Unbetitelt

“Still haven’t changed these dirty socks. Filthy socks for a filthy fag,” He says, flexing His toes. He became a little different after He found out about my submissive side, finding ways to make each interaction a little more humiliating and degrading. He’s been wearing these socks for a couple weeks now, and every night He makes you slide His boots off and spend a few minutes deep-sniffing the socks.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like ‘em. Give Me a little smile to show Me you’re enjoying this.”

———

You scrub the dishes frantically as you overhear Connor watching videos on his phone. Connor is known to take long shits - it’s his time to get caught up on all things sports, text his buddies, and check all the relevant social media platforms. With an average time of 20 minutes, it should be just long enough for you to thoroughly clean each and every dish.

As the 15-minute mark approaches, you somehow finalize the dishes and decide to move on to the counters, making sure each surface is impeccable. Finally, with two minutes to go, you drop to your hands and knees and lick up the dirty sneaker marks Connor has left in the entryway and living room. Naturally, you use your tongue, reveling in the taste.

When you finally hear the toilet flush, you grab Connor’s bag and place it on the coffee table. You then move into a kneeling position with your head bowed downwards - of course. Right as you do so, Connor exits the bathroom, leaving even more dirty sneaker marks on the floors. He approaches the couch and sits down. “Thanks for grabbing my bag, faggy. I’m sure you’re excited to know what’s inside. I left you a gnarly mess in the bathroom. You gotta clean that up before I can let you see your new presents.”

You crawl to the bathroom with the stench of Connor’s shit getting stronger and stronger as you approach. You look into the toilet bowl to see shit streaks covering the entire thing. You give it a thorough clean and reluctantly spray some Febreeze. You wish you could sniff and stare at that toilet all night.

After crawling back to the couch, you look down at Connor’s sneakers. “Alright, faggot, the time has come. Let’s start the faggot ceremony and look at all of your new presents.” He opens the backpack and excitedly pulls out a chastity cage. “First, you’ll need to put this on. I’m sure you have a raging boner whenever you’re around me, and even when you’re cleaning up after me,” he says with a laugh, “but that has to change. You are not allowed to perve out on me.”

He hands you the cage. With no hesitation, you open the packaging and pull it out. “Sir Connor, do I have permission to remove my pathetic dicklet from the secrecy of my clothing?” you ask. He nods his head in agreement while letting out yet another laugh. You pull your pants down and look up at him, thinking he may want to be the one to put it on. “Go ahead, faggy. Come on, you know I have no reason to touch that itty-bitty thing.” You put the chastity cage on your tiny erect dicklet, cramming it into the even tinier device. You’ve never been harder in your life, so it’s nearly impossible to fit on. Your tiny dicklet strains as you take the key and officially lock the cage on. You pass the key to Connor before he pulls out the next item.

“Next, I have a chain I bought. Now that I’m no longer trying to abide by your liberal fag agenda, I got myself a cross chain. I thought it would add to my extremely masculine demeanor, especially given that I am a Christian who doesn’t believe in loser fags like yourself. Thank you for finally being honest about who you are. We have no place being in a relationship.” He takes the chain out of the bag and slips the key on to it. He then wraps it around his neck and lets it slowly dangle down his chest. Your fag dicklet strains harder.

“For the next gift, I have a maid’s costume. It includes a skirt and stockings. I thought both would help feminize my faggot housewife. It also comes with an apron, which you can use while cleaning. You’ll be expected to wear this anytime you’re around me, whether in the home or outside of it.” He hands the costume to you and gestures for you to head to the other room. You crawl into the bathroom once again and pull on the costume. You give yourself a brief glance in the mirror before exiting. You can’t believe how girly you look. You’d never looked this faggotty before, even when you’d done drag on Halloween.

As you head outside on all fours, Connor can’t help but let out a long and boastful laugh. “Stand up for me, faggy, just this once. I want to see it in full effect.” As you rise, Connor lets out yet another laugh. You feel humiliated. “Remember to keep yourself fully shaven per usual. I don’t want to see a single hair on my little housewife.” You love when he calls you that, and you’ll do anything to make it stick.

