The Loving Wife
  • Author - paltego
  • Rating -   
  • Site Rank - 48 of 2955
  • Story Codes - F-m, consensual, analplay, bondage, breathplay, cbt, chastity, electricity, extreme, predicament, torture, toys, watersports
  • Post Date - 6/11/2012

Author's Note: This is a fairly intense femdom story, with a blend of sensuality and extreme cruelty.

So far it consists of 4 chapters. I'm debating how to finish it off in perhaps 1 or 2 more chapters. If you've feedback feel free to email it to me or find me via my blog at

Chapter 1 - Prolog

My wife says I'm the luckiest man alive. If I'm ever feeling down or unhappy she'll remind me that our relationship is one in a million and that it was so lucky that we found one another. She'll say "How many other husbands get the attention I give to you? How many other husbands are loved as much as you?"

And she's right. I have to agree that she cares for me in a way very few other wives do. Sometimes when she's lying close to me she'll stroke my hair, embrace me and murmur "You know you're the focus of my life, right honey?" And it's hard to argue with her. Her delicate natural scent will wash over me, I'll feel her warmth against me and I'll really believe that we're one in a million. But sometimes I don't feel all that lucky. Like right now for example.

I'm stretched out above the bed in my room. It's pitch black, cold and I'm staring up at the ceiling. I don't really have much choice in that. The large number of leather straps holding my body in place make it the only option. In the next room I can hear my wife panting and moaning. That has been going on for what seems like hours now. The guy she's with is mostly silent, but occasionally he'll let out a deep guttural grunt as he slams her back into the bed. He sounds like a big guy and I can hear the bed shifting and creaking as they move together. I know she's come twice already tonight. The little screams she lets out as he brings her to orgasm make it easy to count. Hopefully it'll just be once more before I can get some sleep.

I can hear what's happening so clearly because what I call "my room" is actually what used to be the walk-in-closet off the master bedroom. We spent a weekend converting it from its original function a couple of years ago. The design is functional and plain, a minimal space design purely to contain me in a location close to her. It's about 7 feet on each side, with matt white painted walls. On the right side are a few simple cubbyholes for my clothes. At the back is what my wife likes to call my toy chest. It's a large heavy black metal box and holds all the straps, whips, clamps and gags that she enjoys using on me. On the left side, about halfway up the wall, is a thick wooden shelf bolted firmly to the walls at each end of the closet. The space beneath it is separated from the room by a solid steel mesh, creating a cage like space. Most nights I sleep in that cage, under the shelf, lying on a thin mattress placed on the floor.

Tonight however, is different. Tonight my wife has company. And when she has company she doesn't even like me to even have the minimal movement that the tiny caged space affords. She says it's because I might kick the bars in my sleep and disturb whoever she's with. But I think she really just gets off on the thought of me immobilized. Helpless. Unable to move a muscle while she fucks just a few feet away.

So tonight I'm lying on the wooden shelf above the cage. I'm on my back, arms straight and parallel by my sides. At regular intervals, set through slots in the wood, are shiny black leather straps with chrome buckles. Four narrow ones are provided for each of my arms and legs, spaced evenly down the limbs. A wider and thicker strap holds my torso in place, crossing my chest just below my armpits. A padded strap is wrapped carefully but snugly around my neck, forcing my chin up slightly. Finally, my head and mouth are taken care of with a single half inch leather strap that comes up around my cheeks and between my teeth. On its own this wouldn't totally prevent noise, but she always uses it together with packing material for my mouth. Today, as on most days, it's a pair of her used panties that are crammed into place under the strap. I think these are a pair she played tennis in earlier this week, because the sharp tang of her sweat is strong against my tongue and in my nostrils.

Although the shelf looks hard and painful there are a couple of concessions to my comfort. My lower back and ass rest on a thin padded leather cushion that's riveted into the wood. And my head and neck rest on a leather cushion fastened down in the same way. Over the last couple of years I've worn depressions in them that match up perfectly to my compressed body. My wife added the cushions after telling me that she didn't want me to be in any unnecessary pain. Of course, her definitions of when pain is and is not necessary probably wouldn't match most other peoples. And while the shelf may not be painful, it certainly is immobilizing. I can wiggle my toes and fingers, but that's about it. Everything is taut and compressed against the leather and wood. When she first strapped my down, after hours of drilling, screwing and measuring, she was overjoyed. When the final strap was in place she stepped back and clapped her hands together, looking like a child with a new toy.

"Oh honey, that's wonderful" she said gleefully. "You look so cute, so perfectly fixed in place. Now I can scratch my itch with all those men in the next room, and you don't have to worry about a thing. You'll be safe in here."

She then perched herself on the edge of the edge of the self and ran her hands over my unmoving body.

"Although I guess we'd better make sure it really is going to do the job properly...".

With that she reached for my upper arm, and very deliberately and carefully pinched my flesh between the ends of her long red nails, almost cutting through the skin with the pressure applied. I groaned into her dirty socks she had stuffed into my mouth. Instinctively I tried to jerk my arm away from the pain, but it stayed firmed anchored in place, immobile between the straps. Over the next 30 minutes or so she repeated this process all over my body, testing every portion of exposed skin, smiling softly to herself as she did it. Occasionally she'd pause and gently caressing the limb she was working on, just letting her fingertips drift across my body. Or lean in towards me and gently blow on the hot red mark she'd just created. But then she'd always return to inflicting the pain and testing her new toy. By the end of it I was covered in bright red half crescent marks, each a slowly fading center of pain. But the straps held and I hadn't moved a fraction of an inch.

