Receipt

"Know your place now?"

Shattered nod of head; sweat-stained face turned to the side against the pillow. She could see him swallowing. The slightest pause as she looked at him; found she felt no contempt for him whatsoever; found the love was there as always, but in some way different between them. She found that her own desire was higher and more desperate than she could ever remember. She drove her hand hard into him, one single deep thrust that made him cry out.

"Know your place?"

"Yes."

Relax. Withdraw, almost all the way. Thrust. The most explosive groan yet, something far beyond the mere physical response.

"Know your place?"

"Yes. Mistress, yes!"

Better. That was a word she imagined she could get used to. She withdrew her hand as gently as she could, checked it guiltily and was vastly relieved there was no blood. Not absolutely clean though, that was a bit gross: need to work on that in the future ...

"Dick gone limp yet, or harder than ever?"

"Not sure ..."

"Don't play fucking games with me, slut. Do you want me to make you reach down and have a good feel to find out?"

"No, Mistress. Harder than before."

Sweet heavens, this dirty talk thing ... Just so decadent and nasty; and yes, dirty. Dirty in a good, earthy, strangely healthy way. We're having really hot fucking sex here, and we don't need to pretend it's polite and safe.

"Don't be coy, bitch; answer properly."

"Harder, Mistress; you make my cock harder when you're rough with my arse."

"Good, because you need to roll over for Mistress and stick that hard cock nicely up in the air for her to sit on."

He rolled onto his back, and she had to admit he did look very impressive standing tall for her pleasure. She had him put his hands up above his head, palms on the wall behind the bed; she dropped a pillow over his face to cover his eyes. She gripped his exposed throat with a proprietary right hand; lowered herself slowly and selfishly onto his straining organ; and began a very long and slow caress of her clitoris.

*****

Geoff and Laura -- Laura and Geoff, sometimes -- settled happily down to life together. They were not of The Scene, they did not visit clubs or even have an exotic taste in porn. The exact events of their wedding night might have caused raised eyebrows amongst some of their friends, but they did nothing to advertise their private-most shared things. Very discretely, they purchased a few toys online: always Laura's choice, but always she was considerate. Geoff's little hang-up might be worth the odd slightly cruel suggestive tease, but she had no desire to spoil the mood or be mean for real -- she studiously avoided 'anatomical', and stuck to weird shapes and bright colours. At length she asked, would he mind so very much ... She knew he had said ninety-five percent; would eighty be too much of an imposition? Nothing, as he pointed out, could ever be an imposition if it came from his Mistress. For the rest of the time, whatever the percentage turned out to be in the end, he was all the man she needed. When it came right down to it, she realised, she respected him more now than she had before she knew.

There was but one tiny quibble. Playing is fine and fun; 'playing' is exactly as amusing and entertaining as the word suggests. Sometimes playing is not enough; sometimes voluntary is not quite sufficient, from either side. The time came, Laura tried and in all honesty did not like it. Control, power, bad words and even a very convincing mutual pretence of anal rape; all these were things that made her heart quiver. She simply could not hit. Her reluctance was not because of him, not that she finally lost that respect for his masculinity when he let her beat him. She simply did not like what it did to her. Other things she could enjoy and accept, but that was too much for her. The enjoyment was too primal and intense; it made her feel guilty enough to spoil the sex. He loved her enough not to push, she loved him enough not to want his needs denied. They both knew the other things would be more rewarding with a credible threat to back them.

Laura remembered about the whipping house.

They didn't do dressing up or clubbing or orgies, their toy collection was responsibly small and they had never felt a need for restraints or similar accessories. For something that meant a great deal to both, they spent a surprisingly small amount on their 'hobby'. So when Laura eventually found a suitably classy and discrete disciplinary expert, they found that they could in fact easily afford the occasional appointment even at her eye-watering rates.

She was nervous the first time, naturally enough, but in the end she discovered that she was neither jealous nor insulted. She felt a little crueller that night than usual, but not in a bad or mean-spirited way -- it was simply such a turn-on to know she'd sent him out for a beating.

*****

She went straight indoors, pulled the kitchen blind down and made herself a quick cup of instant coffee while he went back and forth to the car for shopping bags. It was a special weekend: both had known for some time they would be able to leave work early, she had made plans. She sent him off to the last appointment of the afternoon while she busied round Sainsbury's, and now it was barely six in the evening with a two full days ahead of them for ... For whatever Mistress fancied until she got bored, that was the fundamental rule. There were others, of course; ones that he knew very well were on the verge of being recited once again.

The first was so obvious it didn't require reminder or explanation. He collected the last bag, locked the car, and as he shut the kitchen door behind him was already reaching for his zip.

She leant back on the worktop, holding her coffee cup and looking unimpressed.

"Hardly polyester suit material, is it?"

"Sorry Mistress."

"Should think so. Not offering serious competition to my dildo collection right now, are you? Do you have the faintest idea how absurd that thing looks flopping around with a condom hanging off the end like that?"

No answer required or expected to that question. He pottered about the kitchen with his penis out, putting the shopping away as the situation and her contemptuous gaze stiffened it once more. When he reached a suitable state she stopped him, readjusted the sheath and fitted the ring she carried in her pocket around the base. Wouldn't want accidents, as she put it. Then she went back to her coffee and he to the shopping. She unfolded the sheet of paper to read aloud.

