My husband and I are 29, and we have been married for four years. What follows is what actually happened to us.

Starting last year, the two of us fell into a tired stretch, and sex had lost its charge. Looking for a spark, we tried all sorts of things. We tried phone sex with other people in front of my husband, phone sex while the two of us were having sex, and openly finding other partners. The excitement never lasted past the moment. Soon afterward we were bored again.

Around July of last year, my husband found a forum online where people were recruiting slaves. I had thought he was the dominant one, and that I would be the only one trained as a slave. Instead he said, “That would be no different from what we were already doing. This time let’s be slaves together, and let’s find a couple younger than us to be our masters.” I worried whether a husband as dominant as mine could really be made into a slave, but it was a new way to play, so we tried.

Once we actually started looking for masters, we found that a married couple who want to serve together, and specifically to serve another couple or a pair of lovers, is genuinely hard to find. We posted in magazines and on forums in that scene. We got some replies, but they only asked questions. Nothing was settled. Couples like us are rare, so of course the other side didn’t believe us. We were ready to give up. I told my husband we should try one last time at a happening bar, and in October we finally found masters who fit.

The couple lived fairly close to us. He was 24, she was 26, and she was the dominant one. We exchanged a few emails and spoke on the phone. Once they understood our situation, they decided to meet. We agreed that both sides would abstain for the three days before the meeting, so the excitement would be sharper.

After we met, they began keeping us as slaves. With no end date it is easy to get bored, so we signed a three-month slave contract. The two of them were not living together yet, so for the length of the contract all four of us would live in our home.

Our life as slaves started that day. At first they still seemed to hold back, and the training was ordinary. They had us perform sex, or the male master used my body. As time passed, they gradually developed a strong sense that they were raising a slave couple.

Weekdays were bearable, because I had to work during the day. On weekends and holidays the humiliating training got severe. First we were ordered to stay completely naked inside the house. Almost everything that faced the outside world was left to the masters, so we had no need for clothes. At meals we could eat only their leftovers, and we had to get down on all fours, leashed by our collars, and eat with our hands. The male master whipped my husband and mocked him, and my husband still had to look as if he enjoyed it. Watching beside him, I felt sorry for him, and I was soaked, so aroused I could hardly stand it. Seeing how aroused I was, the mistress started training me. She tied my hands and rubbed a dildo against me, and when I was desperate she took the dildo away. My husband watched from the side, and he was aroused too.

No matter how aroused we were, the masters would not let us have sex. We could only watch them do it, leashed, held far enough apart that we could not touch each other, watching the masters’ sex from up close. Forced to watch that, my husband of course could not bear it. He was allowed to masturbate, so he started right there, wherever we happened to be. After he came he had to lick up what he had shot, and once he had licked it clean the masters still mocked and insulted him. Trained like that, he still had to thank them himself. Even watching him, I thought he was truly base.

Perhaps the masters also felt it could not go on like that, so they allowed my husband to have sex — not with me, but by paying a woman, and he had to do it beside me. I thought no woman would accept that, but the masters had already looked into it carefully. My husband took money from them and called a woman to the house. He had been forbidden to have sex for so long that he was already beside himself. The masters sneered at him and ordered me to watch the whole thing from the side. The woman was Korean. For the money they seemed willing to do anything, and she agreed to let me watch, though the first sight of me naked and collared made her jump. Little by little she started looking at me with contempt, until she treated me as if I were not there at all.

Watching my husband have sex beside me, I felt a jealousy I had never known. We had each found other people before, but now I had to hold my desire down. Only he was allowed to do it, and I was ordered to watch all the way through. It was hard to take. And she was a Korean woman, and he was not wearing a condom. I sank into that humiliation and actually started masturbating. I was being so base. After the woman left, the masters abused him again. From then on, the two of us had thoroughly become the master couple’s slaves.

For more than a month, the only person I had sex with was the male master, and every time he came quickly, and not often. I was only allowed to masturbate. When no one was around I secretly called a phone-sex club, and in phone sex I felt a sexual pleasure I had never known.

We were ordered to use the toilet in the bathroom, and when my husband was home we had to go together. He had seen me pee before, so that was all right, but I really resisted when it came to shit. It was an order from the masters who were keeping us, so there was no way around it. Pissing and shitting both had to happen in front of him. Sometimes we were also ordered to lick each other’s asses clean, and of course at the same time they sneered at us — “so smelly,” “so dirty” — and from that the two of us finally felt, in our bodies, what it meant to be slaves.

I was also ordered, after the masters had sex, to lick the male master’s semen off the mistress’s belly until not a trace was left, and to do it while the two of them spanked me. When I finished I still had to thank them. It was humiliating and arousing at the same time.

This life went on for about two months, and I still was not getting sex that satisfied me. (In that time my husband had sex with other women three times.) Honestly, masturbation alone was more than I could keep enduring, so I begged the masters: “It can be with my husband or with anyone. I want to have sex.” I knew I only had to hold out until the contract ended, but I could not beat the desire. I had never gone two months straight without sex, and certainly not like this. In the end the masters accepted my plea.

