Satisfying Stephanie Ch. 01

This is the first BDSM/femdom story I ever wrote, back in January 2006. It is the story of a sexually inadequate husband, and the wife who cuckolds and dominates him. Reading through it now it seems a little rushed to my eyes, but back then I was less concerned with character and developing the story, and more concerned with getting to the sex. Hope you like it.

*****

I first met Stephanie six years ago at an adult education college. We were both taking the same French language class, and since I was struggling while she was just about the smartest person there, I asked her to give me a little after hours help. She agreed, and I found myself struggling to learn French at her house once a week. I couldn't believe my luck - Stephanie was beautiful and vivacious, the kind of smart, supremely confident woman that I'm always hugely attracted to but who is usually way out of my league.

After a month, I was still struggling with the lessons. "You are useless," she said to me finally, tossing the books aside. "I don't think you are ever going to be able to talk French. Hell, on this performance I'm amazed you can talk English!" She had a playful grin that took the sting out of the words.

"Looks that way," I agreed glumly. "I'm even thinking of cancelling my holiday."

"That's why you're learning?" She said in surprise. "Me too! I'm going on one of those cycling-camping tours next month."

"I was thinking of doing a similar thing myself, but in the car," I said. "Or at least I was going to, once I learned enough French to get around on my own. Now I think I'll have to do a package tour or something instead. If I can afford it."

She went quiet after that, and we hit the books again for an hour - again with little success. As I got ready to leave, she stopped me and asked me to sit down.

"Look, I've been doing some thinking. Why don't we combine our holidays? I'm going on my own as well and if we shared the trip we'd be company for one another. We get on well, it would let us cut our costs, and I could help you with the language barrier."

I was smart enough to pretend that I wanted to think it over for a few days, but in truth I was ready to jump at the chance. I was madly attracted to Stephanie; I've always been a sucker for the petite redhead type, and the thought of spending a few weeks cycling through the countryside with her was appealing.

We fell in love on the holiday; by the second week we were both sleeping in my tent. A month after we got home I proposed, and we were married soon afterwards.

For the first month or so all was well, but soon things started to go wrong. Steph gradually began to become distant and moody - it began in minor ways, but over time it reached a point where she was barely talking to me. Our sex life dropped off almost from the end of the honeymoon. I tried to wait it out, to see if things would get better, but they didn't. I couldn't think of anything I was doing wrong, but just in case I tried extra hard to show her more than my normal level of love and support - I was scrupulous about doing more than my share of the chores, always affectionate and complimentary. She just grew even more distant. I was terrified that she was realising that marrying me had been a mistake, that she could have done better.

Finally, I confronted her about it. She tried to shrug it off, pretend that nothing was wrong, but I've always been stubborn and I persisted. "Honey, we've always been honest with one another," I said. "Now it's clear to me that something is wrong in our marriage. You've almost totally lost interest in sex, we hardly talk any more..."

"Why is it all my fault?" She demanded angrily. "You blame me for every single thing that's wrong between us!"

"No!" I almost shouted, and she blinked with surprise. I don't think I had ever yelled at her before. "No," I carried on in a more reasonable tone, "it's not like that at all. I'm just trying to get you to admit that there is a problem. I'm absolutely not saying that you are the one to blame. If you don't feel you can make love to me anymore, then I want to know what I have done to make that happen. If I'm not satisfying you in the bedroom, I want to know why that is and what I can do to fix it."

"It's..." she trailed off, lost in thought for a long time. I waited, knowing that right now there was nothing I could do but let her think it through. "Jason, there's just no way to say it without hurting you," she said finally. She looked so miserable right then, it broke my heart. "And I really don't want to do that."

"Don't worry about that right now," I said earnestly. "Steph, the one thing that hurts me most in all this world is the thought that I'm making you unhappy in some way. No matter what you have to say to me, it can't be worse than that."

"Okay," she hesitated again and then looked me straight in the eye. "You can't satisfy me in bed."

I winced inwardly but tried to keep my face as straight as possible. "Go on."

