It all started with a podcast

[Kali]

"He’s been incredibly helpful to me also."

That actually answers what would have been my next question

And frankly, I think that's pretty amazing.

 

[Paladintwk]

297.

There would still be post-war issues. I knew that even then. We hadn’t gone back to Hedonism yet and as the trip got closer that was bound to create more uncertainty for Ryan and likely the occasional insecure flare-up. The issue wasn’t dead.

My wife is used to getting her way, but not all situations are created equal. Some mean more than others. Some “big events” are far more apt to be celebrated.

There were, I’ve decided, two directions my wife could have taken given Ryan’s capitulation to her going to Hedonism without boundaries. The first would have been to put that freedom in her back pocket and not pull it out until she got to Jamaica. The second would have been to press her advantage. Needless to say, I was not surprised when she chose the second option.

The three of us were out for drinks and my wife had excused herself to use the restroom. Ryan and I busied ourselves with talk about work and the upcoming weekend. For ten minutes. Then fifteen. Then twenty.

“Where the heck is she?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to go check on her?”

I got up, smoothed my skirt and got most of the way to the bathroom, only to find my wife sitting at a table with four guys and one girl. One of the guys I recognized from the gym, but had never met.

“There you are,” I said.

“Oh, A, good. You know Greg.”

“Hi,” I said.

She introduced me to the rest of the table as her wife. That was interesting enough in itself, mainly because of how casual she was about it. It was an odd moment. I mean, yes, that’s who I am, but we hadn’t encountered too many situations where introductions like this were needed, so it was still weird to hear it. And … I felt awkward. They were sitting but I was standing, and, even though my miniskirt had some flare to it, I was very self-conscious of the fact my chastity cage was at their eye level. I was also basically dressed like a whore and it wouldn’t take much for the tops of my thigh highs to be visible. I squatted next to my wife, careful to keep my legs shut and bunch my skirt at my thighs.

“Pull up a chair,” my wife said.

I turned my head to see if there was one nearby and then one of the other guys at the table got up. “I’ll find one,” he said.

When he returned with my seat, I scooched in next to my wife and took inventory. She had a near-empty drink in front of her already and a moment later the waitress brought another one.

“Hi,” the waitress said to me.

“Hi.”

“She’ll have the house chardonnay,” my wife said before I could. The waitress nodded and checked with the rest of the table. Then she left. “Some of these guys were getting ready to leave. Greg was asking me what we were doing after.”

The “we” was a nice touch.

“Oh, fun,” I said. “What are we doing after?”

“I was just trying to figure that out,” my wife said.

I had to smile. She is a fucking hot mess. I thought about Ryan on the other side of the restaurant. The clock in his head would have started the moment I got up from the table to check on my wife. Now, with me clearly going to be gone longer than expected, it wouldn’t be long until he came looking for her too.

This should be fun.

A moment after my drink arrived, Ryan did too. I didn’t see him coming, so I don’t know how long, or even if, he had sized up the situation. All I know is he appeared. And she introduced him as “my friend, Ryan.”

Ryan waved and Greg gave him a head nod.

“Do you want to go to [bar nearby]?” my wife asked.

“Sure,” Greg said. He turned to the rest of the table and asked if anyone else wanted to come to the bar my wife had decided on.

She turned to Ryan, still just standing there, like a text left on read. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

“Great. Can you settle us up?” she said to him.

I could see the steam coming out of his ears. I wanted to help, but didn’t know what to do. If I said I’d settle the bar tab, I’d be punished – she had asked him to do it. If I got up to with Ryan to settle the bar tab, I’d be punished – she didn’t tell me I could leave. So, I just sat there, useless.

To his credit, Ryan turned and did what she asked of him, disappearing around the corner. I couldn’t help but think it might be the last time I ever saw him.

He did come back. And, to take it a step further, he drove with me to the bar because my wife went with Greg and another guy.

“Hi,” I said in my sweetest voice, doing my best to inject some happiness into the car when I climbed in.

“I love you, but don’t. Not now,” he said to me.

She had mousetrapped him pretty good. The five of us had left at the same time, and I obviously assumed the three of us would be riding together, right up until the time I heard my wife say to Greg “where are you guys parked?”

The other guy gestured and my wife went “hard left” with them. Ever the gentleman, Ryan let it go, I’m assuming because his other option would have been to have it out with her right then.

His chance came when we arrived at the next bar. And he took it, grabbing her by the hand and stopping her walking. “No,” he said. “You do not get to do this.”

“What am I doing?” she asked.

“Don’t even.”

“What?”

By now, Greg and his friend realized she wasn’t walking with them anymore. I always follow behind her so I had the full view – Ryan and my wife a few feet ahead, the guys a few steps beyond them. My wife did too. “A, go with those guys.”

I wanted to ask if they were going to be alright and then realized she wouldn’t have sent me in if that was a concern of hers.

“Hello boys,” I said, my heels click-clacking, catching up to Greg and his friend and doing my best to keep things light. Now it was my turn to start the internal clock.

