Marigold Tells the Truth

True they had a large fence, but Rusk was stark naked, for God's sake, except for that ridiculous chastity device.

For Rusk, this was horrifying.

Outside, Marigold began lashing at his hips and thighs with the cane as he stood in front of her. As she slashed further, cutting into his legs and stomach, he began jumping up and down, which she found quite amusing.

"That's right WHACK SLASH SMAK

Rush dance for me! If you won't be obedient enough to CRACK SMACK SLASH submit to WHACK LASH SLASH correction from my new boyfriend, you're going to get a serious whipping from me. Dance, bitch, dance!"

At some point, Rusk tripped and fell on his face, and Marigold began landing the switch again and again on his butt, as he cowered on the ground.

"Get up SLASH WHACK SMACK you little wimpy bitch! WHACK SMACK SLASH you're going to learn to submit to Scrip or I'll kill you in the process!"

Rusk got up in tears, and Marigold told him to stand still, and she unlocked his chastity device.

"You miss being the big man don't you honey?" Marigold said as she stroked Rusk's cock to tumescence.

Rusk breathed in Marigold's perfume and stared at her big green eyes, her full lips, and then down at her swelling cleavage in the tight purple dress.

Covered with welts all over his back, buttocks, legs, and stomach, he felt as if he'd been through some sort of horrible windmill.

But now she was stroking him gently, and smiling, and what a smile!

Rusk was in ecstasy despite his wounds from the cruel cane, as Marigold played with his neglected penis, he thought of what a wonderful girl she could be!

But he hadn't had the cock cage off in some time.

Certainly, she often bound Rusk to the bed and stroked his dick feverishly for hours at a time before locking him back up, and having him count the long days until he could masturbate to orgasm...

Her teasing fingers, her breasts thrusting against him in the body stockings she wore...and how he'd buck against her, helpless with the bonds tying his wrists and ankles to the bedposts!

But since Scrip had moved into the house the tease and denial sessions had gone way down. Marigold was enjoying her young man's dick, sucking and fucking with Scrip for all the boy was worth!

Rusk had felt so neglected; it was true he was much older than Scrip, fifty-eight on his next birthday, and Marigold, twelve years younger, certainly missed people closer to her generation.

But there was some argument that a husband should enjoy his wife's affections. After all, he provided for her in every material way, and made her breakfast every morning, he was a great husband!

He enjoyed being dominated, and had actually had the interest first, but he felt as if he'd created a monster!

He initially had had a fantasy about being cuckolded, from those damn online fantasy sites, and he'd ask Marigold to put sour cream in her cunt and pretend it was another man's cum and order Rusk to lick it out, but that was just a game, right

Such a demeaning thrill but the real thing had been terrible, really. Bringing trashy men from the street home, having Rusk initially watch their copulations from a closet in the bedroom, and then making Rusk serve her lovers orally.

Now, Marigold continued to stroke Rusk's stiff penis. "I know you want to play with my boobies while I stroke you, don't you honey?"

Rusk, standing in the backyard naked, had forgotten the whipping, his nakedness; he was just watching Marigold's cleavage in the beautiful dress.

Marigold leaned a little closer to Rusk while she stroked him, and he almost drooled on her breasts. "You want to kiss the cleavage...you wish you could kiss a nipple, what do you want?"

Suddenly, Rusk leaned over and kissed Marigold's cleavage and she slapped him so hard he nearly fell. "That's enough of that. We're going to have to cuff your wrists.

Scrip, get out here with the handcuffs. We have a pervert on our hands"

Rusk began weeping.

He so missed kissing Marigold's full breasts, even after they'd started their "play" bondage sessions, usually Marigold would then apologize at the end and let him kiss her boobies, and sometimes she'd tenderly suck his dick.

Once she had sentenced Rusk to pull all his own pubic hair out with a tweezers while locked in the bathroom, and she'd found him in tears and she'd taken him in her arms and made fervent love to him...

But the previous weekend she'd locked him in the loo and demanded he eat five cakes of soap over a three hour period while she and Scrip went for a picnic and a ride on Rusk's hobby biplane, and when they'd gotten back and he'd only been able to choke down four and a half bars, she'd thrashed him mercilessly!

No lovemaking anymore.

Scrip came out of the house with the handcuffs, and of course, Rusk noticed bitterly, he was fully dressed as was Marigold. Everyone but me, he thought. Scrip locked Rusk's wrists behind his back.

Marigold then took her Hermes neckerchief scarf off and blindfolded Rusk, telling him she was sick of him ogling her tits.

