House Husband

Passion and marriage do not usually go together, but then I don't have anything like a conventional marriage, he thought to himself as he spoke into the intercom: "slave b reporting, Mistress".

"Is that you, pain slut?" replied a threatening voice.

"Yes, Mistress." At the early stages of any meeting with his Mistress, b was struggling to control signs of nervousness. He wanted everything to be perfect for her and he knew that when he was anxious he chattered, which was totally inappropriate behaviour for a slave. She had taught him that speech was a privilege, not a right.

"Come into the living room and prepare yourself." A buzzer sounded and he pushed the door open. He entered the marble hall, feeling familiar with the opulent décor and paused at an ornate mirror to check his presentation was exactly as She had commanded. He wore a white pressed shirt and dark hand-tailored suit, which had been ordered for him specifically to his Mistress's requirements. His shoes were polished to perfection and his plain silk tie was knotted in just the manner she demanded. His Mistress had impeccable taste. Her preference was for classical elegance and their home, under her direction, had taken many years of his arduous work. She had always been the principle decision maker, the brains behind any of their plans. She possessed clarity, authority and audacity and was able to utilise his meagre talents to their maximum effect.

As if guided by hypnosis, b moved to a large coffee table in the centre of the room where several items were positioned: nipple clamps, handcuffs, a black leather hood that had no eye or mouth slits, a corset and a pair of black stiletto court shoes, standing upright on the polished surface.

In a totally conditioned manner he removed all his clothes, neatly folding each item as he undressed. His Mistress prescribed even the order in which he stripped. In time he didn't even have to think about this as she moulded him into a creature of her habit. Finally naked, he hoped she would be pleased with his shaved pubis; his hairlessness symbolising his availability to her. The unfamiliar smoothness of his body stirred something deep within him. A creeping sense of his diminishing masculinity slowly making way for the femininity that lurked within him. His Mistress had slowly been altering not just his physical actions, but also how he perceived his very gender. He knew he wasn't a woman, yet he no longer felt like a man. Whatever he was, it was of his Mistress's making. Only she could give him a sense of identity. Just as she had taken it from him in the past. He was now nothing; a nobody, a cipher for her desire, or perhaps more accurately, he was now whatever she wanted him to be. He attached the clamps, to his worked out breasts, his body lurching from the sharp pain. The immediate impact was replaced by a dull, pulsing discomfort. As she had refashioned his mind, so she had placed him on a strict exercise regime, he result of which was a slender waist and increasingly developed breasts. Next he fitted the six-inch heeled pumps. He felt his cock stiffen as he descended further into the mindset of his Mistress's girl. His clitty as he now thought of it, pressed hard against the tight silken panties his Mistress had dictated he must always wear. As he moved, he could feel the sweet fabric cut between his buttocks, displaying his cheeks for his Mistress's pleasure. Availability was what She wanted. Availability was what She got. He stumbled forward in his heels. The tight patent leather immediately began to constrict and squeeze him. She chose all his clothes and although he had thought his feet too wide for them she insisted they were the right size. He knew better than to question Her. He traversed a small circle to achieve balance, and, when satisfied with his ability to stand, lifted the handcuffs from the table. With deftness born of his Mistress's excellent training the metal clasps were soon secured tightly about his wrists.

He took the loose hood and stood exactly beneath a sturdy hook. Reaching upward, he touched the hook with the chain, which ran between each cuff. He rehearsed this action several times. Finally satisfied he slipped the dark hood over his head. The leather had been crafted to hang slackly but with enough length to drape well across his chest. The smell of leather engulfed his senses. He was lost in this darkness and knew only his Mistress could guide him out now. The sound of his breathing was amplified within the confines of the hood. He could barely tell if his eyes were open or shut. He could feel the temperature rise within his leather casing as he strained to retain his balance in his heels. With nothing but the immediate physical sensations of his Mistress's bondage to keep him company, he tried to focus on Her beauty rather than dull pleasurable throbbing emanating from the forbidden zone of his crotch.

