Tuesday Ch. 02

Morning comes like it always does. There are things to be done, lunch to be packed, chores to be attended to. The world waits for no man or woman, even if she was harshly used by two cruel men the evening before.

You drag yourself out of bed and begin your day. Your sole acknowledgment to your unrelenting fatigue is a large cup of coffee that you pound back quickly.

Your husband dresses, has his morning meal and grabs his lunch and heads out the door. A gentle peck on your cheek serves as his good bye to you and you watch him get in the car and hustle off to work.

You plunk down into a chair in the kitchen and flop your face down into your arms on the table. Being with Padraic is everything you hoped it could possibly be, but you feel like you ran a marathon last night and there's no reasonable explanation you can give your husband for curling up into a ball right there on the kitchen floor and going back to sleep.

Also you have stuff to do. The house needs to be cleaned and organized, you have actual work from work to take care of and you don't have time for this.

That sounds great, but as you castigate yourself you actually doze off facedown on the kitchen table for a while.

You stumble into a murky dream while your body rests. You're back in his apartment, bound and naked and he's standing over you. Other men you don't recognize sit around on the couch and watch. The cameras spin and track your naked form as you squirm on the floor.

Padraic leans over you. He taps an evil looking lash against his leg.

'Where do you want it girl?' He asks you in a low growl.

Without hesitation, you lean back and spread your legs wide. Your pelvis thrusts up and you can feel yourself flowering open.

He smiles at you, a tiny smile on his face telling you that he expected that. He flicks the lash loose and it cracks loudly. The men on the couch lean forward. All of them await the explosion of screaming and pain and tears that are imminent.

You're waiting for them too.

BANGBANGBANG! You jolt awake and shove your coffee cup away. It slips off the table and crashes to the floor. Jagged little shards scatter across the hard tile.

You look around in confusion, shaken by your abrupt return to consciousness. Abruptly you hear the loud clamouring again and your brain finally connects the sound to the cause and you realize that someone is loudly banging on your front door.

Your feet carry you gracelessly to the door as you still feel half asleep. When you slide the door open and look out, a brown uniformed delivery driver does a double take and then apologizes for disturbing you.

You sign for the package and then close the door and only once you return to the table do you realize that you completed that entire transaction in your tiny, translucent white silk nightie.

You mull that for a second, sigh, and then decide that you're liable to get packages delivered to your address with more alacrity now. You don't even get a chance to laugh at your little joke before you step on a sharp piece of broken coffee cup and shriek loudly.

The package is flung from your hand as you hop on one foot and try to land on the chair a few feet away. You don't quite make the comfortable chair and crash to the ground buttocks first.

On top of two more jagged shards of coffee cup.

The neighbours down the block hear you shriek when it happens.

You manage to dig the sharp piece out of your foot and the large piece out of your thigh, but the piece lodged in your buttock eludes you. It's lodged deep in your skin and it hurts to pluck at it.

After about twenty minutes with a pair of tweezers and a mirror you finally give up and accept that you may need help getting this sliver of ceramic out of your behind. You contemplate going to the hospital and groan, because the last thing you need is another hospital bill.

You're about to give up in frustration when you realize that your husband doesn't work that far away and you could call him for help.

You limp quickly to the bedroom and dig your cell phone out of your purse and make a pleading call. He listens to you, laughs pretty hard and then tells you he'll come home from lunch and help you out.

You thank him and then he hangs up.

You groan, limp back to the kitchen and proceed to clean up the shattered pieces of coffee cup before you do any more damage to yourself. Once the floor is cleaned up, you sit down gingerly on one of the chairs. You try to balance on one cheek and squirm around a little but finally give up and then stand up again.

It's interesting that you've done more damage to yourself with a coffee cup in a few seconds than Padraic did to you last night. He didn't even leave one welt on you.

You know why that is. He has no interest in leaving you with any marks that you would find hard to explain to your husband. You appreciate that and feel sad about it at the same time. An experience that intense should have some kind of aftermath you could at least savour a little.