"At first, I thought it wouldn't matter. I knew I loved you almost from the beginning, before the holiday even. When we first slept together, I was so... oh God, I can't believe I'm saying this. I was so disappointed. I'm sorry, but it just did absolutely nothing for me. I still loved you though, so I stayed with you. I figured I could live without good sex so long as I still loved you, but I just can't do this anymore. I can't lie there faking orgasms every time and lying about how great it was afterwards!"

"So, what is it that's wrong, exactly?" I asked. I knew she had to get all of this out while she was prepared to talk about it. If I showed how upset this was making me, there was no way I would ever get her to open up like this again.

"Everything!" I could tell she was near to tears. "You're just not good in bed Jason. Nothing you do turns me on in the slightest. It never has, not once."

She began to cry quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. Closed off, introspective. I took her in my arms. "Honey, don't worry about it. We'll find a way to fix this, I know we will." She began to sob openly and I rubbed her back gently. We stayed like that for a long, long time.

Eventually she quietened and I released her. "I can't believe you lived with this much misery for so long just because of that," I said gently. "Okay, new rule. From now on, we tell one another everything. Everything, no matter how hurtful we think it is. Okay?"

"Okay," she said.

We spent the rest of the day in the house, just talking things over. I felt like I was getting to know Steph all over again; it was humbling in the extreme to realise that our entire sex life had been a total lie. Even worse, she seemed adamant that there was nothing I could do about it. It was nothing specific I'd done wrong, she said.

"I still love you darling," she said, "but you said it's time for total honesty and here it is. It's not just that you're... well, that you're so small down there. I could live with that, if you were any good at the other things I like. But you aren't. You don't turn me on, and you never will. Sexually speaking I'm just not attracted to you."

"Steph, you're a pretty highly sexed woman. If you're saying that our marriage is going to be sexless from now on, well, I think I could cope with that, if it meant staying with you, but I don't think you could live with it. Maybe for a little while, but in a few weeks or months you'll be going up the walls."

"Well, I don't see another option," she said. "That's just going to have to be the way it is."

And so it was. We continued sharing a bed but did nothing more than cuddling. I've never been all that sexually active, so it didn't bother me too much at first. But as I predicted, Steph gradually began getting more and more frustrated. She got irritable and snappish, and despite our best efforts the effects were bleeding over into the other areas of our relationship and poisoning our marriage. I was losing her and there was nothing I could do about it - I just had to wait her out.

Finally, she had had enough. After a nasty row that blew up over nothing at all, we sat down for another frank talk - this time at her suggestion. "Darling," she announced, "I love you and I don't want to hurt you. But to put this bluntly, I need to get laid properly or I'm going to go out of my mind!"

"I know, I know." I sighed with resignation. "You gave it a good try, but it was never going to work. So, what do we do about it?"

"It pains me to say it, but there's only one choice, isn't there? You're just not an option, so I'm going to have to go elsewhere."

I winced. It had been increasingly obvious to me that this was going to happen, and I had been struggling with it over the last months. In my mind, it came down to three options - I could insist on fidelity, in which case we would either carry on as we were until we admitted it was time for a divorce... or she would start cheating on me behind my back... or I could accept the inevitable. We talked it over for another hour or so, but what it boiled down to was that I gave my wife permission to cheat on me with other men. Although I'd pretty much decided on this option weeks ago, now that I was faced with the brutal reality I couldn't help feeling that our relationship was changing drastically.

She started the next day. She dressed up in her sexiest clothes and headed out on the town. We agreed that she should bring the guy back to our house - it seemed safest. I said I would give her a couple of hours to find somebody, and then head out to the pub for a few hours while she brought him back and did the deed.

It was hell sitting around the house imagining Stephanie giving the come-on to some stranger, and worse sitting in the pub imagining what he must be doing to her in our house - in our bed! I couldn't stop thinking about it, wondering exactly what they would do together, what positions they would use. Stephanie was right about me, I thought jealously; I had never been adventurous in bed, never gone much beyond the standard missionary position. Now some stranger was probably going to show her what sex should be like, and it was driving me crazy!

