Over the next several months, Mallory did her best to predict Kyle's mood and stay one step ahead of her Master. She discovered that his sexual desire was much the same as it had been in their marriage pre-split; it waxed and waned. The collar around her neck every night did little to strengthen his cravings for her; in fact, the sight of the collar appeared to aggravate him sometimes.
As per his request, Mallory came to him every night while he sat at his desk; she sat nude, legs spread apart, enticing him to want her, leash in one hand, collar in the other; begging to be put to bed. He would glance at her over his shoulder, something in his eyes always made her quickly cast her eyes downward, nervous to look at him, to meet his gaze. She longed to flirt with him, to flutter her eyelashes and beg him to take her right there on the floor; she ached to be wanted. Sometimes he would sigh deeply; irritated at having his video game or bill-paying disturbed, other times he would ignore her for half an hour at a time.
Finally, he would turn to her, annoyed, "Well, what are you waiting for?" he would say, "Get over here." Mallory would quickly move closer, lifting her hair for him to place the collar around her throat. She would then crawl into the sheets as he would attach the leash to the collar and then to the bed.
"Good night, Master," she would say obediently, "do you think you will be coming to bed soon?"
"No, just go to sleep," his typical response never failed to hurt her no matter how many times she heard it. She always knew she had a higher sex drive than he did, but she honestly thought this new relationship was going to elicit more of a sexual response from him.
Mallory often buried her head in pillows to block out the light from the computer monitors until he came to bed, sometimes crying softly into them so she would not be caught.
When Kyle would come to bed, she would reach up to the collar, feeling the soft, smooth leather against her skin, feeling her submissive side, knowing she wanted to please him. "Master, is there anything she can do to please you tonight," she would whisper into his ear as she rubbed her body against his, hoping for a positive response.
"Not tonight, Mal," her heart would sink at the words, as she strained against the leash, almost wishing it would dissolve, "maybe later in the week."
She was becoming frustrated with her position in the relationship; she could see what Kyle was getting from being the Master. He was in charge of everything in the household; he made all of the financial decisions, there was no arguments over where they would go for the weekend, they stayed home, his choice, she did all of the cooking, cleaning, shopping, and all within his budget. Mallory did not argue with him about any of his decisions, and if she did, he could take out his aggression on her by whipping her or taking away something she enjoyed.
Mallory was confused about what she was getting out of the relationship. She was happy to wear the collar at night, and to be leashed to the bed, but she was starting to question what it meant. She enjoyed calling Kyle "Master", but she wanted it to mean something, she wanted to feel, she wanted him to feel something. She yearned to be able to communicate with him.
One night over dinner, Mallory finally screwed up enough courage to speak to him, "Master, may she please speak to you?" she asked quietly just as she was finished clearing the table. She had tried to gauge his mood, intending to select a moderately good disposition and not start an argument.
"What, Mal?" he said, flatly; she was unable to determine his temperament.
"Well, uhm..." she stammered, intending to change her mind and back out of any discussions tonight.
"What is it?" his tone became demanding, irritated, less flat. "Spit it out."
Eloquent, she thought. "It's just that, well, I uh..." she was having a difficult time figuring out exactly what it was she wanted to say. What was I going to say, she thought. That I changed my mind? I don't want to be a slave anymore, but I desperately do.
"Look, Mal," he was terribly maddened now, she could see it on his face, he leaned forward, his fists doubled up, "If you have something to say, say it. If not, don't waste my time. I'm going upstairs."
He left her alone in the kitchen to finish cleaning the dishes.
Mallory thought about what she had started to say; she determined she wanted to talk to Kyle notwithstanding his outburst and his mood tonight. She could not keep going through the motions this way; she was beginning to feel like a zombie, completely dead on the inside, and not much better on the outside.
Kyle was sitting at his desk when she went upstairs; bills were neatly organized by their due dates, he was paying some by check and had some accounts open online paying them through bill pay. She was apprehensive about interrupting, but thought, it's now or never, Mal.
Sitting on her knees beside the desk, Mallory sat quietly for a moment, hoping he would pay attention to her on his own. When he appeared not to notice her, she began, "Master, can I talk to you now, please?"
Without turning around, he responded, "Sure, Mal, carry on your bitch session from downstairs. I'm sure you have some complaint about me."