You mull that as you start tidying up your home. There are toys to be picked up and some dishes to wash and a couple of loads of laundry to take care of. You spy the package over in the corner of the kitchen where it landed after you flung it away.

You pick it up cautiously, afraid that you may have broken whatever it was. It doesn't rattle or clink when you do so, which is a good sign. The label on the package addresses itself to your husband, and you feel relieved that it clearly isn't fragile. You place it on the counter where he'll obviously see it.

Idly, you wonder what it is. Neither of you get a lot of packages.

You stand there numbly for a few minutes and then drag yourself out of this odd little fugue state you've drifted into. You don't feel sick or off or upset, you actually feel great. You feel sated for the first time in... well... forever really. And that, coupled with a severe lack of sleep, seems to be throwing you off.

What exactly are you supposed to do the day after you got *exactly* what you were looking for? You half want to tear off your clothes and dance on the table. The other half of you wants to crawl back into bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

He took you right to your limit. Exactly like he said he would. And when you'd gone as far as you could handle he let you dangle for a while and then reeled you back in.

You can't sleep, and you're too tired to dance on the table, so you wander back to your bedroom and go directly to your dresser. You slip you undergarments aside and pull out the velvet bag you slipped in the drawer last night. You loosen the drawstrings and slip the soft strip of leather out of the plush little container and hold it in your hand.

The collar is soft and worn and cool in your hand. You slide it between your fingers and the little silver tag jingles quietly.

This is Tuesday's collar.

And once a week, for three or four hours at a time, you get to be Tuesday.

You slip it around your neck and slip the buckle in place. It fits well, like it was made for you.

Or maybe you were made for it.

Whatever, it feels right.

You edge backwards until you feel the bed against your calves and thighs and you sit gently down. Your heart rate picks up a bit as you run your fingers over the little silver nameplate and the little scrap of metal clinks in response.

It wasn't a dream or a fantasy or something you imagined. You found a man that could and would smash through your façade of normal, everyday completely average housewife and he pulled your true self out. You were laid naked and exposed in front of him physically and mentally and then he did things to you.

Oh... the things he did to you.

You want to lie back in the bed and pleasure yourself as you remember last night, but it's not allowed.

And you're happy about that. He controls when you feel pleasure and as far as you are concerned, that is how it should be.

Seven days seems like a long time to wait to see him again, to be Tuesday again.

But it feels like you waited your whole life for last night, so you can wait a measly week to be with him again.

You could probably wear it all day; it would calm you and chase away any lingering doubts. But it would raise questions that you don't have answers for.

Reluctantly, you slip the latch and slide it off your neck. It's stowed safely in the velvet bag and back in your underwear drawer moments later.

You slip the drawer shut quietly.

Seven days seems like a long time, but he was right. The collar helps you focus and let's you stay on control. It keeps you from flitting around desperately and let's you be here now. It let's you focus on being Arianna.

You take a deep breath; hold it for a moment and then exhale.

Tuesday will have to wait. You need to be Arianna now.

Your husband slips home at lunch like he promised and you greet him with a peck on the cheek and a grateful smile. He follows you into the bedroom with a pair of tweezers and a band aid. You play a quick game of medic and patient, which consists of him carefully digging into the little hole in your skin with the tweezers and then extracting a surprisingly large shard of ceramic while you yowl into the pillow.

'Oh WOW that hurt.' You groan into the pillow.

'Sorry sweetie. I tried to be gentle!' He apologizes to you sincerely.

'It's fine baby, thank you for taking care of that.' You roll over onto your side, willingly giving him a glimpse of your body.

You'd worked all morning in your nightie and didn't see any reason to take it off or to put on underwear that you'd leave a bloodstain in. As a result, you lay there next to your husband naked from the waist down in short nightie.

He smiles at you. You smile back. He really is an adorable guy.

His fingers pluck out the band aid from the paper sheath and he carefully applies it to your skin. You get a flush of goose bumps as he touches you in this quasi intimate manner. His hand stays on your behind and caresses you for a moment.

