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{Note: This is the seventh in a multi-part story series describing the evolving relationship of a woman who provides leadership and discipline for her husband. Each installment can stand alone, but they read much better if you start at the beginning. Go to: Erin Ch. 01 – Female led Relationship. JQGraves}

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“Oh… Yeah… Oh yes. That’s sooo good. Yes, just like that. Oh yes. This is so much better than being milked.”

The trick, is to stroke at just the right speed, with just the right tension, so that the feeling continues to build but not so quickly as to force release too soon. You want to savor the moment, and make it last as long as possible. When your wife keeps you in near constant denial, it is all too easy to cum in a flash with fleeting satisfaction. On this occasion, I’d worked it for almost half an hour and was about to squirt—about to blast over the top and slide down the other side.

My wife, Erin, is in India on business this week. She won’t be back until late Sunday evening, by which time I will have reinserted my member into its inescapable—not quite—plastic prison.

Since Erin has been promoted to the Vice President of Supply Chain Management, she has been doing far more traveling than before. Apparently, her company has major suppliers in both Asia and South America. I think there is also a potential supplier in South Africa, because she has been there on two occasions as well. What this has meant for me, is that I am left on my own for a few days on the short trips and up to several weeks for the longer. That is weeks with no intimate attention or any chance of sexual relief with my loving wife.

Well, that would be true if, one night in desperation, I had not discovered that I could actually free my dick out the side of its chastity cage. All it requires is a stream of very cold water from our hand-held shower nozzle, a little pain and a little patience. The water both shrinks and numbs the encased flesh allowing it to be coaxed from its prison. I cannot remove the cage entirely, my balls—no matter how cold—will not fit between the ring and the tube. This means that subsequent manipulation is not without its discomfort, but after a month or so of imprisonment, it’s a discomfort I am willing to endure to gain sexual and emotional release.

This escape mode is due to a design flaw for which Erin would rate my chastity cage at one star, but for which I would award all five. Well, at least four since my balls will not squeeze through the gap, unless I am willing to accept way too much pain. But, with Erin gone and my member free, I am free to engage in a little self-gratification. Or, to be honest, a lot of self-gratification. I do have to make up for lost opportunity.

So, here I am, naked in our bedroom, laptop beside me exhibiting a string of erotic images, completely absorbed in my favorite occupation. My eyes are closed (the images on the small screen no longer needed to spark my imagination); my hand is a blur; I’m straining to hold back the lightning I so deeply want to strike.

“Well isn’t that interesting.”

No. It can’t be! Oh, damn. Why didn’t I lock the door? Damn! DAMN! Panic raced through my mind as my eyes flew open to see my mother-in-law standing in the doorway, lips tight, censure in her eyes, glaring at my forbidden activity.

Damn, this was downright humiliating. I don’t know how long she stood there before she announced her presence, but I was lying on my back, legs spread in a wide V pointing toward the door, the sheet and blankets at my feet and my hand moving up and down my dick as fast as I could make it. I tried to cover my boner with my hands and to force it back into its cage, but all I managed was a surge of pain from my abused testicles. It was far too late to cover up anyway, she caught me red handed (or full handed in this case) doing something that we both knew was proscribed.

You may wonder, as I did, why I did not take precautions to prevent this terrifying scene from occurring. In my defense, Erin’s mother rarely visits when Erin is not here, and, up until now, never when Erin is out of town on business.

There was silence for a moment with only the sound of my labored breathing being brought under control. I should have said something to explain, to excuse the scene my mother-in-law walked in on. Unfortunately, my brain was at a loss to tell my mouth what it should say.

“I warned Erin that something like this would happen,” my MIL said, “but for some reason I cannot fathom, she trusted you in her absence. Well, so much for blind faith. You’ve got five minutes to put that thing away, and join me in the kitchen. Don’t bother to dress, and God help you if you are late.” With those words, she pivoted on one high heel and strode back down the hall. The impact of her heels on the hardwood floor sounding like the beat of a drum counting cadence for a state funeral.

