Wicked Wife

byhobrigef©

Carla came across with the food, the two steak and salads first. She placed one before Mike and the other before Simon ... another flash of her fabulous tits! ... then went and got her own salad-only affair and sat down at the table between the two men.

But then seemed to remember something.

"What am I thinking?" she admonished herself.

Simon knew what Carla had forgotten. She'd forgotten he still had the gag on and therefore couldn't make a start on his dinner!

But no, not quite that as it turned out.

"Simon's beer" she smiled. "Do you wanna go get it yourself, pooch?"

So he got up, fetched a beer from the fridge, sat down again.

"Glass, Simon," said Carla, looking displeased. "We have standards here, you know."

He went and got himself a glass.

"Here, let me pour it for you," said Carla.

She poured Simon's beer into his glass, sitting on his lap to do it, one arm draped round his shoulder. She blew softly into his ear and wriggled her ass into his groin as she poured, and she poured very very slowly ... so slowly that the whole thing took what seemed an eternity. Oh god.

All this was more than enough to stir Simon's dick into life again. Carla felt it moving around down there and she chuckled.

She finally finished up and the famished and parched Simon now had a steak dinner and a glass of ice-cold, frothing beer in front of him.

Plus an erection.

But it was the food and drink which was uppermost on his mind.

At last! He'd never looked forward to a meal so much in his life.

Simon wanted to say thank you to Carla but with the gag could only manage an "Ugg".

Carla looked at Mike. "Do YOU want another beer, darling?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah babe, thanks. Nearly finished this one."

She got Simon to do the honours. She didn't bother saying anything, merely turned to him and pointed at the fridge, and off he went to fetch Mike's beer.

"Thanks, dude."

Simon hovered by the table, unsure whether to pour out Mike's beer.

"I'll do it myself, don't worry," said Mike, sensing the problem.

"Still got that hard-on, dude, I see."

Very true. Simon's cock was standing to attention. God, Carla's tee-shirt really showed off her tits!

Carla giggled. "Mmm, I think you ought to cover it up, Simon, don't you? Gonna put us off our dinner, seeing that."

"Ugg."

"Sorry, didn't catch that," she grinned. "Look, just put your bowler hat over it."

Simon took the hat off and held it over his exposed groin area.

"Now pull your hand away, pooch. Let's see if it stays in place."

It did. His cock was easily rigid enough.

"Now that's what I call an interesting hat peg!" guffawed Mike. Oh fuck a duck! ... could this loser look any more ridiculous! Poor little sod.

"Is it because of my tits, Simon?" grinned Carla, toying with him. "Is that what's making you excited? Do you like the way they look in this little tee-shirt I'm wearing? It's quite skimpy, I know. Have you been staring?"

Some nodding and 'ugging' from Simon. This was delaying dinner and he was keen for it to stop.

Carla giggled.

"Poor hubby. Anyway, come on, we're meant to be having dinner."

Music to Simon's ears.

"I think I'll have a beer too, Simon," said Carla, just as he was about to sit back down.

"Go and get me one."

He hesitated, glanced at the bowler hat hanging on his cock.

"Exactly," giggled Carla. "Keep it in place. If it falls off and we get another eyeful of that dick of yours, this is only gonna be dinner for two. You understand?"

Simon nodded eagerly, trotted off to the fridge and back. He moved very carefully so as not to risk the bowler slipping off his dick. Made sure he stayed hard and erect by thinking about his wife's sexy tits, how she was deliberately flaunting them in that revealing top.

It worked. The hat was still on its peg when he returned to the table.

"Glass?"

"Ugg Ugg," he apologised to Carla.

"Just get it," she snapped.

The shamefaced Simon did so. He could tell she was a little annoyed.

Back at the table, and sitting in his place again, he tried to redeem himself by doing a top class job of pouring out her beer.

Mike grinned at Carla.

"Liking the waiter service in this joint, babe. Should we be tipping him?"

Carla giggled. "Dunno. Maybe at the end of the meal."

"Anyway, enough of this messing around, boys," she announced. "Looks like we're finally sorted ... so come on, let's all tuck in!"

Mike and Carla did exactly that. They tucked in with gusto. Mike, especially -- he wolfed down his food in no time, periodically smacking his lips and grunting his appreciation.

