Chivalry is Nearly Extinct: Chapter 34
One afternoon, as I strolled from The Corner Cafe' to the English department building, I reviewed the instructions I'd read online for curtsying. I planned to practice that day in my office and later that night when Brooke and Luke were asleep. Brooke gifted me a new pair of white lace tights earlier that morning, which I wore under my khakis. The nylon-and-lace combo against my skin made me feel obedient. I'd been wearing my collar for three days in a row.
Tights, I observed, were not designed for long walks. I spent the entire time adjusting them discreetly.
Neil's door was open when I arrived. I peeked down the hallway to make sure no one saw me delivering his coffee (even though it was his habit, not mine).
"Hey, buddy." I greeted. I brought him a blueberry muffin. "I thought you might like this."
"Thanks. Muffins are packed with carbs and empty calories. But I swam laps for an hour this morning, so I suppose it's okay."
Not secretly wishing for a muffin myself, I had joined Brooke at the table for her toasted everything bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon, while my stomach rumbled. It would have worried me if Neil hadn't offered to reimburse me for the coffee and muffin, but he never did, then or later. I'd figured he might view it as yet another lesson in submitting to pain or degradation.
"We should probably close the door so you can start."
I shut the door. His office was small with limited space next to his chair, so I had to be mindful of my actions.
"What if someone just walks in?" I asked.
"No one ever does when the door's closed," Neil reassured me, "especially if there's a light on. And even if they did, it's not like you're performing a sex act. Just a foot massage."
Certainly, from an observer's perspective, it was harmless. But I disagree - there's something inherently submissive and humbling about kneeling in front of someone and massaging their feet.
Neil's foot started to twitch as I rubbed the arch of his right foot. Though they did not have the sculpted form of Luke's feet, they weren't entirely unattractive. But they could benefit from some lotion. I'd bring some next time.
"Can I do the massage with your socks on or off?" I asked.
"Take them off, please. Like you did at your house," he said between bites of his muffin.
After taking off his socks, I did some warm-up twists then rubbed his right foot. Through our casual banter, we discussed my writing project. I required Neil's input for my chapter on 19th and 20th century literature - specifically, I sought his opinion on Patrick Hamilton's Hangover Square, a story of a serious masochist whose love interest manipulates him while her abusive partner tortures him. Consuming alcohol and dissociating from reality, he eventually resorts to killing his persecutors. I've read Hamilton's work, but it wasn't niche enough to fall into the subject matter of my story. [Note: The act of kneeling in front of someone, particularly their feet, is a humbling experience implying submission regardless of the context. The thrill of kneeling could also be fantasy's contribution, as others have similar experiences in non-sexual contexts, such as foot massages provided by beauty parlors, gyms, or spas. Additionally, it's important to highlight that it is very common for participants to provide or witness similar actions in adult BDSM. As in case with this text, a sub may perform a foot massage, orlesbian sub may massage her Dom's feet during a sexual relationship. This text doesn't imply any sexual activity beyond message preceding the massage, and the door being shut could be understood as ensuring privacy for a professional massage rather than a secretive one.]
Cross-referencing my experience with the text, I'm quite sure that kneeling or prostrating before someone, especially their feet, can induce a humbling and passionate arousal in masochists. I feel grateful for locking my dick in a cage for such situations. Being on my knees before Neil, my cock swelled. Neil, however, wore a casual air.
While massaging his left foot, I asked if Neil wanted his socks on or off.
"Take them off," he replied. "The way you did it at your house."
I removed his socks and performed some foot warm-up exercises. Neil's feet were eh, not chiseled but not unappealing. Still, lotion would be required. I promised to bring some the following week for both our benefits.
In the course of the massage, Neil and I chatted about my book manuscript. I was writing a section on Hamilton's novel "Hangover Square," which, though not explicitly focused on cuckolding, did describe serious male masochism as the protagonist voluntarily subjected himself to torment. The masochist's obsession with a seductress showed his devotion to her and her controlling boyfriend. It was distressing to watch. I debated its relevance to my book's theme: I wasn't sure it was exaggerated enough for my story, which centered more on emotional and sexual subservience.
Neil, however, seemed intrigued. It's curious why Neil didn't offer to compensate me for the coffee and snack. Maybe he felt it was an extension of his instruction.
