Monday, July 23, 2018

I walked into the dining room, my heels clicking on the wood floor. My wife looked up at the sound and I saw her eyes glance over me, up and down, silently inspecting my maid's uniform. Her face was neutral, as always, giving no hint at her thoughts. I waited for her to speak, for what seemed forever, she said nothing. Finally she crossed her left leg over her right, the sound of her nylons the only sound in the house. She nodded.

"The...the kitchen's cleaned up, Ma'am," I said, afraid to say what I wanted to say, so instead relying on ritual.

She nodded, moved to rise.

"Ma'am," I interjected, needing to ask now, before she left the room, now the only time I could. I steadied myself, prepared to ask, prepared to plead my case.

She froze, crossed her eyes. "No," she said before I could form the words.

"No?" I asked, stunned at her decision, not just the decision, but the decision before I could even ask.

"No," she said again.

" said you'd consider it...last said after another month you'd consider it."

She shrugged, an acknowledgment I was correct. But her word was the same. "No."

"Ma'am," I said swallowing, collecting myself, knowing there was no reason to get upset, knowing arguing was the worst thing I could do. "Have I...have I misbehaved?"

She looked at me hard, cold, inviting my own self examination. No, I hadn't, not lately, anyway. For the last six weeks I'd been nothing but the perfect sissy...serving her without complaint, dressing without complaint. Sure, the first two weeks were not perfect, they never were, after I was released.

That was part of the problem, of course, the longer it was, the better behaved I was, the longer between releases, the more time she had with me the way she liked me. After a release, I knew I was less than perfect, that the post-orgasmic chemicals messed with my brain. She knew it too, knew it took me about two weeks to become like I was now. And that the longer it was, the more time she got with me like this.

" said you'd consider," I finally said, arguing as much as I dared.

"I did. Say I'd consider. And I did. Consider it. And the answer's no."

I felt my penis in the cage, felt it twitch. It was a weird thing, the longer I went, the less I seemed to spontaneously swell. But the soreness increased, seemingly exponentially. "I...I'm sore," I said, chastising myself for saying the words and obtaining nothing in return.

She shrugged. "I assumed," she said, uncrossing her legs, moving to stand. "I'm going out on Saturday night, behave and I'll milk it after."

As much as I told myself I hated it, that made me immediately swell. That thing she did, connecting certain things to other things. Behave when she was out on a date, behave when she got home, behave when I worshiped her after.

Behave and I'd get something. Not what I wanted, to be released and allowed to cum, instead I'd get what I needed, milked, while still in chastity, milked until I had the frustrating release of built up cum but without the orgasm associated with it.

No 'Mom' cut

For two reasons, I asked Emily to never get a 'Mom' haircut.

1. I love, love, love, long, feminine hair on a woman, especially her.

2. I hope, someday, to see someone, Matthew or someone else, do this to her again.

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

The Ex

So you're sure you want me to tell you about my ex-boyfriend again?

Well, I guess you could say it was the best sex I ever had.

I mean, that cock...fuck...that cock.

Plus, well, he had this one friend who, well...he was something.

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