If you counted the days, and Granger did, then it was day 19. A surprisingly short time to be broken in after the cage had been snugly fitted onto his tiny cock. A surprisingly short time to realise (too late) that something which was packaged as playful had a terrible undertow, as powerful as any rip tide. It was not only that using it buggered him up, it was that it bitched her too. The realisation that she had such utter control, changed Ruth's outlook on life utterly as well. A terrible beauty was born, as Yeats might have said. Ruth started to look at men as either destined for the bed or for the cage. She got this two classes of male idea on her head. What was more, her power and all the new clothes started to shape her attitude towards other women as well. If you were polite and feminine and self effacing, then you weren't a bitch. if you weren't a bitch and didn't want power, then there was something clearly amiss. Granger wasn't sure whether other, alpha males affected the mix of it all as yet, but his wife went out on the 'girl's nights' and she dressed to provoke. He'd lost count of how much leather he had bought her and the very idea of its use to tease and fuck, well, that turned thumbscrews inside his head.
On the morning of the 19th day he woke beside her in the bed and he felt her moving still in her sleep. She was masturbating herself! She was asleep, dreaming of something hot and sexy and she was touching herself. He had never believed that a woman could do that, but Ruth was now. Fucking hell, it tortured him. He wanted to fuck her hard for all the hours that he had already endured in the cage. He wanted to ram his cock inside her and tell her that bitches provoked desire in husband's too! But her dream was elsewhere and the way that she was moving against her pretty fingers, it was obvious that she was getting cock. The urge to touch her was immense, but he had been instructed on that matter. You touched only with permission. You kissed only a certain way, never on her face, and only between her legs when she beckoned. When she flirted with men you weren't allowed to look away. You were to watch, to admire and if she kissed another man, then you nodded. It was a silent, a humiliating asset to her will. ruth ran a film strip in a loop within Granger's mind, over and over and over again, something that confirmed that she had absolute control and endless opportunity.
That morning, the 19th in the fucking cage Granger wanted to cut his dick off. It was literally that bad. He had tried several times to masturbate with the cage on and it had been excruciatingly painful. Then had come the antiseptic ointment, the scolding look and the shame. If necessary she WOULD take him down to the casualty dept. Her friend Dr Carla would see them. She knew and approved of caged cocks. Getting checked out would be another degradation ceremony. Granger stared at his wife. She was shuddering against the touch of her own immaculately manicured fingers and presumably orgasming on the cock of some guy? Granger touched. He touched her bare arm so lightly as to be barely sensed. Then though, her shuddering ended and her lovely eyelids opened to reveal her cool grey eyes beneath the fringe of raven hair. She knew that he had touched her, she felt it.
'Do you have to stare like that? It's disgusting!' she observed, blinking away the sleep and wondering whether to challenge him about his glancing touch.
Granger blushed. He tried to apologise but the words came out a incoherent mumble. Ruth glanced down at his genitals, they were trying to wrestle their way out of the cage. They were trying to tell him that he was a man.
'Tonight you sleep in the box room, understood?' she said acidly.
He understood and he despaired. He despaired at being pushed out. The penalty was all to do with touch, he supposed that was so. But fit she as taking a lover then that move to another room would be necessary as well. The possibilities hurdled through his mind and injected doubt on doubt there. He watched her slip up from beneath the light duvet and then walk stylishly and slowly towards the shower. She clicked her fingers which was a signal for him to follow. His head screamed and rejoiced in equal measure and that was the truth of it, denial, such cruel denial and taunting, it screwed you up. Ruth needed a pee and she sat on the John and watched him as he silently stood before her. After she had finished she tore off some toilet paper and offered it to him. He was to gently clean her pussy. Granger gulped down a breath. Fucking hell. He wanted that, it would be a sort of touch, it would be something. but the humiliation, it was immense!
'Not ready yet?' she mused, 'but not too far off are you'. She inspected his face. The fact that he was shaven and clean the way she liked it was a signal. She made granger shave his face, his chest and around that fucking cage on his cock. Granger was bending.
When she stepped into the shower she took up the scented soap dispenser and held it as if to squirt some into his hand. It was another tease. You can touch Granger, but on my terms. Why don't you lather me? Granger stared at the soap. He stared at it and trembled, beads of perspiration appearing like magic on his brow. He was shaking now. If he submitted and lathered his wife she became mistress again. If he didn't then she had girlfriends coming around for lunch and the caustic comments that came his way could multiply. Granger dropped his head and held out the palms of his hands. A generous measure was squeezed into each and he was beckoned in to kneel before her in the foot of the shower well.
