Confessions of a Kinky Wife

Standing there with his arms folded and his shirt so white and his trousers so black, he seemed to tower over me, a presence to inspire fear and awe.

I dumped the clothes in the basket and stood there for longer than necessary, staring into the crumpled swirls of fabric, unwilling or unable to make my own way to the corner.

‘That’s the first half of the order,’ said Dan. ‘Can you remember the second?’

I humphed and did a hostile little shrug.

‘I think you can. Go on.’

‘I don’t want to stand in the corner. I’d rather just get it over with.’

‘I’d rather not have to deal with insubordination during discipline, Philippa. If you want extra punishment, you’re going about it very well.’

I stamped my foot and dawdled over to the corner. Damn, he was so uncompromising when he was in this mood. And so sexy, I thought, stealing a furtive glance from the corner of my eye.

I wanted to smile, then. After all, this was what I wanted. And yet I still felt I ought to resist, I ought to protest. I ought to fight for the dignity I had willingly relinquished. It was stupid, but I’m human, and humans are stupid.

I stood in the corner in my knickers and bra and folded my arms mutinously.

He came up to my shoulder and I heard the rattle of the cuffs before I felt his hand close over my upper arms and wrench them apart. He put my hands behind my back and cuffed them. Proper cuffs, these, not the type you get from the Ann Summers catalogue. Heavy, cold metal, weighing on your wrists until they ache. He locked them shut then patted my hip before withdrawing.

‘I’ll call you when I’m ready,’ he said. ‘If you move out of that corner, I’ll put you straight back, with a plug inside you. Understood?’

I shivered, exquisitely captive. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good. While you’re there, I want you to think about the perils of drinking and driving.’

‘I didn’t drink and drive, Sir.’

‘No, I know, but I still want you to think about it.’

He left the room.

I have to confess, I didn’t think about drink driving for one minute. I thought about my poor bottom and what might be about to happen to it. I clenched my cheeks and imagined the sound of the cane swishing through the air towards me. I didn’t think I could take it.

I also thought about the feel of the cuffs on my wrists, how they contained and constrained me and restricted what I could do. I liked the feeling, despite the discomfort. I liked the idea that Dan could modify my behaviour, just as these cuffs modified my potential for physical movement. I liked the feeling of benign imprisonment, of it all being for my own good, because he cared about me.

I thought about the butt plug and how it had felt, and how it might feel if he put it in me now. He’d said he was going to keep them for after spankings. Would he do that tonight? Something about the plug reminded me at the deepest, basest level that I had submitted myself to him. I could carry on fooling myself through anything else, but the plug left no room for self-delusion. The plug told the truth of the matter.

Again, I clenched my buttocks. My legs were feeling a little trembly now. I pushed my nose right into the corner and made condensation on the paintwork with my breath until he opened the door again.

‘Have you had time to think about why you’re being punished tonight?’ he asked.

‘I don’t need time to think about that. I already know.’

My adolescent-style whining was really coming to the fore tonight.

‘You do? So, are you going to tell me?’

‘Because I had too much to drink and couldn’t drive home. And because …’ I stopped. I really wanted to say, ‘because you want to’, but at the last minute my bravado failed me.

‘Because?’

‘No other reason. Just that.’

‘I see. And have you considered the reason you drank too much? Was it simply forgetfulness or a moment of madness?’

Ah. OK. Now he was asking. Because of course it wasn’t either of those.