Since that day I've probably been on the shelf two or three times a week. She doesn't love the guys she brings home. She'll see one for a couple of months and then move on when the novelty fades. As she tells me, she just need to satisfy her basic human urges, much like she needs to eat or sleep. What she has with me is very different and much more special.

From the ongoing sounds from next door, it seems that the current flavor of the month is really getting the job done. She's panting heavily, almost screaming on every exhale, each breath getting more drawn out as she reaches her climax. He lets out a loud groan and then a 'Fuck yeah', and I figure that's orgasm number 3 of the evening for them. The house slowly goes quiet and I can now here the low mutter of voices from the bedroom.

I don't really know anything about this guy. It's only the 2nd time she's brought him home, and all she has mentioned to me is that he's got a big cock and can fuck for hours before he gets tired. That's not really a description that helps me distinguish from all the other guys she's seen. Whoever he is, I'm just grateful that she didn't bring Frank home tonight. Most guys she doesn't see more than a handful of times. And none of them ever find out about me. Frank is the exception to both these rules. She sees him semi-regularly. And for some reason she decided to tell him all about our unconventional marriage. Amazingly this didn't freak him out. If anything it turned him on. And recently he's been hinting that it might be fun to involve me a little more. Perhaps provide a warm-up service while my wife gets ready. Frank scares me.

The low voices from the next room have now gone quiet and been replaced by a slow and gentle snoring. After a few minutes the light in my room comes on and I hear the metal lock on the outside of the door click open. The door slides back and my wife quickly slips through before closing it behind her. Thanks to the severe bondage I'm in I can't turn to look at her, but she solves that problem for me by sitting on the shelf right by my head, leaning across me so she look down into my eyes. She's naked apart from a pair of thin pink panties, and she has a thin sheen of sweat across her body. Her hair is mussed up and I her skin almost seems to be glowing with a red blush from her evenings exertion. She looks like she's just got done with a great workout at the gym.

"Hi sweetie," she whispers. "How are you doing?"

It's a rhetorical question of course, as I can't make a sound beyond a low unintelligent grunt. She bends down and gently kissing me on the forehead, gently brushing some of my hair aside as she does so. She makes no move to untie me. The low snoring I can still hear coming from next door is beginning to make me think I might be on the shelf for a while longer.

"I'm sorry about this sweetie, but Bill was really tired after everything we did tonight. I didn't think it was fair to kick him straight out onto the street. And he is just so good in the sack. Amazing really. I think he must have pumped a gallon of cum into me over the last hour or so. Anyway, I'm going to let him catch up on a few hours' sleep before he leaves, so I'm afraid you'll have to stay strapped into your special place for a little longer yet. We don't want him bumping into you accidentally in the morning do we? But don't worry, I wouldn't forget your treat"

She reaches for the gag strap and unbuckles it. Her sodden panties are slowly pulled from my mouth and tossed into the corner of the room. As I work my jaw and try to get some saliva flowing again, she slips her panties down and then straddles me, with her knees either side of my head. The smell of her musk is strong and she squats lower and lower to me, her cunt just above my mouth.

"OK honey. Open wide for me. I think you're going to get a big load tonight"

Using one hand she spreads her cunt wide above my mouth and uses a finger from the other hand to try and coax out the sticky contents. A large dollop of Bill's cum rolls out and lands in my mouth. I swallow the salty liquid as she slips her finger free, bringing another long string of cum with it. She directs it into my mouth and gives me her finger to suck clean. Finally she crouches even lower to give my tongue full access. I licked along the length of her slit, and then worked my tongue in, slurping out a mixture of her juice and his sticky seed. I don't try to excite her or give her pleasure. This isn't about that. I'm just here to clean-up.

"That's good" she whispers. "I think you got most of it. But you're not quite done yet. The second time he fucked me, well, let's just say we were a little more naughty. So you get a double treat tonight".

With the she scoots forward, getting up from a kneeling position to a squatting one, resting on the balls of her feet. I know what's coming. And I know it's going to be disgusting and unpleasant, but I have to do it for her. She's wearing a small jeweled butt plug. It's stainless steel with a sparkly purple gem in the end. She raises herself slightly and gripping the end, working it back and forth to slide the plug free. As it pops out she quickly squats back down, holding her asshole above my open mouth. There's a pause, and I sense her straining slightly, but then with a quiet grunt of satisfaction from her, my mouth is suddenly filled with a squirted mixture of lube, shit and cum. I can taste the bitterness of her feces mixed in with what tastes like her favorite strawberry flavored lube. Sometimes she likes to make me wait at this point, holding the liquid in my mouth until she gives me permission to swallow. But tonight I'm spared that, and I swallow as fast as I can, trying to avoid tasting more than I have to. I strain my head up to slip my tongue into her anal ring and as I do so more of the disgusting liquid slips out. After several minutes of licking and cleaning she's done and carefully climbs off me. The final task is to clean the butt plug, and she smiles down at me as she holds it to my lips like a baby with a dummy. I take it into my mouth, working my tongue across the surface to polish off the thin film of lube and the tiny flecks of shit still clinging there. Once it's spotless she slips it into the toy chest at the back of the room.

"Thank you sweetie", she says. "That was very well done and I'm proud of you. Now I'm going to go and cuddle up in bed, but I'll be back to let you free once Bill's gone. In the meantime let me fix up that gag for you."

