Gromet's PlazaTG/CD Stories

House Punishment

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2020 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: FM/m; F/m; cuckold; fem; bond; chastity; mast; reluct; cons; X

[Editor's note: this story deals with dark themes and severe emotional and mental abuse; be warned and only read on if the topic appeals!]

This story is in a new style for me, an interview. It's a stand alone work from the male perspective encompassing a subject near and dear to my kinky heart, constructive criticism is always welcome. I don't intend a sequel, but I have left the door open to one if there is interest, the other side of the story as it were.

Chapter 1

...A night of drinking with a distraught coworker leads to a sleepover, and a tearful confession of sorts that rocked my world. I felt compelled to share it - with his permission of course - as long as some of the names and places were changed for obvious reasons...

"So, my first question, James, is how do I actually tell this story?"

"I would think you would have to start at the beginning, and of course make it clear that I was foolish, and deserving of at least some of what I received. I think I came to accept it as the price one pays for failure, as a husband, and even as a man. I think in a way it even helped make me who I am today, bring out the real me, so to speak, both good and bad. I'm fairly certain that they weren't thinking in any altruistic terms when they started down this road with me though, but your readers will have to decide that for themselves."

"Is there anything else before we get started?" I prompted, my phone already plugged in and set to record every word, lest I miss some detail in my own excitement and retell this story unfaithfully. "James" had already given me a tearful overview of what had happened the night before, his candor aided by the alcohol, presented as if telling a joke and waiting to see my reaction to it. When he saw my sincere interest I think he was happy to finally be able to tell this story to someone without judgment, as if making a quasi-confession. 

"I thought you'd never ask, do you have some belts?" James asked. "I have tried to do this before and I always chicken out at some point. I know it sounds crazy, but ever since then I seem to respond best without choices, or perhaps a better way of saying it is I respond best to a single choice. In other words, if you bind me up with your belts and force me, I won't really have a choice but to finish telling you every detail of my sorry ordeal, even if I do lose my nerve half way through."

"Yes, I have several..." I answered. I was drunk last night as well and confided in my now closer work friend some of what I get off on too: that I like to write erotic stories in my spare time as well. Sharing such things can be an obvious risk, with a coworker, but James is the least opportunistic man I have ever met; I let him sleep over and he did not make any move on me at all, despite my husband being out of town on business.

 ...My husband would have been fine if I had done more than this with James, he and I have an understanding, but James hadn't pushed those particular buttons with me, and doing such things with coworkers can be complicated as well. It also made sense to share a single Uber ride to my place, as it was closer to where we had been out drinking together, and "James" had been in such a state that I couldn't in good conscience send him home alone anyway...

 "...And some other things as well, if necessary," I continued. "Trust me, you're not going anywhere until I'm good and done with you, but to be clear, for my readers sake; you don't want me to release you until I wring every element of this... this episode, from you, to both my satisfaction, and it's conclusion?"

"You have to promise me that!" James conditioned almost pleadingly.

 "I promise. You said they made you wear panties, didn't you?"

"Yes, at first, then other things shortly after; it went very quickly down hill for me after I met him that first time. Those pictures I mentioned then ensured my continued... ahhh cooperation... no that's not the right word at all, 'servitude' I should think more accurately explains it. Or, perhaps it was even more of a white flag surrender. But, I guess your readers will have to decide that too."

"Just so that we have everything right then, how about you go into the bathroom, drain yourself out, then strip down and I'll hand you in a pair of mine to wear, so as to put you into the proper frame of mind." James at this point needed to be told what to do, although gently, but most certainly NOT asked, if I was reading things correctly. I was an amateur student of human nature, and James was a truly fascinating subject, as well as a friend in need.

"Yes ma'am."

Ohhhh, I liked that. The selfish part of me wondered if I could steal away what somebody else had taken the time to build, and then foolishly discarded. Without, of course, troubling my own ethical standards too much in the process. My husband was impossibly understanding - he had to be, being married to me - but this could push that a bit, especially if James ended up needing a place to live.

I thought it was curious that James didn't close the bathroom door, but when he had exited my bathroom wearing only my borrowed panties, what little spark of his masculinity he had left was also apparently left in there too. It was a miraculous transformation, and not just because his body was thin and clean shaven with budding breasts, his stance and walk were also quite feminine, as were his mannerisms. When dressed normally he made a convincing enough man at work, although an obviously timid one that had been through a lot recently, but I could also see that this feminine alter ego of his was convincing too.