Rusk felt Marigold's fingers begin the manipulation of his cock again.

" Poor baby's been thoroughly so much" But as he began panting and getting close to orgasm, Rusk felt Marigold's fingers slip away.

WHACK! As Rusk stared into the dark of the blindfold he felt a paralyzing sting on his hard cock...WHACK! Another, right on the glans, and Rusk began sobbing softly THWACK!

Rusk started to run, hearing Marigold's strident tone

"Scrip, take my cane and head him off, I'll cut a switch from the bramble bush, nice thorns seem to encourage our boy...sometimes I put them in his underwear, along with nettles and send him off to work!"

I have to stop this, Rusk thought "Scrip, I'm your boss, damn it, you had better not—"

Then came Scrip's voice, "Dude, I'm sorry, Mr. Ruskin, but I'm in love with Marigold and I don't want to lose her, even if you fire me, man."

"Don't you dare touch me or I'll have the law—"

Suddenly there was a far sharper smack from the cane across Rush's stomach, Clumsy, but powerful. Scrip was a body builder and had a man's strength, and it was going to get rough now. What a young donkey Scrip was, Rusk thought.

Marigold doesn't love him. Marigold will bring Scrip to his knees, as she did Turk—

Marigold finished cutting the long, thorny switch so sharp that she had to use thick gardening gloves to hold the damn thing.

She smiled as she beheld Scrip, now w hipping Rusk enthusiastically as the older man ran about the yard blindly.

The poor thing was barely able to keep his balance. Marigold could tell that the lad was getting into it, and it was arousing him to flog his boss's naked body.

Marigold had such fun with Turk, Rusk's first "master" making Rusk kneel in the bathroom and allow Turk to stick his dick in Rusk's mouth and pee down his throat...it had been a turn on to drink her golden nectar, but Rusk didn't think much of drinking Turk's poor soul.

And then Rusk had learned to take in Number Two. The toilet had barely been used during that time, except by Rusk, of course, to do his business and eat his dinner (what a lovely place to pour in the steak and eggs!)

But then eventually Marigold had begun punishing Turk or small offenses and then she'd put Turk in bright blue eye shadow—

But now Marigold had to focus on the fun at hand. She came up in front of Rusk, who was fleeing from Script's determined application of the bamboo.

"Fun, isn't it, Scrippie?"

Scrip, all sweaty and panting over his darling muscular chest, nodded eagerly.

Yes, she'd brought out the bully in him. Rusk, straining to see through the thick scarf covering his eyes, begged for mercy.

"Goldie, darling, are you there?" He hesitated. "Please, I'll do anything if you let me—"

Marigold brought the thorny branch down hard against Rusk's still stiff penis.

Oh God, the thorns! How could she be this cruel...but she'd always been this cruel...no, not always. At one time, darling Marigold had been a sweet housewife who couldn't understand why Rusk wanted him to hurt her.

"That's right, stroke my dick, wow..." The young Rusk, freshly married had asked his bride... "Now, take that conductor's wand and whack it, it's too hard.

"

The question had been in her eyes, and her full lips had smiled. "I don't want to hurt you, honey."

Rusk had impatiently motioned to her, and by George, his Goldie had swatted his dick but lightly, and then he'd said "You have to make my penis mind you...whack it again, harder."

And she had! I After she'd drawn tears to his eyes the first time from the ministrations of her wand, (Marigold was a cellist and volunteer conductor for the Buttermilk Falls Youth Orchestra)

She'd taken Rusk in her arms, and pushed his face to her bosom, apologizing for hitting him too hard...

But then, once after a trip to the mall, when he'd been a little to misfocused on the passing teenyboppers, there had been hell to pay!

Marigold had hustled Rusk into the changing room of the Macy's Sportswear and she'd pulled his dick out of his trousers, and taken the conductor's wand from her purse, and whacked him until his penis was welted and he was crying...

Yes, and she'd been worried that he was mad, but of course when they'd gotten home he'd given her a full body massage and licked her to six orgasms!

And now she was whacking his poor cock with the thorny brambles...and really enjoying herself, showing off before her young lover!

Marigold swatted Rusk's cock again with the thorny branch, and two of the thorns stuck in his circumcised foreskin, and Marigold had to pull hard to get the sticky bough to become unglued, so to speak from Rusk's now rather withered organ.

Rusk screamed lustily, and Marigold could see a slight drop of blood on his glans.

