Erin Ch. 06: A Proper Milking


{Note: This is the sixth in a multi-part story series describing the evolving relationship of a woman who provides leadership and discipline for her husband. Each installment can stand alone, but they read much better if you start at the beginning. Go to: Erin Ch. 01 – Female led Relationship. JQGraves}


Erin has me on a once-a-month schedule for orgasmic relief. I try to reason with her-once a month is not nearly enough for a healthy male in his prime-but Erin just smiles and reiterates her position. She smiles, that is, if she does not feel I am pestering her excessively. I have to be careful about that. “Pestering” is not a well-defined term, and can result in an over-the-knee meeting with Lucile, Erin’s heavy, flat-backed hairbrush. These meetings, if provoked, are much more intense than the weekly maintenance sessions she conducts each Saturday when she is not traveling for business.

I make her sound like an ogre, don’t I, but that’s far from the truth. My Erin is a beautiful, accomplished and loving spouse who brings joy to my life in too many ways to count. She has taught me that personal satisfaction is achieved by rising above one’s own desires and serving the wishes and desires of another. Of course, discipline must be a part of the equation to maintain order and the natural hierarchy of a loving relationship.

Once or twice a week, Erin comes home from work in the mood for pleasure. If I see her coming up the driveway, I meet her at the door with a martini. Erin has not told me I must do this (like in those silly stories you see on the web about the sex-slave husband and dominatrix wife), but it gives me pleasure to be as courteous and helpful to my loving mate as I can be.

“Thank you, darling,” she’ll say taking the drink from my hand, “I needed this.”

“Tough day at the office?”

“Aren’t they all?” Erin answers as she precedes me down the hall to our bedroom to change out of her business attire. “How was your day? Get much done?”

“I spent an hour editing my latest book,” I answer as I help her undress, hanging up or placing each article of clothing into the hamper for later washing and ironing. “The chapter I wrote last week read like crap this time through, and I had to delete most of my work. Very disappointing.

“On the plus side, I did a thorough cleaning of the kitchen. It came out pretty nice. Funny thing, I can write all day on one project or another, and never think I’ve accomplished much-really gotten the words down the way I wanted. Or, I can spend the day on household tasks and look back with satisfaction and pride of accomplishment. I mean, there is a clear before and after, unlike when I write but end up doubtful my product is the best I can do.”

I was glad I reached the end of that explanation when I did. Erin was down to bra and panties and it was becoming very difficult to concentrate on anything but her body (and my caged member straining against its confinement). We’ve been married nearly eight years, and she still has this effect on me.

“I understand, darling. I’ll look at your work later. Please put this room and our bathroom on your list for tomorrow. They’re neat-you’re doing a good job keeping them tidy-but a thorough dusting, scrubbing and vacuuming would not go amiss. Plus, my drawers could stand some reorganization. My underwear has gotten all mixed up. Arrange them for me by color or by style, I’ll leave it to you to decide what is best. We can change it if we need to after I review your work tomorrow.”

I know what Erin means by “thorough”; this would be no twenty-minute task. I expect I’ll have little time for writing tomorrow, which is often the case. There is so much to do when you are trying to maintain the perfect household for the woman you love.

“Would you unfasten my bra for me, please?”

“Love to, dear.” When I unhook Erin’s bra strap, I like to use my fingernails to scratch her back in that area. I discovered by accident she loves it and have made it part of her disrobing routine.

“You have no idea how good that feels. I should put you in a bra for a day or two so you can experience it yourself.”

“Ha, right. No thanks, dear, I don’t have the body type to pull that off.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Anyone might wear a bra, even if they don’t need one. Given your slender build, I bet I could find a training bra to fit you nicely. A tall teenage girl just starting to develop isn’t too much different in body type from you. But relax, sweetie, I don’t plan to feminize you just yet. Although, it might have its attractions…”

Fortunately, the conversation ended there. Erin did not expand on the topic, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to encourage her. Looking at it objectively, I guess I am more in the roll of the traditional housewife while Erin is out being the breadwinner, but I’ve never been attracted to wearing women’s clothing.