He steadied himself for the final moment after which there was no turning back. In self-imposed darkness, under his mask of self-annulment, he tried to control his breathing; tried to calm himself down as he gave himself up to his Mistress. The pain in his nipples was building now as the clamps did their work. The only thing, which served as any distraction from this, was the ache spreading through his feet and calves as the tight heels forced him mercilessly onto his toes. After a few minutes of mental adjustment to the inescapable pain, which now took over all his thoughts, he stretched, reaching in the darkness for the hook above his head. To secure him took coordination and balance, but as he had been trained, he succeeded, painfully! With his arms now stretched above his head, his chest had become taut. Every breath he took played havoc on the short chain running between each of his inflamed nipples. The intensity of the pain reminded him of his Mistress's taunts as she berated the pathetic bust of her 'girl'. Somewhere in his mind's eye, he glimpsed a memory of Her leather gloved hand twisting his nipple harshly. He heard her cool laughter echo inside his hood as She toyed with his pain-wracked dancing body.

For what may have been minutes or hours, he waited for Mistress Nemesis - his wife! She was an unabashed voyeur and he was always aware of the presence of his unseen Mistress, feeling watched even when he was away from her. He feared her but oh, how he needed her!

He loved being the eager object of her savage sexual attention, and had surrendered his personal sovereignty to become her creature. He felt pure admiration for her, like a page for his queen. She was the best of all women but he must be worthy of her anew, each and every time. He knew he was only as good as his last act of servitude. She could replace him with ease, but how could he ever hope to find a woman like this again? Hanging from his cuffs, he pondered this blessing, which cursed him.

Nemesis stood silently in the doorway watching her husband shifting slowly as he tried to control the pain in his body. She especially loved the gentle sound of the chain, as her slave shifted about in a vain effort to dull the discomfort, which now possessed him, as surely as His Mistress's will. She shook her head and watched her shining raven black hair dance around her shoulder in the mirror on the wall across the room. The soft strands rippled and pulsed with life, falling in long straight tresses only to be set in motion once more as she ran her long fingered hands energetically through its lushness. She wore wigs as it provided a change from her blonde bob and especially because it encouraged the dark side of her persona.

She stood erect in all the radiant beauty of her absolute nudity, enjoying her body and the total dominance she had over b. She dominated with the same natural ease a tiger sinks its teeth into the neck of a gazelle. He had been hers the moment he had answered her advertisement. Having met, she indulged herself in the rarity of a submissive man with no preconceptions and, best of all, virtually no limitations! Eager to please her and desperate to learn, to serve, b found himself at the mercy of a beautiful woman totally dedicated to the art of controlling weak men. Nothing brought her greater satisfaction than ordering the life of another and seeing her slave perform tasks with skill and devotion. Her thrill was proportionate to the love and effort that went into following her commands.

As he hung helpless before Her, she cast her mind back with satisfaction to the long night during which he first gave up his submissive virginity to her. She had plumbed the depths of his heart, which he had never before totally given to another and taken it for her amusement. What had begun, as a simple dalliance had become a work of art? He was subjected to painful flagellation, humiliating heel worship and dreadful verbal abuse. Old and new ideas had been tried on him and she had shown her wonderment at his incredible resilience and dedication to her service.

She had locked him in her dungeon, doused him in cold water and left him frozen and helpless. On her several returns she had beaten his exposed and vulnerable body, never once allowing him contact with her divine form. Innumerable humiliations followed their every meeting where she tortured him with her devices, slights and deprecations. As much as he craved her affections, her physical touch, he feared any demands she might make, would lead to his banishment. She teased him that the 'b' of his slave name served as a reminder of this threat whenever he felt he could take no more.