'That's better' she whispered. The water ran. it was warm and Granger felt it tumble down over his wife's lovely body, her pert breasts and down onto him where he knelt. She would lather her top and he would attend her bottom. He watched her begin and it was his signal to follow suit. He knew her strategy. He knew her fucking strategy! He was to lather, inhale and long to lick. He was to long to lick her pert young arse and then, when his self esteem had been shot to come humbly to her cunt. Once you licked that, once you sniffed and nuzzled like a supplicant, then you were nothing. You became the slave. The point was that you were being trained to think through your mouth and not your cock. That was what the cage was really about. IT WASN"T A FUCKING TOY!!!! Something stretched and nearly fractured inside his head. He started to lather her, her lovely legs and feet. She turned around so that he could lather her calves and thighs, that which she covered in seamed stockings. She smelled woman. She smelled.....Christ....she smelled mistress. Ruth lingered a moment her buttocks near his face. He kissed her buttocks. There. Dear God. She moved on as if that was fine. She moved on as if that was the sort of touch which was just dandy. Now as the water poured she turned again. Pussy was before him. She waited, widely running the soap over her exquisitely large brown areoles.
'Worship' she directed in a silky voice.
He looked up at her. He could barely focus, so much water and soap was pouring into his eyes.
He kissed her sex, feeling the wet curls of her pubes wiping against his nose. He felt her hesitate and sigh with what he took to be satisfaction.
'Worship properly' she whispered.
He shuddered. He shuddered like a ship hitting an iceberg. It was as if his whole frame shook.
He kissed her sex again, his lips brushing hers. That was all. That was all he could manage, his mind, twisting, twisting.
She looked down at him. Of course she could grab his wet hair and pull his face against her sex, locking it there until he tongued nicely but that was not the point. She wanted to break him. She wanted him to beg to lick her sex. She wanted him to ache for that, thinking of himself as something simply to be used at her leisure. He was almost there. She could see the way that he trembled, see how he seemed to creak from within. In the water, her musk wasn't working on him so hard yet. But it would. It would when he came nicely to her and she warm from the day. It would if she had fucked someone. Then the craving to lick her would soar upwards inside his head and he would beg and plead to lick.
'Fetch me a towel' she said at last, switching off the shower.
Granger deftly and gently dried his wife whilst she towelled dry her hair. Her body was heart achingly beautiful. She was a good athlete in the gym and she had the lovely proportions of someone who liked being active, who loved being inside her own skin. It was a presence. as they had guests for lunch today she had him dress her in a tiny thong, stockings and suspender belt. Her sex was never far from his nose. Granger spasmed inside. He wasn't sure whether his arm twitched, but he guessed she would have seen it if it did. Slowly, inevitably, Granger was losing the will to resist.
'It's what a man is going to fuck' she said to him matter of factly, as if this was some kind of documentary.
He blinked up at her. The dangling conversation, the one that returned again and again.
'Once I have broken you, I will take a lover' she said.
Granger blinked again. There was water in his eyes still, or may be it was something else. His wife was so achingly beautiful. She looked like a supermodel. Ruth went and fetched the red cocktail dress from the wardrobe and then stepped into it as Granger held the material. What did they say about red...it was the colour of sex and aggression? He moved the material upwards and it covered her shapely body like a skin. Granger's head spun like a top as he rose to zip the dress for her. May be it was postural hypotension, a sudden faintness as he stood. But he knew why he felt feint really. He did. The hem of her dress just covered her stocking tops. It was perfect. Nails next, Granger manicuring and painting. She had given him a book and made him do things again when he messed up. He now painted nails well. Waiting for the nails to dry she had him sort through the large jeweller box on the vanity table. Her Piaget watch today and the bracelet to match. She would wear the gold chain about her throat. her nails dry now, she moved the watch around her wrist so that its face lay beneath.
'What does this mean?' she asked quietly.
'I am to fuck off' Granger whispered. He could have said go away, but he didn't. Emotions tumbling inside you direct a word or two.
She nodded earnestly.
'Yes, it means that I am with someone that I want and you are to bugger off and let it happen'. If he used coarse language then so would she.
Granger passed her the chosen perfume. He got her the shoes from her wardrobe. It was time to go downstairs, prepare her breakfast and then the lunch for her guests.
Granger hated the fucking phone. He hated the cheery and animated way she talked on the phone. He HATED HER FUCKING FLIRTING ON THE PHONE!!! His pulse raced. He could feel it bounding in his temples. Now it was as if the walls of the room were reverberating to the pounding inside his head. He thought that he was about to explode! There was someone called Bradley on the other end. Someone who made Ruth feel very sexy indeed. Fucking bitch! There came a split second when he wondered whether he might throttle her. It was a terrible thought. He watched her sit on the breakfast stool and cross her shapely legs. She looked perfect.
