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.