cuckoldbootslave

[cuckoldbootslave]

[cuckoldbootslave]

Sophia leaned forward slightly, her dark eyes, framed by the long gloves that reached her shoulders, intently fixed on Jacob. Michael’s arm remained draped possessively around her, his bare chest radiating a smug warmth that Jacob could almost feel. The bruises on Jacob's back throbbed with a dull ache, mirroring the fresh wounds on his soul, but he dared not flinch. "Jacob," Sophia commanded, her voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. "Tell us, in detail, what a pathetic, worthless cuck you truly are. Tell us how this… this agony of watching me with Michael… how it’s precisely what you deserve."

Jacob’s jaw trembled, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment before forcing them open to meet her imperious gaze. "I am a pathetic, broken cuck, mistress," he choked out, his voice raw, laced with the bitter taste of utter self-loathing.

"My very existence is a testament to my inadequacy, a constant reminder that I am nothing but a shadow compared to Master Michael. Every glance you share, every touch, every kiss... it tears at my heart, but it is a pain I’ve earned. I deserve to be broken. I deserve to be beaten by him, to bear the marks of his superiority, because I failed you. I am too weak, too small, too utterly contemptible to satisfy a goddess like you. My purpose is only to witness your glory, to be the filthy ground upon which you and Master Michael tread, and to understand that this agonizing hurt is my rightful place. I am your property, a discarded toy, and even this pain is a privilege I’m barely worthy of." His voice broke on the last words, his body trembling, lost in the abyss of his own declared worthlessness.

[cuckoldbootslave]

[cuckoldbootslave]

Sophia held Michael's hands and said, "Jacob was very bad today. After working for 16 hours, cleaning your Range Rover, doing your laundry, he hesitated before kneeling and massaging my feet."

Michael became angry, "We expect immediate obedience, cuck. No excuses."

Jacob knew that pleading would do nothing. But he also knew that Sophia was aroused when he plead for mercy from her boyfriend.

"Take off your shirt, slave, " Sophia smiled.

She nodded at Jacob.

Jacob begged, "please, my beautiful wife, don't let your lover beat me. I was exhausted. I- I- I'm so scared of him."

Sophia smiled, "turn around and beg him to punish you."

"Sir, please hurt me. I never should have hesitated to serve.." his voice choked, "..your girlfriend."

The first ten strikes fell in rapid succession. Sophia was pleased, her breath hitched as she watched her husband beaten by her lover. Jacob was in pain. He cried. He was exhausted.

Sophia grabbed Jacob by the hair. "Oh no you don't. Stay upright. Make it easier for him to hit you. If you want him to stop, just beg him. I love watching my husband beg my lover to stop beating him."

She smiled, the words would be as erotic as the beating.

"Please, sir, no more!" Jacob choked out, his voice hoarse and broken, tears streaming down his contorted face. "I beg you… I can't take any more!"

Michael paused, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he heard Jacob's desperate plea. He glanced at Sophia, who stood nearby, her eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity. Her dark leather gloves were clenched in Jacob's hair, and a faint flush crept up her neck, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. Her lips, usually set in a knowing half-smile, were now slightly parted, a soft gasp escaping them as Jacob whimpered.

"Such a touching display, wouldn't you say, my dear?" Michael purred, his voice a low rumble.

Sophia nodded, her gaze fixed on the suffering man. "Exquisite," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, a shiver running through her. "The way he begs... it's turning me on. Don't stop, Michael. Make him regret what he did." Michael's grin widened, and with renewed vigor, he raised his hand, the sound of the next impact echoing through the dimly lit room.

"No," Jacob begged. His tears blurred his vision.

"I forgot how much I loved to see him cry," Sophia smiled.

"Let's bring him to the bedroom and make him watch," Michael took her hand.

"I'll make him beg me not to cheat on him," Sophia laughed. "Think of how heartbroken he'll be."

[cuckoldbootslave]

"Look at him squirm," Sophia sneered, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Jacob, you always were so full of fight, and now… well, now you're just pathetic."

Michael chuckled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I think he's enjoying this even more than we are, darling. That sweat, the whimpering – it's practically a symphony of suffering."

Sophia turned to Michael, her gloved hand gently caressing his cheek. "I love it when you punish my husband, darling." Her gaze drifted back to Jacob, a cold amusement in her eyes. "Whether he disobeyed me, missed a spot of dirt while licking my boots, or just for my entertainment, I enjoy watching you make him suffer."

