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Possession
by Bow to Her (bow@her.feet.now.com)

***

I am caught in a trap partially of my own making: caught 
between the devil and the deep blue sea, as it were, 
ensnared by my need to serve and submit totally to a 
woman and torn between that desire and the horrible, 
sickening realization that my wife is sleeping with 
another man... and I am helpless to stop it. (Fdom/M, 
forced-fem, bi, mc, huml)

***

My mind is awash in conflicting thoughts and emotions. 
Arousal at the thought of being so utterly dominated, 
that weak-kneed feeling of being owned for real, playing 
no longer. The natural feelings of jealousy and hurt, 
the sheer envy of the man that he can be a man for her 
when to me it is no longer even an option.

It wasn't always thus. For years my wife Sandra and I 
had played with BDSM, but play is all it had seemed to 
be. We'd 'pretend' to be Mistress and slave about once a 
month, usually ending the scene with normal, vanilla 
lovemaking. And although it was fun and enjoyable... I-
I... wanted more.

Be careful what you wish for, because you just may get 
it.

I suppose I had set myself up for what was to come, that 
one Friday afternoon. Sandra hadn't even been gone five 
minutes on her shopping trip before I was into the 
clothing, the makeup, the magazines. My..needs are like 
a hunger in me, that I've had since earliest childhood. 
And once a month, pretending to be a slave, feeling like 
I'm topping from the bottom, was nowhere near enough. 

 The black satin bikini panties and matching bra felt 
heavenly on my skin, like a soft caress, but it also 
felt wrong, alien on my hairy and masculine body. Even 
when I am fully dressed and made up I know in my mind 
that I'm not exactly Pamela Anderson. I'm a tall, 6'4" 
built man, in my forties, with a beer gut and body hair 
in all sorts of interesting places. But that doesn't 
matter to the fantasy, does it? In my fantasies I'm not 
big and awkward, hairy and laughable in women's 
clothing, I become as if by magic a graceful, willowy, 
androgynous man, all sleek and smooth and pretty.

I was lost in that fantasy, touching myself through the 
panties, lipstick on my lips, domination magazine close 
at hand when a calm and soft voice started me from my 
daydream.

"Once a month isn't good enough for you, is it? You want 
this to be real." Sandra said, walking into the room and 
putting the shopping bags aside.

I must have been a sight, eyes bulging, cheeks flushing 
red with embarrassment. I hadn't expected her home for 
hours. She smiled at my surprise.

"I..I...can explain..." I stammered.

"No need, mon cheri, I've been kind of suspecting this 
for a while. And planned accordingly. I meant to 
surprise you today.

"You want this to be real, don't you? To stop playing a 
game and to truly be my slaveAdmit it." She ordered. 

I could only stare at her feet and mumble out the side 
of my mouth. "Yes..."

"Yes what?"

"Yes...Mistress. I want to be your slave."

"And you'll do everything I ask of you from now on? 
Without complaint or hesitation?"

The room felt electric. A line was being drawn here, a 
clear dividing line in our relationship. Beyond that 
line was the dark of the unknown. I felt a shiver of 
both fear and excitement go up and down my spine. Things 
would never be the same again.

I sank down to my knees at her feet. "Yes Mistress...I 
will obey you utterly."

She ran a hand through my hair, stroking it tenderly. 
"We'll see about that, won't we?"

**

Things changed. No longer did we divide chores equally: 
I was now expected to serve as a maid and wait on her 
hand and foot. Which gave her cause to use the riding 
crop on me on many occasions, as my cooking and cleaning 
skills were very lacking in the beginning. I was kept 
smooth all over, shaving and waxing, fighting the body 
hair war nearly every day to its usual stalemate. My 
male undergarments were given away to Goodwill, all but 
one pair kept under lock and key for any doctor's visits 
I might have.

Sex had changed. I was forbidden the use of my cock, for 
the most part, having to serve my Mistress as if I were 
female, with my mouth, my hands, with toys. Things had 
totally reversed-now it was vanilla sex that was the 
once a month treat, allowed that glorious privilege of 
making love to her. And as soon as we were both sated 
I'd have to go back on my knees again. 

Whenever we were alone and at home I was kept collared 
and leashed, nude or in female clothing. My wardrobe 
expanded almost every week, it seemed. Mistress took 
great delight in making her new 'slavegirl' look as 
pretty as possible, and made me model outfits like it 
was a fashion show. I wasn't Sam any more at home-I was 
Cindi, and as weeks grew into months it seemed like I 
would stay that way. I'd dress normally, on the outside 
at any rate, in the mornings to go to work and 
immediately upon coming home turn back into Sandra's 
slavegirl.

