FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Three: September

 

 

 

“Please, Ma’am. May I go to the toilet ?”

 

Kelly glanced up from her magazine. Then she carried on reading. She could sense Mart standing there, in his new lycra gardening top and pleated skirt.

“Have you finished everything ?” she asked finally, not looking up.

“Yes.”

She sighed. “And you are one hundred percent certain I’ll be satisfied ?”

He hesitated. “I think so.”

“You think so ?” She looked up. “Well go and make absolutely sure. And in an hour’s time we’ll see about you going to the toilet.”

He blinked and nodded. “Yes Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”

 

In the 1960s, an Austrian psychologist named Walter Mischel conducted the “Marshmallow Test” on 4-year-old children; they were given a marshmallow and told they could eat it at any time. But if they were able to resist temptation and not touch it for 15 minutes, they could then have two marshmallows instead. Some simply “grabbed” their marshmallow and ate it. Others managed to exercise enough “self control” to wait fifteen minutes and earn a second one. Interestingly, longitudinal research via follow up studies showed that the “grabbers” later suffered low self esteem and grew up to be envious, stubborn and easily upset. Meanwhile the “self controllers” became competent, trustworthy, dependable and successful. The latter group on average scored 210 points higher on their SATs !

 

Kelly had embarked on an intense program of training Mart in ‘self control’. He hadn’t had a drink of alcohol since the July evening that their new relationship began. His current diet was strict, healthy but meagre, and generally unappetising; his weight and body fat levels were measured three times a week to manage them downwards; his exercise regime was steadily being cranked up in intensity.

Lately, she had commenced teaching him to rein in his visits to the toilet and control his bladder and bowel movements. There were so many interesting ways that a grown man could have his self esteem challenged when it came to use of the toilet.

Watching TV, reading newspapers, particularly sports gossip, viewing any sort of pornography, eating ice cream and candies, kicking back and relaxing; all these and more became things to be restricted, rationed or prohibited altogether.

Above all, orgasms. The chastity devices ensured Mart’s physical obedience. But Kelly wanted to modify his behaviour and guarantee his mental submission too. She wanted him to get to the stage where he voluntarily focussed entirely on her. Where he would go weeks, even months, without thinking of gratifying his own base urges. Only her wishes.

Entirely through self control.

Life for Mart had become one big marshmallow !

 

That night he returned from working at the restaurant had been the most important of all.

Mart knew.

The note had contained just five words. ‘Yes, dear. It has happened.’

She might as well have written five pages. No further words were necessary. He knew the truth; that he had become a cuckold. He didn’t know when, how or who, but she had taken that vital step which turned their D/s relationship from a private two-person Mistress and slave marriage to something else entirely.

He’d asked for it though. He deserved everything he had coming to him. No limits. He’d mentioned hot wives, and wife watching, and cuckolding enough times to her over the years.

And now his fantasy was her reality.

That night there’d been a tense atmosphere when he returned. She was up waiting for him at almost midnight. Her hair was dishevelled and she was sipping a brandy in her dressing gown. The key to his CB hung round her neck.

“Come up to bed.” was all she said.

He followed her into her bedroom. She motioned for him to strip off.

While he undressed, she lay down on the double bed. It was unmade, covers on the floor, sheets askew. She parted her robe.

“Now that you know what you’re licking, I want you to do it again.”

He stood by the bed and she turned the key in his padlock. She was very matter-of-fact, like this was something to be got through, to be negotiated like a tricky driving manoeuvre, before reaching the open road ahead.

“And I want to see you hard while you do it.”

He removed his Gerecke device and climbed onto the bed and hunkered down between her thighs.

She was freshly creamed. Her neatly trimmed pubic triangle was matted and damp, emitting that slightly rancid, post-sex aroma.

“That’s less than an hour old.”

Her fingers entwined in his hair, not roughly, but firmly.

