How I became a cruel wife

When I told the man -- I'll call him Philip -- who became my partner and, subsequently, my husband what I needed from a relationship it changed my life. Even now, over ten years later, I still think about it, and I recently wrote it as a story on this site ('Cruel Aisha's perfect partner')

I wrote it from Philip's point of view, and in the light of how I now know he sees it. It's basically a true account, except that what I present in the story as having been a single conversation on one night happened, in reality, over the course of several conversations. And, of course, I edited it to make it more readable than a verbatim account would be.

Also, because I wrote it from Philip's point of view, it doesn't really give much sense of what it meant for me. So now I'm going to try to explain that by telling what led up to those conversations.

As explained in the earlier story, Philip and I met when we were mature students at a university in the north of England. I'd guessed that Philip was falling for me, and that sooner or later he would try to initiate a sexual relationship. I was also falling for him, in that I really enjoyed his company and he was the kind of man I could imagine sharing ordinary, everyday things with -- as, indeed, we had begun to do, albeit as friends.

But I knew it had no future as a 'romantic' relationship because of what I already knew about my sexual needs and desires. So I'd already decided that, if and when he did make his move, I'd try to explain to him exactly what kind of relationship I would want. There was a small part of me that hoped he would want what I wanted, but I didn't think it was remotely likely.

What maybe doesn't come across in the previous story is how deeply I wanted such a relationship, or how risky it felt telling Philip about it. I was really scared he would be totally appalled, though I had also sensed from some things he had said about his previous relationships that he might not be. In particular, he'd hinted that he hadn't been able to sexually satisfy his previous girlfriends, and I'd also had the impression that he'd been turned on by the jealousy caused by one of them having cheated on him.

Still, that was very different to him wanting what I wanted or, more accurately, needed. To explain that, I need to go back to before I met Philip, by which time I was twenty-five.

When I was 18, I was excited by the idea of exerting power over men. I used to get a huge thrill from flashing a bit of cleavage or a glimpse of my knickers and stockings -- yes, I really did wear stockings -- at older men, to see them get all worked up. Quite a few times, I egged them on to take their penises out, only to say that they weren't big enough for me. It was just a game, in a way, but it was also how I really felt.

It made me feel good to know that these men would do what I told them, and even better to put them down and send them back to their dreary little wives, frustrated by my refusal to take things further. One of them even went on his knees and literally begged me to wank him off, but I pretended to be disgusted which, in a way, I was. But I did let him lick and kiss my shoes, whilst calling me 'Princess Aisha'.

The 'Princess Aisha' thing was part of another aspect of all this, which was the way I knew men got excited by me being mixed-race and, in their eyes, exotic. To me, it was just the way I was, but I learnt that it gave me a special mystique, a special power over a lot of men.

Then, one time, I did the same teasing thing and the guy's cock was huge. That was the first time I ever gave a man a blow job, and received a facial. In fact, he came all over my face and my blouse and skirt. I masturbated for months afterwards, just remembering it. I also developed a fantasy about him spanking me for being a naughty little cock tease, though it never happened in reality I'm sorry to say.

I also began to have fantasies about cheating on an imaginary boyfriend or husband and telling him about it to make him jealous. I don't suppose I thought in terms of 'cuckolding' then, as I didn't know the term or, if I did, wasn't aware of it being a specific kind of sexual fetish.

At the same time, I was developing intellectually and, in particular, I was becoming a very committed, and quite radical, feminist. I saw, and still see, traditional marriage as central to patriarchy. It is the means by which female sexuality becomes her husband's property via a marriage contract. There's much more that I could say about that, but I don't suppose anyone is reading this story for a lecture on feminist theory. Even so, feminism is part and parcel of my sexuality.

The important point is that my growing sexual desire to humiliate and cuckold men, and my intellectual and political desire for non-patriarchal marriage came together.

This also meant that the cuckolding and cuckold humiliation porn that was starting to appear on the internet, and which I read almost obsessively, didn't entirely appeal to me. There were exceptions, but it almost all seemed to be about satisfying male fantasies, on male terms. I also noticed that very little of this cuckolding porn was written by women.

In most of the cuck porn, the cuckolding wife, or 'hotwife', was really only acting out her husband's fantasies, whilst usually promising him that he remained her true love. It was as if she was a porn actress, and he was the film director. In short, it was all about his desires, and very little about her sexual agency. And, of course, most of the stories were obviously, literally, made up stories rather than things that had actually happened.

