Page 2

Opening the Gateway


The Second Adventure of the Anyone Couple



     He was a little surprised to hear her call from upstairs, since upon returning home from that epiphany of a weekend, she had taken to always being in the kitchen when he arrived home.  It had unnerved him a little at first, to have her waiting, ready to provide whatever he asked for, be it coffee, water, food, or just a welcome home kiss.  He had felt guilty, and, truth be told, he still did, every time she insisted on getting him this or that, or taking his dishes to the sink.  Or like the night before last, when that cold front had come through and the temperature in the house had dropped.  He had made an idle comment about catching a cold, and had chuckled to himself.  Moments later, he had looked up to see her holding his light fleece pullover and his slipper moccasins, a warm smile on her face.  She seemed to be taking a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction from serving him.  That, more than anything, unnerved him the most.  They had both grown up in conservative homes, and had both been raised to believe that men and women were equals, and should be, in nearly all things.  He was perfectly able to take his laundry to the chute, take his dishes to the sink, and certainly able to fetch his own slippers!  But anytime he had tried to insist on doing it himself, her face fell, and a look of disappointment shadowed her features. Disappointment!   Was this the same woman who, at bedtime, would stare at him – just stare – and keep staring until he had put his socks in the hamper?   And this business with the constant teasing:  brushing against him with her breasts as she passed him or while he was sitting reading, undressing before going upstairs.  On numerous occasions, she had even climbed out of bed by sliding over him, even though her side of the bed was closer to the bathroom.  Not that he minded, by any stretch of the imagination.  Hell no!  But it was all so new.  He still didn’t completely understand it, but it all seemed to link back to that night at the Windsor.  The night when she had called him Master.  His pulse quickened at the memory.

 

     The memory of that night still amazed him.  He had set the whole thing up as a means of cheering her up, and to try and shore up some of the weak points in their marriage that had cropped up in the preceding weeks.   He had read her diary, with all her innermost desires dutifully cataloged, fantasies and more fantasies filling page after page, entry upon wondrous entry speaking of her appetites.  Many of them had to be read twice, or even three times.  How the hell could I have missed all this, especially after all this time we’ve been together? Hell, nearly all of these things would have ended up in my own diary, if I kept one! That was another question he still had no answer for.  But for all the unanswered questions, one truth had revealed itself with stark clarity: his idea to make one of her fantasies come true had been the key to unlocking the heart and soul of the woman he had pledged his life to.   That night, the woman he had courted, had married, and was going to live with for the rest of his life, had become – more.  Better, if that were possible.

 

     It had been after her third orgasm (a feat that tied their previous best, a record set at the end of finals week their junior year, almost a decade past).  He had untied the lengths of silk he had used to tie her wrists to her ankles, and her elbows to her knees, allowing her to straighten out and roll over. She had lain on her back, her naked body glistening, and her chest heaving as she sought to catch her breath.  He too had lain on his back, gasping, and reveling in the ‘runners high’ as the endorphins kicked in.  They had started laughing in amazement, and in joy at the intensity of their release.  It was while they laughed that the most innocuous, yet world-shaking event took place.  Their hands touched.  That was all.  They had just spent hours touching, groping, fondling, stroking, grasping, biting, clinging, and throwing their bodies against one another, yet there they lay in the glow of their coupling and the world shook because their hands touched.   It’s amazing how often it’s the little things that have the greatest impact, he thought.   He had shaken her hand when they had met for the first time, had held her hand in movies too numerous to list, had grasped her hand to help her up a steep incline while hiking the Grand Canyon, and had taken her hand to place a ring on it when he had asked her to marry him.   But it was here, in a place away from home, in a room not their own, that the greatest bond was formed.  Without words, without ceremony, without witnesses.  Just touching hands.

