A blog, written by a couple in a female led marriage, devoted to the idea that women would run the world far better than men have and that a matriarchy can be achieved by using the weaknesses men possess against them.
The day after I had made my husband, ‘Ian’, serve naked in front of my friend Kat, we had a pretty lengthy conversation. It turned out that my husband found the experience to be everything he wanted. It was exciting, humiliating, degrading and it led to the most explosive ejaculation he had ever had. He had absolutely loved it! The problem? He didn’t love it right away. As soon as we were done coupling, and he had cum every last drop from the decently-sized balls hanging below the not-so-decently-sized penis, he was mortified by what I had done, and what he had participated in. Eight hours later, when his libido was sky high and he wanted to cum again, all I heard was him wanting to know when I’d be inviting Kat over for another dinner, and whether I had other friends that he might be serving in front of, but right away after cumming: not so much. Instead, I endured a paranoid man-child who was absolutely terrified that someone was going to find out what had happened. Snuggled up behind me, he began a conversation that went like this:
“Hey honey, Kat’s not going to tell anyone about what happened, right?” He sat up on one arm and I felt the warmth of his body replaced with a cool breeze as our two skins separated.
“No, she’s not.” I said sleepily.
“Are you sure?” He asked. I began to hear some trepidation in his voice.
“Yes, I’m sure. Now snuggle up again and fall asleep with me.” He laid back down for a moment, and I basked in the glory of his burning-hot, wood-stove-like body slowly cooking me into a total state of comforting bliss. Unfortunately, it lasted a mere thirty seconds before he popped up again.
“How can you be sure?”
“She’s been my best friend for years. We’re like sisters. She’s not going to tell anyone. Now please lay down and go to sleep.”
“But what if this is too juicy of a piece of gossip? What if she just can contain herself and tells someone?”
“It’s not going to happen…” He cut me off.
“But, what if it does?” He sounded whiny and paranoid. I flipped over on to my back and looked up at him, and in the dim light that washed across that came in through the window I smiled up at him.
“Then you’ll be outed as a total slave and have to live with the humiliation of it.” I said coyly, yet with a certain level of dominance. I was sure it was what he wanted to hear. I figured he would get all revved up from it and start calling me ‘Mistress Anastasia’ again. I was wrong. This is when I started learning about the male libido and how it works.
“I’m serious! This could ruin us! What if the neighbors find out? They’re all going to look at me strangely! They’ll be talking behind our backs as to what freaks we are!” Obviously, I’d have to coax him back to reality, rather than enjoy some post-coitus snuggle and rest.
“I think you’re overreacting. On the odd chance that anyone ever finds out what happened last night, that person would think exactly what you would: ‘wow, those two must have had fun getting kinky last night!’. That’s it. Now go back to sleep. That’s an order from you’re Mistress.”
“But I…”
“Did you want a beating?” I cut him off.
“No, Mistress Anastasia.” He replied submissively. He always used the full name when he was chastised. Otherwise, he calls me ‘Mistress Ana’ or just ‘Mistress’. At this point he finally laid down and we went to sleep curled up together.
The following morning, I awoke to a completely different man. I went to the kitchen to find a dutiful slave. His cage was on, he was wearing nothing but slippers and an apron, and he was cooking me a lovely breakfast. I sat down at the small table in the kitchen and he came over right way with coffee. After putting in on the table, he immediately fell to his knees, bent down, and kissed both of my feet. He stayed down there and rubbed them for a while until he had to jump up and tend to the food again. Eventually, he served us that lovely breakfast and we sat together at the table discussing the world events of the week as we ate. After our plates were empty, he popped up and cleared the table. He returned shortly after with fresh cups of coffee and we sat down for some more conversation, but this time about what had happened the day before.
I assumed I was going to get more complaining and paranoia, but instead I received the complete opposite. He was suddenly ecstatic about what had transpired less than twenty-four hours ago and was looking forward to doing it again. When I pressed him on his fears from the night before, he just said to chalk it up first-time jitters. He even went so far to say he didn’t care who knew and if I wanted to invite the neighbors over to watch next time, that I was welcome to. Convinced that all his panicking from the night before was dealt with, I let the subject drop. Anyway, I had a new mission in mind to attend to. Now that I had found out something I really enjoyed, I wanted to delve back into the list and find something else for my husband to enjoy.
While my husband cleaned the house (it was Saturday, after all) I sat in the study, at my desk, going over the yellow legal pad. I looked at the dislike column and realized there were some on there that we both agreed on one-hundred percent. Urophilia and coprophilia were two big ones. I work in a medical field and I don’t find urine or feces the least bit sexually enticing. I can deal with it if it comes out unintentionally, but I will never intentionally find it erotic to piss or shit on my husband. I’m glad my husband was on the same page with that one. I did find that it was still depressing to see that pegging was on the list. It was something I had always wanted to do. I did find it curious at the time that homosexuality/bisexuality wasn’t on the dislike list, but pegging was. Same-sex activities weren’t on the ‘like’ list either. I was curious as to why on that as well, but dismissed it to Ian overlooking it at the time.
