I held my hand up at about eye level, parallel to the floor, just to verify it. Yep, I was so excited, I was actually shaking. I checked the time – again. Still 1:57. I had never seen time move so goddamn slowly in all my life. I looked at my checklist again, and ran through the game plan. I didn't want it to appear too rehearsed, but I also didn't want to forget anything.
1:58. Dammit. I hadn't heard a sound for a while, and couldn't tell if she were upstairs or downstairs. For the past seven days, she had given me no indication whatsoever as to the decision she would make. When I sat down and wrote that email to her, I had no idea it would excite me this much.
1:59. So close. It seemed as though I'd been waiting for this moment for a lifetime. I was so tempted to run upstairs a little bit early, but I needed to play it cool in order to fit the part. I was proud of myself that I actually waited until 2:00 before I rose from my desk and made my way upstairs. I grabbed my glass of ice water along the way, just as I had mapped out in my game plan.
I was breathing so hard, I had to pause for a minute before I turned the corner into our bedroom. My heart skipped a beat when I saw her. There she was, looking exactly as I pictured in my head: kneeling on our bedroom floor, blindfolded, and completely naked except for a pair of high heels.
I should probably take a step back for a minute. My name is Frank DeLuca. I work in the investing industry. I was born and raised in Queens, New York, where I met my high school sweetheart, Sheila. Yeah, that was her, kneeling on the floor. We've been married for nearly twenty five years now, but we've known each other for thirty. We have two kids, and we're now paying two college tuitions at the same time.
A few years ago, we moved to the suburbs of Connecticut to escape the bullshit of the city. I work from home a few days a week, and Sheila works part-time a few days a week. She doesn't work for the money, as I make a pretty good living. She just likes getting out of the house, I think. Every once in a while the stars will align and we'll both be home at the same time. This past Thursday was one of those days.
Like most married couples, I suppose, our sex life slowly dwindled down to nothing over the years. Hey, it happens. You have kids, you grow older, and things change. I get it. Every once in a while, though, I really miss the wild and crazy sex we used to have when we first met. She was my first and only, and I was the same to her. I guess we're a couple of old-fashioned prudes that way, but we're comfortable with that.
We did everything – and I mean everything – that a couple can do, sexually, when we were younger. I have always had a high sex drive, but there were times when even I wondered if I were enough to satisfy her. She just craved sex all the time. We had sex two or three times a day for a while there. I thought my dick was going to fall off. But then we got married, had kids, and...now we're down to maybe once a week, if I'm lucky.
The thing is, I know that the sex-starved wild woman that I married is still hiding somewhere inside of her. I just have to figure out a way to let her come out and play. About a week ago, I came up with this brilliant idea. We were sitting in the living room. I was watching a ballgame on TV, and she was reading yet another one of her trashy novels. She's constantly reading these things; one right after another. They all seem to be the same, too: same sappy plots, same dopey characters. But then I noticed the title of her latest book, and I'd actually heard about it before. I heard the women at work talking about it like it's the most scandalous thing ever. It's about bondage and spanking and all this other dungeon-torture shit. That's when the lightbulb lit up over my head.
If Sheila was interested in this stuff, I figured, maybe that's the spark I needed to unleash the wild woman inside her. She has always been a strong, outspoken woman. She doesn't take shit from anyone. It's one of the qualities that made me fall for her in the first place. But maybe she also has a secret submissive side that would reveal itself in the bedroom. She did like me to fuck her good and hard sometimes. I've even spanked her ass and pulled her hair a little bit at times, and she never complained. In fact, she seemed to like it. It was an idea worth pursuing. What did I have to lose?
I sat down at my laptop and stared at the screen, debating whether or not to do what I was about to do. What the hell? You only live once, as they say. I began typing:
Dear Sheila:
You know I'm always looking for ways to spice things up between us, and I think I've come up with an idea that you may like. All I ask is that you don't dismiss the idea immediately, and that you give it some thought. Here goes.
The terms of my offer are simple. Next Thursday, we will both be home, alone, in the house. I've set aside an hour on my work schedule at 2:00pm. At precisely 2:00pm, you will be waiting for me in our bedroom, on your knees, wearing a blindfold and a pair of high heels. (Don't worry, I'll supply the blindfold. I'll leave it on the dresser for you.)
You will wait there for me, and when I arrive, you will do whatever I tell you to do for the next hour. For sixty minutes, your entire body is mine, to use however I want. You have no say in the matter. In fact, you will not even be allowed to speak unless spoken to. And when you do speak to me, you will address me as "Sir."
These terms are non-negotiable. If you accept these terms, you will be waiting for me as I've instructed. If you refuse, that is your choice. Either way, you will not mention this offer at any point over the next week. Do not make your decision now. Allow yourself to consider both choices, and make your decision when the time comes.
I love you,
Frank.
My index finger must have hovered over that "Enter" key for a good, solid minute before I pressed it. As soon as I did, I cringed in anticipation of her reaction. A part of me expected her to blow a gasket immediately. She checks her email constantly throughout the day, and I knew she read it within minutes of that key press. Yet...there was no reaction. She carried on as if I had never sent it. I actually had to check to make sure the message went through.
Over the next couple of days, I kept waiting for that inevitable explosion, but it never came. Sheila acted as normal as ever, alternating outbursts of anger with heaps of affection. A typical Italian girl. After a while, I couldn't help but think that maybe she was into the whole idea. Otherwise, I figured, she would have yanked my nuts off by then. Before I even wrote that note, I decided I should probably do some research into this whole "bondage" thing or I'd end up looking like an asshole.
I actually considered stealing that stupid book of hers to figure out what it was that fascinated her so much. Instead, I went online and did a few searches. You would be absolutely fucking amazed how many websites are devoted to this shit! There are sites and blogs and forums and chat rooms and all sorts of crazy shit, filled with people who either want to beat the living crap out of their lovers or be beaten by them. Some of this shit just went way over the line for me. I figured Sheila might be into a little rough play, but she certainly wouldn't be into humiliation – and there was no way I would ever humiliate her. You gotta draw the line somewhere, right?
Anyway, I got a good sense of what this whole thing was about just by reading all these different sites and blogs and what-not. That's where I came up with the idea of her calling me "Sir." Just about all the sites said you have to come up with names for each other while you're in "Dom/sub" mode. There were really only a few options for female "subs": bitch, cunt, whore, and slut. I can't ever imagine calling my wife any of those first three unless I was really pissed at her. That just left "slut", which seemed harmless enough. Frankly, I'd love it if she were a "slut" – as long as she were only a slut for me.
As for what she could call me, the list of typical names for male "Dom's" was even shorter: Master, Daddy, or Sir. "Master" just sounds ridiculous to me. It would take me right out of the mood, because all I could think of would be Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein. And it would be way too creepy if my wife called me 'Daddy.' I liked "Sir", though. It conveyed respect and authority. Yeah, I liked that a lot.
As that fateful Thursday grew nearer, I did more and more research. I practically became obsessed with this "BDSM" culture, and learned as much as I could in that short time. It's all about balancing pain with pleasure, they say. Supposedly, the pain makes the pleasure feel that much better. And it's all about control: taking control and completely releasing control.
On Monday, I made a trip to the local smut store and filled a few grocery bags with all sorts of demented sex toys that I had meticulously researched throughout the week. The slutty-looking girl behind the counter made a couple of recommendations, and I bought those, too. She was probably working on commission. The closer the day approached, the more excited I became.
