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Erin Ch. 24: Forced Bi
By Jonathan Quincy Graves
{Note: This is a chapter in a multi-part story series cataloging the progressive relationship between a dominant wife and her submissive husband. Each installment can stand alone, but they read much better if you start at the beginning. Go to: Erin Ch.01: Female Led Relationship. JQGraves}
{Note to Reader: This author has no problem with the LGBTQIA lifestyles or the people who live them. The male lead in this story just does not happen to be one of them.}
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Twenty minutes into staying with Michelle, Erin's friend and workmate, and I was already considering running for the exit. Seriously! My first impression when Erin's mother dropped me off at Michelle's, was that my fears may not have been warranted. Michelle is cute and was very pleasant when she met us at her front door. Since then, she's sent lightning through my balls driving me to the floor, twice, dressed me like a sissy in a white miniskirt and four-inch heels and taught me to curtsy.
I could run for the door. Perhaps I should run for the door. But I did not want to be seen in public dressed as I was, and I did not want to go against Erin's wishes. It's not that I feared reprisal from my wife; but strange as this may seem, I did not want to disappoint her. We live in a woman led marriage, where Erin calls all the shots, and both she and I like it that way. And, while Erin has me in panties and girlie aprons around the house and puts me in a punishment dress when I screw up, she has neither feminized nor cuckolded me in the way Michelle has treated her husband. While I may be submissive to my wife, I am not a sissy and have no aspirations to become one. So the question is, can I put up with five days under Michelle? They promise to be difficult--painful at times--but sissymaid status would be temporary, just until Erin gets back from China. I decided to suck it up, do my best under difficult circumstances, and after riding it out, convince Erin that Michelle is not a good choice for babysitter in the future.
When Michelle left me in Jasmine's (actually, her husband, Jason's) bedroom, she gave me ten minutes to get my act together, return the bedroom to pristine condition and start preparing lunch for her and her bull, Michael, (her "Big Dick," as she called him). First, I had to pee.
As I sat on the pot, the weight of the electrified chastity cage dragged my member down. Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. If only Jasmine has the needed supplies, I thought. I finished peeing and wiped the end of the cock cage with toilet tissue, then sprang up to look in the medicine cabinet. There wasn't much time. Eureka! On the lowest shelf was a box of adhesive bandages, flesh colored with little mermaids. I unwrapped one and tore off tiny pieces of the flesh-colored plastic. With more than a little difficulty, I put these bits of plastic between the electrodes of the shocker on my testicles and my naked flesh. The plastic may not be a perfect insulator, but it had to help. They could not be seen unless you looked really closely.
Now, I was almost out of time. I hid the bandage wrapper under the plastic bag in the waste can, then rushed out of the room and down the hall to the closet containing cleaning supplies. Michelle and I had disturbed little in Jasmine's bedroom, but the high-plush carpet clearly needed to be raked to eliminate footsteps and movement of the chair at the study table. Starting at the entrance to the bathroom, I worked my way backwards out the bedroom door. I raked wherever the nap was disturbed. Running out of time, I put the carpet rake away and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen.
Michelle and Michael were seated at the kitchen table when I entered, and I was three steps into the room before I remembered. I curtsied deeply, my face flaming with humiliation, and held the dip, eyes lowered, motionless. I was off balance and concerned I might fall over if Michelle did not acknowledge my presence quickly.
"You may rise," Michelle said, finally, and I made sandwiches for the two of them. Michelle said that I might have two leaves of lettuce for my lunch.
"Thank you, ma'am," I said, and curtsied. Earlier, I'd made the mistake of telling her I was dieting.
I ate at the counter, then cleaned up the kitchen. Michelle told me to wipe all the counters, the kitchen table and the fronts of the appliances, then mop the floor. They all looked clean to me, but I was actually glad of the busy work. I needed something to pass the time and distract me from thoughts of the "weekly maintenance" session I knew was coming. As I was about to put the mop away, Michelle entered the room. I curtsied. kars escort She glanced around the room, told me to "Rise" and said, "Do it again."
