulders, and upper back.  He squirmed but did not move away.
At last she said, “Oh, I didn’t pick any extras to go along with that lovely perfume and attractive make-up.  You wait right there while I go back and select something.  I won’t be a minute.”
Actually, she was about five minutes.  He heard her open her cell phone and then speak in a hushed voice.  He hoped desperately that she wasn’t calling… him.  A car drove by on the street out front and its headlights momentarily glared through the window, making Bunny twice as afraid that he would be spotted.  Mrs. MacGruder lived directly across from them.  If that blowsy middle-aged harpy noticed him standing there, she would talk to Bella and want to hear the entire story.  Bunny knew she was heartless because everyone gossiped about how she dominated her meek husband Carl.  The unfortunate little man had been under her thumb for two decades.  And she showed more than normal interest in the hunky guy who did her landscaping. 
When Bella reappeared, her husband was relieved.  He just wanted to get away from that window.  She had chosen a small bow which she clipped into his short hair, just above his right ear.  He followed her the rest of the way to the kitchen, eager to be out of sight.  She had him take the wine from the fridge.  It was a modest pinot grigio.  He got a tall, stemmed glass and poured carefully.  She reminded him to concentrate on his posture, to make sure it was appropriately girlish at all times, but especially when he was performing any sort of duty for her.  Bella took a sip and sighed approvingly.  Bunny watched with envy.  She denied him wine, coffee, sweets and especially beer.  In the past he had enjoyed an occasional bottle of imported ale, as much to savor its rich taste as to demonstrate his masculinity.  Now he wasn’t even allowed to wear anything made of flannel or denim — though she had said that if he was a good girl she might buy him a pair of cut-off dungaree shorts, telling him he would look cute in Daisy Dukes. 
Bunny had to stand by obediently, like a servant, while she unhurriedly finished her drink.  She pushed her chair back and patted her lap.  He went to her and sat himself gingerly on her broad thighs.  She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and blew in his ear, then whispered seductively, “What would you like to do now, Bunny?  Are you ready for some fun?”
Being in such intimate contact with her body, he felt his need for release rise even higher.  His penis strained against its smooth cage but the effort was futile.  Bunny nibbled his lower lip and tried not to look as frustrated as he felt.  Being in chastity for that long can do strange things to a man, make his mind pliable, and allow a woman to mold his psyche into something new.  Bella rubbed his bare belly, letting her mischievous fingers drift lower, to where his pubic hair used to be.  She touched his chastity lightly and repeated her question.
"I…"  Bunny took a steadying breath.  "I’m ready for some fun," he managed to say, making his voice as sultry as he could.  She had taught him to respond this way, to make it convincing, and to follow through — if he didn’t want to be punished.  The memory of his most recent spanking, just the night before, was much too fresh in his mind.  He rubbed up against his wife, thrilling to the way her large breasts rolled against him.  His hands went to her hips and stroked them, which just added to the unwanted stimulation of his imprisoned member.  He fought to keep his mind on what he was doing and adjusted his position so he could lower his face and fasten his mouth over her nipples and suck.  Left and right.  Left and right.  Bella purred and stroked his hair, telling him he was her sweet girlfriend. 
Bunny couldn’t stop thinking about his trapped penis.  He honestly loved the idea of being kept in chastity by his desirable wife.  But somewhere along the line he had lost control of the fantasy and now he was disturbingly deep into the mental slavery she had initiated.  It chilled him to realize how far she had brought him in such a short time.  Since the pink tube had arrived, rush-shipped after they ordered it on-line, and she had made him put it on, he had been slipping further and further into her trap.  He continued to love the idea of chastity, but the reality now unnerved him.
At the same time, her desire to dress him in lacy lingerie had robbed him of any ability to stand up to her.  And the way she repeatedly reminded him of his past poor performances in bed, that also left him feeling inadequate.  Any chance he had to regain his male pride was eliminated by her taking the lead in their physical relations, the way she was doing now.  Bella bit his neck and tweaked his vulnerable nipples.  She licked his ears and put her finger deep into his mouth, making him suck on it.  All of that drove him into a frenzy of unrelieved neediness.  He arched his back, thrusting out his chest.  She took the cue and, wetting her fingers, reached under his meager covering to diddle his nipples and push him even further. 
Once Bunny started to ‘ask for it’ that way, not only pushing out his upper body, but simultaneously grinding his bottom down on her, she knew he was primed for the main event.  The controlling woman slid him off of her, allowed him to get shakily onto his feet (or rather his heels), and stood alongside him.  She took him by the hand and led him back toward the bedroom.  Besotted with pleasure, his body heat making the cloying perfume spread its aroma, he followed wordlessly.  She stood by the bed and told him to ‘kiss my butt’.  Wanting only to please her, with the unrealistic hope that she would remove his chastity and allow him some release, he sank to his knees and planted his lips repeatedly on her wide sitter.  She helpfully jutted out her bottom and even reached around to grasp his ears, so she could pull his features tightly against her cheeks.  He was still being her lesbian lover and delivering ardent kisses when they heard the front door of the house open. 
There were heavy footsteps and, moments later, she saw her lover’s tall, broad-shouldered form filling the doorway to the room.  He grinned at her and said, “Isn’t that a pretty picture.  Glad to see you’ve found something your wimp hubby is good for.”
She grinned back and said, “Hey, Turk.  Glad you rushed right over.  I’m wearing those Date Panties you got me, so I figured we should have a date.  On the bed.”
He laughed, went to her and, while her husband continued to kneel and worship her ass, the big man kissed her deeply, his large rough hands roaming over her impressive curves.  She responded by cupping one hand over the manly bulge in the crotch of his denim jeans and rubbing the other up and down the front of his flannel shirt.  He told her, “Let me get out of these work shoes and we can party all night.”
"Just sit on the side of the bed, stud.  Let my sissy husband take those dirty old shoes off for you."
She stepped away from Bunny, exposing his red face and still puckered lips.  He looked up at the towering Turk and cringed visibly.  The swarthy intruder reached down and gave the side of Bunny’s face a few playful slaps.  “You heard the lady, you little pervert.”  Turk sat.  “Get those shoes off my feet so I can get out of these pants… so I can screw your wife.  She sure as hell doesn’t want you fumbling all over her and shooting off before you even get all the way inside.”  He looked away from Bunny and locked eyes with Bella, telling her, “This arrangement is working out so well, we might NEVER want to let pansy boy out of his lock box.”
The sexy woman tittered at is remark and sat alongside him.  While Bunny struggled to unknot Turk’s thick shoelaces, the couple mashed their mouths against each other and made their tongues dance together.  Turk pawed Bella’s naked breasts.  On the floor, Bunny kept working but wished he could run to another part of the house and hide.  This was the ultimate shame, he told himself.  They ignored him and continued swapping spit.  He sniffled and got the first shoe undone.  Eventually he had them both untied and then went to work at the laces in the eyelets to loosen them, and at last was able to tug the shoes off those size 12 extremities. 
Bella got onto her back and lifted her hips so Turk could gently slide her Date Panties down her shapely legs.  He sneered at Bunny and barked, “Let’s go, Pink Lips.  Get me out of these pants.  NOW.”  Turk unbutton his shirt while the helpless husband undid his wide leather belt and unfastened his pants.  With shaking fingers he lowered the fly and cautiously eased the fitted jeans down those muscular legs.  Turk wore boxer shorts, something Bunny hadn’t been permitted to put on since he made his one-sided arrangement with his bride.  The dusky man stepped out of his pants and snapped at Bunny to remove his socks.  Turk tossed aside his shirt.  That left only the shorts.  Bunny reached for them and hooked his fingers under the waistband.  He blinked nervously as he began lowering them, revealing abundant black pubic hair.
There were a breathless few seconds as Bunny paused to delay the inevitable.  Acting out her scenario of having him be a male lesbian would have been preferable to this.  He was humiliatingly aware that he was facilitating the ravishment of his wife, while she kept his throbbing penis locked away, the key hidden somewhere in the house.  Bunny pulled down the boxers and Turk’s exceptionally long, virile cock sprang free.  Soon he was as naked as the woman who was hungrily anticipating what was to come.  Bella spread her legs when he knelt between them.  He smiled down at her and she said, “Let’s do it, Turk.  I’ve been looking at my failure of a husband for the last two days, wishing you were here instead of him.  I’m tired of chasing his sissy ass around, getting him to do his chores, and having to swat him every three minutes.  The only fun I have with Mr. Panties is trying different outfits on him.”
"Yeah?" Turk said as he pressed his firmness against her yieldingness.  "Isn’t there one other thing he’s good for?"
She chuckled.  “Well, sure there is.  You know that.  When you’re not here and I get too hot to wait for you, I have to use Bunny there as my lezzie love toy.  She’s such an eager eater when it comes to my wet pussy.  I mean, once she gets started I can’t stop her.  At least, not until I’ve had a bunch of orgasms.”
Turk pushed his tool into her, all the way up to his weighty balls, in one easy movement.  “You’re pussy’s plenty wet right now.  You won’t need that machine-mouth to get off this time.”
"I know, babe.  But I’ve been thinking about another use for for her tongue."  She gasped as he began to pump in earnest.  Her legs wrapped around him and she met his plunges with upward heaves of her hips. 
Bunny could only remain where he was, on his knees, in that nearly transparent top, at the perfect eye level to watch them copulate like untamed animals.  They went on and on, changed position, and started over.  The lovers were tireless.  And inventive.  Bunny gaped at the action, his balls hurting, his face flushed.  Without meaning to, he began to caress the minimal covering he wore.  Then his fingers strayed to his nipples and he teased himself uncontrollably.  He reached down with one hand and clutched his chastity, massaged his balls, groaned, and felt the arrival of the clear fluid that he leaked at times like these.  His wife teased him about that, calling him Drippy Dotty.  He tried not to cry as the savage lovemaking led to a quaking climax for Bella.  While Bunny’s great shortcoming had been a total lack of control, Turk’s valuable asset was that he could refrain endlessly from ejaculating.  Bunny was so envious.  If he could do that, it would be him up there on the bed, possessing Bella’s irresistible body. 
After what must have been an hour, they were doing it doggy style, and Bella was flung into her second noisy finish.  But this time Turk didn’t slow down afterwards.  Instead, he redoubled his efforts, driving her into a third orgasm, at the same time that he let himself go and emptied his heavy balls into her.  The stayed at a peak of passion, his fingers digging into her plush hips, and then began to come down slowly.  In the end they were lying side by side, their breathing returning to normal.  That was when Bella said, “Hey, Turk.  Remember a little while ago, when I said I had a new use for my lesbian lover’s talented mouth?  I want her to make sweet girl-on-girl love to me right now.”
"You mean, like, without you getting washed up?  Down there?"
"That’s right, stallion.  I want her to eat my pussy.  And to clean it up at the same time.  You dumped such a load in there that I’m overflowing."
Turk sat up and glowered at Bunny.  “You heard the lady.  Get up here, candy ass, and do the only thing you’re any good for in bed.  Show her messy slit how much you love it.  Be her lez lover and lick up every drop of my spunk.”  The brutish man’s eyes glowed with sadistic delight.  He was getting aroused by the idea of forcing the lesser male to comply.  Bunny gagged but started to climb onto the mattress.  He moved close to his target and lowered his face, tongue already extended, eyes pleading for a reprieve that would never come.  Hating every second of it, wishing he could go back to just his chastity obsession and lose the girly look and… this, he began to lick up the oozy cream.  It was disgusting but he had to continue.  At the same time, he was getting his wife excited again.  Even after three climaxes.  Bunny kept consuming what seemed like an endless supply of cum and Bella started to jerk her hips and push them harder into his face.  Turk put a powerful hand on the back of Bunny’s neck to make sure he didn’t slow down.  Swallowing sperm and lapping simultaneously, the defeated husband brought his spouse to a loud orgasm. 
"Omigod," she said between deep breaths.  "That was the best.  Deep solid finishes from your huge cock, Turk.  And then a bonus one from Bunny’s well-trained tongue."  She sighed.  "I want to do it like that ALL the time."
"Sure, babe," her stud assured her.  "I got off on grabbing his skinny neck and holding him there.  And the way his sissy ass was sticking up, it kind of gave me some ideas.  Looked almost like a real girl, if you know what I mean."
She said, “You’re saying that while he’s going down on me, cleaning up one mess from you, he might get another load shot up his ass?  That would be too damned funny.  And after that, I’ll bet he would never dare to whine about anything I do to him.”
"Or anything I do, either," Turk added.  "And I might do a lot."
Quaking with fear from what he was hearing, Bunny slipped off the bed.  To try to placate them, he knelt silently at the foot of the mattress.  The couple turned their faces toward each other and kissed tenderly.  Bunny could only stay where he was, running his hands over his diaphanous bit of covering, almost as if he was beginning to want to be dressed that way.  Because — again — being locked in chastity can do amazing things to a man.  Or a former man. 

Everybody’s cucking for the weekend….

Here’s wishing all the cuckolds a weekend full of hard cocks, cream pies, house cleaning, laundry, shopping, yard work and pampering your cuckoldress. And here’s wishing that your cuckoldress has a weekend full of hard cock, multiple orgasms, delicious new sexual heights, a man who loves, cherishes, honors and dotes on you all weekend!!!


