Chivalry is on Life Support Ch. 18

I didn't keep careful track, but looking back over the last three years, I would say that Luke slept in the same bed as Brooke roughly 70% of the time on average. Of that 70%, two thirds of the time was spent at our house in town and one third at Luke's, especially in the summer so we could spend time in his huge back yard and large in-ground pool. My favorite times, of course, were the 30% when he was not around, as back in the early days of our marriage. These were usually when Luke was traveling on business (scouting out potential acquisitions, meeting with investors or simply managing his growing empire) or for away games with his amateur football team. And there were other periods where Brooke wanted to put some distance between them, usually after Luke pushed the envelope a bit too far in exerting his physical dominance over her in non sexual contexts. To his credit, I suppose, Luke always honored the spirit of their agreement, backing off when she told him to, and he never seriously hurt her. He never sent me to the hospital either, but made minced meat out of my bottom on numerous occasions (and once hit my balls so hard with a wooden spoon that I thought I might have to go, but I weathered the storm).

But after those intervals when she wanted him to stay away for awhile, Brooke invariably wanted him back, usually with renewed hunger. Luke, or perhaps more accurately, his cock, was like a drug to her, and she was a junkie. He always wanted to be back with her as well, after these periods of separation -- and, no doubt, to be back lording it over me -- but that didn't mean he wouldn't sometimes make her beg for it. I remember one day, after one of their longest periods of not seeing one another (about two weeks -- prompted by him spanking her particularly brutally following an argument over politics), I came into the house after teaching all day to find Brooke naked and on her knees, vehemently sucking Luke's big toe from where he sat imperiously on the couch. She had been imploring him to come back for about a week and he had been playing hard to get. Increasingly desperate, she had been highly distraught for several days, and very short tempered with me.

So now he was really making her humble herself before him. It pained me to see it, but I knew she at least was happy that he was back. He simply looked up at me from the couch with a malicious grin, and pointed down at his other foot. I knew what that meant. I quickly took off my coat, pants, socks, and shirt, and knelt down in front of his other foot, wearing only my panties. I removed his boot, stuck my nose in it and inhaled deeply (as I had been taught), removed his sock, and began sucking his other big toe with the same abject enthusiasm being shown by my wife. The king was back in control again. How good it must've felt to him to have his two lowly subjects abase themselves at his royal feet.

Savoring the moment, he kept us both there, sucking abjectly, for 20 minutes before he finally said, "OK, babe, I guess you really did miss big Luke. Let's go upstairs. You too, prof."

Brooke removed her lips from his soaking wet toe and, with tears in her eyes (whether of joy, relief, humiliation, or some combination of the above, I couldn't say for sure), said "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Once we were upstairs, Luke said to Brooke, "Babe, I have another one of my brilliant ideas. In the future, if I'm punishing you for something, something outside of the bedroom and you don't like it, why don't you tell me and I'll punish the cuck here, instead? Sort of like your whipping boy. Didn't they have whipping boys back in the olden days you're always writing about, prof?"

"The evidence is a little mixed, sir, and historians disagree about whether or not whipping boys, and whipping girls for that matter, really existed or not. The first mention of a whipping boy came in 1605 in Samuel Rowley's play 'When You See Me, You Know Me.' After that, they were quite frequently mentioned in literature. But there are a couple of historical references to them as well. I tend to be of the school of thought that they were very real, indeed. At a minimum, in Eastern monarchies, but I tend to think in Europe as well."

"Way too much fucking information, prof. I'm not one of your loser students. 'School of thought.' What bullshit! So, what do you think of my idea, babe?"

"Yes, I think that could work. I don't want to be apart from you for so long again. Please, just fuck me now."

"Now wait just a minute, babe. Let's get into the proper mood first. I just know your whipping boy here shares your woke, bleeding heart beliefs that we argued about last time. So, he's going to take the punishment for you that I didn't get to finish last time. I know seeing that will get you nice and randy, too. Kill two birds with one stone."

"I'm randy already, sir, believe me. Please just let take me now. I've been waiting SO long."

"Now, now, a little more waiting isn't gonna kill you. Boy, put on your white tights and fetch that new thin cane I hung downstairs awhile back. Time we finally try it out."

"Yes, sir." I pulled out my tights from the bottom dresser drawer changed right in front of them, feeling my cock stiffen. I then ran downstairs and retrieved the cane. When I got back up to the bedroom, I presented it to Luke in the manner in which I had been taught: on bended knee before him, head bowed, and arms extended, holding the cane flat on my upturned palms.

He took a key off the key chain in his pocket, and handed it to me. "You may remove your chastity cage, cuck. I know your wife enjoys seeing your little cock get hard when I beat your ass."

After I removed it and handed him back the key, Luke said, "Okay, tights boy, stand up, bend over and touch your toes."

"Yes, sir."