She picks up the pink panties she was wearing when she came in, and uses them to wipe the remaining sweat from her abdomen and underarms. She also carefully wipes her cunt and ass, capturing any stray lube or cum I might have missed. Finally, leaning over me, she cleans up the liquid from her asshole that missed my mouth and has splattered around my chin and run down the side of my face. With everything nicely wiped down she carefully packs the now sticky panties into my mouth, retightening the gag strap to hold them firmly in place. With a finally goodbye kiss on my forehead, she slips from the room, locking the door behind her.

As the light goes out I picture her in the next room. Beautiful and naked, slipping into our huge comfortable bed, and cuddling up to the guy whose snores I can still hear coming through the closed door. As I lie there, fixed into place by a web of leather, and still with the taste of her shit in my mouth, my mind goes back to when we first met and how all this started.

Chapter 2 - Beginnings

Our first meeting was an omen of what was to come. I was on my hands and knees, groveling around on the floor. She was sitting comfortably above me, talking to someone else whilst idly dangling her stocking clad legs in my face.

The location was her office in the law firm that employed the two of us. She was a young lawyer, a rising star in the firm, rapidly climbing the ranks towards partner status. I was a computer technician, just out of college. All I was looking for was a steady income while I paid off my college loans and figured out what to do with my life. As it turned out, life decisions were going to be less of a problem for me than I first thought. The attractive woman conspicuously ignoring me that day in her office would take care of that.

Initially I wasn't paying her much attention. I was staring gloomily at the rats nests of unlabeled computer wires under her desk and wondering which idiot had installed them. I had a sneaking suspicion that the idiot might have been me. She was swinging on her chair, talking to a client on the phone, scribbling notes on the legal pad on her desk. Her feet were idly kicking and pulling the wires as she pivoted to and fro, which wasn't making my untangling job any easier. It got considerably more difficult a few seconds when she stamped very firmly onto the back of my hand.

Shocked I stared at the black stiletto shoe. Its shiny tip was digging deep into my flesh, ridging the pale skin, pinning it painfully against the hard floor. It was obviously an accident, the busy flow of chatter above hadn't hesitated for a second, but it hurt all the same. Subconsciously realizing something was wrong she began to roll her foot back and forth, trying to get figure out what she'd stepped on. I grimaced as the pain grew but said nothing. Abruptly, realizing what had happened, she lifted her foot and pushed her chair back.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see your foot there. Are you....OK?"

Her voice trailed off as she replayed in her mind what had happened. The length of time she'd been standing on my hand. My silence. She stared at me thoughtfully. Looking up at her from the floor I slowly shook my hand to restore the feeling. I wasn't sure why I'd kept quiet. Somehow it had felt wrong for me to interrupt her conversation, no matter what the pain.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Just an accident. Let me get back to trying to fix this mess."

She returned to her telephone conversation and I returned to fruitlessly wiggling wires looking for bad connections. A few minutes passed and then, very deliberately it seemed this time, she carefully stepped on my hand again. I froze, staring in disbelief at the sharp dagger of shiny black leather. The flow of telephone conversation continued on. As billing costs with debated with the client, she slowly increased the pressure, crushing my fingers against the floor. I looked up and realized she was staring down at me, a faint smile playing around her mouth. Her expression was a mixture of amusement, curiosity and surprise, a little like that of a puppy owner witnessing a new and unexpected trick. The obvious delight she took in hurting me touched a nerve buried deep within me. I felt my cock begin to stiffen, and tried to shuffle awkwardly forward to conceal that fact. She in turn shifted forward on her chair, moving to the edge in order to bring more weight and pressure to bear on my pinned hand. Eventually, as the pain became too much I let out a low moan, and she removed her foot.

Over the next 15 minutes or so this same sequence played itself out several more times. A few minutes trying to do my job, and then a few minutes of pain as she ground my hand beneath her toes. Or scraped her sharp heel slowly across the back of my hand. Throughout all this her telephone conversation never faltered. She took notes and maintained a confident breezy professional tone with her client, while under the desk I bit back my cries.

Eventually the phone call came to an end and she gathered her things together to leave. I briefly considered saying something, but what was there to be said? She had known what she was doing. And I hadn't attempted to stop her because, at a very deep primitive level, I had been excited by what she had done. So I remained on the floor, my head down, unenthusiastically pulling at wires with my uninjured hand. Behind me I heard footsteps and then a pause when she reached the door.

"Leave me your email address on the pad on my desk," she said. "We should get together sometime." And with that instruction, she was gone.

Three days later found me in the lobby of her downtown condo building, nervously checking my reflection in its mirrored wall. The man staring back at me looked presentable enough. He was slim, well proportioned, clean shaven and smartly dressed. Somehow, that didn't seem enough. My hand shook slightly as I summoned the elevator. The sight of the deep red bruises still clearly visible on the back of it did nothing to calm my nerves.

Her name was April. Installed with a glass of wine on a bar stool at her kitchen counter, I watched her as she prepared dinner. She was beautiful, but in an offbeat fashion. Not a conventional leggy blonde or brunette, she was slim and petite, almost delicately put together. On her mother's side she was Japanese, and it showed in her high cheek bones and her coal dark almond shaped eyes. She wore her dark brown hair in short bob, cut in a severe Asian style. The only visible makeup was a touch of deep red lipstick which contrasted sharply with her pale skin. She said she'd played a lot of competitive racquet sports through college, and it showed both in her athletic figure and her coordinated composed movement. Her father was British, and from him she'd inherited a calm assured personality, a firmness and forcefulness that came through in her every action.