Apr 7


I was thinking about husbands who suspect their wives are cheating but aren’t sure.  That could create a lot of mental turmoil, perhaps denial, and maybe some excitement.  Here’s a fictional look at the possibilities.
Dave came home late from work again.  He found a note from his wife saying she was at a girlfriend’s house, helping her with some project.  He sighed and got out of his sport coat and slacks and dress shirt, then put a bathrobe on over his undershirt and shorts.  He debated whether or not to remove his socks, finally deciding against it.  Big excitement.
About an hour later the phone rang.  He was sitting in front of the TV, not quite sure what he was watching.  He picked up and said hello.  His wife Sharon said, “Hi, babe.  I’m running a little late here.”  She sounded slightly out of breath.  “Are you okay getting dinner for yourself?  There’s some sandwich stuff in the fridge.” 
He told her, “Oh, sure.  Are you at… Betty’s place?”
"Huh?  No.  It’s somebody you don’t know.  Friend of a friend.  So you’re okay?"  She made a sound of disapproval at somebody, followed by giggles.  Dave had a mental image of someone doing something distracting, her telling them without words to stop, and then being amused by the whole situation.  That scenario was running through his mind and he didn’t say anything until she repeated, "Okay?"
He distractedly answered, “Sure.  I’m okay.  I’ll see you later.  Whenever you get here.”
She made a kissing sound and hung up.  But just before the disconnect, he heard a lower pitched voice begin to speak.  Probably just the TV, he told himself.  Although, why would the TV be on if they were working on a ‘project’.  Might be turned on just for background sound.
He went into the kitchen to check on dinner options.  His mind wouldn’t let go of that final voice.  He had a sudden and unwanted thought that it could have been a man.  Like her friend’s husband, which would be perfectly normal.  The husband of this friend of a friend who he didn’t know.   Dave selected what he needed and began to put together a sandwich.  His wife was an attractive woman, he considered as he worked.  She had a sweet face, which contrasted with her big bust and curvy hips, the latter leading down to an eye-catching bottom.  In fact, it caught the eyes of lots of men.  He stood there with a mayonnaise jar in one hand and a butter knife in the other, poised while he entertained disturbing thoughts.
They had been at a party two weeks before and he couldn’t miss the fact that the other men all noticed and appreciated his wife’s looks, especially in the snug top and slacks she had worn.  The guys had congregated around her, fetching drinks and chatting her up.  It hadn’t been anything that he could object to, not specifically, but the general tone had been that she was appetizing and they were all hungry.  Single guys and even married ones.  And there had been that half hour or so when he didn’t see his wife at all.  But once more he rationalized; there was probably some simple explanation for her absence. 
Dave finally completed the sandwich and returned to the TV show that he wasn’t paying attention to.  Or maybe that one had ended and this was another.  Whatever.  He realized he didn’t have anything to drink and returned to the kitchen.  With the fridge door open, his hand drifted left and right, trying to settle on either a can of soda or a bottle of beer.  He went for the brew, twisted off the top, and went back to his sandwich.  And the TV.  And his thoughts.  It was odd, too, that his wife had changed their sex life lately.  She began stroking his member with her soft plump hand as foreplay.  She teased his easy-to-stimulate nipples as well.  In fact, she was so good at it that he kept having — as she laughingly called them — accidents.  Every time they were preparing to have sex, she got him overexcited and he shot off on the sheets.  Sharon joked about it and happily cleaned up with a handful of  tissues.
But then she would point out that she had to have her fun, too.  He had never used his mouth on her, sexually, in the year they had been married.  Doing that always seemed kind of unmanly to him.  But he didn’t want to leave her high and dry, and she hinted strongly that he should employ his tongue to give her an orgasm.  So he had reluctantly tried it and found that, although he still didn’t like it, she got off on it tremendously.  So it had become their intimate routine, her giving him a hand job and him eating her pussy.  He got to finish once and she enjoyed a minimum of two orgasms, usually more. 
After her first nocturnal visit to a ‘friend of a friend’, her nights out became a regular occurrence.  She was away at least three evenings every week.  That kept his mind working overtime, worrying that maybe she was seeing someone other than one of the girls.  Soon she was returning home a bit mussed up, her hair out of place and clothing slightly disarranged.  His nerves were increasingly on edge and the scenes he imagined, between his bride and some faceless lover, became ever more vivid — and extreme.  He couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that his penis was below average size and she might desire something larger.  Maybe that was why she now preferred his mouth.  His concerns gnawed at him day and night.  He considered saying something to her but if he was wrong, if she wasn’t cheating, he would look like a fool and upset her terribly. 
Dave felt himself changing.  He was becoming more involved in their modified sex life.  Having his body pampered that way, by her skilled hands, was addictive.  And even though it still made him feel like less of a man, giving her pleasure orally grew more exciting.  In his mind it gave him a hold on her.  He pictured her imaginary lover giving her vigorous and satisfying sex, but not providing the selfless treat of a long unhurried licking.  He even started to look forward to doing it for her.  Sharon didn’t want it on the nights when she had been out, saying that she was too tired when she got home. 
The drama of not knowing if infidelity was taking place continued.  Whenever they were out he noticed other men glancing at her.  She occasionally made comments about guys she saw on TV, noting that they were ‘well built’ or ‘hot’.  One time they were watching a superhero movie on TV, the one about the Norse god who came down the Earth and fought some menace.  She make a joke about his weapon being a big hammer and that ‘every girl likes a guy with one of those’.  Dave understood that she was referring to the fact that ‘hammer’ could mean a large cock.  Even so, he smiled at her comment.  He was more anxious then ever about not upsetting her.  Perhaps he was afraid that if he did, she would counterattack by saying that she was having an affair.  With a guy who was taller and stronger than him, and who was better endowed.   Where would that leave him?
In an effort to maintain a peaceful relationship, maybe even to reverse or prevent the infidelity he was imagining, Dave became more attentive to her, especially in bed.  He provided her with endless pussy eating.  One night, when she began to use her hand on him, he spontaneously told her he wanted to focus on her pleasure that night.  She didn’t object.  He was thrilled when she had several loud and animated climaxes.  Somehow he thought he had gained a victory.  She told him that postponing his own pleasure had made him do a better job on her, and that she wouldn’t mind more of the same.  So it became normal for him to finish less and less often. 
She also increased the amount of teasing she did.  One trick she came up with was to let him get in the missionary position and put just the tip of his dick against her moist pussy lips.  It was wildly stimulating, especially when she toyed with his nipples at the same time.  But she made a point not to let him finish, complimenting him on how fantastic he had become at lapping her through multiple orgasms, how much he could prolong the act.  Again, even though he had lost something, it felt liked he had gained.  And Sharon continued to go out just as often.  She also expanded her wardrobe with more sexy choices.  His wife would model low cut tops and stretch pants, along with sexy heels, for him.  One pair of the latter had three inch stilettoes and were zebra patterned.  The poses she struck made his dick tingle.  He was in a constant state of frustrated excitement.
One night, after several months of all that, she came home quite disheveled and in an especially mischievous mood.  Her lipstick was smeared and, when she opened her purse to put her keys in it, he thought he saw her panties there.  She suggested that he get naked.  Dave was immediately interested.  He pictured the two of them stripped bare and in bed together.  Maybe it would be like before all this started.  But after he had all his clothes off she was still fully dressed and asked him to get her a glass of wine.  When he reached for his shorts she told him not to bother.  He returned to find her on the bed, still clothed, on her back.  She was wearing a short loose skirt and it was pulled up far enough to bare her full thighs.  His heart jumped at the sight she made.  It was somehow arousing for him, being totally undressed while she was mostly covered.  Thoughts of what she might have been doing earlier filled his mind and his dick pulsed.  She spread her legs slightly, raised her skirt all the way, crooked a forefinger to summon him to her, and then pointed to her slightly parted labia.
Dave obediently got onto the foot of the bed and inched forward, lowering his head toward his goal.  Her slit seemed coated with something.  It struck him that if she had been with a lover, and not cleaned up afterward, he might be looking at someone else’s spunk.  The mental image of another man’s cock, one bigger than his own, inside of her made his heart freeze.  At the same time, however, his penis began to grow.  He told himself it was because he was so close to his wife.  And because she hadn’t let him finish in almost two weeks.  But he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that he was getting hard because of her possible unfaithfulness.  He took a shuddering breath and bent to his duty, starting slowly, the way she had taught him. 
Sharon tasted different.  Saltier.  He sobbed but didn’t halt his tongue.  She purred and told him, “That’s a good boy.  Sweet little husband.  Don’t you dare stop.  Go nice and slow and make it last a long time.  If you do a good enough job, I’ll even use my hand on you.  Maybe let you put the end of your little dick against my precious pussy.  Hmmm?  But I won’t be able to let you finish, sweetheart.  I want you to keep trying extra hard to please me.  Maybe I’ll let you empty your balls later.  Like on your birthday.  Or our anniversary.”  She chuckled.  “We’ll see.”
He gave her several more licks, wondering if he was consuming another man’s ejaculate.  He sucked gently on her stiff clitoris and made her moan.  She writhed her broad hips.  Dave said, “Yes, dear.  Whatever you say.  You’re in charge.”  And he knew that was true… and would continue to be from then on. 
Apr 4


We all want things in life and when it comes to cuckolding, the want sometimes turns into a need. Most men involved in cuckolding relationships want to have their wives to have sex with other men. It doesn’t mean they want their wives to fall in love with other men, it means they want them to have sex with them. Most women involved in cuckolding relationships want to be pleased sexually and fulfill both their and their husband’s sexual fantasy. They want to experience all life has to offer. Once a couple embarks on a cuckolding journey their wants sometimes change. For example, a man may want to suck a cock for his wife or dress in feminine attire. A wife on the other hand may want to spend more time with her lover or act differently for him than for her husband.

This is where the tricky part of wanting comes in. This is where communication comes in. The husband needs to talk to his wife and tell her of his desires to suck cock or wear something feminine while the wife needs to talk to her husband and express her wants also. Sometimes what we want in a cuckolding relationship either isn’t feasible or possible due to the other partner’s objections. This is where the want turns to need. There is a need to communicate honestly and openly about the experiences each of you wish to have and then decide if you’re both on board with it and go from there.

Many times men will express a want only to realize once they start down this road it is something that can’t be done for whatever reason. Same with women in the relationship, they may express they want something at the far end of the spectrum but realize once they think about it the realization probably isn’t a good idea. In cuckolding as in any good relationship, the NEED to communicate is much more important that the WANTS of each party. We need to love each other, cherish the moments we have, so that the things we want can come to fruition.

Apr 2

Tracy’s Plaything…by Throne

Here is an incredibly HOT new story by Throne!!! ENJOY!!!

