Chivalry Is on Life Support

I told Brooke that I would reach out to Luke the very next day and relay her message to him, and that I would join her in begging him to come back, if necessary. I assured her that I would not fail in convincing him to come back, no matter what it took. She thanked me quietly. As I looked down on her lying on the bed, her look of exhaustion and defeat remained, but I couldn't help but notice her nipples harden beneath her thin T-shirt. And I would be lying if I didn't admit that my cock stiffened as well, as I considered the implications of Luke's possible return. Even the anticipation of surrender had its effect on both of us.

I wondered if she would feel any differently about her decision in the morning, but she did not. However, she was clearly concerned that Luke would still be willing to return.

"It's been nearly three months. What if he's no longer interested? What if his new girlfriend has made him forget about me?"

"I sincerely doubt that, Brooke." Any sentient man being able to forget about Brooke was simply incomprehensible to me (no matter who else may have entered his life).

"He always said I was the best fuck he ever had. What if that's no longer true?"

"Luke is the kind of guy who wants as much as he can get. He told you that his new girlfriend was perfectly fine with him continuing to stay here. Which means continuing to sleep with you. Why would that have changed?"

"Maybe you're right. He enjoys sleeping with me. Or, I should say, he enjoys fucking me. But I think the main reason he showed up as the plumbing contractor at our house that day, the real reason he came he up with his whole crazy scheme to reenter my life, and to enter yours, was revenge."

"What do you mean?"

"When I made the decision to divorce him, I think it really shell shocked him. It was one of the few times in his life -- maybe the only time, about something truly consequential, at least -- where he wasn't the one calling the shots. Where he wasn't in control of the situation. He hated that. And deeply resented it. So he decided to make me pay. And since you're the one I ended up marrying, he decided to make you pay as well. As I've said before, it's all about control and domination with Luke."

"So, if we are now in an even weaker position with him, that should make him happy, right?"

"That's what I'm guessing. That's what I'm hoping. It's crazy, isn't it?"

"It is what it is."

"I hate that that expression."

"I do too. But sometimes it fits."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, I'm going to call him and ask him to meet with me this morning."

"I really dread meeting this cunt."

"Maybe she won't be that bad."

"Hmph." She rolled her eyes with annoyance. "Maybe she'll be worse."

We ate the rest of our breakfast in silence. But when I got up from my chair, she looked panicked again. "Walter, what if he says he won't come back?"

"He won't say that, darling. He'll come back."

"But what if he really doesn't?"

"Then we'll figure things out. We'll get through it together. But he WILL come back. I promise."

"You really are my knight, aren't you?", she said and kissed me tenderly.

"I'm going to call him when I get to my office. I love you, honey. I'll call you later."

Luke answered his mobile phone on the second ring. The conversation lasted 30 seconds, but he agreed to meet with me in person as I requested without hesitation.

Driving to meet him in my Prius, I was a knight on a mission for my lady, one that almost felt like a matter of life and death. I told myself that it was irrelevant that my mission was to grovel to a stronger man, beg him to reclaim my castle, to fuck and debase my lady and to treat me as his lowly servant. This is what my lady desired, possibly even needed; failure was not an option.

I suppose that I shouldn't have been surprised when Luke told me to meet him at O'Riordans Pub -- the very same place Paul Betz had chosen to meet to determine the particulars of my servitude to him and Anna last fall. I was a bit surprised all the same, expecting Luke to pick a slightly more upscale venue.

But the bartender didn't hesitate when I ordered a Gentleman Jack neat. I had gotten to the pub 15 minutes early to make sure I secured a table and could have Luke's drink waiting for him when he arrived. Supplicant that I was, I even considered for a moment waiting for him on my knees next to the table, but decided that would be over the top (and might get me kicked out of the place). It would also have been unduly uncomfortable, as Luke kept me waiting for 20 minutes. He was habitually punctual, so this was undoubtedly a power play to cause me anxiety that he might not show up. It worked. It was a cold February day, but I found myself sweating profusely as the minutes passed.

I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally walked through the door and looked around to find me.

"Here, sir," I yelled, like an idiot, with a little wave to get his attention. It worked, but also attracted the attention of several of the young men and women drinking at the bar or at the tables around me in the semi crowded pub. I could feel their stares of amusement as I beckoned Luke over, hoping none of my current or former students were among them. I was also nervous that Paul would walk through the door and see me there with Luke. I can't really explain why this possibility made me nervous, other than it being simply yet another convergence of the different streams of my subservience.

Luke extended his hand and firmly shook mine. "It's been a minute, prof," he said as he squeezed my sweaty hand.

