{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"c6bf08fd-969d-448e-a32b-0a8984d7ec53","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2018-09-10T03:24:00.814Z","title":"Obedience Training","slug":"obedience-training","shortId":"EFfdrxKo","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"Robin runs into unexpected difficulties when she tries to call it off with an adulterer.","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"bedd362c-3748-4ca4-92a6-b344035da355","title":null,"summary":"Before“Do you know why you're here, Mrs. Miller?”Robin shifted impatiently in her chair. “Yes,” she ","wordCount":6274,"readTime":31,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

Before

“Do you know why you're here, Mrs. Miller?”

Robin shifted impatiently in her chair. “Yes,” she said sourly. “Do you not?”

If her tone offended Dr. Taylor, he gave no sign. He continued to calmly write notes at his desk, not looking up as he spoke. “I have already had a discussion with Mr. Miller, but I feel it is always best to hear a situation from all sides.”

Robin sighed loudly, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. Even when angry, she was a stunning woman. Her natural beauty alone was impressive; she possessed a sleek, graceful figure, silky dark hair that fell about her shoulders in waves, and gray eyes that smoldered above pale, delicate features. But all that was further refined and enhanced by high-end cosmetics, tasteful jewelry, and a tight blue dress from Paris that had cost five figures. All together, she looked as lovely and perfect as a porcelain doll, albeit one that would like to be anywhere but there. “The situation is that my husband is a lying, cheating sack of shit that I'm about to kick to the curb. But first I'm humoring him with this marriage counseling nonsense. A counseling session that apparently he can't even bother to show up to!”

“If you already have set your heart on a divorce,” Dr. Taylor asked, head still down, “then why did you agree to come here for counseling?”

“Because it's part of the ridiculous prenup we signed,” she growled, clicking her impeccably manicured nails against the armrest. “If I divorce him without attempting counseling first, he keeps everything. But if he thinks this fucking no-show act is going to save him, he's dead wrong. All I have to do is attend this one lousy session, and then it's over and I can legally ream him out. Now, I'm sure you're wonderful at your job, but since I have no intention of listening to anything you have to say, why don't we save ourselves some time and end it here?”

As she stood to leave, Dr Taylor looked up at her for the first time. He was an unassuming middle-aged man with thinning brown hair, thick black spectacles, and watery eyes. “I have already been made aware of the prenuptial agreement, Mrs. Miller. And unless I am mistaken, you will need signed documentation from myself to verify your presence here. I do not intend to provide that unless I feel we have made an effort to understand each other. Therefore, I would like you to please sit down.”

Robin looked longingly at the exit, but huffed and sat back down, squirming a little in discomfort. The chair was some kind of bare black metal or plastic with a high back and curving armrests. The lack of padding and inability to adjust it made the seat hard and unpleasant to sit in. Dr Taylor didn't speak again for several minutes, still writing on his pad. He was seated behind a small oaken desk covered in papers and forms. His chair looked much more comfortable than hers, with actual upholstery and everything.

Impatient and bored, Robin looked around at the room. The office was plain and unattractive. There were no windows or pictures on the walls, or even family photos on the desk. The only decoration at all was the impressive array of papers lining the walls behind Dr. Taylor. Diplomas in psychology, psychiatry, and psychotherapy, accreditations for research and treatment work on childhood trauma, PTSD, social anxiety, marital abuse... she had to admit this guy didn't look like a quack, at least.

“What can you tell me about the adultery?” Dr. Taylor finally asked, setting his pen down.

Robin leaned forward slightly, happy to vent. “I know he couldn't even find someone who'd let him stick his dick in her for free. The asshole was seeing prostitutes.”

“And what do you know about those prostitutes?”

Robin shrugged. “Who cares? A whore's a whore. He probably went for the first piece of street trash he could find that was willing to do anal.”

The therapist picked his pen back up and made a note on his pad. “Do you say that because your husband has a preoccupation for anal sex, or because you have a particular dislike for it?”

“Either. Both. Michael was into a lot of kinky shit like that.”

“And you were not, I surmise?”

She scowled. “Look, I did my wifely duties. We had sex once a month, and I blew him on birthdays and anniversaries. If that wasn't enough for him, he had two free hands and all the porn he wanted.”

More notes. “Have you considered whether your lack of interest in him sexually played a role in his being unfaithful?”