"Jesus, Marigold, he's screaming bloody murder." Scrip said in alarm. "You might break his dick or something, and if the cops came, I am still on paper for this old weed charge— "

That didn't come up in his background check when we hired him, Rusk thought disapprovingly. Marijuana...terrible

! Of course in '69 at Woodstock, I--

But then Marigold whacked him again, and somehow, he was distracted.

"Honey, don't worry, I've put out cigarettes and cigars on his penis, I've touched hit with a hot fireplace poker, that little wiener has had a lot of abuse in the last twenty-five years. A few thorns won't do him any harm."

As if to punctuate this point, Marigold slashed Rusk's penis again and Scrip could see tears rolling down Rusk's chubby cheeks from under the blindfold.

"He's just a manipulative whiner, my dear." Marigold stuck her long leg out, and tripped Rusk so he fell down on the ground. She then began thrashing his bare butt with the thorny branch again. Scrip stared as the thorns made bloody inroads on Rusk's bare bottom and thighs.

Rusk began wailing and finally Marigold stopped, throwing down the bramble disgustedly.

"I guess you're right, I don't need the local constabulary called because this crybaby can't control himself. "

Marigold paused and stomped Rusk's bloody buttock with her six inch Capezio.

"I had a brief rendezvous with Eusebius, a hardcore submissive that I met at the PainCafe. And Eusebius was half Rusk's size but he could take a dick whipping with a piece of barbed wire without a complaint."

Marigold looked down at the pile that was her husband with disdain.

Mr. Kitt listened to the noise from behind the Ruskin's fence.

Oh, Marigold must be giving Rusk hell, he thought enthusiastically. Mr. Kitt had never liked Rusk, starting from when Rusk would go into the Buttermilk Falls Mall Barber Shop, where Mr. Kitt had been employed and ask for his long hair to be "shaped".

This rather than cut and besides which— old Ruskin Senior had spoiled the boy, and he'd spent the Sixties and Seventies wrecking sports cars and impregnating waitresses, before he'd settled down to the business of running his father's company into the ground. Good to know the girl was taking him to task.

A good whip-wielding woman was just the ticket, Mr. Kitt thought.

When Gladys, Mr. Kitt's departed wife was young when the Buttermilk Falls gift shop first began selling chastity tubes and bullwhips... when was it?

Right after Mr. Kitt had come home from Korea, about the time of the McCarthy hearings.

Old Joe could have used a good whipping, for sure...

It ran in Gladys's family of course.

Her great-great grandma, a half-Cherokee dominatrix had transformed Sir Mandeville Cassell, one of the founders of the Buttermilk Falls settlement, into Minny the She-Minx, a colonial transvestite prostitute!

Five decades ago, Gladys had begun her rule over her husband—and she'd kept Mr. Kitt in a chastity belt for forty-two years from when he was twenty-five until last year, when she'd died.

One orgasm a month with a five minute masturbation into a demitasse saucer, and then he would lick it up...and of course every other day of the month, he was lapping Gladys's little nookie!

One orgasm a month, with a bonus on Christmas and his birthday.

Sometimes there was a two to five day delay on his pud-pounding orgasm at the end of the month if he'd annoyed Gladys in some fashion.

And that could be excruciating, after days and days of being alternately locked in the device, released for brief, sexy manual teasing!

But usually Gladys handled minor offenses with her Spencer paddle, a two foot, four inch thick thing with eleven neat rows of three holes each, which helped to swing it faster...and her Cat O Nine tails with the heavy spiked beads on the ends of the powerful leather thong strands!

And Mr. Kitt would scream and bellow when his beautiful Gladys would flog him!

Often Gladys had been sadistic in a non-violent way—like the time she'd come back from her sister's early to find Mr. Kitt was having an illicit Super Bowl party for his VFW buddies.

Of course she'd taken Mr. Kitt by the ear, and put him in adult diapers and a bonnet, to watch the rest of the game in front of his jeering friends...and then he'd been forced to watch as Gladys had fucked all six of his fellow veterans, a privilege denied Mr. Kitt on the couch before they'd left...he'd just knelt in his Depends, sobbing.

And she'd given Mr. Kitt real endurance tests—like using his penis for a pincushion as she sewed....back before everything was made overseas cheap by the Chinks!

Mr. Kitt could remember many a painful night as he knelt beside his wife naked, his penis sticking out with forty pins and needles sticking out of his bulbous glans...willing himself not to move or inconvenience her.

Sometimes he might go a bit limp, with all the pain, and darling Gladys would lean over and rub her long red nail against his shaft until it bulged, and the cock head was bursting with the pins in it, certainly an adequate holder!

