Descent Into Oral Servitude

She simply laughed and made ready to climb back on the bed. As she did so, it happened. I brought my arm across and I hit her. It was not a hard blow but it was enough to startle her. She looked at me and saw that I had been able to make a fist and that was enough for her. She moved away and dressed quickly. Less than two minutes later she left the room.

For the remainder of the day I tested myself and before Karen came home that evening I had managed to sit up and clean my own face. I felt elated to have made such progress and at last I felt that I could get my life back into some sort of order.

When Karen came into the room she did not seem altogether surprised at my new mobility.

“How does it feel?”

“Not too bad. I still feel very weak.”

“How weak?”

“Well everything moves but the effort is tiring.”

“That’s good.”

“What do you mean ‘good’?”

She did not answer. She opened her attaché case and took out two packets each containing a new pair of stockings. She removed them from the packaging and stretched them out.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

She tied a loop in each stocking and carefully checked the knots.

“Karen, stop messing about, what are you playing at?”

She reached forward and took hold of my wrist and there was a brief but uneven struggle as she pulled my arm towards her.

“Karen!”

She deftly slipped one of the stockings around my wrist and then proceeded to tie off the loose end to the bedpost.

I grabbed at it with my free hand but my fingers were still not dexterous enough to tackle the knot and the silk stocking was surprisingly strong and resisted my enfeebled attempt to pull it free.

“Karen, this isn’t funny!”

She moved round to the other side of the bed and I held my free arm tightly across my chest but I could not prevent her from looping another stocking around my wrist. After that it was easy. She stretched the stocking until she could wind it around the bedpost and then, using her weight, she pulled my arm towards it.

“That’s enough! Undo me right now!”

It was obvious that she intended to secure my legs as well and I tried to resist but, having curled myself up, I could not prevent her from lassoing my ankles. Once that was done there was more than adequate play in the stretchy material to repeat the same trick with the bedposts at the foot of the bed.

“Karen, talk to me! Tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Now that the stockings were secure I found that they actually made for a very loose binding and that I still had a fair degree of movement in both my arms and legs. I tried a more conciliatory approach.

“Karen, just sit down and talk this through.”

She ignored me, returned to her case, and took out, what looked to be, a thin looking dildo.

As she drew closer I could see that it was, in fact, a crude approximation of male genitalia complete with a large ball sac.

“It’s a latex casting from my trip to Turkey. The original is over one thousand years old and carved from stone. The experts there think that it was used during fertility rites.”

“Skip the history lesson what’s this all about?”

To my surprise she laid the latex shaft along the stocking binding my arm and then, with a half twist, she caught up the material and started to turn it end over end. The stocking was slowly being wound around the shaft and the binding quickly grew tighter.

“Stop! That’s not comfortable!”

She carried on twisting and, when she was satisfied, she pushed the end of the shaft into the loop around my wrist to secure it in place. I rarely swear, and then only in anger, but in the next few minutes I called her names which would have shamed a whore. For her part, she kept her silence but she produced three more castings from her case and she repeated the tightening process on my other limbs. But for the fact that I was sitting up it was like being put to the rack.

“Right, you shit, it’s your turn to listen. It’s obvious that you are prepared to go behind my back and that you are not to be trusted. Add to that your attempt to undermine my oldest friend and I should be bloody well considering divorce.”

In the past few days I had had a lot of time to think. I had seen a new side to Karen that I did not find attractive and I clearly had a problem at work. I had given serious thought to cutting loose altogether and making a fresh start but I was shocked to hear Karen make the suggestion.

“Marcia tells me that if she exposes your little scam you’re facing three years in prison, given the current climate in the financial services industry, and that brings me to my little problem. ..”

She had to be bluffing. She was right about the custodial sentence but no way was Marcia going to hang me out to dry.

“… The Chief Curators job becomes vacant next year and I want it. The Trustees will make the appointment but they are very much of the old school; the candidate will have to be whiter than white with no hint of scandal attached. In short, I need a dutiful husband at my side in the run up to the appointment and some way beyond.”

