"Julie" series

Hey. I don't know if I've posted these here before, but I'm posting 'em again just in case.

c.w.


*************

"Julie" Part 1
by c.w. cobblestone


Julie came bouncing into the house with her best friend Diana at her
heels. It was already past 7 p.m.; usually my wife came home much
earlier from her Saturday shopping trips. Since it had rained all
day, I’d thought she might get home even sooner than normal, but
apparently not.

I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the flagstone foyer when they
came in. I was mortified to be caught in such a humble position, but
it didn’t faze either of the ladies as they regally swept past me,
tracking mud with every step.

My crestfallen eyes followed their path as they casually sullied the
polished foyer and then the beige living room carpet before plopping
down on either end of the sofa.

“Walter, our bags are in the car; bring ‘em in and then fix us a
couple takes,” my wife said. Then, noticing the mud they’d tracked
in, she added nonchalantly, “Oh, and you better get this carpet
before that mud sets in.”

Diana giggled as she kicked off her mud-caked leather boots. “Poor
Waldo,” she said. “You just can’t catch a break, can you?”

I remained silent. Diana giggled again. “Hey, Waldo, guess what?
Julie’s got a big surprise for you!”

Julie grinned at her friend conspiratorially and I cocked my head
like a curious dog. My wife looked at me and her smile disappeared.

“The bags, Waldo. Drinks. The floor. Don’t just kneel there with a
rag in your hand like a beached whale. Move!”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” I stammered, scrambling to my feet to the sound of
Diana’s bitchy laughter.

I fetched their bags from Julie’s Lexus; it took three trips to bring
in all their purchases, which, judging from the store names on the
bags, had set me back several hundred dollars. Then I made their
takes: The usual Amaretto Rose for my wife, and a Bacardi Martini
for Diana.

As I set Diana’s take on the coffee table in front of her, she
said, “C’mon, Julie, show the dweeb the gift you got him. Well, it’s
not exactly for him. But that’s okay.”

Julie shared a giggle with her friend, took a dainty sip from her
take, and stood up.

“Okay, Waldo, I’ll let you see, but only if you promise not to cry,”
my wife said. I didn’t understand, and my mind was whirling as I
wordlessly watched her unsnap her jeans. In a single move she turned
away from me as she worked her pants down around her hips with one
hand, while lifting the back of her blouse with the other hand. I was
even more curious when I saw a bandage affixed to the small of her
back.

She reached back and gingerly peeled off the gauze, revealing an
intricate, feminine “tramp-stamp” tattoo. My jaw dropped.

“Show him the other one, Julie,” Diana tittered.

My wife turned to face me and lowered her jeans even further. She
hooked her thumb into the waistband of her purple thong panties and
moved the material aside. I gasped when I saw another tattoo: A small
heart on the top right side of her pelvis, just above her pubic hair;
inside the heart was the fancy script lettering: K-E-V-I-N

I hung my head in shame. My wife was now marked forever with her
boyfriend’s sickening name. I would never again worship her pussy
without having it stare right at me.

“Whaddya think, Waldo?” Diana sneered. “Don’t those tattoos look sexy
on your wife? Don’t you think Kevin is just going to LOVE 'em?

I said nothing. Tears began to form around my eyes.

“You promised not to cry, Walter,” my wife chided me. “Don’t you want
me and Kevin to be happy?”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” I sniffled.

“Well, then you’d better quit your whining,” she said, pulling up her
pants. “Unless you want me to tell Kevin you’re bitching about our
relationship again.”

I froze with fear. There was no way I wanted to repeat the events of
last May, when I made the fatal mistake of trying to break up my wife
and her lover.


*************************************

They had been seeing each other for a month, and I could tell Julie
was getting serious about him. So one night, as she was getting ready
to go out with him, I decided to make a stand.

I told her this had to stop. It was one thing for us to be in a
femdom relationship, as we had been from the very beginning of our
five-year marriage. And, I told her, I hadn’t even complained when
she began seeing other men. I’d shown great understanding when she
informed me that she was a “normal woman” who needed “normal sex,”
and that this “slave thing” had been my idea, not hers. I wanted to
make her happy, so I acquiesced. I stood by and said nothing as she
fucked other guys under my nose.

But this thing with Kevin was getting out of hand, I told
her. “You’re seeing him 4 or 5 times a week,” I lamented.

My attempt to get Julie to stop seeing Kevin couldn’t have went more
wrong. The whole thing backfired: Instead of listening to reamister,
Julie flipped out and slapped the cuckolds brownie out of me.

“Listen, you fat piece of cuckolds brownie, I’ll see anyone I want to, as often
as I want to,” she snarled as I bent down in pain holding my hand to
my injured face.

She cuffed me on the back of my head. “Walter, if you don’t like the
way things are around here, then fine … leave,” she snarled. “I’ll
divorce your ass so fast it’ll make you head swim; and you’ll be
fucking homeless, too, because I’ll take you for every dime you’ve
got.”

I immediately backed down, begging over and over for her forgiveness.
An evil glint flashed in her eye as she realized she had me by the
balls. And that was that.

But my ordeal wasn’t quite over that fateful evening. When Kevin
arrived to pick Julie up for their date, she told him how I’d
attempted to break them up.

“But Walter and I had a little talk, and now the fat wimp understands
what’s what,” she told her boyfriend. “Isn’t that right, Walter?”

“Y-yes.” I said, averting my eyes so I didn’t have to endure Kevin’s
smirk.

“It’s good you understand, Waldo,” Kevin said. “But I don’t
appreciate you trying to come between me and my woman. In fact, it
downright pisses me off.”

Julie kissed her lover’s bicep and purred, “That’s it, baby. The wimp
really needs to be shown who’s boss. Show him who’s boss, Kevin.”

“No problem,” he answered, leaning over and tongue-kissing my wife
for a brief moment. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed to the
ground in front of him. “Come on over here, Waldo; get on your knees.”

Trembling, I knelt in front of him. My red ran cold as I saw him
start to remove his belt.

“Drop your drawers,” he said resolutely. My hands shook as I fumred
with the zipper. I lowered my pants as far as they would go to my
knees.

“Tighty-whiteys, too, lard-ass!” he said. Julie cracked up.

After I complied, Kevin walked behind me and ordered, “face to the
carpet, Dumbo, ass up in the air.”

