Couples Counseling Pt. 05 - Epilogues

Gurgling helplessly, he knew what that meant. This particular whip was familiar to him from the pommel at the base of its handle, rounded, fat and flared. He knew, once lubed with his drool, where it would go.

Pumping the prod in and out of his mouth, she taunted him, "Liar, idiot, two strikes. 'Cyberslut whore?' Shall I add 'disrespectful potty-mouth bitch,' and call strike three?"

Tosh grunted, shaking his head, his eyes showing gratitude.

"You're lucky you're such a pretty little plaything," she giggled. "It's why I'm giving you a fair chance to come clean. I mean, oooh, see how desperately you mix fear with arousal," her crop tap-tapping under his bobbing erection, "and how pathetic that makes you look. Wallowing in your own shame, but turned on by it."

She popped the pommel out of his mouth, moved behind him and firmly poked the implement into his cleft, pausing there.

"Last chance."

She teased the slobbery handle-end up to the puckered gate of his anus.

Suddenly it came to him: "Wait, Goddess, do you mean I'm cheating -- with you?"

"Ahh, the dawning of wisdom. Let's lock that in."

With a flex of her kid-gloved hand, the whip-handle violated him. "Ugghh!"

Her hand withdrew and he felt the flare secure itself inside his anal ring. Nothing he could do about that. It was going to stay there for the duration of whatever happened next.

Panting, he protested, "But, ughh, but Goddess, your slave isn't permitted to speak about what happens in here."

"Excuses. If you really wanted to tell her about 'us,' you'd find a way." She laughed softly, "That's strike three, by the way. Lying to yourself."

Emma reached into the cabinet, found her most punitive gag, the cock-plug muzzle, and stoppered his mouth with it. "Mmmff!"

"So, listen up, pain slave. The purpose of this next exercise is to make you admit it to yourself: You would tell your wife..."

She buckled the straps brutally tight. The girth of the plug stretched his jaws and the ridged, silicone cock-end lodged near his throat. He gulped.

"... if you respected her."

"Mff?" he whined.

She moved around him to the head of the suspension station. Tosh saw the two heavy rubber floggers hung from an iron ring set high in the post.

"You've put me in a mood, my struck-out slave. You know the one."

She unhooked the whips and whirled them in both hands.

"'Pain first, talk later.'"

"Mff!"

"We'll chat again after your beating, slave. And when we do," circling him inside the white-tiled torture space, "we're going to talk about Paige. About the beautiful, trusting slave-wife you keep at home. About my BFF. And about how, almost worse than lying to yourself, you lie to her."

He whimpered and sobbed. The double floggers worried him; he'd had a taste of one before, but only one. Plus, these two were much bigger. He had no idea if he was ready for that or not, and he wouldn't until it began.

"But first, we're gonna need you to feel bad about that."

Then it began. And he quickly found out, he was not ready.

#-#

The beating went on for a good twenty minutes -- or in Tosh's mind, more like twenty hours. The Dominatrix worked tirelessly throughout, both floggers whirling in tandem, with breaks only to crop and pump-tease his helpless erection, and without speaking. Her silence made the whipping feel all the more soulless to him, which dredged up undercurrents of despair along with the mounting, energy-draining waves of pain.

Finally, Emma hung up the floggers, stripped off the muzzle, unplugged his ass, and released him from his bondage. Tosh lurched face-down onto the carpet, knees folded under him, sapped of all strength, and still sobbing.

He wasn't sure what happened next. Led by her leash, he felt himself crawling across the carpet. He crawled 'face down, ass up,' although he wasn't sure if she'd ordered it, but it was all the strength he had anyway. He only knew that somehow, he wound up prostrated at the foot of the one-step dais of his Mistress's throne.

"Rest a minute, pet. Stay like that if you want."

The Dominatrix took her place on the leather-upholstered armchair and crossed her legs. She unlaced her gloves at the wrists, peeled them off and set them aside. From a crystal carafe, she poured water into a glass for herself, then more into a tin doggie bowl that sat on the step of her dais. But she gave no other signal, so even as parched as his mouth was, Tosh didn't move.

Emma relaxed in her chair and sipped from her glass. "You love it when I whip you, pet, admit it. Now matter how hard."

"Yes, Goddess," Tosh said to the carpet. And his cock, hard throughout the beating, and still now, testified that he was telling the truth.