To my surprise she was very easy to talk to and my jittery nerves began to dissipate. She made no mention of the scene in her office, and the conversation bounced along happily over dinner. She was smart, funny and totally self-assured. We shared a lot of similar interests, and when she suggested we move to the sofa after dinner, my hopes began to rise. Was about to get lucky at the end of a surprisingly conventional date?

As it turned out, April was someone who believed in making her own luck. And my rising hopes were about to run into some heavy turbulence.

She'd seated herself with a glass of wine in the center of the sofa. But when I went to sit beside her she raised her hand to stop me, and then gestured to the floor.

"Why don't you sit at my feet? I think I'd find that a more appropriate position."

I paused, but only momentarily. Seeing her confidently sitting there, waiting for me to take my place on the floor, reminded me of the excitement I'd felt in her office. As I settled into the position I felt a shiver run down my spine. Somehow I'd known something like this was coming. She began to gently rub her foot against my crotch, stimulating what was now a very obvious erection.

"Take off your pants and briefs."

I stared up at her smiling face, and as I opened my mouth to speak, her hand went up in universal sign for 'halt', her palm raised and flat. Without a word I began to fumble with my trouser buttons. Pulling out my cock in front of a fully clothed women I barely knew was embarrassing. But I'd ceased to care. Wherever this particular funfair ride was going, I wanted to be on it to the end.

What followed was almost an hour of pain interspersed with just a few fleeting moments of pleasure. Onto her right foot she pulled a red high heeled shoe. Her left foot was left clad only by a stocking. From the right came pain. Dragging her sharp heel down the length of my shaft. Grinding the head of my cock with the tip of the shoe. Repetitive little kicks to my balls. From the left was pleasure. Gently stroking me. Softly agitating back and forth. Creating just odd moments of relief from the otherwise steady punishment.

Throughout neither of us spoke. She seemed entranced by what she could do to me. I stared at her and simply tried to ride the waves of pain.

Eventually, when it felt like my cock had been rubbed raw, she kicked off her shoe and slid forward on the couch. Her skirt rode up as she did this, and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of her stocking tops and the little white silk triangle between her legs. Firmly holding my shoulder to keep me steady in front of her, she slipped her other hand down to grip my balls. I looked into her dark eyes as she began to rhythmically squeeze and twist the delicate vessels cupped in her hand. The pain mounted quickly, my breathing coming in fast little gasps. As the pain overwhelmed me I went to cry out, and she crushed her lips down onto mine. Our first kiss. She pulled me tightly against her, one hand behind my head, feeding off my agony. The sound of my pain lost in her lips and tongue.

That moment marked the end of our first date. Ten minutes later I was outside her apartment, staring at the closing door. Twelve months later we were married.

In those twelve months we managed to combine a normal active social life with a steady escalation in torture and torments. She'd cane me for hours to work out her frustrations after a long day at work. A night of movie watching and eating popcorn together would finish with me tightly bound in rope and sleeping on the hard floor at the foot of her bed. A dinner out would be enlivened with the use a dog shock collar wrapped around my balls and the remote control in her purse. And after going out for a few drinks with our friends, my first job on returning with her to the apartment would to be squat down with an open mouth so she could relieve herself into it.

Throughout all this my love for her only grew. It became the focal point of my life. She cared for me and hurt me. Caressed me and beat me. Cuddled me and tortured me. I accepted it all and freely gave my pain back to her as my gift.

When she suggested we get married there was no hesitation in my answer. And as I squirmed on the honeymoon bed, nervously clenching the sheets as she slowly penetrated me with her strap-on, I knew I had found my place in life. I would be bound to her forever.

That was four years ago. I've lost track of how often she's hurt me, or many men she's screwed around with since then. But she's never had sex with me. Not once. As she tells me, I'm special.

Chapter 3

It has been two days since my wife's fuck buddy left. Bill I think she said his name was. The two of them ended up sleeping in till almost 9 o'clock, so exhausted were they after their sexual exertions. To make it worse, after seeing him to the door, she decided to shower and change for work before coming to untie me. So while I was unsticking myself from the shelf and pulling her dirty panties free of my mouth she was standing there immaculately attired and perfumed, glancing impatiently at her watch. I had no time to shower or shave. I just had to pull on some clothes and head straight into work with her.

We're still both at the law firm. But she's made partner now. The youngest one in the firm's history. God knows what people think when they see the two of us turning up together. The scruffy computer technician with the beautiful young hot shot lawyer.

It's now Saturday afternoon, and I've been caged in my room under the sleeping shelf. A heavy metal mesh is riveted to the shelf and floor, with a small opening at one end she can padlock shut. There's no specific reason I'm here. She just enjoys putting me in here when she can. I think her exact words were: "I always like to know where my things are. It's no fun hunting for something you've misplaced."

I've been here since the morning. Once or twice I've heard her moving about the house, but other than that I've only had silence for company. I've no idea what's to come next. She might decide we should go out, and we'll end up having dinner and drinks at a fantastic restaurant followed by a peaceful night's sleep in bed together. Or she might decide to stick some dog food in a dish and push it into my cage before leaving me in here for the rest of the weekend. Or she might decide she'd like some playtime, and pull me out for an evening of pain and torture. I really have no way of knowing.

While I wait I've been gloomily inspecting my latest chastity device. I say my latest because this is the fifth such device she's installed since we were married. The first couple were basic plastic models and didn't work all that well. After discarding those she moved onto custom built metal models, which have proved far more restrictive, much to her delight.

