Thursday nights I reserve for something special. It’s always for the two of us, with the express goal to bring us closer together. Marriage can wear out if you aren’t careful. It has to be kept alive, nurtured, and it takes attention and effort. That’s my job. From the beginning we agreed on certain roles in our relationship, privileges for each of us balanced by individual responsibilities. I got the short straw, the one where you win the dominant role. Not that I mind, in fact I wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would she.
This Thursday I had been working on for months. It was the night before a three day weekend so we didn’t have to worry about getting up early. I found the movie we were going to watch, munchies appropriate for the mood I wanted, and something extra special for her to wear for the evening. Not an evening gown, nor anything out of the Victoria’s Secret catalog, though if it ever showed up in there I wouldn’t be surprised. One size fits all too, even though I did know her dress size.
Thursday morning before I left for work I told her we would be staying in for the evening, I would be fixing dinner, and that she should not make any plans. One of the benefits of being the dominant partner is that I get to issue the occasional edict without explanation. When she pressed me for details I begged off, answering with nothing more than an enigmatic “wait and see.” She was persistent though, calling me at lunch from her office. Ostensibly to tell me how her day was going (something we tried to do every day) but she got in a few hints she’d like to know what I had in mind for later. “Nice try” I told her but left her as curious as ever.
Meanwhile I left an hour early so I could get home and start dinner. Most men aren’t big on cooking but I enjoy preparing a good meal. It would be Mexican tonight: a tostada salad with guacamole and sour cream, and fresh hot tortillas with the carne asada. I stopped at the market on the way home to pick up a nice red Chilean Chianti to go with it. Sure it wasn’t Mexican, but at least it was in keeping with the Latin theme of the dinner. For desert later I had some hot buttered sopapilla, something especially appropriate to the ambiance I intended to build. She usually pampered me, but tonight she would be the one who sat back and relaxed. And if she didn’t agree, well, I had something ready to ensure I got my way.
When she walked in the door the table was set, wine breathing on the table, a Vincente Fernandez CD softly playing in the background, and the aroma of sizzling beef asada filled the kitchen. She stopped just inside the door, transfixed by the sight. Before she got out a word I held up my hand to stop her. “No. Tonight you have nothing to do, except what I tell you. First, put down your purse and kick off your shoes. Then come over here and kiss the cook, but mind the grill.”
She did just that, in precisely the order I dictated. The years together had developed a sort of telepathic bond between us. When she heard that direct order type domineering tone in my voice she went into the full submissive mode. And that’s exactly the mood I wanted to trigger. I knew how much she thrived on being controlled, being told what I wanted from her in no uncertain terms. She was pretty good at figuring it out without my help, but when I seized the moment and went into the dominant master of the house role she responded instinctively. Purse went on the side table by the door, shoes underneath, and she was in my arms in seconds. Or rather arm, one was stirring the asada with a spatula. But one arm around her was all I needed to pull her close and deliver a welcoming kiss warmer than the tortillas in the oven.
“What do I do?” Of course that would be her first question. What was she supposed to do for me? Tonight she would do plenty for me, but I didn’t want to get ahead of the plan. Still she had to do something or she’d be preoccupied.
“Fetch the wine glasses and pour for us. Then uncover the tostadas and set them on the table. The asada is just about ready. You sit down while I bring in the meat and tortillas.”
Sure I could have done all that first, but I knew better. She had to contribute in some way. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her carefully wipe imaginary spots off the crystal before pouring the wine. She stood behind her chair as I brought in the tortillas in the warmer. “Sit down. Everything is ready. You will enjoy this evening…that’s an order.”
She smiled and looked down, in that demure way that melted my heart the first time I saw it. “Yes sir,” she answered as she pulled out her chair. I scooped up the asada into the bowl and wrapped a towel around it to keep it warm. As I carried it into the dining room she reflexively reached out to straighten the pot holder on the table before I put down the hot bowl. I lit the candles and turned down the lights before I sat down next to her.
One must observe the proprieties. I took her hand in mine and asked her to say the blessing. I’m not much for religion but she has a deep and abiding faith that deserves respect. Grace is a small thing but important to her. When she finished she looked up and put her other hand on top of mine. “Thank you, this is so wonderful.”
“The night is just beginning. Wait till it’s over before you pass judgment.” I leered in a suggestive way. She laughed and playfully punched my arm. “C’mon, let’s eat before the food turns cold.”
Good food, good conversation, and a delightful companion are the key ingredients of a successful dinner party, even if the party is for two. Ever the fastidious one she carefully tasted each dish separately, between sips of wine. Me, I like it all in one, a tortilla with the carne asada on the bottom, with tostada fixings heaped on top, all rolled into a sort of burrito. For about the hundredth time she warned that I’d never make a real gourmet, and for the hundredth time I answered that I’d rather eat food than talk about it.
The meal lasted a good two hours, most of it talking rather than eating. The topics ranged from work to friends to some gardening chores we had planned for the weekend. Casual conversation seems to become more intimate and personal as two people grow closer together over time. Talking about the shrubs to be planted by the door while her fingers lightly run over my arm brings us together as a couple just as much as a romp in bed all night long.
