The Lock Ch 03 Guilt

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Simulated Rape, Pain (1 drop blood), Male Bi/Gay, MaleDom, FemDom, Family (no incest), Consensual Non-Consent, and Sex Work (idealized) The only coercion is from a sense of duty to family. All over 18.

Credits: Edited by the 'Erotic Confectioners. Many thanks to Onyx03, Grrl Orc, Jasmine27, and allnitediner as well as others for editing this story.

Note: Nine chapters total. Each chapter switches tense in the middle. I was experimenting with that as a way to increase pace. The chapter names just happened.

*****

I woke late the next morning to the smell of something that wasn't exactly coffee and something else that wasn't exactly bacon. My wife was in the little kitchenette of the cottage, preparing a breakfast of Turek (the local version of coffee) and eggs with a slab of ham. She was fully nude, her hair washed and brushed and she had makeup on. As she turned to get a plate from the cupboard, I saw something poking out between her cheeks from behind.

Seeing that I was awake and watching her, she greeted me with a cheery "Good morning Master." She quickly slid the food onto the plate brought it to the small nightstand. Kneeling beside the bed, hands behind her neck, legs spread and chest out, she asked, "how may I service you Master?"

As I dug in, I considered her choice of words, "service", not "serve". A silly grin may have spread across my face while I was chewing, because she giggled. Then her face fell.

"We must hurry," she said, "because we only have an hour before we must report to my Uncle. "We need to figure out what work you can do and I must also be prepared for my first client. I figured I should service you once more before I have to give myself over to other men. One last time as your good wife before I'm..."

My grin disappeared and my mind locked up. I think I babbled for a bit, "WHAT?" I managed to get out, or some version of that.

She recoiled in horror.

"But, I thought you understood?" She stammered, "You helped me last night to become a sex slave, you said you loved seeing me exposed and being used! Oh god... oh god, oh god." She threw herself to the floor and sobbed, but then suddenly arose, anger on her face, "Did you think all that was just for you? Did you not hear me?"

"My Uncle runs a brothel!" She screamed. "Not a shitty little dirty whorehouse either! It's the best house in the country! It's big and clean and well run, and so well respected that people come from all over to visit. He is so kind to the women who work there. He requires testing of the clients, or limits them to safe sex, and he never forces any women to do what they don't want..."

She gulped and then continued, her voice shaking. "That's why he needs me. My family has always done sex work and has always taken on the most difficult jobs. I am going to be a sex toy for men who want a submissive pain slut that they can hurt... because it's hard to find those willing to do that. It's what many men will pay extra for."

She stared at me, her eyes were red, tears streamed down her face. She shrank to the floor.

"That's why I began wanting you to be rough with me. When I found out what my Uncle needed, something stirred in me. I realized it was what I wanted as well; that this is who I am. I thought you were ok with it. I should have known..."

That moment changed me; or rather, I changed myself. I guess you could say that I met the other me. I felt my cock twitch and I looked down at it in shock. I was rock hard. Suddenly I realized that I was fantastically horny. Before I could react to that, my emotions shut down. I entered a very calm, robotic, "dealing with panic" mode again. My thoughts became logical and dispassionate. I remembered that my wife had already left me to return to this life. She accepted her fate to serve in the family business in this capacity. I came to terms with these rather obvious facts and the shocking fact that her being used by other men turned me on. I didn't really accept it at that point, but I couldn't avoid the truth of it. I knew that she desperately wanted my acceptance and support. She had given herself to me as much as she could.

I acted with smooth assurance.

"Slave! Get on my cock! NOW!" I heard the words come out of my mouth as if someone else had spoken them. The effect on her was electric. She jumped, staring wide-eyed at me. Her body responded by crawling up the bed as if it had a mind of its own.

"Impale your ass on my cock, slave." I said, with a little emotion returning to my mind and perhaps in my voice. She hesitated.

"Um... I have to take this out first." She said, turning to show me the butt plug I had seen earlier. "Mom gave it to me to help get me ready. I didn't use it before you came because I..."

"Because you were punishing yourself..." I finished for her.

And then I slapped her.

