A Suitable Punishment

A Suitable Punishment

By Carmenica Diaz

SYNOPSIS A small story I wrote between novels. Please don't expect too much from this tale – it has all the usual ingredients – an errant husband, a woman scorned who morphs into vengeful wife and, of course, a suitable punishment.

A Suitable Punishment

By Carmenica Diaz

The bar was noisy and Brett had to lean closer to hear George's words. Not that he wanted to hear George as Brett was tired of the continuous boasting but George was his boss so he did what he had to do.

‘Sorry, missed that,' Brett said with a practised smile.

‘I said that I banged that little redhead in Accounts last night!'

Brett kept his face expressionless but inwardly he seethed.

Did he mean Margaret? She's cute.

Brett had planned to overcome his natural shyness and invite Margaret for a drink but nerves had delayed him.

Don't tell me that this oaf fucked her? How could she ?

‘Margaret?' Brett squeaked and George frowned.

‘No, her name was Jenny. Who's Margaret?'

‘No one,' Brett said quickly. ‘Where did you go to do…ah…to do the business?'

‘Not to my place,' George said with a broad wink. ‘Bit difficult with the wife prowling about!'

He chortled at his humour and then leaned closer.

‘Went back to Jenny's flat and banged her twice. Course she blew me first.'

Brett privately groaned at the unnecessary details and the image of George and Jenny that now filled his head. Too much information , he wanted to scream, instead he smiled blandly.

‘Sounds like fun,' he said weakly, glancing at his watch.

‘Fun!' George laughed loudly and nudged Brett with his elbow. ‘Fun! Course it was bloody fun! Say no more, say no more, nudge nudge, say no more!'

Perhaps it was the alcohol or the annoyance that bubbled inside Brett, but he found himself asking, ‘what about your wife? Don't you ever worry she might find out?'

‘Eleanor?' George snorted. ‘She has no idea!'

‘What would she do if she found out?' Brett pressed maliciously. ‘Divorce?'

George blinked at that as he had married Eleanor for her money. It was a cliché but he had married the bosses' daughter and now, when Eleanor's father died, George ran the business.

Eleanor was plain and a good little wife who had no idea that George was bonking every young woman he could find. George wasn't handsome but the women were turned on by the money and the gifts he lavished on them. Money, after all, was the third most potent aphrodisiac – only chocolates and roses were more powerful.

‘Nah,' George said, beckoning to the blonde woman behind the bar for another drink, ‘Eleanor won't find out.'

‘Good morning Mrs Dawes.'

‘Good morning Roberta. George has left for the office?'

Roberta nodded and poured tea into a fragile bone china cup.

‘He left just before eight. Did he come in late again last night, Mrs Dawes?'

‘We both know he did, Roberta,' Eleanor said unfolding the newspaper, ‘there's no need to be diplomatic.'

‘No, sorry, Mrs Dawes. Toast? Cook has made a new batch of her orange and lemon marmalade?'

‘Sounds yummy. Thank you.'

After bathing, Eleanor examined herself critically in the mirror and sighed. She could hardly be called beautiful by any stretch of the imagination and had always felt overawed by the perfect beauties that floated like ethereal butterflies through every society social occasion.

Perhaps Melinda is right , Eleanor thought, perhaps I should have a complete makeover.

Melinda was Eleanor's best friend since boarding school and was constantly prompting Eleanor to improve herself. Melinda was gorgeous due to the surgical and cosmetic improvements her father's money had provided.

‘It's worth it, darling,' Melinda had enthused, ‘just get a nip there, a tuck here and you'll look like a mink full of Euros!'

‘George doesn't want me to.'

Melinda had sighed.

‘Sod George! Do this for yourself. He's a prat anyway!'

Two weeks later, Eleanor was fighting the sick feeling that threatened to overwhelm her stomach.

‘I'm sorry it's bad news, Mrs Dawes,' Harold Holmes, the private detective said softly, discreetly gathering the photographs and slipping them back into the envelope. The restaurant they had chosen for their rendezvous was not crowded and he thought his client looked like she was going to bolt for the bathroom at any minute.

They always expect the worse , Holmes thought stoically, but when they see what they expected, they go paler than Mary Queen of the Scots ghost!

Eleanor didn't bolt for the bathroom which surprised Holmes; instead, she sipped her water and offered him a weak smile.

‘It appears my husband is rather a bastard.'

Holmes diplomatically said nothing and wondered if she would order wine. Some of the wives did after the initial shock and almost scoffed the lot. Holmes had poured many a distraught and babbling wife into a taxi but not before he collected his fee or a glass of wine.

‘Do you think his antics are common knowledge, Mr Homes?'

