Still Life: A Marriage

I have begun taking my vibrator to work with me. When I leave the house in the morning it is still dark out and once I get on the freeway I reach into my purse and pull out the small, cheap, silver bullet. I position it on my clit, make ample use of the variable speed, and make eye contact with my fellow commuters.  Men, women, it doesn’t matter. I find myself trying to catch the red lights and when I do, I tilt the seat back, set the car into neutral, set the emergency break and feverishly try to reach a climax before the light changes.  I both crave and am disgusted by the dirty feeling I get from making everyone an unknowing part of my self-stimulation. I also like to imagine the headlines were I to crash. “Desperate Housewife: Married woman dies in fiery, orgasmic, blaze.” 

I am careful to hide the vibrator in my car before I go into work.  It would be too easy for someone to accidentally see it in my purse so I bury it under books or a scarf on the passenger side seat. I used to be sure to bring it back into the house each night so that my husband didn’t realize it was missing.  He never did though, even when I left it in my car for days at a time.

After a few weeks, getting off in my car makes me feel even lonelier than I did before so I stop.

I strip off my clothing, leaving it in a pile on the floor next the bed. Naked, I turn on the clock radio and make the bed while listening to NPR. I get into bed and turn out the light. I don’t bother to say good night and the glow of a computer monitor from across the hall makes it hard for me to fall asleep, but it is the only way I know I am not alone.

When I had been married for about a year, my husband taught me a lesson. He was standing at the kitchen sink when I walked up behind him, and cupped his cock through his pants with my left hand while I unbuckled his belt with my right. He tried to evade my groping hands but I was winning. He was angry with me. I persisted. On my knees, having just managed to put his cock in my mouth, he roughly pushed me away.

I hit my funny bone on the coffee table.

He stalked into the kitchen and continued to empty the sink.

I decide to look for an online affair. I sign up for a sexy sounding anonymous email account and solicit strange men whose name I don’t want to know. This is my ad:

                                              I don’t want to date you

In fact, I don't want to know your name. I don't want to know where you live or what your phone number is. What do I want then? Something like...

We agree to meet at a hotel bar. You wait outside and watch me go in first. You recognize me because I am wearing tan boots that go up to my knee, black nylons, and a mid length coat. I can feel your eyes on me as I walk in, and my chest gets a little tight - I can't believe I'm doing this. I choose a seat with my back facing the door. You soon walk up behind me, standing close, I can feel your breath tickle my left ear while you right hand slips under my hair and caresses my throat. My breath comes faster. You sit down and order me a nice glass of red wine (and I mean nice, I'm a bit of a wine snob) because you know I'll like it. Once I taste my glass of wine you stand up behind me, place a hotel room key on the bar, and lazily drag your finger from my cheek, down my back, around my hip where you find I've already spread my legs a little for you to find what a naughty, dirty, girl I am. After licking your finger clean, you tell me that you expect me to be in your room within five minutes.

As you take the elevator up to the room, you wonder if I will actually follow. Will I chicken out and leave you with nothing but a hotel room bill? But you remember how wet I was, and your cock begins to get hard when you think of your familiarity with my body, only having met moments before. It gets harder when you think about how you ordered me to be in your room in five minutes, and what we'd do once there.

When the knock comes only three minutes later, you smile. I stand in the room awkwardly, not really sure what to do or what has possessed me to meet you here like this. But that's okay, because you know what you want and you're in control of this situation. You slide the coat from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. You already know that I'll be wearing thigh highs, black lacy panties, matching bra, and nothing else. You circle me and I blush, standing quietly. Behind me you suddenly grab my hair, pushing my head down towards the foot of the bed while using a foot to forcibly spread my legs apart. You step back to revel in my cry of surprise and the sight of my ass beckoning you. I'm so nervous, scared, and wet. I can't wait to find out what you plan to do to me, but I've never done anything like this, as much as I've fantasized about it and I hope that you'll be gentle but very firm.

I don't know you well enough yet for you to practice your rope tying skills but look forward to being completely at your mercy, while you torture my tits, clit, and especially my ass.

If you're skilled enough, you might be able to get me to confess my name.

What happens next? Write back and let me know. 30 years old, dark hair and eyes, 140 lbs. Creativity, good spelling and grammar appreciated.