I sensed the balance of power shifting in my direction. She could not afford to divorce me and it was certainly in her interests to keep me out of prison. I found myself trying to suppress a smile.

“So you need me after all. What if I told you that I am disgusted by your behaviour of late and that I want a divorce?”

“It wouldn’t matter. You will be doing exactly as you’re told.”

I found her absolute certainty a little unsettling.

“Let me show you something I bought on my own account in Istanbul.”

She produced, from her case, something which, at first glance, looked like a brass napkin ring.

“I paid five hundred dollars for it in a souk. If I told you how much it is really worth you would be staggered.”

She brought it closer and I could see that it was actually formed of four concentric rings each marked with a series of symbols which reminded me of rune stones.

“Watch carefully.”

She twisted the rings, in what appeared to be a calculated sequence, and, as I watched, a loop of fine wire began to be extruded. I was trying to puzzle it out as she fetched from her case yet another latex shaft. She slid the rings along the shaft and then looped the wire around the ball sac. She twisted the rings once more but this time it had the effect of tightening the wire loop.

I was no longer amused and when I spoke it was with a voice heavy with sarcasm.

“So just how much should an ornamental cock ring fetch?”

She did not reply. She looked me in eye whilst she gave the rings another twist.

“Christ!”

There was a loud snap, like the discharge of an air rifle, and the latex shaft fell to the floor leaving Karen holding the ring. When I looked down I saw that the ball sac had been severed completely and the shaft itself had been neatly sliced in two.

“What the hell is it?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s a chastity tube. You’ve seen what happens if your try and remove it without turning the rings in the right sequence and it’s also tamper proof. There are small triggers inside as well so it’s not advisable to play around with it unnecessarily.”

“It’s bloody inhuman.”

“Inhuman it may be … but it’s all yours.”

“Karen…stay the fuck away from me!”

She was already turning the rings and the wire loop was extruding once again.

“Fuck off!”

I made a superhuman effort to struggle free and I felt the sinews knotting in my neck but the silk bindings held fast. As she drew closer I tried bucking my hips but my weakened back refused to co-operate.

“Get off!”

She took hold of my flaccid penis and slipped the ring onto it.

“Karen…don’t do this!”

She carefully looped the wire around my scrotum and then turned the rings to tighten the closure.

“Karen, take it off right now!”

Now that she had let go I could feel the sinister weight of it and for a few seconds I hardly dared move.

“It’s okay. You won’t get into any trouble unless you try something silly.”

“You’ve seen what it can fucking do! Take it off.”

“If you behave yourself I’ll let you out from time to time. Now there’s one more thing to check…”

She slipped her jacket off and began to slowly unfasten her blouse. I immediately felt an overwhelming sense of relief; it had obviously been a joke and she was now ready to find out just how much I had really recovered. I watched in eager anticipation and tried not to think about how long it had been since I had last had an orgasm. Her blouse fell to the floor followed quickly by her bra and I could see that her nipples were already aroused. I could almost feel the distended teats in my mouth but then my groin was gripped by a sudden, violent, cramping pain. My cock, following its Pavlovian instincts, had tried to come to erection but it was cruelly pinched back by the restrictive diameter of the tube.

“Get it off! It’s bloody painful!”

“Excellent.”

“Karen!”

I shouted forlornly as she scooped up her clothes and left the room.

Chapter 4

Karen returned after some hours and untied my arm leaving me to finish releasing myself. There was no way I was going to beg her and, once free, I stayed in the spare room and started to examine the tube in detail. The temptation to try turning the rings was almost overwhelming but the severed facsimile, still lying on the floor, acted as a deterrent. I slept with it on that night but it was a troubled sleep fueled by a growing anger towards Karen. The next morning I was able to get myself up and, as soon as she had left for work, I made my way down to the garage. I re-examined the ring with the aid of a powerful torch but the dull metal offered up no clues.

