The Contract on the Envelope - Ch. 04

The Contract on the Envelope

Tags:

BDSM, female submissive, cheating wife, slave, reconciliation, pierced nipples, lesbian sex

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, lesbian sex, pierced nipples, 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 Four: Maybe We Should Just Stop

Peter

When I woke up the next morning, my thoughts were no longer on the fictional goddess, but on the very real, very nude Daphne looking at me from the chair in our bedroom. She'd awoken before me for a change, and had been watching me sleep and waiting for me to wake up. If you had told teenage me that I would be anything other than ecstatic to see a beautiful, naked woman in my room first thing in the morning, he wouldn't have believed you. But on that day her hopeful gaze made me feel ill at ease.

I got off the bed and pulled on a plain t-shirt. "Good morning, Daphne. Let's go eat breakfast." I declared and left the room before she answered.

She cooked our usual breakfast. Eggs. Toast. Coffee. She knelt beside me after serving. Her hands were resting lightly on her thighs, back straight, eyes down.

I noticed her stealing glances at me as we ate in silence. She wasn't just trying to anticipate the whims of her "master." She had a hungry look in her eyes.

She wanted me.

Of course she did. She'd submitted and done everything I asked. Let me mark her, display her, and let another woman use her. I've been with this woman for ten years, and I know when she's aroused. And since we've started this, that's been more or less all of the time. Yet here I was, the master who wouldn't touch her. Wouldn't fuck her. Could barely speak to her.

Midway through the meal, I said, "Come sit with me."

She looked up, surprised. Hesitated. Then stood and crossed to the chair beside mine with her breakfast. Her posture was still deferential, but she sat. Her large breasts shifted as she sat, the rings drawing my attention yet again. She pressed her legs tight together. She stared at her plate.

I watched her chew.

"How do those feel?" I asked, pointing at her nipples, wanting to touch them.

She looked down. "They hurt at first, and they are still a little sore. But I like the weight. I feel the tug... and it makes me think of you."

I set my fork down.

"I want to talk," I said. "No rules. No permission needed. Speak freely."

She blinked. Waited.

"Is this working for you?" I asked. "Because I'm not sure it's working for me."

I paused, then continued, "I feel furious. I feel turned on. I feel... empty. I want to punish you because I can't let you go. I want you all the time, and I hate that I do."

Her lips parted. No sound came out.

I pushed my chair back and stood. Walked to the drawer. Took out the envelope. The contract. I placed it between us on the table.

"We could just stop," I said. "Call this what it was. A last-ditch experiment that didn't work. Tear it up, go our separate ways. You don't have to pretend to be a slave anymore. I don't have to pretend to be a master."

She stared at the envelope like it was radioactive. Her breath caught. She knelt beside my chair, her hands trembling. I could tell she wanted to touch me, but was afraid I'd push her away.

"Please don't stop," she said, voice thin but steady. "Please, Sir. I know I failed you. I know I broke everything when I cheated and submitted to him. But what we're doing now--it's changing me. I can feel it. And I need you to be the one who finishes that change. To answer your question directly, yes, this is absolutely working for me."

She looked up at me, eyes wide and wet.

"I desperately want to be yours again. Not just your slave. Your wife. Your partner. I want the life we planned--the house, the family, the late nights going over case files with the babies sleeping in the next room."

Her voice cracked. "I want to feel your cum inside me again. I want to carry your children and feel them growing inside me."

"Years ago you made a number of vows to me, Daphne. But you cast them and me aside when a partner told you to. You're right. We did plan a life together, but you threw that all away." My throat was too tight to say more.

She sank to her knees and leaned into me cautiously, finally daring to touch me. She pressed her cheek against my thigh and wrapped her arms around my leg.

"I know you hate me. But I also know you still love me. I see it. I can feel your eyes on my body when I'm just wearing my heels and these marks you gave me. I know you get hard but hold yourself back."

"I've always been desperately attracted to you, Daphne. That's not the problem. The issue is that I trusted you, and you lied to me for a year. How can I believe that you'll treat these new promises differently from the old ones?" My anger was rising.

"There's nothing I can say more than to beg you to give me a chance to prove it to you. I know I've lost your trust. But I've done everything you've asked so far, haven't I?" she replied

"You have." I said, crossing my arms.

She looked up again, closer this time, hands on my thighs but not moving further. I could feel my erection twitch, but she did not move to touch it.

She breathed in sharply.

"Sir, I'm desperate to stay with you in any way that you'll let me. When I said I wanted to give you everything, I meant it. And I know I'm safe in doing that because I know I married a good man. I trust you, even if you can't trust me. Push my boundaries. Make me your slut. Do what you will to me. I swear to obey to make amends."

