The poor sap is back!

Okay, for the past few months, while I've posted new material, I've also been giving "Sensei" a complete edit -- smoothing out some things here, rewriting passages here, to make a cohesive novel. I'm finally done. Hope you enjoy it!!!

peace,

c.w.

>What happens when a man who fantasizes about surrendering his place in his family meets someone willing and able to actually take it?

 

 

 

BOOK ONE

Prologue

 

I’m not the man I used to be. Hell, I’m not even a man anymore.

That isn’t an analogy. I’m literally not a man anymore.

Everything changed after the devil wormed his way into my life and wouldn’t leave.

Well, actually, I invited him in. It’s all my fault.

Telling the truth triggered my downfall. After years of marriage and three children, I finally opened up to Monica and confessed my “submissive cuckold” fantasy. That got the ball rolling.

At first, everything was peachy. To my great relief, after I spilled my guts about my cuckold fantasy, my wife didn’t recoil in disgust like I feared she might; quite the opposite, in fact. She surprised me by saying she was turned on by the idea of getting fucked by someone who was bigger, stronger, and better-hung than me — although she stressed it was a playful fantasy only.

While Monica was happy to indulge me in pillow talk, ridiculing my little dick as she whispered in my ear about having sex with imaginary studs, she always said she would never actually do it, being a mother of three who’d had a fairly conservative upbringing.

Stupid me. I kept pushing. And pushing. The desire to see my wife get fucked by a “better man” became an obsession. For some reason, I was compelled by fate to crave the pain of having my wife choose a superior man while rubbing my nose in it.

Well, you know the old cliché: Be careful what you wish for …

After months of my relentless cajoling, Monica finally broke down and agreed to start chatting with other men online, with the caveat that I not bug her about meeting with any of them. And, rather quickly, she became hooked. She loved the attention, the flirtations, the naughtiness of it all.

It didn’t matter what we were doing; she’d be on her phone, texting with one of her “virtual studs,” as she called them. I knew it was getting out of hand when we took the kids to the movies one Saturday and she spent the whole time with her coat in her lap, obscuring her cellphone while she chatted with some guy. The kids were engrossed in the movie, but I sure as hell noticed — and it turned me on like crazy.

In hindsight, I should’ve seen her behavior as a warning sign.

One of her “virtual studs,” Chuck, was a real charmer, and after a few weeks of flirting with him, Monica told me she was ready to take the next step and actually meet him in person. She showed me his picture, and, sure enough, he was everything I wasn’t: tall, handsome, muscular — and, yes, he had a large, meaty cock that put my puny four-incher to shame.

There were butterflies in both of our stomachs in the days leading up to the first date. That night, we hired Monica’s niece to babysit and drove to the hotel where we’d arranged to meet Chuck. As we sat in the spacious lobby on an overstuffed pleather couch, my hands were sopping wet with sweat, and my shirt was completely soaked through. I could tell Monica was nervous, too; she kept smiling for no reason.

Chuck never showed. Monica’s messages went unanswered. He totally ghosted her.

That soured Monica on the whole cuckolding thing, and she vowed she’d never talk to “one of those lying assholes” again.

But it’s funny how life works. Very often, the minute you walk away from something, it has a way of coming back to find you.

And destroy you.

 

Chapter 1

 

The Laf-A-Minute all-ages comedy show was a hit with the kids, and I felt like a hero for having suggested it. But our fun Saturday outing took a turn for the worse on the drive home when the engine started smoking.

I pulled off the next freeway exit, just before the motor made a popping sound and conked out. Luckily, I was able to coast to the curb, so the car wasn’t sitting in the middle of the street.

After making sure the engine wasn’t on fire, I called the insurance company, and got some bad news: The representative told me they were swamped, and that it would be at least three hours before a tow truck arrived. That sent me into a fury, and I screamed at the woman before realizing I was making the situation worse. I apologized and hung up, then hunkered down in the car with my wife and daughters to wait.

Only then did I notice what neighborhood we were in.

Oh, shit. You should’ve stayed on the freeway, Pat — this place is scary.

Monica read my mind.

“Damn, Pat, you would’ve been better off staying on the freeway.”

Kendall reached over the backseat and tugged her mom’s shirt. “I don’t like this place, Mommy.”

“Me neither,” her older sister Brianna said. “It’s like a scary movie or something.”

Taylor, the eldest sibling, pointed toward a graffiti-stained abandoned building. “Those look like gang signs. I bet there’s nothing but gangs around here.”

