Stories by Wayne C. Rogers

Cuckold Story: Making of a Submissive Husband, part 2

The passing minutes seemed like hours as I hung there in the darkness of the closet, alone with just my thoughts to keep me company. I could barely make out the different shapes of the clothes hanging on either side of me. The lingering scent of my wife’s perfume filled the enclosed room, luring me with its secret promises and making me long for her in ways I could only dream about. The sound of distant voices speaking softly to each other in the outer bedroom drifted in to me like gentle waves rolling onto a sandy beach, but I was unable to make out a single word of what was being said. It reminded me of two lovers whispering tenderly to each other, expressing feelings of joy, passion, and heartfelt lust. I suspected that my wife and her new lover, Tony, were lying on the king-size bed with their arms wrapped around each other as they contemplated the possibilities of having another bout of earth-shattering sex. Tony would now be ready to fuck again, and the next act of consummation would last somewhat longer than the previous one. He’d clearly been in too much heat during their first go-around. This time he would want to prolong the sexual tension, gradually carrying my wife to new heights of sexual arousal and excitement, fucking her slow and easy, penetrating deeply into her moist cunt with each forward thrust of his long, hard cock, until she eventually cried out for release.

And she would.

Tony’s the type of alpha male who likes to refer to himself as a sexual bull. When the ladies see him they fantasize about being fucked with his big cock, knowing that it will be the sex of a lifetime and that it will fulfill a hidden yearning they have to be taken by a strong, dominant male who can’t be tamed or possessed by them. For the most part Tony only has sex with married women. He loves to fuck other men’s wives (preferably while the spouse is forced to watch), satisfying them in ways that the husbands can’t. It continuously feeds his tremendous ego when the women become addicted to his sex organ and begin to hunger for it every moment of the day, not to mention in their heated dreams at night.

Though Gerry wasn’t quite to the addictive stage yet, she still enjoyed the intense humiliation I experienced whenever Tony came over to have sex with her. I knew she had infinitely more orgasms with him than she’d ever had with me. It was certainly evident in her loud moans of passion as he fucked her not once or twice, but several times during the course of an evening. Just the act of Tony entering her with his thick, heavy penis made my wife nearly cum with excitement. As for me, being cuckolded was certainly the ultimate test. It was one of the very few formats in which a dominant wife could gage the power she held over her spouse. What better way for a husband to prove his devotion than by permitting his wife to take as many lovers as she desired, while he was forced to remain faithful?

Though Gerry had known about the kinky side of my personality to a certain degree before we got married, it wasn’t until four weeks ago that she began to realize how strongly I desired to be dominated by a female. This surprising piece of knowledge came to her quite by accident when she discovered my hidden stash of erotica in the closet of my writing office. The box she pulled down from the back shelve by mistake—or maybe out of curiosity—was filled with over thirty glossy magazines, all of which centered on the theme of female domination. More than two-thirds of the magazines had a short story written by me in them with my actual name plastered across the front cover. I think that was the true tip-off regarding my sexual inclination. Along with the magazines was a well-worn paperback edition of Excess of Love by Jac Lenders, which had been published back in the late seventies. This erotic classic had been my first exposure to the concept of husbands being cruelly dominated and cuckolded by their sadistic wives, and to say that it had a profound affect upon my life would certainly be an understatement. I knew after reading Excess of Love for the first time that I wanted a marriage similar to one described within its pages.

Unbeknownst to me, Gerry read all of the magazines over the next few days, paying special attention to ones that had my fiction in them. When my wife flew to Los Angeles for a business meeting on the weekend following her discovery, she took Excess of Love with her so that she could read it on the airplane. As I was to later find out, the magazines and novel had the same “eye-opening” affect on her that I’d experienced, and the entire structure of our marriage would change dramatically when she returned home on Sunday night.

Remember, I was unaware of what was happening.

When I picked her up at the airport on Sunday evening, I wasn’t prepared for what was about to take place. She waited until we were on our way home—heading down Flamingo Avenue with the evening traffic—before nonchalantly taking the novel out of her pocketbook and laying it on the seat between us. I think my mouth dropped open and my eyes bugged out in sheer disbelief.

