Mistress Styles and the Humbler

Styles. who'd gone by surname only since her Army days, smiled as she looked at her unfortunate husband, the ex-playboy Busby Letourneau.

Busby moved uncomfortably on the hard kitchen stool. The seat was so small and of course his hands were tied behind his back, and it was a delicate balance.

Styles stroked her husband's engorged cock and grinned, her tongue poking between her teeth in a way that Busby found quite titillating.

A short, curvy redhead, Styles knew her hubby's eyes were glazed as she danced around, teasing him to near insanity.

"See, I'm not mad at you, baby." Styles twiddled her forefingers just under Busby's glans.

"I understand all this zooming around in your silly convertible is a big male thing, driving our insurance through the roof."

"I'm sorry I got a speeding ticket-"

"The third one this year."

"No, one of those was a parking ticket, Styles-"

Styles lightly slapped Busby's cheek. "Don't interrupt, honeybun. It's the little things that annoy me. " Styles, who was puffing a Newport in the side of her mouth, poked it in Busby's dick for emphasis.

"At the mall last weekend, trying to buy a fucking lamp and you were all over the sales girl. It was disgusting, and that's more macho bullshit."

"Styles, please-"

"I work so hard with you, Busby. Hours of training. You want to be a submissive? I can deal with that, but you are a really slow learner."

"I-it's complicated being a submissive. I'm also other things, and it's a compartment of me."

Styles pinched Busby's right nipple and giggled.

"You are a full-on sissy boy, masquerading as, I don't know, a boulevardier, stud-muffin, but let's face it, you really need to be stomped by me, you little doormat."

"I don't need-"

Styles jerked the head of Busby's dick a bit, laughing.

Busby had a guiche piercing on his penis that kept him from cumming, while freeing his dick so he could be teased and tormented by his glorious spouse.

"It's just so much work. Trying to tamp down that bloated ego. I put you in garters and heels, and I had you prancing around for the week of our vacation, trying to remind you that you are, at heart, just a sissy-queer, and then as soon as you dressed normally again to go back to work, you were Mister Macho."

"Um-" Busby was having a difficult time arguing with her, as his penis was trembling and swelling in her pretty, expert fingers.

"Mister Macho, who bought a coffin. The guy who came to de-mold the basement asked if we were having a funeral, and he was shocked when I told him that there is a hole drilled in the top-"

"Oh God, you told him?"

"Yes, and that I routinely tie my husband in the coffin and then invite transients in to shove their dicks in the hole for a quickie blowjob. Your idea, Mister Macho."

Busby's dick surged as he thought about all the penises he'd serviced in the cramped, sweaty coffin, and how he felt like he could barely breathe sometimes.

But, for every fifteen or twenty orgasms he created with his mouth, Styles often would let Busby jerk off to one, kneeling in front of her after he'd finally been released.

There was the time she'd let a couple of the bums stay after they'd been satiated, and they peed on Busby as he knelt and onanised, but all in all, it was a good deal, right?

Styles watched Busby's eyes wander as he remembered his Coffin days.

She rubbed and massaged a bulging vein on Busby's dick.

"Mister Macho, who routinely flubs his bathroom chores, so I have to tie his head in the commode until he's cleaned all the grime out with his tongue. My little Toilet-Tramp."

She stroked Busby a little faster.

"Everyone thinks you're such a hot shot because your daddy lets you manage one of his airlines, not because you're good at it, just that your shrink said you needed a project, something to make you feel better about failing out of Bennington College."

She took Busby's cock head between two fingers and twiddled it until he moaned.

"You're too nearsighted to fly a plane yourself, what a creature you are, my sad faggoty Buzzy-Wuzzy."

Busby considered his humiliation and became even more erect.

"Do you really think-" Styles ran her long nail under Busby's sensitive member "That the sales girl at Hampton's Lamps has any interest in someone like you?"

Busby bit his lip.

"Or any sales girl at any store in Buttermilk Falls Mall could get excited about a man who I have to ass-plug every night and give paddle spankings to?"

Busby's head went down in shame.

"I'm sure there was a curiosity when I asked the lamp girl to direct me to the Ladies room when you were bitching about missing football, remember?"

Styles tugged and rolled her fingers around Busby's now quite solid dick.

"And I took you in the Women's Restroom and sat on the sink and pulled your pants down and whipped you with my pocket paddle, in front of all the ladies doing their makeup?"

Busby remembered how the women in the bathroom had laughed.

