by Throne
I guess I shouldn't have married Gemma. She was a party girl. Gorgeous. Long blond hair. Slender but with an overly large bust. Fashion and make-up styles perfect for clubbing. Contrast that with me, Myron. An introvert. Short. Soft. Slender, with an exceptionally small dick. Fashion sense tending toward the metrosexual. But when she came to work at our company, as an outside consultant, I was smitten. I mean, following her around like a puppy. She picked up on that and, I guessed because she found it amusing, or maybe just because she wanted someone she could control, she said we should go out for a drink on Friday, after work.
Of course I accepted. She picked a trendy upscale place that cost plenty, but I didn't mind. I even accepted every guy there ogling her well displayed cleavage. In talking I found out that she was more educated than me, earned a lot more, and had many more friends. She also had a history of dating and... well... jumping into bed with any guy she pleased. Gemma even told me how much she valued big cocks. I got all emotional, seeing my chances with her fading away, and admitted that I was underqualified in that area. She took it well and said we could still go out together. Our dates became the center of my life and, when she invited me to the apartment she was renting while she was in town, I was beyond happy.
When we got there she made me a drink. It was rather strong. I've never handled alcohol well. Once I was a bit tipsy she insisted that I get naked. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But, to my shock, she left all her clothes on. That was when I first saw the other side of her personality. Gemma looked at my weak physique, almost total lack of body hair, and especially my tiny dick. She laughed out loud as she approached me. Her hand went to my crotch and she began fiddling with my penis. It got hard instantly. She looked down and made a nasty remark about how it was still laughably small.
Then she took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom. In a daze I watched her stretch out on her back on the bed. She spread her legs and had me remove her panties. That was the furthest I had ever gotten with a girl. Gemma flipped up her short skirt and spread her legs brazenly. Her pubic hair was trimmed and shaved into a narrow 'landing strip'. She pointed to her mound and told me to get my face down there. I did it, putting myself so close that I could inhale her feminine musk. She asked me if I had ever eaten pussy before. When I told her I hadn't she sighed, but then gave me basic instructions. I did as I was told, licking, probing and sucking, and was soon performing to her satisfaction. She kept me down there until she had a shivering orgasm.
"Not bad," she informed me. "I'll keep seeing you. If you had any thoughts of getting inside me with that joke of a dick, you can forget them. But you will be using your mouth on me all the time. Or you can get dressed right now, leave, and never get close to me again. What's it going to be, loser?"
I was stunned. But I was also in love with her. Hopelessly. The fact that she had become sexually unattainable only increased my need. I meekly agreed to her unreasonable terms. She actually laughed at me.
"Too bad for you," she said. "And just to be fair, I want you to have some fun, too. Let's see you play with that pipsqueak dick and get it all the way up to... what would it be?... like four inches? In fact, there's a tape measure on the dresser. I was checking to see what size shoe rack would fit in the closet. Get the tape, get hard, and measure your stiff, half pint dick."
Blushing, I did that too. She watched me with a smirk on her pretty face. I admitted that my erection was as short as she had guessed.
"How sad. But get back to playing with it. That's fun to watch. And make sure you don't finish. Guys eat pussy better when they're horny. They think that if they do a fantastic job, they might get a reward. Now play with your nipples. I bet they're extra sensitive, like on a girl."
I did it and, when I started gasping and moaning, she chuckled. Gemma got up and came over to me. She licked the tip of one finger and put it in my ear. I quivered from excitement. She blew on my neck. It was maddeningly erotic. She even brushed her thigh against the back of my leg, almost making me lose control.
Then she stepped away and said dismissively, "All you are is a beta boy. Real men are Alphas. They can make a woman happy in bed. All your type is good for is licking a girl to climaxes and playing with your baby dick for her entertainment. So you can be my beta boyfriend. Any time you want to stop and be alone again, that's fine with me. And you can bet I'll have boyfriends while I'm seeing you. They'll get to put their big cocks in me and have great sex. You'll get to lap me where they've been and, if you're a good little beta, tug your pathetic excuse for a penis while I watch. And not cum very often, if at all." She gave me time to respond, to object, to assert myself. When I did nothing she smiled and said, "Now get your hand off that silly thing between your legs, get dressed, and go away."
I did all that, telling myself that she would change her mind later and we could be a normal couple. But it didn't happen. For the next three weeks it was always like that. The more she teased and taunted me, stimulated and denied my libido, twisted my sex drive around to satisfying her and forfeiting my own pleasure, the more I had to have her. She even told me when she was going out with other men. Having fun at clubs with them. Going to nice restaurants. And always letting them pump her. All that aroused me. Once she even called one of them while I had my head between her thighs and was serving her. She had a nice chat with him, praising his bedroom prowess, making sure to mention that his cock was nine inches long and quite thick, and saying she couldn't wait to see him again.