He’d dreamed of this moment. But seeing her now, he realised that reality and fantasy were always going to be different things. This was the virgin he had met and married all those years ago. The faithful wife and mother. Crammed full with the spunk of another man. He suspected she’d betrayed him before she had accepted ‘his offer’. She had been unfaithful. But could he really blame her ? One measly cock – his – her whole life ? She deserved so much more; quality and quantity. And what of himself ? He’d fantasised, jerked off, cruised websites, hoping he’d join the stats as just one more cuckold. And now, at last, he had. Yes, he felt disgust at what he was about to do. Another man’s come was emerging from his wife’s slit like a slug from under a rose bush. Yes, he felt jealous, confronted by the undeniable liquid evidence of her straying. But above all he felt excitement twang in both his dick and his head; in his guts and in his soul.

There would be no turning back.

This was part of his future.

She looked so beautiful, lying there. Beautiful and wanton. Her tousled hair spread out on the pillow, her long limbs relaxed, knees askew, her full breasts in good shape despite motherhood and her 38 years. Her lipstick and mascara were not fresh but still neat, lips pursed sexily apart.

Slowly, he stuck out his tongue and lapped at her swollen labia. In spite of everything, he could feel an instant hardening in his uncaged groin.

“Mmm …” she exhaled. “Good boy. This is the way it’s going to be from now on, Mart. I don’t want my sex life to come between us. On the contrary, I may want you to play a big part in my sex life again … just not in the old way.”

She opened her thighs as wide was she could, squeezing her stomach muscles. He started nudging his face into her more enthusiastically.

It was suddenly like a new drug to him; consuming, dangerous, addictive, hallucinogenic. He could picture a whale’s mouth opening wide and sucking him and a million psychedelic cartoon-like tadpoles into its gullet.

“He was here.” He heard her murmuring softly. “In this bed, our bed, fucking me. Do you want to know who he is ?”

There was a deafening silence. Then he managed to conjure up a simple ‘mmm’ sound. Did he ?

“Was that a yes ?” she giggled. “Well I’m not ready to tell you yet. But I can tell you that he’s younger, fitter, bigger and, yes, a better lover than you Mart. Not a better man, but a better lover. I cum easily with him. And often. And with just his dick, Mart, not fingers, like it used to be with you.”

She hauled his face up so they were looking at each other.

“Show me yours.”

He sat up so that she could look at his jutting, frustrated erection. He knew he wasn’t small. But in no way did he consider himself large. His was a standard size dick; average, moderate, mediocre, medium-sized, premium economy, super-coach. All those words designed to make the guy in the middle of the plane feel as if he’s in first class. When he isn’t.

“My ! We are excited by all this, aren’t we ? Go on then. Put it in me.”

With a whimper of excitement, he mounted his wife. His newly toned body insinuated itself against hers until they were touching noses.

He felt proud. He’d lost ten pounds, built up muscles and honed his shape back to how it had been more than a decade earlier.

And yet she had still found someone fitter and stronger.

“Sloppy seconds.” She whispered into his ear. “That’s what you cucks call it, right ? How does that feel, my love, good ?”

He kissed her neck. “Th … thank you … so … mmm … good.”

“Don’t you dare come, Mart. Self control ! But you can try and make me come. Just like my lover did right here an hour ago.”

He took his weight on his elbows and began thrusting, first slowly, then building a faster rhythm. She stared intently into his eyes without speaking.

She felt so wet, so loose, so … unimpressed.

“Ngh … ngh … ngh …” he pistoned. “Is … that … okay ?”

She smiled, with a shrug. “Okay ? Er … yes. It’s okay.”

“Might you c … come ?”

She shook her head. “No, Mart. Not even if you kept this up for hours. You miss the point.” She reached and stroked his cheek kindly. “But you can learn. We’ll find ourselves a teacher for you. And it is nice to have you inside me again briefly. To feel close to you.”

He stopped pumping, disappointed, and pushed up on his arms.

“Am … am I that, you know … bad ?”

She pushed him off her, so his erection slipped out.

“Put it this way. You’re lucky I didn’t know how … ordinary you were until recently. Now, go and take a cold shower. If I don’t get to cum, then you certainly don’t. So I want to get that thing locked up again.”

