Couples Counseling Pt. 04 - Sex Stories

Couples Counseling Pt. 04

... his cockhead a little kiss, then a quick twirl of my tongue. "My test of your submission."

Moaning, then quieting himself, Tosh sets his jaw, grits his teeth, and gives me what I want ... most of all. But softly, "Fuck her. I beg you, Mistress, fuck my wife."

I release his cock. Tosh gasps, anguished at his loss, and sobs.

Then he stops. He lifts his chin and calms his trembling lips. And holds dutifully still.

Submitting.

#-#

In one swoop, I strip away the blindfold and headphones and step aside, showing him his wife has already been rigged for the fucking. I think this impresses on his submissive mind that this outcome was foreordained. That once again, he's beenowned.

"Ugh, 'leeth, 'O-sshee'o," Paige's ring-gagged mouth mewls, "uh, 'leeeeth."

I'm puzzled by this.Is my kitten pleading with her husband to 'rescue' her? I can't have heard that right. Maybe it was more along the lines of, 'Toshiro, please let them fuck me.' Makes me wonder if she hadn't heard him say that already.

Which is a good point. This part of the slave-breaking protocol requires clarity, even a touch of formality.

Speaking of that, I find my skirt (consider, then discard, my thong) and fasten the black velvet wrap back onto my hips; presenting a more authoritative image.

"Uppy-uppy, pretty puppy," I giggle. Slave-meat in hand, I straighten Tosh up off his haunches. Settling him there, I place a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll need the broken slave-husband to say that ...

... again louder," I say, "so we all can hear."

Wife and husband's faces are a couple meters apart now, if that. Paige is strapped to a barstool-type bondage stand that's set on the tiles of the suspension station, directly under the pulley; Tosh kneels on the carpet just outside the tiles; she is looking down on him.

Our bound fuck-doll's trim, rangy legs are strictly bound to the rear leg of the stand with straps at her ankles, knees, lower and upper thighs. Her hands are behind her, laced up inside a black leather armbinder, and she is bent forward instrappado; a cable runs from the binder diagonally up to the pulley, lifting her arms behind her; and coming back down, it connects with a rawhide-thong knot at the base of her ponytail, which tips up her face. The vinyl cushion of the stool supports her pelvis, but above the waist, her torso is stretched up and back by the tension of the strappado. Her abs and tits look super-yummy stretched taut like that, slicked with her sweat ... and of course, striped with fresh, scarlet whiplashes.

And her mouth, of course, is tortuously ring-gagged. She looks at me. "'Ooo, aa, 'Iss-esstth?"

"Hush, kitten-slave," I admonish her. "Best to stay on my good side, given your position."

Rounding out her bondage-and-torment ensemble, a shiny pair of clover-clamps grips and distends her nipples downward, the slender chains ending in a pair of weighted bells. Those, along with whatever comes out of her hobbled mouth, are going to be the ...