"Sure, first they objected to you being in there, and then the women realized you really weren't much of a man, more of a eunuch, right?"

Busby went red. He shifted on the kitchen stool, and Styles pumped his penis energetically.

"I bet you wish I'd take the guiche out, but it's not leaving your cock till June. I might anally milk you later."

"It's been so long since I had an orga-"

"I'm still thinking about your tantrum in the bathroom of Hampton's Lamps at the Buttermilk Falls Mall."

"Yes."

"You screamed as you always do, like a little bitch, not much machismo there, babe. God, how everyone stared at us when we left the bathroom. And I wouldn't let us leave immediately, I took my time getting the lamp and making you carry it out."

Busby remembered.

"Young men were laughing at you, because your reddened butt showed just above your cargo slacks...they knew. But why do you have crybaby time, it's not attractive."

Busby began crying slightly, thinking of how emotional he was.

Styles squeezed Busby's balls and he squeaked.

"It puts me in mind of when I fucked your brother Keith, and then I made you lick his toes, to keep you from scaring him with your false-macho posturing."

Busby cringed again, but his cock was wagging like a metronome.

"And then you had a temper tantrum, stamping your foot, the embarrassment of all Buttermilk Falls, and that's why I threw out your cowboy boots and replaced them with ballet flats. I may get you spats as well."

Styles stroked Busby's penis faster and tickled his swelling testicles as she bent over further, her generous cleavage poked a bit out of her top, the frilly bra line quite in evidence.

"Your tantrums, those screaming fits are always so epic, Busby. One of the reasons I installed the guiche in your penis, and haven't let you out of it, is because of your lack of appreciation."

Styles tickled the sensitive area under Busby's glans.

"Remember? I hogtied you and then I rubbed the end of my yardstick slowly on your cock for two hours, and finally you shot a big one, a big cum after 2 months of celibacy."

Styles slapped Busby's balls a little briskly.

"And did you thank me? No, you were a weepy crybaby because you had had a ruined orgasm. So no more orgasms this year, bucko."

"But-but-" Busby babbled miserably.

"And you know that I always can perceive what's good for you, right hone? Remember when you sold that stock, and were talking about putting money down on a motorboat, or some shit, and I instead invested it in seven male hustlers who lived with us for a week?"

Busby writhed with that memory.

"That was awful!"

"You loved it, Buzzy-Wuzzy. You know you did, you ladyboy, you..."

"I have mixed feelings about being bi-curious but-"

"They took turns fucking me and then you sucked their dicks and they took turns corn holing you, and you were so mad that I wouldn't let you buy a boat, or new golf clubs-"

Styles took the cigarette out of her mouth again and butted it out on Busby's stomach.

" I work to help instill mental health in you, letting you know, and reminding you of what a sissy-queer cuckold you really are."

Styles reached down and clawed Busby's scrotum and then she squeezed his testicles a little harder, and he emitted another squeal.

"What normal woman would want a man who needs to have his nipples clamped and his penis caned, just so it gets hard?"

Busby had to admit he was getting very excited!

"A man who has to be caged in the basement when he's feeling fractious? A man who lets me tie a cowbell to his nuts so I know where he is at all times?"

Styles tickled and poked Busby's junk to the point of distraction. When she leaned in to do more, she reached around and stuck a finger up his ass, and then pulled it out and forced her husband to lick it clean.

Busby was revolted, but then Styles put her tongue in his ear and he was in ecstasy again.

"And what would everyone think-your secretary at work who you're always flirting with? Tanya Tits?"

"Tanya Tuttlebaum. And we're not-"

"Oh no, last New Year's eve at the office party, you gave her a tongue kiss at midnight and your father had to pay her a bunch of money not to sue."

Busby was not enjoying this, and yet was completely besotted with his beautiful if sadistically haranguing wife.

"What would your staff think if they knew the big, bad CEO of ButterAir is always being punished by his wife because he steals her panties and wants to jerk off in them?"

She paused, and lit another cigarette. Styles pinched Busby's nose and tapped ashes in his mouth, burning his tongue.

"But that's because you cut me off sexually, and now you have me fixed so I can't-"

"Cut you off?"

"You don't want to make love anymore, Styles."

"Make love, that's so Seventies." Styles had been born in 1992, but she'd seen a lot of old movies. She pinched the little metal guiche that was sticking out of Busby's dick.

