lick her pussy

When I awoke the next morning the imprints of mattress buttons were imprinted on my face. I ignored my thoughts on where I was and how I got there because I needed to pee badly.



First thing in the morning, every morning, so I rushed out to the hall bathroom, only to find it locked! My urge to pee intensified and I began to panic.



I ran down the hall to the girls’ room and found that it was also locked. I knew the vault was out of the question, so I ran for the last remaining drainpipe in the house. I stood naked in front of the kitchen sink and read the note:



“Don’t even think about it! Take the kitchen trash out when you go. Remember, you are naked. You can’t get dressed because all of your clothes are in the vault, so pay attention! You never know when someone might stop by.”



I flew out of the back door and nearly fell off of the cement steps as I ran to take a leak. I stumbled out to the yard. It felt strange to pee in the backyard.



It didn’t matter because our backyard is very private, but I watered the bushes while I breathed a sigh of relief. Once I finished, I headed back to take out the trash. The door was locked! I tugged on the piece of paper stuck in the doorjamb and read the note:



“I thought I told you to pay attention. I’m not surprised that you would fail to notice that I tightened the spring that shuts the back door. I’m wondering if you remembered to take out the trash…”



We live in an arid part of the Pacific Southwest, where the temperature can drop from 100 degrees during the day to 40 degrees at night. I spent the first few hours sitting in the sun, trying to keep warm. It wasn’t long before I was searching for any shade I could find.



I didn’t hear her open the backyard gate, so I was startled from my reverie by the sound of her voice.



“Here you are, exactly the way I expected. Did you remember to take out the trash?”



I lowered my eyes as I told her that I’d locked myself out before I could complete the chore.



She grabbed my ear and led me crawling behind her to the center of the yard.



Swat! Down came her open hand on my ass. There came another swat and then a dozen more. I was close to tears. She stopped abruptly and ordered me to stay on my hands and knees. After a moment, I heard her voice next to my ear.



“That was for not taking out the trash. This is for locking yourself out of the house.”



I struggled to hold my place on hands and knees while she sprayed me with the garden hose. The first few seconds brought a stream of the hot water warmed by the sun all day. Suddenly, the water turned ice cold and I trembled and shivered from the icy water.



“I want you to stay just as you are until you are dry. Knock on the door when you’re ready to come inside.”



It was getting late and the sun was fading. When I no longer shivered and I was finally dry, I stood up and went to the back door and knocked. She opened the door, looked me over and then rubbed my head.



“Your hair is still wet. Assume your position and wait until you are completely dry. If you knock on this door and fail inspection, you’ll spend the night outside.”



She shut the door while I went back to wait on my hands and knees for my hair to dry.



“Sit down;” she said as she finally let me into the kitchen, “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”



I sat at the kitchen table and watched her as she prepared the salad. She’d changed her clothes into a man’s undershirt and a pair my boxer shorts. I admired her backside, her firm bottom and gorgeous long legs and wondered if she knew how badly I wanted to kneel behind her and bury my face in the cleft of her ass.



Dinner was uneventful, just our normal routine but for the fact that I was stark naked. I offered to clean up and wash the dishes, but she told me she could handle the chore.



And then, remarkably, she snapped her fingers. I looked up to see her standing before the kitchen sink. Her eyes were on the dishes, but her finger pointed to the floor behind her. Her boxer shorts lay in a pile at her feet. She deftly kicked them out of the way.



I didn’t stop to wonder if she’d read my mind. I fell to the floor behind her and was prepared to dive into her when she curtly said, “No licking, no sucking; I want tender kisses on my cheeks. Of course, if you’d rather not…”



I was following orders to the letter when she turned away. A short, “Stay” and I knelt where I was until she returned to the sink. I resumed my task until she said, “Come.”



I followed on hands and knees and began kissing her ass again. I focused on the spot where her butt cheeks meet her thighs and brushed my lips across their silky soft skin.



The sight of her naked bottom as she stood on tip-toe to place pots and pans on the top shelf of the cupboard was more than I could stand. I don’t know how I was able to do as I was told and not search out her soft blonde pubic hair and taste her power over me.