To my surprise, her lewd talk and preference for him got me even more excited than usual. It was disturbing but I accepted it. After I had satisfied her, she allowed me to assume the missionary position. My dick wasn't long enough to reach her pussy. I needed to inch forward. But she put her fingertips on my shoulders and stopped me. Gemma began to toy with my receptive nipples and soon had me groaning, desperate for release. Not until I was on the verge of finishing did she allow me to close the distance between our genitals. As soon as the tip of my dick touched her moist labia I was driven past the limits of my control. I spurted against her warm vagina, knowing as I did that it would displease her.
Sure enough, she gave me a calm but thorough scolding, beginning with, "You were NOT given permission to do that, wimp. You've made your little mess all over my precious pussy. I mean, you are like a naughty boy who can't hold it in. So what am I going to do about that? Hmmm? How about if I... let you lap up your icky cream and eat it. Eat your own spunk. Ewww."
She didn't have to tell me twice. I was that well trained by then. Despite the repugnance of what she was requiring as penance, I was eager to make up for my wrongdoing. I got my face down there and saw how I had left my semen all over her precious womanhood. It was sickening to have to clean up after myself that way, but it was better than losing her. I slurped and swallowed until she was pristine again. That got her newly aroused and she kept me at it until she climaxed, loudly and wetly. As she relaxed, I placed tender kisses on her slippery slit. She chuckled at my hopeless devotion.
"All right," she said. "I can see that you're even more of a beta than I thought. Perfect for what I want. So we're going to get married."
"We are?"
"Yes, but under the same terms as we've been on all along. Plus, I don't want an engagement ring. Go on-line and find out what the best one you could afford would cost. Then give me the money. But don't worry, I won't squander any of it on you. I like to dress really hot for my boyfriends and I'll make sure I spend every penny of that on looking good for them. Now get out of here. You can clean up your worthless dick after you get home."
It was unthinkable. I was marrying the woman of my dreams, my one true love, but without expectation of consummating our relationship. Even so, I knew I would do it. Maybe I was in denial. Rationalizing. But I was also obsessed with her body. Just being able to see her all the time, knowing I was her spouse, would be enough for a start. And I still had the unreasonable fantasy that she would get past her need to always have a lover, and eventually be mine alone.
We were wed. It was a small ceremony. She picked the best man, a tall handsome Black guy named Deon. There were plenty of guests on her side. I don't have much ******. My aunt and her ******** were there. At the reception, Gemma talked to them in front of me, asking about my youth. They were delighted to tell her all my shortcomings, how shy and quiet I'd been, and what a failure I was with girls. My cousin went into detail about how I'd been bullied, and how, on the rare occasions when I got a girl interested in me, some bigger fellow would take her away. Gemma laughed at my past misfortunes and told them I could expect plenty more as her husband. She even, to my horror, went into detail about our relationship and how I was refused intercourse, while she took frequent lovers.
"Wow," my cousin said. She turned to me and wanted to know, "So you're still a virgin. Right?"
Fearful of lying in front of my new bride, I whispered, "Yes."
They all laughed at me. The other guests probably thought we were kidding around about my wedding night and all the pleasure I'd be experiencing. Deon came over to the table. He said he needed to ask Gemma something, and told me to move over. I silently obeyed and he sat alongside her. I saw his hand settled on her thigh.
He told her, "I can't wait to do it in the bridal suite. Balling is always terrific with you, but this'll be special."
She gave him a warm smile. "For both of us. I'm so glad we got together again. Can't believe it's only been a month. And you've made an honest woman of me. A one-man-woman. From now on I'll only be cheating on dummy over there with you. You and your ten inches."
My aunt and cousin were impressed. I felt sick. It had been bad enough having her be unfaithful with every guy she was attracted to. But now it would be only Deon. That was a troubling surprise. What if she developed a romantic attachment? What if she came to love him? I was despondent. His hand slid up under her short wedding dress and she purred contentedly. I bit my lips and fought back tears. My aunt and cousin ridiculed me for being a virgin, a wuss, and very soon a cuckold.
When we got to the bridal suite, myself, my wife, and our best man, it was Deon who carried her across the threshold, making sure to fondle her shapely ass as he did it. I stood in the hallway, not certain what I was expected to do.
Deon looked out from the room I was paying for and said, "You can crawl across the threshold. That'll be a good reminder of where your place is in this marriage."
I glanced either way, relieved that no one else was in the corridor. Then I got down on hands and knees and entered the room to the sounds of their laughter.
Gemma told me, "Get undressed, husband dearest. And then get back down where you belong. Hands and knees."