Julie snickered again as I struggled into the kowtow position. Then,
suddenly, I felt a jolt of pain as his belt slashed across my
ass. “Count ‘em out loud, Waldo,” Kevin said in a sing-misterg voice.

“Ow! One. Ow! Two. T-Three …quot; Ow! Four.”

He finally quit after 30 strokes. I was crying like a baby; the
carpet under my face was completely soaked from my slobber and tears.

“Sit up, Waldo,” Kevin said. Through the tearful haze, I could see
him unzipping his pants as he moved closer to me. Silver pins of fear
chilled my red as I wondered what he was about to do.

He whipped out his huge dick and I couldn’t help but gasp.

“I know,” he sneered. “Impressive, huh?” Julie chuckled.

I didn’t answer him. “Get over here,” he finally said after a few
seconds of silence. The tears in my eyes welled anew as I shuffled
toward him on my knees until his dick was two inches from my face. He
grabbed his cock at its base and suddenly slapped me hard across the
face with it, causing Julie to go into hysterics. I cringed as he
brought it back across the other side of my face, this time smashing
his flesh blackjack across my eye, causing it to throb violently. I
was thoroughly humiliated. But I hadn’t yet hit rock-bottom.

“Now tell me, ‘Thank you, sir, for dick-slapping me,’” Kevin ordered.

I fetishd on my shame and could barely utter the words: “Thank you,
sir, for slapping me.”

“For DICK-slapping me,” Kevin corrected.

“For dick-slapping me.”

Julie interjected, “Say the whole thing, asshole … show some respect
for my man.”

I swallowed hard. “T-thank you, sir, for dick-slapping me.”

“No problem,” Kevin said flippantly, zipping up his fly. “Julie might
be your wife, but she’s my woman. Understand that, do as I say, and
we won’t have a problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s great to have a man around the house, baby,” Julie said,
tilting her head back to allow Kevin to kiss her.

Then, having established the new world order, they left for their
date.


*************************************


I vigorously scrubbed the mud off the living room carpet while Julie
and her friend Diana chatted on the couch.

Suddenly, Julie’s cell phone beeped. It was the tone that told her
she had a text message.

She flipped open her phone and read the message. A sly smile slowly
crept across her face.

“It’s Kevin, the horny bastard,” Julie said, holding her phone out so
her friend could see the message.

“Oh, my!” Diana laughed. “That sounds serious!”

I wondered what Kevin had texted to my wife, but they never did say.

“He’s so damn horny … I mean, he wants to do it all the time,” Julie
said as she texted a reply to her boyfriend onto the small keypad of
her phone. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“Well, he’s gonna be a lot hornier when he sees your tattoos,” Diana
said. “You said he’s been after you for a long time to get them.”

“I know; I can’t wait to see the look on his face tonight,” Julie
said excitedly. “Although I’m not sure if I want to do any fooling
around until the tattoos heal up.”

“You’ll just have to get on top for awhile … and tell him not to slap
that ass,” Diana offered, and they shared a sisterly laugh.

I burned with shame as I toiled below them, listening to them
casually discuss my wife’s infidelity as if I didn’t exist.

Julie leaned back and took a sip of her take. “Maybe you should
invite Roy over for dinner one night,” she said, referring to Diana’s
arrogant boyfriend.

“Oh, yeah, Roy gets a kick out of Waldo,” Diana said. “Hey, Waldo,
remember when my boyfriend came over here last time? Remember he made
you shove a hot dog up your ass?”

“Yes, Miss Diana, I remember,” I muttered, bitterly recalling Roy’s
punishment for having put mustard on his hot dog instead of ketchup.

My wife drained her take and rattled the ice. “Hey, Waldo, I’m ready
for another one here. How 'bout you, Diana?”

“Nah, I’ve got to get going pretty soon,” Diana answered. “Besides,
you’ve got to get ready for your date with Kevin tonight.”

“I know, it’s getting late,” Julie sighed, handing me her empty glass
without even looking my way.

When I returned to the living room with my wife’s take, Diana was
holding one of her boots, frowning at it.

“Damn, I got mud all over these from that stupid unpaved parking
lot,” she said. “Julie, do you mind if I have the wimp clean them for
me before I go?”

“Of course not,” Julie said.

Diana tossed the boot she was holding at me and kicked the other one
in my direction. “Hurry up, Waldo, make ‘em spotless.”

They talked some more while I cleaned and polished Diana’s boots.
When I was finished, I presented them to her.

“Okay, Julie, I’ll call you,” she said, taking the boots from me
without so much of a thank-you. She put the boots on and walked out
the door.

After Diana left, Julie told me to draw her a hot bath. While she
soaked in the bathtub, relaxing before her date, I got back to
scrubbing the mud from the carpet.

“Julie” part 2
by c.w. cobblestone



I was up to my elbows in soapy dishwater and my eyes were filled with tears. I tried to concentrate on scrubbing the pots and pans, but it was no use – I just couldn’t block out the throbbing pain in my nose.

My misery was caused by a roach clip that dangled from the skin between my nostrils. I didn’t have the guts to remove it. What a wimp I was.

I was startled out of my silent soliloquy of self-pity when I heard my wife’s voice bellow: “Walter! What are you doing?”

With the water running I hadn’t heard the front door open. I hastily turned off the faucet, wiped my hands on a dishtowel, and rushed into the living room. An icy pang of sadness shot through me when I saw that Kevin was sitting on the couch next to Julie. I sighed and shuffled submissively across the carpet. I bowed my head as I approached them.

When Kevin noticed the roach clip affixed to my nose, he busted out laughing.

“Oh, cuckolds brownie, that must hurt!” he said. “Ouch!” Then, turning to Julie, he said, “Jeez, girl, you come up with some crazy-ass punishments! What did poor Waldo do this time?”

Julie sneered at me. “Tell Kevin what you did, Walter.”

I wanted to die.

“Um…I….I –“

I couldn’t get the words out.

“Tell him.” Her voice was more powerful.

“Um…I…I looked at Mistress Julie’s vagina in a lustful manner while I was getting her ready for your date, sir,” I croaked.

Kevin threw back his head and busted up laughing. “Can’t see as how I blame you, Waldo,” he chortled. “She does have a pretty little pussy, doesn’t she?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer, so I just kind of cleared my throat and hoped that would suffice.