It was then that I first saw the device he had alluded to, the one that they had apparently installed on him, it there prominently under my white bikini panties, it's hard and unyielding construction visible through the thin material.

"Can I see it James?"

"Yes ma'am," that charming and respectful deference to me implied soooo much, such possibilities, such control. 

I pulled his borrowed panties back by the waistband, looking inside while he passively kept his hands at his sides. He seemed neither proud, nor ashamed of the device, it was simply a part of who, and what, he was now. It was such a tiny thing too, the metal tube containing his cock unimaginably small, almost child sized, and the ring about his hairless sack didn't look like it was going anywhere either, almost tourniquet-like. The locking device for this medieval looking metallic contraption was internal, apparently holding the pieces together, the key to open it likely also just as tiny. The minimizing effect of the small device, along with the bald condition of the area in general, gave James' hardware an overall childlike quality, or perhaps even a feminine one, although he was a fully grown adult man. He was, however, thin and slight of stature, but many men are, and while dressed in normal guy clothes this "picture" of him wasn't one that formed naturally in my mind... prior to seeing him like this.

It was almost pathetic, seeing any man trapped in such a tiny device like this, but explained why he seemed to have zero interest in anything sexual, and also why I sensed last night that it would be okay to have him sleep in our guest bedroom while my husband was out. Not that I might not have another kind of sleepover, in my husband's absence, but this story is about "James" and not myself.

In short order I had him securely belted to my sturdy rocking chair, with four different belts, two on each leg, and two on each arm, first making him tuck his device back under his borrowed panties so I didn't have to look at it, spoiling the feminine effect for me. All he needed was some makeup and a wig, and he could easily pass for a nearly naked female captive instead, I also quite certain that I wasn't the only one who might have seen him in this way too. This device was specifically designed to remove the manhood from the man, or at least restrict free access, but I'm getting ahead of myself, out over my proverbial skis, story-wise...

"What did they call you again?" I asked, getting things back on track.

"'Pansy,' it was obviously a pejorative."

"Okay. And who has the key to that thing now?"

"That part gets a little more complicated. Did you want to start at the beginning? I think that would make these things just a little more clear, rather than jumping around like we are?"

"Of course."

"So, you were married, is this how all this started?"

"Yes, we could call her Beth. Beth was a very pretty girl, very sexy too, but we were both so young, although all was well with us, for maybe three years or so anyway... Well, there again, your readers will have to decide that part too, as it could be argued that things weren't so good for us far sooner than that. Anyway, we even had a house, but lots of bills to go with it too. Beth's parents were loaded, they helped with the house as a wedding present, huge down payment, they even helped set her up in a great job, she made considerably more than I did. She was brought up with nice things too, and that was hard to do on what we made, even though it wasn't by any means bad for two young people just starting out.

“Well anyway, providing fine things was a stretch financially, but I thought I could dazzle her in other ways, so, being a guy I thought exciting sex was a great way to do this. We were both young, and I was at least eager to experiment with all things kinky, but Beth wasn't. She also just had the kind of body that makes holding off for a man hard, and as a result I became good at doing other things that got her off, after I popped off myself far too quickly to do anything good for her.

“It even worked for a while, to a degree, but there was just something missing and incomplete, incompatible between us in that one department. She was impossibly understanding though, at first, and I even tried to make light of it. As a result she became the queen of the company gym to work off her sexual stress, toning that magnificent body of hers even further.

“I did other non-sexual things too, sweet things, like a majority of the household chores, and magnificent massaging body rubs, because she spent more time at work than I did; although certainly some of it after hours at the gym, for the obvious reasons. I then made my first mistake, suggesting, playfully, that she needed a boyfriend, perhaps even a well hung one that didn't pop off in thirty seconds like I did. She said no at least a dozen times after that, when I brought the subject up in bed, although it wound her up, sexually. She denied it at first, but the concept obviously did something for her, and me too, to be honest."

"Lots of people have fantasies, I have some myself, so what?" I asked.

