For my birthday, my husband had made me a facesitting throne. Knowing how much effort it took to make it, I suggested we might also use it for some femdom on our anniversary weekend. We had explored both sides of dominance, and this would be an occasion to go further.

As usual, our anniversary celebration would be just the two of us at home. A few days before, we presented each other with relevant gifts. He gave me a dildo gag.

“It’s for me, of course,” he said when I looked surprised. “Well, actually one end is for me, the other is for you.” I felt a tickle between my legs as I imagined how it could be used with the throne.

Unsure how he would react to my gift, I was relieved that he smiled broadly when he unwrapped it—a chastity cage!

“That will help you stay focused on me this weekend,” I said, affecting a stern voice.

Jim grinned momentarily, then tried to look serious, “Yes, Mistress Pam.”

“It is adjustable, but we should be sure of the fit,” I said, laying the parts on the table and motioning for him to get his penis out. The challenge was to get him soft enough to fit into it, given how excited he was by the idea. After a few failed attempts, he used a cold washcloth to soak his genitals, which allowed me to fasten the ring around his cock and balls and fit the cage over his shrunken shaft.

As it dried and warmed, it tried to regain its eager size.

“Ooof,” he groaned as the tightness became uncomfortable. “That will take some getting used to. But I’ll give it a try.”

We left it on as we discussed other details. He would make the meals and pamper and serve me. I didn’t reveal my thoughts about how or when I might use him sexually, nor that I intended to tease him mercilessly.

When we were finished, he stood up to get dressed and go shopping. He had forgotten about the chastity cage, so I guess it wasn’t too painful. Still, I took it off, saving it for the weekend.

Our dinner Friday was our usual romantic, Valentine’s Day, anniversary eve tradition. We both dressed up, him in a tuxedo, me in a backless evening gown with a plunging neckline and a slit that flashed my whole leg when I walked. So dressed, we took some selfies to commemorate the occasion.

The slight difference was that this year, he did all the preparations for dinner. It was a wonderful meal and we celebrated our two decades as loving husband and wife.

Usually, after dinner, we would transition into a passionate evening of lovemaking, and Jim’s demeanor indicated that he was expecting the two days in chastity to start in the morning.

As we finished our coffee, I could see his anticipation grow. So did mine, but I was envisaging a different scenario.

“Jim, how much do you love me?” I asked in a conversational tone.

“Pam, I love you with my whole heart and soul,” he replied sincerely. “I love you more each day.”

Good answer, I thought. But I pressed on, locking eyes, “Do you love me enough to do whatever I say, whether you like it or not, without hesitation?”

He looked a little puzzled, not yet understanding. “Yes, my love.”

“From this moment on,” my voice stiffened, “you are mine to command and use for whatever and however I choose. You will show me proper respect.” He looked down, disappointed, adjusting to my plans.

“You must not use my name nor presume to call me your love,” I admonished. “You will address me as your queen and only speak when I expect you to. Is that understood?”

“Yes, My Queen,” he said, getting into his role.

“You are a drone,” I instructed. “Generally useless and, as you’ll soon see, you shouldn’t get your hopes up on the mating front.” His quickly suppressed smile showed he appreciated my choice of terminology.

“Refill my cup, drone, then undress and return with the chastity device,” I ordered. He quickly did as he was told.

He stood close as I positioned the ring behind his balls and against his pubic bone. I smiled at the cold dampness of his genitals—he had chilled them to make the process easier. Not waiting for them to reinflate, I fit the cage over the head and shaft and clicked it into place. This time, I used the little padlock to secure it. Hooking the chain with the key around my neck, I nestled it in my cleavage, giving him another reason to look there with longing.

“Clean this up,” I said and rose to change from my fancy gown into something more comfortable. I chose a sexier outfit than I would usually lounge around in—translucent top and harem pants that I was sure would make Jim stress the cage.

Adjourning to the living room, I queued up a movie while he cleaned up the table and kitchen.

“Drone,” I called as he worked.

