Coming Home

Ailsa has said that I can come home.... on strict conditions. First, and this must happen before I can put a foot over the door, I have to sign over my share of the house to Gabriel. Coming home would be to their place, not my place. I am not to pretend that the last ten months haven't happened. I'm not to delude myself that I can work my way back up to manhood, daring to think that I can partner Ailsa ever again. Alright on paper, on a marriage certificate, we are still married. But that means shit all because Gabriel doesn't do that institution. He owns Ailsa. She is his bitch and you don't need a certificate for that, you just need a stiff, thick, cock and what it can do corrupting a woman. Gabriel likes it that Ailsa is still 'married'. It's as though the conquest happens again and again because of that status. Every time he takes her, he puts me down that way. Every time he takes her, he is stealing her away from a 'white boy.'

I meet up with Ailsa, at a wine bar to discuss terms. She is late and I'm made to wait, anxiety ridden. What if she doesn't turn up and I'm left to live on in that shit bedsit I found in the East End of London? I'm fed up of lying in that lonely bed, wanking myself sore, thinking of her. I pray that some kind of intimacy will form part of the deal. She sent me a video clip of Gabriel casually fucking her at a party. She wanted me to know what went down these days. I did. I did, because of the way he fucks her. She said that the 'vision' was something for me to wank to. She knew I did that. She just knew. But she added that if I couldn't embrace that, Gabriel doing the fucking now, then coming home would just mean violence. Gabriel didn't tolerate interference.

'Are you wanking a lot?' she texted me.

'Yes' I answered, my face red with shame.

'Over Gabriel taking me?'

'Yes'

'That's good Ian, it's good. You're showing humility. We can meet and talk terms.'

The first thing I whispered to her when she finally showed up, was,

'Thank you... for the video clip. I've been going half out of my mind, and that kept me sane.'

She looked at me as if I was dirty. I mean dirty genetic, dirty and grubby in my soul. It was as if marrying me must have been some kind of delusion. How could that have happened? I made it worse, I said,

'I worship you. The very look, the very smell of you, obsesses me.'

Ailsa looked around the wine bar, someone might have heard. Well, it was terribly vulgar, and I was trembling. I was staring at her little black leather skirt, the stockings and the expensive silk blouse, I was staring at the pearl choker about her throat and the Rolex on her wrist. I'd spent a lot of money on her, simply to stay in touch. She looked as though she was taking the best cock ever. She looked black owned, entirely confident in her silky body because she has ridden the most fantastic cock meat created amongst men. A woman who goes black cripples a white man in ten thousand ways. She cripples him with every step of her high heels, with every glance at black guys in the bar, and with the terrible memory of her gasps and moans. There is no healing, no redemption, you cannot possibly unknow this, you cannot uncouple the feelings or the sights in your head.

Her gaze hardened. It was as if she had been steeling herself for this the last hours. She had rehearsed this meeting, perhaps with him, perhaps with another black owned bitch.

'I don't care what you feel. That doesn't matter anymore,' she responded. 'I just need to know whether you can be trained.'

'Trained?'

She ordered a drink and signalled that I was paying.

'Yes. You would return to our home as something owned. I would own you, and because I am Gabriel's, he would own us both. You would be there to be shamed, to echo the change men like Gabriel effect. You would exist simply to serve,' she said firmly. She watched my reaction. Her words were stunningly cruel, but then, what was the point of my coming home if the terms were not clear?

'I've never been 'owned',' I said, gesturing inverted commas. I hope that would sound light, as though it was an etiquette game. This was kinky right? This was what couples did when a black guy moved in and used that fucking wand of his on the woman.

'Shall I go then?' she asked. She moved to leave. I wasn't appreciating the full significance of this. It wasn't a game. It was a life change. It was a journey without a return ticket.

'No.. No! Please don't, I beg you!' I blurted. Ailsa looked stunningly beautiful.. and arrogant. She looked arrogant.

I glanced about then. The wine bar was busy, but no one was paying us much attention. The noise of others gossip drowned out our words.

'What does owned mean?' I whispered.

She smiled. OK, I was responding. Perhaps a bitch friend had assured her this would happen. White men are weak. If you flaunt your new womanhood, your new cunt crazed cock adoring womanhood, then men like me folded. Perhaps it was erotic. Perhaps it was a vibe for her now. I couldn't tell. I bloody well couldn't tell.