I got bored with looking at what he doesn’t like, and what he does like isn’t to surprising (or complete I will eventually come to find out), so I moved on to his expectations as a 24/7 slave. I read through the entire section. I had read it before several times, but often when one reads, one makes assumptions and moves on before truly comprehending what’s written. I decided to really read between the lines. As I did, I found that the expectation section was more of a complaint section than anything else. Instead of producing positive, productive environment scenarios or creating a picture of an ideal situation, I found he spent a good amount of time critiquing how I had done things in the past. I was still young, and new to being the ‘one and only ruler’ he claimed I wasn’t quite living up to be in his expectations section. If I were to read it today, I would have easily seen the passive-aggressive attempts to motivate me to be what he imagined was what he wanted in his little perverted mind, and then I would have been as pissed off as I should have been. Instead, lack of self-confidence and experience blinded me to a ton of ‘top from the bottom’ type garbage he had written down. To my credit though, I gave him what he thought he wanted, and it turned out to be what he needed, and by extension; what I wanted.
I read the following expectation: ‘I want to be a real slave, and to achieve that, I believe my Mistress ought to be cruel and controlling, to never yield and to always make her slave’s punishments a real punishment; otherwise he's not going to learn’. The passage went on to list complaints about how I was too often lenient and never truly treated him as a possession.
I read this now and I can tell he wrote this thinking of good hard whipping session and nothing more. Ian has a very high pain tolerance, and sometimes when I’m whipping him, I must swing the belt with all I have. When he hasn’t ejaculated for days, his pain tolerance gets even higher and he’ll start being defiant just to get me to whip him harder; which I always oblige, and purposefully exceed what he wants to knock him back down a peg or two. He wrote this phrase thinking of himself, which was part of the idea of the ‘expectations’ section, but I was expecting more than that. I wanted a code to live by for life, not a code to live by for the moment. As young and inexperienced as I was, I couldn’t tell the difference between the two. I had reservations though, so I did discuss things with him before I proceeded with ideas rolling around in my sadistic mind. I called out to him and made him come to the study.
“Ian! Come here!” I called. I heard his bare feet slapping the wood floors as he was quickly walking through the hall to get to me. He came into the room and fell to his knees about five feet beyond my desk; providing me with a perfect view of him. He pressed his hands to the floor, followed by his forehead and stayed there while speaking. I have to admit, I sure do enjoy when he becomes super-submissive; he shows me so many things to make him do for my amusement.
“I am here, Mistress Ana. How may I please you?” He said. I was amused by how he looked on the floor; all bent over uncomfortably with his ass in the air. I decided to make him stay in it.
“I like how you are right now. Don’t move from that position until I tell you that you may.”
“Yes, Mistress Ana.”
“Now, you wrote here that you expect to be a real slave and that your Mistress is to be cruel and controlling, to never yield and to always make your punishments a real punishment; otherwise you’re not going to learn. Did you mean this? Do you really want me to punish you that harshly?”
“Yes, Mistress. I wish to serve you as best as I can, but I will need lots of direction. I am not perfect. As a man, there is no way I can be, but you can guide me to be as close as possible, but only with a firm hand.” Due to youthful ignorance, I was charmed by my husband’s eloquence and became almost giddy with how well this was all going. If I hear words come out of his mouth like that now, I know he rehearsed them and wants something in return, and he’ll get put across my lap and paddled until he confesses what he wants.
“I’m glad to hear that you’re onboard with being disciplined properly. You will be returning to your duties, but, know this: I will no longer be putting up with poorly done chores, comments I find disrespectful or any mistakes you make. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He said excitedly from the floor. “I look forward to serving you.” He then stood up, bowed while making eye contact, turned on his heels and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked. He turned around and looked at me.
“Back to my duties, Mistress.”
“I didn’t dismiss you.”
“But, you said to return to my duties, Mistress.” He looked confused; which was exactly my intention.
“I said you will be returning to your duties…with my expectations. I did not tell you to go.” I said with a stern look upon my face. I grabbed the long wooden ruler from in front of me and stood up from my desk. I walked passed my husband and sat on the loveseat. “Across my lap now, slave.”
Ian scrambled to come over and get across my lap. His body shuddered with excitement as he desperately tried to position himself perfectly for my punishment. He hiked his ass up, just a bit, to make sure I had a decent target and I intended to make him regret that decision.
“You have committed three offenses. What were they?”
“Three, Mistress Anastasia? I though I just left without permission.” He said quizzically.
“And, that makes four and five.” I said sounding as exasperated as I could. “Obviously, my slave needs a lot more training. Since you’re incapable of knowing what you did and when you did it; I will have to instruct you. To make sure you remember, I will drive home my points with this ruler. Shall we begin?” I said to finish rhetorically.