Thankfully, she and Ryan were only outside for a few minutes. It felt a lot longer. In the interim, the three of us ordered a drink and I was forced to non-answer questions …

“Is everything alright?” – Everything’s great.

“Who’s the guy?” – A friend of ours.

“How did you two meet?” – We met at a wedding.

Keep in mind, all of this was very strange. I had been introduced as Sarah’s “wife.” Then Ryan shows up, aggravated. Then my wife suggests we go someplace else. Then she gets in the car with Greg and his friend. At the time, I didn’t know what she had in mind and I didn’t know what Greg (or his friend) were thinking. I was just going with the flow.

My wife walked into the bar a few minutes later. Alone.

“Everything OK?” Greg asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “What are we drinking?”

Usually, she’s better than that and when she wants a subject changed, it gets changed. But even I knew that wasn’t going to be the end of it.

“Where’d your friend go?” Greg asked.

“Boyfriend,” she said. “He went home.”

That one just hung there. I found myself endlessly amused. Here were these guys, both if I had to guess, attracted to a woman they had learned had a wife thirty minutes prior. That would have thrown them. Then they learned she had a boyfriend. That would have confused them. Then they learned he had just gone home. That would have intrigued them.

“So, you’re her wife and he’s your boyfriend,” said Greg’s friend, “how does that work?”

“I like variety,” she teased. “Life is too short for rules.”

That would have thrilled them.

“Anyway,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about him. Where are you guys from?”

And that’s when I was ninety percent certain that I knew. A moment later, when I saw her check her phone and realized she wasn’t listening to the conversation going on around her, I was one hundred percent sure of what was happening. And I was floored. Because on any other day in any other situation, she would have pivoted towards highly effective, heavy flirtation with an off-the-scale level of seductive energy. But she didn’t. Instead, she asked a boring, benign question to deflect and didn’t care about the answer.

She was rattled.

It had been ages since I’d seen it, but she isn’t the only one who knows her spouse inside out. I do too. And I could tell. For the first time since I found her at Greg’s table, my amusement began to fade. Fast.

Ten minutes later we were in an Uber. Greg had asked her out and she had given him the number to her “Hotwife Phone,” a peculiar move in that it felt like a half step.

She was silently checking her phone for the first couple of minutes in the car.

“Are you OK?” I finally asked.

“Always,” she said.

I was born at night, but not last night.

When we got home, Ryan’s car was in the driveway. He got out as we were walking to the front door and followed us inside. It didn’t take long.

“You know what pisses me off, Sarah?”

“What?”

“You think this is about those guys.”

“That’s exactly what it’s about,” she said. “Back to where we started. You can’t handle it.”

“No-no-no-no. Don’t even think about doing that. You owe me an apology.”

Wow.

“What, for talking to a guy?” my wife scoffed.

“Stop,” he said. “Just stop. You really think I care about the Greg guy?”

And then it happened. She started to say something and he held up a finger and cut her right off. “No,” he said. “You’re going to listen. I don’t care if you talk to other guys. And I don’t care about Hedonism either if you want the truth.” That got her attention. Mine too. “I care that you did all of this on purpose.” My wife stood in silence. He was rolling. “You left us sitting there. You introduced A as your wife and me as your friend. Really? Your fucking friend?”

“I told him you were my boyfriend when I went inside,” she said. It was true. She had. But even I knew by the sheepish way she said it that what might have seemed haughty and powerful in the moment, fell very flat now.

“Too late,” he shot back. “Pay the tab. Then you leave with someone else. You owe me a fucking apology because there wasn’t one part of this that wasn’t fucking deliberate.”

“You think I planned all that?”

“I know you did.”

No hesitation with it either, by him. Stone cold. I didn’t know for sure, but if I had to bet at that very moment, I’d have bet he was right. She didn’t know there’d be a guy in the restaurant that she knew. That was a simple coincidence. But it didn’t really matter. She’d have gotten to know a total stranger just the same. I know my wife. She was looking to press an advantage. And for the first time in about forever, she miscalculated. And the same first time/long time applies to how she looked: really uncomfortable.

“You know what the worst part is?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

“The worst part is that if I had gotten upset, you’d have attacked my reaction. Like I’m the one who’s wrong.”

Nailed it. Score another one for the boy.

“Stop playing games with me,” he said, with a firmness I hadn’t heard from him. Ever.

I’d never seen anything quite like it. There was no high-minded, five-moves-ahead curveball coming from her. No haughtiness. No aura of invincibility. He had her cornered. And he knew it. Then, to my great relief and his eternal credit, he stopped. “Cut the shit, Sarah.” He exhaled. “That’ll be the end of it.”

We all stood there in silence. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. It was, in its own way, beautiful. He never made it a personal attack. He stood up for himself. He drew a big, fat line in the sand. And then he let her up.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I nearly fainted.

They know the difference between right and wrong they just don't care. Knowing that fact will arm you with your only defense...Indifference.

 

[Now Alexandra]

Wow! I am still thinking about all this and trying to process it. I first and strongest thoughts are a big hats off to Ryan. Your wife’s behavior in the restaurant was extremely rude and in my opinion inappropriate. Putting Ryan in that situation in a public place was definitely challenging for anyone to deal with. Most people would blow up right then, and there, causing an ugly scene. He handled it well, then stood his ground afterwards.

