Fem-Dom Saved Our Marriage

It all started the day I caught Michael masturbating.

Actually, it was worse than that. You see, I actually watched my husband at it for over a minute before he spotted me. It was a Saturday morning. I'd been to the local garden centre to buy plants, and he thought I was still out shopping.

I took my purchases into our back garden and saw the curtains of his ground floor den were open. He normally used to close them because, apparently, the sunlight made it hard for him to see his computer screen while he was working. But that fateful morning, because I was out, he hadn't bothered to close them.

So, I didn't just walk in on him. I actually watched this ridiculous sight of my 51yr old husband with his pants down round his ankles, the lower buttons of his shirt undone, his fist frantically jerking his penis up and down, his red face glued to the screen, eyes bugging and mouth drooling.

Suddenly he turned and saw me staring at him through the glass.

Then I had to watch this even more ludicrous sight of him simultaneously trying to adjust his clothes, rearrange his facial features and pretend he was working, all while his erection bobbed in his lap like a flag of surrender. He forced a fake smile and gave me a weak wave.

We both knew this was the final straw.

Anyway, that turning point took place in 2015, over seven and a half years ago. Now, as I lie back on our bed on a glorious Saturday morning, not unlike the sunny weather that momentous day, his forehead framed between my pale thighs, his eyes gazing up at me, his tongue burrowing into my hairy bush, I can happily reflect on how that 'last straw' actually saved our marriage.

I only discovered oral sex - as in cunnilingus - after I began dominating Michael. Never once had he taken the initiative and suggested or offered it to me. Instead, in the early years of our marriage, he would try to get me to perform orally on him, as in fellatio. He never even proposed a quid pro quo.

But then he also used to pester me to wax my vagina. He even intimated I should get a so-called boob job and, latterly, nagged me to wear some trashy lingerie that he'd wasted our money on. As we got older, he told me I should exercise more, eat less, use more makeup, blah, blah, blah. In short, he always put himself first and attempted to act all dominant with me.

Of course, as it turned out, this machismo was all a front.

Michael and I got married when I was only 20 and he was 25. We had both our darling girls within three years. Make no mistake, we were both very much in love. Michael is a fundamentally decent man. But, over the next couple of decades we 'fell out of love'. However, unlike many of our friends, we stayed together while they mostly divorced, separated or had affairs.

Whereas the passion in our marriage may have diminished but the affection still lingered. We rubbed along together while our children grew up. We both had careers and enjoyed a reasonable lifestyle. I'm a regular churchgoer while Michael played golf at weekends, so we also gave each other a bit of personal space.

Then, one Saturday, I discovered that Michael was having an affair. Well, not an affair, a so-called one-night-stand after a drunken office party the evening before. He swore it was a terrible mistake that had never happened before and it would never happen again. Obviously, I believe in the sanctity of marriage vows and 'forsaking all others'. But to me divorce is even worse than infidelity, especially when you both have a family together. So I forgave him. I'm more of a 'turn the other cheek' Christian than an 'eye for eye' avenger. But I told Michael in no uncertain terms that he'd had his one and only chance.

There's something else too. Something hard for me to put into words. Right from the moment we met, I'd always been aware that Michael was considered more physically attractive than me. He was 5 years older, more worldly, more outgoing, more popular. He was the proverbial tall, darkhaired and handsome young man with what appeared to be a good career ahead of him. Whereas I was short, pale and well ... relatively ordinary.

I'm also religious, reserved, and I'd never had another boyfriend. After our girls were born, I admit, I'd put on a bit of weight and never really shed it. I'm not interested in fashion or clothes. Deep down, could I really blame my husband for allowing his eye to wander? I've always been honest with myself.

Anyway, about a year after his lapse, our younger daughter left home for college and so we became empty-nesters. Then Michael lost his managerial job and spent six months unemployed. Our finances became rather stressful. He eventually found a 'commission only' sales job working from home. Working in his den. He did make some sales but his income was up and down. We increasingly had to rely on my regular salary.

