Chapter 6

Every time I tried to be reasonable, trying to convince my wife of the risks of her wild plans, it led to a heated argument. Like she wanted to close her eyes to all the dangers that a complete surrender of power would entail. Her desire for this appeared so intense that it seemed more like a craving than anything else. I knew damn well what we had done in the past when we just got married. I simply didn’t understand why she would want to go - not only back to this, but - far beyond we have done.

Why didn’t I? What went awry with me? Why was I reluctant to take the role millions of men would sacrifice anything for? To be the Head of the Household, the Master of the House. The Demigod that just made a wish and his servant would move heaven and earth to grant that wish. In all religions with jealous gods, there is a strong oppression of women. I have the highest level of familiarity with the Christian God, but the Jewish and Muslim Gods are not any better. Read the Handmaids Tale.

At 13, during the onset of puberty, I noticed that something seemed off within me. At 15, at my peak of jerking off three to four times daily, I knew I was a danger to all women. The pictures I looked at were not innocent titties, but women in tight bondage. The deeper the ropes bit into the flesh, the more tissues I needed. I knew that if this was something I couldn’t control, I would certainly end up in prison.

“Beating a woman is the ultimate act of cowardice and disgrace for a man”, my mother had told me over and over again. And she was right of course. So I stayed away from all kink with my girlfriends in school. Until I met Sylvia. She possessed a unique quality, not just her beauty and intelligence, but also her understanding of my quirks. I had found my soulmate. She wasn’t afraid to tell me the truth quite often. However, in the bedroom, this girl’s submissiveness surpassed even my dominance. So we experimented a lot. All in good fun.

After we’ve got the kids, I guess I grew up as well. We both grew as a person. Despite the hardships we faced, our bond remained unbreakable, providing us with the strength to tackle any problem head-on. Through thick and thin, we always supported each other, whether it was with money, family matters, or dealing with the challenges of our sons’ puberty problems. If the concept of a soulmate exists, Sylvia is mine.

This submissive year came as a total surprise for me. Sue me for failing to observe that Sylvia was grappling with those emotions. My standard response to my wife is ‘Hey, I didn’t notice, but then I am just a man.’ Well, that didn’t work this time. Looking back, I now see I should have come to that realisation. I attempted to tame the audacity of her proposal, but like a rebellious teenager, the more I pushed back, the more she craved what I cautioned against.

Suddenly, I was in the attic. I couldn’t remember coming up here. My eyes scanned the attic. Behind the massive cage that had required a tremendous amount of effort to position, we had mounted a huge rack holding all the items Sylvia had purchased in the shop. On the top row several kinds of gags. Plastic balls, rubber balls, inflatable gags, you name it. Below that, different nipple clamps and a bucket full of clothespins. On the bottom row were several whips and canes. I looked at it in awe. My wife had bought this so I could use in on her. Her fearless display of wanting made me wonder why I felt so afraid to fulfil her desires. Could it be true that she would truly walk away from me for another person who will meet her deep yearning? I thought she was bluffing, but did I want to find out the hard way?

Definitely not.

And I know you wouldn’t either. Winning the jackpot ensures you don’t frivolously spend your money.

I made the decision. A tremendous weight fell off my shoulders. All my adult life, every option I had ultimately led me back to my wife, there was never any other choice.

After coming downstairs, I wrote a brief message for her and placed it on the dining table in the kitchen where she would easily spot it. After that I showered, shaved and changed appropriate clothes. A leather pants and an expensive shirt. I took a bunch of things with me from downstairs and, on impulse, I carried a comfortable chair from the bedroom to the dungeon. I made myself comfortable in it and waited.

After about an hour, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Completely nude, compliant with the note I left behind, She had a note of her own pinned to her left chest.

“At ease, girl.” A soldiers’ daughter, remember? With her hands folded at her back, legs slightly bent and apart, I took the two coloured head pins out of her right tit, each half a centimetre deep to keep the note in place. On both sides of the nipple, a hint of a drop of blood appeared, not more.

Sylvia had written in her own neat writing, ‘Beloved Master. I deeply regret my actions of fleeing in anger and I apologise. Please punish me harshly, for I have wronged you. I love you.’ A hastily sketched heart visually reinforced those words.

Looking down with intensity, my wife assumed a posture of submission, her eyes locked onto the ground.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you yet. Put on this posture collar and stand in the corner over there.” We had a special penalty corner with a chain mounted to a beam. At the height of her throat, on the other end of the chain, there was a musketon hook. After she hooked herself up, she was staring in a mirror I had mounted there for introspection.

“Keep the chain taut and your hands clasped behind your neck. Don’t use the time to look how pretty you are, instead think about what went wrong and why.”

I set the timer on my phone for 10 minutes and grabbed my John Norman novel. But my mind wasn’t there. Sometimes the ‘I am just a slave girl, what else can I do but to obey’ repetition can get old, you know what I mean? Perhaps I the image in the corner was distracting me. A beautiful nude girl with a beautiful rigid posture collar around her throat. Tied with a very short metal chain to the wall. After a few minutes, the pose of holding your hands at the back of your neck can be tiring. I said it before and I will say it again: if there is one person in the world that can maintain a pose for 10 minutes without moving a muscle, it would be my Sylvia. Despite the absence of any instruction to remain completely motionless, she inexplicably did so. Because she knew it would make me feel proud of her. The timer went off suddenly, making a loud ring and ending the corner time too quickly. In the future, I had to increase its duration.

“At ease. You know, just thinking. We need to go to this piercing studio to get you a nice septum ring so I can lock you to the wall by your nose.” She knew I wouldn’t do such a thing, of course. I clicked the hook from the D-ring of the collar. She averted her eyes, constantly glancing downwards to ensure that I wouldn’t catch her gaze.