First the master decides to train his wife

The chain rattled as the master clipped the heavy hook into the back of the harness where the straps crossed between Lars’s shoulder blades. Lars felt the leather tighten immediately across his thick, hairy chest.

“Don’t—whatever you’re planning, just stop,” he said, voice rough. “I’m forty-seven years old. I hike these mountains every weekend. People know I’m out here. You’ve got the wrong man. Let me go and we can both walk away from this.”

The master gave the chain a short test pull. The harness lifted Lars’s upper body, forcing him forward onto his knees. His socked feet skidded uselessly across the lube-slick floor. The thick wooden dildo shifted inside him with a deep, grinding roll that pressed hard against his prostate. A sharp, urgent pressure bloomed in his gut.

Before Lars could brace himself, a broad hand landed flat on the round base of the dildo, right between his spread ass cheeks. The master slapped it once, hard enough to drive the wooden curve deeper for a split second, then gripped the base and jiggled it side to side in short, deliberate motions.

Lars’s whole body jerked. A raw, involuntary sound tore out of him.

“There it is,” the master said, voice calm and almost pleased. “That’s why your cock is hard, daddy. Not because you want this. Because this curved piece of wood is sitting right on your prostate, milking it every time you move or I move it for you. Your body doesn’t care that your mind is screaming no. It only knows the pressure. That’s why that thick cock of yours is standing up and dripping even while you fight.”

Lars’s face burned behind the blindfold. His impressive daddy-cock, heavy and veined, lay rigid against the wet floor between his splayed thighs, the head shiny with lube and the first clear drops of fluid. The thin leather straps of the harness framed it obscenely, running along either side of his balls and disappearing between his cheeks to hold the dildo in place.

“I’m not—fuck—take your hand off that thing,” Lars growled, trying to twist away. His powerful, hairy thighs flexed as he fought for purchase, but the floor betrayed him again. Every movement made the master’s grip on the dildo base shift the pressure inside him in new, unbearable ways.

The chain began to retract with a steady mechanical whine. Lars felt himself being pulled upward by the harness. His knees left the floor. Then his shins. The master kept the chain moving until Lars hung suspended, the balls of his feet and toes just barely brushing the lube-slick concrete. His entire weight hung from the leather straps across his broad, muscular back and chest. The harness creaked. His bound arms were forced even higher behind him, the tight elbow-to-wrist tie straining the thick muscles of his shoulders. His hairy chest was pushed forward, the silver studs catching the dim light as the straps dug into the meat of his pectorals.

His legs dangled and kicked weakly, powerful calves and thick, furred thighs sliding against each other, finding no solid ground. The dildo’s base pressed upward into him now with his full suspended weight, the curve inside him relentless.

The master stepped closer. Warm, callused hands began to explore.

One palm slid up the center of Lars’s hairy stomach, feeling the tight flex of muscle as Lars tried to pull away. The hand moved higher, spreading over one heavy pectoral, thumb brushing across a nipple through the dark chest hair. The other hand traced the line of the harness down Lars’s side, following the strap that disappeared between his legs. It cupped the weight of his balls briefly, then gripped the thick shaft of his cock, giving it one slow, assessing stroke from root to head.

Lars bucked hard in the harness, toes scrabbling for any kind of hold. “Get your fucking hands off me! I’m not your toy. I’m not your wife. I’m a man, goddamn it—”

The master’s hand left his cock. A moment later a sharp, open-palmed slap landed across the firm, hairy curve of Lars’s right ass cheek. It wasn’t brutal, but it was loud and it stung, the sound echoing in the barn. Lars’s body jerked in the harness, the sudden movement driving the dildo deeper for a second.

“Quiet,” the master said, voice still level. “I’m exploring how you react under stress. How hard you fight. How long it takes before that fight starts to crack. I suspect it’s going to take a long time with you. That’s all right. I enjoy the work.”

He slapped the other cheek, lighter this time, then ran both hands over the heated skin, squeezing the muscle, spreading the cheeks slightly so the base of the dildo was more visible between them. His fingers traced the leather straps framing Lars’s hole, then moved up to the small of his back, following the harness lines over the broad expanse of his shoulders.

Lars twisted again, legs kicking, the motion making his suspended body swing slightly. The harness bit into his chest. His cock bobbed heavily with every movement, still stubbornly hard, a fresh string of clear fluid dripping from the head onto the floor below.

“You’re out of your mind,” Lars panted. “This is kidnapping. Assault. I don’t care what sick game you’re playing—you’re not turning me into whatever you think I am. I have a life. I have people who will come looking. You can’t just—”

Another light slap, this one to the inside of his left thigh, just below the curve of his ass. It made the thick muscle jump. The master’s hand stayed there afterward, rubbing the spot in slow circles, feeling the tension in Lars’s powerful leg.

“I can,” the master said quietly. “And I will. Your body is already cooperating even while your mouth fights me. That’s the part I’m interested in. How long can a strong, forty-seven-year-old man like you keep that fight going when every shift of this wooden trainer inside you makes your cock leak and your hole clench? We’re going to find out together.”

He gave the base of the dildo one last firm press with his thumb, then stepped back. The chain gave a small, controlled rattle as the master adjusted the tension, leaving Lars hanging with his toes just skimming the floor, the full weight of his mature, hairy, harnessed body suspended and on display.

Lars hung there breathing hard, sweat and lube running down the furred planes of his chest and stomach. His arms ached in their tight tie. The dildo never stopped pressing, never stopped reminding him of its presence with every tiny movement.

The master’s voice came from somewhere in front of him now.

“Next,” he said, almost conversationally, “we’re going to see how you handle a little more girth in your man-cunt and a little more discipline from your loving master. And then we’re going to talk about what it means to be a good wife.”