Sausages Backstory Ch. 18

The one item that looked out of place was the simple $5 IKEA metal stool, painted white, sitting beside the worktop. Very low tech. About which Mary said, 'That's what you sit on when you get to sit in the kitchen,' as she led Dan upstairs.

'And this is my bedroom,' she announced unashamedly. No suggestion that it might ever be 'our' bedroom, Dan noted, as Mary tapped a code into the keypad at the side of the door, which silently slid open to reveal a luxuriously appointed large bedroom with a walk-in wardrobe, its own bathroom and small study off to one side. It was almost an apartment in itself.

'It's beautiful,' Dan replied, neutrally, careful not to fall into any traps. He wasn't going to ask if he would get to sleep there too, even as he guessed it to be unlikely. Best not to invite a negative response. He'd live in hope. In their old house Mary had moved him out of the master bedroom soon after he had signed the slave contract. She had parked him in the tiny box room, furnished with a single bed and little more.

As he was toured through the rest of the upstairs rooms, Dan waited to be told which door led to the equivalent of his old box room. Well, it didn't happen. He was shown two guest bedrooms and a morning room -- as she called it, plus two bathrooms. That completed the tour of the upstairs. No box room. No room in the inn upstairs for Dan.

'You will keep all this spotless, Dan. I expect to have business guests staying from time to time at short notice, as well as my relations and occasionally friends, which may include gentlemen friends,' Mary announced in a manner that didn't invite further questions from the slave. But Dan would have liked a little clarification. Because this was a big thing. After all there are things called red lines that are not to be crossed and that has to be one of them. He composed the 'Hey, wait a minute' question in his head. He'd be forthright and strong. 'Mary dear, a moment please. Since when did becoming a slave include becoming a cuckold too? Didn't say anything about cuckolding in the slave contract I signed, as best I can recall. Did it? Not that Dan could recall any details of the contract, and he was never given a copy. He just signed it. Probably not wise, but it all seemed very exciting at the time.

Dan has slowed while digesting the import of the 'gentlemen friends' and all that might imply. Busy having that little internal argument. This surely was worth risking a question or two, Dan insisted to himself. Be strong. If ever there is a time it's now. But Mary had gone on ahead and Dan had to hurry to keep up. Mary, as she descended the stairs, had launched into a brisk commentary about the cost and quality of the chandelier and how its delicate nature required careful cleaning. If she'd just have paused for a moment, Dan told himself, he would have pulled her up and queried the cuckolding thing when they were upstairs. Definitely. But he didn't dare to interrupt her speil about the chandelier. Clearly it was a thing close to her heart. While walking briskly back along the hall to a corridor that led off to the side behind the stairs, Mary told Dan how many bulbs it had and how many separate pieces of glass went into its construction. 'And they will each be carefully dusted by you, Dan, on a regular basis. I'll put it in your rota.'

'Yes, Madam.'

And so the moment passed, once again. And maybe for the best, Dan decided, given his new circumstance; TPE and all that. Best to control those rare, intemperate bursts of outrage. He must remember to always take a deep breath. Count to ten. Look before you leap etc. etc. And that's how Dan became a cuckold in waiting. Mary was now busily pointing to the door at the end of the corridor. She said it opened onto the side passage near the back of the house.

'That is the door you will be using when you are allowed go out, Dan. We can't have slaves trooping in and out the front door like they own the place, can we?' While Mary spoke in a playful tone, there could be only one response. 'No, certainly not,' replied Dan, who wasn't in the least put out, since he had already been restricted to using the back door of the old house. This particular trampling of his dignity had already happened and he wasn't surprised to see it repeated here. Besides he was about to become a cuckold. He felt a slow thickening of his cock in its steel cage at the thought. A thickening that indicated that Dan had accommodated to this further humiliation. His cock was telling him that he now accepted that another man would fuck his wife and that he, Dan Murnaghan -- which was still his real name, in his mind - he would do nothing about it.

They had moved half way along the corridor, which Dan now recognised as the one they had entered from the garage when they arrived. Mary stopped at the door to the garage and turned to the door opposite.

