Returning From Exile

While she waited for him, she tried to calm herself by counting her heartbeats. The rhythm sped up and slowed back down with the sound of each passing car. "651, 652, 6-," and then she felt the rumble of his cars engine approaching the driveway even before she heard it. She felt the vibration of the motor even as she heard the engine growl on its way to her, and to home.

He had been gone for eight months. She had broken discipline, broken training and given him back his collar, for reasons that were justifiable in a marriage; almost noble. But she had never stopped missing him; the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, and the smell of him when she made slow progress over his body, pleasing him, belonging to him. So when he walked into her office nonchalantly that day and reached behind him and locked the door, she had slid to her knees as if she had been waiting to do it all her life.

He had lifted her face to him and looked at her thoughtfully, penetratingly, his eyes looking through her soul which to him was glass, and he knew that she was past it all, past the hurt, past the anger, and that he was forgiven. His own soul turned in that look, and he remembered it all, the way they began, the way they had loved and the way that ultimately, they had thought they hated. He slipped his hand into his pocket and the silver of her first collar, the braided one, caught the light. "Are you ready to be taken back?"

Her eyes misted with a fog that seemed denser than tears and then the fog spilled down her face.

"Yes."

He slipped the cold metal around her neck dragging it over her flesh slowly, and the sound of the clasp closing was as final as a door closing. He pushed her to the floor and parted her legs without grace or preamble and fucked her silently and quickly, marking his ground again. When it was over he touched her face lightly and stood up. With only a slight glance at her he said, "Be ready when I get home tonight." And then he was gone.

She had been a sleepwalker the rest of the day; finishing work, driving home, tending to their children, arranging to have the house empty for them that night. She bathed carefully and in terror, the terror growing as she dressed. She dressed as she knew he would want her dressed, and used his favorite perfume, the scent bringing a cloud of memories, both good and bad, into the room. She let her hair curl in its own way spilling over her shoulders in the way he loved, but which made her feel too wild and out of control. She looked into her own eyes as she put on her makeup, and her own fear looked back at her. Why was she doing this? Nothing had really changed, had it? He had written over the months, telling her he was sorry, a thing nearly impossible for him to say, but she had not believed him; not wanted to risk another fracture of her spirit. Why was a look, the feel of his hands so significant after everything that had happened to rupture them?

She lit a fire in the fireplace just as she knew he would like her to do, and stared into it for a few minutes, her body sliding into position naturally, as if she hadn't tried to forget all of the rituals and scenes of their past life over the last few months. He loved her in a half kneel when he entered the room, the curve of her back to him as he approached the fireplace. But tonight she knew he would want more surrender than that implied. She slid forward dreamily; her arms stretched in front of her until her forehead touched the floor. She settled her body into a small graceful fold, her breasts pressed against her thighs, her heart fluttering like a moth caught in a lamp. Her hair fanned out around her and she waited.

"651, 652, 6-," and now here he was. She began to shake slightly, her heart speeding up, the hot blush spreading from her face to her feet as she heard his footsteps on the polished hardwood floor behind her. The sound softened as he stepped onto the rug where she was poised, in a position that only feigned repose; everything in her wanted to run, but she was still except for the slight shaking.

He looked down at her and his heart ached with the abjectness of her position. He knew that he had nearly broken this fragile thing at his feet, and he felt the absolute enormity of her fear and his responsibility. He took her in with his eyes for a moment longer, wanting to remember this moment of sacrifice always. "Rise to a kneel," he said with a firmness that belied the tenderness in his heart. There was no room for tenderness yet, that was not the way they loved.

He circled her then like prey, the rising lust in him pushing the gentleness to some further part of his heart. He reached for a breast with each hand and caressed her, looking at her face with its downcast eyes, considering. "Look at me."

She looked up, her eyes wide and frightened and hungry all at once. He watched the familiar blush spread over her face. He stared into her eyes which reflected the light from the fire back at him. The pressure on each breast became firmer and more decisive as he felt the surge of power flow through him; the power of feeling her will become his and her flesh given over. He twisted each nipple roughly, watching her eyes widen further and then narrow with her effort to ride the pain without moving, without a sound. "Stand up."

