Driving home, Darrell Plunkett certainly hoped that Bootsie had changed her mind. He knew that Bootsie was jealous of Thelma; Darrell's secretary was quite a dish, and sweet and charming in a way that his wife wasn't though of course Bootsie served Darrell's needs well.
"You know it depends on you, Darrell." Bootsie had said, smiling the night before. "If you want to have a release, you have to do it on my terms. We've always done it that way, and if you want to continue with your chastity training, we always will!"
Darrell was, or at least he thought, a normal, athletic guy—he loved football, darts, and had been the president of his fraternity. But he'd had a need, an almost pressuring need to be a slave boy. It had really fucked with him growing up.
When he'd asked his wife to experiment with playing dominatrix, Bootsie had been quite skeptical. "Why is it" she'd asked "that a man will order you to dominate him, and he's still in charge? That's the way it always is, isn't it?"
"I just need discipline." Darrell had said at first, and Bootsie had raised her eyebrows. Bootsie was an attractive woman, she was no Thelma , but she had thick red curls, and formidable breasts...and Darrell had had to take her out many times before he'd been allowed to touch them!
When they'd married, the practical Elizabeth "Bootsie " Cottrell, daughter of a famous financier, had taken Darrell's debt-ridden credit cards and cut them up—there were way too many old debts for liquor stores, strip-clubs and "working girls"
Bootsie had not been judgmental, but she'd told Darrell—"I'll pay all this off, all seven thousand dollars of your foolish debt, and you give me your paycheck, and I'll give you a reasonable allowance."
So Bootsie had known that Darrell had disciplinary needs. But it had been a surprise to her how he proposed she deal with them. Darrell had brought in a thin plank of wood from the back yard, and had handed it to her.
"My mom used to spank me with something like this." Darrell had said. "It hurts, but doesn't do a lot of permanent damage." How Freudian, Bootsie had thought. But she'd tapped the thin plank in her hands and looked expectantly at Darrell, who had then taken off all his clothes and lay across her desk.
Bootsie had stood up, tucking in her sweater, which emphasized her full breasts, and told Darrell what a lazy, good for nothing he was, and he'd nodded reluctantly. And then she'd begun whipping him!
After seven swats, Darrell was blubbering, after twelve; he was banging his fists on the desk, begging her to stop, but at no time did he take the plank away from Bootsie as he might have done.
After all. Darrell was an athlete, he'd been a high school varsity fullback, and Bootsie weighed about one hundred twelve soaking wet. But he'd just banged his fists, kicked his legs and begged her to stop, and after she saw the first trickle of blood on his damaged bottom, she'd reluctantly put down the plank.
Apparently Bootsie had a lot of anger!
And then Darrell, instead of bitch-slapping Bootsie for going too far as some men would do, had bent over on his knees and kissed her feet, and thanked her for making him a better man... and he'd taken her to bed and gone down on her for an hour!
A week later, Bootsie had brought out the plank again, on her own volition, because Darrell had stayed out too late with his male co-workers and came home with Scotch on his breath.
She'd told him when they married that she wanted him to drink only with her at parties and special occasions, but of course Darrell was difficult to reach at times. "Take down your pants, Darrell. You're going to learn to listen to your wife."
The whipping she'd given Darrell had made him howl and cry, and then she'd sent him to the corner while she'd enjoyed a gin and tonic. And then of course he'd performed between her legs again, penitently, and he'd not even argued when she'd made him quit the darts league and the bowling club...he could stay home with her instead.
"What do you mean, cock and ball torture?" Bootsie asked to Darrell's next request. He was standing in front of her, looking rather foolish with his penis hanging out in front of her, and she'd began toying with his penis.
As Darrell had become more aroused, Bootsie had asked him questions about CBT, about points of contact on the testicles, and she'd stroked his thickening penis. "This certainly is interesting, this punishment business."
"Well, you could just stroke it." Darrell said, as he closed his eyes, thinking how pleasant hand jobs could be. TWANK! Darrell's eyes opened all of a sudden, Darrell's penis had been assaulted by...what was it?
Jesus, she'd taken off her heavy gold chain and looped it in one hand while stroking his balls with the other, and then SWUNG it on his dick! SWACK! Again, the heavy gold chain hit the knob of Darrell's penis.
Darrell had gritted his teeth, and then he smiled "Honey, you don't have to um, start so hard...you can go gently you know." Bootsie looked up and smiled at him.
She resumed the gentle stroking, her soft fingers finding the vulnerable spots on his swollen penis, and again, he foolishly closed his eyes...that were nice...maybe she would be nice now.
BONK! WHAPPITY WHAP! Darrell's eyes opened in new horror. "Don't move, I've got something going on here" Bootsie had said. Long an intolerant critic of Darrell's "wasted" hours spent playing the drums with his old college chums, Bootsie had borrowed the sticks.
Bootsie drummed Darrell's penis excitedly with the drumsticks, the tips of the sticks banging and jabbing at his hard cock. Darrell tried to move back, but Bootsie reached out and whacked his bare hip with one of the sticks.
"Don't you move back. I've got a rhythm here." Bootsie slammed away at Darrell's unfortunate penis with the sticks, harder and harder. "Can't get no satisfaction" Bootsie sung...finally she threw the sticks down, and guided Darrell by the ear to the bedroom, where she ordered him to lie on the bed on his back.
Bootsie tied Darrell's wrists to the headboard and sat down, stroking his wounded penis. "I know this is going to be a true learning experience for me...I'm very excited about feeding your perversion.."
"Paraphilia" Darrell amended. Bootsie smiled and continued to stroke his penis. "Whatever you call it, darling. I certainly have noticed that you are more interested in me when I mistreat you, and that's peculiar. But hey, I learn something new every day."
Bootsie reached down and pulled Darrell's long leather belt out of the loops of his discarded pants, and doubled it in her delicate little hand. "Your penis looks so white and vulnerable, doesn't it honey?" she'd asked.
Darrell didn't know what to respond so he just lay there. Sometimes that was just the safest thing. Or not! WHACK! THWACK! The belt came down. Oh no, buckle first.
Darrell tried to move, but of course he was locked against the headboard.
"Its fun, watching you dance" Bootsie said as she slammed the tip of Darrell's dick with the leather belt. "You can really move around a lot while locked to that headboard. It might be good aerobics for you, you know?"
When it came to chastity training, which really excited Darrell, and he talked about it ad nauseum to his lovely wife, she'd opened his package from the PainCafe's Dungeonopolis gift shop. "You're sure about this?"
Darrell had nodded his head, and she'd locked it on him. The first time, she'd kept him in chastity for eighteen agonizing days. "You know, you're supposed to start with like, three days or maybe a week locking me up." Darrell had hinted broadly.
"Topping from the bottom?" Bootsie had asked, smiling broadly. "I don't think so."
About a week into his eighteen day stretch, Bootsie tied Darrell's naked body to the kitchen stool, and she unlocked the chastity belt and stroked his dick for awhile. "What's it like not being able to play with your pee-pee, Darrell?"
