I Married a Sex Slave

It was Saturday morning, several months after my wife Connie had made her startling sexual confession to me – in which she wanted to be my sex slave in addition to being my spouse. In the intervening time, she had shown me what was necessary for me to be her Master. I had learned how to place her in bondage; discipline her (for offenses real and imagined); use her sexually (I was still a little leery of anal sex – but she seemed to enjoy it); and always find new ways of keeping her sexually stimulated.

Seated in the den, I was finishing off the NY Times, which was spread over the coffee table. Under the paper was a riding crop, which I could use on Connie at any time.

While I was reading the paper and drinking coffee (which Connie had served) Connie was doing the housework. Previously (that is, pre-slavery) she would do housework in a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Now she was wearing her Maid’s outfit, complete with collar and bondage bracelets on her wrists and ankles. Since wearing five-inch high heels can be a precarious situation on carpet, she only wore two-inch heels while doing housework. I didn’t want her breaking an ankle for the sake of a scene. The skyscraper heels could wait for either the bedroom or the playroom – when we were doing a scene. Lastly, I had buckled a dildo harness around her waist and across her thighs – Connie was therefore constantly sexually flushed and excited from the shaft within her wet sex.

Watching Connie at work, sometimes shuddering from an orgasm, I remembered a comment from my father, of all things.

They had gotten divorced when I was a teenager, and I bounced from one parent to another. But I never asked the reason for the divorce.

Finally, the day before my wedding, Dad took me aside and offered, “Sam, would you like to know why your Mom and I divorced?”

“Ah – yes,” I answered, surprised by my father’s sudden openness.

“Son, you’re getting married, and that’s the most wonderful thing that a man can do. But there’s one thing that you have to always remember – you have to be attentive to your wife.”

“Yes,” I replied, for lack of anything else to say.

“Sam, I thought that I was doing a man’s job by going out and earning a living. I worked long hours for the company, took on every tough assignment, traveled whenever and wherever they needed me. What did that get me? My wife became a stranger to me – and a divorce. Son, remember this – you have always got to be attentive to your wife’s needs – else just like a man – they will look elsewhere for companionship and sex.”

“Thanks Dad,” I answered.

I wonder what my father would think of me now. My wife in chains, subject to my every command, and her skin striped from the crop and my whip. Well, at least Dad couldn’t say that I wasn’t attending to her needs.

Just what is a normal guy supposed to do if his wife wants to be a slave?

Ding, Dong! Ding, Dong!

“It’s the doorbell, Connie, I’ll get it,” I shouted over the hum of the vacuum cleaner.

Rising from the couch I walked over to the front door, and through the vertical blinds I saw that her sister’s car was in the driveway.

“Its Sarah,” I said aloud.

“She wasn’t supposed to come over until later!” said Connie, “how am I going to explain this?”

“Here’s the keys to all of your locks – undress in the bedroom and make yourself normal again,” I said, pressing the key chain into her hand.

“Yes, Master!” answered Connie as she sped off into the bedroom to change.

Ding, Dong! Ding, Dong!

I raced over to the front door, and opened it to admit Sarah, Connie’s older sister. Sarah and Connie may have been sisters, but they were two completely different people. Connie was liberal, eager to try new things. Sarah was conservative, and wholly unimaginative.

“Hi, Sarah,” I greeted her, helping her with some packages that she had brought over for Connie.

“Hi Sam,” she answered.

I helped her inside, and we placed the packages in the foyer. I took her coat and hung it in the hall closet, and invited her into the house.

“I’m sorry to come over so early, but something suddenly came up and I was in the area, so I thought I’d just drop off the stuff and be on my way.”

“That’s fine,” I answered, “have a seat.”

Sarah seated herself in one of the den’s chairs, across from the couch.

“Connie is changing in the bedroom – she spilled something while cleaning up,” I excused my wife’s absence.

“So how are you two doing?” asked Sarah, “George and I haven’t seen too much of you lately.”

“Getting along just fine,” I answered.

