This is my first post and English isn’t my first language therefore ignore any errors.

A few months ago I met this girl at a bar and we hit it off pretty good and started to meet again couple of times. I never had a Girlfriend but was still good at flirting and generally very popular. If you would have asked her if I was giving beta vibes she would have never said yes. Anyways we fell in love, started dating and she took my virginity.

After a while I started to introduce her to my foot Fetish and we started to play around with it while having sex (she is very vanilla when its about Femdom and Co but has tried other stuff with other guys before me)

One day I started to ask her if she would like to get her nails done and she said “only if you pay for them” and I obviously very happy to hear that told her of course and booked an appointment for her to get a manicure and pedicure. I went with her to the shop and waited for 90 minutes. She got some french tips and when it came to paying I went to the register and the lady behind it told me even though I paid in advance the fact that my girl wanted french tips would cost me 15$ extra. So in total around 120$

This week we went to a sex shop and got a chastity cage for me. We went home and I had to put it on (and are currently writing while wearing it) she already released me after a day but told me to put it back on for another two days. Right now she is swimming with a couple of her male friends while I sit at home, locked and writing. Tomorrow she is going to get a pedicure in a close town with some girl friends of hers and she already told me that I will pay for it.

I talked with her about cuckolding and all that and she said maybe in the future but for now she doesn’t want to because she loves me to much and thats what was always important to me. A girl that does this kind of things with me/ to me but still loves me and cares for me. I also love her so much and will always love her.

If you want you can dm me and ask anything I might update if you want.

A few days had passed since that humiliating moment in Sarah’s bedroom. I couldn’t stop replaying it. The feeling of her soft, warm ass accidentally pressing and shifting against my face while she innocently tried to get comfortable. Her sweet voice praising me for being such a “good guy” as I came helplessly in my pants. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt her soft cheeks smothering me again and heard her bright laughter when she saw the wet spot.

I was too embarrassed to text her first. What would I even say? Every time my phone buzzed I jumped, heart racing, terrified and hopeful it was her. But nothing came… until Wednesday afternoon.

Sarah: “Heyy bestie 🥰 Me and Ashley wanna go shopping later. You free to drive us around? Pretty please?”

I stared at the message for ten full minutes, stomach twisting. Had she told Ashley? Was this a setup? My thumbs hovered before I finally replied.

Me: “Yeah sure, what time? Uhm could we go and watch Star Wars after too?”

The nerves were eating me alive the whole drive to her apartment. I waited 5 minutes. 5 minutes turned to 15 minutes. 15 minutes turned to 25 minutes. I messaged her…

Me: “Hey. Sorry for being pushy, are you almost done?”

No response, although she read the message.I kept waiting, fidgeting in my seat, overthinking everything.

Finally, after 40 minutes, Sarah and Ashley came down. Sarah looked incredible — tight low-rise jeans that made her ass look even bigger, cropped top, full makeup. She slid into the passenger seat with a casual, “Sorry we took a little long, I needed to get this makeup on fleek.” She checked herself in the rear-view mirror, turning her face side to side, completely unbothered.

“Hey, this is Ashley,” Sarah said brightly. “Ashley, this is Caleb.”

Ashley was curvy too — shorter than Sarah, with thick thighs and a mischievous smile. She looked me up and down from the backseat and smirked. “I’ve heard so much about you, Caleb.”

My face instantly heated. I stuttered, “H-hey… nice to meet you. I hope the stuff you’ve heard is… good?” I forced a weak laugh. Sarah just smiled sweetly and said nothing.

We got to the mall and I trailed behind them while they bounced between stores, laughing and holding up clothes. I carried their bags without being asked. Eventually they disappeared into the fitting rooms. I waited outside on a bench, heart thumping every time I heard them giggling behind the curtain.

After a while Sarah poked her head out. “Caleb, come here for a sec? We need an honest guy’s opinion. You’re safe and respectful, so it’s fine.”

I stepped into the larger fitting room area. Sarah was in a tight new top. Then Ashley stepped out in a short pleated skirt and a cute crop top. She turned around and said casually, “Can you zip the back for me, Caleb? The zipper is tricky.”

My hands were shaking as I stepped close. Ashley’s curvy body was right in front of me — the skirt hugging her wide hips, her smooth back exposed. I carefully pulled the zipper up, fingers brushing her warm skin. The scent of her perfume filled my nose. My cock twitched traitorously in my pants.

“Careful not to touch too much,” Ashley said with a playful lilt, glancing back over her shoulder. “We don’t want another accident happening, right?”

My entire face burned crimson. I fake-laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off. “Haha, yeah… no worries.” But then I caught it — Sarah and Ashley exchanged a quick, knowing look and both let out soft giggles. My stomach dropped. Sarah definitely told her. I wanted to sink through the floor, but I stayed quiet. I still desperately wanted to believe maybe she hadn’t.

When they finished shopping, they piled up a big stack at checkout. Sarah suddenly patted her pockets. “Oh no… I totally forgot my purse in the car.” She turned to me with those massive puppy eyes and the sweetest voice. “Please cover this for us, bestie? 🥺🥺🥺 I’ll pay you back, promise.”

