Living Large in Buttermilk Falls!

Driving home, Darrell Plunkett certainly hoped that Bootsie had changed her mind. He knew that Bootsie was jealous of Thelma; Darrell's secretary was quite a dish, and sweet and charming in a way that his wife wasn't though of course Bootsie served Darrell's needs well.

"You know it depends on you, Darrell." Bootsie had said, smiling the night before. "If you want to have a release, you have to do it on my terms. We've always done it that way, and if you want to continue with your chastity training, we always will!"

Darrell was, or at least he thought, a normal, athletic guy—he loved football, darts, and had been the president of his fraternity. But he'd had a need, an almost pressuring need to be a slave boy. It had really fucked with him growing up.

When he'd asked his wife to experiment with playing dominatrix, Bootsie had been quite skeptical. "Why is it" she'd asked "that a man will order you to dominate him, and he's still in charge? That's the way it always is, isn't it?"

"I just need discipline." Darrell had said at first, and Bootsie had raised her eyebrows. Bootsie was an attractive woman, she was no Thelma , but she had thick red curls, and formidable breasts...and Darrell had had to take her out many times before he'd been allowed to touch them!

When they'd married, the practical Elizabeth "Bootsie " Cottrell, daughter of a famous financier, had taken Darrell's debt-ridden credit cards and cut them up—there were way too many old debts for liquor stores, strip-clubs and "working girls"

Bootsie had not been judgmental, but she'd told Darrell—"I'll pay all this off, all seven thousand dollars of your foolish debt, and you give me your paycheck, and I'll give you a reasonable allowance."

So Bootsie had known that Darrell had disciplinary needs. But it had been a surprise to her how he proposed she deal with them. Darrell had brought in a thin plank of wood from the back yard, and had handed it to her.

"My mom used to spank me with something like this." Darrell had said. "It hurts, but doesn't do a lot of permanent damage." How Freudian, Bootsie had thought. But she'd tapped the thin plank in her hands and looked expectantly at Darrell, who had then taken off all his clothes and lay across her desk.

Bootsie had stood up, tucking in her sweater, which emphasized her full breasts, and told Darrell what a lazy, good for nothing he was, and he'd nodded reluctantly. And then she'd begun whipping him!

After seven swats, Darrell was blubbering, after twelve; he was banging his fists on the desk, begging her to stop, but at no time did he take the plank away from Bootsie as he might have done.

After all. Darrell was an athlete, he'd been a high school varsity fullback, and Bootsie weighed about one hundred twelve soaking wet. But he'd just banged his fists, kicked his legs and begged her to stop, and after she saw the first trickle of blood on his damaged bottom, she'd reluctantly put down the plank.

Apparently Bootsie had a lot of anger!

And then Darrell, instead of bitch-slapping Bootsie for going too far as some men would do, had bent over on his knees and kissed her feet, and thanked her for making him a better man... and he'd taken her to bed and gone down on her for an hour!

A week later, Bootsie had brought out the plank again, on her own volition, because Darrell had stayed out too late with his male co-workers and came home with Scotch on his breath.

She'd told him when they married that she wanted him to drink only with her at parties and special occasions, but of course Darrell was difficult to reach at times. "Take down your pants, Darrell. You're going to learn to listen to your wife."

The whipping she'd given Darrell had made him howl and cry, and then she'd sent him to the corner while she'd enjoyed a gin and tonic. And then of course he'd performed between her legs again, penitently, and he'd not even argued when she'd made him quit the darts league and the bowling club...he could stay home with her instead.

"What do you mean, cock and ball torture?" Bootsie asked to Darrell's next request. He was standing in front of her, looking rather foolish with his penis hanging out in front of her, and she'd began toying with his penis.

As Darrell had become more aroused, Bootsie had asked him questions about CBT, about points of contact on the testicles, and she'd stroked his thickening penis. "This certainly is interesting, this punishment business."

"Well, you could just stroke it." Darrell said, as he closed his eyes, thinking how pleasant hand jobs could be. TWANK! Darrell's eyes opened all of a sudden, Darrell's penis had been assaulted by...what was it?

Jesus, she'd taken off her heavy gold chain and looped it in one hand while stroking his balls with the other, and then SWUNG it on his dick! SWACK! Again, the heavy gold chain hit the knob of Darrell's penis.

Darrell had gritted his teeth, and then he smiled "Honey, you don't have to um, start so hard...you can go gently you know." Bootsie looked up and smiled at him.

She resumed the gentle stroking, her soft fingers finding the vulnerable spots on his swollen penis, and again, he foolishly closed his eyes...that were nice...maybe she would be nice now.