Luke swished the supple cane in the air three times, standing next to me. He said to Brooke, "Time to tune in for the latest episode of the Misadventures of Tightsboy, the most pathetic superhero in history. Go ahead and touch yourself, babe. You know you love watching me put your loser, libtard husband in his place."

Luke tapped the cane against my buttocks a few times. This honestly was the most erotic part for me; my humiliating position, completely at Luke's mercy, knowing that Brooke was watching, excited, expectant. I knew from experience that once the punishment began, what was arousing a moment ago quickly turned into pure agony. I was rock hard, but they couldn't see my erection the way I was bent over. I looked across Brooke sitting on the bed and she indeed was fingering herself. I kept bracing myself for the first cut, but Luke made me wait for it, the cane resting motionlessly on my bottom for about 90 seconds. The room was silent, except for my heart beating and the barely audible sound of Brooke rubbing skin against skin. Then, in a flash, Luke struck.

The bite of this new, thinner cane was searing. To keep my mind off the pain, I tried to envision myself in a royal court, the King, Queen and errant teenage prince looking on, along with many other noblemen, women and their children, enjoying the spectacle of delicious injustice of the whipping boy suffering for his prince's misdeeds. It was a vivid picture I had in my head, but it was insufficient to distract me from the intensity of the pain.

After the second stroke, Luke pulled down my tights to my knees. It was a totally superfluous action, as they offered no protection whatsoever from the sting. Luke swished the cane again before delivering the third and fourth strokes. I reflexively lifted my right leg up after the fourth. He then made me wait again, rubbing the cane along the welts that were no doubt already forming on my bottom. I heard Brooke moan softly as she continued to pleasure herself.

Abruptly, with incredible swiftness and ferocity, Luke struck again.

"If you're so smart, prof, how come you're bent over getting your ass beat while I'm up here -- someone who barely graduated high school -- dishing out the punishment? Makes you wonder who's really the smart one? Doesn't it, babe?"

"You're the smart one, baby. No question," Brooke said between her soft moans.

"And what about you, Professor? Who do you think is the smart one is between us?"

"All the evidence would suggest you are, sir," I replied, trying to hold back my tears.

And then came the sixth stroke. Luke did not announce how many he planned to give me, and I began to panic.

"Sure looks that way," he said. "Rather than a bleeding heart, it looks to me like you've got a bleeding ass." He laughed.

Then he delivered the seventh and eighth strokes in quick succession.

"Mercy, sir," I said, bringing my leg up again. The tears were now streaming down my face.

"Maybe someone in your position, PROFESSOR Rollins, might want to try using the word master instead of sir. Or maybe sire; that's sir with an e at the end, but it's more appropriate. I am your king, after all. I think that would be the smart thing to do, if you really want me to show you some mercy. You see, I'm not a bleeding heart. I am the opposite."

"Mercy, master. Sire. Please, I'm begging you."

"One more, for good measure."

With the 10th stroke, I fell to my knees. When I finally was able to compose myself somewhat, I got down on my belly and began kissing Luke's bare feet.

"Thank you, sire, for showing your whipping boy mercy."

"You're not my whipping boy, prof. You're your wife's. You're my slave. Now wipe the blood off your ass, pull up your tights and then stand in the corner. Face the wall. You don't get to watch this time." He then turned to Brooke on the bed and said, "OK, wench, your wait is finally over. Turn around, bend over and spread your cheeks."

"Yes, sir, thank you sir."

For the next 45 minutes, I listened to my king take my lady. The moans, the slaps, the whimpering, the groaning, the yelps, the begging. I had never heard Brooke so vocal before, and had to use my imagination to envision exactly what was happening behind me. My ass was on fire, but before too long, my cock began to harden again.

When it was finally over, I had to guess that Brooke had climaxed at least twice, maybe three times.

Luke said to me, "You can turn around now. How's your ass feeling?"

"It's extraordinarily painful, master."

"Good. I guess that new cane works pretty well, huh? Look at his little cock, babe. I guess he gets off on the pain. Pathetic. Get on your knees and clean this mess off my cock."

I crawled over to him on my knees, and began my humiliating task. I had done this once before. Brooke had warned me in advance that this demand would be forthcoming. I'd expressed concerns about getting AIDs or some other STD, but she assured me that Luke no longer slept around with too many women besides her, and that when he did, he always used a condom. She said she believed him and expected me to as well. Who was I to question the trust that my lady had placed in someone?

I was repulsed as I licked up Luke's semen off his cock, which was still impressively large, despite his recent, copious ejaculation. After I finished licking him clean, he ordered me to lick Brooke clean as well. This took some time as there were multiple parts of her anatomy involved. He reclined next to her on the bed, reading his iPhone, as I worked. I saw red blotches and marks all over her body, her breasts, neck, back and ass. Even her face. But also on her face, was her bright dimpled smile.

"I'm so happy our little family is back together again," she sighed contentedly.