Dearest Doctor Gratiano,
I had been enjoying your communications immensely, and had often wondered how I might actively profit by your insights, when a quick peek at my husband’s browser history made it immediately clear that he could be made into the perfect obedient husband — or perhaps I should say wife?
Things really began to develop after he was laid off. Since he now spent the day at home, it was only reasonable that he take over the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning. I would joke with him about what a good housekeeper he was becoming, on his hands and knees scrubbing the toilet. He blushed and I could guess he was getting hard in his jeans as he did a girls’ menial work.
In the same spirit, I began to belittle his penis, telling him it was so cute and small, asking him during intercourse if it was “all the way in,” and sighing. Although his endowment, 6″, is safely within the average range, he would become even stiffer and groan with pleasure when I told him it was not really enough. Finally, he came to accept this as true and even himself referred to it, in my phrasing, as his “little thing” or his “excuse” (that is, his poor excuse for a penis).
I was never enthusiastic about giving head. Now, for the most part I didn’t even touch him there. He, on the contrary, became an accomplished pussy licker. It was now routine for me to come home from work, sit on the edge of the bed while he, without even being told to, stripped and knelt to service me. He was very respectful, and always licked it clean afterwards, kissing it and thanking me. Usually I just told me to go make dinner; there was no discussion of his cumming.
Every few days I did allow him to jerk off in a rubber. This was done after I had put all my clothes back on. He knelt before me naked and pulled at himself frantically. He knew that I didn’t have a lot of patience with his display, and if he didn’t cum within a few minutes, I would tell him he clearly didn’t appreciate the nice pussy he was allowed to lick; that he should put his excuse away do some housework.
When he did cum, he knew the rules were that he had to take his hand off it as soon as he started to orgasm. It was wonderfully humiliating for him to have me see his little thing twitching and squirting into its bag while I laughed. To maximize his helplessness, I made him wait several days between orgasms. His desperation was my power.
I found I could cause him to cum if I give him the right verbal cues. I’d tell him he’d become such a good wife, taking care of the house and doing the cleaning — just like a girl. That he licked cunt as well as girl now, which was a good thing since his little pink pencil eraser was never much use. That ordinarily it’s the woman who has to give head, the woman who has to finger herself if she wants to cum.
“A man would insist on cumming in my pussy or mouth — but you’re not much of a man, are you? Maybe we should get you some panties to wear while you service me. You could tuck your excuse back so neither of us would have to see it. Would you like that? Would you like to be my little panty-wearer?
You’re not really a man, you’re just a pussy. Don’t you think a pussy belongs in panties? There’s no reason for you to keep on wearing y-fronts. Your little thing was never big enough to fill them, and no one’s interested in using it for sex. You’ll just keep it tucked up in your pretty panties, and no one will have to see it. You won’t have to pretend to be a man anymore. Every time you look down at your panties you’lll see why you have to use your tongue. Because you’re a pussy. And every time you kneel to kiss my cunt you will thank me for putting you in panties and fucking your face like a girl’s.”
By this point he would be helplessly spasming into his rubber.
“Good gurl,” I’d say.
*`**
My husband was now pantied. Oh, not 24/7, that would have been unrealistic, uncomfortable, and most importantly would have interfered with the purely male duties I expect of him: garden work, moving heavy objects and so on. But it was made clear that whenever we had “quality time” together — when I came home from work, or when we had leisure on the weekend — he was to wear his pink panties under his jeans, and stay tucked and taped so as not to “ruin the line.”
Of course I wear panties as well, but mine are black, or leopard spotted, or in a bright 1960’s-looking pattern. They are stylish, sometimes sexy, but never girly. He on the other hand always wears something pink or white, often with a little lace trim. Such panties always suggest, by their blushing colors or their ornamentation, the vagina they conceal.
There may be a frilliness, suggestive of the soft pink wrinklings of the labia. There may be floral motifs suggestive of a plant’s receptive genitalia, or they may be made of shiny fabric reminiscent of a seashell’sm that is to say, a cowrie’s, porcelain volutions. Sometimes I tired of these subtle metaphors, and had him wear “false-doored” mecidiyeköy escort y-front panties with their heavy-handed irony.
