Tell Me           by: Monika Ikon

 

It was a Friday night, in the middle of summer, and I didn’t know it but my life was about to change forever.

I had just come in from a quick before-dinner dip in the pool. Wendy greeted me with a drink and a sexy little smile that told me she was in the mood to fool around. I was beat from a very hard day at the office and a long hot commute home from the city, but I knew that my wife didn’t expect to be disappointed.

Fortunately, I always found it impossible to disappoint her. At five-six, one twenty, short dark hair, large almond-shaped eyes that bore a trace of her mixed Japanese heritage, full lips, and a body that was perfection all the way down to her suckable toes, I couldn’t help but worship her. When she smacked the wet bottom of my tiny bathing suit I could feel the first stirrings of arousal.

Since the summer started, Wendy had me wearing skimpier and skimpier swimsuits. At first, I had raised some weak protests, but Wendy waved off my pleas for modesty. She told me that since I had given over my body to her that it was up to her to see it dressed—or undressed—as she pleased. And so I found myself in a tiny little thong with a small triangle of orange nylon that barely covered my genitals and a thin little cord that disappeared between the tanned globes of my ass.

"Run upstairs and get that wet bikini off," Wendy said, eyeing the bulge growing in the front of my skimpy bathing suit.

She had never called it a "bikini" before and I felt a kind of rush when she referred to it that way. I think I must have stood there a moment too long because suddenly her voice came back to me and it was filled with impatience.

"Tim, did I lose you?"

"No, ma’am," I said, slipping easily into slave mode. It was amazing how naturally my submission had become.

"Good. I want you upstairs, stripped, and lying naked on the bed. Now."

I blushed. If she only knew what I was thinking…

"Yes, ma’am," I managed, and padded towards the stairs, trying not to spill my drink.

For the past six months, Wendy and I had been playing domination games. After two years of marriage, I had finally confessed to her my fantasies of submission. Wendy had taken to getting me to divulge my most secret desires during prolonged sessions of masturbation. She seemed to relish the power she had over me, bringing me to the edge of orgasm, until I was begging for release. She quickly realized that while she conducted my exquisite torture I would tell her anything she asked. Afterwards, I would always feel somewhat embarrassed and when I admitted to Wendy that I’d always wanted to be her sex slave, I was downright worried about how she would react.

To my surprise, Wendy took my revelation in stride. She told me that she suspected something of the sort for some time. I hurriedly tried to point out that our mutual exploration of my submissive nature could make me a far more attentive lover. She rather dryly informed me that I didn’t have to trouble myself over that. I kind of wondered what she meant but decided not to push things, especially when over the next several weeks Wendy enthusiastically set out to make my fantasies a reality.

In no time at all, she had taken over the dominant role in our sexual relationship. What I didn’t quite realize was that this was every bit as much her fantasy as mine and that she had subtly begun to take control of other aspects of our lives as well.

Once upstairs, I stripped off my bathing suit and lay naked on the bed as Wendy had instructed. I noticed the wrist and ankle restraints already in place. The nipple clamps were on the nightstand. So was the package containing my condom. Wendy had taken my compliance for granted and that excited me even more.

The drink she’d made me was really strong and on an empty stomach was going straight to my head. I was halfway drunk when Wendy came into our room some minutes later. She had removed her short skirt and was wearing a tight black nylon leotard cut high across the tops of her lean, toned thighs. The leotard had some kind of underwire support that pushed her small but lovely white breasts up and squeezed them together. Her long legs were bare but she wore a pair of high-heeled black mules that showed off her painted pretty toes.

She walked slowly to the side of the bed to increase my anticipation. Then she had me put my arms above my head and manacled my wrists with the pair of padded leather restraints. With my wrists secured to the headboard, she had me spread my legs and snapped restraints around each of my ankles, securing my legs to the bottom of the bed. By now, my cock was standing at full attention.

"You didn’t think you were horny, did you Tim?"

"No, mistress."

"You thought you were too tired, didn’t you?"

"Yes, mistress."

"You don’t even know your own body," Wendy said. "That is why I am in charge. I know what you need and when you need it. Look at yourself—"

I bent my head and looked down at my naked, bound body.

"You are such a slut, Tim."

"Wendy…" I gasped.

"Shut up, Tim."

She dangled a set of silver nipple clamps above me. "Does my helpless little slut want her tittie teasers?"

I wasn’t sure what Wendy was doing; she had never quite talked to me like this before. Why was she calling me a "slut?" Why was she referring to my chest as "titties?" And had she really said "her?" I felt a rush of both fear and excitement. My god, I wondered, did she know? Or was this just another method she was using to humiliate me?

Before I could give these questions much thought, I was overwhelmed by the sensation of Wendy playing with my nipples. "Your titties are becoming so sensitive."

Oh, there, she said it again… "Uhhhmmm….

Wendy squeezed my left nipple and let the clamp close on it. I felt a moment of sharp pain and then a familiar aching warmth that seemed to have a direct line to my throbbing cock. My eyes fluttered open and I saw Wendy, who was now holding a thin riding crop, looking intently into my face.

