Have you, by any chance, heard of the ‘tradwife’ movement? Perhaps I am a little late to the game, but I only just discovered the term. My initial reaction was one of amusement because this lifestyle has long been known to those in the kink-world as ‘taken-in-hand’ or ‘1950s household’ dynamics. For a moment, I wondered if this was yet another example of kink entering the mainstream world, just like with the whole fifty shades debacle. I have to admit it got me a little excited at first because, as you know, Master and I are in such a dynamic, and so I thought, “Hey, that’s me, isn’t it? Am I a tradwife?”
In summary, yes, yes I am. However, my initial discovery led me to a plethora of other articles discussing this movement and some of its ideals in greater detail. I uncovered certain problematic associations… the term has been tied to white supremacy and even the Nazis, drawing comparisons between the tradwife and the type of housewife promoted by the Third Reich. Honestly, coming from Asia, wives fulfilling traditional roles are not uncommon at all. They are dying out due to the rising cost of living, but I know many wives who have given up their careers to focus on their families. No one really bats an eyelid. But then again, they aren’t championing their way of life on social media!
And therein lies the problem… What I find deeply concerning is that some tradwives and their supporters are of the belief that the rightful place of women is at home. This- this is something I absolutely do not agree with. I might be a submissive and I might be a stay-at-home wife, but I am also very much a feminist. I think that it is imperative that women have the power to make decisions about what they want to do with their lives. I think the aggressive manner in which some content creators promote their way of life as being the one TRUE way of life detracts from the accomplishments of feminists in the past decades. Side note: Doesn’t that sound familiar? I know of one too many TRUE ‘dominants’ trumpeting their style of BDSM as the one TRUE way.
Nevertheless, my little foray down the rabbit hole got me reflecting on my own dynamic, in particular the nature of my household. Master and I are in a very traditional set-up by choice, which makes me by definition a traditional wife, a tradwife. I would like to reclaim the term in a positive manner, dispelling the toxic arguments put forth by extremists. This is not a woman’s place, just as not every woman has to be submissive. I choose to be a tradwife and I choose to be submissive because this works within the confines of my marriage, and more importantly, it makes me happy. But seriously, you do you.
When asked to define my dynamic, I personally prefer the term ‘taken-in-hand’ simply because I don’t identify with the aesthetic of the 1950s housewife. Lol. Yes, I know that’s very shallow of me, but hear me out. Florals and perfectly coiffed curls are not my thing. I don’t imagine many housewives in the 1950s run around in sexy Wicked Weasel (google if you don’t know) outfits during the warmer months and trackpants in winter. I mean, I try, but I don’t always look put together when I’m at home. I guess Master would like it if I were, but really, I’m too lazy. There are days where I look absolutely fuckable and days where I look like I’m homeless.
We hadn’t always intended for me to be a tradwife. Prior to our move to France, we were prepared for me to take a year or two to focus on picking up the language and figuring out what I wanted to do for work. However, we’ve found this way of life to be very fulfilling for the both of us. Yes I know, I can talk, considering I don’t have to work. All I do is cook and keep house and I have all the time in the world to focus on the things I love. But from Master’s perspective, he very much appreciates that he can channel all of his focus into his work without worrying about his next meal or having to clean the toilet or to take out the trash. We eat healthily and well, and the house is always spick and span.
So this has been my way of life for the past year. I’ve been a fulltime homemaker/slave to Master and I absolutely love it. My job is everything house and food related, done according to Master’s preferences, if any. My job is to ensure Master is happy, comfortable and sexually fulfilled. And on top of all that, my job is also to continue working on myself. I work out and eat healthily to keep myself in good shape, I work consistently on my French and I also work on improving my cooking, baking and housekeeping skills. Would I change anything? No, I wouldn’t. I think, as a submissive, I am very much fulfilled being of service to my Master.
Yes, there have been changes in autonomy, but coming from the perspective of a submissive in an M/s dynamic, it’s very much normal to me. Master always has the final say in all big decisions. What television should we get? I don’t know, Master decided on it. Should we get a second car? I guess so, if Master thinks it’s within our budget. If I really want to go to a restaurant for a meal, I make a request and Master decides when is best. Sometimes, it’s the following week, sometimes later. However, if you consider the fact that I don’t even get to decide when I cum next, this all seems pretty paltry in comparison, no?
And this leads me back to my first question. Have you heard of the ‘tradwife’ movement? What are your thoughts? From the perspective of a female submissive who already lives by many of the ideals of said movement, should I/we be focusing on reclaiming and redefining the term, or should we be distancing ourselves from potentially problematic associations?
I have “affectionate cruelty” listed as one of my kinks on FetLife, but what is it exactly… apart from being an oxymoron? I know for a fact that I dislike submitting to someone who hurts me for the sake of hurting me, such as someone who identifies as being a sadist. I can take a lot of pain, I welcome the emotions and sensations of being hurt, both physically and emotionally, but I need to know that it comes from a place of love.
Let me try and break it down further. A sadist might say, “You’re so worthless, you deserve to be hit. I’m going to enjoy breaking you and I hope it hurts.” On the other hand, a dominant practising affectionate cruelty might say, “I love it when you debase yourself for me. I’m going to enjoy breaking you, but only so that I can make you whole again.” Ok, I’m sorry if that came across rather cheesy, I hope you can see the difference.
Master has a very mean side. When he wants me to hurt, he makes sure I hurt. For example, two nights ago, Master had me bent over our bed, weighted clamps dangling from my sensitive nipples, my ass taking stroke after stroke of the cane. I was trembling from the sheer volume of pain affronting my senses: my nipples felt like they were on fire and every stroke of the cane sent ripples of searing pain through my body.
At some point, Master delivered a hard stroke to my ass and while I was still recovering, he yanked the clamp off my left nipple. Of course I screamed bloody murder. And then he said, “You didn’t see that one coming, did you? But there’s still one more clamp on and for this one, you will. Do you think the anticipation will make it better or worse?” The answer to that question, dear friends, is that it’s a lot worse when you see it coming… at least for me.
