admin

*quot;Mrs. Malibu has requested your help with a special assignment. It's a very rare occurrence. We don't know who else to turn to. A man's life may be in the balance.*quot; *quot;Of course I'll speak with her, Mrs. Riviera, but is this something Mrs. Cardinal can't know about? I still get my assignments through her.*quot; *quot;This is something even Liz can't know about, by her own choice, until after the job is done. Think of it as a black op. The black card sisters operate all underground railroads. Barbie can call on me without Liz's knowledge. And we really need you to do more than speak with Viki Miata. She'll give you the details, but she will run the op.*quot; *quot;Holy shit! Um, do I need to be, um, armed?*quot; I had gotten so used to being with armed women that I had gotten firearms training and a permit to carry a concealed weapon, but I didn't want to use it. *quot;No, not armed with anything other than your charm, honey. This is a job for a cock whisperer.*quot; *quot;A what?*quot; *quot;You heard me. We need you for a rescue mission, but this time you'll be rescuing a man, if you can.*quot; I got the details from Mrs. Malibu. One of our sisters, Mrs. Fuscia, had gone too far, at least in the opinion of some of the sisters. About three years earlier, we had taken control of her husband's company. For the next two years, Mrs. Fuscia was gradually 'transitioned' into the running of the company with oversight by the sisterhood. It seemed to be a smooth transition. They even had another child during that time. We had covertly planted another sister in the company, to watch over Mr. Fuscia and ensure he didn't do any damage. Apparently, we always try to have at least two sisters in companies we own or have significant interest in. Mrs. Fuscia was the primary, but she didn't know about the existence of the backup. The backup sister had witnessed a steady decline in Mr. Fuscia's health, and when he didn't show up for work for over a month, she reported it to her sponsor. Word got around to Mrs. Malibu and, to make a long story short, Mr. Fuscia has been receiving monthly visits from black card sisters to check on his health as he languishes, supposedly voluntarily, in chastity and bondage in their home. *quot;Did we check the child's DNA, Barb?*quot; *quot;You have good instincts, Cate. No we didn't. It's clear now that the child isn't his.*quot; *quot;What do we do during these health checks?*quot; *quot;She's denying him orgasms. Are you familiar with the chaste cuckold lifestyle?*quot; *quot;Not personally, but I've stumbled across it in my research.*quot; Actually, I was secretly fascinated by chastity devices for both men and women. It's safe to say that I was even somewhat excited by the possibility of meeting someone in the chaste cuckold lifestyle, but if he was in it involuntarily, that was another matter. I am as opposed to real slavery for men as I am for women. *quot;Good, then you should know that orgasm denial is physically unhealthy for his prostate, not to mention his emotional health, so part of what we do is milk his cock, massage the semen out of it. Unfortunately, to get permission to do even that, we have to punish him first. They both insisted on that, although we really doubt that his consent is anything more than parroting her instructions.*quot; Having recently read about some of the varieties of male submissiveness scenes and having viewed numerous photos and videos of everything from sissification to chastity cages to cock and ball torture, I thought I would be prepared for the scene that greeted me as I went with Mrs. Miata on the 'health check' visit. I was wrong. Those stories, photos, and videos don't depict the real effects of long term psychological abuse. But maybe Mr. Fuscia's case was different because he was unintentionally coerced into it by the sisterhood's intervention in his life. Before agreeing to go along, I had read his profile. I had seen the photos of a handsome man in his early thirties, tanned and well-muscled and smiling while on a family vacation with his wife and daughter. He cared about his appearance, his health, and his responsibility to be a role model for his daughter. According to Mrs. Malibu, who had privileged access to records I wasn't supposed to know existed, Mrs. Fuscia had never sent him a gift of any sister, although she had indulged in many favors and in the Masked MILFs clubs. I wasn't privy to any information on his company, because I didn't know their real names, but it did mention his field of expertise and it is a prestigious field. On the way to their house, Mrs. Miata explains that Mrs. Fuscia has agreed to divorce Mr. Fuscia, but only if we can prove that he has a sufficient spark of independence left. She has ordered him not to fuck any of us and is betting that he won't. He has not defied her and has repeatedly said that he is staying with her voluntarily, but Mrs. Malibu, Mrs. Miata and others have all agreed that he is probably just obeying and parroting out of fear of the consequences. They want my best attempt to lure him away from his marriage and into the care of a trained rehabber. *quot;Really? We have women who rehab cuckolded chastity slaves?