“Yes, My Queen?” he replied from the kitchen.

“Come when I call you!” I shouted angrily and he scurried to stand in front of me. “You don’t yell at me from another room.”

“I apologize, My Queen,” he said, looking down meekly.

“Bring me a glass of wine,” I said, intentionally not being specific so I could reject whatever he brought me.

“No, no, get me something else,” I said to his first attempt. “Are you trying to annoy me? Bring me something I will like!” I complained about his second guess. It was interesting to test him, knowing he would try to find a logical choice when I was being completely arbitrary.

“This will do,” I took his third offering. “Get back to work. When you have finished, come massage my feet.”

Watching him run back and forth and fret about getting my approval was fun for me, but I think he liked the challenge as well. His sigh when I finally accepted the glass gave him more satisfaction than if I had just taken whatever he brought the first time.

I selected a chick-flick that I normally would not have subjected him to. When he joined me, I insisted that he pay attention and asked his opinion on various characters and plot points.

“Do you think he would wear a chastity cage for her?” I posed when the male lead was begging the female lead to take him back.

Although I intended the question in jest, Jim took a moment to think about it and answered seriously.

“He doesn’t seem like he would be willing to suppress his gratification for someone else,” he replied. “He would also worry too much about its effect on his self-image.”

“Nonsense,” I contradicted, taking note of his thoughtful answer, but disregarding it. “She’s so hot, he’d do anything to get in her pants.”

He fidgeted, wanting to argue about it, but he knew I was baiting him.

“You make a good point, My Queen,” he reluctantly conceded.

It took some work, but my non sequitur questions and capricious reactions to his answers put him off-balance. I hoped to recreate that feeling when we first met: when he didn’t know what to expect, what I meant, what I wanted, or what to say.

When the movie ended I decided it was time for bed.

“Clean up and come to the bedroom,” I said.

As he hurried into the room, I tittered, staring at the chastity cage that bounced as he jogged, the extra weight and stiffness making it move in an unnatural way. He couldn’t help following my gaze sheepishly.

“Get a blanket, drone, you’ll sleep on the floor,” his face fell as I pointed to the rug. It was thick and soft so we had something warm to step on when we got out of bed; it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for him.

Before I turned off the lights, I retrieved my vibrator from the bedstand. He surely recognized the buzzing when I turned it on. The wine and the teasing and the anticipation of the weekend had me feeling warm. As I spread the vibrations over my sensitive spots, it didn’t take long to get going. Knowing what I was doing to my husband seemed to heighten my excitement.

My sighs and moans were louder than my usual solo behavior as I put on a show. It wasn’t entirely an act, though. Thinking about what I had planned for the next two days made me horny. Massaging my pussy with the round pulsating head quickly drove me to the peak.

My vocalizations were only a bit overdone as a surprisingly intense orgasm washed over me. I clicked off the vibrator and set it next to me ready to sleep, but my clit had other ideas. Stroking it with a finger didn’t relieve the itch and I found myself turning the vibrator back on.

It had been off for less than a minute, so buzzing my clit had me instantly sighing again. Recalling his dream of creating a bunch of Pam sex androids, I imagined having multiple Jims, their cocks filling all my openings, their mouths titillating every sensitive spot. The fantasy drove me to another climax. Staying near the edge, I made my body spasm with pleasure again and again as the vibrator worked its magic.

I lost track of the count and the minutes until my mind was finally saturated. Turning it off, I fell asleep.

In the morning, when I was sufficiently awake to remember what we were doing, I called, “Drone!”

Jim came quickly, “Good morning, My Queen.”

I had slipped off my sleepwear, so he couldn’t help staring at my body. The few extra pounds I had acquired over the years enhanced my boobs and butt, and I had managed to withstand most of the effects of age and gravity. Stretching and turning to give him the full show, I chuckled as he gulped and looked down, the sight of me making his penis try to swell.

“I’m going to take a shower. Bring me warm towels,” I ordered.