"I love the piercings you gave me. I want more. I want you to mark me wherever you want. I know you love these nipple rings. Tell me to get my navel pierced. My clit hood. Pierce my nose so everyone sees. Tattoo me. I want you to claim me. My mouth. My ass. My cunt. Every inch, yours. Breed me, if that's what you want."

"Do you want to see me with another woman? I'd do it for you. For us. Madelyn? Emma, from the firm? I'll get her ready for you. I'll open her up with my mouth. And when you're done, I'll kneel and lick your cum from her pussy."

Her voice was rising with each word. These thoughts were tumbling out in a flood. She sounded unglued. I felt a flicker of arousal, but I was mostly unsettled. This was far too much, too fast. Less than a week ago, I just wanted a divorce because my wife had a long-running affair. Now all of this? Who was this woman?

"Easy, Daphne. One step at a time. I'm still here. You hurt me, and you destroyed our marriage. But I love you too much, or I'm too stupid to end things now. I'll admit that I find this master-slave dynamic exciting, but everything is harder now. I feel terrible all the time. I feel terrible for how you treated me. And I feel terrible for how I've treated you." My voice was quiet in my embarrassment.

Her chin quivered, but she didn't look away.

"I know you think this is hurting me. Maybe it is. But it's not breaking me. It's shaping me. You're shaping me into something new. I feel more like myself than I have in years. I'm not scared of this. I'm scared of losing the chance to become who I'm supposed to be. For you. With you."

She leaned her cheek against my leg again, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"But more than anything... I want us back. I want to carry your name, your child, your burdens. I want to wake up beside you every morning knowing I'm the reason you're whole again. Let me love you. Let me serve you. Let me stay. I don't just want forgiveness. I want to be worthy of it. And if this--if what we're doing--is how I earn it, then I'll keep kneeling until you tell me to stop."

She lowered her head again, resting her cheek against my thigh, her voice almost a breath.

"You were the one who pulled me out of the spiral the first time. You made me believe I could be more than my worst instincts. You're not just the man I love--you're the only man I want to belong to. The only one I trust to hold all of me. Even the parts I still hate. The parts that had me throw myself away to someone so unworthy."

She closed her eyes. Her fingers curled against the floor.

"Please don't let go. Not yet. Not when we're finally starting to find each other again. Not when we're both finally seeing me for what I am."

I looked down at her. Touched her hair. She melted into me, pressing her naked body tighter against my leg. I could feel the faint cold of her nipple rings against my calf.

I stroked her head slowly, letting my fingers drift through her hair, petting her like a beloved kitten.

After a long time, I leaned down and kissed the crown of her head. "I'm going to lift weights," I said quietly. I needed to work out my body. And my thoughts.

The weights gave me something to do with my hands. Something to push against. I loaded plates with more force than I needed, the loud slamming echoing in the garage. My body was focused, but my mind kept drifting back to the kitchen. To her.

Her words echoed with every rep. I want to be your wife again. I want to be marked. I want to be filled. I want to be bred.

She meant it. That was the worst part.

It wasn't a performance or a mere game. Despite her lies over the last year, I knew she was being genuine now. This is what she wanted. Maybe it's what she always wanted.

And still I felt like a monster. Like a man taking advantage of a woman too broken to know better. And yet... I knew better. I knew who she used to be. I thought I knew what she wanted now. I just didn't know if I could go with her. If I was the man to lead her there.

I paused to breathe. Checked my phone. Opened Argus in voice mode. I didn't have the energy to type.

"I told her that I thought we should stop this master-slave thing. She panicked," I said. "Told me she wants to serve. She said she's desperate. She gave me a list of increasingly extreme things she'd do like piercings, tattoos, and sex with other women. And I believe her. It's like this has unleashed something in her. On the one hand, I want to keep doing this, but on the other I feel like a monster already. Am I taking advantage of her? She says she's okay, and that I'm remaking her. I don't know what to do with that."

A moment passed. Then Argus answered in its smooth, clinical tone.

"You are not taking advantage of her. You are responding to a power dynamic she proposed and reaffirmed--without coercion. Her escalating suggestions reflect psychological intensity, not necessarily instability. However, remain alert to hysterical bonding (also known as "love bombing"), given the context of her infidelity. Still, you must distinguish between desperation and devotion, between impulse and intention. She is offering transformation. That does not absolve you of responsibility.

Dominance requires emotional care. What you are practicing is discipline. What she needs now is integration. Rituals, marks, and acts of service are tools--only meaningful when paired with connection. Aftercare is not indulgence; it is structure. You are withholding connection as a form of punishment. That is unsustainable. If you want this relationship to survive--as marriage, as ownership, or both--you must reintroduce affection, connection, and intimacy. Soon."

I leaned back against the bench. Exhaled through my teeth.

"So what," I said. "I'm just supposed to suck it up and fuck her? Every time I think about touching her, I get a pit in my stomach. First comes the shame and embarrassment. Then the anger."

