True to her word, Marcia did begin working out with me. She had no time to do so before going to work, so I would go in the mornings and work on my aerobics and swimming. Instead of walking on the treadmill, I was now able to do light jogging. On the bikes, I could now get between 15-20 miles in an hours time, depending on the program I set the bike on. I was working towards 30 laps in swimming. It was only a 25 meter pool, so 30 laps was only 750 meters, but it was still a far cry from where I started.

After she got off work, Marcia would come with me and we’d work on weights for an hour. She showed me more of the machines and how to use them to effectively strengthen different muscle groups. She also informed me that my idea that I didn’t have to work my legs due to aerobics was totally wrong. She said that the two things were different and that my legs had to keep up with the rest of my strength training. She did agree with me that lower weights and more repetitions would be better overall in building strength rather than going for heavier weights and lower reps, which would tend to bulk me up. She also had me working my abdominals more to get rid of the little belly I was still carrying around. She alternated the days that we would work on different muscle groups, doing three different groups on three different days, saying that our muscles usually required three days to recover from a heavy workout.

“I actually like the more athletic look,” she said, “rather than the body builder physique. You maintain more flexibility and don’t look so muscle bound. More like Michael Phelps or LeBron James than Arnold Schwarzenegger or his ilk. Plus I’ve talked to some of the older body builders and weight lifters and they said the bigger weights put a lot of stress on their joints when they were younger and many of them have joint or back problems now.”

We would take turns pushing each other on the weight machines. I noted that she was using 40 or 50 pounds for her reps, less for the upper body, more for the legs, although she easily managed multiple sets of 30 reps at those levels.

I asked her why and she said that she still wanted to look like a woman and not some type of cyborg hybrid. God knows she looked like a hell of a woman, so I didn’t question her methods. Working out with her while she wore leotards was a kind of torture. She could easily have worn sweats, but she knew the affect she was having on me and every other male in the place. It was her way of reminding me of what I was shooting for.

After we returned home, we’d usually shower together, taking the perfectly appropriate amount of time to wash each other off, wink, wink. She was keeping herself clean shaven for me, which I found to be highly erotic. There’s nothing like going down on a woman and not having to contend with hair. Let’s just say I liked tacos better than shredded wheat. I started doing a little man trimming as well, so she had less hair to contend with when fellating me. The hair trimmer with the shortest hair attachment kept everything at a nice manageable length.

I learned to automate some of my day trading. I would have orders entered that would only execute if a stock was at a certain price, I would put trailing stops on some of my stocks to sell if they started dropping too much so I could keep more of my profits without paying an excessive amount of attention to them. I would get warning alerts on my smart phone when stocks crossed over certain moving averages. I could spend more time working on my life and less time sitting on a computer screen.

One of the things I had more time to do was look into dominance/submission relationships. My 2 days of being a Master to Marcia were based more upon my desire to fuck her and use her in every way possible, than in any understanding of the lifestyle. Other than trying out a lot of the fantasies that my fevered imagination had held for years, I hadn’t really thought about what it meant to be in a Master/slave relationship. But it turned out that it really was a lifestyle for a lot of people.

I did a lot of reading and investigation and found there were a lot of variations in the lifestyle. There were the sadists and masochists who tended to get off on giving and receiving pain. A lot of the things that they were into, I would have considered torture, things like body mutilations, needle piercings, cuts, public humiliations, golden showers, scat or shit stuff, caning which could leave the submissive bruised for weeks. None of that appealed to me at all, nor, would I guess, appeal to Marcia. I loved her too much to ever hurt her or mark her up. We both realized that a little spanking now or then, something that would wear off in a couple hours, was not a permanent hurt. Even though there was pain, it was transitory and fleeting. There was a difference between erotic pain and just pain. She might cum from a spanking, but never would from a headache. I suppose if those types of people can find each other and are happy, that’s on them, but not for me.

