From Cucked Husband To Sub Wife Ch 32

Chapter 32 The Honeymoon (flying out)

Joe wheeled me past our doorman in the box-covered cart, cheerily saying, "big gift for the happy couple." The doorman didn't even bat an eye. Diane and Joe were apartment-sitting for us, while we were in Europe, anyway. Back in the apartment, he wheeled me into the playroom, removed the box, and finally released me from the cart.

"Joe, what is happening? When I confessed, he wasn't that concerned. Why is he so angry?" I pleaded, once was ungagged.

"He got a video from that Roger this morning, as we were prepping Bob and Angel's. In it, you say all kinds of things about how Roger is a better master than JJ, and how you'd prefer to stay with him. He was really pissed. He threatened to call off the wedding."

"But I don't remember saying any of that; he drugged me; he could have made me say all that under the influence, or doctored the video... Joe?!!"

"That's what I told him.... I talked him out of cancelling the wedding, but he said you had to be severely punished."

"Where is he now?"

"At Ashley's. They left together. But, erm... I'm sorry; Michelle, there's more; I am to tie you up to the winch by your neck and put more weights on your tits and leave the hooks in. Tomorrow, I'll pack you into a suitcase and take you to the airport, where you'll be loaded onto Ashley's private jet like luggage. He said, he's not unpacking you, until you get to Paris."

I was bawling my eyes out, and Joe gently stroked my cheek. "It's going to be okay, honey. He's gonna get over this, and everything will go back to normal." I hoped he was right, but I couldn't stop crying.

Everything went down as Joe described. I spent a sleepless night hanging by my neck from the choke collar falling asleep only to choke myself and have to raise myself up. Joe had set up a camera to record the whole night and put in a large ball gag so I could not speak. I was sure Daddy watched me suffer.

In the morning, I convinced Joe to rinse me off with the hose before packing me into my own suitcase. He took off my boots leaving me completely naked, except for the collar. I had to piss in the night, which was quite interesting with my pussy sewn-up by hooks. I just let it out and felt my cavity fill up and the piss dribble slowly out of the spaces between hooks. In the morning I had to shit; Joe was kind enough to let me do that in the toilet.

He put on an adult diaper and loaded me into my suitcase. For the second time, in less than a week, I was transported through the city inside luggage I had bought for my own honeymoon. At the airport, I was reunited with Mr. Jenkins and Ashley as part of their equipage. At first, there was a bit of a snafu at security, when they couldn't locate the person they'd bribed.

The suitcase I was in was about to get inspected, when the guy finally showed up and said the bag had been randomly selected for hand inspection. He wheeled me in the bag to an office. He peeked in, and gasped when found himself face-to-face with me. He unzipped it further to reach in and grope my tits and stabbed himself with a hook, for his trouble.

He zipped me up and wheeled me back to them and took our passports with him to the counter. He left me a peephole in the bag where I could peek out and see. I saw as the bribed agent walked over to the gate with our passports; there were two agents checking passengers; one was free, but he waited for the other one.

"Hey Mike, these are the private passengers I mentioned, here are their passports." He said to the gate agent.

"Oh, yes! Three passengers," Mike said, gave the passport the once over. "Okay, folks have a great trip!" And they wheeled our luggage out to Ashley's plane with me in the middle of it.

I had feared going as luggage meant I'd freeze to death in the "cargo hold," but was happily surprised, when I was wheeled through the cabin, and placed with the other luggage in something like a walk-in closet in a bedroom, at the back of the plane.

Once we reached cruising altitude, I could make out their voices in the cabin, though I couldn't tell what they said. Not long after that, though, over the plane noise I thought I heard, first squealing and then loud moaning. I worked the zipper of the bag further open, so I could put my head out.

I could more clearly make out moaning. They seemed definitely to be fucking, and her moans were cutting through all the other noises. They were just on the other side of the door. I could hear muffled groans accentuated by sharp interjections: "fuck, fuck, fuuuuck." There was a lull, and it started again. I had my head against the door listening to their lovemaking.

She must have come because the groaning stopped all at once. I heard nothing more. But, about a minute after that, a glint of light, and then the door slid open. It was Ashley, naked; her gorgeous body had that indescribably look of recent sexual activity.

