Sharing the Wealth

I am submissive to my wife, Helen, who is an evil genius. She enjoys experimenting with ways to display my submissiveness to other women for her amusement and to humiliate me. She is extraordinary and I love her completely. Over the past year she has instituted periodic "Share the Wealth" evenings during which I am to seduce a strange woman and then submit to her or, if necessary, teach her to dominate me. The purpose, Helen says, is to help more women grasp their superiority and form appropriate ambitions. Last week Helen announced it was time to Share the Wealth again this Friday night, but then something unexpected came up.

Let me explain first how STW works. We are both fit and in our early forties. We live in a city that often hosts large business gatherings. Helen has a friend who works in marketing at one of the hotels downtown, so she always knows where and when events are booked. Helen reserves a hotel room the during some convention or other and we join the attendees either at the hotel bar or one nearby. I am allowed to pick out my clothes for STW nights, though Helen must approve them and reserves the right to specify underwear. We split up before entering the bar. My first job is to attract a free woman, which is not terribly difficult. If no one begins flirting naturally, I am to begin buying drinks for women until one of them joins me and we settle into conversation. I have limited control over who talks to me. For example, if no one does (my preference), I can pick a woman I would like to buy a drink for. But if someone approaches me on her own, Helen's rules kick in right away.

There are three simple rules. First, I must answer every question I am asked candidly and truthfully. Second, I must be polite and deferential, saying "yes ma'am," "no ma'am," "thank you ma'am," and so forth, without fail. This deference must be genuine and sincere, not humorous or sarcastic. Finally, whenever the woman says (and they always do, eventually), "What's up with all the yes ma'ams?" I must tell her that my wife requires me to be respectful and submissive to women. Then I am to hand her a letter from Helen. It says, more or less:

The man who gave you this note is my husband, William. As you have just discovered, he is submissive and will obey any order I give him. Tonight, as a gift to you, I will order him to service you in any way you like, within limits. His penis will be useless to you, as it is to me. It is locked up and I have the only key, so if you were looking forward to sex with a 'manly' man, you will have to keep looking. Fortunately, however, William has other talents. You may borrow him for two hours to do your bidding. If you are interested, please instruct William to call me and then hand his phone to you and we can discuss the details. If you are not interested, please return this note to William so that he may seek another woman to serve this evening.

Kind regards, Helen

I get butterflies watching a woman I've only just met read this note, with her dawning realization that the man before her is not whatever she thought I was. Her eyes widen, sometimes she covers her mouth or suppresses a smile, and she stares at me -- trying to fathom what is happening, I suppose -- after finishing the note. They always ask if this is a joke or a prank. I answer truthfully, "No ma'am, it is not a joke." Usually they ask me other questions, but pretty soon they say OK, call your wife and let me talk to her. Only one woman so far has chosen not to (but even she snapped a photo of the note before she called me a perv and gave it back to me).

When Helen gets them on the phone, she explains some basic limits and assures the woman she will be safe -- that we can use either the woman's room or mine, as she likes, and if necessary, I can fetch a kit from my room that includes among other things, cuffs, a gag, and a blindfold. [Helen once wryly observed that if I was naked, caged, cuffed, gagged, and blind I could hardly pose much of a threat, could I.] She also reveals that she herself is in the hotel and will fetch me after two hours. To prepare the woman's attitude, Helen will sprinkle in disparaging comments about me, saying things like his tongue is bigger than his penis, that I'm her little cuck, or that unfortunately I'm a bit of a sissy. She also offers to join me and the woman, should she wish her to, so she can demonstrate how to obtain good service. If she doesn't join us, Helen will insist on having a key to the room we are in. Helen believes, in short, she is not just sharing (and humiliating) me but, more important, spreading the good word about no-nonsense female-led relationships. Performing a public service, and putting her money where her mouth is, so to speak. Naturally, not every woman accepts the offer, but I assure you almost all find it tempting.

On our first STW night our "guest mistress" was Julie, who agreed that Helen could join us, though it turned out she didn't need much instruction. Well before two hours had passed, Julie had obtained tuzla escort two powerful orgasms from my tongue and rubbed out a third on my face. Helen generously lent her a strap-on and admired her technique as she pegged me, though Julie shyly insisted she had never done it before. She loved the rhythmic clicking of the lock on my cage as she worked on me from behind. Julie and Helen exchanged numbers and Helen made her promise to stop looking for men to fuck until she first found one to dominate. "Then -- after you find a submissive -- then you can look for cock," Helen advised. Afterwards, Helen raved about Julie, and about what a good idea Share the Wealth was. She assured me there would be more.

