Mirandas Final Lesson

This isn't a cuckold story. This isn't about a cheating wife. It's about a 24/7 power exchange taken not to the bottom's hard limits, but rather that of his Top. It seemed a more interesting dynamic. I suppose the audience for this is rather small. I don't mind. I pounded this out rather quickly over the course of an afternoon as a character treatment, and an introduction to myself and my fantasy world. I am a submissive masochist by design and someday I intend to ask God, "Why?" But until then...

Chapter Only - Date Night

Miranda had found a job for me a while back, something suitable for a man of my talents as she put it, which was just her way of adding insult to injury. Being a Tuesday, we had no plans, so far as I knew. I intended to come home and give myself an enema, take a shower and brush my teeth, and dress for dinner. Salad was on the menu, with a bottle of wine in front of the fire. We would have a quiet evening at home, just the two of us, and I looked forward to that everyday simplicity.

Not finding my wife downstairs, I climbed the stairs of our suburban home and lightly knocked on the door of the master bedroom. We hadn't made any plans, so I didn't expect to find my wife sitting at her vanity. Miranda was applying a blush to her high cheeks and her bright blue eyes caught my reflection in the mirror. She was a very attractive woman, with delicate features and fine, platinum blonde hair that she parted in the middle. I always admired how it fell naturally like a shimmering curtain around her face and over her slender shoulders. She'd done some professional modeling in high school, and a lot more in college, but she told me once that it was lonely, depressing work.

"I'm home," I said, and after a few seconds: "Are you going out tonight?"

"Would that bother you?" she asked in a disinterested tone.

"You said we could stay home," I reminded her, dropping my eyes to drink in the slinky red mini-dress she wore.

It was lycra and very stretchy, hugging every part of her body from her perky upturned breasts all the way down to her well-toned thighs. Miranda had amazing legs and knew how much I loved to see her in that sort of outfit. When she stood up, the dress would barely cover her sweet ass. She didn't wear stockings, which was only a mild disappointment, but I did admire the spiked leather heels that were waiting on the bed.

"You promised," I added, unable to stop myself from whining.

"I know what I said," she snapped. "Do you think I would forget?"

"No."

"Do you think I would ever lie to you?"

"No, dear, but..."

"I don't know why you treat me this way, David," she sighed. "All I've ever done is love you and here you are accusing me of...What, exactly?"

"I'm sorry."

"What are you accusing me of this time?" she insisted on asking. "Tell me, because I really want to know what is going on in that pretty little head of yours."

"I'm not accusing you of anything," I protested. "I just...I love you."

"Of course you do," she said. "That's why I've decided that we need a date night. We haven't gone out in ages and..."

"Really?" I stared at her, trying hard not to smile and quickly giving up. Her mood had lightened in the blink of an eye, but I'd long gotten used to her unpredictability. I believe she did it purposefully, just to keep me off balance. My wife, you must understand, was always on the attack.

"Yes, really." She teased me with a small laugh. "I want you to take me to dinner. Is that all right? Can you take your wife out on the town and show her a good time?"

"Of course." I nodded quickly. "I just need to get cleaned up and..."

"No, I want you to go just as you are," Miranda said. "It's a very cute outfit."

"But..." I looked down at myself.

I wore a pair of silver short-shorts that might have been painted on. They hugged my cute little bubble butt and especially the obvious lump in my crotch. A pink crop top clung to my smallish tits. It had long sleeves and the stretchy cotton spandex fit tight enough that the rings in my swollen nipples were plain as day to anyone who cared to look. And so were the stains, the splotches and runny driblets of dried cum. I wore pink platform heels with ankle straps that boosted my height to a lofty 5'8" inches, while simultaneously pushing my sexy ass invitingly outward for anyone to grope, pinch, and fondle.

"Just run a brush through your hair and fix your lipstick," Miranda told me. "You look sexy as hell. I almost want to fuck you myself."

"You do?" I felt my heart lurch and my tummy filled with butterflies. It had been almost three months since we'd last made love, meaning real intercourse. We had other sorts of sex all the time.

I reached for a brush sitting on her dresser and began tugging at my wild blonde hair. It was thick and full of tangles and clumps of dried semen. What a pain! I winced and wished for the hundredth time that Claudia would let me tie my hair back once in awhile. Guys were always wiping their slimy dicks off in my golden hair, like it was funny or something.

