I don’t know why I did it. Why I insisted that I be next month’s slave. I think I wanted to know how it felt to remove decision-making from sex with my husband. To let him control me. I was uncomfortable at times doing it to him and I knew he’d have even more trouble with me. But the idea of being “forced” to do something I really wanted to do—as evidenced by my creation of the list and having checked “yes” for most of the items on it—made it exciting.
After that weekend, we returned to our normal lives, at least outwardly. I felt my blood was a degree or two hotter than it was before that weekend. While the frequency of our sex did not increase, its quality did as we both dared venture into territory we never would have before. Several times I stepped into the tub while my husband showered and, seeing his hard dick, rinsed off the soap and put it in my mouth until he came. Sometimes swallowing. Sometimes letting him rain over my face and chest.
When I was done, I’d tease him: “You don’t want to be late for the train, honey. You sometimes take too long in the shower.”
“Thanks. I’ve always thought I was long enough.”
“Not anymore,” swatting his dick lightly.
He sometimes asked to clean my pussy before we went to bed after I peed and I always let him. We held hands more often. It was very good. But as we entered the final week of the month, I began to tense, becoming obsessed with what would happen at noon on Saturday. My blood simmering along with my imagination.
As noon passed on the Friday, I lost my concentration at work. I told my boss that I didn’t feel well, and she told me to go home. As I rode the train north, I felt a shudder. In twenty-four hours I would be a slave, at my husband’s mercy. While a month earlier that prospect loomed, it was then a fifty-fifty possibility. Now it was a certainty. I was not regretting my decision to change the rules so that I was to be this weekend’s slave.
I wandered about the empty house. UPS delivered several large boxes over the final two weeks and I knew their contents were behind the door with the “DO NOT ENTER” post-it note. I stood outside that door. I was not tempted to open it. I put my hands against the wood trying to let the devices within communicate. What was there?
We went through the coin-flipping exercise. Again I won.
“I will be your slave and you will be my Master. I love you.”
“And I love you, honey. Let’s both try to relax and try to get some sleep.”
Sleep proved elusive. Visions, some arising from my own research and my own fantasies, flashed unendingly through me. My husband pretended to be asleep, but if he was it was restless. When the sun rose, I’d had at most four hours sleep. I slipped out of bed and after using the bathroom and putting on a robe I went to the kitchen. On the table, I found a hand-written note on several pages.
“These are your instructions.
“At twelve o’clock, you will stand in the Master’s bedroom wearing the clothing and the shoes that you wore on our twelfth wedding anniversary. Except you will not wear panties. I believe you will have no difficulty recalling that clothing and those shoes.
“When you are dressed, you will open the top drawer.
“You will attach the collar you find around your throat. I hereby permit you to attach my collar around your throat.
“You will find four cuffs. You will attach the two larger ones to your ankles and the two smaller ones to your wrists. You will then lock them with the locks that are in their clasps. I have the keys.
“You will see a spreader bar on the bed. You will attach either end of the bar to the rings on the cuffs on your ankles. When you have done that, you will remove the ball gag from the drawer and you will place the ball in your beautiful mouth and clasp it shut. It will not be locked.
“You will take the blindfold from the drawer and place it on the dresser.
“You will lift your dress so that it is about your waist and lean against the dresser, facing the mirror, so that your dress does not fall. Your ass and your pussy must be visible when you complete this task.
“You will take the blindfold atop the dresser and tie it around your eyes.
“You will place your chest on the dresser so your ass and pussy are completely exposed and available to your Master.
“You will complete these tasks by 12:05 or you will be punished.”
He’d signed it.
Just after I finished reading it, he waltzed into the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee with a “Morning, hon. How’d you sleep.”
We knew these were lies, but we needed to maintain normalcy until noon. I thought of doing some grocery shopping but just drove into town and walked around for an hour to burn up some energy. He’d gone out for a run with his buddies, and I wondered whether that went more easily for him than my attempt at grocery shopping went for me.
I finally gave up and drove home a little after eleven. The house was empty, and the door to the master, or master’s, bedroom was closed. When I walked into the bathroom, I saw my dress from the twelfth on a hanger with a bra, stockings with garter belt, and neatly folded in the sink with my three-inch heels on the floor. A large, folded towel was on the down toilet-seat.