"Get it out and get on my cock, slave." I snarled. She scrambled to pull out the plug and then position herself over me. "From now on, your punishment is for me to decide," I continued. "You will not hurt yourself, I will hurt you. As much or as little as I please."

Grabbing her hips, I pulled her down and thrust myself into her ass in one movement. She mouthed a silent scream, and locked eyes with me as we had before. I held her arms tightly, stared deeply into her eyes.

"When you return to me from working each shift as a... whore... " I managed to say it without flinching much "you will confess to me exactly what you have done, and how you felt. I want to know what guilt you carry from it. Then I, and I alone, will decide what punishment you deserve. I, and I alone, will mete out that punishment upon you."

I will never forget the look on her face. A look of pure love, pure happiness in the middle of horror and pain. All the more beautiful in contrast to the ugliness of the situation. She cried tears of joy and threw her arms around me.

"I love you Master, I love you," she sobbed over and over.

As I said before, the world has a way of pushing you into a corner where there isn't any really good path to take. Usually, it's because of mistakes or poor decisions; not thinking far enough ahead. Some people are really bad at that. Quite often they find themselves with their "back up against the past." I don't have much sympathy for those people. But when a woman's only "crime" was trusting in her husband and investing in him with all her heart? Trying her best to honor her debt and pay the price of his betrayal on her own; doing so by giving up a new love and throwing herself, her body and soul, towards making it right again? All of this took great courage.

Yes, she was guilty of betraying her promise to me, her husband. But it was only to fulfill a prior promise to her upbringing, her family and her past choices. It was a guilt I could help relieve by accepting what she had to do and taking responsibility for her guilt. By dealing with it quickly and with less pain than she would otherwise inflict upon herself.

I was also backed into a corner. Sailing my ship as best I could through stormy, uncharted waters. Standing strong with my back against the mast, swinging wildly, fighting off the invading horrors of the world; struggling to hold off the pirates of guilt who would ruin the cabin girl at my feet.

In for a penny, I pulled her head back by the hair. Looking deep into her eyes I said, "Squeeze my cock with your ass. I want to squirt the first of many loads of cum into you today." She shuddered, looked at me with a mixture of pain, fear, and love in her eyes, and did as I ordered. I started thrusting up into her.

"Men love it when you beg them to cum in you." I said. "I am ordering you to beg every man who fucks you today to cum in you."

She sobbed and nodded her head. "Please Sir, please cum in me" she begged.

"If they are men who like to hurt you, then you should beg them to hurt you as well."

"Yes Master, I will... ah, do my job well, and make, oh god, you proud." she said gasping through the deep thrusting. She put my hands on her breasts.

"Please Sir, hurt this slut if it pleases you," she begged me.

It did. Not because I wanted to hurt her at that point, I really did not. Mostly, I wanted to hold her and protect her. I did it anyway. It would help her deal with what was coming for her today. So she would know that I understood what she would be doing and what would be happening to her. I had accepted it and needed her to understand that I would not reject her after it was done.

Of course, part of my mind was melting down. Inside my mind, I was silently screaming; throwing a temper tantrum. I wanted to kill any man who touched her. I've always been good at keeping emotions and desires compartmentalized. I wouldn't ignore them I simply would not give them control when I knew something bad would happen. At this point, the part that would do the most good, and therefore had to be given control, was a disgusting, power-hungry, pig. An entitled male who wanted to see women used, and abused.

Don't get me wrong, that pig of a man is not a large part of my personality. It is certainly not a part I have any respect for and not one that was ever let out before. Except, of course, to the extent that my wife and I had played our little alleyway game with the key. I will admit that some part was there. Perhaps it is in all men? Perhaps I'm sick. She needed me to prove that I was okay with what she was volunteering to do for her uncle. The pig was all I had.

My orgasm was intense. I'm pretty sure I passed out for a few seconds. She didn't notice because she was in the midst of a huge orgasm herself. A few seconds later, it was all over. We looked at each other, and with firm, grim, desperation on both our faces, we separated and started getting ready for the day ahead.

We quickly showered and dressed. We walked to the back of the house and I knocked on the door. She gave me a funny look, then opened the door calling out something in her native language as she walked in. Her father came around through the kitchen and looked at us, then over at me.

