My husband, Adam, and I, we share something. Something special. Something intimate. Something real. I give him everything I have. I worship him and love him. I am a kept woman and over the years he has trained me, taught me how to be a better woman and in return he's a better man. I deserve him and he, he deserves me.
Some people would call me a trophy wife. However, I don't like that term. You could classify me as a homemaker on most days. Yes, I do wear pearls sometimes when I cook dinner. I like to give myself that 1950's housewife look. I've been told I'm a catch and that I'm gorgeous. But to me, a trophy wife is some ditzy blonde with breasts their hubbies bought for them. I enjoy being on my husband's arm, but just because I'm pretty, it doesn't mean I'm just a trophy. I prefer the term prize.
I don't work, as my husband is a lawyer, who recently made partner at the age of thirty-four. We live several steps above comfortably in a nice home in the heart of suburbia. He could be considered a work-a-holic, but I find him to be ambitious. It's sexy.
I spend my days running errands and taking care of things at home. He gave me my art room as a gift when we first married, my place to escape reality and be creative. I've spent hours in that room, getting covered in oil paints and sketching. But I wouldn't call it a job, more of a hobby.
When we first started dating, I was twenty-two. I worked as a bartender at a trendy place nearby the campus he attended for law school. Adam, at twenty-six, was in his last semester for his Juris Doctor.
After a few hours of here and there flirting, he asked for my phone number and I turned him down. He was handsome, tall with dark hair and eyes that gave him a mysterious look. Looking back, he was quite kind that night, but I was edgy. It was fraternity guy paradise and being hit on over and over can make a girl turn anyone down. Lucky for me, he was persistent. The next week, he came back and told me that he knew there was something special about me, he couldn't place it yet, but he had to find out what it was.
As we began dating, I fell quickly in love with him. He was strong mentally and physically. He treated me like an absolute princess. He was stable. He had a career lined up and a whole life ahead of him. He was and still is a truly desirable man. Not to mention, the fantastic sex we had. His cock is just perfect, with prodigious length and girth. It has the same thickness as three of my fingers.
He trained me and I practiced with him, learning how to take the entire length down my throat. Over time, I've become an expert with his cock and he yearns for no other mouth wrapped around his flesh.
I am devoted to him, and he to me.
What I really adore about my husband is his dominance. That part of our relationship started off simple. He'd tie my wrists to the bedposts and I'd turn into a silly slut and scream for him to use me. By the time we married three years later, he had hung me from a rafter by my wrists and he whipped me with his flogger.
I've always had a fascination with pain and being with Adam has allowed me to explore those hidden desires more than I could have ever imagined. I love how after he whips me I have welts and marks I can wear proudly. Even though he hurts me, sometimes he even makes me bleed, it is then that I know how much he loves me. After he's whipped me, he unties me and lays me down carefully. When he applies the salve to my skin rubs the cramps out of my muscles, I know he loves me. He brings me back to health and kisses my sweaty face. He tells me how beautiful I am when I'm still trembling.
Most people wouldn't understand. Honestly, I don't blame them. Adam told me he's always known how he was supposed to be. He's a man who needs to be in control. He needs that power. I, on the other hand, had little thoughts here and there. I was curious. When I met my husband, he brought it out of me. I had buried all those thoughts and desires inside myself, thinking I was weird.
I confessed my feelings to him about a year into our relationship; he listened and told me he understood. He had already been working me in, getting more out of me. I told him I wanted more, that I wanted to go further. I wanted him to push me, both mentally and with painful beatings that aroused me so much. From that day, he has done nothing but go forward. He's a truly wonderful man.
We put up a good front. I'm a devoted wife and he's an amazing husband, but most people don't see passed that glittery exterior. But tonight, tonight was Halloween. While most people dress up as something they are not and women use the holiday as an excuse to be sluts and wear stockings, tonight Adam and I are going to be ourselves. Tonight, our posh and conservative friends are going to get a peek into our lives. I am going to be myself, my submissive self, and that makes me fucking hot.
I returned from my shower, wrapped loosely inside my white silk robe with an ample amount of cleavage visible. I had finished doing my auburn hair in loose ringlets sitting on my chest. My makeup was very slutty, smoky black eyeliner with dark gray shadow outlining my bright blue eyes. My plump lips were colored fuck me red, smeared over with gloss. I'm lean, I take care of myself and I have what Adam calls, "delicious curves."
I looked at my husband sitting on our bed, his lips turned into a smile and his dark, always-stern, eyes looked me over. He nodded praise that I had met his standards.
He stood up, his strong frame dominating me. He wore a three-piece pinstripe suit, black shirt and solid red silk tie. From his front pocket hung a fake ID badge that read: "Meadow Fields Psychiatric Hospital, Dr. Adam Jorgensen, Psychiatrist." The badge was complete with a picture I look of him in a lab coat and a security barcode.
After he stood, I ran my fingers over the badge and smiled softly, "You look handsome, Dr. Jorgensen."
