punished cuckold husband 2
punished cuckold husband

Punished cuckold husband story

 

Wife returns from date, punishes and whips submissive cuckold husband.

 

  

  

The Edge of Darkness

by Wayne C. Rogers

 

 

Sitting at my desk, wearing a long cotton bathrobe and a pair of bedroom slippers, I jotted down notes for the class lecture on consciousness studies that I was to give on Monday morning at UNLV. The subject of my lecture dealt with the different levels of alternate realities that could be experienced by taking psilocyben mushrooms, doing long periods of sitting meditation, and practicing sensory deprivation. All three methods could be effectively used to expand human consciousness, offering its participants an opportunity to understand that reality was based on nothing more than one's own perception. I wanted to instill in my students a strong sense of curiosity and hopefully to open their minds to new possibilities of awareness. These were the two gifts I wanted them to have before the semester was over.

 

I leaned back in my chair for a few moments and allowed my mind to run free as I listened to the soft music playing the background. It was Dreamtime Return by Steve Roach. The music combined a mixture of relaxing space melodies with sounds from a dideridu, offering the listener a chance to escape from the hobbles of day-to-day reality and return to what the Aborigines call dreamtime.

 

Glancing at the small, battery-powered clock on the corner of my desk, I saw that the time was 2:21 A.M.

 

Danielle had promised to be home by three o'clock at the latest.

 

I could already feel the sexual excitement simmering just below the surface of my emotions, and it was all I could do to stop myself from reaching beneath the bathrobe and taking matters into my own hand. My wife had told me earlier to expect a hard whipping when she returned from her date with Anthony. She'd also warned me not to masturbate while she was away. It was a warning I always took seriously. I knew what she was capable of doing with a rattan cane or a riding crop; and, even after seventeen years of marriage, it still scared me. My wife was the only person who could put the fear of God into me!

 

I shifted my attention to the left side of the bedroom where my four-posted, single size bed was located. Lying on top of the blue comforter was a long rattan cane that Danielle had placed there before leaving. The cane was twenty-seven inches in length, narrow, flexible, and very well oiled to keep the wood from splitting. My penis was becoming hard at the mere sight of it, not to mention the thought of what was going to happen to me before the night was over. As I started to ease my hand under the bathrobe to grasp the growing piece of warm flesh, I suddenly heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway out in front of the house.

 

Saved by the bell! I thought.

 

I stopped what I was doing, rose slowly from my desk, and walked across the bedroom to look out the window into the dark night.

 

The first thing I noticed was that the darkness had become blanketed in a thick layer of mist. Las Vegas doesn't usually get much fog, but it was early October and the hot days were starting to turn into cool nights. That, plus a cloudless day, would often create a light fog at this time of year. For people who loved mystery novels, it would be the perfect night for deceit and murder.

 

The second thing that caught my attention was the inside light of Danielle's red Mustang coming on as she opened the car door to climb out. I couldn't help but wonder how the date with her new lover had gone. Anthony was a graduate student in two of her psychology classes at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. Danielle usually make it a point not to get involved with her students (though she was a full professor and had tenure, the dating of one's students was still grounds for dismissal), but Anthony had a special quality about him that had touched an inner cord within the confines of her soul. I wanted to believe that her attraction for him was due to something much deeper than the fact that he was only twenty-four years of age, handsome, intelligent, and extremely potent. There had to be some sort of spiritual connection between them that defied any kind of logical explanation. My wife had told me a few weeks before that she felt the two of them had been together in a previous lifetime. Since I also believed in reincarnation, I couldn't very well laugh at her reasoning for wanting to sleep with him, nor argue against the feelings that were soaring through her. Besides, it wouldn't have made any difference. I wasn't in a position to deny my wife the right to take a lover, no matter what his age.

 

Danielle was the Mistress of our marriage and home, and I was her servant, submissive to her every need and desire.

 

It was that simple.

 

She and I agreed at the very beginning of our relationship, almost two decades before, that our lifestyle would be based on the concept of female domination. It was what worked for of us. That didn't mean I was her outright slave, thought many people might choose to view it in such a way, including me at different times. Danielle and I had a marriage inwhich I freely chose to treat her as a queen. I did the housework, the washing, the grocery shopping, the cooking, and the other countless things that came up on a day-to-day basis, and I did this out of love for the woman I'd married. Danielle was an extremely dominant female who thoroughly enjoyed life, adventure, and the male species to the fullest degree, and I considered myself lucky to be allowed to share this with her.

