Domme By Default (4 page)
I froze as the website I'd been looking at before she returned home flashed through my mind. Would she go for it?
My dick throbbed at the thought.
Visible proof that I was owned. I wanted it so bad. What did that say about me?
I didn't want a cheap-assed pet store collar. I wanted a real one, thick and lockable, something marking me as hers.
I tried to wipe this vision from my stupid head because it wasn't helping me obey my Mistress. It only made me hornier.
I rolled over onto my stomach and tried to finish working the medium butt plug in.
Mistake.
I froze on the bed, willing my cock to soften. I hadn't counted on how it would feel rubbing against the bed.
I finally got the plug all the way in and rolled over again.
My cock stood straight up in the air. I hadn't spent this much time hard since high school.
I had to take several breaks, holding myself perfectly still because it felt like I could come if I thought hard about it.
That was the longest—and possibly best—thirty minutes of my life. As I finally and reluctantly removed the butt plug and took everything into our bathroom to clean up, I allowed myself another fantasy, imagining what it would feel like to have her fucking my ass not with a tame butt plug, but with a large strap-on.
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Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
Would I ever be brave enough to ask her?
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Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
Her
You cannot take control of someone
and
have them take control of you at the same time. The clarity of this truth hit me. One or the other. Give up one dream to make room for another.
His ideal or mine.
I had to choose.
He would serve me. He would die for me. He would kill the spiders and stand toe-to-toe with a drunk who hit on me at a hotel bar. He would love me with every breath in his body until the day the light finally left his eyes and they closed for good.
There were many things he wanted from me, but they were his desires, not his cravings. He asked only one thing of me above all others. In his heart it was all he needed—the
only
thing he needed—from me.
He needed my control.
He needed me as his Domme.
If he had that from me, he knew he had the other, lesser cares. If I was willing to do this for him, he knew no matter what direction the play took that he had my love and faith and trust.
Control.
I closed my eyes and laid my glasses on the table next to my laptop. Hadn't we done this anyway? Except with me 41
Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
spending years trying to goad him into taking a more dominant role in our relationship while he silently ceded control over to me?
And didn't I owe him this? Not that he would demand it.
Even now he was proving to be a good sub. He would never demand anything from me. I could tell him to sit in a corner while I went out to have meaningless sex, and to be in that corner when I returned, and he would sit there.
He wouldn't like it or enjoy it, but he would do it.
Not that I would ever do anything like that. The thought that there were people out there who would prey on subs turned my stomach.
I opened my eyes again and looked at the screen. Because of his line of work he couldn't wear a collar all the time. But I liked the look of the lockable leather collar he'd sent me the url for. I ordered it.
I also ordered an inexpensive ID bracelet, a heavy one, and had it engraved. On the outside, the first letter of my name.
On the backside—OWL.
Owned and Well-Loved.
Discreet, and yet it would serve as a tangible reminder of who and what he was.
The regular collar arrived first. When he got home from work that night, after he stripped I called him into the living room and pointed to the floor. He dropped to his knees and looked up at me with...
Love. Devotion.
Eagerness.
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Domma By Default
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He wanted this. Could I really deny him? He was happier than I'd seen him in years, and we'd always had a great relationship to begin with.
"You said you wanted a collar, and you sent me a website."
He nodded. "Yes, Mistress."
I still couldn't get used to those words coming from his mouth, but I guess I needed to suck it up and deal with it. I held up the collar and his eyes widened.
And his cock hardened. I mean as if I'd snapped my fingers and poof, there was his woody. Pavlov couldn't have done any fucking better.
"This collar."
He nodded.
I'd also had a small tag made for this, with OWL engraved on it too, as well as my first name.
"You want this?"
He eagerly nodded.
I swallowed hard, fastened it around his neck and snapped the small lock shut.
It wasn't going anywhere.
He stared up at me with a broad, beaming smile. "Can I go look?"
I nodded. He jumped up from the floor and, his stiff cock leading the way, ran to the guest bathroom.
Behind him from the doorway, I watched as he stared at his reflection and ran his fingers over the collar, his smile etched on every inch of his sweet face.
"Do you like it?" I finally managed to ask.
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Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
He turned and hugged me hard. "I love it, Mistress! Thank you so much!"
I tried to stay in the moment and not break down and cry.
Here was my sweet husband, eagerly thanking me for collaring him like a dog.
I took a deep breath and tried to stay in character for him.
"Here's how this will work. Once your day collar gets here, you'll wear it to work. You won't wear this one to work. This one is for at home in the evenings and on weekends. When you get home every day, you will come to me so I can collar you, then you can take off your day collar. In the mornings, before you go to work, you can put your day collar on and I'll take this one off you. Otherwise, you don't take this collar off yourself unless it's an emergency, got it?"
He nodded. "Yes, Mistress."
His stiff erection poked my hip. "Go put your medium toy in and wait for me in bed."
He raced to do it.
I watched him run down the hall.
Run. Eagerly.
I turned and stared at myself in the mirror. I felt like a monster and yet I didn't look any different. I wanted to break down and cry and knew if I did it would hurt him. He would feel guilty, and that's the last thing I wanted to make him feel.
I washed my face, sucked it up, put on my metaphorical big girl panties, and went to go take care of My sub.
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Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
him
I found the information about the Munch, held at a local restaurant on the mid to upscale end of things. I printed out the information, walked into the living room and knelt in front of her.
She finally looked up from her laptop. "Yes?"
