We Need To Talk Chapter 6 free porn video

Chapter 6 The months passed and my wife fully embraced her inner slut. I have no idea how many men she's slept with or how many men she's sucked off. Anywhere between 1 and 4 days a week I would simply receive a text message that said "N", meaning not going to be home for dinner...it also meant no chance for cummies. N was a lot better than "A", "B" or "C", orders that would affect my life reduced to a single letter. A meant I was to immediately go to my room and close my door, standing at attention or sitting on my stool. Eventually I would hear the front door open and my wife and her lover walk past, their voices and footsteps fade as they go to the living room or her bedroom. Emotions rip through me as I stand at attention in my slutty maids outfit listening to the distant moans and screams from my wife, while my calves and feet burn from standing in my stilettos. B and C both mean I am to lock my collar if it's not already locked and go to her closet. B means I'm to run a lock through my collar and the floor ring and C means I'm to do the same with the wall ring. Once I hear the door I'm to close the lock. The wall ring was typically used for her quickies since it's set up so that I have to wear 5 inch heels in order to lock myself to it, although I once had to suffer for a couple of hours listening to my wife get fucked repeatedly. When her bull finally left and after my wife rested a bit, she finally came in and unlocked me I had no choice but to fall on the floor. "Mmmm, I know just how you feel. I'm a bit weak in the knees myself," she says dreamily "Take your dress and shoes off and crawl into bed with me sweetheart, I need to be held." My wife just said, "...I need..." Does she know what real need feels like? Desperate fucking longing, consuming your very being...everything you are is desperate longing...desperate desire...you can think of nothing else...it is what you are...days..months..years...desperate need!! Every thought, every wish, every prayer...for days...for months...for years! I FUCKING NEED!!!!! I lay in her bed and wrap my arms around my naked wife and hold her tight, fulfilling her needs. Her body is sticky from sweat, her body still flush from being fucked. His musky smell mixed with hers. I feel disgusted as I lay in their cold wet cum. The noises from the last couple hours fill my mind and mix with the sound of my wife's breathing. The sound of their bodies slapping together, her moaning and screaming, the sound of his grunts, his deep booming voice... and her soft breathing against my naked chest. I wonder what kind of man struggles to remain silent in his wife's closet, feet and calves in extreme pain from standing in a pair of fuck-me-pumps, while his wife gets fucked by another man. Still my arms hold her tight. I wonder if she can feel how much I love her through my arms, through my face pushed tightly against the back of her neck, through my hands gently resting against her waist. She pulls one of my legs between hers and I become very self conscious of my silky nylons. I wonder how different they feel to her from the strong hairy legs that were between hers minutes ago. "Your legs feel sexy, so silky and smooth, so feminine," she purrs as she rubs her thighs against mine. I struggle to maintain control as my emotions go into overdrive. I want to cry, I want to paw at my wife...grab at her breasts, her thighs, her ass, like a strange man did moments ago...but I'm not allowed. I want to scream at her for fucking other men, while I haven't fucked her for years. The warmth of her naked body next to mine inflames my ever-present desire for her. The steel tube easily prevents her little dicklette from getting hard, but does nothing to quell my desperate desire. The pain from the pressure mixes with my passions. My body feels like it's going to fucking explode from the mix of emotions, desire, and pain... yet I just lay there quietly holding my wife while she basks in the peaceful serenity that can only be had after a really good fuck. Sleepiness begins to take over from all the emotion, the suffering in the closet, all after a day of washing dishes. Her bed is so comfortable and I am so physically exhausted. I tuck my nose into the nape of her neck and begin to drift off to sleep. "Don't get too comfortable there stud, put your dress and shoes back on and finish up your chores. Begin with drawing me a bath and fetching me a glass of chardonnay." The river of time continues to flow, and the men in her life come and go. Every date, every fuck, every day washing dishes is a missed roll of the dice. I've lost track of how many times my wife has watched me clean my lipstick marks from our wedding picture. I think of the thousands of days I've spent without sexual satisfaction, never to be made up, lost to the past, gone forever. I think of how far I've come in my debasement; every time I think I can't be humiliated more than the last time my mistress, my wife, proves me wrong. Every time I think I can't possibly go any lower she drops me down a notch. I arrive home tired and exhausted after another day of washing dishes, although it's a treat to be home so early. Usually I'm