They would take a few minutes in the dryer, but I was no hurry as the hot spray warmed my skin. When he arrived with the towels, I paid him no heed. I used the hand-held showerhead to wash the night’s stickiness from between my legs. Lingering to tease him aroused me as well, so I was extra-clean by the time I decided not to continue.

“Wash my back,” I ordered. He joined me in the shower, getting wet but not enough to enjoy it. “My ass, too,” I added when he wisely hesitated before going lower.

He gingerly soaped my crack with his fingers after tending to my cheeks. Applying the hot spray to my back door generated a satisfied moan that was not lost on him.

“Now my feet,” I pressed on his shoulders urging him to his knees. It was a tricky operation as I raised each foot while steadying myself on his head. His face was only inches from my soaked pubes, and he struggled to pay attention to his task.

“Dry me,” I commanded, turning off the water. He did a thorough job as I had him inspect every part of my body.

“Make me breakfast while I get dressed,” I said. He started to hurry to the kitchen. “Stop, drone!” I shouted. “Dry yourself.” He was so used to following instructions, he had forgotten he was wet and would drip through the house. Catching himself before he reached for a warm towel, he instead used a regular one to quickly towel off, dabbing where he had dripped on the floor as well.

As I had done last night, I rejected the breakfast he made, arbitrarily deciding that the eggs were undercooked and the toast too dark. He rushed to remake it to my apparent standards. I knew he would laugh later when I revealed the randomness of my complaints.

“I am going shopping,” I announced as I finished my coffee. “You will clean the house, paying particular attention to the bathroom and kitchen including the refrigerator. You will have your phone with you at all times and will answer my video calls immediately.” I would check up on him to be sure he was keeping busy.

“I hope you didn’t throw away the first breakfast you made for me,” I smirked. “That’s what you can eat.”

“Thank you, My Queen,” he said obediently as I turned for the door.

Besides interrupting his work and confirming he wasn’t loafing, the calls had another purpose. I was trying on clothes, including swimwear and lingerie, so I called from the dressing room, soliciting his opinions about fit, color, and preference. Mostly, I was playfully titillating him.

“Does this give me a camel toe?” I asked, showing him a close-up of a bikini bottom. I could see him lick his lips before he confirmed that it did.

My last stop was a sex shop. I had my husband help me pick out a riding crop and a strapon dildo. Not planning to use them this weekend, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to suggest that I might.

“If your cleaning doesn’t pass inspection, I may put these to immediate use,” I warned.

Returning home, I retreated to the bedroom for a nap, leaving him to finish cleaning and prepare dinner.

The dinner was perfect, and I didn’t have the heart to reject any of it. Not knowing that, Jim was tense as he served each course and relieved when I had no objections. I rewarded him by allowing him to eat what I didn’t finish, but it was so good, I probably left him hungry.

“When you finish cleaning up, prepare my throne,” I said as I rose from the table.

As we had planned, this time, the room was lit with candles, their exotic scent adding to the mood of the soft lighting and music. I made him wait for me to arrive.

He could not resist staring as I stood there wearing only a filmy negligee. My dark nipples were clearly visible on my dangling breasts, as was the dark triangle between my legs.

“I want to watch your poor cock,” I said, indicating he should get into position from the front. “Maybe I can make it break out of its cage,” I taunted.

He slid under the chair, his face positioned in the divide between the cushions. Removing my gown, I settled onto the throne.

“Stop!” I said, slapping his chest. He had taken the liberty of kissing my vulva inches above him. “Perhaps I should get that new riding crop.”

“I apologize, My Queen,” he stammered, “I just thought….”

“It is not for you to think, drone!” I rebuked. “You do not deserve to taste my nectar.”

I let that statement sink in. My hope was that he hadn’t expected this development, at least not at this moment, although I’m sure it was something he had considered. Sliding forward on the leather, already warm from my naked butt and thighs against it, I moved my anus above his tongue.

“Lick my asshole,” I commanded. Tentatively at first, he complied, his warm wet tongue exploring my crack. I leaned back a bit to make my rear opening more accessible.

