Chapter 4

As I stepped out of the car and made my way around to Elizabeth’s door, a wave of pride washed over me. There she was—my wife, an absolute vision of seduction wrapped in leather and silk, waiting for me to take her hand. The black leather skirt she wore clung to her hips, accentuating every curve, while the black silk blouse hugged her in all the right places. Her towering heels made her legs look even more delicate, and with each step she took, the sway of her hips was mesmerizing. She looked stunning, confident, and utterly captivating. My heart raced as I helped her out of the car, her hand warm and soft in mine.

“What’s come over my wife?” I thought to myself, a mix of amazement and delight flooding my senses. Elizabeth had always been beautiful, but this ... this was something else entirely. I had always wanted to see her in a leather skirt, but I had been too shy to ask, worried she’d think it was too slutty, too bold. Now, seeing her standing there in front of me, wearing exactly what I’d always fantasized about, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction. She looked incredible, and the fact that she’d chosen to wear something so sexy—something I had secretly desired for years—felt like a personal victory.

As we walked into the restaurant, her hand resting lightly on my arm, I couldn’t stop admiring her. Her makeup was flawless, and her honey-blond hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. The fake lashes she had on made her eyes look even more alluring, adding an air of sophistication to her playful gaze. But it wasn’t just her appearance that had changed—there was something about her energy tonight, something that drew people’s attention. Every head turned as we passed by, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a surge of pride swell in my chest. I was the guy with the gorgeous, sexy wife on my arm, and everyone knew it.

I glanced at her again, noticing something different about her. The three pairs of hoop earrings she was wearing—two small, one larger—glistened in the light as they dangled from her ears. It seemed like a bold choice for her, maybe a bit too much, but I found myself admiring her newfound desire to experiment with her appearance. Edgy. Daring. I liked it. The hoops swayed slightly as she moved, drawing attention to her neck and the thick, gold necklace that I’d started to notice she wore all the time now. It was striking, bold, almost ... heavy. There was something about it that made her more aware of herself—of the confidence she carried, of how she moved.

“That necklace again, huh?” I asked, curiosity bubbling up inside me as we walked toward our table.

Elizabeth’s lips curled into a sultry smile, her eyes flicking to mine for just a second before she looked away, as if she was hiding something. “I like the way it feels,” she said softly, her voice playful. “It’s ... special.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her response but not wanting to press her too much. There was something about the way she said it that made me want to dig deeper, but her evasive answer left me with a lingering sense of curiosity. What did she mean by special?

We took our seats at the table, the candlelight flickering softly between us, and I found myself unable to take my eyes off her. Her nails—long, polished, fake—clicked gently against her wine glass as she reached for a sip, and I couldn’t help but smile at the small details that had changed about her. The fake lashes, the perfectly styled hair, the bold accessories ... she was embracing something new, something more daring, and I loved it. I loved every bit of it.

“I love how much care you take for your appearance, my love,” I said, my voice warm with admiration. “You look ... stunning.”

She smiled at me, her eyes twinkling with that same playful energy she’d been exuding all night. “Only the best for you, darling,” she purred, her voice low and teasing. “I just want to make sure you’re proud of me.”

“Proud doesn’t even cover it,” I admitted, leaning closer to her, the heat of desire rising in my chest. “You’re perfect.”

Her lips parted slightly, and she leaned in just a little, her eyes locked on mine. “You’re the one who makes me feel that way,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a hint of naughtiness. “I just love looking good for you.”

The way she said it sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel the electricity between us growing. She was captivating, and the way she moved—graceful, confident, with a deliberate sway in her hips—made it clear that she knew exactly how much power she held over me tonight. Her ass looked incredible in that tight leather skirt, and every time she shifted in her seat, I felt my pulse quicken.

“Everyone’s staring at you,” I said with a grin, leaning back in my chair, watching the other diners glance in our direction.

Her eyes flicked to the people around us, and she gave a small, knowing smile. “I don’t mind,” she replied, her voice soft but filled with quiet confidence. “As long as they know I’m yours.”

