1. In order to comment on a story, you must give it a rating first. This is done to keep the story thread itself nice and clean. We have some changes coming that will provide a better format for commenting, but in the meantime please rate and comment, authors love feedback!
    Dismiss Notice

. Fitting his hood

Discussion in 'Cuckold Stories' started by Lutheran Maid, May 31, 2018.

. Fitting his hood 5 5 3votes
5/5, 3 votes

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. Thread
  2. Reviews (3)
  1. Lutheran Maid

    Lutheran Maid Well-Known Member Author!

    The afternoon tea on the lawn over, Alice shepherded the last of the guests from the door in the walled garden of the vicarage. Like all the rest of them this had been a fund raising event for charity and the women of the village had turned up with their plates of cakes and their bottles of home made wine and cordials to sell on behalf of a good cause. The sun had shone warmly, the blackbirds sang in the orchard and it had all been quite lovely. Mrs Atkins had remarked on how lovely her floral, full skirted dress looked. Her string of pearls about her throat were, well timelessly classic. She wore stockings beneath the skirt because ladies still did that kind of thing. What was best of all though, best, best of all, was that Charles the twenty eight year old farmer from the big estate on the edge of the village had come along. Charles's father, the Earl, owned the vast majority of the land for miles around. There was a vineyard, pheasant shooting, a trout fishing stream and a run of salmon, and there was the army of cheap foreign labour that Charles housed in converted barns whilst the workers picked endless soft fruits for Charles, some of which had been sold in punnets at the afternoon tea. She stepped back through the ancient wall of the vicarage garden and saw Alistair, her husband clearing tables. He had only been vicar of the charming St Marks' for a couple of months so he was very eager. He smiled at everyone, agreed with everyone, at least provided that they didn't say silly profane things, and he was perpetually cheerful. Alistair had asked some girls from the village to turn up and serve tea, but they never made it. So Alistair served tea everywhere whilst Alice chatted with all the guests. He even wore a pinny apron to start with until someone teased him about that. Alice smiled. Looking left she was surprised and delighted to see that Charles was still there too. He was studying the trained pear trees along the wall. He was studying them, but well, really, he was waiting for Alice.

    She went to him and admitted that she wasn't at all sure how all the fruit training on walls worked! Charles would know though, she said as much. Charles smiled his best enigmatic smile. He had the most arresting eyes. He had the strongest hands. His father ruled the village and he would do so in turn. That was the way of the countryside. He looked at her again, that way and she knew that he would kiss her. As soon as Alistair carried another tray of cups into the kitchen, he would kiss her on the lips. She waited shyly there, waiting for the inevitable. She had once believed it sinful, but in truth she couldn't resist him. Once he beckoned with his eyes she went to him. She went to him and received her kisses, received the touches of his strong fingers up beneath her floral, summary dresses. Charles and his equally powerful father, always got their way. Thee were other women, other wives in the village who went to the old Earl at his instruction. He fucked them and they returned grateful, somehow a little superior then to their husbands and families.

    'This is for you' Charles said and opened a red leather, gold tooled presentation box. Inside there was the most exquisite Cartier tank Amercain wrist watch on a sterling silver bracelet. Its gloriously classic oblong face caught the sun as he lifted it off the holder and started to clip it around her pretty wrist. It looked so expensive, so smart, so chic, that it was clearly impossible. No vicar's wife could possibly have afforded to buy such a timepiece. No vicar could have gifted it to his lady wife. And yet, dear God, it looked so perfect on her wrist. It was not too tight and it moved gaily up and down her arm a little when she moved to stroke back a lock of her strawberry blonde hair.

    'I can't Charles' she protested as best she might, 'Alistair will guess. You're so rich, this is so perfect...'

    Her suitor frowned. He wasn't cross but he wasn't about to accept a refusal either. The bitch looked so picture perfect in the watch. A dove trooping with the crows of the village. He knew that the villagers would accept matters. She would wear the watch and they would deduce that he owned her. They would know that she must be treated like landed gentry as a result. She was risen above her stupid husband. He kissed her firmly on the lips, taking her hand in his. She would wear the watch, she would be acknowledged as gentry and the vicar, well they had already set in train measures to secure his acquiescence.

    'Hows the instruction going...' he whispered kissing her again before Alistair returned out with the tray to get more cups. He waved in the distance to them and started adding saucers and plates to the tray.

    'He's learning, he's progressing.....but he's so ashamed of it. He's so ashamed that he needs to do that.'