The newest model was fitted only last week and it's a fearsome stainless steel device. The main body is a banana shaped narrow metal cage, curved down towards the floor. At the end is a hemispherical metal cap with a hole drilled in the center. From this hole, and running back through the center of the outer cage, is a hollow metal tube that passes down my urethra. It's long enough to extend back along almost the entire length of my cock and it ensures that any erection is incredibly painful. The whole thing is locked onto me around my balls, with a tight stainless steel collar and a small but strong padlock.

The main difference I can see between this model and the previous one is a series of threaded holes set at numerous points around the outer cage. There must be almost 20 holes, equally spaced at different levels on the circumference. I've no idea what they're for, but I'm certain it won't be for anything pleasant. Just as I'm tracing my finger along the cold shiny metal surface, contemplating the possibilities, my musing is interrupted by the sound of my wife outside. I crawl up to the metal bars as I see her feet come into my line of vision.

"Hello sweetheart," she says squatting by the cage door. "How are you doing? I've been thinking about what we should do tonight. I was toying with the idea of that little French bistro around the corner. The little romantic one you like so much? Perhaps some wine and steak frites?"

I remain silent. I know her questions are rhetorical and that she's already decided what she's going to do. I can't help however getting a little hopeful at the thought of a nice dinner out with my beautiful wife.

"But then I thought about getting dressed up to go out, and it just seemed like too much effort. So instead I just thought we'd spend a little me and you time at home. After all, we don't need to go out to enjoy ourselves."

She unlocks the cage and I crawl, my hopes of a romantic evening out dashed. I know that 'a little me and you time' can mean only one thing. Pain.

Ten minutes later she has me stretched out across her bed as taut as the string on a bow. My wrists are tied together and then lashed to the metal frame headboard. My legs are split wide, each ankle pulled firmly towards the bottom corners of the bed with thick black rope. She's gone looking for what she promises will be a fun new toy to try.

When she returns it's with a bundle of wires in one hand and what looks like a collection of short hypodermic needles in the other. About half an inch long, they're sharp metal spikes, each mounted on a threaded base. Gleefully she explains what's about to happen.

"This is probably going to be terribly painful for you darling," she whispers into my ear. "You see these needles screw into your chastity cage. All twenty of them. It'll create a miniature iron maiden just for your cock. And just to make it a little more interesting, each needle can be wired into the electroshock unit, and used to deliver some wonderfully nasty jolts to you. Isn't that delicious?"

Without waiting for an answer, she kisses me gently on the lips, and slides down the bed to begin installing the tortuous spikes. The first few, positioned near the base of my cock, aren't too painful. I can feel them dimpling the surface but not pressing in too deeply. However, as she works her way towards the tip, the cage gradually narrows, and the pain becomes much greater. By the time she has 16 in place I know the skin must have been broken in at least a couple of spots, and I'm reflexively clenching and opening my hands to try and distract from the discomfort.

"OK," she says. "That was probably a little uncomfortable for you. But I'm afraid this next part is going to be considerably worse. The last four go right around the end of the cage. And given how tightly it fits there, they're also going right into the head of your cock. If you want to scream for this I'll understand."

Scream I do. With the metal tube from the tip of the cage passing down my urethra, my cock is held immobile, no way of escape from the twisting penetrating metal spikes. All four spear into the sensitive glans, pinning it like a frog on a dissection board. I can feel drops of blood leak out and she's forced to slide a towel underneath to protect the bed. My cries have diminished to a low moans as she starts to wire the needles up to our selection of electroshock machines, although I'm forced to grit my teeth as she pulls and tugs at the cage to access all the connection points.

Eventually everything is arranged to her satisfaction, and she slides up alongside me, the remote control in her hand. Reaching for the bedside table she pulls something from the draw and leans over me.

"Open up for me," she instructs, and unthinkingly I open my mouth for her to drop a pill into. "Now swallow." I do, and she smiles, a look of sadistic happiness on her face.

"That was just a little something to make this extra special," she tells me. "One of the guys who fucked me a couple of weeks ago brought some Viagra over. So I thought that might help you get extra involved in our playtime today."

I stare at her in shock. With the cage forcing my cock downwards and the spikes all around, a forced erection now was going to be agony.

"God no," I mutter. "Oh, please April. With everything else, it'll be too much for me. I won't be able to take it"

"But that's the beauty of it," she tells me with a tender shake of her head. "Your future is defined. Predetermined. All that happens from here is wonderful beautiful pain. You're tied down, and the drug is starting to flow through your system. All we need to do now is to find out what happens when we add electricity."

My cock is beginning to stiffen, moving painful against the needle points, when she thumbs the knob on the remote control. Every nerve ending flares into white hot agony, as vicious searing pain rips down the length of it. I spasm against the bed, arching my back painfully, mouth in a silent scream. My hands clench, my fingernails cutting deeply into the palms of my hand.

"Ooh," she says. "Maybe level 8 is a bit much to start with. Let's start slowly and see if we can get you up to an 8 or a 9 by the end."

Over the next hour she lies alongside me, one arm casually flung across my chest, one leg overlapping mine, and tortures me with just the gentle movement of her thumb. My cock had betrayed me. No longer mine, it belongs to her, and responds only to her. Up and down goes the intensity of the shocks, rippling in patterns between the needle points. Low pulsing waves run down the length of the cage, exciting and tantalizing me, only for her to blast the four needles in the head with a monstrous surge of volts.

Throughout this time she teases me and caresses me, balancing my pain with her pleasure, feeding on my agony. Her lips plant gentle kisses on my face, her fingers slides across my chest, gently tracing the outline of a nipple, her breath warm and soft on my neck. She likes to gaze into my eyes as she varies the current, watching the pleasure change to pain, the hope into fear. Sometimes she gently touch her lips to mine, an insubstantial kiss, drinking in my cries without blocking their release. As I twist and strain on the bed, futilely struggling to escape, her warm body stays with me, pressed lightly but surely against me.