"I thought so too, but this tiny seed that I had playfully planted in her mind started to germinate and grow, and the soil I had foolishly planted it in was quite fertile. Anyway, Beth eventually starts really getting into this fantasy concept of her taking on a boyfriend, asking me if I'd be okay with it, like for real, on a real date... just as an experiment. I thought we were maybe still just playing; and she got so damn hot and bothered when we talked like this, so naturally I played along and told her yes. It was great for me, and afterwards at least pretty good for her too judging by how wickedly she came off when I went down on her, or so I thought at the time. Our bedroom talk usually involved fictitious men by then, it was still kinky, but not necessarily the exact kind of kinky I had in mind though. Sometimes it was the appliance repair man, or the new guy at the office, that kind of thing. Then the new guy suddenly had a name, Derrick, he was just a few years older and a transfer from another division across the state.

“Derrick was a hulking man's man, into sports, and apparently also a regular at the gym, although being new in town he didn't know the hot spots yet, didn't have anyone to go with either, no 'circle of friends' yet established. Beth then told me out of the blue that Derrick would be ‘perfect for us', and my heart froze in my chest. This led to my second mistake, but I just had misread things so badly, although I realize now that this too was totally my fault. 

“'You really think so?' I asked her, somewhere in the back of my head a more reasonable man screaming 'DANGER, TURN BACK NOW!' But, I didn't listen to him, although exactly why I'm not sure. Guilt perhaps, or was there an element still at that point of showing off what I had, and others almost certainly lusted for? Perhaps it was even simpler than all that, perhaps this was just something Beth wanted to do, needed to do, and well within my abilities to 'let' her, although she wasn't exactly 'asking' either. Beth didn't ask much of anything by that point in our marriage though, she simply told me - usually nicely enough - what she wanted of me, and I did it, all the time bearing in mind how I was apparently shortchanging her in those other areas.

“'Speak now, or forever hold your peace,' Beth told me playfully while smiling, reminding me ironically enough of our wedding not three years earlier, and I too now realize this was no accident. She then tells me she's going to offer to take him to the club on Tenth Street, the dance club, in the heart of the city. She already knows he likes to dance from their many lunchtime conversations, and Beth could dance like I never could, back when we were dating. So, I then told myself foolishly that this might even be good for the both of them. Derrick sounded like a nice enough guy - although I had yet to even meet him at that point - and my wife was still my wife, not Derrick's. I vowed not to get jealous of a man I had never even met - even though he had apparently been chatting up my very desirable wife every single day at work - children got jealous, not thinking secure adults. 

“That was mistake number three!

“I was almost sick with repressed jealousy and anything but secure... although I denied both when asked about my recent 'moodiness,' Derrick and my wife making THEIR plans together for Friday night, right after work, come hell or high water! 'It was just dancing' I told myself reasonably, something I don't even like doing all that much. Still, I remembered the sexy little club dresses she used to wear to such places not all that long ago, and then I was reminded of the way that other men used to look at her at such venues; like she was fresh meat on display in the butcher's window!

“'It's part of the experience of going to such places,' she had innocently told me back then, and I'll admit that there had been a certain pride in being the lucky man that took her home from such places, although she and I had yet to be fully intimate back then, before our wedding, at her insistence. I also took notice that those dresses and stunning high heels still remained in the back of her closet, ready and waiting when needed again. 

“One could easily argue that if I didn't like other guys just looking at her like that, why on earth did I suggest that she find a well hung boyfriend, even playfully as pillow talk?"

"I was going to ask you that very question," I responded.

"Because the idea, the concept, initially excited me! Like standing on the train tracks and jumping out of the way of a speeding train at the last second. Like bungee jumping, pure adrenalin! It was insanity, but exciting insanity, if that makes any sense. I loved hating it, loved the temptation, the potential loss and pain such a relationship could possibly cause me. It was like playing with fire, but not ever thinking that I could actually burn down my proverbial happy home with it! I had something other men lusted for, and she was mine, with my rings of commitment on the third finger of her tiny left hand to prove it. That's a powerful thing, but I was careless and stupid with that power, and rings can be removed, just as attitudes can change as people grow...

