srikar123
03-31-2003, 12:56 PM
hi everybody.....
this is my story with my wife.........hope you like it.......
I am caught in a trap partially of my own making:
caught between
the devil and the deep blue sea, as it were, ensnared
by my need to
serve and submit totally to a woman and torn between
that desire and
the horrible, sickening realization that my wife is
sleeping with
another man...and I am helpless to stop it.
My mind is awash in conflicting thoughts and emotions.
Arousal at
the thought of being so utterly dominated, that
weak-kneed feeling of
being owned for real, playing no longer. The natural
feelings of
jealousy and hurt, the sheer envy of the man that he
can be a man for
her when to me it is no longer even an option.
It wasn't always thus. For years my wife Sandra and I
had played
with BDSM, but play is all it had seemed to be. We'd
'pretend' to be
Mistress and slave about once a month, usually ending
the scene with
normal, vanilla lovemaking. And although it was fun
and
enjoyable...I...I
wanted more.
Be careful what you wish for, because you just may get
it..I suppose I had set myself up for what was to
come, that one Friday
afternoon. Sandra hadn't even been gone five minutes
on her shopping
trip before I was into the clothing, the makeup, the
magazines.
My..needs are like a hunger in me, that I've had since
earliest
childhood. And once a month, pretending to be a slave,
feeling like
I'm topping from the bottom, was nowhere near enough.
The black satin bikini panties and matching bra felt
heavenly on
my skin, like a soft caress, but it also felt wrong,
alien on my hairy
and masculine body. Even when I am fully dressed and
made up I know
in my mind that I'm not exactly Pamela Anderson. I'm a
tall, 6'4"
built man, in my forties, with a beer gut and body
hair in all sorts
of interesting places. But that doesn't matter to the
fantasy, does
it? In my fantasies I'm not big and awkward, hairy and
laughable in
women's clothing, I become as if by magic a graceful,
willowy,
androgynous man, all sleek and smooth and pretty.
I was lost in that fantasy, touching myself through
the panties,
lipstick on my lips, domination magazine close at hand
when a calm and
soft voice started me from my daydream.
"Once a month isn't good enough for you, is it? You
want this to
be real." Sandra said, walking into the room and
putting the shopping
bags aside.
I must have been a sight, eyes bulging, cheeks
flushing red with
embarrassment. I hadn't expected her home for hours.
She smiled at
my surprise.
"I..I...can explain..." I stammered.
"No need, mon cheri, I've been kind of suspecting this
for a while.
And planned accordingly. I meant to surprise you
today.
"You want this to be real, don't you? To stop playing
a game and
to truly be my slave Admit it." She ordered.
I could only stare at her feet and mumble out the side
of my mouth.
"Yes..."
"Yes what?"
"Yes...Mistress. I want to be your slave."
"And you'll do everything I ask of you from now on?
Without
complaint or hesitation?"
The room felt electric. A line was being drawn here, a
clear
dividing line in our relationship. Beyond that line
was the dark of
the unknown. I felt a shiver of both fear and
excitement go up and
down my spine. Things would never be the same again.
I sank down to my knees at her feet. "Yes Mistress...I
will obey
you
utterly."
She ran a hand through my hair, stroking it tenderly.
"We'll see
about that, won't we?"
Things changed. No longer did we divide chores
equally: I was now
expected to serve as a maid and wait on her hand and
foot. Which gave
her cause to use the riding crop on me on many
occasions, as my
cooking and cleaning skills were very lacking in the
beginning. I was
kept smooth all over, shaving and waxing, fighting the
body hair war
nearly every day to its usual stalemate. My male
undergarments were
given away to Goodwill, all but one pair kept under
lock and key for
any doctor's visits I might have.
Sex had changed. I was forbidden the use of my cock,
for the most
part, having to serve my Mistress as if I were female,
with my mouth,
my hands, with toys. Things had totally reversed-now
it was vanilla.sex that was the once a month treat,
allowed that glorious privilege
of making love to her. And as soon as we were both
sated I'd have to
go back on my knees again.
Whenever we were alone and at home I was kept collared
and
leashed, nude or in female clothing. My wardrobe
expanded almost
every week, it seemed. Mistress took great delight in
making her new
'slavegirl' look as pretty as possible, and made me
model outfits like
it was a fashion show. I wasn't Sam any more at home-I
was Cindi, and
as weeks grew into months it seemed like I would stay
that way. I'd
dress normally, on the outside at any rate, in the
mornings to go to
work and immediately upon coming home turn back into
Sandra's
slavegirl.
