Bobby and Sally

"I want you to dye it back to her natural color," he said to the stylist.

"But Bobby," Sally whined, "I like highlights. Jenny has highlights. Missy has highlights." Bobby remained unchanged. "They were expensive," she added, "you don't want to see that go to waste do you?"

"That's exactly why I want you to cover them up," he said. Sally slumped in her chair. The stylist tapped her on her back, indicating she was to sit up straight. The smock was clipped tightly around her neck. She sat straight as a board, hands folded neatly, primly in her lap. She was at the mercy of two men now. Her husband Bobby, who seemed to have had enough, enough of something she had been doing, and at the mercy of the stylist, whose specific instructions moved her head this way and that, her chin up and down, he whole body forward, so he could cut the bottom of her hair. Bobby stood motionlessly nearby, arms folded across his chest, eyeing every one of the stylist's moves, instructing him as specifically as the stylist instructed Sally. He told him to cut deeper layers here, longer ones there, rounded bangs, set her hair wavy.

Throughout much of this Sally had given up on her protests. This was a new side of Bobby. He was a prison consultant. He helped new prisoners get adjusted to their new surroundings. He had compassion for the lowest of the scum. He was showing no compassion for her now. What had she done?

Sally was a housewife. She belonged to numerous neighborhood associations in their upper class homes. She employed a housekeeper to keep the house to meet the demands of her busy lifestyle. She met frequently for brunches with her girlfriends in the neighborhood. She spent a lot of her husband's money on fancy sweat suits, in which she lived and designer handbags. She spent his money on a gym membership and a suspiciously good looking personal trainer. For show, when she was shopping with her girlfriends she purchased racy lingerie and spiky heels, but those never got any wear around the house. While Sally bragged about her and Bobby's savage sex life to her friends, her stories were made up fantasies. Their marriage was frigid. Sally was beautiful and fit and Bobby longed to be intimate with her, but Sally was under the illusion that she was an independent woman and didn't need the services of her husband anymore. She felt they had been married long enough. Sex was no longer a necessity. Their marriage, she believed, was past that.

Recently, Bobby had been working extra long hours with a police officer who was incarcerated with a number of criminals he put in jail. And although Sally considered herself an independent woman, something inside her still felt a strong attachment to her husband. But that was pretty far deep inside her. Nonetheless, she felt a loneliness she couldn't identify and sought refuge in her husband's wallet. She began spending recklessly. Bobby saw this in her. He let his beautiful wife start slipping through his fingers. He had to start tightening his grip. It had to start with her most personal of expressions. Her hair.

After the salon, Bobby took Sally out shopping. "I want you to know I've taken your name off all the accounts but one. Here is your new debit card. I will transfer funds into this account as I see fit," he said. Sally was speechless. "I've transferred a few thousand dollars into it today. We're going shopping and to dinner. You need a new wardrobe other than sweats." They drove into town and Bobby allowed Sally to purchase tight jeans and pants, dresses with tailored bodices, ones that flared from the waist, high heels with straps around the ankles. The day was long and flattering to Sally. At dinner, Bobby felt it important to bring something up to Sally. "I think it only fair, that since I've done a few things for you, and will continue to take better care of you from now on, you do a few things to take care of me."

"Like what?" Sally was getting angry. She thought Bobby was lavishing her for its intrinsic value.

"Well, that needs to come from you."

"To what exactly are you referring? I'm not your whore."

"I certainly don't expect you to be. However you have been irresponsible with our finances and I will have to resume control over them until you can prove yourself capable once again. No, I am not referring only to sexual favors, Sally, but other things. Things you have to figure out for yourself."

"Why are you being so vague? I realize I'm in deep with you... but I'm not even sure why. I know things aren't how they used to be. I only want to make things right. Don't you see? See how I did my hair?"

"I did your hair," he corrected. Sally slumped.

"I am being vague because it is important to me that these gestures come from you. Yes, your hair is very becoming." Bobby laughed as he chewed his food. Sally chewed in silence and felt a fledgling sense of excitement. They didn't exchange a single word for the rest of the dinner, or the ride home, or during the ritual of coming home. Bobby dropped the keys on the front table. They both went straight to the bedroom.

