You sit there, staring at me with those desperate, yearning eyes, but I can see through you, lover. I can see the way you hold yourself, the way you fidget under my gaze, the way you pretend that my words don’t cut straight to your core.
I know you.
I know what you are.
And I know what you’re not.
You’re not enough for me. Not in the way I need. Not in the way a woman like me craves.
Don’t look so wounded. You’ve always known, haven’t you? From the very first moment I held your chin in my hand and looked deep into your eyes, you knew this day would come. The day when I would look at you and tell you, flat out, that I need more. That I deserve more. That I’m done pretending that what you provide is enough.
I need to feel full. I need to feel stretched. I need to feel what it’s like to be truly taken. And you, my sweet, submissive little husband, are never going to be the one to give me that.
But I think you already knew that, didn’t you?
So, let’s stop playing games. Let’s be honest about what we both want. I want a man who can satisfy me in ways you never could, and you… well, you want to watch, don’t you? You want to see me taken, claimed, owned by someone who actually knows how to handle a woman like me. You want to see it, to feel the sting of it, to hear the sounds of my pleasure and know that you could never be the one responsible for them.
I want you to find him.
Yes, you heard me. I want you to put yourself out there, put the ad up, and find me a real man. Not a boy playing at being dominant, not someone who’s unsure or hesitant. I want someone who will take one look at us, at you, at me, and understand exactly what I need. I want someone who will take my hand, lead me to the edge, and then push me over it while you sit there, locked away, knowing that you are nothing more than a spectator in my pleasure.
You will find him. You will make sure he is the right fit.
And then, we will meet him.
We’ll go out for drinks. Maybe play a game of pool, something casual. But there will be nothing casual about it, will there? No, because the moment I slip the key to your cage around my neck, everything will be laid bare. He will see it. He will know what it means. He will know that you haven’t been fulfilling your husbandly duties. He will know that I have needs beyond what you could ever provide. And I will make sure he knows.
We’ll sit at the bar, the three of us, and we’ll talk. He’ll look at you and smirk, knowing exactly what you are. The three of us aren’t sitting at this bar together because you are an adequate lover, no. He’ll watch the way you shift uncomfortably, how you squirm under the weight of his presence. He’ll see the way I lean into him, how my fingers trace the outline of his strength, how my eyes linger on his confidence, his power, his sheer ability to give me what I need.
And you…
You’ll sit there, locked, watching, knowing that you could never measure up. Knowing that every word I speak, every flirtatious laugh, every touch of my hand against his, is another reminder of what you lack.
I want you to feel it. I want you to sit in that discomfort and own it. I want you to embrace your place, to understand the depth of your submission to me. Because this, my sweet, caged little husband, is the ultimate act of submission.
Not just locking yourself away.
Not just watching.
But finding him for me. Bringing him to me.
Letting me choose pleasure beyond you, while you sit there and take it.
Because that is what you were made for. That is your purpose. Not to satisfy me yourself, but to facilitate my satisfaction. To offer yourself up as a testament to my desires, my needs, my pleasure.
And once I have him, once we find the right man, you will watch me take what I need. You will watch as he undresses me, as he lays me out before him like a feast, as he claims me in ways you never could. And you will sit there, aching, throbbing in your little cage, knowing that this is what you signed up for. That this is what you wanted, deep down.
You will sit in the corner, watching. Not invited to touch, not invited to participate. Just to witness.
Your place is there, in your chair, silent. Eyes locked on the scene before you, helpless to do anything but take it in. You will watch as he takes his time with me, savoring every inch of me, giving me everything I need, everything you never could. You will see my pleasure, hear my cries, feel my ecstasy reverberate through the room, and yet you will not be a part of it.
Not until I say so.
Only when we are finished, when I am satisfied and he has had his fill, will I finally acknowledge you. And then, my love, you will know what it means to truly submit. I will instruct you to come forward, to fulfill your part of this delicious feast as you kneel and clean my body, absolve me from my indiscretion and show that you not only accept this but support this. Show me that you support me and my needs, you want me to feel fulfilled, to feel satisfied finally. Clean me and show me that you love this for me, that you love this for us.
So, tell me, lover…
