Stories by Wayne C. Rogers

Cuckold BDSM Story: The Edge of Darkness, part 2

Still, I waited.

Several more minutes of silence passed, then:

"You may look at me," Danielle stated.

I raised my head and gazed into the eyes of my lovely Goddess. She took a puff of the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled the smoke. Danielle was now wearing cream-colored, skin-tight riding breeches, a long-sleeved black silk blouse that puffed out around the arms, black leather boots that reached to her calves and laced up the front and had four-inch heels, and black calfskin gloves that covered her hands and wrists. She had redone her make-up, highlighting her eyes and cheekbones, and had brushed her hair. The rattan cane lay across her lap.

"Would you like to kiss my boots?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," I answered.

"If I permit you the pleasure of running your tongue over the finely crafted leather of my boot, will you suffer for me?"

"Yes, Mistress, I will."

"You may crawl up the pedestal and display the love you have for your Goddess," Danielle said. "You'll receive a harsh whipping tonight for this privilege."

"How harsh?" I asked.

"Did I give you permission to ask a question?"

"No, Mistress."

"Then I suggest you put that mouth of yours to a more useful task."

"Yes, Mistress," I replied.

I crawled hesitantly up the pedestal, feeling in awe of this woman who controlled me so completely. I loved and worshipped my wife in ways few other couples could even imagine. Sometimes I felt that submitting to Danielle was the only true purpose for my existence. Everything else was secondary. All of my accomplishments amounted to nothing more than a hill of beans compared to the simple act of kissing her booted foot. This was what I lived for.

Keeping her legs crossed, right over left, my Mistress lifted her right foot to my waiting lips. I leaned forward, took the toe of her boot into my mouth, and began to gently suck it. I could feel my limp penis beginning to grow hard with arousal.

"That's it," she coaxed. "Show me what a good husband you are."

I moved my lips back and forth over the toe of her booth for a number of minutes, then ran my tongue lightly along the sides of it and over the instep. I listened as my wife moaned softly. The act of having her feet kissed always filled Danielle with intense sexual excitement.

"Now, the other boot." She uncrossed her legs and then re-crossed them with the left one over the right, her foot rising upward to receive its share of personal attention. "I want you to lick it till the leather shines."

It didn't matter that the boot already shined to the point where one could practically see their own reflection, I immediately began to kiss it like an ardent lover, savoring the exquisite taste of rich Cordovan leather, wondering if I could hold back the orgasm that threatened to erupt from my loins. Few things in life excited me to such a degree as paying homage to the woman I loved by kissing her feet and legs.

It was intoxicating.

My wife's legs were as much a source of her power, as was her beauty, intellect and sensuality. I couldn't help but sigh with contentment at the unbelievable pleasure I was experiencing. I sucked and licked and kissed her boot, slowly working my way up to the calf of her leg.

"That's enough," Danielle said. "It's time for your caning. I want you to first put on the leather hood and then attach the blindfold and penis gag to it. When you've done that, you may lay down across the whipping bench and wait for me."

I kissed my wife's boot one last time; then, rising to my feet, I walked over to the far wall and took down a skillfully crafted full-leather black hood with an attachable blindfold and penis gag. Carrying the hood over to the center of the dungeon, where the whipping bench was located, I stopped in front of the S&M apparatus and slipped the hood over my head, adjusting it so that its openings were aligned with my mouth, nose and eyes. The hood had been specifically designed and measured for me. It fitted snugly around my head, until the back was laced up. Then, the hood was ultra tight, hugging my face like a second skin. I liked it that way. There was something sensuous about the smell and tightness of leather around my face that turned me on.

Glancing at Danielle, I positioned the gag across the front of the hood and opened my mouth to receive the rubber penis. I slid the penis into my mouth and then snapped the gag in place. The penis was an inch-and-a-half in diameter and two inches long. My body's first inclination was to gag at the intrusion inside my mouth. It was an unconscious reflex. It took a minute to relax myself by breathing deeply through my nose. Afterwards, I felt comfortable enough to know that I wouldn't have to worry about choking or throwing up. I then placed the leather blindfold with its sheepskin lining over my eyes and snapped it to the sides of the hood. Taking a blind step forward, I reached out and used the sense of touch to guide myself carefully onto the whipping bench. I stretched my body lengthways across the top it, feeling the cool vinyl padding against my warm flesh.