"Well, glad that's out of the way," she went on cheerfully. "Now we can relax and have a conversation. Are you relaxed, my bitch-beaten pet?" Her toe nudged the puppy bowl forward on the stair step. "Here, pet, take some water, that'll help."

"Thank you, Goddess."

"Ms. Emmalee," she corrected. A release of discipline, with a touch of leftover formality. "Which makes you 'Tosh.' Fair enough?"

"Thank you, Ms. Emmalee." Tosh crawled forward, put his face into the bowl and slurped. The cool water tasted so good.

"You'll want to kneel up for this, Tosh, look at me. Yes, better," she smiled. "Now speak freely, but don't lie. How is it that you're not cheating on your wife with me?"

"I, I --" he stammered, still coming out of his subspace. "I sort of look at the Domina's Dungeon as the ultimate hall pass -- isn't it, Ms. Emmalee? I mean, what about the things you do with her down here?"

"It isn't the same."

"Or what about her and her boss -- who incidentally, she occasionally fucks? That's not cheating--?"

"It isn't the same," she snapped.

He shut up.

She sighed, "Tosh, I know it's not the same, because of what happens in our sessions. I don't 'mentor' shit, dominant or submissive -- I strip you, collar you, and take what I want from your flesh and your mouth. Any 'training' you get from your 'Trainer,' it's only about how you can improve your performance --"

"Or how to cope with your displeasure," Tosh pointed out, "if I don't."

"And Paige, the trusting slut, never suspects. Look, I know it's different, because it makes me feel like the 'other woman,' the 'tramp,' the 'home wrecker.'"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Emmalee."

"Don't be, Tosh, you've already paid for it. That was why I beat you extra hard -- out of guilt. Thanks for the punching bag, by the way."

"You're welcome, Ms. Emmalee," he said without a trace of irony. "No, you're right -- right about everything. I know there's something wrong with 'this.' And that if I really wanted to, without breaking our rules, I could find a way to talk to Paige. But I don't, I just ... don't. It's my secret, my burden, and it weighs on --"

"Selfish pet," Emma interrupted. "It's our burden. I love Paige too, so dearly and lustfully, my heart overflows. But I know better than to compare my love for her with yours. Or, I think I do. Why not tell her?"

"Because, Ms. Emmalee ... because my submission to you is absolute and, and ... humiliating. You know it, I know it. If she knew it too, she -- it would, I --"

"It would undermine your authority in her eyes, is what you mean to say. But that can't be it. She has seen you submit to me before -- quite degradingly, I might add -- but you overcame that. No, it's not rebellion you fear she would feel. It's another feeling, with another name."

"Hurt."

"Yes," she whispered. "Why? What would hurt her?"

He knew the answer, and surrendered it to her after an anxious pause. "Discovering there is a need in me that she, she -- that I can't train her to satisfy."

"And that you have to get from another woman."

"Yes, Ms. Emmalee."

"So you 'spare her feelings.' Do you think that's a 'kindness'?"

"No."

"Do you feel this 'protects' her?"

"No."

"You hide the truth from her."

"Yes, Ms. Emmalee."

"Even knowing this disrespects her. Why? It isn't kindness that motivates you, or a need to protect, or respect. What then? What does that leave?"

"Weakness," he sighed.

And in his mind, he added, The weakness of being in love with you, Ms. Emmalee.

"Yes, weakness," Emma agreed, "and cowardice. And do you know what that makes you, 'Husband-Master?' A slave in your own house. To your own shame."

#-#

Abruptly, she rose. Something in the decisiveness of the gesture informed Tosh he was not to speak further. More, it told him he had just been schooled. Which triggered in his slave-mind the automatic response: gratitude. He lowered his face to kiss her toes, but with a stern tug on his leash, she signaled him not to. Eyes down, he saw her feet stepping out of her puffie-topped boudoir pumps.

Next, he heard the whisper of silk, as her rose-coloured robe fell and draped over the step of the dais before him.

When he looked up at her again, Tosh's jaw went slack, and he exhaled. "Ms. Emmalee ... Goddess, I've never seen you ..."

"Fully naked? I know, glorious, isn't it?"

It was. Her nudity was luminous in the subdued lighting and set against the deep maroon of the wallpaper. Sprinkles of tawny freckles highlighted the milky-white of her skin. Her breasts were high and proud with a rounded heft to them, large pink aureoles and nipples as large and hard as rosy pearls. Her waist was long and her hips were wide and commanding. Her pussy was adorned with a lightning-bolt landing strip of curly blonde hair ... and a tattoo he'd never been permitted to see before, reading 'No Exit.'

