|...suddenly she's this alien creature, this |
ghost from the flapper erotica I love.
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Sunday night and I'm kneeling in chains waiting for Xena. I'm naked except for my Holy Trainer 2 chastity device and a sturdy iron collar that tethers me to the radiator.
I have on-site contract work this week, so the weekend was all about spring cleaning.
No sport or socializing, so I wore my Holy Trainer except to shower -- which was pleasant, actually.
Xena took control of the demerit counter and but the demerits mounted up, not just for undusted surfaces, but for things that would once have broken her mood and ejected us from Femdom world: I broke a precious champagne glass, 3 demerits. I got grumpy over her standards, 2 demerits.
|This was Xena in charge.|
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Now, at the end of 24 hours toil, with 30 demerits outstanding, I wait for my wife to come to the bedroom. I don't expect much, frankly. We've had a dry spell this year, so the best I'm hoping for is that she'll wear something sexy while she beat me.
At last I hear her tread on the stairs. She wanders into the bedroom, potters arranging ornaments, fiddles with her mobile phone, searches out some receipts...
All the while I'm kneeling in the corner, feeling time pass, powerless, and starting to hate her. What's next? A bored flogging and sleep?
|...the weekend was all |
about spring cleaning.
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I lick my lips. "About half a dozen."
She smiles. "What would you like me to wear?"
"Stockings," I managed. "And that nice dress with the animal print."
She strides over to the wardrobe and strips down to her underwear.
I feast my eyes on her honeyed skin. The gulf between us -- her an elegant woman in her bedroom, me a chaste slave in an iron collar... it's like watching a stranger. My cock rears up against its prison.
She turns and throws me my key. "You might as well help...!"
I fumble with the key, get the padlock unlocked. "Shall I lose the collar, mistress?"
"No," she says casually. "Leave it on. Now hurry up."
I scurry around the bed and there she is all bare flesh and undies.
She hands me a stocking and stretches a long muscular leg. "Put it on."
These are warm woolen stockings, soft and cozy, not like my hard iron dungeon collar. I roll on the first, then the second, smoothing the wool over her curves, and suddenly she's this alien creature, this ghost from the flapper erotica I love.
She pulls on the dress then smiles down on me. "What do you think?"
I whimper, but I have slave points to spend. "I don't think panties are part of the costume."
Xena giggles -- so much like a flapper my cock twitches in its prison -- "They might come off later. Now help me on with my shoes." High-heeled brogues, more period style. At last she snatches up the riding whip and becomes... commanding. "Now secure yourself."
|I don't enjoy the whipping.|
What a shame!
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I squeal and buck against my restraints.
"One..." counts Xena.
I don't enjoy the whipping.
In erotica, whippings often look sexy, sensual, as if those welts were drawn on with red lipstick. And you'd expect the pain to blur into a sexy haze.
But, even with my cock hard in its device, each blow hurts, there's no blurring, just squirming and yelping.
No I don't enjoy this, but I could no more tell her to stop or twist free of the cuffs than I could -- say -- stand up at a business meeting and explain that my wife keeps me in chastity. It's just not in the lexicon.
But this helplessness, that is a turn on just to contemplate now as I type this. I like living in fear of the lash, love the way this helplessness makes my slavery real.
And the beating is cathartic for both of us. Xena works off all the niggles, irritations, dissatisfaction and I take my punishment gladly; being whipped is better than being nagged or moaned at, and I genuinely do better as a husband and housekeeper with this threat over my head.
And Xena reaches ten.
|She is my perfect flapper.|
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I twist to look over my shoulder. She has her knees bent. Her leopard pattern dress furls around her thighs, revealing her stocking tops above woolen clad curves. She is my perfect flapper.
Now the pain does blur with the lust. I squirm futilely. Even if my hands were free, there is a tube locked around my hard cock. This is an itch I cannot scratch.
"Help me out of my shoes," says Xena. She stretches a long leg so I can reach her laces and free her feet of first one then the next shoes. The brogues fall to the floor where I can stare at them, enjoying the way the tight feminine curve of the instep contrasts with the blocky heels.
Something prickles my spine. I flinch.
Xena giggles. "What's that?"
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I do a mental calculation. I'm in an office Tuesday to next Monday. Tomorrow is my only window to masturbate for a week!
The vibrator buzzes and slurps. My groin ripples in sympathy. I might just come spontaneously, and THAT would be a disaster. Otherwise, if I don't watch and she comes, my own orgasm still defers to a week Tuesday! If I do watch...
"Oh God," I blurt. "If I look then I have to wait a week and a half to come."
Xena emits a sensual sigh. "Don't look then."
I strain against my bonds and look over my shoulder...
Keep an eye out for the next installment. I make no promises. Typing this out while hopelessly chaste is exquisite torment! In the mean time, you might like this episode that happened to us last year.
UPDATE: And here's the next installment of our Femdom adventure.
Don't resign yourself to just getting off on other people's adventures! When we started out, my wife was vanilla. Use my manuals to help you walk the same Femdom path! There's one for him, and one for her.