She stood up her legs a little unsteady as she rose. With a slight pressure on her shoulder, he led her up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. "Their bedroom," he remembered and her thought was the same at that moment; "their bedroom." He closed the door behind him and turned her to face him. "Serve," he said with a tone that bordered on indifference, although that was far from what he felt. She looked up from under her eyelashes quickly; defiance rising up within her, she had become unused to this -- powerlessness. She bit her lip and dropped her eyes again even as she dropped to her knees. "Look at me while you serve me," he said, more roughly this time.

She swallowed and looked up at him, his eyes looking through her again as though she were a pane of glass that held no secrets. She ran her hands over the familiar territory in front of her while holding his gaze and gently undressed him. She blushed again and he watched her body flush as it always did when she fought against her basic pride and rebellion. She slipped his cock into her mouth while still holding his gaze and felt her own sense of power grow even as he grew harder in her mouth and his eyes glazed with pleasure. She explored him with her tongue, the taste and the smell of him bringing it all back, the glory and the pain of it all. Tears filled her eyes as she sucked harder, needing to force him to cum, to exert her own particular form of control.

He lost himself in her rhythm, caught up in the heat of her mouth and the power of her submission, then grasped her hair and began to assert control of his own, forcing her to open her throat wider for him, to take him into herself with less thought to her own comfort than to pleasing him. He felt himself building and gripped her hair hard. "Stop." She closed her eyes and took him from her mouth settling into a kneeling position again, her heart pounding again as it had while she waited for him and she began to count her heartbeats to calm herself. She felt an awareness of her own arousal for the first time, her wetness slick between her thighs as she waited for him to compose his thoughts and refocus on her. He pulled her to her feet by her hair and directed her to the bed with her hair as the only leash. "On your knees, present yourself for me".

She knelt on the bed with her knees wide; her cunt exposed and wet, her weight balanced between her knees and her bent elbows. She dropped her head, unsure of what was next. He moved away from her to the dresser, to the drawer that had always held her silk scarves. They were there as they had always been, and he was comforted and aroused by his knowledge of her even in so small a thing as that. He reached for two scarves at random, and tied each ankle to a post on either side of the bed, spreading her knees further apart. She felt a surge of fear again; the exposure felt extreme, and she wondered if she still knew him well enough to allow this assault without a struggle. She was too well trained; she had never been good at struggling with him. She willed her heart to slow and accepted the domination of her body. He reached between her legs and felt her wetness, she was ashamed of how sloppy she had become with so little effort on his part. He laughed at her softly, knowing her well enough to know both her shame and her desire, and to know how impossible the two emotions were for her to separate.

He bent down and kissed her wet cleft, her body arching hard involuntarily at his first touch. He touched the small of her back gently but firmly in silent reproof to remain still. She stilled, but her body fought the stillness, and she felt the spasms of orgasm beginning. He felt it too and stopped. "Not without permission, did you forget that?" She shook her head no and rested her forehead down on the bed, struggling to compose herself. He stood up straight behind her and slid two fingers into her, fucking her slowly. She quivered under his hand, and he said "you may move, but don't cum." She let her hips roll in their own rhythm then, backing up onto his fingers, relearning the feel of him within her. He slid another finger into her, moving deeper now, finding her G spot and concentrating there. Her movements became wilder and he pulled out of her, giving her his hand to lick clean of her wetness.

He slid his belt loose and folded it over, popped it loudly enough to let her know what was coming; he knew she needed time to adjust to the way of things again. The first crack of the belt against her flesh made her writhe in spite of herself and he struck her fast on the other side to get her used to the sensation again. As he struck her she stilled, her body starting to glow with the combination of the pain and the pleasure, she grew wetter with each strike and she felt herself moving into a secret place inside herself. When he felt she had gone far enough he stopped and thrust into her deeply, ravaging her with a concentrated ferocity, her small whimpers goading him on. He felt her tensing and growled "cum'

into her ear. She let out a scream, not able to keep it down, letting out 8 months of need and pleasure in one hot gush. He came, slamming into her with no mercy, her small body accepting him as though he had never been gone at all.

He was still for a moment, and then untied her, picking her up when he felt her legs going weak as she tried to stand. He lay down beside her and ran his hands tenderly over her, kissing her softly; able to be tender now, able to relax in the only home he wanted. She felt him go quiet and gentle in her arms, and her life, which had been on hold for eight months, began again.