*quot; *quot;Not really. The rehabbers mostly deal with alcoholism and other addictions. We like to rehab our own to minimize the damage to their reputation. Küçükköy escort We have one rehabber who also deals with domestic violence directed at the husband. She's available and willing.*quot; *quot;But he's not violent?*quot; *quot;Not in the least. He's essentially useless to us now and we don't think his home is suitable for raising their children. If we can get him out of it, we want to take their children from her, too. That's easier if we can get him in shape to be a suitable parent for them. I'm not optimistic. I have personally attended four failed attempts, my own and three of the most skilled women we have. I have little hope that tonight will be different, but if it isn't, I'm not sure I can bring any others. It is too disturbing.*quot; I don't like that she called him 'essentially useless to us' or that we would give up because it was 'too disturbing'. Upon our arrival, Mr. Fuscia opens the door wide and what I see shocks me. He is almost completely naked, wearing only the tiniest of pink see-through panties over an obvious steel wire cock cage, complete with a brass lock. He is hairless from the nose down. He has lost his tan and his muscle tone and he keeps his eyes downcast. I'm accustomed to men not looking at my eyes. It's irritating but comforting to know that my breasts still attract their attention. But he seems to be looking at a point in front of my feet. *quot;Welcome to Her home. Mistress awaits you in the parlor.*quot; He turns to escort us to his Mistress and I add one thing to the list of items he is wearing, an obviously large black buttplug. He is pudgy and looks soft, like a marshmallow. As we pass down the hallway, I stop and look at photos hanging there. There are several old photos of the happy couple in the Spring of their marriage. Then several photos of them with their first child, a daughter who looks about eight years old in the final photos, which include an infant who does not look entirely Caucasian. We enter the parlor to find Mrs. Fuscia standing at the bar enjoying a drink. She is clearly posed there for effect, dressed for a night on the town in a tight turquoise sheath that is so short I am quite surprised that her crotch is not quite visible. She is also wearing stilettos and an excessive amount of eye makeup for a woman whose day job is the running of a conservative firm. I hate the sexist tone of what I think about her, but she seems more suited to the perfume counter of a department store than the senior level of a business. I estimate her age to be early thirties, She is wearing a gold anklet, something I had only recently learned was considered a badge of pride for certain 'hot wives'. I had been considering getting one for a prop for fantasy play with my husband. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing one in public, at least not without my mask or burqa. I notice there are trinkets dangling from it, clearly to draw attention to it. I see two that don't surprise me. One is a key and the other has 'I BBC' cut into it so that the letters are quite obvious from as much as ten feet away. I suspect the others are similar indications of her preferences. Mr. Fuscia grovels at her feet, looking no further up her legs than the anklet. I do not understand women like her. I do not understand the fascination with big black cocks. Yes, the cocks are visually appealing, but the fascination for men who would plant their seed and then abandon the care of their offspring is beyond me. Men like that, regardless of race, are not 'bulls'. They are jackasses. The women who would do that to their husband and their children are not women that I would call friends, especially if they abuse the power that the sisterhood gives them. Membership is not a license to irresponsibly indulge in debauchery. *quot;Good evening ladies. I will not be attending the milking of this pathetic little sissy tonight. I will be spending time with a real man, perhaps several real men. Men with cocks instead of pathetic little dicklets. The rules haven't changed. First you must punish him and then milk him before attempting to seduce him away from me. He hasn't had an orgasm since your last visit a month ago, so a strong breeze on his little clitty would probably be enough to make him cum, but unless you can arouse his desire for one of you after that, he's obviously still my property.*quot; I do not like the way that she is speaking as if he isn't even present in the room, but I understand that it is part of the inferior male conditioning that she has been using on him to lower him to the sorry state we now witness. *quot;In the unlikely event that you succeed, you will use a condom to collect the evidence, and of course, there must be video proof that no trickery occurred.*quot; Mr. Fuscia automatically follows at her feet as she walks up to me and says, *quot;You are a new contestant. You're obviously a sub and rather long in the tooth. This pathetic worm's weakness was younger women with attitude. What makes you think you can succeed where such women have failed.