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BLACK MASTER by Throne What can I say? My wife Tilda has turned me into a sissy. And her chaste bedroom slave. Plus a cuckold with a Black Master. It started on our wedding night. Tilda was stunning in her pure white gown, which was tight enough to show off her somewhat full figure and abbreviated enough to display her deep cleavage and shapely legs. As I sat nervously on the edge of the bed in our wedding suite, she undressed slowly, giving me an unforgettable show. Her long blond hair had been up in a French knot but now she undid it and let it fall over her creamy shoulders. When she was down to just her white lingerie, including stockings and a garter belt, she stepped back into her heels and strutted back and forth in front of me. "Like what you see, Freddy?" she said. I nervously fussed with my tuxedo jacket. "Yes. You're... magnificent." "Well thank you," she said with complete confidence in her appearance. Then she struck a saucy pose, in profile with her bottom thrust out. "Now how about if you show me what you've got to offer." My forefinger went under the tight collar of my formal shirt and tugged at it. In a weak voice I responded, "Sure, dear." All through our courtship and engagement I'd dreaded this moment. You see, my bride had never seen me naked. Our sex life had consisted of me giving her oral sex. With my clothes on. It was our third date when she took me to her apartment, gave me plenty of hugging and kissing, got me sexually overheated, and then sprung her trap. She undressed from the waist down and suggested that I use my mouth on her. I was so aroused, and frankly so afraid of losing her if I didn't do it, that I knelt in front of the sofa where she was sitting with her legs lewdly spread. A guy like me, short and physically unimpressive, doesn't want to lose a girl like her. I didn't relish using my mouth that way but did it nevertheless. She had several moaning orgasms before she let me stop. Then, instead of reciprocating, she got dressed again and praised me for a job well done, as if the one-sided action that had just taken place was perfectly normal between a guy and the girl he was dating. I was confused but went along with it. I mean, at least she hadn't been disappointed. And as much as I wanted to have sex with her, I was secretly relieved because of my fear that she would be displeased once she discovered my shameful secret. You see, I have a small penis. And by 'small' I mean tiny. Just a nubbin when it's soft and barely four slender inches when it's hard. So I too acted like what had occurred was natural and acceptable. After that night she invited me into her bedroom regularly and made sure we replayed the scene every time. Tilda was very generous when it came to foreplay, happily taking me to the brink of fulfillment over and over, nibbling my ears, toying with my nipples through my shirt, rubbing her plump thigh against the crotch of my pants, yet never completing what she started. I, on the other hand, gave her everything she expected. It wasn't unusual for her to experience from three to five climaxes. Afterwards she would compliment my performance, which made me proud despite my unvoiced disappointment about not being paid back in kind. I loved making her happy and, as those encounters were the extent of our love life, my focus became more and more about serving her without complaint. I still didn't enjoy it but I became acclimated to the act and, as it involved her tantalizing me first and I being allowed to put my hands on her hips, bottom and thighs while I pleasured her, it was strangely exciting, even addictively so. Anyway, on our wedding night, I knew the moment of truth had come. As I got out of my jacket and shirt, exposing my pale and almost hairless upper body, I couldn't keep from mentally comparing myself to our Best Man at the ceremony, Daryl. Usually the groom picks who will fill that role, but I don't have a lot of friends and, when I hesitated, Tilda happily volunteered to ask a guy from high school. I figured that whoever she chose would be acceptable, just another guy like me perhaps, but when I met Daryl at our first rehearsal for the ceremony, I got an unwelcome shock. He was tall and broad-chested, obviously athletic, and swaggeringly self-assured. The opposite of me and exactly the kind of guy who I'd never been able to compete with for girls. And he was Black. He was quite dark, had a small patch of beard under his lower lip, and kept his head shaved. I was absolutely intimidated. After the rehearsal, when the two of us went back at Tilda's apartment, she asked me what I thought about him. I mumbled something about him seeming like a nice guy, even though I wasn't happy about how familiar he had been with my fianc?. She smiled and said he'd always been nice, including during the time she had dated him. I was stunned. He was her former boyfriend? When I blurted out something about that she got angry at me. Somehow she turned the situation around and made it sound like it was me who was being unreasonable. I ended up apologizing. She had calmed down somewhat by then but was still pouty. That was when I volunteered to 'do nice things' for her in bed. Tilda