The milder form of that was bondage and discipline, a lesser form of submission. That’s what we’d just explored in our own little way. Tying a person down, administering spankings, paddling or whatnot in ways designed to not leave more than temporary striping or bruising, milder humiliation, all of it designed primarily to just enhance sex. What was clear about what we’d done is that the submissive was ultimately in charge. She was the one who set the levels of what she was willing to tolerate, that safe words would always be used and respected. While the submissive was allowing more to her master than the normal person might, the ultimate limits were always the submissives and never the masters. That’s where I saw ourselves. No matter what I did, how far and how long it proceeded was totally up to Marcia, her limits, not mine.

There were other variations I saw, pony play or pet play, Gorean play, based upon the novels of John Norman and Gor, and a lot of other stuff I hadn’t fully investigated yet. Dominants could be male or female, as could their submissives. Some adventurous souls would have both male and female submissives, while some submissives would alternate between male and female masters, probably depending on their overall sexual orientation.

One other item that I ran across was a huge D/s lifestyle convention around Valentine’s Day in, where else, Las Vegas. It lasted for three days, February 12-14, perfect as it looked as though I was going to make 215 pounds by my next weigh-in on January 24 and that meant Marcia had to submit to me for 3 days. It would mean delaying our play time until mid-February, not a particular hardship as I was getting regular sex again, but putting me awful close to our next weigh-in February 24 which was crowding our play dates.

The organizers were renting an entire hotel for the duration and the hotel would be closed to any other guests. That meant that nudity could abound, play could be organized, scenarios played out. The hotel staffing was going to be at a reduced level, as they had to depend on volunteers to work during that time, people who wouldn’t be affected or offended by nudity or anything else that might happen, but the hotel had done this for three straight years, so about 75% of the staff was okay with whatever went on. And of course, since it was in Vegas, it stayed in Vegas.

I really wanted to go to this thing. We could meet others who thought playing was fun, much the same as we did, discover something about each of the variations in the lifestyle, see what others were doing and if we wanted to incorporate any of it into our own life. I printed off something about the convention to show Marcia later.

After working out, eating and showering that night, we retired to the bedroom. I used the vibrator on my wife while she sucked my cock, followed by a pleasurable interlude of my fucking her pussy for fifteen minutes; before I replaced my cock with her vibrator. My cock, now free, could plunge in her dark hole for another ten before she managed to vacuum the cum from my balls. Of course, this happened as she was spasming on my cock during her third orgasm of the evening. There are times when it pays to be a woman. We were both feeling quite sated and were cuddling while catching our breath.

“I want to show you something, honey,” I said.

“What is it?”

“Take a look at this I printed off the internet today.”

She looked at me askance. “Is this something I want to see?”

“I won’t know until you look at it.”

She read it over; the hotel, the location, the purpose of the convention. She wasn’t dismissing it out of hand, I could almost see the gears in her head spinning.

“Would you want me nude in front of bunch of strangers?” She asked.

“That is my hope, you and me both. What good is it to have the best sex slave in all the world if you can’t brag on it to anybody? I’m proud of my little sex slave and would like to show her off, in all her natural wonder.”

“Would I be having sex in front of strangers?”

“Only with me. Nobody else gets to have sex with you but me. There may be some other touching though.”

“What kind of touching?” She asked, concerned.

“Almost certainly spanking or paddling, I’m guessing some digital penetration, playing with your breasts, maybe some licking, kissing, and fondling, maybe some toys. No cocks other than mine, in any way, shape or form.”

“And you would be okay with this, other people touching me?”

“Under controlled circumstances determined by me with your agreement; yeah, I’m okay with it. It’s for three days, I’m a week away from my weigh-in and I’m a pound away. The three days at the convention would be your three days of slavery. The issues would be waiting for the convention, plus my next weigh in is ten days later so we’re crowding a lot of your slavery into two weeks.”

“And don’t forget the issue of ‘Will I do this'”, Marcia said. “You really want to do this? This is pretty far out there, even for you. Parading me naked in front of a bunch of strangers, having sex with me in front of others. Why do you want to do this?”