“Now, I have three flags to show you. Since I won’t be abiding to your homo liberal policies anymore, I got a MAGA flag, an American flag, and a “Saturdays Are For the Boys” flag. The first one will be hung in the living room, and the latter two will go in my bedroom.” He reaches into the bag again. “Oh shit, and I got some LED lights since I’ll be having many, many more guys over. The boys told me these really help set the mood with chicks. I assume the same can be said about gay men. These will go in my bedroom. You can hang all of this up tomorrow.” Your dicklet strains even harder than before. You’re not sure it can get any more painful than this.

“I also purchased you a dildo that sticks to the wall. It has a counting device at the end that will measure how many times you touch your nose to the back of the device. I know my cock is only 7 inches, but this dildo is 9. I want to make sure that you are completely ready to take my dick anytime I don’t have a boy over.” He sticks his hand back in the bag, feeling around for another item. “Oh, I also got you a device that will keep your teeth off my dick and keep your mouth wide open when I’m face fucking you. I am going to enjoy all of our sessions, and I hope that you will grow to love them too. A brutal face fucking will be the closest thing you get to sex for the rest of your life”, he says with a laugh. He sticks the dildo on the wall and gestures for you to try. You slide your mouth up and down the thing for nearly five minutes, doing everything in your power to hit the button. You hit it nearly 15 times while gagging incessantly. Connor tells you that he’s …. somewhat impressed.

“You know, I almost picked up some condoms, but then I realized I won’t ever need those. I’ll just go raw like I did last night with that boy! What was his name again?” he asks with a laugh. “I also realized that I won’t be giving you your credit card back. I’ll just keep it for my personal use. You can keep your other one, though. You know, in case you’re ever out buying stuff for me, but that’s all it’s meant for now. No spending on yourself allowed!”

Connor stands up and heads toward the front door. You look up at him with a perplexed face. “Come on, faggy. Your last gift is outside. I was too drunk to carry it in earlier.” As he approaches the front door, he opens it, and you crawl towards him. You crawl down the front porch and onto the gravel driveway. Your knees sting. Connor follows behind you, giving you butt a slight kick. He opens the trunk of his car, and you look up to see a dog cage. Your heart drops. “Do you like it, faggy?”

While terrified, you know you have to show Connor that you’re excited. You have to please your master, especially now that it’s become official. You let out a couple barks and wag your butt back and forth. You then shower his sneakers with kisses. “Good boy,” he says, “let’s get it moved inside.” Connor grabs the dog cage and carries it into the house. You follow behind on hands and knees. You pray no one is watching you crawl in your maids outfit.

As you get back inside the house, you follow Connor into the living room. He sets the cage down against the wall that separates the living area from his bedroom. “This is perfect. You won’t need to sleep in my room anymore, but you’ll still certainly hear me fucking any guys I have over,” he says, letting out another laugh. This faggot ceremony certainly seems to be more about Connor than it is about yourself.

Connor gestures for you to climb inside the cage. As you crawl in and lay down, you notice how uncomfortable it is. There’s no padding at all. You pray that Connor will give you some dirty clothes to sleep on. However, you just washed all of them, aside from his current outfit, so you know you won’t be sleeping very well tonight. Connor lets out a huge laugh as you crawl inside the cage. You turn to kneel within it and notice his flash go off. He’s just taken a photo of you. You wonder who it’ll be sent to, maybe the lads already know about your new arrangement. For the first time ever, you speak out of turn. “Sir Connor, who is that for?” you say. He replies back with “oh, come on, faggy. You know I had to tell my friends about your new life at the bar today. When I showed them the cage in my car, they begged for a photo update. I think they’re going to come over one day this week to watch you in all your glory as my new foot faggot! They’ll expect some services too I’m sure.”

