Sam's frannie

Discussion in 'Member fiction' started by kevsfrannie, Nov 3, 2014.

  1. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Here is how it has gone down, in my case...

    Part 1

    i first met my Samantha more than 20 years ago, when i became Her boss at our work. As a professional, i had strong boundaries about appropriate workplace relationships, so for a year and a half i was unwilling to recognize what was otherwise obvious: She was unlike anyone i had known -- refreshingly open and spontaneous and exciting. She seemed a very genuine person, easy to know – or so i thought. Though i did not let myself acknowledge it at first, She was also beautiful: pretty, sexy and full of surprises. And there was this, reflecting a strange side of me i had not recognized before “Sam” eventually helped me to open up my many dimensions: She even bore a distinctive mark that maybe no other man would appreciate, but that was, and remains, a particular turn-on for me – a large, pretty mole, just below her left knee. Her personality was magnetic, and looking back, from my first notice of it, that pretty mark surely beckoned to me, too. In time i fantasized about some day getting to know all of Sam better.


    i am, by nature, a compromiser and pleaser, willing to bend to accommodate others. i am also fairly naïve, a quality that has variously served me well, and put me at great risk. My naivete once got me into a terrible bind, almost 20 years ago, that left me deeply indebted to Sam, and with great confidence that i could always count on Her when the chips were down. That event predisposed me to always give Her the benefit of the doubt, for She fearlessly rescued me from a terrible situation, just in the nick of time. Her courageous action back then allowed me to continue to enjoy a mostly “normal” life, when things could have otherwise turned out very grim indeed.


    When my mind has replayed that event, many times over the years, it now stands out as a classic ‘pyrrhic victory.’ The very fate from which She saved me back then, turns out to have been almost playfully mild in comparison to what was to follow. i could not have known then that that Her selfless act of heroism was actually the pivotal moment when She ensured Her role as the Agent of my Fate.


    Back then, though, Sam’s great act sealed my heart’s commitment to be with this Woman forever. i now realize i had already been falling for Her, a susceptibility that got me into the pickle with the bikers in the first place. As for those strong boundaries about workplace relationships? i must have deluded myself into denying a conscious attraction to Sam; but in hindsight i must not have been entirely discrete in my admiration for Her. At the time, Sam was enjoying an exciting relationship with a biker dude who would sweep Her onto the back of his Harley for all manner of wild adventures on the open Arizona road. She anticipated those escapes with passion, and often roared back to our office ablaze with exhilaration. In those brief moments of coming and going, though, something about Her biker friend left me unsettled: he seemed to be inconsiderate, disrespectful and insensitive toward Her, in contrast to what i felt She deserved. And i am quite certain he didn’t appreciate Her astonishingly pretty knee!


    i can only surmise that Her biker friend must have been doing some noticing of his own, picking up on cues of my attraction to what he already considered to be his “old lady.” i was ignorant about biker gang culture, and i didn’t like the way he ordered Her to do menial things for him. He was gruff, impatient, and told instead of asked. So i felt protective, like a good boss (and maybe more), and just wanted to be sure that Sam would be treated well.


    My naivete left me blind to the trap he set when he one day dropped Sam back at our workplace after a ride “in the wind.” When Sam went inside, her biker friend looked me over for a moment or two; and then surprised me by mentioning that “the boys” would be holding a bonfire out at the cinder pits the next night, and asked might i like to come on by and have a beer or two?


    Why i decided to show up that night still mystifies me. i did not know any of “the boys,” so i know it had something to do with my concern for Her. And “boys” meant i did not expect for Sam to show up there – though i spent many subsequent years so grateful that that She ultimately did! At any rate, i put on a Hawaiian shirt and shorts and sandals and drove my pickup out to the cinder pits the next night, with a case of cold Michelob beside me. Two miles down a deeply-rutted road i found the bonfire with ease, and then saw a ring of dozens of shiny bikes lined up, side by side, in a huge perimeter around it. i backed my truck in to the only clear space i saw, and felt like a fish out of water as i opened the passenger door to grab my cold contribution to whatever little party was already unfolding.


    With my hands full, i began to walk toward the circle of bikes. As i approached the one clear opening in the circle, Sam’s biker friend suddenly appeared in front of me. He was very solicitous, offering to carry the Michelob, and insisted that, before we walked further, i should take a gulp from the pint bottle of tequila he held out to me. As i flushed from that swallow he encouraged me to “Take another, so you can catch up to the rest of us.”


    i remember seeing many of the other bikers approaching us, too, bearing wide smiles that contrasted sharply with the black leather wardrobes, adorned with chains and small weapons, that manifest as their common uniform. i felt a bit embarrassed about my shorts and brightly flowered silk shirt, and turned to look back at my truck for a moment (as if i might have a spare leather vest and chaps and pair of black boots there?). When i did, i was taken aback by the even larger group of bikers that had materialized behind me as i penetrated their shiny, Harley-ringed circle, alongside my beer-carrying escort, aware of the warmth coating my tequila-numbed throat.

     
  2. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Part 2:

    There are very few gaps in my lifetime’s memory, but exactly what happened to me in those hours after i reached their inner circle and its bonfire remains a mystery to me, even now. i suspect my brain has chosen to bury the details beyond my recall to protect me from reliving the nightmare that obviously ensued. Years later, we even tried to use hypnosis by a psychiatrist friend to unlock the details of my experience that night, but to no avail. The evidence, though, speaks for itself.


