Dan was on his mid-morning break. When Mary left for work, he would get the basic morning chores out of the way; tidying up the breakfast things, making her bed, cleaning her bathroom and so on. He had been vacuuming since then. Now that he is at home permanently, Dan has morphed into the fulltime homemaker. The 1950's house wife. At least Mary doesn't dress him in a dirndl dress and pinafore, just a plain grey tracksuit. He keeps the house clean, does the laundry and cooking for Mary. To Mary's mind, that is all her husband is good for now, as well, of course, as giving her a bit of good time when she feels like it. As she would put it herself; Dan wanted to be a slave and now he is. What else are slaves supposed to do?
Their new house is a lot bigger than their old one and needs a lot more upkeep. Well, to be legally correct, it not 'their' house, it is Mary's house, and Mary's alone. Dan's name doesn't appear on the title deeds of the new house. It got dropped between the selling of their old house and the buying of her new one.
Even if Dan would have preferred his name on the deeds, Dan was in no position to object to the new arrangement. Not since Mary obtained formal legal custody over Dan. She would continue to be, effectively, his legal owner and guardian for the next three years at least. During that time if Dan pissed Mary off enough, she would just have to go before a local magistrate and state on oath that Dan has breached the terms of the order that granted her custody. The magistrate would promptly commit Dan to the State penitentiary for the remainder of his term of three to five years.
That sentence hangs over Dan's head every day. Like it did the day Mary explained how it made more sense to have just her name on the title deeds. She had asked Dan if he agreed, her eyebrows arched in that 'or else we'll have to send you to the State penitentiary for the next three to five years' yet smiling way. Dan said of course he agreed. Dan has no intention of complaining about anything that Mary did, or will do to him for the next three to five years.
It is no longer a pretend BDSM slave contract between Dan and Mary. A 'contract' that Dan could walk away from if he really wanted to. No. Mary is now Dan's real-life jailor. She keeps him more or less a prisoner in her own home, but does let Dan outside in very controlled circumstances. He gets to do some garden maintenance and occasional chores for the other residents of the exclusive gated community where they now live. They all know Dan's situation. Mary made sure of that. At the first meeting of the residents association, Mary had Dan stand at the front of the room while she explained that he was effectively a State prisoner in her custody, and that physical labour was considered part of his sentence. She invited all the residents to make use of Dan for gardening and maintenance chores. They just had to contact her and she would manage Dan's work calendar.
About once a week Dan gets to do the grocery shop. Mary issues Dan with an official looking chit that states where he is going and what time he is supposed to be back inside the gated 'village,' where they live now. He needs to show the chit to get past the security guy who controls the gate of 'Manor Homes Village' to give it its full title. The other residents have their own remotes that open the gates for them, but not Dan. Dan has to show his chit and ask to get in and out, just like the various ancillary staff, cleaners, gardeners, delivery drivers and so on.
Unlike them, Dan is regularly obliged to suck the security guy's dick; the price of being allowed out the pedestrian gate. After he's done, Dan is permitted to go about his business, his mouth still filled with the sour, stinging taste of another man's cum. He trundles his wheelie shopping trolley away towards the town centre, wiping his mouth a few times with the back of his hand. It's an instinctive gesture. Makes no difference. His throat is still throbbing and feels a bit raw from the rough reaming out it has received. He can't wipe away what happened.
And this is what happens. Dan kneels down inside the little security hut, opens the man's flies, takes his cock in his hands, and easing back the foreskin, works it carefully into life. Flicking his tongue around the underside of the crown, first one side then the other. Gently stroking the soft shaft at the same time until he feels it stiffen, harden and fill into his mouth. In this most subservient service, Dan prepares the weapon that is to be used on him. And in that ultimate submission, once his mouth is filled with the other man's penis, Dan allows himself to be used for the other's pleasure. Allows his head to be held on this other's erect cock by two strong hands that covers his ears and dig their fingers into his hair in a vice like grip.
Those hands then pump Dan's head in and out, using him as the fuck toy that he has become. His head bobs at a rhythm of the other's making, at the speed of the other's making, with the force and depth of the other's making, until hot jets of the other's cum slam into the back of Dan's throat, leaving him spluttering and gagging, but taking it, surrendering to it, helpless and hapless, like the total slave that he has become, until his head is released and pushed away contemptuously.
Dan had told Mary about this previously. Not complained, mind. Just mentioned it as a 'something you might like to know, Mary.' Then he told her in a matter of fact sort of way. In a 'funny thing happened on the way to the shops' sort of way. Dan's telling of his tale of woe didn't cut any ice with Mary. She not only told him to get over it, she practically encouraged him to enjoy it.
'You never know, once you've served your sentence, I might sell you on to a guy someday who wants his cock sucked morning, noon and night. This could be good practice. In fact, I'll ask that security guy how he rates you as a cocksucker. You might need some training up.' No more was said by Dan on that subject.
Mary, being Dan's wife, owner and prison officer, allowed him a mid-morning break. She believed in the old adage; all work and no play makes Dan a dull slave. Ten minutes for a cup of coffee. On this particular morning, Dan was half way through his cup of coffee when the distant sound of a police car siren intruded on his daydreaming. Just the sound of a police siren is enough to bring Dan back to that terrible Friday morning when his career as a science teacher ended abruptly and ignominiously. A clear case of post-traumatic stress that will, no doubt, ease with time but never completely go away. Dan once again felt himself being shoved into the back seat of the patrol car, a bunch of students surrounding the car and laughing at him. He was naked save for his back-to-front knickers and his trainer bra. Unable to get a grip on the shiny plastic coated seat, his hands cuffed behind him, his piss wet panties allowed him to slide over and back ignominiously as the car swung out the school gate and headed for the police station, the siren blaring unnecessarily in the best 'where's the fire' fashion. Every time he hears that siren Dan is back in that patrol car and on his way to jail.
