A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold

by Sara Desmarais

  "Thank you," she smiled, a small victory.

  "But...you...you're my wife," I said, incredulous that she did not concede my logic.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  "Wives...wives don't do that," I said, still pissed.

  "Oh, they don't?" she asked me, "they don't fuck men?"

  "No."

  "Wait, love, are you saying that a wife does not fuck a man?"

  "Well, I mean, yes, she does, just one though," I said, with little patience, "her husband."

  "Hmmm," she said, thinking. "But I'm not married to a man," she smiled.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Well, do husbands wear lingerie?"

  I just looked at her.

  "Do they wear pretty panties, and garter belts and stockings? Do they suck dildos? Do they eat a man's cum out of their wife's pussy? Hmmm? Are these things men do, that husbands do?"

  I was mortified, my anger still rising.

  "Now, dear lover, last night, at the club, I asked you to say yes or no. I asked you to confirm what I was about to do. You had the power to stop the entire evening, but you didn't do it, did you?"

  "No, but that's not the point, that was different."

  "Different how?"

  "It..it wasn't fair. You knew. You knew how...how sexually excited I was, you took advantage of me."

  "I took advantage?" she asked, shocked. "Wait, let me get this straight, you only wanted me to continue because of your little sexual fantasy about cuckolding, right."

  "Yes, exactly," I said, angrily.

  "So, you wanted me to continue because you wanted me to fuck a man for your own sexual pleasure?"

  "Yes, you knew what I would say," I yelled, missing her point.

  "What about me?" she snarled.

  "Huh?"

  "Me, what about your fucking wife? You wanted to see a man fuck me so you could get your jollies, huh? What about what I wanted?"

  I was confused. How did this spin like this, how did it come onto my shoulders?

  "No, you are twisting my words."

  "No, I don't think so, dammit. Last night, you wanted me to fuck Steve, cause it got you off. But this morning, you have the fucking audacity to act hurt and angry." She yelled "You can't have it both ways, John. That's the most selfish fucking thing I've ever seen from you. Last night, I fuck Steve cause you want to get your rocks off, but this morning, you are angry at me for fucking him. I don't think so! You never asked me what I wanted, John. Did it ever even occur to you that I fucked him because you wanted me to? Did you ever think that maybe I didn't want that, that I was revolted by the thought of someone other than my husband touching me like that? That I fucked him to make you happy?"

  "What are you saying, Sara?"

  "Jesus, John, I let you live out out fantasies, fantasies so fucked up, most wives would ask for a divorce for before they did them. I....I..." Her voice cracked, her eyes teared up. "I fucked a man in public to make you happy, because I love you, because you wanted it. I acted like a slut for you, John, to make you happy, and you...you get angry at me....at me?"

  "But...Sara...I..."

  "OUT!"

  "What?"

  "You heard me...out. Get the fuck out of my bedroom, John, I don't want to talk to you right now. Just get the fuck out!"

  She was out of bed now, pushing me to the door. Naked, I stumbled backwards, out into the hallway, onto my ass, shocked at her anger. The door slammed in my face and I heard her turn the lock. I sat there, stunned, a tear running down my face. What did I do? What did we do? Was this all a terrible mistake?

  I went downstairs, unclothed, hurt, shocked, sat down, and cried. What had we done?

  What good was crying? The woman I loved was upstairs, hurt and angry. She was right, too. Even though she wanted last night, I'd had the final word. I could have stopped it. But the truth was, I wanted it. I'd wanted her to do just that. Badly. I needed it. The humiliation, the submission, they were in my bones.

  Still naked, going to buy flowers was out of the question. Instead I made coffee and put together a tray of coffee, juice, and bagels, brought it upstairs, and softly knocked on the door.

  "Sara," I said. No answer.

  "Sara," I knocked again.

  She opened the door, blocked the doorway, a scowl still on her face, looking me over.

  "Well, I can think of a better uniform for you to serve me breakfast in, but I suppose that will do for now," she said, stepping out of the way of the door. She was dressed, a smart skirt and blouse, low heels. I wondered where she was going. I was afraid to ask.

