Sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




The Man of the House

It was finally the big day. For months, they had talked and dreamed about living together, about sharing the same home, and at last it was coming true. It was a cozy little place in the suburbs, traditional and yet modern. The house, along with the neighborhood, had a sense of class and comfort, but also somehow managed to evoke humility and modesty. He had been concerned at first that it was beyond his pay grade, but her recent promotion had helped substantially - so much so, in fact, that they enjoyed the luxury of getting movers to bring in and set up most of their belongings in the new residence.

Once the transition of boxes and furniture and everything else was completed, the couple decided to complete the evening with a nice dinner. It felt like a new beginning, a fresh start, in many ways. He had just finished up a great contract before the move, and could now take time to relax and enjoy the freedom prior to his next job. Similarly, she had a brand new title with plenty of its own benefits, including a company car. The time had seemed perfect to strike out into a new town, a new home, and to build a new life.

She especially was enthusiastic about it. Her face glowed at dinner and tones of satisfaction and accomplishment rang from her words. She had brought quite a few more boxes with her than were needed for all the stuff from her apartment, he had noticed with amusement. To tell the truth, he delighted in her ambitious moods. When she would roll up her sleeves and get down to business, he would pay attention. He deeply admired her determination, her confidence, and her ingenuity. Even on hard times, she was an inspiration. She was his rock.

"This is a new chapter for us," she said, poking softly yet intently at her food. "I couldn't ask for a better partner to write it with me."

He smiled. "I feel the same. It's exciting and surprising, and a little bit scary in a good way. There's no one else I'd rather take this leap of faith with, either."

They leaned in across the table and kissed.

On the drive back, he began to wonder. What would their new life be? It didn't seem to her like it was just the house or the new town. People always say that kind of thing even when they only change apartments or move a block or two down the road. She's never been that casual, always more deliberate, more precise. At dinner, she had overflowed with joy, it seemed, but none of it was quite so fixated. The house, the town, living together - these were the instruments to make their new life. If all else stays the same, nothing's really new. What does our new life look like to her, he pondered.

"Do you trust me?" she suddenly asked.

"With my life, liberty, and happiness," he joked. He was proud when he'd come up with that one. It seemed to always make her eyes flash when he'd say it.

She chuckled, paused for a moment, then unknowingly touched her front teeth with her tongue. He knew that meant she was thinking. Not brainstorming or problem solving, like she did for her job. This was her wildly ambitious thinking, when she already knew the answer and was only plotting the execution. The cat playing with the mouse.

God, how it turned him on. Since her promotion, he would occasionally tease about her being the breadwinner now. Initially, it was received like a mild irritant, and dismissed with an eye-roll. But over time, he could see the gears start to turn in her mind. He wasn't sure what they were putting in motion; all he knew was that it often put a little extra hop in her step.

"Good," she said, pulling into the driveway. She turned in her seat to face him, running a single hand cautiously through her short blond hair. "I want you to remind yourself of that, remember that I love you, and think of how this is our new life together."

His pulse quickened as he nodded. What was he walking into?

"When we get into the house, please stay in the front room until I come out."

They proceeded inside, and he did as requested.

A few minutes later, she came in wearing a dress shirt and black slacks.

"Have a seat," she told him, as she continued to stand, looking down on him. "Part of why we're here now, in this home together, is because things have changed. I think you've seen it, too. It's not a bad change, I think it's clearly a change for the better, and I'll bet you agree after today."

"I do," he said softly.

"I'm glad to know that." She took a deep breath before continuing, "I think this new chapter is the perfect time for us to renegotiate our relationship. And please let me first finish what I have to say, and then you'll be allowed to talk. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied, sitting on the edge of the chair.

"I think I should be the one leading this relationship."

He laughed nervously. "Isn't that already how it is?"

"Please," she said a bit firmly. "Let me finish. I want to establish some rules and expectations for our relationship. You have been wonderful and supportive and, yes, you do defer to me most of the time. But I don't want most of the time."

