At baggage claim. Home in about an hour.
The empty carousel spun as I jockeyed for position; the sooner I could get my bag and be home, the better. I was tired and frustrated. The trip itself was too long at two weeks, and I slept poorly during it. I always did when I was away from home, but especially this time. My phone dinged.
See you soon.
Well, that was faster than Linh had responded in a while. When I was out of town this time, it was a coinflip if she’d respond at all. If she did, it was sometimes hours later. We’d fought before I left. We almost never fought. I’m a big believer in discussion and consensus; even when we strongly disagree, we almost never raise our voices. This time, though, we did.
I finally saw my bag and leaned out to grab it. I’m tall, with a good reach, so I had an advantage over the other folks there. I had made the mistake of buying a very common plain black case, so I checked the tag and found the expected “Alex Lancaster” before I started to make my way out of the terminal. I stopped briefly to help a small elderly woman that was struggling to get her comically large bag off the carousel, then headed to the parking garage to get my car.
For the entire drive, I thought about what was likely awaiting me at home. The argument. It was the same one we’d had a number of times recently. Kids. It always came down to when we should have kids.
Linh and I had been together for a little over seven years and married for nearly six of them. We had gotten together through a mutual friend. Linh had been in a bad relationship a few months before we met, and I hadn’t been with anyone seriously since my junior year in college. I was quiet, analytical, and reserved. Good qualities in a researcher, not so much when trying to meet women. But our friend decided I was just what Linh needed, and it turned out she was right.
Linh is very attractive, albeit striking more than conventionally beautiful. She’s petite and athletic, with an almost boyish body, expressive eyes, and long jet black hair. She captivated me from the moment we met. We shared a number of interests: fantasy and science fiction, electronic music, fitness, and, a guilty pleasure programmed into me by my older sisters: trashy romcoms. We spent hours together on our first date, until the restaurant staff were putting the tables on the chairs. She kissed me at the door of her apartment, and it was magical. We were inseparable almost immediately.
I found that we had a number of differing interests as well, which is good; it’s important for people in a relationship to have things that are just their own. But on our third night spent together in Linh’s bed, she confided in me that she had certain predilections that I didn’t share. I’ve tried to indulge her since then, but it’s been difficult for me.
I took the off ramp that led to our house and mentally prepared for my homecoming. I hoped that it would be loving: a kiss, small talk about the trip, perhaps a night spent making up for lost time. That would be nice. But given how we had left things, along with the fact that Linh had seemed distant while I traveled, I expected we’d get right back into the fray when I opened the door. I hoped not, but I had to be prepared.
The whole situation was frustrating. Not long after we moved in together, we had discussed when we’d like to have kids, and we had agreed to a plan: when we had a house, were established in our careers, and at least five years had passed in our marriage, we would start trying. But we had hit all of those milestones months ago, and Linh was still resistant. Her arguments weren’t based on any kind of tangible reason, but on a fear of being tied down. Ironic, really. When she said this, it made me question whether my wife was as committed to our relationship as I was. I said so, and our discussion turned into an argument, then a fight. That was almost a month ago, and I didn’t see a way around it.
Only a few lights were on downstairs. After getting my suit bag and suitcase out of the car, I slung my laptop bag over my shoulder and headed for the front porch. I had hoped that, perhaps, Linh would be waiting for me. But when I unlocked the door and headed inside, she wasn’t there. I called her name and heard nothing. Great. She had probably used the hour head start to get out of the house before I got here.
I shook my head and started to stack my bags in the foyer. I’d deal with them later, but I was tired, unhappy, and lonely. As I went to toss my wallet and keys in their usual place, a tray on the entryway table, I saw something unexpected: a note. It was open, not folded, and in large, swooping cursive, merely said, “Upstairs.” The was a lipstick print on it in Linh’s favorite “Fuck Me” shade of red. Well. Perhaps this homecoming would be a friendly one after all.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen. I was dehydrated after the trip, for one, and figured that if things went well, I’d need to be as hydrated as possible. But for the other… perhaps it was petty, but I felt like making her wait. Not the best way to approach our problems, certainly not what the marriage guides would say to do, but she had treated me like an afterthought the whole time I was gone. She could wait for me now. It’s not like I was going to leave her for hours or not respond at all, as she had done with me.
I frowned at myself. I was better than this. I wanted us to be better than this. I should take the olive branch that was being offered. Perhaps we could reconnect tonight, and that would let us approach the problem with a new attitude. I started to climb the stairs, but the house was still eerily quiet.
I called her name again. No answer. I saw a sliver of dim, flickering light under our bedroom door. Approaching it, I listened for any sounds but still heard none. I pushed it open.