"Oh babe, this is so good. This is just fucking DELICIOUS, Carla honey."

Carla, eating her salad with obvious enjoyment, albeit rather more sedately, smiled prettily. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Very soon, they'd both finished.

"Fabulous meal, babe, really fabulous," said Mike, leaning back and patting his belly. "I'm stufferoonied!"

"That's what a woman likes to hear when she's cooked for her man," grinned Carla.

She turned to her husband, who'd been ignored completely whilst they ate.

"Did you enjoy yours, Simon?"

"Ugg Ugg."

For poor Simon the last few minutes had taken frustration to new levels.

He'd cut his steak into bite-sized pieces, but with the gag still on he'd been reduced to just pathetically moving the food around on his plate. And looking at it.

The only thing he'd got to swallow was his own drool.

The beer foamed, cool and untouched in his glass.

Eyes bulging, knocking his knuckles on the table, he'd at first tried to attract Carla's attention - maybe she'd only forgotten about the gag - but he soon gave up as it dawned on him that this was all a game. A cruel game. She'd never intended for him to eat any steak or drink any beer. The whole thing was just to tease and torment him.

In addition to acute hunger and thirst, plus all round physical and mental wretchedness, Simon felt weak and foolish. He hated Carla. Hated himself too for allowing her and her cunt of a boyfriend to torture him the way they were.

She'd turned him into such an utter wimp. Worse, he knew it was irreversible. Carla controlled him completely and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Carla, gazing at him, knew this too. A delicious thrill ran through her body -- the thrill of knowing she could be ever more wanton and cruel to her poor husband, could do absolutely anything she pleased and he would just take it.

"I said did you enjoy YOURS, pooch," she giggled. "Has the cat got your tongue or something?"

"Ugg."

Simon was crying. In the pit of despair now. Just wondering what they were going to do to him next. All he could do was hope and pray it wouldn't be too horrible.

Carla put on a stern expression. "Look, pooch, I'm not happy. Reason I'm not happy is I see you haven't eaten your dinner. The dinner I slaved away making for you."

Mike joined in. "Yeah, babe, ungrateful little turd."

Simon pointed at the gag. As if she didn't know.

"Oh you're blaming that, are you?" said Carla.

"Well, you could have at least tried," she snapped. "Here, let's try now, shall we?"

Grinning wickedly, Carla got a piece of Simon's steak on her fork, reached across and put it to his hungry mouth.

"Here, poochie," she laughed, taunting poor Simon with the meat, wiping it slowly back and forth across his swollen lips.

"I know! How about some French mustard?"

Carla dipped the meat in mustard and wafted the fork around his nostrils.

"Mmm, doesn't it smell delicious, Simon?" she giggled, smearing mustard on the tip of his nose, then dabbing some on his chin.

"Aw, look at my hungry husband. He can see the yummy steak, he can smell it, he can even feel it on his lips, but he can't eat it. I'm so mean, aren't I, doing this to my starving pooch. Mmm, I know. The Empress is cruel and very wicked."

Carla carried on tormenting and tantalising the unfortunate Simon, rubbing food in his face, with Mike sitting there watching and creasing up.

"Hey your beer, turdface," he grinned, reaching for Simon's drink. "We shouldn't waste it, should we?"

Mike got up and stood beside Simon. Then he poured the beer over poor Simon's lap.

"Has he still got a hard-on?" asked Carla, giggling.

Mike looked down. "Nah, hat's on the floor now, sugar."

Carla stood up and moved Simon's chair round so he was facing her.

She stripped off her top and jiggled her tits in his face until his erection was back.

"That's better," she pouted. "I wonder which you'd rather do, Simon ... eat the juicy steak or fondle these juicy tits?"

Carla giggled. "Not that it matters much, since you won't be doing either."

"Now, pick your hat up, pooch," she instructed.

Simon bent down and retrieved his bowler hat.

"Put it upside down on the table."

He did so.

Carla scraped food -- all that remained on his plate -- into the hat and added half a bottle of dressing. Then she grinned at Mike.

"D'you wanna maybe piss in it, darling?"

"Sure, baby," grinned Mike, and he pulled his dick out and filled the hat.

"Quite a cocktail in there now, babe," he chuckled, when he'd finished.

Carla nodded and turned to Simon, an evil expression on her achingly lovely face.

