Chivalry Is on Life Support

Brooke was always sexually submissive to Luke, but I noticed a subtle yet distinct shift in the dynamics of their relationship after that day. As much as he enjoyed having sex with her, it was clear that she was more sexually dependent upon on him than the other way around. Brooke became increasingly reluctant to distance herself from Luke, even when he did things to her that crossed the line, fearful that doing so might again lead to a protracted period of separation-- or, worse yet, that he might choose to end the arrangement altogether. I actually believed (and still believe today) the likelihood of him ending things with her to be very, very low (he had things far too good to put an end to it, his ex-wife basically his sex toy and her new husband basically his slave). Luke being Luke, however, he pressed his advantage, of course. He did this primarily by humiliating Brooke more frequently and intensely and by increasingly exerting his control over her outside of the purely sexual domain. So by extension, of course, he humiliated me more and controlled me in more and more areas of life.

Take, for example, football.

One afternoon in early September, about six months after Luke's invasion began, Brooke and I were alone together in the house, while Luke was out supervising a big plumbing job in a school in the next county. I looked up from my desk to see Brooke come down the stairs dressed in a short cheerleader's uniform, with pom poms. It was blue and white, showed a bit of her midriff, and had the word "Daddy" printed across the bosom in big white letters.

"What do you think?", she asked me.

"I think you look incredibly sexy. Probably the sexiest cheerleader I've ever seen. But you're one of the last women on earth who I'd ever expect to want to dress as a cheerleader. So, it's a little strange, to be honest."

"Yeah, most of the cheerleaders I knew in high school were total bimbos. And I've always thought the whole concept of cheerleaders -- the way they dress, the super short skirts like this and so forth -- is just another kind of institutionalized exploitation of women. All these hypocritical, uptight Christian men (and probably some of the women, for that matter) have no problem getting their jollies by looking up cheerleaders' skirts or at their bouncing tits when they jump around. Even as they preach to the rest of us about modesty and morality."

"So why are you dressed this way? Not that I'm complaining."

"Because Luke's football season starts on Saturday, and he said he wants to be cheered on."

"I've never really liked football. I've always found it a little barbaric for my tastes."

"I completely agree. You know me, I'm not that big into sports in general. And football seems to be especially violent. All those traumatic head injuries and everything."

"Did you ever dress up this way for him when you were married?"

"Once or twice, but I always resisted it. I felt it was demeaning."

"So what changed?"

"Maybe I've lightened up a bit. Or maybe it's because I know now that, since we're no longer married, it's easier for me to tell him to shove these pom poms up his ass, if I really want to."

"But you don't want to."

"Is that a question or a comment?"

"Either. A question, I guess."

"A part of me does. But part of me just wants to keep him happy. I'm gonna try to have some fun with it. And you are too."

I really took no special notice of her last remark; I simply thought she meant that I would enjoy watching her in her skimpy little uniform. Which I'm sure I would. When I went upstairs to the bedroom about an hour later, however, she followed me. Laid out on the bedspread was a matching uniform to what Brooke was wearing, except in pink and white, along with two matching pom poms.

I turned to look at her, and she had a huge grin on her face.

"You don't really expect me to wear this, do you?"

"I absolutely do. Put it on now. I ordered the largest size they have and I want to see if it fits."

I stripped down to my panties and put on the uniform. It was snug, but it fit. I felt beyond ridiculous.

Brooke giggled. "Now pick up the pom poms and give me a cheer."

"Rah rah," I said lamely and without enthusiasm, waving the two large pom poms in the air.

Laughing, she said, "Well, you definitely need a lot of work. Fortunately, I found some great how-to videos on YouTube. It's amazing how you can find anything on YouTube these days, isn't it? Come on, let's go downstairs and watch some of them on the TV. We have at least two hours to practice before he gets home."

"Do I really have to do this, Brooke? I'm sure he doesn't want to see me dressed in this little uniform. He wants to see you, not me. Look at my stomach."

Patting my stomach with her hand and speaking mockingly, she said, "Poor baby. I know you're sensitive about your belly fat. But you've lost some weight. It's looking better. I think the sit-ups are starting to have some positive effect, too."

"Not nearly enough."

