BOB'S STORY

Chapter 1

I hate to start this story of my life by quoting a cliche, but just can't think of a better way to do it.  Remember the old saw that goes, "Be careful what you wish for.  You just may get it?"  Well, that applies in spades to me, because I wished with all my heart to be humiliated, cuckolded, and neutered by my wife, and that's just exactly what she's done.  It didn't happen all at once, of course, instead taking two years from the time I begged my wife, Carol, to whip me, up until the present time when there is another man in her bed as I write this, with much less in my undershorts than I used to have.  Please bear with me as I start by describing the background stuff you need to truly appreciate that my fate is of my own making.  Maybe you'll recognize yourself there, and change before it's too late.

We were married quite young, a result of an unintended pregnancy that resulted from too much heavy petting in the back seat of my car.  At that time, neither of us had any idea that I would develop into a "pervert," which is the word we would have used to describe the man I've become.  We led what appeared to be a normal life, doting on our first child, and his baby sister who came a year later.  Both our parents contributed to our support as I worked toward a college degree in teaching, and it was with a sigh of relief from all concerned that I was hired to teach in a high school in a nearby state.  At last, I could support my family and we could get on with our lives.

I can't pinpoint the time when my craving to be dominated first expressed itself, but by the time our daughter was experiencing the onset of puberty, my fantasy had complete control of my thoughts.  I'm sure Carol knew what I wanted, although she never indicated any desire to treat me roughly during sex, as I so very much wanted her to do.  About the only concession she would make to my desires was to assume the female superior position during intercourse, and a few years later, during what I have always thought of as "afterplay."  Those of you who don't immediately roll over and fall asleep after orgasm know what I mean by that word.  For those of us who crave domination and humiliation, it's very natural to continue to provide stimulation to our wives and lovers, especially if they hadn't joined us in cumming, which is often the case.

I'm sure you know what I mean, and if you're thinking of oral sex following intercourse, then you're on the right track.  At first, my wife was very reticent about allowing me to do such a thing, but as it became clear to her that I truly wanted to do it, she began to reluctantly cooperate.  After she'd experienced orgasms due to my attentions, she became more accepting of that type of service, and actually even began to look forward to it.

During the first year after I began to give her cunnilingus as afterplay, she'd lie on her back as I licked and sucked fervently.  That was exciting enough, but I'll never forget the first time she allowed me to service her in that manner while she was in the female superior position.  Our usual position during intercourse had been with me lying flat on my back, and her sitting on my erection.  Because of my short fuse, it was usual for me to cum first, and then she would dismount and lie beside me.  I would then reverse my position in bed, and while she lay there with legs spread, I'd try to bring her to orgasm with my tongue and lips.

The so-very-memorable occasion happened one night when she was again sitting on my crotch.  In less than five minutes, my balls began to empty, leaving her unsatisfied.  She didn't utter a sound as I pumped my semen into her pussy, but merely waited patiently for me to get it over with.  As soon as my last thrust was completed, she lifted up slightly and moved forward until she was straddling my head.  Again she made no sound, but merely lowered her dripping-wet crotch to my mouth.  I needed no instruction or order to do what was required.  That night set the tone for other nights to follow, and soon both of us came to enjoy that particular type of lovemaking, as it seemed to be the only way she could also reach orgasm.

Although my desire for more sexual domination continued to increase in the years that followed, Carol would do nothing to satisfy it.  There were several times when I would intentionally try to make her angry, hoping that she'd punish me as I deserved, but she never would do it.  Many times, after she became frustrated with my childish behavior, I'd suggest that a man who had acted like a spoiled brat, as I had, deserved to be punished by his wife.  Even when I suggested that she turn me over her knee and spank me, she either ignored me or gave me the silent treatment.  As was usual, the only relief I found was in my fantasies, and I turned to them more and more as I masturbated while my wife lay sleeping soundly beside me.

My life of sexual frustration continued through our son's high-school graduation, followed by his moving to another city to attend a state university.  His sister followed in his footsteps one year later, and suddenly Carol and I were the only people living in our house, "empty nesters," in the modern vernacular. 

I continued my efforts of trying to get my wife to punish me, but her only response was to mostly ignore me, or at the most yell at me, then give me the silent treatment.  Our sexual relations in bed continued to supply me with the only satisfaction I found, in sexual terms.  When she was sitting on my mouth, while I brought her to orgasm by feverishly licking and sucking my load from her pussy, I found the only correlation to my fantasies that she would allow.  In my imaginings, while she was riding my tongue she was facing my crotch, either whipping my cock and balls or using a knife to slowly and sensuously remove them.  You see what I mean when I say I needed more.