BONK! WHAPPITY WHAP! Darrell's eyes opened in new horror. "Don't move, I've got something going on here" Bootsie had said. Long an intolerant critic of Darrell's "wasted" hours spent playing the drums with his old college chums, Bootsie had borrowed the sticks.

Bootsie drummed Darrell's penis excitedly with the drumsticks, the tips of the sticks banging and jabbing at his hard cock. Darrell tried to move back, but Bootsie reached out and whacked his bare hip with one of the sticks.

"Don't you move back. I've got a rhythm here." Bootsie slammed away at Darrell's unfortunate penis with the sticks, harder and harder. "Can't get no satisfaction" Bootsie sung...finally she threw the sticks down, and guided Darrell by the ear to the bedroom, where she ordered him to lie on the bed on his back.

Bootsie tied Darrell's wrists to the headboard and sat down, stroking his wounded penis. "I know this is going to be a true learning experience for me...I'm very excited about feeding your perversion.."

"Paraphilia" Darrell amended. Bootsie smiled and continued to stroke his penis. "Whatever you call it, darling. I certainly have noticed that you are more interested in me when I mistreat you, and that's peculiar. But hey, I learn something new every day."

Bootsie reached down and pulled Darrell's long leather belt out of the loops of his discarded pants, and doubled it in her delicate little hand. "Your penis looks so white and vulnerable, doesn't it honey?" she'd asked.

Darrell didn't know what to respond so he just lay there. Sometimes that was just the safest thing. Or not! WHACK! THWACK! The belt came down. Oh no, buckle first.

Darrell tried to move, but of course he was locked against the headboard.

"Its fun, watching you dance" Bootsie said as she slammed the tip of Darrell's dick with the leather belt. "You can really move around a lot while locked to that headboard. It might be good aerobics for you, you know?"

When it came to chastity training, which really excited Darrell, and he talked about it ad nauseum to his lovely wife, she'd opened his package from the PainCafe's Dungeonopolis gift shop. "You're sure about this?"

Darrell had nodded his head, and she'd locked it on him. The first time, she'd kept him in chastity for eighteen agonizing days. "You know, you're supposed to start with like, three days or maybe a week locking me up." Darrell had hinted broadly.

"Topping from the bottom?" Bootsie had asked, smiling broadly. "I don't think so."

About a week into his eighteen day stretch, Bootsie tied Darrell's naked body to the kitchen stool, and she unlocked the chastity belt and stroked his dick for awhile. "What's it like not being able to play with your pee-pee, Darrell?"

Darrell was insane with lust, it seemed. He had been a habitual masturbator since elementary school, and had gotten laid with a variety of different women in high school and college. In fact, after Bootsie had locked him in chastity, he'd had to break off with a waitress he'd been fooling around with.

Darrell tried to recall why it was he'd asked Bootsie to lock him up. He'd read all those BDSM chastity sites, that was part of it, and it really excited him...but the reality of day after day of no orgasms was incredible.

And sometimes he awoke at midnight with a hard on, and it couldn't get completely erect, and it was horribly painful! Now his cock felt so free, being stroked by his wife's long, sexy fingers. It was free for the first time in days...but of course she hadn't let him cum!

The next night she'd unlocked him again, and stroked him some more. He'd whined so much when she'd locked him back up and sent him to bed the first night, he was surprised that she let him loose again, but of course his hands were tied.

They watched hours of television, and she'd stroke him, and then get lost in whatever program it was, and forget...and then pick up the slack again during the commercials. It was rather intimate, Bootsie thought.

"Before we started this nonsense up, you used to surf porn while I watched the Lifetime Channel, or you'd go watch sports upstairs. Now I have you aware, awake and interested. It's quite pleasant."

At one point, she got a bit horny, and she pulled Darrell down to his knees and had him lick her, his head between her legs, while she watched "Project Runway" and told him what pigs the judges were. He was so horny, he almost had the hots for some of the effeminate gay judges.

At the end of the evening, before they went to bed, Bootsie stripped to her bra and panties and laid the bound Darrell on the bed, and jacked him hard with the lube...faster and faster, just stopping short of him having an orgasm. She actually laughed rather loudly when Darrell began weeping out of desperation.

Then she'd gone to sleep and not unlocked Darrell, warning him that if he wanted to pee, he should hold it until morning, or she would give it to him hard with the plank. Darrell had spent the evening horny as anything, thinking seriously of rolling off onto the bed and rubbing his dick on the carpet, hoping the friction would give him an orgasm.