"I love the way you are becoming conditioned to respond erotically to other parts of your body," Wendy said. "Here, here, here, here." She snapped the crop against my inner thighs, my tummy, my upper arms, the soft bottoms of my bare feet. She pointed to my straining cock. "Everywhere but here."

"Pretty soon I won’t have to touch it at all."

I must have looked as worried as I felt because Wendy laughed.

"Oh don’t worry your pretty little head about it just yet, Tim. We have a ways to go first. And by then, you won’t mind a bit. I promise."

But I was worried. From the very first night we played at mistress and slave, Wendy had made it clear that she no longer thought it appropriate for me to penetrate her. At first, I thought that this was just a temporary part of our role-playing and that sooner or later she would want to resume our normal lovemaking routine.

I was wrong.

At the end of every session Wendy finished me off without showing the least interest in having me enter her. It got to the point where I’d been disappointed so many times that I just stopped expecting it myself. As time went on and our roles began to extend more and more into our regular lives, the idea that I might put my penis inside Wendy seemed absurd to me. After a while, the thought of penetrating my wife seemed such a sacrilege that I doubted I could even maintain an erection long enough to do it.

However, now Wendy was talking of not even bringing me off manually. Did she really mean that? Or was she just being cruel?

Wendy lightly ran her long red nails along the underside of my swollen cock. It gave a series of little jumps.

She laughed.

"Poor little thing," she said. "You look so uncomfortable. I suppose you’d like me to pull you off?"

"Yes, mistress."

She flicked my cock with her finger, hard.

"Bad girl," she said. "Wrong answer."

Looking me straight in the eyes, she slowly, purposefully unsnapped the crotch of her leotard. Then she slowly ran her finger over the lips of her shaved pussy. Her creamy white shoulders shivered slightly and her dark eyes narrowed as she stroked herself with her finger. She let her eyes travel the length of my bound, naked body, from my face to my toes and back again.

"Who’s slut are you?"

My voice trembled. "Your slut, mistress."

"Will you do anything I ask?"

"Yes mistress."

"Without question?"

"Yes mistress."

Wendy looked to be at the brink of orgasm when she suddenly stopped stroking herself. She reached down and slowly painted my mouth with her wet finger. I closed my eyes and licked the taste of her off my lips. Then I opened my mouth and gently started sucking Wendy’s finger. She pushed her finger slowly in and out of my mouth. I didn’t realize what I was doing at the time. It just seemed so perfectly natural.

"That’s it, Tim," Wendy said encouragingly. "You look so cute like this."

I don't know how long I sucked Wendy's finger, but eventually she climbed onto the bed. She straddled my head and imprisoned my face between her lean, strong thighs. Still bound, I desperately licked Wendy's already wet pussy, making it even wetter, while she loomed above me like a beautiful goddess, massaging her pert, pretty breasts, which she had removed from the little cups built into the lacy cups of her leotard. I slurped and swallowed Wendy's juices as I worked my tongue over her swollen clitoris. Soon, I felt the tell-tale little tremor that told me her orgasm was imminent. She reached behind her, grabbed my balls and squeezed, and I moaned in pain as I finished bringing her off.

Several minutes later I was lying on my side, spooned against her, ankles re-cuffed together, wrists behind my back. She had slipped a condom over my penis, as usual, after noting that I was beginning to "leak." Now her soft right hand was around the shaft of my hard cock and she was slowly and teasingly pumping me. With her other hand, she played with my stiff nipples, still tender from the clamps. She brought me right to the edge of cumming and then she stopped, over and over again. Every time I was about to shoot she would squeeze and let me go, leaving me hanging. After so much of this torture, I was reduced to a jittery, trembling wreck.

"You are so good like this Tim," Wendy crooned into my ear. "This is the way you need to be. So open. So honest. So vulnerable."

"Wendy, please…"

"It's okay Tim," she said, her hand once again pumping my cock. "You want to wear panties. It's okay, really it is, honey."

Had I said that? Yes, of course, I did. I couldn’t stop myself. I had been answering her questions all along, unable to censor myself at all. She brought me to this point every time we had sex. My life had already changed so much as a result of telling her my fantasies. Was I really prepared for it to change more?

"And shoes…don’t be embarrassed, honey. I think you’d look perfectly adorable in platforms. Big clunky sandals you can hardly walk in. Shall we paint your toenails? Oh yes, that got a reaction. We’ll use pink polish to start, something you have to look twice to see. Or maybe we should just go all out and paint them black like those mall girls. What do you think?"

She slowed her rhythm, interrupting what seemed my inevitable orgasm, and I moaned in frustration. My hands twisted helplessly in the leather manacles, my body stiffened all the way to my curled toes.

"Poor, poor baby," Wendy cooed and kissed my neck. "You need this so badly, don’t you?"

"Yes mistress," I said breathlessly.

"I know you do. Tell me, what kind of panties do you like, sweetheart?"

I would have been too embarrassed to speak if it weren’t for the fact that Wendy was now once again bringing me towards orgasm. Yet that fact in itself made words difficult. Still, I managed to speak.

"Thongs…and french cut…silk…I like bikini style…"

"Have you ever tried my panties on?"