On STW 2 the woman who eventually hit on me -- and who became our second guest mistress -- was Lisa, but by the time I handed over the letter, Helen was flirting with some guy on the other side of the room and didn't want to give him up. When I called her and handed my phone to Lisa, Helen quickly went over the rules and asked if Lisa was up for it. When Lisa said she was ('Well, OK I guess, what the fuck,' were her words), Helen said she'd be right over and hung up. Helen patted me on the head when she joined us and introduced herself to Lisa. She said she couldn't go with us to the room right away because she needed a little more time with young Jonathan -- she at least wanted to get his number.

Nearly two hours later, Helen quietly let herself into our room. Lisa was sprawled naked on the bed in a post-orgasmic stupor while I, between her legs, was lapping softly and rubbing her thighs, as I had been for at least 15 minutes. Lisa was startled when Helen came in and considered covering herself and pushing me away, but actually did neither. Helen happily clapped her hands as she took in the scene. "Is our William behaving himself? Doing everything as asked?" Lisa nodded and kicked me gently, "Oh yes. He's been good." Helen sighed, "Lisa dear, I know I should leave you alone, but I could really use a bit of what he's giving you. Would you mind?" She sounded tipsy. Lisa hesitated but then said OK ("like, he's your husband") and scooted over on the bed, pulling a sheet over herself after I got out of the way. Helen removed her skirt and top, tossed them onto a chair, then arranged some pillows against the headboard. She slid into bed wearing a smart bra and thong and leaned back contentedly against the pillows.

"All right. Over here, boy." She patted the mattress in front of her crotch. "You know what to do." As I took up my position Helen turned and confided to Lisa, "Oh my God, I was so close. So close. Sorry, I just really need this now!"

"What?" Lisa said. Helen lifted her hips so I could pull her thong off.

"With Jonathan. I was so close. I mean, he was good and everything, he was big... He was just a little ... quick, you know?" I dropped Helen's soiled thong on the floor and began licking.

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Wait. What. You mean...?"

"Yes." I was tasting the answer to Lisa's question.

"You already fucked him ..."

"Yes. Well, he had a room..." Helen moaned softly and began flexing to feed me.

"And now ..." Lisa stopped and answered her own question, "And now, he's eating you out. Oh. My. God. Whoa. You guys are out there." Helen merely chuckled.

We stayed long enough for Helen to have a crashing orgasm and for Lisa to indulge her curiosity about parts of our lifestyle. Helen explained that she fucks whomever she pleases, mostly a few proven regulars (she's picky, I give her that); that I fuck no one except her (on extremely rare occasions); and that if I am with her after she has fucked someone (they don't fuck her, you see -- she fucks them), I have two simple duties: to clean her and to give her an orgasm. Helen assured Lisa it was the best of all possible worlds. Lisa declined Helen's offer to have me service her once more before we left. She did not want to be licked by me after I had consumed the unknown Jonathan's leavings. So instead, Helen directed me to place a respectful kiss on Lisa's asshole. "No harm in a cuckold's kiss!" she laughed as she got dressed. She playfully added, "And sometimes you do it the French way, don't you, Cucky." "Yes, ma'am," I murmured. To my knowledge, she and Lisa did not exchange numbers.

Well, the point of this story is STW 3, which just happened Friday, but not in the usual way. Helen had circled Friday on the calendar because an international bank was bringing mid-level managers into town for several days of training. She considered it perfect because there would be plenty of smart, ambitious women (she didn't care whether they were single) and endless stultifying meetings they would be eager to escape and seek diversion from. In short, these were the sort of women who could learn or be taught how to take control outside the office. But then, on Tuesday, Amanda called, and the plans changed.

Amanda was a freelance editor, had been Helen's college roommate göztepe escort and a good friend ever since, though she lived on the other side of the country. I knew they spoke by phone from time to time, but in the years I had known Helen, neither had actually visited the other. Amanda was not even at our wedding (which, admittedly, was small). Now, though, she was coming to town for meetings and wanted to take us out to dinner and catch up over the weekend. Of course, Helen accepted and insisted Amanda should stay with us. After she got off the phone, Helen informed me, "Bad news for you, Willie. It looks like we'll have to do Share the Wealth some other time. Amanda's coming here Friday. You're going to be cooking instead of licking." This was a relief to me. I actually enjoy cooking, and since Amanda didn't know about our lifestyle, the upcoming weekend would be 'normal' (even if not 'our' normal).