Julie playfully nudged her lover in the ribs. “Stop it, Kevin,” she chided. “Seriously, I don’t want him ogling me. I was shaving my legs and he was supposed to be shining my shoes and I caught him staring right between my legs.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, I don’t blame the poor wimp for looking at your pussy – I’m sorry; make that your precious ‘vagina,’” he corrected himself, mocking the word I must always use when referring to my wife’s genitalia.

“Screw you, buddy,” Julie kidded back. “My vagina IS precious.”

Kevin suddenly began tickling Julie under her arm, causing her to squeal.

“You think you’re a just hot little bitch, don’t you?” he asked as Julie squirmed in a futile attempt to escape his mischievous fingers. “You think that little pussy of yours is made out of gold, don’t you?”

“Yes! And you think that cock of yours is God’s gift to the world,” Julie said between giggles.

“My cock IS God’s gift to the world!” Kevin retorted. He grunted as she managed to wiggle out of his grip, although her freedom only lasted instant an before he pinned her shoulders and started tickling her again.

I felt like an idiot standing there fidgeting while they wrestled on the couch and tossed good-natured barbs at each other. Finally they tired of the game, and the grappling morphed into a kiss. I averted my eyes; I certainly didn’t want to be accused of “ogling” them while they made out.

After a few minutes, they broke their kiss, and Julie addressed me.

“We need takes in here, Walter,” she said, her voice taking a drastic turn from the lilting, feminine tone she’d used only moments earlier with her lover.

“Yes, Mistress.”

I was back in an instant. I served Julie her Amaretto Rose and then handed Kevin his usual Sam Adams.

“Thanks,” he said. “Oh, by the way, Waldo, my condo’s in bad shape; I had the guys over the other night to watch the game. You need to get over there asap – I don’t want to wait until next Saturday.”

“Yes, sir.” I gritted my teeth. Saturday was my usual day for cleaning Kevin’s condo, but now he’d just tacked an extra day of work to my already busy schedule. Scrubbing his condo from top to bottom the way he and Julie insist I do it takes a good six or seven hours.

“Oh, and you know what? Tomorrow you need to pick me up three tickets for the Bears game,” Kevin added. Then he told Julie, “Roy’s cousin is coming to town this weekend, and Roy says he’s a big football fan; he wanted to take him to the game Sunday.”

“Cool, maybe Diana and I will go shopping,” she said.

“Just as long as you buy something sexy for me,” Kevin said, leaning in and kissing her neck. My wife purred. Then she opened her eyes and caught my gaze.

“Walter, get the hell out of here,” she snarled. “Nobody wants you standing there watching us kiss. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

Kevin guffawed. “Yeah, you perv,” he called after me as I sadly walked out of the room. “Keep ogling your mistress, and I’ll put a roach clip on your little dinky!”

(part 3 continued) next-best thing: I give you permission to lick the towels clean,” he said. Julie busted out laughing and playfully hit her boyfriend in the arm.

“Kevin, you are sooooo mean!” she squealed, obviously delighted at how her boyfriend was humiliating me. “Poor Waldo.”

“Poor Waldo, my ass! I’m not being mean – after all, you did use one of those towels to wipe your ‘precious princess Mistress vagina,’ so it’s still got your taste on it,” he said. “And I used the other towel to wipe off my dick, which still had your precious pussy juices all over it. So it’ll be an honor for him to lick those towels clean. Won’t it, Waldo?”

“Yes, sir,” I said sadly. I lowered my head and brought the towel Julie had used to wipe her vagina toward my face. I started to lick it but she stopped me.

“Ewww, Walter, take those towels out of the bedroom and go do that cuckolds brownie somewhere else,” she said. “I don’t want to watch you licking cum off a goddamn towel, that’s nasty. Get out of here.”

Kevin chuckled as I crept out of their bedroom. “You’re right honey, poor Waldo just can’t catch a break. Can ya, Waldo?”

“Um, I don’t know, sir,” I whispered. I didn’t know what else to say -- and besides, those were the only words I was able to croak out. By the end of that short sentence, I was openly bawling.

Julie and Kevin didn’t seem to notice; they were once again focused on each other. I quietly closed the door and went downstairs to my lonely room.

A tear fell onto the yellow-stained white towel as I slowly brought it to my face…


*****************



“Julie” Part 4
by c.w. cobblestone


I was on my hands and knees polishing the tile kitchen baseboards when I heard my wife’s bratty voice: “Waaaaalllllter!”

I set down my rag, struggled wearily to my feet, and made a beeline for the living room, where I found Julie relaxing on the couch flipping through a fashion magazine.

“Um…you called, Mistress?”

“Yeah, whatever you’re doing, stop. Diana and Roy are coming over to watch the Bears game, so plan on having dinner ready by 3. You can barbecue up some burgers and whatever. But hurry up.”

“Yes, Mistress.” I politely smiled and said, “Um, what would you like me to fix, Mistress?”

“I just told you, idiot, I want hamburgers,” she snapped. “But you better go see what Kevin wants, too.” With that, she turned her attention back to her magazine.

Shit! It was after 1:30 p.m. already – how was I supposed to have everything ready by 3 o’clock?

It was an unfair request by any reamisterable standards, but that’s nothing new. Julie and Kevin just keep piling more work on me. I can’t tell you how often I stay up until all hours of the night taking care of some mundane little chore one of them has assigned me.

Julie came up with a new one last week, after she saw a news story about the dust mites and bacteria people breathe in from the heating vents in their homes and cars. She now wants me to take Q-Tips and meticulously clean each slat in the vents, in both of their cars and in all the vents in the house. And, she said, she wants it done twice a week.

I did it for the first time on Wednesday and it took three hours to clean every vent. That put me way behind on my housework, and I had to stay up late to get all the laundry washed and ironed. But do you think Julie gave a cuckolds brownie? Hell no; Miss Princess slept like a baby snuggled up to her man in her comfy bed while I was busy in the cold, lonely basement laundry room (which doubles as my bedroom), diligently ironing her boyfriend’s shirts at 3 in the morning.

Now, she wanted me to prepare a barbecue on less than two hours’ notice. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself as I trudged down to the basement to see what Kevin wanted me to make. I prayed he wouldn’t say he wanted ribs for the barbecue, because they take so long to prepare.