 

     Her hand was warm, he remembered, and still slick with her sweat.  His hand had just brushed hers when time seemed to congeal.  It wasn’t a jolt or a shock really, just a sudden profound awareness that something …bigger… was there.  The laughter had faded almost instantly as his eyes traveled from their hands, up the contours of her body, to her face, and then locking with hers.  Something passed between them.  He had felt it, and knew by watching her eyes that she had too.   At that moment he felt closer to her than he had ever felt, knew her like he had never known her, and loved her with an intensity that challenged the very fabric of life itself.  Everything he was feeling was mirrored in her eyes.  Without a word, they had come together again, with fervor and intensity neither had ever known.  Then, as if it were that joining which broke the inertia of their lives, they set out to create a physical bonding to match the new, stronger emotional one.   Inhibitions were discarded, old limits were reached and surpassed, and a new energy was tapped released.   And the woman he thought he knew better than anyone, had shown him that she was much, much more.   Sometime near sunrise, they had reached the pinnacle of their new bonding, and as she approached the point of no return of her sixth climax of the night, she had increased the intensity of her thrusts, slamming herself backwards into and onto him, and nearly screamed the words that he had never in his life expected to hear.

 

     “Fuck me, Master!  Goddamnit, FUCK ME!” 

 

     He had been startled and shocked, but also incredibly turned on by her words and the intensity of them.  He had obliged her by abandoning all thoughts of technique, and just put every ounce of energy into thrusting as hard and as fast as he could.  The effect had been, to say the least, unlike anything he had ever seen or experienced before.  One moment she was slamming back, matching the force of his thrusts, and the next, her body went rigid.   He had felt her tighten around him, a sensation that triggered his own shuddering climax.   He stiffened, hips bucking as he came, a guttural moan resonating in his throat, his head thrown back as the waves of pleasure washed over him.  His hands had tightened on her hips, holding him deep within her as she began to shake, a gyrating spasm that started at her hips and worked upward.  At the same time, a keening wail of pure ecstasy escaped from her throat, starting as an inaudible whisper, and growing into a scream he had been sure would bring Hotel Security to the door.   Then she had bucked, clenched, and with infinite slowness, relaxed as she sank to the mattress, utterly spent.  The scream had trailed of into a shuddering moan of delirious mutterings.

 

     “Thank you Master, thank you...oh thank you Master…oh God, Master…thank you…” She had said the words over and over again as exhaustion kicked in and she fell into a deep sleep, a smile on her face.

 

 

     The memory played in his mind for the umpteenth time in three weeks, as he walked from the entry closet to the study.  Master.  The word had a power all its own, and an effect on him he still didn’t fully understand.  Sure, he’d fantasized about it from time to time, but this was real!  It was happening! And it was so much more than he had ever imagined.  A little scary, to be certain, but then why shouldn’t it be?  This kind of thing flew in the face of modern, conventional thinking, didn’t it?  Modern, educated, civilized people didn’t get into relationships where one dominated the other, especially if the one dominating was a man.  And they definitely didn’t have one where the woman willingly took a subservient role.  By all reports, chauvinism was dead, or at the very least politically incorrect.  It was this kind of thinking that had led him, and apparently her, to keep any fantasies like that a closely guarded secret, even from each other.  But now, standing in the thick of it, he realized that the masses had it wrong.  They just don’t understand – which is why they fear it.  This wasn’t an unhealthy relationship.  He loved his wife more than life itself, and knew, without a doubt that she loved him just as deeply.  She wasn’t doing this to serve some twisted psychological need to be cowed.  She did it because she thought enough of him to give herself utterly.  It was her way, a new way certainly, but still her way, of showing him just how important he was to her.  Scary?  Hell yes!  It’s not every day you find yourself in a position where someone puts their everything in your hands.  It was a tremendous responsibility, and a daunting one, but it also excited him that she wanted to serve him this way, and made him deliriously proud to think she wanted him as her Master.  It certainly had possibilities.  His mind leafed back through some of the entries he’d read in her diary, noting some of the activities, items, and scenarios she had mentioned.  Yes, he thought, it has some definite possibilities.  He began forming a mental list of things to check on, find, and research.

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