The Contract on the Envelope - Ch. 03

The Contract on the Envelope

Tags:

BDSM, female submissive, cheating wife, slave, reconciliation, pierced nipples, pregnancy, lactation, vaginal sex, impregnation

Author's Note:

I am publishing this chapter and all other chapters in Loving Wives because infidelity and the subsequent reconciliation are the central themes of the story, but many chapters could have been published in Anal, BDSM, Fetish, Group Sex, or Lesbian Sex. This chapter contains oral sex, vaginal sex, pierced nipples, pierced clit hood, lactation, impregnation, and a submissive wife.

This work is copyrighted, and not to be altered, duplicated, copied or published anywhere, including alternative media, without the written consent of the author. Copyright 2025.

Chapter Three: New Rules and a Vision

Peter

I woke up in my own bed for the first time in over a week.

The sheets smelled faintly of the detergent Daphne preferred--lavender and cedar. I used to love that scent. Now, like everything that reminded me of Daphne, it just made me feel uneasy.

The bed felt massive without Daphne in it. I slept on the side I always used to sleep on. "Her" side was empty.

I sat up slowly, the sheet falling away from my chest. The room was dim, early light spilling in through the east-facing blinds. At the foot of the bed, curled up in her makeshift bedding on the hardwood floor, was Daphne.

Nude.

She was asleep on her back, the blanket pulled down to her waist during the night. One arm lay up by her head with the other on her taut stomach. Her chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths. Her hair was a dark tangle against the pillow. And her breasts...

Her breasts were swollen and sensitive from the fresh piercings. The silver rings--gently curved and just heavy enough to tug--stood out starkly against the warm brown of her areolas. One had twisted slightly in the night. Her nipples were stiff, reacting to the cool morning air and the weight of the metal.

My cock was already half hard.

I turned away.

I padded to the bathroom, splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth. I looked in the mirror: jaw rough with stubble, eyes slightly bloodshot. I felt and looked hollowed out.

My cock throbbed at the memory of how she'd looked last night, walking nude through the park, pierced and obedient and radiant in her shame. My beautiful betrayer. For not the last time that day, I questioned what I was doing. Maybe I should just leave.

Back in the kitchen, I made coffee without thinking. Grind the beans. Grounds in the filter. Water in the reservoir. Push the glowing button.

I opened my phone.

Argus had replied last night, but I hadn't been ready. Now, I was.

Rule List - Voluntary Agreement with Slave Wife

You will address me as "Sir" or "Master" in private and "Peter" in public. You shall never refer to me as "husband" or use old pet names. You will remain nude in the house unless explicitly permitted clothing, and outside the house you will only wear what I have selected for you. You will perform your chores in the house wearing heels no shorter than four inches. You will keep your body ready for me: clean, perfumed, shaved or waxed, tidy landing strip. You will not orgasm without my permission. You will sleep on the floor unless invited to the bed. You will ask permission to speak unless spoken to. You will maintain a daily written journal to be submitted weekly. You will obey any command involving use of your body, including display, service, or submission to others. You will present yourself for inspection once per day at a time of my choosing. Any failure to obey these rules will result in punishment at my discretion. These rules may be amended or revoked by me at any time.

I read it twice. It was absurd. Terrifying that my faithful AI work companion could come up with these rules for human bondage. Regardless of their source, however, the rules were substantively on the mark.

I printed the list. Laid it on the kitchen table with a pen. Waited.

I heard her before I saw her.

Bare feet on wood. The soft pad of flesh and heel. She entered quietly, eyes lowered, and knelt without a word beside the table. Her posture was fitting of her position. Still. Obedient. She was playing her role at least. Her breasts shifted gently with each breath, the silver rings catching the filtered morning light.

"Good morning. Read your new rules, slave," I said.

She read them silently. Her eyes flicked down the page. One line at a time. Her lips parted just slightly, but she didn't speak.

Then she looked up. Not defiant--hesitant.

"Can I still practice law?" she asked.

"Absolutely. Once you have figured out your next step professionally, I want you to take it. You're a slave to me in our personal life, but you're still a person outside of that. And you have always been an excellent lawyer." I replied. "And if this," I gestured at the two of us, "doesn't work out, you'll need to be able to support yourself."