I didn’t even hesitate. I handed over my card. Sarah hugged me tightly, pressing her soft body against me. “Thank you so much, bestie. You’re the best.” Ashley smiled warmly, “That’s so nice of you, Caleb. 🥺”

Sarah turned to her friend, still holding my arm. “See? I told you he’s so nice to me. He’d go to any lengths for his bestie. Right, Caleb?”

I nodded shyly, voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yeah… of course.”

It was getting dark when we left the mall. I was excited we were still heading to the movies. Then Sarah’s phone pinged. Her whole face lit up and she squealed happily, turning to Ashley in the back. “Oh my god, look! We’ve been invited to Jake’s birthday house party. Jack’s gonna be there too, hmmmm~”

Both girls started making excited girly noises, hyping each other up. I felt a pit in my stomach.

“Um… what about Star Wars? You promised…” I said quietly. They didn’t hear me over their squealing. I swallowed and repeated, voice cracking slightly, “What about Star Wars?”

Sarah barely glanced at me. “That can wait. This is the biggest party of the year, oh my god we have to go.” She tapped a new address into my phone. “Switch route, bestie.”

I drove in silence, telling myself at least I’d still get to spend the night with two beautiful girls. When we arrived at the big house already thumping with music, I unbuckled my seatbelt with a small smile. “At least I’ll get to have some fun with you guys still—”

Sarah cut me off gently. “Ncaaw, sorry Caleb. You’re not invited. Next time, okay?”

My face fell before I could hide it. “Fine…” The frustration leaked into my voice.

Sarah’s tone sharpened. “Are you gonna get mad over that? Stop being so childish right now. You’re not being a considerate friend. A good friend would want us to go have fun at the biggest party of the year.”

The tension made my chest tight. I was terrified she’d get annoyed and pull away from me. My voice came out high-pitched and shaky. “Sorry… I’m not mad. I just really wanted to go to Star Wars. You’re right, I’m being childish. I’m really sorry. Go have fun, please. Sorry.”

Sarah’s face instantly softened back to bubbly. “Aaaaw it’s fine. I forgive you.” She reached over from the passenger seat and placed her soft hand high on my lap, fingers resting dangerously close to my crotch. “Next time we’ll go to Star Wars, I promise. You understand, right? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 That’s why you’re my bestie.” Her touch sent blood rushing straight to my cock. I started getting hard under her palm. I couldn’t tell if she noticed the growing bulge. “Kiss me on the cheek to show me you’re not angry? 🥺”

I leaned in and kissed her soft, warm cheek. She smelled amazing. Then she pulled back with a bright smile. “Text me when you get to the cinema, okay? I’ll check up on you.”

Sarah and Ashley stepped out, giggling excitedly. They walked a short distance and two tall, chiseled guys — Jake and Jack — met them. The guys pulled them into tight hugs, hands boldly grabbing and squeezing their asses. Sarah and Ashley both giggled and pressed into them. I swallowed hard, throat dry, the image burning into my brain.

I drove to the cinema alone, feeling empty. I texted Sarah: “Just got to the movies.”

Then I sat there in the dark theater, surrounded by couples and groups, anxiously waiting for her reply that never came. I couldn’t stop picturing Jake’s strong hand gripping Sarah’s big ass… the same ass that had made me cum hands-free just days earlier…

This is a true cuck recount of my [25M] experience with my wife [26F]

