Part One: The Confession
Dinner was already a pleasant memory, and the dishes were drying in the rack. I was looking to having a nice evening alone with my wife Connie. Perhaps some TV or a movie on cable sounded pretty good just then.
“Honey?” Connie called from the kitchen, “could we sit down and talk for a while? Don’t turn on the TV, please?” she asked.
“Sure.”
We had just celebrated our second wedding anniversary, and something was wrong – I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
I sat down on the living room couch, and waited for Connie, who soon appeared and joined me. She appeared to be a little nervous, and I wondered just what she was going to say that was so important.
“Sam, this is going to be very difficult – and I don’t want you to interrupt, please. I’ve got something very hard to say about our relationship – and it’s been killing me for weeks now.”
“Okay,” I replied, “go ahead.”
Connie was 32, five foot six, and very attractive. She had smallish breasts and a trim figure, and kept herself in shape though diet and exercise.
“I want to apologize for my conduct in bed these last few weeks. I was unresponsive and just laid there until you climaxed, then refused to cuddle afterwards.”
“I just thought that you had something on your mind, darling – and I’m sure once you’ve talked it out, it will be all over as an issue.”
“You’re so sweet Sam – and I’m going to lay something really heavy on you.”
“An affair?” I asked.
“No – it’s my past. When we were dating, you never asked me once what I had done before. You said you didn’t want to pry, and it was none of your business. You didn’t want to know – and be jealous – about any of my former partners. And I kept my mouth shut – maybe I should have spoken up.”
“Has a former boyfriend come back into your life?” I asked.
“No – unless you count a ghost of one. What I did with Greg, one of my former boyfriends has come back to haunt me.”
“All right,” I asked, “who’s Greg? Has he returned to bother you?”
“Greg died in a traffic accident three years ago, just before we started dating. When we met, I was still sad and in mourning, and you literally swept me off my feet – and we married a year later.”
“So what’s the problem?” I asked.
“There’s no easy way to put this, Sam. I was Greg’s sex slave.”
“Huh?” I answered dumbly.
“You know what sadomasochism is?” Connie asked.
“Sure.”
“Well, I was involved in a S&M relationship for Greg for almost three years. I was his willing submissive. I was spanked, cropped, whipped, placed in bondage – you name it. And I enjoyed it all.”
I sat there on the couch, speechless.
“When we married, I locked away all of Greg’s toys in my office closet. You were never curious about them, were you?”
“The closet was your space, I didn’t want to intrude.”
“I thought that by locking them away in the closet I could close off that period in my life. But when I had the flu and had to stay home, I was bored silly. So two months ago I opened the closet – and all of those desires came back in a rush. Like they had been pent-up for years.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I answered stupidly, in shock.
“Come, let’s go my office. I’ll show you my former sexual life.”
I followed her upstairs to her office. We had bought a three-bedroom house, and one bedroom had been converted into Connie’s office. She had her desk, computer, filing cabinet, and an extra chair in the room.
“Have a seat, honey, please,” Connie implored.
I sat in the extra chair and waited. She opened the closet door. Inside were two large chests, and a garment bag. I had never thought to open them, ever, as I had respected her privacy.
Connie unzipped the garment bag first, and removed something shiny on a hanger.
“This is my PVC Catsuit,” she began, “zipped into it, I look all shiny and powerfully sexy. Even more so when I’m perched on high heels, or wearing thigh-high boots – which I’ll show you in a moment.”
“Here’s my PVC bodysuit – looks good wearing sheer to waist pantyhose, also with boots. My PVC straitjacket – for those days when Greg would restrain me for hours. My maid’s outfit also in PVC – he would order me to wear it and clean his house, and when I was finished, I would get a spanking or more.”
“Why just PVC?” I questioned, “aren’t you supposed to like leather & rubber also?”
“Leather garments can be very expensive and usually they’re custom made. Rubber is expensive, and hard to care for and can tear. Good for fashion shoots in the fetish mags, but a pain in real life. PVC is inexpensive compared to the other two, is easy to care for – I usually wash these in the sink with Woolite – and is a good compromise.”
“Oh.”
“Greg was quite smart. He didn’t want me to buy this stuff tight, so if I gained a few pounds it would be useless. In the last year I managed to put on some weight – middle age, I guess – so I can still fit into all my fetish gear.”