‘As far as I can tell Mrs Dawes, only a few of the people he works with…'

‘Men?'

Holmes nodded. ‘Yes and the women he was indiscrete with, of course.'

‘Of course,' Eleanor said thinly, ‘let's not forget the women.'

The waiter hovered. ‘Would you like to see a menu?'

Eleanor looked at Holmes. ‘Are you hungry Mr Holmes?'

‘Well, yes, but there's no need…'

‘Leave the menus, thank you,' Eleanor said to the waiter who scurried away. ‘We mustn't allow my husband's antics to stop us from enjoying a delicious luncheon.'

Holmes studied his client over the top of his menu. This was a new reaction and he wondered when she would break and become teary.

‘Let's have some wine as well,' Eleanor smiled, passing him the wine list. ‘Choose something nice, Mr Holmes.'

She'll go to water after the wine , Holmes thought as he scanned the wine list, another one to get into a taxi.

But Eleanor surprised him.

‘This is a rather good menu,' she said with a smile, ‘I'm suddenly ravenous. Oh, I have your fee here, Mr Holmes. Thank you for a super job!'

Holmes took the envelope. ‘Well…ah…thank you.' He looked at her, puzzled and said nothing more until they ordered their meals and the wine.

After a glass of wine, Holmes boldly asked, ‘will you divorce him, Mrs Dawes?'

Eleanor looked at him in surprise.

‘Divorce? Oh, that would be too easy. No,' she said with a cold smile, ‘I must think of a more suitable punishment.'

Two weeks later, George was surprised to see Eleanor awake when he rolled in just after midnight.

‘Well,' he slurred, ‘I thought you'd be in bed.'

‘Couldn't sleep, darling,' she said brightly. ‘Let's have a nightcap together.'

That was also surprising as Eleanor didn't drink that much. Perhaps , he thought, she was changing from being a stuck up frigid bitch to being a real woman! Wish she'd lose some weight, though.

‘Ok.'

Eleanor offered him a glass. ‘I mixed one when I heard you fumbling at the door. Bottoms up.'

‘Chin chin,' he mumbled as he drained his glass while Eleanor watched him with a slight smile.

‘You should toddle off to bed now,' Eleanor said.

‘Yes,' he said, his brain suddenly fuzzy. ‘I'm tired.'

George woke with a thick tongue, eyes that felt like they had half of Brighton Beach behind the eyelids and a frightful pain in his privates.

Blearily, he stumbled to the bathroom and fumbled with his pyjama trousers. Instead of his fingers finding his flesh, they found hard steel.

‘What the fuck!'

Desperately, he clawed at his pyjama bottoms, stepping out of them to examine the steel monstrosity that encircled his penis. A metal tube was locked securely around his testicles, captured his cock, prohibiting erections and George understood instantly why his groin was painful.

‘That bitch!' George muttered as he vaguely remembered the previous night.

Desperate to urinate, George realised his only option was to sit on the toilet like a woman.

‘She's in fucking big trouble!' George muttered as he released a stream of urine.

‘Roberta!' George yelled as he stalked into the living room. He was dressed as usual – smart business suit – and had showered after spending a good half an hour attempting to remove the device from his penis but to no avail.

Fuming, he had then searched for Eleanor but she had vanished from their home.

‘Yes Mr Dawes?' Robert asked, appearing in the doorway in her immaculate black dress, white apron and black nylons and shoes.

‘Where's Mrs Dawes?'

‘She's gone away, Mr Dawes.'

‘Where?' George snapped.

‘I don't know, sir, but she did ask me to give you this.'

It was a large envelope and George took it as Roberta briefly smiled.

‘Mrs Dawes suggested you may wish to open the envelope in the study – in private.'

Roberta walked away and George took the envelope into the study and shut the door. He tore the envelope open and photographs cascaded to the floor. George's heart sank when he saw they were all photos of him with various women in rather indelicate poses.

‘Shit!' he muttered and picked up the folded piece of paper that had fallen to the floor with the pictures.

It was a letter from Eleanor.

I'm sure you've noticed the small gift I've given you. In case you're wondering it's a chastity belt for males called the Dickson Device and, rest assured, it's the best money can buy.

It requires two separate keys to unlock it and, I'm told, even if you had the keys, it's rather difficult for the wearer to unlock it alone and the only way to remove it without keys is to cut it off with a diamond toothed saw. Of course, your penis and testicles will be removed with it.

I'm sure you'll try to get it off anyway so allow me to wish you luck! The keys not in the house so don't both searching for them. You probably won't believe me but please be tidy in your search.