"Well, come along then," she said, stepping down and moving alongside him, flicking the leash, "and I'll show you the rear view."

Crawling behind her lead, he followed her long, strutting legs and swaying ass back to the suspension station. There, she turned and put her back to the wooden post, drew up the slack of the leash and coaxed her kneeling slave in close to her. Tosh stalled, entranced by the vulva that filled his vision ...

Until she commanded him, "Eyes."

Looking up eagerly, he saw his Goddess held in one hand the familiar blindfold and noise-canceling headphones. At first, this resembled their regimented oral training program, which mimicked the first time: eyes and ears constrained, kneeling at her feet, she towering over but unseen, a disembodied voice of female superiority. But this time, he saw in her other hand, she held a second set of the same.

"Yes, this time I'll be joining you in 'our' darkness," she laughed softly. " Behave. I'm going to be at a disadvantage for just a second, pussy-slave."

Blindfolding herself first, Emma clamped her own headset over her ears. Next, she confined Tosh's head by feel; he felt the supple leather blot out his vision and the vinyl pads imprison his hearing. Once blinded, though, the picture of his Goddess filled his inner sight; this time, as a vision of white flame set against blackness, nude, the primal apotheosis of her body.

After a few moments, the velvet voice of control came out of the void, "But you lead the way."

The words activated the pussy-slave his Goddess desired, and Tosh's orally conditioned slave-mind obeyed. He began as he always did: tongue held out rigidly as an invitation to her favour, which after whatever interval of breathless pause suited her, her pussy accepted; today, that pause was just half a breath. His tongue motionless, her swollen lips coated his tongue with her desire.

Once the sway of her hips delicately paused, Tosh took the signal to lap up the rest of the moisture she had made with her own arousal. 'Clean that plate,' she'd taught him, 'for the fresh meal you're going to serve yourself.'

"Whimper for me, pussy-slave," the voice in the darkness cooed.

When he did, it startled him to hear his own pleading sob as a second voice in the darkness.

"Ooh, a new thing, yes?" she laughed softly. "Your voice freed into our sacred space. Well, don't mistake our feedback-loop of desire for permission to speak, but, ahhh, but do give me the sounds of your gratitude, huhh, your devotion to the cunt that rules you, huhhh! I want those desperate pleas in here with me this time, keeping me, hahhh yesss!, company."

He answered with heartfelt moans, edged with the faint sounds of lapping.

"Yesss..." Her voice gripped him like he was a landed fish. "No guidance from my hands this time. Picture me as I am now, with my hands up against the post, holding the iron ring. How I wish they were bound, as you are in your submission to me, so I could be just as you are, hunhh, a slave ... a slave to the bliss that rules us both, oooh, in our kingdom of, huhhh ... two."

Her labia were softly set, not yet parted, and he knew his first task was to open them, with tongue only, and nurture the blossoming of the petals inside.

"Huhhh, two made one," she panted. "Yes, my sweet pussy-slave, open me, yesss..."

... Opening her: this had been the first thing his Mistress and lover taught his mouth.

Over time, progressively from session to session, she had succeeded in drilling into him in the pussy-slave's mindset of absolute oral obedience. She taught him exquisite sensitivity to the guidance of her voice and hands, and to the coded signals of her inner anatomy. With Domme-cunt and slave-mouth joined, he was a body and mind reduced to a single use and purpose. He fell in love with that purpose, with the Domme-cunt that animated it ...

... and finally, with the whole of the beautiful, merciless woman attached to that sex ... his neighbor, his wife's best friend ...

Her flower open to him now, he knew from his training to offer her his lips. She accepted, "Ohhh."

"Mmmmh," the pussy-slave whimpered in abject gratitude.

"Oooh yes, aspire to perfection this time, slave - ahhh! - you were so close the last!"

Both chastened and motivated by the words, the pussy-slave offered her the sounds of the most desperately pathetic moans of desire he could muster. His lips suckled her effusive petals while his tongue plunged inside, but calibrating the intensity of his penetration, taking instruction from the motions, flavours and responses of the Domme-cunt he served.

Emma wriggled and gasped, "Huhhh-oooh-yesss! Give me perfection! Pussy-slave, I demand nothing less than that today! Because today, this is the last, oooh, time, oooh, your mouth will ever serve, oooh, meee --"

Last time!?

Tosh froze.

#-#

A spark of shock ignited inside him, kindled, and combusted into rage.