 

Outside of the house, however, we were equals in every sense of the word; and, in many ways, our lives complimented each other.

 

Both Danielle and I had double doctorates and were full professors at UNLV. Her two Ph.D.s were in Anthropology and Psychology and mine were in Astrophysics and Comparative Religions.

 

While taking a teaching position at the University of California at Berkeley after she finished graduate school, my wife also decided to become a part-time dominatrix in San Francisco, working under the name of Lady Shiva. This was done in order to satisfy an inner yearning she had to dominate the male species physically, mentally and emotionally. Using her skills as a psychologist and as a firm believer in matriarchy, Danielle wanted to see if she could effectively change the concepts that men held of women. She eventually became one of the top professionals in the country and was able to teach hundreds of men that it was all right for them to submit to a strong woman, as long as they didn't give up their own inner strength. My wife didn't want to weaken men, but rather to increase their attributes so that they could be used to help change the world in a more positive way.

 

When I finished graduate school, I made the decision to go to Japan for several years and study the martial art of Aikido under its founder, Morihei Ueshiba, and to do sitting meditation in a Zen monastery. I not only wanted to become an accomplished martial artist, but I hoped that the practice of Zen would enable me to gain a greater insight into the nature of humanity and its connection to the universe. Later, after I'd returned to the States and opened an Aikido dojo in Berkeley, Danielle was one of my original students. When we met, it was love (or maybe lust) at first sight for both of us. In the dojo, I was the Sensei or teacher, and she was the student. Outside of the dojo, my future wife was the teacher and I the student as she began to slowly guide me into the world of female domination. She saw that I was a natural submissive, but only to her. Danielle was the only human being who could bring me to my knees with a simple look in her eyes. Had anyone else tried what she did, it would've been a fight to the death. Needless to say, it didn't take either of us long to realize that we were perfect for each other. Marriage came within a year and then we moved to Las Vegas so that she could be close to her mother, who was dying of cancer. We both took teaching positions at UNLV, and I was able to continue my practice of Aikido by starting a club on campus.

 

The rest, as they say, is history.

 

I watched Danielle get out of the Mustang, close its door, and walk to the front door. I could feel my heart starting to race with excitement. The sight of my wife always did that to me. I was still madly in love with her.

 

Returning to my desk, I sat back down and finished the notes for my Monday morning class. I heard the sound of Danielle entering the house and then a few minutes later coming up the stairs. I figured she'd probably go to her bedroom first to change clothes, but I was wrong.

 

Danielle entered my bedroom, holding a glass of chilled Cabernet Sauvignon in her right hand and a black purse in her left. My wife smiled at me as she stepped over to my bed and sat down on the edge of it. Laying the purse down on the comforter, she crossed her shapely legs, stared boldly at me, and took a long sip of wine. Her auburn colored hair flared outward and down to her shoulders, while her green eyes twinkled with merriment. She had dressed smartly, but provocatively for her date tonight, wearing a black Kay Unger chiffon dress, black nylons, and a pair of black Anne Klein sling backs with four-inch heels.

 

She literally took my breath away.

 

That Danielle was still beautiful at age fifty-one could not be denied. She worked out with weights in the campus gym at least three times a week, while attending my afternoon Aikido classes on Tuesday and Thursday. Though she might disagree with me, I personally felt she was lovelier today than when I first met her. My wife still drew the attention of men where ever she went, not to mention that many of her male students had crushes on her.

 

"How did your date with Anthony go?" I asked.

 

"He took me to Romeo's on West Sahara for dinner, then we went dancing at C2K," she answered.

 

"Is that all?"

 

"No," she said, her smile growing bigger. "We went back to his apartment and had sex for three hours. Would you like to hear all the juicy details?"

 

"Yes."

 

"You know what the price will be, don't you?"

 

"Twenty-five cuts with the cane?" I asked.

 

"Higher."

 

"Fifty?"

 

She shook her head, the smile on her face growing bigger.