Connor locks you into the cage and pulls a chair over in front of it. He sits down and pulls his sneakers off as he continues texting the boys. You stare at his socked feet, feeling deflated that you aren’t being allowed near them. They look incredible with dirt stains all over them. You press your nose up against the cage, hoping he’ll show you some action. “Oh yeah, faggot? You desperate for the pups?” he says with another laugh. He presses one of his feet up against the cage. He fans and flexes his toes over your nose multiple times, listening to you take large whiffs as he texts. You look up at Connor whose eyes are still glued to his phone. While still taking big sniffs, you say “Sir Connor, may I be allowed out of the cage to properly service your feet? They’ve been locked in those foot prisons all day, and they deserve some proper tending to.” Connor looks down from his phone and towards you. “Oh yeah, faggot? You think so? Don’t I get to decide what my feet need? More importantly, don’t I get to decide what you need and deserve?” You look down with a deflated face as Connor pulls his foot away. You say nothing back, knowing he’s right and that he has no desire to hear your opinion. Connor’s eyes wander back to his phone, and you can’t help but stare at how perfect his socked feet look. You examine each one separately, staring at the dirt marks as we wiggles his toes and stretches his feet. Your loser dicklet strains yet again in its cage.

After 15 minutes of pure torture, Connor unlocks the dog cage, asking if you’ve learned your lesson. “Yes, Lord Connor, I should never question you. You know what’s best for you and me, Sir. Thank you for showing me that, Master.” He walks to the couch and lays down, kicking his feet back. You’re sad you didn’t get to experience his feet in their full glory - straight from their sneakers. However, you’re still hopeful he’ll allow you to tend to them now. He beckons you over to the couch, and you kneel by his beautiful socked feet.

He scrolls on his phone while you wait patiently, unable to look away from his feet. Your fag clit has never hurt so bad, now having been pressed up against its metal cage for nearly an hour. “Peel ‘em off, faggot. You’ve worked hard today, aside from questioning my decision. You know that I know what’s best. Don’t forget it.”

You peel off each of Connor’s socks and give them a good sniff. You dive into his feet, licking every nook and cranny. You suck on each toe and lick every crevice in between. You glide your tongue up and down his entire sole, paying special attention to his heels. You’re sure to scrape off any dead skin with your teeth, enjoying the incredible flavor.

After 20 minutes of Connor scrolling and you licking, he pulls down his shorts. He points to the mouth spreading device on the coffee table. You grab it, strapping it on to your mouth. Connor moves into a sitting position on the couch and kicks his bare feet up on to the coffee table. You climb under one leg and pop up in between that one and the other. You try to ask if you should start, but the device makes it impossible to talk. Connor puts his phone down as one hand raises up and grabs the back of your head. He pulls your face down full force on to his cock.

With instinct, Connor begins bouncing your head like a basketball, bringing it up and down on his cock. You sputter spit everywhere, unable to swallow it since your mouth is locked open. This goes on for five minutes before Connor stands up and pushes you against a wall. He begins face fucking you with extreme force. His cock hits the back of your throat repeatedly. Tears begin streaming down your face while Connor looks at you for the first time since starting. He notices the tears while letting out a laugh. “It’s okay, faggot. I’ll take care of you.”

Somehow his momentum picks up. Your head bangs against the wall time and time again. Then, finally, he groans “I’m gonna cum.” You make noises begging for him to do so since you’re completely unable to talk. The cum finally spews and goes straight down your throat, not even gracing your tongue once. His dick slams your head against the wall one last time while string after string of cum flows down your throat.

He holds still for a moment, reveling in his accomplishment. He finally pulls out of your mouth, and a stream of piss immediately begins filling up your mouth. You keep your headed tilted upwards with your open hole of a mouth left for Connor to fill. As he’s finishing up, he tells you not to swallow. You try your best and soon your mouth is full of piss, all of the flavor just sitting on your tongue. You refuse to upset your master.