Bobby's hands wandered up Sally's dress, around her perfectly formed ass. That damn trainer was doing something right. He unzipped the dress and pulled it over Sally's head. He walked her to the bed and sat her on it, positioning her hands on her lap, as if she were a doll. He went to the closet and searched through all the lingerie Sally had purchased. He selected a high necked silk gauze teddy, with a high legged thong in the back, and a silk flower that sagged at the neck. You could see right through it.

"You may wear any shoes you like," he said, looking down. Sally walked up to him, the teddy in one hand, completely naked. Bobby was fully dressed. Somehow, she felt more comfortable that way. She was seeing a new side to him, a stronger side. Not strong in the way her personal trainer was strong. Better. Psychologically strong. But she wasn't ready to fully submit just yet. And she couldn't express her feelings to him yet either. So she just said,

"Okay." Before Sally could get dressed Bobby was at her makeup table selecting colors. He laid them out and exchanged glances with her. As she readied herself, Bobby left the room and went looking through the garage. He returned with two outdoor construction lights and placed them strategically in the room. Sally looked at him quizzically. She was blindly following all his directions all day. He wanted to capture that look on her face.

"Sally. You have made me so happy today. You are such a beautiful woman. I want to take your picture." Sally feigned shyness poorly. She longed for this kind of attention. As an obligation, she shied away from the camera for the first few shots, but while the camera was capturing a false shyness it was capturing something else too. The fledgling sense of pride growing in Sally. Not the obvious pride in her looks she displayed as she warmed up for the camera, but a pride in something else. Something Bobby hoped for.

Bobby's photographs of Sally were in black and white. Her lips were painted dark. He photographed her hair over her lips. He photographed the small of her back when she arched it. He photographed her nipples through the silk gauze. He pulled the back thong string aside and photographed her asshole, the string pressing into the bulge of her ass. He positioned her continuously. She posed as she was told, basking in the camera flash and the adoring eyes of her husband. She had already forgotten this was the man who had taken all her allowance away. How quickly he had gained her affections back. He wondered if they were real. He kissed her. She put the camera down and kissed him back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and then ran her hands all over this man's body. Kissing. Kissing. He wondered, was she just blinded by all the gifts he had given her today? After having used him for his money for so long could he really trust her after a day like today, even if she did have her legs wrapped around his waist for the first time in months? He wanted to possess her fully but this was not the way. She had to show him she was his. Bobby slipped off the bed and tucked Sally under the covers. He told her he'd be in bed soon, cleaned up the camera equipment, kissed her forehead, and turned out the lights. Sally was asleep by the time Bobby went to bed and Bobby was gone for work by the time Sally got up.

Sally spent the whole of the next day in a daze. Who was this new husband of hers? When did he get so romantic, so authoritative? She liked this new Bobby. He wanted her to take care of him as he took care of her. What was this thing she had to do for him? Was it something specific he had in mind? Something ongoing? She wracked her brain, then she thought of the perfect gift for Bobby. A rare edition of Moby Dick came into the used bookstore and he had mentioned it over dinner in passing. He would be so surprised to receive a copy from Sally. She threw her bag over her should and went, but when she handed over her shiny new debit card to pay for it her heart sank. She knew it would be declined. She didn't even ask the clerk to run it again, she just apologized and left. Her hands were tied. What gesture, she begged.

She was slumped over on the couch thinking when Bobby came home from work. She offered to make filet mignon. Bobby refused. He had something else in mind. Bobby led Sally to the tool shed out in the back of the yard. It was small, but had diagonal beams holding the ceiling up.

"Now you have to remember, Sally. I love you. Do you trust me?" asked Bobby.

"Of course I trust you. What are you talking about?" Bobby answered with silence. He straightened Sally's collar and began unbuttoning the buttons to her blouse. He rolled her jeans off her. When Bobby began to tie the first wrist to the first beam, Sally protested heavily.

