Dr. Shackle and Mrs. Nine Ch. 03

Literotic asexstories – Dr. Shackle and Mrs. Nine Ch. 03 by PornPeasant,PornPeasant
Dear reader,

It took me a while to finish this chapter because I had to figure out how the protagonists fit in, what drives them and how the story will progress. Ralph and Paula must leave their own respective comfort zone and move towards more serious delights leaving gentle femdom behind; otherwise it would be just porn.

Enjoy.

Chapter 3

Ralph returned timely from the gym and put the Chicken Korma he had bought for dinner into the fridge after dropping his duffle-bag in the floor. He stripped , thought about having something fizzy from the fridge, but took to the bathroom instead; he was quite sweaty. Under the streaming water he had a tinkle, then soaped thoroughly, cock-cage and all, rinsing in between. Ralph had an excuse now to pee in the shower.

Skin still steaming he left the bathroom and wet footprints on the floor to open the wardrobe that kept his gear. The things Paula has chosen for him. He scanned the hangers and shelves. Smart T-shirt with matching spandex briefs and a collar. All an understatement in black naughtiness. Paula will like it, he hoped.

Ralph helped himself to a ‘Tizer and stood indecisive in the parlour. When would Paula be in? Beats me, if she’d let me know. Working overtime and all, and returning in splendid mood. A ‘Hello dear’, a peck on the cheek and she’ll crash on the couch. Regardless of what he wore or didn’t. There is only so much I can do, he thought. Maybe a foot rub and a Gin Tonic until she’s relaxed enough to ramble again about tedious meetings and old boy networks at the University. Then a bath and more often than not to bed without Ralph or dinner. Great way to spend the evening, Ralph thought.

It was a matter of reading body language after following her. Paula in her bed, on her side tolerated nothing but spooning. He lay down behind her and inched closer for a little stroking. Her back, her neck and hair until she nodded off. She loved that Ralph took care, but it wasn’t exactly spicy.

On better days, a supine Paula waited for Ralph to lower his shaven but unscented face (brushed teeth though) to her lap and let his tongue roam. Gently, slowly circling her mound and licking her labia, not touching her clit, but keeping her arousal climbing ever so slowly. She was in no hurry to get relief.

His current life was far from that, cock-cage, naughty Spandex and all. It had been weeks since Paula had shown need or inclination for Ralph’s oral services, let alone open his cock cage for some real sex. As much as being in chastity was a turn on, hard work proved to be effective in shorten sex out of their sexual life. He just hadn’t expected that Paula did loose her appetite. Perhaps it was the certainty that she could always have him, Ralph mused.

Of course she took his services for granted. Paula was from a family of means and her post-doc had started off nicely. It meant nice clothing for him, invitations to alumni events (of which the theological faculty’s had been the most memorable one) and a rather careless life in a posh apartment; all paid for by kinky sex which he loved to provide. Ralph was her toy-boy and in a Female-led-relationship, he waited for her to call upon him. He sighed and sank back into the leathery embrace of the couch.

—

But Paula was early today. Keys were clinking, the door opened and he rose just in time to hear her call: “Ralph, be a darling and see to Professor Fenton,” before she vanished in the bathroom. He bolted to the bedroom.

The very moment Ralph left it again, rid of collar and Spandex, Paula returned. Within seconds she took in the scene. Ralph in baggy pants, the spill on the coffee table and a forsaken Professor Fenton still standing in the doorway.

Paula walked calmly over to the Professor, took his hat and coat and made sure he was seated comfortably. Then she excused herself politely before turning towards the bedroom.

“Ralph, if you’d please.” I followed.

Paula had touched up her makeup when I threw on some trousers. Rosy cheeks and lips in a shade of vulva red starkly contrasting her decidedly strict pose. Upright and hands folded behind her, the very image of a strict governess, she stood besides the armchair. Which was bare and not covered with clothes. Funny thing, I noticed.