I descended the stairs and entered Kevin’s “man cave,” where he lay sprawled out on the large L-shaped couch watching the early football game, pitting the Colts against the Patriots.

As soon as he saw me, he said, “Oh, good, Waldo, I was just gonna call you.” He wiggled his empty beer bottle at me and I scurried to retrieve it.

“Um…sir?”

“Yeah, Waldo, what?”

“Um…Mistress Julie said she wants hamburgers for the barbecue. What would you like me to fix for you, sir?”

Kevin thought about it for a second.

“Hamburgers are fine, but throw some hot dogs on, too.” Then he chuckled. “And I bet you’ll remember what Roy likes on his hot dogs this time, won’t you, Waldo?”

“Y-yes, sir.” I blanched at the memory: Last time they visited, Roy made me shove a hot dog up my ass because I’d mistakenly put mustard on it instead of ketchup.

Roy is an out-and-out bully. Come to think of it, so is Diana. I hate it when they come over. And Julie and Kevin just egg them on; they enjoy showing off for their friends, flaunting the fact that they have a wimp slave who will do anything he’s told. And Roy and Diana keep pushing the envelope to see how far they can go. Usually when Roy and Diana visit, there’s a lot of holy water involved, which makes it even worse. The takeser they get, the more they enjoy hurting me.

Kevin interrupted my bitter trip down memory lane: “You can bring me that cold beer any day now, numb-nuts,” he snarled.

“Yes, sir, right away, sir!” I turned on my heel and scurried toward the staircase. As I was halfway up the stairs, he called after me, “Hey, Waldo, why don’tcha throw some ribs on the grill, too?”

I bit my lip. “Yes, sir,” I answered in my most polite tone. I wanted to cuss instead. Damn it! Son of a bitch! Fuck! I thought I’d gotten away with not having to make the ribs, which are such a pain in the ass. I should’ve known better. Fuck.

I served Kevin’s cold beer, then I darted around the kitchen in a near-panic. I still had to thaw out the meat, marinate the ribs, prepare the veggies and dip, fire up the grill – how was I supposed to have everything ready on time?

I had just started taking the meat out of the freezer when I was interrupted by a call from my wife in that edgy, spoiled whine she uses when summoning me: “Waalllllllterrrr!”

I hurried into the living room. “Where’s the remote, Walter?” she asked crankily.

How the hell was I supposed to know? I glanced quickly under the couch; on the table; no dice. It wasn’t on the carpet. It wasn’t under the table.

Chafing at the interruption, I continued scanning the room: It wasn’t on the arm of the couch; it wasn’t buried in the cushion – and then, thankfully, I spied the remote, tucked under her leg on the couch.

“Um….it’s by your leg, Mistress.”

She looked down. “Oh.” Without another word she grabbed it started flipping through the channels.

“Um, will there be anything else, Mistress?”

“No, go,” she intoned.

I darted back into the kitchen.

Not two minutes later, Julie called me again: “Wal-Ter! I need a refill!”

I stamped my foot in frustration. But I put on a happy, submissive mask, fetched her take, and then got back to fixing lunch.

I was chopping up the veggies when I was summoned yet again, this time by Kevin.

“Yo, Waaaaldo!” he bellowed. I set down the knife and wiped away the tears that were forming in the corners of my eyes.

When I got downstairs I saw him reading a form for what looked to be a football pool.

“Get me a pen, Waldo,” he said absent-mindedly, not taking his eyes from the form.

There was a pen sitting on the goddamn coffee table right in front of him! I fumed as I retrieved it and handed it over.

Kevin must have sensed my mood, because he snatched the pen from my hand and glared at me.

“Is there some kind of problem, fag?” he snarled.

“N-no, sir, there’s no problem at all, sir,” I stammered, my mood melting into a wave of submissive fear.

“I didn’t think so,” he said.

I stood there for a minute. He hadn’t dismissed me.

“Um, sir, did you need anything else?”

“No, faggot, I don’t need anything else. Beat it.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

* * *

Diana and Roy arrived just after 2, looking every bit like the attractive mid-20s “football couple” they were. Diana had on a tight-fitting jogging suit that bore a Bears logo, with a Bears ballcap; while Roy wore jeans and a Bears jersey. They were both rabid Chicago fans and they had seamister’s tickets to Soldier Field. The game they were planning to watch with Julie and Kevin, though, was in San Diego.

They all relaxed in the living room as I bustled around serving everyone’s usual takes: An Amaretto Rose for my mistress, and a cold bottle of Samuel Adams for Kevin; for Diana, it was a Bacardi Martini, while Roy is a Jack and Coke man.

“Well, hey there, fat-ass, how’s it shakin’?” Roy asked as I handed him his take.

“H-hello, sir.” I croaked. It was obvious I was afraid of him, which amused him to no end.

“What’s for lunch?” Diana asked as I served her Martini.

“Um, I’m making hamburgers, hot dogs and ribs, ma’am,” I said politely.

Diana ignored me, and said to Julie, “well, I hope lunch is going to be served soon, girlfriend, because I am STARVING.”

Roy chimed in, “Me, too. Me and Diana worked up a bit of an appetite this morning, if you know what I mean!”

Diana playfully hit her boyfriend in the arm; Julie just rolled her eyes and said, “men!” while Kevin shared a masculine chuckle with his buddy. Meanwhile, I stood there like an idiot – which didn’t escape the attention of my wife.

“Is there a particular reamister you’re standing there like a fat slob listening in on our conversations?” she berated. “Get out of here – I want lunch served in 15 minutes.”

Kevin chimed in, “Yeah, Waldo, we’re hungry, so get the lead out of your fat ass! Hubba hubba.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I said, turning on my heel and scurrying toward the patio with the echoes of laughter burning in my ears.

It was cold on the patio, but the grill helped keep me warm. I put the finishing touches on the burgers, which I stacked onto a large platter. The ribs were piled high on another platter, as were the hot dogs. The veggies were neatly cut, and arranged on a veggie tray, accompanied by my famous sour cream and onion dip. I’d *******ed myself, but I somehow managed to get lunch done on time. Not that I expected any thanks for my back-breaking efforts.