But Master doesn’t just hurt me physically. He’s also an expert at emotional sadism. Within the same scene, he asked me, “How does it feel to know that you’re not going to cum tonight and that after I’m done using you, you’re going to be locked back into your chastity belt?” And of course he was true to his word. He used my pussy only as a lube dispenser that night, preferring to plunge his cock down my throat and ass to get himself off. My pleasure was immaterial, as it often is when we play. And when he was done, he sent me to clean myself up and then locked me right back up in the chastity belt.
I love this side of him, this display of cruelty. But what I love even more is how he takes me in his arms at the end of every scene, rubs my back and kisses my forehead. How I know, without a doubt, that I am his main priority, the love of his life, his person, his property. I am a masochist but it doesn’t mean I enjoy being hurt by just about anyone. I only want it when it comes from a place of love, because he knows that this is what arouses me, that this is what I need in order to feel desired, to feel loved.
I had a nightmarish wet dream last night… it was terrifying yet hot. It wasn’t with Master or it would have just been hot. It was with someone I both knew yet did not know – a stranger who was at the same time my ex dominants combined. How freaky is that? Let’s call him Strange Dom. When Strange Dom did something to me that I linked to a memory, he would resemble that particular person. And then he would do something else and he would change. The transformation was subtle and inobtrusive; I remember being startled when I noticed he was someone else. I have no idea what I consumed during the day, media, drug or drink, that could have influenced such a dream, but one scene stands out in my memory and ties to a topic I want to write about today – triggers.
We were in a room, not quite a whole apartment, but also not as small as just one bedroom. A studio apartment, maybe? Anyway, Strange Dom had a D-ring mounted on the wall and he had attached my ankle cuff to this with a long chain. In my dream, I was cognisant that I was supposed to be with Master and not Strange Dom. I wasn’t happy to be his prisoner, but I didn’t want to show it so I was very casual about everything. Meh, there’s a chain but guess what, I can reach the couch so I’m just gonna chill here and not give a fuck about whatever. Clearly, Strange Dom wasn’t too happy about that so he walked over, grabbed my nipples between his two thumbs and forefingers and pinched. Hard. I remember the intoxicating rush of pain and arousal and me doubling over and onto my knees on the floor.
I have the first Dom I ever met in my life to thank for this memory. I was 17 when I met him for a scene. I was young and stupid so I hadn’t set up a safe call nor ascertained that he wasn’t a serial killer. The scene didn’t go so well, but I lived. But what I will never forget is how he ‘broke the ice’ with me, pushing me from super-shy-to-meet-you to yes-please-let-me-serve-you in a matter of seconds. I hadn’t even removed my clothes; I’d barely assented to start the scene when he pinched my nipples through my blouse and squeezed hard, just like in my dream. I have really sensitive nipples so it doesn’t take a lot for them to hurt. He went from zero to over the limit in seconds, but what it also did was kickstart my submissive engine and push my endorphins to overdrive.
Over the years, I’ve identified many other triggers that help push me into submissive headspace. My neck is a hotspot, regardless of whether Master has a hand around my throat or nape. My nipples continue to serve me well, but so does a well-timed slap to the cheek. A tug of the hair, a knee between my thighs, and of late, anything to do with my chastity belt. Triggers are such delicious things once we know and learn them. It always melts my submissive heart when Master plays me with such… mastery. I feel like a well-oiled machine or instrument that only he knows how to get going. Sometimes, I feel that it’s unfair. Even if I were mad or upset at him, I wouldn’t be able to prevent him from using one of my triggers against me. Of course, Master never does… He’s too much of a gentleman to play dirty, although I sometimes wish he would.
I read a post by Naughty Nora recently in which she described her fantasy life. That got me feeling rather inspired and I decided to take her lead and do the same. But first, some context to explain my motivation… Master and I haven’t been living our best M/s life for the past couple of months. There are many factors. My sudden aversion toward cuckqueaning some months ago plays a part. Master’s backbreaking work schedule plays another. But then there is also something very exciting that inadvertently drew our focus away from kink. We have spent the past few months searching for and procuring our forever home, or at least for the next decade. You can imagine the amount of time and energy that went into this endeavour, so I suppose it is no surprise that we haven’t been too focused on M/s.
In slightly over a month, Master and I will be shifting into our first owned property. I’m delighted, to say the least. It is a four-bedroom duplex apartment located in a small town to the south of Lyon where we currently reside. Between the two of us, that is a lot of space. I know that it is probably not surprising to those of you who live in places like the US, but coming from Singapore, I’ve only ever known small spaces. Anyway, with so much space comes so many possibilities. Master and I have talked and come to the mutual decision that we would really like to restart our M/s dynamic in the new year, building it up systematically until we shift into our new apartment, at which point we will have the structure in place with no bad habits to fall back on.
Let me clarify what I mean by ‘bad habits’. When I am accustomed to a certain way of life, there is a tendency to fall back into those routines when the focus on M/s wanes. For example, we had, for a period, set up my sleeping space on the floor of the living room, akin to a pet bed. That was really hot when the dynamic was strong, but once we got busy with other things, I wheedled my way back into bed with Master, and that’s where I’ve been ever since. I like to think, perhaps naively, that if we set up the rules and structures from day one, I won’t feel entitled to something I never had. Certainly, I have no clue if this will actually work, but Master likes the idea of permanence in some of our rules, so that is something we will work towards. Some other less consequential ones can be lifted when needed, such as in the event of an emergency or illness.
In my writing, I allowed myself to imagine my best slave life. I have a pretty vivid and ambitious imagination, particularly when horny, so there are some bits that will probably not be explored in real life, but we are using my writing as a reference for discussion. In essence, my wishlist is (1) for us to put in place certain restrictions to very clearly mark my role as his slave, (2) to add to my current list of tasks, ideally to include tasks of a sexual nature, and (3) to safely reintroduce cuckqueaning into our dynamic.