'Tah-dah! This one is where I am putting you,' she said with a flourish, turning towards a plain wooden door with a keypad on the door frame. 'These are the slave quarters. I had the space especially modified to suit the purpose. Of course, for the immediate future this is your prison cell too.' Mary said in a tone that implied that Dan should be grateful, as the door slid back silently to reveal a classic prison cell set of bars immediately behind it. Mary punched in a second code on her phone and after a loud clunk of some hidden lock, it too slid open.

'Step inside, Prisoner. Strip and hang your clothes in the closet. I want you naked in the house normally.'

Dan, noting the slight change of tone, accepted that he was being ordered and not invited. Mary had moved out of tour guide mode and was now in prison governor mode.

'Yes Madam,' said Dan as he nervously crossed the threshold into the slave quarters; his new prison cell.

'I'll leave you to make yourself at home and come for you later, Prisoner,' said Mary, tapping her phone. The steel bar-type prison cell door immediately slid shut. There was an air of finality about the dull clunk of the locking mechanism closing. Mary was gone out of sight by the time Dan had turned around to say thanks, Madam. The outer wooden door did not close. Dan immediately had that back in jail feeling. The fact that anybody could come along the corridor outside the bars and look in at him was unsettling. He knew Mary would walk past going to and from the garage, but any visitors, or maintenance guys coming in the side door, would see him too.

Dan, the well trained slave, promptly stripped off his grey tracksuit top and pants. He also knew better than to leave them in a heap on the floor. The built-in closet contained two tracksuits folded on a shelf. They were identical to the one he had been wearing. Dan got it; one in the wash, one to wear and one spare. That was to be his complete wardrobe from now on, he guessed. That, and being naked.

After placing his neatly folded track suit in the closet, alongside the two identical track suits, Dan looked around him. Daylight fell from a single window circular high up on the back wall. Dan could see the winter sky, with the occasional cloud scudding into view and gone again. Nothing else. In estate agent speak, other than through the prison bars, Dan was not going to be overlooked. There was a light fitting in the ceiling and Dan looked for a light switch. There was none. But near the place where the light switch should be there was a tablet, an iPad or some similar item, fixed to the wall. It came to life as soon as Dan touched the screen.

A menu flashed up on the screen. 'Rules for Slaves' was first on the list, followed by 'Procedures' followed by 'Slave Duties.' Dan touched the 'Rules' line and up flashed rule number one. Rule No 1 stated that slaves must be naked at all times when in slave quarters. He knew the rule that came before Rule No 1. It was the 'Always obey the rules' Rule, so Dan decided not to get bogged down in reading all the rules because then he'd have to comply them. He wanted to have a good look at the slave quarters first.

The bed was in the corner, its foot facing the door and its head against the window wall. Beside it were the same pattern of ring bolts set into the wall as in the old house; two high, two low. He knew how they worked. The bed was a simple affair, a foam plastic coated mattress on a solid base, single bed size. No sign of any cover, duvet or blankets, not even the grey prison blanket he might have expected. He sat on the bed to try it out. As soon as the mattress had taken his weight, a loud klaxon started blaring and the ceiling light flashed bright red. Dan leapt up from the bed. The klaxon stopped, but the red light kept flashing. Dan didn't know what to do. Clearly, sitting on the bed was a big no-no. There were no switches on the walls that might turn off the flashing light.

It was the sort of harsh flashing light that, in the movies, implies the nuclear reactor is about to blow up, or the submarine is about to sink. And you are the guy who caused it. You shouldn't have pushed that big red button that said only to be used in an emergency. Aaaaggggh! Gotta think. But the rapid bright pulsing flashes sets your pulse racing and doesn't let you think. Make it stop. Now! Do something!

Dan, the methodical scientist, decided he was not going to panic. Dan was the sort of guy who read all the instructions before starting to glue the model airplane together. He went back to the tablet, quickly scrolling through the list of the rules for slaves to follow. Nothing obvious about turning off the red light. But he saw that Rule No. 2 stated that the bed could only be used between the hours of 8 pm and 6.30 am. Too late! Rule No 3 said he was to give himself an enema with his shower each morning and insert a dildo, and the reverse in the evening. Interesting. Rule No 4 said he was to vacate the slave quarters within two minutes of the door opening in the morning. And so on it went. Next he started scrolling through the procedures list. He soon read that the red flashing light indicated an automatic breach of the rules had been detected. In that event, the tablet stated that the procedure to follow was for the slave to place himself in the T-bar immediately. Phew! Result: Dan wasn't going to try and second guess this, not with three to five years in State prison hanging over his head. His mission: Get to the T-Bar, and get into it, fast.