“Like hell it did,” she snapped. “He knew from the beginning that I wasn't interested in him like that. I never pretended that I was going to be his damn sex kitten. If that was a problem, he shouldn't have married me in the first place!”

“And what about yourself, Mrs. Miller? If you never wanted to have sexual relations with Mr. Miller, why marry him in the first place?”

Robin hesitated, trying to find the right words. Before she could come up with something, Dr. Taylor spoke again. “Was it because of his wealth?”

She glared at him. “So what if it was? You wanna call me a gold digger, fine! I won't deny it. How else do you think someone like him could ever end up with someone like me?!”

“You raise a good point,” said Dr. Taylor mildly, unaffected by her temper. He leafed through some papers. “According to my records, Mr. Miller is forty six years old, while you are... twenty four? That is quite an age difference.”

“That's not even the half of it! He's balding, eighty pounds overweight, and sweats like a pig even in the winter. And I'm...” Robin gestured sharply down at herself. “Seriously, the fact that I was willing to sleep with him even once a month should be grounds for sainthood.”

The therapist made a few more notes, then put his pad down and steepled his fingers. “I believe that is enough for me to go on, Mrs. Miller. Thank you.”

“So now I can leave?”

“No, now we can begin the session proper. I would like to start by telling you more about the women your husband slept with.”

Robin groaned and slumped in her chair. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“As you already know, these women were prostitutes. But they were not, as you seem to have assumed, random streetwalkers. Your husband is a client at a very exclusive organization that deals in high end prostitutes. The workers found there are, by and large, trained professionals, whose job is to cater to their customers' every whim and fantasy.”

“Okay, so he stuck it in some really pricey whores. I don't see why I should care.”

Dr. Taylor gave her a thin smile. “That is what I am about to get into. You see, almost all of the people who frequent this establishment are wealthy or powerful, like your husband. Many of them have careers that would be ruined by a scandal, or significant others like yourself that they are supposed to be committed to. Because this organization prides itself on anonymity and security for its clientele, as well as for itself, it provides certain services for eventualities like these. One of those services is me.”

Robin blinked in confusion. “Wait... let me get this straight... you work for the same people Michael was fucking? And he brought me here so you could, what, talk me into staying quiet about it?”

Dr Taylor raised a hand to rub his chin. “Hmm, a close summation, but not entirely accurate. First, I am not directly employed by this organization. I maintain social ties with their owner, but operate as a third party. You could think of me rather as a consultant, brought in for special cases. Second, while you are correct that the true purpose of our meeting today is to persuade you to remain silent, I will not be relying on words alone. My intention is to break you down with both physical and mental torture.”

Robin stared at him open mouthed for a moment, having difficulty processing what he'd just said. His tone had been as calm and polite as before, but the words... she had to have misunderstood or misheard him somehow... She rose from her chair, trembling slightly. “I-I am going to leave now. If you won't sign the papers saying I was here, then I'll find another therapist to go to. Goodbye.”

She all but ran to the door, her expensive heels tapping a quick rhythm against the carpeted floor. More than anything, she felt silly for being troubled in the first place. She was in an ordinary office in an ordinary hospital, alone with one of the most boring looking men she'd ever seen. Nothing weird was going to happen here.

The door was locked. She kept trying to turn the knob several times, in a rising state of panic now. It should open. It was supposed to open. She turned back around to tell Dr. Taylor that there was something wrong with his door, and flinched back as she realized he was right next to her. His fist caught her in the stomach, and she doubled over, wheezing. She couldn't understand what was going on. Concepts like violence and assault existed only vaguely for people like Robin Miller. She knew of their existence, but only from afar; they were the sort of thing that happened to other people. She felt him fasten something around her neck and tried to push him away. He responded with another blow that knocked her onto the floor.

A hand seized her hair and dragged her across the carpet, breaking several of those manicured nails in the process, until she was hoisted back onto the chair she'd been sitting in. Still dazed by the sudden assault, Robin could only manage a token resistance, and was unable to stop more things from being fastened around her wrist and ankles. The moment Dr. Taylor took his hands off her, Robin tried to stand up and bolt, but she remained completely immobile. She couldn't even look down at herself, the thing around her neck somehow locked to the chair behind her. She tried to move her arms and legs, and heard only the harsh clinking of metal.

“I believe we have found a good starting position,” said the therapist, his tone unchanged. “Let us begin.”