working the dinner shift so my wife I'm kind of relieved that my wife texted me an "N", at least I don't have to cook a full dinner. I immediately go to my room and perform the ritual of changing rings. My heart sinks as I enter my room and see my wife has laid out a new dress for me to wear, complete with new stockings, garter belt, and delicate lace gloves. I match my lipstick with the new dress and exchange rings, placing another mark on our wedding picture. After a quick shower I put on the garter and stockings. Picking up the slutty dress reveals a note from my wife. "Full makeup and lock everything bitch." I begin shaking from excitement and fear. The wrist to neck chain is rolled up under the note. After my long transformation into a ridiculous looking cross dresser, and lock all my cuffs and collar, I begin my chores. About an hour later I receive a text message from my wife. "A". I quickly put my cleaning supplies away, mince to my room, close the door, and stand at attention, with the exception of my hands hanging from my neck. Fear begins it's well traveled journey through my mind and soul. Why the new clothes, why the full makeup. I'm so thankful that the I've only met Mr. Stanton up until now, and he's never seen me dressed like this. I have a feeling that is about to change and I begin to shake. I pray to my empty room...pray that I'm not paraded out to my neighbor, my boss, my engineering coworkers, Mr. Stanton, or my underlings. I pray this as I experience another mind fuck among thousands. Pulling the stool over is a difficult chore with my hands hanging from my neck. I sit on the stool It's even difficult to sit on the stool, without using my hands and because I'm shaking so much. Nothing has even started and I want it to end, the future is something I can only experience, my wife controls it. My collar and cuffs are locked on, my patent leather red fuck-me-pumps are locked on, and I'm locked in my room. I have 2 options, stay here and take what's coming or climb out the window and run down the street. I don't have a choice. I can't take this fucking waiting, it's killing me! I wait...for an eternity. There's a standing order that my keys are to go on a peg by the door and all the doors are locked when I'm home. My phone is in my purse on the nightstand, and there's no clock in the room. I wait not knowing for how long. Am I going to have to suck some guy off, am I going to be forced to get fucked by a guy, by Paul the new mechanical engineer, Rob the next door neighbor? The possibilities seemed endless as my mind raced uncontrollably. I found myself pleading to an empty room, praying to my Goddess "Please ma'am. Please don't do this. I beg you please, Please, PLEASE don't do this." Finally the garage door opens, long after I've driven myself insane. There are no voices as footsteps trail off to her bedroom, but I can clearly tell there's two people. I'm tired of sitting on the stool, but there's no way I could stand in these shoes with the way I'm shaking. I just really need my wife to come in, take me in her arms, give me a gentle kiss, and tell me it's all over - that this was just another big mind-fuck. A short time later the door to my room opens and my wife walks back to her room without saying a word. I struggle to get off the stool and resume my chores. I feel like there's a thousand pound weight on me and that time has stopped. My movements seem to take all my energy and are so painfully slow. I struggle to maintain my balance on my precarious heels. I feel so incredibly exposed as I enter the hallway. Terror rips through me as I think about how big Mr. Stanton is, how helpless I would be if he decided to shove his cock in my mouth, or rape me...his cock must be huge! I barely make it back to the kitchen, struggling to walk, when pain rips through her silly little dicklette. I lose control as I beg, "No...No...No! Please god NO! Please don't let this happen!" to an empty kitchen. I'm paralyzed; I can't move. My wife knows me better than I know myself. She knows my body is shutting down from fear, and sends a second but stronger shock to her silly little dicklette for motivation. After the current stops tearing through my tender flesh I jump up and mince to her room as quickly as I can. I pause at her door when I hear moans timed to the sound of the rocking bed. I reach up and grab to door handle but can't bring myself to turn the knob, my heart racing, mouth dry, shaking from the fear taking over me. Another shock to her silly little dicklette overcomes my paralysis. I have to bow down to turn the nob. When I slowly push the door open I'm overwhelmed by what I see before me. I just stand in the doorway like an impotent idiot. They stop what they were doing and he looks at me laughing. My naked wife is bent over the foot of the bed while his hands are wrapped around her waist pulling her deep into him. "Get over hear and kneel," my wife says breathlessly pointing to the side of the bed with the transmitter. I don't know how my body did it but I quickly took my place by the side of the bed. As soon as he started grinding in to my wife I lowered my head in shame. "Eyes up!" my wife ordered, followed by a quick jolt to her