All She Wants

I ordered her to her knees and took her inside. The woman I had expected was waiting for us. I tied my beautiful slave girl to the table, and the severe woman pierced her pussy lips. A silver padlock went in the holes, and I took the key. The woman said:

“She’ll be sore. You’ll have to fuck the little bitch in the ass for a day or two, eh?”

“Oh” I said, “Good thing you reminded me.”

The woman looked over my slut’s body.

“She’s probably pretty tight. It’s gonna hurt.” she drawled as the slave whimpered behind her gag.

“Oh, yeah!” I said, “I’d forgotten that—you got anything to make it a bit less painful?” It was a code.

“Sure,” she said, and brought out the purple velvet box from under the table, where I had told her to hide it. I opened it, turned to my straddled slave, and said:

“I love you. Will you marry me?”

Her eyes teared up, she paused a while before answering. Then she whispered:

“Do I still get to be your slave?”

We’re more happily married than anyone else I know. Besides, how many husbands can command complete obedience? We have had interesting times...at her request I “rented her out” as a “prostitute” to a couple of friends. We had some swaps, but I guess she wasn’t as ready for that as she’d thought, and I had to pretend I was disappointed with her, instead of giving in to myself and treating her tenderly.

Sometimes I cuddle her, sometimes I whip her. I kept her in the cage downstairs for a three-day weekend, once, letting her out only for play sessions. She explained that she liked the cage all right, but could it just be a punishment as she preferred to sleep in the same room, or even when permitted, the same bed?

I let her sleep in the bed, and on the floor for punishments. To earn the cage she has to be bitchy. And sometimes she is.

And this is the tragedy of it: All that stuff STILL doesn’t do it for me. Each time I sink my cock into her I feel like a puny mortal on his knees before his goddess. I would rather untie her and make more gentle love to her — sometimes we do, she tolerates it. Without her, I feel that I would be nothing. I don’t like seeing her body bruised, the red welts I keep nice and fresh on her ass, the rope burns on her wrists. I’m not really all that excited by leather, whips, and harnesses.

My cigarette’s done. I drain my water glass and put it in the sink. From the clock over the fridge, I have been here almost fifteen minutes. I am tired, I have to work tomorrow, and it’s nearly my bedtime. I will wake her up when I get downstairs, put her in the stocks, and ask her questions from Trivial Pursuit. When she gets one wrong, I will use the crop on her thighs. I make a mental note to buy a new edition of the game—I think she has memorized most of the questions. I will allow her one more orgasm if she is a good girl, and possibly have her suck my cock before I let her loose and take her upstairs. She’ll be relieved that she doesn’t have to sleep in the cage.

I take a deep breath, and open the basement door. In my mind, I can picture her lying curled and naked on her side; her eyes flying open at the sound of the door. I pause a few seconds before I turn on the light, and then take the first step down to where she is waiting for me.

I never really wanted to have her as my slave. And in truth, she isn’t. I am far more her slave—breaking my back and wracking my brain to fulfill her fantasy so that I can continue to have her love the only way I can.

I have her on my terms, and my terms alone because those are her terms. Sometimes I am not even sure if I am happy.

But I know that she is.

And I love her.