I handed her the paper. She studied it for several long minutes. "You want to go?"
"Yes, Mistress."
She frowned. "Okay, seriously, let's talk about this. Are you sure you really want to do this?"
I'd thought about it.
I did.
I nodded.
"You're not worried about seeing someone there you know?"
I shrugged. "They'll be in the same boat I am." I hoped I'd made that sound as casual as I planned. Frankly, I was nervous about it, but my desire to go overrode my common sense. If she knew how nervous I really was she'd put the kibosh on it.
She studied the paper for a little longer, then nodded.
"Okay. You can make our reservations."
* * * *
Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
Three days before the Munch, she added several new lines to the daily task list I had to read through. Safeword protocol.
She was more worried about this than I was, apparently.
God I loved her for it. She always took such good care of me.
I would wear my regular collar for this as well as my day collar. My dress shirt and necktie mostly hid my regular collar. Hid it well enough.
She drove. As soon as the car was in park, I jumped out and raced around to her door to open it, waiting, holding it for her while she took her time shutting down the car and getting out.
She smiled and kissed me. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me, Mi—Sweetheart." I almost screwed up. One thing she insisted on was me not calling her Mistress in public around others. We'd mutually agreed upon Sweetheart in its place. Vanilla and safe enough for any location.
I offered her my arm and held the restaurant door for her.
We checked in with the hostess and my wife handled things from there, as she'd instructed me she would. She told the hostess we were part of the "computer club."
We were escorted to a large back meeting room. Around twenty people were already there. We were about fifteen minutes early.
I remained at my wife's side as she found the woman in charge and introduced us by our first names. Everyone seemed friendly and nice and ... well, normal. A couple of the women and two of the men wore what could probably safely 46
Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
be called collars of some sort, but not obvious ones. A few had some tattoos and body piercings, but for the most part everyone there could have been us.
We took our seats. I hurried to hold my wife's chair for her. Another couple sat next to us, a woman and a man, and he held the chair for her, too.
The woman, speaking to my wife, introduced themselves.
My wife handled our introduction. After a few minutes the four of us were chatting about pretty much everything except the elephant taking a craptacular dump in the middle of the room.
My wife apparently hit her limit and finally asked the other woman, "Tell me to take a hike if this isn't the right protocol, but this is our first Munch and I've got a lot of questions..."
Twenty minutes later, us two men had learned far more intimate details about each other than we ever would have in normal polite company, I'm sure. And we didn't have to say a word. At one point he looked at me and sort of shrugged, and I did the same.
Staying quiet seemed a safe option for both of us.
My wife asked me a direct question. I was about to respond when my eye fell on the doorway. While we were talking, several people had arrived, bringing the total number of attendees to around thirty-five. But the latest arrivals...
Holy shit.
I didn't know the woman. I knew that Tom, the guy in the office down the hall from me, wasn't married. Beyond that, I didn't know much about him. I had a feeling I was about to learn a lot, though.
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Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
The
holy shit
look on his face when he saw me had to mirror mine.
My wife snapped her fingers at me and then she recognized my expression and followed my gaze.
"Do we need to go talk?" she quietly asked. That was our pre-arranged code.
I nervously shook my head. "Not yet."
The only open place for two people at that point was on our other side. My co-worker looked like he was being marched to the electric chair.
Then the first woman who'd sat with us smiled and waved at the woman with Tom. "Oh, hey! Glad you made it."
The three of us men sat there quietly listening to the conversation until our food arrived.
Eventually the women brought us into the chat and we all loosened up a little.
I'll admit I was too nervous to look around and get to know many of the people there. Most of them were male Doms with female subs, one female Domme with a female sub, a couple other female Dommes with male subs, then these three women with us. A couple of people were there alone, male and female, and seemed to know several of the other members.
I have to admit I did enjoy myself. As we mingled and talked with others, I learned we weren't alone on the "tamer"
end of the scale. That relieved me. I felt a little less freakish amongst the freaks, so to speak.
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Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
By the time we were finished a couple of hours later, I stood at my wife's side while she said our good-byes and my eyes met Tom's.
He nodded.
I nodded back.
When we bumped into each other at a meeting Monday morning, neither of us acknowledged the other any differently than we had on any other day. But now I realized what the unusual necklace he always wore, intricately braided leather with a small pewter tag I'd originally assumed was a charm, probably signified.
He made no comment about my ID bracelet either.
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Domma By Default
by Tymber Dalton
Her
Mojito Mamas ... Mimosa Mamas ... Margarita Mamas.
I had no idea so many alcoholic beverages started with M.
Why not the Milk Mamas or the Metamucil Mamas?
At the rate my friends were drinking, they'd be the Mylanta Mamas.
This week they'd opted to dub themselves the Martini Mamas. Each had a glass with a different flavored variation before them. I sat back and sipped my iced tea and watched them with a writer's eye. I felt more unconnected from them than I ever had in my life. Was this a result of my inner turmoil, or a natural instinct to stay in control?
There was no way in fucking hell I'd ever admit to any of them what my husband and I were now doing. I would not subject him to their uneducated snickering behind his back. I could care less what they thought of me for doing it, but I damn sure wouldn't have them thinking less of my husband.
On our girls nights, I was invariably the DD—Designated Driver. Not that they ever asked me. I'd always silently volunteered by ordering first, iced tea or coffee or something non-alcoholic. Over the years it became a natural assumption on their part. They trusted me to get them home to their husbands and families in one piece.
