From Timid Student To Dominant Wife - Part II
Posted 15 October 2005
In my previous diary entry I described how my husband Martin gradually coaxed me into wearing sexy clothing and underwear, eventually persuading me to go out in public wearing very short skirts, stockings, high heels and even fetish underwear. Despite my initial reluctance each time Martin chose or bought something even more daring to wear, once out in public I became highly turned on by the experience, so much so that I now genuinely get a sexual kick from exciting men who ogle me, whether I know them or not.
I don't suppose I will ever know whether it was this sexual response of mine to men's attention that nurtured fantasies within my husband of me having affairs with other men or whether such desires were already dormant within him before we met. Whatever the reason, once I started wearing slinky outfits it rapidly became clear that Martin's bedroom stories of other men having sex with me weren't being told solely for my own benefit; he was getting off on them too.
The first real sign of this came when Martin asked me one day to wear leather underwear and stockings to work. I was quite surprised. I could understand him wanting me to wear such gear when we were out somewhere in the evening together - he could enjoy watching other men leering at me and then be the lucky one who went home and screwed the sexy bit of stuff. I couldn't really see what was in it for him if I went like this to work though. The underwear would be hidden under my fairly conservative business suit and no one would know that I was wearing stockings instead of tights. Still, he was obviously asking me because it made him excited and I didn't see any harm, so I did as he asked. The only downside for me was that such underwear became pretty uncomfortable by the end of a long day at work.
I remember that when I got home he got me to lift up my skirt so that he could see the leather and nylons I was wearing underneath. Then he started masturbating, asking me a stream of questions as he did so. Did anyone say anything? Did they notice you looked different? Did you get turned on wearing horny gear like that to work?
I could sense what he was looking for and so I just went along with it, making the whole experience sound a great deal more exciting than it really was. Then the questions became more explicit:
"Did you find yourself wishing that John [my boss at the time] would put his hand up your skirt?"
Again, I just pandered to his fantasy:
"Hmm, I didn't think about that, but it would have been rather nice."
"Imagine what his reaction would have been when he found out you were wearing leather briefs. Imagine the hard-on he'd have got. I bet you'd have loved to see a massive bulge in his trousers wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes, that would've been great."
"...and then you'd have massaged his cock for him. It wouldn't be long before you'd be unzipping his trousers. Enjoy that would you? Wanking the boss?"
And so it went on, with Martin bringing himself to ejaculation as he described how I would ultimately fellate my boss, allowing him to unload in my mouth.
I actually enjoyed seeing Martin lose control like this, and I found myself getting aroused as he did so. This certainly wasn't due to the story - my boss John was one of the last men I would ever have wanted to have sex with - but instead I was getting turned on by seeing my husband masturbating so furiously, and with such a powerful erection. He had voluntarily demeaned himself in front of me, and I had enjoyed the experience.
Wearing leather and even rubber to work became a regular thing once or twice a week. Martin loved to lie in bed watching as I dressed in front of the mirror. I would play up to the part, putting on my underwear as sexily as I could and standing in provocative poses as I did my hair and put on my make up. The skirts I wore to work became shorter, the heels on my shoes higher. I began to wear ankle and knee length boots as well, and occasionally a leather skirt. This was a very gradual process, taking place over several years.
Martin seemed to derive more excitement from seeing me going to work like this than when he accompanied me out, and I knew he was fantasising about me having liaisons with other men. For my own part, I have to admit that on certain days when in the company of particularly attractive men I would also get highly aroused and by the time I got home I would be badly in need of sex. Martin and I had some great sessions when I was in such a mood.
Not long after I started 'dressing up' for work, Martin bought me a vibrator. I'd often wondered about using a sex toy but I wasn't so inquisitive that I felt the need to buy one. I knew that several of my friends owned vibrators and one or two openly admitted that they preferred artificial stimulators to the real thing. I was curious more than anything.
I loved it from the first time that I used it, but I didn't in any way feel it gave me a better orgasm than intercourse did. It was simply a different feeling, another way to enjoy sex. And now I had a new way of playing with myself when I got home excited and Martin wasn't there. Out would come my shiny silver lover, and I'd stand in front of the bedroom mirror with my skirt lifted up, letting the tip gently buzz against my clitoris. As I got more and more excited I'd turn the power up and begin pumping it in and out of me until I eventually pressed it hard against my clit once more, letting the full throbbing energy vibrate through me as I had a fantastic release.
Martin went crazy with excitement once he realised that I was doing myself when he wasn't there. In his mind's eye I was being serviced by another man's cock, and he loved the whole idea of it. Here I have to admit that I did much to feed his fantasy. I would tell him how fabulous it was, how the sensation was unbeatable, and that yes, Martin, I have to admit that it's better than having your prick in me.