silly little dicklette. I had no choice but to take in what was going on before me. He grinds his hips in the same vulgar fashion he did so long ago, except this time he wasn't fucking some imaginary puta, he's fucking my wife; his dick deep inside my wife's cunt, busting that ass. It doesn't take either one of them long to forget I was there. One of his hands reached up and grabbed my wife's hair and pulled her head back while his hips continued the pounding. I couldn't believe how helpless my wife looked as Mr. Torres' strong arms controlled her, the sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room. My wife's moans became more primal as her head was violently pulled back, it looked like her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets, her lips curled like I've never seen before, her jaws clenched tight, spit flying off her lips. He's extremely vulgar, calling my wife bitch and slut in both English and Spanish. The desire to rip this bastard off my wife and beat the shit out of him quickly wells withing me, but just as quickly replaced by humiliation as I feel the silky stockings with my delicately gloved fingers, my wrists dangling helplessly from my collar. Mr. Torres responds to primal screams from my wife's contorted face by pulling her hair harder, by pounding her harder. The hand around her waist gives her one hard slap on the ass before pulling my wife deeper into him. I have never seen my wife like that and I suddenly realize I've never given her an orgasm. Her face barely looked human as spit poured out uncontrollably from her clenched teeth, her golden thighs slick from her own sweat and juices. Mr. Torres let her hair go and slowed down his relentless pounding. "Your husband ever make you scream like that Diane?" he asks, slowly grinding hi hips. "Oh my god no," she says struggling to catch her breath. He pulls out, grabs her legs and spins her around on the bed, flipping her over like a rag doll. I can't believe he hasn't cum yet. He manhandles my wife's breasts...squeezing them so hard she let's out a yelp. He's very rough with her, slapping her thighs and muff. He grabs my wife's ankles and spreads them above her face again rendering her helpless, the key to my manhood buried in his hands; Mr. Torres' sweaty ass a foot from my face as he begins to fuck my wife again. I really don't want to be here. This has to be the most humiliating experience of my life. My wife is getting fucked by a busboy, his ass so close to my face I can smell it, while I just sit here like a wimp...worse than a wimp, I'm dressed like a Mexican slut while my wife gets a complete fucking by a Mexican dishwasher. I'm not allowed to touch the key buried in his hand, unless it's to give it a respectful kiss. "You had better be looking straight ahead," my wife states, my body twitches and I let out a yelp as current rips through her silly little dicklette. After a while he let her ankles go and her legs quickly made their way around his waist. After an eternity primal grunts emanated from deep within his throat, hips bucking uncontrollably, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him in deeper, as a second orgasm racks her body. He collapses on top of my wife, his dick still in her. My wife's legs release their grip on him and drop to the floor. Their sweaty bodies expanding and contracting as they both try to catch their breath. After they were able to regain their composure my wife states "When Hector pulls out you will immediately get in their with your tongue and get me nice and clean." "Yes Ms. Harrison," I reply. Mr. Torres pulls out and sits next to my wife, grabbing one of her breasts and I quickly crawl over and begin licking his thick spunk out of my wife. My hair and face quickly become soaked in their juices. After she's satisfied that she's been thoroughly cleaned she sends me off to fetch some ice-tea for herself and her bull. As I was ordered away I felt so very thankful, thankful that I wasn't ordered to clean or otherwise have contact with Mr. Torres. Regardless, I have never been so thoroughly humiliated. A couple minutes later I return with their ice-teas. They have taken their places under the covers with my wife cuddling in Mr. Torres' arm. I place Mr. Torres' tea on the nightstand that used to be mine. I can't help but notice my wife is caressing Mr. Torres' cock under the covers. I mince over and place a glass of tea on my wife's nightstand, take a step back and stand at attention with my eyes cast to the ground. After being ignored for a couple of minutes I hear a snap of her finger, looking up I see her hand pointed to the corner where I quickly take my place. I stood in the corner with my wrists hanging from my neck, my forearms parallel to the floor like a begging puppy. Mr. Torres' English is pretty basic so they speak mostly in Spanish. I can't believe a person can feel so out of place in his own home; every time they laugh I know they're talking about me. My mind is racing, wondering what they are doing...literally behind my back, replaying graphic images of what I was just forced to witness - burning them into memory. I feel so humiliated standing here, so exposed. The balls of my feet are quickly