I contemplated asking her, "But what about 'the game'? Wouldn't the emergence of this new player -- and you submitting to her -- be just another exciting, unpredictable twist in the game that you cherish so much?" However, I didn't think asking that question would be wise in her current state of mind. I really couldn't tell what was bothering Brooke the most: jealousy of this other woman, who clearly interested Luke sexually, or Luke's demand (presumably one made with the knowledge, if not outright complicity of his new lover as well) that Brooke submit to her.
"Pour me another glass and let's toast to Luke's good riddance."
As we clinked our glasses together, I wanted to allow myself to be happy. I really did. Could there actually be a possibility of going back to the time before Luke, where just the two of us could be happy together? I tended to think of our lives as B.L. and A.L., meaning before Luke and after Luke. At the same time, I had to be careful not to idealize the time B. L., because that period also included the many nights that Brooke would go out with Michelle in search of men who could sexually satisfy her. Restless, angst-filled nights -- for me, always, but also often for Brooke, who found most of these one night stands or short lived trysts deeply unsatisfying.
As painful as those nights were, however, at least I wasn't completely enslaved in my own home back then. But I vividly recall, because of the difficulties in finding guys who could satisfy her (even remotely approaching the way Luke could), how discontented and moody Brooke often was B. L., especially when she came home following unsuccessful or unsatisfying nights out on the prowl. And that was before Luke reentered her life and reminded her of his sexual prowess, of how he (and he alone, seemingly) could make her feel. The way he filled her up, took control of her body -- and, to some extent, of her mind. What would things be like now with him gone, but with the memories of how he makes her feel still fresh in her memory (and in her loins)?
I also recalled vividly how despondent Brooke became in the early A.L. months after she and Luke bickered and she asked him to stay away for a while. The last, and worst, example was when he harshly spanked her following a political argument. That really pissed her off, and he was banished for two weeks that time. Brooke was fine the first week, but by the end of the second week, she was indeed begging him to come back. And he made her grovel. There were occasional flashes of rebellion in her after that time, but that's all they were -- flashes. Overall, she became appreciably more submissive to him after that, wanting to avoid any future more protracted periods of separation. Luke's analogy of a junkie experiencing withdrawal pains was not off the mark; I had in fact used it earlier myself in describing to you the hold Luke has over her.
These were the thoughts that occupied my mind as I sat drinking scotch with Brooke that evening in December, trying to understand what this new development meant for our future.
"What about Luke's stuff?"
"As much as I'd like to pack it all up now and put it out on the curb, I told him we'd pack it up for him. He said he'd send Kevin over to pick it up on Saturday. Then he told me it's just a waste of time, and that you shouldn't bother moving your clothes back upstairs, that you'll just have to move them again when he's back. Then he said I should clear space in MY closet for his new slut's clothes. The fucking son of a bitch! Pour me another one," she added, angrily sliding her tumbler across the table at me.
"Brooke, are you sure? You're going to regret it in the morning."
"Just pour it," she said, sharply, and so I did. I also got her a glass of water and urged her to drink it.
The next morning, she did indeed have a raging hangover, but far be it from me to say 'I told you so.' Instead, I got her ginger ale and Advil, massaged her temples and then her feet. I then began packing up Luke's clothes and shoes into the three suitcases he had used to bring them over to our house seven months earlier, which had been gathering dust in the garage.
Despite my anxiety about the permanence of his absence, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to be being borderline giddy while removing his things from my dresser and closet. I tried not to show how I felt to Brooke, however, as her emotions were still very raw and it was unclear to me how she would feel about her decision to refuse Luke's demands and tell him to leave as time went on. She seemed resolute last night, but how would feel later today? Tomorrow? And in the days and weeks ahead?
To her credit (and, if I'm being honest, somewhat to my surprise), her resolve was firm. Until it wasn't. At which point it collapsed spectacularly, with major consequences. For Brooke. And for me.
The collapse didn't happen for nearly three months, however, and I didn't see Luke during that period (other than catching a glimpse of him once in town, getting out of his truck to walk into a restaurant). Although I was relieved that he was no longer around, it was jarring to have someone who had been such a dominant, and dominating, force in my life suddenly disappear, almost as if he had been some malevolent phantom.
Things started off promisingly enough that first Friday after Brooke had told him to leave. She and I went out that night at a nice French bistro two towns over, and had a romantic dinner and two bottles of Bordeaux. I was surprised that she wanted to drink multiple glasses of wine after being so hungover that morning. She described it as "a bit of the hair of the dog"; in retrospect, it probably should've been a warning sign.
That night when we got home, I went down on her. When we got to our -- "our", how nice to think of it that way again! -- bedroom, she noticed that I was still free of my chastity cage. As I stood before her in nothing but a pair of sheer, powder blue panties, fully tented, she made no demand that I be locked back up.
"Enjoy your freedom, honey," she said, gripping my cock and balls with her hand through the nylon. "No reason we both can't enjoy our liberation from Luke the douche. Of course, I reserve the right to lock my submissive knight back up at any time. That was a lovely meal tonight. Now, it's time for your dessert."
I dropped to my knees. Reclining on the bed, she pressed my head down between her legs firmly, and I went to work. I knew my tongue was no substitute for Luke's cock, but I put in extra effort, determined to use whatever tools I had at my disposal to help her try to forget him -- or, at a minimum, to not miss him too much. Judging from her moans, guttural at first and becoming increasingly high pitched, she was satisfied with my efforts that evening. Brooke then gave me a hand job (the first in many months), her fragrant, stocking-clad toes pressed up against my nose.
I was determined to do whatever else I could over the coming weeks and months to make sure that Brooke would not regret her decision to send Luke packing. If that meant reading every book out there to master the art of cunnilingus, I'd do it. If that meant buying a strap-on and letting Brooke take me anally, I'd do it. If that meant me penetrating her vaginally or anally with a strap-on -- my flesh and blood cock humiliatingly caged in its shadow -- I'd do it. If that meant playing the submissive cuckold to some other lover she found, I'd do it. I'd do whatever it took to keep her in my life and keep her satisfied and happy. My proud, beautiful, my exceptional Brooke. Over the next three months, we tried all of the above and more.
Ultimately, none of it was enough.
The balance of December was by and large wonderful, however, aside from my on-going servitude to my students. At least I was spared the additional humiliation of having to serve as Kevin's lackey (I hoped at the time that was something I would never have to endure again -- ah, the irony). When he came over to pick up Luke's suitcases on Saturday, Brooke and I were both home.
Brooke opened the door. "Well, if it isn't the little snitch."
Kevin smiled, "Nice to see you too, Brooke. I was just doing my job."
"I thought your job was plumbing, not spying on married couples having sex," Brooke replied.
"Luke's the boss. My job is whatever he asks me to do."
"Your spying days are over when it comes to Walter and me"
"Too bad, I was really looking forward to babysitting you two."
"I'll bet you were. Well, you'll just have to get your jollies some other way."
