ONE
"Hi hon," Sophie says as she slips into the passenger's seat, brown curls flashing in the late afternoon sun. I watch her settle herself in - God, she was so sexy in her navy pin-stripe business suit.
"Hey girl." I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek and she smiles as she pulls away, eyes dancing, and fastens her seatbelt. As I ease away from her office building and into traffic, she leans forward and pulls the set of handcuffs from the glove compartment.
"Good girl," I murmur automatically when I hear the click and click of each cuff locking in place around her delicate wrists. I scan the traffic - rush hour is always a bitch downtown.
She settles into her seat, cuffed wrists laying in her lap and looks out the window. "Any news on the car?"
The fucking car - another thousand dropped into that thing. Time to get her a new one. "Transmission. They need parts. It'll be at least another day. You'll just have to endure our carpool a little longer." I grin, feeling her gaze on me. I know my wife - without looking at her I know the she's looking at me with contemplative eyes. Her time of actual freedom has been cut by being driven to and from work cuffed.
"Are we still going out tonight," she asks, changing the subject with that little breathy nervousness touching her voice.
"Of course. No way we're missing this. Our first year." I see her reflexive touch to her collar out of the corner of my eye, as if she needs reassurance it's still there. It isn't really much of a collar - the real one is waiting for her at home. But wearing a real collar, heavy steel, with rings - well something like that daily in a courtroom definitely brings complications into a successful career. Her day collar is an elegant choker with a small golden plate in the center, tiny diamonds embedded on the face of one side - the side everyone saw - and engraving on the other side, the side pressed to the soft skin of her neck. "Master's Property" is all it says.
We make small talk all the way home, to the suburbs, talk about her day and mine, normal things that normal vanilla people talk about - good things, the things a husband and wife need to share. And all the while, skyscrapers and bumper to bumper traffic begins to yield to parks and boulevards and residential avenues and finally our street and driveway.
As I pull the car in the garage, things change, the normal, calm air suddenly charging with electricity. I kill the engine and turn to kiss her for the first time since we went our different ways this morning. She opens her mouth to mine, accepting the invasion of my tongue as I claim her. My hand slips under her power suit jacket and cups her breast, protected by silk and bra. I find her nipple already hard and squeeze hard enough for her to groan in my mouth. She presses into my hand, silently begging for more, but I break the kiss. Better to leave her simmering.
Her face is flushed as I pull away and stare deep into her sparkling blue eyes. God, I could fall in and be lost forever in her eyes. I chuckle to myself - better to let me simmer. Time to get the show on the road - many plans for tonight, for my little slave wife. I pull the keys from the ignition and find the handcuff key, releasing her wrists. Without a word, she slips the cuffs back into the glove box, ready for another time.
Carpool days are different than normal days. A little bit of schedule shifting is required when we share a car, but normally, she's home before me and I miss what's about to happen. My lovely, sexy, beautiful wife Sophie gracefully exits the car and goes to her changing area, the portion of our garage hidden from the street by a half wall, containing soft carpet, an antique wardrobe cabinet we'd picked up on one of our "treasure hunting adventures" last fall and a sitting bench with mirror and table, filled with her "last chance" make-up, to touch up her make-up when coming and going.
She starts to go about her routine when I make a "tsk" noise from where I'm standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Eyes on me." She looks up, startled, blush creeping to her cheeks.
"Yes Master, I'm sorry." Then, eyes never leaving mine, she slips out of her heels, slides the waist zipper on her slacks and shimmies them down the swell of her hips, where they pool at her feet. She slips the jacket from her shoulders as I see the swell of her breasts beneath her silk blouse and were she in another profession, one less formal, I'd have her do away with the jacket altogether so the world could admire her breasts along with me. Her look has changed as more and more of her clothing ends up on the floor at her feet, her panties, blouse and finally bra - she's no longer the confident, independent counsellor, even though she was sporting handcuffs on her ride home just a few minutes ago. She's glowing now with the heat of who she really is, finally released from the trappings of a normal and boring world.
"May I collect my things and put them away, Master?" It's only because I've made her look at me that she's asking permission to look away to complete her business and I know it gives her a thrill to be made to ask. She's mostly autonomous, a balance we've learned over the last year - we both realize that micro-management doesn't fuel the burn that we share almost every waking moment we're together. But she knows, through punishment, that when told to do something, she does it, unless given permission otherwise.
"Yes, but finish up quickly. Don't make me wait."
"Thank you, Master." Then she's hanging her suit in the wardrobe, folding her silk blouse for the dry cleaners and putting everything else in the hamper. She slips the choker from around her neck and begans to replace it with her collar before I stop her.
"No girl. We're going out tonight, remember. Wear your day collar."
She smiles, blushing, and returns the day collar to its place snugly locked around her neck. Then she slips to her knees before me in perfect slave posture - back rigid, breasts proud, knees spread, pussy inviting. "May I enter your home, Master?"
I gaze down at her, from the little stoop. Behind me is the kitchen, our home, a place where Sophie is never allowed to wear a stitch of clothing, where the outside world is just an inconvenience we endure momentarily to fuel the inside world we both love. At my back, inside our world, is pleasure and pain, lessons and punishment, discipline and love - above all love. We need what's waiting behind me, crave it, realize we can't live without it and be happy, complete. I think all these things as I gaze down at my lovely, naked wife, kneeling before me, eyes dancing the dance we both know so well.
"No," I say simply, and shut the door on her, leaving her in the garage.