His heart skipped a beat. Taking her cue, she leaned towards him a little.

"I want all the time. And I wouldn't be asking this unless I trusted you and loved you a great deal, and I'm only asking that you trust and love me, too."

She leaned further in, her eyes confronting his. He was dying to speak, but kept quiet.

"Look where we are, baby," she said sternly but affectionately. "This is my house, paid for by my new job. That car out in the drive is my car. Those clothes you're wearing, I bought them for us, too. You have pulled your weight before and you're one of the hardest working men I know."

Again, she leaned in, close enough to put her hand gently on his face.

"But you've said it yourself: I'm the breadwinner now. I want the benefits that come with that."

He didn't know what to think. For a second his mind felt frozen by what he'd heard. She didn't just want to be the boss of her professional life anymore, she wanted to be the boss of their relationship as well. She didn't just want to have his compliance, either, she wanted to hear his approval. Trying to save his ego, he cleared his throat, gathered up his wits, and said, "Okay. What are the benefits you want?"

She smirked. She wasn't biting and he knew it. "Let's start with those clothes, my clothes. Strip."

He chuckled and stood up. Off came the shirt, the belt, the pants.

"Oh no," she objected. "You know better. Everything off."

Undressing completely, he looked her in the eyes with a hint of rebellion. Deep down, he prayed she wouldn't call his bluff.

She stepped towards him, pressing her tongue against her teeth. She put her hands on his waist, and turned his back to her. Shit, he thought to himself. She's not stupid. She knows what she's doing.

He stood still as one hand ran lightly up and down his bare bottom. Then the other hand moved slowly down his chest, over his penis, and gripped his balls firm. The cold room teased his skin and made sure he felt small enough to be embarrassed. She put her lips against his ear and whispered. "Now look who's wearing the pants. You like it more this way, don't you?"

Vainly, he tried to maintain his poker face. "I always like you touching m-me," he said as her hand slid across his chest, his pounding heartbeat giving away the game.

They laughed and kissed one another.

"Give in," she said tenderly. "I want you to submit yourself to me and trust that I know what's best for us."

Grinning mischeviously, she led him to the couch. Pressing his back, she ordered him to bend over her lap. He obeyed with his nerves dancing inside.

"Mmmm," she moaned pleasantly, running her fingers over his naked ass. Suddenly a different sensation came to him. He jerked a little and tried to move, but she kept a hand on his back. "No no. Don't move. Relax."

With the razor, she shaved him smooth. She admired her work personally, groping and squeezing and touching his cheeks. Every caress, every grab loosened his resistance. She'd never been so playful with his butt, and it surprised even him how much he enjoyed it.

"Here's how this works," she announced while continuing to fondle her partner. "You're not the man of this house. This is my house. Here, you're the girl. And you'll love being the girl. Little girls don't have the same responsibilities as men. They definitely don't have hairy asses like men. So I've shaved yours to suit your new... role."

He stayed quiet on her lap. The only sound he could hear was his own excited breathing.

"You won't have to make decisions anymore," she continued. "I will be making the decisions from here on. You won't have to work anymore. I'll be supporting us while you stay at home, like a good little housewife. You won't even have to spend your money anymore, either. It'll be my money. And when I send you out shopping, you will have what I think is appropriate for you to have."

The mischevious grin returned to her face as she felt his cock move against her legs. Someone did not seem to mind her ideas. She felt powerful with his naked body across her lap, telling him who was in charge. The urge began welling up within her to make him beg, make him plead, make him quiver. Just a bit, she pushed it down to regain composure and control.

"Come," she ordered, taking him gently by the back of the neck and leading him into their bedroom.

Opening his dresser drawer, she began pulling out his boxers by the handful, and tossing them into a waste bin she had brought in. He swallowed anxiously at the thought of having to go without underwear. When she finished throwing out the boxers, she retrieved a box that she set on the bed next to the dresser. Taking her time, she cut open the lid, peeked in at an angle where he couldn't see, and giggled. Ever so slowly, she pulled out a pair of very pink lace panties, dangling them teasingly from her fingers as his eyes widened.