 

"Seventy-five?" I said, feeling a little uncomfortable over what might be in store for me.

 

"That sounds like a nice round number," my wife stated.

 

"Jesus, Danielle, you do realize that I have a class on Monday, don't you?"

 

"I promise not to put you in the hospital, darling."

 

"Why doesn't that comfort me?"

 

"Stop whining like a little boy," she said. "I want you to come over here and kneel before me on the floor."

 

The ritual was beginning.

 

I rose from my desk, took off the bathrobe, and stepped out of the slippers. I walked over to my wife and knelt before her with my head slightly bowed.

 

"Do you still love me?" Danielle asked. She placed the toe of her right shoe under my chin and lifted my head up so that she could look down into my eyes. "I want you to be honest."

 

"I worship you," I said with utter sincerity.

 

She ran the toe of her shoe lightly over my lips. "Anthony has asked for permission to be my house slave," she stated. "How would you feel about that?"

 

"Does he understand that you don't believe in slavery?"

 

"I explained my philosophy to him," she replied. "Still, it would be nice to have him help out with the duties around the house. It would certainly give you more time to write. I know you'd enjoy that."

 

"I guess the real question is whether he'd actually be moving in as a house slave or as your lover?"

 

"What difference does it make?"

 

"I don't want to be second place to some twenty-four-year-old guy with a perpetual hard-on."

 

"His expertise in bed is one the things that make him so special."

 

"Yeah, I know."

 

"Anthony is also quite brilliant."

 

"You still haven't answered my question," I said.

 

"Would it be so bad if my lover moved in with us?"

 

"Danielle…Danielle…"

 

"You want me to be happy, don't you?"

 

"Yes, but—"

 

"I want this, William."

 

"I know, honey, but—"

 

"I want this."

 

"Okay," I said.

 

"You're sure?"

 

"No, I'm not sure," I replied. "But I love you, Danielle, and I do want you to be happy." I thought about the situation for a moment and started laughing at the absurdity of it. "I hope it's not your intention to have me submit to him."

 

"Both of you will submit to me and do exactly as I command."

 

"You're tactfully avoiding that question, too."

 

"Think of it this way," she suggested. "Whatever I have you do will only add spice to our marriage."

 

"Did you read that in Dr. Ruth's column?"

 

"Don't be facetious, darling."

 

"Yeah."

 

"I'd like Anthony to start spending the weekends with us before he actually moves in," Danielle said. "It would give me a chance to begin his training and to introduce him to the whip."

 

"Where's lover boy going to sleep?" I asked.

 

"Where do you think he's going sleep?"

 

"Your room?"

 

"Of course."

 

I nodded my head in understanding.

 

"You haven't kissed my feet today," she continued, changing the subject like a professional diplomat. "Would you like the pleasure of doing that?"

 

"Yes, Mistress."

 

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

 

I took her shoe into my hand and placed it to my mouth, reverently kissing the soft black leather. I moved my lips over the toe and around the sides of the shoe. Then, working my way up to the instep of her stocking-covered foot, I began to kiss her ankle and leg, enjoying the texture of nylon against my lips and tongue. I heard a soft sigh of delight escape from my wife's mouth. She loved to have her feet and legs worshipped by a man. Whether Danielle would admit it or not, she truly felt that a man's place was at her feet. It brought out the dominant side of her personality like few other things could.

 

"You've been a wonderful husband to me, William."

 

"I hope this doesn't mean that you're getting ready to trade me in on a younger model," I said.

 

"You don't have to worry about that. I've put too much time and effort into training you. Besides, no one could ever love me as unconditionally as you do. You're the rock in my sometimes-chaotic life. I need you more than you could possibly ever imagine."

  

 

"That's good," I said. "For a moment it was beginning to sound like I was a well-trained pet or something."

 

"All women want their husbands to be well-trained pets," she laughed. "But that doesn't mean you aren't loved."

 

"I suppose you're going to toss me a bone now."

 

"No, William. I gave you my heart and that was enough."

 

Her words warmed me as I released her right foot and then bent lower to kiss her left one. I honestly didn't know what I'd do should Danielle ever leave me. Though I felt our marriage was perfect in so many ways, one never knew what the other person was actually feeling. I slowly worked my lips up her left foot and leg, then shifted my attention back to her right leg. When I started to push her dress back so that I could kiss her thighs, she stopped me in my tracks.