[cuckoldbootslave]

The air still hummed with the echo of the belt’s crack—Michael’s handiwork, the leather now dangling from his fist as he stood tall in his tailored suit, a silent enforcer of her will. Jacob knelt before her, his shirt torn, his face streaked with sweat and shame, the punishment fresh on his skin. The windows framed the snowy estate outside, a stark contrast to the heated tension within. Sophia grabbed his hair and tilted his head up, her smile a razor’s edge as she studied his tear-streaked face.

“Look at you, Jacob,” she purred, her voice laced with venomous delight. “Crying like a child after Michael had to step in. Did you think you could escape this? You brought this on yourself, you pathetic loser” Her gloved fingers tightened, pulling a gasp from him. “That belt kissed your skin because you failed me. You handed me a reason to hurt you.” Jacob’s breath hitched, his hands trembling on the floor, but his eyes—wide with fear and devotion—never left hers. The punishment, delivered by Michael under her command, had been brutal.

Sophia leaned closer, her thigh-high boots brushing his knee, her dominance absolute. “You did this,” she hissed, her tone cold and cutting. “You groveled for my attention, worked yourself to the bone, and still couldn’t deliver. What did you expect? Mercy? You don’t deserve it—you earned every lash.”

Michael shifted slightly, the belt swinging lightly in his hand, a reminder of his role as her lover and enforcer. His face remained impassive, but his presence loomed, a silent agreement with Sophia’s words. She smirked at Jacob, her gloved hand sliding to his cheek, not to comfort but to press his face harder against her thigh.

She taunted, her voice a whip of its own, “You stood by while I cheated on you, and now you think you can whimper your way out of the consequences? Pathetic. Every bruise, every tear, it’s your own doing.”

Jacob’s shoulders shook, a sob escaping despite his effort to please her. “I’m sorry, Sophia,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his submission complete.

“Sorry?” she laughed, a sound as cruel as it was beautiful. “Your apologies are as worthless as your efforts. You are my cuck, my punching bag. You handed Michael the belt when you failed me, didn’t you? Because you’re too weak to be anything other than my pathetic loser.” She released his hair, shoving him back to the floor, her boots clicking as she stood over him. “Look at you, groveling on my rug. You did this to yourself, and you’ll take more if I decide it.”

She glanced at Michael, a nod of approval, and he stepped forward, the belt raised slightly. “Tell her you deserve it,” Michael said, his voice smooth but edged with disdain. “Say it.”

Jacob’s voice trembled as he pressed his forehead to the floor. “I deserve it, Sophia. I brought it on myself.”

Sophia’s smile widened as Michael began to beat her husband again, her sadistic pleasure renewed. “Good boy,” she murmured, her tone dripping with mockery. “Now stay there and remember—every mark on you is your own fault.”

[cuckoldbootslave]

Sophia kissed Michael deeply, her gloved hands clutching his coat as if claiming him all over again. When their lips finally parted, her breath was warm and wicked against his cheek. “That was so hot,” she murmured, a sultry thrill in her voice. She glanced down at Jacob — shirtless, chained, kneeling in the snow like an obedient dog — and smirked. “Let’s leave him out here to freeze while we enjoy ourselves inside. He’s used to the cold. He belongs in it.” Her tone dripped with mockery.

Michael looked down at the man beside her boots, then laughed softly. “Look at you,” he said, voice sharp and amused. “Naked, pathetic, gripping her chain like it’s the last piece of dignity you have. Do you think she feels anything for you when she has this?” He pulled Sophia close, his hands roaming her waist with intention. “You’re not her lover. You’re not her man. You’re the reminder of everything she’s outgrown.” He nudged the chain with his boot, forcing Jacob’s head lower. “You kneel for her while I make her scream my name. That’s your role. And we both know you’ll thank us for it.”

[cuckoldbootslave]

She stood tall in the snow, pristine and untouchable in her white fur, the riding crop hanging idle in her gloved hand. “Take off your shirt,” she said, without looking at him. “Then chain yourself to the post.” Her tone wasn’t angry. It was cold, casual — like she was reciting something long practiced.

As he knelt, fumbling with the chain, she stepped closer and tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharp with cruel clarity. “It’s been three years now. Three years since I started cheating on you with Michael.”