It wasn't like the fiction I had read at all. In the 
stories in the magazines and on the Net I'd read about 
cruel and hateful wives and Mistresses, who rule their 
men with contempt and almost a hatred between the lines. 
Arousing, yes, but mean-spirited. If anything like some 
of those stories happened in real life, the couples 
involved were on a one-way ticket to be Jerry Springer 
guests. Not so with Sandra... Yes, she trained me. Yes, 
she punished me, sometimes whipping or spanking me until 
I cried. Yes, she could be cruel if it suited her. But I 
was never allowed one moment to think that I was unloved 
or unwanted as a husband and slave, and I think it was 
that gentleness that enslaved me the most. I'd find 
myself wanting to do anything, endure any punishment, 
suffer whatever she wished just so I could see her smile 
and know she was proud of her slave.

All of this came under one proviso: that if I ever used 
my safeword, it was over. We would go back to being 
normal husband and wife and I would know that I had 
failed her as a slave for all time. I would have to face 
the fact that I couldn't follow through on the fantasies 
in reality.

But until one, fateful night, that had never been put to 
the test.

I was kneeling at her feet in my pink maid's uniform as 
she was sitting on a stool before the vanity mirror, 
making herself up. She was dressed to kill, in a black, 
short, tight mini-skirt, a red, silk low-cut top and 
black stockings. She finished applying makeup, smiled 
down at me, and liberally sprayed her neck and arms with 
my favorite perfume. Then, lifting her skirt, she 
applied it to her thighs and crotch.

She got up and sat on the bed. "Here, be useful, you can 
take the curlers out of my hair." As I was removing them 
she crossed her legs slowly. I could hear the sound of 
stocking against stocking. She knew the sound of nylon 
against nylon, the smell of the perfume, and the sight 
of her gorgeous legs would drive me crazy. My hands 
trembled.

After the curlers were removed, I was allowed to brush 
her long dark hair. As I brushed, she spoke to me, 
softly, gently.

"Do you know what I'm doing tonight, Cindi?"

"N...no, Mistress.."

"I'm going out to be with a real man."

I can't describe the feeling that ran through me. The 
bottom of my world had dropped to the floor with my 
stomach. I felt hurt. I felt angry. And I felt deeply 
excited. The ultimate humiliation to have my wife 
fucking and sucking another man.

Pain must have been the dominant emotion however, 
because she took my chin and forced me to look at her. 
"Don't look like that. You must have known that this 
would have to happen eventually. I have needs, too. And 
as much as I've loved having little Cindi service 
me...it's not the same as being fucked by a man, and you 
know it."

I gulped. "I could...make love to you more often, if you 
allow me to.." I began.

"What, and lose my little lezzie lover? No...I much 
prefer you this way. Soft and sexy, meek and obedient, 
wrapped around my little finger. Every time you use that 
cock of yours I lose about a week's worth of training in 
you. So no, once a month is our limit to be 'normal'."

She looked into my eyes. "Sam...this doesn't mean I 
don't love you, I do. That hasn't changed in all the 
time we've been together. No one else will ever take 
your place in my heart, and you've got to believe that, 
and trust me, or you can take that collar and that 
uniform off right now and forget about Cindi entirely. 
We might go kinky once a month again after that, but I 
doubt it. I've gotten quite used to having you as my 
slave, and it's either all the way, or no way. So which 
is it?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I felt so 
confused...torn between my desires and my heart. And I 
couldn't believe my own mouth as a timid, quiet voice 
spoke. "I want to stay as your slave, Mistress..."

She hugged me close and dried my tears, soothing me. 
"There there, that's a good girl. I knew you would. This 
isn't going to be as bad as you fear. I love you. Just 
trust me...you hear me? Trust me. This is the first real 
test of your submission to me, and I want you to pass it 
with flying colors. You have to get it into your head 
that you are a possession now. My possession. Something 
to be used as I see fit on my terms. This isn't a game 
anymore."

I heard her, but everything felt like it was happening 
to someone else. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be 
happening. "Yes Mistress."

After she was gone, I tried to bury my feelings carrying 
out the orders she left me. I cleaned the house 
spotless, practically attacking the kitchen floor with a 
mop in my frustrations. I tried making myself believe 
that this was all a trick-that she wasn't out with 
someone else, that she was out somewhere, alone, 
chuckling quietly at pulling one over on me. She really 
wouldn't break our vows, would she?

