Not knowing Owen's tastes, I prepared a basic menu of roasted chicken with potatoes and winter vegetables along with a salad. As it turned out, a bland, unexciting meal suited him perfectly well.
Brooke directed me to wear virtually the same waiter's uniform in which I had first served Luke dinner: tight white buttoned down shirt, black bow tie, tight black pants with an apron and barefoot. If anything, it was more humiliating than how I appeared before Luke, as this time my toenails were painted (a somewhat dark shade of) green and the bulk of my chastity cage was visible beneath my pants. Was this a test for me? For Owen?
I answered the door when Owen arrived, Brooke standing a few feet behind me in a form-fitting white sweater, short buttoned skirt, opaque gray tights and loafers, looking characteristically sexy.
"Hello, sir. My name is Walter. Welcome to our home. May I take your coat?," I said.
"Good to meet you, sir," Owen replied, shaking my hand firmly. I removed his coat and hung it up. He was wearing brown khakis, a navy blue polo shirt and brown leather shoes." He was an attractive young man, but if I passed him on the street I'm not sure I would have taken notice of him.
Brooke walked over and gave him a kiss on the lips, and then said, "I told you all about Walter. There's no need to call him 'sir.'"
"I guess I was raised to call all older ladies and gentlemen 'ma'am' and 'sir'. I told you, I grew up in the South." Indeed, he spoke with a faint southern accent.
"Well, there's no need to be a southern gentleman here with Walter -- or with me, for that matter. I want you to feel relaxed here. Walter, ask the man if he wants a drink."
"Of course, my apologies, sir. May I get you a beer or a glass a wine? We have a well stocked bar, so I'd also be happy to make you a cocktail."
"A beer is fine, thanks."
"We have Yuengling, Corona or Sierra Nevada IPA, sir. What is your preference?"
"It doesn't matter, whatever's easiest." I looked over at Brooke standing behind him and saw her roll her eyes.
"They're all here in our refrigerator, sir, so whatever you prefer," I replied.
"A Corona then, thanks. And you really don't don't need to call me 'sir,' Walter."
"Yes, he does," said Brooke, matter of factly, with a hint of irritation. "Get me another glass of wine when you bring Owen his beer. Serve them to us on a tray."
"Yes, dear."
"Why don't you call me 'Miss Brooke' tonight, Walter."
"Of course, Miss Brooke, and sir. I'll be right back with your drinks and some hors d'oeuvres." Rather than head immediately to the kitchen, I lingered momentarily to see how Owen would react to what was clearly a somewhat novel situation for him.
There are some hotwives, as they are known in the cuckold scene, who are indifferent to the nature of the relationship between their cuckold husband and their bull. Indeed, there are probably many who would be delighted if her husband and her lover had a respectful, perhaps even equal, relationship with each other, perhaps even be best buddies. Brooke decidedly did not fit into either of these categories. The power imbalance between the bull and the cuckold was central to the erotic experience for Brooke. And, as you have seen, she was also turned on by the power imbalance between the bull and herself. She wanted someone who would seize control of the situation and assert himself, perhaps with a dash of cruelty to spice things up.
"Wow, you're tough," Owen said with an awkward smile.
"Not at all," Brooke said, leading him over to the couch. "Remember, Walter is greatly indebted to you for giving me what he can't. He's at your service." She gave him a long kiss.
"I should be indebted to him," Owen said, returning the kiss.
As I went into the kitchen to get their drinks, I thought to myself how the evening was off to a less than promising start. I knew Brooke well enough to know that she was somewhat annoyed and disappointed. She could not help but compare Owen's politeness and relative passivity to Luke's eager willingness to belittle me the first time I served him dinner, indeed from the moment he walked through the door. By the end of that dinner, if you recall, Luke had assumed total control, forbidding me from addressing Brooke affectionately in his presence (that evening was the genesis of "Miss Brooke"), putting me on a diet and cutting me off from alcohol. And that was before the three of us went upstairs to the bedroom! There, he had me running in place in a pair of panties as he forcefully penetrated all of Brooke's orifices (with the exception of her nostrils, I suppose).