She glanced toward the man standing silently behind her, then back down at the figure in rags before her. “And every year, I bring you out here. Every year, I watch you kneel. Every year, I whip you.” She raised the crop and let it tap once against her palm. “Do you know why I keep doing it?”

She smiled faintly. “Because it turns me on. Watching you humiliate yourself — it’s better than any foreplay. Your obedience is pathetic. Your pain, intoxicating. This,” she gestured with the crop, “is the only thing you’re good for anymore.”

[cuckoldbootslave]

She laughed—light, delighted, the sound sharp as the winter air—as she leaned into him. “I can’t wait for tonight,” she said warmly, her lipstick perfect, her coat draped like royalty over her shoulders. “You always know how to make me feel like a goddess, my love.”

Behind them, Jacob shifted the chain around his neck clinking faintly. His breath came fast, his chest rising with a pitiful mix of shame and longing. Sophia glanced back once, her eyes cruel with amusement. “Look at him, Michael. You see that jealous little twitch in his lip? Poor thing thinks I should smile like that for him.”

Michael laughed. “He’s lucky we let him watch at all. I’d chain him facing the wall if it didn’t turn you on so much.”

Sophia stepped forward and pressed a final kiss to Michael’s lips, moaning just loud enough for Jacob to hear. “Let him stew in it. While we dine, dance, and fuck like he never existed.” They walked off hand in hand, leaving Jacob alone with the sound of his own chains, the image of her laughter burning into his brain like salt in a wound.

[cuckoldbootslave]

She kisses Michael. "Yes, Jacob," Sophia says, "This is the man I'm cheating on you with. And there's nothing you're going to do to stop it because you're a pathetic cuck."

[cuckoldbootslave]

Bing does video now. Here is Sophia. It ignored the rest of the prompt.

[cuckoldbootslave]

Sophia broke the kiss first, her lips still glistening from Michael’s mouth. Her gloved hand slid down his chest slowly, possessively, before turning her gaze toward Jacob—kneeling in the snow like a broken statue, chained and shirtless, his head bowed in shame. She let out a soft laugh, not one of joy, but of scornful amusement.

“Look at him, Michael. Our pathetic little cuck,” she said, her voice syrupy with mockery. “Did you see how he whimpered when I kissed you? How his knees trembled at the sound of our pleasure?”

Michael’s gloved hand rested on the wooden post as he leaned closer to Jacob’s ear. “Did you hear her moaning while I whipped you, cuck?” he said quietly, his tone cutting and calm. “That wasn’t pity. That was arousal. Every time the lash landed, she tightened around me in her mind.” He straightened again and turned to Sophia with a smirk. “You said it best—he’s not a man. He’s just a pathetic cuck.”

Sophia stepped forward, the snow crunching beneath her pristine boots, and gripped Jacob’s jaw, forcing him to look up at her. “You begged so sweetly, Jacob,” she murmured mockingly. “But not once did I believe you meant it. I think you like knowing I was kissing my lover while you cried like a dog. Were you picturing me riding him in front of the fire again while you cleaned our floors with your tongue?”

Michael smirked, never taking his eyes off Jacob. “He’s not a man. Not even close. Just a shell watching his goddess kiss someone worth her touch. Worth her bed. Worth her moans.”

Sophia stepped closer to Jacob, her heel crunching the frost near his chained form. “Tell me, Jacob,” she said, voice low and venomous, “how does it feel knowing the only warmth I feel is from his body? That my pleasure, my desires, my screams at night, have nothing to do with you?”

Jacob opened his mouth to answer, but Sophia interrupted him with a gloved finger pressed mockingly to his lips.

“No,” she hissed. “You don’t speak. You listen. You absorb. You ache. That’s your role.”

Michael chuckled. “Don’t flatter him, darling. That would imply he belongs in the same room.”

She leaned down, close enough that Jacob could smell her perfume—soft, expensive, and utterly unreachable. “You exist to watch. To crave. To burn with the knowledge that I will never touch you again, not like I touch him. And when I’m done riding him, you’ll still be here… in the snow… waiting for your next command. Like a dog.”

She straightened again, slipping her arm through Michael’s and turning her back on Jacob with deliberate grace. “Come, love,” she said to Michael. “Let’s go back inside. He’s had enough pleasure for one day.”