becoming painful, and my calves begin to burn. I struggle desperately to comply with the very strict no fidgeting order. An image of Mr. Torres' ass flashes into my minds eye, my wife's legs wrapped around his waist. I hear them get off the bed. After an eternity standing in the corner my wife addresses me, "You must be starving senorita. Well we brought you a little surprise. Come." My wife attaches a leash to my collar and she and Mr. Torres walk together in front of me dressed in their elegant robes. When we get to the hall she tells me to get the box on top of the car and drops the leash, the cold steel startling my bare flesh. I return to the kitchen and hand my wife the box. She snaps her finger and points down, I quickly kneel on the floor with my eyes cast down. I hear the unmistakable sound of my metal dog bowl being placed on the counter. The sound of food scraps dumped in. The sound of spitting and laughing. The bowl is dropped in front of me and I stare at the contents. Scraps of salad, must be my wife's, a small piece of enchilada must have been Mr. Torres'. A small mix of rice, half eaten chips, refried beans, salsa, guacamole, and sour cream all thrown carelessly together. My wife senses my trepidation and presses the back of my head down with her foot. Although it's quite common, and even a bit of a turn on for me to eat my wife's masticated food, this is far worse than anything my wife has made me eat before. I suppress my instinct to vomit as I feel the first bits of thei leftover food make it past my lips. When my wife is satisfied that I'm eating she takes her foot off the back of my head. As my wife walks away she pulls the back of my dress up to my back, exposing the radio receiver and my panty clad ass. I fight back the tears as I eat this disgusting gruel while my wife and her lover laugh at my situation, mocking me as I force myself to swallow. "Maybe if we brought home the mariachi band he'd be a little more festive." "Si," Mr. Torres responds, both of them laughing. After I finally force the disgusting mix down my throat I dread what I must do next. I slowly crawl over to where they're sitting and look up to them sitting high above me. "Thank you so much Ms. Harrison and Mr. Torres for the wonderful meal," I say as sincerely as I can. "Well I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now kiss my foot to show me how much you enjoyed it," Mr. Torres laughs as I lower my face to her foot. Mr. Torres says something in Spanish and my wife with a sexy "mmmm". Her foot pushes away my face and she walks over to Mr. Torres' chair. "Eyes up," my wife says. Looking up I watch as my wife dances seductively in front of Mr. Torres. She grabs his hand and guides him out of his chair. He stands before her. She grinds her hips against his as she guides him over to me. Terror floods through me as I imagine the worst. They invade my space, my wife's thighs brushing up against me while Mr. Torres' groin is inches from my face. My wife seductively unties the belt to his robe. My worst nightmare...my worst fucking nightmare...she's going to make my suck his dick! Fear...fear like I've never felt..stark raging fear! My wife seductively drops to her knees. She gives me a big smile before she takes him in her mouth and, ever so slowly, deep throats him. I'm brought back to a conversation early in our relationship when she told me in no uncertain terms that she would never go down on me, and she has kept her word. I'm thankful beyond whatever I could ever express...and completely devastated. My wife's face is inches from mine as she gives a lowly busboy a gift she has never given me. A wave of emotion washes over me as I come to the realization that I'll probably go to my grave never knowing the feeling that Mr. Torres is feeling right now. He sounds like he's in heaven as soft moans emanate from him, his strong hands guiding her head. I can't believe how sexy my wife's mouth is, her lips...her cheeks. A short time later my wife slowly pulls her mouth of Mr. Torres' hard cock, and while she gently strokes it she looks up to him and says "No you don't stud. You're going to pound me to another couple orgasms tonight." She turns to me, grabs my chin and gently directs my eyes to hers, "Oh poor baby, I don't know which would be worse - knowing what you're missing or knowing you'll never know what so many men have felt from these succulent lips." Her tongue slowly and seductively makes it's way from my chin to my nose, twirling her tongue around my nose, leaving a trail of spit on my face. She turns and performs the same motion from Mr. Torres' balls to the tip of his cock, he lets out a moan as her tongue twirls around the tip. She then pulls his robe closed and ties his belt and giving him a kiss. I can't even begin to imagine what Mr. Torres just felt. Everything seems so surreal, time so painfully slow. My mind and emotions both on overload and I want so desperately for this night to end, to never have happened. It's getting late and at least I can find comfort in the fact that she'll soon send me to my room. The starkness of my room will be a welcome relief from this emotional overload. My pain and humiliation deepen as I watch them