  I set the tray on a table, standing there, feeling helpless. I was still confused as to why I was the one in the dog house, but a bit clearer than before on the point.

  "Sara, I'm sorry," I said as humbly as I could, feeling so vulnerable standing there before my dressed wife, naked, in a position of pure submission.

  "Please pour me some coffee," she said, sitting in a straight backed chair at the table.

  "Yes, Ma'am," I answered reflexively, serving my wife.

  "So, you are sorry," she said, her tone giving no clue as to her feelings, as I set a cup of coffee before her.

  "Yes," I answered, trying not to spill the coffee, trying not to let my hands shake and give away my anxiety. You see, I was scared, nervous, and feeling uncomfortable. My nakedness, next to Sara, clothed, only deepened my sense of...foreboding? No. Of, well, my sense of my position in our relationship. Naked, before her, I felt naturally submissive, helpless. I felt a desire to bow before my queen.

  She sensed it too, and apparently wished to further reinforce the top/bottom dynamic. She looked at me, nodded her head, slightly waved her hand. Kneel. She wanted me to kneel. The mistress, the queen, the lady, wished her vassal to kneel before her.

  Kneel I did, down to the hardwood floor, on my knees, hands beside me. Naked. Feeling even more vulnerable that before.

  "So," she said, looking down at me, "you are sorry, is that what you were saying?"

  I lowered my eyes, unable to meet her gaze. "Yes," I whispered, afraid to say it much louder.

  "Yes?"

  "Yes...yes, Ma'am," I replied, somehow sensing her desire for respect. Unusual respect. As the words escaped my lips, I felt tugged down another path, deeper into Sara's web.

  "Sorry for what, love," she smiled innocently.

  "For...for my behavior this morning, I guess," I replied, honestly unsure why I was even sorry. No. That's not right. I was sorry she was angry. I wasn't sure, though, what I had done to anger her.

  "Are you now? Let's think about this. What about it Sorry for your anger? Is that it?"

  "Yes, Sara, I'm sorry I was angry."

  "And why were you angry?"

  "Why? Because...because you...last night...what you did..."

  "Hmmm, what I did," she repeated. "Isn't it really what you allowed me to do?"

  "I allowed you?" I felt my anger flaring just a tad, but hid it.

  "Yes, pet, you allowed. In fact, as I recall, it was your decision, was it not? It was what you wanted?"

  "My decision? But, Sara, you...you flirted...you teased him...what did you expect he wanted?"

  "John, I knew exactly what he wanted, of course. All men, even sissies, want that. That's not the point. Every day, everywhere I go, hell, everywhere almost any woman goes, some guy is around that wants to fuck her."

  "That's different, Sara, you led him on. I suppose that's why I got mad, it's like...you...you pushed this."

  "Ohhh, I led him on. I see. That gives you the right to be angry, because of what I did? Is that it?"

  "Yes, dammit, you practically seduced him."

  "Yes or no?"

  I looked at her. She had not asked a question. "Yes or no," I repeated to her.

  "That's correct, yes or no?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "John, last night, when Steve was getting the last round of drinks, before we...well, before, I asked you, 'Do you want me to stop, yes
or no?' I asked you if you wanted me to stop now, and go home and fuck you, or if I should continue with Steve and see where it leads."

  "But, Sara..."

  "No, no, dear, no buts. I asked you yes or no. I was perfectly willing to abide by your decision. What did you say? Which did you pick?"

  I lowered my eyes, unable to meet her gaze now, shamed again.

  "Yes or no, dear? That's what I asked you. Truth be told, I think I would have rather gone home with you, lover, not with Steve."

  "I...I said no...but..."

  "Shhh," she snapped. "No. You said no. You said no, Sara, my loving wife, my sexually starved wife, my horny, excited wife. You said no, I do not want to go home and fuck you. No. I want you to stay here. I want you to keep flirting with this man. I want you to 'see where it goes,' knowing full well I wanted cock and he wanted me. Do you deny this? Did I miss something? Now, John, tell me, who decided what happened last night? Me or you?"

  "I...I suppose I did," I scowled.