She froze as she saw him pull a knife out of his pocket. “Oh god...” she whispered. “Please don't kill me...” She shut her eyes as he drew nearer, expecting to feel it slice into her skin any second. Instead, he began to saw at her clothes, cutting them up into pieces. In just a few minutes, her expensive Parisian dress had been reduced to scattered rags, and Robin sat naked in the black chair, feeling the dry air on her bare skin. She squirmed in it, uncomfortable and humiliated.

“Your husband was given some leeway in determining your fate,” Dr. Taylor said. “Some clients choose to have the threatening party killed, or shipped overseas. Many even ask that they be forcibly employed for the organization itself. Mr. Miller has instead opted for the obedience training. You will be allowed to return home and remain his wife, but not until you are deemed ready.”

“You... you can't do this to me!” Robin stammered, finally starting to think clearly again. “This is crazy! Help! Heee~lp!!”

“I suggest you save your voice, Mrs. Miller. You will have ample reason to scream soon, and no one will be coming to rescue you.”

She ignored him and continued yelling for several more minutes, until it had become painfully clear that he was right. Either the room was soundproofed, or nobody in the building cared about what was happening in here. Either way, she was on her own.

“Very good,” said Dr Taylor when she stopped, chest heaving from shortage of breath. “Now, as I was explaining, you are here for obedience training. Your husband has been kind enough to note several inappropriate behaviors and flaws in your character that we are going to correct today.”

He pressed a hidden catch on his desk, and the front panel swung open, revealing a drawer filled with unfamiliar instruments. Dr. Taylor picked one of them up, a long yellow rod with a handle on one end and two metal prongs on the other.

“I have chosen aversion therapy for your training,” he said. “We are going to go over your bad habits, one by one, and begin conditioning you to avoid them.” He held the rod up and pressed the trigger on the handle. Blue sparks danced between the prongs. “We'll start with the cattle prod.”

Robin shrank away from him as he approached. “Please,” she stammered. “I... I have money... please...” He jabbed her in the stomach with the prod. “You don't want to d-aaaaarrgh!” He pulled the trigger, and pain exploded in her mind. It was worse than anything she'd ever experienced in her life, a sensation like hot hungry fire swallowing her up whole, like all of her muscles were being shredded apart. She convulsed in the chair, mouth wide open but no sound coming out. The vicious shock lasted less than a second, but left her feeling frazzled and worn.

“This is for denying your husband sex,” Dr. Taylor said, and shocked her again. She found her voice this time, and let out an ear piercing shriek. If the sound bothered him, he didn't show it. “To help associate this pain with your behavior, I will ask you to repeat after me: you deserve this for denying your husband sex.”

Stunned and shaking, Robin gave no reply. Dr. Taylor waited a few seconds, then used the cattle prod on her again, this time on her left leg. “This cannot proceed until you say your line,” he told her, and then shocked her right shoulder.

“I... I... I deserve this!” she screamed. “F-for denying my husband sex!”

“Good. Again.” He zapped her on the other leg.

“I deserve this for denying my husband sex!”

“Good. Once more.” The prongs sank into the soft flesh of her right breast, and the world burst again.

“I deserve this for denying my husband sex!” she screamed, voice already hoarse.

“Well done.” Dr. Taylor put the prod back in the desk drawer.

“I... I've learned my lesson,” she said, panting. “You don't have to hurt me anymore! I swear I'll treat my husband better! I'll stay with Michael, and do whatever he wants, and I'll never nag or complain again! I promise!”

“Do you think I enjoy causing you pain, Mrs. Miller?” he asked calmly, his back still turned.

“N-no, no, of course not!” Robin said quickly. “You don't want to hurt me! A-and you don't have to, really!”

He turned back to her, now holding a pair of alligator clamps. “I suspect you are lying, but you are actually quite correct: I have no interest in pain itself.” Robin whimpered softly as one of the clamps closed around her left nipple, vicious teeth digging into sensitive skin. “My interest – one could refer to it as a fetish and not be incorrect, but it goes beyond sexual gratification – lies in the result of pain. There is no perfect word for it in the English language, but 'anguish' is a close enough approximation.”

He applied the other clamp to her right nipple. “You know that I am going to hurt you very badly this afternoon, and you know that you cannot stop me. The fear, misery and despair that this knowledge engenders, that is what I'm after. Those emotions will be even more enticing in the aftermath of your torture. Once you've actually experienced the pain, seen how your body can betray you, how you were helpless to make it stop...”

