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The outraged gasp from the kitchen had both women giggling as they trooped into the kitchen to join their friends.
* * * *
Amanda woke on Valentine’s day with a yawn and a stretch, then sat up. The still-drawn curtains meant the room was dim, and the clock told her it was after ten. She yawned again and slid out of bed.
She went through her morning routine—she appreciated her toilet so much these days—and was washing her hands when she saw the note.
She blinked her still bleary eyes at the sheet of paper taped to the mirror, and, fumbling a pair of glasses out of the vanity drawer—James had taken to stashing them around the house—leaned forward to read it.
Amanda,
When you wake up, take a shower. Use the shower gel I bought you for your birthday last year, and the lotion that came with it—both are on the vanity. After your shower, put on my blue robe again—don’t get too excited, it’s still just a loan—then go downstairs. Breakfast is waiting for you in the warming drawer. When you’re finished eating, go downstairs into the large guest bedroom, strip, and put on the cuffs I’ve laid out for you. You may make any other preparations you feel might be necessary. I’ll be home by noon, and I’ll expect you to be in that room, naked, cuffed, and kneeling, ready for me.
When I come into the guest room, you will not be my beloved wife, Amanda. You will be my fuck toy. A come dumpster, a thing for me to use as I see fit. Your pleasure, your comfort, are not my concerns. They mean nothing to me. You are merely a masturbatory tool, a substitute for my fist. If I want to fuck one of your holes, I will, without regard for your pleasure or comfort. If I want to beat you, I will, and you’ll take it without complaint. You will not speak a word or utter a sound. Toys don’t speak, or whimper, or cry, and today, you are nothing but a toy. A thing to be used, then dismissed when I’m finished.
If you agree to these terms, text me the words “fuck toy”. If for any reason you don’t want to do this, text me your safeword, and we’ll talk when I get home.
Either way, Amanda, I love you, and I’m proud to be your Dom.
Your loving husband,
James
“Oh.” Amanda pressed a hand to her chest. “He really is a romantic.”
She sighed, blinking back sentimental tears, and read the note again. This was the scene she’d predicted to her friends a couple of weeks ago, and as she’d also predicted, it was really hot. She was breathless just reading about it, her breasts growing heavy and her cunt dampening as anticipation built. There was anxiety too, the basic nerves she felt at the beginning of any scene, compounded and heightened by the fear of the unknown.
But she wasn’t scared at all. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, then, with the note in hand, went back into the bedroom. She slipped the note carefully into her nightstand where she’d be able to pull it out and read it again. She picked up her phone to send the required text before heading into the shower.
She took her time, lathering up with the shower gel that she hoarded like a miser hoarded gold, the sweet scent of honeysuckle filling the room. She scrubbed her skin pink, then stepped out and smoothed the lotion on. She wrapped herself in the blue robe, snuggling into the thick cashmere with a sigh, then made her way downstairs.
Breakfast was scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage, and there was a full pot of coffee. She allowed herself one cup before switching to water. She didn’t think a fuck toy would be offered much of a chance to rehydrate.
At eleven forty-five, she went downstairs.
Both downstairs bedrooms were furnished both for guests and for use during play parties, and all the furniture had been carefully selected with both types of use in mind. The larger of the two rooms held a platform bed of iron and wood, the sturdy posts and narrow slats perfect for bondage, and the extra thick mattress was both luxuriously comfortable for sleep and high enough to bend someone over for a solid spanking and or fucking.
The cuffs James had mentioned were on the bed, along with her favorite dildo, a brand-new ball gag, and the pump bottle of lube from James’ nightstand.
If I want to fuck one of your holes, I will, without regard for your pleasure or comfort.
She eyed the large bottle of lube while the words from the note ran through her head. Anal play was something they both enjoyed, but she didn’t really think he’d fuck her dry, even with the threat. He never had before, even in the roughest of scenes, and it would likely cause him significant pain as well as her. But with the scene parameters he’d laid out, she decided a little insurance couldn’t hurt.
She shed the robe, letting it fall to the floor, then slipped into the bath. The last thing she wanted to do was have to safeword due to a full bladder, so she took care of that and washed up before going back into the bedroom to put on the cuffs.
They slipped on with familiar ease, metal clacking dully as she buckled them in place. They’d been used so many times she didn’t even have to guess at how tight to make them—the hole punched in the leather was well worn, and easy to manage with just one hand. She sat on the edge of the bed to put the ankle cuffs on, then stood and picked up the bottle of lube.
It was cold and slick against the tender, heated pucker of her asshole, making her flinch a little. She used her index finger to push the thick, viscous liquid past the ring of firm muscle. The initial twinge of discomfort eased almost immediately, her anus fluttering as it adjusted to the invading digit. Familiar heat flooded through her as she pushed the lube deep, then returned for more. She wanted to be sure there was enough to accommodate James’ cock, or whatever toy he decided to use, without too much discomfort. Using two fingers now, she pushed more lubricant in, scissoring them to stretch and prepare the delicate opening as best she could, though it wouldn’t be enough to eliminate discomfort entirely. Fingers helped, and a plug would help more, but the truth was nothing fully prepared her for the stretch and burn of a cock forcing its way into her asshole.
Which, luckily, was the thing she liked about it.
She pulled her fingers reluctantly from her anus. She had enough lube in place to mitigate the pain of penetration, and though she was really tempted to continue to play, the clock on the wall told her it was nearly noon.
She started to set the bottle of lube aside, then squirted some on the fingers of her other hand and slipped them down to her pussy. She was already slick with arousal, but a little extra never hurt. She quickly swiped her hand over her swollen labia and down to the tender opening of her cunt. She shivered at the contact and would’ve continued if a glance at the clock hadn’t warned her that time was ticking down.
She washed her hands and hurried back out to pick up the robe. She hung it on the hook on the bathroom door, then rushed to the side of the bed that faced the door and sank to her knees.
She didn’t kneel often, since neither she nor James had much use for protocol, but the position came back to her easily. Butt on her heels with thighs spread as far apart as possible, her pussy visible. Head up, spine straight and shoulders back, with breasts thrust forward. Hands, palm up, laid on her open thighs. Chin up, and eyes down.
