© Copyright 2014 - Ms Indira - Used by permission
Storycodes: FF/m; FF; femdom; caught; pantyhose; chast; tease; torment; hum; cuckold; denial; les; mast; oral; climax; reluct/cons; X
Part 2: New Roles
“So, while I’m out at the office, earning the money that keeps you, this is how you pass your time?”
My employer’s tone with him was as hard as I had ever heard from her and certainly towards him. This as I listened to their argument from beyond the closed door of the study in which she had decided to confront him. My senses keened for every word and nuance.
Of which, I might add, there were many.
It was three hours on from her decision not to switch off the computer and I was about as excited as I could remember being as she confronted him with its contents.
Guilt for my actions already firmly in the past.
Despite keeping myself at the ready to make a diplomatic retreat should one or other of them leave the study suddenly.
“Suzanna… Suze…” he began, attempting to charm himself from the nightmare he had woken to with, no doubt, a thumping head and equally debilitating nausea. “I’d had a drink. You know how off-the-wall I get when I…”
“If you wanted that excuse to fly,” she told him, voice as contemptuous as it was spiteful, “it would have been a good idea to erase your history.”
“Oh, save it, you perverted fuck!”
It was the first time I had heard such language from her lips and it must have taken him by surprise too as there was no comeback.
“This wasn’t some drunken one-off. You’re a regular patron of these… these… sick… sites. You’ve even paid for membership to some of them. With my money!”
“You’re overreacting, Suze,” I heard him tell her, his usual confidence in his own charm beginning to fail him if the wavering voice were a guide. “It’s just my way of relaxing. Nothing more. Most men…”
“Just your way of relaxing?” she blazed. “Have you not heard of television or music? And what’s wrong with bowls? Or are the old blue-rinses not dominant enough for you?”
I placed a hand over my mouth to prevent the hilarity I felt rising from the picturing of such a prospect.
“I wondered why you weren’t fucking me as much as usual. Now I know. You were too busy in here, pretending to be writing this… bestseller. And all the time you were pulling off your cock to images of yourself licking some woman’s boots and… and… worse.”
“Suze, this is not what…”
“And I read some of your, so-called, writing, by the way.”
There was a pause in which I could almost hear the self-involved pig, and despite other concerns that should have been more pressing, ask himself:
It would turn out to be a question he would rather he had not asked – even if it was only in his thoughts.
“What a farce!” came her verdict. “What numbskull ever told you or led you to believe you could write?”
Had they been made audible his shattered delusions would have been heard in the far-off foothills of the Punjab.
“It’s pitiful!” she continued, on a roll and going with it. “You’ve always talked such a big game about your literary gifts and you have not one single scrap of discernible talent.”
“Suze, you’re just angry and it’s making you…”
“Too right I’m angry, you perverted fucking prick!”
I sucked in air at the sound of such language on the tongue of my previously correct and loving employer.
And she was not finished.
Not by a longshot.
“You’ve been living off me for years on the pretence of being the next John Grisham in waiting. When you’re not even close to being the new Jeffrey Archer – as if the fucking world needed another one!”
Despite his situation, this damning evaluation of his literary aspirations spurred him to anger:
“And what the fuck would you know? The last book you read and understood came complete with play-bricks.”
The silence before she came back at him was, even from behind a door, charged with a sense of menace.
“Really?” she responded finally, voice dangerously low in a way that allowed me a glimpse of the steel explaining just why she was such a formidable negotiator in the world of commercial lettings. “All I can say then, is that thank the lord I’m not so stupid I can’t make a living good enough to keep both myself and my pervert husband.”
The sense of wind leaving a sail and the subsequent becalming of the vessel to which it was attached came through the door to me.
The sinking of that same vessel imminent:
“How fortunate I make enough for you to pay for these memberships,” I heard her continue. “I mean, just how much of the money I work for have you squandered? Look at this one! ‘Femdom Cave’, for crying out loud! A lifetime-membership giving you the right to read every book – and forever. What the shit did that cost me?”
“Oh, grow up and be reasonable, Suzanna,” he responded at last. “Do you think I’m the only man who looks at stuff like this?”