Following our daughter's graduation from high school, we took her to California, where she would be attending a state university on scholarship.  After we had her safely moved into a college dormitory, and had said our tearful good-byes, we continued our way up the coast on a driving vacation that had been long planned.

We had planned to spend a few days in a coastal community famous for its art displays, since Carol fancied herself as a budding artist, and thought she'd be able to get some new ideas, and learn some new techniques, by looking at what others had done.  As we drove up the coast highway, looking for a convenient motel, she was excitedly looking through a Chamber of Commerce brochure, planning our itinerary for the next day.  What caught my eye, though, was a sign pointing toward the ocean, and displaying the name of a public beach.  In smaller print, beneath the name of the beach, were the words, "Clothing Optional."  That set in motion a whole new fantasy for me.

The next day was spent walking the downtown streets looking at displays of artwork, and talking to the sidewalk artists who seemed to be on every street corner.  As Carol excitedly discussed techniques with the artists, I put my plan in motion by becoming more and more childish in my behavior.  By the time we returned to our motel for the night, she was almost in tears over the way I had embarrassed her in public.

This time was different, though, than every time before.  Rather than yelling at me, and then refusing to speak to me, Carol sat in one of the chairs in the room and looked at me with a very serious expression on her face.  Finally she said quietly, "Bob, I can't take much more of this sort of behavior.  We have to do something to put a stop to it, or I'm going to leave you.  What do you suggest?"

At last I had the opportunity I'd craved for so many years, the chance to tell her honestly that I needed to be punished, that I needed to be humiliated at her hands, and that I needed her to become the mistress I'd always wanted her to be.  Instead, my throat and tongue uttered the words, "I don't know."

Inside, I was raging against myself, trying to say the words that so very much needed to be said, but outside I just stood there with my head down, my face burning in shame.  When she saw I wasn't going to say anything else, Carol said, "You obviously need something from me that you haven't been getting.  Tell me what you want.  Tell me what I should do."

Again I fought with the demons inside my brain, and after a long silence at last said, "You should punish me.  You should shame me in the same way I did you today."

With no hesitation, she said merely, "All right.  If that's what it'll take to make you act like a man, then that's what I'll do.  What do you want me to do?"

At last my long-held fantasies were about to be realized.  I'd wanted her to do things to me for many years, and now she was asking me to tell her what it was she needed to do.  Over and over, I tried to speak the words boiling in my brain, to beg her to whip me, to beat me with all her strength, to make me hold my legs spread while she mercilessly whipped my genitals.  Instead, all I could manage to say was, "You should spank me, then take me to the beach so everyone could see what you'd done."

She looked deep into my eyes for what seemed an eternity, then said very softly, "Spanking isn't enough.  You deserve much more than that.  Get undressed and give me your belt."

The thrill that shot through my body as she uttered those words was beyond description.  I knew that at last I was to get the punishment I so richly deserved, that I so very much wanted, desired, craved, and needed.  Over and over the images of her viciously whipping me as I hung by my wrists, my legs held widespread to welcome the lashes, coursed through my fevered brain.  With no conscious thought, I literally tore off my clothes, pulling my belt from my trousers and holding it out to her.

She glanced at my raging hardon, took the belt from me, then quietly said, in an ominous voice, "Get on your knees beside the bed and lay across it.  I'm warning you that if you move or make a single sound, I'll walk out that door and you'll never see me again.  Now do it."

I fell to my knees and quickly placed my crotch against the side of the bed.  I leaned forward until my upper body was lying flat, then extended my arms past my head, imagining in my fantasy that they were tied there.

I heard her warn me again, "Not a sound."  Before I had time to brace myself, she raised the belt above her head and brought it crashing down against my extended ass.

It took every ounce of my self-control to not cry out as the jolt of pain flared in my butt.  I had craved this moment for years, and had tried to imagine the pain that my wife would give me.  Believe me, the reality was much, much more intense than anything I could possibly have imagined.  I clutched the bedspread in my fingers, and then actually bit into it in an attempt to stifle my cries.  Again and again she whipped me with the belt, and every time it struck my naked skin I fought anew with my throat's attempt to give voice to my agony.

I have no idea how many times she whipped me, but in my memory it went on for several lifetimes.  Just when I knew my limit had been reached, and I would have to cry out for her to stop, she did just that.  I cringed there in terror, sure that another blow was at that moment just about to strike. 

At last I heard her say, "Stand up."

I struggled to my feet and stood before her, my eyes so full of tears that I could barely see.  I heard her laugh softly, and when I wiped the tears away and looked at her, saw she was pointing to my crotch.  I, too, looked there, and saw that my penis, which had just minutes before been rampant as it anticipated the whipping to come, was now shriveled and shrunken to a tiny tube of flesh barely two inches long.