On cuckqueaning, I’ve spent the past couple of months thinking and overthinking our recent experiences. I’ve pondered what went well and what went wrong. I came to the conclusion that I want need to be cucked. In truth, it is the only thing I think about when masturbating. It is the only type of porn I gravitate to. I loved certain aspects of the experience, namely the way it added to the intensity of our play and the way it lent authenticity to some of the restrictions we have in place. For instance, Master doesn’t focus on my pleasure when we play, and while I can absolutely find this hot through the lens of his fuck toy, it is just that much hotter when viewed through the lens of his cuckquean, particularly when I bask in the knowledge that he does indeed very much so focus on pleasuring his other partners. I also figured out that I have a tendency to fixate and obsess when I know too much about the other party. I see her as a direct contender and fear he will replace me. Perhaps if his ‘conquests’ were nameless and faceless (and we stanced this lack of knowledge as a privilege I was not allowed), it might be easier for me. Again, this is pure speculation, but Master agreed this was an interesting angle worth exploring.
So without further ado, here’s my take on ‘My Fantasy Life’…
The alarm clock rings at 7.30am, signalling the start to a new day. Every morning, I am to wake at least an hour before Master needs to start getting ready for work to tend to his needs. I start the day by putting my bed away. I sleep on a quilt intended for the convertible sofa that functions as a guestbed. As his slave, I am not allowed to sleep on the sofa, so I sleep on the quilt laid out on the floor beside the sofa. The guest room, which also houses most of my belongings, is located on the first floor of our two-storey apartment. It has an attached toilet and shower, the only ones in the apartment I am allowed to use.
I neatly fold up the quilt and deposit it, along with my pillow, in the wardrobe of the guestroom. Technically, it is my room since all of my things are in it and it is where I spend the most amount of my time. My desk and computer are in it, my craft materials, even a good proportion of my clothes, and we don’t even have guests stay the night often. However, Master is adament that as a slave, I must never believe that I have a right to anything. All of these are simply on loan to me, and Master can take them away just as easily.
After making my bed, I freshen myself up. I wash my face, brush my teeth and wash my pussy as best as I can underneath the steel chastity belt I wear pretty much permanently. Master only removes it when we go out, but I have to wear a butt plug whenever the belt is off, so I never forget what I am. The steel shield of the belt is tight across my genitals, cutting off access to my clit and pussy. Well, that’s not quite true. I can still access my pussy by sliding the shield to the side, but the most I can insert is a finger at an awkward angle. Hardly satisfying. I can, however, insert and remove tampons, thus I wear the belt even when I am on my period. I daresay this is the most difficult time because everything is sensitive and the belt only heightens my perpetual arousal.
Anyway, I clean myself up just in case Master chooses to deposit his sperm in my pussy, more lovingly known as my lube dispenser and cum hole. He never fucks it anymore; he always uses my ass or mouth till he is very close and then finishes in my pussy in just a few thrusts. It feels good though, I can’t complain. I know my pussy doesn’t deserve his cock, so I am contented to take what I can get, even if it is just a few seconds of fucking. The only reason why Master even bothers with my pussy is because we are trying for a baby. I can’t imagine what will happen after we succeed or if Master decides we will remain childless. I suppose I will have to be thankful for the few half strokes he gives me to lube his cock up before plunging it in my ass, or the annual pussy fucking I get on my birthday, also our wedding anniversary, just to remind me of what I have given up to be his slave.
When I am done, I climb the stairs and enter Master’s bedroom as quietly as I can. The time is now 8am, just half an hour before he has to start getting ready for work. I give him a gentle kiss on the cheek and wait for him to acknowledge me before slipping under the covers. He takes me in his arms and warms me up before telling me to wait. Master heads to the toilet to pee and then returns to bed. This is my cue to start his morning blowjob. I make my way between his legs and take his cock in my mouth. There is a drop of residual pee, but I lap it up greedily, knowing that fuck pigs take whatever is given without complaint.
I work hard at Master’s cock, licking, sucking, using my hands when my mouth tires. Soon, I hear him groan I feel his hand at the back of my head, urging me to keep going. I know this means he is close so I maintain the momentum, stroking his shaft and sucking his cock head at the same time. He cums with a loud growl, filling my mouth with his seed. I swallow hungrily, just a little bit disappointed that my pussy won’t be getting any attention but I’ve gotten used to serving Master without reward. I emerge from under the sheets to his wide smile. “Good morning, Master,” I say, settling into his arms for a little bit of morning cuddles. “Good morning, piggy,” Master replies, kissing the top of my head. We stay like this for awhile, and then Master goes off to freshen up while I prepare his breakfast.
A cup of coffee and a small bowl of yoghurt and fruit await him as he descends the stairs. “What is your plan for the day, piggy?” Master asks. I fill him in on my goals for the day – an hour of French class, an hour of yoga, a trip out to get some bread, how much writing I hope to achieve, etc. I also run through my list of slave tasks – an enema to prepare my ass for fucking, 30 minutes with the nipple clamps on while I practise my deep throat skills on a dildo, and at least an hour with the butt plug inserted. I may not have to work, but my days are filled serving Master and working on myself.
“I have a date tonight so you don’t have to prepare dinner for me. I don’t want you eating rubbish though, so just a salad for yourself. Make sure you take a photo of your meal and send it to me so I know you aren’t being a greedy piggy. No need to clean your ass today, clearly I won’t be using it. You will, however, go through the entire list of your cucking tasks when I’m out, sending me pictures to prove they are done. As usual, don’t expect a reply since I’ll be busy enjoying the company of a real woman, but I want to see that you know your place. Do you understand, piggy?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, Master.”
“Don’t look so sad, piggy. Come here, kneel at my feet.”
I did as he asked.
“Why do I fuck other women, piggy?” Master asked.
“Because I am just your fuckpig, Master.”
“And what does that mean, piggy?”
“It means I’m your toy to use when you need a warm hole to cum in, Master.”
“That’s right, like a living breathing fleshlight. And remind me, what do I do with real women that I don’t do with my fuckpig?”