The whipping bench was heavy, weighing close to a hundred pounds. It was made from solid oak and was quite sturdy. Each of its four legs was five-inches-by-five-inches in diameter and thirty inches in height. The top part of the bench was six feet long and twenty-six inches wide and slightly arched in the middle. This ensured that one's buttocks would be the highest part of the body when lying down. Leather cuffs with metal buckles were attached to the eyebolts in each leg so that a person's wrists and ankles could be bound to the bench. A thick leather strap was riveted to the side of the side of the bench, about midway, and could be looped over an individual's lower back and fastened tightly in place on the other side, thus preventing one's buttocks from wiggling around during the course of a whipping.

As I waited for my wife, I continued to breath deeply and slowly through my nose, preparing myself mentally for what was about to take place. Though I wanted the whipping, I knew that once the pain began--if I wasn't in the correct frame of mind--I'd probably panic and snap my fingers to alert Danielle that something was wrong and for her to please stop whatever she was doing. She didn't like it when I gave her the safety signal, unless something was actually the matter. It spoiled the mood and usually provoked a response of anger in her. The safety signal was only to be given in an emergency. Anything other than that would bring about a much harder whipping in retaliation for my moment of weakness.

If possible, I wanted to be psyched out for what was ahead. I needed to yearn for the bite of the cane, to crave it, to seek it in order to tame the inner demon within my soul. I had to be in what scientists and people who meditate call an alternate state of consciousness. This would enable me to flow with the pain, to become one with it, and hopefully to transcend it. The ultimate goal, however, was to reach a point where I actually enjoyed the pain and wanted the caning to continue. A lot of it, however, would depend on how Danielle decided to administer the corporal punishment. If she chose to start off with hard strokes of the cane, it would be difficult for me to achieve the level of concentration I desired. If, on the other hand, she opted to first sexually excite me and then begin the whipping with mild-to-medium strokes of the cane, gradually working up to the harder cuts, the possibilities were endless. I was never sure what mood my wife would be in.

I kept breathing in slowly, allowing my mind to forget about everything, except the counting of each breath. As I inhaled, I counted the number one to myself; then, as I exhaled, I counted two. I continued this up to the count of ten and then started over again. This was basic Zen meditation. It was the simplest of all forms of meditation; yet, the hardest to maintain for any length of time without losing count or focus. This was how all beginners in a Zen monastery learned to meditate. I breathed and counted and patiently waited for my wife to come and begin the ritual of dominance and submission.  

Danielle continued to sit on her throne for several more minutes, lighting a second cigarette and probably watching me with amused interest. She had an avid sense of humor about life and allowed few things to worry her. I could smell the smoke from the cigarette as it gradually drifted down to where I was silently waiting. She understood the need I had for a hard caning every month or so; yet, she also knew the necessity of making me submit to her time schedule. It was a psychological ploy on her part to demonstrate who was really in control. It was important to my wife that I grasp the reality of the situation, realizing that the whipping wouldn't begin until she was good and ready. Of course, the longer I was forced to wait, the more nervous and anxious I'd become. This clearly suited her purpose because the psychology of how the game was played was just as vital as the physical domination, if not more so.

I vaguely heard the sound of my wife's high-heeled boots clicking on wood as she stepped down the pedestal. A minute or two passed before she finally came over to where I was. She ran her leather-gloved hands slightly over the back of my body, teasing me, working their way down to my buttocks and then even lower, pushing my thighs apart.

"Lift up," she commanded.

I did and immediately felt her hand move underneath me, grabbing the hardness of my penis, pulling it back between my legs so that it was pointed at the wall behind me. She then wrapped her fingers around my testicles and squeezed them, causing me to groan from the pain and ecstasy of what she was doing. My erection grew harder as the pain increased. I knew to stay in place and not to move. To try and escape from my wife would only anger her. Besides, there was no escape from the woman I loved more than life itself. I was not only her husband, but also her slave…her servant…and her prisoner. She possessed my mind, body and soul. I belonged to her, and Danielle could do whatever she desired to me. I suffered for her enjoyment and endured the pain so that she'd be pleased with me.

