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Becoming his bi-submissive

My life with Danny was a masterpiece built on mutual understanding: he was the Captain, and I was the ship. My greatest joy—my most profound turn-on—was watching him take pleasure, whether that pleasure was derived from my body or from my obedience. An occasional, firm spanking to remind me of my place, the weight of the collar signifying my devotion, these were the rituals that kept our romance vibrant and true.

But tonight felt different. The air in our sunroom, usually filled with the scent of old leather and his favorite pipe tobacco, was thick with nervous anticipation. I sat on the chaise lounge, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, dressed in the silk robe Danny had requested—something easy to remove.

“Collar feels right, doesn’t it, Pet?” Danny’s voice was deep, resonant, and undeniably commanding. He leaned against the mantle, watching me with that knowing glint in his eyes that had always melted my resistance.

“It does, Sir,” I replied, the title slipping out easily. It was the truth. It grounded me when the world shifted.

The shift, tonight, was named Rachel.

Rachel had moved into the Tudor two blocks over six months ago. She was a tornado of confidence and sharp edges, a dominant woman who made no effort to conceal her sexual appetite or her preference for women. She had been politely, yet persistently, flirting with me at neighborhood book clubs and cocktail parties for weeks. I had laughed it off, secure in my commitment to Danny, but the compliments had stirred something dormant and dusty inside me.

Danny had noticed everything. He always did.

“Rachel will be here shortly,” he stated, his tone flat, final. “She knows the arrangement. She knows you are mine, and she understands that everything that happens here tonight is for my pleasure.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”

“You know my rule, Pet. Your ultimate arousal comes from ensuring my satisfaction. Tonight, that means exploring something new. Something I have been deeply curious about for you. Something that excites me very much”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I had never been with a woman. The thought was abstract, almost clinical, when viewed through the filter of my thirty years of exclusive devotion to Danny. I didn’t want a woman. I wanted him. But if this was what thrilled him, if this new configuration brought that intense, powerful wave of arousal across his face, then I would embrace it fully.

The doorbell chimed, sharp and decisive.

Danny opened the door. Rachel walked in, bringing with her a fierce, kinetic energy. She was wearing tailored black slacks and a silk blouse, her dark hair pulled back severely. She looked at Danny first, offering a respectful nod to the undisputed authority in the room, then her eyes settled on me. Her gaze was frankly admiring and completely unsettling. My collar must have been shining under the lamplight, a visible sign that I was already claimed.

“Joyce,” Rachel said, her voice husky. “You look luminous.”

Danny stepped between us, placing a possessive hand on my shoulder. “She is waiting for your instructions, Rachel.”

“Of course.” Rachel didn’t apologize for her appraisal. She simply observed the landscape.

Danny looked down at me. “Joyce, your purpose tonight is to welcome Rachel. You will use your mouth to show her the reverence you show me. You will kneel and please her.”

My breath hitched. My nervousness returned tenfold, but it was countered by a rising heat born solely of Danny’s command. I pushed myself off the chaise and walked toward Rachel, my knees trembling slightly.

Rachel stepped back, settling herself on the edge of the sofa. She was confident, completely at ease. When she looked at me, there was no pity, only expectation.

I dropped to my knees before her. The lighting in the room felt suddenly too bright, too revealing. I glanced up at Sir; he looked regal, relaxed, and intently focused. Seeing his pleasure begin to bloom on his face—that slight curl of the lip, the widening of the pupils—was the only incentive I needed.

My hands trembled as I reached for the fastening of her slacks. This felt foreign, invasive. I reminded myself: Do this for him.

The scent of her was clean, sharp, mixed with musk. I peeled away the silk and lace. I focused purely on the mechanics of the act, letting my years of experience pleasing Danny guide my motions. I took her in, closing my eyes, concentrating on the texture, the warmth. I tried to mentally block out the fact that this was a woman, focusing instead on the geometry of the sensation and the rhythm of my breath.

I felt Rachel’s sharp intake of breath above me. Her hand settled on my hair, firm, guiding, but not demanding.

I continued, watching only Danny through the slit of my eyelid. He was leaning forward now, utterly engaged. His low groan of approval was the only metric that mattered.