I gripped the phone a little harder.

"It's not just about the sex. It's that she lied--for months. She was pulling away from me, giving me crumbs of affection, all while kneeling for someone else. Surprisingly, what makes me sick now isn't the act--it was the fact that she did all of it for someone else, and then came home and slid into bed like nothing happened."

Argus: "You are incorrect. You should not 'suck it up and fuck her.' You are not ready. And you are not broken for hesitating--you are overwhelmed because you lack a framework. Without structure, it is unsurprising that guilt and arousal collapse into shame. She currently needs emotional connection and a way to integrate these new experiences. A physical connection may help reinforce her transformation.

But you lack both the experience and the emotional clarity to provide what she needs--at least not alone. Seek structured guidance from a practitioner with expertise in ritualized submissive care. This is not failure. It is stewardship."

I stared at the screen. The words didn't sting. Argus didn't have the consciousness to try to hurt my feelings. And it was correct. I had no emotional clarity and my "experience" as a master came from an AI that primarily summarized patent filings.

Stewardship. A practitioner with experience. Madelyn.

She'd touched Daphne with such precision. Daphne had come undone for her. Given herself over. And somehow, it didn't feel like betrayal. Maybe because she wasn't hiding anything. There were no lies this time. No secrets or locked doors. Just her body, mine to offer, and her obedience plain to see.

And God help me, it turned me on. Watching her like that. Knowing she was performing for me. That I could give her away and still call her mine.

Madelyn mentioned having a sub as well. Argus was right. It's meager advice won't be enough. I needed human help.

I scrolled to her contact. Pressed call. She picked up on the third ring. "Peter," she said warmly. "This is a surprise. Everything alright? How's Daphne healing up?"

"Physically, she's perfect. The piercings are healing beautifully. No infection, no irritation."

"Good girl," she murmured. "What about her emotional state?"

I hesitated. "That's actually why I'm calling."

A pause. Then: "Tell me."

"She's submitting. She's doing everything I ask. But I'm not giving her what she needs. This is new for me. I've read things. I'm trying, but it's really hard for me. And this morning, I suggested that we stop and she begged me to keep going. She said she trusted me with her body and her future, and that she'd do anything if it meant she could be mine again. And I just... stood there. I couldn't even hold her."

Madelyn's voice softened. "Why is she doing this? Why are you?"

"It's a last-ditch effort to save our marriage. She had a long affair. She had a whole other life with him. She was his submissive: collared, public exhibition, doing whatever he told her."

I swallowed. "And this has been a pattern for her. Before we were together, she was wild. And cheated. She spiraled. I helped her get out of that. At least I thought I did."

"And now?" Madelyn asked.

"After I left the house and told her I wanted a divorce, she tracked me down using my cell phone location. She's asked me to own her. To discipline her until I can forgive her and take her back as my wife. And despite what she did to me, I genuinely want to try. The idea of having a slave or submissive is honestly very exciting for me, and what's more is I do want her to be my wife again. But I don't know what I'm doing or how to get from here to there."

She was quiet for a moment.

"She doesn't just want to make amends. She wants to give herself to you--fully. That's not something you punish into being."

"Yes. Exactly. When I'm cruel to her, it just hurts me. But I know she needs something. Affection? Punishment? Humiliation? I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm still so angry. Whatever she needs, I can't seem to give it to her. Not alone."

"And you want help."

"Yes. I saw the way she responded to you. When you touched her. When she tasted you. Would you... would you see her again? Just once. As a favor to me."

Madelyn was quiet. Then she said, "I'd love to. She gave to me so willingly and beautifully. I'd like to return that. But I need guardrails. I will ask her consent--but you're her Dominant. The limits come from you."

"What do you need to know?"

"Can I go down on her? Can she go down on me? Toys? Strap-on? And the big one--can I make her cum?"

I closed my eyes. My cock throbbed at the thought. Madelyn continued:

"I think she's lovely. I'd love to explore her body. Taste her. Make her cum--especially after what she gave me. I'm open to all of it, if she is. I'd love to fuck her now, next week, next month, any time."

She paused.

"Think about it. Write her a letter. In the letter tell her why she's coming, and what I'm allowed to do. Seal it. She'll give it to me, and I'll read it to her before we begin."

I nodded, though she couldn't see it. "Alright."

"One more thing. What will you do when she gets home?"

I hesitated. "I don't know. I think... I can offer her some kindness and affection. But I don't know what I'll feel."

"That's fine," Madelyn said gently. "She's a very lovely woman, Peter. She made a terrible mistake--but based on what I've seen, she's trying. She's doing it for you, and she's doing it for herself. If you want to take her back, to truly lead her, you'll have to let her in. Just a little for now. When she comes home, hold her. Tell her she was a good girl for doing what you asked."

