Diary of M | A Housewife Bondage Blog – Double-buckled Black (Entry 2)

I stumbled upon an ad for a local BDSM club while browsing the internet, which began my exploration into the housewife bondage lifestyle. The ad startled me, but made me curious. My social circle was buzzing rumors about the place, but discovering the website was the genuine revelation. The thought of a stranger controlling me was no longer just a vague idea, but a thrilling possibility. Yes, curiosity filled my thoughts. Insatiable curiosity is a better way to phrase it. But I struggled with myself. What if my family found out? What would they think of me?

After much indecision, I relented with exasperation and checked the club out. Visiting the abandoned warehouse for the first time shocked me. Their lewd acts ignited my imagination. They bound each other, hit each other, and even engaged in activities I’d never heard of before. But the club hooked me immediately. I signed up for a membership and began attending regular sessions. I learned how to submit to men tying me up. I learned how to relent to them using me. The first few sessions were innocent enough—just some light bondage.

But then I met my master and my life changed.

But a glaring problem surfaced: my husband was in the dark about my newly discovered kink, and I struggled to find the right way to tell him. Ten years into our marriage, we had settled into a comfortable, predictable routine with no unresolved issues (save one). My husband is a wealthy businessman. He’s a good provider. We had a solid marriage, and I didn’t want to ruin it by telling him I was into something he wasn’t. I loved him and didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I didn’t want to break his heart.

Regardless, my first experience with my new teacher was glorious. He tied me up and used me in ways I had never experienced before. It was a wild night. An innocent kiss on the back of my neck ignited a fire within me, and we explored every facet of our physical connection with unrestrained passion. The strange man fucked me from behind, owned my ass, and made me suckle his engorged cock until he blasted a load down my throat. Afterward, he left me there, on the dirty warehouse floor, naked, dripping, and spent. It was a magical night.

Obviously, my husband didn’t know about any of my housewife bondage behavior. At this time, I could never tell him. That’s why I write to you, Diary. My guilt consumes me, but I need my master’s cock. I need to feel this man’s powerful touch. I want to feel his hands on my skin. I want him to ravish me, fuck me, use me, and then leave. The leaving is the best part. It shows he doesn’t care. Diary, it’s tough to confess, but I find indifferent men irresistible.

Tying me up, controlling me, and using my body every afternoon helps me clear my heart. Imagining their hands upon me, my lithe form owned for their pleasure, excites me. To have them use me is my ultimate goal. I’m so hungry for them to touch my body in places my husband won’t, and I want to feel them on top of me, their hands on my body exploring my wet torridness.

I had a startling revelation after the man left me on the cold warehouse floor panting and pleading for more. I want him to be my ruler. I want him as my king. I want him to control me, to fuck me, and to own me. I want his tyranny.

I want to feel him inside me, thrusting into me, his rigid cock sliding in and out of my barely lubed ass. I want to feel the pleasure of him ravishing me, using my body for his own purposes. I want him to use every hole, to abuse it, to fuck it.

Thinking back to the other day, the man left me, semen spilling out of both my holes. Stunned by his aggressive explorations of my body, I could barely speak. My hands bound. A blindfold half on and half off. I was left panting on the cement, naked, spent. My eyes fluttered open. The light was too bright and my body ached.

I whispered, “Am I alone? Where…”

A moment passed in housewife bondage…

From afar, the echoing click-clack of dress shoes came closer. Then his polished double-buckled black Santonis came into view.

“Are you done? Did I take everything?” he said in a dark, velvety voice. I tried to answer but my lips went dry. I wanted to ask him for water, but before I could he squatted down, looked at me. Our eyes met. His pupils dilated as he studied me. My lover was shirtless, handsome and sweaty, and his muscles rippled as he unbound my hands. Without emotion, he said, “I need to grab my shirt and tie. But here’s my card.” He dropped it on my ass, placed a half-empty water bottle near my bruised elbow, and strode away with authority.

Diary of M | Tenderizer (Entry 3)

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