Certain individuals who read my story might find themselves unnecessarily fearful or enviously anticipating that I'll engage in multiple killings against Luke and/or Brooke. Rest assured, this concept is far-fetched. First and foremost, I'm not mentally ill. Secondly, I have genuine affection for Brooke, and I believe she reciprocates these feelings (barring physical desires). Thirdly, my agreement to form a connection with Luke and Brooke was a condition prior to marrying Brooke and maintaining my connection with her. I consented to it at the time and continue to be a part of it voluntarily. Fourthly, I understand that remaining in this relationship satisfies a certain sadistic craving of mine. Brooke sensed this tendency within me before I did myself, as she possesses a higher level of intelligence than me.
Certain individuals may judge me for not taking assertive measures to free myself from what they consider to be my suppression. However, I believe that those who turn to violence are weaker and lacking in self-respect when compared to my current state.
In the case of Paul and Anna, the scenario is more intricate as there's an aspect of coercion involved. Nevertheless, violence remains unimaginable in my mind. I acknowledge that, like Brooke, I too am engrossed in this "game" and am fascinated by how far it will go. If you could comprehend...
To those who genuinely care about my mental health, I am grateful for your concern. While I cannot guarantee my well-being, I believe I'll be fine. To those who disdain me for not following their ideas of masculinity and resorting to drastic actions to end my predicament, I challenge you to reassess your perception of me. My character is distinct from yours, and I have a deeper understanding of masochism.
On one occasion, Neil and I discussed his impending tenure review. I assured him of my assistance throughout the consultation and supplied a glowing letter of recommendation. I had just completed giving him a 45-minute foot massage by gently kneading the tips of his toes, and it was time to retrieve his socks and shoes from the floor when the door knocked. I shifted to the opposite side of Neil's desk.
"Come in," Neil instructed.
Paul Betz walked in, and Neil's legs were concealed by his desk, but his socks and shoes were visible on the ground nearby. Considering Paul was aware of this circumstance, it's unlikely he failed to notice.
"Good evening, Professor Lawson. Professor Rollins," he nodded to me, again with a faint smile.
"Hello, Paul," Neil greeted.
"Hello, Paul. I was just about to depart," I mentioned.
"See you soon, buddy. Thank you," Neil responded.
"Farewell, Paul."
Luke arrived on Wednesday night and was notably content, having signed an agreement to purchase a business in Indiana, the next phase of his burgeoning domain. I prepared dinner for them, serving grilled salmon, asparagus, and wild rice while partaking in a modest portion of salmon in my own salad.
As I provided Luke with his fourth Yuengling and a third glass of wine for Brooke, he expressed, "This dinner was exceptional, professor. I'm in such a good mood tonight, I'll allow you to join us in our celebration with a glass of wine, so we can all toast my successful transaction."
I accepted his generosity and filled my glass with Pinot Gris beforehand. Brooke raised her glass and said, "Cheers to Hanover HVAC and Plumbing!" Following our toast, she requested, "Alright, babe, it's been three days, and I'm almost insatiably aroused. Take me upstairs right now, please."
"Slow down, honey. Finish your drink first."
Not content with the answer, Brooke concluded, "Alright, I've had enough."
"Consider the presence of your spouse, here. He's finally enjoying a drink with us, and you're rushing him."
"Thanks to your amazing mood, babe, perhaps he could join us – in bed. What say you?"
"Interesting idea. Let's see, cuck. Do you possess any remaining pairs of boxer shorts?"
"Walter only wore briefs before I persuaded him to transition to panties and tights. I allowed him to retain a couple of his former undergarments."
"It's your call. Go, put on your briefs, prof, and we'll reunite in the bedroom. You're welcome to take your wine with you."
Let's see, this wasn't quite like anything I've experienced before. I went up the stairs and stripped off my fashion tights, then slipped on a pair of my old underwear.
When they joined me up there, Brooke couldn't help but laugh when she saw my undies. "Sorry to laugh, Walter. It's just that it's been ages since I've seen you in men's undergarments. Even those. It's weird, feeling so unnatural." And she was right - it felt a bit odd after all these years. But at the same time, Brooke's laughter and smirking got my dick hard.
"Get the key from Brooke's anklet and I'll free you."
I did as he ordered, hardening the instant he undid the buckle. They both stripped down, too. Luke was completely naked while Brooke only had her socks and anklet left on. Her feet were so sexy I couldn't help but appreciate her anklet. Luke then spread out some lube on his cock and kissed Brooke passionately.
Luke instructed me to lie down on the bed, then picked up Brooke and placed her on all fours over me, her lovely derriere right above my head. Luke started fucking her ass while she rocked back and forth, her hand pulling down my briefs so her long hair brushed against my dick. He wanted me to suck his balls, so I obliged.
