OK gang, this one's a little weird. John and Allyson, from The Willing Prisoner, won't get out of my head. I had to write this. They seem to have a life of their own now. I don't know if anyone in the world other than me would enjoy this story, but it fits between the first, and a third that is already growing in my mind. I can't do the third story, without first writing the second. Enjoy, if this works for ya! ;-p
---
Exposure
<Part 1>
I awoke with a start. I could tell by the sun that it was fairly late in the morning. I was disoriented for a moment, until it all came back to me. It was Monday. Mistress and I had both called in sick, after our long and very cathartic weekend. My elbows and knees were still bandaged. Mistress had taken good care of me, after releasing me from the cage, after some 51 hours. The hours she spent caring for me, late last night, seemed like a dream, now.
I rolled over to find she was not in bed. Startled, I jumped up to perform my usual duties, including fixing breakfast. Mistress had dressed me in warm clothes, last night, to ward off the chill of all those hours in the basement cage. I felt better now, so stripped and put on my “uniform”. I donned my collar, and manacles on my wrists and ankles. My neosteel belt was still locked firmly in place.
I quickly attended to my own morning necessities, and went downstairs to find Mistress. She was in her studio, reading something on her computer. She assured that I was feeling well and able to fix breakfast. With a peck on the cheek, she sent me to the kitchen. She seemed a little distant, but I didn’t make too much of it. My own mind was still reeling from the weekend’s events.
As an Anniversary gift, I had given up my safeword for all time. Mistress now owned me body and soul. By the end of the weekend’s torturous events, she had also helped me to realize I desperately craved two things. I fantasized about being locked in chastity, without hope of orgasm, and I desperately wished to be cuckholded. I could not admit those things to myself, or Mistress, before this past weekend. Her ingenious use of the cage helped me clarify my own desires, and set aside my fears. I love her SO much for that!
I began fixing breakfast. I assumed Mistress would go for her usual run, today, even though she was taking the work day off. I made sure to prepare a meal high in healthy carbs to fuel her workout. Mistress is very serious about her exercise, and her health. Heavy carbs on Monday, Wednesday, Friday for cardio. Heavy protein in meals on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, when she goes to the gym to pump serious iron. It still amazes me that she eats WAY more food that I do, and yet is skinny as a rail.
Mistress came to the dining room for her breakfast. She ate quietly, as I ate from my plate on the floor beside her. My knees did hurt more than usual, since they were still bandaged from being rubbed raw in the cage. Mistress looked down at me, pointed to the other chair at the table and said “Sit”. I was both relieved, and concerned. My knees appreciated the break, but the look on her face told me something was on her mind. I was hoping she didn’t have regrets from the previous weekend. I had none.
“Slave,” she said. “In all the excitement of the weekend, I never got to give you YOUR anniversary gift.” I expected her to be smiling, as most anyone would when preparing to give a gift. Instead, she looked agitated. She got up, opened one of the china cabinets, and removed a wrapped gift. She tossed it on the table in front of me, almost angrily. I was totally stunned by her mood. What did I do wrong? “Mis…, “ I began.
“It’s some game cartridges,” she said with a sigh. She paced by the table. “It’s not enough.” She drew a deep breath, and let it out. Drew another. Mistress never had trouble speaking her mind. This was quite beyond my experience. “Mistress, it’s wonderful. You know how I love to play on …”
“No!” she barked. I stopped talking, stunned.
She drew a deep breath, standing beside me at the dining room table. Her words came out in a jumble. “You gave me your safeword! Your trust! It’s the most beautiful gift you could ever give me… You finally allowed yourself to face your darkest fantasies… the scary ones! You’re going to let me fuck some other man, for Christ’s sake…. And I give you forty bucks worth of fucking game cartridges?!?” She picked up the wrapped box, and threw it against the wall. I flinched, but otherwise sat still. I had NEVER seen her this agitated. “Mis.., “ I began. “Shut the HELL UP!” she barked. I sat mortified. She had never yelled at me like this… like she was angry.