The lights were dimmed, and our bedside table and dresser were lined with candles. Linh was laid out on our bed. Her hands were cuffed above her head, the chain threaded through the slats of our headboard. Her body was otherwise relaxed, but her legs were spread wide. At first, I thought she had shaved off her usual manicured bush, but as I approached, I saw that she had had a full body wax; she knew how I loved the look and feel of her skin when she had been freshly waxed, but rarely went to the considerable effort. There was a glint of sparkling color between her ass cheeks, and I realized she must have one of her butt plugs in place; the largest, think. She was blindfolded, and her ruby red lips were wedged open by the ball gag we usually preferred. Completing her ensemble was her black leather collar, one of the oldest pieces we owned. The one that showed, without a doubt, that I own her.
Around the bed were arrayed a selection of her favorite toys; to my left were the impact toys: flogger, crop, paddle, and cane. To my right, were battery operated toys and a handful of dildoes in ascending sizes. On the bedside table were a miscellany of various clamps, weights, and chains. Her flat, toned stomach acted as a table for a box of condoms, with an envelope on top.
This was wrong. All of it was wrong. But I couldn’t quite put together why yet.
I am not a naturally dominant person. I’m tall and muscular, but I haven’t always been. I was very small when I was young. Bookish and shy, I stood out in class, happily answering questions and blowing curves. This made me very unpopular with some of the more physical students in my classes, and I was bullied mercilessly.
Between my freshman and sophomore year, however, I grew almost a foot and put on probably thirty pounds of muscle as puberty struck with a vengeance. The first day of my sophomore year, I found one of my regular bullies and beat the absolute shit out of him. Unfortunately, I now had a man’s body, or close enough to, and I didn’t know the damage a man’s body could do. I ended up hospitalizing the bully. I was lucky to get off without any legal repercussions, due to a good word from the administrators and teachers at my school, plus the fact that the kid now in traction had all the makings of a future serial killer. But I never raised my hand in anger again. I didn’t even shout. I could stand up for myself; I wouldn’t be pushed around. But I couldn’t easily impose my will on others beyond that.
This led to a problem when I began dating Linh. Linh has a submissive streak a mile wide. She loves pain and is happiest when she’s being told what to do in bed. She’s game for almost anything, as long as she’s either ordered to do so or physically forced to submit. I was uncomfortable with all of these things. When we started dating, I think that Linh thought that, due to my stature, physical size, and quiet nature– which she interpreted as intensity– I would happily dominate her in bed. She was, to put it mildly, disappointed.
My saving grace was that it’s not just my frame that’s large. While my dick is only of average length, it is very thick. Not cartoonishly thick; no two liter bottles of soda here. But I was girthy enough that when women saw me naked the first time it inspired one of two markedly different reactions. About half of them would back slowly out of the room; the other half would stare at me like they were a mountaineer about to climb K2 for the first time.
Linh did neither of these things. She licked her lips and gazed at me with a longing that I’d never seen before. At last, her prince had come, and he was going to absolutely fucking wreck her tight little snatch. Sex with me was painful, especially the first few times, but Linh relished that, begging me to variously tear her apart, make her hurt, or, and I’m quoting here, “destroy my tiny fucking Asian cunt with that monster white cock, Daddy.” I obliged.
I think, in retrospect, that was the only reason we stayed together past the first couple of months. We adored each other, but my inability to dominate her became a sticking point The fact that the basic act of sex inflicted pain for the first part of each night was enough for a while, but soon she started to grow bored. The sex itself was good; I tried to be a generous lover, providing copious and skilled pleasure with my fingers and tongue, skills that I’d learned from taking care of partners who were unable to handle my girth. She was enthusiastic in this arena as well; it was rare that a woman could take me fully into her mouth, but Linh was extremely game to try. She orgasmed regularly, and she was very, very vocal. But there was an itch that she needed scratched, and I wasn’t doing that for her.
By this time, I loved Linh. I think she loved me too, although she hadn’t said it yet. She told me, when we were cuddled up, how safe I made her feel, how cared for. Her last boyfriend had been a little big man, the kind of short guy that decides he’s going to put on a ton of muscle and act like a bully to make up for their insecurity. A guy like the high school bully I had hospitalized. She hadn’t enjoyed the actual sex with him much, but he had scratched that itch, the one that begged for pain and discipline. Unfortunately, he often blew straight through her boundaries and laughed about it.
