My Journey to Submission Pt. 10

Ellen stood behind me. "Now, tell me what you are," she said.

"I'm your sissy faggot, Mistress," I replied. "I'm your little sissy faggot," I corrected myself, when I remembered her phrasing.

"That's right," she said. "And does my little sissy faggot need a big cock in his ass?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Say it," she ordered, smacking me hard on my butt cheek with her palm.

"I need a big cock in my ass," I said.

"Good boy. Say it again. Say all of it," she said.

"I'm your little sissy faggot, and I need a big cock in my ass." She smacked me again, and I repeated, louder, "I'm your little sissy faggot, and I need a big cock in my ass."

"That's a good boy," she said. "Now, I'm going to give you what you need, and you're going to take every inch of it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered. I took several deep breaths, determined to keep my muscles relaxed when Ellen entered me. "Acceptance reduces pain," I told myself, an aphorism that I've since found applies to many situations, not only to being anally raped with an enormous dildo.

Ellen knelt down, and I could feel the phallus between my ass cheeks. Before she penetrated me, she slipped a rubber ball gag into my mouth and buckled the leather strap around my head. "I know this might hurt you, but I'm not going to stop," she said. "If it helps, you may scream into your gag."

She positioned herself against my anus and thrust her hips forward.

As before, my sphincters rebelled when the thick dildo penetrated me, but I found that with concentration I could keep them relaxed enough to accept the violation without struggling. Had Ellen given me all eleven inches at once, I likely would have passed out. Thankfully she didn't, but that doesn't mean she was gentle. She shoved herself further and further into me, and after only four or five thrusts, she'd pressed her pubic mound firmly against my ass.

She took my pelvis in her hands and began to fuck me. I tried desperately to stay relaxed, but I soon felt my core muscles spasming involuntarily, as Ellen moved the dildo in and out, and my body fought to rid itself of the writhing object inside me. My hips started to buck despite my bondage, and the bench jerked on the floor under the force of my struggling. Pain mingled with degradation, and I cried out, my voice muffled by the rubber ball gag.

Through my suffering, I heard Ellen start to moan, softly at first, then louder and louder. Whether from the stimulation of the strap-on inside her vagina or from the sheer joy of dominating me so completely, she was entering a state of sexual ecstasy. She fucked me harder and faster, taking the dildo nearly all the way out before sliding it back into my rectum.

I don't know how long Ellen fucked me. My consciousness, unable to process the utter violation of my body, dissolved into a fog. No longer lucid, I lost all sense of time.

My wife brought me back to the present by reaching her arm around me and taking my cock in her hand. She massaged me, and I quickly grew rock hard. The intensity of the pain inside my bowels didn't abate, but now it was mixed with exquisite pleasure. She began squeezing and stroking my cock sensually, in a rhythm that matched her violent thrusts into my rectum. She slowly accelerated both movements, and I soon felt myself ready to explode.

Her moaning intensified, and she started to pant hard, as she always did in the moments before she climaxed. Ellen and I came together, something we'd never done before in all her time as my dominant. Her writhing and screaming were as great as they had been during even my proudest moments of servicing her orally. My semen burst out of my cock and onto the floor in furious pulsations.

After a few seconds, we became still, both breathing hard from the force of the release. The pain in my bowels subsided a little as my muscles relaxed following my orgasm.

"Wow," Ellen said, when her breathing had returned to normal. "That was incredible."

"Yes," I agreed. "Wow for me too." But my "wow" had a much different meaning than her "wow." As a dominant, I'd experienced many times the indescribable high that comes when the sexual pleasure of holding complete power over another human being culminates in an explosive orgasm. I recognized that Ellen was feeling very high at the moment.

I was not.

I can't deny the tremendous physical pleasure of the orgasm, which Ellen had just given me. And I even felt a kind of intimacy with her, much different than that of being inside her vagina, but real nonetheless. But these pleasurable sensations were overwhelmed by the trauma of the unbearable violation of my body. I felt that she had turned me inside-out, ripping out my guts and exposing them to the elements. I felt filthy inside, where soap and water could never clean me. I felt unable to move, as though all of my muscles had turned into cold lead.