"Look, Luke said he wanted both of us to cheer him on, and both of us are. I picked out the uniform with the least visible midriff that was available. I did that for you. Besides, you're lucky, you only have to dress up this way at home. He's going to expect me to wear a cheerleading uniform to all of the home games as well. You'll be cheering there too, just not in uniform. But before he leaves for any away game and anytime he gets back from a game, win or lose, you're gonna put on this uniform and cheer right next to me. Got it?", she said firmly.

"Yes, miss."

"Great, now let's go practice."

I felt more ridiculous wearing that uniform than in just about anything else I had worn so far, including the speedo and cuckold T-shirt, or even panties and tights. Nevertheless, I watched the how-to videos with Brooke and we rehearsed several different cheers.

On Saturday, when Luke was putting on his football uniform in the upstairs bedroom, Brooke and I changed into our uniforms in the basement and were ready to greet him in the living room when he came downstairs with the following cheer:

Stronger than steel (clap, clap)

Hotter than the sun;

Luke won't stop (clap, clap)

Till he gets the job done.

We then picked up and waved our pom poms and yelled in unison, "Go, Luke, go!"

He laughed and said "Babe, I told you that you'd look smokin hot in that uniform." He walked up to her, reached up under her skirt and cupped her right buttock with his large hand, kissing her. She swooned over him like a high school girl being kissed by the star quarterback. Turning to me, he said, "And I've never seen a more ridiculous sight in my entire life than you, prof, wearing that uniform. It's fucking hilarious. I expect to see you in it a lot."

"Yes, sir."

The game was a couple of hours drive away so Brooke and I didn't attend that particular one. When Luke got home that evening, we greeted him at the door with the same cheer, but it was clear as soon as we saw him that he wasn't happy.

"We lost, 6-3. Our defense totally shut them down. They only scored two lousy field goals. You should've seen a couple of my open field tackles. But our quarterback totally sucks. He couldn't get shit going on offense. I told our coach, he's got to bench him and go with our second string quarterback next game. It was a fucking disaster."

Brooke said, "I'm sorry, babe. But wouldn't our cheer cheer you up?"

Already starting to undress, Luke said, "Save it. What WOULD cheer me up is if I get to fuck the pretty cheerleader while the fat, butt ugly one cleans my cleats and washes my jock strap."

Luke removed his jock strap and threw it at my face, "Here, you can hand wash my jock with some mild detergent later. First, get an old toothbrush and clean my cleats on your knees next to the bed while I take out my aggressions on your wife's pussy and ass."

"Yes, sir."

Luke was now naked and fully erect, his uniform and cleats in a pile at his feet. Looking at his cock, Brooke said, "Now that's really something to cheer about."

"Bring my dirty clothes and cleats upstairs, along with a bucket of water with some mild soap and a roll of duct tape. You do know what that is, don't you?," he said to me.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm surprised."

After I had gathered all of the required materials, and we were all upstairs, Luke commanded, "Scrub my cleats carefully with the brush and soap. I expect them to be clean enough to eat off them. In fact, the way I'm feeling, I'm thinking of having you eat dinner off them and then clean them again. I stepped on some dog shit out on the field, so you better clean them well, cuck."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

So upstairs, still wearing the ridiculous uniform, I scrubbed Luke's cleats with the toothbrush as I watched him manhandle Brooke. He first threw her onto the bed, and roughly removed all of her clothing except for her ankle socks. She had put her hair into two pigtails for the cheerleader look, and he pulled her by her pigtails up to his huge cock, forcing her to suck it. He then abruptly pulled her off, and shoved her nose into his right armpit. The sweat from the game had largely dried, I imagine, but it was a warm fall night and I could see a faint sheen of fresh sweat on Luke's muscular torso; his armpits couldn't have smelled good. Nevertheless, Brooke nuzzled her face into his pit and inhaled greedily, sighing. Gripping her ponytail, he then pulled her back onto his cock. He alternated back and forth several more times between cock and both armpits. The second time he pulled her up to his right armpit, he said simply, "Lick." She obediently did as commanded, and didn't have to be told to lick the left one when he pulled her up to that one, a few minutes later.

I had licked rivulets of sweat off Brooke's smooth armpits and had smelled them before, even after she worked out. It was, without a doubt, erotic. But watching her lick Luke's hairy, sweaty armpit disgusted me. Or did it? My cock throbbed painfully in its cage watching this scene unfold, hyper conscious of the utter shame of the position in which I found myself. There was indeed dog shit on the bottom of his right cleat, and I worked hard to remove every trace of it (wondering if he was really going to follow through on his threat to make me eat off the bottom of his shoe).

