Trophy Wife

Continued from: Sinister Intent

After a delicious few posts with some secretary fantasies, followed by some not so gentle ball kicking a fan requested, I thought we'd catch back up with Vanessa and Derek. They have such a unique FLR (female-led-relationship) that the traditional gender roles in their household are essentially reversed.

I've usually narrate the steamy details of what these two get up to behind closed doors. This time I thought it would be cute and probably humiliating for him, to hear things from Derek's perspective. 

Vanessa threatened him with an additional three months added to his lock-up time if he didn't write, so without further adieu, take it away Derek. 

*******

As I sat poised, anally plugged, with a metal device encasing my penis, I hesitated to commit the humiliating truth to "paper". The words trembled on the precipice of my subconscious, threatening to release a torrent of tears and shame. Yet, I dared to bare my soul, exposing the intricacies of my transformed existence. 

"In a world where conventions are turned upside down," I typed, "I, Derek, once a proud husband, now found myself embodied in the unlikely role of a trophy wife."

The rigid confines of my chastity device seemed to constrict further, a poignant reminder of my emasculation. 

My thoughts dripped with humiliation as I reflected on the curious path that led me to this point - a path strewn with satin and lace, my masculine identity diminished with each dainty step in my heels.

Vanessa, my wife and Mistress, held sway over our twisted game of intimacy, dictating the terms of my servitude while indulging in the pleasure of "real men". Cuckolded, feminized, and confined - such was the fate that had befallen me, a trophy wife forced to put a smile on my face, lest I be strictly consequenced. 

Vanessa seemed to have effortlessly transitioned into the patriarchal figure, while I became her pampered plaything - a vessel for her desires, even making me call her "Sir" when she's in her strap-on. 

My life had devolved into a series of humiliating rituals, each designed to reinforce my submission and Vanessa's dominance. Morning always began the same way. I stir awake in my sissy bedroom, the pink-hued décor and frilly bedding a constant reminder of my beta status. At the sound of Vanessa starting her shower, I hurry into place, still dressed in my nightie or lingerie and struggle to get into my high heels that seem to mock my every step. 

I mince toward her bathroom, avoiding any mirrors that might reflect the shame written across my face. In the designated area, I find the veiny, realistic penis waiting for me, securely fastened to the wall.

Kneeling before its impressive size, I part my lips and take the length into my mouth, as the steam from my wife's shower caresses my hairless body. 

As Vanessa emerged from the steamy shower, her radiant form glided toward the vanity, her hair a wild tumble of dark locks. 

Once dry, she effortlessly slid into her stockings, the smooth fabric clinging to her toned legs, before slipping on the stiletto heels that elevated her stature to a commanding height. Without a word, I knew my place, my heart sinking with the familiar weight of expectation.

I crawled behind her on all fours and with a hesitant glance upward, I pressed my face into the soft warmth of her bare bum. 

My tongue extended from my lips to find the buttery wrinkles of her anus and with a little pressure, it plopped comfortably inside.

The scent of soap and shampoo enveloped me, mingling with the faint tang of her asshole as I worked diligently on my degrading task. This particular ritual, was designed and performed each morning to remind me that I am now pussy-free, and that access to her most intimate petals is reserved for her other lovers. 

I am required to keep my tongue inside her asshole while she does her hair and makeup, often times she will use my face as her vanity stool. 

When she is finished, the butterflies of dread remind me that it's now my turn, to doll myself up, but not before she leaves me with a shameful reminder. As I settled in to apply the finishing touches to my makeup, a certain...fullness persisted, a gentle pressure that served as a potent reminder of Vanessa's authority. The butt plug, slick with my own saliva, had been expertly inserted prior to her leaving the room for me to prepare. 

My fingers moved with practiced ease, applying blush to my cheekbones and highlighting eyelids, as my mind wandered to the possibilities the day might bring. Would it be Anthony again, with his powerful physique and dominating presence? Or perhaps someone new, some fresh new bull for Vanessa to parade before me while forcing me to watch their intimate encounter.