"Hey, douchebag.  Get your wimpy ass in here," Tracy called impatiently from her favored spot on the large recliner.  She occupied the well upholstered chair like it was her throne.
Her husband Charles came running.  All he had on was a snug t-shirt and jockey shorts, both of them covered with colorful cartoon characters, too tight because she had found them in the boy’s department of a local store.  He stood before her, a short man with a soft body and prematurely thinning blond hair.  She chortled at the foolish sight he made.  In a hushed voice he asked her, “What do you need, dearest?”  His eyes never strayed from her.  Tracy had a broad face framed by long red-brown hair.  Her eyes were large and highlighted by dramatic make-up.  Her nose was snubbed and her lips overly full.  She had the beginning of a double chin.  To him she was gorgeous.
What really kept him addicted to her, however, was her body.  His wife was a big girl, with a massive bust, extra wide hips, a broad protruding bottom, heavy duty thighs, and oversized firm calves.  He gazed at her longingly.  She enjoyed his obvious desire and how she made sure it was thwarted.  Tracy said, “Dick check.  Let’s have a look at that monster between your legs, lover boy.”
He cringed and bit his lower lip but also lowered those shameful shorts in front.  What he revealed was a crotch that was shaved, like the rest of his body, and a penis that was laughably small.  Even though her inspections were a daily humiliation, he still blushed every time.  She grinned and said, “Damn, I can’t get used to how small your baby dick is.”  Tracy was wearing a tight sleeveless top and yoga pants, which showed off her exaggerated curves.  She reached into a family sized bag of potato chips, the kind with barbeque flavoring, and pulled out a handful.  Her chubby hand went to her wide mouth and shoved them carelessly in.  She munched on them, letting crumbs fall down her front.  Charles had to remain where he was, in that disgraceful pose, while she fed herself greedily.  The bag was mostly empty and, after she had grabbed all of the larger remaining chips, she tossed it thoughtlessly onto the carpet, where it joined candy wrappers, soda cans and other discards.
She hadn’t been raised to act that way.  Tracy’s upbringing had been quite proper, with good manners and proper habits at the top of the list.  But ever since she had married Charles, a year and a half before, she had been in open rebellion against every rule she had ever learned.  She was thrilled to be able to forget responsibility and propriety, to make a mess every day, and to let her weight increase.  She had been plump before and always on a diet.  Now she couldn’t care less as she stuffed herself with any sort of junk food she desired.  Charles could only stand by and watch, fascinated by her piggishness, even as he was mesmerized by her looks.  She thought it was delightful to be able to treat their home like a waste can, throwing trash everywhere, and making her weakling husband run around cleaning up after her.
In fact, her greatest pleasure was taking the roles that she had been taught were proper, for the man to do as he pleased and the woman to tidy up after him, and reversing them utterly.  It actually gave her a physical thrill to make her spouse spend his free time straightening up after her, endlessly sweeping and cleaning the household dirt she produced.  As he continued to wait for her orders she snatched up a banana, peeled it deliberately, and began to suck on its considerable length, licking it, almost fellating it.  Charles squirmed with discomfort.  The sexual implications were painful to him.  She would never to that to his immature dick.  But her lover could enjoy the talents of her mouth whenever he pleased.  Between laps at the piece of fruit she said, “You’re starting to leak clean goo.  Go and get that new chastity tube I got you.  It should fit okay because it’s the smallest size they make.”
He was grateful to be allowed to raise the shorts, but not at all happy about what was coming next.  When he returned with the device in his hands, his wife had eaten the banana and, naturally, flung the peel aside.  He approached her reluctantly and held out the curved length of pink plastic.  She said that she didn’t want her hands near his ridiculous little needle prick, so he would have to put it on himself.  Feeling more disgraced than ever, he tugged the shorts down onto his thighs and tried to slip his mini member into the sheath.  As nervous as he was, the job became complicated.  His bride watched with amusement as he gradually got himself into the tight length.  Then she ordered him to lock it.  She had the key, which at the moment was on a slender chain around her neck.  As soon as he was unable to free himself, she summoned him close with a gesture.  He got so near that he was standing between her knees.
She reached out and began to toy with his nipples, which were plainly visible through the clinging shirt.  He moaned in frustration as the stimulation got him aroused and his penis strained against its prison, unable to grow hard.  Tracy kept it up, making lewd suggestions, offering to do things for him that he wanted desperately but knew would never happen.  She taunted him about he was oozing more pre-cum and called him Mr. Dribbles.  Then she declared that if he wasn’t going to take advantage of her generosity, she would perform all those favors for her boyfriend, Hawk.  Charles whimpered with jealousy.  She couldn’t get enough of how much it hurt him to have her cheat.  And she got extra kicks from finding new ways to rub salt in his wounds.  She used one of her sadistically clever ideas now, saying, “Why don’t you call Hawk and invite him over for some hardcore fucking?”
Tracy picked her cell phone off the side table, from among the jumble of food and trashy gossip magazines.  He accepted it meekly, opened it, and found the pre-set to hit.  Holding it up to his ear, he couldn’t stop shifting his feet around.  As he listened to the rings, he hoped desperately that there would be no answer.  Simply leaving a message would be bad enough.  Just his bad luck, Hawk picked up.  His familiar deep tones were so masculine.  “Yeah?  Tracy?”
Charles managed, in a strained voice, “It’s Ch… Chuck.  I… um… I’m calling for my… wife.  She wanted me to ask you… that is… to find out…”
Hawk snorted and said, “What, dipshit?  Does she want me to come over?  Does she need a big cock in her pussy?  She’s always saying how your little dingus could never fill her up.”
The husband suddenly had a dry throat.  He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth.  “Uh, yes Sir.  She was wondering if you could stop around and… and…”
"Fuck her senseless?  Sure.  My pleasure.  But you’ll have to run out and grab me a couple of six packs, Chuck.  Get that imported stuff I like.  Right?"
"Y… y… yes Sir, Mr. Hawkins."  Charles hated himself for being so spineless but he couldn’t help it.  After all, Hawk was taller and much stronger than him, and knew how to fight.  Charles was just a coward who couldn’t even defend himself.  He had been smacked often enough by his wife’s stud to know it was true.  Barely able to form words, he said goodbye and closed the phone, then told is wife that Hawk wanted beer.
"No problem.  I’m sure you’ll be HAPPY to buy it for him.  With all the hours you’ve been working, I know you have lots of money."  What she really knew was that she took almost all of his pay and left him very little for himself.  Most of that he ended up spending on her and her lover.  Tracy went on, "And I’ll be nice and help you get ready to run your errand."
Charles knew what that entailed and wasn’t happy about it.  He wanted to object, to avoid the added shame that she intended to cause, but was too beaten down even to try.  She heaved herself up off the chair, spilling pull-tabs and crumbs off her lap, and headed for their bedroom, with him trailing meekly behind.  Another thing she liked about their marriage was that she never had to feel the slightest guilt about being a bitch and mistreating him.  She thrived on those things, along with her blatant infidelity.  Hell, she didn’t even have to worry about her personal hygiene.  Poor Charles had to lap her pussy on command, even though it was always sweaty and sticky.  It smelled like coffee and bacon and tuna, which made his stomach roll.  And she wanted it tended to by his well trained mouth very often.  Sometimes when he came home from the miserable job she had made him take, a job she had found with help from her lover, cleaning apartment buildings in poor neighborhoods, scrubbing out toilets and emptying bathroom trashcans, she would immediately demand sexual service.  “Let’s go, you useless loser.  I want my pussy eaten.  And I mean right NOW.”  If he was really unlucky, she would want her ass attended to in the same way.
He tried not to think about that or any of the many other unpleasant aspects of his life, as she shoved him down onto a chair in front of her make-up mirror.  Tracy applied just a hint of blush to his cheeks.  She brushed clear polish onto his fingernails and made him blow on it to hasten drying.  As soon as it was no longer wet, she snapped at him to get dressed.  He put on his white jeans, which were too tight and, after he stripped off his juvenile t-shirt, donned a pale blue pullover snug enough to show off his chubby midsection.  Charles had slip-on canvas shoes that were light green.  The effect of everything he wore and the subtle cosmetics and nail polish, was that he looked less than totally masculine.  It wasn’t overly noticeable.  Some people would look right at him and not react.  But there were always a few who spotted those telltale signs and gave him a second glance.  That made it somehow extra unsettling, because he was always hoping to remain anonymous but it never quite worked out that way.
Tracy told him several more items he had to pick up.  Charles could already see the last of his personal money vanishing.  The beleaguered husband went out the side door of their modest home and got into the old compact car he had to drive while his overtime paid for his wife’s much newer and larger model.  He drove unhappily to the liquor store and went inside.  It was one of those cavernous, warehouse-like places, so there was plenty of walking around for him to do and more than a few people to observe him.  And he had to hurry because there was lots of picking up and cleaning to do at home before Hawk arrived.  Not that the confident man would care if those jobs weren’t done.  He was more interested — much more interested — in getting his hands on Tracy.  She loved that she was breaking the first rule of marriage and flaunting it in her husband’s face.  What could be better than violating the vow of faithfulness and making sure Charles was tormented by what she was doing?
He scurried around the spacious store, putting items into the plastic basket he carried.  No one appeared to be aware of his slightly effeminate appearance.  He thought he was going to finally get through one errand without being spied, but it was not to be.  A pretty young woman and her rugged male companion both noticed him at the same time.  The girl leaned closer to her friend and whispered something that made him let out a barking laugh.  Charles’ cheeks grew warm.  He tried to hurry away but the noise had drawn more unwanted attention to him, and now two guys in denim and leather, a couple of tough bruisers, were eyeing him as well.  He felt trapped and stood there with his insides squirming.  Charles took a tentative step in one direction, retreated, and then tried going the opposite way.  But he was penned in and began to quake as four sets of eyes examined him.  At last the guy and gal laughed and walked away.  The two men shook their heads in disgust and also left him alone.  Feeling queasy, he took his purchases and walked unsteadily to the checkout.  The cute girl behind the counter also gave him a second look, turned off by his oddly gender-mixed appearance.  He paid and hurried out of there.
Back at home he put away his purchases and prepared for the arrival of his wife’s lover.  He had gotten behind AGAIN on cleaning up after his slovenly wife.  There were used tissues, napkins and paper towels everywhere, along with aluminum cans, plastic bottles, and separate lids.  He picked up packaging from snack foods and paper plates full of scraps.  He found a pair of her panties behind a chair and a single sock alongside the sofa.  Where was that sock’s mate?  If it turned up later, she might get angry that he hadn’t retrieved it along with its partner, and that might lead to some punishment.  One time she had added a week to his time locked in chastity, just because he neglected to locate a half eaten chocolate she had decided she didn’t like and then spit out and kicked under their bed.  He was in a frenzy of worry and haste as he rushed around trying to get rid of everything she had strewn about.  There was a drinking glass in one spot, a plate in another, and a fork somewhere else, all of which he gathered up and put into the kitchen sink.  He found bread crusts on the counter and an empty cake box on the table.
He was fairly sure he had gotten it all when the front door opened.  Of course, Hawk had his own key.  Charles hurried to greet him.  The big man looked at his victim with scorn as he slipped out of his leather jacket and tossed it to the hapless husband.  Charles caught it clumsily and stood there, mouth not quite closed.  Hawk sneered and told him, “You are a complete loser, Chucky.  You’re below other losers.  Regular losers look down on you.  You’re a double loser.”  The frightened husband could only agree, “Yes, Sir.  You’re right.  That’s exactly what I am.”  He hated having to identify himself that way, but anything was better than the risk of making Hawk lose his temper.  It was almost a relief when Tracy appeared and went straight to her lover.  She had on a snug top with no bra underneath, skintight slacks, and hooker heels.  With her breasts shifting around inside that top she opened her arms to Hawk, who embraced her.  She turned her face up to him and he kissed her hard, keeping his lips on hers as he ground his hips against her pelvis.  Charles stood there with a forlorn expression, his hands useless at his sides.
Tracy darted an angry look at her husband and snarled, “Get my man a beer, you idiot.  Move your worthless ass.”
Charles hurried off.  When he returned with an unopened can, being careful not to shake it up, they were in the den.  Hawk was sitting on the sofa with the TV remote while Tracy leaned against him, rubbing her hand across his shirtfront, feeling his firmly muscled chest.  She cooed to him and nuzzled the side of his neck while he found something to watch on a sports channel.  Tracy told Hawk, “I hope you’re not too tired, baby.  I know how hard you work.”  Charles had heard her talk like that before, even though her bed partner didn’t go to his job unless he felt like it.  Charles’ money was supporting the man who was screwing his wife.  He approached them meekly, the cold can held out in front of him like a peace offering, his hand shaking only a bit.  Tracy said, “Go on, Chucky.  Give it to him.  Can’t you do anything right?”  As Charles passed the drink to Hawk, Tracy resumed talking to the big man, telling him, “I honestly don’t think my halfwit husband understands the value of hard work.  I keep getting complaints from the superintendents of the buildings he cleans.”
"Hey," Hawk said angrily.  "I helped the jerk get that job.  He’s going to make ME look bad."
"Right," Tracy agreed, breathing harder.  "Maybe you should do something to get him back into line.  Maybe you should smack him around a little.  Or a lot."
He cursed and said, “I’m comfortable, dammit.  And the game’s getting ready to start.”
"Yeah, well, you can take care of Chucky real quick.  It won’t take long.  Come on, lover.  For me?"
He laughed and told her, “I bet you’re getting wet just thinking about me hurting your lost-cause-of-a-husband.”
She purred and assured him, “You know I am.  But the wetter I get now, the more fun you’ll have later.”  She licked his ear.
He got up and undid his wide leather belt, pulled it off,  doubled it up.  At Charles he barked, “You heard her, wimp.  She’s unhappy with you and I’m going to take it out on your sorry ass.  Drop your drawers, wussy.”
Charles opened those tight white jeans.  He had trouble pushing them down his legs.  Down went his embarrassing shorts.  He worked the pullover top up, exposing his soft midsection.  Tracy laughed and made fun of his tiny genitals and the fact that his dick was caged.  Hawk smacked the folded belt against his palm and ordered Charles to bend over and grab the edge of the coffee table.  That left the frightened husband in an awkward position, looking straight at his sadistically stimulated wife.  She pulled up her top, exposing her heavy boobs, and said, “Hey, Chucky.  Look what you’re not getting.  These are for Hawk only.”  In a tender voice she said to the man about to hurt her husband, “Isn’t that right, darling?”
"You know it, Trace.  Your sissy husband sure doesn’t deserve those big fat tits.  He wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway."
She blew a kiss to Charles and said, “Say goodbye to being able to sit down for the next 24 hours.”
He started to open his mouth but before he could say a word, Hawk’s belt struck.  It cracked hard against his ass and he howled.  An instant later it fell again.  And again and again.  Charles gripped the edge of the low table and wailed while his bare cheeks were beaten mercilessly.  Tracy watched with bright eyes, hungrily taking in the agony on his face, thrilling to the sounds of his screams.  Hawk didn’t stop until the poor husband’s sitter was thoroughly beaten, red and swollen.  He shoved the belt into Charles’ mouth lengthwise and told him to bite down on it, but not hard.  With the ends dangling, the beaten man held it there.  Seeing how aroused Tracy had become, Hawk grabbed Charles’ hair and yanked him upright.  Then he pushed him down onto his knees and told him, “You can follow us to the bedroom on your hands and knees, freak.”
Not bothering to cover her bust, Tracy got up and crouched in front of Charles.  His eyes were swimming with tears as he looked longingly at the body that was denied to him.  His wife grinned evilly and said, “Sucks to be you.  Doesn’t it?”
Then she stood and wagged her wide backside at him, giving him another reminder of what he was denied.  Hawk went to her, gave her a deep kiss, and led her toward the bedroom.  Her spouse crawled behind them, his buttocks blazing, the taste of leather in his mouth.  They stripped and got onto the bed with Charles staying on hands and knees, raising his head to watch, even though he didn’t want to see what was about to happen, but unable to turn away.  Tracy told Hawk how manly he was and how much she wanted his big cock.  She spread her legs lewdly, even as she murmured invitations and professed her love.  Charles’ head was spinning.  His wife said, “Hey Chucky, watch how a real man, with a real prick, takes care of your wife.  You’re nothing but a cuckold.  Chuck the cuck.  Chucky the cucky.”  She laughed but her merriment was silenced as Hawk gave her another penetrating kiss.  Then he put the thick head of his impressive penis against her wet pussy and began to push.  With him still kissing her, she moaned loudly, the sound rising as he sank himself into her.  Then he broke the kiss and began to pump in earnest.  She wrapped her legs around him and encouraged him to ride her hard.
They kept at it for nearly an hour, changing positions, talking dirty to each other, and heaping insults on Charles.  She kept telling her lover how wonderful he was.  At last it was over.  They lay side-by-side until they caught their breath, which was when Hawk said, “Hey, sissy boy.  Get up here and eat your wife’s pussy.  I dumped a monster load in there and it needs to be cleaned up.”
He had never required that before.  Charles felt sick.  He numbly let the belt fall from his lips, then thought better of it and retrieved it to set it neatly on a chair.  Telling himself they wouldn’t make him go through with the unthinkably demeaning act, he got slowly onto the foot of the bed.  His wife’s vagina was oozing thick white cream.  Charles’ throat clenched.  He brought his face so close to her body that he could smell the usual unpleasantness of her pussy, overlaid with the saltiness of his spunk.  He extended his tongue reluctantly and got his first taste.  Then, by reflex born of frequent practice, he began to lick.  Soon he was scooping up the mess, taking it into his mouth, and swallowing it.  He had to thoroughly clean her, at the same time getting her excited all over again, as much from the action of his busy tongue as from how intensely she enjoyed the humiliation he was suffering.  Hawk rolled onto his side and kissed her firmly, his lips on her mouth while Charles’ were on her used slit.  Hawk grabbed one of her tits.  Charles saw that and groaned, but kept licking.  Soon she came — hard and long.
Tracy sighed and said, “Just when I thought my husband couldn’t sink any lower, you turn him into a cum eater.  Jeez, Hawk, you’re the best.”  She snuggled against him and said sleepily to her spouse, “Hey, Chucky, don’t wash out your mouth or anything.  I want you to taste that for a long time.  When do you have to be back on the job?”
In a small powerless voice he told her, “I have eight hours.  I can get some sleep and then…”
She told him coldly, “You can drive over to Hawk’s place and clean his apartment.  That should take you about four hours.  Plus travel to there and back here.  That’s another hour.  Then you can start work early to make it up to your bosses for slacking off before.  Right?”
He wanted to tell her that the complaints had been unfair.  He wanted to beg for time to rest.  He was exhausted.  His rump was throbbing with pain from the beating.  And the residents of those buildings were beginning to yell at him and insult him.  One of them had mentioned Hawk’s name, so Charles was pretty sure their new attitude was caused by his nemesis.  But what could he do?  His wife delighted in mistreating him.  The worse it was, the better she liked it.  And Hawk thought it was fun to push him around.  Plus, the big man doing that in front of Tracy got her hot, which worked in Hawk’s favor.  Charles felt doomed, with no way out.  Even so, he held onto the irrational hope that his super-sexy bride would someday relent and let him play the role of a real husband again.  Part of him knew it would never happen but he couldn’t stop hanging onto the dream.  He got out of bed and told her, “Yes, dear.  That’s a good plan, dear.  I’ll make sure you don’t get anymore complaints.”  And then, as if any of this was his fault, he added, “I’m sorry, dear.”
She told him accusingly, “You should be, you dumb piece of shit.  Now get your pants back on so I don’t have to look at that poor excuse for a dick.  Maybe I’ll just keep it locked up for good.  And get moving.  You can do his laundry, too.  And then call here and we’ll let you know what he needs from the store.”  She turned her face toward Hawk and whispered, “I’m sorry you had to hear that, babe.  He’s just hopeless sometimes.  Most of the time, really.  Thanks for tanning his ass.  I owe you an extra special blow job for that.”  She chuckled devilishly.  “And more of the same every time you put him in his place.”
"No problem, Trace.  I’ll just get tough on him whenever I’m here.  That way he’ll think before he gives you any trouble."
She kissed him sweetly on the cheek and said, “You’re the best, Hawk.  I love you, honey.”
Those words stung Charles as he left the room, hurrying already so he could accomplish everything that was expected of him.  Shopping for the big man would use up the last of Charles’ money.  The prospect of possibly getting assaulted by Hawk whenever he visited, which was a minimum of three times a week, made his stomach roll over.  With the taste of his cheating wife’s fluids and the tough man’s cum in his mouth, Charles found his shoes, put them on, grabbed some cleaning supplies, and rushed to his car.
Shortly after the belt whipping, Tracy had declared that she was, indeed, keeping her spouse in that tight chastity tube, saying she didn’t want him playing with his little pee pee.  He hadn’t touched himself before he was put into it, which made the extension of his celibacy even more unfair.   This new indignity made him question his devotion to her and yet, when he watched her strut around in just a skimpy top, her big ass and heavy thighs on display, he fell under her spell once more.  She knew how susceptible he was to seeing her half dressed, her generous curves shown off, and made sure he got plenty of it.  Tracy found it amusing to work on his mind that way.  She liked to draw him back in and then nearly destroy him with more of her calculated cruelty.  And she never tired of having Hawk abuse him.  Now, as he raced around picking up her usual trail of trash, Charles was especially aware of the chastity he wore.  All he had on was a pink sleeveless top which his wife had gotten decorated with the words MAN OF THE HOUSE and a picture of a pansy.
She hollered for him and he went running, his imprisoned dick bobbing.  When he arrived in the living room, where she was sprawled on the sofa in just a baby doll nightie with no panties, he froze.  Tracy was, to him, a goddess.  He felt weak, not just because he had been working 14 hour days, but because he was overcome by his need for her, if not to be her loving husband, at least to be near her.  She said with a sneer in her voice, “Come here… MAN.”
He went to her shyly and stood there, embarrassed as usual.  It was a feeling he couldn’t control.  She sat up and tossed aside an empty cookie package, which he would have to be sure to pick up later.  Tracy moved her knees apart, creating a space, and signaled him with a bent finger to move closer.  He stepped between her legs, aware of how close he was to her, to her desirable body.  She reached up and put her hands close to his nipples, extended her fingers.  Ever since she had put him into chastity she had been teasing him physically, getting him excited, even though he couldn’t achieve an erection while he was locked up.  Instead he experienced terrible frustration and was left with aching balls.  She toyed with his nipples now, making him squirm, making him produce high-pitched moans.  He rubbed his knees together and bit his lips.  At the same time he was grateful for her touch.  With no normal sex life, he had come more and more to look forward to these one-sided encounters.  He gazed down at her amazing breasts, visible through the filmy lingerie, and whimpered with need.  Tracy spotted how he was leaking pre-cum, as usual, and tormented him about being Mr. Dribbles.  She continued tantalizing him until he felt ready to swoon, then stopped abruptly and announced, “By the way, Hawk is stopping over.  He should be here real soon.  Turn down the bed and fluff up our pillows.”
Intoxicated by what he had just gone through, Charles went to the bedroom to follow her orders.  As he folded back the covers and plumped the pillows he was painfully aware of what he was prepping the bed for.  His wife appeared and threw herself onto the mattress.  She rolled over, which showed off her magnificent rump, twin hills of pink-white with a shadowed valley between them.  She made her husband fetch his pillow, from the cot where he usually slept, in the corner of the room, and told him, “Put it under my hips, chastity boy.”  She raised her pelvis only slightly, to make it less easy for him to fit the pillow under her.  Next she spread her plump thighs nice and wide.  He gazed at her revealed vulva and licked his lips.  Did she want him to get her wet, to lick her so Hawk’s fat cock would slip inside more easily?  Instead of that, she ordered him to, “Get your face between my ass cheeks and show my butthole how much you love it.  Give it some nice long, DEEP kisses.  Do it now.”  
Filled with both revulsion and eagerness, but with the latter dominating, he moved to do what she had been demanding more and more often.  Tracy was conditioning him to worship her broad bottom.  With no proper outlet for his sex drive he was becoming more and more focused on eating her pussy and especially showing devotion to her rear.  He put his eager hands on her soft hips and wedged his face into the humid divide between those hemispheres, inhaled her earthy scent, and began by taking long licks up and down the length of her crack.  She purred and gave her sitter a wiggle to show approval.  His heart soared at that hint of praise.  This was something Hawk wouldn’t do for her.  Charles felt it was a way for him to prove his worth.  He had lost sight of how much he was demeaning himself.  As he ran the tip of his tongue around her tight pucker he experienced something like pride.  When he pushed inside her and she pressed back against his captive face it was almost like she was returning the unnatural kiss.  At least, it was that way to him.  He was so drunk on his need for her, his desperation to please her, that he doubled his efforts, switching back and forth between the three techniques.
About ten minutes later he was startled to hear Hawk’s voice saying, “I like that.  You get your ass pampered and nobody has to look at your geeky husband’s face.”  The lovers laughed.  Charles felt the mattress shift as Hawk got on the side of the bed and then heard the distinctive sound of the two of them kissing wetly.  Hawk was kissing her on the mouth while Charles smooched her asshole.  The indignity of his role rushed back at the servile husband.  He was disgusted with himself.  Even so, he remained addicted to his wife’s body and to satisfying her.   He slowed his efforts only for a moment and then resumed them with full enthusiasm.  She rolled onto her side and he moved with her to keep his features buried in her perspiring ass crack.
She told Hawk adoringly, “I love it when you mess with my tits.  Maybe you should get your monster cock between them tonight.  It’s so cool that it’s big enough that I can suck it while you do that.”  She giggled and then was silenced by more kissing.
The horny man told her, “Maybe later.  Right now I want to stuff you full.”
Tracy made a swooning sound and moved onto her back.  Charles managed to stay with her, so that now his face was pinned under her impressively large backside.  He was nearly smothered as she sat up and spread her legs to stay balanced on her human throne.  Tracy bounced up and down a few times, riding his extended tongue.  He sucked in what little air he could but didn’t stop giving her what she wanted.  Hawk played with her tits and talked dirty to her for a few more minutes before she slid off her husband, whose face was red and sweaty.  Hawk yanked him hard, off the bed, and let him fall to the floor.  By the time Charles struggled to his knees, the couple was already screwing.  The rough man slammed into her, driving himself in to his heavy balls.  The cuckold could only kneel there and gape at yet another stellar performance by the stud.  The wife moaned and bucked under her man.  It went on for over a half hour before she had a quaking climax and then, minutes later, the two of them orgasmed together.  Even though he had seen it before, Charles was stunned.  He was overcome by a sense of inadequacy.
"Clean up time, pussy face," Tracy called.  "Get that tongue up here, Mr. Dribbles."
Charles assumed the familiar position, staring at his wife’s overfilled pussy, watching cum leak slowly from between her fleshy nether lips.  He dipped his head down and began lapping and swallowing, giving her clit a few sucks because he knew she liked that.  The lovers kissed and exchanged a few warm words while he performed his humiliating task.  When he was done, his bride told him to get off the bed and stand where they could see him.
Hawk sat with his back against the headboard and fixed Charles with a hard look.  “All right, Chuck the Cuck.  Time for you to entertain us.  How about a song and dance?  Listen up, idiot.”  The husband stood shakily, extra ashamed to be seen in his pink chastity tube.  Hawk instructed, “Hands on hips.  Elbows back.  Feet apart but not too far.  Now roll those hips and sway that sissy bottom.  Turn around slowly while you do it.”  The couple in the bed laughed at the foolish picture Charles made.  Next Hawk said, “Here’s what you’re going to sing.  Make it… ‘Yummy, yummy, yummy, I love his cummy.  It’s in my tummy.  Yummy, yummy, yummy.”  Blushing furiously, Charles began to awful lyrics, keeping his voice higher than usual.  Tracy said he had to sing and dance at the same time.  She also wanted him to improvise some more words.  Hawk warned him, “Or I could get my belt.”  Ever since that thrashing, Charles had been horribly afraid of a repeat of the punishment.  The threat of it kept him docile and pathetically ready to please.  It was a great technique for mind control.
The sad-faced husband resumed dancing.  And singing.  “Yummy, yummy, yummy, I love his cummy.  It’s in my tummy.  Yummy, yummy, yummy.”  He paused, thinking frantically of something different to sing.  He went on, “It’s salty and creamy.  I think it’s… dreamy.  Hawk’s cum is so good to eat.”  That triggered more laughter.  They kept him at it, with Charles struggling to invent fresh lyrics as he went.  “Cum is so tasty.  None goes to waste-y.  I love to feel it on my tongue.”  He realized how tired he was from all the hours he had been working at his strenuous job.  The landlords had been making him scrub out huge trashcans, ones so big he could climb inside them.  It was a fool’s errand because they would immediately start getting filled with waste again.  And Hawk had cut the arms and legs on his drab green coveralls short, to make him look ridiculous.  He had worn that pair for three days.  The next pair, Tracy’s lover had told him, would be pink.  What ELSE could they do to him?
They were in the den when Tracy asked Hawk, her voice innocent, “Gee, baby, how long has it been since we’ve had ass-face out of his chastity?  Like a week?  Or ten days?”  Hawk feigned thoughtfulness and concern.  He shook his head as if the answer eluded him.  She turned to Charles and asked him, “How long HAS it been since you got to empty your tiny balls, chastity boy?”
He groaned and admitted, “It’s been two months.”
"Well," Hawk said seriously, "we have to do something about that.  Wouldn’t want the twerp to suffer."
With a chuckle Tracy said, “Too late for that.  But I’m feeling sorry for him.  I want to show him how much I care.  So…”
She went to Charles, who was wearing nothing except panties, ones with an open crotch through which his tubed penis protruded.  She kissed the air an inch from his mouth, blew into his ears, ran her hands up and down his body, licked the tips of her forefingers and used them to stimulate his nipples.  Through it all he whimpered with need and twisted around without moving his feet.  She murmured to him, “Poor baby.  Does him want to cum.  Does baby Chucky want to get some relief for his sore balls?”  He sniffled and nodded his head.  Just being so close to her was driving him mad.  The things she was doing made him feel faint.   His imprisoned penis fought futilely to break free.  He tried to speak but couldn’t form words.  Instead he just made sad gasping sounds.  “Well, then,” his wife continued, “we’ll just have to take you out of that nasty pink tube and find some fun and exciting way to get you off.  Would Chucky like that?  Hmmm?”  He blinked back tears and nodded again.
Tracy had the key to his chastity on an ankle bracelet.  She told him to get down on the floor, on his belly, and remove the key.  Then he had to reach it up so she could take it.  She used the toe of her high heel to tease his ear, his neck, his lips.  He kissed the leather gratefully.  The past weeks had brought him very low.  Now he was allowed to stand and she tried the key, pretending to have difficulty making it work.  He got nervous, thinking that after all his waiting she wouldn’t be able to free him.  But then she laughed softly, undid the lock, removed it, and slipped the tube off his member.  He breathed a sigh of relief and his organ rose to its full unimpressive size.  They snickered and made a few jokes but he barely cared.  He was finally going to unburden his testicles.
His wife said, “So the only question is… exactly how are we going to get that icky old sperm out of you?  Why don’t you lie down on your back while we decide?”  Not sure what she intended, starting to feel nervous, he did as she suggested.  After a moment of pretending to think, she went on, “And how about if you get your legs up… way up… and throw them back so your knees come down on either side of your head.  Good baby boy.  You’re so limber.  While you’re waiting for me to make my final decision, you can play with your little dingus.  Just so you don’t get out of the mood.  There’s a good cucky.”  She rubbed her chin as he began his awkward task.  “Be careful,” she advised.  Your dinky is aimed right at your face.  Just to be safe, in case you have an accident, open your mouth nice and wide.  That’s right.  So if you get carried away and squirt, it won’t get on the rug.  It will go straight into your mouth.  The way you’re always eating Hawk’s spooge out of my pussy, I’d guess you’ve developed quite a taste for the white stuff.”  Her tone grew serious as she said, “Isn’t that right?”
He knew better than to disagree with her.  Still stroking himself, he muttered, “Yes, dear.  I won’t make a mess… on the carpet.”
"You mean you might make a mess… but somewhere else?  Like between your sissy lips?  Is that what you’re trying to tell me?  Or would you rather just go back into your teeny tiny tube?"
Both alternative were awful but it had been SO long since he had cum.  He made a tormented snuffling sound and whispered, “That’s what I’m saying.  Yes.  I want to finish…”  He gagged slightly.  “…in my own mouth.”
"Of course in your own mouth.  What woman would want such a miserable little white worm in HER mouth?  I mean, I don’t think even one of your sissy sisters would want to suck on such a useless thing.  So all right.  Because it’s what YOU want, Chucky, you may shoot your shot onto your tongue.  Maybe a little on your quivering lips.  Even onto your pretty pink cheeks.  Go on, stud.  Wank yourself all the way, take it over the top, do it now or lose your chance."
As much as he didn’t want it to happen that way, anything was better than waiting for another day.  Or week.  Or month.  He pumped his fist furiously and opened his mouth even wider, moaning deep in his throat.  Tracy got down on one knee for a better look.  Her magnificent body was so close.  He could smell her scent, the slightly fishy smell of her unwashed pussy, which he had been conditioned to respond to.  He detected the odor of her ass.  His lust rocketed and he felt his balls contract.  He wanted to shut his mouth but knew it would earn him some terrible punishment.  He spurted one jet, followed by a weaker second one, and then a feeble last ejaculation.  Everything went against the roof of his gaping mouth and onto his tongue, except for a small portion that hit his upper lip, right under his nostrils, so he could smell it and taste it at the same time.  The watchers erupted in fresh laughter, hugged each other, and exchanged a victory kiss.  They had made him wait so long and then spoiled his release by making him accomplish it in such a degrading fashion.  And they were fully aware of what they had accomplished.