Once again you show your skill as a writer, leaving us with another cliffhanger!

Hi Nikki. Thanks for writing. Right or wrong, I know she did it to see how he’d react. Keep in mind, at this time there was a lot of testing and jockeying happening. I think this was simply a part of that.

He handled it great. I think most people would have cut and run or thrown a fit or both. Full credit to him for standing his ground and also handling it with grace.

 

[Now Alexandra]

This line stood out to me. It seems significant. I’m not 100% sure but I don’t think you have written anything like this before, and it happened at a moment when he was dealing with the situation that had upset him so much.

I’m positive he said it, but I didn’t take it as significant. In the moment, it was a term of endearment, certainly, and a reassurance that in his eyes I hadn’t done anything wrong, but that was really it. He was focused on her at that time.

I thought about it again the next day and came to the same conclusion. So there wasn’t anything more to it.

 

[Now Alexandra]

298.

We all stood there in silence. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. It was, in its own way, beautiful. He never made it a personal attack. He stood up for himself. He drew a big, fat line in the sand. And then he let her up.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I had forgotten how powerful makeup sex could be. I didn’t get to see theirs. But I heard it.

As I sat there on the couch listening to them, I thought about what had happened. Ryan had stood his ground. He hadn’t been rude or mean. He had spoken his mind, and, from where I sat, he was right to do so. He had come at her hard, but he was always respectful. He had also potentially learned the best way to avoid getting mind-fucked was to not allow her to get a word in, which, in this case, was probably best for both of them. I don’t know if it was just emotion carrying him through or if it was a conscious choice to not let her talk - all I know is, he wasn’t having any of it.

I started to think about my past. Ryan had pushed back. Her apology meant she respected it. Even with her Hedonism Hall Pass there was clearly still room in their relationship for him to stand up and be heard. I tried to remember what that was like. I don’t mean sitting and talking or a feedback loop or a chance to relay feelings. We still do that. But it is just so rigidly structured, like a meeting with my boss, and I seldom receive any instant gratification from it. She takes it under advisement. Plus, it’s always a precarious situation, filled with hard floors to kneel on, power plays galore and it needs to be navigated very carefully. My house, my rules, my bitch and all that comes with it. His wasn’t anything like that. It was visceral and straight ahead. “Cut the shit.”

That must feel so good.

I had stood up to her before, obviously, a bunch of times. I didn’t just roll over. There had been arguments and negotiations and “I’m not doing that.”

But over a period of years, it all slowly stopped. One act of trust. Another act of surrender. Chastity. Panties. Hormones. Dildos. Surgeries. Hotwifing. All the acts of obedience. The rituals. We basically have our own language now; one that puts her “up here” and me “down there.” Sky high expectations. Maid uniforms. At some point it stopped being what we did and it became who we are. Well, who I am anyway. She’s been a force of nature from the day we met.

I tried to pinpoint when it changed. When did it become a foregone conclusion? I couldn’t really do it. But I wondered about what would have happened way-back-when if I had just said “no.” Just a hard no, like laying in the road, refusing to move and daring the traffic to drive over me. Would she have changed course? Met me in the middle? Would we have done something different together? All impossible answers, certainly, but that night I thought about it a lot. I even spent a second raising a glass to the person I used to be. And I hadn’t thought about that in a long, long time.

To be clear, I didn’t think about it like that because I wanted to go back. I just allowed myself a moment to consider what that future looked like.

No matter. Ryan’s path is not my path and my path is not his. I’d spent years doing trust falls discovering that submission to my wife is who I am. It is the greatest gift I could ever give her. Ryan hadn’t learned that docile compliance equals peace. That being on my knees can sometimes give me the highest, happiest joys.

I wasn’t longing for freedom. I was reminiscing about a space and time where I had the option to push back the way he did – muscular and straightforward. Just once. That must feel so good.

The thing is, that’s not how my life works. And that’s OK, because this feels good too. I get lots of privileges. Mine are just different. I chose these shackles.

As I listened to them making love, I almost started to cry. Not because I missed what used to be, but because when you love something as much as I love submission to my wife and all that comes with her … all of these rules and rituals and the daily grind and the exhilarating and terrifying knife-edge of really hard potential punishments, to me, they really don’t feel like shackles. They feel like possibilities.

For Ryan, I love that he can push back like he did.

For me, what turns me on is The Deep. Because I love that I can’t.

 

[Now Alexandra]

They know the difference between right and wrong they just don't care. Knowing that fact will arm you with your only defense...Indifference.

Huh? I don’t understand. If you’re talking about her, she’s my wife. That’s the least indifferent thing in my life. That rhymes.