She stopped then, realizing she had lost her temper. “Sorry,” she said, more gently. “Please, just don’t interrupt. If I say this, I’m going to do it… but it’s really fucking hard for me to say. Please… just let me get it out. I’ve never lied to you, and I’ve NEVER broken a promise. I’m about to make one.. A really..,” she gulped, “a really..”, she gulped again. Her eyes grew large as saucers. She slapped her hand over her mouth, and bolted from the room. Before I could even get out of my chair, I heard her retching in the bathroom. What the hell?!?
I found Mistress vomiting in the toilet. I went to her. “Out! She screamed. “Ally, what?? …” She was still angry. “Out! Just give me a minute…. Wait in the dining room. I’m going to fucking DO this! OUT!”
I shambled back to the dining room, shell shocked. I had no idea what she wanted to do, but she seemed completely irrational. I’d never seen her like this in her life. Hell, we’ve never even had a fight. I didn’t >think< we were fighting now. If we were, I wished I understood about what?!? I DID know that if this was what a fight with your Wife felt like, I never wanted to have one again! I was miserable and helpless.
I sat in the dining room. She retched again, and I heard her pounding on the toilet. “Get the FUCK out of here! I BEAT you. There’s no fucking WAY you’re doing this to me!”
She wasn’t addressing me. Oh my god. Something clicked into place in my mind. Mistress had been anorexic as a teen. She nearly died of it. She described battling her disease as “fighting the monster”. She told me, once, how she used to fly into rages and scream at the monster in her head - her eating disorder. Was she fighting her eating disorder again? I was EXTREMELY concerned and confused. Was she becoming bulimic again? I felt even more helpless. She nearly died of her eating disorder. I had no idea how to help her.
Mistress came back into the dining room, ashen. She wiped her face with a towel. Before I could ask, she said gently, “When I was sick… you know, when I was a kid… When I was trying to fight my disease, sometimes it made me throw up. It’s almost as if it was trying to prevent me from doing what I needed to do… what I was afraid to do.”
I looked at her, uncomprehending. She seemed calmer now. “Honey, you know that I’m…”, she gulped again. I worried, but did not interrupt, “.. I’m ‘self conscious’ about…DAMMIT!” she barked.
She was fighting to say the words. I knew what she was going to say. Her teenage anorexia had caused a number of health issues for her. She could not have children, for one. When her body was at its weakest, and she was in puberty, she developed cysts that left scars messing up her ovaries. Another thing was that her breasts never really developed. She is extremely thin, though now extremely muscular. Her hormone imbalances, mixed with her compulsive exercising have made her hugely muscular, as if she were on steroids or something. She is otherwise healthy now, but her chest is really just a pair of very prominent nipples over well developed pectoral muscles. She hates and is embarrassed by her chest.
Mistress let out an exasperated breath. “I’M SELF CONSCIOUS ABOUT MY BREASTS,” she finally got out. She panted a few times, as if even saying that took the wind out of her.
I didn’t interrupt her. I didn’t want to make it any harder for her to say whatever she was trying to get out. I saw how excruciatingly difficult this was for her.
She began again. “You know I told you that I found the stuff you look at on the web – with the parental controls. Well, I also know about the naked pictures.”
My stomach twisted in a knot. For a minute, I thought >I< would have to run and throw up, now.
“Mis..”, I began, not knowing what I was going to say.
She cut me off again. “It’s OK… it’s OK.” She drew another breath. “I know what you like, now… I really BELIEVE it now. You’ve told me a million times, but I’ve never BELIEVED you. Men don’t…. you couldn’t…. but… you DO! You really DO like women with.. with.. WITH SMALL BOOBS,” she had to fight the say words. “You really DO think I’m beautiful, don’t you? You haven’t been lying, have you?” She looked at me, anxiously.
“Mistress, of COURSE I do! I’ve told you a thousand times. You just wouldn’t bel...”