Erin does put me into a frilly, girlish porno apron now and then when my chores are messy and she does not want me to ruin my clothes. It has nothing to do with feminization, or whatever. I’m sure Erin doesn’t think in those terms. It’s just being practical. I would replace that apron-buy something more manly-but she doesn’t tell me to wear it often, so I don’t see the point in wasting the money.

“I’m in the mood, darling,” she said. “Strip for me and get out the restraints while I fix myself another martini.”

I watched her walk out the door and down the hall, wearing only her panties and the delicate gold chain around her neck on which the key to my prison nestles between her breasts. I love this view from behind as her cheeks contract and relax under the thin layer of her panties as she saunters down the hall. I love this view almost as much as the one from the front.

Restraints. I have a real love/hate relationship with restraints. Erin uses them when she removes my cock cage, which I love (not the cage, but the removal), but she also uses them when I’ve really pissed her off and, after an over-the-knee meeting with Lucile, she treats my ass to a scorching visit from Delphyne, her heavy leather, split-tail strap.

Assuming she does not find fault with my work in the kitchen while she is mixing her martini, this should be one of the less painful sessions. Although, if she does not remove my cage, even her tender ministrations after three weeks of denial can be painful.

I stripped, got out the padded leather wrist and ankle cuffs and put them on, then lay spread eagle on my back on the bed. If Erin wants me immobilized, she will pull the short ropes from between the mattresses and stretch me tight. She sometimes likes me in loose cuffs as a psychological reminder I am helpless in her care. It is up to me to act as though I’m bound, immobilized on the bed, and that is not always easy.

I did not have to wait long for Erin to return. She stood at the end of our bed, gazing up the length of my naked body and sipping her martini. It was hard for me to remain where I was and not get up to pay homage to her lovely breasts and taught midriff. My member would have jumped up in salute were it not still confined. As it was, the ache in my balls rose a notch.

“You are looking good,” Erin said, “housework must agree with you. Much more than the sedentary life you were living, sitting at your computer all day.”

“I guess. I’m about twelve pounds lighter than the day we married.”

“It shows. Still, you could afford to lose another eight or ten pounds, along with a little work on your abs. Alternatively, we could put you into some shapewear,” she added taking another sip and watching me intently over the top of her glass. “Something pink that would emphasize all your natural curves.”

That’s the second remark tonight about feminine clothing for me, I thought. Surely these are random comments. I kept my thoughts to myself, hoping she did not notice the blush that rose on my cheeks. I used to run across stories on the web about forced feminization. Rather than be attracted to them myself, I always felt sorry and embarrassed for the guy being feminized. I would wear whatever Erin asked me to, to please her, but I would feel silly parading around in panties or women’s “shapewear” whatever that might be.

“You’re right,” I said. “While I am less sedentary, I haven’t been doing any kind of regular exercise. I’ve thought about doing some vigorous walking to get myself into shape-I don’t think my knees would handle the impact of running-but I don’t know how I would find the time to fit it into my schedule.”

“I think that would do you a world of good, dear. Perhaps you should set your alarm to get up earlier in the morning. Just adjusting your sleep time by an hour would probably give you plenty of time to stretch and walk three or four miles.”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure you’re right.” Seems like I hardly get enough sleep as it is, I thought, what with cleaning the dishes, the kitchen and the dining room each night after dinner, attending to any leftover mending or ironing of Erin’s clothing, bathing Erin and assisting in her preparations for bed, etc. etc.

Erin’s thoughtful expression turned to one of lust as she crawled up on the bed next to me, gazed into my eyes then lay her body over mine. She held my wrists above my head. Her panty-clad pussy pressed on my chastity cage, her breasts on my chest. I felt her nipples harden. Her eyes showed an intent that captured mine, and she said nothing as she began to slide her pussy up and down against my plastic prison. Her movements caused the little silver key, now resting at the base of my neck, to twitch. Funny, but after a few weeks of chastity, I am always aware of the precise location of that key.

With the near-naked body of my wife moving above me, my balls, which were already aching and swollen from anime porno lack of use, grew even more so.