I sat down and weighed up my options. I reckoned that someway or another, armed with the right tools, I could remove it but it would be delicate work and, for the present, I could still not trust my limbs. I was already shaking from the exertion of coming down stairs and I guessed that it would be another day or two before I was fully fit. The great temptation was to cut the wire enclosure but it was obviously coiled inside the tube, as proved by the bisected shaft, and whilst my balls might be saved I ran the risk of severely lacerating myself. I knew that, in extremis, I could seek some professional help but that was going to come at the cost of major embarrassment. In the end I came to the inevitable conclusion that I would have to try and talk Karen round. I knew that she could not stay angry forever and I hoped that, now she had had her fun, she would once again become the woman that I had fallen in love with.

That evening, when she came in, I had a meal prepared and a bottle of chilled Sancerre standing ready. No mention was made of the ring. Over dinner I asked about her day at work and she quizzed me and seemed genuinely pleased at the extent of my recovery. Afterwards, we sat down on the sofa together and I suggested that we watch a DVD.

Karen chose the film “Bound”, which was an old favourite, but I had forgotten just how steamy the girl/girl scenes were. I was painfully reminded as my cock started to stir only to be strangled in its efforts.

“Karen, this thing is really hurting. Will you take it off?...We can finish watching the film in the bedroom.”

I hoped that the hint that I was almost back to my old self might be enough but having pondered for a moment she replied without taking her eyes from the screen.

“You have to do something for me first.”

“Like what?”

“I want you to go down on me.”

“Come up to the bedroom.”

“No. Here. Now.”

“And then you’ll end this nonsense?”

“No promises.”

I was tempted to get into an argument but things had gone well so far and it would have been stupid to spoil it all.

“Scoot up onto the sofa.”

“No, I want you down here on your knees.”

I bit my tongue and dropped to the floor. She was wearing a short skirt and she opened her legs to reveal a pair of expensive looking panties that I could not remember having seen before.

“Take them off for me”

She lifted herself slightly and I eased them down her legs. It was immediately clear that the film had been affecting her as much as me. The panties were damp and strongly scented and I discarded them almost with distaste.

She slumped further down on the sofa, shifting herself forward as she did so, and made herself more accessible. On another occasion I might have teased her a little, kissing gently up along her inner thigh, but there was no love in this. I was being used, she knew it, I knew it, but what was the choice? Her glistening sex, lewdly displayed, was mocking me and, on some primal level, I wanted to do her harm but sanity prevailed and I bent to my task.

“Gently, there’s no rush.”

In an effort to assert myself in some way I clamped my mouth to her sex and pushed my tongue deep inside her but she used her skilled muscles to give me admonitory squeeze. I remained caught for a second or two and then she relaxed so that I could resume at a more leisurely pace. For the next few minutes I licked her slowly concentrating mainly on her labia but teasing upwards towards her clitoris every now again. On the face of it she was ignoring my ministrations and her attention was fixed on the film but I was determined to make her loose her self control. The battle of wills continued for another quarter of an hour. My tongue was tiring but I kept up the same easy rhythm in the knowledge that there were some indications she could not control. In my prison between her thighs it was growing appreciably warmer and she was oozing more and more moisture.

The film had come to an end but she reached across and used the remote control to start rewinding it. I was dimly aware that she had restarted it somewhere near the beginning when the two women meet in the apartment.

“Do my clit…”

She was not asking, she was demanding, but I felt a tiny measure of triumph. I tried to work her clit free of its fleshy cloak with the tip of my tongue but she grew impatient and used her fingers to distend herself further. I began to lick the engorged bud and, almost immediately, she began to moan. It started as a barely perceptible hum but soon built to a full throated growl and, for the first time in some while, I finally felt in control. Her body started to tremble as her climax built and then, suddenly, my face was spattered with moisture as the first major contraction wrenched at her. After that her body jerked at irregular intervals as she tried to anticipate each new wave of pleasure and surf with it.

At the finish I was no longer licking with any purpose. I simply presented my tongue and she worked herself against me as her orgasm finally abated. By then my face was hot with a mixture of sweat and her creamy sap. I felt pleased with myself and, as I dared to hope, I felt my cock beginning to stir. I started to rise up from my aching knees but she pressed down on the top of my head.

“Stay there. I’m not finished yet. I want another.”

“Have a heart, it’s my turn now.”