By putting him in panties, I symbolically cunted my husband. But the main interest, for me as for him, was not so much making him a woman (which would take a lot more than a pair of panties) but in taking away his manhood (which was easier than one would think).
Men love to draw attention to their dicks. Lower class males do so with tight pants or large belt buckles; more refined men with symbols like sleek automobiles and costly cigars. It was thus particularly poignant to make my husband show me what he no longer had. Often while he was doing some wifely work, like washing the dishes or folding laundry, I would stroke his ass and ask him to show me his pretty panties. (He knew he was not allowed to touch me uninvited, but I caressed him whenever I liked — and he became pathetically grateful for any such physical attention.)
Properly cued, he took down his pants and showed me the panties I chose for him to wear that day.
“Doesn’t my little pussy look nice in her panties?” (He knows he has to answer every question in the affirmative, in full sentences: “Yes, I look nice in my panties.”)
“Shouldn’t a submissive wife always wear nice panties? Even when she does housework? A man wouldn’t be doing all the housework, would he? Or wear panties? But a pussy would, wouldn’t she? A pussy who knows her little clit belongs tucked away in girly panties? I’m so proud of you for admitting you’re not a man, that you should wear panties and do as you’re told. You love being the wife, don’t you? You love it that I’m the one who wears the pants. You don’t deserve pants. You’re just a pussy with nothing between your legs. Look down, look at your flat panty front. You know you’re a pussy. We both do.”
I held him against me so his nullified crotch rubbed against the front of my jeans. “I don’t feel much. It’s like rubbing my vulva against another girl. It was always like rubbing against another girl, you know that, don’t you? Oh it’s OK, honey, don’t cry. I like having a pussy male for a wife, to clean my house and cook and service me.” Here I caressed his ass meaningfully, “But I know you have needs too.”
I turned him around, and held him close, his pants now around his ankles, humping him from behind. I put a hand over his mouth.
“I know what a submissive wife needs.”
I put one finger in his mouth. He knew what was expected, he used to do this to women, he used to do this to me.
“Good pussy. Suck on it. Show me how much you want it. We both know what you need. You need my strap-on in you so you can cum. Tell me you need my dick. Tell me you need me to dick you the way only another woman knows how to.”
When he began to suck on my finger in earnest, and rub his ass back against me, when his abject humiliation was complete, I released him, took a few steps back and looked at him breathing hard, straining the tape that kept him comfortlessly snug in his panties
“Pull your pants up, cunt, and finish your work”
***
Scrubbing the Floors. Cleaning the Bathroom. Doing the laundry. That’s the work you expect from your wife, and I am no exception. Once my husband was well used to wearing panties, he came to understand that this kind of work really was beneath me, and entirely right for him. It became quite routine for him to clear the dishes and wash them, to make the bed and so on. But still, sometimes I liked telling him to — just so he remembered who wore the pants in this house, and who wore the panties.
He cleaned up in the bedroom as well. I never let him cum inside me anymore, and indeed I very rarely let him put it in me. And when I did, I would just position him and use him, like a living dildo. He was so cute one night when I guided him in:
“I never get to do this any more!” he said, thrilled.
“You’re not doing it now. I’m doing it. To you.”
That kept him quiet.
However he pleased me, and it was mostly with his mouth, he always licked me clean afterwards. And trained him to lick my ass as well. Deeply and thoroughly. Making someone lick your ass is probably the most degrading thing you can possibly do to them, so it’s particularly important in the training of a male wife.
My pantied male needs to understand that he isn’t just being helpful when he does housework — he’s doing it because it’s another way for me to shove my ass in his face. I like to come upon him while he’s washing the dishes or at whatever his menial task may be, have him kneel, and then take down my pants and panties, then I order him to lick my ass.
“What a good submissive husband! That’s what you’re for, to clean my house and clean my ass. That’s what a real wife does — cleans up after her husband and kisses his ass — though not quite as literally as you. If you want to wear a wife’s panties, you can do everything etiler escort else a wife does. Be a servant in the house and in the bedroom. Do whatever you’re told, A wife or girlfriend is always getting her face pushed down, to suck cock or lick balls, or even to lick ass like you, if she’s a real degraded whore. And now you’re the humiliated female. I hope you’re enjoying it.”
