Let me tell you my story of getting into the circle.

page views:1 Publication date:2022-09-28

After disappearing from Tumbr for a year, I've returned to the scene, and many people have asked me about my initial motivation for joining, the training I received, what happened during that year, and why I'm back. So, I'll start from where I entered the scene, and I hope you'll have the patience to read on. First, of course, is my husband. Before we even met, he told me over the phone how to achieve clitoral orgasm. Through phone sex, he taught me how to masturbate and how to fantasize. Under his guidance, at 27, I experienced my first orgasm, and after that, I couldn't stop. After meeting my husband, I was exposed to some things that were quite explicit for me, and I enjoyed every sexual encounter. Later, perhaps because we spent more time together, we had sex less often. And he became obsessed with NTR. He didn't mention it when we first started dating; he just read novels and watched movies about it. Until our wedding night, before he went to sleep, he sent me a message: the gist of which was that he hoped I could become... Seeing this message about a slut being played with by other men, being raped by men and enjoying it, I felt angry, resentful, and disgusted. On my wedding night, I silently shed many tears, becoming increasingly indifferent, even feeling like I was sexually frigid. In the days that followed, he would occasionally mention that I was seeing other men, telling me how wonderful it was, but I refused each time. The second part: Until May 2018, after being begged by him countless times, I agreed to try. My husband started posting online looking for a cuckold. He spent several days filtering and recommended suitable and reliable men to me. He told us to communicate ourselves, and if we got along well and had a good impression, we could meet in person. After a month of getting to know each other, my current partner and I... I met my master. We ate, went to bed, and officially established a master-slave relationship. My initial impression of a dominant was one of brutality and sternness that sent chills down my spine. However, my master initially seemed gentlemanly, gentle, warm yet distant. At the time, he had two other submissives, so he didn't have much time to meet me. We met three more times, and under his guidance, I experienced a series of training sessions including candle wax dripping, spanking, 4P, and holy water. Throughout these sessions, I gradually adapted to my new role and enjoyed it with my husband. Every time we returned from my master's place, my husband would eagerly kneel on the ground, begging to lick his cunt, which had just been fucked and filled with his semen. Seeing his pleading and being... With my cock locked up, I could only spread my legs. The happiest thing has been these past few months with my master. Although there have been conflicts and arguments, there's nothing a cock can't solve. If there is, then cock plus whip... Before this, I didn't like oral sex or spanking, and I couldn't accept holy water at all. I accepted holy water on my third meeting with my master (although I'm not used to it yet)?????? During this time, my mindset changed a lot. Thinking of my master's warm lips and hard cock makes my heart race, my pussy is itchy and wet, and I'm basically wet down there every day when I chat with my master, longing to be filled with his semen, even during my fertile period. Later, I didn't feel any aversion to drinking my master's holy water. ?????? I could accept being arranged for a foursome by my master's friends. I willingly did anything my master asked, including getting piercings and tattoos as suggested. I even fantasized about having his child. My master made me realize I wasn't frigid, but a true slut. My relationship with my husband has never been so sweet. He's like a puppy, caring for me meticulously, even advising me on how to cultivate and strengthen my bond with my master, telling me how to please him, and so on. After I got together with my master, his penis was locked up, and even the right to touch my body was taken away. He could only touch me when he sat on my stool while I showered. He couldn't even look at my private parts. If he tried to touch me at night, I would instinctively pull his hand away and feel disgusted, having no sexual desire for him whatsoever. At that time, all I thought about was my master; everything I had belonged to him. If someone else touched my body, I would feel guilty, feeling like I had let him down. At first, I couldn't get used to my husband's subservient behavior; it felt awkward. Even giving him holy water was something he asked me to do. But over time, I got used to the change, and I... I began to enjoy being clung to by him, being held in his arms, and the holy water was only occasionally given to him when he behaved well. Kneeling and licking my cunt, which was filled with my master's semen, became his greatest reward, because only then could he touch my genitals. In the third section, just as we were enjoying this love triangle, a sudden abduction occurred, catching me off guard. Because my husband had been locked up for a long time and his body and mind were not released, and because all my attention was on my master during that time, I hadn't paid attention to my husband, during a trip, my husband, worried about being identified, removed his chastity lock. But those who have played with it should know that if a slave is locked up for a long time... The sudden release from Zone 1 and Zone 2 had unpredictable consequences. That night, my husband suddenly wanted to have sex with me. Given my current mindset, it was impossible for him to touch my body. However, due to my carelessness, he secretly masturbated and ejaculated, thus opening the gates of hell. He began to indirectly demand that I be his submissive, making me perform oral sex, lick my penis, drink holy water, lick my anus, etc. I only do these things for my master, and I've never even licked my anus for my master, how could I possibly do it for him? After I refused, he began comparing himself to his master in every way, shouting hoarsely, getting stuck in a dead end of identity, agonizing over why a woman could... She did what her master did, but couldn't do what her husband did. He understood the道理 (principles/reasons), but he just couldn't convince himself. Often, because of his sudden overthinking, we would have a week-long cold war. Later, he spoke less and less, and became increasingly sarcastic, until eventually he wouldn't say a word for two or three days. This prolonged ordeal nearly killed both my husband and me, until we went to the hospital and found out my husband had severe depression. The sleepless nights were always long, and that period was particularly agonizing. Not only was my husband suffering, and my master feeling helpless, but I, caught between two men, also felt terrible. It often felt like a tug-of-war, and I was the trophy in the middle of the rope, frequently experiencing a suffocating, tearing sensation, and this condition had already... It seriously affected my life and work. After struggling for a long time, I decided to break up with my partner. I thought that if I belonged to my husband alone, he wouldn't be so conflicted. But the thought of separating from my partner was extremely painful. Sometimes I would unconsciously shed tears