Hi, welcome to the latest episode of Mistress Mia's
Dungeon. I'm your Hostess, Mistress Mia,
and this is Mistress Mia's Bedtime Stories.
This is Part 2 of Choices on Gag utopia.com written by King Beer
Butt and it begins. I can tell you that extracting
the code from this video was a nightmare by itself.
Seeing my wife and Alex going at it was not everything I thought
it was going to be. Sometimes it was my wife only
with her toys. It went on for hours.
I had to concentrate, focus on my attention to her moaning in
order to not miss any numbers. I needed to keep a close look on
her body to not miss any written numbers.
It must have taken me about two or three whole iterations to
watch and get it correct. My Dick was straining in its
metal prison and the impartial erections made the new piercing
hurt. It seemed to get better over the
time though. In the beginning, my erection
tried to break the belt, forcing parts of my glands to protrude
through the bars that sealed the front of the tube.
Even worse, four or five hours into the porn marathon she had
forced upon me, my Dick started to leak what looked like slimy
little tears of pure frustration, helplessness,
agony. I must have looked like some
pervert straight out of a Japanese hentai cartoon,
considering I had her well worn thong over my face the entire
time. Speaking about the thong, I
really have to admit, her scent was intoxicating.
I never really noticed it before, and when I first put
that fabric in front of my nose, it hit me like a ton of bricks,
but I got sidetracked. Sorry for that.
Anyway, so over the hours all of this, it got better.
My penis stopped leaking at some point, and the once raging
erection seemed to calm down to 1/2 of a stiffy, radiating
solely acceptance and defeat. It was probably an attempt,
maybe a number 10, when the key safe's internal lock clicked,
revealing the brass key to the next room.
We'd used the room to which door it belonged for storing our
garden supplies. I thought, well, that was a
little luck. I could find some tools to break
out of the basement in there, but even more importantly, it
was the existence of a small water hose inside to allow for
easier cleaning of the utilities we stored there.
Maybe I could finally get a little humanity back by taking a
shower, getting rid of the sweat, the filth, and the blood
that had accumulated all over my whole ordeal.
Sure, the water was probably cold as ice, but I couldn't wait
to open the door. I rushed to the corridor, not
even turning off the TV, and unlocked the door.
Surprisingly, the room was almost empty.
A load of sandbags were still piled up in one corner.
At least the hose is still there, I thought quickly.
I searched some drawers and boxes, but found that all of my
power tools and even hammers were gone.
There was no short cut out of this basement.
I became a little suspicious and wondered what my cruel wife had
in store for me this time. Well, on the pile of sandbags I
found a letter telling me the code for the next room and how
simply the weight of all sandbags combined in this room
was the combination. She'd glued a scale to the floor
in the opposite corner of the room where I could measure the
weight of each bag. Furthermore, another sealed bag
containing a probably worn thong of hers was attached, which I
could smell while doing the task.
My shortcut oriented manager brain was delivering great ideas
and I really tried to take an easy way, but I couldn't think
of one. I compared the weight of the
topmost bags. Maybe I could just weigh 1 and
count the number of bags, but unfortunately they were all
filled with different amounts of sand.
How clever of her. Even counting them was difficult
as some gaps were deliberately placed in each layer.
Finally, I thought about at least bringing the scale close
to the pile, but upon checking she fixed it to the ground, I
saw that she had glued the electrics of the scale to screws
protruding from the floor. Removing this was a chance of
destroying the scale, eliminating my chance for
escape. My fate was sealed.
I had to carry each bag over the scale, weigh it, write down the
number, and put it away. I was glad that I had some paper
in the pen leftover from the last Test.
The task itself didn't have any sexual context to it, but it was
pure fucking manual labor. Now.
To be honest, I was even kind of relieved that I didn't have to
do anything sexual anymore and even got access to an improvised
shower. I opened the sealed bag, put her
thong over my nose, and instantly felt that warmth again
in my lungs as I began inhaling her essence.
Carrying 700 lbs of sandbags around was extremely hard work,
especially for an office worker like me.
It took me in total two sleeps to get that one done.