"So put your hat on, pooch."

Simon reached for the bowler.

"On your head, I mean, not back on your dick. You look better when you're wearing a hat, I've decided, what with being bald now and all."

Couple of seconds later and Simon was a man wearing a bowler hat and covered in bits of steak, sundry pieces of salad, a fair amount of oily dressing, and an awful lot of Mike's piss.

He sought to stand up but Mike pushed him back onto the chair.

"Should we cuff him to it, gorgeous?"

"Yeah, Mike darling, let's. Keep him out of trouble while we enjoy the rest of the evening."

Looking at Carla, tight blue jeans, topless, Mike reckoned he would indeed be enjoying the rest of the evening!

He got the kit from the lounge and secured Simon, hands and feet, to the chair. Then he dragged the chair away from the table, away from everything, and placed it in the centre of the kitchen.

Carla giggled. "That's perfect, honey. Now come on, I'm feeling horny, let's go fool around next door on the sofa!"

She pouted and juggled her tits.

Mike looked down at Simon. "Well Simon, it would appear your wife wants some sexy action. No rest for the wicked, eh?"

"See you later, dude," he grinned. "You really are a total fucking mess, by the way."

** ** ** **

Carla and Mike had sex on the sofa, then cuddled up and watched a movie.

Simon was forgotten apart from when his wife popped to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers and couldn't resist spending a few minutes tormenting him whilst she was there.

Carla, in only her knickers and looking unbearably sexy, stood in front of her husband and struck some provocative poses. She giggled as she saw his dick twitch and harden.

Then she leant in and squeezed his nostrils together with her fingers ... meaning Simon, still gagged, couldn't breathe.

"Oh dear, hubby's face is going blue," she laughed, as poor Simon desperately shook his head around, trying in vain to free his nose from her grip.

Carla kept his air supply cut off until she could see he was on the point of passing out; then she let go, gave him a few seconds to recover, and started again.

She repeated the torture half a dozen times, by which point Simon was starting to wish he were dead.

It appeared this wish might be granted as Carla fished out something from a drawer and Simon saw it was a clothes peg.

"Now then, poochie, where do we think this should go?" she asked, showing him the peg, prodding around his nose with it.

"Mmm, yes, I wonder. Just exactly where should I put this?"

"Any ideas, pooch?"

Carla giggled, toying with the clearly terrified Simon, enjoying herself immensely.

"Before I go back to my lover and leave you here to ..."

She left the sentence unfinished, instead put the peg on her own nose and mimed being suffocated to death, acted it out for him, wallowing in the abject horror on her husband's face. She was having SUCH a ball! She couldn't wait to tell Mike about this -- he'd pee himself!

"Awful way to die, Simon, isn't it? God, just imagine," she whispered, the peg back in her hand, moving slowly and ever closer to his face.

She pegged his nose and stood back to watch him writhe. Then she picked up the beers and sashayed out of the kitchen, leaving her poor husband to die in agony.

Half a minute later, as Simon was losing consciousness, she walked back in, grinning, and removed the peg.

"Aw poor pooch," she giggled.

"You didn't think the Empress was gonna actually kill you, did you? I'm not THAT cruel, you know!"

Simon was slumped in the chair, body sagging, head down and lolling from side to side.

"Besides, you'd be no fun dead, would you? Weekend's not over yet and we've still got plans. Mike doesn't have to leave till tomorrow evening."

"Ugg."

"What's that, my little poochie pie?" she taunted. "You're looking forward to it?"

"Ugg Ugg."

"Well great, because that makes three of us. Hey, we're gonna truss you up naked in the bathtub tonight when we go to bed. Maybe put some icy cold water in there too. That'll be nice, poochie, won't it?"

"Ugg."

Simon's extremely distressed audio visuals were only making Carla more amused as she continued to terrorise him.

"Then tomorrow, oh boy! We're gonna ... well let's just say you'll be wishing it was still today. About the nicest thing that's gonna happen to you tomorrow, pooch, is when we take your gag off so you can suck Mike's dick again. Mmm. This time I might make you lick his asshole too. And you'll be praying for that moment, poochie, believe me."

"Ugg Ugg Ugg."

"Exactly!" Carla grinned.

And with that, she fixed the clothes peg on Simon's dick and went to rejoin her lover.

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