She said only, "Come here.  I want to show you what your butt looks like."  She then tossed my belt on the bed and walked into the bathroom.  When I joined her, she told me to stand with my back to the mirror and look over my shoulder.  I quickly obeyed, and saw that my ass was criss-crossed with welt after welt that she had raised on me.  Every one was burning and throbbing, and I didn't need the visual confirmation to know that the marks were there.  The heat alone was enough to tell me that I had been soundly whipped, as I had craved for so very long.

Carol then began undressing, making no further reference to what had just transpired in the other room.  As I watched in silence, she turned on the shower and stepped under the spray of water.  Not a word was uttered by either of us as she soaped her lovely body, then rinsed.  Even when she turned off the water and began to towel herself dry, nothing was said.  It was only when she walked out of the bathroom that she said softly, "Take your shower and get in bed."

I hurried to obey, and surely set a speed record for the quickest shower ever.  The horrible stinging of the soap and water gave added incentive for me to move quickly, but  somehow the increasing tightness in my chest, and the renewed throbbing in my penis as it struggled to erect, were the things driving me to obey my wife's orders.

When I entered the other room, I saw that she had peeled back the covers and was lying there on her back.  Her legs were spread slightly, and one hand was busy in her crotch.  She didn't even look at me as she said softly, "On your back."

The pain that erupted from my abused backside almost made me jump back up, but there was no time to do so.  The second my body hit the sheet, Carol mounted my crotch and guided my cock inside her.  There was no attempt to go slowly, and she impaled herself in one downward thrust, and with no hesitation said sharply, "Cum, damn you!  Hurry!"

There was something in her passionate outcry that touched something deep within my soul, and seemingly with no intervention on the part of my brain, my balls began to empty.  Again and again, my crotch pumped my semen inside her, until with a final thrust, the last spurt ended.

With no hesitation, she raised up and moved forward to my eager mouth.  Almost before she had settled in place, she hissed passionately, "Eat it, you son-of-a-bitch!  Suck it out of me!"

That order was not needed to make me do my duty, for my tongue was probing her delicious folds even before she had stopped moving.  She quickly positioned her clitoris against my nose, then pressed it tightly against me while thrusting violently.  Her next order broke the silence then, as she gasped, "Suck it, damn you!  Hurry!"

Her pussy hole was directly over my mouth then, and I locked my lips against it and inhaled with all my might.  That was all she needed to put her over the edge, and as her orgasm swept over her, she locked her thighs so tightly around my head that I thought it would be crushed.  Again and again her spasms filled my mouth with our combined juices, until it seemed more than I could do to swallow the first mouthful before the second filled me again.  It seemed to me that I had never put so much cum in her, and that she had never before climaxed with such force.  There was no thought in my entire body other than servicing this wonderful creature, and giving her the highest possible degree of pleasure that was possible.

All good things must come to an end, and her orgasm did also.  She slumped forward, just barely able to support her weight on her outstretched arms as she gasped for breath.  I don't know how long she remained there, but when her breathing finally evened, she lay beside me on her stomach, her head turned away from me.

I turn toward her to take my weight off my aching backside, then reached out to caress her lovely body.  At my touch, she said softly, "Don't touch me.  Go to sleep." 

It was almost more than I could bear to force my hand to withdraw.  More than anything in the whole world, I wanted to feel her soft skin, to tell her how much I loved her, to thank her for giving me what I had needed for so long.  Instead, I also lay on my stomach, seeking to find a position that would ease the throbbing pain and burning fire in my ass.

I don't know how long I lay there, my mind in turmoil as I tried to come to terms with what had happened that night.  I had wanted it for so long, and now that it had actually happened, the reality was so much different than the fantasy that I found it hard to deal with.  I had wanted to feel the pain of being whipped, but in my imagination it had not persisted after I had climaxed.  Now, I couldn't simply roll over and fall asleep, as always before in the past.  In fact, the very thought of rolling over made me cringe.

There was another element involved there that became dominant after I had lain quietly on my stomach for about half an hour.  Carol had by that time fallen sound asleep, and as I heard her quiet breathing in the stillness, I began to re-live the whipping she'd given me.  Over and over I felt the belt striking my taut flesh, again and again I felt the sharp pain shooting from my backside.  This time, however, rather than my cock shrinking, it began to grow.  Soon I was pressing it into the sheet, moving it back and forth with cautious thrusts, hoping my wife wouldn't be disturbed by what I was doing.

At one point, I actually reached both hands behind me and began to press, then to pinch, the tortured flesh there.  While visualizing myself hanging by my wrists, being viciously whipped between the legs by my wife, my second orgasm of the night swept over me.

Finally my thrusts quieted, and to the accompaniment of the throbbing in my ass, I at last fell asleep.

To be continued . . .