Why had she neglected that night to lock him back up? He'd never quite figured that one out. Bootsie had locked him back up the next morning, and he'd gone to work, just bulging in the device, wondering if he'd ever get to touch himself again.

Darrell's first wife, who required he call her Mrs. Plunkett, had refused him sex and also had a war with him against masturbation...

she'd been a strict Catholic, and had only gotten married because the three different convents she'd applied to to be a nun had deemed her mentally unstable.

Mrs. Plunkett had tried punishing him in a variety of ways. First, because Darrell had this macho self-image, she'd made him parade around the block wearing a garter belt and panties, to the laughter of the other men drinking beer in the street.

After she'd caught him jerking off again, Mrs. Plunkett had taken stinging nettles and wrapped them around his cock and balls and tied him to the kitchen table to endure it for a while.

Darrell almost out of his mind with pain and agony, but it had not kept him from touching his "bad thing" as Mrs. Plunkett called it.

Then Mrs. Plunkett worried that it might be hygiene. So she had put Darrell in the bathtub every morning before he went off to work and she'd carefully bathed his cock and balls, shaving the icky, manly hair and rubbing hot Ben Gay on his dick...and this also had done nothing for him...in fact he became even more excited!

Mrs. Plunkett had found a "Playboy" magazine in Darrell's closet and had almost gone out of her mind. She had pulled his pants down in front of their housemates and she'd caned his cock severely with an old bamboo ash plant cane ...

Yes, his penis had bled, but he'd kept toying with it!

After their divorce, Darrell found Bootsie, who combated jerking off in other ways...

At the end of eighteen days, Bootsie had allowed Darrell to fuck her...and it had been quite a fuckfest! But then, just before they went to sleep, happy but exhausted, she'd locked the belt back on.

The second time, she'd not unlocked it for forty-two days. This time, Darrell had come to her with begging eyes again and again, and whenever he'd gotten too much on Bootsie's nerves, she'd given him a blistering bare bottom paddling with his racquetball racquet, and extended his chastity time.

Finally, when it had been his time to cum, Bootsie had told Darrell that she didn't feel like making love, and that he could masturbate. But he had to do it quickly, because she was going out with a friend.

When Darrell had tried reasoning with her, pointing out that for forty-two days he'd taken over the lion's share of the housework and gone down on her nightly, she'd responded. "We could keep you locked up, and discuss this in two weeks."

So Darrell had masturbated while Bootsie put on her makeup and did her nails—and then she'd locked him up and gone out with her "friend" a guy who'd pulled up in his convertible to pick her up, honking the horn rudely, something that Darrell had never done.

The next period had been 49 days—this had been just awful for the first twenty days, and then Darrell strangely found he'd gotten used to it. He still missed making love to his wife, and jerking off over the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader calendar...

But his priorities were very re-organized towards productivity, and his boss at Buttermilk Realty had promoted him from a cubicle to a window office, with his own adorable secretary, Thelma.

She was so sweet; a timid brunette with Bambi eyes, friendly and a bit worshipful. She called Darrell MISTER Plunkett and called Darrell's sales efforts on the industrial and office markets of Buttermilk Falls "Remarkable."

When Darrell asked for the files on the Prather West Professional Building on Buttermilk Boulevard, Thelma would look at him with awe and say "Right away, Mister Plunkett."

And Darrell enjoyed that! And he told his wife at home that it was refreshing to have a woman look up to him in this time of feminism and general sassiness from the gentler sex.

After his 49 days of chastity, Bootsie had told Darrell he could masturbate, but he had to do it in the front yard. At noon, on a Saturday. Darrell had rebelled, and Bootsie had left the belt on for another month. "Okay, I'll do it in the front yard, for God's sake," Darrell had said desperately.

But Bootsie didn't want that anymore. "I have a new plan for you." Bootsie had said, smiling at her sexually desperate husband. "I want you to masturbate while cowering naked on the floor in front of your beautiful secretary, the one you talk about who worships you."

And Darrell had balked again. He had now been chaste for 80 days; it was ghastly, and he was sooo horny. But damn, to be told he couldn't cum unless he jerked off in front of his secretary! That was sexual harassment...it would ruin him.

"Oh, it won't ruin you, Darrell." Bootsie had said, smiling. "And even if it does, you know I'm independently set. I can continue my job and you could just stay home all day and be my houseboy."

So Darrell just held out. His real estate career meant a lot to him. He wasn't awfully bright, and a rich alumnus had gotten him his realty job. Darrell didn't think there was much else he could do, and he didn't really want to be dependent on Bootsie.

But he also didn't want to go without cumming for the rest of his life.

Then...