Chivalry is on Life Support Ch. 34

On Wednesday afternoon, as I walked back to the English department building from The Corner Cafe' with Neil's coffee, I mentally went through the various steps I had read on-line about how to curtsy. I planned to practice later in my office as well as that evening after Brooke and Luke went to sleep. Brooke had given me a new pair white lace fashion tights that morning that I wore under my khakis. The nylon and lace combination against my skin made me feel especially submissive. And I was still wearing the damned choker for the third day in row.

I decided that women's tights were not designed for long walks; I had to keep pulling them up and adjusting them as I walked (as inconspicuously as possible).

Neil's door was open when I walked up. I looked around the hall to see if anyone saw me bringing in the coffee (not that they would know it wasn't mine, although I was not known to be a big coffee drinker -- I tended to favor tea or even Diet Coke for my caffeine).

"Hey, pal."

"Hi, Neil. Here's your coffee. I also got you a blueberry muffin. I figured you're not an a diet, so I thought you might enjoy it."

"Thanks. Muffins are full of carbs and empty calories. But I did swim laps for an hour this morning, so I guess it's okay. You didn't have one, too, did you?"

"Are you kidding? I had an apple."

In fact, I ate my apple sitting across the table from Brooke as she enjoyed the toasted everything bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon I had prepared for her, my stomach growling. I wondered if Neil would offer to repay me for the coffee and muffin. He didn't, that day or in the future, which surprised me. I continue to genuinely like Neil, although many things about him have turned out to surprise me. Perhaps he thought that not paying me back was all part of enhancing my knowledge of masochism or something.

"Good man. Well, we should probably close the door so you can get started."

I closed the door. His office wasn't very large so there was only a small area next to his desk chair for me to work.

"What if someone just comes in?," I said.

"Everyone always knocks when the door is closed, especially when the light is on. But even if someone did, it's not like you're giving me a blowjob." He laughed. "It's just a foot massage, no big deal."

Objectively that was true, I suppose, but I felt that was easy for him to say, as the recipient of the massage. Foot massages were happening in nail salons, spas and massage parlors throughout the country at that very moment, without any suggestion of impropriety or anything sexual. Still, at least to a masochist like me, there was just something so fundamentally submissive about the act of kneeling in front someone and massaging the lowest part of their body. Call it the dirty mind of a masochist, I guess.

And sure enough, as I got down on my knees in front of my colleague, my cock began to throb in its cage. At times such as this, I was actually grateful to be locked up. I looked up at Neil, waiting for him to take off his brown, leather shoes (Rockports, I believe). But, as he made no move to do so -- I guess Luke had conditioned him to expect the full service treatment from me -- I untied his laces and removed his shoes. Meanwhile, he munched on his muffin. More stomach growls of envy from me.

"Would you like me to do the massage with your socks on or off?"

"Oh, definitely off. Just the way you did it at your place."

I removed his socks and began doing some warm-up twists, and then rubbing the arch of his right foot. While Neil's feet did not have the chiseled appearance of Luke's, they were not unattractive for male feet -- although they definitely could use some moisturizer. I made a mental note to bring some with me next week (as much for my own comfort as his).

"Man, that feels good." he sighed contentedly. "Three back-to-back classes are killer."

Neil and l actually had a pleasant conversation as I worked on his feet. We spent some time discussing my book. For my chapter covering 19th and 20th century fiction, I wanted his insight on Patrick Hamilton's novel, Hangover Square, which, while not overtly about cuckolding, was certainly about a serious male masochist. Hamilton's protagonist essentially becomes a simp to a manipulative failed actress who he is in love with and her fascist boyfriend. Suffering from dissociative identity disorder (and alcoholism), he eventually goes on a murderous rampage against his tormentors.

Some readers of my tale may either needlessly worry, or foolishly wish, that I will go on a murderous rampage against Luke and/or Brooke. That, of course, is beyond preposterous. First, I am not mentally ill. Second, I love Brooke and, but for erotic and obsessive love, I know that she loves me. Third, the relationship I have entered into with Luke and Brooke is one I pledged to do as a condition of marrying Brooke and keeping her in my life. I did it with full free will; I stay in it with full free will. Fourth, I have enough self awareness to know that another reason that I stay in the relationship is because it satisfies some deep masochistic need in me. Brooke saw this need in me before I saw it myself (I've always known that she is far smarter than I). Some no doubt believe I am totally devoid of self respect and despise me for my passivity, for not taking dramatic steps to end my subjugation. I would counter that someone who resorts to violence is far more pathetic and lacking in self respect than I.

Paul and Anna are a somewhat different story, as there is an element of coercion involved. But violence as a remedy is still unthinkable to me. And I have to admit that, like Brooke, I too have been caught up in "the game." My brain is my biggest sexual organ by far (it doesn't have much competition, admittedly), and I'm excited (both sexually and intellectually) to see how far they will take things. You probably have to be a masochist to understand...