Perhaps this background helps explain my furious reaction to catching my husband of 25 years masturbating himself when he'd said he couldn't help me at the garden centre because he needed to work. As far as I was concerned, he was being unfaithful, again. We hadn't made love for weeks. He preferred his computer screen and right hand to our marital bed and my soft body. His guilty smile and embarrassed wave sealed his fate. It was the final straw.

Except it wasn't. We had a shouting match in the kitchen and then he started crying, pleading, actually begging. In desperation, he invited me into his den and showed me what he'd been watching. It was something called Fem-Dom pornography. I wasn't completely naïve back then but I was stunned. He opened up his history. There were reams of it; video clips, photos, stories, whatever else. He got down onto his knees and admitted everything.

We spent most of that weekend talking. When we weren't talking, we were thinking. I was mulling things over. We agreed there were only two possible courses of action. Either it really was the straw that broke the camel's back. Or I could try and take control of our marriage in the way that Michael wanted me to. I chose the latter option. But only on my own terms.

We're in love again now and, yes, the passion has been well and truly rekindled. It turns out that I have a latent dominant streak every bit as powerful as Michael's submissive secret. And I think I was always aware that I was blessed with a decent libido buried under my spiritual upbringing and bodily insecurities. But performing fellatio on him, waxing my body, going to a gym and wearing lacy thongs really didn't do anything for me. In fact, as it's turned out, rather the reverse.

Reading Michael's browsing history, as I did over a period of several weeks, until he had no secrets left at all, I discovered a great deal about male chastity. I found it strange that my husband masturbated alone while fantasising about being denied. Nevertheless, his masturbatory habit was something that had obviously come between us for many years. So I told him it would have to stop. Permanently. Strictly enforced by one of these steel devices I'd recently read about.

I am not, in my opinion, unreasonable. Michael is nearly 58yrs old now. He admitted to betraying me an average of ten times a week in his den whilst, at exactly the same time, we were only making love together once, or at most twice, a month. And our lovemaking when it happened was merely a cursory roll in bed on a Saturday morning, with little foreplay and even less emotion.

So I've turned the tables on him.

Now it's me who enjoys an average of at least ten orgasms a week, usually in the comfort of our bed. They can be, like this morning, while I lie back lazily smiling at the ceiling, on a Saturday. But they can equally be downstairs on a weekday evening after I've got home from work. Or they can be at bedtime to relax me before a good night's sleep.

Michael had never once performed cunnilingus before I taught him. So he was a blank canvas. In fact, we learned together. I discovered words -- and acts -- that I'd never even known existed. Words like G-spot, squirting and rimming. The more I researched, the more we experimented, the better it got.

It was only in my late-forties that I finally discovered my most erogenous zones and the intense pleasure my husband could give me, and the mess I could make of our sheets! My dominant persona was able to relax and relish Michael's tongue caressing my bottom, whereas the younger, inhibited version of myself would never have been able to enjoy that.

It still makes me smile that Michael spent all that time wanting me to wear crotchless underwear and to wax my mound for him. Young Michael wanted me to be slim, to shower and no doubt to taste delicious if he'd ever managed to bring himself to kiss me down there.

However, the older, honest, obedient and chaste Michael has been converted. He's learned to agree with my preference for functional department store underwear and my comfortable E-cup bras. He literally worships my unkempt vagina and both my clammy orifices.

Above all, he's never, ever, allowed to masturbate. I simply don't like it and won't have it. I've always believed that self-gratification has no place in a loving Christian marriage. The clue's in the word. It's selfish. A loving couple should have no secrets and no secret lives. They should make love together or not at all. Clearly my stance has had to be slightly adapted in a Female-led Marriage but only slightly.

I used to read quite a few accounts of Female-led Relationships as part of my research into how to handle Michael. I'm aware that some wives restrict or even deny their husbands sexual intercourse. They prefer to make their husbands masturbate. I know about tease and denial, edging, ruined orgasms, and the like. But that's not for me.

Instead, Michael is only allowed to orgasm WHEN making love to me. Also, interestingly, he's had a very small number of so-called wet dreams at night as well (involuntary nocturnal emissions) which we've researched are actually quite unusual in middle-aged men. So I take them to be a very good sign.

