COVID-19 & the Submissive

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE - Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine - Day 17

INTRODUCTION

"I'm not sure this is what they meant by concept social distancing, Angus," I managed to say.

I understood. This COVID-19 madness was tiresome. Folk all over the Welsh countryside had hashtags like #MustBreakOut, #COVIDBlues, and #CanIStopPlayingw/MyKidsNow. My baby momma's favourite online past time was Bethesda's new video game, Escape Room: Pandemic, where you could play from different points in history, using the tools available to them at the time although you could use 21st-century knowledge to cheat your way through. Between marathon hours online negotiating trade deals of Welsh lamb for PPEs from Singapore through a local conglomerate, my husband Angus would enjoy the Fallout DSL, Corona Nights. (And yes, I was fully aware of the needed discussion about that situation I just casually passed over -- the whole married-to-one-but-pregnant-with-another problem. Today however isn't going to be that day.)

The other adult members of our Glamorgan Progeny fell into their mutual odd hobbies and explorations, as expected by British landed gentry lucky and smart enough to have lasted until now. Mishiko and her husband, Whitfield spent their time conducting extensive research on the soil and water our group collected in Greenland during our last MI-6 mission (And yes, all huss, huss you know . . . another story for another day, uhm?). I couldn't tell how much time was spent researching and how much was spent investigating one another (Whitfield, is pregnant -- nasty time at first, you know - morning sickness. Anyway, now that that's gone, well, . . . you know!). My sister Ciara, Morganwg Estate's chief operations officer and the county's large animal veterinarian, had roped my brother-in-law Tom into assisting her with the Cardiff food pantry program.

She headed the local synagogue's efforts transporting food boxes to pensioners isolated in countryside farms by coordinating mail transfers through the National Rail System. (And I KNOW there's mischief going on over on that end of the estate. She complains about the three of us! You'd think we didn't have private rooms)! The kids, our new ward, Aglakti, and my niece, Brandi both eight going on 49, decided it was their duty to teach the young ones, mostly servant's children between one and three year's old. While my niece screamed 'head shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes!' she sounded like a master sergeant at 5:43 am, while poor Aglakti tried to soothe the hurt feelings of the crying toddlers.

Our one teen was doing a good job of sulking via her YouTube page for her 375,000 (and growing! She'll remind you) followers -- she's . . . not getting a graduation party and well, you know, . . . "that just sucks when you were almost certain you were going to be prom queen to Kerr Rosfield's prom king", as it was described to me with fat tears falling from sincere red eyes. I get it, really! When I grow up and finish graduate school, I want a bright, shiny uniform too. I want to stand out in my white robe and beanie and be seen as what is right and pure in this world. Maybe that's why I'm sitting here in my new, authentically designed ivy tower with ivy imported from Cambridge (I wouldn't have minded Welsh ivy but Angus is a bit OCD), thumbing through Talmud for a quote while participating in my last lecture prior to ordination -- naked. Right, you didn't know you could be late for online class?

Huh? Didn't you catch the title of this story? Yeah, it's like that. You see this is a story about what can happen when a group of horny smart people get bored while isolated in wealth, opulence, and an overstuffed footlocker.

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE - Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine -- Day 1 minus 2

Chapter 1 -- Deetz and Angus

Some background, eh? My name is Desmond Mac Innes-Reese. Most folks call me Deetz. I'm married to the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Mac Innes-Reese, a descendent of Welsh royalty and one of the richest men in the world (yeah, just like the fairy tales). My sister Ciara says I look like Bruce Lee's brother from another mother. Angus looks like he just left the cover of some corner store bodice ripper, kilt and all. We've been married for nearly six years and things are changing.

When we returned from our last adventures as alien hunters (later!), it was Angus's grandmother and family matriarch, Lady Nora standing next to my pregnant best friend, Toni. I went into theology because I didn't have to do math so it took me a minute to put 2 and 2 together so I could arrive at 5. Toni had visited me in Tel Aviv in the last days of my internship. Angus showed up in Israel quite unexpectedly, but I loved the idea of hanging out with my two favourite people.

