An Other's Evening

This is a retelling of a contented Femdom relationship, this time told from the husband's perspective. While it can stand on its own, reading the original account, An Evening at Home, by the wife might give a fuller view.

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I hurry to finish my after dinner clean up as my wife goes to freshen up and change out of her day time clothes into something more comfortable and appropriate for the rest of the evening. She is a very successful businesswoman running a marketing firm which she had founded, while I am an increasingly well known and regarded writer of mystery novels, having a dozen already published and under my belt. In the outside world, to our many friends, family, and associates, with whom we very often enjoyably socialize and entertain, we are very well liked and felt by most to be a very engaging and compatible power couple. In our home however, there is only one power. She is my Goddess, my Queen, and I am her acolyte, her serf, and neither of us would ever have it any other way.

Although my career doesn't require me to leave the house I am up every day at the crack of dawn, to first take care of my own morning necessities, and then to prepare breakfast for us both while my wife rises to take care of her own. After we eat and chat about this and that she sets out any instructions she may have for me for the day before leaving for her work as I clean up the morning mess. I then begin the four hours, usually 9 to 1, which she insists that I set aside each day for my writing, much to the appreciation of my editor and publishers even as they do not know the source, as my enforced discipline in this regard does keep me very professionally productive.

The rest of every afternoon is spent doing my household chores. I am not expected to do everything every day, but instead it is divided up to get it all done over the course of the week. Mondays are for changing the bed linens and doing all the laundry. Tuesdays are for full cleaning of the upstairs rooms, and Wednesdays for all the downstairs ones. Thursdays are for scouring and scrubbing all the bathrooms and any outside maintenance that needs to be done, and Fridays are for all the shopping, grocery and otherwise. I work extremely hard to meet my wife's exacting standards in all of these duties and am very proud that she doesn't feel the need to check on the quality of my duties all that often anymore. Still there are occasional deficiencies that are discovered that need to be dealt with. She does not believe in corporeal punishment, but I have found that her strong reproof, the withholding of certain intimacies, and much worse, her explicitly expressed disappointment, stings far worse that any cane or paddle, and is a far more effective corrective.

The last two hours before her anticipated arrival home every night I spend preparing our dinner for the evening. I still glow over her complements over our meal this night, something she rarely fails to do, but I myself also thought that the Veal Marsala tonight was especially good.

I had already wiped and scrubbed the dining table and the kitchen counters and washed and dried all the pans and plates but had not yet put them all away when I hear her return to the living room.

"Are you done yet dear?" she calls out to me.

I wince as I reply, "Almost."

Several long and excruciating seconds pass before, "Would you please bring me in a glass of wine." She finally answers.

She almost always phrases her desires of me as polite requests, often adding a 'please', but I fully understand that these are actually commands meant to be acted upon without delay.

"Right away, Ma'am" I call back.

I am allowed to call her by name at any time, and always do so when we are out, but if it is just the two of us alone I usually use an honorific, which I know that she considers appropriate and pleasing. I rush to obey and pour her a glass of her favorite Pinot Noir and bring it into her. She is already settled into her personal recliner with the novel that she is currently reading resting on her lap as I hand the wine to her.

"Thank you, sweetheart" she says as she smiles up at me and I melt in its warmth, also as my tardiness in completing my chores on time is apparently silently forgiven. She is wearing her lace fringed cream-colored nightgown with its matching robe. I of course am naked, as she requires of me when we are home alone. During the day I am allowed to wear whatever I want as long as it is all shed before she gets home. When we go out together, especially for social outings, she likes to dress me up smartly, so much so that I've acquired quite the reputation as a clothes horse, which I appreciate only in that it makes me of that much more value and worth to her as her arm candy.

At home though she prefers me 'au natural' as she like to put it, giggling that it lets her oogle me any and at all times that she wishes without any covering hindrance. It also serves of course as to more than subtly reinforce and enhance our respective stations.

I hasten back to the kitchen to finish my tasks there, and then return to the living room. This time she does not acknowledge me, as she had started to read her book. I quietly kneel down at the end of her chair, to be readily available for any need she might have of me.

I raise my eyes to stare at the bottoms of her perfect feet, which are resting lazily on the raised end of the recliner. I do not have a particular foot fetish but I am ever ensorcelled by her feet, and incessantly long to pamper and pay homage to them. She has generously given me ongoing permission to indulge this veneration on my own volition as long as it remains humble and chaste ... unless and until she desires and encourages otherwise.

Leaning forward I softly bring my lips to the base of her toes, savoring their scent and taste, ever sweet yet slightly salty after their long day's use and toil. Entranced, I slowly brush the bottoms of each toe, going back and forth from one foo to the other, time and time again. Totally mesmerized I lose all track of time and have no idea how long this continues, even as my knees, long used to extended time in this position, eventually begin to ache. In the space that I am in this is a very minute price to pay for my passion. Immersed in her reading I do not know if she is even aware of my continuous adoration, until I hear her close her book as she raises her foot away from me and begins to wave and wiggle her toes. This is my signal to take my devotion to a higher level.

