Sitting at my desk, wearing a long cotton bathrobe and a pair of bedroom slippers, I jotted down notes for the class lecture on consciousness studies that I was to give on Monday morning at UNLV. The subject of my lecture dealt with the different levels of alternate realities that could be experienced by taking psilocyben mushrooms, doing long periods of sitting meditation, and practicing sensory deprivation. All three methods could be effectively used to expand human consciousness, offering its participants an opportunity to understand that reality was based on nothing more than one's own perception. I wanted to instill in my students a strong sense of curiosity and hopefully to open their minds to new possibilities of awareness. These were the two gifts I wanted them to have before the semester was over.
I leaned back in my chair for a few moments and allowed my mind to run free as I listened to the soft music playing the background. It was Dreamtime Return by Steve Roach. The music combined a mixture of relaxing space melodies with sounds from a dideridu, offering the listener a chance to escape from the hobbles of day-to-day reality and return to what the Aborigines call dreamtime.
Glancing at the small, battery-powered clock on the corner of my desk, I saw that the time was 2:21 A.M.
Danielle had promised to be home by three o'clock at the latest.
I could already feel the sexual excitement simmering just below the surface of my emotions, and it was all I could do to stop myself from reaching beneath the bathrobe and taking matters into my own hand. My wife had told me earlier to expect a hard whipping when she returned from her date with Anthony. She'd also warned me not to masturbate while she was away. It was a warning I always took seriously. I knew what she was capable of doing with a rattan cane or a riding crop; and, even after seventeen years of marriage, it still scared me. My wife was the only person who could put the fear of God into me!
I shifted my attention to the left side of the bedroom where my four-posted, single size bed was located. Lying on top of the blue comforter was a long rattan cane that Danielle had placed there before leaving. The cane was twenty-seven inches in length, narrow, flexible, and very well oiled to keep the wood from splitting. My penis was becoming hard at the mere sight of it, not to mention the thought of what was going to happen to me before the night was over. As I started to ease my hand under the bathrobe to grasp the growing piece of warm flesh, I suddenly heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway out in front of the house.
Saved by the bell! I thought.
I stopped what I was doing, rose slowly from my desk, and walked across the bedroom to look out the window into the dark night.
The first thing I noticed was that the darkness had become blanketed in a thick layer of mist. Las Vegas doesn't usually get much fog, but it was early October and the hot days were starting to turn into cool nights. That, plus a cloudless day, would often create a light fog at this time of year. For people who loved mystery novels, it would be the perfect night for deceit and murder.
The second thing that caught my attention was the inside light of Danielle's red Mustang coming on as she opened the car door to climb out. I couldn't help but wonder how the date with her new lover had gone. Anthony was a graduate student in two of her psychology classes at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. Danielle usually make it a point not to get involved with her students (though she was a full professor and had tenure, the dating of one's students was still grounds for dismissal), but Anthony had a special quality about him that had touched an inner cord within the confines of her soul. I wanted to believe that her attraction for him was due to something much deeper than the fact that he was only twenty-four years of age, handsome, intelligent, and extremely potent. There had to be some sort of spiritual connection between them that defied any kind of logical explanation. My wife had told me a few weeks before that she felt the two of them had been together in a previous lifetime. Since I also believed in reincarnation, I couldn't very well laugh at her reasoning for wanting to sleep with him, nor argue against the feelings that were soaring through her. Besides, it wouldn't have made any difference. I wasn't in a position to deny my wife the right to take a lover, no matter what his age.
Danielle was the Mistress of our marriage and home, and I was her servant, submissive to her every need and desire.
It was that simple.
She and I agreed at the very beginning of our relationship, almost two decades before, that our lifestyle would be based on the concept of female domination. It was what worked for of us. That didn't mean I was her outright slave, thought many people might choose to view it in such a way, including me at different times. Danielle and I had a marriage inwhich I freely chose to treat her as a queen. I did the housework, the washing, the grocery shopping, the cooking, and the other countless things that came up on a day-to-day basis, and I did this out of love for the woman I'd married. Danielle was an extremely dominant female who thoroughly enjoyed life, adventure, and the male species to the fullest degree, and I considered myself lucky to be allowed to share this with her.
Outside of the house, however, we were equals in every sense of the word; and, in many ways, our lives complimented each other.
Both Danielle and I had double doctorates and were full professors at UNLV. Her two Ph.D.s were in Anthropology and Psychology and mine were in Astrophysics and Comparative Religions.
While taking a teaching position at the University of California at Berkeley after she finished graduate school, my wife also decided to become a part-time dominatrix in San Francisco, working under the name of Lady Shiva. This was done in order to satisfy an inner yearning she had to dominate the male species physically, mentally and emotionally. Using her skills as a psychologist and as a firm believer in matriarchy, Danielle wanted to see if she could effectively change the concepts that men held of women. She eventually became one of the top professionals in the country and was able to teach hundreds of men that it was all right for them to submit to a strong woman, as long as they didn't give up their own inner strength. My wife didn't want to weaken men, but rather to increase their attributes so that they could be used to help change the world in a more positive way.
When I finished graduate school, I made the decision to go to Japan for several years and study the martial art of Aikido under its founder, Morihei Ueshiba, and to do sitting meditation in a Zen monastery. I not only wanted to become an accomplished martial artist, but I hoped that the practice of Zen would enable me to gain a greater insight into the nature of humanity and its connection to the universe. Later, after I'd returned to the States and opened an Aikido dojo in Berkeley, Danielle was one of my original students. When we met, it was love (or maybe lust) at first sight for both of us. In the dojo, I was the Sensei or teacher, and she was the student. Outside of the dojo, my future wife was the teacher and I the student as she began to slowly guide me into the world of female domination. She saw that I was a natural submissive, but only to her. Danielle was the only human being who could bring me to my knees with a simple look in her eyes. Had anyone else tried what she did, it would've been a fight to the death. Needless to say, it didn't take either of us long to realize that we were perfect for each other. Marriage came within a year and then we moved to Las Vegas so that she could be close to her mother, who was dying of cancer. We both took teaching positions at UNLV, and I was able to continue my practice of Aikido by starting a club on campus.
The rest, as they say, is history.