I wasted several seconds artvin escort of my allotted five minutes lying there on my back, too shocked to move. My erection, meanwhile, was withering away and dribbling the essence that it should have shot out at my command.

Five minutes, I thought in panic as the depth of my trouble finally registered. It takes at least ten just to get small enough to reinsert my cock into the tube. The gap my cock fits through when I escape is pretty tight. It acts like a cock ring, restricting blood flow and serving to keep me hard even after I cum. So, it usually takes me longer to put the cage back on than it does to take it partly off to begin with.

I jumped off the bed and ricocheted off of the doorway of the bathroom and into the shower. I let out a yelp as my knee struck the door casing, but did not slow down. The spray of cold water from the hand-held nozzle initially stimulated my member, but fear and the cold soon made it shrivel. I almost doubled over with the pain, and forced down the nausea, as I crammed my dick into the barrel of its prison.

Not sure how long it took, but it had to be close to passing five minutes as I limped quickly down the hall, rubbing myself dry with a towel. I tossed the towel on the floor behind me as I stepped into the kitchen.

Erin’s mother was seated in a chair she had pulled out from the kitchen table, with a large wooden spoon in her hand—the very spoon that her daughter uses with great effect. She said not a word, just crooked her finger and pointed to her left thigh.

She was sitting on my chair, in my kitchen, in the house where I am Lord and Master (when Erin is out of town). So, what did I do? I scurried over and practically threw myself into position over her knee, of course. Erin’s mother is real scary. The whole scene was unbelievably humiliating.

My mother-in-law knows Erin spanks me, she has even witnessed a few, which is terribly embarrassing, but this is the first time she has taken me over her own knee. In fact, this was about to be the first adult spanking—first real spanking at any age, actually—given me by anyone other than Erin. Damn, I hope this does not set a precedent.

I expected to be scolded, to be castigated for my actions, but my MIL spoke instead with that large wooden spoon. And that spoon was eloquent. She brought that oval of wood down with impressive impact right from the start. I squealed and squirmed with the first strike, but she had me securely held—clamped between her thighs, her free hand at my waist, elbow hard against my back.

It’s obvious where Erin inherited her talent for domestic discipline. She was raised by a true master. And, as with any disciple, I was learning that Erin’s skill approached, but did not yet eclipse, that of her mentor. This was the most painful, the most humiliating spanking of my life.

I was on fire. My throbbing knee and the pain I suffered while forcing my dick back into its cage was quickly forgotten as the inferno in my backside blazed under the application of that wooden spoon.

After what seemed like forever, my mother-in-law stopped, put down the spoon and cupped my scarlet cheeks. I was slow to realize that the spanking was over and continued to sob, nose running and tears streaming. When I had recovered somewhat, she spoke: “I said, ‘five minutes.’ You were late.” She then picked up the spoon and went to work on my upper thighs.

Two days later (in subjective time, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes), I stood with my nose in the corner, my bottom and thighs flaming and starting to itch. I dared not rub or even touch my cheeks with my hands. I know what the penalty would be. Even remaining still (“Don’t fidget,” she’d ordered.) was a challenge.

My MIL was still seated behind me, talking to her daughter on the phone. It was evening here, but morning of the next day in India. I could only hear one side of the conversation.

…

“No, you picked a reputable brand of the correct size, it should have done the job. It seems, however, that your little boy was determined to be bad in your absence.” …

“I agree, but there is an alternative.” …

“I’d be happy to, dear, just leave it to me. We’ll have the problem solved before you get back.” …

“Love you too, dear, talk to you later.”

…

I heard my MIL rise and walk down the hall to the master bedroom. When she returned, she said, “Turn around and come here.” She was standing next to the chair, holding a pair of Erin’s panties.

“Step into these,” she said, holding them open for me.

“Th, those aren’t mine.”

“You don’t say,” she said with a smirk. “You’re coming to my house with me, and I don’t want your naked ass sitting on the upholstery of my car. Put them on.”

Out of fear of this woman and what she could do with a wooden spoon, I did as told. aydın escort “It will just take me a minute to put on a shirt and a pair of jeans,” I said.

