Sealed With A Snip

I never thought I'd be the one asking for this. Our marriage had always been built on love and respect. However, as the years passed and I spent more time at home after being downsized from my job at a large law firm, I realized something: I felt happiest when Emily was in control.

Emily was the embodiment of elegance and sophistication. Tall and athletic, her long, sculpted legs only accentuated the graceful way she moved. Each step deliberate and poised. She possessed the kind of hourglass figure that seemed almost effortless -- C -- cup breasts complementing the soft curves of her frame, always dressed in fitted, sophisticated attire that highlighted her femininity without excess. No matter what she wore, whether it was a crisp white coat while at work in the hospital, or an elegant evening dress, she exuded polished refinement.

I wanted Emily to lead, to make the rules, to shape our marriage into something where I served her completely. So one evening, after Emily came home from her job as a physician, I worked up the courage to tell her.

"Em, I've been thinking about something," I started carefully, keeping my voice even. "About us. About our relationship."

She raised an eyebrow, setting her glass of wine down on our dining room table. "That sounds ominous. What's on your mind?"

"Emily, have you ever thought about what it would be like if you were... fully in charge?"

She looked at me over the rim of her wine glass, one eyebrow arching. "You mean, like, a dictatorship?"

"Not exactly," I said carefully. "A female-led relationship, where you take charge of things--big decisions, finances, the direction of our marriage--and I focus on supporting you, making things easier for you. Like handling the housework, errands, cooking... whatever takes stress off your plate."

She stared at me for a long moment before laughing softly. "You mean, like, I'd be the boss?"

"Kind of, yeah," I admitted, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I feel happiest when I'm serving you. When I focus on making you happy instead of worrying about being 'the man of the house.' I want structure. Rules. Consequences."

Emily leaned back, folding her arms. "So, you want me to make all the decisions and you... what? Become my househusband -- or more like a housewife?" she said with a giggle.

I nodded slowly. "In a way, yeah. But not just that. I want to follow your lead."

She studied me for a long time, her expression unreadable. "Kyle, we've always been equals. Why would you want to change that?"

I exhaled. "But equality doesn't have to mean doing the same things. I think we have different strengths, and I think I'd be happier supporting you, rather than trying to split everything down the middle."

Emily tapped her fingers against her glass, thinking. "This is a big shift," she said finally. "I'm not saying no, but... I have questions."

I nodded. "Ask me anything."

She tilted her head. "So, let's say we did this. What exactly would it look like?"

I straightened, heart pounding. "We'd set clear expectations. You'd handle our finances--everything from budgeting to investments. You'd make the final call on decisions, big or small. I'd handle all the housework--cleaning, cooking, laundry, organizing, making sure everything runs smoothly so you don't have to worry about it."

Emily smirked. "So, I'd come home, and dinner would be ready?"

"Yes," I said, meeting her eyes. "And the house would be clean. Your clothes would be washed and put away. Everything would be taken care of so you can just relax."

She let out a low whistle. "Okay, that's tempting. But what happens if I make a decision you don't like?"

"I trust you," I said simply. "If something bothers me, I'll tell you. But ultimately, I want to follow your lead."

Emily drummed her fingers on the table, considering. "Would you be okay with giving up control over money? You wouldn't have to worry about bills, but you also wouldn't be making those decisions anymore."

I nodded. "That's part of the shift. I trust you with that, and I'd rather focus on making sure our home runs smoothly."

Emily exhaled slowly. "This is... a lot. I like the idea of not having to split chores and not worrying about housework. And honestly, I already handle most of the finances since I've been the sole breadwinner, so that wouldn't be a huge change. But I don't want you to end up resenting me for being in charge."

I reached across the table, taking her hand. "I wouldn't resent you. I think this is what I've wanted for a long time--I just didn't know how to say it."

She studied me, her thumb brushing against my knuckles. "I'll be honest, Kyle... I never pictured myself in a relationship like this. But the idea of coming home to a clean house and a home-cooked meal, not stressing over housework? That sounds... kind of amazing."

A slow smile spread across my face. "So, you're open to it?"

Emily smirked. "You need to prove your sincerity. What about the big issues that we've always disagreed on."