This also meant that, even if some of the stories were true, what they described was, in important ways, a fake from my perspective. It didn't usually have an emotional dimension, because it was all about the act of sex and not its meaning. Yet the reason why 'real' cuckolding hurts the man is because he feels jealous and scared, and that he has lost control of his wife. But what most cuckolding porn presents is a picture of the man orchestrating his wife's infidelity and, in that way, taking away his fear of her infidelity by controlling it.

Although I continued to read and watch cuckolding porn, because occasionally I came across things that really spoke to me, I came to the conclusion that, in real life, the men who fantasise about it, or even practice it, didn't really want the kind of thing I wanted. What I wanted was a relationship which, whilst close and loving in some ways, gave me complete power over my husband's sexual conduct and complete freedom over my own.

Alongside all this, I was becoming more and more fascinated by what I would now call chastisement. By that I mean not just teasing and humiliating men, but punishing them physically. Specifically, punishing them for their lechery towards women or, in feminist terms, for their 'objectifying gaze'. I found it a politically pleasing idea, but also a sexually exciting one. To avoid any misunderstanding, what I mean by that is that I got wet thinking about spanking men, and masturbated thinking about spanking men.

Yet I was also aware that I was sexually excited by the idea of, myself, being physically chastised by men. I had first been aware of that when, as I've mentioned, I fantasized about being spanked for being a cock tease by the man I gave my first blow job to. I struggled to reconcile this with my feminism, but in time came to think that it was part of the expression of my sexuality as a woman, a sexuality with a wide scope, none of which I needed to feel ashamed of.

Crucially, I came to see that, if I were to have a husband or partner, then I could not be spanked by him, or even have sexual intercourse with him, without our relationship being patriarchal. But I should also be free to express my sexuality, including its submissive elements, and so would do that outside of my partnership or marriage.

All this had begun to take shape in my head by the time I was in my early twenties, though it still wasn't fully developed. But what it meant in practice was another matter. I hadn't, in any case, had much chance to put anything into practice, other than the cock teasing I've described.

I had gone out with some boys and had sex with a couple of them, but it didn't amount to much and I knew that none of them was what I was looking for. Not that it mattered, because at that age, like most young women, I wasn't looking to 'settle down'. Still, I sometimes worried about whether I was ever going to have a serious relationship that gave me what I was starting to realise I needed.

Rather than go to university, as most of my friends did, I started working in arts journalism and, immediately, had men coming on to me. As most half-way attractive women know, we experience a tidal wave of lechery. Men comment on us in the street, leer at us, proposition us at work. It just never stops. It literally never stops. I was disgusted by its crudeness and its implicit misogyny, in the sense of a constant assumption that women were available and its total objectification of women. These men weren't interested in me, in any meaningful way, simply in my body. It was as if women were sex dolls, but with better functionality.

Yet I also revelled in the power it gave me. Initially, I was in the mode whereby my greatest pleasure was cock teasing. So I deliberately wore skimpy and revealing clothes to work. Nothing too obvious or inappropriate, but I just made sure my bra was visible through my blouse, or that my blouse was unbuttoned to show some cleavage. Sometimes I wore almost indecently short skirts, or longer skirts that were slit to the thigh.

I frequently accepted invitations from men to have lunch or dinner with them. They were almost always older than me, and often married. I knew what they really wanted, of course. Sometimes they lost their nerve, but most of them ended up propositioning me. Typically, they would ask me to go to a hotel bedroom and I often accepted. Occasionally, I'd have sex with them, if I liked them and they had a big enough cock, but more often I'd do my old trick of telling them their cock was too small for me, and go off leaving them frustrated.

I also had a new trick, which had come from my reading of porn. I'd come across the idea of a 'ruined orgasm', where the woman wanked the man until the last moment and then took her hand away, leaving his cock twitching in the air and dribbling cum. I really loved doing that, more than almost anything else, and in fact I still do.

The other thing I started doing, and not just fantasising about, was spanking men. I actually got quite adept at this. I'm still talking about when I was in my early twenties. By this time, I had a good instinct as to whether they had a decent-sized cock or not. If I thought they didn't, then when they propositioned me I'd tell them that I wasn't ready for sex, but that I would 'spank and wank' them. They invariably accepted.

When we got the hotel room, or wherever, I'd take off my belt, which by that time I made sure to be wearing on such occasions. Then I'd tell them to strip and kneel before me. There was usually a glaring contrast between my tall, slim, brown body and their paunchy, middle-aged, whiteness. I'd mock the size of their penis, telling them it wasn't big enough to satisfy a woman. I'd then get them to kneel on the bed, give them some strokes of my belt whilst reaching in front to, as I told them, 'give a spank-wank'. The 'wank' part was often a ruined orgasm though sometimes, if I liked them, I bestowed a full orgasm. There were variations on these themes, but that was the basic approach.