"Will you, um..." I glanced down at my crotch. I'd been chaste for two months, eighteen days, and some five hours, but who's counting? I had only eleven more days to go, if Miranda held to her decision, but just maybe she'd changed her mind? I really hoped so!

"Relax, baby." She laughed. "If you're a good little boy tonight, I'll have a nice surprise for you later. Okay?"

"What kind of surprise?" I wondered, praying that I'd already guessed the answer, but she wasn't about to spoil it.

"Don't worry about that, just know that I've given it a lot of thought and I really want to make tonight special for both of us."

I suddenly felt a tiny surge of panic. Had I forgotten something? Was today special? I ran through all the important dates in our marriage. Our third anniversary was still a couple months away. It wasn't Miranda's birthday, or mine. Obviously it wasn't Valentine's Day or any other holiday, and I was at a complete loss. Why a date night now? Why would she unlock me? What was so special about tonight? Why did I have to worry so much if I trusted her?

Because Miranda was like the genie that granted your wish, only to find out that it wasn't anything like what you expected. She was always honest with me, but a well told truth can deceive just as easily as a lie.

"Did I forget something? I asked, carefully.

"I don't know," she teased. "Did you?"

"Uh..." I shook my head. "No."

"No," she agreed, smiling. "But I do have a lesson for you later. I hope you learn it well, too. I won't repeat it after tonight."

"A lesson?" I swallowed hard.

The last time she'd wanted to teach me something involved two weeks of training as a dedicated piss slave to my wife and some of her male friends. I'd become quite adept at my new duties, and even enjoyed them now, but the actual learning process had been something of a struggle. I wondered what Miranda wanted to teach me this time, but tried not to dwell on it too much. She liked to make me curious and let my imagination do most of the work for her.

"It'll be easy," she promised.

"Alright, um...Can I use the bathroom? I need to, uh..." I cleared my throat and felt my cheeks growing warm.

"Are you wearing your plug?" she asked, losing her smile.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Yes, the pink one."

"Then I don't see any reason for you to use the toilet," she said. "Unless you need to pee?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Good." Miranda smiled again. "Now, did you get paid today? Or did Claudia make you work for free?"

"Oh. Sorry." I opened my purse, a pretty pink one with a lot of flair. I pulled out a crinkled envelope and placed it on my wife's dresser.

"How much did you make for me?"

"Almost three hundred dollars," I replied, somewhat proudly. That wasn't quite the most I'd ever made in one day after Claudia took her cut, but it was still pretty good for a Tuesday afternoon.

"Wow!" Miranda clapped her hands. "You must have been on your knees all day!"

"Well..." I smiled shyly. "There was a bachelor party and they were giving us a lot of tips."

"Sexy!" My wife offered me a sly grin. "Did you fuck the groom? You little slut! You did, didn't you? You fucked him in front of all his friends?"

"Well, not in front of everybody," I answered, giggling. "Just his brother and his best friend."

"You did all three of them?"

"In the Party Pen." I nodded. "Twice."

"No wonder you want to go potty!" My wife shook her head. "Poor thing, your boy pussy must be swimming in sperm, huh?"

"Uh-huh." I nodded. "They came a lot."

"I bet," she sighed. "I'm sorry I missed it, but see? You make such a great whore, David. You really should thank me."

"Thank you, dear."

"For what, honey?" She smiled sweetly.

"For turning me into a sissy whore," I said. "I love you."

"And I love you," she agreed. "But I'm hungry, so let's finish getting ready and then you can spoil your beautiful wife."

"Okay." I nodded, feeling as happy right then as I'd ever been in my life.

I only wished my butt wasn't so squishy around the big butt plug that was keeping a half-dozen thick loads inside me. My mouth wasn't any better, tasting and smelling of stale semen like it did. And of course, my stomach churned as I tried to digest the big bowl of cum that I'd drank just before leaving for the day.

Claudia had sent the girls around the club, offering ten dollar handjobs to the late afternoon crowd as long as they would cum in a glass. I have no idea how many loads they'd been able to collect, but it was a lot. An obscene amount of semen, one might say, and I'd sat on the edge of the stage and swallowed every last drop just to entertain a crowd of perverted assholes.

And the worst part was that I hadn't gotten a dime for my efforts. I never got paid for swallowing Happy Hour cum.