He makes you crawl into the dog cage, and only then does he tell you to swallow. He removes the mouth opener and drops it on the ground, disgusted that he’s even touched it. You sit patiently on your knees in the cage as Connor grabs his socks, shorts, underwear, and sneakers, tossing them inside with you. He pulls his shirt off, revealing his gorgeous body and cross chain. Your dicklet desperately tries to grow.

With that he locks the cage and puts a bell and rope on the door. “This rope is so you can unlock yourself from the cage tomorrow morning when you go to clean my car. I expect it done around 6am. The bell is to ensure that you don’t leave until instructed. I’ll set an alarm on your phone so you know when to get up. Oh, and my new flags and LEDs - you can hang those once I’m awake. I’m so happy you’ll get to stare at the MAGA flag every night from your cage. It’ll help remind you of your lowly status. Goodnight, faggot.” He sticks his toe through one of the slots of the cage, and you instinctually give it a good suck. You then watch intently as he walks into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and never once looking back at you.

Today marked 3 months since he’s locked me up. We we’re sitting outside studying this afternoon when he suddenly told me “bro get up, my feet need a place to rest. Why don’t you sit on the ground and rub them for me?”, prompting me to give up my chair for his feet. I sat on the ground and started massaging them as he continued to study. “Such a good boy” he said nonchalantly, not even looking up from his tablet. This was the first time he’d ever made me sit on the ground out in public before and rub his feet, it was humiliating but it also got my nub extremely excited!

Later that night he came over and gave me an ultimatum. “I can unlock you and let you beat off for a few minutes, or I can let you lick my feet. They’re so sweaty, after you rubbed them earlier I went to play basketball for a few hours….sockless” he said, enunciating the word sockless. My brains natural response was screaming “beat off, duh!!” But the nub in my pants only wanted his feet….his large, smelly feet. I’d never had a chance to taste them before now, only rub them, and him mentioning how sweaty they were from being sockless was making me feel like I was going to bust out of my metal prison.

Picture Source: @dirtycollegeboyfeet

Samuel looked up seeing one foot resting on his chest and teh other foot about to move towards his face. He could smell the strong odor coming from it. "I take back my bet. You totally are the best at the game. No need to do this at all now. I admit you are better than me." He began to bargin with his college dormmate. He didn't want to be foot smelling footrest for a solid two months as was the bet for the loser to do if he lost.

"Oh, trying to chicken out of your own bet now, I see." Wilkins said as he pulled his foot back.

"Let's just call it as it is. You beat me fair and square. We don't need to go any further with this." Samuel paused, hoping his plea would get him out of the two months of being his footrest. "Besides, two months ia a long time to put someone under your feet. I am sure you rather do something else, right?" He added.

"Sorry, but a bet is a bet. You have to fulfill it." Wilkins said as he lowered his smelly foot directly onto Samuel's face. He rubbed it a little all over his face. "Also, I want to do this. It's fun seeing you down there under my superior feet. These two months are going to be fun. I got another game to play. Kiss my foot for good luck." He added with a smile on his face.

"Do I have to?" Samuel muffled under the big foot now resting on his nose and mouth. It smelled even more horrible with it on top of his nose.

"Yes, you are my foot smelling footrest for two months, now deal with it." Wilkins commanded. "Kiss it like I told you to." He added, waiting on Samuel to comply.

Samuel kissed his foot several times.

#145

“This changes nothing. I know you want them. You have my permission. Skip the massage and start licking. We don’t have that much time together before the ceremony. While your tongue roams my sole, your teeth scrape off my calluses, and you chew on my toenails, just listen to me. I think you are an idiot for marrying that cunt....

I come from the kitchen and stand near him with my hands behind my back.

“Kneel and stare at my feet.”

I kneel, and I stare.

“Housekeeping?”

“Done, sir”

“Other tasks?”

“Bathroom cleaned, suit at cleaners, sir”

“Dinner?”

“Cooking, sir”

“You workout today?”

“45 minutes, chest and triceps.”

