The Confessional

My handbag fell unceremoniously to the ground. Just a moment later the door slammed shut with a resounding crash, whose dampened echo I could still hear reverberating down the cold, grey corridor for several seconds. Satisfying as it was, my selfish display of anger did little but alarm the cat and inform my husband that dinner wouldn't be fancy tonight. I thanked no one in particular that it was Friday and proceeded into the living room.

Instead of the usual mumblings of some technical TV show, I was greeted by silence. "Jacob?" I called, but my husband didn't respond. Our tabby Maine Coon wafted over to me and lazily rubbed up against my leg before flopping down on the carpet. Back in the hall, I realized Jacob's coat was missing on the rack.

"Oh, please, please bring home something to eat", I muttered. "Curry, fried chicken, hell, even sandwiches will do." My stomach gave an irritated grumble. In the kitchen, all that was available were two bright orange mandarins. I didn't even like mandarins all that much, because they never ceased to remind me of Christmas. I grabbed both of them without hesitation. Behind my eyes, pressure began to build up. I turned off the lights and dragged myself to the bathroom.

I was dozing in the bathtub, surrounded by the faint fragrance of discarded mandarin peels, when I heard the front door open and close softly. Moments later, Jacob's head appeared from behind the bathroom door. "Hello, Sweety," he greeted me.

"Mrm," was my reply. "Hey."

"I got your text. How are you feeling?"

"Like I want to fuck the world up. But at least I was able to persuade my headache to go away." Jacob looked relieved. I was touched: he was always so concerned for my well-being. And his own, I suspect, because I'm horrible company when I have one of my headaches. "I don't suppose you've picked up something to eat?"

A conspiratory smile told me he had. "Finish up in here and you'll get something. I'll bring you something to wear."

"You are a god!" I called after him and sunk beneath my vanilla-scented bubbles.

An hour later, my irritated frown had been inverted to a satisfied smile. Jacob chewed happily on the last remaining sake nigari. The calm and satisfaction evident on his face seeped into me, and soon I had almost forgotten all about the many little things that had ruined my mood at the office. For quite some time, we said nothing, sipping our wine and listening to music. As I began to feel light-headed, the conditioning started to kick in. Candlelight sushi, the musical backdrop taken care of by one of my favourite bands, my blue fuzzy bathrobe on freshly scrubbed skin... then I realized Jacob had been looking at me, smiling, for a while now. "Hm?" I inquired lazily.

"You have the look," he said. He meant the facial expression I always got when I had decided that I wanted to hit the sheets with anything but sleep in mind.

"Maybe I do," I replied and took another sip of wine.

"Maybe we should clean up and go to bed."

"Maybe that's a good idea," I agreed, smiling wider.

"After all, you've had a rough day."

"Don't even remind me." I stretched and started putting away the dishes.

About a quarter of an hour later, I was kneeling on the sheepskin rug in front of the bed. My eyes were closed and my hands were clasped around my forearms at my back. It was a ritual we'd adapted months ago. Every evening, I stayed in this position for at least five minutes, emptying my mind as much as possible, until my Master told me I could get up and go to bed. Either that, or...

"Princess?" A simple word that meant so much more than many might suspect. Whenever it escaped Jacob's lips, I felt energized, called upon. It was my name, my function and status, and now it was an inquiry.

I had two options. If I answered 'Beloved', I would slip between the sheets with Jacob. He would hold me in his arms until sleep enveloped us both in comforting darkness. It was an option I rarely made use of, but now I hesitated. I had barely escaped a migraine, I was exhausted, and I really rather fancied the idea of complaining myself to sleep in the comforting embrace of my husband.

He was standing somewhere behind me, I could sense him nearby. I could feel expectation emanating from him. Scenes from last Sunday night flooded my mind, accompanied by a smile. "Yes, Sir," I said.

"Stand before me."

When I complied, he slid the bathrobe from my shoulders. Cold air met my skin. I tried my hardest not to shiver. As he had instructed me to, I kept my arms behind my back and my eyes lowered.

"When was your last confession?" he asked.

"It's been a while." Over a month, surely. It used to be a weekly ritual before life got in the way.

"High time then." My Master took a small golden key from a drawer and unlocked the cabinet next to the dresser. From there, he retrieved an elegantly fashioned leather collar. Along the edges, it was engraved with a pattern resembling celtic knotwork, and at the front it was adorned with a single silver ring. Motionless, I waited for him to fix it around my neck. As soon as it was fastened, I felt part of my brain switch off, and another awaken. None of the everyday madness had any power over me anymore. Only he did. A silver chain connected my collar with my Master's hand. A quick tug was my signal to begin.

I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. I took a deep breath before I began. "Confiteor, Domine, mea culpa." Recollections drifted through my mind. Of course there'd been transgressions – two of which I really had hoped might stay unnoticed. But now there was no going back. "During the last three weeks, I've ignored my diet at work. I've been eating cake and drinking coffee with whipped cream." Saying that, I became uncomfortably aware of the extra pounds I'd been meaning to shed. Those extra thirty pounds that doctors had told me I'd be better off without for years now. The mound of my belly mocked me with every breath.

"Then you'll burn them off", my Master said with a wave of his hand. "Starting tomorrow morning, 15 minutes of yoga after waking up. Naked. So I can see you."

"Yes, Sir." I hated getting up for gymnastics, and I cursed every drop of cream for this.

"What else?"

I suppressed a sigh. There was no point in stalling, no point in avoiding the inevitable. "I touched myself without permission."

My eyes were fixed on the carpet, but I heard the smirk in my Master's voice. "How many times?"

Like a scolded child, I muttered, "Five."

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my face toward his. "Five times? Either you're insatiable or I don't fuck you enough."

I squirmed. Already I felt myself getting wetter.

"Which is it, Princess? Don't I hit your greedy little slit often enough?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, I –"

"I asked you a question."

But how do you answer a question like that? "I ..." Hot pain in my nipple forced the words out. "Ow, my thirsty pussy wants to be fu– ah! You don't fuck me enough, Sir!" The pain stopped, leaving a red light behind, which rapidly expanded through my bloodstream. Absentmindedly, I noticed I could smell my scent in the air.

"You've always been insatiable. That's why I keep you around. You're like a dog, Princess. Always begging to please, always wanting to get nailed." He walked behind me, holding the silver chain like a leash. "Go on then, be my dog."

Slowly, the heat in my face rising, I leaned forward and raised my backside. I felt my Master's coarse fingers trail over my slit. "Who's a hungry little bitch? Who wants to be decked by a big, horny wolfhound, hm?"

As my cheeks continued to burn, I felt his breath in cold waves on my pussy. He trailed his tongue over clit and opening with evident pleasure, forcing me to gasp. Two sharp slaps to my backside set a contrast to the tenderness. "Sit."

When he returned to stand in front of me, I saw his erection bulging in his trousers. How I wanted to feel his hot cock between my lips! As if he'd heard my thought, he pulled his cock out and held it in proudly front of my face. A thick drop of moisture glistened at the tip like a dew drop on a leaf.

"Please may I suck your cock, Sir?"

"Are you done with your confession?"

"No, Sir."

With a disappointed sigh, he returned his cock to its confinement. "Continue, then."

I hesitated. This was the moment I'd been dreading. "I... had a dream. About him."

"Him?"

"Christopher, Sir." Christopher was a mutual friend of ours. We'd been at a few concerts and together, and met him and his wife for drinks at irregular intervals. Years ago I'd already admitted to Jacob that I found him attractive. It wasn't damaging to our relationship in the least. But my Master was a jealous one.

Many heavy seconds passed before my Master knelt in front of me and put his thumb under my chin. We made eye contact that was so rare in these encounters. I felt like I was put up against a wall. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"It was a dream, I'd completely forgotten –"

"You were supposed to write these dreams down in your journal. I saw no mention of this in it."

"Sir, please, I'm sorry –"

"Oh, you will be." My Master stood up. I could feel every heartbeat in my clit, my breath unsteadily.

"Tell me your dream."

I must have turned three shades paler. My Master jerked the chain and growled, "If you don't start talking right now, I'm going to beat every word out of you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir." My mouth and throat felt dry. All of the moisture in my body seemed to have relocated south. "I was alone at home, here, and Christopher stopped by. He started to kiss me, then we were naked, and we... we had sex."

My Master turned away from me, only to return a moment later with a bamboo cane. My pussy twitched at the sight of it in the hands of my husband, bare chested, visibly burning with desire. "You had better give me the details," he said.

"He came into the house... without a word, he started taking off my clothes." I shook my head in spite of myself, unable to shake the embarrassment. "He played with my tits, he put his hand in my panties..."

"You liked it, didn't you."

"I did." I took another deep breath. "Then he –"

"Use his name."

"Oh god," I muttered. "Christopher... opened my legs and pushed his penis inside of me."

"How did it feel?"

I thought I'd die of shame! "It felt good. He was huge and filled me to the brim."

"You're getting wet right now, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

My Master clicked his tongue and shook his head. "You're getting wet in front of me, thinking about someone else fucking you."

Genuine remorse coursed through me. Tears swelled my eyes. "Sir, I'm sorry, I –"

A stinging slap silenced me, and the tears rolled down my cheeks freely.

"Not another word out of you until I say so, bitch. Lean over the bed."

