Fifty Shades of Sheila

I held my hand up at about eye level, parallel to the floor, just to verify it. Yep, I was so excited, I was actually shaking. I checked the time – again. Still 1:57. I had never seen time move so goddamn slowly in all my life. I looked at my checklist again, and ran through the game plan. I didn't want it to appear too rehearsed, but I also didn't want to forget anything.

1:58. Dammit. I hadn't heard a sound for a while, and couldn't tell if she were upstairs or downstairs. For the past seven days, she had given me no indication whatsoever as to the decision she would make. When I sat down and wrote that email to her, I had no idea it would excite me this much.

1:59. So close. It seemed as though I'd been waiting for this moment for a lifetime. I was so tempted to run upstairs a little bit early, but I needed to play it cool in order to fit the part. I was proud of myself that I actually waited until 2:00 before I rose from my desk and made my way upstairs. I grabbed my glass of ice water along the way, just as I had mapped out in my game plan.

I was breathing so hard, I had to pause for a minute before I turned the corner into our bedroom. My heart skipped a beat when I saw her. There she was, looking exactly as I pictured in my head: kneeling on our bedroom floor, blindfolded, and completely naked except for a pair of high heels.

I should probably take a step back for a minute. My name is Frank DeLuca. I work in the investing industry. I was born and raised in Queens, New York, where I met my high school sweetheart, Sheila. Yeah, that was her, kneeling on the floor. We've been married for nearly twenty five years now, but we've known each other for thirty. We have two kids, and we're now paying two college tuitions at the same time.

A few years ago, we moved to the suburbs of Connecticut to escape the bullshit of the city. I work from home a few days a week, and Sheila works part-time a few days a week. She doesn't work for the money, as I make a pretty good living. She just likes getting out of the house, I think. Every once in a while the stars will align and we'll both be home at the same time. This past Thursday was one of those days.

Like most married couples, I suppose, our sex life slowly dwindled down to nothing over the years. Hey, it happens. You have kids, you grow older, and things change. I get it. Every once in a while, though, I really miss the wild and crazy sex we used to have when we first met. She was my first and only, and I was the same to her. I guess we're a couple of old-fashioned prudes that way, but we're comfortable with that.

We did everything – and I mean everything – that a couple can do, sexually, when we were younger. I have always had a high sex drive, but there were times when even I wondered if I were enough to satisfy her. She just craved sex all the time. We had sex two or three times a day for a while there. I thought my dick was going to fall off. But then we got married, had kids, and...now we're down to maybe once a week, if I'm lucky.

The thing is, I know that the sex-starved wild woman that I married is still hiding somewhere inside of her. I just have to figure out a way to let her come out and play. About a week ago, I came up with this brilliant idea. We were sitting in the living room. I was watching a ballgame on TV, and she was reading yet another one of her trashy novels. She's constantly reading these things; one right after another. They all seem to be the same, too: same sappy plots, same dopey characters. But then I noticed the title of her latest book, and I'd actually heard about it before. I heard the women at work talking about it like it's the most scandalous thing ever. It's about bondage and spanking and all this other dungeon-torture shit. That's when the lightbulb lit up over my head.

If Sheila was interested in this stuff, I figured, maybe that's the spark I needed to unleash the wild woman inside her. She has always been a strong, outspoken woman. She doesn't take shit from anyone. It's one of the qualities that made me fall for her in the first place. But maybe she also has a secret submissive side that would reveal itself in the bedroom. She did like me to fuck her good and hard sometimes. I've even spanked her ass and pulled her hair a little bit at times, and she never complained. In fact, she seemed to like it. It was an idea worth pursuing. What did I have to lose?

I sat down at my laptop and stared at the screen, debating whether or not to do what I was about to do. What the hell? You only live once, as they say. I began typing:

Dear Sheila:

You know I'm always looking for ways to spice things up between us, and I think I've come up with an idea that you may like. All I ask is that you don't dismiss the idea immediately, and that you give it some thought. Here goes.