  "You are fucking right you did. And now, in the morning, you have the audacity to be angry with me? Are you fucking kidding me? You wanted me to fuck him, lover. You wanted to be cuckolded! And now, how fucking selfish did you act this morning? You have me fuck a man, so you can get your jollies, and you have the nerve to be mad at me? I'm up here crying, hurt, because I try to please you and you get mad. What about that? Are you sorry for that? Are you?"

  I was trembling slightly. How, oh how does she keep spinning these things onto me?

  "What about what I wanted? Huh? I wanted cock last night. You obviously were not able to help me out there, so I got it somewhere else. And this is my fault? This is something I should be held responsible for? Your inadequacies?"

  "But....Sara...."

  "No...no you don't. No buts. You said 'no' last night. You wanted to be cuckolded, and now you feel guilty about it. That, my love, is on you, not on me. Are you sorry for that?"

  "Yes," I whispered.

  "Are you sorry for being unable to satisfy your wife?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "Are you sorry for being angry?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you sorry for being selfish?"

  I paused before answering. Oh, answer I did, I told her that I was, but my brain had quickly processed how bizarre the situation was. I was selfish? She was the one that was unfaithful. Yet I was sorry. Yes, how bizarre. My wife fucks a man right in front of me, yet I'm selfish. My wife would rather be unfaithful than sexually frustrated.

  Oh, I understood my inadequacies, don't get me wrong. I was sorry for that. Yet, I was selfish. Some would say she was selfish. She was the unfaithful one.

  Yet I was the one apologizing.

  "Well, let me tell you, darling, you are fucking lucky that I love you, cause you are one fucked up person," she said, a small smile breaking into her face as she finished the last words.

  I sighed. Oh, did I love this woman.

  "Well, I accept your apology."

  I exhaled, loudly, a tremendous weight lifted.

  But. I heard a but in her tone. I looked up, expectant, nervous.

  "But?" I whispered.

  "But don't think that's it. Don't think you can just apologize and all is forgiven. I accept it, but it will take more than that for me to forgive and forget."

  Of course.

  "Sara, what do you want from me?"

  She laughed at that. "What do I want from you? Oh, sissy, oh my cuckold sissy. I want your undying love and devotion."

  "You have that, Sara, you do, you always have and you always will!"

  "Yes, I know, but you were the selfish one today, and, well, let me put this in terms that may better suit your more feminine state of mind. Bad girls must be punished."

  "What?"

  "I said, bad girls must be punished."

  "You're kidding," I said, shifting uncomfortably on the floor, looking up at her, feeling a pit in my stomach.

  "No, love, I'm not kidding. Act like a spoiled brat, get treated like a spoiled brat. To be honest with you, Julie, I was hoping we would not have reached this point, but apologies aside, there is a lesson to be learned here."

  "Punished? Seriously, Sara, what am I supposed to do to prove how sorry I am for being selfish? Stand in the corner? A writing penalty? You are joking?"

  "Well, last question first. I'm not joking. As far as the corner or writing goes, those are actually pretty good ideas. You know if I'd worn panties last night, perhaps an hour in the corner with my soiled panties on you head might be something we could try. I think an hour of sniffing them would do you some good. Or writing. I can see it, writing 1000 times, 'I'm sorry I was a selfish cuckold.' Yes, good ideas. But not startling enough, or close to my other goals," she said cryptically.

  "Well...what...what do you want, then," I asked her, very uncomfortable with this entire morning. Hell, the entire weekend. This was the most difficult weekend we have had so far, since starting this entire mess months ago.

  Sara stood up, smoothed her skirt, ignored me, and walked into the bathroom. Coming out, her heels clicking on the floor, each one drove a stake of dread right into my heart. She held a hairbrush in her hand, stood before me, ominously.

  "This, love, is a hairbrush. It was my mother's brush, she got it when she got married. My father used to use it."

  "Your father?" He was a crew cut man, as I remember.

  "Yes, my father. Not on his hair, love, on my mother. They thought I never knew, but I saw them, or heard them, many, many times when I was a child. My mother, when she upset my father, would go get this hairbrush, hand it to him, and climb across his lap. This brush was used on her ass, by my father, to punish my mother."