About 5 years ago my wife and I started dating I knew she was the one from the first time we spoke.
Hot, funny, smart, outgoing, independent, and open minded. She was far out of my league and still is. I’m a lucky guy.
When we dated I was very upfront with her about my sexual interests. I sent her photos and videos of myself deep throating and riding dildos. Often dressed in lingerie, wearing a chastity cage, wig, and lipstick. In short, I was a sissy. I made it clear. I am not dominant in the bedroom.
I do enjoy it from time to time but it’s not who I am at my core.
Her and I married and subsequently moved in together in a new city to build our lives together.
Early 20s can be stressful for a myriad of reasons so needless to say, everything I was interested in prior to moving in together got put on the back burner while we established ourselves but it was always in my mind.
Over the course of the following years we grew together in our marriage and built each other up and established a level of trust I never thought I’d have with anyone.
Things changed a few years into marriage as I realized that seeing other men flirt with her caused me to chase her like I did when we were dating.
Not only did it drive me crazy but she reciprocated it.
When I told her this, she confessed that she was talking to LOTS of guys while we dated. I felt my dick twitch and my stomach flip.
She smiled as she talked about some of the guys she slept with before me and I realized this was something we needed to delve deeper in to.
I confided that I wanted to see her with other men.
Let me tell you…I didn’t need to tell her twice. Her eyes lit up, a smirk began to form across her beautifully glossed lips as they parted before she seductively said, “Oh, really?” and leaned over to show her attention grabbing breasts. “Yes…” I replied without a moment of hesitation. “Tell me more.” She said with her green eyes fluttering their perfect lashes. So big I could see my reflection in their depth. She analyzed me as I elaborated further, “Ya, I just think it’d be hot. You present more confidently when you’re flirted with. You’re the hottest woman alive when you wear that confidence. Like you know what you’re worth.”
Her detective eyes looked me up and down as I sat there in front of her. Awaiting her response. Every second passing in slow motion made me want to run. This girl, far out of my league, just heard I want to see her with other men…she really made me sit in that for a moment.
What felt like five minutes passed, though it couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty-five seconds, before her hand finally met mine with a soft touch. Her freshly painted deep red nails and silver rings contrasted elegantly against her fair skin. She gave a subtle shrug and tilted her head, and wisps of hair slipped from behind her ear and cascaded across her face like a curtain, partially concealing the green of her eye. Then, with unmistakable seduction in her voice, said, “Okay-“ and swept the hair back over her ear.
Her lips curled in to meet her teeth and tongue as she looked at me in excitement for our newly shared desires.
That day she began posting on Snapchat. Look, I’ve always known pretty girls get lots of attention but I had no idea she’d get so much. In under a month she got 35,000 adds.
I never saw her more buried in her phone.
Eventually she solicited my help to add guys back.
I saw a massive influx of messages and dick pics guys were sending.
Oh. My. God. As I looked at the state of her confidence from these messages it became apparent I unleashed a side of her that I could never tame.
She would never go back to relying solely on me for attention.
Her newfound confidence soared every day.
I did everything I could to chase her and get her to myself. Naturally, the competition I saw in her Snapchat outclassed me on so many levels.
She had so many crushes on all these different guys and she told me about all of them. Playfully hinting that she’d leave me for some, “-because his dick is huge. LOOK!” Pushing her phone in my face and displaying one of the biggest cocks I’ve ever seen.
Filled with jealousy and shame I reluctantly encouraged her to talk to him more and pursue it further. She asked if I wanted to cum right then and there! “PLEASE! Oh my god, fuck me. Please!” She pulled my pants down, pushed me on the couch and wrapped her luscious lips around my throbbing dick. It was the first time I ever looked at my dick as inadequate. Filled with shame but full of pleasure, it was so erotic!
She opened her phone as she went all the way down on me and fingered my ass. Placing one finger in and showing me the photo again. She brought her head up and looked at me for a moment as she pushed her finger in and out.
“Say it.” Confused, I tried to oblige, “Aw fuck! That feels so good!”
“-NO!” She paused momentarily, wrapping her hand around my balls, the phone on the couch next to my leg. I couldn’t help but see the photo she left open. Looking at her then shifting my gaze back to the picture I couldn’t look away from it in envy. It dwarfed me.
“-SAY IT! SAY ‘I’m too small for you goddess.’ SAY IT!” She ordered as she slapped my balls again. I winced, “OH FUCK, Oh my god, fuck! -“SAY IT!” She demanded as she hit them again, this time harder than the last, softening my dick from the pain. “AH FUCK! OK! Fuck, my dick is too small!”
“-TOO SMALL FOR WHO!?” Another blow. She brought so much pain on my balls I thought I was going to roll over!
She continued to squeeze them as I yelled “My dicks too small for you goddess!”
She stroked and fingered me until I exploded the most intense orgasm I’ve ever felt in my life and she made me repeat it over and over. “My dicks too small for you goddess. His dicks so much bigger. You need a dick bigger than mine!”
She angled my dick towards me as it shot out with every brush of her finger against my prostate. Laughing as my cum rained on my face and chest. Drops of it landing on my lips, the taste was surreal. I was hooked.
She laughed as she lathered some off my stomach and stuck her fingers down my throat to feed it all to me.
“Pathetic.” She said as I felt an intense wave of shame fall over me.
I fell deeper in her trance when I noticed the same hand she fingered me with was the one currently down my throat coated in cum.
The sweet and salty taste of my cum plunged me into submission to her from that day forward.