I watched Danielle get out of the Mustang, close its door, and walk to the front door. I could feel my heart starting to race with excitement. The sight of my wife always did that to me. I was still madly in love with her.
Returning to my desk, I sat back down and finished the notes for my Monday morning class. I heard the sound of Danielle entering the house and then a few minutes later coming up the stairs. I figured she'd probably go to her bedroom first to change clothes, but I was wrong.
Danielle entered my bedroom, holding a glass of chilled Cabernet Sauvignon in her right hand and a black purse in her left. My wife smiled at me as she stepped over to my bed and sat down on the edge of it. Laying the purse down on the comforter, she crossed her shapely legs, stared boldly at me, and took a long sip of wine. Her auburn colored hair flared outward and down to her shoulders, while her green eyes twinkled with merriment. She had dressed smartly, but provocatively for her date tonight, wearing a black Kay Unger chiffon dress, black nylons, and a pair of black Anne Klein sling backs with four-inch heels.
She literally took my breath away.
That Danielle was still beautiful at age fifty-one could not be denied. She worked out with weights in the campus gym at least three times a week, while attending my afternoon Aikido classes on Tuesday and Thursday. Though she might disagree with me, I personally felt she was lovelier today than when I first met her. My wife still drew the attention of men where ever she went, not to mention that many of her male students had crushes on her.
"How did your date with Anthony go?" I asked.
"He took me to Romeo's on West Sahara for dinner, then we went dancing at C2K," she answered.
"Is that all?"
"No," she said, her smile growing bigger. "We went back to his apartment and had sex for three hours. Would you like to hear all the juicy details?"
"Yes."
"You know what the price will be, don't you?"
"Twenty-five cuts with the cane?" I asked.
"Higher."
"Fifty?"
She shook her head, the smile on her face growing bigger.
"Seventy-five?" I said, feeling a little uncomfortable over what might be in store for me.
"That sounds like a nice round number," my wife stated.
"Jesus, Danielle, you do realize that I have a class on Monday, don't you?"
"I promise not to put you in the hospital, darling."
"Why doesn't that comfort me?"
"Stop whining like a little boy," she said. "I want you to come over here and kneel before me on the floor."
The ritual was beginning.
I rose from my desk, took off the bathrobe, and stepped out of the slippers. I walked over to my wife and knelt before her with my head slightly bowed.
"Do you still love me?" Danielle asked. She placed the toe of her right shoe under my chin and lifted my head up so that she could look down into my eyes. "I want you to be honest."
"I worship you," I said with utter sincerity.
She ran the toe of her shoe lightly over my lips. "Anthony has asked for permission to be my house slave," she stated. "How would you feel about that?"
"Does he understand that you don't believe in slavery?"
"I explained my philosophy to him," she replied. "Still, it would be nice to have him help out with the duties around the house. It would certainly give you more time to write. I know you'd enjoy that."
"I guess the real question is whether he'd actually be moving in as a house slave or as your lover?"
"What difference does it make?"
"I don't want to be second place to some twenty-four-year-old guy with a perpetual hard-on."
"His expertise in bed is one the things that make him so special."
"Yeah, I know."
"Anthony is also quite brilliant."
"You still haven't answered my question," I said.
"Would it be so bad if my lover moved in with us?"
"Danielle…Danielle…"
"You want me to be happy, don't you?"
"Yes, but—"
"I want this, William."
"I know, honey, but—"
"I want this."
"Okay," I said.
"You're sure?"
"No, I'm not sure," I replied. "But I love you, Danielle, and I do want you to be happy." I thought about the situation for a moment and started laughing at the absurdity of it. "I hope it's not your intention to have me submit to him."
"Both of you will submit to me and do exactly as I command."
"You're tactfully avoiding that question, too."
"Think of it this way," she suggested. "Whatever I have you do will only add spice to our marriage."
"Did you read that in Dr. Ruth's column?"
"Don't be facetious, darling."
"Yeah."
"I'd like Anthony to start spending the weekends with us before he actually moves in," Danielle said. "It would give me a chance to begin his training and to introduce him to the whip."
"Where's lover boy going to sleep?" I asked.
"Where do you think he's going sleep?"
"Your room?"
"Of course."
I nodded my head in understanding.
"You haven't kissed my feet today," she continued, changing the subject like a professional diplomat. "Would you like the pleasure of doing that?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
I took her shoe into my hand and placed it to my mouth, reverently kissing the soft black leather. I moved my lips over the toe and around the sides of the shoe. Then, working my way up to the instep of her stocking-covered foot, I began to kiss her ankle and leg, enjoying the texture of nylon against my lips and tongue. I heard a soft sigh of delight escape from my wife's mouth. She loved to have her feet and legs worshipped by a man. Whether Danielle would admit it or not, she truly felt that a man's place was at her feet. It brought out the dominant side of her personality like few other things could.
"You've been a wonderful husband to me, William."
"I hope this doesn't mean that you're getting ready to trade me in on a younger model," I said.
"You don't have to worry about that. I've put too much time and effort into training you. Besides, no one could ever love me as unconditionally as you do. You're the rock in my sometimes-chaotic life. I need you more than you could possibly ever imagine."
"That's good," I said. "For a moment it was beginning to sound like I was a well-trained pet or something."
"All women want their husbands to be well-trained pets," she laughed. "But that doesn't mean you aren't loved."
"I suppose you're going to toss me a bone now."
"No, William. I gave you my heart and that was enough."
Her words warmed me as I released her right foot and then bent lower to kiss her left one. I honestly didn't know what I'd do should Danielle ever leave me. Though I felt our marriage was perfect in so many ways, one never knew what the other person was actually feeling. I slowly worked my lips up her left foot and leg, then shifted my attention back to her right leg. When I started to push her dress back so that I could kiss her thighs, she stopped me in my tracks.
"Did I give you permission to do that?" she asked with a touch of amusement.
"No, Mistress," I answered.
"I can see it's been too long since your last whipping."
"It's been almost a month."
"Then it shall definitely be seventy-five cuts with the cane," she stated. "That should ease your anxiety somewhat and correct this inexcusable behavior."
"Thank you, Mistress," I said.