"Yes…"

"How sweet. I’ll bet I know your favorite."

I closed my eyes, rocking to the rhythm of Wendy’s hand. It seemed like she was going to let me come.

"You like those white lacy ones that tie over the hips with those little pink bows."

Wendy didn’t have to see my face to sense my surprise.

"You weren’t quite as careful as you thought, Tim. Why do you think I have you running around here in that itsy-bitsy little bikini bottom? That’s what it is, after all. You have to know that, don’t you? Did you really think you were fooling anyone into thinking that it’s a man’s thong?"

I turned my face into the pillow to hide…what?

My shock? My shame? My relief?

My arousal?

I had been wearing that bottom outside for half the summer. I mowed the lawn in it and washed the car in it. Dammit, I even had it on when our friends Laura and Joe came over for a backyard barb-e-que and swim party…

"Oh, that almost did you in, didn’t it," Wendy purred, squeezing my cock. "You look so sweet in your little bikini bottoms, Tim, you really do, but wouldn’t you like to be able to wear the tops?"

That was all the prompting it took from her. A moment later I was admitting to her that I wanted breasts, that I would like to start hormones, and eventually, someday, have implants. Wendy encouraged me by pumping me harder, rewarding me for my honesty. I told her that I wanted to have my lips and cheekbones injected with collagen. I told her that I wanted to have my voice-box shaved, that I wanted to quit my job and be a housekeeper and a nanny to the children she would have with another man.

"That’s it honey," Wendy said. "Don’t stop now."

I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. It was all coming out now, in a rush, in a flood of images and snippets of fantasy, all the secrets I’d harbored for so long.

Almost all of it…

"We’ll start you off slowly," Wendy said. "Girls slacks and blouses at the office, sensible shoes. They’ll begin to notice, of course, but at first there will just be whispers behind your back. On the weekends you’ll wear girl jeans and then capri pants, pink-trimmed sneakers, thick-soled flip-flops, and jelly-sandals. We’ll have your hair styled like mine, short but feminine. Soon, you won’t be able to hide what is happening. You’ll come out to our friends first and then to the women at work, and, eventually, to everyone. I wonder what your father will say, Tim?"

He would kill me if he knew. At the very least, he would disown me. It was his company and he’d been grooming me to take it over some day. If he knew what I really was, he would have me fired. I would never work in the industry again.

"Don’t worry sweetheart," Wendy said. "We’d manage. I’m sure you know how…"

Oh god…

"Don’t come yet," Wendy said. "We’re not finished."

I felt so controlled, so helpless, so submissive. Lying behind me, her body pressed against mine, I couldn’t help but imagine her wearing a plastic dildo, penetrating me. Her hand once again slowly resumed its up-and-down motion, and I wondered if the vivid image of her fucking my ass had actually founds its way to my lips.

Oh god, what was happening to me? Was I really as weak as she said? Why did these fantasies arise every time I was turned on? I had tried to keep them buried for so long. Was this my true sexual destiny?

"It’s okay, baby-doll," Wendy said. "I know, I know…"

What did she know? How much did she know? How did she know?

It was unimportant. It was all unimportant. Wendy’s hand picked up speed. It wasn’t going to be long now. She continued to play with my nipples, whispering the whole time, her breath tickling my ear.

"Tell me," she said. "You know that you need to. You need to come. I give you permission. Tell me. Tell me everything."

She was right. I needed to tell her. I needed to come.

And so I told her.

I told her about the mega-doses of hormones that would effectively castrate me. I told her how I would expect that she take a lover and, eventually, a new husband. I told her that I would cook for them, clean for them, and serve them both sexually. And when she asked, I told her the names of all the unattached men we knew that would make a good match for her. As I did, I felt Wendy lightly touch my asshole and when I pushed my bottom back instinctively she slowly inserted her finger inside me.

"Pretend it’s Ron’s cock," she said, choosing one of the men I’d mentioned, a friend who tolerated me to be close to Wendy. "Pretend Ron is fucking you and I’m watching, darling. Because that is what is going to happen. We’ll call you Amy from now on and you’ll clean the house and cook the dinners and you’ll be our little sex toy. You’ll suck his long hard cock while yours stays soft and limp and useless. And you’ll put him inside me and watch me come in another man’s arms. And afterwards you’ll lick his cum from inside me. Is that what you want, honey? Tell me, tell me, my sweet little sissy…"

"Wendy…"

"Ssshh…enough for now."

Wendy was pumping me freely now and I knew I wouldn’t last long. I had passed the point of no return in more ways than one. I moaned to let her know that it was all over for me and she gave me permission to "let it happen." On command, I filled my "slut-sack" as she held me tightly, her hand continuing to jerk me off, her finger fucking me. She assured me it was okay, that I had been a good girl. And I knew that things would never be the same again. Wendy was going to take me all the way. It’s what she wanted. It’s what we both wanted.

"Don’t worry honey," she whispered, when it was all over. Her warm hand cradled my soft, spent cock. "This is only the beginning."

Yes, I thought, feeling warm and sleepy and strangely content. Yes. Please.

Tell me.

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Monika Ikon. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.