while walking down the street because I couldn't bear to, so I hesitated to tell him. But my husband kept persuading me not to break up. He felt that if we separated because of him, he would feel extremely guilty and remorseful. Finally, my husband actively cooperated with the treatment, and I spent more time with him. The endless darkness finally dissipated. After a relatively peaceful period, 2018 passed, and from then on, my husband no longer cared too much about the matter between me and my partner. In 2019, the relationship between my master, my husband, and me was like a rollercoaster, sometimes plummeting, sometimes slowly rising, constantly fluctuating. You never knew what would happen next. One second my master and I were making love, the next second my husband would suddenly lose control and demand I break off all contact with him. That year, my master basically only had me as his slave. Of course, I was happy because my master had more time to spend with and train me. However, the reality was that my master became increasingly busy. The daily chats that used to last from morning till night became just a brief morning greeting. Even more tragically, I am a person who lacks security. Although my husband... The better he treated me, the more guilty I felt. Slowly, my heart grew cold, and I slowly lost patience... In May, I told my master I would stop waiting for him and stop contacting him. My master realized something was wrong. He talked to me a lot, saying he had neglected something; even a close relationship still needs nurturing. In June, I suggested to my master that I bring my husband along to start a "training" session. While my master and husband were still on their way, I arrived at the hotel, stripped myself naked, took nude photos, and sent them to my master, telling him that the little bitch was clean and eagerly awaiting his arrival and enjoyment. When my master entered the room, I immediately snuggled into his arms... I whispered my longing for my master, and he responded with his lips. His hands traveled from my neck down to my chest and then to my private parts. My cunt was already soaking wet... My master said with satisfaction, "I love how horny you are in front of me." Then he patted my butt and pulled me to kneel in front of the sofa. My master, who was sitting on the sofa, had already pulled down his pants. What I saw was the big cock I had been longing for. Seeing my eagerness, my master said, "If you want to eat it, beg your master." I immediately swayed my butt in front of my master and pleaded softly, "This little bitch really wants to eat your big cock, please let this little bitch eat it." My master grinned wickedly, "Eat it well..."After my husband arrived, the three of us went to eat first. Seeing my master and husband getting along so well made me feel very happy. Back at the hotel, my husband knelt on the floor, serving me and my master. While bathing, my master gave me holy water to drink, and I fed it to my husband. Then my husband was used as a stool, and my master sat on him while I gave him oral sex. Finally, my husband licked my cunt wet, and then begged my master to fuck his wife's cunt... My master thrust deeper and deeper, and I moaned repeatedly. At my husband's pleas, my master ejaculated thick semen into my cunt, and of course, my husband cleaned me up afterwards. The whole experience was very good (except...emmm, my master knows). Section 5: After our last meeting, my relationship with my master became increasingly close. I wanted to be by his side every day, and my relationship with my husband also improved further. He no longer cared about our status; he was willing to do anything as long as I was happy. So, in July, I took two days off to visit my master. On the first day, my master covered me in erotic graffiti. Wearing a tail and a high-slit tank top, I went out to play and showed off. On the highway, he handcuffed me to the roof of the car and inserted a dildo into my vagina. With the car speeding up and slowing down, it bounced and made my legs tremble and I moan incessantly. As soon as we got off the highway, I lifted my skirt and shook my ass, begging my master to fuck me. The car stopped by the roadside, and my master deliberately opened the window halfway, pressed me down on the seat, and fucked me hard, ejaculating thick semen into the little bitch's uterus. Finally, the little bitch licked her master's penis, cleaning it up for her, and showed a satisfied expression. After returning to the hotel, my master and I began to explore the mysteries of the human body together again. This time, my master finally targeted my anus—because I don't like comparisons, I've always disliked anal licking, enemas, and anal sex. Before, my master had always been accommodating to my ideas, and as long as I acted cute and obedient, I could get away with it. This time, I wasn't so lucky. Even now, thinking back to that day still makes me feel shy—after five or six rounds of penetration, my master comforted me and relaxed, then gradually widened my anus; finally, he entered. The feeling was a mix of shyness and desire. Although it hurt, I wanted to go deeper; my anal first time was thus given to my master. The next day, my master invited the three of us together with his friend. His friend didn't know much about SM, and seeing the lewd stickers all over my body, he thought I was too promiscuous and immediately started kneading my buttocks and fucking me. Throughout the process, I would send my husband voice messages of moaning or call him to tell him what position I was in and how much I was enjoying it. Time with my master always seemed so short; two days flew by. What we never dreamed of was that this separation almost became a final farewell. In fact, on the first day I was with my master, my husband was already somewhat emotionally unstable (since our marriage, my husband and I had never been apart for more than 24 hours). But to avoid affecting my state, he didn't tell me. The next day, his emotions completely collapsed. That evening, my husband picked me up in his car, saying he wanted to talk to me in the car about his experiences from childhood to adulthood. The gist of it was that he had never been affirmed or loved growing up. After being with me, he hoped for my affirmation and love, but I kept negating him and never loved him (details omitted). The rain outside poured down harder, like my tears. My husband's words were like a sharp dagger, stabbing into my heart again and again. I wanted to reach out and hug my wounded husband, but the hatred in my heart wouldn't allow me to. Since you think I've never loved you, that you've rejected me completely, that I was only with you because you were good to me, then fine, I'll let you experience what "not loving" truly means. I opened the car door, soaked by the rain, feeling like an empty shell, and went home. I didn't know when my husband got home, or when he went to bed. The next morning, utterly despondent, I took a car and left Beijing. When the host learned about our situation... I was very anxious, but he could only comfort me over the phone. My employer and husband also talked to each other, but it didn't help much; instead, it deepened the misunderstanding between us. My husband gave me an ultimatum, telling me to choose between him and my employer. In a fit of anger, I chose not to separate from my employer, but this only