Eventually, after a terrible 30 second burst of electricity that has me almost pulling the headboard free from its bolts, she tires of her game. After flipping the off switch, she leans over me and looks down into my exhausted face.

"I've invited Frank over to stay tonight," she tells me. "We're planning a long night of fucking, and I want to be fresh and alert for him. So I think I'll take a 1 hour nap. I'm going to set the electroshock machine to run a standard 5 minute cycle, starting at level 1 and progressing up to a level 9, before resetting. I want you to count 12 of these cycles, and then wake me up. OK?"

I nod. After all the screaming I've just done my throat feels to tender to speak.

"Thank you honey," she says, bending down to kiss me. "I know you'll make an excellent alarm clock for me. And you know how cranky I can be if I'm woken too early, so I'm sure you'll be extra careful to not make any noise before the hour is up."

With this thinly veiled warning, she cuddles up beside me and settles her head on my chest. Looking down I can see her dark hair spread out against my naked skin, and the clean herbal scent of her shampoo drifts up towards me. Her breath slows and deepens, its warmth caressing me, calming me. As I feel the first gentle pulses of electricity begin to tickle, I close my eyes and focus on my love for her. With 12 cycles of pain to go, and the Viagra still working its terrible magic on me, I know I'm going to need her love to protect me and get me through the next hour in silence.

Chapter 4

I wake her by gently calling her name. My body aches in its stretched position, my muscles twitching and sore thanks to the contractions they've been put through, but I don't rush her. I just gently repeat her name and she slowly stirs, stretching and yawning like a sleepy cat in a warm patch of sunlight.

She kisses me on the cheek and begins to untie me, turning the electricity off just as I feel its next cycle begin to tickle. I'm expecting to be banished to the cage while she gets ready for Frank, but she surprises me by cuddling with me for a while, and then sending me to get washed and cleaned up. The chastity cage stays on, but to my relief she allows me to remove the spikes and wires from it. There's a fair amount of blood around my cock and dried onto the frame of the cage, so I spend a long time in the shower carefully washing and wiping everything down. The wounds smart as the hot water hits them, but they're already closing and scabbing over by the time I'm toweling myself off. The cock always heals quickly. That's fortunate, given all the punishment she's inflicted on mine over the years.

By the time I return to her room she's already dressing in preparation for Frank. I pause in the doorway, taking in the vision of elegance in front of me. Even after several years of marriage she can still stun me. She's wearing her latest Agent Provocateur lingerie, a pair of black lacy panties with matching bra, paired with the traditional black stockings and suspenders. She's accentuated it with silver jewelry, a twisted rope necklace and a pair of long dangling earrings which sparkle against her skin. Her face contains just a trace of makeup to highlight her dark eyes, and her lipstick is a deep red, making her lips sensual and full.

"You look wonderful," I tell her.

"Thank you darling. Frank always loves this type of lingerie. Something about it turns him into a real animal. He'll want to fuck for hours after he sees it. Now come over here and lie stomach first on this."

She gestures down to the padded bench in front of her dressing table and I move forward uneasily. I've never been involved in her sexual trysts in the past. Most of the guys don't know I exist. Frank is an exception to that, but so far she's only teased me about getting more involved with the two of them. It looks like tonight that may be changing. I think about questioning what's about to happen, but I know it's a fruitless exercise. Better to be quiet and obedient and let her unfold whatever plan she has in mind. I know I'm going to end up doing whatever she wants in the end.

She has angled the bench so one end faces her bed and the other points back towards her dresser. I carefully position myself on it face down, my head hanging off the end nearest the bed and my feet dangling from the other end. It's a long bench, so my torso and the upper part of my legs are supported, with my knees just touching the end.

She begins to wind rope around me. Several loops go around my chest and the bench, holding my body in place. She works carefully and slowly, keeping the rope tight and spaced evenly. My arms are next, wrists tied together behind my back and then the arms captured in more loops passed around the bench. Finally she ties my legs together, ankles and knees, but doesn't attach them to the bench. I was expecting a painful hogtie position, but this is surprisingly comfortable. Apart, that is, from the metal chastity cage digging into the cushioned surface below me.

Just as she finishes the last knot, announcing it with a firm slap to my ass, the intercom buzzes. Frank has obviously arrived. She pulls on a sheer lace robe and goes off to let him in. Craning my neck up I watch her leave, a lithe sensuous figure, her hips shimmying and the robe billowing around her as she struts away from me.

For a few minutes I'm alone, the murmur of conversation drifting up from downstairs. I feel tense, a nervous excitement in the pit of my stomach. This is uncharted territory for us. When I hear the bedroom door I keep my head down, staring straight ahead at the bedroom carpet in front of me, afraid to look up in case it's Frank staring down at me. A pair of stiletto shoes slides into my line of vision.

"Frank has brought you a present," she tells me in quiet voice. "Now lift your head up and look at me."

She sits down on the corner of the bed, holding a strange black rubber and metal contraption in her lap. It looks a little like the type of oxygen mask that fighter pilots wear, but much more solidly constructed. It's clearly designed to fit over the mouth and nose, held in place by several heavy thick rubber straps that'll wrap around the head. But where the hose and air filters would normally be for a standard oxygen mask, a short threaded metal tubes jut out. The whole thing looks like something designed by an anesthesiologist who never quite outgrew his teenage Goth phase.