"Oh yes," she insisted, walking towards him and grabbing his dick in her right hand. "I need you to understand I'm serious. These are your underwear, honey. They're not mine. I picked them out for you."

He stood unflinching, almost in a trance.

"I know you may feel scared and conflicted," she whispered, touching his chest, caressing his face. "But I do hope you appreciate the gifts I'm giving you. I hope you appreciate what this means to me, and the effort I've put into this."

At that moment, their eyes met, and he knew. Her stern gaze was unyielding. Compassionate and loving, yet unyielding all the same. She wanted this. She would have this. And he knew he wanted this, and he wanted her to be unyielding. Whether she had caught him or he had agreed to be caught, he didn't care. He opened his mouth, but found it dry. Rather than speak his desire, he smiled at her.

"Good," she replied happily, smirking back at him. Then she held up her left hand, gave a commanding pose, and said authoritatively and loudly: "Now, put your fucking panties on."

Exhaling a stuttered and adoring breath, he took them from her and slid them on up his legs, over his thighs, and brought them resting comfortably onto his bottom, cock, and balls. They felt like a cage for his manhood - restraining it, accentuating it, and humiliating it. For a split second, he pondered, 'What am I doing? What kind of man would be okay with this?'

Noticing the reservations on his face, she snapped for his attention.

"Take the rest of your undies out of the box and put them in your dresser."

Instinctively, he obeyed. She loved watching his ass in those panties, and seeing him pull out each pair, neatly fold them, and place them in the drawer. One by one, he was giving up the masculinity he'd been taught, surrendering his foolish need to control, to dictate, to assert, to be "manly." It was starting to seem like he was enjoying it.

Next, she led him into the kitchen, where another box was waiting. From this box, she pulled out a soft, frilly pink novelty apron. In lavish cursive stitching, the front had the words, "I like meat in my buns!" He blushed and laughed with her as she handed it to him to wear.

She leaned next to him and lightly ran her fingers over his buns while he tied the apron. He was beginning to see the benefits of his own new position.

"We have a lot to do to get you housetrained," she said in a sincere tone. "You'll be expected to keep this place clean, to cook, to get groceries, and to stay pretty and willing for me. We'll start with cooking."

He made an exasperated noise, and as she raised an eyebrow and stood back, arms crossed, he was reminded once again that she meant business.

"Yes?" she asked impatiently. "Speak."

"It's just-- I mean... do you really expect me not to work and stay home?" She studied his behavior as he spoke. There wasn't fear. There wasn't anger. There wasn't sadness or disgust. He was whining. They'd come this far, and he was complaining about having to take on new responsibilities. Standing before her in panties and an apron, he was lazily whining as if he still had any authority. She would make sure he understood that all that was gone.

"Fuck YES, I do," she asserted strongly while staring him down. "This is something special and important to me, I've already told you, and I won't stand for whining. If this is asking too much of you, say so, because I'm going to be asking a lot more. Otherwise, shut your mouth and show me you can do this."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he apologized, startled by her words and their delivery. "That was thoughtless of me. I just... I'm vulnerable here, and I have worries and questions and... this is a new thing for me. A new turn-on."

"It's new for both of us," she interrupted, putting her arm affectionately around the back of his head. "And I'm vulnerable too; I have worries and questions and all that. But I love you and I trust you, and I know you feel the same towards me. Open up to me when you need."

A contented sigh came from him, right before she added: "Just don't fucking whine at me. And if you ever call me sweetheart again..."

"Well, what should I call you?" he asked playfully.

"Sir. You call me-"

"Yes, Sir." They both felt him get hard under the apron. She pushed his brown curls back from his face. Meeting her eyes, he said, "You're my rock, Sir."

