I dried him off as the water swirled down the drain. Once that was done, I put the towel on the rack and turned back around to face him. He put his hands on my shoulders and tugged me closer. I didn't resist.
"What am I?"
"You are my Master."
"And what are you?"
"I am your slave."
He pulled me into a tight hug. "You are my slave. My very own, my only slave. Precious. Cared for."
I squeezed my eyes shut. His bare skin pressed against mine, and I could feel his flaccid cock against my lower belly. I shivered, remembering how it felt in my hand. His words were both reassuring and terrifying.
"What are you?" he said softly into my ear.
"I am your slave."
"Good girl. You are my good slave."
"Thank you, Bach."
He squeezed his arms tighter and mine rose to circle his back. I held him and he sighed, a happy sound. He rested his chin on top of my head, making his voice sound flattened.
"You are my slave. I am your Master. We will take care of each other."
"Yes, Bach."
He pulled back and kissed my forehead. He walked into the bedroom and I followed. He opened up a drawer in his dresser and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and a tshirt. He pulled them both on and nodded at me. "You can put on the caftan, my dear."
"Thank you, Bach."
I put it on and waited to see what was going to happen next.
"I'm giving you an hour before bed to yourself, my dear. You can spend it in your room. Your phone is in there, if you have any games or apps you wanted to use without internet. There is also a pad and pen on top of the dresser. I want you to make me lists of things you need and things you want. I can take a look at them and see what I can provide."
"Yes, Bach, thank you."
He reached out his hand and I took it. "Enjoy the time, girl. I'm going to watch a bit of television in the living room. After the hour, it's bedtime."
"Yes, Bach."
I followed him down the hallway and he walked into my room. I followed, looking around, focusing mainly on the bed. He held up a finger to get my attention.
"Just like the bathroom, there is no lock on this door. But you may not block it in any way. I have the right to come in any time I like. Understand?"
"Yes, Bach."
"Good girl."
"Thank you, Bach."
He left and tugged the door closed behind him. I was alone.
I went to bed and sat down, picking up a pillow and hugging it to myself, leaning forward and rocking back and forth. The quiet was nice, as was the solitude. Even in our early days of marriage, James and I had always taken time apart during the days. The constant togetherness with Bach was new, and especially with the circumstances, cloying.
I got up and sat on the rocking chair, pillow still in my arms. I rocked slowly, my eyes closed and the soft squeak of the wood calming. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. I thought about what had happened in the bathroom.
Orgasms were always good, of course. But sometimes I just had to accept that I wasn't going to climax during sex. It didn't mean I wasn't having fun or enjoying the sensations. Sometimes I was just stuck in my own head. The best ways for me to have an orgasm was to just go for it, and go hard. Sometimes toys were needed.
So what had happened? I'd been turned on, yes, both from his playing with my nipples and my stroking him. I'd always been excited by the way others react to me sexually, which was of course normal enough. But I'd never felt anything like that.
He just told me to come. And I did. And I came hard. I shook and I knew I was covered in sweat. It was harder than I had come in years. I couldn't understand it. Why had I reacted like that with him? With just his words? Why did it feel both like shackles and freedom all at the same time?
I ran the moments through my head over and over again. I felt my nipples harden all over again, and felt like I could come again without much effort just from thinking about it. I rocked on and on, the movements of my thighs making his pussy wet again, making his clit swollen.
My breathing grew heavy and I was losing myself in the sensations all over again.
Then, a knock came from the door, yanking me out of my thoughts and I jumped. My eyes flew open and he walked in, smiling at me. "Bed time, my dear."
"Yes, Bach," I said, my face burning.
"Did you write anything down?"
"No, Bach. I just rocked for a while."
"No phone?"
"No, Bach."
"You could have called for help."
"I know."
And he was right. I could have called the police. I could have gotten someone here and been home by morning. Bach and my husband would probably both be arrested. Or, if nothing else, I would have been brought to the police station and allowed to go back to my life, or even a new one.
But I didn't. It hadn't even occurred to me. I'd been too wrapped up in my thoughts and the sensations in my body.
Too busy thinking about Bach.
He raised an eyebrow and held out his hand. I stood up and took it. "Your face is all flushed, my dear. What were you doing?"
"Nothing. Just thinking."
"Just remember, I own your body. So I own your orgasms as well. No masturbating or coming without permission. Ever. Understand?"
"Yes, Bach."
"Good girl. Bring the pillow," he said, nodding at it. "You'll want it I'm sure."
"Thank you, Bach."