Full Rigor Pt. 01

Despite the thrill of this experience, I was smart enough to realize that it was a carefully-controlled fantasy whereas the reality of slavery would truly suck (in both senses). At age 18, there were too many things I wanted to do with my life, so I couldn't surrender my body to full-time ownership. I consoled myself with the next best thing--sex play involving bondage and submission. Even then, I was not promiscuous. I tried to be selective in dating and even more selective about who I allowed to tie me up; the risk of being illegally sold into slavery and smuggled out of the country was too high. When I met my future husband, Richard, we went on a dozen dates, including at least four sessions of copulation, before he accidentally-on-purpose let me see a pair of play handcuffs in his bedside drawer. Years later, he confessed that he had hoped that I would use those cuffs on HIM, but when I eagerly offered my wrists to become his prisoner, he was happy for the opportunity to pound my defenseless brains out. I lost count of how many times I came that first time in his bonds. A match made in heaven, or at least in the sex-toy store.

As I've already indicated, we maintained both our love and our physical desire for each other, even when the kids were young and the opportunities for intimacy were few. We often made vanilla love to each other, sometimes fueling that love by whispering our sexual fantasies. MY fantasy never wavered--I wanted to be a slave, to surrender myself not only to my husband but also to the society at large. Dreams of sexual subjugation were fine, but I went beyond that to imagine an existence in which I lost all rights and routinely found myself exposed and humiliated, pimped out and used as a sex toy or menial laborer even by former friends and acquaintances. Make that ESPECIALLY by former friends and acquaintances--the very thought of such subjugation increased my excitement. Still, the sordid stories of slave women working in brothels, glory holes, and the like made me tingle with both fear and horniness.

When the kids were old enough to be left alone for a weekend, we became associate members of a BDSM club in Fort Worth, which we hoped was sufficiently far from Houston that no one would hear of our actions there. Two or three times a year, we would drive to Fort Worth where I became Rich's pleasure slut for the weekend, complete with a realistic fake collar. Not only did my husband dominate me, but we also hooked up with other people so that I could submit to dominants of both sexes or be put on display for bondage, flagellation, and penetration. (Several times Rich also got the chance to indulge his submissive tendencies, especially with one of the domes in the club. One of these women, Mistress Shirley, also came from the Houston area, and eventually became a friend as well as an occasional BDSM partner.) I loved our sessions in Fort Worth, but it still seemed like a pale imitation of being truly owned, exposed, and used as a slave 24/7/365. I knew that safe words were essential precautions in BDSM play, but I NEVER used mine, so that Rich sometimes had to intervene before I got injured.

Thus, when my husband asked what I planned to do with my newfound leisure time, I replied without hesitation that I wanted to be a real slave. He knew this was a long-standing dream, but he tried to get me to reconsider or compromise.

*****

(Richard Harkins' experience)

I can honestly say that I'm married to the finest woman in the world. Michelle is smart, funny, responsible, caring, a great mother and a sterling life partner. She is everyone's favorite friend and foster aunt, and she's helped a lot of adults and kids in our neighborhood through life crises from broken bones to divorce to cancer. She's already described what she sees in the mirror, but she's too modest to recognize what everyone else does, which is that she is incredibly attractive and desirable. In daily life, she doesn't wear a lot of makeup or revealing clothing, nor does she swing her hips or talk suggestively. She doesn't need to advertise like that, because she's absolutely gorgeous and innately sexy. She walks with the confident poise of a model, but she is so much better endowed than most models that I would have to specify "lingerie model"--or maybe "centerfold." She told me once that she spent eight years studying ballet before puberty gave her a chest size that didn't fit the image of "ballet dancer." She's already mentioned the high school senior, 25 years her junior, who described her as a MILF, but I've heard dozens of similar comments from strangers the first time they encountered her. I usually let some comments go by, although a few times the stunned stranger would say something like "boy, wouldn't you like to feel those lips [or those boobs] wrapped around your..." and I had to interrupt, telling the stranger that as a matter a fact I HAD that experience, so please keep your thoughts to yourself.

