FOOT CUCKOLD
by Throne
Otis had arrived an hour ago. I was busy cleaning the master bathroom, wearing only stockings and a garter belt. I was cleaning the toilet, thankful that the brush had a long handle and that the bowl had been flushed. I heard my wife's tall Black lover enter our home with the key she had gotten made for him. It was so difficult for me to never know when he would appear. One night I was sleeping on the floor of my wife Cara's bedroom, on my fuzzy pink dog bed. All of a sudden Otis was there, undressing in the dim moonlight that came through the window. His powerful body was shown off as the illumination highlighted his muscles as they flexed under his ebony skin. I remember how he gently got into bed, trying not to wake her. But she rolled over, murmured to him, and purred contentedly at his presence. In a sleepy but distinct voice, she invited him to take her. I had to lay there, cringing inwardly, to the all too familiar sounds of his expert performance and her delighted response.
Now he was in our living room with my bride. I could hear the TV; he was catching up on sports scores. I hurried to finish my unpleasant chore and washed my hands. Then I went and stood in the hallway where I could easily hear them if they called for me. I wished I at least had on panties. I hated being made to wear them, but even that was better than having my inadequate penis on display. Self-consciously I ran my hands over my chest. Cara required me to keep it free of hair, like the rest of my body. My arms and legs... and crotch... were smooth and pink. Otis found that especially funny. He loved to remind me of my lowly status and unmanly appearance.
I was dwelling on my sorry situation when he suddenly barked, "Yo, soft boy. You there?"
As I scampered into the room, I said in a muted voice, "Yes, Sir. What may I do for you?"
"Well first, pansy ass, let's have a good look at you. I need a laugh."
I moved to the center of the carpet, making sure not to block his line of sight to the screen. He was on the couch, in a T-shirt bearing the logo of one of his favorite teams, along with snug slacks that showed off the bulge between his legs, and comfortable slip-on loafers. With my hands defenselessly at my sides, I executed a slight curtsey. He indicated with one finger that I should turn around. Cara was curled up against him in nothing but a short robe that tied at the waist. She was holding on to his long arm and stroking his massive bicep. Her deep cleavage was exposed, as were her plump but firm thighs. I rotated slowly and, as I came back around, she was smirking at me. Her face is gorgeous, with large blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, all framed by waves of blond hair. She must have know he was coming because she had on plenty of eye shadow and lipstick. I didn't like to see her with so much make-up, inviting male attention, but my opinion no longer mattered. All she cared about was what Otis thought and that was the way he liked to see her.
He tilted his face down and she parted her lips. They kissed, long and hard and deep. All I could do was stand there, looking so shameful, while jealousy ate at my soul. When they at last separated, he gave me a smug challenging look. I lowered my eyes and bit my lips.
"So," he wanted to know, "how long has it been since you got to empty your little bitty balls, Shirley?"
He had called me by my first name, Charlie, only a few times. That was when we met him at a bar that one of Cara's co-workers had recommended. My wife had been friendly toward Otis at once. By the end of the evening they were having an intimate conversation, ignoring me even though I was right there in the booth with them. At home I had objected to her behavior but she turned on me and attacked, venting grievances she must have been harboring since our wedding, six months before. My bride blasted me, saying I was stodgy, no fun, and sometimes an embarrassment to her, when we were with friends. I mean, I knew I wasn't exciting or particularly interesting, but I hadn't suspected it was that bad. I started to mount a defense, pointing out that I was stable and had a real job, much better than her part-time employment at a mall shop that sold cosmetics and perfumes.
I didn't get any further. She snarled at me, "Yeah, you and your big job. All you are is an office drone. The only reason you get paid so well is that the company is owned by my cousin. And excuse me if I have a fun job and get to work with cool girls. I need some good times. I certainly don't get any here at home. Especially not in the bedroom." She let that sink in and then went on, with no loss of angry momentum, "You're short and skinny. That waste of skin you have where a cock should be is worthless. I can barely tell when you've got it inside me. Not that it matters, because before you can get started you're always done. Mr. Hair Trigger."
"B... but, Cara, maybe we could see a counselor. Or a therapist."
"And what? They could make you grow a real one? No. You're worthless in bed. I thought you could get me off with your mouth, but you think that's too disgusting for you to do."
"Well... I mean, it's... unsanitary."