The tablet had helpfully set out how the slave should place himself in the T-bar. The procedure, in fact, was simple. Behind Dan, on the wall facing the iPad, a black steel T shaped bar was set into the wall about three and a half feet above the floor. It stuck out about two feet from the wall. There was a horizontal open steel cuff at each end of the T. The slave had to face away from the T-bar looking towards the tablet, bend his knees and bring his arms up behind him and slot one into each steel cuff.

Dan, anxious to get back on the right side of this written code of slave law, quickly followed the procedure. He had to bend over to bring his arms up horizontally behind him. He felt for the cuffs, found them and slipped his wrists in, fumbling around a bit to find the slot. The final procedure required the slave to press his wrists against the inside end of the cuff. He did so and the cuffs promptly snapped shut, trapping Dan in position, bent over with his arms held horizontally behind him, above his bent back, like an Olympic swimmer at the start of the 100 meters butterfly. A thing of beauty. Immediately the red light stopped flashing. Dan felt a lot better. He had done well. He had worked methodically and arrived at the correct solution. Even if the solution meant that he was now bent over, trapped and naked in this medieval stocks-like device.

At last, all was calm again, and Dan could think more clearly. The first thing that was clear was that he was totally trapped in this automatic bondage device. The second thing he was clear about was that he had no idea how long he would be kept in this bondage position. The bent over position was naturally uncomfortable. His shoulders ached a little as a result of his arms being pulled up behind him. Already his lower back had given an occasional twinge. At least he could shift his feet every so often to relieve the strain on his back. Dan could imagine becoming very uncomfortable in a while. He looked at the ground mostly because it was an effort to raise his head up to look outwards. When he did lift his head, he looked straight across at the iPad screen. Turning his head to the left he could see out through the bars of the cell. Nobody there. Nobody coming. Dan decided that it was a bit too soon to shout for help.

About five minutes into his time in the stocks, the cell bars slid open with a clunk. Dan pulled his head up and looked out expectantly towards the empty corridor, so near and yet so out of reach. He could hear the brisk tap-tap of high heels approaching.

Dan kept his head raised long enough to see Mary sashay into the cell wearing only a tight black leather basque, her black stockings held up by its black suspenders, long black gloves and black high heels. Her neatly trimmed bush peeped out invitingly from under the basque. Dan's cock immediately twitched and started to fill the steel tube it was trapped in. Mary came to a halt about three inches from Dan's head. An inch closer and he could have licked her pussy. His bent over head was at the right height. He struggled to keep his head upright, his eyes on level with the base of her basque with its black satin trim, below it the dark curly pubic hair of his wife's proud pubic mound, on either side of which long black elastic suspenders stretched over her milky white thighs and clipped into the top of her black stockings. She jiggled her pussy over and back in front of his face. Just right there. Just out of reach.

This was too much, he thought, a total provocation. This was the outfit Mary reserved for giving Dan a good time, him usually tied down, spread-eagled, on her bed on a Saturday night. About every two weeks, sometimes weekly, Dan used to get some serious pussy licking in, after which Mary rode him hard till she was satisfied. When she was done having fun, and if he hadn't been allowed to come, she used sometimes give him a spoiled ejaculation, pulling her hand away just as he was about to come. She said it was for the good of his health, that she wanted her slave kept in good sexual condition. Dan got used to that, eventually. He was her slave after all, and if that was all the relief she chose to give her slave, he had to make the most of it.

'Well, well, well. What have we here?'

'Hello, Madam,' mumbled Dan, his cock cage twitching more as his imprisoned cock hardened further and pressed against the prince Albert pin that skewered it permanently into the steel tube. While he was embarrassed at his humiliating situation, he was equally anxious not to irritate his wife on day one back at home. Despite her sexy outfit, despite the fact that he could smell her pussy juices right there in front of his nose, Dan worried that this might be some tactic on her part to trap him into making an overly familiar remark. Bad enough that he had already screwed up on the rules.