Gladys had also raised the children well—she'd made sure that Osbert and Egbert's orgasms were kept in check after they turned 19. The adult sons could cum once a month, so they didn't distract their studies from college (yes, they attended Buttermilk State, and lived at home with a seven-thirty bedtime)

Daughter Samantha, age 22, a good girl, had married Bosley Belknap, one of the most prosperous oral surgeons (That was a secret submissive transvestite) around!

Carnadine, the "moody" middle child, was an executive with a Midwestern conglomerate, and had worked her way up from typist to vice president by taking her superiors over her knee and using the paddle,'

Yes, and 20 year old Santiva, the Kitt's grand-niece who they'd raised since she was two, was a bailiff in Judge Reardon Harrod's office, and kept a huge butt-plug in His Honor's ass when the old gent was on the bench!

Poor Ozzie had tried to sneak out of the house one night to go on a date with a girl, and Gladys had caught him and given him a monster strap-on while the girl watched, laughing...and she'd followed up with a rather hot enema...

How Mr. Kitt missed Gladys!

She'd given Mr. Kitts the keys to his chastity belt on her deathbed, and he'd thought (while grieving) that now was his chance to masturbate all he liked, and to court the attractive widows at the Buttermilk Falls Senior Center...since he'd not been laid since 1956.

Just eating Gladys out and performing homosexual acts with the men she'd brought home, for forty years. Just ghastly. But, when you can cum all you like, masturbation loses its thrill, he'd learned. And how he missed her!

Certainly Mr. Kitt had enjoyed the favors of a few girls from the Senior Center, and had also gotten the benefits of a few younger women, but it wasn't the same as Gladys... and the one or two times he'd brought up an interest in spanking Mr. Kitt had been met with horrified eyes.

Mr., Kitt had let himself and the house go, he no longer was required to clean naked but for an apron and clothes pinned nipples and balls anymore, so why clean at all? But then one day as he was desultorily raking the yard, beautiful Marigold Ruskin from across the street strolled by for a chat.

"How are you doing, Mr. Kitt?" Marigold, resplendent in a low cut jumper that also showed much of her long, alabaster legs, and perfect calves! Mr. Kitt had always been a bit shy around Marigold, girls like that, back in school, or in the USO had always made a fellow a bit bashful!

But they'd had conversations before, she loved Jane Austen and Henry James, the Georgia O'Keefe exhibits at the Buttermilk Gallery...and Beethoven...and that day Mr. Kitt was glad to see the lovely young neighbor.

"How are you, Marigold? I'm just doing a bit of overdue yard work. You'd think that now that I'm retired, I'd have more time for it, but I have been a bit down since Gladys passed."

Somehow she'd come in for tea, and Marigold had told Mr. Kitt that she'd seen he and Gladys about two years before at one of the PainCafe Dungeon galas

"You probably didn't recognize me because while Mrs. Kitt was putting you through your paces with the horsewhip, you were wearing a leather hood."

Marigold began visiting Mr. Kitt regularly, bringing him strawberry shortcake and oatmeal cookies, that sort of thing. She was so fetching, just a lovely girl and Mr. Kitt was so flattered at her attentions .

Mr. Kitt loved it that he could discuss openly his masochistic proclivities, and laughed at the stories of her punishing and humiliating Rusk, who Mr. Kitt had always regarded as a pompous young ass.

And of course Marigold was fascinated by Mr. Kitt's stories of BDSM in the golden age...he was quite surprised that she'd heard of Bettie Page!

And then one hot July day as Marigold, twitching in denim short-shorts leaned over to pour Mr. Kitt lemonade, he'd stared into her bountiful cleavage and then said

"I spend too much of my time looking at beautiful young girls like you, and then committing onanism—you know, self-abuse."

How embarrassing to admit this to her. He reddened, but then looked hopefully at Marigold, maybe she wouldn't be offended.

Marigold, her eyes hidden behind Foster Grant shades, smiled.

She'd painted her full lips in burgundy, which matched her blouse, and Mr. Kitt was just floored by her beauty as always.

" Self-abuse? I know what that's about."

She had smiled a burgundy Cheshire cat grin.

LATER

"Yes, of course, I understand" Marigold had said, smiling.

"I have Rusk in a chastity belt, and it really does help him focus on the important things. If you were in chastity for forty years, you must be feeling very disorganized and too loose, like a canary that leaves the cage, but can't figure out what to do with all that space."

Mr. Kitt was so pleased. Of course he was still terribly embarrassed, telling this story to the girl.