"Alright," I said again. And meant it.

Daphne

Peter--no, Master, she corrected herself--had set the yellow empire-waisted dress out on the bed. Canary yellow. Innocent. Soft. The kind of thing a girl would wear to brunch, or a baby shower. He paired it with ballet flats. No bra. No panties.

He'd said only: "Get dressed. Go to Iron & Ivy. Madelyn has some piercing aftercare treatment for you. You will give her this." He handed me an envelope. "Do not open it before then." The rebellious part of me twitched. I wanted to peek. To read what he'd written. To feel like I had some control. But I knew I was on thin ice. I would obey. Exactly.

I arrived at Iron & Ivy promptly at 6:30. The sky was just starting to shade into twilight. Madelyn was already at the door, watching. Today she wore a floral sundress--soft, flowing, with thin straps and a low neckline. Feminine, easy. A far cry from the dark, hard-edged goddess who'd pierced me days ago.

"Right on time," she said, stepping aside to let me in. She flipped the sign to CLOSED. I heard the door lock click behind me. Something about that sound made my breath catch. He hadn't sent me here just for piercing care. And I was already starting to get wet.

Madelyn led me past the front studio into a small back room. There was a futon, a soft-looking couch, and a small kitchen tucked into one corner. It looked lived-in. This was her home. She had taken me from the public space into something personal. Did she sleep here? Did she bring other people back? What did she do with them here? The thought made my pulse quicken.

She turned on me suddenly. Held out her hand.

"Slave," she said, voice low and firm. "I believe you have something for me."

The word hit me like a slap and a caress. I felt my knees wobble. I handed her the envelope without a word. She opened the seal with one neat motion then scanned it quickly. A small smile tugged at her mouth. She began to read it aloud.

"Daphne,"

"You're here tonight so Mistress Madelyn can check on your piercings and make sure they're healing right. If you consent, she'll also give you some more... personal care."

"You will bring Mistress Madelyn to orgasm. You may use your mouth, your hands, your tongue. If she desires toys, you may use them. When she has finished, you will be permitted one orgasm."

"Mistress Madelyn has discretion in how that is achieved, with the following limitations: tongues and fingers may be used on your cunt or ass, but no toys. Those holes belong to me. No one else will take them until I do."

"If you cum, you will bring Mistress Madelyn to orgasm again."

Madelyn paused. Looked up. Her voice softened, but didn't lose its edge.

"If you accept these limitations and consent to what I've described, remove your dress now."

She let the words hang in the air.

I didn't hesitate. My fingers found the hem of the dress. I lifted it over my head and stood naked before her.

Madelyn returned her gaze to the letter.

"Daphne, I am struggling. You were right this morning--I do still love you. Every cell in my body lights up for you. I want you as my slave even more than I wanted you when we first started dating. Your offer stirred something in me that I didn't know was there."

"I know you've struggled with control. And I loved that before I was able to help you take control of your urges. I want to be that source of strength for you again. But you hurt me, Daph."

"You're not my wife anymore. We both agreed to that in the contract. But when we got married I made promises to you--promises to take care of you, and I will continue to fulfill those promises so long as we are together, whether you are my wife or not. I know you need me. And as hard as it is, I am willing to see this through--for you, for the woman I married, for the future we almost built together, and for myself."

"But I am still so angry. When I look at you, I want to touch you. To take you. But I'm not ready. And I feel so ashamed that you had to seek love somewhere else."

"Madelyn has agreed to help tonight, under my direction. If you are willing, you will please her. You will do what she says. And afterward, you will receive the connection and touch I haven't been able to give you yet."

"Love, Peter"

Madelyn folded the letter with a reverent precision and set it aside.

She stepped closer and ran the back of her fingers down my cheek.

"You obeyed perfectly," she said. "From the moment your Master laid out your clothes until now. Your Master will be proud."

Madelyn began with inspection, but there was nothing casual about it. She made me sit upright on the futon, knees apart, back straight, hands behind my head. My sex opened for her, already wet. The light from the overhead fixture caught the faint swelling around each ring, and Madelyn murmured her approval. She lifted each of my heavy breasts in turn. Her fingers moved over the healing tissue with professional grace, checking tightness, inflammation, alignment. She pinched each ring lightly between thumb and forefinger--I gasped--but held still. She gave her verdict, "These are healing beautifully. You've taken good care of them."

When the inspection was complete, Madelyn let her hand linger just a little longer. She ran her palm slowly down my torso, stopping at the waxed line above my mound.

