Dear Abby

"Dear Abby: I will check the laundry thoroughly before putting Her clothes in the wash, to assure that Her whites and Her darks are not mixed together. I sincerely apologize to Ma'am for being so careless with Her wardrobe. Signed, slave Peter"

I'd just finished writing the above passage on a yellow, ruled legal pad for the 43rd time. I set the black, Bic ballpoint gel pen down even with the edge of the pad for a moment to rest my aching hand. Beside the black ballpoint was a white colored artist's pencil. 43 down, 207 more to go.

Making it worse, I'm compelled to write all the words except "whites" with the blue gel ballpoint. "Whites" alone to be written using white colored pencil, all 250 times. Yes, that's two hundred and fifty times I have to write the above passage. No, I'm not kidding.

And each passage shall be numbered with its respective, sequential numeral (i.e, 44 of 250), like a list or legal contract. And neatly too, printed rather than cursive, without a single type or deviation from the passage's admonishing text.

Worse yet, any typos or mistakes "voids" the entire sheet, which must them be torn in two, crumpled, marked VOID in all capitals across the page, and then tossed off to the side. Have you any idea how frustrating it is to have written that above passage perfectly say 3 times on a single page, yet on the 4th forget to pick up the white colored pencil for "whites" and have the entire page tossed away, only to start again all over? The punishment is the worst monotony imaginable, coupled with constant stress and vigilance of the damned white pencil word. It requires the most irritating amount of focus. It's especially irritating when the Superbowl is playing on the TV in the room right next to you, and you've been forbidden to watch it (or even really hear it).

I hope my already-aching hand can finish this punishment without falling off, or cramping too severely. No doubt I'll need some Advil tomorrow. My naked ass is getting sore too, as my "writing chair" is wood with no cushions, and a 6 inch butt plug is shoved cruelly up my backside, which gives me full feeling that leads to a pleasant (if very frustrating) horniness.

To say nothing of my rock-hard cock, a cock I can see but not touch. Abby, my wife and Dom, relishes "written punishments" for infractions of Her ordinary household rules, which naturally include the laundry chores. Being rather old school, she feels that repetition is the best technique to instill memory. And she has a rather severe way of doing it:

When given a writing assignment as punishment, I'm fastened to an "special chair" that has been relegated to the spare bedroom. A wooden Adirondack chair with a pull-out ottoman, Abby (my Dom wife) compelled me to create several interesting "modifications" to same.

For starters, across the arms of the chair is a mostly square sheet of clear, thick Plexiglas. But a curve has been cut into one edge of the Plexiglas that butts up tight against my stomach (when I'm seated in the chair), to which has also been attached a curved, flexible foam-rubber "bumper" that seals the curved plexiglass edge tight against my torso.

Basically, when I'm seated in the chair, the plexiglass becomes a flat "desktop" across the chair arms, with the edge towards my stomach specially cut to conform to my stomach's curve so that I am effectively "trapped" and sealed in the chair. Two locking pins then drop through holes in the sides of the plexiglass and then through the wooden chair arms, secured below the chair arms with bolts tightened with a small wrench.

Below the chair's arms, 2 additional pieces of plexiglass are then attached. Triangular in shape, these pieces prevent me from reaching underneath the chair arms to access my cock from the sides. I can look down through the plexiglass "desktop' and see my desperately-hard boner throbbing inches below, but all avenues to touch it have been effectively sealed off by the plexiglass "box" created by clever utilization of the chair's unique geometry.

To say it is frustrating would be an understatement.

Completing my awful predicament is a wooden leg stock which attaches to the base of the ottoman, leaving my bare feet immobilized and exposed like a naive, medieval maiden from a fairy tale. My legal pad and the two pens are the only items allowed on my desktop, along with the corrective text passage above which Abby had typed and printed, before folding and standing it up like a wedding seat's placard. She placed it before me for "reference" and of course to prevent any errors in my written text.

What's especially torturous is that these writing assignments are one of precious few times I'm allowed out of my Jailbird chastity device, which mostly I wear 24/7. Since the plexiglass box of the chair prevents me from reaching or touching my cock, there is no need to wear it while secured in the chair. But in many ways it's worse, since I can see thru the glass my giant, yearning boner, yet do nothing but gaze at it as I again pick up my pen to write.

But before I write that miserable passage for the 44th time, I should explain a bit about why I am in this situation, and "back things up" a bit...

Earlier that morning, while hauling a still-warm load of laundry up from the basement laundry room to the kitchen, the bright overhead light of the kitchen chandelier showed a glaring mistake that make me heart drop. A new, jet-black lace bra had somehow gotten mixed in with Abby's also-new white blouse from Talbot's (purchased with my credit card of course), and ugly black streaks crisscrossed the stiff white fabric as if a charcoal briquette had been rubbed across it. There was no doubt about it- the blouse was ruined.

Immediately I knew I was in for it. Abby has a strict rule that I am to separate all colors before putting them in the laundry. I'm also to read and memorize all care labels for her wardrobe, hand-washing certain items if necessary and hanging them to drip-dry. She of course cannot be bothered, she generally tosses her worn clothes down the stairs into a pile, or simple drops them outside the bathroom door in a heap. As her slave, it is my job to handle all of the laundry, as well as other household chores like cooking, cleaning, vacuuming, and scrubbing.