She was busy with cleaning her kitchen when she simply said, “Go to bed. You’ll sleep in the girls’ room tonight.”



“Are you going to join me?” I asked plaintively. Gretchen sighed.



“You are not permitted to ask my intentions. Go to bed.”



Seven o’clock in the evening, and I was sent to bed.



If I thought sitting in the backyard all day was boring, being confined naked inside the house was an eternity.



After a few days, I wondered if Gretch would be angry if I cleaned the house. Just as all of her many talents, she takes pride in her domestic abilities.



It occurred to me that Gretch was always on me to scrub the kitchen and bathroom floors, which I would do, grudgingly and sloppily. When I was finished that day the kitchen gleamed with its new coat of wax and the tiles in both bathrooms sparkled.



I had no idea where Gretchen spent the day. She might be home, hanging out alone in the vault. She could also be with someone. I knew my wife occasionally enjoys doing something outrageous just to stir things up a bit.



I could only hope that exposing me to her friends wasn’t on her list. Well, a least the terror of being caught naked helped to pass the time.



When she looked at my work, she nodded her approval but added, “You’ll probably want to clean the carpets, as well.”



And so a new routine was introduced to our household. Our routine consisted of me waiting on pins and needles for her next instruction.



Sometimes, I was allowed to place tender kisses on her bottom as she worked in the kitchen.



Occasionally, I was allowed to jerk off onto her milky white bottom as she lay on her stomach on the couch, but usually, if I was lucky (no pun intended) I was allowed to jerk off onto her feet. She ignored me and watched television while I stroked my cock until I shot my load onto her pretty feet.



There were times when I would look up to see her breathing heavily and I would cum in seconds, my semen getting all over everything.



There were occasions when she would stare down at me with a wicked grin and watch while I furiously jerked off my rapidly wilting penis.



It was the times when I found myself licking my semen off of her feet when she would speak to me, giving me orders for the next day, or some other announcement.



One night, she told me that I’d been called for jury duty. My heart leaped at the thought of getting out of the house until she informed me



that she’d taken care of the summons so I wouldn’t have to serve.



Another night, while I was licking the last of my cum off of her feet, she made a startling announcement.



“I’ve been thinking, Lucky, that having your naked ass on the couch might be a bad idea. I know you keep yourself shaved hairless and clean, but accidents can happen to anyone, and there’s also your dripping pre-cum to consider.”



I was overjoyed with the prospect of finally being allowed to wear clothes in the house. She dashed my hopes as she continued.



“So, I’ve decided that you will no longer be allowed to sit on the furniture. It will do you good and the carpet is plush and well padded. Don’t look so disappointed, Lucky, it won’t be so bad, you will see.”



With one gesture of her hand, I lay flat on the floor on my back. She stood over me, legs spread and hands on her hips. She gazed down at me in triumph and slowly lowered her pussy to my mouth.



“Forget about my clit, Lucky; you could never find it anyway. I’ll take care of my orgasm. Your job is to lick me, lick me with your flat tongue and lap up my juices like it was ice cream melting on a cone.”



This is how things were in our household. As for my submissive fetish, I was still waiting for that deliciously nasty wave of shame that washes over me in my fantasies. I learned quickly that jerking off onto her firm bottom was going to be the best orgasm I would have for the time being. I was fine with that. I love to kiss my wife’s beautiful ass. I especially love the times when she allows me to lay my face against her soft yet firm bottom.



I wished she would allow me to worship her bottom completely, diving into her cleft and seeking out the warm wetness of her sex. I would have begged her happily, but I feared her scorn. I would have to settle just to place my lips on her soft skin.



Life wasn’t all submissive bliss. It bothered me that while I performed for her, while I followed her orders, I was never sure if each task was a reward, a punishment, simply for her amusement or maybe training for the future. There was no way of knowing and Gretchen wasn’t showing any emotions at all.



Another thing that Gretch would do is send me to bed without warning. We could be watching television, when she would quietly say, “Go to bed.” Without a word or a kiss good night, I had to go to bed and close the door, which locked me in the room until Gretchen let me come out.



There were times when she would disappear into the vault and leave me on my own. On one occasion, I thought she’d gone to the bathroom. When I saw her again, three days later, she offered no explanation where she’d been. She could have gone to Vegas, for all I knew. She could have a dozen guests in the vault and I would never know.