Whatever the case, I was ready - sissified, locked, and plugged - prepared to endure whatever humiliation that lay ahead, all for the sake of my beloved wife's amusement and pleasure. 

Derek 💋

Continued in: The Deep End

 

 

 

Sinister Intent

Continued from: Difficult Choices

After the devastating kick to the scrotum of poor, Paul, he was helped into a bondage chair as previously described. The chair was designed for maximum access for follow-up kicks, only this time, Miss Cassandra was swapping out her little runners for heavy Doc Martins. Here's the rest of the story, leading up to the Doc Martin's being worn by Cassie.  

As Miss Cassandra settled into her throne of a chair, her gaze remained fixed on Paul's helpless form, her dominance radiating like an aura. With unhurried movements, she began to unlace and remove her hot running shoes. 

The pads of Cassie's socked-feet came to rest on the floor, leaving behind a humid little outline of their shape - a temporary impression created by the perspiration in her socks. The moisture-kissed imprints glimmered against the floor, creating ten little toe-prints beneath her feet. 

Tantalizingly slow, she began to roll the sweaty socks off her feet, Miss Cassandra's toes, adorned with two silver rings, emerged like polished jewels. Paul gasped in his bound state, witnessing her bare feet for the first time. 

Miss Cassandra lifted one of her discarded socks to his nose, the damp fabric wafting its beautiful aroma into his nostrils. "Breathe deeply, Paul," she commanded, her voice low and husky. The scent of her perspiration and the faint tang of vanilla lotion enveloped him, temporarily erasing the memory of his devastating ball-kick. 

Paul's senses reeled, his face flushing as he inhaled the heady fragrance of Cassie's sock. His imagination began to run wild, with fantasies of worshipping those magnificent feet, and despite the earlier kick to his scrotum, his erection began to grow more turgid by the second.

Miss Cassandra's gaze flickered downward, her expression twisting in disgust as she beheld the evidence of his arousal. "How dare you," she spat, her voice cold with disdain. "Your erection is offensive to me and how dare you respond so crudely, to something as simple as my sock!" She mashed the cotton sock into his mouth, to muffle his screams of what was coming next. 

Without hesitation, her bare foot swept upward, striking his dangling balls with the top of her toes. The blow landed with precision, Paul's bound form jerked in response, his face contorting in pain and humiliation. 

Amidst the agony of Paul's helplessness, Cassandra did not let up on her psychological torment, by offering the silly male yet another deal. 

"If we can get that thing limp again, limp enough to return it to its rightful confinement within the chastity cage - I'll let you worship my bare feet with your mouth, Paul." 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he gazed up at Miss Cassandra, his face a picture of pitiful supplication. "P-please, Ma'am...kick me again. Harder, if need be, to help me get limp for the cage." 

With deliberate purpose, she raised her foot once more, the toes flexing in preparation for the coming blow. Paul braced himself, clenching every muscle and hoping his penis goes flaccid quickly. With a series of measured blows, Miss Cassandra had finally succeeded in deflating his offensive erection, restoring the chastity cage to its rightful place. He was unshackled from the bondage chair, and collapsed to his knees before Cassie's bare feet.

Miss Cassandra crossed a leg and extended one bare foot, presenting it to Paul like an offering. The sight alone was enough to send his heart racing. At last, he could indulge in the sublime saltiness and wrinkles of Cassie's tender soles. 

With an anguished moan, Paul fastened his lips around her big toe, suckling gently as his tongue explored every crevice and contour. The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of textures and tastes that left him breathless. 

With the lingering flavour of her bare toes in his mouth, his sight blackened by a blindfold, Miss Cassandra began to lay her final offer on the table. 

"Paul, darling," she purred, her voice laced with sinister intent, "the time has come for you to make a final decision. 

She removed his blindfold so he could watch her retrieve the discarded socks and slip them onto her feet, before beginning the painfully slow process of lacing her Doc Martin's onto her feet.

"A final kick with my new boots, full-power, to your locked-up cock and balls? Or you may get down on all fours and take a nice, thorough ass-fucking..." 

