Waiting

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He's totally at his wife's mercy, and he muses about his cir
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Alexander Morden is waiting. He has been told to wait, so he is waiting. That's his task, right now. His function. His raison d'etre.

Plip!

A bluebottle lands on his left breast. He feels it walk a delicate zigzag down his torso, across his belly towards his groin. He knows he could shake the little beast off with a twitch of his (admittedly not too well-developed) stomach muscles, but he doesn't. It amuses him to watch and feel the creature as it explores him. Its progress is unhindered by body hairs, for Alex has none. It could wander, if it were so inclined, all the way to the moist slit of his prick, to the very tip, as easily as a camel crosses the desert. Alex smiles, thinking how good it would feel to have his cock tickled by the insect. His foreskin was pulled back; the sensitive glans was exposed and ready to be stimulated, no matter how lightly. But no. The shiny, tiny blue creature makes for his right thigh, then spreads its wings and buzzes off.

Alex hears it for a few seconds, then it falls silent. He wonders where it went. Maybe it's found the bucket where his catheterised urine is gradually accumulating.

Plip!

His nose has been itching for a while, but he can't do anything about it. Alex lies on a narrow, lightly padded bench, his arms outstretched and attached by wrist bands to the walls on either side of his cell. The bench raises most of his body some eighteen inches from the floor. Only his bare feet remain in contact with the oak-laminate flooring, held there by clips that link his ankle bands to rings on either side of the bench.

He can hear rats scrabbling around the cell. There are two of them. Sometimes they come to sniff at his feet. Alex isn't afraid of them - they're white rats, pets of his Lady. Alex sometimes thinks She loves them more than She loves him. But ah, he sighs, it's a different sort of love. As he lies there, naked and bound for his Lady's pleasure, he feels utterly secure in the knowledge that She loves him. Why else would She keep him like this when She's away, instead of leaving him to roam aimlessly around, doing God knows what?

The male rat is called Abelard, the female Heloise. Normally She keeps them in a rather luxurious cage, but when She goes out She leaves them loose in his cell. He likes that. They are company, of a sort, while he waits for Her to return.

Once when She left Alex in the cell to wait for Her, one of the rats found its way onto the bench and nibbled at his balls. That had been one of his Lady's little jokes - she had smeared some liver pâté on his scrotum before leaving that morning for her appointment. In his mind he now relives the exquisite dread he felt as the tiny mouth rasped at that tender skin, teeth so near to his precious testicles. He remembers the occasional swish of a cold, scaly little tail against his inner thigh. The recollection causes Alex's penis to swell slightly. He feels it expanding against the tube of the catheter where it passes through his urethra.

Quickly he blanks his mind, and lies still. No erections. She had made him promise ...

===================

Dressed and ready to go, Sue Morden picked up her handbag and walked purposefully down the stairs to Alex's cell. Alex followed, dutiful, submissive and naked as usual. She sat primly on the padded bench and started to peer through the handbag's contents while Alex stood by.

"I'll not be long!" she said, not bothering to look up at him. "Well, probably not anyway. But if I see Janet at the hairdressers I'll have to take her for lunch at the Orchis Bar. She wants to have a long chat with me about her husband."

She continued to fuss with the contents of her bag. Yep, plenty of cash, and she had her cards with her. Opening a small, flat box she uttered a 'Tsk!' of irritation. Empty. She'd really have to get another packet of condoms today. It's always better to be safe than sorry, even if she's already had unprotected sex four times with Marley. At last she clicked the bag shut and looked up.

"You'll be all right, won't you?" she asked. It was a redundant question; since she knew full well he'd be in no position to get up to any mischief. But she asked it with a hint of wifely concern in her voice.

"Yes, my Lady," he affirmed dutifully. "Should I insert a catheter before I attach my ropes?"

"Good idea, boy," she replied, taking gentle hold of the slender penis that hung limp in front of her. It responded immediately, causing her to frown, but she didn't comment. "If I do meet Janet it could be some time before I get back. Several hours, even. We don't want any nasty wet patches on the furniture, do we?"

She released the stirring, swelling flesh and wiped a trace of his moisture from her palm onto his shaven thigh. The penis was still only half-aroused, and she watched silently as it reluctantly surrendered the extra blood it had been holding. Only when it had come fully to rest, against balls that not released semen for at least three weeks, did the frown leave her elegant forehead. She smiled up at her husband, her slave.