I stripped what I wore and tossed it in the hamper. I peed and pooped as I waited for the water to warm up. After letting the flush clear and the shower water to get back to normal, I stepped in when the water was right. The shower is in the tub, with a shower curtain, which I closed. I soaped myself down, spending more time than usual on my boobs. I made sure my pussy was clean.
I ran a soaped finger down my ass crack and put it into my anus and rolled it around. I didn’t know whether I would be in for an enema treatment as my husband had enjoyed but I wanted it to be clean. I figured a plug would at the least be going in there. I didn’t often finger my anus, but I moaned a bit as I rolled it around inside me that morning. I removed the finger and put it on my tongue for a moment. It was putrid, and I pulled it away. That was a place I was not going.
After washing my hair I toweled off. I sat on the toilet seat and removed a pair of scissors from the bureau. I used it to trim my bush. I keep it neat, but wanted it as neat as could be. After drying my hair, I applied makeup. I tried to match what I wore that night over a year ago when this whole venture began. A put dabs of the perfume I wore then behind my ears and sprinkled several drops in my bush.
Done, I put on the bra and the garter belt. I sat and rolled up the stockings and attached them before letting the dress fall over me. I got into the heels.
Throughout this, I had not heard anything in the house. But the bathroom door was closed and that might have explained it.
I checked my phone. “11:54.” I opened the door and looked down the hall. No signs of life so I walked into the Master’s Bedroom, leaving the door open. The shades were pulled—he was home—and the sidelamps lit the room. Softly. The bed was made. A spreading bar at its center. I walked to the dresser. On top was a hand-written note:
“I love you. RED is your safeword.”
I opened the drawer and followed my instructions. It was 12:01. My hands were shaking. What had I gotten into?
The collar was blue. It would complement my dress. An inch wide. I held it and stared. The clock was ticking. With a last, free breath I placed it around my neck and secured it. I was in.
I then followed the instructions, aware of the passage of the seconds. The attachment of the spreader bar took a bit—it was about a foot-and-a-half long—but once that was done I quickly got the ball gag attached. Again after a long breath, I pulled the dress up over my waist, securing it by leaning against the dresser. Looking at myself in the mirror one last time, I wrapped the blindfold around my eyes and bent over.
I don’t know how long I was like that when I heard footsteps. He was wearing shoes so I thought he was dressed, likely wearing his favorite blue suit, the one from the anniversary. I felt my dampness, afraid but not caring that it would stain my dress. It was so bad some drifted down my left inner-thigh. Spit was escaping around the ball gag.
I felt fingers run up my left ass-cheek and down my right. I was visibly shaking as a finger ran from the top of my pussy to my anus. It lifted off and then pushed into my pussy.
“My slave is wet. This pleases me.”
I began to be fucked by the single finger, soon joined by a second and then a third. I was thrusting my ass to meet it and nearly cried when it was pulled away. A moment later, it was replaced by a tongue. A glorious, exploring tongue.
“I wish you could taste my slut’s juices but, sadly, your mouth is otherwise engaged. Which means more of you for me,” and the tongue resumed its licking. Ten minutes in and I was completely gone. He always loved eating me but I was his slave and his dick was supposed to be in my mouth so I could service him. Did he not understand that I was his slave?
His tongue pulled away. I was having difficulty breathing and I felt fingers on the clasp of the gag and it was removed.
I felt a kiss at the back of my neck and a moment later his dick shot into me. My hands grasped the back of the dresser top so I could hold myself in position. A pounding not unlike what he gave me that Saturday morning when I first gave myself to him. My newly-freed mouth started sprinkling gibberish as I neared my orgasm. Till he pulled out.
“Patience, Baby. Patience.”
This was the message that went to my brain but my body would not listen. I was shoving my ass out. I didn’t give a shit how it looked. I needed him in me.
He repeated his edging of me twice more. Bringing me close and then stopping. I knew it wasn’t easy for him. He jerked off almost every day so while he had built up his dick’s strength he also needed to come. Yet as my Master he was holding it off.
I felt his hands on the blindfold as he undid it.
“Look at yourself in the mirror. . . . Kiss yourself.”
“Can you not hear, Baby? Kiss yourself.”