    Some combination of intoxication, a biker’s jealousy and vindictiveness, loyalty of a Harley Davidson brotherhood, tattooist needles and ink, and physical restraint forever changed my life that night. It is clear i was tortured in an astonishingly thorough manner for what must have been many hours. When i awoke late the next morning, laying on my back, disoriented on a couch inside a house i didn’t recognize, my whole body was stinging. when i opened my eyes i saw Samantha leaning over me. She was gently rubbing something greasy and soothing on my burning chest. My head ached with incredible, throbbing pain that pulsed audibly between my ears. i remember looking up into Her sympathetic eyes, and saw Her force a weak, compassionate smile. i think i smiled, too.


    i must have passed out again, because the next time i opened my eyes, a clock in a corner read “11:11 PM.” Had i really slept away a whole day? i was covered with a light, silky sheet on the couch, and Sam was seated at the end. my bare feet, sticking out from the sheet, rested in Her lap. When She looked in my eyes i felt my heart leap. My surge of joy was tempered by the sensation of my whole body on fire, still smarting as it had before. i was folded into the sheet, so it was both beneath me, and shielding my nakedness. The room was dim. Sam sensed my awakening consciousness of these details. With a look of deep sympathy She reached for the dimmer switch on the wall beside Her and brightened the room halfway.


    Puzzled, as i looked at Her i took in additional details: a large, hand-held mirror at Her side; a wastebasket full of smeared tissues. Something about my bare feet in Her lap caught my eye, and as She continued to rub them i saw She had playfully decorated them with little heart shapes on their tops, and on a few of my toes… Cute!


    “How are you feeling?” She asked. i took stock of myself: i felt a combination of pain, peacefulness, confusion and joy that was hard to capture in words, so i just responded, “OK, i guess.” Immediately Sam said, “Oh, Frank. Last night – what were you doing there? I am so, so sorry!” What could She possibly have to apologize for?


    Samantha rubbed my feet gently, but it really hurt when She touched those playful little heart designs. Catching my quizzical expression She said, “Believe me, it could have been so much worse!” Now i was really perplexed. Sam reached again for the light switch and brightened the room fully, so that my head throbbed again. She looked in my eyes, then glanced down to my feet, and back at my face. “I’m sorry, Frank – I did my best,” She said, sadly. “Those damned bikers… But -- things are… changed.”


    Her ominous hesitation coaxed me to emerge from my dreamy fog. i pressed my hands down on the couch to boost myself up to sitting – and my shoulders and back and neck began to sting even worse. Sam directed my eyes, with Hers, down to my feet, and forced a grin. “I guess we can call these ‘tat-toes,’” She said. i didn’t understand, and She explained, “These little hearts are tattoos -- real ones.” She gently touched each of my toes that bore little black hearts – the second toe on each foot, and the pinky toes – one at a time. They burned a bit to her touch.


    What?!”


    She nodded. Undeterred by my little gasp, Sam proceeded, with tender determination, to gradually introduce me to my new body. Beginning at my toes, She began to reveal to me an assortment of heart shapes – small and large, solidly colored or just outlined, clustered in designs or just random constellations – that were tattooed on my skin. She methodically dabbed a corner of Kleenex in a little cap of ointment, and then on each heart – and then She would kiss the heart. On the tops of my feet. On my ankles. She moved the sheet upward, slowly – on my calves, up my shins… (“Oh, right on the bone -- those must really hurt!”)


    i quickly grew anxious. Scared! Sam noticed and said, “Wait, calm down. Relax, Frank.” i tried to relax. “Take a deep breath.” Her voice got low, gentle. “Relax.” i willed myself to try to follow Her instructions. i took a deep breath, and another. i tried not to focus on my stinging toes, and feet, and legs, and made myself focus on “Relax” instead. She must have sensed my thoughts.


    “Let’s make this fun. Let me start again.” So She returned to my four branded toes, and as i watched Her kiss each little heart She counted, “One… two… three… four.”


    “Close your eyes,” She instructed. “Just count my kisses.” She kissed the top of first one foot (“five”), then the other (“six).” She returned to my ankles (“eight, nine…” i was whispering along with Her now). Up my shins (“twelve…”) and calves (“sixteen,” “seventeen…”). i felt Her gradually sliding the sheet up to my knees, and toward my thighs. “Don’t look – just feel My kisses.” They felt wonderful: a warm, gentle breath, followed by a precious little kiss each time.


    i willed myself to keep my eyes closed, to simply take in the sensual experience. “Keep counting,” She whispered between several kisses on the tops of both knees. “24, 25, 26…” Sometimes She would trace a larger heart shape. “Ooo, that’s a big one.” The sheet moved delicately higher. In spite of myself my cock begin to stiffen as Her warm, whispery lips continued to inventory my heart tattoos. i felt embarrassed, but Sam said, “Don’t worry, sweetie,” and “It’s OK,” and “you sexy man.” Wow!


    This wasn’t allbad. In spite of my jarring predicament i willed myself to succumb to Her tender spell, to let the experience come to me. i resolved only to keep my eyes shut, and to whisper my half of our counting duet. Sam traced the largest heart shapes yet, burned into the front of my upper legs: 34, 35, 36, 37… Ouch.


    She prompted me to turn on my side – more stinging, but i focused on Her soft breaths and kisses, and on my counting. Evidently a speckling of many little hearts now on the back of each upper leg: 53, 54, 55, 56...


    The sheet and Sam’s mouth moved slowly upward together, and now closed in on my private parts. i caught my breath, wondering… She christened a small, pink heart on each buttock, and rolled me gently over. In front, a heart on each side, just above my pubic hair. Then a pause, before moving northward. Whew! But now a wave of deep shame was triggered by my mental image of all those bikers laughing their drunken heads off while some held me down as their tattooist decorated my unconscious body in the blazing brightness of their devilish bonfire.


    Sam moved steadily upward still. She had me roll slowly onto my stomach (ouch!), and then quickened Her pace to accomplish an almost interminable tally of tattoos from the bottom of my back to its top. She traced the largest heart shape yet, at the base of my spine. When She reached the point at its bottom where my butt cheeks separated, their facial counterparts reddened again, announcing my uncontrollable embarrassment.