"I will do whatever you want to prove I'm serious about taking your lead," I said. "Ultimately, it pleases me to see you happy."

"Let's talk about birth control then," Emily said. "Would your proposed relationship dynamic also give me the final say in those decisions?"

I never thought the subject of birth control would make me break into a cold sweat, but here I was, sitting across from my wife at our dining room table, suddenly feeling like a trapped animal. Emily has been on birth control pills for years. She's always been adamant about not wanting to endure the discomfort, inconvenience and body changes that go along with pregnancy.

"We should talk about permanent options," she said casually, sipping her wine like we were discussing weekend plans.

I cleared my throat. "Right. That's, uh... definitely something to think about."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Kyle, we've been thinking about it for years. It's time to decide."

I nodded quickly. "Yeah, and I think a tubal ligation makes the most sense. You're already used to medical stuff, and--"

She let out a sharp laugh. "Because I'm used to medical stuff? That's your reasoning?"

I hesitated. "I mean... yeah? You're a doctor. You deal with surgeries all the time."

Emily set her glass down and leaned forward. "Kyle, I don't perform tubal ligations. And even if I did, that wouldn't make it less invasive. It's major surgery. They either cut into the abdomen or go in laparoscopically, inflate the belly with gas, and then either cut, clip, or cauterize the fallopian tubes. Recovery takes weeks."

I swallowed hard. I didn't know the details, and I was kind of wishing I still didn't. "Okay, yeah, but--"

"A vasectomy," she interrupted, "is a quick, outpatient procedure. A tiny incision, snip, done. You walk out the same day and recover in a few days with some ice packs and a good excuse to lounge on the couch."

I frowned. "But it's... you know. There."

Emily smirked. "Yes, I know where it is. I am a doctor, after all."

I crossed my arms. "I don't like needles."

She rolled her eyes. "Kyle, I've literally watched you get vaccinations. You did fine and it was over so quickly."

"That's different," I mumbled.

Emily shook her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Listen, I get it. No one wants a procedure. But if you're worried about invasiveness, risk, or recovery time, the evidence is clear--vasectomy is the better option."

I shifted uncomfortably. "What if something goes wrong?"

"The risks are minimal," she said, her voice shifting into that calm, authoritative tone she used when explaining medical things. "Complications are rare, and long-term side effects are even rarer. Meanwhile, a tubal ligation is actual surgery, with higher risks, longer recovery, and more potential complications."

I knew she was right. I knew it. But the thought of letting someone take a scalpel down there made my stomach twist.

Emily reached across the table and took my hand. "Kyle," she said gently, "you trust me, don't you? It's time to let me start making the big decisions. After all, this is what you're asking me to do from now on, right?"

I nodded. "Of course."

"Then you can prove your sincerity in wanting to enter into this new relationship dynamic by trusting me on this. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't believe it was the best choice for both of us. I've been on the pill for years, and that isn't exactly without risk. It's time for you to do your part."

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. "You really want me to do this?"

She squeezed my hand. "I really do. Think of it as a way you can prove your devotion to me. Let's seal this deal with a snip!"

I studied her face--my beautiful, brilliant wife, the woman who had guided me through so many decisions with unwavering confidence. She had never steered me wrong before.

And, honestly, if getting snipped meant avoiding surgery for her, wasn't that the right thing to do?

I sighed. "Fine. I'll do it."

Emily's face lit up with a triumphant smile. "Good. I'll make the appointment."

"Wait, what? Already?"

She laughed, standing up and kissing my cheek. "No backing out now, my pet. I'm going to go for a run. In the meantime, there's a pile of laundry for you to fold before I get back."

I groaned, but deep down, I knew--this is what I wanted.

The Appointment

We woke up early in the morning, Emily was dressed up beautifully with perfect hair and makeup, as if going to a wedding or other special occasion. She told me to leave my wallet and phone at home so they wouldn't get lost. She insisted on driving me in her small Porsche to the clinic. She could tell that I was nervous and distracted by thoughts of my upcoming procedure.