You look up at him with a cocked eyebrow, and he gives you the 'look'.

Instantly, the rules spring to mind. Your husband is to be served, whenever he wants you. That isn't really a problem, or at least it's less of a problem than it was before. After last night you no longer feel like you're in heat, and you're pretty sure you can deal with any need of his without having to break the other rule.

'Hey sailor.' You tease him.

'Hey wife. Do you think we could...?'

You just sit up and slip the nightgown over your head and lay it on the pillow. You turn your head and look at him coyly.

He smiles and starts to undress as quickly as he can. His slacks and shirt are cast off and within a few minutes he's on top of you and kissing your lips and neck. He's already erect, and you help him slip out of his underwear and inside you.

He's quick and needy and while it's pleasant, you're in no danger of breaking any rule.

And as he lies on top of you and pants and gasps, you just kiss him gently on the lips. It doesn't matter that he's not a sexual machine or a sadistic bastard. He loves you and he married you and you're glad to just make him happy.

Also, it's much easier now that you don't feel like part of you is missing.

You cuddle for a few minutes, and it's nice to hold him against you. But he quickly gives you a thank you kiss and then slides off of you.

It's a little disappointing but you can't blame him. He did come home to pull a piece of coffee cup out of your ass. You rewarded him with quick sex and now he has to get back to work.

You lie on your side and watch him pull his clothes back on and sigh. If only he had a cruel streak, if only he could do some of the things that Padraic does to you and for you.

If only you could sprout wings and fly.

Life doesn't work this way, you think to yourself, nobody gets everything they want. You got a loyal, hardworking and faithful husband. That should be enough for everyone.

It will be enough for you.

Well, it will be except for four hours every week.

You hug the pillow you were laying on and try to look cute or sexy for your husband. He looks at you and grins, then leans over to give you a kiss goodbye.

'Love you sweetie.' He says and gives you a gentle peck on the cheek.

'Love you too Hubbs!' You reply honestly. 'I'll see you at five?'

He assures you that he'll be home on time, and then he starts to hop towards the doorway. You chuckle at him as he tries to get back to work and put his pants back on at the same time. He's almost out the doorway when you remember the package in the kitchen that set off this little rendezvous.

'Oh great! That'll be the itinerary for the conference.' He says casually.

'What conference?'

'Oh, everyone in the department needs to certify on project management and on conflict resolution. I'm going to have to go to Chicago for a week at the end of the month.'

'A week?!' You exclaim.

'Hey! I don't like it either! But we all have to certify!'

You mull that around in your head. A week is a long time to be alone.

Except that if you have seven days alone, that might be enough time... for marks to fade.

Your husband offers to see if he can get out of it, and before you can think about it you're telling him to not bother. It's for work, he has to be a team player and you don't want him to get in trouble.

Also.... Marks.

He grins and promises you a present and swears that he'll call every night. It's reassuring to you that he does that. You want him comfortable when he's away, so that you can go and play an especially violent game with Padraic while he's gone.

He disappears out the doorway and you hear him close the kitchen door behind him. A moment later you hear the car engine start up and he's headed back to the office so that he can support his family. And you're left naked on the bed, planning a perverted evening with another man.

You sigh and roll over on your back.

Maybe Padraic has another collar you can wear when you feel guilty.

The rest of the week flies by quickly. Work is completed, chores are done and you finish of a large side project for a contract and retain your title as queen bargain hunter of the universe by making a couple of deals via the internet for some home furnishings and some clothes.

Your husband's needs are easily met and dealt with simply by usage of your two secret weapons, the quickie and acting. It feels a little wrong to let your husband think he's satisfying you when he's not, but you feel that you've tested Padraic's patience enough already.

And as you think about Padraic, you're reminded of one last thing that you need to attend to before you see him again.

That Monday night you slip into the shower before bedtime and take the shaving gel and a new razor with you. It only takes a few minutes for you to completely remove any and all hair on your pubic mound, but you're fastidious and careful when you do so. You don't want any errant hairs for Padraic to find. You don't know what would happen, but you want him to be happy with Tuesday.