The nervousness that had entered into all his interactions with his wife since she collected him from the farm that morning was not going to let up, he realised. Everything he said or did had to be weighed up, he had to figure out in advance how she might react. He didn't dare offend her. As a result Dan now felt like a ten year old boy caught by his mother with his hand in the cookie jar. He had get his excuses in first. Quickly try and explain his way out of the situation. Get his gloss on the story first. The art of spin.

'I'm so sorry, Madam. I accidently set off the bed alarm and thought I had better follow the procedure for breaking a rule. It won't happen again, Madam.'

'What won't happen again, Dan?' teased Mary giving another few jiggles of her pussy in front of his face.

Dan folded quickly, his head sinking down with tiredness and the weight of his admission of guilt. The spin unspun. The naked truth revealed. 'I won't sit on the bed again out of hours, Madam,' whispered Dan.

'Two hours in the T-bar is the standard punishment for such a minor infraction, Dan. Seems fair, don't you think?'

'Yes, Madam.'

'You've already done ten minutes. It won't be so bad, will it?'

'No, Madam.'

'Do you like what you see, Dan?' She pulled his head back up by his hair and gave another few jiggles of her pussy, moving her tush even closer to Dan's face. Her pubic hair brushed his nose.

'Yes, Madam. Very much. You look so beautiful and sexy.'

'Well, so I should. I got all dressed up for you, ready to give you a good time after your four weeks on the farm. And now you've spoiled it all.' As she said this Mary pulled Dan's face over and back against her pubic hair.

'How are you going to make it up to me then, slaveboy?'

''I'm very sorry, Madam. I'll do whatever you wish, Madam,' answered Dan, opting for the safe answer. But a small flame of hope flickered inside him. Was it just possible that he might still get a bit of action, at last? It had been a week since Mary had made him spill his load back at Bette's place.

'Go for it then, Dan. Give it all you've got. Feel free, because this is all the action you are going to get between now and next week-end. Then, provided you are a very, very good slave all next week, and a model prisoner, I'll see what I might do for you.'

Dan stuck his tongue out as far as he could, but Mary pulled back just enough so that he couldn't make contact with her pussy. Still he tried, his tongue waggling about in mid-air, while pathetically dry humping with his cock cage. Swinging it over and back fruitlessly. Going through the motions, like anything was ever going to come of it. She was just toying with him. He knew it.

'That's looks tragic, Dan. You are getting nowhere. Give up. I'm going to shave your head now.'

While Dan, his cock still bulging and twitching against the confines of the cock cage, was digesting her words, thinking; What? Shave my head? Mary went over towards the toilet shower area and came back with a hair trimmer. Without any warning, and gripping his chin with one hand to hold his head steady, she placed the trimmer at the base of Dan's neck, switched it on and cut a swathe straight from the neck over the crown of his head and out on to his forehead. Having Dan bent over with his arms safely trapped the T-bar made it all the easier for Mary.

Dan saw, with dismay, the large clump of brown hair drop onto the ground below his head. It was quickly followed by a big tear that ran down his nose and landed softly in the growing mound of hair. Dan, naked, bent over and with his arms clamped up behind him, was quietly weeping. Mary didn't notice. She concentrated on the job at hand. The mound of hair piled up steadily, soaking up Dan's tears. Dan was mourning the loss of his past life. The realisation that it was never coming back. This was not a sexy shaving, like removing his pubic hair. This was demeaning and unmanning. She never even asked him. Just did it, because she could, and because he couldn't stop her. It brought it all home.

Mary briskly rubbed her hand over and back on Dan's newly bald head. 'There, all done, Dan. Nice and shiny. The proverbial billiard ball. Let's have a look at you.'

She put her hand under Dan's chin and pulled his bowed bare head upright. There was no hiding the tear streaked face from its owner's gaze. Mary snorted in derision. 'What's this? Getting all emotional are we, slaveboy? Get over it. I've only shaved your hair, Dan. It's not as if I've cut your balls off. Which I could do.'

'Sorry, Madam,' snivelled Dan.