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He responded excitedly.
“Really? You’re responding to rhetorical questions? Obviously you need this far more that I thought.” I said incredulously. “From now, I suggest you keep your mouth shut unless asked a direct question.”
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He said repentantly. I brought the ruler down so hard on his right cheek that he screeched.
“I just said to be silent if not being asked a question and you responded? That was unwise.” I sent a flurry of blows down on his ass that started raising welts almost immediately. I had never hit him with all my strength before, and the effect it had showed greatly. He put his hand up instinctively to block the strikes and ended up with sore fingers from the attempt. As I continued to smack him over and over again, as hard as I could, he jerked around on my lap; trying to relieve the sting he was feeling on his bottom. To stop the pain, he fell off my lap onto the floor. He turned around and put his head to my feet and begged me to stop, and I was tempted to. Here my husband, the man I loved, was kneeling before me, pleading to not be beaten anymore, but he wrote down that he wanted this, and I wanted to give him what he desired.
I reached down and grabbed him by the ear. I pulled him up until he was standing and led him into the bedroom. There, I tied him up to the hooks in the ceiling and put a wide spreader bar on his legs so the he was helpless. He begged for me to not do it the whole time, but I kept looking down at his shiny, black, plastic prison and saw his tiny cock trying to force its way out through the bars and grates. His cock betrayed his words and showed his true desires.
Once I had him completely restrained, I reached into the cedar toy chest and pulled out my favorite whip: my cat-o-nine-tails, and a few more toys and put them in my pocket. I flipped the whip up over my husband’s shoulder, from behind, and let it slap gently on his chest. He watched intrepidly as I pulled the whip back; causing the individual leather straps to slowly make their retreat up and back over his shoulder.
“Are you ready for your punishment, slave?”
“Please, Mistress Anastasia! I’ll do better! Just tell me what I did wrong and I’ll never do it again!”
“I know you won’t, slave boy, because I’m going to correct your behavior.” I flipped the whip up over his other shoulder and watched him flinch from fear.
“Please, Mistress Anastasia! I promise I’ll be good!” He sounded terrified, and for some reason, I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“You said you wanted to be a ‘real slave’. Were you lying?”
“No, Mistress Anastasia! I would never lie to you! I want to serve you forever!”
“And, you said you wanted ‘real punishment’. I’m taking that to mean you want punishment that really hurts. Not fun, sexy, kinky pain, but real pain. Am I wrong in that?”
“No, Mistress Anastasia! You’re not wrong! I asked for it! I’m just not sure I can handle it! You were hitting me so hard!”
“Did you deserve it?” I asked coyly while dragging around on his body. His eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He said resignedly.
“Do you think I should let you off because my punishment hurt too much?”
“No, Mistress Anastasia.” He said almost sobbing.
“Should I not beat you because you’re afraid? Are you a worthless little scared-y-cat?”
“Please, Mistress Anastasia. I promise I’ll do better.” He was shaking with fear and seemed to be close to crying. I moved around in front of him and looked him in the eyes.
“Well, I want you to know something, slave. I am going to give you this beating.” His eyes opened wide with terror. “It’s going to hurt, and you deserve it, but I’m not going to do it as your Mistress.” His face filled with confusion.
“I don’t understand, Mistress Anastasia.” He sniffled.
“I am going to beat you as your wife and owner. You are no longer my cute little naked house slave. You’re my real slave with real punishments. Now Ian, I want you to repeat after me: Anastasia, my adoring wife and owner, please whip me for real and make me your real slave.”
He stood there, legs spread and arms outstretched, mouth gaping in shock, staring at me in disbelief. His little locked up penis strained at his cage and his eyes showed a mix of lust and terror. He started to mouth some words, but nothing came out. I reached up and pinched his left nipple hard, and then twisted.
“Is there a problem, Ian?” I asked viciously,
“No, Mistress Anastasia!” He winced and yelped.
“Quit calling me Mistress and say the phrase.” I twisted harder.
“Please! He screamed hoarsely.
“Say it!” I let go of his one nipple and grabbed the other; twisting immediately and twice as hard.
“Anastasia! My wife! Make me your real slave!” I let go of his nipple and moved in, so my lips were almost touching his.
“The phrase is: Anastasia, my adoring wife and owner, please whip me for real and make me your real slave.” I said quietly staring into eyes that screamed defeat.
“Anastasia, my adoring wife and owner, please whip me for real and make me your real slave.” He whispered with a quivering voice. He looked about to collapse. I kissed him gently on the lips and spoke.
“Thank you, Ian. Was that so hard?” I smiled at him. He smiled back for a moment and then began to say something. I grabbed the ball gag I had put in my pocket and cut off his words by jamming it in his open mouth. I clicked shut the strap’s latch; securing it tightly in place. He began to make humming noises to indicate he wanted to speak. I put my hand tenderly on his chest and spoke instead. “Sorry, honey, but we don’t want the neighbors hearing this, now do we?”