“Certainly the only man married to me,” came her instant response.
His sigh was huge as she continued:
“If men I don’t live with want to look at sex-sites like this ‘Femdom Cave’, or whatever it calls itself, that’s up to them. But, not only do you live with me, you happen to be my husband.”
I heard him sigh again before she finished:
“And I’m the onepaying for you to do so.”
“Yes, you do,” he admitted, “and I love you for it almost as much as I love your personality and the way you look. But I’m still a man in case you’ve forgotten.”
“That’s right,” she agreed. “A man who looks at porn and expects his wife to pay a fortune for it.”
Another big and put-upon sigh greeted her reminder, as if he were the one who should be aggrieved at her behaviour.
“Firstly,” he began, “Femdom Cave is an erotic eBook-publisher, not a porn-site.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you say?” she mocked him. “We could have avoided all this fuss.”
“Secondly,” he went on, determined to make his point despite her mockery, “the life-membership does not cost a ‘fortune’, as you say.”
“There you go then. I mean, what’s a few hundred pounds between man and wife?”
“Thirty-Seven pounds, to be exact,” he corrected, as if it could possibly make a difference with all the other damning evidence of his Internet activity she had at her disposal. “Or, if you prefer it in the vernacular and currency of the good old US-of-A, sixty-dollars.”
A few beats passed until he finished:
“A pittance, in fact.”
The anger beamed back at him was palpable even through a closed door.
“You really must think I’m an idiot,” she hissed. “And, if it’s any consolation to you, I’m beginning to feel the same way about myself too.”
“Check it out for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“Sorry,” she responded, tone deceptively apologetic. “I apologise. It’s not me who’s the idiot now, is it? I mean, if you really think I give a shit about the money you’re about as savvy as that pile of crap I just waded through you describe as creative writing.”
“Look, I’m sorry if it’s not to your taste, but that doesn’t mean it’s not well-written and that other people won’t…”
“Well-written?? Please! It’s less well-written than the story you had the fucking nerve to email me last night when you were drunk enough to pluck up the courage.”
There was a pause and I could picture his dumbfounded look as he stammered:
A few seconds passed.
“What story? What…? What fucking email?”
“I’m talking about this one,” came Suzanna’s response. “Sent from your very own temple of Internet perversion. Or are you going to deny it or say you were too drunk to remember sending it? Too out-of-your-head to remember leaving the computer on that I could find the rest of your masturbation material?”
There was some shuffling around from inside that was followed by a long pause and I knew he would be staring at the screen containing the email I had put together in his name, careful to use the same tone and terms of endearment I had found in the other emails to his wife contained in his sent-items.
“I… Suze, this is nothing to do with me. You have to believe…”
“Oh, really?” she spoke over him. “What does this say: ‘Dearest Suze, my American sex-pot, does this excite you the way it excites me? Your ever obedient husband, W.’.”
There was silence and I could almost see his befuddlement.
“I mean, an email couched in exactly the terms of endearment used for me by my beloved and faithful husband. Who could possibly have sent it, you think? The March-Hare?”
She allowed him a few moments to make an unsuccessful search for an explanation, then:
“How could you send me such… filth?”
“Is this what gets you off?” she asked, on a roll now and going with her anger. “Picturing your wife being fucked by men with bigger cocks? Having them fill me with their cum while you get to stay at home and do menial chores as you wait for me to come back and make you suck it out of my…?”
“What kind of a fucking sicko have I been married to all these years?”
“It… It must have been the drink, Suze. I would never send you that kind of… I mean, I might have read it but…”
“What do you mean: might have?” she blazed, on him in a flash. “You downloaded it and sent the perverted crap to me in an email. Of course you fucking read it!”
“Suze, you have to believe me, the thought of… that… kind of stuff sickens me. I love you. Do you really think I could stay married to you if I thought you were going with other men for sex?”
“I don’t know, William,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “You tell me. After seeing what you’ve been reading online I have no idea what you’d put up with.”
From behind the door, and even without seeing her, I could sense Suzanna’s mind working and knew it would not be good for him.