The police car pulled into the yard at the back of the police station and Dan was hauled out, pushed in through a back door, uncuffed and stood before the desk sergeant. He was briskly processed, still wearing only his bra and wet knickers. The desk sergeant had made him take off his collar and cuffs, put them in a plastic bag, and had Dan sign for his 'possessions.' Dan asked about getting his shirt and trousers back, but was told these were being held as evidence awaiting forensic examination. A female police office took a firm grip of his arm and led Dan briskly towards the cells.
On his way to the holding cell, Dan remembered all the TV cop shows he'd watched and decided he should request his statutory phone call. It was a thing everybody did on TV and it was the only thing he could think of doing now. To his surprise it seemed to be a real thing, as the officer told him he'd get to make it once he was inside the cell. He was given the handset of an old style wall phone that was mounted on the wall outside the cell. Dan called Mary, and to his relief she picked up immediately. As soon as he said his name, Mary interrupted him to say she knew all about it. She said she was busy in a meeting, and that she would come along in the morning to bail him out. In the meantime he was to be quiet and cause no further trouble. She told him that Alice, Dan's boss and Mary's friend, had told her what happened and it sounded like he'd made a total disgrace of himself. Then, by way of a parting shot, she added; 'And in case you don't know it, you have resigned as a teacher with immediate effect. Your resignation letter was signed and delivered to Alice's desk by the time you got to the police station. And you will readily swear to that. Won't you?
'Yes, Madam,' said Dan meekly, hearing the line go dead as Mary abruptly ended the call without waiting for his reply. He suddenly felt very sorry for himself. A night in the cells was not something he ever contemplated, except as a sexy bondage fantasy. But that wasn't working for him just then. That his career had gone up in smoke seemed a trivial detail. What mattered now was that he was locked in a cell downtown wearing only a panties and bra, and his wife and owner didn't care. So what, she seemed to say. Dan felt very abandoned and alone. After handing back the phone through the bars to the officer waiting in the corridor outside, he forlornly watched her disappear around a corner. The busy noise of the main office was silenced as the door from the cell block swung closed and was locked shut with a noisily jangling of keys. Silence.
The cell was like your average large holding cell in the movies. Dan was standing at the front which was a wall of bars, including a door of bars in the middle, in which there was a slot. For passing food trays through, maybe, thought Dan. He hadn't had any lunch, but he supposed that was the least of his worries. Dan glanced around at the cell which was dimly lit by the light coming from the cell block corridor. The back wall was blank, no window. Mary wasn't going to come to his rescue, then, riding on a horse, lassoing the bars and pulling them away so that they would ride off together into the sunset and begin a new life as outlaws in the Wild West. No. Not going to happen. In one corner was a stainless steel toilet and wash hand basin combined in one solid block. The other corner contained a bunk bed/seat that attached to the side wall.
A deep voice came from that gloomy back corner of the cell. Dan jumped with surprise. There was a person sitting very still on the bunk with their back against the back wall. Somehow Dan had had presumed he would be alone in the cell.
'Well now, just what has the cat dragged in? A pretty boy for me to play with?
Dan took in the large figure sitting on the bunk. Big and black. All Dan's prison fantasies at once. The man sat with his head in shadow and his feet stretched out along the length of the bunk. Wearing the standard Guantanamo orange jumpsuit, he looked very much at home.
'Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?'
'Eh, what?' stuttered Dan.
'An' you got all dressed up in your panties and bra for me. Pity you stink of piss. You better take off that pretty outfit, Boy, and wash it, and yourself, at the sink there. Then we can get to know ourselves better.'
'And who are you, exactly?' said Dan trying to re-establish a bit of authority, using his training as a teacher, well used to commanding a class of twenty five teenagers.
'Plenty of time for getting to know each other later. Now take it off, or I'll take it off for you.'
Dan quickly gave up trying the 'I'm in charge here, sonny' approach. Not going to impress this guy and, besides, Dan just hadn't the energy. He felt weary. He looked towards the basin in the corner and hesitated again. Getting naked didn't seem like a good idea, but then again he didn't fancy spending the night in his piss soaked panties.
'Don't you worry about dropping any soap and having to bend over either. We'll get to all that stuff later. Just get on with the washing, pretty boy.'
Dan stood with his back to the guy and slowly peeled his wet panties off. He wished this guy would stop calling him 'pretty boy'
'Just do it, before we have a falling out on the matter. You don't want me to get cross with you, pretty boy.'
'OK. I'm doing it. I'm doing it'
Dan, in fact needed the bit of direction. His brain was frozen. He felt like he was moving through treacle, or underwater, or in a dream that he was trying to wake up from but couldn't. Besides he felt sticky and grotty. He rinsed off his wet panties and used them to wipe down his ass and legs. Then he washed them again. He went to put the wet panties on again before turning around. Dan would prefer if his cell mate didn't see his chained up dick. He felt bad enough about being stuck in a cell wearing only a bra and panties with a giant who insisted on calling him a pretty boy.