"You don't want me, you want to be Porn-boy. Real women have no appeal for you. I was playing a game on your phone and all these grotesque tranny videos came up. So disgusting."

"But it's-"

"What is it? I give you a caning and then, if you are too upset and traumatized by it, I shove the cane up your ass and you're in heaven. I use bigger and bigger strap-ons back there, and I swear you're cheating on me and getting sodomized somewhere else, maybe by the airline parking attendants."

"Of course not-"

"But your little anus is huge now...it really is like the Grand Canyon, Buzzy-Wuzzy. I could stick a bowling pin in it."

"Couldn't you please take the metal thing out of my dick, Styles?"

"No, not at all. Remember when I found your expensive Argyle socks, and you'd been making grotesque messes in them, like a high school freshman would? And then there's all the wadded up Kleenex all over the house, you won't even flush it-"

Styles squeezed Busby's balls again.

"I was so mad, remember I came to your office with the wads of used cum-stained tissue, and I made you eat them in front of your staff, and it got you so excited you almost jerked off right there."

"That's your perception."

"Tanya Tits tells me-"

"Tuttlebaum. Her name is-"

"Tanya Slutty Tits tells me that the mail clerk and the fax jockey have a betting pool all over the office, even the stewardesses participate, on how long you're going to spend jacking off in your executive washroom."

"That's ridiculous-"

"Not at all. You still go in there and play with your dick, and you come back out in tears because the guiche keeps you from having a sperm mess, you get so frustrated."

"But-"

"Tanya's boyfriend, the fax jockey does an impression of you that made me laugh my ass off-and if you fire him or do anything to let them know I told you, you won't get that little metal guard off for at least another year."

"Yes ma'am."

Styles butted out her cigarette on Busby's tongue.

"And you think normal women want to 'Make Love" as you so delicately call it to a drag-queenly panty-loving whack-off pervert? "

She laughed cruelly.

"What kind of attraction is a man who is happiest with a huge dildo up his ass, if not the real thing?" She laughed again. "Who I had to put in a bonnet and diaper in the crib he built for himself on Tuesday night, after the enema? You think you're a stud?"

Styles thought about it for a bit. Rising, she went to the cupboard. One thing about Busby, he was a great amateur carpenter. He'd made and sanded big, thick, paddles from the maple, walnut and hazel trees in the fields of the family country house.

The handles of the paddles were lovingly carved to fit Styles' little hands so she had

no difficulty wielding them when martyring Busby's bare bottom.

But also in the cupboard was a creation of Busby's that was just so debilitating-the Humbler. Busby had made the Humbler while serving his previous dominant, a Mistress Omega, who was a hostess at the Pain Café, Buttermilk Falls's BDSM restaurant.

When Busby had asked Styles to become his dominant Mistress, he'd gotten his ex, Omega, to train Styles on how to lock on the Humbler, which of course Busby had a love-hate relationship with.

But it was a great gimmick, the Humbler, and it still held up beautifully, after nine years usage, between Omega and then of course, Styles.

The Humbler consisted of two wooden slats about two feet long, clamped together with a hole just big enough to push Busby's scrotum through.

Styles held up the Humbler and toyed with the little wing nuts that locked it together. She loved it so much. Once, visiting Busby at work, she'd constructed a baby Humbler out of a pen and two rubber bands...great stuff!

Busby was unable to turn around, as he was tied, and was ignorant of her plans.

"Honey, can you let me loose now? Remember I'm going riding with the guys."

"You are?"

"Yes, with Ormond and Horton. Ormie has a new helmet he wants me to see."

What a fairy, heterosexual or not, Styles thought dismissively.

Styles walked back over to Busby and waved the Humbler at him. "No, no motorcycles today."

When Busby saw the Humbler, his eyes got big. "No, not today, Styles. I've got stuff-AAAH!"

Styles once again had twisted Busby's right nipple. He had to be shut up. Styles thought of Busby's prep-school buddies, Ormond and Horton, and how the three of them, along with Busby's brother Keith, were so spoiled and self-centered. How sad it was.

Styles dragged on Busby's right nipple, pulling him off the stool completely.

"Buzzy-Wuzzy's got other stuff to do today, Styles thinks." she said sweetly.

But she gave Busby another winning smile.

He had to admit, his wife was adorable. It was a shame she didn't understand that men needed to bond and blow off steam sometimes.

He'd introduced her to his drum circle, the men in his Promise Keepers group, who'd helped him get off of cocaine and prostitutes. He needed his crew.