“After all, when you think about it, you’d be pretty lost without me and the money my business brings in. in fact, in the light of this… filth… I’m beginning to wonder if that’s the only reason you’re with me.”
“Suze, you’re the love of my life, you know that. Do you really think I’m that shallow?”
No answer to this was forthcoming.
“This… This is just harmless fantasy,” he went on, something like desperation entering his voice as he began to realise he may have landed himself in a world of mental pain from which his charm might not affect him an escape. “That’s all it is, Suze. Just because I look at the Eiffel Tower it doesn’t mean I want the thing to fall on top of me. It was just too much red-wine and vodka, nothing more. An accident.”
“Well, in case you’ve forgotten, my pervert husband,” she reminded him, “I took a course in basic psychology as part of my business degree and I’m a firm believer that, as Freud said, ‘There are no accidents’.”
“Suze, please, I promise you, this isn’t what…”
“Is that what gets you off?” she spoke over him, ignoring his protestations. “Me fucking other men and treating you more like a servant than a husband?”
“No! Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just…”
“Because I have to tell you,” she crashed on over him once again, “that it’s something I might be persuaded to consider given your lack of interest lately. In fact, perhaps a good stiff cock that’s actually interested in me is just what I need while you’re stuck in here pulling yourself off after you’ve given the house a thorough cleaning.”
Her next words were uttered with supreme contempt and were all the more thrilling to her eavesdropping housekeeper for it:
“I’m sure Sahila would be grateful for the help and more than happy to supervise you?”
I was unable to prevent a little squeal of pure excitement from leaving my lips at this and my ears keened further as I prayed I had not been overheard.
Prayers that were soon answered.
“Suze,” began William Parkes in full charm-mode, “I love you.” Then, taking entirely the wrong tack, “Please stop being so unreasonable. I’ve told you, it’s just fantasy. Something to help me relax.”
“Relax?” she exploded. “From what? I’m the one with all the stress and responsibility. All you do, it seems, is take advantage of the fact to masturbate to stories and pictures when I’m either at the office or tucked up in bed… You… You disgust me!”
“Not another word!” she barked with an air of command that was unmistakable. “If this marriage is to have a future I’m going to have to think long and hard about the kind of man I married.”
“You don’t mean that, Suze,” he responded anyway. “You know I love you and you’re the only woman there will ever be for me. Why would you let something as small as…?”
“Your dick when it comes time to fuck your wife?” she finished for him.
His sigh was a mixture of exasperation and pure fear for seeing his charm wasted upon her for what was probably the first time in their marriage.
And was not about to be eased any.
“I’m going upstairs to lie down and think it over,” she told him, “and it might be a good idea if you took yourself out of the house and made yourself scarce for a few hours…. Right now I can’t bear to have you anywhere near me.”
“Suzanna, please,” he all but begged.
To no avail.
“I can’t promise you that this marriage will continue after this,” I heard her tell him as I made ready to beat a discreet retreat, “but if it does I can promise you this: things are going to change around here big-time!”
“It must be awful for you to know that she does not consider you her husband any longer so much as her… dependent,” I told him, hand having returned inside his pyjamas to fondle the full to bursting sac that gave evidence of his recent denial since Suzanna had insisted I fit him with the cock-cage he found so hateful.
And fit it in her presence that his mortification might be magnified.
You can only imagine my euphoria at being able to handle my former “master” in such a way.
And for him to submit to me doing so as I locked him in the contraption bringing his complete emasculation another step closer.
A contraption I myself had suggested to his wife as a means of keeping him both faithful and motivated.
So far had Suzanna, with her new Indian housekeeper and lover’s considerable help, brought him in so short a frame of time.
“It is to her credit that she continues to look after you and not simply throw you out onto the street after you have abused her trust and feelings for you in such a way. Not only does she take care of you but she does so in a way that allows you to experience your dirty fantasies. How many wives would be so tolerant of their husband and his failings?”
There was no response and I had not expected any. He had come a long way from those early days and the re-evaluation Susanna had made of him. The same evaluation in which the input of a certain Indian housekeeper with whom she was growing fonder and closer had been sought and given.
