My husband became my slave when he was 23 and I was 25. We had been married for a couple of years, and we both felt unsatisfied and disillusioned with the life we led. Sex didn’t seem to mean much anymore, and our work lives were repetitive and goalless. In spite of that, I couldn’t hide my astonishment when, out of the blue, he made me a proposal: to keep him in chatity.
He showed me the existence of these devices that would prevent his dick from rising up, making it impossible for him to fuck, masturbate or get off in any way. I couldn’t understand it. What was the point of that? Wasn’t his desire, like all men, precisely the opposite? How was such a weird thing to help us in any way?
Then he explained his thought process, and I was intrigued. “When I’m aroused”, he argued, “I adore you from the bottom of my heart; I would do anything for you”.
I could confirm it: those days he chased me around, he would be the sweetest of husbands, he would cook the meals, buyme clothes, be a gentleman. But after we had sex and he was satisfied, it would all vanish. It left him feeling empty, and me feeling underwhelmed.
But, if he was in chatity, then the arousal, the adoration, the sacrifice could go on and on, and that was the part of it all that he enjoyed the most, or so he claimed. The idea was that, from now on, I would have control over his sex, and release him only when I so desired.
“But love”, I argued, “I enjoy your dick! It’s far better than oral sex. I don’t want to lose that feeling. I would be releasing you constantly, and it wouldn’t make a difference”.
Then he countered with a second idea: we would buy a stick-on, and whenever I desired penetration, he would fuck me with it. That way, sex could last forever; no more five-minute quickies leaving me wanting. He would be able to do me for hours on end, and give me as many orgasms as I wanted, while staying himself aroused. He proposed that we tried for a month. “Even though”, he said enigmatically, “I don’t think you’ll ever want to go back after that”.
How right he was.
When he first put it on, locked himself up and gave me the key, I didn’t think much of it. I thought it was funny. But then, after a couple of days, a funny idea occurred to me. I approached him, pushed him to the wall and gave him a long tongue-kiss. I could feel how aroused he felt, but I also noticed that he felt uncomfortable: the cage was frustrating him. So, I started rubbing my bottom against his crotch. Same feeling. Then I took his pants down and started licking his balls. The feeling of arousal and uncomfortableness was overwhelming. “You like this, don’t you?” I said, with the corniest voice possible, and a big, spicy smile showed on my face. Then, when I felt that he really, really wanted to just throw me in bed and fuck me, I got up and went away. I sat down on the sofa, and he followed me behind like a bull. “What do you want?” I said, feigning innocent; “I’m not feeling like doing anything. I’m going to watch TV. I’ll call you if I need that strap-on of yours”. He looked at me for a moment, then got out of the room without saying a word. And after this little malicious play, I feel something quite strange: I feel powerful and free. I felt powerful, because I realized that I was truly in charge of the situation: this poor man had to live with and be around a woman he adored and wanted to fuck, but couldn’t; and I had the power to decide if he ever was going to be able to. And I felt free, because I realized that, all my life, I had this unconscious, womanly feeling of helplessness: my husband was a good man, and he would never have forced me; but I still felt a little unconscious tingle of fear around him and other young men. The feeling of their strength grappling my arms; the Feeling of their might and force. The feeling that, if they wanted, they could fuck me and do what they wanted right there and then. This instinct never had any basison real possibility, but it was there. And now, suddenly, I felt free from it. I could do what I wanted. I could arouse him without feeling obligated to then fuck him. My sex was mine. And so, you could say that I felt a little like a man: instinctively in charge. And at the same time, I never felt so much like a woman. The feeling of power rising made me feel like the goddesses of old mythology. Something really feminine, yet really powerful, was growing up in me.
That very night we had sex with his fake penis for what felt like hours. I rode him and I didn’t stop until I had four orgasms. Then, I quietly turned around and turned off the lamp. I hadn’t feel so satisfied in a long, long time.