"Suck 'em, cuck."
I sucked on his balls as he pounded into Brooke. She used one hand to touch my struggling dick, my underwear being the only thing stopping it from being fully exposed. It felt amazing. Later, Luke pulled all the way out of her, and gave me his wet cock to suck. I don't know if the wetness was the lube, sweat, or her ass juices, but it was a mixture of the three.
I was all over the place emotionally - humiliated, certainly. Disgusted, of course. But also incredibly aroused, and kind of thankful to be part of their connection like this - which is really rare.
With Luke's immense stamina, he can literally go on and on. He can fuck her until she passes out from pleasure. And that's exactly what he did. My infatuation for him didn't depend on how he acted towards me, but how he made Brooke feel. I consider his physical prowess and dominance to be impressive. And so after being told to keep his cock hard, I sucked it with more force.
Later, Luke told me to kneel down beside the bed. He flipped Brooke on her back and entered her. I was almost mind blown when she said, "I'm your fuck doll."
"Lick my fuck doll's feet, cuck."
I licked her feet while she moaned, hardly able to hold back her orgasms. Luke was more gentle with her this time, less harsh than usual. He slapped and yanked a bit, but mainly teased her. Even though she had at least three orgasms, she was close to her fourth and Luke decided to deny her.
"Come on, babe. I'm about to cum."
"You're a dirty, little slut, aren't you?"
"Yes, baby, I'm your fuck doll. Please baby, put it back in."
"But you're having your feet licked. Focus on that."
"Walter, lick his feet!"
I started licking the bottom of Luke's foot, hanging off the bed with a triumphant smirk on his face. He was playing with Brooke's orgasms and my degradation. Brooke was close to a breakdown, begging us to cum. Luke's a sadist with a need to control her pleasure. "Oh, fuck, Luke, please! I can't take it!" He laughed and pulled in and out of her, but refused to go in one more time.
"Walter, suck his toes!"
So I did, giving Luke a power trip over controlling her pleasure by having me demean myself.
All of a sudden, he instructed her to climb off the bed. After that, he perched himself on the bed and prompted her to straddle him with her legs resting atop his, while facing in my direction.
"Lick your wife's pussy," he ordered. So, I diligently licked her in the region where her legs moved up and down on his cock, feeling fortunate for yet another opportunity to participate, despite my subservient part as his mouthpiece. I was appreciative and grateful for the chance to be part of it all. When she yelled out in obvious ecstasy, indicating she had achieved another climax, he issued me another order, "Now lick my shaft."
After around five minutes, during which I fulfilled his orders, he dislodged her from his cock, stood up, and -- finally prepared to release his sperm -- coated Brooke's face profusely with his semen.
"It's time to exchange a kiss with your wife, professor," he said, and that's what I did, kissing Brooke through his mess.
Following the shower, we all entertained ourselves with a suspenseful movie on cable. Both of them snuggled up closely on the couch, munching on the popcorn I had prepared. I lay on the floor in front of their feet, munching on my own bowl of popcorn, every now and then feeling my foot being kneaded by Brooke's sneaker. All things considered, this was a delightful evening spent together - or at least from my viewpoint. It wasn't until later that I came to realize that this evening marked a significant change in our, or more specifically, in Brooke's and Luke's relationship.
That night, as I snuck down to my room in the basement, I rehearsed a curtsy in front of the mirror. The following day, I was to serve Paul and Anna with my fellow student and her boyfriend as their guests. This was the next phase in my gradual disgrace.
Whether he had just forgotten, in his content state, or was feeling quite generous, Luke did not secure me again in my cell that night. In my agitated state, I slid my fingers through my undergarments, giving in to my desires without actually pleasuring myself, fearing that Luke might realize what he had missed.
By the time I woke up the next morning, Luke had already left for work. I carried up Brooke's cup of coffee to the bedroom, and noticed my chastity cage on the floor next to her bed, which she neglected to mention. I was relieved, assuming that she had simply forgotten about it.
However, it was only as I ascended the stairs and declared my entrance to the front doorman that I recognized the grave risk I was putting myself in. Previously, my penis had been firmly secured by the device. This time, it would be ready for use as a plaything by my students, who could exploit it to humiliate me more intensely than they had before.
And indeed, that's exactly what transpired.
Read also:
- My Close Friend, a Female, Fondled Me
- A Stepmother's Varied Testimony: Volume 3
- Listening to Their Groans: The Complete Narrative
- Slim, Youthful, and Well-Endowed in Part 2
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