July 14, 2008
My wife and I had always had a normal sex life until, about a year ago, we got drunk at a party. When we got home and into bed, I blurted out that I wanted her to fuck my ass. She replied that one of her close friends had recently told her that she had used a strapon on her husband and it had been a real turn-on for both of them. Since then, my wife had frequently thought about that conversation and she was finding the idea exciting. We did plenty of research, started with fingering and soon worked up to the first time we would try using a strapon. We decided on a 7inch model with a realistic head, which I selfconsciously bought from our local sex shop.
That night, we put plenty of lube on my ass and I waited excitedly in our bedroom while my wife donned her strapon in the bathroom. She walked in and asked nervously, “Well, what do you think?”. I could hardly believe that I was seeing my beautiful feminine wife standing naked, sporting a 7inch penis. I put my arms around her and, as I kissed her, her strapon touched my leg. I said, “Darling, you look fabulous and I have to say I’m envious of the size of your cock.” She laughed and looked at her reflection in one of the full-length wardrobe mirrors along the length of one wall. By this time, I had an erection, so she grasped her strapon with one hand and held it fully horizontal as we stood together. I said, “Your cock’s bigger than mine, so you’re the boss and you decide what you’re going to do with it.” She put her arms around my neck, brought her lips close to mine and said, “I’m going to put my cock up your ass.” She kissed me hard on the lips, then said, “Lie face down on the bed and get your ass up, ready for me.” I obeyed her and soon felt her cock probing at my ass, quickly followed by the sensation of it entering me. She began slowly and rhythmically, but she was soon thrusting hard into me. I’d never felt so randy in my life, and my excitement was heightened by the thought that this was my wife raping me with her cock. I couldn’t hold on any longer and blew my load into the towel I’d placed beneath me. My wife was oblivious to what I had done and she continued to fuck the hell out of me for several minutes more, before she slowed down and withdrew her cock.
When she’d calmed down she told me that she’d been watching herself in the mirror and she’d experienced such a sensation of power when she saw her cock enter me that she’d almost fainted. The strapon had given her pleasurable stimulation, but the huge turn-on for her (and which had given her multiple orgasms) had been the power she felt as she was fucking me and the kinky thrill that she was dominating a man. She looked me straight in the eye and asked me whether I was prepared to accept that, in future, she intended to be the one calling the shots. I replied that I’d never had such fabulous sex with her before, and I was turned on by being dominated by her, so she could henceforth fuck me when she felt like it. She patted my cheek and said,”I intend to do just that.” And, believe me, she has done so since then!
After our first strapon session, my wife and I could hardly wait to do it again, so the following Saturday night was earmarked for session number 2. My wife (by the way, her name is Linda) spent many hours on the internet during the weekday evenings leading up to Saturday, learning more about the pegging “scene”. She told me that, among other things, she wanted to know the correct language to use and she had discovered with great pleasure that she could refer to me as her “bitch”. In fact, while she was researching, I brought her a coffee and she looked at me, smiled and said, “Thanks, bitch”. My mouth fell open at the casual way she said it, so she patted me on the cheek and said, “I’ll be calling you that on Saturday night, so I’m giving you the chance to get used to it”. On another occasion, I noticed that she was examining femdom websites, so I asked if she was finding it interesting. She stood up, kissed me hard on the lips and said, “It’s more than interesting, it’s fucking mindblowing”. That really surprised me, because I’d never heard her use the F-word except during sex, and I rather weakly said, “Oh, I didn’t know you liked it that much, darling”, to which she replied, “When I fucked you, you told me that you were turned on by being dominated by me, and I told you that I was turned on by the power I felt as I was dominating you, so it seems we’ve discovered a mutually ideal situation and I fully intend to explore this further. Don’t forget, I’m the one who’s calling the shots now!”
