Ritual Breaking Suburban Wives Comp

Ritual Breaking of The Suburban Wives -- The Complete Story

Note: I had two different endings posted for this story. Much to my surprise, the dirtier, more disgusting UnSanitized ending proved to be almost exactly twice as popular. So I've included that here as the official ending. But for anyone wishing an alternative, the more Sanitized version is included afterwards. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: This story isn't about scarves and feathers. It's about things like pain, humiliation, sadism, masochism and bodily fluids. It's also purely a sexual fantasy, not based on anything real. If it's not for you, I understand, and wish you well on finding something more your speed. If this is for you, please consider leaving a comment and rating. Those are the highest forms of praise to be found here.

Chapter 1: The Juicy Stuff (punishment, humiliation, pain, domination, sadism etc.)

Long story short: I fucked up in my marriage, and my husband and I turned to a crazy rich dominatrix as a desperate last resort. I'm having serious regrets at the moment. So would you if you'd gone through what I've gone through in the last 24 hours. Oh, by the way, my name is Brooke. I'm 42. I have shoulder-length brown hair, with a cute straight flush of bangs covering my forehead. I work out, but I've never had the body of a model. I'm starting to get a little soft and plump. I think it must accentuate my ass nicely, as I sure get attention for it.

I was told to arrive at the big house on top of the hill in our suburban LA neighborhood at 5:50pm promptly, and I did. Dana the licensed marriage counselor ushered me into her home and led me to an anteroom off the kitchen. However, I had already been warned never to call her by that name. She was the Matriarch to me. And if I ever forgot that, I would pay for it.

There were 5 other women in that room, all lined up in a row, each facing front. They were dressed to impress for a dinner party, but wore flat shoes. I couldn't tell who they were, because their heads were all completely covered by leather hoods. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs. They wore leather collars, and chains going from collar to collar chained them together. The Matriarch positioned me in the back, put a hood over my head, and zipped it shut. There were nose-holes to breath through, and that was it. I felt her collar, cuff and chain me. After that I was acutely aware of being in the room with 5 very uncomfortable women who were doing their best to remain silent and not move an inch. Soon after that, I heard and felt another woman chained behind me.

We were left that way for an hour (so I was told later). It was excruciating. It was sadistic. It was torture. But that was the deal. If I screamed I would be released, but would never be allowed in again.

"Move." I guess that was the muffled word I heard through that hood. It was the only word I'd heard since arriving. I was suddenly jerked ahead by my chain going taut. We were being forced to walk. I just avoided colliding with the woman in front of me. The other women seemed used to this, since they were all in step. We were guided and turned until I heard another muffled word. Luckily, I correctly identified it as stop, since that's just what we all did.

I heard muffled sounds of rustling and movement while standing there. No voices. Then the chain in front went limp. The woman in front of me had been unchained. My hands were un-cuffed, and I then felt a pair of hands undress me. It was agonizingly slow. First my shoes, then my stockings, dress, blouse, and lastly my bra and panties. My body was then thoroughly explored by those pair of hands. It was the Matriarch. I could tell by the lightly perfumed scent of her body. I felt her leather attired body brushing against mine. She enjoyed herself quite a bit at my expense, fondling, kneading and pulling at my soft body. I got the idea that she might have been showing me off.

The hands stopped and my chain was pulled. I was led a few feet and then felt a hand push on the back of my thigh. I was gently guided up onto a leather-padded table. My legs were spread and ankles cuffed to what I later learned was a spreader bar. My hands were pulled back and cuffed to the center of the bar. This lowered my head and chest onto the padded table.

I was left there, as I heard muffled sounds similar to what I'd just experienced. The 7^th woman in back of me was now getting stripped and handled, and then she was placed next to me. My hood came off a few minutes later. First, a leather harness with a ball-gag was fastened around my head. It went over the top of my head and under my chin, around my forehead, and split down either side of my nose. The Matriarch cinched it up tight, trapping my mouth open over that red ball-gag. It felt too big for my mouth. I couldn't help starting to drool a bit.