'Yuh, OK Bradley, we could go out for lunch on Sunday, my husband won't mind. He will go fishing or something' she said gaily.
Something snapped inside of Granger. Something split like a ham string of the head.
He dropped to his knees before her, the dishes he was carrying set quickly to one side. His eyes, his eyes pleaded to her. She glanced down.
'I like the Bull over the other side of the river. It has great food and nice wine' she said sweetly.
She held up the hem of her little red dress. Lanquidly she held the material of her thong to one side.
'What shall I wear....did you like the leather jeans I wore to Sheryl's drinks night?' her conversation continued.
Granger inhaled. He felt as if he might be sick. He felt as if he might shame himself in a terrible way. He moved his face forward and with a soft forward movement of his tongue, he licked up the crease of her sex. She tasted of sex and salt and sex and sex and sex and sex..... Granger's head tumbled like a clothes drier. He wanted to cry out, like an animal in pain. But he licked again and she stroked his hair this time. The moment he broke. He was licking so nicely now, humbly and contritely for having touched her arm this morning.
'No...no (she laughed), we have a kind of sexy thing in our life, Paul is really relaxed if I date' Ruth insisted.
Granger licked again and this time her cunt tasted bitter. It was like a medicine he needed to take but which tasted oh so hard on the tongue. She was moving her sex against his mouth, enjoying his submission.
'You don't believe me? Look, I've got Paul here, he'll tell you its fine to drop by, Sunday, any day!'
She looked down at him, preferring her mobile phone. Her eyes were insistent. With her other hand she held his hair, no more licks until....
Granger took the phone and he cleared his voice.
'This Bradley....you're one of Ruth's friends from college aren't you?' Stupid conversation, but he tried.
The young guy answered yes. There was a hint of caution in his voice. Ruth dipped her elegant finger where he had just bee licking. She anointed the end of his nose just as he inhaled.
Granger's voice quavered. His heart felt as though it might burst.
'Ruth's so gregarious you know and I'm well....I'm a recluse almost. Yes. No worries, I would be pleased if you wanted to take Ruth out to lunch.' he laughed at what wasn't either funny or true. The young guy was saying that he would pick Ruth up eleven thirty. Granger handed the phone back to her and she drew his mouth back, back to her sex.
[Hmmmn, just a little bitchy perhaps? There is of course more in the collection 'Another Kind of Bitch' published electronic on Amazon. As usual, all names fictitious and not designed to represent a living individual. I hope that you enjoy this story and I'm happy of course to discuss it! best wishes all, Lutheran Maid.]
On the morning of the 19th day he woke beside her in the bed and he felt her moving still in her sleep. She was masturbating herself! She was asleep, dreaming of something hot and sexy and she was touching herself. He had never believed that a woman could do that, but Ruth was now. Fucking hell, it tortured him. He wanted to fuck her hard for all the hours that he had already endured in the cage. He wanted to ram his cock inside her and tell her that bitches provoked desire in husband's too! But her dream was elsewhere and the way that she was moving against her pretty fingers, it was obvious that she was getting cock. The urge to touch her was immense, but he had been instructed on that matter. You touched only with permission. You kissed only a certain way, never on her face, and only between her legs when she beckoned. When she flirted with men you weren't allowed to look away. You were to watch, to admire and if she kissed another man, then you nodded. It was a silent, a humiliating asset to her will. ruth ran a film strip in a loop within Granger's mind, over and over and over again, something that confirmed that she had absolute control and endless opportunity.
That morning, the 19th in the fucking cage Granger wanted to cut his dick off. It was literally that bad. He had tried several times to masturbate with the cage on and it had been excruciatingly painful. Then had come the antiseptic ointment, the scolding look and the shame. If necessary she WOULD take him down to the casualty dept. Her friend Dr Carla would see them. She knew and approved of caged cocks. Getting checked out would be another degradation ceremony. Granger stared at his wife. She was shuddering against the touch of her own immaculately manicured fingers and presumably orgasming on the cock of some guy? Granger touched. He touched her bare arm so lightly as to be barely sensed. Then though, her shuddering ended and her lovely eyelids opened to reveal her cool grey eyes beneath the fringe of raven hair. She knew that he had touched her, she felt it.
'Do you have to stare like that? It's disgusting!' she observed, blinking away the sleep and wondering whether to challenge him about his glancing touch.
