A thank you to BradBigBrain and estragon for copy-editing and suggestions. Enjoy ~ Red
The sound of his Pet mewing and panting, as well as the sound of the Wand Love Seat's motor, brought him up short. Patrick's eyes narrowed slightly and curiosity made him wonder: how often had his naughty girl played when he was away on business trips? The level of trust had always been high, at least he thought it had been; it was for him. Why hadn't it been enough for Brittany?
Even the sound of her name playing through his mind seemed foreign to him; he was taken aback by how surprised he was to see her as Brittany, now that he knew she was lying to him. Patrick set his briefcase down and pulled off his trench coat. He hung it on the coat rack and took off his shoes. Normally Brittany would do it. She would be at the door eager to please him and hungry to accept his cock into her mouth.
Today though, it was obvious he was far from her thoughts. He looked around and noticed no evidence of her maintaining a lover while he was gone. If she had one, today would have been a perfect opportunity to enjoy his talents. After all, her Master wasn't due home till tomorrow night. But, unbeknownst to Brittany, who was screaming "fuck" so loud he was sure the neighbors ten miles down the road could hear her, her Master had come home early.
Patrick was stunned, shocked, and hurt, but mostly he was confused. What had caused Brittany to turn away from their commitment? Where had he failed? He pulled off his socks, tucked them into his shoes and pulled his tie from the collar of his shirt. He hung it on an empty hook on the coat rack, along with his dress shirt, which he had also removed. He walked into the kitchen, opened the door to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, as well as some cold luncheon meat, and cheese slices.
He prepared himself a meal and waited to see if Brittany was done playing or if she was going to come upstairs. Patrick knew she probably hadn't heard him come in, but surely she wasn't so distracted that she wouldn't hear his footsteps through the floorboards above her. He remained still so as not to add any more unnecessary noises to the floor above her.
Several minutes passed as he leaned against the counter and ate his bland sandwich and drank the cold, tasteless beer. His mind was churning with question after question. He looked back on the past few weeks, curious as to when he had failed to give her what she so obviously needed. Had his trips taken their toll on their relationship more than he realized? When had she decided she needed more and why hadn't she come and told him? At what point did the lines of communication fail?
Patrick was almost done with his beer when he heard Brittany's footsteps coming up from his homemade dungeon. She rounded the corner just as he put the bottle down. Their eyes met and held. Her face, bright and glowing from her orgasm, instantly paled. Her lower lip began to shake. She dropped to her knees and lowered her head.
Brittany knelt on the floor. Her knees and legs, the front side of her feet, the tender flesh of her toes, and the delicate pink paint of the toenails, seemed to dig into the floor. She prayed for it to swallow her up and consume her. The shock at seeing Master staring at her had literately brought her to her knees. She kept her head lowered, brought her arms behind her back and hooked her left wrist into her right hand.
As she waited for her punishment, she closed her eyes and thought about what he had obviously heard. She had felt lonely, bored, and sad at her Master once more leaving her for a business trip, so she sought to free her boredom by playing in the dungeon. He would not know. He was not supposed to be back until tomorrow night. Obviously his plans had changed and he had come home early. But why, what had happened to make him show up over 24 hours ahead of schedule? Had he been planning on catching her in the act all along? When had he stopped trusting her?
She bit down on her lower lip, contemplating the reasons to his early arrival and what he had most likely heard. She had gone downstairs, put on one of her and Master's videos from their personal collection and as it played she readied the room for herself.
Brittany had started out lying on the bed and teasing her pussy and clit with her fingers. She would pull and twist the nubs of flesh, until she felt the urge to be fucked grow deep inside her. When it neared the breaking point she would stop and force herself to walk off the erotic sensations. The sound of Master fucking her still echoed through the dungeon room's speakers. It kept her senses alive. Her need bubbled back to the surface just as guilt for her actions did.
He had asked her not to touch or pleasure herself, but she had. She'd watched the video and touched herself. The small wet patch of nectar on the bed sheets pointed to the signs of her disobedience. Her gaze shifted to the black padded bondage table. Her pulse raced as she imagined Master standing behind her and giving her the required smacks against her ass for her transgressions.
Her Master was not home, so she had to deliver the punishment herself. She pulled out the automated spanking machine, attached the cane to it and pushed it over to the table. The first blow was delivered to her while standing up. The second landed as she positioned herself to lie over the table, extending her arms out. Her breasts were pressed into the black padding and her legs kept her body upright as the third blow smacked her cheeks.
She closed her eyes as the cane struck her ass three more times. She rose again, and missed the sixth blow as she walked away from the table. She turned around and shut the machine off. Timidly she rubbed her backside and wiped the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. The punishment had not hurt; not truly, it was her heart that broke.
Her Master should have been there to punish her, but once again he was gone. It was after her self-inflicted punishment that she spied the Wand Love Seat and remembered how hard she'd come when Master first gave it to her. Her pussy had instantly become wet and she gave in to the promising orgasms that awaited her. The second she was done climaxing she felt more shame at her actions, but not enough to punish herself. Instead she cleaned the seat, and tidied the room below.
Patrick walked around the counter and stared down at Brittany's bowed head and submitted figure. The clothes she wore were simple and comfortable looking. She had on a pink blouse that hugged her breasts and her white skirt. It billowed out around her.