Just thinking about it gave me a raging erection. I hadn't seen my wife naked in months, and just picturing that petite little body of hers writhing and straining as she moaned in pleasure under the attentions of a total stranger was turning me on incredibly.

Just to be on the safe side, I waited until the pub closed and then headed home again. We'd agreed that she would send the guys home once they'd served their purpose. Stephanie was snuggled on the living room couch, bathing in the firelight with a big dressing gown wrapped around her. She looked relaxed.

I hesitated, wondering what I should say. "Did things go okay?"

She shrugged a little. "Well enough."

"How are you feeling?"

She shrugged again. "It was fine. I feel a lot better, okay?"

That set a regular routine. Now and again Steph would get dressed up and head out on the town. I'd give her a while then go out to the pub and sit there for a few tortured, frustrated hours until closing time, then head back home again to find her waiting. It was hardly an ideal arrangement for me, but I couldn't argue with the results. It was as if somebody had opened a valve and just drained all the tension out of our marriage. Steph was happier and more laid-back than I'd ever known her.

Happy wife, happy life, as they say.

We'd set no timetable for her trysts, but she had originally gone out about once a fortnight. Gradually that became once a week - Saturday night became her 'date night'. Then she started adding Fridays as well. After six months or so she started going out midweek, until eventually she was going out more nights than she was staying in. I was getting more and more jealous - I knew she had a pretty high sex drive, but I was beginning to wonder just how high!

The next big change in our relationship came after about eight months of this routine. It was just another night down at the pub for me, but when I came home about half eleven there was no sign of Stephanie downstairs. I went up to the bedroom and opened the door. It simply never occurred to me that she would still be with whoever she had brought home.

My wife was on all fours on the bed, groaning softly with pleasure as a stranger took her from behind. I gaped at them in shock; I had long become used to the idea that Stephanie was having sex with other men, but to be confronted with it like this was something else; the sheer reality of it hit home like a punch in the gut.

Steph turned her head and saw me there. There was no surprise on her face, no shame. Instead she grinned slowly and, keeping her eyes on me, turned her head slightly to the guy behind her. "That's it, just like that," she panted, "fuck me good... yeah, keep it going."

I shut the door and went downstairs to the living room. I felt utterly wretched, but what could I do? I'd agreed to exactly this, I could hardly start complaining now. I realised that my erection hadn't even gone away at the sight; in fact, it was harder than it had ever been.

They showed no sign of coming downstairs, and I decided to spend the night on the couch. I stripped down to my boxers, threw a blanket over myself and tried to sleep. It was no use; I just could not get rid of the image of that man screwing Stephanie while she was clearly having the time of her life. He had looked a lot younger than I was, well muscled and good looking. Just the kind of man my beautiful wife deserved, I thought miserably to myself. Now I had a face and body to put into my imaginings, an image to torture myself with.

After a couple of hours, I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs followed by the front door banging. A moment later Steph padded into the living room, clad in her usual dressing gown.

"God Steph, how could you do that to me?" I asked plaintively.

She laughed. "Oh, come on Jason!" She said scornfully, "you knew perfectly well what I was doing while you were out. Don't try to climb up on your high horse now!"

I slumped back into the couch. "Doing it is one thing, but to have me walk in like that?"

"I didn't open that door Jason, you did. You have only yourself to blame for what you saw. If you don't like it, stay the hell out of the bedroom from now on because the only change is going to be that Mark is going to be coming around more often. In fact," she continued, and I could sense the change in her voice. I looked up to see her staring at my crotch. Yes, that damned hard-on was still there. She came over and put her foot on my lap, smiling widely as she wiggled her toes against my erection. "It seems to me that while your mouth is complaining, at least a part of you is thinking something else!"