Gerry didn’t waste any time in getting to the point. She explained the accidental discovery of my erotica and how surprised she’d been at my interest in such a strange perversion. As I listened to the explanation, I kept waiting for her to ask me for a divorce. That’s what had happened in my previous two marriages. I was therefore dumbfounded when she admitted to masturbating while reading my fiction in the magazines, not to mention how sexually aroused she’d become on the airplane when reading Excess of Love.

I was speechless.

This had to be a dream!

My wife then asked me without the slightest bit of hesitation if I was ready to become a slave, or was it simply a fantasy I used when jerking-off? There was no beating around the bush with this lady. I was so surprised by the question that I nearly ran our car into the side of a passing vehicle. The other driver honked his horn, startling me even more.

Gerry laughed at the expression on my face.

I was still too rattled to answer her question. She told me to think carefully before saying anything, warning me that reality and fantasy were often two very different sides of the same coin. If I answered yes to her question, she’d expect everything we owned to be signed over to her and for me to submit totally to whatever she demanded. There would be no exceptions to the rule. I’d have to submit to severe whippings, humiliation of the worse kind, and to her taking other lovers whenever she desired. Once a commitment was made on my part, there would be no turning back to a vanilla relationship. I needed to give careful consideration to what I wanted out of the marriage and then decide if I was willing to pay the price to get it.

My mind was in a state of bewilderment by the time we pulled into the driveway of our home. I was confused, tongue-tied, and afraid to reach out for what I’d wanted for most of my adult life. We climbed silently out of the car, and I carried my wife’s luggage and garment bag into the master bedroom of the house with her following close behind. I sat everything down on the bed. When I turned around to ask her if she wanted me to cook something, she slapped me solidly across the face and ordered me to get down on my hands and knees like a dog.

I rubbed the side of my face and stared back at her in shock.

As I started to say something, her hand swung through the air a second time, and she hit me so hard that I literally saw stars. I heard her voice repeat the command, telling me once again to get down on my hands and knees. This time I obeyed her without question. I got down on the floor, lowered my head in submission, and waited for the next stage of the ritual to be played out. She then moved her right foot forward and demanded that I honor her. I knew what was required of me. Lowering my face to her stiletto-heeled shoe, I reverently kissed the toe of it as she asked me once more if I wanted to be her slave.

Yes, I told her.

She asked me if I understood the ramifications that would be involved in living a 24/7 lifestyle based on female domination.

I nodded my head.

Gerry instructed me to get undressed while she unpacked. As I removed my clothes, I watched her open the top of the suitcase and take out three wrapped packages. One was nearly twenty inches in length, while the other two were only a few inches in diameter. When I was finally naked, I picked up my clothes and shoes and carried them over to the loveseat that faced the small entertainment center in the corner of the room. I then returned to where Gerry was standing and got back down on my knees. She nodded in satisfaction and then handed me the long package to open.

I carefully unwrapped the paper from around the box as if it were a bomb. I didn’t know what to expect. My wife seldom bought me presents and though I was curious as to what was inside the box, I was also fearful. I suspected that it was an instrument for inflicting pain.

I was right.

When I opened the box, I saw an exquisitely made Spencer paddle, which is the crème de la crème of paddles in the world of corporal punishment. Designed from the finest mahogany, seventeen inches in length, three-quarters-of-an-inch in thickness, four inches at its widest with several precise holes drilled into the wood to increase the velocity of each stroke, I knew that I’d soon learn the true meaning of pain.

Taking the Spencer paddle from out of my hands, Gerry commanded me to bend over with my ass sticking high in the air and the side of my face pressed into the thick shag carpet. I was then told to place my hands behind my back and not to move from that position no matter how terrible the pain. This was to be a test of the utmost importance. She wanted to see if I was sincere in my desire to be a slave. Since I’d never been beaten before, there was no way I could prepare myself for what was to happen.