"Yes, sir. I took the liberty of ordering you a Gentleman Jack."

"Good thinking, prof. What about you? The wine here probably sucks. But what about a cold beer? You look like you could use one; you're sweating like a pig."

"Thanks, sir. I think I'll stick with water."

"Hey, you're not sick, are you? The last fucking thing I need right now is to catch something."

"No sir, I feel fine...I mean, I'm not sick, just incredibly nervous."

"Nervous? Why should you be nervous about seeing your old buddy Luke?" He smiled at me smugly.

"I'm nervous, sir, because I have something...something critically important to request of you?"

"Gee, I wonder what that could be?," he said, as he took a sip of his drink, his smug smile intact.

"On behalf of Brooke, and myself, I humbly request that you move your things back into our house."

"Well, well. I'm surprised it took Brooke so long. I really am. I don't know what's more pathetic: that she doesn't have the guts to make this "humble request," as you call it, to me directly, or that you're such a loser that you're doing it for her."

"Brooke asked me to tell you that she's begging you to come back. That you were 100% right, and she was 100% wrong. I'm begging you to come back, too. I'm worried about her, Luke. I mean, sir."

"What do you mean, worried?"

"She's not herself any more...without...without you around. She's depressed. She's drinking a lot. Too much."

"What do you mean by 'a lot'?"

"She drinks nearly every day now, mostly scotch and vodka. Usually several drinks. Sometimes so much that she's violently ill. I've seen her passed out a few times. It scares me, sir."

"The dumb slut." Looking at his expression, I couldn't tell if he was pleased to hear this -- the effect he had on her -- or if he shared my serious concerns about Brooke's health.. A bit of both, I suspected.

"So, let me get this straight. She divorces me and tells me to leave my house. My fucking house. Then, I graciously give her a second chance and she tells me to leave again. Now she's begging me to come back again. It takes a lot of fucking nerve. I guess I can sort of understand why she doesn't have the courage to do it herself. She must think I'm a moron."

"Not at all, sir! She is sort of a mess right now. Otherwise, I'm sure she'd be talking to you now instead of me. The only reason she asked you to leave this last time, sir, was because of your new girlfriend. I think she's jealous, and has -- or, I should say, had -- a hard time...a hard time accepting what you expect from her with regards to your new girlfriend."

"You mean a hard time agreeing to submit to her."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't get it. I can fuck your wife in the ass while standing on her face, slap her around, make her suck my toes, whatever. But, for some reason, she has a real bug up her ass when it comes to letting another woman dominate her, even a little. When we were married, I tried to convince her a few times to do a threesome with another chick. She always refused me. She doesn't seem to like pussy."

"Yes, sir, maybe you're right. Are you still seeing her, sir? The woman you met in December?"

"You're damn right I am."

"Does that mean you're no longer interested in sleeping with Brooke?" There, I asked the critical question, terrified of his possible answer.

"Fuck no, it doesn't mean that. I explained that to the dumb slut from the start. My new girlfriend and I are fuck buddies. We both sleep with other people. She doesn't care if I continue to fuck your wife, as long as she gets to join the party."

Thank goodness! "So, nothing's changed in that respect, sir, over the last couple of months?"

"I wouldn't say that, prof. What's changed is that Brooke refused my demands, and asked me to move my stuff out. It hurt my feelings. I'm a very sensitive guy, prof. Didn't you know that? It also hurt the feelings of my girlfriend. She was really looking forward to having fun with Brooke, and you."

"Does that mean you're not willing to come back anymore?", I asked nervously.

"Well now, that all depends, prof. For me to agree to come back after being rejected by your dumb slut of a wife for a second time, there would have to be consequences. Serious consequences. I don't like being rejected or refused. I don't like it one fucking bit. I do miss her sweet tits, and her ass. I miss your foot massages, too, prof. And your cooking. So, I might consider coming back, under the right circumstances. But if I did agree to it, Brooke would have to understand something very important: she wouldn't get a third chance. If she asked me to leave a third time, that would be it. For good. Three fucking strikes and you're out. Do you think the dumb slut is capable of understanding that?"

As much as it enraged me to hear Luke call Brooke a "dumb slut" -- when I had no doubt that she has a much higher IQ than him -- I simply replied, "Yes, sir, I know she's capable of understanding that. I'm sure she knows it instinctively, but I will make certain that she knows your position explicitly."

