Married Life 2

Married Life

Andy scrubbed vigorously at a stubborn spot on the marble kitchen counter, his frilly French maid uniform riding up slightly as he stretched. The black and white outfit had been Mistress Blue's idea—like everything else in his life these days. The feather duster tucked into his apron pocket bobbed with each movement, a ridiculous reminder of his station.

"Fuck me harder! Yes, right there!" Mistress Blue's voice carried through the ceiling, followed by the unmistakable rhythmic creaking of their king bed.

Andy hummed louder, an off-key rendition of some pop song he couldn't quite remember the words to. The inverted chastity cage pressed his cock painfully inward, the sensation intensifying with each of his wife's ecstatic cries. Eight months since he'd last been allowed an orgasm. Eight months of serving, watching, and aching.

"Jesus Christ, baby, you're so fucking tight!"

A deep male voice this time. Marcus or Jake—Andy couldn't tell them apart anymore. They both had the same cocky swagger when they arrived, the same pitying glances thrown his way as he took their coats and offered drinks like a proper host.

The humming wasn't working. Andy turned on the vacuum, drowning the sounds momentarily in mechanical whirring. Three years into marriage and this was their normal. His beautiful redheaded wife upstairs taking her pleasure with men who could satisfy her in ways he apparently couldn't, while he cleaned their home in women's clothing, his manhood compressed into painful submission.

"FUCK, I'M CUMMING AGAIN!" Mistress Blue's voice somehow cut through even the vacuum's noise.

Andy felt the familiar twist of simultaneous arousal and humiliation. He'd signed up for this—literally signed the contract after their fourth date. Mistress Blue had seen right through his corporate facade to the submissive core he'd spent years denying. Now she owned everything: his orgasms, his dignity, his checking account.

The vacuum shut off automatically when it overheated. Perfect timing.

"Switch places, I want you both to bend me over and fuck my holes form behind!"

Andy grimaced and moved to the downstairs bathroom. There was toothpaste crusted on the faucet. He'd focus on that. Focus on anything except the imagery flooding his mind and the desperate, confined twitching between his legs that served only to increase his discomfort.

Andy had moved on to reorganizing the pantry—a task Mistress Blue insisted be done weekly. His knees ached from kneeling on the hard tile, methodically arranging canned goods by expiration date. The sounds from upstairs had evolved into a symphony of slaps, moans, and bed springs that seemed to go on forever.

Eventually, blessed silence fell. Andy paused, listening for any commands from upstairs. Nothing came.

The front door of the pantry creaked as he extracted himself, dusting off the front of his uniform. His thighs chafed where the lace trim of his stockings bit into his flesh. The cage pressed painfully against him, a constant reminder of his place.

Heavy footsteps descended the stairs. Jake and Marcus appeared in the kitchen doorway, fully dressed, hair still damp with sweat. Jake's muscular arm was draped casually over Marcus's shoulder, both sporting the satisfied smirk of men who'd just devoured a five-course meal.

"Well, if it isn't the little maid." Jake's eyes raked over Andy's costume. "Busy with your chores while the men handled business upstairs?"

Marcus snorted. "Nice outfit. The ruffles really bring out your bitch qualities."

Andy forced himself to lower his eyes. "Can I get you gentlemen anything before you leave?" His voice came out higher than he'd intended.

"Nah, we're good." Jake stepped closer. "No clean up for you today, by the way."

"Yeah," Marcus added, "we both finished in her mouth. She swallowed everything like the good girl she is."

The casual way they discussed his wife made Andy's stomach clench. The cage bit into him painfully as his body betrayed him with an involuntary twitch.

Jake leaned in, his cologne overwhelming. "Oh, we had a nice chat with Jess about you."

"Jess?" The name slipped out before Andy could stop himself. He wasn't allowed to use her real name anymore.

"Yeah, Jess." Jake emphasized the forbidden name. "We were talking about upgrading your... situation."

Marcus's smile widened. "She loves the idea of turning you into a proper sissy. Full-time. And making you worship our cocks."

"Think you'd like that, Andy?" Jake's voice dropped to a mock whisper. "Learning to suck cock while wearing your pretty little outfits?"

Andy's face went pale. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

"Look at him! He's actually considering it!" Marcus laughed.