Relaxing after the initial ticklishness subsided, I savored the soothing sensations. He alternately applied his lips, kissing and sucking on the usually reticent but progressively more receptive flesh.

It took a few minutes for my pussy to make the connection that the anal massage was sexual. Usually, I would be well turned on before my butthole got in the picture. In this case, it let me get the flavor of those caresses before they became erotic.

Of course, Jim was getting a different flavor. I had used a douche during my pre-dinner nap, so it wouldn’t be too much for him. This wasn’t the first time he tasted me there, but pressing down onto his imprisoned face like this was certainly more extreme. With his cock bound tightly, I didn’t know if that would increase or diminish the libido that would mitigate any unpleasantness of the situation.

Regardless, the soft, warm, wet ministrations—and both the idea and the image of him below me—generated an electric spark. My hand snapped against my crotch. Slow circles of pressure warmed my front to match my back and the excitement of both sites multiplied.

I had ensured that a vibrator and a dildo were within reach, but as my cunt began to flow and my slippery fingers danced across my folds, they seemed unnecessary.

“Stick your tongue in my ass,” I hissed, escalating the intensity. Using my hands to pull my soft spheres apart, I tried to force myself deeper into the gap. Whether through my adjustment or his, I felt a warm, wet, wick worm its way into my wazoo, making me tighten against the intrusion. Neither of us would be deterred. I concentrated and he persisted, forging deeper, his cheeks sandwiched between mine, his tongue stirring as much as fucking.

The intimacy of that contact surprised me. Whether it was the drone, totally under my control, performing this crude palpation as an act of obedience, or my wonderful husband Jim, following me on this adventure, subjecting himself to me as an act of love, it overwhelmed me.

That warm gush of emotion turned into a flood of ecstasy as the orgasm overtook me. Not centered on my clit, it cut a swath of sweet heat along the path from my tailbone past my anus, my vagina, and my clitoris to my navel. I struggled not to squirm away from his tongue as the waves passed through me.

I sank back in the throne, unwilling to move for several minutes. Jim had slowed but continued his mouth work. It was strange feeling a warm afterglow from that part of my anatomy.

“That was nice, you can stop,” I sighed, perhaps out of character, perhaps not. Did I compliment the drone or the husband?

Thinking we could both use a break, I got up and had him get me some wine, being specific this time. The first round had been much more than the warmup I expected, so I took a few minutes to regain my focus.

In the meantime, I toyed with the drone.

“Get back in,” I said when he handed me the glass. Walking around the throne, I pretended to contemplate how to use it and him next.

“Get in the other way,” I said, continuing my consideration, letting his anticipation grow before I returned to the throne. I made him change twice more as I finished my wine, leaving him with his feet out the back.

Looking down at my husband, I guessed what he was hoping for. However, a satisfying erection wasn’t the only thing I intended to deny him.

Taking a deep breath as if I had just decided, I explained, “As I said, you do not deserve to taste my nectar.” The obscured view could not hide the disappointment on his face. “But that doesn’t mean I should deny myself.”

As I spoke, I brought the dildo gag into view.

“Lick it,” I said, putting the penis tip against his lips. Extending his tongue, he did his best to apply his saliva to it. I barely gave him half of it, not wanting him to choke. He had purchased it, so he certainly knew its porn-star length and girth.

“You’ll never be able to properly lubricate it all,” I feigned disappointment. Squirting some lube in my palm, I stroked it onto the head and shaft. The inanimate object didn’t appreciate the quality of the handjob I was giving it, but the longing in my husband’s eyes told me it was having an effect on him.

“This is as close as you’ll get to having a real cock,” I taunted as I aimed the gag end toward his mouth. He accepted it and gripped it firmly between his teeth as I fastened the strap behind his head.

“I deserve to ride a dick like this, don’t I?” I snickered as I slid my fingers up and down its full length, being sure to bump his nose.

“Yes, My Queen,” he mumbled around the gag.