*quot; Mrs. Miata had warned me that Mrs. Fuscia has a gift for compelling cooperation, and I could see where that could be true for a man, or maybe even for a woman who found her attractive. But I could look her Mecidiyeköy escort bayan straight in the eyes, albeit from behind the security of my mask, and not personally feel it. She has the classic hot-wife body, with signs of hard partying, crow's feet before her time, a bit of flab under her chin, and a certain facial slackness from habitual lack of sufficient sleep. Mrs. Miata had requested that I not speak directly to her, so I refrain from answering and just stare at her as if she is some kind of bug. *quot;We're trying everything we can think of. This one's different. She's not a pro. Her day job is engineering management. She's on track for senior management.*quot; Was that fear I detected in Mrs. Fuscia's eyes? She also shifted her posture so very subtly that I almost didn't notice it, from bravado to false bravado. I had prepared myself for failure. How could I hope to succeed where eight skilled seductresses had failed? But she's concerned. How could hearing about my employment background worry her? I recall something that Kyra told me about men, horses, carrots, and sticks. We took Mr. Fuscia's business from him. He was clearly a work horse, but in order to build a business that we wanted badly enough to take it from him, he must also have been a prime stallion among workhorses. It's no wonder he doesn't trust us or the pros we've sent. But I am something different and I perceive that Mrs. Fuscia is aware of another weakness in him, one that she is not qualified to exploit. I have problem solving skills and management skills. It is an everyday thing for me to inspire people to optimum performance. I'm no expert in male psychology, but I compete in a male-dominated business arena. If the right buttons to inspire Mr. Fuscia still exist, I only need to find them. I know of different buttons than a common whore would know. I won't even try the common whore buttons, because they've presumably already been tried. Mrs. Fuscia tries to dismiss her obvious concern with a, *quot;Hmmmf!*quot;, accompanied by an equally dismissive shrug of her shoulders. She walks over to a chair, sits and raises her foot into the air. Her uncovered pussy is now insultingly on display. I believe most pussies are beautiful, but hers looks... somehow slobbish, as if it could spit out a bowling ball, burp, and then gape open and wait to be fed a huge cock. Mr. Fuscia has automatically followed her over to the chair and remains bowed obsequiously until she says, *quot;Worm, remove the key and give it to that common trollop over there.*quot; The research that I have recently done to satisfy my curiosity about the lifestyle of cuckolds tells me that he will see that she is wearing no panties and he will know that she is going out to get fucked tonight, probably by multiple men, and probably intends to return home to dump their cum into his waiting mouth. I hope this deliberate provocation backlashes on her. I silently vow to give it my best effort, despite Mrs. Miata's earlier prediction that I would fail. Mr. Fuscia brings the key to me, holding it in both hands above his head with his eyes looking again at my feet. I take it from him and, despite my revulsion for what it represents, I experience a slight rush from accepting the role of keyholder. Mrs. Fuscia leaves and Mrs. Miata says, *quot;Take us to the punishment room.*quot; We follow him into the basement. It is painted white, brightly lit, and it contains many of the usual things found in a midwestern basement, including laundry facilities, a small bathroom, and stacked boxes in a corner. There is also a small cot here and I realize that this large open utility room is his bedroom. Judging from the size, the house has at least four bedrooms, so being denied the use of one is an insult to him. I also see a television. It displays a large beautiful bedroom with a large bed. I suspect it is her bedroom and I suspect that he has been required to watch her with her lovers. He brings a straight-backed chair to the middle of the room as Mrs. Miata sets up video cameras on tripods around the room and boots up a portable personal cloud server. I remove my trench coat and sit in the chair. I am uncharacteristically clothed. To emphasize that I am not the typical black card sister that we have been sending to him, Mrs. Malibu requested that I wear something other than a burqa or trench coat. She also advised against wearing anything overtly sexually provocative, because they had already failed. I could have chosen shorts and a T-shirt, but when my eyes had fallen on my most expensive business suit as I looked through my closet, it had suddenly seemed appropriate. Mr. Fuscia takes his place in front of me, grovelling at my feet and awaiting my orders. It's time for my opening gambit. *quot;Sir, please look into my eyes.*quot; He does not move. My opening gambit is a failure. I place my pointed toe under his chin and while pushing upward, I say, *quot;Up on your knees, slave.*quot; He raises up to his knees, but his eyes remain downcast. I slap his face hard and say, *quot;Slave, I order you to look into my eyes.*quot; He raises his eyes. I do not see hope. I see only despair. But I also see that he may be under the influence of some drug. If Escort Merter so, this could complicate things, but it might just be that he's mentally dulled due to the abuse he has received. It may take a while for whatever it might be to clear from his system, Maybe longer than one night. If I fail, I intend to call in a sister to get a blood sample. *quot;You will take all requests as commands until further notice. Understood?