Thompson scowled, watching his wife Annette dress to go away for the weekend. Her bag lay packed already on the bed, full of sensual undies and alluring jeans and boots. His wife wore boots like no woman Thompson had ever met. Now she was in skin tight leather jeans and cavalier black leather boots that made her look like some kind of hip highway woman.
‘I’m not thick!’ insisted Thompson his lips curling in a momentary sneer that even he didn’t think himself capable of.
Annette glanced at him and pointed to to the Chanel Madmoiselle watch on the dresser. It was something that Thompson’s mother had saved up to buy her when they had first married three years ago. Thompson picked it up and clipped the pearl bracelet watch around his wife’s pretty wrist. He boiled inside that she had not confirmed his personal assessment. Annette was going away for the weekend with the man called Lewis. Thompson had seen a picture of the guy, dressed in a three piece suit, smiling that smug fucking banker smile. The rules were that Lewis got to fuck his wife whenever he wanted. That was part of the covenant. Once a woman was accepted onto the breed register, she would lie only with the best males. Any progeny would come from their coupling. It was simple science, a means to improve the breed stock of the country. Annette had been intrigued, delighted when she made the grade, not surprised (especially) when Thompson had not. Lewis had taken her out to dinner twice. They had petted. Sex was coming and probably this weekend.
‘You’re not successful Ian,’ she said at last, checking her already perfectly painted finger nails, ‘and Lewis is. He has a degree from Cambridge and makes nearly £200,000 a year in the city. What do you make as a university archivist?’
Thompson felt scythed down like he was a stand of corn. He couldn’t argue the stats. He couldn’t! But the body and facial beauty assessment had been subjective, a judgement by that fucking panel. That wasn’t about intelligence was it!
‘Did you email Lewis and thank him for taking me away this weekend?’ she asked curtly.
Thompson flinched. Fuck it. FUCK IT! But he had. He had emailed the bastard and said stuff about being modern and broad minded. He knew that the breed register didn’t mean divorce or anything of that sort. Their marriage still had other places to go. Thompson had scored high on the nurturing quotient, so any offspring might be brought up by him. The thing was, and it was a big thing, the government paid a cuck father for raising elite kids. He got to keep his job kept open for 5 years and he was paid an annual retainer for raising each of the offspring. It was better than his modest salary.
‘Show me’ she demanded and he reached across and opened the email on his tablet computer. She started to read it whilst he buffed her boots with a brush. He liked his wife in boots. No…. be honest…. he worshipped her in boots. He just didn’t want to imagine them crossed over the small of the back of a black fucker who was sticking his genetically superior cock in and out of her.
Annette read the email. It was more than polite. It was almost warm. Thompson had complimented Lewis on on his sports record at university and wished that he could have afforded a Porsche too.
‘Once we’re coupling, Lewis is going to buy a Porsche for me’ she said casually, watching her husband kneeling, buffing at her leather boot. She said it crisply, matter of fact and cruelly. She didn’t after all, want to pretend that the sex was mechanical. She wanted to go with with Lewis and fantasised abut what an adorable mix race highly intelligent daughter or son would look like. Thompson just had to adjust.
‘It’s a nice email Ian’ she conceded and handed him back the tablet, ‘but the register officials will want proof that you really accept the future.’
‘I’m not sucking the fucker’s cock’ said Thompson. He shuddered violently as he spoke. He had read some stuff, on the website, but admittedly just on a dip in basis. He hadn’t adequately appreciated that there were stages of adjustments, different levels of commitment. Sucking the alpha cock came when she was pregnant. It was part of welcoming the alpha to live in the home and a means to increase the beta’s chance of child raising.
Annette shook her head. Thompson wasn’t thick exactly, but he was emotional, unpredictable, his ego was bigger than his personal worth. At some time in the future, the agency would send men around to give him a hiding for not co operating, just as they had done with Sheryl’s cuck husband.
‘Don’t be silly’ she told him firmly, ‘that’s for later. Right now, its something very simple, something very personal, for me, that I can show Lewis on my phone and which we can submit to the agency.’
Thompson guessed, or may be he remembered. Annette had said something about this on her first date night with Lewis. Now it flooded like a storm into the basement of his brain. His wife waited. She waited with that ‘get on with it’ look on her immaculately made up face.
Did she have to slap him to achieve compliance. You guess!
No.