“You make out with them, you go down on them, you finger them and you give them plenty of orgasms.”
“And do you get any of these, piggy?”
“No, Master.”
“When was the last time we made out?”
“We don’t, Master. You only peck me on the lips, but I never get your tongue in my mouth. I make out with your feet, Master.”
“Exactly. And why don’t I make out with you?”
“Because I use my mouth to make out with you feet, lick your ass and suck your cock, even if it’s dirty from fucking my ass.”
“That’s right. I wouldn’t want to make out with that dirty mouth hole of yours, would I? And when was the last time I went down on you or fingered you?”
“I don’t remember, Master… Before we moved to France?”
“And do you think you deserve to have my mouth or fingers on your pussy?”
“No, Master. Not ever.”
“Good piggy. But I do enjoy eating and fingering pussy, just not yours.”
I swallowed hard again as I felt my pussy gush from Master’s words. “Yes, Master, piggy knows it doesn’t get to feel Master’s mouth or fingers on its pussy, except maybe on its birthday.”
“Very good, piggy. And finally, when was the last time you came, piggy? From your clit of course. I don’t care how often you cum from your ass.”
“Erm… 3 weeks ago, Master.”
“Yes, and tell me how you came.”
“Piggy gave itself a ruined orgasm with the vibrator over the chastity shield.”
“Ah yes, that’s right. It made me laugh to watch you struggle so hard to cum in your belt, only to have to ruin it. But that’s the only way you cum these days, if absolutely necessary. And when was your last proper orgasm, piggy?”
“Piggy can’t remember, Master.”
“Well if you’re a good piggy and an even better cuck, maybe you’ll get to cum on your birthday. Would you like that, piggy?”
“Yes, please, Master.”
“Now, remind me of what you have to do tonight while I am out fucking someone else.”
“I have to wear my piggy hood for the whole evening so I always remember what I am when I look in the mirror. I am to write Master a heartfelt letter thanking you for cucking me. After that, I have to insert my anal plug, and tease my clit over the chastity belt with the vibrator on low, imagining you fucking a real woman. If possible, I am allowed to edge three times. If not, I will stop after 30 minutes. Once done, I am to write lines until bedtime. I will write the line “It is Master’s right to fuck whoever he pleases because I am just a fuckpig.” over and over again until 11pm. I will sleep with the anal plug inserted tonight, so I remember that when Master fucks me, my ass is filled but my pussy always stays empty, unlike the other women that Master fucks.” I’ve memorised this spiel so it isn’t difficult to regurgitate it. I repeat it to myself often when I need a reminder of my station as Master’s cuck.
“Good piggy. Now that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck her in the ass, but I will very much enjoy her pussy. Anyway, none of that is relevant to you, is it?”
“No Master. Piggy has no right to know anything about who Master fucks nor what you do with them.”
“That’s right. If I’m in the mood, I might tell you a little but it’s none of your business, is it, piggy?”
“No Master, it’s none of my business.”
“Good. Now get on with your day. I have to work. I love you, piggy.”
“Yes Master. I love you too,” I said before getting up and clearing Master’s dishes.
And this was our life. Once a week at maximum, Master would head out for a few hours to meet and fuck someone else – a real woman. I never knew if it was the same person or if it was someone new. We realised that when I had a name and face to fixate on, that was what I did – obsess – and I would get overly worried that I was going to be replaced. So instead, I was no longer privy to that knowledge. When Master was in Paris, he would sometimes drop me a text with instructions to do my cucking tasks that evening and I’d understand that to mean he was meeting someone. Or sometimes he wouldn’t tell me at all until he returned. When he was home, he would tell me the morning of his date. All of this was so that I wouldn’t have time to overthink.
It was difficult initially, but I think I’ve come to accept it as part and parcel of my life. In fact, there are rewards to being cucked. I get to spend the following night, sometimes two, in Master’s bed. He also sometimes give me little momentos from his dates – a picture of the restaurant he’s taken his date, the used condom wrapper from their time together, even a used g-string on one occasion. I keep all of these in a box that I look through whenever I needed a reminder of just how pathetic I am. Sometimes, I do so just before I start my cucking tasks for inspiration. And of course, Master always takes a renewed interest in me after fucking someone else. He pushes me a lot harder in our scenes and breaks me down just a little bit more than usual. I particularly love it when he makes me thank him for cucking me while caning me hard.
Master has hinted that he will eventually start bringing his dates home to fuck. Master likes the idea that everytime I am allowed to sleep in his bed, it is with the knowledge that countless other women have been pleasured by him in it. Just not me. I will probably be confined to the guestroom while they are over, or maybe even the garage, as Master has suggested. I can’t say the idea doesn’t turn me on, and knowing Master, it will be a reality sooner rather than later.
Master wants us to revisit this piece of writing, drawing ideas on how we can proceed. I’m eager to hear his thoughts – what resonated with him and what didn’t. As always, he has the final say, but I am blessed to have an owner who constantly listens and takes my needs to heart.
There is something deeply sordid in the way Master takes me. We don’t make love, we never have. Wait, that’s not quite true. I do recall us attempting to have slow romantic sex once or twice in our first year together. You know, the way they do it in the movies, with a lot of kissing and gentle groping. I can’t say I wasn’t into it; I love the man so I responded in kind. But my arousal is directly tied to my mental state, and romance wasn’t cutting it. Despite the warm and fuzzy feelings that enveloped me, my pussy stayed dry. I suppose, over time, Master figured out that the way to make my pussy wet was to give nothing and to take everything.
Today, Master told me to be ready for him at lunchtime. It’s a Monday but since Master works from home, mid-day sex is fair game. I lowered the shutters so that the neighbours wouldn’t be treated to a view of our afternoon depravity, turned on the night lights and put on some music. At exactly 12.45pm (Master loves punctuality), I met him at the entrance to our bedroom. One might expect him to meet my excitement with a kiss, but instead, he gripped the back of my neck firmly and pushed me onto my hands and knees. Keeping his grip on the nape of my neck, he steered me crawling past the threshold and straight to our bed.
