Chivalry Is On Life Support Ch 40 1

"Good evening, sir. It's wonderful to see you back here again," I said, after opening the door. "May, I take your coat?"

"Hi, prof. Dressed like a true fairy cuck, I see. That's good. But you've put on weight, more than just a couple of pounds. That's bad." It certainly hadn't taken him long to notice my weight gain. But I wasn't surprised; it was Luke after all.

"Yes, sir. It's been a stressful time, sir. I'm trying to diet, but I could use your guidance again. I lack self discipline, sir, as you've told me many times." I anxiously followed his eyes up to the instruments of correction hanging on the wall.

Beneath his coat, Luke was dressed in tight blue jeans and a tight black T-shirt, the bulge of his pectoral muscles and biceps evident, as was the bulge beneath his waist through the denim. Nothing I hadn't seen before, of course, but freshly impressive and intimidating following his absence. He was also wearing dark brown, leather ankle boots and his trademark smug smile.

"Hi, Luke," said Brooke, timidly, peeking around the corner.

"Hi, babe. The prof here tells me you have something to ask me."

"Please, Luke, sir. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I'm a total fuck up." She tentatively walked a couple of steps closer him.

"That's not a question. It's a statement of fact."

"Please come back, Luke. I'm begging you, exactly as you predicted. I need you. I need you to fuck me. Over and over. I need you to fuck me now. Fuck me raw. Will you please come back?"

"But you have a husband. This manly man standing next to me. I'm sure he can satisfy you," he smirked. Under different circumstances, Brooke would have cracked up at the absurdity of Luke's description of me, especially as I was then attired. But she wasn't laughing now.

"Only you can, baby."

"There's lots of other men in this county who can fuck you. I'm sure an open minded, libtard guy like the prof wouldn't hold you back from sleeping with other men, like the slut you are."

"There's no one else who makes me feel the way you do, Luke. I've tried."

"So, what you're saying is that Big Luke is special, is that it?"

"Yes, Luke."

"And yet, you tell me not once, but twice, to go away. Is that how you treat someone who's special?"

"No, sir. That's what I'm saying about me fucking up. I made a terrible mistake. I'll never make it again, if you give me another chance."

Luke just stared at her, unsmiling. There were probably 60 seconds of incredibly awkward silence, which only seemed to increase's Brooke's anxiety and desperation.

"Haven't you missed me even a little bit, sir?" she asked him, finally, her voice almost a whisper, her lip trembling.

"You're a good fuck. But I have plenty of other options, including my new girlfriend. She's not even new anymore; we've been together for three months already."

"You used to say I was the best you ever had," Brooke said, softly. "Please let me remind you of why."

Again, Luke just stared at her, making us both sweat.

"Don't you see how I'm dressed, baby? Don't you remember? I'm willing to compete for your attention," Brooke said.

"Yeah, I remember our little argument. All that feminist bullshit. Come over here, Miss America wannabe."

Brooke walked up closer to him, her heels clicking on the hard wood floor.

"Turn around, slut. Let me see what you've got to offer."

She spun around, her nipples fully erect beneath the skimpy triangles of fabric that covered them. Luke examined her like a butcher evaluating a side of beef, squeezing and smacking her buttocks and prodding her abdomen, back and thighs as if checking for something: firmness, perhaps, or pliability, or some other quality known only to him. She gasped at his touch, closing her eyes.

When she faced him again, he said, "Hands behind your back."

After she obeyed, he roughly grabbed each of her nipples, and squeezed them hard between his thumbs and forefingers. Brooke's face registered a mixture of pain, arousal and, most of all, relief. The relief of feeling his touch again.

"Your tits have always been your best quality," he said, continuing to squeeze.

I could tell she was in pain, but I knew Brooke well enough to understand that any pain she felt was secondary to the hope that his touch brought her. The hope that he would fuck her, and resume his place in our lives. It depresses me to admit that Brooke reminded me of an abused dog at that moment. She was happy to take whatever abuse Luke dished out, because negative attention from her master was preferable to no attention at all.

After he finally released his grip, she winced and then sank to her knees and started to unzip his fly.

"Please, sir, let me show you my gratitude for allowing me to compete for your attention."

Luke began walking into the living room. "In here. You can crawl behind me," he said, as if reading my mind about her behaving like his dog. He had already both objectified and dehumanized my proud lady, and he hadn't yet been in the house for five minutes.