“It’s going to be okay, guys,” I tried to reassure my family, although the instant the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d failed.

Yeah, right. They heard your voice crack — you’re not fooling anyone, Pat.

Monica gasped. “Crap. That man’s coming our way.”

Everyone craned their necks toward the frightening figure emerging from the alley.

“Don’t look at him,” I warned. “Keep your heads down.”

“He’s got a red bandanna in his pocket,” Taylor whispered. “I bet he’s in a gang.”

“Don’t look at him, Taylor!” I repeated.

The man, whose face was covered with tattoos, strutted up to the car and pounded on the driver’s-side window. “Open the door,” he ordered.

Petrified, I squeezed the steering wheel. 

“If you don’t open the door, I’m gonna drag your ass out.” The man leaned down, peered in the window and ogled Monica and the girls. “Ooh, looky-looky. What do we have here?”

“Pat, do something!” my wife hissed.

“Do what?” I mumbled, trying not to move my lips. “Just don’t look at him; maybe he’ll go away.”

Monica huffed, fumbled in her purse and pulled out the pepper-spray canister she carried everywhere.

“Don’t go out there, honey!”

But she paid me no attention. Once out of the car, she aimed the canister at the man from across the hood.

“Listen, why don’t you leave us the hell alone?”

“Bitch, you better put that shit away.”

Monica shot a stream of the liquid, which hit the man square in the eyes, making him squeal and bend over in half.

“Ahh! I’m gonna kill you, bitch!” he bellowed, flailing his arms around.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my family’s pleas flooding me with shame.

“Get out here, Pat! Help me, damn it!”

“Dad! Go help Mom!”

“He’s gonna get her! Come on, Dad!”

My inner voice screamed, too.

What the hell are you doing? Sitting here like a coward! What kind of a man are you? If you don’t do something now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

“Call 911,” I yelled to my oldest daughter before flinging open my door and, operating on pure adrenaline, lunging toward the wiry thug. I was unable to tackle him, though, and he got me in a tight bearhug from behind, even though he was still blinded. As I struggled to wriggle free, he slid his forearm up my chest to my Adam’s apple and started squeezing. I could feel Monica punching him, but it didn’t seem to have an effect, and I began to black out from lack of oxygen.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard the screech of tires just a few feet away. I opened my eyes and saw a blue SUV pull up, and a lanky man jump out with a murderous glint in his eye. Without a word, he yanked the punk off me and delivered a wicked karate chop to the side of his neck, before unleashing a devastating kick to the jaw that knocked my attacker to the pavement. The man went through the unconscious scumbag’s pockets, pulled out a knife, and left him lying there in la-la land.

The whole thing happened in just a few seconds, and I was in shock as I lay on the sidewalk, unable to move.

Monica held her hand over her mouth and started crying. The benevolent stranger touched her shoulder.

“It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you, I promise. He’s out like a light.”

“T-thank y-y-y-y—”

“It’s okay,” the man repeated, moving his hand down to my wife’s back and patting gently. “Breathe. Slowly. That’s it … breathe. In … out … good. Again. In … out …”

His voice was hypnotic, and it helped Monica calm down.

“Did somebody call the police?” the man asked once my wife’s panic attack had subsided.

“My daughter called 911 a minute ago,” I said from my prone position.

“Who … who are you?” Monica asked, looking up at the chiseled specimen with awe.

“My name’s Steve. I run a dojo not far from here; I was driving by and saw this guy harassing you.”

“Well, that was amazing what you did. I really appreciate it,” Monica said. “There’s no telling what that guy would’ve done. I thought he was going to kill my poor husband.”

Steve offered me a hand. “You okay, there, bud?”

“Yeah, he was choking me pretty bad, but I’m fine now that I got my breath back, thanks,” I said taking the larger man’s hand and letting him help me to my feet.

Monica looked at the unconscious punk. “Are you sure he won’t wake up?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope, he’s zonked.”

With Steve there to ensure safety, Monica called for our daughters, who spilled from the car and hurried to their mom for a group hug.

A familiar feeling of jealousy crawled up my neck.

They ran to HER — they’re not even thinking about you, even though YOU were the one who nearly got choked to death.

As my family cried it out, I sidled up to them and rubbed their shoulders, telling them like I always did that things were going to be okay. And, like they usually did, my kids ignored me.

When we all regained our composure, Steve bent down to be at eye-level with the girls. “So, who is everybody?”

