Led By Her - Special Femdom Marriage Boxed Set (Books 1-6): A Dominant Female Submissive Male Femdom & Cuckolding Tale

by Tinto Selvaggio

  Then, as my eyes and groin are still taking in the view of the back of her, she rises and turns to me.

  “I’m glad you could spare some time for me Stuart. It’s very kind of Lynne to organize it.” Her face betrays no emotion as she speaks. Even without a scrap of makeup on her beauty makes me want to run and hide. Mercifully, she’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt so my eyes don’t feel the familiar, impossible pressure not to descend to her chest.

  Beyond her, cereal bowls, cups and half-eaten croissants haven’t been cleared from the breakfast bar. Under the window, still piled up unwashed in the sink are what looks like last night’s dinner plates and pans.

  “Could I ask you to take off your shoes? Then you can make a start on the living room. I’m going to be working-out so I’ll show you what’s required before I do. You can leave your coat over the back of one of the stools in here and your shoes behind the door.”

  I lower my eyes to the floor as I kick off my shoes and remove my coat. Becky strides from the room, her head tilted back and her coal-black ‘pony’ tail bouncing behind her, almost struggling to keep up with her. Her rubber soles squeak across the flooring in sharp contrast to the silence of my socks as she leads me out through the kitchen and into a room opposite the stairs in the hall.

  As I follow both the woman and the ass in front of me for the few steps, I feel my throat thicken. My own thoughts are scaring me. There seems so little stopping me from telling her she could make me do anything she wanted or that she could do to me anything that amused her. This woman that my wife looks up to and wants to please so much that she lends me to her.

  Sexual arousal pulses through me like a live electric cable as I consider the time and labor I’m about to surrender solely to make life easier for Becky.

  Inside the carpeted living room is a large rounded sofa facing a real fireplace and a huge plasma TV on the wall above it. On the far side of the room beyond an armchair are large bay windows which look out onto the front lawn and Becky’s car on the driveway.

  In front of me in the middle of the room stands a vacuum cleaner. Next to it on a smoked glass coffee table are two cans of polish, dusters and remotes for the TV.

  “I realize you don’t yet fully appreciate the standard I expect,” She draws herself up to her full height, her head and shoulders back and looks me directly in the eye. I want to shrivel up and disappear. She raises a French-manicured finger and thumb to an ear lobe and I notice how delicately formed her little ears themselves are, pierced 3 or 4 times up their length.

  “I still can’t believe Lynne hasn’t taken full advantage and trained you how do this kind of thing yet.” She looks at me quizzically, a half-smile playing across her lips.

  “Anyway, these are important clients coming to our home tomorrow so if you’re going to do this for me; I expect your work to be perfect.” She raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes like she’s expecting a response.

  As if watching someone else, I realize I’m nodding at her words.

  She turns to point at the window and I quickly grab a furtive glace at the ‘shelf-like’ projection of her rear in profile.

  “Start with the vacuum around the windows. Do all around the sills and make sure they’re absolutely spotless. Then go to work on the windows themselves with the vinegar solution and orange cloth here”. She swivels and an elegant finger points downwards to the coffee table

  “Then once that’s done, vacuum the floor and finish by dusting all the surfaces. In that order.“ Her voice rises slightly, stressing the consonants of the last three words.

  “No smearing on the windows please. I wouldn’t appreciate it”. Her blue-gray eyes make no effort to leave mine. Transfixing my vision, locking and binding my eyes to hers. For a second I’m struck by how much younger than her 26 or so years she appears without her make-up on.

  “You can make a start now while I go and exercise. I’ll be back shortly to inspect how you’re progressing.“

  Somehow I feel I shouldn’t look at her ass as she leaves the room.

  Once she’s gone, I’m able to try and savour the situation a little. I look around the room where she presumably relaxes with her husband. A man who I know seems to have an interest in, and even perhaps covets, my own wife. I know it would be impossible for most other people to ever understand, but it feels so right to be here, in this position about to clean for Becky and her husband.