I'd met most of these men through work, and I really got off on seeing them afterwards, knowing I'd humiliated them. Of course, they never dared say anything, and just tried to pretend that they hardly knew me. It made me laugh.

I did have a few boyfriends in this time, though. One of them enjoyed being caned, and actually introduced me to using a tawse to spank him. It didn't last long, because he decided to emigrate. But I'll always be grateful to him for putting a tawse in my hand for the first time. It has become my instrument of choice for chastisement.

Another was a 'regular' boyfriend - by which I mean no spanking, no ruined orgasms, no cock teasing - the first and only one I've ever had, in fact. He had a reasonably big cock, which satisfied me for a while, and we were together for several months. But he was also the first man I ever really cuckolded, or at least cheated on. When he found out, he was devastated and the relationship ended.

I'd previously had fantasies about this, as I've said. But what I learned from doing it for real -- and I know how awful this sounds -- was just how much excited I was by how emotionally devastated he was by me cheating on him. He was, literally, in tears and I was, literally, wet between the legs as a result. It was even more exciting than spanking and the other forms of humiliation I had developed.

The man I cheated on him with confirmed another part of my sexual identity. He picked me up in a bar one day after work. I was wearing one of my slightly teasing office outfits, a tight, charcoal-grey pencil skirt and a white blouse, through which my lacy black bra was just visible.

I immediately sensed he had a big cock, as by then I had an almost unerring instinct, and started to flirt with him. But I wasn't prepared for him to say, "Let's cut all the cock tease crap. I'm going to put you in your place, you nasty little bitch. And make you grateful."

We went back to his place and he immediately put me over his knee, rucked up my skirt, and started spanking me with his hand. Then he pulled down my knickers, flipped me around, and simply shoved his cock into me. In a few hard thrusts he ejaculated and told me to thank him, which I did.

That relationship went on for a few weeks, but, although I enjoyed it, it didn't really speak to my deepest desires, so I ended it. It made me realise that, although I had some submissive tendencies, I could never be happy with a permanent relationship that was based on my submissiveness.

So I had come to realise that what I needed was to be dominant, cruel, cock teasing cuckoldress who had straight sex and submissive sex on the side. I can't tell you how isolated and confused this made me feel. I don't know how I would have coped if it hadn't been for my younger sister, Priyanka.

I'm two years older than her, so we didn't really start to talk about sexual things until we'd both left home and she was, say, nineteen. As soon as we did, I realised we were very similar, and that I was not entirely alone in what I wanted. In particular she was already into spanking men, and did so far more ruthlessly than anything I had done.

I might tell Priyanka's own story at some point, if she wants me to. All I'll say here is that, alongside being a successful corporate lawyer, she is now a part-time, and much in demand, professional dominatrix.

By now, I'd become increasingly successful in my career, progressing from a London news sheet to working for a major media company. With that came even more attention from lecherous men, culminating in an invitation to dinner from the Chief Executive of the firm I worked for. He was a knight of the realm so I'll call him 'Sir John' here, though of course that's not his real name.

I turned up, dressed in a black cocktail dress and with black lingerie underneath, as I guessed he'd be propositioning me. From the outset, Sir John was slobbering over me. He explained that the company had a scheme to fund one outstanding young journalist to take a degree, and that I was in the running to get the prize.

He also said that he was particularly keen that the prize went to someone from an under-represented group, such as me, being a minority ethnic woman. He said this in a particularly lascivious tone, and I knew what it meant. I'd had that kind of thing a lot. As I've mentioned, I'm of mixed race, a British-Indian, more precisely. So people call me, according to their taste or the situation, 'minority ethnic', 'exotic', or 'an Asian babe'. I find all of these descriptions equally tedious.

It actually wasn't news to me that I had a good chance of the award, and not because I'm 'from an under-represented group', but on merit. I've only talked in this story about my sex life, but I didn't just sit around the office looking pretty: I had also become a highly accomplished and professional journalist. I also knew that the decision wasn't in the hands of Sir John, anyway, though no doubt he could influence it.

But I smiled demurely, and waited for Sir John to make his predictable pitch. It was, of course, that if I went to bed with him then he would ensure I got the funding for the degree. By now, I knew exactly what to do. I went with him to his hotel bedroom and initially allowed him to rub himself against me, certain he was about to get what he wanted.