"He is right to keep this smooth. It makes you look young. Kept. Owned." Her right hand glided further down, fingers splayed just enough to feel the warmth of her skin beneath each one. As she reached the gentle curve of my mons, her touch softened, reverent and unhurried. Her pointer finger came to rest along the left side of me, while her middle finger mirrored it on the right--cradling my outer lips with a steady, deliberate presence, as if memorizing the contours of my arousal. I lifted myself off the futon to press myself into Madelyn's hand. Madelyn gently slapped my left thigh. "Tsk tsk. A slave mustn't be presumptuous, pet." she warned.

She told me to lie back on the futon. Flat. Arms at my sides. Legs spread wide.

Madelyn stripped slowly. She folded her dress and set it aside. No bra. No underwear. Her skin was pale and tattooed, hips full, thighs powerful. I saw the ripple of her abs. The ring in her left nipple shone as she moved. I wanted her.

She knelt between my legs and touched me--first lightly, almost clinical. Then deeper. Two fingers parted my labia and slipped between the folds, pressing gently but not entering.

"Already wet," she said. "You've missed being touched. I can feel it." I tried not to moan and failed.

Madelyn rubbed her hand up my flank to my chest and kissed one of my pierced nipples. "Maybe your Master will let me play with these when they're healed." she hoped. She kissed me full on my lips and ran her hand over the back of my neck. "Time to earn your orgasm."

I sat up and kissed her again, her thighs straddling mine. I kissed down her chest, taking her pierced nipple into my mouth. We rotated positions and Madelyn laid down into the futon. I lowered myself and kissed Madelyn's inner thigh without being asked. I moved to her lower lips, kissing them with the same passion as her upper lips. I dipped my tongue inside, savoring her taste. I found her clit standing proudly erect from its hood and took her into my mouth. I knew what this woman liked. I wanted to give it to her. I felt her press into me, and a hand appeared on the back of my head, guiding me forward insistently but not forcefully. Her breathing quickened. I felt beads of sweat on her arched back. Then with a jerk and a shudder, she found her release. I gently kissed her hips and thighs and waited for further instruction.

Still in the afterglow, she pulled me up to kiss her on the lips. Our tongues danced with each other, then she took my face in her hands and whispered, "Turn around so I can taste you while you taste me. I'll give you the orgasm you obviously need while you give me the second orgasm your Master commanded."

She guided me gently, one hand on the back of my neck, the other at my waist, and I let her turn me. I climbed over her, thighs straddling her chest, breasts hanging above her belly, the nipple rings she gave me grazing her skin. I bent low between her legs. Our bodies aligned--open, wet, hungry.

I had 69ed before with Peter, but this was different. I knew how to please his cock so well. Sometimes it was a game, see who could make the other cum first. That had been playful and fun. This was a reward from my master as well as a command. I had earned my first orgasm as Peter's slave.

My last orgasm had been on that awful stage...

Her thighs were warm beneath me, her scent rising sweet and sharp. My mouth found her first. I parted her gently with my fingers and began to lick--slow, careful strokes that built on everything she'd shown me the first two times. I didn't rush or improvise. I listened to her body.

Her moan was low and approving. Then I felt her shift beneath me, her hands on my ass, spreading me slightly, just enough to open me to her mouth.

She didn't tease. She licked me like she meant it--flat tongue, deliberate pressure. I gasped into her and kept working. My tongue traced her again, again, again. I could taste how close she was, the way her thighs twitched. I could feel myself dripping, her breath hot against me.

Her hands gripped my thighs tighter. I let myself moan against her, and she growled in response. The sounds we made started to blur, echoing off each other.

I was going to cum. I knew it. Then I felt it--her hips grinding upward, her mouth locking onto my clit, sucking once, twice, and--

I shattered. My mouth pressed hard into her, licking blindly as the orgasm ripped through me, thighs trembling, arms straining to hold myself up. I screamed into her cunt, and she laughed again--just before her own release broke over her in waves, hips lifting, hands gripping, her moan low and wet and satisfied.

We didn't separate. We stayed like that--bodies trembling, mouths slick, thighs sticky and wet. I licked her slowly, almost lazily now, just to taste her more. She did the same.

She smacked my thigh, light and playful.

"Now now, pet," she said, her voice breathy. "You only get one orgasm tonight. And you've had it."

I didn't argue. I just let her pull me up, into her arms, onto her chest. She kissed me--mouth open, slow, tasting both of us. We kissed like that for minutes, long minutes, until I forgot what I was doing and remembered only what I was becoming.

Her hand stroked my hair.

"You brought me to orgasm so beautifully, pet," she said. "Your mouth is greedy but graceful. I could feel your hunger. I liked it."

She brushed her fingers over my thigh, just beneath the curve of my hip.

"You have such a responsive body. That cunt of yours... it's a perfect canvas. If your Master ever decides to adorn it--piercings, tattoos, something sacred--it will honor you both. And you will look stunning."

I swallowed, heat flooding my face.

"You followed your Master's instructions exactly. No hesitation. You offered yourself with devotion. That's a good girl." Her hand touched my face.