"Screw you, loser. I was lucky enough to have someone exciting to talk to tonight. Otis made me laugh. And he's so confident. But then I guess he would to be, as tall and strong as he is. He's a real man..." She took a deep breath and finished with, "... especially where it counts."
"But, honey..."
"So I think I'll go and have a drink with him but without you dragging along. He said he'd be there again tomorrow night. You can stay home and do a few loads of laundry while I get some relief from your dull personality... and other shortcomings."
I was so stricken by how she had disparaged my sexual abilities, that I didn't have any counter-argument. Hanging my head, I told her a night out would be okay. After all, I figured, she would get over her anger and come home relaxed. Maybe we could even have sex. I got so aroused being around my desirable wife that I wanted intercourse all the time. The idea of going without was frightening.
Soon after that she had started actively dating Otis, cutting me off from sex, and then invited him to our home. She made me remove all my body hair and he confronted me about not pleasing her in bed. First he told me that I was 'damn well going to start eating her pussy' and then he informed me that they were no longer going to confine having sex to his place, but also start enjoying it right in our bedroom. I foolishly tried to object and it cost me a quick but definitive face slapping. The next day my wife purchased the dog bed that I usually sleep on now. The main exception to that is if she wants me in bed with her so she can tantalize me with her body and leave me with unmet needs and sore testicles.
Which brings us back to me standing there, mostly nude, and him wanting to know how long it had been since I was allowed to ejaculate. I answered feebly, "It's been three weeks, Sir."
"Ha. That's about right for a wimp like you, Shirley." He gave my wife's thigh a squeeze and asked her, "Sound about right to you, babe?"
She told him, "Never letting the wuss finish sounds more like it."
He grinned. "But the game's more fun this way. He keeps hoping and we keep disappointing him. And then we let him squirt but make sure to spoil it some way."
"I know. Like the time before last. When you had him pull his little dingus and aim it at my bare ass while I was lying in bed. He spattered all over my butt and between my cheeks."
"And had to lick up all his goo."
She sneered at me as she remembered, "He had to get his face all the way into my ass crack to make sure he didn't miss any."
"Plus I had him get his tongue all up inside your booty in case there was any hiding in there."
They both laughed while I stood there mortified and blushing. I shifted my feet and wished they would just let me do more chores.
My wife went on with obvious glee, "Or the latest. When he had to lay on his back on the floor, and you made him bend practically double, with his knees alongside his stupid head. And made him play with that joke between his legs."
"Yeah. Made him play with that little pork rind while he was in his baby doll nightie. Heh, heh. And keep his sissy mouth open."
Cara cackled. "Until he squirted his useless cum right between his lips and onto his tongue. Jeez Louise. That was so freaking funny."
"I know. But now I got a new one." To me he said, "Hey, shrimp dick. Get down on your knees and shuffle over here. Get right up close to your wife's soft pink feet." When she looked at him curiously he said, "See, the thing is, he keeps getting all horny for your body. What we've got to do is retrain him. Redirect his weak mind to something else. Give him a perversion that he can't get rid of."
"Right. Make him kiss my feet. And suck my toes."
"That's only the start." He shifted his attention back to me. "Speaking of which, get your tongue busy, girly boy. Taste those soles. Put your lips around them toes. We've got the Shrimp Special on the menu."
With both of them staring at me I got my chin on the carpet, my wife raised the front of her foot while keeping the heel down, and I experimentally lapped the underside. She had showered that morning but had also been out buying seductive lingerie while I was at work. So now there was a faint tang of perspiration on her skin, and a slight muskiness from between her toes. I dutifully slurped her soles and then fastened my mouth around all her toes. The tip of my tongue went between her first two toes and picked up some bit of lint or something. With no easy alternative, I forced myself to swallow whatever it was.
"Now do the other one," Otis commanded with a hint of a threat. "And then we'll get to the main act, Shirley."
My throat constricted and my eyes watered, but I did as I was told. When that was done, with my bride's big toe still in my mouth, I turned my eyes up to Otis.
Cara said to him, "Go on, lover. Tell the wimp idiot what else to do."
He said, "Get up on your knees again, Shirley. And lift up her foot so you can put your baby dick against it. That's right, bitch boy. Get that pink nothing up tight against her sole. And start working your hips."
