Chapter 9 – Part 3, The Humiliation Game

This is chapter 9, part 3 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 9 – Part 3, The Humiliation Game

The Mexican men provoked my humiliation perversion. In small quantities, it was delicious, the slow burn of knowing another man enjoyed the best part of my María. I was determined to keep control of these perverted passions. I forcefully suppressed the worst of these feelings – never again would I succumb to them and endanger my relationship with María.

But María had other ideas. She promised back in San Francisco to torment me, and she discovered how she could amp-up my sexual intensity by humiliation. Now, surrounded by the type of men that provoked me, she decided to see how far she could push my humiliation.

Our love making improved as I exhausted myself to please her, to keep going. I was determined to outdo her lovers sexually. It was worth the effort, our little humiliation game. We were more intense, more in the moment, and she continuously goaded me onward. She ridiculed me as I stroked and kissed and licked her, telling me other men were so much better than me. This was the most intense sex we ever had, but the game was a package – we needed the other men for it to work. So I did her make-up, body painted her breasts and vulva, dressed her obscenely sexy, and let her go with them. So they could cut up my genitals and sent her back to me to lick clean their semen. And María stitched me back together again.

As she described what the men did to her, she would do the same with me, touching caressing, fondling, cuddling. As she kissed me, sucked me, fucked me, she described how her lovers’ mouths on her nipples melted her, how their penises inside her drove her into mindlessness, and how her lovers reacted and what they said. She described how superior they were, how wonderful they made her feel. This provoked strong emotional and physical reactions in me, but still not enough to satisfy her.

She saw what humiliation techniques worked best and she pushed me against my limits – and beyond. In our saner moments, we discussed my torment as thoroughly as we discussed our sexual techniques. I helped her torment me. I told her what hurt me the most and she used it against me. Even though I knew her motivations, I was helpless to control my urge to humiliation and pain.

Then María discovered declaring she would permanently leave me for one of these better men turned my dark volcano into a lava-spewing volcano. She quoted herself telling her lover, “Why don’t you leave your wife to be with me forever. We can do this every night. I’ll leave my pathetic gringo husband, he doesn’t know anything about how to please a woman.” She cut through my genitals, all the way up to my heart. This was physical pain, to the point where I twisted and cramped on the bed, became sick and vomited as she watched. She sometimes added to my pain by squeezing my testicles. I spent many nights laying naked on a cold tile floor after she said I wasn’t man enough to lay next to her.

I didn’t want this, this level of torment, but I was hooked, and she told me without shame,

“This is your new life, until I find the limits of your humiliation.”

“How will you know when I reach my limit?”

“You’ll beg me to leave you.”

“Will you really leave me?”

“In an eye-blink.”

“I’ll never do that.”

“Then when you beg me to castrate you.”

“Would you do it?”

“In an eye-blink.”

“I’ll never ask for that.”

“Well, when you become totally impotent.”

“And then?”

“You’ll be useless, I’ll get a better man.”

“So the final purpose of this game is to leave me?”


We frequently discussed the game, and each time, we decided to keep going, to go all the way. If we knew the game was really a sham, it would lose its edge and become routine. The game had to have real consequences to keep our sexual intensity high. The consequence was, of course, María would leave me.

María wanted to formalize the game, with rules, so she would know how far she could go, and I agreed. We named it the Humiliation Game.

We knew María would win in any case; the risk was all mine, loss of my woman. If I didn’t lose her, we would have intense sex, win-win for her. That was fair, she was María, I was just an ordinary guy. We talked about her previous affairs with DeepThroat, the Pol, the Photog, and now the literature professor, and how the affairs had affected me. Each of these affairs violated our rule against long-term lovers, with or without my consent. With DeepThroat and the Pol, she attempted to leave me. With DeepThroat, she attempted to castrate me.

And María had ulterior motives – she wanted to completely eliminate the long-term lover rule. She argued my moments of greatest humiliation had been during these times. If I wanted to play the game intensely, she needed and wanted long-term relationships. This was beyond what I was willing to do – the probability she would leave me jumped exponentially. She said, “That’s the whole point of the game. We have to go out right to the edge.” I relented partially, we would do trial periods of no more than one month, with no rules about her behavior. She could do anything she wanted to induce the man to take her away from me. I figured one month was more than enough time to check out any particular man. She stuck out her hand and said, “Shake on it. This is real.” Josey warned from deep inside my brain I shouldn’t agree, but Bunk crowded her out, chanting ‘doit, doit, doit …’. We shook.

María flashed me her sunrise smile, said, “I already have a candidate. I was his puta this morning, do you want to fuck me now?” As she held my head between her legs for the initial semen cleaning, she described the new guy, what they had done. When she told him he should leave his wife and take her instead, he said he was unmarried, and he would indeed take her. He invited her to go live with him in Islas Mujeres. “We’re leaving this afternoon, I’ll be back in a month.” The announcement immediately cramped my groin and stomach. I lost my erection and ran to throw-up in the bathroom. When I returned, she was still nude, trying on tanga bikinis.

I said, “You set me up, you had this planned.”

“Of course, this is our real life. I’m serious, aren’t you? Grow up, stop whining and play. Think about all the nights you’ll be laying here alone, imagining what I’m doing to him. I’m going to fuck him and suck him until he begs me to stay with him. Maybe he’s the ‘one’, and I’ll never come back. Enjoy your torture. You just blew your chance to fuck me before I go with him. I’m making a new rule right now – any time you don’t satisfy me, I get an extra week with my lover. Now help me get down my suitcase.”

