Evil Slut Bride Ch. 04

"OK... dear... I'll, uh.... I'll sleep on the couch."

"Mmmmm. That's a good boy. That's very considerate, Davey. Bring yourself up here so I can un-cuff you." After removing the handcuffs, I made him swing around and kneel on the bed and point his butt toward me, so I wouldn't have to move as I pulled the "butt starter" out. Then I made him swivel back around, and I put the thing in his mouth. I said, "Suck on that tonight, Davey, and keep it in your mouth all night like a pacifier. You should think about how happy I am in here with the bed to myself, but if you want you can also suck on that and cry like a little baby, thinking about how lonely you are by yourself on the couch. Make sure you get your clothes for tomorrow, and take them out there. Be sure and take the ice pack for your balls, too. Oh, and I noticed you found a different blanket and had it out there, that night last week. Don't use that one, use the one I gave you before. And whenever you do laundry, don't wash that one, because I don't want it to get more ratty. Just use that blanket as is. Don't wash it, and don't ever, like, vacuum it or shake it out, or anything, because it will get dust all over the room. Oh... Davey... one more thing, don't use the throw pillows out there, 'cause I don't want you drooling on them or something. See that laundry basket over there?"

"Yes."

"Ahem! What was that?"

"Yes, dear."

"Good boy. Go through that basket right now, and find every pair of your dirty undies."

"OK-- uh, yes, dear."

After I made him pick through the whole thing, I said, "OK, put everything else back in." When he finished, I said, "OK, take those undies and make a pile on the couch where your head will be, and that will be your pillow. New rule: That's your pillow every night. That will make a good pillow. It'll be very soft. Another new rule: Even though you'll be doing laundry from now on, you're never allowed to wash your undies. Leave those to me. If you don't have any clean pairs, you'll put on dirty ones in the morning, but you're never allowed to wash them. OK, kiss the bottoms of my feet. Kiss each one 5 times and say 'I love you, dear' each time. Then go, and close my door behind you."

Just as he was on his way out, I said, "Don't forget to suck on that pacifier all night." He said, "Yes, dear." After he walked out and closed the door, I buried my face hard in a pillow and laughed my ass off!

The "pacifier" became a wonderful little device I could use to increase his feelings of powerlessness, and wimpiness. I made a NEW RULE that when he went to bed, he was to suck on the thing and then slide it in and out of his ass for a full 10 minutes before putting it back in his mouth to keep there all night. Then I made another NEW RULE: As soon as his alarm went off in the morning, the first thing he was to do, before he even peed, was to come down the hall and kneel outside my bedroom door, facing it, and put the thing in his ass, slide it in and out, and whisper "I love you, dear" a hundred times. I have no idea how long that takes, and of course, I was always sound asleep during the whole thing. Hahahaha! Jenna LOVED that rule, and gave me extra punishment for it, hee hee.

Then there was yet another NEW RULE. He had to take the "butt starter" to work with him, and I gave him a little tube of lube he was only allowed to use at work. He had to spend at least a full hour with the thing stuck up his ass while he was working.

Every minute hubby was home, he looked for housework to do; consequently, I left every bit of it for him. Even Jenna was impressed that after only 5 weeks of marriage, I'd duped my poor fool of a hubby into taking over all the housework (all the work, period), and had only let him cum a grand total of 3 times, none of them satisfying orgasms, and every one followed by him eating up his mess. Since his cage was on a full month before the wedding, that meant he had only cum 3 times in a 2-month period. And his poor little rejected dick had spent... what? ... maybe two minutes? on only *one* occasion, inside his wife's pussy. Hahahaha! I'm sure he was fearing, though he didn't yet know he was absolutely right, that it would never spend another minute there again!

The rule that "for the time being" he should spend every minute he's home looking for chores to do naturally became a rule that he should do all the housework all the time, until further notice (which there would never be). The next rule was that he should be naked all the time at home, except, of course, for his little dick cage. The next one was that the only hobby or pastime he was allowed was doing things to please me. So he was not allowed to turn the TV on, not allowed to sit on the furniture, not allowed to read or use a computer, not allowed to answer any phone calls or texts, except from me, when he was home alone.

I told him it was impossible to run out of chores; there would *always* be *something* he could do. Even if everything was wiped, cleaned, swept, vacuumed, washed, or straightened, he could always find some project, like taking everything out of a closet, reorganizing it, wiping or dusting each item, vacuuming the floor of the closet and wiping all its walls and shelves, and then placing everything back in. He could also do that with kitchen cabinets and drawers, or bookcases, and there were always windows to clean. So he needed to spend every waking moment at home looking for something.

There was only one teeny little bit of housework that wasn't for him, and that was washing his own underwear. I wanted him to have to wear dirty, stinky underwear, and also sleep with his head on it every night, hahaha! Once in a while, if he had a bucket of dirty mop water, I'd make him put the whole pile of undies in there, get on his knees and wring them a while, then make him put the whole pile in the toilet to rinse. I'd make him pull them out one by one and wring them out over his open mouth, and drink the water. Then I'd put the still-wet pile on the couch for his pillow, and tell him to leave them bunched up like that until they all dried, which they would eventually... even though that night his pillow might still be a little soggy. Hahaha! The next morning he probably had to put on damp underwear, too.