“Stand up and bend over, hands on the bed, piggy.” I did as I was told, feeling somewhat unsexy in my home ensemble of a purple pullover and black sweatpants. After placing a light swat on my ass, Master pulled my sweatpants down and I silently gave thanks that I had put on a pair of black thongs underneath. Master must have liked what he saw for he started spanking my bare ass and teasing my clit through the fabric of my thongs. When he eventually pulled my thongs down, he found me soaking wet and laughed. “You’re such a horny piggy. This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?” Master asked. Yes, it was true. I rarely get fucked in the pussy these days, save for when I’m ovulating, which was today.
I heard Master pull his pants down and then felt the tip of his hard cock up against my slit, rubbing up and down till it was slick with my juices. When the head of his cock breached the entrance to my pussy, I just melted. It’s been so long since I last took him in my pussy. Usually, he just uses my ass, penetrating my pussy only when his cock needs lubrication. I knew my pussy would need some time to adjust to his full length, but I couldn’t help myself. The longing to be filled and taken, even painfully, overwhelmed me and I started pushing back onto Master’s cock. It was exquisite. I found myself asking for permission to orgasm barely five strokes in. “Est-ce que je peux jouir?” This is perhaps the first full sentence in French I learnt and one I have perfected with practice and overuse.
If you were to ask me which position my favourite is, I’d have to go with missionary, except missionary is anything but boring for us. Missionary frees Master’s hands up to choke me, slap me and grab at my tits. I adore the visuals the position allows. Master has gorgeous blue eyes that darken to a stormy grey-blue when he is aroused. I drown in them when he stares me down while plunging hard into my wet needy pussy. There is also the struggle to keep my hands at both sides of my head while watching his palm draw close to my cheek, knowing that the smarting of skin is inescapable, inevitable. The only times I allow my hands to come into the equation is when I stroke his arm in a wordless signal that he’s choking me well within my limits; a light tap on his arm indicates the opposite.
If I had to liken our love-making fucking to a style of dance, I’d compare it to the tango. We’ve danced it so many times we know the steps at the backs of our hands. We move in tandem, slow at first, but always ending with a passionate flourish. I turn, twist, raise, lower, suck, moan, scream to Master’s lead. I’ve always wondered what we might look like to someone on the outside looking in. The R word comes to mind, but nothing could be further from the truth. “But how can she possibly enjoy being treated that way?” Oh, but I do. Not by anyone, of course. Just him. Just Master. It may not look it, but every strike of flesh he gives me is measured, not much different from the ‘normal’ form of touch most others are accustomed to. It’s just the way I’m wired. No, the way we’re wired.
After Master emptied his balls deep inside me, I took his cock, still hard, in my mouth and cleaned the mixture of our juices from his shaft, the way I’ve been trained to do, regardless of which hole he’s been in. I waited to see if I’d get some time with the vibrator on my clit, but there was none of that today. “Go clean yourself up, piggy, you’re disgusting.” I laughed, headed to the shower and cleansed myself of the remnants of our fucking. Back in the bedroom, after having been thoroughly used, finally came time for the sweet nothings. Master held me tight in his arms, planting kiss after kiss on my face, reddened from a mixture of being choked and being pushed into the mattress. My face against the mass of soft blond curls on his chest, my hands stroking and exploring his arms and chest, that’s my happy place where I find love, acceptance and joy.
Recently, I had a very interesting conversation with a female friend living here in Lyon. She’s Asian, like me. She’s also equally pint-sized, and like me, partnered to a French man. So, I’m sure the following is a generalisation but we both share the same issue with regards to our partners. Namely, they are built too large for our anatomy. Like me, she often experiences pain during sexual intercourse and they often have to pause after the initial insertion and then take it very slow. Many positions, as you might imagine, are out of the question. For instance, she can’t ride him. I have issues with this position as well because Master’s cock hits my cervix when I’m on top. Missionary with my legs over his shoulders is also a no-go. We usually stick to missionary, doggy (with adjustments as this can go pretty deep too) and belly down (our favourite). While she didn’t quite share exactly which positions work for her, she had a different concern.
She and her partner are kink-curious. Not quite full-fledged kinky, but they enjoy a bit of power play in the bedroom. They both identify as switches, but while he has dominated her, she has yet to return the favour. Her concern is that if she can’t ride him, how can she effectively take control? In her mind, it would be quite the anticlimax if she were to get him all turned on, and then not be able to fuck him in what she perceives to be the only dominant sex position she can have over him. I understand her concerns entirely. It is true that mass media has ingrained in our minds the concept that a woman in control in the bedroom always has to be on top. But is this so? While I can’t solve her issue of being able to ride her partner without pain, I was able to open her eyes to the multitude of other ways in which a woman can dominate her man/partner without needing to be literally on top.
For starters, who says that kink always has to end in sex? I know it seems a little bit rich for me to say this, considering that ALL of my scenes with Master end in sex, but in my experience as a professional dominatrix, they never did. Of course, there were other factors at play, namely that any form of intercourse/penetration of me was out of the question. I did not engage in fellatio, cunnilingus, anal or vaginal sex (of me) with my clients. If anyone was to be penetrated, it was them. And whilst the premise might have been safety/professionalism at the time, why can’t a dominant woman take all or some of these off the table if she decides? The fact of the matter is that plenty of women do not even orgasm from intercourse. When I masturbate, for instance, I never use insertions. A vibrator on my clitoris is my go-to, and whilst I have tried pairing this with a dildo/vibrator, I’ve found that they do very little for me. Upon enquiry, she shared that she has the same preference, so then, I proposed that a scene in which she is in charge does not have to end in traditional sex.