“That whole week we didn't make love a single time. Beth was just abuzz with excitement anyway though, this 'date' was all consuming and she was literally glowing, and far more like the carefree and fun loving innocent girl I had dated prior to marriage. The change was stunning! How could I possibly ruin that for her, after I was the one that had put this stupid idea into her head to begin with? I wasn't the intended recipient of that fun this time though, somebody else was, but I couldn't summon the courage one single time during that entire week to tell her that I didn't want her to go... ON THIS DATE WITH ANOTHER MAN! That would be admitting to myself, to her, that I was wrong for suggesting it in the first place, and guys just hate to do that, especially prideful ones like I had once been. So my stoic pride easily beat out my reasonable jealousy, although had I known then what I do now...

“So anyway, Friday morning comes far too quickly, and I watch her prepare to leave for work, dress bag, heels, and cosmetics case in hand. She reminded me with a glowing smile that she was going straight out on her 'date' right after work, instead of coming home first; as if I could possibly forget such a little detail. She had spent almost two hours in the bathtub the night before; I rinsed it in the morning and saw the evidence that she likely had shaved off just about everything she had to shave below her neck, FOR DERRICK!

“...I'm afraid I'm getting emotional again, could we maybe stop this and try another time?"

"I don't think so, Pansy, but I'll get you something to drink if you're getting dry, I know we both drank a lot last night."

The look I got while using his effeminate name that first time could have melted ice, but I had promised, and I intended to keep my word. It was an amazing story so far, and I was on the edge of my seat, and I even had a pretty good idea where it ended up. After helping Pansy drink some water, I prodded ‘her’ on.

"So, Beth was a club girl?" I asked. This wasn't quite the picture of her I had in my mind, I was thinking something more like ‘timid angel’.

"Yes, and no. She liked to dance, and her tiny compact tight little body looked magnificent in anything. I think she liked to innocently flirt with the idea of being like that, a hot desirable 'club-girl' kind of girl, but she was raised with different values, and even went to university while still living at home and under her parent's protective roof. So she couldn't really live that lifestyle fully, for a whole host of reasons. In other words, she was a dance floor tease, but I was the one taking her home, but in this case that meant safely back to her parents house, before an agreed upon time. She's certainly made up for lost time since though, she had a rather repressed sadistic side to her innocent little girl persona, but I blame Derrick for a good part of that, ultimately. But, I digress.

“Well anyway, Beth is getting ready to leave and I notice that her rings aren't on her finger, and I ask about it. 'I can't look like a frumpy old married woman and take a MAN like Derrick out on the town, silly,' she tells me. Her amusing soft tone and smile soothes and reassures me, 'I have nothing to worry about,' I tell myself foolishly.

“'What time do you think you'll be home?' I then ask as non-threateningly as possible, as if it's perfectly normal for your wife to go out on a date to a dance club... with another man, while leaving her rings safely home.

“She smiles and laughs, 'sometime before the sun comes up, I should think,' she answers flippantly, the fact that I even asked apparently bothered her to some degree...

“She then stares right at the crotch of my thin dress pants. I'm about as hard as I can get with this exchange between us despite my building angst, and my pants are tenting as proof. Any sincere protest I might wish to make at this late hour is overshadowed by my body's betrayal. A part of me surely finds this erotic and exciting, the non-thinking part of me, and I'm not hiding this fact from her very well either.

“She smiles at me, but it's an odd Mona Lisa type smile that I've never seen from her before. 'Don't call or text me unless it's an emergency!' she warns harshly over her shoulder, a decision of some kind apparently just reached. She turns to leave, the front door slamming closed a second later. I still smell her lingering perfume, but she's no longer there with me, in more than one way.

“All day at work it's the only thing on my mind, I'm a wreck, screwing up things one after another, but I don't dare call or text her either. I go home early instead, sick I told them, it's only half a lie though as this cold pit in my stomach feels like I have just consumed a gallon of ice water. It occurred to me at some point that it's not just dancing, they'll need to go out for something to eat beforehand too, bearing in mind the time, extending this illicit date of theirs.

“Once back home, I really panic and start to sweat, as if I'm having a for-real heart attack; if I left work early, couldn't they as well... together? I must have aged a year while foolishly surfing for porn as a distraction and waiting up, for my once again dancing and dating wife. Only one thing relieves my tension and prevents a serious mental breakdown of some kind. I'm overcome not with visions of the two making love someplace, but just dancing close together, and kissing; the thought of her just kissing this Derrick nearly driving me insane, not with jealousy though, not specifically anyway.

