Monday, November 10, 2014

Part 2 - Meeting His Whore


Precisely at seven, I heard his car pulled into the driveway; thirty seconds later, he rang the doorbell. Stomach turning, hand shaking, breath ragged, I opened the door. 

Matthew and I just stared at one another for a moment, perhaps neither of us sure what to do, what to say. But I was the maid, he was the guest, and even though he was so clearly the dominant one, I knew I should break the silence first.

"Please...please come in, Sir," I said, barely audible. As he walked past me, I stared at him in his charcoal suit, silver tie, white shirt, impeccably tailored to his muscular, athletic body. He was dressed like a man who would frequent a high class prostitute, that is, the client for my whore wife. " finishing up," I said, looking at the floor. I could feel his gaze on me, all over me, judging me, appraising me.

"Sara," he finally spoke. "Finally...Sara."

"Yes...yes, Sir," I looked up at him. Finally for me, of course, but finally for him, too?

"Well, well, well, I'd say you look quite pretty in your costume, Sara, but I'd be lying." My eyes went wide, his seeming rebuke stunned me and I looked down, wanted to flee. He chuckled, wounding me even more...for the moment.

"So sensitive...just like a girl...I'd be lying, Sara, because this isn't a costume, is it, this pretty thing is the real you?"

I looked up again, met his eyes, wanted to cry. "I...yes," I said.

"Let me say it again, then, without the qualifier. You look quite pretty...Sara."

"Thank...thank you, Sir."

"You're explains so much."

"What...what does?"

"What Emily sees in you...why she needs a man...what you seek...why you and Emily don't...very often. Seeing you explains everything...Sara...everything." He continued to look at me, I didn't know what he thought, what he was attracted to, but I knew I looked pretty, knew I looked feminine...not like my wife, but still, I knew.

"I..." I started to reply, but couldn't form my thoughts into words.

"When did you last try to be a male with your wife?"

"Dressed as a male," I asked, confused.

"No, no," he looked irritated. "When did you last screw?"

"Oh," I said, "I..." I thought for a moment. "I don't know, actually,'s been awhile..."

"Since before the wedding? Since before we met," he asked impatiently. "'s important to me."

"I don't remember when, exactly," I said, "but...yes...before the wedding..."

"Good, good," he said, sounding relieved, a rare display of anxiety for him. "You're locked, I assume?"

"Yes, Sir," I kept my eyes lowered, it was a difficult thing to admit, especially to my wife's boyfriend. 

"She told you we talked about it, didn't she?"

I blushed, knew what he meant. "Yes."

He moved slowly behind me. "It's important to her, Sara, to hold it, I understand that, but I would if she didn't. I never have, but I would, I like the symbolism." I swallowed, felt the familiar swelling; I liked the symbolism, too, the control, the surrender. He was watching me, chuckled. "Something tells me perhaps you'd like it, too." 

I was breathing heavily, so many emotions and thoughts going through my mind. I felt him behind me, close, so close the hem of my uniform and petticoats moved when he moved, his body wasn't touching my body, but inch or two and it would. "Surrendering to me, just like Emily."

I pictured his hands on my legs, between my stocking covered thighs, reaching between them, touching the cage, demanding the key, surrendering to him. Perhaps he pictured it, too, but I didn't know, perhaps he wanted it too, but he didn't say. As quick as he was to take my wife, his pattern with me was slower, taking small steps only when I could not longer stand it.

He moved his hand up, touched my bare arm; I shuddered, tried not to flinch. "Go get your mistress, Sara," he said, "go get your wife...bring me my whore."


She was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting impatiently; but she had a concerned look when I walked into the bedroom. "Sara, you're shaking."

"I...I'm okay," I said.

"Are you sure," she stood, walked to me, reached for me. "Sara, was he...what did he say."

"He...he said I looked pretty," I whispered.

"Oh, honey," she embraced me, obviously relieved. "I...I knew he'd be okay."

"He...he sent me to get you..."

"Does he costume?"

"General...not details...just...just that your dressed"

"As a whore," she said softly, voice shaking with excitement.

"Yes," I said.

"His whore."

"Yes, yes."

She looked at her wrists, looked up at me. "There's more, isn't there?"

I wasn't terribly surprised, Emily was no fool. "Yes, but...after...after he sees you."

"You're an incorrigible tease."

"I...I wasn't sure if...if you'd...say no," I admitted.

"But you know I wouldn't to him...right," she accused.

"I...I don't know..."

"You know, Sara, you know, don't try to fool me. Just remember, two can play at that game." She looked down at the hem of my skirt. "You might not tell him no, either."


"Come now, take me to him."

I looked at my wife again, at her lingerie, everything so sheer, her nipples hard, visible, her pussy barely covered, the mask adding a sense of daring, adventure. She was the most beautiful woman I'd even seen, ever been with, the kind of woman that caught a man's eye when she entered a room. She was mine, my wife, my lover.

And I was giving her to him.

My wife.

My lover.

His whore.


Matthew, normally reserved, normally completely in control of him emotions, cracked for several seconds when we walked into the room, his eyes went wide, in surprise, in appreciation. What did he think? Did he wonder how he came to be here, in the living room of a couple's house, came to be in possession of someone's wife? "My god," he whispered before regaining control of his emotions, before regaining control of the situation.

We stood there, Emily in the center of the room, me slightly to the side and behind. I had my moment, now was hers alone.

"Look at you," he said taking a step towards her.

"I..." She stopped, waited for his direction.

"Just look at you," he said again. " perfect." He glanced at me, back at my wife, his comment was meant for both of us. Emily, for her beauty, me, for my decisions. "I..." His voice froze again, "I don't know if I can..."

"Sir, if I may," I interrupted, having already thought what I knew he was thinking. He looked at me, nodded. I went to the guest closet, opened it, took out Emily's stone colored Burberry trench, held it up for them both to see. "For the car ride."

He nodded, smiled. "Perfect," he said, took a step towards me. 