“I’m Kendell!” my youngest daughter announced proudly.

Steve shook her little hand. “And how old are you, Kendell?”

“Five.” She held up five fingers.

“Ooh, next year, you’ll need two hands to count how old you are, huh?”

Kendell giggled, as Steve offered his palm to the middle sibling. “And you are?”

“Brianna,” she blushed.

“How old are you, Brianna?”

“Um, 14.”

“I’m Taylor; I’m 16,” my eldest said before Steve could ask. She was trying to play it cool, but I could see her shiver when the handsome stranger took her by the hand.

Steve turned to my wife. “And, might I ask your name?”

“Monica Cabrini-Robbins. It’s nice to meet you.”

Ugh, he’s not letting go of her hand — and she’s not pulling back, either. They’re lost in each other’s eyes! What the hell’s going on here?

Steve never asked my name.

Assert yourself, damn it. Tell him who you are. Tell him you’re her husband.

Ignoring my inner nag, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and stared at my shoes.

The police came and put the suspect in handcuffs before calling for an ambulance and taking everyone’s statements. Once the EMTs arrived, cuffed the punk to his gurney and drove away, the cops split, too.

Steve smiled at Monica. “I’ve got a buddy who has a tow truck, if you need your car towed.”

“No, my husband called for a truck, although they said it was going to be a few hours still.”

“Well, you can’t wait here. Not alone, anyway. This is a dangerous area.”

Monica sniffed. “Tell me about it.”

“I can wait with you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Monica said.

“It’s no problem. In fact, since the truck won’t be here for a few hours anyway, why don’t we go grab a bite to eat? There’s a great restaurant down the street. A little diner. I go there all the time; their food is delicious. What do you say?”

“Ooh, Mom, can we?” Brianna gushed.

“Can we, Ma?” Taylor asked.

“Sure.” My wife heaved a sigh. “Although I’m still so ramped up, I doubt I’ll be able to eat.”

“They have chamomile tea; it’s perfect for calming nerves,” Steve said.

Monica smiled. “Okay, you talked me into it.”

“Great!” Steve waved his hand toward his SUV. “Hop in. There should be plenty of room for everyone.”

I bowed my head, awash in disgrace.

Well, shit, this guy can see who wears the pants in YOUR family, can’t he? Nobody asked your opinion about going to eat.

The girls got in the backseat, and I slipped into the front next to Monica, who got in the middle between Steve and me.

Taylor tapped Steve on the shoulder from the back. “Are you a black belt?”

Steve nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Which discipline?” I asked.

“Well, three, actually — I hold black belts in Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”

I gulped. “Wow, no joke?”

“Yep, no joke. I’ve been training pretty much all my life.” His muscles rippled as he turned the steering wheel.

My body was pressed against Monica’s, and I could feel her breathing start to flutter.

Oh, my god, she has the hots for him. Why wouldn’t she? Look at him; he’s a fucking god.

Is he the one?

It quickly became clear that what was happening wasn’t just in my mind; the sexual tension in the front seat, with the three of us squeezed together, was palpable.

The kids were oblivious to the dynamic, though, and the questions from the backseat continued.

“How many people have you beat up?” Brianna wanted to know.

Steve chuckled. “I try to avoid fights if I can, honey.”

“Well, you sure kicked that guy’s butt!” Taylor replied.

“But he was trying to hurt your mom and dad,” Steve said as he pulled into the parking lot of a place called McCray’s. “That was one of the times when it’s okay to fight.”

The alpha male parked and led us into the restaurant, stopping at the entrance to hold the door for the family. I was last in line, and as I passed him, he put his hand on my shoulder for a second before following me into the diner. His touch sent an electric jolt through my body.

That’s his way of showing dominance. Putting his hands on you, giving him authority.

Monica and Taylor got to the booth before me, and settled in on either side of Steve, while I grabbed a seat on the other end of the table between my youngest daughters.

“Have you ever broke a board?” Brianna asked. “With a kick, I mean.”

Steve smiled. “Yes, I’ve broken quite a few boards, although I don’t do it much anymore.”

“Do you think you broke that guy’s neck?” Monica shuddered. “His head snapped back after you kicked him, and he didn’t move after that.”

Steve shrugged. “Who cares? He’s a scumbag.”

“Amen to that.” My wife nodded with an angry glint in her eye. “Screw him.”

Taylor looked at the man sitting next to her with awe. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Monica tsked. “Taylor! That’s rude! You don’t ask people that!”