Just like our routine used to be in the bad old days, we still make love once, or at most twice, a month. However, there the similarity with our old life ends. Instead of masturbating away his libido, all Michael's pent-up sexual energy is totally focussed on me. It hasn't been dissipated in a tissue or goggling at some anonymous porn image. Of course, he still finds living this pure life hard, but it's what we both enjoy.

He's never allowed to make the first move. Unlike our old Saturday morning unions when he'd lift up my nightdress and, almost literally, shove it in, it only happens now when I'm in the mood, and when I feel his ongoing behaviour deserves it. Ongoing means constant. The slightest slipup disappoints me. And when I'm disappointed it affects my mood negatively. So it can take me anything from one week to four weeks since our previous conjugal union for me to 'feel like it' again. Whilst I can certainly still enjoy penetrative sex I am, mostly, doing it as a favour to my husband.

To avoid us having to have explicit conversations about sex, we have developed a code. I casually mention that I might give him a chance to 'impress' me later, when we've gone up to bed. From that moment, he's allowed to step up the charm during the evening, and to try to seduce me with that same romantic attention he used to show me back when I was just 19 years old.

He looks right into my eyes when we talk, he hangs on my every word, he holds my hand, we kiss, and we both laugh, a lot. Michael's always been able to make me laugh. And he never puts any pressure on. Patience is such an attractive virtue.

Female domination has completely changed our lives. Not only our sex life but in every other respect too. For a start, we've converted Michael's den into a nursery for our young grandchildren. He now works at the kitchen table instead. His laptop has software installed that prevents him viewing adult sites or deleting his history. He's wearing his chastity cage 99percent of the time so he couldn't masturbate anyway. Neither of us has any doubt that all this has been a major contributing factor to the improvement in his sales performance and hence our income.

After Covid-19 and lockdowns, I also work from home now, although I still go into my office once a week. I don't make Michael do all our housework but he does the lion's share, which he didn't used to do. He also accompanies me to church on Sundays. The three friends he plays golf with all kindly agreed to delay their start time until after church has finished.

To deserve his chance to make love to me, he has to impress me with his overall behaviour; in his professional work, his housework, his diet and weight, physical exercise and attention to me. If I'm not pleased with him, it's no hardship for me to postpone his chance for another week. I'm quite content with a massage and cunnilingus when I'm feeling sexy. I don't NEED sexual intercourse.

Our marriage doesn't involve spanking or corporal punishment, bondage, leather or any fetishes like that (although for some reason I do like making him wear female instead of male underwear; that's my fetish, not his). My withholding, or granting, sexual intercourse is really the only stick or carrot we need. Michael admits that, after a first few difficult months when we started, he got used to waking up in the morning, knowing that today would simply be yet another barren day for him. As a result, he became less distracted by thoughts of sex, and particularly, any furtive masturbation or inconsequential orgasms. Of course, it's still hard for him, as his frustration steadily grows, but in a good way.

I've learned to understand and read him so much better, now that everything's out in the open. I can tell when his focus on me is for his own benefit, trying to impress me for his own ends. But I remind him that it's much more impressive when it's solely for my benefit. I make it quite clear that, whilst perfect conduct is always welcome, it's only truly admirable when there's no hidden agenda. After a week or so has passed since he last 'impressed' me, his desire for my body really starts to kick in. So, occasionally, I give in, and spoil him, as positive encouragement, as a 'carrot'.

But mostly, after a week or so his last orgasm, is when the true test of our understanding starts. I rarely say anything. I just make him wait, another week, two, even three. The 'stick' instead of the carrot. I'm on the lookout for any resentment, the slightest change in his demeanour. He knows I'm only 'turned on' by him being the best husband he can be. And because masturbation is a strict no-no, he knows that his only chance of sexual relief, is to make me want him inside me.