Throughout the drive, I kept glancing over at Emily as she drove in silence. She would occasionally give me a knowing smile while exuding a triumphant confidence about my inevitable fate. I was mesmerized by her beautiful cleavage peaking out from her low-cut blouse. I also couldn't help but stare at the lace tops of her thigh-high stockings as they emerged from under her short skirt every time she shifted her car into another gear. I couldn't help but daydream about our intimate times together, with her beautiful legs wrapped around me. However, the moment we pulled into the clinic parking lot, my hands started sweating.

"Em, are you sure we shouldn't think this over a little more?" I asked, my voice only slightly shaky.

Emily, who was far too pleased with herself, unbuckled her seatbelt and gave me an amused look while clutching her hands on the steering wheel. "Kyle, we have thought this over. You agreed. You're doing this."

I exhaled through my nose, gripping the seat belt like it was my last anchor to freedom. "I know, I know. But maybe we should weigh our options one more time--"

She placed a hand on my groin, cutting me off with a soft but firm squeeze. "You're getting out of this car, walking into that clinic, and in less than an hour, we'll be heading home, where you'll get to sit on the couch, guilt-free, for the entire weekend." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper while squeezing my growing member. "And I might even see if we can take your little guy for one final spin before you start shooting blanks - permanently."

I couldn't resist letting out a little moan from her seductive touch. Then, reality set in once again. I said, "This is so unfair."

She smirked as she quickly slapped her hand against my groin. "No, what's unfair is you trying to make me get surgery when this is so much easier."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she was already out of the car. I was without my wallet, keys and cell phone. I realized I had no choice but to follow.

Inside, the clinic was unsettling. It was a women's clinic that my wife worked at--pink walls, soft instrumental music, and a handful of women sitting in the waiting room, all looking to be in various stages of pregnancy and all appearing equally uncomfortable. As I checked in, I couldn't help but feel out of place. The women were certainly wondering what I was doing there.

The receptionist handed me some paperwork. I filled it out with slightly trembling fingers. As I was signing the last of the consent forms, I heard a familiar voice.

"Kyle! Right on time."

I looked up to see Dr. Ashley Patel, one of Emily's colleagues and former sorority sister, smiling warmly at me. She was an experienced urologist, and I'd met her a few times at clinic events. She was always friendly and professional--but right now, the fact that she knew my wife made this so much worse.

Emily beamed at her. "Thanks for squeezing him in."

Dr. Patel chuckled. "Of course. We always make room for the reluctant ones." She turned her attention to me. "Ready?"

"No. Absolutely not." I said.

But Emily's hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He's ready," she answered for me, practically dragging me to my feet.

I let out a resigned sigh and followed Dr. Patel down the hallway of identical doors, with my wife holding my hand for reassurance.

The procedure room was bright and sterile, with a padded exam table in the center. Dr. Patel explained that the room was mostly used for women's labor and delivery, but assured me that she would make it work for our purposes. Dr. Patel gestured for me to undress completely and cover myself with the provided paper gown.

I hesitated. "Uh, the gown is pink... do I really have to?"

Emily, sitting comfortably on a stool beside the exam table, raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Kyle -- you'll look so cute in pink!"

I groaned but did as I was told. Emily and Dr. Patel each took one of my arms and helped me lay onto my back with what seemed like the world's thinnest paper gown over my body. Emily, clearly familiar with the features of the exam table, positioned padded supports perpendicular to the sides of the table for my arms to rest on. She wiped away beads of sweat from my forehead and told me to relax and allow her and Dr. Patel to take care of me. Next, Emily secured my arms to each of the padded supports with leather straps. Dr. Patel looked slightly perplexed and told Emily that the straps were only used to keep sedated patients from moving unexpectedly during surgery. As Emily secured my second arm tightly in place, she winked at Dr. Patel and told her that I enjoy being restrained by my wife. Emily gave me a kiss on the lips and said, "Don't you honey?" I remained silent, but my face became red with embarrassment.

Dr. Patel let out a slight giggle as she helped Emily position my legs in the supports and stirrups at the end of the table and began adjusting the leather straps. I was still focusing on the immobilized state of my arms when I realized that my legs were now also tightly secured in the stirrups. Dr. Patel said, "try to scoot down a little more for me." As I did so, Emily pressed a button on the exam table, and the stirrups moved higher and wider apart until my legs were splayed far apart and I could see my feet dangling over Dr. Patel's shoulders.