    “It’s OK,” She whispered. “Relax, Frank. Everything’s OK…”

    85, 86… 103, 104, 105... Are you kidding -- more than 100 tattoos?!

    By the time Sam guided me to turn back over from my stomach i had already whispered “212.”

    Good lord, my whole back must be completely covered! No wonder it burns so badly.


    When the unbelievable inventory had accounted for my stomach and chest, my arms and shoulders, it had already registered Sam’s 400th kiss. Once more now i felt panic, as i had at my private parts. She had been working Her way up, up, and my Zen bliss could not withstand the temptation of worry about what still remained. Sam kissed the back of my neck, twice – “409, 410…” -- and then stopped. my lips formed the obvious question, but i fought to hold on to it, bracing myself to just follow Her lead. i took a deep breath, and another… Just then Samantha kissed the point of my nose with a dramatically loud smack(!) and said, “OK -- done!”


    Oh my gawd!


    i was devastated, and immediately touched the tip of my nose. i needed to know, “How big is the heart there?!”


    “Relax!”


    My nose had not stung. Sam admonished me to keep my eyes closed. She seemed to giggle at my panic as She reached over to grab something, then said, “OK, open your eyes.” i did so, and in her handheld mirror saw only my usual nose, with no tattoo. i looked more closely in the mirror, and saw no hearts anywhere on my face. Whew!


    Calmed by my evident relief, Sam tilted my head forward, twice kissed the back of my neck, and whispered, “These two back here are the last ones the assholes did before I got there and put an end to it. I’m so sorry, Frank!”


    My hair is worn long, and covers hearts #409 and #410; but had Sam appeared at the bonfire even minutes later, clothing no longer could have covered up all the rest of the “lessons” the bikers made sure i would never forget.
     
  3. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Part 3:

    For the next several years i felt lucky and grateful that My brave, brave Wife had saved the day, interrupting the bikers’ torture before they had permanently disfigured my face. She had spared me from a life as a Mike Tyson social pariah, which was the intended punishment for my attraction to this incredible young woman who was already claimed by a brother in a large gang of bikers. While i would always bear my neck-to-toe canvass of heart tattoos, Sam’s brave intervention had spared me from a fate so much, much worse!

    At least that’s what i believed in those ensuing, happy, carefree years.

    My naivete and curiosity and torture that fateful night were not Her fault. Still, the events that transformed my hide into a permanent Valentine seemed to seal our bond for good. Though i had acted on my own, i could tell Sam felt some responsibility for what had happened. From that night onward, She never gave me reason to think She was embarrassed to be seen with me. Her acceptance allowed me to recover from my ordeal with an attitude of gratitude and good fortune for avoiding a life of shame to be lived in the shadows. It took at least many weeks for me to start accepting as “me” the shocking figure in the bathroom mirror, the image that increasingly populated our growing photo albums. But Sam helped me to be open about it, so i might never be saddled with debilitating embarrassment about my unique appearance. She would often call me Her “sexy heart man,” and shortly before we wed, in an act of defiance of my punishment i surprised Her by having the words “i Love Sam” tattooed inside the big heart outline they had etched into the middle of my stomach.

    Unexpectedly, my transformation on the outside produced liberation on the inside, too. Being able to face Sam openly, without shame, allowed me a feeling of safety, even in vulnerability, that i hadn’t experienced before. i felt protected, uninhibited, and it bound me ever closer to Her. The intimacy we shared felt wonderful to me.

    Indeed, my full-body branding enabled me to start coming to grips with, and admit to Sam, my previously repressed sensitivity – obsession? - with (of all things) moles on the human body. i had grown up with a large dark mole in the center of my stomach i had, in my youth, gone to great lengths to hide, but now the canvass of hearts effectively camouflaged it, and at the same time gave me perspective about how silly my youthful embarrassment had been. i realized it was more complicated, too – my sensitivity seemed actually to have spawned a fetish within me. Sam found it amusing, albeit curious, that i was so drawn to the large mole below her knee, and we both discovered that whenever She would caress any of several moles on my torso and neck that protrude above my skin it was guaranteed to give me a hard-on. So there it was: moles turned me on.

    Sam did not judge me about this. In fact, She even took occasional snapshots of moles on girls, or pointed them out among other bathers at the beach, happily offered to me as little gifts. Moles became part of our sex play repertoire, and the best gift of all was a small, Marilyn Monroe-like beauty mark she had tattooed on Her lovely right cheek shortly before our daughter was born!

    Sam’s acceptance of my admissions and quirks allowed me to share a unique safety and closeness with this one other person who loved me just as i am, despite (maybe even a little bit because of?) all my peculiarities. As our love and trust grew, we became more adventurous in our sexual explorations together. We role-played some mild S&M and bondage games, and we both soon perceived that i mainly gravitated toward the “bottom” role, and She as more the aggressor “on top.” After a fashion – though it surprised me to hear what i was saying – i began to admit to Her fantasies of sexual submission i was starting to entertain.

    Without inhibition Sam joined me in exploring this new dimension of my/our sexuality. i learned more about my newly evident "kinkiness" (who knew?!) on the internet, and Sam began to check out many of the same websites i was visiting. Did She learn there how some women used their husband's fantasies to their own advantage? At some point, and with my encouragement, She began to kick around the idea of Female Domination - "femdom." Though i thought She was just participating in play that She knew excited me, like with our moles, She must have toyed within Herself about its possibility as an actual lifestyle for the two of us.