I spent that afternoon dusting and vacuuming. It was mostly unnecessary, but better than standing in the corner, fretting. I did not count the number of curtsies I performed, but my legs and lower back were aching from the unaccustomed exercise. I was actually rather proud of my performance, even though the subservience was humiliating. On the web, I've read about "subspace", a condition in which submissives achieve a peace with their inferior status. I don't know if I've ever done that, but I was adopting my mother-in-law's recommendation when she set me up for her bridge party. She said, "Sure, your getup is a little silly, but maintain a sense of humor and you'll get through the afternoon with no problems. Do as you're told and keep a positive attitude. It won't be so bad."
Being dressed and treated as I was, challenged my ability to "maintain a sense of humor," but this was still good advice. As long as the condition was temporary, I should be able to go with the flow and survive it. Erin will be back next Wednesday, and I'll awake from this bad dream as soon as she picks me up.
Later, as I was putting the vacuum away, I felt a tingle of electricity from the cock cage. I stifled a grin, then cried out and dropped to the floor, simulating a major shock. I didn't think Michelle was watching, but could not be certain. While dusting, I'd spotted video cameras mounted throughout the house. There was an obvious one at the end of the hall.
After a suitable few seconds in the fetal position, I scrambled up and went in search of Michelle. I found her seated behind the desk in her "office". Michael sat in a straight-backed chair off to the side. I executed yet another curtsy, holding the dip.
Michelle said nothing for more than a minute, allowing the tension to build. When she spoke, it was not to tell me to rise. Instead, she said, "I know Erin has dedicated Saturday afternoons for maintenance discipline sessions. I'm sure she reviews your past attitude and performance for the week, and adjusts your session accordingly. I have not had you under my supervision for the past week, but based on your performance today, I think you have well-earned this discipline.
"We do things a little differently in this house. Where Erin provides discipline directly, I think the man of the house should discipline his sissies."
I almost bolted upright and did glance in Michelle's direction before returning my gaze to the floor. The remote to my chastity cage lay on the desk, and Michelle's index finger hovered over the shock button.
Was I really going to be spanked by Michael? I am not a small man, but Michael is taller than me by a couple inches, and broader across the shoulders. Despite my gym sessions with Simone, he also looks much fitter than me. I'd no doubt he could handle me, no matter how hard I tried to fight him. But what alarmed me most was I've never been spanked by a man. To be taken bare-bottomed over a man's knees for a spanking scared the shit out of me. Should I run for the door? In heels, I'd never make it out of the room. Should I sucker-punch him, then run? It's unlikely I could land a punch, and if I did, it's even more unlikely that the punch would do more than piss him off.
"So," Michelle said, after a pause, "you may rise now, curtsy to Michael, and politely ask him to give you a good, hard spanking."
I hesitated, panic making it difficult to act, but took a deep breath, rose to face Michael, curtsied, and with my eyes downcast said, "Please give me my maintenance spanking." My mother-in-law's advice was being tested to the limits. It was extremely hard to see the humor in my current situation.
"You can do better than that," Michelle said. "Look him in the eye, be specific about what you want, and address him properly. He is 'Sir' to you... No, on second thought, call him 'Daddy,'" she said and giggled. "Ask Daddy to give you a good, long, bare-bottomed spanking."
I looked up to see Michael looking back at me with utter contempt. My mouth was dry, and I had to try twice to get words to pass my lips. "Please, D-Daddy, please give me a good spanking on my b-bare bottom."
"Go ahead, lover," Michelle said, "and make it especially long and hard. The sissy failed to do as she's told. She left out the curtsy, and she did not fully describe the spanking she wants and deserves."
"Come here, girl," Michael growled.
I almost felt like a girl compared to this bodybuilder. His biceps were almost as big as my thighs, and he practically dripped kars escort bayan testosterone. I really did not want to go over his lap. He wore shorts, so my body would be in direct contact with his hairy legs, and the shorts did a poor job of hiding the size of his package. With me in a pink tank top, miniskirt and thong, and him all masculine... Yes, I was girlish by comparison.