That statement, simple as it was, sent a surge of possessiveness through me. She was mine. This stunning, sexy woman sitting across from me, turning heads with every move she made—she was mine, and I couldn’t have felt more proud. I loved the attention she was getting, loved knowing that other men were probably sitting there wishing they could have what I had. It fed my ego in ways I hadn’t expected, made me feel powerful, desirable in my own right.

“God, I love you,” I murmured, reaching across the table to take her hand.

Elizabeth smiled sweetly, squeezing my hand as she gazed at me, her eyes soft and affectionate. “I love you too,” she whispered, her thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand. “You’re everything to me, Rod.”

Her words, so endearing, were laced with a hint of playfulness, and I could feel the heat rising between us. There was a new energy to her tonight—more daring, more flirtatious, with a touch of sultriness that I hadn’t noticed before. It excited me. It made me want her even more.

As the waiter approached to take our orders, I couldn’t help but a glance at her—the leather, the silk, the way her hoops dangled as she laughed at something I’d said. She was everything I had ever wanted and more.

And as she smiled at me, her eyes dancing with affection and that playful spark of desire, I realized that tonight was going to be special.

Throughout dinner, Elizabeth was captivating in a way I hadn’t quite seen before. Her usual charm and sweetness were there, but tonight, it was paired with something else—something more mischievous, more seductive. Her lashes fluttered every time she glanced at me, those long fake lashes she’d been wearing more often lately, making her eyes look even more magnetic. Her hands, with those sharp, perfectly manicured nails, seemed to move with purpose—trailing along the rim of her glass or gently brushing against my arm, sending shivers up my spine each time she touched me.

She leaned in closer as the meal progressed, her voice dropping just enough to make me strain to hear her playful words, each one laced with subtle innuendo. “You know,” she purred, her fingers lightly grazing the back of my hand, “I’ve been thinking about you all day ... imagining what tonight could bring.”

Her words sent a jolt of excitement through me, and I couldn’t help but smile at her boldness. She wasn’t usually this forward in public, but it was exhilarating. She was teasing me, drawing me in, and I was falling for it, hard. It was like she had tapped into something new, something raw and exciting, and I was here for every second of it.

The way she played with her hoop earrings—her fingers lightly grazing them as she laughed at one of my jokes—made me feel like she was drawing attention to them on purpose. Her nails, bright and sharp, tapped softly against her glass, and every time she leaned back in her chair, she crossed her legs just a little more deliberately, drawing my attention to the way her leather skirt hugged her thighs.

I was just taken aback: “You are the most beautiful woman here.” She replied with a fierce seduction. “You deserve me, don’t you?”

The words, paired with that look, that sway in her hips whenever she moved, made me feel stronger, more confident. There was a power in knowing that this stunning woman was mine, and that she wanted to please me, to make me happy. The leather skirt screaking as she adjusted in her seat didn’t go unnoticed, and each little shift in her posture seemed to be designed to keep me entranced.

We were halfway through the main course when I noticed Robert and Olivia walk into the restaurant. Robert was someone I’d known from a rival firm, and while we weren’t exactly close friends, we had a kind of professional rivalry. Olivia, his wife, was posh and always seemed to carry an air of superiority around her, but tonight, her eyes darted to Elizabeth with a look of surprise—and maybe a bit of jealousy.

“Rod, Elizabeth, what a pleasant surprise!” Robert called out as they approached, his eyes already flicking toward my wife. I didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on her for just a moment too long.

“Robert, Olivia, good to see you,” I said, standing up to shake his hand, already sensing an opportunity. Robert was a helpful connection, someone I could definitely benefit from staying close to. And judging by the way his eyes kept darting to Elizabeth, I had a feeling he was more than eager to stay connected, too.

Olivia, on the other hand, greeted us with her usual air of polite aloofness. But it was clear her eyes had already zeroed in on Elizabeth’s appearance—her tight leather skirt, the plunging neckline of her silk blouse, the long hoops hanging from her ears. Olivia’s expression was hard to read, but I could tell she wasn’t pleased.