~1 Year Later~

Fast forward a year down the line.
She’s taken to shopping at Victorias Secret with me. Openly telling me, “I think this one would look good on you.” As she holds the thong up to my waist. Utterly humiliating. This isn’t in private. She did this in front of other people. They looked. I’ve never been so embarrassed but it was exhilarating as I was made to approach the register with thongs and panties.
We got several things for me to wear and she’d pick them out throughout the course of a week as we went out together.
Chastity became the logical progression and of course it paired well with the thongs and panties she picked out.
Once she turned the key and locked me in that 2 inch cage for the first time, I knew I was in my place.
After all, none of her boyfriends wore chastity. They wouldn’t even FIT in it.
It served as a constant reminder of my tiny dick.
The chastity emboldened her 10 fold. What was once just flirtatious remarks with strangers had evolved to forward expressions of interest right in front of me on our nights out.
“You’re so tall, I love your hair. We should grab drinks some time. What do you think?”
Perplexed, he asked about me.
“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s ok with it.”
Now, idk if he was looking for my approval or acknowledgment that what she said was true but the moment I nodded my head she reassured him, “Seriously, it’s fine. He’s likes it-”
“OKAY, YEAH!” He replied. Confused in disbelief that he’d landed a night out with this girl inviting him to drinks whilst sitting next to a man she’s clearly with. He was tall, 6’3, blue eyes, athletic, and styled hair. He was exactly what most men want to be.
She swooned over him as her eyes obviously latched onto the massive cock he had in his pants.
Exchanging numbers and a parting kiss to build the tension for what’s to come. We shook hands. I took note that his hands were much bigger than mine. I looked at his shoes as we shook hands, filled with shame and unable to look him in the eye.
Dark blue levis and white Air Force’s. The same shoes I was wearing except his were a few sizes larger than mine. Everything about him was big.
We exchanged courtesies, “Have a nice night man!”
“Hey, you too! We’ll see you later. It was nice meeting you.”
He didn’t even get my name, only hers.
The entirety of that conversation had me squirming in my chastity and black lace panties.
Pre-cum pathetically dripping out of the opening in the cage. Painting the inside of my panties and visibly seeping through my pants…also Levi’s…
When we left the bar that night, she got a text from him.
“Hey, this is David. It was great meeting you! Was he your bf? Anyway, can’t wait to see you again. Are you available next Friday? Same place?”
Her excitement presented as she read the message. “Eeeeeek! LOOOOK he texted meeee! He can’t wait to see me again. Uuugh, fuck he’s so hot. Do you think he knew you’re wearing chastity and panties?”
I replied “I don’t know how he would but then again…I don’t know how he wouldn’t assume so. Damn, baby that was hot.”
She agreed, “Yeah it was. What should I sayyyyy??”
Bringing attention back to the message David sent her.
“Why go back to that bar when we could go to a hotel?” I asked.
She paused. Bit her lip. Slowly looked up from her phone at me with her large green eyes. Blond hair straightened, blushing whilst asking, “Which one?”
She smiled from ear to ear with excitement.
This was it. This lead-up was the moment I’ve been waiting over a year for!
This was the day the fantasy would have a plan that actually comes to fruition.
After a brief moment of hesitancy.
I grabbed her phone and texted David myself
“I’ll get a room at The W in Seattle. Saturday, 6:30? He’s my Husband btw.”
I hadn’t hit send when I handed it back to her. She looked at me teasingly, smiling. Her perfect white teeth showing. Then she typed.
A soft ‘>!whoosh!<’ broke the silence in the air as she sent the message.
“Sent.” She said proudly.
My heart raced. I had a pit inside my stomach deeper than hades. The fantasy had finally crossed into reality.
I asked, “What’d you change?”
She showed me the phone.
There it was in that blue text bubble.

“Fine if he comes with us?”

“I’ve become an actual cuck.” I thought to myself…in awe when I saw the 3 dots appear and disappear. He was typing. Then he stopped.
They reappeared and the subtle iMessage ‘>!plunk!<’ brought with it, “Sounds good I can’t wait! I’ll be there! And ya lol he can come!”

“You better be good for me if you want to go with us.”
She warned teasingly. Something tells me she wasn’t teasing me.

So, after over a year and some change it appears that as soon as Saturday…..which is literally tomorrow we’ll get to take this further than we ever have before!

Let me know if you guys want a follow up!

Chastity will be introduced in future chapters

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I sat in my car outside the quiet suburban house. The address matched the one She had given me. For the tenth time in the last five minutes I checked my phone, rereading our FetLife messages like they might vanish. 

Her post had been straightforward and commanding: “Experienced Domme seeking a reliable domestic slave for regular cleaning sessions. Must be obedient, detail-oriented, and understand that your pleasure is irrelevant. Serious inquiries only. No endless messaging.” 

I had stared at that post for three full days before working up the courage to send a message. My profile was almost empty — just a few vague lines about being new, curious, and deeply submissive. I told Her I had fantasized about serving a strict woman for years but had never actually done it. I admitted I was nervous, hesitant, and probably going to disappoint Her. 

To my shock, She replied within hours. 

“Names are earned, not given. You will address me as Mistress. Send a clear, recent face and body photo. Tell me exactly why you think you deserve even one hour of My time.” 

The messages that followed were short, direct, and terrifying. She asked about my limits, my health, my work schedule. She made it clear there would be no romance, no “switching,” and absolutely no guarantee of any sexual release. This was service. Pure, unglamorous, potentially humiliating service. 

I almost backed out twice. Once the night before, when I lay in bed imagining myself naked and inspected. Again this morning, when I stood in front of the mirror wondering what the hell I was doing. My heart was racing so hard I felt sick. Part of me wanted to drive away and delete my FetLife account forever. The other part — the deep, aching, hidden part that had fantasized about this for over a decade — wouldn’t let me. 

I took a deep breath, grabbed the small bag containing cleaning supplies I had been told to bring, and walked to the front door on unsteady legs. 

I rang the bell. 

The door opened almost immediately. 

Mistress stood there, casual but instantly commanding. She was in her mid-30s, beautiful in an effortless way — sharp eyes, full lips, dark hair pulled back loosely. She wore faded blue jeans that hugged Her hips, simple black flip-flops on bare feet with red-painted toenails, and a plain white button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone. No dramatic leather or heels. Just effortless dominance. 

She looked me up and down slowly, one eyebrow raised. 

“You’re early. That’s a point in your favor. Most new boys either chicken out or show up late trying to seem casual.” Her voice was calm, smooth, and carried natural authority. “Come in. Shoes off at the door.” 