Generally I'm kept naked at all times when in the house, except for a set of police handcuffs clipped on in front and a metal Jailbird chastity device constraining my manhood. Abby delights in the humiliation of denying me any modesty, and especially loves making me scrub the floors on hands & knees while she uses her big toe to tease and violate my asscrack and bunghole. Towering above me while I scrub, she is beyond lovely. 38 years of age, 5'7 and 130 pounds, dark red hair about halfway down her back and 34 D breasts that retain the perk of an 18 year old's.

On average I am allowed to climax once a month, perhaps twice if I've been especially attentive and generous. Typically, my orgasm comes in the form of a slow, teasing footjob whilst in bondage, with Abby's polished & pedicured toes rubbing up and down my cock, slowly teasing me. There are times when she does this "dry," and only the dribbles of my pre-cum lubricate her toes as they glide across my throbbing head.

Other times it is "wet,", meaning she will first have me first fill a small bowl with a generous puddle of baby oil. I must then place the bowl on the floor, and then place my restraint belt about my waist. It's one of those leather belts with D-rings for handcuffs on each side, which I bought years ago at a police surplus auction. Abby then cuffs each wrist to the side of the belt so I can't reach my cock with my hands. Ordering me to lie down flat, face up, she then binds my legs together tightly at ankles and thighs.

My Jailbird remains tightly locked at this point, and by now my boner pulsates with excitement against the bars. Abby reclines on the couch and take a long sip of wine. I lay on the floor at her feet, patiently waiting.

"Shall I stick my toes in the oil, slave?" she giggles. Her lovely foot is now perched on the side of the bowl, her toes curled around the lip of the bowl.

"Whatever you wish. Ma'am," I say.

With that, Abby moves her foot from the bowl (without having let them touch the oil) and begins teasing my cock with her toes. She gently probes my cock with her little toe through the bars of the Jailbird.

"Bet you'd like that off, wouldn't you?" she asks.

"Very much so, Ma'am."

"Well, I could take it off, but if I do maybe I won't want to stick my toes in the oil. I mean, why should I get my toes all oily and messy for you?"

"That's up to you Ma'am," I say. Abby loves to mindfuck me when she knows I'm the most supple and vulnerable.

"Well, we could take it off and I could tease you with my dry foot," she says. "Or we could leave it on and I could get my foot all lubed up and tease your thru the bars of your little Jailbird. Which should we do?"

I hate this fucking question so much. You see, another thing Abby like to do it try to use her big toe to scoop my precum as it dribbles out. But sometimes rather than use it as "lube" to stroke me, she instead brings her foot to my mouth and makes my suck it off her toe. Then she "dries" off her foot (of my wet spit & slobber) on the carpet and starts over on my cock, so that I never really get the full effect of a footjob with my own glossy pre-cum as "lube" for her tootsies. Mostly just her dry foot, which is nice but also somehow unsatisfying. Not to mention the constant starting and stopping- as my dick leaks more precum, the more frequently the lick/dry off cycle repeats.

"Ma'am, you could perhaps use the oil for a bit while I'm locked, then take it off and switch to dry." I suggested this compromise with the thought that enough residual oil might remain on my cock to somehow satisfy me.

"Great idea, slave," Abby said. "I like that!"

Thank God. With that, I watch as Abby dips each toe into the oil, barely breaking the surface of it, but rather just enough to lightly coat the tip of each toe.

She then holds her foot above my head, and tightens her arch. What a gorgeous site, seeing her pale toes (nails painted in lovely dark red) curled above me, with the creamy soft soles slightly wrinkling as she relaxes her stretch.

"Tell me how beautiful my foot it, slave."

"It is very beautiful, Ma'am."

"Bet you'd like to kiss it, wouldn't you slave?"

"Very much so, Ma'am"

"I'll bet you would. Even all greasy with oil you would still kiss it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Even if I had just walked barefoot down a muddy lane, you'd still kiss and lick it too, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would."

"You are such a filthy foot slave. Other men want to lick pussy, but you hardly get to do that, do you?"

"No Ma'am."

"That's because you're just a sick little footslave, aren't you?"

"Yes."

With that, Abby begins rubbing her big toe up and down the bars of the Jailbird. She pushes her big toe into the space between the bars, and in no time the oil mixed with my copiously dribbling pre-cum has me practically bursting through the bars of the cage.

She again dips her foot in the bowl, this time more thoroughly soaking her foot in oil. For a bit, she uses only her pinky toe to probe and tease me through the bars. She plays a little game of "tic tac toe," tapping her pinky through each of the square spaces between the bars of the Jailbird that cover my cock's head. To the extent she can, her pinky wriggles and teases the sensitive head. I fear I'm about to burst, and wonder if she will doom me to a ruined orgasm with the cruel cage still on my desperately aroused cock.

No. Quickly she pulls her foot away, just as I'm almost about to explode.

"I think that's enough oil slave, don't you?" she asks.

"Yes, Ma'am," I answer meekly. Secretly, with my dick now so saturated, I am optimistic that I'll still enjoy its sensations even though Abby will no longer be "re-dipping" her foot.

No such luck.

"Slave, hold on a few minutes while I wash off my foot," she says. Ugh. First using a paper towel to dry her toes and then a quick run into the bathroom, where I hear the shower come on for a bit.

She finally returns brandishing a well-lathered, soapy washcloth.

"It wouldn't be fair that just I got to wash off, now would it?" she coos. With that, she removes the necklace upon which is looped the key to my Jailbird...