As we exchanged pleasantries, Elizabeth was nothing short of playful. She leaned forward slightly, letting her blouse dip just enough to catch Robert’s attention, her fingers toying with her glass in a way that was both casual and deliberate. “It’s been such a lovely evening,” she said, her voice dripping with charm. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

“Oh? Celebrating what?” Robert asked, his eyes lingering on Elizabeth’s lips as she smiled.

“Roderick’s been working so hard, and I thought he deserved a little treat,” she said, her voice light, but the implication in her words was unmistakable. I felt a rush of pride at the way she spoke, the way she subtly yet confidently handled the conversation.

Robert’s eyes flicked toward me, and I could tell he was impressed—perhaps more than a little envious. “Well, it seems like you’re in good hands,” he said with a chuckle, his tone friendly but loaded with meaning.

“Very good hands,” Elizabeth replied, her voice teasing as she leaned into me, her fingers brushing my leg under the table. The way she said it, the way her nails lightly grazed my thigh, made my heart race. She was being more overt than usual, but it was thrilling.

“We should have you two over for dinner soon,” Robert suggested, his eyes still glued to Elizabeth. Olivia, meanwhile, looked on with a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

“That sounds wonderful,” Elizabeth said before I could respond, flashing Robert one of those sultry smiles that had become her trademark tonight. “We’d love to.”

As they walked away, Robert glanced back at Elizabeth one last time, and I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Elizabeth had him wrapped around her finger without even trying. The jealousy in Olivia’s eyes only added to my satisfaction. My wife—this beautiful, confident woman—was the center of attention, and I loved every second of it.

As dinner ended and we headed home, that same electric energy between us only grew stronger. Elizabeth’s playful teasing, the way she subtly touched me, flirted with me throughout the evening, had worked me up. By the time we stepped through the door of our home, I couldn’t wait any longer.

I took her in my arms, feeling the softness of her body pressed against mine. Her hoop earrings swayed as I kissed her, and her nails grazed the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “You look incredible,” I murmured between kisses, my hands roaming over her curves.

“I’m glad you think so,” she whispered back, her breath warm against my skin. “I want to be everything you need.”

And then, without warning, I lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom. Her laughter filled the room, light and teasing, and when I laid her down on the bed, she looked up at me with eyes full of desire.

“Take me,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with a raw intensity that sent a surge of power through me.

I did. I took her like I had never taken her before. There was a new force between us—one that felt more primal, more intense. As I pushed into her, her legs wrapped around me, her nails dug into my back, pulling me closer.

“Yes, Roderick, fuck me ... just like that,” she panted, her voice breathless but demanding. Every time I thrust into her, she responded with a moan, her body arching beneath mine as she urged me on.

I turned her around, grabbing her hips as I took her from behind. The sight of her ass, her body moving in sync with mine, was almost too much to handle. “God, you feel so good,” I groaned, thrusting deeper, harder.

“Yes, baby, don’t stop,” she moaned, her voice raw with pleasure. “Fuck me harder. I want to feel you.”

Her words sent me over the edge. My dick sliding into her, feeling the heat between us intensify with every movement. Her wetness. Her sounds, those sweet, desperate moans, fueled me, and when I finally came, it was with a force that left us both breathless.

Afterward, she as per now usual she cleaned me, her mouth soft and warm as she licked me clean. It was sweet and intimate, and as I lay there, feeling the warmth of her body next to mine, I couldn’t help but feel utterly content.

“You’re incredible, my love” I whispered, pulling her close.

She smiled, her head resting on my chest, and in that moment, I felt stronger, more confident than ever.

As the days passed, my life became a delicate balancing act, one where I teetered between two worlds—my overtly slutty persona under Mistress Hardgraves and the sweet, loving wife I presented to Roderick. Every day felt like I was walking a tightrope, careful not to let one side bleed too much into the other. But even as I tried to keep them separate, I could feel them inching closer together, my words, my actions, my desires all beginning to blur.