 

"Did I give you permission to do that?" she asked with a touch of amusement.

 

"No, Mistress," I answered.

 

"I can see it's been too long since your last whipping."

 

"It's been almost a month."

 

"Then it shall definitely be seventy-five cuts with the cane," she stated. "That should ease your anxiety somewhat and correct this inexcusable behavior."

 

"Thank you, Mistress," I said.

 

"I want you to go down to the dungeon and wait for me," Danielle instructed. "I need to change into something more appropriate for your punishment." She paused for a moment as she uncrossed her legs, offering me a brief glimpse of stocking tops and black garter tabs. "Will I have to bind you to the bench, or do you think you'll be able to take the caning without being restrained?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"I'll think about that while I change clothes," my wife said as she finished the rest of the wine. She handed me the empty glass to take back down to the kitchen; then, rising to her feet, she picked up her purse and the rattan cane, and walked out of my bedroom.

 

Filled with a sense of avid sexual desire and an almost insurmountable degree of love, I watched my wife leave the room, noticing that there was more of a seductive swing to her hips than usual. We'd been together for over eighteen years and still no other woman excited me as much as she did. Even now, I wanted to make love to Danielle more than anything else…to feel my body passionately joined to hers in an act of spiritual union. I also understood that this very special privilege would have to be earned. As in all societies and tribes, both modern and primitive, women will test the male in order to measure his strength and the level of his love. For my wife, the true test of my love was in the amount of suffering I was willing to endure.

 

I put my bathrobe and slippers back on and went downstairs. Entering the kitchen, I rinsed out the wine glass in the sink, dried it, and placed it back in the cabinet. I then walked down a short hallway to our dungeon.

 

The door to the dungeon had an electronic lock, and it could only be opened when the correct sequence of seven numbers was entered into the computer console on the wall. I punched in the numbers, opened the door, and stepped into what had once been our three-car garage. I'd spent nine months of my time remodeling the garage, turning it into an attractive, well-equipped, soundproof dungeon. Beautifully varnished oak beams ran across the ceiling and down the walls, which were coated with a textured wall covering that was the color of stone. An electric hoist hung from one of the beams and could support the weight of two men. A thick, soft, dark brown shag carpet covered the entire floor of the dungeon. Danielle's throne, the whipping bench, and the vertical rack were all custom made by some of the finest craftsmen in the country. One of the walls was covered with an array of S&M equipment: riding crops, whips, paddles, leather hoods, wrists and ankle cuffs, blindfolds, mouth gags, dildo harnesses, metal handcuffs, etc., etc. In one corner of the dungeon sat a brown cedar chest (Pandora's Box) that was filled with rubber dildos of various sizes, metals weights and clamps for cock and ball torture, leather gloves with thumbtacks protruding from the palm and fingers, nipple clamps, plastic bags filled with used panties, stockings and pantyhose, bottles of oil, tubes of lubricant, candles for hot wax torture, and a multitude of other things.

 

Turning the dimmer light up just enough so that I could see where I was going without bumping into something, I stepped over to the vertical rack and removed my bathrobe and slippers, placing them under the rack so that they would be out of the way. Then, moving over to Danielle's elegantly carved throne that was sitting on top of a two-level pedestal, I picked up the plastic cigarette lighter that was lying on the right cushioned armrest and carefully lighted the large black candles on either side of the throne. Each candle was resting in a beautifully carved wooden stand that matched the design of the throne and pedestal. The lit candles added a sense of atmosphere to the dungeon. I placed the lighter back on the armrest and then knelt down in front of the throne, lowering my forehead to the floor, and waited patiently for my Mistress to enter the dungeon.

 

Though I didn't have a watch on, I suspected that at least forty-five minutes passed before I finally heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. I kept my head to the floor as Danielle came into the dungeon and walked over to where I was kneeling, making her way up the pedestal and sitting down on the black cushioned seat of her throne. I listened to her light a cigarette and then cross her legs.

 

 

 

Still, I waited.

 

Several more minutes of silence passed, then:

 

"You may look at me," Danielle stated.