  I vacuum around the sills as she instructed then stand wiping her windows, my arm moving as if waving at someone outside. Over and again I wipe the wide, deep panes, really wanting to do an impressive job for this beautiful woman. All the time my heart is pounding and my mouth parched dry.

  Then I run the vacuum a number of times across her deep carpet and stoop to dust every surface I can see until my back starts to ache. Even the TV remotes and the TV itself are gleaming.

  As I wipe down the leather sofa and chairs I wonder to myself which is the seat that Becky prefers to relax that lovely ass on.

  I’ve no real idea how long I’ve been at this, but eventually I think I’ve finished. The room looks good. The windows and surfaces sparkle even if I’m sure I must stink of vinegar and polish. I go to my back pocket to check the time on my phone and realize I left it in my jacket in the kitchen.

  The work project I need to complete drifts back into my mind, then as I’m wondering whether I dare call Becky in to inspect what I’ve done; I notice the magazine rack.

  In it are a couple of fashion magazines and a Golf Monthly publication along with a paperback book. I pick the book out of the rack. At once my heart leaps into my mouth.

  “The Controlling Mistress by Claudette.” I freeze and try to listen above the sound of my own heart for any noise outside the room. There’s only the faint beat of some music.

  What the fuck is she doing with something like this? Has she bought it to try to use it with Dominic? Or what if Lynne bought it and has lent it to Becky? Then with a surge of hopeless desire I’m even contemplating whether Becky has acquired the book for use with, or on, me.

  The book subtitle is “An instruction manual for new mistresses and dominatrixes.” Breathing at what must be an unhealthily shallow depth I hurriedly turn to the contents. Anxious to absorb as many details as quickly as I can, I scan down. “Obedience, physical punishment, discipline, domestic slavery, chastity, face-sitting, watersports….” Then I hear a door open in the hall. I throw the book back into the rack just as the door opens.

  “Well, how are you getting on?” Becky stands with her hands on her bare waist. The sweatshirt is gone. Above her leggings she’s stripped down to a pink and gray sports bra. She looks beyond me over to the windows. My heart is still thumping rapidly from some of chapter titles I’ve just read and it’s not being helped by the closeness of Becky’s bare, toned stomach and arms. Nor the fact that only a bra stands between me and her enormous breasts.

  Her head moves slightly as she scans the window pains. Her eyebrows furrow and then release. Beneath the bottom of her throat the visible top half of her thrusting chest glistens from working out.

  She makes her way sleekly across the room and as she passes me, not close enough to make any contact; I feel the heat from her body and her scent. I’m drowning from a yearning desire to surrender.

  She stands perfectly upright, hands resting again on hour-glass hips. Her elbows are spread wide and her tightly sheathed bottom thrusts outward as she leans to closely survey the windows. As she stands back before turning to address me, I notice a little dimple on either side of her back just above the waist of her leggings

  “Hmm, the windows don’t look too bad.” Her voice rings with both surprise and suspicion. She runs a finger along the coffee table then examines it for dust. She bends to check around the skirting boards and her leggings ride right up between her buttocks. I almost groan out loud at the sight before she addresses me again.

  “It’ll do. Follow me. Bring everything with you.”

  Chapt
er Three

  The room Becky has been exercising in is noticeably warmer than the rest of her house. Louder too, with dance music pulsating through the speakers linked to another plasma TV on the wall.

  “I can’t exercise without music.” She doesn’t look at me as she speaks.

  There’s a treadmill, a cycling machine, a small rack of weights and a huge mirror on the wall with a large black exercise mat in front of it. The air is musky and smells intensely of Becky’s floral-scented perfume, as if her increased body heat while exercising has charged the atmosphere.

  “No doubt Dominic’s clients will want to come in here to work off their hangovers at the weekend so I want you to give this room a good going over as well. You’ll need to unplug the machines before you clean them. Dust them first then run then over them with a damp cloth. There’s a water spray in the corner you can use.”