As I knelt there on the floor, my wife walked around me, tapping the paddle against the palm of her other hand. She began to go over the new rules of the house, starting with the fact that she wanted everything we owned signed over into her name. The reasoning behind her decision was that in order to control me, she had to have me financially at her mercy. I had to be placed in a situation where I couldn’t change my mind at the drop of a hat about wanting, or not wanting to be a slave. Of course, I was always free to ask for a divorce if I found myself unable to continue living the lifestyle of Mistress and slave. To do so, however, would ensure that I left with nothing but the clothes on my back.

She suddenly stopped talking, and I heard a strange whistling noise cutting through the air above and behind me. A moment later the paddle landed against my buttocks with a loud smacking sound. I gritted my teeth at the unbelievable pain that flooded my body like a tidal wave of pure agony.

The first blow had been too hard.

My wife needed to begin slowly with the beating, gradually building up to the harder strokes and giving me time to adjust to each new level of pain. I was on the verge of mentioning this to her when she hit me a second time. A cry of anguish escaped from between my lips.

The paddle quickly landed a third and a fourth and a fifth time.

Gerry then took a few moments to explain what would be expected of me around the house. I would be responsible for all of the household chores: the cooking, the laundry, cleaning the house, washing and waxing the cars, mowing the lawn, pulling the weeds in the backyard garden, doing the grocery shopping, taking the clothes to the dry cleaners, making sure that our three cats always had plenty of food and water, cleaning the kitty box on a daily basis, and a dozen other necessities that would leave my wife more time to relax and enjoy life. She also expected me to prepare her bath every night when she was home, to assist in bathing her, to pamper her with nightly body and foot massages, and to sexually service her in whatever manner she might desire. Though I heard everything that was being said, all I could think about was how hard she’d been hitting me. When I finally worked up the nerve to mention this to her, the audacity of my comment pissed her off and she started waling into me with the paddle. She hit me ten more times in quick succession, each stroke of the paddle being hard and fast. I was crying by the time she managed to get control of her anger.

My wife told me to never question her again about anything!

I watched as she walked over the bed and reached into the suitcase. She pulled out a balled-up pair of black-laced panties that she’d worn over the weekend. Stepping back over to me, Gerry knelt down and ordered me to open my mouth nice and wide. When I did, she stuffed the silky piece of lingerie into it.

I could smell the arousing scent of her perfume on them.

Then, standing back up, she began to paddle my ass in earnest. The loud smacking sounds of wood against flesh were sharp and distinctive within the confines of the bedroom. Each strike of the paddle caused my body to shudder and then to tighten up as I groaned in agony. I’d never feared my wife until this very moment. I now knew what she was capable of doing and it excited me. Though I didn’t become erect during the paddling, I was filled with an intense sexual energy.

I wanted the beating to stop; yet, I also wanted it to continue.

Talk about being fucked up!

My wife hit me twenty more times before deciding that her point had been made. By then I was whimpering like some forlorn child lost in the wilderness of indecision. I knew my bottom was raw and blistered, and that I wouldn’t be sitting down for the next couple of days. I could also hear her breathing heavily. She’d gotten off on the beating, enjoying the ecstatic sense of power at having another person under her control.

A minute passed in silence and then my wife calmly told me to take the panties out of my mouth and to get back up into a kneeling position. As I slowly rose to my knees, she informed me that the pain I’d experienced was only the tip of the iceberg. My training to become the perfect slave would be an ongoing process—one that she intended to take quite seriously. In fact, Gerry intended to buy a riding crop, a cat-of-nine-tails, and a short horsewhip on her next visit to Los Angeles. She’d found the ideal S&M store in West Hollywood to meet her specific needs for leather clothing, bondage equipment, paraphernalia, and instruments of torture.

Laying the paddle down on the bed, Gerry picked up one of the other gifts and handed it to me. There was a gleam of mischief in her dark eyes. She told me that I was going to enjoy this particular present. I tore off the paper and opened the box with a great deal of trepidation, not knowing what to expect. What I discovered was a male chastity device known as the CB-2000. It was one of the most effective ways in controlling a man’s orgasm. Once the device was locked firmly in place around a male slave’s genitals, there was no way for him to achieve an erection, or an orgasm.