"What are you doing? What is this? I'm not into this sort of stuff." And more comments of the like. Bobby remained unchanged, firm, and calm, continued about his business. When he tied the second hand she was significantly more docile and had tired of protesting, as she knew he was stronger than her and it was clear that he wasn't going to give in. Soon, Sally was hanging naked from the ceiling beams by her wrists. She was scared. Bobby walked around her. He inspected her body parts, touching them as he looked. He pinched her nipples. He ran his fingers down the curvatures of her torso. He touched the two tiny bits of pink inner labia that showed when Sally stood upright. Bobby ran his hands around her thighs as he walked around to the back of her. He squeezed her ass hard enough for her to cry out. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He laughed with his mouth closed and left the shed, locking her inside.

"You need time to think," he said as he left. It was hot in the shed. Sally felt a bead of sweat form on her temple and roll down her cheek. Her eyes shifted from one corner of the shed to the other. Her thoughts were only of escape. Another bead of sweat formed at the nape of her neck. Sally forgot about her escape and obsessed over this bead. It dragged its way slowly down her back leaving behind an itchy, slippery trail, picking up more sweat as it rolled, like a clear slow motion snowball, until it reached her ass and the itch was too much to bear and Sally cried out. In that dark, in that silence, it made her aware of all the other beads of sweat forming on her body. They were small and scattered across her torso. Some fell to her legs and dissipated. Some only wobbled in place and threatened to make that tortuously itchy and unpredictable path down her body, moving downwards, but veering this way and that, clinging to this little hair or that one. There was sweat on her brow, her lip. The tips of her bangs were wet. A strand of hair fell out of place in Sally's protesting and was now stuck to her lips. It tickled her more.

But the rope around Sally's wrists was rough. She could feel it chaffing her. She was so terribly wet and itchy all over. She wanted nothing more than to roll around in a bed of that scratchy, chaffing rope. But she had to be satisfied with relief only in her wrists. The chaffing started as a pressure on her, pressure from her body weight hanging there. But then she became more highly attuned to the fibers and textures of the rope, how sore the skin around her wrists were. She could truly feel the entire weight of her body hanging from those two scratchy rope cuffs. Each fiber pulled her body weight on the delicate skin of her wrists. She became aware of the muscles in her chest, pulling and pulling her down, her toes only barely scraping the floor. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and onto her back. The silky caress surprised her. She remembered Bobby. The way he gently touched her sex and walked away. She craved another brush, another caress from him. She hadn't craved such things from Bobby in years it seemed. She remembered how they met.

Ages ago Bobby was a janitor at a stadium. It was the best job he could get with a prison record. An extensive prison record. The last time he went to jail he went for assault and a slew of other charges. He was mandated to take anger management courses. Bobby was a highly intelligent man, he just fell in with the wrong people during hard times all his life. He was always faced with difficult choices and never could seem to make the right ones. But when he took those classes he really understood what the councilor was saying and took it to heart. His councilor vouched for him at his parole hearings that he was one of his most successful participants. Sally never knew Bobby to lose his temper. Not once. But this rope was scaring her. At the concert Sally was with her friends.

Sally was the good girl of the three of them. She never drank more than a glass of wine. She never flirted with men at bars. She dressed conservatively. She worked as a bank teller. When the girls went to the bathroom, all together of course, they gossiped and primped and perfected themselves before stepping out into the wild scene of the audience. Bobby was waiting outside the bathroom so he could clean it. Sally stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him. Everyone told her to stay away from him, that he was dangerous, that he would never amount to anything or ever be able to give her a happy life, that you can't change a man. But Sally fell in love with him at first sight, always defended his sweetness to her, and never lost faith in him. She saw he had already changed himself. Eventually, Bobby became a prison consultant based on his experiences, turned his prison uniform into a suit and tie, and did provide that happy life for Sally. As a matter of fact, Bobby became greatly successful and Sally saw less and less of him. She was lonely. And now he'd left her hanging alone in the shed like a piece of meat when all she wanted was to run to his arms for the first time in ages.

When Bobby finally did come back to the shed to cut Sally free she had so much to tell him but didn't say a word. She just held her clothes in one hand and stood in front of him, naked, chaffed, and sweaty.

"Did you get a chance to think?" he asked.

"I did," she said.

"You must be hot. The sprinklers are on," he suggested.

"But the neighbors," Sally responded excitedly.

"We have a fence," he said.

"But what about the upstairs windows. They can all see," Sally hesitated.

