My wife Joan and I have been married for three years. She has many ways to punish me and keep me in line. Every evening from the time she arrives home from work at 6:00, she demands complete obedience. She challenges me, and I do my best to serve her.

I usually get home from work before she does, which gives me time to make sure our home is calm and pristine. She likes to change into comfortable clothing right away and it’s my responsibility to bring her a glass of wine and kneel in front of her, eyes lowered, as she decides what she’d like to do with me.

Typically she orders me into our basement gym for a brief but intense workout. I was out of shape when I met Joan, and she has done her best to correct that. She usually instructs me to strip and sits in the recliner in the corner while I do pushups until my arms feel like jelly, to hold a plank position until my abs are on fire, and then to do burpees until I feel I’m going to collapse. Typically she’s browsing through her phone, texting, and checking social media while I do all this, as many rounds through as she requires. She turns her attention back to me to make sure I’m not slacking. Anything less than full effort will merit a punishment later. A worse punishment, I should say.

If Joan is displeased with me, or has had a hard day, she sometimes puts an anal plug in me before the workout. This is sheer misery. Trying to do jumping jacks and kettlebell swings with perfect form while being deeply penetrated, my anus stretched in agony, is a special kind of hell. If I’ve been good, however, she waits until after my workout to instruct me to get the plug. Usually she has me lay across her lap and takes my temperature first, the thermometer greased up with Vaseline. This has been the routine for years, but I still find it humiliating to lay face down, exposed, as she slides the glass tube gently in and out and then lets it rest deep in me for a full five minutes.

Sometimes Joan spanks me while I hold the thermometer. She has a firm hand. I breathe deeply and try not to flinch or move, but to take it without complaint as she wishes. If I do whimper, she spanks harder and tells me to control myself.

Sometimes she puts clothes pins in my scrotum. Sometimes I’m made to drink two large glasses of water and am not allowed to urinate until permission has been granted. Sometimes there are nipple clamps.

After the temperature reading, I’m always plugged for at least one hour, and usually more like two. There are smaller plugs I’ve grown accustomed to, and larger ones that cause my stomach to drop when I realize what I’m in for. Joan always wears a latex glove to probe me deeply with her fingers first (using up to four, if she’s prepping me for a large plug). This is another situation where I’m expected to be silent and take it without complaint. If I moan at all, I’m likely to be gagged immediately. Joan favors a red candy gag that makes my jaw ache.

Plugged and gagged, Joan tells me which shoes to put on. It was hard to find such high heels in my size, but we’ve collected several pairs over the years. All of them are agonizing to wear for any length of time. Joan gives me a specific task to complete before dinner each evening. Clean the bathrooms, do the laundry, vacuum, dust, clean out the refrigerator… I’m actually grateful when she chooses something like scrubbing the floors, where I’m not on my feet as much.

Usually for about an hour, I work on my task while Joan watches TV, surfs the internet, or talks on the phone. Once I’ve completed my chore, it’s my job to make dinner and serve her a beautiful plate at the dining room table. I light candles and make sure she has a cloth napkin.

If Joan is pleased with me, she removes my gag and I’m allowed to eat with her. She strictly monitors my calorie intake, so my portions are always smaller than hers, and there are items she simply won’t allow me to have. If she’s having grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and salad with bleu cheese dressing, I’m allowed a small portion of chicken and a dry salad. Joan usually finishes off the bottle of wine by herself, while the only beverage I’ve been permitted in years is water.

When Joan has been especially displeased with me, she has denied me dinner altogether, but made me sit and watch her. I felt angry and desperate. I didn’t know there could be a worse punishment, but she found one when she stumbled upon the idea of having me put my dinner in the blender. She then bound my hands behind my back and spoon fed me a horrible mess of pureed salmon, spinach, and sweet potatoes. She shoveled it into my mouth almost as fast as I could gulp it in, and it was mortifying to have some of the dreadful mixture run down my chin. My eyes burned with tears as I complied with her every order and she laughed at her baby husband.

Joan likes me to go down on her most nights, and I love doing it. It turns me on to bring her pleasure, to feel her hips buck under my mouth, to taste her and feel her twitching in quiet bliss afterward. She allows me an orgasm about once weekly. I never know when I’ll be granted permission. I learned a long time ago that asking for it only brings a longer wait time. The longest she ever made me go without was three months. It was the most challenging stretch of time imaginable. I’ll comply with anything she wishes to avoid having to endure that again.

My wife keeps me in line. I’m healthy and strong and I’m here to serve her. When a thorough cleaning out is in order, she hangs the enema bag over the shower curtain several days in advance to let the anticipation build. When a session with her cruel hair brush is scheduled, she leaves on the couch so that I know what my poor backside is in for. Whether she’s going to deny me food for three days, or deny me access to the bathroom, or require me to run five miles while plugged, or fig me with a harsh burning finger of ginger, she always lets me know well in advance. My wife is very considerate that way.