“It’s okay.” Steve smiled and made a goofy face. “I don’t know about killing anyone — but I’d sure kill to have the waitress come! I’m starving!”

The girls cracked up like he’d just told the funniest joke in history.

Well, shit; on top of his good looks and manliness, he’s also great with kids, apparently. He outclasses you in every category, doesn’t he, Pat?

“How tall are you?” Brianna asked, causing me to turn red, since my five-foot-six stature had always been a source of embarrassment.

“Six-foot-four,” Steve said, before impishly adding: “Unless I get a haircut.”

Again, the girls giggled, while Monica laughed way too hard for such a mediocre joke.

“Your daughters are very beautiful,” Steve told my wife.

“Thank you.”

“It’s easy to see where they got their beauty from.”

Monica’s face was flushed as she again thanked our rescuer.

“I’m serious, Monica,” Steve continued, taking her by the hand. “You have a rare kind of beauty.”

The girls looked at each other and giggled, while I played with my fork.

What the fuck! This guy’s making a play for your wife, Pat. That’s different from the cuckold fantasy — the man is flat-out disrespecting you to your face.

Are you going to just sit here like a slug? Do something, damn it!

I did something, all right. With a sigh, I set down my fork, purposely making it clink against the butter knife.

You sure showed them, huh? Coward.

A pretty waitress walked up holding a notepad. “Hey, Steve, who are your friends?”

“Ah, these are some folks I met a few minutes ago. Their car broke down on the side of the road, and they wanted to know where they could get a good meal while they waited for the tow truck.”

“He knocked a man out with a kick!” Brianna added. “The guy was beating up my dad, but Steve kicked his butt!”

I squirmed with embarrassment as the waitress smiled. “Well, you guys are in good company with Steve. He’s like a guardian angel around here. Any time one of the girls feels unsafe, he or one of his students always comes over to escort them to their cars.”

“That’s because I love ya, Bonnie!” Steve said. “Even if your coffee is terrible.”

“Oh, shush!” the waitress said, playfully punching Steve in the arm.

The woman then took our orders, and when she asked if we wanted separate bills, I offered to pick up the whole tab.

When our new friend insisted on paying for his own meal, Monica touched his hand. “Come on, Steve, no way. Let Pat get it — it’s the least we could do. We owe you so much … probably our lives.”

“Oh, okay, put it on one bill, Bonnie.”

The waitress nodded and headed to the kitchen to relay our orders to the cook.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Kendell asked.

“No, honey, I don’t have a girlfriend.” Steve winked at her. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Kendell covered her blushing face with both hands, giggling herself silly.

“Hey, Steve, do you think you could teach me how to fight the way you do?” Taylor asked.

“Of course, I could, honey. We have girls your age in our classes; in fact, one girl, Sally, is scheduled to get her black belt in another six months.”

Breanna tugged his sleeve. “Can you teach me, too?”

“Sure, honey, I can teach all of you.” Steve smiled at my wife. “You, too.”

She smiled back. “Or, maybe I could just hire you as a bodyguard, so I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

“Ooh, mom, could we?” Brianna gushed. “That would be so cool having a bodyguard! Imagine everyone at school, if we showed up with Steve as our bodyguard.”

“She was only joking, stupid.” Taylor smacked her lips.

“Nah, you guys don’t need a bodyguard.” Steve gestured toward me. “You’ve got your dad here.”

“Pfft.” Brianna rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me? No offense, Dad, but you’re not exactly a fighter.”

“Yeah, you saw what happened back there,” Taylor added. “That guy would’ve killed you if Steve didn’t show up.”

“I could teach your dad how to fight, too,” Steve said. “Seriously, we have families that train with us.”

Brianna bounced in her seat. “Mom? Can we?”

“Please?” Taylor seconded, while little Kendell begged, too, although she probably didn’t grasp why she was doing it, other than to emulate her sisters.

I squirmed in my seat, pretending to study the menu.

Please say no, honey. I don’t want this guy teaching our kids. Please say no ….

Monica played with her napkin. “Listen, you guys, we … um, we don’t really have the extra money for something like that.”

I sighed with relief.

“Oh, it’s not too expensive,” Steve said. “I offer family discounts.” He pulled a card from his pocket, slid it across the table, and looked my wife in the eye. “Or, we could work out some other kind of payment arrangement. My cell number’s on there. Call me. I’m flexible. I’d really love to have you, Monica. I mean it.”

