Husbands in Training

Amity considers breaking and rebuilding men into flawless sex slaves as her community service for women.

Amity Harris

Husbands in Training – What Women Deserve

Husbands in Training – Prologue

ANY OTHER DAY of the week, Robert would have stopped at his locker to change before heading to the conference room but he skipped that step that Monday morning. His uniform usually hung on his locker hook, and he’d swap his jeans and sweater for the dark blue outfit all the security guards wore right before reporting to the daily briefing. Today was different. Today, all he could think about was what he was wearing under his sweater, and he felt the constant reminder of what was under his jeans.

Robert wasn’t sure what had gotten into his wife’s head the past two weeks after she spent a girls weekend with two of her best friends but he was glad she took those two days off and left him home by himself. After five years of marriage, he finally got the guys weekend he wanted. Being married was great and he thought they were happy but 48 hours apart was the kind of break that made them want each other more.

At least that’s what he thought. Until he picked her up at the airport that fateful afternoon.

He almost didn’t recognize her when he spotted her in the main terminal. Sheila was always solid as a rock, relatively predictable in how she looked and what she liked to do. Like picking a movie to stream in the middle of the week or whether she wanted Chinese or pizza on nights they ordered in. Robert was comfortable with her choices and put up with her favorite movies because she always put up with him watching at least one with aliens and lasers once a week.

The woman who greeted him at the airport hardly looked like the woman he married but moreover, she didn’t sound like her at all. Before she launched into what would likely be an over-detailed summary of her girls’ weekend events, she said, “Get my bag.”

Not a hello or a hug, just three words that sounded oddly like an order.

Robert figured the flight was bumpy or the weekend didn’t live up to her expectations, so he took the baggage claim ticket she held out and walked with the rest of the deplaning passengers toward the carousel. Sheila walked ahead of him the entire way, one step in front. She didn’t wrap her arm in his elbow or hold his hand like she usually did when they were in crowds.

It must have been awful airplane food, he thought.

When her lavender bag appeared on the carousel, he grabbed it and wheeled it to where she was sitting.

“Get the car,” Sheila said.

The weekend must have been really terrible, he thought and decided that avoiding her in her present mood was his best option. No matter how much he straightened up the house, she was sure to find some fault with it and with the state she was in, he didn’t want to give her more to complain about. Getting the car by himself from short-term parking was his best choice. Maybe she’d calm down while he figured out how to get to the terminal. Airport roads were a twisted maze like a big dish of spaghetti.

It took at least 20 minutes to find the car, pay for parking and wend his way to the pickup area. When he pulled to the curb, she was checking her watch and there was no mistaking her irritation. Robert unlocked the doors and waited for her to get in but after several minutes realized she was simply standing there, tapping her foot on the sidewalk.

“Get in,” he called through the open window.

Sheila stared at him and then pointed to the door handle.

It must have been one dreadful weekend, he thought and got out of the car, walked around to her side and opened the door.

Sheila slid into the passenger seat but never reached for the door handle to close it. Robert shut her door, shook his head and got ready to drive them home.

He had no idea she was sending him on a journey next week and he couldn’t have imagined what she and her girlfriends had decided to do with their husbands. All she said on the drive home was, “You’re going on the trip of my lifetime. I’ve already changed your work schedule with your boss.”

Her sneer made him tremble but her chuckling all night petrified him. With good reason.

Training Husbands as Sex Slaves – Amity’s Note

RENTING MY STABLE to my select clients is a lucrative business but requires a lot of work to keep the renters more than merely happy, not to mention having to stay on top of their ever-expanding fantasies that I make real for the hours or weekends they pay to use my boys. Oh, I enjoy watching them live out their pent-up dreams in my rental cabins and when they leave, they always plead to come back. But sometimes I need a break from overseeing all of that plus supervising my four exclusives who make sure everything and everyone is in place for my clients.

Not to mention what they do for my nights.

Things were good on all fronts. Rentals were booming and My Cop installed all the security he could think of and some he invented to prevent what he called ‘unknowns’ with evil intentions from sneaking into Amityworld. Once was enough.

That got me thinking. I own almost two dozen men, an even dozen house girls, one gelding and four exclusives I keep in attic cells, not to mention all of Amityworld. I earned some time for myself to do what I enjoy. I just wasn’t sure what would be the most fun.