At the charity, my professional demeanor had become a thin veil for the sexual energy simmering just beneath the surface. My makeup was always flawless—thick lashes, smoky eyes, my lips painted a shade of red or pink depending on the mood Mistress had set for me that day. The heels Mistress insisted on had become second nature to me, the once-painful arches now a perfect balance as I strutted confidently in stilettos. My walk had changed, too—there was a deliberate sway in my hips, a slow, sultry rhythm that felt like second nature. Leather pants hugged my legs, short skirts revealed just enough to catch a lingering glance from passing men. Jewelry had become an essential part of my identity—the gold hoops always dangling from my ears, swaying with every move I made. My belly ring glittered beneath my tops, a secret reminder of my submission.

I was living in two worlds.

At home, I had to be even more careful. Roderick was sharp; he noticed everything, and I couldn’t afford to let my Mistress-taught persona bleed too far into our domestic life. But keeping it in check was becoming harder. My language with Roderick was shifting, becoming more playful, sometimes naughtier than I intended, but I kept a tight rein on it. I couldn’t just start calling his cock a “cock” without raising suspicion—it was too much, too fast. So I stuck with “dick,” something that felt less harsh but still ignited that primal heat in his eyes. But in my mind, I thought of it as his big cock, the one I craved so deeply now.

Even though I was careful, there were moments when my training with Mistress slipped through. Like when I felt the urge to tell him exactly what I wanted—to beg for his dick or tell him how good it felt inside me—and I had to pull myself back, recalibrate.

My appearance had become my main focus. Every morning, I spent extra time making sure I looked sexy but approachable. I’d wear a tight skirt or leather pants, a blouse that showed just enough cleavage to make Roderick’s eyes linger a little longer. I loved watching his reactions, seeing the way his gaze would travel down my body, how the sight of me gave him that boost of confidence, that surge of power. It made him stronger, more assertive, and I fed off it. I wanted to be sexy for him, but I also needed to stay in control of how much of my Mistress-taught sluttyness bled into my role as his wife.

But Mistress was always watching. Her cameras, hidden throughout the house, recorded every interaction I had with Roderick. Each week, she would review the footage with me, analyzing every moment of our intimacy, pointing out where I needed to improve, where I could be more vocal, more enticing, more slutty. It was humiliating and yet ... strangely exhilarating.

Mistress would replay a scene where I was on my knees, sucking Roderick’s dick, and she would pause, her voice sharp. “More tongue, Elizabeth,” she’d say, her whip cracking against the ground as a warning. “He likes it when you tease him with your tongue first. And you need to sound more eager. This is your husband, but you’re also his slut. Show him how much you need his dick.”

I’d nod obediently, my heart racing as she critiqued my every move. “Yes, Mistress,” I’d reply, my voice soft, eager to please.

“And don’t forget to thank him for his cum,” she would add, her eyes cold and calculating. “Always.”

I had learned to accept those evaluations, as degrading as they were. Mistress had this way of making me feel both ashamed and focussed, and I thrived on it. I craved her approval, even as I winced at the sting of her whip during my weekly discipline sessions. She’d take me down to her dungeon, her hand firm on my back as she guided me to the bench. I’d brace myself, feeling the leather against my bare skin, and then the whip would crack—sharp, searing pain followed by a rush of heat and pleasure. It was both punishment and reward, a tangible reminder of my place beneath her control.

After each session, Mistress would play with me, making me cum as she assessed my performance on the video screen. It was all part of the training, part of my transformation. I was becoming more vocal with Roderick, telling him how much I loved sucking his dick, encouraging him to fuck me harder, faster. I was learning to express my pleasure in ways I hadn’t before—fuck yes, that’s it or make me cum, stud. The more I let go, the more intense my climaxes became. And I loved it. I loved the way my man was fucking me now, like he needed it as much as I did.

Roderick, for his part, was totally unaware of the cameras. He didn’t know that Mistress and I watched him, analyzed him. But I could see the changes in him too. He had grown more muscular, his body tan and firm from his trip abroad and his renewed commitment to working out. He was more assertive, taking control in the bedroom in a way he hadn’t before, and it thrilled me. I loved seeing how my growing sluttiness boosted his ego. I bathed in his praise when he told me how incredible I looked, how much he loved my new enthusiasm in bed.