The Making of an Obedient Wife

Derek could already smell the smoke, and they weren't even at the front door yet. At the time, he couldn't exactly identify the smell, but he knew something was wrong. Carol, sensing her husband tensing up beside her, walked dreamily up the path and fumbled for her keys in her purse, but Derek swept past her and unlocked the door himself.

Tendrils of acrid black smoke wisped across the foyer of their small suburban house. Derek stood motionless in the doorway for a moment, surveying the situation. The smoke was thicker toward the general direction of the kitchen in the next room to his right. Carol trickled in behind him just as he set off for the kitchen. She was already starting to sob.

Squinting and holding his breath, Derek waved his way through his smoky dining room, walking slowly until he felt the tile floor of the kitchen underfoot. Opening his eyes a little wider, the problem was quickly diagnosed: The stove was still on. The large black cast iron pan on the front right burner — the big one — was belching up and endless river of smoke. Derek coughed and stumbled toward the range. He flicked off the burner, then ran to all of the windows and the back door and yanked them open.

He was waving a dish towel to help ventilate when Carol ambled in, eyes tightly shut and using her hand to blindly grope along the wall for direction. Derek turned to her and watched her open her eyes, register the still-smoking cast iron pan and turn to him in shock and apprehension.

Derek loved Carol. They had been married going on three years after dating for three more, and in all that time, there were only a few moments of real regret. Mostly, he was happy with their little life in California. Not too far from the big cities, but not too close either. She was beautiful, that certainly hadn't changed, with a wave of blond hair and a womanly figure she doggedly maintained. She was caring and sweet, and she adored Derek. Her major failing was a lack of common sense, bordering on idle thoughtlessness.

A few months ago, they had gotten into a large fight after she several times forgot to apply the parking brake to his car — he still liked using a manual transmission whenever he could find it — and it had rolled out down the shallow incline of the driveway and into traffic. Thinking about how lucky they were to avoid hitting another car all three times it had happened still made the breath catch in Derek's throat. Forgetting to use the brake once, fine, but two more times? It seemed almost willful to him.

Then there was the time right after they were married when she left her keys hanging in the front door when they went out for dinner. Right in the front door! When they returned, he had searched the house thoroughly to make sure nothing was taken while she sobbed on the couch and apologized profusely.

Sure, she hadn't had a job in years, but he made enough for to keep the two of them comfortable and stable, and despite his generally progressive outlook on the world, deep in his heart he still had a pretty traditional view of how marriage should work. He liked to think of his pretty little wife safe at home, maintaining an oasis for him to return to after toiling away in the evil old world.

But Derek didn't feel any of that complacent content in this moment. That home-life balance was thrown off when she couldn't uphold her end of the bargain, like when, for example, she almost burned the damn place down.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Derek asked. He wasn't fully yelling, but his voice had an edge to it that Carol had rarely heard. An edge that meant Carol, you really fucked up this time. "How many fucking times have I told you to double check that the stove's off before you leave?"

Carol stood silently, like a child awaiting her just desserts after misbehaving. She had been the last one in the house today, no doubts there. She remembered using the pan to cook lunch before going out to meet Derek, who was leaving work an hour early to take her to the movies. She remembered washing the pan — just like Derek taught her: no soap, just get the sticky bits off — and putting it over the burner to dry so it wouldn't rust. She remembered going to the bathroom to brush her teeth, pee and check her makeup one last time, then grabbing her keys, locking the front door behind her — NOT forgetting to take them out of the lock. She'd had nightmares about that for months. She remembered sliding into the 2019 Honda Accord Derek had leased for her last year. She didn't remember turning off the stove.

"How many fucking times," Derek repeated. "It's got to be once a week. You wander into the other room without a fucking care in the world. What will it take to stick in your goddamn head? Jesus."

He didn't intend to be so harsh — in fact, he already could see himself apologizing in 15 minutes or a half an hour when tempers had cooled — but goddamnit, he really did have to remind her all the time to turn off the burner when they dried the cast iron after using it. It really shouldn't be this hard for a grown woman to figure this out.