I stepped inside on trembling legs, kicking off my sneakers. The house smelled faintly of vanilla and clean linen. It was neatly kept but clearly needed deeper attention — the kind of cleaning that required crawling and sweating. 

Mistress closed the door behind me and folded Her arms. 

“Before we go any further, understand this: This is not a date. This is not fantasy roleplay where you get to pick what happens. If you stay, you are here to work. You will clean exactly as I instruct. I am extremely detail-oriented. If I find even one streak on a mirror or a single hair left in the shower, you will hear about it. And you will fix it immediately. Do you still want to be here?” 

My mouth was dry. I managed a weak nod. “Y-yes… Mistress.” 

She smiled — small, amused, slightly predatory. “Good. Strip. Everything off. Right here in the hallway. I want to inspect what I might be working with.” 

My stomach dropped. This was the moment I had feared most. I had never been naked in front of a woman like this — especially not a complete stranger who held all the power. My hands shook badly as I pulled off my shirt, then my jeans. I hesitated at my boxers. 

Mistress’s voice sharpened. “I didn’t say ‘when you feel comfortable.’ I said strip. Now.” 

I slid the boxers down, stepping out of them. I stood completely naked in Her hallway, hands instinctively trying to cover myself. My cock — average, already half-hard from nerves and fear — twitched under Her gaze. 

“Hands behind your back. Feet shoulder-width apart. Eyes down.” 

I obeyed instantly. The cool air of the house brushed over my skin. I felt horribly exposed, vulnerable in a way I had never experienced. Mistress walked slowly around me in Her flip-flops, inspecting every inch. 

“Not bad physically,” She said matter-of-factly, as if commenting on a piece of furniture. “A little soft around the middle. Decent muscle tone. Turn around slowly.” 

I turned. She ran a single finger down my spine, making me shiver. Then She gave my ass a firm, testing slap. 

“Nice and responsive. That’s useful.” She stepped in front of me again and lifted my chin with two fingers, forcing eye contact. “Look at Me. This is your last chance to leave with your dignity intact. Once you start cleaning, you’re Mine for the next four hours. No backing out. No safewording out of basic service. If you can’t handle being naked, inspected, and ordered around like the nervous little boy you clearly are, walk out that door right now.” 

I stood there frozen, heart hammering against my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to grab my clothes and run. My face burned with embarrassment. But beneath the fear was something else — a deep, throbbing pull I had never felt so strongly before. Submission. Real submission. 

“I… I want to stay, Mistress,” I whispered, voice cracking. 

She studied my eyes for a long moment, then nodded once. “Brave choice. Or stupid. We’ll find out which. Follow Me to the kitchen. Crawl.” 

The word hit me like a slap. Crawl. On all fours. Naked. In a stranger’s house. 

I dropped to my hands and knees without thinking, the tile cold against my palms and knees. Mistress walked ahead of me in Her flip-flops, not even glancing back to check if I was following. I crawled behind Her, ass in the air, feeling more pathetic and small than I had ever felt in my life. 

In the kitchen She pointed to the floor. “Kneel properly. Back straight, knees apart, hands on thighs.” 

I assumed the position as best I could. Mistress opened a drawer and pulled out a simple black leather collar with a small metal ring. She buckled it around my neck without ceremony. 

“This stays on while you’re in My house today. It reminds you what you are — a domestic slave on trial. Not a boyfriend. Not a guest. A servant.” 

She handed me a printed checklist — two full pages of detailed cleaning tasks for the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom. Every item had sub-points: “Baseboards wiped, no streaks,” “Inside of microwave spotless,” “Toilet scrubbed including under the rim,” etc. 

“I will inspect every single task. If something is not perfect, you redo it while I watch. Questions?” 

“No, Mistress,” I said softly. 

“Good. You may begin with the kitchen floor. On your hands and knees. Use the brush and bucket I left by the sink. No standing unless I say so.” 

For the next three and a half hours, I cleaned like my life depended on it. Mistress moved through the house with quiet authority, checking on me constantly. She was mercilessly detail-oriented. 

When I mopped the kitchen floor, She ran a white-gloved finger along the baseboards and showed me a tiny speck of dirt. “Again. Slower this time. Pay attention.” 

When I scrubbed the bathroom, She made me redo the shower grout twice because She found faint soap residue. Each time She stood over me, arms crossed, flip-flops tapping impatiently, explaining exactly why it wasn’t good enough. 

At one point, while I was on my knees cleaning the toilet, She pressed Her foot against the back of my neck, pushing my face closer to the bowl. 

“Deeper. Get your face in there if you have to. This is what you signed up for — real service, not fantasy.” 

My face burned with shame, but my cock stayed traitorously hard the entire time, leaking onto the floor more than once. Mistress noticed immediately. 

“Look at that,” She said with a soft, mocking laugh. “Already dripping from cleaning a toilet. You really are submissive, aren’t you? We’ll have to do something about that uncontrolled leaking soon.” 

By the end of the session I was exhausted, sweaty, knees raw, and emotionally drained. Mistress had me kneel in the center of the living room for final inspection. She walked through every room slowly, checking surfaces, running fingers along shelves, even smelling the cleaned laundry I had folded. 

When She returned, She stood in front of me, looking down with a mix of approval and amusement. 