“You still haven’t changed have you! It’s still you, you, you.”

This tirade took me unawares and before I could frame any sort of reply she flitted off of the sofa.

“Karen!”

I made a belated grab for her but she was already gone. I scrambled to my feet in ungainly fashion and took after her but I was only half way up the stairs when I heard the bedroom door slam and then the key turning in the lock. I spent the next five minutes trying to talk to her through the door but, for all the good it did me, the room might as well have been empty. In the end I was swearing and I was sorely tempted to put my shoulder to the door but I forced myself to be calm. I went back downstairs and started to look for the spare key but it was nowhere to be found.

The next morning Karen left for work early, without saying a word, and I was left to my own devices. I found that my hands were steady and so I collected some tools together and began to think about forcing the tube. It seemed to me that the best strategy would be to place a ring of some description between the tube and my cock so that, if the wire snapped I would afford myself some protection but the plan had two flaws. Karen had mentioned triggers inside the tube and sliding something hard inside might be enough to spring the mechanism. The other problem was the tension in the wire. I had seen how easily it had sliced through the latex phallus and so I needed something both thin and strong to nullify it.

I spent hours thinking it through and even began entertaining some far fetched notions including the possibility that the triggers might be magnetic and that certain metals, including steel, would, therefore, be out of the question. In the end I could not pluck up the courage and I convinced myself that if I played it right Karen could still be made to see sense.

I decided that the best bet would be to talk to her somewhere away from the house and so I booked a table at Tosca, her favourite Italian restaurant. When she arrived she was clearly pleased with my initiative but she still seemed a little edgy. Throughout the meal we made small talk but there was definitely an atmosphere. I noticed that she drank more red wine than she would normally be comfortable with but I figured that an excess of alcohol might work to my advantage. I decided to grasp the nettle.

“Karen, it seems to me that we can do one of two things. Either we forget everything that has happened and try to patch things up or we give one another some space for a while.”

“You don’t understand do you? I’ve told you how things are going to be. You are going to play the dutiful husband. Once I am well established in my new post you can do what you like. In the meanwhile you will continue to service my needs … unless you would like me to explore the alternatives.”

This was too much for me.

“If that’s how you feel about it its probably better if I simply move out now. Tell me how to remove this “thing’ and I’ll pack my bags.”

She stared at me for a moment and then seemed to reach a decision.

“Okay, you give me the orgasm that you owe me and I’ll tell you how.”

It was not what I was expecting to hear and I was caught off guard.

“I owe you an orgasm?”

“It’s not open to debate. Bring me to an orgasm right now and I’ll release you, otherwise you can make your own arrangements. “

“What the hell do you mean ‘right now’?”

“Exactly as I say. Get under the table and do it or leave now and take your chances.”

It was insanity but, nevertheless, I found myself scanning the room checking out the clientele. Fortunately, it was still early and only three other tables were occupied. I knew, right then, that our marriage was finished and I wanted nothing more than to get up and leave her alone at the table but that would mean that I would have to suffer the embarrassment of finding someone else to remove the tube and I was determined to deny her that particular satisfaction.

The table was large enough to accommodate four people and was covered by a heavy damask cloth that fell to floor level. She had, no doubt, taken all this into consideration and her premeditation added fuel to my anger. I silently counted to three and then allowed my napkin to drop to the floor. As I bent to retrieve it I quickly checked that no one had noticed and then I ducked beneath the table. I had not looked at Karen but I somehow knew that she was smiling.

As I edged forward she opened her legs and I was surprised to see that she was not wearing panties. I did not dwell on the inference and decided to get it over and done with as soon as possible. I nudged my way between her thighs and applied my mouth to her sex, a maneuver that was not made any easier by the fact that she remained sitting upright in her chair. After a minute or two it became obvious that she was in no particular hurry and, as I continued to labour, I could hear her turning the pages of the menu. I shifted myself up a little so that I could suck her clitoris but she was becoming very adept at disguising her reactions and, ten minutes later, there was still no obvious sign that I was achieving my aim. I was at the point of giving up and walking out on her with as much dignity as I could muster when a familiar voice made me freeze.