“I know it must be difficult to realise that the woman you once considered your own no longer regards your cock as worthy of knowing her intimately. It must be so painful to know that even as we speak she is being wooed over dinner by Mr Gokhale and will shortly retire to his penthouse apartment where he will introduce her to his own manhood.”
He was in turmoil at hearing me describe what his stupidity had lost him and the good fortune it was for both his wife and the men to whom she was now available.
But of pity I had none.
“Can you not picture this man, the same your wife has told me is everything you are not, as she wraps her mouth around his superior Indian manhood to make him ready to ravish her? Do you see her gasp of surprise and arousal as his cock eases past her shaven pussy and into her eager and moist cunt to take her to places your own inferior version of a penis could not dream of allowing her to visit? Can you hear her screams as he pounds into her, again, and again, and again and ensures that she will never consider you a worthy lover again?”
My words ensured it was not only the imaginary Suzanna whose cunt was moist at this point and once again I marvelled at how swiftly I had grown used to not only treating him in such a way but using the kind of language my aunt had decidedly not intended for me to use.
In either the English she had worked for a pittance of pay that I may become fluent or the Kannada of my native Bangalore tongue.
“It is time for you to be realistic about yourself and your situation,” I told him. “You will never be a husband to Suzanna in the true sense of the word again and, given what you have accepted at her hands since her discovery of your desires, it is plainly obvious that you have not the courage to leave and find a way for yourself. As difficult as that would prove for you without either friends, family or money. The only way forward for you now is to accept that the part you play in her life is that of her devoted servant.”
Despite his obvious misery at my truthful depiction of his situation, he could not prevent those subconscious urges that had precipitated his downfall in the first place from transmitting a small pulse of desire into the balls cradled in my hand.
I ran with the message to deepen his degradation:
“She intends for you to have no pride before her,” I began, putting words in Suzanna’s mouth I was confident enough she would not contradict even if her husband found the courage to repeat them. “You should know this. The life you once knew with her has gone and only by making yourself totally agreeable and obedient will your life ever become any easier. Not only does she have her loving Sahila to provide her with the sexual pleasure you could not give her any longer, but she has any number of powerful and potent men to fill her beautiful cunt with cock.”
Another twitch pulsed at his scrotum as I finished:
“And ‘Sahila’ is not jealous.”
I smiled down at him and stroked his denuded scalp, feeling as if I were a mother reassuring her infant school would not be as bad or as scary as he thought it would; this despite the difference in our years.
“If I am truthful, however,” I told him, not entirely deceitfully, “I believe Ms Suzanna is even fonder of you now that you have taken on a more domestic position in her life than she was when you were pretending to be a real man and a successful writer-in-waiting. She has told me how touching she finds it that you wait in the hallway for her return from the office or an evening with friends on your knees. Did I not tell you this would be so? That she would take it as your commitment to her? Do you not remember how affectionate she became with you the first time she arrived home and you did as I instructed and lowered your head that you may place your lips upon her shoes as a sign of respect?”
He gasped and I knew it was not from outrage at my words but that they had, along with my caressing hand, inevitably provoked an unwilling reaction from his caged and frustrated penis.
I could see him fighting back not only the erection itself but inevitable pain and discomfort as it swelled into the cold steel of the bars imprisoning it.
“Oh, you silly boy,” I scolded him, knowing my age and heavily accented English only heightened the extreme mental anguish he was undergoing and which, I felt sure, was nothing like his fantasies – even if they were certainly like mine. “Is little-Willy trying to get hard again without permission?”
I heard a sob from below me and gloried in the knowledge that I was instrumental in both provoking it and leading him to his current status. Not only was he no longer the man-of-the-house but his wife was out fucking better endowed men as he remained at home and performed the tasks that were once mine. And under my supervision.
Far worse for him, however, was the knowledge that his wife had also become the lover of her former housekeeper.
Everybody, it seemed, was getting something from the new household arrangement.
Everybody but him.
“It might interest you to know,” I told him, sure my surprise would be one he would both welcome and find repellent, “that Suzanna has decided it should be left to me to decide when and if your little-Willy deserves to get to spurt or not.”