Michael chuckled. “And we’ve only just begun.”

They walked off slowly, their laughter echoing behind them. Jacob didn’t move. He couldn’t. The chain was nothing compared to the weight of knowing he belonged to them—heart, mind, and humiliation.

[cuckoldbootslave]

Sophia’s gloved fingers twisted into Jacob’s hair, yanking his head back with a force that made his neck strain. The whip dangled from her other hand, its leather tip brushing the icy stone steps like a predator’s tail. Snow swirled around them, catching in her white fur coat, but her eyes burned with a fury that melted the cold. Jacob’s breath hitched, his naked body trembling—not just from the biting frost but from the dread and anticipation coiling in his gut. Her anger was a living thing, sharp and merciless, and he was its chosen prey.

“You pathetic worm,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous, each word a lash sharper than the whip. “You think $1.2 million is enough to please me? You think your sweat, your hours, your existence earns you anything but this?” She jerked his head higher, forcing his gaze to meet hers. Her lips curled into a sneer, her beauty a cruel mask. “You’re not a man. You’re a ledger I balance with pain.”

Jacob’s lips quivered, a whimper escaping despite his effort to stay silent. Fear pulsed through him, but it was laced with the masochistic hunger that defined him. Her rage was his altar, her cruelty his communion. He didn’t dare speak—her rules forbade it—but his eyes pleaded, not for mercy, but for her to continue.

Sophia’s grip tightened, pulling strands of his hair taut enough to sting. “Look at you, shivering like a dog left out in the cold. Do you know why I let you crawl back with that whip in your teeth?” She leaned closer, her breath warm against his frozen cheek, her words a blade pressed to his soul. “Because I wanted to see how low you’d sink for me. And you always sink lower, don’t you, Jacob? You’d lick the ice off these steps if I told you to.”

Michael stood a few paces back, his ivory wool coat pristine, his gloved hand resting lightly on the stone railing. His face was a study in detachment, but his eyes flickered with a quiet thrill, savoring Jacob’s degradation. He didn’t speak—Sophia’s wrath needed no amplification—but his presence was a silent command, reinforcing Jacob’s place beneath them both.

“You’re not even worth the dirt under Michael’s boots,” Sophia spat, her voice rising like a whip crack. She shoved Jacob’s head down, forcing his cheek against the icy stone. “He’s more man than you’ll ever be. He takes what I give, while you beg for my scraps.” She straightened, towering over him, the whip snapping against her boot with a deliberate flick. “You failed me, Jacob. And failure has a price.”Jacob’s body shook, his cheek burning against the frozen stone, but he nodded, a small, desperate gesture.

“Please, Sophia,” he whispered, breaking her rule in his fear-driven need. His voice was barely audible, a fragile thread in the storm of her anger.Her eyes narrowed, a predator sensing weakness.

“Did I say you could speak?” she snarled, yanking his hair again to pull him upright. The whip rose, its shadow falling across his chest. “You open your mouth to beg? You think your words matter? You’re nothing but a vessel for my disappointment.” She struck him with the whip’s handle, not the lash—a deliberate, humiliating blow to his shoulder that sent him sprawling back into the snow.

“Stay down,” she commanded, her voice cold as the ice beneath him. “You don’t get to stand until I’ve carved your failure into your skin.” She stepped closer, the hem of her fur coat brushing his trembling form. “You live to bleed for me, Jacob. You live to break. And when I’m done, you’ll thank me for it, won’t you?”“Yes, Sophia,” he gasped, his voice choked with fear and devotion, his body curling into the snow as if to embrace her punishment.She raised the whip, her smile as sharp as a blade. “Good. Now scream for me.”

[cuckoldbootslave]

Her mines had underperformed. Her sweatshops—meticulously optimized, brutally efficient—had delivered only $1.2 billion in profit this quarter. A disappointment. An insult. And when titans like Sophia were displeased, something—someone—had to bear the weight of it.

Jacob knelt in the snow, clothes soaked, lips trembling, but he didn’t dare look away from her gloved hand as it tilted his chin up. Her touch wasn’t tender—it was possessive. Cruel. He wasn’t being acknowledged.

Michael stood silently at her side, a model of strength and elegance in his ivory wool. His gloved hand rested on her arm.

