Wifely Control

$10.75

Compare

Wifely Control by Clarice Darling

He is unemployed and bankrupt, while his previously wife is thriving in a new position and has embarked upon an affair with the company’s young boss. Her boss is black, lesbian, and VERY dominant, and she just happens to believe that her new lover’s handsome but demoralised husband will make him the most perfect and obedient of household chattels. Once he has been conditioned, of course. “Knocking on her door gently and waiting for her to give me permission to enter – this to a room in a house that belonged now to my wife and had once been mine – I could hardly help but be amazed by the changes the black girl had affected in my life since her arrival five weeks ago. The short stay while she looked for her dream house had become long-term and Estelle had already informed me that Vonda wasn’t looking anymore as she was comfortable here with us. The nightmare I already considered my life to have become went from the first day of her arrival, swiftly downhill into… Purgatory.” Includes: F/m submission, power, control, humiliation, manipulation, a cock-cage, lesbian sex, spike heels and more.

Weight .99 lbs
Artist Credit

Cover Image © LightFieldStudios – Shutterstock.com

Page Count

92

Publish Date

12/17/2021

Word Count

23757

Excerpt

“Oh, that’s so nice,” my wife of eleven years told me, “you really do want to show me how respectful of me you can be…”

Her words registered but, somehow, didn’t register. Not so surprising really, given I was seated on the floor with my back against the sofa, her legs to either side of my naked body as she sat fully-clothed above me and breathed the words into my ear as her soft hand manipulated the engorged penis those barely registering words seemed to inspire from me for some reason. We hadn’t had sex for more than a month now and, where once I would have demanded it as no more than her wifely duty, I couldn’t seem to summon up either the energy or her former wariness of my quick temper that had been enough in the past for her to oblige me.

What with the business that had gone down the toilet and my inability to find a job to replace it at the ripe old-age of forty-seven, energy and anger had become just two more items to add to the list of things I couldn’t seem to summon up.

A lack that seemed to have empowered my previously obliging wife, even as it had entirely – and understandably – the opposite effect upon me.

It was getting out of hand, I told myself – even as it was in hand, so to speak – and I would need to nip it in the bud soon and return things to normal, but…….

“Oooooh!”

“Yes, that’s my lovely respectful boy,” her breath in my ear pushing me closer to a completion I was enjoying but would rather have made inside my wife’s pussy.

“You do want to be respectful, don’t you?” she asked when I made no reply, caught between the somewhat, demeaning, pleasure she was providing and the more conventional way in which I wanted her to provide it.

“Y-Yes,” I responded, too close to voice my concerns.

The manipulation of my needy cock slowed, if not to a standstill then to a pace unlikely to bring about the desired result and, giving in rather than fighting the response I knew she wanted from escaping my lips:

“Y-Yes… I want to be respectful.”

“Of course you do,” she breathed, returning the pace to her hand, unable to prevent the small note of – well, not so small really – triumph that infused her tone and even her far gone husband couldn’t miss; suddenly changing her approach and releasing her grip to use fingernails instead to stroke the length of my shaft.

A change of approach and pace that, far from lowering it, sent my excitement skywards as I gasped with pleasure, telling myself for the umpteenth time that I would deal with the situation and the lack of penetrative sex between us soon.

“All that play-acting with me,” she breathed into his ear. “Pretending to be the big masterful man when all the time you wanted to be my nice respectful husband.”

I knew I had to call a halt to the line she had placed our sex-life upon – well, mine anyway; she didn’t seem the least interested in having sex with me and seemed content to just get me off and talk in my ear.

But this was not the time.

“And respectful husbands obey their wives… Don’t they?”

The pattern had emerged over the weeks since she first started getting me off this way and, true to what had become form, kicked in again when I made no reply, the cessation of her fingertips scraping at my foreskin as I hesitated fetching yet another frustrated groan from my lips that could only have highlighted her sense of growing power.

“Your wife asked you a question, Simon,” she said, voice a little louder and slightly away from the ear, and indication of distance of a more serious kind should I not…

Concede.

“Don’t you want to be completely respectful to your wife?”

“Yes,” I breathed, a reed exposed to a force far too strong for it to do anything else but be moved in a direction of another’s choosing.

Her manipulation of my manhood resumed:

“Yes,” she cooed. “Of course you do. You want to be the best little husband you can be for your wonderful wife with the house and job that keeps you, don’t you?”

Sensing she was again ready to curtail my pleasure I cave in yet again, promising myself we would be having a serious discussion about this very soon.

“Y-Yes.”

Hand tempo increased.

“Because stay at home husbands with strong wives who go out to work should always obey those wives without complaint, shouldn’t they?”

“Yes…”

I was too far gone now to do anything but acquiesce.”

“And you want to obey your wife because she takes care of you and keeps you safe.”

“Estelle…” I began, even close to extremis making one last attempt to let her know this game had gone on long enough.

And it had.

Convulsing, as her strong legs kept me in place on the floor below her, I came with a force and power that should have told me this was anything but a game.

But that would come later.

When I stopped spouting and my semen could be seen in a trail across the parquet flooring, she rose and, flinging one of those strong pantyhosed legs over my head, still dressed in her clothes for the office, moved towards the stairs.

The question of her own satisfaction – again – not about to be addressed.

Not with me, anyway.

Reviews

There are no reviews yet.

Be the first to review “Wifely Control”

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may also like…