Drenched in Submission: My Experience Serving My Wife’s Free-Spirited Friend
I kept my rhythm steady, my tongue working slowly and deliberately, focusing on the spots that made her moan louder, that made her grip my head tighter.
Zeek, FemdomU SubDear FemdomU Forum:
This is an account of one of the challenges my wife, Annie, assigned me while she was away for work. As part of our dynamic, she often sets challenges to push my boundaries, and I’m sharing this as part of the “While My Mistress is Away” challenge series. What follows describes one night of a 9-day punishment challenge. If you enjoy this, you can explore more of this challenge or start the series from the beginning here.
I stood in the doorway of Flower’s dimly lit living room, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and something else—a subtle unease. The scent hit me first, an overpowering musk that mixed with the earthy, herbal notes of incense. It reminded me of the forest after rain, wild and untamed, but laced with something stronger, something distinctly human. I could feel the sweat starting to bead on my skin, my nerves firing with each breath of the pungent air.
Flower—my wife Annie’s older, free-spirited friend—sat sprawled on the couch, her legs parted lazily. Her unshaved, thick bush glistened faintly in the dim light. I swallowed hard, remembering my college roommate Chris’s crude yet oddly comforting words: “Pussy is like pizza—even bad pussy is good.” And though I wasn’t disgusted, the sharpness of her scent was undeniable. The contrast to Annie, my sweet, clean-smelling wife, was stark. I adored Annie’s natural, fresh aroma, the way it lingered on my pillow, in my clothes. Flower’s smell, however, was something else—raw, intense, primal—and yet, a part of me couldn’t deny how it affected me.
This was just one of the many punishments I’ve been enduring under Annie’s strict control, but it was designed to push my limits. Annie knows that Flower doesn’t keep herself clean, and that’s exactly why she chose her—making sure the experience would be far from the sweetness of her own perfect pussy. Yet, in a strange way, it felt like a reward. I knew how lucky I was that Annie even allowed me to taste another woman, something she rarely grants. For over a decade, my mouth has only been on her, and while nothing compares to the absolute bliss of pleasing my wife, I couldn’t help but feel grateful that she gave me this opportunity, knowing it was a privilege that only she could offer.
On the table, my phone buzzed with my wife’s presence, her face filling the screen as she watched me. Her voice, soft but firm, crackled through the speaker. “Be a good boy for Flower,” she instructed, the familiar command in her tone sending a thrill down my spine.
“You’re going to service her, and you’re going to make her cum. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I murmured, feeling a familiar heat rise inside me.
Flower’s smirk widened as she shifted on the couch, spreading her legs further. The air grew heavier with her scent, a potent mix of sweat and musk that clung to my senses. My stomach tightened, not with revulsion, but with a strange excitement. I loved Annie’s scent, so clean, so sweet—it was like a drug to me. But Flower’s? It was a heady, bitter perfume, different but still oddly arousing.
“Take off your shirt,” Flower instructed, her voice dripping with nonchalance. “Trust me, you’ll need it off. I’m a gusher.”
I hesitated for a moment, but the weight of my wife’s eyes on me through the phone spurred me into action. I tugged my shirt over my head, feeling more exposed without it, my skin prickling as the air hit my bare chest. I could feel my pulse quickening as I knelt between Flower’s legs, the coarse, untrimmed hair of her bush almost brushing my face. The scent was overwhelming now, sharp and bitter, a far cry from Annie’s soft floral notes. But despite the intensity of it, I couldn’t deny the way it stirred something deep within me.
“Go on,” my wife’s voice encouraged through the phone, her tone filled with amused control. “Make her cum.”
I leaned in, my face inches from Flower’s slick skin. The smell was even stronger now, and the taste—metallic, salty, and earthy—filled my mouth as I pressed my lips to her. I could feel her wetness immediately, a mix of sweat and juices coating my chin as my tongue slid between her folds. The texture was rougher than I was used to, her pubic hair prickling against my lips as I worked. The taste of her was potent, lingering on my tongue, but it wasn’t unbearable. In fact, the contrast between her raw, earthy flavor and Annie’s sweetness was a strange turn-on in itself.
Flower moaned deeply, her hips rocking against my face as her hand found the back of my head, pushing me closer. The wetness intensified, her juices flowing freely now, drenching my chin and neck. The salty, bitter liquid trickled into my mouth, and I swallowed instinctively, my mind racing with thoughts of what might be lingering in her system. Flower was notorious for her holistic lifestyle, her edibles, her herbal tinctures, her psychedelics, and I couldn’t help but wonder what might be passing from her body into mine.
“Don’t stop,” Flower groaned, her voice low and sultry. “I’m close, but not there yet.”
I kept my rhythm steady, my tongue working slowly and deliberately, focusing on the spots that made her moan louder, that made her grip my head tighter. My muscles were starting to ache, my jaw cramping slightly from the effort, but Flower’s body wasn’t done. She came in waves, her body convulsing as her juices gushed into my mouth, coating my face, dripping down my chest. Each time, I hoped it would be the last, but each orgasm seemed to build into another, each more intense than the last.
“Not the big one yet,” she panted, her hips grinding harder against me. “Keep going.”
Her words echoed in my head as I worked tirelessly, my face buried in the thick hair of her bush, her musky scent filling my nostrils. My tongue slid over her clit again and again, coaxing out more moans, more wetness, until I was drenched in her fluids. I could feel the arousal building in me too, my body betraying me with the familiar hardness pressing against my pants. Despite the exhaustion, despite the overpowering smell, I was turned on. The power my wife held over me, the praise she offered through the phone, it all fueled the fire inside me.
Finally, Flower’s body tensed, her grip on my head becoming almost painful as she bucked her hips wildly against my face.
“Here it comes,” she moaned, her voice thick with pleasure. “The big one.”
Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, her pussy gushing so hard that I was drenched, her fluids spraying across my face, my chest, soaking me entirely. I struggled to keep my mouth on her, but the force was too much, her hips slamming into me with such intensity that I was knocked backward, landing on the floor with a wet thud. I lay there, gasping for breath, drenched in her juices, my body buzzing with exhaustion and arousal.
Flower let out a long, satisfied moan, sinking back into the couch with a lazy smile. My wife’s voice crackled through the phone, her tone filled with approval.
“There’s my good boy,” she purred. “Look at you, covered in her juices. I’m so proud.”
I wiped my face, the taste of Flower still lingering on my lips, her scent clinging to my skin. And despite the exhaustion, despite the lingering musk in the air, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment, the weight of my wife’s control settling over me like a warm blanket.