Without another word she pushes it against my face. The scent of rubber fills my nostrils as the thick material molds itself tightly against me. It stretches from the bridge of my nose downwards and outwards, gripping my cheeks and wrapping under my chin. With a little bit of fiddling and tugging she pulls the straps into place, stretching them tightly to ensure an air tight seal for the mask. I can hear my breath whistling in and out of the metal tube, and feel the mask pull slightly tighter with each inhale.

Frank slides onto the bed behind April, peering over her shoulder to look at down on me, one arm casual slipped around her waist. He's a solid well-built man, not excessively muscular, but tall and well-toned. His hair is dark brown, stylishly cut, and his skin sports a light tan. He works as a tennis coach, and with his looks and physique I've no doubt my wife is not the only woman he's screwing around with. He's comfortably dressed in loose dark blue slacks and a white linen shirt, and I'm painfully aware of aware of my own nakedness.

April leans back, resting her slim body against his, eyeing me in a contemplative manner.

"Have you got the other part?" she asks him.

Without a word he reaches behind him and retrieves what looks like a short black hose. As he hands it over to her I can see that one end terminates in a small black box with a small metal hook on the top. April leans forward and carefully screws the open end of the hose onto the metal tube jutting from the rubber face mask. My only means of drawing air is now this narrow rubber hose and the small box that my wife is holding in the palm of her hand. The narrowness of the hose makes it more difficult to bring in air, but as I work each breath in and out, I can tell if I stay calm and breathe carefully I should be OK.

"Do you want to test it?" my wife asks Frank.

"Sure," he replies, and reaching forward he pulls up the small hook in the box at the end of the hose.

Instantly my air supply is cut-off. For a few seconds I panic, thrashing my head from side to side and moaning. Begging for them to let me breath. But then I get a grip on myself and force myself to stay calm. I hold my breath, staring up at the two of them, looking up at my wife's amused expression. My eyes plead with her as my lungs begin to burn, but if anything her smile just gets wider. Finally, as I began to again wiggle hopelessly in my tight bondage, my chest tightening painfully, Frank releases the hook and I'm able to pull in a deep draught of blessed oxygen.

Without another word my wife stands up and moves behind me. At first I can feel her fiddling around with the straps around my head, tugging at the air hose as she does so. Then she's pulling at my feet, lifting them up and bending my legs back towards my head. I can tell she's working with a length of rope, knotting it around my ankles and then returning again to do something to the thick straps holding the mask in place. Within a few seconds I figure out what they've done to me, and my heart sinks. The breath control box is attached to the straps at the back of my head. The rope from my ankles is in turn attached to the hook on the breath control box. If I keep my legs bent back and my head up, staring straight at the bed, I can breathe. But if I relax my legs or look down I'll cut my oxygen off and suffocate.

As April returns to sit on the bed with Frank I test my theory out. Dropping my head down I feel the rope from ankles tighten and my air supply suddenly cease. Looking up allows the rope to slacken and my air to return. My wife smiles at me, knowing I've already figured out the setup.

"Clever, isn't it?" she asks me rhetorically. "I think it should ensure your complete attention on the situation at hand. I wanted you to appreciate and enjoy Frank fucking me first hand, and he came up with this effective little arrangement. We're probably going to be a little distracted for the next hour or two, so I suggest you keep your head up and feet back, no matter how painful it becomes. I'd hate to ruin a great night of fucking by losing my wonderful husband."

I have no response for her. I gaze back at her beautiful body, sick in my stomach about what the evening holds for me, but still mesmerized by her power and effortless control over me. I can already feel a faint strain in my neck muscles and know that it's not going to be easy to keep the air flowing.

Frank has already begun to strip off, and as I watch she slides her hands across his taut body, tracing the lines of his muscles as they come into view from beneath his clothes. To my astonishment she falls to her knees in front of me and, after pulling off his briefs, begins to slowly lick and kiss his erect cock. I always picture her in the dominant role in any situation, and yet here she is on her knees, gathering his cock into her mouth and slowly fellating him. For the next 10 or 15 minutes her red lips work at his manhood, sliding over it, tongue flicking at its purple head, taking him deeply into her mouth. Her dangling silver earring bounce and sway as her head bobs. Eventually with a groan he orgasms, his hand firmly holding the back of her head, her throat working to swallow his seed.

When he's done she sits back on her heels, her tongue lapping the edges of her mouth to gather any stray semen, a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

"That was a big load," she tells him. "You must have been saving that for days. Now let's see how quickly you can get ready for round two."

She climbs onto the bed and within seconds the two of them are entangled, passionately kissing and embracing. My wife panties and bra are soon gone, but she retains her stockings, her legs wrapping and encircling his. Again she surprises me by her approach. I'm expecting animalistic coupling, a fierce clash of bodies. And yet she is delicate, tender, caring. The two of them move together harmoniously, an intimate pairing of well-rehearsed lovers. Touching. Caressing. Stroking. They pleasure each other slowly, taking delight in their bodies.

The next hour is seared into my brain as a series of snapshots in time. With the pain in my neck and knees growing, I'm forced to coordinate my breathing with stretching and resting my aching muscles. My head dips and rises, my breath momentarily paused as I rest my neck, the sight of the two lovers framed in front of me each time as I look up.

He's between her legs, her thighs pressed against him, strong hands gripping her waist as she dances on the end of his tongue. She's on her back, legs and arms wrapped around him, clawing at his back as he rhythmically drives himself deeply into her. She's astride him, hand pressing into his chest for balance as she slowly rides his cock, carefully controlling the speed as they both build towards orgasm. I'm praying for them to finish, to finally be sated, to save me from the building agony in my joints and lungs. But their energy seems inexhaustible, their pleasure constantly building.