    After a few years of exploring and experimenting together i one day came to Sam and told Her how the fantasy of my submitting fully to Her had taken a powerful hold of me, and was becoming stronger and stronger. Before then, perhaps neither of us understood Sam’s needs very well. She thought about what i had admitted to Her, and one day came back to me and asked if i still wanted to be dominated by Her in the bedroom. i admitted that i was fantasizing about it more and more as time went on. Sam calmly told me, much to my excitement, that She would be willing to dominate me; but it had to be “real” to Her -- not just a "game" -- in order for Her to enjoy it, too. She said that, “Honestly, while I love to do things that turn you on, I want to get something out of this, too.” She said that we would have to take it beyond just our bedroom, in order for it to be fulfilling to Her. Then She surprised me even more, explaining that it was part of Her fantasy to become the head of our marriage, to lead me into more extensive submission to Her “in all areas” of our life. i was both excited, and a little scared, by Her proposal, but figured i could always guilt Her out of it if need be. So i agreed. Looking back, i completely underestimated Sam’s own resolve and commitment.

    It started out being everything i had hoped for. We seemed to communicate openly about everything. She delighted me by bringing my moles fetish more out in the open. She let me draw moles on Her body, and reciprocating by drawing moles on me, and sometimes then sent me straight to a tattooist to make them permanent on me. She eventually acquired a real tattooist's needle and ink of Her own, and sometimes put little moles on my body amid all the hearts. She did this in a very sexy way - like on my cock, for instance! Sam asked what other kinds of D&S type activities i desired, and She fulfilled my desires. She read books and blogs, and we started out slowly together, as She sometimes spanked me, or tied me up. We had frequent sex during these sessions, and i was really enjoying it. Despite Her "beyond the bedroom" talk, Sam made few other demands on me. But that soon began to change.
     
  4. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Part 4:
    After a successful night together at the local casino, Sam told me She wanted me to hand over my winnings to Her for a special present She wanted to give me. i forgot about that incident until one night, a few weeks later when, after having handcuffed me to our bed and ridden my cock to explosive orgasm, Sam surprised me with Her "gift." As my penis shrank after our sex, Sam blindfolded me, still cuffed to the bed, and began playing with my cock in a way that felt strange and foreign. i just rested in the afterglow of our sex while She tinkered with the cock She had always enjoyed in so many ways that made me proud to be Her man! i dozed off lightly, but awoke to pee before we both lay down to sleep for the night. When She released me from my cuffs i started to get up, and noticed something felt strange "down there." It turned out there was a hard plastic cage of some kind on my cock, fronted by a locked “Master” padlock. i could not easily tug it off to pee, and looked at Sam, puzzled. She smiled as She explained, "That is the special gift i told You i wanted to get for you - remember? It's a chastity device, called a CB-2000." Sam said, “but I call it your cage. Get used to wearing your new cage!" i was taken aback, especially when i realized that in order to pee without creating a huge mess i would evidently need to sit down - just like girls do. As i did so, Sam playfully called me "frannie" - the embarrassing nickname my Dad had called me when i was growing up, but which now took on a sort of sissy connotation as i sat down on the toilet to pee.

    Peeing was one thing, but i quickly came to understand the much larger implication of the device – that it would allow Her to control my sexual release. This new concept intrigued, and strangely excited, me - both of us, i guess. i knew i had to try this device if i wanted Her to continue to dominate me in the bedroom, so i agreed to wear the cage, though it was a bit uncomfortable at first. Before long i got used to wearing it, and Sam didn't keep me inside of it for very long periods of time -- in the beginning. She advised me to shave my pubic hair in the shower as a comfort measure, and i came to enjoy the feeling of powerless each time we ventured into this "chastity” scene.

    As i started to "get used to" the CB-2000, Sam began to leave me locked inside it for longer periods - a few days, a week, even two weeks at a time! She had worked me into it in a gradual, playful way: in order for Her to release my cock, She insisted, i would first need to allow Her to shave a part of my body – my few chest hairs, my underarms, even my legs. i guessed She liked my skin smooth, and always agreed. But before long She began to more aggressively dominate me. She started to pointedly refer to Her Cock (not mine). She began calling me "cockless," and soon, if i even touched myself She would scold me or smack me and tell me to keep my “nasty hands” off of Her Cock. It was both exciting, and a bit scarey, for me to see this unfamiliar side of my Sam.

    Through use of the chastity device it seemed She was becoming more consumed with the desire to dominate me. The longer i was denied the opportunity to orgasm, the more aroused by and obedient toward Her i became. i had often felt i had been incredibly blessed and lucky - that i did not really deserve to be with such a Beauty. But without the ability to ejaculate, now i could scarcely control my desire to worship Her body all the time! Sam began to have me orally pleasure Her, for increasingly frequent and lengthening sessions. But i was always locked up in the damned CB-2000 as i tongued and licked Her pussy, and it was torturous.

    My Wife is an astonishing Beauty, with long hair, pretty eyes, and a firm and muscular but increasingly voluptuous body. She has pretty breasts, an extraordinary ass, and wonderful, hard biceps that drive me bananas. Sam had always been a very sexy and sensual woman, but She was becoming even more sexy to me as She asserted Her increasing domination over me.

    And i was becoming so frustrated now that i began to literally beg Her for sexual release. i had always loved our intercourse, and i had also been prone to masturbate on occasion; but now that actual sexual intercourse between us was becoming more rare, She would increasingly want me to fuck Her, while She forbade me to cum. She began to talk about the locked-up cock existing only to give Her pleasure, that that the cock was Her prerogative, that it had become Her property at the moment we had wed. i loved this notion in theory, but in real life i was horny as hell, and no longer even able to jack myself off. i was becoming preoccupied with fantasies of racing off to whack off when - if - ever She would release me from the chastity cage.

    By this time Sam was only allowing me to climax about twice a month. And She seemed to read my thoughts, because She now became stricter, taking care that my "bad hands" were always tied down, or handcuffed to a collar around my neck or a bedpost or door handle, whenever She wanted to remove the cage from what now seemed to be truly becoming Her cock -- and no longer mine. This had become very serious!

