I remember without uncertainty the first time I realized there was an inherent turn-on for me in taking a baked-good forcibly into my face. I say baked-good, because at the time it was not a pie, but rather specifically; a cake.

In this case it was a wedding cake, and yes, my own, a mere hour after I had made my vows before family and friends to commit my life to the man I love. My own understanding of this unique desire began as we started to cut the upper most tier of our three-tiered wedding cake; my husband beating me to our mutually agreed upon conclusion regarding the customary messy feeding of cake to one another. In a moment of surprise, he brought the whole thing up, and squarely into my face before I had time to react.

To say I was covered was an understatement. My makeup; so wondrously done so that on the most special day of my life I looked my best for my husband; was obliterated in one fell swoop. All the work of my makeup artist, from my mascara, to my lipstick, to even the rough on my cheeks was covered by the sweet confectionery sugar of a well thought-out preemptive strike. Delivered with a bit of force, the frosting saturated every carefully placed strand of my hair instantly nullifying the effects of hairspray, while splotches and splatters even reached that of my tiara perched precariously upon my head. From gravity alone though, my wedding dress drew more, with gobs of frosting and cake dropping down onto the bodice of my dress. It was enough for my mother to cry out, her wedding dress, in fear that my wedding gown was ruined.

Yet for me, after the initial shock wore off, I simply posed and smiled, resigning myself to being outwitted, and batting my eyes at the camera, struck a pose with my right hand upon my hip, bent slightly, while with my left finger scooped up the frosting off my left cheek and lovingly let my husband lick it off. And so, I smiled to the surprise of my guests, not exacting loving revenge to my husband in return, but since it was so gloriously planned out, simply laughed it off, Wives; be submissive I quipped so my guests could hear. I said it in jest, but I exemplified the submissive wife as a true oxymoron for a moment, and basked in being humiliated, even if my mother and bridesmaids had to escort me into the bathroom to clean myself up.

Never conveyed to my husband in honest reflection afterwards, or to any one else for that matter; the truth isI would have loved to have experienced more than that on my wedding day.

Always a woman with strong sex drive, I have fantasied many times that my husband cleaned me up right there and then, rather than having been escorted to the bathroom. With my favorite silicone friend lightly sending vibrations upon my sex, I wondered what it would have felt like to have him push the bodice of my dress down under the guise of needing to clean up frosting, when in fact it was only so that I would be bare-breasted for him, and anyone of our guests who happened to cast eyes upon me.

Public nudity? The thought frightens me beyond imagination, yet turns me on incredibly so.

I know it could never have never happened upon that day as family and friends were there, and such people should never be allowed to see me undressed, nor would anyone want to. My chest is all natural, which is another way of sayinga smallish size B which no man cares to gaze upon.

Chest size apart, I often masturbate to the details of that day because I enjoy submission. Forays down that path have included coming back from a date-night with my husband, and him having me strip completely naked in the car as we traveled the two-hour drive from our favorite restaurant home. It was dark outside granted, but I shamefully complied. Another time he bid me to wear my secretary outfit, and crawl across the floor, his doubled-up belt in my mouth knowing my bottomed would be reddened by it. When I crawled up into his lap, he seemed shocked at how turned on I was at the painful prospect that was about to beseech me.

Yet these were mere acts of pleasure we enacted, far more lustful acts I have comprehended as I brought myself to repeated orgasm with my favorite vibrator. As a married woman who routinely attends church, these desires are scandalous at best, and dark and disturbing at worst. Still I cannot help but debate whether I really want them to come true? Do I truly desire multiple-men paying for the pleasure of having me, being immovable in restraints, and be face-frosted with all manner of food?

Is it from years of marriage that I fantasize about having sex with other men; men who desire me so much that they are willing to pay me for the pleasure. Yes me, a woman that attends church, fantasizing about being a woman of ill-repute: a prostitute! I suppose almost every woman has contemplated being a high-price call-girl since what they do with their husbands for free, other men would pay obnoxious amounts of money for. Yet for me, my mind has slipped to a seedier side, and that of a woman standing upon the street corner as well; scantily clad, unsure of just what unsavory man might stop and request my services.

And so, it should come as no surprise that upon watching the movie Belle De Jour for the first time, it all came together with the scene where the woman is restrained, and mud is flung at her. This was to the point of it covering her face, and soiling her white dress, all while being called demeaning names. Now that I could relate to! And while I typically do not get amorous watching movies, that film held high regard as all my fantasies are manifested in the movie; marriage, prostitution, dominance, degradation, bondage and humiliation.

I am not so sure I could actually go through with some of my sordid fantasies, but to take another cake (or pie) to my face, seems plausible. I think I would have to be restrained, only because as much as I would want to see if I could endure the humiliation again, I might instinctively thwart the effort at the last second by ducking. I would not want to do that as I want to see once again what feeling well up within me, but to be handcuffed, topless, with an audience before meI am sure at the conclusion of such of an event I would have to purchase a fairly large supply of double-a batteries!