I must have consumed at least 5 liters of water before hitting
the cold shower after I became too exhausted to continue.
The key safe did not open on the first attempt, but I quickly
figured that the scale was probably a bit inaccurate and
try to range, you know, minus, you know, 20 or so pounds.
Having the first two numbers fixed correctly was the most
important thing. After I finally had the key to
the next room in my hands, my whole body was aching.
I mean, how many bags of sand? And then I was so fucking
exhausted. Every muscle seemed to be
burning. This was probably the hardest
thing I'd ever done as as far as work in my life.
It had taken its toll. I was out of shape, my lower
backs felt stiff and I could barely raise my hands over my
head. Despite the physical pain,
though, I felt a sense of accomplishment after moving that
much sand. Sure, my crew wife took my balls
off of me, but I could still achieve and work like a man.
Also, with all the soreness in my limbs, the realization that I
had felt pain neither in my anal region nor at my Dick was
cheering me up. I was pushing through this
ordeal and crawling my way back into freedom.
It was surprising, but it felt good for the first time in what
must have been decades. Motivated by this find, and even
though I'm still ashamed to admit the possibility to have a
chance to find another one of her marvelous Lacy thongs with
the mesmerizing smell of her pussy embedded, I I push myself
through the corridor. The next room was a small home
gem. My box was right there, placed
in the middle of the room, directly under the spot of the
light bulb that radiated orange colored warm light.
On top of the box a large brown envelope was placed.
It really surprised me not to find another letter or
instructions, but it seemed like copied pages of some kind of
diary. The pages looked like they had
been written on an old typewriter.
Clearly this person also knew the charm and beauty of retro.
A few years ago I bought an ancient typewriter from England
before the war and it was really unique.
I'd used it for important letters.
I thought it was nostalgic, you know, classy.
When I started reading through the pages, I couldn't believe my
eyes. The diary started on the day I
raped my wife. It was written by me and was
brutally explicit. It was sickening.
It contained every detail of what happened that evening, even
filling some blanks in my own mind that the alcohol left.
I skipped some pages and found myself writing and regretting
and reading through my deeds and wanting to suffer for my wife in
order to do penance in meticulous detail.
The pages contained how I wanted to punish myself for the crime I
committed, how I wanted to either die or trying to atone
for my sins or live my future without having another orgasm or
even my balls for the rest of my life.
I found the bill for my Dick torturing device.
It was all paid for by my credit card and delivered to my address
weeks ago while my alter ego was battling his conscience whether
he should put himself under this punishment or rather just
continue living with the feeling of guilt or even just get a
divorce. I was in total shock realizing
she must have forged all of this on my typewriter while I was
working. Old typewriters are pretty
unique. It's nearly impossible to forge
documents on a different typewriter.
Still, some of the pages even had my signature on them.
The content was credible, the details were scary, and no one
would ever believe me. I had been framed.
My chances at getting my revenge were non existent anymore.
I put the sheets back into the envelope and opened the box.
A letter was on the top of the back and a plastic bag.
I decided to read the letter first.
Hello Gilding, I hope you enjoyed reading your diary that
you have been writing for the last few months.
Over the last few weeks when you became more and more emotionally
unstable and guilt ridden by your conscience, I was so
worried about your health that I even told my therapist several
times. He told me to focus on my
recovery for the rape 1st and still he didn't understand why I
declined filing a report with the police.
But being the good housewife that I am, I really believed in
our marriage. You know, that's also why I
couldn't tell any doctor of yourself hate.
Every judge in this country would understand that.
And believe me, Alex, who helped me out tremendously by getting
your signatures on some of these pages, Well, you were mindlessly
signing other contracts. And it would just, it would work
out in court so well because even my therapist should show
written proof that me worrying about you and your sanity over
the last few months, it was a consistent thing.
I'm not even sure if you really still crave revenge, but I know
it's been some time since you lost your source of testosterone
anyway. And in the water canisters, they
weren't just, you know, water. I added a generous dosing of HRT
meds, just a little bit of Valium and a mine hallucinogen
to make the transfer easier and quicker.
This is the last Test for you, whether you really deserve to be
set free and a decision you have to make.
