I'm kneeling in front of him as he smokes, casually, blowing the smoke in my face. I'm watching the lack of emotion on his face but he's paying me very little attention now, despite my proximity and condition. I'd been here before; on my knees, hands cuffed behind me, a chain from them attached a little more than taunt to the wide collar buckled around my neck, the insides of my thighs more than a little slippery, and my cunt throbbing hard between them. I'd been here many times but tonight had been... different.
I'd been in the shower when he came home, in more of a crass mood than usual. Stepping out of the tub and reaching for the towel, I caught sight of him from the corner of my eye and let out a cry. I don't care who you are, the sight of a cop in your bathroom doorway is still unnerving. Realizing it was him, I chuckled and reached for the towel again, catching my breath. I wonder now had I seen the cold in his dark eyes if I would have treated the situation differently – though, it probably wouldn't have changed the outcome all that much.
He stood still watching me pat my skin dry before telling me he'd had a rough day and telling me what he needed from me. I again, laughed it off, reminding him of my plans for the evening with a dear friend who was in town. I felt a slight chill after my response as a delayed reaction to the way he had told me what he needed. He had told me. Not asked, not requested. He's stated it as though that was the way it was going to be. He had still not moved from the doorway. I'd finished drying and the chills were becoming a little more prevalent, causing my nipples to harden against my best wishes. I faced him and made the mistake of trying to walk past him through the doorway. He put one hand on the far side of the door and stated his case once more; no change in the coolness of his voice. I refused once more and before I could finish the line, his hand came up from the door jamb and pushed against my chest. I never saw the other hand, only felt the shocking sting, hard, on the left side of my face. And how dare I refuse him anything. Who the hell did I think I was? His voice never changed in pitch or volume. He slapped me again, just as hard if not harder, and I stumbled back a step, putting my hand to my cheek, stunned and shaking my head. He came at me again before I could back up any further and had his hand wrapped in my hair in a second. Half pushing, half pulling, he dragged me stumbling from the bathroom down the hallway and into the den. I was cussing, calling him a fucker and a bastard and nearly screaming for him to let me go. We'd had scenes before, many of them, but never without my agreement and never when he was a foul mood. My heart was pounding against my eardrums as he pulled me by my hair to my knees on the floor in front of his chair. When he let go of me and was beginning to sit down, I began to struggle up off the floor to my feet. He put one leg out, the bottom of his boot connecting with my chest close to my left shoulder, pushing me to my back on the floor.
As he stood up again, and in the split second before I started to get up off the floor again, I noted the change in my body. My skin was burning, nipples had never stopped being hard, and the muscles of my thighs and cunt were tensing. Internally, I told my body to shut the hell up; this is wrong and I'm angry – only angry. In the midst of this thought, he's pushing me over onto my stomach, and though I'm fighting all the way, I soon find myself with my face pressed into the carpet, his knee in my back, and the cuffs being clicked onto my wrists that he's deftly caught. I silently cuss the fact of that fucking uniform coming equipped with such things as I pant for breath. He grabs my hair again, dragging me over to the cedar chest which holds our 'toys'. He manipulates a collar around my neck and buckles it snuggly before spinning around just slightly. I hear chains and struggle just enough to cause some trouble and he stops rummaging through the chest long enough to cuff me across the cheek again.
My ears ring and I see spots in front of my eyes from this one and to make matters worse, my cunt floods when the chain is fixed through the links between my wrists and pulled taunt to my collar. He pulls me, by the collar this time, struggle to keep up on my knees, back towards his chair. My arms start hurting from the tension of the position they are locked in and I'm getting off against my will at being in this bondage and I'm more than a little pissed at both facts. I make the mistake of trying one last time to get to my feet when I have a chance. He calls me a bitch and, by my hair, pulls and pushes me back down on the floor, struggling the whole time until my face is firmly against the carpet and his boot is on shoulder, holding me in place. I was cussing up to this point but I'm now only gasping for breath and it allows me to hear what he's doing. I know exactly, even without seeing it, what he's doing. After hearing or watching it six nights out of the week for five years, it's hard to miss. He's removing everything on his belt. My brain responds with a silent 'oh shit' and I force myself to go still. I'm still pissed, but even more humiliated that he's going to find out here and now that my body's been staging a mutiny throughout the whole ordeal. I cross my ankles, my ass cheeks tense with the expectation of being separated and my secret being revealed.