The last straw was when he started in with really obnoxious raceplay. She enjoyed a mild version of it, but he just started calling her all kinds of slurs while pinning her down and fucking her. Linh used her safeword repeatedly, and the asshole just doubled down. She was in tears as she told me this, until she finally fell asleep in my arms. When she woke the next morning, she kissed me tenderly, but I felt that there was a sense of melancholy there. She was leaving for business and would be gone for two weeks; I had a feeling that she’d be breaking up with me when she got back.
I’m not naturally dominant, but I am an exceptional researcher. I loved Linh. I wanted to show her that I could be what she needed me to be if she’d give me a chance. I spent every spare minute for the next two weeks researching BDSM, especially Linh’s favorite flavors. I tried to find guides on how to be a dom, but had limited luck; there were a lot of guides on how to be a dominatrix, even workshops and online courses, but most of the stuff aimed at dominant males was… not great. An unfortunately large chunk of those resources could have been titled “How to Target Girls with Daddy Issues and Get Away with Sexual Assault.”
Desperate for help, I contacted a local professional dominatrix, Mistress Cinder. Mistress Cinder, or Cindy to her friends, was intrigued by my request. She was kind enough to sit down with me at a local coffee shop one day. Tall and statuesque with a mane of curly red hair, she was probably in her 40s, but could easily pass for her early thirties. I grabbed us both drinks, and she sat and appraised me for a bit while we drank.
Finally, she broke the silence, speaking in a faint Southern drawl. “Why are you doing this? You’re a good-looking guy. You can find someone who doesn’t need all of this effort. Someone who’s probably, and I mean no offense, a lot less fucked up than this girl.”
I thought for a moment and just went with, “Because I love her. I want to be with her.”
“Why?”
“She’s sweet. She makes me laugh. I love the way she nestles into me when we sleep, her tiny little snores. She’s so smart. So sexy. I love spending time with…”
Cindy held up her hands. “Okay, hold up, Romeo. That’s all very sweet, don’t get me wrong. It’s a good start. But there are lotsa gals out there that could tickle your fancy. Why are you wanting to spend all this time, learning all of this shit, for this girl? Is the sex that good?”
I considered it. “The sex is good, yeah. Great, in a lot of ways. But…” I looked off in the distance, then back to her. “… that’s not why. I love her. I make her feel safe. She’s been with a lot of bad guys that scratched her itch, and I want to… I dunno, even if I’m not any good at it, even if I don’t end up being enough and she still leaves, I want her to see that there’s guys out there that can make her both feel safe and cater to what she likes. That she doesn’t have to be with some asshole to get what she needs. That she’s better than that, worth more than that.”
Cindy clicked her tongue, then said, “Okay, Romeo. Okay. That’s a good enough answer for me. Better than I expected, honestly. The good news is that you have a lot of attributes that will give you a leg up; your height, muscle, bearing, all of those things that probably drew her to you in the first place. What about your dick?”
I choked on my coffee, and she laughed. “Uh, I, ah. It’s. Ah. Big.”
I related my experiences with other women and with Linh, and Cindy just raised an eyebrow. “Well, don’t that beat all?” She shook her head and laughed. “If you’re ready to get started, my rates are…”
She was expensive. Really expensive. But she was willing to give me a decent discount, because she really got a kick out of the whole thing. She was my Qui-Domme Jinn, and I was her paddlewan. By the time Linh’s plane landed a week and a half later, Mistress Cinder had shown me a bunch of technical skills. How to make a big noise with an impact toy without causing much pain, how to inflict pain without causing injury, how to cause injury that’s purely superficial. How to make knots that bind both comfortably and uncomfortably. The proper use of clamps and clothespins. She’d forgotten more about the physical aspects of BDSM than I’d ever learn, and she was cramming a primer’s full them into my head as fast as she could.
We also talked about the psychological aspects of it as well; she gave me some good books to read, as well as some practical lessons. She talked about how some of her lessons might not apply, because typically male submissives, her forte, needed different things than female ones. They were motivated differently. We talked about both the need for preparation and for improvisational flair; I excelled at the former, but fell far short in the latter.
Finally, on our last day of training, my instructor told me what she thought was the most important lesson. She took a drag of her cigarette as we sat outside her studio. “It’s empathy. It’s easy to be a pushy jerk that takes what you need. There are girls out there that will work for in the short term, but those guys just burn through subs until they stumble backwards into one that happens to mesh perfectly with the shit they like. It’s a lot harder to master the give and take, the compromise of what she needs with what you’re willing to give her, and when to give it to her as a reward even if you don’t really like it. You seem like a really good guy, and you care about her. You’re perceptive enough to know you need this to have a chance with her. Lean into that. Lean into your empathy. You’ll need it.”