Granger blushed. He tried to apologise but the words came out a incoherent mumble. Ruth glanced down at his genitals, they were trying to wrestle their way out of the cage. They were trying to tell him that he was a man.
'Tonight you sleep in the box room, understood?' she said acidly.
He understood and he despaired. He despaired at being pushed out. The penalty was all to do with touch, he supposed that was so. But fit she as taking a lover then that move to another room would be necessary as well. The possibilities hurdled through his mind and injected doubt on doubt there. He watched her slip up from beneath the light duvet and then walk stylishly and slowly towards the shower. She clicked her fingers which was a signal for him to follow. His head screamed and rejoiced in equal measure and that was the truth of it, denial, such cruel denial and taunting, it screwed you up. Ruth needed a pee and she sat on the John and watched him as he silently stood before her. After she had finished she tore off some toilet paper and offered it to him. He was to gently clean her pussy. Granger gulped down a breath. Fucking hell. He wanted that, it would be a sort of touch, it would be something. but the humiliation, it was immense!
'Not ready yet?' she mused, 'but not too far off are you'. She inspected his face. The fact that he was shaven and clean the way she liked it was a signal. She made granger shave his face, his chest and around that fucking cage on his cock. Granger was bending.
When she stepped into the shower she took up the scented soap dispenser and held it as if to squirt some into his hand. It was another tease. You can touch Granger, but on my terms. Why don't you lather me? Granger stared at the soap. He stared at it and trembled, beads of perspiration appearing like magic on his brow. He was shaking now. If he submitted and lathered his wife she became mistress again. If he didn't then she had girlfriends coming around for lunch and the caustic comments that came his way could multiply. Granger dropped his head and held out the palms of his hands. A generous measure was squeezed into each and he was beckoned in to kneel before her in the foot of the shower well.
'That's better' she whispered. The water ran. it was warm and Granger felt it tumble down over his wife's lovely body, her pert breasts and down onto him where he knelt. She would lather her top and he would attend her bottom. He watched her begin and it was his signal to follow suit. He knew her strategy. He knew her fucking strategy! He was to lather, inhale and long to lick. He was to long to lick her pert young arse and then, when his self esteem had been shot to come humbly to her cunt. Once you licked that, once you sniffed and nuzzled like a supplicant, then you were nothing. You became the slave. The point was that you were being trained to think through your mouth and not your cock. That was what the cage was really about. IT WASN"T A FUCKING TOY!!!! Something stretched and nearly fractured inside his head. He started to lather her, her lovely legs and feet. She turned around so that he could lather her calves and thighs, that which she covered in seamed stockings. She smelled woman. She smelled.....Christ....she smelled mistress. Ruth lingered a moment her buttocks near his face. He kissed her buttocks. There. Dear God. She moved on as if that was fine. She moved on as if that was the sort of touch which was just dandy. Now as the water poured she turned again. Pussy was before him. She waited, widely running the soap over her exquisitely large brown areoles.
'Worship' she directed in a silky voice.
He looked up at her. He could barely focus, so much water and soap was pouring into his eyes.
He kissed her sex, feeling the wet curls of her pubes wiping against his nose. He felt her hesitate and sigh with what he took to be satisfaction.
'Worship properly' she whispered.
He shuddered. He shuddered like a ship hitting an iceberg. It was as if his whole frame shook.
He kissed her sex again, his lips brushing hers. That was all. That was all he could manage, his mind, twisting, twisting.
She looked down at him. Of course she could grab his wet hair and pull his face against her sex, locking it there until he tongued nicely but that was not the point. She wanted to break him. She wanted him to beg to lick her sex. She wanted him to ache for that, thinking of himself as something simply to be used at her leisure. He was almost there. She could see the way that he trembled, see how he seemed to creak from within. In the water, her musk wasn't working on him so hard yet. But it would. It would when he came nicely to her and she warm from the day. It would if she had fucked someone. Then the craving to lick her would soar upwards inside his head and he would beg and plead to lick.
'Fetch me a towel' she said at last, switching off the shower.
Granger deftly and gently dried his wife whilst she towelled dry her hair. Her body was heart achingly beautiful. She was a good athlete in the gym and she had the lovely proportions of someone who liked being active, who loved being inside her own skin. It was a presence. as they had guests for lunch today she had him dress her in a tiny thong, stockings and suspender belt. Her sex was never far from his nose. Granger spasmed inside. He wasn't sure whether his arm twitched, but he guessed she would have seen it if it did. Slowly, inevitably, Granger was losing the will to resist.