"I want you to go down to the dungeon and wait for me," Danielle instructed. "I need to change into something more appropriate for your punishment." She paused for a moment as she uncrossed her legs, offering me a brief glimpse of stocking tops and black garter tabs. "Will I have to bind you to the bench, or do you think you'll be able to take the caning without being restrained?"
"I don't know."
"I'll think about that while I change clothes," my wife said as she finished the rest of the wine. She handed me the empty glass to take back down to the kitchen; then, rising to her feet, she picked up her purse and the rattan cane, and walked out of my bedroom.
Filled with a sense of avid sexual desire and an almost insurmountable degree of love, I watched my wife leave the room, noticing that there was more of a seductive swing to her hips than usual. We'd been together for over eighteen years and still no other woman excited me as much as she did. Even now, I wanted to make love to Danielle more than anything else…to feel my body passionately joined to hers in an act of spiritual union. I also understood that this very special privilege would have to be earned. As in all societies and tribes, both modern and primitive, women will test the male in order to measure his strength and the level of his love. For my wife, the true test of my love was in the amount of suffering I was willing to endure.
I put my bathrobe and slippers back on and went downstairs. Entering the kitchen, I rinsed out the wine glass in the sink, dried it, and placed it back in the cabinet. I then walked down a short hallway to our dungeon.
The door to the dungeon had an electronic lock, and it could only be opened when the correct sequence of seven numbers was entered into the computer console on the wall. I punched in the numbers, opened the door, and stepped into what had once been our three-car garage. I'd spent nine months of my time remodeling the garage, turning it into an attractive, well-equipped, soundproof dungeon. Beautifully varnished oak beams ran across the ceiling and down the walls, which were coated with a textured wall covering that was the color of stone. An electric hoist hung from one of the beams and could support the weight of two men. A thick, soft, dark brown shag carpet covered the entire floor of the dungeon. Danielle's throne, the whipping bench, and the vertical rack were all custom made by some of the finest craftsmen in the country. One of the walls was covered with an array of S&M equipment: riding crops, whips, paddles, leather hoods, wrists and ankle cuffs, blindfolds, mouth gags, dildo harnesses, metal handcuffs, etc., etc. In one corner of the dungeon sat a brown cedar chest (Pandora's Box) that was filled with rubber dildos of various sizes, metals weights and clamps for cock and ball torture, leather gloves with thumbtacks protruding from the palm and fingers, nipple clamps, plastic bags filled with used panties, stockings and pantyhose, bottles of oil, tubes of lubricant, candles for hot wax torture, and a multitude of other things.
Turning the dimmer light up just enough so that I could see where I was going without bumping into something, I stepped over to the vertical rack and removed my bathrobe and slippers, placing them under the rack so that they would be out of the way. Then, moving over to Danielle's elegantly carved throne that was sitting on top of a two-level pedestal, I picked up the plastic cigarette lighter that was lying on the right cushioned armrest and carefully lighted the large black candles on either side of the throne. Each candle was resting in a beautifully carved wooden stand that matched the design of the throne and pedestal. The lit candles added a sense of atmosphere to the dungeon. I placed the lighter back on the armrest and then knelt down in front of the throne, lowering my forehead to the floor, and waited patiently for my Mistress to enter the dungeon.
Though I didn't have a watch on, I suspected that at least forty-five minutes passed before I finally heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. I kept my head to the floor as Danielle came into the dungeon and walked over to where I was kneeling, making her way up the pedestal and sitting down on the black cushioned seat of her throne. I listened to her light a cigarette and then cross her legs. Still, I waited.
Several more minutes of silence passed, then:
"You may look at me," Danielle stated.
I raised my head and gazed into the eyes of my lovely Goddess. She took a puff of the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled the smoke. Danielle was now wearing cream-colored, skin-tight riding breeches, a long-sleeved black silk blouse that puffed out around the arms, black leather boots that reached to her calves and laced up the front and had four-inch heels, and black calfskin gloves that covered her hands and wrists. She had redone her make-up, highlighting her eyes and cheekbones, and had brushed her hair. The rattan cane lay across her lap.
"Would you like to kiss my boots?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I answered.
"If I permit you the pleasure of running your tongue over the finely crafted leather of my boot, will you suffer for me?"
"Yes, Mistress, I will."
"You may crawl up the pedestal and display the love you have for your Goddess," Danielle said. "You'll receive a harsh whipping tonight for this privilege."
"How harsh?" I asked.
"Did I give you permission to ask a question?"
"No, Mistress."
"Then I suggest you put that mouth of yours to a more useful task."
"Yes, Mistress," I replied.
I crawled hesitantly up the pedestal, feeling in awe of this woman who controlled me so completely. I loved and worshipped my wife in ways few other couples could even imagine. Sometimes I felt that submitting to Danielle was the only true purpose for my existence. Everything else was secondary. All of my accomplishments amounted to nothing more than a hill of beans compared to the simple act of kissing her booted foot. This was what I lived for.
Keeping her legs crossed, right over left, my Mistress lifted her right foot to my waiting lips. I leaned forward, took the toe of her boot into my mouth, and began to gently suck it. I could feel my limp penis beginning to grow hard with arousal.
"That's it," she coaxed. "Show me what a good husband you are."
I moved my lips back and forth over the toe of her booth for a number of minutes, then ran my tongue lightly along the sides of it and over the instep. I listened as my wife moaned softly. The act of having her feet kissed always filled Danielle with intense sexual excitement.
"Now, the other boot." She uncrossed her legs and then re-crossed them with the left one over the right, her foot rising upward to receive its share of personal attention. "I want you to lick it till the leather shines."
It didn't matter that the boot already shined to the point where one could practically see their own reflection, I immediately began to kiss it like an ardent lover, savoring the exquisite taste of rich Cordovan leather, wondering if I could hold back the orgasm that threatened to erupt from my loins. Few things in life excited me to such a degree as paying homage to the woman I loved by kissing her feet and legs.
It was intoxicating.
My wife's legs were as much a source of her power, as was her beauty, intellect and sensuality. I couldn't help but sigh with contentment at the unbelievable pleasure I was experiencing. I sucked and licked and kissed her boot, slowly working my way up to the calf of her leg.
"That's enough," Danielle said. "It's time for your caning. I want you to first put on the leather hood and then attach the blindfold and penis gag to it. When you've done that, you may lay down across the whipping bench and wait for me."