“You did… adequately for a complete beginner. There were several mistakes, but you didn’t quit. That’s rare. Most new boys fold the moment real work and real exposure are involved.” 

She crouched down, lifted my chin again, and looked directly into my eyes. 

“Today was a test. You faced your fears and didn’t run. That earns you a second chance. Next time will be stricter. You will arrive earlier, stay longer, and I will push you further. If you want to continue exploring this deep submissive side of yours, you will message Me tomorrow with a full report of how today made you feel — every embarrassing detail. No filtering.” 

She removed the collar and handed it to me. 

“Keep this. Bring it with you next time. Now get dressed in the hallway and leave. Don’t speak unless I ask you something.” 

I crawled to the hallway on shaky limbs, dressed with trembling hands, and slipped out the front door without another word. 

The entire drive home my mind spun. I was terrified. Ashamed. Horribly aroused. And already counting the hours until I could message Her again. 

For the first time in my life, I had taken a real step into submission. I had faced the fear, gotten naked, crawled, cleaned, and been inspected like property. 

And deep down, I knew I was already addicted. 

I couldn’t wait for whatever came next — even if it terrified me. 

 

I’ve been hooked on Sarah for years. She’s my best friend — the one person I can tell almost anything… except how badly I want her. Sarah is breathtaking: long wavy dark hair, sparkling hazel eyes, a tiny cinched waist, and the kind of big, round, plush begind that turns heads everywhere we go. Especially in those tight seamless gym leggings she loves.

Today’s leg day had been torture in the best way. Near the end of the session, Sarah stepped back after a set and her heavy, soft ass accidentally brushed firmly against my crotch. The warmth and weight of her cheeks pressing against me for those few seconds made my face burn crimson. She noticed. That curious little smile she gave me afterward said everything.

Back at her apartment, she was still riding the post-workout high. After I took dozens of photos of her posing — especially the ones where she arched her back and pushed her incredible ass toward the camera — she posted a couple. The comments flooded in fast. She kept reading them out loud, giggling at the thirsty messages from random guys, particularly one muscular guy she called “actually kinda cute.” Every compliment about her ass felt like a little twist in my stomach… and a throb in my shorts.

Then she stretched and winced. “My thighs and glutes are destroyed, Cal. Pretty please with a cherry on top? You give the best massages.”

I followed her to the bedroom like always. She lay face-down first, and I worked her thighs carefully, kneading the sore muscles through the thin gray fabric. Her soft moans of relief made my cock stir. After about fifteen minutes she shifted.

“Hmm… can you get on the bed behind me? I think it’ll be easier to reach the tighter spots that way.”

She pushed herself up onto all fours. My heart slammed in my chest. Sarah’s massive ass was now directly in front of me, barely a foot from my face. The leggings clung to her like a second skin, stretched tight over her thick cheeks, the seam disappearing between them. I knelt upright behind her on the bed and placed my trembling hands back on her thighs, trying to focus.

At first it was normal. I dug my thumbs into the meat of her hamstrings and lower glutes, working the knots. Sarah sighed happily. “God, you’re so good at this, Caleb. Seriously.”

But after a couple of minutes she started adjusting herself, trying to get more comfortable. She arched her back a little deeper, then slowly pushed her hips back toward me. Her big, warm ass moved closer… closer… until the soft, heavy flesh of her right cheek pressed gently against the side of my face.

I froze. The heat radiating through the thin fabric was incredible. I could smell the faint scent of her vanilla body wash mixed with the light, natural musk from the workout. My cock surged instantly, straining painfully hard against my shorts.

Sarah didn’t seem to notice at first. She kept shifting slightly, wiggling her hips in small, slow movements as she tried to settle into a better position. Each little adjustment caused her plush ass to rub and press more firmly against my flushed face — first one cheek, then both, the weight smothering my nose and mouth for long seconds at a time.

“Mmm… right there, yeah,” she murmured. “You’re such a good guy, Caleb. Like, genuinely one of the best I know.” She let out a soft, contented sigh as she made another tiny shift backward. Her ass cheeks spread slightly around my nose through the fabric. “Most guys… if I was in this position with them? They’d probably try to grab it or something. But not you. You’re always so respectful. It’s really sweet.”

Her voice was warm and affectionate, completely casual, like she was just chatting while I massaged her. Meanwhile, I was losing my mind. Every slow, unintentional grind as she got comfortable dragged her thick, warm ass across my face. The softness was overwhelming — heavy, pillowy, yet firm from all the squats. I could feel the heat, the slight dampness of her skin through the leggings. My breathing became ragged and shallow. I was surrounded by her.

“You okay back there?” she asked gently, still shifting her weight in tiny movements that kept her ass rubbing against me. “You’re being so good for me. I don’t know what I’d do without my sweet bestie who actually knows how to behave.” Another slow push backward. Her left cheek pressed fully over my mouth and nose now, smothering me in warmth and softness for several long heartbeats before she eased forward slightly, only to settle back again.

I couldn’t help it. A broken, pathetic little whimper escaped my throat — high-pitched and needy. My cock was throbbing violently, leaking into my boxers. The combination of her praise, her scent, the constant soft pressure of her massive ass against my face, and the humiliating realization that she was just “getting comfortable” while I was on the edge… it was too much.

