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Not For Sale, Copyright © 2009 by Orlando, All Rights Reserved

       I got up from my cramped position and faced the front of the cage as soon as I heard the garage door.  She expected me to be in position when she came through the door and I had learned the hard way what happened if I wasn’t.  It wasn’t an experience I ever wanted to repeat.  Within a few seconds the kitchen door opened.  She crossed to my cage and opened the door.  I scrambled out and planted my lips on her shoes.

       “Have you had a good day, boy?” she asked.

       A good day?  Cooped up in a four by four cage all day?  She knew better but that wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

       “Yes, Miss Glenda,” I said into her shoes.

       “Are you happy to see me, boy?”

       I had been bored out of my mind all day as usual.  Of course I was happy to see her if only to get out of that cursed cage.

       “Yes, Miss Glenda.”

       “Does my boy need to go outside?” she asked sweetly.

       Of course I needed to go outside.  She made sure of that.  She always made me drink a liter of water before she left and then left my water dish full.  I was expected to have the dish empty before she returned.  I could wait and drink it just before she came home but sometimes she popped in at lunch to check.  One session with the paddle because I had water left was enough for me; I always had the dish empty before noon.  This meant that by the time she got home I was awash.

       “Yes, Miss, please,” I said.

       “Ok, but hurry,” she said.  “I want to tell you about my day.”

       I crawled through the doggie door and down the back steps into the yard, hurrying to my designated spot and lifting my leg.  I glanced at the window to see her grinning face.  I had to wait for her nod because she relished the power that she had over me in such a simple thing as relieving my bladder.  She finally nodded and I gushed out a geyser of piss that as usual sprayed a little on my leg.

       When I had finished I hustled back into the house.  She was no longer in the kitchen so I moved through to the living room where I found her seated on the couch with a glass of white wine in her hand.  I returned my lips to her shoes.

       “Did you think about me today, boy?” she asked.

       I truthfully had thought about nothing else.  In the six months since I had agreed to become her slave and signed the stupid contract, that I thought was going to be another sexual game, she had reduced me into an almost mindless wreck whose every thought and desire was focused around her. 

       “Yes, Miss I did,” I answered.

       “I thought about you also,” she said softly.

       That startled me.  I couldn’t imagine her wasting a thought on me during the day.  She was the Vice-President of Marketing for a Fortune 500 company and her job consumed her.  She never said she thought about me.  I waited for the shoe to drop.

       “Would you like to know why, boy?” she asked.

       I’m sure I didn’t, but I responded as I knew she wanted, “Yes, Miss.”

       “I went to lunch with my boss today,” she said.  “One martini led to another and the first thing you know we decided to get a room.”

       I had known I wasn’t going to like her reason and in truth I hated it.  She had turned me into a sniveling slave but at least the sex she had gotten for the past six months had been at the end of my tongue.  This was the first time she had cheated and I was sure that now that the dam had burst that trickle would become a torrent.

       “You can’t imagine how intense my first orgasm was, thinking of you cramped up in your cage while he drilled me into the mattress,” she effused.

       I could imagine and it saddened me.  When we had been man and wife I used to give her great ones.  I knew how to bring out the insane in her and I could picture how the thought of me in my cage would add to her fervor.

       “And then the second one,” she gushed.  “You wouldn’t have believed the second one.  I didn’t believe it myself.”

       A tear dripped out of my left eye onto her shoe.  I quickly licked it away.

       “Do you know what drove me over the second time?” she asked.

       “No, Miss.”

       “It was feeling his big dick inside of me and thinking about yours all caged up and knowing that your little thingy will never ever be inside of me or anyone else ever again!”

       The tears were dropping like rain on her shoes now.  I couldn’t help myself.

       “Put your face on my pussy,” she demanded.

       I got up on my knees and shoved my face between her thighs.  She wasn’t wearing any panties.  My nose poked into her slit.  I could smell her arousal and something else…

       “Can you smell him, boy?” she asked.

       I could and it caused me to pull away.  She got a fistful of my hair and dragged my face back in.

       “I didn’t bother to shower at the motel because I thought you should start getting used to the taste of another man’s cum,” she said.  “Stick out your tongue and clean me and while you’re at it I’ll take one of those orgasms you’ve gotten so good at.”

***

       Two hours later, after a long leisurely bath which had been heaven for her and hell for my dick she dropped the next bomb.

       “Tonight’s your monthly release isn’t it, boy?” she asked.

       I had been counting the minutes.  It was something I personally had written into the contract before I signed it.  She had tried to assure me that I would be granted regular releases and I had almost believed her but some doubt had caused me to write in a ridiculous one month release schedule.  I had still believed we were playing a game.  Thank god I’d put that in because her idea of regular was once a year.

