Subby Hubby and Dommy Mommy
Introduction:
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My wife would never have noticed me, as I am hardly a specimen of masculinity, except that I was persistent in my pursuit of her, which consisted of constantly showering her with gifts, a Ferrari, a thoroughbred horse, diamonds and rubies, and use of my private jet to go on shopping junkets to the far corners of the Earth, until finally she consented to be my wife.
When I say she would hardly have noticed me that is partly because I am actually about 3 inches shorter than her, but it seems like 6 inches because she always wears at least 3 inch heels. I have always been attracted to strong, muscular women who exude not only sexual power but physical power as well. I never regarded myself as worthy of my beauty queen wife. I know that she could have handsome, well-built men and that they would do a better job of sexually satisfying her than I could ever imagine doing. On the other hand, I always put her on a pedestal, wanting to worship her, to serve her, to do whatever I could to please her.
My wife is very good to me. Even though I am a sniveling little wimp, she shows a lot of tolerance for me. Just to show how understanding she can be, even though she is a beautiful young woman who has never had a child, and is not in the least bit maternal in appearance or personality, she allows me to call her Mommy, and lets me pretend to be her little boy.
Mommy’s sexual power brings out my subservient side. Even though I can easily afford to hire servants, I want nothing more than to wait on Mommy myself, hand and foot. I love to buff and rub her heels, arches, and toes, to dissolve any trace of hardness in her skin and restore its pink softness. The soft crevasses nestled between each toe are one of many secret delights that the heavenly treasure of her body holds for me, a perfect fit for the tip of my tongue. I bathe her toes with my tongue. I am her kitten, licking, cleaning, purring. I love the instep of Mommy’s foot, the very last extremity of her perfect body that she is willing to share with one so unworthy as myself. She honors me by allowing me to be her footstool, as I lie at her feet and she rests them on my face.
After I massage her feet, I sometimes lie on my tummy on the floor concentrating fully on dipping the little brush in the red enamel as I paint her toenails. I make sure that no stray strand blemishes the perfect skin of her toe. I lightly blow on her toes to dry them, before adding a second coat to her toenails. She says not a word. I feel invisible. Even though I am wealthy, I love working and slaving for her. I am happy to work hard, to work long hours cleaning her bathroom, washing her silky little underthings. She does no work at all, not in the mansion, not outside. Her life revolves around country club memberships, private lessons, horseback riding, exotic vacations, designer clothes. Only the best for my trophy wife.
Although Mommy was already a crowned beauty queen, she wanted more, and so I paid for plastic surgery, getting her a set of breasts that are nothing short of spectacular, as well as enhancements to her lips and cheeks. I love Mommy’s breasts. She does not need a bra, though sometimes she wears one just to accentuate the swell of her melons. Her breasts are the best money can buy. They are magnificent. My mouth waters at the sight of them. They are gorgeous naked and free.They are super sexy bursting forth from a too-small string bikini top. They are enough to seduce and drive any man wild when she leans forward in a low-cut blouse, and her mouth-watering mounds heave, swell and beckon. Her breasts make me want to shrink to be her Tom Thumb, a naked, little mouse-sized pet. I fantasize about living nestled between Mommy’s breasts, always feeling her warmth against my skin. I would gladly suffocate enjoying Mommy’s flesh with my last breath.
I love and adore Mommy’s derriere. Sometimes, if I’ve been a very good little boy or given her a particularly nice and expensive present, she lets me kneel behind her as she stands in her high heels. I marvel at her roundness, the perfect plumpness of her cheeks accentuated by her smooth, muscled legs and waist. On my knees behind her, my hands run up her gorgeous legs, trace the crease where the back of the thigh meets the swell of her bottom. Then, after I beg long enough, she allows me fondle her bottom. I rub my face on her glutie globes. I beg some more, offer her nice presents, and if she is in a tolerant mood, Mommy lets me suck her succulent bottom meat. I suck her ass cheeks until I become dizzy with desire. I plunge my nose as deep as I can into the cleft of Mommy’s bottom, penetrating her tight puckered nether hole with my tongue. This is the only way Mommy allows me to penetrate any part of her body, my tongue embedded in her succulent bottom.
Mommy is quite an exhibitionist and loves the attention she gets from men, and, truth be told, from women as well. I confess that I love watching men staring hungrily at her. It fills me with pride. I watch their eyes dip down her blouse, lighting up as they gaze upon her breasts. I watch their heads turn as she walks by, seeing them follow the sway of her hips, the shape of her legs, the the movement of her derriere. I love her power over men. I love her power over me.