Dr. Taylor closed his eyes, took a deep, slow breath, then opened his eyes again. “It is exhilarating. There is nothing lovelier in the entire world than a beautiful creature suffering. This, by the way, is for not smiling enough.” He took hold of the left clamp and twisted it hard.

Robin screamed, certain her nipple was about to be ripped right off her chest. “You appear to be a slow learner,” he observed, and twisted in the opposite direction.

“I deserve this for not smiling enough!” she shrieked, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “I deserve this for not smiling enough! I deserve this for not smiling enough!”

“One at a time, please, Mrs. Miller.” Dr. Taylor released the left clamp, and took hold of the right instead.

He twisted. “I deserve this for not smiling enough!” she screamed obediently. Another twist. “I deserve this for not smiling enough!”

“Excellently done.” He turned to his desk to get something new, not bothering to remove the clamps.

Twenty minutes later, only Robin's closest acquaintances could have recognized the woman huddled in the chair. There was no trace of the confident, refined beauty who had entered less than an hour ago. In her place was a sweaty, shivering mess that rocked back and forth, her face drawn and pretty gray eyes downcast. “I deserve this... I deserve this...” she whispered, without any prompting.

“Mrs. Miller?” Dr Taylor asked. “Mrs. Miller!” She snapped out of her reverie and looked up at him. “It is time to review.” He held up a toilet brush, its stiff bristles speckled with her blood. “Why did I scrub out your anus with this?”

Her lips moved as she frantically tried to recall the answer. “B-b-b-because I, uh, I don't address my husband with the proper respect?”

“Very good. And why did I use sewing pins to fasten your pussy lips to your upper thighs?”

Robin squirmed with the effort of remembering, making the colorful pin heads that still decorated her crotch bob and dance. “Because... oh, oh, because I look at other men!”

“Quite right. And what was your punishment for not acting pleased when Mr. Miller cums inside you?”

Her mouth worked, but no answer came out, and she began to breathe more heavily. “I... I was... you... I can remember it, I can, just, just a few seconds, please...”

Dr. Taylor shook his head. “I see the lesson has not stuck yet. Your punishment was having your breasts beaten with a riding crop.”

“I'm sorry!” she whined. “'I'm sorry! I deserved to have my breasts beaten with a riding crop for not being happy when Mr. Miller cums in me!”
“Too little, too late, I'm afraid.” He picked up the cattle prod. “We'll start over from the top.”

“No! Nonononono! Please! Not again! You-aaaaaaarrrgh!”

It took three more iterations before Dr. Taylor was satisfied at her recollection of her sins. What was left of Robin was half mad from the pain. Her body was a patchwork of cuts, bruises, and burns, and blood flowed freely from both her vagina and anus.

The doctor glanced at the clock on the wall. “There are roughly thirty minutes left in our session, Mrs. Miller. Normally, I would use this remaining time to go over your lessons again, but...” He eyed her battered and broken body. “Your condition has made me quite erect. So I'm going to give you the option of sucking my dick. If your behavior is exemplary, we will consider your session over and done.”

“P-please let me suck your dick!” Robin stammered. “Please! I'll do a good job, I swear!” She opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out, giving him a pleading look that held no trace of pride.

Dr. Taylor unzipped his pants, pulled out his stiff member and stepped forward. Robin immediately swallowed him up, her mouth greedily working on him. She put all of her remaining energy into the task, determined to give the man who'd tortured her for the last hour and a half the best blowjob of his life. There was no thought of dignity as she noisily sucked and slurped on his prick, drool running down the curves of her body to pool in the chair seat.

It only took a couple minutes before semen spurted against the back of her mouth. She gulped it down immediately, her tongue already hard at work licking him clean. Dr. Taylor didn't say speak after he pulled out of her. He walked back to the secret panel in his desk first, and withdrew an evil looking cat-o-nine-tails with barbed strands, which he showed it to her.

“This,” he said mildly,” is for cheating on your husband just now.” He struck her stomach with the whip, the strands leaving bloody streaks across her skin.
“Whyyyy?!” Robin demanded, her voice tortured. “Oh god, why?! I did what you wanted!!”

“Incorrect,” Dr. Taylor replied. “You did what you wanted. You were willing to cheat on your husband in order to gain something, in this case a reprieve from the pain. I was not lying when I offered to end the session early: had you been more faithful, your good behavior would indeed have been grounds to stop. But clearly, you still have a long way to go. That's why you deserve this.” He struck her again. “Say it.”