I wasn’t on a fixed time schedule but I did have more planned for the evening. While we were clearing the table I clued her in on the coming attractions. “I got a movie, one of your favorites. It’s an oldie, but a classic. You get one chance to guess the title. Think of…John Steinbeck.”
She got that thoughtful look. From growing up in Salinas California she knew all about John Steinbeck stories, but I wasn’t sure how well she knew the movies. “Hmmm. The obvious answer would be Grapes Of Wrath, but that’s too easy. It’d have to be one of the others.” She stared at the wall for a moment, and then snapped her fingers. “Tell me, would Myrna Loy be in this movie?”
She got me again. We both liked older movies but she was a real expert at cinema trivia. “You got it. Robert Mitchum and Myrna Loy. Grapes is too depressing anyway.”
She clapped her hands together. “The Red Pony! I love that movie. Just last week I was thinking about it.”
I shut the dishwasher and started the cycle. “We’re going to sit on the couch and watch it while sipping one last glass of that wine. I have some sopapilla for desert later. But before that we have one last chore to finish. I want you to do something special for me. Something I’d really enjoy, just for me. Want to help me be selfish?”
She slid her arms around me and lifted her face up to mine. “You know I would. Anything! And I mean anything. You don’t even have to ask, you know that. What do you want me to do?”
I brushed aside her hair and kissed her forehead. “I know, and it’s not really a request. Actually, you don’t have to do much at all. In fact, you won’t be doing anything. For the rest of the evening you leave it all up to me.” I took her arm and started to lead her into he bedroom.
She looked up at me with a sideways gaze, suspicious now. “I’m not sure if that’s a promise or a threat.” She laughed.
“Both,” I answered as I opened the bedroom door. On the bed was a small cardboard box, the something special I had ordered for her weeks ago. The miracle of the internet, virtually anything can be found if one uses the right search keywords. She arched her eyebrows in a question when she saw the box but said nothing. “It’s for you,” I told her.
She started to reach for it. “What is it?” she asked.
“Not yet.” I pulled her back using the grip I still had on her arm. “It’s something I want you to wear tonight.” The box was far too small and the wrong size to hold any type of clothing she could think of. “I want you to wear it for me. And, umm, nothing else. So you’ll need to get those clothes off first. Then I’ll show you what’s in the box.”
She looked at the far too small box for a long moment before turning back to me. “Okay, if you want it, you get it.” She started to unbutton her blouse. Being the gentleman I naturally offered my assistance. After about five minutes of touching and giggling we managed to finish the job. She stood in the center of the bedroom floor, clothes piled on the chair in the corner. “Y’know, I could have done it in half the time without your help.”
“And half the fun too, so don’t complain.” Her objections were hard to take seriously when followed by giggling. “Hold out your hands, about so far apart.” I put her arms into the position I needed. “Now, feet a bit further apart. That’s good.”
My expression and tone of voice suddenly turned serious, necessary for the next step. “You will be quiet and not speak or move. Hold that position until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?” Those were the code words that told her I wanted obedience and no questions. She nodded, not being permitted to speak. Her eyes were wide, following me as I picked up the box.
When I pulled out the handcuffs and chains her expression was one of shock, but I saw the first hint of excitement too. To her credit she didn’t flinch as I opened the smaller cuffs and locked them on her wrists. She looked down at them for a moment, then back up at me. No distress or panic showed in her expression, which told me I could proceed.
I stepped behind her and pulled the chain connected to the handcuffs snugly around her waist, pulling her wrists tight against her stomach. I used a small padlock to lock together the ends behind her back. Next I knelt down and fastened the larger cuffs on her ankles. The connecting chain between her ankles was very short, no more than about two inches across, enough for her to stand but not walk. I double-locked the ankle and hand cuffs before dropping the key in my shirt pocket. Her eyes followed the key.
I put my hands on her shoulders to keep her steady while I leaned back to examine my handiwork. She was neatly packaged in the restraints, unable to move or free herself. Her only hope of freedom was the key in my pocket. I could see she knew it too, from the constant movement of her eyes from my face to the shirt pocket and back again.
Through all this she had remained silent, per my orders. I expected no less, for she took pride in her obedience to me. For all the outward appearance we showed to the public, of equal partners cooperating in a loving manner, behind closed doors the equality was redefined by our specific places in our relationship, dominant and submissive. This moment was one where I chose to exert total control, and she willingly relinquished herself to me in turn. I straightened the hair around her face with one hand while holding her close to me with the other.
“I love you,” I whispered in her ear, so softly she could barely hear. But I felt a tremble go through her and knew she heard. I kissed her, slowly, deeply, holding her close to me. I could feel her hands press against my side. They would have been around my neck if she could reach, but in her current state a feathery touch was all she could accomplish.
I scooped her up in my arms and headed for the bedroom door. “Let’s go watch your movie. We have some desert waiting too.” With one arm under her back and the other under her knees I carried her out to the sofa. She leaned her head against my chest and smiled up at me. No doubt she wanted to speak but I hadn’t lifted the ban yet.