“… I wouldn’t believe you,” she whispered. She stood up. “OK! That’s IT!”, she barked. “You’ve trusted me with everything. I’m going to trust YOU, now.” There were tears in her eyes. “My eating disorder does not let me see my body the way other people do… the way YOU do. I can’t see ‘me’ that way. I have to trust you. I hate what I see… but I’m going to change that… for you... I’m going to learn to love my body… all of it.“
She stood before me, ramrod straight, with her arms at her side. She was gulping for air, nearly hyperventilating. “I know one more thing, from all those stories you read on the internet….”
I blanched. What else was there?
“You like… like stories with girls that… who… with…. WITH EXHIBITIONISTS.”
Oh god. I felt awful. I never meant to hurt her, reading those stories, or looking at those pictures. They just turn me on, and I knew those were things she could never, ever do. They would have to remain in the realm of fantasy for me, but I couldn’t make myself stop looking and reading. I was crushed. How she must hate me!
Before I could try to explain myself, she spoke again. “You gave me your safeword. You trust me…. TOTALLY. You accepted that I will cuckhold you.. that I may never let you cum again! That’s…. it’s…. amazing!… I can’t give you anything less… I couldn’t live with myself. I have to give you something just as difficult… just as important to YOU… “ She began to hyperventilate again. She muttered to herself “If I SAY it, I’ll DO it.. dammit!”
“John, I’ve been unfair to you I haven’t trusted you. I need to give this to you now, and even more. I need to fulfill some of YOUR fantasies.. the ones that are hard for ME.” She took one last deep breath. “From now on, Slave, I am going to tease you with what you want most. From now on…… I’m going to be uninhibited.. to show off…. “ Her voice was cracking, growing more quiet, but she pressed on. “For you, I’m going to be an exhibitionist.”
With that, she did something she had never done in our five years together, including three as husband and wife. Though it was not dark, and we were not making love, she made no effort to cover up as she tore off her shirt and threw it on the floor.
She forced her arms to her side, and stood visibly shaking. My cock swelled and tried in vain to grow hard in my Neosteel, as I looked in awe upon her magnificent tiny breasts for the first time in broad daylight.
“We’ve got a lot to do, today….” She said.
<end part 1>
---
Exposure
<Part 1>
I awoke with a start. I could tell by the sun that it was fairly late in the morning. I was disoriented for a moment, until it all came back to me. It was Monday. Mistress and I had both called in sick, after our long and very cathartic weekend. My elbows and knees were still bandaged. Mistress had taken good care of me, after releasing me from the cage, after some 51 hours. The hours she spent caring for me, late last night, seemed like a dream, now.
I rolled over to find she was not in bed. Startled, I jumped up to perform my usual duties, including fixing breakfast. Mistress had dressed me in warm clothes, last night, to ward off the chill of all those hours in the basement cage. I felt better now, so stripped and put on my “uniform”. I donned my collar, and manacles on my wrists and ankles. My neosteel belt was still locked firmly in place.
I quickly attended to my own morning necessities, and went downstairs to find Mistress. She was in her studio, reading something on her computer. She assured that I was feeling well and able to fix breakfast. With a peck on the cheek, she sent me to the kitchen. She seemed a little distant, but I didn’t make too much of it. My own mind was still reeling from the weekend’s events.
As an Anniversary gift, I had given up my safeword for all time. Mistress now owned me body and soul. By the end of the weekend’s torturous events, she had also helped me to realize I desperately craved two things. I fantasized about being locked in chastity, without hope of orgasm, and I desperately wished to be cuckholded. I could not admit those things to myself, or Mistress, before this past weekend. Her ingenious use of the cage helped me clarify my own desires, and set aside my fears. I love her SO much for that!
I began fixing breakfast. I assumed Mistress would go for her usual run, today, even though she was taking the work day off. I made sure to prepare a meal high in healthy carbs to fuel her workout. Mistress is very serious about her exercise, and her health. Heavy carbs on Monday, Wednesday, Friday for cardio. Heavy protein in meals on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, when she goes to the gym to pump serious iron. It still amazes me that she eats WAY more food that I do, and yet is skinny as a rail.
