***AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you like my work, please comment. This is the first installment of a new series where a suburban housewife reluctantly acknowledges that she needs to look outside of her marriage to satisfy her lifelong craving to submit completely to a true dominant male.***
"I can always tell when a sow hasn't been used in a while," he said evenly.
I blinked.
"Excuse me?," I said.
It was 9:30 on a Tuesday morning. I was standing in my kitchen watching the plumber nose around under the sink. I was drinking a cup of coffee. The kids were at school. My husband was at work. We were alone in the house.
He poked his head out from under the sink and looked up at me smiling. I was conscious of the fact that from his current position, he might be able to see a little further up my skirt than was strictly proper in polite society.
"I said I can always tell when a valve hasn't been used in a while," he said. "It stiffens up, when it's not released properly on a regular basis."
"Oh," I said. "Well, you're right. We don't use the disposal all that often. It's supposed to be bad for the well or something, I think."
For some reason, my tone was apologetic. I had never met this man before this morning, but somehow I found myself trying to bend over backwards to please him. I had offered him coffee and even tried to engage him in polite conversation. I never did that with other tradesmen.
His name was Kevin Wilson and I was finding that he had an oddly magnetic personality. Although he was younger than me by at least ten years, he carried himself with an air of calm authority. He was tall and fit and handsome in a clean cut way. His most striking features were his piercing blue eyes.
He continued to smile up at me for a few seconds, then he shifted his gaze so he was staring directly at my crotch.
"How about you, Mrs. Hansen? When was the last time you had a proper release?"
This time there was no doubt about what he had said. His smile never wavered.
He stood up and leaned casually against the counter. He was openly grinning now, amused by the look of astonishment on my face.
"As I was saying, I can always tell when a sow hasn't been used for a while, and you have the stink of ages of ache on you."
I stood frozen in shock.
He continued speaking, his tone matter-of-fact. "Does your husband even know you're a sub?"
I finally found my voice and, with it, some measure of righteous indignation.
"What the hell are you talking about," I hissed. "Is this some kind of joke? If so, I don't think it's very funny at all. I would like you to leave now. Please tell me what I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything, Mrs. Hansen, but you owe yourself the truth," he said calmly.
"Please leave," I said again.
"Let me tell you about yourself, Mrs. Hansen. Your husband rarely fucks you and when he does you don't come. The only time you have an orgasm is when you masturbate and think about being taken against your will."
"Oh my God, you're insane." I started backing away.
He remained standing and held up his hands in front of him, palms out. "Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Hansen, I would never touch you without your consent. In fact, you are going to have to beg me to let you serve me."
"What?" I asked incredulously.
"I see through you, Mrs. Hansen. All your life you've had these dark, submissive impulses, but you've never acted them, have you dear? You're such a good girl, right? You suppress these desires because you're afraid of what other people would think if they knew how you really felt. But the feelings never go away, do they?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"You try to get by with your online stories and diddling yourself in the dark. Maybe you watch a little BDSM on your computer, but you never can really quite scratch that itch, can you, Mrs. Hansen?"
I said nothing.
"That's because down deep inside yourself we both know you really want to be trained as a slave and used like a whore."
"Please leave now or I will call the police," I said.
"That's what I do, Mrs. Hansen. I take married, secretly submissive sows like you and use them like whores. Nothing complicated. No strings attached. I'm not looking to blow up anyone's vanilla world. I just give women like you a taste of what they really want."
"I've had enough of this," I said.
I walked past him in to the foyer and pulled open the front door. He picked up his tool box and followed me with casual nonchalance.
At the threshold, he stopped to and looked at me appraisingly.
"I can always spot a true submissive, Mrs. Hansen. The frustrated ones are even easier to pick out, like your cute little neighbor across the street."
I froze.
"Karen?" I was shocked.
"All my sows are named cunt, Mrs. Hansen. Makes it easier for me to remember their names," he chuckled.
Reflexively, I looked over his shoulder at my neighbor's house across the street.
"I don't believe you. I've known Karen for years, she would never do anything like that."
"I've owned her for about a year now. She's been begging me to capture you for months now. She knows what you are, Mrs. Hansen. To be honest, I think she wants a little taste of that pussy of yours."
I gaped at him openly.
"Karen's not gay," I protested.
