No amount of discussion or explanation of what she wanted – what she kept on telling me she needed – had ever really gotten through to me. Saying I didn’t understand her or I didn’t believe her her would rally be a lie. I didn’t want to understand or believe her. So, it was me and my stubborn blindness that had been pushing my marriage to the brink. I made her desperate, and thank all the gods, she acted before I drove her completely away. I don’t know where she bought the thing, or why she chose that particular device, and I still haven’t asked. Regardless, when I saw her there, on the living room floor when I arrived home from work, I stopped dead in my tracks.

I had wondered why the shades were drawn, but the answer was right in front of me. My bride of decades, stark naked in the middle of the room head and shoulders on the carpet, bare ass in the air. Her arms were on the floor under her pointing back between her legs, her limbs locked into this bizarre metal stock. Four loops in a row, the outer two cuffing her ankles, the inner two her wrists. She looked utterly exposed and helpless, and my immediate reaction was shock at who might have done this to her and what might they might have done to her. But I also saw three other things. The first was that the keys to the device’s lock were only a foot or two from her – a distance cuffed hands might be able to throw. The second was that her body had clearly not been abused or handled in any way. The third, and possibly almost as unnerving as my other fears was the calm, flushed, look on her face. She wasn’t angry or panicked. There was fear in her eyes as she looked at me, but not fear of strangers or danger. She spoke, her voice a cross between tense and sultry.

“Anything. You can do anything you want to me, and I can’t stop you.”

I didn’t know why she was afraid. I had never fucked her brutally. I’d never spanked or whipped her. I’d never fucked her ass. I’d never treated her as anything but the love of my life and the woman I wanted to please.

But I knew. She’d told me so many things so many times, I knew. She wasn’t afraid I would do any of those things. She was afraid I’d do none of them. 

I stood there, frozen because I wanted, desperately, to scramble for the key to unlock her and hold her tell her to stop being silly. Or maybe if I just took her from behind like I sometimes do, with this funny metal thing adding some spice, but not stopping me from being as just be as caring and gentle as ever. I could just humor her, couldn’t I? And then free me from her little game and we could laugh and forget about it. Or maybe this was a step too far, one I couldn’t take. I mean how perverted – how deviant was my wife? How could she?

These were the things she was afraid of. That I, stubborn ass, still wouldn’t understand, even now, and that it would have to be over. She didn’t want that, I thought, but what choice had I given her? Why wouldn’t I listen?

Because I was afraid. I was afraid of doing all those things to her and liking it. I was afraid I could be one of those people, that I could do something wrong, too much, too far.

She wasn’t afraid of that. I had continually, constantly, repeatedly failed her in this most important thing and she trusted me. Still. Enough to tell me in so many words. Enough to show me in an un-ignorable way. Enough to force me to face myself.

I don’t know how long I stood there with this storm going on in my head. She stared back at me, not saying a word, the whole time, breathing, exposed.

I unbuttoned my shirt, unbuckled my belt, but held onto it as I let my pants and boxers fall to the floor, stepping out of them. I was hardening, which surprised me and then… didn’t surprise me. I stepped partly behind her, and was able to see that between her parted legs, she was in full blush. I could see her wetness. Drops of arousal ran down her inner thighs. Her head tracked me as I moved. She saw the belt pull the belt free from the last of its loops, and my hands doubling it into a strap. She saw me stare between her legs, now hard as I’ve ever been. Her eyes widened and I heard her whimper just a little. I couldn’t read her expression anymore. Fear was still there. But maybe not the same kind. And lust. a look lust I hadn’t realized I had been missing for years.

By stomach fluttered, as I saw her testing the metal for the first time, and finding it held her completely secure. I moved behind her.

She told me, later, that was the moment she knew, and that there and then, she’d never loved and wanted me more.

That night changed everything. Saving our marriage was the least of it.

Categories: Bondage, Consensual, Dominance & Submission, Erotic Fiction, Married Sex, RazielTags: , , ,


I am the little devil on your shoulder, stroking your neck with my tail, whispering obscenities into your ear, and looking down your blouse. One third of The Erotic Writer blog.

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