“Beth eventually comes home, just after two in the morning, high heels in hand and more than half drunk. I was relieved to see that she didn't attempt to drive herself, but I didn't know if it was an Uber ride, or a Derrick-supplied one instead.

“She had a great time, she tells me as clearly as possible, but I could see that on her pretty glowing face anyway. The dress fit her like a glove, and I hugged her tight in it, kissing her on her offered cheek instead of her lips as I had wanted. I could feel that she has little on under her thin form fitting dress, and if I realized this from one simple hug, surely her dance partner must have too. She smells like booze, and men... other men, but I put that aside, she's home safe, and I'm reasonably sure she and Derrick haven't been fully intimate with each other.

“'Maybe just a kiss?' I silently opine, in what should be a reasonable way, but the image of that kiss is already burned into my brain, as is the foolishness of the initial suggestion that she find a well hung boyfriend. What exactly did I think such a man would like to do with my stunning and sexy wife, besides just kissing? Dancing can be like foreplay, I remind myself, especially for a woman who's not getting enough at home.

“You would think I would want to make love to her, as many times as I possibly could, just to reclaim her physically and remind her that she's still mine, still MY wife. But the dirty little secret is that I can't, because I've masturbated more times over the last few hours than I can ever remember doing - in a row - just thinking about her being out on her date with Derrick. I'm raw and sore down there from my extended self abuse too, so even if my little soldier could possibly, somehow, salute one more time, I would be in absolute agony if I tried to put it anywhere near her, let alone inside of her tight velvety womanhood.

“I instead go for the caring husband routine; I get her up into our bedroom, and strip off what little she's wearing. This consists of her little club dress, matching g-string, and a Tenth Street Club wristband. I leave the earrings on her, one's already missing anyway; they were a one-time present from me as well, from back when WE were dating. She's mostly out of it, but I can't help myself: I go down on her anyway, and she's a juicy hot mess. It's pungent from her exertions on the dance floor, and my first fleeting thought was that I was cleaning up another man's mess - perhaps Derrick's - from my own wife's tiny married pussy.

“This doesn't stop me though, but I also know logically that it wasn't that, I'd know the difference. I had consumed my own messes from her many times in the almost three years we'd been married by that point, the only reliable way to bring her to orgasm and make sex somewhat good for her too, after I popped off far to quickly. Besides, she bore no telltale stretching puffy evidence of any recent intrusion down there, mine, nor anybody else's.

“She drunkenly tells me no, that we shouldn't be doing this, but I'm not entirely sure she even knows that it's me doing this for her. I get her to cum anyway, I'm good at that, but I've had a fair amount of practice as she almost always prefers this after traditional 'sex' with me so that she too can cum, although she doesn't ever offer to reciprocate. She holds my head into her tightly, all the while murmuring that we shouldn't be doing this; it was a strange dichotomy to say the least. I get her to pop off maybe three times in a row before she passes out in an exhausted heap, covering and then crawling in next to her before trying to sleep myself."

"Did she do it with Derrick that first night?" I asked. I was so caught up in this story that I had to know, but I hated to interrupt the flow of his telling it at the same time. It was all too easy to forget that this man before me was baring his soul to me, explaining in intimate detail how his life and marriage went to hell...

"No... I was still at the point where I could have maybe stopped things, this had gone pretty far, but not THAT far. This was my next big mistake, perhaps the biggest one yet."

Pansy's story was making me very hot at this point - though ‘she’ hasn't even gotten to the ‘good’ parts yet - so much so that I fight the urge to see how good she truly is at giving oral. Many brag about such skills, both male and female, but truth be told it takes time to learn a lover's body, what specific buttons to push. She's also still my belted prisoner, and if she thinks she's getting free without just compensation after winding me up like this, she has another thing coming!

"'How was it?' I eventually asked Beth over the breakfast I had cooked. She told me it was fantastic, even better than she expected, and that I had a magnificent idea about her going out with Derrick in the first place. I'm crushed, but I think I'm hiding it well. She doesn't say this with any special inflection in her voice though, the tone catches me oddly, but it takes a few seconds to understand why.

“He wants to meet me sometime soon too, and she tells me so. It's the WAY she tells me all this though, detached-like, as if she were talking with a casual friend that she had bumped into at the store - even though I do all of the grocery shopping myself - perhaps even one that she can't quite recall the name of. It was distant and detached, I belatedly picked up on the vibe, but I knew that I still had to respond somehow.