"Oh, honey, I am so so sorry about all this." I nodded to ask where he was.

"He's fixing us drinks; I'll make him stop this nonsense as soon as he gets back, sweetie!"

"Oh, no no, Ash, please. I don't want him to take it out on you."

"Don't be silly; this has gone far enough." I pleaded with her to do nothing, but she wasn't going to listen to me. She stroked my cheek kindly and closed the door.

I drowsed with my head out of the bag leaning against the door. I was awakened by shouting from them. And, finally, Daddy opening the door and my head drooping forward out of the closet.

"Sissy, why are you out of your bag?"

"Sorry, Daddy! I needed air. Please, please Daddy, forgive me! I never could prefer him to you. I love you so much, Daddy, please, please!"

"Come out here!" As he said this, he pulled the bag out of the closet and unzipped it the rest of the way. He reached his hand out to me, and helped me unfold out of the bag.

"Thank you, Sir!"

"Jordan, this is just too much. Don't you see this girl loves you? How can you let that bastard manipulate you like this?" She reached for me and embraced me warmly in a motherly way. She is much taller than me, so when she hugged me, I was crying into her marvelous tits. She and Daddy were stark naked. At this point, I was "snot-flying" blubbering right into her tits.

"There, there, sweetie. Jordan, speak to your wife, and make up! Enough of this!" I'd never heard anyone give him an order like that, and was afraid of how he might react. But I was surprised.

"You're right, Ash. I'm sorry, Sissygirl. I lost my mind when I saw you in that video claiming Roger was your one true master and after your confession."

"Oh, Daddy, I don't remember ever saying any of that. He had me drugged the whole time. I don't know what he did to get that video, but it's not how I felt or feel now. I had a moment of doubt, when I felt hopeless, not because I don't love you with all my heart. I never loved him; he made me feel so worthless, that I came to think I didn't deserve better; I didn't deserve you!"

"Oh, sissy! I am truly sorry. I should have known better; he knows how to push my buttons. I love you too, Michelle."

Mr. Jordan J. Jenkins does not frequently utter the word "sorry." In our years together, he had apologized to me just once before... and now twice in the same conversation. I leaned in for a kiss, and he relented. I was instantly jealous, noticing the familiar taste of Ashley's pussy on his breath. He had been eating her out and no doubt made her come that way. I made a move to suck his cock, which was semi-erect, to confirm. He nodded and kept me from kneeling down.

He knew I wanted to taste him to see if he had fucked her. Oddly, that would have relieved me; it would mean the moaning I heard from the closet was regular fucking and not that he had made her come orally, without reciprocation. That's what was making me irrationally jealous.

Their relationship had become peculiar, even by our standards. Ashley and I hung out all the time, and the two of them would regularly go off to her mansion alone. She wriggled out of the initial agreement almost immediately, resisted being "his whore," and according to his own rules, they should have gone their separate ways, but he adjusted the arrangement for her.

He might argue it was for access to her social connections, but really, we had tons of connections ourselves. The Samuelsons were at the top of our social pyramid, but we were probably just one level down. NO, there was something about her personally that he really wanted. I would feel jealous, but she provided many perks for me as well.

After the surgery, when he was being so distant with me, it was Ashley and Angel, who kept me sane. I was familiar with the taste of her pussy because for the last frustrating month of recovery, eating her pussy was my main form of sexual activity. And... she was the kindest, sweetest person I knew, who had just now stood up for me and saved me more humiliation.

"You two, work it out yet... Good." She said when she popped her head from the bathroom door, seeing us in a half-embrace. "I am getting lunch together. Miche, you can wash up through here." She pointed to the door behind her, across from the luggage closet.

"Thanks!"

"Your clothes are in the black bag next the one you were in. Jordan, get dressed and come help with the lunch." I just couldn't believe how he was letting her boss him around.

That clinched it! He had not fucked her and had not come. Had he done either, he would be showering before doing anything else. So, he had eaten her out intending to make her come. I was suddenly livid with jealousy and sad that she had something with him I could never have; but she was so good to me, using the power she had over him to help my situation.