I couldn't believe this was really happening. I was humping the bottom of my lovely wife's foot. After three weeks of being teased and denied, my body reacted predictably and I got fully stiff. My undersized erection fit nicely against the warm surface. I moaned and shut my eyes. Cara told me to open them so I could see the show I was putting on for them. I also got to see him spreading the halves of the top of her robe, which gave me a close-up view of her flawless breasts. It had been so long since I had been allowed to touch them. Without being told by Otis to do it, Cara brought up her other foot and used her toes to toy with my nipples, first one and then the other. I'm extremely sensitive there and was soon whimpering with need. My arousal was mounting and I was desperate for release but didn't want to commit the humiliating act of finishing in that unnatural way.
"Please," I begged softly. "Don't make me... Just let me..."
"Now Shirley," Otis pointed out, sounding perfectly reasonable. "If we don't do this, you won't learn to get your twisted kicks from messing with those sexy feet. And if you can't do that, you'll keep feeling bad that you can't have her body. So to help you, we have to finish your lesson. Right?"
His distorted logic upset me but, at the same time, I didn't want to provoke a face slapping... or worse. So I groaned and nodded, my pelvis still working. Cara sneered at me as she fondled Otis's crotch through his slacks. It was all too much. I felt the last of my self control slipping away. Suddenly I was gasping, squirting my small amount of semen all over the bottom of her foot. Even after weeks of holding it in I didn't make much. I sobbed with relief and slumped forward, still holding her foot.
Otis told me, "Don't leave your goo where she puts her shoe. Get down there and lick it all up. Right now, Shirley. Make sure you get between those toes."
I sniffled as I backed up slightly, bent to the job, and got busy lapping and sucking and swallowing. It was awful, especially with an audience. When I looked up again my wife was opening her lover's pants and freeing his massive member. She gave it a few strokes and quickly had it up to it's full eight inches plus, thick, heavily veined, with a fat knob. I looked down at my pitiful endowment and did a mental comparison, not for the first time. When we were both hard he was more than twice as long as me, with three times the circumference. Where he possessed that fat head, I tapered down to almost nothing. As I knelt there in my humiliating bits of feminine dress, she lowered her head and took the end of his rampant organ hungrily into her mouth. While he stroked her golden hair she went lower and lower, astoundingly being able to capture him all the way to his heavy balls. After a few more moments she freed his tool.
Otis told me, "Nice job on the clean-up. You sure love that cream. Later on we'll have another serving for you."
"Yeah," my bride seconded. "A much bigger one. Straight from my man's cock into my pussy, and then ready for you to eat." She chuckled at my queasy look.
"And from now on," Otis assured me, "any sex you get is going to be foot sex. In fact, when you look at my woman, or even think about her, I want you to focus on her feet."
When I started to cry, Cara said, "I don't know what you're so upset about, Shirley. You still have a sex life. Except that now all you get is my feet. And Otis has the rest of me. Plus, you still have the honor of cleaning me up after he's done."
With that they got up. He put away his cock and they headed for the bedroom, where I knew he would immediately have it out again. Cara was addicted to his huge rod, how well he used it, and his tremendous staying power. It would be about an hour before I got my 'feeding'.
SIX WEEKS LATER.
I was in the bedroom, on my knees, buffing three pairs of boots that my wife had bought since she and Otis decided to turn me into a foot cuckold. Naked except for open-crotch panties and a lace choker, both in pink, I had a straining erection that poked out of the split gusset. They had conditioned me so well by then that I was addicted to Cara's feet and all her footwear. Just watching her remove a pair of heels made me want to worship her below the ankles, or at least be able to fetish her pumps. They sometimes let me sleep with a pair of her boots. I was more broken than ever.
Otis hollered angrily from somewhere else in the house, "Yo, Shirley, come here, bitch."
Reluctantly surrendering the boots, I rushed to find out what had set off his temper. He was in the master bathroom in front of the toilet, with the seat up.
Otis pointed into the bowl and fumed, "You call that clean? There's a spot way down in the bottom."
They had been rushing me and so I had missed one tiny area. The yellow plastic bucket they had given me, one intended for a child to take to the beach, was on the floor. In it was a shorter brush than the one I had used earlier, so short that my hand would have to go into the cold water to reach the bottom. I got down and took the brush, ready to correct my mistake.
The big man said, "Hold on a second, sissy. Just let me step in here."