The truth was that Connie and I found her sister and her husband both to be deadly bores – to be kept at arms length. Else George would chatter on about his job for what seemed like hours, and Sarah would have to recite every little insignificant detail about her life to us. I would sometimes call them bore and double bore – and Connie would agree with me totally.

“Hi Sis!” greeted Connie as she joined us in the Den.

“Hello, Connie. Sorry to drop in unexpectedly but as I was saying to Sam, I was in the neighborhood.”

“That OK,” Connie answered as she seated herself on the couch next to me.

Connie had changed into a sports shirt, blue jeans and sneakers. Just a few moments ago, well..

“So when are you two lovebirds going to have some kids?” Sarah asked.

“Who knows?” I answered, “maybe someday.”

“Tell me, Connie,” Sarah began, “When did you start playing bondage games again?”

“What?” Connie replied, shocked, “How did you know?”

In the months since Connie had become a sex slave, we had met with Sarah and her husband a few times, always at their house, and given no hint about our changed marital roles.

“How did you know?” demanded Connie.

“There’s a riding crop peeking out from under the paper,” Sarah answered.

She reached over, and picked it up, flexing it between her hands.

“I thought that you had gotten over this – after that other guy died, and you married Sam, who appeared to be normal. At least until now,” she acidly commented.

“For your information, it was me who started doing bondage again,” Connie answered, “and our sexuality is none of your business.”

“Just what I need, the excuses of a sex pervert,” Sarah answered.

“And what about your sexuality, Sis?” Connie enquired, “you just lay in bed with your legs open and let George do all the work – it’s a wonder that you both manage to stay awake during sex!”

“You’ve always been jealous of me sexually,” Sarah replied, “at least I’m not a pervert who has to wear funny clothes and get tied up to get my jollies.”

And I thought that it was only brothers who fought! There’s nothing stranger than hearing two sisters fight it our over their sexuality.

“When was the last time that you had an orgasm, Sis? Maybe you need one of my vibrators to come!”

“Now that’s enough!” I said, stopping them both, “Sarah, what we do in our own home is our business, not yours. It’s evident that you two have issues that date far back. So lets calm down and relax – this isn’t a men’s locker room.”

“Fine with me, I’m just leaving,” said Sarah as she rose from her chair, “I’ ll let myself out and let you two perverts alone.”

Sarah walked angrily over to the closet, put on her coat, and left, slightly slamming the door behind her with a small bang.

“Grrrrr!” said Connie, “she just gets me so mad sometimes – her and her moral preaching.”

“I take it she didn’t like your past sexual activities?”

“One day she came to my apartment, and I had forgotten to put away some of my bondage porn and toys – after that, she always called me a pervert,” concluded Connie.

“Well, nothing’s going to change her mind,” I observed.

At that moment, the mail door opened and some letters fell onto the floor.

“Pity we don’t have Thing to get the mail,” I said, rising from my seat.

“Thing?”

“Addams Family,” I answered.

“Oh.”

“Look honey,” I said, returning from the foyer as I opened a brown envelope, “our tax refund check for $500! Bush that this will stimulate the economy.”

“Yeah, and produce big deficits later!” Connie answered.

“What shall we do?” I asked, “save it or spend it?”

“Actually, Master,” I have a few additional toys in mind that we could purchase to improve our sex play.”

“Okay,” I answered, “what do you have in mind?”

“Back in a minute, Master,” said Connie.

“I got these off the net from a sex shop in NYC – these things will really enhance our sex play,” Connie opened a manila folder and produced some photographs.

“This is an armbinder, once I’m in this, I’m totally helpless,” said Connie, “and this is a ball-gag trainer, note the chin straps and those over the head. We don’t have any leg irons, and there is nothing like the feeling of being hobbled.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Have you ever been to an S&M shop, Master?” Connie asked.

“No, though I passed one in NYC once. Didn’t go in.”

“Just the smell of all that leather, latex, and PVC is enough to make me come from all the memories of the good times that I had,” said Connie.