    Alistair licked pussy for his wife. He licked pussy and had started to learn to call her mistress. Privately, discreetly, all was not as it seemed in the vicarage. Charles was a bit more brutal about it all. Eating beaver was what weak men did. He had instructed Alice how to dominate her husband, to humiliate him in private whilst seeming the loving wife in public. That was what was dirty, instinctive and best about a village. The way that some women could be persuaded to bitch a man.

    'You always use the hood on him?' asked Charles quietly.

    Ah, the hood. It was an Amsterdam purchase wasn't it. But it was perfect for this. Alice had given Charles her husband's hat size, some experts had assessed the other dimensions of his head from a church magazine picture and they had made it bespoke. It was constructed in the softest calf brown leather and it had two little holes for the wearer to breath through, an aperture for is tongue to come out, but the eyes were completely blanked through with stronger leather. At the sides were pierced holes so the supplicant could hear and there was a strap that came around with a rubber gag to go in his mouth if the wearer had to shut up or suffer or something.

    'Yes' she whispered, accepting another kiss just as soon as Alistair disappeared again. 'I think it helps him to feel less shameful. If he can't see him self in the mirror wearing that, if I can't see his grimaces, then I think it seems more bearable to him.'

    'He'll learn' Charles assured her, 'I want to see you use him.'

    She shivered at the use of that phrase. Use him. But that was what she did. She had Alistair lick cunt rather than try and be a man and use his cock on her. She was Charles' to fuck, she was his property. Until now, that had always been private, but now, her lover insisted that it was time to progress.

    'Please, we've just finished the fete...' she began, her eyes wide, staring up at his masterful face.

    'Run along now darling, go and get him hooded up in the lounge. I'll lock the garden gate and join you. He can wash dishes later.'

    Alice kissed him. She had promised to herself that sometimes she would say no to Charles. She would find a way, but that time had never come. So she went to the study and found the hood, stashed within the bottom drawer and carried it through to where her husband stood at the kitchen sink. Even as the hood came into her hand it was as if it affected a different demeanour within her. Alistair would have described it in devil possession terms. But Alice knew only that she felt dirty, wanton, a bitch, and utterly driven by compulsion. She sauntered back towards the kitchen, her hips swaying in a flaunting way and she stood in the doorway, waving the hood at the tip of her fore finger, her new watch slipping down her arm. He glanced around and stared at her. He stared at the hood, the present on her wrist and the expression on her face. It was the hardest, the cruellest combination, her dress looked so 1950s and bobysox, her hair up in a classic way, her pearls about her throat and then the leather hood.

    'Now' she said crisply.

    He looked aghast at her. He looked at the pile of items to be washed up.

    She didn't have to order a second time. It was their custom, their little game. She had called it the bitch of the manse game, where he tended his flock outside but her wet and succulent sex indoors. I am pagan, she once teased him, I am your goddess and you will worship. He wiped his hands quickly and followed her. He followed, his mouth suddenly dry. Through in the living room, before the large sofa, she had him drop to his knees and look up at her as was required. She removed his bookish wire framed college preppy look spectacles and put them to one side. From another drawer in the living room she took out the metal handcuffs and locked his wrists behind his back. He was trembling. He looked at the watch on her wrist.

    'I have a lover' she said casually, 'get over it. You do as you're told'.

    He didn't have time to object or to ask more. The hood was brusquely dragged down over his head. It pulled tight and she listened to his panic breath. She listened to his fear that he might never leave this darkness. This time, to heighten compliance, she swung the strap around and pushed the rubber flange into his mouth, snapping the strap shut on the other side of his face. It was easier that way.

    'I am going to give you to the man that I love' she told him curtly. She watched his head drop. She watched it shake a bit left and right. 'If you don't go to him willingly, do his bidding. then I have pictures to send to the bishop'. Her words shocked her. They shocked her to the quick! It was just too terrible, but this moment, this moment when her breath caught in her throat was always coming, it was always coming.

    She walked back to him, her hips moving, moving again. She felt like a girl in Saturday Night Fever. Charles had stepped lightly into the room and he leaned quietly against the door watching. His handsome face was intent, his eyes serious. This was just the next step. She peeled back the mouth strap and swung it back to its holding position and then she pulled his hooded head to her sex. Lifting the full skirt of her dress in an instant, it was there, bare, well bushed and intoxicating. As he had been taught to do Alistair started to suck down the breathes, to suck in the intoxicant. The more he sniffed and inhaled, the deeper the addiction. Holding his hooded head there, drugging himself she saw how her watch slipped down onto her wrist. It was so terribly pretty. Lightly she cuffed his right ear with her hand and he started to lick. She looked across at Charles. Is this alright? her look said, he nodded. Having Charles watch her do this. She shivered with excitement, the wickedness and the humiliation of it. Charles stepped quietly over to her. Alistair must have heard, but he was suckling. He was suckling and his tongue danced in a shameful figure of eight a round her wet and swelling sex. Vile as it was Alice couldn't stop herself moving against his face.