I stared at my image in the mirror and slowly moved closer to it. It was silly, perhaps, but in that moment I wanted to kiss the lips of the beautiful, flushed woman I saw. I placed my lips against her lips, regretting that my tongue could not taste hers. I held it with closed eyes. As I pulled away, I stared at myself and my lustful eyes and then I watched my eyes bulge as I felt him re-enter me. It was clear from the moment he did that there would be no edging now. I pulled my sight from my eyes in the mirror to look at his face. A gluttonous smile. Evil yet kind. And manic eyes as he took me, powerless to stop. Powerless in thought, mind, and body as I screamed and shook when my first orgasm of the day hit and while I was shaking I felt him explode inside me.
He quickly pulled out and I felt his lips at my pussy’s entrance, sucking on the goo, the combination of his semen and my juices. I felt his fingers enter and then he stood and brought them around to my mouth. He said nothing as I suckled on them for dear life, this wonderful combination of our sex.
What remained of that combination leaked down my thighs. The dress fell below my waist.
I turned and he held me and his lips crashed into mine. Much as I wanted to kiss myself in the mirror, it was nothing compared to the passion I needed to have in a kiss with my husband.
After who knows how long, he pushed me back. I pouted.
“You have pleased me, Baby. So far. Let us not have you spoil that.”
“Yes, my Master.”
He knelt to undo the spreader bar. He placed it on the dresser.
He was in the suit and had pulled up his trousers. As far as the world could see, he was ready to walk into a courtroom. He walked to the armchair in the corner. He sat.
I proceeded to put on what I hoped was a good show for him. Legs spread I unzipped and pulled my dress over my head. I stood there in bra, stockings, garter belt, and fuck-me shoes. I unclasped the bra and teasingly (I hoped) revealed first one and then the other of my tits. I put my arms to the side, displaying myself and then turned, slowly, around. When my back was to him my husband said, “Stop.”
He walked to me and I felt his hands again caress each of my ass cheeks. I heard him sit back down. “Resume.”
I slowly finished my turn till I again faced him. He rose and came to me, this time his hands caressed my tits. He placed each of my nipples between his thumb and index finger of each hand. He turned and opened the drawer. He turned, his hands in fists.
“You may choose whether you wish to wear these. If they are too painful, I will stop tightening them.”
He opened his fists and I saw two nipple clamps. They were like the ones he wore with me; they had screws that tightened them so the pain was not overwhelming. I reached for each and placed them in the palms of my hands.
“Please, my Master, allow me to wear your jewelry.” At that point, my only jewelry was my wedding band.
He placed one on my left tit. As he turned the screw I began to feel pain. It was uncomfortable but not entirely unpleasant. He continued turning until he heard me gasp. That stopped him and we repeated the process with my right tit. He reached into the drawer. Extending from each clamp as a small ring. I now saw its purpose. He attached the ends of a silver chain to the two rings so the chain dangled between my tits.
He moved to the side so I could see myself in the mirror. My tits never looked so good. I have good tits. Neither too large nor too small, and my husband adores them. His eyes may be pulled by big-titted women on the street or elsewhere, but he adores my mid-sized boobs. They never looked better, though, than with the clamps and the chain.
He moved back in front of me and turned me so I faced into the room.
“My turn,” and he stood in front of me. I reached to remove his jacket and opened the closet and put it on a hanger. I returned and removed his cufflinks. On the dresser. I loosened and removed his tie and folded it and placed it next to the cufflinks. Next were the shirt’s buttons. I undid each and once I got to the third I kissed his chest with each revealed inch. When all of the visible buttons were undone, I pulled the shirt from his trousers and undid the final buttons. I slowly removed the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms before folding it and placing it too on the dresser.
I love his chest and stomach. Not six-pack looking. More mature and solid and a flat stomach from all his running. I wanted to kiss his belly button but resisted. I had things to do.
His breathing had picked up, his hands back to his sides. I reached down and removed his shoes and then his socks, putting them on the floor. I looked up at him. He had an artificially-impassive expression. His breath gave him away. I undid his belt and then the top button of his trousers before pulling down his zipper. I began to pull them down when his dick popped out. He was not wearing underwear and I felt a tinge.
I pulled the trousers down and he stepped up so I could remove them.
Naked and with a chain dangling between my tits, I walked to the closet and put the trousers on a hanger. I figured, though, that leakage meant they’d need to take a trip to the cleaners.
I turned and walked back to him. I knelt so that my ass cheeks were on my heels and looked down. His dick was hard and pointing up.
I didn’t realize how quick my own breaths had become. I proceeded to make love to his dick. It and my mouth, teeth, and tongue became my universe. Whatever I was before, I was now his slave, existing only to please him, my greatest desire to please my husband in the way that he deserved.