“Did you like being a slave that much?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” she answered, “there was nothing better than a good scene the night before – even if I had trouble sitting down on a sore bottom for a few days.”

“Yes,” I answered.

Like my father said to me earlier, you have to be attentive to your wife’s needs. Unfortunately, there was nothing in my experience to cover my situation.

* * * * *

“What is your safeword?” I asked.

It was Midnight, and we were down in the Playroom. Connie was naked, and spread-eagled between the two ceiling columns. All she wore was a collar, her bondage bracelets, and a pair of five-inch heels. Like I said before – we reserve those for scenes only.

“Bondage Slut!” Connie answered.

“Kiss the flogger!” I ordered.

Connie kissed the flogger’s handle, and I was hot inside my leather vest, pants and boots. Why is it that fetish clothes looked so good on women, but left men looking like bikers?

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Ah!” Connie cried as she tensed against her bonds.

“There is no escape, slave,” I told Connie menacingly, with a hint of melodrama in my voice.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

I observed the way that Connie’s breasts would bounce after every impact of the flogger, which was composed of several strands of suede. It would leave broad red marks, but not break the skin.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Ah!!”

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

I kept up a steady rhythm of strokes with the flogger, making sure not to strike in the same area twice. I would first deliver a series of strokes on Connie’s breasts and belly, then her thighs and legs. Next, circling around to her back, I would strike her bottom.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

The only illumination was a lamp turned down low, with a red cloth covering it, making the room a dull red, we imagined it to be wooden torches in a dungeon somewhere.

“Ah!”

I reached between Connie’s legs to her sex, and found that it was sopping wet. Without saying anything else, I then thrust my wet fingers between her lips.

“Lick off your juices, you wanton slut,” I told her.

“Thank you Master!” Connie gasped, panting from her flogging.

I then made her kiss the flogger, and released her. I forced Connie to her knees, and opened my pants, releasing a monster erection.

“Suck your Master’s cock,” I ordered, “Or the flogging will continue!”

Connie enfolded her mouth around my rock hard erection, sucking greedily to bring me to climax. Just for effect, I ran the strands of the flogger over her back in order to stimulate her.

She sucked at my cock like a vacuum cleaner, and it didn’t take long (given that I pretty ready for a climax just from flogging her) for my cock to start pulsing come into Connie’s mouth. I watched as Connie swallowed it all. She had made a big deal out of the idea that a slave can be used by her Master in any way, in any of her “holes.” So she never protested – even when she sucked my cock, or infrequently fucked her up the ass.

“That was very good slave,” I told her, “now I’m going to take you on the rug – so open your legs and raise your bottom!”

“Yes, Master!” Connie instantly obeyed my orders.

I took off my boots, vest, and finally the hot leather pants. Nude, I fucked her on the floor, right there on the carpet.

Just another average weekend in my house.

* * * * *

We entered the Fetish Shop in NYC Sunday, the next day. Rather than take the train (my idea) Connie suggested that we drive in and park the car in a garage. So here we were in NYC – shopping for “toys.”

After getting buzzed inside, the first thing that struck me was the aroma of the place. It reminded me of a tire shop, where I used to work in the summer during College.

“This is really great!” said Connie.

“Can I help you with something?” asked the female clerk behind the counter.

“We’ll look around,” Connie answered.

For the past several months, I had been watching Connie’s bondage videotape collection, and we had even bought a few new titles by mail order. That, plus the books I had read, and finally my searching online had prepared me for my first visit to an S&M shop. Looking at all the various items of dress (leather, latex, PVC); bondage devices; and punishment items (riding crops, paddles, and whips) I had a pretty good idea of what to expect behind the blacked out windows and electrically operated front door.

Still, it was a quiet shock to realize that this stuff was actually used on people on the receiving end. Picking up a paddle and striking it against my hand, I realized that I could buy this little toy and have Connie over my knee that night, reddening her bottom. The weird fact was that she would enjoy it – and I was getting to enjoy it – and that was the hardest thing to reconcile.