My wife released my genitalia, satisfied that I was more than willing to submit to a night of pain on her behalf. She enjoyed the act of inflicting pain and torment as much as I reveled in receiving it. Giving me a temporary moment of reprieve, she took a long piece of leather cord and wrapped it repeatedly around the base of my penis, insuring that I wouldn't go soft during the whipping. She then wound the rest of it tightly around and in between my testicles, until they bulged and protruded like thick, red plums. Securing the first cord with a knot, she took a second piece of leather and tied one end of it around the head of my penis and the other end to the small eyebolt embedded in the wood at the bottom end of the bench, pulling the cord taut so that my erection was stretched painfully downward against the padding. When that was done, Danielle placed my wrists into the leather cuffs and buckled them tightly in place.

"I've decided it might be best if you're bound to the bench," she said. "The caning is going to be hard one, and I don't want you moving around to much."

As my wife laid the leather strap across my lower back and fastened it to the buckle on the other side of the bench, I started to worry just a little bit over what she was planning to do. It had been over a year since I'd had a really hard whipping. I wasn't sure if I was up to it, no pun intended. Even though I had a high threshold for pain, there was still a limit as to what I could safely endure.

Once my ankles were strapped to the rear legs of the bench, Danielle traced a finger casually along my painfully erect penis and then thumped my aching testicles as she might a cantaloupe in a grocery store to see if it was ripe or not. I tried to bring my legs together in order to protect myself, but my bound ankles kept them spread apart, leaving me open to whatever she wanted to do. She thumped my testicles a second and a third time, causing me to groan again. With the circulation cut off to my genitalia, it was now much more sensitive to pain. My wife thumped each testicle a couple of more times, then gave both of them a good hard squeeze.

"I've decided to paddle you first," she stated. "I want to warm your ass up in preparation for what's coming. Maybe I'll use the long paddle with the holes in it. That should get you in the right frame of mind."

I knew the paddle she was talking about.

It was twenty-four inches long, three-and-a-half inches wide, and a half-inch in thickness with six holes drilled into the wood. The purpose of the holes was to increase the velocity of contact with the body, causing a more severe amount of pain with each strike than a regular paddle did. This particular paddle could put blisters on a person's backside with a couple of well-placed smacks.

A few moments later, I sensed Danielle bending down close to my head. "You're going to receive twenty strikes across your bottom with the paddle," she said. "If you can take the punishment without giving me the safety signal, I'll tell you what the sex was like with Anthony tonight. Would you like to know how many times we did it?"

I nodded my head.

"Then suffer for me, darling."

My wife stood back up and moved to the center of the bench, preparing herself with the paddle.

The first strike stunned me with the ferociousness of its intent. There was a loud smacking sound that permeated the interior of the dungeon. I shook my head at the wave of intense pain that immediately flooded my body. If the next nineteen were going to be as hard as the first strike, I didn't think I'd be able to make it.

I heard the sharp whistling noise of the paddle a second time as it was swung through the air, landing against my bare bottom with a force that caused me to bite down hard on the rubber penis in my mouth. I didn't even have time to get my thoughts together before the paddle struck a third time and a fourth.

Breathe deeply through the nose, I told myself.

The fifth and sixth strike caused me to cry out!

"What did you say?" Danielle asked. "I couldn't make out what it was with the gag in your mouth."

I didn't think she was the least bit funny.

The paddle struck me four more times in quick succession, numbing me with a level of pain that made me wish my sexual preferences were more normal in nature.

"Think about Anthony being between my legs with his manhood buried deeply within me," she said, leaning down to the side of my head and talking in a soft, sexy tone of voice. "Imagine what it was like for me when his hard penis filled my womb so completely that I had my first orgasm due to the sheer size of it."

I thought about it and moaned softly from desire.

"You do want to hear all of the juicy details, don't you?"

I nodded my head again.

"Just ten more to go," she said.

The eleventh and twelfth strikes caused me to question the validity of my whole life, making me wonder how anyone could get enjoyment from being beaten by another person.