And when I say 'him' I of course mean his penis. However, I've learned to prefer his tongue, lips and fingers, or a sex toy, while his penis languishes, locked safely away. And when I say 'prefer' I actually mean there's really no contest sexually. That's a complete change from the first two decades of our marriage. Although penetrative sex slowly became less exciting, it was all I knew and all that was on the menu. I blame myself for that as well as Michael. For me, penetrative sex was created for two purposes; obviously for procreation, but also as an incomparable act of emotional bonding between a wife and her loving husband.

However, I've discovered that -- for me - genuinely devoted oral sex is actually much better as a sexually-satisfying act, particularly after you've been married for three decades and oral is a relatively recent discovery. Of course, its inequality arguably makes it less of an 'emotionally bonding' activity, but we've both learned to relish that disparity, in our own slightly different ways. Whereas, in my 20s, I simply wouldn't have been ready to enjoy what I now prefer.

Michael is well aware that I prefer cunnilingus to conventional marital lovemaking. I've told him several times in no uncertain terms. The blunt fact actually turns on the submissive persona within him. His pornographic history was full of cunnilingus, oral worship, facesitting, that kind of thing. In fact he tries desperately (and uncomfortably) to get erect while his face is between my thighs. I tell him he should 'control himself better' (much as I secretly get a kick from arousing him).

Then, after I'm done, I smile and thank him, but that's all. After seven years of increasingly accomplished oral pleasure, I know the difference between, bad, good and great. My standards are high. I'm not unreasonable but, if he fails to do a great job for whatever reason, I don't need to punish him. I simply yawn or sigh and tell him that I can't see myself wanting sexual intercourse 'for quite a while'. When I say this, he always apologises for disappointing me, rather than showing any sign of sulking at my implied criticism.

As well as oral sex, I've learned to get comfortable with sex toys. They bring an added psychological advantage in that they involve penetration. I've actually always been perfectly satisfied with Michael's size (and I've never experienced any other man, nor do I want to). However, it's fun to own a couple of toys that are slightly larger than him, especially as I'm perhaps no longer as tight as I once was.

I prefer vibrators to dildos. But I now adore Wands above all, especially dual stimulation G-zone ones. At my age! Until we began exploring, I was never aware that orgasms have different intensities. When I used to manage to achieve one with Michael, in my 20s and 30s, they were always the same, emotionally and physically satisfying. Wonderful. I couldn't ask for more.

But that's because I didn't know what's out there. Thank heavens I didn't spend the rest of my life not knowing. I now enjoy incredible, mind-blowing, bed-soaking orgasms that are unequalled by anything that came before. They're not any more 'emotionally fulfilling' than they used to be but they're off the charts sensation-wise. So much so that I can't handle (and don't require) more than a couple a month.

I don't regard sex toys as masturbation. I don't use them on my own. Michael's always present. Sometimes he manoeuvres them. Other times I do. Sometimes he licks me while I use one. The two important things are that the moment is shared and that it's witnessed. The subliminal message is that I don't need intercourse.

So, as you can imagine, actual marital sex has become somewhat special for us again, rather like it was when we were newlyweds. Especially for Michael. He's well aware what he's competing with. I need to be truly impressed by him, otherwise I've got great alternatives, He longs to hear me say the words that I'll let him try to 'impress' me.

Not that those words are a guarantee. He has to seduce me. And sometimes I change my mind at bedtime on a whim, so he doesn't take me for granted. But usually, when we get to the bedroom, I give him my key so he can unlock and remove his device (I also have to unlock him 2-3 times a week for hygiene purposes).

His device is the third we've owned. It's a thing of beauty. Made of surgical-grade steel, attractive and shiny. The first was rather ugly and bulky but this one can be worn all the time without chafing or discomfort. He can feel aroused and his prostate can harden but his penis is confined in a flaccid state. I admit I do enjoy admiring the device and cuddling up to him, reaching around to fiddle with his hairless groin when we got to sleep.

In return for all those years when Michael pestered me to wax my mound and wear racy underwear, he's now the one in our marriage whose genitals and buttocks are completely hairless. He's the one who often wears female-style silk lingerie under his clothes. He's the one who is kept on a strict diet and exercise regime decided by me. Deep down, my choices are what he truly wants.