“Sorry Paula, but I had to change,” I hastened to say as I closed the door.

“That was unfortunate,” she stated.

“Paula, I was in me Spandex.”

“Vanity is no excuse for how you treated a guest.”

“But Paula. My cage, it showed.”

“You weren’t that skirty when you showed it to Sylvie.”

“Sylvie’s a friend, that Geezer isn’t.” I said testily.

“That geezer is the Dean,” Paula said coldly. I shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“Don’t you care about the impression this made?”

“He waited a moment. No big deal.” I shrugged again. She shook her head.

“On the contrary, it was shameful.”

“Oh stop it Paula. Get on with it, your guest is waiting.” She focused me coldly.

“Your stubbornness is not exactly mature.” I snorted and shook my head.

“Why didn’t you call and tell you’re bringing guests then?” I regretted my explosion right away. She probably had and I simply forgot. Paula nodded at my realization.

“I shouldn’t have expected otherwise,” she said and folded her hands in front of her. The riding crop, she had been holding all along, appeared.

“A woman’s reputation is easily damaged; professional and private alike. You don’t care about either.” She straightened a tad more. “I won’t have that.”

“Wha’?”

“I have to set things straight with you Ralph.” Paula took a step around the armchair and patted the armrest.

“Bend over,” she said. I froze.

“Bend over,” Paula repeated a little irritated and tapped the chair with the crop. Her gaze was fixed on me.

First time she spanked me, I was led by her. She looped a belt artfully around my scrotum and teased, tugged and coaxed me to the bed to lay down for it. Nice ‘n easy, it was hot. But now, without the leather to lead, she wanted me to do – what? I was completely in the air. Perhaps argue and risk more? Bend over, on my own, and then? Paula dissolved my shilly-shally with a crack on my arse.

After this gesture, she watched calmly the humiliating act of me lowering my trousers myself. Trousers at my ankles I turned to ask (I don’t know what), but Paula wouldn’t have it and used the riding-crop to remind me not to dither. I bent and she came closer to press down my croup with the crop. I shivered.

Paula nodded, pleased that all was set now and took a step back. I heard her inhale as she raised her arm. Then came the swishing sound.

She struck me with the force of her good Tennis arm and I moaned. The next stroke fell below the first one, on the sweet spot, where the butt meets the thigh. I shrieked and my hands flew to my buttocks, to ward off, to shield but were scythed by the crop cracking down. My fingers muffled a shriek, rushing into my mouth hurting as if cut off. I wailed until a searing blow crossed all welts at once forcing all air out of me in one single, gasp. I slumped.

Paula made a pleased sound, halting an instant, before commencing. Another blow connecting previous pain crosswise, a knife slashing, a vicious talon not letting go, a branding iron bearing into me. I sobbed and prayed, doubly tied by guilt and shame. I had disrespected her guest, I did bring this onto myself, so I raised my butt. But there came no more.

Paula exhaled contently and stepped closer, her heels not furious anymore. Then she stroked me. Over my back down to my butt where it came to rest on the welts. A painful touch, I feared she would pinch me, but Paula merely caressed. “There, there,” she murmured and kept on caressing until I relaxed. I couldn’t face her, did not want for her to see my tear streaked face, so I lay still over the armchair, letting her contemplate her handiwork and caressing my burning arse until she tapped the boxers at my ankles with the crop.

“Put on something less ridiculous,” she said and left.

Cross, knife, talon, branding, cross, knife, talon, branding. The words bounced around in my mind. I didn’t have enough words for eleven licks with the crop, not even a full dozen. Perhaps the pain had numbed my mind, I was unsure what to feel besides shame and pain. It had been less than a minute. A small eternity that had held me captive. Like the irons I wore.

I groaned and shifted my weight. My balls had foolishly tried to crawl back into my body, but the shackle at my scrotum had kept them out. It hurt, I moaned quietly, afraid that she might hear it and lay for another minute still, before daring to get up. To the mirror I teetered, to check my back.