On Saturday, Linda went shopping to the city, while I eagerly anticipated the evening to come. When she returned home, she announced that there were several bags of shopping in the car and I should carry them upstairs to the master bedroom. She then told me to wait in the spare bedroom until she summoned me. I guessed she was getting undressed and putting on her strapon, but it seemed to take her a long time and I wondered what she was doing. Eventually, she called to me to go into the master bedroom and lie face down, naked, on the bed. She had gone into the bathroom and it seemed to me that she was deliberately keeping me waiting and building up the tension. My cock was hard, as I relished the thought of seeing my wife and HER cock!
I heard the door being opened, but I could see nothing because I was face down. Then I felt a searing pain on the cheeks of my bottom, which made me jump and turn round quickly. What I saw was beyond my wildest dreams: my beautiful wife was now a whip-wielding goddess in black leather. She was adorned in stiletto-heeled thigh boots, a military-style peaked cap. an eyemask, a choker, a studded bra and a short skirt, and she was flexing a riding crop (which had given me the searing pain) between the hands of her shoulder-length gloves. All in black leather! The entire outfit was so thrillingly bizarre that I didn’t know what to look at next, but my gaze soon fell on the bump in the front of her leather skirt. She saw what I was looking at and laughingly said, “So you can see my hard-on under my skirt, can you? My cock’s erect and it wants man-pussy, but it’ll have to wait until I’ve whipped your ass into shape. Lie face down along the edge of the bed!” I did as she ordered and I felt the sole and heel of her boot pressing on my neck as her whip hit my ass and I jumped involuntarily. “Lie still while I whip you!” she commanded, and I did my best to obey her. After several strokes, I began to whimper and she stopped, saying, “That’ll do for the first time. Turn over and lube my cock; I don’t want to soil my lovely leather gloves.” I put plenty of lube on the 7inch strapon, as I had the feeling that she wouldn’t penetrate me as gently as the first time she’d fucked me. When I’d finished, I asked if I could put some lube on my ass. She sighed and said, “All right, but be quick about it. I’m ready to fuck you now, bitch!” I was still applying the lube when she suddenly knocked the jar out of my hand. “That’s enough!” she barked, her eyes steely-hard behind her leather mask. “Get your ass up, you fucking wimp, or I’ll whip the shit out of you!” I started to tremble, partly because I was afraid of the powerful dominatrix I scarcely recognised as my demure, feminine wife, but mainly in excitement at the ass-fucking I was about to receive. And my penis was throbbing, too. Linda was in no mood to care about what my body was doing, as she was intent only on her pleasure. I gasped as she penetrated me roughly and began to ravish me with her cock. “Hey, bitch!” she said mockingly, as her thrusts grew faster, “I’m watching myself in the mirror as I fuck your male cunt, and this is the biggest turn-on of my life. This is how it’s gonna be from now on!” Her cock was doing unbelievable things to me and it was even better than the first time. My ass was sore from her whipping, and now it had her cock in it, and it was WONDERFUL! I had the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced in my life, as my wife rode me like the she-stallion she had become.
Linda kept going for ages after that, until she was totally satisfied and withdrew from my ass. She rolled onto the bed beside me and lay there, resplendent in her leather and with her cock jutting upwards. “That was fucking fantastic, my little bitch-husband,” she said, “and I have lots of ideas to try yet.”
As we lay in bed on the following morning, we discussed where our relationship was heading. Firstly, we talked about our “role-reversal”, with my wife taking the man’s role of being dominant and doing the penetrating, while I was in the (supposedly) woman’s role of being submissive and penetrated. Linda made it clear that, although she had plans to develop the role-reversal theme, she had no desire to use her strapon in a lesbian relationship; no matter how submissive or even feminised I would become, her thrill came from knowing that it was a man she was fucking and dominating. As for me, I said that my pleasure emanated from the knowledge that I was being plowed by a woman and, even if she took the role-reversal idea further, she would still be a woman. I hated the thought of being fucked by a man and I couldn’t even consider “lady-boy” transsexuals because, although some of them look beautiful and have boobs, I wouldn’t be able to get it out of my head that each of them has a real penis and is therefore basically a man. Furthermore, neither of us was interested in threesomes.
