Financial Master of the World

FINANCIAL MASTER OF THE WORLD Part 1

Slowly I inched my way out of the black car service thinking how I hated these events. The two tuxedo clad doormen graciously opened the double doors allowing my wife and I entry into a cavernous hall where a major internet firm was hosting its annual holiday party hall. The room had once been the banking room of one of America’s oldest financial company and now it was used for large overpriced parties and their overpaid invited guests. My wife worked for a huge international financial institution and believed the hype that she was one of the financial masters of the world. To assure her own stature she was the sole member of her firm invited to the party and she had demanded that the invitation be hand delivered directly from the Company’s President. As she entered the ballroom people turned to greet her as if the queen of England had just arrived.

To her peers she was someone never to cross, her memory was long and the streets were littered with those that had attempted to cross her. It was understood that her decisions were final and her actions were never questioned. Those that did question her quickly learned that they had made a career interrupting error in judgment. Companies throughout the city were full of people who once thought of her as a mentor only to have her turn against them for the smallest of transgressions. That carried over to others in the world of the finance. The hosts of this evening’s soiree knew her reputation and knew that she and she alone held the key to their future success.

So what was I doing there? I was mandated to be there! I had been instructed as to my proper behavior for the evening. I was not allowed to eat and certainly not to drink in fear that I would say something my wife wouldn’t like. I could not speak with anyone beyond earshot of my wife so that she could monitor the subject matter. Certainly no conversation touching upon religion or politics and nothing to do with my “demeaning and worthless occupation” was to be brought up. When walking or standing together, I was instructed to always be slightly behind her, off her right shoulder, so when the appropriate time came for me to be introduced or speak she would always know where I was. I was even told what to wear; the black suit with a black button down shirt accompanied by a white speckled black tie; black socks and newly polished oxford shoes. Even the underwear I was to wear was predetermined-none.

She was wearing a black European made business dress with a plunging neck line, cut low enough to expose her ample cleavage but altered to cover her less than stellar waistline. The dress was accompanied by a diamond choker, a pair of diamond earrings and an engagement ring large enough to choke a horse. It was all a mind game, she had honed over the years, to get the male attendees to focus on her as opposed to their young beautiful slim dates. She knew how to play the game, how to get power and how to keep power.

The evening progressed painfully slowly. I obediently followed my wife as she worked the room talking to some while ignoring others who approached. I did as I was told and kept my mouth closed. Soon she decided that she wanted to take a more permanent position at a prominently situated table so others she deemed worthy could sit and have an audience with her. As she promenaded to the appointed table I took the liberty to make a quick detour for the bar to have a strong tangeray and tonic with extra lime. I downed the drink and headed to the empty seat to the right of my spouse. She must have smelled the alcohol because she placed her right hand under the tablecloth between my legs and quickly but discreetly squeezed my balls. Now I know why she demanded no underwear. After 25 years of marriage she had found a new way of putting me in my place.

What an endless night it seemed to have been as a parade of anonymous people came to the table. The tremendous wall clock embedded into the marble above the entrance doors seemed to have stopped moving. But throughout I smiled, shook hands when a subtle nod was made by my wife and most importantly I tried to keep my conversation within the acceptable boundaries though I may have slipped once or twice. At preciously, 11 PM, a doorman approached whispered into my wife’s ear, and as he walked away my wife rose from her seat and announced that our car had arrived. The men still at the table graciously rose from their seats as we departed. I was still following orders walking slightly to the rear off the right shoulder. It wasn’t until I started walking that I realized how the one strong alcoholic drink had affected me on an empty stomach; a nice lightheadedness.

With an air of confidence and determination my wife darted towards the exit. Approaching the last of the standing party goers, a man separated from the group gently took my wife by the arm to an empty bit of floor space about 20 feet from where I was standing. Though I couldn’t hear them over the din of people talking, tables being cleared and the sound of high heels on the marble floor, I could tell by my wife’s facial expression and her arm movements that this conversation was not one that the financial master of the world wanted to be having. With nothing better to do I started to focus more upon the fine architecture of this vintage 20th century banking room designed to signify the strength of the American banking system. I thought to myself how ignorantly confident the financial bosses of the time were before the dawn of the depression. How they quickly fall.