I kissed my wife's boot one last time; then, rising to my feet, I walked over to the far wall and took down a skillfully crafted full-leather black hood with an attachable blindfold and penis gag. Carrying the hood over to the center of the dungeon, where the whipping bench was located, I stopped in front of the S&M apparatus and slipped the hood over my head, adjusting it so that its openings were aligned with my mouth, nose and eyes. The hood had been specifically designed and measured for me. It fitted snugly around my head, until the back was laced up. Then, the hood was ultra tight, hugging my face like a second skin. I liked it that way. There was something sensuous about the smell and tightness of leather around my face that turned me on.
Glancing at Danielle, I positioned the gag across the front of the hood and opened my mouth to receive the rubber penis. I slid the penis into my mouth and then snapped the gag in place. The penis was an inch-and-a-half in diameter and two inches long. My body's first inclination was to gag at the intrusion inside my mouth. It was an unconscious reflex. It took a minute to relax myself by breathing deeply through my nose. Afterwards, I felt comfortable enough to know that I wouldn't have to worry about choking or throwing up. I then placed the leather blindfold with its sheepskin lining over my eyes and snapped it to the sides of the hood. Taking a blind step forward, I reached out and used the sense of touch to guide myself carefully onto the whipping bench. I stretched my body lengthways across the top it, feeling the cool vinyl padding against my warm flesh.
The whipping bench was heavy, weighing close to a hundred pounds. It was made from solid oak and was quite sturdy. Each of its four legs was five-inches-by-five-inches in diameter and thirty inches in height. The top part of the bench was six feet long and twenty-six inches wide and slightly arched in the middle. This ensured that one's buttocks would be the highest part of the body when lying down. Leather cuffs with metal buckles were attached to the eyebolts in each leg so that a person's wrists and ankles could be bound to the bench. A thick leather strap was riveted to the side of the side of the bench, about midway, and could be looped over an individual's lower back and fastened tightly in place on the other side, thus preventing one's buttocks from wiggling around during the course of a whipping.
As I waited for my wife, I continued to breath deeply and slowly through my nose, preparing myself mentally for what was about to take place. Though I wanted the whipping, I knew that once the pain began--if I wasn't in the correct frame of mind--I'd probably panic and snap my fingers to alert Danielle that something was wrong and for her to please stop whatever she was doing. She didn't like it when I gave her the safety signal, unless something was actually the matter. It spoiled the mood and usually provoked a response of anger in her. The safety signal was only to be given in an emergency. Anything other than that would bring about a much harder whipping in retaliation for my moment of weakness.
If possible, I wanted to be psyched out for what was ahead. I needed to yearn for the bite of the cane, to crave it, to seek it in order to tame the inner demon within my soul. I had to be in what scientists and people who meditate call an alternate state of consciousness. This would enable me to flow with the pain, to become one with it, and hopefully to transcend it. The ultimate goal, however, was to reach a point where I actually enjoyed the pain and wanted the caning to continue. A lot of it, however, would depend on how Danielle decided to administer the corporal punishment. If she chose to start off with hard strokes of the cane, it would be difficult for me to achieve the level of concentration I desired. If, on the other hand, she opted to first sexually excite me and then begin the whipping with mild-to-medium strokes of the cane, gradually working up to the harder cuts, the possibilities were endless. I was never sure what mood my wife would be in.
I kept breathing in slowly, allowing my mind to forget about everything, except the counting of each breath. As I inhaled, I counted the number one to myself; then, as I exhaled, I counted two. I continued this up to the count of ten and then started over again. This was basic Zen meditation. It was the simplest of all forms of meditation; yet, the hardest to maintain for any length of time without losing count or focus. This was how all beginners in a Zen monastery learned to meditate. I breathed and counted and patiently waited for my wife to come and begin the ritual of dominance and submission.
Danielle continued to sit on her throne for several more minutes, lighting a second cigarette and probably watching me with amused interest. She had an avid sense of humor about life and allowed few things to worry her. I could smell the smoke from the cigarette as it gradually drifted down to where I was silently waiting. She understood the need I had for a hard caning every month or so; yet, she also knew the necessity of making me submit to her time schedule. It was a psychological ploy on her part to demonstrate who was really in control. It was important to my wife that I grasp the reality of the situation, realizing that the whipping wouldn't begin until she was good and ready. Of course, the longer I was forced to wait, the more nervous and anxious I'd become. This clearly suited her purpose because the psychology of how the game was played was just as vital as the physical domination, if not more so.
I vaguely heard the sound of my wife's high-heeled boots clicking on wood as she stepped down the pedestal. A minute or two passed before she finally came over to where I was. She ran her leather-gloved hands slightly over the back of my body, teasing me, working their way down to my buttocks and then even lower, pushing my thighs apart.
"Lift up," she commanded.
I did and immediately felt her hand move underneath me, grabbing the hardness of my penis, pulling it back between my legs so that it was pointed at the wall behind me. She then wrapped her fingers around my testicles and squeezed them, causing me to groan from the pain and ecstasy of what she was doing. My erection grew harder as the pain increased. I knew to stay in place and not to move. To try and escape from my wife would only anger her. Besides, there was no escape from the woman I loved more than life itself. I was not only her husband, but also her slave…her servant…and her prisoner. She possessed my mind, body and soul. I belonged to her, and Danielle could do whatever she desired to me. I suffered for her enjoyment and endured the pain so that she'd be pleased with me.
My wife released my genitalia, satisfied that I was more than willing to submit to a night of pain on her behalf. She enjoyed the act of inflicting pain and torment as much as I reveled in receiving it. Giving me a temporary moment of reprieve, she took a long piece of leather cord and wrapped it repeatedly around the base of my penis, insuring that I wouldn't go soft during the whipping. She then wound the rest of it tightly around and in between my testicles, until they bulged and protruded like thick, red plums. Securing the first cord with a knot, she took a second piece of leather and tied one end of it around the head of my penis and the other end to the small eyebolt embedded in the wood at the bottom end of the bench, pulling the cord taut so that my erection was stretched painfully downward against the padding. When that was done, Danielle placed my wrists into the leather cuffs and buckled them tightly in place.