As I did that, the happy couple embraced and kissed passionately. He enjoyed feeling her all over, even moving behind her to caress those big, out of proportion, boobs. I sniffled and looked up at them from my lowly position. Gemma had thrown her garter at the reception and Deon had caught it. He had the advantage of being the tallest male there. Now he took it and put it around my neck. I felt foolish and emasculated. The two of them began to slowly undress each other. It was agonizing to see her magnificent body bared by another man. I knew it had happened many times since I met her, but witnessing it was so much more unsettling. She happily freed his huge dark cock, stroking it to full attention.
They got into bed. I was dreading seeing them make love. But there was worse to come before that happened.
Deon said, "I want my woman good and wet before I stick her. Get up on the bed and use that tongue she tells me is so talented. Get her juiced up and loosed up for me."
Gemma gave me a nasty grin and amplified that with, "Yeah. Get me ready for his long... thick... powerful... long lasting... Black... cock."
Taking my accustomed position, I got busy licking her. She was already moist when I started, which I guessed was from anticipating the bout of great fornication to come. Even so, they kept me down there while they kissed and enjoyed foreplay. Being dominated by her was difficult enough, but having her competent and superior lover giving orders too was nearly impossible to take. But I took it. And my betraying dick stayed hard, revealing my true nature, proving I was the beta boy Gemma had identified me as.
Deon was a powerhouse. He used her long and hard. She wrapped her legs around him and declared his greatness. I could only kneel by the king size bed and watch that king size cock make me look more underequipped than ever. About halfway through their hour long session, I began to sob softly, and then to shed tears. Gemma swore her devotion to him and rejection of me. When they came it was incredible, noisy and animated, and left them both temporarily drained. They did recover, however, about five minutes later.
That was when Gemma said, "Myron, you little reject. I want my panties. Crawl over to where Deon dropped them, right before he started fingering me and making me melt in his arms."
"Yeah," he seconded. "Get her panties, My-Ron. And don't use your hands. Pick them up with your mouth. Get a taste of what your baby dick can't have."
With a sense of utter defeat, I went and retrieved the satiny bit of lingerie. The scent of my bride's pussy was in them. Without being told to, I chose to put my lips on the crotch band. My tongue secretly touched the most flavorful spot. Reaching the side of the mattress, I got up on my haunches, like a dog begging for a treat. Gemma took the panties and made a show of mopping up the huge amount of creaminess he had left inside her. When she was done, she held them out to me.
"Here you go, husband mine. A treat for you. Open wide, get them completely into your mouth, and keep them there. Make sure the messiest part is on your tongue."
With them snickering at my unease, I followed the instructions. I started involuntarily producing saliva, making the situation even less appetizing. A mix of spit and spunk found its way to the back of my throat and beyond. I gagged a little but didn't lose my stiffness.
As that night indicated, our marriage was going to be an uneven balance, with Gemma and Deon taking all the enjoyment, and me suffering endless disgrace. I gave up my apartment, Gemma left her temporary one, and she and I moved into Deon's more spacious one. Deon, who owned a construction firm, could easily afford it. They lived well while depriving me of most comforts. Their appetite for control seemed boundless. Let me give you some examples of what my new life was like.
Gemma got a little silver bell to keep on the nightstand. Whenever she rang it, I had to hurry to respond. They might want me to fetch something for them, fluff their pillows, or be there while they had vigorous sex. I never knew until I arrived.
They liked to have me present during meals, but didn't let me eat with them. They could be feasting on steaks and baked potatoes, accompanied by imported beer, while I had to sit on a low stool and be ready if they needed anything. My stomach would grumble sometimes. When they were done I was called over and had to kneel with my chin resting on the edge of the table, with a small plate in front of me. Then they would set scraps there, that I would scoop up with my tongue and eat. I got unwanted fat and bits of potato skin that were too dry, or whatever was deemed inedible from the night's menu. Then they would have coffee. While they drank it, I could only smell the delicious aroma. Gemma loved to bring the filter from the coffee maker and spoon out used grounds onto my plate. They would chortle as I lapped them up and forced myself to consume them, knowing that my tummy would be upset for the rest of the evening.
When they watched TV, I often was called upon to serve as a footstool or footrest. In the former role I would remain on elbows and knees with one or both of them resting their heels on my back. In the other capacity, I had to lie flat while their soles were on me; sometimes I was face down and sometimes looking up; when I was face up, they might rest their feet on my chest or belly or even over my nose and mouth -- but Gemma's favorite was to use her toes and soles and heels to tease my genitals, getting me highly excited and leaving me frustrated.
On occasion, when they went to bed for sex, I had to get down on the bedroom floor and shine Deon's expensive dress shoes, which he had numerous pairs of. He even got me a shoeshine kit, complete with a wooden box that had a handle. I had to labor over one pair after another, with my back to the bed, while hearing them sweet talk each other, followed by raucous lovemaking. When they were done, Deon would have me bring him each pair for inspection. If they weren't polished and buffed well enough, I had to apply a spit shine with my tongue.