Secondly, the type of sex we were to have in the future was decided: Linda told me that she would decide, as the whim took her, whether she would peg me or whether we would have conventional sex. If the former, she would be too busy enjoying herself to care about what I was doing so, if I wanted to, I could jack myself off while she was fucking me. If she chose conventional sex, she would be on top and I would be expected to do whatever she wished to maximise her satisfaction.
Finally, Linda said that she had been thinking about our day-to-day married life. Like many women, she had been conditioned into accepting that a man was the head of the house. We had been married for just under 5 years, we had seldom argued and she had always backed down if things became heated, mainly because I’m taller and stronger than she is, and she’d been afraid that I might get physical and hurt her (although that possibility had never entered my head). Now that she’d learned that I wanted to be dominated by her, and she’d discovered the powerful thrill she experienced when she was dominant, she demanded a change in our relationship. We both have well-paid jobs and we enjoy a good social life, with plenty of friends. It would be foolish to jeopardize these, so we would continue to behave as normal in public, as though nothing had changed between us. However, when we came home and locked the door behind us, my wife would be the boss. I said that we live in a detached house with no near neighbours, and we have no children, so what goes on behind closed doors is our business. Linda pointed out that I was almost correct, but I should have said “her business”. I apologised to her.
Just in case anyone thinks that our “role-reversal” activities mean that my wife and I have somehow changed sexes, I think I’d better put the record straight. What I mean is that we both get a kinky thrill from behaving like the opposite sex. As I said, my wife loves playing the man’s role of being the dominant partner and having a “cock”, whereas I adopt the female submissive role. It is a part of our lovemaking, although we like to extend it into other areas of our private life. And my wife enjoys a hard conventional fuck too (frequently after she’s pegged me), with the proviso that she has to be on top. Everything takes place behind closed doors and, as we live in an isolated house, we can be as adventurous as we like without fear of discovery. In actual fact, that means we can be as adventurous as my dominant wife likes.
Linda has bought several strapons of varying lengths and thicknesses. She loves wearing black leather because it heightens her feelings of dominance, and her leather clothing and footwear collection has become extensive, but her favourite trousers are so skintight that a cock has to be worn on top of the trousers. She usually wears a short thick black one (to match the colour of the trousers) and it is quite something to see her striding about the house, with her trousers tucked into high-heeled knee-length lace-up boots and a cock protruding from her crotch! She also bought men’s leather trousers, because they have a more generous crotch size and they have room for a strapon that isn’t rock-hard rigid. She adores posing in front of a mirror, looking at the bulge made by her cock in her leather trousers, and when she occasionally summons me by calling “Bitch! Come and admire my hard-on!”, then I know she’s in the mood for pegging me good and hard. By way of prolonging the pleasure, she has developed some novel foreplay before she fucks me: she sits in a high-backed armchair by the fireside (which is known as “the master’s chair”) and I have to kneel in front of her while she slowly unzips her trousers and takes out her cock. She loves watching me put a condom on her cock, then she applies bright red lipstick to my lips (you’ve probably heard of women wearing “fuck me” lipstick; well, Linda says I’m wearing “suck it” lipstick), then she orders me to suck her cock. She thrusts it into my mouth to ensure that I get the full treatment, while she says things like “My little bitch-husband’s sucking my cock. I like it!” She keeps one of her riding crops beside the master’s chair and, if my cock-sucking performance isn’t pleasing her, she lets me feel her whip touching my cheek, as a warning. She used to take me upstairs to bed after that, but she changed the routine one day. She suddenly withdrew her cock from my mouth, then she commanded me to position myself over the arm of the chair, with my ass at the correct height for her to enter me. As my wife pegged me on the master’s chair, I couldn’t help thinking ironically that there was no doubt that she was now the master! I said that to her when she’d finished doing me, and she chuckled and declared that it was a fabulous piece of gender-reversal: the wife being the master! She pointed out that she’s the boss and her cock is bigger than mine, so it’s only natural that I should acknowledge her as the Master of the house. Until then, I’d called her “mistress” at home, but she now commanded me to address her as “master”. She, meanwhile, calls me “bitch” or “wimp” or “slave” or any other derogatory term she wishes. For example, one Saturday morning I woke up in bed, turned and saw her still asleep beside me, so I kissed her gently on the cheek and said “Wake up, master”. She yawned, slowly opened her eyes and sleepily said “Don’t tell me what to do, you fucking tart. I’m going back to sleep”. Even when she’s half-asleep, she’s dominant!