"The bikers, they're my tribe, Styles."

But now Styles had thankfully let go of Busby's nipple, but was guiding him into the living room by the elbow.

Untying Busby's hands, she pointed to the floor, and Busby reluctantly went down on his hands and knees.

Why am I doing this? Busby asked himself. I should just dress and meet the guys. I remember Ormie telling me how high maintenance women weren't worth it.

But his dick was straining and his eyes couldn't stop staring at her twitching ass in that little skirt. Oh God, and there's her cleavage. When was the last time I got to see her undressed? It's been a while.

Styles went around to where Busby's ass was sticking out, as he crouched on all fours like a dissatisfied Pug. She placed the humbler behind Busby's ass, pulling his scrotum through the little hole in the middle of the two smooth slats of wood.

"Just like my Buzzy-Wuzzy needs."

Then Styles locked the slats together so they were very tight, and now Busby's testicles were engorged but his ball sack was stretched through the wood.

And of course there was no way that he could sit up without stretching his testicles quite painfully.

It was a good Humbler. Sometimes he made extras and sold them to the Dungeonopolis Gift shop for extra money.

Last year, Busby's father had been reluctant to give Busby a raise, as he'd had to pay for Keith's latest rehab...

Ah, but then Styles had slept with Busby, Senior, which enraged Junior. But he'd gotten the raise, but he tended to spend it on gifts to make his precious Styles content.

So making and selling Humblers and paddles and cribs for submissive men did bring in enough to keep his motorcycle in gas and repairs...but he wouldn't be riding today, would he?

Yes, Busby was being hoisted by his own petard as they say. The Humbler would stay on until his missus took it off. He'd created the damn thing to be secure.

He was always aroused by being locked in the Humbler, but how he wished he could see the guys today!

In effect, Busby was trapped on his hands and knees on the floor, without any wiggle room. He couldn't stand up and he really couldn't lie on his side either, since the punishing wooden slats had his testicles prisoner.

"Styles, please. I really want to go motorcycling. Ormond and Horton and I are so busy with our careers and we never see each other. We moved around a lot of stuff to have this day together."

"Where you wear your concert tee shirts and black jeans, strutting around and those ridiculous engineer boots. Zoom, zoom, on the cycles, up and down Buttermilk Canyon."

Styles snorted. Her parents had been real bikers, members of the Loaded-Dice Club. They had been full time Harley riders who had supported themselves through sales of guns and lots of crystal meth.

Styles's dad had always had such contempt for "weekend warriors" describing them as kind of wimpy and pathetic.

Although Styles had been able to knife fight and trash bars with the best of them, she'd sensibly gone into the service after high school. Well, it had been nudge from the judge, but still...

She'd trained as a pilot and was now a professional airplane navigator. On her first day at ButterAir, she'd seen the boss and decided to make him hers.

Yes, Busby was the head guy of her workplace, and she loved him, but he had no idea of what a pussy he really was.

Styles's father was long dead and her mother was a born-again Christian somewhere, and her siblings were all in prison, but she could imagine what they'd have said, when she'd hitched up with the Wimpy, Weekend Warrior...

And now, on his hands and knees, Buzzy-Wuzzy was still bitching and moaning.

"I demand that you let me out of this. I'll buy you a diamond bracelet."

Styles went back to the cupboard and brought out a short braided dog whip, a long quirt, really, and she walked back over, flexing her tits in her clingy knit top.

Busby, trapped on the floor, was trying to look up at his gorgeous wife, and did get a gander at her precocious tits. Busby knew he'd better be-oh shit.

WHACK! THWACK! SNAP! CRACK! Styles had circled behind Busby again, faster than he could say "The whip isn't necessary."

She was whaling away at his very exposed bottom, it cracked on Busby's rear cheeks considerably, leaving long red welts. And more than once the whip hit Busby's tender, exposed nutsack, as it was forcibly poked out through the hole of the Humbler.

Busby screamed, and tried to get away but of course being stuck on all fours, it got ridiculous.

Busby was in a panic, hobbling along like an intoxicated Spaniel, as Styles strolled after him, whacking and slashing and larruping his butt till he screamed in surrender.

Finally Busby halted and went down on his elbows and covered his face in his hands.

Noting Busby's still quite stiff member poking out, Styles energetically covered his rear, lower back and upper thighs with whip lashes...larruping away, especially at his scrotum as it poked miserably through the unforgiving wood of the Humbler.