It wasn't like the fiction I had read at all. In the
stories in
the magazines and on the Net I'd read about cruel and
hateful wives
and Mistresses, who rule their men with contempt and
almost a hatred
between the lines. Arousing, yes, but mean-spirited.
If anything
like some of those stories happened in real life, the
couples involved
were on a one-way ticket to be Jerry Springer guests.
Not so with
Sandra... Yes, she trained me. Yes, she punished me,
sometimes
whipping or spanking me until I cried. Yes, she could
be cruel if it
suited her. But I was never allowed one moment to
think that I was
unloved or unwanted as a husband and slave, and I
think it was that
gentleness that enslaved me the most. I'd find myself
wanting to do
anything, endure any punishment, suffer whatever she
wished just so I
could see her smile and know she was proud of her
slave.
All of this came under one proviso: that if I ever
used my
safeword, it was over. We would go back to being
normal husband and
wife and I would know that I had failed her as a slave
for all time.
I would have to face the fact that I couldn't follow
through on the
fantasies in reality.
But until one, fateful night, that had never been put
to the test.
I was kneeling at her feet in my pink maid's uniform
as she was
sitting on a stool before the vanity mirror, making
herself up. She
was dressed to kill, in a black, short, tight
mini-skirt, a red, silk
low-cut top and black stockings. She finished applying
makeup, smiled
down at me, and liberally sprayed her neck and arms
with my favorite
perfume. Then, lifting her skirt, she applied it to
her thighs and
crotch.
She got up and sat on the bed. "Here, be useful, you
can take the
curlers out of my hair." As I was removing them she
crossed her legs
slowly. I could hear the sound of stocking against
stocking. She
knew the sound of nylon against nylon, the smell of
the perfume, and
the sight of her gorgeous legs would drive me crazy.
My hands
trembled.
After the curlers were removed, I was allowed to brush
her long
dark hair. As I brushed, she spoke to me, softly,
gently.
"Do you know what I'm doing tonight, Cindi?"
"N...no, Mistress.."
"I'm going out to be with a real man."
I can't describe the feeling that ran through me. The
bottom of my
world had dropped to the floor with my stomach............
this so far is my story.........i'm trying all the possible ways of pleading her and begging her not to do that..........hoping that she will not do it........
this is my story with my wife.........hope you like it.......
I am caught in a trap partially of my own making:
caught between
the devil and the deep blue sea, as it were, ensnared
by my need to
serve and submit totally to a woman and torn between
that desire and
the horrible, sickening realization that my wife is
sleeping with
another man...and I am helpless to stop it.
My mind is awash in conflicting thoughts and emotions.
Arousal at
the thought of being so utterly dominated, that
weak-kneed feeling of
being owned for real, playing no longer. The natural
feelings of
jealousy and hurt, the sheer envy of the man that he
can be a man for
her when to me it is no longer even an option.
It wasn't always thus. For years my wife Sandra and I
had played
with BDSM, but play is all it had seemed to be. We'd
'pretend' to be
Mistress and slave about once a month, usually ending
the scene with
normal, vanilla lovemaking. And although it was fun
and
enjoyable...I...I
wanted more.
Be careful what you wish for, because you just may get
it..I suppose I had set myself up for what was to
come, that one Friday
afternoon. Sandra hadn't even been gone five minutes
on her shopping
trip before I was into the clothing, the makeup, the
magazines.
My..needs are like a hunger in me, that I've had since
earliest
childhood. And once a month, pretending to be a slave,
feeling like
I'm topping from the bottom, was nowhere near enough.
The black satin bikini panties and matching bra felt
heavenly on
my skin, like a soft caress, but it also felt wrong,
alien on my hairy
and masculine body. Even when I am fully dressed and
made up I know
in my mind that I'm not exactly Pamela Anderson. I'm a
tall, 6'4"
built man, in my forties, with a beer gut and body
hair in all sorts
of interesting places. But that doesn't matter to the
fantasy, does
it? In my fantasies I'm not big and awkward, hairy and
laughable in
women's clothing, I become as if by magic a graceful,
willowy,
androgynous man, all sleek and smooth and pretty.
I was lost in that fantasy, touching myself through
the panties,
lipstick on my lips, domination magazine close at hand
when a calm and
soft voice started me from my daydream.
"Once a month isn't good enough for you, is it? You
want this to
be real." Sandra said, walking into the room and
putting the shopping
bags aside.
I must have been a sight, eyes bulging, cheeks
flushing red with
embarrassment. I hadn't expected her home for hours.
