Claire always loved the feel of tight, restrictive rubber against her skin. This outfit is one of her favorites, impossibly strict while scandalously revealing. The
corset, posture collar, and thong are all constructed from four thick layers of shiny black rubber, with steel stays added to the corset and collar for enhanced stiffness.
Before heading off to work this morning, my husband, John, helped me dress. After I slipped on a pair of shiny black tights, he inserted the two belly-straining rubber dildos into my vagina and rectum. Then, as he pulled that tight-fitting rubber thong firmly up between the cheeks of my ass, the thong’s increase in pressure drove those two oversized invaders half an inch deeper into my body.
Next came the corset, wrapped around my waist with four hooks hidden under its lubber exterior, two in the front and two in the back, clipping to the four metal grommets built into the waistline of the thong. Those four hooks make removing the thong impossible once he’s finished lacing the corset.
Doing up the corset’s busk, he tightened the laces until the corset fully closed around my uncomfortably compressed abdomen. Then, closing the heavy rubber flap that conceals the laces, he secured it with four small padlocks.
The snug-fitting posture collar quickly follows, secured in the back by two additional padlocks before he leaves for work, taking the padlocks keys with him.
Once he leaves, I have the rest of the day to myself and my unbridled sexual fantasies. Of course, that thick rubber thong between my legs is as good an orgasm-denier as my steel chastity belt. So, I spend considerable time distracting myself by coming up with a seductively suggestive answer when John asks if I’ve been a good girl while he was at work.
Depending on traffic, he usually gets home around six o’clock, so I start prepping for the evening around five. I opened a bottle of his favorite wine to breathe, ordered dinner, brushed my hair, and did my makeup. Then, just before he arrived home, grabbing two glasses and the bottle before heading down to our sound-proof dungeon playroom in the basement.
Tonight, John’s early. I’d just entered our playroom when the driveway alert pinged, informing me that the security gate at the end of our driveway was opening. Smiling, I poured two glasses of wine and sat at the small high table inside our playroom’s entrance to await his arrival.
Smiling as John entered our dungeon playroom, I handed him a glass of wine and asked, “How was your day, Sir?”
Smiling, he replied, “Good. Four closings. Two house tours, one of which should result in an offer later this week. And, we signed three new client contracts.”
Pausing to look into my eyes, he asked, “So, Clair. Were you a good girl today?”
“Sorry, Sir. I can’t lie. I wasn’t a very good girl today. All I could think about was the taste of your cock in my mouth. The salty taste of your pre-cum on my tongue as you forced your magnificent cock deep into my throat as your orgasm approached. The oxygen deprivation quickly made me light-headed, even as the muscles of my throat desperately milked your cock, trying to make you climax before I lost consciousness. That darkly erotic explosion of cum as you came straight down into my stomach while ruthlessly using me to fulfill all your sickly, perverted sexual pleasures.”
I could see the anger in his eyes growing as he listened to my confession, “I see now that the punishment sessions over the weekend were in vain. It’s only Monday, and you’ve already earned my justified wrath.”
Grabbing my wrist, he roughly dragged me from the table toward the center of the room, where he secured my wrists in the overhead cuffs. A large ballgag quickly filled my mouth. Then, cuffs linked by chains to massive steel bolts anchored in the basement’s floor secured my ankles holding my thighs obscenely far apart. Hanging there, helpless and delightfully vulnerable, I watched in growing excitement as he opened that desk drawer and removed that painfully evil-looking riding crop and that terrifying electric cattle prod.
Turning back toward his wife, John could see the fear and look of eager anticipation in Claire’s eyes as he raised that riding crop. The audible thwack as he brought it down across the front of her thighs, while the large ballgag filling her mouth did an admirable job of stifling her desperate scream of pain. Then, ignoring her pitiful sobs of anguish and the tears welling up in her eyes, he pressed the tip of the cattle prod against the apex of Claire’s left thigh and pressed the button, sending fifty thousand volts coursing through her convulsing body.
For the next two hours, John brutally tortured me, every expert swing of that riding crop sending exquisite waves of agony coursing through my pain-overloaded senses. And, while he occasionally overdid it with that cattle prod, having the pain sometimes exceed my masochistic ability to derive pleasure from my suffering was a delightfully refreshing surprise.
Knowing my needs and desires, John didn’t relent until the batteries in that cattle prod were exhausted and his arm too tired to raise that riding crop. It was yet another delightful evening in our dungeon playroom, my sadistic husband beating me to a pulp even as I experienced over twenty powerful, masochistically fueled orgasms.
Unlocking my ankles, he unstrapped that ballgag and pulled it out from between my aching jaws. Then, using a towel wiped the saliva from my chin and breasts before giving me a deep sensual kiss.
“Claire, I’ve decided to leave you in this outfit until morning. After all, you did fantasize about using your mouth to fulfill all my sickly, perverted sexual pleasures. And a masochistic little pain slut like you deserves the chance to make good on her promise.
Melting into his loving arms as he released my wrists. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t mentioned a far darker fantasy that I’d been having recently, one involving necrophilia, specifically him brutally killing me and using my lifeless body for his sexual pleasure. We both know I like having my wrists tied behind my back when I’m on my knees, pleasuring him with my mouth. And with his’s cock buried deep within my throat, it’s always a submissive erotic rush when oxygen deprivation makes me light-headed and I’m on the verge of losing consciousness. It wouldn’t be the first time we took things too far, and I passed out with his cock in my throat. If he wanted to snuff me and use my corpse for his kinky perverted sexual amusement, all he’d need to do once I was unconscious is to keep his cock in my throat for another two or three minutes.
So, assuming I survive the night, I’ll pick out my red rubber corset and thong in the morning. They’re just as uncomfortably restrictive as my current outfit but lack the chest straps and attached collar, making them easier to hide in public.
Then, once he leaves for work in the morning, I’ll go shopping at the hardware store to buy at least two more rechargeable batteries for that cattle prod. Downstairs, having spare batteries should make things delightfully more interesting.
When your husband enjoys using you like the submissive masochistic pain-slut that you are, you can never have too much of a good thing...