The Substitute Wife

There are six of us in my circle of "kinky friends," at least that's what my three BFFs (who are in that circle) call them. All six of us share the same tastes for playing games. We try to get together every couple of weeks and mostly gossip about the games we've been up to. But we are also known to do each other "favors," like playing a specific game with one of their toys. And when we run into new toys, we tend to offer then around if we don't want to keep them ourselves. We've even been known to double-team a toy or two. But we never play with each other; all of us are too dominant for any of us to ever enjoy the submissive role.

I'm a little surprised, but not very much when Colette calls me on a Tuesday morning. She's the oldest member of our little club at 46. At 18, I'm obviously the youngest. She's' a soccer mom, and I'm a student. Our games are about all we have in common, so when I see her calling, I know it has something to do with playing games. Even though I have class in about ten minutes, I answer the call, curious to know what she has in mind. Mostly because I am so always up for some serious - and kinky - amusement.

She tells me about two of her toys, a couple in their late 40's, which she knows is just above where I like my toys. But not by more than a little. I generally like my toys in their 30's or early 40's. But... It's not a firm rule. I've played with younger and older if they were amusing for me. Colette quickly tells me that they - Carole (45) and Mike (47) - are very amusing, at least to her.

Their "thing" is being made to earn their orgasms, and the harder they have to "work" to earn them, the more intense they are. Earning those climaxes from Colette involves humiliation and obedient service to her whims. Including her torturous teasing. Something she knows well I enjoy deeply: tormenting my toys as I tease them erotically, which lets me enjoy watching them suffer as they wait for their relief. Both have been her toys for close to a year now, and are well "trained" in the commands we all use, and have a good idea of what might be expected of them.

And then, there's Riley. For lack of a better term for it, Colette refers to her as a "free-loading boarder." Political correctness was never Colette's (or my) strong suit. Riley is 19. Until she turned 18 and aged out, she was the foster daughter of Carole's sister in Mississippi. She wanted to come here, to Mobile, where she'd been accepted at USA to study web site design, but was pretty much penniless. Like most kids aging-out of foster care. The Greyhound ticket here and lunch pretty much took care of her savings. So Carole's sister talked them into helping Riley out and taking her in for a bit until she gets on her feet. With their own son now out of the house, they seem to have enjoyed having Riley around enough that they're not urging her to move on. This suits Riley as well, allowing her to save up what she earns from her part-time job instead of trying to survive on it.

There was never any hope Riley wouldn't figure out what Carole and Mike were into. Colette only plays in their homes (her husband isn't interested in knowing too much about those games), and with Riley coming and going freely, added to Colette's preference never to confine her fun to a single room, it wasn't long before Riley figured it out. At first, she said she didn't care what they did, their lives, their choice. While she'd gladly call 911 for them, she'll just as gladly turn her music up instead.

That lasted a few months until Colette noticed Riley peeking a little when the couple was out of their bedroom. Peeking to see what was happening. Colette pretended she didn't notice. Then, maybe two months ago, Riley asked Colette if she ever played with single girls. Colette said yes, but her "dance card" was currently full. She asked if Riley had some interest in being someone's toy. Riley said yes, that what Colette put Carole through interested her a lot. Colette met her privately for coffee and they had a long conversation about what might interest Riley. But so far, Colette hasn't done anything with Riley.

Colette tells me that Carole is "in trouble." Last night, finding herself unwilling to wait for Colette's next visit so Colette could properly supervise the sex with her husband, she masturbated privately to a very unsatisfying orgasm. Not surprising, since her orgasms are never that satisfying when they're unsupervised. But it's the third time Carole has done that since Colette forbid them to masturbate or have any kind of sex without her permission. A rule Carole well knows. Which means that Carole is now due a very uncomfortable lesson in obeying their mistress.