She took one more drag and stubbed out her smoke on the brick wall. “I think our time is up, and you have someone to pick up from the airport. Good luck, Alex.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I hope you sweep her off her feet, but if things don’t work out with your little Linh, give me a shout, okay? And if they do, send me a wedding invite!”
I met Linh at the airport with a dozen roses. She hadn’t been expecting me, and she broke into a broad, grateful grin that slowly turned into a melancholic smile. I kissed her and took her bags. On the way back to her apartment, she started to talk with pain in her voice. “Alex, I really like you. You’re such a good guy. But I don’t know… I really want things to work with us. But I don’t think they’re going to. You know what… what I need, and you just can’t…”
I put my finger on her lips. “Quiet.”
She stiffened and I went back to driving. She started to open her mouth to speak, and I said, “Don’t make me repeat myself, Linh. We’ll talk later.” Her eyes went wide and she settled back into her seat, confused but also visibly aroused.
I’d like to say that when we got to her place, I reduced her to a quivering blob of ecstatic submissive goo, but that’s not what happened. I tried. I really did. But I had trouble with it. As I said, improvisation is my worst quality when it comes to being a dom, and I hadn’t really had time to prepare. But Linh still enjoyed herself more than she had previously, and she could tell I was making an effort. She pushed off any serious talk for the time being and just enjoyed being with me.
When she came to my apartment a few days later, I was ready. That night, I had my meager assortment of “My First Scene” BDSM tools that Cindy had suggested I procure, the ones I had shown the most aptitude with. And I fucking rocked Linh’s world that night. I was commanding, lovingly cruel, and greedy in the most giving way I could be. She almost orgasmed when I commanded her to get on her knees and fucking worship my cock. She actually did cum when I told her she’d better do a good job because it was the only lube she’d get when I fucked her ass. (It wasn’t. I’m not that stupid.)
I wasn’t a master, uh, Master, but she could tell how much effort I’d put into this for her. How much I cared for her. She lay in my arms and started crying, and at first, I thought she was about to break up with me. But instead, she spoke with adoration and wonder in her voice “Fuck, Alex. Fuck! You did all of this for me. You learned all of this shit while I was gone. Who does that? Who wastes that much effort on someone as fucked up as me? Why are you so good to me?”
I kissed her forehead. “Because I love you, silly.”
She just started to sob into my neck. “Oh, god. I love you, too, Alex. I love you so much.”
We gently and slowly made love later that night; it wasn’t normally what she liked, but this time it just felt right for both of us. In the morning, we talked about us and our future. It was too early to talk about concrete plans yet, but her admission of love was a big step. She’d only rarely been in love, and never since she discovered what most motivated her sexually. Never with someone who lovingly dominated her. We both agreed to be open to what the future had for us.
As I improved, she unfolded for me, both sexually and romantically. I learned what she did and didn’t like. Beyond pain and submission, she had a complicated relationship with praise and degradation. She loved praise, but if she felt it was fake or overdone, she withdrew. Degradation was similar; as part of a scene, she enjoyed it, but it was very context-sensitive. Of the two, it was much more slippery.
Exhibition was another that she liked, but which we weren’t much able to indulge in. She wanted to be a bit more daring, but I was concerned one or the other of us would get kicked out of our apartment. Or possibly arrested if we went out in public. She was unhappy with that, but we tried to find compromises where we could; there was a fetish night at a local club I’d take her to, and she’d dress for it, sometimes baring her breasts or wearing skintight latex. It wasn’t as much as she wanted, but she seemed content.
After a few months, it felt like we needed to take another step. There needed to be a tangible sign of our love for one another. After dinner at my apartment, I gave her a small box.
She lit up. “What did you get me?”
“Open it.”
She smiled uncertainly, removing the ribbon, then opening it and unfolding the tissue paper. From the box, she withdrew a loop of leather with a buckle and a steel D-ring. Her face lit up. “Really? You want me to– ?”
I nodded.
She got flustered. “Would you… would you put it on me, Alex?”
I stared at her, expression neutral.
Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Ask again. The right way this time.”
She started to mildly hyperventilate as she averted her eyes. “Will you put it on me… Master?”
I stood up and took it from her. “Of course, my beloved Pet.”
She nuzzled into my arm as I wrapped it around her throat. I pulled it a little tighter than it needed to be, and she gasped with arousal as it choked her briefly. Once I’d adjusted it and fastened it, she bowed her head reverently and whispered,. “Thank you, Master. Thank you for collaring your Pet. I love you.”
I tugged on the D-ring and pulled her lips to mine, devouring her. When I was finished with the kiss, I growled, “Clear the table, then strip and assume the position. You need to be reminded how you should address me.”
