Be careful with fantasies

(They Can Turn Into Reality)

“But why not?”

“I’ve already told you, Roberto, I don’t like it.”

“Let’s try it just once. If you don’t like it, we won’t do it again.”

“You’re bringing this up again. I don’t feel comfortable.”

“How do you know you’re not comfortable if we’ve never tried it?”

“I’ve already told you: just imagining it makes me uncomfortable. Why don’t we try something else? I’d rather we tried something new.”

“What’s the difference? It’s the same thing.”

“I’m willing to try anal sex. In fact, it doesn’t bother me. But that’s my limit.”

You see, we are a couple. I’m Roberto, 35 years old, slim, 1.70 m tall. My wife Alicia is the same age, a little taller than me at 1.75 m, slim but with generous hips and simply beautiful breasts—firm, and with the right bra they definitely turn heads on the street.

The argument came from my request (for the twentieth time) that she take a more dominant role during sex. We had been married nearly ten years, had no children, and sex had become routine for both of us. We both agreed on that.

However, she absolutely refused to even consider the topic and instead suggested new things like anal sex, trying to convince me to try something different.

I, on the other hand, had always had the fantasy of being dominated and taking a submissive role, and I was firmly determined to make it happen at least once.

“At least think about it and then tell me,” I suggested.

“All right, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll take a week. In the meantime I’ll browse discussion forums, research the subject, and make the biggest effort to understand your point of view. After one week I’ll give you my answer, and if it’s no, I don’t want to hear another word about it. Agreed?”

“Sounds fair to me.”

It was Monday. For the rest of the week I saw her spending a lot of time in front of the computer, sometimes reading, sometimes writing long texts. I tried unsuccessfully to check her browsing history, but since we had separate profiles it was impossible to see which forums and blogs she was visiting.

A couple of times I asked innocently, “Did you find anything interesting? Any answers to your doubts?”

Her reply was always the same: “We agreed you’d give me a week. I’m still absorbing everything I’ve read.”

So the next Monday arrived. Unable to contain myself any longer, I asked, “It’s Monday—the day we agreed on. Have you reached a conclusion?”

“Yes.”

“And what is it?”

“We’ll do something, but there are conditions first.”

“Whatever you want,” I answered, more than anxious, thinking my fantasies were about to come true.

“Not so fast. First you have to hear the conditions.”

“Of course.”

“These are they,” she said, handing me a printed sheet of paper that I read immediately.

1. You will obey all my orders without question.

2. I will be in charge.

3. You will address me as Mistress.

4. You will accept the punishments I impose, knowing they are for your education.

5. You will thank me for the time I dedicate to your education.

6. Once we begin, there is no turning back. I decide when your education ends.

It was a little more than I had expected. I had only hoped she would wear a corset, stockings, boots, give me a couple of spanks and then have sex. This seemed more intense. Still, it was accept or forget my fantasies. The choice was clear.

“I agree.”

“Perfect. Then sign at the bottom and initial it.”

I signed. She examined it, then went to the nightstand drawer and returned with a small square box about five centimetres on each side and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“Open it. It’s a chastity device.”

“What for? With this I won’t be able to have erections.”

“That’s exactly the idea. After a while it will make you more docile.”

“Why don’t you put it on me?”

“Because if I do it, I know you’ll get hard immediately. Besides, it’s more humiliating if you put it on yourself.”

So I proceeded to put on the device. It was a little difficult; it seemed too small and squeezed my penis uncomfortably. Once I closed the padlock she said, “Give me the keys.”

I handed them over. She hung them on a chain around her neck.

“And how long will this stay on?”

“Depends on you. If you behave properly, we can remove it next Monday.”

“Next Monday? That’s too long.”

She looked at me severely, raising an eyebrow. “Pardon? Do I have to remind you that you signed a contract five minutes ago?”

“Sorry, Mistress.”

“Not Mistress yet. For now you will call me Ma’am.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. We’re starting to understand each other. From now on you will do all the housework: washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning, etc. If you do them correctly, you will get your reward next Monday. Now put your trousers on and go make dinner.”

I must confess that while preparing dinner I was distracted. As I said earlier, I didn’t know this side of Alicia. I had only expected a game, not to be locked up for a whole week. When dinner was ready I found her in front of the computer writing a long text.

“Ma’am, dinner is ready.”

“Don’t stand there. Let’s eat.”

We dined as usual. I didn’t dare touch the subject of my chastity. Before sleeping she sat on the bed, spread her legs and simply said, “Kiss me. Suck my clit—I want an orgasm.”

The torture lasted all week. Several times a day she would call me on the phone and ask, “How’s the little bird?”

“Caged,” was my only answer.

“Why don’t you go to the bathroom, take a photo and send it to me?”

Obediently I followed her instructions, becoming more and more excited while she constantly reminded me of my condition. At home, just as she had ordered, I cleaned, cooked, washed, etc., and every night I performed oral sex until she reached orgasm.

Monday arrived and I was beyond excited. All day I imagined the moment the device would be removed and I would penetrate her. I have to admit that a week in chastity had had a positive effect: I was permanently aroused, and following her instructions I had become an expert at oral sex.

“Well, today is the big day, Ma’am.”

“I don’t think so.” She took out a notebook and began to list:

1. Monday’s meal was too salty.

2. Tuesday’s lacked seasoning.

3. Wednesday, the display cabinet had dust.

4. Thursday, my skirts were not properly ironed.

5. Friday, you didn’t wash my underwear.

“I’m sorry, but there are too many mistakes. It’s impossible for me to release you.”

“But I can’t take it anymore.”

“You should have thought of that before. It’s your responsibility to do the tasks correctly.”

“And now? Are you leaving me like this?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you going to leave me like this, Ma’am?”

“Yes. I hope you reflect and perform your tasks properly. Next Monday we’ll have another evaluation.”

I don’t need to tell you that the following Monday I also failed the evaluation, and the one after that, and the one after that. There was always some problem: a layer of dust on the sideboard, underwear not washed properly (was it my fault the washing machine didn’t work well? Apparently yes).

This went on for two months. Daily teasing, house cleaning, the attentions I gave her. Little by little new tasks were added—tasks I, of course, failed. I prepared a drink and it had too much or too little alcohol; I was ordered to give a foot massage and did it incorrectly, etc.

At the end of the second month of chastity I was desperate (to say the least). The device had brought me to a state of total submission. I would do anything to get rid of it.

“There are some failures I’d rather not list,” she told me, “but given the effort you’ve made and seeing your state, I think it would be convenient for you to have an orgasm today and only today.”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Lie down on the bed.”

I obeyed immediately, expecting her to free my little bird from its cage. Instead she approached with a vibrator in her hand and applied it to the device.

“I promised you an orgasm, not that I would release you.”

She began to run the vibrator all over the device. The vibration transmitted directly to my trapped penis. She took a bottle of lubricant, applied it to her fingers and said, “Let’s see if this helps.”

Before I could answer she inserted first one finger, then two, into my anus.

“Careful—no one has ever been in there.”

“Do you want me to stop? If you want I can stop right now.”

“No, please, keep going. I need to ejaculate.”

She continued applying the vibrator to the device while playing with her fingers in my anus. I must confess that at first the sensation was strange—not pain, not discomfort, simply new. Soon I surrendered and, almost without realising, began to enjoy the moment. Her fingers exploring me, the vibrations on my penis finally provoked a very copious orgasm.

“Look at the mess you’ve made. We’re going to have to take measures about this. Now change the sheets and kiss me until I also have an orgasm.”

What else could I do?