It had started innocently enough. In fact, it had started the way it always does. After fifteen years of marriage, sex with her husband had fallen into a comfortable routine. As she closed the door to the bedroom, he slid up behind her, pressing his body against her and running his hands gently from her breasts, to her hips and then down her thighs. As his hips pressed against her ass she could feel that he was already getting hard.
"You up for a little naughty?" he asked, his lips near her ear, then began kissing his way from behind her ear down her neck to her shoulder.
"If you want to" she said, turning around and kissing him. He wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled her toward the bed, where he sat them both down. Still kissing her, he reached up and began unbuttoning her blouse, putting a soft but eager pressure on her breasts. She reached down and started to take off his belt, the way she had a million times before.
It's not that sex with Andrew wasn't enjoyable -it was- it was just that it had become so routine. Andrew was a caring and conscientious lover; he genuinely enjoyed going down on her, and always made sure that she came before he allowed himself to get off. But he knew what he liked, and he liked it the same way, virtually every time. The same touches, the same foreplay and oral warm-up, then mounting her and fucking her until he came. Even after fifteen years of marriage, he was still utterly attracted to her, and he loved caressing and touching her body- which was wonderful- but, it was always the same, soft, gentle caress, the same loving kisses on her skin.
As Andrew got her shirt open and began kissing her chest, moving down towards her bra, Carrie admonished herself for feeling this disinterested. Andrew was a good lover; a sweet lover. She should appreciate him. So why was she so bored?
They'd watched a movie a few weeks ago, just some three-star Netflix garbage while they were waiting for the next season of their favorite show to drop. One of the bad guys in the movie had gotten angry with his girlfriend for some reason. Mostly just to show that he was a reprehensible villain, he slapped her in the face, grabbed her by the hair, and slammed her up against a wall, and the camera cut away just as he reached down to unzip his pants while his girlfriend whimpered helplessly against the wall. "What an asshole," Andrew had said, but Carrie hadn't said anything; she was too turned on to reply. Later, after Andrew had gone to bed, she had gone to the bathroom, turned on the fan and started touching herself while playing that scene over and over again in her mind. It had a startling effect. Why was she getting so wet at the thought of being abused and forced?
The next time Andrew had gently pulled her onto the bed for "a little naughty," Carrie was utterly unaffected by his little kisses and caresses. She had to replay the movie scene in her head just to get herself in the right mindset to cum when he went down on her. When he entered her gently, with a caress, she found herself wishing he would force her down on the bed by her neck. His little kisses just distracted her from the fantasy of being held down and violated.
Of course, she watched that scene from the movie again while he was out shopping. That just led to porn searches with an ever-expanding list of keywords: "Forced," "Bondage," "BDSM," "Maledom," "Submissive," "Slavegirl." She masturbated furiously while watching brutish men demean, degrade, and take complete control over helpless, whimpering women who just offered themselves up like sacrifices. She came like she hadn't come in years. Soon, the porn searches happened whenever she was alone. Whenever he would touch her, or go down on her, she would imagine the abusive bastards from her porn clips pinning her to the ground and forcing themselves inside her.
She was so lost in that familiar fantasy now that, as Andrew's kisses reached her breasts, she barely noticed that he'd slipped something over her right wrist. His mouth came back up to hers as he gently pulled her left wrist in front of her, and slipped it through the other loops of what she now saw was a pair of rope wrist restraints.
She pulled her hands apart, but the ropes only tightened on her, and suddenly, Andrew's kiss had become forceful; he was leaning in on her, forcing her back down on to the bed. She pulled her mouth away from his in surprise, and began tugging at the restraints, but Andrew simply pulled the rope up and brought her wrists up above her head, pinning them to the bed with one hand, while he pressed his weight on her and roughly fondled her breast with his other hand.
Carrie's heart was pumping. Suddenly she was sweating and becoming just a bit scared. It was one thing to fantasize about this, but now that she was being so roughly handled by her gentle husband, she was beginning to panic.
