Chapter 1: The Seeds of Desire
In the vibrant tech hub of Bangalore, Tarun, a 25-year-old software engineer from Lucknow, adjusted his tie as he prepared for another day at his well-paying IT job. With an average look and a professional demeanor, he had carved a stable life in the city since moving there a few months ago with his wife, Ragini. Ragini, 27, a native of Lucknow as well, was a striking contrast—confident, smart, and always impeccably dressed, her body in perfect shape, exuding a natural dominance she didn’t yet recognize. The couple had married in Lucknow in 2024, their engagement a joyful affair filled with travel and shared laughter. But beneath Tarun’s calm exterior simmered a secret desire that had haunted him since college, seven years ago—a longing for femdom, for a dominant woman to control him completely.
Before their marriage, Tarun had kept this fantasy hidden, indulging in femdom videos nightly, masturbating to the scenes of powerful mistresses. He feared Ragini’s reaction and the social stigma it might bring in their conservative circle back home. Ragini, a housewife with a love for fashion, had no inkling of this world, her focus on maintaining her flawless appearance and enjoying their honeymoon phase in Bangalore after the wedding.
For the first month, their marriage was a whirlwind of passion, but soon, the routine grew monotonous. Tarun’s mind drifted back to his femdom fantasies, and though sex became occasional after two months, his obsession deepened. Alone at home while Ragini shopped or visited friends, he watched videos, his desire intensifying.
One evening, emboldened by his cravings, Tarun decided to introduce Ragini to a new experience. “Ragini,” he said hesitantly as they sat on their couch, “can you… try something with me? Masturbate me twice in a row, don’t stop until I say.” She looked puzzled but agreed, her inexperience evident as she began. To Tarun’s delight, the post-orgasm torture—continuing after his first release—was exhilarating. Encouraged, he pushed further, asking her to bind his hands and legs with a scarf, torturing him to the edge of ejaculation, even blocking his pee hole at peak intensity. Ragini slapped his penis when he grew overly aroused and grabbed his balls, learning these acts over the next two to three months as Tarun casually mentioned they were part of “femdom,” where men fantasized about being tortured by women.
Initially, Ragini was indifferent, but curiosity sparked one day. After a month of enjoying the control, she secretly searched “femdom” online. The videos shocked her—cruelty and mental torture far beyond what Tarun had suggested. For a week, she watched, hiding her exploration from him, her mind racing with how to confront him.
Chapter 2: The Turning Point
One night, Ragini took charge during their intimate moment, masturbating Tarun but denying him release when he neared climax. The torture lingered in his mind as he fell asleep frustrated, a pattern she repeated for a week. By Saturday, Tarun was desperate. “Please, Ragini, let me cum today. I’m being tortured,” he pleaded.
Ragini’s eyes narrowed, a new authority in her voice. “You’ll cum only when you tell me everything—when this femdom fantasy started, what you’ve tried, and what you want.” Shocked but driven by need, Tarun confessed. “I’ve wanted dominant women, mistresses, orgasm torture, and worship since college. I’m not into whipping, ball busting, grabbing, crushing, chest torture, or chastity—just the control.”
Ragini laughed, and Tarun’s face flushed with shame. “Tomorrow, a new chapter begins,” she said, leaving him aching and sleepless. The next day, she returned from a shopping trip with a small chastity cage. Tarun, back from work, found Ragini transformed—long nails, open hair, tight jeans, and a top that screamed dominance, abandoning her usual saree.
She traced a finger across his face, her voice low. “Go to the room and return without clothes.” Tarun hesitated, stunned. Ragini bit his ear sharply, repeating the command. He obeyed, returning in underwear. Furious, she pulled him close, slapped his balls once, and snapped, “I said without clothes!” Another slap followed, and Tarun, wincing, shed the last barrier, standing beside her as she sat on the couch.
“Now onward, you wear this chastity,” she declared, locking the cage on him. She listed rules: obey her, cook for her, do as she says. That night, during foreplay, Tarun’s penis strained against the cage, pain mixing with arousal. “Release me, it hurts!” he begged.
Ragini laughed, slapping his balls again. “You’re my femdom sub now, and I’m your mistress. You know what that means. You’ll always wear this—I decide when you’re free.” Tarun trembled, powerless, as a new dynamic took hold.
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