The test is either easy or hard depending on how much you love
me and know me. In the black plastic bag on the
back are 12 worn panties, individually sealed in a plastic
bag after orgasm. One of them is mine. 10 are from
several of your affairs. Alex managed to track down all
of them and asked for this one little favour.
And the last one. The last pair of panties is
Alex's. Each bag has a number written on
it. If you find mine, slip the empty
bag with the correct number under the main basement door.
If you put the correct number there, we'll open the door.
We'll check the door every once in a while.
And since you're not going anywhere, it is we because Alex
moved in with us and she's the new stallion in this house.
Now the final choice you have to make is the following.
You can either leave this house, get a divorce, and find some
locksmith to open the chastity belt you're wearing.
As long as you leave peacefully and I get 80% of the money, no
one will ever find your diary or find out about the rape
incident. Or you can stay in this house as
a gelding. People will think you're living
the dream, having two hot women in your house and a successful
career on the outside. Since the purpose of a gelding
is working only anyway, this is fine for us as long as you also
do the housework now. Now we will make sure you never
have another orgasm as long as you're here with us, or ever for
that matter. Furthermore, what we do to your
body or soul will be of no concern to you.
We demand total obedience in return.
Assuming good behaviour, you'll get the privilege to bring us to
an orgasm with your tongue or suck Alex's stallion.
Strap on now. If you want to leave, just pass
the test. If you want to stay, though,
there is a locking titanium collar on the bottom of the box,
to which we only have the key. Put it on. close the lock to
seal the deal. Choose wisely, gelding love Mare
Marjorie PS As an additional bonus, if you find Alexis Thong
correctly, you may put it on and get an additional reward, a
first impression of what's in store for you.
What I had read in that letter took a while to sink in.
They drugged me, made me castrate myself, and now they
had the guts to ask me whether I wanted to stay with them as
they're gelding and even allow them to commit further cruelties
to me. I should be incredibly mad, but
somehow I just couldn't bring myself to it.
I lost my balls already. Nothing would bring them back,
and I couldn't get revenge if I wanted to.
I mean, honestly, I didn't go to jail for rape, and I could have.
With an upcoming divorce. I probably couldn't continue my
demanding job and I would have to start over at a lower
position. And then what?
But it was even more than that. When I was carrying these
sandbags around, I felt happy. I had liked the hard manual
labor since it gave my existence a purpose.
I wasn't entirely sure if I could find that on my own
anymore. Moreover, it became clear to me
that I was really fond of following orders.
It boiled my otherwise so complicated life.
It uncomplicated it down to a simple life.
It was a clear goal to work towards and she had proved her
word was reliable so far. And finally, I can't deny this,
I really yearned for the smell and taste of our actor, even
when dried, since it made my body react all warm and fuzzy.
It dawned on me that every piece of my male stallion ego was
destroyed, my Dick encased in metal, probably even useless
when free by now, my balls completely gone and even my mind
revolved around being given orders, craving to give sexual
attention and doing work. I started to cry and I can't
remember how long I was sitting there crying.
My tears had dissolved some of the paint on the letter and
blurred the lines. I really was an emotional mess.
My nose was blocked, saliva ran out of my gagged mouth.
I reached inside the box, my hands found the collar.
It was sturdy but surprisingly light.
The surface was brushed skilfully, giving it a very nice
satin Sheen. There was something engraved,
proud gelding, serving by choice to achieve true freedom.
After reading the sentence, I teared up again, but it was
different this time. The engraving allowed me to
reflect and brought light and clarity into my mixed up mind.
My need to obey my wife and work was not a defeat or weakness.
It was the strength to impress my real needs outside of the
norms of society where men always compete against each
other over income, jobs, number of sexual partners and even Dick
length. It was my mind.
It was all a delusion, but I was beginning to understand that
exactly what it was. It was way out of my hamster
wheel that male competitive society and how it really was
this battle of male ego which had that fateful day made me
rape Marjorie and it was nothing to be proud of.
I put the collar around my neck and shut it closed.
It closed with a mild clicking sound and could not be easily
opened anymore. My hands followed the warm
titanium ring that now circled my neck.