Her voice dropped into something warmer.

"When I first met you, you were tight with fear. Still beautiful. But bound up in shame. Now look at you. You're growing into yourself--not shrinking. You're blossoming."

I didn't know what to say.

She ran her hand slowly down my spine.

"Your Master told me about your past. This man you cheated on him with wasn't your first affair, was it?" she asked.

I blinked, ashamed. "No."

"Tell me."

I breathed in. Out.

"Freshman year, I had graduated high school early, in part because I was too smart for my own good and in larger part to get away from my mother. I went absolutely wild my first year. Hook-ups at parties. One night stands. I wish I could blame it on drugs or alcohol, but it was just my wanton desire and the fact that my guardrails were hundreds of miles away. I met a nice boy in class with a good heart and we dated all of my second semester. I cheated on my boyfriend constantly. He found out when he walked in on me and someone else. That summer I went back home to Plano. Even though I was living with my mother, I couldn't stop. I kept hooking up with boys, some I'd known for years from school and even strangers. I even seduced a good friend's ex. Lost her friendship. Got kicked out by my mom. Moved in with my sister."

Madelyn said nothing. Just listened.

"Sophomore year, I got a little better, but I still let my urges take the lead. Had a threesome with two hot swimmers that felt amazing, but was ill-advised because we were all in a small seminar together and things got awkward. At one point, I remember being "proud" of myself for just making out with a boy with my hand down his pants at a party instead of fucking him in the bathroom. I was starting to understand what I needed. I needed an anchor. Someone or something to reign in my sexual impulses."

"Then I met Peter. And suddenly the urges fell away into the background. The sex we had together was fantastic, yes, but more than that his love and affection filled me in a way I'd never felt before. I felt seen. Like I finally mattered. Like I wasn't just a source of shame like I was to my mother or just an easy fuck like I was to so many boys on campsus. He helped me stop spiraling. And for a while, it worked. We fell so deeply in love. We got married and started to build a life together." I sighed, thinking of the good times. "Before I ruined everything."

"But then life got in the way, I was working sixty-eighty hour weeks and traveling for depositions and hearings. I was working so hard and long that frequently the only time we'd see each other was first thing in the morning and when I collapsed into bed at night." I swallowed.

"I started feeling distant. Unanchored. Invisible. And the Stag--he offered structure. Said the right words. I wanted control again. He told me what to do and I did it. I realize now it was all self-serving for him, but at the time it felt like a ritual to me that I could lose myself in."

"The Stag?" inquired Madelyne.

"A partner at my old firm. His real name is Todd Whitmore, but he took me to this fancy sex club in New York City after a big trial. He gave me a rabbit mask and wore a stag mask while he fucked me in all three holes on a stage in front of a audience. After we got back, I was essentially fired from the firm. I guess he was done playing with me." I sobbed.

"On top of everything else, it's so galling to me that I let him get away with it. I just wanted to be done with the affair. Done with him, even if I had a claim against him and the firm. Anyway, under Texas law it would be a tough case: voluntary affair, no complaints from me prior, at-will employment," I said ruefully. "I'm just a stupid woman who let herself be seduced by her boss. I'm an embarrassment to the labor and employment bar."

"Even worse, I didn't even really like him. He's very pompous, and not nearly as good of a lawyer as he thinks he is. Anyway, at first it was exciting. But looking back on it I was just being used. He would make me satisfy every kinky urge of his. Poses, wardrobe restrictions, collars, spanking. But in the end there wasn't any substance to it. I was just a toy he took out every once in a while and put away dirty. He definitely didn't care about me."

"And then he sent the recording of the Stag fucking the Rabbit on stage to Peter. I hadn't even known we were being recorded. He'd already destroyed my career, now he wanted to make sure my marriage was destroyed too." I leaned into Madelyn. "Even if I reported it as revenge porn and he was convicted, the damage has been done. Peter knows what I am. What I did."

"This club in New York, where he took you after the trial. Do you remember what it was called or where it was located?" Madelyn asked intently. I could tell something was bothering her.

"He hailed the cab and handed the driver a card so I didn't see the address. But it was in Tribeca somewhere, I think it was called the Starfire Club or something like that." I said.

"The Hellfire Club." Madelyne whispered.

"That sounds right actually. Do you know it?" I asked.

"Yes... I'm a member. My boy and I both were. We were initiated together, me as his owner, he as my slave. When he took a collar with my sigil on it, it felt like marriage. It's not just a club; it's a sacred place to me and many other members. It's where my boy felt the safest. I loved him everywhere, but especially there."