I dropped them and now was dependent on my neck muscles to control my mouth’s movements. I had of course lost all track of time, but it did not seem long before I felt his hands briefly on my head. He pulled them away, though. I felt him begin to tremble as his orgasm began to hit. With my mouth moving to hold only the head, his dick exploded my husband’s seed into his slave’s mouth. Before his dick was out of my mouth, I’d swallowed every drop and cleaned the head.
He stepped back and sat on the bed. He was not controlling himself as he pretended to; I could see he was shaking slightly.
Again breathing heavily, he said, “You have pleased me, Baby. Follow me.”
He walked down the hall into the bathroom. When I entered, he remained silent. I knew what he wanted. This was a line for me. Part of me wanted to shout “RED RED RED.” I ignored it. I stepped into the tub and lay down. My husband reached down and undid the two nipple clamps and put them delicately by the sink. He unlocked each of the cuffs and put them there too. He followed me into the tub, standing above me and his feet on either side of my body. He waited a moment, as did I. Finally I nodded and he let out a torrent of piss. He, of course, had an easier time aiming than did I and he washed my tits and when I nodded again he pissed on my face. Suddenly I found my mouth open and my face trying to catch a bit of his acrid stream. When he understood, he no longer moved his dick and let what remained of his urine go into my mouth as I desperately swallowed until the stream slowed and a strip of his piss traced a path through my midline down to my navel.
He stepped back and I lifted myself so I could put his dick in my mouth to clean it and get the last, few drops.
I did. It is a conventionally-sized tub with a shower. He stepped out and turned the shower on. I nearly screamed from the icy water but let it wash over my chest as it slowly, so slowly, warmed. When it was warm, he stepped in and closed the curtain.
He handed me a bar of soap and I washed his front, lingering on his dick. He turned and I did the same to his back, including running a finger through his ass crack.
Making sure my middle finger was well soaped, I put it in his anus to the second knuckle. He was silent so I began to move it around a bit. Suddenly the water was off.
Another line. “RED RED RED” ignored as I knelt down on the hard and wet porcelain. His hands opened his ass cheeks and I looked at an anus for the first time. It was crinkly and a bit brown around the surface. My tongue, tentative at first, poked at it. It was not so horrible, unlike my own shit that I tasted earlier that day, and I began to twirl around it, running my tongue down to his balls now and then.
His breathing was again accelerating, his hands flat against the wall so he would not fall. I joined my tongue with fingers from my right hand, which found their way down and then around his leg so my hand could grip his dick. My husband was now moaning, with it echoing through the bathroom. He’d ripped open the shower curtain to help us cool down. Sweat was dripping off both of us.
My hand slowly began pumping his dick. He’d just come so I didn’t know how long it would take to reload. But he’d proven well able to have lots of orgasms the last time we did this.
My tongue was getting more curious and I made it into a cylinder as I tried to enter his anus. I felt his sphincter open slightly and then snap shut. Finally, my tongue was through, allowing me to wiggle it slightly inside him. Somehow the notion of being “inside him” struck me as momentous. But I did not have long to ponder that as my hand had increased its tempo and his moans became constant except when he needed to take a breath.
His knees bent and suddenly I felt his cum shoot through his dick. I assume it hit the tub’s wall, but couldn’t see since my head was against his ass as my tongue tried to retain the bridgehead it made in his anus.
Finally, his whole body leaned forward and my face was left in the open.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I ran my hands down the sides of his rock thighs, thighs I’d often rubbed against to get myself off. Not sure what my instructions were, my knees were beginning to fail so I slowly rose. He backed a little so my front was against his back and my hands could encircle his waist.
“Again my slave has pleased me.”
“Thank you, my Master.”
He turned the water on again. He needed another cleaning but merely rinsed himself. He took the soap and turned and soaped my front, sneaking a finger into my pussy as he cleaned there and then he did my back. He ran his finger through my ass crack and paused.
“Please, my Master, please,” and he placed the finger into my anus. That alone almost made me come. But my rules had to be respected, although I realized it was implied. He’d not actually said I couldn’t come without his permission. We both understood. “Prior course of dealing,” as we lawyers call it.
We both stepped out and I toweled him off, paying particular attention to ensuring that his dick was dry. His hands were on my shoulders as I did his legs.