“I deserve this for cheating on my husband!” she wailed. Another blow. “I deserve this for cheating on … on my husband.” Another. “I deserve this... for... cheat... cheating on my... h-husband....”

Dr. Taylor pressed the intercom button on his desk. “Marcie, I'm going to need to you reschedule my evening appointments. Mrs. Miller appears to be in need of an extended session today.” Robin began to sob as she saw him grab the cattle prod again. “Once more with feeling.”

After

One month after the therapy session, Mr. and Mrs. Miller were still in bed, on what had become a typical morning. Robin was sucking hard on her husband's prick, doing her best to make her mouth a tight vacuum for him. He'd already cum this way twice this morning, and was still soft, but she was doing her very best to get him willing for a third round.

Two days after the therapy session, Robin and Michael had had a long talk about the future of their relationship. Robin had agreed very strongly that she had been extremely unfair to him, and the two had come up with a series of rules that she would follow from now on, in order to help make up for her past behavior. No punishment or consequence for breaking any of these rules was ever brought up by either of them, nor was there a need to. If the first session with Dr Taylor had not been enough, the second had ensured that Robin was very, very eager to show what a good wife she could be.

That session had occurred the very day after the first, when she had run away from home. She'd gone straight to the house of her best friend Molly and her husband, collapsed into their arms sobbing, and called the police. The two men who'd arrived several minutes later drove a police car and wore police uniforms, but once in the house they'd tasered all three of them, handcuffed them, and dragged them into the back of their car.

Robin had never seen the husband again. Molly she never saw in person, but her husband showed her a photo once that he claimed came from somewhere in South America. In it, a pretty woman with dead eyes was at the center of a gangbang, three men inside her and dozens more waiting their turn. It wasn't easy to recognize her best friend, what with her shaved hair, badly bruised face, and the obscene tattoos all over her body that advertised cheap holes in several different languages, but she managed.

Robin herself had been transported directly to Dr Taylor's office. As part of her repeat lesson, he had surgically inserted a tracking device into her back, without anesthetic of course. It was close enough to her spine that any attempt to dig it out herself was far more likely to result in permanent paralysis than anything else. Except when deactivated by her husband to take her out, the tracker would send an alert whenever she was more than a few feet away from her home.

It was an effective but completely unnecessary disincentive. Robin had come to a greater understanding of the world as she'd screamed and sobbed and shuddered through Dr Taylor's attentions. She'd realized that when you got right down to it, what was truly important in life wasn't beauty, or money, or even happiness. No, the most important thing in life was to never ever have to see Dr Taylor again. And the safest way to ensure was to be the best wife her husband could ask for.

Robin continued sucking on Michael's cock, even though it was clear that he wasn't going to be getting erect again any time soon. “Sorry, love,” he said eventually,” but I think that's all the sperm you get for now. Would you like to finish your breakfast?”

She nodded, her lips still wrapped around the base of his dick, and felt it twitch slightly before erupting with a hot spray of urine. Robin swallowed quickly, anxious not to let a drop escape.

The stream of piss went on for a minute before slowing to a trickle, and Robin finished by sucking the last few drops out of his urethra.

“Mmm,” she purred, trying not let the nausea show. “My love had such a delicious meal for me.”

Michael relaxed back on the bed, his head propped up by a pillow. “What would you like to do now, dear?”

Her mind worked, trying to think of the right answer. “I... I could play with myself.”

He gave her a teasing smile. “You could do that, or you'd like to do that?”

“I'd love to play with myself!” she corrected, mentally cursing herself for the mistake. “I'm such a stupid slut, I just get confused sometimes!”

Thankfully, he didn't follow up on the error, just settled into his position and motioned her to get started. Robin crouched on the bed, an uncomfortable position that gave him a good view, and tried not to wince as she began fingering her asshole. In the weeks since her obedience training with Dr. Taylor, her backdoor had been used frequently and roughly by her husband. She'd eagerly agreed with him that her pussy should only be used for special occasions from now on, and masturbation didn't qualify.

It didn't take long for her asshole to widen enough to fit three fingers. As her husband watched happily, she licked them clean and replaced them with the large black dildo he'd bought for her the other day. Her anus felt like it was about to rip in two, but she didn't let that stop the wide smile plastered across her face as she pumped herself vigorously.