It was five days of dance clubs, beach parties, and good weed. I'd never slept with Toni but you'd have to be blind not wonder about the curves under those pants. It wasn't planned, not at least by Angus. And, well, . . . you can't gyrate against one another in the bar, get wet in the Mediterranean Sea, and smoke Sativa all night and stuff not happen. We'd been responsible most times out but then someone forgot to get a new condom, twice, well . . . That was five months ago. My initial reaction wasn't paternal, but it wasn't hostile either. Lady Nora was quietly thrilled which made me think the 73-year old woman had something to do with it (No! Not like that! Even my kinks have limits). However, Angus was . . . well, I don't know. He immediately announced he was heading to London and left without so much as an ass slap. Emails, texts, Facetime -- Angus refused to talk about it.

"We'll settle it when I get back. Just make sure she's following Dr. Randolph's instructions." The family doctor confined her to the mansion when she arrived -- there was bleeding when she got off the direct flight from Chicago. Dr. LaTonya Hoffman was a clinical psychologist, a world-renowned Aikido expert with a body Beyonce would have to bid for at Sotheby's. After Angus left, Lady Nora assigned Toni a set of rooms next to the old nursey and ensured everyone knew of this woman's elevated status as the mother to the next earl and his twin sister. Told you things were changing.

Tonight, I sat in my office surrounded by an impressive library, a state-of-the-art audiovisual system all run by a computer network that does everything in the estate from security to three-dimensional screen projection. It was a cool March evening -- no snow but you could see your breath. Angus had been gone for nearly three weeks and I was missing him dreadfully. According to BBC News, rumours were swirling around Downing Street and Whitehall that the government was considering placing the whole country on quarantine. So now I'm lonely and worried; would Angus get back before they shut down Cardiff Airport or the rails. As an MP, it wouldn't look good for him to pull strings just to get home, not a good image. He would be stuck in our townhouse masturbating to me fucking myself with a cucumber. We grow big ones in our vegetable garden. It's okay but I really need a cuddle.

10:30 pm. I finished the news summary and was about to turn off the tellie when I caught something in my periphery. I turned. He was immediately on me. We are the same height but whereas I am slim and tight, Angus's body would make The Rock upgrade his workout regimen. But something was amiss. With my Dom, my husband, commands were more of an expectation of compliance than any show of force. When you're this kinda rich, you grow up with a notion that what you want is readily available or available to a nearby servant. Tonight's aggressiveness, even when initiating sex, was out of character.

But hot as hell. "Your home, your Grace!" I would have stepped back, bowing slightly but he grabbed my shoulder like a bear who's already chosen what side dish he was pairing with your breast meat. He squeezed hard, punching close to my neck.

I opened my eyes after grimacing and saw a man on fire. And he was a mess. His shoulder-length hair looked like he'd been sleeping on his left side during a 16-hour flight. He was still in a suit he'd probably put on this morning. And he smelled -- like a hungry lion in heat. Where was this going?

Although he hissed out, "I've been craving you since lunch", undoubtedly it had been longer than that. He pushed me up against the only wall space that didn't have a device or a bookshelf. He grabbed both shoulders and forced me onto my knees, though I hardly needed convincing. "Suck. Suck now," he commanded. Angus was so frantic; he nearly caught his dick in the zipper.

When he got it out, the thick rod glistened, as if it had started without me. Initially, I held it in my hand, caressing and kissing, purposefully playing innocent. But Angus wasn't having it. He grabbed my chin and clapped his eyes on mine and spit out a husky whisper. "Do you mean to defy me? Put that hand down."

"Yes, your Grace," I replied.

He took his dick from me and placed it inside my open mouth. "Look at me while I do this to you. I want you to watch and envy my pleasure."

I looked up as he moved his hips abruptly forward installing his dick well past my uvula. He held it there shuddering, trying to regain control so his cum didn't blow a hole in the back of my head. Like a said, Angus, isn't a violent lover. When I've gotten in slightly injured during our play, he got quite upset. It was an hour of organic topical remedies along with many self-recriminations. Angus homed his skills under the tillage of Madam Richfield, a courtesan whose parlour specialized in training the adulting children of the Commonwealth's elite on how to fuck. She'd find your kink and in a combination of direct instruction and fieldwork with one of her "assistants". At her establishment, you count reserved time in weeks or months, not minutes. It was said that she "raised" every prime minister since Margaret Thatcher (Hey, Iron Lady had soft spots too, I guess . . .).