The Matriarch then pulled my head back so my chin rested on the leather pad, with my face looking forward. To say I was astonished as my eyes became accustomed to the light would be an understatement. I was in the middle of a huge living room. Across from me was a long, long leather couch (yes, I was detecting a bit of a design fetish here). My husband Dave sat on the couch with 6 other men, the husbands. Some I knew, some I'd never seen before. I wasn't sure what was worse. They all casual dinner party attire and nursed drinks. They'd had an hour to socialize and loosen up, and it showed. Dave looked a little uncomfortable, but the rest of them looked downright relaxed. I imagined they'd been bringing him up to speed.

I tilted my head slightly to look to my right. 5 other naked women were assembled in a row down the incredibly long table next to me. They were all gagged and cuffed to spreader bars like I was, but they weren't looking around like me. I recognized two of them, including my best friend Margie, who'd introduced me to this in the first place. They were all different, but all the same in a way too. We were all suburban wives/mothers, hovering on either side of middle age. Ages seemed to range from mid-30's to early 50's. I imagined we were all dealing with our mid-life crisis woes in some way here.

I then looked to my left. Oh my god, that was Anass, whom I knew from our kid's schools. We'd never been close, but we'd known each other for years. The Matriarch was fastening an identical gag-harness to her face. She was a few years older than me, and at least a few pounds heavier. I couldn't help staring at her naked, bronzed, Arabic skin. Her breasts were large, and sagged a bit on the table. Her ass seemed to glisten as the light bounced off it. She had a few moles here and there and...Jesus, I couldn't believe how familiar I was getting with her body. We were pressed up against each other too, and I was smelling her scent like I'd certainly never expected to before.

The Matriarch finished with Anass and gently tilted my head back to face front. I got the message. Then she spoke.

"We are here tonight because these wives deserve punishment. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Every wife requires some corrective action at times, and every husband deserves to enjoy it...as do I."

The Matriarch strolled from one end of the table to the other as she spoke. She was a heavier woman of about 60, with jet-black dyed hair done up in a 60's style dominatrix bun. The tallest woman in the room, by far. A severe-looking grey streak rode up the center. Her stomach and ass were rounded, but firm. Her arms and legs were more muscle than flab. She worked out, including weights. It was a thing with her. She was dressed all in shiny black leather. Thigh-high boots with thick high heels and a tight steampunk styled corset/dress. She wielded a thick leather strap for whipping in her hand.

"I will repeat this for the sake of our new couple tonight. The husband is a master. The wife has ceded her right to safe-word to him for the punishment portion, as a symbol of trust. It will be up to him to invoke it if he feels she cannot take it. The safe-word will be honored. However, wives are here to be punished and used. If they cannot take it, they will not be permitted to stay or come back again. Now, let's begin."

The Matriarch had worked her way back to our side of the table. She yanked Anass' head up by the hair.

"Ah, this bitch again. One of my favorite repeat offenders. Seems to need quite a lot of corrective punishment, doesn't she? What does she need to be punished for this time?"

Anass' Scottish husband Gerald, who was not seated directly across from her, spoke up. "She has forgotten herself twice last week, disrespecting me at the dinner table. She exceeded her allowed expenditures on her credit card, and balked at the idea of finishing off a friend's wife in a hotel room during playtime on our vacation."

Gerald & Anass were swingers? Boy, was I learning a lot about the neighborhood tonight!

"She knows this kind of disobedience is not tolerated any more."

"One would think," answered the Matriarch. "Well then, let's inflict some pain, and see what it does for her attitude."

Anass whimpered.

WHAM! I heard the sound of that heavy leather strap thwacking Anass's ass cheeks. She cried out in pain. I could feel her strain against her bonds.

WHAM! Another one. Even harder this time. Anass screamed. The table shook as she squirmed.

And then it started in earnest. Wham after wham after wham as the Matriarch delivered a steady rhythmic stream of cruel hard blows to Anass' poor fleshy ass. Anass screamed and screamed and screamed. She rocked the table as she squirmed against those bonds. Her smell got stronger as she sweated profusely. Her nose ran as she cried, and it mixed with her tears and the drool from her gag for something I'd sure never smelled before. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd pee'ed a little too. This certainly wasn't the gentle BDSM of 50 shades. This was pure sadism. Also, I certainly hoped this table was cleaned and disinfected on a regular basis.