She couldn't cum from stimulation like this, and they both knew it. Even if there was any pleasure in the rough reaming she was giving herself, he wouldn't permit her to cum. They'd decided that after all the withholding she'd done, it was only fair that he be the only one to orgasm for the foreseeable future. The only purpose of this masturbation farce were his amusement and her humiliation.

But that was okay, she reminded herself. It was all perfectly fine for him to treat her like garbage. He could hurt her, humiliate her, piss in her, whatever he wanted, as long as it made him happy. As long as it kept Dr Taylor away.

“You know, dear, I think I'm ready for another round after all,” Michael told her after several long minutes had passed, and she could see that he was correct, his stiffening dick rising to point at the ceiling.

“Wh-whatever you want, my love,” she managed, still fucking her own ass. “Your wife would be delighted to drink more of your delicious seed.”

“Nah,” he said flatly. “Enough of that for now. I wanna fuck your butthole some more.”

“How... how wonderful!” she said, and began pulling the dildo out of her.

“No no no,” he said at once. “I didn't tell you to take your toy out.”

“But...” she looked at him questioningly. “How am I...” His only answer was an eager grin.

Robin's face contorted with misery for a moment, before she forced the expression away and crawled closer to her husband. She crouched over him, both of her hands pulling at her cheeks, spreading herself as wide as she could. He slid off on the first few tries, but then she managed to get the head wedged in.

Robin let out a soft gurgle of pain as she sank down on her husband, her asshole stretching farther than it ever had to accommodate a second dick. She looked up at the ceiling, feeling as though she was about to be split in two.

“Something wrong, love?” Michael asked innocently. “I'm used to you bouncing for joy at getting your ass stuffed.”

Robin whimpered but obeyed, slowly swinging her hips up and down. The agony didn't so much lessen as it did became familiar, a constant presence that she could tolerate only because there was no other choice.

Meanwhile, her husband was moaning in pleasure, enjoying the incredible friction of her tortured guts. “Aww, yeah! I was worried you were starting to get loose back here, babe, but oh! You're so fucking tight like this!”

“Th-thank you dear,” Robin managed. “I... I love being able to please you... that's all I want...”

It didn't take long for his load to spurt inside her, not a drop of it escaping her plugged hole. Once he'd pulled out, she obediently cleaned him up with her mouth. The taste of her own asshole had become long familiar by now, if no less unpleasant.
“Leave your toy in there for now,” Michael told her. “I love the way you waddle while it's inside you. Perhaps next time I fuck your asshole, we'll see if having a second dildo in your cunt makes it even more fun.”

“That's a great idea,” she agreed, trying not to cry. “It makes me so happy when I can be a good fuck for my husband.”

“A good fuck?” he said skeptically. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves, dear. Tight fuckholes or not, you've still got a long way to go before you're competent. Have you been slacking off on your practices?”

“No, my love,” Robin said. “I do them all day, just like you want.” They'd remodeled one of the guest rooms of the house into what he mockingly called her “exercise” room. While he was at work, she'd spend hours there watching selected pornography to study the kind of techniques he liked, and practicing them with the help of an assortment of dildos and other sex toys. A webcam set up in one corner allowed her husband to check in on her anytime without her knowing. If he spotted her absent or not practicing with enough enthusiasm, that would be grounds for punishment later.

Last week's theme had been bondage. She'd learned and executed a variety of self bondage techniques that had left her bound and helpless for the rest of the day, with nothing to do but smile into the webcam and wait to be used when Michael returned. The week before that had been titfucking, and the valley of her breasts was still red after hours and hours of use. She didn't know what this week's was going to be yet, only that it would be painful and humiliating and she would try her very best.

Michael grunted, as though he didn't quite believe her, but said nothing further. No doubt he'd be checking the stream more often than usual today, hoping to catch her slacking. He rose and started getting dressed, while she gingerly made her way to the kitchen, still naked. They'd agreed that all of her cosmetics, jewelry, and fancy clothes were just wastes of money, and everything she owned had been donated to charity. The closest thing to makeup Robin wore now was her husband's dried cum on her face, and the only jewelry she was allowed dangled from her clit and nipples. As for clothing, she was banned from wearing any in the house, and when they went out she only wore outfits that he had bought for her, indecent pieces that made her look more like his escort than his wife.

While her husband got ready for work, she prepared him a hot breakfast of bacon and eggs, just the way he liked them. He tore into the meal with gusto while she knelt in the corner, waiting for any further instructions.

