Author’s Note: This is a fairly intense femdom story, with a blend of sensuality and extreme cruelty.

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So far it consists of 4 chapters. I’m debating how to finish it off in perhaps 1 or 2 more chapters.

Chapter 1 – Prolog My wife says I’m the luckiest man alive. If I’m ever feeling down or unhappy she’ll remind me that our relationship is one in a million and that it was so lucky that we found one another.

She’ll say “How many other husbands get the attention I give to you? How many other husbands are loved as much as you?

I have to agree that she cares for me in a way very few other wives do. Sometimes when she’s lying close to me she’ll stroke my hair, embrace me and murmur “You know you’re the focus of my life, right honey?

Her delicate natural scent will wash over me, I’ll feel her warmth against me and I’ll really believe that we’re one in a million.

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But sometimes I don’t feel all that lucky. Like right now for example. I’m stretched out above the bed in my room.

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It’s pitch black, cold and I’m staring up at the ceiling. I don’t really have much choice in that. The large number of leather straps holding my body in place make it the only option.

In the next room I can hear my wife panting and moaning. That has been going on for what seems like hours now.

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The guy she’s with is mostly silent, but occasionally he’ll let out a deep guttural grunt as he slams her back into the bed.

He sounds like a big guy and I can hear the bed shifting and creaking as they move together. I know she’s come twice already tonight.

The little screams she lets out as he brings her to orgasm make it easy to count. Hopefully it’ll just be once more before I can get some sleep. I can hear what’s happening so clearly because what I call “my room” is actually what used to be the walk-in-closet off the master bedroom.

We spent a weekend converting it from its original function a couple of years ago. The design is functional and plain, a minimal space design purely to contain me in a location close to her.

It’s about 7 feet on each side, with matt white painted walls. On the right side are a few simple cubbyholes for my clothes.

At the back is what my wife likes to call my toy chest. It’s a large heavy black metal box and holds all the straps, whips, clamps and gags that she enjoys using on me.

On the left side, about halfway up the wall, is a thick wooden shelf bolted firmly to the walls at each end of the closet. The space beneath it is separated from the room by a solid steel mesh, creating a cage like space.

Most nights I sleep in that cage, under the shelf, lying on a thin mattress placed on the floor. Tonight however, is different. Tonight my wife has company.

And when she has company she doesn’t even like me to even have the minimal movement that the tiny caged space affords.

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She says it’s because I might kick the bars in my sleep and disturb whoever she’s with. But I think she really just gets off on the thought of me immobilized.

Unable to move a muscle while she fucks just a few feet away.

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So tonight I’m lying on the wooden shelf above the cage. I’m on my back, arms straight and parallel by my sides. At regular intervals, set through slots in the wood, are shiny black leather straps with chrome buckles.

Four narrow ones are provided for each of my arms and legs, spaced evenly down the limbs. A wider and thicker strap holds my torso in place, crossing my chest just below my armpits.

A padded strap is wrapped carefully but snugly around my neck, forcing my chin up slightly. Finally, my head and mouth are taken care of with a single half inch leather strap that comes up around my cheeks and between my teeth.

01.02.2020 – I’ve lost track of how often she’s hurt me, or many men she’s screwed around with since then. I wouldn’t want my wife to torture me with needles, but this story did make me fantasize a lot about femdom. Hit the gym and the next time you see frank, but the shit out of him.

On its own this wouldn’t totally prevent noise, but she always uses it together with packing material for my mouth. Today, as on most days, it’s a pair of her used panties that are crammed into place under the strap.

I think these are a pair she played tennis in earlier this week, because the sharp tang of her sweat is strong against my tongue and in my nostrils.

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Although the shelf looks hard and painful there are a couple of concessions to my comfort. My lower back and ass rest on a thin padded leather cushion that’s riveted into the wood.

And my head and neck rest on a leather cushion fastened down in the same way. Over the last couple of years I’ve worn depressions in them that match up perfectly to my compressed body.

My wife added the cushions after telling me that she didn’t want me to be in any unnecessary pain.

Of course, her definitions of when pain is and is not necessary probably wouldn’t match most other peoples. And while the shelf may not be painful, it certainly is immobilizing.

I can wiggle my toes and fingers, but that’s about it. Everything is taut and compressed against the leather and wood. When she first strapped my down, after hours of drilling, screwing and measuring, she was overjoyed.

When the final strap was in place she stepped back and clapped her hands together, looking like a child with a new toy. Now I can scratch my itch with all those men in the next room, and you don’t have to worry about a thing.

You’ll be safe in here. With that she reached for my upper arm, and very deliberately and carefully pinched my flesh between the ends of her long red nails, almost cutting through the skin with the pressure applied.

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I groaned into her dirty socks she had stuffed into my mouth. Instinctively I tried to jerk my arm away from the pain, but it stayed firmed anchored in place, immobile between the straps.

Over the next 30 minutes or so she repeated this process all over my body, testing every portion of exposed skin, smiling softly to herself as she did it.

Occasionally she’d pause and gently caressing the limb she was working on, just letting her fingertips drift across my body.

Or lean in towards me and gently blow on the hot red mark she’d just created. But then she’d always return to inflicting the pain and testing her new toy.

By the end of it I was covered in bright red half crescent marks, each a slowly fading center of pain. But the straps held and I hadn’t moved a fraction of an inch.

Since that day I’ve probably been on the shelf two or three times a week.

She doesn’t love the guys she brings home. She’ll see one for a couple of months and then move on when the novelty fades. As she tells me, she just need to satisfy her basic human urges, much like she needs to eat or sleep.

What she has with me is very different and much more special. From the ongoing sounds from next door, it seems that the current flavor of the month is really getting the job done.

She’s panting heavily, almost screaming on every exhale, each breath getting more drawn out as she reaches her climax. He lets out a loud groan and then a ‘Fuck yeah’, and I figure that’s orgasm number 3 of the evening for them.

The house slowly goes quiet and I can now here the low mutter of voices from the bedroom.

I don’t really know anything about this guy. It’s only the 2nd time she’s brought him home, and all she has mentioned to me is that he’s got a big cock and can fuck for hours before he gets tired.

That’s not really a description that helps me distinguish from all the other guys she’s seen. Whoever he is, I’m just grateful that she didn’t bring Frank home tonight.

Most guys she doesn’t see more than a handful of times. And none of them ever find out about me. Frank is the exception to both these rules.

She sees him semi-regularly. And for some reason she decided to tell him all about our unconventional marriage. Amazingly this didn’t freak him out.

If anything it turned him on. And recently he’s been hinting that it might be fun to involve me a little more. Perhaps provide a warm-up service while my wife gets ready.

Frank scares me. The low voices from the next room have now gone quiet and been replaced by a slow and gentle snoring.

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After a few minutes the light in my room comes on and I hear the metal lock on the outside of the door click open. The door slides back and my wife quickly slips through before closing it behind her.

Thanks to the severe bondage I’m in I can’t turn to look at her, but she solves that problem for me by sitting on the shelf right by my head, leaning across me so she look down into my eyes.

She’s naked apart from a pair of thin pink panties, and she has a thin sheen of sweat across her body.