"I'm sorry Derek. I'm so —" Carol said softly.

"No, it really shouldn't be this hard for a grown woman" he cut in, answering his unspoken thought instead of his wife. The edge in his voice wasn't as sharp, but it was still in there. He looked at her standing meekly in the corner and realized that the magnitude of her mistake was not lost on her. He didn't have to lay into her that much more. Still, it was important that this lesson finally be learned and for good, and he was pretty worked up.

"Look Carol, I can't go to work and feel unsure about you handling basic tasks around the house. You could have burned the house down. It's lucky we didn't stop for ice cream or gas."

"I know honey. I really am sorry," she said, regaining some of her composure. The thought of the house burning down was horrifying. She pictured her mom's old photo albums in the bedroom closet going up in flames, the dry old paper crackling as the roof collapsed above it. That such a tragedy would be purely her fault would be too much to bear.

She used the edges of each index finger to carefully wipe tears from her eyelids without smearing her makeup. "You're completely right. You do tell me to turn the stove off all the time. I can't believe I did that again and then left the house." Saying it out loud, it sounded so silly, a child's mistake.

But the smoke between them was starting to clear, and Derek felt his temper begin to drift away. He shook his head and sighed. As Carol made for the sink to wash her hands and dab her eyes, Derek's eyes wandered up the kitchen wall, registering the kitschy Coca-Cola-branded clock Carol had bought at a neighborhood garage sale, the framed poster of an exhibit from a never-visited art museum, the smoke detector, the hook for Carol's apron —

"Why the fuck didn't the smoke detector go off," he asked quietly. "It should have been going nuts when we got home."

Carol froze one step away from the sink. She pivoted slowly, as one who knows something terrifying is lurking just out of sight. She saw the smoke detector. The little red light was indeed dead.

Time stopped for Carol as Derek walked over and removed the plastic disc from its setting. He flipped it over in his hands and popped open the battery port. Carol closed her eyes, wishing for 10 minutes ago, when they were in the car driving home from a date and none of this was possible.

"Carol, what the fuck!" Exasperation sharpened his words into guillotines. "You know I told you to change this. It was three weeks ago, but I remember — Look at me!"

Carol wrenched open her eyes. Derek held the treasonous smoke detector out like a burning torch.

"The fucking low battery alarm was going off. I was watching TV and you were coming downstairs. You said I didn't need to get up, that you would handle it yourself. So what, did you just forget to put new batteries in, or did you decide that you didn't need to?"

Carol opened her mouth, searching for something to say, her tongue heavy and useless between her teeth. Derek was right. It was her fault, and it was inexcusable. She hung her head, her large breasts rising and falling as new sobs wracked her chest.

Derek watched his wife weep a silent guilty plea, and he put the smoke detector down on the table. A thought had suddenly occurred to him. A plan, actually. For the first time since getting out of the car, his face relaxed and a grin ghosted his lips. Then he made his expression neutral and said calmly: "Carol, get on your knees."

Not what she expected to hear. She looked up, lost, but made no movements.

"Carol, get on your knees. Right here. Now. Don't make me tell you again."

With no idea what was happening, she complied. She looked at Derek questioningly. He stepped forward, coming close but not touching until he loomed above her and she could barely crane her neck back far enough to see his face. He stared ahead, not looking at her. He spoke again, his voice even but firm as a hammer.

"I'm going to make some changes around here." He paused just long enough for her to wonder what that could possibly mean before he continued in that eerie flat tone. "Would you agree that I have been understanding about your empty-headed mistakes in the past?"

Carol gulped. This was so unlike Derek, this detached coldness. He was usually a warm and empathetic person, and he did forgive her readily — maybe after a short outburst of bad temper — when she left the back door unlocked or went to bed with the sink running. Realizing she had answered his question in her head but not out loud, she said a quiet "Yes."

"And would you agree, based on the last five minutes alone, that that approach has not been productive?"

Carol wanted to disagree, but she knew he was right. A few of his admonitions had penetrated, but overall she simply hadn't put in the effort to change her ways.

"Yes."

