Chapter 6

Deanna: The next several days were a blur; each day seemed endless as I waited for each assault.  I came to think of every encounter with Lewis as just that – an assault.  I completely gave up trying to do my job.  I had no ability to concentrate on anything other than the new reality I which was consuming me.  I spent hours in my office with the door closed on the internet searching for some explanation of what I was experiencing. 

I tried to convince myself that I was not alone in this new world.  I looked incessantly for other women who could explain or even confirm the existence of the position I now found myself.  The porn sites were full of cuckolded white husbands and black bulls ravaging their white hot-wives, but I found no mention of white whore wives enslaved by their black masters.

I know what you’re thinking as you read this: if I want to be free, why not just go to the police and report Lewis as an abuser, guilty of assault at the very least.  I know the reason and I’m sure you suspect it as well: I was completely entranced by Lewis, engulfed by his power over me and addicted to serving him in whatever way he deemed appropriate.  What he was doing to me was not a crime.  I was a willing participant in my subjugation.  I wanted to be used and degraded.  I loved being a slut.  I loved being Lewis’s slut.

The thought of whoring for Lewis left me very conflicted.  I didn’t ever see myself as a prostitute, not when I was fantasizing, not when I had been making love to Ted, not ever.  I knew full well that prostitutes and prostitution existed, but I’d never had any direct experience with that world.  I’ve never even seen a streetwalker in real life.  Julia Roberts and Laura San Giacomo were all I knew of women who sold their bodies for sex and I knew that movie was far from the real world of hookers and johns.

For the first week, Lewis had me sleep at his apartment every other night.  Those nights were filled with more fucking and sucking than I would have imagined possible from one man.  Even after fucking me on in my office two or three times a day, Lewis would repeatedly fuck me throughout the night, just as he had the first night I spent with him.  He beat me with that god-awful riding crop every night I spent with him, so my ass was not allowed to properly heal before it was bruised with angry red welts again.  Toward the end of the week, he started beating my breasts with it as well, leaving my nipples battered and tender. 

On alternate nights I was allowed to go home to Ted, although that was almost as painful as being beaten and savagely fucked by Lewis.  I was very grateful for the rest and relief of being away from Lewis for at least a few hours, but Ted was completely falling apart.  He badgered me incessantly, asking about Lewis and when he would get to meet the man who stole his wife from him.  I told him repeatedly that I didn’t know when Lewis would deign to introduce himself, if ever, which reduced Ted almost to tears with frustration.  He showed me his cock cage and the havoc it was wreaking on his poor little white dick – his skin was an angry shade of red from the abrasion of the tight plastic sheath and his inability to clean himself completely.  I did some checking on the internet for him and let Ted know that the device was quite common in the cuckold community and that there were supposedly thousands of men around the country who spent months or even years locked into the nasty little devices.  Part of me sympathized with Ted but a much bigger part of me pitied him, and my pity was turning to disgust. 

Lewis: At Rodney’s direction, I planned to have Deanna stay at my apartment every other night, so she didn’t lose touch with her husband.  According to Rodney, we would get a much better price for Deanna’s time if she stayed married to Ted.  Clients like to know they are fucking some poor white dickhead’s wife, not just some random white slut that likes dark meat.  Making sure Deanna had a place to go and someone to go home to was also key, as the day would come when I expanded my stable.  I couldn’t very well have Deanna living at my place while I was recruiting and training a new whore wife. 

Rodney also said it was important for Deanna to keep her distance from me.  Over the years he’d seen too many pimps get too close to their white whore wives and let emotions and other complications muddy the relationship.  He wanted me to stay independent and focused.

I could understand what Rodney was saying.  After just a little more than a week of being with Deanna, I could see how it would be easy to get tangled up with the wrong kind of feelings.  She was getting better and better at accepting my cock throughout the night, but she still experienced a fair amount of pain as morning approached.  She clearly wasn’t used to being fucked as thoroughly or as often as I was fucking her, and I could tell she hated being gagged with my cock.  All of the pain I was inflicting weighed on me, and especially when I beat her, I felt a little sting of regret that I had to inflict so much pain. 

