Confessions of a Kinky Wife

Tonight might be interesting though, I thought …

And it was.

I got home at seven after an exhausting day and a trip to the clinic to get a morning-after pill for one of the girls who regularly attended the centre.

I knew Dan would be home, but there was no TV or radio noise, no clatter of pans in the kitchen. In fact, the flat was silent. Perhaps he was asleep?

I stuck my head around the living-room door – no sign, nor further in behind the kitchen partition.

The bathroom door was open, so he couldn’t be in there. There only remained one place to look.

I opened the bedroom door slowly.

‘Dan?’ I w

hispered, in case he was asleep.

There was nobody in there. I walked further in, then screamed as he leapt out from behind the door and grabbed hold of me.

‘What the fuck?’ I shouted, adrenalin capering around my body like an acrobat.

He laughed and laughed.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist it, oh, God, your face. Oh, come on. I’m sorry.’ He pulled my resisting form into his arms and held me until I was still.

I noticed that he was wearing his uniform.

‘What’s with the new look? Are you moonlighting as a kissogram?’

He sat me down on the edge of the bed.

‘No. Just thought it might add to the sense of occasion.’

‘Have you got handcuffs?’

He patted his utility belt. It clinked.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘When you say “sense of occasion”, you mean …?’

‘I mean you can strip down to your underwear and put yourself in that corner over there until I’m ready for you.’

What was this? He’d gone from funny and flirty to Sergeant Authority in the blink of an eye. I felt like one of his suspects, collared for flicking him the Vs in the shopping centre – a silly kid who needed to be taught a lesson.

And because I was being spoken to like a rebellious fourteen-year-old, I found myself behaving like one.

‘What for? I don’t wanna.’

‘Philippa, you can strip yourself or I can do it for you. Either way, you’ll do as you’re told.’

The words went straight between my thighs, making me squirm and idly contemplate getting arrested by him some day. I wondered if his suspects ever felt turned on by his air of quiet assertiveness. Perhaps there were women who deliberately committed crimes, just to get cuffed by him. Mmm.

All the same, I felt like shouting that I knew my rights and I wanted my lawyer.

I was pouting as I took off my work clothes, and I flung them gracelessly to the floor, refusing to look at him.

‘Laundry basket,’ he said with a sigh.