Part 1: The Dump Off
I sense that Roxanne is looking away from me to check traffic so I strain to turn my head to the left, taking a chance to sneak a peek at my wife as she's distracted. God, she's fucking gorgeous! Not runway model gorgeous mind you, and I must confess that the average male might not look twice at her, but to me she's a Goddess. Her long wavy brown hair cascades down over her shoulders and falls loosely about her full breasts. The sleeveless blouse she's wearing today shows off the fabulous muscle tone of her shoulders and arms. We both try to keep our bodies toned and fit for each other and all the hard work seems to be paying off.
I press my chin down against the padding beneath it to check out her legs. Whether by accident or on purpose, she's allowed her short cotton skirt to ride up her thighs. The workouts have really paid off there as I see her muscles flex while her legs work the brake and clutch pedals simultaneously. Her hands grip the steering wheel tightly as she contemplates making her move into traffic and I imagine those same hands cupping my balls and massaging my cock.
Shit! I shouldn't be thinking about things like this because I can feel my cock responding and I know nothing good can come of it!
"What are you looking at, Danny?" Somehow she knows I'm looking at her. Not surprising, as she's somehow aware of everything I do. Most likely she heard the sound of the padded neck brace scrunching as I looked down at her legs.
I quickly face forward. "Your imitation dildo was captivated by your beauty, Mistress," I respond, knowing better than to try and lie to her. That's how I came to be in this predicament in the first place.
Three days ago my darling wife had flat out caught me with my fingers on my cock - not really masturbating, but simply feeling the hardness of it while thinking of a fantasy she had mentioned to me earlier - and I had foolishly tried to deny it. Two minutes later there was a solid ring of polycarbonate locked around the base of my testicles, and my dick was confined within its clear plastic prison. My wife - my love - my mistress - had been tormenting me without mercy since. The CB-6000 Curve was surely mass-produced by the Devil Himself to punish lying sons-of-bitches like me.
My ass grinds into the passenger seat of Roxanne's red '98 Mustang and I squirm as my cock expands to fill the solid curved tube of the chastity device. This actually takes only a second or three because after three days of constant teasing my penis never relaxes to less than a semi-erect state. The bend of hard plastic encasing my stiffening member forces my penis to follow its smooth tunnel downward, the dull pain beginning to register as the swollen head quickly reaches the end of the tube much too soon. For the umpteenth time today I stifle a moan as the little prison's cruel design excels in its purpose.
The Mustang lurches forward as Mistress finds a hole in the traffic. She straightens out the sporty little car, quickly and efficiently shifting through the gears, and then reaches over to tap on my crotch with the fingers of her right hand. The vibrations help to stimulate me, causing further discomfort. Without looking at her, I know damn well there's a smile on her face. This is the sort of humiliation and torment that really gets her off. I only hope she gets herself so excited that she sets my cock free when this bondage joy ride is over and allows me to fuck her brains out!
Oh my fucking god, my cock is straining against the hard plastic walls of the plastic prison! I read a user's review on-line once that claimed this guy's erection actually broke his CB-6000. Personally I think that's a load of shit because this little cage is too well built. I tried to force it apart once soon after Roxanne bought it and, as proof of its sturdy construction, it's still in one piece today.
I look straight ahead and start reading signs. Oh yeah, the letter game will help me concentrate on something else - let's see...there's an A on that sign...and a B up ahead, C and D over there. I flex my fingers behind me and wonder if Mistress tied that rope too tight. Are my fingers going numb? They feel sort of cold. I'm not really thinking about it, just wondering, and trying to keep my mind off of more painful matters. Besides, I trust Roxanne to bind me correctly. Lord knows she's had enough practice. She's been doing this to me for the past six years.
"Hate Your Figure?" -No, but I love that billboard! It just gave me letters E through I. Now for a J, where do I see a J?
This year will be eleven years of marriage for Roxanne and me. Not all good years, but we weathered the stormy times, surviving the hurricanes that ripped apart every other couple we knew. Still close friends with most of the male halves of those shattered relationships; I'm sometimes asked how Roxy and I remain so close. I usually say it's the love we share (true), and that we fulfill each other's needs (true). Okay, okay, I fail to mention what those needs are.