My guts churned.

Jeez, this bastard couldn’t be more obvious about his intentions. He’s been flirting with your wife right in front of you — and you’ve sat here like a putz and done nothing about it.

But the queasiness in my belly eventually gave way to the stirring in my loins.

This huge, muscular stud wants to fuck your wife, Pat. This isn’t a fantasy — it’s obviously what he wants.

Her too.

Oh my god. This is it.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

When Monica and I went to bed that night, I asked her if we could have some “play time.” I wanted badly for her to address the elephant in the room, and talk dirty to me about how much she wanted Steve to fuck her. But she said she was too strung out from the day’s events, so I turned off the lamp and rolled over to go to sleep.

I dozed for perhaps ten minutes before I was awakened by a slight rocking motion. Pretending to still be out, I peeked across the mattress at my wife.

She’s fingering herself!

^^^^^^^^^^

On Sunday, the family decompressed from the previous day’s chaos, and it was Steve this, Steve that. The girls never stopped talking about how cool and gorgeous he was, while Monica made it clear she was serious about enrolling herself and our daughters in his self-defense classes.

I wasn’t quite so enthusiastic.

He’s everything you’d hoped to find — tall, handsome, charismatic. But he’s just too perfect. Listen to your gut, Pat; something’s off about that guy.

I found my wife relaxing in bed watching tennis and approached her with my concerns.

“Look, I know Steve seems like a nice guy and everything, but I think he’s getting a little too friendly too fast,” I said.

She muted the TV and shot me a smoldering stare. “He was flirting with me like crazy yesterday,” she replied, broaching the subject for the first time.

Blood drained from my face. “Y-yes, he was. Did you … um fantasize about him?”

“Don’t play stupid, Pat. I know you were awake last night.”

I blinked. “Um, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why did you pretend to be asleep?”

“You told me you were too keyed up from yesterday to do anything.”

“Well, after I relaxed for a while, I calmed down. And you were sleeping. At first, anyway.”

My hand found its way under my sweats. “Did you fantasize about him … um, fucking you?”

“What do you think?”

I removed my hand from my dick. “Listen, honey, this is all great for a fantasy — but if anything ever happens with this guy, we need to be really careful. If you ever did take a lover, I wouldn’t want him interacting with the kids.”

“Listen, hon, I’m a grown woman, okay?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m not gonna drag some guy home and fuck him, if that’s what you’re worried about. What kind of woman do you think I am?”

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

We had lunch on the back patio, and once again, the topic was you-know-who.

“I bet Steve could kick five guys’ butts at one time,” Brianna mused.

“Man, did you see how hard he kicked that guy?” Taylor threw her foot up. “Bam! Right to the jaw! Like it was nothing!”

“Bam!” Kendell mimicked.

Taylor tilted her head. “Mom, can you call Steve and sign us up for a class?”

Monica set down her glass of iced tea. “Yeah, hang on.” She rose from the table and walked into the house.

Taylor took a bite of her hamburger. “You’re gonna sign up, too, right, Dad?”

I sighed, chewing on my thoughts.

Ugh. What do you say here? If you say no, you’ll disappoint her.

“Ah, I guess so, although it’s not really my thing,” I managed.

“Well, Dad, you could really use some help,” Brianna said. “You didn’t do so good with that guy.”

I huffed. “He was a gangbanger, honey. Those guys are killers.”

“Not to Steve! He killed him.” Brianna smiled at the memory.

“Maybe you could learn to fight like that, Dad,” Taylor suggested.

“Oh, please.” Brianna rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine Dad being able to fight as good as Steve?”

“Well, maybe not, but he can get better than he is, at least,” Taylor replied.

“Absolutely, there’s no question I could use some training.” I shrugged. “Let’s see how it goes.”

Monica returned to the patio grinning. “Good news, guys — Steve says we can come to his class tomorrow night.”

“Wow, are we gonna get karate uniforms and everything?” Brianna’s eyes were wide.

“I don’t know.” Monica shrugged. “Probably.”

The girls broke out into spontaneous sparring while sitting in their chairs, and my wife let it go for a few minutes until they got out of hand, and she admonished them.

After lunch, the girls went to watch TV and I was able to get a minute alone with Monica.

“Honey, I don’t know if we can afford this,” I said, keeping my voice down so our daughters wouldn’t hear. “Even if he gives us a discount, our budget’s pretty tight already; Taylor will be going to college in a few years. We can’t even replace her old car, and those karate places are expensive.”