       My pregnant sister flies out from the East Coast with her husband. She is tall and thin. Her small belly, just beginning to show at four months, is precious and she looks simply gorgeous. As always when I look ather, my eyes turn green with envy. My father, his wife (18 years his junior), and their eleven year old twins also come to visit for the weekend.

        With a house full of people it is easy to affect contentment and I slip into hostess mode. My husband seamlessly fires up the grill, plays bocce ball with the twins, teases my sister, and jokes with my brother in law. My father naps on the hammock and his wife helps me with the potato salad in the kitchen. She pretends to not notice my silence and I pretend to not notice her drinking.

       I drive my sister to the grocery store because she wants some non-alcoholic beer. The sun is brilliant, blinding almost, making me feel limp and listless. She’s so happy, my beautiful sister.  I don’t have the heart to tell her how lonely I am. 

       Instead, I turn to her and smile.

       I receive a number of replies to my ad. Many with pictures, mostly of cocks, which I find extremely unappealing when not attached to an interesting man. I am both amused an appalled at the replies. Most were poorly spelled and didn’t even have complete sentences. One email made me equally wet and scared. But he knew too much about me, called me a rude name, told me his name.

** CRAIGSLIST ADVISORY --- AVOID SCAMS BY DEALING LOCALLY

** Avoid: wiring money, cross-border deals, work-at-home

** Beware: cashier checks, money orders, escrow, shipping

** More Info: http://www.craigslist.org/about/scams.html

Hey slut,

I liked the way you crafted your submissive fantasy, the anonymity, slight air of menace, layered with sophistication so that while you desperately crave hot, submissive sex, in the real world you're articulate, responsible, and probably very much of a good girl.  Does it get tiring, being so together and upbeat, when what you really need is to simply be taken by a strong, anonymous Dom who will control your mind, punish your body, and nourish your soul?

Wes

       Then finally, an alluring possibility.

** CRAIGSLIST ADVISORY --- AVOID SCAMS BY DEALING LOCALLY

** Avoid: wiring money, cross-border deals, work-at-home

** Beware: cashier checks, money orders, escrow, shipping

** More Info: http://www.craigslist.org/about/scams.html

Interesting, and a good match for 3 of my fantasies (not knowing the name of my partner, my partner not knowing my name, and (pleasantly) forced orgasm of same).  I understand the rules and what we both want here.

It's too soon for ropes so you stay in the position you're placed, on tip toes, hands behind your back, bent slightly forward.  The contact with my thin-leather gloved hands alternates randomly between smooth loving caresses and sharp, stinging, slaps to your ass.  I reach forward and tug on a nipple, the gloves smoothly descending from your breasts past your belly toward your moist, sensitive cunt.  The gloved hands caress around your mound, like skin, yet not like skin -- suggesting potential pleasure, but never actually delivering any.  Then some playful pressure on your clit, and suddenly they move to your inner thighs with a slap which spreads your legs further apart.  You're pushed forward further, causing you to brace your arms on the bed for balance.  I growl, pull your arms back behind you, forcing you to bear your balance on your head/face while simultaneously raising your ass into the air and exposing your juicy cunt even more.  I instruct you to grip the tip of gloved finger with your teeth and pull my hand out of the glove.  The other gloved hand continues the caressing/slapping/nipple tugging and, just as you begin to concentrate on that rather than the absence of the other hand or the presence of the glove in your teeth, a finger suddenly plunges into your, by now, boiling pussy.  It doesn't move for a moment (the gloved hand continuing it's motion), then slowly withdraws.  My ungloved hand readjusts your legs after their reaction to the sudden plunge with sharp slaps, the gloved hand pulls your hair backward when, again distracted, again a finger plunges into your cunt.  Or perhaps it's two fingers this time?  It seems slightly larger, but perhaps this is due to the swelling of your lips.  Ah, but it's still my hand because the thumb is now flicking your clitoris as you're instructed to stay perfectly still upon penalty of further spanking.  Ah, but now you must move yourself on the hand, you must fuck your master's hand -- it seems wrong, but it feels so good.

The gloved hand seeks to distract, the ungloved hand seeks to please.  As your body responds to the pleasure, everything changes.  You're roughly moved from the bed to the ottoman where you must lie on your back, hands behind your head, legs spread wide, feet arched (on the floor).  Thusly exposed to your master, the performance art continues with fingers, lips and tongue (each capable of both pleasure and light pain) until, as you almost reach a screaming, shaking orgasm, you beg for permission to cum.