Most of all, I felt profound shame at my own weakness for assenting to the horrible act.

What have I allowed myself to become?

Reinforcing these emotions, the massive dildo remained inside my rectum, and I was acutely aware of every bit of it length and girth.

Ellen's hands pushed against my buttocks, and she began to pull the strap-on out of me. I groaned as the ten inches of silicon slowly slid their way out through my insides, until the last inch finally exited my anus. My sphincters continued to pulse, as though making sure that the vile object was well and truly gone, and I let out a long exhalation of relief. As Ellen untied my arms from the bench, I tried to relax my bowels, which were still churning from the trauma, but I couldn't. I was utterly drained, emotionally and physically, and all I wanted to do was to collapse in a heap on the floor and sob.

But Ellen had her standards, and as her slave I had no choice but to meet them. She lifted me by my hair and shoved the bench out of the way with her foot. "Now, clean up your mess," she commanded. She stood behind me and watched, as I lowered my head to the polished bricks, where the streaks of my sperm awaited my dutiful mouth. At that moment, I would have been hard-pressed to think of anything in the world that I wanted to do less than to eat my own ejaculate. But I knew better than to hesitate, so I put my tongue to the floor and glumly started to lick up my own cum.

I noticed that my sperm wasn't the only mess on the floor. There were also little drops of Coconu lube mixed with shit, which had dribbled from my anus when Ellen took out the dildo. And as I lapped at the floor, she detached the strap-on from her leather crotch harness and dropped it among the dribbles. I saw that it, too, was flecked with liquified shit.

I knew that some stricter dominants force their submissives to use their mouths to clean any filth resulting from anal sex, and I worried that Ellen would order me to lick up the lube and shit, and to suck her dildo until it was clean. But fortunately, my wife's aversion to scat was as great as mine, and as I was lapping the last of my semen, she said, "Good boy. Now go get a sponge to clean up the rest of this mess, and wash and tidy up all my toys. Then come find me. But take a shower first. You're a complete mess."

"Yes, Mistress," I answered, my face still to the floor. I heard the click, click, click of her heels as she walked away. Instead obeying her, I fell onto my side, curled into a fetal position, and rocked myself back and forth, crying and trying to comfort myself. But the brick floor was cold and hard, and after a few minutes of pointless writhing, I got up and went to the bathroom for a pail of soapy water and a sponge.

***********

Forty-five minutes later, I found Ellen in the family room, drinking a glass of wine and watching a movie on TV. She had showered and changed into a white negligee. She was transfixingly beautiful, but in a completely different way than she'd been just an hour before. She saw me coming and snapped her fingers, commanding me to kneel before her. She clicked off the television.

Still shaken from my pegging, I knelt on the floor between her legs and lay my head on her lap. She stroked my hair, and I exhaled deeply. I was so exhausted from the emotional roller-coaster ride which Ellen had just put me through that I closed my eyes and almost immediately drifted off.

Somehow, the words, "Open wide," bled into my consciousness, and I jerked awake to see Ellen holding a spoonful of Chunky Monkey in front of my lips. I took the spoon into my mouth and swirled the ice cream around. I had apparently been asleep for some time, because it was very soft, almost melted. Ellen didn't speak for the time that it took her to feed me the entire pint of Chunky Monkey. The smooth, sweet coolness of the ice cream, together with my wife's affection and gentle cooing comforted me, and my trauma slowly faded to the back of my consciousness.

When she saw that I'd become some semblance of my usual self, she spoke. "Did you think I was too hard on you tonight?" she asked.

"Mistress?" I asked.

"I mostly mean before," she clarified. "The trampling. When I wouldn't speak to you."

Hmmm... She's never asked anything like that before.

In our relationship, aftercare was considered a "safe space," as the current lingo has it. I was allowed to express myself freely without fear that she would punish me for it, or use anything I said against me later. Nevertheless, it would have violated the unspoken rules of our dynamic for me to question Ellen's right to punish or degrade me in any way that she saw fit. So, I answered, honestly, "It's not my place to say, Mistress."