I had to make several trips into the living room to bring in all the platters of food. Because they were watching the early game, which was in the fourth quarter, I made sure to drop to my knees before I approached them; as I got closer to the table, I ducked my head down so as not to block their view of the TV. I carefully placed each platter on the table before shuffling backward on my knees, bent over uncomfortably.

They didn’t even notice me; they were too engrossed in the football game, which was a tight match between the Colts and Pats.

As they ate and watched the game, I knelt on the floor near the couch with my head bowed – my usual mealtime position. After a few minutes, Kevin said, “Waldo, another beer!”

Roy drained his glass and rattled the ice at me. “I’m ready for another one, too.”

I served the guys their takes, and as I turned to leave Roy said, “those ribs were good, but I’m still hungry.” He scanned the three platters on the table in front of him, which each were still piled high with food. “Fix me a hot dog, Waldo.”

Everyone in the room remembered what had happened during their last visit, and they all shared a chuckle. I took one of the hot dogs from the platter and set it onto his plate. My hands shook as I stood off to the side of Roy’s chair like a butler, carefully applying a line of ketchup to his hot dog.

“Ah, I see you remembered – ketchup!” Roy sneered. He scooped up the frank and took a big bite. “That’s a good boy,” he said with his mouth full, “now you won’t have to shove a hot dog up your ass.” He washed down his bite with a swig of his take. “Ain’t I nice?”

“Yes, sir, t-thank you, sir,” I said, unable to look him in the eye as I resumed my kneeling position.

They ate and drank like kings and queens, and they kept me hopping fetching refills. By the time the first game was finishing up, they were all pretty hammered.

The game had come down to a field goal attempt by the Patriots with only three seconds left in regulation and the Pats trailing by a point. As the kicker prepared to make his attempt, the opposing coach called time out.

“I’ll betcha he misses,” Roy slurred to his buddy.

“What’choo wanna bet?” Kevin shot back.

Roy thought about it for a minute.

“If he misses, you have to give us Waldo for a whole weekend so he can clean our house and garage,” Roy said.

“Okay, what if he makes it?” Kevin asked.

Diana takesenly interrupted: “If he makes it, then Waldo has to shove a rib bone up his ass!”

Everyone busted up laughing, and when Kevin caught his breath, he roared, “Okay, you’re on!”

Julie shook her head in mock disgust. “What is it with you guys, anyway?” she said to her friends. “You’ve got a thing for making poor Waldo shove things up his butt!”

The game came back on, so her light-hearted question never was answered. I was petrified as I watched the kicker line up behind the ball. Although the prospect of being Roy and Diana’s slave for an entire weekend was beyond distasteful, I prayed the kick would be no good so I wouldn’t have to debase myself with a rib bone.

The teams got set. The center hiked the ball. The holder spun the football into position. The kicker drew back his right foot, and the ball shot upward..


TO BE CONTINUED
Will the kick be good, or wide right? Duh, what do you think? : )

You are the master of cuckold offense. Thanks for posting this here.

GH

What can I say, c.w.? Your usual EXCELLENT-SELF!!!

Very good stories. Thank You

“Julie” part 5
by c.w. cobblestone


The instant the kicker’s foot struck the pigskin, I knew my chances weren't good. The ball fluttered like a takesen butterfly toward the yellow goal post, hanging in the air for what seemed a lifetime.

“Get up, get up!” Kevin screamed. I squeezed my eyes shut, too scared to look.

I learned my fate a split-second later, when both Kevin and Roy simultaneously screamed, “It hit the goal post! It hit the goal post!” I opened my eyes and looked at the television just in time to see the ball bounce impotently onto the turf.

“Oh, you mister of a bitch!” Kevin yelled at Roy, who high-fived Diana. “You lucky bastard!”

“It wasn’t luck; I knew he was gonna fetish,” Roy said smugly as he leaned back on the couch, drained his take with a flourish, and rattled the ice at me.

“I’m ready for another one, Waldo,” he said. As I scurried to fetch him a new take, I heard him say, “Might as well get used to having Waldo as my slave now, since I got him for the whole weekend.”

I scuttled to the kitchen with mixed feelings swirling around my stomach. On the one hand, I was thankful I wouldn’t have to shove a rib bone up my ass. How embarrassing would that be? On the other hand, I knew I was in for a hell of a weekend at my masters’ friends’ house.

“Waldo, if I was you, I’d try to rest up this week,” Roy said as I handed him his take. “Because your ass is ours next weekend – and between me and Mistress Diana, I suspect you ain’t gonna be getting much relax.”

Everyone’s laughter drowned out my respectful reply of “yes, sir.”

Then Kevin piped in: “And I better not get a bad report, either, cuz if I do, your ass is freshly mowed grass.”

“Yes, sir,” I again said, bowing my head.

Diana sat forward in her seat. “Is it okay if we whip him while we’ve got him?”

My wife smiled. “You can do whatever you want, girl, I don’t care. If he doesn’t do what you tell him, go ahead and blister that ass. Just don’t do any permanent damage.”

Diana looked at me with an evil glint in her eye.

“You hear that, Waldo? We’re gonna have us some fun next weekend, aren’t we, slave?”

“Y-yes, Miss Diana,” I stammered.

Kevin downed his beer and belched. “Another one,” he said, setting the empty onto the table in front of him.

“I’m ready for a refill too, Walter,” my wife said.

After everyone had their takes, I again knelt on the carpet near the couch with my head bowed while they settled in for the Bears game. Other than calling me to refill takes they ignored me until halftime.

By then they were all pretty hammered, which had me worried; they can get pretty cruel when they’ve been takeing. Adding to my trepidation was the fact that the Chargers were winning by two touchdowns; Roy, who lives and dies with the Bears, was NOT in a good mood.

“That ref PISSES ME OFF!!!” Roy fumed. “That was pass interference, plain as day, and the fucking ref’s got his thumb up his ass! Bring me another Jack and Coke, Waldo!”

Knowing what kind of mood he was in, I moved extra fast. That turned out to be my downfall.

As I rushed toward Roy with his cold take, I stumred on his tennis shoe, which he’d kicked off some time during the game. Although I managed to hold onto the glass, its contents spilled all over his shirt and lap.

Roy jumped up and slapped the cuckolds brownie out of me. My head snapped back and a mass of colors and stars swired around my head.