'It's what a man is going to fuck' she said to him matter of factly, as if this was some kind of documentary.
He blinked up at her. The dangling conversation, the one that returned again and again.
'Once I have broken you, I will take a lover' she said.
Granger blinked again. There was water in his eyes still, or may be it was something else. His wife was so achingly beautiful. She looked like a supermodel. Ruth went and fetched the red cocktail dress from the wardrobe and then stepped into it as Granger held the material. What did they say about red...it was the colour of sex and aggression? He moved the material upwards and it covered her shapely body like a skin. Granger's head spun like a top as he rose to zip the dress for her. May be it was postural hypotension, a sudden faintness as he stood. But he knew why he felt feint really. He did. The hem of her dress just covered her stocking tops. It was perfect. Nails next, Granger manicuring and painting. She had given him a book and made him do things again when he messed up. He now painted nails well. Waiting for the nails to dry she had him sort through the large jeweller box on the vanity table. Her Piaget watch today and the bracelet to match. She would wear the gold chain about her throat. her nails dry now, she moved the watch around her wrist so that its face lay beneath.
'What does this mean?' she asked quietly.
'I am to fuck off' Granger whispered. He could have said go away, but he didn't. Emotions tumbling inside you direct a word or two.
She nodded earnestly.
'Yes, it means that I am with someone that I want and you are to bugger off and let it happen'. If he used coarse language then so would she.
Granger passed her the chosen perfume. He got her the shoes from her wardrobe. It was time to go downstairs, prepare her breakfast and then the lunch for her guests.
Granger hated the fucking phone. He hated the cheery and animated way she talked on the phone. He HATED HER FUCKING FLIRTING ON THE PHONE!!! His pulse raced. He could feel it bounding in his temples. Now it was as if the walls of the room were reverberating to the pounding inside his head. He thought that he was about to explode! There was someone called Bradley on the other end. Someone who made Ruth feel very sexy indeed. Fucking bitch! There came a split second when he wondered whether he might throttle her. It was a terrible thought. He watched her sit on the breakfast stool and cross her shapely legs. She looked perfect.
'Yuh, OK Bradley, we could go out for lunch on Sunday, my husband won't mind. He will go fishing or something' she said gaily.
Something snapped inside of Granger. Something split like a ham string of the head.
He dropped to his knees before her, the dishes he was carrying set quickly to one side. His eyes, his eyes pleaded to her. She glanced down.
'I like the Bull over the other side of the river. It has great food and nice wine' she said sweetly.
She held up the hem of her little red dress. Lanquidly she held the material of her thong to one side.
'What shall I wear....did you like the leather jeans I wore to Sheryl's drinks night?' her conversation continued.
Granger inhaled. He felt as if he might be sick. He felt as if he might shame himself in a terrible way. He moved his face forward and with a soft forward movement of his tongue, he licked up the crease of her sex. She tasted of sex and salt and sex and sex and sex and sex..... Granger's head tumbled like a clothes drier. He wanted to cry out, like an animal in pain. But he licked again and she stroked his hair this time. The moment he broke. He was licking so nicely now, humbly and contritely for having touched her arm this morning.
'No...no (she laughed), we have a kind of sexy thing in our life, Paul is really relaxed if I date' Ruth insisted.
Granger licked again and this time her cunt tasted bitter. It was like a medicine he needed to take but which tasted oh so hard on the tongue. She was moving her sex against his mouth, enjoying his submission.
'You don't believe me? Look, I've got Paul here, he'll tell you its fine to drop by, Sunday, any day!'
She looked down at him, preferring her mobile phone. Her eyes were insistent. With her other hand she held his hair, no more licks until....
Granger took the phone and he cleared his voice.
'This Bradley....you're one of Ruth's friends from college aren't you?' Stupid conversation, but he tried.
The young guy answered yes. There was a hint of caution in his voice. Ruth dipped her elegant finger where he had just bee licking. She anointed the end of his nose just as he inhaled.
Granger's voice quavered. His heart felt as though it might burst.
'Ruth's so gregarious you know and I'm well....I'm a recluse almost. Yes. No worries, I would be pleased if you wanted to take Ruth out to lunch.' he laughed at what wasn't either funny or true. The young guy was saying that he would pick Ruth up eleven thirty. Granger handed the phone back to her and she drew his mouth back, back to her sex.
[Hmmmn, just a little bitchy perhaps? There is of course more in the collection 'Another Kind of Bitch' published electronic on Amazon. As usual, all names fictitious and not designed to represent a living individual. I hope that you enjoy this story and I'm happy of course to discuss it! best wishes all, Lutheran Maid.]