He flexes his soles in front of my wanting eyes. I know he’s smiling, that makes me happy.

“I’m feeling generous today, so it’s your decision: 30 seconds of feet time or 30 seconds edging yourself.”

I immediately dive into his feet, kissing every inch. He leans in and rustles my hair while my greedy lips hug every shadow of his soles. Drops of precum leak from my cage. Once 30 seconds has passed he removes his feet and rests them on my back.

My boyfriend acknowledges me but doesn’t look up from his phone. I hear a Grindr ping and see his cock inflate in his pants. Mine pushes against its hard plastic cage.

“Dishes never got done.”

I find myself at the dishwasher. I feel his soles dominating me with every plate I put on the shelf. My cock aches with every failed attempt to get hard. He knows exactly how to keep me dull and trapped in subspace. I place the last fork in the drawer and return to him, hands behind my back. He ignores me for a few moment before looking up.

“Breakfast?”

Eggs are in a pan in seconds. He keeps his volume up so I can hear every message, even with the sizzling breakfast. He lets out a soft ‘Ohh fuck’ and I turn to see him gripping his cock through his pants. He stands and grabs his jacket.

“You can wrap that for me later, I have to run.”

He kisses me on the cheek then vice grips my balls, “This place needs to be spotless, I’m thinking of having company later.”

“Hi Charles *sob* thank you so much for coming to my birthday *sob* party *sob* Amber looked so happy with your huge cock in her mouth *sobsobsob* I’ve never had a blowjob because no girl…. no girl…. no girl would waste her time with my *SOB* baby dick. Please feel free to take a party favor with you before you leave. You can choose any item belonging to me that you like.”

“Aaaaaaaand, sweetie?”

“Oh god….”

“Go on…”

“And please, if you and the other guys need to relieve yourselves at any point, please do so on me. I am playing a party game where I can’t get out of the kiddie pool until it is over-flowing.”

“Who’s the Gold-Digger now, darling?l

My mother-in-law is such a cruel, feminazi, meddling bitch.She had it out for me the moment I met her. She was whispering in my wife’s ear from our very first date, filling her head with ideas of my inferiority, worthlessness and inadequacy. You see, she despised most men, save only for the truly successful, masculine and powerful ones, viewing anything other than a cross between Rockefeller & Hercules to be utterly worthless and deserving of constant ridicule and subjugation. In my case, at 5'7, weak, pasty white and only moderately successful with a mid-management position, I became the outlet for all her disdain and the focus of all her cruelty. It was she who convinced my wife to wait until we were married to have sex, telling me directly that since it was she that was footing the entire bill for our wedding she would be handling all the arrangements and particulars including the date, which she set a full two years away. She smiled and said I’d be spending a lot of time with my face between her daughters legs over the next couple years and since men were not to be trusted due to their sex fueled weakness’, my penis would be spending 24 hours a day, 7 days a week locked up in a chastity device and that she would be holding the key, so that her daughter would and could not be tempted to grant me even a moments reprieve. She told me if I ever once asked her for some relief, she would buy a new cage 2 sizes smaller and one lined with razor sharp pin pricks. Despite the constant, unbearable frustration, I never asked. 

She pulled my pants down right then and there in her kitchen, as my then-fiancé looked on with a pitiful smile, seeing my shriveled penis for the very first time at the behest of her demanding Mother. And for her part, my Mother-In-Law made a giant scene over what she referred to as my “toddler sized wee-wee,” amidst hearty bouts of laughter that my fiancé simply couldn’t refrain from joining her in. She said, “wedding or not, this little thing should be locked up tight, as it clearly isn’t capable of pleasure to any woman ever!” She pinched it between her two fingers, almost completely obscuring it and looked me in the eyes and said, “you better learn to enjoy eating a woman’s pussy, tiny, as thats as much of a sex life as you’re ever going to have!” And with that, she slipped on the metal cage and locked it shut without a second thought. 