I shared with her that with kink, the arousal comes more often from the mental than from the physical. Yes, of course, the physical plays a big part. But, even with the physical, I challenge that it is the suspense from not knowing absolutely what is going to be done to you next that drives your arousal, rather than the actual ‘doing’ itself. Considering that they are both beginners to kink, I suggested she start by levelling the playing field through restraining him to the bed (easily done with ties/scarves to the bed posts/legs), blindfolding him (similar ammo) and then playing with sensation, followed by a heck of a lot of teasing. If I were in her shoes, I’d throw in a bit of mindfuckery by teasing him till he finished, then chiding him for not holding back and using that as the rationale for why he won’t get to fuck me. I’d then finish myself off gloriously with a vibrator while he’s either forced to watch or only permitted to listen (if I can’t masturbate comfortably with eyes on me). But, it’s important to note that most men have a period of post-nut clarity so this might be too much for her partner on the first go. I suggested she be a little kinder in delivery.
I found it to be a very stimulating conversation and I do hope she actually tries what I’ve shared with her on her partner. There is nothing more satisfying than having someone with whom you can experiment on kink with, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re hatching new scene ideas and trawling physical or online sex stores together to add to your new collection, which, trust me, will grow very quickly indeed. I’ve talked to quite a number of women, usually vanilla friends, who, upon finding out that I’m kinky (I tend not to hide this aspect of me from my peers), share their reservations about taking a dominant role with their partners in the bedroom. I think society has imposed the idea that women are supposed to be more submissive in bed, and it takes a very special sort of woman to throw this notion to the wind. When I first started exploring my dominant side, I faced similar challenges. I wasn’t confident in the beginning. I planned all of my scenes from start to finish (still a good practice), and I even relied on a script to know what to say. But really, it’s somewhat like riding a bike. The more you do it, the better you get at it, the less tedious the preparation needs to be. So to the women out there who are hesitant at taking the lead (but who want to, of course), just grab the bull by the balls and take it for a spin.
Locktober is nearly over. There are just five days till the end of the month. I haven’t cum. My last orgasm was on the last day of September. It hasn’t been a particularly difficult Locktober for me. Master has been extremely busy with work so we haven’t played that much. That’s not to say it was a famine; we did manage to squeeze in a handful of very satisfying sessions in the past three weeks. I’ve had short bursts where the arousal was quite heady, but more or less, it’s been a nice slow burn.
I’m not absolutely certain that I’ll get to cum once Locktober is done. Master has hinted that he likes me on denial. I’m easily aroused and a lot more submissive. At this current moment, I can’t say that I have much of an opinion on whether I get to cum or not. I do enjoy being kept in the state of denial, and I havent quite peaked yet. The last time I was denied for a long period, I held out for two months… or was it three? I’m not sure. Anyway, I haven’t reached the point where my body is screaming for release and I think I’d like to get there before cumming. But it’s up to Master, of course.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my marriage of late, in a good way. I’ve been feeling very grateful to the universe or God/fate for bringing me and Master together. I’m not particularly religious, but I do believe in a higher power. I’m agnostic, I’d say. I find it incredible that I found the love of my life in someone born in an entirely different continent from me. Had Master not made the decision to head to Asia to work, we’d never have met. The irony is that it was his then-girlfriend who had pushed him to make the move, so I guess I have her to thank.
I just watched a series on Netflix called “From Scratch” about an American lady finding her soulmate in Italy, whilst on a six week long art immersion programme. I highly recommend it if you need a good cry. It’s a real tear jerker and had me bawling towards the end… to the point where Master had to text me: “Stop crying, piggy. I can’t wank.” I thought that was hilarious, of course, and so he was then treated to the ugly sounds of my laugh-crying/cry-laughing.
The show made me reflect on the work we have done to merge our different cultures. When Master was in Singapore, he had to learn about my culture, meet my family, learn how to communicate with them. And now that I am in France, it is an ongoing process for me to learn the language, the culture, the social nuances. There are a lot of differences. For instance, my family is quite typically Asian. We rarely touch, we rarely display emotion. It’s been eye-opening for me to see just how warm and caring his family is towards one another.
Recently, my father-in-law had to undergo an operation. It was relatively low risk, but there’s always a risk when one goes under the knife. The night before, he texted/called all his children to tell them that he loved them. I wasn’t expecting a message but I received one. He told me that he loves me like a daughter, and asked me to continue taking care of Master should anything happen to him. In the moment when I received the message, I was extremely emotional, but I also felt sorely ill-equipped. I didn’t know what to say in response, settling for something that did not quite encapsulate what I felt.
And this is something I am learning – to say what I mean and mean what I say. In getting to know Master, his family and other French friends, I’ve come to realise that they rarely hide their thoughts and opinions from you once they consider you a friend. This is so contrary to the Asian way of doing things. At home, the closer you get to a person, the less likely you are to want to offend them. Often, we censor our words so as not to create conflict and to avoid confrontations.
Here, the sharing of thoughts and opinions in the form of healthy debate is expected and appreciated. There is no shame in having your opinion challenged as it’s all done in good spirit. We do not shy away from confrontations and the night still ends on a high note even if the conversation runs a tad tense. Of course, we stay away from the very sensitive topics (like politics on which nobody can agree) because the objective is not to offend or argue for the sake of argument, but to engage in intellectual discourse about a variety of subjects. I appreciate this.
I feel like I have gained so much from Master. On the personal front, he has taught me to better express my emotions, to manage and let go of my anxiety, and to be a happier and more present human being. When we have disputes, he encourages me to share my thoughts and feelings and he does the same, all without pointing fingers. And then, together, we mutually decide on a course of action to take. We don’t shy away from apologising to the other, and we always end our disputes with a good long hug and multiple ‘I love you’s.
On the ‘life’ front, he’s given me a new home – one I absolutely adore. I often feel guilty about barely missing Singapore, but it is the country that carries a lot of heartache for me… with my ex, my dysfunctional family, my life lived for others but not myself. Here, I feel content, free and at peace. After so many years of fumbling around in the dark, wondering whether every relationship needs that much tolerance and effort to make it work, I am so thankful to have a husband who leads our household with strength and confidence and who tells me things like, “You’re a wonderful wife. I hope I deserve you.”