    Denied my orgasm, i was beginning to dream and even daydream about Sam and Her body. i relished memories of the feel of the cock inside Her wet, warm and beautiful, hugging pussy. i started to have problems concentrating on my work, as She was on my mind almost all of the time. And i noticed i was becoming more submissive toward Her in general. Sometime, for example, i would feel unworthy of sitting next to Her unless specifically invited. It felt more comfortable to sit at Her feet, and to snuggle up to one of Her Beautiful legs -- especially the one with the irresistable mole that had been put there just for me.

    Right before my eyes Sam blossomed, ever more beautiful than i could even have dreamed. She was making most of the decisions in our marriage with confidence, energy and determination. Meanwhile, about all i wanted to do now was to lick Her pussy, and - dare i admit it? - to be teased and denied by Her, driven to the brink , triggering that awful straining within the chastity cage. i craved the perverse assurance that my base and selfish yearning for an orgasm - even an erection - would almost certainly be denied. On those rare occasions when She still allowed me that "privilege," the release felt so powerful, cleansing and complete that the fact of Sam’s control over it made me ever more submissive to Her. By now any orgasm She allowed me was only with my naughty hands kept safely away from Her cock; and always paired with Her reminder that i'd better enjoy it, because it might be a long time before i would feel that again.

    In time my next orgasm depended on my first pleasing Her in some significant way. Nothing in my life became more motivating than even the slight chance that i might feel my orgasm just one more time! Sam told me how She loved the power She felt as the only person who could grant -- or deny -- me my explosive pleasure. Meanwhile, it seemed that neither of us could get enough of my orally pleasuring Her. Her cock would grow so hard it would fill up the damned CB-2000 cage until my balls ached. Next to Her in bed, i would fantasize about Sam without relief. If She noticed a single drop of pre-cum She would punish me by whipping the two little hearts on my "pink" ass.

    Sam was increasingly assigning me chores around the house, and began to limit my TV and Internet time. South Park, The Simpsons, football games - all began to disappear. She gave me a bedtime, and enforced it. She had now shaved so much of my heart-covered body that, except for my head i was now hairless. Shaving the cock and balls had been one thing, to accommodate the CB-2000; but now She had removed all of my pubic hair save a thin little patch, and started to speak about my twat, my pussy, my cunt.

    It didn’t stop there. My Wife experimented more and more with feminizing me: dressing me up in dainty lingerie, applying lipstick, having me wear a little bra (and commenting about my "perky little boobies"), even clothing me in a mau-mau She bought for me in a thrift store. She would draw obvious beauty marks on my face and neck, and threaten to make them permanent – and sometimes did. Hence the constellation that marks my throat, and my Cindy Crawford lip. Having decorated me thus, Sam would then make me do chores around the house while the kids were at school, and began to openly brag to Her Mom and Her friends about being "in charge" in our marriage. Soon She would only allow me to orally service Her when i was dressed like a girl.

    All the while i just became more submissive toward Her. More and more i craved the combined privilege and duty of licking Her to multiple orgasms. She taught me to manipulate Her encased cock and Her vibrator to satisfy Her enormous libido. Our sex, by now, had become entirely about Her orgasms, Her satisfaction - with barely a thought about my own, save for an occasional "special gift" of an orgasm for me -- for Christmas, or my birthday (never both), and on our wedding anniversary. Outside of those rare exceptions, my orgasms were mainly accidental when She wanted me to fuck Her with Her cock ("Don't cum!") and i was unable to stop in time (such incidents were severely punished); or required, during an occasional supervised masturbation session when She wanted to overtly humiliate me. Sam kept extending the times between my orgasms. She seemed to become even more empowered by feminizing me, missing few opportunities to catch me peeing while sitting down -- as if She liked controlling me better when She could insist on my looking and acting like a sissy – Her “frannie."
     
  5. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Part 5:
    Already so far down this unique road, Sam came to take our relationship to the very edge. Her dominant stance built Her self-confidence in a way that felt refreshing, invigorating, and She wanted to achieve ultimate control over me. She loved being the boss, and knew now She would never want to go back. Sam found a website by a Mistress Lori who sold chastity devices. Miss Lori’s site encouraged women to make their husbands their fulltime slaves. It excited Sam that an expert validated what our relationship had practically become. Consistent with what She was reading there, i was already permitted to make love to My Voluptuous Wife using only my tongue, or Her toys, as She had cut my orgasms back to longer and longer terms of denial. Now Ms. Lori inspired My Wife to take yet another big step.


    Now My Wife Sam began to fuck me! She used Her toys to invade "your cute little pink frannie asshole." She started warning me (or simply predicting) that "soon your tight little asshole will readily open wide for Me." She would cuff my hands so i was restrained with my back to Her, and then (sometimes leaving Her Cock caged, but often releasing it so that She could tug on it, grab and pull Her balls) approach me while wearing a "strap-on" She would lubricate my "pink" asshole, push Herself against me, whisper into my ear how much i craved to be fucked, and then thrust Herself into me. (What a revelation it is for a man to be on the receiving end of that!)


    At first i was ashamed of myself for having "fallen" to this new depth. But i began to realize that this had become one my primary sexual outlets. My submission reached a new level, as i came to accept, then welcome, and eventually crave and beg for My own Wife to fuck me in the ass. Sam warned that She was training me, that soon i would cum explosively when She fucked me like this. i ignorantly "let go" and waited to see if it was possible, feeling so close to an orgasm but unsure about it, yearning so strongly for that relief. We both knew if i did cum, then it would mark my irreversible surrender to Her, unable to control it with my mind. In Her words, “My cock doesn't lie!"


    Sam one day told me we needed to have an important discussion. She said She knew She had gained much control over me, but She also knew that this lifestyle had to be one of mutual respect and consent. Sam told me that She was going to give me a choice. She liked our current arrangement, She said, but She really wanted “total” power and control over me. Although i had become a "pretty good subhubby," She said, She felt i still challenged Her authority at times; and She didn't like at all when i sometimes questioned Her about Her comings and goings. Sam explained it was holding Her back that i still viewed myself as Her husband, a role that pulled at me to seek an equal footing with Her. Sam said that while maybe other D&S couples might balance between the two, She could not. She said that She loved dominating and controlling me so profoundly that She wanted to transform me from Her submissive “husband” into "My 24/7 slave."