"No, I suppose it's not," she agreed. "But still, I want you to understand..." She paused for a moment, as though trying to find the right words, then continued, "I knew that I had to make you take a very big step tonight. And sometimes it's easier for me to do that if I disconnect from you. Force myself to hurt you without letting myself feel emotion. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered. "But I did it, after all. Took the big step, I mean. I took it all for you. Tying me down did help. And the orgasm was a nice surprise."

"Well, don't get used to it," she answered with a little chuckle. "I wanted to make sure that you made it through your first time intact, so I was willing to help you as much as necessary. But you'll certainly be caged from now on. And I need you to start training yourself with the dildo, so that you can take all of me without being tied down." She paused for a second, then continued. "But there's something else that you need to understand. The big step I was talking about wasn't taking your first pegging. The big step is accepting what the pegging means for you."

"Mistress?" I asked.

"Your life will be very different from now on. Do you understand why?" she asked.

I thought for a moment, but I came up empty. On various femdom sites, I'd read many accounts of men taking their first pegging, and none of them reported it to be a life-changing event. "Not really, Mistress," I confessed.

"Let me explain," she said. "For your whole life, you've had attitudes towards sex that are no longer appropriate for you. Your notion of sex is a man penetrating a woman. The woman is passive, offering her vagina. The female body exists to serve the male. And that notion is entirely inconsistent with your status as my slave."

"But Mistress," I objected. "You know that's not right. It's not that way at all anymore. I serve you all the time now, and you never..." I hesitated to state the obvious, which was that it had been over a year since her body had served mine, at least in the conventional sense. "All I ever think about is pleasing you," I said instead.

"I don't believe you," she answered. She lifted up my head, forcing me to look into her eyes. "Tell me the truth. When you're licking my pussy, are you really thinking only about my pleasure? Or are you actually fantasizing that you'll make me want you, that I'll unlock you and let you inside me?" I didn't answer, and she insisted, "Well?"

As always, Ellen knew my secret thoughts better than I did. But what difference did it make? So long as I did what Ellen required, then weren't my fantasies were my private affair? But when faced with such a naked accusation, I could only admit the truth. "Sometimes, Mistress," I mumbled.

"Sometimes, Mistress," she repeated in her schoolmarmish voice. "And that's not all. When I let you inside me, you're always moving your penis. I've told you many times that you're not allowed to fuck me. But you can't stop yourself from trying to get some selfish pleasure. Isn't that right?"

"Sometimes, Mistress," I admitted. It was undeniable that on the increasingly rare occasions when she allowed me into her vagina (always with her on top), the best stimulation for me came when I pushed my hips up into hers, when she was on her downward thrust. But this was the first time that she'd objected to me doing this.

"Sometimes, Mistress," she repeated again, shaking her head. "And do you think it's acceptable for a slave to behave this way? Is this the really the best way for you to serve your Mistress?" At this, my stomach dropped a little.

No matter how hard I try, she will make it out that I'm never good enough for her.

I was silent for a second before answering. "I guess not, Mistress," I said.

"I guess not, too. You still feel the same way about sex as you did before you submitted to me. You haven't changed at all, not deep down." My stomach dropped a little further. Partly, I felt shame at the truth she'd uncovered, even if it wasn't the whole truth. But mostly, I'd learned that whenever she used the word "change" I could inevitably expect some difficult adjustment. "So why is that?" she asked. "What's stopping you from changing?"

"I don't know, Mistress," I said. There was nothing else I could say, since it was very clearly her intention to enlighten me. I had a suspicion that I wouldn't enjoy her answer to the question.

"What's stopping you," she said, "is that you still think of your penis as a sex organ. And that's what has to change."

"I don't understand, Mistress," I said. "How can my cock not be a sex organ?"

"A sex organ serves two purposes," she answered. "It gives sexual pleasure, and it receives sexual pleasure. Which one does your penis serve, do you think?"

"Both, I suppose," I said.

"Both? Do you actually think your penis gives me pleasure?" She laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "Definitely not. Your mouth is enough to satisfy my pussy most days, and when I do need something inside me, I have better alternatives than your penis. I only let you inside me when I feel sorry for you."

This was a gut-punch.