She was back within five days. She walked in the house and we had barely exchanged “Buenos diás” when she said, “The guy had a beautiful place right on the beach, but he was a jerk politician. He somehow knew about me and the Pol in San Francisco – he called me Isabel. He tried to whore me out for votes. I made two new rules while I was there: no more politicians except for raw sex, and most important – you are my husband, no one but you can whore me out, which I expect frequently. He brought me back and he fucked me in the limo. I suppose you know what to do now.” I did know, and I did do.

Our sex life was great. Everything she revealed about her lover’s techniques, I used against her. I got better at pleasing her and I became confident, then cocky I would win. Her lovers might do one thing or another better than me, but I was sure I was the best overall, and I had a huge advantage: I was desperate for her, wanted her, and loved her more than her lovers. I would fight for her and win!

None of her lovers came close to taking her. She had a few multi-week stays with one-or-another, one lasted a whole month, but she always came back. The longer the game lasted, for months on months, the better I felt. It made sense – all her lovers were married, most had children, and however crazy they were about María, they couldn’t abandon their lives so easily for her. Her time away from me did depress me – I missed her so much, not only the sex and the humiliation, but the sheer joy of her presence. Every time she returned felt like falling in love again.

Each time she discarded a lover and took on a new one, I co-opted her lover’s techniques. And I had several powerful advantages: I had her in my house where I worked on her constantly. I loved her as deep as death. And I knew her. She told her lovers they could have her, they could take her from me if they wanted her badly enough. They thought the battleground was her body. I knew it was her mind. I knew her. I looked through her eyes. I saw her beauty.

I knew her lovers. They had dark skins and darker penises. Funny how something as trivial as skin tone could incite sexual desire. I thought about tattooing my penis with some powerful design to make it darker and more exciting to María, some design that would expand magically as my penis engorged. I could even put her lover’s initials on my penis, proof I captured their power. But the wallflower Josey argued ‘no’. How could I forbid her tattoos if I did it?

Her lovers also had the excitement of newness. I had no defense for this except to copy them and to outlast them until they became routine. They left semen in her which I greedily licked away – I suspected they neglected their wives and likely had marital problems. The sadist in me enjoyed this, they should be punished for fucking my wife.

I ingested their semen and sperm from her vulva. I knew their taste, I assimilated their testosterone into my body and became stronger, more like them. Bunk suggested I contact her lovers, drinking their power directly from their penises. Josey howled – that was a terrible idea!

The pain and humiliation she inflicted on me was delicious, I was addicted. And like most addictions, it took its toll on me. I didn’t get enough sleep, I was always sore from the cramps in my groin, legs and stomach, and my testicles chronically ached from her physical and my emotional squeezing. It wasn’t enough – I wanted more hurt. I made a new rule – every time she left the house to fuck another man, she had to squeeze my testicles until she dropped me to the floor. She loved that rule, and she usually squeezed a few minutes extra to watch me writhe on the floor. She’d raise her skirt to show me she had wet her panty as she went out the door. I was in María paradise.

Sexual torment is an addictive drug, requiring increasing doses to satisfy. María became dissatisfied with my torment level and thought she could do better. As I helped her prepare for sex with other men, she became more explicit about what the men did to her and how it felt. She asked my opinion – she wanted to drive them crazy, and wanted them to explode her. What could she do better? How should she respond to them and incite them to fuck her better? I responded truthfully and completely, feeling as if I signed my own death warrant. I shook as I told her my secret about sticky licking the underside of the penis crown.

I knew when the big torments were coming – she heated me to boiling until I squirted in my own clothes. She put my mouth to work all over her body until she was satisfied. While I fondled and licked and kissed her, she insulted my early ejaculation, compared me critically to the lover she just fucked, then watched me curl-up in pain: testicle pain, cramps in my groin, legs and stomach. She dug at my ego, destroyed my self-image as a good lover while claiming this lover wanted her, would leave his family for her, and she would throw me in the dumpster of losers. She left me gasping for breath, doubled over in pain, and pushed me off the bed. And then the next day, we’d analyze what she did and said, and I’d tell her how to hurt me more, deeper. She probed my limits searching for my weakest points.

We realized this humiliation game had only one exit – when she wins. She took no risk, and had no reason to ever stop. She received trips, jewelry, lingerie, perfumes, and as much sex as she could handle. The game converted me into her sex slave, and I could never slow down without losing her. We had to keep going until I lost, the inevitable end to the game. We either had to completely stop the game or keep going until I lost. I knew my destiny, but I couldn’t stop. I was addicted. María was equally addicted. If we stopped, she would leave me anyway to follow her addiction with another man.

The game clarified our perversions. Thinking back, I had always chosen sluts for my girlfriends, the more experienced, the better. I had never fucked a virgin and never wanted one. María was a slut when I met her, when I married her, and she got sluttier, much sluttier during our first few years of marriage, especially at the salsa club. I loved it. When she took up with the Pol in San Francisco, she went upscale into whoring, and I loved it more. I realized I wanted a woman that understood her sexuality and how to use it to get what she wanted – a whore. When she upscaled again into prostitution, she was perfect for me. Now she had settled back into whoring – she had a queen’s collection of gifts from other men: jewelry, perfumes, lingerie, evening gowns and other luxury items. She joked she went ‘shopping’ when she suggested gifts to her lovers. She joked I allowed her to receive gifts from other men so I didn’t have to pay for them. From me, she whored a marriage, a child, and years of comfortable living. I was her biggest ‘whoring’ conquest. Plus my gifts to her included access to as many men as she wanted. We stared at each other in total acceptance – I was a sicko pervert and she was a whore. María was the woman of my life, and I didn’t plan to lose her. She was my life.

And then she told me the men paid her for special activities. She had given me permission and exclusivity to whore her – I would be her pimp. And don’t pimps charge a big commission?

End of book content.

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