Charles began sobbing as his spunk ran down the back of his throat.  Hawk snarled at him to get onto his feet and Tracy hurried to replace the chastity device.  He’d had his moment of almost-pleasure and was unmanned again.  The couple sat on the sofa and shared several deep kisses while Charles stood there, spent, in his shameful panties, wishing he could vanish from their mocking stares.  “You know,” Hawk offered, “that was pretty damned funny.  What we have to do now — after he’s had at least a week to think about it — is to come up with more ways to make him cum without really enjoying it.”
"Right," Tracy agreed.  "Like… maybe… having him squirt between my butt cheeks and then get his face all the way in there to lick up the mess."  They agreed that that would be fun to see.  She thought a few more moments and came up with, "We could get something he really likes to eat, like those wimpy ginger cookies, the really thin ones.  You know, the kind we haven’t let him have any of for so long.  He could lose his cream on a few of those and then have to eat them real slowly."
"Cool," Hawk approved.  "And the whole time he could be telling us how much he loves it.  Sort of like when he has to sing his ‘Cummy’ song."  Tracy gave him a thank you kiss for such a good idea.  It turned into a thank you blow job.  She paused for a few seconds to order Charles onto his back once more.  After Hawk blasted out one of his huge loads she didn’t swallow, instead leaning over Charles, who was gazing up at her desirable body, making him open wide, and letting it all run out of her mouth and into his, followed by several helpings of spit that contained any she had missed the first time.  Her husband choked but got it all down.
They were looking forward to all the nasty ways they could make him cum and clean up his goo.  It would make the endless nightmare of his life even worse.  At the same time, Tracy made a mental note to give him some scrap of hope to cling to, to build upon, so that he could regain enough pride that, when they took it away from him, he would suffer new disgrace.  Yes, she decided, with Hawk helping she could keep her spouse in an endless cycle of brief periods of optimism, contrasted with much longer spells of suffering and debased servitude.  She was getting excited just thinking about it.  And how, she wondered, was her husband feeling about his irreversible fate?


Sometimes in life the simplest things are the most intricate and beautiful. It’s because of their simplicity that the majority of people overlook them as being mundane or ordinary. It’s only until you try to replicate or duplicate something so simple that you find out exactly how intricate and difficult it is to accomplish. Cuckolding is like that. It can be simple or it can be complicated, but it’s in the simplicity that makes it successful. Too many blogs and articles written about cuckolding want to make it more difficult than it really is or has to be for that matter.

People running around hiding, cheating with their own agendas make things much more complicated than they have to be. Something as simple as honest and open communication can make the difference between night and day in not only a regular marriage but a cuckolding one. If you break it down the most basic ingredients, you have a man and a woman who deeply love each other and are excited by a lifestyle where the female gets to experience the ultimate in passion by having a lover and a husband. It’s not complicated it’s pretty simple. The husband accepts, encourages and loves his wife with all his heart and soul. In turn she loves him so much that she understands and embraces the fact that his devotion to her exceeds anything she has ever known in her life. All he wants is her happiness. Pretty simple.

Move on to the lifestyle itself and it becomes pretty simple. Establish some ground rules through open and honest communication and you will be amazed at the result. Simple things like your wife wearing a little revealing outfit when the two of you go out to attract men. Simple things like showing your subservience and submissiveness with simple gestures in public. Knowing that the both of you are always on the same page simplifies things immensely. Knowing the buttons on each other to push that drives the passion to new heights while always keeping things simple is the key. Men are very simple creatures, we are visually stimulated and love sex. That’s pretty much it. You don’t have to be some gorgeous model, if we’re with you already in a relationship, we love you and want to be there and are content with your body style. Don’t assume we want something other than what we already have which is you! Women although a little more complicated than the male species can be viewed in a simplistic way also. She wants you to be there for her emotionally and physically and by physically it doesn’t mean YOU have to physically satisfy her on your own, it may take some help and that’s where the cuckolding comes in.

So remember the old adage as you go along in this cuckolding lifestyle: KISS – Keep It Simple Stupid!