I have heard women comment about how open and vulnerable they felt during gynecological examinations with their feet bound to those metal extensions high off the table, their private parts utterly exposed. Immediately, I understood and started feeling extremely exposed and vulnerable, but also turned-on by the power the women had over me. I could feel my penis betraying me as it started to get erect when my wife started an IV in my strapped-down hand.

I tried to focus on something else to take my mind off being helpless before these beautiful women. "First a little something to help you relax while we're working," Emily said while injecting something into the tubes leading to my veins. Almost immediately, I felt warm, comfortable, and reassured about everything. Then, my wife went between my legs to do something I couldn't see. I heard the buzz of an electric razor, and realized she was shaving all of my pubic hair off. "You can't expect us ladies to work until we create a sterile field by removing all of this nasty hair," she said with a giggle.

Dr. Patel was donning a pair of latex gloves as I was staring at the ceiling, counting the dots in the tiles while listening to the hum of the razor. I could hear the pink paper gown crinkling as she lifted it over my knees to get a better look at my groin.

"Oh my, Emily," Dr. Patel exclaimed. "You weren't kidding about Kyle enjoying being tied down."

My wife responded in a very giddy tone while gently slapping my exposed member, "I've told you before, Ashley, he's a grower, not necessarily a show-er." I was mortified as I looked down at the two women between my knees who were evaluating my penis.

"I have a bag of ice, so we can get him flaccid again. It's going to be difficult for me to work on him in this erect state," Dr. Patel told Emily.

"That's not necessary, Ashley," my wife said. "I'll have him ready for the procedure in a moment." Emily hiked-up her skirt and removed her panties. I recognized the panties immediately. She always looks so hot in them, scarlet red, and made of the softest satin fabric.

"Just like your college days, huh, Emily," said Dr. Patel. The two women giggled at something that I clearly wasn't privy to. Emily wrapped the soft panties tightly around my engorged member and looked into my eyes from over the pink paper drape that was spanning the distance between my knees.

"I brought your favorite panties to help me take the last of your swimmers," Emily said while looking me directly in the eyes. "It's not like you have a choice anymore," she remarked in a seductive tone. I unsuccessfully tried to put my knees together as the leather medical restraints dug into my legs.

Dr. Patel went to a drawer and took out a small clear cup. "Let's not forget to capture the specimen," she said. "In case you want to have Kyle's baby someday."

"Unlikely, especially given our new relationship dynamic," Emily responded. "Kyle here has asked me to be in charge of things from now on, while he serves as my little domestic servant." I wanted to melt into the table with embarrassment, but strangely, I was becoming more and more aroused every second.

"You're so lucky -- I hate housework," Dr. Patel said. She held the opening of the small cup at the tip of my penis as Emily gave a few quick tugs on my shaft with her delicate red panties. The feeling was heavenly. I screamed in ecstasy, as I erupted into the specimen cup with jet after jet of white, gooey semen.

"Wow, you had a lot!" remarked Dr. Patel as she sealed the cup and placed it in a small portable freezer. I was still moaning from the absolutely mind blowing orgasm that I just experienced. "Now it's time for the ice!"

I screamed in agony as Dr. Patel applied a bag of ice to my groin in an attempt to make my penis flaccid. Emily crunched her panties into a ball and shoved them in my mouth. "We can't have you being loud and frightening the other patients," she said.

A muffled groan came from my mouth as I could taste my wife's juices from her panties. I could tell that Emily was very turned-on by how damp her panties were in my mouth. The smell my wife's pheromones was strong and always made me melt for her. She gave me a knowing wink, as she knew I loved it. I finally relaxed into the table, and sucked on the panties as I became resigned to my fate.

Dr. Patel finished cleaning me up and rose up from the pink drape between my legs. The bag of ice obviously had the desired effect on my deflated penis. She looked me in the eye and smiled reassuringly. "Alright, I'm going to walk you through everything before we start. First, we'll apply a numbing agent, then a small incision--just a couple of millimeters--then we'll access the vas deferens, seal them off, and you're done. The whole thing takes about fifteen minutes."