From Husband to Houseboy Ch. 02
In ‘From Husband to Houseboy Ch. 02,’ dive into a tantalizing exploration of desire and intimacy as boundaries blur and new roles are embraced. Join the passionate moments and steamy encounters that challenge love and loyalty in this captivating continuation. Discover what happens when vulnerability meets desire!
My story and originally published elsewhere. All characters are of legal age.
This story is about dominance, cuckolding, chastity, being a houseboy, and consensual inequality. The tags and title should make that clear. If that’s not what you’re into, move on to another story and there’s no need for rude comments.
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Our path to turning me into a chaste cuckold houseboy started innocently enough. Oliver and I had been dating for a while when we first agreed to become exclusive. It felt romantic at that time. We had both had bad relationships before we met and the true, deep love we felt for each other was such an important and refreshing departure from our earlier experiences. That’s what made us decide to stay committed to each other.
Our sex life was good, but out relationship was so much more than sex. We were the cliché of a happy couple: we did everything together, did spontaneously nice things for each other. etc. Apart from lovers, we were each other’s best friends!
Yet, while our sex life was good, it was not perfect. Oliver is verse and I’m a strict bottom. He insisted I try topping him, but I could never stay hard trying to insert myself. I just didn’t have it in me. Of course, when I bottomed, our sex was great. He could fuck me tender and lovingly, which I loved, but most importantly, he likes to fuck me rough and hard. It drove me crazy. Nothing gets me hotter than being treated like a piece of meat to be tenderized, or a fleshlight! Over time, we found each other’s buttons: he’d choke me, slap my face and spit in it while he railed me like a rabid beast. I’d beg him to hurt me and treat me like a cheap whore. If people could see us, they’d probably think he hated me and our sex was a hate fuck. In reality, the way he treated me in bed was to me only more evidence of how much he loved me.
Whenever he was in a dominant mood, our sex life was pretty much perfect. He’d find new way to degrade me and make me feel used and small. I would moan like the pathetic bitch that I was and beg him to treat me ever more roughly. I bought restraints, gags, and spanking implements as gifts for him and he’d be so excited to try them out. We figured out quickly that we needed a safe word. I always made sure he’d come first — I told him that was because “your pleasure is always my first concern.” He smirked when I told him that and I could see in his eyes that this made him think of a whole new set of ways to degrade and control me.
It didn’t take long before he used my confession against me. The next time we had sex, and he had gotten off, I was about to get myself off as had now become my habit. He told me that I now need his permission to cum.
– “Wait? What?!”
– “Didn’t you say my pleasure is your first concern?”
– “Yeah… but…”
– “Well, I came. You should be happy. It may seem a little selfish if you still want to cum yourself.”
– “But, you already came. What difference does it make?”
– “Yeah, but I think I might find it more pleasurable if I’m the only one cumming tonight. You know, you enjoy something more when it’s more exclusive.”
I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or really planning to forbid me from cumming. I knew that if he said no, I’d oblige, and he knew that as well.
– “Please, babe! I’m so horny. Didn’t I serve well as your hole and bitch boy?!”
– “Oh, absolutely. But, I want more from you than just being my submissive hole. We’ve already established that you cannot be a top for me, but I want to know what else you can be for me.”
– “What do you mean?”
– “I know you have dirty fantasies you haven’t told me about. From now on, I want to hear about them and maybe we can find ways you can serve me better. So, confess one dirty fantasy to me and I might give you permission to cum — but only if I’m convinced that you told me the truth and not just a convenient lie so you could cum.”
Of course, there was a reason that I had kept some fantasies to myself. They were embarrassing and I feared that he would judge me for them. My mind was even much dirtier than I admitted to — even to my lover and best friend. Yet, I was so close to cumming and so frustrated at not being allowed that I had no choice but to confess. That night I confessed to him that I have fantasized about being pissed on and drinking his piss. He smiled and gave me permission to cum. I had been on edge for so long that my orgasm was amazing!
As usual, after all the roughness of the sex, now with a wonderful side of humiliation, we had a wonderful, tender time together. He’s really great at aftercare!
I would only realize later that by making me wait and edge before confessing dirty and humiliating fantasies that I came to associate the humiliation of being forced to confess such things, as well as the humiliating and degrading content of the fantasies themselves, with erotic pleasure. Only much later would I realize that this pattern of having to confess pushed me ever deeper into the dirtiest and most submissive corners of my mind.
Only after I came did I realize that I was not really sure whether drinking piss was something I wanted to do. That’s why it was just a fantasy–fantasies don’t always have to be acted on. However, now that it’s out there and associated with such a humiliating and exciting experience of confessing, it was bound to be something we’d try.
It was while trying to get permission to cum that I confessed so many more things: that I was interested in worshipping feet and armpits, that I might not mind if his ass is sweaty or just a little dirty when he makes me eat it and that I’d love to be choked out by his big ass on my face, that I might want to try giving a blumpkin, etc.. Eventually, we got into the more submissive and service-oriented fantasies: that I’d love being naked around the house and ordered to do chores, forced workouts, etc.
The problem was of course that I had to make a confession every time I was super-horny and desperate to cum. And, whenever he didn’t believe that my confession was true, he’d prohibit me from cumming for 48h, regardless how often he’d cum in the meanwhile. That way, I’d be even more desperate and willing to dig deep for the dirtiest and most humiliating things that had ever crossed my perverted mind. Very soon, I was resorting to confessions that I wasn’t so sure about–they had crossed my mind but I wasn’t sure whether it would be something I would want to do.
Things that seem hot in that moment might not be once you’ve cum. This included being gang banged and given golden showers by strangers, more intense pain and torture sessions, permanent power exchange scenarios, etc. Of course, these confessions didn’t mean that he’d make me do all of this–I was confident that he’d always respect my limits and safe word–but having him know these things gave him ever more power over my sexuality.