 

The next morning, he held a plastic funnel over an empty wine bottle for her, while she sprayed out her morning bladder-full. It was dark, reddish gold, aromatic. He put the stopper in the top and saw how cloudy the contents were, with little bits of crusty sediment floating in her urine.

“I adore beetroot but not what it does to your insides.” She chuckled.

As if you care, he thought, surprising himself at the stab of resentment he felt. After all, whose fault is this, Mart; yours or Kelly’s ? It was probably the frustration of his unused testosterone making him tetchy.

He labelled it with the date and put it down in the musty cellar. There it would fester for a week or so before being brought out to accompany his lunch, while she sipped a chilled Pinot Grigio.

“You always did like a nice pink champagne.” Kelly added, beaming.

He spent the morning doing house and garden chores, desperate to use the toilet. It grew increasingly uncomfortable, and he had to cross his legs and deep breathe several times to prevent an accident; self control !

 

“Please, Ma’am. May I go to the toilet ?” he asked her a third time.

He waited as she took another sip of her iced coffee and then she shrugged. They were on the terrace overlooking the lawn.

“Remove those.”

He pulled the baby blue lycra gardening top over his head and unzipped the pleated, frilly skirt she’d made him put on that morning. He was no transvestite and he knew that Kelly got no real kick from feminising him either. It was just another test, designed to push both their frontiers.

“Squat down over that.”

She was pointing to a tub with geraniums and lobelia spilling out of it. He carefully planted his feet on either side and crouched. The flower heads tickled his inner thighs and bottom.

“Okay. Hurry up and pee.”

He had been controlling himself so long that it took a few moments to relax his grip on his bladder. But eventually, at last, it came.

It felt so goooood.

He was wearing a Gerecke ‘twister’ chastity tube. Made of best German steel, it was a totally secure, but light, see-thru cage for his penis that was so far wearable 24/7. She had used a depilation cream to remove every pubic hair from his waistline round to his anus and also applied Vaseline grease daily to prevent chafing.

Inevitably urine splashed onto his groin, legs and feet but most landed in the tub.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and saw her watching him with an amused expression.

“Finished ?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Ma’am. Er … ?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Ma’am. I need to … you know … do the other kind as well.”

She tut-tutted.

“Honestly, you’re always wanting something. Can I do this ? Can I have a piss ? Can I take a dump ? How high must I jump ? Whatever next ? You’ll be asking me if you can have an orgasm soon !”

Oh, yes pleeeaaase.

“I’m sorry Ma’am. It’s just …”

“No !” she shouted, suddenly fierce.

“I won’t have your foul waste polluting anywhere on my property. You can wait until you get to work and go there !”

He hung his head in obedience.

“Now, let’s inspect how well you’ve done your chores.”

 

She found several infractions. Worst of which was a layer of grimy dust missed underneath the piping behind the toilet in the basement lavatory.

“Bend over and clutch your ankles.”

They had come back out onto the terrace. It was not overlooked but, nevertheless, there is something about bdsm activity outdoors that heightens a sub’s feelings of vulnerability.

He felt her hand on his lower spine, adjusting his position to her liking. She had a way of handling him now, like a piece of meat. He gripped his ankles as sweat trickled from his forehead onto the stone tiled floor. His buttocks were stretched tight and his anal crack felt open to the fresh air.

“I don’t get a kick out of thrashing you, Mart.”

Her voice was scolding, firm; like she used to talk to Chantal when she was growing up.

“But when I ask for jobs to be done, I expect them to be done properly. This isn’t some fucking game ! Is that understood ?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He was shocked by her use of the word ‘fucking’. She rarely used swear words.

“So why didn’t you do them to my hundred percent satisfaction ?”

“I’m sorry. Ma’am.”

“Sorry ? Hmm … you soon will be.”

He heard her swishing the bamboo through the air in a couple of practice strokes. It was a standard garden cane but it made an evil ‘whooosh’.

‘Nggh.’ He grunted in pain at the first blaze of fire across his bottom.