He got in front of the toilet, forcing me off to the side, against the tile wall. As I cowered there he pulled out his impressive cock and released his bladder, the stream of yellow uncomfortably close to my head. I could smell his urine. He shook off the final drops, stepped back and zipped up.
"Okay, now you can get to work."
When I reached for the toilet handle to flush it, he snapped at me to leave it alone. So I had to swab out the bowl with his piss in it, getting it all over my hand because the brush wasn't long enough. He said I wasn't scrubbing hard enough and should try my other hand. Soon I was unclean above the wrists on both sides. Unable to stop myself, I began to blubber.
Otis snapped, "Shut up, Shirley. There's no crying in bowl brushing."
Cara's voice came from behind us. "Jeez, can't my imbecile of a husband do even that right?"
"Looks like he can't. And now he's making a fuss."
"Well I don't want to have to listen to him." She crowded in on the side and grabbed my hair. "Why don't you make him put that brush where it will keep him quiet, Otis?"
He laughed and said, "You heard the lady, sissy. Get them bristles between your lips. Get to it. I'm not going to touch that filthy thing."
Gagging, I pushed the end of the disgusting brush into my open mouth. Cara continued to hold my head in place, while Otis took my elbow and pushed, cramming the wide end of the cleaning tool past my teeth. It pressed outward against the insides of my cheeks, the bristles jabbing my tender inner tissues, the foul taste of urine on my tongue. I cried openly while they howled with laughter. Otis grabbed me under the arms, Cara stepped away, and he effortlessly jerked me to my feet. When he turned me toward the medicine cabinet mirror, I saw a bizarre sight. My lower face was weirdly stretched out by the invading implement, the handle was sticking out in front, and my eyes were cartoonishly wide.
Cara went and got her camera to take a half dozen shots of me. Otis said I could just keep the brush where it was and that maybe, if I was extra good, he might let me take it out at bedtime. Or he might make me sleep with it right where it was. I wept uncontrollably. At the same time, however, I kept glancing down at my wife's feet, which were in sandals with two inch heels, the straps decorated with cheap faux gemstones. I felt my little dick twitching and starting to get hard. Could my cuckold life get any worse? Yes, I assured myself, it could... and it would.
*********
by Throne
Otis had arrived an hour ago. I was busy cleaning the master bathroom, wearing only stockings and a garter belt. I was cleaning the toilet, thankful that the brush had a long handle and that the bowl had been flushed. I heard my wife's tall Black lover enter our home with the key she had gotten made for him. It was so difficult for me to never know when he would appear. One night I was sleeping on the floor of my wife Cara's bedroom, on my fuzzy pink dog bed. All of a sudden Otis was there, undressing in the dim moonlight that came through the window. His powerful body was shown off as the illumination highlighted his muscles as they flexed under his ebony skin. I remember how he gently got into bed, trying not to wake her. But she rolled over, murmured to him, and purred contentedly at his presence. In a sleepy but distinct voice, she invited him to take her. I had to lay there, cringing inwardly, to the all too familiar sounds of his expert performance and her delighted response.
Now he was in our living room with my bride. I could hear the TV; he was catching up on sports scores. I hurried to finish my unpleasant chore and washed my hands. Then I went and stood in the hallway where I could easily hear them if they called for me. I wished I at least had on panties. I hated being made to wear them, but even that was better than having my inadequate penis on display. Self-consciously I ran my hands over my chest. Cara required me to keep it free of hair, like the rest of my body. My arms and legs... and crotch... were smooth and pink. Otis found that especially funny. He loved to remind me of my lowly status and unmanly appearance.
I was dwelling on my sorry situation when he suddenly barked, "Yo, soft boy. You there?"
As I scampered into the room, I said in a muted voice, "Yes, Sir. What may I do for you?"
"Well first, pansy ass, let's have a good look at you. I need a laugh."
I moved to the center of the carpet, making sure not to block his line of sight to the screen. He was on the couch, in a T-shirt bearing the logo of one of his favorite teams, along with snug slacks that showed off the bulge between his legs, and comfortable slip-on loafers. With my hands defenselessly at my sides, I executed a slight curtsey. He indicated with one finger that I should turn around. Cara was curled up against him in nothing but a short robe that tied at the waist. She was holding on to his long arm and stroking his massive bicep. Her deep cleavage was exposed, as were her plump but firm thighs. I rotated slowly and, as I came back around, she was smirking at me. Her face is gorgeous, with large blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, all framed by waves of blond hair. She must have know he was coming because she had on plenty of eye shadow and lipstick. I didn't like to see her with so much make-up, inviting male attention, but my opinion no longer mattered. All she cared about was what Otis thought and that was the way he liked to see her.