Then, Rachel’s fingers tightened slightly in my hair, pulling me deeper. She shifted, and a new element entered the equation—a soft, low sound of pure pleasure emanating from her throat, a sound of feminine release that was uniquely potent and deeply, surprisingly, physical.

I felt a faint blush spread across my cheeks. It wasn’t the pleasure of serving Danny that was warming me now, but the raw, immediate reaction of the woman I was servicing. I had made her feel that way. I watched her hips begin to buck softly, and a flicker of power—a novel sensation—shot through me.

When she finally cried out, it was a sharp, visceral sound. She pushed me gently away, slightly breathless.

“God, Joyce,” she murmured, her eyes dark and appreciative.

I rose slowly, wiping my mouth, my chest heaving. I looked to Danny, expecting the next instruction. He offered a slow, approving smile.

“Very good, my pet,” he praised. “You exceeded expectation.”

Then, Danny turned to Rachel. “Her turn.”

Rachel stood up, moving with a predator’s grace. She walked toward me, stopping inches away, her gaze holding mine. There was no shyness in her approach, only curiosity mixed with a powerful sexual command.

“Master Danny has a thoughtful design for you, Joyce,” Rachel said, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper, entirely different from Danny’s authoritative boom. “Let me show you what it feels like to be completely attended to.”

She gently pushed me back onto the chaise lounge. As she did, she reached for the silver chain around my neck, giving the collar the slightest, most respectful tug.

“May I?” she asked Danny, receiving a brief nod in response.

Rachel knelt where I had just been, reversing our positions. Her intensity was immediate. Where I had been tentative, she was deliberate and skilled.

The moment her mouth closed over me, I gasped. It was a completely different experience—softer, wetter, less aggressive than the way Danny often pleased me, yet so intensely focused that it instantly overwhelmed my senses.

My mind raced: This is wrong. This is strange. But my body betrayed me.

Her hand smoothed over my abdomen, then moved low, applying a circular, rhythmic pressure that made the blood rush from my head. I squirmed, trying to control the uncontrollable surge of feeling.

I looked desperately toward Danny. He hadn't moved. He was watching, his expression one of utterly satisfied ownership. He was aroused, deeply so, by the spectacle of me being pleasured by another woman. That confirmation should have been my primary turn-on, but I realized, in a sudden, shocking flash, that the arousal was now bilateral. I was turned on by Danny’s pleasure, and mortifiedly, thrillingly, turned on by Rachel’s touch.

“Relax, Joyce,” Rachel commanded softly, looking up at me for a moment. “Let go of the need to control it.”

I couldn’t. The friction and the feminine touch were driving me toward an edge I hadn't expected to find, a sharp peak of desire that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with raw, physical attraction. I secretly found her commanding presence intoxicating.

As the pleasure swelled, I had to suppress the urge to call out Rachel’s name. I shut my eyes, trying to focus on Danny’s breathing, but the rhythm of Rachel’s work was too compelling. She was eliciting sounds from me—soft moans and whimpers—that I usually only produced in the most intimate moments with my husband.

When Rachel finally withdrew, I was panting, flushed, and acutely aware that I was on the verge of crying. The experience had been overwhelmingly good, confusing, and fundamentally destabilizing.

Rachel smiled, a genuine, intimate smile. She knew exactly how close she had brought me. She knew I liked it.

I sat up, pulling my robe tight, quickly moving to Danny’s side as if seeking an anchor.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Danny said, his voice measured. “You may leave us now.”

Rachel stood, collected her things, and offered us both a final, knowing glance. “Good evening, Master Danny. Joyce.”

As soon as the door closed, silence enveloped the room. I felt hyper-exposed.

I turned to Danny, ready to praise the evening, ready to tell him how thrilling it was to facilitate his enjoyment.

“Sir,” I began, my voice breathy. “I hope that was satisfactory. I enjoyed pleasing you tremendously.”

“Oh, it was satisfactory, my pet,” Danny agreed, his arm settling around my waist, his fingers tracing the silver chain. “But that’s not what I want to discuss.”

He led me from the sunroom back into the bedroom. The atmosphere had shifted entirely. This was no longer an exploration; this was a debriefing. This was where the Master asserted his proprietary rights over my truth.

He gently pushed me onto the bed, then pulled my robe completely open. I lay there, exposed, still tingling from Rachel’s touch.