The part I can't tell people about is that she is even better in bed than she looks. I'm going to be crude here: quite apart from my natural bias, Michelle is the finest piece of ass in the world. Whether it's her throat, her vagina, or her rectum, her muscle control around my cock is phenomenal. She loves to cuddle, encourages my hands to wander, and is always up for sex, the rougher or more oddball the better. I have to bite my tongue when other guys complain that their wives won't give them oral, anal, or even vaginal intercourse. Michelle has never turned me down for ANY kind of sex, and (when the kids aren't home) frequently initiates things by kneeling between my legs and unzipping my pants or posing with her head down and butt up on our bed, hands crossed behind her back with a tube of lubricant lying between her nylon-sheathed legs.

Of course, I don't use her sex drive against her. I've never asked her to fuck when she or the kids were sick or depressed, although I think she would still try to accommodate me unless she were actually in the process of vomiting! Nor have I used her submissive nature to win one of our rare arguments by ordering her to strip and submit to me. She would do it, I know, and might even get a thrill out of surrendering like that, but it's simply not fair to pull that on her. By the same token, she knows that she could win any argument by ordering me to dress up in a corset, nylons, and wig so she can cuff and peg me. If you love someone, you can't use their dreams against them.

And I'm a normal guy who loves controlling a beautiful woman. I know I'm being crass, but sometimes I daydream of having Michelle kneeling underneath the kitchen table, servicing all my friends at a poker party and then allowing me to bet her tight ass as my ante to the pot. I would be hoping to LOSE that hand, just to watch her deliver on the bet with someone she knows corn-holing her beautiful behind. Or entertaining a business client by having Michelle, dressed as an elegant call girl, eat dinner with us and then give him whatever he wanted in the bedroom. I know she'd love to act out those ideas, but I don't want to ruin her reputation and her life just so I can score points with my male friends (and incidentally indulge our sexual fantasies).

So, when Michelle told me that she wanted to indenture herself, I was not surprised at all. But I owed it to her to propose alternative solutions and make her think through all the consequences, even though I'm sure she'd already done that before she opened her mouth to announce the idea.

That's how she came to be stripping and submitting to me, pretending to be my slave, at a highway rest stop a few hours after our kids began their freshman year of college. We had decided to pretend that she was in the limbo state of being Free In Name Only (FINO), a term used to describe a free woman who lives as a natural slave without being legally enslaved (part of the thrill of that for submissives is the possibility that the woman would be tricked or forced into real slavery). The deal was that, for the next ten days, I would treat Michelle as if she were enslaved but I would not expose her secret to our friends. So, no blowjobs at poker parties, at least not this time. After the first 24 hours, we had fucked so often that both our genitals were raw and we had to take a breather. Once a day, I exercised and dominated her by rapidly ordering her through various slave postures, but the sight of her aroused body exposed to me in a series of revealing positions only made my cock so stiff that I ended up ravaging her again.

Besides, I wanted her to recognize that real slavery would probably mean long periods of boredom, drudgery, and distasteful duties. To prepare her for that, I deliberately went to work for four days in a row. During the first three, I left her in the house with all her clothing (and Penny's) locked up--she could have put on some of my or Len's clothes but they would have been too large for her. She had a clear plastic apron to wear when working near the stove, but otherwise wore only her collar and a pair of 2-inch heels. There was an emergency pair of sweats and tennis shoes, together with her cell phone, keys, and wallet, in her car in the garage, but I deliberately left the garage door open to discourage her from going out there while I was gone. Instead, I gave her a long list of boring but necessary tasks that we both tended to put off, such as cleaning out the refrigerator, cleaning behind the stove, scrubbing the bathrooms and kitchen, sweeping under the beds, and so on. I also installed some closed-circuit video cameras to watch her from my office. The sight of her naked body gyrating on the floor while reaching under a bed was a real turn-on for me, tempting me to rush home early and plow all her openings.)

On the fourth day, I closed her into a large cage for the day with nothing but a bottle of water and an antique chamber pot. Nothing to read or listen to. In an emergency, she could break the seal on the cage's hasp, but she knew I would punish her if I found it broken for anything less than a fire.