I tottered into the shower, which was small but well-appointed. The whole private jet thing was cool as fuck, but as I looked around, it felt to me like a flying fancy Winnebago. The shower was very refreshing after all of the hours in stress positions. I took my time and made sure to thoroughly clean my holes. Finding my luggage packed with all my stuff (Ashley's doing, no doubt), I located my enema kit, which I was glad have with me.

I did myself up really nice in pink lingerie, a G-string with just a frilly triangle and a thong that went straight up my crack and a lacey see-thru babydoll that covered less than it left on view. I put on a red kimono over that and walked into the dining room. When I walked in, I half-expected them to be fucking, or maybe he'd be eating her out again. But they were actually working on lunch in the luxurious but ultra-compact kitchen. Ashley looked me up and down and made me do a turn by twirling her fingers in the air.

"Oh my God, Michelle! You look, simply scrumptious! Doesn't she, Jordan?" She made me spin around again with her finger.

"Yes, Sissygirl, you do look beautiful," he said in a less effusive tone, but he opened his arms, drew me to him and kissed lightly on the lips.

"Take a seat over there; you want a cappuccino?" She said pointing to the table with four comfy recliners around it. She sent him over with the coffee when it was ready. She forced him to serve me; she had such a hold on him, I continued to be jealous but appreciative.

The coffee and the lunch were delicious; we had mimosas, and I began loosen up from my recent ordeal. I had forgiven him automatically for whatever perceived injustice in my mistreatment because I understood how fragile a Dom's ego really is. And... understood too that it was, in some part, my own fault. Ashley, however, was not one to let sleeping dogs lie.

"I just don't understand the crazy notion of "giving" your gorgeous fiancée to another man just before the wedding, Jordan. None of this would have happened, if you hadn't done that."

"Well, it's complicated, Ash. That man saved my life, and under very different circumstances he did a similar thing for me. I was depressed and hopeless, I likely would have killed myself. I had no other family to trust but him. He barely knew me; I had met him twice before in my life, and he lent me his wife to help me out of it."

"Whaaaat?!" we both gasped, without meaning to, and looked at each other mouths agape.

He told us the story: His mother had disowned and cut him off; he had wandered through Europe, a profligate, spending the last of what money he had. He showed up at Roger's door with no place else to go after hitchhiking to Edinburgh, to the one relation he had left. Roger took him in and spent days talking him off the ledge, almost literally.

Given the family appetites, he too shared, it was clear to Roger that his brother needed a kind woman to give him the type of access to her body only a true submissive can. After a week, Roger had to go on a long business trip to the US. He left the young Mr. Jenkins in his home, granting him full access to his common law wife, Faraja, whom he'd train as consummate painslut.

At first, still ambivalent about his dominant urges, Mr. Jenkin's used her sparingly, but as the days passed, and with Faraja persistently encouraging him to take out his aggression on her, he became rougher and rougher with her. Daddy described her as a beautiful redhead, with honey-colored skin, a simple woman, entirely devoted to serving her man.

"Please, Sir James, my master would be disappointed with me, if you did not take full advantage of his gift. Please, I beg for your abuse, Sir." He recalled her saying.

He used her hard for weeks. When Roger returned, he was not thrilled with her condition. She had many new permanent marks, many whip marks on her back and tits. Cuts that had opened up and not allowed to heal before being reopened by new abuse had turned to ugly scars. Being a cruel bastard, he took out his anger at his brother for mistreating his property on her.

That very night, still angry and very drunk, he tied her to T-shaped post, and nailed her tits to it and whipped her hard. But because she was insecurely tied to the post, after one brutal lash, she sprung back and ripped her nipples and much of the skin on off her tits. He didn't even notice for a while and continued to beat her. She had passed out from the pain.

She recovered from the incident, but developed a hospital infection that caused the removal of her breasts. Roger, ever a bastard, brought her personal effects (one suitcase) to the hospital, and released her from servitude. He told her he had no need for a tit-less whore, gave her some money, and left. He installed a new subslut in her place before she had even been released from the hospital.

"You owe me a whore," he had said to his brother not quite kidding, afterward. Traumatized, Mr. Jenkins had taken it totally seriously. Roger rationalized his cruelty and blamed his brother for the whole thing. They didn't really keep up, but would visit each other, especially when Roger was in New York, which could be often as he rose through the ranks of the IMF. His Svengali hold on Mr. Jenkins persisted who let himself get manipulated by his brother.

