Chapter 144: Torture by Tease
The plastic device was a phantom limb. Rupert felt its presence with every step, every shift in his trousers, a constant, maddening pressure. It had been a week. Seven days of sleeping beside Margot, smelling her skin, hearing her soft breaths, and being unable to do anything but ache. The frustration was a live wire in his gut, a buzzing, hopeless energy.
“We’re going out,” Margot announced one Saturday morning, her voice bright. She was dressed not in her usual florals, but in a sleek, black wrap dress that clung to her curves. She held a small leather bag. “A little field trip. To celebrate your new commitment.”
“Where?” Rupert asked, his voice scratchy.
“To see Julia.” Margot’s eyes sparkled. “She’s just had a birthday. Sixty. She’s asked if we’d like to christen her new playroom. I thought it was a perfect way to mark this phase for you. A ritual.”
Dread, cold and sharp, joined the heat in his belly. He didn’t ask for details. He simply followed her instructions: shower, no lotion, wear the plain grey sweatpants and t-shirt she laid out.
The drive was silent. They pulled up to a discreet, converted coach house on the outskirts of the village. Julia answered the door. She was a tall, stern-faced woman with sharp grey eyes and silver hair cut in a severe bob. She wore a crimson silk blouse and tailored black trousers. She looked like a retired headmistress, which, Rupert would later learn, wasn’t far from the truth of her previous authority.
“Margot. Lovely. And the famous Slave Blue,” Julia said, her voice a cool contralto. “Come in. Leave your civility at the door.”
The transition from her tasteful, minimalist living room was jarring. A bookcase swung open on silent hinges, revealing a steep staircase. The air changed as they descended; it grew warmer, thicker, smelling of leather, ozone, and an undernote of antiseptic.
Julia’s dungeon was not a dank cellar. It was an opulent, windowless lounge. Damask wallpaper in deep burgundy. Plush, black carpet. A vintage chandelier cast a dim, golden light over various pieces of equipment: a black leather bondage bench, a stainless steel hoist chain dangling from a ceiling track, a polished wooden St. Andrew’s Cross. In one corner, a plush chaise lounge. In another, a discreet cabinet with glass doors revealing rows of toys, gleaming under LED strips.
“This is the changing room for the submissive,” Julia said, guiding Rupert to a small, antechamber. It was utilitarian: a bench, hooks, a full-length mirror. “You will put this on.” She handed him a bundle of blue leather. A hood. “And nothing else. Margot will assist. I’ll be in the main room.”
The door closed, leaving them alone. Margot’s playful demeanor shifted into something more focused, ritualistic. “Arms up,” she said, pulling his t-shirt off. She pushed his sweatpants down. He stood naked, the clear plastic chastity cage obscenely visible. She didn’t comment on it. She picked up the hood.
It was made of soft, supple blue leather, lined with silk. The eye-holes were precise, the mouth opening a simple slit. As she pulled it down over his head, the world vanished into a muffled, scent-filled darkness. His own breathing became loud in his ears. The leather hugged his skull like a second skin.
“There,” Margot’s voice came, slightly distorted. “Now you’re nobody. Now you’re Slave Blue. Follow me.”
She took his hand and led him back into the main room. The light through the eye-holes was dim. He could make out shapes, colors. Julia was now wearing a pair of black leather gloves. Margot had shed her dress and stood in a set of sheer black lingerie, her red curls a shocking contrast. The little gold bell on her piercing was visible, a tiny beacon.
“On your knees here, Slave Blue,” Julia commanded, pointing to a spot on the carpet before the chaise. He knelt. The carpet was dense and soft. “You are here to service your wife, and to be a toy for our amusement. Do you understand?”
He nodded, the leather creaking.
“Use your words.”
“Yes,” he said, the word hollow behind the mask.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Mistress Julia.”
“Good.” She turned to Margot, her stern face breaking into a smile. “He’s nicely prepped. I like the cage. A constant reminder.”
“Oh, it’s essential,” Margot said, settling onto the chaise, spreading her legs in a deliberate, vulgar V. Her cunt was already glistening. The scent of her, musky and sweet, cut through the room’s other smells. “He’s been in a state for days. It’s delicious. How was your birthday?”
“Quiet. I prefer this,” Julia said, circling Rupert. She pinched one of his nipples, hard, twisting. A bolt of pain shot through him, making him gasp. “Sensitive. Good.” She did the same to the other, then attached small, punishing clamps to each. The bite of them was immediate and intense, a sharp, focusing agony. “Now, Slave Blue. Your wife’s pussy is waiting. You will taste her. You will make her come with your tongue. You will not use your teeth. You will not stop until I say so.”
Rupert shuffled forward on his knees. The cage pressed into his groin. The pain in his nipples was a bright counterpoint to the desperate, trapped arousal. He leaned in, his world reducing to the sight of Margot’s swollen flesh, the sound of her breathing, the dizzying smell of her.
He licked. A slow, broad stroke from her perineum up through her soaked folds. She gasped, her hips lifting. The little bell jingled.
“That’s it,” Margot sighed, her hand coming down to tangle in the leather of his hood, gripping him, guiding him. “Get in there. Properly.”