"I learned how to do body piercings from a senior member there named Eleanor, but we call her the Archivist because that's role. She gave me this." she said pointing to her pierced nipple. "And several of these." She pointed to her tattoos. "This one" she said, pointing to a mark on her mons venus, "is my bond-mark with him. Before we left New York together, she inked this for me while he held my hand. It's not just the Club's insignia, it was my promise-to him and myself-that as long as I bore this seal, he was safe. That while we were thousands of miles away from the structure of the Club, the promises we made to each other there came with us."

Madelyn looked up. "You haven't said anything about it, so I assume you didn't have a written contract with this Stag, correct? And tell me about what happened when you got to the Hellfire Club. Did anyone greet you? Did you see an impossibly beautiful petite woman in purple or an older woman with a large, leather bound book?"

"No." I said. "No contract, and I don't remember seeing anyone. There were people there, of course, but it was all a blur. I was just let in through a nondescript door and led to a dressing room. That's where my costume was waiting."

"I assume no one ever gave you a collar with a tag or a bracelet. Did anyone talk to you about what you were there to do, and whether you gave enthusiastic consent? Did anyone talk about a consent ritual or ask you about your safe word?"

"No. I didn't really talk to anyone other than the Stag until after our 'performance.' And even then I was... busy." I said.

"Busy how, slave? Tell me everything."

"I must have fucked a half-dozen more people at least. The Stag would just lead someone up to me and there would be a new dick for me to suck or to take in my ass. Looking back on it, I barely feel like it was me doing it. There was just some woman named "The Rabbit" taking dick after dick. Eventually a beautiful, nude blonde woman with piercings and a bunch of floral and jungle tattoos on her hips and stomach walked up to me and asked me if I was OK. I could barely answer, but I was able to shake my head no. I think I started to cry. She gathered me up and hustled me to a quiet hallway with a bunch of small bedrooms like monks' cubicles. She laid me down on a bed. I thought maybe we were going to have sex, too, but she just held me. I remember the firm pressure of her nipple rings against my back as she hugged me and the soothing lilt of her voice as I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I was alone but my clothes were in the room hanging up. So was my purse with my engagement and wedding rings inside. The same ones that are in the envelope with my slave contract written on it."

Madelyn's eyes flashed. I thought she was about to yell at me for what I had done. All of the shameful sex I had in her club. The depth of my depravity. But it was immediately clear she was not mad at me. "You're telling me that Todd Whitmore took you to the Hellfire Club and used you as a slave on stage and on the floor, but you never had a contract and were never initiated. You never met Mistress Violet or the Archivist. No one made sure you were safe and had given consent. No one asked you about your safeword. You were led to the floor and used as a slave without a collar or bracelet by someone claiming to be your owner. He took you into my sacred place and you were not protected. You were used until a slave rescued you. And then he leaked a confidential recording of your performance to your husband to destroy your life and reputation. Is all of that correct, slave?"

I stammered, "Yes, but please, I don't want to get anyone in trouble, Mistress Madelyn, least of all myself. I did all of that myself, and I did it stupidly, but voluntarily. I don't want to go to the police and have to explain all of this for a revenge porn case. I don't want to testify against the Stag and have to suffer his attorney's cross examination about how I was such a willing whore that I wanted to do all the things I did. I just want to forget it all."

With a silencing glare, Madelyn replied "You betrayed your husband, yes, but that is not the only betrayal here. The Stag has sullied my sacred place by breaching every rule that made my boy feel safe and loved. He used our space--my sacred space--to make you feel owned without ever making you safe. He took you as his slave and used you. He lied to others and let them use you. That means he infected other club members with his selfishness, too. He used you as a toy, not as the person you are. You did betray your husband, and you are atoning for that. But his breach of the Club's rules are unforgivable."

Her voice went ice cold. "I will see him burn for this."

"I must tell Mistress Violet and the Archivist at once. I owe that to my boy." She finished, touching her insignia like a prayer.

She turned back to me, both of us still tangled in each other on the futon. I couldn't speak. Her fury was white hot, but it was not directed at me. Her strong arms hugged around me, pulling me into her. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you, Daphne. I am going to try to make it right for you, Peter, and the Club. But enough about the Club. You were wonderful tonight." Her fingers drew slow lines across the swell of my hip.

She kissed my temple, then murmured, "You pleased me. You pleased your Master. And you pleased yourself, within the boundaries he gave you."

I smiled--soft, lazy, stunned.

"Thank you for letting me please you," I whispered. "It felt... more than right. It felt like something I've always known how to do, but never let myself want."

She turned slightly, kissed the top of my shoulder.

"You're a natural," she said. "And you're not afraid to serve with hunger and without reservation. That's rare."

"I trust Peter, and I feel like I can trust you even though we've just met. I hope he lets me do this again," I said quietly. "I would. Gladly. I loved every second of it."

She was quiet. Then said, "You should tell him that. And I would love to do this with you again, too."

I nodded, nestling closer. We kissed.