       “Yes, Miss,” I responded.

       “I have something special in mind,” she said.

       “Miss?”

       “I invited someone,” she said wickedly.

       “Oh no,” I thought.  “She’s going to make me beat off in front of her boss!”

       “Not my boss,” she laughed, reading my mind.  “Although that isn’t a bad idea.”

       “If not her boss then who?” I wondered.

       “I met a woman who has a slave husband just like you and I invited her over for the evening.”

       “Miss?” I quavered.

       “There is nothing in your contract that says I can’t,” she snapped.

       “Yes, Miss, but…”

       “But nothing, boy.”

       “Yes, Miss,” I said meekly.

       “Good.  Then go answer the door because they’re here,” she smiled.

       I had been so preoccupied that I hadn’t heard anyone drive up but just as she said that the doorbell rang.  I crawled to the door and hid behind it as I opened it.  A stocky woman in a grey skirt and white blouse with her hair in a bun burst in, trailed by a man in drag carrying a small bag.  Actually, on second glance, he wore a strange outfit.  Four inch stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, a leather mini that barely covered his genitals, a half corset that left his pierced breasts exposed and a wig.

       “Glenda,” the stocky woman boomed.  “So nice of you to invite us.”

       “My pleasure, Wilma,” my wife said.  “Glad you could come.”

       “It is so great meeting someone in the same town who shares our interests,” Wilma effused.  “Usually we have to go to the big city.”

       “Can I get you something to drink?” my wife asked.

       “A glass of white wine if you have it.”

       My wife turned and started for the kitchen when Wilma stopped her.

       “Doesn’t your slave take care of serving?” Wilma asked.

       “Sometimes,” she laughed, “when I let him stand.”

       “Henrietta can get it,” Wilma said, snapping her fingers.  “Would you like one also?”

       My wife nodded and Henrietta went off to get the wine.  The ladies sat on the couch.  My wife pointed at the floor and I took my customary place at her feet.  After they had clinked glasses and taken their first sips my wife looked at Henrietta and cocked her head.

       “Strange outfit,” my wife remarked.

       “How so?” Wilma asked.

       “The top part,” my wife responded.  “Why are his breasts open like that?  I mean wouldn’t the effect be better with a bra top?”

       “He has a top,” Wilma said.  “I just had him leave it off so you could get the full effect when he puts it on.”

       “The full effect?”

       “Watch,” Wilma laughed.  “Top, Henrietta!”

       Henrietta reached into the bag he had carried in and came out with what looked like a metal bra except where the cups were it was a skeleton frame.  That is, two circles of metal that rested on the chest and a cross of metal bands that formed out to create the breast.  He put it on.  In the center of each circle at the apex of the crossed bands, where the nipple would be on a woman, was a thumbscrew that was attached to a rod with a hook that terminated right at his slightly pooched out breasts and pierced nipples.  A light started to dawn in my brain as to the purpose of the whole thing and bile rose in my throat.  Wilma snapped her fingers and he stepped over to her.

       “I just started using this on him,” Wilma said.  “It’s kind of a…breast enhancer.”

       She slipped the hook that rested over his right nipple through his nipple ring and started turning the thumbscrew.  The hook moved away from his chest pulling the nipple with it.  She didn’t stop until he was whimpering loudly and his breast was stretched out in a two inch cone from his chest.  She repeated the process on the left and sat back.

       “There,” she said with satisfaction, “breasts!  Small ones to be sure but over the course of the next few months I plan to stretch them all the way out until they touch the cage.  I think by then the effect will be permanent and I can replace the thumbscrews with fixed hooks to hold his nipples.”

       “My god,” my wife marveled, “that’s so deliciously…wicked!  Where can I get one?”

       “Henrietta is a wonder with his hands,” Wilma boasted.  “He made this one…reluctantly of course, but a few sessions with the cane convinced him.  I’ll have him make you one.”

       “And the piercings?  Where can I get them done?”

       “I have a friend who will do it for…reciprocity,” Wilma laughed.

       “Reciprocity?”

       “My friend likes to have his dick sucked by straight guys who are being forced,” Wilma explained.

       “You make Henrietta suck other men’s cocks?” my wife asked.

       “Do you have a boyfriend, Glenda?”

       “What?”

       “It’s a simple question, Glenda.  Do you have a boyfriend?”

       My wife actually looked a tiny bit guilty when she answered, “Yes.”

       “Don’t you think that eventually you’ll want him to spend the night?”

       “I…it just happened today and I…”

       “Trust me, Glenda, you will and then what?”