"But your slave identity takes precedence. I will decide how your professional life fits in with your submission."

She nodded. Quiet. Processing.

She lowered her gaze again. Her eyes found the line: You will obey any command involving use of your body, including display, service, or submission to others.

"Others?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Anyone I choose. Men. Women. Groups of people," I said. "You always have the right to not give your consent of course. But if I tell you to serve someone, and you refuse, there will be consequences up to and including terminating this arrangement between us."

She swallowed.

"That's what you want?" she asked.

I didn't answer. I didn't have an answer. On the one hand, I was utterly humiliated by Daphne's betrayal--the sheer scope of it, how it had completely upended my life, and made me question everything I thought I had known since I proposed on that beach in Mexico. Part of me still wanted to pretend none of it ever happened and to keep her to myself. But I knew that wasn't realistic.

But on the other hand, watching her with Madelyn at my command had been erotic in a way I could not deny. Did I really want to watch her have sex with other people? Wasn't that just cuckholdry with the extra step of being under my instruction? Did I want that? I wasn't sure. But maybe that was the point. This list wasn't just for her; it was also for me. To see how far I could push and to see how far she would go. In any event, if she really wasn't my wife anymore, commanding her to fuck someone else would certainly prove that.

She stared at the page a moment longer, then whispered, "May I suggest a rule?"

That caught me off guard.

"You may."

"If I disobey..." she hesitated. "Don't send me away. Punish me, correct me, but don't... don't end this without warning."

A long silence stretched between us. My chest felt tight.

"You want that as a rule?" I asked.

"I need it," she said.

I stared at her.

"Add it," I said. "At the bottom. Write it in your own hand. And sign beneath."

She obeyed. Her handwriting was slow, careful.

You will accept punishment for any disobedience, but you ask that your Master not end this arrangement without first warning you and offering a chance to earn his trust again.

I nodded. Signed the bottom of the page. Handed her the pen. She signed too, beneath her addition.

I stood and pinned the paper to the fridge with a cheap magnet shaped like a peach. It felt both perfectly absurd and strangely momentous, like a court clerk posting a judicial order at the courthouse with a Simpsons sticker.

"This is your life now," I said.

She didn't speak.

"Make us breakfast., slave"

She moved efficiently. Nude and in her heels, she made breakfast: scrambled eggs and toast. Nothing fancy. I sat at the head of the table, and she knelt beside me again, silent, waiting. I set her plate on the floor in front of her.

We ate in silence. She ate with her hands, and I ate with my fork. As I set my fork down on the plate, I felt her hand slip beneath the edge of the table. Her fingers brushed the waistband of my shorts.

I froze.

She looked up at me once--seeking approval, or maybe just desperate for it--then tugged the elastic waistband down just enough to free my cock.

I was already hard. Her touch had made sure of it.

She wrapped her manicured fingers around the base, warm and sure. Her grip was perfect--tight but not punishing. Reverent. She worked me slowly, her hand moving in a steady rhythm, thumb gliding over the head to spread the precum that was already oozing out. My hips shifted forward against my will.

She leaned closer. Her lips brushed against the shaft. I felt her breath. I could smell her arousal.

Her hair grazed my thigh. Her rings dangled as she moved, one brushing the skin of my leg with each stroke. I looked down--my cock thick and flushed, standing proudly in her grip. The veins pulsed beneath the skin. She adjusted her hand slightly, angling me upward, letting the precum bead at the tip before she pressed her thumb against it, swirling. Her touch was expert. Her mouth was warm. Her full lips kissed the head of my cock, and she took my head inside her mouth, swirling her tongue around the edge the way I told her to when we were first exploring each other's bodies back in college.

I felt the tension build behind my spine. My abs tightened. My breath caught.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And that's what broke it.

"Stop."

She froze. Her hand around me. Still.

"Stop. Now."

She pulled back immediately, eyes wide.

"I didn't give you permission," I said, my voice sharp. "You don't get to take liberties. You want to serve? You ask."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she whispered, her voice tiny.

I pulled my waistband back up roughly, stood, and walked out of the kitchen without looking at her.

The run hurt. That's what I needed.