I could visit any of my Domme friends – they’d be thrilled to have me for a few days – or I could invite some of them here where they’d revel in what my exclusives would do for them while they were being treated to delicious meals my chef created and all the services my stable could provide.

That was appealing but wasn’t igniting that spark I feel that starts in my toes and works its way north. There had to be something else, something that made me smile from the minute the sun rose over the tree line across the big field until I summoned one or more exclusives to take me to the stratosphere where the stars shined like diamonds in Amityworld’s sky.

The rental schedule was full for weeks. My branded boys in the attic – Zayn, Juke and Gage – were in top shape and full of energy, eager to do whatever I wanted. Tyler, the new head of on-site security, was a few months into learning his role and his place in my world and was doing splendidly. That left My Cop, the only remote exclusive I’ll ever have because he’s worth it, whose schedule would bring him here in two weeks. He’s one of a kind. I’ve stopped counting the times he’s protected and literally saved me from harm just like I no longer list the times I’ve saved him right back.

No one else has an exclusive like My Cop. And I don’t share.

I had to figure out what I wanted to do; what would fill my days with an entertaining diversion from business. I knew what would amuse my nights. They were in the attic.

A request for a video call came through on my monitor that solved my dilemma.

During the pandemic, I indulged myself and trained three men, the ones I called ‘the husbands’, to become their spouses’ property. Not one of them had any idea what was in store for the weeks I kept them and when their wives and one husband arrived to learn how to keep them performing as proper sex slaves, they were literally stunned. But the husbands were all well behaved now and had new talents.

It was the most fun I’d had in a long time. Now Samantha, the wife of the boy I named ‘Play’ because he owned a sports team, was asking to speak to me. Her husband was the easiest of the trio to break. Shaving his head was the step that taught him he was owned. Of course, that was accompanied by a fair amount of sobbing but when I was done, he got the point.

Generally, an unexpected call like Samantha’s means either she wanted to take her husband deeper into her ownership or she needed some advice – a hint about how to do something new, like how to use a particular device without causing permanent damage. I consider those requests akin to community service. I clicked the icon and after very short pleasantries, we got down to business.

Sam got to the point. “Ms. Amity, I have a friend, well actually a few of them, who love what my husband has turned into and they want their own. They asked me, well begged me, to find out if you were taking on more like my Play.”

It was like finding the piece of the jigsaw puzzle that reveals how it all fits together.

No, I told her, I wasn’t planning on accepting more husbands but I would consider it if they were interesting enough for me to schedule time with them. What I didn’t tell her was that it sounded like the solution to my search for an amusing few weeks.

“And, Ms. Amity, these women think that the more you pay for something, the better it is.”

Samantha ought to call more often. She was making my day and possibly my entire week.

“How many are you talking about?” I asked. Two weeks with genuine virgins could be an enjoyable interlude.

“There are three who asked me but Emma – you remember Emma, her husband was the one you named Grind – well, she has a couple who’ve approached her.”

That would put five total amateurs in my training building. It was a delicious thought until Sam said, “And you know, we chat with Ref’s husband, the third one you trained back then. He’s got two or three who’ve been badgering him for your contact information but he won’t even share your name. He knows better.”

He damned well knows better. Loose lips come with a visit from My Cop’s team or worse, from My Cop.

We said our goodbyes after Sam gave me a pleasant summary of her husband’s most recent expressions of his slavery that included diamonds and a vacation on a luxury yacht with Emma and Grind where the men were restricted to one overnight bag each because they weren’t going to wear clothes during the trip.

When I clicked off the call, Zayn asked for permission to crawl through the new half-door into my office. I bought Zayn in Sweden and won a bidding war with Big Mike for him. I’m partial to former Marines and Zayn had a spark, something I felt but couldn’t name. My inner voice was right about him. His unique ability to sense what I’m thinking and feeling has grown since the day I had him shipped here. Recently, his mentor, the one who calls himself ‘the old man’, brought him to a level he says surpasses his own.

I gave him permission to speak. “Ms. Amity, I can feel your joy.”

He got that right.

“Bring them here. Please let me help you show them what you’ve taught me.”

I zapped Nova’s pussy chip and she weaved her fat body through the small door for her instructions.

“Text Emma, Samantha and Ref’s husband. Get me contact information for their referrals. Now!”

Zayn hugged my ankles. I could feel the joy he was sensing from me and what my little voice was saying.