       “I…what do you mean, and then what?” my wife asked.

       “Your slave, Glenda,” Wilma said.  “What are you going to do with him?”

       “I…I don’t know.  It just happened today.  I haven’t really thought about it.”

       “Aren’t you going to want to show him off?” Wilma asked.

       “Well…”

       “And serve the two of you?”

       “Serve us?” my wife asked.

       “Or at least make him watch while you fuck your boyfriend?” Wilma said.  “Wouldn’t that be exciting for you?”

       That thought did it for my wife.  I could see the arousal creeping up her face like a red tide.

       “Oh god yes,” she moaned.

       “And clean your cunt of his cum?” Wilma purred.

       “Yes, yes, god yes,” my wife chanted.

       “Well then trust me, you are going to want to watch him suck your boyfriend’s cock,” Wilma concluded.

       “God, yes!”

       Wilma sat back looking smug.  The red tide kept advancing.  My wife was wiggling like something was crawling around in her pants.

       “Wilma?” my wife said uncertainly.

       “Yes?”

       “Would you think I’m rude if I…take my boy into the bedroom for a few minutes?”

       “Lord no, Glenda,” Wilma said.  “I could use a bit of time alone with Henrietta myself.  Let’s take a thirty minute break.”

***

       We came out of the bedroom a half hour later and the big grin on my wife’s face was echoed on Wilma’s.  My dick was straining in its cage with the realization that my release was finally at hand.  The coming pleasure overpowered all of the fear engendered by talk of ‘breast enhancement’ and ‘sucking dick’.  I was ready.  I looked eagerly at my wife.

       “Ready for your monthly spurt, are you, boy?” my wife laughed.

       “Yes, Miss”

       “Ok,” she said, taking the key from her neck and handing it to me, “you can have your usual…”

       “What the fuck is going on?” Wilma screeched, snatching the key from my hand.

       “He’s going to jack off for us, Wilma,” my wife explained.

       “You let him have orgasms?”

       “Well…I…”

       “He’s a slave for Christ’s sake,” Wilma boomed.

       “Don’t you let Henrietta have…”

       “Henrietta, “Wilma interrupted, “when is the last time you got to play with that pitiful thing you call a dick.”

       “Seven years ago, Miss Wilma,” he answered.

       “And when is the next time I plan to let you touch it?”

       “Please, Miss…”

       “When, damn it?”

       “Nev…never,” he stammered.

       “That’s right you little faggot, never!” Wilma sneered, turning to my wife.  “So why are you letting him?”

       “It’s…it’s in his contract,” my wife explained.

       “So?”

       “I…  Look, Wilma, I signed a contract with him and I think that I should honor it,” my wife said.

       “He’s a slave, Glenda.  You can do what you want.”

       “I wouldn’t feel right,” my wife said.

       “Wouldn’t it be better for you knowing that he was denied even that little bit of pleasure?” Wilma purred.

       “Yes, but, I wouldn’t feel right if I…”

       “Let me see the contract,” Wilma snapped.

       My wife went to the safe, withdrew the contract and handed it to Wilma.  She rapidly found the section that I had written in, detailing my release.  She smiled and my balls retracted.

       “This section says that:  ‘at least once a month slave will be permitted to release his sperm by some method such as masturbation, or intercourse or other such means that allows his sperm to exit his body’,” Wilma read.

       I had been proud of that sentence.  I had been worried that she might let me hump sandpaper or something and I wouldn’t be able to achieve ejaculation and she would count it as a release.  This way I felt that no matter what I would have to be allowed to stimulate myself until I shot.  Wilma still had the evil smile plastered on her face.

       “Get up on the coffee table, worm,” Wilma said coldly.

       I looked at my wife for direction but she just stared frigidly back at me.  I got up on all fours on the coffee table.  Wilma moved to my left side and lightly rubbed her hand on my ass.

       “So, we need a little spurt do we?” she whispered in my ear.

       I nodded.

       “Well, let’s just see if we can take care of that for you,” she chuckled.

       I felt her finger probing my asshole and then slip inside.  She inserted it all the way and started pressing it against my prostrate.  It was very uncomfortable and I complained.  Her response was to use my hair to yank my head backward effectively pinning me in position.  I endured five minutes of her sodomizing my asshole before she let me go.

       “There,” Wilma said happily, “that should satisfy the contract.”

       I looked down between my legs and there was a month’s worth of cum on the table that had come out of my cock.  I opened my mouth to protest and my wife laughed.

       “I believe that ‘sperm exited your body’, didn’t it, boy?” she smiled.

       “But…”

       “But nothing, boy, you wrote the contract.  Now, lick it up!”