It seemed impossible for me to think about anything other than how my impotence had humiliated me and disappointed my wife. She had said the right things, about how it was okay but I could tell she was disappointed, and she disappeared into the shower right after. Her actions had been so out of character. It felt so rare that she initiated sexual contact, making the whole thing feel like an even more crushingly lost opportunity. I tried to think of anything that I could say to her, once she was done with her shower, that could make it better but the words didn't come.
When she did emerge, it all seemed too late. Without another word spoken about my failure in bed, we just slipped into our normal workday morning routine. Jane started getting dressed and ready for her work day, and I did what I could to help her. My day started later, and I was still mostly working at home, so it was natural for me to make her coffee, prepare her a light breakfast, and put some items together for her lunch. I put extra effort into all of it that morning, trying to feel useful.
Even as we both pretended that nothing was different, I could feel it hanging there between us. I had lost an opportunity to please her as a man -- opportunities that seemed to come along so rarely lately. I fell back into doing what I knew how to do, which was help her with the little things, like making sure her travel mug was full of coffee and that her lunch was packed. As she drove off to work, I tried to draw some solace in the fact that I could use this incident as a kind of catalyst to kick off the conversation with her that Master had instructed me to have.
I felt terrified by the mere idea of that conversation. Talking frankly about sex was just not part of the vocabulary of our marriage. I knew in some part of my mind that it should be, and that it should have been a long time ago. If it had been from the start, perhaps things might have been different between us. Maybe there would have been fewer secrets.
One thing that I enjoyed about Master -- one thing among many -- was that he seemed honestly interested in my wellbeing, at least as he defined it. He seemed to want me to be happy, to be fulfilled, and to fully express my sexual identity. He defined that identity as that of a submissive, and I could hardly disagree with him. If not for my hunger to submit, I would have never found myself doing the things I'd done the previous few days, and certainly not with men.
I felt transformed, and I didn't know how he had done it. Somewhere along the way, during my online exploration and experimentation, I'd discovered that submitting to men felt just as good as submitting to women. In some ways, it was even more powerful an experience, since it came with the feeling of taboos being broken. There was a core part of my core attitudes towards sex, formed in a different time, that viewed being with a man as something that made me less than a man myself. When I grew up, words like sissy and fag were common insults that young men threw at each other.
Wearing women's underwear, putting sex toys in my ass, and dressing up in humiliating costumes were humiliating enough activities, but I had been taken farther. I had been led right across the threshold between fantasy and reality, having ended up with real, flesh-and-blood cocks in my mouth. I'd submitted and serviced them until they came, and that was a bell that could not be unrung. From that moment on, I was a cock-sucker. It was another secret to be kept from my wife, but given how my other activities had been broadcast across the internet, I wasn't sure how secret it was going to be in general.
As Mondays were one of my work-from-home days, I was alone in the house again. Unlike the weekend, I didn't have that relative eternity of hours to myself. At the end of the work day, Jane would be back. There were even days, when she knew I'd be home, when she surprised me by coming home for lunch. I also had work to get done. My job wasn't one of those that insisted we work on office-issued laptops packed full of productivity-monitoring software -- they were happy as long as I got my work done, even if I got it all done by 3pm.
I poured myself a coffee and got set up in my home office, getting my computer started, checking emails and compiling my to-do list for the day. I had a lot to do, and I knew where my thoughts should be focussed, but that knowledge didn't help me much when it came to where my desires lived and to where my attention wandered. I got perhaps one full hour of work completed before I gave in and signed into the app. Master was there, waiting for me.
"Good morning, fucktoy," his message read.
"Good morning, Master," I replied.
Even just seeing his words on the screen made me tingle and squirm.
"Even with your wife back home, and even as you resume your usual schedule, things aren't the same as they were before, are they slut?"
"No, Master."
"Why is that, pet?"
"Because I am your slut now, Master."
"Very good, slut. That's exactly right. You are mine. You belong to me. It is important that you understand that, and that you feel it. I want you to be aware of it every moment."
"Yes, Master. I do feel it."
