Chapter 1: The Perfect Beginning of My Descent
You know, when you read stories about men who are sexually subordinated to their wives, there's always some asshole in the comment section—someone who is obviously pretty insecure in his masculinity—that posts a message like: "What a wimp! Divorce the bitch or choke her to death on you cock." These guys think that it reinforces their masculinity to say things like this. But, really, all it shows is how fragile their masculinity is.
In any case, I expect those messages. If it makes you guys—and you know who you are—feel better to post comments like that, post away. It doesn't bother me.
But, for those who seriously wonder how a normal guy winds up being sexually enslaved by his wife, I can tell you how. Well, I can tell you
one
way that it can happen. I'm sure there are others.
My descent into submission didn't begin with an infidelity that my wife was punishing me for and I accepted because I didn't want to lose her. I've heard that story before. It didn't begin with some sort of blackmail that my wife subjected me to. I wasn't financially dependent on her. None of those things played any role in my descent.
And I didn't begin our relationship in a submissive role. It wasn't the old story of "my wife is way too hot for me; she married me only for my money or only because she could dominate me and I just have to put up with it." I've heard that story, too.
Don't get me wrong. My wife, Charlene—but everyone calls her Charly-
is
hot. She's beautiful and sexy—slender and petite, with nice perky breasts, and a pixie-like face that makes people think she's younger and more innocent than she is.
But I'm a fine looking guy, too—six-feet tall, 180 pounds, and pretty fit. Women find me attractive. I didn't accept being sexually submissive because it was the only way I could keep Charly and certainly not because it was the only way I could have a beautiful wife.
No one would ever peg me for a submissive. It wasn't something baked into my character. Instead, it grew in me. Really, Charly nurtured it until it was in full bloom. She didn't set out to do that. It wasn't as if she was, all along, a sexually dominant person.
So, I've told what doesn't explain our current relationship—a relationship in which Charly is in complete control of my sexuality as well as her own, where she can do what she wants to me, fuck whoever she wants, deny me whatever she wants to deny me.
What does explain our dominant/submissive relationship? Why would a normal guy like me willingly—ultimately, eagerly—accept the humiliation and degradation that comes with my submissive role? The only way to explain this is to tell my—our—story.
Charly and I fell very much in love soon after we started dating. Everything fit perfectly. We liked the same activities. I liked her friends and family; she liked mine. We were both doing well in our careers. We laughed at the same things and had the same values.
And the sex was terrific! Maybe partly because we clicked so well together in every other way, we were completely comfortable together sexually. As the relationship developed, we went through the thing where you tell each other about your former lovers.
Charly had been more sexually adventurous than I'd expected, but not more so than me. And it didn't threaten me at all. I figured, part of the reason she's so great in bed is that she'd had some experience. Neither of us was in the least insecure about ourselves sexually. We both knew that each other's former lovers paled in comparison to the passion that we shared in bed.
We experimented a lot together. We were young, healthy, attractive, and childless. There was a lot of fun to be had exploring the possibilities that each other's bodies provided.
So, you name it: we had sex in a storeroom at my work when Charly stopped by for lunch one day; she gave me a blowjob in the car on the way home from a party; we went out with another couple and Charly didn't wear any panties so I could sit across from her and press my foot against her clitoris during dinner; we did lots of things like that.
Of course, in addition to oral sex, we tried anal. And we tried every position we could think of on our own, then did our research and found and tried lots of positions we'd never thought of.
Charly was fine with trying facials, something a lot of women don't like because it makes them feel objectified. I think that Charly was so confident in my love and respect for her that this never even crossed her mind. It was just something new for us to try.
Lots of role playing, too. She was a high-class prostitute that I had to pay $500 for a half hour of sex with. I was a stern headmaster at a college for rich, spoiled girls and she'd broken the rules. I had to discipline her, turning her over my knee, flipping up her little plaid skirt, and spanking her, first through her panties and then, to really make her see the seriousness of her infraction, I had to pull down her now soaking panties and spank her bare bottom (at which point, she slid off my lap and sucked my hard cock until it exploded in her mouth). She was the enraged rich debutante who had caught me, the gardener, watching her undress through the window; she was going to have me fired unless I submitted to her every whim, which involved me licking her wet labia until she exploded in an orgasm. I made a fake wall with a hole in it so we could pretend Charly was at a gloryhole sucking the cock of some unknown man. And, more ... lots more.
Of course we had toys. We had a couple of dildos, an anal stimulator, a cock ring. They were fun. More fun when we combined them with some light bondage and role playing. I tied her up and teased her mercilessly until I pleased her beyond her dreams. She did the same to me. Being helpless and teased sexually for what seems like an eternity can lead to the most intense, explosive orgasm, I learned.
And, I guess it was learning this that began my descent into submission. But it didn't happen right away. We continued to engage in all kinds of play.
One night, when Charly was in charge, she blindfolded me and had tied me spread-eagled to the bed. She teased my cock with her hands and mouth. But she didn't let me cum. That was okay. I knew that the longer she teased me, the stronger she'd please me.
But then there was something new. I felt a cold—very cold—washcloth around my cock and balls, immediately shrinking my hardon.
"What are you doing?"
"Just you never mind," she said. "You don't have any say in it anyway so just relax and let it happen."
What happened was new. First, it felt like she was putting a cock ring around my cock and balls. But then she slathered some lube over my cock and pressed it into ... I knew what this was! It was a cock cage—a male chastity device.
I'd seen these in videos on the web, of course. But we didn't own one. Well, I guess we did now. But that was news to me.
I heard a click. Charly pulled off my blindfold and propped my head up with a pillow so I could see her handiwork.
I was locked up in one of those clear silicone devices—a CB6000, I'd later learn.