I paddled her ass mercilessly, and she cried out in pain and ecstasy. Afterwards, I pinned her to the table, my hand bruising the back of her neck, and fucked her roughly until she was reduced to a drooling mess. We spent the night playing with our new roles; I knew she was a little disappointed that I’d chosen “Pet” instead of “Slave,” but the latter just felt so medieval. I didn’t like the connotations, and it made me uncomfortable. Regardless, that night she was as happy as I’d ever seen her. She felt like she truly belonged to me, and she believed that I’d always take care of her.
That was really the tipping point of our relationship; I think if I’d proposed to her that night, we wouldn’t have seen as rapid an entwining of our lives. Within months, we were moving in together, then getting engaged. We talked about the further steps in our relationship: buying a house, having kids. It was then that we set the somewhat arbitrary guidelines for when we’d start trying.
The wedding was intimate. Our family and close friends were there, along with a few special guests like Mistress Cinder. She was quite the hit, and I’m pretty sure she picked up a couple of new clients. Her wedding gift to us was both hidden under the gift table and in the top three of our most used gifts. A breadmaker is nice, but a quality, custom-crafted riding crop is a gift that keeps on giving.
As Linh’s gift to me, she asked to have my initials branded on her skin. I didn’t really want it; it seemed too extreme to me. But she really wanted to. She said it was for me, but I thought it was mostly for her. I didn’t say that, though.
“I want something that I can never take off, Alex. Something shows that I’m always yours.” She begged.
I sighed. “I don’t need that, Linh. I love you, and I know you love me. You don’t need to…”
She threw up her arms. “I know I don’t need to! I want to! That’s why it’s called a gift!”
I eventually acquiesced. My initials, “AJL,” were now forever marked on my wife’s skin, a series of small burn scars on her pubic mound. I held her hand as each brand was applied by a body modification professional, the same one that had pierced her nipples with the stainless steel rings she loved me to tug on when we played. Her eyes shone with love during the whole process, even through the pain. It was strangely sweet, and afterwards I was glad I had given it to her.
We quickly settled into married life, but we had to add some additional ground rules to our relationship. We had the usual “don’t go to bed angry,” of course, but one of our first big arguments was when an everyday concern that we had got tangled up in one of Linh’s scenes. We had argued about something else, a trifling matter, but one which hadn’t been resolved. When we set it aside for the night, agreeing to think about it, Linh tried to “resolve” it by playing submissive and letting me have my way. I was pissed, really pissed, and we made a rule to keep the two spheres separate from then on.
Our life together was mostly very happy. We spent time together, our sex life was active and regularly included the things that Linh needed to be happy, and we had friends and separate interests. We still had our shared interests, of course, and Linh actually started playing videogames with me, something she’d previously been uninterested in. She really dove into it, and by the time we moved into our house, just after our third anniversary, she was better than me at several of the games I’d introduced her to.
We had problems, as all couples do, but we worked well together as a couple. Our most frequent source of contention, before the arguments about the kids, was Linh’s submissiveness. It tended to leak out in strange ways. We’d be at dinner and I suddenly had to order for her, or we’d be trying to decide what furniture to buy, and she’d stop having an opinion suddenly. It wasn’t “Oh, whatever you want, honey,” as if she were letting me decide to keep me happy. It was more like “I’m unable to decide, you do it.” I was frustrated when it would happen; I knew it was a deeply seated part of her, but it made me feel like I had to meet her more than halfway in a lot of places just to have a stable, normal home life.
We didn’t really have any fights until the discussion about kids turned into an argument, then spiraled out of control. I wished I knew why the problem had suddenly appeared. But whatever the reason it had happened weeks before, I was now left standing in my bedroom, staring at my wife all prepped for a scene, and trying to figure out why I felt a sense of unease.
It was strange, of course, that Linh had set this up at all. She had always relied on me to lead in these matters. It had been a bone of contention at times; she rarely said what she wanted, and instead just waited for me to do what I wished with her. The problem, of course, is that what I usually wished to do with her was to untie her and make love. I made the effort for her, but I did wish that she were more vocal in what type of scene she’d like. I decided to just chalk this unusual level of initiative up to her wanting to make a special effort to reconnect.
Linh looked beautiful, of course. There was a part of me that wanted to toss aside my misgivings and completely ravish her. She must have set this all up by herself; as I walked towards the bed, I wondered offhand how long she’d been handcuffed. No more than an hour, obviously, but did she send the text immediately and then cuff herself to heighten the anticipation, or did she wait until she saw my headlights in the driveway? Something to ask later.
“Hello, Pet. You seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of a fix here.” She squirmed just the tiniest bit.