I moved around behind him and aimed my whip toward his ass. I must have repositioned myself a half dozen times trying to make sure the first strike landed in the right place. Once positive of perfect placement, with all my might, I swung the whip through the air, making a whooshing noise that ended in the most erotic sounding slap I’d ever heard. His whole body jerked forward as he howled in pain through the gag. I after the initial shock was gone, he slowly regained a bit of composure, but he was shaking in fear and tears were streaming from his eyes.
I looked at him, tied up, red-assed, crying and fearful of the next strike, and I started laughing. I suddenly found this whole thing so funny. Here was my big strong husband, with his tiny cock in a cage, whimpering from being whipped and tortured by a woman much smaller and weaker than he, and this was all happening because he begged for it to happen. It just seemed so ludicrous. Unfortunately for him, it seemed so right to me, and I had no intention of letting things ever go back to the way they were again.
“Did you like your first real whipping, Ian?” I asked. He just whimpered more. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I said coyly.
I went around in front of him and pulled the nipple clamps from my pocket. He hates having his nipples tortured, but I felt that it really wasn’t about him anymore, so I attached them tightly on both of his nipples. I reached down and grabbed his caged little penis and pulled.
“I can’t believe you asked for this, literally begged for this. More so, I can’t believe how much I’m enjoying this.” I smiled. “Time for your whipping to begin.” He began to openly panic and beg for me to stop by mumbling through his gag. I ignored him and went back around behind him. I brought the whip down on his ass again. The same wrenching effect as the previous strike inflamed his body again.
“That was for getting up from the floor without permission. Never move without permission!” I struck him again.
“That’s for making eye contact. Keep your eyes lowered at all times when serving!” Another blow, this time lower hitting his upper thighs.
“That’s for trying to leave the room without being dismissed. You should have learned this last night when Kat was here and you were beaten for it!” Perfect strike right across both cheeks.
“For mistake number four, questioning my judgement as to how many offenses you had committed. I am always right, period!” I don’t like being second-guessed so I tried to swing even harder.
“Five: speaking without permission. Never speak unless I’ve asked you a genuine question or you have been given leave to do so!” A good one to the thighs again.
“Mistake number six: speaking to me as if you’re my equal while questioning my calculations of the number of offenses. You are not my equal so act accordingly!” Another good swat. He had been bopping around trying to avoid the brunt of the strikes, but now hung from his bindings crying.
“Seven: trying to avoid your punishment by jumping off my lap while being beaten. You will always accept your punishments willingly!” This time he took the blow and hardly moved. It was obvious is bum was getting desensitized to my strikes.
“Eight: begging for leniency. You claim you don’t want mercy from me so you will never receive that from me again!” I brought the whip across his back, causing him to jump in pain again.
I looked at my handy work. His skin from his back to his knees was bright red and inflamed. Several welts had appeared, but no blood. He hung from his bindings, defeated and whimpering, and I realized I had done all this. I felt guilty; not for what I had done, but because what I had done turned me on so much. I moved around in front of my husband again and removed his ball gag. His face was covered in sweat, tears and even some snot from his nose. He looked a terrible mess as he hung there staring at the floor. He didn’t even try to look up at me. I started to worry that I had gone too far, when I heard him murmur something. I couldn’t make it out.
“What did you say, Ian?” After a long pause he finally spoke.
“Thank you, Ana. I am yours. I promise to do better in the future.” His voice was a little hoarse, but his words filled me with joy. I wrapped my arms around him and held his bound form tightly in a hug that professed my love. I held on for several minutes until a new feeling came over me.
I ran over to my dresser and grabbed the key for the padlock on his chastity cage. I returned to my husband and in a matter of seconds, freed his little cock. It sprung to attention immediately. I turned my back to nestle my ass up against his abdomen while reaching my hand through between my legs. I grabbed his pathetic tiny shaft and guided into me. I felt him slowly enter my vagina as I moved my hips back toward him. Once he was comfortably embedded, I spoke.
“Fuck me, slave. Bring pleasure to the woman who owns you.” My husband, exhausted and thrashed, began to thrust his hips. Back and forth, rhythmically we joined in perfect harmony. He, bound as property, and me, free to do as I please, made love as only we could. Symmetry had been created, perfected and now together, as one whole unit, we succumbed to a simultaneous orgasm that felt shared between our two bodies.
After the waves of joy subsided for the two of us, I untied him. He immediately dropped to the floor and kissed my feet. Much of the mess he had just left inside me was beginning to run down my inner thigh. He noticed and moved in quickly to lick me clean. I put a leg up on the bed, so all parts were easier to reach. When he finished, he knelt with his head in his hands on the floor and asked to be dismissed so he could finish his duties. I gave him permission. He immediately grabbed his cage, put it back on, and ran off to the kitchen to clean, or something. To be honest, I’m not really sure what he did. I curled up in bed and took a nap; just like a slave owner has the right to do. It was a great nap.