I took the trail down to Town Lake and ran along the water. Sweat soaked my shirt by the second mile. I kept going. By the fourth, my pulse was pounding and my thighs burned. By the fifth, my thoughts were still chaotic but I was physically and mentally exhausted.

When I came back in through the garage, I was dripping with sweat. My feet ached. My chest was raw.

While I was gone, she had cleaned the kitchen and was tidying the already-clean living room. I saw her from behind. I could see her lips from behind as she bent to pick something up. There was a glow of sweat on her back. I could have slipped behind her and entered her in a single thrust. She didn't look up.

I didn't speak.

I passed her in silence, stripped off my clothes in the bedroom, and stepped into the shower.

The water hit my shoulders hard--hot, almost scalding. I braced myself against the wall, one hand splayed flat against the tile, my head bowed beneath the spray. My breath came ragged, chest heaving, heart thudding like a bass drum beneath my sternum.

I closed my eyes.

The darkness behind my lids pulsed, first red, then gold, then deep violet. I blinked--but when I opened them again, I was no longer in my bathroom.

The tile was gone. The steam had become mist. The hum of the water turned into hushed voices--distant, reverent. A cool draft kissed my skin, and light flickered from high sconces and a softly illuminated crystal chandelier. I stood barefoot on a stage--polished wood beneath my soles, velvet curtains framing an opulent space that could've been a ballroom, or a cathedral, or a throne room carved into some deep pocket of the earth.

I was naked. Erect. Not ashamed.

She stepped into the light.

Short--maybe five feet even--but every inch of her radiated power. Her body was lush and sculpted like a fertility idol carved from ivory and marble. Hips wide. Thighs and calves strongly muscled. Her belly was rounded with pregnancy, taut and gleaming, as though she carried not just life but something holy.

Her breasts were enormous. Full to bursting. Cupped in silver--an open balconette that didn't so much support as showcase them. Her nipples were thick, elongated, and each one was pierced with a heavy silver ring the width of my pinkie. The rings carried small, delicate bells that chimed with every step, their music strange and sacred. I couldn't stop watching them swing, the metal glinting as she moved--each chime a whispered command.

Her hair was dark and braided back from her face, laced with strands of gold. Her eyes were violet too--not metaphorically, but literally--deep and gleaming with unknowable light. She looked at me like she'd seen me before. Like this goddess loved me and expected me to worship her. Like I had worshiped her a thousand times already.

Below her swollen belly, she wore a silver garter belt. From it flowed thin black straps that held up sheer stockings--lace-topped and webbed faintly with floral embroidery. Her platform heels were impossibly high, black and shining, arcing her calves and thighs with perfect tension. She confidently walked with a hypnotic sway.

But it was what lay between her thighs that made my breath catch.

A gleaming clitoral hood piercing set with a massive amethyst--deep purple, marquise cut, flawless--resting right on her clitoris. It wasn't hidden. It wasn't shy. It announced. The stone was the size of a pecan, thick and gleaming, mounted on a curved ring that disappeared neatly beneath the folds of her flesh. It didn't swing or hang--it sat like a crown, catching the light and throwing it back in ripples of violet.

It was not mere decoration. It was a declaration.

I knew nothing about her. I didn't know her name. But I knew the child she carried was mine. And I wanted to fall to my knees and give her anything she wanted if she would only ask.

She reached out and took my face in her hands. Her palms were warm. Strong.

"I have made you ready," she said. Her voice was deep and soft, full of command. "Worship me, and then reclaim what is yours."

I fell to my knees, my painfully erect cock bobbing.

Her breast was already in my mouth before I knew what I was doing--full, heavy, the metal of the ring cool on my lips. I licked and then I sucked, gently at first, then harder. The bell jingled once. Her nipple stiffened in my mouth. A drop of milk touched my tongue. It was sweet, strange, but familiar. I froze. Then moaned.

The taste released something deep and needful in me. I could feel her milk let down, flooding my mouth. I swallowed as much as I could, but precious milk dribbled down my chin and to my chest. She sighed and cupped the back of my head. I drank more. Desperate. Grateful. She reached for my face, and I stood to kiss her. My cock touched her round stomach while she took her milk into her mouth. With a smile, she kissed the milk back to me, her tongue circling mine as I swallowed.