  "Oh, God," I gasped, shaking, looking at the brush, hardly able to picture that landing on my mother-inlaw' s ass.

  "Well let me tell you something. I remember as a girl, twelve or thirteen, laying in bed, my door cracked open. My parents thought I was asleep. They were in their bedroom, across the hall. I woke up, I heard them talking. I crept to the door, and saw my mother bring this to my father, lift her skirt up, lay on my father's lap, her ass framed by her garters. My father spanked my mother, punished her for buying something without asking him. He spanked her until her ass glowed, until tears were streaming down her face. And after...after he spanked her, she got off his lap, knelt in front of him, and thanked him. She thanked him for spanking her. I was shocked. After...after the spanking, I watched her...I watched her lean forward, and...take out my...my father...and..."

  She could not complete her thought, but she did not need to. I had never heard such things from my wife. I could never picture my mother-in-law like that, a younger woman, oh my god. She watched her mother get spanked by her father, thank him, and then blow him. Holy fucking shit!

  "I promised myself that day, that no man was EVER going to do that to me, to treat me like that. But I promised myself something else too, love, that someday, if I was ever married, I would have my husband over my lap like that, I would exert my own dominance over a man."

  Sara was scaring me. I trembled, I could not believe my wife had these desires, that she fantasized about these things.

  "Sara...I...please Sara."

  "After my father died, when my mother moved, I took this brush from her house, and I've kept it. I've kept it because I've been waiting since I was twelve, I've been waiting twenty years for this, to use this brush."

  She dropped the brush to the floor in front of me. The wooden handled brush crashed on the wood floor, the sound made me jump. Sara was a woman possessed. It struck me again that these fantasies...they were as much, if not more, hers, her fantasies, than they were mine. I was not sure if we were living what I wanted, or what she wanted.

  She sat down in the chair, smoothing her skirt. "Bring it to me, the brush, now," she said, a throaty voice I'd never heard from her before. She was so charged, she was almost shaking.

  I was terrified by her. I was drawn to her. I wanted to run
, but I knew I never could. I really was a spider trapped in her web. I had no choice but to submit to her, I never had any choice. I picked up the brush, my hands trembling, and presented it to her. Yes, that was the depth I had sunk to.

  "On my lap," she ordered. Yes, an order. Not a request by any means.

  It was so much worse being naked, climbing on her lap, for it just reinforced my submission to her. She had her legs spread slightly, and as I draped myself across her stocking covered legs, she pushed me down. I felt like I would fall off, but she held me with her left arm.

  She paused, "I do love you, Julie," she said softly, before I felt the first sting of the hairbrush, "and this hurts me as much as it hurts you."

  "Oh," I jumped. I stung, that blow, on my right ass cheek, but it was not that bad. I giggled a little. But somehow I doubted it hurt her as much as it hurt me. I was afraid it was going to hurt me much more.

  "Count," Sara said.

  I turned my head to her, questioning. "The blows, count them out loud."

  "Oh...one," I said, still playful.

  The second blow landed on my left cheek. It too only stung for a second. "Two," I smiled. This was not too bad.

  "Don't you fucking smile at me, those were just the warm up, Julie. This is going to hurt you, and the pain is going to teach you to obey." I shuddered again, the smile quickly wiped off my face.

  "Ouch," I grunted, "three." That one hurt. I mean it, it really stung. "Four, Sara, please," I said, with that next one. "Hey, this isn't funny anymore," I said, twisting to look at her, struggling in her lap as she held me down even firmer.

  "Uugh, five," I grunted, breathing heavier. Her response to my struggling was another blow, the fifth, the hardest yet. I twisted again in her lap, trying to look up to her face. "Sara, please, this really hurts."

  I heard a small chuckle from her. "Six...seven...eight," the next three fell in quick succession, and my ass started burning. My god, what the fuck. I was pissed. How could Sara have seen her mother give her father oral sex after a spanking if it was like this. This really hurt! It didn't feel erotic at all. I struggled harder, not trying to stand, but to move to protect my ass. Sara said nothing, but held me tighter, letting me struggle, but not get up. I felt her skirt bunch up under my lap, twisted from my attempt to look at her.