Masturbation would then be out of the question!

My wife smiled wickedly and then told me to put on the device so that she could see how it looked.

I knew what she was up to.

Once I had the CB-2000 on and locked in place, she’d take the key and hide it, thereby assuming absolute control over my sex life and my will to resist. I tried to think of some lame excuse for not obeying her command, but it was a useless expenditure of mental energy. This is what happens when one’s fantasy is turned into reality. You swiftly become faced with unappealing choices, especially if your desire is to submit to a strong, dominant female. Women have the uncanny ability to size a man up, marking his strengths and weaknesses, along with the things that are necessary to manipulate him into performing exactly as they desire.

It took me a few minutes to read the instructions and then figure out how to fit my genitals into CB-2000. I took the circular ban of hard clear plastic and forced my limp penis and testicles through the small round opening. Once that was done, I eased the short cage-like device that was made out of thin bars of plastic over my cock and up against the circular ban. I put the locking pins in place and then fastened the metal lock through the tiny openings on both the cage and circular ban. This effectively locked them to together so that the cage-like device couldn’t be pulled off.

Gerry immediately held out her right hand for the three keys that had been included with the CB-2000.

I let out a sigh of resignation and then gave them to her.

She laughed at the solemn expression on my face and said that I’d soon grow accustomed to having the chastity device around my cock. Wearing it would make me a better slave and certainly more attentive to her personal needs.

Handing me the third present, my wife stated that this one was more for her than it was for me. Her words made me wonder if there was a metal stud inside the box. She’d already threatened to have the tip of my tongue pierced so that I’d be better at performing oral sex. I tore at the small package and finally got it open. Inside of the box was an expensive gold anklet. Her first name was engraved on it in beautiful script. Gerry instructed me to place the exquisite piece of jewelry around her right ankle, adding that when a dominant wife wears an anklet, it means that she’s sexually available to other men.

The chastity device and the anklet said it all.

My sex drive would now be totally controlled by my wife, while she would have the complete freedom to fuck any man she wanted. I was not only to be a slave, but also a cuckolded husband as well.

Gerry then told me with a certain amount of glee that she’d had sex with one of her male co-workers over the weekend. Her new lover’s name was Stephen, and he’d been the one to suggest that she buy me a male chastity device when they’d visited the store in West Hollywood. Following that profound revelation, my wife took off her clothes so that I could perform oral sex on her while she went on into great detail about Stephen’s prowess as a lover.

When my wife flew black to Los Angeles on the following weekend, she and Stephen spent most of Friday and Saturday night and Sunday morning fucking like the world was coming to an end. The sex turned out to be even better on the second trip. Gerry told me that she’d never felt so liberated and that she intended to continue her affair with Stephen whenever they traveled out of town together. Also, while they were in Los Angeles, she managed to pay a visit to the S&M store. She purchased the three instruments of torture that had been mentioned earlier, plus a pair of steel handcuffs and a rubber ball gag. This would be more than enough to get her started with my training and the games she wanted to play.

It wasn’t, however, enough to scratch the itch she suddenly had for fucking other men. I think that was the real reason she’d decided to instigate female domination into our marriage. It gave her the perfect excuse to cheat on me without having to feel guilty, or worry that I might find out about the illicit affairs. When Gerry got back from Los Angeles, she immediately went online and began to search Love@aol for a lover who was different from Stephen. I didn’t know it, but she was looking for a sexual bull to help dominate me. She wanted to push the envelope to see how far she could take my submission.

Now, three weeks after signing a slave contract and transferring everything we owned over into my wife’s name, here I was hanging by my neck in the darkness of our bedroom closet, listening to the sounds of her being fucked by another man. Yes, it was agonizing, but it was also one of the hottest experiences I’d ever had in my life.

Submissive Husband story, part 3