Jct Hwy 61. Great! There's my J. K, K, that should be an easy one. K, then L.
Seven years ago it was hurricane season for Roxanne and me. She'd become a real bitch, sort of ordering me around like I was one of the interns at her 40th floor law firm. I resented it and lashed out. Well, that didn't go over very well. To say the climate in the house was chilly would be an understatement. Cold and cloudy was the forecast of our relationship. Then one night while she was working late with the other "partners," I happened to click on the history file on our home computer and was blown away by what I found. Fucking porno! My wife was reading porno on-line, and the subject matter was very specific; female domination.
Lots of shit we'd been going through suddenly made a lot of sense. I stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning browsing through the websites my severely warped spouse had been digesting. It was frightening, while at the same time...sort of arousing. I was shocked that I would even think it, but damned if I didn't read some of that smut and find my cock responding. Okay, I masturbated...I'll be honest about it.
I was pretty confused about what to do. Being somewhat of a procrastinator, I did what came naturally to me and did nothing. The next time Roxanne started ordering me around I was about to go off on her as usual but considered her tone and the request she was making of me. This was that domination crap she seemed to be so hot on! It was just a menial chore she wanted done anyway, so I decided to play along, even saying shit like, "Yes ma'am" and "If that would please you, my lady," but said in a way that sounded sort of snippy. That night we fucked like we used to before we were married. No, that's not exactly true. If our pre-marital sex was like a driving a Cadillac, this was like driving a fucking Lamborghini, and she had the pedal to the metal!
What letter am I on? J? No, K. I look out straight ahead through the windshield for license plates, street signs, or billboards for the letter K for my mental distraction.
Roxanne's dominance of me developed slowly over the next few years. I never did tell her what I'd seen in the history file that night, instead, I let things play out naturally, allowing her think she was slowly drawing me in to that final place she wanted me. To be honest, the desire to be put in that place was growing stronger within me.
My descent into subdom had been at a rate that I felt I had controlled. She was pushing me, hard at times, but had learned that even when I flat out refused to do something, before long I would submit to her desires. As always, the sex that followed was hotter than hell. A case in point was her insistence to go on these bondage joy rides. There was no way in hell that I was going to let her tie me up outside of the house! I was pretty adamant about that, but she worked on me, sort of aggressively at first, but then, sensing my resistance, began a more subtle approach. I have to admit I didn't see my initiation coming.
We were down at the State Park, oh, probably 30 miles from the house. It was a nice day, I remember it being a little on the warm side. We had been swimming and as we lay on the blanket afterward, making out and doing a little heavy petting (yes, even after all those years of marriage) she looked around and brought it to my attention that we were completely alone. She was right. There wasn't another soul on that beach, or even another car in the parking lot. She rolled over towards me and held up a pair of cuffs, asking me if I'd let her have some fun. I was startled that she had seemingly produced those cuffs out of thin air. No, no, we only do that at home where it's safe.
"Come on baby," she said, "just for a minute or two, it'll be so exciting!"
It was easy to see that she was getting herself all worked up and was getting incredibly horny. Shit, if I did this for her there was going to be some really fucking hot sex when we got home!
I relented, submitting myself once again to her desires and holding my wrist out for her shiny silver cuff's embrace. I held out my other wrist and she moved to bring both wrists behind my back. Uh-huh, no, this is not what I thought...click. Okay then. I sat there on the blanket with my wrists locked behind me and completed my thought...this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. It's what she had in mind, though. I objected, strenuously at first, but the threat of my t-shirt being used as a gag sort of quieted me down. I quickly took stock of my situation and knew I had better be her good little boy-toy for awhile if I hoped to contain the beast in her. She eased me down onto my back and the make-out session continued.
I'll not soon forget the passion she unleashed on me, especially when, despite my desperate objections, she slid my swim trunks down and climbed atop my engorged shaft, using me to further her pleasure. Oh sure, there's no denying that once my cock was inside her oven all resistance was gone and I fucked her for all I was worth. She was so pleased! Oh god was she happy, and thankful, and excited. She licked my dick clean afterward, the kinkiness of what we had just done arousing me before she was even through with her sanitation duties.