The next couple of days I felt a change in him. He was so excited, full of energy. He was looking at me with the eyes of first-time love, and with adoration: he, too, was seeing the power of the goddess rising in me. One day he got up early, made me breakfast and brought it to bed. AnOther day he gave me a long, full-body massage after I came back from work. Another day he bathed me, dressed me up while kissing me all over in adoration and then made my hair. Meanwhile, I was teasing him, enjoying constant sex and increasing this ecstatic feeling of power. By the end of our one-month trial, all of this had become routine; and we didn’t even realize the month had ended until a whole week had passed, and there was no need to discuss the results: this dynamic was here to stay.
All this time, I hadn’t released him once. No need to. He seemed to enjoy himself, and he had always been low maintenance: he was fully capable of chatity. After three or four months had passed, he was doing all the chores, cooking all the meals, and had become my personal server on all matters: he bathed me, dressed me, make-up, self-care, you name it; massages on demand, oral sex on demand, sex on demand. And he did it like he was born for it; and every time I kissed him, touched him, teased him, his adoration only increased.
But the most important thing of all was nothing that was done, but what was changing on an unconscious level. This power I mentioned. It had a life of its own. The more this dynamic went on, the more powerful I felt and the more subjugated he felt. It was not under our control, and therefore felt kind scary. Sometimes, without noticing it, I would make a very dominant natural gesture; I would sometimes speak in a terrifying tone when something made me angry, sort of in the way lords must have spoken to their slaves in ancient times. And on the other side, it started to feel like he was no longer capable of opposing me. One means look and he would lower his head, perturbed; one touch and he was grateful beyond belief. It was as if all of this had been some sort of a religious ritual, Through which an ancient goddess had been invoked to take charge of my body, and my husband was now Hers. I felt like I was two people at the same time: myself,a little woman from downtown, and an immortal Goddess. And my husband felt like two people too: himself, the man I loved and wanted to share my life with, and the Goddess’ slave, means to serve Her for eternity and beyond the grave.
I’ve mentioned the word “slave” a few times now, but I must mention that that was never the idea. Chastity was proposed; slavery came to be spontaneously over time. After About six months, we both knew what had happened, but didn’t speak it; we didn’t know how. One day we were on the sofa, watching TV; he was sitting and I was laying with my legs over him, and he was giving me a foot massage. I was feeling so good that I felt grateful, so I rose up, sat myself on his legs, kissed him on the cheek with affection and said: “you’re my little slave”. I could see in His eyes that he liked it. No further words were spoken.
One day we were having lunch with a lady friend of mine. She had noticed that we seemed much more lively, much closer, much better. Reluctantly at first, enthusiastically later, we began explaining our little idea, and how intense our lives had become. Then, spontaneously, joyfully, I exclaimed, while smiling and hugging him: “he’s basically my sex slave now”. He turned a little red, but smiled. My friend laughed a bit.
That very night I sat down with him on our marriage bed. Those words had been Weighing on me, and I needed to finally put the cards on the table. “Oh, love”, I said with love, sadness and desire; “remember what I said at lunch, how you had basically become my sex slave?”. He nodded. “Well, the truth is, I don’t feel that’s entirely correct. You have not become my sex slave; you have become my slave, period.” He looked at me anxiously, not knowing what was going to Follow. I wasn’t sure either. “You know, it’s been like this for months now. I know you feel it too. Something has taken over. You’re still my husband, and I love you; and I am still me, your wife, and I know you love me too. But I’ve also become your Goddess, and you’re also now my slave. No sense denying it. It is scary, and it feels weird. But I can say this: I love it, and I want it to continue”. I paused for a moment. Then it came to me. “This has become a reality, a reality we’ve not recognized. It’s like when couples end up living together without ever officially stating so, just by being constantly under the same roof and bringing their stuff for convenience. Sooner or later, they need to accept the new reality. We need too. Things need to change”.
I hugged and kissed him. We embraced for a while, and I could feel the love we had for each other. I didn’t want to forget it. Then I whispered in his ear: “On your knees, slave”. He obeyed, slowly coming to the ground. I rose up and stood before him. I looked him in the eye, and I could see an electric sense of fear coming down his spine. He lowered his head in surrender. Things were going to change, indeed.
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