He obeyed, burying his face in her. He used his tongue to circle her clit, to dip into her opening, to lavish attention on every part of her. He was a instrument, a tool of her pleasure. His own need was a screaming, irrelevant thing in the background. The taste of her was complex, salty and rich, and he could detect, or imagined he could, the faint, ghostly tang of another man—the virgin boy from April.
“Fuck, his tongue,” Margot moaned, not to him, but to Julia. “He’s always been good at this. It’s why I keep him around.”
Julia chuckled, a low, rich sound. “He’s eager. Look at him. Pathetic and dedicated.” She moved closer. Rupert could see her black boots in his limited periphery. “So, tell me about May. The widow. Have you met him yet?”
“Not in person,” Margot said, her voice hitching as Rupert found a particular rhythm. “Just messages. Photos. God, Julia, he’s… substantial. Lonely, I think. Wants company. Wants to feel a woman again. I’m going to go to his house. Let him have me in his marital bed. I want to see if he fucks with all that pent-up grief, or if it’s just a sweet, gentle fuck.”
“It’s never just gentle with a hungry man,” Julia mused. She had something in her hand. A bottle. Rupert heard a click, then the sound of liquid. Something cold and slick dripped onto his back, right at the base of his spine. “I think Slave Blue needs to understand his role fully. Don’t you? To be not just a cuckold, but a true slave to your pleasure.”
“What are you—oh!” Margot’s gasp was one of delight.
Julia’s gloved finger, slick with lube, pressed against Rupert’s anus. He stiffened, a muffled sound of protest escaping the mouth slit.
“Relax,” Julia commanded, her voice devoid of warmth. “This is part of your service. You will take this. You will learn the pleasure of full submission.”
The pressure was insistent, invasive. He fought the instinct to clench, to resist. Margot’s hand tightened in his hair, holding him to her cunt. “Yes,” she hissed. “Do it, Julia. Fill him up. Let him feel that while he eats me.”
Julia’s finger pushed past the tight ring of muscle. The burn was sharp, a shocking violation that radiated through his pelvis. She worked it in slowly, then out, then in again, crooking it. On the third thrust, she brushed against something deep inside him that made his whole body jolt. A lightning strike of sensation, neither purely pain nor pleasure, but something profoundly confusing that made his caged dick pulse violently against its plastic prison.
“There it is,” Julia said, her voice clinical. She began to massage that spot, a relentless, rhythmic pressure. “The prostate. The male G-spot. This is where a man can learn to come from being penetrated. Where he can learn his true place.”
The humiliation was absolute. Kneeling, hooded, locked, eating his wife’s pussy while another woman fingered his ass, searching for and finding the most vulnerable button inside him. Tears of shame and overwhelming stimulation pricked his eyes. Yet, his body was betraying him, responding to the dual assault. A helpless, building tension coiled in his groin, with no possible release.
Margot was thrashing now, her thighs clamping around his head. “He’s… he’s hitting that spot inside you, isn’t he?” she panted down at him. “You’re going to spurt in your little cage while eating my cunt, you filthy fuck. Do it. I want to feel you shake.”
Julia increased her pace, her finger pistonning into him. The slap of her glove against his skin was obscenely loud. The pressure on his prostate was an electric storm, lighting up nerves he didn’t know he had.
Rupert moaned into Margot’s pussy, his tongue still working, his own pleasure now inextricably linked to his degradation. The world shrank to the leather suffocating his face, the taste of his wife, and the devastating, invasive pressure inside his bowels.
Margot came with a sharp cry, her back arching off the chaise, her internal muscles clenching rhythmically around Rupert’s tongue. As her climax peaked, Julia crooked her finger just so, and Rupert’s own body shattered.
An orgasm ripped through him with no ejaculation, a dry, seismic convulsion that locked his muscles and tore a ragged scream from behind the mask. He shook violently, his hips bucking against nothing, a searing, empty release that was more intense than any orgasm he could remember. He collapsed forward, his forehead against Margot’s thigh, panting, spent, utterly broken.
For a moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the faint jingle of Margot’s bell as she shifted.
Julia slowly withdrew her finger. Rupert flinched at the loss, a sob catching in his throat.
“Well,” Julia said, pulling off her glove with a snap. “That was a successful christening.” She patted Rupert’s shoulder, a patronizing gesture. “Good boy, Slave Blue. You took that very well.”
Margot stretched languorously, pushing Rupert’s head away gently. She looked down at his huddled, hooded form, a smile of deep satisfaction on her face. “He did, didn’t he? Such a good start to his sentence.” She leaned over, her voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear. “Just think, darling. Months of this. Months of aching. And in a few weeks, I’ll be getting stuffed by a grieving grandfather. I wonder if he’ll make me scream louder than you just did.”
She stood up, smoothing her lingerie. “Help him clean up, Julia? I need a glass of water. All that orgasm is terribly dehydrating.”
As Margot’s footsteps faded up the stairs, Julia placed a hand on the back of Rupert’s hood. “Up,” she said, not unkindly. “Let’s get you washed. The mindfuck is only beginning