Erin must have been more than ready; moisture from her pussy dripped from her panties onto my testicles. In a few short minutes of rubbing against my plastic barrier, her eyes went glassy, she froze in place and began to shudder.

“That took the edge off,” Erin said once she recovered. “Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Now, would you like some real sex?” This is my way of asking her to release me without either whining or begging for freedom, both of which are forbidden.

“You know it isn’t time yet for you to employ your lovely cock. What is it, about ten days away from your pleasure date? The day you get to experience another big O?”

“Eleven.” No estimate that, I thought, I could tell her to the minute if she asked.

“That’s right,” she said, climbing off of me and the bed, “so let’s have no more talk of premature escape.”

Sigh. I didn’t expect it to work, but you never know until you try.

Erin located and attached the waiting ropes to my wrist cuffs, then went to our closet and removed a spreader bar with padded cuffs at each end. This was new.

“I bought this to make our play a little more interesting,” she said as she attached it between my legs, above my knees. It spread my legs very wide, and I felt more vulnerable even though my ankle cuffs were not secured to the bottom corners of the bed.

Erin removed her soaking panties and dropped them to the floor for me to pick up later. She climbed back on the bed and above me in the sixty-nine position. I knew what to do, as she lowered her pussy to my face and I began to suck and lick.

I felt Erin’s hot breath against my caged cock, and my distress increased. She clasped and lifted my balls, assessing their weight, bouncing them in her hand. A groan escaped my mouth, muted by her nether lips. I found her clit with my tongue, and her body stiffened. Within minutes, Erin experienced her second orgasm of the night.

“Oh, my poor hubby,” Erin said after she’d recovered. She cupped my testicles and gave them a firm squeeze. “Do these big blue balls feel like they are about to explode? They’re swollen and purple. Does hubby want his loving wifey to give him a little relief?”

“Yes, please, darling, please let me cum. It seems like forever since you freed me from chastity. Please take off my cage and let me cum. You must miss real sex as much as I do. I promise I will go slow and give you at least two orgasms before I climax, myself.”

Erin laughed. “Oh dear, dear hubby, you know you should not make promises you cannot keep. You would definitely have to meet Lucile if I accepted that promise. If I freed you to make real, penetrative sex, you would not last more than three pumps, perhaps not even two.

“Since we are speaking strictly hypothetically, would you want to be on top, my darling husband? Straining away, manfully driving your little erection frantically, as deep as it will go? Looking me in the eyes, watching me lose all control to your virile power, swooning in the throes of orgasmic bliss?” She ended her question with a giggle.

“You sometimes let me be on top before we were married, remember?” I said, offended by her remarks. “And you never called my cock ‘little’ back then. But you can be on top if you like. I love it when you are in the superior position. Please take off this cage and let me cum. Please?”

“Oh, did mommy hurt hubby’s feelings? Hubby’s not little, that was a figure of speech-an endearment. No, when fully grown, hubby reaches a respectable, nearly average size. And, mommy would love to let hubby cum, but you know it isn’t time yet.

“You agreed to wear your chastity cage so you would not be tempted into masturbation… again. And, as your key-holder, it is up to me to decide if and when you have earned release. It places all the responsibility on my shoulders. I am willing to bear this burden because I do truly love you and am dedicated to your welfare, but that’s just it, don’t you see? If I let you have your way, it could only end in a painful meeting with Lucile. We don’t want that.

“But I can see you are distressed. Your poor balls really could not get much bluer.” Erin held my testicles more firmly, and I heard a faint click as she turned the key in the lock to my captivity. She had to twist the tube back and forth to work it off. My cock s optimistic swelling made it cling to the sides of the tube in opposition to the freedom it craved. I was at full staff by the time she removed it.

“My, what an eager little fellow,” Erin said as she gripped my rod and gave it a couple pumps. It only took a few to make me as hard as I can get. “Have to be careful here. Don’t want to induce a geyser.”

Erin stopped pumping, gripping me near the mushroom end of my member. She flattened the palm of her other arap porno hand, placed it over the sensitive tip and rubbed against the opening of the urethra in a circular motion. My body tensed as if given an electric shock. I gasped, my hips writhing as I tried to escape the acute, almost unbearable sensation. My wife’s body lay on mine, with her elbows clamped against my hips. There was no escape.