“You have five minutes to take care of yourself. When you are done, come to the Master’s bedroom.” I noted that he’d included that apostrophe s.
I peed and checked my face in the mirror. My makeup was a mess, and I used a towel to clean it off. He’d left the nipple clamps and chain so I reattached them. I did the same with the cuffs, savoring the click when I locked them. I admired my tits with their jewelry in the mirror before turning off the light and going to the Master’s bedroom.
It was still light out, but I had no idea what time it was. He’d taken the comforter off the bed. There were two spreader bars there.
“You may choose, Baby. Face up. Or face down.”
I was not sure what this meant but I said, “up.”
“Lie on your back.”
When I did, he put a pillow beneath my head. My husband attached one of the spreader bars to my ankle cuffs. He walked to the side and attached the other to the wrist cuffs and put it above my head. He then tied my wrists to opposite posts on the bed with ropes so I was secured and spread-eagled on the bed with my arms above my head.
He was naked and I felt fear at my helplessness.
He lifted the ball gag for a moment but then placed it back down on the dresser. I think I held my breath then. It terrified me. But he did not put the blindfold back, and he came to the side of the bed and attached it.
“Alexa, play waves” and the sound of ocean waves filled the room.
He was gone. I started to panic, and thank god the gag wasn’t in my mouth, but I calmed myself. I trusted my husband to my soul and I fell into a deep sleep. I don’t know when I’d had a more peaceful nap. I do not know how long it lasted.
I felt something cold and wet on my pussy. I grunted.
“It is me, Baby. You’ve been out for a couple of hours. I’ve been watching you. I hope you dreamt of being ravaged. If not, understand that you are going to be ravaged. I’m using ice to wake you up.”
I was fully awake. I felt his tongue on my pussy and the cold of the ice turned to the heat of horniness. He tested my wetness with his finger.
He waited though.
“Please fuck me, my Master. Please use me like the slave I am.”
I felt him enter me and the combination of having just been awakened with ice and his use of tongue and finger got me going more quickly than I ever had. He’d been staring at me naked and sleeping and I knew he could not hold out for long. There’d be no edging now.
“You may not come until you fell my seed in your womb.”
“Yes, my Master.”
He was rabid. We both were. I was thrusting up to meet his dick which was pounding into me as never before.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck” and he was gone. As soon as I felt his cum, my own orgasm shot through me, my arms and legs restrained from moving. When he was done, he bent down and licked what he could from my pussy. I emitted a slight moan as his tongue crossed my clit.
He got up and untied the ropes and removed the spreader bars. He opened the dresser drawer and removed the keys to the locks and unlocked the four cuffs. The cuffs were soft, lined with fake fur, but I’d worn them for a while and my wrists and ankles were sore. He returned to the dresser and got a bottle with a cream and applied the cream where the cuffs had been, soothing them.
He took the cuffs and the locks and put them in the drawer.
“You have proven yourself as my slave, Baby. I won’t need these again. . . . Tonight.”
He put the two spreader bars on the top of the dresser, next to the clothing.
He walked into the bathroom. He lifted the top of the toilet seat and I sat. On the sink top was a cup I didn’t notice.
“Pee into this.”
A flow quickly filled the cup about three-quarters full. As I reached for toilet paper to wipe myself he said, “No. Stand.”
I stood and he knelt and cleaned my pussy with his tongue. He stood and took the cup from me. He’d placed two glasses on the sink top and he split my urine between them. He handed one to me and he clinked our glasses. He put his glass to his lips and drank my piss. After a thought, I did the same. It had an interesting taste, not entirely unpleasant. Woodsy is the word an oenophile might use.
We returned to the bedroom and he said, “On your stomach.”
I lay down. I doubted he could get his dick hard again so soon but that did not mean he couldn’t do other things to me. I felt his hands on my left thigh and he began to rub it. My husband was easing the aches in my muscles caused by being kept in one position. He massaged down my left leg and then repeated it with my right. Each time, he kissed the sole of my foot. He then rubbed my shoulders and down my sides.
“Dinner time. The blinds are closed downstairs. Follow.” He attached a leash, in a blue that matched the collar.
“Yes, my Master.”
I saw a sheet covered the dining table. All the chairs were pulled away from it. I started to get wet again. I followed him into the kitchen. There were two bowls on the floor. One with water. The other empty. Again there was a beef stew with potatoes on the counter. He opened a bottle of very-good red wine and took down a glass and the cup that I gave him when he was my slave. He repeated, “You have pleased me, my slave. You do not need to eat from the floor. Follow.”