"Walter, turn on the music. Get your master a drink," Brooke ordered me as she followed Luke into the living room, her bare knees grinding into the hard wood floor as she shuffled behind him. He sat down on the recliner.

"Yes, Miss Brooke," I said, reverting to how I used to address Brooke previously in Lukes's presence, as he wanted there to be no doubt that, when he was around, she was his woman and that I was subservient to both of them.

That evening, however, Luke said, "Not 'Miss Brooke' today, prof. Today, you call her 'dumb slut.' When she orders you to do something, you say 'Yes, dumb slut.'"

This was unthinkable to me. "Please, sir, I can't..."

He glared at me, and Brooke interrupted me. "Do it, Walter! Now!"

"Yes, d...dumb slut." Oh, how it pained me to address her thus, my superior lady! But this is what she wants, I reminded myself; this was a means to an end. The only end, as we could not afford to fail.

I turned on the Bluetooth speaker, and found Luke's Spotify playlist on my iPhone. Wisely, I had never deleted it. Immediately, the grievance-ridden country music began blaring through the speaker, music I had truly hoped I would never have to listen to again. How could such an alpha male enjoy such whinny music?, I wondered, not for the first time.

I then hurried into the kitchen, unsteady in my high heels, and returned with a tray containing a glass and the bottle of the limited edition Gentleman Jack whisky. I could have just brought the filled glass, of course, but I wanted to make sure Luke saw the bottle, hoping he would give us credit for the extra effort and expense.

"Here, sir," I said, as I poured him a glass. Kneeling before him, Brooke was bobbing her head up and down on his enormous cock, her red lips stretched wide.

"You got the limited edition. I've been meaning to try this." I watched him drink the whiskey, waiting expectantly for his verdict.

"Smooth. It's good. I'm not sure it's worth the price, but that's not my problem."

"I'm glad you like it, sir. May I get you a snack?" I asked.

"No, I don't want to spoil my appetite. I've been looking forward to one your dinners, prof. And one of your foot massages." He pointed to his feet.

I immediately dropped down to my knees beside Brooke and unlaced Lukes's boots. I then removed his socks with my mouth, again reverting to past practice, and began energetically massaging his left foot.

"Dumb slut, lick my balls. I want to save my sperm to shoot over your face, IF I decide to fuck you after dinner," Luke ordered Brooke.

"Yes, sir," she answered without hesitation.

She began slavishly licking Luke's balls as I massaged his feet and he sipped his whiskey, all to the horrendous soundtrack of his playlist. It certainly must feel good to be the conquering general, I thought.

After about twenty minutes, Luke directed me to switch to his other foot.

He then addressed us both: "The only way I'll move my things back in here and keep fucking you, Brooke -- after you rejected me twice -- is if the two of you make yourselves useful to me. To me and my family, and my friends. And to my girlfriend. You need to make yourselves useful and you need to entertain me and amuse me. Otherwise, what's the point? Do you think I need to spend time at your crappy little house when I've got my big place out in the country? If I do decide to give you a third chance, babe, you're gonna have to make sacrifices. You're gonna have to cross barriers you haven't been willing to cross in the past. There also won't be a fourth chance. Under any circumstances. Do you both understand?"

"Yes, sir," we both answered, nearly in unison

"Let's put it to a bit of a test right now. Slut, lick my asshole."

Brooke stopped licking his balls and looked up at him. I thought I detected a momentary trace of disgust or defiance on her face, but she lowered her head beneath Luke's balls and inserted her tongue tentatively into his anus.

"Atta girl!" Luke said. "So, that's a good sign. Showing me that it's not too late to teach an old dog new tricks."

"Old?"I thought. Let me remind you that Brooke was the ripe age of 29 at the time Luke uttered these words. This was still about nine months prior to when I first began writing my story. I also thought: how appropriate that an asshole enjoys having his asshole worshiped. Perhaps the quintessence of being an asshole. Then I thought: still more from him about comparing Brooke to a dog. Far from being an old dog, or remotely stupid, she was a beautiful, proud, highly intelligent woman in the prime of her life. So much about the current situation was hopelessly twisted.

"You see, prof," Luke continued, "Before I was married to this dumb slut, I had a couple of girlfriends that used to give me rim jobs. I even made that old plumber, my first cuck, lick my ass when I fucked his old lady. I like a little oral attention where the sun doesn't shine from time to time. It makes me feel special to have my ass worshiped. But when I was married to your wife, she wouldn't go there. She thought it was dirty. 'Unsanitary' was the word you used, if I remember right."