I'm enjoying a makeover in Switzerland – I'll be away for three weeks so we can discuss options when I return. I haven't decided to divorce you yet but if I do, the photographic evidence and testimony from various people will ensure you will be left penniless.

Your loving wife and key holder.

George's fingers shook as he reread the letter, then screwed it into a ball and flung it with all his might at the closed window. It was a useless gesture but it did feel good.

‘She can't do this to me,' he muttered as he paced the room, ‘she can't!'

However, the evidence to the contrary was locked securely around his penis, evidence that proclaimed, indeed, she had done t!

He picked the photographs up and locked them in the desk drawer before leaving for the office. It was while he was driving in, that the first cold fingers of fear tickled his stomach.

For George the three weeks were Hell – sheer hell!

Of course, he tried to find ways to remove the device – spending hours researching the Dickson device – but soon came to the unhappy conclusion that he would not be able to remove it without the keys.

It was also humiliating as he had to decline all invitations for drinks or fun times with his former associates, as he wasn't able to perform in any way.

Of course, he couldn't explain – what could he say?

Sorry sweetie but my cock is locked up tight and I can't get it out or get a stiffy!

Ah, erections!

Now a thing of the past but the sexual urge did not diminish – in fact it appeared to increase with each passing day. A glimpse of thigh, a wisp of lace, a sniff of sensuous perfume would drive his poor cock insane as it fruitlessly squirmed against the unforgiving metal of the Dickson Device.

As the days ticked by, George realised that this was the longest period between orgasms he had ever endured! Hour by hour, his frustration increased.

All women drove him deeper into his insatiable frustration – he even had to avoid Roberta as she cleaned and scurried around the house. Roberta would bob into a half curtsey when he sadly returned home and his eyes would automatically look at her cleavage – a glimpse of delicate white lace peeking from her rounded hills – and his cock would jolt with pain.

‘Is everything all right, sir?' Roberta asked when he grimaced.

‘Ah…yes…headache…that's all…you can go,' George said through gritted teeth.

‘Mrs Dawes has notified me that she intends to return tomorrow.'

‘Does she, by Jove? I'll be interested to see her!'

George was waiting for her when Eleanor calmly walked through the door.

‘Darling, you're here to meet me,' she beamed. ‘How sweet.'

‘We need to talk,' he hissed.

‘Do we?' Eleanor said, removing her coat. ‘And why is that?'

‘This…this thing! You have to remove it!'

‘I don't have to do any such thing,' Eleanor said walking to the stairs. ‘Pay the taxi river and bring my bags up.'

‘Now look here…'

‘Now, darling,' Eleanor said calmly, ‘I suggest that it would not be n your best interests to make me cross. Hurry up, the taxi driver is waiting.'

Furious, George paid the driver and staggered upstairs with Eleanor's luggage.

She was seated at her dressing table, dressed in a full black slip and stockings – a sight that made his cock twist and turn.

‘Such a tiresome journey,' she said removing her earrings and dropping them into her large jewellery box. ‘Have you noticed my new hairstyle? My skin is wonderful and I'll be returning for some other enhancements later.'

‘It's very nice,' George muttered. ‘Eleanor, please take this thing off me…'

‘Why?' Eleanor said calmly, removing her rings. ‘Why on earth would I do that?'

‘But…' he spluttered.

‘You've been cheating on me and denying me of my rightful sexual favours. I've decided to own you. If I were you, I'd watch your step and obey me without question. Take your clothes off so I can see how you're progressing.'

He gaped at her.

‘Naked, darling. Now!'

But…'

‘It's tiresome repeating myself so I won't – I'll just say the magic word – keys!'

Sullenly, George removed his clothes and stood naked in front of his wife.

‘How amusing,' Eleanor tittered and slowly parted her thighs.

George tried to tear his eyes way but couldn't and stared at the tan stocking tops that signalled the entry to that dark and mysterious shadow between her thighs.

It hurt like hell!

‘Does that hurt, darling?' Eleanor asked with fake solicitation. ‘Does it hurt when your thingy tries to get hard?'

‘Yes,' he groaned, ‘it does.'

‘Excellent! It was obviously worth every penny.'

George stared at this cold woman that had once been his docile wife and wondered what she planned. Suddenly, he was afraid – very afraid!

‘I expect obedience, George – complete and utter obedience. Any refusal, any quibbling and…well, I think you can guess the outcome. On your knees!'

George knew it was useless to argue, useless to protest – obedience was the answer – and he just had to hope she would grow tired of her game and remove the device. What other choice did he have?

Eleanor watched him as he knelt and then extended her foot. ‘Remove my shoe.'