"Good. So here's what I've decided we're going to do: From now on, you're going to do what I say, when I say it. No delays. No 'I'll get to that later.' No arguing. No questions."

Derek paused to let the new instructions sink in. His wife knelt beside him, her breath still ragged from crying.

"From now on, what I say goes. I tell you to wash the dishes, you stop what you're doing and wash them. I tell you to stand on your head, you kneel down and plant your hands on the floor. Does that sound fair?"

Carol's instinct was to resist: What the hell was Derek smoking? She was a grown woman; she didn't need a father figure guiding her through life. Then she remembered the image of burning photo albums. Memories lost forever (she hadn't gotten around to digitizing the photos, despite Derek advising her to do so), faces and moments suddenly just a crumble of ash. And it was all her fault her fault. She suddenly felt a strong need to pee.

"Yes."

"Good. And you know why it has to be this way, right? Because I know best."

Carol was silent.

"Say it."

"Because you know best."

The sense of control sent adrenaline coursing through Derek's body. Their sex life was active but vanilla, and he was surprised to feel the crotch of his jeans tighten as his cock began to stiffen. The feeling was addictive, a spear of fire rising inside his chest that he wanted to feed with the oxygen of dominance.

He looked down at Carol with a predatory glare, but the flame fizzled a little when he saw his wife's tear-stained face peering back at him. His sweet wife. Maybe a little empty-headed, but always devoted. Above it all, he loved her and didn't want to cause her pain. But the acrid smell of smoke was still potent in the kitchen, reminding him that he couldn't let her off easy now.

"Look honey, I'm not going to be a slave driver or anything. But we're going to try this for a while and see if it helps us. Do as I say, and we'll get back to normal."

Carol leaned her head against his leg, and he felt rather than saw her nod. Resisting the urge to tell her to open his fly and fish out his stiffening cock, he ran his hand through her thick blonde hair.

"Good. Now get up, go upstairs and wash your face, then come down and make me a drink."

Carol quickly rose and hurried toward the kitchen doorway. She had one foot in the living room when she turned around.

"Thank you."

It was Derek's turn to nod. He watched her ass as she left and heard her footsteps overhead as she entered the master bathroom. Sighing again, he went to a drawer at the end of the kitchen counter and took out a brand new 9-volt battery.

They made love later that night. At one point, Derek grabbed a fistful of Carol's hair as he pounded her from behind. Surprised, aroused and a little scared, she moaned as he thrust his full length into her again and again. He yanked her head back as far as it would go as he emptied himself.

The next morning, Derek woke up to an empty space next to him in the bed and bright rafts of sunlight poking through the blinds. He smelled coffee from downstairs and smiled. A good start to their new dynamic, not to mention a Saturday with no plans. He sat up, swung his legs off the side of the bed and stretched. His boxers were still on the floor. He stood up, letting his cock hang free for a moment before pulling them on, then grabbed a pair of gym shorts.

Carol was at the stove when Derek entered the kitchen. He heard the sound of frying eggs as he sidled up behind her and slid his hand down the back of her shorts. His fingers glided down her tight, round ass cheek and got dangerously close to the wetness between her legs.

"Mmmmm." Carol laid her head back and wiggled her ass against him. "I heard you moving around up there so I started the eggs."

"Good girl." Derek withdrew his hand and rubbed his cock against her ass through his shorts as he moved to grab a mug out of the cupboard. Sitting at the table sipping his coffee, he watched Carol flip the eggs and plate them next to two pieces of toast and some slices of avocado. She walked the plate over to the table smiling slyly.

"Thanks babe," Derek said and picked up his fork and knife. "Get me some hot sauce."

Carol slid the plate onto the table and fetched some Frank's Red Hot from the fridge. She handed Derek the bottle and pulled the chair out across from him.

Derek had resolved on his way downstairs to test her. To see if his instructions from last night had been forgotten like so many running faucets. As soon as her ass hit the seat, he said, "Go wash the dishes."

The beginnings of a pout creased Carol's smile, and she looked at him with hurt in her eyes. She made no movement. Derek looked back at her calmly.

"Go," he said, nodding to the sink. "Now."

Carol slowly rose and moved toward the sink while giving him with a strange look. She picked up the sponge from its caddy next to the faucet and pumped soap into it in slow motion. Fork and knife scraped the plate behind her. She was still working on the pan when Derek slid the plate and silverware into the sink a few minutes later. He reached across her body and turned off the faucet.

"Get on your knees."

She turned to him, confused. Where was the smiling man who hugged her at the stove just minutes before? What had she done to upset him? He didn't seem angry; in fact his expression was neutral and unconcerned, but she could perceive a hardness behind the cool blue eyes that she didn't want to test. The image of burning photo albums again swam into her mind, and her eyes widened in imagined panic. She wiped her soapy hands on a nearby dish towel and sank to her knees, right there in front of the sink.

Derek towered above her, again standing very close. His groin was right in front of her face, and she could smell the lingering scent of her juices from the night before behind the thin fabric of the gym shorts. After years of consistency and routines in their relationship, this was frighteningly new and different, and her stomach was fluttering with nerves. At the same time, she felt that particular warmth surge in the area behind her sex. The feeling of being controlled, of being owned — she couldn't properly perceive it last night because she was so upset, but now ... her insides were reacting in curious ways.

"There's only one way this is going to work," Derek said, shaking her from her inner thoughts. "You do what I say when I say it. I said this last night, but I guess I need to say it again. Don't make me say it a third time: No delays, no hesitations, no questions. I speak, you obey. Do you understand?"

Carol nodded, her scared eyes locked with his commanding gaze. She hadn't been spoken to this way since she was a little girl and her father caught her playing with herself in the pool on vacation. She couldn't explain it, but the patronizing and domineering tone was worming its way down to her cunt. She was still nervous about Derek's strange mood, but she could feel wetness on her underwear against her skin.

"You obey me, we won't have any problems," he said. "We can be as happy and loving as we always have been. Probably happier, actually. There's just that one change: You do as you're told."

She nodded again, unconscious of her legs rubbing against one another in her kneeling position.

"Who is in charge of this house?" he prompted.

"You are" came out shakily, and she had to clear her throat.

"And why is that?"

"Because you know best" was a little more confident.

"You're goddamn right," he said.

"Yes, Sir," she said. She hadn't intended to call him that, it just seemed the natural way to respond. From the way Derek's cock writhed in his pants in front of her, she could tell he approved. Indeed, he stroked her hair soothingly.

"Good girl, I like that. From now on, address me that way."

"I will, Sir. Thank you for explaining, Sir." It felt somehow both safe and incredibly naughty to lean into this submission. Derek's cock was straining against the shorts in front of her, and she realized her mouth was watering.

Derek saw his wife squirming beneath him and it dawned on him that she was as turned on by submitting to him as he was by dominating her. With the hand he was using to stroke her, he reached into her hair and pulled her head back. He saw a startled look cross her features before he shoved her face fully against the hardness in his shorts. He ground her eyes, nose and mouth against his sheathed cock and balls.

He said nothing while he forced her into him. When after a long moment he released her and she fell away, he saw that his silent dominance had gotten his message across clearly. She sat back on her ass on the kitchen floor and looked up at him with a mixture of fear, arousal and humiliation. He looked back, clearly expecting her to say something.

Hair all over her body stood on end and anxiety twisted her stomach as she frantically searched her mind for the right answer. Then suddenly it hit her. It was so obvious. Her body relaxed.

"You know best, Sir."

Derek nodded. "Now get up and finish these dishes. Don't forget to turn off the stove when you're drying the pan. Then go upstairs and get dressed and go to the grocery store. I'll text you a list. We're going to have a nice dinner tonight, just you and me."

Derek took her hand and helped her up. When she was on her feet, he slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss. He inhaled her familiar smell and love swelled in his heart. He really was doing what was best for her and for their marriage. And if he got his rocks off on dominating her, what's the harm in that? Hell, she seemed to like it too. She kissed him back with equal passion, rubbing her breasts up against him. It was hard to resist the urge to bend her over the table and fuck her right there, but something inside him told him the time for that had not yet come.