A New Story by Throne

Tammy and Ronette (formerly Tommy and Ron) were herded into the garage by their wives, Jane and Kate.  The husbands looked rather alike, with their short stature, slender bodies, and absolute lack of any hair below their eyebrows, which were subtly shaped by careful plucking.  They also both had longish hair, nearly collar length, and conservative but noticeable touches of make-up.  Both of them wore hints of eye shadow and a coating of lip gloss, the latter in a shade called Titty Pink.
As if that wasn’t enough to humiliate them, there were their clothes.  They each had on a snug sleeveless top that might have been meant for a man… or a woman.  Worse, they were wearing tights that hugged their legs and outlined their cherubic bottom cheeks.  On their feet were bright slip-ons.  Each carried a colorful change purse.
Tammy looked at Jane and said, remembering to keep his voice high and soft, “Pleeese, dear, don’t make us go out like this.”
"Yes," Ronette seconded, "not where people will see us."
"Now girls," Jane said reasonably, "it’s just a little shopping trip."
"That’s right," Kate agreed.  "You should be proud of what total sissies you two have become."
"B… but…" Tammy managed to get out, sounding ready to cry.  "All we wanted… was to dress up… a little bit… at home."
"Too bad," his wife told him firmly.  "You started it and we’re taking it the rest of the way.  After all, if you want to play fashion games, why not do the job right?"
Kate picked up the thread with, “Anyway, since the two of you fairies have tiny dicks and empty your little balls before you get all the way into a pussy, you don’t deserve hot wives like us.  At least not as bed partners.  Now, as your Mistresses, we’re perfect.  Don’t the pair of you think so?”
Defeated, as they always were when they tried to stand up for themselves, the peculiar looking men let their heads hang down and mumbled in unison, “Yes, Mistress.”
"Well then," she went on with a grin, "into the car and let’s get to where we’re going."
The husbands wanted to ask where that would be, but by then they had given up trying to assert themselves.  And their brides were, as Kate had pointed out, hot wives.  Both of the females were taller than their spouses and boasted voluptuous figures, shapely limbs, and long hair.  They had cute youthful faces, as innocent as their bodies were seductive.  Men couldn’t keep from staring at them, so whenever they went out with their husbands, Tommy and Ron were painfully aware of all the attention their wives attracted.  But usually, when they left the house, T and R were in male outfits.  This was a first for them, being outside in their sissy identities, and they were consumed by fear of being seen.
Once the guys were in the back seat, each sitting with knees together and hands on laps, the way they had been taught, Jane raised the automatic garage door and drove into the night.  She and Kate chatted about several of their favorite male movie stars, speculating on how large their cocks might be and what expert lovers they probably would be in bed.  T and R squirmed with discomfort.  They suspected that it would only be a matter of time before their wives began to cheat on them.  The guys peered out the windows, trying to figure out where they were headed.  Jane got onto a highway and headed for a nearby consumer hub where several shopping centers surrounded a major mall.  She reached that area and pulled off the main artery, into the lot of… Mall Mart, that huge store that carries a wide variety of merchandise.
After she parked, the women got out and waited for their husbands.  Reluctantly, the sissified pair revealed themselves.  They meekly followed their wives to the well lit entrance, where they drew curious glances.  As soon as they were inside, the wives stopped and faced them.
"Now," Jane said, "there’s some money in each of your little purses for the items you’re going to buy."
"And," Kate added, "a list of what you have to get."
"So," Jane concluded, "we’ll be browsing a few departments and you can meet us near the check-out in about… an hour."
The husbands gaped at each other.  They had to be out in public for an entire sixty minutes?  They turned pleading eyes to their wives, who merely snickered and strolled away from them.  Feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable, the sissies hesitantly opened their small purses and fished out the lists.
Tammy moaned and whispered, “I have to buy LIPSTICK.”
Ronette whimpered and told him softly, “You think that’s bad?  My list starts with… a feminine hygiene product.”
Dazed by what they were being put through, they nevertheless had to get busy.  There were a half dozen items on each list and a quick comparison showed them that there were no duplications.  Plus, notes at the bottom told them, they had to make their selections in the order they were listed, taking turns.  Without working out the details, they were pretty sure the lists were arranged to keep them going back and forth, traversing the length and width of the vast store over and over.
As they set out, trying to spot the cosmetics counter, they passed a couple of tough looking young men in T-shirts and worn jeans, who sneered at them and shook their heads in disgust.  Without thinking, Ronette clutched Tammy’s arm, but Tammy shook free of him, hissing, “Don’t make it worse.”
Their lists included panties, perfume, earrings, hair products, and nothing that a man would purchase for himself… unless he was a sissy.  It was going to be a long hour.
Their wives called them Gina and Jen, never using their male names when they were at either of their homes.  And those houses belonged to the wives, because after they had begun turning their husbands into complete sissy slaves, they insisted on having everything put into their names solely.  Now it was a date night, and the women’s lovers were soon to arrive.  As usual, Gina and Jen would spend the evening serving the hostesses and their guests, first in the den where the foursome would talk, drink, and eat.  Later, the action would move to the bedrooms, where the two pairs would enjoy each others’ bodies.  That was the worst part of the evening for the husbands, though at least they had gotten used to seeing their sensual brides being ravaged, each by her handsome and capable man.
The women made a final check of their shy sissies.  Gina and Jen were dressed as schoolgirls this time, with white blouses that had red neck-scarves, short plaid skirts held up with wide black belts, and pantyhose.  On their feet were Mary Janes with two inch heels.  The husbands had short hair but it had been fussed with and now looked distinctly girlish.  There were a few strokes of liner on their eyes and pale lipstick on their mouths.  They didn’t look like real girls, but like sissies trying to resemble them.
All too soon there was a loud knock on the door and the feminized pair had to scurry to answer it.  Blushing furiously, Gina opened the door.  Similarly pink-faced, Jen stood slightly behind her.  They stepped back and curtsied, holding the hems of their much-too-brief skirts, lifting them extra high to reveal their cute pink panties with tiny bows sewn onto the fronts.  The undergarments showed off how undersized their penises were.  The new arrivals were tall and broad-shouldered, with visible beard shadows.  They wore casual clothes that emphasized their maleness.  One of them snapped an order for beers and the other barked at the husbands to move fast if they didn’t want their ‘candy asses’ smacked.
In the den the wives and lovers sat, hands on each others’ thighs, lips frequently meeting, while they snapped at the husbands, threatened them, and made jokes at their expense.  That went on for about two hours and then it was time to move to the main bedroom and the guest bedroom, except that this time everyone went to the larger space.  Gina and Jen were immediately nervous.  Any change in routine tended to mean trouble for them.  When they got there one of the guys wanted to know if something he had brought last time was around.  It was in the hall closet and Gina was sent to fetch it.  When he returned with a paper bag in his hand, his unease had risen even higher.  The bag turned out to contain two rubber balls with little bumps all over them.  They were hollow but made of very thick material, and had a hole the size of a nickel on either side.  They were dog toys and the dates stuffed them into the mouths of the husbands, getting them wedged behind their teeth.
Also in the bag were two rolls of duct tape, the kind with bright designs on it.  One was pink with red hearts and the other yellow with blue flowers.  They used this to tape over the balls so that they couldn’t possibly be pushed out.  They were careful not to cover the air holes.  Then they took short, pre-cut lengths of rope, narrow like clothesline, from the bottom of the bag and began to bind the sissies.  When they were done, Gina and Jen were pressed together, their narrow hairless chests tight against each other, their hands behind each others’ back, and stuck that way.  Both of them had their faces turned toward the wide bed.
The men told the wives to go to their spouses and pinch their butts.  Hard.  Not quite sure what was happening, but liking the idea of hurting their husbands in front of their lovers, they did it.  Gina and Jen both made muffled sounds of pain, while came through the hollow dog balls.  Next came the big surprise of the evening, when one of the big men suggested, “How about if we switch partners this time?”  The wives appeared uncertain at first but then their husbands tried desperately to protest, their dismay signaled by emotional vocalizations coming through their clever gags.  That made the decision easy for the brides.  Giving their sissy spouses so much added distress delighted them.  Just hearing how they were carrying on, and how helpless they were to express themselves, was a turn-on.
"Damn," said one of the women.  "My pussy is getting wet just thinking about how stressed this will make our sissies."
"Really," said the other.  "My nipples are hard from hearing those two wimps make sad noises."
The cuckolding females began to undress their borrowed lovers, who returned the favor, all of them freely exploring their partners bodies with their hands.  And mouths.  Seeing their wives with new bed mates drove the sissies crazy.  They strained futilely at their bonds and kept up their useless noise-making, all of which got the couples hornier.  Soon one pair was on the bed, demonstrating inventive foreplay.  The other wife was on her knees, worshipping a king-sized cock with her hands and mouth, licking balls, and reaching up to massage a muscular chest.  The copulating began, the pair on the bed in the missionary position and the one on the floor doing it doggy style.  The husbands couldn’t control their frantic reactions to seeing their wives sluttishly change partners.
The lovers didn’t hold back their moaning and panting.  They complimented their partners repeatedly and and compared them to the husbands, who came up short every time.
"My Gina could never fill my pussy the way you do, baby.  Not even before she started wearing panties all the time."
"Jen always finished before I was barely started.  She doesn’t deserve sex with a woman."
It went on and on, with the studs demonstrating their prowess, technique and endurance.  The sissy husbands couldn’t prevent rubbing up against each other and, inside their pretty panties they got unwanted erections.  They began weeping, their noses running, their cheeks flushed from distress.  By the time the stallions finally emptied their heavy balls, the husbands were exhausted.  They sniffled and hugged each other consolingly.  Those shameful erections persisted.  As the sex partners were basking in their afterglow, one of the wives noticed the small hard-ons and pointed them out.  The room filled with raucous laughter and the husbands were humiliated all over again.
"You know," one of the bull-cocked men commented, "that was a real kick.  We’ll have to find some more fun ways to get those pansy boys all bent out of shape."
"Yeah," agreed the other hunky guy.  "We’d be doing them a favor.  I mean, it did get them hard, didn’t it?"
That set everyone to laughing again.  Everyone except the tied up, mouth-stoppered, sissy sisters.
It was so, so, SO disgracing.  Ruby and Pink, as their wives now addressed them, were cousins who had married naturally dominant women.  When the two brides got together and discussed how weak-willed and malleable their spouses were, it led shortly to turning the men into their new sissy selves.  Because Ruby and Pink had known each other since boyhood, seeing each other in their female identities and being put through their paces together was exceedingly embarrassing.  They used to practice football one-on-one; now they helped each other dress and apply cosmetics.  As if all that wasn’t bad enough, two weeks ago they had been made to attend a party where their wives went with other men.  R and P had been made to greet guests, take coats, and perform menial tasks like getting down on the floor to buff the men’s shoes and holding ashtrays in their mouths while cigarette ashes were tapped into them and butts were stubbed out.  Now it was time for another get-together.  They had been dreading it all week and were horribly afraid about what might take place THIS time.
They had to get each other prettied up for the event.  They didn’t want to do it but had no choice.  If they didn’t make their outfits girly enough, they would get into trouble.  So they outdid themselves to create looks that were guaranteed to embarrass them.  This time they started out with thong panties that pouched their small genitals and left their smooth buns bare.  Next came belly shirts, which might not have been so bad, except that they were made of some clear filmy material, so that R and P’s smooth chests and pert nipples, showed.  To heighten the effect, they tugged up the tops and used rouge to darken those delicate pink circles.  All the touching got both of them aroused.  They didn’t like using their fingers on each other, but it was part of achieving the effect they needed to keep their wives happy.  Sure, they could have done their own nipples, but if they were spotted taking that shortcut it would earn them punishment.
In just the thongs and belly shirts, they paused to look at themselves, at their hairless bodies.  Their faces grew red as they blushed vividly.  Why did they have to look SO girly?  Couldn’t their brides let them be a least a LITTLE bit manly?  They already knew the answer to that as they went back to the dresser and closet to make their next selections.  This time it was patterned stockings, ones with elastic tops.  The first pair had images of birds and plants, done in a classic Asian style.  The second pair featured letters from some Far Eastern alphabet.  They were trying to decide who should wear which ones, when Ruby suggested that they each take one stocking from both pairs.  When they put them on it created a weird image, as if R’s legs were mirror images of P’s.  They hoped their spouses would be pleased by such creativity.
With just those few items on, they felt practically naked.  They didn’t want anyone seeing them that way.  Still, it was what was expected of them.  So they left it at that and began fussing with each other’s hair, teasing it up and spraying it, giving themselves punkish locks.  That left only their make-up.  They searched among the plentiful cosmetics for exactly the right choices.  Ruby worked on Pink, giving her overdone eyes and then drawing on long lashes, top and bottom.  To that was added bee stung lips, achieved by using a large outline and filling it in with bright crimson to make her mouth appear much larger than it was.  After that, Pink took her turn on Ruby’s face.  She applied dark blue shade to her upper and lower lids to make her eyes ‘pop’, and gave her pale pink lipstick to downplay her mouth.  It was an eerie look, which she made even stranger by drawing shadows on the sides of her face to create the impression of dramatic cheekbones.
They put on low heels and headed for the recreation room, where the guests were already gathered.  Maybe their role would be simply to show up and be pretty.  A few hands might find their way to R and P’s bottoms, but that wouldn’t be too terrible.  Little did they know…
A dozen and a half people were there, holding drinks and chatting.  As the husbands entered, someone loudly said, “The sissies are here.”  Another added, “Time for the floorshow.”  That didn’t sound good.  Their wives didn’t hold back while giving kisses to their brawny dates, the guys they had been having sex with.  The cuckolds watched, feeling awkward and, without thinking, R used his right hand to clasp P’s left.  Ruby’s wife said he should bend over and cover Pink’s bottom with kisses.  He did it, his lips against bare buttocks, wishing he could tell the amused onlookers that he didn’t enjoy that sort of contact.  Then Pink’s wife made him run his hands all over Ruby, starting at his neck and working downward — slowly — to his knees.  The watchers chuckled and made lewd comments.  More than one mentioned how much the sissy sisters must be LOVING the games they played.  It would be hard for them to deny because they both had small erections in their revealing thongs.
Next Ruby’s wife’s date ordered Pink to lick Ruby’s nipples.  Pink eased up his cousin’s belly shirt, in no hurry to have to perform this new indignity.  As he began, Ruby couldn’t help moaning with pleasure, which elicited more remarks.  After that, the guy with Pink’s wife decided Ruby should give Pink a few love bites on his neck.  When that was finally done, they had to reverse roles and commit whatever had been done to them on their partner.  A tall muscular man in jeans and a leather vest stepped to the front of the group and said he had an idea.  It started with the two husbands getting onto the floor, Ruby on his back and Pink kneeling over him, so they could slip aside the thongs and let their erections show how ‘eager’ they were to do 69.  With everyone staring intently, R and P had to simultaneously mouth each other’s dicks.  There was a scattering of applause, as well as spirited exclamations.
The man in the leather vest squatted down and said to the actively sucking pair, “Now here’s what you’re going to do.  First you’re going to make each other cum.  That shouldn’t be too difficult.  From what you’re wives told us before you got here, both of you have been waiting quite a while to empty your little balls.  But when you get a load in your mouth, you will NOT swallow.  You’re going to need that serving of spunk for a game you’re going to play.”  Incredibly shamed, they nevertheless licked and suctioned.  Soon they were groaning with need, writhing and clutching each other’s hips and thighs.  After another minute and a half, the first came and then the second.  Now they had mouths full of cream, even though their output was less than any other man in the room could have produced.
"Up on your feet," Leather Vest barked.  "I want to see you lock lips."  He took out his cell phone and hit a button to start music playing.  It was a sprightly tune.  "You’re going to do some snowballing.  That’s where you pass all that messy stuff back and forth from one mouth to the other.  When the music stops, whoever has the load has to hold it until I start your theme playing again.  Got it?"  With their cheeks filling up as saliva was added to the sperm, the two nodded.  They pressed their faces together and Ruby lowered himself slightly to indicate that Pink should push his share into his sissy sibling’s mouth.  It went back and forth several times, growing as more spit was added.  They struggled to prevent leaking.  A drop escaped the corner of Ruby’s lips.  A dribble got away from Pink.
The music stopped with Pink holding the entire mess, looking distressed, breathing audibly through his nose.  Ruby gulped a grateful breath.  But then the music resumed and so did the snowballing.  Cum-drool got away from both of them and soon their chins were wet.  Ruby’s nose began to run and Pink shed tears.  When the music suddenly ceased, Ruby had the slop straining to escape.  He made a sad sound as he failed to contain it all, with a thin trail running from either side of his sealed lips.  He quivered and fought not to have an embarrassing accident.  The music came back on and he grabbed Pink, got their faces together like he was administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and desperately passed the cum-spit mix back, with plenty smearing their lips.  It got onto their cheeks and dripped onto their shirts, to soak through to their hairless chests.
The final time the music stopped, they were in mid-exchange and each held half of the mixture.  Leather Vest told them that on the count of three they would swallow.  He unhurriedly said, “One… two… and… three.”  The sissy husbands forced themselves to ingest the slimy liquid and then broke down weeping, showing everyone what weaklings they really were.  Their wives made some nasty remarks about how difficult it was to be married to such pansies, and how thrilled they were to have the real men they were dating to take them to bed and give them proper sex.  That provoked another wave of amusement.  The unhappy sissies stood there, absolutely disgraced, not permitted to clean themselves up, but made to kiss passionately so no one would mistakenly imagine they were mad at each other.  
That was when their wives announced that at next week’s party the simpering sissy sisters would put on another performance, something different, that would demonstrate again what total wimps and perverts they were.  The demeaned husbands could only stand there, looking ridiculous, and anticipate what new insults might be inflicted on them.
 feedback is always welcome and you can find more stories by Throne at: http://fictionmania.tv/

The Things We’ll Do…

What a great weekend with my cuckoldress. Although no actual cuckolding took place, my cuckoldress put me through my paces as any good woman should. First off one day this past weekend I was required to wear my chastity device all day along with a pair of black yoga pants and a t-shirt. I was required to do laundry, clean the house and wait on her hand and foot. At one point she actually went out shopping for a couple of hours and left me alone in agony. For those of you who have never experienced being in chastity it is like a racehorse being penned up wanting to run free. You are locked in this device able to be aroused but not able to get fully erect nor touch yourself. Add to that the torment of a devious cuckoldress who teases you and arouses you constantly and you have an idea of the bliss & agony you’re confined to for however long she wishes to keep you there.

My cuckoldress likes it when we go out and she requires me to wear the chastity device. It’s a little “secret” between the two of us and she revels in the fact that she has the key to my freedom and that totally embarrassing situation I’ll face if someone notices the device on me. It’s really not that noticeable under jeans, but in something like yoga pants or cycling shorts or khaki’s it can be seen very clearly if you look for it. She loves to make me go out in public wearing my device with her holding the key sometimes around her neck on a chain, sometimes dangling from her hot wife anklet. Part of the torture of being locked in chastity is that you’ll do or promise most anything to get out. And after a full day locked inside my cuckoldress slowly and teasingly took it off me and teased me promising me release if I was good. Well needless to say I promised to do whatever she wanted if she would let me cum. Three orgasms for her later, she lay exhausted on her back half asleep and told me I could get myself off like the little puppy dog I was by humping her leg. What’s that old saying, any port in a storm? I immediately complied and was given sweet relief.

The next day she had me don a pair of pink tights that she bought for me and teased me all day long. I cooked, cleaned, did laundry and waited on her again loving every minute of it. Finally late yesterday afternoon I again was required to play with her body for extended periods of time, toying with her tits and nipples all the while locked away and in pink leggings. After she had her third orgasm she was exhausted but this time rolled over on her side, unlocked and released me and began to tease and stroke me slowly toying with me. She asked if I would suck cock for her to which I replied of course. She then began telling me that perhaps she would soon put me in the chastity device, make me wear the pink leggings and suck a nice big cock for her and then watch it fuck her. She also told me I would be required to get her wet, clean the two of them off and get him hard again after they were finished. She especially liked toying with my cock while she teased and asked me if I’d take his load in my mouth. I was in such a sub space I immediately agreed. She then told me she wouldn’t even ask me. She said, “He might say, ‘I’m gonna cum’ and I’d say go ahead cum in his mouth he likes it!” It was at that point that I shot my load and shot it so hard that it actually landed on my cheek and lips!!

What a perfect end to a perfect weekend!


You can even find chastity tubes on Amazon.  How convenient. 

(Comment by Throne)


Sometimes things present themselves out of the blue time and again and you have to take it as a sign that’s all. Lately the subject of chastity has seem to have been coming up from different directions. Well to be exact chastity devices for me not chastity in general. Chastity devices have always been around since medieval times mainly for women. In modern times however the male has been the one to be the recipient of chastity devices. There are a bevy of them on the market from clear plastic ones, to metal ones, to caged ones, the selections are endless. The most common models are the CB series models.

For men chastity devices work on a simple principle. A ring goes around your cock and balls, and then a sleeve either plastic or metal slides over you cock and where the connection is a lock is placed so you can’t touch yourself. No one else can touch you for that matter either. The principle is that while in the device you can urinate as there is a hole in the front of the device for that as well as air holes for ventilation and so you can clean yourself in the shower. Chastity when involved in cuckolding or femdom relationships is all about power. The woman has the key to your freedom. In reality there are many guys who are locked up without a chastity device and their women control them too; it’s called marriage. But when your cuckoldress snaps that lock shut on your chastity device it’s all about power.

I have to say having been locked in chastity for an extended period of time, when you are released you are so on edge it doesn’t take much to get you to cum. My cuckoldress likes to lock me up and then have me lick her pussy and ass through several orgasms. The whole time I was licking her I was dripping pre-cum like a leaky faucet. I have to admit it was a combination of frustration and eroticism all wrapped up into one. Chastity devices can be worn outside the house too and we’ve experimented with that too. One night on a cruise several years ago she had me put it on and there we were in the midst of thousands of people with me all locked up and the key dangling from an anklet on her ankle. For her she tells me that the turn on is that I’m locked up and she has the key and only the two of us know about it, it’s our little secret. Now mind you she is free this whole time and can do as she wishes with whomever she wishes. My cuckoldress is coming up this weekend and keeps hinting that perhaps one day this weekend I’ll be in chastity and she’ll be holding the key and teasing the shit out of me, and I can’t wait!

So if your cuckoldress ever broaches the subject of chastity; give it a try!