Sophia crouched, snow swirling around her white fur coat like a storm obeying her will. “You're not here because you're useful,” she whispered. “You're here because I need to hurt something. And breaking you is… convenient.”

Jacob nodded, barely holding himself upright.

She slapped him once with her gloved hand—not with force, but with disdain.

Michael tightened his grip on her waist, his face impassive. He knew this rhythm well—Sophia’s fury disguised as calm, her contempt wearing the mask of poise.

“You exist,” she continued, lowering herself slightly to speak just above his eye level, “to absorb my dissatisfaction.”

She backhanded him without raising her voice. The sharp sound cracked through the frozen air. She said, "You suffer because I allow you to.”

Michael leaned in and whispered, “Take him to the stone steps. Make him kneel there. Naked.”

Sophia didn’t blink. “Strip,” she ordered.

Jacob hesitated for less than a second.

“That,” she said coldly, “was one second too long.”

[cuckoldbootslave]

Sophia leaned in close, her silky sleeve brushing against Michael’s as she placed her gloved hand firmly on his chest. “It’s such a turn on to see you dominate him,” she murmured, her lips barely an inch from his. “Making him kneel, making him submit like that.”

Her black leather glove slid slowly down Michael’s torso, deliberate, relishing the texture of control. Her fingers lingered at his waist as she turned her head slightly to glance down at Jacob—shirtless, quiet, gazing upward with worship in his eyes.

Sophia kissed Michael deeply, slowly, the silk of her body pressing into his. When she pulled away, her voice was lower, hungry. “Do more,” she whispered. “Push him further. I want to see how much he'll take for us.”

Jacob’s breath hitched, fear gripped him.

Michael moved behind him, placing both hands firmly on his shoulders now, grounding him. “Your body is ours tonight,” he murmured, his voice like iron wrapped in velvet. “You’ll hold position until we decide to let you fall.”

Sophia’s hand moved down to Jacob’s chest, palm flat against his skin. “Just obey.”

She turned her head slightly toward Michael and smiled.

“Strip him of everything left.”

Michael nodded. “With pleasure.”

Jacob silent, eyes wide, lips parted.

Sophia gave a quiet laugh, her gloved fingers brushing Jacob’s cheek again, not gently. “What you are is furniture.”

Michael grabbed him by the hair. "Say it, say what you are." When he hesitated, she slapped him.

Jacob’s voice came out broken, ragged. “I’m furniture. I’m nothing.”

She slapped him again—harder this time—and stood.

“Crawl,” Michael ordered.

Jacob hesitated a split second too long.

“Did you hear him?” Sophia’s voice was ice now. “Or do we need to teach you what hesitation costs?”

Jacob crawled—head lowered, breath shallow, heart pounding. His dignity trailed behind him like a shadow he no longer deserved.

“Stop,” Michael ordered.

Jacob froze.

She turned to Michael. “Take his belt. Use it.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. He stepped over to the dresser, pulled the leather belt from Jacob’s discarded trousers, and folded it in his hands with practiced ease.

“You’ll count,” Michael said. “And you’ll thank me. Or we start again.”

The first crack echoed in the room, followed by a choked gasp.

“One,” Jacob rasped. “Thank you.”

Another. “Two—thank you, sir.”

Michael delivered another strike—this one lower, biting into the top of Jacob’s thigh. He cried out, but the words followed: “Three… thank you, sir.”

“Good boy.”

[cuckoldbootslave]

Sophia sat beside Michael on the edge of the bed, her gloved hands resting elegantly on her knees, the soft creak of leather deliberate—designed to remind her cuckold of his place.

"I wear leather because you're unworthy of my touch," she said coolly, without even glancing at Jacob. Her voice was silk stretched over steel. "You don't get softness. You get distance."

Michael chuckled, his arm draped casually around her. “You know what I get to touch?” He reached up and brushed her cheek with affectionate confidence. “This skin. These lips. All the warmth and closeness she denies you.”

Jacob knelt, eyes lowered, heat rising in his face—not from shame, but from the cruelty. Tears welled up.

“Oh, you’ll watch,” Michael added, his tone mocking. “That’s your privilege, slave. You don’t get to feel. You don’t get to share. You just get to witness what real intimacy looks like—and remember you fund it.”

Sophia let out a soft laugh, her gloved hand resting on Michael’s thigh now. “And don't forget to thank us before you crawl back to your little mat on the floor.”