He tilted his face down and she parted her lips. They kissed, long and hard and deep. All I could do was stand there, looking so shameful, while jealousy ate at my soul. When they at last separated, he gave me a smug challenging look. I lowered my eyes and bit my lips.
"So," he wanted to know, "how long has it been since you got to empty your little bitty balls, Shirley?"
He had called me by my first name, Charlie, only a few times. That was when we met him at a bar that one of Cara's co-workers had recommended. My wife had been friendly toward Otis at once. By the end of the evening they were having an intimate conversation, ignoring me even though I was right there in the booth with them. At home I had objected to her behavior but she turned on me and attacked, venting grievances she must have been harboring since our wedding, six months before. My bride blasted me, saying I was stodgy, no fun, and sometimes an embarrassment to her, when we were with friends. I mean, I knew I wasn't exciting or particularly interesting, but I hadn't suspected it was that bad. I started to mount a defense, pointing out that I was stable and had a real job, much better than her part-time employment at a mall shop that sold cosmetics and perfumes.
I didn't get any further. She snarled at me, "Yeah, you and your big job. All you are is an office drone. The only reason you get paid so well is that the company is owned by my cousin. And excuse me if I have a fun job and get to work with cool girls. I need some good times. I certainly don't get any here at home. Especially not in the bedroom." She let that sink in and then went on, with no loss of angry momentum, "You're short and skinny. That waste of skin you have where a cock should be is worthless. I can barely tell when you've got it inside me. Not that it matters, because before you can get started you're always done. Mr. Hair Trigger."
"B... but, Cara, maybe we could see a counselor. Or a therapist."
"And what? They could make you grow a real one? No. You're worthless in bed. I thought you could get me off with your mouth, but you think that's too disgusting for you to do."
"Well... I mean, it's... unsanitary."
"Screw you, loser. I was lucky enough to have someone exciting to talk to tonight. Otis made me laugh. And he's so confident. But then I guess he would to be, as tall and strong as he is. He's a real man..." She took a deep breath and finished with, "... especially where it counts."
"But, honey..."
"So I think I'll go and have a drink with him but without you dragging along. He said he'd be there again tomorrow night. You can stay home and do a few loads of laundry while I get some relief from your dull personality... and other shortcomings."
I was so stricken by how she had disparaged my sexual abilities, that I didn't have any counter-argument. Hanging my head, I told her a night out would be okay. After all, I figured, she would get over her anger and come home relaxed. Maybe we could even have sex. I got so aroused being around my desirable wife that I wanted intercourse all the time. The idea of going without was frightening.
Soon after that she had started actively dating Otis, cutting me off from sex, and then invited him to our home. She made me remove all my body hair and he confronted me about not pleasing her in bed. First he told me that I was 'damn well going to start eating her pussy' and then he informed me that they were no longer going to confine having sex to his place, but also start enjoying it right in our bedroom. I foolishly tried to object and it cost me a quick but definitive face slapping. The next day my wife purchased the dog bed that I usually sleep on now. The main exception to that is if she wants me in bed with her so she can tantalize me with her body and leave me with unmet needs and sore testicles.
Which brings us back to me standing there, mostly nude, and him wanting to know how long it had been since I was allowed to ejaculate. I answered feebly, "It's been three weeks, Sir."
"Ha. That's about right for a wimp like you, Shirley." He gave my wife's thigh a squeeze and asked her, "Sound about right to you, babe?"
She told him, "Never letting the wuss finish sounds more like it."
He grinned. "But the game's more fun this way. He keeps hoping and we keep disappointing him. And then we let him squirt but make sure to spoil it some way."
"I know. Like the time before last. When you had him pull his little dingus and aim it at my bare ass while I was lying in bed. He spattered all over my butt and between my cheeks."
"And had to lick up all his goo."
She sneered at me as she remembered, "He had to get his face all the way into my ass crack to make sure he didn't miss any."
"Plus I had him get his tongue all up inside your booty in case there was any hiding in there."