As a result of my taunts, intercourse increasingly became a rarity. Instead Martin would prefer to masturbate as he watched me pleasure myself with a vibrator. He bought a second one, so I could have one buzzing deep inside me while the other stimulated my clit. Then came a black rubber vibrating dildo, larger than Martin's penis in both length and girth. It became known as my 'rubber lover', and I have to say that this one really did it for me when I was masturbating on my own in front of the mirror. The sight of the wet, black shaft pumping in and out of me would drive me wild and I would have incredibly intense orgasms when I used this toy. I also found I could have a second or even third orgasm soon after the first one.
Martin purchased a video camera, which I was a little unhappy about to begin with. He would video me dressing up in leather and rubber, then take more shots as I walked around the house. He would even film me coming to orgasm with my vibrators. Once I saw myself on camera however, my initial reservations disappeared. I finally realised just how good I looked in all the sexy gear I had been wearing, and after that I was as enthusiastic about filming our sex sessions as Martin. I even began videoing myself when he wasn't at home, especially on Saturdays when he was out playing or watching sport with his friends. He would come home later and I'd put the video on, telling him how much I'd enjoyed a good screwing while he was out. He would masturbate as he watched me gratify myself in numerous different positions and locations, and with a number of different toys.
My husband started encouraging me to verbally admonish him as he watched these solo sessions of mine on video. It wasn't enough to just goad him with comments on how fabulous it was to have a big prick in me; he wanted me to berate him for not being able to give me what my big-cocked studs could. At first I didn't know how to deal with this because as far as I was concerned he was perfectly adequate for me and it was somewhat farcical as he told me the sort of things that I should say - how it shouldn't be necessary for me to go elsewhere for pleasure; how I rued the day I married such a small-dicked failure. However I played along with it because it produced a very powerful response, and it wasn't long before I actually began to enjoy this sort of playacting.
This verbal chastisement eventually became physical as well. Martin asked me to punish him for his failings, and I had to put him across my knee and spank him. Once again I couldn't handle this at all at first. Not only did I find it embarrassing, but unless you're a born sadist it's not easy to deliberately inflict pain on someone you love, even when they've asked you to do it and it's just for sexual pleasure. So my first efforts were very timid - light slaps on Martin's bottom which did nothing for him and which looked silly on video.
Gradually however I became more comfortable with the whole thing and I was able to strike him harder. I would once again taunt and rebuke him as I spanked, and after a while I found the whole experience strangely appealing. Martin bought a riding crop, then a leather cat o' nine tails, and soon I began to look forward to using both on him. I never went as far as causing anything other than transient pain, but I did begin to beat him quite severely. It was the control aspect I enjoyed more than anything, and I was really loving playing a fantasy dominatrix role as I dressed in tight leather and rubber. We'd put a video on of me being serviced by a 'lover' and I'd put a collar and chain on Martin, making him kneel and lick my boots as I punished him with my whip.
Martin will always argue otherwise, but here I believe he did deliberately manipulate me. In nearly every session we had together he would encourage me to bring myself to orgasm with a sex toy in one hand while whipping him in some way with the other. Later on I started wearing latex briefs with an internal vibrating dildo so I could climax as I pulled his chain and whipped him, or I would strap a rubber phallus to Martin's mouth and he would service me as I punished him. Almost inevitably, after doing this time and time again I began to associate personal sexual pleasure with use of the whip. Nowadays I only have to pick up a riding crop and I feel a sexual tingle ripple through me. I love the sound a whip makes, both the 'swish' as it moves through the air and the 'crack' as it strikes flesh or leather. I love whipping Martin, and I have fantasies about whipping other men too. I simply can't believe I would have developed such unusual desires without my husband's coaxing.
In retrospect I believe it was my desire to fully understand the domina stereotype and to also get to the root of my husband's fantasies that set me on a path that few women will ever follow. It wasn't so much a matter of amateur psychology, it was simply that I wanted to play the role well. I didn't really have a problem at that time with the way our sex life was developing and unlike many wives I could rationalise my husband's sexual submissiveness because I knew that many outwardly confident, commanding men shared such traits. But if it was going to be like this then I was going to do it to the best of my ability; I was going to give Martin his dreams.
I had a wealth of material to work with. Even before we married, Martin had gathered together a large collection of stories and comic books illustrated by the artist Bill Ward. He had shown some of these to me and had warned that they were sometimes a little brutal in their depiction of BDSM fantasy, but he assured me that it was the huge-breasted women and the black leather they wore that appealed to him, not the sadomasochistic aspects. I could certainly see the attraction for him - thigh length boots, tight corsets, leather opera gloves, and young girls who seemed totally unconcerned about wearing such attire as they walked down a busy high street. I had glanced through a few of the comics with mild interest but just left it at that. It was Martin's kick - maybe not the usual dirty books that guys have hidden under the bed, but if he enjoyed an occasional private moment while looking at them then that was fine with me.
Once domination games entered our sex life in earnest I looked at this collection in a new light. I realised that Ward's pictures and the accompanying stories were feeding Martin's fantasies and consequently I wanted to know what was in his mind; indeed, what was in any submissive man's mind. If I became the perfect fantasy dominatrix, how would I think and act?
