Slave To His Spouse

SLAVE TO HIS SPOUSE by Throne Larry had looked forward to being married since -- well, since he was very young. He had an idealized image of wedded life in his mind from an early age. That was a bit odd, considering that his mother, a big, short-tempered woman, had kept his father, a small and meek man, firmly under her thumb. Maybe his mother's image played some part in Larry's thinking, because he was attracted to petite females, the more soft spoken the better. His hope to spend his life with someone like that, however, were dashed after a series of failed relationships. At that point he needed to prove to himself that he could succeed with a woman for more than three weeks, his personal record. He also needed desperately to get beyond mere foreplay. There, unfortunately for him, Larry had a major problem. He had reached the bedroom a few times. When he dropped his shorts, though, the sight of his tiny penis always triggered in his dates a sense of betrayal ("You didn't warn me that you were hung like a mouse.") or spontaneous laughter ("I'm sorry, Larry, but I didn't know they came that small."). So, when one of his former girlfriends set him up with Roselle, he was determined to prove himself... no matter what it took. On their first date he was impressed with her. She wasn't the physical type he favored. Instead, she was taller than him, boasted queen-sized curves, and had limitless confidence. In fact, when she insisted that they go out for a drink before the movie he had selected, he got a sample of how different she was from the meek girls he had sought out. Roselle wore clothes that showed off her bounteous figure. She had on tight jeans and an even tighter, low-cut top, with no bra under it. Her huge tits wobbled beneath the snug material and the points of her nipples were plainly visible. At the bar she chose a stool over the secluded table that attracted Larry. Her wide, full ass extended past the sides of the seat. Her deep cleavage was there for every guy to see. All of them looked and when they grinned in her direction she smiled right back and tossed her head to make her long blond-dyed hair swing. She hooked the heels of her stilettos over the lower rung of the stood and ordered a mixed drink from the bartender, who knew her by name. Larry hurried to get out his wallet. He laid money on the bar. She took the wallet from him, gave him a reproving look, and added a few more bills to what was available for payment. When the big guy behind the bar returned with her drink she started gabbing with him before Larry could place his own order. At last he managed to get a word in and asked for a beer. She told the bartender to bring him a shot, too. Larry wasn't happy about that but, with his poor dating record wasn't about to invite an argument. So when it came he took the shot in a gulp. Unfortunately, he wasn't used to whiskey and coughed half of it back out and onto his shirt. The other patrons eyed him critically and Roselle gave him a withering frown. Before he recovered from that a pair of guys came over to talk to her as well. She called for beers for them and paid with Larry's money, adding a more than generous tip. When they finally left she had already ordered fresh drinks for herself and Larry. He downed the second shot and chased it quickly with a mouthful of beer, managing to have only a moment's trouble with the hard alcohol. He was feeling like a failure again, fearing he would have to admit defeat, when his situation reversed itself. Roselle put her hand on his knee. She said, "You know, you're a lot of fun. Easygoing. Why don't we have one more drink after this one and then we'll go back to my apartment. It's like two minutes from here." Her soft warm hand slid upwards onto his thigh. "Okay?" Slightly drunk already, and very excited by her unselfconscious touching, he agreed at once. By the time that final drink was gone he felt an unfamiliar confidence. Roselle pushed the remainder of his bar money across to the bartender, looped her arms through Larry's so that her heavy breast pressed against his skinny bicep, and led him to her car. He had taken the subway, downtown parking being so difficult, but Roselle had a spot in the pricey lot around the corner. The guy in the booth had on a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off to expose his muscular tattooed arms. When Roselle asked what she owed, he told her, "No charge for you, baby. It's worth it just to see your pretty face." With a laugh she replied, "It's not my face you want to look at, Tony. This is what you like." With that she turned, bent forward, and wagged her big ass at the leering attendant. "Right, stud?" He guffawed and told her she could come see him in his booth anytime she wanted. Roselle said jokingly that she might just do that. At least, Larry hoped it was a joke. Once he was in her car, though, he relaxed. As she drove he glanced sideways at her melon breasts and tried not to let the glance turn into open staring. Suddenly all those thin, quiet girls seemed like a bad idea. The drive wasn't two minutes, but closer to 15. That gave his lust time to grow. There was a parking spot directly in front of her building. They