Trained by My Wife
By Jenny Lee
4/5
()
About this ebook
A young, obedient husband is trained by his mistress wife Kate. He has become a broken man – he cooks, cleans, and obeys her every sexual order. He exists for her pleasure and her pleasure only.
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Reviews for Trained by My Wife
3 ratings1 review
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Started off good, but then was weak for the end.
Book preview
Trained by My Wife - Jenny Lee
Trained by My Wife
Jenny Lee
Part 1
The dishes are done, the countertops are clean, the living room floor has been vacuumed, and I already put away all the laundry. At this point, I’m free to read or watch TV, so long as I’m in place by the time she comes home.
Rather than indulge in any of those activities, I go back to the front door, and I kneel down, relaxing into place. I hold my hands behind my back, I straighten my shoulders, and I close my eyes.
My position helps me meditate on one thing: my status.
I’m her slave. I put her first. I obey her. She owns me. She has trained me and taught me to be grateful.
When Stephanie first saw me back in high school, she was dating an upperclassman, a jerk who ended up cheating on her. Yes, he was charismatic and probably very sexy with his slicked back hair and his ready wit, but he didn’t know how to devote himself to a girl. And of course, I was off to the side, secretly hoping that Stephanie might notice me at some point.
When they inevitably broke up, I asked her out, and we went to the movies. Afterward, I confessed. I looked into her eyes, and I said, I really like you. Do you think we could start dating? Do you think I could be your boyfriend?
I probably didn’t need to ask both questions, but they just sort of tumbled from my lips.
At the time, Stephanie had shoulder length hair. She fixed her hazel-colored eyes on my face, and I tried to match her stare, but there was no way for me to succeed. Pretty soon, I had to look down.
That’s when she reached over, and she took my hand. Holding on to me, she leaned forward, crossing the table as she kissed me.
For a long time, we had a normal relationship. We would hold hands in the hallways. Then we graduated, and we decided to stay in town to go to college. We dated, we got our degrees, we got jobs, and we moved in together.
As an attorney, Stephanie faced a lot of stress at work. Mostly, she had to obey the senior partners. In some ways, they treated her more like a secretary, though she still did learn a lot, and she met important people.
But subservience was never her thing. More to the point, because she had to subjugate herself at work, she started to get frustrated. The stress ate into her, and she searched around for some alternative. I did my best to help her. When she came home, I would massage her shoulders.
Little by little, she became more demanding. She decided I should be shirtless for her evening massages. Sometimes she would insist that I go down on her before or after. And one night, I asked her what she was thinking about while I pleasured her.
Stephanie didn’t hesitate; she didn’t pause or consider what she would say to me. Instead, she was completely honest. I was thinking about enslaving you.
My lips parted, and the color drained away from my cheeks.
What?
I was thinking about enslaving you,
she said, reaching out and touching my cheek. Her fingertips lingered for a second before she caressed my neck. Stephanie thought about it some more, and she eventually came to a conclusion. She wanted to play with me as her subjugated boyfriend…as her slave.
It started out with role-playing, some simple toys. She bought some handcuffs, and she would restrain me while she rode me. Every time that happened, I would look up into her face, and I saw something insatiable. Stephanie loved being on top; she loved taking control. She would scratch me and hold me down. She would make me love every second of it.
Inevitably, she bought me a collar. Yes, it was just a basic dog collar, but she put it on me, and she giggled happily like a little girl who just adopted a puppy. She patted me on the head and told me that she