“Any word from your sister?” he asked while polishing off his plate.

“Yes, love, I spoke to Nicole last night. She... she apologized again for falling asleep while she was over for dinner Tuesday.”

He sniggered. “I told you she wouldn't remember anything! Those roofies work like a charm. And wasn't she a damn good fuck. Did you enjoy sucking her pussy juice off my prick?”

“Y-yes, my love,” she answered obediently. “It was almost as delicious as your semen.”

“Good, good... you know what? Invite her over for the weekend. Convince her to bring her mutt over too. I want to see if I can get him to fuck her while she sleeps.”

“As you wish, my love,” she said weakly. “But, um, I think he's neutered.”

“Really? Damn!” He scowled, then brightened up. “Why don't I get us a dog then? Something big and furry.” He wagged his eyebrows at her. “Something that can keep you company during your lonely days without me.”

Robin's face drained. “Please... please don't make me have sex with a dog. Please, I'll do anything.”

Michael's smile vanished in an instant. “Did you just talk back to me?” he asked, his voice rough.

“No!” she said hurriedly. “No! No! I-I just... I wasn't thinking!” She crawled forward and began frantically kissing his feet. “I'll do whatever my love wants! I'll fuck dogs for you!”

Despite her protests, he pulled out his phone and began dialing. “Dr. Taylor, please.”

“Nooooo,” she whined. “Please! You don't have to do that! Give me a dog to fuck, please!”

She could dimly hear the voice on the other end. “Hello? This is Jonathan Taylor. With whom am I speaking?\"

“This is Michael Miller. My wife needs another session.”

“Certainly, Mr. Miller. May I ask where she was lacking?”

“She didn't want to fuck a dog.”

“I do!!” Robin screamed, hoping she'd be heard through the phone. “I do want to fuck dogs!”

“Ahh, I understand.,” said Dr Taylor. “Now, I trust you are aware that your current payment plan does not cover additional sessions? There will be a fee required.”

“Yeah, don't worry. She's got a sister.”

“Excellent, excellent. I believe I can rearrange my schedule and be there within the hour. I will contact you later tonight to arrange the pickup.”

Michael ended the call, then looked down at Robin, still sobbing and licking his feet. “That's that, then. I never liked Nicole much anyway. Stuck up bitch.”

“M-me neither, my love,” Robin agreed, trying to wipe away her tears. “I, I hope Dr Taylor enjoys her.”

Her husband finished his breakfast, and got ready to leave. “Give the doctor my regards,” he said as he opened the front door. “And when I get home tonight, we'll put our heads together and see what new rules might make up for that outburst of yours.”

“That sounds wonderful, love,” Robin said, feeling like she was about to throw up.

It felt like no time at all passed before the door opened again, and the unassuming figure of Dr Taylor appeared, pulling a rolling suitcase behind him. He greeted her with a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Miller. I believe we'll hold today's lesson in the kitchen, if you will.”

Robin moved numbly, allowing herself to be seated on a kitchen chair. Running or disobeying never even crossed her mind. She'd seen what he was capable of when in a good mood; the idea of what he might do to her if he was in a bad one was so horrifying that her head refused to even consider any action that might lead to it.

Dr Taylor set his suitcase down on the kitchen table, opened it, and withdrew several coils of rope, which he used to bind her arms and legs to the chair. Then he began to withdraw more items and place them on the table: a pair of needle nosed pliers, a long knotted strip of leather, the cattle prod, and many others. Robin watched silently as the collection of torture instruments grew. Each one felt more familiar than her own face by now. She knew exactly how they would be used, exactly why they would be used, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The last few items were new, and these he placed prominently on the table, where she could easily see them. First was a tightly coiled line of barbed wire. “This,” he said as he placed it, “will be for not being grateful at the opportunity for bestiality.” Next was a bottle of hot sauce. “This will be for questioning your husband's decision to request another session with me.” Next was a Phillips head screwdriver. “This will be for raising your voice while your husband was on the phone.”

Finally, he produced a small cylindrical object from the suitcase. He pressed a button on its side, and a small blue flame emanated from one end. He studied it for a moment, then nodded and closed the suitcase. Dr Taylor turned to her, blowtorch still in hand, and approached. “And this one will not be punishment,” he said, just before he began. “It is not because of any inappropriate action or flaw in your character. This, Mrs. Miller, I do simply because I can.”

Robin never required another session after that day, and the Miller marriage went on to last many more years.

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