Pussycat And Cream

Pussycat And Cream

The glorious – and terribly sadistic – Miss Irene Clearmont brings us another story of female pre-eminence and male pusillanimity.

This time it’s a supposedly loving wife who shows her man his true destiny.

And it’s NOT as the husband to whom she vowed her love.

Contains: chastity, cuckoldry, and LOTS of male submission.


Part 1 – Cuckold

Wish to Come True

One last push, the one that counted! His hips pressing down hard, his arms propping him up as he fucked her. He felt the flood, held back for a moment and then spewing into her as he gasped and then it was over, pulling back and sensing her disinterest.

“Finished?” she asked and Terry nodded slightly.



Terry rolled off her and slid to lie by his wife’s side to stare at the flickering light of the candle on the ceiling. She always lit a candle and turned the light out when they fucked. They lay inert, each with their own thoughts rolling in their heads and Pauline lifted a little to blow out the flame.

The silence was deafening. It filled the room, filled their infrequent encounters and put a wall up that always seemed to be impossible to breach.

“We need to do something different…”

As soon as Terry had spoken the words he regretted them. Not a good idea, to put the first thought in his head into words.


Pauline sounded tired, or was that just boredom? Now that Terry had broached the subject on his mind he was obliged to answer even though a conversation in the dark nearly always led to self-recrimination and blame.

“Sex,” he said. “There has to be something else.”

“Like what?”

Terry was stumped. It seemed so totally difficult to put emotions into words. How could he express the hole in their marriage? How could he possibly tell her that what he wanted was spice and all things nice? Worst of all, how could he tell Pauline that what he was talking about was simply her seeming indifference to his needs?

“I mean… now that the children are gone, you are working again and all that…” The words were so difficult to say for him. “What I mean is that we need to find that spark that turns us both on.”

There was silence. It only lasted a few seconds but it closed around the couple and penetrated their psyches. At last she answered, turning towards him, rolling onto her side and almost whispering.

“What you mean is you want me to do more?”

Terry felt his courage dwindle and he sighed theatrically. The accusation was to the point, but he needed a way to turn it back. There would not be a better time.

“I just want you to enjoy it more, that’s all. I want it for you because I love you and I want you to feel loved!”

Pauline moved again. Now she was wide awake, her husband had engaged her attention fully and she had him in a corner of his own making. All she had to do was to give him the rope that he needed to hang himself.

“Don’t you think that I want more?”

Her question put him in the frame, the answer would be interesting.

“I know that you do! It’s just that we are getting into such a rut. All I want is for us to shake it up a little and play a little more.”

The chuckle that came from the dark unnerved Terry and he added to his comment with a lame conclusion that just caused more chuckling.

“You know, a little spice in our sex lives…”

“Now you are starting to sound like a Cosmopolitan magazine agony aunt,” said Pauline. “What’s it going to be? Massage oils? Vibrators and sexy dessous, or do you want to roll some dice and see what happens next?”

“Maybe,” he ventured. “Something like that.”

The truth was that he had watched too much perfectly staged porn and he wanted something more than was offered in advice pages, but he could not articulate it without feeling inane.

“Ah,” said Pauline. “After twenty-five years of marriage, children and careers. A house and family, the husband wants more!”

“It was for you,” said Terry. “I just feel that you are not interested anymore and I need to have a reboot.”

The silence descended again. It closed him down and left him scared of the conversation. Pauline was not interested anymore and she would not even respond. They would roll over, slip into slumber and in the morning light every word would be forgotten. In the darkness, he could almost make out her form against the faint light that glowed through the bedroom curtains. She loomed over him and he could almost imagine the faint ironic smile on her lips.

Terry was almost at the point of nestling into the pillows and giving up when Pauline’s hand slipped through the sheets and slid over his flaccid cock.

“You are right,” she said at last as her fingers explored the wet skin. “Why not? But…”

“But what?”

“If it is me that is indifferent, me that needs to change gear, then you have to agree to my ideas to regain my interest!”

“Of course, that’s what I want.”

“No, it isn’t,” she answered. “You want some panting and writhing woman under you who begs for more! You want to prove to yourself that you still have your mojo. The next thing will be the sports car and you’ll be dressing like an adolescent.”

“Me? A mid-life crisis?”

His chuckle seemed to annoy his wife even though the idea of a sweet little two-seater sports car had been on his mind. The tone of her voice changed and she cut through his irony with a stern reply.

“If we are going to play games, then it’s by my rules!”

“I’ll try…”

“No, you won’t! You’ll do as you’re told,” she said. “I’ll think about it and all you have to do is to agree to anything that I decide that I want.”


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