Master Linda has long straight blonde hair, parted in the middle, and a beautiful face with blue eyes, smooth skin and a little pert nose. She is fastidious about her hair and make-up, and she looks beautifully feminine with shining hair, glossy pink lipstick and lovely eye-makeup. It’s fascinating to watch as she puts on a military-style peaked black leather cap, a black leather eyemask (which she says makes her feel evil) and a black leather studded (or spiked) choker, and she lets her blonde hair cascade over the black leather of a severe jacket or waistcoat. Her feminine little face is transformed into a powerful dominant countenance, with ice-hard eyes threatening behind her leather mask. She’s 5feet 7 inches tall, but in her 4inch high-heeled boots her face is level with mine (I’m 5feet 11inches) and she’s developed the tactic of tilting her head back slightly so that she is looking down her nose at me. In 5inch heels or more, she towers above me and, believe me, when I look up at her leather-masked face, I wouldn’t dream of arguing when she reminds me that she’s the Master. Some time ago, she added one further touch to make her look (and feel) even more powerful, and also to continue the role-reversal theme: she started smoking cigars. She’d only ever smoked cigarettes occasionally, mainly at social events and never at home, because she knew I disapproved as I’m a non-smoker. When she became the boss, she declared that she’d smoke at home whenever she wished and if I didn’t like it, I could lump it. Then, one day when she was surfing femdom websites, she saw a photo of a domme smoking a cigar. Master Linda reckoned that the cigar enhanced the domme’s powerful image, as cigars have always been associated with power and authority. So, she reasoned, as the Master of the house, she had the authority and therefore a smoldering cigar in her mouth or in her hand would be (together with her black leather clothing, whips and strapons) another visible signal to me of her authority. She started with small cigars but found them too bitter, then she moved on to long slim panatellas, which she quite liked but she didn’t think looked sufficiently authoritative. She then progressed to full panatellas, which she enjoys enormously. When she’s smoking a cigar, she wears short black leather gloves, for two reasons: firstly, she doesn’t want tobacco stains on her fingers and secondly, she adores the elegantly powerful look of a woman holding her cigar between her black leather-gloved fingers. During “normal” (ie non-sexual) times at home, Master Linda smokes shop-bought machine-made panatellas and the aroma of her cigars is greatly preferable to cigarettes. In fact, I must admit it’s a thrilling example of role-reversal to see my wife’s beautifully feminine face with a powerful, dark cigar clenched between her lips. I really get turned on by the sight of her at home wearing my favourite of her “everyday” leather outfits (knee-length boots, skirt, tight waistcoat over a white shirt) while she’s smoking one of her cigars. She made it clear that it’s a mere man’s job to light his dominant wife’s cigars, so when she selects a cigar, I have to hurry to her with a lighter at the ready while she smirkingly issues the command “Slave, light my cigar!” I then have to wait until she takes a few cool puffs of her cigar, and I’m then dismissed when she brings her face close to mine and slowly exhales her cigar smoke in my face. It always makes me cough and she laughingly says “What’s wrong? Is your master-wife’s cigar smoke too strong for you, wimp-boy?” She prefers the more refined flavour of a premium hand-rolled cigar for our sex-sessions and she buys Churchill cigars which she stores carefully in her humidor. It’s a turn-on for both of us in the bedroom, to look in the wardrobe mirror and see her sheathed in kinky black leather and smoking a large cigar while she’s shafting me.
