AUTHOR NOTE:
I think every female submissive has had the delicious thought (especially since Mad Men came out) of that perfect housewife image-selfless, caring, perfectly coiffed, with the perfect dinner, and completely powerless against her dominant husband...and what he might do to her because he can...Enjoy!
*****
"Honey? I'm home..." He unlocked the door and had walked in, happy to meet his perfect wife.
"In the kitchen, darling!"
He smelled something delicious in the air. Taking off his coat and his shoes, he followed the smell.
He'd married Anna just over a year ago. They'd met at a department store over the holidays. She'd been working as a temp sales associate, and he thought she was gorgeous. She was gorgeous. Cute, petite brunette, with a catching smile and a tight, tiny body. Her breasts were huge, wrapped up tightly like two presents. She was a people pleaser, she bent over backwards to make everyone happy in the busy season.
He'd asked her out. She'd accepted. Over the next three months, they'd dated and gotten to know each other. He was a lawyer who worked long hours and made good money. She was a sales-woman who hated her job. He was aggressive, she was mild-mannered and sweet. After two months, he'd asked her if she was in her dream job. She laughed and said no.
"So what's your dream job?"
She had laughed and blushed. "You know," she said vaguely.
"Tell me," he'd insisted, and finally she had.
"I kind of don't want to work. I don't like it. I don't feel natural. I don't fit in."
He'd proposed to her a few weeks later. They'd planned and married in three months.
Anna was perfect- she was young, beautiful, and incredibly submissive. She was eager to please in bed, working hard to make him have incredible orgasms. She gave herself fully into the lifestyle of the childless housewife-she cooked, she cleaned, she looked good all of the time. It was fantastic. She catered to his every whim.
He looked into the kitchen to find her there now, stirring some kind of sauce on the stove. She was wearing a low cut button down with no bra, her huge tits straining against the tight fabric, the buttons pulling. He could see her nipples against the fabric. A strand of pearls was around her neck, and her hair was up in a lady-like updo. The ruffly skirt she was wearing was tiny, barely grazing her ass cheeks, and she had on five inch heels, making her petite frame nearly five six, and her legs miles long. He hardened a little as she stirred the sauce, her breasts moving under the shirt.
She flashed him a smile. "Hello darling! I'm running a couple of minutes late...yoga went long today!"
His face turned into an angry scowl. "You had all day to go."
"I know," she said. "I'm sorry." She took the sauce off the stove.
"Were you wearing that? Jesus, you're not even wearing a bra!"
She blushed. "No, it's just for you."
He ignored her. "If you're going to dress like a slut, you might as well take it off."
Her face fell.
He strode over, caught her shirt and and ripped it open, pulling it off her shoulders and dropping it on the floor. He knew that the lack of bra was for him. She was self-conscious of her large breasts, afraid that they would quickly sag. At twenty two, they were ripe and perfect. Her waist was barely twenty inches, and her breasts were a 30DDD. They looked monstrous, but he loved them. "Just be like that."
She gulped, and then nodded. His erection was huge. It strained painfully against his pants. She turned and opened the oven to check the roasting chicken.
He had caught a profile that he'd never forget. She had opened the oven and was peering into it like a good housewife. Her breasts hung forward as she leaned over, and he strand of pearls around her neck \fell seductively into the breasts. Her ass was in the air and he could see just a hint of bright pink panties..
"How was work?" she asked, closing the oven.