My wife’s lips twisted upward, while her nostrils flared. “Steve said he wanted to work out a deal, Pat,” she said. “Let’s see what he has in mind.”

 

^^^^^^^^^^

That night, Monica again told me she wasn’t interested in “play time.”

I pretended to crash, waiting for my wife to wake up and start masturbating again.

She never stirred.

^^^^^^^^^^

The Kazan Dojo was bigger than it looked from the outside. My heart thumped as I held the door open to allow Monica and the girls to file into the lobby.

I was surprised that nobody was there; I’d envisioned a bunch of people training, with loud music blasting.

Steve emerged from a back room. “Ah, you’re here! Glad you could make it.”

I looked around. “Where is everybody?”

“Well, I don’t normally have classes on Sundays, but I figured I’d give you guys a private session,” he said, winking at the kids. “I do that for all my special friends.”

Ugh, this is his big play. Opening the dojo just for us. Slick.

“This place is awesome!” Brianna gazed at the state-of-the-art workout equipment.

“You own all this?” Taylor asked.

“Yeah, I opened the place six years ago.”

“You must be rich!” Brianna said.

“That’s rude!” Monica chided.

Brianna scrunched her brow. “Why is it rude?”

“Because it is.” My wife smiled at Steve. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, kids are curious. Yes, Brianna, I’m in a good position financially.”

“Can we get our uniforms?” Taylor asked.

“It’s called a ‘gi.’”

Brianna giggled. “A gi?”

“That’s what they’re called, honey.” Steve waved his hand. “This is called a dojo. My place is called Kazan Dojo. Kazan means volcano.”

“Ka-zan Do-Jo!” Kendell repeated, causing everyone to laugh.

Steve pointed to the back. “The ladies locker room is right there. Your gis are hanging up near the door. These are just temporary; I’ve got your permanent gis on order.” He clapped me on the shoulder “Yours is in the men’s room, Patsy.”

Did he just call you Patsy? What the hell, Pat — tell him you don’t appreciate that shit.

No, look at the girls. They’re so excited; if you start complaining, you’ll ruin everything.

With a sigh, I shuffled off to the men’s room to change.

The uniform Steve had left for me was way too big, and before donning it, I poked my head out of the bathroom door.

“Psst! Hey, man, I think you gave me the wrong gi.”

Steve shook his head. “No, that was the only one I had clean. Just roll up the sleeves and pantlegs; you’ll be alright.”

I retreated to the bathroom and put on the gi. After adjusting the sleeves and pantlegs, I glanced in the mirror and recoiled. I looked like a goddamn clown, and I wondered whether Steve had purposely set me up.

The girls were standing in front of the mirrors that lined the dojo admiring their gis when I ventured out. They died laughing when they saw me.

“OMG, you’re swimming in that thing, Dad!” Taylor squealed.

“You look like a scarecrow!” Brianna giggled.

“Hee-hee, scarecrow!” Kendell mimed.

Monica, who looked incredibly sexy in a gi that fit her perfectly, smirked. “Sorry, but that does look pretty funny, Pat.”

Steve clapped twice. “Ah, don’t worry, guys, we’ll get Patsy here a gi that fits eventually. For now, though, it’ll do just fine. You okay with that, Patsy?”

Okay, it’s not an accident — you HAVE to say something now. Stand up for yourself, man.

I cleared my throat. “Um, could you not call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Patsy. I prefer Pat.”

Steve held up his hands. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m Irish, and my grandpa’s name was Pat. Everyone called him Patsy. A lot of Irish guys go by Patsy.”

“Well, I don’t fucking like it,” I snapped.

Monica scowled. “You don’t have to be rude about it, Pat. He said he was sorry.”

“Yeah, Dad!” Brianna crossed her arms, her brow in a knit, looking just like her mother.

“Sorry,” I muttered, rolling up my gi’s sleeve, which kept sliding down.

“Ah, it’s fine — Pat.” Steve gestured toward a large mat in the center of the dojo. “Let’s get warmed up, eh?”

Our sensei led us through a series of jumping jacks and other basic exercises. I found it difficult to do anything, since it was hard to keep my sleeves and pantlegs rolled up, much to the giggling delight of my daughters.

After the warmups, Steve told Monica and the girls to sit cross-legged on the mat for a demonstration. Then, he called me forward.