"See you soon, sissy." Jake winked as they headed for the door. "Real soon."

The front door closed behind them with a definitive click.

"ANDY! Get your ass up here NOW!"

The command sliced through the quiet house like a whip crack. Andy's heart lurched in his chest, but his lips curled into a small, secret smile. The pantry could wait. He smoothed down his ridiculous uniform and hurried toward the stairs.

Five years together, three years married, and he had never once been inside her. Not sexually. Not even once. Their courtship had been a swift descent into his submission—her terms made crystal clear on their forth date when she'd looked him dead in the eyes over expensive cocktails and said, "If we continue seeing each other, you should know I'll be fucking other men. That's non-negotiable."

He'd nearly choked on his drink. And then he'd nearly cum in his pants.

The stairs creaked under his weight as he ascended. Every Saturday was the same ritual of degradation. The preparation of drinks, the taking of coats, the sounds that filtered through the ceiling while he busied himself with chores. He hated Saturdays. He also lived for them.

"Coming, Mistress!" His voice carried up the stairwell.

Their wedding night, she'd locked him in chastity and brought home a stranger from the bar. Andy had listened from the hallway as she consummated their marriage with someone else. When it was over, she'd made him clean her with his tongue, tasting another man's release but never allowed to create his own.

He reached their bedroom door, knocking softly before entering.

Mistress Blue lounged naked on their rumpled sheets, her red hair splayed across the pillows like spilled wine. Her skin glistened with post-coital sweat, her expression one of sated satisfaction.

"The boys tell me you've been eavesdropping."

Andy lowered his gaze. "I was cleaning, Mistress."

"Bullshit. You were listening to me get fucked properly. Something you'll never experience." She stretched like a cat, making no effort to cover herself. "Do you know why I married you, Andy?"

"Because..." He swallowed hard. "Because you saw what I needed."

She laughed, the sound both beautiful and cruel. "I saw what you are. A man who needs to be reminded of his place. A man who gets hard from being denied what other men take for granted."

It was true. God help him, it was true. He had chosen this sick paradise where his cock remained untouched by the woman he loved more than anything. Where their intimacy existed in the power she wielded over him rather than in the traditional exchanges of pleasure.

"Come here," she commanded.

Andy approached the bed, each step sending ripples of anticipation through him. The lace trim of his maid uniform brushed against his thighs as he positioned himself at the edge of the mattress. Mistress Blue's eyes glittered with predatory interest.

Without warning, her hand shot out and cupped his balls through the thin fabric. Her fingers tightened slowly, deliberately, like a vise being cranked.

"Where are those tears, slave?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Your pathetic blue balls must be so fucking sensitive by now. Eight months without release has to feel like absolute torture."

Her grip intensified. Andy's breath caught in his throat as pain bloomed outward from his groin.

"Your balls are practically useless anyway." She squeezed harder, her nails digging in. "They're just decoration at this point. Little ornaments I keep around to hurt when I'm bored."

Andy bit his lip, fighting the inevitable.

"You know what makes me wet? Knowing these swollen, aching nuts are all backed up with cum you'll never get to shoot." Her smile widened as she applied more pressure. "All that built-up sperm just dying inside you, day after day."

The pain escalated from uncomfortable to unbearable. Tears welled in Andy's eyes as his knees began to buckle.

"That's it." She twisted slightly, her expression growing more aroused. "Let me see what a pathetic little bitch you really are."

The first tear spilled over, then another. Andy's face contorted as he finally broke.

"Please stop, Mistress! Please!" The words tumbled out between ragged gasps. "It hurts so much!"

"Does it?" She feigned surprise, increasing the pressure further. "I could just crush these worthless things right now. Not like you're using them for anything but storage." She laughed at her own joke. "Maybe I should just pop them like grapes."

"Please—I can't—" Andy sobbed openly now, tears streaming down his reddened face.

Suddenly, she released her grip. Andy collapsed to his knees, hands hovering protectively over his groin, not daring to touch without permission.

"Thank you, Mistress," he gasped through his tears. "Thank you."

She wiped her hand on the bedsheet as if touching him had soiled her. "Don't thank me yet. We're just getting started with today's entertainment."

Mistress Blue rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. Her crimson hair cascaded over her naked shoulder while her eyes narrowed with cruel anticipation.

