The Thumper clan is enjoying the extended 4th weekend at the family lake-side rabbit warren (first referenced in the three part saga, Crossing the Rubicon). It’s a smaller than usual family gathering. Only me, Belle, offspring, and Belle’s parents. In the in-law lottery, I have to say I did pretty well. They’re great people.
In any event, Belle was luxuriating on the couch on the screen porch while I sat at the other end with her feet on my lap. It was just the two of us, so I started to massage her feet. After a little while, her mother came in the porch and sat down in another chair. Then her dad showed up. All four of us sitting there, and me sort of absentmindedly rubbing Belle’s feet.
“Does your husband often massage your feet?” my mother-in-law asked Belle.
“Oh, yes. Several times a week. Whenever I want.”
Now, there’s nothing especially odd about a husband rubbing his wife’s feet, but the act, for me, is connected to my submissive side. To hear my Belle discuss is so calmly, that I not only rub her feet but do so several times a week. Whenever she asks. I admit, I was feeling very self-conscious.
“In fact,” Belle continued, “he even got some special foot cream to rub my feet with. He’ll massage my feet, my neck, my back. He’s a wonderful husband.”
I changed the subject.
Later that night, I massaged her feet properly: With lotion and no prying eyes from the in-laws. As usual, she was fully dressed in her bedclothes while I was naked except for whatever she chose to have attached to her cock. In this case, the chrome cock ring. I was down at her feet, kneeling, with her feet in the V-shaped space created by my legs.
“I think my mom’s jealous about the whole foot massage thing,” Belle said lazily.
“Hrmmm,” I replied. I’m very fond of my mother-in-law, but any connection between her and my sex life is a non-starter.
I gave her the best massage I could. My hands, already strong, seem to be getting stronger with all the rubbing she’d been having me do. In the past, I’d be aching from the effort after 15-20 minutes, but not any more.
When I was done, I was laying next to her and feeling a great swell of sexual desire build within me. I’m still being punished so didn’t except any Thumper-centric action, though I held out hope I’d be able to watch her pleasure herself.
“Is there any thing else I can do for you?” I asked. I ask that and, I’m sure, she hears “can we have some kind of sex now?” but I really and truly do want to know if there’s anything other than sex I can do for. And, of course, I want to know if we can have some kind of sex.
“No, I’m good, Thumper. Thank you for the foot massage.”
“Thank you for letting me give it to you,” I sincerely replied. I crave contact with her. I crave the opportunity to give her any kind of pleasure, even if it’s not sexual. When I’m as deep in my headspace as I have been the past few days, brimming with roiling sexual desire and a full charge of static submissiveness, being able to touch her skin in a pleasurable (for her) way calms me.
That being said, I thought I’d try my luck at a little somethin’.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“What is it, Thumper?”1
“Can you hit me? In the nuts?”
She took her finger and ran it over my scrotum, the cock ring making it and its contents more prominent than usual, and then down the length of the turgid cock. She took my breath away.
“Oh, no, Thumper. He’s in a time out, isn’t he? He’s been bad…”
“But,” I stammered, grappling with the sensation of her finger on my neglected flesh, “you made me come. It wasn’t his fault.”
“I know, but you didn’t have permission. So no, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I don’t want to hear your pathetic whining, either.”
“I’m sorry, Belle Fille.”
1 We really do call each other Thumper and Belle Fille, even in real life. I don’t have any other kind of honorific to use with her like “goddess” or “mistress”, so I always call her Belle Fille when I’m feeling the submissive mojo.↩