Inspired by that, at other times during their frequent episodes of carnal abandon, I had to hump my dick against the bottom of one of Gemma's boots. Do you remember me mentioning how she had been shopping for a shoe rack? For her rented apartment? Now that she had a more permanent place, she got a second rack for her growing collection of footwear, all of which she had me pay for. Her logic was that, because I had a fetish for her shoes and boots, I should finance them. I didn't have that sort of obsession when she said it. But, after repeated encounters with those items, always involving me masturbating (though rarely to completion), and hugging and kissing them, I actually did develop the unnatural interest she had credited me with.
She always cleaned up after sex with the panties she had been wearing. And then gave them to me. Often I had to keep them in my mouth, like the first time. But she might also make me wear them over my head, with the gooey crotch over my nose and mouth. Or just make me wear them, so that Deon's spunk was perversely all over my dick. One time they even thought it would be hilarious to make me cram them between my buttocks and keep them there by clenching. That was after morning sex on the weekend, so I had them there all day, forced to take tiny steps to keep from losing them and earning punishment.
Speaking of punishment, it could be given for any reason or none at all. Mostly it consisted of spanking. Being put over my wife's smooth thighs and smacked by her small hand was humiliating, but being across Deon's muscular upper legs, with his larger hand and stronger arm doing the job, was awful. She could make me sniffle and even sob, but he could have me blubbering. Then they started building a collection of discipline tools, including wide belts, braided crops, various paddles, a swagger stick, and a big, wooden kitchen spoon. All of those were used at their whims.
There was also bondage. I would be put into uncomfortable positions, made to stay that way with ropes and straps. Or they might use bondage gear, including collars, hobbles, and arm sheaths. The worst was actual bondage clothing, shirts and pants designed to restrict movement and cause discomfort. There were also hoods and corsets and full body suits.
What else? How about sex toys? They liked to leave them out where I could see them and imagine them being used. Try spending an entire day with a butt plug on your wife's dresser, not knowing if it was going to be jammed into your body soon. Or being teased mercilessly with a vibrator. Perhaps having to wear a dildo gag and use it to penetrate your own wife.
The worst, however, was my wife's strap-on harness and the artificial cocks she could attach to it. They ranged from small (though none as tiny as my own) to ones as large as Deon's. I could only dread when she would use it next. If Deon had an out-of- town job to oversee, his absence would put her into a foul mood. One way she had of making herself feel good was to make me feel bad. Even before he left she would announce that she was thinking of taking my ass. He got a hearty laugh out of hearing that. It was also guaranteed to put me on high alert, trying not to make her mood more dissatisfied. Even though I knew the odds were against me, I still tried to prevent my humiliating and painful penetration. It was rare that I succeeded.
Gemma liked to put her harness on about an hour before the act. Then she would call me to be there while she decided which dildo to use. And if she should be generous or stingy with the lube. Or maybe just use some cream intended for use on sore muscles, a preparation that caused terrible burning when it touched my internal tissues. If she was really out to reduce me to a wreck, my ordeal would start with a spanking. She liked my rump reddened, maybe with some stripes overlaying the general discoloration, to look at as she entered me, and to increase my discomfort. Then she would add bondage. Maybe a corset tightened until it was like I was being cut in half. Then cuffs and ankles straps. I would kneel on the foot of the bed while she pulled back my arms and joined wrists to ankles. My wife would tilt me forward. If she was feeling generous she might provide me with a pillow under my head. But it was also there so I would use it to try to contain my cries, and she could honestly call me a 'pillow biter'.
While she was entering me she enjoyed keeping up a running commentary. "Poor baby. If only you had a cock, this wouldn't be happening. We'd be in bed together, with you on top, making delicious love. Instead, I'm going to shove the fat head of this nine-incher..." PUSH. "... past your tight pucker..." PUSH "... and into your rump..." PUSH. "... until I'm buried up to my rubber balls. And then I'm going to plow you until you cry like a prison bitch. Best of all, the way this dildo is made, it rubs my clitoris the right way, and I'll get to cum while you feel like you're the cellblock queen." PUSH. PULL. PUMP, PUMP, PUMP.
When she was done she always made sure to make one more point. "The good part is that, even though you're a pitiful little beta boi, with an embarrassingly small dick, you're finally admitting to yourself that it's who you are and always will be. Just look at how you shot your load while I was drilling you. And make sure you lick it all off the sheets. My virginal piece of beta property. I'm so glad we found each other."
I suppose that's why I can't stop loving her. We honestly were meant to be together.
*********
(There's a new blog you should check out. It's betaboicuckold.tumblr.com. ENJOY.)