It was during this though that I suddenly felt my arm being tugged and I was back in my usual position, walking towards the exit under the wall clock. It was at the last moment that my wife made a sharp right turn towards a staircase which I assumed lead to the basement restrooms. Silently we walked down the marble staircase. Once in the equally grandiose tiled basement we came upon men’s and woman’s bathrooms with a line of people waiting at both. Off to one side, slightly hidden in shadow, was an old wooden carved door with a brass sign indicating that it was a handicapped equipped bathroom. My wife quickly bolted to the door, grabbed for the knob and found it to be unlocked. She nodded to me that I was to join her. Walking in behind her she locked the door as she instructed me to use the toilet first. As I faced the urinal, I unbuckled the belt and as I opened my fly my pants fell to the ground. I urinated, flushed, and started to close my pants, when my wife sternly said, “Turn around towards the wall with your pants down and keep quiet.” With my back to the wall and the sound of people walking echoing in the basement, all I could hear was my wife sputtering, “How dare he. Who does he think I am? Does he know what I can do to his company and to him”? The next thing I felt was her leg quickly spreading my legs apart and just as quickly a cold hard object being shoved up my ass. As she repeatedly shoved what must have been a dildo, previously hidden under her bellowing dress, into me, she whispered very adamantly that “No one, not even you, fucks with me. I do the fucking.”

FINANCIAL MASTER OF THE WORLD party Part 2

The driver slowly maneuvered the black car uptown as my wife and I sat silently apart in the rear seat. With each streetlamp along the highway we drove beneath, I was momentarily able to see the total anger on her face. I don’t know what words had been exchanged between the President of the internet firm and my wife but I could state with certainty that her next move had already been hatched. To her the only recourse would be played out over time so he would fully understand her strength, it would be publicly demeaning and financially painful all the while quite satisfying to her. For all those that had dared to cross her, especially men, revenge is always sweet.

Nearing our neighborhood the thought occurred to me that I ne
eded to escape from her and I needed to be wit
h real friends. Of course discussing the activities of the night would be out of the question and broaching the bathroom scene would be totally embarrassing for me. So as the driver made a right turn onto a broad uptown Avenue, I instructed the driver to pull over and let me out. Once the car came to a halt I jumped I exited. All the while she was deep in thought staring out the opposite window and as I closed the door I realized that she never bothered to look at me giving me the impression that she didn’t seem to care.

Feeling a renewed sense of freedom, I gleefully entered my favorite restaurant/bar and was immediately greeted with a kiss on the lips by the gorgeous hostess. Next came the owner, who extended his hand to give me a hardy handshake while he turned to show me that a group of my friends were already sitting at the bar enjoying alcoholic drinks, food and light conversation. At a nearby table I vaguely I recognized a woman enjoying a late super as an ex-business associate of my wife. Even so I was relieved to be away from financial types and happily took a stool at the bar. We spoke of sports, politics, our spouses, told obscene jokes but never, not once did anyone speak about work. To my friends work was something you never discussed outside the office and never after work hours. The hours passed, people came and went and the drinks kept being served. At around one in the morning the hostess planted herself on my lap while simultaneously kissing my face and caressing my crotch. Maybe she felt the absence of underwear under my suit maybe not, for the next I knew she was leading me through the restaurant to the bathroom in the very rear of the bar. Now this was a woman I was willing to follow knowing that only pleasure would be derived from my excursion. Unfortunately with all the alcohol I consumed combined with the thoughts of my wife, I was unable to perform.

As a sign of support for sympathy to me, we walked hand in hand through the restaurant passing the few remaining occupied tables back to the bar where my friends looked at me with broad grins and looks of envy. Little did they know. I couldn’t dream of a worse way to end an awful evening.

Somehow I managed to walk the few blocks to my apartment building where in a blaze of bright lights the doorman greeted my with a look of total distain. I thought to myself hadn’t I just given him a holiday tip; obviously not enough The awaiting elevator whisked me to my floor as I fumbled for the keys in my suit pocket. Reaching the door I unlocked the door and quietly entered the dark apartment. Concerned that I would awaken my wife I left all the lights off and while groping down the hallways towards the bedroom I started to undo my clothing. By the time I reached the foot of the bed I was completely undressed. I gingerly I climbed under the down comforter, looked over my wife’s sleeping mass at the illuminated clock time to see that it was now 2:13 AM, turned away and immediately fell asleep to dreams of pleasure and pain.