Madam Richfield believed marks on a sub is a sign of "a master with a messy mind". To her, focus and control were the hallmarks of "someone who had mastered the demands of being someone's Dom". Well, right now he was making a B- in self-control but there was plenty of night left to earn an A+.

He let out a groan then threw his head back. He squeezed the almond curls on the back of my head and pulled everything put the tip of his prick out. He took it in hand, letting the headrest on my tongue. He bent forward to lean his head on his arm against the wall. Angus looked at me like a starving beast and began speaking in Welsh (Le, dyma beth sydd ei angen arnoch chi, rhywbeth i gau eich ceg a'ch meddwl - Yeah, this is what you need, something to shut up your mouth and mind.), French (Cette bouche n'appartient qu'à ma bite. Comprenez vous? - That mouth only belongs around my dick. Do you understand?), and eventually German (Leck es, Deetz. Komm und hol deine Belohnung! - Lick it, Deetz. Come get your reward!).

A spot on the underside of his head was an erogenous zone for Angus -- one that was perfectly suited for my rather thick and wide tongue. Just like you'd lick the outside of your upper lip, I moved my tongue around and around while looking at him like I was daring him to stop himself from cumming. Over the years application of this technique had become a playful contest of wills where sometimes I win while other times, I let him win. I thought we'd both win this time.

Angus's breath became ragged. He began to shake like water coming to boil. Still, he kept looking down at me as if he was holding on to every drop of control. Then for a moment, barely a second, I could feel things shift in him. Like my sister is a whisperer in the animal world, my talent is clairescence -- I sense people's emotions by touching them and the things they touched. Angus's sudden change went across my mind like a CNN crawl. It was just four small words -- please don't leave me. I realized then that the source of some of this "eagerness" was fear. I don't have Ciara's talent of being able to project thoughts, otherwise, I would have said something like, where would I go when the love of my life is here? But since I had a dick bouncing atop of my tongue, speaking was out of the question. I did the next best thing and wrapped my lips around his head and began to suck it gently while I rolled my tongue against his nozzle.

"My G-d I love it when he cheats!" Angus said as he filled my mouth. He came so much that if I didn't know better, I'd think he hadn't masturbated in weeks. It came out all at once, so he regained sanity quickly. "Okiru (Get up)!" he ordered in Japanese while pulling me up by my shirt collar. He pushed me further against the wall and growled, "Mada owattenai (I'm not done with you yet)."

Then there came three rat-a-tat-tats and the door came open and Toni breezed in the room with a mission. She was like that -- brazen and forward. She was strolling through her mobile as if looking for something. "Hey, Deetz. I saw the light on and thought you were still awake. Could you help me with . . . , " she said before coming to a full stop. "Sorry, I didn't know you were back Angus." Toni started to turn and leave, "I'll catch you in the morning . . . or afternoon. I assume you two want to catch up."

Before she reached the doorknob, Angus said, "You're just in time actually. I'd like to talk to you." He didn't take his eyes off me but then again, he hadn't bothered to hide the penis sticking out of his fly. "Go get your 35mm camera and meet us in our room."

Toni slowly turned her head, likely to determine how serious Angus was. Her mouth opened slightly as if trying to find the words. Then she turned toward the door again, giggled like a schoolgirl, and left to do what she was instructed. Who knew a pregnant woman could move like that? I better not hear shit about her feeling fat or something . . . there are curves and jiggles on that woman that the United Nations should call a crime.

"Do you want to fuck her?" Angus asked after the door closed. "But who knows," he snarled, "you probably shagged her many times while I was gone." I didn't say anything as he cupped my dick and balls. He was genuinely surprised at what he found. While massaging my caged cock, he smiled and said, "My, my, you have been good! But have you taken care of this prize?"

"Of course, your Grace," I said while he loosened the shoulder grip, "the only thing that has touched it has been the items in the hygiene kit." He had it specially made with bars made from the material used to make high-end prosthetists, like his left hand, which he lost during one of our previous missions. The cage felt like human flesh and could be created to match your skin tone. But don't be fooled, my dear reader. My male chastity cage isn't to control me as much as it is a way to remind me of Angus's touch. When he was away, he left the key so I could clean and lotion my dick regularly.