I guess I shouldn't have married Gemma. She was a party girl. Gorgeous. Long blond hair. Slender but with an overly large bust. Fashion and make-up styles perfect for clubbing. Contrast that with me, Myron. An introvert. Short. Soft. Slender, with an exceptionally small dick. Fashion sense tending toward the metrosexual. But when she came to work at our company, as an outside consultant, I was smitten. I mean, following her around like a puppy. She picked up on that and, I guessed because she found it amusing, or maybe just because she wanted someone she could control, she said we should go out for a drink on Friday, after work.
Of course I accepted. She picked a trendy upscale place that cost plenty, but I didn't mind. I even accepted every guy there ogling her well displayed cleavage. In talking I found out that she was more educated than me, earned a lot more, and had many more friends. She also had a history of dating and... well... jumping into bed with any guy she pleased. Gemma even told me how much she valued big cocks. I got all emotional, seeing my chances with her fading away, and admitted that I was underqualified in that area. She took it well and said we could still go out together. Our dates became the center of my life and, when she invited me to the apartment she was renting while she was in town, I was beyond happy.
When we got there she made me a drink. It was rather strong. I've never handled alcohol well. Once I was a bit tipsy she insisted that I get naked. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But, to my shock, she left all her clothes on. That was when I first saw the other side of her personality. Gemma looked at my weak physique, almost total lack of body hair, and especially my tiny dick. She laughed out loud as she approached me. Her hand went to my crotch and she began fiddling with my penis. It got hard instantly. She looked down and made a nasty remark about how it was still laughably small.
Then she took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom. In a daze I watched her stretch out on her back on the bed. She spread her legs and had me remove her panties. That was the furthest I had ever gotten with a girl. Gemma flipped up her short skirt and spread her legs brazenly. Her pubic hair was trimmed and shaved into a narrow 'landing strip'. She pointed to her mound and told me to get my face down there. I did it, putting myself so close that I could inhale her feminine musk. She asked me if I had ever eaten pussy before. When I told her I hadn't she sighed, but then gave me basic instructions. I did as I was told, licking, probing and sucking, and was soon performing to her satisfaction. She kept me down there until she had a shivering orgasm.
"Not bad," she informed me. "I'll keep seeing you. If you had any thoughts of getting inside me with that joke of a dick, you can forget them. But you will be using your mouth on me all the time. Or you can get dressed right now, leave, and never get close to me again. What's it going to be, loser?"
I was stunned. But I was also in love with her. Hopelessly. The fact that she had become sexually unattainable only increased my need. I meekly agreed to her unreasonable terms. She actually laughed at me.
"Too bad for you," she said. "And just to be fair, I want you to have some fun, too. Let's see you play with that pipsqueak dick and get it all the way up to... what would it be?... like four inches? In fact, there's a tape measure on the dresser. I was checking to see what size shoe rack would fit in the closet. Get the tape, get hard, and measure your stiff, half pint dick."
Blushing, I did that too. She watched me with a smirk on her pretty face. I admitted that my erection was as short as she had guessed.
"How sad. But get back to playing with it. That's fun to watch. And make sure you don't finish. Guys eat pussy better when they're horny. They think that if they do a fantastic job, they might get a reward. Now play with your nipples. I bet they're extra sensitive, like on a girl."
I did it and, when I started gasping and moaning, she chuckled. Gemma got up and came over to me. She licked the tip of one finger and put it in my ear. I quivered from excitement. She blew on my neck. It was maddeningly erotic. She even brushed her thigh against the back of my leg, almost making me lose control.
Then she stepped away and said dismissively, "All you are is a beta boy. Real men are Alphas. They can make a woman happy in bed. All your type is good for is licking a girl to climaxes and playing with your baby dick for her entertainment. So you can be my beta boyfriend. Any time you want to stop and be alone again, that's fine with me. And you can bet I'll have boyfriends while I'm seeing you. They'll get to put their big cocks in me and have great sex. You'll get to lap me where they've been and, if you're a good little beta, tug your pathetic excuse for a penis while I watch. And not cum very often, if at all." She gave me time to respond, to object, to assert myself. When I did nothing she smiled and said, "Now get your hand off that silly thing between your legs, get dressed, and go away."
I did all that, telling myself that she would change her mind later and we could be a normal couple. But it didn't happen. For the next three weeks it was always like that. The more she teased and taunted me, stimulated and denied my libido, twisted my sex drive around to satisfying her and forfeiting my own pleasure, the more I had to have her. She even told me when she was going out with other men. Having fun at clubs with them. Going to nice restaurants. And always letting them pump her. All that aroused me. Once she even called one of them while I had my head between her thighs and was serving her. She had a nice chat with him, praising his bedroom prowess, making sure to mention that his cock was nine inches long and quite thick, and saying she couldn't wait to see him again.