Beaten eyes turned themselves upon me, eyes that no longer belonged to a man worthy of the description but, instead, shone out from a debilitating and shameful self-knowledge.
His wife – with my assistance – had used her knowledge of him and the fact he was, in economic terms, a dependent with no other visible means of support, to use a series of threats and ultimatums that had resulted in both his complete capitulation to her authority and his emasculation.
From a position of initial revulsion she had arrived – again with the assistance of yours truly – at the conclusion that keeping him in her life could prove domestically useful and sexually… fulfilling.
If not for him.
And with me placed in a position of authority over him whenever she was away, leaving him strict instructions to make himself useful about the house and to learn from me those household chores she intended him to take over – under my supervision of course – she was more than pleased with the results we were achieving and beginning to enjoy the power she now wielded over the former love of her life.
In fact, as I removed the chain from inside my sari and dangled the key before cobalt blue eyes that seemed almost hypnotised by its presence, I was surprised at just how easy it had proved to insinuate my own agenda into her thoughts that she might set about achieving my own for me and how even easier it had proved to topple her husband from his former perch of superiority.
I pushed my breasts against hers and mashed feverish lips against her own to kiss her hard before applying playful bites and going on to trace her upper lip with my tongue.
This was the first experience of a lesbian affair for both of us and had seemed a logical progression when I had taken a drink to her room to console her after her husband had left the house for a long walk, absence made in order that she may be alone to consider her startling new knowledge of the man she had married.
We had, without either of us seeking it, simply fallen into each other’s arms as Suzanna’s shock and frustration made her vulnerable and me, in turn, predatory.
At first, of course, and as you might expect given the difference in age and race, it had seemed as strange as it felt wonderful to both of us that we could find ourselves in a sexual situation with another woman.
Now it was just wonderful!
With the added bonus of giving me my employer’s ear on the subject of her husband.
Her “pervert” husband.
“Instead of divorcing him,” I had suggested after one such bout of the lovemaking that had taken us way beyond the simple relationship of housekeeper and employer – how could it do otherwise when the taste of each other was upon our lips almost constantly, “why not give him what he wants?”
I smiled before adding:
“Or at least what he thinks he wants.”
Suzanna was already nodding to herself.
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” she had answered in a way I found encouraging. “In fact, the only thing stopping me from doing just that is the bastard would enjoy it.”
“As I just suggested, Suzanna: not necessarily,” I told her as we lay on her bed while he was out on yet another of the long walks he had taken to having rather than bear the coldness and silence of his wife as she ‘thought things through’.
A thought process that had taken over two weeks already.
“Just because he fantasises about such things does not mean he would enjoy them.”
“Really?” she said, expression teasing. “And my young Indian lover and housekeeper has experience of such things does she?”
“No,” I told her truly, before telling her with equal honesty, “but I have started reading of such things on the Internet and it is not uncommon for men to fantasise about such relationships with their wives – even if they would hate the humiliation of being forced to live them.”
“The thought of humiliating him does please me,” she confessed. “But I doubt he would accept it.”
“You are wrong, my lovely Suzanna,” I told her with a passion that gained her interest and suspicion. “He is a very weak man. Why else would he live off you in such a way? His life would be quite different without you in it and I would risk money that the thought of losing both you and the roof over his head is utterly terrifying to him.”
I could see I had her interest and pressed my argument further:
“From what you have told me he has neither friends nor close family he could turn to and this must make the prospect of being banished from his comfortable life with you all the more worrying to him.”
I seemed to be winning her over as I added:
“This, Susanna, is your power.”
Her look was odd but not disinterested
“And am I right,” she went on, clever woman that she was, “to say that you would not be disagreeable to wielding some of this… power… for yourself?”
I sucked one of her bullet-hard nipples into my mouth before answering, knowing a crucial time had been reached and wishing to help my cause with a little distraction.
“I would love to play a part in making your husband more… useful… to you,” I replied as her hand stroked my silky black hair with affection and, I sensed, growing excitement for the prospect I described. “Does it not excite you as much as it does me to picture your husband as a household servant? Or, to be more factual, despite it being illegal, your slave.”