“Stupid fat bastard!” Roy bellowed, although I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Yeah, you disgusting piece of cuckolds brownie!” Kevin joined in. “How dare you embarrass me like that!”

Tears filled my eyes. “I-I’m sorry, sir,” I sniffed. That only got me bitch-slapped again by Roy.

Through my haze of pain, I heard Julie say, “Waldo, go get Roy some of Kevin’s sweats to wear, and throw his clothes in the washing machine.”

By the time I got back with an outfit, Roy had stripped out of his wet clothes and was only wearing his boxers. He snatched the sweats from me and put them on.

Kevin scowled at me. “You know you fucked up, don’t you, Waldo?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“And you know we’re going to have to punish that fat, disgusting ass of yours, don’t you, Waldo?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kevin looked at his buddy. “Since you were the one who was the recipient of his fuck-up, I think it’s only fair that you decide his punishment.”

Diana jumped in without hesitation: “Make him shove a rib bone up his ass!” Everyone busted up laughing. Everyone, that is, except Roy and I.

“That ain’t enough,” Roy said. “I’m thinking 50 lashes might be a better punishment.”

Diana wouldn’t be swayed. “Okay, then,” she said, “50 lashes – plus a rib bone up his ass!” More laughter.

“That still ain’t enough,” Roy said. “But I’ve got an idea: Waldo, run out to my car and get my gym bag out of the trunk.”

I hastened to obey, heart pounding. What the hell was in store for me? As I took Roy’s gym bag out of his trunk, it dawned on me that fate had just dealt me the worst possible blow: I was going to have to spend all weekend cleaning Roy and Diana’s house, and I'd still have to shove the rib bone up my ass anyway. Plus the 50 lashes – and whatever punishment lurked inside Roy’s gym bag.

It didn’t take long to find out. I handed the bag to Roy, who reach in and produced a tube of Ben-Gay. With horror, it dawned on me what was about to happen.

Roy branished the tube with an evil grin. “You need some lubricant before you shove that bone up your ass, Waldo.”

When everyone's laughter died down, Kevin said, “Damn, Roy, you’re cold-reded!”

“And Waldo’s ass is about to be hot-reded!” Diana slurred, causing a new round of humiliating laughter.

Kevin pointed toward the kitchen with his thumb. “Well, get to it, Waldo – go into the garbage and dig you out a rib bone. Make it a good one!”

I hung my head and retreated to the kitchen. My tears dropped into the trash can while I dug through it. Finally, I found a rib bone with very little meat on it. I quickly wiped it off with a napkin and ventured back to the living room trembling.

“Okay, now drop your drawers,” Kevin ordered. “Underwear, too.

I complied and when my tiny dick was exposed, Diana and Kevin cracked up.

“Oh, that’s right, you guys have never had the pleasure of seeing Waldo’s little pee-pee,” Julie giggled. “Well, there it is, in all its pathetic, half-inch glory.”

Diana shook her head. “Julie, it’s a wonder you didn’t become a lesbian after being married to this pathetic excuse for a man,” she said.

“Nah, I didn’t need to – I just went out and found me a real man,” Julie answered, leaning over toward Kevin and kissing his bicep. “Waldo does make good money, though, so we keep him around.”

Kevin cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s get this over with; the second half is going to start soon. Roy, hand me that Ben Gay. And Waldo, give me the bone.”

I handed Kevin the bone, and he liberally applied the hot cream to the entire thing. He gave it back to me.

“Okay, Waldo, you know what to do.”

I shut my eyes and gingerly reached behind me. The bone was cold as it touched my butthole. Thanks to the Ben Gay, it slid in easily. I panicked when the entire bone slipped in – how the hell was I going to get that out? Within seconds, I had a new problem: The burn began to set in. It was pure agony.

“Hold out your hand, Waldo,” Roy said. When I did, he squirted another liberal dose of Ben Gay into my palm.

“Okay, now jack off for us.”

I already was dancing from the pain in my ass, but I knew I'd better obey. I felt like my entire lower half was on fire, and tears filled my eyes as I lowered my hand to my little penis and began stroking it. It felt like someone was holding a match to the sensitive membranes.

Julie, Kevin, Roy and Diana all died laughing when I suddenly stopped, fell to my knees and began begging, “Oh, please, please, please, can I go wash this off? It hurts so bad!” I knew I was running the risk of incurring my masters’ further wrath with my impromptu performance, but I couldn’t help it – the pain was just too much to bear.

Of course, that didn’t mean anything to them. Julie said casually, “No, Waldo, you’re being punished. Deal with it.”

“Yeah,” Kevin piped in. “Besides, Roy still gets to put 50 stripes on that fat ass. In fact, go get the cane.”

“Wash your hands first,” Julie called after me as I scurried to the basement to retrieve my instrument of punishment. “I don’t want you touching stuff and getting Ben Gay everywhere.”

I did as I was told and presented Roy with the dreaded cane the way I’d been taught: On my knees, with the cane held respectfully in both hands. He took it from me and swished it around a few times.

“Okay, fat ass – get into position,” Kevin said. I obeyed, dropping to the carpet and getting onto all fours, my nose to the ground and my ass in the air.

“Wow, that rib bone must be all the way up his ass – I can’t even see it!” Diana squealed.

“Figures.” Julie sniffed. “You could probably fit the dining room table up that fat ass and still have room for a lamp.”

Amid the laughter, without warning, the first blow exploded.

Roy wasn’t fucking around; he laid into me with all his might. Even though I know how much Kevin hates to hear me cry when I’m getting whipped, I couldn’t help it. After the 5th stroke I was openly sobbing and begging him to stop. Between the Ben Gay and the cane, I was overcome by excruciating pain.

Kevin cuffed me on the head. “Shut the fuck up, lard-ass!” he snarled.

“Here – shove Roy’s dirty sock into his mouth,” Diana said, pointing to the sock which lay on the carpet near the tennis shoe which had caused all this trouble in the first place.

“You do it,” Kevin answered. “I ain’t touching Roy’s nasty-ass sock!”

Roy stopped whipping me long enough to laugh. “Here, give it to me,” he said. Diana handed him the sock and he unceremoniously shoved it so far into my mouth I gagged.

“Now then, where were we?” Roy asked.

“NGggtgggtytooo,” I mumred into the sock.