"Yes, boy, do insert a catheter and link it up. There should still be a couple in the toy cabinet. Then get into position and attach your bits. You know the routine. I'll come back and check you over before I go."

"Very well, my Lady," Alex responded, in the approved, positive manner. But Sue was already out of the cell. He heard the faint click as she turned the key in the door lock. She always locked him in, though it was more a mark of her superiority than a deed of necessity. Alex knew and relished his position in their relationship. He would never have dreamt of trying to escape.

===================

Plir-rp!

Alex tries to guess how long his Lady has already been gone. On bright days he can watch the progress of the small square of sunlight that comes in through the tiny window, and this gives him a good idea of the time. But today it's overcast, and he has only his intuition to go by. The light entering the cell is adequate for his needs (which are deliberately minimal), but does little to tell him what's going on in the outside world.

He guesses he's been waiting for several hours, so maybe it's mid-afternoon. He hates it when the day starts to fade into evening shadows, and gradually becomes night. That's when the waiting is hardest. Will She come home tonight? Or will he be left to seek some fitful sleep in his cell, and be ready to take up his household duties when - if - she gets home next morning? He prefers Her to spend the evening at home, even when She brings another man with her. He has to watch and wait while they make love, of course, and this usually means there are special duties for him to perform. One of the less demeaning tasks is putting the condom on the man's penis. He doesn't really mind doing that - he enjoys the knowledge that he's putting a wall between his Lady and the man. Somehow it dissolves a lot of the shame he feels on watching his Wife give Her body to someone else. A barrier's a barrier, after all, whether it's made of thick concrete or thin rubber. And if there's no physical contact there's no infidelity, right?

He smiles ruefully. OK, he knows he's kidding himself. But on the other hand he knows his Lady is fully entitled to seek pleasures from other men. And from women.

"Alex, you're an utterly useless arsehole!" Sue would shout at him, back in the days before She took charge of him and allowed him to become Her slave. And he would cringe with the knowledge that he was totally unable to please and satisfy his wife. Not now, though. By accepting this special relationship with the Lady he once knew as Susie, he has acquired a deep sense of purpose, a profoundly satisfying awareness that he is wanted and needed. He knows he only has to obey his Lady perfectly, and he reaps the reward of her dedicated affection. Sure, sometimes he makes mistakes and has to be punished, but it's a learning curve, isn't it?

He smiles ruefully, remembering the one little mistake he'd made this morning when his Lady returned for Her final check-over before leaving him. His balls still ached from the punishment ...

===================

The sound of Sue's steps faded as she reached the top of the stairs leading up from the cell. Alex needed to work fast - She'd be back soon to check him over, and if there was one thing she hated it was being kept waiting.

The catheter first. He opened the 'toy cabinet' and took out the things he needed. Paying careful attention to sterile procedures he lubricated the catheter and began to feed it quickly along his urethra. He was used to doing this, and the process of insertion had long ago ceased to be painful. He loved the moment when the tube actually passed through into his bladder. That sudden, sweet, involuntary flow of urine , so much more satisfying than just taking a leak into the toilet.

When the flow ceased he inflated the tiny balloon that would hold the catheter firmly inside his bladder, and temporarily clamped it to prevent drips while he prepared himself for the waiting. He was already naked of course - he was seldom allowed to wear clothes in the house. Padded leather straps went onto his wrists and ankles with practised ease. From the cupboard under the washbasin he took a full, five-litre bottle of spring water, exchanged the screw top for one fitted with a valved plastic spigot, and fitted it upside-down into a wrought-iron bracket on the wall, close to where his head would be. He took a quick suck at the flexible spigot to check that the flow worked OK.

Next, his bonds. His 'bits', as his Lady dismissively called them.

Picture a cell some six feet wide by eleven long. You enter it through a narrow door of heavy, dark-varnished wood. It's like looking along an ill-lit corridor, bare except for a couple of oak cupboards by the door and the wrought-iron bracket holding the plastic water bottle onto the far wall. There are grills for the ducted air that heats and ventilates the cell, and some electric power points. There are rings everywhere, some fixed to the walls, others neatly recessed into the oak flooring. The ceiling has a couple of transverse oak beams, their gnarled, rough-hewn appearance hinting heavily at the age of the mansion in which this cell has been created.

