I spent about an hour perusing a fascinating piece of internet prose this morning. I wrote to its author and now, by kind permission of Justin Benedict and Chastity Tales, here’s the first of many episodes of his story to be reproduced here:
Gretchen smiled as she moved her long nails across my purplish, throbbing shaft. She looked so cute… A pale beauty with short, slightly spiky hair, Gretchen is a little on the chubby side, but in a sexy T&A kind of a way, and she was wearing a tight top and snug courdoroys as she leaned across the bed toying with my tortured willy.
“What’s wrong, Miles? Having a bad time?” Gretch asked me bemusedly, as she stroked my quivering shaft with a sharp thumbnail. “I guess you’re having a hard time with the 103 days so far?” Gretchen smiled at me evilly.
Two and a half years ago when we’d started playing dominance games, I’d confessed to Gretchen my desire to be put into chastity, and to “earn” my orgasms.
“How do you mean?” Gretchen had asked at the time. She’d already begun to enjoy the whole aspect of all the oral sex on her side, and my increased participation in the heavy housecleaning.
“Well, it’s such a thrill making love to you.” I had told her. “I really think that your sexual favors should be earned by me.”
Gretchen had laughed at the time. “Well, I already cut you off when I’m on the rag, or when you stay out too late with those idiots watching MSNBC.”
This was true, Gretchen would most certainly cut me off even before we were married, just tell me no sex, because she was mad, and make me do all sorts of chores and favors to get her in the
mood. This really had thrilled me, though her previous boyfriend, who had been a friend of mine, had told me many times that Gretchen was a “ballbreaker” When Gary had broken up with Gretchen, he’d warned me. “No, I don’t mind if you date her, man, but she’s really high
maintenance.”
Why had that excited me? The idea of trying to please this imperious princess had been just possessing to me, and I’d immediately begun to prove to her that I was no insensitive Gary type, that I was primarily focused on making Gretchen pleased. We never switched the check or any of that nonsense, I always picked it up.
After we’d married, it had been so gradual how we’d moved into a state of Gretchen being my dominant. I was an investment banker and brought home most of the bacon, and Gretchen did a little film-making. It was her career, but truly much more of a hobby. Theoretically, Gretch was supposed to look after the house, and make things comfortable and relaxing for me, and I was glad to subsidize her projects.
But it had seemed from the start that whenever I got in at night, the house was a bit of a mess… Gretchen was quite often sitting in front of the TV.
“Oh hey babe.” she’d say as I dragged in from a long day. “Didn’t get too much done, but there’s some kinda TV dinner thingie in the kitchen, you know I can’t cook.”
And I could never get upset with her, and often I’d take off my jacket, put on an apron, and make us a good meal,as my mother had taught me to cook quite well. Then I’d try to pick up her discarded deli wrappers and stray shoes, and sweep the carpet a bit.
“Your ass looks so cute when you’re sweeping, honey” Gretchen would say with a laugh.
I’d often make her a special dessert, and spend excessive time rubbing Gretchen’s feet, hoping to get lucky at bedtime, and sometimes I did–Gretchen was a great lover, and she had a tight vagina! But more often than not, she was tired from whatever she’d been doing. I’d warm her up with a little cunt-lapping, and then a little more.
“God you’re so good, Miles!” Gretch would say, gasping.
“Can I come up now, and stick it in?” I’d ask hopefully.
“No, just a little more, please.” Gretchen would push my head further into her hot pussy, and I would lick her til she was exhausted.
“I’m way too tired now for screwing, babe, I’m sorry.” Gretchen would kiss me good night, and tickle my cock a little. “It’s this damn project I’m on.” And there I’d be lying next to her beautiful body, my cock bouncing like a metronome.
Then I’d try not to bother her…though I wanted to touch her milky buttocks, or if she was lying with her face to me, her full breasts. But Gretchen got very annoyed with me if I disturbed her sleep. What a curse it would be, rolling around on the bed, my cock stiff and painful!
At first we still made love three times a week, with me eating her out about six times. Once in a while I got a blowjob from Gretchen, which she was quite good at. But then it cut down to once or twice a week, and Gretchen was amused, and then irritated by my sulkiness when I’d ask her, pleadingly, why she only wanted cunnilinguis. One afternoon, I’d been scrubbing the bathroom floor, and imploring Gretchen “C’mon dear, don’t you think I want to make love, too?” Gretchen had laughed. At the time she was wearing a halter and shorts, and I was working in only a long-underwear bottom.
“I get such a kick out of it when you roll around and moan on the bed, and then when you go to the bathroom and jerk yourself off.” Gretchen had made an imitation of my light pants,and “a–ahhh”, which was an exaggeration of my orgasm. “It’s just so funny, Miles. You’re like a fourteen year old, still. And there’s nothing, NOTHING funnier than a man who’s pouting because he can’t get any.” Gretchen laughed. “You just strut around looking miserable like you’re going to have a tantrum, and I’m just fascinated by that. I was telling some of the guys on the film site about it, they thought it was hilarious.”
My face had burned as I continued the scrubbing. All the guys Gretchen worked on her film projects with were tall athletic types, and I was a short little banker. Several of them were ex-lovers of my beautiful wife, and then there were the “guys” who were beautiful girls who worked with Gretchen, some actresses, some film strippers, and it was so humiliating that she’d tell them that!
“Can’t you keep our private problems in the house?” I’d asked.
“What problems, Miles?” asked Gretchen implacably. “I’m not having any problems.”