resulted in him harming himself. Before I even returned to Beijing, my husband came after me, hoping to talk to me face-to-face and make me feel better. During my absence, he improved his mood considerably by chatting with a close friend in the industry over ice wine and coffee. After several nights of deep conversation, our relationship did indeed ease, and a week later, we returned to the north. I was heartbroken, and my husband was emotionally devastated. The lack of substantial solutions led to a renewed conflict. Unwilling to face the endless coldness, I accepted my friend's invitation to become a model and help with a piece of art. During the shoot, I broke down emotionally and hid in the dressing room, crying alone. During this time, I learned to smoke and drink. After returning home from the shoot, my husband repeatedly asked me why I broke up with my master. But my master and I had a clear stance. Regardless of whether we were in a master-slave relationship or a lover relationship, after going through so much, we now have... Everything was so hard-won, and we wouldn't break up so easily. Holding on was too painful; one night, on the verge of collapse, I burned four blisters on my arm with a cigarette. The next day, my husband found the burns and, like a grown man, cried uncontrollably. I'd never seen him so heartbroken. He yelled, "I cherish you like my own heart! How could I let you suffer even the slightest harm?" Caught in a dilemma, desperate and helpless, I finally ran to my "master" (a term of endearment for someone) to break up. He agreed because he knew I was caught in the middle, in a difficult and painful situation, and that I wouldn't do it unless absolutely necessary. Ultimately, my "master" left the BDSM community... Completely heartbroken, I deleted all contact information and contacts from the BDSM community and made my husband promise me he would never let me into it again. These three people have now completely left the community. After leaving the entertainment industry, my husband and I tried our best to get our lives and work back on track. Because the antidepressants had significant side effects, and the guidance from our private doctor wasn't helping him much, we stopped the medication and tried to manage on our own. Every day at work, I would text my husband, keeping him updated on my schedule and activities, slowly rebuilding our trust. After dinner, we would go for walks and chat, and gradually, my husband emerged from his depression. He felt he had wronged me a lot in the past, that he hadn't fulfilled his responsibilities as a husband in many ways, and he began to change, treating me even better. With his support, I also started trying to forget that person. These peaceful days continued until one afternoon when a familiar phone number... When I was walking with my husband, I told him about the phone call. He silently finished a cigarette and asked if I'd been waiting for his call. I didn't say anything, which was my tacit agreement. He said that someone's call could ease my emotions and help me get through it. He said that next time he called, I could listen but wouldn't tell him what we talked about. Ultimately, through the call from my "master" and my husband's devoted companionship, all my wounds healed. In the eighth section, my relationship with my husband deepened, and we loved each other even more. We were life partners and work friends, and we started to rekindle our love amidst the daily grind. Of course, the person we couldn't live without was my "master," who pulled me out of the abyss. He and my husband... It healed the scars in my heart and was a guide for my soul. Ironically, now it takes me to the hospital every month to treat my physical scars (cigarette burns and keloid scarring). Life is always so dramatic; we've come full circle. I hope the new year will bring a fresh start. After going through so much, our relationship—between my master and me, my husband and me—is even stronger. Through these experiences, we've found a suitable way to get along (maybe). Since reconnecting with my master, my husband no longer questions what happens between us, only occasionally mentioning it. He also doesn't look at our chat messages, so we get along very well now. Many men with cuckolded tendencies… People enjoy reading erotic fantasies, but it doesn't necessarily mean they're actually cuckolded, just like my husband. After two years of groping in the dark, I finally saw a glimmer of light. I discovered that my husband wasn't a cuckold; his fantasies played a large part, and his pleasure largely stemmed from my pride. He enjoyed being a slave to me, enjoying my unrestrained abuse and humiliation. So, at the end of 2019, I decided to try something more intimate with my husband. Before we started, we discussed some issues. I asked him to carefully consider (after ejaculation) whether he preferred masochism or pleasure during sex. To avoid my husband comparing himself to his master again, we didn't discuss it with him this time. We hoped for a fresh start in 2020....emmm, Master knows) Chapter 5. After our last meeting, my relationship with Master became increasingly intimate. I wished I could be by Master's side every day. My relationship with my husband also improved further. He no longer cared about my status. My husband said that as long as I was happy, he would do whatever I wanted. So in July, I took two days off to visit Master. On the first day, Master, I was covered in erotic paper, wearing a tail and a high-slit suspender dress, going out to play and showing off. On the highway, Master handcuffed me to the roof of the car and inserted a dildo into my hole. With the car speed, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes bumpy, it made my legs tremble and I kept moaning. As soon as I got off the highway, I lifted my skirt, shook my butt and begged Master to fuck me. The car stopped on the side of the road, and Master deliberately opened half the window, pressed me on the seat and fucked me hard, shooting thick semen into the little bitch's uterus. Finally, the little bitch licked Master's penis to clean him up and showed a satisfied expression. After returning to the hotel, Master and I began to explore the mysteries of the human body together again. This time, my master finally targeted my anus—because I dislike comparisons and have always disliked anal licking, enemas, and anal sex. Previously, my master had always been accommodating, and as long as I acted cute and obedient, I could get away with it. This time, however, I wasn't so lucky. Thinking back to that day still makes me feel shy—after five or six enemas, my master comforted me and relaxed, then gradually widened my anus; finally, he entered. The feeling was a mix of shyness and desire. Although it hurt, I wanted to go deeper. My first anal experience was thus given to my master. The next day, my master invited the three of us to join him. His friend didn't know much about BDSM, and seeing the obscene stickers all over my body, he thought I was too lewd. He immediately started kneading my buttocks and fucking me. Throughout the process, I would send my husband moaning voice messages or call him to tell him what position I was in and how much I was enjoying it. Time with my master always seems so short; the two days flew by. What we never dreamed of was that this separation almost became a final farewell. In fact, on