Mistress came to the dining room for her breakfast. She ate quietly, as I ate from my plate on the floor beside her. My knees did hurt more than usual, since they were still bandaged from being rubbed raw in the cage. Mistress looked down at me, pointed to the other chair at the table and said “Sit”. I was both relieved, and concerned. My knees appreciated the break, but the look on her face told me something was on her mind. I was hoping she didn’t have regrets from the previous weekend. I had none.
“Slave,” she said. “In all the excitement of the weekend, I never got to give you YOUR anniversary gift.” I expected her to be smiling, as most anyone would when preparing to give a gift. Instead, she looked agitated. She got up, opened one of the china cabinets, and removed a wrapped gift. She tossed it on the table in front of me, almost angrily. I was totally stunned by her mood. What did I do wrong? “Mis…, “ I began.
“It’s some game cartridges,” she said with a sigh. She paced by the table. “It’s not enough.” She drew a deep breath, and let it out. Drew another. Mistress never had trouble speaking her mind. This was quite beyond my experience. “Mistress, it’s wonderful. You know how I love to play on …”
“No!” she barked. I stopped talking, stunned.
She drew a deep breath, standing beside me at the dining room table. Her words came out in a jumble. “You gave me your safeword! Your trust! It’s the most beautiful gift you could ever give me… You finally allowed yourself to face your darkest fantasies… the scary ones! You’re going to let me fuck some other man, for Christ’s sake…. And I give you forty bucks worth of fucking game cartridges?!?” She picked up the wrapped box, and threw it against the wall. I flinched, but otherwise sat still. I had NEVER seen her this agitated. “Mis.., “ I began. “Shut the HELL UP!” she barked. I sat mortified. She had never yelled at me like this… like she was angry.
She stopped then, realizing she had lost her temper. “Sorry,” she said, more gently. “Please, just don’t interrupt. If I say this, I’m going to do it… but it’s really fucking hard for me to say. Please… just let me get it out. I’ve never lied to you, and I’ve NEVER broken a promise. I’m about to make one.. A really..,” she gulped, “a really..”, she gulped again. Her eyes grew large as saucers. She slapped her hand over her mouth, and bolted from the room. Before I could even get out of my chair, I heard her retching in the bathroom. What the hell?!?
I found Mistress vomiting in the toilet. I went to her. “Out! She screamed. “Ally, what?? …” She was still angry. “Out! Just give me a minute…. Wait in the dining room. I’m going to fucking DO this! OUT!”
I shambled back to the dining room, shell shocked. I had no idea what she wanted to do, but she seemed completely irrational. I’d never seen her like this in her life. Hell, we’ve never even had a fight. I didn’t >think< we were fighting now. If we were, I wished I understood about what?!? I DID know that if this was what a fight with your Wife felt like, I never wanted to have one again! I was miserable and helpless.
I sat in the dining room. She retched again, and I heard her pounding on the toilet. “Get the FUCK out of here! I BEAT you. There’s no fucking WAY you’re doing this to me!”
She wasn’t addressing me. Oh my god. Something clicked into place in my mind. Mistress had been anorexic as a teen. She nearly died of it. She described battling her disease as “fighting the monster”. She told me, once, how she used to fly into rages and scream at the monster in her head - her eating disorder. Was she fighting her eating disorder again? I was EXTREMELY concerned and confused. Was she becoming bulimic again? I felt even more helpless. She nearly died of her eating disorder. I had no idea how to help her.
Mistress came back into the dining room, ashen. She wiped her face with a towel. Before I could ask, she said gently, “When I was sick… you know, when I was a kid… When I was trying to fight my disease, sometimes it made me throw up. It’s almost as if it was trying to prevent me from doing what I needed to do… what I was afraid to do.”
I looked at her, uncomprehending. She seemed calmer now. “Honey, you know that I’m…”, she gulped again. I worried, but did not interrupt, “.. I’m ‘self conscious’ about…DAMMIT!” she barked.