I felt a drop fall from her other breast and roll down my stomach. I dipped down and drank from it. Her milk sprayed into my mouth; the ring clicked on my teeth. One hand moved to cup her swollen curve. I needed every drop. She moved my other hand below. I felt her amethyst slip between my fingers and the slickness of her divine pussy. My hand swirled her clit while I drank the last of her milk. She purred. I had never met this woman, this goddess, but I was made to worship her like this.

Then she stepped back. A faceless female attendant appeared from nowhere and set down a small black stool. The goddess sat, knees bent, her beautiful feet pointed and perched atop her spike heels. She spread her legs, revealing her pussy and the shining jewel. She was the queen here, and this was her crown. Reaching between her legs, she spread herself and beckoned me forward.

"Come."

I didn't hesitate, powerless as I was to resist this violet goddess. I kissed her thighs, then kissed her fingers spreading her lips for me. The amethyst was slick. I flicked it with my tongue, making the gem bounce on her clit. I sucked her clit into my mouth and rolled my tongue across it, tasting her, worshiping her. I licked around her opening then stuck my tongue inside my goddess.

She moaned aloud, a low, commanding sound that made my cock pulse against the stage floor. "That's it. Worship me, Peter." She pressed her sex into my face, holding the back of my head again not in control or force, but in loving acceptance. I drank from her as I'd drunk from her breasts. I licked her until her thighs quaked and her clit throbbed under the jewel. With a spasm, she came. A gush of her wetness flowed across my tongue. I kept licking until she tilted my chin up. I looked into her shining violet eyes.

She rose from her throne, glistening and radiant, and guided me to my back. Her thighs opened around me once more, and her scent hit me like incense in a temple: ripe, dark, elemental. She straddled me and crouched low, her strong legs lowering herself down with grace and control despite her towering heels. She took my cock in both hands, brushing it against her heat.

"Feel," she said. "Do not move."

She stroked the tip of me between her folds, slick and hot and impossibly soft. My whole body tensed. Then, with a sacred precision, she let just the head slip inside her. No thrust. Just heat, just wet, just the first inch of worship. My cock pulsed. She raised and lowered herself on that edge, taking nothing more. I wanted to thrust. I wanted to claim her. But she was in charge.

She moaned softly. I could feel myself getting close. I wanted to give my cum to this goddess. My goddess. The one who carried my child. There was only her. I wanted to give all that I had to her. But suddenly she stopped.

She lifted herself off my aching cock, bent down, kissed the drop of precum from the tip, and raised me to my feet.

"For her," she whispered. "For what comes next. You've already given me your seed. Let this be your offering for your slave. She's waiting for you. Take her."

Daphne was there. Naked. On all fours.

Her hair was braided down her back. Her collar glinted under the lights. Her nipples were healed, her rings larger, thicker. Small silver bells hung from them, tinkling with every twitch. Between her legs, new piercings caught the light--gleaming, moist. Her thighs were parted. Her back arched. Her breath already quick.

She wasn't afraid. She was ready. Hungry. Poised. Open. Wet.

The goddess stood, briefly towering over me in her heels despite her short stature. She extended a hand to help me to my feet. Standing, she wrapped one hand around my cock, teasing the shaft with the nails of the other before turning and leading me forward like a dog on a leash. The bells chimed. The crowd behind the lights murmured in approval, though I couldn't see them.

We reached Daphne. The goddess crouched, ran her fingers between Daphne's thighs, then lifted the wetness to my lips.

"She's finally ready for you to take her," she whispered.

I opened my mouth. Licked her fingers clean. Salt and sweetness. Shame and surrender.

Then I moved behind Daphne. I knelt. I placed my hands on her hips. She pushed back into my touch like she'd been waiting for years.

"Your master is finally reclaiming your deepest part," the goddess whispered, one hand circling Daphne's clit, the other cupping her breast. "You are fertile tonight. You will carry his child."

I grabbed her hips harder and drove into her.

Slow. Deep. Welcomed.

Daphne moaned, loud and guttural, her mouth open in a cry of need. Her back arched, shoulders down, ass high like an offering. Her thighs were slick. She braced herself on the pillows, but I knocked her forward with the force of each thrust. I widened her knees, tilted her hips, and took her at the angle that felt best to me. Her pleasure was secondary.