Sorry this wasn’t particularly kinky. Just some thoughts in my head that I really needed to put into words. 🙂
I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a little bit of a perfectionist. When I do things, I like to do them “right”. Clearly, my concept of “right” probably isn’t the same as yours, or most people, thus the quotation marks. My original intention of keeping this blog was to use it to pen my journey in cuckqueaning. However, once I found myself losing steam for the one thing I had thought I was passionate about, it was très difficile to own up to my shortcomings.
But here’s the truth: I am, at present, no longer keen on cuckqueaning. It’s lost its shine in my eyes. I don’t know if it’s a result of us having gone at it with too much fervor or if I’m just not emotionally built to deal with the challenges such a lifestyle brings. I have no choice but to admit that it’s just far too much for me to manage and process. The funny thing is, I still find myself returning to cuckquean porn whenever I touch myself. It still turns me on mentally, but perhaps I am just too weak to be one in real life.
I thought about removing my writings and taking this blog down, but a recent encounter with an aspiring cuckquean showed me that there was much for others to learn through my experiences. For this reason, I will keep this blog going. I’ve gone through all my past entries to ensure they are correctly categorized, and I’ve also gone a step further by tagging all the cuckqueaning entries. You’ll find the tag to the right of the page on desktop mode.
Master and I have been taking a break from kink, largely driven by me, not him. He is, as always, keen to get back into the thick of things, but I needed some time to reframe my thoughts and figure out just what I want from this lifestyle. Over the past few months, we’ve been keeping our kink to our scenes, our day to day lives no different from your regular married couple. Of course, my household is not quite egalitarian so our given roles still remained the same: Master brings in the money, I take care of the household. This is something that will not change.
I’m of the mindset right now where I want to tune back in to kink. I miss the power play, the high from a good beating, the surrender from being taken roughly in all my holes. That’s likely the direction that our D/s will go, at least for a while. Master has dropped hints that he would like us to explore cuckqueaning again in the distant future. I’m not closed off to the idea. I suppose that over time, I will learn to shed my emotional baggage and not jump straight into a projected future of betrayal and heartbreak.
I took the initiative today and suggested to Master that we participate in Locktober. If you don’t know what that is, October is when most kinksters interested in chastity play commit to a month of denial. We all know how horny I get when I am denied, so I can’t think of a better method to get myself back in the game. Of course, Master was thrilled at my suggestion. “I can get behind that” were his exact words. I’m not sure how it’ll play out as we haven’t discussed the specifics, but I would love to be locked back up in my chastity belt and denied clitoral orgasms, something I’ve been enjoying rather indiscriminately, for the month.
The past few months have been instrumental to my personal growth in kink. I know it looks like I disappeared, but really I’ve just been finding myself.
For three months following our move to France, Master and I found ourselves in a dynamic that was deeply intense but also incredibly unsustainable. My entries for the period provide a very clear overview of everything we got up to, from long-term chastity to intense cuckqueaning. I will not go into it again as it will be repetitious for those of you who have been keeping up with my writings. (If you haven’t and you’re interested, take a read. You won’t regret it.) What you need to know is that most of it was driven by me. I asked and I received. Master was happy to embark on the experiment with me, and to his credit, he often tempered my requests because he knew they were not coming from a place of reason. So… why?
When I first arrived in France last December, this was on the back of a 7 year long successful career as a Professional Dominatrix. Master and I have always been 24/7, but my work always came first. And so it should – our move across continents was made possible by my hard work. After the initial month of apartment and employment hunting, we finally settled. I found myself in a weird space. I was hungry to make up for lost time. I wanted the real 24/7 M/s experience I felt I had been denied whilst in Singapore, not for lack of wanting on both of our parts. But also, I was empty. My ‘baby’, my successful Pro Domme career, had come to an end and honestly, I didn’t know what to do with myself.
Then, there was also my irrational fear of making a new life in France. I still find it ridiculous when I talk about it, but I have learnt to give myself permission to respect my need for time and space. I was immensely afraid of undertaking the simplest of tasks in my first few months here. I didn’t want to meet new people, I feared taking public transport, I dreaded doing the most basic of things like shopping at the butcher, bakery and market. I kid you not, I relied on online deliveries for the first few months despite living in a country where I have ready access to the freshest produce at the farmers’ market. The truth is that I was terrified of using French. I did not want to embarrass myself, I was deathly afraid that I would be stereotyped as ‘the stupid tourist’.
And that’s why I wanted so badly to have an intense dynamic that would take up all of my time and energy. It gave me less room to focus on what I did not want to think about. Penning my entries after every scene and interacting with all you lovely people here gave me the social engagement I needed so that I did not feel like I was lacking. But of course, it was an apples and oranges kind of situation. I did, in fact, need actual face-to-face bonding/communication with adults other than Master. Who knew?
In the past few months, Master has gotten increasingly occupied with work. It’s a happy problem. He is doing well at his job and his efforts are being recognised. On my end, I’ve found a small circle of new friends to expend my social energy on, and I’ve become a whole lot more serious about my yoga practice and health. Our M/s has found a nice rhythm. It is perhaps not as intense as the both of us would like it, but we recognise that our present and upcoming priorities do not give us the time and energy to maintain the lifestyle we had previously committed to, and it is OK.
Our roles in the household have not changed; I still see to Master’s needs as I have done from day one. We still make time for play, although our kinks are now limited to scenes and not so much in the day to day. So, no, I do not wear my chastity belt anymore, although I am certain it will find its way back onto my body from time to time. No, I am no longer on long-term orgasm denial, but Master still controls my orgasms. No, I am not currently into being cucked, although this is a kink we will probably revisit in the future. No, I am no longer anal/oral-only, my pussy gets a lot of attention these days. And all of this… it is OK.
I am giving myself permission to acknowledge that I don’t have to be a poster submissive for the masses in order to prove that I am in a meaningful M/s dynamic. Don’t worry, I am aware that the pressure was entirely self-inflicted. I’m not sure what direction our dynamic will take in the months that follow; we have upcoming changes that will surely occupy most of our time and energy, but I’m happy and excited for us to find our new sustainable rhythm. I look forward to filling you in when we do.
