My studies under Luke's tutelage began in earnest the next evening during and after dinner. I'm sorry to report that he proved to be an excellent, possibly even world class instructor. If there was a graduate program in cuckold humiliation studies, Luke would've been a distinguished professor with an endowed chair. To be fair, I suppose such a program would require at least three faculty members: the bull, who dishes out the humiliation; the cuckoldess who may or may not assist the bull in humiliating the cuckold, but who herself might also be a target of humiliation at times; and the hapless cuckold who is the primary recipient of it. So, to be more accurate, the three of us would have been an all-star academic team in my imagined scenario. This turned out to be not too far removed from the reality of what unfolded, but more on that later.
Brooke coached me on preparing dinner for Luke. She wanted him to feel welcome in our home and wanted to set the right tone with my respect to my subservient status in the relationship. Luke played football in an amateur league (he was a linebacker, a position requiring both speed and strength) and also lifted weights, so he favored lean proteins. I prepared grilled walleye in a lemon, butter sauce with steamed asparagus and roasted potatoes. I also had his favorite beer on hand, Yuengling. I purchased a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for Brooke and me, as neither of us were big beer drinkers.
At Brooke's insistence, I wore a tight, white button down shirt with a black bow tie and tight black pants with the black apron that her friend Michelle had given me tied behind my neck. I generally favored loose clothes because I was highly self conscious about my paunch -- and hated the restrictive feeling of tight clothes, which made me feel fat -- but Brooke said that baggy clothes did me no favors. I think this was all part of her game: to accentuate my physical shortcomings in front of her ripped ex husband. She also wanted me barefoot.
When Luke arrived, Brooke brought him into the kitchen. He was dressed in tight jeans, a form fitting, button down blue shirt and brown leather cowboy boots. Brooke was wearing a short green dress with open toed, heeled sandals, her long bare legs and pretty toes on full display. The contrast in how we were all dressed made me feel like a submissive waiter to this beautiful, alpha couple -- which is more or less what I was, I suppose. Thinking back on how I've been forced to dress over the intervening three years, however, my attire that evening was downright dignified.
"Hello, sir. May I get you a beer?"
"Sure, prof." Pleased that I served him his favorite brand, he said, "I see she's got you barefoot and working in the kitchen. You're not pregnant too, are you?" He rubbed my paunch with his hand, smiling and chuckling. I really hated it when someone touched my stomach.
Brooke giggled at his joke.
"We're going to have to put you on a diet, prof."
"Walter doesn't exercise much."
"We can work on that too," Luke said before the two of them went into the living room to sit down and have a drink as I finished cooking dinner. I found Brooke straddling his lap and kissing him passionately when I went to ask them to please be seated at the table.
"Shouldn't a good host seat his guest?," asked Luke.
"Yes, sir, of course." I pulled out the chair at the head of the dining room table for him to sit down.
Brooke said, "What about me, Walter?"
"Of, course, darling." I then pulled out Brooke's chair, before sitting down myself.
"I'm not sure I like him calling you darling when I'm here. When I'm in this house, you're mine," Luke said to Brooke.
She replied, "What would be a more appropriate way for him to address me when you're around? I know, how about 'Miss Brooke'?" She smiled brightly at me.
Luke said, "That works for me, at least until we can think of something better."