Anass was grunting through her screams. She sounded like an animal. And then it finally stopped. Out of my peripheral vision, I could see that Anass' face was a mess of tears, sweat, snot and drool. At least the Matriarch wiped her face with a hand-towel. But she didn't bother wiping up under Anass' face. The Matriarch tilted her face towards me so that her cheek was resting in the muck while she stared right at me.

"Oh my God, did I need this", said the Matriarch. "I could do this all night, my pretty little piece of shit bitch, but I've got a table full of sluts to deal with. Maybe I'll come back to you later."

Then the Matriarch moved over in front of Anass and pulled my head taut by the hair.

"Eye contact with your master, slut."

I made eye contact with Dave.

"She's new", the Matriarch said to Dave. "This may not be for her, or for either of you. This is a perfect opportunity for you to safe-word out and take her home. Maybe a soothing bath or a nice dinner out. I promise you, when we start, we will not stop. You will not have another opportunity until I am done with her for the weekend."

Wait, weekend? What the hell? Oh well. I really was desperate, and willing to try anything once. I couldn't believe I was doing this, but I nodded my head slightly, signaling Dave not to invoke our safe-word. This might be pure torture I was about to face, but I needed to go through with it. We both needed it, for the sake of our marriage.

Dave gulped down his drink and said, "You can proceed, Matriarch."

"Excellent. Eager to please. What am I punishing this middle-aged cunt for?"

Dave looked distinctly uncomfortable as he answered. "She came a little too close to having an affair on me. The man in question used their coffee dates for blackmail material against us. I couldn't take any chances with my professional position, and had to take care of it quietly. It cost us plenty. I've tried to forgive her, but it seems like too much for me to let go of."

"Oh my, you are a naughty whore. I'm really going to enjoy this. You won't. But don't worry, if anything can put a master in a forgiving mood it's the strap."

The Matriarch moved out of my limited line of sight. I could hear her in back of me now. Than I felt the warm leather of the strap rest across the cheeks of my ass. Well, at least Anass had warmed it up for me. Maybe this wouldn't be so...

Wham!

Yeowwwwww!

Oh my god, did I feel that. I screamed, of course.

Wham!

Then another. That was even harder than the first one.

"That was the warm-up, bitch," said the Matriarch. "Now let's really get going."

The blows came at a quick, unyielding rhythm. Hard and painful. I screamed and grunted and squirmed against my bonds just as Anass had. It's a wonder the table could take this. I'd learn later that the Matriarch had it specially constructed for this purpose. Boy, would I have loved to have heard the Matriarch describe the purpose of this table to her builder.

This was pure pain. It couldn't compare to childbirth of course, but it was more than anything I could remember otherwise. I wondered how red my ass was going to be afterwards. I wondered if the skin would be broken. Would I be covered in welts? I wouldn't have any scars from this, would I? Had to admit, scars would be worth it to save my marriage. I couldn't believe that I could go through something like this without saving my marriage.

Even worse than the pain, was the humiliation. I knew Anass. I now knew a secret life about her I'd never even suspected. And she now knew some things about me. I could just barely see her pain-wracked face in my peripheral vision. She rested on her cheek, watching every moment of this register on my face. The other women I knew on the table were also hearing this. Would this bring Margie and I even closer, or be the beginning of the end of our long friendship?

I've saved the worst for last. All through this painful, humiliating, degrading ordeal, I was staring straight at the husbands, or masters, I should say. They were all staring straight at me, some even making eye contact. A few of them had even reached into their pants and taken their cocks out to stroke. Talk about a sight I'd never needed to see. Gerald seemed especially interested. He had a thin, cruel smile on his face as he stroked his cock, as if he knew something. I felt like he was looking right through me.

All except for Dave. My husband of 18 years was having a hard time looking directly at me. He had an expression on his face that I couldn't recall seeing before. Was he uncomfortable? Mortified to have his wife on display like this in front of our neighborhood peers? Was the sight of me being beaten by this sadistic woman from hell giving him the emotional release that would finally lead him to forgiveness? Or was he turned on, and uncomfortable because he was turned on? Was I discovering another side to my husband I'd never suspected before? Strangely enough, it had never occurred to me to check his computer or phone for porn in his search histories. When other wives did it, it always seemed to signal the beginning of the end of the marriage. So why would I want to go there, right?