My hips jerked forward involuntarily. Thick ropes of cum started pulsing out of me, soaking my boxers and spreading into a warm, sticky wet spot on the front of my gym shorts. I kept cumming in humiliating waves while her ass was still pressed softly against my face, my whimpers muffled.

Sarah finally shifted forward and turned around to sit on the edge of the bed. Her eyes dropped straight to my lap. The dark, obvious wet spot was impossible to hide.

For a moment she just stared, lips parted in surprise. Then she burst into bright, delighted laughter.

“Oh my god… Caleb!” She covered her mouth, eyes wide. “Did you just… cum in your pants? Hahahahahaha! What!? From the massage? No way…”

She leaned in closer, still giggling uncontrollably, her expression a mix of genuine shock and adorable amusement. “Look at that mess… you really made a big sticky spot, huh? That’s so cute, oh my gosh 🥺🥺🥺 You got that excited just from being close to your best friend’s ass?”

I sat there on my knees, face burning hotter than the sun, chest heaving, cum cooling stickily in my shorts. Sarah reached out and gently cupped my cheek, still smiling.

“Don’t be embarrassed, bestie. Seriously. It’s actually really flattering. Most guys would’ve grabbed me the second I got on all fours… but you just stayed respectful the whole time and still came in your pants like that.” She bit her lip, trying to suppress another giggle. “Your little cum face is so adorable. Aww, come here…”

She pulled me into a warm hug, pressing my embarrassed face against her chest while she stroked my hair, her body still shaking with soft laughter.

“My good, sweet, respectful bestie… who would’ve thought you’d lose it like that for me?”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I sat in my car outside the quiet suburban house. The address matched the one She had given me. For the tenth time in the last five minutes I checked my phone, rereading our FetLife messages like they might vanish. 

Her post had been straightforward and commanding: “Experienced Domme seeking a reliable domestic slave for regular cleaning sessions. Must be obedient, detail-oriented, and understand that your pleasure is irrelevant. Serious inquiries only. No endless messaging.” 

I had stared at that post for three full days before working up the courage to send a message. My profile was almost empty — just a few vague lines about being new, curious, and deeply submissive. I told Her I had fantasized about serving a strict woman for years but had never actually done it. I admitted I was nervous, hesitant, and probably going to disappoint Her. 

To my shock, She replied within hours. 

“Names are earned, not given. You will address me as Mistress. Send a clear, recent face and body photo. Tell me exactly why you think you deserve even one hour of My time.” 

The messages that followed were short, direct, and terrifying. She asked about my limits, my health, my work schedule. She made it clear there would be no romance, no “switching,” and absolutely no guarantee of any sexual release. This was service. Pure, unglamorous, potentially humiliating service. 

I almost backed out twice. Once the night before, when I lay in bed imagining myself naked and inspected. Again this morning, when I stood in front of the mirror wondering what the hell I was doing. My heart was racing so hard I felt sick. Part of me wanted to drive away and delete my FetLife account forever. The other part — the deep, aching, hidden part that had fantasized about this for over a decade — wouldn’t let me. 

I took a deep breath, grabbed the small bag containing cleaning supplies I had been told to bring, and walked to the front door on unsteady legs. 

I rang the bell. 

The door opened almost immediately. 

Mistress stood there, casual but instantly commanding. She was in her mid-30s, beautiful in an effortless way — sharp eyes, full lips, dark hair pulled back loosely. She wore faded blue jeans that hugged Her hips, simple black flip-flops on bare feet with red-painted toenails, and a plain white button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone. No dramatic leather or heels. Just effortless dominance. 

She looked me up and down slowly, one eyebrow raised. 

“You’re early. That’s a point in your favor. Most new boys either chicken out or show up late trying to seem casual.” Her voice was calm, smooth, and carried natural authority. “Come in. Shoes off at the door.” 

I stepped inside on trembling legs, kicking off my sneakers. The house smelled faintly of vanilla and clean linen. It was neatly kept but clearly needed deeper attention — the kind of cleaning that required crawling and sweating. 

Mistress closed the door behind me and folded Her arms. 

“Before we go any further, understand this: This is not a date. This is not fantasy roleplay where you get to pick what happens. If you stay, you are here to work. You will clean exactly as I instruct. I am extremely detail-oriented. If I find even one streak on a mirror or a single hair left in the shower, you will hear about it. And you will fix it immediately. Do you still want to be here?” 

My mouth was dry. I managed a weak nod. “Y-yes… Mistress.” 

She smiled — small, amused, slightly predatory. “Good. Strip. Everything off. Right here in the hallway. I want to inspect what I might be working with.” 

My stomach dropped. This was the moment I had feared most. I had never been naked in front of a woman like this — especially not a complete stranger who held all the power. My hands shook badly as I pulled off my shirt, then my jeans. I hesitated at my boxers. 

Mistress’s voice sharpened. “I didn’t say ‘when you feel comfortable.’ I said strip. Now.” 

I slid the boxers down, stepping out of them. I stood completely naked in Her hallway, hands instinctively trying to cover myself. My cock — average, already half-hard from nerves and fear — twitched under Her gaze. 