"I've decided it might be best if you're bound to the bench," she said. "The caning is going to be hard one, and I don't want you moving around to much."
As my wife laid the leather strap across my lower back and fastened it to the buckle on the other side of the bench, I started to worry just a little bit over what she was planning to do. It had been over a year since I'd had a really hard whipping. I wasn't sure if I was up to it, no pun intended. Even though I had a high threshold for pain, there was still a limit as to what I could safely endure.
Once my ankles were strapped to the rear legs of the bench, Danielle traced a finger casually along my painfully erect penis and then thumped my aching testicles as she might a cantaloupe in a grocery store to see if it was ripe or not. I tried to bring my legs together in order to protect myself, but my bound ankles kept them spread apart, leaving me open to whatever she wanted to do. She thumped my testicles a second and a third time, causing me to groan again. With the circulation cut off to my genitalia, it was now much more sensitive to pain. My wife thumped each testicle a couple of more times, then gave both of them a good hard squeeze.
"I've decided to paddle you first," she stated. "I want to warm your ass up in preparation for what's coming. Maybe I'll use the long paddle with the holes in it. That should get you in the right frame of mind."
I knew the paddle she was talking about.
It was twenty-four inches long, three-and-a-half inches wide, and a half-inch in thickness with six holes drilled into the wood. The purpose of the holes was to increase the velocity of contact with the body, causing a more severe amount of pain with each strike than a regular paddle did. This particular paddle could put blisters on a person's backside with a couple of well-placed smacks.
A few moments later, I sensed Danielle bending down close to my head. "You're going to receive twenty strikes across your bottom with the paddle," she said. "If you can take the punishment without giving me the safety signal, I'll tell you what the sex was like with Anthony tonight. Would you like to know how many times we did it?"
I nodded my head.
"Then suffer for me, darling."
My wife stood back up and moved to the center of the bench, preparing herself with the paddle.
The first strike stunned me with the ferociousness of its intent. There was a loud smacking sound that permeated the interior of the dungeon. I shook my head at the wave of intense pain that immediately flooded my body. If the next nineteen were going to be as hard as the first strike, I didn't think I'd be able to make it.
I heard the sharp whistling noise of the paddle a second time as it was swung through the air, landing against my bare bottom with a force that caused me to bite down hard on the rubber penis in my mouth. I didn't even have time to get my thoughts together before the paddle struck a third time and a fourth.
Breathe deeply through the nose, I told myself.
The fifth and sixth strike caused me to cry out!
"What did you say?" Danielle asked. "I couldn't make out what it was with the gag in your mouth."
I didn't think she was the least bit funny.
The paddle struck me four more times in quick succession, numbing me with a level of pain that made me wish my sexual preferences were more normal in nature.
"Think about Anthony being between my legs with his manhood buried deeply within me," she said, leaning down to the side of my head and talking in a soft, sexy tone of voice. "Imagine what it was like for me when his hard penis filled my womb so completely that I had my first orgasm due to the sheer size of it."
I thought about it and moaned softly from desire.
"You do want to hear all of the juicy details, don't you?"
I nodded my head again.
"Just ten more to go," she said.
The eleventh and twelfth strikes caused me to question the validity of my whole life, making me wonder how anyone could get enjoyment from being beaten by another person.
I now found myself unconsciously tensing the muscles in my buttocks with each whistling sound of the paddle. That only made matters worse. I tried to visualize my wife's new boyfriend naked and between her legs, making long passionate love to her, driving his erection repeatedly into her body. I knew that if I could keep myself sexually aroused, it would help with the pain. I don't know why, but a person in sexual heat can endure more physical pain. It probably has something to do with either testosterone or endorphins being released within the body.
I forced myself to make it through the last eight strikes of the paddle, using my wife and Anthony as a means to flow with the different degrees of pain I was experiencing. Next to kissing Danielle's beautiful feet, nothing excited me more than when she cuckolded me with a younger man. It was my secret passion…one I was more embarrassed by than the desire to be tied down and whipped. Fortunately for me, it was also one of my wife's fantasies. Her affairs with younger men not only excited both of us and made our sexual relationship more intense, it also demonstrated the control she had over me and how willing I was to submit to her carnal desires. Few things spoke of a husband's submission than when the wife took another lover with his full knowledge.
After the paddling was finished, Danielle ran her gloved hand gently over my body, caressing my blistered bottom, telling me how wonderful I was for not giving in to the pain and using the safety signal. She kissed my naked shoulder, bit down on it with her teeth, and then placed her lips to the left side of my head.
"When we arrived back at the apartment," she said, "Anthony bent me over the back of his couch, pulled my dress up and ripped my panties off. He then took me hard from behind like we were animals in heat. As soon as he entered me, I cried out with my first orgasm. After that, I was bucking wildly against him, wanting it, demanding that he give it to me, madly screaming when he discharged his hot seed into my vagina. His ejaculation was so strong that I could actually fill the force of it erupting inside of me.
I tried to picture it in my mind.
"No man has ever fucked me as well as Anthony did tonight. When I think about it, I become wet with excitement."
A small wave of jealousy soared through me as my own penis strained against the cord that held it firmly in place, proving that I was a true cuckold.
"Of course," she whispered to me, like a little girl with a secret to pass on, "he wasn't wearing a condom."
I knew Danielle had made Anthony go to the local Health Department and get a blood test for AIDS and other venereal diseases before any sexual activity took place between them. As it turned out, her new lover had dated very little while in high school or college. In fact, he was still a virgin when my wife finally had sex with him two weeks before. Needless to say, Anthony was now hopelessly smitten with her and was prepared to do whatever it took to maintain the relationship.
"Do you want to know how many times he fucked me?" she asked.
I nodded my head.
"The answer has a high price. Are you willing to pay it?"
I nodded again. .
"Let's see how well you do with the caning."
She left me to replace the paddle back on the wall, then returned, swishing the rattan cane through the air a couple of times to get the feel for it.
The first cut of the cane landed on the back of my thighs. There was a sharp, burning sensation that swiftly spread up to my buttocks and then down my legs. The second cut crisscrossed the first one, causing me to suck in my breath. The third one quickly followed, landing in almost the exact same place as the first two cuts.
