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A husband punished and cuckolded.
" He sees me hesitate. "Do it," he orders. "Your sexual activity is our property, so do as you are told!"
And so, grateful for his permission, embarrassed by my response to Carrie's attentions and humiliated to be masturbating as he watches, I set to work with my own fingers to bring myself release.
George watches with interested amusement until I've finished. I know I like to be the centre of attention sometimes, but I don't enjoy the way he seems to be watching every move, grinning as the waves of orgasms crash over me and leave me catching my breath, propped against the wall of the room. "OK," he says. "That's enough fun for now. You'd better get on with … What are you supposed to be doing, Fifty?"
"Domestic duties, Sir," I pant. "I should be in the kitchens."
"Well, if you're fixing some food you'd better get down there. Make sure you wash those fingers though. They look a bit sticky to me."
I'm shocked by this and humiliated. Somehow, everything builds up inside me, all of the tensions and extraordinary experiences of the last few days boil over. I burst into tears, sobbing at his callous indifference to my embarrassment. "You can't say that! You just can't! It's disgusting. It's just… just … not … not .. fair!"
"Fifty," George is crouching down beside me, lifting my chin up with his hand, looking straight into my eyes and speaking quietly and firmly. "I can say that. I know you're just starting with this, but you'll listen to it and you'll learn to take it. If you think that a few crude remarks is the worst that can happen to you here, you're going to be disappointed. You know that don't you? All right?"
I'm still upset, but inside I know that he's right. I've put myself here after all. I do what I can to pull myself together. Of course, he's right. I nod. "Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." I say.
"Very well. Now, off you go."
Work in the kitchen takes up an hour, or so, and then there's cleaning and laundry to do. We're all kept pretty busy and there's not much chance to talk to one another as we scurry around at our various tasks.
It was as we were finishing our evening meal that Jo came across to our table. "Fifty, Fifty-two," Carrie and I looked up. "For Useful Time this evening, you'll both report to George, please."
Useful Time! We've spent all day working. I'd been hoping we might have the evening off, but it seems like it isn't to be.
Carrie and I get to out feet, exchanging glances that share our concern about what awaits us. Jo tells us to turn around and put our hands behind our backs. She fastens my wrist cuffs together and goes to do the same for Carrie. As she grips her wrists, Carrie tries to struggle free, yelling, "No, please, I've had enough." She almost breaks away from Jo. I'm astonished, it's the first time that I've seen anyone do anything other than accept the treatment handed out to them. It never occurred to me that I could do otherwise.
Jo spins Carrie around. "Be quiet Fifty-two!" she is very firm.
"No!" Carrie calls, defiantly, "No! It's too much, I can't cope. I can't! I can't"
I watch as Jo nods to Celia, who's sitting at the other end of the room. Carrie is becoming hysterical. Jo grabs her by the arms as she goes on calling, "No!" Jo puts her hand to either side of Carrie's head holding it tightly. "Hush," she says, insistently, "hush!"
I see Celia come up behind her, she pulls a bit gag across Carrie's mouth and buckles it tightly. It only upsets Carrie further, inevitably. She's shaking her head to try to dislodge the gag without any success.
Celia grabs me and pulls me away. Jo puts her arms around Carrie and pulls her close. "Shh," she says calmly. "It's all right. Don't worry. Relax. Take a breath. Sometimes, it gets too much. We know. Just relax. It's all right. We'll take care of you." Her voice has an almost hypnotic quality. I can see Carrie calming. Jo is holding her close, stroking her neck and scalp and saying, "There. There. It's all right."
"Gnngh," Carrie whimpers quietly over the rubber bar across her mouth.