When Linda became the Master, she decide to take steps to consolidate her authority, just in case I had thoughts of rebelling against her (as if I ever would). She decided to improve her physical abilities, so she began working out at the gym and she enrolled in a course of unarmed combat. She had the advantage of not having to get rid of any excess body fat when she started at the gym, so she could almost immediately begin developing her muscles, and she worked very hard at it. She quickly progressed to more demanding sessions and both she and her instructor were delighted to see the speed and extent of her progress. Each time she stripped off at home, I could see how her muscles were developing. As I said earlier, her favourite leather trousers were skintight; they weren’t like that to begin with, but her leg muscles have become far more developed. Her arm muscles became solid and she began to test them by challenging me to arm-wrestling contests. At first, I would win using either hand, but she soon began to beat me when we used our left hands (we’re both right-handed), until the left-hand contest became too easy for her. It wasn’t long before she began to defeat me regularly with her right hand, until I was totally unable to match her. She stopped arm-wrestling me after the time that I nearly did myself an injury when straining with all my might and being unable to move her hand even an inch, while she sat there defying me with no apparent effort, as she casually smoked a cigar with her left hand. When she became bored, she demonstrated her supremacy by clutching my hand in an iron grip that made me wince, then she smashed my arm down on the table. As her muscles have become even more powerful since then, I have no wish to challenge her again. I have no interest in body-building, and I don’t understand her references to bench-presses, abs , pectorals and such like, but when she tells me of each new achievement (such as lifting bigger weights than some of the men could manage), I smile, kiss her gently on the cheek and say “Well done, master”. She likes to strike a body-builder pose and order me to feel her muscles, and I’m amazed how rock-hard they are. She’s become highly proficient in unarmed combat and can demonstrate all sorts of martial arts moves. She used to pin me using judo (or some such) holds, but she soon tired of it, saying that I was too easy to defeat. She wrestled me once and, after throwing me around for a short time, she wrapped her legs around my torso and squeezed so tightly that I had to beg her to stop before she crushed my ribs. But her favourite sport is boxing and she’s superb at it, skilful and strong. She suggested that I accompany her to the gym one evening, as she was due to fight another woman for the title of “Best Female Boxer”. She entered the ring looking fabulous, with her hair tied back in a pony tail beneath her headguard, and wearing a black vest and white shorts. It’s quite something to see one’s wife wearing boxing gloves! Although the other woman was bigger, she was also slower and she was really no match for my wife, who knocked her down twice in the first round. The opponent landed a couple of hefty blows early in the second round, but they didn’t bother my wife, who showed her boxing skills by smoothly evading further punches before unleashing a combination of punches that left her opponent dazed and then finishing her off with a dazzling right hand. If I was impressed by that, it was nothing to what I witnessed a few months later. Master Linda had been confined to shadow-boxing, hitting a punchbag, sparring etc and occasionally fighting the occasional new female challenger, but these bouts were too easy for her. One of the men at the gym had made some disparaging comments about women using equipment that he wanted, and my wife heard this and said that the equipment was for everyone to use, on a first-come, first-served basis. He argued back and soon it was a stand-up argument, with the guy shouting that if she wasn’t a woman, he’d give her a thumping. Master Linda retorted that her sex shouldn’t concern him and if he thought he could beat her, why didn’t he prove it in the ring? The gym officials weren’t too happy, but the women said that there would be trouble under sex-equality rules, so the officials reluctantly agreed to the contest late that night, when nobody but interested parties would be present. Master Linda phoned me and told me to come to the gym, as she was about to fight a man and she wanted me to see her in action. I knew how good she was, but I was afraid that a man would overpower her. How wrong could I be? The man was an inch taller than my wife, and weighed152lbs to her 147lbs, so he should have held the advantage, I won’t go through the entire fight, but I will say that she seemed to skilfully evade nearly all of his punches, taking most of the rest on her arms. The few that did get through didn’t seem to trouble her much, and she scarcely moved when he hit her in the midriff with a solid right hand. When he tried a clinch, she simply shrugged him off, causing him to stumble