Maybe because the contract was also nearly over, and the masters wanted one last variation, they ordered me: “If you want sex that badly, go work at a sex parlor for a week.” I had slept with other people with my husband’s knowledge, but I had basically found those people acceptable, or I would not have done it, so I answered, “I can’t do that.” By then my husband had been trained completely into a slave. He had no objection at all. I urged him to say something, and instead he urged me: “It’s an order.” As he said it, I saw that he was hard. For a moment I felt how perverse I was, and that excitement made me decide.

I wanted sex so badly that I didn’t care who it was with. The question was whether a 29-year-old could still find that kind of work. In a jobs magazine I found a place that was holding interviews. I didn’t plan to stay long, so in the end I arranged to work in something like a trial. Before I went, the master told me, “In two or three days I’ll have your husband come to the parlor and take a good look at you working there.” Thinking of how he would feel walking into that shop, I felt a shame and humiliation I could not put into words.

I knew nothing about sex parlors, but once I was there a staff member gave me a simple explanation and I more or less learned the work. The parlor was only open in the daytime. At night I still went back to life as a slave. Even so, going out in clothes after so long gave me a strange sense of release. Waiting for customers, I wore a simple outfit. I was nervous, but the urge to do it was stronger, and I was already soaked. The staff told me the house rule was no intercourse, though they could bend it when they needed to. I worked six hours during the day, with two or three customers at most. I had fierce sex with the first one. Ordinarily I would never have done it with a man like that, but I was too aroused to stop, and I even thought, “Did I live two months as a slave just so I could come here and do this?” I was forced to lick a customer who had not washed, and I still felt an extreme sexual pleasure.

When the day’s work at the parlor was over and I waited at home for the masters and my husband, I was no longer desperate the way I had been. But nobody would listen to me talk about the shop. When I tried to tell the masters, they put on a face that said they had no interest at all.

The parlor paid daily. I handed each day’s earnings to the masters, and they gave the money to my husband so he could call a woman. It was money I had earned, but the moment he received it he had to thank the masters. Every time I watched him have sex with another woman, the humiliation was beyond words. During the day, thinking of me at the parlor, he must have felt the same. The two of us felt, down to the bone, what it was to be slaves.

On the third day of the parlor work, my husband really came. The shop used one-way glass, and he picked me through the glass. In there we were not husband and wife. We were a customer and a parlor woman, and all I could do was serve him. We did not have intercourse. I brought him off with my hand. Both of us felt a pleasure we had never known, and we were intensely aroused.

Maybe because it was a holiday, the shop was very busy. As soon as he left, the next customer arrived. When he was leaving he watched the next customer request me, and that somewhat resentful look stayed with me. Of course I had sex with the next customer.

That was the end of my work at the parlor. I had resisted some of it, but having sex with all kinds of men left me with more satisfaction than guilt. The week was a full one.

As the slave contract neared its end, the masters gave an order: “Perform sex for us.” Of course we would not, and could not, disobey. We performed obediently. We had not had sex in a long time, so this time it was especially fierce. We licked each other and he kept thrusting into me, like animals. Suddenly the masters said, “Why don’t the four of us have an orgy?” Then the mistress began giving the male master an enema. The two of them had always been a dominant woman and a submissive man, so that was natural. Because both of them were our masters, she had deliberately held back from training him, and only in this last orgy did she let herself go. It did not change the fact that the two of them were the masters who ruled us. Our place was lower than the male master’s. We were ordered to lick him clean after the enema. That was probably the most humiliating training of this whole time as slaves. In three months we had been trained in all sorts of ways, but those were things we had wanted inside, so we could endure them. Licking someone else’s boyfriend after an enema was something I truly could not do. If only I had to lick, with my husband watching, I might have found a way to bear it. That he had to lick too was something I could not accept at all. The mistress showed no mercy. She grabbed the two of us by the hair and pressed our faces to the male master’s ass. My husband resisted for a while at the start, then gave up and licked obediently. A husband and wife licking someone else’s ass clean together — how base that looked cannot be put into words. It felt dirty, and it smelled, but the strongest feeling was how low we were. After we had licked him clean, the masters would not let us rinse our mouths. They ordered us to kiss, then forced us to have sex. By then both of us had a kind of abandon. We started having sex under their abuse, and we even took pleasure in it. The last night ended with an orgy of the four of us.

The contract ended. I was relieved, and I was also reluctant to let it go. When the masters left the house, they said something we had not expected: “Next time we’ll let you be the masters.” We doubted we could be good masters. My husband, maybe because he had had enough of being a slave, agreed. Just a few days ago we began as masters, though that experience can wait until next time. In any case, our life as slaves ended like that. Couples this extreme are probably rare, so I am sharing what happened to us. Being slaves together with my husband really did make me happy. (The end)