Whew, it’s been a long time since I last wrote about what Master and I have been getting up to. Sadly, we hit a bit of a rut after my last post, ironically titled Back With A Bang. Clearly, we weren’t. That was published on 17 April, exactly a month ago. Since then, we haven’t played nor fucked. If you’ve read my writings, you’ll know this is not normal for us. We usually play/fuck multiple times a week.
You see, I had found myself in a very strange place sexually. My libido was pretty much gone and the thought of kink turned me off. I felt like I needed a bit of a reset, and so I asked Master if we could take a break. Master hasn’t needed to head to Paris in weeks, so we took a timely break from cuckqueaning as well. Apart from my chores, everything else in our dynamic was suspended for the period.
Initially, I assumed my libido had been affected by my hormones and would sort itself out once my hormones balanced. But a week then a fortnight passed, and still nothing had changed. And that’s when I realised what was probably the culprit – orgasm denial. More specifically, Master had me in chastity and on no-touch for months. I didn’t even edge. I teased myself with the vibrator but for no longer than 30s each time.
I knew this was one of the possible consequences, but I didn’t pin my state of mind on the denial immediately. I guess it slipped my mind till much later. Anyway, I shared this with Master and we decided to reintroduce edging. We agreed that if things didn’t improve by the end of May, we’d do a proper reset by giving me a clitgasm. I hoped we wouldn’t need to do that because I really really adore the concept of long-term orgasm denial, or at least of being permanently denied proper clitgasms.
Fortunately, it worked. After 2 nights of edging for 30 minutes, I started feeling more in tune with my sexual desires. And the weekend that just passed, we played! Our scene was really good… It was what I needed after such a long hiatus in which I felt really disoriented towards kink. But before I tell you how that scene went down, I need to fill you in on a few things.
First, Master and I are putting a pause on him seeing Ms D. I still enjoy cuckqueaning as a kink and I will continue to fantasise and write about it, but I’ve came to realise that I lack the emotional fortitude to cope with Master having a constant partner. Really, she’s great. I like her. If I were polyamorous and could feel compersion, etc, she would be perfect. BUT I am not.
The fact that they were building a connection outside of sex really got to me, and I had been battling with anxiety, trying to shove aside the bad feelings and focus on the horny ones. Catching covid and then the subsequent few weeks when Master didn’t have to head to Paris gave me a much needed respite. I realised I was in at peace, something I hadn’t felt for the months Master was cucking me regularly.
Those months were exhilarating, but also emotionally charged! I’m glad I had the experience, but I don’t think I can live like that beyond a few months. I guess I’m far too jealous a submissive to be comfortable with my Master having a permanent lover who is not me! I ended up growing resentful with Master, nitpicking that he wasn’t paying me enough attention, that he wasn’t playing with me with sufficient intensity, etc etc. It was unhealthy!
Second, our focus for now is to solidify our M/s dynamic.
I’m still on orgasm denial and will continue to be. Master has introduced infrequent ruined orgasms, but a nice proper clitoral orgasm is still far from reach.
I will start sleeping outside the bedroom again, starting tonight. I spend weekends in Master’s bed, the rest of the week in my pet bed.
I will wear my chastity belt at night only. Master and I agreed it makes sense for me to be unlocked during the day, assuming Master is home, since I am quite active and sometimes can do 2 yoga classes a day. When Master heads to Paris, I will be locked for the entire duration.
We reintroduced pussy sex since cuckqueaning is off the table. Infrequent, but now an option. The focus is more on training me to service all of Master’s sexual needs, considering there is now no one else.
Once everything is back up to speed and I am feeling good again, we might explore cuckqueaning in person but perhaps with someone who can play with us together. Or maybe Master will pick things up with Ms D again in future (they will remain friends for now) and I will be supportive of this. We’ll see!
As for our scene yesterday, it was charged. I don’t know if it was because we haven’t played hard in a while, but it felt like Master had a lot of pent up energy that he released on me. I felt like a ragdoll most of the scene, thrown around and manœuvred to his liking. He fucked me really hard in my pussy for the first time in months, forbidding me from using my thighs to keep him from thrusting deep. I had been doing that without realising, but it really turned me on when he instructed me to pull my thighs to my chest and to beg him to slow down if he hit the cervix of my tiny pussy, rather than try to keep him out by force.
Master also fucked my throat plenty, in multiple positions. At one point, I felt lightheaded because he’d cut off my oxygen for just a tad too long, but he sensed it and pulled out just before I blacked out. That was intense and made me realise how much stronger than me he is, and how easily he could hurt me if he wanted to. (I love being overpowered. Master is judo-trained so he does have experience with choking and also with throwing me around in a safe way. I’ve never been hurt by accident before.)
Master gave me a good caning which made me realise how much I missed pain. It was difficult taking a caning after so many weeks without impact, but I was sufficiently aroused that I could take it. It felt like Master needed to give me pain just as much as I needed to receive it. He was demanding and merciless and I absolutely loved it. When he was done, my upper thigh was left stinging from the pain. I thought he might have broken skin, but he hadn’t. He’d just left a nice thick long welt in the spot where my ass meets my thigh.
The highlight of the scene was when Master edged me after he’d cum. He made me lie on my back and pull back on my pubic mound, exposing my clit. Then he held the vibrator in place while he choked me with his other hand. When I was close, I started begging him for permission to cum, and to my surprise, he said Yes! But just as I crossed the edge, he removed the vibrator and started spanking my clit hard. 😦 I felt my orgasm disappear within 5 pitiful throbs, each weaker than the one before. The orgasm was replaced by the sharpness of his spanks on my poor clit. Ouch. I think I started crying and he started laughing.
I leave you with that hilarious image in your mind. I’m quite excited to refine my M/s dynamic over the next few weeks/months. Of course, I’ll make sure to share more! Have a great week!
Little Quean Piggy 