With a fiery blush branding his face, Paul arched his back and accepted a ball gag into his mouth. He presented his puckered asshole to Miss Cassandra like a supine sacrifice. We think he made the right choice, this time. 

I think Cassandra is our resident ball-buster now. Take a bow Cassie, you did well on this one, a special fan request. Fan mail and comments praising Cassandra may be left in the comments. 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Trophy Wife

 

Difficult Choices

Continued from: Secretary Fantasy

After a wonderful session with my "secretary" Bella, I had a blissful sleep that night. Summer got home late and nuzzled in beside me, her silken jammies caressing and cooling my skin. She was so stealthy that I actually didn't wake up, despite her big-spooning me.  

I was however, woken up this morning by high-pitched squealing and giggling, coming from downstairs...Cassandra must have been back from her date with Carley and Robbie. It seems their date was an all-nighter. My maternal den-mother instinct took over. I can't say I approved of this out-call, impromptu sleepover, she only just met this couple. 

As I entered the room to investigate and possibly scold, there's my wife with her hand around Cassie's throat, giggling and urging her to spill the beans on all the dirty and depraved details of her threesome evening. 

Next thing I know, these two end up wrestling around on the floor and laughing, as Cassandra begins to describe her experience with the British couple. 

"Robbie said he felt faint, cuz we fucked him so hard!" Cassie blurted out. 

"Cassandra Leigh Goth!" I barked at her, trying to force a judgey-face but fighting off laughter at the same time. 

"Whaaaat?" She mewled at me. "You know how much I hate dick! I was only there for Carley."

"Will you be seeing these two again?" I asked, genuinely curious. 

Cassandra just smiled, and bucked Summer off her hips, before declaring that she had to go shower and change, she had a client booked for today. 

I was quite surprised. "Oh...Cassie, you have a booking for today!?" 

"Yes Ma'am. Some dude wants me to kick him in the balls." She abruptly replied, while Summer tickled her and they both laughed. 

"I have three booked for spankings Cassie." I remarked to her. 

"That's ok. He can go in the waiting room with the rest of them..."

 Amidst the renovations dear readers, we reinstated the dreaded waiting room. This time it is a bit more clinical, a bit more judicial, and housed in the cell-block area near the spanking court. Clients are booked in groups deliberately, to amplify their shame and humiliation, as they are made to wait for their session and listen to the sounds from down the hall, of wood and leather meeting bare flesh. 

Their stomachs will twist and sicken with butterflies, as fellow clients will ascend the stage to serve their mandatory cornertime at the conclusion of their sessions. 

Bondage and gags are used in the waiting area, along with spreader bars, to keep glistening female genitals spread and exposed to whomever is sitting across. Male's are spread also, to display the pathetic little nub of a chastity cage, that they are required to wear to their session.

**************

Paul was looking down at the floor in shame and dread, but his attention was soon drawn to the central stage. A flushed and tear-streaked mature woman stood, hands on her head, buttocks still crimson from her recent trip over my knee. 

The soft, humiliating sobbing accompanying each of her laboured breaths, served as a stark reminder of what awaited those brave (or foolhardy) enough to seek out my unique form of therapy. Paul's own face burned with empathy as he gazed at the poor woman's spanked bottom. He however, was not here for a spanking.  

His attention was snapped from a mere daydream to his ultimate, fetish nightmare, as Miss Cassandra entered the room. Her saunter and swagger was a whirlwind of dark beauty and unapologetic attitude. 

Fishnet stockings, once the purview of retro pin-ups, seemed reborn on her toned, dancer's legs, paired with bitchy jean shorts and Converse all-stars, that gave her an air of rebellious nonconformity. 

Paul's penis twitched in the confides of its cage as she approached. He drank-in the stunning beauty of this gothic princess, turned Dominatrix.  

"It's time, Paul," she hissed, her nails like daggers, roving over his naked and vulnerable form. 

"I trust you're prepared to make some difficult choices today?" 