"'Discipline per client's request: tawse to back of thighs and cane to buttocks. Additional two of the latter due to unauthorised noise under punishment, no extra charge. Payment received with thanks. NB: I feel it necessary to follow the rules in all cases in order to ensure complete discretion for my clients; I am afraid I cannot allow video recording unless I retain all copies. If audio would suit your needs, I think we may be able to come to some arrangement. Please get in touch to discuss. Pleasure doing business with you as always, V.' Oh well, unfortunate but apparently unavoidable. Don't want to do, doesn't mean I wouldn't find it interesting to watch."

He finished putting things away and knelt on the floor at her feet. She put down the coffee and folded her arms.

"Ready to play now, like a good little slave?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Excellent, rules recap then. If I want to take you out at all, I'll find something amusing and degrading to do to your cock inside your trousers, otherwise keep it on show for me every second. No pronouns out of your mouth: titles and names are acceptable, no 'I', no 'you'. Anything I tell you, when and exactly how I tell you. No arguments, no hesitation; and nothing without instruction. All understood?"

"Yes Mistress, slave understands."

"Good slave. I want complete; utter and absolute, sexual self-indulgence and pleasure for the next two days, slave. Bit of cruel, bit of power, considerably more than a bit of orgasm and satisfaction. That includes your mouth and your arse, obviously; it might include your cock, if you demonstrate you can compete with the more reliable implements round the house. Kiss my feet now."

He kissed the tip of each shoe. She kicked them off and he kissed each toe. He would happily have kissed them all evening, but she was in an impatient mood today.

"Enough of that. You know me by now, first is never the best for me; so let's get it out of the way so you can get down to serving me for real."

No 'foreplay', except of course that the whole afternoon had been nothing but. She had him strip and wait in the hall while she took her clothes off in the bedroom, and gave herself a slow preparatory rub. She called him through, had him climb on top of her and pulled him into her already wet cunt. Casual instruction, threats and insults; all in the dirtiest language imaginable. It made him harder even than he had been under the cane, but she seemed barely to notice his presence inside her. He kept his mouth closed and his hands to himself, he moved only in response to her hand on his hips pulling him in and out. She stroked herself with her hand between their bellies, and told him again that he wasn't doing enough to make it good for her. She told him to get out and off, to stop ruining her pleasure the way he always did. She pushed his head far down the bed. He licked her cunt as she toyed with herself; his head buried in the dismissive and contemptuous taste and smell of rubber and lubricant from his inadequate fucking. She pushed him away completely with her foot before she came.

After she came down from it, she had him climb onto the bed and kiss her: slowly and in detail, from soles to ears. She had him kiss her palms and her armpits; navel and hips and all those places that Geoff kissed as a lover for the other eighty percent of the time. She had him lick the taint of rubber from inside her, and told him that if his performance didn't improve she would find herself a real man and he could clean her out after that the same way. When he was quite done she spat on his face and rubbed it in with her hand. She gripped the base of his penis between thumb and forefinger, made him flinch and asked if he wanted to come yet. Yes please, Mistress; slave would like to come. Not today. Tomorrow perhaps, but more likely Sunday. Slave could perhaps come then for her amusement as she watched and laughed: with something far too big in his arse and the taste of her piss in his mouth, slave could just maybe come then.

After dinner she took him back to the bed and laid him on his belly with his legs wide. She pulled his arm behind him and made him apply the lubricant himself, and then she filled his body with shame and discomfort as she ground herself slowly but surely to orgasm against her harness.

Because, in the end, the man was wrong. It's the happy marriages that are all unique, and the unhappy ones that are tiresomely similar. So Geoff buried his face in the pillow and fought to control both the urge to cry out and to tell Laura how good she felt doing that; and Laura grabbed Geoff's shoulder and pulled him brutally back onto her thrusts because if she didn't do that she'd just have kissed him there instead. And both of them knew that the Sunday business was all big talk, because they'd be in each other's arms before dawn; but pretending was nice. And maybe after that cuddle they'd have another go at it tomorrow anyway.

But that was hours away yet. For the moment, there was only the moment. She pulled his head back by the hair, put her mouth down to his ear once more and they were both looking at the same thing as she moved in him.

All the happy ones are happy in their own particular way; especially the happy kinky ones. Perhaps for you it would be looking up and seeing yourselves in the mirror; or the camera you know is recording; or maybe that nice couple who come round so you can watch each other at play ...

For Geoff and Laura, it's the single sheet of paper pinned to the headboard.

"You need to try harder, slut. Give me more pleasure than this, or I'll send you back there for a real seeing-to."

*****

Geoff had been wrong about one thing. She didn't find him weird in the slightest, or at least she didn't find his weirdness a cause for contempt. She was, in her own way, more than a little strange and she didn't find it necessary to look down on many other foibles.

She sat back at her desk with a menthol cigarette in her long holder and a cup of tea at her elbow, and thought to herself how that receipt business was a stroke of something approaching genius.

She would dearly love to meet the real client, and she knew for certain she never would. Distance was the very point of the whole thing; the other woman did not want to meet her or know one thing about her. She knew just as surely that there were never questions at the other end: no 'what does she look like' or 'do you find her attractive'. Your husband goes for a haircut, do you ask him if the barber was sexy? Of course not, it's a straight-up business transaction.

Shame though, for all that, because she liked the way the woman thought. Someone like that would be interesting to meet. Yes indeed: both 'interesting' and 'meet' are euphemisms, reader dear, for exactly what you think they are.