We lounged in the dining area, while he told the story. Ashley and I consoled him during the telling when he got choked up about his guilt over Roger's woman. We were now at his feet kneeling on either side of the comfy recliner, while he fiddled with both our breasts. His large hand felt around for my nipple ring, and I leaned back to give him the best access as I could. I had just removed the hooks in the shower, and they were extra sensitive.

All was forgiven on every side, and we moved with a nod from him to the bedroom. We came back to the bed where they had obviously been, while I was in the closet. Ashley flattened the rumpled sheets, then pressed a button on the side of the bed, and, with the ruthless efficiency of compact spaces, the bed began to fold itself into the wall, murphy bed style.

When it was vertical the bed bottom revealed three sections. There was a leather-bound bench with ties and clips at strategic places that folded down, a standard restraint cross, and between them small cabinet with sex toys and supplies. Ashley demonstrated these features with hand gestures, like a model on

The Price is Right

.

She opened the two doors of the cabinet and waved her arms. In there, were all the tools necessary, not as much variety as in our full playroom, but nothing lacking. Daddy and I looked at each other intrigued, as she demonstrated. He pulled me close to him and cooed in my ear, "what would like, my lovely bride?"

"Daddy, I do want something."

"Name it, honey. I have a lot to make up for." He said humbly, which threw me a little.

"Sir, I want you to eat my pussy and make me come, like you did with Ashley." Hearing myself say it like, I knew it came out as too bold and whiney. Ashley could get away with it, but not me.

"He did eat me out, but I didn't get to come; I was too worried about you in the closet, my dear." She said in a serious tone.

"Well, I still want it, anyway, Daddy. You've never eaten my pussy, and you eat hers all the time."

"Alright, sissy, I'll do what you want, but first you'll need to pay for your petty jealousy. What I do with her is none of your concern. Just as what I do with you is none of hers. You two sluts have both been acting quite uppity of late. I sincerely feel bad for what happened, but that is not going to change our arrangements. Do you both understand?

I said, "yes, Sir," but Ashley said only "yes."

He got me up on the bench on my back and strapped my legs around my knees, to clips on the wall behind the bench, so that my pussy and ass where exposed, arms and shoulders in front of my spread legs. He got Ashley up on the bench too and similarly tied her up, facing me, her legs tied over her head to restraints at the foot of the bench. He stood by the middle of the bench, where he could easily access both our pussies and began to dig into them with his fingers.

We were both moaning at this attention, when he suddenly stopped, slapped both our mounds firmly and reach into the cabinet and brought back a cane. He flicked it at my open cunt fresh from the hooks being removed. It stung a lot; the suddenness was partly to blame. He struck five times moderately, and I squealed. Though it stung, the pain was quite bearable.

He turned to Ashley, who was anxious about having her pussy struck with the cane. He hit her the same number of strokes, but less hard, yet she was in tears and mewling from it. She was likely done; I wanted more. He had really gotten to me with that none of your concern line. He was right. I was having trouble negotiating the line between wife and sub-slut. I kept coming up to the same problem and not quite learning my lesson.

Intellectually, I knew it couldn't be, but I felt entitled to certain privileges as "wife" and couldn't get past that kind of thinking. A few strokes from the cane on my pussy did not cure me, but helped me concentrate on my proper role. I was suddenly having an attack of guilt at my behavior. Thinking it through, I came up with a way to make up for my acrimonious display. I didn't want her to hear me, so I drew him closer with a whisper.

"Daddy... please, I want to apologize for my pettiness and show you true devotion."

"Yes...?" he whispered back, conspiratorially intrigued.

In my makeup case, in the bathroom, I had left the fish hooks, which Joe had placed the night before that I had just removed. I begged him to get them and hook my pussy lips open for my punishment and his gratification. He was positively giddy at this idea, and scurried off to get the hooks.

"What are you up, Miche?" Ashley asked concerned.

"Don't worry, Ash, I don't know if you would understand, sweetie, but you will see."

He came back with hooks palmed in one hand and the huge grin on his face that I had longed to see. He was happy with me again and not just hurting me from anger. I knew how just much he would enjoy doing this to me, and the fact that it was my idea, I could see was giving him pure joy.