To my surprise, her lewd talk and preference for him got me even more excited than usual. It was disturbing but I accepted it. After I had satisfied her, she allowed me to assume the missionary position. My dick wasn't long enough to reach her pussy. I needed to inch forward. But she put her fingertips on my shoulders and stopped me. Gemma began to toy with my receptive nipples and soon had me groaning, desperate for release. Not until I was on the verge of finishing did she allow me to close the distance between our genitals. As soon as the tip of my dick touched her moist labia I was driven past the limits of my control. I spurted against her warm vagina, knowing as I did that it would displease her.
Sure enough, she gave me a calm but thorough scolding, beginning with, "You were NOT given permission to do that, wimp. You've made your little mess all over my precious pussy. I mean, you are like a naughty boy who can't hold it in. So what am I going to do about that? Hmmm? How about if I... let you lap up your icky cream and eat it. Eat your own spunk. Ewww."
She didn't have to tell me twice. I was that well trained by then. Despite the repugnance of what she was requiring as penance, I was eager to make up for my wrongdoing. I got my face down there and saw how I had left my semen all over her precious womanhood. It was sickening to have to clean up after myself that way, but it was better than losing her. I slurped and swallowed until she was pristine again. That got her newly aroused and she kept me at it until she climaxed, loudly and wetly. As she relaxed, I placed tender kisses on her slippery slit. She chuckled at my hopeless devotion.
"All right," she said. "I can see that you're even more of a beta than I thought. Perfect for what I want. So we're going to get married."
"We are?"
"Yes, but under the same terms as we've been on all along. Plus, I don't want an engagement ring. Go on-line and find out what the best one you could afford would cost. Then give me the money. But don't worry, I won't squander any of it on you. I like to dress really hot for my boyfriends and I'll make sure I spend every penny of that on looking good for them. Now get out of here. You can clean up your worthless dick after you get home."
It was unthinkable. I was marrying the woman of my dreams, my one true love, but without expectation of consummating our relationship. Even so, I knew I would do it. Maybe I was in denial. Rationalizing. But I was also obsessed with her body. Just being able to see her all the time, knowing I was her spouse, would be enough for a start. And I still had the unreasonable fantasy that she would get past her need to always have a lover, and eventually be mine alone.
We were wed. It was a small ceremony. She picked the best man, a tall handsome Black guy named Deon. There were plenty of guests on her side. I don't have much ******. My aunt and her ******** were there. At the reception, Gemma talked to them in front of me, asking about my youth. They were delighted to tell her all my shortcomings, how shy and quiet I'd been, and what a failure I was with girls. My cousin went into detail about how I'd been bullied, and how, on the rare occasions when I got a girl interested in me, some bigger fellow would take her away. Gemma laughed at my past misfortunes and told them I could expect plenty more as her husband. She even, to my horror, went into detail about our relationship and how I was refused intercourse, while she took frequent lovers.
"Wow," my cousin said. She turned to me and wanted to know, "So you're still a virgin. Right?"
Fearful of lying in front of my new bride, I whispered, "Yes."
They all laughed at me. The other guests probably thought we were kidding around about my wedding night and all the pleasure I'd be experiencing. Deon came over to the table. He said he needed to ask Gemma something, and told me to move over. I silently obeyed and he sat alongside her. I saw his hand settled on her thigh.
He told her, "I can't wait to do it in the bridal suite. Balling is always terrific with you, but this'll be special."
She gave him a warm smile. "For both of us. I'm so glad we got together again. Can't believe it's only been a month. And you've made an honest woman of me. A one-man-woman. From now on I'll only be cheating on dummy over there with you. You and your ten inches."
My aunt and cousin were impressed. I felt sick. It had been bad enough having her be unfaithful with every guy she was attracted to. But now it would be only Deon. That was a troubling surprise. What if she developed a romantic attachment? What if she came to love him? I was despondent. His hand slid up under her short wedding dress and she purred contentedly. I bit my lips and fought back tears. My aunt and cousin ridiculed me for being a virgin, a wuss, and very soon a cuckold.
When we got to the bridal suite, myself, my wife, and our best man, it was Deon who carried her across the threshold, making sure to fondle her shapely ass as he did it. I stood in the hallway, not certain what I was expected to do.
Deon looked out from the room I was paying for and said, "You can crawl across the threshold. That'll be a good reminder of where your place is in this marriage."
I glanced either way, relieved that no one else was in the corridor. Then I got down on hands and knees and entered the room to the sounds of their laughter.
Gemma told me, "Get undressed, husband dearest. And then get back down where you belong. Hands and knees."
