cwcobblestone
Member
Posts: 267
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The smell of bacon ***d me almost more than my throbbing knees and my aching
arms and jaw. I'd knelt in the corner for nearly an hour, hands on my head and
the crop balanced in my mouth. I could still smell the food they'd obviously
left on their plates; it reminded me how hungry I was.
My body ached, but it was better to concentrate on that than what was about to
happen. I strained to hold still while listening for any sign of movement from
my mistress or her lover. Every now and then I'd hear the couch creak above the
sound of the television. When a yogart commercial came on, Caitlyn said, "That
cuckolds brownie's nasty."
"What's that?" Terrance asked.
"D-Brand Yogart. Hey, dipcuckolds brownie -- next time you go grocery shopping, don't get
that disgusting yogart; get G-Brand. Why did you stop buying that, anyway?"
My answer came out as "mmemmmrmmpherfffee." Had the crop not been in my mouth,
it would've sounced like, "I'm sorry, Mistress, but King's Market stopped
selling the G-Brand."
It wouldn't have mattered. Prissy Miss Caitlyn was put out.
I heard the couch creak as she presumably settled back into the arms of her
lover. "Put yourself down for another 50, dipcuckolds brownie," she said.
"mmmyrfsmmmmmm."
Terrance chuckled. "Damn, what are we up to now? 150?"
"I thought it was 200," my wife said. "Make it an even 200, baby; I'm horny.
I've been waiting for his." Her tone changed. "Hey, dipcuckolds brownie, have you been
waiting for this? I have."
The wet sound of kissing lasted a few seconds. Then my red ran cold as I heard
the couch creak again, and the sound of my master standing up. My heart pounded
as his footsteps padded across the carpet toward me. He snatched the cane from
my mouth.
"All right, fag, you know the drill," he said.
I shuffled on my knees toward the couch, where Caitlyn lay with her hand working
beneath her nightie. It's funny how the mind works in a crisis: Through my
paniced haze, with my master about to thrash me and my wife playing with
herself, I focused on the strips of bacon and half-eaten toast on the plate in
front of her. I put my nose to the carpet facing her, with my ass in the air.
Caitlyn looked over me at her lover and said, "Um-hmmm. Damn, you are sexy." She
sneered at me. "Hey, wimp, aren't you glad we have a sexy guy like Terry around
to take care of us?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Thank him for taking the time to punish your sorry ass."
I swallowed. "Sir, thank you for taking the time to punish my ... my sorry ass."
"No problem, wimp," he said. "And that ass is gonna be sorry when I'm done with
it. Don't plan on sitting down for a few weeks."
Caitlyn giggled. "Wiggle that ass, wimp," she said. "Wiggle that ass for your
master. Let him know how much you're looking forward to his punishment. Wiggle
it."
My face flushed with shame, I wagged my tail like a pathetic puppy until
Terrance ordered me to stop.
"Hold still. I want to get this over with and fuck that sexy lady over there."
Then it began. I had to count each blow and add, "Thank you, Sir." It was
difficult not to cry out, but I knew that was an automatic 200 tacked on, plus a
three-day starvation diet. So I dutifully peeped out each one: "67, thank you,
Sir. 68, thank you, Sir ... 137, thank you, Sir. 138, t-thank you, Sir..."
My wife watched the proceedings with her fingers in her pussy, staring at her
lover the entire time. She wasn't interested in me; I was just the sacrificial
lamb, a means to an end. It could've been any old wimp being dominated; Caitlyn
cared only about watching her boyfriend, getting off on his raw, masculine
aggression as he tore into my poor ass.
By the time I blurted out, "200, thank you, Sir," I could only see blackness
before me. I heard him take a step backward; then he brought the crop down one
last unexpected time, causing me to flinch. I almost yelled out, but literally
bit my lip. I could taste red as my master sauntered into view and slithered
onto the couch next to my wife.
She smiled. "Hello, you."
"Hey, beautiful. You ready?"
"Oh, yeah." Her voice switched from love bunny to castrating bitch. "Lester!
Quit listening in on our coversations and get these plates out of here. And do
the dishes. Oh, and you need to polish all my shoes tonight -- I want an
extensive cleaning done on every pair of shoes."
"Yes, Mistress." By now, the world had come back into focus. I rose unsteadily
to my feet and removed their plates. By then, they were already kissing, and my
master's hand was roughly massaging Caitlyn's pussy. I scurried from the room
and started on the dishes, already planning out the rest of the day.
"If I start on Mistress's shoes right after the dishes, maybe I'll have time to
get all the housework done by midnight. Oh, wait! I forgot about Terrance's
laundry! Two huge bags."
I slumped, scowling at the pile of unwashed dishes. I had a lot of scrubbing to
do.
After scrubbing the pots, pans and plates, I'd spend the next several hours
scrubbing all 50-some pairs of my wife's shoes. Then I'd scrub the floors and
toilet.
And while Caitlyn lay in her bed curled up beside her boyfriend, I would be up
all night scrubbing cuckolds brownie stains out of his underwear.
"I guess that makes me a scrub." I sighed and returned to the dishes.
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