To those readers who are sincerely worried about me and my mental health, I say: thank you, I genuinely appreciate your concern. One never knows for sure, but I think that I'll be okay. To those handful of judgmental readers who loathe me because I'm not doing what they believe they would do in similar circumstances, who despise me because I don't conform to their oversimplified concept of manhood -- you know who you are -- by forcefully taking matters into my own hands in some dramatic manner, I say: get over yourselves. I am not you; I'm me. And I'm probably more of a man than many of you are even when I'm dressed in a garter belt, stockings and a maid's cap, trying ineptly to curtsy to my superiors. But I digress.

Neil and I also discussed his upcoming tenure process. I assured him that he would have my full support in the consultation and subsequent letter of recommendation. I had just wrapped up his 45-minute massage with gentle squeezes to the tips of each of his toes and was about to put his socks and shoes back on his feet when there was a knock on the door. I quickly stood up and stepped to the other side of Neil's desk.

"Come in," said Neil.

The door opened and Paul Betz walked in. Neil's feet were under his desk, but his shoes and socks were lying in plain view on the floor next to him. A bit odd for a cold December day. Knowing Paul as I was beginning to, I was fairly certain that it did not escape his attention.

"Hi, Professor Lawson. Professor Rollins," he nodded at me, with a faint smile.

Hi, Paul," said Neil warmly.

"Hi, Paul. I was just leaving," I said.

"See you later, pal. Thanks a bunch," said Neil, as I left the room.

Luke was back Wednesday night, and was actually in an unusually good mood, having signed a letter of intent to acquire a company in Indiana, the next frontier of his expanding empire. I cooked them grilled salmon, asparagus and wild rice, while I had a few pieces of salmon in my salad.

As I served Luke a third Yuengling and Brooke a third glass of wine, Luke said, "That was a damn good dinner, prof. I tell you what. I'm in such a good mood tonight, I'm going to let you have a glass of wine so we can all toast my new deal. Get yourself a glass."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

After I filled my glass with Pinot Gris, Brooke raised her glass and said, "To Hanover HVAC and Plumbing!" After we clinked our glasses, she said to Luke, "Ok, babe, it's been three days, and I'm hornier than hell. Take me upstairs now, please."

"Hold your horses, baby. Let's finish our drinks first."

Brooke downed her glass and said, "Okay, I'm done."

"Think of your husband, here. He finally gets to have a drink with us and you're rushing him."

"Since you're in such a good mood, babe, maybe he could join us -- in bed. What do you think?", Brooke asked him.

"Why not? Cuck, do you have any boxer shorts left?"

"Walter only wore tighty whiteys before I made him switch to panties and tights. I only let him keep two pairs of his old underwear."

"Go, put on your tighty whiteys, prof, and we'll meet you in the bedroom. You can take your glass of wine with you."

Well, this was different. I went upstairs and undressed, removing the fashion tights I had been wearing all day under my pants, and put on a pair my old underwear.

When they came upstairs, Brooke started laughing loudly when she saw me. "I'm sorry to laugh, Walter. It's just that it's been so long since I've seen you in men's underwear. Even those. It just doesn't seem natural." I had to admit, it did feel strange wearing them after all this time. Still, the humiliation of Brooke's words (and her accompanying smile) caused my cock to throb.

"Kneel down and get the key from Brooke's anklet and I'll unlock you."

I did as he commanded, growing instantly hard the moment he unlocked me and tenting out my tight, white cotton briefs. Meanwhile, they both stripped as well. Luke was completely naked and Brooke was naked except for a pair of white ankle socks. As much as I loved her bare feet, it was incredibly sexy to see her wearing only the socks (and the anklet). Brooke then spread lubricant all over Luke's hardening cock as she kissed him passionately.

Luke next ordered me to lie down on the bed, and easily picked Brooke up, placing her on her knees over me at the edge of the bed. To be more precise, she faced the other direction from me and her vagina and lovely bottom were right above my neck. Standing next to the bed, he then penetrated her anally, his cock and scrotum inches above my face, causing her to moan.

"Lick my balls, cuck."

I began licking his balls as he went in and out of Brooke. As she rocked back and forth, she used one of her hands to pull my briefs down, so that her long hair brushed tantalizingly against my liberated cock. It was a wonderful feeling. At one point, Luke pulled completely out of her, and placed his wet, glistening cock in my mouth for me to suck. I couldn't tell if the evident moisture was the lubricant, Luke's sweat or Brooke's anal secretions; it was probably some combination of the three.

