Every time I tried to be reasonable, trying to convince my wife of the risks of her wild plans, it led to a heated argument. Like she wanted to close her eyes to all the dangers that a complete surrender of power would entail. Her desire for this appeared so intense that it seemed more like a craving than anything else. I knew damn well what we had done in the past when we just got married. I simply didn’t understand why she would want to go – not only back to this, but – far beyond we have done.
Why didn’t I? What went awry with me? Why was I reluctant to take the role millions of men would sacrifice anything for? To be the Head of the Household, the Master of the House. The Demigod that just made a wish and his servant would move heaven and earth to grant that wish. In all religions with jealous gods, there is a strong oppression of women. I have the highest level of familiarity with the Christian God, but the Jewish and Muslim Gods are not any better. Read the Handmaids Tale.
At 13, during the onset of puberty, I noticed that something seemed off within me. At 15, at my peak of jerking off three to four times daily, I knew I was a danger to all women. The pictures I looked at were not innocent titties, but women in tight bondage. The deeper the ropes bit into the flesh, the more tissues I needed. I knew that if this was something I couldn’t control, I would certainly end up in prison.
“Beating a woman is the ultimate act of cowardice and disgrace for a man”, my mother had told me over and over again. And she was right of course. So I stayed away from all kink with my girlfriends in school. Until I met Sylvia. She possessed a unique quality, not just her beauty and intelligence, but also her understanding of my quirks. I had found my soulmate. She wasn’t afraid to tell me the truth quite often. However, in the bedroom, this girl’s submissiveness surpassed even my dominance. So we experimented a lot. All in good fun.
After we’ve got the kids, I guess I grew up as well. We both grew as a person. Despite the hardships we faced, our bond remained unbreakable, providing us with the strength to tackle any problem head-on. Through thick and thin, we always supported each other, whether it was with money, family matters, or dealing with the challenges of our sons’ puberty problems. If the concept of a soulmate exists, Sylvia is mine.
This submissive year came as a total surprise for me. Sue me for failing to observe that Sylvia was grappling with those emotions. My standard response to my wife is ‘Hey, I didn’t notice, but then I am just a man.’ Well, that didn’t work this time. Looking back, I now see I should have come to that realisation. I attempted to tame the audacity of her proposal, but like a rebellious teenager, the more I pushed back, the more she craved what I cautioned against.
Suddenly, I was in the attic. I couldn’t remember coming up here. My eyes scanned the attic. Behind the massive cage that had required a tremendous amount of effort to position, we had mounted a huge rack holding all the items Sylvia had purchased in the shop. On the top row several kinds of gags. Plastic balls, rubber balls, inflatable gags, you name it. Below that, different nipple clamps and a bucket full of clothespins. On the bottom row were several whips and canes. I looked at it in awe. My wife had bought this so I could use in on her. Her fearless display of wanting made me wonder why I felt so afraid to fulfil her desires. Could it be true that she would truly walk away from me for another person who will meet her deep yearning? I thought she was bluffing, but did I want to find out the hard way?
Definitely not.
And I know you wouldn’t either. Winning the jackpot ensures you don’t frivolously spend your money.
I made the decision. A tremendous weight fell off my shoulders. All my adult life, every option I had ultimately led me back to my wife, there was never any other choice.
After coming downstairs, I wrote a brief message for her and placed it on the dining table in the kitchen where she would easily spot it. After that I showered, shaved and changed appropriate clothes. A leather pants and an expensive shirt. I took a bunch of things with me from downstairs and, on impulse, I carried a comfortable chair from the bedroom to the dungeon. I made myself comfortable in it and waited.
After about an hour, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Completely nude, compliant with the note I left behind, She had a note of her own pinned to her left chest.
“At ease, girl.” A soldiers’ daughter, remember? With her hands folded at her back, legs slightly bent and apart, I took the two coloured head pins out of her right tit, each half a centimetre deep to keep the note in place. On both sides of the nipple, a hint of a drop of blood appeared, not more.
Sylvia had written in her own neat writing, ‘Beloved Master. I deeply regret my actions of fleeing in anger and I apologise. Please punish me harshly, for I have wronged you. I love you.’ A hastily sketched heart visually reinforced those words.
Looking down with intensity, my wife assumed a posture of submission, her eyes locked onto the ground.
“I don’t want to hear a word from you yet. Put on this posture collar and stand in the corner over there.” We had a special penalty corner with a chain mounted to a beam. At the height of her throat, on the other end of the chain, there was a musketon hook. After she hooked herself up, she was staring in a mirror I had mounted there for introspection.
“Keep the chain taut and your hands clasped behind your neck. Don’t use the time to look how pretty you are, instead think about what went wrong and why.”
I set the timer on my phone for 10 minutes and grabbed my John Norman novel. But my mind wasn’t there. Sometimes the ‘I am just a slave girl, what else can I do but to obey’ repetition can get old, you know what I mean? Perhaps I the image in the corner was distracting me. A beautiful nude girl with a beautiful rigid posture collar around her throat. Tied with a very short metal chain to the wall. After a few minutes, the pose of holding your hands at the back of your neck can be tiring. I said it before and I will say it again: if there is one person in the world that can maintain a pose for 10 minutes without moving a muscle, it would be my Sylvia. Despite the absence of any instruction to remain completely motionless, she inexplicably did so. Because she knew it would make me feel proud of her. The timer went off suddenly, making a loud ring and ending the corner time too quickly. In the future, I had to increase its duration.
“At ease. You know, just thinking. We need to go to this piercing studio to get you a nice septum ring so I can lock you to the wall by your nose.” She knew I wouldn’t do such a thing, of course. I clicked the hook from the D-ring of the collar. She averted her eyes, constantly glancing downwards to ensure that I wouldn’t catch her gaze.