Your plan almost backfires as you wander back into the bedroom and prep for bed. Your husband spies your freshly shorn sex and he instantly shifts from sleepy husband to horny male. His kisses are passionate and wet and he's aggressive as he couples with you. He's generally not like this, and even his little growls are out of character for him.

You're starting to feel your passion build as he's thrusting into you. Your now naked sex is working against you as you can feel him far more intensely than you normally can. It's hard to stop it from going further, and he makes it worse as he starts to whisper in your ear.

'C'mon baby! I want to hear you!'

You're normally nearly silent during sex, so his request is out of character and a little maddening. He's normally very vanilla in bed so a request for you to come and come loudly it a little more dominant that you're used to and it also starts putting you into more a Tuesday mindset where you think less and obey more.

But it isn't Tuesday, it's Monday night and you're Arianna right now. And Arianna only gets to pleasure her husband; she doesn't get to enjoy it.

So you wrap your arms around his head and pull him to you. You let squeals of pleasure, only half faked drift from your throat and you buck against him and squeeze him tight inside you to get him to release. He finally does after a few of the most intense sexual moments you've had with him in a quite a while. You lay there, impaled by him hold him to you as he crushes your little body to his chest while he gasps for air.

His lips drift to your ear and he whispers to you and kisses you gently. You feel his warmth inside you and you feel slick and wet and on the verge of satisfied. Not overwhelmed or overpowered or dominated, but satisfied.

This troubles you. You go to Padraic because he can do the things for you that your husband can't. What if he can? You don't think he'll ever be able to tie you up and savagely take from you the way that Padraic can, but maybe he can get a little rougher or more aggressive in bed. Maybe he can start telling you the little things you want to hear, how to dress, what to say and do.

You lean up and kiss him back.

'Thank you.' You whisper into his ear. 'That was nice.'

'Sorry Ari. I'm not... I just... you looked really good and I had to have you. I didn't mean to be rough.'

You look up at him for a moment, perplexed. Does he not see how much you like it when he's even mildly aggressive with you?

You sigh, and then kiss him gently. He's still a good man and a better husband and he takes good care of you. And if there's one thing you're not getting from him that you need, you're not going to blame him for that. You'll just take care of it.

Still, you feel restless after your somewhat aggressive coupling and sleep eludes you. You toss and turn and listen to your hubby softly snore into his pillow with a contented smile still on his face.

Eventually, you can't take it any more. You slip out of the bed naked and pad to the dresser. You slide the drawer open quietly and pull the little collar from the velvet bag.

It slips around your throat so easily now. It just feels so right.

You sit in a chair in the bedroom and watch your husband for a moment. You'd give anything for your husband to give you a collar like this. You wish you didn't have to hide this dark part of you from him.

But he doesn't seem to have that in him.

But you know who does. And tomorrow night you get to see him.

Morning comes and you literally bounce out of bed, eager to begin the day. You slip on a bathrobe and head quietly out to the kitchen. You feel filled with energy and anticipation for tonight and you don't really know how to contain it. So you try to expend some of it by making a nice breakfast for your husband.

Eggs are cracked and scrambled and you couple it with some toast and a few slices of ham you have in the fridge that you crisp up in the pan. You husband emerges from the bedroom like a groggy bear, but he's not able to avoid smiling when he sees the lovely breakfast you've laid out for him.

'Hey, what's this?' He asks with a sleepy grin.

'Nothing major. I just thought after last night you might need some extra... energy today.' You give him a loving smile and bring him the plate and a cup of coffee.

'Wow.' He says quietly. His face clouds a little bit as he sits down.

'Look Ari, I'm... I'm sorry about last night. You're my wife and I don't mean to be rough with you like that. I just...'

You watch him babble and try to apologize for taking you in a way that you really enjoyed. You sigh and decide to give him a modest hint. Your hand slips through the belt on your robe and it slips off your shoulders and you stand before him naked.