went in and got onto the elevator. She pushed the button for her floor. As soon as the doors closed she turned boldly toward him and stepped close. Very close. He was unsure what to do. She solved that problem by throwing her plump arms around him, drawing him tightly against her big bazooms, and tilting her face down to lock lips with him. She kissed Larry hard and, when he opened his mouth in surprise, plunged her tongue in like she was trying to feel his tonsils. He tried to return the kiss but she stayed in control and held him there until they reached the third floor. A minute later they were in her apartment. Larry was impossibly horny, his undersized dick stiff inside his pants. She steered him to the bedroom and shoved him onto her bed. The place was kind of messy but he barely noticed. Roselle undid his pants and shoved her hand into his boxer shorts. When her fingers closed on his prick she didn't have the angry or amused reaction he anticipated. Instead she smiled wickedly, knelt on the floor, and took it into her wide, full-lipped mouth. He was in heaven. All too soon she sat up and replaced her warm, wet mouth with her smooth hand, clasping it around his minor league member and stroking it vigorously. Seconds later he realized that he was losing control. Any second he was going to shoot. He tried to say something but she shushed him. Then, as he threw back his head and arched his spine, a single spurt of cum launched itself onto the bottom of his shirt. The rest dribbled out onto his shorts. He lay there panting, waiting for her to scold him for his premature response. Instead, Roselle told Larry, "It's all right, baby. Guess I rushed you, huh?" He tried to say something to excuse her without taking the blame on himself. When he couldn't find the words she stuffed his now shriveled dick back into his soiled shorts, tugged up his fly, and stood looking down on him. She nodded and decided, "It's fine. You had your fun. There's no problem as long as I have mine, too. Right?" What could he say. She had just given him half a BJ, followed by handjob, and not insulted him about his small appendage or hair-trigger shooting. He agreed, "Absolutely. I want you to have your fun. Lots of fun." Roselle grinned as she got out of her tight jeans. With nothing on below the waist but panties she was a delight to his eyes. Her well-padded thighs, slightly protruding belly, and flaring hips were pure sex. She had a modest triangle of pubic hair, dirty blond, which must be her natural color, and a long pussy slit framed by thick, rippled lips. The external labia were a bit of a turn-off but Larry wasn't about to be picky. She stepped closer and he could smell her musk, strong and -- he was unhappy to discover -- kind of fishy. The big woman got onto the bed with her knees on either side of him and came forward. She pushed him onto his back. All at once her bare pussy was over his face. She expected him to use his mouth on her. He had never done that and wasn't attracted to the idea. Still, she had been making the decisions all night, and had been more than generous with her sexual favors, so he saw no alternative. Larry's hands went tentatively to her legs. She sat her spectacular ass firmly down on his chest and inched forward until her pussy hairs were tickling his nose. He hesitantly stuck out his tongue and began licking. She was salty down there and tasted fishier than she smelled. Those rubbery pink lips flattened against his features as she inched ahead further. Her sex was pressed firmly against his lower face, limiting his air supply. He fervidly kept licking, wanting her to retreat for a few seconds. She did lift up slightly but, as soon as he filled his lungs with air, settled down again. Then she began to issue instructions. "Suck my clity, lover. It's right there at the top of my slit," she added, as if he might not know how a woman was built. Actually, he was a touch vague on that subject. Once he was sucking her larger-than-average clitoris, she rolled her hips so that it felt to him like he was being fed her pleasure button. Then she instructed, "Stick your tongue up inside me, baby. As far as it'll go. That's it, Larry. Feel how runny wet you're making me? I looove that. You're doing such a good job, sweety. Don't stop." He wasn't used to such praise and, along with the alcohol, it intoxicated him. He wanted to please Roselle. More than that, he wanted a second date and chance to have real sex. Larry threw himself into eating her pussy. She ground her mound against his mouth until it was like she was raping his face. It went on and on, her hot butt feeling wonderful against his narrow chest, until she began to jerk in a hard rhythm and make high-pitched squeals. "Don't stop, Larry. Don't you frigging stop. Keep that dirty mouth busy, boy. Work my pussy. Work it. Work it! WORK IT!" With those final words she began to come. Speech was reduced to gutteral cries as she bounced hard atop his face. She was no lightweight and it hurt him, but he knew better than to stop or even slow down at the critical point. Roselle rode his face through a wild, dripping climax before she sighed, settled solidly on his mouth, enjoyed a long descent for the