  I try to keep my eyes up on her face rather than any lower down as she talks. I’m anxious she doesn’t feel I’m staring at her. I need to know the time but don’t feel able to ask. I don’t want her to think I’d prefer to leave.

  “All the surfaces – including the mirror,” She turns to point at her reflection. “Then run the vacuum over the room. I need to make a phone call then I’ll be going upstairs for a shower.”

  Without another word she turns and is gone. The image of her showering forms automatically in my head making my cock start to swell. I try to clear the mental picture then look around wondering where to start. She didn’t mention anything about the windows and as the blinds are down I’m assuming she doesn’t need them cleaning.

  I decide to start with the mirror and as I move towards it the spotlights reflect off something on the exercise mat. Walking onto the springy foam material I see two small drops of liquid.

  Becky’s sweat?

  Without even knowing it I realize I’ve crouched down on the mat and am extending a finger towards the droplets.

  This whole situation with Becky is scrambling my mind. Scarcely able to believe what I’m doing and not wanting to burst the bubble of even a single droplet, I lightly touch one of the pearls of liquid with the middle finger of my right hand. It instantly attaches itself to my fingertip forming another little droplet

  Becky’s sweat.

  This is madness. I need to put a stop to all this. I have to tell Lynne that tonight. This can’t carry on. I can’t deal with what it’s turning me into.

  Then almost as quickly my self-loathing wanes I’m raising the finger to my mouth. I let my tongue snake out and poke the tip onto the tiny droplet to taste it. Trying again not to puncture it.

  The warm, salty flavor sends a shot of electricity through me and then I’m sucking my own finger as if I haven’t been nourished in days.

  When I can taste nothing but my own finger I turn my attention to the second drop on the mat. This time I’m compelled to treat it with the respect and reverence it’s demanding from me as it sits there.

  Kneeling in front of the mirror but not daring to look at myself, I lower my head towards the mat.

  What would other people who know me say if they could see this?

  “You know that pretty young blonde Lynne and her husband Stuart? You won’t believe this, but apparently she’s been sending him to Rebecca’s to do her housework for her. Some perverted kind of S&M game they play together”

  “You’re shittin’ me?”

  “It’s true and that’s not the best of it. You know what he did when he was in Rebecca’s house? He got so worked up that he got down on his hands and knees and licked her sweat up of the floor of her gym…”

  My own shaky breathing envelopes me as I extend my tongue to lap the little bead of Becky’s sweat onto it and then bring it into my mouth. I try to savour it, squeezing it with my cheeks, my tongue rigid in an attempt to extract every last drop of her essence from her fluid.

  I feel one of my hands go to what is now a steely erection in my pants. Has doing this really got me so hard? In what kind of perverted dimension of evolution is a hard on ‘necessary’ for a drop of someone’s sweat?

  With a sudden flash of clarity I take my hand off my cock and get up off my knees. I try to drive what I’ve just done from my mind. I better get a move on if I’m going to make any progress on this room before Becky comes back.

  The music channel playing on the TV gives no clue to the time and I can’t see a remote anywhere to try and check. I unplug the cycling machine, pick-up one of the cloths and place my hand on the saddle to steady myself as I shape to wipe down the framework.

  The seat is warm. I stare down at my hand. The seat is still warm from Becky sitting on it. I feel a wave of desire rise again and start to flood me.

  My hand is actually trembling as it starts to caress the seat. I feel the transition to an even warmer area in the center of the saddle. The heat from between Becky’s legs and her ass cheeks. I groan out loud, the sound shocking me.

  Just one quick smell of the seat, that’s all.

  I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. With my breath actually wheezing, my face drops forward towards the seat. My eyes are closed and my mouth slowly falling open in anticipation.

  Sudden intense pain. The side of my head. My face lands violently onto the saddle. I’m confused and bewildered. Then Becky is screaming in my face something I don’t understand. She’s holding up her phone which looks just like my own.