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The Yellow Legal Pad Part Three
The day after I had made my husband, ‘Ian’, serve naked in front of my friend Kat, we had a pretty lengthy conversation. It turned out that my husband found the experience to be everything he wanted. It was exciting, humiliating, degrading and it led to the most explosive ejaculation he had ever had. He had absolutely loved it! The problem? He didn’t love it right away. As soon as we were done coupling, and he had cum every last drop from the decently-sized balls hanging below the not-so-decently-sized penis, he was mortified by what I had done, and what he had participated in. Eight hours later, when his libido was sky high and he wanted to cum again, all I heard was him wanting to know when I’d be inviting Kat over for another dinner, and whether I had other friends that he might be serving in front of, but right away after cumming: not so much. Instead, I endured a paranoid man-child who was absolutely terrified that someone was going to find out what had happened. Snuggled up behind me, he began a conversation that went like this:
“Hey honey, Kat’s not going to tell anyone about what happened, right?” He sat up on one arm and I felt the warmth of his body replaced with a cool breeze as our two skins separated.
“No, she’s not.” I said sleepily.
“Are you sure?” He asked. I began to hear some trepidation in his voice.
“Yes, I’m sure. Now snuggle up again and fall asleep with me.” He laid back down for a moment, and I basked in the glory of his burning-hot, wood-stove-like body slowly cooking me into a total state of comforting bliss. Unfortunately, it lasted a mere thirty seconds before he popped up again.
“How can you be sure?”
“She’s been my best friend for years. We’re like sisters. She’s not going to tell anyone. Now please lay down and go to sleep.”
“But what if this is too juicy of a piece of gossip? What if she just can contain herself and tells someone?”
“It’s not going to happen…” He cut me off.
“But, what if it does?” He sounded whiny and paranoid. I flipped over on to my back and looked up at him, and in the dim light that washed across that came in through the window I smiled up at him.
“Then you’ll be outed as a total slave and have to live with the humiliation of it.” I said coyly, yet with a certain level of dominance. I was sure it was what he wanted to hear. I figured he would get all revved up from it and start calling me ‘Mistress Anastasia’ again. I was wrong. This is when I started learning about the male libido and how it works.
“I’m serious! This could ruin us! What if the neighbors find out? They’re all going to look at me strangely! They’ll be talking behind our backs as to what freaks we are!” Obviously, I’d have to coax him back to reality, rather than enjoy some post-coitus snuggle and rest.
“I think you’re overreacting. On the odd chance that anyone ever finds out what happened last night, that person would think exactly what you would: ‘wow, those two must have had fun getting kinky last night!’. That’s it. Now go back to sleep. That’s an order from you’re Mistress.”
“But I…”
“Did you want a beating?” I cut him off.
“No, Mistress Anastasia.” He replied submissively. He always used the full name when he was chastised. Otherwise, he calls me ‘Mistress Ana’ or just ‘Mistress’. At this point he finally laid down and we went to sleep curled up together.
The following morning, I awoke to a completely different man. I went to the kitchen to find a dutiful slave. His cage was on, he was wearing nothing but slippers and an apron, and he was cooking me a lovely breakfast. I sat down at the small table in the kitchen and he came over right way with coffee. After putting in on the table, he immediately fell to his knees, bent down, and kissed both of my feet. He stayed down there and rubbed them for a while until he had to jump up and tend to the food again. Eventually, he served us that lovely breakfast and we sat together at the table discussing the world events of the week as we ate. After our plates were empty, he popped up and cleared the table. He returned shortly after with fresh cups of coffee and we sat down for some more conversation, but this time about what had happened the day before.
I assumed I was going to get more complaining and paranoia, but instead I received the complete opposite. He was suddenly ecstatic about what had transpired less than twenty-four hours ago and was looking forward to doing it again. When I pressed him on his fears from the night before, he just said to chalk it up first-time jitters. He even went so far to say he didn’t care who knew and if I wanted to invite the neighbors over to watch next time, that I was welcome to. Convinced that all his panicking from the night before was dealt with, I let the subject drop. Anyway, I had a new mission in mind to attend to. Now that I had found out something I really enjoyed, I wanted to delve back into the list and find something else for my husband to enjoy.
While my husband cleaned the house (it was Saturday, after all) I sat in the study, at my desk, going over the yellow legal pad. I looked at the dislike column and realized there were some on there that we both agreed on one-hundred percent. Urophilia and coprophilia were two big ones. I work in a medical field and I don’t find urine or feces the least bit sexually enticing. I can deal with it if it comes out unintentionally, but I will never intentionally find it erotic to piss or shit on my husband. I’m glad my husband was on the same page with that one. I did find that it was still depressing to see that pegging was on the list. It was something I had always wanted to do. I did find it curious at the time that homosexuality/bisexuality wasn’t on the dislike list, but pegging was. Same-sex activities weren’t on the ‘like’ list either. I was curious as to why on that as well, but dismissed it to Ian overlooking it at the time.