Danny leaned over me. “Tell me the truth, pet.”

“I told you, Sir. It was thrilling to follow your command.”

“Lies,” he stated calmly. “Your heart rate tells a different story. The way you bit your lip when she touched you tells a different story. Your body responded to her touch, Joyce. Tell me why.”

I closed my eyes, fighting the admission. “Because she was good, Master. It was a good performance. I was trying to hold back the orgasm for you.”

Danny chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. He reached down and ran his hand firmly but swiftly across my bare bottom. The sting was sharp, immediate.

“I didn’t ask about performance, Joyce. I asked about you. I watched my wife enjoy the kiss of another woman. Did you like having her touch you?”

Tears sprang to my eyes. The honesty was too frightening. To admit a latent desire for women felt like a betrayal of the foundation of our bond.

“No, Sir. I only like your touch. I did it for you.”

Danny sighed, leaning back slightly. “Then you don’t get to finish yet.”

My eyes shot open. The pressure of the denied release was suddenly unbearable, amplified by the immediate, recent proximity to climax. He knew exactly how to wield that control.

“Sir, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Please, let me come! I’m so close.”

“You are close, my dear. But you are withholding the truth from your Master. A submissive owes her Master truth, especially when he brings her such gifts. You will only receive your release when you beg for it, and when you are completely honest with me.”

He watched me, unmoving. The desperation was a physical ache, centered deep in my core.

“Master, please,” I repeated, twisting against the sheets. “It hurts to wait. Please, let me come.”

“Tell me what you felt with Rachel, Joyce. Was it just duty?”

I struggled, fighting the confession, fighting the delicious, wicked urge to simply give in to the pleasure I knew he could deliver.

“Master, I…” I paused, gasping as the pressure mounted. “The way she touched me felt… different. It was soft, intense.”

“And it aroused you, didn’t it?”

“Yes!” I cried out, the word escaping without my permission. My body arched wildly. “Yes, Master, it aroused me. I could barely breathe.”

“Did you like feeling submissive to her, knowing I was watching you be claimed by another woman?”

This question cut deeper than the spanking. It was the crux of the discovery.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, shame mixing with a strange, fierce pride. “I liked it. I liked being between two dominant people. I liked that she was rougher than I expected.”

“And the women, Joyce?” His voice was now soft, insistent, urging the hidden truth into the light. “Did you enjoy kissing a woman for the first time?”

The final barrier crumbled. I was writhing, my hips begging for his touch.

“Oh, God, Master, I did! I liked it. I want it again. I want to feel that again, and I want you to watch me!” I choked out the words, the ultimate honest submission. “I want to be your bi-submissive, Master. I want to please women whenever you decide, and let them please me, while you watch. I want to be used by women for your pleasure. Please, Master, please let me come. I beg you, give me the rest!”

The total confession, delivered through gasps of desperate need, appeared to satisfy him utterly. The cold authority in his eyes melted away, replaced by the familiar look of intense devotion and proprietary love.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning down to capture my mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. “My honest, beautiful submissive.”

He didn't hesitate anymore. He reached down, and with a single, firm contact, he drove me instantly over the edge.

The orgasm was volcanic, shattering the tension built through denial and confession. I screamed, pulling him close, tears of relief and exhaustion streaming down my face.

When I finally caught my breath, Danny was holding me tight, his body pressed against mine. He reached up, touching the silver collar.

“You are entirely mine, Joyce,” he whispered into my hair. “And every part of you, every new pleasure you discover, belongs to me. This only deepens our bond.”

I nuzzled into his neck, suddenly feeling completely safe, completely understood. The fear was gone, replaced by a thrilling, vibrant certainty.

“Thank you, Master,” I breathed, the word now carrying the sincere weight of my newfound desire. “Thank you for showing me this part of myself. I am yours, completely. And you may use me with Rachel, or any woman you choose, whenever you want.”

We lay there for a long time, the quiet of the night settling over us. The collar pressed lightly against my neck, a reminder of the beautiful, powerful structure of our love. I closed my eyes, realizing that in my fifties, my romance had just entered its most exciting, most honest chapter. I was Danny’s, and now, I was also secretly, exhilaratingly, bi-submissive. And I couldn’t wait for Rachel to come back.