The terms of my offer are simple. Next Thursday, we will both be home, alone, in the house. I've set aside an hour on my work schedule at 2:00pm. At precisely 2:00pm, you will be waiting for me in our bedroom, on your knees, wearing a blindfold and a pair of high heels. (Don't worry, I'll supply the blindfold. I'll leave it on the dresser for you.)

You will wait there for me, and when I arrive, you will do whatever I tell you to do for the next hour. For sixty minutes, your entire body is mine, to use however I want. You have no say in the matter. In fact, you will not even be allowed to speak unless spoken to. And when you do speak to me, you will address me as "Sir."

These terms are non-negotiable. If you accept these terms, you will be waiting for me as I've instructed. If you refuse, that is your choice. Either way, you will not mention this offer at any point over the next week. Do not make your decision now. Allow yourself to consider both choices, and make your decision when the time comes.

I love you,

Frank.

My index finger must have hovered over that "Enter" key for a good, solid minute before I pressed it. As soon as I did, I cringed in anticipation of her reaction. A part of me expected her to blow a gasket immediately. She checks her email constantly throughout the day, and I knew she read it within minutes of that key press. Yet...there was no reaction. She carried on as if I had never sent it. I actually had to check to make sure the message went through.

Over the next couple of days, I kept waiting for that inevitable explosion, but it never came. Sheila acted as normal as ever, alternating outbursts of anger with heaps of affection. A typical Italian girl. After a while, I couldn't help but think that maybe she was into the whole idea. Otherwise, I figured, she would have yanked my nuts off by then. Before I even wrote that note, I decided I should probably do some research into this whole "bondage" thing or I'd end up looking like an asshole.

I actually considered stealing that stupid book of hers to figure out what it was that fascinated her so much. Instead, I went online and did a few searches. You would be absolutely fucking amazed how many websites are devoted to this shit! There are sites and blogs and forums and chat rooms and all sorts of crazy shit, filled with people who either want to beat the living crap out of their lovers or be beaten by them. Some of this shit just went way over the line for me. I figured Sheila might be into a little rough play, but she certainly wouldn't be into humiliation – and there was no way I would ever humiliate her. You gotta draw the line somewhere, right?

Anyway, I got a good sense of what this whole thing was about just by reading all these different sites and blogs and what-not. That's where I came up with the idea of her calling me "Sir." Just about all the sites said you have to come up with names for each other while you're in "Dom/sub" mode. There were really only a few options for female "subs": bitch, cunt, whore, and slut. I can't ever imagine calling my wife any of those first three unless I was really pissed at her. That just left "slut", which seemed harmless enough. Frankly, I'd love it if she were a "slut" – as long as she were only a slut for me.

As for what she could call me, the list of typical names for male "Dom's" was even shorter: Master, Daddy, or Sir. "Master" just sounds ridiculous to me. It would take me right out of the mood, because all I could think of would be Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein. And it would be way too creepy if my wife called me 'Daddy.' I liked "Sir", though. It conveyed respect and authority. Yeah, I liked that a lot.

As that fateful Thursday grew nearer, I did more and more research. I practically became obsessed with this "BDSM" culture, and learned as much as I could in that short time. It's all about balancing pain with pleasure, they say. Supposedly, the pain makes the pleasure feel that much better. And it's all about control: taking control and completely releasing control.

On Monday, I made a trip to the local smut store and filled a few grocery bags with all sorts of demented sex toys that I had meticulously researched throughout the week. The slutty-looking girl behind the counter made a couple of recommendations, and I bought those, too. She was probably working on commission. The closer the day approached, the more excited I became.

In all honesty, I half expected our bedroom to be empty when I turned that corner at the top of the stairs. When I saw her kneeling there, I felt as if I'd just won the Super Bowl single-handedly. If I thought she would have waited for me, I would have let her kneel there for a while longer while I ran up and down the neighborhood and high-fived every husband on our block. Instead, I approached her in a calm and cool manner that completely contradicted what was happening inside me.

I took a few laps around her, just soaking it all in. Goddamn, she looked beautiful. Her full, curly, jet-black hair, her meticulously-manicured nails, her enormous tits, and her generously-proportioned ass all looked delicious to me. For the next hour, they were all mine.