I got bored with looking at what he doesn’t like, and what he does like isn’t to surprising (or complete I will eventually come to find out), so I moved on to his expectations as a 24/7 slave. I read through the entire section. I had read it before several times, but often when one reads, one makes assumptions and moves on before truly comprehending what’s written. I decided to really read between the lines. As I did, I found that the expectation section was more of a complaint section than anything else. Instead of producing positive, productive environment scenarios or creating a picture of an ideal situation, I found he spent a good amount of time critiquing how I had done things in the past. I was still young, and new to being the ‘one and only ruler’ he claimed I wasn’t quite living up to be in his expectations section. If I were to read it today, I would have easily seen the passive-aggressive attempts to motivate me to be what he imagined was what he wanted in his little perverted mind, and then I would have been as pissed off as I should have been. Instead, lack of self-confidence and experience blinded me to a ton of ‘top from the bottom’ type garbage he had written down. To my credit though, I gave him what he thought he wanted, and it turned out to be what he needed, and by extension; what I wanted.
I read the following expectation: ‘I want to be a real slave, and to achieve that, I believe my Mistress ought to be cruel and controlling, to never yield and to always make her slave’s punishments a real punishment; otherwise he's not going to learn’. The passage went on to list complaints about how I was too often lenient and never truly treated him as a possession.
I read this now and I can tell he wrote this thinking of good hard whipping session and nothing more. Ian has a very high pain tolerance, and sometimes when I’m whipping him, I must swing the belt with all I have. When he hasn’t ejaculated for days, his pain tolerance gets even higher and he’ll start being defiant just to get me to whip him harder; which I always oblige, and purposefully exceed what he wants to knock him back down a peg or two. He wrote this phrase thinking of himself, which was part of the idea of the ‘expectations’ section, but I was expecting more than that. I wanted a code to live by for life, not a code to live by for the moment. As young and inexperienced as I was, I couldn’t tell the difference between the two. I had reservations though, so I did discuss things with him before I proceeded with ideas rolling around in my sadistic mind. I called out to him and made him come to the study.
“Ian! Come here!” I called. I heard his bare feet slapping the wood floors as he was quickly walking through the hall to get to me. He came into the room and fell to his knees about five feet beyond my desk; providing me with a perfect view of him. He pressed his hands to the floor, followed by his forehead and stayed there while speaking. I have to admit, I sure do enjoy when he becomes super-submissive; he shows me so many things to make him do for my amusement.
“I am here, Mistress Ana. How may I please you?” He said. I was amused by how he looked on the floor; all bent over uncomfortably with his ass in the air. I decided to make him stay in it.
“I like how you are right now. Don’t move from that position until I tell you that you may.”
“Yes, Mistress Ana.”
“Now, you wrote here that you expect to be a real slave and that your Mistress is to be cruel and controlling, to never yield and to always make your punishments a real punishment; otherwise you’re not going to learn. Did you mean this? Do you really want me to punish you that harshly?”
“Yes, Mistress. I wish to serve you as best as I can, but I will need lots of direction. I am not perfect. As a man, there is no way I can be, but you can guide me to be as close as possible, but only with a firm hand.” Due to youthful ignorance, I was charmed by my husband’s eloquence and became almost giddy with how well this was all going. If I hear words come out of his mouth like that now, I know he rehearsed them and wants something in return, and he’ll get put across my lap and paddled until he confesses what he wants.
“I’m glad to hear that you’re onboard with being disciplined properly. You will be returning to your duties, but, know this: I will no longer be putting up with poorly done chores, comments I find disrespectful or any mistakes you make. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He said excitedly from the floor. “I look forward to serving you.” He then stood up, bowed while making eye contact, turned on his heels and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked. He turned around and looked at me.
“Back to my duties, Mistress.”
“I didn’t dismiss you.”
“But, you said to return to my duties, Mistress.” He looked confused; which was exactly my intention.
“I said you will be returning to your duties…with my expectations. I did not tell you to go.” I said with a stern look upon my face. I grabbed the long wooden ruler from in front of me and stood up from my desk. I walked passed my husband and sat on the loveseat. “Across my lap now, slave.”
Ian scrambled to come over and get across my lap. His body shuddered with excitement as he desperately tried to position himself perfectly for my punishment. He hiked his ass up, just a bit, to make sure I had a decent target and I intended to make him regret that decision.
“You have committed three offenses. What were they?”
“Three, Mistress Anastasia? I though I just left without permission.” He said quizzically.
“And, that makes four and five.” I said sounding as exasperated as I could. “Obviously, my slave needs a lot more training. Since you’re incapable of knowing what you did and when you did it; I will have to instruct you. To make sure you remember, I will drive home my points with this ruler. Shall we begin?” I said to finish rhetorically.
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He responded excitedly.