He walked into the dining room.
“I think you know what I want you to do.”
As I approached the dining table, he stabilized it with his hands as I climbed atop it. I spread myself across the top of my back and with my hands on my lap. He removed the leash and the nipple clamps.
He went into the kitchen. I heard the microwave ring, and he came with a serving plate and serving spoon. I put my hands to my side. My husband used the spoon to evenly spread the food on my chest and stomach. Had the table been stronger I think he would have climbed on board but he wasn’t taking that chance. He began his feast, licking and enjoying the stew. He frequently placed his mouth full of food over my mouth and passed it to me. While as I think about it it was gross, I savored each morsel, from a combination of hunger and love and adoration and subservience.
We were both sated, as to food at least, when he brought out a damp cloth and cleaned my chest and stomach and mouth as best he could. After he brought that back to the kitchen, he returned with two bowls. He showed me their contents. One was filled with strawberries, with the stems removed. The other had whipped cream. I knew to spread my legs. I started hyper-ventilating slightly. He leaned down and kissed me and then his mouth slid to my ear and he whispered, “I love you.”
“So you know. I have cleaned these strawberries to within an inch of their lives.”
He covered my tits with the cream and placed one strawberry atop each nipple. Putting the cream bowl down, he lifted the other and placed it between my legs, about eight inches below my pussy.
“Relax, Baby,” and he lightly pushed my head down so I could not see what he was doing to me. Suddenly I felt his finger at my opening. He removed it and I felt it pass my lips.
It was a rhetorical question. I couldn’t speak. I nodded.
I felt a strawberry enter my pussy. Then a second. His fingers caressed my outer and then my inner folds. My moans had begun.
I felt a third and finally a fourth strawberry enter me. The invasion was both uncomfortable and enjoyable. He lifted one then the other of my feet and I realized he was putting panties on me. I felt them climb my legs and I lifted my ass so they were on. He stepped by my tits and began to clean them, suckling on its nipple when the strawberry on it was consumed.
Suddenly I felt his arms beneath my upper body and my knees and he lifted me from the table where I’d been for a while. We locked eyes as he held me and displayed his evilest smile.
He placed me on the floor and reached for the leash, which he reattached. Holding its other end, he led me up the stairs and into the bedroom. He undid the leash and placed it on the dresser. I watched as he lay on the bed, face up.
“My dessert, Baby.”
He stared as I slowly removed the panties, placing a hand below my pussy so as not to drop a strawberry. I got to the bed and straddled my husband’s face. He pushed me down his chest so he could have free use of his hands. They manipulated me and a finger entered and he extracted a strawberry. I looked down on him as he put it in his mouth and sucked on it before chewing and swallowing.
He lightly pushed my stomach above my pussy and then re-entered with his finger. The second, or third, depending on how you’re counting, strawberry emerged. He held it up.
“This is yours,” and I grabbed it, coated in me, and sucked on it before chewing and swallowing. He consumed the next and I enjoyed—and I truly enjoyed—the last. After a tap on my ass, I scooted up so my pussy was above his mouth and he lapped it until his hands lightly pushed against my stomach. I waddled down and reached for his dick and placed it inside me. It slid in with glorious ease. Soon we were just one body making animal noises.
“Do not come until you feel me.”
I don’t know how many times he’d come already and I doubt he did either. But he was trying so hard and I was so close that I disobeyed him. I didn’t care. After a few minutes I pulled off him and knelt beside him and threw my mouth onto his dick.
“I need to come, you bastard, so you better fill my mouth” and my mouth and my hand were doing all they could to make him come.
“Asshole. Asshole.” He could barely say it in his frenzied, so-close state. I licked my right middle finger and shoved it into his anus and with my mouth sucking as hard as it ever had he exploded, filling me what little semen he had left. I jumped across him again so I could get his dick in me and pummeled myself on him and in seconds I had yet another wonderful orgasm on my husband’s dick.
When whatever we were doing was over, I collapsed next to him and we fell asleep.
At some point, I awoke and I was covered in a blanket and he was spooning me. I needed to pee so I delicately got up to do so. I returned to my position, wrapping his arm around me.
“You were a bad girl. You will be punished in the morning.” Barely said but clearly heard. “I love you” he added and I soon heard his light snore. His words, though, got me wet.