I brushed the tips of my fingers up her legs, along the edge of her labia, across my branded initials, and finally up to her stomach to retrieve the envelope. I heard a tiny sigh from her gagged mouth. Turning the envelope over in my hands, it was addressed “Master” and sealed with a kiss. It smelled of her perfume, and I couldn’t help but smile. Inside, there was a note.
Master
I’m sorry for how we left things before. You are too good to me, and I take advantage of it. Please, use my body as you wish. Punish me as you see fit. I welcome your judgment.
Your Loving Pet
I grunted. On the one hand, she was doing it again. She was blurring the lines between her scenes and our real life. But on the other hand, she had gone through all this effort. She was trying, really trying. I loved her. And, to be honest, I was intensely horny, and she was naked and willing. There was still the itch in the back of my head that something was wrong, but this close to her naked body, with a written invitation to use and abuse her as I see fit? I could ignore Jiminy Cricket for a while.
First, though. I knew Linh. Her default behavior when we aren’t being intimate is to deny herself orgasms. I’ve said she doesn’t have to, but she told me she wants to remind herself every minute of the day who owns her body and controls her release. I might still be worried about the fight starting again as soon as we were back out of this scene, and might be irritated that she had blurred the lines, but I loved her. And I loved to watch her cum.
I took the box of condoms off of her stomach and tossed them aside. I kissed her belly. “I missed you, Pet.” She tried hard to stay still. I kissed my way down to her brand and she shivered. I kissed just above her clit, already exposed from its hood. She was almost vibrating, trying to stay still, afraid I’d continue her denial if she moved at all. I’d done it before. But not tonight.
Well, maybe just a bit. I didn’t excel at improv, but I had my moments.
“Did you miss me, Pet?” My breath was hot on her slick pussy. She moaned something unintelligible into her gag, an enthusiastic affirmative muted to a nonsense noise. “No? Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I began to sit up, and she whined in frustration. “Did I mishear you? I’m sorry, I’m tired from my trip. Perhaps I should take this up in the morning.” She began to make a pitiful noise, almost a tiny wail. I tutted. “You sound very ungrateful. Isn’t it enough that I’m just home? Did your whorish cunt need more than that?” A little sob. “Oh, I suppose.”
I gave her just the tiniest of kisses on her clit, then withdrew. “Goodnight, my love. I’m going to sleep in the guest room.” I stood up. “It would be a shame to disrupt this wonderful scene. That. You. Didn’t. Ask. Me. For.” Another, louder sob. “Did you think that I’d allow you to be so disobedient as to restrain yourself, blindfold yourself, gag yourself without asking me first? Did you think there would be no repercussions?” A loud whine, something that could be interpreted as an apology, if one was feeling charitable. And I was; I just wasn’t going to let her know that yet.
I walked to the door and opened it, making sure to noisily manipulate the handle. I slipped my shoes off and began to quietly disrobe. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning. Perhaps I’ll let you suck my cock then, to start to make up for your impertinence.” I slammed the door. A loud, frustrated wail, barely muffled by the gag then. A series of sobs forced through her nose. After disrobing I opened the door once more, and she stilled. I loudly rummaged through some items in the room and rattled one of her purses. “Hah, I forgot my toiletry bag. Wouldn’t want to forget to brush my teeth. Good night!” And slammed the door again. She began to wail in earnest now, and I thought I saw tears beginning to trickle out under her mask.
I crept back to the bed. She was agitated, moving to and fro on the bed, loudly and needily baying into her gag. I savored the moment. My time with Linh had taught me to appreciate that, while this was cruel, the rewards for her would be worthwhile. I’d even come to enjoy it a little; that was hard to admit to myself at first. I knelt on the bed, my movements hidden by her thrashing. I waited until a count of three and dove between her legs. I held Linh’s thighs apart with my hands and devoured her, tongue flashing out and lapping greedily at her core.
She exploded almost as soon as my tongue touched her. It had been weeks since she’d cum, and she howled into her gag as her pent-up need was relieved. I was grateful that I’d remembered to hold her legs down; her thighs likely would have crushed my head. I kept licking long after she’d come, forcing her through her overstimulation and into another orgasm once, twice, three more times. She was limp and trying to gasp, breathing hard through her nose.
I moved up the bed and removed her gag. She took in lungfuls of air. “Oh god! Oh god! Master, oh god! I love you! Thank you for being so good to this worthless whore!” The tears were still trickling down under her mask, but her face was contorted with joy. I wanted to see my wife’s eyes.