Mommy dresses to accentuate her sexual power. One day she will wear skin tight, translucent hip-riding spandex pants that form fit over her delicious derriere and “camel toe” pussy lips, and a tight corset-style top that pushes her mountainous breasts up and exposes her waist, showing off her bejeweled belly button. Other days, she will wear loose-fitting diaphanous halter tops and skirts through which you can see her long, shapely legs and the swing of her marvelous breasts.
Mommy learned early on in our marriage that I need to be punished when I misbehave, and, as it turns out she frequently catches me doing naughty things like masturbating as I sniff or wear her dirty panties. This often happens when I am cleaning up after her. She leaves her soiled panties on the floor for me. A gift. A treasure. I lie on the floor and bury my nose in her panties, inhaling deeply as I play with my little penis and imagine her having sex with her boyfriends. But if she catches me, I know I will get the spanking I deserve.
Mommy has a fabulous selection of dominatrix costumes. I love to see her towering above me wearing her black skin tight corsets, thongs, long gloves, garter belts and stockings, and thigh-high, high-heeled boots and slapping the palm of her hand with her riding crop as I cower before her. She makes me pull down my pink panties and lie across her knees, and then she gives me a spanking for being such a bad little boy.
Of course, as with any wife, sometimes Mommy just gets bored with me. At such times, she is able to ignore me completely as though I don’t exist. As she watches TV or talks with her boyfriends on the phone, I try to remain still, to be a good footrest, not to distract her with my own pursuit of pleasure at her expense. For I know, my only real satisfaction comes from her contentment and my only reason for existence is her happiness.
But I do have my little pleasures. I have my own supply of cosmetics and dress-up costumes. When Mommy brings her boyfriends back to the mansion I dress up as a French maid with a frilly short black skirt, white lace apron, stockings and heels. At nights when I’m alone with Mommy I like to wear a pink frilly little nightie. I have a selection of wigs and make up, and Mommy gives me hormone pills every day along with my daily vitamins that keep my skin soft and feminine and that have helped me to develop pretty little A-cup breasts and a feminine swell to my hips and butt. I shave my legs and keep my body perfectly waxed so I have no body hair.I grow my finger nails long and enjoy polishing them and putting on colors that match my girly outfits. I also have a tiny little penis that hardly shows when I am wearing panties. I enjoy being Mommy’s little sissy girl.
I love helping Mommy get dressed for her dates with her lovers. First, I prepare her bath. I carefully scrub the tub, scouring it with a toothbrush, rinsing, scouring again, rinsing, until my hands turn from pink to red and my arms and back pound with pain. I plan carefully. The water and air temperature must be just right. The bath oils perfectly matched with scents and bubbles. I light candles. Soft music. Warm a cozy, fluffy towel. I want to give her perfect pleasure. No demands. Unconditional love. Mommy will be completely relaxed and ready, ready to be swept into the strong masculine arms of her choice of man.
Mommy is so good to me. She allows me to play in her undies drawer. I love picking out some little soft and silky wisp of panty to slip on her body. I warm it with my breath, feel its silkiness on my face. I kneel at her feet. Her legs are crossed. I hold out her panties. She lets me slip them over her feet, her legs come uncrossed, I slip them up her ankles, trying not to let her know that I am trying so hard to look between her legs as I work the panties up to her knees. Mommy looks at me and smirks. I beg her with my eyes. She puts her hand on my head, and rises. My moment of exaltation. On my knees, my face inches from her nude, perfectly and completely shaved mons veneris. Not a trace of hair, pure, pristine. I worship Mommy’s feminine sanctum sanctorum, her total power and control over me. I am helpless in her spell. My mouth waters. My eyes tear. I want to suckle but know now is not the time.
Slowly I work Mommy’s panties up her thighs, savoring every moment, every texture, her smell, the perfume, my hot breath on her mons, my breath like dew on her skin.I cover her most private treasure with the translucent wisp of panty as my trembling fingers guide the panties up her hips. I release the panties, and allow my fingers to trace her perfect derriere, but not daring to squeeze, still on my knees, drinking in the sight of her beauty now captured in panties, panties that reveal so much.
Mommy sits at her vanity, pretty in her panties, a negligee on her shoulders. I blow dry her hair. Brushing, teasing. Her eyes are closed, as she soaks in the hot air streaming through her scalp, sensual, every pore of her body, a pleasure center. I marvel at the blonde tresses, the silkiness, the perfection. Stolen glimpses of Mommy’s perfect body, while I fluff the cascade of tresses.
I then apply Mommy’s make up. My job is to enhance her exquisite natural beauty and drive her lovers wild with desire. I start on her eyes. Applying liner to her closed lids, she shows her complete trust in me. I brush, light blue to pick up the cruel blue of her eyes. I blend. When she opens her eyes, they smoke. She looks at herself in the mirror. She nods. Approval. I beam with pride. She likes to apply her own lipstick. I watch transfixed as she makes her lips glisten red.