"In case you're wondering," Danielle said, "the first twenty-five cuts are going to be to the back of your legs. The next twenty-five will be across your cute, little ass, and the final twenty-five will be on your back."
She struck my legs again and again.
I laid my head on the padding and breathed deeply as a way of dealing with the acute agony that competed for my attention, listening as the cane swished through the air seconds before it connected with my burning flesh. I attempted to count my breath, starting at one as I inhaled and then thinking of the number two as I exhaled. The pain was so overwhelming that I kept losing count and had to start over from scratch. I made myself stay with it, starting over as many times as was necessary. Finally, my thoughts drifted back to Danielle and her young lover, and I eventually made it through the first part of the caning, crying out only twice due to the intense pain of my legs being whipped so cruelly. It would be a lie if I didn't admit to my eyes watering considerably, but I never broke down and actually cried, nor did I consider using the safety signal. This was the easy part compared to what was ahead. Anyway, I took the whipping like a man, stoic in my resolve to endure the punishment. Of course, the back of my thighs felt as though they were on fire. I knew the pain would continue to be there for the next few days. "I'm so proud of you," Danielle said as she tenderly kissed my back and shoulders. "I've always been impressed with how much pain you can take. You deserve something special for this."
I felt my wife's gloved hand touching my shoulders and then a finger tracing its way down the middle of my back and over my sore buttocks. Her finger stopped for a moment, then gradually moved between the split that separated the two mounds of muscled flesh and probed the area around my anus. I jumped as her finger began to slowly enter me.
"What is it, darling? You seem a little agitated for some reason."
I groaned with indignation as her finger worked its way deeper into my rectum.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
The gag successfully muffled the sounds of my protestation. I knew it was her infamous middle finger, and that she was pushing it right up to the last knuckle. I tried to pull away from this humiliating intrusion, but the leather strap and cuffs checked my progress. Danielle sodomized me with her finger for nearly five minutes, alternating the speed and pressure of the strokes. Some of them were slow and easy, while others were hard and fast. It wasn't long before the stimulation of my prostate gland caused the sounds from my mouth to become less indignant and more wanting.
"You like this, don't you, darling?"
I shook my head in false denial.
"Your hard cock tells a different story," my wife stated.
She was standing on the right side of me with the middle finger of her left hand embedded within my rectum. As Danielle kept up the stimulation of my prostate, she started to whip my buttocks with fast, furious downward strokes of the cane, using her right hand, and putting a lot of muscle behind each cut. She'd push her finger all the way into me and held it there for a few moments, while delivering four or five swifts cuts. Because she had already paddled my bottom good and hard, the cuts with the cane were even more excruciating. My groans, however, were now a mixture of painful agony and sexual heat.
My wife was probably twenty cuts into the second part of the caning when she suddenly stopped what she was doing and removed her overly active finger from my orifice. Then, leaning down close to my head again, she said: "Anthony made love to me four different times tonight, and I haven't cleaned myself, yet. I put on a maxi-pad before I left his apartment." A long moment of silence followed as I digested her words. "Think about what your reward is going to be after this is finished."
I understood exactly what she was saying.
"You do want to service me like a good slave, don't you, darling?"
I nodded my head.
"The last five cuts across your bottom are going to be unbearable," she warned. "I want you to earn the special treat my lover has left for you."
For a husband who desires to be cuckolded by his wife, nothing is more powerful than the act of performing oral sex on her after she has had intercourse with her lover. Not only is this particular act still a taboo subject in today's society, but it's also one of the most arousing and profound fantasies a cuckold can have. When a husband is made to taste another man's semen between his wife's legs, it truly signifies his complete submission to her in a way few other acts can. My wife understood this and used it to her full advantage so that her own fantasies and secret desires could be fulfilled. As I said before, we were perfect for each other.
As the next cut of the cane tore into the flesh of my bottom, I found myself wanting Danielle to strike me harder, to give me a sweet taste of what she was really capable of doing. I attempted to lift my buttocks up to meet the descending piece of wood, straining against the leather strap across my lower back.
"The whipping is starting to feel good, isn't it?" she asked.
I moaned through the gag and then nodded my head in affirmation.
"Do you want me to cane you harder?"
I nodded again.
"I love you," my wife stated as she increased the speed and force of the remaining cuts. "I'm starting to get excited myself."
I'm not ashamed to admit that when the second stage of the caning was over, I was crying silently to myself. It wasn't as much from the pain that gripped my lower torso within its delectable clutches, but rather from the sense of euphoria I was experiencing. This was one of those times when fantasy and reality actually blended together into an aura of profound sensations that threatened to engulf its participant, explaining why there are so many submissive men and women in the world today seeking this kind of erotic play. Once experienced, it's nearly impossible for a person to return to what many people refer to as vanilla sex.
A minute or two passed and then I unexpectedly felt Danielle massaging my back and shoulders with her gloved hands, helping me to prepare for the final twenty-five cuts of the cane. I knew that they would be the worse. The fleshy part of the body (such as the buttocks and the back of the thighs) can endure larger amounts of pain without severe trauma being done to the body. A person's back, however, is an entirely different situation. Damage can be done, and the pain is always intense. If caution isn't used, permanent marks can be left on an individual's back. The person administering the whipping has to be skilled, knowing just how hard to strike the body and where to position the blows. The lower back is always avoided so that injury isn't inflicted upon the kidneys. Twenty-five cuts to the upper part of the back would severely test my endurance.
"Do you know why Anthony made love to me four different times?" my wife asked, kneading the muscles in my shoulders, working the knots of tension out.
I shook my head.
"He got really turned on by something I said." Danielle stopped what she was doing and leaned back down as if we were conspirators who were plotting to kill the king. "I told him that you were going to eat me out when I got home and that I wanted to make you knew how well he'd fucked me."
I sighed softly to myself, wishing that she hadn't told her lover about this part of our marriage. It would now be difficult to face Anthony whenever he came over, realizing that he knew my darkest desires. He would probably look at me with an element of contempt in his eyes and a knowing smile upon his face, feeling a sense of superiority over what my wife required of me. It would take him weeks, or even months, to understand that Danielle and I loved each other with a love (to quote Poe) that was more than a love. Our actions as man and wife, or Mistress and slave, were but extensions of this dynamic that joined us together in a lifetime bond. The fact that both my wife and I enjoyed it when I performed oral sex on her after she'd had intercourse with another male didn't make me less of a husband, or a man, or a human being.
