Tag: halloween cuckold

see part one

It had been a year since the Halloween party where your brutish coworker had dressed as Boba Fett and preyed on your girlfriend’s intense dedication to staying in cosplay character. He convinced Slave Leia that her terrorist actions against a sovereign ruler of the former Republic, Jaba the Hutt, could sink the rebellion’s credibility. If the rebels took out sovereign rulers over personal vendettas, could they really be trusted as the torch bearers of democracy? So your girlfriend had agreed to go off with your bully, to an empty bedroom, and begin “proper slave training.” Beaten down by your coworker and told by your girl that, as Han Solo, you were too weak and blind from carbonite hibernation sickness to save her, you sat in the living room, miserable and anxious. You wondered what they were doing and drank yourself into unconsciousness. In the morning your girlfriend woke you up and made you drive her home. 

Since then, you had both mostly pretended it didn’t happen. The one talk had been brief. “I’m sorry I got carried away, baby! You know how I am about staying in character! Besides, he just like made me dance and follow commands. Mostly getting him drinks. Being his footstool while he watched TV was the worst of it.” “Um, what kind of dances?” “Nothing! Just like cage dancer stuff. I didn’t strip! I mean, I did sorta give him a lap-dance…But! I told him he had to follow club rules: no touching the girls; they touch you, not vice versa.” You weren’t quite sure that was better but chose to be willfully ignorant and to believe in your girlfriend as hard as you could. You adored her and thinking on your doubts hurt.

She began going to more conventions than ever before. She’d always put a lot of effort into her characters and costumes, engaging in various LARPs and narrative improvs. Usually as a badass female warrior from fantasy or scifi. Nothing too femme or revealing. Yet now all of her costumes were skimpy and she seemed to have singled out every fictional slave girl character, from Star Trek to Mad Max to Elder Scrolls to Gor. You used to go with her when work permitted but now you couldn’t bear it, making weak excuses. She didn’t push you hard to change your mind.

You coworker, “Boba,” wasn’t nearly as reticent about the subject of the party. The next work day after that fateful Halloween party he had come right up to your desk and thanked you for telling him all about your girlfriend’s hot costume idea. “Without you I never would have tried this silly LARP stuff you nerds are always going on about. It was dumb but I can’t say it wasn’t fun. Your girlfriend was really dedicated to her part. Got down on her knees like a real slave and went to work, you know? And it wouldn’t have been possible without your cowardly, weakened Solo. Props, man!” Your only advantage over your bully coworker had been the girlfriend he lusted after and couldn’t have. Then you’d foolishly bragged and gave him the last advantage. You felt so dispirited that when he asked to have you reassigned under him, you didn’t argue. Occasionally he sent you home with a gift “for the Missus.” A few were the new slave costumes she’d go on to wear. All contained long notes she didn’t let you see. Sometimes your new boss was out on work trips the same weekends your girlfriend was at conventions. Weird coincidences, surely.

Friends tried to get you to break up with your girlfriend but you wouldn’t hear them. Nothing was wrong. Eventually your bestie couldn’t take it anymore and made you sit down and click through a gallery he’d compiled. It had posts and photos from various convention message boards. At first you just saw your girlfriend in her barely-there slave outfits. You’d seen that. Maybe not while being hugged so tight by other cosplayers and sweaty nerds, but whatever. She was good at what she did. Screenshots of her posts showed her building up her characters and looking for “slave trainers” and “slave owners” to play with. That made sense, too, really. You couldn’t be a slave by yourself. Cryptic references to how “Master” wanted her trained properly were just artistic flourishes, probably. More photos now showed her holding a sign saying “Train Me! Will work 4 orders.” And other cosplayers holding her leash while she leaned against them devotedly or kneeled at their feet. Some of the men looked a bit like your boss but they wore masks. Those made you feel weird. Surely it was paranoia, though, right? Another photo showed her beaming as various men and women wrote on her exposed skin in sharpie. Clicking through you saw “grope me” on her lower back, “cosplay = consent” on her stomach and “dumb slave” on her forehead. She looked so happy.

“You know, I get that it seems bad. I appreciate that you care, I do, but I love and trust my girlfriend. It’s just roleplay. Fantasy isn’t cheating.”

Your bestie left in disgust. You got a buzz on your phone. Bully boss wanted you to work late again, on Halloween. You sighed and texted your girlfriend that you’d have to be very late to the party. She said it was okay. Such a sweetie. 