Then the deviousness of her plan unfolded. The keys?
"Oh baby, I think I forgot them at home," she cooed, pretending to look through her beach bag and then her purse.
No, she hadn't forgotten a damn thing, I knew her well enough to know that. I was getting a little pissed, but given my level of freedom I decided it best to keep myself in check. At least it was up to her to pack up and carry all of our crap to the car. Ha! That'll teach her to disable her "slave" before the work was done.
I was pretty quiet during the ride home, but could tell she was getting excited again as she drove us out of the park towards the city. The more cars that surrounded us the more she looked over to see how I was handling it. To my credit, I handled it pretty well. If someone were to look closely I would appear to be sitting in my seat rather oddly, bare-chested and all, but otherwise no one would be the wiser that my wrists were bound behind me.
As predicted, once at the house we had barely made it through the door before she had me on the floor, wrestling my trunks off again. Her heat quickly enveloped me, releasing the tension and fear that I had felt on the trip home and stoking the arousal and excitement that I was surprised to feel now that it was over and I was safe at home.
It was the first of many joy rides we would make with me in some sort of bondage.
About two years ago I suddenly realized that I was extremely happy living this lifestyle that we had built together brick by brick. Never one to have a huge ego, while always having a firm grip on my own self-worth, I excelled at servitude. We were closer than ever before and getting stronger with each new experience.
My thoughts jerk back to the present as Roxanne shouts out a string of cuss words and swerves to avoid a big yellow Plymouth driven by a blue-hair with coke bottle glasses. That startled me. Shit, where the hell are we? We're clear across town. How long have we been driving...half an hour? This is not our normal bondage joy ride.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Mistress R look over her shoulder and suddenly the Mustang shoots like its namesake across three lanes of traffic and down an off-ramp. I barely move, secured in the bucket seat by the safety belt and several coils of rope. My neck is protected by a wide neck brace, insuring that I'm not injured by sudden movements such as those. The fit of the brace around my throat is extremely tight, explaining my difficulty in looking her way earlier. Obviously, movement is not to be allowed on this trip. Roxanne, as always, has thought of everything. I swear, thinking is her hobby, and thinking of ways to torment me has become her specialty.
At least I'm wearing clothing for this ride, although the jeans she has me in are tight and add to the torment upon my balls. Nothing affects my cock, held firmly within the clear plastic chastity tunnel, (except for arousal of course) but my balls hang freely below, the ring of plastic forces them outward and adds a certain amount of pressure to their base. The tightness of my jeans presses firmly against my crotch and angrily applies a constant pressure against my scrotum.
Mistress slows the sports car quickly and pulls into a small parking lot, stepping on the brakes more firmly now and forcing my body forward to strain against the seat belt. Stopping in front of some sort of clinic, Roxanne throws the gearshift into first and turns off the ignition. I strain to look over at the building as she rounds the car to open my door and begin to loosen the ropes around my chest that have held me firmly in place. I see her unclasp the seat belt and I lift my chin as high as I can to allow her access to the brace that has been protecting my neck.
"Out," she orders briskly.
I freeze, realizing now that she's going to dump me here in this parking lot, miles from home. This would not be the first time she's dumped me out on my own, and the thought of getting home on my own numbs my brain. Will she give me money? Will she bind me or take away my clothes? A million scenarios are running through my mind.
"Don't make things worse for yourself, slave. Get out now," she says.
Slave, huh. That's sort of serious as she only calls me slave when she's really submerged in her Dominatrix role. I swing my legs around and place my feet on the pavement, standing and allowing Roxanne to turn me away from her so that she can unbind my wrists.
"Go in and begin on the paperwork. You're to see Dr. Erikson for a physical." She removes the last of my wrist bondage and closes the car door behind me. "I have a few things to attend to but I should be back before you're seen."
She begins to walk around the car and I panic. I know I mustn't speak without being told to, but she's forgotten something very important.
"Mistress!"
The look on her face when she stares back at me nearly freezes me in terror, but I must speak this one time.
"This worthless imitation dildo reminds its gracious and kind owner that She has not removed the bondage from its tiny and unworthy penis."