As it got later and later that lie I told to myself 
seemed less and less convincing. Some of the orders I 
was given didn't help either. 'Clean two of our best 
wineglasses and have them ready on the table with a 
chilled bottle of wine.' 'Set candles about the bedroom, 
living room, and around the tub in the bathroom.' 'Set 
up the spare bedroom for you to sleep tonight.'

At midnight she called. From the background noise, it 
sounded like she was in some kind of bar or nightclub. 
"Light the candles, freshen up your makeup, and put on a 
fresh uniform if you're all dirty from cleaning. We're 
coming home and you better answer the door, Cindi."

My heart was in my throat. "I can't! Not like this!"

She hung up.

The next half hour was hell on my nerves. I obeyed her 
instructions to the letter and knelt by the door in the 
dark, shaking like a leaf.

I heard the car pull in the drive. No...two cars. Oh my 
God.

I wanted to run and hide, to bolt like a rabbit, my 
heart pounding and heavy. But I rose, slowly and 
painfully in my heels, cheeks blushing red and waiting 
the inevitable.

The doorbell rang, and, more frightened than I had ever 
been in my entire life, I opened it.

There was my wife, my Mistress, smiling, in the arms of 
another man. He was shorter than I was, slender and 
handsome, definitely younger. It was a bizarre twist of 
life-he could've made a more convincing woman than I 
ever could! 

Sandra smiled wickedly. "Steve, this is Cindi, my maid, 
slave, and property who I've told you so much about. 
Cindi, this is Steve...but you will call him Master."

My jaw could have hit the floor. It was all I could do 
to curtsey, but with that one curtsey everything changed 
in my life forever. I had submitted totally, and 
accepted it, even if it would be some time before I 
could come to terms with it. Sandra's triumphant smile 
told me that she knew it too, that the line had been 
crossed and that now I truly was her slave and 
plaything. I was her possession. 

Things could have gotten ugly right then and there if 
the guy had been an asshole, or like one of those macho 
types in forced fem fiction that slap the other guy 
around with contempt and amusement. To tell the truth, 
that's what I had expected and feared...I cringed when 
he reached out to me, expecting a slap on the face and 
derision.

But all he did was stroke my cheek, very gently, and 
whisper "Such a pretty girl... I'm glad to meet you, 
Cindi."

That kindness melted me. I knew I looked ridiculous, 
there in my pink maid's uniform, cowering before my wife 
in the arms of another man. But he didn't laugh or look 
at me with scorn, only a warm amusement.

Sandra laughed softly. "I think she likes you Steve, she 
responded to your touch like a real slut. I think you're 
going to be bring out her true colors, sure enough."

She shut the door behind them and addressed me. "Fetch 
the drinks and serve us in the living room, slavegirl."

I obeyed without even thinking about it, and soon found 
myself kneeling at their feet while they sipped wine and 
nuzzled. As she slipped a hand down Steve's pants she 
spoke to me.

"I'm afraid I lied to you a little earlier, Cindi... I 
gave you the impression that I was going out to pick up 
a stranger. But that couldn't have been father from the 
truth. I've been getting to know Steve for some time 
now."

I must have winced, or shown some sign of pain at that. 
So she's been unfaithful to me all along?

She could read my mind. "Oh, don't start. It wasn't like 
that-we haven't touched each other until now. I met 
Steve over the Net, on one of those web sites you look 
at when you think I'm not paying attention. Something-
trap or other, it's been a while. Anyway, I needed to 
see that you would submit and go along with it first, so 
give me some credit, eh? And now that you've surrendered 
to me, and you two seem to get along so well, that the 
time has come to...make things more interesting.

"Take his shoes off... then undress him from the waist 
down. Now."

My hands shook, the duality of my nature screaming at me 
from both sides. One side was that this was natural, as 
a slave, I was technically sexless in orientation, and 
should be able to serve both men and women equally. The 
other side was that everything in my upbringing and 
culture had ingrained inside me, that this was wrong, 
this was alien, this was sinful.

Sinful or not the warm thrill of submission as I began 
undressing him, forced to be this intimate with another 
male was beyond belief. The trembling soon eased and I 
found myself on my knees, facing his cock, my wife's 
hand stroking and toying with it.

She smiled down at me. "Ask Steve if you can suck his 
cock."

I had a feeling this was coming but it was still a bit 
of a shock. With that sense of unreality creeping over 
me I asked in a soft and unconvincing voice. "May I... 
suck your cock?"

Her look of disapproval was as good as a slap. "I don't 
think you were polite enough, and I don't think you 
meant it. Mark my words, slut, before this night is 
through, you WILL mean it. I want you to beg for it. I 
want you to beg so much that I see tears."

I cringed and tried again. "Please... Sir... may I 
please suck your cock?"