I was acutely aware of the sound of a certain truck that often drove down our street at night. I could never catch a look, but I knew that sound, and it could only come from Danny’s truck.



Danny worked for her family’s construction company. He not only made life hell for me as a trainee, he was livid that Gretchen had chosen me over a strong, handsome man like Dan Reynolds. He would love nothing better than steal Gretch away from me. That’s why the sound of that passing truck was so concerning.



I made up my mind that I had to know for certain whether or not the truck was Danny’s, and if it made the turn onto the dirt road behind our house.



Listening for the truck and taking a last, furtive glance for Gretchen, I quietly slipped out the front door and stood on our porch. It was freezing cold and as hard as I tried, I just couldn’t crane my neck enough to see the corner. The truck was coming, so I tentatively stepped off of the porch and down to the front walkway.



It didn’t matter whose truck it was, because Gretchen had come up behind me and grasped a firm hold of my left ear. She pulled my ear so that we were face to face. She hissed a stern string of German that made my heart pound.



Her last words were spoken in a quiet, amused tone with a wry grin which seemed uncomfortably cruel. Then she said curtly in English,



“I’m not going to tell you again; what happens in the vault is of no concern to you.”



Gretchen spied one of those throwaway newspapers rolled up with a rubber band. She picked it up and began a staccato of swats to my ass and legs. I hopped and jumped, but I could not escape her swats. I was concerned that our neighbors, although few and spaced apart, were watching and listening to a wife beating her errant husband.



She was still chasing my jiggling ass while she dragged me into the house by the ear and led me to the kitchen. She swatted relentlessly with that rolled up newspaper. It was surprisingly painful, enough to chase me right under the kitchen table in an effort to avoid her.



Suddenly, she dropped the newspaper on the floor and walked out of the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I remained under the table until she finally returned and said,



“What are you doing under there? Go to bed.” I started to pick up the newspaper to put in the trash when she said without looking up, “Leave it.”



She was waiting for me when I came out of the shower. She told me to extend my arms and ball my hands into fists. She quickly wrapped each fist with cloth tape so that I was unable to use my fingers or thumbs. She covered each fist with a sock and said,



“Keep these on and keep them clean. She walked out without another word.



It was nearly twenty-four hours before she finally unlocked the door. I was long past being bored and anxious; I was starving! She had with her a large mixing bowl and a smaller bowl filled with water. She took them both to the bathroom and called for me. Gretch nodded towards the two bowls and pointed to the floor.



I dropped to my knees and discovered that the larger bowl contained my favorite dinner of pot roast with roasted carrots, potatoes and gravy. Unfortunately, my favorite peach cobbler was sitting on top.



As the ice cream melted into the pot roast, Gretch turned and said as she was leaving, “I want that bowl licked clean. You will be fed every evening and I want to see your bowl clean enough to use again by the next evening.”



She left me wondering how to eat my dinner without the use of my hands.



I finally accepted the inevitable and dived face first into the bowl. My bandaged hands were useless for anything but keeping the bowl from sliding away from me. I used my tongue in an attempt to separate the dinner from desert, but it was no use. I wondered how I was going to clean the food off of my face.



I was terrified of the wrath a dirty towel might incur. I found that by sitting and wiping my face against my knees, I was able to lick clean the remnants of my dinner. This took some time and patience, but I had nothing but time for the week I spent listening to the sound of lumber being unloaded and power tools making their precise cuts.



I’m not sure what day of the week it was when she finally came for me. During that time I’d taken the habit of dropping to my hands and knees whenever Gretch came into the bedroom.



She told me to follow her and I did on my hands and knees. It took a while, but I became used to applying weight to my balled fists.



Once in the kitchen, Gretch used a dish towel to blindfold my eyes. With gentle prodding and quiet instructions, she led me on all fours into the backyard.



“I’ve been doing some thinking, Lucky; whatever decision I make about our future together, I’ve decided that it isn’t fair that I have the vault to myself, so I’ve built you a place you can call your own.” With that, she removed the blindfold.



It was a doghouse.

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