It took some doing, but I forced myself to approach him. When I was within reach, he stretched forward and took me by the balls. The way I was tucked, he got the whole package, including the cage with its battery pack. His hand was more than large enough to grip it all and squeeze. As I sucked in a breath in response to the pain, he yanked me forward and effectively threw me across his lap.
"Next time," he said, "don't dawdle, pansy." With his left hand, he brushed the short skirt up my back and clamped me against his thighs with his forearm. His hand pulled me tight into his groin, my hip bone hard against his growing cock. The thong I wore had no more than a wide string in the cleft of my ass, so he did not bother to pull it down my legs. His large right hand squeezed each of my cheeks painfully, and he said, "I'm going to enjoy this, sissy. I'm going to make you squeal and cry like a little girl before I'm done. Then, you're going to thank me."
His hand was strong, and it hurt. I'd no doubt I would say, "Thank you, Daddy," by the time he was done spanking me, but the words would not reflect gratitude on my part.
SMACK!! His hand came crashing down. I've been spanked with a paddle in the past, and Michael's hand felt every bit as hard and unforgiving. I jerked and yelped in response just as the second spank fell. Six more landed, and it was like being paddled by a machine--constant cadence and relentless power. My legs started scissoring and my hand reached back, but Michael caught it and clamped it tight against my side with no interruption of his rhythm.
Suddenly, Michelle was kneeling before me. She put her hands on each side of my head, curling fingers around my ears and pressing palms against my cheek bones. She forced my head up and looked me in the eye. "Look at me, sissy," she said. "Keep your eyes focused on mine. I want to see the effect of this spanking by your daddy as he forges and tempers your sissification."
My eyes were tearing, my vision blurry, but she exuded a strong sense of conquest, of satisfaction that was obvious even to my clouded sight. Slowly, as the agony of the spanking grew, so also did a smile form on her lips. Not an expression of happiness or humor, but of triumph. Michelle was reveling in the pain and humiliation I felt over the lap of another man. Her eyes drew it all in, amplified it and sent it back to me to lodge in my spirit, my self-image.
Michael spanked me far beyond my limits. When he finally stopped, Michelle spoke again, still staring into my eyes. "You are our sissymaid. Your purpose, your strongest desire, is to please us in every way a good sissy can. You wear sissy outfits; your walk, your talk, your every action proclaims your sissy nature. You are not a man with a will of your own. You are nothing like a man. You may still be male, but your maleness only serves to draw added attention to your sissy existence."
Michelle continued to stare at me in silence. I could not break eye contact. I don't know why. It was as though something physical tied us together, eye to eye, and Michelle held the strings of that contact. Finally, she looked up at her bull and nodded.
Michael grasped handfuls of my buttocks, one hand for each, squeezed and literally lifted me off of his lap to drop me to the floor in front of him. The pain of that maneuver was agony on top of the agony already experienced. I screamed and blacked out for several seconds, prostrate on the carpet.
I heard someone weeping. The sound filled me with sorrow. Gradually, I regained consciousness. The throbbing anguish of my tortured buttocks rose ascendant, and I squirmed on the floor trying to find a position that was less painful. It did not exist.
I realized Michelle was digging her nails into my left shoulder and demanding that I rise to my knees. I struggled to comply.
"Stop acting like such a little girl!" she scolded. "Get up on your knees and thank your daddy for the time and trouble he spent on your discipline."
I was on my hands and knees in front of Michael, trying to gain control of my breath so I could rise and comply. Michelle slapped me hard on my thigh and I righted myself. I had to sniffle back the snot running from my nose to find my voice. As soon as I was able, I said, escort kars "Thank you, Sir... D-Daddy for disciplining me."
"Nice words, but meaningless," Michelle said. "Is that how you thank Erin after she disciplines you?"
