“Oh, I don’t know,” Crouching Gretchen grins mischievously.
“Maybe we should wait and see. I may have already conceived… I’ll tell you what. A week from tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. If you can behave unobjectionably until then, and if your observance of this holiday is sufficiently spectacular, then I will discipline you as you wish – and maybe you can even earn another opportunity to satisfy me.”
Of course I’m beside myself with blessedness.
“Oh what a heavenly proposal! Oh, no wonder why I love and worship my Supreme Being so extremely! I’m going to pamper you like the queenly deity you will eternally be! To heck with waiting for the fourteenth. Before I start doing your chores this morning I’m going to make you the best damn breakfast you’ve ever eaten!”
“Very well, my obsequious young peon. I intend to hold you to all of that. Let’s see about getting my despicable sissy no-d**k hubby untied then.”
Whoo-hoo!
***
D’oh!
What an exhausting, secretly exhilarating yet steadily more unsettling week it is that only gradually passes!
Though her absently dismissive attitude toward me rarely alters, I continue to absorb more and more of Gretchen’s chores. As bringing back this big but rather old and moldering home forms our only occupation, this leaves her free to not only pointedly ignore me but to fanatically practice her latest pastime: m**********g ever more brazenly.
To heck with Scripture. Playing with ‘Mr. Proper’, that eight-by-one inch vibrating hard rubber dildo (molded with astonishing similitude to a real c**k in both appearance and texture) allows my goddess to taunt and belittle me terribly without ever even looking my way.
After all, if she’s really conceived, what more need has my wife of Mr. Measly or even me? Of course I need no special motivation to want to sexually please my heavenly Gretchen. But you can bet the farm that between working myself to the bone and thrillingly planning all manner of pampering for Valentine’s Day, I devote every spare second to researching things like the g-spot, c******s, and all manner of available tips about performing c*********s. Indeed so exciting do I find all my planning, learning and imagining that Gretchen isn’t the only one given to casting the pastor’s teachings about inappropriate touching to the winds.
Keeping it secret myself , I can’t help gleefully relieving my suspense-tension three times before being forced to abstain with the big evening upcoming. Failure to perform on demand is not an option! Kept busy gathering presents and making preparations atop everything else then, I quit running myself ragged only on the eve of the big date. I have to sleep lightly enough to wake up early enough to ease quietly from between the sheets in time to create and serve the most stupendous ever breakfast in bed.
I won’t waste time describing all the delicious dishes and romantic frills. Suffice to say that Goddess Gretchen is impressed enough that she allows me to rub her feet while she eats. Sitting up all regally enthroned on specially laundered and plumped-up pillows in the most diaphanous of white lace nightgowns, she might be Aphrodite herself. After blistering my mouth afresh with her after-breakfast cigarette, she even takes giggly fun in permitting me to return to her feet and kiss-lick-suck-scrub their every callus and crevice with my burned yet still giddily sloppy puppy-loving tongue. After such diligently meticulous cleansing comes the pedicure, and so ushers in the most absurdly worshipful morning and afternoon of servicing and pampering anyone could imagine. No detail is too small, no flattery too lavish, until the most sumptuous early evening repast culminates with a bestowal of gifts before the planned massage-after-bath.
“Open this one first, my darling.”
Gretchen tears off the paper, revealing the loveliest embroidered pink silk panties I could find. Far racier than anything the former Mrs. Vanilla would ever have purchased for herself, these are received with enthusiasm – albeit layered with a wickedness that gives me pause. The next two gifts take this mix to another level entirely.
Eager to explore beyond paddles, I’ve gotten my goddess a beautifully long, thick and heavy yet exceedingly supple leather belt. While way too big for either of us to wear, I’ve suggestively removed the buckle and riveted that end into a handy loop she can easily slip her grip into. Without being prodded Goddess does so, grabbing the other end and cracking that awesome whipping-strap appreciatively between her fists.
“I could use this on you any time, couldn’t I? No need to wait for a discipline date. Just pull your sissy-boy pants down, bend you over and whale away anytime I get annoyed by your miniscule d**k and feces-licking face.”
“That’s the idea, my beloved deity. This one is for shorter range work.”
Gretchen unwraps a beautifully crafted hand whip, its comfortable leather handle separating into over a dozen tightly braided thongs, each eighteen-inch length ending in a bruising knot.
“Perfect for punishing Mister Measly, I think,” Gretchen grins, sending my heart soaring at her easy acceptance of each further step into the kind of relationship I’ve always craved.
“I’m thrilled you like your presents, Goddess. I hope you’ll love what comes next.”
While I clean up the dinner mess, Gretchen sinks into the luxurious candlelit bubble bath I prepared for her. I arrive in due time to find her still contentedly soaking, nibbling premium chocolates and drinking expensive champagne, surrounded everywhere by flickering little flames and huge bouquets of gorgeous flowers, their romantic aromas all mingling orgiastically in the steamy heat.
After a good hour of humbly and redundantly sponging her shoulders and such, I oil her up and perform a thorough full-body massage. Working determinedly despite repeatedly cramping hands, I give every firm and springy bit of lovely womanly muscle the same worshipfully perfect pampering that each toe and inch of her queenly feet received. So sweetly relaxed is my divine valentine by the time I finish with both her back and front sides that the gentlest clever caress is all it takes to convince my limply blissful Gretchen to open up her legs to me.
