How did It Come to This? Pt. 02


[My stories get abuse from people who think that a story about a loving wife who likes to humiliate and hurt her willing husband should not be put in the Loving Wives Category. If you’re such a person, please walk on by. I think the category is the right one because all things that happen between a wife and husband, with the full consent of both, are good and permissible. All relationships have a power imbalance. My marriage is one in which my loving wife likes to dominate and abuse me, and I love her deeply for it.]


Six months later, C has spread her wings. She has had three lovers and given head to three or four other men at various university functions. I loose count. Her latest conquest is a 28-year-old marine biology PhD. She took him to a steak dinner, they got a hotel room and drank champagne and fucked into the early hours. She woke me when she returned home at 4am, tired but giddy with excitement, demanded I cleaned her out with my tongue and fell into deep sleep as I licked her diligently.

Things have moved some way.

We haven’t had sex in this time and that there’s no prospect of it. C hasn’t actually said she doesn’t want me to fuck her again, so I’m ever hopeful. I think she’s stringing me along deliberately. Part of me thinks she’ll let me in her if I please her enough, another part of me knows I haven’t got a hope in hell. I’m locked up in a tight metal cage, except when I travel for work and then I’m absolutely forbidden from touching myself. I am allowed to cum once a week – always supervised masturbation. My release, always at the weekend, has become a highlight of my week.


This is how it often goes. She’ll tell me; “It’s time to get you milked, sweetie.” C may ask me to run her a bath. Throughout the bath I’m naked and at her beck and call. She may want a cup of tea and a snack or a glass of wine. She may need a book, her phone or diary. Sometimes she has me tidy the room. Occasionally, as a treat, I get to kneel beside the bath and we talk, until C is ready to be washed and oiled. I’m allowed to choose a night dress for her, always one of her gauzy floaty ones. C will have me stand by the bed as she gets comfortable.

“Get me the jewellery box.”

C takes her time unlocking, and locking Gaziantep Olgun Escort me up. She makes the whole thing into to a ritual. I never get to touch the key which she keeps in a locked jewellery box on her shelf like some holy relic. I open the box, she carefully takes out the key. She may just put it down on the bed beside her and return to her book or glass of wine, or make a call. One time she called her 28-year-old just to chat as I stood there.

Immediately I’m released I am rock hard and weeping precum. I’m not allowed to touch myself until I get her signal. C always makes a fuss over my penis.

“It’s so hard. Are you getting smaller? Look at you twitching. It’s not going to go off all by itself, is it? Sweet boy, you’re so desperate.” That sort of thing. It’s condescending and humiliating – the language C uses has become infantilising. My penis is “little” or “sweet”; I’m “needy” and “a panting puppy”.

We cuddle for a while. Before she lets me touch myself, I am often allowed to press my cock against her, even between her legs or against her arse, but not in her. I like to press against her night dress, or C may drape my penis in the material, very lightly drawing it across me. If I ejaculate too soon, I am locked up for two weeks. One time I was grinding against her arse too hard and C got annoyed and sent me to have a cold shower before locking me up without release for another week. These sessions are very tense as I’m so close to ejaculating right from the start. My excitement, need and the fact that I now ejaculate so quickly, prematurely, deepens the humiliation of these sessions.

She uses this time to fill me in about the men she is flirting with or seducing or fucking. She’ll go into great detail about them and why she finds them attractive. She is a great story teller. Once I’m allowed to touch myself, C holds me and kisses me and pinches me as I stroke myself, it’s all very tender and she’s always telling me to slow down, to take my time, to enjoy the freedom. She may stop me until I calm down and have caught my breath. I always cum explosively, grunting and whining, totally overcome. C will then hold me and stroke me and kiss me softly, feeding me my cum.

“Good boy. Does that feel better?”


These sessions, milkings, are intimate and loving, overwhelming for me. But for C, they are about her sexual control over me, not her pleasure. She has drawn an absolute divide between my release and her pleasure. I’m still occasionally allowed to massage her, pamper her, pleasure her with my hands and my mouth, but at such times I’m firmly locked up, unable to become erect and therefore asexual.

Last Sunday morning, instead of talking about her lovers, C brought up the subject of castration. C unlocked me and sat up against the head of the bed in a long flowing night dress. She spread her legs wide and had me sit with my back against her. She stroked my chest and pinched my nipples. I leant back against her breasts, panting and moaning, my erection twitching and seeping precum. My hands were out to my side. I’d not been given permission to touch myself.

C brought her feet up to touch my balls and cock, just pressing hard against my over excited penis.

“I’ve no use for this anymore.”

She drew a foot away and brought it back hard against my cock. I flinched and closed my legs.

“Open your legs,” she said angrily.

She began to kick me, hard and fast, my balls, my cock, my thighs. Her aim was not good, but she continued until she got a hard direct hit on my balls. I grunted in pain and closed my legs and twisted to the side to protect myself.

“There, there.”

Suddenly she was comforting me, cuddling me and stroking my face.

“It’s OK sweetie. I’m not going to kick you anymore.”

At no point did I lose my erection – it continued to jump about and drool. I caught my breath, sat back and opened my legs.

“It’s the logical conclusion of my cuckolding you, isn’t it? If I don’t need you penis, neither do you. You’re a wonderful husband, father, friend and companion. I’m very happy with you in that respect. But we both know you’re a failed man in the sense of a sexual being and I need to go elsewhere for sex.”

She gently stroked my penis with a foot.

“I am imagining us a few years from now. We’re still happily married, of course, I have my lovers, cuckolding is deeply embedded in our lives, our children, friends and family know everything. It’s all normal. Your penis would be literally unnecessary. This is where, I think, this all leads, in the end.”

She trailed off. I did not know whether C was serious or not. I didn’t dare ask. My views on this were not required.

“You can touch yourself now, slowly. I don’t want you to ejaculate yet. Take your time. If you rush this, I’m going to stop the milking.”

I stroked myself slowly, as C felt my tender, beaten balls, occasionally squeezing them hard.

She continued, in an even slow voice, choosing her words carefully, whispering in my ear.

“Eventually, your sexual needs, the milkings, will become an annoying distraction, a source of tension and strife.”

I stroked myself slowly, never allowing myself to reach fever pitch. C shushed me, trying to calm me, slow me down.

“I’ll be bored of this and I won’t want you to have sexual needs – they’ll only get in the way of your main roles as husband and father.”

She let me masturbate a little, stroking my chest and pinching my nipples, making me squeak like a girl.

“In this situation, can you imagine yourself consenting to, volunteering for castration?”

There was a deadly silence as I thought about this. C pressed her feet to my balls and penis and I ground against her feet gently, desperate for the stimulation, the kicks forgotten.

“It’s OK love. Just think about it. I’m not going to force you to get castrated, I want you to do it willingly.”

C brought her left hand to my mouth and pressed two fingers past my lips, against my tongue and deep to the back of my mouth. She pressed against my throat, forcing my mouth as wide as possible and shoved her fingers, three, four now, into my mouth, fucking my throat. C brought her right hand to my nose and pinched my nostrils shut. This was brutal now, hard, and I struggled to breathe. She eased off and I got back to breathing steadily, but she kept my drooling panting mouth open wide and pressed her fingers in and out of my mouth, slowly and deeply. My face was a red hot, wet mess.

I stroked myself, faster now.

“You’ve already had a vasectomy, been spayed, because I decided your sperm wasn’t needed and I didn’t want to bother about contraception.”

I was ready to blow.

“Now your penis has served its purpose.”

I twisted towards her, we kissed deeply and as I masturbated furiously and finally came hard.