They finish as I somehow knew they would. My wife is on all fours, her ass in the air, her head on the mattress. Frank is behind her, spreading lube on his cock and using a finger to work some carefully into her asshole. His thick cock presses against her, the head slowly dilating the entrance as he pushes his way in. I'm perfectly positioned to be able to watch everything. To see her hands clenching the sheets. To see her begin to push back, her hips moving against his, moaning with pleasure as the pace builds. I watch transfixed, my pain temporarily forgotten, as she slides a hand down to her clit and brings herself to a massive and glorious climax, his seed pumping into her as she shudders in pleasure.

They collapse back on the bed, finally sated. For what seems like an eternity they lie still. I can hear my wife's rapid heavy breathing slow down, becoming calmer and more even. The pain in my neck and legs is acute now, twinges of cramp are attacking my lower thighs, and I'm terrified they've fallen asleep. It's getting harder and harder to lift my head, and the periods I'm forcing myself to go with air are getting dangerously long. I'm beginning to feel slightly faint. I could die like this. Suffocated in agony while my wife and her lover slumber comfortably on the bed just a few feet away. I try to wiggle in my ropes but they're unyielding. I have no options. No alternatives. My only goal in life is to keep my head up and focused on their relaxed naked bodies.

Eventually my wife stirs and sits up. She smiles at me, and then slides across the bed, ending up seated on the corner just a few inches from my face.

"I think the cleaning crew is up next," she tells me. "Let's see just how much sweat, cum and pussy juice you can lick off me."

I notice the Frank has rolled onto his side to watch as she goes about pulling the straps free and removing the mask. I don't care. Getting rid of the mask and breathing normally again is all I can think about. The scent of their sweat and arousal fills my nostrils as she pulls it away and tosses the tangle of rubber onto the floor. Dropping my head into her lap and drinking in her aroma is a beautiful moment. I relax, eyes closed, drawing in deep lungful's of scented air, clearing my head.

It doesn't last of course. I feel her entwine her fingers into my hair, allowing her to tug my head down towards the damp stripe of hair between her legs. I can see his cum oozing out of her, a ropey white string dangling from her pussy lips. I reach for it but she's in a playful mood, and doesn't want to make it too easy. Pulling my hair back she forces me to stretch out my tongue, the tip of it barely brushing her, making me strain forward like I'm desperate to lap up his seed. Slowly she lets me clean her up, curling my tongue to gather in the sticky mixture of their intimate fluids. After several minutes of licking she stands up and bends over, using her hands to spread her cheeks and present her asshole to me. Again I go to work, slowly running my tongue along the line of fluid dripping from it, and then rimming her, my nose buried deep between her sweaty cheeks.

When I'm done and she's finally clean, she pats my on the head like I'm a well behaved dog. Then, pulling on a robe, she heads off towards the bathroom, leaving me alone with Frank. I'm hoping he'll be tired out and content to lie back and relax, but the instant she's gone he moves across to sit in front of me. I think I know what's coming next.

"Well that's half the job done," Frank tells me. "But I think it's only fair that the clean-up crew completes the task."

His thick circumcised cock is hanging just a few inches in front of me. The surface is still streaked with lube, and I can see a thick drop of cum still glistening in the slit at the end. I hold my mouth closed and for a brief moment consider refusing. April has never forced me to do anything like this before. Perhaps if I hold out perhaps she'll stop him? Perhaps she'll be back to save me this final humiliation? His next few words quickly put pay to that idea.

"Don't even think you're not going to do this," he says in a flat low voice. "April promised me you'd oblige. And if you don't, the breath mask goes back on and we leave you here for the night."

Defeated I open my mouth and reach forward for him. Like April, he doesn't make it easy for me. I'm forced to twist my neck, stretching and bobbing my head in order to lick along its warm firm surface. After repeatedly tracing my tongue up and down the shaft, scraping lube and April's secretions from it, I move onto the head. Using my lips to hold it, I carefully work my tongue around the edge of his glans. The few drops of cum still clinging to the end are slick and salty, and I know I'm going to be left with the taste of his cock for the rest of the night. I can feel him begin to stiffen under the gentle lashing of my tongue, making me nervous he'll turn this into something more than just a clean-up job. But after all his exertions earlier in the evening he's obviously content just to sit passively and let me do all the work.

By the time April returns I'm done with my cleaning task. Frank pulls back a few inches, momentarily creating a string of my saliva trailing from the end of his cock to my lips. I lick them, sucking in the sticky string, as I feel April begin to work on my bonds. I'm thankful that the evening's activities seem to be drawing to a close, but it turns out that April has one last humiliation left in store.

"That was very good sweetheart," she tells me. "And I hope you enjoyed the show tonight. We certainly had a fun time putting it on for you. I'm going to put you back in your cage for the rest of the night, as I want a little private time to cuddle with Frank and chat about the future. But first I think you owe Frank a little sign of your gratitude for all the pleasure he's given me tonight. So I'd like you to plant a thank you kiss on the end of his cock and tell him how grateful you are."

I stare at his semi-erect cock that's bobbing just a few inches in front of my face. I know I don't have any choice in the matter. There's nothing I can do or say that'll make any difference. April is the only person that matters here.

"Thank you Frank for fucking my wife," I tell him in a sincere tone. "I know how much she enjoys it."

And with that I lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on the end of his cock.

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