 

I raised my head and gazed into the eyes of my lovely Goddess. She took a puff of the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled the smoke. Danielle was now wearing cream-colored, skin-tight riding breeches, a long-sleeved black silk blouse that puffed out around the arms, black leather boots that reached to her calves and laced up the front and had four-inch heels, and black calfskin gloves that covered her hands and wrists. She had redone her make-up, highlighting her eyes and cheekbones, and had brushed her hair. The rattan cane lay across her lap.

 

"Would you like to kiss my boots?" she asked.

 

"Yes, Mistress," I answered.

 

"If I permit you the pleasure of running your tongue over the finely crafted leather of my boot, will you suffer for me?"

 

"Yes, Mistress, I will."

 

"You may crawl up the pedestal and display the love you have for your Goddess," Danielle said. "You'll receive a harsh whipping tonight for this privilege."

 

"How harsh?" I asked.

 

"Did I give you permission to ask a question?"

 

"No, Mistress."

 

"Then I suggest you put that mouth of yours to a more useful task."

 

"Yes, Mistress," I replied.

 

I crawled hesitantly up the pedestal, feeling in awe of this woman who controlled me so completely. I loved and worshipped my wife in ways few other couples could even imagine. Sometimes I felt that submitting to Danielle was the only true purpose for my existence. Everything else was secondary. All of my accomplishments amounted to nothing more than a hill of beans compared to the simple act of kissing her booted foot. This was what I lived for.

 

Keeping her legs crossed, right over left, my Mistress lifted her right foot to my waiting lips. I leaned forward, took the toe of her boot into my mouth, and began to gently suck it. I could feel my limp penis beginning to grow hard with arousal.

 

"That's it," she coaxed. "Show me what a good husband you are."

 

I moved my lips back and forth over the toe of her booth for a number of minutes, then ran my tongue lightly along the sides of it and over the instep. I listened as my wife moaned softly. The act of having her feet kissed always filled Danielle with intense sexual excitement.

 

"Now, the other boot." She uncrossed her legs and then re-crossed them with the left one over the right, her foot rising upward to receive its share of personal attention. "I want you to lick it till the leather shines."

 

It didn't matter that the boot already shined to the point where one could practically see their own reflection, I immediately began to kiss it like an ardent lover, savoring the exquisite taste of rich Cordovan leather, wondering if I could hold back the orgasm that threatened to erupt from my loins. Few things in life excited me to such a degree as paying homage to the woman I loved by kissing her feet and legs.

 

It was intoxicating.

 

My wife's legs were as much a source of her power, as was her beauty, intellect and sensuality. I couldn't help but sigh with contentment at the unbelievable pleasure I was experiencing. I sucked and licked and kissed her boot, slowly working my way up to the calf of her leg.

 

"That's enough," Danielle said. "It's time for your caning. I want you to first put on the leather hood and then attach the blindfold and penis gag to it. When you've done that, you may lay down across the whipping bench and wait for me."

 

I kissed my wife's boot one last time; then, rising to my feet, I walked over to the far wall and took down a skillfully crafted full-leather black hood with an attachable blindfold and penis gag. Carrying the hood over to the center of the dungeon, where the whipping bench was located, I stopped in front of the S&M apparatus and slipped the hood over my head, adjusting it so that its openings were aligned with my mouth, nose and eyes. The hood had been specifically designed and measured for me. It fitted snugly around my head, until the back was laced up. Then, the hood was ultra tight, hugging my face like a second skin. I liked it that way. There was something sensuous about the smell and tightness of leather around my face that turned me on.

 

Glancing at Danielle, I positioned the gag across the front of the hood and opened my mouth to receive the rubber penis. I slid the penis into my mouth and then snapped the gag in place. The penis was an inch-and-a-half in diameter and two inches long. My body's first inclination was to gag at the intrusion inside my mouth. It was an unconscious reflex. It took a minute to relax myself by breathing deeply through my nose. Afterwards, I felt comfortable enough to know that I wouldn't have to worry about choking or throwing up. I then placed the leather blindfold with its sheepskin lining over my eyes and snapped it to the sides of the hood. Taking a blind step forward, I reached out and used the sense of touch to guide myself carefully onto the whipping bench. I stretched my body lengthways across the top it, feeling the cool vinyl padding against my warm flesh.