"Sir...if...if I may...there...there's more..." Now my nerves started to fail.

"More," he raised an eyebrow.

I went back to the closet, picked up the silver serving tray I'd put in there when Emily was bathing. On the tray were three things I was afraid took things too far, afraid pushed sexy to slutty to way, way beyond, afraid was past anyone's comfort zone. 

On the tray?

The gold chain that connected her wrist cuffs:

A gold chain/leash/lead to clip to her choker:

And a crop, playful but serious riding crop:

I watched him, and for the second time that evening, Matthew looked stunned; Emily, I knew, expected the chain for her cuffs, or something like it, but not the other things and she gasped. A hot, sexy, 'I'm fucking soaking wet' gasp.

"Well," Matthew again composed himself quickly, "well, well, well." He looked at Emily, judging, read her, read me, "is my whore intending on misbehaving?"

", Sir," Emily said almost playfully. "I...I don't plan on it."

"Come, over here," he said to me, "we'd better make sure, shouldn't we?"

Friday, November 7, 2014

You're all impatient!

This stuff takes time to live, process, and write about. I do have a job, you know!

Love you all!


Monday, November 3, 2014

Lounge Wear, Sissy Style

Protip: Your tummy isn't the only thing it trims, sissy.

Two fingers

"Of course it will fit, honey, look, you're certainly not thicker than two of my fingers when you're soft and these fit."

"But...but what happens if know...grow?"

"We've talked about this, honey, that's kind of the whole point of this, you're not supposed to grow anymore."

Meeting Sara and Stuff, Part 1

Yea, like wow.

The day may have started like any other day, waking up, coffee, but I knew it was not going to be nothing ordinary. In fact, I was up early, 6:30, as I couldn't sleep, was too excited about later. I got up, made coffee, straightened up the kitchen, did some laundry, you know, typical sissy husband duties, while Emily slept in. I work her at 9, as she'd asked (instructed) the night before, and we went on a nice seven mile run, some her and me time, ate breakfast together after.

At 3:00, Emily said she was going to take a nap and asked me to wake her up at 4:30, Matthew was picking her up at 7:00. We hadn't discussed her costume or getting ready or any details, she rightly assumed I had a plan. And I did.

While she slept, I went upstairs to our guest room, showered, shaved, did everything a woman would do to make herself soft and feminine.

I dressed in my favorite foundations garment-a sheer black bullet bra and sheer panties to go with a six strap garter belt, all from one of my favorite stores, Secrets in Lace. The panties were not super tight, as I would have worn if I was full 'tucking', but they were supportive enough to keep the cage holding my already swelling penis tight against me.

Black stockings, of course, classic for the look I was going for. And 4 3/4 inch black thin ankle strap sandals.

I did my makeup, feminized my hair and looked at myself in the mirror.

The foundation garments were just that, the foundation of my femininity, the building blocks of what Matthew said he wished to see, Sara, Emily's French Maid.

Was he serious? I wondered, of course, was full of nerves, was all week, all day. But he knew, he'd hinted, had taken charge in his own way.

I have several maid's uniforms-a mundane housecleaning uniform (too practical, not sexy, a real 'get work done' uniform), a prettier cotton uniform that's sexy, a couple of satin uniforms that scream sissy.

Matthew was getting sissy. He'd only used the word once, way back, but hadn't called me the word I love and hate so much. But he was getting the was me...the essence of me. The choice of uniforms was really not difficult at all. 

We'd bought it online, I'm sure some of you are familiar with it. It's made of high quality satin, has incredible detail, and gives a perfect trim look. (Incidentally, you can buy it here). I wear it with petticoats, of course, the satin pinafore, a maid's cap, and a matching black and white lace choker and wrist bands (cuffs). 

I looked at myself in the mirror again, felt nervous again, wondered if it was too much, if I was wrong, whether I should change, forget all of this. What kind of husband allows this? I was dressing in a maid's uniform to serve as my wife's maid while she dressed as a slut to go to a Halloween party with her lover. Tell yourself that, and feel the self doubt creep in. But it was me, wasn't it?

What I wanted. Always. To be true to myself, what I was. A sissy. A cuckold. No. No. I had to go through with this, wanted to go through with this. Show him you're not a man, show him you're not a threat, show him the real you.

It was a line, once crossed, could never be undone. But it was a line I had to walk past. He expects it. She expects it. And you want it. This is you.

What would he think? That you're a sissy, what do you think he'll think.

How would he react? He'll understand...he has his role, you have yours.

But this was the final step, the true acknowledgment that in this threesome, he was the man, Emily was the woman, and I was the cuckold. The sissy cuckold.

Matthew. Emily. Sara.

The man. The whore. The sissy.

He'd been honest at every turn, I reminded myself, if he asked for this, he wanted this.

It was 4:25, no time for self-doubt for the moment, it was time to wake Emily, time to wake sleeping beauty, prepare her to become the belle of the ball.

She was dozing but opened her eyes when I opened the door and stepped into the room; no matter how quiet I tried to be, my heels clicked, clacked on the wood floor. 

"Hmmm," she smiled softly, "it's been too long."

"Mistress," I questioned, consciously adopting the deferential tone a maid should use with those she serves.

She smile. "It's been too long since you served, love."

"Yes, Mistress," I said, walking into the bathroom to draw her a scented, oiled bath in our soak tub. While the tub was filling, I gathered the things I needed: a bath pillow, washcloths, body wash in a scent I knew she'd appreciate-Pure Seduction.

"You're so good to me, Sara."

"Thank you, Mistress," I smiled playfully as she slipped into the tub. I left her to enjoy herself while I set our her costume, what little of it there was, anyway.

So, what was she going to be? Well, what was she? But Matthew's whore. I mean, he wanted slutty, right? He wanted to show her off, right? Emily, shy at heart, found it so erotic, so naughty, so thrilling to dress for him, in ways she'd never dress for me (in public). 

So she was going to be his whore. His high class whore. 

