A misbehaving sub receives his favorite sort of punishment as his domme wife cuckolds him in a spectacularly kinky fashion.

“Dessert at eight,” Marissa called out when I was walking out the door. She didn’t say, “Dinner at eight,” she said dessert. And I knew what that meant. Dessert meant that I’d been a good sub, that I was getting a reward, a cherry on the top of my ice cream. That is, if a cherry means an orgasm or some other pervy treat. I could tell from her tone of voice alone that I was in for one sexy fuck of a night. “Dessert” lingered in my mind all day, our code word for what happens when Marissa invites one of her lovers over to dominate while I watch and pleasure myself. I did my best to maintain my composure throughout the normal workday, but mostly I thought of the way Marissa looks when she’s punishing her boy toys. She’s always beautiful to me, but there’s a change when she’s in domme mode. I love the fierce gleam to her deep-set brown eyes. She plays the part with effortless precision, combing her glistening wheat-blonde hair straight off her high forehead, making sure her lips are painted a deep blood-red. When she’s Mistress Marissa, her whole countenance is one of power and strength.

She exudes that combination in such a heady way. I get high off the whiff of her essence.

Sadly, I’m a weak man. I jacked off in the bathroom at lunch, envisioning what treats I might arrive home to, what parade of pleasures Marissa might have in store for me. My hand was a blur on my rock-hard cock as I thought of the times before, the many different situations I’ve fallen into. Marissa maintains a small stable of men who come to pay her homage, who bend to her will. They live to serve her the way I do, but I’m the lucky fuck who is married to her — who is hers to use and tease and torment 24/7.

What would she do tonight?

Some men enjoy watching their wives be fucked by other men. I get as much of a rush when my wife’s the one doing the fucking. Maybe even more of a rush. I love the way her sub lovers look when they give themselves over to her erotic whims.

“She gave him a tug on his rigid dick, and he shot all over the shiny furniture.”

I remembered our last “dessert.” She had allowed me to stand next to her while one of her well-spanked subs had licked her boots clean. I’d watched from the best vantage point possible as he’d lapped and licked every millimeter of the shiny vinyl. Then she’d allowed him the reward of coming on those glossy boots, with the understanding that he’d have to clean them again. That had been one hell of a dessert for everyone. I wondered if tonight would include something similar, or maybe she’d push the envelope further. Might she wear one of her strap-ons?

She hadn’t told me not to touch myself in anticipation of our playdate, but I knew she wouldn’t be pleased, knew that I would have to confess what I’d done. That was the only part I wasn’t looking forward to. And yet, wasn’t that also the part that ultimately made me shoot my wad? I am nothing except a ball of conflicting emotions.

I called Marissa on the drive home. I told her right away that I’d taken the time to get myself off at work. There was silence on her end of the line. I could imagine her pursing her cherry-red lips, could envision the expression of displeasure on her lovely face. She drew in a breath, and then she said, “Well, I guess that changes my plans.”

“How?” I stuttered. “How does it?”

“You’ll see for yourself, won’t you, Michael?” she countered, and she disconnected the line before I could ask her for any further information. Now, I wondered what her plans had been and what her new plans were. I hoped I wouldn’t be exiled from the party. I wanted in. I wanted to be involved.

When I arrived home, the door was unlocked, but Marissa wasn’t waiting for me in the front room. I heard the sound of voices, and I realized she had at least one guest, and that she and whoever was with her were already in our guest room — the one she’s had outfitted as a dungeon. I took off my suit, stripped down to my black boxers, and as humbly as I possibly could, crawled down the hall and into the room. There was Marissa in a shiny black catsuit. On the floor at her feet was our upstairs neighbor, Tim. It’s not by chance that Tim lives one floor up. He is Marissa’s favorite pet aside from me, and when the apartment in our building opened, she’d suggested he rent it for easy access. Tim’s blissful expression let me know he was already halfway to heaven. He was naked. There were clamps on his nipples, and his cock was at full mast.

Marissa gave me withering a look that made me very sad I’d jerked off at work. I ought to have been able to hold out. I should have been good. “Michael,” she said coldly, “sit in your chair.”

I glanced in the corner. There was the punishment chair. The one with no actual seat in the frame. I could sit on the rim of it, and Marissa could have her way with me however she wanted. I took off my boxers without her having to tell me to, and then I sat and waited for her to cuff my hands to the armrests, the way she always did when I was being punished; this night was no exception.

My cock was as hard as Tim’s. The difference? Tim was going to experience Marissa’s attention, while I would have to sit and watch from a distance without any relief. Of course, I love watching Marissa in action, so this was definitely the type of punishment I could withstand. However, being denied a close-up view of her deviant artistry made me wistful and not being able to stroke my cock was sheer torture.