the very first day I was with my husband, he was already emotionally unstable (since our marriage, we had never been apart for more than 24 hours). But to avoid affecting my state, he didn't tell me. The next day, his emotions completely collapsed. That evening, my husband picked me up in his car, saying he wanted to talk to me in the car about his experiences from childhood. The gist was that he had never been affirmed or loved. After being with me, he hoped to gain my affirmation and love, but I kept negating him and never loved him (a thousand words omitted here). The rain outside poured down harder, like my tears. My husband's words were like a sharp dagger, stabbing into my heart again and again. I wanted to reach out and hug my wounded husband, but the hatred in my heart wouldn't allow me to. Since you think I've never loved you, and have completely rejected me from head to toe, and that I was only with you because you were good to me... "Fine, then I'll show you what 'not loving' really means." I opened the car door, drenched in the rain, feeling like an empty shell, and went home. I didn't know when my husband got home, or when he went to bed. The next morning, utterly despondent, I took a car and left Beijing. When my employer learned of our situation, they were very worried but could only comfort me over the phone. They even spoke with my husband, but it didn't help; instead, it deepened the misunderstanding between us. My husband gave me an ultimatum, telling me to choose between him and my employer. In a fit of anger, I chose not to separate from my employer, only to be met with his self-harm. Before I even returned to Beijing, my husband came after me, hoping to improve things by talking to me face-to-face. During my absence, he improved his mood considerably by chatting with a close friend in the industry over ice wine and coffee. After several nights of deep conversation, our relationship did indeed ease, and a week later, we returned to the north. I was heartbroken, and my husband was emotionally devastated. The lack of substantial solutions led to a renewed conflict. Unwilling to face the endless coldness, I accepted my friend's invitation to become a model and help with a piece of art. During the shoot, I broke down emotionally and hid in the dressing room, crying alone. During this time, I learned to smoke and drink. After returning home from the shoot, my husband repeatedly asked me why I broke up with my master. But my master and I had a clear stance. Regardless of whether we were in a master-slave relationship or a lover relationship, after going through so much, we now have... Everything was so hard-won, and we wouldn't break up so easily. Holding on was too painful; one night, on the verge of collapse, I burned four blisters on my arm with a cigarette. The next day, my husband found the burns and, like a grown man, cried uncontrollably. I'd never seen him so heartbroken. He yelled, "I cherish you like my own heart! How could I let you suffer even the slightest harm?" Caught in a dilemma, desperate and helpless, I finally ran to my "master" (a term of endearment for someone) to break up. He agreed because he knew I was caught in the middle, in a difficult and painful situation, and that I wouldn't do it unless absolutely necessary. Ultimately, my "master" left the BDSM community... Completely heartbroken, I deleted all contact information and contacts from the BDSM community and made my husband promise me he would never let me into it again. These three people have now completely left the community. After leaving the entertainment industry, my husband and I tried our best to get our lives and work back on track. Because the antidepressants had significant side effects, and the guidance from our private doctor wasn't helping him much, we stopped the medication and tried to manage on our own. Every day at work, I would text my husband, keeping him updated on my schedule and activities, slowly rebuilding our trust. After dinner, we would go for walks and chat, and gradually, my husband emerged from his depression. He felt he had wronged me a lot in the past, that he hadn't fulfilled his responsibilities as a husband in many ways, and he began to change, treating me even better. With his support, I also started trying to forget that person. These peaceful days continued until one afternoon when a familiar phone number... When I was walking with my husband, I told him about the phone call. He silently finished a cigarette and asked if I'd been waiting for his call. I didn't say anything, which was my tacit agreement. He said that someone's call could ease my emotions and help me get through it. He said that next time he called, I could listen but wouldn't tell him what we talked about. Ultimately, through the call from my "master" and my husband's devoted companionship, all my wounds healed. In the eighth section, my relationship with my husband deepened, and we loved each other even more. We were life partners and work friends, and we started to rekindle our love amidst the daily grind. Of course, the person we couldn't live without was my "master," who pulled me out of the abyss. He and my husband... It healed the scars in my heart and was a guide for my soul. Ironically, now it takes me to the hospital every month to treat my physical scars (cigarette burns and keloid scarring). Life is always so dramatic; we've come full circle. I hope the new year will bring a fresh start. After going through so much, our relationship—between my master and me, my husband and me—is even stronger. Through these experiences, we've found a suitable way to get along (maybe). Since reconnecting with my master, my husband no longer questions what happens between us, only occasionally mentioning it. He also doesn't look at our chat messages, so we get along very well now. Many men with cuckolded tendencies… People enjoy reading erotic fantasies, but it doesn't necessarily mean they're actually cuckolded, just like my husband. After two years of groping in the dark, I finally saw a glimmer of light. I discovered that my husband wasn't a cuckold; his fantasies played a large part, and his pleasure largely stemmed from my pride. He enjoyed being a slave to me, enjoying my unrestrained abuse and humiliation. So, at the end of 2019, I decided to try something more intimate with my husband. Before we started, we discussed some issues. I asked him to carefully consider (after ejaculation) whether he preferred masochism or pleasure during sex. To avoid my husband comparing himself to his master again, we didn't discuss it with him this time. We hoped for a fresh start in 2020....emmm, Master knows) Chapter 5. After our last meeting, my relationship with Master became increasingly intimate. I wished I could be by Master's side every day. My relationship with my husband also improved further. He no longer cared about my status. My husband said that as long as I was happy, he would do whatever I wanted. So in July, I took two days off to visit Master. On the first day, Master, I was covered in erotic paper, wearing a tail and a high-slit suspender dress, going out to play and showing off. On the highway, Master handcuffed me to the roof of the car and inserted a dildo into my hole. With the car speed, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes bumpy, it made my legs tremble and I kept moaning. As soon as I got off the highway, I