It was she that played match-maker between my fiancé and the son of her Boss, citing the fact that a woman has needs that an inferior male like me could simply never hope to satisfy. She said, as marrying her daughter was me stating that I wished to always make her happy that allowing my wife to enjoy the company of a real man was simply an extension of my husbandly duties. My fiancé certainly seemed much happier over those 2 years, spending ample amounts of time with Derrick - to the point were, I only saw her late at night when she would come home from what she referred to as one of her and Derrick’s “buddy dates.” I missed the company of my fianceé and the frustration of not being able to get hard, let alone cum, was driving me insane. My fiancé’s answer to this was to keep me very busy with a long list of chores - per her Mother’s advice, of course. In the beginning, Mother in-law used to always manage to somehow time her impromptu pop overs during one of my fiancé and Derricks buddy dates, exaggerating her faux disappointment at having missed her daughter by asking, “well where is she? Oh, out with him AGAIN? My, my, I knew they’d hit it off, but I had no idea they’d be enjoying so many of these, what do you call them dear? Oh that’s right, “buddy dates.” Hahaha, yes, very buddy buddy I imagine. Well I’m glad my daughter is enjoying her new friend, although, what woman wouldn’t love the company of such an impressive example of true masculinity, don’t you agree dear?“ And sadly, it was hard to argue. At 6'3 and 220lbs without a shred of fat, Derrickwas about as impressive a man as they come. His skin black as night which always seemed to highlight how white his teeth were when he flashed me a cocky grin before escorting my wife out the door for one of their “buddy dates.” But Mother-in-Law never let me focus too much on what was going on outside the house, insisting I show her the list of chores my wife had left for me that evening, usually taking a pen and adding several to the list while ensuring me that she would be checking my work thoroughly when finished, before instructing me to go make her some tea before getting started. A few months into this routine, she someone spin it to where she HAD to supervise me, acting put out and inconvenienced by what she called having to “babysit the wimp.” She started bringing her laundry over to have me do it to thank her for the time she put into supervising me, eventually suggesting Derrick do the same as “washing your dirty underwear is the least the wimp can do to thank you for keeping his woman so happy.” Derrick readily agreed, telling me I could start today by fetching his gym bag out the car and washing the months worth of ripe gym socks and dirty jocks for him, smiling as he apologizes for their stench, citing having been way to busy lately to focus on something as lame as laundry, while wrapping a boulderesque shoulder around my wife and pulling her in. Needless to say, I was very busy but, apparently, not busy enough for Mother-in-law’s liking. 

It was also her idea that I should be contributing something to the wedding; i was after the “man of the house.” That is how I came to work nights as the janitor at the office where she worked, and which Derrick’s father owned. The idea was I would pay for the lavish three week honeymoon my wife and she had planned - that way I could prove my worth in some capacity. She took great pleasure in marching me through the large office building, pointing out each of the restrooms and explaining how each of the toilets and urinals needed to be scrubbed spotless after the end of each workday, how all the trash cans needed to be emptied and all the floors mopped and buffed. The biggest thrill for her seemed to be marching me into Mr. Fletcher’s office to show me his private bathroom and to walk me through what would be expected of me in cleaning it. 

When we arrived at Mr. Fletchers office, we had to wait, as he was currently in the process of using the toilet. We had to wait a good 20min for him to conduct his business; 20min with me spent standing uncomfortable and embarrassed while she sat and silently gloated with a large smile on her face. When Mr. Fletcher did finally emerge from his private bathroom, she took great pleasure in introducing the two of us, explaining how I was the offices new nightly janitor. Mr. Fletcher chuckled, saying, “It’s a big office, boy. Lots of toilets to scrub clean and floors to polish.” Then to my Mother-in-law he said, “Won’t your daughter miss having her man around?” They both smiled, as i stood there red faced and silent. “Oh no, I think your son is keeping her plenty occupied, isn’t that right dear?” I meekly nodded and they had a good laugh between themselves. She continued, “I just wanted to show him your private suite and allow you to tell him what you expect from his nightly cleaning duties.”