“If you’d waited,” Marissa cooed, “you’d have had a front-row seat, with your dick in hand. Then Tim would have watched while you and I played. Instead, you’re going to be the audience tonight and there will be no orgasm for you.”

Before she ignored me completely, Marissa inserted a well-lubed plug into my ass. That would give me something to focus on while I watched her torment Tim. I relaxed around the plug as much as I could, but the toy definitely let me know it was there.

Then it was go time. Marissa gave Tim his first challenge.

“Let’s see if you can get me off with your tongue in the next five minutes,” she said, and she unzipped a special part of the suit and revealed her shaved naked pussy. “If you can make me come using only your tongue, I’ll reward you.” I watched as she set an alarm on her fancy wristwatch. Then she settled back on the vinyl sofa, parted her legs, and waited for Tim to go to work. He wasted no time. He lapped at her like a wild man, and even though I could not see his tongue actually delving into her folds, I could see Marissa’s expression begin to soften as he took her higher and higher. But then he did the unthinkable. He brought one hand up and stroked her pussy, and Marissa was on him like a hell beast.

“I said with your tongue. Only your tongue!”

In a flash, there was a crop in her hand. Tim found himself bent over the sofa with his ass in the air as Marissa told him to count. My cock bobbed with every blow, as if I was the one on the receiving end of her punishment stick. I do love to be in that position. Watching, however, came a close second in my world. I felt my cock twitch; the urge to climax from the visual before me was strong. Then I felt Marissa’s eyes on me. She seemed intuitively wired to understanding my desires. I felt her unforgiving gaze caress me. “Don’t you dare,” was all she said, her words warning me not to shoot. “You won’t find yourself in Tim’s place. It will be much worse for you.”

I wondered if “worse” might mean better, but I told myself I didn’t need to risk it. I had already come once. I could wait. I could assure my willful cock that it must behave. I could…

Marissa then did something cruel. To me, at least. She put a vinyl glove on one hand and poured a puddle of lube into her palm. Then she started to stroke Tim’s balls. I groaned. She shot me a look. I knew what that look meant. I bit my lip. She slowly slid her pointer into Tim’s tight rear door. I forced myself to remain quiet. Then she resumed his discipline session. While Tim did everything he could to hold himself in check for his mistress — and my wife — I watched his ass cheeks growing redder, his cock bobbing joyfully, his head lolling this way and that. She had him in such a state. Would he come? Would he cry? She whipped him until he managed to whisper, “Mistress, may I? Please, may I?”

He was on the cusp. I could read his body language. Whether or not she gave him permission, she was going to have a shower of semen all over the sofa, white ropes of come in a primal pattern of pleasure. She gave him a tug on his rigid dick, told him to make her happy, and he shot all over the shiny furniture. Mistress chose that sofa for a reason. She can wipe the surface clean with a quick spit and polish, unlike a fabric-upholstered job.

Tim was obviously demolished after his orgasm. His whole body trembled for several seconds and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. I wondered what my icy wife had next up her vinyl sleeve. Would she release him? Release me? Or would she continue to torment and treat her lucky sub?

I shouldn’t have wondered. The night was young. She let Tim recover, and then removed the clamps from his nipples, kissed each one lightly, and then bent him over the spanking horse. While I watched, my own cock unfulfilled and demanding, she locked her boy toy into place, wrists and ankles cuffed to the contraption. Then she grabbed a nearby pitcher and poured herself a drink of water. That seemed unexpected to me. She was taking a breather? My mistress can go all night without pause. I watched as she fished a cube of ice from the glass. Then she approached the bound sub and ran the ice along his spine.

Had he trembled before? Now, he shivered — as much as he could being so well bound. I slowly drew in my own breath, imagining how the ice would feel on my skin and picturing my lovely wife doing to me what she was doing to Tim. The lucky stiff. After letting the ice melt in rivulets down his muscular back, she licked along the trails of water. He moaned, and she stiffened. “Silence,” she barked, and he instantly quieted himself.

What was next? What was next?

She stood a few steps in front of my chair, locked eyes with me, and then undid her catsuit. I watched her unzip the length slowly, and then peel off the formfitting material. She was glorious naked, but she didn’t stay that way for long. Tim couldn’t see what she was up to. Not from his bent-over position. But I could. She went to her chest of toys and removed a harness and a thick phallus. Oh, her sub was in for a special treat. Dessert of the sweetest variety. Marissa came to the front of the horse so that Tim could see her if he moved his head. When he caught sight of the vision that is Marissa with a strap-on, he struggled to stay silent. I could tell he wanted to beg her. Hell, I wanted to beg her. But I knew my place. Marissa would take care of Tim, and then if I were really and truly lucky, she would relent and take care of me. I didn’t deserve a reward. I knew that, and she knew that. But I couldn’t stop myself from hoping.