“'That sounds wonderful,' I lied, my tone just as vacant. But it did make sense to meet this man, to put a face with the name, and perhaps even convince myself that he's no threat to my wife's married virtue, although logic and common sense at this point suggested quite the opposite. There was an obvious element of denial here for me, as if things like this just didn't happen in the real world to nice guys like me, nor certainty this quickly. 

“'The club was packed...' she started to explain, then stopped herself abruptly in mid-conversation to answer the text she had just received on her phone, from Derrick apparently; that was not so subtle at all. I was suddenly second best to a man not even physically present in the room with us, his intrusion unwelcome from my perspective. She looked up, after excitedly typing her reply with lightning speed, though I didn’t see the words because of the angle she held her phone at, intentionally.

“'...The club was packed, there were like three guys for every girl, and I danced in my heels until my feet hurt. Then I took them off and danced some more; Derrick's quite the dancer. He even let some of the other guys take a turn with me, bless his heart, but only a few.'

“I don't think she even realized that she had stopped her conversation with me in mid-sentence to answer the text. Pointing that out while she was in such a bubbly mood would be cruel though, and I didn't have the heart to do so. She was happy like I hadn't seen in a year, and I liked her to be happy. If dancing with Derrick did this for her, a part of me was willing to go along.

“'Where did you guys...' I start to ask, but Beth's phone pings again, and I'm already starting to resent that little intrusive noise. She goes about texting back with wicked speed, I would say ‘as if I'm not in the room,’ but that wasn't entirely true, as she had turned her phone once again so that her typed words were private between them. She's smiling warmly, invitingly, but not for me; she's smiling that smile for Derrick, for his text message, the content certainly welcome... at least for her.

“‘...You were saying?' Beth goes on, at least this time acknowledging the interruption.

“‘Where did you guys go to eat out?’ I asked, keeping my tone as far away from an accusation as I could. As I said, she was as happy as I had seen her in a year, and I didn't want to screw that up, my childish jealousy over what I believed at the time was only her dance partner, with perhaps a kiss thrown in, would just have to remain hidden. 

“'Eat out?' she asks, her innocent deer in the headlights eyes melting my heart. She looked like I had just caught her in a colossal lie, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and a small suspicious part of me wondered why. 'Did she think Derrick somehow was the one who went down on her last night in our bed, the one who had selflessly brought her pungent self off so she could sleep?' I ask myself reasonably.

“'Eat, as in dinner. I hope you guys didn't go clubbing on an empty stomach?' I asked her reasonably. My words I think telling her I anticipated this, with the further connotation that I theoretically was okay with this too. It was far better than drinking on an empty stomach, we both knew that, and we also both knew that the clubs don't even open before eight.

“'We got some sushi, takeout from Chang's, as it turns out. They didn't have any tables available at that time though, so we took it to Derrick's apartment in the city, that way I could get a shower first, and I wouldn't have to get dressed and put my face on in the restrooms at work either. Lots of questions to be answered and all of that,' she tells me quite innocently.

“Before I could pursue this most recent revelation Beth's phone rings, but she gets up from the table and takes it into the bathroom with her before answering, closing the door behind her. I hear her murmured voice, and then schoolgirl-like giggles through the wall, but no specifics of the conversation.

“Beth comes out fifteen minutes later, her breakfast is cold at this point, as is mine, since I can't eat another bite, I'm suddenly reminded that I had forgotten to eat anything last night too. 'Sorry about that,' she tells me dismissively, as if she's just accidentally bumped into some stranger with her shopping cart at the market. 'Derrick has invited me out to HIS gym to work off some of that sushi with him, and I need a ride back to my car and work clothes at his building anyway. Be a dear and take me, I just need a fast shower first...'

“I feel like I've just been slapped, but what can I do? To make matters worse, I feel that treacherous little monster that I rubbed raw the night before getting excited, but this same part of my anatomy that usually gives me great pleasure, instead causes me some serious pain. This man is no longer a mere dance partner, he's seducing my pretty young wife, incrementally, and in slow motion right before my eyes. And, I even theoretically just agreed to help by delivering her personally to his door! Or, at the very least, I had just failed to refuse to take her... although there's always Uber, should I somehow summon the courage to refuse outright.