“Look at me!” Her head jerked up, and she looked straight at me. Still not looking into my eyes, but somewhere around my chin.
“How can you please me, little one, if you don’t look into my eyes? How do you know what I want? How can you find out if you can do better? Always keep your eyes locked on me, little one. In every position.” I breathed.
“Yes, Sir.” It was almost a whisper.
“Good. Now explain to me why you need to be punished.”
“Because I shouted at you and I lost my temper, Sir. I am truly sorry.”
I chuckled. “Yes, your temper is something we’ve got to control, don’t we, girl?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But that’s not all. Tell me the real reason I should not hold back when I punish you.” I said.
“Because I was pushing you, Sir?”
“Are you asking or telling me this, little one?”
Her voice sounded firmer now. “I am sorry for pushing you, Sir.”
“But that was not the reason you had to apologise to me, right?”
“I… I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” The last part came out almost in tears, her voice trembling with frustration as she struggled to understand what I was searching for. Time to come to the aid of this poor girl, relieving her of her misery.
“I suggest next time you stand here in the corner, and I promise you that will be often, you stop looking in that mirror, admiring yourself how pretty you are. Instead, think about what happened so you can apologise properly. I’ll assist you this time since it’s your first day. What was hurting me deep inside that you fail to understand that I just want to present all the risks involved in your plans and to make sure you fully understood what you were going in to. You have said many times that your aim is to please me, but all have seen so far is it all revolves around you, my little one. And for that, you may choose to 25 with the flogger on your tits or 5 on your butt with the cane.”
“I will abide by what you decide, Master.”
“Let’s loosen up my arm muscles a bit and let’s get crazy. We will do both. Ain’t that nice of me?”
Sylvia groaned. “Yes, master. Thank you, master.”
“Don’t thank me now, little one. You will thank me after I’m finished.”
I tied her arms to the X-cross. Thanks to Sylvia, I had given priority to making it. Getting the two ridiculously heavy beams up into the attic had taken me two years of my life and left me with a half-broken back. Can you refresh my memory on why I decided against building the magnificent long railway track in the attic and instead constructing my dungeon in its rightful place, the cellar? The wrist and ankle cuffs were not yet attached, but a couple of ropes took care of that inconvenience. Within minutes, my slave girl was providing a pretty nice target for my flogger. Obviously, I was out of practice.
“I need to warm up before I begin, little one. So don’t count these warming-up strokes. I will tell you when to count.” I smiled. A little devious, I hope. “Beside you will notice it as well when we get started.”
I’m a tit man. Some guys love the ass, but my first focus on a woman is her tits. Like in any first world country, the tits of women here in the Netherlands vary from large to ridiculously large. I’m a small titty man myself. My Sylvia has the most perfect tits here in the entire country. Not just mere bumps on a flat chest, not sagging ugly titties, but a perfect handful. Tits that didn’t need a bra because they were firm and lusty and round. My Sylvia is gorgeous from top to bottom.
I started by moving my wrist gently in a circular motion, allowing the flogger to lightly touch her body. After a while, I switched to horizontal strokes. From the left against the left tit and in one movement back to the right one. Still, without applying force, more of a caress than a stroke. After about 10 from either side, I increased the strength of my strokes a bit. I wish I could do this nicely and gradually. I delivered the first stroke with such force and intensity that I immediately realised I had miscalculated my strength.
“One”, cried Sylvia. I stopped and looked at the damage. Her right tit was quite a bit more red than her sister on the left. Not smooth Koen, but no permanent harm done either. I waited a bit and just for the sake of justice, I hit her left tit with the same amount of force.
“Ahhhh, auwiejouwiejouwie”. I waited for the count that she forgot because of the pain.
With less strength, I delivered the next one, taking his time to admire the redness of her tits. Caressing with my finger tops the top of her breasts.
“There is so much white skin here, little one, but not for long. When I’m done with you, your tits will look like boiled lobster and maybe feel a bit warm the rest of the day as well.”
“Please, can you put my gag in for me, so my wailing will not distract Master?” she said.
“Oh, no. I want to hear your scream, little one. I want to see if I can be capable of filling the entire attic with your screams.” Taking a step back and falling into a rhythm, I delivered the next strokes faster until I reached 20. By now, I had effectively warmed up her tits. Her nipples were hard, so I drifted my hand south to check the temperature between her thighs. She was nice and wet down there.
“Oh, my little girl is excited. Not only are your nipples little rocks, but your pussy is fuckin’ wet as well. You are a little pain slut, aren’t you? You like to be ruled by your cunt, you love you can’t move an inch so your master can beat you where ever he wants, huh?”
I whispered in her ear, moving my cock that felt strained in my pants against her belly. I slowly inserted one finger in her cunny, but my middle finger wanted to join the party as well. So they danced together. Although they were dancing to a slow song, they had a will of their own. My fingers moved faster and faster and I felt that if I would touch her clit just once, Sylvia would come for me. Sometimes I can read her body even better than she can do it herself. I halted.
“The last will be hard, little one. These five are going to hurt more than the 20 before all together, so brace yourself.”
“Please don’t hold back on my account, Sir.” She said.
“Did I give you permission to speak cunt?” And I delivered the next one, not using all my strength, of course, but much harder. I tried to polish up my rusty skills a bit by increasing the force of the blow each time a little harder. OK, I still needed a bit more practice to get it right.
Tears were making a mess of her make-up. The girl looked just fine without, so I made a mental note to save some money on make-up items in the future. I wanted to give her a little breathing space, so I went down to the fridge and got a couple of small water bottles out. Mental note number 2: get one of those small fridges in the dungeon, so I don’t have to go two flights of stairs down to replenish the body fluids.