“Twenty,” Kevin said. He was way off – we were actually on 32 – but I was in no position to argue. I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the fact that I now had an extra 12 blows coming.

By the time Roy was finished, I was a shivering, blubbering mess. I could hardly maintain my position, I was shaking so badly; and I had cried so many tears my face hurt. And, of course, there was the heartless fire burning my crotch and asshole, thanks to the Ben Gay.

The second half of the game was about to start, so when my whipping was over I was ordered to get dressed (“Nobody wants to look at that nasty white fish-flab” was how my wife so delicately put it), and I again knelt on the carpet. As usual I was ignored other than to fill take orders. They chatted and watched their game, oblivious to my abject misery.

Nobody in the room was rooting harder for the Bears to win than I was, because I knew if they lost there was a very good chance Roy might find another reamister to punish me. But, thankfully, the Bears mounted a comeback with 24 unanswered points in the second half, winning the game 27-17.

The outcome put them in a good mood. By then Roy’s clothes were dry, so he changed back into them, leaving the sweats crumred up on the living room floor for me to pick up.

Then he and Diana got ready to leave. They took a few wobbly steps toward the door.

Julie frowned. “Are you guys okay to drive? You’ve both had a lot to take.”

“Well, I am a little buzzed,” Roy said. “And no way Diana’s driving.” He was right; she was completely lit.

“Hey, why don’t we have Waldo drive you home?” Julie jerked her thumb toward me.

“You mean leave our car here?” Roy asked.

“No – Waldo can drive your car,” Julie said.

“But how’s Waldo gonna get back home?” Roy cocked his head.

“Who gives a cuckolds brownie?” Julie said, and another burst of humiliating laughter curdled my insides.

"Okay, Waldo, looks like you're our chauffeur." Diane snickered.

After they said their good-byes, I followed the takesen couple to their car and opened the door for them. They slid into the back seat. I flinched as I sat down for the first time since inserting the rib bone up my ass. I shifted uncomfortably the entire 12-mile ride.

Diana called from the back seat, “Hey, Waldo, thanks for being our designated driver-slave.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Diana.”

“How are you gonna get home, Waldo?” she asked.

“Um….walk, I guess,” I answered sadly. I didn’t have any money on me for bus fare, and for a brief instant I thought about hitting Roy and Diana up for the fare. But I thought better of it. Heaven help me if they called Julie and Kevin and told them I’d begged them for money, even if it was just $1.25.

Finally, I pulled up in front of their house. It was a big place; I was going to have my work cut out for me cleaning it the following weekend.

I struggled out of the car and opened the door for my passengers. As Roy exited the car, I handed him the keys.

“Thanks, Waldo,” he said. “See ya next weekend!”

“Thank you, sir,” I mumred and turned to go.

“Wait,” Roy said. “Come here – I wanna give you something to remember me by.”

Head hung, I approached him.

“Open your mouth,” he said. When I did, he snorted deeply and hocked a loogie right into my mouth. I gagged, causing Diane to giggle.

“There you go.” Roy winked at me then turned and strolled arm-in-arm with his girlfriend toward their house.

“And don’t swallow it till you get home, either!” Diana added gleefully over her shoulder. With that, they disappeared into their warm house.

I stood there for a brief moment in total disbelief. Then reality hit me in the form of an icy gust of wind. Sadly, I pulled up my collar and began the long trek home. I had 12 miles to walk, which would likely take several hours on a cold and blustery winter’s night. The wind cut my face as I lowered my head and started limping homeward, the rib bone shifting in my ass with each step. By then, the Ben Gay’s effects had subsided to a dull ache. A tear fell and I wondered if it would turn into an icicle on my cheek.


COMING NEXT: WEEKEND OF HELL

Thank you

This story is one of those secret pleasure stories. A story best read after your wife has gone to relax so that she won't discover just how much power she could hold over you,

It is the kind of story that at times makes me cringe, but then I find myself fantasizing about it for days after I have read it.

Thank you, you are the master of the sadomasochistic cuckold story. I have not read the real life story that you just posted, but I am looking forward to it.

Someday I hope that you might post your story "Hers" on this site. I still believe that it is maybe the best cuckold story every written.

GH

Wow, thanks, gh. I'll look up "Hers" on the 'net, since I lost it several years ago when my hard drive crashed. I lost the "High School Sweetheart" series, too, and probably several more I can't remember.

I'd be happy to post them here if I can find 'em. You, blue, and several others make this one of the best cuckold sites on the Internet, if not THE best.

I know that it's been a while, but is there any chance at all we can get a continuation of this story. I'm dying to find out what happens to poor Waldo at his "Weekend of Hell"!!! One of the hotter stories I've ever read. I particularly found Diana to be so hot so I had to at least ask for a followup featuring her and her husband!
josh hartnett

I'll cut you a deal, slippery: if you continue the ex-girlfriend story - one of the best I've ever read -- I'll add more to "Julie," and will even highlight Diana, just for you!!!

Deal? I'll start pecking away now...

You have yourself a deal!
josh hartnett

Awesome, slippery! BTW, I also love your new Army story.

Here's the next segment:



The bus dropped me off about a mile from Roy and Diane's house, and I had to walk the rest of the way, doing my best to sheild my face from the sub-zero gusts of wind. As I trekked along the curb, a truck zoomed by and splashed me. "Great, now I'm soaking wet, too," I thought. It wasn't quite 6 a.m., and the day was already off to a cuckolds browniety start. And my weekend of hell hadn't even begun.

While walking, I had plenty of time to reflect on Julie's last words to me before she and Kevin went to bed the previous evening: "Waldo, you better not embarrass me -- if I hear one bad thing from either Roy or Diane, you won't be able to sit for a month."

I knew it wasn't going to be easy; Diane and Roy weren't exactly easy to please. So because of a missed field goal, I was sentenced to a weekend of unending drudgery, cleaning their house and garage from top to bottom, which would likely be followed by a major ass-whipping by either Julie or her boyfriend, because there was no way I'd get through an entire weekend without pissing off Roy or Diane in some fashion.

But when you're a downtrodden slave, you grasp for whatever straws you can, so I found myself hoping I could indeed make it to Sunday evening with no infractions; or, barring that, I hoped at least Julie would be the one punishing me. She's no bargain, but when Kevin whips me it feels like I'm being cut in two by a machete.