dance and grind before me, his hands wrapped around my wife's waist, grabbing her ass, hers wrapped around the back of his neck. I was dismissed. I spent the next hour doing chores while my wife and her bull got dressed and sat in the living room watching a movie. When it was just about bedtime my wife beckoned me, "You have a half hour to powder your nose. When you're finished stand in front of your bed. You will not be able to use the bathroom after so use your time wisely," my wife states. "Yes Ms. Harrison," I reply. Although my nightmare is about to end, a new terror quickly replaces my relief: how will I get all this makeup off before I go back to the restaurant in the morning? Only if you've every tried to wash off mascara will you know my dread. Still, the solitude of my room is what I so desperately need. I drink a glass of water and prepare for a night locked in my room. I sit on the toilet and tinkle, and then wipe the little pee hole with toilet paper. "Powder your nose" also means I must touch up my makeup and tidy myself up. After I've completed everything I need to I go stand at attention in front of my bed. I stand, wondering if she forgot about me, wondering if I exist in the recesses of my wife's mind. Finally I hear the footsteps I've so longed for. I hope she unlocks my cuffs and my shoes, that she offers me a gentle kiss and a strong hug before putting me to bed. She walks in slowly and seductively, staring into my eyes and straight through to my soul. I want to thank her for finally putting an end to my suffering, She stands before me staring into my eyes for what seemed an eternity; her hand slowly rises and my body anticipates what it so desperately needs - the soft gentle caress from my wife's gentle hand as she reassures my broken soul. I have no choice but to follow as my wife turns and walks away, my leash held tightly in her hand. I stumble in my heels as I struggle to keep up with her. "Please!" I beg. "You're not about to cum," she replies laughing. She has changed her clothes, and she is totally hot. She struts before me in the hottest red and black negligee I've ever seen, complete with a garter belt, seamed stockings, and a pair of red pumps exactly like mine, except instead of a thick locking collar she has a dainty strap. Her delicate hand holds so much control over me, the chain to my collar doubled over in her hands, pulling my leash tight. When we return to her room I'm pushed to my knees. My leash is replaced by a 6 inch chain that is locked to the top of her footboard. Soft candlelight gives the room a sensual feeling, while a heady mix of Delerium type music fills the room. My wife lays on the bed before me and gives me a wicked hot kiss, her tongue invading my mouth while her hands pull at my hair. As quickly as that began, it ended. As soon as her lips left mine they were replaced by a penis gag pushed into my mouth. "I know you won't make a sound. I just like the thought of you sucking on a cock while I get fucked," she says seductively as she stares into my eyes. I can't help but feel breathless as I gaze at my wife's beautiful face in the soft candlelight: her eyes, her lips, her hair, the intoxicating smell of her sensual perfume fill my soul with longing and desire. I can't help but to feel I'm in the presence of a Goddess. My wife finishes fastening the straps far too quickly. After pulling the sheet down she takes her place on the bed. I have no choice but to watch her waiting, wanton. She rubs her breast, a finger in her mouth. The Goddess is transforming herself into a wanton slut. Her hand reaches between her legs while all I can do is watch. After a few minutes Mr. Torres walks into the room fully clothed and stands by the bed. There's nothing subtle about him...he's vulgar and crass. He grabs my wife's breasts, twisting and squeezing. My wife cries out, but he just keeps attacking her soft tender breasts with his rough hands. My wife tries to pull his hands away, but he grips harder into her tender breasts and my wife lets out a scream. He pulls the Chemise off of her and tosses it on the floor. My wife's tender breasts are turning pink as his hands brutally manhandle her naked breasts. The chain to my leash pulls taught as I instinctively jump up to save my wife. His face lowers down and he presses his lips to hers, not so much in a kiss but more of a violation. My wife tries to scream as his tongue invades her mouth. I find myself yelling incoherently into my thick penis gag as I see the woman I love with all my heart clearly in distress. Mr. Torres pulls a large knife out of his pocket and flicks it open with a quick flip of his wrist. Neither one of us can do anything as he holds my wife's neck, candlelight reflecting off the sharp blade. He drags the tip of his knife across my wife's tender flesh. He doesn't stop until the knife reaches her hips. The sharp tip of his knife edges up against my wife's tender thigh until the blade is between her panties and her hip, a quick pull up and the waistband of her delicate panties are cut in half. He does the same motion to cut away the other side of her panties. After setting the open knife on her nightstand he reaches down and rips the destroyed