 

[Paladintwk]

Your "Old Money" wife's behavior displays that she clearly knows the difference between right and wrong but just doesn't care. Your only emotional defense of such sociopathic behavior is to be indifferent. ie "she is the way she is and I will accept that"

 

[krysanthemumskye]

Your "Old Money" wife's behavior displays that she clearly knows the difference between right and wrong but just doesn't care. Your only emotional defense of such sociopathic behavior is to be indifferent. ie "she is the way she is and I will accept that"

A key part of their dynamic is that it's all framed in the context of Alexandria's consent. On the whole, she wants it this way. Maybe she doesn't love every single part of it, but that's part of the game. Sarah only has the power that Alexandria gave her, and she could take it back any time she wants to. She doesn't, and this journal is a testament to that fact.

That may seem ironic, but stable D/s relationships are built on this foundation, even if the participants aren't conscious of it. That's why it's often called a power exchange - the dominant partner's position is a privilege that the submissive partner actively maintains and enables through consent. Everything Sarah does is ultimately in service of meeting Alexandria's needs and wants. She puts at least as much work into it as A does, it just isn't obvious because we're reading this from A's perspective.

 

[Paladintwk]

I agree on the power exchange but Sarah's behavior is typical of "old Money" (we have our own set of rules) sociopathic behavior. I am sure Alexandra is consensual but her description of Sarah's behavior regarding Hedonism (Been there a couple times (in Ryan's shoes) with a sociopath who could do no wrong while I should be happy to go along for the ride) fits the pattern. Eventually she will be hurt over and over and will realize that Sarah will have absolutely no guilt nor is she capable of any guilt. To survive this arrangement in one piece Alexadra should remain indifferent.

 

[Now Alexandra]

I agree on the power exchange but Sarah's behavior is typical of "old Money" (we have our own set of rules) sociopathic behavior. I am sure Alexandra is consensual but her description of Sarah's behavior regarding Hedonism (Been there a couple times (in Ryan's shoes) with a sociopath who could do no wrong while I should be happy to go along for the ride) fits the pattern. Eventually she will be hurt over and over and will realize that Sarah will have absolutely no guilt nor is she capable of any guilt. To survive this arrangement in one piece Alexadra should remain indifferent.

Thanks for clarifying. I would like to point out, however, that I’ve never been indifferent. That obviously makes it impossible for me to remain indifferent.

I question the timing of your comment. There have been times in the past where I think it was possible to read my journal and wonder “is she going to be alright?” or “Is she happy?” I’ll own that. But if you read the last whole bunch of entries, I’m not in that place. I was perfectly happy here.

This “eventually you will be hurt” or “this won’t end well” is a periodic refrain here. While I have to reluctantly accept it; after all, these comments are based on what I’ve written, I don’t have to agree with it.

Like all people, my wife has many sides, strengths and weaknesses, principles and contradictions. However, what perhaps you (and some others) are not seeing (or haven’t seen in the past) is how protective, supportive and uplifting my wife is of me. Maybe I’m not “writing” it clearly enough. That’s on me. But it’s absolutely true. My wife rules. If you were ever fortunate to spend even five minutes with her I think you’d be blown away by how magnetic (and lovely) she is. She’s not a sociopath, she’s a fucking rock star.

 

[Paladintwk]

Nuff said

 

[HouseboyForHer]

Nuff said

To agree to shut this down was very mature of you, and extremely rare on this site. Bravo!

Peace.

 

[Tagin]

I can only speak for myself but I wonder if you know the impact your journal has had. Not just your journey, which is incredible, awesome, and your bravery is an inspiration. But. . Sarah too.

I was reviewing coaching feedback in work today and, thanks to what you said about Sarah, I started counting how many times the word ‘but’ was used, and the effect it had. As a result I put a new coaching plan in place that my boss immediately accepted and it was rolled out across the teams.

So. Thank you. And thank the force of nature that is Sarah. You say 'she’s a fucking rock star'. I can see where that is coming from.

 

[Now Alexandra]

299.

I am not allowed to use the “H Word,” so I’ll just say that there have been periods where I have “strongly disliked” being caged. I’ve been locked since October of 2022 and during that time I’ve run the full spectrum of feelings on it. Like most of us, at first it was maddening and also exciting. Then it became extremely difficult. That period, around the 3-week mark, was where I really started to feel “it.” I wanted out. In the beginning, she would let me. And then, she didn’t let me. I pushed through it. I felt it again around three months. She didn’t let me out then either. I had periods of being despondent. At other times I was drunk with happiness. I definitely felt the submission of it all. That deepening ache. Oh the ache. I came to love and loathe the ache. That “whatever she wants” ache. Long-term chastity is life altering.

Over time it felt better to just leave it on. The idea of release, while incredibly tempting, eventually gave way to “there is no way I’m starting over again.” That was my thought anyway. She wasn’t letting me out. “There’s no need to,” she said on a bunch of other occasions. She wasn’t wrong. There were no physical issues … and all the mental and erotic ones … she wanted me to really fucking feel them.

“When desperation is the only emotion, anything is possible.” She said that to me a few different times. It’s diabolical, but it’s also quite true. I think it broke my brain. Talk about a pivot point though: “Leave it on, Mistress. It’s better this way.”