  She’s hit me.

  “What are you doing and why have you got pictures of me on your phone?” She’s still in her gym attire, her nostrils flared, her face, even her lips, pale with rage.

  Gradually I realize it’s my phone she has gripped in her hand, not her own. She’s shouting at me again. Something about my phone continually ringing in the kitchen, her trying to call me from there to answer it but me not responding.

  “I was trying to work out how stop in ringing so I could make my call….and I find these!”

  I’m shown a picture of Becky in a short skirt and low cut top on a night out with her husband. She scrolls her thumb and shows me another one of my downloads of her, this time in T-shirt and tight cut-off shorts on holiday.

  My face scalds me with embarrassment as I cower from her shouts and try to fight the short-circuiting going on in my head. What do I say? What do I say?

  “You’ve got a lovely wife and she’s my friend. What do you need pictures of me on your phone for?” Her pupils have shrunken like a snake’s and jab into me like pinpricks.

  Still I try to blurt out some response, but cannot.

  I’m looking away from her, down at the floor so I don’t see the next slap coming. It lands with a frightening “CRAACK!” rattling the other side of my head and catching the top of my ear.

  “And what were you trying to do to the seat of my cycle?” She’s shouting again and this time the slap has caught off balance. I’m stumbling right over. I break my fall onto the exercise mat with my wrists. I roll over onto my back and Becky stands above me looking down, her beautiful face distorted with anger.

  For a moment she brings back a leg and looks like she’s going to aim a kick into my balls. I wince and bring my hands in to shield between my legs.

  She doesn’t kick me though, she just stands there shaking with rage and breathing heavily.

  Then she lowers the top half of her body down towards me, her tits hanging heavily in her pink sports bra. She twists her face and then there’s a noise like paper being torn. Thick phlegm flies from her mouth, somersaulting over itself and splattering onto my forehead and into my eyes. I cry out with shock and immediately feel foolish and weak for doing so.

  She spat in my face.

  “You pig!” She yells down at me, her big breasts shaking above me. Lying in her shadow I feel some of her saliva slide from one of my eyes onto my cheek and begin to trickle down towards my mouth.

  Even at this moment and in this situation my eyes get drawn up between her long legs. The outline of part of her pussy lips i
s visible from this angle in her obscenely tight leggings. Her labia pouts like some sulky supermodel in my face.

  Becky’s beautiful eyes burn down at me from above her groin and monumental tits. Her look of satisfaction suggests a huge line has just been crossed.

  Incredibly, for a split second I consider throwing myself prostrate at her feet, thanking her for striking me and begging for more of her nectar to be spat over me.

  “Get your coat and get out of my house Stuart.”

  Chapter Four

  I sit here on the floor in a daze now she’s left the room. Several minutes seem to pass. I become aware of the coldness of her saliva as it reaches my lips. I shake my head and rummage in my pocket for a tissue to wipe it from my face.

  What am I supposed to do now? How can I leave it like this? What do I say to Lynne? More importantly, what’s Becky going to say to Lynne?

  I’ve got to try and straighten this out with Becky before I leave here. But I daren’t follow upstairs: - assuming that’s where she’s now gone. Maybe I should wait here until she returns?

  I decide to clean the exercise room like she originally told me. I find the water spray and start work on her exercise mat.

  I’m wiping down the handles of the running machine when she appears again, this time changed into jeans and a tight-fitting, low-cut red t-shirt.

  “Shall I do the windows too while I’m finishing in here Becky?”

  “Why are you still in my house?” Her voice is still aggressive but she seems calmer than before. She has make-up on her eyes now and looks more like her usual sophisticated self although her hair still looks damp from the shower.

  “Becky, I didn’t want to leave it like that,” I’m fidgeting as I hold a cloth and the water bottle. Her hands rest on her hips just below the sleek indent of her waist.