The bells jingled as I pounded her. Her new labia rings dragged against my cock with each thrust. I reached down and found the metal riding her clit. She moaned louder, jerking against me. It made her more sensitive than I'd ever known before. I slid my hands up her sides, cupped her tits, and pulled down on both rings until she screamed my true name. "Master! Please, let me cum, Master!"

The goddess leaned over her, whispering in her ear, working her clit with slow, expert circles. "Not yet, kitten. Your Master has not granted you an orgasm yet." Daphne whimpered. Her thighs were shaking with the effort to suppress her orgasm.

I fucked her like I owned her. I whispered in Daphne's ear. "You may cum, slave," and then I slapped her ass. Hard. My hand leaving an angry red mark. Her orgasm exploded a heartbeat after my slap. I felt fluid gush from Daphne. My orgasm came a second later. I came in a flood that felt endless, filling her and more. As my erection relaxed, the goddess pulled me out and cleaned my cock. She licked Daphne's dripping opening. She was blessing our union. And the child that was going to grow in Daphne.

The goddess's voice purred in her ear: "You took your Master's seed well. He owns your womb now. You will bear his child not as a wife, but as a slave." The goddess stood and faced me. She kissed me deeply, placing my hands on her swollen belly.

"You were magnificent, my love." she whispered. "I can't wait to meet our baby."

White light exploded behind my eyes.

The sound vanished.

I gasped--cold tile under my hand, water still running. My knees buckled slightly. I steadied myself against the wall.

Cum swirled at the drain in the center of the shower. My hand was still gripping my pulsing cock.

My breath came in jagged waves. I didn't know how long I'd been in there. What happened to me just now? It seemed too intense and strange to be a daydream or fantasy. What did it mean?

In the vision, I was both worshiper and master. Which was the real Peter? And who was the woman that I had worshiped but who had treated me like a partner, this goddess who was carrying my child and blessing my reunion with Daphne. Daphne who would bear another child "not as a wife, but as a slave."

I dried off slowly. The towel clung to me. I didn't look in the mirror. I pulled on a t-shirt and canvas shorts. The cotton felt soft against my back, but I didn't feel comfortable. I walked out of the bathroom barefoot, hair still damp.

She was exactly where I'd left her. Still cleaning. A drop of sweat slid down her back between her the cheeks of her perfect ass. Her calves and thighs were flexed, stabilizing herself in her tall heels.

I walked past her without saying a word. Poured coffee. Sat at my desk. Checked the afternoon emails like I was a man with a normal life having a normal day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel her waiting for me to say something. Hoping I'd touch her.

She was doing everything right. Obeying perfectly. Yet I couldn't bring myself to touch her. Unlike in the vision where I'd owned her then reclaimed her, I couldn't imagine putting myself in her mouth, let alone her cunt. She wasn't clean. Her body had been someone else's.

And all I could think about was the other woman--the goddess. Her milk on my tongue. The taste of her sacred pussy. The weight of her body as she lowered herself onto me. The way her pussy wrapped around the just head of my cock. The child I had planted in her that wasn't real.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The house was quiet. I gave Daphne simple tasks just to give her something to do: fold the laundry, reorganize the pantry, vacuum the stairs.

She obeyed each command with crisp efficiency. No hesitation. No complaints.

Her nipples must have been sore--still healing from the piercings. Her calves surely ached from standing in heels all day. But she moved like the pain didn't matter. Like serving me was the only thing she knew how to do anymore. I watched her while pretending not to.

When she reached up for a glass, her chest lifted and the rings swung slightly--just enough to catch the light. Not performative. She wasn't trying to seduce me. She wasn't even looking at me. It was just a thing that happened. But it was the kind of moment that used to get my blood up. A year ago I would have reached for her. I'd slide my hand under her shirt and fuck her right there at the counter.

Now I just watched. Part of me wanted to feel the weight of those rings in my hand. In my mouth. To take her the way I used to.

But part of me wanted to hurt her. To make her gag on my cock. I wanted to spank her over and over until her backside was red. I wanted to bruise her. I wanted to fuck her ass so hard she wouldn't be able to walk the next day. And I hated that I wanted that.