Brooke's only answer was to lick with more intensity.

"I always thought that was kind of weird, because she would lick my sweaty armpits and suck my filthy toes. But she drew the line at ass licking. Just another stick up HER ass, I figured."

There was some truth in what he was saying. On one occasion when I tried to lick her anus, Brooke stopped me, citing hygiene.

He went on, "But I think the real reason she used to refuse to eat my ass is because she felt it was beneath her. Well, not any more, apparently. Like I said, there's going to have to be a bunch of other lines you two will need to cross, if you want me around. Once spring and summer roll around, I'm going to want to spend most of the time at my house. Enjoying my pool and BBQ grill, my yard. I'd expect you both to be there most of the time -- when you're not at your jobs, of course -- making yourselves useful. Is that understood?"

Brooke paused in her analingus to answer, "Yes, sir." I quickly echoed her.

After about another 20 minutes of massaging his right foot, I excused myself to begin cooking dinner. I had prepped everything, so it didn't take long. Nevertheless, I wasn't present for about 45 minutes -- except for briefly refilling his glass of whiskey and bringing them both a glass of water -- so did not see and hear first hand what additional conditions he set for her, demands he made of her, humiliations he subjected her to. It was only 45 minutes, but it felt like a small eternity. I was not a knight errant, I was a knight impotent, yet again utterly failing to defend and protect my lady. And yet...I felt as if I was doing what I needed to do to save her.

Dinner itself, relatively speaking, was a fairly civilized affair. Luke spoke extensively about the strides his business had made over the last three months. He had successfully acquired two more competitors in the state of Ohio and had further expanded into adjacent states. He had largely built out his executive leadership team. He was making more money than he had ever thought possible, but that would pale in comparison to what he could potentially make in the future sale of his business to private equity investors. He even asked a little bit about Brooke's job at the restaurant and about my course-load for the new semester. Whether he had any genuine interest in our lives, or was more interested in the time we might have to devote to "making ourselves useful" to him, was not entirely clear. It was probably more the latter, but as I have noted before, Luke often surprises me. He may be an asshole, but he wasn't without complexity and even, occasionally, depth. Is that part of his ineffable appeal to Brooke? It undoubtedly is, the bastard.

I don't want to suggest that there weren't moments of tension at dinner. When I served Luke his Yuengling beer in a frosted mug, Brooke asked me to open up a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon for the two of us.

Luke said nothing at first, but when I went to pour her glass, he covered it with his hand, and said to Brooke, "Prof tells me you've been hitting the sauce pretty hard lately. in fact, it sounds like you've got a real problem. Stupid cunt. If I decide to come back, you can be sure of one thing: I'm gonna straighten out that problem quick. That, and the prof's weight problem. Neither of you have a goddamn ounce of self discipline. So, I'll have to provide the discipline. Prof, you can have a glass of wine tonight, but your lush of a wife only gets water."

Brooke looked astonished. This was complete reversal of the first meal the three of us had together, when Luke made me empty my wine glass into Brooke's because of the high caloric content. I recalled how ashamed I felt that night, being treated like a child.

It was probably a similar feeling of shame and a similar recollection that caused Brooke to say, "That's not fair. What about all the calories for him?"

"You've got a point, babe. But calories are one thing and having a drinking problem is something else altogether. He can start his diet tomorrow, if we reach an agreement that I'm coming back. But we start addressing your drinking problem now."

"I don't have a drinking problem," she protested, weakly.

"Come on, Brooke...", I started, before Luke cut me off.

"'Come on, dumb slut', you mean. Remember?" he said to me. Then to her: "Dumb slut, based on what Walter told me, you really do have a serious fucking problem. You're in denial. If I'm around, we deal with it my way. No fucking around. Is that crystal clear?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. It was uncharacteristic of Luke to refer to me as Walter -- perhaps a sign of how serious he was.

"The meal is excellent, prof. This tenderloin fucking melts in my mouth, and the sauce is delicious. You're one of the best cooks I know."

"Thank you, sir. But I'm not really in the mood for any wine this evening, sir."

"Bullshit. I know you love red wine. You're going to drink every drop of that glass."

Brooke looked down into her plate, resentful, ashamed.