The sun was up when I awoke and the bed was otherwise empty. When I reached the bathroom there was a note.
“You forgot your place, slave. You force me to remind you. When you leave this room, enter the spare bedroom. Do what you believe I wish you to do. Wait for Your MASTER there.”
After I was done in the bathroom, I stood for a moment at the door of the spare bedroom. I opened it. The middle of the room was clear. On the rug was a whip that was about the size of the one I had used on him but this had loose tendrils at one end. Next to it were the ball gag, the blindfold, and the nipple clamps with their chain.
I put the nipple clamps on, making them tighter and far more painful than before. I braced myself to let the pain course through me until it was tolerable. I knelt. I hesitated but forced myself to gag myself. When the gag was secured, I did the same with the blindfold. I turned so I faced the open door. Finally, I found the whip and placed it across my two hands, held upwards. I dropped my ass to my heels in what I hoped was the correct position.
I had just begun to panic when I heard my husband come up the stairs. I felt him as he stood at the open door, hoping he did not see the extent of my shaking. I had disobeyed but it was for his benefit too. To get him off. Surely he understood that. Why had I OKed “punishment pain (no markings)” on my own damn form?
He stood there for days as far as I could tell. I fought the urge to weep.
I heard him step closer. He was in front of me. Where would I be whipped? Would he shove his dick in my mouth again? How would I handle the pain?
He was leaning toward me and he lifted the whip from my palms.
“I know you disobeyed me in part, but only in part, to make me come. But in part you wanted me to come so you could. That was wrong, and you agreed that I could inflict pain on you as punishment. Is that still the case?”
“And that I may punish you in any way that I wish as long as it does not leave any marks?”
I nodded again, my shaking increasing noticeably.
“Yet you still will allow me to do so?”
I paused. And nodded.
I braced myself as I heard him fling the whip so its tip whooshed several times. The tip then was beneath my chin and lightly lifted my face. His lips touched my forehead.
“You have pleased Your Master. I have completed your punishment.”
I felt his fingers at the back of my neck, undoing his collar. His hands then held my upper arms and he bade me stand. His fingers unscrewed the nipple clamps and I felt a jolt of pain as the blood returned to them. He undid the ball gag and I gasped for air. He untied the blindfold.
“Good morning, Honey, I made breakfast. Come down when you’re ready.”
He was in street clothes. He turned and left. I got dressed in my own street clothes, i.e., shorts and a t-shirt. Panties and no bra, and we had breakfast together. He noticed that I’d put the nipple clamps back on with the chain and he smiled.
* * *
I received a call from the hotel’s concierge a few days before our fifteenth anniversary. They were looking forward to our arrival and there would chilled, complimentary champagne and flutes in our room when we arrived.
It was a regular thing. We spent the night of our anniversary at the hotel. I wore my favorite blue dress, with all the fixings, and my husband wore his favorite blue suit. After dinner in a nearby restaurant, we walked back to the hotel and went to our room, toasted another year with the champagne, and made love. Simple, basic, sex.
After my first weekend as a slave, not that much changed. We continued the monthly sessions. We each made some changes to our dos/don’ts list—most notably his approval of “pain (pleasure).” We switched each month as to who was the slave and who the Master/Mistress. We varied things a bit, but neither of us fully grasped the roles assigned to us. More than anything the sessions were an excuse to step out of our comfort zones each month and explore fantasies and explore new ways to make love. For even when one of us was fucking the other, it was always making love.
The one thing that we tried that did not work for us was anal. To me. We did it with tons of prep and tons of lube and he waited and waited until I gave him permission—again we were not so good at the slave thing—by begging him to “put your dick in my ass/I need it in my ass.” It was a bit painful at first and never got pleasurable. At our monthly post-session autopsy, I crossed that off my list. I think he was relieved. My husband was not very good at dominating me.
Nor was I particularly adept at dominating him. I always needed permission before I entered his ass. Or when I tied him in increasingly intricate ways I found online. Especially when I whipped him on the ass and especially especially when I whipped his hard dick. He really enjoyed it—”more more, my Mistress”—but I didn’t like hurting him. Sometimes I think he disobeyed me solely so I would punish him.
He also enjoyed at least some hours in a cock cage during our sessions, and I varied when I would attach it. One month I ordered that he attach it at noon on Friday at his office. It had a lock. I had the key. He did not, though, make it to Saturday noon and that Friday was the only one in which he made clear that he needed to fuck me and he was so rabid that I let him pound me senseless. I had pity on him after that and did not again require he wear the cage until a session officially began.