So while Emily relaxed in the tub, I set out her outfit, each item carefully and lovingly placed on the bed for her to see when she was done soaking. 

"Love," she called out some half hour later, and I went to her, helped her from the tub, toweled her dry. Patiently I sat with her as she did her hair and makeup. Kind of patiently, anyway, because the anticipation was killing me. The anticipation of her seeing her 'costume' and the anticipation of dressing her and the anticipation of seeing her. And the anticipation of Matthew seeing her. 

Finally...fucking finally, she finished (she was dragging it out on purpose, I knew and she knew I knew). But she was as excited as I was, it showed with every movement, in her eyes, in her voice.

"Well," she said, "I suppose it's time to dress."

"Emily," I said, my voice almost breaking. Again, the self-doubt, not just about Matthew, that doubt was a constant present, a reminder of the depth of my feelings for my wife. But self-doubt about the costume I'd picked (slutty, he instructed, slutty, he commanded, but was it too much, did I take it too far?)

Whore? Was I really going to dress her as Matthew's whore?

In some ways, in many ways, that word, that attitude, was the foundation of this three-way relationship. He took my pretty, demure, respectable wife (from outside appearances anyway) and pulled from her what she wouldn't do on her own. He pulled to the forefront her inner slut, her latent desire to shed respectability and throw herself at a man. When she hesitated, he demanded more. When she pulled back, he pushed forward. He knew her deep, dark desires and made them come true. 

Calling her his whore was taking her desires, her fantasies, her need for a man and making them a reality. Matthew, the opposite of me, helped her fulfill the need to be led, to submit, the need to be with a alpha man. Ant the need to have her husband support her. She gets to have her cake and eat it too-the benefits of her most intimate lover (me) coupled with the benefits of a dominate, sexual, alpha man.

So yes, she's his whore. What other costume could it be than his whore?

This was my inspiration, not exactly what I went with, but it was the mental foundation:

And below is what my wife saw when I walked with her into our bedroom.

I started with a set I'd gotten her awhile back but hadn't given to her yet (it was, when bought, going to be a surprise gift for her to wear for me...and now, in a way, it was a completely different surprise for me...and her...and him.) It's from Agent Provocateur (since it when it was on sale).

What drew me to it? The sheerness, the way it would cover her breasts, but not really, the way it would hide them, but not really. How perfect for tonight. I just love how sheer it is, how well it would with black Cervin 100% nylon stockings and five inch heels:

Perfect, to start with, right? But what to finish with? Well, sheer was the theme, right? Sheer to show off, sheer to be daring, sheer to be slutty, sheer to be his whore. 

I mean, it's probably wrong, but I want her to turn him on, I want her to turn everyone on!

But that wasn't enough because I'm bad, because I'm kinky, because I want her to submit to him. So I bought something I shouldn't have, these jewelry like wrist cuffs and choker (I set them out on the bed, not the chain that playfully connected the cuffs...that was for later...a surprise).

The last two things for her to see (for now), were icing on the cake:

"This...this is it," I said when she saw, immediately taking away any thought there was more (there was, a thing or two).

"Sara..." She turned to me, I saw the look in her, realization just how sheer everything was, how she'd be on display, sexualized. But excitement, too, lust, I assumed for Matthew, for my participation, for the realization sh was his whore.

"I..." I swallowed. "''re his whore," I said softly, shyly.

"Oh, Sara," she said quietly.

"It's too much," I said, self doubt again.

"You mean too little," she teased. "My god."

"Emily...I...he said..."



"Dress me, love, dress me."


"Dress me as his whore."


But for the cage I wore, I would have been erect. As it was, I strained against the confines, a reminder underneath I was a male, a reminder underneath I was a sissy. Her nipples, hard, were visible, just barely, though the layers of sheer fabric. She looked sultry, slutty, sexual.

"He'll be here right at seven," she said, a minute or two before. "Why don't you let him in while I finish," she said holding the mask up, "introduce yourself, make him comfortable, come get me."

"Emily," my voice cracked.

"Let him meet Sara," she said, "he wants do you."

"I...I'm scared."

"I know," she said gently. "But you can't change who you are."

Tuesday, October 28, 2014


We were in bed last night, kissing, talking about how we couldn't wait for the weekend.

"I miss it," she had said.

"Him," I asked, "or it?"

"Both," she admitted. "I miss's...yea," she practically blushed. "But I miss him, too, his..."

"Masculinity," I suggested.

"Hmmm," she leaned over, kissed my nose. "He's got a way about him, doesn't he?"

"Yea," I agreed, looking away for a moment.

"You're naughty," she playfully smacked me.

"What," I protested.

"I know what you're thinking, Sara, don't get ahead of yourself, these are his decisions."


"Let it take it's time, let him meet Sara." She moved her hand down my stomach to distract me, I inhaled sharply as I swelled in the cage. "Sorry," she teased, "I shouldn't do that."

"You know," I suggested, implying she free me.

"Not...not this close to a date," she said, "we like you to...anticipate."


"Matthew, love."

"You talk about...that?"

"Yes...some." She looked away, like she was guilty of something. "You did too," she said.

"A little," I said.

"Nice choice of words," she teased.

"What's he say? What do you talk about," I asked.

"Comparing notes, love," she teased again.


"He was surprised, he'd never been involved with anyone that did this before. Chastity. He's fascinated by it."

"That's cause he wants you for himself," I said

She took my meaning different than I meant; she took it as pouting, complaining. "Sara, he has NO issues with our intimacy, you know that," she said defensively.

"Em, I know," I said, "I didn't mean to imply he does. I was just saying he's fascinated by it because he wants intercourse for himself, not you you for himself."

"Oh," she softened. "That's it, you know, he really does encourage this," she said. "I think in other situations he felt the husband's needs...selfish needs he said...interfering with his bond with the woman. Like the husband's pestering for intercourse became a competition, a distraction."

"I can see how it would," I said.