When 5PM rolled around on the 31st and Slave Leia showed in your office, you were confused but delighted. “Hey there Baby! I told you I have to work late. I’m so glad to see you, though! Wait…weren’t we going as

Hephaestus and Venus?” Your girlfriend bit her lip nervously and looked down. “Well, I mean, you couldn’t make it until who knows when…and I got a different offer…and you know I love having someone to LARP with, right?”

That’s when your boss emerged from his office, dressed as Boba Fett again, helmet in hand. “Slave! Do not speak to the riffraff unless I say you can.” “I’m so sorry, Master Fett! It won’t happen again! I’ve been training so hard to be a good slave. Please don’t tell Jabba!” He grabbed her chain leash, jerking it hard. “Hmph, we will see how trained you are. Though I do hope you have some Princess left in you for me to break.” She cooed. “And you, minion! Check that work in triplicate. Make a single mistake and there’ll be hell to pay. You may come watch me in action once you are done. Understood? Good. Now slave, show me your pleasure that I deign to be seen with you.” Your girlfriend went on tiptoe and you watched in horror as she kissed your bully deeply, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning her nearly naked body fully against his.

idealporn:

The best Halloween costumes ever.

“It’s just an experimental art installation. Don’t be weird about it.” Your girlfriend had said when you questioned her Halloween plans. 

But surely this was horribly objectifying? Dangerous. Maybe even criminal, considering you’re staging it in secret at the autumn harvest festival?

“That’s what makes it experimental art you silly. Art is dangerous. Our bodies are analogous to the vulnerable, ripe fruits of the field. We will expose the savagery of a simple, family friendly ‘harvest’ scene for the act of domination that it really is, that our very existence as living things demands. We take of the living to regenerate our own life force. We harness the very means of creation and bend it to out wills, objectifying it, mechanizing it.” 

Right, but what if someone, tried…something…you know?

“Oh, honey, you’re so naive. We invite earnest exploration and play. Interaction is the truest form of art appreciation.”

But what about…sex? You can’t intend to allow…?

“Of course we can! How else can we expose truth if we don’t expose ourselves? If we balk at showing the fullness of our vision?”

But…but…I know it’s for art and you love me…and…but you’re not even on birth control!

“Sweetie…don’t be dense. The whole theme of the piece is conquest and reproduction, after all…” 

“That jerk always called me a fat cow. We’ll see what he thinks of this cow now.”

“He didn’t call you fat; he said he wanted to milk your big udders. You’re playing right into his hands.”

“Oh I’ll play right into his hands alright. Then we’ll see who’s an ugly cow when he’s kneeling under me.”

“Honey, please, this is crazy. It’s humiliating. What will our friends think?”

“That one of us finally has the upper hand over this bully? Besides, baby, none of our friends will be there. It’s an exclusive party for the cool crowd. That ass only joking invited me to be his ‘bovine bitch,’ not thinking I’d actually do it. But I’ll show him. I’ll wipe that smug smile right off his face with a double D in his mouth.”

“Please, I can’t bear to see this.”

“Baby, don’t cry. Don’t worry…you’re not invited either. Oh and don’t wait up. It might take all night to teach him a lesson.”

You had encouraged her to play along with his flirting since the first office party, sure it would help you get ahead. She was disgusted but finally agreed to do it after a little pleading. Actually she had played her part a little too well. Did she really need to sit in his lap? That’s what you get for being a pig, she had retorted. 

But it had worked. The boss kept you close, promoted you. Unfortunately, he also mocked you openly in front of coworkers for having such a ‘loose wife’ and told others about her. “Go ahead and show Richards a picture of that slutty piece of ass you’ve got” he’d say, forcing you to show off photos of your wife to clients. He insisted you show ‘a sexy one.’ “Wouldn’t you like to blast a baby in that?” he’d then remark crudely, “You never know, bitch was in my lap after two drinks last party. You’re invited to the Halloween party of course.” Everyone always laughed at that. It was a good-natured joke, right? But it felt a little too real

So when he handed you this ‘costume’ and guffawed and made you turn around to “show the boys what I got that wife of yours for the party,” you felt an obligation to play along. People tittered awkwardly and some rude jokes were made at your expense, causing more genuine merriment. “Bring it to her and say it’s from her old admirer, hawhaw. Can’t wait to see her in it. We’ll see a lot of her, in fact, haw haw!”

You just wanted to throw it away. Surely he wasn’t serious? And yet, maybe your position hinged on your hot wife? You decided on a half measure: show it to your wife and treat it all as a joke. See what she said. Surely she’d refuse it out of hand and you could tell it as a funny story to the boss…