Pakistani Muslim Tina Ki Virginity Todi Part 8211 2
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My phone rang. I looked at the number. It was him. I drew a breath and
then another and another. Anticipation. Expectation. Muscles, powerful
muscles. And confidence, that oozing of tough, rugged masculinity all
through his body. I grew wet. I hurried in the bedroom. I was running
late.
30 minutes.
I looked in the mirror: pumps, hose, mini, tight blouse, earrings, watch,
bangles, blush, lipstick, eyes, hair. Perfect. A quick touchup. Seducing
but not slutty. I checked my purse: key, lipstick, mirror, credit card
(not that I'd need it), tampons, condoms, etc.; all a woman needs to get
fucked.
Wait: I threw the condoms out. They weren't needed anymore.
I blew my reflection a lovely kiss and headed out to the kitchen.
26 minutes.
The stove was off. The sink was empty. The kitchen was cleaned. I suddenly
noticed the dog food dish on the floor by the fridge. Fuck. It wasn't
empty yet. Madder than I wanted to be before my date, I hurried downstairs
to the basement. I went into the pleasure room.
22 minutes.
Yes, he had locked himself in his cage exactly as I had required of him.
Yes, he had cuffed himself to the cage exactly as I had required of him.
Yes, he had hooded himself exactly as I had required of him.
But that fucking piece of shit had not finished his dog food. And now he
would pay for it.
20 minutes.
I quickly looked around the room. Ha! The perfect tool was on its hanger
on the darkened wall. I kicked the cage: "Shithead, you're going to be
punished for not finishing your dinner."
I took the cattle prod, turned it on, and poked it through the cage.
ZAP!
He howled in pain.
ZAP!
He begged for me to stop.
ZAP!
He beseeched me to stop.
His sobbing broke the relaxing tranquility of our soundproofed basement
dungeon. His pathetic tears fall onto the metal base of the cage, mixing
in with whatever other bodily fluids he had in the course of the past week
deposited there. Frankly, the room stank. It reminded me of full, dirty
hamper and public washroom.
I couldn't stand his incessant noise anymore.
"Head up!" I shouted at him.
I laughed as he tried to put his head through the steel top of the cage. I
then opened the hatch and grabbed the D-ring on the top of his hood. I
pulled a wire off the wall and attached it to the ring. I then cranked the
wire taut; the ceiling pulley would ensure he did not move down; the cuffs
ensured he did not move up.
14 minutes.
There he was. My husband. It defies belief that I once respected him. Now,
there he is. Hooded and head kept erect but immovable. Hands cuffed
through the cage in front of him. Ankles cuffed the sides of the cage. My
stupid, submissive, dominance-craving husband.
I stood before him. "You're fucking pathetic."
I didn't have to shout. There was nothing else for him to hear. Indeed, I
need not have even said it. He surely knew; to his bones, he surely knew
just how pathetic he was.
"Open."
His eyes widened but he complied. I forcefully shoved the 3-inch penis gag
in his mouth and secured the straps behind his hood. I smiled at him and
bent over to close his eyes blinders.
11 minutes.
I looked around the room again. There it was! Perfect!
I went to grab it and brought it over to the cage. I dropped the back flap
of the cage and shoved the motor bunny with the 16-inch dildo between his
legs. I made sure it was in the retracted position. Using the cattle prod,
I suggested that he lift himself up as much as he could. He obeyed though
his stressed position was unsustainable for more than a few seconds. He
gained only a few inches of height.
It was enough.
I grabbed a tube of lube and squeezed a mighty amount of it onto the dildo
and then suggested to him that he sit down. He could not have missed the
dildo. And he didn't.
I then cranked the dildo higher and set the machine to record the new
position as the baseline. There were six inches of thick dildo already in
his ass; this was the lowest setting. The highest would shove an
additional eight inches inside his gaping sissy pussy.
6 minutes.
I attached the motor bunny straps up and over his shoulders to keep him
lowered on the infernal machine and clipped them to the base unit. I
ensured that the devilish machine was plugged in; batteries get drained;
an electrical outlet doesn't. I flicked the power button and turned the
machine on its medium setting: 10 strokes per minute.
He moaned and groaned as it began its pulsating torture.
Just for kicks, I prodded him five more times. Stupid piece of shit.
2 minutes.
"I'm going out again to get fucked by a real man again," I said cheerfully
to him. "And it gives me no end of pleasure to know that you are getting
endlessly fucked tonight too." I laughed as I went up the stairs.
A few months ago, our marriage counsellors had suggested that we
strengthen our marriage by better listening to each other.
Oh, trust me, I had listened to him. He had asked for domination. He had
wanted bondage. He had begged for humiliation. I had listened. Shocked I
was. Staggered I was. Stunned I was. But, oh, I had listened so well to
him.
Yet he had never listened to me. I had wanted tenderness. I had wanted
affection, respect, security, safety, kindness, mindfulness. And, above
all, I had wanted love. Yet he had never listened to me.
However, someone else did.
And that someone else was waiting for me outside.
And I rushed up the stairs to further enjoy my new life.
finito
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