He was so close he could peek up the slip and was punished with a glimpse of her panties – punished because the pain to his cock was instant. Fingers trembled as he removed the high heel shoe and Eleanor giggled.

‘Kiss my toes.'

I have no choice! It was a mantra he was now repeating but George indignantly seethed at the humiliation while his imprisoned cock twisted and turned in the unforgiving tube.

His lips brushed the nylon covered toes and he delicately kissed each toe.

‘The other one.'

As he removed the other shoe, he heard footsteps behind him and was about to turn when the cold look from his wife stopped him. Slowly, he bent forward to kiss her toes.

‘Welcome home, Mrs Dawes,' Roberta's voice echoed in his burning ears, ‘your hair looks wonderful.'

‘Thank you Roberta. You may remove my stockings, George.'

What sweet punishment! His hands trembled as his fingers grazed her plump flesh as he strived to unclip her suspenders.

She knows it's hurting me! She knows it! This is punishment!

He heard Roberta giggle and, face burning hotly, he crouched naked before his wife and unclipped her stockings.

‘Roberta,' he heard Eleanor say as he began to unclip the other stocking, ‘you will call him George or Georgie from now on and he will obey your commands. I trust you will have many tasks for him?'

‘I think so, Mrs Dawes,' Robert said with a cruel laugh.

Startled, George looked up at Eleanor's cold face.

‘You will resign tomorrow and announce that you've decided to be a househusband. That nice young man Brett will take over.'

‘But, Eleanor…' George protested.

‘Shut up!' Eleanor said calmly. ‘Go run my bath. Hurry!'

Sadly, George padded naked into the bathroom, conscious that Eleanor and the maid were watching him.

How do I get out of this?

George's mind raced at the indignity and the hopelessness of his situation. He could do nothing.

The bathtub was almost full when Eleanor walked in naked and George quickly tore his eyes away as the pain in his cock became unbearable.

‘Can't look?' she taunted him. ‘What a pity. I heard you were quite the pussy man! Kiss mine like you love it!'

The pain was incredible as he pushed his face towards her neatly trimmed pussy but her fingers in his hair stopped him.

‘No,' Eleanor said with a grin, ‘my pussy is too good for you. I have a better idea.'

Horrified, George watched her turn around and bent over from the waist, her large round bottom mocking him.

‘Kiss my bottom, George, kiss it like you love me and I may take pity on you.'

George's face was bright red as he leaned forward, tongue ready to travel where it had never done before and he vaguely wondered if Roberta was still out there, perhaps watching him as he kissed his wife's bottom.

‘Get right in,' Eleanor laughed and his tongue pushed in – tasting her – and he felt like weeping.

‘You're such a pig!' Eleanor said contemptuously, pushing him away. ‘Put bath salts in the tub and then go downstairs. Roberta has work for you. And don't bother dressing!'

The days passed slowly for George once he resigned and turned over the company to Brett. It had been humiliating to announce he was to be a house-husband, to devote himself to his wife's well being. The staff, particularly the women, had snickered at that and George felt his world crumbling around him.

That night, naked, George had knelt at his wife's feet and cut all his credit cards into tiny pieces.

He had nothing.

The intense sexual frustration he felt was constant and the merest contact with Eleanor, her friends and Roberta sent paroxysms of pain to his cock and his entire body quivered with frustration.

After he had paid homage to his wife's bottom that night, he never saw her naked again.

In fact she took great delight in informing him that what he once took for granted and spurned, was no longer available. Longingly, he would stare at her nylon sheathed legs, the wisp of lace at the hem of her slip that inadvertently peeked from her skirt, her perfume – anything at all – as he fell deeper and deeper into frustrated submission.

Roberta, however, insisted that he kneel and service her with his mouth. She only had to threaten to inform Eleanor that he had been resentful or tardy and he immediately complied, feverishly licking her to orgasm after orgasm while his denied cock twisted and turned in the tube.

As Roberta insisted that he cease shaving – the stubble irritated her intimate flesh –George now boasted a downy beard and spent most of his time naked on his knees – either servicing Roberta and other servants or scrubbing floors.

Sometimes, Eleanor and Melinda would strut past, their legs taunting him as he scrubbed the floor and his cock ached.

‘Does he always drool?' Melinda casually asked Eleanor.

‘Constantly,' Eleanor had replied, ‘it's rather tiresome.'

And then, she had laughed.

Speech was becoming impossible as the frustration enveloped his entire being.

One night, when Eleanor had departed for six weeks in Switzerland for a nip and a tuck, Roberta had looked down at him he licked and suckled on her hairy pussy, bringing her to another exquisite orgasm and smiled.