She could not prevent the gasp that supplied my answer.
My smile was evil as I added:
“With your loving Sahila as his trainer and overseer.”
“Sahila...” she breathed and I knew she was sold on the idea.
“Is such a prospect not… wonderful?” I asked.
“You…? You think it could be done?”
My answer had been to smile before burying my head into one of her shaved armpits and licking it in the way I knew she loved; running my tongue up and down until her breath became faster and a moan escaped her lips.
Moving my attentions lower, I cupped her wet pussy and her moaning increased; becoming even more pronounced as I slipped a finger into the crevice of her slit.
She groaned and pushed my head down to her pussy whereupon I started to lick her silky, tanned and powerful thighs as the fragrance of her arousal assailed my nostrils.
Her delightful pussy was completely shaved and, moving up slightly, I allowed my tongue to slide over her labia before insinuating my way up to her clit and inserting my tongue between the lips to take possession of her little knob, tracing its outline with the tip of my tongue and teasing it out of its fleshy and moist carapace.
The moans that left her startled me and for a few moments I was worried that he might have returned from his solo ramble earlier than expected and hear us.
Until, that is, she leaned forward at the waist and I felt my lover’s finger insert itself into my own moist love-box.
At which point, I too began to moan.
The simultaneous explosion that had erupted from both of us only seconds later, so excited and ready were we to cum, would surely have been heard by him if he were within two miles of the house.
It was after we had both collapsed to the mattress on our backs and when the world finally came back into focus that Suzanna raised herself upon an elbow and gazed down at quizzically.
“Did you mean what you said, my wise beyond her years young lover?”
I waited, praying she was about to set my dreams, and her sexual and marital liberation, in motion.
“Do you really think we could use William in the way those stories describe? And that, rather than find it pleasurable, he would know only humiliation? Could he really just knuckle under to his wife…” she smiled “…and her housekeeper becoming authority figures in his life?”
My answer was a confident smile.
“Really? You really believe he is so weak he would accept such a… a demotion and not just leave?”
The nodding of my head was emphatic and my breath caught in my throat as I realised she was truly considering the two of us setting about making that “demotion” a reality.
“And how about you?” she asked.
My look was puzzled.
“As much as I love what goes on between us I’m certain I could never forego a nice big cock when the urge overcame me.”
The mist cleared and I was ahead of her when she finished:
“How would you feel, Sahila? To know that you shared me with men other than my husband?”
Craning my neck forward, I kissed the still hardened nipple pointing down at me.
“So long as I am not completely forgotten by my sexy American mistress,” I told her, “I would take great pleasure from knowing you are being satisfied at last by real men.”
“You are sure on this?”
My smile was as instant as my nod.
“Besides,” I told her, “if you intend me to help… train… him, I will be quite busy myself on those evenings when you have… bigger… things to consider.”
When we had both stopped laughing it was Suzanna’s turn to lean down and place a kiss on my waiting mouth.
“Well, if that is the case, I think I had better speak to my husband for the first time in weeks that we might have a very serious chat…
As I toyed with the key dangling from the chain at my neck – the same key upon which his freedom, at least of the testicular kind, depended – it struck me that the husband possessed nothing like the talent for pleasing a woman with his tongue as that possessed by the wife now lost to him and, presumably, being fucked by another man at this very moment.
Though I was determined he would learn and that he would get much practice at the pussy of his young Indian master who was also his tutor in all things domestic.
Even if he did appear motivated.
Too much so, in fact.
“Slow down,” I ordered, the sharpness of my tone forcing his head away from my pussy. “No wonder your wife has been forced to seek satisfaction elsewhere if this is the level of your finesse. If you ever wish me to give your wife a good report of your oral skills that she may honour your tongue with another taste of her, you must show my superior Indian cunt the respect and reverence it deserves. Pleasing it must become your highest ambition along with the domestic service you now provide for your wife and mistress.”
Placing my hands atop his smooth dome, I pulled his head back into my moist gash.
“If you wish your young Indian teacher to unlock your sorry cock and allow it a little spurt,” I reminded him, “you need to show a more considerable amount of devotion and a desire to please.”
