Have you ever wondered what it would be like to get everything you ever wanted? Well, I found out. Turns out, for me the answer is being fucking cold, apparently.
It’s fucking freezing down here. I don’t even know if the heat is hooked up anymore. If it is she never fucking turns it on. That’s why I like it when she dresses me in latex, at least some part of me is warm.
Today she decided to put me in this tiny lace Teddy. I know better than to argue by now. I got everything I wanted, apparently. Now, here I am, hair down to my shoulders, a full face of makeup and a ring gag, tied to the floor in this fucking freezing basement. I swear I’m losing feeling in my legs. This concrete is freezing. I can feel how hard my nipples are. I mean they’re like this most of the time. I don’t know what she’s feeding me but my tits are definitely growing. I can feel my clit leaking in its cage. It’s so annoying. If I could stop getting so wet maybe she would believe me and this whole thing would end. It’s not even my fault. If she just let me cum, just once I swear it would all stop.
I did ask for all of this and sometimes you do get what you ask for.
This whole thing is my own fault. I’ve come to accept that. That’s the thing about being chained to the floor dressed like a slut waiting for some stranger to come fuck your throat, it gives you a lot of time to think.
All of this could have been avoided, all of it. I just had to keep pestering her. We both kind of knew that our sex life wasn’t what it was. Maybe if I had just talked to her then, when things started to fall apart, it could have been different. Instead, I decided to spend my time masturbating and fantasising. How many stories did I read about people just like me? Being forced to become someone different, just to feel something. That was always the fantasy, every time. It was always her. I would always imagine her, holding me down, taking control of me, changing me. I guess you just don’t think about what that really means. You don’t think about how cold it is.
By the time that I actually talked to her about it I was already in too deep. I had spent too many evenings when she was asleep fucking myself in front of a computer screen, flashing images promising me that I could be something different. The thing is, you can change your body, you can stick tits on it and wrap it in chartreuse but it’s still the same person in that body. You can do everything you can to warp your mind, to really break yourself down into your component parts and make something new. It’s still you though, and I’m still fucking cold.
She wasn’t sure about it at first. It took some convincing on my part. What can I say? The things you do for love. So, she
started to take charge more. She was more dominant in the bedroom. She would sit on top of my cock and ride me for hours, she would tell me when I could and couldn’t cum. It was bliss. Maybe if that could have been enough, I would be happy. Maybe if I hadn’t spent so many nights in front of my computer sniffing poppers until I couldn’t think, fucking my hole with whatever I could find, begging the woman in my head to own me.
It was never going to be enough though. I knew that. I knew that the first time she grabbed my balls, squeezing them until they turned purple, her nails leaving little indentations and she told me that ‘nasty little bitches don’ t get to cum without permission.
So, I asked for more. How could I not? She looked so beautiful. When you see legs like hers how can you not imagine another man inside of them, fucking her, making her cum. I’m getting ahead of myself though. That’s the thing about the past. It’s just in your head, it’s just a story you tell yourself. In my case it’s how I tell myself I got here. As if these things had to happen. they’re in the past so they must be inevitable. I made them happen though. I made all of it happen and it’s important to take responsibility. That’s why it’s important that it’s all in the right order, to prove that it all happened, it’s all real.
The cage was next, before the other guys. I couldn’t even tell you how long I’d been thinking about it. I suppose in a lot of ways it’s as perverse as you can get, locking your dick up in a little plastic cage. It’s kind of the antithesis of sexy. I’d had it for years at that point. Sitting in front of the computer masturbating while your wife sleeps in the next room was lacking drama apparently. So I started to lock my cock up and finger myself, whispering to myself what a dirty slut I was. It’s never the same if you’re doing it to yourself though. When you have your own key, the thrill if the thing is really missing. It’s all pretend. Just an extra layer between you and pleasure. In the end I would always unlock myself, masturbate my understimulated dick so that I would cum in a few seconds. A lack of self control, fatal flaw.
When she got the key is when things really started to change, I suppose. It’s hard to pinpoint that sort of thing, when a relationship changes. I suppose they’re always changing. For better or for worse. It’s important to find these moments though, when you can pinpoint a change. I suppose that I changed a long time before she did, so maybe she’s just been catching up this whole time.
It’s kind of obvious in retrospect, when you give someone a key that lets them control when you get to cum that necessitates a renegotiation of power. I suppose I wasn’t expecting her to enjoy it quite as much as she did. It’s easy in a marriage to end up just replicating the world you see outside of it. I never meant to be a controlling husband. I don’t even think I was particularly bad, compared to some of the men I’ve known I was a positive gentleman. It’s just so easy to slip into those roles. The husband, the man of the house and his obedient and docile wife. You can think of yourself as modern and woke and enlightened but it’s like muscle memory, you just find yourself doing it. Putting an arm around her to show other men that she’s yours, telling her what to wear, commenting on her body. It’s hard to see until you’re outside of it, like the shadows on a cave wall. So, when she gets a key, something that gives her power, real power, how could you refuse something like that?
So, things started to change. I had given over control, not just symbolically. She loved it. She loved teasing and denying me. She loved demonstrating that she had power over me. She would tie me down. Each of my limbs, loosely connected by silk to the four corners of the bed. She would unlock me and tease me until I begged and bucked against my restraints. She would stroke me with her hands, just touching me faintly with her nails. Sometimes she would grind her cunt against me while I was still in my cage until we were both dripping wet and I was desperate to cum. Sometimes she would just sit on my face until she came and paid no attention to me at all.