    Samantha showed me pictures she had printed from a website of permanent chastity devices, and scared me when She flat-out said that She wanted to place that kind of device on me. She made clear, though, that the choice would be mine: i could be Her husband, or i could be Her slave, but not both. She said if i chose to remain Her husband, then all our D&S activities would stop, and we would both just put those desires aside. If i chose the other option, then She would take me as deep into submission as a man and Woman can go. i would cease being Her husband, and would exist only to tend to Her needs and desires, with no right to ever question Her. She gave me a week to decide. If i did decide to be her slave, Sam said, then that would be the last decision She would ever allow me to make. (Gulp!)


    i could not get over how Dominant My Wife had become. She was so hot and desirable like this! i felt weak in the knees, knowing how hard it would be to resist choosing to be Her slave. If She had given the same choice a couple of years prior i might have chosen otherwise; but after experiencing Her Control and beautiful Self-Confidence, i knew i could be satisfied with nothing less. i did have one concern that i asked Her about: i asked if i decided to be Her slave, then would i still get to be intimate with Her (e.g. by orally servicing Her beautiful pussy)? Sam told me that She loved me beyond measure, that She so much enjoyed my being Her "cockless little frannie," and that She had no plans to end that part of our relationship. However, She told me, once i was Her slave, then She and only She had the right to change things. As long as i pleased Her, She would likely allow me to see, touch and “worship” some parts of Her body - Her moley knee, Her breasts, Her pussy - but i needed to understand that would be a privilege – perhaps an occasional reward – not my right.


    Sam also told me this devastating detail: She would have the right to take as a lover "a real man, with a cock of his own, who knows how to fuck" Her good. Though She had no one in mind at present, She wanted me to be clear that if i chose to be Her slave, it would be no business of mine what She did, nor with whom.


    i hesitated, but Her matter of fact and confident way of telling me all of this excited me. i managed to use the entire week to think long and hard about it. At the end of the week i came humbly back to My Beautiful Sam and told Her that i could not deny that our relationship was best with Her in charge. Therefore, i nervously told Her, i was choosing “Yes” to a future as Her fulltime slave. Sam smiled knowingly, then made me kneel before Her for a long, meaningful minute before She got up and left the room. A minute later she returned, with a dog collar (already inscribed "My forever frannie") that She placed around my neck. She ordered me to kiss Her (lovely!) toes, one by one, as i felt an all-too-predictable stiffening inside the CB-2000 cage.
     
  6. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Part 6:
    My days of wearing that particular cage were soon to come to an end. Without even waiting to hear my decision, Sam had already ordered one of Ms. Lori's undefeatable chastity devices. Within a week She drove me to the shop of a woman tattooist She knows. i didn't know exactly what She had in mind, but by now we both understood that "my" body was My Wife's to decorate at Her Whim. Once the lady showed us her back room Sam instructed me to "Drop your panties, frannie!" i felt a flash of dread, and hesitated slightly in protest, but My Wife stood right up over me and demanded, firmly, that i do as i was told! Right in front of the tattoo lady i backed down. I’d become so pussy-whipped that without further protest i pulled down that day's frilly, pink panties, exposing the caged cock. At Sam’s gesture i held out my wrists for the familiar cuffs, and the woman neither sketched nor inked me, but instead numbed and then pierced my uncaged cock with a double frenum piercing. She superglued the parts that were meant to screw and unscrew, and following Sam’s lead the straightaway installed Mistress Lori's chastity, affixed to both piercings, once more imprisoning my penis, this time engineered so it could not be undone.

    Sam kept my hands bound and away from Her Cock for the long weeks it took for the piercing to heal around Ms. Lori’s secure chastity device. She monitored me over the next few months to convince us that i could do all functions like urinate (always sitting, of course) and shower. Sam would often express mocking pity about “My poor Cock's" plight. She would give me a monthly prostate milking that allowed a release of cum without pleasurable sensation. It was all very frustrating for me, and i saw how that only further excited Sam.

    The good news for me was that the more She was excited, the more i got to orally pleasure her. Sam had bought an attachment to the device, a latex sheath that fits over the whole caged cock like a huge condom, allowing us full intercourse while depriving me of any pleasurable sensation. This was more frustrating yet! Sam would mount me and ride me, but without sensation i was left with only distant memories. i did love watching Her breasts bounce up and down, and feeling Her body on top of mine, but was unable to feel Her pussy although "i" was inside of Her.

    Once Sam determined i could function in the permanent chastity device She had even more surprises in store for me. She was clearly basking in her power and control over me, and wanted to ensure Her Control was complete, official and irreversible. She had legal documents made up through which all of our assets were transferred to Her. She required that my paycheck be direct deposited into Her account. Sam had found a feminist lawyer who one morning came to our house (while i was dressed in a dainty maid's uniform), and Sam ordered me to sign legal papers to give Her a power of attorney over my affairs, and control over all our assets. One document stated that i fully and freely demanded our alternative lifestyle as entirely my own idea -- and therefore would never hold it against My Wife. My “confession” stated that it was my idea and choice to wear a permanent chastity device, because i wanted My Wife to deny me sexual release "no matter what." Another section said that i consented to My Wife having sexual relations with another person if She so chose, because while my choice had rendered me incapable of it myself, satisfying sexual intercourse was Sam's still right in our marriage.

    i will never forget how deliciously submissive and humiliated i felt as Sam handed me the pen to sign these documents. i was very sexually excited, but of course could not get erect due to the chastity device. i felt awash in submission as i willfully signed, and then Sam and the attorney added their signatures. It was now official - i was now under My Wife's total control. She had achieved Her goal.

