Monday comes, and we take our daughter to daycare. My wife calls in sick. We had planned to meet with someone from the place I was trying to get hired at, to talk about the job and what it entailed, but they had never called us. So when we get home and she gets right to business: “Do you mind being an object for me?”
Of course I don’t. The last few days have convinced me that my place is on my knees, her place above me. I’m a slave. She owns me. There’s no saying “no,” anymore –there’s simply “I can’t.” And saying that I can’t do something is an admission of weakness, and her man isn’t weak unless she beats me down like she did with the switch.
(Graphic sex follows. You’re warned.) Read the rest of this entry »