Through all this, b endured his frightening initiation quietly, steadfastly and with a dedication to his Mistress that belied his novice status. When dismissed, he begged each time to be granted another audience with her. He became a regular and generous client, furnishing her dungeons with equipment, which further sealed his torment and Her pleasure.

A firm bond grew between slave and Mistress. Nemesis broke her previously held rule by warming to b - and to his substantial wealth! b used his business contacts discreetly to build her client base. As she became more financially secure she rewarded his commitment by spending more time with him. His life was transformed, as he became Nemesis's dedicated and personal slave. Through the ordeals she set him he was being fashioned to her tastes. He was now barely recognisable as the man she had first met so long ago. Now he was but a pale reflection of her own desires and caprices.

She moved into what had been his home. From the moment the ownership deeds were transferred into her capable hands, she had set about completely overhauling the design of the place to put her implicit stamp on it. Her business became focused on select, high paying clients, only seeing one a week leaving her free to indulge her love of overseeing b and working out ever more intricate tests of devotion for him. The rest of the time she lived the high life, to which she was instinctively suited. b may have considered that he had brought her to this pinnacle of achievement, but he was merely her instrument. Whilst she valued his hard work she deemed any real successes as hers. After all, they were masterminded by her alone. They married in a token civil ceremony so that she would have full control of the business, him and his assets. If at first he took this as some act of equality, she soon disabused him of this foolhardy notion. He no longer even had legal redress as the contract of Marriage stated that his duty was to love, honour and obey her. Stripped of the last vestiges of power once invested in him by his material wealth, he was not even allowed the keys to what had once been his property. If he needed to venture outside on an errand for her, she would furnish him with just as much money as he might reasonably need and no more. The only exception to this was a small fund, for which he must keep regular accounts, out of which he was expected to buy her surprise gifts in order to express his deep gratitude and affection.

The day-to-day running of the company in all its necessary but dull aspects was delegated to him. Nemesis was happy to exploit his work ethic and entrepreneurial flair. She doted on b in the way one might love a pet and he in turn worshipped her as his Goddess. The only man she would marry was one who would give her absolute loyalty, she could accept nothing less. The same bonds of course did not apply to her.

The sound of b's heels clicking on the hard floor as he struggled to endure his uncomfortably vulnerable position brought Nemesis back to the present. She let her black mane settle and smiled at her reflection, so well displayed in the ornate full-length mirror. From it she could see their sumptuous bedroom; a Victorian four-poster bed commanded the large room and complemented the lavish decoration in her own inimitable Venetian and Japanese style. This elegant clash of luxury and simplicity served to remind them both of their respective status. Soft luxury for Her and harsh cold lines for him. Her peerless eyes sparkled as she saw the manacles attached to the bedposts, which she used to secure him for punishment, wax treatment or for use as her pleasure toy. Her vast wardrobe, which doubled as a confinement cell, contained hundreds of fetishist outfits. It always amused her to lock him in amongst all her gorgeous clothes. He could rarely resist playing with himself surrounded in the darkness by her scented dresses. She would tease him about how he must be a girl for he liked women's wear so much, before punishing him vigorously for his weak will and slutty nature. She would chastise him with a range of her favourite hand made instruments as he knelt guiltily before her, with his spent and sticky cock hanging uselessly between his legs. It gave Nemesis great pleasure to add to her wardrobe knowing that, yet again, she would expose b for what he was, a pathetic little closet-wanker as she herself enjoyed the novelty of yet another new couture outfit tailored specifically to her perfect form. Nemesis revelled in feminine frivolities and did not consider less more, just simply a bore; an attitude she took with her into every avenue of life.

Leaving b to hang a little longer and reflect on what submissive desires had brought him to this state of abjection, Mistress Nemesis silently moved away from the doorway, satisfied that he had followed her instructions to the letter.

Enclosed within his leather prison, b pondered his immediate fate. He had lost count of the times she had made him endure this auto torture. "The warm up", as she liked to call it. Nemesis adored this ritual and her creative and vivid imagination made each occasion unique.

