Flirting Can Have Serious Results
All characters in this story are over 18 years old.
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Two days ago, my spouse (whom I affectionately call Daddy) discovered me engaging in playful flirtation with Bobby, the coffee barista, while picking up my drink. I didn't intend it to be flirtation, but Bobby's captivating smile drew me in, and before I knew it, I was engaging in witty banter without realizing it. I wasn't damaging my relationship with Daddy since I only want to pleasure him sexually, but it was a sense of satisfaction seeing desire in Bobby's eyes while knowing I'm a cherished possession of my spouse.
My spouse didn't see it that way.
I became a naughty girl.
Previously, my playful nature led to a week of spankings and sexual denial, and if I left home, I needed escorting by Daddy or by a woman Daddy hired to look after me while he's away. After that infamous kitchen fire incident, he started paying this woman to take care of me, Wanda. I assumed this punishment would resemble last time but, from the look of my spouse's reaction, it might be different. I tried explaining how moist I was due to him being possessive over me, but he retaliated with a warning: flirting with another male would have serious repercussions.
So I waited.
Yesterday, I questioned Wanda, who usually fills in for my spouse while not with me, if she had any idea about my future consequences. She revealed she couldn't tell, but she did confirm I would need anal cleansing post-nap time. That's a definite sign of an anal session, which emphasizes on presence of Daddy, so it seemed forthcoming - a punishment for my flirtatious behavior, since he was hosting a poker night tomorrow. Why would he punish me on poker night?
I ponder over potential consequences while consuming my lunch. The worry in my head was persisting.
"Wanda, does Daddy canceled his poker night?" I inquired.
"No," she responded. "In fact, He requested I create a charcuterie tray to appease his guests tonight. Something to munch on with their beer."
Before I could drift into sleep, it was time for my nap, following lunch and a bit of tv. Panic gripped me harder as I lay down, dreading my fate. I eavesdropped while Wanda chopped produce in the kitchen, and eventually succumbed to slumber.
A short while later, Wanda wakened me for my planned enemas. Serving as a sign of invoked anxiety, enemas irritate me immensely. While I don't mind the insertion of the tube in my butt hole, it's the liquid and inability to expel it promptly that bothers me. Wanda demands I stay stationary and endures significant discomfort during the untimely insertion. In an attempt to absolve irritation, I sometimes verbally aggravate her, making the ordeal more protracted, per his direction. Often, this includes the overuse of lidocaine suppository since cubic inches are measured differently. Thus, I make it a habit to keep silent through these situations, especially when home alone.
Once my rump was looped with a plastic bag and I laid on my side, Wanda prepared my enema. Both of us silently accepted its inevitability. It was unusual that enemas happen without an announcement from Daddy, as he normally gives me at least a heads-up. I rubbed lotion on my anal area and waited for the nozzle before she inserted it. Tepid water flowed into me, and I did my best to remain still. I was fully aware of my personal responsibility for the situation, but I tried not to cry while waiting for my bathtub-sized belly to deflate.
Eventually, Wanda ended my predicament, and we ventured towards my spa. Wand removed the tube, leaving me with a comfortable yet oddly heavy, expanding belly. She treated me to a shower and washed my petite, curly hair. Since my marriage, Daddy has attended to my bathing requirements. His erotic presence during these moments feels especially erotic, but I begrudgingly accepted Wanda's assistance in dressing me for the slight absence of my bonded partner.
After showering, Wanda instructed me to bend over while putting on a miniature pink plug. Unsure how to feel about the situation, I didn't argue but expected my spouse to voice his concerns when he returned home. Instead, he remained silent. Wanda asked me to turn around and bend over for its application. I did so, feeling the subtle weight of the small toy as I've expected my spouse to address what occurred between me and Bobby. But he's remained quiet, making a response or clarification unobtainable.
Realizing that, I approached Wanda. "Can you tell me how I can plead my case to Daddy or help me prepare?"
"When Daddy returns home," she said patiently, "you will have to deal with the consequences of your actions."
Aware that each circumstance my spouse dealt with me was nefarious, I felt a heavy sense of dread. Luckily, the barista incident wasn't so egregious, usually resulting in minor punishments. Nonetheless, my actions demanded I atone for them. I stood permitted me some prior contemplation.
Then, Wanda suggested, "Daddy may want to double-fuck me, plug me and dildo me, and the frustration from your prolonged wait for Daddy's consent would not end."
I shuddered. "I don't know if I want punishment like that."
Wanda shrugged. "You'll find out tonight."
She left me alone in the bedroom among my cutesy yellow dress with ruffles and patterns, wearing my skirt along with a small, slender pink plug inserted in me. Perhaps the dress was to maximize his pleasure - I speculated.
I don't like surprises, and it was clear my actions incited one of these. I was not embellishing when I claimed to live for my spouse's sexual satisfaction, even if it includes vulnerability and humiliation. My mind immediately replayed Bobby's smile, wishing I could escape his trade and return home. Still, lying on my bed, I was reminded that Daddy would be the one executing my punishment, not Bobby. Maybe that would make a difference.
Oh my gosh, I knew better than to say it out loud but it had been ages since I had to wear a plug, especially straight after an enema. I had no clue what Daddy had planned for me but it definitely didn't seem like anything typical from our routine. Could mental torture be part of this so-called "creative consequence"? Ugh.
Wanda shoved the plug into me and smacked my butt cheeks as she instructed me to stand up. She hardly ever let me wear panties, and as she was getting me ready, I knew that would also be a no-go tonight.
She put my hair up in pigtails, tied with bows, and told me to thank her for her efforts - even though Daddy paid her to take care of me.