TWO
I open the door some 30-40 minutes later to find her still kneeling. From her startled gasp and quick movement, I know she's slouched a little while waiting for me, alone in the garage, listening to the tick of the car engine cooling, likely wondering what I have planned for her. And that's all right. A little slouching will just get her a few more smacks tonight during her nightly spanking.
I walk past her and lay the things I've collected on her dressing chair, then come to stand behind her, massaging her cool bare shoulders. She leans back, almost purring, rubbing her head against my crisp suit legs. I've dressed in my best suit, dark tie, well-oiled black leather wingtips. An ironic contrast to what my little slave will be wearing tonight.
Pressure on her shoulders commands her to rise and I turn her around, taking her mouth. She presses against me and when her hands gently rest on my chest, I pull them around behind her back and hold her wrists with one hand. She moans into my mouth, again making my heart thunder in my chest, and I cup a breast with my free hand, pinching the hard nipple. My tongue probes deep, pushing her tongue aside and then the teeth finding her lip, nipping. I slip my free hand down and slip inside her puss, finding it slippery wet, her pussy lips thick, engorged. I pull back, breaking the kiss, saving her lips for later, then slide my sopping finger into her mouth so she can taste how hot she is.
"Are you going to be a good girl, tonight," I whisper and know those are power words that rip right through her. 'Good girl,' 'bad girl', a dichotomy of good behavior and bad, of obedience and rebellion, for whatever reason. Pleasure for pleasing me, or pain for disobeying me. It's a war not easily won but fought daily. For her, losing her independence, surrendering for me - that's the easy part. Doing what I say, when I say it, when what I want isn't something she wants - that's the hard part, the part reinforced by punishment, sometimes pain, sometimes other things.
"Yes Master. I will be a good girl," she whispers, a shudder behind the last few words.
I smile down at her, reaching in my pocket to pull out what we've casually called The Silencer. The Silencer is a smallish hard rubber ball, shaped to the contours of her mouth, filling but mostly comfortable. With it in her mouth, she's unable to speak, words becoming incoherent and garbled - we've tested, oh, how we've tested. But it's completely contained in her closed mouth and doesn't change the shape of her lips or jaw very much - no one who glances at her would know her mouth is filled. I slip The Silencer into her mouth, ignoring the soft whimper. She hates that damn thing. I pinch her nipples hard, relishing the hurt "mmmppphhh."
"You will be wearing thigh-high hose, leather boots, laced up nice and tight. And this." I hold out the first of my gifts for her on this very special night. She takes the cape in her hands and holds it up before her, then, looks past it, giving me a breathless smile. She loves it!
Feeling like Christmas morning, I tell all about it. "The embroidery is Gaelic, golden vines reaching up from the earth, entwined, sometimes separate, sometimes twisted together so tightly." She follows my words, understands the meaning. I continue, "The black wool is the inky night sky, very much like that first night, that first date, when you blushed when I told you there were better uses for the tie I was wearing." I touched the tie around my neck and nodded. "Of course, wool is very scratchy when against naked skin. And unfortunately for you, outside of the boots and hose, that's all you'll be wearing. At least for now. Go ahead, slip it on."
The cape comes to just below her knees, with openings for her bare arms to slip through and a little pouch in front for her arms to slip into. She explores the texture, feeling the intricate golden embroidery that seems to cover her in vines. She tests the pouch openings in front and then looks up at me, startled at the pouch that should have been there but wasn't. Like the openings at her shoulders for her arms to come out of, these are openings at her waist for her wrists to go into. Her eyes are suddenly cast in speculation, wondering what I have planned for her. Oh, little slave of mine, you have no idea.
"Now, the boots and hose. Don't keep me waiting." I kiss her again, briefly, feeling the hard rubber behind her lips that keeps her jaw parted just a little, then grab the leather tote of goodies I've prepared for her and watch her get dressed through the car's windshield.
She slips in beside me, my little elfin slave and I buckle her up, spending a little time on her naked breasts underneath the heavy wool. I pull the cuffs out of the glovebox and when she offers me her wrists I instead put the cuffs in her hands. "No girl. Slip your hands into the waist holes and cuff them there." A portend of things to come. That familiar blush rises to her cheeks, like it always does when she's restrained in some way, and then her hands disappear under the fabric and the I hear the final click click that means she's more than my wife now. She's my captive. One more peck on the cheek and I pull the heavy hood over her head, effectively blocking out everything but what's in front of her. I'll miss seeing her glowing face for the ride in, but knowing she's stewing, strapped in next to me will be worth it.
THREE
The ride to the restaurant is spent in silence. I want the tension to build. I want her focused, no distractions, because this night is about her, all about her. A year ago, she gave me the most wonderful gift I could ever be given. Tonight is me trying to show her how special her gift is to me. How special she is to me.
Before the valet can reach us, I slip her the keys to the cuffs through the wrist slits and give her hand a squeeze. I still can't see her face around the hood, so her squeeze back warms me more than she can know. God, I'm such a lucky bastard.
I take her hand and help her out of the car and then pull back her hood. The flush is high on her cheeks, her eyes are sparkling and she's glowing like the elfin princess I foresaw when I picked out her cape. She glances at the leather tote I'm carrying but I bring her chin up and pull her close with one hand and kiss her as the valet pulls away.
Heads turn when we are seated in the center of the room at the intimate little table with the single candle flickering low, lazy orange flame that dances across her face. She's learned how to swallow with The Silencer so I know it's her complete nakedness under her cape that is setting her cheeks on fire. I glance around and nod at a few of the appreciative looks other tables are giving us, but Sophie's eyes are locked on mine, a beginning swimmer clinging to the side of the pool. I smile and lean the few inches in, face over the flickering flame.