"All their lights are off. I already checked. And if someone is lurking in the shadows, they deserve to see you. You look stunning." Sally ran past Bobby and into the sprinklers, brushing her hand past his midsection on the way. She was on her way to being sopping wet when Bobby came out after her. He stood on the outskirts of the sprinklers, getting a little wet on his shoes. Sally was practically taking a shower and dancing around. She caught Bobby watching her and stopped. They looked at each other from across the lawn like they looked at each other the first time they met, in the sense that they were seeing each other anew. But they were married, and they looked at each other also only the way a long term couple can look at each other, with one glance see each other's whole history, at once feel the entirety of each other's whole romance, and feel the ravenous passion brought forth from the make up after a very, very long fight.

Sally walked up to Bobby and kissed him. She passed her hand across his cock on the way to the shower and Bobby smiled. That night Sally felt overwhelmed. She slept in the fetal position from exhaustion, her back to Bobby. Bobby felt especially tender towards her, as she had succumbed so much more quickly to her suspension than he had expected her to. She had taken that time to think as he had instructed. She was pure as she was when he'd met her when she was under the sprinklers. He wondered what she had thought about in the shed. He wondered if she could believe in him as passionately and naively as she had when they'd met. He wondered if passion and naivety is what it would take these days. He felt a pull towards her curled up body. She was sleeping soundly. He smelled her freshly washed hair. He pressed his chest to her back, his groin to her ass, his legs to her legs. She briefly awoke to feel his body up against hers, his chest hairs on her back, the tops of his feet on the bottoms of hers, his chin resting on her shoulder. She arched herself lazily and fell back asleep, knowing now what she had to do.

The next day when she awoke she found herself alone in bed, Bobby already gone to work as usual. She primped and primed herself as best as she knew how, in a way that she though this new Bobby would like. She checked the balance on her debit card. There was enough. She went to the mall, to a silly place that does boudoir photographs and got her picture taken in a provocative costume and pose. When Bobby came home the house was spotless, dinner was on the table, wine in the glasses, Sally in her highest of heels. Bobby had a brown paper bag which he immediately put in the freezer and another which he placed on the counter. She presented him with an envelope containing the photograph and a letter. It read:

I'm sorry but I'm not a good writer but I feel like I have to write you a letter. I see how hard you work. I want to work too. But I need to go to school. I don't have such life experiences like you. I remember the time when we met. I was working at the bank. You were working at the stadium. I saw you and I knew. I didn't care about anything. About what people said. I just knew you were good. Everyone said you were bad for me. You were wrong. But I knew you were good. And look what you have done for me. Look. Our life is beautiful. I want to give to that life too. But I need your help. I want to go to school. I want to be a better writer. There is something in me. Something I can't explain. Even though I can't write good now, I know it is what I was meant to do. Have faith in me, Bobby, like I had faith in you once. I will make you proud.

He responded, "Sweetheart, I wholeheartedly agree with you. You should become more independent. You should learn to voice your opinion. But not on my dime. You should earn the money for this schooling on your own. I will help you find a job. I do believe in you Babydoll. You can do it, and you will. Let's start today. I will help you put together a résumé. You have a brilliant mind for fashion. How about a temp career in that field?"

"Okay. Okay. You're right. I think I can do this. I want to be self made like you. In the shed I remembered how we met. I remembered how we used to be. You made someone of yourself and I didn't. Now it's my turn. I'll do anything you say," she said.

"Anything?" he asked. She looked at him expectantly, peering up. He offered her his hand and she took it. They walked over to the dining room table, steps in synch and ate dinner together in silence, smiling at each other, enjoying the food, in total understanding of each other. Bobby occasionally smiled at Sally. Sally smiled back. Bobby finished eating before Sally and he watched her prolong completing her meal, savoring the feeling of being watched by Bobby. His eyes rested upon her delicate hands cutting the steak for a moment. He freely glanced beneath the table at her crossed legs emerging from a crinoline fluffed dress. Her ankle rotated her foot flirtatiously, slowly, as if to say, "I know you're looking at me. Go ahead. Look." Bobby looked at the way she chewed that rare meat, a vein pulsing in her neck with every chew of her well defined jaw. There were so many new things to fall in love with, it seemed. And there were the old things. The way her eyes smiled back at him, her tiny waist, her thick luxurious hair.