"Come and undress me," Angus instructed. I followed behind him and wondered if I'd put lube on the Amazon order list.

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE - Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine -- Day 1 minus 2

Chapter 2 -- Deetz, Angus, and Toni

I undressed him like a King, slowly, ensuring each item was precisely folded or hung as if each item were also human. I am the son of the 11th Earl's valet. I learned servitude from my father as he was part of a dynasty -- a Mac Innes male had worked for an Earl of Glamorgan since the 1800s. Da wasn't bi like me but he greatly admired his earl. I love my earl too, but I do it on my knees atop of a ketubah, a marriage contract. I've spent much time wondering what my queerphobic father, dead now almost six years, would think of how I was fulfilling my duty.

"You're thinking again!" Angus growled. "I am here now; your studying is over. I am your only thought."

True, why waste time? My da and our horrid relationship was over and Angus's fabulous cock were here now. And I want to enjoy every drop of both. "Yes, your Grace," I replied. I tried not to look at him. I swear Angus was a Michelangelo statue carved from my dreams. The man ate everything, especially pretzels (his favourite food that I must make for him insistently), and still had the body most athletes only find in a bottle of steroids. His muscles were taut, and his druidic tattoos shifted like dancing ladies from an Edison kinetoscope as he walked to a side table on the other side of the bed. He took a vape pen and a leather pouch from the top drawer. My balls shudder at what I imagine is to come.

"Finish undressing. Get on the bed," he said as he propped up a pillow under the hook in the wall behind the bed. Angus pulled a royal blue ball gag with a black binding. "I have new lube I want to apply to your hole." I dropped my clothes in the hamper unceremoniously then got in the bed and leaned back.

"And this salve for your wrists". He hates scars on my skin. "I will never damage your skin nor your heart, of that I promise", he vowed the night before our wedding. "But I own you, totally and in every way." t was his way of driving a permanent wedge between that pain of childhood abuse and our fetish.

"I am at your service, your Grace."

Installing the ball firmly in my mouth, he replied, "Right. Do you understand? Do you really?" He stretched the leather straps, securing them with a lock behind my upper neck. It was quite tight, mildly uncomfortable as it forced my lips as wide as his dick, saliva dripping as only a good deep throat brings. Then he spread lip balm, so my lips won't dry and crack. Angus stepped back and admired his work thus far. "Yes. Right." He smiled affirmingly. "I don't need your words. Your groans and pleadings, that's what I crave." Angus applied to my wrists a different lotion that smelled of sandalwood and aloe vera. He was breathing heavily as he put on the metal cuffs. "I'm going to give you what you want but my way, do you understand?" I didn't but I nodded 'yes' anyway. Then was the sound of a metal click. I shook a bit, hoping he would do . . . just about . . . anything. Angus raised my bound hands over my head and attached the cuffs to the hook.

Brilliant. He must have seen the excitement in my eyes because he added, "Anticipating something?" I dropped my gaze. "You want me to fuck you? Poor thing." I don't know where he got the hemp rope, but he used it to make a simple binding for my ankles. He checked that they were secure before finally releasing my dick using his key (he fooled me into thinking I had the only one, the devilish man). He took yet a different lotion, the smell of which I was unfamiliar and started massaging my cock, his hands firm and the stroke determinant. My cock expanded like helium filling a balloon. I thought I was going mad.

I elevated my hips so high to take full advantage of his strokes to the point where I thought I'd pulled something. I didn't care though. I had missed him. I missed this. I missed all of it. "Please," I garbled past the ball. "Please!" I tried to say.

But he stopped and walked away taking all the warmth with him. "You deserve a special treat since you've been so good. But I don't quite want this orgasm to stop here." When he came back into view, he was encasing a long, ribbed butt plug with a gooey clear paste. "Let's get your orgasm out of the way otherwise it will ruin everything." He spread me with a yank to the crook of my right leg. Angus kneeled over me intently as he slowly inserted the toy in my asshole. Its ribs were growing, black nobs that tinkled my sphincter into compliance as Angus pushed it in me. Once I'd loosen up a bit, he increased speed. "Does that feel good? Your wanker is certainly engaged," Angus said. He had stopped touching my dick, which was disappointing although soon forgotten as the sides of my asshole and prostate started vibrating. "You may come now," he said like a bored school teacher during a math class.