I'd always been proud of my cocksmanship. If not oversized, my tool is certainly bigger than average, and I was blessed with a lot of stamina, patience and self-control to go with it. I never allowed myself to cum until I'd seen to my partner's satisfaction, and I'd thrilled to the phrase "my pussy is destroyed" on more than one occasion. Before my submission, Ellen had climaxed countless times with me inside her. Was she saying that she'd been faking the whole time? Or had her insistence on my passivity diminished her desire for me?

"Don't take it personally," she said. "Things change, and you just have to accept that." Then she continued, "And now that I've made you my little sissy faggot, you don't need your penis to receive pleasure either. You will receive sexual pleasure from taking my cock in your ass."

I was silent, as I let this awful announcement sink in.

"Don't worry," Ellen said. "Many men receive very satisfying orgasms from prostate stimulation, and there are loads of videos showing how to do it. There are even some electric tools we can try. So, we'll learn together. Doesn't that sound like a lot of fun?"

"The orgasm you just gave me was fun," I ventured.

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly at my lame joke. "I can see that I'm still not getting through," she said. "Why not think of that orgasm as a kind of parting gift to your penis? From now on, your sex organs are your mouth and your anus. Your mouth to give pleasure, and your anus to receive it. Your penis is no longer needed.

"But Mistress, how can..." I stammered, but she cut me off.

"Frankly, we'd be better off without it. But I've looked into the matter, and it seems as though removing it would be more bother than it's worth." I looked at her with horror, hoping and expecting her to laugh. But apparently, she was perfectly serious, at least about having researched the topic.

"So just like that, we're done?" I asked. "Did you just tell me we'll never have sex again?"

"Of course, we'll have sex," she said. "More than ever before. Just different. Sex means giving me pleasure with your mouth, and receiving pleasure from my cock your anus."

"But what about..." I hesitated, then continued, "You know, the old-fashioned kind. I don't know how I feel about giving it up altogether."

"But don't you see that I'm doing this for you?" she asked. "You were exactly right that we were missing intimacy in our relationship. I see that now. And I want it too. I want us to be closer than ever before. But your penis always gets in the way, and we need to get it out of the way. You still want us to become more intimate, don't you?"

"Of course, Mistress," I said, "But..."

"Well, then we agree," she said, not letting me finish. "I understand that you might need some time to adjust, but I'll always be there to help you."

"It's not about adjusting," I said. "You're asking me to accept something I just can't accept."

She paused and looked at me. "It's been a long evening, and I'm sure you're very tired. Why don't you go up to bed, and things will look a lot different in the morning. We can talk more then."

"Mistress?" I asked. Ellen had a very strict rule that I was never to be in "her" bed without her, and she always put bondage mitts on my hands before turning in, so that I didn't inadvertently touch her body without her permission.

"It's alright," she reassured me. "I'll be up in a while. We won't bother with your cage or your sleeping mitts tonight."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said. I stood and went up to bed. Despite my exhaustion, sleep came with difficulty. When she lay down beside me, she turned to me as though to restart the conversation, but I pretended to be asleep. I wanted to be alone with my roiling emotions.

***********

I woke up to sunlight streaming in my face. I looked over and saw that Ellen was not in bed beside me. My own body felt strange to me, but I realized that I'd simply grown unused to waking up with my hands and cock uncovered.

Holy shit, what time is it?

I grabbed my phone from the night table. 10:30. Fuck. Since it was Saturday, I was supposed to have arisen before Ellen to make coffee and serve her breakfast. I panicked and jumped out of bed.

A minute later, I found Ellen in the kitchen sitting at the table and looking at her iPad. In front of her was a plate with the remains of a full breakfast, and in her hand was a full mug of coffee.

She looked at me and smiled. "Good morning," she said. "You see, I still know how to make coffee. Would you like a cup?" She stood and went to the coffee maker.

"I'm so very sorry, Mistress," I answered. I hurriedly picked up her plate, dusted crumbs from her placemat onto it, and took it to the sink with her silverware. "I don't know why I overslept. It won't happen again, I promise."

She ignored my apology. "There's still a pan of hot water on the stove, so I can poach you some eggs if you'd like," she offered, as she handed me a mug and sat back down.

What on earth is going on?

I'd assumed that when I showed up so late, she would have immediately put me over knee and taken a wooden spoon or some other kitchen implement to my buttocks.