A second.

A third.

Please no more. He dug his fingernails into the skin of his legs and ground his teeth together. Fuck this. This wasn’t what he wanted.

A fourth stroke, the hardest of all, slashed his flesh.

Unable to take any more, Mart stood up, rubbing his buttocks.

Kelly’s eyes shone at him with yellow specks of anger.

“What do you mean by standing up ?” she screamed.

Suddenly he realised what he’d done. He stared at her open-mouthed.

“You …” she stammered with rage, “… pathetic wimp ! You don’t want to be my slave at all. Full time you said ! No limits you said ! Blah … blah … blah. Well, too late Mart. It’s that … or those divorce papers you’ve already signed. Which is it ?”

“I’m sorry. Please. I …”. He dropped to his knees. “It’s just it hurt so much. But you’re right. I said no limits. Please forgive me.”

She stared down at him, anger slowly dissipating, her breathing gradually returning to normal.

“I know it’s hard, Mart. It’s meant to be. I can’t do this any other way. It’s my rules or not at all.” She pouted in a half-grin, half-sad expression. “I warned you that you might regret it. But there’s no going back now.”

He stared down at the floor in surrender.

She was right. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle.

“Good.” Her voice was lighter again. “Now, where were we ? At four, I think. But I’m not sure, so we’d better start again.”

 

At just after two o’clock, he set off for the restaurant. He watched her briefly standing on the front step as he left, before she turned and shut the door. He wondered what she had planned for herself over the next ten hours or so. He realised that she really could do exactly as she liked. Not just without hassle but with a clean conscience too.

He sat in the back row of the bus and prayed he could make it the whole way. His buttocks felt sore against the hard seat but his desperate need to void his bowels was a bigger problem.

At one stage, he unavoidably passed wind and had to keep a straight face while his foul aroma filled the bus. A little boy two rows ahead commented to his mother about the horrible pong.

Eventually he made it, and was leaving the seedy staff toilet in the basement, when Joe, the kitchen commis, cornered him.

“Phew. That’s a stink you’ve left in there.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“You washed your hands ?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well you can dirty them again. I want you to give this shithole a thorough cleaning. Scrub the pan, the floor, behind the piping, everywhere. Got that ?”

Twenty minutes later, Joe was back to inspect. He lifted the lavatory seat, bent down behind the plumbing, ran his finger under the basin rim.

“Okay.” Joe held out a brown envelope. “Open it.”

Mart fumbled it open and found his first payslip; four weeks of minimum wage at £5.05 per hour. A measly forty pounds a day, or £1,311 for the calendar month. Before tax. By the time the Revenue had taken their slice his take home pay was just over eight hundred quid, for working 7 long days a week !

Smiling at Mart’s shocked expression, Joe held out a waiter’s uniform. “Change into these. Tonight Guillaume is ill. You can take his place waiting tables.”

It was the first time that Mart had been allowed anywhere but the kitchen sink. The Maitre d’ gave him a crash course in serving etiquette. He learned which side to serve, how to clear plates, how to stack them along his arm.

By 8.00 p.m., the restaurant was almost full. It was known as the best place in the area. Most of the tables were small, for two to four diners, with just a couple of round ones for parties of six or eight. The atmosphere was romantic, with low lighting, and little candles on each table.

Mart was assisting by serving vegetables, pouring water and wine and clearing plates. The Maitre d’ and another senior waiter took all the orders.

Shortly after eight, Alain, the proprietor arrived. He stood at the small bar with a glass of champagne surveying business. Mart nodded hello as he scurried by with a stack of dishes but Alain looked straight through him.

Five minutes later, Mart gasped with shock.

Kelly walked into the restaurant.

She had never been to visit him at work since the private meeting with Alain on his first day. She looked sensational, in a figure hugging dress he’d never seen before. The gold chain hung round her neck.

Alain walked over to greet her and they pecked each other on the cheek. Mart watched him lead her over to a corner table and hold out her chair for her to sit down. The Maitre d’ hovered around them.