gave me a sly smile and said, "You want to worship your goddess?" That was a strange way to put it but I said, eager to get past our conflict, "Of course I do. You know how much I like doing that for you." She stepped up to me, began playing with my nipples through the tennis shirt I was wearing, and said in an innocent playful voice, "Even though you know I'm only going to tease you and then leave you horny? Hmmm? Even though Tilda's going to send you home with your balls so awfully sore?" I hesitated. She had never broached the subject before. But by then I had been bent to her will and, as I said, become somewhat hooked on our uneven roles. Not sure why I was saying it, I told her, "That's okay. I just want to make you happy, darling. I mean..." That was when I should have a least hinted that I wished for a more reciprocal arrangement. But instead I finished with, "... my needs aren't important. All that matters is you." Maybe I was still dodging the issue of my undersized penis. I don't know. She wiggled her finger to tell me to follow and led me to her bedroom. I couldn't take my eyes off her broad swaying bottom. It was so inviting. Even though all I would be allowed to do was touch it while my mouth was busy between her legs, I didn't care. She had me dependent on getting what little she allowed. She gave me an extra generous helping of arousal before I got started using my lips and tongue. She insisted on having me kiss her mound and those moist pink nether lips, instructing me to do it romantically, as if I was kissing her mouth. That made me uneasy but I complied anyway, pleased that she wasn't angry or even petulant anymore. When I progressed to lapping her, my hands running over her smooth hips, she began a dreamy monologue. "That's so nice, Freddy. You've gotten so good down there. It's almost like I'm in bed with another girl." She purred contentedly. "Not some rough guy like Daryl. He was such an animal when we were together. With his huge cock. I couldn't keep my hands off it. Or my mouth. And when he slammed it into me... ohhhhh." What was she saying? I told myself that it was just because I was putting her into a distracted state with my special talent and devotion. That she didn't know what thoughts she was voicing. But it still hurt. And if she had been to bed with a guy like him, how could I ever make her forget that? "Switch back to kissing. Nice and tender, Freddy. Or if you're my girlfriend, maybe it should be Franny. Kiss my pussy, Franny, and say you're in love with it." Confused, but not daring to spoil her mood, I murmured, "I love you, Tilda's pussy." Several gentle kisses followed. "I love you so much." My tongue penetrated as if I was entering her mouth and expecting her own tongue to meet mine. "This is so wonderful. I could keep doing it forever." She surprised me by whispering, "I might make that dream come true, Franny." By the time it was over I was dazed by the thought of being made over into her female lover. But after the fifth time she finished she just told me sleepily that I had been terrific. And she did go back to addressing me as Freddy, so I took that as a good sign. Afterwards she occasionally joked about that evening, mischievously addressing me as Franny and teasingly threatening to make me assume that identity full time. I took it calmly, telling myself that it would go no further. In the final days before our wedding I convinced myself that everything would be fine. Even that once my penile disadvantage was revealed she would forgive it and grant me the full bedroom privileges that were my due as her husband. Which brings us back to that fateful evening, after the ceremony. After the reception, during which she had shared several slow dances with Daryl, pressing herself tightly against his manly form, we left the modest ballroom and went upstairs to our honeymoon suite to consummate our vows. She had gotten mostly undressed and showed herself off to me. I had shed my jacket and shirt. I was still being optimistic. I got out of my shoes and pants and stood there in my jockey shorts, unhappily aware of how small a bump my immature genitals made in the front of them. She eyed me there and her brows drew together in the first sign of disappointment. I gained a few more moments by belatedly removing my socks. Then there were no more easy delays to be had. I hooked my fingers under the waist of my shorts and, turning slightly away from her, got them over my soft thighs, the rest of the way down, and stepped out of them. Still holding my underwear by my side, I turned back toward her. Tilda frowned. She said, "Really? You waited until now to let me know that I was marrying a guy with a dick that looks like..." She shrugged and shook her pretty head, making her hair shimmer. "... like an acorn?" "I... I'm sorry," I responded feebly. "I didn't think it would... I mean, I thought you wouldn't... I didn't want to..." She rolled her eyes. "You imagined that it would be fine with me. That I'd just laugh and not care that you had lied to me. That's a lie of omission when you leave out something as important as that, Freddy. Or maybe Franny, since you don't have a cock like a man would. This is a terrible betrayal. I need some