Chastity changed for me once I was able to cum in my cage. She did that a few times using a wand. Then she took the wand away and basically declared me an “anal only” girl. That positively sucked. No vibrators either. Just a rubber dildo. When I say I banged myself silly with that thing (and still do), I am not overstating it. I was so pent up and she hadn’t left me any other choice. I couldn’t get over the edge though, so all I could do was keep trying. It was so frustrating. Those were dark days. She found it hilarious. “You are such a fucking butt slut,” she’d say. She was right about that too. I spent a lot of time on the verge of tears with something in my ass, desperately trying to get myself off and failing time after time after time. I’d just leak. She found that funny too.

I did finally break through and experience the magic of anal orgasms, and, in the process, came to appreciate why she wouldn’t let me vibe my way over the edge. It’s more rewarding to do things the old-fashioned way. It also got me completely addicted to anal in the process. This type of addiction became a win-win. I now believe it was one of her largest goals for me. That sounds manipulative and maybe it is, but it worked out. I literally cannot get enough of it. Those who have experience in the anal department know the delicious soreness you feel when you’ve been properly pounded, either with a toy or the real thing, and it is the most glorious soreness ever “invented.” As for the cums? They’re the best feeling I’ve ever experienced by a wide margin and I’m squeezing my thighs together just thinking about it.

Chastity changed again once I started hormones. I had long stopped having (or waking from, anyway) nighttime erections, so there was no noticeable change at night. Those came during the day, when her teases stopped making me rock hard and instead slid along the line from “sort of hard” to “there’s some swelling” to “that still feels good” to her saying “oh baby, we should size this down again” to “I think this ship has sailed.”

That period was difficult. That worry. Does it still work? And then I faced the harsh reality that “no, it does work.” That mourning period was so tough. After that, I spent months wondering why the hell I was still locked at all. It made me loathe my cage. I clearly didn’t need it and it royally fucked up my clothing options.

For the most part, that was the headspace I remained in as of January 2026. My wife would unlock me for various “special occasions” – New Year’s Eve, the occasional trip to the beach or gym – but that was it. My cage had become the highest of high submissive symbols. What was inside it had been rendered obsolete.

Side note: I am adamant that I have a flat front when I’m unlocked. This is easy to achieve in a pair of jeans or loose-fitting clothing because my cage is so small (baby cobra narrow). It’s a lot harder in leggings or a tight dress or skirt, so I put maximum effort into achieving the tightest tuck I can. This is quite helpful aesthetically, since everything “goes away” down there and I am flat and I get my cute little thigh gap that I love so much. But tucks of any kind, let alone the super tight tucks that I prefer, can be highly uncomfortable and take a lot of getting used to. They put persistent pressure on that area, especially when sitting, bending or crossing my legs. This amps up at the gym because squatting, lunging and cycling make it feel that much tighter. I’m pretty good with it at this point and have learned to live with the discomfort. But make no mistake, tucking can be highly uncomfortable.

__

With all of the above as a backdrop, let me tell you what happened …

One day in January 2026, chastity-wise, all of my “loathing” flipped on a dime. The three of us had gone to the gym and she had unlocked me for it. When we got back, the plan was for us to use the hot tub. But as I stood in my bathroom and slid my leggings and panties down, I saw my naked reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me, uncaged and exposed, was my tiny, useless thing. Ryan saw me naked all the time by this point, but he had never seen me unlocked.

“Honey!” I called to my wife. After a few moments I heard her coming to the door. She opened it and stepped inside.

“Is everything OK?” she asked.

“Can I put my cage back on?”

I should have asked where my cage was. I think anyway. I’ll never know if, had I asked a different question, if I’d have received a different answer. All I know is, I didn’t get what I wanted. She saw me struggling …

“Why do you want to put it back on?”

“I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

She knew damn well like what. But she wanted me to say it.

“Unlocked.”

When I didn’t say it, she elected not to give it to me.

“Oh baby, it’s fine,” she said, turning to leave.

“Wait. Please,” I pleaded. She turned towards me again with a smirk a mile wide. “I don’t want him to see this,” I said, gesturing to my tiny thing and cupping it. When it comes to any negotiation with my wife, she will, ninety-nine percent of the time, say “no” if she knows I want “yes.” You would think some reverse psychology might work at times, but she sees right through that too. “I really don’t want this,” I said, “Please don’t make me.”

She considered my ask for a moment. “Hold on,” she said. “Hey Ry!” she called. “We’ll be a few minutes.” She closed and locked the pocket door. Then she turned to me. “Kneel.”

I’m not sure I’ve gotten on my knees faster.

“I want you,” she said, “to tell me everything you are feeling right now. Don’t censor it or order it, just say it.”

Out came a handful of different, raw truths: I did not want to be seen as “tits and a dick.” My cage completed me. Ryan would view me differently without it.

“Like what?” she asked.

“I suppose like what I am,” I managed. That was brutally hard to say. I’m me. I’m nice. I’m fun. But I have really bad issues when it comes to potentially being seen as anything but female. All of my fears came rushing out of my mouth. I was spiraling and fretting that this incredible, shared intimacy could be ruined if all of a sudden, in his mind, my leg wasn’t sexy, hairless and soft, but the leg of a man. It all just poured out of me. I was shaking. I wanted to cry, but managed to stop myself.

