One week I tell you I've made plans for us on Friday night. You just have to clear your schedule and be available for it: I'll take care of the rest. I *will* expect obedience, however, 100%. You understand.
Friday evening arrives. You showered & dried off because you wanted to get perfectly clean for me, and made-up, perfumed and dressed up pretty. Little would you know then how much none of that really mattered, however. Only that you would be going with *me* somewhere. And that this was exciting.
We get in the car and drive. After a few minutes we pull into a parking lot of a hotel. I give you instructions on what to do next. You trust me and so you do them. They are easy:
First, you get out of the car yourself and then get into the back, with the excuse of getting something re-arranged back there, ostensibly, before we check into the hotel for the night. Instead, you lay down on the back seat.
Next, I get out too, come around, grab a blanket from the car's far back storage area then cover you up with it. You are now *completely* hidden beneath the blanket. We do all of this quick and casually and totally innocent like.
Then I shut the back door, get back in front on the driver's side and... drive us away.
As I drive I keep talking to you so you hear my voice and can be reassured that you *are* safe. Anchored. The voice of your Husband *always* does that for you. A husband's voice should, if he does his Man job right. Well, safe as *well* as excited and thrilled or inspired and ideally *endlessly* made to get wet.
"Renee, I want you to go into subspace. Start the process. Relax yourself. Let go and lose yourself. For the rest of the night you will not speak unless given prior permission. If you do speak you will refer to yourself in the third person, as Slut."
But you know all this already. We will have done all this kind of thing before. Afterall you were my Wife. And I was your Husband. Except for the next several hours Renee will be put on "pause" and only Slut will remain. For a few hours at minimum though perhaps for up to a few days in a row, and non-stop. The real world doesn't need The Real You back til Monday anyway. Therefore my Slut is available for adventures and plundering of booty between now and then. As was common between us. I mean -- it was either this or, say... Settlers of Cataan: I know which I'd prefer.
After an hour perhaps you hear the car slow down and pull into a driveway (you learn later) of a house in a suburb somewhere. The address of a secret party to which I was invited. Held in the same kind of home we ourselves had by then: the friendly & generous neighbors, the big green lawn, the white picket fence, the shiny & modern appliances, the large indoor hot tub, and... the frighteningly sound-proofed sex dungeon hidden down in the basement. That kind.
I pull the car into an open garage. I get out and press a button on the wall. You hear the garage's big main vehicle egress door come rattling down and thud with finality: CLOSED.
I open the back door. I lift up a portion of the blanket, and then slip a black hood over your head. My lovely wife's head. You accept it, of course.
Once its on I cinch its drawstrings around your neck and even lock it there with straps and a little padlock. It will NOT be coming off without my approval, but has holes for you to breathe.
I flip the blanket off my wife (off you), and help her get out of the car.
I hold your arm both to steady you and guide you and make extra sure you don't trip and fall. We are still in the garage, however. Why? One *more* task (or two) to do before we enter the house proper, together.
I... strip off all your clothing from you. No shoes or socks allowed, no bra or panties allowed, no jewelry: NOTHING. Actually you do have *some* jewelry left, which I'll describe soon.
"The Slut will obey me the rest of the night or... she'll be whipped to tears, before bedtime tonight, back at home."
It is my gruff Authority voice. Frankly it was the tone you liked best. It made you... feel things. Down there, where it counts. Especially when you found yourself in potentially humiliating predicaments like this. In situations where you had been stripped nude and forced to be so utterly exposed and vulnerable to potential strangers in private or even when led outside on a leash and displayed to the general public to see or touch as they wished.
And now?
Well, you stood naked before your Husband with only a black hood on and locked around your neck. You could have been a Saudi royal sex slave for all intents and purposes. You certainly felt like it. Your nipples were like bullets, your pubic mound warm and pink, your big rude clit engorged and needy for more attention.
But the floor is dirty concrete and it feels cold and painful on your bare feet. You wish to get inside as soon as possible, even if it means some fresh new round of humiliation or hedonistic depravity might begin in there.
Why so nude, now (except for your hood)?
Simple: I have made you as close to a newborn baby as I could, once again. And I know you well enough by then that you love me for it.
"I will keep you safe, little girl."
However, and despite my soothing words... you then feel something press against the inside of your left thigh. Something... cold. And hard, and metal. With sharp edges and pointy bits. You suspect you might know what it is and... it makes you instantly wet.
No... To be clear: you *do* know what it is and beyond all reasonable doubt. I want to *make* you afraid but not *too* afraid, so you will in fact know what it is -- though you cannot see it nor *will* you ever.
"Spread your legs more, slut. Make yourself more *open* for me."
You feel the cold hard metal object press against your leg, clearly hinting that you *should* shift your left leg out more.
You do.
You feel the object pull away and then press against your right thigh's inside too.
"This leg too, little slut."
You shift it out.
"Good girl!"
You then feel me slide the metal object up along your leg's skin all the way to your crotch and to your completely exposed and vulnerable and perfectly hairless vulva. It... clinks -- a metal on metal sound.
You feel it come into contact with the rings of your labia. Your cunt is sealed in chastity, of course. And locked. Only your Husband has the key. His wife's pussy is CLOSED FOR BUSINESS until and unless he decides otherwise. Will your Husband unlock this Slut's cunt hole tonight? Who knows! Its all part of the adventure.
I rub the metal object back and forth a little against the chastity rings. I like the way it looks and sounds. The metal tinkling like bells. I want you to feel it all too. To know that it is *I* that am doing it and that *you* have *zero* control over it.
But... you trust me.
I pull the object away.
You then hear the unmistakable sound of your husband sliding his unseen pistol back into a holster. He... *protects*... *his* woman. And his loved ones. No limits to that. Ever. This thought alone might soak your panties, often.