"I see you made your choice," I said, doing my best to sound calm and in charge. "You made your choice, and now, for the next hour, you have no choices. Your entire body belongs to me for the next sixty minutes. You understand that, slut?"

There it was. I tried out my new name for her. How she reacted in the next few seconds would determine how this entire afternoon – and probably the next several days – would progress.

"Yes," she said in an oddly docile tone.

I was hoping she'd say that. "Bend over and put your nose on the carpet," I said, firmly.

To my complete amazement, she did exactly as she was told. Her gorgeous ass raised to the ceiling, and I smacked it – harder than I intended – with the palm of my hand. She let out a yelp.

"Yes, what?" I asked.

"Yes, Sir!" she croaked.

"Good girl," I said, gently rubbing the pain away from her ass. "Now get back up on your knees, slut."

Sheila rose to her knees like the good and obedient personal slut she had become.

"I know you have all sorts of thoughts flowing through that busy brain of yours," I said, in a speech I had mentally rehearsed a thousand times. "Imagine writing all of those thoughts on a big chalkboard, and then wipe it clean. I don't want you to think about anything except the sound of my voice."

She took a deep breath and exhaled. I could almost see the tension in her body fade away.

"Good girl," I said. "Now, let's see how obedient you can be. I want you to rub and squeeze your tits like a filthy little slut."

I have never been much of a "tit man". All body parts considered, I'd place tits a firm fourth place behind face, ass, and legs – in that order. That said, I couldn't help but admire my wife's tits. She didn't have much to work with when we were first married, but somehow those puppies expanded three bra sizes since then. Maybe it was all the breast-feeding, or maybe it was the bit of weight gain. I don't really know what caused it, but I liked it. If only my dick had grown at the same rate, I'd be a porn star.

"For the next hour," I said, watching her squeeze and rub her big tits, "whose tits are those?"

"Yours, Sir," she responded.

She's a quick learner.

"Now, squeeze your ass," I directed. Incredibly, she did exactly as I told her. She has such an amazing ass. Aside from her stunning smile, her eyes, her cute face, her newly-ample tits, and maybe her legs, her ass is her best feature. While she rubbed and squeezed her own ass, I secured a couple of leather restraints around her wrists. I was originally going to buy some handcuffs, but the skanky-looking slut at the smut store convinced me that these were the better option.

"For the next hour, whose ass is that?" I asked, securing two more restraints around her ankles.

"Yours, Sir," she replied, meekly.

"Damn right it is. Now stick two fingers in your mouth, slut."

She did as she was told. This was fucking amazing. I couldn't believe she was actually doing everything I said. I was a fucking genius.

"Whose mouth is that?" I asked.

"Yours, Sir," she said, her words garbled by the fact that a couple of her fingers were jammed in her mouth.

"Now finger your pussy with those two fingers," I ordered. I'm not going to lie; I was hard as a rock by this point.

She did exactly as I ordered. While I stood there, mesmerized, watching my wife finger herself, I stripped down to nothing. In all the commotion, I almost forgot an important part of my plan. I hurried over to the other side of the room, fetched a couple of pillows, and shoved them between her legs. To her credit, she didn't stop fingering herself. I wished she had, as I wanted another reason to spank her.

I retrieved her gigantic vibrator – the "Magic Wand" – from her bottom drawer. This thing is about a foot long and sounds like a Black and Decker power washer when you turn it on. I plugged it in and placed it on top of the pillows between her legs.

"Stop," I ordered. She stopped fingering herself immediately. Her lips were parted, and I could see she was breathing heavily. This whole plan was working perfectly. I took her hands and easily secured them behind her back with the attached clips. She was basically handcuffed at this point.

I turned on the Magic Wand to its low setting, and it hummed away. "Now, I want you to lower your pussy onto that wand," I said, maintaining my calm and cool tone, "and when you feel like you may orgasm, lift yourself off of it. Keep doing that until I tell you to stop. You are not allowed to cum until I tell you to."

This is one of those moments where I expected Sheila to protest, and for the entire plan to disintegrate. She tends to be...let's say impatient, especially when it comes to her orgasms. But she did exactly as she was told. I could tell from the pained expression on her face that she wanted to cum so badly. Yet, again and again, she denied herself that pleasure.