*quot; *quot;Yes Mistress.*quot; He has maintained eye contact the whole time and I take that as a good sign. *quot;Good. So that you will understand me, I will tell you something about myself. I both hated and enjoyed slapping you. That is my nature. I will both hate and enjoy spanking you. I will deceive you if I wish to, but I will do it without lying to you. If I tell you something, it will be the truth. You must not question my commands, but you may ask me questions. Are we clear?*quot; *quot;Yes, Mistress.*quot; Mrs. Miata finishes with the final camera and says, *quot;We can begin. Start with twenty bare-bottom swats.*quot; *quot;Stand, slave.*quot; I remove the panties and order him to remove the butt plug and 'clean up'. When he returns from the bathroom and bends over my knees, I feel the normal revulsion that I feel about causing pain, but it is especially keen because I see, up close, the many scars from past abuses and the slack anus from spending long periods stretched around the butt plug or other objects. I dread the 'milking' that I have agreed to perform after the punishment. I had only just read about the practice a few weeks earlier. It sounded both invasive and humiliating for the poor man. As I administer the spankings, I take solace from the pain I am causing myself. There is something different about spanking a man's ass. His ass-meat is harder and tighter. His anus closes completely after the first five swats, and looks almost normal by the time I finish. *quot;Okay, now on to the milking.*quot; I want to get that over with, so that I can try to accomplish the real mission. *quot;Oh, no... um, Ma'am. He gets twenty with a cane first. Sorry, I thought I told you that. The spanking is just a warmup. It's mainly psychological. The caning is mainly physical pain. It's why the um, next owner wouldn't come. She can't bring herself to...*quot; *quot;Oh, shit. I'm not sure that I can either. I've never done it. Do I have to?*quot; *quot;I can give demo swats to teach you, but they don't count toward the twenty. You have to hurt him. That's a condition.*quot; *quot;Crap! Okay, can you just walk me through it without hitting him? I'll do my best.*quot; I wanted him to hear my reluctance, to let him know that I want to be merciful. He tips the chair on its side and bends over it, gripping the legs at the front corners of the seat. She teaches me, explaining that she must see the welt from the cane's tip every time or add another hit to the count. After five, I have the technique down and I wail into him for another five. I am swinging so hard that I break a sweat and must pause to remove my jacket. I notice how hard my nipples have become and it sickens me to realize how much I am enjoying the infliction of pain on this poor pathetic man. Is he a proxy for Dan? I am enjoying hurting him because my husband cheated on me? Or could this be retribution for all the hurts I have received from his gender? My pussy lips slip against each other as I deliver the next ten with a combination of growing self-loathing increasing sexual arousal. He jerks and cries out as each blow lands three distinct points of pain on him, one on each ass cheek and the worst as the tip curls around and marks him. I want to fuck this man in the ass I have just finished caning, but he is crying, and I am crying, and despite the lust that I am feeling, I am glad when Viki confirms that the last mark appears on the video. I order him to stand and look into my eyes. *quot;Sir, I am sorry for the pain I caused you. Had I a choice, it would have been your wife in your position, for what she has done to you.*quot; His eyes widened when he heard that. He is careful not to react in any other way, but I believe I see hope come into him. I whisper, *quot;Think of anything I can do that could help me convince you that our mutual interests lie in the removal of you from this marriage. For now, I must continue with the requirements of the challenge your wife has given us.*quot; I switch to full command voice. *quot;Prepare for milking.*quot; He removes the spanking chair and pulls a padded table into the center of the room. He climbs onto it and places a dessert cup between his knees. I suspect that cup is for something I have read about while researching male inferiority conditioning. A 'cum cocktail' served back to a milked man is one of the more revolting practices. They call it 'recycling'. It gives me an idea that I can use to sway Mr. F, but I'm not sure that I have the stomach for it. Mrs. Miata gives me a latex exam glove and a small tube of lubricant. I have never done this before, but she coaches me through it. I put the glove on, lube my middle and index fingers and insert them into his anus. I cannot help but cause him pain as parts of my hand touch his freshly caned ass. At his sharply indrawn breath, I whisper, *quot;Sorry,*quot; and I hear a whispered, *quot;S' okay,*quot; in return. Under Mrs. Miata's guidance, I find the hard little bulb of his prostate and begin to massage it. Cum quickly starts to ooze from his flaccid cock into the bowl. I feel no pulsing and sense no satisfaction as he cums, but I move my fingers around his prostate and press harder until I feel a few squeezes and hear a moan of pleasure.