“There won’t be any more talk of coitus out of season now, will there?” She was still polishing my sensitive knob.

“No dear,” I managed through gritted teeth.

Erin continued for another minute before saying, “That’s my good boy. I understand and sympathize with your condition. You’ve been very good lately, so I think you have earned some relief.”

When she says that, the relief she is talking about is not the relief I crave. There will be no out-of-schedule orgasmic eruption on my part. What Erin means by relief is a more clinical extraction of bodily fluids, without the orgasm normally involved.

I would argue. I would continue my pleas for sexual intercourse… except. Erin interprets too frequently arguing for release from chastity-begging for release from chastity-as an attempt at escape from chastity. Any attempted escape (if caught) would most certainly result in not only a long, painful, over-the-knee meeting with Lucile, but also an even more painful visit from Delphyne, Erin’s fire-breathing leather strap.

Erin rolled off the bed and went to the closet, returning with two more short ropes. These had snaps at one end which she attached to my wrist cuffs. At the other end was some sort of gizmo which attached to clips at the ends of the spreader bar between my knees and allowed her to shorten the ropes by pulling on the loose ends. Which she did.

My knees, widely spread, were pulled up so my butt was raised several inches above the bed, my feet waving in the air. It was the most vulnerable posture I’d ever been in. It put my cock, my balls and my ass on prominent display. Erin lifted my head and placed a pillow underneath so I found myself staring at my crotch.

“I thought you might like a better view of this process, dear,” she said, as she pulled on a rubber glove with a Snap!

I watched as my wife lubricated her finger and worked additional lube around my asshole. She played around the rim, causing me to clench and squirm, then lined her digit up with the entry and applied a light but steady pressure. My body’s natural impulse was to tighten my sphincter to block this intrusion, but those muscles tire quickly and Erin soon gained entry.

“Good boy, relax and let momma take care of you,” she said as her index finger sank until it was fully encased.

Erin finger-fucked me for a few minutes, almost withdrew but inserted a second digit. She used these two to loosen me up, spreading her fingers, twisting and plunging.

When I was thoroughly loosened, Erin withdrew her fingers from my anus, and lay on the bed beside me supported up on her elbow. Staring into my eyes at close range, she reached between my legs from the front and drove her fingers back inside. She soon found my prostate and began to massage it.

Erin increased the pressure on my walnut-shaped gland causing me to groan with the sensation. Her lips moved to mine, muffling the groan, and she probed my mouth with her tongue while her fingers continued to delve into my ass.

After a few minutes, Erin rested her head on my shoulder and turned back to share the view I had of her probing digits. In my raised position, we could see her fingers penetrating me over the tops of my balls. My cock, which had been so hard, was starting to sag and sway with her movements.

“This is so hot,” she said. “Look at my fingers disappearing into your body. It is almost as if you had a pussy like mine. Would you like that? Would you like me to fuck your little boy pussy? That’s what I’m doing now, isn’t it? Except, my finger doesn’t make much of a cock, being so short and thin. You’d need something much larger to be really fucked. Something that would stretch your capacity-fill you up-so you’d enjoy the full experience of a good fucking.”

I lay there listening to my lovely wife saying things I had never heard her say before. Things that scared me and left me speechless, unable to respond. My body was hers-true without question-but, “experience a good fucking?” where did that scenario come from? Men don’t get fucked. Well, not in the sexual intercourse sense of the word. In the sense of being screwed over-let me rephrase, being messed with-that happens all the time. That’s part of life. But, penetrative fucking? I’ve got nothing against gay men, I just don’t happen to be one.

My penis continued to wilt, as I felt a growing need to pee. This was not the first time Erin has milked me, so I knew what was about to happen. It was the first time I had such a direct view of the process. Gradually, cum began dripping then oozing from the end of my cock to land on my belly and pool in my navel. It was so disheartening to see my jism dribble instead of shooting out in blasts of orgasmic relief. I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side.

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