For more of this story, write me back so that I know I'm not just indulging the fantasies of a poser.

Mr. Guinness (not my real name)

       I walk around in a constant state of arousal. With every breath I take I am aware of my nipples rubbing against my bra. A cool breeze along my neck raises goose bumps. I cross, uncross, and re-cross my legs when I sit at work. The air feels thick with sex, I find it difficult to concentrate, and for the first time in a long while, I feel desirable. 

       And pathetic. I watch my husband type at his computer. He doesn’t realize how handsome he is. I imagine his breath on my neck, his cock straining to escape his pants, his love for me. I imagine him, in the middle of a mild disagreement, stopping suddenly and ordering me to be ready to receive his dick. I imagine that I am the woman who can make him happy.

       I stop eating. Not because I want to, but because the smell of food makes me nauseous. I find myself living on black coffee and red wine, wishing I still smoked.

       If my husband notices my lack of appetite he doesn’t comment.  I decide to write a fantasy and email it to him. I’ve tried it before, but maybe this time it will work. An honest moment when I ask for what I want. This is what I write:

When I walk into the house, a dining chair is in the middle of the room with a coil of rope curled up on it. My heart begins to pound and I blush furiously. You tell me to take off all my clothing and put on a dress. After I’ve complied you tell me to face the chair where you tie my wrists to it like you would a seat cushion, so that I cannot stand upright. You make beautiful knots and I like watching you tie them. You put your hand down my dress and caress my left breast gently, breathing softly on my ear and neck until I get goose bumps and then you roughly pinch my nipple. You slowly pull up my skirt until you can see my ass and I squirm under your scrutiny, my pussy already wet. You rub my ass gently, caressing it oh so softly, before slapping it lightly. You know I want it harder, to hear that satisfying, sharp sound but you continue to tease me.

You pull out your cock and you rub it to get it hard, but you don’t have to do that for long because you are already halfway there looking at my ass and my wet pussy. You push the head of your cock just and inch into my pussy, take it and rub it up against my clit. I moan and you like looking at the helpless rocking of my hips, knowing that you are in control of when, how and if I’ll be satisfied. You step back and when I turn to look at you tell me to face forward.

I hear you taking off your belt and I feel an intense and deep throbbing in my pussy. My breath comes faster and shallower and you haven’t even touched me yet. 

“Would you like me to spank you with my belt?” you ask me. I blush in shame and pleasure.

“Yes.”

“What do you say when you want something?”

“Please. Will you please spank me?”

“Like this?” you ask as you spank me lightly with the belt.

“Please, s-, uh, I want you to do it harder. Please do it harder, please oh please do it harder,” I beg. I had to stop myself from calling you Sir. I’m not sure you will like it, and I want so badly to please you.

The first hard sting makes me gasp in excitement and a little pain.  You continue to spank me, occasionally stopping to put your cock and fingers in my mouth or my pussy for a quick moment while gently rubbing my ass, giving it time to recover before the next round.

You don’t worry about hurting me because you know I’ll keep begging you to do it harder until I can’t stand anymore. You like knowing that my ass will be hurting the next day and every time I sit I’ll be thinking of you. When we are around people you like playfully slapping my butt, knowing that it hurts and will remind both of us of what we did.

You spank me harder. Will you torture me by making me watch you masturbate knowing that I want your cock to fuck me so bad? Maybe you’ll further torture me by not allowing me to masturbate for several hours?  Will you give me what I want so badly and fuck me? Maybe you’ll make me beg, because you like hearing how much I yearn for your cock, how much I love being fucked by you.

I’m not sure what comes next and I like not knowing.

       I wait for his reply, sick with worry. Not because I think that he will be disgusted, but because I am desperately afraid that he won’t respond at all.

I am not disappointed.

I reply to Mr. Guinness.

From: Jane Doe <provocateur@***.com>

Subject: RE: This is not my name.

To: bill.guinness@***.com

Date: Thursday, October 23, 2008, 7:22 AM

Mr. Guinness,

With my hands behind my back and my face on the bed, I am both insanely jealous of the other women you've used your leather glove on, and grateful that you are using it on me. I gasp each time your hand slaps my ass, my legs trembling, wondering if I will get a caress or another stinging, slap instead. It's just impossible, absolutely impossible for me not to rock my hips against your hand when you enter me, even though I know you will punish me for it. I can't help it, it feels so good and I can't stop thinking about what I really want, your cock in my mouth, on my tits, in my pussy, and in my ass. I want to please you in any way I can, I want to beg you for release.