    She looked up at Charles urgently, anxiously.

    'I need to pee' she said apologetically.

    'That's fine' Charles assured her and kissed her pretty ear. He nuzzled his nose there and the first stream of water gushed from Alice's body. No woman pees exactly straight, Charles knew that, but with a little angling of the supplicant's head, soon his mouth was open to most of it. Charles watched the beaten male swallow it down. He swallowed in sharp little gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his throat. His girl was shaking against him as she humiliated her husband that way, so her kissed her slowly.

    'You are so sexy' he whispered to her. The husband, well he would know now wouldn't he? Everyone knew Charles' voice. But what did it matter, the hood really hid the mirror shame for Alistair. His shame was like a disfigurement, but he couldn't stop his addiction. He didn't object, kneeling there with the residues of her shower soaked into his shirt.

    'Please....please darling' she stammered. It was almost mouse like her timid begging voice. She was pleading with her eyes. It was the submissive look, the same pleading that she had used before, the several times that he had fucked her. They kissed slowly, uncaring about the noise that they made above the kneeling man.

    'OK Alice, we will, we will' he assured her. He stroked her cheek and Alistair heard the rustle of her skirts as the hem came down.

    'You ready to commune our way, the village way' Charles warned the kneeling husband.

    Alice watched, she waited.

    'Yes sir' Alistair murmured. Deep down he guessed that there would finally be another man. This game occasioned no respect in her for him any more. It was almost an honour that his wife would become the young Earl to be's bitch. Alice had so much class, so much instinctive style. If she lay with a man that it was right that it was him. He listened. He listened as Charles took out his prick from his chino trousers. The man's cock was already erect, he felt it brush, big glans against his cheek. Like a rooting baby then he moved in its direction and the hood of it slipped into his mouth. He wanted to gag, he wants to vomit, the thing tasted of sweat, and dirt and salt, but he sucked. He sucked and at last more of it was eased into his mouth. He felt his master start to push it casually back and forth inside.

    'You OK darling, he's good as gold' Charles burred.

    'I love you' she said.

    They kissed, Alistair on his knees working his face back and forth on the stiffening cock. He felt his wife move into the master's arms and shuddered.

    'I fuck her when I please. You never take you dick near her, understood?' demanded the arrogant farmer.

    Alistair almost choked. The cock had gone back so far that time.

    'Yes sir' he said, hating himself with a passion, unable to resist the sex in his head.

    'The villagers will realise, that's why I gave Alice the watch. But you pretend ignorant cuck alright?'

    'Yes sir' agreed Alistair. The cock terrified him. What if it erupted?

    He never found out though. The cock was pulled perfunctorily out and there was the sound of skirts being pushed up. His wife moved alongside him and Alistair realised that she was being bent unceremoniously over the back of the sofa. She groaned loudly as he took her. There was an explosion of scent right beside his head. The sofa started to scrape on the floor, scratch, scratch, scratch, as he pumped into her and pushed it along.

    'God Charles, oh Christ, oh darling!' she begged.

    Alistair listened ashamed to even think about himself. He couldn't think about himself now.

    'Please darling, ooooh please!' she pleaded.

    Alistair heard the young lord growl, utter another oath and then there was the slap, slap, slap sound of copulating. The sound was relentless. Someone rang the door bell of the vicarage. They ignored it. Alistair couldn't rise. He couldn't find the front door with a hood on.

    Slap, slap, slap, slap and then Alice screamed as she took his deposit. He felt her legs knot tight as it happened, her skin quivering. Charles was bucking up into her. Another ring of the door bell and then it seemed the caller had given up. Alistair waited, kneeling, ashamed and patient. He heard them uncouple.

    'Cock first, clean up' said Charles. Alistair opened his mouth politely and took it in. He took it in and sucked their juices off it.

    ['Another Kind of Bitch' will feature a few stories I think, of this ilk. I like the peaches and cream butter wouldn't melt English lady scenario.]
    Last edited: May 31, 2018
Rate this thread:
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.

Share This Page