"So he thinks this," she touched the cage, "is perfect. Plus, he said it emphasizes"

"Well at least he didn't ask for the key," I joked. Her eyes darted away as soon as I said that. "Emily!"

"What? We talked about it, Sara, why wouldn't we? He's...he's in charge, isn't he?"

"Yes, but...but you're my wife!"

"You're so melodramatic. That's exactly what he said. Hell, it's what I said. He's got no issues with that...we're all on the same page...unlocking it's up to me...he has his own thoughts, of course, and tells me them...but it's my decision. We're just not allowed know...but he said he told you the same thing."

Now I looked away. "He did."

"And he thinks the week before he and I go out, you shouldn' free...and if that was a problem, he'd be happy to hold it for the week."

"Em, no!"

"Methinks thou doth protest too much," she grinned. "We're not using it anyway, don't you think it would have him hold it? Just for the week, anyway?"


"Very...symbolic...I could give it to him...or you could," she said in a tone that was half serious, half teasing.

"Em, I...I don't know," I hesitated.

"I know, love," she touched my face, "it's probably a bad idea." It might be, but it was a seed planted, too.

"You know," she said after a minute, "I like what it represents now, it like...defines roles. Some things are for Matthew, some for my pretty girl."

"Did he ask for it," I asked, unwilling to let it go.

"Ask for what?"

"The...the key?"

"He didn't ask," she said, "we talked about it, but he didn't ask for it."

"He demanded it?"

"No, Sara, he wouldn't...not that...we'd talk about something like that. All of us. I'm not sure I'd like that, anyway...I mean...I like to control some things, too. After all, you're mine, love...this is mine," she touched me. "It always will be."

"He's so...I don't know," I said.

"Masculine? Dominant? Assertive?"

"Yea," I said.

"Yea," she said.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Three Way Relationship

Joyce Bruno in the comments said, "Oh MY So now HE IS IN CHARGE OF BOTH OF YOU! How are you feeling about that?"

Well, to be honest, he was in charge of both of us from go. Seriously.

And that's what makes Matthew special.

Unlike someone else (Jeff), he doesn't think he's simply fucking someone else's wife. He is, of course, but that's just part of the relationship he's in.

Yes, he gets, and always has, understood that being who he is...a single man and a dom...he's been invited into an existing marriage. He understood that from go, when we met, when he asked us what we wanted. He understood that and has worked to make sure our goals, not just his, not just Emily's, but mine also, are met.

Yes, what he wants is important...he's the dom, after all, it's only natural for him to feel like he can be assertive with his needs. But he's respective of Emily's needs and my needs.

What works is that all our wants and needs have significant areas of overlap.

But he's in charge.

And you know what, we want him in charge.

Emily and I have played with tease and denial for some time now, you all know that. But it's so powerful, so thrilling (so humiliating) to hear Matthew say it, to hear him take charge of that, to have him make sexual intercourse a monogamous activity for Matthew and Emily (or mostly so...he didn't say Emily and I can never have intercourse, just that it will be rare and at his discretion. (When and if I get to orgasm remains generally within Emily's discretion).

Of course he's in control of me. A man cannot consistently call someone else's wife 'his whore' without being firmly in control of the couple, can he?

He's been in control of Sara, too, since the beginning. He's decided the when, the how, and by taking his time, by waiting until now, he's done what he's done about everything-retained control.

The three of us set mutual round rules and boundaries, we mutually composed a musical piece.

But Matthew, as the dom, is the conductor, the maestro. He directs us, he tells us when something is more important, he gives emphasis. And rules.

He's inside both of our heads and to be honest, we trust him.

We have expectations. We expect him to be honest. We expect him to be monogamous. We expect him to treat us with respect. We expect him to remember that Emily and I are a married couple. We expect him to remember this is a threesome, not a woman cheating on her husband, so to include me. We expect him to expect us to be intimate, as a couple. We expect him to act like a masculine man, a dominant man, to take and keep control.

He has expectations, too. He expects to be the dom, he made that clear from the beginning, he will not be in a relationship where he competes with the husband. He has a busy schedule and because I certainly get much more time with Emily, he expects that she'll be available when he has time. Even on short notice. He expects Emily to be ready and in the mood when she's with him. He expects neither Emily or I will 'control from the bottom.' He expects to be treated with respect. He expects to be obeyed. He expects my wife to be his whore.

So, of course he's in control. Of all of this. Of course.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Hot and Cold

So far we've run hot and cold with Matthew, things heating up when our schedules allow, cooling down when we're busy.

I think things are hot now.

"Did you two behave last night," he texted me after lunch. I was taken back, not sure what he meant, so I wasn't sure how to answer.

"I asked you a question; if you're busy, a yes or no will do."

"I don't know," I responded. "What's the definition of behaving?"

"Emily said she wanted some intimate time with you, behaving is observing boundaries, respecting what's yours and what's mine."

Suddenly I got his meaning, blushed deeply.

"So, did you behave?"

"Yes, Sir," I typed, adding the sir reflexively. "We don't do that very often."

"You haven't since we all met, right?"


"Do you like to?"

"Yes. I don't know. That's complicated."

"I can imagine. Not from personal experience, of course, I've never had those issues. It's complicated for her, too."

"I suppose," I said.

"People build up expectations, get disappointed when they aren't met."

I felt defensive. "I guess."

"Did expectations get fulfilled last night," he asked.


"She agreed."

"You talked to her about it," I asked him.

"Of course. As you talk to her about what she and I do...though for different reasons."

"What do you mean?"

"I know my role; it's important for you and Emily to bond over the experiences she and I share. It's important for you to have a stake in this. You understand I want the two of you to be intimate, don't you? It's important to me that you believe that."

"I do."

"But not intimate like Emily and I are."

"I was always rare."

"Yes, but there are two differences now," he said. "First, intercourse is no longer either rare or disappointing for her, is it?"

"I suppose not, no."

"Second, the decision to limit your intercourse with his her is no longer hers, it's mine." I swallowed, wasn't sure how to respond.

"You know, it amuses me."