    But that was not the end of it for me. After the lawyer left, Sam put Her handbag over Her pretty shoulder and drove me back to Her lady friend's tattoo and piercing shop. By now i lived with a secret longing for any hint of even a minute's release from the damned chastity cage, though i understood that was already impossible. Indeed, that afternoon Sam and Her piercing friend first cuffed my naughty hands, and i was stunned when they somehow removed Ms. Lori’s device for the first time in over six months. My heart leaped at this miracle!

    "See that?" Sam insisted i look down at the long-estranged penis, now suddenly stiff at full attention. i saw the dark, distinct mole She had tattooed on its head, usually tantalizingly visible but trapped away from me, but not at this moment. "Say Goodbye to it, frannie," She sing-songed. An actual tear came to my eye as my heart quickly sank again. Sam put Her handbag at Her feet, and then helped Her piercing friend to quickly reinstalled the cage - a see-through prison for a still virile symbol of my inherent masculinity that was finally ready to begin its life sentence. She reached down for Her handbag, and pulled out the latex sheath device to make doubly sure it would fit over the cage. i noticed She had marked the penis head of the device with a dark mole identical to the one She had tattooed on Her actual cock way back when. Satisfied that She could still enjoy penetration at will despite my encagement, She winked at the piercer, who smiled back.

    i had not realized that the screws that had affixed it to my body had been devilishly designed to be breakable. Sam made sort of a statement to me, that since i was officially no longer a real husband, but instead Her “pathetic frannie,” then there was no longer need for even the pretense of my having a cock of my own. “I have what I want,” She said. Her friend agreed, “You are all set. You can make his chastity permanent.” Sure enough, once the device was back in its place, without delay or emotion Sam determinedly broke off the ends of the screws. Just as efficiently, Her friend filed the ends of the screws smooth. There truly was no way out.

    They left me alone to get dressed, and in the large mirror i saw the image of a heart-covered “man” with an encaged cock over which he was pulling up dainty little panties. From the next room came the sounds of laughter. i heard the piercer mention “finishing touch,” and i remember the sense that i had never before felt so humbled – humiliated, pathetic – as i did right then. i had finally hit bottom, i thought -- there was nothing left for me to lose.

    But once again i was wrong. After we got home, Sam was comforting and compassionate again. “Let me get you a good, stiff drink,” She offered, and i gladly accepted. The cocktail and the day’s events hit me hard, i guess, because i felt a dizziness and exhaustion wash over me. “you’ve had a big day,” she said. “Why don’t we let you lay down.” i reached for Sam’s outstretched hand, let Her pull me up from the chair and lead me to our bedroom. She helped me to lay down on our bed, on my back, wanted my hands above my head, and in my fog i wearily complied. i was fading fast as She placed the familiar soft cuffs on each of my wrists, and fastened them to the eye-bolts on our headboard. She opened my shirt, removed my pants and my dainty panties, and patted the cage with what felt like a combination of playful delight and utter compassion.

    She prompted me to spread my feet apart, put the ankle cuffs on me, and fastened them to each corner of the foot of the bed. Sam told me, in a soothing voice, to close my eyes, and i did. “Relax,” She said, and i let my muscles go limp. She lifted my head lightly, placed a little blindfold to cover my eyes, and kissed my forehead.

    i was ready to drift off when i felt Sam down at the foot of our bed, at my feet. Soon She had my left foot in Her soft, warm hand. i felt a slight kiss on my pinky toe, and heard Sam whisper, “One.” Next she breathed on the toe next to the big one, and whispered “Two.” She moved to my other foot, and i dreamily understood that She was repeating the loving, compassionate ritual from Her couch so many years ago, kissing each heart tattooed on my body, and whispering Her count. This was a loving sacrament only the two of us knew.

    In those wonderful minutes She moved Herself up my body, kissing each little heart, one after the next. (When She reached the large heart in the middle of my stomach She started flicking Her tongue and tickling the wet “i Love Sam” script i had added there for Her.) She worked Her way up my body with warn, breathy, gentle kisses until She had kissed the heart shapes on my shoulders and upper chest. Then She paused for a moment, until i felt Her warm, wet kiss on the tip of my nose. She whispered, “My frannie boy,” and i inwardly smiled at the memory of relief that long-ago night. She kissed my nose again, more gently; and yet again, breathy and so, so softly. “Have a long, deep sleep,” She said. “All we have left is the rest of our lives.” i drifted off, grateful once more to be the luckiest man with the most Amazing Woman in the world!
     
  7. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Part 7:
    i slept soundly, and long, and when i awoke our bedroom was brilliant with sunlight. i realized i was still bound to the bed, but without the blindfold. i was alone. i felt a gentle breeze from the window, and heard a loud buzzing. It brought back a dream: i was confined in a jail cell that was swarming with bees. i had a sense of dread in that cell, awaiting some decision that would determine my fate. The bees were attacking me, but i could not escape. i wanted to cry out from the cell, but dared not open my mouth, as such was their swarming i had to avoid the risk of swallowing bees that might sting my throat. The buzzing of the real bees outside the window made my nose itch and burn at the memory of the stinging swarm in the cell. But the cuffs prevented me from scratching.

    i became aware of a vaguely familiar giggle in the next room. But my discomfort was urgent now, so instead of listening i called out for Sam. i heard a shuffling of silverware or something. In a minute our bedroom door opened, and Sam came in with a cup of aromatic coffee on a tray i recognized to be Her hand-held mirror.

    “Aw, look at you, My poor frannie,” She said with exaggerated concern, looking quickly down from my eyes to stare between my legs instead. i was aware of the damn cage once more, and remembered my fateful yesterday.

    “Can You please uncuff me?” i asked. “I’ve gotta scratch my nose!” It was really burning fiercely.