lifted my skirt, shook my butt and begged Master to fuck me. The car stopped on the side of the road, and Master deliberately opened half the window, pressed me on the seat and fucked me hard, shooting thick semen into the little bitch's uterus. Finally, the little bitch licked Master's penis to clean him up and showed a satisfied expression. After returning to the hotel, Master and I began to explore the mysteries of the human body together again. This time, my master finally targeted my anus—because I dislike comparisons and have always disliked anal licking, enemas, and anal sex. Previously, my master had always been accommodating, and as long as I acted cute and obedient, I could get away with it. This time, however, I wasn't so lucky. Thinking back to that day still makes me feel shy—after five or six enemas, my master comforted me and relaxed, then gradually widened my anus; finally, he entered. The feeling was a mix of shyness and desire. Although it hurt, I wanted to go deeper. My first anal experience was thus given to my master. The next day, my master invited the three of us to join him. His friend didn't know much about BDSM, and seeing the obscene stickers all over my body, he thought I was too lewd. He immediately started kneading my buttocks and fucking me. Throughout the process, I would send my husband moaning voice messages or call him to tell him what position I was in and how much I was enjoying it. Time with my master always seems so short; the two days flew by. What we never dreamed of was that this separation almost became a final farewell. In fact, on the very first day I was with my husband, he was already emotionally unstable (since our marriage, we had never been apart for more than 24 hours). But to avoid affecting my state, he didn't tell me. The next day, his emotions completely collapsed. That evening, my husband picked me up in his car, saying he wanted to talk to me in the car about his experiences from childhood. The gist was that he had never been affirmed or loved. After being with me, he hoped to gain my affirmation and love, but I kept negating him and never loved him (a thousand words omitted here). The rain outside poured down harder, like my tears. My husband's words were like a sharp dagger, stabbing into my heart again and again. I wanted to reach out and hug my wounded husband, but the hatred in my heart wouldn't allow me to. Since you think I've never loved you, and have completely rejected me from head to toe, and that I was only with you because you were good to me... "Fine, then I'll show you what 'not loving' really means." I opened the car door, drenched in the rain, feeling like an empty shell, and went home. I didn't know when my husband got home, or when he went to bed. The next morning, utterly despondent, I took a car and left Beijing. When my employer learned of our situation, they were very worried but could only comfort me over the phone. They even spoke with my husband, but it didn't help; instead, it deepened the misunderstanding between us. My husband gave me an ultimatum, telling me to choose between him and my employer. In a fit of anger, I chose not to separate from my employer, only to be met with his self-harm. Before I even returned to Beijing, my husband came after me, hoping to improve things by talking to me face-to-face. During my absence, he improved his mood considerably by chatting with a close friend in the industry over ice wine and coffee. After several nights of deep conversation, our relationship did indeed ease, and a week later, we returned to the north. I was heartbroken, and my husband was emotionally devastated. The lack of substantial solutions led to a renewed conflict. Unwilling to face the endless coldness, I accepted my friend's invitation to become a model and help with a piece of art. During the shoot, I broke down emotionally and hid in the dressing room, crying alone. During this time, I learned to smoke and drink. After returning home from the shoot, my husband repeatedly asked me why I broke up with my master. But my master and I had a clear stance. Regardless of whether we were in a master-slave relationship or a lover relationship, after going through so much, we now have... Everything was so hard-won, and we wouldn't break up so easily. Holding on was too painful; one night, on the verge of collapse, I burned four blisters on my arm with a cigarette. The next day, my husband found the burns and, like a grown man, cried uncontrollably. I'd never seen him so heartbroken. He yelled, "I cherish you like my own heart! How could I let you suffer even the slightest harm?" Caught in a dilemma, desperate and helpless, I finally ran to my "master" (a term of endearment for someone) to break up. He agreed because he knew I was caught in the middle, in a difficult and painful situation, and that I wouldn't do it unless absolutely necessary. Ultimately, my "master" left the BDSM community... Completely heartbroken, I deleted all contact information and contacts from the BDSM community and made my husband promise me he would never let me into it again. These three people have now completely left the community. After leaving the entertainment industry, my husband and I tried our best to get our lives and work back on track. Because the antidepressants had significant side effects, and the guidance from our private doctor wasn't helping him much, we stopped the medication and tried to manage on our own. Every day at work, I would text my husband, keeping him updated on my schedule and activities, slowly rebuilding our trust. After dinner, we would go for walks and chat, and gradually, my husband emerged from his depression. He felt he had wronged me a lot in the past, that he hadn't fulfilled his responsibilities as a husband in many ways, and he began to change, treating me even better. With his support, I also started trying to forget that person. These peaceful days continued until one afternoon when a familiar phone number... When I was walking with my husband, I told him about the phone call. He silently finished a cigarette and asked if I'd been waiting for his call. I didn't say anything, which was my tacit agreement. He said that someone's call could ease my emotions and help me get through it. He said that next time he called, I could listen but wouldn't tell him what we talked about. Ultimately, through the call from my "master" and my husband's devoted companionship, all my wounds healed. In the eighth section, my relationship with my husband deepened, and we loved each other even more. We were life partners and work friends, and we started to rekindle our love amidst the daily grind. Of course, the person we couldn't live without was my "master," who pulled me out of the abyss. He and my husband... It healed the scars in my heart and was a guide for my soul. Ironically, now it takes me to the hospital every month to treat my physical scars (cigarette burns and keloid scarring). Life is always so dramatic; we've come full circle. I hope the new year will bring a fresh start. After going through so much, our relationship—between my master and me, my husband and me—is even stronger. Through these experiences, we've found a suitable way to get along (maybe). Since reconnecting with my master, my husband no longer questions what happens between us, only occasionally mentioning it. He also doesn't look at our chat messages, so we get along very well now. Many men with cuckolded tendencies… People enjoy reading erotic fantasies, but it doesn't necessarily mean they're actually cuckolded, just like my husband. After two years of groping in the dark, I finally saw a glimmer of light. I discovered that my husband wasn't a cuckold; his fantasies played a large part, and his pleasure largely stemmed from my pride. He enjoyed being a slave to me, enjoying my unrestrained abuse and humiliation. So, at the end of 2019, I decided to try something more intimate with my husband. Before we started, we discussed some issues. I asked him to carefully consider (after ejaculation) whether he preferred masochism or pleasure during sex. To avoid my husband comparing himself to his master again, we didn't discuss it with him this time. We hoped for a fresh start in 2020.