He obviously is, on his knees, grasping me by the hips from behind to hold my ass against his face while he licks deeply and abjectly. After a few minutes I shove him away. He remains on his knees watching as I pull up my pants and fasten my belt. Then he returns to his lowly work, with the taste of my ass in his mouth.
***
He is fully pussy trained: his normal position is now on his knees between my legs, pleasing me with his tongue expertly. Specific, detailed verbal guidance over many hours of cunt-licking had made him as good at it as a girl, and he can bring me to orgasm in a very short time. His penis is only brought into play while I still felt like using him as a dildo, which happens more and more rarely. He cums only once or twice a week, and never in me. As often as he does he has to lick up his “little mess.”
He now does the majority of the housework, wears panties (and sometimes a sports bra) under his clothes all day long. I routinely disparage his penis, and make him drink my pee. He is on his way to becoming the perfect husband.
The only thing missing for his complete subjugation into the submissive “female” role was physical punishment from me. Now that he was psychologically whipped, there was little difficulty in literalizing the situation.
I don’t believe in domestic discipline as a tool for improving male behavior. The pussy-whipped male is used to obeying the woman and will modify his own behavior at the asking. I believe that physical punishment should be administered exclusively for the woman’s enjoyment. Indeed, this rationale is necessary for the male to accept and even become eager for it. He will take his beatings eagerly for the sake of pleasing you. But, as a kindness to him, you may tell him that he is being punished for being a pussy, a little-dicked panty wearer, a slut, a cunt. As you persuade him that his beatings are a confirmation of his debased gender role, you will perfect his happiness.
I began by punishing my husband for allegedly poor sexual performance. I would have him go down on me for extended periods of time — during which he was never allowed to touch himself, all his attention would be on me — and then have him show me his “little thing”, to see if it was hard enough to be of any use. Regardless of how stiff he was, and he was perpetually stiff with me now, I always let him know he was inadequate.
“I see you can’t get hard for cunt any more, you’re too much of a pussy now. I think you should probably just put your panties back on and finish me with your mouth. There’s no chance I”ll let you jerk off today.”
As he began to pull up his panties, I continued, “I really shouldn’t have expected more. If you weren’t a complete failure as a man, you wouldn’t be wearing panties, would you? You’re just a sissy girl. We should both get used to that fact.” By now his penis was pearling with precum: he loves to have it belittled.
I see what does make you hard. Putting on girly panties. Well you won’t fit into them with a hardon, Here I’ll help you get ready to tuck your little excuse where it belongs” Now I began to spank him. After a moment’s surprise, he accepted his punishment and stayed in position, bent over with panties around his ankles, while I reddened his ass.
“Good girl! take your spanking. Now your ass is pink as your panties, you must be loving that! Well I love beating your ass, it’s making my pussy wet to punish you like this. (And it was.) You wanted to experience female submission? Now you really have it. Look how your little penis has shrunk back from your spanking. I’m taking away the very last of your manhood. I’m spanking away your sorry little hardon. I have taken away your dick completely. Now you’re really going to learn what it’s like to have no cock. To be nothing but a panty-wearer with a trained obedient mouth.”
***
The final stage in training a husband is emasculation. Once he is brought to fully feel his failure as a man, he can be trained to regard his masculinity as in itself a failure. The ugly little thing between his legs is not just a sad excuse for a penis — it is a mistake. While a vagina is beautiful and deserving of worship, a penis and balls are nasty animal appendages that are only fit to be seen on a dog — and at least a dog can be fixed.
There’s still the rare occasion when I enjoy using my husband as a living dildo, but I am careful to make sure he takes no male pride in this. He is required to show me his “mistake” apologize for it, and ask me to “correct his mistake,” that is, to punch, slap çapa escort and kick his sorry shaven little balls.
He wears his wig, bra and garter belt for this, so he can visually appreciate that there is something terribly wrong with him having a penis.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever succeed in turning you into a girl, but I am certainly making you less and less of a man. What kind of a man lets his wife kick him in the balls? What kind of man begs her to?”