"How are you coming with my shoes, cuck?"

"I've cleaned them multiple times, and I believe I've gotten all of the grass stains and poop off of your cleats, sir."

I heard Brooke laugh as Luke said, "You better have, for your sake. But you can't clean the inside of a shoe, can you?"

"No, sir." When I had lifted his cleats off the floor to bring them upstairs, I felt the inside still moist with sweat from the game. They were far from new, and the smell certainly wasn't pleasant as I scrubbed them clean.

Luke, with his typical abruptness and ferocity, lifted Brooke or up off the bed, and put her back down on it on her hands and knees. He swatted her bottom sharply with his hand, saying "Spread your cheeks with your fingers, keep your ass up in the air and don't move. I'll be right back."

To me, he said, "You're in luck, cuck. You're going to get to watch today. Sit down in that chair." He shoved me onto the chair. He then picked up one of his cleats along with the duct tape on the floor and quickly placed his shoe directly over my nose, wrapping it in place twice tightly with the tape. The tape was in my hair at the back of my head and it hurt like hell when Luke ripped it off later, after he was finished pummeling my beloved Brooke. Meanwhile, he ordered me to put my wrists together and tightly wrapped them with the tape as well.

The odor of his foot sweat was overpowering, but that was my immersive sensory experience for the next 30 minutes or so. That, and watching him roughly penetrate all three of Brooke's orifices. On this occasion, as he took her anally, he placed his foot not on her face (as he did first time I saw him take her) but rather right next to her face.

"Lick my big toe, slut." And so Brooke began licking it, between her moans. He next made her kneel before him, and using her pigtails as grips, forced her to suck her own anal secretions off his cock. He next threw her back onto the bed, slapped her face a few times and roughly pinched her nipples, as he took her vaginally. Brooke was characteristically vocal (sounds rather than words for the most part, except for the occasional "Yes, baby," "Softer, no harder" "Please, baby" and "Yes, I'm your dirty little slut"), again experiencing multiple orgasms. He finished by ejaculating all over her face. I resented his mistreatment of her, and imagined myself wrapping my bound hands around his neck and yanking him off her from behind before pounding his face with my bound fists. What can I say, I have a vivid imagination...That's probably one of the key reasons I became a literature professor focused on medieval legend.

After pulling the sneaker off my face (I screamed when my hair was pulled), he said, "Time for you to kiss your wife, cuck." I kissed her on the lips, through Luke's reservoir of semen, repulsed but nonetheless hard against the confines of my chastity cage.

Brooke and Luke showered together. I too was permitted to shower (which was not always the case after I cleaned them, but I still had to prepare and serve dinner). Luke insisted that I put back on my cheerleader uniform to serve them. I made veggie and cheese omelettes and a salad, and stood at attention tableside, as usual, as they ate, dressed like some dirty old man's idea of a fetishized waitress.

After they finished, Luke did indeed compel me use his cleat as my plate as I ate my omelette. The two of them watched me with amusement. When I picked up my knife and fork, Luke said, "Whoa there, prof, I'd rethink that if I were you. You want to damage my cleats? Are you stupid? Use you hands."

"Yes, sir. I wasn't thinking, sir." I began pulling the egg up and eating it, but when I finished there were still bits of egg around the studs of his cleat. When I got up to take the cleat to the kitchen to clean off the egg, Luke said, "That omelette was delicious, prof. We're all members of the clean plate club, here. Lick it clean."

Deeply humiliated, I did as he commanded, with the two of them looking on, laughing. The evening concluded with the three of us watching an action movie on cable, with Luke using my back as a foot rest. We had all changed into our sleep clothes (Luke into a pair of boxers, Brooke into panties and a T-shirt, and me into a pair of sheer gray tights). At one point, they requested popcorn. After I served them, Luke told me I could get myself a bowl. I thought with relief that perhaps his foul mood had finally lifted.

But he then ordered me to place the bowl on the floor at his feet and then fed me kernels between his toes. Brooke looked at him, giggling, and said, "You're terrible," before kissing him passionately.

"That's me, Luke the Terrible."

I found myself hoping deeply that Luke's team went the rest of the season undefeated.