(Emmm, Master knows) Chapter 5. After our last meeting, my relationship with Master became increasingly intimate. I wished I could be by Master's side every day. My relationship with my husband also improved further. He no longer cared about my status. My husband said that as long as I was happy, he would do whatever I wanted. So in July, I took two days off to visit Master. On the first day, Master, I was covered in erotic paper, wearing a tail and a high-slit suspender dress, going out to play and showing off. On the highway, Master handcuffed me to the roof of the car and inserted a dildo into my vagina. With the car speed, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes bumpy, it made my legs tremble and I kept moaning. As soon as we got off the highway, I lifted my skirt and shook my butt, begging Master to fuck me. The car stopped on the side of the road, and Master deliberately opened the window halfway, pressed me on the seat and fucked me hard, shooting thick semen into the little bitch's uterus. Finally, the little bitch licked Master's penis, cleaning it up for Master and showing a satisfied expression. After returning to the hotel, Master and I began to explore the mysteries of the human body together again. This time, my master finally targeted my anus—because I dislike comparisons and have always disliked anal licking, enemas, and anal sex. Previously, my master had always been accommodating, and as long as I acted cute and obedient, I could get away with it. This time, however, I wasn't so lucky. Thinking back to that day still makes me feel shy—after five or six enemas, my master comforted me and relaxed, then gradually widened my anus; finally, he entered. The feeling was a mix of shyness and desire. Although it hurt, I wanted to go deeper. My first anal experience was thus given to my master. The next day, my master invited the three of us to join him. His friend didn't know much about BDSM, and seeing the obscene stickers all over my body, he thought I was too lewd. He immediately started kneading my buttocks and fucking me. Throughout the process, I would send my husband moaning voice messages or call him to tell him what position I was in and how much I was enjoying it. Time with my master always seems so short; the two days flew by. What we never dreamed of was that this separation almost became a final farewell. In fact, on the very first day I was with my husband, he was already emotionally unstable (since our marriage, we had never been apart for more than 24 hours). But to avoid affecting my state, he didn't tell me. The next day, his emotions completely collapsed. That evening, my husband picked me up in his car, saying he wanted to talk to me in the car about his experiences from childhood. The gist was that he had never been affirmed or loved. After being with me, he hoped to gain my affirmation and love, but I kept negating him and never loved him (a thousand words omitted here). The rain outside poured down harder, like my tears. My husband's words were like a sharp dagger, stabbing into my heart again and again. I wanted to reach out and hug my wounded husband, but the hatred in my heart wouldn't allow me to. Since you think I've never loved you, and have completely rejected me from head to toe, and that I was only with you because you were good to me... "Fine, then I'll show you what 'not loving' really means." I opened the car door, drenched in the rain, feeling like an empty shell, and went home. I didn't know when my husband got home, or when he went to bed. The next morning, utterly despondent, I took a car and left Beijing. When my employer learned of our situation, they were very worried but could only comfort me over the phone. They even spoke with my husband, but it didn't help; instead, it deepened the misunderstanding between us. My husband gave me an ultimatum, telling me to choose between him and my employer. In a fit of anger, I chose not to separate from my employer, only to be met with his self-harm. Before I even returned to Beijing, my husband came after me, hoping to improve things by talking to me face-to-face. During my absence, he improved his mood considerably by chatting with a close friend in the industry over ice wine and coffee. After several nights of deep conversation, our relationship did indeed ease, and a week later, we returned to the north. I was heartbroken, and my husband was emotionally devastated. The lack of substantial solutions led to a renewed conflict. Unwilling to face the endless coldness, I accepted my friend's invitation to become a model and help with a piece of art. During the shoot, I broke down emotionally and hid in the dressing room, crying alone. During this time, I learned to smoke and drink. After returning home from the shoot, my husband repeatedly asked me why I broke up with my master. But my master and I had a clear stance. Regardless of whether we were in a master-slave relationship or a lover relationship, after going through so much, we now have... Everything was so hard-won, and we wouldn't break up so easily. Holding on was too painful; one night, on the verge of collapse, I burned four blisters on my arm with a cigarette. The next day, my husband found the burns and, like a grown man, cried uncontrollably. I'd never seen him so heartbroken. He yelled, "I cherish you like my own heart! How could I let you suffer even the slightest harm?" Caught in a dilemma, desperate and helpless, I finally ran to my "master" (a term of endearment for someone) to break up. He agreed because he knew I was caught in the middle, in a difficult and painful situation, and that I wouldn't do it unless absolutely necessary. Ultimately, my "master" left the BDSM community... Completely heartbroken, I deleted all contact information and contacts from the BDSM community and made my husband promise me he would never let me into it again. These three people have now completely left the community. After leaving the entertainment industry, my husband and I tried our best to get our lives and work back on track. Because the antidepressants had significant side effects, and the guidance from our private doctor wasn't helping him much, we stopped the medication and tried to manage on our own. Every day at work, I would text my husband, keeping him updated on my schedule and activities, slowly rebuilding our trust. After dinner, we would go for walks and chat, and gradually, my husband emerged from his depression. He felt he had wronged me a lot in the past, that he hadn't fulfilled his responsibilities as a husband in many ways, and he began to