Instead, you roughly move me onto my back, leaning on the ottoman. I am embarrassed to have you looking so lustfully at my pussy and I feel so exposed. You bring out a small length of rope and look at me questioningly. I'm nervous and don't know how to respond, and you don't wait. You expertly tie my ankles and wrists, one to each leg of the ottoman and I must uncomfortably hold my head up or let it hang awkwardly as the ottoman is too small.

When you decide I am ready, you let me see your cock. You stand over my head and as I reach up to try and lick it, you step away. You rub your cock, wet with precum, all over my body. Up my leg, on my nipples, when it brushes my pussy I almost scream.

Mr. Guinness, I want to do what you want to do. I want to please you. What's next?

I couldn't help but slide my fingers into my wet, wet pussy when reading your email and composing my response. My nipples are perky and aching. I'm going to masturbate now, and I hope that you approve.

Ms. Doe

       I check my email constantly, eager for a reply. On my break at work, lock myself in the bathroom, and lightly play with my clit with one hand while the other grasps and twists my nipples. I imagine that I am the woman my husband wants. I squirm and pant, but cannot come.

       That night, when my husband gets into bed and drapes his arm around me, I gently, softly, almost imperceptibly, rock my hips in a slow circle, feeling his limp cock against my ass, my pussy wet with desire for him. I know from experience this is the only power I have. If I am very, very lucky he may respond to me. If I attempt anything more overt, he will roll over and ignore me.

       When my husband feigns sleep, I dream of Mr. Guinness fucking me until I bleed.

       I lose interest in Mr. Guinness, because he asks me to dress completely inappropriately for work and assumes that I am a secretary. Then I receive a lovely email from a man I like to call Sir. I like that he’s so dirty, that he likes my fantasy, and offers comfort – something I didn’t know I wanted.

Hello,

What a seriously hot fantasy.  Would you consider the following changes?

You arrive at my home to find a note taped to my front door.  Its instructions are very simple.  Under the doormat, you will find a blindfold.  Put it on and open your coat and then knock on the door to let me know you are ready. You knock and wait.  With the blindfold on and feeling the lite breeze across your body where your coat is open, you loose track of how long I make you wait.

Finally, you hear the door open.  You start to step into my home, but I stop you.  While you are standing at the precipice of entering my home, you feel me slip your coat off.  Yet I don't guide you inside.  How long will I keep you standing outside in just your bra and panties for anyone who walks or drives by to see?  At last, I guide you into my house without saying a word.

I walk you to where I want you to stand and hand you a glass of wine.  It's a very nice wine -- showing you that I know that I must uphold my end of the bargain as well.  I give you a minute to savor the wine and steel yourself.  Finally, you let me know you are finished and I take the glass.

What happens next all depends on if you want me to have complete control or have specific lists of "Would like to experience" or "May not happen".  However, from list of things that could happen: Just plain old simple raw fucking -- using your body as I see fit; spanking -- lite to real where you will have a nice glow for a couple of hours (BUT, I am expert in this and no marks unless you really want them -- real = pain, NOT damage); hand and/or foot cuffs.

Me:  Told I'm easy on the eyes by more than mom.  Experienced with Dominant play (On both sides of your fantasy) and understand how important it is to read my play partner to make this fantasy something special.  Also, since I've experienced this kind of play on both sides, I know how important it is to offer after care -- only questions are: does your fantasy require that I shove you out the door after I've had my way with you, do you want some comfort to help you re-ground before you leave, and should I let you take off the blindfold before you leave or simply have you put it on the door on your exit?

I'm safe, sane, and despite being a little older than you at 45, am in good shape (see my toes when I look down without holding my breath) and healthy.

Shall we talk and make your fantasy come true?

       In couples counseling, Dr Schtupp asks me what my husband does to make me feel loved.        

       Pause. “I’m embarrassed,” I say. “That nothing comes to mind immediately.” Pause. “Tonight when I got home form work he a wonderful pasta dinner waiting for me.”

       “Well that’s like you’re being taken care of, maintained. What makes you feel loved?”

       I stare out the window. The silence stretches between the three of us, palpable and thick, until I can’t remember the original question.

Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2008 18:16:51 -0800

From: provocateur@***.com

Subject: Rats! I just lost my reply that I've been working on for 20 minutes now. Bastards!

To: pernickety@***.com

I shall endeavor to recreate it. It went something like...

Sir,

I apologize for the tardiness of my reply. I enjoyed your email very much.

While I have yet to experience either, I have had extensive fantasies both about dominating and being dominated. What turns you on about dominating? Conversely, what do you like about being dominated? Before your email, I had never seriously considered the emotional aspects of my fantasies (I was focusing on the carnal) which seems terribly naive of me in hindsight. In your adventures, what types of emotional issues have come up for you or a partner? I am not trying to get personal information, just an idea of what to expect.

As for what happens once I finish my glass of wine, I wouldn't like know ahead of time. Things I am interested in? Being tied and/or cuffed, light whipping*, and being fucked HARD. "I want a man to rock me like my back ain't got no bone," as Bonnie would say. I also like anal sex but need to be pretty warmed up (starting with a finger, then a toy, then cock) before it's pleasurable to me. I'm really pretty open. I would just ask that as I am a newbie, you start small and work your way up in intensity. I am very intent on pleasing you as well. I want you to be satisfied with my behavior. I want to do whatever it is that will make you desire me. I will enjoy watching you deny your own pleasure for as long as you can stand. I am not concerned with my orgasm at all, but I am very interested in yours.

I do have a few rules which are as follows:

     -No photos

     -No feces or urine.

     -No marks on my body, other than a red, rosy glow on my ass.

     -No other people involved in the scene.

     -Do use a condom, on any toys and on your cock for vaginal or anal penetration.

     -Do have a safe word

     -Finally, I never want to talk about anyone that either of us are or may be currently involved with. I am not interested in monogamy with you, but I want to feel exclusive when we are together.

As for after, we'll have to play it by ear. In my fantasy, you'd give me a still blindfolded moment to put on my street clothes (I'm kind of a tom boy and nylons/heels/lacy underthings aren't my usual cup of tea) while you watched and I'd leave without ever having looked at your face. But I may feel differently later.

If you are still intrigued, I'd very much like to hear back from you. Thank you for your thought provoking email, if nothing else.

*While writing that another fantasy developed. I am naked, blindfolded (I DIG the blindfold), and on my knees. My forearms are tied together behind my back which in turn are tied to my ankles. You spread my knees as far apart as they will go and I am so wet a drop from my pussy lands on the floor. You rub your cock, wet and sticky with precum (or something else? Maybe you stick it in my pussy and pump once or twice before caressing me) all over my face, the back of my neck, my tits. I want your cock so bad, I want it inside me whichever way I can get it. I keep trying to get it into my mouth but you won't let me get more than a lick or two. You lean down and spread my juicy lips with your fingers and blow gently on my clit, driving me insane with lust, with unfulfilled desire before you roughly pinch my nipple. And after that...your thoughts?

JD

       I try compiling a list of things my husband does to make me feel loved. I look at the blank computer screen. I get up to make another cup of coffee and sit down again. I watch the neighbor kids play outside in the street and try to remember.

       I finish the latest cup of coffee and begin to write a story, especially for Sir.

                             The First Time You Taste My Pussy

My legs tremble as I stand outside your door, waiting for you to answer. I feel flushed with nervousness, shame, eagerness, and anticipation. This increases the longer I wait and I picture you standing on the other side of the door, denying your own pleasure as much as my own. I admire the strength of will you have, being able to deny and tease both of us. I have very little self-discipline and not a little bit of stubbornness, as you well know.

“Jane,” you say when you open the door. “I am so pleased you are here. I enjoyed our time together last time and I was hoping that you would want to play again. Thank you for coming, Jane.”

I smile, blushing even more. I’ve never been good at accepting compliments. “I’m very excited to be here, sir,” smiling even wider. You must still call me Jane because you haven’t yet managed to elicit my real name. You turn and walk into the house. I remain standing outside because, as I learned last time, you are in control. Well, to some extent, after all, you still call me Jane.  As I watch your retreating back I feel as if I have a wild and fluttering bird in my chest instead of a heart. My pussy is throbbing, as it has been for the last several days as the time of our meeting grew closer. I try to be still and patient while I stand outside but it is very difficult for me.