Standing astride him, I put on a show of lowering myself onto that phallus. He was certain to be salivating even without the lump of plastic in his mouth, seeing my still damp flesh spread open above him. Rubbing the head against my pussy, I caressed my hanging folds with it. His eyes opened wide as the bulbous end located and breached my opening.

My long, soft, breathy moan accompanied my impalement as that ersatz organ stretched me wide and deep. I wiggled my hips as I absorbed it bit by bit, moving his head in the process and grinding the flange against his mouth. Only when I had settled full on it and he could see only my bush did he raise his eyes to mine, peeking over the curve of my belly.

I would praise my husband later. The throne’s layout and dimensions were perfect for that two-ended accessory. I could rest comfortably with it inside me, which I did, my heat flowing into the plastic. When it began to feel almost human, albeit superhuman, I leaned forward, raising slightly and allowing Jim to partially withdraw.

If it weren’t for the chair, it would have been more work for me. Without the support for his head, his neck could get wrenched; with it, I could safely press against him or give him room to move. Sure that Jim had thought about what he would do—if not rehearsed it—I gave him some clearance and let him show me his stuff.

His various fucking motions were supplemented by swirls and tilts that churned my tunnel in delightful ways. As if by design, the firm tip of his nose danced with my clit when the shaft could go no deeper. His mouth plugged, every breath filled him with my flourishing aroma.

My hands were free, so I massaged my breasts, yanking and pinching the swollen nipples that I had neglected earlier. Flexing and relaxing my ass and thighs was enough to increase the length of the strokes and I synchronized with him. I could see only his eyes; it was enough to tell how much he loved and worshiped me. He saw more, my hungry demanding face meeting his gaze from above my swaying spheres. Between them, the key to his prison glinted as it dangled on the chain.

It was so much, maybe too much, but not quite enough. Not wanting to abuse my husband’s mouth and neck, and needing consistent attention to my clit to go over the edge, I grabbed the vibrator and turned it on.

Closer than I realized, it didn’t buzz for long before I cried, “I’m cumming!”

My vagina milked that artificial penis as I ground against Jim’s face. I shared my moans, sighs, and expressions of delight with those two eyes, hoping to make up in some way for the pleasure he was being denied.

I was so well-filled, I didn’t want to get off him, but it was necessary if I wanted to enjoy the halo of warmth enveloping my body. Standing up drenched his face with a splash of my juices that the dildo had trapped inside me.

It was unexpected and I had to laugh as I unfastened the gag, “I guess you got to taste my nectar anyhow!” He eagerly licked and sucked when I fed him the cock end of it, leaving it standing between his clenched teeth as I let go of it.

“Clean up here and yourself then come to the bedroom,” I said, retrieving my negligee.

With those post-orgasm hormones still flowing through me, I nestled between clean sheets and awaited his arrival. He brought a blanket, assuming he would be on the floor again. My biology wanted to hug him, but my role-playing mind would not allow it. I compromised.

“You can sleep on top of the bed tonight,” I said, patting the bedspread next to me. “Keep your distance, or you’ll be back on the floor,” I warned.

As I fell asleep, hearing him breathing beside me, I tried to imagine what he was feeling, trapped in that cruel device while giving and witnessing such pleasure. Was his brain rewarding him in ways his penis, at the moment, could not? There seemed to be no way for me to understand it.

Sunday morning started much as Saturday had. He anticipated warming the towels and dried himself so he didn’t drip.

Although he made my breakfast exactly like what I had accepted the day before, I rejected it and made him do it over like what I had rejected then. It was nice to know he paid attention, but I wanted to keep him on his toes.

“We’re going to go shopping today,” I said as he cleared the table. Still as naked as he had been since Friday evening, he looked down at the chastity device. He plainly hadn’t thought about wearing it in public.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick out something appropriate for you to wear.” My tone of voice undermined the reassurance of my words.

While he cleaned up, I changed my clothes and chose an outfit for him.