I struggled to understand the question. I was not yet thinking clearly. Of course, I don't call Erin 'Sir' or 'Daddy?' I thought. Were there some key words I left out?
"My god," Michelle said, "I wish Erin sent you to Victoria for sissy training. There are far too many holes in your education. Straighten up, reach to Michael's fly, undo his belt, unbutton his shorts and open the zipper."
What?! She can't mean... I've never given a man head, and have never wanted to. It is not one of my fantasies. I panicked. I'm not gay even in my most private thoughts.
Michelle delivered another hard slap to my thigh. "Do it fuckin' now, you ungrateful sissy! Unless you want Michael to start your discipline session all over."
"If that's what you want," Michael said, "I'll use a paddle this time. What do you think, girlie? Want a good paddling? Would that make you more grateful for my efforts?"
"No! No, um, Daddy," I said and proceeded to open Michael's fly and pull his cock through the opening in his boxers. He was already hard and big. I've never seen a cock that large. In porn novels, it's always black men who have the big dicks. Michael is white--maybe Italian? And his cock has got to be nine inches or more, and fat. Shit! I thought. That has got to hurt when he fucks Michelle. She must be stretched to the max. I've not met her husband Jason, but there is no way he could compete with that. It was a struggle to thread that fat cock through the opening of his boxers, but it eventually sprang free.
"Don't just stare at it, Sissy. Put that fuckin' mouth to work. If you can't get Michael to cum in the next ten minutes despite how hard he is already, we'll start from the top to give you another fuckin' chance."
That did it. It is emotionally painful and humiliating for a man to suck another man's cock when he is definitely not into it. However, on a scale from one to ten, with the spanking I just took being a ten-plus, sucking a cock hardly ranked. I might hate myself in the morning, but first I had to survive until morning.
With my right hand, I gripped Michael's cock (my fingers did not wrap all the way around to touch my thumb) and gave the head a tentative kiss. I tasted a drop of Michael's pre-cum. If Michelle had not declared a time limit, I might have lingered there for a while--lip to cock contact but no penetration--but the damned clock was ticking. I took the head into my mouth and swirled my tongue around it. His dick was salty, but did not taste too bad. I had the impression that between Michelle's pussy and her mouth, Michael's dick was well polished. And, until recently, there was Jasmine. But I did not want to dwell on the things that he/she was forced to do by his wife and her bull.
Michelle stepped up behind me and smacked the back of my head. "Get it in there, fuckin cocksucker. I want to see your nose hitting his belly."
I bobbed my head down, but could only accommodate about three inches without triggering a gag reflex. My hand squeezed and pumped while I sucked, hoping that Michael found this as erotic as I found it degrading. I kept it up for a minute or two when Michelle became impatient and grabbed a fist full of hair on the back of my head and began yanking my head up and slamming it down further with each descent.
"Open your throat, cocksucker!" she yelled, as I fought down my gag reflex and struggled to breathe through my nose. I rose up on my knees to get a better alignment of cock and throat, and accommodated about half of Michael's length. Michelle kept pushing.
My throat had to stretch to accept the bulbous head. For a moment, I had a mental image of the tender pink tip of Michael's circumcised cock reaching down to my stomach and being burned by the acids there. I almost laughed, which was a big mistake. It took my concentration away from controlling my gag reflex and sucking in an occasional breath. If I lost it now, I might throw up, and with this fleshy stopper in my mouth, I might aspirate the contents of my stomach. I focused and got my mind back on my work.
I'm not sure if it was more or less than ten minutes from when I started gobbling Michael's nob; it seemed like a very long time before I felt him tense, then convulse.
"Swallow every fuckin' drop, you fuckin' cocksucker! Suck it out!"
Michelle was screaming at me and holding my head down on Michael's huge dick. My nose was flat against his abdomen. Swallowing was not an issue, as his cock penetrated past my trachea and into my esophagus. Each hard stream of semen shot straight down my gullet. I could not breathe, and was turning blue before Michelle finally let me up and off, throwing me back on my heels.
END of Erin -- 24