Every now and then, an experiment takes on a life of its own. What started as a simple inquiry—how long could my readers last without release?—spiraled into something far more compelling, revealing the depths of psychological surrender, cuckold acceptance, and the raw arousal of submission. And so, here is the story of "Nothing."

The Crawl to Submission
Nothing, as he is now called, wasn’t always in my grasp. He had been around, part of my readership, yet he kept a safe distance. When I invited him to my ARC for Femdom Plucked, he declined—curtly, politely, with a simple "No, thanks, appreciate the offer." I let it be. But then, the moment arrived. A casual question in my tribe—how long could they go without release?—and suddenly, he snapped. "Just wanted to let you know… You are in my freaking head! I thought I was out of your grasp, but I was wrong. I don’t know how you do it… I haven't been able to think of anything else but you and your books."

So, I saw my opportunity. I set the terms: a full month, no release until March 21st. Daily erection reports. No excuses. And he obeyed.

The Daily Torment
From the very first night, I knew I had him. His reports became longer, more fevered, revealing just how deeply he was sinking. "I wake up in the middle of the night, fully erect. My mind instantly goes to Ma’am. I touch myself under the covers, knowing I cannot cum. My wife lays beside me, breathing softly, oblivious to the torment within me. I rub my face against her calf in submission, but my arousal is not for her. It is for Ma’am, my Goddess, the woman who haunts my mind."

He was already breaking. And then, came the deeper confessions.

His Wife's Affair: A Turning Point
It was late one night when he poured it all out. His wife had cheated on him years ago, but only recently had she confessed. And what did Nothing do? Nothing. He sat there, listening, absorbing it, not daring to raise his voice. She told him she had slept with a man—a strong, confident, military man—who had taken her without protection. And Nothing, her husband, sat there and accepted it.

"She didn’t even apologize," he admitted to me. "She withheld his name until she felt like telling me. And I… I thanked her for being honest. I hugged her. I told her I was sorry I wasn’t there for her."

There it was. The perfect femdom marriage. A Queen who could do as she pleased, and a husband too weak to challenge her. And as much as he denied it at first, the truth came creeping in: he was aroused by it.

She Will Do It Again
“She told me it was just twice,” he said, almost sheepishly. “But I think it was more like ten. Maybe twenty.” I told him it was thirty. Thirty nights of passion, thirty late-night betrayals, and—just to twist the knife—forty deep thrusts each time. “That’s 1,200 strokes, Ma’am,” he whispered later, trembling with arousal. The math humiliated him. The scale of it overwhelmed him. And the worst part? He asked for the man’s name—and she refused. “She told me she wasn’t ready to say,” he confessed. “She made me wait a week.” And that was the theme, wasn’t it? She decided what he was allowed to know, when he was allowed to know it. No apology. No remorse. Just power. And I told him the simple truth: “She will do it again.” He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. Because he knew—he wouldn’t stop her. He’d watch her walk out the door and say thank you.


The Cuckold Spiral
Nothing’s descent was rapid. He started replaying his wife’s affair in his mind, over and over. The thought of her on her back, legs spread for another man, made him hard. And he didn’t understand why. "Why is the thought of my wife’s affair so arousing? I don’t understand it. But it makes me hard as steel every time. I want her to experience the best pleasure."

And yet, even as he admitted this, he still didn’t dare to ask the ultimate question: Was the other man bigger? He knew. Of course, he knew. But he would never ask. His wife’s pleasure was none of his concern. He was her husband, her provider, her housekeeper. The other man was her lover.

Her Love for Alpha Males
As Nothing continued to confess, a pattern emerged—one even he hadn’t fully recognized before. His wife had a type. A look. A presence. She was drawn to men who exuded confidence, ease, authority. “She has a thing for alpha males,” he told me, “It’s her weakness.”

It wasn’t just her former lover. There had been others—men who made her voice soften, made her eyes linger. One, in particular, stayed with him: Justin, a contractor they’d hired years ago to remodel their bathroom. Justin was tall, strong, self-assured, and magnetic in that quiet way women always notice. “My wife liked him for sure,” Nothing wrote. “She hung on his every word. They just clicked.”