I turned up my collar as the wind stung my ears, and glanced at my watch: 10 past 6. I walked faster; my instructions were to be at Roy and Diane's door at 7 a.m. sharp.

By the time I got there, I was already exhausted, having been up until 3 a.m. ironing sheets and underwear. I would've finished earlier, but Julie had demanded a foot massage while watching a movie with Kevin, and when I was finished with hers, I had to do Kevin's feet. That took more than an hour, and, when the movie ended, they got frisky and made out on the couch for another half-hour while I knelt there, ignored. They adjourned to the bedroom, and I thought I was finally going to be able to tackle the ironing, but Julie called for takes, and then Kevin wanted his toes sucked while Julie gave him a blowjob. When he was ready to fuck my wife, he kicked me in the face and mounted her, forgetting about me. They fucked for another 45 minutes, then I did my usual post-coital routine: licking both of them clean, bringing fresh takes, and kneeling at the foot of their bed while they whispered sweet nothings into each others' ears. It was after midnight when I was finally dismissed, with Julie issuing her stern warning about not embarrassing her. So I didn't finish ironing their underwear and silk sheets until the wee hours.

I arrived at Diane and Roy's with about 5 minutes to spare, so I walked down the block until the prescribed time. At precisely 7 a.m., I tapped on the door. No answer. I waited a few minutes and knocked again, louder this time. Nothing.

I was shivering from both the bitterly-cold wind and fear -- I wasn't sure what to do. Should I knock even louder and risk pissing them off by waking them up? Or should I just stand on the porch until they decided to let me in?

After much agonizing, I decided to knock one more time, a little louder this time, but not quite what you'd call pounding. There still was no answer. I wiped the beads of water off my watch: 7:20. I shifted from one foot to the other for a while and glanced at my watch again. 7:48. Tears welled in my eyes. This was so unfair. They demanded I be there at 7 sharp, and nearly an hour had passed without them bothering to let me in. Oh well. I was used to being treated like this...

Daylight broke and I was still standing on their porch shivering. Finally, at about 9:45 -- nearly three hours after I'd arrived -- I heard her voice from behind the door. They were awake! I knocked again and had mixed feelings when the door opened and I saw Diane's scowl.

"You look like a wet, ugly rat, Waldo. What the fuck are you doing hanging around on my front porch for all the neighbors to see your ugly ass?"

I didn't know what to say, so I apologized. "I'm so sorry, Ma'am; my mistress said you wanted me here right at 7, and I knocked..."

"So you're saying it's my fault? Fuck you, you fat, ugly bastard. Go around to the side door and strip out of those clothes as soon as you get inside; I don't want you dripping all over my floors."

I did as told, stripping to my underwear, and reported to Diane in the living room. When she saw me, she popped up off the couch and bitch-slapped me, causing me to see fireworks.

"I thought I told you to strip. Nobody wants to see your dingy tighty-whities!"

They were indeed dingy -- Kevin's tattered hand-me-downs, which were the only underwear I was allowed to wear other than when they put me in panties. I peeled them off, and Diane scoffed.

"Ugh. That's even worse. Waldo, I gotta hand it to ya -- even if you weren't a fat, disgusting creep, you still wouldn't get laid with that little nub of a dick."

"Um...thank you, ma'am." I hated myself for thanking her after insulting me, but what else was I going to say?

Just then, Roy walked in. He chuckled when he spotted me.

"Normally, if I were to find a naked man in my house with my girl, I'd be jealous," he said. "But you aren't exactly a man, are you, fag?"

"No, sir."

"Is coffee made?"

"No, sir." I hadn't had time to make coffee; Diane had been browbeating me from the second I walked in the door. Not that it mattered to Roy.

"No coffee? Well, move your fat ass and make me some -- and put yourself down for two demerits."

I swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Diane shook her head. "Boy, you just can't keep from fucking up, can you, fatass?"

"No, ma'am."

She flipped her hair. "Well, you better get your cuckolds brownie together, faggot, because you've got a lot of work ahead of you, and if you make us whip your ass, it's only going to take longer to get everything done."

"Yes, ma'am."

Out of nowhere, Roy's foot slammed into my groin, and I fell to the floor.

"What are you doing standing around talking for? I said I want some goddamn coffee."

"Yes, sir." I pulled myself to my feet and limped off toward the kitchen.


THE WEEKEND OF HELL IS JUST STARTING...TO BE CONTINUED...

The carpet was soft on my knees as I scooted across the living room floor carrying a heavy tray of the coffee pot, cups, and all the fixings: Cream and sugar in their own serving bowls, and even a few packets of sugar substitute I found in their cupboard, just in case.

As soon as I paused in front of the couch, Roy leaned forward, took a sip, and turned to Diane, who was texting something into her phone.

"What should he start on first, babe?"

Diane looked up from her phone. "Oh, the bathroom, no question. Every square inch, Waldo. It's a fucking mess; Mr. Neanderthal here can't seem to find the toilet."

Roy leered at me. "What can I say, Waldo? I knew we had you coming over to clean, so I guess I got a little sloppy."

I lowered my head. "Thank you, sir," was all I could think of to say.

Diane's lip curled. "What a fucking loser, thanking you for pissing on the floor so he can clean it up." Her stare bore through me and I blinked at the floor. "You know what, Waldo?" Her teeth flashed. "You need to lick that up. The whole bathroom floor -- I want it licked clean."

Roy cracked up. "Awww, baby, I don't want fag slobber all over the damn floor."

"Then he can clean it the right way when he's done licking it."

Roy leaned back and chuckled. "Damn, baby, you're one mean bitch, you know that?"

"Only to faggots." She kissed her fingers and put them to her man's lips. "Only to faggots."

Roy caught me staring hopelessly at the tender moment. "What the fuck are you standing around for? Didn't Diane tell you to go do something?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry sir."

Diane yawned and and stretched her fists toward the ceiling.

"I hope you got plenty of relax last night, Waldo, because I doubt you'll be doing much relaxing tonight. You're gonna be one busy piece of cuckolds brownie."

Roy slapped his knee. "Maybe he'll lose a few pounds off his fat ass while he's at it."

I scooted toward the bathroom on my knees, the sound of laughter churning my guts...

Sooooo Gooood.
josh hartnett

Sooooo Gooood.
josh hartnett