“What if I told you none of those things would happen?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” I said, looking up at her and shaking my head. “Please, just let me.”

“Alexandra. Stop,” she said. “Forget about right now. I don’t ever want you experiencing something like this. You’re beautiful. He sees it. A cage doesn’t change that.”

“It does to me.”

__

To her credit, my wife allowed me to lock back up, and, after collecting myself for a bit, the day proceeded without incident.

But I wanted to write about what happened because it was notable and definitely not good. I was overcome by both acute dysphoria and negative self-image tag-teaming to really put me in a bad place. I had so many fears about my own self-worth and I can obviously see in hindsight how wearing or not wearing a tiny, pink cage makes no difference in reality. But it did then. In my mind, it changed how I experienced my body. It changed how I presented it to Ryan. And in my fucked-up state, I assumed it would change how he viewed me.

My wife was really great here, pivoting from what I thought was going to be a simple power play – Alexandra wants this so I will not give it without a concession from her (how it usually goes) – to deep and loving concern. My reaction to this situation scared her. More of that to come in time. But she was awesome.

I can’t completely explain it. All I know is I do feel my cage embodies my femininity when I’m naked. It makes everything look “just so.” And that makes me feel good. I am a vain person. I care, to an unhealthy degree, how I look at all times. At this time, I needed to learn that other people’s acceptance is not contingent on this, but it was so hard for me to let it go.

 

[krysanthemumskye]

You know... I've seen a few trans women say that they liked being caged, despite the clothing fit issues and the situational discomfort, because it makes their penis "disappear". It's inaccessible, it might even be invisible, it can even make someone else the "owner" and thus make it no longer theirs. As if the cage simply causes it to cease to exist.

I wonder if some element of that might be in play for you as well, at least back in January.

 

[Lakeman]

You may have covered this before, have you considered bottom surgery at any stage?

 

[Now Alexandra]

You know... I've seen a few trans women say that they liked being caged, despite the clothing fit issues and the situational discomfort, because it makes their penis "disappear". It's inaccessible, it might even be invisible, it can even make someone else the "owner" and thus make it no longer theirs. As if the cage simply causes it to cease to exist.

I wonder if some element of that might be in play for you as well, at least back in January.

Thanks for writing. I guess the best way to say it is that transitioning is/was so rewarding and also comes with a lot of shizzit that there was no way I could have possibly prepared for. This was one of those times. There’s no way to see something like this coming.

It did work out. Then and in the future and that’s what is most important.

This was a really brutal experience and it needed to be included in my journal, as much as it kind of stands alone overall.

 

[Now Alexandra]

You may have covered this before, have you considered bottom surgery at any stage?

We’ve talked about it a handful of times. Maybe five times? Neither of us are “there.” It’s just not the place we’re in.

Thank you very much for asking.

 

[Now Alexandra]

300.

Note: As the preceding entry and this one both take place in and around our hot tub, I wanted to provide context that this entry occurred the following weekend …

“I want you to meet my friends,” Ryan said to us. It was snowing and we were sitting in the hot tub watching it come down around us.

“Oh fun, which ones?” my wife asked.

Clearly their private conversations included more than I had been privy too. Nothing wrong with it, just not something I had considered, which, when I think about it, was more of a “me” issue.

Now, regardless of her seemingly interested curiosity, this was going to be a logistics issue. I knew at some point someone (or someones) in Ryan’s life were going to want to meet this person (or persons, including Moi) that he was spending so much time with. Now, here we were.

How was this going to work? “This is my girlfriend … don’t mind the wedding ring …”

“Zack and Scotty,” he said.

I knew their names. Because Ryan is a hockey guy and I happen to be a hockey girl. And Zack and Scotty are two of his best hockey buddies. They played the game and they root for the Boston Bruins, the way most of Massachusetts does. Hockey may not be as popular throughout the rest of the United States or around the world as some other sports. But here in Boston, interest in the Bruins runs high and hockey has a significant place in the sports landscape, trailing the New England Patriots, but holding its own with baseball’s Red Sox and basketball’s Celtics. In Massachusetts, there are definitely four major sports and the Bruins are right there with the others. It is a passionate, knowledgeable fan base that truly knows the game. In my opinion, hockey is the best sport in the world … and it’s not even close. Your mileage may vary.

Prior to Ryan spending as much time at our house as he had in the last three months – power of the pussy – Zack and Scotty were the guys he spent the most time with. This was going to be a problem. Not just the logistics. With me personally. Couldn’t we just not meet Zack and Scotty and call it a day? I don’t need hockey temptations and boys I don’t know.

I am conditioned to remain docile and compliant and let her make the decisions. I like it that way, as much as I feel like an idiot sometimes because I sit quiet when I have opinions. But if opinions are not asked for, they’re not allowed to be given. So, I’ve learned to find a middle ground where I am not being insubordinate, but I’m still able to get my point across.

“So,” I started, “can we all take a moment to figure out how this is going to work?”