Oh, and the bench. It's about a foot and a half wide, and knee-height. Sturdily made of dark-stained oak (still smelling of the beeswax polish he applied yesterday), lightly padded and covered in rich brown leather. It extends five feet from the far wall towards you. The end against the far wall is raised slightly - a sort of pillow for the user to rest his head on.

Two ropes, terminating in steel rings, are draped over the bench. They pass through a series of rings and pulleys on the side walls, and disappear into a box mounted above the door. The box has two push-buttons - one red, one green. Beneath the red button there is a small hole into which a metal rod has been inserted. A length of fine chain, attached to the rod, is draped along the cell so that it can be reached by the person lying on the bench.

Alex pressed the red button. A heavy 'clunk' within the box announced that power was on and certain machinery had been primed.

He sat astride the bench, and reached down to clip his ankle straps to metal rings. He connected his catheter to a plastic tube that led to a small metal bucket below the bench, and removed the clamp so that the urine could flow once again. A brief tinkle announced that a small amount of his pee had reached the bucket.

He clipped a rope to each of his wrist bands, then leaned carefully back along the bench so that his head was resting on the raised end, nearly touching the wall.

His final act of free will was to take hold of the length of chain hanging from the box, and give it a light tug. The metal rod fell out of its hole and clattered to the floor. Machinery inside the box began to whir. The ropes attached to his wrists were gradually, inexorably, wound through their rings and pulleys and into the box, pulling his arms wider and wider apart until his wrists were held tightly up against the side walls of the cell.

Of course it had to happen! It always did, and it always got him into trouble! Even with a catheter in his cock, the sudden switch from freedom to full, undeniable helplessness and vulnerability was so arousing!

And so, when his Lady came back to the cell to check him over, every part of his body was horizontal except one!

She smiled. But it was not one of those sweet smiles that unfailingly cause him to melt into loving adoration of his wonderful Lady. It was a smile born of anger, resignation and malice.

She knelt and grasped his scrotum, ringing it with thumb and forefinger, tugging his balls firmly downwards until his facial expression indicated that the pleasure/pain balance was working against him. Her palm and the rest of her fingers closed over the scrotum, squeezing, harder, harder. Soon it was all pain and no pleasure. Alex gritted his teeth and grimaced, his eyes tight closed, his face contorted by the agony. He held his breath, willing himself to withstand this punishment without screaming out loud. Better to endure a few seconds of agony than to incur a penalty that could mean days of deprivation or humiliation.

A man usually knows his erection is going to fail a few seconds before it starts to happen. If a guy says 'oh, fuck!' in mid-fuck, it means the fuck's fucked! That's frustrating. Really frustrating. For Alex, though, the foreknowledge of his imminent droop was the best news he could have received! He started to breathe again.

But Sue didn't relinquish her ball-crushing hold. She remained thus for a couple of minutes more, watching his reactions, waiting until the proud little catheterised cock had shrunken down to something resembling a garden slug chewing on a latex worm. Only then did her knuckles, white with the pressure she had been applying, begin to relent.

"When will you learn?" she asked, sighing. "Go on! Recite Rule twelve again!"

"Twelve. Erections are for the enjoyment of Lady Sue, not for the pleasure of slave Alex." he dutifully intoned.

"For the SOLE enjoyment of Lady Sue," she corrected. "But I'm feeling generous. I won't punish you for saying it wrong. Not this time anyway." She released her hold and stood up.

"Thank you, my Lady."

"But mind you don't let that happen again while I'm out!" she commanded.

"No, my Lady" he responded abjectly.

After a forgiving peck on his cheek she opened a small box. Taking out Heloise and Abelard she put one of them on the bench between his thighs, the other on his chest. This didn't worry him - he was quite at ease with the rats. He knew they'd rather be at floor level. They'd jump down soon.

"Be good while I'm out, won't you!" she admonished. By way of reply he just tugged futilely against his wrist and ankle restraints, and shrugged. He wasn't going anywhere, would he? He wouldn't be doing anything at all.

He'd just be waiting.

===================

Plip!

