“Where are you going?” She turns to look up at me.
“I need to take a dump,” I lie.
When her head drops back against the pillow, and I think it’s safe, I slip from the room. Miraculously, the door doesn’t make a sound.
My bare feet pad over the cold wooden floors. My cock is still mostly at attention. I have half a mind to try to jack off in the study, but the memory of the efforts of the day before is still fresh in my mind, and my arm has gotten sorer throughout the day. It would tire me out though.
And maybe conjure a visit from Her.
I glare down at the traitor, never having felt this much animosity at my favorite body part, and scrub my face.
If I can’t have an orgasm, I might as well have scotch. When I reach the entrance to the study, a voice behind me makes me freeze.
“John.”
I close my eyes and groan. My wife is in this house. Whatever’s going on between me and Mother needs to end.
Who is Mother? What is Mother? She can’t be real, can she? Was I just drunk and delirious when I watched her walk around with Johnny in her arms?
I run my hands up into my hair and squeeze my head in frustration.
“John.” Her voice carries a touch of sternness this time. I shouldn’t keep her waiting. Who knows what the repercussions from that will be?
I turn back and find her in the hallway just a few feet from the door to the master bedroom.
“Don’t make me go in there, John.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “No,” I manage. “Please, don’t go in there.”
Mother wears a black corset with black garters, black stockings, and black knee-high leather boots with the tallest stiletto heels I’ve ever seen. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. In one hand, she holds a black crop. In the other is a pair of metal handcuffs.
“It’s time for you to learn some discipline, John.”
Her words cause my body to stiffen with trepidation while my little John stiffens with desire.
I glance behind her at the door beyond in which my family sleeps. I lick my dry lips and think about the scotch in the study.
“I’ve got something else for you to drink, John. I think you’ll find it just as intoxicating.”
I’m confused but listening.
“Hands behind your back, John.” She holds up the cuffs.
My breathing has been too shallow, and I deepen it to avoid hyperventilating. Meisha and I have never played with handcuffs before. I always assumed that if we did, I would be the one putting cuffs on her, not the other way around.
I hesitate. These don’t look like the fluffy play cuffs that one could break if needed. They look like a real police set. If I accept them on my wrists, I’ll be at Mother’s mercy.
What will She have me do? What can be worse than what I’ve done already?
Something sharp assaults my cheek with a slapping sound. I raise my hand to cover the burning sensation as I raise my eyes to Mother’s. She’d struck me with the crop.
“You test my patience, John. You will learn to obey without question.”
If it gets her to stop whipping me, I guess I can acquiesce to the cuffs. I step forward and hold out my clammy hands.
Her eyes narrow with delight as her mouth widens in approval. “Good boy.”
Mother puts the cold steel over one wrist and locks it into place, close to the skin but not too tight. She stalks behind me, pulling my arm with her. My feet stay planted to the ground.
“Give me your other hand,” she whispers into my ear, sending goosebumps over my exposed skin from head to toe. My underpants become even more restraining and uncomfortable. When I give in, that wrist is cuffed as well.
My heart beats madly within my chest as a lump settles in my throat. Having had no altercations with the law, I’ve never been restrained like this before. It’s a very vulnerable feeling. One that I’m sure Mother will take advantage of.
The whip flicks against the back of my thigh. When I jump in response, Mother laughs.
“That was just for fun, John. I’ll be nice. As long as you yield.”
She comes back around into view, the clacking of her heels echoing through the house behind me. I hope it doesn’t wake Meisha.
“On your knees.”
My eyes widen. I never expected this. Would I have allowed myself to be cuffed if I knew this was coming? I cannot say. Would I have had a choice anyway?
She rolls the handle of the crop in the palm of her hand, like a threat for disobedience. I don’t wish to feel the sting of it again. There isn’t a masochistic bone in my body.
Careful not to fall on my face, I gingerly kneel on the hard floor. Her eyes glint with a yellow-orange light that reminds me of a fire.
“Very good.” She raises her head in approval. “Now, didn’t you say you were thirsty?”
