"Naked, caged, plugged, and bath drawn" the text read.
A pretty curt message from my wife which further led me to suspect something was wrong. There had been a strange tension between us since going out to a work dinner with her two nights ago. Over the last several months we had experimented with a D/S relationship and, although it was slow to evolve, we were at a place that I must admit, was thoroughly enjoyable. This text was both exciting and concerning to me on many levels.
Holding professional responsibility for my career, I was in need of submission to another. She, growing in her own professional responsibilities, was ripe to develop control and authority. Now, we were finally in agreeance and at a comfort level for us both to really enjoy and expand our roles and personal satisfaction.
I began to prepare. Dinner, bath, suds, and a cocktail of her choice which was standard for our evenings together. Nights we did not play were an enjoyable sharing of days while sipping a libation and sitting on our back deck and venting stress and opinion. I brainstormed what I thought was everything the night needed as I tried to alleviate the edginess between us. With dinner readied I needed to focus on the bathroom now. The bath, very hot and ready with overflowing suds. Candles in the bathroom and a bit of fragrance for the topping.
The dog started barking which told me she was here. Fully naked and ready, I kneeled on the wood floor of the kitchen and awaited her arrival. I heard the front door close and our dog met her as usual while her footsteps walking through the dining room. She neared...
Without looking up I remained in the middle of the kitchen as I watched her flats walk right past me.
"An Aviation in twenty minutes," she said as she broke the threshold of the bedroom.
Her favorite cocktail, The Aviation. A 1930s drink that is meant to remind one of a sunset at altitude. Two parts gin, 1 part cherry liquor, 1/2 part lemon juice, and 1/4 part Crème de Violette. One teaspoon of cherry juice and three cherries. She likes it extra cold with ice floating on top, the trick is to shake the hell out of it and time the pour perfectly.
I heard her declothe and work her way into the bathroom. Her bath ready with candles, I now had to judge and predict when she would emerge for the evening. I prepared the recipe and waited to mix until just the right time, measured off of when I thought I could hear her dress in the bedroom, hanging on every noise.
She walked in and I returned to my knees. Stepping up to the counter she lifted the coupe and sipped the drink... "Not bad." She was dressed in a long, striped nightshirt, one of my favorites. It had buttons from top to bottom in the front and I especially enjoyed the access and the teasing they provided.
"Stand," were her next words. I stood keeping my eyes lowered.
"Turn," inspection was about to ensue.
"Bend," she wanted to ensure I had followed her instructions. I bent and allowed her to see my plug, a silver one which had a single, fake gem on the handle.
"Is that the small one?" she asked.
"No, the medium," I replied.
"Recover." With that, she went into the living room. "Start dinner" as she walked away.
I began to put dinner together, assembling the ingredients and working the process of the menu. Putting dinner together in the nude didn't bother me, I almost took joy in it. I would have liked it better if she had been in the kitchen with me but that was beside the point now. Dinner was a meat ragu with a hint of pepperoncini oil for spice, one my favorites and specialties. Once I finally put the pasta in the sauce to mix and seep, I said loud enough for her to hear me in the living room, "Dinner in five minutes." I heard her stir and move into the dining room and she sat at the head of the table. I dished her plate setting it down from her left side as protocol demanded and then returned to the kitchen.
I plated my own dish and before I could decide I heard "You may sit in here," just as I was in final comprehension of where I was to go. I looked up at her but averted my gaze instantly as she looked back.
"Yes Ma'am," I answered.
I walked into the dining room and laid a dishtowel on the chair before returning for my plate. When I wear a chastity cage, I ooze precum constantly, it never stops. I don't know why, maybe it's the awareness in the loss of will and choice. Maybe it's the constant pressure on my dick. I don't know why, but I know that I love it.
We ate dinner mostly in silence. Besides the occasional "May I have the butter," or "Pass the oil" it was unremarkable and unreadable. At the finish of the meal, I moved to clear plates first and then the table. She moved to the couch and sipped her cognac placing her feet up and crossed on the coffee table turning on the television.
"Come here," she said.
I walked around and sat on the far edge of the couch.
"My feet need attention while I enjoy this movie," she stated.
I knew what this meant. Honestly, one of my most treasured acts, to enjoy her feet fully. I pushed off of the couch and took a place on the floor. Slowly grasping her left ankle, I lifted it and began slow, loving kisses of her foot. Starting at her toes and working down her feet with the attention of a psychologist. Kissing and then a slow, small lapping of her skin. I admit a foot fetish and hers have always been more than beautiful.
She looked at me, her cognac in hand, body laying along the couch with her bare legs leading to my face. "Not good enough," she stated.