When the blindfold came off, she blinked a few times in the dim light, then looked up at me with adoration. “I’ve missed you so much, Master. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m such a bad– ”
I kissed her, silencing her. “Shhh. We’ll talk about it later. No mixing scene and real, remember?”
She frowned. “I… I remember, Master. I’ll try not to forget.”
I nodded. “Now. You’ve had your fun. I. Want. Mine.” She bit her lip, lust suddenly burning in her eyes.
I retrieved the box of condoms and pulled one out. Her face fell. Then, I knew. I knew why this had all been wrong. Why Jiminy Cricket had been howling his fool head off in my ear. This was a test. And I was about to fail it.
Linh had gifted herself to me; gifted her body to use as I saw fit. She had gone against her nature to take the initiative and set all of this up for me. She knew what I wanted, what we’d agreed to. My wife wanted to give her husband children. But my Pet wanted to see if her Master would take what he wanted. I had almost refused her gift. I had almost failed her test.
I froze. I suddenly had what alcoholics call “a moment of clarity.” I realized then that I had forgotten Mistress Cinder’s most important lesson: empathy. It didn’t mean that I should be the caring, sensitive lover that occasionally indulged my wife’s grotesque fetish, as if it was some disease that needed to be managed. It meant that I understood and accepted that it was a core, vital part of who she was, that it was part of the whole that made my wife who she was, and that I treat it that way. That I treat it and her with real, accepting love.
When Linh started playing videogames with me, I was happy. It would have been enough for her to indulge me occasionally. But she threw herself into it, trying to do everything she could to meet me on my terms in the hobby that I’d grown up loving. But that’s what it was: a hobby. If I had to, if time or money or other needs required it, I could put it down, albeit reluctantly. That wasn’t the case with Linh and her needs.
I was not naturally dominant. But Linh was naturally submissive.
Every time I insisted that she be engaged with “our discussions” when she didn’t want to be, when she instead wanted me to take the reins and say “we’ll do this,” I had ignored her needs. When I insisted that we separate our “real” lives from our “scene” lives, I disregarded her. Christ, when she gave me a gift that outright said “Linh will always belong to Alex” by scarring herself permanently with a set of branding irons, I treated it as if it was secretly a gift to herself.
I had failed her, not just as a Master, but as a husband. As a partner. I had wanted to show Linh, when I trained with Mistress Cinder, that she didn’t need to be with a jerk and a bully to also have a dom in her life. And that was true. But I hadn’t followed through.
I had been trying to segment Linh into “wife” and “Pet,” because I could do that for myself; there was a clear demarcation for me between “Alex” and “Linh’s Master.” But she couldn’t, because there was no such demarcation. Every time I asked her to, I was showing her I didn’t really accept her. That I was a jerk and a bully, just in a different way than the men who had forced her to do the things she didn’t want. I instead tried to convince her that her needs were only wants. I had diminished her as a person. I was unworthy of her. I needed to be better.
I wanted to hang my head. I wanted to go to her and beg her to forgive me. But that was what her husband needed to do, later. I could separate those two in my head, because husband and Master were two separate things for me. But she needed me to be both to her, and right now, her Master needed to pass this test. And that meant sucking up my guilt and doing what she needed by taking what I wanted.
My face turned to a sneer. “Did you think I was going to use these? Did you think I would sheathe myself in rubber to protect your womb from my seed?”
Her face changed, a little hope dawning on it.
I snarled, “Who do you think you are, you fucking slut? First you do all of this without asking me, then you bring these things into my bed?” I threw them onto the floor.
Her voice was high, frightened. She hadn’t seen me like this very often. “I’m sorry, Master, your Pet didn’t–”
“There’s no Pet here.” I stared her down with cold fury.
Her eyes went wide with fear. “Master, please don’t say that. Please, I– “
“I only see my Slave. And she needs to understand that.”
An uncomprehending joy then. “M-Master?”
I fixed her with a glare. “Do I need to repeat myself, Slave?”
Her eyes shone with tears. “No! No, Master. Your Slave…” she sniffled. “Your Slave will always listen. Always obey. I promise, Master.”
“Hmph. That remains to be seen.” I held her chin in my fingers and kissed her. It began as a long, loving kiss, until my tongue began to aggressively probe her mouth. Linh moaned loudly, and her body arched upwards. I broke off the kiss and stroked my hand down her neck and to her breast. She cooed, until I savagely twisted one of her nipple rings. She stifled a cry at the sudden, unexpected pressure and pain.
I sat beside her. “I think you need to be reminded of your place. You are mine. You say that, but I think you don’t believe it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but I silenced her with a glare. “If I want to hear a slut’s opinions, I will ask. Open your mouth again without being asked a question, and I will leave for the night after I take your ass without lube. Do you understand?”
She nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, Master. I understand.”
My hand found her throat, choking her slightly, before I tugged at the D-ring of her collar. “Collars can be removed.”
She remained silent, but I could tell it was difficult.
I removed her cuffs, taking her left hand in mine. I brought it to my mouth and kissed it, then turned it so that she could see the rings I had placed on them half a decade ago, as we pledged our eternal love to each other for all the world to see. “Vows can be broken.”
Her brows furrowed, and her lips moved without opening, as if she wanted to cry out, “No!” But she remained silent, as her Master had commanded.
My hand trailed down to the raised initials just above her womanhood. I traced them delicately, lovingly. “Even scars can be covered up, inked over.”
Linh looked as if she was in agony now, her eyes starting to brim with tears.
I looked in her eyes, summoning up the most intense, dominating stare I could, and threatened her. “But when I breed you…” My fingers slipped from her tattoo and into her soaking cunt. “And I. Will. Breed. You.”
She gasped but stayed silent otherwise.
I nodded appreciatively. “Good girl. Good Slave.” Then I continued. “Your body will change. Your hips will widen and your ribs will open up, maybe permanently. Your breasts will swell; perhaps they’ll sag a little after you are done nursing my child. This beautiful, flawless skin will be covered in stretch marks left after your belly swells with my baby. You will be marked in ways that can never be undone, that will always tell the world that you are mine, that your Master honored your womb with his seed. That he allowed you the privilege of carrying his child inside you. You will be forever bound to me.”
The tears flowed freely now, but her face showed only love.
“But for that to happen, you will have to beg me. And you will. Won’t you, Slave?”
Her words burst forth like a dam bursting. “Yes! Yes Master! Please, Master! Your Slave wants to be yours, only yours, always and forever! Mark my body, fill it up with your seed! Please, Master, please let me give you a child! I’ll give you as many as you want Just please, please, please, never leave me Master!”
I grinned. “All you had to do was ask, my love. You know how I like to indulge you.” I kissed her. “I’ll never leave you, Linh. And I’ll be the Master for you that I always should have been. I’m sorry.”
She clutched at me, hugging me close to her. “Thank you, Alex. Thank you, god, thank you. I was so scared. I thought… I thought…” I silenced her with another kiss. “We’ll talk later. About everything. But for now…”
I moved down the bed and knelt between my beautiful Slave’s legs. She looked at me with wanton need but remained silent. “For now, my Slave needs to have her cunt filled with my seed.” She nodded with glee. ”You can speak, Slave. You know how I love your voice when I fuck your slutty little cunt.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but I pushed forward suddenly, forcing the thick head of my cock into her. Her words were erased before they existed by a loud wail of pleasure and pain as I took my wife for the first time in weeks. I gave her no time to relax, to accommodate my size. I knew this was how she preferred it. And I was finally starting to admit to myself that this was how I liked it, too.
I was not naturally dominant, but my beautiful Slave brought it out in me. I just needed to stop denying it.
I ravaged her. My body descended on hers, and she clawed at my back as my shaft opened her wide, the slickness of her tunnel only slightly diminishing her discomfort. Her body responded as she rarely had before. She cried out in pleasure; I knew she was in pain, but I heard almost none in her voice, just a string of exhortations and adulation. “I love you I love you I love you please Master please Alex husband love please I need you I need your baby please Master please give me your child– !”
She came then, her already exquisitely tight silken heat squeezing me almost painfully. My wife loved me. My Slave pleaded with me. I continued to fuck her through her orgasm and to the building of the next. Her body was mine, and soon no one would ever be able to deny that. I felt the tightening in my balls, the telltale sign that my wife’s passion had brought me to the edge. With a roar and a final, painful thrust into her, I emptied myself. Ropes of cum splashed against her cervix, weeks worth of issue trying to find her egg. She came again, her body milking me, trying to draw my sperm to her egg.
We lay together then, Master and Slave, husband and wife, and, although we didn’t know it yet, father and mother. She curled up against me, and we spoke of nothing but our affection for each other for a long time. Soft kisses and laughter filled our bedroom.
We made love gently later. She went to remove her collar as I usually asked her to, but I stayed her hand, and she almost broke down in tears. She touched it occasionally as we coupled, her eyes filled with happiness as she told me how she loved me. My ministrations were gentle and kind instead of the rough taking I had subjected her to earlier, the one she had begged for. But for once, it didn’t feel like the two were separate parts of our lives. Just different. Both part of us. Both part of Linh and me. A promise of what I would be for her, and what she had always wanted to be for me.