Thursday morning, as I served Helen breakfast and then joined her, she told me, "I have it all figured out, William. You can just do Share the Wealth by yourself with some banker babe while Amanda and I go out by ourselves. I told her you have some 'off-site training' Friday, but that fortunately, it's here in town. We'll catch up with you after you perform your two hours of community service."

I did not like this idea. "But, Helen, ma'am. You won't be there? What if there's a problem?"

"Nonsense. Don't be a sissy." She caught herself and laughed, "Well, I guess you actually are a sissy. But trust me, everything will be fine. You'll pick up a banker. I'll tell your banker friend all the rules when she calls and that you have my permission -- my orders, in fact -- to leave promptly if she does anything she shouldn't. No problem."

"But..."

"No buts, William. Amanda and I will have much more fun if we go to dinner by ourselves. You two don't even know each other."

"But..."

"Stop. This is happening. Period." And that's how I ended up going to a hotel, by myself, to seduce a stranger and, per Helen's orders, to submit to her whims. STW was bad enough with Helen there. I thought it was a grave mistake to attempt it without her. I feared a disaster.

Helen instructed me to be ready when she got home from work Friday. She is a well-paid professional, as I once was; now I mostly cook, keep house, and garden. We would prepare me for STW, she would drop me off at the hotel, and then go meet Amanda for dinner. I was to do my duty for Womanhood at the hotel and text her when I finished. She would let me know when to come home, or I could stay by myself at the hotel.

Helen arrived home at 6, after texting me that she was on her way. As usual, I was waiting by the door. She handed me her keys, purse, coat, and case. She waited as I put these away and returned to give her a welcome home kiss. She decides where I am to kiss her. Friday it was her hand, as usual. Often, it's her shoe; once in a while will she permit me to peck her cheek. Sometimes she lifts her skirt or lowers her slacks and I must kiss her ass. [Once she came home in a fury at the end of a bad day. She flung her things down and spat, "Men are such FUCKING assholes!!" She yanked down her slacks and underwear and had me tongue her asshole for ten whole minutes.]

With no dinner to cook I'd had time to tidy the house and prepare (iron) my outfit for STW 3. "I assume you are ready to dress?" Helen asked. I nodded. This meant I had shaved everywhere but my head and eyebrows, cleaned myself out, and lubricated myself. "OK," she said, "let's see the outfit." We went to the bedroom where I had laid my clothes out on the bed. She smirked. "Nice try, Willie. Pants, shirt and jacket are fine. But underwear is going to be a camisole, panties, and thigh highs." I groaned and she warned me, "No complaints, mister, or you'll be wearing a red training bra!" She turned toward my dresser. "And go get your CB6000. There'll probably be metal detectors at the hotel. I'll look for the key to the steel one. Shit, where did I put it?"

Eventually, Helen went downstairs to have a drink while I got dressed and then presented myself for inspection. She whistled and nodded her approval but still checked my underwear. "Alpha on the outside, very beta on the inside. Looks good. Where's the goodie bag?" She was referring to the "kit" I've already mentioned. "In the closet, ma'am," I replied. "OK, grab it and we're out of here," she said and headed for the garage. I followed.

Helen drove us to the hotel in her BMW (I do not have a car). When she dropped me off she smiled sweetly. "Make me proud, Cucky. Some lucky banker lady is going to learn a lot from you in two hours. Don't let her down!" I exited with the kit -- a nondescript day pack. "Yes, ma'am," I said. "Text me when you're done," she said and pulled away with a honk and a wave. I entered the lobby, checked in, and went to my room to inspect the space and deposit the kit. I took a deep breath and -- yikes -- went down to the bar alone.