change, treating me even better. With his support, I also started trying to forget that person. These peaceful days continued until one afternoon when a familiar phone number... When I was walking with my husband, I told him about the phone call. He silently finished a cigarette and asked if I'd been waiting for his call. I didn't say anything, which was my tacit agreement. He said that someone's call could ease my emotions and help me get through it. He said that next time he called, I could listen but wouldn't tell him what we talked about. Ultimately, through the call from my "master" and my husband's devoted companionship, all my wounds healed. In the eighth section, my relationship with my husband deepened, and we loved each other even more. We were life partners and work friends, and we started to rekindle our love amidst the daily grind. Of course, the person we couldn't live without was my "master," who pulled me out of the abyss. He and my husband... It healed the scars in my heart and was a guide for my soul. Ironically, now it takes me to the hospital every month to treat my physical scars (cigarette burns and keloid scarring). Life is always so dramatic; we've come full circle. I hope the new year will bring a fresh start. After going through so much, our relationship—between my master and me, my husband and me—is even stronger. Through these experiences, we've found a suitable way to get along (maybe). Since reconnecting with my master, my husband no longer questions what happens between us, only occasionally mentioning it. He also doesn't look at our chat messages, so we get along very well now. Many men with cuckolded tendencies… People enjoy reading erotic fantasies, but it doesn't necessarily mean they're actually cuckolded, just like my husband. After two years of groping in the dark, I finally saw a glimmer of light. I discovered that my husband wasn't a cuckold; his fantasies played a large part, and his pleasure largely stemmed from my pride. He enjoyed being a slave to me, enjoying my unrestrained abuse and humiliation. So, at the end of 2019, I decided to try something more intimate with my husband. Before we started, we discussed some issues. I asked him to carefully consider (after ejaculation) whether he preferred masochism or pleasure during sex. To avoid my husband comparing himself to his master again, we didn't discuss it with him this time. We hoped for a fresh start in 2020.(Emmm, Master knows) Chapter 5. After our last meeting, my relationship with Master became increasingly intimate. I wished I could be by Master's side every day. My relationship with my husband also improved further. He no longer cared about my status. My husband said that as long as I was happy, he would do whatever I wanted. So in July, I took two days off to visit Master. On the first day, Master, I was covered in erotic paper, wearing a tail and a high-slit suspender dress, going out to play and showing off. On the highway, Master handcuffed me to the roof of the car and inserted a dildo into my vagina. With the car speed, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes bumpy, it made my legs tremble and I kept moaning. As soon as we got off the highway, I lifted my skirt and shook my butt, begging Master to fuck me. The car stopped on the side of the road, and Master deliberately opened the window halfway, pressed me on the seat and fucked me hard, shooting thick semen into the little bitch's uterus. Finally, the little bitch licked Master's penis, cleaning it up for Master and showing a satisfied expression. After returning to the hotel, Master and I began to explore the mysteries of the human body together again. This time, my master finally targeted my anus—because I dislike comparisons and have always disliked anal licking, enemas, and anal sex. Previously, my master had always been accommodating, and as long as I acted cute and obedient, I could get away with it. This time, however, I wasn't so lucky. Thinking back to that day still makes me feel shy—after five or six enemas, my master comforted me and relaxed, then gradually widened my anus; finally, he entered. The feeling was a mix of shyness and desire. Although it hurt, I wanted to go deeper. My first anal experience was thus given to my master. The next day, my master invited the three of us to join him. His friend didn't know much about BDSM, and seeing the obscene stickers all over my body, he thought I was too lewd. He immediately started kneading my buttocks and fucking me. Throughout the process, I would send my husband moaning voice messages or call him to tell him what position I was in and how much I was enjoying it. Time with my master always seems so short; the two days flew by. What we never dreamed of was that this separation almost became a final farewell. In fact, on the very first day I was with my husband, he was already emotionally unstable (since our marriage, we had never been apart for more than 24 hours). But to avoid affecting my state, he didn't tell me. The next day, his emotions completely collapsed. That evening, my husband picked me up in his car, saying he wanted to talk to me in the car about his experiences from childhood. The gist was that he had never been affirmed or loved. After being with me, he hoped to gain my affirmation and love, but I kept negating him and never loved him (a thousand words omitted here). The rain outside poured down harder, like my tears. My husband's words were like a sharp dagger, stabbing into my heart again and again. I wanted to reach out and hug my wounded husband, but the hatred in my heart wouldn't allow me to. Since you think I've never loved you, and have completely rejected me from head to toe, and that I was only with you because you were good to me... "Fine, then I'll show you what 'not loving' really means." I opened the car door, drenched in the rain, feeling like an empty shell, and went home. I didn't know when my husband got home, or when he went to bed. The next morning, utterly despondent, I took a car and left Beijing. When my employer learned of our situation, they were very worried but could only comfort me over the phone. They even spoke with my husband, but it didn't help; instead, it deepened the misunderstanding between us. My husband gave me an ultimatum, telling me to choose between him and my employer. In a fit of anger, I chose not to separate from my employer, only to be met with his self-harm. Before I even returned to Beijing, my husband came after me, hoping to improve things by talking to me face-to-face. During my absence, he improved his mood considerably by chatting with a close friend in the industry over ice wine and coffee. After several nights of deep conversation, our relationship did indeed ease, and a week later, we returned to the north. I was heartbroken, and my husband was emotionally devastated. The lack of substantial solutions led to a renewed conflict. Unwilling to face the endless coldness, I accepted my friend's invitation to become a model and help with a piece of art. During the shoot, I broke down emotionally and hid in the dressing room, crying alone. During this time, I learned to smoke and drink. After returning home from the shoot, my husband repeatedly asked me why I broke up with my master. But my master and I had a clear stance. Regardless of whether we were in a master-slave relationship or a lover relationship, after going through