These musings helped him to bear the pain, as he hung motionless in torture.

Nemesis had decided on her outfit and had begun the sensuous art of dressing. Knowing that he was suffering while she was pampering herself brought her immense pleasure. First on was a black leather suspender belt, finished with silver clasps. They hugged her narrow waist like a finely painted black line. She fastened the suspenders to gossamer-thin black stockings, with blocked heel and a fine pencil seam. She revelled in the cool sensation as the silk stretched over her ankle, calf and the soft flesh of her thighs. She drew on the second stocking in her practised way, standing to adjust the seam to perfection. She rolled a pair of leather panties over the garter straps. They had a zip over the crotch and were constructed to reveal her mysteries should she desire to honour him. Nemesis lifted her black bra from the pile and passed it across the skin of her breasts, enjoying the coolness of the leather. Before putting it on she breathed in the rich scent of hide. She had come a long way from the girl who had taken up horse riding and motorbikes so that she could have a legitimate reason for wearing leather. Now, in tune with her finely tuned libido, she thought the less legitimate, the better.

Satisfied with her luxurious lingerie, Nemesis picked an immaculate black leather pencil skirt, slipping it on in one swift movement. She smoothed the leather to her hips and fastened the side zip. An intricate and fabulously expensive necklace followed, sparkling against her alabaster skin. She completed her stunning ensemble with a fine, white silk blouse, fastening the pearl buttons only enough to show her firmly leathered breasts. For dramatic effect, although she neither smoked nor needed to wear glasses, she slipped a long cigarette holder between her lips and donned a pair of spectacles. By this means she turned the act of smoking into a theatrical form of self-dramatisation. Her glasses had square black frames giving her a stern and authoritarian look. The sharp outline of her clothes reflected the businesslike archetype she wished to portray. Although she used props, this was no game. She was in business, the business of making her husband suffer for her pleasure. She slipped her feet into spiked, slingback, high-heeled black shoes and looked again at her reflection. Her elegant smile expressed certain aloofness as she left the room. So much of her energy came from a narcissistic appreciation of her own look and she especially liked seeing her reflection in the mirror of his mournful eyes.

b heard her slowly descending the stairs. He experienced a tantalising mixed emotion of excitement tinged with fear and mused that waiting for her without fulfilment was infinitely sweeter than the yes of a solicitous lover. He heard implements being arranged to use as she chose. He tried not to anticipate her next move as her training had taught him this was wrong. She led, he followed; he could use his initiative but only within this stricture. He felt her hands slide over his exposed buttocks, moving them in a circular motion. Her hands gripped his balls, the other circling his penis and beginning to massage it. "Happy, my darling slave? You may speak. Let me hear what will come out of your inferior mouth now?" he heard her voice as if from miles above. "Oh yes," he replied. A firmer grip on his cock elicited a sharp intake of breath. "Yes what?" There was anger in her tone. "Dear Mistress," he corrected himself. "You never learn. Just because we are married you still owe me everything: I hate over-familiarity. Remember, without me you are nothing."

She continued to pump him and, despite the conditioning, it was very difficult for him not to crave release. She supervised his masturbation sessions and it had been two weeks since he had last spent. He tried to resist the urge to explode but decided to risk her retribution by spurting his load and enjoying the freedom and abandonment that nowadays were anathema to him. Then she stopped, cleverly teasing him, knowing just when he was about to come and then toying with him. Instead she held his scrotum and pulled downward.

"You must learn to delay your erection, it is mine now, too late you repent your ways, too easy like when the dog sees the stick." He heard the snap of a press-stud and knew that she had excited him so that the testicle stretcher would give him the most discomfort. As always, she was several steps ahead of him. "Two lovely red cherries," crooned Nemesis. She began to attach weights to the apparatus as she ordered him to begin his counting drill. She experienced a surge of power at his complete acquiescence and admired how well she had trained him. Without her, he really would be nothing. This wasn't just talk. This was an obvious statement of fact. She released her hold on the chain and four pounds of weight fell from his scrotum and stopped eighteen inches from the floor. He tried to hold himself steady to ease the pain but the involuntary movement of his body made the pendants dance.