"Please stand up," he told her in a firm, yet soft gentle voice. He saw her shake her head 'no', and knew she was ashamed.
"Please stand up," he told her again. He saw her hesitation and closed his eyes. "Brittany, stand up." This time his voice was slightly louder, but no less gentle. He saw her wince and wondered if it was the tone of his voice, or the use of her name.
She rose and stood in front of him, still her head remained down. He stared intently at the top of it, stepped up and kissed the parted locks that had been pulled into a ponytail. Patrick then lifted her chin and saw the tears that were falling. He pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried. His did nothing else, just kept her against him, while hearing her stutter apologies for what she'd done. When she quieted, he stepped back, and kissed her lips.
"Go take a shower and a nap, and we'll talk about this after." His voice was still soft, gentle and caressing.
He watched her lick her lips, nod her head and walk around him to head for their bedroom and Master suite. Patrick cleaned up the few items in the kitchen, and went to sit in the living-room and stare at the blank television screen. He saw his reflection in the monitor and wondered what Brittany saw when she looked at him.
He was forty years old, still in relatively good shape. There were a few pounds around the middle that he could lose. He admitted to that. He wasn't a bean pole, nor was he short and squat. He was an average size man, at least so he saw when he looked at himself. Maybe Brittany saw something else.
Maybe she saw the fine lines and wrinkles of age, the stress and tension in his brow from his work. Or perhaps she saw his few pounds as more than several pounds. Was his hair line receding faster than he realized? Was his hair growing more and more white and less pepper-gray? He didn't know and as much as it pained him to admit it, he was afraid to hear her answers.
Brittany stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Its full size length captured all of her figure and when she turned around and looked back she saw the flaws in herself. Her hair was pretty, still full of natural color and hung straight down her back. Patrick loved grabbing fistfuls, and using it as leverage when they fucked, or when she gave him head. Her ass, though, looked saggy and her waist was a bit thicker than it had been when she and Patrick met.
She was twenty when they met, the same age as him, and now a few weeks from her fortieth birthday she was feeling less than attractive. They had been together twenty years; the last fifteen had been the most erotic of the twenty. It was then that she and Patrick had begun the journey of Master and Pet. It had happened one night after they had picked up a video from their local adult novelty store; it had been something different, a story about a woman being taken and controlled by a man she had stolen jewels from.
That night had been the wildest and craziest night of their lives. As the story progressed, Patrick had grabbed her head and forced her onto his cock. She had loved the feel of his hands in her hair, forcing her to accept his length. He'd called her names, just as the man had called the woman on the screen. He'd slapped her ass, pushed her down onto the floor and fucked her like she were nothing more than a hole to be used. She had loved it, as did he.
Weeks went by; they took their time exploring different ways to bring the other to orgasm that required both pain and pleasure. It didn't take long though for them to both come to the same conclusion. Patrick was the Dom and definitely not a switch, and Brittany was one hundred percent sub, the Pet. They began to remodel their basement, taking it from a storage room to the room where their passions were set on fire.
Now though, she had come to a point in her life where she needed something more, either that or she simply felt inadequate. She turned back to face the mirror. Her breasts sagged slightly; there was a scar from an automobile accident on her abdomen. It was faded, but it was still there. It made her feel more flawed.
Brittany stepped closer to the mirror and studied her face.
She saw wrinkles around her lips and eyes. She pulled her hair back and held it from her features. Her gaze took in an old woman, a tired woman, a troubled and confused woman. It was a woman that she didn't recognize.
A long sigh escaped her lips as she dropped her hair and readied her shower. Patrick was right, she needed to rest. As the water spilled over her, she realized that she had stopped referring to him as Master. That dawning thought sent her head spinning. She gripped the shower wall and let the shock wash over her. When had she stopped seeing him as Master and viewing him once again as Patrick? When had it become just good sex, and not a craving? Why had she punished herself for disobedience when it was obvious she'd stopped caring?
She washed her hair, cleansed her body and rinsed away the soapy suds. After drying off, she climbed into their bed and stared at the window to the East. She wanted to cry, yet the tears wouldn't fall. She saw Patrick looking at her when she rounded the corner, after playing. The look on his face was just as bewildering as the thoughts ricocheting back and forth in her mind. Where had they gone wrong? When? Why?
The sound of his footsteps coming into the room made her want to close her eyes. She didn't. Instead Brittany rolled over and turned down the covers, welcoming him. He disrobed. Silently he climbed into bed with her and brought her into his arms. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Love washed over her and she knew that no matter what happened she was still his wife and she still wanted to remain at his side. She just didn't know if she was Pet anymore.
Patrick chose not to broach the subject and listened to the silence of the room, only interrupted by their breathing. It wasn't until he felt her sag against him that he knew she was asleep and it wasn't until then that he allowed himself to begin counting backwards from a thousand. It was his way of shutting off his thoughts and forcing himself into a deep slumber.
By the time he was awake the morning light had come into the bedroom and had brightened the room's interior. He chuckled, surprised that both he and Brittany had slept as long as they did. Perhaps they were lacking more than just communication skills, but they had denied what their bodies needed – rest.