"You talk? Much talk?"

I nodded. He looked at her and asked a question. I think it was a question; it was hard to tell. She nodded, then answered with a shrug. He looked at me with his head tilted to the side. A soft but slightly worried expression came over him.

"What is this, that you work?" He asked.

"I would like to work for her uncle any way I can. To help repay the debt she owes as fast as possible."

"You know what work has Uncle?"

"Yes, I do. He runs a brothel." He looked at her to translate.

"And you work in broothle?" He asked, butchering the word. The meaning was clear though.

"Yes. If it helps to pay the debt. It is our debt. We are married."

His eyebrows shot up. Her mother rushed in from the kitchen and hugged me. She held my face in her hands and kissed me on both cheeks, over and over. That was nice. The bear hug from her huge father was less nice, more rib cracking, but still... I appreciated the gesture.

"You good man," he growled, wiping a tear from one eye. "Good man like me." He smiled at me and then slapped me on the arm nearly knocking me over.

"You find it good, like me," and then he winked at his wife. She smiled and nodded, then she turned to me.

"We go, quick now," in a calm, yet very sharp voice, she bundled us all out to the car.

The drive to the club was short and a bit depressing. It was cold and grey. Somee filthy snow clung to the edges of the road. They lived on the edge of the city and we were in town almost instantly. We passed bleak grey buildings with many bare walls with few windows. No one was visible inside. There were very few pedestrians. Some trucks and taxis, plus a few motorcycles 'shared' the road. What passed for driving caused me to embed my fingerprints in the armrest.

We pulled around a nondescript building, parking in a nearly empty lot in back and followed 'mother' up to a small door. She knocked on it with a special sequence. The door opened, and we were hustled inside and down a dark corridor. Boxes of supplies were stacked on one side leaving little room to walk. Fire codes were apparently not a major concern.

We walked out through a large club floor with a bar on one side, a large stage on the other, and several smaller stages high up around the edges. Several of those held the typical metal cages that women are often made to dance in. It smelled of beer and a cleaning agent I couldn't identify except for its antiseptic overtones.

On the other side, a shorter corridor led to a stairway up to an office overlooking the floor. That was where she and I were taken. Her parents kissed us again and said encouraging things to her and "Good, you good" to me before leaving. A small door opened at the other side of the office and a very short, fat, bald man came through. He saw us and froze. Recognizing my wife, he relaxed a bit but still looked at me sideways. He said something to her. She answered, nodding toward me. He looked at me again and then spoke.

"Hello. Was expecting this one, not husband. What is this?" He asked, turning his head to the side.

"Um. Yes, I am her husband, but I do understand... uh... I know that she must... work here, to pay her debt. I accept this." I rushed on, "I wish to work here as well, if you can find something for me to do."

His eyebrows raised again. There were many short exchanges back and forth in their language. Hands gestured, pointed. There were shrugs, hands spread apart, then thrown in the air. This went on through several more bursts, each a little shorter. In between, my wife looked hopeful.e He looked shocked, confused, and concerned. Finally, he shook his head and turned to look at me.

"You know we sell sex? All kinds sex? And she... how to say... bitch? Slut? That you fuck, spank, maybe whip. Forced?"

With a tight jaw, I nodded.

"Yes, I understand. Those things are most in demand and it is hard to find women willing to do that." I paused and he just looked at me so I continued "If that is really the only way she can pay her debt, and she is okay-we are okay."

"No... it is... How to explain." He held one hand to his forehead as if he was pinching his brain. "Ok, sit, sit, everybody sit."

He tottered on his short little legs over to a chair behind a desk. I noticed that he stepped up twice and then again just before turning to sit. He motioned us into padded leather seats with wooden arms and backs along the opposite wall.. Once we were all seated, he was just a little above our eye level and appeared to be much more normal in height.

He then initiated several more exchanges with my wife. When they finished, she turned and took hold of my hand.

"The job I take on is important to my Uncle because he has not had a woman doing this in his brothel for some time. It is... strange... in this society to not have at least one women who men can... " She swallowed and then continued "... take out their frustration upon." She squeezed my hand.