“Nice try,” she said, “you won’t need clothes for a while.” She took me by the arm and ushered me out the door.

I worried that someone would see me, sitting in her Lexus, naked except for panties which more displayed my chastity cage than hid it. We passed a trucker who must have had a straight line of sight to my crotch. I was too embarrassed to look up, but he did not honk his horn, so maybe he didn’t notice.

Erin’s mother pulled into their garage and the door slid down behind us before she came around to my side of the car and helped me out. Again, with a tight grip on my arm, she led me into the house and down the hall to one of their spare bedrooms.

“You know where the toilet is; get yourself ready and go to bed. Erin’s trip has been extended, and she will be on the road for the next three weeks. You’ll be staying here for your recovery until she gets back. Now, get some sleep; you’ve got a big day tomorrow,” she added with a smirk.

As I sat, gingerly, on the toilet to pee, I couldn’t stop wondering what she meant by, “recovery.” It never takes more than a few days to recover from even the worst of spankings. All I could think was that my MIL did not realize that my bottom was getting used to occasional harsh treatment and bounced back pretty quickly. If she was unaware, I sure as hell was not going to inform her.

I woke early the next day, and after the usual morning pee, I returned to the guest room and looked in the closet and all of the dresser drawers in hopes of finding something belonging to Erin’s father I could wear. No luck, so I chose to stay in bed rather than go traipsing down the hall clothed in nothing but Erin’s panties.

Later, Erin’s mother brought me a clean pair of panties, sweat pants, a T-shirt and slippers. All but the panties (I assume) were her husband’s. They fit loosely on me. When I asked about the panties (careful not to whine), she chuckled and said that I would appreciate that soft material before the day was over. I was still a little sore from last night, but I couldn’t see how wearing panties was going to help.

Towards the end of breakfast, Erin’s mother looked me in the eyes and said, “You know that what you were doing yesterday was wrong, don’t you. You’ve made certain commitments to my daughter and you violated them; isn’t that correct?”

I put the fork that was halfway to my mouth back on the plate and said, “Yes.” Under the circumstances, what else could I say?

“I also understand that your relationship to my daughter is strictly consensual. Is that also true?”

“Well, at times…”

“Think before you finish your answer. Did you agree that Erin was to take the lead, to take you under her care and provide you with the guidance and discipline required to mold you into the husband she wants and needs? Does that describe your relationship, or are you a prisoner held by my daughter against your will?”

“No, yes… but it’s hard, sometimes.”

“Anything worth doing may be difficult at times. It’s how we act when things are difficult that shows what our character is made of. Would you agree?”

“I guess so.”

“You guess so? What kind of answer is that? Are you a child, too immature to answer a serious question with a serious answer?”

“No, sorry, you’re right.” Shame was settling like a shroud on my spirit. This woman has a piercing gaze that sees well below the surface. And, that gaze was focused intently on me.

“Part of your commitment was to remain chaste between those periods in which your wife believes that you have earned sexual release, is it not? And, because this can be difficult for men, Erin was thoughtful enough to provide you with a male chastity device to make it easier; true?”

I nodded, finding it difficult to speak with a lump in my throat. Until that time, I had not considered my actions in the perspective of my commitments to Erin. It had been pure, self-centered pleasure, with the added spice of getting away with something I knew was wrong.

“If you were provided with a chastity device that you could not escape from, a device that would remain secure even when your wife was not there to police your actions, would you accept it?” She raised her hands to stop my response. “Think this over, I’m talking total security. An arrangement that will place your dick unquestionably in the control of your spouse or her designee. I believe that was the original understanding between you two. With that in mind, what is your answer?”

Designee? Erin holds the key herself. I thought. Other than that… “Yes, that was our understanding. I don’t want to disappoint Erin. I’m sorry I did. Sometimes, it just gets so hard… No, that’s no excuse. Yes, I am willing balıkesir escort to accept a more secure solution.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good. You’ve got an appointment this morning. It’s time to go.”

We went to the garage, got in the car, and my MIL drove. No further comments or explanations were provided to satisfy all of the questions I asked.