As he was standing behind me, fondling my breasts and pressing his erection into my buttocks, I started asking him what his wife would think about this, and what the company would say if I told the story of what he'd tried to do. He went very quiet, but then I assured him he didn't need to worry, so long as he did what I said. I undressed him, and took his feeble cock in my hand. For three hours I wanked him to the edge of orgasm, stopping each time. He was completely in my control.

By the end, Sir John had promised not to try to influence the decision one way or another, and written a generous personal cheque to ensure I'd be able to study in style, which I promised him I wouldn't cash unless I got the studentship. Shortly afterwards, I was told I had won the award, cashed his cheque, and I duly went to university (and, in fact, never returned to journalism, but that is another story). I'd ensured that I had won the award on professional merit, despite his insulting attempt to make it about something else, and certainly felt no qualms about taking the extra funds he had provided from his own pocket.

So this was the situation when I started at university, aged 25, and met Philip, another mature student, a few years older than me. I knew that I was a cruel, cuckolding cock tease. I knew that I liked spanking men, especially with a tawse. I knew that I needed sex, sometimes submissive sex, with men with big cocks, outside of my marriage or partnership. I just didn't know how to bring all that together into my ideal relationship with an intelligent, interesting man I could enjoy being with.

Or, rather, I knew how to do it but didn't think that any man would want it. So when I told Philip, who I really liked and felt I could love, and he accepted, I was overjoyed. That was ten years ago, and we've been together ever since, and married for the last five.

During that time, I have had a number of boyfriends, meaning relationships lasting from a few weeks to several months, and several 'flings', meaning one-night stands or very brief relationships, in some of which I have been submissive. On our wedding night, I cuckolded him with my then boyfriend. Philip has never been allowed to watch me having sex with other men, but he has listened outside a closed door. I also almost always send him text messages when I am with other men. He has also seen me kiss and cuddle other men, or hold hands with them. This is actually the thing that makes him most jealous.

My husband has only had sex with me once. That was on our honeymoon, because I told him he should be allowed to consummate our relationship once, to mark our marriage and so that he'd know what he was missing. He only lasted about two minutes, anyway. He has never seen me naked, or even seen my breasts except for occasional glimpses. That one time he was allowed to have sex with me I wore a bra and panties, and he entered me just by pushing my knicker gusset aside over the lips of my vulva.

He is not allowed to masturbate, except to me and under my supervision or my sister's, and if he does, I make him confess it, and spank him. I also make him confess lechery towards other women, and spank him for that. My sister, who is the only person in either of our families to know about our lifestyle, also spanks him. I constantly cock tease him, edge him, and ruin his orgasms, although at least once a week I masturbate him to full orgasm. He isn't, of course, allowed to have sexual relations of any sort with other women, and he has never done so since we got together.

The crucial point is that I had told him in advance what the relationship would be like, and he wanted it. I often wonder how my life would have been if I hadn't done so. I think I might have married or lived with someone anyway, but inevitably would eventually have presented him with the reality. In my stories, I sometimes write about that situation and, when I do, invariably make 'my' character a white British woman, which is one part of my identity. Those stories are also mainly based on real events but with that crucial difference that it is a version of reality where I never told my future husband what I was like until after we got together. Whereas when 'my' character is called Aisha, and is a mixed-race British-Indian, that is the 'real' me who told 'Philip' what he would be getting, and he accepted it.

I do find the other version of 'me' exciting, which is why I write those stories as well. In a sense, the cuckolding in them is more authentic, because it comes after 'she' has already had a 'normal' sex life with 'him'. But, as a practical and ethical basis for a genuine relationship, I think the real version is preferable.

I'll certainly never regret having told Philip the truth about myself, or cease to love him for having the emotional strength to accept it, or cease to appreciate the admittedly mixed pleasure it brings him. In this sense, and I suppose it is true in some way of all consensual 'D/S' relationships, to use a generic term, I am dependent on his submission, just as he invites and welcomes my dominance. So I am a cruel wife, but the cruellest thing I could do to my husband would be to stop being cruel to him, and that is the one thing which my sexuality makes me incapable of. It is a paradox which never ceases to fascinate me.

It's also the reason why our marriage, perverse as it would seem to most people, is a genuine partnership and a happy one (something all the tedious comments on my stories about 'what a bitch' I am and what a 'wimp' he must be, and how these aren't 'Loving Wives' stories, totally fail to understand).