"What amuses you," asked.

"Nothing...the irony. I'm looking forward to next week."

"Your slutty whore?"

"Yes, my slutty whore. I'm curious what you picked, but not just that. I'm looking forward to meeting Sara, too."

I know Emily has told him how important that is, so I was fairly confident he wouldn't tease me about that, wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it. But that didn't change how nervous I was. Or how much I was looking forward to it.

Turn Ons

When I got home last night, Emily wasn't in the kitchen of living room, so I called out her name.

"In here," she said, her voice coming from our bedroom. I walked there, found her sitting on the bed smiling devilishly, her skirt having ridden well up her legs, giving a peak of her stocking tops.

"What's wrong," I asked, wondering what I'd done.

"I talked to Matthew this afternoon," she stood, walked slowly towards me. "Apparently someone did some shopping today."

"What...what did he say," I asked, worried he ruined the surprise I wanted. "He promised."

"Promised what, love?"

"He promised not to tell you," I pouted.

"He didn't, love."

"What did he say, then," I asked.

She leaned over, whispered in my ear. "He said you've been such a good little boy."

"He didn't," I closed my eyes.

"He did, love...I swear...and I think I got wet the second he said it."


"Such a good little hear my lover say that..."

"Em..." I touched her arm, felt the spark, the tension.

"I want you," she said.

"Emily, fuck..."

"No, no," she said, "that's for him...I want my pretty girl..."

"Does it make you hot, too, listening to him, obeying him, submitting to him?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"I want to make love to my pretty girl."

We did, we cuddled, we kissed, we licked, we touched.

"It turns me on every time you see him," she said.

"It turns me on seeing you so timid with him."

"It turns me on thinking about him meeting Sara."

"It turns me when you watch him touch me."

And after she came again and again, I did, too, milked, her favorite dildo inside me, probing me, while I leaked, dripped.

"Such a good girl," she said, "such a good little girl."

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


Matthew had ordered me to tell him when I picked a costume, so I did this afternoon after I ordered everything. "I picked and ordered things for a costume for Em :)"

Unusual for him, he responded immediately. "What's she going as?"

"It's a surprise," I told him.

"Perhaps for her..."

"Don't you want to be surprised, too?"

"Just to exactly what she's wearing, yes, as to the theme, no...I need to plan what I'm wearing, too."

"Oh. I just thought I'd surprise both of you."

"I want to coordinate," he responded. "Slutty Slutty school girl...teacher, etc."

I thought of the things I'd ordered to go with things we already had. What was so exciting was now so...humiliating. I considered lying, switching. I could do slutty nurse in ten minutes.

"She's..." I typed, didn't finish, didn't hit send.

"Slutty what," he typed, his words somehow demanding.

"She's going as a whore," I finished. "As your whore," I added.

"My slutty whore...well...why leave any question in anyone's mind. Hers, mine, or yours."

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

I picked a costume today.

It's going to be a surprise for both Emily and Matthew.

Peace of Mind

Sure, a man would revolt at this, but sissies understand the comfort, the peace of mind, that comes from being safely locked away. They know their little clits have no place inside a woman.

Monday, October 20, 2014


Matthew and I had an, er...interesting text message exchange early this afternoon (technically it was an iMessage exchange, since we both use iPhones and Macs and were both on our respective Macs at work, but I digress with nerdy stuff).

So, he texted me to first congratulate Emily and me on our race and to congratulate me on a PR (Emily did not PR as her time is faster than mine and she so lovingly paced me the second half of the course.

He is, of course, totally in favor of Emily and me doing things together as a couple (except that one thing, that's his thing only now). He's healthy himself and encouraging about diet and exercise. Some, perhaps, is for selfish reasons-Emily's very attractive, in-shape body of the type he likes. Some, though, for encouraging Emily and I to do things as a couple. And running, in particular (according to Emily last week), because he thinks it's a good activity for a guy like me (as opposed to lifting anything more than moderate weights). "Keeps him trim," or something like that.

Later, he asked about my progress on picking a costume for Emily. And that's when things got a bit warm and tight. Like I was blushing and my once again caged penis was swelling.

When asked on my progress, I told him I'd looked at some things, considered a few things, but hadn't come to a decision yet.

"It's coming up, make a decision by Friday," he said, in that way he commands.

"I will," I promised. "What's the party like, I'm not sure how sexy to go."

"Sexy? Your instruction was slutty," he responded immediately.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, "sexy, slutty; I appreciate how you want her dressed."

"I don't think you do. Sexy is beautiful, slutty is hot. Sexy is one item of revealing clothing, slutty is an entire outfit."

"Sexy is a peak of lingerie, slutty is an entire lingerie set."

"Sexy says I want to meet a nice guy, slutty says I want to get fucked. There's a difference between Sexy Halloween and Slutty Halloween..."

And then I got the bubble response, the long text coming response.

"Sexy Halloween is for women who want to be risqué. Sexy Halloween is for women who want to be safely adventurous. Sexy Halloween sends the message, to the other people at a party, that a woman feels frisky and may light a few candles for her husband before switching things up and being on top. Sexy Halloween is for good girls who just want to pretend to be bad. That's Sexy Halloween. Sexy Halloween is what a good, beta provider husband looks forward to. It's his wife climbing on top of him, thrust, thrust, thrust, ugggghhhhhh and asking her in that soft, nervous voice, 'wwwwwas it good for you when he knows it wasn't.' Sexy Halloween is a woman hoping the sexy costume and the candles make a difference and she doesn't have another night of unsatisfying sex. Sexy Halloween is for good girls. That's NOT what I instructed, is it?"

I swallowed, felt myself tighten in the cage. "No."

"Sexy Halloween is what I'd allow you to have if I was otherwise engaged that night. Minus the thrusting, of course."

More typing.