panties from under her, tossing them on the floor. He's rough; red welts rise from her tender body wherever his strong hands tear at her tender flesh. Her breasts are bright red, as are the inside of her thighs. He manhandles my wife's tender crotch, at times lifting her off the bed He lowers his pants and grabs my wife by her hair, shoving her face into his cock. She has no choice but to take him in her mouth. It isn't long before he takes his place between her legs. His jeans are lowered to his cowboy boots. His well worn boots and her sexy bedroom shoes are inches from my face. I have no choice but to watch this violent defiling of my wife while my favorite music plays in the background. All I can do is kneel in my fucking Lolita costume and suck on a large penis gag, and watch. I feel so fucking impotent on so many levels. It's not until my wife's sexy legs wrap around his torso that I realize she is getting turned on; her pleas for mercy are replaced with pleas for more, pleas for harder. I have no choice but to watch a 20 something year old Mexican immigrant fuck and abuse my wife, while she screams for more. Isn't that the low of the low...the pool boy, the janitor, the dishwasher, fucking the upper middle class wife?? Fuck!! I'm a fucking dishwasher!!! I think of when I made love to my wife, so tender and loving. Soft caresses and tender kisses. I was a perfect gentleman who never manhandled her, never groped her, always romanced her. I always thought of her pleasure before my own. A bouquet of roses, bottle of wine, dark chocolate, dinner at a fine restaurant...tender yet passionate kisses, strong hands gently rubbing her body, extra gentle with her breasts and between her legs. I treated her like a princes...he's treating her like a fucking whore, and she fucking loves it! They must have fucked for another 15 minutes. I couldn't believe the stamina of Mr. Torres. After she orgasmed a couple more times she begged him to stop, but he just kept ramming her, ignoring my wife's pleas. His hips thrust violently as he pulled my wife's hips toward him, primal grunts as his body writhes uncontrollably, depositing his load deep within my wife. They laid there spent with him on top of her, both bodies glistening in sweat, both just trying to catch their breath...his face resting against my wife's neck, her arms lay spent at her side. After an eternity my wife thanks Mr. Torres, kisses him, and tells him they need to get ready for bed. After Mr. Torres finally rolls off my wife she pulls up the edge of the fitted sheet by her feet and cleans the mess between her thighs, I can see gobs of his cum as she flexes her muscles. My wife reaches over, grabs a key off her nightstand and unlocks the lock that held the chain to her footboard, and places the lock and key on her nightstand. . "Change the sheets, but don't put the fitted sheet in the laundry. Use the summer comforter. Blow out the candles and turn the thermostat down to 65." While I scurry about the room performing my tasks my wife unbuckles the thin straps of her pumps and removes her shoes and tosses them carelessly on the floor. She takes off what's left of her lingerie and tosses it carelessly on the floor. She throws on a red satin babydoll and matching panties. Mr. Torres takes off everything but his boxers and then goes into my wife's bathroom and takes a piss; he doesn't even have the consideration to close the door. I haven't peed in that bathroom for years, I'm not allowed. Although he's more well endowed than myself he's not large, but it sounds like a racehorse is pissing. I think about the tinkle sound I make as the pee dribbles out of my chastity belt, I can't even remember standing up to pee. When he's done he simply struts back into her room and sits on her chair watching me make the bed. It isn't long after that the bed is made up, the covers turned down on each side. I mince around pushing the wick into the wax on her pillar candles so the wicks don't smoke, they laugh hysterically as I try to blow enough air through the tiny hole in the penis gag to blow out the tapered candles. I scurry out to the hall and turn the thermostat down from 68 to 65. When I return I see my wife straddling Mr. Torres, his disgusting boxers tossed on the floor next to her delicate lingerie. She snaps her fingers and points to the bathroom. I quickly mince into her bathroom and wipe Mr. Torres' piss and pubic hair from off the bowl with a piece of toilet paper, flush the toilet, close the lid, and turn out the light. "Lock yourself to the bottom of the footboard," my wife says. I grab the lock from her nightstand and attach the lock to an eye-bolt on the of her footboard. After a couple of minutes Mr. Torres' retires to what was so long ago, my side of the bed, while my wife appears before me with the filthy sheet held carefully in her fingers. "Roll over." My wife places the sheet over me, pulling the sheet over my shoes. "Roll back." She wraps the sheet around me like a cocoon, cold wet sticky globs of cum seem to be everywhere. After washing her hands she turns out the lights and retires to bed. I listen as bodies are pulled together, arms and legs finding their comfort zones, wrapping around