A New Story….by Throne

I guess we had both noticed it.  My Mistress, Claire, and I had been seeing each other for several months.  Our time together was a mixture of dating and domination sessions.  In the beginning she had been a bit rough on me but it was gradually taking on a softer tone.  After she spanked me, we snuggled and talked sweetly in bed.  Or she would make me get naked, so she could admire my hairless body, but instead of punishing me she would just tease me and leave me aching for release.  I was okay with that because she did it so well; she has a finely honed sense of how to control a man.  For instance, whenever we got together I had to wear feminine items under my street clothes.  And when we were staying at her place I had to wear a leather collar which she had made for me.  Those things played on my mind and made me feel strange, I suppose you could call it helpless.  It was all going along nicely.  She didn’t allow me sex but I was secretly hoping it might lead to that.
But when our relationship got a bit too sweet for her, Claire decided to revise our roles, to amp up her control, and to apply more discomfort and even pain.  I didn’t know any of that but was soon to find out.  I called her to set up a date and she told me simply that she didn’t want to see me then.  I was to call again in three days.  That was a shock and the first hint of things to come.  I was ill at ease for the next 72 hours, not knowing if I had made some grievous error or, worse, if she had simply grown tired of me.  When I made that follow-up call, I was quivering inside.  It was a pleasant surprise when she instructed me to pick up a large pizza and a six pack of soda (cans, not bottles) and be at her door at six o’clock — precisely.  That was better but, at the same time, I sensed a change in the balance of power between us.
I arrived one minute early and rang her bell exactly on time.  With butterflies in my stomach, I waited for her to answer the door.  She let me stand there for three minutes before she appeared, casually eyeing me up and down.  Then, in a neutral voice, she ordered, “Kneel down and kiss my feet, Dean.”  I looked around reflexively to see if anyone might observe such a submissive act on my part.  She snapped at me, “I didn’t tell you to check behind you.  What did I tell you to do?”  Feeling weak in the knees, but also excited, I meekly responded, “You told me to kiss your feet, Ma’am.”  She set her jaw and said through clenched teeth, “Well?”  I had a vision of myself not obeying Claire, and her sending me away, probably after taking the pizza and sodas.
Feeling as if a dozen pairs of eyes were watching from behind, I slowly sank to my knees and set aside the food and drink.  Then, being careful not to rush and incur further ire, I lowered my head until my mouth was directly above her feet, which were shod in tan, pointy-toed shoes with three inch stiletto heels.  Her largish, sturdy calves were clad in black stockings.  I sighed with a mixture of frightened surrender and rising passion before I pressed my lips to the upper of each shoe in turn, against the dark shiny leather, and lingered there for long seconds.  She didn’t react, so I repeated the demeaning public act.  Before  I could do it a third time she turned and walked away from me.  I got shakily to my feet, retrieved the meal, and followed.
Claire didn’t look back as she went directly to the kitchen.  I watched her shapely bottom sway in front of me.  She sat at the table, looking regal even though she was wearing nothing fancy, just a sleeveless navy blouse which hugged her generous bust and a red, pleated skirt that reached to just above her knees.  I humbly set the pizza box on the table and put the sodas into the fridge, taking one to place in front of her.  Then I got two plates and a pair of glasses.  I made sure that in both cases hers was larger than mine.  But when I moved toward a chair she held up her hand.  “Undress yourself.  I want to see what you have on under that male drag.”  I felt my cheeks warm and knew that I was blushing.  My innate modesty always makes those moments difficult, even though they are something I want.
Trying to go fast enough that her food wouldn’t get cool, but slow enough that I wouldn’t upset her, I got out of my sport coat, shoes, socks, shirt and trousers.  She made me drape the shirt and coat over the back of the vacant chair, and arrange the pants on it with the legs hanging down, even putting the shoes and socks where the pant-legs ended.  There were my empty clothes occupying the chair, as if my masculine self was sitting there.  All I had on then were black panties with red trim, elastic-top fishnet stockings, and a backless, frilly, peach-pink nightie.  Claire smirked at how feminine I appeared, especially with my smooth pink skin that didn’t have a hair growing on it.  She had me slip into a pair of two-inch heels, flame red, and told me I could begin serving her.
Moving delicately, I opened the pizza box and put a slice on her plate.  It smelled delicious and I salivated a bit.  Then I yanked the pull tab on a soda and set it gingerly by her right hand.  She took a bite of pizza and savored it.  She enjoyed a sip of soda.  I stood there feeling both awkward and somehow comfortable, the latter effect because it is my nature to be submissive and serve.  She took her time eating.  Occasionally she passed me a morsel of crust, which I accepted gratefully, appreciating that I was eating the same food as her.  The meal went on that way until she had eaten enough, after which I had to close the carton and put the leftover pizza into the fridge.  I would have liked to have more of it, but that wasn’t going to happen.
She moved to the den with me following wordlessly.  Once there she sat on the sofa and used the remote to turn on the TV.  I had to kneel to one side of her and remove her shoes so I could give her a foot rub.  She watched an hour of TV while she digested her dinner.  I was still hungry.  Claire announced that it was time to go to the bedroom.  She ordered me to get into a squat and duck walk to our destination.  It wasn’t easy, especially in the heels, but I slowly made my way.  She glanced back at me and snickered.
At this point I should give you a better description of Claire.  I wanted you to get an idea of our relationship first.  She is tall and what is commonly called big-boned.  At the same time, she has a desirable bottom and legs.  Her bust is full and attractive.  Her face is sweet, her eyes knowing.  She has shoulder length, chestnut hair that she usually wears loose.  The thing is that she is taller than me and stronger.  When she wanted to move me it was easy for her to put her hands on my body and make it go where she pleased.  Once she even picked me up and set me onto the bed, like I was a bride on her wedding night.  Our relationship had recently been tender, with the sessions of her dominating me becoming less harsh, as I mentioned.  But now I sensed that something was about to change.
In the bedroom I remained in my squatting position, uneasy about standing back up without Claire’s permission.  She glanced down at me, at my smooth hairless body, dressed in those feminine items, hampered by the heels, and she smiled devilishly.  “I’ve made a decision,” she announced.  “You’ve been getting too relaxed around me.  Taking liberties with your hands.  Acting like we are… equals.  But that’s not the case, now is it?”
I looked up at her, my heart beating faster, my legs beginning to protest, and said in a small voice, “No, dear.”
She scowled and decided out loud, “You’ve also been addressing me too casually.  Really, you’ve been forgetting your place.  So from now on you may call me Mistress.  Always.  Understood?”
My mouth opened and closed twice before I could speak, and then I told her, “Yes, d…”  I swallowed nervously.  “Yes, Mistress.”
Claire went on, “And I will call you… something appropriately girlish, like… Deana.  I like that.  Or maybe it should be shortened to Dee.  How about Dee Dee?”  She chuckled.  “Do you like that — Dee Dee?”
I bit my lower lip, feeling any control I had retained slipping away from me.  In a whisper I replied, “Yes, Mistress.  Whatever you wish.”
"Good girl.  Now get on the mattress, on your back, and don’t fidget."  I did as I was told.  She eyed me up and down and ordered, "Pull up those smooth, rosy legs and grab your ankles.  Right.  Like that."  Claire reached down and put her hand on the crotch of my panties, gently rubbing, getting me hard in almost no time.  I squirmed slightly and she snapped, "Didn’t I tell you not to fidget?"
I managed to squeak out, “Yes.”
"And did you just forget to call me Mistress?"
Oh no.  She was really getting angry.  I nodded and said, throat dry, “Yes, Mistress.  I made a mistake.  Two mistakes.”