"But I told you Slutty Halloween. Slutty Halloween is a woman who needs a man's attention. Slutty Halloween is for women who want to be taken to places they're afraid to admit exist. Slutty Halloween sends the message, to other people at a party, that a woman wants a man to fuck the ever loving shit out of her, to make her cum like she never has before. Slutty Halloween is a woman who want a man to take control. Slutty Halloween if for a woman who wants a man to do things she'd never dream of asking her husband to do. Slutty Halloween is for bad girls. Girls who fuck, girls who beg a man for his cock. Girls who swallow That's what I instructed you. Slutty Halloween."

I responded the only way I could. "Fuck."

"That's right, that's what you're looking for, slutty, NOT sexy. I want to fuck, not I want to make love. I'm his whore, not I'm his wife."

"But it's a party. And other people."

"It's an adult party...not that kind, before you ask...but she won't be the only one there dressed like that, sending the message that she's someone's whore that night. I expect her dressed so every single person knows what she's doing that night, so every single person assumes, when she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, that's she's not going to pee, but to get on her hands and knees and suck cock!

I wasn't sure what to say, just sat, let my mind run.

"Things getting 'tight'? Tell the truth."


"Sexy is wondering if a woman's husband is going get 'get luck' later that night (hint, not usually), slutty is wondering if a woman's boyfriend is going to fuck her in the club's bathroom, in the alley, or in the car."


"Tighter still? Tell the truth."

"Yes, but..." I paused, he didn't.

"Here, let me give you a visual. This is Sexy Halloween..." He texted me a picture:, right?"

"Yes, very," I typed.

"The kind of thing a beta husband would die for, right?"


"He's spend all night hoping against hope she'd do that special thing he begs for, you know, take him in her mouth just for a few seconds, cause that's all he gets (no you can't in my mouth, dear, that's gross). That's Sexy Halloween. Get it?"

"Yes," I responded. 

"Well this is Slutty Halloween...the kind of thing a real man demands..." He texted a second picture:

...that's what your going for. Slutty, so there's no question in anyone's mind...Emily's, your's, everyone at the party, there's no question that she's my whore. And that the only thing she wants that night is my cock."

"Fuck," I responded again, the only response.

"Oh I will, trust me, I will. Several times. So keep shopping and make a decision. Find Slutty Halloween."

Ten minutes later, one last text. "And don't forget, because I won't, Emily's maid is on duty that night."

"I...I won't."

"All night. To help her get ready, to meet her boyfriend, and...I love this part, it's so naughty, so clean up later."

Tight. It was tight the rest of the afternoon.

Our Interests as a Couple

Consider it mundane, but in the spending time together vein (very important for our kind of relationship), Emily and I were out of town this weekend as we ran a half marathon yesterday.

She paced me to a PR (yay Emily and yay Sara).

She's the best.


For inquiring minds, no, I don't run in a chastity cage. I do wear this cute Freya Active sports bra and short set, though, under my rights and running shirt.

See, aren't girl's clothes so much better?

Monday, October 13, 2014


Someone mentioned, and it's true, I don't update everything that happens with Emily, myself, Matthew, etc. That would be repetitive. And boring. I don't even update on all the exciting things, either (like when Matthew texted that he's pleased I wear a chastity cage and that conversation).

They did go out on Saturday, which was nice, it had been several weeks, and it was great watching her get dressed, great seeing the way he touched her, controlled her and us. Great pampering her afterwards.

And great what he said before they left.

"Halloween's in a few weeks, I'm taking Emily to a costume party on that Saturday. I want you to get her a costume...I know it's a cliche...the whole 'slutty this and slutty that' for Halloween, but that's what I want."

"Of course," I said watching the man who had both hands on my wife's body.

"And one other thing your wife and I talked about..."

I looked at Em, she smiled, looked down.


"It seems appropriate, Halloween and all; I expect her maid Sara to be on duty that night." My eyes went wide, he grinned. "Enough pretending, don't you think."

Thursday, October 2, 2014

The Word

My phone buzzed. Matthew. He texted both of us the other day, during the day, something he does, for obvious reasons.

"Emily is my _____."

I swallowed, immediately felt myself swell in the cage, picked up my phone, typed, fingers shaking. "Whore."

I watched my phone for half an hour, unable to focus, waited for him to respond. He knew I was on edge, her too. Wanted it. Planned it. The text was about roles, asserting his dominance, his control. And, I think, about sexualizing Emily. Not in a bad way, I mean, it was kinky, dirty, sexy, erotic, and the entire thing was about sex, but a subtle reminder their relationship was based on sex, not love. It wasn't that he didn't respect Emily (or me), it's that he set the tone. And in a way reminded both of us he understood his role in, mine.

Finally, it buzzed. "Very good. Emily, how does a whore greet a man?"

"On her knees," Emily responded immediately, "waiting..."

"For," he asked.

I saw the text bubbles from Emily. Typing. Then nothing. Bubbles again. Nothing.

"Emily." Just the word, on the screen, was a rebuke. I knew...she must have too.

"Waiting for his cock." If a phone could show a blush, I'd have seen her blush.

We both waited now, for his response, my wife an I in separate buildings, sitting at our respective desks, waiting for him to respond. He knew what that wait did, of course he knew.

Finally...finally, he answered. "Such a good girl. So how do you greet me, Emily?"

I knew what was coming. "On my knees...waiting for your cock."

"She ever greet you like that," he typed, directed at me.

"No," I typed, fingers shaking. "No, Sir."

"Why," he asked, no waiting this time.

I swallowed, dared to type it...after all, he invited it. "Because I'm not a man?"

"Exactly. Something we need to talk about...soon."

Oh, I do...every day...every single day.

I love the taste of them

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Just sayin'

A properly trained sissy should be able to do this while wearing a chastity cage. I certainly can.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Implicit Questions Answered

A few questions from the comments I wanted to address.

Anonymous says, "You've never discussed (I don't think) whether you and Emily play with strap-on or other simulated cock play."

Answer: Um, we totally play with strap-ons and I can totally cum like a girl (i.e., from penetration only, no stimulation of my sissy clit).