Another tiny drip of urine announces its arrival in the bucket. The sound reminds him that his mouth is dry. He moves his head, puts his lips around the spigot of his supply of spring water, and sucks.

He's never sure how fast he ought to drink. His Lady likes him to have finished the whole five litres by the time She returns, so there is always a temptation to drink quickly in case She's back early. On the other hand, he knows that if he takes the whole five litres in the first couple of hours he could be left with nothing to drink for a very long time. Most of his waiting sessions exceed eight hours, and recently She's taken to staying out overnight. Twice this month he's been left to wait until the sun was high in the sky next morning.

Both times She was most contrite. She had hurried downstairs to release him, then She'd led him to Her bedroom and allowed him to venerate Her chapel with his tongue.

Her chapel. He smiles! A chapel is a place of worship, geddit? So her chapel is the place where people go to worship Her. Two out of ten, maybe, for originality, and three for wit. But he's glad he doesn't have to call it her cunt. Such a crude term ...

Oh, how good those sessions had been! She hadn't deigned to explain what had kept Her out overnight, and of course he didn't ask. But as he attended to Her pleasures he was sure he had recognised the unmistakeable taste and texture of semen. She had writhed in joy as his long, lithe tongue reached into every crevice, swept sensuously over every soft vaginal surface. He had been rampantly erect for Her all the way though, and She had even stroked him occasionally, though he wasn't given the climactic pleasure of an orgasm. She hated having his pathetic spurts of sticky wetness anywhere near her body.

He'd gone at Her chapel with the ardour of an industrial vacuum cleaner. He hopes his Lady thought he was working his hardest in order to pleasure Her. But that hadn't been uppermost in his mind. The urge that drove him on was the urge to lick from his Lady's chapel every vestige of alien cum. He knew he shouldn't react to being cuckolded, but he couldn't help it. Somehow it wasn't so bad if She did it at home, especially if he himself had slipped the condom over the guy's cock.

Plip!

He hasn't forgotten the taste of that cum, even though the last time had been five days ago. He still feels belittled and ashamed. Who was it, he wonders? Must be someone She knows quite well, if She's doing it unprotected. At least he hopes so. Surely She hasn't given in to Sir Charles? The elderly, beer-gutted senior partner of his accountancy firm is always ogling the juniors' wives. Alex felt sure his partnership status depended on Sir Charles getting his leg across Sue. In a way he was relieved that Sue couldn't stand the guy. Can't fault her judgment on that, he concludes. No, it wasn't him.

Then who?

This, he knows, is one of the agonies of waiting. His body is strictly controlled, but his mind is left free to run riot over all sorts of embarrassing, humiliating questions.

Plip!

When his Lady had first taken command of him, She knew She'd need a place where She could keep him when he wasn't required for other purposes. She had ordered him to convert their coal cellar into the cell where he now lay waiting. He's not allowed to indulge in self-pride, but it's hard not to feel, well, to feel satisfied with this particular example of his handiwork. A year ago it was nothing more than a filthy coal cellar under their mansion. In days gone by the coalman would have emptied hundredweight sacks of fuel into it, through the heavy old elmwood trap door under the scullery window, and the servants would have descended into the cellar by a ladder to fill the coal scuttles and tend to the fires in the living rooms and bedrooms. Now the mansion has central heating, and no servants (except the gardener). Sue uses the servants' quarters to store her collection of 18th century pilots' charts.

The coal cellar was redundant. But at least it was dry.

Plip!

God, it had been hard work! But in the end he'd converted it into a superb cell. It's also an excellent place for BDSM activities, with all these rings fixed to the walls and floor. He's a bit disappointed that his Lady hasn't yet shown any interest in getting the whips, paddles and stuff for punishing him physically. When he misbehaves She prefers the simple approach of just depriving him of sex. Including masturbation. A while back She measured him up carefully, then sent a quite frightening amount of money to a bloke in the States who manufactures male chastity belts. Six weeks later the thing had arrived - shiny stainless steel, loads of neoprene linings to protect vulnerable flesh from sharp edges, and amazingly comfortable when it was locked on him. Alex would really like to try wearing the thing on a full-time basis, but his Lady prefers to keep it as an occasional deprivation device. Bloody expensive for an occasional deprivation device, he thinks. Still, it's her money, and she's got plenty of it.

12