'You will suck cock for Gabriel and worship my cunt with your mouth. You will venerate what we do,' she said smoothly.

That.. that was the centre of it. That was what registered the change, which rubbed salt into the wound of failure. She was judging me and would judge me every time I was brought to service. Every time I bobbed on Gabriel's erection, she would know what I was.

'Are you ready to do that?'

I blushed. 'Yes.'

'And be grateful? That would be all the sex you get. Your dick will get locked in a cage' she stated brusquely.

'Yes, ' I said with a heavy sigh, 'yes... honestly... I'm grateful. I would be grateful for anything.'

That was the end of that conversation. It was that abrupt. She took some property papers out from her Gucci shoulder bag and handed them to me. There was an address for a town solicitor and an appointment date and time. I glanced at them. I was surrendering my share in the house. It was the first time I saw his name written. His surname seemed almost unpronounceable. The written words evoked instantly his big frame, his musculature and his hard staring eyes. He was going to be my master.

'You will sign the papers, witnessed by the solicitor on time, and then Gabriel and I will take you somewhere to start your training. If you fail to complete the papers, if you fail to submit to your master or I on that trip out, you will never come home, do you understand?'

I felt I had been served a court summons. It was like that.

I nodded dumbly, and I watched her slip off the bar stool and walk elegantly out of the bar. Her pert rear in that skirt.... Christ.... well.

A week passed after I had signed the papers. I was in a panic. I thought that she had just abandoned me. I thought, fuck, they have the house, and now I'm left adrift. I started messaging a cuckold counsellor in abject horror thinking about it. She assured me that I was being made to wait. It was part of the humility training. Gabriel and Ailsa, master and mistress would certainly contact me. Owning a white boy had a frisson to it. Their sex was the hotter because of my humiliation. I had better get used to humiliation, it was part of the conquest for him and the submission for her. The more I was shamed, the more their raw, wet, thumping hot union was reinforced. I had gasped and the counsellor laughed.

'She is going to use you, Ian. Owning isn't a passive past time. You will be involved in ways that will enslave you to the life, to their service.'

The contact came through the post. It was a cock cage, in stainless steel with a pink plastic head that looked like a bullet shaped watering can rose. The holes were for me to piss through. There was a retaining bar that went around my cock and under my balls, forcing all forward as a crude posey of useless flesh. I was meant to lock my genitals away and Ailsa messaged me to say that there had to be a pic sent to her phone. My days of alfresco wanking were over. I was coming home to service. It was more by luck than judgement that the fucking scaffold fitted. I could get the bar beneath and lock it without the device falling off or my bits turning blue. I walked around with it on. You feel it in place. Every movement reminds you of the change. Hell, you think, if I ended up in casualty, what would they say? You look at your dressed self in the mirror, and vow to buy some looser trousers. In jeans, the locked tackle shows.

Still, I did it and sent her the pictures. I cried afterwards. I cried knowing that I had started off fatally to my future. I couldn't go back, not to the bedsit for ever. I couldn't go back to masturbating so hard that I feared a friction sore. I had to go forward, and she knew it. This was what I was meant to be.

The message came to join them in some local woods. I was given a time, a date and warned that Gabriel would bring along a bro or two. I had better be sweet and obedient, otherwise, there would be trouble. If I was 'cute' then that would be the end of coming home and so much more. I promised obedience.

When I turned up, I saw four of them. Ailsa looked like an American football cheerleader, dressed in a pleated ra ra skirt, Stewart tartan. It made her doll like, sensuous, provocative, and his plaything. Gabriel looked huge. It was the light, his quiet calm, but it made his presence massive. The two brothers were more slightly built and wore hoodies. I could picture them engaging in a little street crime. There was an insolence about them, an arrogance. Maybe they had witnessed before? Gabriel came up to me, without a word, and grabbed my face, pinching my cheeks till my mouth opened. He had a grip like iron. I nearly wet myself. Don't resist, don't resist the counsellor had said. This was a test. I didn't scream, or shout, or swear, not even when Gabriel felt inside my pants and pulled my shaming lock cock out. He showed that to my mistress and then forced me down.

It was she who unbuttoned his trouser fly and eased out his cock. It was big, even semi erect, it was daunting. He was circumcised and his glans seemed ugly large. It looked too big for the shaft, but it probably wreaked havoc inside her. That was why she obsessed about him.