She smiled at
my surprise.
"I..I...can explain..." I stammered.
"No need, mon cheri, I've been kind of suspecting this
for a while.
And planned accordingly. I meant to surprise you
today.
"You want this to be real, don't you? To stop playing
a game and
to truly be my slave Admit it." She ordered.
I could only stare at her feet and mumble out the side
of my mouth.
"Yes..."
"Yes what?"
"Yes...Mistress. I want to be your slave."
"And you'll do everything I ask of you from now on?
Without
complaint or hesitation?"
The room felt electric. A line was being drawn here, a
clear
dividing line in our relationship. Beyond that line
was the dark of
the unknown. I felt a shiver of both fear and
excitement go up and
down my spine. Things would never be the same again.
I sank down to my knees at her feet. "Yes Mistress...I
will obey
you
utterly."
She ran a hand through my hair, stroking it tenderly.
"We'll see
about that, won't we?"
Things changed. No longer did we divide chores
equally: I was now
expected to serve as a maid and wait on her hand and
foot. Which gave
her cause to use the riding crop on me on many
occasions, as my
cooking and cleaning skills were very lacking in the
beginning. I was
kept smooth all over, shaving and waxing, fighting the
body hair war
nearly every day to its usual stalemate. My male
undergarments were
given away to Goodwill, all but one pair kept under
lock and key for
any doctor's visits I might have.
Sex had changed. I was forbidden the use of my cock,
for the most
part, having to serve my Mistress as if I were female,
with my mouth,
my hands, with toys. Things had totally reversed-now
it was vanilla.sex that was the once a month treat,
allowed that glorious privilege
of making love to her. And as soon as we were both
sated I'd have to
go back on my knees again.
Whenever we were alone and at home I was kept collared
and
leashed, nude or in female clothing. My wardrobe
expanded almost
every week, it seemed. Mistress took great delight in
making her new
'slavegirl' look as pretty as possible, and made me
model outfits like
it was a fashion show. I wasn't Sam any more at home-I
was Cindi, and
as weeks grew into months it seemed like I would stay
that way. I'd
dress normally, on the outside at any rate, in the
mornings to go to
work and immediately upon coming home turn back into
Sandra's
slavegirl.
It wasn't like the fiction I had read at all. In the
stories in
the magazines and on the Net I'd read about cruel and
hateful wives
and Mistresses, who rule their men with contempt and
almost a hatred
between the lines. Arousing, yes, but mean-spirited.
If anything
like some of those stories happened in real life, the
couples involved
were on a one-way ticket to be Jerry Springer guests.
Not so with
Sandra... Yes, she trained me. Yes, she punished me,
sometimes
whipping or spanking me until I cried. Yes, she could
be cruel if it
suited her. But I was never allowed one moment to
think that I was
unloved or unwanted as a husband and slave, and I
think it was that
gentleness that enslaved me the most. I'd find myself
wanting to do
anything, endure any punishment, suffer whatever she
wished just so I
could see her smile and know she was proud of her
slave.
All of this came under one proviso: that if I ever
used my
safeword, it was over. We would go back to being
normal husband and
wife and I would know that I had failed her as a slave
for all time.
I would have to face the fact that I couldn't follow
through on the
fantasies in reality.
But until one, fateful night, that had never been put
to the test.
I was kneeling at her feet in my pink maid's uniform
as she was
sitting on a stool before the vanity mirror, making
herself up. She
was dressed to kill, in a black, short, tight
mini-skirt, a red, silk
low-cut top and black stockings. She finished applying
makeup, smiled
down at me, and liberally sprayed her neck and arms
with my favorite
perfume. Then, lifting her skirt, she applied it to
her thighs and
crotch.
She got up and sat on the bed. "Here, be useful, you
can take the
curlers out of my hair." As I was removing them she
crossed her legs
slowly. I could hear the sound of stocking against
stocking. She
knew the sound of nylon against nylon, the smell of
the perfume, and
the sight of her gorgeous legs would drive me crazy.
My hands
trembled.
After the curlers were removed, I was allowed to brush
her long
dark hair. As I brushed, she spoke to me, softly,
gently.
"Do you know what I'm doing tonight, Cindi?"
"N...no, Mistress.."
"I'm going out to be with a real man."
I can't describe the feeling that ran through me. The
bottom of my
world had dropped to the floor with my stomach............
this so far is my story.........i'm trying all the possible ways of pleading her and begging her not to do that..........hoping that she will not do it........