backwards. Meanwhile, Master Linda was catching him with left jabs to the face, which left blood trickling from his nose at the end of the first round. The men in the crowd were anxiously yelling at him to get on with it, because she’s only a woman, while the female part of the crowd were cheering my wife on. During the second round, Master Linda’s superiority over her male opponent became more obvious, as her jabs were turning his face red and blood was coming from both nostrils and a cut beside his right eye. She was also experimenting with combinations of punches that staggered him. Her fists smashed into his face with regularity, then she drove a piledriver right-hand into his midriff that doubled him up. He took a couple of steps back, then threw a swinging haymaker of a punch that caught my wife on the side of her headguard. It snapped her head to one side and I feared the worst, but she simply resumed her fighting stance and launched a jolting jab of her own that drew more blood from his cut eye. The referee looked closely at his face and it looked as though the fight was over, but the guy refused to concede to a woman and insisted on carrying on. Master Linda sat calmly in her corner, not breathing heavily and with an unmarked face. She had taken his best punches and she was reducing him to a pulp. At the start of the third round, the men in the crowd could barely raise any encouragement for their man, as they knew he was beaten. The women were chanting “Finish him, finish him!” as Master Linda strode aggressively towards her male opponent. She punched him in the face, then doubled him up with a body punch. As his head dropped forward, shemashed a right uppercut into his jaw, nearly lifting him off his feet and laying him flat on his back. The referee didn’t have to count, as the poor guy lay there with his eye almost closed, his face covered in blood and all resistance knocked out of him. My wife stood over the man she had knocked out as the referee raised her arm in triumph and declared her the winner. The men drifted away silently, while the women were going wild, and I was still stunned by my wife’s power and her boxing skills. When we arrived home that night, I rushed to bring a victory cigar and her leather smoking gloves to Master Linda. As I carefully cut the end of the cigar and handed it to her , she said that it was a fantastic turn-on for a woman to challenge a man to a fight, then to see her punches doing damage to him and finally for her to knock him out with her fists. She smoked her cigar with great satisfaction, exhaling her smoke high into the air, then she turned her beautiful, feminine face to me and said “I’ll beat the fucking shit out of you if you ever get any ideas about not being my slave. Do you understand?” I was scarcely able to stammer “Yes, master”, as she puffed her cigar smoke in my face.
And, finally, what has happened to me? Well, my wonderful wife has taught me all about female clothing, make-up, toiletries etc. My body hair is shaved, so that I look feminine when I dress in a maid’s costume or in women’s clothes. I’ve become quite an expert at putting on my make-up and I have several wigs to complement my large (and growing) collection of bras, skirts, sheer stockings, corsets, skirts, elegant shoes, frilly blouses and lovely dresses. Master Linda has taught me to act in a gentle way and to become the demure, pretty woman she once was, and she is delighted at how far we have come in our gender-reversal lives at home. Of course, when we are at work or in public or with friends, we have to behave as society expects from our genders. Fortunately, my wife’s boxing remains a secret known only to the boxing community at her gym. She has had no other fights with men since her mixed match, presumably because men are apprehensive about taking her on. Her inter-gender triumph has passed into history and the furore it caused has died down. Nor has she become a muscle “freak”; she has reached a level of muscularity which both she and wider society find acceptable and her friends admire her and say how well she is doing at the gym. Her beautiful face and long blonde hair soften the muscular aspects of her appearance and she now maintains her level of muscular development, rather than trying to increase it. She doesn’t smoke cigars in public and her leatherwear, strapons and whips (which she only uses on me occasionally because of the problems associated with marking me) remain firmly behind closed doors at home. All aspects of our secret life are hidden when friends call at our house (if there is a lingering whiff of cigar smoke, I say that I have one occasionally) and we behave as a “normal” man and wife do, calling each other “darling” and talking to each other “normally”. It’s only when our friends are going, and we’re standing at the door waving goodbye, that Master Linda surreptitiously pinches my bottom and whispers in my ear “I’m dying to smoke one of my cigars, put on some leather and fuck your tight little ass, you litle bitch”.
Submitted by: Her slave
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