EPISODE 3: “The Rules of Her House”
She didn’t just take my power. She made me beg for less.
I woke up alone.
She wasn’t beside me.
She was upstairs, sleeping in his arms — her Bull — still dripping with pleasure from the night before.
And me?
Locked in my tiny cage… aching… lying on the floor like a forgotten pet.
On the nightstand, a collar… and a note:
“You’re no longer my husband. You’re my property.
Here are the new rules.”
My heart dropped.
My cock strained in its steel prison.
And I read…
Rule 1: You don’t speak unless I say so.
Rule 2: You kneel anytime I enter the room — even if I’m with a Bull.
Rule 3: You no longer sleep in a bed. Your place is the floor.
Rule 4: After every session, you lick me clean. Slow. Deep. Grateful.
Rule 5: You never cum. Ever.
Rule 6: You smile through it. Even if it breaks you. Especially when it does.
She walked in later that evening, wearing nothing but heels, her inner thighs still glistening.
I dropped to my knees instantly.
Cage swollen. Soul trembling.
She clipped the collar on. Tight. Heavy.
“My pet.”
She whispered it like poison and pleasure at once.
“My owned little cuck.”
Then she bent over the couch and called in her Bull from the bedroom.
Right in front of me.
He took her. Hard. Raw. Moaning. Slapping. Stretching her wide.
She looked at me while he pounded her.
“Does it hurt, baby? Watching him fill what you never could?”
“Good. Stay hard for me — forever.”
When he came, deep inside her, she stayed bent over.
“Crawl here.”
I obeyed.
She grabbed my hair, pulled my face in, and whispered:
“Now lick. Lick your Queen clean. Lick your replacement’s cum out of me.”
And I did.
Tears running.
Tongue worshipping.
Because this is love in her world: filthy, degrading, and divine.
She didn’t just take my power. She made me beg for less.
I woke up alone.
She wasn’t beside me.
She was upstairs, sleeping in his arms — her Bull — still dripping with pleasure from the night before.
And me?
Locked in my tiny cage… aching… lying on the floor like a forgotten pet.
On the nightstand, a collar… and a note:
“You’re no longer my husband. You’re my property.
Here are the new rules.”
My heart dropped.
My cock strained in its steel prison.
And I read…
Rule 1: You don’t speak unless I say so.
Rule 2: You kneel anytime I enter the room — even if I’m with a Bull.
Rule 3: You no longer sleep in a bed. Your place is the floor.
Rule 4: After every session, you lick me clean. Slow. Deep. Grateful.
Rule 5: You never cum. Ever.
Rule 6: You smile through it. Even if it breaks you. Especially when it does.
She walked in later that evening, wearing nothing but heels, her inner thighs still glistening.
I dropped to my knees instantly.
Cage swollen. Soul trembling.
She clipped the collar on. Tight. Heavy.
“My pet.”
She whispered it like poison and pleasure at once.
“My owned little cuck.”
Then she bent over the couch and called in her Bull from the bedroom.
Right in front of me.
He took her. Hard. Raw. Moaning. Slapping. Stretching her wide.
She looked at me while he pounded her.
“Does it hurt, baby? Watching him fill what you never could?”
“Good. Stay hard for me — forever.”
When he came, deep inside her, she stayed bent over.
“Crawl here.”
I obeyed.
She grabbed my hair, pulled my face in, and whispered:
“Now lick. Lick your Queen clean. Lick your replacement’s cum out of me.”
And I did.
Tears running.
Tongue worshipping.
Because this is love in her world: filthy, degrading, and divine.