On a younger, thinner woman, my scoop neck, midriff-baring top, and shorts wouldn’t have been unusual. Although it wasn’t quite trashy, my older and curvier body was somewhat unexpected in it. The light, pastel fabric allowed a careful observer to notice my nipples and thong underwear. My inappropriate high heels would further provoke attention by shaping my butt and legs as well as making my breasts jiggle as I walked.

Jim was suitably crestfallen at the beta male clothes I had selected: a nerdy plaid shirt with pocketed shorts that didn’t mask the bulge of the cage. Tube socks and hiking boots completed the ensemble. The two of us together would certainly make people wonder.

I chose an upscale mall across town, because of the stores it had but also to reduce the chances of running into acquaintances.

As we walked from the car, I handed him my purse to carry, warning him, “If you don’t want to hear me call you ‘drone’ across the store, you should pay attention.”

“I will, My Queen,” he said.

Strolling through the mall, I enjoyed the glances I was getting. They flattered me while making Jim more self-conscious. I saw several women elbow their partners to stop them from watching me walk by. Unaccompanied men, old and young, stared more blatantly.

“Do you think his cock is bigger than yours?” I whispered to Jim, referring to a handsome athletic guy who was probably half our age. The bulge in his shorts was all-natural and at least a little inspired by me as he watched us approach from a distance. “I mean, even if you weren’t crammed into that thing,” I added with an evil grin.

“It looks like it from here, My Queen,” my husband’s voice was forlorn.

I didn’t need to look back to know the young man continued to watch as we walked past him, but Jim couldn’t resist checking.

As I tried on and purchased items in several stores, he held my purse and the growing number of packages. Our last stop was the sex boutique and he stood behind me as I had the salesman demonstrate the latest high-tech vibrators. I surprised myself by not blushing as we discussed their operation and effects in explicit, albeit medically-approved, terms. Being dominant affected my attitude as well!

“That’s just what I need,” I said, making a selection. I almost laughed out loud as the two men exchanged glances. Jim’s mortification at what the salesman must be thinking might have been tempered by the expectation that he would get to see the item in use.

We returned home and I changed into comfortable clothes and enjoyed another nap while my husband undressed and prepared dinner. He outdid himself and I could find nothing to complain about.

“Is it my imagination or has that chastity cage made you try harder than you usually do?” I giggled at the pun.

“My Queen,” he quickly suppressed his grin, “I always want to make you happy. Perhaps it is a more insistent reminder.”

After I finished eating, I moved to the living room, this time using the TV to search the internet. I was browsing femdom clips, noticing how rarely the women seemed to like what they were doing.

When Jim finished his cleanup, he joined me and I had him sit on the floor and massage my feet. Enjoying the relief after a day in high heels at the mall and lamenting that women have to suffer for men, I decided it was time to please myself.

“Go prepare my throne and be ready to service me,” I ordered. Although gratified by the experience, I had done enough work dominating my husband this weekend. It was time to unwind.

Having lit the candles and dimmed the light, Jim was in position with his caged cock in plain view. Undressing, I slowly settled onto the seat, letting him see the object of his desire approach and stop inches away.

“Worship my pussy,” I instructed. “Show me you deserve to be my drone.”

He began slowly, nuzzling my furry areas with his lips and nose. His chest rose and fell as he inhaled my scent deeply. I relaxed, ceding the initiative to him for a while. Gradually, his tongue became involved as he found nooks and crannies to explore. Wetness supplied by both of us made the smooth areas slippery.

Over twenty years of practice gave him skills and familiarity that he applied diligently. He knew my pace and my rhythms, improvising to keep things fresh, but ensuring the main melody continued. Rapid flicks teased my clit building desire for solid contact; his flat tongue supplied pressure that calmed it until the suction of his lips ignited another spark.

With the patience of a plug-in vibrator, he continued. Each chorus moved me closer, but he let me decide whether I wanted another verse or was ready for the coda. I floated that way for several sweet slow minutes, unfocused until my eyes landed on his body emerging between my legs, and the cage that showed his devotion to me.