"It is not approved of but it is expected. There is a 'boys will be boys' attitude. An expectation that men will be angry after being deserted, or mistreated by their wives. Or even just rejected by women. Or they might lose out to other men. Most brothels provide this 'service' at a premium and use women who are bullied or forced into the work. My uncle searched and was lucky to find two women who were true masochists and enjoyed working here. They loved being taken and hurt sexually, in ways that did not cause permanent damage. He paid them well and passed on the bulk of the higher rates to them. They were protected, kept safe; no one was allowed to just beat them up. They could decide not to see a client again. When one married and the other left unexpectedly, he was not able to replace them."

Turning to smile at her uncle, she continued, "My uncle is a very kind man. He takes very good care of women. He respects them. This is rare in a man who runs... a place like this." She turned back to me.

"This is not normal. Our society does not value women. To have a brothel owner who values women as equal, with a right to their own choice, is considered... weak. The men who would come to pay for sex sometimes do not feel safe with strong women in a place where the women are valued. They want a place where they feel confident and expect the management to be on their side. The most amazing thing is that even some of the women who work in this place find it very strange too. They are nervous that he is weak. That he will not be able to protect them if they are attacked, even though he does every time. Some of the women might consider taking on the angry men but they won't, all because of this stupid fear."

"To have a brothel with a reputation for tossing out clients who mistreat the women is bad enough, but not to have women on staff who are forced to handle angry men..." She paused and looked down, then back up at me.

"He has tried to find replacements, but this reputation has made it difficult. So even though he has the best-looking women, and most who really enjoy sex, he is losing money."

"Because I understand all of this, I have volunteered to put these rumors to rest. He does not want this, but we both know it is the only way. I have told him that he must make an example of me. Punish me, and let any angry man use me so that his reputation is restored."

At this point, her uncle spoke up.

"This is true. I do not wish this. Yet, without this 'respect'" He snorted "or what these crazy ones say for 'respect', I can not stay. Her parents, cousins, will also lose work. Someone bad will come and all will go to him."

I looked at my wife with surprise, "Your parents work here?"

"Yes, my father services the women who visit, or at least the ones who..." she stops and looks at me.

"Dad is for the ones who like to order a man around. Very few people know this, and you must never say it to anyone. It is not acceptable in our society, and Uncle's brothel is probably the only one who offers this service to rich women who want it and can afford it. There are many but it is all very discreet. Only father is willing to do it. Even the people in the brothel do not know what he does.They are told these women come to be serviced by an experienced man."

"Wow. OK." I say thinking that this explained how he was led back inside the house the other night. "Oh, does that mean your mother...?"

"Yes, she is a Dominatrix. This is also not acceptable, but some men like this too. As long as no one tells which men do it, the service can be offered more openly. People in the brothel know what she does but they think it is an act. My father has to put on a show every so often of bossing Mom around to put off any suspicions."

It's too much. My mind locks up again for a moment and suddenly I hear myself laughing.

"So, let me get this straight, this place caters to kinky needs of all kinds?"

They both smile.

"Well, even though Father only services a small portion of the requests, he is booked far in advance. And there is no service for gay men here. This is against the law, although very much in demand. Very, very much." She says looking to her uncle who is nodding in confirmation.

"Yes, many men clients want men. But no man wants take man. It is very funny. If I can hire my clients to take other clients I am rich man, but all is fear and worry. Who will the man be? What if I see him in town?"

And then he stares at me, one eyebrow raised and a slight smile He says the words that rock my world for the third day in a row:

"Maybe you would like to take men business?"

*****

Well, that's a third of the story, 3 of 9 little chapters. Complete honesty, radical acceptance, open-minded compromise. I don't expect many people to agree, and that's fine. This series will get very low ratings, but it will touch a few of you deeply, and I care about you. The ultimate kindness is giving people what they need while not judging them and making sure they understand you accept them as they are. The ultimate luck is realizing you can enjoy the same thing, even if you never would have guessed that before. How many relationships are destroyed because one partner is too scared to even give it a try after the other admits to a freaky need? Is it really a relationship if you must hide the freak you really are down deep inside?