sort of consolation. I wonder if..." She went to her bag and took out her cellphone, then hit a pre-set number. After a moment she said, "Hey, are you still here at the hotel. You're at the bar? I'm coming down. I need a friend to talk to." She closed the phone and glared at me. "A friend. Not a liar who doesn't care about my feelings." I was devastated. What had I done? All my efforts to please her in bed had been cancelled out by the revelation of my tiny dick. I felt queasy. And now she was going downstairs to the bar, presumably to get sympathy from one of her girlfriends who had been at the ceremony. Tilda sneered at me and snapped, "You can stay like you are and get into bed. Don't turn on the TV. And don't cover up. Not even a sheet. I'll be back later and then I'll let you know what we're going to do about how horribly you've misled me." She slipped into a short dress that was electric blue and shiny, got her feet into a pair of black heels, and stormed out. Feeing numb, I obediently got on the bed. I wanted to put on something, even if it was just my underwear, but was too afraid of earning her wrath again. So there I sat, on the edge of the mattress, alone with my regrets and worries, for the next hour. When Tilda returned she was much less agitated. In one hand she carried a small overnight bag. "All right," she announced decisively. "I've decided what you have to do to make this right, at least for starters. I'm going to turn you from Freddy into Franny for the rest of the night. You're going to act totally girly the whole time, no matter what happens. Right?" I nodded, relieved that she was offering me some way to atone for my misdeed. "Yes, dear." "My girlfriend Clair came from out of town for the wedding, so she had some things I could borrow to do the job. And she's just about your size. Isn't that nice?" "Yes, Tilda. That's... good." "Damn right." My bride took a deep calming breath. "Now let's get started. I want to salvage whatever I can from this mess." Off balance emotionally, not sure what all she intended to do, I slid off the bed and stood waiting. She set the bag on the mattress and opened it. I was dismayed to see plenty of female clothing and, right on top, several items of lingerie. My wife picked up a pair of panties, bright pink ones with ruffles all around, and held them up. She decided out loud, "These look like something a Franny would wear." She gave me a devilish look. "Especially if she was my lezzie lover and wanted to please me." The idea of pleasing her registered strongly with me, I suppose because I was already conditioned that way. I accepted the lightweight garment with both hands and a shiver ran up my arms. I didn't want to put on that feminine piece of underwear. I glanced longingly at my discarded shorts, which were lying on the bed. But then she said something about having our marriage annulled and visions of the disgrace that would entail sent me into a silent panic. I bent forward and stepped into the panties, first with one foot and then the other. Pulling them along my legs I felt their soft caress against my smooth skin. I shuddered. She made me tuck my genitals back and pull the garment up more, with the result that it appeared that there was nothing masculine between my thighs, only the patch of blond peach-fuzz that was my pubic hair. Biting my lower lip, I looked to Tilda for approval. She didn't smile but she said, "That's a start." She turned back to the bag and considered, "Those panties would go good with..." Her eyes lit as she spied the edge of something and uncovered it. What she lifted and held up for me to see was a filmy baby doll nightie, short and a paler pink than what I had just put on. It was so unnerving that I thought I would start to weep. But I swallowed my pride and accepted the diaphanous piece of bedroom wear, got it over my head, and let it slither down my torso. The hem settled at the level of my navel and the material was nearly transparent. I could see my nipples through it. She grinned wolfishly and took me by my upper arm, her fingers sinking into my rubbery bicep. I whimpered as she led me back to the bed and commanded me to sit on its foot. As I waited, she went through the bag once more, selected some things I couldn't see, and took more from her own suitcase. As she laid them out alongside me I was appalled to find that they were cosmetics, hair products, and a brush. Tilda went to work gleefully. Twenty minutes later she had me stand, took me by the ear, and led me into the bathroom. I was in front of the wall-mounted mirror over the sink but, with the light out, could see only a vague outline of my head and shoulders. As my eyes adapted to the faint light the image resolved itself to the point where I could tell that my hair had been made fuller and sculpted a bit so that, although it was only long enough to fall over the tops of my ears, it now appeared rather girlish. As I was trying to make out more she surprised me by turning on the light. I got the shock of my life. Staring back at me, eyes wide and mouth agape, was a very pretty, even sexy, young lady. Except that it was me. I had on plenty of eye make-up, my cheeks had been given an artificial blush, and my mouth appeared