Story by All These Roadworks (2021).
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They knew it would take some effort to make their marriage work.
Kimberly was a committed and vocal feminist. Aaron loved her, but was frequently embarrassed by her more extreme positions.
Prior to the wedding, they came to an agreement. Each would be able to secretly formulate three rules for the other to follow, to make them more compatible. They’d go to a hypnotherapist, and have them implanted by hypnotic suggestion. Then they’d live a life of married bliss.
Kimberly’s rules for Aaron were simple. He wasn’t to be violent towards her in any way. He was to have respect for her life choices. And he was to listen to her carefully and respectfully when she was upset.
Aaron’s rules for Kimberly were somewhat different. *She* was to get large, fake tits. She was to wear a leash and collar in public and follow exactly two steps behind him at all times. And whenever she did something or saw something that contrasted with her feminist beliefs, she was to construct a rationalisation for it and then internalise that rationalisation.
Kimberly balked almost immediately after coming out of the trance. Her mind was filled with the urgent need to get large, fake tits. She was revolted by the urge, horrified - but then her mind clicked. Why shouldn’t she get fake tits? Wasn’t it her right as a woman to look however she wanted? The very fact that people would mock and degrade her for having fake tits was the best reason possible to go and get some, and normalise it.
She balked again as she stood up to leave the hypnotist’s office. She needed something at her throat - a collar, and a leash. She looked mutely at Aaron.
Aaron smiled, and pulled a dog collar and chain leash out of his pocket. Blushing, she let him fix it around her neck.
Again, she felt her mind reorient itself. Women should have the right to be collared and leashed if they wanted to be. She needed to exercise that right. She walked out proudly, exactly two steps behind her fiance.
But by the time of the wedding, she wasn’t so sure. She had her new tits by then - giant plastic JJ cup balloons. She’d had to buy a new wedding dress to accommodate them, wasting all the money she’d spend earlier in the year on one that fit her old, small tits. Buying on a budget hadn’t given her many options, and the one she’d settled on made her look like a stripper, concentrating full attention on her giant fuckballoons.
She’d been walking behind her husband on a leash for weeks now, and every time a woman looked at her, she saw contempt in her eyes. The other women didn’t do this. And slowly, her brain began to rationalise that she must not be LIKE the other women. She was leashed because she was different, because she needed to be leashed. She was leashed because she *deserved* to be leashed.
She had even changed the wedding ceremony so that her father would lead her up the aisle on a collar and leash, and pass the leash to her fiance when she arrived at the altar. She looked around at the faces of her friends, saw the distaste and embarrassment for her on their faces.
Surely this wasn’t how a feminist acted? The thought lodged in her brain, and she tried to reconcile it - and then something snapped, just as she reached the altar, and she felt her thoughts rearrange. No, it wasn’t how a feminist acted. So she wasn’t a feminist.
It was like a weight had lifted from her mind. Life was so much easier if she wasn’t a feminist. All her frustrated irritation at vowing to “love, honour and obey” vanished, and she beamed happily throughout the entire ceremony.
It made the wedding night better, too. She knew Aaron wanted her to act like a slut, and now that she wasn’t a feminist, there was nothing stopping her. She spread her legs for him in their hotel, bucked eagerly against his cock, sucked his dick, gave him a titjob, let him cum in all of her holes and bathe her face and tits with his spunk, and then take photos.
Looking at those photos, seeing her slutty sperm-streaked face, she felt another twinge. Not only was the person in those photos not a feminist - they were a whore. She’d seen photos like that before - naked, big fake tits, covered in cum. She’d seen them on porn sites. The feminist she’d been would never be caught dead like that. The feminist she’d been would have hated this woman. This woman deserved to be punished.
Her brain clicked, and she heard herself start begging Aaron to beat her, to slap her tits, to choke her, to rape her. She wanted it more than anything.
But Aaron couldn’t use violence against her. She’d seen to that.
She found herself literally crying from shame, that she was such a slut and yet her husband couldn’t punish her.
So the next day they went back to the hypnotist, and Kimberly paid to have Aaron’s conditioning undone. Clearly, he needed to be able to hit her - and there was no reason a slut like her needed to have her life choices respected or her thoughts listened to.
When it was done, Aaron tested it, by slapping Kimberly across the face. It worked perfectly, leaving a pretty hand-print on her cheek, and she thanked him for it. Then he slapped her other cheek, exposed both her tits to the hypnotist, and slapped them too, just to be sure.
Then they talked about what other changes they might make to Kimberly.
“Given that I’ll be punishing you, don’t you think it would be good if you could cum from pain?” suggested Aaron, and Kimberly, her tits still hurting, thought it sounded very good indeed. She also agreed that she should probably crawl on all fours from now on unless a man told her to walk on two feet, and that she should not be able to put on clothes or touch her own pussy without a man’s permission.
“And don’t you think you should thank the nice hypnotist by sucking his cock when you’re done?” Aaron prompted.
And Kimberly - the new obedient, wifely, well-behaved Kimberly - agreed happily that she should.