Connie replaced the things in the clothing bag, then dragged out one of the chests. She opened it, and handed me a pair of very high heels – which had padlocks on the straps!
“You won’t find those in Nine West, Sam. Here’s two pair of boots with five-inch heels, one knee-high, and the other thigh-high. Perfect for a night out on the town,” Connie observed.
She dragged out the other chest, then opened it. It was huge.
“Here’s some bondage videotapes. Most of them are pretty silly, actually. I was watching them when I was recovering from the flu – that’s what brought all this back.”
“Yeah.”
“My book collection, starting with “Story of O.” I’ve got some Masquerade titles, Blue Moon, Silver Moon, and Black Lace. Plus some picture magazines from HOM of women in bondage. Not a bad little collection, really.”
Connie handed me a few paperbacks – from their titles and cover description I didn’t have to guess too hard about the contents.
“Finally, my bondage toys. Here’s a ball-gag trainer, bracelets, dildo harness, and butt plug. I also have a riding crop, flogger, and whip.”
“Wow,” I said dumbly, “that’s quite a selection.”
“Thank you,” she said, seating herself in her office chair, facing me.
“What do you want then?” I asked.
“I want you to become my Master, Sam. Please?” she implored.
“Pass that by me, again, please?” I replied.
“I want you to be my Master – with a capital M – in a D/s relationship,” Connie answered.
“D/s?” I asked, “what does that mean?”
“I keep on forgetting that you don’t know the language – D/s mean Dominance and submission. Basically, I want you to dominate me – and I’ve got a very nice toy selection already bought that you can use.”
“You’re a pervert,” I criticized.
“You know, I always hated that word. Anything other than vanilla sex, and you become a pervert.”
“Vanilla sex? Does that go with ice cream?”
“No, but it does mean bland, uniform, missionary position sex. I’ve been exposed to something a little different – and now I’ve discovered that I just have to have it again.”
“Isn’t our lovemaking good enough? Aren’t I a good lover?” I plead.
“Honey, you’re a kind, considerate, great man to have in bed. You always make sure to make me come and leave me satisfied afterwards. But in addition to that I want a little more out of sex.”
I picked up the riding crop from the chest and flexed it with my hands, feeling the leather surface and square tip.
“Greg really used this on you?” I asked.
“Sure, lots of times.”
“You say that with such a straight face – I feel like Candid Camera is going to pop up and say that this was all a joke – isn’t it?”
“No darling, it isn’t a joke. My D/s relationship with Greg was deadly serious.”
“Then just what did you two do together?”
“All sorts of things,” Connie answered, “I would misbehave in public or privately, and get spanked or cropped. Sometimes I’d dress as a Maid, and break a glass, and get punished. I’d wear my collar and bracelets, and have to do the housework totally naked.”
“And this turned you on?” I replied, “getting beaten on a regular basis?”
“There’s a big difference between getting beaten up with serious injuries and landing in hospital emergency room, and being in a D/s scene and having nothing more than a few whip marks and a warmed bottom to show for it,” Connie answered.
“Whip marks? Warmed bottom? This is easily the most fantastic conversation I’ve ever had – I feel like I’m talking to Alice in Wonderland. Or is it the Mad Hatter?”
“Honey, I can guess how you must feel just now,” Connie began.
“To know that I’m married to a sex pervert?” I answered.
“But I was Greg’s submissive for three years – and I enjoyed it. The weekends just didn’t come fast enough for me to get back into being a slave. I loved wearing his collar, and being gagged while he flogged me gave me the best orgasms ever. Until, that is, he took me to bed afterwards, and I had the most screaming climaxes in the world.”
“And you want me to do that you?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” she replied.
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
“No. A long time ago, Greg took me to an S&M group in the city. I met a woman there who told me that submission was part of her life – that she had been ruined by her exposure to a Master – and that she was never satisfied with ordinary sex again. Now I know just what she meant. So, dear husband, will you satisfy your wife’s sexual desires and be my Master as well?”
Connie then rose from her chair and knelt in front of me. In her hands were the riding crop, gag, and a pair of gleaming stainless steel handcuffs.
“Please?” she asked, “Master?”
“I’m probably going to regret this, but yes, I’ll be your Master. Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” I answered.
“No problem, Master. I’ll teach you everything that you need to know. You’ll be both a great husband and Master in no time!”