(This is a companion piece to "The Perfect Birthday Present".
It was a great Saturday. I was just getting home from the golf course where I'd had a near record round. I was on top of the world. Life couldn't be better. I walked in the door and hollered, "Hi, Honey, I'm home!" There was no response, and that surprised me because I could hear the TV-- Brenda was home. I walked into the den and she was sitting staring at the program. I repeated, "Hi, Honey," as a prelude to a torrent of words telling her about the wonderful morning I'd had on the course. She turned and glared at me and snapped off the set.
I was taken aback. "What's the matter?" I asked. "You don't know!? You really don't know!?" She was one pissed wife, but I hadn't a clue. "Brenda, why are you pissed off? I don't understand." "I can't believe it!" she said, "you really have forgotten haven't you?" "Forgotten what?" I asked. "You say you love me, but you've completely forgotten haven't you?" She sounded really sad now, which made me feel worse than when she was just pissed-off at me.
"Honey, I really don't know why you're upset. What have I done?" She started to cry. "You say you love me, but without so much as a word you leave me alone on my birthday and head off with your buddies to the dumb golf course." She began to cry in earnest.
Oops. I was in trouble now. I couldn't believe I had been so thoughtless as to forget her 19th birthday. I sat down on the couch next to her. "Oh, Brenda, I'm so sorry, please forgive me. I'll make it up to you." I tried to put my arms around her. She shoved me away, stood and stomped across the room and flounced into the chair. She was pissed again. "Yah," she said, "and how will you make it up to me?"
I thought furiously. "I'll take you to that French restaurant you've been wanting to try. How's that." "I don't feel like it," she said still pissed. "We could go to the movies," I said a little questioningly. "That's not very special," she shot back. "That hardly makes up for forgetting!" Her mood shifted to tears again.
"Brenda, I'm sorry. I want to make it up to you. What do you want to do? I'll do it, just tell me?" "You think you can get off by just taking me out or doing one quick thing. Well it won't work, buster. I'm pissed and hurt." "Brenda," I said, "it's only half way through Saturday. We've still got the rest of the weekend ahead. We can spend the rest of it celebrating your birthday. We can make it special."
Brenda shot back, "Yah! So how!? How can we make it special?" A light glimmered. "Brenda, why don't we spend the rest of the weekend doing whatever you want whenever you want." Maybe that would mollify her. I didn't like her unhappy with me and wanted out of the doghouse bad.
"What do you mean," she shot back "about 'whatever and whenever'?" I said, "just that. You decide what you want and we'll do it." She said, "Do you mean that you'll do whatever I want?" "Yes," I said desperately, "you tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it." "I don't believe you," she said with a little pout. "I'll ask you to do something you don't really want to do and you'll just beg off." She began to cry again.
"Brenda, Brenda. I promise. I'll do whatever you want for the rest of the weekend." "Do you really mean it?" she asked. "Yes!" I said firmly. "Do you really promise to do whatever I want?" "I will, Brenda, I really will." She thought for a beat and then started to look angry again. "No, I don't believe you. You don't really want to please me. You just want to get out of trouble with me." "No, Brenda, I really want to do what you want. Go ahead, just ask."
Brenda Takes Control
She thought for about thirty seconds. "Okay, we'll see. Take off your clothes!" As you might expect I was non-plussed. "Whaa... aat?" I stammered. "Just as I thought," Brenda shot back. "You say you'll do what I want, but the first thing I ask you to do you balk at." "But why do you want me to take my clothes off?" I countered. "Look," she said, "it isn't a matter of debate. You agreed to do what I want. I want you to take off your clothes. Are you going to do what I want this weekend or not?" "But I don't understand." "It's not a matter of understanding. It's a matter of doing what I want or not. And it's apparently 'not'. Just as I thought." She was pissed again. She jumped to her feet and started angrily out of the room.
"Okay, okay. I'll take off my clothes." Frankly the idea excited me. I was just so surprised that I had frozen. I got up and started stripping. By the time I took off my shorts I had to make sure not to catch the waistband on my hardening cock. Brenda stood there watching me and when I was naked she walked slowly around me looking me arrogantly up and down.
"Get down on your knees." Again I was startled and hesitated. "I said, 'get down on your knees'". I got down. She stepped closer and looked down at me. "You said you'd do what I want for the rest of the weekend. I'm going to take you up on that. You're going to treat me like a slave treats his mistress. Understand?" "Yes, Brenda, sure. Just tell me what you want." "To start with, you'll address me as Mistress. And unless told otherwise you'll speak only when spoken to and then respond with a 'Yes, Mistress' or a 'No, Mistress.' Got it!?"
"Yes, Mistress," I said. My cock got harder. It clearly liked what was going on. I'd read a little bit about Femdom when I surfed the net and the concept had titillated me. I didn't think I was ready for cock and ball torture, but the thought of sexually serving my wife was a real turn-on. Since I didn't think she was into CBT I was beginning to be glad I had forgotten her birthday.
Brenda sat in the chair. "Crawl over here and face me." I crawled in front of her and knelt. "Stroke your cock for me." This was getting better and better. I began to stroke my cock slowly and voluptuously. It responded appropriately. It got bigger and harder and it felt great!
"To start with I'm going to punish you for forgetting my birthday. But after that you are going to make it up to me by worshipping my body and doing everything to it I've ever wanted you to do. Got it, slave?" "Yes, Mistress," I said with ever-growing enthusiasm.
.... There is more of this story ...