body parts. The expensive sheets and comforter pulled over them as they lay in each others arms on my wife's very expensive and very comfortable bed. It isn't long before they find comfort in each others embrace and fall asleep. The coolness of the room makes it very comfortable for two bodies to sleep close together. Now all I can do is lay cold and lonely at the foot of her bed, wrapped in their sweat and cum. The skimpy dress, pantyhose, and thin wet sheet do nothing to keep me warm as I lay on the floor. My mind races uncontrollably as I try desperately to fall asleep where I can finally escape. Emotions and thoughts consume me...rage, jealousy, desperate longing, overwhelming love for my wife, my birthday is coming up, how long since I've orgasmed or even had cummies, "You'll have to accept I'll never go down on you.", I'm really cold, the image of Mr. Torres' ass in my face, my dinner, washing dishes, fuck I'm desperately horny, my shoes are very uncomfortable, her lips wrapped around his cock, the look of his cock, I can't remember the last time I saw mine, I'm sucking on a penis, fear, tomorrow. I drift in and out of sleep. Every moment I'm awake I hear their breathing, their snoring. They are both completely spent and sexually satisfied, warm in each others embrace, and comfortable. I want to tuck my hands between my thighs, but I can't. The night is long. I don't know how long I've slept or how long I've been awake. I don't know what time it is or how long I have before I need to go to my dish washing job. I struggle to sleep. FUCK! My makeup! How will I get it off???? I need sleep!!!! Daylight begins to shine through the curtains. Holy fuck I'm going to be late! Do I scream in the penis gag and try and wake her?? I'm so torn. No...I don't dare...but she told me I better not lose this job. I'm so fucking tormented!!! What should I do!!??? Fuck! I'm so tired. Something drops on my face waking me out of a very deep sleep. The foggy sound of a woman speaking. I try to get into the fetal position but my hands can't get to my thighs. I pull them up under my head like a pillow and try to fall back to sleep. I jump up quickly and my neck is stopped violently by a chain. I try desperately to stop the pain in her silly little dicklette but my hands stop short. I try to scream but I'm muffled by something in my mouth. I quickly realize my reality. I look on the floor and grab a key. My shaking hands struggle to unlock the lock at the bottom of the bed before there's another zap to her silly little dicklette. I hear a soft tender voice say "Oh no dear, go back to sleep," followed by a gentle kiss. I jump to attention and see my wife's finger held against her lips as he nuzzles up to my wife's breast. When she's sure I've received the order she gestures for me to "come here" with the same finger. When I stand by her side she grabs one of my chains and pulls me down so my ear is next to her lips. "Coffee. You may get yourself some water and powder your nose," she whispers in my ear, her hot breath in my ear causing goosebumps all over as she removes the penis gag. Oh my god I'm late for work! I try to be as quiet as I can as I mince out of her room, trying not to wake the man sleeping next to my wife. It's painful to stand up straight as her silly little dicklette tries in vain to rip through it's steel tube, but that's my problem and I must suffer through alone. I stumble in my 5" heels as I scurry to the kitchen. After the coffee is started I sit down to take a pee and I can't help but remember the sound of his piss as I tinkle in the bowl. My makeup is atrocious. All I can do is wipe off the mascara that has run all over my face and apply some lipstick. My hair is hard and spiky from their cum. My dress is stained with cum, I can feel hard cum wherever I have exposed flesh; I feel completely and totally disgusting. Fifteen minutes later I arrive at my wife's bedroom with a fresh cup of coffee and a fresh red rose on a silver serving tray, she'll never know how difficult it is carrying a tray with hands chained to a collar. My wife points to the nightstand where I struggle to kneel and place her cup and rose. My wife points her finger to the floor and I kneel by her side. She points her finger again to the floor and I lay down by the side of her bed. I lay at the side of her bed among her discarded clothes listening to the occasional sips of coffee and movements, not privileged to lay by her side or to even know what she's doing. The dishwasher my wife fucked last night sleeps comfortably beside her while I lay on the floor cold, covered in his cum. "Mmmmm, good morning stud. I hope your slept well," I hear sometime later followed by the sound of a kiss. "Si." After a few minutes I jump to my knees to the sound of of my wife snapping her fingers. I'm greeted by the sight of my wife's well manicured hand wrapped around Mr. Torres' cock. "Well, we can't leave you to suffer now can we. Swing your legs over here so I can take proper care of that," my wife says pointing over in my direction. Again she kneels beside me, spreading Mr. Torres' legs as she crawls between them. I'm forced to spread my legs as his leg invades my space, Mr. Torres' foot