At last you call out for me to enter and I feel faint as I step inside, shutting the door behind me as you asked me to. I follow the sound of your voice, my shame growing smaller the closer I get to you. I didn’t think that I could get more excited, but somehow I am. I feel sweaty and my breath is shallow and quick. When I see you I grow calmer. I am reassured, I can let go. I know you will give me what I need.

You know how eager I am to begin, you can see it in every movement of my body but you are very irritated about having to call me Jane (In fact you are even irritated to read that right now. As if there were a chance that I could in real life, withstand your ministrations, as if you wouldn’t know my real name after our first meeting. I like the idea that you don’t, in spite of how much you want to. This could prove to be a very, very fun game.) There is a stool in the middle of the room and you tell me to sit on it and not move and then you leave the room. I am horribly disappointed as I sit on the stool waiting for you to come back. I can hear you moving around in the house and it drives me crazy. I rock back and forth on the stool, rubbing my clit against the wood, soaking my panties even more. I rub my tits and pinch my nipples through my white t-shirt, imagining it’s you. I am not wearing a bra because you asked me not to and my hard, pert, nipples are clearly visible. The longer I wait, the more anxious and lonely I feel. I want to yell out my name to you, anything to make you come back into the room, but I know I can’t speak out of turn. Don’t make me wait too long, I silently beg, I don’t want to get bored.  Boredom is not sexy.

When you come back into the room I am ecstatic but am not sure how much I should let it show. “Jane,” you say. I love hearing you call me Jane. “How do you feel right now?”

“I feel wet sir. Very, very wet.” I look at your crotch and am disappointed not to see your cock pressing against your pants.

“Stand up and take off your panties,” and I practically jump off the stool to comply. You walk in a circle around me, gently dragging your fingers across my body. “I know your pussy is already wet for me, Jane. I know it has been since the last time I saw you. I know you’ve had a hard time thinking of anything but my cock. Have you missed my cock, Jane?”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir what?”

“Yes sir, I’ve been thinking about your cock. I’ve been wanting you to fuck me, to use me, sir, all week sir.”

“Lean over and put your elbows on the stool.” I feel my pussy muscles tense up and clench as I lean over. You lift my short skirt up and over my ass, then alternate between gently rubbing and lightly slapping each cheek. I can’t stop my hips from gyrating a little, imagining and remembering the fucking you gave me. You order me to be still and I struggle, really struggle to remain still. You enjoy watching me struggle especially because you know that I want to feel you spank me, that this light slapping you’re giving me is not satisfying and serves only to make me crave your cock even more.

“Sit down Jane.” I stifle my disappointment at not being properly spanked. You cuff my hands together, link a rope to the cuffs and run the rope through a hook on the ceiling, pulling the rope tight and forcing my hands high above my head. This raises and pushes out my tits and I feel very aware of them.

“Scoot closer, Jane. Move your pussy to the edge of the stool.” You kneel down to tie my ankles to the stool, giving you a perfect view of my glistening pussy and you fight the rush of blood to your cock. You tie a rope to each knee, and pull the ropes behind my body spreading my legs as far apart as they will go. Even though it is not in your game plan, you can’t help yourself when you see my spread legs, my wet pussy, just waiting for you to use however you want. You put your face in between legs, and I squirm when I feel your breath.

“Don’t move, Jane. You don’t want to find out what will happen if you move,” you say and then you slide your tongue along each lip, evading my clit and my hole. I’m holding my breath, clenching my legs against the stool, holding tightly to my cuffs because I don’t want to move. A part of you likes it when I disobey you and so your tongue darts out and tickles my clit. I can’t stifle my moan or stop my hips from leaning closer to you. 

“Too bad, Jane. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me better.” You step away from me and towards your table of toys. “Remember this Jane?” you ask, holding up a long, thin, cane.

“Yes sir,” I answer.

“And this?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you remember these Jane?”

“Yes sir.”

“Would you tell me which one was your favorite Jane?”

“The nipple clamps, sir,” I say, and again stifling disappointment as I watch you put the clamps aside and take the cane instead. My ass is already clenching, tensing up, knowing how much it will hurt.

“Would you like me to use this Jane? Do you remember how it felt last time?” You are standing behind me and I can feel your hot breath on the back of my neck and I feel myself involuntarily straining against the ropes that bind me. Your hand reaches around and pinches my nipple and I almost die for a moment.

“Tonight, you are going to tell me your name, Jane.”

I can’t wait for you to begin.