I now found myself unconsciously tensing the muscles in my buttocks with each whistling sound of the paddle. That only made matters worse. I tried to visualize my wife's new boyfriend naked and between her legs, making long passionate love to her, driving his erection repeatedly into her body. I knew that if I could keep myself sexually aroused, it would help with the pain. I don't know why, but a person in sexual heat can endure more physical pain. It probably has something to do with either testosterone or endorphins being released within the body.

I forced myself to make it through the last eight strikes of the paddle, using my wife and Anthony as a means to flow with the different degrees of pain I was experiencing. Next to kissing Danielle's beautiful feet, nothing excited me more than when she cuckolded me with a younger man. It was my secret passion…one I was more embarrassed by than the desire to be tied down and whipped. Fortunately for me, it was also one of my wife's fantasies. Her affairs with younger men not only excited both of us and made our sexual relationship more intense, it also demonstrated the control she had over me and how willing I was to submit to her carnal desires. Few things spoke of a husband's submission than when the wife took another lover with his full knowledge.

After the paddling was finished, Danielle ran her gloved hand gently over my body, caressing my blistered bottom, telling me how wonderful I was for not giving in to the pain and using the safety signal. She kissed my naked shoulder, bit down on it with her teeth, and then placed her lips to the left side of my head.

"When we arrived back at the apartment," she said, "Anthony bent me over the back of his couch, pulled my dress up and ripped my panties off. He then took me hard from behind like we were animals in heat. As soon as he entered me, I cried out with my first orgasm. After that, I was bucking wildly against him, wanting it, demanding that he give it to me, madly screaming when he discharged his hot seed into my vagina. His ejaculation was so strong that I could actually fill the force of it erupting inside of me.

I tried to picture it in my mind.

"No man has ever fucked me as well as Anthony did tonight. When I think about it, I become wet with excitement."

A small wave of jealousy soared through me as my own penis strained against the cord that held it firmly in place, proving that I was a true cuckold.

"Of course," she whispered to me, like a little girl with a secret to pass on, "he wasn't wearing a condom."

I knew Danielle had made Anthony go to the local Health Department and get a blood test for AIDS and other venereal diseases before any sexual activity took place between them. As it turned out, her new lover had dated very little while in high school or college. In fact, he was still a virgin when my wife finally had sex with him two weeks before. Needless to say, Anthony was now hopelessly smitten with her and was prepared to do whatever it took to maintain the relationship.

"Do you want to know how many times he fucked me?" she asked.

I nodded my head.

"The answer has a high price. Are you willing to pay it?"

I nodded again. .

"Let's see how well you do with the caning."

She left me to replace the paddle back on the wall, then returned, swishing the rattan cane through the air a couple of times to get the feel for it.

The first cut of the cane landed on the back of my thighs. There was a sharp, burning sensation that swiftly spread up to my buttocks and then down my legs. The second cut crisscrossed the first one, causing me to suck in my breath. The third one quickly followed, landing in almost the exact same place as the first two cuts.

"In case you're wondering," Danielle said, "the first twenty-five cuts are going to be to the back of your legs. The next twenty-five will be across your cute, little ass, and the final twenty-five will be on your back."

She struck my legs again and again.

I laid my head on the padding and breathed deeply as a way of dealing with the acute agony that competed for my attention, listening as the cane swished through the air seconds before it connected with my burning flesh. I attempted to count my breath, starting at one as I inhaled and then thinking of the number two as I exhaled. The pain was so overwhelming that I kept losing count and had to start over from scratch. I made myself stay with it, starting over as many times as was necessary. Finally, my thoughts drifted back to Danielle and her young lover, and I eventually made it through the first part of the caning, crying out only twice due to the intense pain of my legs being whipped so cruelly. It would be a lie if I didn't admit to my eyes watering considerably, but I never broke down and actually cried, nor did I consider using the safety signal. This was the easy part compared to what was ahead. Anyway, I took the whipping like a man, stoic in my resolve to endure the punishment. Of course, the back of my thighs felt as though they were on fire. I knew the pain would continue to be there for the next few days.

cuckold BDSM story, part 3