They both laughed while I stood there mortified and blushing. I shifted my feet and wished they would just let me do more chores.
My wife went on with obvious glee, "Or the latest. When he had to lay on his back on the floor, and you made him bend practically double, with his knees alongside his stupid head. And made him play with that joke between his legs."
"Yeah. Made him play with that little pork rind while he was in his baby doll nightie. Heh, heh. And keep his sissy mouth open."
Cara cackled. "Until he squirted his useless cum right between his lips and onto his tongue. Jeez Louise. That was so freaking funny."
"I know. But now I got a new one." To me he said, "Hey, shrimp dick. Get down on your knees and shuffle over here. Get right up close to your wife's soft pink feet." When she looked at him curiously he said, "See, the thing is, he keeps getting all horny for your body. What we've got to do is retrain him. Redirect his weak mind to something else. Give him a perversion that he can't get rid of."
"Right. Make him kiss my feet. And suck my toes."
"That's only the start." He shifted his attention back to me. "Speaking of which, get your tongue busy, girly boy. Taste those soles. Put your lips around them toes. We've got the Shrimp Special on the menu."
With both of them staring at me I got my chin on the carpet, my wife raised the front of her foot while keeping the heel down, and I experimentally lapped the underside. She had showered that morning but had also been out buying seductive lingerie while I was at work. So now there was a faint tang of perspiration on her skin, and a slight muskiness from between her toes. I dutifully slurped her soles and then fastened my mouth around all her toes. The tip of my tongue went between her first two toes and picked up some bit of lint or something. With no easy alternative, I forced myself to swallow whatever it was.
"Now do the other one," Otis commanded with a hint of a threat. "And then we'll get to the main act, Shirley."
My throat constricted and my eyes watered, but I did as I was told. When that was done, with my bride's big toe still in my mouth, I turned my eyes up to Otis.
Cara said to him, "Go on, lover. Tell the wimp idiot what else to do."
He said, "Get up on your knees again, Shirley. And lift up her foot so you can put your baby dick against it. That's right, bitch boy. Get that pink nothing up tight against her sole. And start working your hips."
I couldn't believe this was really happening. I was humping the bottom of my lovely wife's foot. After three weeks of being teased and denied, my body reacted predictably and I got fully stiff. My undersized erection fit nicely against the warm surface. I moaned and shut my eyes. Cara told me to open them so I could see the show I was putting on for them. I also got to see him spreading the halves of the top of her robe, which gave me a close-up view of her flawless breasts. It had been so long since I had been allowed to touch them. Without being told by Otis to do it, Cara brought up her other foot and used her toes to toy with my nipples, first one and then the other. I'm extremely sensitive there and was soon whimpering with need. My arousal was mounting and I was desperate for release but didn't want to commit the humiliating act of finishing in that unnatural way.
"Please," I begged softly. "Don't make me... Just let me..."
"Now Shirley," Otis pointed out, sounding perfectly reasonable. "If we don't do this, you won't learn to get your twisted kicks from messing with those sexy feet. And if you can't do that, you'll keep feeling bad that you can't have her body. So to help you, we have to finish your lesson. Right?"
His distorted logic upset me but, at the same time, I didn't want to provoke a face slapping... or worse. So I groaned and nodded, my pelvis still working. Cara sneered at me as she fondled Otis's crotch through his slacks. It was all too much. I felt the last of my self control slipping away. Suddenly I was gasping, squirting my small amount of semen all over the bottom of her foot. Even after weeks of holding it in I didn't make much. I sobbed with relief and slumped forward, still holding her foot.
Otis told me, "Don't leave your goo where she puts her shoe. Get down there and lick it all up. Right now, Shirley. Make sure you get between those toes."
I sniffled as I backed up slightly, bent to the job, and got busy lapping and sucking and swallowing. It was awful, especially with an audience. When I looked up again my wife was opening her lover's pants and freeing his massive member. She gave it a few strokes and quickly had it up to it's full eight inches plus, thick, heavily veined, with a fat knob. I looked down at my pitiful endowment and did a mental comparison, not for the first time. When we were both hard he was more than twice as long as me, with three times the circumference. Where he possessed that fat head, I tapered down to almost nothing. As I knelt there in my humiliating bits of feminine dress, she lowered her head and took the end of his rampant organ hungrily into her mouth. While he stroked her golden hair she went lower and lower, astoundingly being able to capture him all the way to his heavy balls. After a few more moments she freed his tool.