       I turn to my husband who is sitting next to me on the couch. “What do I do that makes you feel loved?” I ask. He looks at me and is silent for a moment before answering, “You take care of us.”

       I don’t understand what he means. 

       “Like?” I prompt.

       “You do the laundry, you help take care of the house.”

       His blue eyes look into mine and I feel so lost. 

       I am at sea, in a dinghy with no oars, no land in sight.

       Because Sir liked my first story so much he ordered me to tell him about the first time we fucked. I send him this:

                                      The First Time We Fucked

Finally. I want to cry with relief. Finally, you are fucking me. You even un-cuffed my ankles so that I could fuck you in return, my hips rushing up against yours, I’m so grateful, you crashing into me, then legs over my shoulders, ramming me so hard, so grateful, my hands still tied, rewarding me when you know you shouldn’t have…

                                                            ***

When I arrived at your house I sat in my car for ten minutes debating whether or not to knock on the door. There were so many reasons not be here, at least a dozen right off the top of my head and there was only a single, probably not very good reason that I was in my car arguing with myself. I wanted Sir to fuck me. I wanted to please Sir, to be punished and rewarded by Sir, to see how far I could make Sir go, all so that Sir would fuck me.

I got out of my car, walked halfway back to the house and then turned and walked back towards my car. I had my hand on the door and turned back towards the house. When I saw the blindfold waiting on the doorknob I almost turned away again. I wore contacts because I am blind as a bat without my glasses. It makes me feel naked and exposed to be without my glasses. “You are so fucking stupid. You cant’ be doing this. You can’t.” I curse myself as I take the blindfold, put it in place, and tie it on. I feel even blinder than a bat.

I timidly knock on the door. The door opens almost immediately which is the only thing that keeps me from bolting to my car. I am so terrified I can’t even speak. I feel my whole body suffuse with heat and I can’t believe I’m fucking here. There’s no good reason to be here. I start to turn away because one of my many fears is that you are going to strip me in public and I just don’t have the courage for that yet but I shouldn’t have worried. You, wise Sir, know by looking at me that I’m not ready, without me having to say a word, and you say, “I’m so pleased you came Jane. You’ve made me so happy. I know you’ve been scared to visit me in spite of how much you’ve wanted to. I know you’ll be glad that you came. Please come inside Jane.”

I feel you grasp my hand, waiting for me to make my choice. I feel like my heart might beat itself out my body leaving me dead on the ground. I feel sick with nervousness, much worse than any stage fright I’ve ever felt. Time slows and your hand stays steady because you know the only way we’ll both have a memorable night is if I am willing prey.

When I step inside, the blindfold hides your smile from me.

       

       I am so very delighted when Sir orders me to go to work braless on Thursday. My face remains flushed all day and my nipples hard. They hurt by the time I get home. I like to picture Sir, dressed in Casual Friday clothing, checking his email, fantasizing about me, dreaming about me, my sensitive nipples and my pussy. We have made plans to meet on Saturday and I can’t decide if I am more scared or turned on as the date quickly approaches.

       After couples counseling on Friday I change my mind I make myself send Sir an email apologizing for not being able to follow through on my fantasies. I delete the email account so I will not be tempted. I feel like a big piece of shit, like I led Sir on and pictured how angry he would be at me, at how much I let him down. I feel awful about what I almost did to my marriage. I have never been so deceitful and dishonest in my life.

       I also feel relieved and safe. Bullet dodged. World saved. 

       After clicking on send, I walk into the office and my husband swivels his chair around to look at me. I straddle him on the chair, pick up his arms and wrap them around me, and hold him tight. Tears leak from my eyes and before I know it I am sobbing. His arms hug me more tightly and he asks me what’s wrong. I can’t look at his face so I bury my head in his neck and tell him how much I want him to fuck me, how undesirable and unattractive I feel, how lonely I am, how much I love his cock and love fucking him. I tell him how horribly jealous I am of a ghost woman, the woman who can turn him on, excite him, get him off exactly like he wants.

       “I want to be her, whoever she is I want to be her,” I whisper into his ear.

       He stiffens. “I feel overwhelmed,” he says.

        “I don’t know what to say,” he tells me.

       

       That night, I dream that I drive to Sir’s house but Sir turns out to be a woman and I am bitterly disappointed.  I also dream that my husband calls me beautiful and sexy and that he allows me to please him, and I come and come again, his mouth on my pussy.