“I saw how you rushed that punk back on Depot Street,” he told me. “It was exactly the wrong way to do it.” He assumed a fighting stance. “Now, Pat, I want you to come at me the same way you came at him, and I’ll show you what you did wrong.”

Drawing a deep breath, I halfheartedly moved toward the larger man, who slapped my arm hard.

“Don’t lollygag, Pat!” he bellowed. “I said come at me like you did that punk!”

Fuck this asshole!

With a growl, I hurtled toward Steve, who deftly sidestepped me and guided me into the wall face-first. Luckly, the bulkhead was padded, but it still knocked me sideways, and I sat on the mat watching stars flutter in my head, while I heard the girls trying to stifle sniggers.

“Never lead with your head, Pat, unless you plan on headbutting someone,” Steve explained. “Otherwise, it’s easy to use your weight against you.” He clapped. “Okay, you’re alright, come back over here.”

With my brains still rattling, I stumbled across the mat, rolling up my sleeves.

Steve squared off in front of me. “Okay, come at me again, only don’t lead with your head this time.”

I lunged forward fists first, although Steve stepped aside, tripped me, and then held me down by pressing his foot against my neck.

“As you can see, guys, Pat here is his own worst enemy,” he told my wife and daughters while I squirmed under him, with his bare sole pushing against my jugular and cutting off oxygen. “He charges forward without a plan, and it’s easy to subdue him. He’s lucky that punk the other day didn’t kill him.”

“He probably would have killed him if you didn’t show up,” Brianna said.

“Well, that’s why we’re here.” Steve lifted his foot from my neck and flicked my ear with his toe. “We’re gonna get your dad trained.”

“I want to be trained, too,” Taylor said.

“Don’t worry — you’ll all get my personal attention.” Steve smiled at Monica, who batted her eyes.

After running us through a few rudimentary drills, including front kicks and punches, our sensei made an offer.

“Since you guys are my friends, I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Just the other day, my janitor service tried to double their rate, so I fired them, and I was planning on hiring a new one. You can see it’s a little messy around here.” He looked at me. “Pat, would you mind cleaning up the place while I teach Monica and the girls some techniques that are tailored for females? If you do that, and then maybe clean up whenever we have a class, I’ll call it even on the lessons and the gis.”

“Are you sure?” my wife asked.

“Yeah. It’ll save me from having to hire another janitor service.”

“Seriously, you don’t have to do all this, Steve.”

“I want to, Monica.” He locked eyes with my wife. “I feel like fate brought us together; like I was meant to be there the other day so I could save you.”

My wife and daughters blushed, with their legs buckling under them while they literally gasped for air. The handsome devil had turned them to jelly with his slick talk.

Steve turned to me. “What do you say, Pat? Does that sound like a fair deal?”

Say no! You don’t want to be his fucking cleaning boy! What the hell’s he trying to pull?

Ugh, the kids are so excited; look at them. If you push back, it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth. The sonofabitch has you in a corner. If you want to keep the peace in your family, you don’t have a choice.

“Sure, Steve, I can do that.”

“Great.” He winked. “Start in that men’s room, okay? It’s really a mess. The cleaning stuff is in the supply closet, in the back by the heavy bags.”

As I trudged across the dojo, Steve gathered my wife and daughters around him.

“Ladies, the main thing you need when you’re in a tough spot is confidence,” he began. “Confidence will get you through any situation.”

Although I was supposed to be cleaning, I peeked out the bathroom door for as long as I dared, watching Steve lead his four-person class. At one point, while showing Monica a proper horseback stance, he stood behind her and held her hips, his lips near her ear as he explained the correct way to hold her feet.

Trembling from head to toe, I tore myself away and started picking up errant paper towels from the bathroom floor.

The entire novel is available to my Patreon subscribers. Only $5 a month:

https://www.patreon.com/c/cwcobblestone

www.cwcobblestone.com

by c.w. cobblestone

Chapter 17

Madison trudged through the front door with her shoulders sagging. Seeing her so bummed out made me want to cry, although I was also nervous about how she might react to what I was about to tell her.

I took her purse and asked if she needed anything. Her answer was a sigh as she fell onto the couch and embraced a pillow.

I cleared my throat. “Um, my dad called. He told me about … um, the fight.”

“He what?” Madison sat up, eyes screaming. “What the fuck did he tell you, Donny?”

“Only that you guys had an argument at work, and that things have been bad between you lately.”

“And? He called to tell you we had an argument? That’s all he said?”