But it was all a game. I don’t know if I was a good Mistress. We both led such stressful lives outside that the last thing I wanted to do when I walked through our front door was dominate my husband. I realized that domination is all about giving pleasure to the sub, pushing him to the limits of what he, consciously or not, wants to do. But I couldn’t bring myself to push to his limits. He never, though, expressed regret about my limitations, never asked me to get into redline territory.
The only physical things we did were piercings and tattoos. Shortly after I experienced the wonder of having the clamps on my nipples and the chain between my tits, I had my nipples and navel pierced. I was diligent about caring for them and usually displayed them, with my tits and a chain, when we made love. For my birthday my husband gave me a set of nipple rings and an intricate chain that wrapped around my neck and connected to each nipple with a strand that connected to one of my navel rings. It made me look like an Egyptian goddess and I loved how it looked and how he responded to it.
I could hide them at work and elsewhere with a bra. Nipple rings probably would not go over well in my office or when we were out with friends. To be clear, I told none of my friends about our monthly sessions. I’m afraid some noticed an extra bounce in my step, almost all the time, but I just shrugged it off.
My husband wanted to have his nipples pierced, but his inability to wear a bra vetoed that. But he often used screw-on clamps at home and on his birthday I gave him some intricate chains to wear.
We got complementing tattoos. Mine was an intricate rose pattern. The stem began near and circled my navel and rose up, its thorns and petals beginning somewhat below my tits and extending up the lower part of them to appear to be supporting them, like open hands. It meant no more two-piece bathing suits, but it was worth it.
It wasn’t long, though, before it was discovered and I was glad. I could only go so long without showering at the club after a tennis game. The three women with whom I played each week went deaf when they saw the tattoo. I swore them to secrecy and, frankly, was excited that they saw a side of me that they would not have imagined existed an hour earlier. They also saw the nipple and navel piercings. Again secrecy was promised, although I had to tell them that things were a bit livelier at home than they used to be. Each of them came to me individually—swearing me to secrecy that they did—and I explained in broad strokes what was going on in our house when the doors were closed and the blinds pulled. What they did with that information I cannot say.
My husband’s tattoo was similar, of carnations. There were no thorns, but the flowers extended to his nipples and above. Alas it meant no longer running without a shirt and he suffered during summer runs with a shirt on, but they were our secret.
What about Pam Johnson and Jerry? They were our little secrets, names sometimes mentioned during our sessions. By both of us. “Do you wonder what Pam tastes like?” “How big do you think Jerry is?” We were not interested in other people. It was our special world. Although we both eyed Pam and Jerry in different ways after what my husband told me during that first session of ours. I admit to being tempted. Were I to sleep with a woman I would have liked it to be Pam. That, though, was not what we’d agreed to and we both understood that getting involved with someone else could well ruin the perfect thing that we had. So no Pam. No Jerry.
We didn’t need anyone else. Our day-to-day sex life was very good, as I said at the beginning. Given the sessions, neither of us felt the need to be submissive, or at least overly submissive, when we made love. We added a number of positions to our earlier repertoire but in the end it didn’t matter. It was just our joining each other. The two new things my husband did whenever he got the chance were cleaning me after he’d come in me, which I learned is known as a cream pie, and watching me pee and cleaning me with his tongue. Sometimes if we took a shower together, I admit, we peed on each other. And we also spent time watching porn together and reading erotica together in bed, with each of us masturbating separately as we did, often one of us offering help to the one (usually him) that didn’t come first.
When we got to our room on that fifteenth anniversary, we shared the champagne. I stripped for him and he stripped for me. He turned down the bed. We peed and brushed our teeth together in the bathroom. He held his hand out for me when we were done and he led me to the bed. He lay down and I mounted him. “I need to eat you,” he said. I turned and placed my pussy above his mouth. I lowered my own mouth to his dick and directed it into my mouth with my hand as I felt his fingers opening my nether lips. His breath was followed by his tongue as I started bobbing on his dick.
I came quickly and I heard him say he wanted to make love to me. I turned again and now used my hand to direct his dick into me. I bent down to kiss him and his dick was in my pussy and my tongue was in his mouth and we made love in the dark room with the din of the traffic from the street below, doomed to always be slaves in our own way to one another.