I sank back into the cloudlike bed that my husband, Austin, and I shared in our master suite. He had just disappeared into our bathroom, and I had been covertly ogling his body as he walked across the room. The sex we'd just had was about like it always was: pleasant and utterly pedestrian.
I sighed quietly and stared at our vaulted ceiling. It seemed like our frequency was decreasing. We were down to maybe once every 10 days or two weeks. I hated to admit that I was getting bored.
My husband is a stunning man. He's tall, powerfully built and attractive in a rugged, chiseled way, with close-cropped, dark hair and bright blue eyes. Before he met me right after college, he told me that he sometimes had trouble with women. They wanted the soft, sensitive type, not the intimidating, masculine alpha male. But that was the thing: Austin wasn't really an alpha male. He took care of himself and had naturally stark features. But he wasn't domineering, especially not in the bedroom. In the workplace, he was confident and steadfast, which was enough to propel his career forward without the edge of intimidation. But behind closed doors, he was...uninspired.
Austin is well-endowed, which comes with its own set of bonuses. Very early on, however, we fell into a set of ground rules. He found comfort and predictability in a consistent approach to lovemaking. I had never seen him entertain unconventional or fetish options. We never role-played or got rough. Just the week before, I finally asked him about it. He had regarded me carefully, then replied seriously, "Don't I always satisfy you this way?"
Well, it was true that I rarely failed to orgasm with him. But was that really enough? Not to mention that he didn't answer me as to why he didn't want to try anything else.
Meanwhile, I found my fantasies increasingly beginning to take a dark turn. I imagined being pounded bone-jarringly hard. I imagined hands twined through my long black hair, pulling; hands at my throat, grasping. I wanted commands growled into my ear, punishments dealt for transgressions.
I was pretty sure I didn't want to go total submissive. But I definitely wanted elements of dominance from Austin that were completely missing. He seemed to be content with underwhelming, vanilla sex.
For his part, Austin also seemed to be losing interest. He was always complimentary, and I knew that I was taking care of his needs. But it had a perfunctory feel.
Under the layers of soft bedding, my hand drifted downward and began to rub slowly. Even though we had just finished five minutes before, my release hadn't seemed like enough for the night. My fingers picked up speed, and before I knew it they were working my wet slit into a bubble of pleasure.
I closed my eyes, exhaling on a low moan. In my mind's eye, I could see Austin on top of me, forcing my legs apart, pinning me down. His hands gripped me somewhere between my shoulders and neck, crushing his weight onto me as he sank deep into my core. My breath quickened, imagination churning out lurid images of my husband playing very adult games with me.
I could feel the delicious pressure growing as I swirled my fingers around and over my swollen pussy. Quickly, the pleasure crested, and the building feeling blossomed into a more powerful orgasm than I had had all month. I stifled a cry, which came out as a whimper as I shuddered under my own ministrations.
Opening my eyes, I jumped as I saw Austin standing there silently, watching me, his face unreadable. He had clearly witnessed most of my spectacle. His only movement was his hands, which flexed open and closed a few times, then stilled.
Shit. He probably thought that he wasn't good enough, or even that I was faking things with him. The last of the waves of pleasure subsided as I faced the sober possibilities. How could I tell him that I was fantasizing about him because the real him was a little too tame? Worst of all, what if he thought I was thinking about someone else?
I said nothing as he continued to examine me. Then, without a word, he walked around to his side of the bed, climbed in, and switched off the light. Moments later, he was asleep, breathing evenly. I was left to guess at his thoughts, and without the comfort of his closeness.
There would be no cuddling from him tonight. Unsettled and adrift, a while later, I fell asleep myself.
In the morning, it was as if nothing had happened. It was Friday and we were headed into a long weekend, so we had taken an extra day off. It was nice knowing that neither of us had to return to work until Tuesday. Despite our lackluster sex life, I enjoyed nothing more than spending time with Austin. He was smart, funny, and gorgeous as sin.
I awoke to an empty bed, noise coming from the kitchen. Austin was making breakfast when I went downstairs after a shower. "Good morning," he smiled at me, his dimple appearing in his right cheek. His deep voice was cheerful. Smiling in return, I kissed his heavily stubbled cheek. I hadn't seen him shave since Tuesday, which gave him an extra masculine edge.
Dishing up some eggs, he asked me, "Do you have any plans this weekend?"
"Spending time with you," I replied.
"I'm counting on it," he said, winking at me. Austin seemed to be in a great mood. I felt relief, figuring that whatever had been going through his head when he went to sleep had been resolved.
How wrong I was.
As I finished my coffee, I reached up to push my empty plate away. But something was wrong with my arm. My mug clattered to the table as I started feeling like my limbs were made of lead, arms slackening. Heaviness swept over me as darkness began to descend across my vision. The last thing I remember seeing was Austin's face, regarding me calmly and solemnly as I slipped into unconsciousness.
***
I awoke on a soft bed that I immediately knew wasn't ours, in unfamiliar surroundings. Low lamplight filled the wood-paneled room, heavy curtains covering what was presumably a window. I guessed the two doors led out of the room and into a bathroom respectively. The bed, two side tables, and a corner armchair, plus several lamps, were the only furniture. The armchair was occupied by Austin's hulking silhouette, his face nearly obscured in the gloom.
I struggled to sit up, and found it exhausting, falling back onto the pillows. Weakly, I asked him, "Where are we? What's going on?" It came out as somewhere between a croak and a whisper.
"My little Holly's awake," Austin said, with an odd lilt to his voice. It was also deeper, more gravelly. He rose and approached the bed, the light throwing shadows across the angles of his face. He was bare to the waist, ripped torso on full display.
"Yes... what the hell happened?" I groaned, my hand going to my head. It felt like a bowling ball and it was still hard to move.
"We have some things to work out," he answered in the same strange voice. "Lessons to learn. Rules to establish."
He leaned forward so I could see his eyes. What I saw shocked me a little, causing me to flinch backward. Austin was looking at me like a curious predator, as if he were trying to decide the best way to flay me alive. The man I had married was nowhere in evidence, his body a shell around those manic eyes.
I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. In the time we had been together, Austin's size and appearance had never made me feel uncomfortable. But now, for the first time ever, I was afraid of my husband.