As I did that, the happy couple embraced and kissed passionately. He enjoyed feeling her all over, even moving behind her to caress those big, out of proportion, boobs. I sniffled and looked up at them from my lowly position. Gemma had thrown her garter at the reception and Deon had caught it. He had the advantage of being the tallest male there. Now he took it and put it around my neck. I felt foolish and emasculated. The two of them began to slowly undress each other. It was agonizing to see her magnificent body bared by another man. I knew it had happened many times since I met her, but witnessing it was so much more unsettling. She happily freed his huge dark cock, stroking it to full attention.
They got into bed. I was dreading seeing them make love. But there was worse to come before that happened.
Deon said, "I want my woman good and wet before I stick her. Get up on the bed and use that tongue she tells me is so talented. Get her juiced up and loosed up for me."
Gemma gave me a nasty grin and amplified that with, "Yeah. Get me ready for his long... thick... powerful... long lasting... Black... cock."
Taking my accustomed position, I got busy licking her. She was already moist when I started, which I guessed was from anticipating the bout of great fornication to come. Even so, they kept me down there while they kissed and enjoyed foreplay. Being dominated by her was difficult enough, but having her competent and superior lover giving orders too was nearly impossible to take. But I took it. And my betraying dick stayed hard, revealing my true nature, proving I was the beta boy Gemma had identified me as.
Deon was a powerhouse. He used her long and hard. She wrapped her legs around him and declared his greatness. I could only kneel by the king size bed and watch that king size cock make me look more underequipped than ever. About halfway through their hour long session, I began to sob softly, and then to shed tears. Gemma swore her devotion to him and rejection of me. When they came it was incredible, noisy and animated, and left them both temporarily drained. They did recover, however, about five minutes later.
That was when Gemma said, "Myron, you little reject. I want my panties. Crawl over to where Deon dropped them, right before he started fingering me and making me melt in his arms."
"Yeah," he seconded. "Get her panties, My-Ron. And don't use your hands. Pick them up with your mouth. Get a taste of what your baby dick can't have."
With a sense of utter defeat, I went and retrieved the satiny bit of lingerie. The scent of my bride's pussy was in them. Without being told to, I chose to put my lips on the crotch band. My tongue secretly touched the most flavorful spot. Reaching the side of the mattress, I got up on my haunches, like a dog begging for a treat. Gemma took the panties and made a show of mopping up the huge amount of creaminess he had left inside her. When she was done, she held them out to me.
"Here you go, husband mine. A treat for you. Open wide, get them completely into your mouth, and keep them there. Make sure the messiest part is on your tongue."
With them snickering at my unease, I followed the instructions. I started involuntarily producing saliva, making the situation even less appetizing. A mix of spit and spunk found its way to the back of my throat and beyond. I gagged a little but didn't lose my stiffness.
As that night indicated, our marriage was going to be an uneven balance, with Gemma and Deon taking all the enjoyment, and me suffering endless disgrace. I gave up my apartment, Gemma left her temporary one, and she and I moved into Deon's more spacious one. Deon, who owned a construction firm, could easily afford it. They lived well while depriving me of most comforts. Their appetite for control seemed boundless. Let me give you some examples of what my new life was like.
Gemma got a little silver bell to keep on the nightstand. Whenever she rang it, I had to hurry to respond. They might want me to fetch something for them, fluff their pillows, or be there while they had vigorous sex. I never knew until I arrived.
They liked to have me present during meals, but didn't let me eat with them. They could be feasting on steaks and baked potatoes, accompanied by imported beer, while I had to sit on a low stool and be ready if they needed anything. My stomach would grumble sometimes. When they were done I was called over and had to kneel with my chin resting on the edge of the table, with a small plate in front of me. Then they would set scraps there, that I would scoop up with my tongue and eat. I got unwanted fat and bits of potato skin that were too dry, or whatever was deemed inedible from the night's menu. Then they would have coffee. While they drank it, I could only smell the delicious aroma. Gemma loved to bring the filter from the coffee maker and spoon out used grounds onto my plate. They would chortle as I lapped them up and forced myself to consume them, knowing that my tummy would be upset for the rest of the evening.
When they watched TV, I often was called upon to serve as a footstool or footrest. In the former role I would remain on elbows and knees with one or both of them resting their heels on my back. In the other capacity, I had to lie flat while their soles were on me; sometimes I was face down and sometimes looking up; when I was face up, they might rest their feet on my chest or belly or even over my nose and mouth -- but Gemma's favorite was to use her toes and soles and heels to tease my genitals, getting me highly excited and leaving me frustrated.
On occasion, when they went to bed for sex, I had to get down on the bedroom floor and shine Deon's expensive dress shoes, which he had numerous pairs of. He even got me a shoeshine kit, complete with a wooden box that had a handle. I had to labor over one pair after another, with my back to the bed, while hearing them sweet talk each other, followed by raucous lovemaking. When they were done, Deon would have me bring him each pair for inspection. If they weren't polished and buffed well enough, I had to apply a spit shine with my tongue.
