The Solution Pt. 01

A MAN THINKS . . .

What does it mean when a man says that he loves his wife? For me that goes far beyond the emotion, and far beyond that addictive flavor of initial lust. It is the desire to protect the beauty of she who has become mine, and mine alone. Flesh renders very little sustainable beauty. That is only the lure to find the truest of beauty found in exclusive vulnerability, total access, and absolute submission. These are ideals that are fostered in my own demonstration of strength and self-mastery. I value her respect for me, more than her love, whenever the two are mutually exclusive.

I also hunger for the relationship to be a power exchange in my favor, and this is always best achieved for me with various forms of polyamory. The woman by nature needs that feeling of being unique and special in a the heart of a true Man. This is as it should be. And yet, the male is fulfilled in social standing and self-esteem by the devotion of many women. These two forces are in conflict, and the male is left with the choice of becoming an opportunistic predator or a delusional martyr for a matriarchal perversion of society.

So when I found a woman who made herself exclusively vulnerable to me, who hungered for her life to be an act of absolute submission, and surrendered total access to her body, mind, and heart, I violated the covenanted devotion to my wife and established a wonderfully fulfilling power exchange relationship. Yet the conflict remained as I had two women I sought to give that feeling of being uniquely special, and which was true in both cases. I had not given up on my wife but the expectations of exclusive security in matrimony tend to retard or prevent power exchange. If one woman knows or considers the other, they suffer loss. As a Man, I want the both. As a decent human being, I must choose one and should not have indulged my desire for more. It is a dilemma no matter what choice I make.

Yet I could not turn away from this woman who had bowed low before me, because respect is far more important than love for me. I suspect such is the case with most men. This woman was large breasted with a proportional hour-glass figure, providing me with an amazing ass and a set of fleshy tits to abuse, to torture, to take and use as it pleased me. Every extreme I pushed her to, she met, sometimes with fading reluctance, but more often with eager obedience. Her long dark hair was the symbol of her devotion to me as if I were deity.

My wife and I were hot items when we first dated, but after we married and I saw how jealous and insecure she was around other women, I knew that I had mistaken a professional victim for a submissive. She became increasingly frigid, and I became accustomed to the role of the martyr.

For my ideal of polyamory to work, there must be an ample dose of both power exchange and compersion. The latter is an ideal developed in the communal living of the 60's and it rarely seems to work on a long term basis. And yet, like a mythical unicorn, this submissive woman appeared to me from the enchanted shadows of a parallel world. Is it possible that women could cooperate with one another as a community in devotion to one man? Could I become a man that deserves such exaltation?

For now, I help both wife and submissive maintain the truth of being special before me, through the deception of an exclusive focus on them. I know that it is a house of cards.

What is the solution?

A SUBMISSIVE WOMAN TRIES . . .

Tonight, i will push myself to trust His Dominance. i have purchased a complete sensory deprivation hood. i will go to His cabin and lock myself into His standing bondage while wearing this. He has wanted me to wear one of these because i am a bit claustrophobic, and this is when submission is tested - doing what scares, disgusts, or humiliates oneself for the sake of His pleasure, to honor His strength in my life. And i am driven by my own erotic desire to be helpless before him. i hope to become His slave, useful to Him and, in whatever way He desires.

i just sent Him a text message letting Him know what i am doing, letting Him know that i have made myself available for Him, whenever He may deem to take me.

i am scared and i hope that He does not delay coming to me. As i breathe deeply to cleanse myself of anxiety, i lock my only free limb in the final wrist cuff by pressing it closed against the door jam, i wait with limbs extended and hood secure. In this darkness i will seek to stay calm and practice my astral projection while i wait. i have really become quite good at leaving my body.

A WIFE REACTS . . .

How I love these times alone with my husband. This restaurant has been one of our favorite over the years, and the peaceful ambience has provided such a respite from his work worries so that he can devote time to us. That is what it is all about. I do my very best to look good for him. I have trimmed my hair down so that it much easier to manage. My clothing is professional befitting a couple of higher status. I was such a foolish you girl when we first met, exposing too much flesh. It was an unnecessary lure, because I love is forever. We adore each other and the comfort of being together only demonstrates -

Why is he checking his cell phone during our special date? What is that look on his face? He is concerned about something?

"What is it, honey?"

He dismisses my inquiry but is obviously shaken about something. Maybe it is trouble at work that he does not want to share with me, trying desperately to protect our romantic interlude.

Oh god! He's clutching his chest! Falling to the floor in obvious agony. No!

I am by his side, and others have come to help. "Call 911!" Did I say that or someone else?

WIFE WATING . . .

The doctor says he is resting. A heart attack. Looks like he will recover. Just needs a few days to be monitored. Looking at his jacket, I wonder about the message that came in just before his incident. He is sleeping soundly and there is not harm in looking. I go to the other chair where his clothing is set aside. I pull the cell phone from his jacket, and read his last text message.

"I am finally wearing the hood you bought. I have locked myself in the cabin and await your inspection. I have left myself no way out until your arrival and your release. I know I should not have taken this initiative, but I wanted to move while I had the courage. I do not want to disappoint you again. Please do not make me wait too long. I am at your mercy."

Oh no. What is this? No wonder the distance and the extra duties at work. Hood? Inspection? At his mercy? What kind of twisted relationship is he into?

I forwarded the message to my own cell phone and return his to the jacket. My own heart races. Is he meeting someone at our cabin, the one where we had our honeymoon?