Wanda spread her legs wide on the bed, leaning back casually. I positioned myself on all fours between her legs, ready to provide her with some pleasure. I started teasing her clit lightly with my tongue, tasting her sweetness gradually before diving in deeper and pressing harder when she touched the back of my head. Her sighs and moans only encouraged me to push even more, as she grinded against me until she came.
"Good girl." Wanda's voice was soft as she recovered. "Now go wash up and wait for your Daddy in the living room."
My special mat in front of the front door was where I would wait every day while Daddy finished his work. He'd walk in, stop at the door, and unzip his pants so I could greet him as he did each day. This was one of my favorite routines, and I was relieved I wouldn't miss out on it despite whatever punishment was coming my way.
As Daddy entered, he zipped his pants back up and carefully stepped over me, his cock quickly making its way to my mouth. He ran his fingers through my hair as he praise me for greeting him so eagerly. Then, with some force, he shoved his cock all the way down my throat. While that part hurt, I always loved this bit too - his cock tasted and felt amazing, and I had missed being his little cock sucker.
After he finished his release, I looked up at him, wondering if he was pleased with my performance.
He was.
He gave me a gentle smile and a few soft pats on my head before helping me to my feet. "Go wait for me in the living room, sweetheart. There are a few things I need to discuss with Wanda and send her home."
I'm apprehensive because the living room is usually reserved for serious adult conversations and occasional spankings. But I was also relieved to know the punishment was coming soon.
Once seated in the scolding chair (another nickname I've given this chair that's used for lectures), Daddy shared with me his "creative consequence" plan, explaining how my body belongs solely to him and that my wetness and flirting should be kept for him. "I'm gonna show you tonight that my property is not yours to control, and I'm going to share you with more people than just me for a change. You will submit to whatever I ask of them. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Daddy," I replied, terrified.
"Good." He explained further that he'd let other men bed me, and I would happily accept their advances. "Mayhaps if you experience different cocks, you will understand the dangers of being greedy with mine."
Did he really mean it? Would he force me to endure so many penises? Tears filled my eyes. "But, Daddy, you're the only cock I want!"
He led me into a room filled with gambling equipment. Near the table for poker, there was an unusual bench-like contraption. I didn't know its name, but it had spaces for my ankles and wrists to be tied, only supporting my knees and torso. A chair was there for me to rest my head on, the only part of this item not fixed in place. My dad instructed me to get on it and fastened me in place. He also placed a belt around my waist. He kept my frilly dress on me and inserted a gag in my mouth, telling me to be a good girl and my "creative punishment" would end in a mere "couple of hours."
A couple of hours?!!!? With a gag in my mouth, I could vent my frustrations to my heart's content with no repercussions.
The doorbell rang, and one by one, my dad's poker companions arrived.
My dad explained the intricacies of poker to his buddies. I couldn't comprehend the intricate rules, but certain hands allowed the individual with that hand to spank me with their chosen instrument, while others permitted them to use specific openings. And, individuals didn't necessarily need to win those hands; therefore, more than one person could act on me simultaneously, as both of them could have qualifying hands!
The guys seemed thrilled by this arrangement. My dad shuffled the cards, and playing commenced. I was unable to communicate and tried hard to understand how poker worked, but my efforts were fruitless.
"Two pair!" Daddy's hairy friend exclaimed. "Three of a kind!" The bald friend cheered.
The next moment, the hairy friend lifted the skirt of my dress to spank me with a hairbrush, and the bald one removed my gag. I knew what to do. While Hairy whacked my bottom with the hairbrush like a new Christmas toy, I sucked on Hairless's cock and hummed contentedly beneath my gag.
"That's my good girl," my dad said, holding my bound hand. "You're in for a lot of cock tonight."
I moaned my discomfort from Hairy's ass-beating onto Hairless's cock, the vibrations traveling through my throat and eliciting delight in his body.
"I need some of this ass," Hairy demanded, so he returned to the table for another poker game. Hairless was reluctant to leave my mouth unattended and proclaimed he would not play this game, choosing instead to continue enjoying his pleasure.
The rest of the evening followed suit. I came to learn that a pair of aces heralded nipple torture as my dad's black friend approached, uncovering my breasts and pinching them, his penis growing harder. I discovered four of a kind entailed anal as my dad's blonde friend mounted me and rammed his cock hard into my ass. And I realized that "Full House" bestowed upon the winner the privilege of pulling me off the bench for triple penetration until all three ejaculated and returned me to my original position for the subsequent game and more spankings. I was whacked with a brush, a paddle, multiple belts, bare hands, a cane, a coat hanger, and a flogger. I was fucked in all three openings by all six men. Only my mouth was occasionally vacant of a cock, or, if it was, the gag was reintegrated, preventing any protests. I can't remember exactly how many times I reached climax during my exhaustive night. I lost track of the lesson I was meant to learn.
When the poker game concluded, and my dad's buddies departed, my dad carried me to our bedroom. He kissed me passionately and reassured me I performed well by following his instructions and enduring the pain and pleasure inflicted upon my body for his enjoyment. "And to remember why my cock is the only one you crave," he thrust into me with a ferocious intensity, making me climax with fervor. I thanked him as a loving girl would and entwined in his arms.
When I awoke, my dad was grinning at me. I inquired curiously, and he confided that while the poker orgy was designed to chastise me for flirting, he discovered his enjoyment lay in seeing me receive cock from other men to delight him and decided that one poker night per month would mirror this experience, whether I needed punishing or not.
My dad may even invite Barista Bobby next time.
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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