I also hated myself--for my anger, for my disgust. For how easily I took her back. She cheated on me for months, and I still said yes at the first opportunity to take her back. I accepted her submission, and it was making me miserable. Another man turned my wife into a slut. And I was so weak, I took that same slut back and called her mine. What a fucking joke I am.

She had proven that she would kneel and be my slave. I had not proven that I was capable of being anyone's Master. Not to her. I wasn't even a master of myself.

I wanted to love her. I wanted to hurt her. I just wanted our happy life back.

I needed to get out of the house. I left without explanation and walked to the park. The same park as last night.

It looked different in daylight. Cheery and familial.

I walked the path we'd taken, tracing her route. She'd walked it naked, heels striking the concrete, spine straight. I had followed, a few steps behind, watching the way her ass moved, the glint of steel catching the lamplight. Hating her. Aching to take her.

Now it was just a walking trail. A squirrel. A trash can. A water fountain that hasn't worked in a year.

We used to talk about taking our kids here. We'd push the stroller down this path. Let them play on the swings. Swim at the pool in summer. Eat snow cones on the grass.

I closed my eyes.

The vision returned--the goddess, full-bellied and milk-rich, beckoning me to fill Daphne. Daphne, dripping and desperate, begging to be bred. Wanting it. Needing it.

The taste of her. The pull of her body. The tight, aching clench of her pussy around me as I came inside her. As I gave her a child.

I pressed my palm against the nearest tree. The bark bit into my skin. I stayed there until the fantasy faded.

When I got home, the house was still. Daphne had made dinner. It was plated, covered, kept warm. I stood in the doorway a long time. Then I said, "Serve me."

She emerged from the hallway like a shadow with purpose. Took the plate. Uncovered it. Set it in front of me. Poured water into the glass without spilling.

Then knelt beside the table. Silent.

I ate. Neither of us said a word. When I finished, I stood.

"I'm going to bed early," I said. "You can sleep on the floor in the room with me, or sleep in the guestroom. Your choice. Either way, don't touch me." She bowed her head.

I walked away.

I lay awake longer than I meant to. The ceiling looked unfamiliar in the dark. Like I'd moved into someone else's house. Daphne lay curled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Still naked. Still quiet. Still obedient. I closed my eyes.

Milk. Bells. My child inside a woman I couldn't name.

Daphne's Journal - Day 3

Required by Rule #8

Master told me to keep a daily journal. I don't know if he'll read it. I don't know if I want him to. But I'll write what's true. To discipline my thoughts, I will refrain from using his name.

Yesterday, he made me endure three trials. I do not fail tests. I passed them all.

When he took me to be pierced, I was afraid. I was also wet the entire time. The rings in my nipples still ache with every step. I can't stop touching them in small ways--brushing my arm across my chest, feeling the tug when I breathe too deep. They remind me that I'm being remade. They remind me that I belong to him. I hope he touches them soon.

Before going to the piercing studio, Master told me I would pay for my rings with my mouth. I dreaded it. Girls like me weren't raised to do that. But I was not going to fail. After that woman, Madelyn, pierced me, I knelt between her legs. I tasted her. It was my first time with a woman. It didn't feel foreign. It felt right. Like my mouth already knew what to do. Like it was something I should have been doing for years.

I didn't hesitate. I didn't stop to think. I wanted to please her. I needed to. And afterward, when she touched my face, I felt small and grateful and broken open. Master even said it had made him happy.

It was probably the first time I'd made him happy in months...

After, he made me walk naked through the park. At first I thought I'd die from the shame. My legs shook. My nipples ached in the cold air. I thought someone would see. I wanted someone to see. I needed him to see me--the whole of me. Not as his wife. Not as his betrayer. Just as his.

Today the house was silent. He gave me a set of rules. The thought of always being nude around him at home at his command sent a shiver up my spine. And him picking my outfits for going out of the house. What will he make me wear? Who will see me? I wonder if Master will make me fuck someone else for him. The idea thrills and terrifies me. Will that bring us back together? I am afraid it might drive us further apart.

He wouldn't let me please him today. He told me to stop and pushed me away when I tried. He left and went for a long run. Afterward, I could tell that something was bothering him.

But he hasn't left. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But I will kneel for it. I will obey. I will earn his love again. If I prove myself, I will be his wife again.