Danielle, intuitive as always, sensed a sudden change in my mood. "Are you worried about Anthony and his image of you?" she asked.
I nodded my head.
"Don't be. Anthony is envious of our relationship. He'd trade places with you in a heartbeat, if he could. Both of you are the most important men in my life, and I wouldn't let either one of you hurt the other. I hope you understand that, darling."
Her short speech helped a little.
"Still," she continued. "My young lover did get excited by the thought of what I was going to have you do. I believe he wanted to let you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he did an exceptional job of pleasing me tonight, if you get my drift."
I clearly got the drift and once again felt a strong sense of sexual desire for Danielle, wanting to place my head between her taut legs and please her in a way all submissive husbands should be trained to do.
My wife moved away from me. A few seconds later, I heard her swishing the rattan cane through the air. She was warning me that the rest of the whipping was due to commence.
"Remember the reward you'll receive, if you can make it through the last twenty-five cuts," she stated.
I breathed deeply through my nose and thought of the four times Anthony had ejaculated inside my wife tonight. She had put on the maxi-pad out of consideration for me, wanting to save as much of his semen as possible, desiring to see the two of us joined together in an act of intimacy that others would surely frown upon. I wanted to taste her lover and to know that a part of his body had been buried deeply within her womb, satisfying her with his potent manhood, bringing her to a level of sexual ecstasy that I'd only dreamed about.
The first cut of the cane struck the middle of my back. I clenched my eyes beneath the blindfold and bit hard into the rubber penis.
It was too hard!
The next cut crisscrossed the first one, leaving a burning sensation that was like a branding iron pressing into my skin.
My hands tightened into fists.
The third cut came quickly, striking in the exact same spot as the first one had. I arched my upper back, twisting it in agony as the pain flashed through me. It was worse than I'd imagined.
When the cane landed a fourth time, I moaned out loud, suspecting that I wouldn't be able to last. Danielle gave me a moment of reprieve and gently caressed my tortured back with her hand. I was breathing too fast and was afraid of blacking out. The cuts were much harder than the ones my wife usually started out with for the back. I didn't know why, and it worried me.
"You can do it," she said with encouragement.
The fifth, sixth, and seventh cut from the instrument of reparation came in swift succession, hitting me higher on the back than where the first four cuts had landed. It reminded me of molten lava dropping onto exposed flesh. I jerked frantically at the leather cuffs around my wrists, futility trying to break the bonds that held me in such dismay to the whipping bench.
The next five cuts were even harder and more brutal and carried me to the every edge of darkness. I found myself unable to ride the pain. For a moment or two, I didn't even know where I was. The only thing I could think of was escaping the torment that presently filled this block of time. I cried at the agony my wife was putting me through, wanting it to stop. There was no way I'd be able to endure the rest of the whipping. Still, I hesitated in giving the safety signal. A part of me didn't want to disappoint the woman I loved and worshipped. I felt it was important for me to live up to her expectations.
But, oh, the pain was terrible.
Cuts thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen overwhelmed me with the ferocity of their attack, taking me across the shoulders and upper back. I jerked more wildly at the cuffs that bound my wrists and screamed through the gag in my mouth. It was time to admit defeat…to surrender…to end the suffering…to beg my Mistress for mercy. As I was about to snap the thumb and forefinger of my right hand together, the caning suddenly stopped.
Was relief in sight?
I didn't know.
I could, however, sense Danielle stepping around to the front of the bench and then kneeling down close to me so that she could say something important.
"Do you have any idea how badly I want to feel your face cupped between my legs?" she asked softly. "All I've thought about tonight is the sensation of having your skilled tongue inside of me, probing and searching for the seed of my lover, tasting it, and finally eating it as a just reward for the amount of suffering you've had to endure for my pleasure." Silence lingered in the air as she considered what else to say. "We both want this to happen. Don't let the pain get the best of you, William. Hang in there for me and for yourself. Let me see what an exceptional slave you are. But, keep in mind that if you give me the safety signal, there won't be any sexual reward for you tonight; plus, I'll make you sleep in your own room. I know you don't want that to happen. In fact, I think that would be a far worse punishment than what you're experiencing right now. Don't you agree?"
I gave her question the careful consideration it deserved, debating the pros and cons of what I'd achieve and what I would be giving up. It was a difficult decision to make. I didn't really want to disappoint my wife. Still, the pain had proven to be too much to bear, I wanted it to end. I knew Danielle well enough to understand that the last few cuts of the cane would be the hardest. She'd want to carry me past my imagined threshold of pain and into an entirely different realm of agony. It wasn't something I was in the right frame of mind to experience.
I finally shook my head.
"That's too bad," she said. "I was hoping you'd put the needs of your Mistress first, but I can see that's not going to happen. I suppose the time has arrived for me to make a little confession. I want you to listen very carefully to what I have to say because it's important that you're aware of this before we go any further."
Puzzled by her statement, I lifted my head up so that I could hear more clearly. I found myself suddenly curious, knowing there was nothing she could say that would change my mind about giving the safety signal once the caning continued. As it was, I didn't think I'd be able to make in to class on Monday.
"Listen closely to what I have to say, darling."
Danielle had my undivided attention.
"Giving me the safety signal won't save you," she said with a touch of amusement in her voice. "You can snap your fingers all you want, and it won't stop the whipping. I'm going to give you all twenty-five cuts of the cane. Do you know why?"
I shook my head as the meaning of her words hit home.
"Because I want to," my wife stated. "Whipping you brings me a great deal of pleasure, and I'm not going to allow you to ruin tonight's fun."
I felt as though the axe had just dropped.
"The only thing you'll actually accomplish by giving me the safety signal is losing out on a night of unbelievable sexual pleasure." A pause, then: "I can't believe that you're willing to give that up to avoid a few more cuts of the cane. Snap your little fingers all you want and then miss out on the delicious nectar of my wonderful lover. The choice, however, is yours."
How could Danielle do this to me? I thought. It was an act of betrayal that cut me to the bone. I couldn't believe that she was going ahead with the caning, knowing it would destroy the trust that was between us.