No sooner said than done as, all pretence of resistance gone, my – our - handsome English peon placed his lips upon my slit through the subcontinent bush Suzanna had urged me to shave and I was seriously considering doing.
Gently, this time. Thoughtfully. Considerately.
“Yes, little-Willie,” I breathed as the tip of his tongue teased at the inner folds of my labia. “That is better. Continue doing that for a few minutes or so then suck my clitoris into your mouth and vacuum it as if you were trying to suck up nectar through a straw.”
“That is good,” I told him, my senses beginning to leave me at the combination of his tongue at my slit for the first time and the fact I was exerting greater and greater control over him. “Keep this up and Ms Sahila…”
Did I not mention that he was now compelled to address me formally and respectfully in such a way also?
“…Ms Sahila will seriously consider unlocking the cage from your cock that you may hump her leg like the lustful English dog you are and…”
I fought back a deep-throated groan of the most sensuous and depraved pleasure as the fluttering of his tongue and my unchallenged domination of him threatened to drive me over the top, images of the young Indian housekeeper in Mr Steiner’s wondrous tale of female domination suggesting themselves as this handsome older, would-be, writer knelt between my legs to give worship not helping any in the way of cogent thought.
And he had yet to reach my waiting clit!
I forced my less than cogent thoughts to the next stage of his training.
“Tomorrow,” I began with an attempt at a normal voice, “we will go shopping for your new clothes. Clothes more suited to your new role. Your role as the manservant of your estimable wife.”
To my delight, he did not stop licking me even though the prospect must have appalled him.
To be taken shopping by an Indian girl less than half his age and be fitted for the uniform of a menial.
His wife’s menial!
“Then,” I continued: “after we have returned, I am going to show you just how you attend a superior woman at her toilet and ensure you know how to provide the very best of manicures and pedicures. Then you can…”
And now my senses did scramble as his hoovering mouth found my love-bud and vacuumed it into his mouth exactly as he had been ordered.
“…Then you… Then… you… you…”
It was all too much for a simple young Indian girl in the process of having her heart’s desire fulfilled.
Cupping my hands over his ears that he might not hear – completely anyway – the screams denoting the pleasure he was providing me at this early stage of his oral servitude, I pulled him into my hairy young muff and let myself go…
It was some two hours later when I returned to his room.
The glow of his first oral tribute to me was still fresh and I was feeling invigorated after a long hot soak in the en-suite of the bedroom he had once shared with his wife.
A bedroom and en-suite that, apart from domestic-duties, was now off-limits to him.
Despite his former housekeeper having access when and how she wished.
Those two hours in the en-suite tub had flown for me as I reflected on how my life had changed so swiftly; though I feel sure, given his frustration and anticipation the same time had dragged for him as if it were trying to replicate eternity itself.
Especially as I had told him he would only receive his reward if he were kneeling naked at the foot of his own bed in the downstairs quarters that had once been mine when I decided to return.
To my utter and, I confess, evil joy, he was waiting for me in exactly that condition and in exactly that place.
My joy going off the scale not five minutes later when, having freed his cock from its captivity and stood above him as I allowed him to hump up against the sheer navy and opaque hose I had worn - simply to titillate the fetish for them I had discovered on the computer he was now refused permission to use - I looked past his shoulder to see we had an audience.
Of one, at least.
As a radiant and freshly fucked Susanna looked on with amazement as her once masterful and proud husband humped the leg of her young housekeeper like a dog-in-heat, hands clasped behind his back in the way I had insisted, his breathing began to rasp in his throat.
It was not seconds later that a long stream of creamy white semen spurted from his cock against the hosed calf he was rubbing against and up towards my thighs.
When his body sagged and the cheeks of his handsome and sated face pressed against the very thigh upon which he had just unloaded, I took the opportunity to gauge the reaction of Suzanna and hope I had, despite her assurances, not gone too far.
The sheer radiance and unholy joy in the smile she beamed upon me all the reassurance I needed.
Reassurance, where William Parkes was concerned, neither of us would ever need again.
On any score.
You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum