Sally and David

Later, as I lay in bed, not my marital bed, but the one I had been manacled to earlier, I seethed with a mix of anger and humiliation. This was now my room, at least until further arrangements could be made—whatever the fuck that meant. The manacle hung loose on the bed, a mocking reminder of my captivity, but she hadn’t used it on my ankle. She had also removed the chain and manacles from my legs, granting me a small, cruel sense of freedom. I soon discovered why I wasn’t manacled to the bed about an hour after I heard her go to sleep.

I was very patient, listening carefully. She went to bed about an hour after she had ‘dismissed’ me. After she had sat on my face. After I had licked her ass and fucked it with my tongue. After she moved so that I could lick her to two more orgasms. Her words still echoed in my mind, a constant, taunting reminder. After her last orgasm, she had released a little pee in my mouth. She claimed it was an accident, but I wasn’t so sure. She stood over me and said,

“That was adequate, David. You are on your way to making amends. You will get better with time and the appropriate training.” She smiled at this, a cruel, triumphant smile, but I didn’t return it.

“Now you may go and have a shower and get yourself into your bedroom, the one at the back. You will use that room until I’ve made other arrangements.” I looked up at her, dumbfounded and enraged. She made things clear.

“Go now, David, you are dismissed.”

So here I am, listening to her on the phone, laughing with someone about something. I heard her vibrator. A series of moans and a thud followed, and then silence for the next twenty minutes. I figured that was enough time. I would slip down to my office and see if I could send for help via messages or emails. I crept to the door, turned the handle, and opened it slightly. Then I was on my back. A jolt around my neck, vicious and unforgiving, but not enough to knock me out. It seems this bitch had everything covered; there must have been a sensor on the door, a final, humiliating reminder of her absolute control.

The next morning …

There was a tap on the bedroom door. I looked around groggily, then I heard a cheery, “Wakey wakey, sleepy head. Time to get up and at ‘em, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

She walked in, placing a cup of coffee on the bedside table, and rubbed my hair before kissing my forehead. I went to speak, but felt a preemptive buzz around my neck. I looked her in the eyes and pointed to the collar.

“Oh no, silly,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mocking sweetness, “that’s there for a reason. I explained all this yesterday. You don’t need a reminder of how it all works, do you?”

I shook my head in defeat, a mix of anger and resignation coursing through me.

“Good, now get up, visit the toilet if you need to, then meet me in the kitchen,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. With that, she left and shut the door behind her.

I scratched my head, my hand automatically going to my caged cock, adjusting it slightly. I looked at the coffee, its aroma inviting. I took a sip; it was strong, black, no sugar, just how I liked it. But there was a little aftertaste, a bitter note that made me wonder if she had spat in it.

I went to what used to be our bedroom to get some clothes, but found the door locked. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I thought to myself, giving the door a frustrated kick and stubbing my toe in the process.

My temper was rising as I stepped into the bathroom, and it was made even worse when I remembered I’d have to sit to pee. I finished my ablutions, cleaned my teeth, and tried to avoid looking in the mirror. A glance at my reflection, a ghost of the man I once was, now reduced to this pathetic state.

I stomped down to the kitchen, where I found her sitting on a stool, nibbling on toast at the breakfast bar. I wondered if I could rush her before she got a scream out, but the thought was fleeting. She looked up at me, casually dressed in a vintage Rock T-shirt (The Who) and a tight pair of jeans painted on, completed by small black ankle boots with small heels. The sight of her, so nonchalant and in control, sent a wave of humiliation through me. Then the worst thing happened: my cock tried to harden in the cage, making me wince with a mix of pain and unwanted arousal.

“Ah, there you are, David, glad you could join me,” she said, her voice a mix of mockery and authority.

She stood and stepped in front of me, and I noticed she had picked up her crop from the breakfast bar. “I really like the way you apologized yesterday. I think it would be a great way to greet me from now on, don’t you think?” Her eyes gleamed with a cruel amusement as she placed the leather end of the crop on my shoulder and pushed down slightly.

I flinched at the contact, and she smiled, savoring my reaction. I got her message loud and clear, and lowered myself onto my knees. Noticing it was easier with my legs free of chains, I dropped my head and kissed each boot, a humiliating act of submission.

Without warning, she turned and walked away, leaving me kissing air. She picked up her bag and car keys from the counter, turned, and looked down at me, still kneeling. “I have to go out for a couple of hours, David. I have left a list of chores that I would like completed before I’m back,” she said, her smile a cold, calculating one. “Have yourself a bite to eat first, then maybe have a shower and shave, then you should have plenty of time, if you don’t mess around.”

She patted me on the head, a gesture of ownership and control, and left. I remained kneeling until I heard her Peugeot pull out of the drive, the engine fading into the distance. I put my head on the floor and sobbed, the weight of my humiliation and captivity crushing me, a broken man in a broken home.

“Fuck,” I thought to myself, “I can’t let the bitch get the best of me. I’ve got to believe there’s got to be a way out.” First, clothes. There have to be some dirty clothes in the wash. I looked in the mudroom, but nothing was there—the wash had been done. Overalls in the garage. I opened the garage door and got knocked on my ass. I forgot she had warned me that the collar was mapped to the house. The garage was obviously off limits. I sat for a minute to catch my breath, seething with anger and frustration.

What next? Try to get a message out to someone, anybody, maybe even the police. I went to my office, the scene of the original crime! How things had changed in just a few days. I sat at my computer and fired it up, logging on—Wrong password, try again, what the fuck, log on again—Wrong password, one more try before being locked out for an hour. Wrong password again, Shit. I’m locked out completely. That fucking bitch must have changed my password.

Ok, what next? Think, think, think, Xbox, I could download a message app on that. I rushed to the lounge and opened the cabinet under the TV. Nothing, the Xbox was gone. I sat back on the sofa, a wave of despair washing over me. It seemed she’d thought of everything, outsmarting me at every turn. I would have to be very cautious and plan if I were going to get the better of her.

But for now, I was trapped, a prisoner in my own home, at the mercy of a woman who took sick pleasure in my humiliation and submission. The collar around my neck was a constant reminder of her control, a leash that kept me in line. I had to find a way to break free, to reclaim my dignity and my life. But for now, I was her plaything, her puppet, and there was nothing I could do about it.