 

The whipping bench was heavy, weighing close to a hundred pounds. It was made from solid oak and was quite sturdy. Each of its four legs was five-inches-by-five-inches in diameter and thirty inches in height. The top part of the bench was six feet long and twenty-six inches wide and slightly arched in the middle. This ensured that one's buttocks would be the highest part of the body when lying down. Leather cuffs with metal buckles were attached to the eyebolts in each leg so that a person's wrists and ankles could be bound to the bench. A thick leather strap was riveted to the side of the side of the bench, about midway, and could be looped over an individual's lower back and fastened tightly in place on the other side, thus preventing one's buttocks from wiggling around during the course of a whipping.

 

As I waited for my wife, I continued to breath deeply and slowly through my nose, preparing myself mentally for what was about to take place. Though I wanted the whipping, I knew that once the pain began--if I wasn't in the correct frame of mind--I'd probably panic and snap my fingers to alert Danielle that something was wrong and for her to please stop whatever she was doing. She didn't like it when I gave her the safety signal, unless something was actually the matter. It spoiled the mood and usually provoked a response of anger in her. The safety signal was only to be given in an emergency. Anything other than that would bring about a much harder whipping in retaliation for my moment of weakness.

 

If possible, I wanted to be psyched out for what was ahead. I needed to yearn for the bite of the cane, to crave it, to seek it in order to tame the inner demon within my soul. I had to be in what scientists and people who meditate call an alternate state of consciousness. This would enable me to flow with the pain, to become one with it, and hopefully to transcend it. The ultimate goal, however, was to reach a point where I actually enjoyed the pain and wanted the caning to continue. A lot of it, however, would depend on how Danielle decided to administer the corporal punishment. If she chose to start off with hard strokes of the cane, it would be difficult for me to achieve the level of concentration I desired. If, on the other hand, she opted to first sexually excite me and then begin the whipping with mild-to-medium strokes of the cane, gradually working up to the harder cuts, the possibilities were endless. I was never sure what mood my wife would be in.

 

I kept breathing in slowly, allowing my mind to forget about everything, except the counting of each breath. As I inhaled, I counted the number one to myself; then, as I exhaled, I counted two. I continued this up to the count of ten and then started over again. This was basic Zen meditation. It was the simplest of all forms of meditation; yet, the hardest to maintain for any length of time without losing count or focus. This was how all beginners in a Zen monastery learned to meditate. I breathed and counted and patiently waited for my wife to come and begin the ritual of dominance and submission.

 

Danielle continued to sit on her throne for several more minutes, lighting a second cigarette and probably watching me with amused interest. She had an avid sense of humor about life and allowed few things to worry her. I could smell the smoke from the cigarette as it gradually drifted down to where I was silently waiting. She understood the need I had for a hard caning every month or so; yet, she also knew the necessity of making me submit to her time schedule. It was a psychological ploy on her part to demonstrate who was really in control. It was important to my wife that I grasp the reality of the situation, realizing that the whipping wouldn't begin until she was good and ready. Of course, the longer I was forced to wait, the more nervous and anxious I'd become. This clearly suited her purpose because the psychology of how the game was played was just as vital as the physical domination, if not more so.

 

I vaguely heard the sound of my wife's high-heeled boots clicking on wood as she stepped down the pedestal. A minute or two passed before she finally came over to where I was. She ran her leather-gloved hands slightly over the back of my body, teasing me, working their way down to my buttocks and then even lower, pushing my thighs apart.

 

"Lift up," she commanded.

 

I did and immediately felt her hand move underneath me, grabbing the hardness of my penis, pulling it back between my legs so that it was pointed at the wall behind me. She then wrapped her fingers around my testicles and squeezed them, causing me to groan from the pain and ecstasy of what she was doing. My erection grew harder as the pain increased. I knew to stay in place and not to move. To try and escape from my wife would only anger her. Besides, there was no escape from the woman I loved more than life itself. I was not only her husband, but also her slave…her servant…and her prisoner. She possessed my mind, body and soul. I belonged to her, and Danielle could do whatever she desired to me. I suffered for her enjoyment and endured the pain so that she'd be pleased with me.