heights of ecstasy, and then rolled onto her side. She took Larry's hand and, as if to reward him, laid it on top of one of her still covered breasts. It had been a crazy ride but Larry was amazed how well it had turned out. Not the way he would have wanted, and all on Roselle's terms, but he was in no position to reject any positive attention from a female, especially a sexual dynamo like her. She put her hand over his and pressed his palm down into her spongy bosom. "That was cool, Larry. We're going out again on Friday night." After that they saw a lot of each other. She made all the decisions. Larry accepted that. His real problem wasn't her controlling attitude, but that fact that everytime they reached her bedroom, she coaxed an orgasm out of him too soon, and he spent the rest of the time giving her oral sex. He never got to penetrate her. Roselle would say things like, "Whatever works is good" and "If it ain't broken don't fix it." He wouldn't risk losing the best sex he'd ever had. Okay, make that the only sex he'd ever had. He wasn't getting to go all the way but it was far superior to laying in bed at his place with a porn DVD on the TV, pulling his -- what was it one date had called it? -- his little pinky-finger-dick again. So he kept dating Roselle, the way she dictated, and went along with the bedroom arrangement that they had fallen into. Six months later they got married. Small ceremony. Mostly her friends. His few pals she found excuses to veto. A nice reception with too much drinking. She danced with all the guys, belly to belly on the slow numbers. Her girlfriends danced with Larry, but didn't let him hold them close. Larry had sublet his apartment to a guy Roselle knew, so after the ceremony and celebration they returned to her familiar place. Larry looked forward to at last having real sex with her. It didn't happen. She showed off the lingerie she'd had under her wedding dress. Then she insisted on modeling some that she'd gotten as a honeymoon gift from a girl she knew. Larry got more and more aroused, until he was ready to pop. That's when, almost as if she had planned it, she had him strip in the bathroom, grabbed his dick, pumped it too hard for just over a minute, and made him squirt into the dirty sink. He was devastated. He wasn't one of those guys who can get it up twice in one night. She consoled him for coming without even reaching the bed, but this time there was a note of recrimination in her usually sweet voice. She had him make her a drink and put a straw in it. Roselle removed the super sexy panties, laid back in bed, and sipped. He was still standing, still naked, when she pointed to the juncture of her heavy legs, followed by two finger snaps. As he had learned so well to do, the entire time they were dating, the new husband got his face against her moist, strong smelling snatch and lavished his oral attentions on it. Roselle had three marvelous orgasms, rolled over, and went to sleep. The shock of having his wedding night go wrong was something he never got over. His ejaculations became even more premature. Guilt drove him to give her all the pussy eating she wanted, which quickly became a lot. At the same time, he was so ashamed of his inability to keep his sperm in his balls until he could enter her, so scared of failing yet again, that he started to go down on her without even waiting for her to induce another of his sudden onset finishes. Their sex life became all about satisfying her. Before long she was only finishing him once a week, then every other week, and after that each third week. Getting to cum so rarely aggravated his problem with quick eruptions. Roselle found she could make him blast off just by putting him into tight jeans and then rubbing the front of them. Squish! Larry had a mess in his shorts. She switched him from boxers to jockeys, saying she was concerned that he might have 'an incident' while they were out, and the tighter underwear would at least keep his mess from running down his legs. They went out to bars several times a week. Roselle flirted more and more openly with good looking guys. When Larry objected at home she told him he was being silly, and anyway, didn't she deserve some kind of fun when she couldn't even get properly laid by her own husband. She became increasingly critical, until he was constantly aware of his inadequacy and carried a burden of shame every hour he was awake. She had him at the breaking point. Soon after that Roselle dropped the bomb. She had him on the bed while she laid on her stomach and he rubbed her back. She had told him that she was having muscle spasms, probably from the frustration of not getting normal sex. He was naked, the way she wanted him for her announcement, and had a raging hard-on. Small, but raging. His little balls were drawn up tight. He worked down to the base of her spine, daring to touch just the tops of her high-rising buttocks, though what he really wanted was to skip her back and use his hands on her ass. He needed desperately to touch her, to be allowed release. The lengthening periods between his orgasms were making him obsess over it all, more and more. In fact, he realized as he reluctantly started moving higher once