Another new rule I made was if I decided to leave the house when he was home, and not say a word about where I was going, well, naturally, he was not allowed to say a word. About every other night I left him home alone all evening, maybe even until past his bedtime. If he was up when I came home, since he was not allowed to say 'hi', or ask any questions, or speak at all until spoken to, he could only look at me and hope I'd say something. Usually I wouldn't, and would go to my room without even acknowledging the lonely wimp. Hahahaha.

Since I knew he'd be home alone a lot now, I started making him prepare some really yummy

meals for me and Jenna to eat during the day. But while I was out, and he cooked it, he was to pack it up in containers we could microwave, and he wasn't allowed to eat any of it. I bought a whole bunch of cans of nasty stuff like canned beef stew, potted meat, sardines, carrots, spinach, and bought two dog dishes, which I put on the kitchen floor with a can opener. One was for water, which was all he was allowed to drink now. If he got hungry, he was allowed to open a can and dump it, as is, into the other dish, and not heat it up. Then he was allowed to eat it on his hands and knees, and he didn't have to eat it all, but another new rule was: You're never allowed to clean your food bowl with anything but your tongue, so if you don't want dried, yucky stuff on there, you'd better eat and lick up everything thoroughly.

One night I came home from Jenna's at about 9:00, and it was the first hubby had seen of me all day (since he never got to see me in the morning anymore). He was washing dishes at the kitchen sink. He continued what he was doing, as he was no longer allowed to say hello when I came home. I brought some paddles and whips from Jenna's, so I showed them to hubby while he was naked on hands and knees, and said, "I know you have seen red marks on me from these, and you have been a very, very good boy by never asking about it. But Jenna and I like to fool around with this S & M kind of stuff, and she thinks -- and of course, I agree -- that these will also help our marriage a lot. You shouldn't think of these as punishment tools. Think of them as your wife's toys, which make her very happy. So when I use them on you, you should just go ahead and continue whatever you're supposed to be doing, or what I tell you to do, and you're not allowed to ever complain, or yelp, or make any noises, unless you absolutely can't help it. Understand?"

"Yes, dear."

"OK. Go ahead and get back to the dishes." As he washed them, I started beating his ass with cat-o-nine tails. He grunted or gasped now and then, but otherwise was a very good boy, as I whacked him with paddles, riding crops, and whips, on his ass, back, legs, arms, and if I could, sometimes his balls, hahaha. Then I smeared toothpaste on his "butt pacifier" and slid it into his ass, and started in on him again, whipping even harder this time.

One day I led hubby to my bedroom door, closed it, and made him kneel outside it, in the hallway. I asked him where his "butt pacifier" was. He told me. I said, "Stay right there." I got it for him and said, "I want you to show me how you do your morning wifey-worship."

He said, "Yes, dear," and sucked on the butt toy, then started sliding it in and out of his ass. As he looked toward the door, he said, "I love you, dear... I love you, dear... I love you, dear....." over and over and over again. I stood behind him and almost doubled over, silently laughing. I thought, Ohhhh my god. He is SUCH... a fool! He looked sooo ridiculous. I coughed to mask the sound of me snapping a quick picture with my phone so I could show Jenna.

"OK. Stop. Let me ask you something. Are there ever mornings when you're in a hurry to get through the 100 'I love you dear's, and you say them really fast, like 'I love you dear I love you dear I love you dear I love you dear'? Has that ever happened?"

"Um... yes... dear.... a couple times..."

"A couple? What's your best guess on exactly how many times that's happened?"

"Ummm... three or four."

"Three or four? We'll go with four, then. OK... well, that does not please me, Davey. Four more days of chastity should do as punishment, I guess. I'll mark it on the calendar. But make sure you don't do that again. Just because I can't hear you and don't see you doesn't mean I don't appreciate you doing it. But you have to do it right. When I wake up in the morning, I know you've been there, doing your wife-worship. But I want to be able to trust you, Davey. Don't violate that trust. OK? Do it right."

"Yes dear."

When we were engaged, I had thought it would be enough just to have Davey end up being completely obedient. I thought as long as he did everything I wanted, so I'd be free to do what I wanted, that is all I would need. But once I started driving him further into submission, I found that obedience *wasn't* actually enough. What I found is that I couldn't stop myself from thinking of additional, and really unnecessary, ways of increasing his misery. I got sooo drunk with power, and it made my pussy so wet, every time I had some inspiration on what I could do to torture him more. Most of it would just come to me in flashes. Like the pile of dirty undies for a pillow, or the morning wife-worship, or the dog bowls, or the ratty blanket that he was never allowed to wash. I thought of all that stuff in the spur of the moment, right on the spot. None of it was necessary just to make him obedient, but I couldn't resist the laughter (and better orgasms!) I'd get from these wicked little touches.

