My husband put his arm around me after we sat down at the table. I felt his bicep against the back of my neck bulging as he squeezed me closer to him. We were out for a date night at our favorite restaurant with another couple we were friends with, Steven and Andre.
Steven playfully pushed Andre to the corner of our booth so he’d have more leg room. It was always funny to see the contrast between them- Andre a skinny, feminine black guy with well-maintained hair and Steven the tall, muscular business man with piercing green eyes, a full beard, and a muscled frame. Andre was a lucky faggot to be married to him, although not NEARLY as lucky as I was to be married to Chris in my personal opinion. Chris was my everything- my partner, my lover, my owner, and my guide who helped me navigate the treacherous waters of life.
Our wedding the previous spring had been the best day of my life. I’ll never forget standing outside at our wedding ceremony holding hands with him. His chiseled, masculine face with that sexy black hair smiling with a huge grin at me. That was the day he fully claimed me as his own. I committed to serve, obey, and love my husband with everything I had for the rest of my life. There was something very wonderful and special about making a permanent, legally-binding commitment to him. He’d own me forever.
“Now what am I going to order for you tonight?” Chris asked me as he flipped through the menu the waiter just handed us.
The waiter, asked us what we wanted to drink. Steven proceeded to order drinks for him and his fag. Chris ordered a beer for himself and a light martini for me. I figured it was going to be one of “those nights” now that Chris was getting me drunk.
The waiter left and Chris got back to the menu.
“Do you still have your faggot on a diet?” Steven asked Chris, as if I wasn’t there. I knew when the men talked with each other I should be seen and not heard.
Chris looked up from his menu without looking over at me, “Yeah, I’m going to keep him on it for a few more weeks. He’s lost most of the body fat but he still has a ways to go. He’s gained some muscle, though.”
Chris grabbed my arm, lifted up my shirt sleeve and drug my upper body against the table. “Feel his arm,” Chris said.
Steven began to squeeze my upper arm. “Not half-bad. You’re doing pretty well with him, bud. Keep up the good work,” he said.
The waiter came back with our drinks and took our order. Chris ordered a steak for himself and a salad for me. He made sure to tell the waiter to “take it easy” on the dressing.
After the waiter left again, Chris and Steven started talking about sports. This, of course, was a subject Andre and I knew absolutely nothing about so we kept quiet as the men talked with each other. I was always happy to be there on his arm like a good spouse while he talked with other men.
A little while into their conversation he reached around with his other arm and grabbed my hand. It was very comforting to be completely in my husband’s arms, holding hands with the man I love. He moved his face close to my ear and whispered, “I love you, babe.”
It was amazing that after all of these years of knowing him, this still gave me butterflies. He kissed my cheek and moved my hand slowly underneath the table. He had moved his coat over towards his lap so that no one could see that underneath the table was his bulging, erect cock unzipped from his pants.
“Jerk me off for the rest of the night till I tell you to stop,” he whispered to me.
Naturally, I obliged. Chris had an insatiable sex drive. He was basically either erect or jerking off somehow, someway no matter what he was doing. A superior mutlitasker that I was not. Throughout the rest of the conversation and even as we were eating I continued to jerk his cock.
Andre and I smiled coyly at each other as our men talked throughout our meal. I couldn’t quite tell but I suspected Andre was doing the same thing to Steven. My hand started to get sore from the position it was in but I knew better than to complain to my husband. Whenever the waiter came by he would brush my hand to the side for a moment so we wouldn’t get caught. It still made me incredibly nervous that someone would find out.
The waiter came by to ask if we wanted refills. Chris’ beer was almost empty.
“Actually, we’ll get a beer for him this time,” he said pointing towards me.
Oh boy, I thought to myself. He must really want to get me drunk! I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, either. The waiter came back with the beer and after he left, Chris did something strange. He chugged a few gulps of “my” beer and then poured the rest into his glass.
Steven’s face lit up like he knew what was happening. “Oh man, are you actually going to try it? That thing you talked about?” he asked Chris.
“Yup,” Chris replied with a smirk on his face.
He then reached the glass under the table and began to piss in the glass, angling his erect cock just perfectly so not to spill anywhere.
Fuck! I thought to myself. I could tell this was going to be intense. My husband had only recently begun to train me as his piss pig as it was a newer fetish for him. I knew what was coming. He set the glass on the table.
“Drink your ‘beer,’ faggot. You’ve got two minutes,” he said to me with a commanding voice as he pulled out his phone and started the timer.
I started gulping the piss down as fast as I could. One gulp after the other. By the third gulp, the putrid taste began to sink in and I had to stop myself. I put it down on the table and made a disgusted face. A busboy walked past us.
“Is everything okay, man?” the busboy asked me.
“He’s not much of a beer drinker,” Chris told him.
“You should drink more beer, dude. It’ll grow some hair on your chest,” he joked to me as he walked on by. Steven burst into laughter.
“This is fucking hilarious. I’ve got to get this on video,” Steven said as he pulled out his phone and started recording.
Chris looked at me and said, “You’ve got one minute and twenty seconds, bitch.”
I knew I had to drink the rest of the piss for my husband because I didn’t want to disappoint him so I started gulping it more, trying to ignore the taste. My husband, Steven, and Andre started chanting in unison “chug, chug, chug.” That was when a group of frat boys in the aisle across from us saw what were doing as I was drinking the “beer” and started chanting along with them. I felt extremely embarrassed.
I pushed through the discomfort and continued to drink my husband’s salty piss. Chris looked down at his phone, “20 seconds. Better hurry!”
That’s when I noticed that his hand was underneath the table and seemed to be making a frantic motion. Clearly he was getting off to this. I was almost done as they counted down, “5… 4… 3… 2… 1!”
I finished the glass of piss and put the empty glass back on the table, relieved. Everyone cheered for me. If only those frat boys knew. The frat guys went back to their normal conversation when I saw that Chris was closing his eyes and sighing. He breathed heavily as he smiled then brought his hand up to the table, covered in his sticky white cum.
He put his hand over my empty salad bowl and let it drip down into the bowl.
“You’re going to eat this with a spoon, bitch,” he said to me. Then he leaned really close to my ear once more and whispered, “See how nice I am? I’m letting you break your diet with dessert!”
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