larger and was pale coral. No, no, no. But I had to save my endangered marriage. She looked over my shoulder and laughed at my reflection. To the pink cosmetics on my cheeks I added a natural flush. My new wife took me by the ear and marched me back to the bed. She pointed toward the carpet. I knelt, facing the mattress. She reached under her short dress to remove her panties, then draped them lightly over my new hair-do. Tilda sat, swung one leg over my head and got directly in front of me. She hiked up her dress to the tops of her full thighs and parted her knees wide, giving me easy access to her open pussy lips. I sobbed and bent to my task, licking gently at first, applying several of those loving kisses she had liked before, then concentrating on her clitoris for a bit, finally probing with my tongue. It went on like that for about ten more minutes as I varied my techniques, tasting both the lipstick I wore and her natural feminine flavor, with her sighing in appreciation. Was I finally winning back my bride? That was when a firm double-knock sounded on the door. I jerked away but she grabbed me by the ears and yanked my face back where she wanted it. Tilda removed the panties from atop my head and tossed them to the floor. I heard the door open and tried to wrench free but she twisted my ears and held my face against her wet mound. "Hey, babe," came a voice I knew too well. Daryl's. I froze. She said to him, "Yeah, lover. I'm so glad you're here. I was afraid Claire wouldn't be able to reach you. I guess she told you my new husband turned out to be a dickless loser. He didn't even have the courtesy or honesty to tell me he was less than a man. So now he has to pay for that. And I need you to save my wedding night. I thought I'd never feel that monster tool of yours inside me again, Daryl. I expected to be a good and faithful wife. But just look at me. Stuck with a no- pricked husband who isn't good for anything except eating pussy and looking like a sissy. I'll just have to make the best of it. How about if you bring that killer bone of yours over here?" He chuckled drily. "Stuck in a sexless marriage. Need a real man to take care of your needs. Kind of like back in school, when you had that wimp boyfriend who drove you around, bought you gifts..." "And ate my pussy and got nothing in return. Because you were the only guy I was jumping into bed with." They both laughed. She said something about how history was repeating itself. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was unthinkable. But Daryl did as she asked and came to her. Tilda released her hold on my ears but I didn't stop what I was doing, just slowed down. I turned my eyes up enough to see that tall Black man smirking down at me. He said to her, "You really did get stuck with a pussy boy. A boy who acts like a pussy and eats your pussy. Well, let's see what we can do to make you feel better." He unzipped his fly, reached into his pants, and pulled out a cock that put mine to shame. "Think this'll help?" I shifted my gaze and saw her licking her lips. "For sure." Her hand went to his member which, though flaccid, was over seven inches and thick as well. She gave it a few strokes, making approving sounds as it swelled, and soon it was over eight inches and even wider than before. The head was an impressive knob. Tilda said, "Just get it a little closer." He did and she dipped down her head. His organ was standing up enough that it was easy for her to capture the end between her eager lips. It broke my heart to see her lovingly suck on it, her tongue darting in and out to stimulate the underside. He growled and told her she was as good as she had ever been. Tilda removed her mouth from his member with a juicy slurp. She said, "And I'm sure you're as good with your shaft as you ever were. But I'm going to need a demonstration anyway." He said, "Right. And later you can use that check I gave you for a wedding gift to buy yourself some slutty bedroom outfits, for me to see you in." She told him, "I have a few of those already packed. I was going to wear them for Franny down there, but now they'll be just for you. I mean, the sissy will be able to look, just not touch." She chortled. "I'm really getting into giving my wifey-husband what she deserves." Pinching my cheek hard, she asked, "And you do deserve it, don't you, Franny? You deserve to be treated mean and not given any sex on your own honeymoon. Right?" I stopped lapping her long enough to agree, "Yes, Tilda. I'm sorry I lied to you." "And you'll be sorry for a long time, Franny girl." She pushed back my head and stood. I retreated further on my knees. She went to Daryl and, as I looked over my shoulder, tilted back her head, letting him give her a kiss on her neck while he ran his hands over her generous curves. After he was done there was a mark where his mouth had been, the result of a love bite. She handled is cock and told him, "That king-size battering ram of yours is so freaking hard. Let's put it to work." "You got it," he said. "But how about if your sissy husband gets you undressed. I mean, we shouldn't leave him out completely." She looked down at me and laughed. "Yeah, he's good for that much. Along with getting my snatch nice