‘You've become rather good at this, Georgie Porgie. Cook thinks you're the bees knees ! Once you used to be able to stick your willie in pussies but those days are over.'

After some research, Roberta had decreed that prostate milking was required and one night she ravaged his bottom with a hooked vibrator as he dutifully knelt naked on the table.

Eleanor and Melinda watched while sipping champagne.

‘It's just running out,' Melinda observed, ‘all that icky stuff is dripping out! Astounding!'

‘He's not enjoying this, is he?' Eleanor quickly asked.

‘No Mrs Dawes, he feels nothing. Don't you, Georgie?' Roberta slapped his naked bottom to emphasise the question.

‘Ah…no…nothing…' he mumbled, trying to turn his head from the sight of his wife's knees, humiliation overwhelming him.

Life consisted of intense and over-riding sexual frustration and constant humiliation.

Sadly, he would watch his wife lead her lovers up the stairs and he tried to remove the flickering image of Eleanor naked and being fucked from his addled mind.

‘You remember Mrs Kidman?' Roberta gleefully asked but George was almost incoherent by this stage. ‘The plump Indian cook from next door? Apparently, she enjoys certain anal pleasures. I told her your tongue was the absolute cats pyjamas ! She'll be here after dinner.'

George's birthday arrived some months later and Eleanor insisted on presenting him with a small cake to celebrate, as she gleefully put it, ‘eight orgasm free months!'

Dolefully, he stared up at her as she sipped champagne.

‘You know, darling,' she said conversationally, ‘I do have a rather awful temper. It came to the fore when I was trying to decide what a suitable punishment would be for your indiscretions.'

George stared at the sheer black nylon that glimmered on her legs.

‘Try to concentrate, darling,' she said crossly as he drooled, ‘this is important. I want to tell you about the keys.'

Keys ? George tried to tear his eyes from Eleanor's new plump breasts and stared up at her.

‘I suppose you think that the chastity tube is your punishment and one day it will be over. I'm afraid,' Eleanor said, sipping champagne, ‘that is not the case.'

He blinked hopefully at her and she smiled bleakly.

‘As I said, I do have rather a temper and on that first night after I locked the tube on you, my bad temper surfaced. I had the taxi stop at the Thames on the way to Gatwick and I must confess I threw the keys into the river!'

George heard that ! Horrified, he gaped at her and Eleanor smiled.

‘I know you're disappointed but you'll have to get used to no sex, no orgasms and definitely no relief! I know you're probably annoyed but there is absolutely nothing we can do about it and there's no use in crying over spilled milk! Of course, it's no loss to me as I've found many other men to amuse me.'

A solitary tear trickled from George's eye. The vague hope for sexual freedom had been all that had kept him going and now she had cruelly removed that faint hope forever.

Eleanor sipped her champagne and studied what her errant husband had become.

‘I suppose you're thinking that is your punishment – it is punishing, I suppose – but it's not what I consider a suitable punishment .'

George wept silently – wept for what he had become and for what he had lost. The immense sadness even overwhelmed his sexual frustration for a minute or two.

‘I'm not completely heartless, darling,' Eleanor smiled, her eyes glittering. ‘I have decided on a suitable punishment that you will want and even crave for!'

George looked at her through his tears.

‘I will grant you a special birthday wish for your next birthday – yes, that's right – in twelve months time!'

George blinked, waiting as his cock throbbed.

‘On your next birthday, darling,' Eleanor continued, ‘you may request that I arrange to have your testicles surgically removed – I have a rather accommodating Swiss doctor – and that will be the end of your frustration! I believe massive doses of female hormones after the surgery will reduce your tiresome male sexual drive.'

Mouth open, George stared at his wife and Eleanor laughed.

‘You have twelve months to think about it and I have no doubt you will beg me to arrange the surgery. Of course, I will comply. Just twelve months, darling, and each day will bring you closer and closer to your birthday and your decision.'

Eleanor drained the champagne glass and placed it on the table.

‘I think you will agree,' she said with a satisfied smile, ‘is a suitable punishment!'

Carmenica Diaz lives near London and writes erotic fiction that is either hard and nasty or soft and tender, depending on her moods. Ms Diaz commenced writing at the urging of close friends and now has a substantial following of loyal readers. Her work can be divided into two clear genres – Erotica, and Transgender fiction. Carmenica Diaz is, of course, a pseudonym and, in real life, Ms Diaz is an accomplished woman of academia. When asked to use single words to describe Carmenica, a close friend chose the following – impatient, dominant, arrogant, tender, caring, romantic, hurtful, precise, nasty, supportive, and mercurial. They are still friends as she told the truth. www.cafeboudoir.com