Paul nodded in the affirmative, as his restraints were unlocked. His arms and legs flexed in relief, though his gaze remained fixed on Miss Cassandra, mesmerized by the studied cruelty dancing in her eyes. The gag, still lodged in his mouth, was slowly withdrawn, that sent a reservoir of saliva and drool cascading down his chin. With a gentle tug on his collar and leash, Miss Cassandra guided him out of the waiting room and into the unknown depths of her lair.  

"Listen up, because I don't repeat myself. You want out of that chastity cage, the pathetic symbol of your inadequacy as male, than it's going to cost you." Her leather glove cupped and cradled his dangling balls, like a coiling serpent.

"Are you willing to take a full-force kick to the balls, just to experience the thrill of freedom?" The cold calculation in her expression made it clear that she didn't particularly care which option he chose; his suffering was merely a means to an end. 

Tears welled up in Paul's eyes, as the brutal simplicity of Miss Cassandra's proposal ravaged his fragile ego. The sting of her disdain for men, seeped into his pores, infecting him with a genuine fear. Yet, after a moment's hesitation, he politely asked her if she would kick him in the balls, if it meant his penis could be free from the cage. 

Miss Cassandra moved with purpose, securing a gag into his mouth and blindfolding him with a silky scarf. As he stumbled, disoriented, she positioned him in the middle of the room and removed his chastity cage. Cassandra scoffed in disgust and raised her arms like she was using "the force", as his penis sprung to life before her eyes. 

She ordered his legs splayed open with feet firmly planted on the floor, she ordered his hands behind his back, and the silence that followed was oppressive, punctuated only by Paul's ragged breathing and whimpers of what was imminently going to happen. 

Just as his penis reached a fully erected and offensive state, the little Converse all-star connected with thunderous force. WHAM! 

Paul dropped in a heap to the floor, his mind recoiled, registering the sensation of his scrotum essentially imploding. He choked and sputtered into the ball gag, before Cassandra eventually helped him to his feet and into a chair. 

Without gentleness, she guided him toward the bondage chair, its cold leather awaiting his surrender. The restraints were secured with practiced ease, his limbs arranged to showcase his ultimate vulnerabilities. Spread-eagled, his throbbing testicles dangled like ripe fruit, trembling with every twitch of fear. With his blindfold removed, he was forced to watch her unlace her tiny runners and cast them aside. 

Ever so slowly, she reached for a tall pair of Doc Martin boots, black and perfectly polished. As Paul watched on in horror, Miss Cassandra slowly and deliberately drew each lace through the brass eyelets before snugging the strands tightly. 

As Paul was released from the chair, his poor legs surrendered, dropping him to his knees in a posture of abject submission. 

"Mercy, please Mistress...don't make me choose that, anything but..." 

She merely raised an eyebrow, her cruelty unwavering as she outlined the terms of his next choice. 

"Silence! You've been given two options to consider: endure a kick from my Doc Martin's" - she paused to admire the weight of her heavy footwear, - "or, submit to a pegging up your slutty little asshole."  

"This way, no matter what you decide, you'll be fucked like the bitch you've proven yourself to be!" 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Sinister Intent

 

   

Secretary Fantasy

Continued from: Mad Men

I was going to give this post more of a clever name...but nope. It's a Secretary fantasy, plain and simple.

I did however, learn a new term while I was thumbing around for images for this post. Someone was referring to their page as the "DiD Domain", with lovely pictures of corporately dressed women in extensive rope bondage, tape gags and handkerchief gags; always hosiery, always heels. Then, despite my black hair, I had a blonde moment for a quick second as I thought, "wtf does DiD stand for...?" 

Lightbulb...Damsel in Distress!

I saw a meme once that said: "blame Sunday morning cartoons for my current kinks" .

Fair point...

Check out the below shot. The camera seems to have captured and somehow emphasized the ring-finger of the woman in this image. If this is like a marriage or engagement announcement by this couple, that's pretty friggen cute and creative! 