so much, we now have... Everything was so hard-won, and we wouldn't break up so easily. Holding on was too painful; one night, on the verge of collapse, I burned four blisters on my arm with a cigarette. The next day, my husband found the burns and, like a grown man, cried uncontrollably. I'd never seen him so heartbroken. He yelled, "I cherish you like my own heart! How could I let you suffer even the slightest harm?" Caught in a dilemma, desperate and helpless, I finally ran to my "master" (a term of endearment for someone) to break up. He agreed because he knew I was caught in the middle, in a difficult and painful situation, and that I wouldn't do it unless absolutely necessary. Ultimately, my "master" left the BDSM community... Completely heartbroken, I deleted all contact information and contacts from the BDSM community and made my husband promise me he would never let me into it again. These three people have now completely left the community. After leaving the entertainment industry, my husband and I tried our best to get our lives and work back on track. Because the antidepressants had significant side effects, and the guidance from our private doctor wasn't helping him much, we stopped the medication and tried to manage on our own. Every day at work, I would text my husband, keeping him updated on my schedule and activities, slowly rebuilding our trust. After dinner, we would go for walks and chat, and gradually, my husband emerged from his depression. He felt he had wronged me a lot in the past, that he hadn't fulfilled his responsibilities as a husband in many ways, and he began to change, treating me even better. With his support, I also started trying to forget that person. These peaceful days continued until one afternoon when a familiar phone number... When I was walking with my husband, I told him about the phone call. He silently finished a cigarette and asked if I'd been waiting for his call. I didn't say anything, which was my tacit agreement. He said that someone's call could ease my emotions and help me get through it. He said that next time he called, I could listen but wouldn't tell him what we talked about. Ultimately, through the call from my "master" and my husband's devoted companionship, all my wounds healed. In the eighth section, my relationship with my husband deepened, and we loved each other even more. We were life partners and work friends, and we started to rekindle our love amidst the daily grind. Of course, the person we couldn't live without was my "master," who pulled me out of the abyss. He and my husband... It healed the scars in my heart and was a guide for my soul. Ironically, now it takes me to the hospital every month to treat my physical scars (cigarette burns and keloid scarring). Life is always so dramatic; we've come full circle. I hope the new year will bring a fresh start. After going through so much, our relationship—between my master and me, my husband and me—is even stronger. Through these experiences, we've found a suitable way to get along (maybe). Since reconnecting with my master, my husband no longer questions what happens between us, only occasionally mentioning it. He also doesn't look at our chat messages, so we get along very well now. Many men with cuckolded tendencies… People enjoy reading erotic fantasies, but it doesn't necessarily mean they're actually cuckolded, just like my husband. After two years of groping in the dark, I finally saw a glimmer of light. I discovered that my husband wasn't a cuckold; his fantasies played a large part, and his pleasure largely stemmed from my pride. He enjoyed being a slave to me, enjoying my unrestrained abuse and humiliation. So, at the end of 2019, I decided to try something more intimate with my husband. Before we started, we discussed some issues. I asked him to carefully consider (after ejaculation) whether he preferred masochism or pleasure during sex. To avoid my husband comparing himself to his master again, we didn't discuss it with him this time. We hoped for a fresh start in 2020.Completely heartbroken, I deleted all contact information and contacts from the BDSM community and made my husband promise me he would never let me join again. These three people were thus permanently removed from the community. After leaving, my husband and I tried our best to get our lives and work back on track. Because the antidepressants had significant side effects, and the private doctor's guidance wasn't working well for my husband, we stopped the medication and tried to manage on our own. Every day at work, I would text my husband, keeping him updated on my schedule and slowly rebuilding our trust. After dinner, we would go for walks and chat, and gradually my husband emerged from his depression. My husband felt he had wronged me a lot in the past, that he hadn't fulfilled his responsibilities as a husband in many ways, and he began to change, treating me even better. With my husband's support, I also began to try to forget that person. Peaceful days continued until one afternoon when a familiar phone number rang. While walking with my husband, I told him about the call. My husband lowered his head, silently finished a cigarette, and asked if I had been waiting for his call. I didn't speak, which was my tacit agreement. My husband said that someone's phone call could ease my emotions and help me get through this. He said that next time someone calls, I can listen without telling them what we talked about. Ultimately, through my master's phone calls and my husband's devoted companionship, all my emotional wounds healed. In the eighth section, my relationship with my husband deepened, and we loved each other even more. We are life partners and work friends, and we've started to talk about love again amidst the daily grind. Of course, the person we can't live without is my master, who led me out of the abyss. He and my husband together healed my emotional scars and are my soul's guides. Ironically, he now takes me to the hospital every month to treat my physical scars (cigarette scars and hypertrophic scarring). Life is always so dramatic; we've come full circle. I hope that in the new year, everything can start anew. After experiencing so much, our relationship—between my master and me, and between my husband and me—is even more inseparable. After several experiences, we've found a suitable way to get along (perhaps). Since reconnecting with my master, my husband no longer questions what happened between us, only occasionally mentioning it. He also doesn't read my chat messages with my master, so we get along very well now. Many men with cuckoldry fantasies enjoy reading erotic novels, but they aren't actually cuckolded, just like my husband. After two years of groping in the dark, I finally saw a glimmer of light. I discovered that my husband isn't a cuckold; his fantasies play a large part, and his pleasure largely stems from my pride. He enjoys being a slave to me, enjoying my unrestrained abuse and humiliation. So, at the end of 2019, I planned to try something more intimate with my husband. Before starting, we discussed some issues. I asked him to carefully consider (after ejaculation) whether he preferred masochism or pleasure during sex. To avoid my husband comparing himself to his master again, we didn't discuss it with him this time. We hoped for a fresh start in 2020.

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