In a flash, she dragged him to the couch, flung the apron off him, and had him bent over her again. Her hand flew up his right buttock, under the panties, gripped them tight, and yanked them down to his knees. A surprised squeak came from him, much to her delight. Then he felt the first sting.

"The man of the house is the disciplinarian, you know," she teased him, her arm pressed against his back to keep him down as she dealt out the punishment. "I don't tolerate backtalk, disobedience, or disrespect of any kind."

"I'm sorry, Sir," he stammered, gasping and twitching as the spanking continued.

"I will bend your ass over, wherever you are in this house," she warned, "and I will make you sorry if you give me lip again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir. I won't do it again."

"Good girl," she whispered to him, her fingers now lightly tormenting his red cheeks. He couldn't help letting out a pleasant moan at her compliment. "Swatting your butt will keep you in line. Expect that to be somewhat regular, even when you're behaved. Now, get your ass in the kitchen and bake us some cookies."

He promptly scampered off to do as he was told.

A while later, he brought the cookies into the living room. She motioned for him to set them down on the table next to her chair. He obeyed. She took one and asked him to take off his apron. Again, he followed her lead. She told him to remove her shoes and rub her feet. This he did, also. When she told him to get on his knees in front of her, he expected he knew what was next.

"Be brave, little girl," she sternly ordered him, inching up to the edge of her seat. "Make me proud. And remember your place."

Unzipping her slacks, she reached in and brought out her cock. It was long, thick rubber with realistic color, blemishes and veins. He felt his penis expand inside his panties. His heart began to race. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

She leaned over him, dangling her dick in front of his face with one hand, and with the other she grabbed him by the hair. He gasped and his penis moved again. He didn't know what to think, what to do. She had taken her new role seriously. He now fully knew he was being replaced. Yet he seemed to be excited, stimulated, turned on by the thought. What the fuck.

"Ignore that little thing in your panties," she said with sadistic enjoyment. "It's not going anywhere. You have bigger and better things to be concerned with."

He was tucked away tight in the pinkest panties, and here she was, looming over him, almost slapping him in the face. She. It is her. It's her cock. The longing started to sink in.

"After a long day, I get to relax in my chair and get my big, hard cock sucked." The words rolled off her tongue slowly and sensually. "I'm the breadwinner, the head of the house, the man of the house, and I make the rules. You're my little bitch, too, and it's time for you to please your man."

His mouth went on her cock and he instantly stiffened. She growled a terrific sound at the sight. He stuffed his throat with her, sucked her intently, and gagged. She held his head close to her dick, occasionally shoving him down on her. After a minute, she had an idea. He wasn't pleasing her man enough.

"You're gonna be doing this a lot," she commented. "Get used to using your hands and really loving this cock. Go on."

He touched it and realized its size. He kissed and licked it and felt humiliated for it. Why was he feeling this way about a rubber toy? She pressed him closer to her. Suddenly, he found himself holding onto her legs, his head in her lap, worshipping her manhood.

She reached down into his panties and enclosed her hand around his erect penis. "Look at that," she laughed. "I've made you my cocksucking slut after just one day."

It was all her. She'd planned on every bit of it from the beginning of their day, and probably days before. There was no denying she was ambitious. Nor could he deny that she had mastered her ambition - she'd mastered him. He was thrilled about it, not entirely for reasons he understood. She'd taken over, and he just knew it was better this way.

"It's time we take this to its rightful conclusion," she told him after watching her new housewife suck her cock for a good while.

He looked up and said without hesitation: "Yes, Sir."

To the bedroom she led him, one hand against his butt. With a whack to one cheek, she ordered him onto the bed. She stepped out of her slacks, showing off the boxer-briefs with her cock poking out, and unbuttoned her shirt, feeling the cool air on her bare breasts underneath. All he could think was how handsome she looked.

"Be a good girl and get on all fours," she instructed. "Stick that pretty ass out for me."