She was fighting to say the words. I knew what she was going to say. Her teenage anorexia had caused a number of health issues for her. She could not have children, for one. When her body was at its weakest, and she was in puberty, she developed cysts that left scars messing up her ovaries. Another thing was that her breasts never really developed. She is extremely thin, though now extremely muscular. Her hormone imbalances, mixed with her compulsive exercising have made her hugely muscular, as if she were on steroids or something. She is otherwise healthy now, but her chest is really just a pair of very prominent nipples over well developed pectoral muscles. She hates and is embarrassed by her chest.
Mistress let out an exasperated breath. “I’M SELF CONSCIOUS ABOUT MY BREASTS,” she finally got out. She panted a few times, as if even saying that took the wind out of her.
I didn’t interrupt her. I didn’t want to make it any harder for her to say whatever she was trying to get out. I saw how excruciatingly difficult this was for her.
She began again. “You know I told you that I found the stuff you look at on the web – with the parental controls. Well, I also know about the naked pictures.”
My stomach twisted in a knot. For a minute, I thought >I< would have to run and throw up, now.
“Mis..”, I began, not knowing what I was going to say.
She cut me off again. “It’s OK… it’s OK.” She drew another breath. “I know what you like, now… I really BELIEVE it now. You’ve told me a million times, but I’ve never BELIEVED you. Men don’t…. you couldn’t…. but… you DO! You really DO like women with.. with.. WITH SMALL BOOBS,” she had to fight the say words. “You really DO think I’m beautiful, don’t you? You haven’t been lying, have you?” She looked at me, anxiously.
“Mistress, of COURSE I do! I’ve told you a thousand times. You just wouldn’t bel...”
“… I wouldn’t believe you,” she whispered. She stood up. “OK! That’s IT!”, she barked. “You’ve trusted me with everything. I’m going to trust YOU, now.” There were tears in her eyes. “My eating disorder does not let me see my body the way other people do… the way YOU do. I can’t see ‘me’ that way. I have to trust you. I hate what I see… but I’m going to change that… for you... I’m going to learn to love my body… all of it.“
She stood before me, ramrod straight, with her arms at her side. She was gulping for air, nearly hyperventilating. “I know one more thing, from all those stories you read on the internet….”
I blanched. What else was there?
“You like… like stories with girls that… who… with…. WITH EXHIBITIONISTS.”
Oh god. I felt awful. I never meant to hurt her, reading those stories, or looking at those pictures. They just turn me on, and I knew those were things she could never, ever do. They would have to remain in the realm of fantasy for me, but I couldn’t make myself stop looking and reading. I was crushed. How she must hate me!
Before I could try to explain myself, she spoke again. “You gave me your safeword. You trust me…. TOTALLY. You accepted that I will cuckhold you.. that I may never let you cum again! That’s…. it’s…. amazing!… I can’t give you anything less… I couldn’t live with myself. I have to give you something just as difficult… just as important to YOU… “ She began to hyperventilate again. She muttered to herself “If I SAY it, I’ll DO it.. dammit!”
“John, I’ve been unfair to you I haven’t trusted you. I need to give this to you now, and even more. I need to fulfill some of YOUR fantasies.. the ones that are hard for ME.” She took one last deep breath. “From now on, Slave, I am going to tease you with what you want most. From now on…… I’m going to be uninhibited.. to show off…. “ Her voice was cracking, growing more quiet, but she pressed on. “For you, I’m going to be an exhibitionist.”
With that, she did something she had never done in our five years together, including three as husband and wife. Though it was not dark, and we were not making love, she made no effort to cover up as she tore off her shirt and threw it on the floor.
She forced her arms to her side, and stood visibly shaking. My cock swelled and tried in vain to grow hard in my Neosteel, as I looked in awe upon her magnificent tiny breasts for the first time in broad daylight.
“We’ve got a lot to do, today….” She said.
<end part 1>