There, you see, Thompson is taking down his trousers and kicking them off across the carpet. His cock is caged in an elaborate metal construction that seems just a tad too tight. His cock, those useless balls, are all crunched up within and the only way that they can be released if an official provides the security release code to a medic working in casualty. Thompson can’ fuck and he can’t even masturbate. When he wee’s his pee shots up over his tummy. It doesn’t matter that he now sits on the toilet like a girl and leans well forward, he still wets himself and often smells of pee. When Annette looked at his mashed up genitals she felt disdain. That was all. There was no regret, no shame, no going back.
Thompson knelt before her and looked up at her like the video clip training had taught him to do. Mistress provided permission, for anything really. She stood before him.
‘What do you want Thompson?’ she asked, using his surname as recommended. Authority, Sheryl said that cemented authority.
‘To lick your crotch’ said Thompson. And honest, I promise, he hated every fucking word of that.
‘Why?’ she asked brusquely.
It wasn’t quite a service, an order of events, but the permission thing was pretty formal.
Thompson fought for words, his throat so fucking dry.
‘Because…’ he began hoarsely, ‘because… that’s where you will carry his baby.’
Annette nodded and deployed her phone camera. This was kind of sexy, kind of surprising. Thompson was folding as the agency said he would. Denial of any sexual release worked wonders on the self esteem of men like Thompson.
‘Do you really want Lewis to get me pregnant….. again and again?’ she asked, speaking clearly for the video clip.
The breeding register permitted multiple father coupling, but she really did want Lewis. She wanted to make babies with him… all his, Thompson sweet and compliant.
‘Yes’ muttered dejected, his voice riddled with a particular self hatred that only a formal report on your adequacy as male can really drill home.
She let him lick the crotch of her leather jeans then. It was so sexy. In her head, it was so raunchy. Thompson wetting her jeans so that Lewis could feel as well as see what she had made him do.
‘Do you want to sniff my cunt?’ she asked casually, softly.
Thompson stared up at her. His eyes seemed blood shot but they were so plaintiff and round.
‘Yes Miss’ he said, remembering the formal address. Lewis would become master, his wife mistress or at the very least Miss!
She checked her watch. This was a nuisance wasn’t it. But there were ten minutes and the thought of the whole weekend away with Lewis, in Paris, knowing that she had reduced her husband to this!
Slowly she unbuckled the slouch belt, whose buckle had sat so chic against her crotch, just where Thompson had licked. She indeed the open front buttons of her jeans and eased them down. There, do you see? Her cunt is bare and part shaven. Thompson, well…. Thompson has not fucked it in months!
She watched Thompson sucking down the breathes, the smell of her sex, its soft salty musk, the scent of superior bitch and the altar that the likes of Thompson worshipped at. She filmed him as he rocked on his knees his mouth inches from the curly pubic hair, the soft folds of her petulant labia. Genetic coincidence, an accident, an attraction going back centuries, but her genome was superior an his was inferior. her cunt was royalty, his cock was a caged up mess. How many genetic flaws had the tests showed on his check up?
‘It’s Lewis’s, ‘ she murmured, ‘Lewis’s to fuck…. not yours’. Did the camera audio pick that up clearly? She hoped so.
‘Yes Miss’ whispered.
She nodded.
‘How does it look?’ she queried.
‘Beautiful’ he admitted.
‘Would it look beautiful sucking Lewis’s cock?’ she asked.
‘Yes Miss’ Thompson answered and her body thrilled at the idea.
‘Would you like to lie beneath us, watching Lewis pump his semen into me?’ Her voice, pure silk.
‘Yes Miss’ said Thompson. Christ, he craved a lick. HE CRAVED A FUCKING LICK GODAMMIT!!!!!!’
‘Would you lick master’s balls so that he shot all of it up me? So he made me yelp and groan?’
Thompson gritted his teeth. He was about to assault her. He was a millimetre off that.
Still…. just….
only…. just…..
he held out.
‘Yes Miss’.
‘Ask Lewis to lick my sex, to the phone’ she said dreamily, ‘ask him for permission to lick my cunt when it comes home all used and full.’
You hurt a man this way. You dissemble him from his gender. He ends as a man…. this way.
‘Please master….. please may I lick mistress’s sex when she gets home. I need to lick her out.’
No reply. There could be none. Lewis wasn’t on line. The video clip a recording to watch whilst they petted. Annette smiled. She had enjoyed that, humiliating Thompson.
‘I won’t let you lick pussy until master says’ she told him sweetly.
Thompson watched her turn and bend slightly forward. He almost cried with relief. A manicured hand came back and the left cheek was eased outward.
Thompson started to lick.
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