“Psst.”

Mart realised a senior waiter was hissing at him to stop dawdling and get on with his job. He tore his eyes away and went into the kitchens.

“I see Alain’s got his mistress in tonight.” Somebody was saying.

“Nice looking lady.” Another person replied, brushing past Mart.

“I hear she’s married.” He heard a third voice say.

“Ze best fucks all are.” Said a French sous-chef, passing Mart two dishes for Table 11. “Zeir husbands cannot cope.” He added, winking at Mart.

He spent the next thirty minutes in a daze. Rushing to and from the kitchen, serving, trying his best not to gawp at his wife with Alain, and to ignore the ribald conversation in the kitchen. It was evident the staff didn’t know that Kelly was his wife.

“Take these vegetables to Table One.” He was told.

He followed the senior waiter over to Kelly and Alain’s table. She had ordered the sole and he was having lamb. Then Mart came forward with the peas and spinach.

Her brown eyes rested briefly on Mart, scrutinizing, but not acknowledging him.

Meanwhile, Alain reached across the table and put his hand on hers, telling her some joke. Her face sparkled with excitement in the candlelight as she listened.

She laughed at the punchline, leaning to one side as Mart served her.

Then Kelly patted Alain’s hand.

He clearly heard her say five words.

“So, will you teach him ?” she asked.

 

It was midnight when Kelly heard Mart arrive.

She and Alain had left the restaurant at ten thirty and driven home. He fixed them both nightcaps while she put on an album of sexy jazz songs, one of a stack she’d purchased to replace all Mart’s old rock CDs that she’d given to a charity shop.

They were slow dancing together in the living room when Mart peered round the door. She gestured to him over Alain’s shoulder.

“Take your clothes off.” She said over the music.

They carried on dancing and kissing while Mart undressed. She smiled at his embarrassment until he stood totally naked. Then she broke away and sat down, patting the sofa for Alain to sit behind her. She lowered the music volume right down.

“So, Mart. As you will have gathered, Alain is giving me the sex I deserve, until you learn to do it properly. Or rather, … if you learn to do it properly. Tell me, Mart, what did you used to call your teachers at school ?”

“Er … ‘Sir’.”

“And what are you going to call your new teacher now ?”

“Sir.”

“Correct. Come and stand here.”

She waited until he was in front of them, in nothing but the device caging his penis. Alain smiled at her, obviously not at all phased by the scene.

Just a she hoped, he was striking just the right balance so far. She wanted a dominant man, who could play the part convincingly, enjoying himself, but not a guy who would try to take over. This was her game, not his.

“So, I am to be his sex teacher, yes ?” Alain said, in his French accent. “In how to satisfy his wife.”

“Mais oui.” She replied. “Say please.”

“Er … please …” Mart paused, “… would you be my t … teacher.”

“And I think you should offer to pay Alain some school fees.”

“H … how much ?”

Alain shrugged.

“How about eight hundred pounds ?” Kelly suggested.

Of course, she knew that was almost the exact amount that Mart’s labours in the kitchen had earned him for a whole month ! All to be handed back to Alain. Although, of course, eventually the full amount would actually end up in her own pocket.

Mart looked back from one to the other of them sheepishly.

She knew that he’d realised she’d calculated the amount for maximum effect. Not that it was the money itself. She had several million, all now in her sole name. But it was still a currency between them. A month’s truly hard work equated to … whatever she now had in store for him.

“Yes, Sir. I agree to the fee.”

Alain nodded. “It will be a hard course for you, I think.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So we must begin by seeing at what level you are at now ?”

Kelly smiled as Alain rose and went to the cloak cupboard in the hall. He returned carrying a woman.

A full size, pink, plastic blow-up doll !

Kelly pulled the gold chain over her neck, lifting the key from her cleavage, and leaned forward and unlocked Mart’s Gerecke.

Alain laid the doll she’d purchased face up on the floor. She watched him pause to admire the red and yellowing bruises on Mart’s backside, before sitting down.

“Okay, mon ami, first we must give your girlfriend a name. Tell me, what should we call her ?”