I don’t know what exactly what rousted me from my deep sleep but I was slowly gaining my senses. Was it the sound of someone nosily typing on a laptop, setting the printer in motion, the opening and closing doors, the flushing of the toilet, the phone ringing in the distance and muffled conversation, the pounding headache or the pain emitting from my rectum area caused by my wife as she violated me in the catering hall’s bathroom? Whatever it was I peered at the clock and saw through the sleepy haze 7:44 AM. I knew that my wife thought that sleep was unnecessary but why did she always have to impose her will on me? Next to the bed on the floor I spotted my wife’s open suitcase completely full of business clothing and an e-ticket plane reservation. Because of my wife’s constant need to fell cold air on her skin, no matter what the outdoor temperature is, the window was wide open and I decided to stay cocooned under the comforter. I continued to gaze upon the suitcase as my wife entered the room and with the usual officious tone informed me that she had just gotten off the phone with the woman who was eating at the restaurant last night. And though the woman was an ex-associate and still felt resentment towards her she felt it necessary that my wife knows what I had done and specifically that I had gone into the bathroom with the hostess. Quickly she approached the bed only to kneel down to zipper shut her suitcase, stand it upright, extend the handle and began to wheel it out of the room. Walking further down the hall she bellowed that she’d be in away for a two weeks and that I should remember my indiscretions. With that I heard the door shut close.

Though her departure was rather dramatic, even for her, I was trying to reconcile what had just transpired when my eyes came to rest on the uncapped tube lying on the bed dripping a clear substance on the duvet cover. I grabbed the tube and with squinted eyes read “anal numbing” ointment.” I quickly reached towards my ass to make sure that she hadn’t inserted anything while I slept. To my surprise I felt nothing there but what was this? I pushed the comforter off to see that my manhood, shaft and scrotum were now totally encased in a plastic cage held fast by a small lock and on my stomach, written so I could read it, was a note in my wife’s handwriting stating “No one, not even you, fucks with me. I do the fucking and you will remember that.”

FINANCIAL MASTER OF THE WORLD Part 3

As the weekend ended, I resumed some of my normal activities. I woke up in the morning at the usual time, showered, got dressed, walked to the corner to purchase my cup of coffee to go, unlocked the car to start my commute to my “demeaning and worthless occupation.”

But something had changed. I now had a new appendage attached to my body and no matter what I tried I couldn’t remove it. The cage and the small lock I learned from my research on the internet were indestructible and impossible to open unless you possessed the key. Not that I didn’t try. I tried soaping myself up to slip it off. When that failed I tried Vaseline, K-Y Jelly, Crisco Shortening, and olive oil to no avail. I tried to use a wire clipper but couldn’t wedge the tool into place without cutting my skin. I considered going to a locksmith but quickly realized that I could never explain the situation.

At work some questioned me as to why I was walking slightly bold legged. I explained that I had a muscle pull and walking this way was less uncomfortable. Others, especially the woman, noticed that I had changed from my customary shirt and slacks to baggy pants with long sweaters. What was I to say that I was now wearing a male chastity belt? Of course not!

Evenings were spent indoors. To avoid my friends I ate all my meals at home ordering in or reheating leftovers. Whatever it was I played with my food, took a bite or two and put the remainders in the refrigerator. The rest of my waking hours, I spent searching throughout the apartment for the key to my freedom. After tearing the place apart only not to find the prized key, I would start the search again. Finally I would fall asleep, cursing under my breath at my wife.

She was no help. I called her cell phone and she didn’t pick up my call. I called her office number only to get her voice mail stating that she would be out of town for about 2 weeks but that she would be monitoring her messages. Either she wasn’t calling in or she was choosing to ignore my pleas for a return call. Also I sent her emails but she didn’t respond to them as well. I was a prisoner in y wife’s jail.

On the evening of the 16th day of her absence I arrived home at the usual time, unlocked the apartment door to find her suitcase sitting in the foyer. I called out her name and got no response. Venturing towards our bedroom, I found a wrapped box on the floor from an English clothing store with an envelope attached. I reached for the knob only to find the door
locked. I reached for my glasses and tore open
the envelope. The note in my wife’s handwriting stated that she was very sorry for her behavior, that she had mistreated me and that she would free me from the cage if I donned the clothing in the box. I tore open the carton and was aghast to see Victorian women’s clothing; a satin corset with laces and silicone pads, a matching thong, a garter belt, stockings and high heels.