"It's time to finish up what we started," she said matter-of-factly.
I jerked frantically again and again and again at the leather cuffs around my wrists in a crazed temper tantrum, arching my back in a hopeless effort to break away, shouting undecipherable words through the gag. All it did was cause my wife to laugh, and that only made me madder!
When the cane landed across my shoulders with a sharp, fast cut, I didn't cringe from it, or vainly snap my fingers in a hopeless gesture. I roared my contempt like an angry lion that is being held at bay against its will. Each cut of the cane only fueled the fire of my rage. If the gag hadn't been in my mouth, I would've yelled at my wife to do her worse, defying this woman to break me, taunting her with my desire to meet this betrayal with an inner strength that would surprise her.
The rest of the cuts came quickly and harshly, leaving marks on my body that would still be visible in the weeks to come. I met each strike of the cane with dignity and fury. Danielle could have given me fifty more cuts and it wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference. There was nothing she could do me that would hurt any more than the wound already inflicted upon my heart.
As the last cut of the whipping was delivered, I demanded with loud grunts and the rattling of the cuffs that I immediately be released.
My wife, of course, ignored me.
I felt like the actress, Glenn Close, in Fatal Attraction when she confronts Michael Douglas, telling him that she won't be ignored. I heard Danielle walking up the pedestal to her throne. She sat back down and lit another cigarette. I don't know how much time passed. It was certainly enough for a second cigarette and for me to finally quiet down. Eventually, I laid my head down on the vinyl padding and felt the tension of the last hour gradually leave my body. I probably dozed off for a minute or two, because the next thing I knew, my wife was kneeling in front of the bench, talking to me with a note of anxiety in her voice.
"Are you all right?" she asked, gently shaking my shoulder.
I lifted my head and nodded.
"I was worried."
Worried?
I didn't believe her for a single moment!
"Let me take the blindfold off," she said.
I felt her unsnap it from the hood and then watched as she removed the penis gag from between my aching jaws. It was a relief to finally be able to see again and to get a mouthful of precious air. I stared at Danielle as she unlocked each of the wrist cuffs from the wooden legs of the bench, knowing she could see the stark anger in my eyes. After all, I am a Scorpio, and the eyes are the windows to my soul.
I expected my wife to be apologetic and to act sorry for what she'd done to me, but to my surprise she started laughing.
"I'm sorry for laughing at you," she said, undoing the last wrist cuff. "I can't help it. If looks could kill, I'd probably be dead now."
"You betrayed me," I said accusingly.
"No, I didn't," replied Danielle. She unfastened the leather strap from around my waist, then moved to the rear of the bench and unlocked the ankle cuffs. When that was done, she untied the leather cords from around my penis and testicles. The pain in my groin area, as the circulation returned, took my breath away. "If you'd given me the safety signal, I would've immediately stopped the whipping. You know that I'd never risk any harm coming to you."
"But you said that you wouldn't stop the caning under any circumstances," I protested, playing the role of a wronged martyr, wanting my wife to say that she was sorry for what she'd put me through and to mean it. "It was a deliberate act of betrayal."
"It was an act," she explained, "but not of betrayal. It was the only way I could get you to finish out the whipping. I knew you were about to cave in from the pain, and I didn't want that to happen. So, I told you a little white lie."
"You lied to me!"
"Yes, I did, and you took the whipping marvelously. I'm so proud of you, William. I wish I had it on video. You were arched up like a fighting cobra, daring me to do my worse. I desperately wanted to stop the caning and kiss you for your brazen display of defiance."
"Really?'
"Yes, darling."
I slowly eased myself off of the bench and stood up. My muscles felt as if they'd experienced an hour of intense electro shock. Danielle had to assist me in taking off the leather hood. If she hadn't, I would have been in the dungeon all night fooling around with the damn thing. After the hood was removed, she stepped over to the candles and blew out the bright flames. As we walked out of the dungeon, she put her arm around my waist and guided me down the hallway. My legs were kind of wobbly, and I felt like an old man. The trip up the stairs proved to be a little more difficult, but we eventually made it.
Once we were standing inside her bedroom, my wife led me over to the king-size bed and maneuvered me onto to it so that I was lying on my side. It would be awhile before I'd be able to sit or to lie down on my back. I didn't know how I was going to teach the Aikido class on Tuesday afternoon at UNLV. Since Danielle held a second-degree black belt in the martial art and was qualified to teach, I'd probably let her handle it. The male students in the class loved being thrown around by her, as well as being placed in an arm and elbow locks. She liked taking the young men to the mat and making them beg for mercy. I suppose it had to do with her dominant tendencies. Anyway, the whole thing seemed like a good idea as I watched her disrobe and then remove the maxi-pad from between her legs. Even though my body ached all over and I was filled with exhaustion, I still managed to get a sizable erection at the thought of what was getting ready to happen. Danielle smiled with evident satisfaction when she came over to the bed and saw my erection jutting out in front of me. "I can already tell that the whipping wasn't hard enough," she stated. "I probably should've left the leather cord tied around your cock and balls."
"I'm a quick healer," I said.
"I'm curious," my wife continued as she climbed onto the bed beside me. "Did you really think I'd allow you to be seriously injured?"
"The pain had driven me to my limits," I answered. "I didn't think I could take any more."
"But, you did."
"Yes."
"I should give you another whipping for thinking so poorly of me."
"It's your fault for lying to me," I said.
"Your mouth is going to get you into trouble," Danielle warned. "We'd better put it to use before you say anything else."
I grimaced and then rolled my eyes.
"Get over here," she commanded, moving to the center of the bed and making herself comfortable. "Now!"
I obediently crawled over to her.
"I want you to first kiss my feet and then beg for the pleasure I'm about to bestow upon you."
"Do I have to?"
"There's that mouth again," she said.
I quickly lowered my head to her feet and began to diligently kiss them, reveling in this simple act that honored the woman I loved. I then begged my Mistress for the pleasure of worshipping her in the manner she demanded and that I secretly longed for. She slowly opened her legs and guided my head to the junction of her body, the source of all mystery, lifting her pelvis upward to meet my lips, whispering for me to do what I was best at…to satisfy her in a way that Anthony couldn't.