In the living room I sat her down and turned on the television and VCR. I took the remote and put in her shackled hands. “You hold onto this for a moment. Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.” She shook her head while frowning up at me. Sure, I knew she wasn’t going to stand up and wander around, but I had to say it anyway. What’s the point of having a helpless prisoner if you can’t enjoy it by reminding her?
I shoved the tape in the VCR slot before heading back to the couch and sitting down next to her. I took the remote out of her hands and sat it down. “You have permission to speak. For now.” I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She felt good, a natural fit against me.
“You’re really getting off on this aren’t you?” She snuggled up against my arm. “You’ll take care of me while I’m your captive?”
I hit the start button for the opening credits. “Yes I am, and yes I’ll be right next to you all night. I feel pretty good, how about you? Anything pinching or too tight?” I wanted her feeling dependent and vulnerable, but not in pain.
“No, I’m okay. How long have you been planning this? I certainly didn’t expect it. Was the dinner a plot to lull me into a compliant state?” She managed a jab, more of a nudge, in my ribs.
“Months. And it worked, didn’t it?” I put a hand over the cuff holding one of her wrists. “I found a picture of these on the internet by chance one day. It stuck in my head. I decided I wanted to turn fantasy into reality. The rest you know. How does the reality feel?” I caressed her wrist, exploring the circle of steel imprisoning it.
“It’s hard to describe. Scary, a little bit, but I feel safe as long as you’re here. Powerless, like I’m paralyzed and can’t move.” Her other hand reached out to touch my fingers. “Excited too, without my clothes it’s very erotic. Whatever you do I can’t even begin to resist you.” She raised up her legs. “And those things,” she nodded to the cuffs around her ankles, “I can’t run away either. Or cross my legs, but then I guess there’s no point in protecting my modesty now.” That last comment was followed by a girlish and embarrassed laugh.
The credits on the TV screen finished, so we began watching. It didn’t take long to realize having an attractive, and nude, woman sitting next to me was something of a distraction. The occasional small rattles as she shifted position, reminding me that she was bound in my chains, didn’t help my concentration either.
About halfway through at a scene change I stopped the movie. “Time for desert. How about some sopapilla and a glass of wine?” I stood up to go to the kitchen.
“Can I help?” she said in a dreamy voice. It seems she was unfocused too, or she would have realized how silly the question was.
“You stay right there. I insist.”
“I think I can do that. You dominant types, always gotta be in charge. Rather fix it yourself than let me loose.”
“Exactly. Glad you understand.” I got out some butter and put it in the microwave along with the sopapilla. It only took a few seconds to warm up. I poured two glasses of wine and took them out to the living room, then returned for the food.
Sitting on the couch, with nothing but the small bracelets on her ankles and wrists she was quite the picture, one I could admire for hours. I think it made her self-conscious, because she interrupted with a practical question. “Okay, it looks tasty, but how am I going to eat it? Did you consider that in your months of planning?”
I sat down next to her and started to butter the pastry. “Yes I did.” I broke off a piece and held it up to her mouth. “Open wide.”
She hesitated at first but finally took a bite. Then she licked the butter from my fingers. Not only was she eating out of my hand but doing her best to turn it into an extremely sensual experience. I left the movie turned off as we went through desert.
Drinking from a glass took a couple of tries to get it right but she managed. A few drops spilled but I had a napkin ready. Dabbing up the red spots on her breasts made it all worthwhile. I started to wonder if the spill was deliberate on her part, or an unconscious reaction on mine.
We had plenty of time for more intimate play later. I switched the movie back on after we finished. At some point the hand over her shoulders worked its way down to her breast, and the other one somehow was spread out over her knee. Neither of us were watching the movie.
I nibbled at an enticing ear before whispering to her. “Remember those teenage days when you’d go out on a date to the movies? I behaved. Well, mostly. But what I wanted to do, what was going on my head, was this.” I squeezed her breast, hard, while pulling her against me. The hand on her knee slipped down to caress the soft spot underneath. She shuddered in my grasp, a sharp ragged moan escaped from her closed lips, but otherwise she said nothing.
“What I worried about,” I continued, my mouth nearly touching her ear, “was being rejected. She might grab my hand and push it away, turning me down. Know what makes this night special? You can’t do that.” My hand slowly ran up her inner thigh.
“Pl…Please…” Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged, gasping. I could feel the warmth of her skin. Her hands jerked against the restraints but she couldn’t escape their hold.
I put a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. Roughly I kissed her as the other hand reached its destination. Her eyes flew open and stared into mine, scant inches away. “Remember this moment,” I told her, punctuating each word with a touch inside her. “Remember you belong to me, mind, body, and soul. Never forget I will claim what is mine whenever and wherever I wish.”
She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but I stopped her. “No. No words.” I stood up and gathered her in my arms. “Save them for later.”
I carried her into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind me. At some point the movie ended and the tape shut off. Neither of us heard it.