A Good Breakfast

London, 1931, 8:10am. A well-to-do middle class house in suburbia furnished in the old Regency style, which on closer inspection is looking slightly frayed around the edges. The atmosphere is still, though there is rustling and the odd clang and clatter from the kitchen. A male voice is heard from upstairs.

"Ada?"

The voice sounded uncertain but cuts clearly through the house and lingers with a slight echo. Ada places her pot back on the kitchen side and straightens her skirts. She quickly checks herself in the hall mirror before lifting her skirts and heading up.

She is surprised to see Blake approaching along the landing from their bedroom. He stops and smiles in greeting. She smiles in return.

"Blake?"

"Come here, dear, I have something to show you."

Ada follows him into the bedroom and watches him scan the newspaper. Every morning she placed it by their bed for him to read whilst she started with the morning chores. Something must have caught his attention, something big.

"Here!" He says, and half turns to her before looking back and running his finger along the line of print. " 'Latest in a string of collapses in the construction trade. McClough & Sons have closed their offices in Edinborough and Newcastle' ... blah, blah ... 'renowned for their magnificent ships trading to the Africas and' blah, blah ... oh, it was here somewhere ..."

Ada waited, admiring his broad shoulders slightly taught with concentration.

"Aha! Yes. 'McClough said the support of the Lord Chancellor would have been a great help to the ailing industry, but that he could not expect it in these straightened times'. There was some talk that he might have intervened, but he's clearly thought better of it."

"More of the same," said Ada, "did you know him?"

"Not really, he was one of those you heard of, an up-and-coming star. Up-and-coming that is before all the stars crashed to earth with the rest of the stock market, but it shows we weren't an isolated case. And we are at least still trading, who knows there may be some business to pick up. I'm sorry, my dear," he fixed his eyes fully on her then and seemed more in the present, "I've called you away -- were you in the middle of something?"

"Just the breakfast. Toast with fruit, but there's jam from the Middletons."

Blake smiled at her. He came close to stroke her hair and his fingers brushed the pins and decorations at the back. He wondered why she bothered still when he always made it so dishevelled, but she always took the time to appear respectable in the mornings. It was one of her quirks, he fancied, that she should at least start the day decently.

"You always do so well."

"It helps that they're generous whoever it is, it never feels like charity from them."

"I didn't mean that." His thumb stroked the side of her cheek and his fingers tightened their grip in her hair. "You know I didn't."

Ada dropped her gaze to avoid his eyes, and saw his cock swelling. Her heart jumped in expectation but she was uncertain -- he was hard most mornings, but it was early yet for her services.

She looked up then and gave a tentative "Blake?"

He stepped back and surveyed her. Ada was petite, neat, and looked to him now with sweet uncertainty.

He was pleased with his wife. She had adapted admirably to their changed circumstances, and as they'd been forced to let go first the house-keeper and then each maid, she had simply taken on their tasks as her assumed duty. He knew why she'd done it -- out of love she said, and that was certainly true, but they both knew the order of things.

Sexually speaking, under his guidance she had undergone a gradual yet remarkable change. His last request had been unusual and he'd expected protest but she'd only sought to save her evening dresses, which he had allowed. Now each of her house dresses had a cut from the floor at her right foot to the top of her thigh. She had sewn the edges perfectly and to the untutored eye the full skirts looked deceptively normal -- they only parted when she walked, or spread them on demand. This morning she wore the old grey-and-white. She used to look so prim in it, but in response to his gaze now her eyes smouldered. He was very pleased with his wife.

"Go fetch the breakfast, Ada. I'll have a coffee."

"Of course."

Downstairs she finished her preparations with a rising passion. His slow study of her in the bedroom had sparked this new strange desire he had kindled in her, but she was forbidden touching herself without permission. Frustration made her clumsy, but she calmed herself before placing a small flower from the vase over his plate and taking the tray upstairs.

Blake was reclining on their bed with his cock in his hand, so she left the tray on the bedside table and knelt beside the bed.

"Thanks, you can leave the food there for now," he paused, "go stand at the bottom of the bed, spread your skirts and touch yourself."

Ada was glad for the order, and did as he asked though her fingers barely stirred her, as her thoughts ran in a different direction. She longed to touch him, to have him on her, in her, to feel his passion. His orders made her the woman she wanted to be, and his desires were now too much part of her to separate his cravings from her own. She was slipping into memories and future promises, and eventually a small moan escaped her lips.

"Good," he said, "now kneel down."

She knelt, and Blake came to sit at the edge of the bed. "Come here."

Ada crawled over to kneel in front of him, and he held her hair so that she looked up to him.

"Who are you?" He asked.

Ada smiled then. He had taught her the answers a long time ago. It wasn't often he asked these questions but she enjoyed hearing her answers, and it always presaged a day of Blake's stronger, darker desires.

"I'm your wife."

His face was impassive and she thrilled to think what they would do before breakfast.

"What's your worth in this world?"

"I have no worth, except in being of use to you." In her mind she ran through all the things they might do -- she feared some and longed for others, and her heart beat heavy with the hope that she would be as he wanted her.

"What's your purpose in life?"

"To please and serve you in any way you choose."

"Good," said Blake, he was calm but his voice was deep and heavy, "tell me again."

"I'm your wife. I have no worth, except in being of use to you, and my purpose is to please and serve you in any way you choose."

"Good, now take off your bodice and bra and leave them off. We're staying in today." Ada fiddled with her buttons and clasps. On days like this he liked to let her take on most of the tasks, only really putting in effort to punish her or make her orgasm, or else to watch her strip, make love to her, or degrade her, whichever he chose as entertainment. When she was bared she looked back to him.

"To love and obey?" asked Blake.

"To love and obey," she affirmed quietly.

"Suck on this." Blake pushed his cock into her mouth and Ada's insides tingled as it pressed the back of her throat.

London, 1931, 8:55am. A well-to-do middle class house in suburbia housing a well respected couple, who on closer inspection engaged in less than respectable practices. The atmosphere is still, though there is some slight rustling and the odd groan from the bedroom. A male voice can just be discerned upstairs.

"Good girl, Ada."