She loved the power. She would make me admit my deepest desires. I would tell her all of the things I dreamed of her doing to me. She would push me too, she was always in control. That was when she fingered me for the first time. I got to hear myself beg for it, desperate to be penetrated. I told her everything. Well, not quite everything, not quite yet. But, I told her about what I had been doing. All of my naughty little nights playing with myself. She wasn’t angry. I still remember when she made me get out my box of toys. I had them hidden in one of our suitcases. We hadn’t been away in years. She made me go down on each one of my dildos, shoving them down my throat until I gagged. I took it all. I was so desperate to cum I would have done anything for her. I still would.
That’s too easy of an explanation though. Blaming my own libido suggests I was in some way an unwilling participant. That my conscious mind was resisting whilst my animal instincts overruled me. I loved every moment. I had asked for this and I was getting everything I had asked for. If I was telling a story this is when I would say things started to turn, as soon as the power was out of my hands. That’s why it’s so important to get things right, to tell it like it actually happened. There wasn’t a moment, a singular moment when things changed, when I stopped having fun, when I realised I was in too deep, that I had gotten everything I had ever dreamed of. How do you boil a frog?
I’d beg for it. Maybe that was the problem all along. I mean, certainly I played a role; the reluctant husband. She, stage left, was dressed in the costume of the avenging dominatrix. She looked so good too. Sometimes, you throw on a bit of latex and it feels like you’ve discovered a whole new part of the body. I know I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself. It wasn’t just me getting into the role.
Our wardrobe was a testament to that. You could follow my whole sorry story by just looking at what was in our closet. Slowly, her side started to fill up with leather and latex, she liked it tight. It was a revelation for her too. We were both getting older and it’s easy to forget that it’s different for women. Well, it’s harder to forget now. She started to rediscover her body, binding it tighter and tighter, enjoying the places where it would spill over. God, she looked so good.
At the same time, my wardrobe started to change. You don’t realise how boring mens clothes are until you see some contrast. I had such beautiful fabrics, satin and lace, velvet and chiffon. It was so much more colourful. I loved all of it. I didn’t mind at all when my old clothes started to disappear. I didn’t wear them anyway.
I’d still beg for it though. But begging for it was the problem. It meant I was still in control. Whether we acknowledged it or not, it was there. I’d misbehave just so that she would bend me over and spank me until I cried. This was my fantasy and as long as I wanted it, I was still in control. I suppose that was why she had to go further. Maybe she just wanted to though.
I never wanted her to fuck other people. Even now I don’t want her to, not that I have a say. It was never my thing, even in those days I was sitting in front of a laptop furiously masturbating myself in the dead of night. I was always clear about that too. I cried the first time she did it. I still remember. She tied me to a chair. Maybe if I hadn’t had that plug vibrating against my prostate I wouldn’t have leaked out of my cage all over the floor. Then again, maybe if I hadn’t talked about all my fantasies of being forced, of losing control, maybe none of this would have happened. Life is full of maybes. She came so hard that first time, and the three after that. She looked at me each time, smiling.
I don’t think I understood even then what it meant to really let go, to lose control. I thought I did, because I thought that was as far as she was going to push me. There were a lot of firsts after that. The first time I ate cum out of her pussy. The first time I sucked a cock before it went inside of her.
The only way you can learn to lose control is if someone teaches you. She had to teach me obedience, real obedience. I might have made a fuss, we might have roleplayed around the idea I didn’t want to, but we both knew that I wanted her to fuck me with her strap until I came insdie of my cage. She taught me what would happen if I really disobeyed. She would leave me strapped down for hours, plugs vibrating, hypno playing in front of me, her popper soaked panties left in front of me while she went out to do whatever she wanted. By the time she came back, of course I was desperate to eat the cum out of her. I would have done anything.
Of course, she would punish me as well. By that time she had a fine collection of whips and clamps and she would use them whenever I hesitated. Whenever I seemed less than desperate and eager she would whip me until I begged her to stop.
The worst was the first time a man fucked me. It hadn’t even been her idea, although I’m sure she had been thinking about it. I had been kneeling respectfully behind her, watching and waiting for her boyfriend to finish so that I could eat the cum out of her. After he came inside her, he looked at me in that way and we both knew what he wanted. How could he not. I looked good. I knew I did. I was dressed up in my favorite outfit, pigtails and a black teddy. I even had my little jeweled butt plug in. I always did at that point. I just wasn’t ready. I suppose there is some kind of mental step you have to take before you let a real cock inside of you. Looking back, I can see why it was stupid to be worried. How could it be gay if I wasn’t even thinking of myself as a man anymore? But, all the same I was worried, I was scared. She didn’t like that at all. She said I was embarrassing her.
In retrospect, having her strap me to the bed while he held me down might have been a little much. But, I was the one that had been begging her for months to take control, to do whatever she wanted with me. I got everything I wanted. I stopped saying ‘no’ when she put the gag in. I don’t know how long she left me there like that. Between the headphones, the gag and the blindfold time started to get weird. I still don’t think I’ve been fucked like that, that many times, that long or that hard since. Still, I haven’t said no since then, I haven’t embarrassed her since, so I suppose it worked.
I did everything she wanted from then on. I knew what would happen if I didn’t. I wanted to. All those times I begged. All that time I spent in front of my computer fantasising. This is everything I wanted, isn’t it?
Really, these kinds of reminiscences are pointless. If it wasn’t so cold and I wasn’t shivering so much, maybe I wouldn’t be thinking about any of this. Maybe I would be happy and blank, just like she wants me to be. Something about being strapped to the hard concrete floor, waiting for the next anonymous cock to suck must make me introspective. When you get everything you ever dreamed of you get a lot of time to think about it.