The quality of the craftsmanship was amazing.
I couldn't even find the same where the lock closed with my
fingertips. If you're still wondering
whether I found the thong that belonged to my wife, I can
assure you that this test was the easiest of them all,
especially after I had followed her advice and smelled her.
For the last couple of days, I haven't found one which smelled
totally unknown to me, and decided to try my luck at
guessing it was Alex's again. It seemed to pay off to listen
to her again, further reinforcing me that I made the
correct choice. I put her thong into my mouth,
took the empty bag #5 and slipped it under the main
basement door. And this is the epilogue.
It felt like an eternity before the door finally open.
Alex and my wife were there smiling when they saw me wearing
the collar, the pink frilly thong in my mouth, and a black
Lacy thong over my chastity cage.
Also, I was kneeling in front of the door since I thought that
was the appropriate way to await them.
They ordered me to use the garden room and to hose off,
clean up completely again and then follow them.
When we entered their living room, my wife was still smiling
at me and told me we just need a few more things taken care of.
Don't worry, everything will be fine.
The arrangements took us a day so we decided to open the door
later. They led me to the garage and
opened the trunk of my wife's Escalade.
It was equipped with a metal box, usually for transporting
our dog, but looked like something smaller for me.
Get in, we need to take a trip. I squeezed into the box on all
fours and couldn't even get a centimeter when Alex managed to
close and lock the gate. I tried to settle inside the box
but it was it was so tight, but she ordered me to stay so I sat
still. I shrieked when I noticed her
pushing the lubed stallion Dick into my ass.
It hurt, wasn't pleasant. But I wanted her to continue.
Maybe I could even come that way.
That was when the moment occurred to me.
They told me I was never going to be able to come again.
She removed the dildo without a warning.
I was shaking, wanting more stimulation to finally get an
orgasm after all that had happened.
I mean Alex came to the front of the cage and explained a gelding
in chastity may achieve an orgasm in just prostate
stimulation, but we all agreed that your orgasmers are off
limit forever. I showed your diary to a friend
of mine who happens to be an MD but due to some issues with her
past she works as a vet. She accepted your written a plea
to have your prostate gland removed.
She told us that she has high respect for your choice and that
the removal is a common procedure to remove prostate
cancer, so it barely has any risks at all for you.
Why you're sedated. Her husband, who works at a
piercing collar, will remove your chastity belt and replace
it with a rather small titanium tube.
He'll be welding it to your piercing.
You signed all the paperwork for it already about six weeks ago
in the office. He even told me that he worked
on some spring loaded spring mechanism that'll cut your Dick
off immediately if you ever try to remove the tube.
I'm totally unsure whether he'll bring that thing or not, but
we'll just have to find out now won't we?
I was complaining that I didn't even know there was a chance for
orgasms from that, but probably only murmuring left the gag.
My wife then told me this ending up exactly like this in this box
today is a direct result of your choices.
This last near orgasm experience was the first part of the reward
for finding out Alex's song correctly.
I really think you enjoyed that last bit of sexual excitement.
I told you to choose wisely, and I really hope that you can be
happy without any future fun for yourself.
There's no turning back now, and deep down you know it's just the
right thing to do. To make it easier for you.
I'll give you the second part of your reward now, and if you're
good gelding, maybe even more. When we get home, we'll still
have two weeks of holiday left, and we prepared a room in the
basement just for you, your own stable.
She lifted her skirt and pulled down her thong after forming a
small ball out of it, she rubbed it along her glistening godly
pussy in front of my face before handing it to Alex.
She also used a compressed fabric of Marge's underwear to
gather some of her heavenly nectar from between her legs.
Intermenningly putting both of their juices together, she
removed the old thong from my mouth and stuffed the new one
and their combined juices into my mouth.
My anger was immediately gone. This was exactly where I belong
now, below the feet of these two heavenly creatures.
I inhaled through my mouth and their aromas together put my
mind into total bliss. I couldn't be happier with any
amount of coke hookers or money. This was my sweet space, my safe
haven, my home, the end. Thank you again for listening
and may all your fantasies become realities.