"Hold on, prof. That's only relevant IF I agree to come back. Like I said, I'd only consider it now under the right circumstances. Gotta be consequences, as I said. When I told Brooke in December that I expected her to submit to my girlfriend, I was envisioning mostly in the bedroom. Now, in order to make up for our hurt feelings, it would have to be more than just fun and games in the bedroom. And it would have to be more intense. Do you catch my drift?"

"I understand, sir, and I'm sure that would not be problem. Brooke said she would be willing to accept any conditions required by you, AND your girlfriend -- she said that very clearly -- if you would agree to come back. The way she put it, sir, is that the two of you should quote unquote 'lay out the terms of my surrender' and that she would offer no resistance."

"'Terms of her surrender'. I like that, prof. Sort of makes me feel like a conquering general or something. But it's not only up to her, prof. It would seriously affect you, too. Things would be very different than before. It wouldn't be pleasant for you, most of the time. For either of you."

"I understand that, sir. I'm completely willing to accept whatever conditions Brooke accepts. I'd work tirelessly to make you feel that you made the right decision in agreeing to come back. I'd make sure your girlfriend feels welcome in our home."

"Welcome?! She'd need to feel a lot more than just welcome, for fuck's sake. I'd expect you and your stupid slut of wife to make her feel like a queen -- in your home, in my home or anywhere else the four of us are together. Capiche?"

"Yes, sir. That's what I meant to say. I completely understand."

"I'll take your request under consideration and discuss it with my girlfriend."

"Thank you, sir, sincerely. It would mean so much -- to both of us."

As we parted ways, Luke asked, "How is your book coming along, prof?"

"Thank you for asking, sir. Truthfully, I've been struggling to write lately. I think I have a bit of writer's block."

"Well, if I did agree to come back, you'd get to observe what happens in a submissive cuckquean relationship. Because that's sort of what Brooke would be. I mean I'd still fuck her and all, but not as often. And my girlfriend would have a say in when, and how, she gets off. Sort of like me with you. It would be some new material for your book, maybe could help you with your block. Were you planning on writing about cuckqueans in your book, or only cuckolds?"

Luke sometimes truly surprised me. In fact, I had not considered including a chapter about submissive cuckqueans before then. But it made perfect sense. The cuckquean fetish/lifestyle has been exploding in popularity in recent years, if the erotic story sites and Reddit forums are any indication (as I'm convinced they are). I had come across very little in the available scholarly literature about female knights, so there was less of a clear connection to chivalry with cuckqueans than with cuckolds. But given the increasingly broad direction my new book had been taking, did that even matter? And when I really thought about it, even The Little Foot Page character has a hint of submissive chivalry about her, laboriously walking on foot while her lover rode on horse. I resolved to do more research into female knights. And to give serious consideration to Luke's suggestion about including cuckqueans in my book.

"I had not thought about it, sir. But you may indeed be onto something. Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it, prof. I'll let you know our decision soon."

When I got home, I filled Brooke in on the details of my conversation with Luke, including his high level expectations and conditions should he magnanimously agree to give us another chance -- another chance at domination, humiliation and servitude, but now at a different level of intensity, with a new participant. A new master, or mistress, to serve. A new player in the game. Of course, high level expectations were one thing; the devil is usually in the details.

The two of us sitting on our bed, Brooke groaned as I shared some of the conditions Luke set forth, especially about treating his girlfriend as a queen and Luke giving her a say in how often Brooke could orgasm. As the extent and depth of the potential humiliation she was agreeing to sunk in, she shed some tears. Tears partly of resentment and anger, no doubt. But her nipples were fully erect. Apparently, despair and resentment were not mutually exclusive with arousal in my complex Brooke. Indeed, this had been true with me as well during many of the unjust humiliations and punishments I had endured after Luke arrived on the scene.

Her eyes still wet with tears, Brooke grabbed my hair gently and guided my head down to her crotch. When I pulled down her panties and started to lick, I discovered that her was pussy was soaking wet. Squeezing her nipples, she moaned and tossed her head back and forth as I worked with my tongue. She screamed a little with the intensity of her orgasm, her face was still wet with tears.

Luke called me the following day, and said, "I'm coming over tomorrow night to negotiate terms. Or, to let you know what they are, at any rate. I'll be there at 7, in time for one of your delicious dinners. I haven't had a good steak in a while. I'm sure the two of you will do your very best to make me feel welcome."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

When I told Brooke the news, she cried again. But this time they were mostly tears of joy. I cried a little too, tears of relief. Not three months ago, I was celebrating Luke's exile, relishing the thought of no longer being a slave in my own home. Now I was celebrating the prospect of his triumphant return, with a whole new level of enslavement -- for me, and for my lady.

Funny, what life can throw at you.