Mommy sprays perfume on her neck, another spray low on her tummy. Next to her on my knees, I close my eyes, the better to absorb the heady aroma.
I bring Mommy’s garter belt and attach it around her waist. I bring her stockings. I carefully roll each stocking up her long legs. I kneel at her feet, placing the rolled stocking at her toes, and slowly, slowly roll the silky nylon over each foot, calf, and up her thigh, where I secure them with a garter.
Finally, she is ready for her date. A handsome young man picks her up, and off they go. I sit and wait nervously. Hours pass. I imagine them dancing, laughing, and I grow sick with anxiety. But, at the end of the evening, he brings her back home. She invites him in, and I am always there, ready to serve. I have a bottle of fine wine,chilled and ready, and a tray of hors d’oeuvres that I like to serve in one of my French maid outfits.
Mommy’s dates regard me in different ways depending on their personalities. Some go out of their way to abuse and humiliate me; some just regard me with surprise and revulsion; others ignore me. I follow their lead, trying to make them feel welcome and comfortable with my presence, because if I want to be able to watch their love making, if they will allow me to.
Some of Mommy’s boyfriends are particularly mean to me. I don’t understand why they treat me badly because I do everything I can to be nice to them and make them feel welcome, even to the point of making myself look pretty for them. I put on false eye lashes, eye shadow, lipstick, rouge, and I always have stocking over my freshly shaved legs, a short French maids skirt, high heels and French perfume. My French maid outfits all have scoop necks that put my breasts on display. But instead of being polite and kind to me, Mommy’s mean boyfriends call me bad names like “bitch” and make me do naughty things.
When this happens, Mommy joins in “the fun” and encourages her boyfriend to mistreat me. I guess she does this because he is a guest in our house and she wants to make him feel welcome. She will tell me to get him “ready” to have sex with her. She directs everything. She makes me kneel down in front of her boyfriend and zip down his trousers. Then she tells me to reach in and take out his penis. Mommy likes to watch her boyfriend whip my face with his penis until it gets hard. The bad boyfriend makes me put his penis in my mouth and suck it. I swirl my tongue around his sensitive cock head, and then suck. I do my best to try to make him feel good and get hard, but then his cock will get very big and he will force his dick deeper and deeper into my mouth and down my throat. I gag and cry and feel like I’m going to choke and die of suffocation. My mouth fills with the taste of his salty semen. I feel the slime of his seminal cream on my face, lips, and mouth, but he “saves” his big load for Mommy.
At a certain point, Mommy and her lover get so involved with each other that they no longer notice that I’m there. I watch Mommy as she rides her stallion, panting and pawing at her soft, pliable, femininity. All-man, all-woman, I don’t participate when they are having sex; I can only watch, not fully man or woman myself, I watch the real man possess her, the full woman. I hide myself, seeking invisibility, as I peek at Mommy surrendering herself to his masculine power. I am Mommy’s little boy-girl. I have my little boy-girl excitement. Peeking at Mommy and her Daddies. Watching the big Daddies come and take her.
After her Daddy finishes with her, after he leaves, it is Baby’s turn.
This is when I find Mommy alone, exhausted, surrendered on our marital bed. I see her body reddened with her Daddy’s roughness, pushed to its limit.I examine the love bites, the residue of rough sex. She is splayed. Dirty. Finished. In the twilight or the dawn, I creep up onto her bed, I carefully move the sweat-stained sheets, silently uncover her. I love the moment when Mommy is abased. I seek the faint echoes of her sweet smells, now plastered with ugly odors of tobacco, alcohol, him. My senses are sharpened, I seek his smell, the sight of his ravages, the taste of his spunk. I love this, the one time, weakened, she lets me snuggle between her legs. I hear her low, guttural moan as I love her with my tongue, my face glistening with her sweat and vaginal fluid.
“Come to Mommy,” I hear her half-asleep murmur. I fit my face snugly between her legs, lapping her cream pie and cleaning her inner thighs and the whole jismy and slick area between her legs.
“That’s a baby,” she purrs. I bring Mommy to a slowly building, warm and glowing orgasm with my mouth. I wiggle between her legs, wallowing in her wetness and warmth. My senses overwhelmed, my erect little penis, not worthy of penetrating Mommy’s beautiful body, spurts into the bedsheets as I lay nestled between her legs. Thus I reach my final fulfillment, Mommy’s slave, Mommy’s servant, Mommy’s loving husband.
Proudly and lovingly signed by the luckiest man on earth,
Willing Wimp