“The fact that it is strangers actually makes it easier,” I said. “Parading you naked in front of people we know would be a problem, but strangers; not so much. The main thing is, we get to meet other people with similar interests, maybe learn some things we didn’t know, incorporate new ideas in our play; really see what the whole Domination/submission thing is all about. And, you know that what happens in Vegas -”

“Stays in Vegas,” she finished for me. “I’m familiar with the concept. What if we meet some people we do actually know?”

“Let’s say we meet your Chief of Police at the convention. Do you think he’s going to be any more eager in exposing his proclivities than you are in exposing yours? I think it would still ‘Stay in Vegas’, if you know what I mean.”

“I want to think about it,” she said. “I’ll let you know my answer at your weigh-in.”

The next week went by rather slowly for me, I think a little too quickly for Marcia. We continued to work out together, do our jobs, everything normal. Two days before the weigh-in, Marcia submitted to a light spanking, using my hand. Thirty wonderful swats, after which I finger fucked her aroused pussy to orgasm and after which she swallowed my cock whole, licking and tonguing and sucking while she fondled my balls until I gave her a nice, juicy taste treat. I thought she might say something afterward, but she didn’t.

The day of my weigh-in arrived and I stood on the scales.

“215 pounds, Master. You’ve earned yourself three days with your little slave.”

“It was with your help, Marcia. I really appreciate the work you’re putting in to help me.”

“Well, it is for my benefit too, isn’t it.”

“Yes it is. At least you seem to enjoy it as much as I do. Have you thought about Vegas? Are you ready to make a decision?” I asked.

“You still want to go through with this?” Marcia asked.

“I do.”

“I will agree to go under the following conditions. You don’t gain a single pound back before we leave.”

“Done,” I agreed. “What are the other conditions?”

“The whole trip is assigned a safe word. If at any time I give that safe word, we’re done, we’re out of there. No complaints, protests, whining, or push back. We’re coming home and the three days are over. Future slave days may be up for renegotiation. I’m really nervous about this and while I want to be your little slave on this, we’re bumping against my limits.”

How much do I want to do this, I thought. If the whole master/slave thing were to end up cancelled, would it be worth it to me to go to Vegas for Valentines Day. I’ll have to be very careful what happens out there, or I’m screwed. I’ll have to make sure that nothing bad happens to Marcia. But I still thought it would be worth it.

“Agreed,” I said. “What do you want the safe word to be?”

“Cocoa Puffs, because I feel like I’m being a little cuckoo right now.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“One more thing,” she said. “Every night, before we go to sleep, we talk about everything that happened that day. What was good or bad and why, and if we still want to continue. Even though you say you have no problems with other people touching me, I know your first wife fooled around on you and it fucked you up a little. It took awhile before you really trusted me and knew that I wasn’t going to do the same thing to you. So, this isn’t just my decision. If you start getting uncomfortable about what’s happening, you can call it off too. My relationship with you is far too important to jeopardize over what’s essentially our games. I’m not going to ruin our life for games. If I even think you’re having a problem with anything that’s happening, I will call Cocoa Puffs, no matter if you think you’re having a problem or not. Understood?”

“Good call, honey. That makes a ton of sense. I don’t want to jeopardize our relationship either. I’m okay with all those things.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“I’ll make all the arrangements; you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Make sure I don’t, here or there.”

Could I love this woman any more? I kissed her goodnight and drifted off to sleep with visions of Marcia naked in front of strangers in my head and how proud I would be that she was my little slave.


The day of our departure arrived. I’d done all of the packing. Essentially it was clothes for the flights to and from Vegas and some lingerie for Marcia, some shorts and t-shirts for me. I really didn’t know what was considered normal Masters wear. The only examples I had were cheesy porno pics. I figured shorts and tee’s would do to start, and once I had an idea of what was commonplace, I could buy something else. I could easily move down in attire and that was another benefit of my diet and exercise plan. If I ended up naked, I was not going to look fat and cheesy. Because it was a convention, there were going to be booths by some manufacturers of D/s equipment and clothing. If I found something I liked, I could buy something from them.