"Floor," she commanded with a casual flick of her wrist. "Now."

Andy's stomach knotted. The daily ritual. After she fucked other men, after she tormented his balls, after she reduced him to tears—this final humiliation awaited. He lowered himself to the carpet beside their bed, flat on his back, still wearing the ridiculous maid outfit.

"Good boy." She swung her legs off the bed and stood over him, feet planted on either side of his head. "Look at you down there—right where you belong."

Andy stared up at her perfect body, at the trimmed red patch between her legs still glistening with her arousal. His position felt horribly natural now—beneath her, looking up, waiting to serve.

Mistress Blue slowly lowered herself, hovering inches above his face.

"They fucked me so good," she whispered, rotating her hips in a small circle above him. "Got me nice and messy. Bet you can smell them on me, can't you?"

She didn't wait for an answer before dropping down completely, her ass pressing directly against his mouth and nose.

"Lick it." Her voice hardened. "Get that tongue deep in my asshole like the toilet paper you are."

Andy's tongue darted out, circling her puckered opening before pushing inside. The musky, bitter taste filled his mouth as he worked his tongue in deeper, knowing exactly how she liked it.

"That's right, eat my hole," she moaned, grinding down harder. "This is what you're good for. Not fucking, not pleasure—just being my personal ass cleaner."

She reached back and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his face tighter against her.

"How's that inverted cage treating you? Pushing that useless dick back inside where it belongs?" She laughed, a genuinely amused sound. "Your cock's getting shorter every day. Soon there'll be nothing left but a little dimple, like a pussy."

Andy moaned involuntarily against her ass, his tongue never stopping its humiliating work.

"You know what Marcus told me? Said he's never seen a more pathetic excuse for a man." She ground down harder. "Said your dick probably wouldn't even register as male anymore. That I should just put you in panties full-time and be done with it."

His cock throbbed painfully in its compressed prison, trying desperately to respond even as it was forced inward.

"Can you feel it dissolving away? All that manhood just... disappearing?" She sighed with theatrical pleasure. "That's what happens when you don't use it, slave. It shrivels up and dies like the rest of your dignity."

Mistress Blue rocked her hips harder, smothering Andy's face completely beneath her ass. His nose pressed deep into her crack as his tongue worked frantically to please her. The humiliation burned through him like wildfire, setting every nerve ending alight with that peculiar mix of shame and arousal that had become his daily sustenance.

"You know what's funny?" She reached back and grabbed his hair, yanking his head up slightly to make sure his tongue hit exactly where she wanted. "When we first met, you had that big corporate job. Remember? All those people reporting to you? And look at you now—face-deep in my asshole on a Saturday afternoon."

She ground down harder, cutting off his air for several terrifying seconds before lifting up just enough to let him gasp.

"I've got a special treat for you today, slave." Her voice took on that dangerous sweetness he'd learned to both crave and fear. "I'm going to unlock that pathetic excuse for a cock and have some fun with it. Would you like that?"

His stomach flipped. Eight months. Eight months since he'd felt anything but the cruel compression of the inverted cage.

"Yes, Mistress," he breathed against her flesh, relief and terror battling for dominance in his mind. "Please."

"Thought so." She lifted herself off his face and stood, looking down at him with amused contempt. "Strip. Take off that ridiculous outfit and get on the bed. Naked."

Andy fumbled with the buttons of the maid costume, his fingers trembling. The thick black stockings rolled down his hairy legs, creating an absurd contrast that he knew Mistress Blue found particularly humiliating. Finally, the last piece came off—everything except the cold metal cage compressing his manhood inward.

She walked to their wardrobe, her naked form moving with casual confidence. "Anything involving your pathetic cock means I won't be naked." She pulled out an oversized nightie that hung to mid-thigh, pulling it over her head. "You don't deserve that privilege."

The thin fabric did little to hide her curves, but the symbolic barrier was what mattered. Andy lay back on the bed, heart racing, the cage a constant reminder of his position even as he anticipated its temporary removal.

"Now." Her green eyes flashed as she approached the bed. "Let's see what's left of you after all this time."

Mistress Blue reached for the thin silver chain around her neck, pulling it out from beneath her nightie. The small key dangled between her breasts, catching the afternoon light. Andy's eyes fixed on it—that tiny metal object that controlled his entire existence.