He rose suddenly to his feet, stripping off the headphones and blindfold. "You bitch! You're breaking up with me!?"

Blinking, he saw Emma in a freeze-frame of vulnerability, languid in her own rapture and yet to react to the sudden withdrawal of his mouth and his burst of bodily rebellion -- and he seized on that. Emma was just letting go of the ring when he grabbed her wrists, held them where they were, and his body slammed into hers, pinning her against the post.

"Tosh, please, I -- Mff!"

He clamped her mouth shut, leaving one hand in control of her straining wrists. She struggled. He knew she was strong, and practiced some kind of martial art. But in his passion and rage, he was stronger, and held the leverage too. His cock -- engorged and jutting straight out, tipped up -- burrowing into her thigh gap, nestled under her labia, but paused there; making camp, before the siege. Emma's naked hips wriggled at the intrusion ... but with resistance, or want?

His hand fell away from her mouth, but gripped her throat.

"Do it!" she gasped.

Tosh liked the words, but better than that, he liked the blinded, head-tilting confusion in her attitude, the vulnerability he saw in that, and the advantage he meant to press. Her lips were parted and panting, their corners crinkled with arousal, fear and guilt.

"I lied to your wife about 'us.' Do it for Paige!"

His grip on her throat flexed. He almost barked out a Dom-taunt like 'Beg me, bitch!,' but he remembered she couldn't hear either. Another advantage, which enflamed him even more.

"Do it for Paige," she repeated. Then she hissed, "Do me like Paige."

"Worthless cunt ... if I 'do' you, it won't be a reward-fuck, 'cause that's for good girls." He knew it was a monologue for an audience that wasn't there, but he didn't care. "It'll be a punishment-fuck, for being a skanky, back-stabbing whore!"

He pumped his hips to tease his cockhead rhythmically into her gap, softening her slit, making her squirm.

"No I won't, Master, I won't!"

She said it in answer to a dialogue in her own head. "I hear you forbidding me to cum," she gasped. "I won't, Master, I swear it. But Master can take everything he wants from his owned slave-cunt --"

"Whore, do I need your permission? But when I do, oh, you'll know it's punishment."

"Do it, Master!"

He did.

"AHHHH!" they screamed together.

Hands-free, without releasing her wrists or throat, he tilted his hips up. He tensed his hamstrings and drove from the balls of his feet, drove his cock into her shuddering pussy -- which was wet enough from how his mouth had prepared the way -- but even so, he found a way to make it hurt.

"Ugghh!" she groaned piteously.

Emma gripped the iron ring, lifted her feet from the floor and wrapped her legs around his pumping waist. He let go of her wrists, grabbed her ass with one hand and steadied her hips for his thrusts.

"Fuck," she moaned, twisting her blinded face side to side, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

His other hand dropped off her throat and clutched her tit, mashing and mauling it, scraping it with his nails, twisting her nipple until she squealed.

"Ooh! Ooh! Hurt your slave, Master, hurt me worse!"

Her freed hands pressed back at his chest; but weakly. Her legs wrestled with his hips, wriggling and thrashing; but at the same time, Tosh felt her thighs spread in welcome. "Take what you want from your slave-cunt. Take everything back. Take your vengeance --"

Suddenly, she shut up.

And suddenly, he understood.

Take it back: all the power he ever surrendered to her.

Take your vengeance: for all the tortures, degradations and trickery she ever used to suck it out of him.

With both hands seizing her flanks, and with all his strength, he impaled her.

She let out a wretched, wounded cry. "Noooo, please--" she whimpered, "mercy, Master, mercy!"

But Tosh read the code embedded in her plea, which translated, Give me none.

He impaled her again. This was for the first whipping, strapped to his wife in the suspension station!

"Ugh!" she mewled.

This was for gagging his mouth, letting his wife insult him and spit in his face, and for the caning that followed!

"Ugh!"

This was for forcing him to his knees, hands bound, to witness the whipping and molestation of his wife!

"Ugh!"

This was for the merciless edging-and-denial, the degrading taunts, and her rape of his mouth!

"Ugh!"

And this was for how she somehow, diabolically, mind-fucked him into consenting to the violation of the woman he loved!

"AAGHH!" she grunted, her voice cracking with sobs.

And these -- "uhh-uhh-uhh-uhh," Emma whimpered in time to the thrusts as he pistoned her captive cunt -- were for all the rest of the torments and tortures, mind-fucks and degradations, the shame, the guilt and the lies.