more, it had been an entire month since he had shot his meager sperm. That fact was still sinking in when Roselle told him, "All right, Larry, I've made a tough decision. For this marriage to go on, I have to have some actual sex. You know, with a big cock stuffed into my pussy. Your soft tongue feels very nice down there, but it's not substitute for what a real man has to offer. So here's what we're going to do. From this minute on, I'm free to hit on any guy I please, or take them up on it when any guys hit on me. You can still come with me -- to pay my tab. That's the way it's going to be Larry, unless you want a very, very messy divorce. And to never have me jerk off your miniature dick again. And if we do split, let's be honest, you're not likely to score with any women you meet, are you?" He hung his head. She had him blaming himself for their relationship issues. "I... guess I wouldn't," he conceded, knowing it was probably true. Did he really want to get back into the dating scene so more women could laugh at him when he lowered his shorts? "I'm sorry." "That's okay," she said soothingly. "You just have to let me do what I need to do. Got it?" "I... All right, dear." But then the enormity of what she was suggesting hit him. His wife was going to openly cheat on him and he would have to accept it. His temper rose. "Listen, maybe you should try to help me, instead of doing that." "Help you? Had you ever gotten laid before we dated?" He admitted he hadn't. "And you never were able to keep from squirting long enough to get into me, were you?" Again he had to agree. "Then, Larry. Duh. You're a virgin. I'm married to a virgin whose tiny dick I have to wank because he can't perform real sex. What exactly do you think I can help you with? Tell me that." He had no answer. Feeling utterly defeated, his virginity revealled, he knelt there while his erection gradually drooped down to nearly nothing. When flaccid, his dick was almost not there. She rolled onto her back and spread her legs lewdly. "You want to screw me, Larry? Right now? And make it last more than 15 seconds? Can you do that?" With tears forming in his eyes, he shook his head 'no'. She told him angrily to kiss her snatch. He got his face down there and pressed his lips to her naturally puckered, slightly oily labia. Roselle didn't bother to clean down there very often, amused that he had to put his mouth on her when she was unwashed, when even she could smell her own 'stank'. Now she made him keep kissing -- not eating her -- kissing as if he was begging for forgiveness, as if -- again -- everything wrong was his fault. When she at last allowed him to stop, his spirit was broken and they both knew it. In the beginning Roselle had dated Larry simply because it amused her. She thought it was funny to lead him around by the nose, to spend his money, and to keep him on tenterhooks by letting other guys hit on her. And making him eat her all the time had gotten addicting for her. At some point, she couldn't say exactly when, it changed from a fun game to a serious pursuit. She didn't just enjoy controlling and upsetting him -- she craved it. She wanted to keep doing it. Now the real fun could begin. Larry dreaded the nights they went to bars, knowing that any evening Roselle might find a man she wanted and the cheating would begin. It was an agony for Larry to sit next to his hot wife and wait for the inevitable. Or sometimes she would have him sit in a booth so he could watch from a distance, not hearing what was being said, not knowing if they were making idle chatter or making a date. He was relieved on the nights they stayed home, even if it meant he had to clean the entire place in the nude before spending his last hour before sleep eating her box, aware that she intentionally let it get smelly. "Why should I wash down there?" she would ask rhetorically. "If I do, will it make your dick grow as big as what other guys have? Will it make you able to last for more than half a minute? I don't think so." He got an occasional reprise when they went to a movie or the mall. The best night they had was an office party. Despite his fears, Roselle didn't dress slutty, hit on any of the men, or embarrass him in any way. She talked to the people he worked with, even his boss, without incident. The next night, unfortunately, it was back to the bars. The only other break he got was that some overtime became available and he took whatever he could get. It kept him away from housework and bars, plus it gave him more money -- to give to his wife -- who spent it all. Larry knew something had changed when she started taking better care of her personal hygine. She even required less attention from his mouth on her pussy. Slightly less, but any relief was welcome. At the same time, he knew it probably meant she was hitting the sheets with someone else. His worst fears were realized two weeks later, when he came home from an especially late day to hear the unmistakable sounds of sex coming from the bedroom. "Don't stop," Roselle cried out. "I need your cock inside me, baby. I'll do whatever you want if you keep on plowing me with that killer prick." Larry felt sick. He didn't want to see her with whatever animal