***

Miranda was dressed to kill in her mini-dress and heels. Her lovely face was made-up perfectly and she looked gorgeous as usual. She didn't really go for a lot of jewelry as a general rule and this evening was no exception. She wore the diamond engagement ring I'd given her and the matching wedding band, of course. She'd never gone out without those and lately she never went anywhere without my key and the golden chain that held it. The necklace was crafted from 22 carat gold courtesy of Thailand, two baht by weight, and very expensive. My wife had bought it to celebrate my first full week of working for Claudia, but only because it had taken a week to earn enough money. If it had taken me a month, we would have celebrated that milestone instead. She could be very pragmatic that way.

Unfortunately, while my wife looked spectacular, I looked like a cross-dressing slut.

A very passable cross-dresser, to be sure, but a slut nonetheless. At first, and even second glance, most people would assume I was a girl, but the obvious lump at the front of my shorts quickly gave me away. People always looked, too. I mean, they were probably just hoping for a cute cameltoe, and certainly not my sissy clit. So we weren't going to get into anyplace fancy, which was mildly disappointing.

I would have loved to take my wife to our favorite restaurant, perhaps even sit at the same table where I'd proposed once upon a time. It was not to be, however, and instead my wife drove us downtown, pulling into a Denny's parking lot just off MLK Drive.

This was the other side of the tracks, as they say, and I wasn't sure we should be leaving my wife's car unattended. There was a homeless guy sleeping on the sidewalk and a few prostitutes standing around a bus shelter, trying to look sexy, but even from across the street I could see they were pretty well used up. Their pimp was smoking a cigarette, or maybe a blunt, in front of a liquor store.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, not feeling entirely comfortable.

The idea that my wife could make a deal with some pimp and put me on the street for the night wasn't exactly unlikely. She'd done it before, but only to punish me, and I'd been very good lately...Hadn't I? My mind ran in circles as I tried to remember anything that might have angered her.

"We're going to have dinner, silly!" Miranda smiled and waited for me to hold the door for her. "You're not going to be an airhead all night, are you?"

"No." I shook my head. "I just mean..."

"Sit anywhere you want," a chubby woman in a Denny's uniformed called out. Her nametag said Jane, which seemed appropriate.

She carried a pot of coffee over to a couple cops, a white guy and his black female partner. They glanced at me and the black woman narrowed her eyes, and I looked down. The white guy, like most everyone else, only stared at my wife. Dressed like a cheap hooker, I actually belonged in that dump, but Miranda definitely looked out of place and it probably made some of those people uncomfortable. Nobody wants to be reminded of how ordinary they are, you know?

We sat in a booth, side-by-side with our backs against the wall. We were facing the other patrons and I occupied myself with a small desert menu. Some guy and his wife were sitting with their three kids. He kept smiling at Miranda and his pregnant wife kept giving him dirty looks. No pussy for you tonight, buddy, but I was sure that he'd be happy enough imagining my wife while he jerked off on the sofa. Guys like him didn't bother me.

"Already looking forward to a creampie for desert?" Miranda teased me, and I blushed, stuffing the menu between the ketchup and the salt and pepper shakers.

"I don't understand what's going on," I said, leaning forward and whispering. "You're not playing fair, Miranda."

"After all the things we've done together," she said, "this is what pushes your limits?"

She was serious, I realized, but maybe she had a point. I usually went along with whatever she wanted. I was devoted to her and had been since the beginning. I loved her more than anything else in the world and I trusted her. But I couldn't shake a sense of foreboding. Something felt wrong, whether it was this place or how my wife was dressed, how she was acting...Something wasn't right and I felt nervous.

"No." I protested. "I'm green."

"Good." Miranda watched my face carefully. "We're going to take the next step tonight. I think you're ready for it. I know I am, but it won't be easy for either of us."

"What next step?" I asked, carefully. Slowly. "What's going on?"

"Here you go," the waitress said, dropping a couple over-sized plastic menus on the table. "Can I bring you something to drink?"

"Just water, please." Miranda told her. "For both of us. And we'll have a couple garden salads, with ranch dressing on the side."

"Okay." The woman reached for her pad and started writing. "I'll get your water."

"Thank you, Jane." My wife smiled at her.