Extending my leg, I toyed with it. He paused perhaps in surprise at first contact but went back to work as I played with it between my feet. Maybe it was the slight change in position or a developing idea, but I felt my climax approach.

Jim must have realized it before I did because he changed his pattern, launching me into euphoria, sucking my clit the way I loved as the waves of pleasure buffeted me. My moans and sighs subsided, but absent instructions, he returned to his earlier techniques.

When my brain began to function again, my feet and eyes were on the cock that I loved and I knew I had to release it. I rationalized that it had been over 48 hours, but in any case, I was the queen so I could choose to pardon it.

Kneeling astride his chest, I bent forward to use the key. Close up, I could see how his tender flesh tried to overflow the constraint and removed it as gently as I could manage. Without thinking, I swallowed the compressed member whole, applying my saliva as a balm, my gentle suction encouraging it to inflate to fill my mouth.

“Thank you, My Queen!” I heard behind me. It reminded me of my role and the rest of my idea. Despite my mercy, the weekend was not over so I returned to my seat. He didn’t wait for permission or command before resuming his oral caresses, but I wasn’t in the mood to interrupt them to discipline him.

Having left the cage in pieces on his chest, I marveled at how tall and straight its former contents rose before me. Grabbing the lube from the adjacent table, I squirted a generous amount on my feet. Rubbing them together to spread it, I stretched them to his pole. With it nestled between my arches, he couldn’t keep his hips from trying to thrust.

His mouth became more energetic as I used my feet to fondle him. It was distracting me and I wasn’t giving him the footjob I had intended. Nonetheless, I guessed he was horny enough not to need a lot of stimulation.

“Drone, if you make me cum again, you can cum with my feet,” I said, my voice low with the growing excitement from his continuing stimulation and the prospect of seeing him explode.

I bounced like I was on a bumpy road, between squirming above his incessant mouth and trying to stroke his penis with my toes. My elbows extended to the arms of the throne to brace me against the motion of my legs, leaving my hands to play with my tits. My husband ensured that he would not cum before me by intently propelling me forward.

It was still a photo finish; as I approached my edge, I couldn’t properly attend to his cock. The best I could do was mash it against his belly with the ball of my foot and stroke erratically. It was enough.

“Yes! Cum with me!” I squealed. The sight of a stream of milky fluid shooting up his chest, some landing on my other foot and leg, made my heart leap as the ecstasy consumed me. My spasms translated through my leg to draw more from his nozzle. The pulses of pleasure in me and spunk from him seemed to go on and on.

I was beyond hearing the first few times he sang, “Thank you, My Queen!”

He repeated it until I interrupted him. “That’s enough for now, drone.”

We stayed like that for several minutes, strangely close yet separate. Idly, I used my feet to caress his spent organ, wiggling my toes in the substantial puddle on his belly.

Queen again, I sat up straighter and spoke, “Drone, come out from there. You have a mess to clean up.”

My husband’s head emerged as he scooted out from under the throne, but I stopped him with a slimy foot in his face. His eyes widened as he realized what I intended and he began to lick his semen from my toes. I dipped my other foot in the pool and fed it to him, alternating feet until it was gone. Sitting up, he checked my legs and slurped up those tracks as well.

Whatever thrill he got out of it, it was ticklish fun for me. Each tongue stroke and toe suck sent a shiver through my post-climax sensitive body.

“Enough,” I said when my toes were well past clean and I was struggling not to laugh. Withdrawing my foot, I stood up.

Before I stepped away, I paused, wanting to relish and engrave the image in my mind: me, my hands on my hips, looking down; him, his shackle unlocked next to him, looking up; my throne, still warm and damp, separating yet connecting us.

“Come to the bedroom when you’re done,” I said, turning to go. He didn’t move as he watched me walk away, leaping to his feet only after I stepped into the hall. He cleaned up quickly and rushed to join me. Watching his unbound cock waggle as he hurried into the room gave me special delight.

“Happy Anniversary, Jim!” I said, welcoming him under the sheets.

“Happy Anniversary, Pam!” he replied, adding, “You will always be my queen.”