rests against my inner thigh. Once again I'm forced to watch as my wife wraps her incredibly sexy lips around another man's cock, a vivid memory of her telling me early in our relationship, "I hope you can live the rest of your life without a blow-job because I'll never have a filthy cock in my mouth." Cheeks sucked in as her head bobs slowly. Tongue swirling around the tip, tongue slipping between her sensual lips and his cock. The sound of slurping, her lips pressed against the base of his cock, veins popping .. A trail of spit from her lips to his cock when she pulls her lips away. The slurping, kissing, sucking sounds mix with her moans. Her eyes roll back when she deep-throats him. The look of her lips, her face when she pulls away for a second...oh my god, I've never seen a face so fucking hot, so fucking carnal. Mr. Torres grabs a fist-full of hair and takes control of the pace, my wife has no choice but to follow her hair. My wife claws at his inner thigh with her well manicured nails and he loses control. She grabs his ass as Mr. Torres skull-fucks my wife, letting go of her hair and enjoying the ride. As soon as he calms down my wife pulls her mouth of his cock and grabs the back of my head. She looks at me for a second, a small stream of cum dripping from her closed lips. She presses her lips to mine forcing my lips open with her tongue before depositing her load. "Normally I swallow, but today I have a little cum bucket," she says laughing as she climbs back on the bed. "Would you like some coffee Hector?" "Si." "Get Mr. Torres some coffee, then make us your Migas con Salsa Verde. Oh, and no dishwasher privileges for you today." "Yes Ms. Harrison." After scurrying about in the kitchen for about 40 minutes I present the couple with their breakfast trays. It was impossible for me to carry both trays with my hands chained to my neck and wobbling in my heels, so I had to carry one up at a time and leave one outside the door while I ran to get the other. Mr. Torres said something in Spanish and my wife immediately chastises me about forgetting the Tabasco sauce, followed by a sharp pain in her silly little dicklette that causes me to double over in pain. I scurry down as quickly as I can in my fuck-me-pumps and get the Tabasco sauce for Mr. Torres. My wife then tells me to run down and get my bowl. "Fetch us another cup of coffee," I'm quickly becoming exhausted as I run up and down the stairs in my stilettos. After returning, my wife snaps her fingers and points to the corner. My fucking feet are killing me, there's no way I can stand in the corner! I can't stop my legs from shaking, my calves burn, the balls of my feet burn, as I listen to the couple eating breakfast. Laughing, kissing, moans, sipping, silverware, and conversations in Spanish. The sound of a fork scrapping a plate, the sound of food plopping in a metal bowl. "Take our trays downstairs," orders my wife. "You have one hour to yourself...eat your breakfast and to do anything you wish. You will then take a nice warm bath for a half hour and relax. I'm proud of you cuck," followed by a gentle kiss to the cheek. She unlocks all the locks, but leaves them in their D-ring. It takes everything I have to walk, to stumble actually... I served them the rest of the day. My wife had me dress in more appropriate attire: a red french maids outfit with sensible shoes. When they didn't require my direct services, or I wasn't hand washing their dishes, washing his clothes, or preparing them something, I was doing my chores. I would drop what I was doing when I felt a jolt to her silly little dicklette and run to where they were relaxing. The worst time was when they were out on the patio and I came scurrying to meet their latest demand and I saw Mr. Torres holding the remote; I couldn't help but notice my wife staring through me, looking incredibly seductive, before I lowered my gaze. It was an extremely powerful reminder that her property, me, could easily be loaned out by her and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. All she had to do was to hand someone the remote to her her little dicklette and I would have no choice but to do whatever I was told by the holder. "More tea." "Yes sir Mr. Torres," I said as I grabbed his dirty glass. I was about to ask my wife if she needed anything when a surge of electricity to her silly little dicklette caused me to double over in pain. "Rapido!" He shouts, both of them breaking out in laughter. My wife took Mr. Torres out for dinner that evening while I continued on with my chores, but not before I had to thank him for pleasing my wife. After a few hours I hear the garage door open and rush to greet my wife at the door, thankfully she is finally alone. After taking the doggy bag from her and kissing her boots she tells me to place the food on the counter and wait for her outside her room. A few minutes later she opens the door still dressed as she was, but with a huge dildo strapped around her jeans. She tugs on my leash and drags me to the foot of her bed, quickly pushing me over so that I'm on the exact spot my wife was when I walked in and saw Mr. Torres fucking her. "I hope you enjoy this as much as I did slut." To be continued...