I speak her language, hoping it will please her. Long ago I was her "pet". Then, let's see, I was her "whore" for awhile. That didn't last too long. I became her "toy". She liked that a lot. Boy-toy, sex-toy, fuck-toy, worthless fuck-toy. It was sort of embarrassing being referred to by these names but it sure stoked her inner fires. Then, a few weeks ago, she had a huge fucking epiphany and I became her imitation dildo.
The sheer cruelty of the inference was not lost on me and I almost sensed a redirection of our relationship. As an imitation dildo I was at once a tool to be used for her pleasure, an instrument, but in its sub-meaning an imitation is like a knock-off of the real thing. Would you want an iPod or an imitation? A Rolex, or a $4 dollar look-a-like? A nice hard dildo, or me?
My wife turns and steps in my direction and I'm ashamed to admit that I cower. Oh fuck! Why did I speak out, but still...
"Do you think I don't know what bondage I have you in? Do you think you need to remind me of anything? Do you think I'm stupid? Are you telling me you know things I do not?"
Under fire from the barrage of questions, I take a step backward, knowing full well that that's a punishable action in itself, but am unable to stop myself.
I'm somewhat emboldened by the fact that we're in a fairly public setting and guess the odds of her disciplining me here are low, so I speak yet again, "Your humble servant begs your forgiveness, ma'am...it's only that..."
Roxanne points at the door to the clinic. "Get your fucking worthless ass in there and do as I've instructed you. Now!" There's a tone in her voice that I've not heard before, it's...well, it's sort of mean.
Quickly, I turn and walk towards the door, hearing the car door slam shut behind me and then the sound of the Mustang revving up and pulling away.
I stand and look at the door in front of me in total bewilderment. The sign to the right of the door says, "Woodbury Women's Clinic". I browse the short list of doctor's names and see Sam Erikson, M.D., and below that the sign specifically states that the clinic is closed on Sundays. Today is Sunday. What's blowing my mind now is that Roxanne has actually made a mistake! Fucking jot that down in your calendars. And here I stand like an idiot waiting for her to come back for me.
Turning to look out towards the street, I suddenly realize that there are four vehicles in the lot, and five more around the side of the building. Now I begin to question my own assumptions. I take a step towards the door and nearly get knocked over as the door swings open and two women breeze by me, talking and laughing as they head out to one of the cars.
Dismayed, I enter the clinic and look around. Yep, women. Five of them, sitting there waiting, reading, texting. Feeling much like a thorn bush in a bed of flowers, I approach the front desk and blush deeply as the receptionist looks up at me.
"May I help you sir?" she asks politely. The woman is young, possibly twenty, but certainly not older. There's a look of innocence on her face that mixes with a look of puzzlement.
I feel six sets of female eyes on me and my mouth is suddenly dry. "Daniel Baker to see Dr. Erikson," I say, noticing the pretty little thing begin to shake her head and smile.
She giggles and her cute smile widens. She leans forward, unknowingly widening the gap at the top of her blouse to offer me an unobstructed view of her cleavage. I feel my cock respond almost instantly as I clearly see her left breast in its entirety, unencumbered by a brassiere. She motions me closer and the discomfort between my legs worsens as I force my eyes to meet hers. My god, I could get lost in those big brown eyes!
"This clinic is for women only, sir," she whispers, apparently hoping to ease what she perceives to be an embarrassing mistake on my part. I lean over further to hear her words and am rewarded with the sight of her nipple brushing lightly against the inside of her crisp white cotton blouse. The sensation must surely be stimulating as her little bud appears to be fully erect.
"Could you check, please?" I ask. "My wife made the appointment, not sure when." I watch as the young woman straightens up, pulls her appointment book in front of her and traces along the right side of the page with her finger. The thought suddenly occurs to me that Mistress is probably mind fucking me right now! That's why she wasn't concerned that my cock was still imprisoned in the CB. This entire thing has been a setup from the...
"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Baker, here it is. 10:30 with Dr. Erikson. You're plenty early."
I feel my knees weaken as I take the clip board she's holding up for me, my mind, now clearly fucked, spinning with the realization that Roxanne has booked me a physical exam at a women's clinic.