Inspired by that, at other times during their frequent episodes of carnal abandon, I had to hump my dick against the bottom of one of Gemma's boots. Do you remember me mentioning how she had been shopping for a shoe rack? For her rented apartment? Now that she had a more permanent place, she got a second rack for her growing collection of footwear, all of which she had me pay for. Her logic was that, because I had a fetish for her shoes and boots, I should finance them. I didn't have that sort of obsession when she said it. But, after repeated encounters with those items, always involving me masturbating (though rarely to completion), and hugging and kissing them, I actually did develop the unnatural interest she had credited me with.
She always cleaned up after sex with the panties she had been wearing. And then gave them to me. Often I had to keep them in my mouth, like the first time. But she might also make me wear them over my head, with the gooey crotch over my nose and mouth. Or just make me wear them, so that Deon's spunk was perversely all over my dick. One time they even thought it would be hilarious to make me cram them between my buttocks and keep them there by clenching. That was after morning sex on the weekend, so I had them there all day, forced to take tiny steps to keep from losing them and earning punishment.
Speaking of punishment, it could be given for any reason or none at all. Mostly it consisted of spanking. Being put over my wife's smooth thighs and smacked by her small hand was humiliating, but being across Deon's muscular upper legs, with his larger hand and stronger arm doing the job, was awful. She could make me sniffle and even sob, but he could have me blubbering. Then they started building a collection of discipline tools, including wide belts, braided crops, various paddles, a swagger stick, and a big, wooden kitchen spoon. All of those were used at their whims.
There was also bondage. I would be put into uncomfortable positions, made to stay that way with ropes and straps. Or they might use bondage gear, including collars, hobbles, and arm sheaths. The worst was actual bondage clothing, shirts and pants designed to restrict movement and cause discomfort. There were also hoods and corsets and full body suits.
What else? How about sex toys? They liked to leave them out where I could see them and imagine them being used. Try spending an entire day with a butt plug on your wife's dresser, not knowing if it was going to be jammed into your body soon. Or being teased mercilessly with a vibrator. Perhaps having to wear a dildo gag and use it to penetrate your own wife.
The worst, however, was my wife's strap-on harness and the artificial cocks she could attach to it. They ranged from small (though none as tiny as my own) to ones as large as Deon's. I could only dread when she would use it next. If Deon had an out-of- town job to oversee, his absence would put her into a foul mood. One way she had of making herself feel good was to make me feel bad. Even before he left she would announce that she was thinking of taking my ass. He got a hearty laugh out of hearing that. It was also guaranteed to put me on high alert, trying not to make her mood more dissatisfied. Even though I knew the odds were against me, I still tried to prevent my humiliating and painful penetration. It was rare that I succeeded.
Gemma liked to put her harness on about an hour before the act. Then she would call me to be there while she decided which dildo to use. And if she should be generous or stingy with the lube. Or maybe just use some cream intended for use on sore muscles, a preparation that caused terrible burning when it touched my internal tissues. If she was really out to reduce me to a wreck, my ordeal would start with a spanking. She liked my rump reddened, maybe with some stripes overlaying the general discoloration, to look at as she entered me, and to increase my discomfort. Then she would add bondage. Maybe a corset tightened until it was like I was being cut in half. Then cuffs and ankles straps. I would kneel on the foot of the bed while she pulled back my arms and joined wrists to ankles. My wife would tilt me forward. If she was feeling generous she might provide me with a pillow under my head. But it was also there so I would use it to try to contain my cries, and she could honestly call me a 'pillow biter'.
While she was entering me she enjoyed keeping up a running commentary. "Poor baby. If only you had a cock, this wouldn't be happening. We'd be in bed together, with you on top, making delicious love. Instead, I'm going to shove the fat head of this nine-incher..." PUSH. "... past your tight pucker..." PUSH "... and into your rump..." PUSH. "... until I'm buried up to my rubber balls. And then I'm going to plow you until you cry like a prison bitch. Best of all, the way this dildo is made, it rubs my clitoris the right way, and I'll get to cum while you feel like you're the cellblock queen." PUSH. PULL. PUMP, PUMP, PUMP.
When she was done she always made sure to make one more point. "The good part is that, even though you're a pitiful little beta boi, with an embarrassingly small dick, you're finally admitting to yourself that it's who you are and always will be. Just look at how you shot your load while I was drilling you. And make sure you lick it all off the sheets. My virginal piece of beta property. I'm so glad we found each other."
I suppose that's why I can't stop loving her. We honestly were meant to be together.
*********
(There's a new blog you should check out. It's betaboicuckold.tumblr.com. ENJOY.)