"If you sulk, I'll walk out of here right now and never come back," Luke said to her sharply.

"Please, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I won't sulk, I promise!" Brooke responded quickly, a panicked expression on her face.

After dessert -- the red velvet cake was also a hit -- the three of ascended to the bedroom.

Brooke said, "You see, Luke, sir, we cleaned out the dresser for your clothes. The cleaning charts are back up. Here is the second key to Walter's chastity cage. It will be like you never left." She handed him the key.

"No, it won't be that way ever again," he said, firmly. "I will never forget it and you won't either. I won't let you. Strip, slut. Cuck, you can take off your heels, but leave on the rest of your fairy finery."

"Yes, sir," we replied.

He removed all his clothes, his huge cock fully erect. And then Luke's assault began, reminiscent of past occasions, but with greater intensity. He grasped Brooke's neck with his large left hand, and smacked each of her cheeks with his right. Not super hard, but also not lightly. He then shoved her down onto the bed and ordered me to kneel beside it. He next picked his belt off the floor, doubled it up and began hitting her breasts, focusing on her erect nipples.

Then he did something I had not seen him do before. He began thrashing her vagina. At first he rubbed his belt across her labia, teasing her almost. Without warning, he then pulled the belt back and snapped it down on her sex. Repeatedly. Once again, he used what appeared to be a carefully calibrated level of force -- not intended to inflict serious pain, but far from love taps. I'm sure the strikes hurt, but they also visibly heightened Brooke arousal, as her nipples were rock hard and her vagina was glistening. She tossed her head back and forth wantonly, gasping.

"Please," she begged. "Please fuck me now. Please fill me up."

"Are you an addict, slut?"

"I'm an addict. I'm addicted to your cock. Please fuck me, sir. Hard. Please annihilate me."

"I'm not done punishing you yet, slut." With that announcement, he brought his belt down again on her vagina, with more force this time, as the louder smacking sound and Brooke's yelp made clear. He then brought if down on her ass three times in quick succession, causing beautiful red blotches to appear on her flawless skin. Luke then, at long last, inserted his cock into her.

"Yes. Thank you, thank you," she said, exhaling. But he almost immediately pulled back out. "No, please. What are you doing? she moaned in surprised disappointment.

"Lubricating myself. You're so wet, it's the only lube I need to fuck your ass."

Next, he lifted up her entire body with ease, setting her down on the bed on her knees and positioned himself behind her. Then Brooke finally got her wish, as he entered her anally and began thrusting into her.

He was kneeling over her on the bed, his large bare feet hanging over the side of the mattress.

Luke commanded me, "Lick the bottoms of my feet while I give this needy slut what you're incapable of giving her."

My vantage point was not as good from my new position, but I heard the loud sounds of flesh smacking against flesh as he pounded into her and the violent squeaking of the mattress springs. It was definitely time to replace the mattress, I thought to myself (absurdly). I moved my tongue up and down the length of his foot, still as smooth as I remembered it, and did my own thrusting -- of my tongue between the bottoms of his toes.

From Brooke's guttural, but increasingly high pitched moans, I could tell she was getting close to climaxing. But then Luke abruptly stopped thrusting.

"Please don't stop. I'm so close," she protested, breathlessly..

"How are you going to treat my girlfriend, slut?"

"Well. I'll treat her really well."

"Not good enough," he replied. I craned my head to catch a glimpse of his huge cock poised just outside of her anus, resting against her red buttocks.

"I'll treat her with respect," she offered, desperately. "Please go back inside me now."

"Still not good enough. You will do what to her?"

"Submit? Yes, I will submit to her. Now, please, Luke. Please, I beg you."

After Brooke finally said the magic words -- his sexual extortion successful -- Luke finished what he began, bringing her to what she later described to me hyperbolically as a "cosmos realigning" orgasm. She told me that the combination of her months of deprivation, the humiliation, Luke's teasing and the sheer force he employed made it the best orgasm of her life up to that point.

After he pulled out of her, he took her vaginally as well, eventually resulting in her having another powerful climax ("definitely in the top ten"). Soon thereafter, he finally ejaculated (his endurance and staying power were almost unfathomable, to me at least). He covered Brooke's body, face and hair (as well as much of the bed) with his prodigious discharge. Luke then ordered me to clean both of them with my tongue, including her ass. Hygiene concerns were a thing of the past, apparently.