"That’s correct, Dee Dee.  So now you’ll have to be punished."  I sensed a subtle difference between our former role playing and this new dynamic.  It was scary yet exciting.  Her hand hadn’t moved and she gave my penis a firm squeeze through the thin material.  Then she moved her fingers, put them around my testicles and paused.  She let me worry for a few seconds before she began applying pressure, gradually increasing it until I let out a high-pitched moan.  Claire didn’t let up.  She continued until I was panting and trying desperately not to wriggle.  At last she relaxed her grip and removed her hand.  "At least you’re learning," she said with satisfaction.  "Now for lesson two."
I was still holding my legs in that bent-up position when she reached in and began to toy with my nipples.  I gasped but stayed still.  It was heavenly to be stimulated like that.  Except that, when my pleasure reached a peak, she switched to pinching my nipples, slowly tightening her fingers.  I whimpered and a quiver ran through my body.  She twisted them and stretched them.  I hadn’t ever been into pain and yet, something about the way she was doing it, her measured, unhurried pacing, made it part of something larger, of her total domination over me.  She kept it up until I was mewling non-stop, a bit ashamed of myself for the weakness the sound revealed.  She appeared to like that and switched back and forth several times between teasing my genitals, using her vice grip on my balls, fingering my nipples and then hurting them.  I was in a confusion of arousal and suffering.
"I could really get into this," she said, sounding like she was talking to herself.  "Deep into it."  Claire went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and produced a pair of cuffs.  They went onto my ankles, leaving only a few inches of play between them.  Next came a spreader bar, which she fastened just below my knees, to hold them wide.  Finally she cuffed my wrists.  As I was still gripping my ankles it was easy for her to then use a short chain with a clip on each end to join my wrists to my ankles.  I was cleverly hogtied with my knees far apart, feeling terribly vulnerable.  She wanted to know, "What’s the matter, Dee Dee?  Aren’t you comfortable?  Afraid I might do… something?"
She took a riding crop from another drawer and swished it through the air.  I swallowed with difficulty and forced myself to keep quiet.  I had begun to perspire slightly.  She tapped the length of the crop across both my buttocks experimentally, as if getting her range.  Then she did the same to the backs of my thighs.  I shuddered.  Claire set aside her tool of discipline and shifted me on the bed, so that my head was hanging over the side, face up.  She stood with her legs astraddle, one on either side on my face, and grinned down at me.  I had a sexy view of the juncture of her long legs but I didn’t feel exactly sexy at that moment.  Again I was feeling the curious mixture of concern and longing.  My Mistress — that’s how I was thinking of her already — gave me another round of teasing and torment, roaming over my defenseless form at will, stroking my ears, running a fingertip over my lips, pinching my buttocks (first lightly and then HARD), giving my scrotum a few extra squeezes, the last one accompanied by a sharp twist that left me breathless.
After a few moments during which she observed me and appeared to be thinking, Claire swung me effortlessly back to my former position.  Then, to my surprise, she rolled me over, being careful of my bound limbs but still being rough.  That left me with my backside stuck up in the air.  She sat alongside me and patted my rump possessively, running one hand over it, locking eyes with me and wordlessly daring me to protest.  I was in a daze but still knew that, as unsettling as some of what she was doing had been, I didn’t want her to stop.  She stood back up and shifted me once more, so that my toes were over the edge of the bed, my bottom extremely accessible.
My Mistress told me, “What you need right now is some layered pain.  I think your satiny hairless bottom can take quite a bit.  Don’t you agree?”
What was I going to say?  I didn’t have any voice in what she was doing.  I mean, maybe I could have made some comment, but being absolutely at her mercy was intoxicating.  So I simply told her, “Yes, Mistress.  I’m sure you’re right.”
Claire gave a single laugh at my lack of defiance.  She got to one side of me and tested her range of swing, in slow motion bringing her palm down against my rear.  She took the elastic of my panties and slipped them down onto my thighs.  With my legs apart that way they couldn’t go far.  But my sitter was bare and I felt even more subject to her whims.  I heard Claire take a breath, smelled the light perfume she wore, mingled with a hint of her womanly scent.  Her hand went up and came down to land a solid blow on one butt cheek.  Before I could catch my breath she smacked the other and then continued aggressively, whacking left-right-left-right.  I was half counting the swats as the pain mounted and I think she delivered an even two dozen.  She stopped, but only for a few heartbeats.  Then she was pinching the insides of my thighs, pinching and twisting.  I panted and made shamefully un-stoic noises.
All at once the biting pain of being pinched was over and she was retrieving the crop.  This time she went to work with a will, bringing it down rhythmically, purposefully, laying it across both halves of my bottom at once, spacing the blows to cover every inch.  She was, as she had said, layering the pain, adding to it with expertise, not taking it too far too fast.  She even applied the crop up and down the backs of my thighs, which hurt terribly because there is less padding there.  Her eyes were lit by a wild fire and her pretty mouth wore a twisted grin.  I couldn’t contain myself and began wailing steadily, which kept up for the next few minutes until she was done.  Without a break she went back to teasing me with her talented hands, toying with my still sore nipples, brushing fingertips against my straining, now uncovered dick, massaging my balls (with the constant threat of grabbing them hard always in the forefront of my consciousness).  Slowly she decelerated, until I was breathing more normally and her hands were barely moving at all.
Claire returned to her dresser once more, this time to procure a collar.  It was leather and fitted with several D-rings.  She put it around my neck and fastened it, snugly but not too tightly.  I lay there passively while she pursed her lips and checked my battered bottom.  She left the room and I couldn’t do anything but lie there, feeling the burn.  I took a mental inventory of my smarting nipples and throbbing testicles.  My rump would probably hurt for… how long?  She had never spanked and cropped me like that before.  I understood that the love pats I was accustomed to — realized now that that was what they had been in the past — were no longer what I could expect.  Obviously Claire was serious about not being so soft on me.
She returned with a gleam in her eyes and said, “You really have been getting fresh with me, as well, managing to rub up against me and steal a feel now and then.  Let’s get straight on THAT, too.  I’ve decided that you will be allowed to perform as my sex slave.  Being mean to you has gotten me into the mood for it.”  She effortlessly slid me toward the foot of the bed, then lay down before me, so that my head was in the V of her legs.  She inched closer until her mound was pressed to my lips and gave me a few simple instructions.  As I began to lick she advised me, “This will be your sex life.  Don’t expect anything in return.  No more free feels for you.  If you’re good I may let you play with yourself while I giggle at you.”  Still in that inventive bondage, backside on fire, I managed to perform to her satisfaction, eventually giving her a pair of satisfying orgasms.  I was in mild shock to have had my situation so decisively reversed in such a short time.
Two weeks later, we had settled into a comfortable situation.  Well, comfortable for her.  Full of bondage and spankings for me.  And plenty of oral service.  But I didn’t want to go back to what we had before.  I still knew that Claire had feelings for me.  We were able to have quite moments.  At the same time, I definitely knew who was boss and what was what.  One evening I found myself kneeling before her as she sat in a big overstuffed easy chair.  Her shoes were off and I was applying lotion to her feet, massaging it in.  She watched TV and ignored me.  I had also brought along another cream, one which she sometimes had me spread on her legs… and other places.  After I felt her feet were done, I looked up at her and waited until she deigned to notice me.  When she did, I said, in my most respectful tone, “Would you like me to sooth your legs, Mistress?”
There I was, wearing only a ruffled orange vest that didn’t close, black panties with orange trim, and stockings she had found in a costume shop, with wide orange and black horizontal stripes, obviously meant for a witch costume.  My black heels were set carefully to one side.  On my face I had the slightest application of eye shadow and a coating of lip gloss that was called Hint of Pink.  Even though I still resembled myself, it was a feminized version of me.  She eventually looked down and sighed, saying, “You may do my legs,” sounding like she was agreeing just to keep me from pestering her.  Claire could say so much with so few words, her tone and facial expression conveying plenty.  I didn’t mind.  All I wanted was to be permitted the honor of pampering her legs.  I put a dollop of cream on my palm, rubbed my hands together, and started just above one ankle.  Her skin is so delightfully soft.  I felt dreamy as I worked my way higher on her firm, well formed calf.  I moved to the other leg and covered the same area.  She didn’t tell me to stop so I sat up higher and spread fresh cream on the top of one thigh.  She was wrapped up in her show and let me go on and on, let me savor the perfection of her upper legs.  I kept it at for a while but then it was over, much too soon.  It was always too soon.
Her program ended and she glanced at me.  As if it was an afterthought, she said, “Now that you understand I’m not going to play Ms. Nice Gal around you, there’s something else I’m going to do to you.  I don’t want you forgetting your status.  You need to have a new look.  Something even less masculine.”
Her words made me shiver.  LESS?  Really?  I didn’t know how I felt about that.  Wouldn’t it create a space between us, me being more female looking?  Was that what she intended?  How would I feel after it happened?  Or would it lead in some other direction?  Those were all the thoughts I had time for because she said we were going to the bedroom.  Claire clipped a leash to one of the rings on my collar, which I wore whenever I was around her, and often when I was sent home.  She stood, wearing just a short belted robe.  I couldn’t stop my sudden intake of breath.  She had me bewitched.  My Mistress smirked at me and began walking.  I had to crawl behind her, hurrying to keep up with her long-legged steps.  Like a naughty boy I stole peeks under the back of her robe, wishing that I could be rubbing cream on her there.  My balls throbbed.  She hadn’t allowed me any relief for a while.
Once we were in the bedroom she had me sit on a chair in front of her dresser.  I could see myself in the mirror.  At the same time I noticed an array of cosmetics spread out in front of me.  And there was a pink shopping bag on the floor, out of the way.  I felt tingly at the prospects of what might be about to happen.  Claire got busy with foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner and shadow, mascara, and finally an outrageous shade of lipstick, Candy Apple Red, over which she put gloss.  Her movements were deft with confidence.  I viewed myself becoming someone else.  It was breathtaking.  As much as I liked being put into lingerie and such, this was more than I was used to.  I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.  She examined her handiwork and decided to outline my lips to, as she put it, ‘make them pop’.  Pop they did.  I almost couldn’t believe the face in the mirror was mine.
Claire told me, “I want you to fetch that shopping bag that’s in the corner.  BUT…”  She paused for effect.  “… starting now and whenever I have you looking this way, you are to move in an overly girly way, with loose wrists, chest thrust out, bottom wriggling, feet placed one in front of the other when you walk.  Right?”
I said, “Yes, Mistress,” in a hushed voice.  But that wasn’t enough for her.
"You will also speak differently.  Suit your speech to the action.  I want to see you simpering AND hear a voice that goes with that.  Beginning immediately."
I took a moment to gather my thoughts and sort of reprogram myself.  With knees together and hands held directly in front of me like a begging dog’s paws, I rose deliberately and moved as she had said, hips in motion, steps precise.  When I got to the bag I bent forward at the waist and took its handle between two fingers, lifting it as I straightened.  Claire chortled as I made a fashion model’s practiced turn.  She watched critically as I returned to the chair and primly placed myself back on its padded seat.  She had me reach into the bag and remove what was inside, which turned out to be a hat box.  But it contained not a hat; it held a wig, which was short and curled under at the ends, blond with long bangs, and a big yellow, butterfly bow attached to the front.  I looked to her for directions and she merely nodded.  With great care I positioned the wig atop my head.  The make-up had done much to change me and this completed the look.  The effect was dizzying.  She clipped earrings to my lobes and fastened a modest necklace on me.
"Obviously," she stated, "those clothes don’t go with your new look.  Take them off."
I whispered, “Yes, Mistress,” putting a bit of hiss on the final sound of each word.
Remembering to move in those same flowing motions, showing no signs of masculine body language, I got out of the vest, panties and stockings, making a mental note to retrieve my heels later.  Claire examined me, enjoying the sight of my nude, silky skin, untouched by a single sign of manly body hair.  I stood with my thighs touching each other, hands clasped in front of my tummy, eyes demurely lowered.  She patted the sides of the wig and ran a brush through the bangs.  I felt myself blush.  She licked her forefingers and used them to stimulate my nipples, which got me halfway hard in seconds.  I stood there experiencing an almost out-of-body sensation.  Or at least an out-of-MY-body sensation.  She had me swish around the room, then out into the hallway where I had to strike several saucy, pin-up type poses.
We returned to the bedroom and she said I could pick something from the bottom drawer of the dresser.  I bent at the waist again, aware of how it showed off my bottom, and found that she had bought numerous items of lingerie and sleepwear for me.  My main concern was to select something that would complete the look she had created for me.  I had no desire to tempt her temper.  My punishments, since the night she changed her attitude, had continued to be harsh.  I picked a filmy baby doll top that was open in the front and closed with a series of fastening bows.  It was the palest red and there were heart shapes stitched around its short hem.  She watched me slip into it, still using those increasingly natural-feeling movements, and close it up.  Then I chose a pair of matching stockings with elastic tops, which I sat primly to smooth up my legs.  There were a pair of slippers with two-inch heels tucked alongside everything else, and I gingerly took them with two fingers, setting them a few inches apart and stepping into them as smoothly and seductively as a vixen tempting her date.  Claire approved.
She had me sashay around the room, down the hall once more, and into the den.  Everything was going perfectly.  That was when she said I was going to get a hard spanking, first from her hand and then with a new paddle she had acquired, which she called her Board of Education.  I didn’t say anything but my expression made it clear that I didn’t understand what I had done to earn discipline.  She smiled smugly and let me settle down some.  Then she explained, “You have to understand, Dee Dee.  I don’t need to have a reason to punish you.  I can do it simply because it excites me.  Or to let off a little steam.  Or maybe just because…”  She shrugged.  “… I feel like it.”  I nodded meekly, fully under her control by then.  She sat on a wooden chair, snapped her fingers, and pointed to her lap.  I put myself over her warm thighs and felt her flip up the back of my brief garment.  My poor bottom was bared, waiting for her cruel touch.  I had never felt so helpless before.  My new appearance, combined with my humble status, and that submissive and revealing pose, left me feeling weak in her presence.  I waited passively for the swats to begin, remembering her earlier comment about layering pain.
In no hurry to get it over with, Claire rubbed my cheeks with a circular motion several times.  I bit my lips.  She shifted slightly and I could tell her hand had gone up.  It came down and connected with my tender bottom solidly, making me jerk on her lap.  My dick got hard and slipped between her desirable thighs.  She peppered me with blow after blow, making me twitch and then squirm.  I kept yelping and gulping, unable to control my reactions.  She slowed down, let me get my hopes up, and then resumed with even greater effort, not stopping until I was blinking back tears.  Claire had me stand and hold up my lightweight garment in the back to show off my reddened backside.  Having been punished so effectively, like a misbehaving girl, and then being required to stand and walk in my newly over-feminized way, with all those sissy mannerisms, made me feel like I was sinking into a bottomless pit of servitude and suffering.  But my penis remained hard and I couldn’t stop thinking about my Mistress and her wicked form of loving me.
Claire said, her voice frighteningly calm, “Go to the bedroom and fetch my paddle.  It’s under my pillow.”
On shaky legs I went to get it.  My sore, brightly marked bottom swayed properly.  I licked my lips and tasted the gloss and lipstick that covered them.  She must have put a spritz of perfume on me when I wasn’t aware of it, because I had heated up from the spanking and could smell a sweet scent rising from my pink-white skin.  I got to the bedroom, bent correctly even though my Mistress wasn’t there to see or judge, and found the paddle where she had left it.  I returned, taking those dainty steps, and held out the length of wood, handle first.  The instrument looked very threatening to me.  She accepted it with dignity and patted it against her open hand.  I had a bad feeling about what was going to happen.  She ordered me to bend over as far as I could.  Next she pulled my arms behind me to trap them in an elbow-length bondage glove that held them uncomfortably close together.  Then she got on one knee to lock manacles around my ankles and clip them to an adjustable spreader bar.  She lengthened the bar until my feet were precariously far apart.
"There’s a pretty picture," Claire said with amusement.  She checked my wig to make sure it was firmly in place.  She put a finger under my chin and tilted my head up, so she could lock eyes with me.  There was what could have been a staring contest, except that it lasted only a few moments, with me averting my gaze almost immediately, giving in at once.  My Mistress stepped away, got a grip on my wrists, and raised them until my shoulders hurt, making me push out my smarting bottom for the paddle.  The backs of my legs were taut.  I awaited the discipline that I had not earned.  She drew back her paddle arm and let me anticipate for a few extra seconds, then slashed the slapper through the air and cracked it hard against my unprotected backside.  There was a loud smacking sound and I wailed uncontrollably, humiliating myself.  Her attack was furious, again layering the pain, but now doing it at double speed.  I jerked and kept crying out, sounding piteous but getting no pity.  She tanned my cheeks thoroughly and left me standing there, hot tears rolling down my beardless cheeks.  We had turned another corner.
The next morning, while my shoulders still ached and my bottom suffered dull pain, she declared that I would finally be permitted to play with myself… unless I wanted to wait for my next opportunity.  As long as it had been already, and as much as I wanted to avoid the humiliating scene that I knew would be involved, I didn’t say no.  She had me put on a filmy apricot-colored nightie that didn’t even reach my waist, and a pair of matching panties — with a cut-out crotch.  I had to kneel on the bathroom floor while she stood over me, wearing pants and a man’s shirt, her hair tied back, but still looking impossibly sexy.  Claire was more than enough visual stimulation for me as I began to tentatively stroke my underused penis.  It felt marvelous, at the same time that I experienced deep shame.  My Mistress giggled at my plight and made kissing noises.  She regulated my action, not letting me finish but not allowing me to stop, either.  It went on and on.  She moved to put her back to me and had me kiss her wonderful posterior through the pants.  I whimpered and kissed and continued wanking.  At last, with my balls drawn up tight, breathing deeply from unmet needs, I was allowed to squirt while she watched and grinned.
I humbly thanked her and was surprised when she scowled down at me.  The explanation followed as she said, “Look at that yucky mess you made on my nice clean floor.  That has to be cleaned up.”  I muttered, “Yes, Mistress,” and looked around in confusion to see what I was supposed to use for the job.  When my gaze returned to her she warned, “If that puddle’s not gone in one minute, you are going to get a spanking like you won’t believe.”  She glanced meaningfully at her watch.  Desperate, I searched for whatever I was supposed to use.  She sighed, rolled her eyes, shook her head and told me, “You silly little twit.  Or should I make that twat?  I expect you to LICK up that mess you made.  Now.”  I bent to my unappetizing task and lapped the creamy spatter from the tile floor.  She guffawed and rocked with laughter, leaving me feeling about one inch tall.  At last it was done and she told me I might get to repeat that scene… eventually.
Another three weeks passed.  Claire’s practiced ministrations of suffering would often send me into sub space, a trancelike state of worshipful submission.  I somehow craved the punishments she inflicted, partly because she was getting me addicted to such abuse, and largely because I knew using me that way pleased her, and I wanted nothing more than to please my Mistress.  My sitter was often sore, along with my nipples and balls, but it was all worth it.  More than worth it.  I was honored to be able to worship her body with my mouth, giving her climaxes on demand.  I often kissed her ass, and NOT through the seat of any pants.  Where could she take me next?  I found out when one small package arrived in the mail and another, much larger one, was delivered by a trucking company.
The first turned out to be a chastity device.  It was called the CB-3000.  Claire made a ritual of putting it onto me.  She used her talented hands and lots of suggestive talk to get me aroused, over and over, each time leaving me more frustrated and needy.  At last she had me hurry to the fridge, nude except for a big floppy bow around my neck, and bring back a freezer pack.  She made me use the ice cold pack to shrink my penis down to its smallest possible dimensions.  Then, while it was unable to regain any size, she slipped the chastity device over it and locked it into place.  Talk about a symbolic act of emasculation.  Then she started over with the teasing, except that now I couldn’t get erect, instead feeling my member stain to grow hard and always fail.  It was tormenting but she thought it was hilariously funny.
Next she put me over her knee for a spanking.  Claire said it was okay for me to try to get away.  As if I had a chance against her superior strength.  But I couldn’t help making the attempt as she heated up my rump with a barrage of unrestrained blows.  I kicked and squirmed to no avail.  Afterwards, as I stood there shamefully rubbing my sore sitter, she told me that all my struggles had gotten her worked up, and that I could do that every time she smacked me.  “After all,” she concluded, “it’s not like all your writhing around on my lap is going to get you anywhere.”  I had to admit she was right.
In the way of speaking that she made me use, I conceded, “Silly me, thinking I could ever accomplish anything against you.”  She decided that there was a trace of arrogance in my voice, though I couldn’t detect any, and grabbed me, marched me to another part of the house like a disobedient nephew — or niece — and bent me over the kitchen counter for an especially long spanking with a large wooden spoon.  She followed that with an extended teasing session in the bedroom, which was an ordeal because I was still in my chastity tube.  You can’t imagine how my balls ached by then.
The following day she opened the larger box in the den, not letting me assist.  The unspoken thought was that the job was too ‘butch’ for me.  Claire used some tools to open the carton before she easily broke it apart.  What was inside was a cage.  More correctly, it was an indoor dog kennel, intended for a medium sized dog but almost too small for a man.  I watched with horrified fascination as she expertly assembled it.  Soon it was done and she swung open the small barred door.  I had to strip out of the transparent harem outfit she had me in, complete with curl-toed slippers.  She ordered me to bend forward and grip the criss-crossed bars that made up the top of the cage.  After a few adjustments she had me exactly as she wanted me.  That was when the cat came out, a short whip with multiple strands of leather hanging from its wooden handle.  She had recently bought it and had been telling me for days that I would soon feel it against my back and bottom.  As I stood there in that position, feet well apart, she thrashed me thoroughly, making me bark and beg while she swung, then mewl and sniffle as I tried to recover.
Dramatically marked, I had to get down on the carpet and back-up into the cage.  She reached in to pat my head and give me an air kiss.  I looked up at her longingly as she shut the door and, to my surprise, fastened it with a padlock.  My Mistress snapped at me to put my thumbs through the openings, close to each other.  I did and she fitted them into thumb cuffs, which she then tightened until they were pressing uncomfortably and there was no way to slip out of them. There wasn’t much room in the enclosure.  All I could do was stay on my hands and knees, my sore bottom pressed against the back wall of the cage, the flesh pressed firmly against the bars and pushed slightly through them.  She went around behind me and used a nail file to give my exposed butt a few dozen hard jabs, not breaking the skin even thought it felt like she had.  She laid down on the couch and opened her cell phone.  Claire hit a pre-set number and waited for a pick-up.
She cheerily said, “Hello.  Good to hear your voice.”  Between pauses to listen to what the other party said, she went on about me, and the state to which she had brought me.  I was hugely embarrassed to be discussed like that.  And I didn’t even know the gender of whoever she was chatting with.  Could it be a man?  I hugged my elbows against my sides and wished my bottom wasn’t smarting so much, since I couldn’t even rub it to make it feel better.  I was trapped in that narrow, low crate, staring out at the woman I adored while she described my current demeaning dilemma.  Claire laughed and began discussing some sort of plans.  I could tell that they involved me, but not in what role.  It was deeply disturbing.  When she was done, my Mistress came to me and stood there, giving me a lowly dog’s view up her legs.  With mock sympathy she said, “Poor Dee Dee, locked in her cage, with Mommy about to leave her.  Does Dee Dee have anything to say?”