Otis told me, "Nice job on the clean-up. You sure love that cream. Later on we'll have another serving for you."
"Yeah," my bride seconded. "A much bigger one. Straight from my man's cock into my pussy, and then ready for you to eat." She chuckled at my queasy look.
"And from now on," Otis assured me, "any sex you get is going to be foot sex. In fact, when you look at my woman, or even think about her, I want you to focus on her feet."
When I started to cry, Cara said, "I don't know what you're so upset about, Shirley. You still have a sex life. Except that now all you get is my feet. And Otis has the rest of me. Plus, you still have the honor of cleaning me up after he's done."
With that they got up. He put away his cock and they headed for the bedroom, where I knew he would immediately have it out again. Cara was addicted to his huge rod, how well he used it, and his tremendous staying power. It would be about an hour before I got my 'feeding'.
SIX WEEKS LATER.
I was in the bedroom, on my knees, buffing three pairs of boots that my wife had bought since she and Otis decided to turn me into a foot cuckold. Naked except for open-crotch panties and a lace choker, both in pink, I had a straining erection that poked out of the split gusset. They had conditioned me so well by then that I was addicted to Cara's feet and all her footwear. Just watching her remove a pair of heels made me want to worship her below the ankles, or at least be able to fetish her pumps. They sometimes let me sleep with a pair of her boots. I was more broken than ever.
Otis hollered angrily from somewhere else in the house, "Yo, Shirley, come here, bitch."
Reluctantly surrendering the boots, I rushed to find out what had set off his temper. He was in the master bathroom in front of the toilet, with the seat up.
Otis pointed into the bowl and fumed, "You call that clean? There's a spot way down in the bottom."
They had been rushing me and so I had missed one tiny area. The yellow plastic bucket they had given me, one intended for a child to take to the beach, was on the floor. In it was a shorter brush than the one I had used earlier, so short that my hand would have to go into the cold water to reach the bottom. I got down and took the brush, ready to correct my mistake.
The big man said, "Hold on a second, sissy. Just let me step in here."
He got in front of the toilet, forcing me off to the side, against the tile wall. As I cowered there he pulled out his impressive cock and released his bladder, the stream of yellow uncomfortably close to my head. I could smell his urine. He shook off the final drops, stepped back and zipped up.
"Okay, now you can get to work."
When I reached for the toilet handle to flush it, he snapped at me to leave it alone. So I had to swab out the bowl with his piss in it, getting it all over my hand because the brush wasn't long enough. He said I wasn't scrubbing hard enough and should try my other hand. Soon I was unclean above the wrists on both sides. Unable to stop myself, I began to blubber.
Otis snapped, "Shut up, Shirley. There's no crying in bowl brushing."
Cara's voice came from behind us. "Jeez, can't my imbecile of a husband do even that right?"
"Looks like he can't. And now he's making a fuss."
"Well I don't want to have to listen to him." She crowded in on the side and grabbed my hair. "Why don't you make him put that brush where it will keep him quiet, Otis?"
He laughed and said, "You heard the lady, sissy. Get them bristles between your lips. Get to it. I'm not going to touch that filthy thing."
Gagging, I pushed the end of the disgusting brush into my open mouth. Cara continued to hold my head in place, while Otis took my elbow and pushed, cramming the wide end of the cleaning tool past my teeth. It pressed outward against the insides of my cheeks, the bristles jabbing my tender inner tissues, the foul taste of urine on my tongue. I cried openly while they howled with laughter. Otis grabbed me under the arms, Cara stepped away, and he effortlessly jerked me to my feet. When he turned me toward the medicine cabinet mirror, I saw a bizarre sight. My lower face was weirdly stretched out by the invading implement, the handle was sticking out in front, and my eyes were cartoonishly wide.
Cara went and got her camera to take a half dozen shots of me. Otis said I could just keep the brush where it was and that maybe, if I was extra good, he might let me take it out at bedtime. Or he might make me sleep with it right where it was. I wept uncontrollably. At the same time, however, I kept glancing down at my wife's feet, which were in sandals with two inch heels, the straps decorated with cheap faux gemstones. I felt my little dick twitching and starting to get hard. Could my cuckold life get any worse? Yes, I assured myself, it could... and it would.
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