I was my usual conflicted self as I took him in my mouth. Humiliated, certainly. Disgusted, no doubt. But also incredibly aroused, and somewhat grateful to be included to this degree in their intimacy -- which was highly unusual.

My arousal only increased when Brooke said, "Keep him hard for me." Following her command, I sucked him with increased fervor.

Whereas I often suffer from premature ejaculation, Luke is the complete opposite. He has the ability to go on and on, and then go on longer. It leaves me in awe, to be honest. Whatever I think of his personality, his character, his politics, his taste in music, etc., I can not help but be in awe of his physical prowess and dominance. I told myself, this man, this cock -- which gives my wife so much pleasure, which fulfills some primal need of hers -- is worthy of worship, so you better suck it up. Figuratively as well as literally. And that's what I did.

He next ordered me to get on my knees next to the bed. Reaching his arm under Brooke's waist, he flipped her over like a ragdoll onto her back, and entered her vaginally.

As if reading my mind, she said, "Yeah, baby, I'm your fuck doll."

"Lick my fuck doll's feet, cuck."

From my knees, I licked her feet all over, listening to her moan in ecstasy as he moved in and out of her. Because of his good mood, perhaps, Luke was less brutal with Brooke than usual. He was forceful, of course, but there was no slapping and only a little hair pulling and nipple twisting. He did tease her, however. Even though I had counted at least three orgasms, I believe she was on the precipice of her fourth, when Luke pulled out of her. He hovered above her, his cock just outside of the threshold of her pussy. She thrust her pelvis up towards it, but he lifted himself still higher, denying her.

"Please baby, I'm so close."

"You're are a greedy, little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, baby, I'm your greedy, little fuck doll. Please baby, please put your glorious cock back inside me."

"But you're getting your feet licked. What about me?"

"Walter! Lick his feet! now! Please baby, please give me more."

I started licking the bottom of Luke's left foot, hanging off the edge of the bed, with the same intensity I had applied to Brooke's a moment earlier. He continued to tease her, however, inserting the tip of his cock into her and then stopping.

"Oh, gawd, Luke, please. I'm begging you." She sounded on the verge of crying.

"I don't know, babe. Maybe if my toes were being sucked, that might motivate me."

"Walter, suck his toes!"

So, I did, of course. Luke was clearly enjoying the power trip of tying Brooke's pleasure to my debasement.

Suddenly, he ordered her to get up from the bed. He then sat down on it, and instructed her to sit down on his cock, but facing outwards towards me, so that her legs basically rested atop his.

"Lick your wife's pussy." Following his command, I licked her just above where she bounced up and down on his cock, again grateful for the intimacy. Grateful to be included, even in my subservient, supplemental role as oral servant. After she screamed out in what was obviously yet another orgasm, Luke commanded me, "Now lick my shaft."

After another five minutes or so, during which I dutifully licked him, Luke lifted her off him, stood up and -- finally ready to ejaculate -- pumped his semen prodigiously onto Brooke's face.

"Time to kiss your wife, prof." Which I did, our lips touching through Luke's mess.

After I cleaned up and the three of us showered, we all watched a thriller on cable, the two of them curled up together on the couch, eating the popcorn I had made. I lied down on the floor at their feet, eating my own bowl of popcorn, occasionally feeling Brooke's socked foot tousle my hair. All in all, one of the most pleasant evenings the three of us had ever spent together -- at least from my perspective. Little did I realize at the time that that would be the last time three of us would spend together for awhile and that it marked a turning point in our -- or, to be more precise -- in Brooke's and Luke's relationship.

That night after they went to sleep, I practiced curtsying in front of the mirror in my bedroom in the basement. Tomorrow was to be my first extended service to Paul and Anna, apparently with my other student, Kelly, and her boyfriend as their guests. The next step in my ever widening public humiliation.

Whether he simply forgot, in the glow of his good mood, or was feeling particularly generous, Luke did not lock me back up that evening. I rubbed myself through my panties as I lay down in bed that night, too timid to actually masturbate lest Luke suddenly realize what he had overlooked.

The combination of my unsatisfied arousal and my anxiety about the next day prevented me from sleeping well that night. Luke was already gone when I woke up the next morning. Brooke was still asleep when I brought her cup of coffee up to the bedroom. I noticed my chastity cage on the floor next to the bed, and quietly took it downstairs to my bedroom, hoping she would forget about it.

She, in fact, did. It is testimony to how muddled my brain had become that I thought that was a good thing at the time. Normally, it would have been, of course. But it wasn't until the snarky doorman gave me permission to go upstairs -- after again announcing myself as the maid -- that I realized how fraught with potential danger my situation really was. Because on our prior two meetings, my cock had been locked safely away. This time, I belatedly realized, my cock would be available as another toy for my students to play with, a toy they could use to control and humiliate me like they never had before.

And that, too, is exactly what they did.