and wet like he did, so your cock will slide right in." She gestured for me to get up and I did. Tilda fingered my nipples through the thin material of the nightie. I squirmed and couldn't contain a whimper of need. My bride turned her back on me and rubbed her full round bottom against my straining penis. I unzipped her and helped her wriggle out of the dress. Next I unhooked her bra so she could free her heavy bust. I desperately wanted to touch her breasts, which I had never even gotten to do up until then, but knew they were still denied to me. But not to Daryl, who got behind her and reached around to paw them, his dark hands contrasting with her pale skin. She turned her head so he could kiss her neck on the other side. Then she glanced down at how my erection was jutting against the front of my panties. Tilda said, "Look, his baby dick is making a little tent." "Yeah," said Daryl. "A pup tent." They laughed again. Embraced and rubbed against each other. She began to undress him and he let her, barely helping, as if she was his servant. She continued, sinking to her knees, planting kisses on his washboard abdomen and muscular thighs as she descended. Her mouth strayed repeatedly to his enviable cock. At one point he held her head with both hands and pumped himself in and out of her willing mouth. She moaned and rocked her hips. It was unthinkable to me that she would let herself be used that way, but obviously she enjoyed it. It got worse when he said, using a mean tone, "Come on, bitch, you can suck better than that. And why aren't you licking my balls? You know a nasty girl like you has to do that for her man." She said breathily, "Just like years ago. You being a bastard and me turning into a complete slut." "Yeah," he told her. "You always loved me to talk rough." I had to watch her suck spiritedly and then switch to lapping his scrotum. She nuzzled his genitals. Put her small white hand around his large dark cock and stroked it unhurriedly while kissing his inner thighs. He laughed and told her, "That's what I'm talking about. You got to do it sweet and do it nasty. Got to be a angel and a slut for me, back and forth." He patted her atop the head. "Now get on the bed, girl." Tilda eagerly put herself in the middle of the mattress. First she posed on elbows and knees, her big bottom sticking out at him. My bride wagged her ass in invitation and giggled. Then she rolled onto her back and spread her legs obscenely. She fingered her nipples and writhed, moaning and softly calling his name. He smiled, approving of her lascivious performance. Then he got on top of the sheets with her, kneeling between her legs, his oversized cock still hard and now aimed at its target. Daryl said, "Now ask for it, baby. Tell me how much you want to be stuffed full of Black cock." I chewed my lower lip. It was awful to have to see them like that. But it got worse when she spoke. "Oh lover, you know that once I'm around you, I can't stand it if I have to go without you for too long. My pussy needs that killer tool of yours. Please give it to me, Daryl. I want you to jam it inside me and pump me hard. Use me. Treat me like your whore. Do anything to me. Just please cram that black bone in there and stretch me out." "Yeah?" He shifted his hips so the knob of his member touched her waiting womanhood. She sighed. He asked, "How about if I just want you to finish sucking me off? Or I want to titty fuck you and shoot all over your pretty face? How about that?" "It's up to you, Daryl," she said throatily. "You can do whatever your cock tells you to. I'm like some street trash who you can use however you please. But instead of spreading my legs for money, I'm doing it because you got me addicted to that wonderful horse-cock of yours. So you can do those other things but..." She switched to a sugary, higher pitched voice. "... I would be so thrilled if you just banged me long and hard." He chuckled and pushed the head of his cock into her. She gasped. I flinched. He kept applying pressure, burying inch after thick inch, while she made strangled sounds of pleasure. Her hands gripped his solid biceps. She let out a loud moan as he buried himself in her up to his heavy balls. As I was suffering through watching and hearing all that, I was also more aware than ever of my unmanly appearance. In that make-up, with my hair styled, wearing a nightie and panties. As if sensing my discomfort, Tilda glanced toward me. She said, "We want you to have some fun, too, Franny. It's the start of your honeymoon, girlfriend." She gasped as Daryl gave a particularly hard thrust. "So why don't you play with your nipples and stroke that tiny thing between your legs." She paused while he gave her a few more violent jabs. To me she went on, "But don't you dare squirt into your panties. Don't squirt at all. You can't do that unless I say so. And I doubt I'll be saying that very often. Maybe never." And then she was too overcome by the terrific sex she was having to speak much anymore. All she could do was call out Daryl's name, beg him not to stop, and tell him how amazing he was. I obediently fingered my nipples and dipped one hand into my panties to fondle my tiny penis. I stroked it slowly, wanting to finish