His fingers traced my collarbone and pushed my robe off my shoulders, exposing my bare breasts and red lines that marked me as his. "You will be as beautiful as always, Madeline," he said as he finished undressing me.
I stood still and let him look over my body. His strong hands traced my large breasts, over my healing wounds, and trailed down over my belly and wide hips to my bare cunt. I spread my legs at his demand and he checked my waxing job from earlier this afternoon. He cupped my mound and slipped is fingers between my smooth lips. I kept my hands at my side as he inspected me, letting him have control, examining both my lean legs for their softness.
He stood back up, "Are you going to be my perfect patient tonight, Madeline?" he asked, his dark eyes burning into mine.
"Yes, sir," I replied with a shiver of excitement.
"Very good. I have a surprise for you," he said and turned to the bed and picked up a pink bag from my favorite lingerie store.
My face lit up and I beamed up at my husband. "A surprise? Darling, you shouldn't have," I gushed, giddy with delight.
He chuckled and pulled out a shiny lavender silk thong, a miniscule piece of lingerie. I eyed it and noticed the white embroidery around the sides that made it look extra fancy. He squatted down, pulling up a bit on his slacks. He held the panties open for me to step into.
When I looked down I saw a shiny bullet size piece of metal placed against the crotch. I put my hands on his shoulders and he pulled my panties up my soft legs. He set them delicately around my hips and adjusted the crotch so the metal sat against my clitoris. It was cold now, but I was sure that wouldn't be the case much longer.
"Are you excited, Madeline?"
I nodded fast with a giant smile on my face, "So very excited, Adam. I can't wait."
I watched him, squatting in front of me. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a little remote. He showed it to me and hit one of the buttons it. The little bullet inside my panties came to life. It vibrated at full blast and I let out a shocked moan, catching myself from a fall on his shoulders. Just as fast as it started, he turned it off.
I blinked my eyes and shuddered for a moment, "Oh goodness," I said with an exasperated sigh, "Dr. Jorgensen, you really have this planned out, don't you?"
My husband stood up and kissed my cheek, "I always have everything planned," his voice was cocky in a teasing sort of way.
He clipped the small remote to the vibrator on the outside of his shirt cuff, against his wrist. He brought out a lavender bra that matched the panties and I held my arms out, letting him dress me.
I enjoy that he picks out my clothes and when he dresses me. People might say that I lost myself because of this. But I don't think that's the case. I think giving up your choices in simple things like what clothes I'm wearing today, shows that I trust him and that I want to please him. I haven't lost my free will or myself. It is a conscious decision I make everyday to let him have that control. Completely different things the way I see it.
My husband reached his hands behind me and hooked my bra. I leaned forward letting my breasts settle into the lavender cups, outlined in white. The bra pushed them up and gave them an extra "umph" they really didn't need. He turned to the bed where he had laid out my costume.
I was to be a patient in a psych ward taken out for a night under the supervision of my psychiatrist, complete with a straitjacket. The costume was the length of a very short dress, colored light gray. It opened across the front in a slight diagonal line and closed with a zipper and black buckles for extra restraint. The sleeves were longer, enough extra length to strap my arms down with my hands hugging myself. On the floor sat a new pair of heels. They were six-inch platform stilettos, black patent leather, with a strap across the top of the foot and a thick one around the ankles.
Adam held my shoulders and I turned under his will and let him nudge me down onto the bed. He kneeled in front of me picking up the right shoe and I slid my foot inside, settling in under the strap. I wiggled my freshly pedicured toes, admiring the black with white tip "halloween-ie" style paint job against the black leather strap across my foot.
He's always precise, and the way he clasped the ankle strap closed was just that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny little padlock, hooked it into the thick black strap and locked it closed. He performed the same actions on my left foot. I watched him move his large hands and softly run his fingers over the bones in my feet. I wouldn't be able to take off my shoes without him. This was another way he could manage me tonight.
He helped me up, holding my hands and pulling my body off of the bed. I towered up to nearly six feet tall in these clunky heels. My husband still loomed over me but only by a few inches now. I wobbled for a moment at first, taking my time to regain my balance in shoes that felt like stilts. I had worn stilettos like this before, but there's always an adjustment involved.
Adam didn't waste any time and picked the straitjacket up from the bed. The buckles and zipper were undone. He came around behind me and I slipped my arms inside. The fabric was a bit itchy, but nothing I wouldn't get used to. I stood still and watched my husband come around in front of me. He hooked the zipper into itself on the bottom, the hem left a small triangle peek at my thigh. The skirt part of my costume sat high on my thighs and tight around my legs and ass. He zipped me in but left the top open in a v-neck. He carefully folded the top open on both sides forming a collar, giving a tasteful view of my cleavage and red lines peeking out on my chest.
"Oh, that makes me look like I've hurt myself," I noted softly, looking at the healing welts across my breasts.