By üsküdar escort then it was well after 7 o'clock. Had I been at home, supper would be over, dishes done, and Helen's wishes attended to as bedtime approached. In the hotel bar (actually one of several pop-up bars set up for the attendees) no one was even thinking of supper, not yet. Nearly everyone wore a lanyard with an ID that identified them as part of the group and probably entitled them to drinks on the bank. I wished for some free hors d'oeuvres but did not see any. I sat down at a small table away from the bar and tried to look interesting. Eventually, a circulating waitress took my order but noticed I did not have an ID. "So you all's not with the bank or anything?" she said. "No, ma'am," I replied. "Can I put it on my room?" She shrugged, nodded and left. Fifteen minutes later I had a gin and tonic.

When the G&T was gone and I was still alone, I began to scan the scene for attractive women I could buy a drink for. The sooner I got STW over with, the sooner I could go home or watch a movie in the hotel room (a poor attitude, Helen would note). I spied a chubby blonde standing by herself -- she looked friendly -- and decided what the hell and waved at the waitress. Before I could flag her down, an attractive brunette approached my small table and waved sheepishly. "Hey there," she said. "I guess you and I are just about the only outsiders here." She wasn't sporting the bank's ID either. "You're not with this group or convention or whatever it is?" she asked. She was way more attractive than the blonde. I looked for a chair to offer her. Seriously, she was very attractive.

"No ma'am," I answered.

"Me neither. Sure are a lot of them, huh?"

"Yes ma'am." [Damn! Where were all the chairs?]

"Your drink is looking kind of empty there. What was it?"

"Gin and tonic, ma'am." She gave me a curious smile and waved the waitress over. To my amazement, the waitress, a different one, appeared right away. "Two Bombay and tonics." Seeing that neither of us had badges, the waitress asked if she had a tab. "Not yet." The brunette turned to me and asked, "Do you have a tab...? Um, sorry, I don't know your name." I replied, "Yes ma'am," and I asked the waitress to put the drinks on my room.

"I'm Rebecca. What's your name?

"William, ma'am." She gazed at me, clearly interested. Already, I had addressed her as ma'am five times. Helen's trusty rule.

She cocked an eyebrow. "So, 'William-ma'am,' you're here, but you're not a banker, right? Are you a tourist?"

"No ma'am."

"But you're from out of town."

"No ma'am."

Her eyebrows rose. "So, you mean you live here?"

"Yes, ma'am. Well, not far."

"William. William. William. Why are you here? Just out hunting on a Friday night, hmm?" She glanced at my wedding ring as our drinks arrived.

"No ma'am. I mean not exactly, ma'am." I gulped. I was required to answer candidly. "Well, actually I am here to serve women, ma'am." I flushed and grabbed my drink, raising it with an embarrassed nod.

"Cheers." She lifted her glass but looked at me askance. "You 'serve women'? Is that what all the 'ma'am' shit is about? Are you for real? What makes you think women need 'serving'?" At that point, I was compelled to give Helen's letter to Rebecca. Helen's rules never fail.

Rebecca put her drink down, her eyes fixed on me rather than the envelope she was opening. She extracted Helen's note and began to read. She looked up when she finished. "Are you kidding me?"

"Um, no. Not kidding, ma'am."

"You're married."

"Yes, ma'am." I held up my hand with my wedding ring.

"And your wife knows you're here. Shit, your wife sent you here."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Stop it with the 'yes ma'ams.' Call her up."

I pulled out my phone and tapped Helen's number, not knowing if she had yet connected with Amanda, but guessing she had. When Helen answered, I asked her to please hold for Rebecca. Rebecca took my phone and her drink and stepped away so I would not overhear the conversation. She and Helen spoke for several minutes. Mostly Rebecca listened; a couple of times she laughed, sometimes she appeared to ask a question. When she hung up, she confronted me.

"OK, bub. We're going to try this, but on my terms. Finish your drink. Close the tab. Then you're going to go get your kit or goodie bag or whatever it is and meet me at my room. Number 1224. You have ten minutes. Don't try any funny stuff."

With no interest in 'funny stuff,' I waited outside 1224 for Rebecca. When she arrived and saw me waiting she said, "Hmph. I didn't think you'd actually show up. OK, we're going to a different room," and had me follow her down the hall and around the corner. I was struck again by her beauty; she was in her late 30s I guessed, possibly 40, and graceful. She produced a keycard and opened the door to another room. "This here is my friend's room. He's retired Air Force and he knows where we are for the next two hours. Understand?"

"Certainly, ma'am." Once inside, she closed the door but didn't bolt it. Then she turned and stared at me, her fists on her hips. I bowed nervously and asked, as I had been taught, how I might serve her.