myself but too fearful to risk actually doing it. Instead, I had to stand there and watch my lovely bride be willingly ravished on our wedding night, in our wedding suite, as a prelude to what I knew was going to be a marriage distinguished by my constant feminization, humiliation, and cuckolding. SIX MONTHS LATER I was ready for my wife to arrive home from her well paying job. There I stood in a frilly maid's cap, abbreviated maid's uniform-top that ended above my waist, with a micro-apron attached, elastic-topped stockings, and two-inch heels. My face was made up. I had been practicing with cosmetics under Tilda's direction and was good enough to do them myself. My hair was a few inches longer than it had been when we got married and had been home-styled by her friend Claire, who left it straight with a part on the side, falling to my jawline. Also, its natural blond had been further lightened and given honey-gold streaks. My penis wasn't covered, at least not by panties or that truncated top. But it was hidden, being locked in a pink plastic chastity tube. It had been in that uncomfortable state since shortly after our wedding night, because my bride declared that she didn't want me wanking. And I guess I would have, in desperation, because she was so sexy to look at and never missed an opportunity to tantalize me with her body. She also delighted in teasing me physically, toying with my sensitive nipples, nibbling my ears, rubbing against me with her magnificent curves. She had also put on a few pounds, making her breasts and bottom even more impressive. She didn't care about the weight gain because Daryl liked her better that way. Oh yes, she has continued to see the Best Man from our nuptials. He visits our modest suburban home several times a week, sometimes sleeping over, occasionally staying the weekend, when the construction business he owns doesn't make extreme demands on his time. He still treats her like a tramp sometimes and she still relishes it. Tilda takes great pleasure in it when she calls him 'Master'. I have been made to quit my low-level office job and stay home as the full time housekeeper. I have to hand launder Tilda's delicate lingerie, straighten up after her, and prepare simple dinners, along with all the regular chores. When Daryl comes he never misses an opportunity to boss me around, smack my bottom, and openly show his affection and lust for my wife. I have to address him as Master all the time. Often I have to be in the bedroom with them. Daryl pleases her by acting like she is just a trashy slut to him. She really gets off on playing that role, with him dominating her. He likes to have me use my mouth on Tilda's pussy before he has sex with her. She is thrilled to make me do the same after the act is over, so that I have to lap up and swallow the generous portions of semen he deposits. It is disgusting but, after everything else that has happened, I do it without protest. Once while they were making love he even had me shine his shoes, kneeling at the foot of the bed. After they were done he made me hold them up while the sated couple admired my work. Being in chastity has contributed to my submissiveness. When the only chance you have to get any relief is by winning the favor of your keyholder wife and her lover, you try very hard to please them. After the first month in my snug penis prison, I was given one ejaculation. Not unlocked, just teased mercilessly by my wife for over and hour, then stimulated with a vibrator so much that, even without an erection, I managed to spill my semen, though it was without spurting and definitely without normal satisfaction. To thank her I had to kiss her backside repeatedly, even burying my face between her buttocks to demonstrate added gratitude. It was six more weeks before I earned another 'cummy', as Tilda had taken to calling it. This time Daryl was there. He had just filled her with his cum and I had to lap her clean. She coaxed me into finishing by using the vibrator, then collected the results on her fingers, smearing it over my lips and across my nostrils. Daryl found it wildly funny that I had to kiss her bottom. When I got my face buried between her nether cheeks he heard me whimpering. After a prolonged session, when I withdrew my face, which was sweaty and, I'm sure, flushed, he wanted to know if something extra had upset me, to cause those 'puppy dog' noises I had made. I confessed that some of his spunk had run down between her buttocks and given me added clean-up work. He found that hilarious and promised to make a mess for me back there frequently, cleaning his cock in that tight space, so I could have the 'fun' of licking it up. That's my life now. As a full-time maid and sex slave to my wife, and an object of ridicule for her lover. She has dropped hints about me not doing my housework well enough -- fabricated accusations -- and suggested that I might need a spanking from her. Or if I'm especially lazy, one from Daryl. I live in dread of them making good on that threat. But I imagine they will. And after that, find some other way to make my situation even worse. And then another way and another. I'm just a weakling cuckold with a wicked wife, and she and I share a Black Master.