Who is this little bitch invading my world? He is resting. No sense waiting here when I can go greet this little slut myself.

THE CABIN FOR TWO . . .

The joints in my body ache and it struggles to stand. i am aware of these sensations, but i am detached and looking down on it. I cannot bear to stay within it lest i give way to the rising panic. He is testing me, leaving me to bear the consequences of my impatient willfulness. i should not have done this. How much longer?

Then my attention is pulled from that pathetic, heaving, struggling, naked body to the sound of His car coming toward the cabin and i am both afraid and relieved.

It is not He who enters the door. Oh god, it is His wife. How does she know? No, no, no, no. i retreat to my body unable even to beg for mercy. My life is in her hands.

. . .

Stupid little slut, does not even know that her life is in the hands of one pissed off woman. I thought I was the fool for not realizing that there was another woman. It does not compare with this brainless twat. Why would anyone do this to themselves?

As I look around the room I see that she has lain out and labeled the keys to her chains. This hood she was so proud of wearing blinds her, and I believe it also keeps her from hearing. I could do whatever I wanted to her and she would never know who it was. Here are her clothes and her purse.

So, my husband lies in the hospital because this cunt wanted attention on our date. I have no pity for her.

Oh she is twitching around, looking with no eyes, listening with no ears. She senses there is someone here.

I walk over to her vulnerable flesh and grab a handful of tit in each clinching fist and squeeze. I yank hard down and then up. The miserable little bitch dances and produces muffled screams. I slap those large melons around with all that I can. This is her lure, something she dangles before men she wants to ensnare in that cunthole. I breathe and pace and strike them again and again.

I stop and sit in a nearby chair and just stare at her and begin weeping. Why am I not good enough for him? Why risk so much for this pathetic creature?

And then I see it. Her pussy is glistening, dripping with arousal. Is this what she is used to from my husband? Who is this man I have been married to for five years?

I grabbed my lighter and walked up to her, and begin to cook her breasts with my open flame. Oh she screamed and flailed about then. I secured her left tit in one hand and lit up the nipple. Flesh crinkled. I did the same to the right. I brought the dancing flame down to that leaking cunt and cooked both lips of her labia and burned away that little patch of hair. And I did not spare the clit; no that received special attention so that her pleasure would be pain. My flaming wrath burned deeply into her ass and under her arms. I pulled up each leg and burned the soles of her feet.

I sat in my chair and watched her wiggle and weep, shifting her weight on her burnt feet. I had released my initial fury and just needed to think. I saw a large dildo lying on the bed, large in girth and probably about 13 inches in length. So that is what she wanted. I wonder if she is still excited about being fucked hard now.

I got up and picked it up, and looked at this tool. Why would any woman want this bestial tool splitting them open?

I walked slowly toward this whimpering fool, and jammed the dildo full force up her vagina, pounding in and out as deeply as I could achieve. Unbelievably, her opening was still lubricated with arousal. So I fucked her hard, listening to her grunt. The bitch came! This is simply not possible. This is not acceptable. I pulled it out of her gash and took the lubricated monster and began ramming into her highly resistant ass. I would not be denied as I twisted it and shoved hard. The anal sphincter surrendered to the inevitable and I fucked the hell out of her ample ass. Then I got it as deep as I could make it go, and started punching it to go further. Oh the screams and convulsing delighted me to no end. When I let go, it stayed there in its new home. There was blood trickling out.

Feeling the need to piss gave me another idea. I pulled out a large pitcher and squatted over it. I just about filled it up. I put the chair directly in front of her splayed body, stood in the chair with my pitcher full of piss, tilted her head back and began pouring it into her mouth opening. She sputtered and gagged at first, but finally accepted her fate and began drinking it as quickly as she could.

I took a break and cleaned myself up, taking a nice hot shower. I walked out of the bathroom and saw her limp form hanging from her chains. I checked, and she was still breathing. I thought it was best for me to stop before I crossed that line. I cleaned up hoping I had removed all traces of me with her.

I went to the table with the keys to her chains, picked them up and walked outside, and I through them in a nearby lake. I slashed all four tires on her car. I came back in and rifled through her purse. I found contact information, personal data, and even passwords to her accounts. She truly is an idiot. I took all of her cash and destroyed her driver's license and put it in the outside burn can along with her clothing and all other personal belongings. Later, I would publish her personal information anywhere I thought that it might be exploited on the Internet. I was done, and now I needed some rest before returning to the hospital. I was worn out and had no further inspiration for this beaten wench.

I lay down on the bed and drifted off into a fitful slumber.

THE DREAM . . .

The cabin was ablaze, but I could not lift myself from the bed. My body would not respond. The hooded woman walked out of the flames to my side. She crawled onto the bed and positioned herself between my thighs, and a very long tongue came out of that mouth hole and found my clit. She lapped away at my cunt and, although the cabin was being consumed around us, I was deeply aroused by her ministrations. My body began to perspire and lungs heaved for clean, sane air. I came just as I heard the command, "get up!"

I awoke still convulsing from my orgasm. The hooded one was still helplessly chained.

"Get up; we need to go back to the hospital. He is alone. He should not be alone."

Was I still dreaming? Yet this voice compelled me. I could not resist its sense of urgency. I got up and left that cabin behind. The stupid woman was still whimpering. At least I had not killed her.

I drive away, leaving the wreckage of my vengeance behind, but carrying with me a nagging voice hungry to serve my husband.