I sat immobile, frozen in shame and guilt as she continued relentlessly. "Who's the bad guy here, Jason? Who's the one responsible for this situation?" She hooked her toes into the waistband of my boxers and pulled at them. My cock sprung out, standing to its full three and three-quarter inch length. She began to play her toes against my it. I looked up and could see that she was naked under the robe. He cunt was glistening wet, and I could clearly see trickles of semen on her thighs. There seemed to be an awful lot of it. "Lest we forget, husband, the only reason I have spent nearly a year screwing other men is that you are so god-awful shit-useless in bed! Well, most of the men I've slept with haven't been all that much better but now I've found Mark." Her eyes went dreamy and a smile stole across her lips. "He took a hell of a lot of finding, but now I have a man who can really fuck and I'm not giving that up just because you opened a bedroom door and got a bit upset at seeing another man do what you can't! And I most certainly am not going to stand here and listen to you bitch and whine because I'm doing what you suggested I do, when it's actually turning you on!"

She took her foot away and straddled me, using her hands to masturbate my stiff cock slowly. I moaned in spite of myself - it was the first sexual contact we'd had in months, and it felt truly incredible. "Did you really think that you could pleasure me with this little thing?" She asked mockingly. "They say size doesn't matter to most women, but there are limits! This isn't even four inches now, and it's harder than I've ever seen it before! God Jason, I could hardly feel it touch the sides most of the time! Mark's cock makes this look like a little worm. And he really knows how to use it!" She began pumping my cock faster and faster, clearly extremely turned on by the memory. "He's one in a million, that's for sure. Well," she said with that evil smile of hers, "one in about sixty, anyway! Jesus, I don't think I've ever come so hard or so much as I did tonight. Four, five times maybe. The man is amazing."

I couldn't take any more. I'd never in my life been so ashamed, and never before been so turned on. Stephanie sensed that I was about to come and pointed my cock down between her thighs as I shot my load in a convulsive spurt. She stood up and opened her robe to give me a good view. I could see my semen intermingled with Mark's on her thighs.

"Well, you lasted nearly a whole minute and a half there Jason, well done," she sneered.

"Steph..."

"Oh, don't bother." She snapped. "I can't imagine that you have anything to say right now that I'm interested in hearing. They say that in any relationship one partner is the submissive one and the other the dominant one. Well, I gave you your chance and you have made it quite clear that you aren't man enough to handle being married to me. So as of now, I am the one in charge. If I feel like fucking my way through an entire football team, you'll nod and smile and say you like it. Understood?" That piercing green-eyed stare held my gaze. I'd always been able to lose myself in Stephanie's eyes, and with the emotional state I was in the effect was practically hypnotic. I felt myself nodding slowly. "I said, is that understood?"

"Yes." I'd never heard my voice sound so small, so weak.

"Good. In the meantime, I'm tired. Come on, we're going to bed."

I followed her upstairs miserably, wondering what the hell was happening to my marriage.

Stephanie didn't go out the next night, or the night afterwards. But at about ten o'clock the doorbell rang, and when I answered it Mark was standing there. I stared at him, trembling with impotent rage, but there was nothing I could do about it. I stepped aside wordlessly and he walked in, smiling broadly. It was the first time I had really got a good look at him; he looked to be an inch or two over six feet, easily six inches taller than myself. He was much more solidly built, too, like a rugby player or something. He was younger than I, but I tried to tell myself it wasn't by all that much - late twenties perhaps. Alright, maybe mid-twenties.

"You're here!" Stephanie squealed, clearly delighted when he appeared in the living room. She practically flung herself into his arms and they kissed deeply while I squirmed. "Jesus, I can't get enough of you," she said when they finally broke the kiss. She turned to me. "But I'm being rude by not making the introductions! Mark, this is my husband Jason. Jason, this is my lover Mark!"

I mumbled a hello nervously. I could feel my cock begin stirring in my trousers at the sight of them together. Mark just shook his head and smiled. "And he's really okay with this?"

"Probably not, but it doesn't really matter what he thinks, does it? " She replied. "I told you, I'm the one who wears the trousers in this house. Metaphorically, anyway," she added, glancing down at her leather miniskirt with a smile. "Now Jason, if you will excuse me I'm just going to take Mark upstairs to our bed and fuck his brains out. Is that okay with you?"