Becoming Miss Ashley's Pet

Chapter Four - Corky

Chapter Four - Corky

“Take him all the way in now. Yes, good boy. Now swallow. You know how good that makes a man feel.”

While my wife’s hand guides the collar and the back of my head she softly coos instruction in her most sultry voice. I hear the rustle of clothing and know that her free hand is unbuttoning her blouse and unhitching her skirt. Meanwhile I endeavor to deep throat the man who is courting my wife. And though I have long ago learned to suppress gagging, this Reggie approaches the size of Big Sam.

Miss Ashley always preferred size in her men.

With a particularly energetic forward thrust of my head, adding a most sensuous degree of wet friction to my oral endeavor, I feel Mr. Reggie quiver in ecstasy. Miss Ashley knowingly draws back my head.

“Enough,” she commands, pulling at my leash.

Mr. Reggie’s stiff p***s makes a discernible plopping sound as I quickly draw back, truncating any premature male discharge. When freed of my lips it instantly snaps upwards to thump against his stomach, bringing soft laughter from Miss Ashley. Firm tugs draw me to the bottom of Miss Ashley’s oversized four poster bed. Rapidly moving hands secure my leash to the bottom right post. I remain on knees and elbows, as always, and look to admire the exquisite nakedness of my wife, her white boots remain and add a sordid quirkiness to her sublime form.

She snaps her fingers and points. A smiling and most erect lover steps to the bed and lies supine. Yes, just as I learned many years ago, Miss Ashley prefers to be on top... demands really.

So here I am, cuckolded again with the irony that I performed the foreplay, orally stimulating Miss Ashley’s lover to the point of volcanic eruption.

As Miss Ashley joins her handsome and well hung lover, the catharsis of the interaction sets in, causing me to quaver in an odd combination of envy, lust and hate. I glance downward, careful not to cause undue tension on my control chain, to see that my own male organ remains hard and has perhaps further stiffened.

As intended with the many modifications, my hormones roar with normal release having been long obviated by the scalpel of the demented Dr. Helga Reinhold. And as I watch Miss Ashley straddle Mr. Reggie’s stomach, it dawns on me that the island visit of the noted surgeon does not bode well.

I remember the touch of her altering hands.

The operation to divert my urethra, forever ending ejaculation and the pleasure associated therewith, was performed utilizing a local anesthetic.

“I’ll want you to watch closely as the hands of a woman end all possibility of climactic release, Charles,” I recall Dr. Corrothers counseling as I begged for clemency.

“And understand it is your wife who has approved the procedure. She controls.”

I can still hear Dr. Helga’s cackling under the surgical mask as I felt the ironically painless incision.

Later, the evil woman sutured my vocal cords. There would be no more begging.

My thoughts return to the present as my wife’s lovely derriere lowers, her spread thighs nicely serving to flash her feminine pinkness. Miss Ashley’s mons is kept well trimmed and whereas normally a priapic male would revel at the arousing view, such stimulation only serves to heighten my frustration. I want her and can sense her hand gripping Mr. Reggie’s massive erection and rubbing the tip against the portal of her love nest, just as she did with me during the months of courtship.

Next she will emit her little sigh of pleasure as the engorged tip splits her inner labia. Her hands will move to pin Mr. Reggie’s arms to the mattress. Then she’ll lower her hips and impale herself, her fine sheath swallowing her lover’s phallus as would a hungry snake. And she will moan, soaking up the sensation of physical delight and the mental satiation of control... a man’s erect p***s under her total governance.

Yes, I can feel her warmth, her wetness. And I think back to that first time. Bells of warning should have rung when my ostensibly demure companion first rolled on top and begin to fornicate with the energy and knowledge of an experienced w***e. But I was too wrapped up in my scheme, blinded by visions of breaking into the Duval vaults and whisking away bags of cash. I did not understand that in plotting I was sealing my own fate.

So I watch as Miss Ashley pumps and the room fills with the fine fragrance of the aroused female s*x. There come moans and groans, the intermingling of the sounds making it impossible to discern the source. And I listen and sniff the air. There is the stimulating fragrance of tropical flowers and feminine aroma as Mr. Reggie pleasures my wife as a normally functioning man, an obligation long ago denied me.

And I find that just as the dog I have become, I strangely whine. A plaintive whine... pitiful... but it is the only expression of my feeling that I can muster.

Miss Ashley hears yet continues pumping, my beseeching noises seeming to spur her to renewed efforts. She giggles, her mirth arising from knowing that I watch in total frustration. But perhaps it is the pleasure of Mr. Reggie’s hot and hard erection abrading what I perceive to be the very entrance to her womb.

I see muscles clench then Miss Ashley’s hands, continuing to pin Mr. Reggie’s arms to the mattress, move to his n*****s, pinch and then painfully twist. There results a paroxysmal bucking, which Miss Ashley absorbs like a rodeo star. Yet she shrieks in ecstasy, extracting from her lover a powerful orgasm.

Then I see her thighs squeeze and she slaps his face.

“Come,” is her simple command.

And another giggle evidences that her well hung lover accedes to his lady’s wishes.

“Yes!” Miss Ashley hisses, her shoulders slumping forward to rest her firm breasts on Mr. Reggie’s chest.

My heart pounds. I can feel the rush of blood bringing a burning to my face. I strain against my leash. Such humiliation... yet I am aroused.

Miss Ashley rests in her glow then finally rolls to the side.

“I’m going to need you, Corky.”

Yes, I think to myself. But does it have to be before him?