Good lord, she looked so perfect to me right then. Not even a run down place like this could diminish Miranda's beauty. I watched her lift her phone out of her purse and check it quickly.

"Is everything okay?" I wondered, wishing we could get back on the subject of whatever it was she'd been talking about a minute before. The next step?

I felt my tummy doing flip-flops, I was so nervous, and really hoped I wouldn't puke up all that sperm. Aside from a slice of toast and some yogurt for breakfast, I hadn't eaten anything but male cum all day; some real food would help a lot. Miranda controlled every part of my life, even my calories, and I was down to 118 sexy pounds that morning. I knew she was happy with my progress, but would never admit it, not for forcing me to do something I should have done on my own.

"Perfect." Miranda smiled. "Just remember, whatever happens I will always love you. You might not believe that sometimes, but it's true."

"This is scaring me." I said. "We're supposed to talk about things first, remember? You're breaking the rules."

"I told you, it's going to be a surprise," she said. "You don't want to spoil it, do you?"

"I don't know," I admitted. My wife had done this to me before, and I hadn't always enjoyed her surprises at first, but eventually...I had no regrets.

"Look, I'm not trying to deceive you," she sighed, putting her hand on my bare thigh and stroking my leg. "I'm only trying to keep you in suspense. I really want to see the look on your face when..."

I frowned as she covered her mouth and giggled.

"Oops! I almost let the cat out of the bag, didn't I?" Miranda clucked her tongue. "You bad boy! Trying to trick me like that. Do you need a spanking?"

"What? No!" I blinked at her.

"That policewoman has been staring at you ever since we walked in," my wife said, gesturing with a nod of her head. "Do you think she wants your pretty little clit or your sexy little ass?"

"Ummm..." I glanced at the woman and she was definitely interested. I'd seen it before at Trap Guess, the club where I worked, that same hungry look on the faces of countless horny men.

"There are a lot of women out there who would just love to have a sissy like you bent over their knees," my wife continued. "Do you think I should ask her to spank you? Do you think she'd say no, David?"

The waitress returned with two glasses of water and I drank half of mine quickly. I had cotton mouth and could feel old, thickened semen clinging to the back of my throat. I wanted to hock up a large wad and spit it out, but I had to try and wash it down instead.

"Your salads will be right out," she told us, and then paused a second. "I'm sorry, but I gotta ask...What are you two supposed to be?"

I winced and quickly looked down at the table.

"Customers," Miranda replied, coldly.

I didn't have to see her to know that my wife was staring the other woman down. She was probably hoping that Plain Jane the Waitress would say something else, because Miranda got off on hurting people. I didn't like that about her, and I hadn't let myself acknowledge her sadism until long after we'd married, but in truth I'd always known it was there. I just kept telling myself that no one is perfect and since I'm a masochist, well...

"Sorry. I didn't mean..." The waitress slunk away. She wasn't an alpha at all and probably not too bright. I figured her coworkers back in the kitchen had talked her into asking the stupid question just to see what would happen.

"That stupid cow," Miranda rolled her eyes. "Trying to spoil my good mood like that. Do you see what I have to put up with?"

"Um..." I shrugged, not quite understanding what she was talking about. "You are kind of overdressed for a Denny's."

"And who's fault is that?" she demanded, and too late I realized my wife was pissed. Was she playing? Maybe, but I sensed something else was going on that wasn't necessarily a part of her plan.

"Mine," I answered quickly. "I'm sorry that I didn't change into something nicer before we left the house."

"You look like a faggot whore."

"I know."

"It's embarrassing," she sighed. "You're supposed to be my husband. You're supposed to be a man."

"I'm sorry."

"And you wonder why I don't want to make love with you anymore?" She shook her head. "All you're good for is servicing hard cock."

"I know, dear. I'm sorry that I'm so worthless."

"Not as sorry as I am, believe me."

Most people won't understand, and I wouldn't blame them. A few years ago I would have been mystified that anyone could enjoy this sort of humiliating scene, but I wasn't that person anymore. My body had become flushed with arousal. I got off on everything she was telling me. This was foreplay for us, and had been for years. The shame and humiliation of being verbally abused by the woman I worshipped was like an aphrodisiac to me. I can't explain why, anymore than someone else can tell you why he or she gets off on incest or rape fantasy. The desire, the absolute need, is imprinted on my DNA and nothing I can do will ever change that.