My wife wore one of the PVC outfits I bought her a while ago. I put our daughter to sleep, reading her stories, and then when I came into the bedroom, my wife told me to lay down and close my eyes. As I laid there, I could hear her putting something on. Soon, she was brushing something across my skin — across my arm, my chest, my cock. I asked what it was. She said, “Open your eyes.”
She was wearing a white PVC corset with a bridal veil. She brushed the flogger over me. The corset pushed her voluptuous tits up and put them on display, the shiny material looked like a second skin. She grinned bashfully and gestured at her crotch, where a PVC pair of panties squeaked and stretched while trying to hold in her cock. “The cock will not be hidden,” she said. I reached out and stroked it.
She let me kiss her — her breasts, her neck, the PVC. I worshipped her. The combination of innocent bride and filthy PVC slut and my dominant queen was too much for me. After a minute she said, “This is hot, but it’s incredibly uncomfortable. Help me get it off.” I helped her undress, except for the cock, which she kept on. I thanked her for letting me see her in it.
She had me get up on my hands and knees and started whipping me with my belt. I moaned, biting the pillow underneath me. She started in with the crop. Once again, it hurt so badly, but I took it. I was strong, for her.
She slid her cock in. She fucked me. Not as intensely as she had in previous days — a nice, slow, powerful fuck. Occasionally, she’d smack me with the flogger or the crop. Once in a while, she’d pull her cock out and smack me on the balls with the crop for a while, or the face. I would spread my legs to give her easier access. She didn’t hit hard, but it did ache. Then, she smacked my dick. I could have come, but I didn’t. When she’d had enough of warming me up, she commanded me to fuck her, and I did.
—
As we lay there afterward, our daughter started crying for a late-night drink from across the house. My wife got up to get some for her, and when she did, I tried to do something special. I put the ballgag on and tried to cuff myself. I wanted to be waiting for her, bound and gagged.
She walked in while I tried to figure out how to do the last cuff. I must have looked shocked. She said, “What the hell are you doing?” and laughed. I took the ballgag out and said, “Um, I was trying to get set up for you. You know, be waiting. I thought it would be, uh, romantic.”
She laughed harder and started to undo the cuff I’d managed to get on. “Baby, what we do is many things, but when it comes to you in a ballgag and handcuffs, romantic is not one of them. Hot, kinky, but not romantic. Let’s go to bed.”
—
A day or two ago, my wife’s religious and ultra-conservative sister was nosing around and found the box of PVC outfits while cleaning. It was…awkward. She was disgusted at the idea of us wearing kinky clothes, we thought. I asked my wife what would happen if they’d found our toychest, and she said, “It’d serve them right for being nosy. I’m not ashamed about what we do. I mean, I don’t want to tell my family, but we do what we do, we are what we are.”
And the thing is, I realized that it’s been a year since I came out to my wife about being submissive. Four months since she dominated me for the first time. And if we got outed, if her family asked us what we did, I don’t know that I’d bother to deny it. I think I’d admit it — we’re kinky. We like for her to dominate me and for me to submit. I’m a masochist and my wife’s a sadist. I mean, shouldn’t I feel ashamed? Shouldn’t I be embarrassed? At some point, shouldn’t I question if it’s natural for me to have my wife piss on me after sodomizing me with a strap-on?
Because if I’m supposed to feel those things, I’ve got problems. Because I don’t. BDSM is so natural for us. I am utterly unashamed. I mean, I’m aware there’s a stigma — I remember how I felt about it before I fessed up to my own needs — but, I accept what I am. My wife accepts what she is. I’m mortified about the idea of having to come out to her family, especially the conservative ones. I’m unlikely to enjoy the stares we’d get or the accusations that I “corrupted” my wife, like she hasn’t had just as much a part in leading us down the rabbit hole. But…I’ve never stopped and doubted that what I was doing was the right thing for us. I’ve never been ashamed, even when I was covered in piss from head to crotch, even when she made me beg to suck her cock. Even when she hurt me so much I wanted to cry out and beg her to stop.
Should I be? Is it natural for people to have doubts, to stop and wonder if they’re doing the right thing, following the right path? Because I don’t have doubts, not about that. I guess I’m shameless.
UPDATED THOUGHTS
Just to clarify, since I wrote this late last night while dead on my feet–I hope that her family never finds out. I suppose our lives will become miserable if that ever happens, and I don’t look forward to the possibility. It would be awful. They’re judgmental at the best of times, this would be crazy. BDSM is definitely not on the table with them, or with the area they all live in. Here, where I’m living, BDSM is far more accepted, but up there…
But…I don’t know, when confronted, if I’d feign shame. I don’t know that I’d deny it, or do any of the things I think you’re supposed to do when your peccadilloes come to light. I worked so hard to be able to admit to my wife that I’m a sub, I don’t want to lose that ground. I was just so tired of being ashamed and scared for the last twenty years. The fact that I accept what I am now, it just feels so good compared to all the time I wasted in denial.