“Really? You’re responding to rhetorical questions? Obviously you need this far more that I thought.” I said incredulously. “From now, I suggest you keep your mouth shut unless asked a direct question.”
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He said repentantly. I brought the ruler down so hard on his right cheek that he screeched.
“I just said to be silent if not being asked a question and you responded? That was unwise.” I sent a flurry of blows down on his ass that started raising welts almost immediately. I had never hit him with all my strength before, and the effect it had showed greatly. He put his hand up instinctively to block the strikes and ended up with sore fingers from the attempt. As I continued to smack him over and over again, as hard as I could, he jerked around on my lap; trying to relieve the sting he was feeling on his bottom. To stop the pain, he fell off my lap onto the floor. He turned around and put his head to my feet and begged me to stop, and I was tempted to. Here my husband, the man I loved, was kneeling before me, pleading to not be beaten anymore, but he wrote down that he wanted this, and I wanted to give him what he desired.
I reached down and grabbed him by the ear. I pulled him up until he was standing and led him into the bedroom. There, I tied him up to the hooks in the ceiling and put a wide spreader bar on his legs so the he was helpless. He begged for me to not do it the whole time, but I kept looking down at his shiny, black, plastic prison and saw his tiny cock trying to force its way out through the bars and grates. His cock betrayed his words and showed his true desires.
Once I had him completely restrained, I reached into the cedar toy chest and pulled out my favorite whip: my cat-o-nine-tails, and a few more toys and put them in my pocket. I flipped the whip up over my husband’s shoulder, from behind, and let it slap gently on his chest. He watched intrepidly as I pulled the whip back; causing the individual leather straps to slowly make their retreat up and back over his shoulder.
“Are you ready for your punishment, slave?”
“Please, Mistress Anastasia! I’ll do better! Just tell me what I did wrong and I’ll never do it again!”
“I know you won’t, slave boy, because I’m going to correct your behavior.” I flipped the whip up over his other shoulder and watched him flinch from fear.
“Please, Mistress Anastasia! I promise I’ll be good!” He sounded terrified, and for some reason, I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“You said you wanted to be a ‘real slave’. Were you lying?”
“No, Mistress Anastasia! I would never lie to you! I want to serve you forever!”
“And, you said you wanted ‘real punishment’. I’m taking that to mean you want punishment that really hurts. Not fun, sexy, kinky pain, but real pain. Am I wrong in that?”
“No, Mistress Anastasia! You’re not wrong! I asked for it! I’m just not sure I can handle it! You were hitting me so hard!”
“Did you deserve it?” I asked coyly while dragging around on his body. His eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, Mistress Anastasia.” He said resignedly.
“Do you think I should let you off because my punishment hurt too much?”
“No, Mistress Anastasia.” He said almost sobbing.
“Should I not beat you because you’re afraid? Are you a worthless little scared-y-cat?”
“Please, Mistress Anastasia. I promise I’ll do better.” He was shaking with fear and seemed to be close to crying. I moved around in front of him and looked him in the eyes.
“Well, I want you to know something, slave. I am going to give you this beating.” His eyes opened wide with terror. “It’s going to hurt, and you deserve it, but I’m not going to do it as your Mistress.” His face filled with confusion.
“I don’t understand, Mistress Anastasia.” He sniffled.
“I am going to beat you as your wife and owner. You are no longer my cute little naked house slave. You’re my real slave with real punishments. Now Ian, I want you to repeat after me: Anastasia, my adoring wife and owner, please whip me for real and make me your real slave.”
He stood there, legs spread and arms outstretched, mouth gaping in shock, staring at me in disbelief. His little locked up penis strained at his cage and his eyes showed a mix of lust and terror. He started to mouth some words, but nothing came out. I reached up and pinched his left nipple hard, and then twisted.
“Is there a problem, Ian?” I asked viciously,
“No, Mistress Anastasia!” He winced and yelped.
“Quit calling me Mistress and say the phrase.” I twisted harder.
“Please! He screamed hoarsely.
“Say it!” I let go of his one nipple and grabbed the other; twisting immediately and twice as hard.
“Anastasia! My wife! Make me your real slave!” I let go of his nipple and moved in, so my lips were almost touching his.
“The phrase is: Anastasia, my adoring wife and owner, please whip me for real and make me your real slave.” I said quietly staring into eyes that screamed defeat.
“Anastasia, my adoring wife and owner, please whip me for real and make me your real slave.” He whispered with a quivering voice. He looked about to collapse. I kissed him gently on the lips and spoke.
“Thank you, Ian. Was that so hard?” I smiled at him. He smiled back for a moment and then began to say something. I grabbed the ball gag I had put in my pocket and cut off his words by jamming it in his open mouth. I clicked shut the strap’s latch; securing it tightly in place. He began to make humming noises to indicate he wanted to speak. I put my hand tenderly on his chest and spoke instead. “Sorry, honey, but we don’t want the neighbors hearing this, now do we?”