Tanya wonders about Matthew (Anonymous jumps in, too), whether he'll accept Sara.

Answer: I don't know. When he said words to the effect of, Well then, I suppose I'm going to have to meet her," his tone suggested not mere resignation that he would have to meet Sara for Emily's sake, but instead amused teasing. I think he's drawing it out to tease me, to control me. He's going to meet Sara when he wants. And to some extent, to me, it's like chastity-I'm released not when I want (always) but when Emily wants (more rare). And because of that, I enjoy it more.

Emily is coy on the subject, but I judge from her reaction I'm not wrong. It's when, not if, and it's willingness, not acquiescence.

Ritemate commented he likes controlling couples, not just wives. I think he likes controlling us, not. Ritemate also says, "I’d be surprised if Sara doesn’t eventually find herself on her knees in front of Him."

Answer: Oh god, I hope so!!! (Emily, too.) If I do, though, it will be when Matthew wants it, not when I want it (now.)

Anonymous comments about Matthew's "she's my whore" comment and whether Emily will do whatever Matthew wants, using examples of entertaining his friends, going to swingers clubs, substances.

Answer: Substances? Never. Emily would never in a million years. Not a question in my mind. His friends? Don't see it. Swingers clubs? Nope. She's just not that kind of person. (Yes, I recognize the irony of what I'm saying, but it's true.)

Friday, September 19, 2014

I know he gets it

"Remember," he texted me the other day. I was in the study, working, Emily was in bed, reading.


"Roles...mine and yours."

"I do...I think about them all the time," I told him.

"Good. Remember then she's your wife and the things you do with her are sweet, loving, and tender. But..."

I watched the dots, watched, waited while he typed.

"She's my whore, there to do with as I please. And the things we do are unspeakably dirty."

I just stared at the screen, felt the tension, the tightness in the cage, the fluttering in my stomach. Increased by his next text.

"Right, Emily."

Right? I looked at the top of my phone, saw she was on the text, too.

"Yes, Sir." her text appeared in the conversation.

Half an hour later I went into the bedroom to go to bed. She was awake still, reading still, blushed when I walked in.

My wife. His whore.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

The Lunch Conversation

Matthew and I had lunch last week. We talked about the mundane...interests, etc...and the topics at hand...Emily...Sara.

One of the things we talked about when we had lunch, Matthew and I, was roles. We talked about it before, in the context of sex, intimacy, friendship, etc.

We talked about what women, in general, want in a relationship, Emily specifically.

"She likes to feel wanted," I said when he asked. "She likes to feel special."

"What else," he asked.

"In a relationship? Friendship. Emotional security and safety."

"No question about that," he laughed.

"Communication. Support. Doing things together."

He sipped his coffee, nodded. "You realize you're listing all the things that make you special to her, don't you?"

"Maybe," I admitted.

"That's good, I want you to understand those things...those are  the things you give her, the things that make you special to her. Anything else?"

"Intimacy," I said softly, looking down.

"Now that's the dividing line, isn't it?"

"What do you mean," I asked.

"Well, my point...the things you think she wants...those are all things I'll never be good at giving her. My point...that's why you're more important than me, of course, always will be. That's the dividing line, that's what why I'll never take her from you...why I don't want to take any woman away from her husband."

"I still..."

"What," he asked.


"That's natural for anyone in your situation. But remember, I don't want that from her. Nor does she want it from me."

"What about intimacy," I asked.

"That's a dividing line," he repeated. "Emotional intimacy versus physical intimacy. Everything you mentioned deals with emotional intimacy, not physical."

"We're physically intimate," I protested.

"I didn't say you weren' fact, I know you are, but your physical intimacy least from most married couples, isn't it?"

"I suppose," I granted.

"You suppose," he chuckled.

I shrugged.

"Isn't that what she's missing? Physical intimacy with a man. Not emotional, though it can be emotional, but primarily physical? The kind of physical relationship you two don't have?

I frowned, nodded

"Hasn't she...for some time?"

I thought of Evan, of Dallas, of the almost three years of our marriage, nodded. "Yes."

"She's a complicated woman...just like you're complicated. Me, too, for that matter. She wants a level of emotional intimacy most men could never give her. But you can. Because of Sara." I looked down, blushed. "But she wants something physical, too, something you can't give her. Right?"

"Yes," I said.

"And I want a kind of physical relationship, physical intimacy without any real emotional intimacy. I'm not a sociopath, I'm just not good at things a woman wants outside of the physical. It took me awhile to understand that."

"I think that's what we hope."

"My point, is that the thing that makes you two so close is the very thing I want nothing to do with. I want the physical, not the emotional."

"I...I want both," I said softly.

He grinned, sat back. "Yes, and luckily for me, the physical intimacy you want is very different from what I want." He said nothing for a moment. "She said you two were intimate after our last date." I might have blushed more, I don't know, but I didn't look up. "That's important to her, to me, too."

"To you? Why?"

"Well, two reasons, I guess. First, because it was important to her it's important to me just like it's important to you. Second, because I like to be in control, not just of a woman, but in this, something like this, of both of you. It's a very symbolic act, we all know that, don't we?"

There was no way to disagree. "I don't know what to say," I finally said.

"Are you happy?"

"Yes," I said.

"Are you getting what you wanted out of this?"

"Yes," I said again.

"And you understand the roles we both play? I don't want to take your role...but I don't want you intruding on mine, either."

"I told you, we...we don' that...often."

"I know, Emily and I talked all about that, too."

I looked up, saw on his face everything she told him. I hadn't talked to her about that, specifically, but it didn't surprise me. "She told you"

"It?" He raised an eyebrow, but it was obvious he knew what it was, wanted me to say it.

"The...the chastity cage." I swallowed.

"We didn't do that before...but I think it's ideal, don't you? Symbolically and practically. For any cuckold."

I nodded.

"Emily can decide the particulars of it, but I think the more the better, no?"

"Oddly, yes."

"But intercourse should be..."

"Rare," I finished his sentence. "It is. Trust me."