“Ah! Wonderful idea!” Mr. Fletcher declared, ushering me into his private bathroom where the aftermath of his 20 plus minute ordeal still lingered heavily in the air. He walked me through where the extra supplies were kept explaining he wanted fresh everything every night. He explained how everything was to be wiped down, all the glass and chrome polished and how his toilet was to be pristine. “Show him you understand what is expected of you, dear,” my Mother-in-law chimed in from the door. I looked at her dumbfounded and she sighed and in an annoyed, short town barked, “clean the man’s toilet!” I swallowed hard, ashamed, and then squeezed by the bulking Mr. Fletcher - whom Derrick clearly resembled in size and demeanor - to collect the small polishing towel he had shown me a few minutes earlier and some cleaning spray, then made my way to the commode and sank to my knees before it. I set about wiping up the dried piss, loose pubes and other toilet-centric commodities as my Mother-in-Law and Mr. Fletcher loomed large above staring down at me with smiles on their faces as they discussed how well his son and my wife were getting along. “Make sure you get all my dried shit from inside the bowl off, boy,” Mr. Fletcher announced. “If you get sloppy with it, you’ll start doing it without the polish and rag, understand?” I nodded, red faced, as the two stood and chuckled to themselves some more.

Two years spent cleaning Mr. Fletcher’s toilets and saving every penny for what was sure to be an - if not entirely worth it, but still close - epic honeymoon; a fact Derrick, who had started spending a lot of time at the house my fiancé and I shared - so much in fact, I had been moved into the guest bedroom so he and my fiancé could enjoy there buddy dates at home without being disturbed by me, should they choose - always took great joy in broadcasting. Whenever we had people over or were out and the three of us were together, which was often, and someone asked what I did for work, Derrick would always chime in and say, “he scrubs up my Pops’ shit,” and laugh and laugh and laugh. Somehow explaining that I was actually an accounts manager at a rather successful ad agency, and that I only spent week nights as a janitor at his father’s office never seemed to make it sound all that much better. 

But finally, the two year engagement came to a close and I looked forward to finally being released from my chastity cage, no longer burning the candle at both ends with two full time jobs, getting on with my marriage to my wife and the relaxing freedom of a three week dream vacation i’d worked very hard for. Imagine my disappointment then, when at the wedding reception, I was informed that everyone had decided it best if Derrick were to take my place and accompany my new bride to Europe in my stead. It was also explained that my chastity cage would remain on and that the key would be transferred into Mr Fletchers keeping, who in turn, explained that he was implementing what he considered to be a more than fair monthly release schedule that was directly correlated to my work performance as janitor. He had to back step upon saying this, as he explained that even though the honeymoon had been paid for, my services would still be required and that my paychecks would now go directly to Derrick, whom Mr. Fletcher, my Mother-in-law and new wife felt should’t have to be spending his own money entertaining my wife. Also, my janitorial duties would be extended to both Derrick and Mr. Fletcher’s homes on the weekends. When I stood there dumbfounded and speechless, my Mother-in-law sauntered over to me and mockingly pinched my cheeks. “Oh, he looks so confused and overwhelmed! Don’t worry dear, Mr. Fletcher will walk you through everything that is to be expected of you when you two get back to his house. He’s been good enough to babysit you for the three weeks your wife is away with his son. Oh speaking of, there they go. Go give your new wife a big kiss and tell her and Derrick to have a wonderful time on your honeymoon, sweetheart. Make sure Derrick knows he can call you if he has any questions regarding any details concerning any of the fun activities you were so looking forward to doing!” 

“Don’t dilly dally though, white boy!” Mr. Fletcher called out. “Your Mother-in-law wore me out on the dance floor. We need to get going and my feet are going to need a lot of attention before you get to work scrubbing all four of my home bathrooms clean! Sucking on a black man’s sweaty toes as you rub his feet probably wasn’t how you pictured spending your wedding night, huh boy?”