Which is why she's calling me. She has an idea of "just the way to teach that naughty woman a lesson she'll never forget!" Except Colette doesn't have time tonight since one of her four kids is in a play that will eat up her evening. While any of the other five us could easily administer the lesson, she thought of me for another reason: Riley. Riley is still bugging her for "a good introduction" to submission. Colette figures that being openly humiliated for her sin in front of both her husband and Riley would be so much more memorable. And more degrading when it comes from a woman Riley's age. Plus she thinks Riley, whom she deems "cute" might well take to me. "She seems to be more interested in peeping the more strict scenes, and you so love strict." That's true, I do like to be strict, although I can also be kind when it gets my subs to do what I want more eagerly for me.

By now I'm standing outside the classroom, with about a minute before the lecture starts. I tell Colette I'll do it, and ask only what Carole's schedule is. She tells me that Carole is a housewife and will be home all day after about noon. Mike manages a trucking company's freight terminal and will be home about 6:00 on the dot. Riley is pretty much a homebody and will almost certainly be home around four, after her last class, since she only works on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. My last class gets out at 2:00 today - I've scheduled all of them back-to-back so I can carry a full load, but maximize my free time. And I don't work. I ask her to text Carole that I will be in touch to discuss her misbehavior. She says she will. And I head into class.

Phones are off in classes, on penalty of getting kicked out and missing a lecture that you'll be much better off not missing. But when I check my messages (as if any 18-year-old girl would ever turn her phone off! That's what silent mode is for!) I see a text from Colette telling me that she's "informed the miscreant to expect me." And she attaches a picture of Carole and Mike. Not exactly my type, but decent enough that playing a good game will certainly get me going as well. Not that they'll ever know that, or get to scratch my itch. Toys don't get to do that. I'll hook-up with a very cute boy for that. And if not, come Friday evening my slave Sophie will be staying with me, and she'll scratch whatever I tell her to.

As soon as my last class is over, I drive straight to Carole's house. It's decent, in a decent neighborhood. What I'd term middle-middle class. I park my car, an older but refurbished Mazda Miata convertible in pastel green, which is so my favorite color) in their drive and put the top up. Then I collect an over-sized duffle bag from its trunk and ring the doorbell.

Carole opens it and greets me, assuming that I'm just one of Riley's friends. I let her waste my time and introduce herself before telling me Riley's not here yet. "You should never assume anything, you naughty bitch. I am Miss Rodgers. I am here to see you, as Mrs. Cartwright told you I would be." I put my hand to her chest, just below her neck, and push firmly. I don't push hard, just enough to make her step back as I step in and push the door shut behind me. As I do, I watch her face, enjoying the range of emotions that sweep over so fast it's little more than utter confusion for her. The shock at finding me so young, instead of her age as Colette is. The firmness in my sweet and soft voice. My smallness, which only makes me look even younger. The unyielding dominance I displayed pushing her around. The embarrassment as she realizes that Colette has told me what her sin is. The edginess as she realizes this "lesson" is going to be different and new to her, unlike the lessons Colette gives her. I'd bet she's even wondering if I know what her interests are, or if this is going to be like starting over again.

I keep walking forward, and Carole stutters as she keeps stepping backwards so she doesn't get run over. It's about ten steps to where I'm standing with her kitchen and dining table to my left and her living room to my right. "This'll do for now," I say firmly as I stop. Carole stops, too, and gawks at me.

I don't give her a chance to say anything. There's no reason to. "I guess you know you're in really big trouble since this is the third time you disobeyed Mrs. Cartwright and diddled that worthless pussy between your legs. We'll discuss how naughty that is in a minute. First, let's see if you can behave yourself and undress."

"Yes, Miss Rodgers." She says quietly. Undress is a specific command we all share. It makes it easier on the occasions a toy gets a treat and we do each other a favor. Carole immediately starts unbuttoning her blouse. She slips it off, folds it up, and sets it on the table beside her. Then she moves to the next highest thing on her body, her bra. I can already see that it's modest, but it is nicely trimmed out with lace, which tells me that she thought she might be seen in it. That she expected to get naked in front of someone as Colette told her to. But the unease on her face tells me I am far from what she expected.

Her bra comes off, baring a very pale white set of what I guess to be 36-DD's. They look a little spongy to me, and they hang down from their weight. But they are topped with some very cute light pink nipples the size of pencil erasers that are already swollen stiff. Then her belt comes off, and her loose-fitting jeans follow, letting me see that her panties match her bra. Some jewelry joins the pile next, and then her panties come down, letting me see her shaven pubes. Her sandals join the pile, which leaves her naked.