She leaned over him, letting the key swing teasingly. The metal felt cold when it brushed against his stomach. Her fingers traveled down to the inverted cage, tapping it with her fingernail. The sound—metal against metal—made him flinch.

"God, I almost forgot what this contraption looks like." Her fingers pressed the device deeper, making him wince. "Pushing everything back inside, training your body to forget what it once was."

The key slid into the lock with a clinical precision. A half-twist and the mechanism clicked. The front plate loosened, and she pulled it away with deliberate slowness.

"Jesus Christ," she snorted. "It's practically concave in there."

The removal was uncomfortable—the device had been compressing him inward for so long that the sudden freedom felt unnatural. His penis had adapted to its prison, flesh molded into an unnatural inward curve. As the last piece came away, his cock sprang outward with painful urgency, instantly hard after months of confinement.

"Would you look at that?" She flicked his painfully sensitive glans with her finger. "Eight months locked up and it still remembers its one purpose—embarrassing you."

She reached toward the bedside drawer, extracting a clear plastic ruler.

"Let's see what we're working with here." She pressed the ruler against the base of his shaft, the cold plastic a shock against his fevered skin. "Hmm, not even four inches. Four pathetic inches of manhood right there."

She showed him the measurement—3.8 inches, the ruler's edge digging into his pubic bone for maximum accuracy.

"You know, Marcus measured nine and a half last week. Jake's just over nine." She casually tossed the ruler aside. "Literally more than double what you're packing. No wonder I need real men to satisfy me."

Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, barely needing to close to encompass it fully.

"It's like a child's toy compared to what I've been enjoying. Just a little dick for a little man." She squeezed tighter. "Did you know Jake can actually hit my cervix? That's something you'll never experience—the feeling of being so deep inside a woman that she gasps because you've reached parts no one else has touched."

Andy moaned, his cock throbbing painfully in her grip.

"You're leaking already?" She laughed, pointing at the bead of pre-cum forming at his tip. "Fucking pathetic."

Her eyes gleamed with predatory anticipation as she released his cock and turned toward the bedside table. Andy's blood turned to ice when he saw what her fingers closed around.

"No," he whispered, instinctively trying to pull away. "Please, not that."

The silver rod caught the afternoon light as she held it up between them. Seven inches of smooth, unyielding steel that seemed to grow thicker the longer he stared at it.

"What's wrong, slave?" A slow, cruel smile spread across her face. "You look scared."

"Mistress, please." His voice cracked. "Anything but that. We talked about this—you promised."

She twirled the sounding rod between her fingers, studying his expression with clinical detachment. "Did I? I remember you begging me not to do this. I remember you saying it was your hard limit." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a silken whisper. "But I don't recall making any promises."

Andy's chest tightened. That familiar panic began to rise—the same fear he'd expressed during countless conversations when they'd negotiated their power exchange. The one thing he couldn't handle. The one violation too far.

"Please, I'll do anything else. Anything." Desperation clawed at his throat. "You know how much this terrifies me."

"That's precisely why it's happening." Mistress Blue reached for the lubricant beside the bed. "Your fear makes my pussy wet."

She squeezed a generous amount onto the steel rod, the clear gel dripping obscenely down its length. With her other hand, she grasped his still-hard cock, holding it upright.

"My slutty slave—terrified but still hard as granite." She positioned the tip of the rod at his urethra. "Your body's betraying all your big talk about limits."

Andy's entire body trembled. "I can't—"

"Breathe," she commanded, suddenly serious. "If you tense up, this will hurt far more than it needs to."

The cold touch of lubricated steel against his opening sent shockwaves of panic through him. He tried to wrench away, but her grip tightened painfully around his shaft.

"Move again and I'll make this hurt," she warned. "Stay. Fucking. Still."

With exquisite care that contradicted her cruelty, Mistress Blue began to slide the metal rod into his urethra. The initial intrusion burned despite the lubrication—a strange, invasive pain unlike anything he'd experienced.

"Jesus, you're tight," she muttered, carefully manipulating the rod with practiced precision. "Relax your muscles."

Tears spilled down Andy's cheeks as inch after unforgiving inch disappeared inside him. The violation was complete, intimate in a way that transcended even their most extreme power exchanges. His hard limit shattered with each millimeter of penetration.