Speaking of other damsels in distress, let us get back to Bella shall we? I had her dress into something more sexualized that entailed slutty "office" boots. The image below is how the scene ended for my bound and gagged damsel. I'll narrate the juicy details leading up to this. 

As Bella knelt before me, her normally composed demeanour was now fractured by the desperation of her roleplay "script". She clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. 

"Please, Sir...don't fire me. I'll do anything. Anything at all."

The quaver in her voice was almost palpable, her body language screaming surrender. I leaned in to explain our next steps and after a deliberate pause, I spoke, my tone strict and unforgiving. 

"Very well, Mrs. Goth. You may keep your job - but there will be conditions." Her face lit with hope, only to flush crimson red as I continued. "You will receive a corrective spanking, on the bare, followed by a more...intimate demonstration of your appreciation."

With a reluctant nod, she sealed her fate, acknowledging the terms of our little arrangement... 

As Bella rose from her supplicant position, her trembling legs barely supporting her weight, I issued the inevitable command. "Remove your pants and panties, Mrs. Goth, lets get this over with." 

As I led Bella to the sleek, polished expanse of the boardroom table, her slutty heeled boots clicking against the floor in rhythmic obedience, I couldn't help but admire the vision before me. Her gorgeous figure, attired in such provocative clothing, seemed tailor-made for the debauched scenario unfolding. 

Her slender fingers fumbled at the zipper, hesitant yet resigned, as she shed the confining fabric of her dignity. It was a sight both poignant and surreal - a grown woman stripped of her defenses, about to submit to a punishment more suited to a naughty schoolgirl than a capable, executive secretary. 

I ran my hand over the smooth curves of her bum, usually hidden beneath layers of professionalism, lay bare and vulnerable, framed perfectly but her suspender straps. 

Bella's palms came to rest on the boardroom table, steeling herself for the impending correction. Without being prompted, she bent forward, presenting her bare bottom and blooming princess parts, as she arched her lower back. 

She turned and looked to the corporate office windows, shuddering at the thought of someone witnessing this from the street below. My hand rose, paused, and descended with a resounding crack onto her bare bum. 

Well spanked and contrite, Bella knelt before me as I settled into one of the office chairs. Her trembling hands reached up to grasp the button tab of my pants. From the fly, my substantial strap-on cock sprang forth, hidden beneath my pin-stripes this whole time. 

The velvety grip of her fingers encircled the base, stabilizing the monstrous shaft as she prepared to take me into her throat. 

The sweet and degrading sounds of Bella's sloppy blowjob, echoed through the room. Strings of saliva connecting her lips to the cockhead, was evidence enough that my strap-on was lubricated enough for her slutty pussy. 

Her legs, still clad in stockings and boots, formed a shameless 'V', as I laid her prone on the board table. Her exposed pussy glistened with arousal and trembled in anticipation for the impending invasion. The very same cock that had so recently brutalized her mouth, now menaced her delicate opening. 

In a fluid motion, I flipped Bella onto her tummy and bent her forward. A crisp, authoritative smack landed on her already-spanked backside, reminding her to arch her back like a whore. 

I grasped a handful of Bella's hair, forcing her to look out the window while she was being fucked. Simultaneously, my free hand slapped her bare ass, ensuring that her climax would be entwined with the shame and debasement she felt. 

And then, it happened - a pitiful, helpless cry escaped Bella's lips as her body betrayed her, yielding to the overwhelming sensations of orgasm. I released her hair, allowing her to collapse to the table as she began to giggle in disbelief at just how shattering her orgasm was.

The scene was over. We shared a joyful, tender giggle and a passionate kiss, as we basked in the afterglow of our unique dynamic. 

Hold on a second!

How can Bella be my Secretary? Her daughter, Cassandra, is my actual admin assistant and receptionist...

Hmm...

Maybe I should just get the pair of them together, and back into my boardroom? A little Mommy / Daughter session...what do you think? 

Or maybe a Mommy / Daughter school spanking? The sky is the limit. Let me know what I should do.

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Difficult Choices