I stood there thinking, getting madder and madder. The door was locked from the inside and it was one of those security locks that couldn’t be opened from the outside without a key. I ran to the closet where the spare key was kept and, shit, it was gone. I ran back to the door, banging on it, demanding that she open it immediately and all I got in response was ‘did you put on the clothing? I responded with “no.” “Then you’ll stay out there,” she said. What was I to do? I was livid. She had me literally by the balls. Besides maybe she really was sorry. I sheepishly picked up the box and went into the guest bathroom to change.

I stared at the costume I was to put on and wonder how the Victorian women did it. Starting to put on the corset and lacing it up I realized that this wasn’t just an article of clothing but a torture unit. It hurt. The stays were jabbing me in the side and the contours of the garment were pushing into my torso in ways that didn’t seem natural. Next I inserted the pads into the cups. I stood there I was puzzled trying to figure out which came next the garter belt or the thong. I decided on the thong followed by the garter. Slipping the stockings on I ran the garter straps under the thin strips of cloth of the thong so it could easily come off and I attached the stocking to the garters. I slipped the high heels onto my feet and attempted to keep my balance. Looking at myself in the mirror I thought to myself that I didn’t look bad dressed as a woman but the male chastity belt bulging under the thong had to go. Turning off the bathroom light I carefully made my way back to the bedroom door.

I knocked. My wife responded by asking are you dressed as told. I answered yes. She said she would unlock the door and I was then to count to out loud to ten before entering. Click went the door and I obediently started from one to ten. At ten I opened the door and as I entered the room looked to my right towards the bed where my wife was lying naked with the President of the internet firm who was also nude. Flash went a camera. My wife instructed me to sit down on the chair she had placed next to the bed. Then as if they had done this before he rolled over onto her and proceeded to penetrate her. For what appeared to be an endless amount of time the man pumped away inside her as she alternatively clawed at his back or twisted his nipples with her free hands. She groaned, moaned, cursed in ecstasy pleasure, grimaced, and smiled. I thought how she never responded to our loving making like this. Once they had both climaxed he rolled off and she looked at me to say “you have once again disappointed me and that if you ever disobey me again I’ll send this photo to all your meaningless friends and your pitiful boss. Remember no one, not even you, fucks with me. I do the fucking and you will finally remember that. Now come here sissy man and lick up this mess between my legs and when you’re done with me suck the cum off his dick. Then you’re to sit there and wait for me to call you because I see that my friend here is already up for another fuck and we’ll both need to be licked clean”

FINANCIAL MASTER OF THE WORLD Part 4 six months later

Oh how things have changed in my life. I’ve given up that meaningless job. I never drink and I certainly don’t hang out in bars with my loser friends. One night my wife arrived home to announce that she left her job at the bank and was starting a new firm. She never explained what brought about the change and I certainly wouldn’t dare ask her. I understood now that she knew better about such worldly activities. No matter she seemed to be much happier and I’m happy for her.

She purchased the apartment next to ours so she wouldn’t have far to commute and I would be able to assist her when needed. She wired our living space with a closed circuit television system so that she and her associates could watch and hear me as I go about my daily chores. Sometimes the speakers would come alive and I would be told to make sandwich and they would watch me. I better get it right or I would feel an electric shock via the butt plug inserted in my rectum.

Even better she paid for a completely new wardrobe for me. I’ve even taken up sewing so I could create my own clothing. Today she picked out a taffeta maid’s skirt with crotchless panties so everyone could see my chastity belt with a sheer blouse covering a bright red demi-cup bra. I stitched the maid’s dress and the blouse myself. I’m so proud of what I can do. My high heels match my bra. Everyone watching from next door said I looked so cute. Tonight for the dinner party she’s hosting I was to prepare and serve the food while wearing a black spandex miniskirt, black fishnet stockings, black high heels, and a red corset topped with my new blond wig. I don’t even think about the pain that the corset causes me any longer. She said I would look so slutty and the guests would love it. To make me feel even more grateful for her attention she said that the President of the internet company would be amongst the dinner guests and that he would be staying the night. I loved when he stayed over. Watching him make love to my wife was very pleasing for me. She added that, of course, I would be expected to clean up after their love making. I gleefully jumped up and down as I recalled the taste, the smell and the look of his cum dripping from my wife glistening vagina.

She was correct all along; I am so much happier not disappointing her.