I snuffled and said, in my smallest and weakest voice, “No, Mistress.  Thank you, dear Mistress, for this lovely cage.  And for that well deserved spanking.  On my misbehaving bot-bot.  I’m sorry for being such a wussy.”  She was wearing black shoes with square toes and three-inch stacked heels.  It was hard not to stare at them.  Everything about Claire and what she wore mesmerized me.  I was more under her spell than ever, and she knew it.  I couldn’t stop speaking in that ridiculous, high-pitched voice.  And using girlish language, like a moment later when I said, “I hope you’re not mad at your funny little Dee Dee.”  Why had I made that statement.  Did I actually WANT her to go after my butt again?  Maybe with something else as bad as that nasty cat whip?  She was always surprising me with new instruments of pain.  Wasn’t what she had already done to me bad enough?  And that cage?  As I cowered there in that cramped space she turned and sat on the top of my prison.  I managed with difficulty to turn my head up so I could admire her tempting bottom, clad in only a shorty robe that left her legs bare.  My need was rising again, unlike my imprisoned dick.
She asked me, “Are you wondering who I was talking to on the phone?  And what it was about?”
In a cartoonish girl voice I said, “Yes, Mistress dearest.  Your Dee Dee was… um… thinking about that.”  Ouch.  My IQ seemed to drop every time I used that way of speaking.  Then I added, “Or will I get into trouble for saying that?”  Really, I was inviting more bad treatment?  I hadn’t learned from my previous misspeaks?
Claire tilted her head to the side and stuck out her lower lip, as if she was concerned.  But all she said was, “I was talking to somebody.  And it was about something.  Maybe you’ll find out on the weekend.  And maybe you’ll be sorry then.”
That didn’t sit well.  For the next several nights, when I was at the home of my Mistress, and during the days when I was at my colorless job, drudging away, I couldn’t stop thinking about what might be in the works.  Friday night passed and all we did was stay at Claire’s place.  Well, that wasn’t ALL.  She dressed me in a maid’s cap and the world’s tiniest apron, which tied in the back with a huge flouncy bow.  That, fishnet stockings, and a pair of spike heels were all I was allowed.  With my face made up — which I had learned to do myself — and wearing a brunette wig with a modest pixie cut, I had to act as her servant all evening, assuming a faux French accent at the same time I maintained my usual simpering speech.  It sounded absurd even to me as I said things like, “Doos Madame Mistress weesh to have zee tea, served by err pretty pansy, Dee Dee?”  Even though I committed no infractions and demonstrated a pleasant and obedient attitude, she still declared that I was due for some ‘attitude adjustment’.
My unpleasant correction began with bondage.  Claire made me don opera-length leather gloves, remove my foolish little apron, and don a corset.  She tightened the latter herself, making sure it was as snug as she could make it.  With her considerable strength, that was awfully tight.  And she made me put the apron on over it.  I had a collar on, though it was wider than my original one, so that I had to keep my chin up high.  She attached a short chain to the collar and then made me bend forward, the corset cutting into my middle, so she could attach the loose end of the chain to my waist, keeping me in that unbalanced pose.  I had to totter about on my heels for her, while she tittered at my predicament.  To make it even more awkward, Claire hooked the inside surfaces of the gloves to the sides of the corset, with some sort of attachments that were there for that purpose.  After that I was doubly hampered, having to move without even the use of my arms for balance.
My Mistress made me go to the den, with her walking alongside me and patting my exposed rear end.  She wanted to know, “You’re not worried that I’m going to smack your pretty bottom, are you, Dee Dee?  Hmmm?”
As I fought to stay upright, I had to answer, remembering how to speak.  I told her, “Dee Dee eez sure Madame Mistress would only spank her eef Dee Dee deserved eet.  And Dee Dee almose always is deserveen eet.”  Again I seemed to by trying to invite a bottom warming.
"Wellll," Claire considered, "I wasn’t going to tan your tushy, but since you bring up how difficult you are, and how you need your regular butt burnings, I guess I’ll just have to do that.  You don’t mind if I leave you in that clever bondage, do you?"
"Non, Madame Mistress.  You are soooo nice to zee Dee Dee.  She weeshes for what you weesh."
"Good girl.  Now how about if I use something new I got in the mail the other day.  I know your bottom can’t wait to experience some different and extra exciting stinging.  Can it?"
"Oh, non, Madame Mistress.  Dee Dee’s naughty bottom ees wanting the special spanking."
"Heh, heh.  Right.  I’m sure that’s the truth."  She went to the closet and took something from a hook on the wall.  I was startled and upset to see that it was a leather strap, thick and split down the middle, with a wooden handle.  I looked like something from a dungeon.  Actually, at the rate my Mistress was adding to her collection of ‘playthings’, she would soon have enough to equip a home dungeon.  And I knew she would be eager to take me there as often as possible.  From the time she had begun indulging her desire to get rough with me, her passion for it had grown, keeping the cycle of her inflicting it and me craving worse, going more and more powerfully.  She had even mentioned that she wanted to convert an upstairs bedroom for exactly that purpose.  My Mistress’s dungeon.  Claire reached into the closet again and this time came out with a nasty looking bamboo cane.  She looked at me in my hampered condition and mused, "I wonder how these two toys, used together, will be for layering your pain, Dee Dee?"
For once I was at a loss for words.  I tried to put on a brave face but couldn’t.  She took me by the ear and walked me to the far side of the room.  I hadn’t noticed it before but there was a new hook in the wall from which hung a chain, on the end of which was a clamp.  My Mistress opened the clamp, fitted its ends into my nostrils, and tightened it back up until it pinched my nose painfully.  There was a single small point on the inside of each half of the device, and they dug into my septum, making it impossible to yank free without damage.  I was stuck, bound in that difficult posture, more than half naked, my hairless pink body on display.  She stood directly behind me with her crotch pressed against my rump, reached around, and teased my nipples.  I moaned and involuntarily pushed back, like some slut urging a man to use her.  Claire laughed softly and switched from toying to tormenting, her strong fingers pulling and twisting my sensitive nipples until I cried out.
She reached between my legs and gave my scrotum a punishing squeeze, making me yell even louder.  My penis, confused by the positive and negative stimulation to my body, tried to get hard, but it was in its chastity and could only attempt futilely what it was meant to do.  My Mistress kept busy moving her hands around, teasing and hurting, at the same time whispering in my ears to raise my level of excitation, stroking my smooth skin, telling me how absolutely I was under her control, subject to the most heartless mood of the moment that might seize her.   As if to prove that, she stepped back, seized the cane, and began slashing it against my defenseless ass, heedless of how often she laid it across the same space, intent on producing the maximum of pain.  I was soon at my breaking point, when she stopped unexpectedly.  I took one deep breath and then, just as suddenly, she had switched to the strap and started her second round with renewed fury.  My beleaguered backside suffered molten pain as she traded off her implements twice again.  I jerked uncontrollably at my nose ring, causing fresh agony to my pinched tissues.  I struggled against the corset, which only reminded me of how useless my efforts were.
At last it ended.  I sagged but could go only so far with the ring still in my nose.  My face was hot and my rear end much hotter.  She observed the damage she had done with pleasure.  Claire described the welts and the general swelling with enthusiasm.  She said she liked me with a fuller bottom like that, and might put me on a diet to make it that way all the time.  Then she noted how the corset pushed up the softness of my chest and created a hint of breasts, adding, “If I can make it look even more like you’re sprouting boobies, I could trick you out to some of my friends.  I bet you’d love that, Dee Dee.”
Not wanting to give her any excuse (thought she never needed one) to put me through more hell, I found my voice long enough to say, “Dee Dee would love, love, love zat, Madame Mistress.”  Of course, by giving her what she wanted, I was also encouraging her to do what I didn’t want.
Keeping with the French theme she merrily said, “Ooo, la, la.”  And raked her fingernails over the flaming skin of my ass.
Late the next afternoon, while I was still getting over the battering of my bum, Claire surprised me with, “Don’t forget, Dee Dee.  I made plans.”  When I visibly didn’t comprehend, she added, “You know, from my phone conversation the other night.”  I had put that out of my mind, so terrible had been the bondage/caning/strapping combination.  But she said we would be leaving in an hour and that I should put on a nice top, something sleeveless, snug, and colorful… and nothing else.  I did as I was told, stealing a peek in one of her many mirrors to see my ass, still discolored and somewhat bruised.  My nose hurt, too.  I found a top I believed would satisfy her and tugged it down over my upper half, feeling more naked somehow than if I was fully undressed.  It was decorated with bright yellow and green splotches on a cranberry background.  She left me in that state, not giving any orders to add to my non-outfit.  And then it was time to go.  Her car was parked alongside the house.  It was nearing dusk, with long shadows covering the driveway.  Still, it was far from dark and I had to scurry to the car with my hands over my chastity tube and balls, and scramble into the back seat, a minute after I arrived, when she finally, in no rush, unlocked the doors.
We drove for a while, with me crouched down, praying that no one would see me.  I had on light make-up but no wig.  Maybe Claire just wanted to drive me around like that for her amusement.  We would return home and it would all be over.  Right?  No such luck.  My Mistress drove us to a remote park and followed a winding drive that snaked through it, until we were far from the main road.  She pulled into a secluded area, circled by trees, and down a gentle slope, ending up in a parking area big enough for two cars.  I was relieved that the spot wasn’t more public but still distressed to be outdoors at all in my current state of semi-undress.  She took a moment to check her lipstick in the rearview mirror, touched it up, and then told me to get out and get the blanket that was in the trunk.  I looked around warily and dashed to the rear of the car.  She let me stand there for a moment, smooth unmanly ass on display, before she popped the trunk.  I snatched the blanket and started to wrap it around me when she interrupted with, “No, no, Dee Dee.  That’s not for you.  That’s for my picnic.  Now spread it out on the ground like a good girl.”  Not believing how far she was taking this, I nevertheless did what she instructed.  Claire made me move the blanket twice before she was happy with where it was.
My Mistress went to it and sat down.  She said I should get the bag that was on the floor of the front seat, on the passenger side.  I did and was thrilled to see that it contained clothing.  There was… a woman’s one-piece bathing suit?  And a big floppy beach hat with flashy hatband and three large plastic flowers on it.  Plus a pair of flip flops… with high heels.  As foolish as it would be to wear, it was much better than what I presently had.  So I stripped out of the bright top and got into the bathing suit, which was tight and skimpy, shaping itself to my contours and leaving much too much bare.  She had me tuck my confined penis back between my thighs, where the crotch-band of the suit held it, and my nearly crushed balls, uncomfortably.  I set the hat on my head and tugged it down.  It wouldn’t go, so I checked inside and found there was a long wavy, redheaded wig waiting for me.  Feeling more embarrassed by the minute, I fitted the wig to my head and resettled the hat atop it, then stepped into the sandals.  By then I had learned to walk in heels, but now I was outdoors and had to contend with a whole new set of challenges.
I was sent back to the trunk where a picnic basket waited.  Taking it out, I found it contained a bottle of white wine for starters.  Claire had me give her that.  She took a corkscrew from her purse and opened the bottle, as if I was too feeble or technically deficient to handle such a task.  She did allow me to pour, however.  A full glass for her and none for me.  Next I set out some finger sandwiches, noting that there were more than enough for just her.  Even if I was denied a drink, I might at least get to eat something.  Still thinking about that, I was startled to hear another car approaching.  Instead of going past on the main road, it took our turn-off and came closer, headlights illuminating me in my foolish beachwear.  I turned to my Mistress, who was serenely nibbling on a miniature sandwich.  I threw my hands in front of me, like an easily shamed girl trying to cover herself.  The car kept coming and parked alongside Claire’s.  A woman got out of the passenger side and waved cheerily to Claire, saying, “We didn’t have any trouble finding this spot.  I’m so glad you called the other day and told us you were coming here.”
As I stood there like a deer in the headlights (or perhaps a DEAR in the headlights?), the driver side door was thrown open and out came a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw covered in five-o’clock shadow.  I nearly fainted as he went to Claire and hugged her, then turned directly to me and grinned.  The two newcomers chatted with my wife for a bit and then helped themselves to sandwiches.  I had to pour them each a glass of white and then stand aside, their sissy wine steward.  They all sat and relaxed while I stood there, nervous as anything.  I turned this way and that, trying to find a position that would hide my unmanly appearance, though there was no such way to stand.  They enjoyed more sandwiches and some other treats I had to serve them.  Finally they had small pastries for dessert and drank the last of the wine.
Still totally uncomfortable, I took a few steps back, putting myself into the deepening shadows.  But that made me chilly and, without realizing it, I started moving my feet around in a restless dance.  I heard my wife call the other woman Betsy and her male companion Tad.  He began taking glances at me, not trying to hide what he was doing.  All I wanted at that moment was to run away and hide, but the best I could do was to retreat another three steps.  That put me up against some bushes whose sharp branches scratched my legs and jabbed my butt.  I bit my lower lip and fought back tears.
At last the happy threesome stood up.  The guy gave Claire another warm hug.  I squirmed with discomfort at the sight.  That was when my wife turned toward me and said, “Come out where we can see you, Dee Dee.”
I meekly stepped forward and said, in my girly voice, “Yes, Mistress.  I’m sorry, Mistress.”  In an effort to please her, and heedless of how I must sound to the others, I put the tip of one forefinger up to my lips and said, “Dee Dee was a bad girl.”
They all chuckled at my enforced feminine speech.  I pressed my legs together and hoped desperately that the strangers would just get into their car and leave.  Instead, Claire said to Betsy, “We should spend a little time together, you and I.  I’m sure both of us have lots of good stories to tell.”  She looked meaningfully at me and added, “I know I do.”  More chuckling, especially from Tad, who was eating me up with his eyes.  My Mistress went on, “So why don’t we do this.  You ride with me, Betsy…”  She paused to let me squirm before she finished, “… and my Dee Dee can go with Tad.”
My heart turned over in my chest.  I couldn’t leave with another man.  Dressed and made up the way I was.  With him already giving me sex eyes.  When I cast an imploring look at Claire she just smiled and said, “I’m sure you two will get along fine.”  I rubbed my hands against my smooth bare thighs and worried about how finely Tad expected us to get along.  But a moment later the big man ordered me to gather up the picnic blanket and basket, to put them into our trunk.  He closed the lid, again reminding me that I wasn’t considered capable of such a simple task.  The women slid into our car and soon I was watching the taillights shrink as they drove away.  I turned fearfully to Tad and he grinned devilishly as he said, “Want to ride up front with me?”
I nodded weakly, too scared to risk upsetting him.  In a whisper I told him, “Thank you, Big Tad.”
He thought that was funny and opened the side door for me.  I slid in, shamefacedly aware of the picture I made, and folded my hands on my lap.  My bent-back genitals were squashed under me.  Tad leaned close.  What was he going to do?  It turned out he was just fastening my seatbelt.  I thanked him in my best impersonation of a simpering girl.  He gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze and got in on his side.  Very soon we were moving.  When we reached the turn-off, he aimed away from where Claire had gone.  Suddenly I felt my stomach clench.  He drove confidently, humming to himself.  I worried that someone might see me in my humiliating state but he didn’t seem to care about that or anything else.  Twenty minutes later we had driven along several streets I didn’t recognize and had turned into a residential area.  He went for another ten minutes before the houses began to thin out.  At last we reached a long road with just one large home waiting at its end.  There were trees all around.  Tad stopped and swung out his side.  He opened my door again.  That was when I saw three figures emerging from the woods.  They were guys, young men in jeans and flannel shirts, with uncombed hair and a swaggering attitude.  My host signaled for me to exit his car.
One of the young men noticed me and called out to no one in particular, “Looks like somebody’s going to get lucky tonight.”  I silently mouthed the words, ‘Please don’t let them realize I’m a man.’  Tad gave them a cocky smile and just stood there.  He was daring them to make a comment directly to him.  As tall and obviously powerful as he was, they decided not to.  Instead, they went on their way, bumping shoulders with each other and laughing.
Tad explained, “Sometimes guys like that go into those woods to drink or smoke a few joints.  Or whatever.  Hope they didn’t frighten you.”
"N… not much," I piped.  "But thank you for, um, not letting them do anything."  I remembered my required voice and added, "You protected Dee Dee."  Why did I have to talk like that?  Couldn’t Claire have at least let me be myself when I spoke?
Tad closed my door and said, “So now you owe me one.  Don’t you?”
I gripped the sides of my wide hat and managed, “Yes, Big Tad.  Little Dee Dee… owes you… something.”
He strode off and called back, “Let’s get you inside.”
I hurried after him, eager to be off the street but anxious about being indoors with such an imposing specimen of manhood.  He opened the front door for me and I entered, my hips swishing, wishing I could explain that I wasn’t really like this. Instead, he followed me inside and closed the door with a bang that made me gasp.  Tad moved close to me.  Very close.  I looked up at him, my lower lip trembling.  He put his large hand on the side of my face and move his fingers caressingly.  I felt weak and uncertain.  What had Claire gotten me into?  And why?  He put an arm around me and walked me through the house to a small room dominated by a large-screen TV.  Tad dropped himself into a well upholstered recliner and leaned it back.  He used the remote to put on a sports channel and, without looking at me, called for a beer, telling me where the kitchen was.  On trembling legs and those high-heeled flip-flops, I hurried off, got lost once, but then found the kitchen.  I grabbed a cold beer and then had the presence of mind to set it onto a plate, so that I could present it like a good little serving girl.  He visibly appreciated the effort and sat there, watching recaps of the day’s games and taking sips of his drink.  I stood off to the side, trying not to be noticed.
An hour later he was done and heaved himself to his feet.  Tad looked at me and said, “Let’s go, Dee Dee.  Time for a shower.”
All at once I was a nervous wreck again.  He preceded me to the bathroom, where there was a spacious shower stall.  As he started to undress I saw that he was very well developed — muscularly — and had a generous amount of body hair.  He urged me to lose my clothes, too.  As I reluctantly peeled off the bathing suit I was embarrassedly aware of the contrasts between us, of how soft my body was, how smooth and pink.  Tad snapped his fingers at me and said, “Get me out of my pants, honey.”  I reached out to open them and he put his hands on my shoulders and pressed downward.  I sank to my knees until I was eye level with his crotch.  When I unfastened the snap and lowered his jeans, I got an eyeful of his jockey shorts, the crotch of which was filled to bulging.  I turned my gaze upward questioningly and he nodded, so I hooked my fingers under the waistband and worked down his last bit of covering.  The bulge did not lie.  He was hung like a stallion.  A shudder ran through me as I made one more mental comparison and again came up short.  Very short.
To my surprise, he reached down and helped me to my feet, his strength obvious from how easily he did it.  Then he turned on the water and adjusted it.  Tad had me stick my hand in and make sure the temperature was acceptable.  I told him in my wispiest voice that it was fine.  He stepped in and offered me a helping hand to join him.  By then I needed to be assisted.  We both got thoroughly wet and then he handed me  a bar of soap, saying simply, “Wash me.  All over.”  I lathered up my hands and began at his neck, which was thick and firm.  As I worked my way lower I got to feel and envy more of his impressive physique.  When I got below his waist I hesitated but only for a few seconds.  What else could I do?  I was naked, in a strange man’s house, outclassed in every possible way.  Was I going to try to outrun him, hope that the front door wasn’t locked, race outside, and flee into the woods?  Maybe to meet ruffians like the ones we had passed on the way in?
So I got more soap on my unsteady hands and began to wash his oversized equipment, making sure to get his balls as well.  He smiled while I worked.  To my dismay he got an erection.  I had to wash his backside, too, making sure to get between his rock hard buttocks.  Finally I got onto my knees — again — and scrubbed his legs, with his long hard cock distractingly close.  I hoped the worst was over but then he insisted on returning the favor.  As Tad washed me he commented on how silky my skin was and asked what it felt like to have absolutely no hair anywhere.  I made a lame joke about still having it on my head.  He laughed briefly and ran his fingers through my wet hair, massaging my scalp.  We each did our own shampooing, which was a small relief for me.  Then we stepped out and I dried him with a couple of large towels.  He did the same for me and said it was time for bed.
How many times could I escape what appeared to be the inevitable?  Should I use the female date’s classic excuse and insist that I had a headache?  I certainly didn’t have enough pride left to prevent me from doing that.  But I was swept along as he guided me to his spacious, extremely manly bedroom.  There was something for me to wear, laid out atop the comforter that covered the king-sized bed.  It was a tiny see-through top that tied in the front with a single pair of ribbons, along with matching panties that were similarly small.  Both parts were pale yellow.  He picked up a hairbrush and growled, “Ready for your spanking, girl?”  I froze and could only nod submissively.  He laughed and handed it to me, saying I should take care of my hair.  I did and he gave me some gel to make sure I could look appropriately nice for him.  There was also perfume, something flowery that I used only two quick sprays of.  He explained that he slept in the nude, but mentioned that I looked ‘good enough to eat’… ‘or be eaten by’.  That was another false alarm, I discovered, as we got under the covers and he turned away from me.  For the next quarter hour I lay as still as I could, not wanting to draw attention to myself.  He drifted into sleep and was soon breathing steadily.  My tension ebbed — somewhat — and I hugged my pillow, concerned about what the morning might bring.
When I awoke Tad was not there.  I smelled coffee and he soon appeared, wearing a pair of snug shorts, with a steaming mug for himself.  For me there was a delicate cup.  My coffee had extra milk in it, as if I couldn’t handle it too dark.  I was relieved to have gotten that far without any deeply intimate contact.  He sat on the edge of the bed while we sipped our coffee.  Tad reached under the covers to lightly stroke my thigh.  I knew it felt just like a girl’s.  His hand was inching higher when we heard the front door open.  Now what?  A minute later Betsy appeared, framed in the bedroom door.  Behind her was Claire, my Mistress.  She saw me and got an amused expression.  I curled up and wanted to duck under the blankets, but thought better of it.  The women came over to sit on either side of Tad.  Betsy wanted to know, “So, did you rape Dee Dee?”  My wife asked, “Or just used his mouth?”  He laughed good-naturedly and assured them that, tempting as I was, he hadn’t made me go all the way, or even to third base.
All of us moved to the breakfast nook and Betsy made bacon and eggs.  Well, they got that.  I just got eggs.  Theirs were generous omelets with a mix of ingredients.  Mine were light and fluffy, as befit the girl they were treating me like.  I didn’t mind.  My virginity was still intact.  All of it.  After a leisurely meal Claire said we had to be getting back home.  She had brought a short jacket for me.  It didn’t cover as much as would have liked but, at that point, I was happy to take whatever I was offered.  And to leave.  In our car I kept my knees together and tugged the bottom of the coat down as far as it would go, which wasn’t very.  We reached our home without incident and Claire pulled all the way up the drive, so I could scamper to the back door, where I was unlikely to be seen, although I couldn’t stop worrying the someone might spy me.  I wished I had more on my lower half than just that chastity.  She left me there, on the step, while she unhurriedly went around front and let herself in.  I had to wait an additional five minutes while she did who-knew-what inside before, at long last, unlocking the back door and letting me inside.
"So," she asked after having me take off the jacket and drape it over the back of a kitchen chair, "are you ready to be my good little sissy slave?  Will you remember your place and not expect me to get too sweet or personal with you?  Or would you prefer an entire weekend with Tad and Betsy?  I know they’d both like to road test you… so to speak.  What’s it going to be, Dee Dee?"
That was it.  All of it had been to let me know that she expected us to keep a certain distance from each other, and that I was to be her submissive and not a lover or anything close to one.  I understood.  I gripped the flimsy front of my nightie and displayed as much surrender as I could.  “Dee Dee will be your complete slave, Mistress, happy to accept any punishments you give her.”  With the main message delivered, I slipped into my expected silly speech and went on, “Dee Dee knows how to be nice.  And to thank you for spanking her, Mistress dearest.  And to appreciate being allowed to serve your yummy pussy.”
She smiled at me, as if to say ‘Mission accomplished’.  I would never expect her to be more… or less… than my complete Mistress.  And that was fine with me.

The olfactory/taste points I've just made as regards conditioning might also extend to territory marking. The alpha male marks his territory leaving his scent around the woman's vagina, but also around her mouth and on her clothes. If he visits your bed he scents there too and the scent isn't instantly removed. Cuck male is conditioned to accept that she is his and that any attention shown must be submissive. Indeed cream pie and similar flood him with reminders of the fait accompli. 'Accept it'

Worth considering that a woman's pheromones, the taste and the scent of her sex juices are also tools of conditioning. Scent exists for a purpose and in primeval times its possible that it was designed to attract weaker males down there to lick and submit. It may be instinctive for women to condition a cuck male to lick before introducing him to the scent and taste of her lover's sperm. Conditioned males don't compete and life is stable for the alpha female, coupling solely with the alpha male.