    “Sure,” She said. “But before i release you, I want to introduce you to someone.”

    The giggler’s identity raced back to me – that lady who had pierced and encaged me was in the next room! i jerked without result, momentarily terrified that Sam might call her in where she would see me like this, naked, encaged and restrained. But my itch was even more urgent, and i realized i really had no dignity left to protect from Sam’s ally, so i just shouted, “For gawd’s sake -- i need to scratch!”

    Sam placed the coffee cup on our headboard, and leaned down to my face and began to blow Her warm, sweet breath at the tip of my nose.

    “Is that better?” She asked. In truth it was -- both better, and worse.

    Please let me scratch!” i yelled.

    “Let Me help,” Sam said with a smile. “Hmmm... What ever could be so itchy, My frannie?”

    i thought to tell Her about the bees in my dream, but i knew that would sound silly, so i opted for silence instead. She told me to close my eyes. In spite of my itch i reflexively closed them, and Her soft finger soon touched my nose. She gently rubbed its tip with a smooth and soothing fingertip touch that relieved me like a balm.

    “Is that better?” She asked, and i nodded. She continued to soothe my itch, and i looked up, but She snapped, “Eyes closed!” More softly she added, “Let me comfort my frannie. i always have just what you need, right?”

    i nodded, closed my eyes again, and let myself bask in relief of my itch.

    “Thanks, Sweetie. That’s much better,” i said, keeping my eyes shut. “Please can i have a sip of my coffee now?”

    She reached up to the headboard, and i inhaled the coffee smell with delicious anticipation. But She suddenly counted, “One, two, three!” and said, “Open your eyes. Surprise!”

    i opened my eyes to my reflection in Her mirror. It was not the “me” i expected. To my shock, the tip of my nose was now a deep red heart, surrounded by a thick black border! Within the heart were two dark black letters, a monogram i couldn’t immediately decipher. i noticed the heart shape was perfectly fit to my nose: its top rounded edges framed the twin bulbs above my nostrils, and its pointed bottom extended halfway down between my nostrils, exactly centered. The shape covered the whole end of my nose, about as big as a quarter. As i squinted, i realized the lettering was indeed a monogram -- a backward “Kf” – backwards, i realized, because i was viewing it as a reflection in the mirror.

    i see that monogram almost everywhere now. Even when i close my eyes. Even in my dreams.

    From deep recesses in my memory – no, more accurately, from my toes and feet all the way up my whole body – came a brief and specific message that forced its involuntary way through my lips as an audible, conclusive, resigned whisper. “Four hundred eleven.”

    The tattoo piercer lady appeared from our doorway, admiring all her handiwork on the billboard for her various crafts that my body had become. “Meet my new and improved ‘funny-face frannie’,” Sam laughed – not to Her friend, but at me as i stared at the mirror. “How do you like him? A lot, I hope, ‘cause it looks like you’ll be inseparable from now on.”

    My eyes felt glued to that mirror, for many minutes more: long enough to realize that the lifetime of humiliation from which Sam had rescued me at the bikers’ bonfire had, in the end, been only a prelude to the actual Fate She had authored for me Herself.
     
  8. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Denouement:
    As She promised, i do see Sam’s funny-faced frannie every day now – each time i look down over the tips of my nostrils, or catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. We are inseparable, of course. i see him reflected back at me through the curious, laughing, jeering eyes of everyone who stares at my clownish countenance. Sam does not permit me to cover the heart with make-up, except at church, of course, and on other rare occasions of Her choosing. Although i am lucky to earn a good living for us from home – where most often She makes me dress up in training bras and lipstick and sailor dresses and the like -- She also seems to delight in parading me out wherever She wants to go. She won’t let me bury my face in waiting room magazines, nor conceal it by looking away from people. “I want the whole world to see the man who’s so desperately proud to be My funny-faced frannie!”

    And my – well, Sam’s cock -- has been trapped in its imprisoning device for all these years now. She let’s me tongue and lick Her pussy, and excites me when She moans and even shrieks with great pleasure after my lubrication makes way for the huge, sheath-covered, encaged, mole-tipped, wearable “dildo” that fills Her up to satisfaction beyond anything my former cock had been able to do. For my part, i will never again feel Sam’s warm, moist cunt with Her cock, nor have a full erection, nor ever again an ejaculation.

    i do all the household work now. Though She parades me around in public, Sam also goes out from time to time without me, and comes home smiling. i wonder where She goes, and what She does, but it would not be right for me to ask Her about it. i promised. So i live in humble and total submission to my Wife, my Mistress, my Goddess.

    It has been a real challenge, of course, adjusting to all this; but i am so closely attached to and dependent on Her, and we have certainly connected in ways i never would have dreamed were possible. After all these years my fate feels right for me: the submissive and protected feelings that flow from serving Her, the "openness" i feel toward Her when She fucks my “pink” ass, the ever more "moley" appearance She so lovingly inflicts on me, and of course my funny Valentine face whenever it is reflected it in the mirror or the eyes of others.

    i love that My Darling Samantha is so strong, and that i've helped to make Her this way that i cannot resist. Long ago i stopped worrying about my dignity, as Her pretty eyes always prove to me that this is how She wants me to be. Deep down i admit i had wanted this for a long, long time. If She could free me tomorrow, i would refuse it. Besides, such musing is for dreaming. In reality, Sam reminds me each night as She kisses the tip of my nose to send me drifting off to sleep, cremation looms as my only escape.

    i am Sam's frannie, permanently Hers, chastened and branded so. Am i to be pitied -- or envied?
     
  9. kevsfrannie
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    kevsfrannie A real live frannie-boy

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    Sam's frannie 11-11-14.jpg Sweetie says i hafta SHOW, not just TELL... :(
     
  10. Kev's frannie
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    Kev's frannie New member

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    Definitely ENVIED!
     
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