He recalled watching her defer to Justin’s suggestions, trust his choices over her husband’s, and handle the financial negotiation herself while he sat silently beside her. “Justin could tell she was the boss,” he said. “He addressed her directly while I just… sat there.”

Then came the comment: Justin casually admitted he’d been sleeping with a former client. “I jokingly asked my wife if she caught that,” he said. “She just smiled and said women fall for guys like him.” Even after the project was over, she kept bringing him up—months, even years later. “She’s still trying to get in contact. Still asking friends to reach out to him. Why?”

That question has never left his mind. He suspects something may have happened—and if it didn’t, the possibility lingers. “Maybe he feels guilty for sleeping with my wife. Or maybe he’s scared of what might happen if he comes back around, knowing how attracted she is to him.” And then he added what he didn’t want to say out loud: “I could see her submissive energy with him. It wasn’t directed at me.”

I told him with certainty what he couldn’t admit: They slept together. And even if they hadn’t yet, Justin could return at any time and take what he wanted. And Nothing knew… he wouldn’t stop it.

“I will try not to get in her way,” he told me. “She deserves it.”

And he meant it.

I Could Easily Pluck Him from His Wife
At one point, he broke protocol. The infatuation got the better of him. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and poured out his longing in words I wouldn’t dare print here—not because I’m offended, but because I don’t reward vulgar desperation. He tried to turn dominance into desire. And so, I punished him. Left and right. I made sure he felt it. Because that’s what works. Pain with precision. Humiliation as a reminder.

After that, he treaded very carefully. He pivoted, kept things safe, kept talking about his wife. But I knew. I always know. With a flick of my fingers, I could’ve taken him. I’m the author of Femdom Plucked, after all. The irony isn’t lost on me. Even his submission to his wife—his “Ma’am”—was still under my control.

He was sharing her bed, and fantasizing about me. I used to tease him about it. I’d say, “This is our little secret… we’re the ones cheating.” And he’d agree—whispering into his pillow like a schoolboy with a forbidden crush, aching for the teacher he couldn’t have.

I could’ve wrecked his home, claimed him, had him scrubbing my floors in silence. But I didn’t. I never do.

And now you understand the power of denying a man for a month. If there are any women out there reading this—try it at home. It works.

And maybe now, too, you can empathize with David from Femdom Plucked. When he threw himself at Beatrice’s feet, he was no longer coherent. His mind was gone. His will erased. His situation was even worse than Nothing’s. And that’s saying something.

Before I published this essay, I let him read it. And in his position, what else could he say?
“Yes, Ma’am. You have full rights to my story. You can use it however you like. I don’t own myself anymore. I am yours.”

The Final Days
As March 21st approached, Nothing became frantic. His mind was unraveling. He was waking up humping the mattress, dreaming of me, stroking himself to the idea of his wife with another man. "I imagine her in her apartment on the other side of the state, sucking another man’s cock while talking to me on the phone. When she hangs up, he fucks her hard. And I… I am touching myself now, Ma’am. Hard at the thought."

He was mine. Completely. And he knew it.

The Beauty of Real Stories
What makes my writing so compelling? The reality. The raw, unfiltered truth that men like Nothing provide me. Their experiences, their confessions, their deepest humiliations—they all feed into my work. This is why my books feel real.

Nothing started as a simple chastity experiment. A month-long denial, just for fun. But what it revealed—his cuckold nature, his wife’s dominance, his own helpless arousal—became something far greater.

And one wonderful thing came out of it for me: I’m now writing a new book focused entirely on cuckolding. A deeper dive. A sharper blade. And it’s all thanks to... Nothing.

This is what I love most about my readers. Their willingness to truly surrender. Their inability to resist my pull. Their confessions, their devotion, their absolute hunger for more.

This is why I write.

And this is why they keep crawling back.

So tell me, dear reader—how long can you last?

Elara Stone (Author)