I also brought a selection of our toys; well, really, most of them. We didn’t have that many as far as I was concerned. We were just starting down this path. I left the largest of the butt plugs and one of the vibrators. Everything else was going. I placed a couple items in my carry on, the rest went into our checked luggage. I really wondered what the TSA guys would think if they had to open my luggage. Probably have a lot of laughs tonight over beers.

Marcia was normally a calm, collected flyer, but she seemed edgier today. I tried to keep her engaged in conversations about work and our families, but I’m sure she was just thinking about the next three days and her part in it. This was a big step for her. She was nominally a private person. I was planning to negate her privacy. She was taking a real flyer here, and it was all due to me. She agreed, but this is not something that would show up at even the bottom of her bucket list. Not only would she be naked in front of many people, men and women, she would be exposing a lifestyle choice she’d done once for two days almost seven weeks ago. If it was just up to her, this wouldn’t be happening. She was doing it as a gift to me, a Valentine’s gift par excellence demonstrating unequivocally, how much she loved me.

Finally, I realized something that might help calm her down; an orgasm or two. Whispering, I handed her my carry-on and told her to take it to the restroom, insert her butt plug and attach her butterfly. She looked at me like my head had fallen off.

“No, seriously. Put it on and come back here,” I whispered.

“Your three days hasn’t started yet!” Marcia exclaimed, handing it back.

“This isn’t for me; this is for you. You’re as nervous as a chicken in a fox den. You’re too wrapped up in what might happen; you need to relax. The best way I know for that to happen is if you have a little happy time. No one needs to know. You’re not going through a scanner anywhere. You can even keep the remote, be in full control.”

She thought about it for a minute, then said, “You may be right. Give me that thing.”

She got up and went to the bathroom for about five minutes, then returned to her seat. She got comfortable in her seat, took the airline magazine out like she was going to read it, looked around briefly, then I saw her turn the remote on. She made a small movement as she felt it come on, then started turning the pages like she was actually scanning the pages, but I could tell by the look in her eye, she wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. I saw her adjust the setting at one point, finding a vibration that was doing more for her. After awhile, she slid an inch or two down her seat, her hips rolling forward, and she gave a small smile of contentment I’m sure I was the only one to notice.

I expected her to turn the thing off, but apparently, it was feeling much too fine to stop the sensations now. I was watching her closely, pretending to read a book. She grabbed my arm when she spasmed again, squeezing it pretty hard. Just as she’d hidden her orgasms quite well during our Christmas dinner out, she was giving no outward signs to anyone not paying close attention and looking for them that she was joining the mile high club on her own. One more time, she shivered slightly as if she were cold before I saw her turn her butterfly off. She floated off to sleep with a smile on her face, the magazine resting in her lap.

When the plane began it’s descent into Vegas, I woke her up and told her we would be landing soon. Apparently, her anxiety was ratcheting up again as I noticed she used the remote again. Two orgasms later, we touched down in Las Vegas. As it was still winter, the sun had already set, but it was almost like daylight, at least along the strip. Neon lights were blazing everywhere.

We grabbed a taxi to the hotel as we weren’t planning on going anywhere while we were there. The hotel wasn’t one of the big ones along the strip, but a couple blocks away from most of the gambling action. It was a modest structure, three stories tall and only taking up a corner of the street. From the outside, it looked like any other smaller hotel catering to a more modest crowd than the normal Vegas tourist. What it was catering to was the more kinky crowd, a fact immediately apparent when one entered the lobby. There a sign proclaimed that there was to be no nudity until 2/12, not the kind of sign likely to be seen in any other hotel in town.

The hotel was allowing the conventioneers to check in the day before and would be closed for cleaning the day after. So we were essentially paying for 5 days although no one would be there for longer than four. I know Marcia was happy that she didn’t have to shuck down to her birthday suit until tomorrow. We picked up a program listing the activities scheduled for the three days of the convention plus the exhibitors who were going to be there and went to our room. Marcia lay down on the bed and did some deep breathing, still pretty tense. I told her she might want to cum a couple more times since she was still so worked up. She apparently agreed with me. Removing her underwear, I saw her turn her butterfly on high and thrust two fingers up her sheath until I heard her moan out her release, her cunt contracting around her fingers as she came.