Hungrily I bring my face back up to the bottom of that foot, fully extending my tongue out to run it in broad strikes up and down the heel, arch and sole of first one then the other foot, back and forth several times before settling once again at her toes, licking around and between each before taking one and then several at a time into my mouth, gently and then ever more vigorously sucking and slurping as she pushes them deeper and deeper within as if she wants nothing more than to have me devour them entirely. And I make every effort to enthusiastically comply.

She abruptly jerks her foot from my mouth and sits forward as she puts the leg rest of the recliner down. She then wraps both of her feet around the back of my neck and urges my head forward and down, directing me in no uncertain terms to seek and then unlock and unleash the glories within her still cloaked treasure. Once again using my tongue as a guide I slowly lick my way from the top of her calf over the back of her knee and onto her inner thigh, then bowing my head to slip under the end of her nightgown. My breath hitches and my heart hammers as I come to face my holiest of holies. She often likes to tease that she frequently allows others to worship her so, which always has its desired effect on me. I do know deep inside though that she has inviolately vowed that she will only ever be for me, and me alone.

I inch ahead to softly blow on her already moist outer petals, and I sense her shudder in response. Emboldened, I flick my tongue out to the crease between to entice them open. As they do so I begin to search for and eventually find her most precious jewel, which I playfully nibble at, drawing forth a whispery moan. I am ever humbled, yet exhilarated, that she allows herself to be so vulnerable to me, even as she knows that I will never take advantage except to advance and enhance her pleasure.

As my tongue burrows further within, her hips begin to sway and her now more frequent moans merge into a melody of delight, inspiring me to even more fervent exertions. She gasps as I intrude a finger inside, that become even louder pants as my second finger follows and they begin to explore, stretch and swirl within her inner recesses. These grow into a chorus of guttural groans and growls as my third finger invades to entwine with the other two to begin to thrust back and forth, ever more rapidly as her body rocks in unifying rhythm. And I can strongly sense her imminent explosion.

Overwhelmed by the moment I can't stop myself from again becoming more intimately involved. I pull my fingers from her suddenly, leaving her momentarily bereft at the edge of the precipice before bringing my mouth greedily back to her font. I stiffen and extend my tongue more than I believe possible, rolling it lovingly over her so sensitive nub before plunging it into her depth, driving it relentlessly in and out, over and over, striving and straining to reach and ignite her very core. My frenzied efforts are finally rewarded as her back arches up and she cries out in an aria of ecstasy as her exquisite essences burst forth in wave after wave, washing over and anointing my face, my lips and my still pistoning tongue. I clamp my mouth more tightly upon her so as to not be deprived of a single drop as he bucks uncontrollably on and on, seemingly without end, until fully sated and spent she collapses back into her chair in complete contentment.

As I wait for her to recover and return from her divine pinnacle I remain on my knees as is my place, suspended in my own state of sublime subservience. After uncounted time she begins to stir and sit up. She looks down upon me and smiles and I nearly swoon basking in its glow. She glances down below my waist to note my ongoing enthrallment, still standing firmly at attention and throbbing helplessly before her.

Intrinsic to the very nature in this realm of our relationship is my unyielding acceptance that any of my own satisfaction is derived solely from the satisfaction that I bring to her. Anything offered beyond this is a gift given only and ever at her own discretion. That she more than occasionally does so, sometimes even bringing the whole of me gloriously inside of her so that we can share the heights together, is a joy beyond measure. I am never to expect or anticipate such however, or ever ask or beg unless she so desires. But I cannot help but always be in hope.

Tonight though there will be no such dream, as she rises and beckons me to follow for her nightly message. After entering our bedroom I help to remove her robe and nightgown and she then lays down upon the bed, gracing me with the dazzling vision of her full beauty. I slowly knead from the whole of her body any last vestiges of the tensions and stresses of her day. When I finish, with her permission I then lay down beside her, as we do each and every night. After a prolonged and enchanting embrace cuddling together, although never as long as I would wish, she rises up to lightly kiss me on the forehead before then more firmly on my lips, pressing her tongue through to joyously merge with mine, savoring the taste of herself upon me. Pulling away she whispers how much she loves and cherishes me, to which I devoutly respond in kind. She turns on he side, her back still pressed tightly against me and begins to slip into a slumber which I'm sure will be far more peaceful that the fitful one the I will have in my continued heightened and unrelieved state. This though, even in itself, is an agony so sweet as to further sharpen my resolve and never-ending conviction that the only thing I ever want in life is to be all of this ... and do all of this ... with ... and for her.

Day after day

Again ... and again ... and again.

Until the end of time.