Cruel Wife, Slave Husband
Don’s Point of View: The confrontation
I don’t know exactly how it happened. It seems like only yesterday I was a happily
married man doing manly things. I had friends that I loved to go out with, play video games with, and get drunk with. In fact life was one big never-ending party. Perhaps it was true that I sometimes neglected my wife. But what did she expect? A man needs to do manly things. And once a month or so, she went out with her friends. I never made a big deal of that. As long as my meals were ready, when I got home and the house was clean and neat when my friends came over, and she gave me head when I wanted it, I never complained.
And then I guess I got careless by leaving my laptop on and unsecured when I went to work. That night when I came home, I knew something was amiss. The table was not set and no supper was waiting on the table.
“Where are you woman?” I called loudly. “Your man is home and hungry. Why isn’t dinner on the table?”
“In here,” came the answer. “I guess I got carried away with reading some of the websites you left open on your computer.”
“Oh, hell,” I thought. “This cannot be good.” I tried to envision some of the things I had been looking at. The leather, boots and even the whips, I might be able to laugh off. But the feminization sites might be a little tougher to explain.
“Come on, dear. Don’t you want to see what I am looking at?”
“Later, woman, I am hungry. Get out here and make me dinner.” I said, trying to regain some sense of control.
“Those words don’t seem to jive with your fantasy life. Why don’t you join me in the den?” Her words were soft, but her meaning was clear. She had no intention of making dinner any time soon. On legs that had somehow lost their strength, I made my way towards what I feared was impending doom. And then my worst fears were realized when I walked into the den and saw my sweet little blonde wife, sitting in a straight backed chair, wearing a short leather skirt, a white see-through blouse, and five inch high-heels. And in her right hand she had a wide leather belt that she kept tapping against one leather-clad leg.
“I see that you have been a very bad boy, young man. Come over here and explain yourself.”
Now, I need to explain that my wife has never been dominant in the smallest of ways. Even when I came home late, stinking drunk she had never raised her voice to me. Even when I was less than satisfying in bed, she just patted my shoulder and told me that it was all right. But, while her voice said she was calm and controlled, her body language told me something else was coming. And frankly my cock was betraying me. Just looking at that short skirt, high heels and stern pose was causing my cock to strain against the front of my work slacks. And from the direction of her gaze I knew that she could see what her outfit was doing to me.
“Dear, look at this picture on your computer and tell me what you see.”
I looked at what has always been my fantasy but may soon be my worst nightmare. The woman in the picture was dressed all in leather from her neck down to the soles of her spike-heeled boots. And in her right hand she held a coiled, deadly looking bullwhip. And in front of her was a nude, terrified male with his mouth pressed against one of her boots. I said, “It looks like a picture of a dominatrix to me.”
“Really, a dominatrix, is it? And why do you have such a picture saved to your favorites on your computer? Do you find leather clad women to be sexually stimulating?”
“Well, yes, I guess I do in some ways.”
“Is that what you would like for me to be like? Would you like me to wield a whip like the one in the picture?”
“Look, dear, this is just a fantasy. Aren’t there things you think about to get you sexually excited? I doubt that I would really enjoy you taking a whip like that to my ass.”
“Perhaps not, how about if I just took this belt to your ass? Would that be within the parameters of your desires?”
“Maybe we should just start out with a mild spanking,” I said with a smile.