 

My wife released my genitalia, satisfied that I was more than willing to submit to a night of pain on her behalf. She enjoyed the act of inflicting pain and torment as much as I reveled in receiving it. Giving me a temporary moment of reprieve, she took a long piece of leather cord and wrapped it repeatedly around the base of my penis, insuring that I wouldn't go soft during the whipping. She then wound the rest of it tightly around and in between my testicles, until they bulged and protruded like thick, red plums. Securing the first cord with a knot, she took a second piece of leather and tied one end of it around the head of my penis and the other end to the small eyebolt embedded in the wood at the bottom end of the bench, pulling the cord taut so that my erection was stretched painfully downward against the padding. When that was done, Danielle placed my wrists into the leather cuffs and buckled them tightly in place.

 

"I've decided it might be best if you're bound to the bench," she said. "The caning is going to be hard one, and I don't want you moving around to much."

 

As my wife laid the leather strap across my lower back and fastened it to the buckle on the other side of the bench, I started to worry just a little bit over what she was planning to do. It had been over a year since I'd had a really hard whipping. I wasn't sure if I was up to it, no pun intended. Even though I had a high threshold for pain, there was still a limit as to what I could safely endure.

 

Once my ankles were strapped to the rear legs of the bench, Danielle traced a finger casually along my painfully erect penis and then thumped my aching testicles as she might a cantaloupe in a grocery store to see if it was ripe or not. I tried to bring my legs together in order to protect myself, but my bound ankles kept them spread apart, leaving me open to whatever she wanted to do. She thumped my testicles a second and a third time, causing me to groan again. With the circulation cut off to my genitalia, it was now much more sensitive to pain. My wife thumped each testicle a couple of more times, then gave both of them a good hard squeeze.

 

"I've decided to paddle you first," she stated. "I want to warm your ass up in preparation for what's coming. Maybe I'll use the long paddle with the holes in it. That should get you in the right frame of mind."

 

I knew the paddle she was talking about.

 

It was twenty-four inches long, three-and-a-half inches wide, and a half-inch in thickness with six holes drilled into the wood. The purpose of the holes was to increase the velocity of contact with the body, causing a more severe amount of pain with each strike than a regular paddle did. This particular paddle could put blisters on a person's backside with a couple of well-placed smacks.

 

A few moments later, I sensed Danielle bending down close to my head. "You're going to receive twenty strikes across your bottom with the paddle," she said. "If you can take the punishment without giving me the safety signal, I'll tell you what the sex was like with Anthony tonight. Would you like to know how many times we did it?"

 

I nodded my head.

 

"Then suffer for me, darling."

 

My wife stood back up and moved to the center of the bench, preparing herself with the paddle.

 

The first strike stunned me with the ferociousness of its intent. There was a loud smacking sound that permeated the interior of the dungeon. I shook my head at the wave of intense pain that immediately flooded my body. If the next nineteen were going to be as hard as the first strike, I didn't think I'd be able to make it.

 

I heard the sharp whistling noise of the paddle a second time as it was swung through the air, landing against my bare bottom with a force that caused me to bite down hard on the rubber penis in my mouth. I didn't even have time to get my thoughts together before the paddle struck a third time and a fourth.

 

Breathe deeply through the nose, I told myself.

 

The fifth and sixth strike caused me to cry out!

 

"What did you say?" Danielle asked. "I couldn't make out what it was with the gag in your mouth."

 

I didn't think she was the least bit funny.

 

The paddle struck me four more times in quick succession, numbing me with a level of pain that made me wish my sexual preferences were more normal in nature.

 

"Think about Anthony being between my legs with his manhood buried deeply within me," she said, leaning down to the side of my head and talking in a soft, sexy tone of voice. "Imagine what it was like for me when his hard penis filled my womb so completely that I had my first orgasm due to the sheer size of it."

 

I thought about it and moaned softly from desire.

 

"You do want to hear all of the juicy details, don't you?"

 

I nodded my head again.

 

"Just ten more to go," she said.

 

The eleventh and twelfth strikes caused me to question the validity of my whole life, making me wonder how anyone could get enjoyment from being beaten by another person.