I moved around behind him and aimed my whip toward his ass. I must have repositioned myself a half dozen times trying to make sure the first strike landed in the right place. Once positive of perfect placement, with all my might, I swung the whip through the air, making a whooshing noise that ended in the most erotic sounding slap I’d ever heard. His whole body jerked forward as he howled in pain through the gag. I after the initial shock was gone, he slowly regained a bit of composure, but he was shaking in fear and tears were streaming from his eyes.
I looked at him, tied up, red-assed, crying and fearful of the next strike, and I started laughing. I suddenly found this whole thing so funny. Here was my big strong husband, with his tiny cock in a cage, whimpering from being whipped and tortured by a woman much smaller and weaker than he, and this was all happening because he begged for it to happen. It just seemed so ludicrous. Unfortunately for him, it seemed so right to me, and I had no intention of letting things ever go back to the way they were again.
“Did you like your first real whipping, Ian?” I asked. He just whimpered more. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I said coyly.
I went around in front of him and pulled the nipple clamps from my pocket. He hates having his nipples tortured, but I felt that it really wasn’t about him anymore, so I attached them tightly on both of his nipples. I reached down and grabbed his caged little penis and pulled.
“I can’t believe you asked for this, literally begged for this. More so, I can’t believe how much I’m enjoying this.” I smiled. “Time for your whipping to begin.” He began to openly panic and beg for me to stop by mumbling through his gag. I ignored him and went back around behind him. I brought the whip down on his ass again. The same wrenching effect as the previous strike inflamed his body again.
“That was for getting up from the floor without permission. Never move without permission!” I struck him again.
“That’s for making eye contact. Keep your eyes lowered at all times when serving!” Another blow, this time lower hitting his upper thighs.
“That’s for trying to leave the room without being dismissed. You should have learned this last night when Kat was here and you were beaten for it!” Perfect strike right across both cheeks.
“For mistake number four, questioning my judgement as to how many offenses you had committed. I am always right, period!” I don’t like being second-guessed so I tried to swing even harder.
“Five: speaking without permission. Never speak unless I’ve asked you a genuine question or you have been given leave to do so!” A good one to the thighs again.
“Mistake number six: speaking to me as if you’re my equal while questioning my calculations of the number of offenses. You are not my equal so act accordingly!” Another good swat. He had been bopping around trying to avoid the brunt of the strikes, but now hung from his bindings crying.
“Seven: trying to avoid your punishment by jumping off my lap while being beaten. You will always accept your punishments willingly!” This time he took the blow and hardly moved. It was obvious is bum was getting desensitized to my strikes.
“Eight: begging for leniency. You claim you don’t want mercy from me so you will never receive that from me again!” I brought the whip across his back, causing him to jump in pain again.
I looked at my handy work. His skin from his back to his knees was bright red and inflamed. Several welts had appeared, but no blood. He hung from his bindings, defeated and whimpering, and I realized I had done all this. I felt guilty; not for what I had done, but because what I had done turned me on so much. I moved around in front of my husband again and removed his ball gag. His face was covered in sweat, tears and even some snot from his nose. He looked a terrible mess as he hung there staring at the floor. He didn’t even try to look up at me. I started to worry that I had gone too far, when I heard him murmur something. I couldn’t make it out.
“What did you say, Ian?” After a long pause he finally spoke.
“Thank you, Ana. I am yours. I promise to do better in the future.” His voice was a little hoarse, but his words filled me with joy. I wrapped my arms around him and held his bound form tightly in a hug that professed my love. I held on for several minutes until a new feeling came over me.
I ran over to my dresser and grabbed the key for the padlock on his chastity cage. I returned to my husband and in a matter of seconds, freed his little cock. It sprung to attention immediately. I turned my back to nestle my ass up against his abdomen while reaching my hand through between my legs. I grabbed his pathetic tiny shaft and guided into me. I felt him slowly enter my vagina as I moved my hips back toward him. Once he was comfortably embedded, I spoke.
“Fuck me, slave. Bring pleasure to the woman who owns you.” My husband, exhausted and thrashed, began to thrust his hips. Back and forth, rhythmically we joined in perfect harmony. He, bound as property, and me, free to do as I please, made love as only we could. Symmetry had been created, perfected and now together, as one whole unit, we succumbed to a simultaneous orgasm that felt shared between our two bodies.
After the waves of joy subsided for the two of us, I untied him. He immediately dropped to the floor and kissed my feet. Much of the mess he had just left inside me was beginning to run down my inner thigh. He noticed and moved in quickly to lick me clean. I put a leg up on the bed, so all parts were easier to reach. When he finished, he knelt with his head in his hands on the floor and asked to be dismissed so he could finish his duties. I gave him permission. He immediately grabbed his cage, put it back on, and ran off to the kitchen to clean, or something. To be honest, I’m not really sure what he did. I curled up in bed and took a nap; just like a slave owner has the right to do. It was a great nap.