“A pussy,” he whimpers.
That’s right, a pussy. And that’s what you are. That’s why you wear a wig and a bra.. You’re a pussy. Say it.”
“I’m a pussy, that’s why I wear a wig and a bra.”
“Good girl. Now I’m going to use your clit to get myself off.”
And that is exactly what I do. I hold him in position and use him to rub my clit. I don’t make love to him, and I certainly don’t let him cum. I use him to jerk off. And in that way he enjoys a certain kind of thoroughly female experience: being used like a bimbo slut.
Sometimes I turn him over after and let him cum the only way he’s allowed to: with my strap-on in him.
Sometimes I’ll reach beneath and give his sore balls another squeeze while I peg him.
“Would you like me to have you fixed, sweetie? Your clit would still get hard for me to use. And think of how nicely your panties would fit! Would you do that for me, let me have you fixed? I bet I could find a lady vet who would do it for me. I’d always know you were mine. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, to be on your knees in panties licking my pussy like a little dog, my little nutted puppy.
Now a really hard squeeze.
At this he can”t help cumming. And I make sure he licks it all up like a good doggie.
The Other Side of the Story:
My wife has already described how she came to treat me like the pussy I am. Now I accept that I am a complete failure as a male. Fortunately my wife enjoys my submission: she gets to have a maid and sexual slave, and I get to be more like the girl I wish I had been born as. I know I will never approach being a real woman, but for me it is complete happiness to be daily less of a man. This is an account of what I am and what I do in the time set aside for erotic play.
I use a girl’s name now, I no longer deserve a male name. My body is completely shaved, and I wear panties. My little mistake is tucked and taped. If my house-work will allow it, I wear panty-hose and heels. I always wear a skirt. The skirt is important because I must always be ready to be exposed and humiliated. Several times a day my wife will order me to show her my panties. When she does this I must always thank her for the privilege of wearing panties like a girl to hide my little mistake.
My wife has taught me to put on makeup. I must keep myself attractive for her at all times.
I am my wife’s maid and slave. I clean and cook and do all the menial tasks that used to be called “woman’s work.” I particularly like scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets, because that is the kind of lowly work I am fit for. I keep a wooden ferule near me when I am working so my wife can punish me immediately.
I am always ready to be beaten for my wife’s pleasure. At her command I lift my skirt and bend over to be punished. I carefully pull down my panties, only so far, so as to expose my ass without revealing my little mistake. I have been taught to be ashamed of having an ugly little penis instead of a beautiful vagina, so I hate to see touch or be reminded of the failure between my legs.
I am not punished for faults. I am beaten for my wife’s pleasure. All she needs to do is to tell me it is making her wet to beat my ass and I am thrilled — and hoping she will let me serve her with my tongue! Usually I respond to each blow by saying “thank you, I deserved that.” Sometimes she makes me tell her why I deserve it — and then I have to admit that I am a little dicked sissy who belongs in panties, &c.
I always kiss her hands after she beats my ass and thank her. Sometimes she stands me in front of a mirror to see what nice bruises she has given me. When I see how she has marked me I know how utterly I belong to her, and I feel wave after wave of love for her.
Sometimes I only get my face slapped. I kneel and she slaps my face as much as she likes, while I repeat, “thank you, I deserved that.” What I particularly like about face slapping is the knowledge that she can so easily and immediately put me in my humiliated place. I am always at her mercy.
Pantied and smacked around, I do not feel at all like a man. I feel a wonderful sense of feminine submission to the woman who owns me. Having her whip my ass is like having her fuck me: I give myself to her, and she makes me take it and take it and take it. I think it must be like a dominant fucking for her too, judging by how splendidly wet it makes her. No wonder it usually ends with me worshiping her cunt with a tearful face and obedient tongue.
To which Doctor Gratiano Responds:
The above candid disclosures suggest the following reflections:
Good communication is important in a marriage, and perhaps never so important as in the area of sexual desire. It is never appropriate for a woman to gloss over her husband’s sexual shortcomings: she is entitled to complete sexual satisfaction.