 

I now found myself unconsciously tensing the muscles in my buttocks with each whistling sound of the paddle. That only made matters worse. I tried to visualize my wife's new boyfriend naked and between her legs, making long passionate love to her, driving his erection repeatedly into her body. I knew that if I could keep myself sexually aroused, it would help with the pain. I don't know why, but a person in sexual heat can endure more physical pain. It probably has something to do with either testosterone or endorphins being released within the body.

 

I forced myself to make it through the last eight strikes of the paddle, using my wife and Anthony as a means to flow with the different degrees of pain I was experiencing. Next to kissing Danielle's beautiful feet, nothing excited me more than when she cuckolded me with a younger man. It was my secret passion…one I was more embarrassed by than the desire to be tied down and whipped. Fortunately for me, it was also one of my wife's fantasies. Her affairs with younger men not only excited both of us and made our sexual relationship more intense, it also demonstrated the control she had over me and how willing I was to submit to her carnal desires. Few things spoke of a husband's submission than when the wife took another lover with his full knowledge.

 

After the paddling was finished, Danielle ran her gloved hand gently over my body, caressing my blistered bottom, telling me how wonderful I was for not giving in to the pain and using the safety signal. She kissed my naked shoulder, bit down on it with her teeth, and then placed her lips to the left side of my head.

 

"When we arrived back at the apartment," she said, "Anthony bent me over the back of his couch, pulled my dress up and ripped my panties off. He then took me hard from behind like we were animals in heat. As soon as he entered me, I cried out with my first orgasm. After that, I was bucking wildly against him, wanting it, demanding that he give it to me, madly screaming when he discharged his hot seed into my vagina. His ejaculation was so strong that I could actually fill the force of it erupting inside of me.

 

I tried to picture it in my mind.

 

"No man has ever fucked me as well as Anthony did tonight. When I think about it, I become wet with excitement."

 

A small wave of jealousy soared through me as my own penis strained against the cord that held it firmly in place, proving that I was a true cuckold.

 

"Of course," she whispered to me, like a little girl with a secret to pass on, "he wasn't wearing a condom."

 

I knew Danielle had made Anthony go to the local Health Department and get a blood test for AIDS and other venereal diseases before any sexual activity took place between them. As it turned out, her new lover had dated very little while in high school or college. In fact, he was still a virgin when my wife finally had sex with him two weeks before. Needless to say, Anthony was now hopelessly smitten with her and was prepared to do whatever it took to maintain the relationship.

 

"Do you want to know how many times he fucked me?" she asked.

 

I nodded my head.

 

"The answer has a high price. Are you willing to pay it?"

 

I nodded again. .

 

"Let's see how well you do with the caning."

 

She left me to replace the paddle back on the wall, then returned, swishing the rattan cane through the air a couple of times to get the feel for it.

 

The first cut of the cane landed on the back of my thighs. There was a sharp, burning sensation that swiftly spread up to my buttocks and then down my legs. The second cut crisscrossed the first one, causing me to suck in my breath. The third one quickly followed, landing in almost the exact same place as the first two cuts.

 

"In case you're wondering," Danielle said, "the first twenty-five cuts are going to be to the back of your legs. The next twenty-five will be across your cute, little ass, and the final twenty-five will be on your back."

 

She struck my legs again and again.

 

I laid my head on the padding and breathed deeply as a way of dealing with the acute agony that competed for my attention, listening as the cane swished through the air seconds before it connected with my burning flesh. I attempted to count my breath, starting at one as I inhaled and then thinking of the number two as I exhaled. The pain was so overwhelming that I kept losing count and had to start over from scratch. I made myself stay with it, starting over as many times as was necessary. Finally, my thoughts drifted back to Danielle and her young lover, and I eventually made it through the first part of the caning, crying out only twice due to the intense pain of my legs being whipped so cruelly. It would be a lie if I didn't admit to my eyes watering considerably, but I never broke down and actually cried, nor did I consider using the safety signal. This was the easy part compared to what was ahead. Anyway, I took the whipping like a man, stoic in my resolve to endure the punishment. Of course, the back of my thighs felt as though they were on fire. I knew the pain would continue to be there for the next few days.

 

  

Punished Cuckold Husband story  part 2

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