Erin’s mother stopped in front of a shop with: “Artistic Tattoos and Piercings” in grand letters across the window. This was not the classiest part of town, and I looked at my MIL, brow furrowed in question, but she merely got out of the car and waited for me to do the same.

A young lady in serious goth get up—multiple piercings and more tattoos than the lady in the circus—greeted us from behind the counter.

“Hello, I spoke to you on the phone earlier about a piercing for my son-in-law.”

“Oh, yes. The Prince Albert, right?”

“That’s the one,” my MIL said.

I was somewhat confused, not sure how this conversation related to any of the discussions we’d had earlier. Who or what is Prince Albert?

“It’s a formality,” the shop owner said, “but I need to ask the subject if he is willing before I do the piercing.” Turning to me, she asked, “Are you okay with getting a Prince Albert?”

“I don’t know what that is,” I answered. Turning to my mother-in-law I said, “You didn’t say anything about a piercing, and I don’t mean to be difficult, but what is this about?”

“The only way I know to provide absolute security in a chastity device is to include a piercing. Prince Albert or Frenum are the most common, but the PA is the better of the two. You did agree to a permanent solution, and the only other approach I know involves castration. I assumed you would not like that option.”

I stood there looking back at her, not realizing that my jaw had dropped open. Castration? Holy crap! Is she serious? Ultimately, I closed my mouth, turned back to the tattoo lady and said, “Describe a Prince Albert, please. It doesn’t involve the removal of anything important, does it?”

“No,” she laughed, “I won’t cut anything off. As long as you don’t flinch too much. No, just kidding. I’ve done hundreds of these; you have nothing to worry about. The way it works is I will drive a piercing needle up from the bottom of your penis into your urethra near the tip. This is followed by the requested jewelry, either a stud or a loop.”

She turned to my MIL and said, “You requested a heavy gauge ring, correct? One appropriate for a Lori’s Tube, for example?”

“That’s right.”

The women proceeded to discuss options, materials and prices, while I, the piece of meat about to be skewered, stood to the side trying to figure out how I got into this fix. It didn’t take that much figuring, the lingering ache in my ass still served to remind me how I got into this fix.

Discussion complete and payment made (my credit card, of course), we went into the back room and I dropped my pants—a humiliating experience with my mother-in-law and a strange young woman watching, intently. The piercing artist got a chuckle when she saw the panties, and the cage around my cock underneath, but said, “Panties are a wise choice. Male boxers or briefs would tend to inflame the site more than this softer material will. You’ll have to do without the cage for a few weeks, though.”

Until then, I’d no idea that Erin had given a key to my chastity cage to her mother. “In case of an emergency,” I was told. Humiliation deepened, though, when she put a foot on a chair and proceeded to remove a small key from an ankle chain. All I could think was: That wasn’t there yesterday when she spanked me, was it?

The actual piercing was quick, and not as bad as I’d feared, although there was an intense, sharp pain when she pierced the urethra. It ended when she threaded a heavy, stainless-steel ring through the hole and out of the end of my penis. She squeezed the ring closed with an oversized pair of plyers. It definitely was not going anywhere. The instructions for after-care took more time than the deed itself.

On the drive back to her house, me sitting carefully and grateful for the soft panties and loose sweats, my MIL said, “As the girl told you, complete healing may take four weeks or more, but you should be in pretty good shape by the time Erin returns in three. You will certainly be in good enough shape to go over her knee for what I caught you doing. I know you don’t believe that she will let it pass.

“Once you’re pretty much healed, Erin can get you a chastity device that, along with a tamper-proof lock, is designed to work with your PA. You won’t be able to slip out of that one.

“In the meantime, until Erin’s return, I’ll keep you busy at my house so that I can keep my eye on you. I don’t think that you are going to want to exercise that thing of yours for a while, but just to be sure… Plus, you can help my hubby with his tasks around the house. There are some deep cleaning projects that I have wanted him to get done.”

Oh good, I thought. A pain in my ass yesterday, a pain in my dick today, and now I have to put up with a pain-in-the-ass mother-in-law for the next three weeks.

“I’m always happy to help, mother,” I said.

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