“'Why the hell does this excite me?' I ask myself for not the first time. She's even been there already, undressing, showering, and dressing once again in her little club dress, at HIS place, and I know what she had on under that! She even left clothes there, if that isn't a proverbial chip left on the table, what is?

“I'm still in my sleep shorts and a tee shirt. Beth quickly jumps into, then emerges from, the shower in record speed with her long hair pony tailed, wearing yoga pants and a sports bra. She looks good dressed like that, very good in fact; my abused little monster reminds me of it, and of my naïve stupidity in delivering her to another man dressed like this, instead of insisting that she stay home with me, so at the very least we can talk this all out. I'm a wreck, and a part of me wants to confront this man, but I don't have the nerve for a host of reasons, the least of which is that I can't even summon the courage to confront my own wife about her intentions with him.

“In a way, he's already won. I’m submissively subdued by a man I have yet to even meet, he’s gone from fantasy lover to the sole focus of my wife's attention in a single date. She's happy though, and I so want her to be happy, I’m willing, for a time, to even play along and see where this ends up; this about the most passive, selfless, non-masculine thing any man could possibly do under the circumstances, or so I foolishly thought.

“Derrick's building is in the nice part of the city, underground guarded and gated parking. I am only permitted to drop Beth off at the curb, like I was her Uber driver, as I don't have clearance to come through the gates like an actual invited guest might. She hesitates before getting out, our ride over to his place a silent one, other than her telling me where to turn next. She had a gym bag with her, presumably with fresh clothes to change into after her sweaty workout with Derrick, but I dare not ask. Something has obviously changed over the course of the last week, and more so over the last few hours. I can tell it in her demeanor, I am now second best between her 'two men,' and that's saying something, as I'm as certain as I can be that they haven't even made love ...yet.

“I know it's going to happen though, maybe even that very day, and still I inexplicably don't voice my objections. Possibly because maybe even a part of me wants it to happen, if for nothing else but so that she can be truly happy, physically satisfied like I never apparently could. I realize that this is so not good for my own masculine ego, but there's a part of me that gets off on this too, although I'm still coming to terms with those conflicting feelings at this point.

“'Ohhh, by the way... Derrick thinks you two should meet sooner than later, so be a dear and make us some steaks for dinner; ribeyes, fresh green beans, and fresh baked potatoes too. It's his favorite, and he is the guest here. I want you to make him feel at home, so I guess I want him to feel like more than just a guest. This way you can thank him personally when you meet him, for showing me such a good time last night, and for keeping me safe from all those other men too. Six sharp on dinner, and please do the laundry, and make sure it's spotless before we get back home. Don't... disappoint... me!' she warned coldly, clearly enunciating her last three words to me before closing the door firmly and walking away from my humble little car with purpose.

“I sat there stunned, watching her magnificent little ass in those yoga pants walk toward the building's entrance, and Derrick, and metaphorically still further away from me. She didn't look back once, I was shocked by how cold she had become so quickly. One could, I suppose, replace the word 'cold' with 'focused' though, she knew what she wanted, and she was going to get it. She felt like the human equivalent of an avalanche to me, moving with frightening speed and furry once accidentally set in motion, and without an ounce of mercy either, anything or anybody that got in her way sure to get crushed under her cold mass.

“I was apparently to be both maid and chef for Beth and her new boyfriend Derrick that evening, hosting them personally in our own home. I was then to also thank him personally for trying to steal away my perfect little wife, by cooking his favorite meal to perfection and making sure our home was also presentably perfect. I had no problem doing house chores, I did more than my fair share of them anyway, because Beth often put in more time at work than I did, including her sexually frustrated gym time, so this seemed only fair to me. At first she had even appreciated such efforts, but later on she merely expected them, even subjecting my selfless good deeds to her critical review. 

“'Dinner was good, BUT...' Or my favorite, 'you know sweety, if you hang my things up while they're still hot from the dryer, you won't have to iron quite so much.'

“I took it all like a well worn punching bag, because one look at Beth made it all worthwhile. She had the face of an angel, and the petite perfect body of a goddess; I was punching well above my weight in merely snagging her in the first place. But, somewhere along the way my angel had lost her wings, and her sweet innocent tongue had become more serpent-like, and the worst part was that I had, in part, done this to her. Derrick had helped too, he was positively amused when abusing me, like an evil child tormenting ants with a magnifying glass on a sunny day. But, objectively speaking, I think Beth and I had started down this rough road long before he came into the picture. I realize now that Derrick was more of a symptom, and not the actual ailment our marriage was suffering from."