"Does it hurt so very much, slave?"

"Yes Mistress," he grunted in reply.

"But you love it don't you? Say I love taking pain for you, Mistress"

"I love you Mistress"

"Impertinence! That is not what I asked you to say". Her tone changed to being cold and angry. In fury she attached another small weight; he had now surpassed any previous records. "You had better get used to these as they will be with you a long time as will my other toys until you learn to obey me completely". "Now spread your legs". He tried to perform her commands swiftly, which she insisted on, but he was too slow. She gripped his thighs and roughly yanked them apart. He was forced to obey her most exacting carnal caprices. She was always taking him further as too far never seemed far enough for her.

She thrust something up in the hood between his teeth. "What is this, slave?"

"A dildo, Mistress," he replied. She swiftly removed it.

"No, it is my cock, a long, black rubber cock. Bigger, much bigger than yours. I am sucking it now, deep and wet. Would you like it if your cock was in my mouth, slave?"

He sensed this was a trick question and decided to say, "That would be wonderful Mistress," tense with the impossibility of that event ever being likely to happen.

"Too bad, but I have the next best thing, this one's lovely and wet, you can suck on it yourself."

She pressed it into his mouth so he was effectively gagged. "I want that cock to stay in your mouth for the whole session. Do you understand?" He nodded in agreement, knowing that it would be difficult not to let it fall, especially when his salivation became too great or he needed to scream in pain. It wasn't impossible - she never gave him a task that couldn't be performed. She would take him through an action repeatedly until he got it right. As there inevitably were punishments, so too there were rewards and he would do anything for her praise and soothing tone of voice when she was proud of him. He gladly succumbed to the state of ecstasy into which he had been cast as if into an abyss. The intense, insidious wonder working pain that only she could bestow. He was privileged to suffer the blissful sensuality of contrition.

Nemesis picked up her riding crop. The jet-black handle made from carved oak fitted her grip exactly. She balanced the crop in her hands, feeling its weight, admiring the smooth leather binding. She gripped the handle and swung, returning it to tap against her skirt. Taking position behind her helpless husband she measured the arc of her swing. She revelled in his discomfort as the crop whistled through the air in practice swings, coming close but not hitting him. She noticed a thin film of sweat begin to appear on his naked body as he helplessly anticipated the pain that was about to engulf him. With ease she applied the first cut to his tensed buttocks. Not hard, just an initial blow to gauge distance and to inflict fear into her victim. As the strokes built they slashed across his cheeks, heavy and uncompromising. The pain flared and she seized the moment to apply a fast, rhythmic application of cuts. Each stroke landed about an inch above its forerunner. "I aim to colour your impudent bottom bright red," she commented as she lashed vigorously. b struggled to hold onto the phallus and when she finally finished he had lost count of the lashes of discipline she had given him, but knew it was well over fifty strokes. Every part of him was burning, smarting and aching but he still had the gag in his mouth. Nemesis saluted his bottom with a vigorous kick.

"I am pleased that you managed not to let my cock fall. You are about to be honoured even more my slave." She removed the dildo from his mouth, unclipped the weights and ordered him to lie on the table. Programmed as he was, he lay face up on its surface. She secured each of his weakened limbs to the legs of the table. Nemesis loved restraining her hapless slave. This way his resistance was palpable. Without bothering to remove her clothing Nemesis straddled her husband's face. She had taught him that this was the ultimate way to honour her and that he certainly was not worthy to touch her bare skin with his sweaty body. Once on her human saddle she rode him, whipping his organ with a small whip, revelling in her own fantastic violence as she came. As for b, maybe she'd let him come next time. Or maybe not.

by Marquise


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