I knew what was next. Part of me rejoiced, the other part recoiled. Before I had much more opportunity to anticipate what would come next, the cane came down hard on my skin. I cried aloud. My backside was subjected to the hardest beating it had had in months. I wept, I screamed, I begged for mercy. "Not a word!" My Master reminded me before stuffing a sock into my mouth. My skin was burning, my pussy throbbing, and when my Master finally stopped, he touched my soaking lips with his fingers.

"You're dripping," he said in a way that made it sound distasteful. "Look." He drove two fingers inside. Hot liquid rolled down my thigh. With a steady, slow rhythm he fingered me. My muscles twitched and my voice sang for him. Every now and then, a sharp slap to my bruised backside made me yelp.

"I'm your Master," he said.

"You are my Master," I repeated between moans.

"Will you behave?"

"Yes, Sir, I will."

He brought his fingers to my mouth and let me suck my juices off. "Good girl," he whispered. A tingling wave of pleasure washed over me.

"Will you do everything I tell you to?"

"Yes, Sir, anything."

"Good." He stroked my hair lovingly. "I am going to fuck you now. I want you to come. I want you to come so hard that you won't remember your last name." His hands trailed over my back to my arse. Every bit of me was burning for him to touch me.

"Yes, Sir, please, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to call Christopher's name."

"What?!" I thought my heart had stopped beating. Shout my "secret" crush's name at my Master – my husband – during sex? There were so many good reasons why that was a bad idea!

With a metallic ring of the chain, he jerked my collar, choking me. "Are you questioning me?"

"No, Sir," was my hoarse, defeated response.

"After all," he said, as he pulled me into position at the edge of the bed. "You said yourself that I don't fuck you enough. Now... sing for me."

At this point my pussy was already so wet that his cock slipped in without even trying. At the beginning, my moans remained wordless. But my Master wouldn't have any of that. "What did I tell you?"

"Mas... Christopher..." My voice was swallowed by the pillows.

"Tell me his name."

"Christopher," I answered, a bit louder. My Master's thrusting stopped. He rolled me onto my back and straddled my shoulders, holding his cock in front of my mouth like a weapon.

"I will get what I want from you, if I have to make you bleed." With that, he pushed his length into my throat. He groaned as I choked. He allowed me to breathe, then choked me again. His taste filled my mouth entirely, invaded my breath. I spread my legs pornographically wide, and in my mind, only a little against my will, Christopher joined us and fucked my hungry slit. I almost came as my Master fucked my mouth. Then he retreated. "Let's try that again. Who do you want to be fucked by?"

My chin and cheeks were sticky from saliva and precum. I licked the drops of my Master's taste from my lips and thought of Christopher – I thought of his ice blue eyes, his long, ash blonde hair, I thought of the muscles he must have from his jujitsu training. "Christopher," I heard myself whisper.

"Now get on your hands and knees like the horny bitch you are." With the leash tight in his grasp, my Master mounted me. "Speak!"

With closed eyes, I saw Christopher's hands trailing over my skin. I saw his brow furrowed in ecstasy. I saw his testes slapping against my clit with every thrust. I called his name. "Christopher!"

"Again!"

"Christopher!" The treacherous name echoed off of the walls a I came.

"You're a damned whore – you're a fucking cumbucket! You're good for nothing but using and discarding!" My Master drew red lines into my skin with his nails. I cried out, lost somewhere in another place. "Let me hear his name, Princess."

"Christopher..." Ecstasy held back by shame... my dirty little secret, exploited by the man who technically should never know of it.

"I'm going to come," I heard my Master's voice.

"Please, Master, fill me with your glorious cum..."

He slapped my arse hard. "Not 'Master', mongrel!"

He drove his cock into me as hard as he could, slamming his hips into mine as if he wanted to tear me apart. I myself was hardly coherent, as the pressure rose inside once more. My thighs were covered in sticky liquid, my skin was damp with sweat. Another stinging hit on my behind brought me back to my senses, though only temporarily. My Master shoved a finger into my quivering arsehole, and I screamed. "Master," was the only intelligible word my lips would form. My Master's cock was twitching wildly inside of me, filling me, spilling out and over my legs.

When the spasms subsided, he rolled next to me onto the mattress. I let myself fall, enjoying the sensation of his cum leaking out of my pussy. Several minutes passed in hypnotised silence. Then he said, "You defied me in the end." There was no trace of malice in his voice anymore.

"Sorry." My dreamy smile made the word sound insincere.

Without saying another word, he scooped his drying cum from my slit and spread it on my face. I closed my eyes and accepted it like a benediction. When he was done, he stroked my breasts and hips. "You're sleeping like that tonight," he said. "On the rug."

A wide smile came over my face. "Thank you, Sir."