I'm pleased with the body before me, even if her face does show her age. Her body doesn't, at least not fully. She has few extra pounds, and a loose paunch at her stomach, lined with faint stretch marks from her pregnancy, but it's not near enough for it to look fat. Just very loose. A little extra weight on her hips and thighs, but also a defined feminine curve to her figure. And bottom with spankable cheeks. They're a little soft, looking just a little flat, but they don't hang down. Seeing her naked, I'd figure she could be around 40. which is in my play range.

Carole knows not to talk. Subs speak only when spoken to. I don't have to teach her any of that. She knows how to behave herself. She's been doing it for Colette long enough. So she obediently stands there, her feet parted just enough that her thighs don't touch, and her hands behind her back. She looks forward, giving me her attention, waiting for me to tell her what she's going to do next.

I ignore her for a minute while I set my bag on the table and get a few things out of it. I pull on a pair of pastel green latex gloves mom buys just for me. They are so cute! Colette has told me that Carole finds it uncomfortable to have anything in her bottom. She does not like it. But being made to allow it gets her hot. I open an enema kit and hang the bag from a chandelier. Carole can't see me do that. Nor does she see me connect the nozzle to it and lubricate the finger-thick tube. "Carole, come over here and show me your butt." I don't raise my voice, but I speak with a decisive firmness. Carole comes over, seeing the clear bag hanging and freeze. Her face scrunches up hard. Then she starts coming again, her steps now very unsure. She leans over with her back to me and pulls her cheeks wide apart to reveal the small brown ring of her asshole, clenched tight as it puckers out towards me.

Not a word to Carole. I just press the tube into her bottom casually. As it touches her ring, I see her relax herself for it, which tells me that Colette has taught her to accept entry here. The tube is about 10" long, and I put about eight of those inside her bottom, stopping only once the retaining bulge is also inside her. I turn it on and let the fluid start flowing into her. I still don't say a word to her. I just look around the kitchen and living room, surveying the landscape for the scene.

Colette doesn't have a specific punishment in mind for Carole. What she wanted was for Carole to suffer a very long time of unsatisfied arousal, and preferably to do so as degradingly as possible. And naturally, suffer some punishment for her sin. She doesn't care how I do that. And she knows me well enough to know no matter what she wants, I am going to amuse myself as I do it. It doesn't take but about half a minute for me to see and hear that Carole is very uncomfortable, despite having only about six ounces into her. She fidgets slightly, and hums strained noises as she breathes. I can see her hands gripping her cheeks so hard that her knuckles are already turning white.

I lightly tap her on a cheek just make sure she doesn't forget I am watching her. But the time she's taken around twelve ounces, she's lightly crying out "ow! Ow!" over and over. It's annoying. I leave her to stand there and steadily fill up. The bag holds a liter, but I'd only planned to give her half of that. About the same as a bottle of water. Just before she has that much, I see her toes curl up as she gasps out a huge, and so uncomfortable "AH-OW!" I ignore her fussing and wait until she's taken the full half liter. Then I clamp the tube shut again and slowly ease the nozzle back out of her.

"Stand, face me, bad girl," I say firmly and crisply, making sure I get her attention through the fog in her brain. I wait as she rises, crying out as a cramp racks her stomach as she moves. "I feel like a nice cup of coffee." I'd seen a coffee maker while glancing around, so I'm hoping she has the stuff to go with it. Like coffee. "make a pot now, bitch."

Carole cries out, then says "Yes, Miss Rodgers," and goes to make it. I almost laugh watching her move, her thighs and cheeks squeezing together hard, her steps tiny, her face a mask of discomfort. She moves slowly, too. Once it starts brewing I tell her that I am particular about my coffee. Once the pot is brewed, she will pour me a cup 1" from the rim. She will add one tablespoon of real milk to that and one teaspoon of real sugar. Then she will stir in a pinch of cinnamon and one drop of vanilla. Preferable real vanilla, not imitation, unless of course, Carole has an inferior kitchen with "fake crap" in it. I help myself to a seat on the sofa, propping my feet up on her coffee table as if I own this house and don't care one iota about her things. I'm sure it adequately conveys to her that I'm in no hurry for her to get some relief either.