"Rare...if at all. But again, that's what you want, no?"

"Yes," I agreed. "I...that's for you."

"About the other thing...Sara..."

"I don't have to..."

He held up his hand. "But you do, don't you? Don't be dishonest with me," he scolded me.

"I...I suppose...yes."

"Well then, I suppose I'm going to have to meet her."

"You don't have to..."

He held up his hand again. Stopped me again. "I do. And I want to. And I wonder just how much you're afraid of it." My eyes went wide, he laughed. "It's one thing to fantasize about it, sometimes reality is much different."

So true, so true.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

So, where were we? Oh yes, she embraced me, told me hot this was, whispered in my ear she loved me. I moved my arms up to hug her back, felt the thin fabric of her dress, knew how he felt. "We're good," she asked softly.

"Yes," I half moaned. 

"Tonight, I'm his whore," she said, moved her mouth to mine, kissed me as deeply as she kissed him.

Matthew cleared his throat after a few moments. "Bring your wife to me, John," he said.


How does one pass the time? Thinking about it? Trying not to? At first I didn't want to think about it, but that's all I could do; after some time, it faded and I read, watched tv, not really into it. I carried my phone with me everywhere, waiting for a text, but for the first half hour, nothing. Then a short text from Emily. "Top drawer of the desk in the study."

"What," I responded. "You having fun. Everything good?"

She didn't respond.


"Top drawer of the desk in the study!"

I quickly went to the study, opened the top drawer to the walnut desk; there was an envelope with her handwriting, "Sara."

I opened it, a card, on the front, simple printing: You're the best thing in the world.

Inside, her handwriting:


Today I'm getting two of the best things in the world: a strong, masculine man and my soft, feminine sissy. And I'm getting them only because of you.

I can't wait to be alone with Matthew, I can't wait to lick him, taste him, and feel him inside me. I want it, I need it, you understand, I know. A man, Sara, I need a man. Sometimes a girl needs a man. And I do.

But that's not enough, that's not all I want, there's so much more. It's not just a man, it's you, too. I need my sweet sissy, I need her more than I need a man, for without her, without you, a man means nothing. You. You come first. You. Always.

So as much as I want Matthew tonight, as much as I look forward to our date, as much as I yearn to feel him inside me, to fill me (really feel him inside me, really fill me), even more I yearn to come home and share it all with you!

I know it's not fair, I get what I want all night while you have to wait till later, but I'll make it worth the wait, I promise. I promise.

I know waiting's hard-no pun intended-but I hope waiting is part of what makes it exciting for you.

Love always and forever,


P.S. I don't know what time I'll be home, so you don't have to wait up, but wear something pretty to bed because I'm definitely waking you up when I get back!

Waiting was hard, since all I could do was think about it, wait, wait.

I wasn't awake when she got home, but not asleep, either. I was in bed, candles lit, wearing something pretty, dozing. I heard the alarm chime when the door opened, waited still, waited.

She came into the room, slowly, quietly. "Sara," she whispered.

I sat up, looked at her. Her hair and makeup were disheveled, her hose gone. "Em," I whispered back.

She walked up to the bed, saying my name, Sara, Sara, Sara, as she reached around her back, undid, took off her dress and dropped it to the ground, standing there only in her black panties, heels.

"Em," I said again, staring at her panties.

"I want to share with you," she said, "I need's important."

"Em," I said again, "did...did he..."

She nodded. "Twice."

"Did he...did you...use..."

"No," she shook her head. "No." She moved to the bed, next to me, touched my face, kissed me. "He started here," she said between kisses. "And it was...powerful."


"Powerful," she kissed. "Different," she kissed. "You beg and I almost always say no. He didn't ask, he didn't beg, he word...kneel."

"You knelt."

"I knelt, of course I knelt. I felt him grown in my mouth, I felt him take charge, I felt myself surrender, I was so wet, so wet. I always good it feels to do a man."

He was inside her, his cock, in her mouth, the mouth kissing me. "Did he..."

"No...I wanted to...but no...another time, he said."

"Fuck, Em."

"He did, I told you, he did. The first time was good...the second time...I got dizzy...I got confused. He was on top of me...I was on my stomach...he was on top of me, holding me down...fucking deep..."


"I'm sore," she said softly.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No...yes...I'm just sore."


"What do you want, Sara?"


"What do you want?"

" know," I mumbled.

"Share, I want to share..."

I don't know what was left, the mesh front of her panties were damp and crusty at the same time, from him, from her. The smell was...powerful...musk...masculine...but she was there, too, soft, feminine.

I licked her body, licked her breasts, licked her stomach, lower, flicked my tongue once, twice, three times against her panties. "I want to share," she said again.

"I know," I said.

"It's important."

"I know," I told her, "I know."

I licked, panties first, her swollen lips second, inside her last. I licked...everything that was there, shared, participated. I tasted her, tasted him. Feminine, masculine, both. Emily. Matthew.

I licked, tasted, tender, gently; she orgasmed again, then again, then again.

"I want to unlock you," she said at one point, "I want to see...if you're excited."

"I am," I promised.

"I want to see," she said. "It's important."

I was. How could I be otherwise.

Free, I didn't last a minute, gentle as she was, it had been too long, was too much.

"Shhhh, that's it," she said lovingly when I shook, "that's it, that's it."

We fell asleep like that, her taste and his on my mouth. My mess on the sheets. Proper places. A man cums inside a woman, a sissy does not. Proper places.

The text came sometime after we fell asleep, to both our phones. "Sweet dreams to both of you."


We've had several interactions since.

She went to dinner with him the following week, no sex, though, no time that night. I think Emily and I were both disappointed.

I met with him for lunch last week, we talked about Emily. Me. How important she was. How important I was to her. He reassured me then, before, and after, he knew that, respected that.

I was afraid to ask about Sara...I wanted to...was afraid.

But Emily isn't...she wants him to meet me...the real me...knows it's important to me. "He will," she said, "trust me."