One day I was lounging at home while Davey was at work, and I had a cold. I took the tissue box we usually have in the living room, and put it in my bedroom. Then I came back out to the couch, and started using Davey's undies to blow my nose and wipe my snot, and cough up my phlegm. (Later that evening I told Davey I had to use them because there were no tissues nearby, but the stuff should be dry by now. I laughed knowing he'd have to sleep on that stuff and wear it, too.) Then I thought, Oh my god. Wouldn't it be great if I could make these pissy, too? Obviously I could just piss on them, but what kind of excuse could I have for that??

But it gave me another idea. I remembered when I'd been to Feedler, where Davey worked, that they used a certain kind of big plastic bucket with a lid. I didn't even know what was in them, but I thought I might find some of those in the dumpsters outside the place. I drove over there and peeked into the dumpsters until I saw some. Carefully, I reached into the opening on the side, and pulled out two buckets and two lids. They had some kind of residue in them, but I thought I could clean them up, and they'd work fine.

I went home, cleaned them, and put them side-by-side in the laundry room. I put a little something in each one, and put the lids on them. When Davey came home from work, I told him that since there was only one toilet in our apartment, until we had a house and had our own toilets, he wasn't allowed to use the apartment toilet. Since his little dick cage meant he had to sit down even to pee, I didn't want his sweaty ass on the same seat I used.

I made him follow me, crawling, down the little passageway in the laundry room, between the washer & dryer on one side, and the wall on the other. The floor was concrete, with a very thin all-weather carpet. I said, "Here are your new toilets. You can squat over these to relieve yourself. One's for peeing and one's for pooping. Crawl over here and take the lids off, and look inside." Looking in the first, he saw a toilet paper roll. I said, "That one's for pooping. After you poop in there, and wipe ... of course drop your toilet paper in there ... but then make sure you slide your 'butt pacifier' in and out a few times and suck it off, to make sure your hole is clean." (Hahaha! I'm such a bitch.)

When he looked in the other bucket, he saw his whole pile of dirty undies. "That one is to piss in. Your undies are in there to mask the sound. I don't want to hear your piss against that bucket if I'm here. But whether I'm here or not, piss into those undies. From now on, you won't be wearing these anymore. I'll give you a few pairs of my panties you can wear instead. And the panties do get washed with the other laundry. But these still never get washed. But the thing is, you still need a pillow, so every night before you go to bed, here's what you do: Take the lid off the piss bucket, turn it upside down and set it on top of the poop bucket, like this. [I demonstrated.] Then take the whole stack of undies out, with your bare hands, and set them on the lid. Then take each one and wring it out over the piss bucket. As you do each one, set it down, to make a pile on the floor right here. When you've wrung them all out, shake the piss off your hands, into the piss bucket, put the lid back on it.... and you're ready for bed!" I smiled broadly, as I said this last part excitedly.

"Now obviously I don't want your pissy pillow on my living room sofa, so from now on your new sleeping area is right here on this floor. You should go immediately to 'bed' [I did air quotes] when you finish this chore. No washing your hands until morning. You'll sleep right here on the floor with just your pissy pillow and that ratty blanket. Nothing else is allowed." Now my hubby would have to sleep with piss drying on his hands, and breathing the smell of piss all night long, and lay his head in it, too. Hahahaha! I loved it!

He was allowed to empty the piss bucket into the tub before he took his shower in the morning. "But," I said, "Set the bucket down and wait 'til *after* your shower to rinse it out in the tub. Get in the tub, step right into your piss, and let it drain away in your shower."

He was to clean the poop bucket every day at 5:30 PM (or as soon as he got home, if he happened to work later). I chose this time for a very wicked reason. I told him not to empty his poop into my toilet, because I didn't want it there. He should put on disposable gloves, scoop the poop and toilet paper out with his hands and put it in a plastic bag, which was destined for the dumpster outside our buildings. But... as long as he was scooping poop into a bag, he should go outside and find all the dog poop all around the grounds of our apartment buildings, and pick that up and put it in the bag, too. The 5:30 time was chosen so that it would be light out (most of the year), and all kinds of people coming and going would see him out there picking up poop. Hahahaha! Once the bag of poop was in the dumpster, he could come inside and rinse his bucket out with the sprayer at the kitchen sink.

A week or so later, I told him he was "such a good boy" for being so helpful to our neighbors by picking up all their dogs' poop. I told him I thought it was "rrrreally, really sweet".

He already knew he wasn't allowed to wash the ratty old blanket he covered himself with at night. So one day, Jenna and I took the food Davey prepared for us the night before, and used the ratty blanket for a picnic. We went outside, and after we sat on the blanket and ate, we made sure to drop some crumbs on it, smear some bits of food, spill a little soda on it, and cruddy it up in the grass. We crushed a few leaves and grinded them in, we dragged it over some dusty gravel, we wiped dirt from our shoes, and then I asked Jenna if she knew what poison ivy looked like, and did she see any around? She laughed, knowing I wanted to drag it over some poison ivy plants and maybe if we were lucky it would transfer to Davey's bare skin underneath. Oh my gawwwwwd I'm so horrible. Then we bunched it up and tossed it back in Davey's new bedroom. That night I told him Jenna and I needed it for our picnic, so he'd know why it had gotten so grungy.