Oh, Goddess! Such implicit permission to again attempt to successfully service that holy opening fills me with more joy and glory than any language can really convey. Flush with both this sacred elation and fresh information, I’m not going to let the honor go begging.
Despite (again) the new and half-healed burns covering my by-now swollen tongue, I fall to worship with a maniacal fervor. Coaxing open both outer and inner folds I flip little flaps, stroke and poke and delve and lick her into oozing liquid remarkably quickly. Encouraged by what may be amazed moans (certainly her first due to my ministrations) and the way my wife lifts up to me and spreads herself ever more widely, I soon dare to begin bringing my fingers in.
First I use just the cautious tips of two. Gently they expose that fabled, glistening little c******s, allowing me to fasten on and become a rabidly enthusiastic cunt-sucker at last. Between such lip-sealed slurping and further mad lapping and tongue-lashing, it takes me less than ten minutes or so to bring my Goddess Gretchen to climax for the very first time.
Ten minutes! This is no occasion to gloat over marital milestones though. Without pausing to celebrate this hip-jerking, deity-shrieking achievement, I pour on the stimulation instead. Only this time as I suckle so urgently at her c**t I’m brave enough to slide my biggest middle digit (the f**k-finger my old school friends had dubbed it) almost sneakily all the way up inside that divinely warm and moist v****a.
With my nails just considerately pared and filed, I find that reputed g-spot just as easily as I did the c******s. Hooray for the no longer entirely useless sissy! And hooray especially for my adored and gorgeous beloved! Pressing and rubbing that slippery inner nubbin sends formerly limp Gretchen into bucking paroxysms, as second and eventually third orgasms explode through her heavenly body in glorious succession.
Nothing like the benefits of an online education!
Not to mention having an appendage with a more than just measly reach. Again, no words can encompass my delighted validation at Gretchen’s gasping, quivering, unequivocally genuine s****l satisfaction. I could just die from happiness! When my goddess meets my eyes with her smiling expression of sincere surprise, tears of euphoria leak from me. Rather than attempt to remind of her earlier words, I just hold out a hand to help her off our makeshift massage table.
“There’s another magnum of Mumm’s on ice in the bedroom. Goddess Gretchen.”
“Take me to it then, valentine. And don’t forget to bring along my three perfect presents. I need them all to reciprocate the sentiments. My sissy has certainly earned everything I promised him and more.”
***
Bound to the bed in the same fashion as before, I’m swiftly made to regret that most imposing present.
This time there is no set number of strokes to be endured. And that heavy yet finely finished belt hurts so much worse! Still beautifully nude from her bath and massage, pausing only to swill champagne or coo approvingly while she runs gloating fingers over the damage she’s doing, my heaven-sent spouse straps my ass (and the backs of each thigh to the knee!) for what seems a futilely struggling eternity. Taking my weeping and gagged screaming as cues to always continue, Goddess Gretchen only desists her disciplining of me when her good right arm can bear no more.
“Whew! I’m going to need another massage in the morning.”
Rubbing the overworked limb, she grins and then pulls the underwear out of my sobbing, slobbery mouth. “You’ll see to that for me won’t you, grateful b***h-sissy?”
Never have I been more obsequiously sincere.
“Anything you want, my infinitely cherished Goddess. Your most whimsical wish is my most absolute command.”
I swear she responds fondly with her laugh! “I’ll give you this, husband: You do know how to say what I like to hear. All right then, let’s get you rolled over.”
By the time I’m retied supine atop that waist-elevating pillow, Mr. Measly is straining as insanely stiffly as he ever gets.
Oh baby I can’t wait, and thank goodness I’ve abstained for a couple of days! I catch my breath in maddened anticipation as gloriously naked Gretchen climbs back onto the bed with me. Only then do I see she’s carrying a number of items before she drops them by my side.
Holy crap, there’s that new hand whip, her cigarettes and lighter, a bag of clothespins, a ragged feather stolen from a decorative old pheasant tail and even Mr. Proper, the vibrating p***s she uses daily now in lieu of mine, the embodiment of my lies. Dragging over the ice bucket and bottle too, she smiles so devilishly for a deity! I just have to risk the impertinence.
“Thank you so much for disciplining me, Goddess Gretchen. I won’t be able to sit for days without thinking of you, and about how much I unconditionally worship you. Didn’t I earn a chance to satisfy you too?”
Tipsy Gretchen, she giggles so girlishly! I’d swear she’s blushing and not just flushed with alcohol and fun.
“Silly sissy! You already satisfied me! Quite unexpectedly expertly too. Besides, this is my night. If you’ll recall, last time you climaxed while I did not. Turnabout is only fair – if a deity is ever even required to be – fair, that is. I think we can agree not. And I believe I’m going to find this far more satisfying than any puny pee-wee ride anyway.
“You see Harold, you aren’t the only one who’s been researching things online. Apparently this fetish of yours encompasses a practice known as ‘c and b, t and t’. That stands for ‘c**k and balls torturing and teasing’. I’m going to have some serious fun with Mr. Measly here, and for the first time ever I might add! So don’t you complain about the kind of attention he gets unless you want to be gagged again for this.”
Aksara