Obediently, he assumed the position. Yet her hands came to mold him into the correct one. She forced his back to arch, his bottom to angle out more, and his shoulders and head firmly on the sheets. His panties were pulled to his knees. He breathed heavily through it all, which she listened to happily. He was all hers, she knew. And she was about to end the first sentence of their new chapter on a bang.

"The man of the house does the fucking, doesn't he?" she asked playfully, while calmly lubing up his hole. "I mean, that's kind of implied by him wearing the pants - he has the cock, cock does the fucking."

Sighing, he felt her spread his cheeks with her hands.

"Well, I wear the pants here. I'm the man here. I'm your man, aren't I?"

"Yes, Sir."
"Let's hear you say it."

"You're my man."

"Oh, come on. You sounded ridiculous. Again. Mean it this time."

"You're my man, Sir."

"No, no. You know what it is? I think you have to feel my cock inside your ass before you can mean it. Are you gonna take my cock, girl?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Say it, dammit."

"I'm gonna take your cock, Sir."

She pushed in, and he could feel himself stretching. Her hands squeezed around his buns as her dick went in deeper. "Say it again, bitch."

"I'm gonna t-take your cock, Sir." He moaned hard.

"Say I'm your man and you're gonna take my big fucking cock."

"You're... my-- man," he stuttered, as she smacked his ass.

"Alright, slut, I'm making you beg this time. Think where you are first."

"Yes, Sir," he replied before crying out.

Up and down his ass she ran her hands. Feeling, grabbing, groping, slapping, spanking, squeezing, scratching, molesting. His body convulsed in pleasure, waiting for her next thrust.

"Please, Sir," he begged her. "You're the man. Fuck me with your big fucking cock."

Gradually, she pushed in and in and in until he felt filled by her. She put her hands on his hips and rocked him back and forth on her dick. She felt her own insides bursting with pleasure. Harder and harder she thrust in.

"How's it feel with those bitch panties around your knees while I'm pounding your ass?"

"Fuck," he exclaimed. "I feel..."

"Say it."

"I feel..."

"Say it already!"

"I feel like I'm being fucked like a girl. I feel like your bitch."

"And just think," she chuckled, "you have no other underwear left anymore. You'll be wearing your pink panties under your clothes when you take the garbage out. Your purple ones when you go grocery shopping. Your red ones when you go gas up my car."

He gasped and yelled as she kept at his ass.

"And every day when I get home from work," she said softer to him, "and after we eat the dinner you've made us, your man will make you thank God for his long, stiff cock."

Without warning, she pulled out. He could barely keep his wits about him. Another smack on the ass, with his panties yanked off, and she commanded him to turn on his back. Immediately, he rolled over.

She leaned in, looked into his eyes, and pushed in again. He was totally unprepared, and she ate up every second of it. She towered over him first, holding his legs apart, and looking down on him in intimidation. She watched his penis harden, his eyes widen, his body move. She was in full control. She felt like a conqueror, surveying the kingdom he had taken. He watched her in awe, feeling as if nothing of himself still remained. She climbed up on the bed with him, pushing him up and penetrating him deeper.

"When you meet the neighbors," she said, breathing in between every few words, "and you meet the other men of the house around here, I hope you feel embarrassed, humiliated, and emasculated. They'll complain about their wives, assert their dominance, and talk about fucking their wives, too. You'll just have to think: 'I'm the wife. I don't get to complain. I'm the dominated, not the dominant. I don't do the fucking, I get fucked.'"

"Yes, Sir," he moaned.

"And then you should think: 'I really am lucky to have my man. She treats me well. She knows what she's doing. She knows what's best. And that's why she wears the pants and I wear the panties."

"Of course, Sir."

Her face glowed at him like it had at dinner.

A little later as they were lying in bed, her in her boxer-briefs and him in his panties, she spoke again. "Tell me," she said. "Tell me about our new life."

"It's perfect," he answered with a smile.

man   house   the  

Feb 11, 2018 in femdom

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