'Smell,' he ordered.

I sniffed his dick whilst my mistress watched me. The counsellor had warned about this. I would learn to obsess about the smell, the look and the taste of his cock. He smelled of garlic, and herbs, presumably his diet. But he smelled masculine too, it was musky.

'Lick' he ordered.

One of the bros took my arms and drew them behind me. I was to be pinioned. This was a dangerous and an intimate act. My mistress stroked my hair. 'Go on' her touch coaxed.

I licked and it bobbed against my tongue. It was stiffening all the time, pointing, dominating.

'You're fucking pointless... because of this' he growled.

I looked up at him, and it was like staring into the canopy of trees. His face seemed miles away, and yet so detailed. His expression was of curiosity and then triumph. He had me, he had me on my knees and before his bitch.

I nodded and licked again.

'This is sooooo sexy' she whispered to him. They kissed.

Then he slipped his cock head inside my mouth. I caressed it with tongue and lips. The strength of it shocked me. It seemed bullet hard and I imagined it spraying spunk into her. I pictured how stretched out her hole now was. I shuddered.

'Is he sucking it darling?' she cooed.

'Yeah babe, he will be fine. He's a good little cock slut,' said Gabriel.

He pushed further inside me. I felt my mouth open under the pressure. It started to glid gently over my tongue. As if to warn me against resistance one of the minders pushed my arms higher up my back. My mistress took her phone out and to my eternal shame, she started to film me sucking master's cock. She giggled. She giggled like a teenager. My mouth was making little slup, slup noises as he used me.

'Gab... god, I need to fuck!' she said, breathless then and packing the phone away.

'Sure' he burred, 'sure babe. Hitch up your skirt.'

She did it beside me, and I saw her cunt. I saw how it gaped. The lips were big and swollen, like love flaps that would tighten on him, sucking him in till he shot his soup up her. She was shaven except for a small inverted triangle of pube hair pointing to her bulbous clit. I didn't recognise her. I didn't recognise the intimacy of a woman who was still my wife. He had drilled her out. Her cunt quivered and he pushed my mouth to it. I licked greedily. I licked so deep and so hard, it was such a relief. Dear God, I missed her. I missed the touch and the taste of her!

'Take his hair, move him about, wipe your cunt with his mouth,' Gabriel instructed.

My mouth was a flannel and I became delirious. I was flooded by her taste, by the hot pungent smell of her gaping hole.

'Pull his mouth up, onto clitty, make him work your bud' Gabriel continued.

I was pulled up and licked gratefully.

Mistress gasped. I could feel her clit spasm, again, and again, and again.

'He's just a tool babe, to be used. He's there to be used any way you see fit' Gabriel observed casually. His bros were laughing and I was intoxicated. I wanted mistress so come. I so wanted to serve her.

'You needing it bitch, you needing it now?' Gabriel announced.

Mistress pushed me away. I fell back nearly wrenching my arms when the minders didn't let go instantly. Then, on my back like a beetle, in the autumn leaves, I watched him sweep her up and then plunge her down on his erection. He bounced her on his cock, effortlessly jerking her up and down on it as she gasped and screamed.

'Oh darling, oh darling..... oooooh!'

I was brought up to my knees and close to them by a minder. I had to see this up close. The smell of their fucking was immense. Slup, slup, slup, slup.

'You treat him like shit and worship this, you hear?' barked the master.

'Yes, yes, darling' she gasped.

He was triumphant, god like, uber masculine, a massive presence. My mistress was screaming through her climax.

One of the minders captured it on his phone, I kneeling before them as Gabriel pounded my mistress on his cock. I started to bawl with the relief of it. Seeing her serviced so perfectly, seeing what had kept me from home for months on end. I so wanted to come home on any terms. Any terms! I leaned forward and kissed his boots as he took her. They dripped above me, their juices, something wet on my ear.

'Lick her arse' ordered a minder.

I did so, as best I could whilst he impaled her on his manhood. Glancing laps of my tongue, her skin white, his ebony.

'Good boy!' sneered the minder.

Mistress climaxed. She tensed repeatedly, thrusting her tits against his face and then fell ragged, like a doll in his embrace. She was shaking all over.

After he lifted her off, he stood behind her, supporting her, kissing her head and neck. He kicked her legs wide and beckoned. It was time to lick her clean.