Michelle must have become bored lying in the cage with nothing to do, because the camera I had aimed at her that day showed almost constant masturbation. When I arrived home she and the cage smelled of her arousal, so I had her wash the padding and take a shower. I had not forbidden her to come, but she knew that a slave was supposed to climax only with permission, usually while serving its owner. This gave me an excuse to "punish" her. After supper, I used leather to bind her hands in front of her, then had her stand behind the sofa and bend over towards the front. I secured her cuffed hands to the center leg on the front of the sofa and tied long ropes, running to the back legs of the sofa, to spread her ankles WIDE apart on the back. After a sensuous spanking that gave her cheeks a nice glow, I carefully worked two thick vibrators into her lower openings and improvised a thong (made of scratchy rope) between her cheeks so that the vibrators could not slip out. I took the opportunity to pump those shafts in and out of her a few times, causing her to moan softly. I even put a pair of spring-loaded nipple clamps on her magnificent tits, but I was too soft-hearted to leave them on for more than three minutes. Within ten minutes of my turning on the vibrators, Michelle was gyrating her pelvis and desperately trying to get herself off. I gave her a few more minutes of this pleasant "torture" before asking if she needed something.

She cursed under her breath but finally summoned enough coherence to beg, "Please, Master, fuck me."

"And what are you, darling?"

"I'm your slut, I'm your property, I'm your slave, I'm your bitch, I'm your ass whore, I'm just three soft openings waiting for you to fill them--PLEASE fuck me, Master."

After a long pause, I decided to tease her even more, fondling her boobs while asking, "And HOW would you like me to fuck you, slave?"

This time there was no hesitation, as she was clearly desperate. "Please, Master, choose where you want--fuck my face, my cunt, my ass, but please FUCK ME."

"Since you asked so nicely, I'll try all three." So saying I presented my prick to her low-hanging head, playing with her hair as she desperately tried to get me aroused. Lucky for her, I was again too impatient (or too kind) to wait very long. After only a few dozen rapid pumps between what I described as her "cock-sucking lips," I pulled out, walked around to the back, extracted the lower vibrator, and pushed between her labia. By this time, she was so well-lubricated and her hips were moving so rapidly that I was able to take full possession of her vagina in one hard thrust. I felt as if my shaft were immersed in warm and VERY moist velvet--velvet that immediately contracted to massage me! We had enacted similar scenes hundreds of times in the course of our marriage, but Michelle was unusually excited and responsive that night. She was panting, incoherent, and shivering in a succession of minor orgasms. I had to think of really boring, work-related tasks to avoid climaxing myself.

Leaning forward over her back, I reached underneath her torso to play with her rack again while our legs churned back and forth, steadily pumping so that they alternately separated and slammed together. On the edge of a mind-blowing orgasm, I forced myself to pull out, prompting a howl of frustration from my beautiful "slave." I re-inserted the vibrator that had previously occupied her exquisite front channel, but by this time I was as impatient as she. I jerked the other vibrator out of her rectum, wrapped it in a tissue, discarded the object on the floor, and presented my real-life shaft to her rear entry. Fortunately, she was so well-lubricated from the plug that the head of my dick popped in without causing much pain. I had just enough presence of mind not to ram it in for fear of injuring her, although when I slowly pressed forward I found that she was ready and eager for me to take her last portal, frantically ramming her marvelous ass onto my cock. I've remarked before about her muscle control, but that night the feeling of her well-lubricated and incredibly tight rectum was heavenly. Michelle was no stranger to either bondage or butt-sex, but her alternating moans and cries indicated that she was far more aroused than usual. The speed of my pumping accelerated like a steam locomotive leaving the station, while I reached one hand beneath her to tease her clitoris. That set off the big one for her; she came like a bomb within a half-dozen thrusts of when I did.