"What do you mean?" I interrupted, giving Pansy another drink of water as she had been talking almost non-stop for the best part of an hour. There was an element of his ‘getting this off his chest,’ or is that ‘her chest?’ In any event, I thought this was good for her, like a kind of therapy, or so it seemed to me at the time. 

"I guess I hadn't gotten to that part yet. Well anyway, they actually both got off on degrading and humiliating me, almost right from the get-go. They pretty quickly made me not only less than what Derrick was, but so much less so that it was as if I wasn't the same gender and species as he. Beth joined in - that sadistic little bitch - as if she were furious with me for wasting three of her best years by being married to me, and this some cruel form of atonement for that colossal error on her part. The transformation was astonishing, I still don't completely believe it, so I don't blame you if you don't either."

"I assume you're getting to the humiliation part next?" I asked my mostly feminine captive, the irony not lost on me in the least, it's just that I couldn't point it out the obvious at that particular moment.

...I could possibly make something out of this one - although what to do with her was still to be determined - but good manners also demanded that I did it in such a way that was good for her too. I couldn't ethically use her up and discard her like they had apparently done either. Still, with that chastity device locked on, and the parts of the story I already knew, it was hard to see this shaved panty wearing ‘man’ bound up before me as anything even slightly masculine. And while my sympathies obviously lay with my work friend over the apparent raw deal he had received at their hand, I had to wonder at the other side of this particular story too. Female intuition told me he, or she, was leaving something out...

"Yes, yes I am! So anyway, at that very moment I have an obvious decision to make; pack my bags and be gone, or be the best and most perfectly submissive maid and chef that I can be. I still think this is a phase at this point, and that my sweet angelic Beth will come back to me, back to her senses, but now perhaps AFTER she sows her wild oats with Derrick, for a time or two. I had some time to do such things myself before I had ever met Beth, and a part of me thought it hypocritical to deny her the same opportunities. 'I am in this for the long haul,' I told myself, and I had also vowed for 'better or worse' in front of family and friends. I also knew going into this that she had led a very sheltered life before I had met her. Her parents were very strict and controlling with her, and I thought she was just rebelling like a teenager might, although obviously belatedly and for me and not them.

“I still would have done anything for her at that point, but I would be lying if I told you that a certain element of shame and embarrassment didn't play into this as well. What man can't find some way to satisfy his wife, especially one looking like Beth does? It was embarrassing to me that she had to find something outside of our happy home to scratch that particular itch with, and I wished to keep this secret from everyone that I could until she grew out of it. This was my secret shame in all this, doubly so as I had playfully suggested it in the first place; as I had planted that very poison seed myself. This secret shame also led to my rapid undoing, by giving them an easy and obvious lever to move me as they wished."

"I'm surprised that you didn't just want to 'cash out' on things, many would have at that point, you did tell me it was a nice house, and I assume a significant asset?"

"I wasn't thinking in those terms, I still wanted her at that point, like maybe even more than ever, truth be told. A woman looking like Beth does would ordinarily have had several lovers before I had ever met her; if not for her parents sheltered upbringing. So I justified this insanity as just being a slightly out of order, but otherwise natural progression for her.

“I think there's also a natural desire in all of us to want what others have, and by that point Derrick almost certainly HAD Beth, in my mind at least, if not in actual body. So, in a very strange way, I wanted back what Derrick had so easily and quickly taken from me - once he was eventually done with her - and I was willing to do anything to do so, accept her back in any condition, and under any conditions.

“As far as 'cashing out' on our home, Beth's parents had put a huge down payment on it for us as a wedding gift, with the condition that no matter what happened between us, it was still hers. I had even signed a prenuptial agreement on all of Beth's assets both present, and future, to obviously include HER home, because as I've said, Beth's parents were loaded. She even made the mortgage payments herself, from her own salary, my salary paying all the utilities, groceries, my car payment, etcetera. I was fine with this arrangement as I was interested in Beth, not her parent's vast wealth, and my easy agreement to these terms I think conveyed a certain commitment to their daughter that they appreciated at the time.


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