She snagged the lube from a shelf and oiled up her shaft. Her fingers caressed the synthetic dick as lovingly as if it were flesh and blood. Sometimes, Marissa lets me lube her, allowing me to participate in one of her sessions. But I was in no state for that now, not bound as I was, not punished as I was. This was torture.

“Slowly, almost achingly slowly, she began to fuck herself on my cock.”

She took her time, and I could see Tim dreaming of the way it would feel when she finally impaled him, when she introduced that monster of a cock to his tight back door. My anus twitched as I wished I were the one over that horse. I know the feeling in my soul. Why wasn’t I being prepped for a good, sound fucking? Why had I given in to my whims? Why had I not been made of steel and metal?

I answered my own query silently: because if I were strong, I’d be of no use to Marissa. As much as I live to watch her with other men, she lives to perform for me. She adores dressing up like the domme goddess that she is and punishing and pleasing the various men who crave only to serve her. And it makes her even hotter to do this when I’m bound and “forced” to passively watch her every move.

We are matched. Well matched. But that didn’t stop me from fantasizing. Right up until she parted Tim’s sculpted rear cheeks, I imagined her setting him free and binding me instead. There was a chance, wasn’t there? An inkling, a flicker of hope that she might take pity on me?

No, not tonight.

She held his ass cheeks wide open. She called him her good boy, told him how proud she was of him, instructed him to hold steady for her. Then she squirted a generous amount of lube right onto his hole. I tightened on the butt plug that was corkscrewed into my own ass. My muscles hugged and released it. My poor dick throbbed. Helplessly, I watched as she roughly spread the gelatinous liquid up and down Tim’s hidden valley. At this less than subtle touch, Tim groaned. Immediately, he seemed to realize what he’d done, and he whispered, “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

The light in Marissa’s eyes was piercing. She was loving every second of this scene. She was about to fuck this handsome sub, and she was going to do so while I watched. Every bit of this interaction worked as much for her as it did for me. She took a deep breath, anchored Tim with her hands on his hips, and then thrust. I noted that she didn’t give him any time to warm up, to grow accustomed to the way her dick felt against his asshole. She started to thrust fiercely from that very first interaction, the first intrusion of the dildo’s bulbous head into his tight orifice. I was the one to groan then. I couldn’t help myself. I watched with my eyes wide open, drinking in the beautiful way they worked together. Marissa knew she had some time to play. After all, Tim had already creamed all over her sofa. She fucked him to a steady rhythm, in and out of his backdoor at a beat she must have been playing in her head.

I wished I could jerk my cock to the same beat. And although there was a part of me that still wished I was the one being fucked the way Tim was being fucked — my own asshole speared by Marissa’s synthetic cock, my whole world in her capable dominant hands — there was a more honest part of me that disagreed. Yes, as quickly as I had that wish, my inner voice called foul. There was nothing higher to me than accepting my fate as Marissa’s top sub. Watching her manhandle the lover of her choosing while being forced to remain exactly as she’d placed me took me higher than anything else.

She used one oiled hand to slowly work Tim’s reinvigorated dick. He lowered his head, and I heard him start to beg. “May I, Mistress?”

“No, you may not.”

“Please, Mistress.”

“Not if you know what’s good for you.”

He shook all over. I wondered how long he’d last.

“Oh, God. Please, Mistress.”

Finally, she took pity.

“You may come,” she granted him, and almost simultaneous to her words, he shot off once more. For someone who had already climaxed once, he still had a surprising amount of spunk left in him.

It was over fairly quickly after that. Marissa unbound her lover and set him free. He gave me a quick look that I took as jealousy mixed with sympathy, and then he hurriedly dressed and let himself out. What would happen next? Was dessert at eight still an option for me? Marissa unfastened her harness and came toward me. To my delight, she set me free, and then she removed the plug and pushed me down on my back on the floor. Squatting over me, she took the head of my cock between her pillowy nether lips. Slowly, almost achingly slowly, she began to fuck herself on my cock. Without being told what to do, I knew. I held myself entirely still. My wife brought herself to her first orgasm in a snap. She must have been seriously primed from fucking Tim. The next climax was slower. She really eked out every drop of pleasure, grinding her hips, pushing her pussy all the way to the base of my dick. I would have stroked her pert nipples, cradled her luscious breasts, but without a direct command, I didn’t move.

“Do you want to taste me?” she whispered, looking directly into my eyes.

I nodded, helpless with desire. “Yes, Marissa,” I responded. “Yes, Mistress.”

Dessert at eight? I got mine. And I went back. For seconds.

Marissa knows exactly how to feed my erotic hunger yet always keeps me craving more.

Check out the Full Gallery