“Master, what do you think of this?” asked Connie, holding up a set of leg irons.

“Fine, dear,” I answered, “that was on the list, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

I suppose that anywhere else but here (or in a S&M club – we hadn’t gone that far just yet) it would be socially acceptable for me to be called Master in public. Suddenly I remembered the early episodes of “I Dream of Jeannie” (the first season was in B&W) where Tony had to keep Jeannie from calling him “Master” in public.

The next hour proved to be one of the strangest shopping experiences in my life. It was one thing to see bondage devices in films or printed out in catalogs – quite another to see them on display. This wasn’t like shopping at Macy’s!

For an hour my wife and I discussed the merits of handcuffs, leg shackles, penis gags, armbinders, and various other toys. Finally, the salesgirl was able to ring up the sale, and I certainly had obeyed the President’s suggestion to spend our tax rebate to stimulate the economy.

We had purchased a leather armbinder; paddle; riding crop; leg shackles; a butt plug; a leather blindfold; gleaming stainless steel handcuffs (two pairs, one with a few more links between the cuffs – Connie said they were for using above her elbows); a rubber bra and two rubber panties (one with rubber dildo); and a couple of new videotapes.

“Well,” I said holding the bag on the way out, “I suppose that the economy won’t be the only thing that gets stimulated by our purchases.”

“Huh?” asked Connie.

“Inside joke.”

“Connie is that you?” asked a woman just entering the shop.

“Barbara – Barbara!” said Connie as she rushed over and gave the woman a big hug, kissing her on the lips.

“Connie, how great to see you again! Where have you been?” she asked.

“Out of the scene for awhile, let me introduce you to my husband, Sam.”

“Hello,” I said cautiously.

“Husband – you got married.”

“Yes, after my Master got killed in a car crash – Sam here swept me off my feet, and I got all normal – until recently, that is.”

“Where are you two off to?” asked Barbara.

“Home, we drove into the city,” I answered.

“I can put off shopping for a few hours, why don’t we have lunch at the diner around the corner? That way Connie and I can catch up on old times,” suggested Barbara.

“Sure,” I answered.

* * * * *

The three of us were seated at a booth together. I had ordered a burger, Connie a salad, and Barbara a grilled cheese.

“Do you remember the time,” Barbara began, “when we came in here that night you were wearing that rubber blouse, and it caught on a coat hook and ripped all the way off?”

“But the best part was that I wasn’t wearing a bra underneath!” laughed Connie.

“When did this happen?” I asked.

“One night we came here for a late dinner after we went to the Cell Door; a club a few blocks downtown. In the evenings this place is well known to the leather crowd; and during the day they have munches for the newbies who want to get into the scene.”

“Oh,” I answered.

“So you’re happily married, Connie,” observed Barbara.

“Yes, how about you and Doug?”

“We’ve done very well together, we now have a weekend house in Rockland County. It’s just so big! Doug put in a wonderful playroom downstairs, complete with jail cells! And we also have a set of stocks, and a rack too! Why don’t you two come up to our place for a long weekend – I’m sure that we could have some great fun.”

“Could we, Sam?” Connie asked.

“Sure, why not,” I answered, “It would be nice to meet others in the scene.”

“So where did you two meet?” Barbara asked.

“In a bar,” Connie replied, “I decided to go out alone for a drink, and Sam introduced himself, and then we started dating, and marriage soon followed.”

“That’s wonderful! I remembered how broken up you were after losing your Master – are you into the scene?”

“I wasn’t before I met Connie,” I answered, “but now I’m learning.”

“That’s wonderful!” Barbara replied.

* * * * *

“Well that was certainly an interesting experience,” I said as we exited the Queens-Midtown Tunnel onto the LIE.

“Shopping or meeting Barbara?” Connie asked.

“Both.”

“Did you have a nice time?”

“Yes. Tell me, just how well do you know Barbara?”

“Her Master Doug and my Master were the best of friends, and Barbara and I were friends as well. For a punishment sometimes I’d be given over to Doug and Barbara. They would whip me to a frenzy, then make me service them sexually.”