I began to study this material on Saturdays when I was alone for most of the day and I found it relatively easy to project myself into Ward's fantasy world as I read the stories and looked at the drawings. His heroines weren't cheap hookers but wealthy socialites with voluptuous bodies who only wore the most exquisite and expensive leather attire. Well, I was already some way down that road because that's exactly the image that Martin had been manoeuvring me towards, and the desire of these women to whip and humiliate weak men while perversely allowing themselves to be dominated by handsome, hugely endowed studs was in total accord with the bedroom talk that my husband had started to indulge in. At first I didn't find the stories particularly erotic and it wasn't until later that I began to pleasure myself while reading them, but I did find the whole leather domina image very appealing. In particular I became hooked on the thigh boots-corset-opera gloves combination, and my wearing of these items today isn't simply down to a deep understanding of the symbolism associated with such garments in the male psyche; it's also due to a genuine love of having my body encased in the shiny, tight leather.
The development of this idealised domina persona took place over a number of years and I didn't realise how comfortable I'd become in this role until about a year ago, when Martin submitted a few pictures of me to a website featuring amateur models in tight skirts. I was extremely dubious about the whole thing but I was also tempted by the idea of men looking at me in my sexy outfits, and this time not just a few men but thousands all over the world. I insisted however that Martin set up a private email address for viewers of my pictures to respond to, one that only I had access to. I wasn't going to allow my husband to discuss any part of my private life with others.
The response when the pictures went up was amazing. I received many, many complimentary messages and no distasteful correspondence whatsoever. I had a few emails from women (although some were probably crossdressers) who wanted to know where I had purchased my tight leather pencil skirt, but as you might expect most messages were from men who were turned on by the pictures and wanted either more of the same or more information about me.
I found many male correspondents were very much like Martin and this made me realise that his domination fantasies weren't in any way unique. I was able to converse very easily with such writers and I had several requests to dominate by email, all of which I politely declined. Such feedback, where men described how I was their dream woman (despite not being able to see my face) and how they would give just about anything to have such a wife, made me more aware than ever of my desirability and power over men.
Equally however I had many messages from what I might term 'normal' men, guys who just liked to see a woman with a good figure dressed in sexy clothing. As I read their letters I would dream of playing the submissive role for once - kneeling before a tall, athletic man and taking his huge, erect prick into my mouth, or being put across his knee and squirming helplessly as he spanks the tight leather stretched across my backside.
As these fantasies grew, so did my frustration, and I began to question why it all had to be make believe. Why did I have to pretend with sex toys that other men were servicing me? Why couldn't Martin be made to watch the real thing? After all, it was what he had always dreamed of, and if he liked it then both of us were going to have a far more exciting and fulfilling sex life. And if he didn't... well, he surely would only have himself to blame for encouraging me to journey down such a road.
What this period of correspondence has made me realise is that Martin's fantasy has now become reality. I really do now regard him as being deficient in the bedroom and I'm no longer playacting when I think of his cock as being inadequate for me. I'm not pretending when I say I want a real man, a dominant, well-endowed lover who will screw me in every way imaginable until I'm too exhausted to take any more. Above all though, I want to have this man take me while Martin is there watching. Martin made me enjoy the idea of humiliating him by offering myself to others, and that's exactly what I now intend to do.
This is so important for you, the reader, to understand. It's not sufficient for me just to have sex with another man. Yes, I want this, I want it very badly, but also I want the intense sexual pleasure that will come from taunting my husband as he watches a better-endowed lover give me pleasure that he will never be able to match. I want Martin to endure the experience of witnessing his wife openly begging another man to have sex with her in ways that he could never have imagined in even his deepest fantasies.
On the introductory page to my diary I said that I love my husband dearly, and now I'm telling you that not only do I enjoy dominating him physically but that I want him to suffer the mental agony of knowing that another man has ejaculated inside me. Maybe a psychologist could reconcile these conflicting emotions, but all I know is that they simultaneously exist - the love I have for Martin, and the need to cuckold and humiliate him.
You've joined my story at the point where I am now about to start actively seeking extramarital relationships. I realise that this might not be as easy as seems. I would very much like to bring to life many of the bedroom fantasies that Martin has teased me with over the years - the impulsive gropings, the sessions with multiple lovers, and the open display of fetish wear in public - but at the same time I want all this to happen without damage to my career or my place in our current social circle. What I won't do is join some sort of swingers club or fetish scene and neither will I contemplate meeting other men via personal ads or internet chatrooms (although I'm seriously considering using a dating agency).
I quite like the idea of developing a reputation as being available, with it becoming quietly acknowledged that Maria's husband isn't able to give her all she needs. I want men to know that there is at least the chance that they can play with me. At the same time however I'd like to avoid the stigma of being labelled an out-and-out whore, not because I necessarily care what people think but simply because such a reputation may deter the sort of men I'm looking for.
It's going to be a fine balancing act, of that I'm sure.
|To contact me, email maria at this site|