I watch her waiting so impatiently beside the coffee pot for it to finish brewing. And so unbearably uncomfortably. If I hadn't warned her to wait until it was fully finished, I know she would cheat and pour me the very first drops it put out. The instant the pot is ready she hurries as best as she can moving slowly and uncomfortably, to make a cup to my exacting standards. Then she serves it to me. I accept it after sipping it to ensure it's made the way I wanted.

I leave her on her knees, her hands serving as my coffee table. I sip the coffee leisurely, letting her see that I am in no hurry to get her to the bathroom, no matter how big of a hurry she is in. "Carole, I suspect you know I will be punishing you for diddling that skank pit of yours. I understand that you just have to diddle it since after seeing you naked I know that no one would ever want to take care of it for you, but you still have to get Mrs. Cartwright's permission. That's her pussy, not yours! She doesn't care if it's aching you. And I care even less!

"Once I finish my coffee, I'll take you potty. After that, you will be paddled for your naughtiness. I promise you that I will leave your bottom as sore as you deserve it to be. Meaning it will sting all night long.

"Then I think you need a nice time out to think about why you need to behave for your mistress. About how so disappointed she is your flabby bottom for helping yourself to her pussy. I doubt she has ever given you a time out. So I will tell you what you are going to. Nothing. You are in time out. You do not exist when you are in time out. Your life goes on without you in it. I will put you in a chair, and you will sit properly in that chair. Under no circumstances will you make a sound. And you will not be getting up from that chair for anything but a fire. Not even a potty break, so I'm sure you'll appreciate my being so kind as to give you such a good enema so you don't end up suffering that in time out! Nor you will be given anything in time out. Not even water. You don't exist. You just sit there and think about how your mistress is so disappointed in you. When your time out is over, I will come to get you out of that chair.

"Then you can tell me how sorry you are for disappointing your mistress, and if I believe you, and believe that you've learned your lesson, you will be allowed out of time out. At which time you will be paddled again for inconveniencing your mistress and me. Then I'll think about whatever you might need. Do you understand all of that? I wouldn't want you to have to start your time out over again, which you will do if you break any of those rules. And we'll start over with a fresh paddling so you can be sitting on a freshly sore bottom, too."

Carole's voice breaks as she says "Yes, Ma'am."

I take my time finishing my coffee, then I take her to the toilet. I can see that Colette has never taken her here, but that's not much of a surprise to me. I have to teach her that when she's being supervised on the toilet she is to sit with her knees spread wide, her feet the same distance apart and flat on the floor, back up straight, eyes forward, and her hands resting palms up atop her mid-thighs. That way it's easy to see her bottom and what she's doing. I point that out to her and make sure that she sees me watching her before I give her permission to go. Then once she's started and there's no way she's going to stop herself willingly, I tell her that she's being supervised here because she's in trouble and I don't trust naughty girls to do anything without supervision. I taunt her. I tell her that she stinks worse than most and make her apologize for having such a filthy bottom. Anything to make her talk to me while she doing it, which she clearly finds humiliating. So I keep on.

Once I decide she's finished and she's cleaned up, I take her back to the living room. I get a chair, a wooden one, from her kitchen table and position it where anyone at the table or on the sofas will have a nice view of her. And thus she'll be able to see them. She'll be able to see the front door, too, which means Riley will see her the instant Riley comes in. which should be about 20 or 30 minutes.

I choose a paddle from the few I keep in this bag, the bag I keep in my car. It's fairly short, but made of a very light and sturdy wood polished smooth. I let her see it as I take the chair and call her over. AS if it's an afterthought, I get a bright neon light red paint marker out of my bag and tuck that in my pocket before retaking my seat. I kind of roughly pull Carole over my knees, seeing her cheeks tighten up as her waist bends. Still a little soft, but more rounded now, I touch the paddle blade to her globes. "This is for diddling your pussy without your mistress' permission, bitch."