An Enticing Intrudcer
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Retrospect free porn video
RETROSPECT
Sleazy Blonde, 2021
How could I have been so wrong?
I parked the Beemer in the driveway and turned it off. I couldn't move.
I could hardly breathe. I held the steering wheel and could not let it
go. I stared aimlessly at the garage door before me.
How could I have been so wrong?
Three years ago, I attended a conference on parasites in dolphins at a
resort north of Miami. My husband George and I flew down from our home
in Newport and took a few days vacation before the conference started.
I'm a marine biologist; I'm busy in Rhode Island. George was an IT
consultant; he worked from home. I made the money, and he made the home.
It worked.
Until the conference.
I sat in the seats and listened to the lectures. George would be out on
his own, having the day to himself. "I want to see the art museum," he
said. And that was what I had thought he was doing.
Until I saw him outside the conference centre with a hooker on his arm.
I followed them; forget the conference now. They went to one of the
bungalow's at the resort. They remained in it for about two hours. They
came out showered and changed.
I was changed too; I was now furious. I counseled myself to be patient.
I followed them back to the conference centre. I lost track of them in
the crowded lobby. I rejoined the conference but my mind was elsewhere.
I plotted my revenge. My dear blessed reader: of course you know what I
did. This FictionMania! Yes: the entire French maid thing. Hormones,
Hypnosis. "Discipline training," as that large lady had called it.
Chastity. Castration. Huge implants. Cuckolding. Tendons shortened. Oral
sex. Laser hair removal. Brainwashing. Plumped lips. Shock collar. Penis
gag. No more master bedroom for him. Humiliation. All very much standard
fare here.
Yes, I got my revenge --- and a clean house.
And now, today, three years later, I'm at another conference, this one
in New Bedford and about orcas. During a break, I'm mingling in the
lobby and swear-to-God see my husband! But it can't be; he's at home
being my maid!
I nervously approached the man. He was kind and polite. His name was
Frederick and he too was a marine biologist. His Australian accent said
a lot about him. I asked him whether he had been at a conference on
dolphins three years ago and I shuddered as he said "yes". I left as
soon as the conference ended.
What had I done? What had I done to my beautiful, creative, easygoing,
laidback, casual, and amiable husband whom I had loved and adored? What
sort of monstrosity had I created in my self?
And that is the start of how I got here, today, in the Beemer in the
driveway. I sat there a long time before going in.
I knew what I had to do.
"Pansy, come!" I cheerfully said as I sat in the living room in my
Empress of the Universe chair; everyone wife needs one.
Pansy, or George I guess, came racing as her pretty little cherry 6"
heels allowed her. She really was---I mean; he ran well in them (of
course, after all these years). She stood before me and curtsied.
"Yes, Mistress?"
I stared expressionless but guilt-ridden. I must admit though that she
was just the cutest. I mean he was, for a man who was a maid.
"Pansy, come here," I brightly said as I patted an arm of the chair.
She immediately knelt before me and started lifting my skirt.
"No, Pansy, not that. Not tonight. Stop, Pansy."
As soon as I uttered "stop", she reacted instantly and looked at me with
fear in her eyes. I mean his eyes. I had to drag him --- yes him, him,
him, him --- to the arm of the chair.
"I looked fondly at that adorable face. I never told her --- HIM!!! ---
just how pretty it was. The makeup, the earrings, the studs, the
barbells, the clips, and of course the pink penis gag. I had only teased
him about it in front of his family that very first month, ages ago.
They disowned him: my responsibility.
"Pansy, I'm taking this out," I said as I started taking the pink penis
gag out. Oh, I do love that look; you know: the open O mouth. I couldn't
recall the last time I had seen HIM (got it!) with HIS mouth shut and
without a pink penis gag. Indeed, when was the last time I had heard him
say almost anything except "yes" and "no"?
"Now, Pansy, how was your day?" I asked as merrily as if talking to Mrs.
Losterty next door.
No answer. She looked at me as though confounded by being asked a
question. I sighed. Perhaps that's understandable since for three years
I never asked her --- HIM --- a single one.
I took her hand and gently rubbed it.
"Pansy, I have something to tell you and it does not reflect well on
me." I breathed deeply. I knew this was the sort of moment that changes
a relationship forever. I had done that once, three years ago, and had
made a mistake.
Today, I would begin the process of trying to salvage my husband from
the physical and mental conditioning and horrors that I had either
personally inflicted upon him or had asked cruel people, vicious people,
to do on my behalf.
"Pansy, I should not have made you a French maid. I accused you of
adultery. I was wrong. I confused you with another man who looks almost
exactly like you." I stroked his hand, yes, HIS hand. The skin was soft
and smooth.
"Pansy, I made a mistake in doing that. I ought to have believed you."
I inhaled deeply,
"I apologize."
He said nothing.
"I took you away from your business, which then failed. I took you away
from your friends who then forgot you. I took you away from your family
who became ashamed of you. I took you away from your hobbies. As a
measure of my sincerity in this apology, Pansy, the Bucs, the Chiefs,
the Patriots; from most recent to the past, the winners of the three
Super Bowls that you missed. I forbade you from watching them. I knew
how much you loved the game."
I lowered my head with guilt.
"My mistake has caused me to reflect upon my many decisions and
instructions regarding you and your place in this house. You were my
husband, well, certainly until that divorce for which I forged your
signature. Fraud of course. I suppose your still my husband.
"Pansy, I mean 'George'. George. George! Yes! From now on I will call
you George! It's a start of our constructing that life that you shall
live from today on!"
I rubbed his hand harder and faster.
I thought I saw a tear growing in his eye. HIS eye. Those eyes that had
dazzled me years ago; could they again?
"George," I began with love in my voice, "there will be changes. No more
penis gag. No more my calling you 'Pansy'. No more French maid uniforms.
No. No more of those things, my pretty, sweet, adorable little George."
I pinched his cheek and smiled at him.
I would have kissed him but...
He was staff. I LOVED being a Mistress! I didn't have to cook or clean
or do laundry! I screwed whomever I wanted wherever I wanted. I spent my
money freely without anyone second-guessing me! I indulged in my wishes
and satiated my every whim! Are you fucking crazy? I'm not giving that
up.
I feel bad for George but that's water under the bridge. He's probably
too far gone anyway. I'll simply keep around as me very best dear most
loyal friend who has decided to devote their entire life to servicing me
and my needs. I probably owe him that much, I suppose.
"We'll see what other changes may be appropriate after we try these ones
out. A three-year test period and then we'll re-assess our position.
Okay?"
I still can't describe his expression.
"Well, let's get to it," I said enthusiastically.
I snapped my fingers between my legs and pointed to his spot.
"Worship me, George."
And he did.
What a great husband.
finito
Blaze
- 22.03.2020
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