I’ve also found that I get more traction when I’ve broached a topic in the past. She truly does take things under advisement, which I genuinely appreciate. Given that we had already talked about it and the fact that Ryan had clearly thought about it, led to the beginning of series of productive conversations around exactly that: how this was all going to work.

“I’ve thought about it too,” Ryan said.

“Same,” said my wife.

“So, what have you come up with?” I asked.

“Stop,” she said. “I want to hear from Ryan. He brought it up.”

It ended up being a productive conversation and one that, thankfully, proved that I wasn’t losing my mind, at least temporarily. Everyone was on a pretty similar page. I was glad about this, since it boded well for the future. Like the Hedonism discussion not being solely about Hedonism, this wasn’t solely about these two friends. There would be others. Eventually, if their relationship kept going, there’d potentially be family too, I supposed. I didn’t know. My experience with all of this was zilch.

We decided that, in general, it could work … depending on what story everyone was willing to tell. We started by boiling it down to the following options:

• My wife and I are married. We are Ryan’s friends. Assuming they dialed down any romantic behavior, this was the least complicated.
• She goes separately. This avoided any “triangle” and would be fine for a couple of nights. But it might create issues down the road if she was introduced as his “girlfriend.” On the surface, this seemed easiest, but it completely cut me out and I didn’t like that, not that I had any say.
• He tells some people. Ryan discloses that he’s dating a married woman and it is consensual for all parties. At the time, whether he told these two particular friends was up in the air. I would likely be included in this situation.
• It is what it is. We would be open but casual: She and I are married. She and he are together. “It’s all in the messaging,” my wife said. “If we don’t make a big deal about it, they won’t make a big deal about it.” This was certainly the most honest, but felt like the biggest step.
• Wait. There was no need to rush. If we weren’t comfortable, we’d do nothing until we were.

This led to three other related discussions.

The first was about me being trans, which we all agreed was separate. After some healthy discussion, my wife put a bow on it. “You are who you are. Ryan doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. That’s a ‘you’ thing.”

Fair enough. As my social circle expanded, I was just going to have to get used to this coming up. If it did, I would either tell my story, or not.

The second, I believed we probably should have answered before we even got to “what story are we telling?” and that was What’s The Point? It turned out, they had had a couple of discussions about this that I wasn’t aware of. He felt she was important in his life and wanted people to meet her. She was interested in the same thing. That hurt, as sweet as it was, and it threw me. On one hand, I was getting signals like Hedonism and the thing at the bar with Greg, which pointed to this potentially being more casual in her mind than I was making it out to be. On the other, they both wanted to explore more of his life because they clearly felt their relationship was meaningful. This was conflicting.

The third was, let’s say we do meet up with his friends … what stays and what goes? A lot of it was still to be determined, like who’s holding her hand – that depended on what story was to be told. I brought up our D/s dynamic. “That stays, darling,” she said firmly. What about how we met? We had a lot of theoretical discussions, but it was really only going to matter once we decided which direction to take.

I was learning and starting to see that they were conversing separate from me, which, was to be expected, but was still difficult to deal with. So, the fact I was part of these discussions made me feel good. I was just glad to be included and looking forward to fire blankets. Then, out of nowhere, she blindsided me with a declaration that brought me to my knees.

“A, by the way, you’re seeing Adam tomorrow.” She looked at Ryan. “Wait until you watch her fuck.”

 

[Kali]

Love the plot twist at the end

 

[Now Alexandra]

I can only speak for myself but I wonder if you know the impact your journal has had. Not just your journey, which is incredible, awesome, and your bravery is an inspiration. But. . Sarah too.

I was reviewing coaching feedback in work today and, thanks to what you said about Sarah, I started counting how many times the word ‘but’ was used, and the effect it had. As a result I put a new coaching plan in place that my boss immediately accepted and it was rolled out across the teams.

So. Thank you. And thank the force of nature that is Sarah. You say 'she’s a fucking rock star'. I can see where that is coming from.

My apologies. I missed this comment somehow. I’m really glad to hear this. As my wife says a lot, “But is an eraser word. It erases everything said prior to it.” And she’s right. “I love you, but (insert criticism).”

It is a hard word to remove. We all seem to use it a lot. Habit, I suppose. And handy for contrasts or to show two sides of a thought. So “but” has purpose and importance. It can also just be lazy speech and writing habits.

She’s stopped softening for the most part. Instead of “I love you, but …” she now mostly just hits me with the criticism. I’ve come to embrace it because it’s always better to see her love in action. Show me. And I’ll show you.

Now … butt is way way better. I’m pretty much down for anything if it ends with something in my butt

 

[Tagin]

My apologies. I missed this comment somehow. I’m really glad to hear this. As my wife says a lot, “But is an eraser word. It erases everything said prior to it.” And she’s right. “I love you, but (insert criticism).”

It is a hard word to remove. We all seem to use it a lot. Habit, I suppose. And handy for contrasts or to show two sides of a thought. So “but” has purpose and importance. It can also just be lazy speech and writing habits.

She’s stopped softening for the most part. Instead of “I love you, but …” she now mostly just hits me with the criticism. I’ve come to embrace it because it’s always better to see her love in action. Show me. And I’ll show you.