I stood there for a long moment not comprehending that I didn’t see any blood. Red hot skin, inflamed and burning, purple welts, engorged yet growing, but no blood. Maybe a tiny, red sparkle where two lashes had crossed, but that was it. Paula had been very careful when punishing me.

—

When I returned to the living room, their conversation stopped. Paula had picked up the Tizer can and wiped off the spill looking pointedly to the kitchen, so I busied myself with making Tea.

On my way I felt their looks following me. I felt exposed, as if stripped, my careful treading commented by their silence. I put on the kettle.

“Lemon or cream Professor?” I asked when bringing the tray. He didn’t answer, his gaze lingering on the purple line across my fingers. I waited with the tray in my hands.

“Nothing, thank you,” he answered.

“Sugar for me, thank you my dear,” said Paula. I did not dare to look at her as I handed her the cup. After a long moment of quiet spoon stirring, in which Paula studied me, she turned to the Professor. It wasn’t lost on the Professor that I remained standing in the kitchen. His glance strayed ever so often over to me as if to confirm a suspicion.

The lengthy monologue the Professor had set on, ceased. He no longer lectured, his non-committal remarks were gone and he didn’t interrupt Paula any more.

She smiled absent-mindedly when he finished. I waited. Cross, knife, talon, branding, cross, knife, talon, branding.

—

Paula saw the Professor to the Tube station, leaving tidying up for me. I did the kitchen in seconds flat, then went to the bedroom to gather the clothes piling up. Those behind the armchair.

After I put away the riding-crop, back into Paula’s drawer and out of my mind, I couldn’t help but to peek at the armchair. It had been complicit in my punishment and had borne witness to my cock-cage trying to borrow in, but was as collected as to be expected from furniture. I chided myself for what I had expected. There was noting, nothing but an impassive leather surface I’d wished to be my buttocks. My chores had stimulated my circulation and the welts throbbed again.

But then, there was work to be done. I picked up the laundry to bring it over to the washing machine in the bathroom. I tried to push the bedroom door open with a foot, almost tripping but managed. Loaded with laundry and memories, I emerged from the bedroom the second time that day to face Paula.

To his immense relief she had changed back into his lovely girl friend who was standing in the hallway like someone waiting on a rendezvous. He did the proper thing and knelt down.

Paula’s hands flew up to her face in genuine joy and she came softly closer, directly in front of her kneeling Ralph.

“My,” she said ruffling my hair. After a moment, before she could retreat, I put my arms around her legs and pressed my face into her lap.

“My,” repeated Paula touched by the Marlon moment. She held me by my head, pulling me in to inhale her scent and feel her warmth. I embraced her legs wishing for this moment to last. She stood calm and collected, quite the lady, but there was no mistaking the joyful anticipation tensing her legs.

Paula let my hair go, touched my face and gently raised me to study me with glittering eyes. A long moment later, she began baring me. She pulled my T-shirt over my head, let it drop and her hands took in her territory. Her palms traced the lobes of my shoulders as she did when I lay on top of her, then slid down over my chest with both hands to cup my breasts, pronounced by workout, kneading gently to enjoy its firmness and my responsive nipple.

Her fingers traced from a nipple down over my abs, lingering briefly and marvelling at their flat firmness. Her hands went around on to grab my waist, enjoying that it firm and slim girth. Content, she reached down into my knickers. Her other hand went round to my back. To feel how hot my skin was. Sh and to knead my buttocks a little. I inhaled sharply and she did too. Yes, that is your doing my dear. Without letting my butt go, my trousers dropped and Paula got hold of my cock.

She savoured the token of her power in her hands. An imprisoned cock, engorged and eager showing its blue and prominent veins. She stroked it along its steely spine that was warm from the blood pulsating beneath it. My glans was turning purple and hurt. Just like my opposite, burning side.

She opened my cock cage to let it drop too. The clinking heralded my subjugation, for which Paula took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom to consummate it.