“Oh,” I answered.

Meaning that my wife had been not just a slave, but also a sexual plaything for others.

“And sometimes it would be reversed – we would take Barbara for a weekend, and it would be my turn. I would crop her bottom till she couldn’t sit down, then fuck her with a dildo.”

“That’s pretty interesting,” I answered, “certainly much more exciting than just ordinary wife swapping.”

“Of course,” Connie replied.

“Would you really like to see them for a weekend?” I asked.

“I’d love to – Barbara and I were such good friends, and she was just so good in bed!”

“Did you have a good time today?”

“I certainly did – I just can’t wait for you to use those new toys on me.”

The drive back to our house on Long Island was perfectly normal. Somehow I kept having this dream that a cop would pull us over, and wonder just what that bag of stuff was in the trunk. Instead, we made it back without incident. Even the Sunday traffic was less than usual.

Back home, Connie opened the bag and placed all our purchases on the coffee table in the den. She looked like a child at Christmas opening gifts, the look of expectation on her face was truly remarkable.

“Would you like to lock me in handcuffs, Master Sam?” Connie asked, “you’ll just love the sound when the ratchets click, making me helpless.”

Connie offered me the handcuffs, and obliged by turning round and placing her hands behind her back. I picked up the gleaming stainless steel handcuffs, pushed one side through the other as a test, then locked the cuff on Connie’s right wrist, followed by her left. Connie then proceeded to pull without effect on the cuffs, showing how the steel held her implacably.

Connie had worn a white blouse and a short skirt, the easier to remove to try fetish clothing on. On her feet were a pair of modest heels.

I grabbed the leg irons, and locked one cuff around one ankle, then the next.

Connie was now totally at my mercy.

“Satisfied, slave?” I asked her.

“Yes..Master,” she answered cautiously.

I opened the buttons of her blouse, and placed my hand down her bra. Connie ‘s nipples were as usual hard and erect.

“Slut!”

“Yes, Master,” Connie, answered, “I’m a bondage slut.”

I held up the armbinder – from what I saw in the films, this was quite an interesting little device.

“Does this turn you on?” I taunted her.

“Yes, Sir!”

“I’ll bet that you’re wet between your legs!”

“Yes, Master.”

“Well in that case,” I told her, “you deserve a spanking!”

I pulled Connie over my knee, and the sound of the metal links in her chains was quite a turn-on. Helpless, I removed her skirt and pulled her panties down. Connie’s pink bottom was just inviting me to give her a spanking!

Whack! Whack! Whack!

I began by spanking Connie lightly, just barely reddening her bottom. It’s a good idea to start slowly, and build up for stronger strokes later. Besides, it makes the scene last longer.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Most men, I thought, would probably be watching one sport or another on TV for a Sunday afternoon. I instead had my wife in cold steel, and was spanking her bottom.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

I picked up a dildo that had been left on the coffee table, and inserted it into Connie’s wet slit. I pushed it in as far as it could go.

“Hold that inside you, slut! Or there will be a worse punishment later!”

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Kiss the paddle,” I ordered Connie, and she obliged.

I than switched from using my hand to spank her and progressed onto the paddle.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Beep! Beep!

At that moment, the cordless phone on the coffee table started to buzz.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Is this Sam?” asked a woman on the other end.

“Yes.”

“This is Joan, one of Connie’s co-workers. Is she there? I’d like to ask if she could take me to work tomorrow – my car is in the shop.”

I unlocked Connie’s handcuffs and sat her back on the couch, and handed her the phone.

“It’s for you,” I told her.

* * * * *

That night, I watched as Connie fell asleep next to me, and the rise of her chest as she softly snored.

Joan’s call had interrupted the mood – that was the problem with doing a scene during the day. You never knew if the phone or doorbell would ring. And it would be a little hard to explain having Connie in chains to someone not in the scene.

‘Well Dad,’ I said to myself, “I guess I’m attending to my wife’s needs.”