Now … butt is way way better. I’m pretty much down for anything if it ends with something in my butt

Lol

 

[dmaMaid]

I was learning and starting to see that they were conversing separate from me, which, was to be expected, but was still difficult to deal with. So, the fact I was part of these discussions made me feel good. I was just glad to be included and looking forward to fire blankets. Then, out of nowhere, she blindsided me with a declaration that brought me to my knees.

“A, by the way, you’re seeing Adam tomorrow.” She looked at Ryan. “Wait until you watch her fuck.”

After reading the past several entries, this is one of the paths I had considered, except I did not consider Ryan watching along with your wife! Looking forward to the entry

 

[Now Alexandra]

301.

“A, by the way, you’re seeing Adam tomorrow.” She looked at Ryan. “Wait until you watch her fuck.”

Sex with men has always been a 50/50 proposition with me. I’ve written about it in the past and also did a deeper dive into how it all made me feel. In that post, I arrived at a conclusion: what gets me off isn’t the guy, it’s the Dominant/submission dynamic. I would go searching for the dynamic if it were ever taken away from me. I would not go searching for a guy to fuck me.

The problem is, I figured all of this out a couple of months ago. I hadn’t figured it out when she threw this out there in January and gave me less than twenty-four hours to prepare for it. Had it just been her and I, no problem. If she wanted it to happen, it would happen and I’d enjoy it physically and move on. This was different, because she wanted Ryan to see it. That, I came to learn, is where all of my unease came from. It wasn’t Adam. It was the audience.

Ryan had seen her session me a handful of times. He lived inside our dynamic. He’d seen me be punished. But it was one thing for him to know I’m submissive. It was entirely another to have him watch my wife direct me with another man. I didn’t like the thought. In fact, I dreaded it.

I’ve looked at her with pleading eyes hundreds of times. It seldom worked, but the emotions were real, so I tried again. “No,” I said, begging. It was punishable. I knew that. I couldn’t worry about it right then. I didn’t want this.

“Yes.” She glared at me when she said it. She knew it was punishable too. I think she was waiting to see what I’d do next. The fact she had let me put my cage on before being naked in front of Ryan wasn’t lost on me. That was a recent concession and there was only so much of me “driving the boat” she was going to tolerate.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said.

“Better. It’s settled then.”

Now it was my turn to look for help. I turned my eyes to Ryan. I know he saw the pleading. I also know how he felt because I had been there. He couldn’t help me even if he wanted to – and I don’t know if he did or not. This was our marriage. He didn’t have a qualified opinion.

I worried him seeing me was going to destabilize what we were building. At least in my mind it would. How will he view me? Will he still respect me? Will he think I’m a slut? It was awful. It confused the shit out of me. Did I have feelings for him? No, I quickly decided. I had looked at it. I didn’t imagine leaving my wife or having some secret affair or him and me becoming a couple. That wasn’t it.

What’s fucked is, along this line of thought, I did want him to desire me. I wanted to know my body distracts him. I wanted him to think about me. So now, seeing me with Adam, what would he think? Would it change everything?

I was in turmoil. I had dread. Most everything in my life happens as a result of her Dominance. She decides. In this case, she was going to be directing too. Why did she want him to see it? Was it just another Dominant mind-fuck? Was it more?

I knew I didn’t want to lose what Ryan and I had. As I’ve said, he has a big brother quality with me. I think he finds me enjoyable. We have a warm relationship. It’s caring. There’s respect. Some days we hang out far more than she and he do.

Is he going to view me as a slut? And then I was like, “wait – is that a good or bad thing?” I could write a hundred pages on “why some guys like naughty girls.” It all stemmed from a comment Chris (a past lover of hers) had made to her: “I love that you know you’re a whore.”

Chris found it fascinating that she was promiscuous. It turned him on. I’ve come to learn it turns a lot of men on. Some guys just get that powerful electric charge being around sexually free women.

My wife and I joke a lot. She calls me a slut. I call her a whore. Or vice versa. Those are double-edged words in our house. They can be silly put downs. They are also the truth and we do not shy away from them. They are not slurs in our home. They are celebrated truths that can also be silly jabs.

I didn’t know if Ryan viewing me as a whore would be positive, negative or neutral. Looking back, he probably already did. Between dildos and plugs, I happily have something in my ass for twenty-plus hours in the course of the week. He had been present for many of those hours. He had heard the casual moans and contented sighs. He had even joked about them several times.

I felt like, if he thought “Alexandra is incredibly sexy” then that would make me feel really good. If he thought “Alexandra is just doing what Sarah wants,” I didn’t know how that would make me feel. I just didn’t want anything to change.

Back when this was going down and I wrote my notes of this situation, I did so in an emotional state. A challenging state. Yes, challenging for me, but that is not what I mean. What I wrote about was a direct challenge to her.

Here’s my note (January 10, 2026): If I knew he was fantasizing about me. The real, dick hard fantasizing. My body in his head and not hers. That would be enough.

 

[Paladintwk]

On second thought I take back my fantasy about being Ryan's replacement for a day.