Near the end of the second week of her training, Rodney suggested I bring one of my friends over to double-team Deanna.  I had trouble with that suggestion, not because I felt any emotions about sharing her, but because I didn’t really have any black friends that I could approach.  Rodney was somewhat amused when I finally admitted as much. 

“No problem,” he said as he motioned for the check.  “I’ll do it.”

Deanna: Each weekend that I spent with Lewis was especially difficult.  Two full days and nights (he let me go home on Sunday afternoon to rest up for work) of being fucked raw and whipped and no sleep was taking its toll, and as the Friday approached, I was even more nervous than I could believe.  I still reveled in the attention and the sex was mind-blowing, but I was wearing out both physically and emotionally.  Friday afternoon, after he finished fucking me in my office for the third time that day, I screwed up my courage and asked him if I could have the night off.

“Not a chance, Deanna,” he said as he buckled his belt and reached for the door.  “As a matter of fact, Rodney will be spending the weekend with us, so don’t be late.”

To say I was stunned and afraid would be an understatement.  Although I hadn’t seen Rodney since that one night at the bar, I dreaded the day he would come back into my life.  That he would be “spending the weekend with us” could only mean one thing. 

I usually went home after work to get fresh clothes for the next day, even if it meant a long round trip back to Lewis’s place.  When I arrived at the apartment, Ted was waiting for me as usual.

“We need to talk,” he said to me as I opened the door. 

“No, we don’t,” I said.  I really didn’t need the aggravation at that point.  “I’ve got a long weekend ahead of me so let’s talk on Sunday.”

“I don’t want to wait until Sunday,” he said with a tone that set me even more on edge.  “I’ve had it with this arrangement and I want out now.”

“If that’s what you want, then there’s the door,” I said as I packed my bag for the weekend.

“How am I supposed to leave when I’m locked into this cock cage?” he screamed at me.  He pulled his pants down to show me the cage and I was shocked at how red and inflamed his dick appeared to be in the device.  “You need to give me the key!”

“I told you, I don’t have the key,” I screamed back.  “If you want out, go to the emergency room and have them cut it off.  I’m sure they’ve seen this situation before.”

“I can’t do that,” he said with that tone again.  “I’ll never be able to live in this town if word gets out about this.”

“Then shut up and figure out a way to make it to Sunday,” I said as I finished packing and headed for the door.  “I’ll see if I can get the key.  We’ll talk about it then.”

Ted: As the door slammed and I heard Deanna’s footsteps as she walked away from our apartment, I couldn’t believe it.  The cock cage was unbearable – I was getting no sleep and my work was suffering.  I was also mystified as to why I was wearing it.  Deanna had never mentioned any interest in such a device or the lifestyle that typically went with it.  I had researched the cuckold community pretty thoroughly (I had little else to do with my time these days) and although the hotwife usually brings it to the cuckold and insists he wear it, much discussion and mutual interest precede the actual introduction of celibacy and submission.  I was afforded none of that.

And yet, here I sit, locked into a torture chamber that dominated my every waking moment – and there were a lot of them.  With Deanna gone every other night and exhausted on the nights she did come home, I was alone with my thoughts, and that damn cage, without relief.  My dick throbbed from the combination of sweat and piss that was impossible to clean from the inside of the chamber, and the havoc it was wreaking on my skin was getting very close to driving me insane. 

Compounding my misery was the research I felt compelled to do on the cuckold community.  Every time I looked at a cuckold website or read the stories on a cuckold message board, I experienced some excitement sexually.  The result of that excitement was excruciating – the erection that resulted put unmerciful pressure on my pitiful dick, and the psychological impact on me was devastating as well.  If I had any guts or self-control, I would either go to the emergency room to have the cage removed, or I would stop looking at the websites that only reinforced and compounded my misery and feelings of helplessness.   That I had neither was brutal.  I was completely and utterly humiliated.

Which I found incredibly, exquisitely and mystifyingly fulfilling.