“Hands behind your back. Feet shoulder-width apart. Eyes down.” 

I obeyed instantly. The cool air of the house brushed over my skin. I felt horribly exposed, vulnerable in a way I had never experienced. Mistress walked slowly around me in Her flip-flops, inspecting every inch. 

“Not bad physically,” She said matter-of-factly, as if commenting on a piece of furniture. “A little soft around the middle. Decent muscle tone. Turn around slowly.” 

I turned. She ran a single finger down my spine, making me shiver. Then She gave my ass a firm, testing slap. 

“Nice and responsive. That’s useful.” She stepped in front of me again and lifted my chin with two fingers, forcing eye contact. “Look at Me. This is your last chance to leave with your dignity intact. Once you start cleaning, you’re Mine for the next four hours. No backing out. No safewording out of basic service. If you can’t handle being naked, inspected, and ordered around like the nervous little boy you clearly are, walk out that door right now.” 

I stood there frozen, heart hammering against my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to grab my clothes and run. My face burned with embarrassment. But beneath the fear was something else — a deep, throbbing pull I had never felt so strongly before. Submission. Real submission. 

“I… I want to stay, Mistress,” I whispered, voice cracking. 

She studied my eyes for a long moment, then nodded once. “Brave choice. Or stupid. We’ll find out which. Follow Me to the kitchen. Crawl.” 

The word hit me like a slap. Crawl. On all fours. Naked. In a stranger’s house. 

I dropped to my hands and knees without thinking, the tile cold against my palms and knees. Mistress walked ahead of me in Her flip-flops, not even glancing back to check if I was following. I crawled behind Her, ass in the air, feeling more pathetic and small than I had ever felt in my life. 

In the kitchen She pointed to the floor. “Kneel properly. Back straight, knees apart, hands on thighs.” 

I assumed the position as best I could. Mistress opened a drawer and pulled out a simple black leather collar with a small metal ring. She buckled it around my neck without ceremony. 

“This stays on while you’re in My house today. It reminds you what you are — a domestic slave on trial. Not a boyfriend. Not a guest. A servant.” 

She handed me a printed checklist — two full pages of detailed cleaning tasks for the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom. Every item had sub-points: “Baseboards wiped, no streaks,” “Inside of microwave spotless,” “Toilet scrubbed including under the rim,” etc. 

“I will inspect every single task. If something is not perfect, you redo it while I watch. Questions?” 

“No, Mistress,” I said softly. 

“Good. You may begin with the kitchen floor. On your hands and knees. Use the brush and bucket I left by the sink. No standing unless I say so.” 

For the next three and a half hours, I cleaned like my life depended on it. Mistress moved through the house with quiet authority, checking on me constantly. She was mercilessly detail-oriented. 

When I mopped the kitchen floor, She ran a white-gloved finger along the baseboards and showed me a tiny speck of dirt. “Again. Slower this time. Pay attention.” 

When I scrubbed the bathroom, She made me redo the shower grout twice because She found faint soap residue. Each time She stood over me, arms crossed, flip-flops tapping impatiently, explaining exactly why it wasn’t good enough. 

At one point, while I was on my knees cleaning the toilet, She pressed Her foot against the back of my neck, pushing my face closer to the bowl. 

“Deeper. Get your face in there if you have to. This is what you signed up for — real service, not fantasy.” 

My face burned with shame, but my cock stayed traitorously hard the entire time, leaking onto the floor more than once. Mistress noticed immediately. 

“Look at that,” She said with a soft, mocking laugh. “Already dripping from cleaning a toilet. You really are submissive, aren’t you? We’ll have to do something about that uncontrolled leaking soon.” 

By the end of the session I was exhausted, sweaty, knees raw, and emotionally drained. Mistress had me kneel in the center of the living room for final inspection. She walked through every room slowly, checking surfaces, running fingers along shelves, even smelling the cleaned laundry I had folded. 

When She returned, She stood in front of me, looking down with a mix of approval and amusement. 

“You did… adequately for a complete beginner. There were several mistakes, but you didn’t quit. That’s rare. Most new boys fold the moment real work and real exposure are involved.” 

She crouched down, lifted my chin again, and looked directly into my eyes. 

“Today was a test. You faced your fears and didn’t run. That earns you a second chance. Next time will be stricter. You will arrive earlier, stay longer, and I will push you further. If you want to continue exploring this deep submissive side of yours, you will message Me tomorrow with a full report of how today made you feel — every embarrassing detail. No filtering.” 

She removed the collar and handed it to me. 

“Keep this. Bring it with you next time. Now get dressed in the hallway and leave. Don’t speak unless I ask you something.” 

I crawled to the hallway on shaky limbs, dressed with trembling hands, and slipped out the front door without another word. 

The entire drive home my mind spun. I was terrified. Ashamed. Horribly aroused. And already counting the hours until I could message Her again. 

For the first time in my life, I had taken a real step into submission. I had faced the fear, gotten naked, crawled, cleaned, and been inspected like property. 

And deep down, I knew I was already addicted. 

I couldn’t wait for whatever came next — even if it terrified me.