And yet, I realized that also meant I might have no idea what made him tick. I kept learning alarming things about what my friend's husbands wanked off to privately. Frankly, it never failed to shock me. Yet why did they need to know these things? How often did it lead to an increase of understanding in a marriage, instead of the beginning of the end?

The whipping suddenly stopped.

"We are at the halfway point of punishment", the Matriarch declared. "I would like to offer a graceful exit. It would be appropriate now to invoke the safe-word if this has proven to be too much for our new master and slave."

Dave looked right at me. Again, I nodded my head. Don't use the safe-word. Let's just get through this. Don't know what the hell I was thinking, but that's what I tried to communicate with him. So Dave didn't say or do anything.

"Lovely! Let's really make this bad cunt really squeal then."

Ouch!

That first strike after a short break really stung. The whipping continued. God, the pain was just unbelievable. There was a big glistening pile of drool on the pad beneath me now. My face was wet. I was crying, which was making my nose run. The sounds coming out of me were like some deranged animal as I thrashed in my bonds. Thank God photography was strictly prohibited. I almost laughed during the blows as I momentarily imagined one of these wives trying to get a selfie during this ordeal for Instagram.

I totally lost track of time. Maybe I even blanked out. And then the whipping abruptly stopped. Just as I was taking a breath, there was one more huge, heavy blow to wind things up. I screamed so loudly at that, taken by surprise. Then I heard the Matriarch's heels echo off the hardwood floor as she started walking away from me back there. I was a shivering, sniveling, mewling mess. My whole body was soaked with sweat, and my face was covered in a disgusting mix of tears, snot, drool and sweat. I knew my poor ass must look like a disaster zone back there. At least I hadn't pissed myself, at least as far as I knew.

The Matriarch came around, pulled my head up by the hair, and wiped my face with a fresh towel. Then she looked me in the eye.

"I enjoyed that so much, slut", she said. "You have no idea how much I love whipping a new slave, especially when she really has it coming. And you really had it coming didn't you?"

Then she looked out at the masters.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who enjoyed it, either."

With that, she gently placed my cheek on the pile of drool below me, facing Nicole to the right of me. My face had put on an uninterrupted show for Anass during my punishment. Now I was about to get the same show from Nicole.

Chapter 2: The Story Behind the Story

Here I am, Brooke of a nice suburban neighborhood in LA, naked on a long leather-padded table in a living room. My arms and legs are trussed up on a spreader bar, and I'm gagged in a row with seven other women, some of whom I know. The cruel Matriarch behind us is whipping the woman's ass raw next to me with a heavy leather strap. That poor woman is Nicole. I've known her since our kids were in elementary school together. We've shared countless glasses of wine in our kitchens and backyards, and shared the confidences that wives share. And yet, she's bucking and thrashing and screaming and crying through her ball-gag harness as she gets the living shit whipped out of her. But that's not the weird thing. The weird thing is that my husband Dave and I are the only newcomers tonight. Nicole has done this before, and she's back for more.

I know exactly what Nicole's going through. She is third in line on this table. I was second. After watching poor Anass take it on the ass from the cruel Matriarch's strap, I got to endure it myself. And I do mean endure. After one session with that thing, I can't imagine volunteering for a second time. And yet, that's obviously what Anass and Nicole have done. Do they like this? Is it because their husbands like it? Or is it the secret that keeps their marriages together?

Where does my mind go during this? How about: how on Earth did I get here?

How it all started: We were having problems in our marriage. It happens. We'd married in our 20's, and were now juggling the suburban ennui and financial pressures that typically accumulate in your 40's. One kid out of the house in college, one still in high school, and different lives as my husband Dave and I splintered off in different directions. Dave had done very well for himself as an attorney in LA, but it's an expensive place to live in the style we're accustomed to. So he worked a lot, and was often working in his head even when he was home. I was drifting. I felt distant from him, and had transitioned from being a full-time mother/housewife to volunteering on so many boards and committees. God, I was turning into my mother.