Steve ran a hand absently through my hair. "Better, but 
I'm still not convinced. Stand over there and watch us. 
Play with yourself, but you better NOT come, got it?"

One look at Sandra told me that I had better obey this 
man's orders as if they had come straight from her. A 
new wave of embarrassment, submission and humiliation 
flooded me as I got up and stood in the corner, obeying 
him. I began to touch and caress my little traitor, who 
was erect through my panties and telling all the world 
that I was turned on by being made a cuckold.

Sandra bent over and began kissing and licking his cock, 
eyes locked on me...oh god those eyes. Beautiful and 
dark, flashing with arousal at her triumph and my 
obedience, I could refuse those eyes nothing. 

Steve lifted her skirt and was kissing her crotch 
through her silk black teddy. It was only seconds before 
it was unsnapped and her pantyhose was down. They moved 
around into a sixty-nine position and went at it, 
pleasuring each other while I watched helplessly. It 
seemed to last forever.

A little voice kept going over and over in my head: 
"This isn't happening, Sam, this is happening to someone 
else." But the voice's words of reassurance were hollow 
compared to the sight before me, and its accompanying 
soundtrack of moaning and groaning.

Every once in a while Sandra would pause and make 
comments to me. "Having a good time playing with 
yourself, girl?" "Wouldn't you like a taste of this 
delicious cock? All girls love cock..aren't you my good 
girl?" "Don't you want to be my good slut and suck his 
cock, or take it up the ass? I know you want to...you 
want to please Me...and your new Master.."

The words and themes were repetitive, slamming home each 
time. Oh, she knew my buttons all right. She would 
condition me with her words, turn my every fetish into a 
weapon to use as she saw fit. This wasn't topping from 
the bottom any longer, this was true slavery. And as her 
words rang in my ears I found the self of me that I 
called Sam slipping away to nothingness, replaced by a 
new persona: Cindi, the slutty little slave-girl and 
maid, who would forever be at the feet of her Mistress 
and Master.

Eventually things got too hot for them, and they moved 
into the final act. I was ordered by my Goddess to 
position myself closely behind his balls as he entered 
her. She didn't want me to miss a thing. "Keep playing 
with yourself, but you better not come, bitch." I did as 
she commanded.

She gasped as he entered her, growing more and more 
vocal as they...fucked. There's no better way of putting 
it-it wasn't making love. Sandra and I make love: Sandra 
and Steve fuck. There's a difference but I'm damned if I 
can explain it. She howled her pleasure like an animal, 
showing me a side of her I had never seen as she clawed 
his back into red, bleeding marks. It was so unreal... 
I'm 6'4" and this guy barely over five feet is like the 
fuck of the century?

After an eternity of the agony... and ecstasy of 
watching this, Steve finally came as he brought her to a 
second climax. Bathed in sweat and catching their 
breath, they held each other on the couch for a while, 
my existence forgotten.

Once she had calmed down a while, she sat up on the 
couch and picked up a leash from the coffee-table. 
Attaching it to my collar she said in a husky voice. 
"Lick your Master's cum from my cunt, slut." She pulled 
me to my knees, my head between her legs and licking for 
all I was worth without hesitation.

I had done this before, plenty of times, but never like 
this, not another man's cum. The aroma was familiar and 
pungent, the taste strange and bitter. It took a long 
time to clean her, and she moved and squirmed beneath my 
mouth, my licking bringing her to her third climax of 
the evening. Finally she gripped my hair in a tight grip 
and yanked me away from her now very sensitive pussy.

"Now bitch... beg for your Master's cock!"

And I did. I whined, I pleaded, I begged for it like it 
was the one thing that could make my life complete. I 
begged without shame. Somehow, within the space of a few 
hours, I was conditioned and broken enough that it felt 
right to beg for it, to be a slut. It fit the part.

She tugged the leash towards Steve, who took a hold of 
the end and drew me in between his legs. He pulled me 
towards his cock and ordered, "Suck me slut..suck me 
hard so I can fuck your Mistress again."

His cock was still somewhat spent, soft and limp. I knew 
I had to do a good job to please my Owner... both my 
Owners. Sandra grabbed my head and pushed it to within 
an inch of it. She then put her face close to mine and 
teased. "I know you want it... that's a girl..."

I slowly took it into my mouth, sucking lightly. It felt 
alien in my mouth, meaty, smelling of my wife and 
smeared with their juices combined. She stroked my hair 
and whispered words of encouragement in my ear, but I 
was past hearing. I closed my eyes and surrendered, 
body, heart and soul to my fate.

Sam was gone. I was Cindi, now and forever a possession.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 71