she had picked up, or allowed to pick her up, from some bar. Even so, he was angry and rushed toward the bedroom door. He stopped for a minute, listening as she urged whoever it was on, often in the crudest terms. And then, not entirely sure what he was doing, Larry barged through the door. His wife was on the bed, in the doggy position, a powerfully built man on his knees behind her, ramming his long thick shaft into her again and again, make her moan and whimper and shove her desirable ass back against his thrusts. The man turned his head, locked eyes with Larry, and grinned. "M... Mister Wellington," Larry gasped. It was his boss from the office. It was the owner of the company he worked for. "It can't be you," Larry concluded stupidly. "It sure as hell is, loser," the wealthy businessman assured him. "And I've been slamming your oh so fuckable wife since the day after the office party. She talked dirty to me, invited me over for a nooner, and we've been doing it every chance we get. Why do you think I've been letting you have all that overtime?" Larry nearly collapsed. When he tried to back out the door, Roselle told him to sit in the chair by the dresser so he could see how a real man treated her. She urged her lover to make her cum. He was in no hurry and his huge erection seemed to have no time limits. His strokes buried his cock in her all the way up to his heavy balls. She started heaping insults on her husband's useless, sub par, too small, shoots-if-I-just-look-at-it-too-long dick. Then she called him every name she could think of, starting with 'cunt licker' and finishing with 'jerk off boy'. Mr. Wellington drilled her harder and harder, until she went over the edge into a screaming, shuddering climax. When she was in the midst of it he let himself shoot, still pumping furiously as he blasted her insides with his thick and abundant cum. Not until both of them were utterly sated did they separate and drop down beside each other. He took her face between his hands and gave her a long soulful kiss, which she accepted and returned passionately. Larry nearly toppled off the chair. His boss smirked disrespectfully at him. "I'm going to let you keep your job," Mr. Wellington told him. "Though now your pay will go into Roselle's private account by direct deposit. You're going to get all the worst jobs and I'm going to switch secretaries on you. Miss Furman and her big tits are going to Bill Jenkins. You're getting Jane Kirk. That nasty bitch will tell me if you do the slightest thing wrong. And I'll encourage her to never let up on watching you and giving you an earful of all the personal criticisms she'll have of you. After the office is closed, you'll stay and clean every bathroom on all three floors. Do you have a problem with any of that?" In a state of mild shock, Larry could only say, "No sir, Mr. Wellington." "And do you have any problem with me screwing your wife until she hollers, like you just heard her do?" "N... no sir." Roselle asked, "And Larry, do you mind if I lick your boss's balls, suck on his cock, and stick my tongue up his ass?" He groaned but told her, "No, dearest. Whatever you want." "Fine, because that's the kind of stuff I've been doing for him all along. I want to be his whore. You're my husband and you're never going to fel the inside of my wet, silky pussy with your super-small dick. He can have anything he wants from me in bed. Anything. I told him that you're a virgin and that I'm going to make sure you stay one for life. I told him that the only way you got to cum was when I made you pop off without hardly touching you." "And," his boss added, "she explained how messing with your mind and making you miserable gets her hot. I love having her hot, so I came up with two great new ideas." He turned to Roselle. "You tell him, honey." She chuckled. "First, no more having me trigger your little pop gun. When you're allowed to cum from now on, which won't be very often, you'll have to jerk yourself off. And second, you're going to have something new to do in the bedroom. Everytime your boss and I do the dirty, you can use your mouth to clean up my pussy. You're going to lick up -- and swallow -- all of his hot cum. And believe me, he makes a load of it." "And you can start that right now," Mr. Welllington concluded. "Get to it, cum eater. I bet your wife that it'll get her so aroused that she'll have another orgasm before you're done doing it." "I hope he wins that bet," Larry's wife said cheerfully. "Because if I lose, do you know what I have to do? I have to give him a blow job on our next date, while you watch, Larry, and then let the whole mess in my mouth dribble out into your mouth. Yum yum. I'm sure you'll look forward to that, husband dearest. I know I will. So come on, worthless. Get your mouth on my box and lap up all that fresh cum from my lover." Which is what he did. That night and many nights afterwards. And yes, he gave her an orgasm, she lost the bet, and Larry got a load of his boss's cum directly from her mouth into his. She would have transferred it with a kiss, except that Mr. Wellington had come up with one other rule. Larry could never kiss his wife above the waist again. THE END. 10986 1.48/512345