For a while, the only sound was our breathing. In the quiet, Madelyn kissed my forehead and told me it was time to be a good girl and go home to my Master. I kissed her lips, and got up to get dressed. She propped herself up watching me, and walked me to the door, still nude. With a final kiss, she opened the door for me, the cool night air chilling her skin. She lingered in the doorway until she saw me start my car and drive away.

Peter

I sat alone in the living room, the bourbon in my hand barely sweating, a single cube of ice spinning slow in the glass. I wasn't brooding. Just quiet. Composed. I kept my eyes on the front door, but not with anxiety. She would return soon.

I'd sent her to Madelyn. I had watched her leave in the yellow dress and shoes I'd chosen. I had dressed her for her own comfort. I knew what would happen--what I had arranged to happen. My wife, kneeling between another woman's thighs, offering her mouth, her hunger. But this was different from before. This happened not because she strayed, but because I told her to. Because she trusted me enough to obey. I hoped--for Daphne's sake--that she earned an orgasm of her own. This wasn't cuckoldry. It was control. Ritualized. Deliberate. I commanded it because I knew she needed it. And tonight, for the first time in days, I believed I might be doing something right.

The door opened quietly. She stepped inside, and slipped her elegant feet out of her shoes. The yellow dress clung to her hips. Her hair was slightly damp at the temples, her cheeks still flushed from touch. I smiled slightly. It looks like she had earned that orgasm.

I didn't speak. I just watched. I sipped my bourbon.

She didn't ask what to do. She straightened her shoes by the door. Then she pulled the dress over her head--gracefully, without hesitation--and folded it carefully. She hesitated, glanced around, then placed it on a nearby shelf. I made a note to buy her a small dresser for the entryway. Maybe a mirror, too.

I found myself imagining her coming home with a friend. Emma, maybe. That vivacious junior associate from her old firm. I imagined Daphne undressing exactly like this--calm, confident. Letting the girl watch in stunned silence. Daphne moved deliberately. She didn't perform. She obeyed. She was becoming her new natural state. Nude. Mine. She knelt before me. Legs spread. Palms up. Her eyes stayed down, but they weren't afraid. I could see that her sex was still wet.

"Did she give you what you needed?" I asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you make her cum?"

"Yes, Sir. Twice."

"Did you enjoy it?"

She looked up slightly. Smiled. "Oh yes, Sir."

I already knew all of it. But I wanted to hear her say it. Own it.

"Good girl," I said.

I set the bourbon aside and patted my lap. With a flash of delighted surprise in her face, she rose and climbed onto me, nude and warm, her body pressing into mine. I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her hair slowly. She melted into me. There was something quietly electric about her warm, naked body against mine while I stayed clothed.

After a while, I tipped her chin up. She looked at me--open, calm. I kissed her. Just once. Closed-mouth. Slow. Not passion. Ownership. I was still upset, and I had not forgiven her. But I let her feel the love for her I had at that moment. "You may sleep in the bed with me, just for tonight," I said.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek twice--thank you. I wanted her to feel softness. To feel love. Later, in the bedroom, I pulled on a pair of athletic shorts and climbed into bed. No shirt, but also no invitation.

She followed, nude. She curled against me, her head on my chest, one leg over mine. I let her stay. She breathed slowly. Steady. Her skin was warm. The cool brush of her nipple rings grazed my chest when she shifted. I kept one hand on her hip.

And as I drifted to sleep, I was thinking of how strange it felt to hold her like this after what happened, but also about how good it felt tonight.

Daphne's Journal - Day 4

Required by Rule #8

I feel warm. Not just from what happened with Mistress Madelyn--but from how he greeted me when I got home.

I knelt before him, still wet from the touch of another woman. Still glowing from obedience. I told him what I did. He didn't touch me right away. But I saw the look in his eyes when I told him what happened, and he said I was a good girl. And it felt so good to sit in his lap. Then he kissed me. I've wanted that for so long. Not the praise, exactly--but the feeling of rightness and closeness. Of doing something for him that matters.

I pleased Mistress Madelyn, too. She said I was hungry and graceful. She said I had a body made for sacred things. I think she meant it. She held me, praised me, told me I was growing into myself. And I believe her. I feel it too.

I hope Master feels the same way. Even if he doesn't always say it. He's still angry. Still hurt. But he's trying. He let me sleep in the bed. I curled against him, and he let me stay. I felt his hand on my hip. The warmth of his skin. The way my rings pressed against his chest as I breathed.

I think he still wants me. Not just to fuck--but to hold. To lead. Maybe to love again. I want to give him everything. I want to take every mark he offers. I want him to pierce me again. Collar me. Breed me. Make every bit of me unquestionably his. But for now, I'll take this. A kiss. A bed. His hand on my skin as I fall asleep.

I was a good girl tonight. And I know he saw it.