Beyond Humiliation

obedient husband, I was lying between Hannah’s lovely long white thighs early this morning, paying oral tribute to her beautiful pussy. Long ice cream licks and lots of lovely sucking and swallowing. She had wanted to wait until she had bathed but, as I said to her, “A 50’s housewife sucked her husband’s cock when he wanted it sucked. I lick your cunt in the morning because that is what a man in my position is required to do.” And I got to work. She tasted wonderfully sweet. But the the Lady of the House was not in the mood to come and, after a few minutes, told me to stop.

“But you may have ten strokes.” she said smiling. I hastened to obey. “Strokes” are just that. I am allowed to slip my cock into her and thrust a prescribed number of times. I am not allowed to come and it is up to me to make sure I don’t make a mess. This morning I could only manage half a dozen strokes before knowing that even one more would push me over. I withdrew.

“That’s alright darling,” said Hannah as I lay face down on the bed embarrassed that I could not contain myself. “I know it has been at least a week. And you are a very good man for pulling out when you couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t make a mess. But I will still have to punish you as I said ten not six. I think you can get on with the basement painting this afternoon in your clips and a good stiff girdle. That will remind you to keep better control of your little cock.”

We are looking at my writing a book about being a man in my position. One of the deeper questions is why neither of us are happy with the word “humiliation” to describe the sensation we have when I am required to behave submissively. It is a tough question because being told to put on a girdle or a nighty or to masturbate into a little sake cup “And be quick about it.” are objectively humiliating. In one sense being physically corrected or sent to my corner is “unmanning”. Hannah’s complete authority and my willing and total lack of power could be seen as diminishing me.

However, and here is the paradox, in fact each of these elements and many more actually make me proud and make Hannah proud of me. No woman wants to be married to a wimp. No woman wants to have authority over a man who has not made a conscious choice to give over his own, substantial, power.

The exercise of authority has come slowly to Hannah. At first she had to really work at keeping me aware of my position. Largely because she was unsure of her position. Now she is very sure: she knows that the first thing I will do in the morning is offer to serve her orally, and she knows I will make the same offer as we tuck in at night. She is utterly certain that I will go if she slips off her panties and sends me to my corner. I will take my position if she, for whatever reason, decides to cane or paddle me. She knows that I will not come without her pinching my nipples and will never, ever, take the initiative for penetrative sex.

Her complete authority has become entirely natural for us both. And in my delighted surrender the last vestiges of “humiliation” have vanished. How could serving and obeying the woman I love be humiliating? Instead, when I slip on my girdle and Hannah clips me to paint the basement, I will wear my sensations as badges of the greatest honour and affection.

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