"Open your mouth," I said, "and keep it open until I tell you to close it."

She opened her mouth nice and wide. I really wanted to shove my entire cock in there and cum down her throat, but I also wanted this moment to last. As she continued to lower and raise herself onto her vibrator, I played with my dick in her mouth. I tapped it against the side of her mouth, put it in her mouth and moved it all around, shoved it deep inside and back out, and fucked it as hard as I wanted. It was like I had my own personal fuck toy, except it was real. She didn't protest any of it. In fact, she seemed to like it. It didn't take long, but after a while, I couldn't take any more.

"You want to cum, don't you?" I asked.

"Mmm-hmmm," she pleaded with her mouth full of my cock.

"Not yet," I said. "You know, I could cum down your throat right now, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."

She hated the taste of cum, which is a real shame, because I used to love cumming in her mouth. I guess you could call it a fetish. I knew if I did that, though, the game would be over. I shoved my cock back in her mouth and fucked it like a pussy. I grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back and forth, stroking my cock with her mouth. With her hands secured behind her back, and her mouth full, there wasn't much she could do to protest.

My dick was throbbing, and I felt like I was going to burst. I pulled it out of her mouth and squeezed it, but it was too late. A stream of cum splashed against her cheek, causing her to yelp. Another one ricocheted off her chin, and a third actually went in her mouth. Of course, she spit it out immediately.

This wasn't part of my plan. I looked at the clock and barely ten minutes had passed. I already blew my load, though, and I was usually a one-and-done kind of guy. I decided to change the game plan. I dragged the head of my cock through some of the cum on her cheek and placed it to her lips.

"I didn't say you could close your mouth," I noted. She opened it immediately, and I shoved my entire cock in her mouth. "You see?" I said. "It doesn't taste so bad."

I played around with her mouth a little longer while she continued to bob up and down on top of her vibrator. I love when she keeps sucking my cock after I've finished, but it's something she hadn't done in a long, long time. I could've kept it going for another forty five minutes, but there were other things I wanted to do with her. Who knows when I'd ever get such an opportunity ever again?

"I'm done with using your mouth," I said, "for now, at least. I think I'll leave you with cum all over your face. That's how a slut should look, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Sir," she said, opening her mouth again.

"You can close your mouth now, slut. Now let's see...which body part should I abuse next?" I knew damn well, of course.

I moved behind her and secured her wrists to her ankles using the clips, forcing her to lean backward. I grabbed the Magic Wand and applied it directly to her clit, causing her to moan loudly. I pulled it away just as I sensed she was about to orgasm.

"Nuh-uh-uh," I scolded. "Remember, you don't get to cum unless I give you permission."

She fidgeted in her uncomfortable position while I took out my "bag of tricks" that I had hidden away in the back of our closet. I took out this thing that looked like a small paddle made of leather and smacked her across the tit with it. She yelped in pain, and I gently rubbed the redness away. I did the same for the other tit, and alternated smacking and rubbing for a while. It was a rare treat to be granted free access.

Now it was time for the ice water. I read about this on one of the online forums, and it sounded like a great idea. I took an ice cube and placed it on one of her nipples. She jerked away and yelped, but another smack with the paddle kept her in place. I rubbed the ice cube in tiny circles around the nipple, getting it nice and hard. Then I put my mouth on it and suckled it like a baby. The combination of cold ice and warm mouth was supposed to be really intense. Judging by her reaction, it was a winning combination.

I did the same to her other nipple. By the noises she was making, I actually thought she might have an orgasm just from playing with her nipples, so I paused for a moment. I reached into my Bag o' Fun and produced a couple of clothespins. Sheila likes to have her nipples squeezed, but I figured a clothespin would be a little too much, so I wrapped a couple of rubber bands around the end to ease the tension. I applied a clothespin to each nipple, and she made a bit of noise. I couldn't tell if she liked it or not, but I was enjoying the show.

I turned the vibrator on again, and barely grazed it along her clit. This drove her crazy. "Please," she begged. "Please, please, please." That earned another smack with the leather paddle.