Mart shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Aw, monsieur come on ! You will be very close to this woman; chatting her up, dating her, seducing her, making love. You must have a name for her.”

“What about Martina ?” Kelly suggested.

“Good idea.” Alain said. “Say hello to Martina.”

“H … hello, M … Martina.” Mart mumbled.

“Oh dear. Not like that. You must be self assured when speaking to a woman. Now, again, boldly. With charm. Say hello to Martina.”

“Hello Martina.”

“Better.”

 

For five minutes, she and Alain tormented Mart with requests and instructions for humiliating dialogue. Then they made him kneel between Martina’s plastic thighs and ask her if he could start by licking her out.

“Umm …” Kelly replied, in a high-pitched squeak, imitating Martina.

Mart shifted lower and began lapping at the entrance of the fake vagina.

She tongue-kissed Alain while they watched Mart, and she reached down to unzip the Frenchman’s trousers, releasing his superb manhood.

“Now, lick her behind.”

They watched Mart lift the doll by the hips and bury his tongue in its imitation anus. Meanwhile, she began slurping noisily on Alain’s real erection, loud enough so Mart would definitely hear.

Way back when, in their early days, Kelly had enjoyed giving head. She’d even tried swallowing a couple of times before she got Mart up the aisle. But it had been a long old time since she’d given him any more than a cursory lick. Many years. And she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it in a strange sort of way. It made her feel young, raunchy. And she liked the control she had when she did it. But most of all, it was the trade off. The quid pro quo. You give me exciting sex and I’ll give it you back. Alain’s cock deserved its reward. So did her puss. Now she liked giving it to Alain and receiving it from Mart.

“Now, you may start to fuck Martina.” He said in his sexy French accent.

In spite of, or probably because of, his humiliation, she could see that Mart was excited now. He clambered up the doll and plunged into its vagina.

She smiled encouragingly.

After a few seconds, Mart paused, then gasped.

Earlier, she had lined the inner recess of the doll’s vagina with a generous dollop of Deep Heat, a muscle unguent similar to Ben Gay, which burned sensitive skin. She gave him her best smirk.

He gasped again and looked up at them uncertainly. His face was turning bright red and he started breathing in short, fast wheezes.

“Zere is a problem ?” Alain asked, with his hand gently guiding Kelly’s head.

“It’s …”

“Make love, boy ! In … out … in … out … in …”

Mart tried desperately to obey, plunging, groaning and gasping.

“Is that the best you can do ? Look, Martina isn’t reacting at all !”

“So, you can … mmm … shee … my … pwoblem …” Kelly mumbled with her lips sliding sensuously along Alain’s dick.

“I can see he is useless. Get out at once !” Alain barked.

Mart pushed himself up into a kneeling position. His penis quivered, throbbing and hot, and – best of all – deflating. There’s a point at which discomfort ceases to be erotic. That point had obviously been reached.

She watched him grimace and try to rub the glistening gel from his shaft.

“Stand up !” she said, pulling her lips from Alain’s equally throbbing and hot, but still inflating penis. “To attention. Hands behind your back.”

“It is time for a demonstration !” said the teacher.

 

Mart sat in a hard-backed oak chair, his wrists tied to the arms and his ankles fastened to the chair legs. It was past one a.m. but the lights were still bright in what had once been ‘their’ bedroom.

He watched in awe as his wife shrieked in ecstatic climax again. Alain was now pounding her from behind in the doggy position, both of them seemingly oblivious to Mart’s presence.

He would have scratched his head if he could. There was nothing he could discern that Alain was doing any differently to how Mart had tried. Sure, like a dancer, he moved more confidently and rhythmically than Mart’s clumsy attempts. Nevertheless, he really couldn’t see any reason why Kelly was going off like a box of fireworks.

He had been put firmly in his place.

Still at least he had five simple words to comfort him.

‘Things can only get better’.

 

But Mart had no idea how wrong he was.

 

 

 

End of Part Three

To be continued in Part Four (“October”)