“Well, no. Um, he says he’s sorry. He told me to tell you, um, that he … he loves you very much, and that he didn’t mean to be so pigheaded about the Donnwerter account.”

Maddy folded her arms. “To hell with Donnwerter. To hell with your dad, too. You know what, Donny? Call him back and tell him if he has something to say to me, he can tell me himself — not go through his damned stepson. That’s fucking pathetic, you know?”

The humiliation of the position I’d been forced into stung as I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed. As always, the deep baritone that answered sent a submissive wave through me.

“What’s up, Donny. Did you tell her?”

“Yes, sir. She says she wants to hear it from you, sir.”

Dad chuckled. “She’s a little firecracker, isn’t she? Put her on the phone.”

“He says he wants to talk to you.” I held out my cellphone.

She snatched it from my grip. “Yeah?” she spat into the receiver.

After listening for a second, she glared at me. “Get out of here, Donny. Go make dinner or something.”

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

I worked the lotion into a rough spot on my wife’s petite heel. She sighed and draped one hand over her head while sipping wine with the other.

“Can you believe that fucking asshole?”

I was smart enough not to answer, choosing instead to lower my eyes and redouble the intensity of my foot massage.

“He makes me want to scream! He tells me: ‘I get why you’re concerned about my running-around, but I wasn’t that bad.’ Then he tells me he only screwed seven women after your mom died! Seven women! You believe that shit? Like, that’s totally okay or something! Then, he says that’s ‘not that bad.’ So, I told him, ‘What? And I’m number eight? Then I hung up on his ass.”

Licking my lips, I worked up enough saliva to form words. “Um, I know he dated a lot after Mom died. But honestly, I really do think it’s different with you.”

“Then why did he go through with the threesome with Taryn? If he loved me — if he fucking respected me — why didn’t he say no?”

“Well, you didn’t say no, either. Did you?”

Madison looked at me for a second.

Then my intoxicated wife slapped the shit out of me.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Just because you’re not dressed in your little maid’s outfit, that doesn’t mean you don’t have to show respect. You hear me, bitch?”

“S-sorry, ma’am. P-please … I … I was just saying—”

“You were just saying what?”

“Um, that him agreeing to the threesome doesn’t mean he was disrespecting you, ma’am.”

“Oh, what the hell do you know? You’re a damned sissy.” She drained her fourth glass of wine and held out the empty goblet. “Refill that and get back on my feet; it’s the only thing you do good.”

With that, my wife picked up her phone and began scrolling; I hurried to fetch yet another Moscato, then resumed massaging her sexy little feet.

I wasn’t sure whether it was the wine, or some site she visited on her phone, but whatever it was, her mood suddenly and drastically changed.

“You know what, Mildred? I feel like having you lick my pussy.”

My jaw dropped. “Um … ma’am … uh, remember what my dad said?”

“What? You were off booty-duty yesterday, weren’t you?”

“N-no, ma’am. My dad told me yesterday that he doesn’t want me licking you … either up front or … um, your butt.”

“Oh, really? Is that what he said, now? Well, guess what? It’s my body and I’ll do what the hell I want with it.” She pulled her feet from my hands, rubbed them on my shirt to wipe off the excess lotion, and rose from the couch. “Follow me to the bedroom, Mildred. I want some tongue action.”

I trailed behind my drunken wife, buzzing from a mixture of trepidation and excitement, watching her stumble along the way, holding the wall to stay upright. I certainly looked forward to being close to her sacred vagina for the first time in a month, following my stepdad’s punishment for asking to lick her without first seeking his permission.

But my lust was tempered by a gripping fear. Even though Maddy was mad at Dad right then, I figured they’d probably make up eventually — and if he ever found out I’d violated his rule, when he specifically told me he didn’t want me having any sexual contact with my wife, a ban which included even giving her rim jobs, I feared the ass-whippings he’d given me in the past would seem like love taps.

 

Poor Donny is being put in an impossible situation that’s sure to come back to bite him.

The complete chapter is available to paid members.

Unlock this story and the full c.w. cobblestone archive for $5 per month.

 

https://www.patreon.com/c/cwcobblestone

www.cwcobblestone.com

 

The full episode is available on my Patreon. Only $5 a month for dozens of stories and videos.

www.cwcobblestone.com

https://www.patreon.com/c/cwcobblestone

Full video available on my Patreon. Dozens of stories and vids, regularly updated only $5 a month!

www.cwcobblestone.com

https://www.patreon.com/c/cwcobblestone