Eventually, I caught my breath and cleaned up after our game, gently bathing both of her entrances with a warm cloth while she was still helplessly bent over, completely exposed to her "master." After releasing her bonds, I took her to the bathroom, helped her do the minimum in terms of urination and brushing, and then spooned behind her in our bed. It was difficult to maintain the fiction of her slavery after such a fantastic anal dance, but I remembered to secure her wrists in front of her before we slept. It took a while to fall asleep because she kept rubbing that magnificent ass against my equipment! Damn, I could get used to having a hot pleasure slut/loving wife to play with, although my control over her body was only marginally greater than it had always been. The main difference was that she EXPECTED me to use her without asking permission.

For the remaining days of our agreement, I tried other things to push her envelope, to make her recognize what less enjoyable events might happen if she were a real slave or at least make our game sufficiently sensual to satisfy her submissive cravings. One evening, I had her wear nothing but a collar, cuffs, a pair of flip-flops, and a nude-colored push-up harness that supported her boobs while leaving them completely exposed. I had already insisted on full makeup, which together with this scanty outfit made her look like sex on a stick (MY stick.) Then I led her out to the garage (where the door was still open!) and had her lie face up on a blanket in the open bed of my pickup truck. I tied her spread-eagled to the corners of the truck bed. This way, she was invisible when my truck was viewed from an ordinary car. Anyone above the truck--say on an overpass or in a tractor-trailer--could see her clearly, however. I took the interstate to a park on the far side of the city and grinned to myself every time a passing trucker blew his air horns to compliment me on the spread-eagled display of my red-haired cargo! One truck almost swerved off the road. When we got to the park, I checked to ensure there were no other people around. Then I untied Michelle and ordered her to dismount from the truck so I could lead her on a short walk, just at dusk. Both of us were swivelling our heads every which way, on the lookout for other pedestrians, but never saw any.

When we got back to where the truck was parked, I sat down on a nearby bench and had my wife kneel butt naked (make that slave naked) in front of me. In the fading light, we sat there quietly while I fondled her magnificent boobs and stroked her long, beautiful hair, telling her what a sweet bitch she was. I decided it was time to go, so I dragged her back to the truck and again tied her like a starfish on her back. Just as I exited the park, I saw our church pastor's sedan coming towards us. I cheerfully waved as I passed him, each of us wondering why the other was in such an out-of-the-way place--have to remember to make up a good excuse before the next time I see him! Then, it was back home in the fading light by way of the interstate again. That night, as I locked her into the large cage at the foot of our bed, she gushed with happiness, bragging about what a turn-on it had been to have truckers staring at her helpless form. The thought that her minister had almost seen her naked only made her falter for a moment, after which she seemed even more excited.

Except when I had caged her, Michelle knew that she had to awaken me every morning with a blow job. It was certainly marvelous to have my beautiful wife as a full-time pleasure slut. Each time she worshipped my prick, I "threatened" her with new fantasies of what I would do to her if this were real, focusing on making her service all of our friends and a few random strangers as a naked slave.

Of course, she knew I wouldn't do that to her during our ten-day false enslavement. Perhaps the most daring thing I DID try was to take her, again naked and bound in the back of my pickup, to yet another interstate rest stop south of the city. There, I led my slut boldly into the men's room where I proceeded to tie her bent over a wash basin, face down. I coated her two lower openings with lubricant and then, after she nodded acceptance of her fate, I blindfolded and gagged her. Around her neck, I fastened a metal box with a sign urging anyone to "Fuck this slave and pay what you think she's worth." A pile of condoms sat on the small of her back, and I would have intervened if someone had tried to penetrate her bareback. During the next hour, five guys plowed her cunt or ass, with two starting at her front entrance and finishing deep in her butt. I took my own turn at both ends, but she couldn't be certain in was me because of her blindfold. Finally, the rest stop attendant entered and, as if he saw such things every day, calmly told me that we had to leave. He wasn't upset, but it was time to close for the night. By that time, my "slave" appeared so exhausted that I put her in the truck cab, wrapped her in a blanket, and gave her a bottle of water. She was fast asleep by the time we reached home--and she was officially a prostitute because there was almost $300 in the metal box, earned as a free woman by giving herself to those men. The next day, I teased her that she would have to become a slave, for whom prostitution was legal, to avoid the penalty for hiring herself out as a free woman.